#elliptic reply

[ryuuna]

Would you mind if I ask what coloring brush(es) you use? I've been searching for so long for a solid coloring brush on procreate 😭 (I started using procreate recently)

And if you don't wanna share I totally understand! pls just ignore me if that's the case :) thank you!!

OOP sorry for the late reply I just got back from vacation BUT here's a link to the brushes I use most!

Rugged Fill is what I use to do all my flatting with and Hard Elliptical is what I usually do all my shading with (honorary mention to soft shadows for adding my subtle gradients)

[melishade]

Damn it. Number 1?

This ask game

Autobot Anthology. Autobots make an ice skating rink for the winter.

Halloween Movies

Emblem

Lobbing

"Primus, I hate the winter," Arcee groaned, feeling her body jolt in a shiver from the chill of the snowy winds. The Survey Corps and the Autobots were currently residing at the neutral ship. They were trying to conserve energon for the larger ship, but that meant the inside of the ship had to be cold.

"We all do! It sucks!" Sasha yelled as Connie threw some snow in her face.

"We just need to get some extra stuff and we can go back to the walls," Hanji insisted.

"I call riding with Optimus!" Jean raised his hand.

"Bullshit!" Connie and Eren yelled at him.

"What?! He has a heating system! I don't want to get sick!" Jean retorted.

"We have a rotating system!" Eren reminded.

"Well, we need to make sure Optimus is feeling well rested before we return to the walls," Hanji reminded, "If he gets sick, we can't treat him, and we don't want him pushing himself!"

Hanji hollered that last part down the hall, and Optimus finally revealed himself to the others holding an empty energon cube.

"I will properly refuel." The Prime sounded a little annoyed.

"Thank you!" Hanji called out in a faux innocent manner.

Wheeljack exited the deck of the ship, holding some wires in his servos. "Isn't wintertime super popular on Earth?"

"Freezing your ass off is popular thing on Earth?" Levi deadpanned.

"Well no," Arcee explained, "Earth has this famous end of the year celebration called Christmas. Very festive. After that, there's a bunch of other winter sports. Skating was fun. We turned the base into an ice-skating rink."

"Well, that sounds more like a luxury," Mikasa declared, "We just want to survive the winter. The closest thing to fun is just playing in the snow. But nothing festive."

"Huh, maybe that's why you hate winter so much," Wheeljack proclaimed, "You guys aren't making it fun."

"Let's just go back to the Walls," Armin sighed.

"I can take some of you guys back. I have a heating system too," Wheeljack informed.

"Yes!" Connie screamed.

"Please do!" Sasha begged.

Arcee grabbed Wheeljack's arm before the Wrecker left to put the wires in the Jackhammer.

"What's up?" Wheeljack asked her.

"Do you know how to make an ice-skating rink?" Arcee asked.

"No," Wheeljack answered.

"Want to make one?" Arcee asked.

"A little bit nice for you," Wheeljack remarked.

"Honestly, they really need a break," Arcee confessed.

"Fair enough," Wheeljack shrugged, "When do you want to get started?"

==

A few days later

The Survey Corps were stunned at what they were looking at. Optimus had approached them all, proclaiming that Arcee and Wheeljack had requested their presence. When Hanji pressed the Prime on the matter, he looked rather perplexed. He had no clue what Arcee and Wheeljack had planned. They had followed the Prime through the snow, thankfully, no storm was to be had. The sky was as clear as day. When they arrived at the location, they were stunned to see a large elliptical platform of ice surrounded by a wooden railing. The ice was so smooth that they could see their reflection in it.

"Whoa!" the 104th exclaimed in excitement.

"You made it," Arcee spoke up as she walked onto the rink. The Survey Corps watched as she slid towards them with grace before slowly to a stop, almost getting some ice residue on them.

"What is all this?!" Hanji asked with giddy.

"Ice skating rink," Arcee answered, "Humans on Earth use it for fun, and the humans we knew turned the base into a rink one time. I...thought you guys could use the fun, so..."

The two-wheeler gestured to the rink before her. "Surprise."

"That is quite considerate of you," Optimus praised.

"Yep," Arcee replied curtly.

"Is it...safe?" Levi couldn't help but ask as he tapped his foot on the edge of the ice.

"Oh, Wheeljack's been testing it for the past hour," Arcee answered with a shrug.

"YEAH!" Wheeljack screamed as he slid across the ice right behind Arcee. The Survey Corps were surprised to see him, but the two-wheeler didn't bat an optic.

"Should be fine," Arcee finished, "Ice skates are over there."

Arcee pointed to a row of shoes with blades attached to the bottom of them.

"And this is going to be your first time, so the railing will be super important," Arcee proclaimed as she skated backwards to provide more space, "Ready to try it?"

"Yep!" Hanji raced towards the skates and took of their shoes as quickly as possible.

"C'mon!" Armin beckoned Mikasa and Eren to follow him, and the two obliged.

"Let's have a race!" Sasha told the others as she ran to the skates.

"I'll kick your ass!" Jean swore as he and Connie followed.

As the rest of the Survey Corps went to put on the skates, Optimus noticed that Levi was remaining put in his spot.

"Do you not wish to join them?" Optimus asked him.

"Someone needs to make sure to get them to a hospital if they get hurt," Levi answered, the Prime could tell that Levi looked a little tense.

As they finished putting on the skates, the humans stared at the ice rink with apprehension. However, it was Armin who managed to muster up the courage to be on the ice. When Armin stepped on the ice, he yelped as he slipped forward and landed on his butt.

"Ow!" Armin yelled.

"Armin, are you okay?!" Eren called out as he tried to help him up, but he ended up slipping forward and hitting the ice face first.

"HAH!" Jean cackled.

"That's what the railings are for," Arcee spoke as she kneeled down and helped both teens to their feet, "The key to this is balance, similar to the 3D gear. Balance on your heels. Back straight."

Arcee helped the two of them straighten their backs before letting them go. Armin and Eren were relieved to be standing, but...

"How do we move?" Armin asked.

"Keep your balance, and one foot in front of the other," Arcee instructed, "Small steps first. Treat it like you're walking."

Both teens followed Arcee's instructions, taking slow wobbly steps forward. Mikasa was afraid both were going to fall again and rushed onto the ice, but the Ackerman suddenly found herself gliding past the both of them and across the ice.

"How do I stop?!" Mikasa called out with worry.

"Twist your feet to the side! Opposite of the direction you're going!" Arcee called out.

Mikasa did as she was told, turning her feet perpendicular to the direction she was heading, but she still ended up losing her balance and falling onto her side.

"Mikasa!" Eren called out while Sasha was laughing.

"Okay." Hanji placed a hand under their chin before stepping onto the ice, "Balance!" Hanji yelped as they waved their arms around before holding them out to keep their balance. They then started taking small steps while keeping their arms out.

"I'm doing it!" Hanji squealed as they were slowly gliding across the ice.

"I'm just gonna stick to the railing," Connie proclaimed as he grabbed onto the wood before getting on the ice. Connie yelled as his feet kicked erratically before he was able to find his balance. He took small steps, using the railing as a way to get around the rink.

"You mastered the 3D gear. You can do this," Jean psyched himself up before stepping onto the ice. Jean let out of yell as he struggled to find his balance. He ended up bending his knees together and holding his hands out before sliding along the ice, "This is fine."

Sasha scoffed. "Amateurs." The huntress cracked her neck before getting into a sprinting position. She then started running across the ice like it was nothing before skidding to a stop next to Mikasa.

"Hi!" she greeted to the Ackerman still on the floor.

"HOW?!" Eren yelled.

"I lived next to a river I had to walk across when it was frozen to get some game when food was in short supply!" Sasha answered.

"I mean...she's technically doing it right," Arcee admitted, but was still baffled.

"There's no way," Jean deadpanned.

"She's doing it like a hockey player," Arcee explained.

"What the hell is hockey?!" Connie called out.

"Human sport!" Wheeljack called out as he slid across the ice once more.

"Where is he coming from?" Armin asked in confusion.

"I'm more than willing to provide help," Arcee offered.

"Yes, please!" Jean pleaded.

As time passed, Mikasa managed to quickly pick up on skating, gliding across the ice with practical ease. Sasha still took to running across the ice, racing Jean who was just barely managing to glide. Eren and Armin held onto each other for support, refusing to let each other go. Hanji was laughing with delight before they fell once more. Even so they struggled to get back up on their feet to try again. Connie had finally gotten off of the railing and was now getting help from Arcee on how to properly balance himself.

"See, you're getting the hang of it," Arcee complimented Connie as she let go of him and allowed him to balance on his own.

Hanji yelled as they slammed into the wooden railing, but they didn't let the pain bother them as they found themselves face to face with Levi and Optimus. "Levi, come join us on the ice!"

"No thanks." Levi turned it down.

"C'mon! It's fun!" Hanji pleaded.

"Majority of you are falling on your asses," Levi retorted, "I'm surprised no one broke anything yet."

"Does bruising count?" Hanji asked him.

"I'm not doing it," Levi declared, earning a raspberry from Hanji before they pushed themselves backwards on the ice.

