#clipper magazine

[forever70s]

Clipper magazine - August / September 1969

[vintageadsmakemehappy]

1953 Packard Clipper

[pandorasmage]

MSX Magazine / The Flying Luna Clipper (1987) ᯓ★

[luminarytimesmedia]

NASA's mission to Jupiter's moon Europa launches successfully

A NASA spacecraft embarked on a mission on Monday to explore Jupiter's intriguing moon. Europa, in hopes of uncovering whether its vast hidden ocean might offer clues to the existence of life.

Europa Clipper will take 5 1/2 years to reach Jupiter, where it will enter orbit around the gas giant and conduct dozens of flybys of Europa, braving intense radiation.

Scientists are confident that a deep global ocean lies beneath Europa's icy shell. With water often considered a key to life, Europa is regarded as one of the most promising places in the search for extraterrestrial life.

The Europa Clipper isn't designed to detect life directly. Instead, it will focus on identifying the building blocks essential for life, such as organic compounds, and look beneath the ice for conditions that could support life.

Read More: https://luminarytimes.com/nasas-mission-to-jupiters-moon-europa-launches-successfully/

[carlplsrailme]

𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 | 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐥 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬

summary: as enid flips through magazines and you complain about your skincare troubles, she tosses you a page that states "using boyfriends sperm is better than any skincare" and you decide to try it out with carl

carl grimes x fem!reader

cw: dick sucking, cum sitting on face, ball squeezing, etc etc

word count: 1k

request: Ok so i just saw a Video where a Girl Was using his Boyfriends Cum for Skincare,then i had a idea. So like Yn complains to Enid that she hates that she cant find Skincare anywhere ( Zombie Apocalypse) and then enid throws Yn a Magazine in her Face and it says something like "Boyfriends Sperm is better than any Skincare" and then Yn ask Carl and yk smut🤪🤪🤪

you scrape the dirt under your nails as the unexpected pain runs through your body and you recoil back onto enids bed

"fuck! I forgot how sharp my nails have gotten" you mumble to the girl who's on the floor of the bed, but she just throws a nail clipper behind her back as it lands on the mountain of plush blankets

"thanks..." you mumble, expecting this normal girls' day would consist of a lot more than her ignoring you as you stumble around

"so, what were you saying?" her voice rips you out of your whining and you roll onto your stomach, putting your nails out in front of your face as you line the metal clipper with them before hearing a satisfying snap

"I know the world ended..." you jokingly start and she feeds you with a snort

"but I'm really pissed about my face wash" you confessed, another snap coming from your clippers as you move to the next hand

"what's wrong with it?"

"there's nothing to be wrong with it. it's just an empty bottle" you giggle as you clip the last nail before folding it and sitting up, you tap it against enids shoulder and your eyes move to the paper spread out on her legs

"Top ten skincare tricks of 2010?" you snort as she turns around, grabbing the forgotten clipper as you stare stars into the magazine she's gripping

you assumed she's been reading one of her comics this whole time, not pages with possible answers to your all your problems!

paper smacking your nose brought you back as the magazine slid down your face, cover on display as it lays on her fleece bed

"Boyfriends Sperm is better than any Skincare?" you gape, the model on the cover who's on her knees while a white liquid spurts onto her face. this wasn't a skincare magazine...this was a fucking porno

"Enid! what the hell!" you fall back, laughing as she nonchalantly grabs the magazine back, flipping to the page she was already at

"yeah, and I heard it's true" "from where? the fucking walkers?" you say in between your laughs

"it lists the benefits here, if you ever want to try with carl" she tosses it at you with the familiar page screaming at you

"ok, ok, Top ten Skincare Tricks of 2010..." you bit your knuckle to stop your laughing as you begin the list

"use boyfriend's sperm for...baby soft skin-" you couldn't stop your laughing as enid joins, again, snatching the magazine from you when your grip on it looked a little too tight

"don't rip this shit!" she says between her giggles, stomach aching from laughing as you sit up

"whatever, I'm using the hand soap instead of that, any day"

that entire conversation rings in your head as carl kisses down your neck in the shower, his hands traveling down your body as the boiling water meets with your skin

his dick rutting into your thigh softly as he begs for friction, your hands move down as your grip it with ease. his cock stood tall as veins shot out at his pearly tip gleamed with pre

you moved down, knees meeting with the wet tile as you squeezed your legs together, feeling your wetness run down your thigh as your cunt ached

"Carl..." you started, you looked up at him as you stroked his cock,

"do you think you can give me a facial?" you ask, you watch as his brows furrowed and face reddening, dick twitching in your hands at the thought of shooting his cum on your face

"w-what I-" "I read somewhere it's really beneficial for my skin" you spoke as you took him in, lips wrapped around his cock as the plush walls of your warm mouth sucked him in

"fuck" his head fell back onto the tile as your head bobbed, his fingers wrapped around your hair, not to guide you, just to encourage what a mess you're already making of him

your hand reached over to cup one of his balls squeezing softly as he squirms from the touch

"fuck! where did you- learn this!" Page 89 you internally snort to yourself as he endlessly moaned, you felt his cock twitch in your throat as you removed him from your mouth, jerking him above your face as you look up at him

once you heard the words "I'm cumming!" leave his mouth you closed your eyes as his warm cum squirted on your pretty face, baby batter spreading on your features as you knelt there with a cum-soaked face

you felt his fingers soothingly rub on your cheeks, collecting his own semen but he didn't mind as he asked you "do you want me to wash this off?"

"they said to wait as least 3 minutes"

"what?" "what."

an: wow I love this request! this was so fun to write and made my day! thank you so much for requesting this!! ❤︎ ilysm <33

[hryniewiecki]

Hi, this is how I made Jinx's chomper grenade, so (maybe) you could (hopefully) make one too (in case you'll ever want to)

With a lot of cardboard and some more paper!

I. GATHER REFERENCE PICTURES I used mostly fanmade 3D models and one or two screenshots from the actual show - that's why my chomper isn't exactly show accurate. I was trying not to go too hard on myself (for a change), so I didn't care about accuracy that much - do as you please.

For gathering refs I use Pinterest and Twitter accounts that share high quality screenshots (eg. this one).

II. PLAN OUT (the hardest part) Time to use refs to sketch the chomper - I started with a rough sketch to get familiar with the structure and all it's elements, to help me better understand how to build it. It was done keeping in mind estimated measurements I was going for (highly recommend using checkered paper), but keep in mind a 2D representation won't fully translate into 3D, so it wouldn't turn out the exact same.

When I was done with the rough sketch, I made a second, cleaner one (in pencil), this time to measure things more exact. Then constructed the "target board" you can see above it. It's representing all the "layers" - the cylinders that once stuck on top of each other would make the grenade - so I know how to space them out. It's basically a top view of the grenade without it's jaws.

III. MATERIALS, TOOLS and how I work with paper (important) List of the most important stuff: - different types of paper* - wood glue and/or any good paper glue - paper masking tape (or any that can be easily removed) - acrylic paints - compass (the one for drawing circles) - hobby knife / exacto knife / box cutter - hot glue gun (optional, but makes things easier) - air dry clay (optional)

*I used 4 types: - magazine paper (super thin, I used supermarket flyers) - cardboard packaging paper (from rice, cookies etc., rather thin but a lot more sturdy than regular paper, easily bendable) - super sturdy cardboard (still looks thin, but it's so hard it breaks easily when bend too hard) - corrugated cardboard (thick, but can be squished to be thinner; a pain to cut with scissors - recommend to use a knife)

Tips for working with paper: - scratch the shiny, printed side of the cardboard packaging to make it easier to glue (you can also try to gently peel it off, but it's not always possible) - another gluing tip: use masking tape or clippers to hold elements together before the glue starts to work, otherwise you may have to hold them in your hands and wait forever - if the paper is thin enough, curl it up to fit before gluing it onto a rounded surface (I mean something like this, except I just press it against a table and not my finger; it can be done with any tool really - scissors, ruler, pencil, edge of the table etc.) - the magazine paper can be used like a sculpting medium (bent, twisted, crumpled into balls etc.) to fill any empty spaces and even things out - I used it to make a "beveled edge" on two of the cylindrical parts, that's why they're covered in colorful stripes

IV. CONSTRUCTION (best part) Time to build some cylinders (how exciting!). I started with the tall middle one. Do I have to explain it? Just remember to add the details (the "bars", aka two layers of cardboard packaging paper spaced evenly) to it before you glue all the parts together.

For the thinner cylinders I simply glued circles of corrugated cardboard together, then covered the sides with a strip of cardboard packaging paper bent to shape. Depending on how tall the cylinder is, one can cut out two circles (top and bottom part), then sandwich (glue) some more scraps inbetween and cover the sides.

Now onto the two tricky parts: 1) Bottom I cut a ring out of the sturdiest cardboard I had and built an armature on top of it. It was then covered with magazine paper strips dipped in glue to create a half-sphere (basically paper mache). I filled it with even more crumpled paper to help hold the shape.

