#moderately concerned about the various noises actually

[fridayyy-13th]

why are there so many fuckign Noises i am trying to sleep

[savagenutella46]

Standing Here With You

A valentine’s day gift for @thecaptainhelm lm. (By the way, I love you so much and you’re amazing) I hope YOU have an awesome eventful day filled with lots of love because you’re such an amazing writer and I love you!!!!!!

Also, @eat0crow , who is moderating the gift exchange! Thank you for all you’ve done!

Everyone has a soulmate. 

It's not a notable deal. Though it's something many people cherish and look forward to, it's just as much an ordinary fact as primary color mixing: that's just how the world works.

Blue and yellow mix correspond with each other to produce green; soulmate A and soulmate B each have tattoos to correspond with one another, completing either tattoo on the skin of their other half.

Marinette will be damned if she finds anyone to match her tattoo. She'd loved it as a child, sitting through boring classes with a pout and jittery knees so she could rush home and admire the strange tattoo that covered the length of her inner forearm.

But now, she couldn't find a single thing to be more ashamed about. 

Even as she moves halfway across the world from taunting bullies and mind-controlling sociopaths, the damage is done. 

Marinette Dupain-Cheng does not want a soulmate.

She does not want to disappoint, to never live up to her soulmates expectations, because, "Your soulmate wouldn't like those pigtails, Marinette." and, "How could someone want a bully like you?"

Marinette does not want to relive her lycée experience, covering her mark every chance she could get so that Lila Rossi wouldn't antagonize whoever was on the other end of her soul line.

She’d watch as other people’s—normal—soul marks started to glow, indicating the one thing soulmarks are responsible for. Marinette witnessed on the sidelines as everyone she knew and had learned to love and lose found their other half, and left her in the dark. Watching, seeing, but never to experience what it was like. To find your soulmate.

Her mark. A white rose hanging upside down at the epiphysis of her radius, petals spread wide against each other, some looked as though they were flowing freely in the air, and some looked as though they were stuck to one another.

A deep red liquid spurting out of the center, running down the limp rose and glazing its petals as it oozes from the center bottom and down the sides of her arm, creating for a unique, yet concerning mosaic upon her forearm.

"Is that blood?" They'd asked, some looking curious, and some looking downright disgusted at the mere sight of her mark. Something that was supposed to be naturally celebrated, not hated and sneered upon. They were convinced she'd be a menace to her soulmate, like soulmates were anything other than fate.

Marinette did not know if it was blood, obviously. There was no superior entity whispering to her at night, informing her of every single petal's weight in grams. Instead, it was easier to have a friend pick apart the dubious meaning of such a cryptic mark, unlike so many others, hers was not so simple.

Kagami, especially, had a great eye for these things. The meticulous thought that girl compartmentalizes for the sole topic is unbelievable at first glance. It's only when you see much more of her, do you understand why she even bothers with soulmarks.

"You wouldn't believe the meaning behind such marks, Marinette. It's only when you start to break the first barrier, do you know." Okay, so, Marinette had no such way with words as the world-class fencer, but she was pretty sure the girl was saying that marks represent people the way names represent their spices.

Salt, for example. You can just tell the flavor of salt by it’s damn name.

“You’re the epitome of innocence, Marinette,—“ Marinette begs to differ, she’s read fanfiction. “But it seems you’ve been hurt, aged more than what a white rose will represent for you. That’s where the blood paints over you, like a parasite.” Marinette furrows her eyebrows at Kagami, a reoccurring gesture that will give her wrinkles by the end of the year, she knows, but it’s Kagami.

They’re sitting in their apartment, high above the Gotham smog and litter they’ve learned to acquaint themselves with, and looking out over the city from their ratty second-hand couch.

—Because Marinette wants to live with someone who will break her finger and then call her stupid and put a cast on it for whatever reason, you feel?

Another twig, green leaves still growing out of it—though, probably not since the severance—blows by their window, spurred on by a lone gust and back down to the ground, plummeting to an unfortunately placed puddle on the pavement.

“Stop moping.” Marinette makes a face.

“I was not moping.”

“You were making that sad face you make when you see a puppy walking by itself on the street. You’re moping. Why?” Marinette huffs in annoyance, and turns to look at her friend, who’s already staring with an exasperated quirked eyebrow.

She flounders for words, making exuberant gestures with her hands as she tries not to look Kagami in the eye.

An audible exhale from the woman. “You’re worried about, what, your soulmate, for whatever reason?” 

Marinette looks down at her mark, it’s entrancing rose petals glowing brightly against her skin, almost alike to the glittery sheen of highlighter she so often brushes onto her cheekbones.

“It started glowing last night, Kagami.” Marinette worries her lip and continues to stare at the now pulsing, almost obnoxious glow of her rose, the red liquid that spurts from its center taking on a glamorous shine.

“That’s wonderful. Right?” Kagami adds, when she fails to find a response. 

It should be. She knows that. She should be joyous right now, jumping ecstatically and rejoicing at the fact that she might find her soulmate sooner than later, but the ever-impending doom of, ‘what if’ continuously pops up in her brain, muddling any chance of happiness she might’ve had.

Marinette’s psyche is aged. She’s been through things. A lot of things that most people haven’t been through. Deaths, loss of loved ones, reoccurring terrorist attacks, and so much more that puts a haunted look in her eye and a deep hunch in her shoulders. She couldn’t bear to see the look on her soulmate’s face.

Kagami seems to read her mind and makes a low noise in the back of her throat. “Let’s go to the zoo.” So spontaneous, it almost makes Marinette do a double take.

“You? Want to go to the zoo?” She stares at Kagami, the latter unwavering with a borderline determined look on her face that says, ‘Nope. No fighting me on this one.’

“Distraction.” Is all she says, and for once, Marinette agrees that, yes, maybe a distraction is in order.

The Gotham City Zoo proves to be a great distraction, in between the hippo exhibit and the jungle-themed building just for showcasing snakes, Marinette finds a rather warmth in her heart.

Marinette grins widely at the crocodiles lounging across various rocks, seemingly not a care in the world is thrown around in between her and the fenced crocodiles, and she harbors  a sort of piece standing alone. (Kagami had ditched her at the zebras for the lions.)

Distantly, she hears what sounds like two people fighting—or, bickering. 

“—over here, got bit by a crocodile.” An erupt of laughter from two different voices, one distinct with a low raspy laugh, and the other, who starts hacking nastily in the middle of it.

“Those cigarettes do not benefit you, Todd. This is not a laughable event.” A third voice juts in, and she has to turn her head, locate the source of whoever said that.

Three men, one looking younger than the other two, stand slightly to the right of her in front of the crocodile exhibit, the two older men seem to be laughing at the younger’s expense—how do you even get bitten by a crocodile? She decides to not judge. This is Gotham, after all.

And, oh.

The guy they seem to be laughing at has the brightest green eyes she’s ever seen. Ink black hair frames his face beautifully, as he sneers down at the other two. The stranger doesn’t seem to notice her stare, but it’s cut short anyway by the sudden immense throbbing of her forearm.

Marinette winces, and slowly pulls down her sleeve to see her soul mark is—

Finished. It’s glowing, glowing far more than it had been over the course of the past two days, glowing so much she can barely squint to see that buried deep in the middle of her rose, a pristine dagger.

Marinette’s eyes widen, and she can’t help but make an incoherent sound that fights its way up her throat.

A tap on her shoulder, and she turns around to see the boy she was shamelessly staring at is right in front of her, and, woah, he’s tall. Marinette cranes her head up to look at the boy who so quickly grabbed her attention.

He also has the prettiest blush on his face, his eyes darting in between her and his companions, who seem to be laughing even harder, and in the distance, she hears a crude nickname being thrown at him.

“Holy shit, Demon Brat actually has a soulmate—“ a sentence cut off by more wheezing laughter, so she turns her gaze back to the boy in front of her.

“I’m Damian, you’re...soulmate.” The last word comes out wonky, like he couldn’t believe his own words, but she understands. He’s staring at Marinette now, bright green gaze fixed so intently on her, and she can’t help but blush, herself.

“Marinette. I figured, actually, when my arm started to sting like a bitch.” She says, once her mouth finally aligns with her brain and she gets the courage to say something relevant to smart.

Damian cracks a small smile, and she finds herself following the gesture with her eyes. It’s a beautiful movement, one she can tell is foreign to him, a shame.

And she doesn’t feel jittery. More at peace, looking at the equally aged look deep in his eyes, and the mark right in the middle of her forearm, she can guess he’s been through a hell of a lot, maybe more than she has.

Marinette will spend a lifetime learning what lies behind his exterior, looking at him now.

She supposes this soulmate thing won’t be too hard, after all, even as the two men behind them keep bickering and laughing at their predicament in front of the crocodile exhibit.

[pigtownchronicles]

Chapter 1.4 - The Crow’s Nest

Dennis was left behind, as he’d expected he would be. If you’d pinned him down on it, he would have even admitted that he wanted to be abandoned, that it would confirm for him that this was somewhere he didn’t belong, and where he didn’t want to be. He sighed--Barry had promised him one drink, but he could already tell that he’d have to drag him out of here in a couple of hours. He could be such a child.

He started looking for somewhere that he could wait, preferably somewhere quiet and away from the noise of the dance floor, but most of the nooks he found were largely taken up by guys in various states of making out or full blown sex. One thing was for sure, when he was out of here, he’d be dropping an anonymous tip to the liquor control board and the health department, because none of this was acceptable to him, and everyone here should be ashamed of themselves.

Dennis had grown up the son of two doctors, with well entrenched class interests that neither had done much to examine. Dennis’ homosexuality had been a minor wrench in their family, but quickly smoothed over. An anecdote, real or not, that Barry had heard many times at many dinner parties, was that his parents would have been more scandalized by him not going to medical school, than the fact he was gay. His parents’ orthodoxy hadn’t entirely rubbed off on him, but he’d imagined that the sort of debauchery all around him now was beneath gay men, as a culture. They could get married now! They were on TV all the time. This sort of thing just wasn’t necessary, or at the very least, could be kept more discrete. He found a set of stairs leading up. They weren’t cordoned off, but no one seemed to be on the upper level that he could see. On the stairs, someone had spray painted the words “Crow’s Nest” along with an arrow pointing up. A bit curious, he climbed them and found himself on a set of narrow walkways suspended over the warehouse floor. Entirely unsafe, and most certainly another violation of some sort. He’d always kind of enjoyed being a snitch.

The view gave him a good view of the place. There was the dance floor where he was sure Barry and Samuel were still satisfying some of their baser urges. He looked around for where the hell knew where that shady fucker and the meathead had gone, but soon lost interest. He polished off the beer, and set the can off in a little cubby on the wall, and leaned over the railing by the entrance to the bar, deciding to just spend his time looking at the flow of guys coming in, as something to do.

It was after about twenty minutes, when he was contemplating going down and beginning the process of extricating Barry from the place so they could go home, that he saw a trio of younger guys enter the bar. Obviously underage--not surprising, since the bouncer didn’t seem interested in checking ID. They were looking around nervously, tittering a bit and huddling together, before they headed for the bar to get a drink. As they passed under a light, though, Barry realized that he recognized one of them--Kyle Hendricks, a son of one of their neighbors, who they paid to watch their cat, Misty, while they were on vacation.

And so, the snitch in Dennis was torn. On one hand, he loved the idea of getting someone in trouble. On the other hand, Kyle was a good kid, and he’d always taken good care of their home and Misty for them. Besides that, there was the issue of Kyle’s father. It didn’t surprise Dennis to see Kyle here--Barry and him both had sussed out the teenager’s preference rather quickly after their initial introduction. What had concerned them both, though, was the cold treatment they’d gotten from Kyle’s father ever since they’d moved in. He seemed like a garden variety homophobe. He could tolerate Dennis and Barry in his neighborhood, because at least they were respectable, but Dennis didn’t think he would be as accommodating with his own son somehow. There was also the matter of what had happened last summer, but Dennis avoided thinking about that in the moment. What was there to tell anyway? He’d offered to pay Kyle in exchange for helping with cleaning out the garage. Sure, there had been some flirting, maybe. Just some play, really. But then Kyle had kissed him, and Dennis had kissed him back, nothing more, but he was thinking about it now, he knew better than to think about it. Best to bury things like that deep down, and never tell a soul. It was safer that way.

The three young men moved deeper into the bar, and other two kids started making out, while Kyle kept drinking--classic third wheel, then. Maybe he’d come along just to keep them company. Maybe he didn’t even want to be here. The two disappeared into the dance floor not long after that, leaving Kyle alone--and Dennis felt a certain camaraderie, having been abandoned in these sorts of places often, including tonight. If he went down, he could offer him an escape hatch at least. He’d probably be thankful for it. There was no way a good kid like him wanted to be somewhere like this. Kyle finished his beer, and Dennis thought he’d probably just be a good wall flower and stay put, but he didn’t. He was looking around at the other men around, then pushed off from the table, and headed towards...well, Dennis found his theory full of holes already.

Kyle slid closer to the object of interest, a leather clad bear smoking a cigar (indoor smoking, another violation) who was easily twice his age, if not more than that. Older than Dennis, surely. The man looked Kyle over and gave him a nod, the two of them started chatting, and it wasn’t long before the man slid an arm around him and pulled Kyle closer. Dennis wracked his head, trying to remember exactly how old Kyle was. He knew Kyle was eighteen (though he’d been seventeen the summer before, but Dennis definitely wasn’t thinking about that). He was too young to know what he was getting into, what this place was, who that man was and what he was into. Finally feeling a solid moral ground, he headed down to the main floor, and pushed towards the dance floor.

The club had been only moderately packed when they’d entered, and now was beginning to feel crushing. Dennis hadn’t been this close to so many men in a very long time, but rather than exciting, it was just frustrating him. By the time he’d reached the tables around the dance floor, he saw the bear and Kyle had moved from heavy petting to kissing. Dennis walked over, grabbed Kyle by the shoulder and hauled him away from the older man. “Kyle Hendricks, what the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

Kyle’s eyes went wide in the dark, and he tried to bolt, but Dennis kept a firm grip on his upper arm.

The bear got up, “Hey man, what’s the deal, this your boy or something?”

“He’s my neighbor, and he’s underage.”

The bear laughed, “Come on man, this is Pigtown--everyone who’s here belongs here, don’t you know that? The kid came onto me, anyway. I was gonna be gentle.”

Dennis gave the bear a glare, and pulled Kyle further away from him. Kyle was a scrawny kid, with long hair that tended to fall over his eyes, something he liked to hide behind. “If you bolt, I swear to God, I will tell your dad what you were doing tonight, and where you were doing it.”

Kyle’s eyes went from startled, to legitimate terror at the threat. “Mr. Case, you--he’d fucking kill me, come on, I just...my friends wanted to come out, and I...I didn’t really want to, I...”

“Yeah yeah, you just wanted to get all up in some leather bear’s grill, huh? I am going to firmly suggest that you are probably too young to know what you actually want.”

“I’m...I’m eighteen, it’s legal.”

“There’s a distinction between legal and right. Now, Barry and I are going to take you home, and if I catch wind of you doing anything like this again, I will have to make an issue of it with your father, do you understand?” He stood Kyle next to an empty table. “Now, I have to find Barry, and then we’re leaving. You do not take your hand off this table, do you understand me?”

Kyle nodded, and watched as Dennis slipped into the throng of bodies on the dance floor, looking for his husband, surprisingly satisfied to have both the moral high ground, and an indisputable reason to leave this place. Kyle heaved a sigh, trying to get his heart to stop pounding in his ears, and looked back over at the bear a few yards away. The leather bear was looking back at him, with a rather pitiful look, and that just made Kyle angrier. He hated pity. His friends pitied him, for his asshole family. He pitied himself, because he was scrawny. He’d been the one to suggest this place, anyway, not that Dennis needed to know that. He looked down at his hand, still on the table where Dennis had put it. He could let go--he knew that. He could go back over to that bear, he...he could say fuck it. Who cares if his Dad knew, anyway? He’d figure it out. But he didn’t pull his hand away--he just waited, feeling like the child he mostly was still, and hating himself for it. 

The bear just shrugged, and took another drag on his cigar. The boy would have to grow up sometime, after all. Besides, he was pretty sure he’d be seeing more of him soon enough.

***

Want more Pigtown Chronicles? Support me over on my Patreon, and you can get early access to new chapters, along with  loads of other content!

[earthstellar]

It’s Deaf Awareness Week, so I’m posting my hearing disabled Drift fan fiction in full below the cut! 

I am still fundraising for my hearing aids, so if you like the story and would like to donate, you can do so at my Ko-Fi or via PayPal. 

You can also see my post on Chirolinguistics and Sign Language in Transformers media here! 

Auditory Error by Capricorn_Stellium - Word Count: 2733

Summary: 

The Lost Light visits a marketplace on a newly identified planet in the hopes of restocking on a few crucial supplies.

Unfortunately, things go less than well, and Drift is hit with some sort of energy disruptor-- Which results in processor damage.

Once everyone is back on board and clear of the fight, Ratchet and First Aid get to work attempting to assess Drift post-injury in a MedBay that is suddenly far, far too noisy.

"Stay where you are. Don't move! First Aid, get over here, get on his left side."

It was Ratchet's voice, or at least, he thought it was.

Drift was in the MedBay, so evidently they'd made it back to the Lost Light.

He quickly tried to assess himself: No missing limbs, so that's nice. Doesn't seem to be much frame damage, no evidence of blaster shots or blade damage anywhere across his armour that he could see.

Not that he could see much, as Ratchet was aggressively trying to get him to lay his helm back down flat against the medical berth.

"He's awake. Aid, titrate the sedative, I don't want him dizzy but keep it level so he's not running around." Ratchet moved to the side of the berth from where he had been standing so far, somewhere behind his helm, but it was odd. His voice seemed to come from all directions at once, and it was disorienting.

"Drift, can you focus on me? You were hit in the helm by one of the marketplace traders; Turns out Rodimus was wrong about the locals being friendly, because of course he was. Nobody else is hurt, so don't even try getting up! I don't know what they hit you with, some kind of focused disruptor of some kind. We're running additional scans to try to figure it out, but stay down for now. You aren't restrained, no painkillers. Just a mild physical sedative in the event you woke up swinging. I'm too old to keep having to fight my patients, you know."

It was bizarre; He felt totally fine. He could hear that Ratchet was speaking, but the words were... Missing, here and there. All of the sounds in the room were equally as loud, completely drowning each other out. It was overwhelming and disorienting.

He'd been in the MedBay enough times both as a patient and just waiting for Ratchet to get off shift that he was well aware it shouldn't sound like this. It was as if every piece of machinery was at maximum volume and surely Ratchet was whispering, but why would he be whispering? Was there something else going on? Was Ratchet's vocaliser damaged somehow? Why would Ratchet lie about the situation, unless it was serious?

Ratchet noticed Drift's increasingly heavy frown; He looked fairly alert, but confused. Running another quick diagnostic scan, nothing new was coming up. Drift had been concussed, he'd already known about that. The more extensive diagnostic panel wouldn't be complete for another minute or two.

"Aid, I told you to moderate--" First Aid interrupted by holding up what was the needle end of a clearly disconnected fuel line drip.

"He's not being sedated actively at all anymore, Ratchet. It should work it's way out of his systems soon, low level dose should remain for the next three to five hours but not significantly enough to produce a frame relaxing effect. Intensive scan is just about ready, give it a moment. We'll figure it out."

Ratchet huffed. He was proud of his star apprentice, but it was irritating to get blatant reassurance from a junior doctor.

Not that First Aid was wrong to comment; It was hard to administer emergency care to your own conjunx. In other circumstances, it would never be allowed at all, but the Lost Light was a perpetual mess. A good mess, most of the time. But still not quite as organised as some might prefer-- A fact that Ultra Magnus never let anyone forget.

Speaking of Magnus, the paperwork for this would be a nightmare, but Ratchet had other concerns on his mind.

Drift raised a servo to his faceplate, careful not to lift his helm lest Ratchet come after him again. "I... feel okay, I think. But I never had a concussion that made everything sound so... I don't know. Things sound wrong all of a sudden."

Ratchet and First Aid looked at each other from across their respective sides of the medical berth. Aid pulled out a data pad and began taking notes once Ratchet nodded in the affirmative to proceed.

"What do you mean? Can you describe what you're feeling?"

Drift ex-vented. "Physically, totally fine. Not even a headache, really. Everything else seems okay, but it's like... Everything is at the same volume, and is coming from everywhere all the time. I can hardly make out what you and Aid are saying, every other word is gone, it's easier for me to focus on the vague sort of rhythm of the noises you're making rather than what you're actually talking about. Like the words are messed up and lost in the sounds of everything else. But, I don't know. It's like everything is a flood of noise, except for speech, I guess? Keep talking to me, I'll figure it out."

