#not nearly as long and difficult as the one I have just spend WEEKS transcribing

[turtleations]

Interview with Kanno Hideo (Cameraman / CAPS)

Published in the hide BIBLE (by Akemi Oshima) 2008

Q1: When did you meet hide for the first time?

A: Around ‘90, no?

Q2: Please tell us what kind of impression you had at the time.

A: I think it must have been during the shooting for the SHOXX special issue on X. At that time, I frankly didn’t know much about X, nor about hide-kun. On that day, hide-kun was the first to arrive for the shooting. During that shooting, I thought he was someone who expressed himself in excentric ways. My impression at that time, the impression I remember was that he would watch over PATA-chan’s session with a smile and a glass of bourbon in one hand rather than being photographed himself.

Q3: Please tell us of an episode with hide that left an impression on you.

Q4: What kind of person was hide to you?

A: There is no limit to the memories I have. The first time we met was for a shooting at SHOXX. Also “Mugongeki”, and after that I kept photographing him in at lot of settings, kept photographing him until the final photos that I took of him were the last photos of him ever taken. Even after that, with the hide memorial photo exhibition, “DIVE to 2000”, and the photos for the hide museum and so on, the memorials every year, I am still publishing photos of hide today. I have taken pictures of many a fantastic artist, but there are few that I made as many memories with as hide, more than I could write down here. To me, it was an important connection.

He always continued to imagine and express his own existence through radical visuals, it was delightful. Consequently, I think he was a pioneer of the music scene of that time. I think when we worked together, hide-kun entrusted me with the role of capturing his imaginary world in photographs and preserving his memories and records. Now I can think, maybe ours was a relationship of such unity. The artist called hide created the visuals that are a symbol of that era, a rare talent that pulled the scene forward. It probably didn’t matter to him, but from the point of view of a photographer, hide was a reflection of that era, the photos and music overflowing with so many thrills, the concerts he left us – without exaggeration, I think he became the bible of visual-kei. I am grateful that I was so lucky as to be able to create works with him!

My relationship with him has been longest after his departure, but I am sure that my relationship to the photos hide-kun left behind will be just as long, and I must continue to protect these photos. It has been ten years since I took those photographs, and being acutely aware of the responsibility I took on by taking them, I will continue to face this responsibility in the future.

Those always around him keep their promises, so I guess this is just a gathering of the awesome people who respect hide-kun. I watched this hide memorial summit feeling deeply that it was the place where the love of those guys came to bear fruit.

Q6: Out of hide’s songs, which is your favorite and why?

A: I love them all.

[babybluebex]

good doctor kreizler ch. 2: book of revelations

summary ↠ sequel to good doctor kreizler // the case of the murdered boys continues, and you're suddenly overcome with terrible emotions for seemingly no reason. but laszlo knows why. pairing ↠ laszlo kreizler x fem!reader (y/n) word count ↠ 3.3k warnings ↠ explicit language, mentions of menstruation, nausea, and pregnancy, descriptions of violence against children (yknow how the alienist works lmao) a/n ↠ enjoy! masterlist/taglist in bio!

You sighed heavily and pressed your palm to your diaphragm. Your corset was causing more discomfort than usual, but you could look past it. There were deeds that needed to be done. You stood up from your chair and moved to the telephone on the wall, and you caught the side-long glance that an officer gave you. Perhaps it was some sort of confidence that being with Laszlo gave you, but you found yourself saying, “Can I help you, sir?”

“D’ya need help with that telephone?” the man asked, puffing at a cigarette. The smell of it made you feel ill, especially the way he blew it nearly directly at you. “It can be awfully difficult for a lady.”

You gave him a plantative smile, and you said, “I can manage. Thank you, though.”

“You sure?” he asked. “Because I’d be more than happy to oblige you.”

“Really,” you said, taking up the end of the telephone. “I can do it.”

The man took a step closer, and he placed a hand on your waist. “You think, because you work for the police, you can be a bitch?” he hissed. “If a gentleman offers you help, you take it.”

The door to the room swung open, and you turned to see your lover there, wearing your favorite emerald-green suit and black coat. Laszlo was a gift from the gods, for sure. He made sure you knew that you were worthy of what you were given in the world, and he strived to give you more. Every time he presented you with a new dress or necklace, you always kissed him to show your gratitude, but reminded him that such gifts were not necessary. “You’re the only thing I ask for,” you would remind him. You knew that the thought of it troubled the good doctor, that he was worried that he wasn’t enough, but, every night, you kissed his shoulder and arm and assured him that he was more than what you deserved. You trusted Laszlo with your body, soul, mind, and heart, and he did the same of you.

Which is why you were thankful for the little fibs he would tell every so often to save face. “I would greatly appreciate it if you removed your hand from my wife,” Laszlo said firmly, his accent stronger than usual; his German gravel was intimidating to those who only knew him from stories in the newspaper. “New York’s finest and all…”

The officer took a step back from you, and Laszlo moved closer to you. “What do I owe this visit, sweetheart?” you asked, pressing your hands to his chest. Laszlo bent down and swiped his lips along your cheek, and you felt yourself grow warm at his unusual display of public affection.

“You left a file at home,” Laszlo said. “I remember you talking about transcribing it.”

You cooed softly, and Laszlo reached into his coat and extracted the file folder for you. “You’re so good,” you told him. “What can I do to repay you? I’m sure I’m making you late to the Institute.”

Laszlo tilted his head as he thought, and he put his hand on your waist, right where the officer had put his. Laszlo was hardly a jealous man, but the moments where his mood matched his suit made you giggle. He was a world-renowned alienist, but he was truly just a teenage boy in mind and matter. “Let me take you to dinner tonight,” Laszlo said, and you groaned. “And the opera. Please, my beloved, just one night.”

“Las, I told you, I don’t like when you spend your money on me,” you grumbled. “Just, please. I’m perfectly happy taking dinner at home. In fact, I prefer it more!”

“More than Delmonico’s?” Laszlo asked. “What if I invited John and Sara and the Isaacsons?”

“No, Laszlo,” you giggled, and you pressed your thumb into the little dimple in his chin. “The problem certainly will not be solved by adding more people. Can we just stay home tonight and listen to an opera on the gramophone? We’ve both been working very hard lately, I’d just like a simple night with you.”

“A simple night,” Laszlo said softly, pulling the words around in his mouth. “My beloved, I am not a simple man.”

“Boy, that’s the truth,” you chuckled, and you moved from his grip to return to your desk. “Maybe next week, we can go to the opera. Alright?”

Laszlo chuckled lightly, and he tugged you close and laid a kiss on your forehead. “Whatever you’d like, my beloved,” he told you. “When can I expect you at the Institute?”

You pulled Laszlo’s left arm up to your face and looked at his watch, ticking away at half noon, and you said, “Around three or so. Would you mind having some tea ready for when I get there? I’m feeling plain awful today.”

“What’s wrong?” Laszlo asked, and you smiled at the sudden emergence of Dr. Kreizler. While his degree wasn’t exactly in physical medicine, he always liked to be the first to examine you for maladies if they arose.

“Oh, nothing,” you sighed, waving your hand dismissively. “Just a bit of a stomach ache. I assume it’s nearing that time of the month for me, Las, you know how I get.”

“Of course,” Laszlo said softly. “You know, you could have just told me that’s why you didn’t want to eat at Delmonico’s tonight.”

You looked around quickly, finding the small space empty void for you and your lover, and you carefully took the furred lapel of Laszlo’s coat between your fingers and tugged him close, close enough for you to smell the lavender pastile that he liked so much. “Truly, my reason was more than that,” you whispered. “I wanted you to ravage me tonight, for as long as we both can bear.”

You almost missed the way that Laszlo’s breath hitched in his throat, but you were glad you noticed it. “It is getting to be that time, isn’t it?” he said carefully. “Increase in libido is a common side effect of menstruation.”

You hummed softly and pressed your fingers to his cheek. “I love it when you talk like that,” you said. “You’re so wonderfully smart, Las, I wish you wouldn’t be ashamed to show it.”

“I’m not,” Laszlo said. “You just choose to ignore my intelligence.”

“Now, why in the world would I do that?” you laughed. “You ought to be getting to the Institute. I’ll see you shortly.”

Laszlo gave you a warm smile and kissed your cheek, and you felt yourself shiver at his lips. God, you could hardly believe how much you loved him. You felt your stomach flutter, and you heaved a sigh. “I love you,” Laszlo said softly, and he brushed a lock of your hair behind your ear. “I’ll see you soon, my beloved.”

You fixed your jaw and swallowed down the ungodly feeling in your throat. Something was wrong, you could tell. The usual air of the parlor was not there, the cheerful if slightly remorseful lightness. Instead, the parlor was overtaken with a heady sadness that completely outweighed the macabre curiosity.

“Laslzo,” you said quickly, dropping your briefcase by the table, and you joined your lover at the window. He was smoking his pipe, something you had only ever seen him do a handful of times before, and you immediately ran your hand soothingly down his back. “What’s happened?”

“Another body,” Laszlo mumbled. “Another child.”

You bristled. “But-But I thought we had figured it out? The murderer followed Catholic holy days?”

“That was a suitable theory at the time,” Laszlo said. His gaze was fixed to the outside world through the murky glass, and you looked around the room. John was sitting at the long table, absently sketching something, and Sara was studying the chalkboard that was covered in Laszlo’s neat script. “But he’s gone off schedule, and we might as well be back where we started.”

“Not really,” you said softly. “I mean, so he jumped ahead a few days. If the body bears the same marks, if the victim is the same as the others, I don’t see why a change in date--”

“Of course you don’t,” Laszlo scoffed, and he stepped away from you.

You were stunned silent, and you watched Laszlo move back to the table with the heaps of paperwork. “What does that mean?” you asked.

“You’re not looking at the entire picture,” Laszlo said sharply. “You’re only focused on the way he changed the date, not the why. Why did he change his schedule, why is there another body weeks ahead of the next holy day? Now we have to be concerned if it’s even the same murderer. Is it a copycat murderer that hasn’t pinned down the schedule as we have? There are many moving parts to this that you don’t seem to comprehend.”

“Las, I do see that,” you countered. The way he doubted you stung your chest, but that was Laszlo. When he was angry, he lashed out. You had come to accept him, even if the words he said truly hurt. You saw Sara turn to look at you, a hint of pity in her blue eyes, and you sighed. “Look, do we have records of the new victim’s body? Perhaps that will give us insight.”

“Yes,” John said quickly, not even giving Laslzo a chance to answer and cut your feelings even deeper. Why had his admonitions hurt so much more than usual? You were afraid that, if he spoke to you like that again, you would start crying. And then they would be right, everybody would be right: a woman was too delicate to handle crimes like this. “I visited the morgue as soon as I heard. I sketched what I could manage, and took notes of everything else.”

You moved around to join John at the other side of the table, choosing to ignore Laszlo. You could feel his eyes follow you as you bent towards John to look at his sketches, and your eyes followed the charcoal lines of a young boy. Like the others, his eyes were plucked out, his throat slit, and his hand cut off, but a few errant marks on the boy’s stomach made you tilt your head. “What’s this?” you asked, gently tracing the lines with your finger. Soot of the charcoal came off on your fingertip, but you paid little attention to it.

