#of the high adrian extended universe

[manime-morninghair]

tired

[ihaveathingforwomen]

Universes Away - PT. 12

WandaNat x OC

a/n: I was in a really bad slump and literally couldn't write for a while, but we're better now! I had fun writing this, and I hope you all enjoy the product of the slump being over.

Masterlist

Warnings: drinking, bottom!Wanda, dom!Adrian, slight breeding kink, magic strap-on ;)

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: After their first date, Wanda and Adrian follow with another first.

"Thank you, Adelaide!" Adrian shouted, taking a quick look at the pictures, "they look amazing!" Adelaide muttered a thank you and made her way back behind the bar before making her rounds. They took their time getting back into the booth, ignoring what had happened and Adrian sent the pictures to Natasha immediately, telling her that their surprise went perfectly. Wanda and Adrian ate in harmony, engaging in conversation about each other’s past. They opened the wine bottle, finishing it off by the end of the meal. Adrian only took a glass or two over the course of their meal and Wanda, feeding her freedom, had more than a couple of glasses. The more she drank, the more physical she became - gripping their thighs and biceps, kissing their neck, subtly tugging at the hem of their slacks. 

Giggles leaked from the pair, Adrian's lips upturned in a high smile as they admired their lover. Wanda’s irises gleamed a pulsating red, and upon noticing, a primal hunger burned in Adrian's chest, their mouth salivating as their eyes drifted to Wanda's chest. Her chest, exposed in the low cut of the dress, willed Adrian to dive in, biting their lip as their eyes traveled up towards their wife's neck. 

"Let me see those eyes," Adrian's voice seeps through their teeth, Wanda wouldn't have heard if she didn't feel the power emitting from their gaze. 

"What?" Wanda giggles nervously, looking up to see Adrian staring at her like a mountain lion who just targeted their prey. 

"Let me see your eyes." Wanda bathed in their radiating dominance as she studied their gaze, feeling herself get warmer, her mind aflame with desire. She struggled to determine if the burning was from the alcohol or from the filthy visions running rampant about her mind. 

Wanda's lips parted and she felt a ghost escape, "touch me," she told them in a whimper. 

A wry grin rose to Adrian's face, satisfied by their partner's desire. They raised their hand and placed it gently on the back of Wanda's head, pulling her towards them and kissing her on the forehead. "At home, my love." They laced their fingers in her hair and pulled back, slowly, until her neck bent backwards. Wanda started to bare her teeth, smiling, as she felt her heart race when they pulled her hair to the point of pain. They let go of her hair once she began to chuckle, running their fingernails gently down her spine, planting a soft kiss on her neck. 

Pulling their hand from her, they began to stand from the booth. A sigh bellowed from her lips and she dizzily moved to the edge of the booth. Starting to stand, grabbing the hand Adrian extended for her. She wobbled with her first step and fell back towards the booth. Wordlessly, Adrian knew she wouldn't be able to make it up the stairs in her heels. They knelt down to one knee and began undoing her heels, when Wanda fell back against the booth, propping herself with her elbows but letting her head hang back. Finishing her second shoe, Adrian glanced up having forgotten how short the dress really was, and admired the view. They began making a conscious effort to steady their breathing as their hand effortlessly floated up her leg, 

Wanda slowly lifted her head, lip between her teeth as she watched their eyes follow their fingertips as they crossed under the hem of her dress. When they caught her gaze, the focus left their eyes. Gently, they gripped the hem of her dress and pulled down, "Let's get you home." 

Wanda let out a suppressed laugh, "Does it make you nervous when I stare?" she whispered as they stood, holding her shoes between their long fingers, their other hand slack against their side. 

Neglecting to answer her question, they move forward, "I'm going to pick you up." She smirks to herself and slides to the edge of the bench. They weave an arm underneath her knees, the other under her arm and against her back for support. Lifting her with feigned difficulty, they elicit a laugh from Wanda as she wraps her arms around their neck, kissing their head. They make their way up the stairs and out to the car, gently setting Wanda on the concrete to open her door. 