"Do you really wish to miss out on this experience?" Optimus asked him.

"I don't see you on the ice," Levi shot back.

"I suppose you are right," Optimus didn't deny that. He still managed to catch glimpses of Wheeljack gliding across the ice in bursts, "Wheeljack."

The Wrecker stopped when he heard the Prime call for him.

"How much weight is the ice able to sustain?" Optimus asked him.

"Enough," Wheeljack answered, "I was able to put the Jackhammer on this thing."

"Very well." Wheeljack was surprised when Optimus stepped over the railing, being mindful of the humans, before standing on the ice.

"YAY!" Hanji cheered as they glided over to Optimus and hugged his pede.

Levi sighed in frustration. "Fuck you, Prime."

"One leg!" Wheeljack shouted as he balanced on one leg across the ice, but he ended up tripping and falling over the edge of the rink and into the snow. Optimus glided over to Wheeljack to assist the Wrecker out of the snow as Levi walked over to the last pair of skates. He forced the pair on before walking over to the ice. He stopped right along the edge and stared at his reflection before stepping onto the surface. Levi kept his hands in his pockets, but he refused to take another step and skate.

"Not even five minutes on the ice, and Mikasa's already mastered it," Jean spoke, both annoyed and amazed at the sight of Mikasa and Sasha racing one another. While Mikasa skated with grace, Sasha skated with more aggression.

"There are a few tricks I could teach you," Arcee offered.

"Like what?" Armin asked.

Arcee didn't reply and merely started to skate around the rink. Arcee started to crisscross her legs as she extended her arms out, skating backwards in a circle. In the next moment, she kicked her legs upward and tucked her arms into her chest, twirling in the air three times before landing on one pede, extending the other one out.

"Okay, we can't do that!" Jean exclaimed as everyone else was clapping at the display.

"I want to do that!" Sasha raised her hand eagerly.

"We'll do the legs first. That's the easier one," Arcee decided.

Levi watched as Arcee was beginning to teach the Survey Corps are few tricks, the humans quickly falling down trying to learn it as a result. Levi grunted when Hanji hugged him from behind before taking his hands and pulling him along the ice. Hanji noticed just how tense the Captain looked, holding onto Hanji as tight as he could.

"You're okay, Captain," Hanji reassured, "I got you."

"...yeah," Levi muttered quietly as he followed Hanji on the ice. Little by little, he let Hanji's hands go before being able to skate on his own. He almost fell a few times, but quickly caught himself before he continued skating. He noticed the way that everyone was having fun and couldn't help but feel...wonder. For the first time trying something like this, it was actually kind of nice.

(Okay. I have to work on #3. Someone asked for #49. Everything else is free game.)

[lavenoon]

Lave-san i need help i desperately need fics where the DCA does not like you initially/straight up dislikes you and avoids you. Bonus ppints for mechanic y/n

So I'll lead with the disclaimer that I crowdfunded this reply because I am a pitifully slow reader, which translates to me actually reading only very few fanfics. However, I trust my sources (from the Sleepy Cove Server <3), so I'll wholeheartedly recommend these!

First the two I have actually read:

Our Orbit is Elliptical by @sycopomp and @madame-mongoose

The Daycare Attendant is very protective of his role in the Superstar Daycare; he was made for this job, after all, and he finds it insulting that management seems to think he needs help. They insist on saddling him with human assistants, over and over, no matter how many quit. Not that he does it intentionally, of course... but if they can't handle the stress, then perhaps they aren't fit to be working with children. Hmph.

You are the new Daycare Assistant at the Superstar Daycare! Despite some reservations, you're determined to do your best and prove-- mostly to yourself-- that you deserve to be here. You're inspired by Sun and the ease with which he gets along with the children, and you hope to impress him with your go-getter attitude and unflappable confidence! (Even if both of those things are about as flimsy as construction paper...)

aka: Sun is passive-aggressive to his new assistant, whom is so determined to do a good job that they're too oblivious to notice.

Almost Human by @vilz

“I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.” ― Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis

---

You get a new job. It's a struggle.

And now the ones that make me wish I could read faster or simply have more time in the day:

Two Choices by @thelonereni

You chose this.

There was regret of course, but turning back wasn't an option anymore. You couldn't lose this new game you found yourself in, and somehow you managed to feel more and more alive the longer you played...

You have worked in sanitation since the pizzaplex opened, but that all changed when you had a bit of a mishap in the kitchen. With the only real option left being an assistant in the daycare, you decided it couldn't be worse that your previous position.

Between the surly daycare attendant, bosses breathing down your neck and the corporate overlords coming for a visit, your starting to think you make really shitty life choices.

What's The Moral Here? by @/siquieres on ao3

Your little brother is invited to a birthday party at Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex, hosted inside the Superstar Daycare. The Daycare Attendant takes a disliking towards you, or at least, that's what you think it is. Despite this and the violent nightmares of a sun god that plague you, you keep letting your brother bring you back. You keep coming back.

A sort of mean-spirited take on the Sun/Reader dynamic. Reader is often injured, intentionally or not.

What's It Called When Light Hits A Prism? by @/TooManyPsuedonyms on ao3

The PizzaPlex has been running--and the Management needs a new operator for one of their salvaged animatronics.

You are just trying to live independently, so of course, you'll take the job.

You have no idea what you're in for. Granted, you never really know what you're in for, but this can't be much different than working with regular human people… right?

And perhaps one where the DCA doesn't outright dislike Y/N, but the premise still causes tension in their dynamic (and you get mechanic Y/N!):

It's Curtains For You! by @muzzlemouths

|| “You will be befriending, then dismantling the animatronic,” he gets right to the point, “and you’ll have about a month to do it.”

You're not here to make friends. You're here to earn what you can, smile and nod with simple Yes Sirs, and keep your head down low. An open position as the Daycare Attendant's newest 'mechanic' doesn't change any of that. You're on a tight schedule with the disassembly and you can't afford to be getting attached.

But what happens when you do?

[nso-csi]

230715 oneday cafe event FA

The cafe event place was very small and packed with fans at opening Taemin greeted fans and asked "is it ok? no you can't be~ (then turning a small fan on the table toward the fans) to cool down~"  cr.

fans saying Taemin didn't take the seat prepared by the host but chose to stand throughout the cafe event so even those in the back can see him, made eye contact with each, talked and listened to them without sitting, when asked if it's not hard he said it's ok.  cr.

No birthday party since a place couldn’t be rented but Taemin will do a live on his birthday!  cr.

Mentioning the photo the composers took with Taemin a fan asked if she can anticipate Taemin's solo album coming out this year Taemin smiled and nodded. cr.

Taemin saying he'd come in his own clothes tomorrow many fans asked why he didn't come in the clothes he wore on bubble selfie "someone replied on bubble it looked like mom's..ah although mom's clothes are pretty..6~6" (a fan: it's pretty) "thanks 6v6"   cr.

• Taemin has already received his birthday gifts from his members but he didn't say what he received • Taemin went back to his parents home & his mom wished him a happy birthday already. he asked 'you are already thinking that i am not coming home on my birthday?' • Minho went to the gym with Taemin yesterday after two of them spent 2 hours signing 400 signs and Taemin said Minho was disgusting for that but Minho told him that even so they still need to do it. • the members took ballet lessons before when they were trainees and at every lesson they would jokingly go 'ah teacher, what is this ~~~~!' and the lesson got removed after the 2nd lesson. The members said that the teacher escaped.   cr.

- said he ate chicken breast sandwich for lunch - did oishkunare moe moe kyun - a fan congrats Taem’s birthday using “saenghin” (highly respectful term for birthday) Taemin said it’s 1st time he ever heard that word for him so everyone laughed - asked what 3 wishes he has: 1)b healthy 2)b happy 3)not get old - he makes sure to do aerobic exercise once a day elliptical is good for burning calories “I seek the best efficiency so try it~” - ate lamb skewers last night as reward so exercise today as punishment - to a fan who asked if she can call him oppa taemin: ? I think i am oppa 6v6 - Taemin thinks lilac is his symbolic color - Taemin went to bed at 3 am last night - asked what happened to his rosary ring he said he lost it and doesn’t know when cr.

[amoebaforce]

Cat/Mouse

Part 2 of 4 (Part 1) (Part 3) (Part 4)

After a string of bold thefts rocks the Edenite art scene, veteran hunter Nadine picks up the bounty of a lifetime. Fifty thousand credits, just to capture the elusive thief and bring her in alive. It should be an easy job... but one look at her mark tells Nadine she might have bitten off more than she can chew. On a space station full of secret dealings, dirty money, and luxurious lies, it seems even the simplest contracts are prone to complication. tags: questionable morality, some in-universe prejudice, brief description of bodily harm

In a cheap motel room, Nadine snarled at her error-ridden computer screen. Her aggravated growl pierced the early morning as she slumped back onto the stiff mattress. The hunter was on her fifth hour of decryption, and things weren’t going well. The files she’d copied from Ulu’zah’s data-chip were locked behind an asymmetric algorithm — an elliptic curve, no less — and Nadine’s little ten-year-old processor was having a hell of a time solving for the key. Without it, she couldn’t open a single file out of the hundreds she’d copied. In fact, the only thing unencrypted about this data was the name of the folder it came in: 

twig_root

Nadine stared at that title for a long time, trying to decide what it meant. Even now, as she stared at a blank white ceiling instead, she wasn’t sure what to make of it. It was probably just a generated placeholder… But then again, it could be a covert naming system, or a cryptic clue about the folder’s contents. Maybe the piece to be forged was tree-themed. Maybe it was another code, a silly phrase no one would understand except–

Ulu’zah.