To make those funky "bolts" I scruffed each of those parts a bit a the bottom by cutting about 5 mm into them, so the paper would bend inwards allowing it to better fit the uneven surface. Then glued on the caps (this is when I run out of patience, filled the "bolts" with hot glue, placed random scraps on top of each one and then cut them into shape ..whatever works).

When you have everything assembled and it doesn't look the best, you can use more magazine paper to try to fill any gaps. Even better if you have air dry clay (that's what I used to even the half-sphere a bit). It's great for smoothing out the transition between parts if mistakes were made. If you want to make it super smooth you can use sanding paper.

2) Chompers (most important) I planned out the jaws on checkered paper, constructing the shape by following the lines or making diagonals, so it would be easy to replicate and make adjustments (super easy to measure).

It was then traced and cut out of cardboard packaging paper. I connected each part using masking tape to shape it into a jaw and check if it fits the grenade - after some adjustments were made I glued everything in place.

I wanted the jaws to be thick, so up to three additional layers of corrugated cardboard were cut out and glued on the inside of the initial "sculpt" - this allowed me to carve the eyes through the first layer.

V. PAINTING (suffering) general tips, because I'm not an expert - I used acrylics and started with painting everything black, then color and simple shading, then highlights (thin, bright lines on the edges), and paint splatters at the very end - the layering allowed me to later scratch some of the paint off to add more texture - follow your refs closely, you can even pic colors of off them (using a graphic software or any color picker online) to hint what to mix (eg. the jaws had a greenish/blue tint, so I mixed a bit of green paint with black and white)

- more on that note: just try not to use only black and white (that's what I did on my first try, when I forgot how painting works) - on the final version even the bottom part (which may seem plain black) has a drop of red or brown added; the highlights are not purely white either - it takes a lot of time and requires angelic patience (took me 2 days); take a break if you get too angry or frustrated

And I think that's it!

It's my first time trying to explain stuff and I wasn't sure how much detail to include, so if anything's unclear or missing I'll update the post. Feel free to ask and point out stuff, I'll be happy to help!

Good luck have fun

[moni-logues]

The First Cut

Pairing: Bangchan x reader (she/her)

Genre: strangers to not quite lovers lol, single parent! reader, hairdresser!Chan

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: Your son needs a haircut and has hated every hairdresser he's ever met. Until he meets Chris. You grow a soft spot for him, too.

Content: literally none to warn for. this shit is as SFW as it gets lmao I use 'Chris' for Chan throughout.

* * *

To say you were nervous would be an understatement. You had to remind yourself, again and again, to relax your grip on your tiny boy’s shoulders; you didn’t want him to feel your stress. You knew he was stressed enough already. You both were. 

The last time you had attempted this left you both in tears, but your friend had sworn up and down that Chris would be different. That he would work some kind of magic on your son so that, not only would his hair be cut, but he would not be traumatised by the experience.  

Or re-traumatised. 

And you wouldn’t be either. 

“Hi, Lucas? My name is Chris!” 

For some reason, you had expected him to be the older guy you had seen walking in and out from the back room—something about years of experience and wisdom that made you assume it would be age that gave him his skills—but this Chris was young, with a bright smile and dimpled cheeks. He sank to a squat in front of your son and held out his hand.  

Lucas clung tighter to his Transformers toy. Chris didn’t seem to mind. He simply nodded, still smiling, and then directed his eyes at you.  

Something unlocked. Loosened. It was certainly a friendly face. A trustworthy face. You took a deep breath and decided to believe that this could work. You realised that he had spoken to your son first, not to you. That he hadn’t, in fact, spoken to you at all. The other hairdressers and barbers you’d been to had barely acknowledged Lucas at all.  

Maybe this would be different. 

“Alright, Lucas, I’m going to cut your hair today, mate! Does that sound good?” 

Lucas looked back at you with eyes, saucer-wide. You gave him an encouraging nod and he turned back, but didn’t answer. 

“If you can follow me to this chair here,” Chris continued, unperturbed, spinning a chair around from a mirror for Lucas to sit in, “then we can talk about what we want to do.” 

Lucas climbed carefully into the seat. So far, so good. But they’d got this far last time. 

“Ok, first thing, buddy: do you want a drink?” 

Lucas shook his head. 

“What about your mum? Does she want a drink?” 

It took you a second to realise he was asking you and you similarly declined. You hovered, anxiously, near Lucas’s elbow, trying to keep your stress from radiating outwards. Trying and failing.  

“Wow, your mum looks pretty nervous, huh?” Chris asked Lucas, as he had directed all his speech so far. “What do you say Mum sits down in this chair?”  

Without breaking eye contact in the mirror, Chris reached out and pulled the chair at the station next to him closer.  

“There, now your mum can sit and relax, just like you—right, buddy?” 

Chris’s chatter was charming; there was something hypnotic in the way he rabbitted on, always smiling, not minding that Lucas stayed mute, that he clung to his hard, plastic toy like a life raft.  

You had told him on the phone that Lucas had never had a haircut before. Not because you hadn’t tried, but because he had a meltdown every time. Because he didn’t want anything near his head, because people kept trying to use clippers on him and he hated the noise, the feel of the vibrations against his skull. It was a problem anyway but it had become an even bigger one, as each failed attempt made Lucas worse; you hadn’t been able to brush his hair for over a week. He wouldn’t let you.  

It had been over five minutes but Chris still hadn’t touched Lucas’s hair. He had taken a seat on his other side and was flicking through magazines, showing hair models to Lucas, talking about their styles, the cuts, the products. You could see that Lucas felt it, too: Chris’s calming influence; the sense he gave that you were the most important people in the room; his patience, which it didn’t seem like you were trying. You let yourself unclench a little. 

Eventually, Lucas picked a hairstyle. You cringed when you realised just how much hair was going to have to come off to achieve it. Your heart thumped in your chest when Chris shook out a gown and Lucas would have to let go of Optimus Prime to slip his arms through the sleeves. 

“Don’t worry!” Chris chirped. “These arm holes are so big, I bet you can fit ’im right through!” 

He could. Lucas barely had to let one hand leave plastic in order to get the gown on. You braced yourself, tensing again: Chris was reaching for a comb and scissors. You saw Lucas tense, too: saw his watchful eyes follow the instruments in Chris’s hands carefully.  

“Ok, Lucas, like we talked about, this hairstyle is much shorter than your hair, right? So I’m going to have to cut a lot of it off. Is that ok?” 

You started. No one had asked that before. No one had even asked Lucas what he wanted. They’d asked you. How short do you want it? What are you going for? All questions for you, not for him.  

Until now.  

You met Lucas’s gaze in the mirror and gave him a smile—a genuine one, not a forced grimace of faked encouragement. His eyes flicked to Chris’s and he nodded.  

“Perfect.” 

Chris didn’t start by combing Lucas’s hair. You were grateful for that, knowing that it was tangled and knotted and any attempt at smoothing it would’ve hurt, would’ve made Lucas run for the hills (or at least out the door). He picked up a section, held it between his fingers, and chopped.  

“There you go, mate!” he said, dropping the chestnut brown locks onto the surface in front of Lucas. “That’s your first cut! How was that? Was that ok?” 

“Yes,” Lucas replied, keeping his head studiously still, and his voice almost inaudibly quiet.  

“Great! Can I cut some more?” 

“Yes.” 

And so it continued. Chris was careful and considerate and his hands worked softly over Lucas’s bird’s nest of hair. He checked in before he did something new: touched Lucas’s ears to cut behind them, brought out a comb to rake through his newly shortened tresses, brushed over the back of Lucas’s neck to remove the cut hairs.  

You wondered how long it was taking, refusing to look anywhere but at your son’s miraculous face—he was smiling now, too, looking at himself in the mirror with a cheeky, toothy grin. 

“Mama!” he cried, when Chris had finished. “I did it!” 

You choked on a sob and held back your tears as you celebrated with him. He was such a perfect little boy and now he looked like it, too. Smart, clean, soft.  

Chris had him jump up and remove his gown; he brushed more hair from his neck and face, which you were amazed he tolerated. He held his hand up for a fist bump and your mouth gaped when Lucas actually returned it. Then he direct Lucas back to the waiting area with Optimus Prime and a hair magazine and turned to you. 

“Oh my god, thank you,” you said, your words coming out in a rush, catching at the end on tears. “I... I had no idea it could be that easy.” 

You imagined Chris’s cheeks must hurt, the way his smile never left his face.  

“People forget that kids are people too, y’know?” he said with a shrug. “Talk to them like real people and they’ll respond, right? I’m not about forcing anyone to do what they don’t want to, whether you’re 3, 30, or 300.” 

“Get a lot of 300-year-olds in, do you?” 

“Oh yeah, all the time!” 

You laughed, giddy with relief, and looked past him to see Lucas, not playing with Optimus Prime, but looking at himself in the mirror, brushing his hand over his hair.  