It was Ratchet's turn to frown. "Hmm." He backed up a little from the side of the berth. "Drift, can you shutter your optics for a second? I won't touch you, but I want you to listen as best you can, okay?" Drift nodded, wondering what Ratchet was up to.

Closing his optics felt awful; It made the noises seem even louder and more all-encompassing, somehow. Hopefully this wouldn't take long. He was glad Ratchet had kept him on the berth; It was a dizzying sensation. Like the noise was giving him vertigo.

"I'm going to snap my digits in different areas and at different distances from your helm. I want you to tell me where you hear the sound in relation to yourself, so for example, upper left from your point of view, or lower right, or straight ahead. Okay?"

Drift nodded, hoping he'd heard the instructions correctly. It was suddenly much harder to fill the gaps in Ratchet's speech when he couldn't watch his faceplate while he was speaking.

The exam went on for a while until finally Ratchet snapped his digits for the last time to Drift's righthand side, but Drift stated the sound was coming from straight ahead and slightly above his helm.

"Maybe a little to the right?" He could hear Ratchet ex-vent, but from where, he couldn't tell. "Nope. Open your optics, Drift. Sorry to say you didn't exactly pass that test." He turned to face First Aid, who had apparently been following along and taking quite a few notes.

Turns out both of them were stood exactly where they were when the exam had started. Weird. To Drift, it had seemed like their intermittent words were floating around him while his optics had been shuttered. Had they moved at all, the entire time?

The noise of all the medical machinery was getting awful. How were Ratchet and Aid okay with it?

Then he realised they probably couldn't hear it. Somehow...

Ratchet's voice knocked him out of the state of distress he was rapidly falling into the more he tried to think about all the noise. "Aid, note a general lack of directional hearing. No loss of hearing overall, his audials are registering sound as usual, but..."

First Aid looked up from the data pad. "But the way his processor is interpreting the sounds he's hearing is wrong."

"Correct. It's processor damage. Damn."

Drift had missed what was probably a very important word, there. "Sorry, what kind of damage?"

Ratchet, to his credit, only looked upset for a very brief moment. But Drift could tell; He could always tell with his Ratty. And that look was never good.

"Sorry, Drift. We shouldn't talk about you like you aren't here, anyway; It's a bad habit medics can develop."

That got a small smile out of Drift. "Since when are you worried about bad medic habits? You routinely throw wrenches at your patients."

"Hey, that's usually only Whirl. And Rodimus. And..." Ratchet took one of Drift's servos into his own. "Fine, you have a point, but this is serious. We need to run more tests. And by more, I mean you're going to be in here for a while."

Drift nodded, not wanting to speak himself lest it break his intense concentration on Ratchet's intake. It definitely seemed like trying to follow Ratchet's faceplate movements made it easier to guess what words he was missing.

The words he could no longer hear. For some reason.

It was only years of experience performing various mindfulness meditations that prevented Drift's anxiety from escalating.

First Aid walked towards the foot of the medical berth to be more fully in Drift's line of sight before addressing him.

And he proceeded to say something that Drift totally missed, because First Aid's battle mask made it impossible to read his faceplates in the way that he could with Ratchet.

"Uh... I don't want to interrupt? But two things: Aid, can you retract your mask?" Both First Aid and Ratchet stiffened immediately.

"I'm so sorry--" "Drift, if you can't understand us, just say so and we can--"

And it was too much noise.

Instinctively, his servos flew up to cover his audials, which hadn't helped as much as he had hoped it might.

"Stop! Stop, I'm sorry, it's okay. Don't worry about it. But the second thing, is that it's way, way too much in here. The noise, I mean. It's a lot."

Ratchet gently grabbed Drift's wrists, getting closer in the process.

"The scan we were running has finished by now. Aid, turn off everything we're not currently using, let's see if it makes a difference in the ambient noise level. Go ahead and start interpreting the results, construct a summary, you know what to do."

As First Aid got started as directed, looking somewhat upset that he hadn't thought to retract his battle mask earlier, Ratchet moved in even closer to speak directly into Drift's audial.

On the other side of Drift's helm, he cupped a servo over the opposite audial to help block out the surrounding noise and force Drift's processor to focus on the most immediate input: His voice. "I'm sorry. I'll try to make this as easy on you as I possibly can, okay? We're not hearing things the way you are, so we'll have to figure this out as we go. But that's fine; You're okay... You will be okay."

Vision obscured by Ratchet's shoulder armour while intensely trying to focus on his voice, suddenly, it hit Drift.

He could hear, but he couldn't hear. Not really.

A thousand scenarios flooded him at once, each one more terrifying than the last.

Being in a battle, unable to tell where bullets were coming from. Hearing a ship-wide alarm go off, and being incapacitated by the noise, unable to react otherwise. Unable to help. Unable to protect Ratchet. Never being able to parse anyone's speech, always missing words, never having all the information.

Going to a racetrack and being disoriented by the hum of all the wheels and engines at high speed, causing an accident. Anywhere noisy, anyone talking. Anywhere sound exists, it would be too much or not enough and never in-between.

He couldn't fight effectively. He wouldn't able to communicate effectively, not if he constantly misheard every single thing. The stress just from the MedBay noise was horrendous; What about in the middle of a conflict, or the command deck, or even someplace like Swerve's? Totally unbearable.

He would go right back to being isolated. He would be a problem for others. A burden, an annoyance.

What if this wasn't fixable?

He gasped like he had been choking, causing Ratchet to startle and pull back. "Ratchet! Ratchet, Ratty, what if-- What if you can't fix me?"

And he knew that look.

He felt Ratchet's arm move slightly somewhere behind him, and First Aid swiftly and silently left; He would finish looking over the results in his own office space. Ratchet had probably flashed some kind of medic secret code hand signal or something.

Or maybe it was just awkward to watch your mentor's partner start crying in your shared workplace. It was probably that, and the thought would have made Drift laugh if he didn't suddenly have a terrible headache.

Ratchet made the most of his wide set medical frame type, and completely wrapped Drift in a hug.

It helped. Everything seemed like too much right now, but this, he could never possibly get enough of.

Fluid had pooled behind his optics; Some started to trickle down in small streams. Ratchet wiped some of it away gently.

"Drift, I'm not going to lie. I already know what those scan results are going to say; There's nothing wrong with you, aside from whatever is going wrong with your processor. And I'm going to be honest, because you know I don't lie when it comes to my diagnostics... If I'm right about the nature of your processor damage, it's most likely not something that can be repaired."

Even though on some level he figured that might be the case, it felt like Ratchet had jammed the Great Sword through his spark.

Before he had the chance to completely break down, Ratchet carefully grabbed the sides of Drift's helm, gently rubbing soft swirls in his faceplate and ensuring Drift didn't just fold in on himself and completely collapse.

He wanted Drift to be able to understand; Keeping his helm up like this would help Drift read his faceplate, too.

"I know. It's not good news. But we can work with it. You can work with it. We'll figure it out. If we don't have the supplies we need to make whatever assistive device we might have to come up with, we'll find a way to get them, or make them. You have me, Perceptor, Brainstorm, a whole ship full of people who can and will help you. Okay?"

Drift wanted to nod, he really did, but the tears welling up in his optics had blurred his vision, and the thought of being unable to see clearly while being unable to hear clearly was so completely distressing to him that he simply threw his arms around Ratchet's neck strut and let himself cry it out.

Not for long, and not very hard; He found that the sound of his own crying was odd and grating to his audials, both muted and sharper than it should have been.

While he could stifle his tears, he couldn't stop his upset and frustration from seeping out through his EM field.

Ratchet's armour plating shivered a bit, before he met Drift's EM field with his own and wrapped him in another hug, spark to spark.

A surge of love, care, devotion- Ratchet's EM field helped soothe Drift's headache, and slowly, he calmed down. His vents evened out, the sound of the fans rattling no longer another sound adding to his distress.

"Sorry, Ratty. I just, this is... really bad."

"Yeah, it is. But we'll figure it out."

Drift's voice fell to almost a whisper. He couldn't fully hear himself speak, although he felt his vocaliser warm up. "There's this weird dissonance, like everything is too loud and too quiet all at once. Like all the small noises are massive and I can't hear anything I actually want to listen to. It reminds me of coming down from a syk hit, when my sensory data would get a little messed up."

Ratchet stilled, then tightened his hold on Drift. He was careful to speak directly into Drift's audial. "Rung is here too, you know. We're all here for you. I'm here for you."

He pulled back just enough to kiss Drift's faceplate, where the tears had left stains. Drift stared at his intake; He wasn't sure if it was to return the kiss, or if it was an attempt to try to follow along with his words.

"How about this: While Aid finishes up the report on your scan results, we can lay down in our hab suite and hopefully it'll be quiet enough there for you to get some real rest. I can give you a painkiller before we head out; Nothing heavy-duty, but sensory sensitivity can be unpleasant and I want you to actually recharge if you think you can. I can call Velocity in to handle my other patients for the evening."

He hadn't been this tired earlier, but he definitely was now. Drift nodded, leaning his helm up a bit to return Ratchet's kiss.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

[astertataricvs]

Can I request a scenario where Giyuu and his s/o are expecting their first child

This took long enough hueeeee

Word count: 2k+ 

Giyuu remembered it, he remembered it all.

He recollects his memory where he was supposed to meet you after the mission he had for straight two days because the location was actually far away than he thought it would be. When he returned home, he was anticipating that you’re going to welcome him as usual and kiss him on the lips, however, after how many minutes of waiting for your approach and see you peeping your head at the corner of the wall, you still haven’t emerged from the edge and didn’t see you inside the house.

He was perplexed to where have you gone to since you’re not the type of person who would stay outside when the heaven was turning into its muskmelon and flushed colour and the sun for the day was subsequently descending. Giyuu looked for you in various rooms inside your comfortable abode.

An unexpected knock was overheard at the frontal door which causes Giyuu to suspend in his tracks and from finding you inside the house. Without wasting a second, Giyuu unlocked the door and saw Shinobu in front of his doorstep. He was bewildered to why is the Insect pillar was visiting him at this hour, she’s not the one who would visit him though she’s only going to if you’re in the house and if she was gonna tell him a piece of information from the headquarters.

When Shinobu told him the purpose of her visit; Giyuu’s eyes floated open moderately and lip leisurely hang once he gathered the news from her.

The reason why you’re not in your shared home is that you were at the butterfly estate where her servants were taking care of you since you suddenly pass out when you’re visiting Shinobu. But what makes him rendered speechless and stunned is upon hearing the surprising news he’d got from the Insect pillar, which is; you’re three weeks pregnant.

Apprehending that you were pregnant of his child, Giyuu doesn’t know how to reveal the ecstasy he was feeling at the very moment, comprehending that you’re the one who’s carrying his child. He was absolutely astounded that his mind went nebulous and his vision was only settled on you whose giving him a soft smile with teardrops trickling down on your gills. His ears were blocked to any noises inside the premises and he only gapes at you with a dumbfounded yet concerned countenance.

Giyuu promptly embraces you while nestling his face on your head. He was feeling blithe and wanted to celebrate with you but he’s more concerned about your wellbeing. Specifically that you went unconscious when he was on his mission. He’s relieved that you passed out in Shinobu’s residence, not in your shared house where no one else other than you inside. He’s grateful that you’re doing well after the servants of Shinobu performed a great job from taking care of you.

Currently, you were now six months pregnant whereas your stomach was now bloated rather than before. You couldn’t move properly because of your shape right now.

Giyuu was very attentive of you, he didn’t let his eyes avert from your figure even just for a second and would always assist you if you’re going to stand up or go to a specific room inside your household.

If you need something, he will spontaneously get it for you and order you to stay put and repose since he doesn’t want you to move exceedingly. He’s very overprotective and circumspect of your wellbeing. He doesn’t want any mishaps to occur to you considering that you’re pregnant and he doesn’t want any grave results to befall to your precious little one.

Giyuu was very sensitive when holding you, even if he’s just going to help you walk, his grasp on you was like a piece of gemstone that he doesn’t want to shatter and only caress it with care. That’s how careful the Water pillar was and he’s regularly the one running errands for you.

If you’re having cramps and you sense the stinging pain of your stomach, Giyuu’s face would deform in a terrified and alerted expression. He will quickly fly towards you and ask if you’re okay, then Giyuu will soothe you by cradling you in his arms and kiss the top of your forehead to make you feel placid.

“Are you now alright?” He asked you while rubbing your knuckles with his thumb.

“Yes, it’s just that our little bean’s kick is stalwart.”

Giyuu’s lips curved upwards and rest his hands on your bloated tummy. You can recognise the sincerity in his grin and the fondness while softly stroking your abdomen. Subsequently, Giyuu started to kneel down and gently settled his ear on your stomach while drawing circles on the sides.

The loving gesticulation of your husband produces a smile to display on your visage. Eyeing Giyuu whose beaming a faint smile that was seriously rare of him to do that, you couldn’t help but rake your fingers through his hair and motioned him to come closer to you.

Giyuu takes a second to discern your gesture and in a swift, he bent forward to you and you caught him off guard by giving him a chaste kiss before tittering. The Water pillar was dumbfounded at what you had induced but either way, he only kisses your forehead, bequeathing you his heart-melting smile.

During your bath time, the ravenette wouldn’t disregard of not helping you to take a warm bath. He would incipiently be the one preparing the bathtub for you and will scrub your back and wash your hair.

It legitimately makes your eyes go droopy and makes you somnolent because of how his hands were scratching your scalp and you just wanted to sleep in the hot water since it’s really refreshing. However, Giyuu would blandly scold you not to sleep or you will catch a cold.

In your bed, Giyuu wouldn’t miss of sweeping your hair until you fall asleep, he wouldn’t forget to proffer you a kiss on the temples before you drift into your dreamland.

“I love you, Giyuu…” you said groggily and the said man merely nodded.

“I love you too.”

Giyuu coiled his arms around you while stroking your back to make you feel at ease and fall asleep.

In the arms of your husband, you feel the security you need and the sincere affection he has for you. His hold and kisses were tender that was earnestly keeping himself to harm you even if it’s just a flick of his fingers. Giyuu resonates as a pirate that you have been heard in one of the tales your mother had told you. You are the treasure chest that he was looking for and wouldn’t let go even if it needs to unsheathe his sword and dirty his hands just to protect you at all cost.

Giyuu is a man who wouldn’t hesitate if he already made up his mind. For instance, you want to eat some desserts since it’s been a long time you savour some sweet granular cakes and chocolates. However, your husband would instantly refuse your requests and forbids you from eating desserts because he said that it’s not good for your wellness.

He would always bring you fruits and plenty of vegetables for you to eat. And it’s really been hell for you to not gulp some mouth-watering sweets even just for once. He’s too adamant of keeping you healthy and not going to fluctuate from his resolute words whether you show him your best puppy eyes that everyone will definitely couldn’t resist.

“Why are you so strict, Giyuu? I just want to eat some cake,” you pouted while crossing your arms over your chest.

The Water pillar stopped from reading the newspaper and darted his eyes at you. “I told you it’s not good for your health, (Name).”

“Even just for once? Just this once please!”

“No, and that’s final.” Was all he said before resuming from reading the newspaper.

“Stingy,” you murmured and whipped your head to the side, feeling dejected.

Giyuu peered over the newspaper that he was holding and studied your face whose giving a gloomy expression. The deep azure eyed man feels a bit guilty for being so strict to you. Your husband was aware of how you like to eat desserts and he prohibits you to eat those sugary edibles due to the fact that he’s only wary of your health and for your baby.

The ravenette extracts a soft sigh before placing the newspaper on the coffee table. He thought it wouldn’t mean any harm if he let you eat for once. Moreover, he couldn’t resist himself from you being so grouchy and will avoid him because of his edgy persona.

“Well then, I’ll let you eat some cake, but just this once, (Name),” he says.

Upon hearing his remark, your head quickly snapped to look at him and thus, your eyes glistened in delight once you comprehend that Giyuu was letting you eat your favourite sugary stuffs!

“Really?! You’re the best Giyuu! Thank you so much!” You were about to lunge at him and give him a tight hug but your husband already halted you by standing up and went towards your way to land a soft kiss on your head.

“You shouldn’t move too much, you’re aware of your condition, right?”

“Hmm!” You throw your arms around his waist and nuzzle your face into his abdomen. The Water pillar grinned at your action and rest his hands on the top of your head, slowly brushing it.

The sun was finally settling and you and your husband was having a sweet time by getting cozy on the sofa; Giyuu curtseying in front of you while resting his head on your bump tummy. Giyuu wouldn’t miss a day to sense the thrust of your unborn child against your stomach and once he feels the slight kick of your baby, his eyes will automatically go broad and stared at you with an astonished countenance.

You would always find yourself laughing at your dorky husband because he looks like a lost man in a foreign country and scared as fuck when he felt your little bean’s strong kick.

“Oh, Giyuu, why are you always looked shocked when you felt him kicking in my stomach?” You giggled. Giyuu blinked a few times before answering you with his calm demeanour.

“Isn’t that a bit painful?” Giyuu’s face was contorted with apprehension and you let out a cackle.

“Sometimes, but I don’t mind if it means for you to feel our little bean’s sturdy kick.”

A smile formed on his lips then places his warm hands on your belly. “Yeah, I’m happy every time I feel him kicking on my face.”

“I’m certain that our little bean is as strong as his father.”

Giyuu’s body stiffens for a while before slowly heaving his chin to look at you. His chapped lips were a tad separated and watched you with fondness and adoration. The Water pillar merely gawked at you as if you’re the beautiful scenery that lies from the horizon. The permanent warm smile of yours that mirrors like the sun smiling brilliantly for the brand-new day.

Giyuu couldn’t verbalise how happy he was for having you in his life and added by his unborn child that you’re carrying. He didn’t regret a single thing for making you his wife and live with him for a lifetime. He will do anything to protect you and the family that you’re going to build.

You are his treasure, your first child is his treasure. Your family that you’re going to create is his treasure. Everything that involves you is his treasure.

That is why he’s going to protect you and his family whether it necessitates his own life. He wouldn’t let any conundrums to befall with his own family.

Giyuu stands up from his kneeling position and caresses your cheeks before dipping down to latch his lips on yours.

“I love you, Giyuu,” you said sweetly and cupped his cheeks, tracing circles on his cheekbones.

“I love you both, you and our child.”

[marzipanandminutiae]

Tourette Syndrome tag

(not tagged by anyone in particular, but I found this in the general tag and thought it looked interesting)

when did your TS start?

• Around age 7, as I recall. My mom noticed me blinking strangely and about had a heart attack because that was how her epilepsy first manifested itself (it’s non-congenital in her case, but she still worried that her doctors might have been wrong and my sister or I would start having seizures, too).

When did I get diagnosed?

• A few months later, so sometime in 2000, I think.

Do you have motor tics, vocal tics, or both?

• More motor (physical) than vocal, usually, but still both.

Is your speaking voice different from a ticking voice?

• I haven’t had a complex vocal tic- one with actual words -in a long time, so I don’t exactly recall. Usually they had some kind of accent or pitch difference from my normal voice.

(My current vocal tic is just quiet squeaking noises.)

Most and least favorite thing having about it?

• Favorite thing- watching people who didn’t realize I had it fall all over themselves when they make some awful TS joke and I say in my most innocent voice, “But- but- I have Tourette Syndrome.” That’s right, asshole. You never know who’s listening.

Least favorite thing- people who react badly. I’ve gotten reactions from creepy guys telling me how “cute” it is to a woman threatening to hit me for having a blinking tic in her general direction on the subway.

Does anyone else in your family have it?

• My uncle used to but outgrew it, and my grandmother thought my great-great-aunt probably had it (but she was born in 1898 in West Virginia, so nobody ever officially diagnosed her).

Have you ever met another person with TS?

• Two so far. One is very sweet and still my friend a few years later. The other was a self-absorbed, condescending jerk who used her various neuroatypicalities to try and excuse her shitty behavior.

Every group of people is going to be a mixed bag.

Do you experience pain from tics?

• Less often nowadays, but on occasion. More frequently when I was younger and my tics were worse.

Least favorite tic

• Tie between hand tics that make typing take ages and my eyebrow-raising tic. Those incipient lines on my forehead don’t need to get any deeper, brain! I’m only 26!

Favorite tic

• Don’t have one. My tics come in two flavors as far as I’m concerned: inconvenient and Highly Damn Inconvenient.

I’m like... neutral to moderately irritated about my TS. It’s just a Thing that my brain does, that I wish it wouldn’t do but that won’t make me cry myself to sleep or anything.

Anyone who wants to do it, knock yourselves out!