The name echoed in Nadine’s ears. Memories thrummed and danced across her mind, all hazy and soft and purple. She dragged a hand down her face, but she couldn’t ignore the way her guts knotted at the thought. Even hours later, Nadine couldn’t explain why she’d acted like that. Kissing that thief was bad enough, but returning the chip? Issuing a poorly veiled challenge to her bosses and then letting her go? 

Inexplicable. 

She’d done plenty of stupid things in her time, but this definitely took the cake. And to make things worse, she was already losing the race. Nadine hadn’t even started to sift through these damn files, while Ulu’zah was probably close to the end. With that kind of head start, she was already well on her way to snatching another priceless artifact and disappearing into the ether. 

Nadine couldn’t let that happen. She snatched her data-cuff from the nightstand and made a call. The line buzzed twice, then clicked as if answered, but no one spoke. Nadine rolled her eyes. Of course.

“Xerxes,” she said sharply. “I need to call in a favor.”

A beat of silence. Then, a low chuckle rattled through the speaker.

“Obviously,” a deep voice drawled. “Why else would you call at such a scandalous hour? Certainly not to ask what I’m wearing.”

“Oh, can it, would ya? I’m in deep shit.”

“Mm. That Diralith girl gave you the runaround, didn’t she?” 

Nadine could practically hear the smug look on the bounty broker’s face. It wormed through his honey-sweet tone and right under Nadine’s skin. Xerxes always had a way of bristling her. Even the first time they met, his overblown confidence and cologne-clouded office gave Nadine a migraine. Fifteen years later, the smell of vetiver still made her woozy.

“No,” Nadine snapped. “Just– Just help me decrypt this damn data packet, would you?”

“Oh-ho,” Xerxes replied mockingly. “I should have known. Nothing but a technological conundrum could sink you so low as to call upon me for aid.”

“Shut up and help!”

With a few button-mashes, Nadine linked her cuff to her computer and gave Xerxes admin access. He could see her screen through his own now, and his giggles were muffled as he scrolled through her lines of code. 

“Where did you get this thing?” he asked.

“From the thief.”

A moment of surprised silence. 

“Is she in custody? I don’t recall getting a–”

“She slipped away,” Nadine interrupted. “Long story. Doesn’t matter. The point is, whatever’s in this packet is gonna help me net her. Maybe even the whole crew.”

She bit her lip. That wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t exactly the truth, either. And it certainly didn’t explain how she got her hands on this chip. Nadine prayed he wouldn’t press her for details; she wasn’t willing to part with the real ones. Fortunately, her moment of worry was broken by another quiet laugh.

“My, you sound so sure,” Xerxes replied, tone dangerously saccharine. He paused his scrolling, then deleted a few numbers and went back to skimming.

“I am sure,” Nadine insisted.

“Whatever you say, hot-shot. It’s all the same to me, so long as the credits transfer at the end of the day. Tell me, what do you know about Diralith culture?”

The hunter’s brow furrowed. “Oh, now it’s a pop quiz?”

“Humor me, won’t you? I am doing you a favor, after all.”

As if to prove his point, Xerxes zeroed in on another error in her coding. Nadine sighed heavily.

“Fine,” she relented. “Diralith are… creative. At least, all of the Diralith I’ve ever met. Singers, dancers, artists… even a contortionist, if you’d believe that.”

“I do.” Xerxes rewrote a command before he continued. “Would you say Ulu’zah fits within that generalization?”

You don’t wanna know, Nadine wanted to say, but there was no way he’d let that one fly.

“Yeah,” she told him instead. “I guess so. I mean, even if she’s only copying another artist’s work, her forgeries are convincing enough to pass visual inspections. That takes some skill.”

“True,” Xerxes said thoughtfully. “Are you aware of the planet Dira’s status with the Federation?”

“They’re allied, but not members. Something about their government being too unstructured to join.”

“That’s the gist of it, yes. In more precise terms, Dira is too egalitarian to meet the entrance standards. The Diralith uphold no hierarchies, subscribe to no doctrine but equity. Hell, they don’t even have a standard currency. They prefer to trade in goods or services. Kind of admirable, really — but completely incompatible with the Feds. And not just financially or politically, but philosophically, too.”

“Can you please get to the point?” Nadine said, patience wearing thin.

“My point is,” Xerxes emphasized, “no born-and-bred Diralith would leave that little utopia without a damn good reason. There’s a saying I learned in the Security Force. ‘An off-world Diralith is one of three things: a celebrity, an exile, or a criminal.���”

Nadine felt her mouth twitch into a frown. This was another of her gripes with Xerxes: his tendency to paint the universe in broad, careless strokes. He liked to think himself a great judge of character, but in truth, he was nothing of the sort. Xerxes’ tenure as a cop had merely fossilized his worldview into a rigid set of boxes, and he had accepted them as truth. He took great pains to sort people — cataloging, categorizing, and organizing them like trinkets — and his solution for ill-fitting confines was always to add another box. Never to knock down the walls.

“How do you know she’s born-and-bred?” Nadine countered. “Maybe she was born on a station, like I was.”

“Her name is Ulu’zah,” Xerxes argued. “That’s about as traditional as a Diralith name gets. It’s almost laughably old-fashioned — like naming a Terran baby ‘Maria’ or ‘John.’ Her parents were probably homeworld conservatives.”

“Okay, now you’re just making stuff up,” Nadine said flatly. “Ulu’zah might not even be her real name.”

He sighed. “Maybe, maybe not. We’ll just have to find out after you reel her in.”

Nadine felt her face twist. Xerxes’ words settled like stones in her gut. Reel her in, like a fish on a hook. Baited. Doomed. 

Was that really what she was doing?

Sure, Nadine had pulled her fair share of dirty tricks to catch a criminal — bribing underpaid staff, hacking security cameras, impersonating a mark’s clientele — but none of them had ever felt so heavy. So wrong. Why did it bother her so much, this game she had initiated? Ulu’zah was a thief, but one of scores Nadine had hunted through her career. She wasn’t even the first art thief. Absolutely nothing about this job was unique. 

Nothing but her.

Nadine shivered. Shook the thought from her mind.

“Alrighty,” Xerxes chirped. “Should be fixed now.”

Nadine’s eyes sliced to the screen, where her boss was typing the final characters of an execution command. She held her breath, but miraculously, the code began to run, complete with a newly added progress bar.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Xerxes said, sounding sickeningly proud of himself. “Not an error message in sight.”

“Yes, yes, real impressive,” Nadine sighed. “Thanks a bunch. Now get lost.”

The broker uttered an exaggerating gasp. 

“All that hard work to open these files, and you think I’m going to leave before I get to see what’s in them? Not on your life, Nadine.”

She gave a weary groan, weighing her options. She could hang up on him and revoke his admin privileges, but knowing Xerxes, he’d just call back until she gave in and answered. Or worse: hack his way straight back in. And it would be such a hassle to update her firewalls. Nadine pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

“Whatever,” she told him. “Just don’t start back-seat driving, okay?”

“I would never.”

Nadine fought the urge to scoff. The program ran and ran, until the bar was full and a wholly decrypted spread of files unfolded before her eyes. Not that the process actually helped much — every thumbnail image was blank, each title a random collection of numbers and letters. No two files seemed to be the same size, and there was no rhyme or reason to their organization. There were photos, videos, text files, digital information in formats Nadine had never even heard of, all strewn together as if they’d been selected at random. 

Another snarl fell from Nadine’s lips. She’d just have to open them all individually.

“How exciting,” Xerxes remarked. “I do love a good scavenger hunt.” 

And so it went. Nadine combed through a desert of data, sorting by type before scouring each pile systematically. Nearly half the files were entirely, utterly random: furniture instruction manuals, scanned storybook illustrations, dozens of travel brochures, pictures of strange landscapes and monuments, and years-old news articles that seemed to be about everything except crime. Another large chunk was simply empty — blank text documents, mostly, with the occasional image of a blank void. 

She pressed on, sequestering every nonsensical clump of ones and zeroes she found, until the simulated sun dawned over Eden and washed the sterile white walls with gold and pink. Then, on the three hundred sixty-first file, Nadine stumbled upon her smoking gun.

Upon first glance, it was just another “vacation” style photo. A pristine courtyard made of metal, surrounded by sleek white structures. A tall, multi-tiered fountain stood in center frame, while the edges of the shot were full of plants and bustling people. Entirely normal. But as she made to file it away, two separate realizations sent alarm bells ringing in Nadine’s sleep-deprived mind. 