“Our murderer made gashes in the boy’s stomach,” John said. “This one--” he pointed to a particular line, “Was deep enough to view the intestines. Four in total, but they don’t seem to follow a pattern.”

“Everything follows a pattern, John,” Laszlo said quickly. “We just haven’t found it yet.”

“Four…” you mumbled. “And this sketch is accurate to scale?” John nodded, and your eyes studied it for a moment longer. Four of them, two of them a bit shorter than the others. Those two were situated at the bottom of the boy’s belly, right where the V of his hip bones would be, and the one of them was at the top, just under his breastbone. The fourth, the biggest, longest, deepest, was straight down the middle, bisecting the boy’s navel.

Your vision became blurred. Your breath came in gasps, and you felt dizzy. A terrible sickness crawled up your throat, and you pressed the back of your hand to your mouth to stop the flow of vomit. Vomit. You never vomited, not even when you had viewed past victims’ bodies in person. The smell of corpses wasn’t even enough to make you ill, but your heart quickened when you cast another glance to the sketch.

You fell into a chair besides John, and you gasped, “I think I’m gonna be sick--”

Sara came to clutch your hand in an instant, and John hurried to hide the sketch. “Las,” you mumbled. “Can you get me some water, sweetheart?”

“I’d rather stay here with you,” Laszlo said quickly. Your other hand was filled by his, and you cast a glance upwards at him. Now, instead of the tepid malice that he had had in his eyes, he had complete worry.

“I’ll get you some water,” John said. “Laszlo, watch over her. I’ll be back.”

“What happened?” Sara asked. “You started to sway and turned a ghostly pale. Did you see something?”

“J-Just those gashes,” you mumbled. “They-They looked like scars my mother had.”

“Scars?” Laszlo asked. “What do you mean?”

You sniffled, and took your hands from both grasps to wring in your lap. “I was born via Cesarean section,” you said. “M-My mother had been sick and fragile since before she was pregnant with me, and her doctor advised against natural childbirth. She had a scar right down the middle of her stomach in the same fashion as the body… A-And, when I was still in school, a doctor found a series of tumors in her ovaries. It had spread through the rest of her, but the doctor tried to combat it by removing the original tumors, and… The scars on his waist match the ones my mother had. I-I just-- Why would the murderer give this poor boy a woman’s scars?”

Laszlo bristled at this. You hardly ever mentioned your family, or him his, and he knelt down in front of you. “There’s something more than that,” he said softly. “My beloved, please speak to me. What’s troubling you?”

You chewed your bottom lip, and you gave a gasp as you tried to steady your breathing. “Sara,” you mumbled. “Can you give us a moment?”

Sara squeezed your hand and nodded, and she quickly excused herself. You waited until the door closed fully before sobbing and leaning forward to rest your head against your knees. “I’m sorry, Las,” you mumbled. “I-I just-- I can’t bear the sight of that today. I’ve felt ill all day, and now all of this, it’s far too much for me right now.”

You had nearly forgotten that you had requested tea earlier in the day, and you watched Laszlo rise from his knee and retrieve the tea cup. He quickly took note of your quivering hands, and he lifted the porcelain tea cup to your mouth. You sipped at it, hoping that it might soothe you, and you wiped your tears from your cheeks. “Laszlo, what’s wrong with me?” you sniffled. “I-I’ve never done this before, why now?”

“You already said that you feel ill,” Laszlo said carefully. “Maybe the sight of the body and the state of it was a shock to your system. Has the nausea passed?”

You shook your head quickly. The ugly feeling of it still sat in the very back of your throat, and you reached out for him. Laszlo set the tea cup aside and came to you, and you buried your face in his stomach from where you sat. Your arms circled his waist and you held him tightly, and you keened up into his hand as he began to stroke your hair.

Suddenly, Laszlo began to move with quickness, pulling you to your feet. You hardly had time to ask what he was doing before his fingers began to undo the back of your blouse. “Laszlo!” you cried. “What in the world are you doing?”

“Trust me, my beloved,” Laszlo said quickly. With his one arm tight to his body, he pulled your blouse off of you, then started at your corset. That sick feeling back came, and you reached forward and braced yourself against the table. Your head hung as you tried to control your nausea, and you whimpered, “Laszlo, what is this?”

Your lover gave a growl, one of deep frustration, and he grabbed your corset by the bottom hem and shoved it down your body, past your waist, to expose your breasts and stomach. You couldn’t help but sigh at the release of pressure on your middle, and Laszlo turned you around to see your bare skin. He knelt down in front of you and pressed his forehead against your stomach, and you watched him close his eyes and take a deep breath. You hardly understood what he was doing, but, if the half year courting him was any indication, he knew what was best. “When was the last time you menstruated?” Laszlo asked, next pressing his cheek to your bare stomach.

Your hand instinctively went to cradle his cheek, and you shrugged. “Several months ago,” you said. “I… They come and go, I suppose. Is that normal?”

“And your breasts?” Laszlo asked next, and you grimaced.

“What’re you getting at?” you asked.

“My beloved,” Laszlo said carefully, and he looked up at you from his place on the floor. His dark eyes were glistening with tears, and your heart sank and adrenaline rushed bitterly into your mouth.

“Stop,” you whispered. “Laszlo, no, I-I’m not-- I can’t be--”

“I think you are, beloved,” Laszlo said. He stood up and shucked off his suit jacket, and he laid it across your shoulders to hide your body from the cold room. “I think that you’re pregnant, my beloved. That would explain every malady you have: the aches, the irritability, the nausea, the delicateness, the increase in libido. Pregnancy offers an explanation for all of these.”

Your eyes filled with tears again, but a smile came with them. “You…” you started, and you sent a weak punch to Laszlo’s firm chest. “You absolute bastard!”

Laszlo laughed and tugged you into him, and you hugged him tightly. Laszlo, your wonderful Las, the father of your child. “Oh, my beloved,” he sighed, kissing the side of your head. “How did I not see it before?”

“Men can tend to be blind to such things,” you said. “But I feel as if a special blockade is up for you when it concerns me.”

“I agree,” Laszlo said. His hand came up to rest against your face, and you leaned into his touch. “My dearest girl…” he hummed, and he leaned into you and pressed his lips to yours. You pressed back, letting a smile grace your lips. “Marry me, my beloved.”

It was hardly even a question. “Of course, Las,” you said softly. “How could I say no to you? It would ruin your reputation, having a child out of wedlock.”

“Thta's true,” Laszlo shrugged. “But I think you would want to marry me regardless.”

“How dare you act as if you know what I want,” you said, but you kissed the tip of his nose anyway. “But, yes, Laszlo. I would love to marry you. Mrs. Kreizler… Is that something you ever thought you’d hear?”

“Not from you,” Laszlo chuckled. “I never thought that you would want the burdens of marriage. In fact, I distinctly remember you telling me that upon our first meeting.”

“How could you manage any thought during that interaction?” you giggled. “If what you told me was true, you were quite distracted that day.”

Laszlo gave a soft little grunt, and he snuffled his face into your neck. “Yes, well, a man has to learn to multitask,” he said. “Oh my God, I cannot begin--”

The door to the parlor banged open, and you hurried to cover yourself. “Marcus,” Laszlo said firmly. “Give us a moment, will you?”

“Doc, this is pretty important--”

“I am having a private conversation with my fiancée, Mr. Isaacson,” Laszlo said, his voice rising just a bit. “You can tell me whatever you wish as soon as I finish this conversation.”

You looked over your shoulder to the younger Isaacson twin, and your face grew hot when your shoulder slipped from the jacket. Marcus’s eyes went wide for a moment, then he put his hands up in a plantation gesture. “Right,” he said quickly. “Um, sorry, Doc. I’ll be--”

“Do hurry it up, Marcus,” you said, pulling your fiancé’s jacket tight around you. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you can return.”

You watched Marcus leave the room and shut the heavy door behind him, and you scoffed and dissolved into giggles. You buried your face into Laslzo’s warm chest and kissed just over his heart, and you sighed. “I’d love to speak more about this at home,” you said. “I love you to absolute death, Laszlo.”

“And I love you more,” Laszlo said softly.

[saphirered]

Hi, I love your writing, and was wondering if I could get a Essek x aasimar reader ( in which they are in an established romantic relationship) , where the reader gifts Essek quills made from their own feathers as an anniversary gift?

Thanks for requesting. I hope it turned out to your liking. Warning for all the fluff. 😘

You open the front door stepping inside the familiar interior of the towers. The entry hall is dark. With a snap of your fingers the vase on the side table glows with a radiant light. You take off your shoes and set them neatly underneath the side table next to Essek’s; the dark leather boots giving away the wizard had returned before you did.

It had been a long exhausting day of work but you’d finally made it home. With the time, you half expected Essek to already have headed to bed so made sure to be quiet setting down your usual things and heading up the stairs, fine carved box wrapped under your arm.

You had to find a spot to hide the box. The anniversary’s coming up tomorrow and you wanted to keep this a surprise. You’ve worked long and hard to assure your gift would be perfect and were able to find someone able to make you the things you couldn’t yourself. A jeweller made you carefully crafted nibs engraved in geometric designs. You found some silver twist thread to secure the nib in the beautiful feathers taken from your own wings.

You would have asked a skilled maker to do it for you but too many questions would arise from you walking into a shop providing feathers with a bit of a radiant angelic glow to them so instead you had to assemble them yourself. A good many tries, and many ruined feathers later you had a working quill and made a few more to complete the set. You ended up with one for notes, one for letters, one for official documents and one for transcribing spells. Each quill slightly different and unique in its own right.

Finding a place to hide your gift proved a bit more difficult than you thought. A place where Essek wouldn’t look or accidentally stumble across it… Underneath the bed? No that’s stupid. Bottom of the wardrobe? Too easily found. Kitchen? Push one thing aside and the box will stand out like a sore thumb. The study…. The study! Hide it in plane sight. You’d just have to make sure you’d be up before he was and get to the study first. Easily done!

Off to the study you went but your brilliant plan fell apart when you saw an ember glow come through the slightly ajar door. You look around the hallway. Think fast. Bookcase. You lift a display box from the shelf and put the carved box down, putting the display box on top of it. Hidden in plane sight. Terrible but it will have to do.

You push the door to the study open a bit more to reveal the interior. The candlelight basks the room in a warm flickering glow. Back facing you Essek sits in a chair bend over his desk softly grumbling to himself. Leaning his head on his fist he scribbles on a sheet of paper before adding it to a small stack next to it with a sigh. He grabs a new sheet and continues writing.

As quiet as you can you tiptoe up behind Essek. You wrap an arm around him, leaning your head on his shoulder and press a soft kiss to his temple as you look over his work. Essek relaxes leaning into your embrace dropping the decrepit quill and stretching and curling his fingers to get rid of the stiffness. Looks like he’s been writing a lot more than this single stack by hand.

“Hey.” Essek breathes placing his hand over yours and squeezing softly. His lips press against your cheek lazily as if he’s finally found the mind space to relax and let the stress dissipate.