“Seriously,” you began, turning back to Chris, “I can’t thank you enough. I thought I’d never find anyone who could do it and I knew I couldn’t do it myself.” 

“Yeah, no problem! Any time!” 

You tried to tip him 100% and he refused. You tried to tip 75% and he refused. He somehow negotiated you down to almost nothing but the promise that you would return.  

* 

And return you did. More frequently, to start with, to get Lucas over the fear of it, to get him used to the hairdryer and having his hair washed at the sink. Then, less often, but probably more often than strictly necessary, because you couldn’t stay away.  

It wasn’t just that he looked like that (though he absolutely did), it was everything else about him, too. Silly jokes, crinkly smile, the way you felt as though you’d trust him completely, with anything—with the most important person in your life, your son. He started talking to you more, too much, if you asked Lucas, who frequently grew bored waiting for your conversations to finish after his haircut.  

You hadn’t been doing the dating thing since your split with Lucas’s dad. Told yourself you didn’t have the time, which wasn’t untrue, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.  

You hadn’t wanted to attempt it. You were a parent; you had baggage, that most dread of all things. Lucas wasn’t baggage to you, but you knew men would see him that way and you weren’t prepared to face that.  

Sometimes you felt like Chris was happier to see Lucas than to see you. Then he would turn around and blast you with his blazing grin and you’d think, maybe not, but he certainly didn’t see him as a burden, as an obstacle. As anything less than the little guy that he was.  

You wanted him to ask. You didn’t want to risk it, not only the rejection but the loss of Lucas’s hairdresser, the loss of one of his favourite humans, which Chris had become. So he had to ask you. You wondered if he ever would, if he even wanted to.  

 

“Y’know, I’ve wanted to get my hands on you for a long time,” Chris said, fingers deep in your hair. 

“Oh?” you asked with a nervous laugh, eyes flying open to see only the salon’s ceiling while Chris grabbed the showerhead to rinse shampoo from your hair. 

“Yeah, you’ve got beautiful hair!” 

“Beautiful hair...” you replied, musing. “So beautiful that you desperately wanted to change it?” 

Chris chuckled. 

“Who said anything about desperate?” 

You imagined that he winked. You couldn’t see him so would never know for sure, but you could see it in your mind’s eye. Then could hear the little shy chuckle that always accompanied any line that even bordered on flirtatious.  

“I did,” you replied, all the bolder for not being able to see him.  

He answered with a little hum as he wrung out the ends of your hair with a towel.  

* 

“You do have beautiful hair, y’know,” Chris repeated, sitting behind you on a stool, cutting off all your dead, split ends. “Just needed a bit of TLC.” 

You scoffed before you could stop yourself. 

“Yeah, the rest of me could do with a bit of that, too.” 

Couldn’t stop yourself saying that, either. 

“Yeah, I get that.” 

“Yeah, I’m looking pretty haggard these days, but I was cute once, I think.” 

Chris sat up straight, scissors poised in his fingers but no longer cutting. 

“That’s not what I meant at all.” 

His eyes met yours and, of course, you were the first to look away, couldn’t face seeing yourself as he might see you—as you wanted him to, as you didn’t want him to, as you ‘really’ were (whatever that was)? No one had looked at you like that, not for a long time. 

The moment passed and Chris carried on with your cut. By the time he had finished, you felt like a new woman. Looked a bit like one, too.  

“Wow,” you breathed, running your fingers through hair—able to run your fingers through it for the first time in months—feeling how soft and silky it was, seeing it shine under the horrid, fluorescent lights of the salon.  

“See? Beautiful.” 

You felt sure he felt it. He had to, didn’t he? It wasn’t just you?  

Your butterflies swarmed as you stood and walked with Chris to the reception desk.  

“You’re coming in with Lucas next week, right?” he asked, flicking through the diary. 

“Yep. How much do I owe you for this one?” 

Chris lifted his head and grinned, something glinting in his eye. 

“One dinner.”  

[latibvles]

keep me pretty.

another prompt fill for the bomber girls — using kinship from the prompt list, here's something that takes place during episode one, before the girls make their appearance at Bucky's little send-off before he heads over to England, featuring the baby of the group: one Carrie Hughes :)

—

For the first time in a long time, the barracks is quiet.

And rarely was it ever quiet, especially on a Friday night. Not when there was a bar to go to and enough reasons to celebrate: this time, their Air Executive was crossing the pond, and soon, they’d be doing that too. Greenland, and then Europe — the idea of actually seeing combat suddenly seemed less slim then it once had. They’re all dressed for it too, in their Class As, jackets cast to the side for the moment but soon to be donned with their silver wings and respective insignias. Still, the barracks is quiet and June Cielinski is sitting on her footlocker and staring at the door, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees.

“This is stupid,” Carrie declares impulsively, the first to break up this tentative quiet. A couple eyes land on her, June’s included, and the latter rolls her eyes.

“You’re more than welcome to head out on your own, Hughes.” Carrie puffs out her cheeks, breaking away from June’s piercing stare to divert her attention towards Harrie’s empty cot.

“Then I’d just be stuck waiting for the bus forever,” she points out in a smaller voice. It’s a flimsy excuse, which is really just code for I don’t want to go alone. No one faults her for it, but it does elicit a handful of laughs from some of the older girls. Through her periphery, she watches June toss her straw-colored hair over her shoulder and lets out a quiet sigh of relief, knowing she’s evaded a round of the bombardier’s relentless teasing, if only for a moment.

It was a piece of advice they carried with them from Des Moines. They didn’t go anywhere alone. It was safer that way, going in groups or pairs, having the extra set of eyes and hands to help avoid the trouble on base. So no, Carrie wasn’t going to wait at the station by herself and no, June didn’t actually want her to anyway. They didn’t have to say that part out loud to know it.

One day, maybe they’d laugh at their current dramatics — but right now it all felt very life-or-death, do-or-die.

No one really thought June was going to go through with it. She delivered the idea (or was it a threat?) with the same fire that she did most of her retaliatory statements. It seemed silly then, but now at least half their crew feels a little foolish for thinking it wasn’t possible for her to actually see it through.

Carrie especially, couldn’t help but think it was crazy for someone with hair as shiny and golden as June’s to cut it all off, whether if it was in retaliation or for practical reasons. Keep it off the collar, sure, they had a million different ways to do that — wrangling their hair into rolls and buns and braids had been a part of civilian life that they’d carried with them from Des Moines to Utah, Nebraska to California. Cutting it all off was extreme. More permanent. Sure, it would grow back eventually, but until it did she’d be stuck with whatever awkward phases that could arise from hacking off all that length.

Hell hath no fury like a girl who didn’t want to be on magazine covers, apparently.

Harrie opens up the door and returns to the crew, something shiny in her hands and June’s typical sour expression melts away for something more gracious.

“Got ‘em! Here y’go, Juney,” she announces happily, handing over the clippers and a comb. “Blakely said I could just give ‘em back tomorrow.” And June nods, rummaging through her footlocker until she pulls out a small mirror and offers it up to Fern, who holds it in front of her so she could better see what she’s doing.

“Don’t cut your ear,” Carrie offers in a soft voice, and June snorts.

“Well there goes my bright idea.” But Carrie can’t help but hold her breath a bit as June brings the clippers to her own head, and there’s a heavy silence broken up only by the soft snip snip snip as pieces of June’s hair fall to the floor of the hut, like golden thread being cut from it’s spinning wheel. She uses her fingers as a guide — and while anyone outside of this hut would assume June would just hack away at herself with reckless abandon, there’s a meticulousness to the way she works. Slow and steady.

“Did you work at a salon or something, June?” Josephine asks from her own spot, curious as she watches.

“No, but my mom used to cut all our hair to save us money instead of going to a barber. Then I cut a bald spot into my hair when I was seven and she started teaching me so I wouldn’t do that again,” June pauses, giving every girl in the hut a narrow-eyed look. “...That story doesn’t leave this hut.”

The tension breaks, a small round of laughter before they lapse into side conversations, Josephine makes a promise to let Fern take powder to her face if they ever go out in England. Carrie watches, quiet, while Harrie starts talking about the state of the Nissen hut she’d just ventured into as though it was as foreign of a place as the Pacific Islands. Lorraine, who’d been watching June’s process with a quiet interest, clears her throat as she approaches.

“Could you do me next?” Straight to the point, June pauses, looks up, then nods.

“If you can tell me how the back of this thing is looking, sure.” Lorraine leans over to take a look at the back of June’s head, stares with discerning, narrowed dark eyes, before her thumb pops up and she gives an approving nod.

“No bald spots.” There’s a ghost of a smile playing at Lorraine’s lips, before she takes the seat behind June on her rack to watch. Harrie was half-leaning on Carrie by this point — enthralling her with some tale about how Brock from Just-A-Snappin had been spraying himself in cologne like his life dpeended on it, and the idea of the whole hut stinking of Old Spice has Carrie laughing to herself quietly. Still Harrie perks up upon hearing June and Lorraine’s conversation, tilting her head to one side like a curious puppy.