First: she recognized the destination in the photo. She’d walked past that fountain every day in university; she’d know it anywhere. This was Honore Square, in the center of Eden’s East Lawn. The arts district.

Second: for the first time in any photo she’d scrolled through, there was someone looking at the camera.

The figure was small and slightly out of focus, but there it was, right beside the base of the water feature. A Terran male clad in black, identity obscured by a wide-brimmed hat and a pair of sunglasses. A half-moon smile peaked over his tall collar. His left hand was shoved into a pocket, but his right hovered in the air beside him, flashing a two-fingered peace sign right into the lens. 

“Holy shit,” Nadine whispered.

“What?” Xerxes asked suddenly. Nadine’s heart skipped a beat — the broker had been silent for so long, she’d almost forgotten he was there.

“Look,” she told him, fingers fumbling to zoom in. “This picture was taken on Eden! And wouldn’t you say that’s a weird outfit for sight-seeing?”

Xerxes hummed as he studied the male. “Unless he is allergic to the sun… I suppose it is, yes.”

“This has to mean something.”

“Perhaps. But what?”

“Maybe it’s another drop,” Nadine guessed. She swallowed hard. “Or a meeting.”

“Hm… Arranging a drop via touristic photography… It’s plausible, I admit. Though it doesn’t account for the peace sign. Unless he wants her to come unarmed.”

Xerxes giggled at his own quip, but Nadine’s mind was racing too fast to appreciate the humor. 

“It’s the time,” she concluded aloud. “Two — probably two in the morning. That’s the only thing that makes sense. He’s giving her a time and place.”

“It’s past five now,” Xerxes said. “We’ve missed it.”

Nadine shook her head, as if he could see it. 

“He means tomorrow. It was just after one in the morning when I copied this packet from the chip. There’s no way Ulu could have seen this message and made it to the fountain in less than an hour.”

Xerxes paused. “…Ulu?”

Fuck!

Nadine cringed at herself, covering her screwed-up eyes with one palm. “It’s how she introduced herself,” she admitted, having nothing better-sounding to say.

Xerxes laughed hard enough to clip the audio on their voice call.

“Oh, shit,” he wheezed through his glee. “Say no more. Save it all for the in-person report I’m gonna make you give me.” 

Nadine swore under her breath, suddenly regretting her “long story” comment from earlier. But this was a bridge for later crossing — right now, she had to focus on these damned files. 

Ignoring the snickering male, Nadine copied the photo to her hard drive and kept looking. Five more documents joined it in quick succession, and after another long hour of study and tense conversation, Nadine had everything she needed.  

“Well, Xerxes,” she said firmly, “it’s been real. I owe you one.”

“I look forward to calling that in,” Xerxes chuckled back. “You’d better get some sleep, though. You’ve an appointment to keep.”

Long after the death of the day, Nadine slipped into a narrow maintenance corridor and come to rest in a deep column of shadow. Honore Square stretched out before her, vast and eerily still, save for the bubble of the fountain and the gentle sway of leaves. She didn’t see a single soul on the way here. The East Lawn’s art galleries and theaters were long since shut, and the sky overhead was too ominous to invite late-night walks. Viscous gray clouds swirled as if stirred in a cauldron, perfuming the air with the thick scent of incoming rain.

It was almost too quiet. A breeze rose goosebumps on Nadine’s neck as she pulled her jacket tighter. 

The calm before the storm, she thought dryly. 

Somewhere in the distance, a clock proclaimed the three-quarter hour, its resonant toll rolling softly across the plaza. Nadine’s skin pebbled with anticipation. Fifteen more minutes, and she’d find out if her meeting theory was correct. What if she was wrong? What if she misinterpreted those files? Focused on the wrong details? 

Nadine pushed her thoughts away like buzzing gnats. 

Concentrate!

She inhaled. Exhaled. Tucked herself against the wall, letting darkness cocoon her from view. A few long minutes passed. Then, the sound of far-off footsteps rang out through the night, shattering the moment like a mirror. 

Nadine froze. Small feet. Stiletto heels. Coming closer, closer, until a sudden movement drew the hunter’s eye to the other side of the square. A pair of golden pumps strode out of the gloom, followed by a pair of lilac legs and a tight ivory dress. Ulu’zah’s face was last to catch the low white light of the street lamp. When it did, she took a long glance up and down the courtyard, and her lips glistened dragonfruit-pink.

Ten minutes early, Nadine noted. Casing the place? 

Ulu’zah stalked toward the fountain with determined grace. Unlike before, she carried a bag — a cloth tote slung over her shoulder, full and heavy-looking. A spike of panic prickled up Nadine’s spine. That couldn’t be the forgery, could it? It had only been a day — even the highest-end matter replicators couldn’t work that fast. Not on something like this…

The thief took a seat at the base of the fountain and plunged her hands into her bag. Nadine inched forward, slow as a snail, angling her head to get a better look. Instead of a priceless-looking artifact, though, Ulu’zah produced a thick spiral-bound notebook and a thin rectangular box. She flipped to a middle page and set it on her lap, then snapped open the case. Inside were… pens? Pencils? Something like that. There must have been dozens, all arranged by color from light to dark. 

Nadine’s fear morphed to curiosity. She watched, hardly blinking, as Ulu’zah plucked out a deep gray and began to etch a few languid lines into the page on her lap. From this distance, in this darkness, it was impossible for Nadine to see her work — but she didn’t have to. The sound of graphite on paper scratched its way to the hunter’s ears, and she knew. Ulu’zah was composing a sketch.

Maybe the sketch.

Ulu’zah was still drawing when the clock tolled two, and the first clang seemed to jolt her from a trance. She slammed her notebook closed and shoved her pencil back in its box. Her head swiveled, casting her gaze toward the back corner of the square. Nadine followed suit. At first, there was nothing. A sea of black. Then, at the edge of the light, a dark-clothed Terran male materialized like a specter.

It was the same person from the photo. Same hat, same coat, even the same glasses, despite the hour. Nadine’s hairs rose on end. Though he wasn’t there for her, she couldn’t help but dread the sight of him. And it wasn’t just his looks, but his calculated moves. The way he prowled to the fountain, tight and panther-like. The way he circled Ulu’zah once, twice, before settling into place before her. All of it was unsettling. Under the weight of his gaze, the thief stiffened. 

The male spoke first. No words reached Nadine’s ears, but she could see his thin lips part. Ulu’zah replied with a furrowed brow, then crossed her arms when he shook his head. The thief snapped. She launched into a rant, and the back-and-forth barbs grew louder and louder, until the gargle of noise sharpened into syllables and words. 

“–ridiculous!” Ulu’zah hissed.

“Pipe down,” the male commanded, jutting a thick finger at the space between her eyes. 

Nadine bristled. Who the fuck did he think he was, talking to her like that? He certainly wasn’t in charge — unless Ulu’zah’s big scary boss did his own errands. Nadine doubted it. No, this sorry punk was a lackey, through and through. He just liked pushing females around when no one was looking. 

But someone was looking. The hunter bared her teeth at the male. Committed his side profile to memory. 

His conversation with the thief continued, quieter and tauter than before. Another angry finger point, and Ulu’zah stood, fisting the handles of her bag as if it were a weapon. Maybe with all her art supplies inside, it was — like a brick in a sock.

“Get a grip,” Ulu’zah told him, loud and clear. 

It was the same stern tone she’d used on that oaf at the club. All rejection and disgust. She turned to leave, but the male grabbed her by the wrist and tugged. Ulu’zah let out a quiet yelp as her body wrenched backward. Her hand flexed open on instinct, and her bag tumbled from her grip, vomiting its contents across the ground with a loud clatter. 

Anger seared through Nadine’s veins. Her every muscle coiled with baleful ferocity. Plan be damned; she wasn’t about to sit there and watch this happen. But before she could leave her hiding place, Nadine watched Ulu’zah’s face twist into something sharper, and the hunter stopped dead in her tracks. Eyes thrown wide, lips curled to snarl, nostrils flaring. Not the passive acceptance of a condemned lamb, but the wild rage of a cornered wolf.

In one quick motion, Ulu’zah clamped her free hand around the male’s thumb and wrenched it backward, breaking his grip with an audible crack. Nadine winced. He barked with pain and anger alike, curses bouncing through the square. 

“You bitch!” he seethed, hand cradled to his chest. 

“I told you I would,” Ulu’zah spat back.

“Rock’s gonna tan your hide for this!”

Ulu’zah offered a condescending coo. “Aw, gonna run home to Daddy? Gonna tell him I was mean to you? Get real!”

The male gave an indignant snort. He muttered a threat under his breath, too low for Nadine to hear, and turned. His gaze dropped, teeth grinding, to the sketchbook by his feet. The females might as well have read his mind. 

Ulu’zah sucked in a hissing breath. “Web, I swear to–”

But her oath was cut short by the crunch of plastic under rubber. The male called Web cracked the cover with his heel, then kicked it away. Papers flew like confetti from the broken spine. Ulu’zah cried out, lifting her palms to the sky. 