“Hey.” The two of you stay like that for a little while.

“What are you working on this late?” You ask getting a glimpse of the documents, some stamped with the Bright Queen’s sigil. Did he take home his work? Must really have been a busy day for the both of you then.

“Nothing worth talking about. Just some orders to the Lens to be signed off on. What time is it?”

“It’s almost midnight, Essek. I thought I finished up late. Take a break. The work will still be here in the morning.” Essek looks at you to make sure you’re not messing with him. Realising you are being truthful he rubs his brow pushing the quill and paper back further. You let him get up and he stretches his back trying to get rid of the ache from sitting in the same position for however long he had been.

“You know what day it is tomorrow. I want to spend it with you. Not caught up in this.” Essek gestures to the neatly stacked papers. You step up close to him placing your hands on either side of his face offering him a loving smile.

“If it’s important you have my permission to finish up. Besides, maybe I can help. Unless you think I’d be too much of a distraction rather than a motivator.” You tease pecking his lips.

“Come on. By the looks of it neither of us have had dinner yet. I’m sure there’s still some broth left. We can improvise some stew.” Seeing no reason to complain or decline the offer of some proper food Essek allows you to drag him along to the kitchen. Aren’t you glad you decided not to hide your gift in the kitchen?

The two of you work together to provide dinner, you doing most of the work; preventing Essek from ruining your meal by adding the wrong spices or turning down the heat too much. It’s known that out of the two of you you are the better cook so Essek resorts to just following your instructions to the dot to not end up with a bland, wrongly spiced, or undercooked meal.

In half an hour or so the table is set with a steaming pot of deliciously smelling stew, a loaf of bread cut in slices, some cheese, a bottle of wine and the two of you sitting opposite of each other, your legs stretched out to balance on the wizard’s lap as he pours two glasses of wine handing one to you. You fill a plate with food exchanging it for the glass of wine and fill a second plate for yourself.

Together you enjoy your meal discussing your activities of the day or part of it hiding the details of working on your anniversary gift. Table cleared and dishes washed you return to the living room relaxing on the couch in each other’s embrace determined to finish the remainder of the bottle of wine tonight.

You’re about to doze off but sit up catching a glimpse of outside through the window. Essek looks at you confused giving you a ‘what’s wrong’ expression as you rush over to the window. You beckon Essek over who reluctantly gets up to watch the skies you seem so hyper focussed on all o the sudden.

“Look!” You exclaim pointing at the moons and stars. Essek searches the skies for any inconsistencies but finds none. It’s a beautiful clear night, that’s for sure. What he didn’t expect is you turning around and pulling him into a deep and passionate kiss. Not one to deny such gesture from you he’s quick to return the kiss albeit still somewhat confused about the link between the night sky, excitement and kiss.

Pulling apart after a long kiss you wrap your arms around Essek’s middle. You catch on to the lingering sense of confusions from Essek and decide to spell it out for him.

“It’s past midnight. Happy anniversary, dear.” The drow’s eyes light up and quickly gives you another kiss to cover up the embarrassment of not catching on.

“Since we’re still up anyway. I have a gift for you. Wait here.” You untangle yourself from the comforts of Essek’s embrace, rush upstairs to retrieve your gift. You nearly drop the display case you had hid it under but avoid a messy disaster and broken antique. Box behind your back and goofy smile on your face you approach him once again but leave enough space between the two of you so you can actually hand him your gift.

“Humor me. Close your eyes.” Essek closes his eyes. You open the box displaying it properly, tapping Essek with your foot to signal he could open his eyes again. At first when he does he’s playing along with your game but that drops the moment his eyes fall upon the pristine quills. Shock, bewilderment, gratitude, love, that’s what you get from Essek. A warm and content sense washes over you.

“These-. What-. I-I have no words.” Essek breathes as he reaches for one of the quills but stops for your permission.

“They are yours. You need not ask for permission.” Not having to be told twice Essek picks up one of the quills and inspects it closely, feeling the weight in his hand, the silver thread twisted grip and nib. In awe he breathes one word; ‘perfect’. Before you know it kisses are peppered all over as he takes the box from your hands and carefully sets it aside. Once he does you’re pulled into a deep embrace.

“Thank you. They are… beautiful, perfect. They are perfect. You, are perfect.”

“I hope these will last you longer than your old ones. You’ve gone through those in a matter of weeks now.” You laugh. Essek pulls away from you holding by the shoulders. Your own turn to be confused, you give him a look.

“Any time is as good as now.” Essek hurries off up the stairs and you can hear the door of the study opening. He quickly returns, telling you to close your eyes before he reaches the bottom step. You obey and cover your eyes with your hands. You hear footsteps draw near until they stop in front of you.

A hand pulls away yours from your face and you’re met with Essek’s joking disapproval. No peaking so you close your eyes and allow your hands to be pulled down resting in front of you palms up. A heavy rectangular object is dropped in your hands. You wrap your fingers around to make sure you don’t accidentally drop it.

“Open your eyes.” You’re met with suspense from Essek nudging for you to look at the gift in your hands. It’s a proper leather-bound book. On the cover is your name pressed in gold lettering surrounded by streamlined geometric line designs in beautiful patterns.

You open the book the title page is blank but backing the cover there’s a message dedicated to you.

‘A story not nearly completed and yet to be named. May we continue this story for many more pages to come.’

You now know exactly how Essek felt upon receiving your heartfelt gift; speechless. You flip the pages. It’s the story of how you met, how your lives developed, how you’d grown close together and eventually grown to love each other paired with sketches of places where some of these events took place, of you and him together, and of you alone. Essek awaits your response but your words seem to have left you.

“Come here.” You breathe the words barely audible and you wrap your arms around the wizard pulling him tightly against you as you whisper thank yous on the verge of tears. Relief washes over him as he melts into your embrace.

“I take it my gift is to your liking?”

“I love it. Almost as much as I love you.” You pull back enough to give him a kiss a bright smile on your face.

“I love you too.” The two of you stay in each other’s arms watching the skies satisfied. No words can describe the love you share but your respective gifts give some insight in that. To many more stories to be told. To many more stories to be told.

[tanadrin]

Khoda Station

For a long time after she joined the Project, Sirrek had found Tjumak to be a puzzle, the most difficult to understand of her colleagues. She took as read that you had to have pretty good reasons to want to risk defying the Archive’s most sacrosanct law, and also to spend half of every year out in the middle of nowhere, hundreds of kilometers from the nearest transport routes and thousands from the nearest settlements. For most of the people at the station, their motives were actually pretty simple. Koridek believed passionately in the work; so passionately that he was willing to break his most deeply held convictions about what it meant to be an Archivist. For him it was all about values. His desire to serve humanity ran deep, and that was what made him a good fit for the Archive. His desire to serve Paradise, well, that ran even deeper; it was the source of his desire to serve humanity, to protect their nascent colony, but also to violate an order that had been created decades before Sirrek was born, to prevent terrible bloodshed. Depending on how you looked at it, that made him a very bad archivist indeed.

Ardhat was also simple. She was a problem-solver. That wasn’t all of it, but it was most of it. Of course, she believed mightily, too, but Sirrek doubted anyone could believe in anything as strongly as Koridek did. But above all else, Ardhat wanted to solve the biggest problems she could find. That was what got her up in the mornings, and drove her forward. She was a puzzle-cracker, a code-breaker, a solution-seeker, a builder-of-systems. She would have been a fine architect, or a talented engineer, or a clever physicist. But what greater puzzle was there than the Great Record? What greater problem to solve could there be than resurrecting a lost world out of the most ancient memory of the past? Of building a whole new ecosystem, alongside and on top on alien to it that already existed? Sirrek was quite certain that Ardhat would die to protect the Project if it ever came to it, but in the meantime, she would live for its mysteries.

Sirrek? Well, introspection wasn’t her strong suit. But where Ardhat had a cordial indifference to authority and Koridek a deep but respectful complaint against it, Sirrek just hated being told what to do. And they had told her, you shall not be a biologist. Not in the way you want to be. You shall not undertake any part of the great work--for it will not begin in your lifetime. They had said to her, you shall leave Paradise fallow, at least for a human definition of the term. And so Sirrek hated them for that, hated them for deciding before she was born that all her talents and her ambition must be sacrificed in the name of politics, hated the religious zealots and the blind ideologues whose fledgeling war meant that it would be many lifetimes before the Paradise she dreamed of would come to be. She was compelled to disobey. That was what got her out of bed in the morning.

But Tjumak. There was a mystery. He affected it a little, Sirrek thought. He spent his days ensconced in the middle of his dark laboratory, like the heart of an animal, or the engine of a machine. He did not come and go, like Koridek. The dim light of the displays shone on the glossy exterior of his support apparatus. He had once had a survival suit, Koridek said, and had gone back and forth from the surface like most of the other Archivists, returning to Ammas Echor when the strain of surface living became too great. Archivists were not born for planetbound life; they were humanity as it lived between the stars, made for the long dreamlike time in the cold and dark, and for keeping the long memory of their people alive. How long did our ancestors travel from star to star? Sirrek had once asked her mother, when she was young. For countless ages, she had replied. Since the Garden was lost to us in the beginning of time.

A survival suit was meant to be a temporary thing, a way to endure the stresses of gravity and the immoderate temperatures of the surface. What, do you go naked in space? Sirrek had asked Koridek. Koridek laughed. No, he said. We still have to wear suits on the vessel, though they are much lighter. You see me only as a hulking, heavy thing in this armor. In microgravity, I am considered graceful; above the sky, I can dance. Why someone would exchange that for a planetbound prison, much less one where they could not leave the room they worked in, Sirrek struggled to guess. But that was what Tjumak had done. From the outside, he looked almost like a silly toy: a round, smooth metal body, topped with a round, smooth head on a short, flexible neck. His arms were more graceful, and the apparatus in which he set could turn this way and that to reach th various monitors and keyboards around him; but apparently much of the interface was actually inside the suit, which in Tjumak’s case was more of a chamber, one in which he floated in a carefully-formulated synthetic fluid. And if the power goes out? Sirrek had asked. He will be very annoyed until someone finds the switch for the backup generator, Koridek said.

Direct neural prosthetics like the Archivists used, and which Tjumak relied on for his work, were rare among the younger generations, so it was probably a less claustrophobic way of living than Sirrek imagined. And if he really had to, he probably could switch back to a survival suit. Like if they ever got caught, and had to evacuate the station. That was a possibility she did her best not to dwell on.

She got a little window into Tjumak’s world, or at least his thought process, when they spent several long weeks working on a section of the Great Record. It was a frustrating and exceedingly difficult task, and the missing portions that Sirrek needed amounted to only a handful of characters, but the Record was nearly impossible to work with directly. When she was little, her teachers had explained that the Great Record was a library of the genetic information of every animal and plant and little microscopic beastie that had ever lived in the Garden, the world humankind had come from. And when their most ancient ancestors, the ancestors of their unimaginably remote ancestors, had had to leave the Garden as exiles, they preserved the Record, and kept it safe, for hundreds of thousands of years.