“You’re givin’ ‘em out, now?” She asks, almost hopeful. By now, June’s hair is effectively off her shoulders, an uneven yellow shag brushing against her jaw. She dusts off her shoulders haphazardly, content for now, and gives a bit of a shrug.

“That’s what it looks like.” Harrie presses her lips into a contemplative line, tugging at one of her light brown braids as she seemingly weighs the pros and cons, then she speaks up again.

“Y’know, one o’ ma’ pals back home says t’me that hair could get snagged on one o’ them engines if y’ain’t careful,” Harrie admits with a slight shrug. “Don’t know how true that is, but uh…”

“Better safe than sorry?” Inez, from her quiet corner of the Nissen hut finishes the thought. Harrie smiles, appreciatively, and nods in agreement.

“Uh huh. ‘Sides, I think I’d look ‘real cute with a little crop. Do me too.”

“Didn’t realize I was running a salon out of here,” June drawls, half sarcastic as she looks around. “Anybody else? Should I make you all line up? Set up a waiting room?” The other four exchange looks. Then Fern gets that grin on her face: half scheming, half earnest, as she rises only momentarily and makes her way over to Josephine.

“Josie would look great with a little bob, don’t you think?” she remarks, and they know she’s being genuine from the way she starts fussing with Josephine’s hair. The dark-haired girl makes a squeak of surprise, and then her face seems to flush in that modest sort of embarrassment. “And I need my ends cut anyway. Might as well go all the way.” Fern immediately starts taking the pins out that had held her hair in its neat bun.

June looks over at Lena, who shrugs.

“Everybody stares either way. Might as well give them something to look at.” And June then looks to Carrie on one end, Inez on the other, cocks an inquisitive brow.

“Carrie? Inez? Y’in or out?” Carrie, feeling silly, looks over to the Second Lieutenant in the corner of the Hut. It was easy to forget that Inez was four years her senior — they both had a quiet flightiness about them. And like Carrie, Inez seemed to flush under teasing as opposed to fire back or take it on the chin. She gives Carrie a smile, something small and encouraging, then turns to look at June.

“Why the hell not, make sure I’m still pretty at the end of it.” Inez offers, a joke that’s stiff but they laugh all the same. June rolls her eyes lightheartedly, then looks at Carrie.

Carrie simply nods, and she knows it’s enough, because June returns it and then sits Lorraine on her footlocker with a firm order not to move too much. She volunteers the thin sheet on top of her cot to use to keep hair off their uniforms, and goes to work on Lorraine’s pale colored hair with a steady hand and a careful eye.

Now, as opposed to quiet, their hut is busy with girls debilitating over length, how much to cut. For some it’s a big thing: Fern smiles like she’s running on adrenaline as June clips away at perfectly curled auburn locks. For Harrie, its two quick snips to both braids before June goes to make it shorter still, and Harrie voices sending the severed braids to her mother with a picture of her, the next time they get their hands on a camera. Carrie decides if she’s going to do it, might as well go all the way — and although June’s face is unreadable, she gives the girl a gentle squeeze to her shoulder. She’s going last — and after six other haircuts, she’s fairly certain she can trust June to keep her looking pretty.

The door opens though, and all their heads snap to it curiously.

Captain Savorre has simply poked her head in — it reminds Carrie of something her mom would do, a “just checking on you” posed on her tongue. It’s not that though, because their Captain opens up the door fully, does a sweeping motion as Neumann steps in. Savorre lets out a low whistle.

“Was just coming to see if there were any stragglers. Didn’t realize we were all planning on being fashionably late,” she jests, taking in the varying fresh bobs and crops that now dotted the rest of the crew. “Did I miss a meeting, or something?” She fixes her gaze on Carrie, sits on the footlocker, and June, with a piece of her hair that she’d just cut in her hands. Carrie feels her face flush pink, but she clears her throat nonetheless.

“June was cutting her hair and… and we wanted in, I guess,” she can’t help but feel small — being the last one to want to do it. Lena’s idea to give them something to stare at echoes in her head, but she knows those words wouldn’t sound right on her tongue. She could do without the staring, honestly, hadn’t been used to it when they arrived in Utah and still wasn’t used to it now. But there was something… freeing about it. Like shedding old skin and letting something fresh and new breathe. “Like a sendoff, I guess.”

“A sendoff, she says,” And it’s not mocking, the way Savorre says it, but rather with intrigue, looking over to Neumann. “Well I’d hate to be the odd woman out. What’d you think, Willie?” Carrie thinks that they might all be holding their breath now. If Neumann thought something was dumb, then she’d call it dumb.

She doesn’t do that; instead, Neumann’s face cracks into a small smile.

“There’ll be a lot less to do in the mornings.” Savorre smiles at that, then looks back to June with a nod.

“Right then, do me after Hughes, June,” and their pilot takes a seat on her own cot, shedding the jacket, and the anxiety in Carrie begins to settle as June goes back to snip-snip-snipping at her hair.

[haldenlith]

Binary Stars Ch 2

Still in prison with Uldwyn. I feel like this chapter is a little slower.

The appointment came, and he was escorted along by the usual sight: two armed guards geared up well enough that most people would think twice about attempting any funny business. Then again, he’d be the first to say he wasn’t “most people”, but that was beside the point. He had no reason to try anything. What would he gain but a few broken bones? And the promise of escape wasn’t even alluring.

There was nothing out there for him.

He sat down in the barber’s chair. Upon noticing the exact same jumpsuit as he was clad in on the barber, his muscles tensed. The FB wasn’t a particularly big guy. The red paint on his plating had worn down on the edges, revealing the gunmetal base underneath. He was busy prepping the tools of the trade, pausing to regard Uldwyn’s reflection in the unnervingly immaculate mirror. “Relax. Unlike those other idiots, I’m not interested in stabbing the biggest baddest dog in the kennel.” He held up a straight razor, inspecting it. The bright, harsh lights glinted off the well-honed edge of the blade. “Nor do I know anyone that fell victim to your regime. So quite honestly, I don’t care. I get more out of cutting your hair as opposed to your throat.” He turned to face Uldwyn. “Now, if I recall correctly from the magazine covers, you used to have quite the trendy haircut, so I imagine what I’m tending to is that shag rug on your face.�� Uldwyn nodded. “Good. That’s easy.”

Uldwyn settled more into the chair, letting the red FB put a cover on him to catch the hair, and do the necessary prep. The shaving cream was a little warm, and smelled faintly of lavender. Clearly he was on some sort of work-release program, and was content with it. His hands were practiced, and the blade glided along Uldwyn’s olive-toned skin. The man worked in silence (utter silence, given that he no longer breathed), and Uldwyn quite simply had nothing to say. It was just… easier. Uldwyn had no memories of visiting a barbershop back on Pluto, so this was a slightly new experience for him. His face was something he always tended to himself, and his old haircut was easy enough to self-manage with a good pair of clippers and some scissors. Having the ability to see behind himself certainly helped.

What he could remember, vaguely, was Mara scolding him for preening too long in front of the mirror. Not that she was much better.

When it was all said and done, Uldwyn looked at his reflection in the mirror. It was… strange. It was his face. His eyes. Even though his hair was shorter than he was accustomed to, it was still well on its way to returning to the old length. It already half covered his ears. That was his reflection, wrinkles and all. Still… part of him felt… foreign. Fragmented. He didn’t feel like himself, and there was a sliver of him that almost questioned the reflection being him.

Seeing himself in the mirror at least informed him of one thing – judging from his hair growth, he’d been there at least a month. Maybe two.

He returned to his cell with his hair still somewhat damp from the showers. As the door re-engaged behind him, Sparky appeared. He shimmered happily, doing a quick orbit around Uldwyn. “You look nice!”

“Thanks.”

“Do you feel better?” He wandered over to the bed, taking a seat.

“I guess.” He found one of those fragmented parts of him feeling sad that the barber hadn’t been so inclined to slice his jugular. It’d meant freedom from this, at least in death.

“Does your brain always do that?” Sparky asked, floating a bit closer.

“Do what?” Uldwyn inquired, arching a bushy black brow.

“Think about dying. I mean, I guess it’s nothing special. A lot of people here think like that, but it… it doesn’t make it right.” He merely grunted softly in reply to Sparky. “I mean it! No matter the reason! I like to think the world is better with people in it. Humans are nice.”

“Really?” He replied skeptically. “Even those of us that are monsters?” Sparky hummed softly.

“… I… I’m not sure. But… I know that you feel things about what you did. I can hear those feelings sometimes. And from the bits I saw, it’s true, you weren’t good or nice. I’ll acknowledge that, but – but it doesn’t mean you deserve to die or suffer eternally over it!” Another unconvinced grunt sounded from Uldwyn as he scooted back on the cot, nestling up against the wall.