“One week,” Web said over his shoulder. “That’s final.”

He stormed away, disappearing into the night. Quiet fell once more. For a long moment, all was still, as if the whole universe was holding its breath. Then, Ulu’zah’s shoulders began to quiver. She swayed. Fell to her knees. Small, half-swallowed sobs trickled like water into Nadine’s ears. The hunter’s heart clenched in her chest. As if released from a spell, her motionless body shivered back to life. Nadine stepped out of the alley, divorcing herself from the shadows. 

Her feather-soft footfall made Ulu’zah start, head snapping upward. When their eyes met, a thousand emotions danced across the Diralith’s face. Surprise, confusion, realization. Then fear, then anger. The impulse to run. Nadine held up her hands and turned them wordlessly, showing Ulu’zah their emptiness. Above them, a bolt of lightning raced cloud-to-cloud, and under its flash, Ulu’zah’s tears glistened like mercury. 

“I should have known,” Ulu’zah said finally. “You were never gonna let it go.”

Nadine tucked her chin, looking at the pages scattered around her feet. Stunningly realistic sketches, the lot. Faces, flowers, buildings, household objects, anatomy studies, color experiments. All composed of thin, elegant lines, shaded with precise crosshatches. It was the kind of work Nadine had seen in frames, selling for thousands of credits. Millions.

“Sorry, baby,” Nadine replied. 

They were the truest words she’d said in days. Ulu’zah wiped her face and sat back on her heels, looking even smaller than usual. 

“If it makes you feel better,” Nadine offered, “you definitely broke that fella’s thumb.” 

Ulu’zah emitted a shocked laugh, but her brows knitted. “Yeah, well… He’s had it coming for a while.”

“I can tell.” Thunder rumbled through the sky. “What d’ya owe them?”

After a few offended blinks, the thief huffed and crossed her arms. “How did you know?” she demanded. 

Nadine shrugged. “Young lady like you — beautiful, talented, full of potential — sticking your neck out, doing business with shady scumbags… Call it an educated guess.” 

“Point taken,” Ulu’zah huffed. “But why do you care?”

“I just think it’s a shame.”

“I don’t care what you think.”

“That’s fine. You don’t gotta. But when shit hits the fan, and your luck runs out on the job, it’s not gonna be your boss who takes the fall. And someone like you wouldn’t do well in Federation prison.”

“Stop it,” Ulu’zah said. “Stop acting like you know me. You might’ve read a file, looked at some pictures, but you don’t know the first thing about where I come from, what I’ve done.”

“I know that you don’t deserve this,” Nadine countered, gesturing to the carnage around them. She snatched a random page off the ground. “To be belittled and disrespected. Your work exploited.”

“And what would you have me do? Hm? Tell him the deal’s off, after he just moved up the deadline? I only have a week. I’m supposed to have two!” 

Her voice cracked, and tears welled fresh in her eyes. Nadine felt something deep in her soul twinge. Another crash of lightning and swell of thunder, and the simulated clouds opened up. The scattered pages began to speckle with drops of rain.

“Shit!” Ulu’zah swore, scrambling to save her work.

Nadine sprang into action. She snagged the broken bindings and gathered handfuls of paper, then joined Ulu’zah and sprinted under a nearby awning as the sprinkle turned to a downpour. They exchanged a glance, then another. Ulu’zah cleared her throat, eyeing the slightly haphazard stack in Nadine’s calloused fingers.

“I need that back,” she said pointedly.

Nadine offered it up. “Let me help you.”

“Help me?” Ulu’zah scoffed, still stuffing everything back in her bag. “Yeah, right.”

“Don’t you want to leave?”

“You don’t get it. It doesn’t matter what I want. These are scary, fucked-up people, Nadine.”

The sound of her own name felt like a splash of cold water. “What would it take?” she pressed, taking a step closer. “How much? Humor me, Ulu.”

Ulu’zah’s mouth twitched into a grimace. She scanned Nadine’s face a half-dozen times.

“I’m half a million deep,” she confessed quickly. “And even if you could pay it, he’d probably kill you before he let me go.”

Nadine’s heartbeat thudded in her ears. Half a million? What the hell kind of trouble had this Diralith gotten herself into? And more importantly, who the hell was rich enough to lend her that kind of money? As Nadine’s mind raced, Ulu’zah finished packing her things.

“I have to go,” the thief muttered, eyes to the floor.

She took a slinking step back, but Nadine reached out for her to wait. 

“Just think about it, okay?” the hunter begged.

Ulu’zah bit her lip. Turned on her heel. “No promises,” she whispered. 

Then, she vanished around the corner, footsteps dissolving into the sound of the driving rain. Once more, Nadine was abandoned to the wee hours of morning. The hunter sighed long and slow. A dull impulse carried her forward, out from the refuge of the eves and into the storm. She lifted her head to the sky, eyes closed, accepting each cool, heavy raindrop that broke across her face. It was foolish to hope the water would cleanse her, as if it might seep into her very soul and scrub away the ache that lingered in its fibers. But still, Nadine hoped.

[ofdusk]

✧ ⁺ - @laruarva asked:

[ Lucky Charms ] "Ah, yes, you two! The pair of siblings!" The pair of what. If the merchant had not been peering so uncomfortably intense into their eyes, Arval would have simply moved on with their evening without the slightest thought. Except the attention was quite evidently on them. Reds scanned the space around them till the source of the confusion made itself evidence, an individual with inhumanity in her elliptical pupils and the points of her ears, crimson as unsettling as their own. Upon a flicker of their gaze, one could argue their outfits bore resemblances, with the corsets and the billowed sleeves. What a coincidence. What a coincidence that would be such a shame to go to waste. Arval was not a wasteful person. "Is there something you are in need of?" All nonchalance was their question, a subtle confirmation of the false assumption. "These charms would just be a lovely set for two siblings. The colour of the crystals even matches your eyes!" A sale, then. When Arval turned to their dear sister, it was with an impish gleam in their eyes and lips curled catlike. To an outsider, it could almost appear as the playful nature of a younger sibling, to the two of them it was blatant amusement found in the misunderstanding. The ruse was left in her hands, now, whether she wished to stutter out clarifications or slink into the role presented to her.

She expects entirely to turn and be greeted by a giggling Elise, a simpering Camilla.

She sees neither, met instead by the gaze of a stranger, but she understands the resemblance rather quickly. Lips part, take shape to begin a hurried explanation for the poor, confused merchant, but she does not speak.

They are smiling at her, this stranger, and she feels her own creep unbidden across her cheeks. A little game-- a dishonest one, but hardly harmful-- Corrin decides she doesn't mind playing.

"How kind of you to notice!" Comes her chirp of a reply, glittering eyes returning to the offered charms as though they are the most interesting thing she has ever seen. They are quite pretty-- dainty things, likely handcrafted, with crimson centers that shine in the room's candlelight.

"I suppose it is too perfect a chance to pass," she says finally, nodding as a handful of coins is retrieved from her pocket. The exchange is quick, charms deposited into her hastily emptied palms, and the merchant tips their hat before disappearing in pursuit of their next sale.

With a giggle, Corrin extends one of the pair to her newly acquired sibling.

"It would be a shame to forget such a meeting, hm? What better a way to remember it by!" Her own charm, once the other has been taken, is fastened to the linen of her collar. "There. Oh! And you may call me Corrin."

[scorchedthesnake]

December 7, 2011

This is when Chapter 2 begins. Gossip Girl had aired; the Halloween parties and the Vanity Fair shoot had let the world know this was a scene. Neil Patrick Harris had raved on Regis and Kelly. The run was no longer extending in short fits and spurts. And original cast began to move on and new residents arrived. Some had trickled in: William Popp and Tony Bordonaro had come in in the late summer and fall. But tonight, I would learn, was the debut of many, many new faces.

As it happened, I was celebrating my 32nd birthday (my original blog said 31st, but come on, do the math). Friends gathered at Manderley with elaborate and themed gifts; a bottle of absinthe I wouldn’t finish until 2022; a journal crafted from my show notes. Banquo had been my first infatuation in the show, but I had pretty quickly moved on the Malcolm, and the journal told the tale of that new fascination.

But the new cast that night included a triumvirate of extraordinary women: Lily Ockwell (Sexy Witch), Haylee Nichele (Lady Macduff), and Chelsea Bonosky (Agnes). 

As I wrote at the time… Chelsea immediately took my breath away. And somehow I didn’t put together that when she picked me for the 1:1, it was her first one ever. We would revisit this moment numerous times over the years. Once, she pulled me in and said: people are being awful tonight, can we just sit for a minute? And most poignantly on her final night as a regular resident, when she would insist on an elliptical structure for our journey together in the building. 

Other highlights of the night: Haylee’s Lady Macduff, whose 1:1 I saw on her final pick. I had been with her at the start of the show and watched as her very first pick *declined her hand,* and she later told me the audience member she picked after that had to be ejected. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to learn these scenes, harbor the confidence to pick someone, and have two mishaps like that one after the other. 