That was almost, but not quite, entirely a lie. When she had started studying biology, with an eye to genetics and to endobotany specifically (back when she imagined that she might be permitted to do something with her training), she started learning about how the Great Record worked. It wasn’t just a record of DNA; that on its own would have been quite useless, she was assured. DNA was an important part of it, of course, nuclear and mitochondrial both, but only a small part. Rather, the Record had been compiled as an image of the shape of a living cell: it described actual genetic code, but also how DNA was formed, how proteins were folded, how DNA and RNA were transcribed, processes of methylation and copying, how mitosis and meiosis functioned, and so on and so forth, attempting to describe the metabolism of an ideal cell, one which contained within it the potential to embody almost any form of life to which humankind had once been related; and it was by reference to this elaborate, ideal lifeform that literally millions of other species, from single-celled bacteria that lived in the human gut to storybook leviathans, were described. And the reason, Sirrek was told, that the Record had been composed in this way was that, long long ago, their ancestors had once had the technology to use those reference descriptions directly. The heart of the Record was a terrible lacuna, a tool that had been so widespread, and so useful, that it had once been presumed it would never be lost.

Oh, fathers of my fathers and mothers of my mothers! Sirrek had thought. How far your children have fallen. The senior geneticists referred to this technology as the key to the universal cell; or just the key. What, exactly, it was and how it had functioned was hard to guess. It was related to other technologies they had that barely worked, and that they did not understand at all, like the ones the Archivists used to modify their genes and to improve their neural prosthetics. There were baseline humans who had been brought all the way from Rauk on the last journey, in sarcophagi that had preserved them between life and death. It was a form of the key that had brought them back to wholeness, and let them live out the rest of a natural lifespan. But it was a specialized version, a crippled and ghostly version. They did not have the true key; and they were working to rebuild it. Perhaps one day, many centuries from now, they would live up to the promise of those long-ago masters of the living world, and they would read forth out of the Record a whole teeming world, as had been intended.

But they didn’t need the key to start understanding the Record, and ordinary genetic engineering and cell manipulation techniques would serve to clone the most basic organisms recorded there. Of course, all of this was hampered by the fact that the Record was at both extremely terse, intending to encode an enormous amount of information in as small a space as possible, and maddeningly repetitive. It was not really one Record, but many; the collocation of multiple copies, in some places defective, and in others damaged. Later, totally uncomprehending generations had apparently lost all but the memory of the importance of the thing, and carefully copied what they did not understand into new forms. It was only in the glare of Rauk, millennia ago, that the Janese had finally understood what they had had in their grasp, and built it into the skeleton of Ammas Echor itself.

Understanding the Record had been the original purpose of the Archive, and in the long, slow journey to Paradise they had labored ceaselessly at their task. Still, it was slow work. And since their station did not have the benefit of access to either the Archive on Ammas Echor, or to all the latest work from investigators working on the surface, sometimes they had to work at it themselves. At Ardhat’s encouragement, Sirrek had been trying to get a handle on some of the plant species that, by their position in the Record, seemed to be relatively basal. Much of the work in unraveling that portion of the Archive had been done by others, and was well-known, but little attention had been paid to the bryophytes. Under the logic of the agreement between the Renewalists and the Instrumentalists, this didn’t matter. Actual resurrection of species was not slated to begin for nearly eighty years, and even then it would be confined to laboratories. But Sirrek wanted practical results. What she ideally wanted was trees, flowers, grasses, important primary producers that also occupied slightly different ecological niches from the xenophytes, and could be integrated alongside them. But mosses were step zero. Possibly even step negative one. All she needed was a single viable spore. In theory, everything she needed was in the Record, somewhere.

In their long, slow labor, the Archivists had painstakingly indexed the Record, but it was an immense of information, and one that was only partly understood. The language of the record, if it could be called that, was a sophisticated polyvalent writing system that could encode chemical formulae, the structure of molecules and proteins and organelles, and dipped in its most specific registers into the subatomic scale, to describe the precise interaction by which choloroplasts captured the light of the sun, to convert into energy; and at its most general, sketched a mathematical relationship between the populations of a predator and its prey. Yet for all that it said, it also left maddening amounts unsaid, details that were perhaps assumed by its creators to be common knowledge, or which simply could not be fit in.

“It’s almost gibberish,” Tjumak had observed dryly. “Almost.”

“Why do you think they made it in the first place?” Sirrek asked Tjumak. “Do you suppose they really thought the umpteenth children of their children would be able to make use of it?”

“I can only assume so. Hubris, perhaps, or merely an unfathomably acute case of optimism.”

“It had to have been made in the Garden, right?”

A small movement suggested a shrug from Tjumak. “To speculate on the historicity of our people before the last journey is to engage in theology as far as I can tell. Whatever the Garden once was, it is now more myth than fact.”

“Maybe,” said Sirrek, tapping her chin as she moved the same section of the Record back and forth on the display. The curling, two-dimensional network of shapes blurred together if you tried to take in too much of it at once, not to mention it was dispiriting. It was far easier to concentrate on the smallest legible piece, and work through it one symbol at a time. Tjumak peeked over her shoulder, and glanced at her notes.

“No, that’s not right,” he said. “That’s not a DNA sequence, it’s a protein sequence. Look, that’s a symbol for a folding geometry, in the corner.”

Sirrek muttered an impolite word and started backtracking.

“They can’t have made it during the Exile, anyway,” she said. “You can’t put millions of species on a generation ship. Even if most of them are beetles.”

“Perhaps not,” said Tjumak. “But what is an object such as this? It is a monument against ruin. If they made it in the Garden, they made it knowing its desolation was close at hand.”

“So you’re definitely in camp made-to-be-used.”

“I think… I think it doesn’t matter why they made it,” Tjumak said. He was scanning his own section of the text, which in real terms was inscribed about a meter and a half away from Sirrek’s on the same section of Ammas Echor’s structural frame; but which felt like it might as well have been on the other side of the planet. “The question is, why do we want to use it?”

“Hubris, and/or an unfathomably acute case of optimism?”

“It’s a reasonable question. We could have come to Paradise, gone down from the Ammas Echor, and made our living on this world as it is, with no attempt to change it besides the introduction of ourselves. For that matter, we could have stayed in orbit, bringing up such resources as we needed, air and water and soil, to make life there far more comfortable than it ever could have been on one of the airless or gasping worlds our ancestors lived their lives on, and left Paradise almost entirely unchanged. Yet when we arrived, we nearly fought a war against one another, not over whether to make use of the Record to resurrect the creatures of the Garden, but only how.”

“Do you think we should have considered the possibility?”

Tjumak leaned back from the display he was hunched over. The head of his support apparatus tilted up toward the ceiling, which was as close as he ever got to looking pensieve.

“I cannot honestly say yes. I’ve known space, Sirrek, real space. Not orbital microgravity, but the deepness beyond the summit of the sky. Some of my earliest memories are of the firing of Ammas Echor’s great engines, to turn our path inward toward the light below. Of the long, slow spiral down to the inner worlds of Kdjemmu. And even that emptiness was brighter and warmer by far than the great darkness between the stars that my mother and father were born into. When they were young, ever joule of energy was precious beyond reckoning, every drop of water or puff of air worth more than a human life. 

“The other worlds around this star, they’re airless, or formless giants, or scorching hot, or worse. And every world our ancestors ever visited, if the tales are true, from the Garden-which-was-lost to Usukuul-we-mourn, was as barren as them. I cannot imagine what suffering generation after generation endured to bring us here--and it would spit in the face of every soul that died on the journey not to bring Paradise to flower.”

“We will, Tjumak,” Sirrek said softly. She had never seen Tjumak speak so earnestly before. “And we will not ravage, and we will not burn. And one day we will call our brothers and sisters out of the darkness to live with us again.” The rhythm of the ancient litanies came back to her smoothly. Her parents had not been religious, but her grandmother had been. She had recited the litanies to Sirrek when she was small, a soothing voice to sleep to.

“Will they thank us?”

“The other Exiles?”

Tjumak shook his head, then pointed at his display. “No. The ghosts we’re going to call up.”

“What do you mean?” Sirrek asked, perplexed.

Tjumak swiveled in place to another display, and tapped a few keys on the panel next to it. The image of another part of the Record appeared, this one displayed alongside long sections of plain text. There were ghostly outlines of various creatures superimposed on it and displayed alongside it, gracile things with four legs and taut muscles, and things with sharp teeth and long claws.

“This part of the Record was indexed four generations ago, and pretty well translated,” Tjumak said. “It’s an unusual one--it’s organized by relationship between constituent elements, not by phylogeny. It’s probably from a lesser Record that was only integrated into the whole later.”

“What are they?”

“Animals. Warm-blooded, furry, placental. Very much like us, in some ways, but quadrupedal. And, to judge by the annotations, quick. Well-muscled. Herbivorous and carnivorous.”

“One is predator, and one is prey?”

“Likely.”

Sirrek had that dark feeling again, the one that was tinged with despair. Sometimes it came up when she looked at too much of the Record at once, or when she spent too long thinking about the aching gulfs of time that they hoped to bridge with the Project. The feeling that it was too much--too much for her, too much for anyone, too much for innumerable lifetimes.

“We’re a long way from placental mammals, Tjumak.”

“Yes. But we’ll get there one day. I don’t doubt that. What I wonder is, what would they say? If we could ask them. And, you know, they could talk.”

“I don’t think there’s anything alive that doesn’t want to live.”

“Ah, but they are not alive. Not right now. It will be us who make them live, if we choose to. And consider, my friend, what that will mean. For some, they will be the prey. The hunted. The fearful. The one whose existence ends with blood and pain and screaming. And others, they will be the predator. Hungry, ever-hunting, fearing that one day their source of food will move beyond the hills, or that a harsh winter will kill them all, and leave the hunter to starve.”

“You think it’s not a life worth living?”

“Would you want to live such a life?”

Sirrek shook her head. “It’s not a coherent question. Does the ferngrass or the swarmbug want to live? The ferngrass can’t react to external stimuli at all, and the swarmbug has six neurons wired in sequence--basically glorified clockwork that tells it when to fly and when to land, and when to lay eggs. There are more complicated xenozoa in Paradise, but they aren’t anything like us, either. And these mammals? Maybe they’ll be able to feel pain, and hunger, and a kind of fear in the moment--but ‘life worth living’ is a human concept. I’m not sure it applies.”

“Surely it must. Even to creatures without language, without tool use, without abstract thought. If they can suffer and feel joy, there is a place where suffering outweighs joy, however you favor one side of the equation over the other. Someone that brought a child into the world, knowing their whole life would be without joy and full of suffering, would be cruel indeed.”

“Are you really proposing we put the entire Project on hold to decide if the creatures we bring back might suffer too much for the Project to be worth it?”

“Just humor me for a bit.”

“All right, fine. A parent has moral responsibility for their child’s welfare.”

“Unless and until we discover something wiser than us already living here, we have moral responsibility for this world.”

“And it would be cruel of us to go out of our way to inflict suffering on the things living in it. You don’t see me pulling the wings off swarmbugs. But that moral responsibility only goes so far, because we can’t impose human values without limit onto things which live very different existences from us.”