[herebegods]

Old Mrs. Habernathy went about her morning routine with the diligence of one who had long ago etched her motions into hallowed traditions and her traditions into venerable monuments of regularity. Her life for the last five decades had been in this house, and the house was only a few years older than her occupation of it, making it the younger of the pair. It had served her well, rarely causing her any vexation, likely as it did not dare to upset her. The house was locked in a mutual competition with Old Mrs. Habernathy as to who would outlast the other. Most of the residents of the lane were betting on Old Mrs. Habernathy.

Having completed her rituals before the dawn, as she always did, Old Mrs. Habernathy settled down on her porch swing with a large kettle of tea on the table next to her and got out her knitting. She would not move from that spot except for meals the rest of the day. As the clocks in her house, of which there were hundreds, all chimed fifteen minutes to eight, she looked up to see Paxton Green walking briskly up the lane toward her house at the end of the cul-de-sac. She nodded imperceptibly to no one in particular. He was right on time as always. Being the only resident of the lane who had been there longer than herself, she seemed to extend a begrudging respect for the elderly widower, even if he did keep the most garish flower garden in the city and was an impossible man to manage. He was one of the last great untamable lions of masculinity, by the reckoning of those that knew him. No one now on the lane had ever known Mrs. Green. Her passing had preceded Old Mrs. Habernathy's arrival into the world, much less to the lane, and everyone else on the lane had arrived after Old Mrs. Habernathy.

Paxton Green strode right past her house as he rounded the end of the lane on his morning walk, nodding politely toward her as he always did and ignoring her sardonic grunt of acknowledgement. As he headed down the opposite side of the lane, his confident powerful strides were automatic, as his attention was entirely devoted to the lawns of his neighbors. There was not a change that went unnoticed in the topiaries and flowerbeds of the entire lane, so rapt and detailed was his examination, all while conducting his morning walk. He was not being nosey or spying on his neighbors, that was what the lane had Old Mrs. Habernathy for. Rather, his interest was entirely of the master hobbyist. Lawns and gardens were not only his one abiding passion in life, they had been honed over the last seven decades into his personal art. He examined his neighbors' yards not to steal their ideas, no indeed.

When he got home, as he did every morning after his walk, he poured himself a strong cup of coffee and sat down to several hours of writing. In brief, but articulate and polite, language he noted any peculiarities or missteps of each yard on the lane, and then proceeded to detail various suggestions and tips for how to improve upon or entirely revolutionize the landscaping in question. Once this series of missives was scripted, he placed each in its own envelope with the name of the homeowner on the outside, then handed them to Young Tommy, who stopped by Mr. Green's house every morning at eleven for just this task. They would be distributed to the whole lane over the next hour. After this had been accomplished, Paxton Green ate a light lunch before setting out into his garden for the remainder of the day. It was in his garden that he could be found each and every day, lovingly coaxing it into the most wondrous forms ever seen by his neighbors, as he had been for the last seventy years.

Young Tommy, who was actually well into his forties, took these unstamped letters and added them to his postal bag with the other correspondence for the lane, having long ago resigned himself to this peculiar and unofficial task on behalf of the eminent Paxton Green. It had been Mr. Green who had saddled Young Tommy with his misleading sobriquet, albeit at a time it would have been far more properly applicable. Young Tommy had grown up on the lane, and had become its mailman shortly after achieving majority. It was only a subsection of his total route, but it was by far the portion he looked forward to the most, as these homes were of his family and neighbors. It was always warm smiles and handshakes, and even the occasional hug that greeted him as he delivered the dispatches from the world outside of the lane. There were only two houses he could ever expect to be greeted with less than congeniality. There was, naturally, Old Mrs. Habernathy, whom he was always respectful to yet from whom he never anticipated more than a disinterested grunt and a wary eye. Of course, since she rarely received letters, not even the spam that everyone always received, he did not often have the opportunity to endure her icy reception.

The other house where Young Tommy never got a cordial salutation was the only other house, other than Old Mrs. Habernathy's, that Paxton Green never wrote yard advice for. Several houses in from the end of the cul-de-sac, on the east side of the lane, sat a lonesome graying ruin of a structure, the house with the dead yard. The trees in the yard, a yard which could never even generously be called a lawn, stood dead, having been planted some time around the building of the house itself, and never maintained since that time. There were a series of creepers that appeared to have attempted to colonize the walls of the ancient residence, but they too had presumably withered and died at various points in their conquests. The whole lot stood in stark contrast with all of the homes around it, each adorned with a garden or lawn of some level of magnificence depending on how much of Mr. Green's guidance had been followed. Even the animals avoided the house with the dead yard.

Young Tommy never liked picking up letters from this address, not because of its creepy demeanor, he'd seen houses in as ill repair elsewhere, and they were often far more cozy than their dilapidated exteriors let on. It was not the air of unease and the lack of life of the landscaping, though it was unnerving to see such sharp lines of life and non-life side by side like this. It was that no one ever entered nor left. The house was not abandoned, far from it, there were always strange noises emanating from within at random times of the day, often unidentifiable sounds that frightened birds and small children. As well, when Young Tommy picked up the letters patiently awaiting him from the box on the wall next to the front door, he could always hear the creaking floorboards of the entryway as someone, or something, moved about within. The mailman could not be certain it was a human that made this noise, as he imagined he could occasionally hear panting and the clacking of claws on wood. No one even knew who owned the house with the dead yard, as all correspondence that came from it had only the required number and street as the return address. Neatly printed, but not by any machine, with an ink that seemed to glow if you looked at it just right. There was never a name with the address. A few discreet enquiries by concerned residents of the lane with the city authorities had resulted in even more unanswered questions.

After picking up the one solitary grey letter from the house with the dead yard this morning, Young Tommy hurriedly moved on to the next house down, which belonged to the lane's resident professor. Wilber Tumbleburry was not employed as a teacher at any university or institute of education, nor was he employed in any fashion by anyone, and had not been at any time in the past. Rather, he was an heir to a moderate but handsome fortune from more industrious ancestors, who spent the years of his life accumulating knowledge for knowledge's sake. He was a professor of no particular subject, and at the same time, a professor of all of them. It was theorized by some of his more erudite neighbors that Wilber Tumbleburry likely knew more about any particular discipline than any other outside of that discipline's experts, and knew about any of them just less than would be necessary to be useful to any of those disciplines. It was a marvel to some just how much time and effort one man had dedicated to the art of being equally adept and useless at everything. Still, he was popular at parties, as he was relied upon to settle most any argument and always had some particularly fascinating story or news about some obscure science or craft to liven up any social gathering.

Young Tommy walked up the professor's path to find the middle aged scholar standing on his porch in his bathrobe, coffee mug in hand, regarding the decrepit structure next to his. Turning and nodding to Young Tommy as he approached him, Wilber Tumbleburry raised his mug by way of greeting. Clearing his throat of the morning's phlegm, Wilber greeted the lane's mailman, "Good morning to you! Another mystery letter from the mystery house?"

Young Tommy nodded as he handed Wilber his mail, replying, "Yep. How'd you know it was only one?"

"You'll have to pardon me my peccadillo, Young Tommy, but I've been noting every time you pick up mail there."

"But they don't always send just one letter."

"Indeed not! However, there is a pattern. They send one letter, then they send three letters fifteen days later, then six letters two days after that, then one letter two days later, then another twenty days before they once again send one letter."

Young Tommy scratched his head as he tried to follow along or remember if this accounting was accurate, but quickly gave up and just whistled, "As regular as that?"

"Without fail."

"That's quite something, professor. If you take into account the occasional bad weather days when the post office halts our routes, I don't see how it could be that consistent."

"Neither do I, and yet it is. This is the truly amazing aspect of the matter." The professor nodded eagerly and his eyes went wistful as if he were suddenly drawn into the most scintillating of contemplations of the potentialities of this mystery. Young Tommy just frowned and waved goodbye as he made his way across the street, glancing back every so often at the strange house, troubled by this revelation of regularity of letters posted from the house with the dead yard. It made no sense to him, so he tried to put it out of his mind rather than dwell on it as he approached the porch of the house across the lane. This well-appointed residence, with well-appointed floriculture that made Mr. Green beam with pride every time he wrote a brief congratulatory note to the residents, belonged to Ella and Ida. Young Tommy liked Ella and Ida, as did most everyone who ever met Ella and Ida. This near universal fondness was entirely the blame of Ella and Ida's congeniality and conviviality, incontestably manifest in the most delicious baked goods that were readily proffered to any and all they came in contact with.

This morning, these delectable delicacies took the form of a tray of ginger snaps held out to the approaching Young Tommy by Ida, who was sitting on the porch swing, enjoying the early morning coolness and reading some dense gaelic tome Young Tommy could not even read the name of. Young Tommy grinned as he handed Ida her mail with one hand and took a cookie from the tray with the other. He salivated at the mere sight of the treats, as he knew they would be peerless. He cheerfully thanked her, "Morning Ida! Thank you so much!"

Ida waved off his thanks, as she always did, as if anyone could so easily and regularly bake such scrumptious confections, responding instead, "How is the lane today, Young Tommy?"

"Same as it always is, Ida! Idyllic."

"Same as it always is, yes."

The door lazily swung open and Ella stumbled out, yawning. Ella slumped down on the swing next to Ida and grumbled incoherently about mornings and what particular class of animals they were for. Young Tommy nodded to the still bleary Ella, who gave a little wave in reply as she stifled yet another yawn, and headed back down the path to continue his deliveries.

"Morning, Ella dear," Ida's voice had a hint of bemusement, as it always did during this ritual.

"Morning..."

"How was your sleep?"

"Brief, restless, and full of strange dreams that upon reflection meant nothing."

"I asked about your sleep, not your life."

Ella yawned for the dozenth time that morning as she simultaneously groaned. Every morning it was the same tired joke, every morning it was just as bemoaned as the last, yet they both still engaged in the tradition as it was as much a part of their mutual identity as their baked goods and their undying love for one another.

Ella blinked a few more times before her vision became useful, and she stretched as she asked Ida, "Any new or notable sounds this morning?"

Ida shook her head, "Nope, dead silence this morning."

"That's odd."

"It's happened before."

"Not often, as I recall."

"No, not often, but occasionally."

They both sat silently regarding the house with the dead yard across the road as the birds, in their own horticultural paradise, competed with the buzzing of the bees to serenade the cresting of the sun in the sky. They made a regular activity of observing the unnatural auditory emissions of the old house, proceduralizing as much as possible the peculiar abeyance the house had presented from time immemorial. Ella and Ida had moved onto the lane a few decades after Old Mrs. Habernathy, but they were still only the fourth longest remaining dwellers of the lane. As far as they had been able to piece together, the house with the dead yard held the oldest resident or residents of the lane, but no one could attest to having ever seen them. The perpetual mystery of the residence piqued their curiosity, as it did everyone's, but like all of the others, they were not nearly as intrusive as to take the matter beyond idle observation. Truth be told, many of the residents were a little afraid of the enigmatic abode. Most, but not Ida. Being closer than the rest to the foreboding structure had bred in her, like it had in the professor, more of a familiar fascination than any trepidation.

As they discussed the other customary matters of life, they smiled at the youngest Murphy boy who came running up to their porch for a cookie. They liked the youngest Murphy boy, even if they did not care for his father. Not many on the lane cared for Mr. Murphy, but no one had to. Mr. Murphy cared enough about himself to make up the difference. His youngest son, on the other hand, was a preternaturally friendly young boy who was adored by every adult on the lane. Despite, or occasionally because of, the boy's mischievousness, he was welcome in each and every home on the lane, except Old Mrs. Habernathy's, though she too seemed fond of the little scamp in her own gruff way.

The youngest Murphy boy grabbed three cookies, despite a reprimanding cluck from the couple on the porch, and ran off toward his best friend Bobby's house. He always took two extra of everything Ella and Ida made, but not for himself, as the couple always thought. The youngest Murphy boy dashed through the back kitchen door of Bobby's house, shouting a cheery hello at Bobby's mom as he passed by in a blur. Stomping up the stairs as fast and as loud as he could, he shouted down the hall to Bobby that he had arrived before letting himself into the twins' room. Grinning like a maniac, he chirped hello to the twins and their faces lit up in delight. The youngest Murphy boy was one of the highlights of their day. He never failed to bring them such delicious treats and then would spend the next hour rambling on about what he had done the day before. The youngest Murphy boy was a terrible story teller, and would usually hop about in his narrative without rhyme or reason as he recalled some specific detail he had forgotten to mention before, but the twins cherished everything he said. What they were incapable of communicating with words or other means of expression they beamed forth in ear-to-ear grins as they listened raptly to the boy relate the inconsequentialities of his daily adventures outside while he fed them the cookies.

After a while, as usual, Bobby's mother came into the room and shooed the youngest Murphy boy out so she could shift the twins into sleeping positions. Bobby was waiting outside and the pair scampered down the stairs and outside to go adventuring somewhere along the lane, often in some unsuspecting neighbor's back yard or shed. The only place they never played was near the house with the dead yard. As they energetically ran down the sidewalk, the boys almost ran into and over Leo Tuttle. Barely twisting in time to allow the passage of the pair, Leo Tuttle squawked.

A man of a particularly nervous disposition, Leo Tuttle was quite prone to accidents of the usual and unusual variety, and as such was overly cautious about all of his movements and actions, not that this did much to alleviate his peculiar personal affliction of mishaps. As the young boys darted past with almost no room to spare and no worries in the world, Leo started into an awkward dance designed to keep him on his feet as he staggered to and fro like a drunken sailor, reeling. It took a full minute for him to regain his balance, a miraculous outcome especially considering the box he held was large and unwieldy and seemed to have a mind of its own as to which direction it would be heading at any moment. Upon fully recovering his footing and having stilled the box's independent movement, Leo Tuttle sighed in relief and shushed the box when it growled menacingly.

Leo Tuttle continued down the lane toward his own home, eyeing the house with the dead yard warily as he passed, never having trusted any place without some form of life. He customarily nodded with a smile to Ida and Ella as well, having nothing but appreciation for the couple, since upon more than one occasion he had received aid from them when one of his more calamitous mishaps struck. As he approached his own house at the end of the lane, his wary gaze shifted from the house with the dead yard to his less-than-amenable neighbor on the left, Old Mrs. Habernathy. His relations with Old Mrs. Habernathy were guarded at best, which was as good as anyone could hope to have with the aged spinster. Leo Tuttle kept his lawn well tended, thanks to the never-ending tips and encouragement from Paxton Green, and his fence well mended. He had consistently given Old Mrs. Habernathy no adequate excuse to complain, but was still often the recipient of her disapproving looks.

As he kept an eye on his less-than-sociable neighbor keeping an eye on him, Leo Tuttle stepped onto his porch and set down his parcel. It made a low sound as if it meant to growl again, but then fell silent. As he unlocked and opened his door, Leo Tuttle was startled by a hail from his neighbor from the other side. He turned and smiled at Jane, who had just exited the house with the pink vinyl siding and burnt umber trim and was jogging in place. Leo Tuttle liked Jane, a recent arrival on the lane. Young, vibrant, and full of energy, Jane was all smiles and waves to everyone on the lane, even Old Mrs. Habernathy, and her energy was infectious. Leo Tuttle waved to the young woman and greeted her, "Out for your 'morning' jog?"

"Yep!" Jane responded with a smile to the statement of the obvious, as she did with everyone. She turned and set out down the lane as Leo Tuttle picked up his large box and entered his house. Jane always jogged every morning, or mid-day on the weekends, having found that the air on the lane suited her exercise regimen far better than it had at her old place. Her pace was intense, and very quickly she had passed the house with the dead yard, had passed by Bobby's house, and was rapidly approaching Paxton Green's majestic yard, a highlight both coming and going on her morning jog. Mr. Green waved and bellowed a cheery hello to Jane as she ran past, a greeting she always returned with enthusiasm. The old man was set in his ways, but fortunately for everyone, those ways were congenial and warm.

Jane kept jogging, passing the youngest Murphy boy and Bobby as they were playing with something in the bushes, and even catching up to and passing Young Tommy, who tipped his hat to her as she flew by. Young Tommy was making good progress this morning, since most of the residents were still fast asleep as was customary on a weekend, which markedly decreased the amount of time he spent at each home. Young Tommy watched Jane as she went, marveling at the constant energy and enthusiasm she always seemed to have, then turned in to the house with the pink pelican statues. Before he reached the front door, a strained bellow of 'Come in!' escaped the home, and Young Tommy obligingly opened the unlocked door and entered Liola's house. He paused to wipe his shoes on the rug and take off his hat, a convention he never forgot, and entered the 'room'. It had once been a sitting room, but over time had been converted into a library, a study, a bedroom, and a dining room all at the same time, as Liola's needs dictated. While he had never seen these changes taking place, Young Tommy occasionally noticed some new object or piece of furniture that had succumbed to the specific gravity of the 'room' and migrated there from elsewhere in the house.

Liola was where she always was when Young Tommy delivered her mail, in her chair. The chair had as much character as its resident, and Young Tommy had to wonder at its craftsmanship to have survived the many decades of almost constant occupation. Liola was grabbing a book off of a shelf behind her with her grabbing stick when Young Tommy greeted her. Hesitating in her present task, Liola turned her head and nodded acknowledgement, before going back to her struggle with the stick. Young Tommy waited for her to finish retrieving the tome, knowing better than to attempt to help, having well learned that lesson before. When she had the book safely in hand and had recovered her breath, she turned to Young Tommy again and held out her hand for her mail, asking as she did, "So how is the lane today?"

Young Tommy dutifully handed her the official correspondence addressed to her, keeping back the letter from Mr. Green, as usual, and related the prosaic happenings of the day that had elapsed since last he had stood in the 'room' relating such things. She nodded appreciatively, as always, and thanked him as he left, then turned to her newly arrived letters from her distant family. They wrote to her every day, detailing their lives in as much detail as they could muster, and she always did the same, despite the lack of change in her sedentary existence. Her correspondence, and the man who ferried it to and from her, were two of the few windows to the outside world routinely available to her. Her own return letters from the day before were already safely stowed in Young Tommy's mailbag.

Upon exiting the house with the pink pelican statues, Young Tommy walked down the path alongside the house. This path led to a seemingly random spot along the back fence, which bordered a house outside the lane. Once there, Young Tommy knocked twice softly on the wooden slats, and when the return knocks sounded, he slid Paxton Green's letter to Liola between two of the slats. With a satisfied smile on his face, Young Tommy made his way out front again and set out once more on his route. It was a few houses further that he came to Mrs. Tilly's home. She exchanged a glass of lemonade for her mail, taking the cup back after the mailman had slaked his thirst. This exchange was wordless out of necessity, but was always a warm and friendly one. Once more without a word, Young Tommy set out as Mrs. Tilly set the now empty glass down on her patio table and opened her letter from Paxton Green. Easily the second most enthusiastic gardener of the lane, Mrs. Tilly always looked forward to these letters, as they were usually filled with nothing but praise for her lush flowerbeds teaming with vibrant colors and shapes in daedal patterns that would dazzle even the most analytical mind.

Mrs. Tilly gasped inaudibly in shock and almost dropped the letter as she whirled around to confirm what she had just read. Sure enough, there, amongst an arrangement of daffodils, chrysanthemums, and tulips she had been lovingly cultivating the last few weeks, was a molehill. She had not yet made it to that part of her garden this morning, so was surprised at the mention of it in the letter. Losing no time, Mrs. Tilly dashed to her garden shed to retrieve the mole poison. She would not allow such a beast to blight her art. She was stuffing the poison down the hole when Matthew stopped by her fence and tried to ask her directions. When she made absolutely no acknowledgement, or any movement indicating she had heard him, Matthew repeated his query with exactly the same result. Raising his voice in an attempt to make himself heard, he repeated himself once more.

"She can't hear you, Mister."

Matthew stopped mid-sentence at this pronouncement, and turned to the youngest Murphy boy and Bobby, who were standing behind him and grinning. Looking confused and flustered, he asked, "She can't?"

"No, Mister, she can't hear nobody. She's deaf", Bobby giggled as he informed the stranger to the lane.

"Oh, then perhaps you boys can help me."

"Yeah, maybe. Who you looking for?"

"I don't have a name, just an address. I'm looking for house number 34?"

Both boys gasped loudly and suddenly looked scared. Turning as a pair, they ran away, leaving a startled and confused Matthew standing alone on the sidewalk, behind him the ever industrious Mrs. Tilly still oblivious to his presence. After a minute, Matthew shrugged in puzzlement and continued down the lane. Intently scrutinizing each house as he passed, Matthew boggled as to how anyone on this lane found anything, as none of the houses had visible numbering. This was both confounding and frustrating to him, having never set foot in the lane before today, yet he was determined to find his destination, even if he had to ask everyone he met. The young woman whom he had earlier encountered jogging in the other direction had not stopped at his raised hand, instead high-fiving it as she passed.

Spying an old man working diligently in his yard much like the deaf woman, Matthew took a deep breath and approached his picket fence, clearing his throat and saying, "Excuse me, sir."