Ben Thys as Malcolm. It was a golden age of handsome Malcolms with Ben and Will sharing the role. Many years later I’d have the good fortune to see Ben’s final Malcolm loop and be part of an audience that all choked up when he chose Will for his last 1:1. 

Tony Bordonaro as Banquo! It was not his premiere night, but it was my first time seeing him. In the very small universe we inhabit, I’d been told to look forward to this performance. Matt, in his final acting gig ever, had managed to land a small role on One Life to Live as a high schooler going to the prom (he was 30 already I think?) - and the other two boys in the posse were So You Think You Can Dance’s Neil Haskell (a fellow Western New Yorker)… and Tony.

Later, in Manderley, came John’s component of my birthday gift: an introduction to Maxine Doyle. He indicated I’d seen the show a fair few times, and she said, so what do you think of the new cast? I replied they were all wonderful and brilliant! And then she said, don’t patronize me, tell me what you really thought. So I tried my best to give some even notes on things that had felt off (but truly, the people I had followed closely, were in fact wonderful and brilliant!). I was moderately terrified but also in awe of her seriousness.

This was the final normal show of 2011 for me. The New Year’s Eve that followed was a massive, massive party and full of dramatic hijinks to kick off 2012, the year we all lost our minds. (sorry, work blew up and I am behind, I had hoped to reach Remixed 1 by today in honor of Remixed 2 but it will not happen. Enjoy Remixed 2!)

[spiced-wine-fic]

Thursbitch

Thursbitch is a novel by Alan Garner, and also a real place on the moors that he visited when he was young. This visit put down the roots of the novel. There is a marker there to one John Turner

HERE JOHN TURNER WAS CAST AWAY IN A HEAVY SNOW STORM IN THE NIGHT IN OR ABOUT THE YEAR 1755”. And on the other side “THE PRINT OF A WOMANS SHOE WAS FOUND BY HIS SIDE WERE [sic] HE LAY DEAD. Alan Garner:

‘John Turner lived at Saltersford Hall, where his father was a tenant farmer. He was born in 1706 and became a packman, or jagger, with a train of four horses.

On Christmas Eve, 1735, (that is, when John was twenty-nine), he was on his way back from Northwich. It was snowing. But packmen were used to being on the road in all weathers and at all hours. They knew the hills better than anyone. They took no risks. Jaggers were looked on as boundary-striders, as Grendel is described in Beowulf, wild men, wodwose, as in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. They belonged more to the hills than to the valleys. Yet on that Christmas Eve, John Turner did not reach home. The next morning he was found dead, though his team of horses survived, covered by drifts. And by him, on the white, wind-smoothed land, was the single print of a woman's shoe in the snow.’

The elements are Old English þyrs and bæch: “demon”; “valley”. “Thursbitch” is first recorded in 1384, a time when names were descriptive only. This was no Romantic conceit. For the people of those hills in the fourteenth century that valley was frequented by a þyrs: a demon.’

Alan Garner: Mr. X is my most sensitive, yet most elliptical, informant. A straight question never brings a straight reply. His replies are clues for me to follow; and only when I come back with an answer will he deliver another. I've been tested by an examiner who hopes that I'll discover what has been lost; and I'm not at all sure that his behaviour is conscious. As he stepped into the yard, he said over his shoulder, “What's wrong with this valley, Alan? What's wrong?” And closed the door. On another of my visits to the house, Mr. X opened the door to go. He paused, and said, “They never should have buried that baby in Thursbitch.” The Silk Museum at Macclesfield invited me to give a lecture of my own choosing. Afterwards, there were questions, then the audience departed. I noticed that a man was hanging back. When no one else was left, he approached. He was late middle-aged, neatly dressed and groomed; indeed, without deprecation, dapper. He said he'd been relieved by what I'd said about John Turner. He revealed that, from his qualifying as a GP in 1948 until his recent retirement, his practice had been the hill country to the northeast of Macclesfield. He'd never been happy with Saltersford, and always dreaded (his word) a night call there. 

In 1999, I telephoned the vicar. Despite the twenty-six year gap, he remembered me. I told him that I now had a clearer picture of Saltersford and that there were some questions I'd like to have his opinion on. I asked him for his thoughts on Thursbitch; and I am now speaking from my notes made during the conversation. He said that he had no personal experience of the place, because he'd never been there. He said that, at his induction in 1972, his Church Wardens had told him that it would not be safe for “a man of the cloth” to enter the valley. One of them had said that he himself never went there, because it was “not a healthy part”. The vicar followed the advice because he respected the men who had given it. He also said that the people of Saltersford think of it as “no good place”, “not right”, “not safe’;. He explained that this attitude was spiritual, and said, “I wouldn't like to go up myself. I think the valley needs feeding.”

I wanted to put the phone down, but the vicar reported another incident. The people had told him that, in 1985, Thursbitch was filled with what they termed and he did not question “a lot of electrical magic”. I went to see Mr. Y, a farmer born and reared at Saltersford Hall, the home of John Turner. I needed permission to drive along the western ridge of Thursbitch. He said that he wanted me down by dusk and he wanted me to let him know that I was down. I thought that Mr. Y had no high opinion of my ability to drive a Land Rover. But he continued. “You see.” Pause. “There isn't a farmer in all these hills around.” Pause. “As will open his door after dark.” Pause. “Not even to cross the yard.” Pause. “Without he's got his gun.” “Not that it would be of any use.” “But it makes you feel better.” “Somehow.”

[hazelenergy]

✖

Memory Meme Past experiences help shape who we are currently, how we see the world. Send in a symbol and I’ll write a drabble of one of my muse’s memories. 

~A repressed memory

Mary was meticulous. Hazel watched as her newly adoptive sire was assembling some sort of apparatus. Occasionally Mary barked orders to bring her things, and her Childer would obediently or absentmindedly go get them. Well, almost all of them. Solomon didn't make it back from Elysium after staring down the Prince. Hazel didn't know if he was alive. She barely knew the man, but, the thought that the three of them didn't all get out of that vampire hors d'oeuvres party sickened her stomach.

"Hazel, get me that --" she said pointing at a book on a nearby table. Hazel's mind goes blank and robotically moved her body towards the table. Consciousness returns and she confusedly turns to Mary, wondering when the book got into her hands.

"Bring it here."

Again, the mind quiets, and when the lights come back on, Hazel is standing next to Mary, holding open the book to a page with a diagram of whatever Mary was assembling.

Hazel's focus turns towards the strange apparatus. The entire thing was a series thin, glass lenses layered on top of one another. At the top, the lenses were large, elliptical disks. Towards the bottom, they were teeny, concave circles. Each disk has a silvery lining on its edge, with red symbols etched every few centimeters.

Hazel was admiring the unrecognizable red symbols when the first bout of drowsiness hit her. The sun was coming up again. Breaths were getting shallow and harsh. She hasn't learned that the morning would steal her effortless life yet, she'd have to make an effort if she wanted to stay awake.

Mary didn't look tired. She looked paler. Purplish blue veins could be seen just below her skin, with cold vitae frozen in place. The morning made sure that any facade of life was gone.

"Sit."

Hazel placed herself on a stool, with her back towards the lenses.

"Do not move."

Mary flicked her wrists and the red runes on the silver rings began to glow hot like red coals. The rings turned and focused the lenses into a beam of concentrated dawn's first light. Noticing the perfect circle, Mary muttered curses under her breath as she gingerly adjusted the final lens. She was careful to not let any of the rays touch her skin. There, now the light was cut off, into a half circle.

"Are we done yet?" Hazel choked out. Her heart was slowly beating slower and slower and could feel the warmth snapping from her fingers. Her body was rigid and didn't want to move. It was like cement. This was awful, she thought to herself, how on earth did Tommy and Solomon deal with this the past few nights?

Mary cleared her throat before replying, "Not quite. Do you remember the first thing we discussed?"

"Don't tell people about vampires--"

"Do not break the masquerade. That includes being seen while feeding, failure to conceal your strengths and abilities, and openly telling others what you are."

She paused as if for a breath, but there was none. Her voice had always been stern, but now it was like ice.

"Do you know what the punishment is for violating the masquerade?"

Hazel swallowed hard, a reflex that revealed how dry her throat was.

"They'll kill us?"

"Then you understand that what is about to happen is considered a mercy, by our kind," she added. "But, the masquerade was not the first rule we discussed."

She walked over to face Hazel, with hands now stained red. Blood oozed from beneath her fingernails and dripped down her palms. Each trail of vitae formed a perfect equidistant curve from the next trail, and wrapped down her forearms.

"The first thing we discussed was: I am responsible for your messes. Your fuck ups are my fuck ups. And I do not tolerate fuck ups."

The next thing Hazel can parse together is her skin bubbling and bursting under the beam of light and the smell of burnt flesh. She couldn't move. Her mind could not tell her body to slide even an inch out of the burning sunlight. Screams were choked down with cups of watered down vitae, oh so generously supplied by her new sire.