“I’m afraid there are a lot of people you’ll have to convince on that one,” he replied, letting his amber eyes rest on the clock. His vision glitched momentarily. The collar that was locking down and suppressing his augments was interfering with his eyes. At least they still worked most of the time, even if the more interesting functions were suppressed. He had a while before dinner. His eyes skimmed the room. White walls of featureless biocrete and little else.

“Well I will! Just from talking with you for a bit, I don’t think you’re deserving of that, and I stand by it,” Sparky stated with conviction. Uldwyn continued examining the room idly. No seams. This must’ve been poured all at once. It had to be reinforced, no doubt. The lack of a single hairline crack was a little impressive. Then there was the doors. An interesting design. An interlocking mechanism. He could tell from the sound that something else also engaged when the pieces were finished locking together. Another piece? Bars perhaps. The engineering side of his brain buzzed as he idly analyzed the room. Not because he was planning an escape, but for lack of better to do.

The real killer of solitary confinement was the boredom.

White walls of featureless biocrete, and nothing else.

At least he had a conversation partner now, even if the little ball was suspect, and a little too optimistic. Sparky floated closer than he had up to that point, only a scant few inches from Uldwyn’s face. “You really do look a lot better clean shaven, you know. It makes you look younger!”

“I know.” He pondered the power source behind the mechanisms. The place had to be running on solar. He didn’t detect any magitek in the area, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. They could be using shielding in an attempt to hide where the main generators are. That’d be wise for avoiding –

“So what are we going to do for the rest of the day?” Sparky bobbed in the air.

“We could try staring at a wall. Riveting stuff. Or we could try having another mental breakdown. That takes up a lot time. Fantastic time waster. Ten out of ten,” Uldwyn replied sarcastically. The ball of wispy light that was Sparky’s body flattened out as he groaned.

“You don’t have to be like that, you know. I was just asking.”

“You have the luxury of flying in and out of these cells. I don’t. So, my apologies if my countenance is a little… sardonic.” The ball of light groaned again and floated around in a figure eight before settling into a spot.

“Well, you know, you look like you’re pretty fit. I’ve heard keeping active for you beings helps with mood. Maybe a little exercise wouldn’t hurt?” Sparky perked. “Oh! Or maybe you could tell me about those tattoos you have on your arm. I’ve heard that those are permanent – tattoos, that is – so they must have a story behind them if you’re willing to put them on your body permanently.” Uldwyn looked down at his right arm, and the flowing lines of black ink that wrapped around his bicep, and vanished up behind the bright orange sleeve of the prison jumpsuit.

“Contrary to popular belief, the tattoos on my arm are just… tattoos. I got them because I liked them,” he said, letting his arm fall. His shoulder quietly popped, making him wrinkle his nose. Maybe some stretches and a little calisthenics wouldn’t be such a bad idea afterall.

“Oh, really? No story or anything? Awww,” Sparky replied disappointedly. Uldwyn eyed the little ball of light for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. Without another word, he shrugged off the top part of the jumpsuit and turned to let Sparky have a good look at his back, surprising the little guy with the sight of even more tattoos. The lines of ink that ran like a river all over his shoulder and bicep flowed onto his back as well, their origin point being a large depiction of a black hole, situated right in between his shoulder blades. A pair of kestrels in flight flanked the singularity, while a small, minimalist trio of celestial bodies went down his spine – the Sun, Earth, and Pluto. “Oh! There’s more! Do these have a story?”

“Yes, these do. The black hole is meant to represent the mysteries that I have chased with my sister. We suspect that the Leyflow that cuts through Pluto might have originated from a singularity far and away, but we don’t know for sure. The kestrels are… myself and Mara, fearlessly in flight.” A soft, wry laugh escaped him. “Not even a black hole could pull us from the sky…” He trailed off, his shoulders slumping. “Or that was what I told myself,” he mumbled softly. Sparky floated closer, examining the tattoos. The wisps of light that came off of him gently tickled Uldwyn’s skin. The light was surprisingly warm against his skin. Pleasantly so.

“And these? The planets and stuff.”

Uldwyn perked, pulled briefly from his melancholy. “Oh, I’m used to that being fairly self-explanatory for people, but I guess you’re not… people. The Sun is the center of our solar system, so it’s sort of automatically an important part of my life, even as far out as Pluto. Earth is where the Exodus Green colony ship originated from, where I came from, so… It was my first home. And Pluto, that’s my second home. Well, was. I’m… I’m pretty sure I’m not welcome back there anymore.”

“You don’t know that, Uldwyn.”

“Good point. How silly of me. I’m sure everyone will just conveniently forget the things I inflicted upon them back in the beautiful Kingdom of Elusinia. They were all such tiny little things. Easily brushed aside. But it’s okay Uldwyn, you made a mistake. Yes, I’m sure that’s exactly how it will go if I ever get the chance to return. And while we’re entertaining delusions, I’m sure this whole prison deal is also a misunderstanding. Let me just get up and ask to be let out. I’m sure they’ll listen. Surely,” he dryly replied. Sparky groaned, sinking down a few inches in a degree of exhausted frustration.

“Why are you like this?”

“Stupid suggestions get sarcastic replies.”

“I’m genuinely just trying to help.” Uldwyn looked over his shoulder, back at Sparky.

“I’m still not sure you’re not another sweet lie – a lure on an angler fish just being dangled in front of me.” He returned his gaze to the white wall in front of him. “Then again, I suppose it doesn’t matter, in the end. … You do make decent company, if nothing else. Being otherwise stuck with four white walls as company isn’t particularly great, but this is my home now. I had best get used to it.” Silence settled over the two of them. Uldwyn had nothing else he wanted to waste breath on, and Sparky mulled over how to attack the situation at hand – and perhaps brace himself for more of Uldwyn’s unrelenting sass.

Eventually, with a sigh, Uldwyn turned and slipped off the bed. He took a moment to tie the arms of the jumpsuit around his waist. Lounging topless sounded like a good idea to him, given the stagnant warmth that the recycled oxygen had taken on. An unfortunate side-effect of the sun shining on the facility. Who knew how long it’d be before the end of the “day” on the Moon. He’d lost track of time while he was there. His hair was his best and perhaps only indicator.

He rolled his shoulders and took to doing some stretches. It was something to do.

If he recalled correctly, a day on the Moon lasted approximately 29 Earth-days. His eyes shifted to looking at a different part of the room as he pondered. What was that in Pluto-days? He was far more accustomed to those. The measurement of a “day” was about six Earth-days. Three days of beautiful, twinkling twilight, and then three days (and some change) of velvety foreboding night.

“Oh wow, you’re really flexible,” Sparky marveled while watching Uldwyn go through his routine of stretches. Orange eyes glanced at the little light, but he did not grace him with more sarcasm, this time.

He cocked his head to the side, eyes rolling up to look at the ceiling as he worked the math out in his head. Five Pluto days? He shrugged. He could live with that. It’s not like he could see the sun anyway, but he could certainly feel the effects on the facility. Most likely, when the night cycle started, it’d turn cold.

He leaned down and got into a handstand. At least the ceiling was high up in this place. “Oh, you have very good balance, too.” Sparky left his spot above the bed and made a slow orbit around Uldwyn. The man paid him no mind and took to doing some push-ups. “I can’t help but feel like you’re showing off, though.”

Perhaps it was equal parts boredom and putting on a show for his glowing roommate. Perhaps it was unequal parts. Still, the exercise was nice, and, well…

It was something to do.

The boredom was the real killer.

“… If you’re bored, I might be able to help with that.” Uldwyn paused, arms extended, and angled his head a bit to look generally in the direction of Sparky.

“Oh? Enlighten me.” He then resumed his push-ups.

“Weeeeeeeell, I might be able to convince the system to let you have another one of those credit thingies, aaaaaand maybe you can… get a book or something!” He lowered himself down and folded a leg under himself. Amber eyes narrowed while looking at the little light.

“So you’re telling me you could mess with that terminal this entire time, and you’re just now telling me?” Sparky’s form rippled nervously.

“Ah, well, honestly, I was afraid you’d ask me to bust you out of here, and I’m going to be really honest with you, I don’t think that’d go very well for you. Besides, messing with it doesn’t mean I can hide what I’ve done. The security here might get suspicious if we go too crazy.” Both of Uldwyn’s dark brows shot up and he inclined his head slightly. The ball wasn’t wrong. At least there was some pragmatism knocking around in… whatever he was. He drummed his fingers on the polished floor.

Escape. Funny. He’s already done that sort of thing once. At least back then he had backup and somewhere to go. Now? He’s on his own, and he’d be a dead man walking. The fact of it all hit him all over again and he couldn’t help but bitterly chuckle. Sparky floated a little closer, curious. Uldwyn eyed him once more, examining him. Perhaps he couldn’t always read his mind. How odd. He shook his head and shrugged.