"I'm not a sir," the old man replied without looking up from his work.

"I'm sorry?"

"I've never been knighted, so I'm not a sir."

"Oh, well, it's mostly just an expression."

"Well, I'm specifically not a sir."

"Okay...", Matthew was understandably taken aback by the exchange, but seeing no one else around to ask, decided to press on, "Well can you tell me where house number 34 is?"

"No."

Matthew did not know how to respond to this. The old man's tone had not been rude or hostile, yet it had been certain, so Matthew did what he always did in cases where he was at a loss for how to respond, and apologized, "Oh, I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"No, as in I cannot tell you."

"...Is it some sort of se-..."

"I cannot tell you because I do not know."

"Well, if you could tell me any of the houses' numbers, I'm sure I could figure it out from there."

"I do not know the numbers of any of the houses."

"...Not even your own?"

Paxton Green stopped his excavation of the flower bulbs to stretch his aging back as he explained, "They renumbered the whole lane about thirty years ago, only they never got around to telling anyone on the lane what their new number was. I'm sure the younger folks picked it up as they moved in, but I never bothered to investigate, never had a need."

"So how do you know which house is which?"

"By knowing who lives where. I know the people, so I know the homes. Who are you looking for?"

Matthew fumbled with the grey paper denoting his destination for a few moments as he tried to think of how to answer, "Oh, uh... I don't know. All I have is an address."

Paxton looked up at the now glaring mid-morning sun as it beat down unmercifully upon all the earth and those that resided there, thanking it wordlessly for providing the vital power for his plants to grow. Leaning down to resume his task, he stated finally, "Then I can't help you."

Matthew watched the faithful gardener at work for another few minutes, marveling at his simplicity, before continuing down the lane, still searching for someone to ask for help. It was Ella and Ida who he finally found and asked, as they sat on their porch trading barbs about each other's more troublesome relations. He waved to them from the sidewalk, and motioned as if to approach. When they indicated this would be fine, he walked up to their porch, holding the grey piece of paper out in front of him as if in explanation. Stopping in front of the porch, he asked, "I do apologize, but can you direct me to house number 34?"

Ella's jaw dropped slightly in shock, but this went unnoticed as Ida, who had been eating a cookie at that moment, started hacking and coughing and convulsing as she discovered her inability to respire baked goods. As she cleared the evidence of her inadvisable activity with the assistance of her partner, Matthew stood by looking particularly useless and uncomfortable, unsure of what to do. After Ida was breathing air absent of crumbs once more, and had gone inside to get a drink of water to ease her now irritated throat, Ella settled back down into her chair and closed her eyes as she tried to slow her panicked breathing. She had no idea of what life would be like without Ida, and did not want to speculate on the possibility. When Matthew gently cleared his throat, her eyes popped open again as she remembered the man.

Glaring at him, as if to blame his intrusion into their life for the incident, she simply pointed directly across the street and remained coldly silent. Matthew at first took her gesture as simple dismissal, but then, following the direction of her aim, noticed for the first time the house with the dead yard. Looking askance at Ella, who nodded curtly in affirmation, Matthew turned to study the house with the dead yard. A stiff wind picked up just then, and a small eddy of lawn clippings swirled up from one side of the house with the dead yard and sped across the lot, missing it entirely, almost as if by choice, to settle on the lawn on the other side. The yard remained desolate and devoid of any sign of life.

Matthew was drawn to it, not in an attractive way, but no less insistent. It was foreboding, but also bewitching, an island of remorseless and wild desolation in a vibrant sea of cultivation and beauty. Even the sunlight that bathed the lane and each of the lovingly maintained houses that lined the lane seemed to dim and dull as it illuminated the drab and dreary structure that somehow stayed in more or less one piece despite a complete lack of upkeep. Matthew felt a chill that could not be blamed on the warm breezes of the day as he stared listlessly at the house with the dead yard.

Inexorably, as sure as the passage of time itself, Matthew walked toward the house with the dead yard. Each step as reluctant as the last, as an apprehension he had never known before gripped him. The sounds of the cheery neighborhood gradually faded and died in his ears and his vision blurred ever so slightly as he stepped from the sidewalk onto the path leading up to the doorway of the house with the dead yard. Every unrelenting stride was accompanied by a breath, but he could hear neither his own footfalls nor inhalation over the sound of his heart throbbing in his chest. It was not a dread but a fatalistic resign that clouded his mind and guided his movements as he stepped onto the porch and raised his hand to knock on the shabby door. When it swung open slowly before he could touch the wood, he was not surprised, which should have unnerved him. He could not see anything inside through the gloom, which should have worried him. Some inexplicable compulsion was drawing him inside, which should have terrified him.

From across the street, Ella watched with rapt fascination as the stranger stared into the interior of the house with the dead yard then reluctantly entered. She could not see him anymore and the door swung slowly closed. Ella turned to Ida and yawned. The mornings had never really agreed with her, but she still got up at this unreasonable hour to spend more of each day with Ida. Her protracted oscitancy coming to an end, she asked, bemused, "Did Wilber ever find that cat that's been bothering his parakeet at night?"

Ida shrugged, "If he has, he's made no mention of it yet. Of course, he hasn't dropped by yet today, so you can ask him when he does."

"If the universe doesn't end before then, I shall."

Ida stared intently at the house across the street, as she often did, and noted to anyone who happened to be listening, which was of course Ella, "It's curious how no one ever enters or leaves that place."

Ella nodded in agreement, even though her partner was not looking in her direction and would not have seen the gesture. They fell silent once more as they regarded the constant curiosity of their lives with the detachment of experienced observers. This silence was only interrupted an hour later when Wilber Tumbleburry trotted up their path, waving amiably at his favorite neighbors. Motioning toward the tray of ginger snaps he asked by way of expression if it was alright for him to take one, as he always did despite their regular assurances that he did not need to ask. He grabbed a cookie and took a seat on the deck chair that Ida pointed to, settling in for the lengthy gossip session with the couple which they conducted at least once a week. Wilber Tumbleburry was always interested in any new details Ella and Ida could impart on their shared interest, the house with the dead yard, and they always had some tidbit he had missed while either away at the library or sleeping soundly.

They passed the next hour discussing the lack of any new developments of note, and the strange, but not unprecedented, lack of strange sounds in the prior day. They paused in their dialogue to watch Leo Tuttle walking past hurriedly, clutching tightly at a towel wrapped around his left hand. Despite the oddness of the spectacle, this only proved a momentary distraction from their prior topic, as Leo Tuttle was always doing something peculiar or inexplicable. Soon, Leo's passing would be forgotten entirely. Leo continued down the lane, grimacing in pain whenever he stumbled a bit. He only had to go a few more blocks before he reached the bus stop, but in his current circumstances even that short distance seemed immeasurable. He squawked as he was brushed on both sides by small forms dashing past him. He was too startled to even yell at the passing youngest Murphy boy and Bobby, who were giggling as they ran toward Liola's home.

They were shouting and laughing at each other, as if they were running away from the scene of some mischievous prank, which they were, as if they were being chased, which they were, and were fleeing to a safe refuge to wait out the temporary ire of their hapless victim, which they were. They careened wildly around various residents of the lane with little regard for their or the residents' safety, as the young invariably do. Most just grunted or smiled in annoyance or bemusement, but some shouted reproaches at them or tried to reach out and grab them short with no success. When at last they reached Liola's home, they were short on breath, but giggling all the same. They made their way around the pink pelican statues, down the path along the side of the house, around to the back of her house, past the back door that never opened and into the barely discernible hole in her hedgerow.

There was a hollow in the center of the bushes that lined most of the back fence that connected from bush to bush, and here was the favorite hideout of the youngest Murphy boy and Bobby. It was here that they planned their adventures, it was here that they hid their treasures, and it was here, in the hidden hollow, that they sought refuge from the adults who did not care for their childish escapades. The birds and squirrels had long ago ceded the whole hedge to the two boys. This was their refuge and their fortress. The bushes had served duty as a pirate ship, a castle, an underground cavern, a courtroom, a spaceship, and at all times a tunnel into another world that only they could see and visit.

Once secure in their hide-away, the youngest Murphy boy and Bobby chattered away in whispers, lest they be heard by their imagined pursuer, whispers far too loud to be stealthy, but quiet enough that none listening could possibly discern anything meaningful. Not that they discussed anything meaningful to anyone else, as they excitedly retold the events they had just experienced, misremembering and embellishing every detail, until their latest amusement was of the greatest magnitude with the highest of stakes and the fraughtest of perils. The erstwhile neighbor they had forayed against became a terrible dragon whom they had vanquished with a mighty spell, which happened to take the form of a water balloon, atop a high mountain in the forests of suburbia. Even woeful Leo Tuttle was transformed in their retelling into a mighty guardian troll they had deftly flanked as they crossed a rickety bridge spanning a yawning chasm without bottom that still somehow held a fearsome river filled with piranha and lava at the same time.

The boys stopped their narrative dialogue suddenly when they heard a creak and scrape of wood from the fence next to the hedge. There was only silence, as much as there ever is silence in a world filled with birds and insects and squirrels and other varieties of life. The two boys held their breath and listened intently, suddenly wholly convinced that they had been found out and their secret lair was about to be exposed to the world at last. Long moments of tension and worry held them captive, but the sound did not repeat. Finally, when they could hold neither their breath nor their tongues any longer, they burst into a frenetic whispered debate as to what had caused the sound or if they had heard any sound at all. They came to the mutual conclusion that they had imagined it, then subsequently decided that they had hidden long enough and the world outside was safe once more, so they peaked out of their hole in the bush before creeping out into Liola's back yard.

Laughing and chattering once more, the pair dashed around the house, not hearing the boards behind their hideaway creak and scrape once more. Dodging and weaving around the pink pelican statues, the youngest Murphy boy and Bobby almost ran over a now exhausted and bedraggled Jane, but even in her weary state, Jane was deft enough to twist about to allow the passage of the young rapscallions. Pausing to catch her breath, Jane leaned over and grabbed her knees to rest as she watched with a smile the ever rambunctious pair of boys dash off, shouting something about pirates and ninjas as they went. Jane liked the kids on the lane, even if sometimes they were a little troublesome. To her mind, that was just part of the nature of kids. Her short rest over, Jane resumed her relaxed jog home, being a mere few houses away from her house. After her usual multi-hour jog, she was more than ready to take a shower and start her day. Just before she turned down her own path to the house with the pink vinyl siding and burnt umber trim, she noticed Candice from across the street waving at her. Turning and smiling, she returned the wave, shouting so as to be heard, "Morning Candice!"

"Morning, Jane! Could I bother you to stop by today? I've got a chest of drawers I need to move, but can't do it by myself."

"Sure thing, Candice! I'll be over in thirty!"

"Thank you, Jane!" Candice smiled at the younger woman as she disappeared into her house, before turning to find Old Mrs. Habernathy glaring at her from her own porch. Frowning at her perpetually persnickety neighbor, Candice turned and walked back into her house. She did not care for Old Mrs. Habernathy, but she could not imagine any but mosquitoes caring for the old crone. Not for the first time, Candice wondered why some folks found it so hard to be pleasant. Or was it that they purposefully set out in life to be bitter and cold, as if that were some grand achievement? Dismissing the issue from her mind, Candice wandered back into her sitting room and sighed, pondering her own immediate personal problem. The chest of drawers sat on the wrong side of the room, in the perfect spot for a chest of drawers. Looking from the drawers to the other side of the room, at the least suitable spot for a chest of drawers, she contemplated how to momentarily hide the disturbingly pallid stain that was growing outward from the pinprick hole on the wall before Jane came over to help her move the drawers there. She settled on a flattened cardboard box, concluding that she could explain its presence as a buffer so as to not scrape or bump the wall with the chest of drawers as they positioned it. Yes, that made sense, Candice thought. Once she had set the cardboard in place, her mind grew easier, as she could no longer see the execrable stain or the hole it was growing from.

Her mind at ease, Candice almost jumped out of her skin as she heard a crash of glass from the front of her house. Had she made it outside, she would have seen the back of Justin's running form disappear down the block. Justin was a troubled young man, too young to be held directly responsible for his actions but far too old to not know better. Lacking adults who actually cared about his wellbeing, Justin made his own decisions about his upbringing, and these decisions were often less than wise. More often than not, Justin did not run these ideas past either of his parents or his teachers before acting upon them. He got into more trouble than was average for his age, all of which was dismissed or ignored by those who should be guiding his development into adulthood. As Justin ran away from his latest foray into self-parenting, he cursed under his breath. He had thought Candice was not at home, and was not sure if he had been seen throwing the stone. Justin had timed his assault on the house for one of the rare occasions when Old Mrs. Habernathy was taking one of her meals inside and not keenly watching everything that occurred on the lane.

Only briefly cursing his own luck, he quickly turned his malice toward Candice herself, blaming, as was the custom of bullies, his victim for having crossed him earlier that week and thus provoking the assault upon her home. Justin only stopped cursing and running when he realized no one was chasing him. Looking around, he found himself in front of Mrs. Tilly's house. Other than the deaf woman busily working away at her garden with her back turned to him, Justin was alone. Justin watched the happy lady with boredom and disdain. How could anyone be that enthusiastic working in the dirt? What an idiot she must be. Well, she was deaf and dumb, so it made sense she would be content with such mindless activities, he thought. He did not even consider Paxton Green in this conclusion, but he was not watching Paxton Green at the moment. He was watching the idiot deaf woman, and he had just decided he wanted her to not be happy anymore. Keeping his eyes on her to make sure she did not turn around, Justin reached down and grabbed her freshly planted bushes firmly at their bases. Pulling hard, Justin uprooted the plants and tossed them out into the street. Laughing at her lack of reaction, he repeated his action with more of her hard work, rapidly reducing her immaculate cultivation to ruins.

It was only after he had also trampled all her newly bloomed flowers into litter that he grew bored and wandered off. All the while, Mrs. Tilly had been oblivious to the carnage ensuing behind her, humming silently to herself as she lovingly aerated the soil around the delicate arrangement of flowers in front of her. Her plants were a large part of her life, and she cultivated and tended to them as if they were her children. Under her care they thrived and grew into beautiful exemplars. To Mrs. Tilly, the smell and feel of the dirt was one of the most pleasing sensations one could have. Not even the discomfort of age could discourage her from experiencing it whenever the sun was out. Standing and inspecting her work, she nodded in satisfaction and stretched her back. Mrs. Tilly turned to start on the next flowerbed and discovered the destruction strewn about her yard and the street beyond. Her eyes bulging in shock and horror, she opened her mouth and emitted a scream no one heard.

Mrs. Tilly stood there, crying and shrieking in silence for several minutes before the first of her neighbors noticed the distraught woman and the destroyed garden. As if by magic, word of the horrible vandalism spread up and down the lane, and just as quickly, her neighbors converged on the scene of the crime. While Jane and Wilber Tumbleburry did their utmost to calm and comfort the distressed Mrs. Tilly, Paxton Green organized and led a concerted effort to salvage what they could of her uprooted plants and repair the ravaged yard. Even the youngest Murphy boy and Bobby were enlisted as gophers for the adults as the reparations were made. In less than an hour, the yard was restored to a condition that would have been satisfactory to most, a condition that only Mrs. Tilly and Paxton Green would know was less than perfect. By this time, poor Mrs. Tilly had vented her anguish sufficiently that she was able to communicate by way of a translator to the police officers who had arrived to take her statement.

As the impromptu landscaping brigade disbanded, none of them being of any use to the police since none of them had seen what had transpired, Jane remembered her promise to Candice and walked over to Candice's residence. Candice, who had not been part of the restoration effort, did not answer the door when Jane rang her bell. This worried Jane a little, and she turned to look at Old Mrs. Habernathy, asking with a look if the old battle-axe knew what was wrong. For her part, Old Mrs. Habernathy just glared silently at Jane like she had always done since the young woman had moved onto the lane. Turning back to the silent door, Jane tried knocking a few more times before giving up and trying the doorknob. It turned and the door opened, as it was not locked. Jane entered while calling out for Candice, but received no reply. It was only when she was inside that Jane noticed the broken front window, with a large rock-shaped hole in the center and a spider web of cracks radiating out to the edges of the frame.

The window only held her attention for the briefest of moments, until her gaze and concern were drawn first to the prone form of Candice on the living room floor, then to the rock lying just beyond the pool of dried blood forming an almost perfectly circular corona around the head of her friend. The ambulance arrived in record time, twenty minutes too late to be of any use at all. The police cruiser, which had only just left the lane, returned and was joined by several others as the end of the lane was cordoned off and a murder investigation was launched. A chill went up and down the lane and everyone felt a little less safe and serene than they had before. Just as with the vandalized garden, no one had seen anything and the police found nothing of use in questioning the various residents, but they diligently made their way up and down the lane, inquiring at every house but two. For no particular reason, they did not approach Old Mrs. Habernathy, and they did not approach the house with the dead yard.

By the time the police left the lane and all of its distraught residents, the sun was setting, and the houses of the lane lit up for the evening meal. Old Mrs. Habernathy got up as the last light of the day faded away behind the picturesque houses and reentered her house to go to bed. A silence settled on the lane as the beasts of the night came out to make their rounds. The cats started their nocturnal stalking of all the smaller creatures that emerged from their holes and dens to feed upon the vegetation on such bountiful offer. The raccoons emerged from their hiding places to feed upon both the flora and on any of the cats ignorant enough to consider raccoons as prey.

____

This is an excerpt of my novel Once Upon A Lane. To read more, please visit one of the online retailers listed below.

Available now at your favorite online marketplaces:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B081XKL3J6

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[phaota]

Looking For Movie Audio Commentaries?

Are you a movie audio commentary fan?  They are enjoyable when the right people are doing them for all of the trivia and making-of information that can gained concerning the films discussed.  I’m a huge archiver of them with a Total Titles in Archive = 10,484 (Total Tracks = 13,316) at this time (continuously growing almost daily).  They originate from laserdiscs, DVDs and Blu-rays released all over the world (only English language tracks).  Sure, not all commentaries are great, but it is up to the listener for judging that.  Like a good audio book, you don't need to really watch the movie in order to enjoy one.  I used to have a long standing bi-monthly updated thread on the unfortunately now defunct tehparadox website (under the name “Vrexcl”).  Now I share them via e-mail with any and all fans, especially those that are still in touch from Paradox.  I do end-of-the-month e-mail list updates of newly acquired tracks, either sent from various contributors or obtained by myself from discs or websites (like Rarelust.com or HDencode.com).  Another reason I haven’t created a website devoted to them again or found another forum is that it’s expensive to put nearly all of my archive on some storage locker site like Dropbox, Mediafire or Nitroflare.  So now I just upload desired tracks to Dropbox, give the download links in a reply e-mail and ask the individual to let me know when they are downloaded so that I can delete them to clear space.  You can contact me for a copy of my Word document archive lists at phaota@gmail.com.  I’ll also share my “Wanted” list as well, for all of the tracks I seek from various films already out on disc or coming soon.  Moderation is the key though when requesting.  Don’t go crazy.  Look through and see what you would like, but keep it to around 12 at a time.  It might take a day or two to send everything you desire since there are lot of archived tracks which are from 2010 to late-2013s.  If desired title is from back then, I need to check it out for hiss removal and volume/bass balancing in order to bring it up-to-date.  The vast majority of commentaries are recorded in improper room setups, so some are just bad in noise, while others are near perfect.  As for sharing tracks, I prefer them in .ac3 or .mka format (either from already done online sources or direct stream demux off the actual DVD or Blu-ray disc) with all the needed information about them given, i.e. year, edition the track is from (Standard/Collector's/Limited/Special), world region (R1/R2/R4) and who is heard in the audio.  Alright, hope to hear from you with requested tracks.  Commentary fans unite!

P.S.  I don’t mind if you use the tracks on your own website or blog, just as long as you give credit to me as your original commentary source link.

[owens-valley-nudist]

Benefits Of Social Nudity: General Health & Stress Reduction

Benefits Of Social Nudity: General Health & Stress Reduction By Naturist Philosopher Printer Friendly Version

This is an edited version of a blog posted on 12th March 2015. Part of a series of blogs published on The Naked Philosopher’s website, and the original version of Benefits of Social Nudity: Stress Reduction and General Health can be read in full here.

Introduction Most naturists believe that social nudity has significant health benefits, but there doesn’t seem to be much clarity about exactly how. In the early days of naturism (up to 1940s, say), there was a strong emphasis on healthful living. In Germany, nudity was considered a part of healthy living, sometimes referred to as Lebensreform (‘life reform’ in English) that included several principles, like abstinence from alcohol, tobacco (and other addictive drugs), exercise, a healthy diet (in particular vegetarianism) and living in “harmony” with nature with exposure to fresh air and sunshine. For most of these principles there was no logical reason for nudity, except that it was regarded as the “natural” state of humans.