“Not so different, these beasts here,” Tjumak said, tapping the display.

“Different enough. Different enough that in order to even begin to pose the question of whether their life was worth living, you would have to alter them mind and body until they were far more human than anything else. If you cannot pose the question without destroying the thing you propose to investigate, it is a bad question.”

Tjumak tilted his head in what Sirrek had come to recognize as the sign of a smile somewhere on the face she could not see. But he didn’t seem ready to drop the argument yet.

“Aren’t all values human values in the end? Unless you believe in a creating power with the authority to order the ethical universe by its own whim, which seems rather like a self-contradicting idea to me. The only values we have to judge the world by are human values. They’re limited tools, but they’re the best ones available. So if a human could have a life not worth living, so could an animal, by the only standard we have available to judge.”

“I don’t know if I buy that,” Sirrek said. “But even so: everything that lives desires to live. If you could bring one of those beasts back, and then you tried to hurt or kill it, it would run away. There’s something like volition there, and as far as I can tell, a vote in the ‘let me live!’ direction.”

“Hardly a spirited defense of the idea, though!” Tjumak said. “A mere stimulus response, maybe.”

“You can’t have it both ways. You can’t say a beast’s volition matters if it doesn’t want to suffer, but doesn’t matter if it wants to live. It’s not human, so you can’t ask the question as you would to a human, or to another creature capable of abstract thought, and in the only way it knows how to tell you, it tells you it wants to live. And, presumably, do other things. Eat. Run. Have babies. You might not let it do all those things. You certainly don’t have to let it eat you. But if the creature’s experience of the world matters at all, its desires must matter in some sense, too.”

“There’s always the option of just leaving out the carnivores, you know,” Tjumak said. “After all, your moss here doesn’t feel pain. Probably.”

Sirrek smiled. “I really hope not. And maybe that is an option. Or maybe we don’t know enough. Maybe the carnivores are as essential to the herbivores as the herbivores are to them, in some way we haven’t seen. I think a certain expansive humility is necessary when poking at these questions.”

“Humility. Humility!” Tjumak roared with mock outrage. “Expansive humility, says the woman who opposes the Archive and the consensus of the whole world, and seeks to resurrect an ancient biosphere from the dead! While remaking an alien one to boot!”

“You can be ambitious and humble at the same time,” Sirrek said. “It just means you set your sights high, but aren’t surprised when you fuck everything up.”

Tjumak laughed sharply. “You’re a good sparring partner,” he said. “Koridek always gets annoyed with me when I try to start an argument, and Ardhat has learned to ignore me. It’s good to have a new face around.”

And for the rest of the evening, that’s all Sirrek thought their conversation was--a verbal wrestling match for Tjumak, a way for him to sharpen his wits, and get to know Sirrek at the same time. But later that night, as she was brewing a cup of bitterstalk tea to take to bed with her, she saw a dull glow from Tjumak’s lab, when his monitors were usually all dark, and he was asleep. She went to the door, thinking to say goodnight, but paused when she got there. His back was turned to her, and he was looking at the image on his monitor, the one that showed the ghostly outline of runners and hunters, of the ones that long ago had died, and the ones that long ago had killed. He seemed to be staring at it, intently, one finger tapping slowly on the side of the display.

As she lay in bed waiting for sleep to overtake her, it occurred to her that Tjumak’s cynicism was just as much a kind of protection as his support equipment. It was his armor against the world, and the fears of his own heart. She didn’t doubt his commitment to the project. She did not doubt the commitment of a man who had exiled himself indefinitely to the loneliest place in the world. But he understood, perhaps, that he was responsible for the world he hoped to create. Maybe it was right that it should keep them all up at night from time to time.

[glitchinthesystemspiderbyte]

[38] Glitch in the System - The Sound of Silence (Crossroads pt. 1)

By E.

A 3-parter based on a prompt by @thatoneshortbandgeek​. It’s not EXACTLY what you asked, but we have a similar story in the works so I tweaked a few details. Hope you enjoy it! :)

Some hard truth happens. _

“You’re sending me to go get paperwork?”

Sombra stood before Akande, face contorted in indignation. It had been almost a month since their failed infiltration, and she’d beenatoning ever since. She got it; she fucked up. Even she agreed that she fucked up. What else did she need to do to prove her penitence?

Akande sat at his desk, fingers steepled in a typical show of removed professionalism, regarding her distantly. “I am. Locate, acquire, and destroy. That’s your mission.”

She looked at him petulantly, reflexively unwilling to perform a task so glaringly below her abilities. “You want me to scan a repository of old files,” she repeated slowly back to him, “and then what - set it on fire? Tear them up piece by piece?”

“I am certain you’ll figure out a creative method for removing the evidence,” he replied evenly, unfazed by her annoyance. “Once you have acquired digital copies.”

“Then you need an omnic and a cleaning crew, Akande, not me.”

“I want you on this mission specifically, Sombra,” he insisted, not cracking in the slightest.

“I’m the world’s best hacker.”

“And the world’s worst teammate,” he replied without missing a beat. The tide of guilt she’d been slowly dealing with over the past few weeks, that she’d tried to ignore for the sake of the holidays, came flooding back from the cave she’d banished it to. It was, perhaps, the only thing strong enough to override her indignation at the task given her: collect literal paperwork from a thousand-year-old German castle Talon once employed as a base of operations in its post-Omnic Crisis infancy. It wasn’t even important paperwork - Akande just wanted someone to clean up an old mess, and was using it as a way for her to prove her loyalty. Truth was, as always, that she didn’t give two shits about Talon, but she did care about Widowmaker, and right now she couldn’t see much of a difference between the two.

She took a deep breath to steady her voice.

“Fine.”

The trip was easy, but long. So as to avoid any unwanted attention, Akande sent her on a train from Venice through the north of Italy, then Austria, before eventually landing in a small secluded village in the northwest of Germany. It was a 15 hour ride and she’d thought that, perhaps, it would have afforded her a nice break. It was almost like a vacation, and it may have even been enjoyable had she not been dining on a steady diet of frustration, boredom, and guilt. The country was vibrant and the weather ideal as she curled up in an isolated train car, and instead of the respite she’d hoped for, all she could think about was how badly she’d screwed the pooch.

She should have just taken a plane anyway and gotten it over with.

The castle was not difficult to get to, but it also wasn’t a particularly easy trip, either. It was not a tourist destination so much as a place that saw occasional foot traffic, and as a result had largely functioned as a historical site maintained by locals with some funding from the government for the past several decades. It had little to offer in the way of intel and even less to offer in the way of a challenge.

Sighing, Sombra hiked her bag up onto her shoulder and stepped inside the grounds.

If nothing else, the castle was a sight to behold: huge and strangely colorful with sharp angles both inside and out. There was none of the carnage here that had destroyed most of Germany; just typical entropy found in a building that had been standing for a very, very long time. Still, it was a picture of symmetry typical of Renaissance architecture, and something about the stark geometric framework appealed to the hacker’s logical mind. Were she not so deeply frustrated with having to be there in the first place, she may have been inclined to spend more time exploring its depths. As it was, however, she planned on getting in and out as quickly as she could.

“Hello?” she called out, expecting there to be a guard or two stationed at the front door. Akande had implied that she might face some minor resistance, but hand waved it away as “nothing you can’t handle.” Usually, that meant she had carte blanche permission to shut up any witnesses on a permanent basis, but after loudly making her presence known, there didn’t appear to be anyone in the building, so she continued on with only the smallest nod to caution.

The stonework stairs were crumbling - not dangerously, but unappealingly so. Sombra had never been a fan of ancient history. It was cold, dead, and the stories housed within the stone foundations were secrets she couldn’t hope to extract through manipulation or interfacing. The world around her was silent, and there was nothing Sombra hated more than information she couldn’t take for herself.

Looking at the map Gabriel had drawn - literally - on a piece of paper, she couldn’t help but think that this entire mission was just one giant, frustrating trick. Give the hacker a paper map and send her into a glorified library to bring back information that was so unimportant no one had bothered to transcribe it into digital form? She hadn’t thought Gabriel to be quite so petty, but they’d found their personalities intersected in stranger ways before.

Frowning and turning the paper around, she found her general location on the map and headed down the stairs.

The subterranean basement was dark, damp, and deeply uncomfortable. Sombra kept her hand on the wall to guide her until she hit a patch of slime that nearly made her retch; after that, she simply activated her screens and used the light coming off them to better illuminate her passage.

“Thank God,” she muttered as she cleared the last step and into a dimly lit corridor. Someone had strung up a basic network of electric lights. Waving her screens away, she squinted at the map again and continued on.

The archive was easy enough to find: it was the most modern-looking room, with a sign on the door reading “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.”

“That’s me,” she sighed, tentatively pushing it open with her palm, wary of reprising the previous slime situation. The door was dry, and she proceeded inside where she immediately noticed that there were boxes and loose papers lying around the room.

Everywhere.

“Well, I’ve come this far,” she sighed. Pulling a chair over from the wall to sit at the desk, she got to work.

Trying to make the best of what was far from an ideal situation, she glanced over the paperwork before her. It was mostly blueprints and old personnel reports filled with names and places that were unimportant to her, but apparently important to Talon. There had to be something in there. Penitence aside, they wouldn’t send her out for nothing. She scanned them dutifully, setting the data aside for the long trip home in which she���d have more than enough time to parse over any nuggets of interesting intel that might be located therein. For the time being, though, she was just a collection bot: flip, scan, store, destroy, repeat.

She worked for hours, diligently marking and shredding the documents she’d looked over while pointedly ignoring the sheer number she hadn’t gotten to yet. Sorting through the papers, she couldn’t keep her exasperated sighs to herself, even though there was no one around to appreciate them. The things she did for…

Well, she wasn’t entirely sure why she was doing this, but here she was regardless.

She was starting to get hungry and considered packing it in for the day and taking a trip to the village for dinner when she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoing down the barren hall.

“Finally,” she hissed under her breath, unholstering her weapon. “Thought the only casualty in this little adventure was going to be me.”

She stayed at the desk, unconcerned about the approaching footsteps. Flipping through the paperwork before her, she didn’t even bother looking up when the door opened; she just pointed her gun and yawned.

“I’ll be out of here in a moment, amigo,” she said, scanning in one final paper. When she looked up, she expected to see a terrified guard.

Instead she found herself face to face with three Vishkar.

“Huh,” she said, dropping her weapon in the face of the vastly superior firepower now aimed at her. “Well, shit.”

They put her in the dungeon; in one of the cold, barred cells dotting the subterranean catacombs of the castle. It would have been hilarious had it been anyone else, in any other situation, and with any other niche. Instead, it was perfect, if only in its efficacy in keeping the hacker locked up with no real manner of escaping.

Turns out technology didn’t exist 1000 years ago. Who’d have thought?

Despite this knowledge, Sombra ran her hands along the walls, searching for any frequency at all, any remodeled tech to latch into and exploit, but what she found was pitiful at best. The thick walls of the castle and the remoteness of their location were really cramping her style. She was certain there must have been tech there at some point, but the castle had been unused for so long that it looked as though someone had forgotten to pay the wifi bill. Despite her best efforts, she found nothing save for some tendrils of a connection coming from the village and her own ineffective hot spot hitting dead air.