“I guess a book would help pass the time.” A happy hum sounded from Sparky.

“That’s the spirit! Let me give it a shot!” The ball floated over to the panel, and shimmered as he incorporated into the wall. After a moment, the panel lit up a variety of colors, then went dark again. Another uneventful moment went by before Sparky came out of the console, shimmering back to life again. “There. Give it a shot.” Uldwyn narrowed his eyes in skepticism before getting up and sauntering over to the console. Same song, same dance. He pressed his hand to it and, eventually, the AI voice greeted him.

“Inmate #7050, what is your request?”

“Can I request a… book to read?” A pause.

“Inmate #7050, you have one enrichment credit, which is sufficient for one short novel. Would you like to spend it?” Again, both brows shot up. Well, Sparky might be real after all.

“Do I get a choice of book?”

“Negative, you have insufficient reading credits for that option.” Uldwyn scoffed. Of course they’d set it up so that it costs more to have a choice. Bastards.

“Alright. Well, yeah, I’d… I would like to spend my credit and request a novel.” Another pause.

“Affirmative. One short novel will be delivered to you alongside you nightly meal. A restriction has been placed on your account and will be lifted upon return of the book.” He tilted his head to the side.

“Can I ask what book I’m getting, or do I have to pay to know that information, too?”

“Hamlet, by William Shakespeare.” Uldwyn cast his gaze to the side, wrinkling his nose.

“The universe has a shitty sense of humor,” He mumbled. Still, it was better than nothing. He stepped away, returning to his spot in the middle of the cell. Sparky bounced in the air, quite pleased with himself.

“Well?” Uldwyn eyed the ball, pursing his lips. Sparky transitioned to doing an excited figure eight in the air. Uldwyn eventually sighed and shook his head.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” Sparky exclaimed happily. Praise! Genuine praise! And no sarcasm! He even got to witness a slow smile spread across Uldwyn’s lips as he watched the happy little entity.

“Well, if you are here to torment me or eat my soul or something, you’re doing a terrible job. BUT, one thing is for certain, you are real. It’s nice to know I’m… not hallucinating.” He popped his neck, glancing off to the side and muttering, “Again.” Sparky paused in his flight, his form rippling thoughtfully.

“Hmm, guess I’ll have to step up my game. I don’t have claws, so I can’t scratch the walls or anything. Oh! I know! I’ve witnessed other humans do this!” Uldwyn resumed his exercise as he arched up a brow, curious what his little friend was going to do. Clearing his “throat”, Sparky did a few vocal tests. “Mimimi miiiii…. And now I present to you… THIS IS THE SONG THAT NEVER ENDS! YES, IT GOES ON AND ON, MY FRIEEEEND!”

Suddenly, he found himself regretting his earlier statement. Apparently torment was a part of Sparky’s repertoire. Uldwyn groaned, rolling his eyes. “Alright! Alright, already! You made your point!”

Sparky zoomed closer to Uldwyn, continuing his song, “And they’ll continue singing it forever just because it is the song that never ends!” Uldwyn swatted at the ball, beginning to laugh.

“STOP! You little bastard!” Another futile, half-hearted swat was delivered, missing Sparky again. Sparky stopped, bobbing in the air. His companion stared up at him…

Smiling.

He’d long since lost track of time. What would normally be extremely inhumane had become bearable thanks to Sparky and his ability to rig the system. How many books had Uldwyn devoured? And the conversations were actually rather nice. Even if Sparky wasn’t human, he still had some interesting insights. Uldwyn sighed and folded his arms behind his head, lounging on the cot, staring up at the featureless ceiling.

There was still a longing there.

His eyes slid closed. His mind fixated on the warmth of his hands, the way his skin felt. The bones underneath. If he focused hard enough, he could just barely feel where bone ended and metal began, so stealthily hidden beneath the skin, reinforcing his knuckles. The gentle thrum of his pulse.

He cracked his eyes open halfway.

Intimacy. Not just sex, necessarily, just… another person. The cold isolation of the biocrete cell was getting to him. At least out there, even a fist to the gut was something. A reminder of being alive, of being real, of other people existing.

He heaved out a sigh.

“Are you okay?” Sparky inquired, floating a few inches above Uldwyn’s body. The man shook his head.

“It’s nothing.” He opened his eyes the rest of the way, focusing on Sparky.

At least he had a friend.

“Hey, you’ve rooted around in here before, but it seems like you don’t always, uh, listen in. Is that just… how it is or…?” He inquired, squinting at the ball in mild confusion. Sparky clearly wasn’t in his head right now, or he wouldn’t have asked if he was okay.

“Well, when your thoughts are really loud or buzzy, I hear them. It’s kind of like I’m – oh how do I put it – it’s like I’m sitting outside of your room or something. Like the door’s closed, and I know you’re in there, but only the loud things make it out to me. When we met, your thoughts were practically shouting. I could just storm on in right now, but… I already poked around inside without permission. It’d be rude to do that again. Well, not just rude, invasive. I’m not like that. I don’t want to be like that.” Uldwyn hummed thoughtfully, mulling the words over.

“A strange traveler, stumbling upon a strange house, stopping to listen to the odd sounds that bleed outside the walls.” He paused. ‘Thoughts were practically shouting.’ “No, not just odd sounds. Screaming. Yeah, I’d stop and investigate, too.”

“You’ve got a way with words, you know that? I wonder if they’d let you have anything to write stuff with. You should be a writer!” Uldwyn smirked, chuckling.

“Funny you say that. I used to tell stories, though my audience was normally children. Still, it was nice to have such a captive audience. The way their eyes just lit up. I didn’t get to do it much, but it was nice.”

“Too busy?” His brows knitted together as he rattled around his own mind. “Busy. Yes. Something like that,” he absently replied.

“Stop filling their heads with nonsense and stop wasting time.”

The one person in the audience he wanted to excite and captivate. But he never did.

“I don’t think it’s nothing.” His eyes refocused on Sparky, who had now drifted closer. Concern tinged his flanged voice. “Do you want to talk about it? You seem kinda distracted.” Did he want to?

Not really.

But…

“Have you ever heard of the idea that twins share a connection?”

“I’ve heard of this concept with humans, yes. It’s fascinating stuff, though from what I’ve seen, I’m not sure it’s true. Or, if it is, you guys tend to act like you don’t understand each other a lot. Humans sure do like arguing.” Like they don’t understand each other. Uldwyn huffed a soft laugh.

“Yeah, I guess that’s part of being human.” He reached out to gently poke the ball of light. It felt strange. Warm. A little prickly. Yet, at the same time, like there was nothing there at all. The light of Sparky’s form rippled.

“Oh! That’s the first time you’ve actually reached out to touch me.” Uldwyn hummed softly.

“If I let you inside the house, could you… ‘see’ what I’m thinking? It’d make explaining what’s on my mind a lot easier. Well, maybe. It’s… It’s probably a little messy up there” A little was an understatement. There were still parts of his mind that felt fuzzy. Nibbled on. Fragmented. Whoever, whatever it was that was masquerading as his sister, it was a rude house guest. Sparky floated downwards, slowly, until he landed on Uldwyn’s chest. His form rippled once again. Uldwyn breathed in, taking in the feeling. The same feeling as when he poked him, but amplified, radiating out from his form across his chest.

It wasn’t unpleasant. Just… unusual.

“You really must not be feeling great if you’re saying that. I… could ‘visit’ for a bit? How about that? I feel like it’d be weird if I suddenly started hanging out there all the time. What we have going is nice and I think you deserve at least a little privacy.”

“Yeah that’s fine. That’ll wo – wait,” Uldwyn narrowed his eyes and peered down at the little ball of light resting on his chest. “What do you mean by, ‘you really must not be feeling great if you’re saying that’?” A few jagged shapes jutted out from Sparky’s form in surprise.

He couldn’t just say ‘because you love hearing yourself talk’, and even ‘you’re very outspoken’ was dangerous, given how keen Uldwyn was at reading between the lines.

“Right, let’s get to it then,” he nervously stated, sinking and vanishing into Uldwyn. It was a strange feeling, like drinking a hot chocolate in winter and licking a battery at the same time, only he could feel it across his whole abdomen. It didn’t last long. “Don’t worry, I’m still here. It’s just easier if I’m, well, closer.” Sparky’s voice was gentler, softer,closer. Impossibly close.Even if they’d talked about it, he didn’t want to alarm Uldwyn. “Now, what’s on your mind?”

What’s on his mind?

He stared up at the ceiling again, and his thoughts drifted.

Connection.

Did they ever actually have it?

A beach of ironsand. The sun setting on the horizon, painting a violet sky with clouds of peach and orange. The ocean lapping at his feet. It was ankle deep.

A memory.

Honey brown eyes staring out at the endless ocean. Two teens dragged out to a research facility in New Zealand for… something. Whatever their mother was researching was lost. Them being there. That was vivid.