Today, other than nudity itself, these general principles are widely accepted by the public – at least as much as within naturism itself – so it is difficult to regard them as beneficial aspects of contemporary naturism specifically.

It is true, however, that exposure to sunlight (specifically the ultraviolet end of the spectrum) enables our skin to synthesize vitamin D, required avoid certain diseases (e.g. rickets in children). Research also suggests we derived other benefits vitamin D but these claims have not been properly investigated nor is the required dosage known. For instance, long before antibiotics existed, those diagnosed with tuberculosis would be sent to sanatoriums for the ‘sunshine cure’.

The effects of excessive exposure to sunlight are not trivial and well documented: dried, prematurely aged skin, sunburn, and an increased risk of melanoma. Nor is it necessary to be naked. We can synthesize enough Vitamin D through from moderate sunbathing, even in northern Europe, or through our diet.

Apart from claims that social nudity has benefits for our physical health, it is also alleged it has positive effects on our mental health too. Although these claims are generally vague, they do have a “common sense” feel to them, now that we have a better understanding of how psychology can affect our physical health. It has been discovered that psychological stress, especially chronic stress, can be a major factor in several physical diseases, like cardiovascular diseases and diabetes. There may be different reasons why you are suffering from psychological stress, some physical, others non-physical. We are going to concentrate on the latter, with many nudists saying that stress reduction is one of the main benefits of social nudity.

What is stress? Suppose you are out for a hike in the hills. You go around a bend in the trail, and just 10 feet ahead of you on the trial is a large rattlesnake. Your heart starts to pound, you forget about the trail mix you’ve just been nibbling on, you stop daydreaming about the new car you’d like to buy, and you look quickly around for the nearest large rock or stick. There is a fair size stone nearby, but it’s a pretty large snake, so you decide to make a strategic retreat instead. That’s stress.

Stress is not inherently a bad thing. Our experience of physical stress is what makes possible our dealing with physical threats, e.g. dangerous snakes, effectively in a response known as “fight or flight”. It sends adrenalin to our heart, making it pump harder to send sugar-laden blood to our muscles in preparation for one or the other. It is what sportsmen and women feel as they play, or when we lesser mortals run for the bus.

In early man, whatever dangerous situation was, it was quickly resolved and the body would quickly return to normal. Today, there are a host of sources for stress: the fear of losing your job, actual unemployment, overwork, high bills and low pay are just a few. Occasional stress in dangerous situations is a small problem when compared to the emergency itself. But when we are constantly under stress, it becomes chronic and that can lead to physical illness.

How is psychological stress harmful to health? The most obvious bad thing to happen to your body constantly in ‘fight or flight’ mode is excessive wear and tear on the cardiovascular system. The heart works harder than necessary, blood pressure is higher than needed, putting extra strain on the heart, which turn can lead to either a heart attack or stroke. Not only can chronic stress lead to heart disease but to numerous other health problems besides, with high hormone levels leading to higher infections, slow healing wounds, progression of cancer and stomach ulcers, to name just a few that medical scientists now suspect physiological stress is a contributory factor.

How does social nudity help reduce stress? There are various ways to reduce stress. You could take prescription tranquilizer drugs, such as anxiolytics, but they can be addictive and have other undesirable side effects. Alcohol works too, but certainly has its own problems, as do recreational drugs – apart from being illegal. None of these solutions deal with the cause of your stress. The real solution might be to quit a job that is just too unpleasant to bear, get out of a bad relationship, or move to a place with lower living costs. But such things are more easily said than done, and suppose you’re stressed by something you just have little, or no, control over, like losing a job you? What can you do then?

Social nudity helps because it brings a number of inherently stress-reducing practices, opportunities, and features together. While most of the features are available separately and without the social nudity, by being a naturist you’ll find are available as part of the package.

A Friendly Social Support System: One of the commonest sources of stress is loneliness and social isolation. [It should be pointed out here that there is a vast difference between being a lone and loneliness, and not be confused. Ed.] By definition, social nudity can take care of that. It may require considerable effort to begin with, but once managed you have a ready-made network of like-minded people to provide plenty of friendships and socializing opportunities.

Increased Self-confidence: For reasons covered above, chronic fear and anxiety are big stressors. Fear of failure in some endeavour is a very common. See post dated 19th February 2015, Benefits of Social Nudity: Building Self-confidence for a further explanation.

Body Acceptance: For many people, unhappiness about the appearance of their body is a big source of stress, and perhaps an obstacle to a happy social life. See post dated 1st February 2015, Benefits of Social Nudity: Body Acceptance for more detail.

Emphasis on the Positives: Normal, everyday life is a mixture of positives and negatives. Stress results when the latter significantly exceeds the former. The world of social nudity isn’t a perfect utopia – far from it, but it does distract attention away from life’s negatives, and so promotes a more positive outlook on life. There’s less emphasis on things like physical appearance, social status, and conformance to unreasonable social norms. People involved in social nudity want to share the pleasure of being naked, because an individual’s happiness is enhanced when others are also enjoying life. Happiness is contagious.

Practice Nude Yoga and Meditation: Yoga and meditation are practices, which emphasize emptying your mind of mundane concerns, “turning off the noise upstairs”. Although the details vary among different types of yoga and meditation, you learn to sharply narrow your mental focus (or unfocussed it entirely), away from stressful thoughts. Although you can do yoga and meditation alone and/or without being naked, doing them naked, as part of a group, can reinforce your motivation to continue and advance your level of mastery. Both yoga and meditation are proven to reduce high blood pressure (caused by stress), at least while engaged in the practice, so they may be beneficial after particularly stressful experiences.

Exercise Nude: As was pointed out at the start, physical exercise was an integral part of German Lebensreform and early nudism. And like the other components of those movements, the health benefits were emphasized. You can still get plenty of exercise without being naked or part of a group. But as with yoga and meditation, this is something that’s often more satisfying as part of a group of naked people. And some types of exercise are simply not possible alone – volleyball, basketball, tennis, etc. What’s the connection with stress? Again, it’s the focus on the present, the here-and-now. And if exercise improves your physical fitness and general health, you may be able to lose weight and reduce psychological stress associated with obesity. If you join a landed nudist club, you also gain access to exercise facilities (swimming pools, tennis courts, gym equipment, etc.) as part of the deal.

Nude Soaking, Sauna: The indigenous people of the Americas used Sweat lodges long before Europeans arrived. Nobody knows when saunas were first used in Nordic countries, because it was before most of their recorded history. And many humans, who had access to them, undoubtedly used natural hot springs. Such things have been popular because they are physically relaxing and stress reducing. This is probably because of endorphins that reduce stressful physical pain and tension. Even if you don’t own a sauna or spa yourself, if you participate in social nudity, there are probably others in the group (or club/resort) who do. [Perhaps it should be noted here that while all this is undoubtedly true, the Nordic tradition of a Sauna has an equally long history, and with stated benefits. The Romans had similar bathing arrangements while in Ancient Greece the history of public bathing goes back as far as the 6th Century BC. Ed.]

Nude Massage: There are many different types of massage, but most have been shown to reduce high blood pressure (caused by stress) and pain (which is a source of stress). While commercial massage providers do not encourage nudity, in spite of how any clothing interferes with a full-body massage. Many nudist clubs and resorts do offer fully nude professional massage, and many club members have learned to perform massage themselves. Physical touch, of course, an integral part of any massage is stress-reducing by itself.

That’s it. As you can see, there are a lot of ways available in social nudity that can significantly counteract psychological stress – and therefore promote physical health and quality of life.

However, as bad as stress is for health, it degrades quality of life in other ways too. As the journalist Jean-Louis Servan-Schreiber wrote in The Art of Time,

What I fear most about stress is not that it kills, but that it prevents one from savouring life.

So the ways that social nudity helps control stress make this benefit even more valuable. Life is better savoured without clothes.

References The popular science magazine Science News just published a very informative feature article on stress and health in its March 7, 2015 edition: Chronic stress can wreak havoc on the body. Highly recommended.

Here’s a more technical review of the biology of how stress due to social causes leads to inflammation and other immune system problems: Stress Fractures – from the January 2015 issue of The Scientist.

The definitive book on psychological stress for the general reader is Why Zebras Don’t Get Ulcers, by Robert Sapolsky. Although it’s long (over 400 pages, with 100 additional pages of notes), and full of technical detail, it’s well worth the effort.

[dietsauthority]

Natural Stress Relievers: Tips and Tricks That Won`t Make You Feel Even Worse the Next Morning

The wish to leave stress and anxiety and also undesirable thoughts and also sensations is natural. It's much far better for you to look for all-natural options versus binge eating, too much drinking, or involving in various other undesirable acts.

As a result, what you truly should be seeking are leisure activities that will not make you really feel poor the complying with early morning. There's no hangover linked to the following all-natural stress and anxiety relievers.

Bath and Bubbles

Envision the comfy feeling of warm water coupled with the soothing scents of bathroom bubbles and salts. Whether you're a male or woman, you could make a relaxing bathroom a routine daily event. Store online as well as at local stores for bath-related goodies such as water-proof pillows, all-natural bath salts, drop-in soaps, etc.

Meditation and Breathing

You could be believing that you breath at all times, in some cases even hyperventilate! Nevertheless, those who practice reflection end up being excellent at breathing, a lot so that it produces soothing results. Those who are well learnt reflection can often relax in spite of difficult scenarios. Breathing and also meditation is a fantastic way to quickly escape tension in a healthy manner.

Classical and Light Jazz

Many individuals approach songs by artists instead of style. Take into consideration selecting music, despite artist, that uses light as well as soothing noises, such as classical and also light jazz. You don't need to devote to acquiring any product. Usage digital tools like Spotify and Youtube or obtain physical tapes, cassettes, DVDs and more from libraries. Light jazz and classical are simply suggestions, some might locate it extra stress-free to pay attention to hefty metal. The type is not as crucial as the result it carries you. Utilize this mandala tinting book application while listening.

Running and Lifting

Physical task is a great way to alleviate anxiety. Actually, you could locate yourself space of stressful feelings as you make exercise a normal thing. Try something that is tough yet suitable for your present physical fitness level. In mix with a cardiovascular activity, try raising light to moderately hefty weights, concentrating on all the body's primary muscle mass areas. Get in touch with online resources or ask an instructor about establishing a customized beginner regular based upon your goals.

Giving and Volunteering

Do you know exactly what really feels much better than feeling bad concerning on your own? Flattering those in demand. Volunteer time and sign up with regional charity efforts centered on kids, the homeless, needy individuals in other countries, and so on. At times, concentrating on aiding others makes it easier to forget our own difficulties. Devote several hours a week towards assisting family and buddies with small tasks.

Massage and Acupuncture

Forms of alternate medication emphasis on influencing the mind by unwinding the body. A standard massage entails easing the muscle mass of tension. Much like stretching, the procedure generates an euphoric effect. Acupuncture includes placing small needles right into locations of the body including the face, hands, and feet. The impact of the body over the mind assists soothe stress as well as maintains you really feeling great.

[newtonelab-blog]

All Sorts Of Rain Sounds

Rain sounds are as various as the places that the rain falls fall because the atmospheres developed by users in the Ambient Mixer are. Only to become careful of the amount, exceptional quality, user preferences and sounds with white noise black screen, here's a short resume concerning our users develop rain connected ambiances.

Some stats regarding Using rainfall sounds in ambient mixer

A simple search for "rain" from the search box in the website shows more than 600 research results for ambiances related-to rain. As the search additionally counts atmospheres about"mind" or"trains", the last actual variety is around 280-300 paths that have any relation to rain. They include the moderate thunder-storm atmosphere that is most popular towards the science-fiction types.

Most utilized sounds in rainfall related ambiances

A statistics appearance in the creations shows some pretty Intriguing outcomes:

If we look at exactly what rain and thunder sounds are all utilised to make rain associated atmospheres, we come across that an astounding number of 675 unique sounds utilized by the writers. This gives us a feeling of this range of ambiances. There are some sounds which are used over the others, included in this a few ones such as your dog bark.

Most utilized audio combinations in rainy ambient tracks

The variety of these utilized sound collections is of nearly 250 solid mixes. This provides an thought of how diverse ambients and moods you may produce using all the range of sounds. But even her we locate some layouts that repeat certain mixtures of fan noise, which we presume are a superior fit to weather conditions ambiances.

The actual fact that these sounds are employed for the reason that combination does not mean all ambiances will seem the same. The layout is employed by greater than sixty creators, that of course utilize different level and sounds. Any way, in the event that you are planning to make a rain soundscape know what layouts can be found by most authors. Some of these probably return back once again to a clone of an existent ambiance like the Lighting Thunderstorm, which has prompted plenty of consumers.

Classification for rain related environment

The rainfall environment classified within the ecological category acquire the very best views. And also the subcategory you'd presume had most rain connected atmospheres is not weather (nature) but"countryside" inside the ecological class. A great deal of atmospheres with other stuff, grass, prairies along with sounds evoking horizons accounts for this .

Afterward occur the type category and relaxing atmospheres. A reason behind this is the fact that lots folks sleep to rain audio's. Rest sounds for kiddies usually consist of things like. The moms and dads do not get you to sleep soundly anymore, when you grow up, and sound is taken over as by rain. The rain drop audio to be sheltered from the warm, and the feeling creates men and women sleep.

When we take a look at the votes to get rain related atmospheres we find that a slightly different film: Even the maximum votes for rainfall connected ambiances are found in the nature classes, notably in weather and woods. In the category we detect the many hunted rain atmospheres, view the video here.

So, despite one can feel that rain audio's are special for coffeshop ambient or weather simulation audio, the simple point is the fact that a number of writers choose their landscape sound backgrounds using some rain in it. In terms of the forest ambiances, it't simply true that a forest can not live without rain. So if you add some rain or rain even woods that are not just a need and also improve drops for it.

Resuming, we have some patterns for rainfall relevant ambiances and now we have seen that probably the most views and voted rain ambiances are classified for forest and countryside ambiances. It's a little surprising when we think that lots of popular web sites have exploded using much like wallpapers that are audio along with coffeeshop rain moods. These seem to succeed being a sound foundation for work.

[vapormaison]

2019 Best Press 3/4:  カタカナ・タイトル + Kanji Title by TANUKI

While for many vaporwave vinyl is doubtless equal parts collector’s item and audio source, I don’t want to lose sight of the goal of this blog here: developing a canon of the genre for high fidelity enjoyment. That said, when I come across something remarkable or noteworthy about a particular piece of wax, even if it is not a “purely audiophile” object, I want to make mention of it.

And TANUKI’s カタカナ・タイトル + Kanji Title wax release is not only noteworthy, but contends for hi-fi consideration despite it’s status as a picture disc.

But let’s back up slightly.

Going back to the previous thesis on why we buy records, sometimes you just want to own a vinyl just because. Just because you’re a collector trying to compile a discography on wax — or, better yet, just because you truly love the album art. For me, カタカナ・タイトル + Kanji Title (Double EP) was undoubtedly all of the three “just be-causes”.

A while back, I noticed that the LP was going into its 3rd press, and decided to snap up a copy because I like Tanuki, I like Lum, and because of those other just becauses. Unfortunately the only format available was not the pink vinyl, but the picture disc. As I’m sure is well-known (because audiophiles are very loud about things they dislike), picture-discs are a big no-no in the audiophile community. This is because while a beautiful objet d’art, a serious listening session of a picture disc release will usually produce greater amounts of surface noise than any other type of vinyl. You can, of course, with the right system, neutralize and mitigate this process slightly, but true-blue hi-fi heads pursuing that elusive muse of “pure sound” would never give a picture disc a second look.

I’m not one of those people.

Tangentially, I’ve heard whispers of ghosts of rumors from when I was living in Shenzen, China — that various record suppliers (small batch Makers) are working out manufacturing and material processes that minimize these issues on pic discs to create appealing records that cover all the bases: hi-fi suitability, collector oriented visual esoterica, and price. I should also admit I have no idea where those companies are in terms of R&D and/or producing these. I end up catching a lot of very fast talk from extremely motivated enthusiasts, but Chinese is still as elusive a language to me at times as “pure sound” can be. With that in mind, however, it’s logical to surmise that advances in technology will eventually render the differences between picture discs and traditional black wax undistinguishable. So long as the world isn’t destroyed in some cataclysmic climate disaster (very real possibility), or -- as we are watching evolve now: World War 3. My view is that it’d be pointless to dismiss the format out of hand when there are active attempts to innovate it as we speak.

That all said, I know what to expect when a contemporary, big-label picture disc plays. During my college days, I used to spin wax at the university radio station. One of the previous catalog managers had a fetish for this “collectible” format, and was convinced he was doing the station a favor by purchasing all these vinyls, noting a pre-supposed resale value later. I remember throwing these on the well-worn Technics SP-10 we had as our main turntable, and listening to the occasional scratch, frequent popping, and constant surface noise, that for the uninitiated (bless you), sounds like a sustained “cracking” in your Rice Krispies — or for those born in the analog age, CRTV static.

So when I sat down with the Tanuki picture disc, I had this laundry list of preconceptions and prejudices about the format. I thought that I could listen to a moderately scratchy record once or twice, keep it as more a visual boutique item and then eventually include in an article where I bemoan the poor quality of the genre’s releases.

But then, I actually listened.

And it sounded… well, I won’t get ahead of myself. Here’s the full review:

THE MUSIC

BABYBABYの夢 — is doubtless the reason why many of us have bought the EP from a sonic perspective —especially if the band-camp reviews are indicative of trends. I still maintain that this is the Mariya Takeuchi sample/remix work par excellence. Tanuki hits all the essential notes here, a genuine respect and love for the sound-staging of its original source, Yume No Tsuzuki. I still get echoes of the original arrangement in my system, (ever so slightly) with a bright and dance-infused collection of unique sounds — particularly in that delicious, wide mid-range — that flesh out the track into its own sort of masterpiece.

何がGoin' On — the curatorial and conspiratorial side of my brain tells me that Goin’ On will probably go down as one the under-appreciated vintage bangers of this era of future funk. I can envision hipsters two or three decades from now sussing out a neophyte with pretentious questions about this track’s pitch-shifted sample draws from. It has that sort of vibe that you know hits with a certain subset of electronica fans — rich & vibrant, making the tweeters on your system work out in all the best ways — it’s just great.

がんばれ — Tanuki is at his best when he gets playful with brass samples. I firmly believe that the titans in this genre each have their go-to piece in their best arrangement — like Dan Mason’s creative vocal array, or greyL’s manipulation of micro-samples. For Tanuki, it’s whenever her gets a horn — synthesized or otherwise, into his production workflow.

ファンクOFF — continues Tanuki’s magic act, taking another city pop track more iconic for its soulful electric guitar riff and turning it into the most slap-worthy single on this EP. I prefer it when Japanese pop samples are fundamentally re-imagined, although I can see how the perfectionist tweaking of someone like Yung Bae is more appealing for some. Tanuki is undoubtedly one of the innovators of this genre, and there’s no more solid evidence of that talent than this track.

腕の中でDancin’ — if I ended up hosting a sort of mythical vaporwave grammies or something like that, (I’m available, folks!) I would probably go off on a Ricky Gervais style rant on how artists aren’t in touch with “the people” (read: me) because all we really want are more remixes of Meiko Nakahara songs — who given her impact on City Pop should have way more play in this genre than she does. This one, like most of the Meiko mixes I’ve heard, is a banger with an absolute fire bass riff punctuated throughout.

Radiant Memories — this might be my first certified “hot take” in the publication (they’ll be many more, I imagine) — but as far as I’m concerned this is the superior Plastic Love edit. I’ll just leave my thoughts there, so they can soak in with a portion of the fanbase who split my reddit account on an open fire of downvotes for suggesting that other artists than Macross 82-99 (Praise be upon him!) are allowed to touch this song as well. While Macross’s mix is definitely the more up-temo of the two, and that for some is the very essence of the genre, this slightly down-mixed version is both the perfect conclusion for the EP and ideal antithesis.

THE LISTENING EXPERIENCE

Signal to Raise ratio on the following albums:

カタカナ・タイトル + Kanji Title:  ~61.9db (1 db MoE)

Tron Legacy, Daft Punk:  58.4db

Love Trip, Takako Mamiya, Kitty Records Press: 65.8db

(ratings based on averages 5 minutes of sustained play on the testing unit, the machine actually complied this data on its preset, which is another fascinating part about this sort of vintage press-testing tech). The margin of error is because the machine, according to my mentor Dr. Juuso Ottala formerly of Harman International, informs me it was never meant to give accurate readings of picture discs, and to add about a dB of error margin.