Still, it was something, and Sombra prided herself in making even the worst situation work in her favor. Using every ounce of finesse she had, she managed, for a brief moment, to hitch onto some connection and make the link to Talon.

“Hey, guys?” she said into her ear piece, reminding herself to be succinct in case the tenuous line she’d leeched onto dropped. “I’m kind of in the shit.”

“Sombra?” came the raspy voice, made harsher by the terrible connection. “What’s wrong?”

Sombra held back a shout of joy. “Gabe? Thank God, there’s practically no connection here. I’m going to need an extraction.”

There was a pause Sombra wasn’t sure to attribute to the poor connection or the palpable incredulity emanating through the call. “You need an extraction,” Gabriel said, voice dry, “from an 11th century medieval castle?”

“They put me in the dungeon. It’s embarrassing.”

She could hear him pinching the bridge of his nose. “You need an extraction from the dungeon of an 11th century medieval castle?”

“I mean I’m not exactly happy about it, but -” “What did you do?”

Sombra frowned, still on her tiptoes and struggling against a growing cramp in her foot. “What do you mean? I did as you asked, Gabe - I went into the woodland of Germany to dig through old papers.”

“I mean what else did you do?” he asked, the unspoken again ringing in her ears.

“What else?” she said, her elation at having reached her team shifting abruptly into anger. “Nothing. I followed the plan, Gabe. Your plan, if I remember correctly. To the T, in fact. No variations on a theme, no heroics, no deceit - I did everything I was told and you sent me into a sleeping den of Vishkar.”

“Vishkar?” he asked, and she could hear him beginning another sentence when their connection was abruptly cut off.

“Ya valió madres,” she hissed, wishing she had something to slam down in anger. She settled for a petulant kick at the dungeon wall, immediately loosing a cascade of dirt and stones. For a moment she wondered if she could somehow dig herself to freedom, but the thought passed as quickly as it had arisen when she realized she was a hacker with no tools and not an excavator.

Finally giving up, she groaned loudly and flopped to the floor, doing what she could to ignore the cold, filthy ground and the chill in the castle air. One of the Vishkar had set up a teleporter, and the glowing portal lay just beyond her reach, the closeness of the lifesaving tech frustrating her all the more. She didn’t know her captors well enough to know whether this had been performed as an act of pettiness or not, but the result was the same regardless. Sombra was, without question, deeply annoyed.

Even worse: she was bored.

With little else to choose from, she began sifting through the files she’d scanned in from the store room, idly flipping through them one after the other, not paying much attention to them as they passed until one in particular caught her eye. She paused after flipping past it, scanning backwards to reexamine it. It was a photograph from the early years of Talon’s infrastructure, showing all the formative members around a table.

And there, at the center, next to Moira O’Deorain and Maximilian, was Sanjay.

“No mames,” she exclaimed under her breath, fingers flying as she cross-referenced the old photo with the rest of her database. Of course she’d suspected it - she’d been through Talon’s database ten times by that point - but she’d never seen actual, undeniable proof.

It was almost enough to distract her from the rumbling her her stomach. Cackling to herself, she perused the rest of the files, bookmarking things to come back to and backing everything up when she was done. Maybe this little trip had borne fruit after all. All she needed now was to get out and savor it.

It seemed like forever before she finally heard the soft whoosh of the teleporter being activated. A woman stepped through: tall, elegant, head held high as the man who came after her spoke in low tones, all the while casting Sombra several not so subtle looks.

“Thik hai,” the man said, sighing loudly enough that Sombra could hear him, “lekin jaldi karo.”

“Zarur,” she replied. The man looked over at her once more before stepping back into the teleporter, the ethereal blue mist within grasping his body and pulling him out of sight in the space of a second.

The woman approached her cell with little concern, knowing full well Sombra was harmless in her current state. Her gun, of course, had been taken, and there was little she could do about her situation. Her translocators were too big to fit through the bars and she certainly wasn’t squeezing out herself. No, she was right and truly stuck, and it was obvious to an embarrassing degree.

“Sombra,” she said, hands clasped behind her back. “It appears as though you are somewhat - how should I say?” She paused, tapping her chin. “Ah, yes. Impotent, in your current situation.”

“You don’t have to be crass about it.”

Satya smiled; her mouth set in a thin, pert line that was equal parts prim and pretentious. “I would have figured the world’s greatest hacker might be a bit more difficult to capture.”

“Yeah, well, I would have figured the world’s greatest hacker wouldn’t be digging through dead trees for data no one actually gives a shit about, and yet here we are,” she said, standing and walking slowly toward the cage, emphasizing each step. “Face. To. Face.”

Curling her hands around the bars, she brought her face as close as she could get to the gap between them, smiling mischievously. “You know we can talk a lot more easily without these bars in the way,” she said, tapping her nails against them as she spoke. “Woman to woman. Let me look at that fancy teleporter over there.” She nodded her head at the glowing portal and winked. “Oye, I could make it sing for you, Satya.”

The woman flinched at her name, looking at her with such a deep distaste that Sombra couldn’t help but laugh. “What did I ever do to you?” the hacker asked, half facetiously. She knew what she’d done and she knew why the Architech wanted to speak with her.

“You stole my technology.”

At least they were on the same page.

“Stole is such a harsh word. You clearly still have it,” she said, pointing through the bars at the teleporter. “So what’s the big deal?”

Satya was trying her best to remain impassive, but the physical effort it was taking to maintain her composure ruined any chance of her appearing nonplussed. She took a step closer, hands still held stoically behind her back, approaching just within Sombra’s reach. Sombra had no intention of harming her, but Satya didn’t know that. It was a power move.

“You took my creation,” she said, hitting each dental with the harsh plosive nature of her native tongue. “You took it and you changed it.”

Sombra narrowed her eyes thoughtfully at the Architech, assessing the creases in her brow and the slow dawning anger in her face for the truth behind her words. It was there, dancing in the cracks of her expression - she just needed to catch it.

“Sí, verdad - a few tweaks here, some alterations to the base code and hard light structure. I just fixed a couple errors was all,” she said, shrugging casually while keeping her eyes fixed to the woman’s face. “Nothing’s perfect.”

It was the final jab, she figured, that got far enough under Satya’s skin that her true feelings showed. Her expression flickered the slightest bit, her eyes shifting for just long enough for the hacker to realize what was actually bothering her.

It was not that Sombra had stolen her tech; it was that she had deigned to improve upon it.

“I mastered the art of manipulating hard light,” Satya said, voice low and steady, but with a nearly-imperceptible quaver to it that Sombra picked out like the melody of a complicated orchestral piece. “There were no ‘errors.’”

Sombra laughed, stepping back from the bars to place her hands on her hips and regard the woman with no small amount of incredulity. “And people say I’m conceited.” She smirked, leaning against the wall to continue picking the Architech’s brain. “Tech is only as good as the user; I just needed it to work harder for me is all. Don’t get bent out of shape about it.”

“Its purpose is to help those who cannot help themselves,” Satya maintained, her course set. “To further the Vishkar goal of creating a better world.”

“A better world, huh? Like the favela you leveled in Brazil?” she laughed, and this time Satya didn’t even try to hide her surprise. “Good job there, by the way. Talon loved that. Really sowed some discontent among the masses. Something to pick at down the line.” Looking down at her nails, she shrugged as she casually dropped her bomb. “Helps having friends among the Vishkar, I suppose.”

“What do you mean by that?” she asked, her arms crossed now. Sombra watched the movement of the jewelry dangling around her wrist, a subtle fashionable departure from the austere nature of the Vishkar uniform.

The hacker regarded her for a long moment, trying to figure out how best to leverage what she was about to say next. “You really don’t know, do you?” she said at last, testing the woman’s investment in their little chat, and seeing just how easily she was baited by the promise of a good secret.

Satya, she could tell, did not want to bite. She remained silent, regarding Sombra coldly for a long time. It was only the two of them there, though, and she really had little choice in the matter unless she wanted to engage in a standoff she couldn’t hope to win.

“What?”

Sombra grinned, pushing off the wall again to get closer to the other woman. She tossed her hair and crossed her arms to mirror her. “Sanjay,” she said, raising one notched eyebrow to enunciate her words, “sits on the board of Talon.”

“Chup raho.”

Sombra shrugged, inferring the meaning of her words by the sharpness of her tone and the blaze of anger in her eyes. “No one ever appreciates when I tell them the truth.”

Satya shook her head and looked away, but before she did, Sombra could see a glimmer of doubt in her expression. There was something keeping her from completely disregarding the hacker’s words; something she remembered that made her think, perhaps, there was a grain of truth to what she was saying. It reminded her of the time she played Zaryanova like a pawn, watching the light of reluctant realization dawn in her eyes as she tore down her idol in one quick truth. It just never, ever got old.

Yet again, the seed of doubt had been planted, and Sombra was going to have one hell of a time watching it sprout from afar.

If she ever got out of there, of course.

“You are lying.” “Usually, yeah, but not this time.” Sombra shook her head. “That was a really good one, too, and you got it for free. Can a girl get some dinner in exchange for international secrets, maybe?”

“No.”

“Cruel,” Sombra sighed. “Anyway, if you need some proof, I can give it to you. Just say the word.”

“I do not need your ‘proof,’” Satya said after a long pause, not looking at Sombra as she spoke, and not waiting for her to respond. She turned abruptly and stepped through the portal, leaving Sombra alone with her thoughts and nursing a particularly vehement curiosity.

“See you soon,” she chuckled. Smiling to herself, she sat down on the ground and waited.

*Read from the beginning or check out our intro post! All stories tagged under #glitchfic. Table of contents located here.

[kennethherrerablog]

12 Weird (But Totally Legal) Ways to Make Extra Money in Canada

O, the Great White North. Nova Britannia. Land of Maple Syrup. America’s Hat. The 14th colony. *Whispers* America’s friendliest neighbor.

It must be nice to have the best nicknames around.

And while we’re on the subject of best things, we thought you might also want to know about the best — and weirdest — ways you can pocket some extra Canadian dollars.

But you have to promise not to spend it all on poutine and butter tarts — only some of it.

Note: Monetary amounts are shown in U.S. dollars. Bank of Canada is a good resource to find the current exchange rate.

How to Make Money in Canada

We combed through all of our tips to filter out the best flexible ways to make money in Canada. You can do many of these without leaving the confines of your home.

1. Tell This Company What’s in Your Fridge

Remember the Nielsen company? It’s always tracked TV ratings, but now it wants to know what’s in your fridge.

Once you sign up to be on the Nielsen Consumer Panel, the company will send you a free barcode scanner, or you can use your smartphone. Every time you go shopping, you simply scan the UPC codes on the back of each product and send your data to Nielsen.

Nielsen will reward you with gift points, which you can redeem for free electronics, jewelry, household items or even toys for the kids.

The longer you stay on the panel, the more opportunity you have to earn points toward prizes. You’ll also receive entries for the panel’s many sweepstakes. Prizes include vacations and brand new vehicles.