A girl of the same height stood a few feet away. Farther away. Her feet weren’t yet in the water. The wind blew through her blonde hair. She, too, stared out at the horizon.

“It’s funny. You look at the horizon and it’s just endless ocean, on and on, like there’s nothing there. But there is something out there. Other islands. Continents,” Uldwyn mused. “I know it’s an illusion and all, but imagine if it was endless? If there was just this endless stretch to explore? New islands, new worlds…” He glanced back at Mara, smiling, excited. His excitement was not mirrored, but amusement did dance in her eyes. “I heard on the news that the colony on Mars is doing really good. It’s been a decade now, I think.”

The water was warm. Inviting.

“I wonder how far we’ll go. I mean, I know we lost contact with the Neptune ship but…” He kicked at the water, splashing around playfully. “I wonder what else is out there. Oh! You remember the transmissions?! They unscrambled them apparently. They said it was Sun Tzu. Aliens! Asking about Sun Tzu!”

“Interesting that you’re excited by an alien race familiar with ‘The Art of War’, of all things,” she stated, turning her own brown eyes to him. It was the only feature they shared. They had the same eyes.

“Well… yeah I guess we should be concerned about that, but still. There’s life out there. We finally have an answer to that mystery! Maybe they’re not hostile? Maybe they’re just curious? We did send a lot of stuff out into space. Maybe we meet them and it’ll be this awesome new chapter. It reminds me of a book I read, where humanity met other aliens and formed a coalition, and protected the galaxy. They built a grand space station, so that they could all meet on equal footing, and share their knowledge with each other. Share and grow stronger together. Through their cooperative effort, they could ensure peace for all of their races, and hope for the future.” He glanced again back at Mara.

She was standing with her hands on her hips, regarding him coolly with her glowing blue eyes, lips pursed. He looked back to the kids who regarded him with wide eyes. “That’s enough stories for today. My brother has important business to attend to,” she announced. He felt his heart sink a bit. He wasn’t done, but if that’s what she wanted… The children dispersed with their chaperone, a tall woman showing them around the complex, teaching them about the history of the colony on Pluto. “I thought I’d find you here.”

“Sorry. They were talking about the Exodus project. I… figured a first hand account would be interesting. And their teacher’s telling of the history was so dry,” Uldwyn replied, brushing a lock of dark hair to the side. One of Mara’s slender brows arched up.

“That was you retelling the Exodus project?”

“Ah… well… I might’ve gotten a little off-track. But it had a purpose! It was about the inspiration behind the project. Or what I think it was, anyway. We were pushing out and studying the horizon, afterall,” he replied with a nervous laugh. Mara looked up at the statue they were standing in front of.

“Uldwyn.”

“Yes, sister?”

“Stop filling their heads with nonsense.” He orange eyes stared at her for a moment and his gaze fell. “You have far more productive things you could be doing.”

The water lapped at his knees. High-tide was coming in. He glanced back at Mara. She saw something he didn’t. He looked back out at the horizon. He saw adventure and possibility. What she saw… he wasn’t sure.

Were they looking at the same thing?

“That felt lonely,” Sparky quietly said. Uldwyn didn’t answer immediately, instead continuing to stare at the ceiling. He turned onto his side.

“I’m going to take a nap. If I don’t wake up when that AI announces dinner, wake me up, okay?”

“I can do that.”

Were they ever looking at the same thing?

[forever70s]

Clipper magazine - October 1971

[freakqueer]

shoutout to the lower surgery "ad" zine i made completely from a clipper magazine

[vintageadsmakemehappy]

1951 Pan American Airlines

[north-pole-picture-co]

The Explorer, the Vampire Woman, and the Furniture Tusslers: An Evening of Vaudeville

On November 6, 1916, the Majestic Theater in Utica, NY reopened under new management. The evening’s entertainment, proclaimed the Utica Observer, had been “selected with great care.” Topping the five-act vaudeville bill was Dr. Frederick A. Cook, self-styled discoverer of the North Pole. “It is not often that a personage of Dr. Cook’s fame and renown comes to Utica,” asserted the Observer.

In fact, this wasn’t his first visit to Utica. Cook had appeared at the Shubert Theater in September 1914, bringing his “unceasing fight” to the middle of New York State. The Observer’s correspondent didn’t take a side in the Cook vs Peary debate. However, the writer described Cook’s lecture on his polar adventures as “entertaining, educational and amusing.” The citizens of Utica, the article suggested, could hear Cook speak and judge his truthfulness themselves.

Cook’s 1916 Utica lecture was “illustrated with slides,” though it’s unclear whether or not he incorporated his film acting debut, The Truth About the Pole. Quite possibly, the Majestic was not equipped to show motion pictures. Regardless, the lecture was a hit. Throughout Cook’s engagement of November 6-8, both the matinee and evening performances were “crowded,” and the explorer “received the esteem accorded to every hero by Uticans.” Cook claimed that he went into vaudeville because it allowed him to share his story (and make his case before) the widest possible audience, and in Utica, that decision paid off.

[Theda Bara as Cigarette in Under Two Flags. Photoplay, October 1916.]

Variety was the heart and soul of vaudeville, and the other acts on the bill reflect that. Cook was the main attraction, but he had to share the spotlight with another star: Theda Bara. Bara did not appear onstage, but onscreen, in the feature film Under Two Flags. Born Theodosia Burr Goodman in Cincinnati, Ohio in 1885, Bara was a major movie star of the 1910s, famous for her femme fatale “vampire” or “vamp” roles. In Under Two Flags, she plays against type. Her character, named Cigarette, is described as sweet, sincere, and self-sacrificing. The popular film fan magazine Photoplay notes that Bara played the role with “complete success.” “No more of the snake in the parlor, the scorpion among the roses, the tarantula in the bananas,” writes reviewer Julian Johnson of Bara’s performance. “I don’t know of anyone among the film women who would have done better with the role,” he concludes. Unfortunately, modern audiences cannot appreciate Bara’s versatility as an actress. Under Two Flags, like so many other films from the silent era, is lost. Only a few production stills and reviews, like the one in Photoplay, document its plot and reception.

Aside from Bara’s film and Cook’s lecture, there were four other acts on the bill:

The Newsboys’ Sextet, presumably a musical group

“Mlle. Elimna [sic] & Co., who juggle pianos and furniture with amazing ease”

Weber and White, “classy dancers”

“The four Musical Kleisos, who present a composite of catchy music and Charlie Chaplin comedy”

The second act caught my attention, so I decided to see what I could learn about them. After a bit of trial-and-error searching, I figured out that the Utica Observer misprinted the act’s name. Its star was Elmina, her performing partner was alternately Gregoire or Gregory, and they received good reviews in the New York papers. The New-York Tribune of August 31, 1913 calls them “versatile artists” and identifies them as “the Furniture Tusslers.”

The New York Clipper of October 10, 1917 provides the following description of Mlle. Elmina and Gregory’s act—an impressive spectacle. I can see why they captivated audiences night after night.

The people of Utica, like the people of Manhattan, loved the “Furniture Tusslers,” who “might be described as a riot,” per the Observer of November 8. “One of the men trips along the aisle among the audience with a heavy leather couch balanced on his forehead. Seeing is believing.” The paper called all of the acts “entertaining and highly diverting.”

Did Cook have a chance, once his lecture was finished, to slip into the audience and take in the music, dancing, slapstick comedy, and feats of strength? What did he think of Elmina on her ladder, and Gregory with his sofa traipsing up the aisle? When he left town after the final performance, was he humming the “catchy music” of the four Kleisos? I hope he did, and he was, and that he took heart from the warm reception he received in Utica. After the headache of his disputed North Pole claim and the mudslinging that followed, I’ll bet he needed a good laugh as he continued to fight his fight.

Whether or not the vaudeville audiences believed Cook’s version of events, they were enthralled by his story, as are we all, 108 years almost to the day when he took to the stage in Utica.

[frenchcurious]

Publicité Time Magazine, Avril 1941- Packard Clipper 1941. - source Heikki Siponen.