One of the benefits of growing up in New England and, subsequently, New York, is that there are no shortage of heritage professional audio brand HQs in operation around a 200 mile radius from Manhattan to Boston. Off the top of my head, there’s Harman/Kardon, Boston Acoustics, Bose, NuMark, Marantz, and Rane headquarters within an hour’s drive from my two hometowns. Early on in my audiophile quest, I got my hands on some cool vintage gear — vinyl lathe testing equipment that has collected dust in both an old Harman technician’s storage unit, and now my parent’s basement. Over the holiday, I recently brought it out to do some surface noise testing on it to get a rough confirmation of what I was explaining in yesterday’s hi-fi guide. The innards of the machine looks eerily like a plinth-less linear tonearm and plate pair attached to a monitor. After making sure I’m not violating some kind of Harman International trade secret, I’ll post it on instagram.

Wanting to also get a firm idea on just how good my ear-test sounded, I grabbed another picture disc vinyl I had received as a gift a few years ago from my brother — the Tron Legacy OST. While I found the film passably enjoyable, my own preconceptions about pic discs, and a general exhaustion with french house — left me with no discernible desire to spin the thing. I hadn’t even broken the seal on the plastic wrap, so it seemed like as good as a blind test as any. I also grabbed what my ears tell me is a “good”, “heavy” press, a 1982 original dead-stock copy of Takako Mamiya’s Love Trip LP pressed by Kitty Records Japan. I’ve played it maybe a half dozen times since I bought it, so it’s as close to “new” 80s audiophile pop record as you can get. The Japanese are infamously anal about low SNR on their vinyl.

And, well, the results speak for themselves. The sweet spot for most black vinyl records is between 60-70db depending on age, weight, and a host of other frankly uncontrollable factors that aren’t worth getting into detail here, as I’d go on forever. The main takeaway here is that Neoncity’s and Tanuki’s record sat at the low end of the audiophile vinyl reference spectrum. Which in itself is a remarkable achievement for a pic disc. It’s worth taking a look at Tron Legacy, which just barely scratches 8db above a cassette tape, and 7db a Japanese vinyl from 1982.

This is all in an effort to say: damn, this is pretty good.

This also somewhat counters the usual “picture discs sound like shit” narrative that’s prevailed pretty consistently in the audiophile community. Tron Legacy? Yeah, that probably sounds like shit if I could bother to suffer through a listen. But whoever Hong-Kong based Neoncity is using actually makes “good” — if such a qualifier needs to be attached — image-pressed records. And that devotion to audio fidelity should be rewarded.

It might be time for me to re-asses picture discs on the whole, and that mind-expanding moment is something I owe to the fine folks at Neoncity.

[missstormcaller]

CAN’T FEAR YOUR OWN WORLD Vol. II Part 9 Full Translation

This is the second half of part 10 on the app

Chapter 10

Karakura is by no means a desolate countryside town.

Located on the outskirts of Tokyo's urban area, it is a relatively populous town with a network of railroads passing through the heart of the city.

Supporting a population exceeding one hundred thousand, a general hospital classed as one of the largest even among neighbouring towns, is situated beside Karakura Honchō Station.

Therefore, the station is both used by people living within and without the town with many people travelling in and out of it. In order to protect the town from Aizen's clutches, the Shinigami once used a trick to transfer it along with all 100,000 people to Soul Society, regarding that effort, it was unfathomable even to many Shinigami let alone an ordinary person. Entering and exiting by means of train or traffic was completely blocked for a temporary amount of time, things like electric power, water and sewer services of the surrounding area were also handled so that no abnormalities would occur, furthermore memory manipulation was carried out on a large number of residents living adjacent to Karakura Town, it was one large-scale operation conducted by an entire force of technicians among the Shinigami. As a result, the Shinigami made a success of their astounding foul play technique to deceive the world whilst isolating Karakura Town in a twofold sense. Although this gave rise to victims in the end, the Seireitei managed to keep that number at a bare minimum considering the goals of Aizen and the Arrancar. And now, Karakura Town was isolated from the world once more. The objectives of the people responsible for the isolation, is unclear. If the thing which one might call 'the walls of the dimension separating reality from virtual reality' existed in physical form, then perhaps 'it' causes one to feel as if that was indeed the case —— in accordance with this obscure curtain that intermingled with static noise, it could not even be identified through the eyes of an ordinary human. However, maybe it could have been described as a moderate isolation. The trains never came to a stop. Neither did the vehicles that would normally come and go through the borders of town, and the same could be said of the pedestrians too. The birds in the sky fluttered past one another, the flow of the river also advanced smoothly. Another ordinary day. But the town was unmistakably isolated. "The heck? My TV stopped receiving broadcasts?" "Hello, hello? Guess I got cut-off…" "I'm not getting any reception." -- "Neither am I!" "These e-mails for work, they've got me beat…" "Are you kidding me, I actually lost connection just when I was about to win!" Voices such as these could be heard scattered all throughout Karakura Town. Various telecommunications equipment and transceivers of radio waves connecting to the outside of town stopped working, it was no longer possible to make any electronic contact whatsoever with the outside world. Nonetheless, it was a matter that lasted only a brief few minutes. The telecast signals were restored first of all, other functions subsequently returned in an ordered fashion from radio stations, to landlines, wireless connections, the internet and then cell phones. Whilst tilting their heads in puzzlement, everybody came to accept it in their own way believing that it was "probably caused by a power outage at the relevant facilities" and then returned to their daily lives. What they remained oblivious to, is the fact that during those brief few minutes, all communication devices present within the town which easily exceeds one hundred thousand, had also been 'tagged'. And some communication devices that were sorted through those 'tags', failed to recover their communication functions even after the few minutes had passed.

"Huh… that's strange…" At Ururu's words, Jinta replies wearing a look of agony. "What are you talking about? The only thing that seems strange right now is my condition!" Whilst disregarding the noise coming out of Jinta who was forced to carry half of the 500kg worth of an infinite number of super-balls on his back alone, Ururu posed a question to Tessai who was walking beside her. "Tessai san, my cell phone, it's become unusable…" "Heh, if you're just going to be looking at porn sites anyway then it might as well be broken, whoa- hyahaha!? Stop, wait, damn you! Don't tickle me when I'm in this state!" Away from Jinta whose quivering knees were about to give way, Tessai responds to the words of Ururu. "Hrmm? Could it be some kind of electromagnetic interference?" In contrast to Jinta who was propping up a bag weighing around 250kg on his back, Tessai effortlessly lifted the remaining baggage with one arm. With the hand that was not currently occupied he took out his own cell phone and confirmed the status of its reception. "…It's true, my phone doesn't seem to be working either." However, after executing several operations from there, Tessai knit his eyebrows together in unease. "This… doesn't seem like any ordinary electromagnetic interference. And I sense a fluctuation of strange Reiatsu too… let's return to the shop quickly."

"From here onwards it's all Karakura Town… but I wonder what this is all about?" At the border of a town which sits on the west side of Karakura. A young Shinigami who is in charge of said neighbouring town had finally arrived at that spot. "Considering the fact that an urgent transmission had come from Seireitei… could this be the doing of a Hollow? Or even a Quincy…?" Confronted with a curious barrier, he spontaneously whispered to himself.

A hologram-like curtain being projected in mid-air, is completely covering the entirety of town whilst emitting static noise. Despite this, cars, pedestrians and even the trains on top of that, stormed into the curtain and passed through it as if nothing had happened, was it not visible to them? "Okay then, to hell with it!" Although there was a moment of hesitation, the Shinigami who was a man of action made his steps towards the curtain as it currently stood. And then —— "…Oof? What, was I just able to pass through normal-…" In the midst of speaking, he noticed that there was another shinigami before his eyes. "Who are you? Aren't the guys in charge of Karakura supposed to be a young male and female duo?" At the query, a Shinigami with the appearance of a man in the prime of his life sporting grey streaked hair, in turn, posed a question of his own to the young Shinigami. "I'm in charge of Kagamino City further east from here. And I'd like to ask you the same thing. Just now, you came out from Karakura Town, regarding the current situation on the inside, what's happening?" "What are you talking about…?" It was at this point the young Shinigami noticed an abnormality. The scenery around him, was completely different to the one he saw before passing through the curtain. "Where is this place…? Where is the railway station?" "This place is at the east side of Karakura Town. The railway station you speak of, you mean Karakura Honchō Station right?… By some chance, could it be that you… were at the west side of the town just now?" Then, he realised. The curtain performed different actions towards Shinigami and ordinary humans. At the same time, he was concerned about the safety of the Shinigami on the inside. "Are they going to be okay…? I don't expect the Shinigami in charge of Karakura Town are that strong…" "In any case, I'll be reporting upwards.… Don't worry about it, Kurosaki Ichigo, former captain Isshin and former captain Urahara in addition to that are all present in Karakura Town. That guy will likely demonstrate some kind of breakthrough solution." They were oblivious. Oblivious to the fact that both Kurosaki Ichigo and Kurosaki Isshin were currently not in town. As well as the fact that instead, it was one among the vice captains who doesn't quite match Kurosaki Ichigo and Isshin as a fighting power, that happens to be visiting.

Urahara Shōten

"Yukio Hans Vorarlberna…" Hisagi was perplexed by that lengthy name for an instant, but it was a proper noun he had certainly heard of before when he went around collecting information on Kurosaki Ichigo. At the same time he recalls that this is a name that had entered his ears only recently. —— "That's because we travelled there directly through Yukio and Riruka's abilities. I guess our side was running a fair amount of risk in our own way too huh?" "…! Ginjō's comrade!?" "…You could say that. So then, who might you be? Though frankly, I have no business with anyone other than Urahara san." In response to the question posed by the young boy who spoke in a dispassionate tone through the airborne monitor, Hisagi replies whilst clenching his fists tightly. "I'm the Gotei 13's Squad 9 vice captain Hisa—— ” "Oh, never mind. I doubt there's any point in even remembering it." "Arrgh!? What's your deal jerk!? Have a little more patience to at least hear the rest! This is the goddamn opposite of what happened with that guy Ganju!" (TN -- as a reminder, back in volume 1 during their first encounter, Ganju could only remember half of Hisagi's name "[…] you’re the vice captain of some squad… vice captain…Hi…Hisa…" except here the roles are sort of reversed with Hisagi only able to say half his own name.) Paying no heed to Hisagi who had worked himself into a frenzy, Yukio turned to Urahara and began to address him. "It's been half a year since I last saw you it seems, I want you to come along with me for a little while." "Oh my, I would have come out to meet you if you had given me a phone call in advance you know? But I get the picture more or less." "Oh…?" In contrast to Yukio who narrowed his eyes, Hisagi's eyes widened in surprise as he raised a question. "Is it true Urahara san? You have some idea of whatever the heck this guy's objectives may be…?" Thereupon Urahara closed his fan with a snap whilst smiling fearlessly. "With gaming ventures as its cornerstone, the president of 'Y. Hans Enterprise' which has achieved rapid growth at the heart of the entertainment industry, will only have one firm request of me." All of a sudden the fan which had just been closed, flew open with a loud thwack as Urahara made his assertion. "Just say it! You want to poach me away to your own company don't you?" "…Whaa?" "……" Hisagi wore a bewildered look as if to indicate that he wasn't sure how he should respond, Yukio's face was completely devoid of expression.

Unfazed by the stance of the other two, Urahara brazenly continued. "Oh no, perhaps I should say you have a discerning eye, as someone who continues to develop new products for a small-time candy store, I personally think it's about time to get noticed by big companies. Having said that, if you think I'm a man that can be swayed by money then that's disconcerting you know? If you want to buy my Shitamachi* craftsmanship, then I would hope you'd answer with sincerity rather than money. More specifically, how about a 7% stake in your company?" (*TN -- a concept that refers to "old town Tokyo" where minor vendors and artisans can be found, Shitamachi culture is in keeping with traditional methods and is deemed more authentic/reliable. It is therefore in opposition to mass-production and modernised techniques.) "Isn't that still asking for money in the end!? What is up with that dramatic 7% figure!? Or rather, how is Karakura Town Shitamachi!? Also a small-time candy store doesn't have any particular need to develop its own merchandise in the first place does it!?" "…Hisagi san, you genuinely retort with such civility. Perhaps Vorarlberna san should also follow your example?" In response to Urahara who said as much without the slightest hint of shame, Yukio was neither surprised nor offended, but merely spoke his own opinions with an unconcerned air. "As frightening as ever, with regard to you that is. You're the type I'd least like to encounter in a player versus player game." "What's the matter? To hear this all of a sudden." "While you were spouting irrelevant jokes, just now, you were observing every reaction on my side weren't you? Your manipulative tactics had already begun with your jokes that looked down on the person in question didn't it?" "You overestimate me. Do I look like that kind of scoundrel?" Urahara gave a strained laugh as he veiled himself deeply with his hat, and from under the brim of that hat, with a daring gaze he stared up towards Yukio who was on the other end of the monitor. "Owing to the nature of my business, I tend to evaluate the other party, however it's not like I can see through everything." Watching Urahara who tactfully evaded his questions, Yukio heaved a sigh as he spoke. "Whatever, forget about it. But, you understand enough to know that my objectives are not to poach you away right? It's the first reasoning phase. Even though I still haven't given you any key items*, are you able to guess the objectives on my side?" (*TN -- he's using gaming terminology, "key items" here refers to collectables players would be able to pick up in their virtual world to aid themselves in-game.) "I want to say I know what your game is, but I can't be sure at this stage. Just how many times would the answer be right? At least I know there is no intent to kill or hostility coming from Vorarlberna san, so I hope that I also have time on my side." "Huh?" —— No hostility? —— Come to think of it, it certainly doesn't feel like we're under attack. What Hisagi is able to determine from the monitor that appeared in midair and the static noise like substance which began to flicker around the shop, is the presence of an ability which has forced a digital virtual world to fuse with the real one. Therefore, whilst cautiously considering whether or not the data of his own physical system could be rewritten at will, using his Reiatsu perception Hisagi attempted to feel around for the whereabouts of Yukio himself. Though there was indeed no indication that they were undergoing an attack, Hisagi had recollections of being manipulated in the past whilst remaining completely unaware of the fact that he had succumb to an attack by the Quincy known as Pepe and is thus unable to allow himself the carelessness. —— Crap, I remembered it. How the hell could I… with that weird old fart… Although the brainwashing which was applied through the power of Pepe's Schrift had since been lifted, he recalled that he once 'loved' the Quincy in question even if it was only for a moment, whilst twitching in discomfort he shook his head. "Urahara san, you say this guy has no hostility… well then, why did he go to the trouble of isolating Karakura Town?" A short while ago, Hisagi had sent a transmission to Soul Society in order to request a Gentei Kaijo, however a reply has still not returned. He feared it likely that communications had been obstructed by some means, but he couldn't afford to ascertain whether or not that was also part of the isolation. In order to effectively do battle in a state where his power has been suppressed by a substantial margin like this, Hisagi has grown through continuous training, having said that, he would probably be forced into a fierce struggle if his opponents also happen to be the likes of Adjuchas or Vasto Lorde class Hollows. "Ah yes, it's true that I carried out the isolation of this town." It was Yukio himself who responded to Hisagi's question. Despite watching Yukio doubtfully, even from Hisagi's intuition, there was nothing that seems to indicate that this other party held any animosity. Faced with Hisagi who was just considering what his goals might be if that was truly the case, Yukio continued his sentence. "But there is no hostility… when it comes to me that is." Then, almost simultaneously, a change materialised in the scene. Hisagi perceives the fluctuation of a faint Reiatsu at his back, as he leapt forward without a word, he turned to look over his shoulder at the spot he was standing in until that point. What was standing there as a result, is the figure of person who had emerged from the static noise in the air, an extendable baton decorated with some sort of curious ornaments had just been swung down towards the spot Hisagi was in only a moment ago. Even though it wasn't a blade, as a blunt instrument its force will not allow one to get away without consequences so long as it was able to strike one's head Considering the endurance of a Shinigami, its strength seems to be no big deal, however it also did not appear likely that this was an ordinary extendable baton. And above all —— the moment he caught sight of the individuals holding identical batons gushing forth one after another from the surrounding static noise, Hisagi determined that the situation had already transitioned to battle status. That he was able to dodge it right away, even while listening to Urahara's comical conversation, is likely due to his long-standing experience of continuous battle as a Shinigami. As he extended his hand towards the hilt of his Zanpakutō, Hisagi observes the crowd of people that had appeared in front of Urahara Shōten. —— This isn't Hollow or Quincy Reiatsu. —— These guys… are they, human? It's not the case that they were souls of the deceased, rather a group of men and women who clearly had a Reiraku colour no different to that of an ordinary human being living here in the Human World. In uniformity, they all wore suits adorned with white patterns on a black cloth, on their faces they donned gas masks with the same colour scheme and as a result it was impossible to examine their facial expressions. —— Assuming they're human, I can't afford to end up killing them so rashly. —— But, if these guys are ordinary humans, then this disparity in numbers is not a problem either… Hisagi made an attempt to knock the whole crew senseless through Shunpo and Hakuda, however —— "!?" The moment he moved around and cut in behind his opponent using Shunpo, he perceives a sense of discomfort and in that way was forced to dive backwards by one step. In an instant, a baton brushes past the tip of his nose. Despite having completely moved around to his opponents' blind spot, to his surprise they dealt an attack his way with the utmost precision using moves that almost made it appear as if they had eyes in the back of their heads. To go further, their movements were much faster than that of ordinary humans, even to the point where it seemed far beyond the level of Shinigami foot soldiers. —— What the heck is up with these guys!? —— Could they be detecting my position with Reikaku (spiritual sense)? The likes of Shinigami, Hollows and some unique humans are all able to detect the Reiatsu belonging to other beings through a sense known as Reiatsu Chikaku (spiritual pressure perception) — commonly referred to as "Reikaku". However it did not appear likely that ordinary humans living in the Human World would be able to perform such an action, Hisagi considered the possibility that they were some kind of gifted individuals. But naturally, the enemy did not give him the leisure of thinking things through. As he evaded the swarm of batons which came swooping down on him in quick succession from the surroundings, Hisagi senses that a slight anomaly has emerged within himself. —— What the hell? —— My moves, they're getting sluggish…? Even counting the fact that his limiter had not been released, he still got the feeling that his reaction speeds had slowed by around 10% compared to usual. After visualising the movements in his mind, it took his body a brief moment of delay before putting it into operation. Having observed the situation, Urahara narrows his eyes whilst muttering to himself. "Poison… no, this is manipulation of souls and Reishi… isn't it?" "What are you implying Urahara san!?" "Let's see, just now, you were lightly grazed by the baton belonging to Mr. Black suit guy over there correct? Since then, Hisagi san's Reiatsu feels as though it's been thrown a little out of order. I'm afraid it's likely that this is the application of a Fullbring where contact amounts to a trigger for activating the ability." Urahara attentively puts the conjecture derived from his own observations into words. "So that's how it is…! As expected of you Urahara san. It's just like you to remain so calm in the midst of a free-for-all like th-… wait a minute?” Hisagi evaded the enemy's attacks using taijutsu and at the same time was impressed by Urahara, but then he noticed a great difference in the situation surrounding himself and Urahara. "…Why do I get the impression, that it's only me who's being attacked!?" The black suited group clad in gas masks who made an appearance in the vicinity of the shop, all uniformly rushed in to attack Hisagi alone and did not even attempt to make an approach in Urahara's direction who at a glance, appears to be unguarded. "Well, I wonder how this came about? Is it down to a so-called difference in personal virtue?" "Isn't that a little unfair!?… Hey, Yukio right!? What's the big idea jerk!?" At Hisagi who yelled towards the projected image in the air, Yukio replied in a bored-looking manner. "Didn't you listen to anything I was just saying? I told you, I have business with Urahara san." "…Having important business with him, doesn't mean having him wiped out or something does it?" "If that were the case I would have mounted a surprise attack a long time ago. Do I look like the type to launch an offensive after announcing myself in an act of fair play?" While the static noise surrounding the mid-air screen flickered, Hisagi who eyed Yukio as he spoke, clicked his tongue thinking "…he doesn't seem like that type" and drives the heel of his palm into one of the black suited assailants. "If that's true, then what is the motive for attacking me?… Well, considering the story I heard from Ginjō, that the comrade of that guy would hate us Shinigami, is understandable I guess." Due to the Shinigamis' betrayal, his fellow Fullbringers who were once his comrades were all slaughtered. If they were made to hear of such a past from Ginjō, then it's not surprising for the Fullbringers to even consider any Shinigami they come across as a clear enemy who should be cut down immediately. Was Urahara not a target simply because they knew he is an individual who had been exiled from the Shinigami's world? As he sidestepped the black suited gang's assault, it was Hisagi who guessed as much, however, what emerged on the face of Yukio who had heard his words, was an expression that intermingled with slight astonishment. "…Really? That guy Kūgo, went as far as to talk to you about something like that?" Finally, at Hisagi towards whom he was thus far as indifferent to as a stone by the roadside, Yukio opens his mouth to speak with a look that harboured interest for the first time. "I don't think Kūgo would have succumbed to torture or interrogation. How are the two of you acquainted?" "…We simply got to know each other through a round of drinks on one occasion. At present we are neither friend nor foe." "……?" "Well, it suffices to call it a cooperation between a journalist and an interviewee… look, if you're interested in listening to what I have to say then make these guys stop!" Dodging the black suited group who continued to advance on him as before, Hisagi finally took a wide leap towards the sky and escaped. In that way, he fortified the Reishi under his feet in a position that was out of the reach of the black suits, and remained motionless in the air. As he fixed a glare at the Yukio within the projected image which he had come to meet at the same eye level, Hisagi sets the situation straight. —— Phew, thank goodness I went without entering a Gigai. If a member of the public were to see me flying around the place… —— Wait? Does the fact that they can see my spirit body, mean that every single of those guys down there are indeed Fullbringers? Supposing that the black suited gang were Fullbringers, it was entirely possible that they could also leap as far as this point. Realising be was in no position to take a breather, Hisagi once again looked down on the black suited group below. In a split second —— he became aware of the fact that what was before his lowered gaze, was somebody's arm entangling itself around the upper half of his body. "…?……!?" It did not feel like something was touching him. Even Hisagi's sharpened sense of Reiatsu Chikaku couldn't detect a single abnormality whatsoever there. However, the image of somebody's slender arm did indeed enter his eyes, gently embracing Hisagi's body from behind. Then, as if to prove it wasn't a hallucination —— an enchanting female voice resounded close to his ear. "How fascinating…" "……Gah!" Suddenly, a chill ran down Hisagi's spine. "…That occupations such as journalism exist even in Soul Society." At the whisper which sounded as though it could melt one's mind just by listening to it, Hisagi forgets he was standing on a field of battle for a moment. Nevertheless, the voice was so out of place that it quite conversely evoked a sense of wariness in the battle-hardened Hisagi, as if to dispel the voice he fanned out both arms as he turned to look back. There was no sensation indicating that his arms had made contact with anything. But "she" was certainly there. "…Who the hell are you? It seems you're neither Shinigami nor Hollow…" What met Hisagi's eyes, was a beautiful young woman. The woman was clad in a style of suit which was a combination of dignified and flirtatious, she exudes a mysterious allure which cannot be described in words. "Quincy?… That's not it. Assuming you're Yukio's associate, are you perhaps a Fullbringer?" "That would be correct… no hang on." The woman made a momentary pause in her speech, with a meaningful smile spread across her face, she corrected her answer. " ——In this instance, perhaps it's better to say 'exacta'? Mr. Vice captain of squad 9." "……!?” In Hisagi's mind, vigilance levels towards this opponent spiked by several notches. The unique catchphrase "exacta" which had just been uttered, is the habitual saying of Findorr Calius, an Arrancar whom Hisagi once battled in this place —— or strictly speaking, a replica town which imitated Karakura. Although he announced his rank to Yukio a little earlier, it turns out she knows information personal to Hisagi. Moreover, if she has knowledge of even the details contained within that inner sanctum of battle, then it is no longer possible to underestimate her as a mere human. "…You know me that well huh? What's up with that, could it be that you're something of a fan of mine?" Even if she was a bewitching woman, the sort of which would cause Hisagi's heart to sway —— "Sure. If I told you, that's right… after learning all about you, I've been wanting to get closer to you for a long time, would you believe me?" "……" Even if she uttered charming words in a voice which would cause Hisagi's heart to sway —— "…Th-there's no way I would believe something like that!" Maintaining his reasoning power which was being pushed to its very limits, Hisagi places a hand on the hilt of his Zanpakutō. —— Be careful, be careful damn it. This would have been a close call if it weren't for the warning I got from captain commander Kyōraku and captain Muguruma. While he recollected the time he was judged as "seemingly second to none when it comes to falling into the snares of dubious women", in his mind Hisagi began to meditate under a serene waterfall. As if seeing through his inner thoughts, an unwelcome warning came resounding through the air all the way back from Earth. "Are you alright~! Hisagi san~! Please be wary of honeytraps!"