2. Fill This out While Watching TV

We’re going to be real here: Survey sites aren’t our favorite way to make extra money, because it’s difficult to bag a lot. But if you’re just hanging out and watching TV, why not click a few buttons on your phone and turn your spare time into money?

Here are a few of our favorite sites for earning money in your free time:

VIP Voice offers surveys that are relatively quick to complete and reward you with points you can redeem for cash or gift cards.

MobileXpression: After you’ve installed this app for one week, you get to play an instant rewards game for a prize. (Everyone wins something.) We’ve seen users win $25 Amazon gift cards, but some of the other prizes include iPads and Samsung TVs.

SaskWatch Panel: Do you call Saskatchewan home? Insightrix’s SaskWatch lets you fill out surveys for rewards points you can redeem for cash. You’ll voice your opinion on social, political and consumer issues facing your community.

LifePoints Panel is a tried-and-true survey site that’s been around for a long time. This one is easy to use, even if you just have a few minutes to spare. You’ll earn cash and prizes for your opinions.

3. Get Paid to Get in Shape

Listen. Losing weight and getting fit is easier said than done.

But will a little bit of money motivate you?

It’s motivating Marcie Hagner, 44, who has placed a bet on her weight-loss goals through HealthyWage. If she can lose the 50 pounds she bet she could, she’ll pocket $862.

“Money is a huge motivator for me,” she says. “Especially because I don’t have a lot. I don’t want to give somebody $500, especially for something I can control and do.”

Read more about how she’s finding motivation to lose weight through HealthyWage.

4. List Your Extra Space on Airbnb

Have a spare room? Might as well try to earn some money by listing it on Airbnb.

If you’re a good host with a desirable space, you could add hundreds — even thousands — of dollars to your savings account with Airbnb.

A few simple steps can make the difference between a great experience and a less-than-satisfactory one.

Here are some tips:

Make your space available during high-demand times in your area. Think: concerts, conventions and sporting events.

Be a good host, and stock your place with the toiletries you’d expect at a hotel — toilet paper, soap and towels.

Be personable. A lot of travelers turn to Airbnb for the personal touch they won’t find at commercial properties.

(Hosting laws vary from city to city. Please understand the rules and regulations applicable to your city and listing.)

5. Tutor Kids (From Behind a Computer Screen)

Did you know you can tutor kids — without leaving your house? And without them entering your house?

Chegg Tutors is open to applicants worldwide. There are tons of open tutoring subjects, from calculus to biology — even astrophysics.

To sign up as a Chegg online tutor, you must provide two forms of proof you are either currently or were previously enrolled in a university. You will also need a Facebook account. Once your profile is approved, you will be matched with students seeking tutoring in your subject. Tutors earn $20 or more per hour.

Skooli is a Canada-based company that offers tutoring for K-12 courses, as well as college-level classes.

If you are a certified teacher with a bachelor’s degree, master’s degree or specialized instructor qualification (like ESL), you can become an online tutor for Skooli. Skooli tutors are paid $25 per hour.

To apply, you must provide proof of qualifications and education. If they deem you a good fit, you’ll be approved and available to tutor students. Go the extra mile and receive full Skooli verification by also adding a criminal record check.

This extra step gets you a purple Skooli shield badge on your profile, which will garner more attention from parents and students (read: more money), and you could also qualify for special programs that not all tutors have access to.

6. Drive With Uber

Enjoy finding the best route around town? Why not turn it into your side hustle and get paid for it?

As a driver partner with Uber, you create your own schedule and work as much or as little as you want.

If you want to give it a try, here are a few things to keep in mind: You must be at least 21 years old, have at least one year of licensed driving experience (three years if you are under 23 years old), have a valid driver’s license and pass a background check.

Also, your car must be a four-door, seat at least four passengers (excluding the driver), be registered in-state and be covered by in-state insurance.

7. Earn up to $60 an Hour as a Part-Time Bookkeeper

Does earning $60 an hour sound appealing? How about the freedom to work remotely while helping others succeed?

Those are the perks of working as a bookkeeper, says Ben Robinson, a certified public accountant and business owner who teaches others to become virtual bookkeepers through his online course, Bookkeeper Business Launch.

And no, you don’t have to have a CPA to be successful in this business. In fact, all you really need are decent computer skills and a passion for helping business owners tackle real-world problems.

It’s a great opportunity for moms who want to work part-time, grads who are just out of college and anyone who wants to bring in real money while working from home.

8. Get Paid for Your Useless Trivia Knowledge

If you’re one of those people who can pull useless pieces of knowledge from out of nowhere, you’ll want to download this app.

It’s called HQ Trivia. With at times more than a million players logging on at 3 p.m. and 9 p.m. ET each day to play, you might’ve heard of it.

“Quiz Daddy” Scott Rogowsky is the game’s main host. He asks 12 questions. You’ve got three multiple-choice options and 10 seconds to answer each. If you get all 12 questions correct, you’ll split the grand prize (around $5,000 lately, though it’s been $25,000 or more on randomly chosen special occasions) amongst the other winners.

The HQ Trivia app is available for iPhone and Android.

Pro tip: Share your personalized referral code with friends and family to get an extra life. Trust us. You’ll want it.

9. Clean up Search Engine Mistakes

Search engines use complicated algorithms to determine the results you see. But they don’t always get it right…

They’re actually full of errors, so companies need real humans to look at the results and judge them for quality, relevance and usefulness. That’s where you come in.

You can find search engine evaluator jobs through Lionbridge. You’ll take a qualifying test, and some companies also conduct a phone interview. Once you’re accepted, you can set your own schedule and work as much or little as you want.

10. Work From Home as a Transcriptionist

Transcribing is a great way to earn cash that requires little to no prior experience and offers flexible hours and workloads. Plus, you can do it from home.

The work sounds easy: Listen to audio and type what you hear. But it can be repetitive and requires a lot of attention to detail.

However, the pay is a pretty good selling point: Earn around $15 to $25 per hour for general transcription, and more if you learn to specialize in the legal or medical fields.

11. Go Watch a Movie

If you want to get paid to watch movies, fill out an application with the mystery shopping company Market Force Information.

The application is just a few questions long, and nearly everyone in the U.S. and Canada is eligible.

Once you’re accepted as an auditor, keep an eye out for email alerts for new assignments in your area. You can accept or decline any assignments — so if a movie’s not even worth watching for $30, you don’t have to see it.

In-theater checks don’t come with huge paydays, but you’ll get a free movie and earn about $10 to $20 an hour for your time.

12. Sell Your iPhone Photos

Those thought-out photos you take can get you more than just social media likes.

Upload your iPhone photos to stock photography sites. Many of them are trying to get away from the “perfect” photo and are looking for more realistic images. After a quick upload, you’ll get an email notification when someone purchases your work.

You likely won’t become a millionaire; sites like Foap pay about $5 per purchase. However, if you have a nicer camera, you can step up your game like Eliza Snow, who quit her corporate job to sell stock photos full time.

This was originally published on The Penny Hoarder, which helps millions of readers worldwide earn and save money by sharing unique job opportunities, personal stories, freebies and more. The Inc. 5000 ranked The Penny Hoarder as the fastest-growing private media company in the U.S. in 2017.

12 Weird (But Totally Legal) Ways to Make Extra Money in Canada published first on https://justinbetreviews.tumblr.com/

[businessguide12-blog]

5 Low-Cost Freelance Business Ideas for Work at Home Moms - Living Smart Girl

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5 Low-Cost Freelance Business Ideas for Work at Home Moms - Living Smart Girl

Freelance Business Ideas

Starting a work from home business is one of the best things that you can do to improve your finances. My wife and I have started several profitable businesses that are based out of our home!  Honestly, nothing beats the commute from our bedroom to the kitchen in PJ’s!

The hardest part with starting any new business venture is the initial brainstorming process to come up with business ideas. You can have all the ambition and drive in the world, but if you don’t know what you would like to do then you will never get a project off the ground.

This article will hopefully help you to get started with a work at home business, especially if you have always wanted to start one but don’t really know what you could do.

This article will give you five of our favorite work at home business ideas that have worked well for us. We hope that you find at least one of these ideas inspiring enough to launch your own business!

These freelance business ideas don’t require much investment capital – usually less than $500 will get you started, in some cases much less will be required. So, without further ado, let’s get started.

5 Freelance Business Ideas

#1 Blogging

Blogging is our favorite work at home business. Many people don’t realize that a blog or website can be a passive source of income that generates money for you while you sleep. We aren’t talking chump change here either – bloggers can earn 6-figures a month from their blogs!

My wife and I currently earn anywhere from $5,000 – $15,000 per month from our two websites. We are still growing these online businesses, so hopefully we will eventually be earning a lot more. Pretty amazing right?

The best part is that it costs less than $100 to start a blog. Sure, you can spend some more money on courses and maybe a nice theme, but we started with about $100. All you really need is a domain (the name of your website .com) and hosting (an independent company responsible for keeping your website online). Hosting often costs as little as $3 per month, including a custom domain name.

What should you blog about? Well, people blog about EVERYTHING. Typically, it is not a diary but rather information about very specific topics. Popular topics include: parenting, personal finance, travel, fashion, and lifestyle. Any blog has the capacity to make you money through advertising, sponsored posts and affiliate marketing. We make most of our money from affiliate marketing – we get paid a commission for every product a person buys through out website links (these are tracked by a third-party system).

It is important to pick a topic that you are passionate about. The road to blogging success is not an easy one and you have to LOVE your blog topic, or you are unlikely to succeed. Blogging is not a ‘get-rich-quick’ scheme.

Blogging separates your time from your income. You don’t get paid an hourly wage, rather you put in some upfront work (e.g. writing a blog post) and you earn money from that post for years. It is the ultimate form of recurring/passive income. For example, 6 weeks ago I wrote a blog post that took me 2-3 hours. I have already made over $1000 in affiliate commissions from that post! I expect to continue to make money from it for a long time. This is the power of starting a blogging business.

#2 Freelance Proofreading

Freelance proofreading is one of the best ways for moms to make money from home. You don’t need to be an English major to learn the basics of proofreading and make a substantial income working from home as a freelancer.

There is a huge demand from proofreaders. For example, professional bloggers need online proofreaders to polish their blog posts. A proofreader doesn’t edit a document, they just put a final polish on it by correcting grammatical and spelling mistakes. Many bloggers start a side hustle as a freelance proofreader to help them pay their bills while working on growing their blogs earn money.

Most people have the ability to learn how to become a proofreader, but it is more suited for someone that pays attention to details. If you are one of the people that spots typo’s everywhere or you find grammatical errors very annoying – freelance proofreading could be for you! Needless to say, I am not one of those people – but thankfully my wife is.

I recommend taking a course to learn how to be a great proofreader and how to find clients quickly. One of the best courses that has helped thousands of people become full-time freelance proofreaders is called . The author is an expert proofreader called Caitlin Pyle. Caitlin was able to generate $47,000 per year working part-time as a freelance proofreader from home. She claims that she can teach others how to make up to $65 per hour proofreading!