[spicykaraage]

Tenipuri Complete Character Profile - Kaoru Kaidoh

[PROFILE]

Birthday: May 11th (Taurus)

Blood Type: B

Relatives: Father (Shibuki Kaidoh), Mother (Hozumi Kaidoh), Younger Brother (Hazue Kaidoh)

Father’s Occupation: Company Employee (banker)

Elementary School: Okutamagawa Elementary School

Middle School: Seishun Academy Junior High School

Grade & Class: Second Year | Class 2-7 | Seat 4

Club: Tennis Club (Regular, future captain)

Committee: None

Strong Subjects: English

Weak Subjects: Math, Science

Frequently Visited Spot at School: Training Room

Favorite Motto: “In for a penny, in for a pound.” ➜ “Slow and steady wins the race.” [23.5]

Daily Routines: Long distance runs, cleaning his room

Hobbies: Marathoning, collecting bandanas, rock climbing [TP]

Favorite Color: Blue

Favorite Music: Traditional Japanese instrumental music

Favorite Movie: Japanese films

Favorite Book: Japanese literature from the Meiji Era

Favorite Food: Tororo soba (zaru style), yogurt, 100% fruit juice (white peach flavor [TP])

Favorite Anniversary: Father’s Day, Mother’s Day

Preferred Type: A girl who eats food with gusto

Ideal Date Spot: Zoo (he wants to see the polar bears) ➜ “A cat café—I mean, going cycling.” [TP]

His Gift for a Special Person: Imabari towels

Where He Wants to Travel: “Nowhere.” (a magazine featuring Malta is visible in his bag)

What He Wants Most Right Now: New training equipment ➜ For Seigaku to win the national tournament again [23.5]

Dislikes: Monsters, ghosts ➜ Supernatural things, konjac [TP]

Skills Outside of Tennis: General housework (particularly cleaning and sewing [TP]), can quickly grab beans with chopsticks [TP]

Spends Allowance On: Training equipment

Routine During the World Cup: Sending postcards to his family

[DATA]

Height: 173cm ➜ 174cm [23.5]

Weight: 57kg

Shoe Size: 26.5cm

Dominant Arm: Right

Vision: 1.5 Left & Right

Play Style: Counter Puncher

Signature Moves: Snake, Boomerang Snake, Short Snake, Tornado Snake, Gyro Laser

Daily Running Distance: 25km

Favorite Brands:

Racket: HEAD (Ti.S7)

Shoes: PUMA (Cell Factor PTO634)

Fitness Test Results:

Sidesteps: 58

Shuttle Run: 140

Back Strength: 122kg

Grip Strength: 54.5kg

Backbend: 62.8cm

Seated Forward Bend: 49.6cm

50m Run: 6.74 seconds

Standing Long Jump: 224cm

Handball Throw: 33m

Endurance Run (1500m): 4:47

Overall Rating: Speed: 3 / Power: 3 / Stamina: 4.5 / Mental: 3 / Technique: 3 / Total: 16.5

Kurobe Memo: “His unyielding personality and endurance are all part of his charm. I’m sure he'll grow into bring the type of player that can strip off an opponent's control as the match goes on. His match with Tezuka was a great learning opportunity for him to stop being so reserved with others.” [RB]

[POSSESSIONS]

What’s in His Bedroom [10.5]:

TV and audio equipment // Various equipment along with a DVD player and collection of DVDs

Glass table // Used for studying, it is always clean and not a single fingerprint can be found on it

Japanese-style bed area // A spacious area in his bedroom with Japanese motifs. He uses it strictly for his bed and has a double-size futon laying out

Area for training // An area where he keeps various stretching equipment. He trains hard everyday even in his bedroom

Full-length mirror // He had bought it to check on his form, but he doesn’t use it much

What’s in His Bag [10.5]:

Bandanas // He always has two or three of them with him so he can replace one if it gets dirty

Writing supplies // He only takes notes with a ballpoint pen

Notebook

His lunch // Made in luxurious, lacquered jubako (tiered lunch boxes) and furoshiki wrapped. He also brings chopsticks and a chopstick rest with him

Sewing kit // Along with nail clippers. He always maintains his nails before practice

Handkerchief and tissues // He is particular about staying clean and tidy

Pass case

[TRIVIA]

The Prince of Tennis 10.5 Fanbook | Publication Date: 11/02/2001

He is described to have large, upturned eyes and slightly big lips

He is secretly compassionate and easily moved

He prefers girls with big eyes and who can trust him with her heart and soul

He loves yogurt and eats it to stay healthy, he particularly likes the Morinaga brand

He does a great amount of daily training, including intense strength training unbeknownst to the other members

He glares at people who approach him and exudes an aura that keeps them at bay. In reality, it is because he is nervous over his appearance and is not good at interacting with others

His hissing is a habit of how he breathes, Konomi wanted him to give off an eerie feeling by doing it

He is Konomi’s favorite member of Seigaku

He is one of few characters who wear no show socks

He wears bandanas to help motivate himself

He trained and mastered his Snake Shot after losing a rookie match in the fall when he was a first year

He will stay silent and glare when asked personal questions, he usually is not angry, however

He does not mind being called by his first name, but gets angry when people call him “viper”

His sharp, arching eyebrows are natural

His unnerving aura tends to scare off animals as well

He believes he is stronger than Momoshiro and could easily beat him

He does tennis training and long distance runs (morning and evening) even on off days

He secretly loves animals, especially cats

His personality is described as someone who is misunderstood and frightens others because of it, but is actually kind and afraid of hurting others more than anything else

Konomi describes him as “hardworking” and that he’s not just unpleasant, he’s a hard worker who happens to be unpleasant. An “I am who I am” type of character

The Prince of Tennis 20.5 Fanbook | Publication Date: 12/04/2003

He is described as stoic and tenacious, and would be suited for event planning

He has a temperament of never giving up, which gives him leadership qualities

He will go on runs even after matches

His secondary sport would be boxing

The Prince of Tennis 40.5 Fanbook | Publication Date: 12/04/2007

He tends to let his emotions overtake him and is considered a “troublemaker” because of it

He is very just, moral and will get angry when someone disrespects his teammates or rivals

He has a hard time accepting people and tends to clash with them, which puts a strain on his relations. He does however, have a strong sense of camaraderie and exhibits a cooperative nature with his friends

He is described to have a jealous side to him and has a tendency to want to control his friends and/or lovers

His daily running distance is 25km, and he will continue to run even further until he reaches his physical limits

He has been popular with the older women in the area of the national tournament. He was spotted at the shopping district surrounded by women trying to feed him

Konomi had been inspired to give him a Devil Mode from commercials of the film Spider-Man 3, depicting the titular hero wearing a dark version of his suit

The Prince of Tennis II Official Character Guide: PairPuri Vol. 3 | Publication Date: 01/04/2010

When he was injured during training, Yagyuu had given him a handkerchief and told him he could keep it

The Prince of Tennis II Official Character Guide: PairPuri Vol. 6 | Publication Date: 06/03/2011

He wants next year’s tennis club to be unbeatable and win the national tournament again, stating it would be pointless otherwise

He hates being called “viper” and even hates saying it

He does not ask his parents for gifts

When asked random questions, he becomes outwardly annoyed and frank

He is described as being a “strict” upperclassman

Konomi states he does not remember how he came up with his name, but wanted there to be a contrast between his “cute” name and “cool” face

Konomi came up with his Snake Shot since a senior member of his tennis club had used it. When Konomi had drawn his match with Ryoma, he wanted convey the power of tennis without any dialogue since he was Ryoma’s first serious opponent

Konomi is particular about drawing the shape of his mouth and under eyelashes. He wanted to make his eyes look angry and give off a sense of hunger

Konomi gradually began showing off his good side, but wants to show off the same “hunger” he had when he faced off against Tezuka

One of His School Days:

5:00am - Wakes up, goes on a run

6:00am - Breakfast (handmade soba with homemade fruits)

6:50am - Goes to school, morning practice

8:20am - Cleans the teacher’s desk, etc. for morning duties

8:40am - 1st Period: Science II (astronomy)

9:40am - 2nd Period: PE (sprints)

10:30am - Runs around the schoolyard during break

11:00am - 3rd Period: Japanese (modern Japanese)

12:00pm - 4th Period: Home Economics (sewing aprons)

12:50pm - Lunch, jubako bento (lobster with hollandaise sauce)

1:00pm - Strength training in the training room

1:20pm - 5th Period: Math II

2:20pm - 6th Period: Social Studies (civics)

4:00pm - Club activities, basic training

6:00pm - Returns home, has dinner, bathes

7:00pm - Cleans his room, irons his shirts

8:30pm - Watches the DVD “The Arctic: The Life of Polar Bears”

9:00pm - Goes on a run after training in his room

1:00am - Takes a quick shower, then goes to bed

The Prince of Tennis II Official Character Guide: PairPuri Vol. 7 | Publication Date: 07/04/2011

He and Momoshiro had found a natural hot spring near the training camp and invited Ryoma to join them

The Prince of Tennis II 10.5 Fanbook | Publication Date: 09/04/2013

He and Hiyoshi get into constant fights with Kirihara and Zaizen since the former two like going to bed early while the latter two like staying up to play video games

The Prince of Tennis II 23.5 Fanbook | Publication Date: 05/02/2018

He recently visited a family-owned candy store for the first time and was impressed by the old-fashioned sweets

The Prince of Tennis 20th Anniversary Book: Tenipuri Party | Publication Date: 08/02/2019

Since he is afraid of spirits and ghosts, when he runs at night he thinks he’s being chased by a ghost, so he doesn’t slow down

[topchubashi]

Soviet marine artist Evgeny Voishvillo (1907-1993). Tea clipper "Thermopylae". "Marine Fleet Magazine" No.8, 1981