In response to Urahara who called out to him in such a way from below, Hisagi protested as his cheeks began to redden. "What are you insinuating!? Why would you have that sort of impression of me!? It's not like I'd be taken in by her schemes is it!? At any rate, I'm still a vice captain you know!?" Hisagi yelled with vigour that would likely put him on the verge of tears were it not for these exceptional state of affairs, the woman on the other hand cast words at Hisagi which were difficult to discern as either satire or seriousness. "Oh, what a pity. If only I were able to avoid a fight using my feminine charm, things would have been easier that way." With a seductive smile playing on her face, the female Fullbringer inclined her head as she gazed fixedly at Hisagi. —— Calm down, I need to calm down! Don't let her deceive you, that's right, think about Rangiku san! Without revealing the fretfulness of his inner thoughts on his countenance, Hisagi feigned a cool visage and gave his response. "…That is a pity. You certainly are attractive, but if you want to seduce me then you've got to adopt a risqué style on par with Rangiku san." "Hisagi san. It seems you intend to clinch victory with a suave act, but if Rangiku san were to hear you, don't you feel it's likely she would make you eat an axe kick, and on top of that, blurt out the cold, hard truth which would no doubt kill the mood?" "Huuuh…? What did I do…?" Regaining his senses at Urahara's words, Hisagi avoided meeting the gazes of those around him whilst the blush on his face crept up to his ears. The woman who was floating in midair giggled after seeing the state Hisagi was in, at the same time she slowly extended both arms. "You're quite the amusing one. It would be pleasant if others among the Shinigami also had a similar sense of humour." Then, as if conducting an orchestra, she begins to wave her hands around. "Allow me to reintroduce myself … I'm Michibane Aura." Her dancing fingertips resembled that of a performer's pulling the strings of a marionette, that alone made one sense a kind of beauty. "Although my station is life is nothing more than a maid for the gods who govern death, I am most pleased to make your acquaintance." "……?" —— Gods who govern death? —— Is that referring to us Shinigami? What does she mean by “maid”? Though puzzled by the words and actions of the woman who gave her name as Aura, Hisagi immediately notices an unusual change in their surroundings.

As soon as the reiatsu belonging to the humans at ground level mutated, the whole crew raised their batons towards the air. In response to that spectacle which even appeared to resemble vegetation extending its vines towards the sun, Hisagi got a bad feeling. Then, his forebodings were proved justified. The patterns which decorated the surface of the extendable batons materialises and floats up to the skies above, remaining like that, they bloat to take the form of enormous tentacles which then charge towards Hisagi who was standing in midair. "Whaa…!?" The symbols and characters reminiscent of a summoning circle began to flock together, the tentacles flailed about like it was perhaps a single organism. For Hisagi who contemplated the possibility of something more akin to a Cero on the verge of being fired, this was an unexpected attack. Hisagi unsheathes his Zanpakutō on the spot and swiftly cuts away a number of the tentacles approaching him, but then —— The 'branches of the patterns' which were severed off, instantaneously attaches itself back together and resumes its attack on Hisagi once more. "…They're just like a huge swarm of insects! What gives damn it!?" Hisagi continues to dodge whilst dealing slashing attacks, but owing to the fact that this was ineffective regardless of how many cuts he made, Hisagi concluded that his physical endurance would be the first thing to drain at this rate. In addition, as he crossed his sword with 'branches of the patterns', Hisagi perceives another danger. Every time he would slash a cluster of characters, a strange distortion is produced in the Reiatsu of his Zanpakutō. A sensation that made it seem as though the sharpness of the blade itself had grown blunt, it felt like something close to the decline of his physical ability which he sensed a little earlier. "Damn… this feeling, it's awfully similar to the time that guy Ayasegawa got me…" Hisagi once crossed blades with Ayasegawa Yumichika in the mayhem that was created when Kurosaki Ichigo appeared in Soul Society for the first time. The result was a humiliating defeat for Hisagi. The ability of Ayasegawa's "Ruri'iro Kujaku", which was a hidden ace up his sleeve, is 'Reiatsu absorption', Reiatsu is sucked up by the light rays of the blade which spread like the feathers of a peacock, the sensation of his body being rendered motionless is something Hisagi still distinctly recalls even now. —— But, it's different from that time. Rather than being absorbed… it's more like the feeling of being pinned down. —— Is this the "manipulation of Reishi" Urahara san mentioned earlier? What a drag. Although the Reiatsu itself remains unchanged, he could not help thinking that the way in which his sword had become eerily blunt, is perhaps comparable to his blade being immersed within a muddy swamp. He feared it likely that this was the enemy's ability, however he could not quite comprehend that theory at the same time. —— Perhaps it's closer to Kira's "Wabisuke"…? If that's the case, then a game of endurance isn't the best idea. A Zanpakutō which doubles the weight of whatever it strikes flashed through his mind and Hisagi prepares himself to deal with the threat. "It can't be helped…" Then, towards Aura and the black suited group on the ground, Hisagi uttered words which took the form of a warning. "Even though it's not very clear what your goals are yet… from this point onwards, I will judge you as an enemy." "…Oh my, who would've guessed that you'd also be capable of wearing an expression like that." Realising that the atmosphere surrounding Hisagi has changed, Aura responds while narrowing her eyes. "But if you give me your word that you would no longer be an obstacle for us, then we would even be willing to lay down our arms this very minute you know?" It was different from the mood in the moment he was teased by Urahara only a short while ago. An intent to kill begets one to return the favour, he wore the face of a "Shinigami" who is capable of cutting down an enemy without any hesitation whether they were human or not. If one were to ask the captains who were either the belligerent or dutiful type, he believes they would probably say he was "too slow when finding his resolve", despite this Hisagi once again solidifies his resolve to kill the 'enemy' before his eyes. Nevertheless, perhaps it comes down to the influence of the 'path' Tōsen had preached to him? It is precisely because he understands that his own blade is an article capable of killing others, that Hisagi deliberately gave one final warning to those who stood in his way. "To those of you who are readying a sudden attack, you won't be an obstacle for me either. First and foremost, what do you hope to achieve by covering the town with something like this?" "…This is the preparation." At Hisagi's remark, Aura lowered both hands and gave her response. Accordingly, the cluster of patterns that writhed around Hisagi also began to exhibit calmness, its material body swayed left and right where it had maintained a distance. "Preparation…?” "This very Karakura Town, is the greatest Jūreichi in the world. You know that right?" "Of course.… Wait, surely not." Hitting upon a certain hypothesis, Hisagi involuntarily raises his voice. "You guys wouldn't be trying to forge an 'Ōken' now would you!?" Ōken. The key to the "Soul King Palace" which can be manufactured through a Jūreichi with a radius of half a spirit mile, and an offering of one hundred thousand souls. Considering the fact that Aizen Sōsuke once launched an invasion towards Karakura Town in order to destroy the "Soul King", it's more than conceivable that this theory would be the objective for isolating this town. However, Aura slowly shakes her head in response to Hisagi's outcry. "Perhaps I should say that making such a speculation… is regrettable." "What did you just say…?" "We do not intend to sacrifice the souls of innocent citizens, and there is no need to forge an Ōken either." As a bold smile revealed itself on her face, Aura threw Hisagi's mind into disarray through her roundabout manner of speaking. "Because our purpose… is to turn Karakura Town itself, into a true capital that will seat the 'king'." "…Huh?" For a moment, Hisagi couldn't comprehend what his opponent was saying. Could it be an ill-natured joke, or an unreliable statement made in order to confuse his side? Rather, if he was instead told that they were manufacturing an Ōken by carrying out a massacre of all the humans belonging to this town, he probably would have been able to accept it more easily. However, his mind could not at all register the meaning behind the words stating to 'turn this town into the king's capital'. At the bewildered Hisagi, Aura continues to speak. "The Soul King Palace, and Las Noches. With the thrones established in Soul Society and Hueco Mundo as two wings, the throne would be whole supposing the town itself also became a wing above the two. That is the destiny bestowed upon us after all." "…What are you talking about? I mean… who is this 'king' you're referring to?" As a natural consequence, questions began to emerge in Hisagi's thoughts. —— There's no way, it can't possibly be Aizen could it? —— Or maybe Yhwach? No, that guy was definitely killed by Ichigo…. Despite several names floating to his head, one young face comes to mind in a corner of a dizzying myriad of ever-changing memory fragments. —— K…King…? —— "-- said he would -- allow me -- king --" —— No doubt, they were at the nobles' medical institution, the one who said that…. Even regardless of the fact that he had explained the encounter to Urahara a short while ago, he was unable to make an immediate link between the current situation and the person in question. Though there were various inexplicable aspects to the encounter, to Hisagi it appeared unlikely that there was also a connection to this absurd notion in which Karakura Town would be made the king's capital of the Human World. However —— Recalling the exchange of words from that time in detail, it occurred to Hisagi that his core temperature had rapidly chilled to the bone. —— "Besides… Tokinada sama said he would allow the likes of me to become king!" "…*gasp!*" The scattered puzzle pieces began to link together and produce a disturbing sound in Hisagi's head. What he still couldn't understand is whether this was a coincidence or an inevitably, or perhaps he was even being played into the palm of somebody's hand, as if with a groan, Hisagi muttered a name that was in the depths of his memory. "Ubuginu… Hikone?" " ! " It was at that point that the smile began to fade from Aura's face for the first time. "I'm surprised…. How is it that you know this name?" "Are you… by some chance, Tsunayashiro Tokinada's subordinate…?" "As I mentioned earlier, I am a maid, but to call me a subordinate… that would not be accurate. However, are you really fine with that? That someone such as yourself, would actually address a member of the Tsunayashiro clan, one of the four great noble houses, without the proper honorifics." Aura spoke as if to stir a reaction, but Hisagi was unfazed by it. "…Just now, it became no longer a necessity to attach 'sama' to his name." "…I think how Hisagi san should rather put it, is that 'sama' doesn't particularly suit Yoruichi san nor Byakuya san either…." When Urahara who was following the conversation from ground level whispered as much, the transmitted image of Yukio opens his mouth to speak as if matching that. "Aren't you going to go assist him? I feel Aura is a tough opponent to challenge for a solo player, don't you agree?" Looking at the projected image which blended with the sporadic static noise, Urahara spoke as he rhythmically poked at the ground with Benihime which takes the form of a sword cane. "Not at all, if anything I'm the support type specialising in buffs and recovery after all. Though somewhat capricious, Hisagi san is more outstanding as an attacker wouldn't you agree?" "Hmm? From the looks of it, it doesn't seem like he's doing that much DPS." "If pushed to say then I suppose he's more of a tank. He stands out by being tough to kill."

(TN -- If you're unfamiliar with gaming lingo: Buff = enhances the power/effectiveness of a game element/player. DPS = damage per second, refers to a player's, or more specifically their weapon's damage output. Tank = a class of playable character that typically occupies an enemy thereby redirecting the aggressor's attack while another player deals damage or completes some other objective, tanks generally have a lot of HP or “health” and can thus survive longer or are more difficult to kill as Urahara put it.)

In this space which was made to be dominated by the static noise and the sound of his cane prodding the earth's surface, Urahara closely observes the black suited group on ground level. After the tentacled patterns were shot from the batons, without even moving a muscle they merely continued to gradually release the Reiatsu in their possession towards the sky.

"…However, you guys are really playing dirty huh? About that, will both the 'person on the inside' as well as the 'person on the outside' be alright?" (TN -- When Urahara says "person on the inside' the furigana says "貴女" referring to a lady, that is, Aura. When he says "person on the outside" the furigana says "依り代" which means "spirit-dewelling object", you should be able to put the pieces together about Aura and her black suits now.) Aura took a scowling Hisagi's gaze in stride with a smile, but she somehow managed to catch the sound of Urahara's voice, raising her own voice ever so slightly she addresses him from midair. "As expected… you are a frightening man, Urahara Kisuke." "Oh my, you heard me?" "Were you able to discern my innate abilities, already?" " ! " Hisagi also reacts to those words, whilst being wary of his surroundings, he turns his line of sight in Urahara's direction. Each Fullbringer has their own special set of abilities. As far as Hisagi had investigated, the man known as Tsukishima who was with Ginjō for instance, possessed a terrifying ability in which he could insert his presence into the past of another person, and though by individual units, it could also alter history itself. Assuming the woman before his eyes is a Fullbringer, then the cluster of symbols and characters writhing around him, and the reason why he felt the strength within himself and his Zanpakutō diminishing, may surely be put down to a result of her abilities. In order to carry the progress of battle in their favour, Hisagi awaited Urahara's response, but then —— "Well I never, how can that be? Don't go pulling my leg now." With a soft chuckle, Urahara answers Aura's question. "You don't use any so-called innate abilities do you?" "……" "…No, perhaps it's more accurate to say, you 'can’t use' them, right?"

[artificialqueens]

Flowers in Bloom, Part 1 - Daisy (Shinkx) - Albatross

AN: The sequel to ‘The Language of Flowers’ - This will feature the Shinkx and Trixya dates that follow immediately where their last chapters left off.

So this didn’t end up being as long as I thought it was going to be at first but that’s alright. I’m trying to learn not set imaginary pressures or deadlines on myself and just enjoy the process of writing. Not sure when the Trixya date will be posted, I haven’t started it yet but I’ve got a lot planned. The next piece to be posted is very likely to be Biadore (because that seemed to be the overwhelming want from the little mini poll on AQ) and then Trixya. I’m also torn between starting on the magical girl AU right away or jumping into Rajalaskam. Might just start both and see which one is finished first. Quick little side note for the chapter names - the flower that I pick as the title is going to be how I feel best describes the date. In this case the Daisy represents innocence and simplicity.

In a matter of seconds, Sharon had followed Jinkx beyond the shop’s door and stepped onto the sidewalk beside her. In the short amount of time it took her to lock up the building for the night, Jinkx found herself suddenly slapped with the reality that she was about to go on a date with her boss. Her heart began racing in her chest as an overwhelming smile threatened to break out across her lips. She just couldn’t believe this was really about to happen!

In a strange way she was glad it was all decided so suddenly; if there had been any lapse of time between her subtle confession and the date itself she was sure she would have gone into a full-blown panic mode. As for right now the immense joy coupled with a heavy dose of shock was the perfect thing to keep her from freaking out entirely. The only thing she hoped for right now was that her expression didn’t betray just how nervous she actually was beneath her relatively composed exterior. However, the smile Sharon shot towards her once she was finished securing the shop threatened to override that thought completely.

As they walked down the moderately busy street, Jinkx found herself toying with the hem of her sleeves. It offered a small bit of distraction but she longed to be able to clasp onto Sharon’s hand. She probably would have tried had the blonde not already shoved them into her pockets. To anyone else she probably would have looked like the picture of perfect composure but Jinkx noticed all of the little tics that betrayed her true feelings; the slightly higher pitch of her voice, the twiddling of her fingers with the items in her pockets, and of course her struggle to maintain eye contact between the frequent breaks to watch where they were going.

Their conversation remained idle but natural as Sharon led the way to the restaurant she had in mind. To both women’s surprise neither fell into the old classic of discussing work as a safety net. Although shortly after arriving at the cafe that was intended for their date, they were reminded all too quickly of the night’s earlier activities. Jinkx hadn’t noticed the issue at first, she was more concerned with trying to dodge the miscellaneous clusters of patrons loitering outside the cafe’s entrance, but Sharon’s less than quiet call of “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” soon caught her attention.

Following the blonde’s line of sight, Jinkx quickly spotted the problem; it seemed that Katya and Trixie had also decided to take their impromptu date here as well. They had been seated at a raised table out in the enclosed patio section and were eagerly chatting away about some random topic Jinkx couldn’t quite make out.

Sharon’s face as she took in the scene was a study of indecisiveness. She didn’t want to risk being exposed to Katya’s unique talent of effortlessly annoying her, especially in front of Jinkx when she could easily lose her cool…but even more so, she didn’t want to delay her date with the redhead any longer. She’d spent so much time simply pining after her from afar, she just couldn’t handle pushing it off for another night now that it was finally within her reach!

Bracing herself, Sharon began to push herself towards the hostess’s stand to request a table but Jinkx catching her arm stopped her dead in her tracks. Sharon’s heart stalled for a moment until she saw the reassuring smile resting upon Jinkx’s lips.

“I know another place we can go,” she offered politely, “If you don’t mind walking a little further.”

Very much relieved, Sharon replied that it wasn’t a problem in the slightest all while making a mental note to herself that’d she probably walk the length of the city just to keep her date with Jinkx tonight. Thankfully the substitute cafe Jinkx had in mind was only an extra ten minutes away. It was a bit more quiet than the bustling restaurant they had just left but there was still a moderate flow of foot traffic coming into the shop. Given that the weather outside was still pleasantly warm, it seems the majority of the customers decided to take their orders to go or at the very least enjoy them at the open air tables and benches. This particular cafe seemed to specialize with coffee and smoothies rather than prepared food, which probably helped to account for the transient stream of customers.