For the longest time, Hazel could only recall Mary gently cradling her face as her thinned vitae worked to repair and cover the charring on her back. She was told she did a beautiful job and that it was remarkable how fast the thinblooded vitae worked to heal.

It was almost a full year after receiving her brand that she was able to see through the manipulative facade of the Tremere witch. And even then, there are many details still missing.

[melsie-sims2]

“What happened to your TV and couch?!” Erin said in surprise when she walked through the door of her boyfriend’s house.

“We got a burglar last night. He also stole Rhett’s elliptical,” Hannah replied with a heavy sigh. “He’s at the store by the way. I’m guessing you’re here for him?” she added.

“Oh! Okay, well, I can hang out with you if you don’t mind a bit of company,.. By the way, you’re glowing! When is the baby due?” Erin said.

“A few more hours to go,” Hannah told her.

“And, uh, is it weird if I ask who the father is?” Erin asked.

“No, not weird at all. I get it,” Hannah chuckled. “It’s Lazlo. I did hook up with Theo a while back but it’s been way too long for the math to add up. Other than that, it’s only been Lazlo,” she continued to explain.

“Well, good for you two! That kid is gonna luck out with the genetics! You’re both so hot!” Erin grinned.

“Thanks... I guess?” Hannah laughed.

[givereadersahug]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💙

I'm going to cheat and answer the asks but with a different theme for each one, since I can't choose and self-love, baby! 🤭

Theme: SK8 the Infinity fics ~ over 3k

Weekends Away at the Beach | Matchablossom | G | 3.5k

"We have no projects, and you have no calligraphy lessons. I'm taking you to the beach. You can complain all you want, but you are going." Kaoru leveled his eyes at Kojiro, mulling over the proposed getaway. "You're paying for food." "Don't I always?" asked Kojiro, winking. For the MatchaBlossom Reverse Bang 2023.

Cherry Blossoms | Matchablossom | G | 3.4k

"Cherry blossoms are pink and white." Kojiro had made his way back and took the purple kimono from Kaoru's hands. "You mean pink." "They start out as white and then they blossom to a gorgeous pink," Kojiro had said, his breath minty fresh. His arms wrapped around Kaoru's waist, and he buried his head into Kaoru's floral scented hair. "I love how you flush red every time I pull you in for a kiss. Your pale skin turns into a gorgeous shade of pink. My own personal cherry blossom." For the Matchablossom Flash Reverse Bang.

Leave the Light on for Me | Loveblossom | E | 4.2k

"Boring," said Ainosuke, gliding over to Langa. He tilted Langa's chin up so their gaze could meet. "Skating is about winning, taking your opponents in your hands and crushing them." Langa's eyebrows furrowed. "Who will meet you at the finish line?" There was only one person who ever met Ainosuke at the finish line, but he hadn't seen him in years. Young Ainosuke Shindo meets a strange man one evening after his mother died. Kitsune AU. For the Cherry Blossom Reverse Bang.

Devotion & Intricacies | Matchablossom

I consider them sister fics. One is a remix of the other.

Devotion's summary

Kojiro wants to know Kaoru's stance on them adopting kids. It's time for a long overdue conversation.

Intricacies's summary

Kojiro thinks he know everything about Kaoru, him learning the ins and outs of all things Kaoru since he was five. However, Kaoru continues to surprise him.

And the seven drabbles I written for Kaoru Week 2023.

Day #1 - Not Having to Ask | Matchablossom | G | 937 Day #2 - Elliptical Orbit | Matchablossom | T | 1.1k Day #3 - Indulgence | Matchablossom | T | 986 Day #4 - Throwback | Loveblossom | T | 770 Day #5 - Affections | Matchablossom | G | 475 Day #6 - Seaside Vacation | Matchablossom | G | 537 Day #7 - Spring | Matchablossom | G | 1.2k

The other asks: Drabbles featuring Severus Snape (Non-Snarry) Series

[dustedmagazine]

Maxine Funke — River Said (Disciples)

River Said by maxine funke

Maxine Funke has been making hushed and lovely songs with guitar and voice for more than a decade. Her songs are the dictionary definition of “less is more.” She strips elusive imagery to pencil-drawn simplicity. A whisper carries soft melodies over translucent lattices of acoustic picking, so that both voice and guitar nestle gently in your ear. And yet these songs are far from slight or ephemeral. They grow gnarly roots in your subconscious slyly and before you’ve really noticed it. Said Doug Mosurock in Dusted of the 2012 disc, Felt, “This is one of those records you’ll have a hard time shaking.”

This latest missive delivers the soft but faintly disturbing songs you’ve come to expect from Funke on one side and some intriguing long-form instrumental play on the other. The two halves of River Said are different but complementary, both water-pure reflections of the natural world (and an adjacent spiritual world), but in different timbres.

The song structured side starts with “Willow White,” a murmured beauty of soft intimations and fluid picking, a serene and bucolic piece with ghosts in the shadows. “A trifle early is the spring/whisper willow whispering,” Funke intones in lucid simplicity, conjuring a riverbank world in sunshine. Yet there are darker, fairy tale elements hovering in the margins, sleepwalkers and nightmare wakers and power lines droning overhead like a beast. Beauty coexists with unsettling archetypes. Later, “River Said,” unleashes eddies and swirls of guitar sound that seem to mimic the motion of water running downhill. An elliptical sketch of a picnic takes shape. Bottles are uncorked, beer is sipped, feet are dabbled in the stream. There is something so clear and simple about the song, and yet it slips in and out of focus.

These are solitary songs, and Funke sings and performs them by herself. “Call on You,” adds an overdubbed vocal counterpart, Funke answering Funke in a delicately gorgeous call and response, “I’m gonna call,” she trills, and then, fainter, like a mountain echo, comes the reply, “Call you.” The beauty of the songs comes in their purity and spareness, yet just this once, you see how ornamentation could fill them out and expand them.

Funke interspersed some instrumental intervals into Silk, layering keyboards and electronics and field recordings in abstract squiggles between verse-chorus songs. Here she explores similar un-song-like textures in two long tracks at the end of the album. You can almost smell the salt air in “Long Beach,” an extended meditation on surf and birdsong that Funke embellishes with subtle clicks and rattles of percussion and long crystalline organ tones that roll in and recede like the waves. “Oblivion” natters and scrapes with bowed tones, a cello apparently, but mussed and scratched to illegibility. Slowly a rhythm emerges in quick, overlapping swipes, and birds twitter, en masse, in the rafters. Funke adds some vocals in the second half of the cut, first intoning, then singing fragile lines about obsidian and sea lions. It is quite beautiful, in a shadowy, dream-haunted way, though you can never really get a firm grip on what it signifies.

Both the songs and the noise compositions have their merits—though I prefer the songs—and both distill natural energies into unruffled reflecting pools of sound. Both will calm you down, but also, if you let them, disturb you. These are gorgeous landscapes with sketched in trolls and demons in the margins, hard to see but showing their teeth.

Jennifer Kelly

[byneddiedingo]

Paul McCartney, George Harrison, Ringo Starr, John Lennon in A Hard Day's Night (Richard Lester, 1964) Cast: John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, Ringo Starr, Wilfred Brambell, Norman Rossington, John Junkin, Victor Spinetti, Anna Quayle, Deryck Guyler, Richard Vernon. Kenneth Haigh. Screenplay: Alun Owen. Cinematography: Gilbert Taylor. Art direction: Ray Simm.   Film editor: John Jympson. Musical director: George Martin.  In that post-Kennedy-assassination, Goldwater-haunted, Cold War summer of '64, watching John, Paul, George, and Ringo larking about at the movies allowed for a breath of optimism, a sense that youth could conquer the world. It didn't quite turn out that way. This is, of course, one of the great film musicals, packed with engaging songs. They may be more lightweight than the Beatles' later oeuvre, lifting the heart rather than stirring the imagination, but they're impossible to resist. It also slyly, cheekily makes its point about the generation the Beatles are trying to leave behind: the ineptly bullying managers, the fussy TV director, the marketing executive sure that he has a handle on What the Kids Want, the Blimpish man on the train who tells Ringo, "I fought the war for your sort." Ringo's reply: "I bet you're sorry you won." Celebrity is closing in on them, epitomized by the wonderfully elliptical dialogue in John's encounter with a woman who is sure that she recognizes him but then puts on her glasses and proclaims, "You don't look like him at all." John mutters, "She looks more like him than I do." Alun Owen's screenplay, written after hanging out with the Beatles, absorbing and borrowing their own jokes, was one of the two Oscar nominations the film received, along with George Martin's scoring. None of the songs were nominated. Neither were Richard Lester's direction, Gilbert Taylor's cinematography, or John Jympson's editing, all of which kept the film buoyant and fleet.

[sweaterkittensahoy]

I can't remember if it was Charlie or Idris who said it was like being on an elliptical for 12 hours at a time, but I DO know it was Charlie who saw Rinko looking serene and content during one of many grueling days and thought, "My god, I have to know how she's so calm."

So, he leaned over and asked, "What are you thinking about?"

To which Rinko replied, "Chocolate and teddy bears."