#3 Become a Landlord

In 2014, my wife and I started running an Airbnb business from our home. We rented our 3 spare bedrooms in our town home to people visiting our town (Bozeman, MT). We made some really nice money  – several thousand dollars profit per month as we were able to obtain quite high rent from the rooms. We provided breakfast and other amenities to ensure our guests had a good time.

It was almost completely passive income! We loved it, but it could be difficult at times. For example, we had one tenant that went into psychosis and nearly burned our house down…but this was a rare and isolated incident.

Perhaps you have a spare bedroom that you could rent out? Or maybe you have a whole part of your house that could be converted into a stand-alone apartment! Being a landlord is one of the most passive and lucrative ways to make extra money. We benefited from the monthly cashflow, but we also made over $100,000 selling the house just 3 years later.

This side business will cost you almost nothing to start if you already own your house.

#4 Legal Transcription Freelancing

This is a relatively unusual home business to start. There is a high demand for people to transcribe the ramblings of lawyers. The way it works is that many lawyer’s audio record meetings, testimonials and court proceedings. They have to pay a transcriber to turn the audio file into a professional quality written document for their records.

There is a very high demand for this relatively unknown business. Apparently, it can be quite entertaining to hear the bickering between lawyers! Your job as a freelance transcriber is to make sure that you get the whole event accurately transcribed.

You can make about $60,000 per year as a freelance transcriber.

Transcribing is not easy, and it is imperative that you do it accurately. There are many courses that teach you how to type more quickly and how to use a foot pedal to control the audio file that you are listening to. This is a clever technique where you can type and listen to the audio, rewind, and repeat to ensure that any difficult sections are transcribed accurately.

You can provide transcription services to a variety of people online – some bloggers even prefer to dictate a blog post and pay a freelance to transcribe it for them. This is often cheaper than paying a writer, and it allows the bloggers articles to sound more conversational.

The costs of starting as a freelance transcriber are minimal but it is recommended that you take a course and invest in a foot pedal for controlling the audio. This is still a small investment considering the earning potential.

#5 Online Scoping

Most people have never heard of scoping! A freelance scopist is usually hired to proofread and edit a court transcript. The court records are usually very rough and written in shorthand. A scopist will edit the document to make it legible. Usually, court reporters will outsource this work to independent freelancers. There is a huge amount of work out there because it is something that court reports dislike doing! Many people don’t even know that scoping is a thing, which keeps demand high and competition low.

The only cost associated with starting a freelance scoping business is the cost of a good course to teach you how to do it. Typically, courses cost a few hundred dollars. This is a small price to pay considering the earning potential of $50,000 – $100,000 per year working from home.

Hopefully, we have provided you with some inspiration and ideas for starting your own home business. These ideas can be used by you to make some extra money part-time or full-time all from the comfort of your own home. They can also be scaled up to generate more revenue by hiring people to help you – such as writing articles or getting you more clients. The income potential is limitless!

Let us know if you have a – how much did it cost to start? Do you recommend it to others? We have made a full-time income working from home for several years now, and it has given us the freedom to travel and live the life of our dreams.

One final note: Be very careful if you are thinking about starting a home business with a multi-level marketing company. These types of businesses can be very risky and even an outright scam (just with LuLaRoe!).

Good luck on your journey to work from home!

Russell and Maleah run , a personal finance blog that aims to help people live an abundant life. They also run a stock trading blog () that helps people learn to trade stocks. They reached their goal of financial freedom in their early thirties and their mission is to help other people to do the same.

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5 Low-Cost Freelance Business Ideas for Work at Home Moms

[saphirered]

Hi I was wondering if you would write an Essek x reader (gender neutral) where they are having a relaxing day out and the reader teaches Essek to make flower crowns, and it just allot of fluff and wholesome stuff.

Here you go! Enjoy. I really needed this type of wholesomeness. Thank you for the request. 😘

Seated among the plants and flowers at the base of the tree inside the Xhorhaus, you’re focussing on your surroundings, eyes closed. A meditation-like state keeps you grounded and aware of all around you regardless of lack of visual. Every breath you take makes you feel much lighter, floating in your own consciousness. It’s a comfortable and familiar feeling.

It could have been minutes, or hours. You’re not entirely sure but at least you know if someone needs you or you’ll be going somewhere, your friends will come get you. For now you were blessed with a moment of peace, away from the troubles of the world outside, shielded by the colourful flowers, fresh smell of herbs and the soft glow of the fairy lights.

But your peace and quiet was interrupted. Usually you’re very much aware of footsteps approaching, but when the individual doesn’t walk, taking care to avoid the greens, you’re left a oblivious to the presence. The clearing of a throat makes you nearly jump out of your skin.

“My apologies. I don’t mean to interrupt you…” You see the sheepish expression of the white haired wizard floating at a comfortable distance, turn apologetic.

“Essek!” You breathe trying to calm your pounding heart, hand to your chest.

“I am so sorry. I did not mean to scare you. I should have announced my presence.” The mixture of embarrassment and regret remain present in both his behaviour and voice as you get up and give him a once over.

“It’s quite alright. I didn’t expect any visitors.” You smile assuring him no harm was done as you get to your feet brushing off your trousers. Essek is a hard to read individual but even the most oblivious of people could tell something is off. Strange. You tilt your head pressing your lips together.

“Is everything alright? You seem a bit out of it if I’m honest.” Essek’s eyes fall to the floor in front of him trying to find the correct words to answer your question; unusual for someone usually so quick with words. You take a few steps closer to him and take his hand in yours giving it a squeeze letting him know you’re there as you wait for his reply.

“I… I am unsure how to phrase this correctly nor in an appropriate way.” He speaks caught in his own mind still. His eyes are searching still focussed on the ground and your entwined hands. You place your free hand on his shoulder, the gesture pulling him out of his head and instead focus on you.

“Try me.”

“I-. This day- These last few… weeks, have been absolute chaos. With everything going on I have not had a moment of peace in a long time.” Essek’s shoulders drop and his feet touch the ground with a soft tap muted by the mossy floor. You pity him. So young and so much pressure, people depending on him. No one should have to deal with all of that alone.

“I’ve always found diving into my work head first ignoring the world contained the chaos and turned it into order instead, something I could control but now I cannot even read a single sentence, transcribe a single equation or confront a single person without feeling like my mind is about to explode.” A weight lifts by the mere vocalising of the words, tension dropping from Essek’s physique as it does from his mind.

“I didn’t know who else to turn to. For some reason, you always have an air of calmness, around you. Whenever we are in the same space, you radiate peace. It’s strange to admit but I think even only spending but moments in your presence now has done more than any and everything I have tried to achieve even a semblance of rest.” You’re not used to Essek being so open and upfront with anyone but you’re glad for it. Knowing you can confide in someone and trust them is one thing. Actually doing so, something else entirely.

“Thank you for your time and once more my sincere apologies for scaring you. I will leave you to your business once more.” Essek is about to pull his hand from yours taking a step back but you don’t let go and step with.

“When’s the last time you’ve taken a break, Shadowhand?” You’re sure you already know the answer or have enough of an idea to estimate but you ask nonetheless. Essek thinks for a moment and frowns.

“I can’t recall.”

“There’s your problem then. You’re stressed, overworked and in desperate need of a break. Come on. I have an idea.” You lightly tug at his hand pulling him along to the base of the tree and sit him down. You take one of the garden scissors and begin cutting some flowers, branches and other things and collect them in a wicker basket as Essek watches you move from planter to planter and pots making sure to leave enough behind and take only what the plants themselves allow you to take.

It might seem a little strange to some, as you’re standing there, a nonverbal conversation with plant life. Some might think you’re crazy but you only acknowledge life in all forms and while you surely could wave your hand and restore what you took, there’s beauty in the natural order of things as your Firbolg friend might agree.

Essek watches you go in awe, studying your every action with an admiration. Before, as he admitted, there had been the radiating calmness from you that could affect those around you but watching you interact, for the lack of a better word, with the greenery, gave that a whole new meaning. Serenity. You are serenity itself.

You take the wicker basket, now filled with flowers of every colour, branches of green and brown of varying lengths, set it down at the base of the tree taking a seat next to Essek.

“What’s this for?” Essek picks up a yellow flower spinning it between his fingers.

“This,” You refer to the basket and the flower held between his fingers. “is how I clear my mind when the pressure of the world becomes too much to handle.” You take a couple of the branches, check the lengths and start twisting and weaving them together adding flowers into the coil as you go.

“This is how you keep the chaos at bay?” Essek questions watching your fingers work braiding together the delicate material.

“People often assume peace is the absence of chaos but it’s not. Nor is order. If you build a dam the pressure of the water will continue building as long as the water flows. You can’t stop it. You can’t prevent it. You can however shape it in such ways you gain more from it than it from you. It can be found in the simplest of things.” You weave in some deep red roses, your pride as the Xhorassian environment is not kind enough for them to survive.

“Whenever the world comes crashing down and I wish the ground would swallow me whole I find a place to sit down and let myself be consumed by my surroundings. Sometimes I just sit doing nothing at all. Other times I draw, or sing or write, and when I’m lucky enough to find just the right place, I’ll make as many of these as it takes me to return to my peace.” You come to the end twisting the final branches to complete the final circle shape, inspecting your work and adjusting as necessary until you deem it truly completed.

“Whenever I use the chaos to create, little by little serenity comes along and I try to bring that feeling along, passing it on to those around me, because gods know, they can use it.” The both of you smile and with a last adjustment of a flower you place the flower crown on Essek’s head.

Confusion, happiness, delight, peace. All emotions running through Essek’s brain throughout this conversation enhanced the moment you place the ornament of braided and woven flowers onto his head, as light as a feather. Who knew something so small and… insignificant could mean so much, do so much?

“Why don’t you try it for yourself? See if this works for you? Or perhaps if not, it might give you inspiration to find something that will.” Essek nods taking the red crown off his head and inspecting it closer. While he certainly has an eye for intricate patterns and structures the construction of such a thing as a simple flower crown goes far beyond him and instead just leaves him completely oblivious and confused.

Seeing Essek trying to figure out the collective of braided flowers and branches might have been one of the funniest things you’ve seen from the man. The intricacies of Dunamis and the most difficult of equations or studies prove next to no problem for the wizard, but a flower crown manages to break him? How could that not be funny. You laugh even though you tried to fight it and Essek sends you a playful glare.

“Since you seem to find this so funny perhaps I should teach you the many complexities of advanced Dunamis? As a thank you of course.” You can see the hints of a smile.

“However much I’d love that, for the sake of both of our peace and sanities, I’d hold off on that for now. We’ll start with something much simpler. Like a daisy chain.” You begin pulling out a pile of white flowers and putting them next to the basket.

“This is how you start…” You begin explaining how to loop the stem of the flower around the one that came before it, the closer together, the denser the chain will become.

While Essek struggles at first, your explanation and guiding hands and pointers as he works result in a decent looking daisy chain. You slowly work your way up to more difficult flowers and eventually the branches, spending the next several hours going through the motions, Essek’s troubles long since forgotten. This may have been the first time but won’t be the last time both of you find your serenity and comfort in colourful soft petals.