Once inside the first thing Sharon noticed was that it was rather homey instead of strictly a place for business. There was a relaxed atmosphere that seemed to contradict just how busy the shop actually was. The decor was a bit odd to her mind; a lot of the space had been filled with various knickknacks that anywhere else would have probably been very out of place. Before Sharon could truly take in the sights around her, Jinkx was already guiding them towards the small line at the counter. A number of the people waiting for their drinks seemed to be part of one group in particular and as soon as their orders were filled they took their leave and the majority of the shop’s background noise as well. Sharon had just begun to let out a sigh of relief at the newfound peace when she heard a delighted squeal emanating from behind the register.

“Jinkx!” the brunette exclaimed in excitement. “I haven’t seen you all week! Where have you been?”

“Sorry, we got really busy at the shop. We…kinda messed something up and spent the last couple of days fixing everything,” Jinkx admitted with a sheepish grin and quick glance towards the blonde.

Amused, the brunette inquired, “Oh? And just what have you been getting up to? Not starting any trouble at your new job, were you?”

Placing a comforting hand in the small of the redhead’s back, Sharon replied with a proud smile, “No, she’s been an amazing worker and she’s definitely learned her lesson with all that went on this week.”

The barista cocked her head to the side as she sized up the blonde in vague confusion. The realization that they hadn’t yet met dawned on Jinkx and with a polite interruption she introduced the pair to one another, “Sharon, this is Dela, my old coworker and Dela, this is Sharon…my new boss.”

Scanning her eyes around the shop with a new appreciation for the atmosphere, Sharon mused, “So this is where you used to work? I’ve driven by a few times but never stopped in. If I knew this was where I’d find you I’d have wandered in here sooner.”

At the statement made by the older blonde, Dela’s lips curled into something of a teasing smirk and immediately she began nosily asking, “You’re the one Jinkx asked me to order those coffee beans for? Glad to see you’ve got good taste…”

Darting her eyes back to Jinkx, she threw a quick wink and added in, “Both of you.”

Almost immediately Jinkx felt herself taking a heavy swallow in a pointless attempt to will away the growing blush on her cheeks. To her utter relief, Dela didn’t feel the need to make any further comments on the subject and fell back into her usual customer service mode to brightly ask the redhead, “Your usual?”

“Please,” Jinkx replied with a grateful smile.

Turning towards the blonde, she inquired, “And for you?”

Sharon’s eyes raked over the menu hung up behind the counter before ultimately settling on a large cup of the house brew. Dela gave an approving nod of her head and turned to make the drinks but was quickly stopped by both of the women. Each wanted to pay for the order but the brunette assured them, “It’s on me…”

Jinkx was in the midst of a very appreciative word of thanks to her friend until she heard Dela add in, “So long as Jinkx tells every little detail of how your date goes!”

Eyes narrowing at the proposal, the redhead quickly shot back, “I’d rather pay for the drinks then!”

Smiling away, Dela refused any form of payment and informed her huffy friend, “No choice, I already closed the sale in the register. You’ll have to tell me everything later!”

Shaking her head in disbelief, Jinkx muttered, “I hate you so much.”

A final proud grin was shot her way before Dela spun around to continue her work. Jinkx honestly couldn’t believe just how persistent Dela was being…It’s not like she wouldn’t have told her a quick version of it afterwards…She probably just wants something extra to talk about when she compares notes with Ivy….Jinkx really wouldn’t put it past her not to provide real-time updates to their mutual friend anyway. Oh, well. She can’t stop it so she might as well just resign herself to the fact that Ivy was likely to know the majority of her date before Jinkx gets a chance to tell her on her own…

In a matter of minutes, Sharon and Jinkx’s drinks handed back to them in cute little To-Go cups with their names scribbled along the sides in some of Dela’s best handwriting. Jinkx for one couldn’t wait to take the first sip. She hadn’t had a chance to stop in for her regular pick-me-up since Sunday thanks in large part to the fiasco with Katya and Trixie. Her overly sweetened latte would be a welcomed treat after successfully cleaning up the mess that she and the other assistants helped to create.

Almost as if she were walking on air, she led Sharon towards her favorite table in the back of the shop and sat down to enjoy the first very satisfying taste of her drink. Dela was one of the few employees here that she trusted make her coffee exactly right. Try as she might, Jinkx couldn’t hold back the soft sigh of pleasure that escaped from her lips after the nearly too hot drink finished washing across her tongue. Very much intrigued, Sharon asked, “Mind if I try some?”

Jinkx faltered for a moment before sliding her cup across what little empty space remained between them. With a noticeable amount of hesitation in her voice, she warned, “You can but I don’t think you’ll-”

The face Sharon made as soon as the drink passed her lips was truly a sight. Her eyes went wide with disbelief and something akin to fear that someone would willingly drink something as sugary as what she had just tasted. If she hadn’t seen Dela preparing it herself, she would have sworn that no coffee at all had been used while making that drink. Quickly pushing the cup back in front of Jinkx and washing away the after-taste with her own coffee, Sharon commented shakily, “That was very…sweet.”

Jinkx gave her an apologetic grin and took a long sip of her latte in order not to have to say anything more for the time being. Swallowing away the lingering taste of caramel and sugar, Sharon further questioned her, “I’m a bit surprised though…I thought you always took it black?”

The redhead felt a light blush returning to her cheeks and finally admitted in a sheepish voice, “Actually, I only started doing that because of you…I’ve never seen you add anything to yours so I didn’t either as long as you were around…”

Sharon’s eyes widened and just vaguely it looked like a hint of pink was rising to her face. Deciding it was now or never, Jinkx continued on as she toyed with a lock of stray hair, “I just kinda wanted to impress you, I guess. You always made it look so cool and sophisticated…adding my usual amount of sugar and creamer just felt…childish sometimes.”

With the final confession, Sharon’s shocked expression immediately softened and her hand came to rest on Jinkx’s drawn in shoulder. Scooting their chairs closer until their legs were almost touching, the blonde assured her, “Jinkx, never worry about impressing me. You’ve done that already…you still do actually.”

The pair shared a fond smile before the intimacy of the situation became too much and each broke away with an embarrassed smile. They drank in further silence for another minute or so before a new topic was cautiously proposed by the older woman. It felt like the hours slipped by unnoticed as countless customers came and left the shop while the two remained close and cozy in their hidden corner. Around half an hour before the cafe was due to close, Jinkx asked with more than a fair amount of trepidation, “So this…us, I mean. What do we do at the shop?”

Her gaze was curious but also concerned and fearful. She didn’t want this to be a one time thing but it was also a bit of unfamiliar territory to be potentially dating her boss. She didn’t want anything to mess up her personal or business life but if she would have to pick now, she wasn’t sure which she would chose to pursue. Luckily, Sharon had no intention of forcing her to make that choice. Enclosing her hand around one of Jinkx’s fiddling ones, she consoled her employee in a simple but gentle voice, “We’ll do the same thing we’ve been doing; we remain professional with each other while at work.”

“And then after work?” Jinkx questioned in a meek yet hopeful tone.

Smirking just a tad, the blonde gave a comforting squeeze of her hand and stated confidently, “After work…we’ll be anything but.”

Jinkx felt a smile of previously unknown size growing across her lips as she beamed up at her boss. Her heart felt like it would soon flutter out of her chest but she could hardly care about that. Everything felt like a dream at this point and no part of her wanted to wake up any time soon.

She was almost finished with her drink when Sharon placed her empty cup next Jinkx’s. Leaving their hands resting on the table, Sharon worked her phone out her pocket and opened the camera app. She jutted her head towards the pair of cups with a silent request for permission to take a picture yet left the option open for Jinkx to refuse. Vaguely wondering who she’d send the image to before ultimately deciding that she didn’t care, Jinkx nodded her head with a gleeful grin settled on her lips. She found that she wanted everyone to know; both at the shop and the rest of the world.

Crossing the last few inches of space that remained between their bodies, Jinkx let her head fall onto Sharon’s shoulder as the blonde snapped a quick picture. Just at the very edge of the image, Jinkx could see their interlocking fingers making a small cameo while the cups with their names scrawled up the side took up the majority of the screen. With one click, Sharon forwarded the picture off to probably every employee at the shop.

Following the subtle announcement of their relationship to their coworkers, the pair quickly drank what little remained in their cups and bid Dela a short ‘Goodbye’ and word of thanks as they exited the cafe. The walk back to the flower shop was quiet and peaceful, yet over all too quickly to both of the women’s displeasure. Pausing outside the door to Sharon’s apartment, Jinkx stood on her tip toes to press a soft kiss to Sharon’s cheek as she whispered sincerely, “I had a really good time tonight.”

Before the redhead even had a chance to try and disentangle her hand from Sharon’s, the older woman carefully pulled her in closer and offered up hopefully, “Well the night’s not over yet…want to come inside for another cup?…I still have have those coffee beans you gave me…”

Jinkx’s face lit up and without a second thought, she dare to place a brief peck to Sharon’s lips and replied, “I’d love to.”

[gnosticgnoob]

2020 DNC Candidates’ Answers to the Healthcare Crisis

The conversation among 2020 candidates surrounding the future of American healthcare has been confusing, convoluted, heated, and all over the place. I’ll try to be as succinct as possible  with my points so as not to add too much to the noise. I mostly want to draw attention to the differences and similarities between the healthcare strategies of Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren.

The important difference has been in the specific wording of the discussion, so I will boil the two messages down with relevant, specific wording: Bernie Sanders’ stated goal is to remove private health insurance companies from our healthcare apparatus, replacing the current system with what is known as a Single-Payer system, as is currently in place in Canada, the United Kingdom, the Nordic countries, Spain, Australia, and South Korea, among others. One of the reasons the conversation around Bernie’s plan has been confusing is that people run into the discord between the idea of his goal and the idea that Medicare as it currently exists now would hypothetically be extended to everybody, a case which would not effectively be a single-payer system.

The name of Sanders’ bill is “Medicare For All”, but the plan includes a lot of restructuring that most importantly removes premiums and co-pays from the current Medicare system, instituting a full single-payer system, i.e. Medicare currently has some of the sticky pitfalls of the current system he seeks to replace, but Sanders’ final intention is that if you, a patient, go to your doctor, or the emergency room, or a specialist for any treatment, you simply receive the treatment and then walk out of the building straight to your car in the parking-lot and drive away without having to mess with any financial details (that isn’t to say the service is “Free” as some detractors might believe or mislead you to believe -- it is simply that the rigmarole of finalizing payment is handled wholly by the gears of the system in the background instead of handled personally by the patient, i.e. it’s not free lunch so much as bureaucratic shuffling around of paperwork).

Sanders’ reasoning for switching to single-payer is essentially that the profit-motive as an operating concept, ethically speaking, does not belong in the healthcare system, i.e. the model similar to Coca-Cola or Ford or Apple where the overall goal is for the company to make a financial return on investment: Ford’s bean counters, marketers, and product development teams come together to design and manufacture a product, they calculate the cost of the product, then they price the product higher than it cost them to make it so they can end up with more capital than they started with. Sanders believes on principle that if it costs $40 to fix a broken arm, then the bill for fixing the broken arm should come to $40, and  further that the person with the broken arm should not be bothered with the paperwork relevant to this cost on their way out the door -- this vision is impossible if there are corporations like Ford or Apple or Netflix in charge of handling the bureaucratic ins and outs of processing healthcare costs, because there is always a middle-man-entity with a board of executives whose primary concern is making a return on the investment, and these institutions as they exist put the bureaucratic load on the patient in terms of handling the details of cost and payment, i.e. writing checks, handling invoices, making phone calls to finalize and organize the details between institutions, etc.

I want to start discussing Warren’s approach with spelling out her stated goals and how the wording specifically differs from Sanders’: whereas Sanders’ goal is to institute a single-payer system removing health insurance companies from the process, Warren’s stated goal is: “Universal coverage at the lowest possible cost.” If you are already familiar with some of the differently-worded strategies, approaches, and plans for addressing the healthcare crisis, this fundamental difference may already show important ways the two candidates are taking different approaches, but don’t worry if it isn’t obvious as I will elaborate why the wording is important.

The discussion around Elizabeth Warren’s approach to healthcare has been confusing for several reasons, but one of the main reasons is that she has stated she supports Medicare For All when there are some gotchas in the fine print that call into question what exactly this means. We will come back to why this isn’t as simple as it sounds, but first I will take a slight detour explaining why this is relevant to another candidate: Kamala Harris does not currently support a single-payer system like Sanders and does not support removing private insurers from the system, even though Harris was a co-sponsor on Bernie’s original bill. Compared to the rest of the candidates, it has been particularly confusing pinning Harris’ campaign down on what she really believes to be the way forward because Harris has answered one way and then contradicted herself in subsequent interviews answering differently the next day, for various reasons that may or may not be her fault but instead due to confusion in the way candidates are asked questions about their plans. Harris has since clarified her approach by officially proposing her own plan that is different from Sanders’ single-payer plan, keeping private health insurers in the system, but she introduces extra confusion in calling it a “Medicare For All” plan. So Sanders was previously able to set himself apart as a candidate with a unique approach, simply pointing prospective voters to his Medicare For All plan, but now that situation is more complicated, because Harris can look in the camera and say confidently, “I support Medicare For All” or “I support a Medicare For All system” when it technically means something completely different when she says these words. This could be misconstrued as being even more confusing by accusing her of hedging bets on two different approaches, but this isn’t really the case as it is important to note since Bernie’s original bill will not be passed, in a sense it’s irrelevant who has co-sponsored it, and so we can defer to where candidates stand currently--and specifically where Harris stands currently with her own new plan--as canceling out previous support/co-sponsoring for Sanders’ single-payer approach.

Warren has stated for the record that she supports Medicare For All. Looking at the case of Kamala Harris, we can see why saying such a thing does not necessarily translate to sharing Sanders’ goals. Like Harris, Warren was also a co-sponsor for Sanders’ original Medicare For All bill, but again, looking at the case of Harris, we can see why this doesn’t translate to Warren literally sharing Sanders’ exact goals. In discussions that I’ve seen in the media and on various social media platforms, this is where a lot of confusion, arguing, name-calling, and hostility arise: there is a contingency of voters who support Sanders’ goals who want to know definitively whether Warren shares those goals or might instead be led to diverge with more moderate proposals that are similar to those of other moderate candidates.

Some heated comments read like this: “Why are Sanders supporters either daft or intent on sowing discord: it is clear that both Liz and Bernie support Medicare for All. Their plans are the same. Stop pretending like his plan is somehow better when she has said on record that she supports Medicare For All.” -- For reasons already stated, you can see why this statement is problematic, either misunderstanding or misconstruing the conversation as it relates to their approaches.

If stating support for M4A wasn’t a confusing enough issue, Warren unfortunately confuses the matter further by consistently stating, regarding her stated goal of “Universal Coverage” that “there are many paths to get there.”

An interviewer specifically asked: “Is there room for private health insurance in your vision of the ideal American health care system?”

She answered: “Our obligation is to make sure that everybody gets coverage at the lowest possible cost to all of us. So what does that mean? Right now, it means fighting the Republicans who are trying to sabotage the Affordable Care Act. So job number one is to defend the Affordable Care Act. ...Job number two is to make changes where we need to make them right now: changes to hold insurance companies accountable and lower[ing] the cost of prescription drugs. ...And the third: how do we get universal coverage? Medicare for all. Lots of paths for how to do that. But we know where we are aiming: every American has health care at a price they can afford, and that the overall costs in the system are held as low as possible.”

Rightly not getting the impression that Warren had satisfied his question directly, the interviewer asks again, “But right now, your vision for Medicare for all, would it all be a public option, or would it also include private insurance?”

She answered, “So right now, there are multiple bills on the floor in the United States Senate. I’ve signed onto Medicare for All. I’ve signed on to another one that gives an option for buying in to Medicaid. There are different ways we can get there. But the key has to be always keep the center of the bulls-eye in mind, and that is affordable health care for every American.” This answer similarly evades the actual question as it was worded.

As someone who supports Sanders’ vision of instituting a single-payer system in America, and someone who is very much interested in supporting any/all candidates who display a similar willingness to fight for the well-being of citizens over corporate interests, I am NOT trying to paint Warren into some kind of wily “gotcha” corner in a clumsy attempt to discredit her or sabotage her campaign -- I simply feel: 1) she has been consistently, purposefully evasive in signaling whether or not she would fight as hard as Sanders for Sanders’ specific gold-standard, 2) this evasiveness, while strategically understandable, is unnecessary, and 3) the resulting confusion in and of itself is not only damaging to her campaign in muddying the healthcare conversation but also calls into question her overall integrity as it relates to any other given issue or plan in any other area of policy. If she is someone who wants the bar raised as high as Bernie’s aims and is also willing to fight for it as hard as Bernie, then I want to be able to shout from the rooftops my support for her as clearly and fullheartedly as I do for Sanders’ campaign, but I am frustrated by the consistently misleading media narrative that they are two peas in a pod on this issue when there’s obviously room for contention between the goals and approaches of the two, and I honestly cannot tell whether or not she will lower the bar mirroring the incrementalist approaches of other moderate candidates.

When Warren says, “Universal coverage at the lowest possible cost,” it could be the case that she doesn’t include a single-payer system within her idea of what is “possible” -- if the “lowest possible cost” in her view is the cost we can achieve by introducing a Public Option instead of instituting a single-payer system, then it is the case that her views differ considerably from Sanders’. If Warren wants to then argue as many other candidates have argued that the lowest cost we can “possibly” achieve is via introducing a public option into the current system, the problem is two-fold: 1) the math will always prove this argument as technically wrong, since a single-payer system would hypothetically always cost less than the current system, ergo 2) the argument essentially comes down to what is “achievable” or what is “possible” within the American political system, which is a rhetorical point that merely comes around to what people are willing to fight for, in other words, how high we are willing to set the bar; to argue that setting the bar as high as single-payer is not achievable is a self-fulfilling prophecy and a rhetorical point that merely reveals the mettle of the politician fighting for their preferred reforms.

There are some Warren supporters who prefer her approach over Sanders’ because it seems that she might be willing to take a more incrementalist approach such as a public option, that she might be willing to postpone universal coverage (indefinitely?) as she considers it “Job #3” after Job #1 of restoring ACA and Job #2 passing other pieces of regulatory legislation. The worst case scenario would be that she 1) deprioritizes “Universal coverage” as a long-term-nice-to-have, and 2) that her definition of “Universal coverage” is the same as Obama’s (Romney’s?): an individual mandate for every citizen to sign up for something within the current broken system. If this is the case, how is her healthcare approach any different than Buttigieg or Biden? and how do the supporters and talking heads get away with suggesting that Sanders and Warren have solidarity on the issue? And how do the Warren supporters that believe Bernie and Warren have identical approaches manage to miss the Warren supporters that prefer her approach because it’s not the same Bernie’s?

My intent is not to debate single-payer vs public option. I don’t even discredit altogether the notion that a public option could be construed as a “step towards” single-payer (though I think this is extremely problematic, it’s a whole different discussion). My intent isn’t to paint Warren in a negative light, or sow division among democratic voters, or institute a “purity test”. If where Warren’s head’s at right now is, “I’m not sold on fighting for single-payer,”...I just want to know. If where Warren’s head’s at right now is, “I’m not sold on fighting for single-payer, and as a strategy for my presidential run I want the record to be a little muddy right now because I believe it will help me secure the nomination as well as a victory against Trump”...then I not only disagree, I respect her a bit less. But my point is: I don’t know where her head’s at...nobody seems to know...because that’s just where the conversation is right now...and I find it frustrating.

[georgiaroofingpr]

Replacing your roofing system is an important part of maintaining your house. A harmed or incorrectly preserved roofing can trigger thousands as well as dollars in damage to various other parts of the home. Fixings just presume, and at some point it will be time to replace your roof covering entirely. Changing your roofing can feel like a difficult task for the first time house owner. Selecting in between thousands of professional roofer can be confusing. Luckily, the project of obtaining a new roofing is not too complicated, and it assists to recognize what to anticipate. The primary step in any roofing system substitute job is obtaining estimates and also picking a contractor. It's a great idea to research study several firms. Make sure they have excellent online reputations as well as are licensed in your state. Make sure to get estimates from a number of professionals before authorizing a contract, as roof covering quotes can have a wide range. 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As soon as the bulk of the old product is taken care of, liable business will clean up after themselves to make sure consumer fulfillment. They generally have a magnetic broom that picks up all the nails and other products that can be harmful along with unattractive. You may locate a tile or two in your yard afterwards, which is completely regular. When you have actually roof job done, you ought to never pay anything in advance. You always pay after the job is completed. This is standard operating procedure. All reliable roofing firms run in this manner.

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