Actual sets were constructed for the cockpits of the Jaegers. They, along with the rig that controlled them were four stories tall and could drop fifteen feet. Guillermo del Toro described them as “a torture machine.”

Pacific Rim (2013)

[hlekani-666]

<133> 19. Atheist Republic Newsletter: A dragon, a teapot, and a spaghetti monster.

Not long ago, but when the world was still quite young, a pretty girl named Atok lived in an earthen shelter with her family. Day after day, she would get out of bed, eat, help her mother clean, cook, and take care of her brothers and sisters and then go back to bed when the sun went down. Occasionally, a predator would venture close to their humble home and they would kill it or scare it away, but that was the extent of her adventure.

Her simple life would take a dramatic change when one day, as she was starting the morning fire, the smoke from the embers took shape right before her eyes. She almost cried out, but she suddenly noticed she felt no fear. She was calm and her attention was drawn to the apparition which now looked like a large crow.

As she watched the crow with curiosity and awe, it began to speak. It told her that she would become the mother of great nations and that she would guide them toward a long, peaceful existence. After giving Atok all the instructions she would need to share with her people, the crow disappeared. Atok quickly ran to tell her mother, who laughed at her childish imagination.

But sure enough, 5 years later, Atok started her family and raised them in the ways of the crow. She started developing powers and performing miracles so everyone in the village believed. Atok never died, instead, she took the form of a crow and travels the world to this day, bestowing good fortune on her many followers around the world.

If I were to tell you this story, and assure you it is true and that you too should believe, you would probably ask me for some kind of proof. The burden of proof would be on me to provide supporting evidence for my claims. It would not be your responsibility to disprove the story, or to prove it untrue. Yet believers expect us to believe in their ideology with no evidence to support their claims. When asked for evidence many of them point out that we also have no evidence that their claims are not true. Yet, if we were to believe everything that we cannot disprove, then any unfalsifiable claim that we come up with, should we believed.

Bertrand Russell made this point by using an analogy of a celestial teapot. Russell suggested the following thought experiment to illustrate the burden of proof and falsifiability:

If I were to suggest that between the Earth and Mars there is a china teapot revolving about the sun in an elliptical orbit, nobody would be able to disprove my assertion provided I were careful to add that the teapot is too small to be revealed even by our most powerful telescopes.

But if I were to go on to say that, since my assertion cannot be disproved, it is an intolerable presumption on the part of human reason to doubt it, I should rightly be thought to be talking nonsense.

If, however, the existence of such a teapot were affirmed in ancient books, taught as the sacred truth every Sunday, and instilled into the minds of children at school, hesitation to believe in its existence would become a mark of eccentricity and entitle the doubter to the attentions of the psychiatrist in an enlightened age or of the Inquisitor in an earlier time.

Carl Sagan addressed it with his story, "The Dragon In My Garage" which is a chapter in his book, The Demon-Haunted World. . In the story, the existence of God is equated with a hypothetical assertion of a dragon living in someone's garage. Sagan described the discussion as follows:

"A fire-breathing dragon lives in my garage" Suppose I seriously make such an assertion to you. Surely you'd want to check it out, see for yourself. There have been innumerable stories of dragons over the centuries, but no real evidence. What an opportunity!

"Show me," you say. I lead you to my garage. You look inside and see a ladder, empty paint cans, an old tricycle--but no dragon.

"Where's the dragon?" you ask.

"Oh, she's right here," I reply, waving vaguely. "I neglected to mention that she's an invisible dragon."

You propose spreading flour on the floor of the garage to capture the dragon's footprints.

"Good idea," I say, "but this dragon floats in the air."

Then you'll use an infrared sensor to detect the invisible fire.

"Good idea, but the invisible fire is also heatless."

You'll spray-paint the dragon and make her visible.

"Good idea, but she's an incorporeal dragon and the paint won't stick." And so on. I counter every physical test you propose with a special explanation of why it won't work.

There is also the possibly even more widely known is the invention of the Flying Spaghetti Monster (FSM) by Bobby Henderson, the deity of the Pastafarian religion, depicted as a knot of spaghetti, two meatballs and eyes who created the world using His Noodley Appendage.

"On the seventh day of floating around infinite nothingness, after six days of rest, the FSM said, 'Let there be a Universe, or something!' And there was a Universe, or something not terribly far off. And the FSM saw that it was pretty damn good, especially the bits with a light sauce." - the Gospel of the Flying Spaghetti Monster flying spaghetti monster These are all examples of the fact that anyone, anywhere, at any time, can make a claim. They can certainly believe it strongly themselves, but others are not compelled to do so without the burden of proof being met.

Link To Original Post:

[reedreadsgreek]

1 Corinthians 6:6–8

6 ἀλλʼ ἀδελφὸς μετὰ ἀδελφοῦ κρίνεται καὶ τοῦτο ἐπὶ ἀπίστων; 7 ἤδη μὲν [οὖν] ὅλως ἥττημα ὑμῖν ἐστιν ὅτι κρίματα ἔχετε μεθʼ ἑαυτῶν. διὰ τί οὐχὶ μᾶλλον ἀδικεῖσθε; διὰ τί οὐχὶ μᾶλλον ἀποστερεῖσθε; 8 ἀλλʼ ὑμεῖς ἀδικεῖτε καὶ ἀποστερεῖτε, καὶ τοῦτο ἀδελφούς.

My translation: 

6 But a brother is judged with a brother, and this before faithless ones. 7 Already [therefore] it is wholly a loss for you that you have judicial actions with yourselves. On what account are you not rather treated unjustly? 8 On what account are you not rather deprived? 8 But you yourselves treat unjustly and you deprive, and this to brothers. 

Notes:

6:6 

This verse can be punctuated either as an (exasperated) question (so most translations) or, better, as a statement of fact. 

ἀλλά is, “Rather”, contrasting what should be (v. 5) with what is. NIV, NET, HCSB: “Instead”. 

ἀδελφὸς is the subject of the present middle/passive κρίνεται (from κρίνω); here the middle-voice is probably to be preferred: “quarrels with”. The verb is modified by the associative prepositional phrase μετὰ ἀδελφοῦ. 

τοῦτο an accusative of reference, expressing a further level to the failure (NRSV: “and before unbelievers at that”). The preposition ἐπὶ with ἀπίστων means, “before” (cf. v. 1); the adjective ἀπίστων is substantival (“unbelievers”). 

6:7 

μὲν without corresponding δέ gives emphasis to the [οὖν] which is likely original; NIGTC: “in fact”. 

ἤδη is here not temporal but logical, a ‘marker of intensification’ approaching the sense really or our colloquial ‘you see’ (BDAG). 

τό ἥττημα (2x) is, “loss” (BDAG), “defeat” (NASB, NRSV), from ἡττάομαι (3x) “I am defeated/overcome”; NIGTC, HCSB: “moral failure”. ἥττημα is the predicate nominative of the present ἐστιν (from εἰμί) which is modified by the adverb ὅλως (“wholly, entirely, completely”; see note on 5:1). ὑμῖν is a dative of disadvantage. Many translations change the noun to a verb (e.g., NIV: “you have been completely defeated”). 

ὅτι introduces a content clause which functions as the subject of ἐστιν above and what constitutes the failure (i.e., “The fact that”). κρίματα (“judgments”, which here must mean, “lawsuits”, so most translations) is the direct object of the present ἔχετε (from ἔχω) which is modified by the associative prepositional phrase μεθʼ ἑαυτῶν (“with yourselves”, which here is equivalent to μετʼ ἀλλήλων, “with one another”). 

διὰ τί is, “On what account”, i.e., “Why?” οὐχὶ indicates the question expects a positive reply. 

The verb ἀδικεῖσθε (from ἀδικέω; cf. ἄδικος in v. 1) could be a present passive (“why are you not rather wronged”), but CGT, ICC, & NIGTC take this verb and the next as middle-voice (“permit yourselves to be wronged ... defrauded”, “endure wrong ...”), which would be causative-reflexive or permissive (NIGTC). However, most translations render the verbs as passive-voice (e.g., NASB: “Why not rather be wronged? Why not rather be defrauded?”). The adverb μᾶλλον modifies the verb. 

The second διὰ τί οὐχὶ μᾶλλον functions as above. 

ἀποστερέω (6x, 3 of which in 1 Cor.) is, “rob, steal, despoil, defraud” (BDAG), an emphatic form of στερέω “I deprive” (not in NT).  ἀποστερεῖσθε is a present middle. NIV, NET, HCSB: “cheated”.  

6:8 

ἀλλά strongly contrasts the preferred situation (v. 7) with the reality (below); NASB: “On the contrary”; NIV, HCSB: “Instead”. 

ὑμεῖς is the emphatic subject of the presents ἀδικεῖτε (from ἀδικέω) and ἀποστερεῖτε (from ἀποστερέω “I deprive, defraud”; see note on v. 7). The present-tense of the verbs is iterative.  The near-demonstrative pronoun τοῦτο refers to the two above verbs. καὶ τοῦτο ἀδελφούς is elliptical for, “And you do this against your brothers.”