Making their way to the driver’s side, they throw the heels into the back seat and slide into their own only to be welcomed into the car with a sensual touch to the thigh. Adrian's initial inclination was to turn their head towards her, but quickly ignored the instinct when they felt her warm breath against their ear, sending shivers down their spine. "Baby..." she began, letting the tip of her tongue drag down their lobe. "Does it make you nervous when I stare?" Her teeth bit into their lobe, and she began a trail down their neck, nipping and sucking. Her hand began to travel up their thigh until something sparked inside them. 

In a moment, their hand had leapt to Wanda's throat, pinning her against her seat. The tip of their nose gently pressed to Wanda's temple, breath controlled as a demanding whisper escaped their lips, "Lose the attitude." They pulled back and loosened their grip when they heard her breath begin to falter, and looked Wanda in the eyes as the hungry red glow returned to her irises. Slowly, their hand drifted down her neck, fingertips lingering against her pulse before dropping down to touch the hill of her breasts. "Look at you, so obedient for me.." their voice drew. Wanda let out a small whimper, feeling her center begin to pulsate with desire, her hand reaching up to theirs, pulling it lower. "At home, darling. Don't you listen?" They pull themselves away and start the car, leaving Wanda to beg in her seat. 

They begin their journey home, noticing Wanda's inability to sit still in her seat. While they droven they filtered dirty visions into her drunken mind and observed her sobering as the cold air flowed against her face. Upon their arrival, Adrian continued with their habit, but once Wanda stood up, they shut the door and pressed her against the car. Gripping her hips tightly as they laid a bruising kiss against her lips. At first startled, Wanda relaxed into the kiss and slid her tongue against theirs, taking their lip with her teeth before returning. 

Adrian pulled away with a smile plastered to their cheeks. They nodded lightly and turned on their heels towards the door. Frazzled, Wanda followed suit a moment later and met them on the porch, following them through the threshold. Before she could turn away from the door, Adrian pinned her against it. They held their right arm straight out, palm against the door, and began kissing her neck while their left hand grazed her hips. Quiet moans crept out of her lips as the goosebumps rose to her skin. 

Adrian let out a devious chuckle as they stepped away from their wife. "Are you listening, love?" She smiles, taking her lip between her teeth as she gives a dazed nod. "Good girl," their left index slides from the hook of her jaw to her chin, tilting her head to maintain eye contact. 

"You have options tonight darling, would you like to hear them?" Their voice deepens as their focus sharpens, catching every detail of their wife's behavior: her fluttering eyes, warm red cheeks, how she shifts her weight as her body becomes impatient. 

"Yes, please," she looks up at them as their boots have given them the height advantage over her. Her mind swims through the remnants of the buzz as she becomes aware of her attraction to them. She feels the heat between her legs, her nipples hardening, her mouth watering. 

"I'm wearing a strap - we don't have to use it, but we can if you decide to. Does that sound okay?" Their head tilts to the side as they capture Wanda's gaze, her eyes following theirs. She nods slowly as her imagination flows through her body, conjuring the feeling in her core. "Wands, would you like for me to take the lead?" 

Their voice snaps her from her haze, "Mhmm," she murmurs. 

Adrian takes a step back, and gestures down the hall of the living room, "go ahead and use the restroom, you've had a lot to drink tonight. Meet me in the living room, okay?" Wanda's mind takes a moment to compute, but does as she's told. She saunters towards the bathroom, turning around to stare at them as they watch her go. 

Stepping into the living room, Wanda sees Adrian sitting on the couch, legs apart but back relaxed against the cushion. Catching her gaze, they sit up, resting their elbows on their thighs. "You're so beautiful," they whisper as she makes her way towards them. Upon approaching, they reach their hands out and land on her hips. Her fingertips navigate their way into their hair, gently pulling. 

Gaining composure of their mind, Adrian removes their hands and leans away from her. "Stand back for me, please," they order. Wanda narrows her brows but does as told. Her drunken haze is fading, but the fog of attraction still lingers. "Undress," a gentle demand as they watch her, tilting their head to the left as they get comfortable, preparing for the show. 

"Undress?" she questions, surprised they'd rather watch than do it themselves. 

They offer a smile and a gentle chuff, "I don't control you, Wanda, but if you want to continue, then you should do as I ask, my love." 

"But I want you to control me," her mind whispered before she pushed the thought away and forced herself to focus. Every signal her body gave guided her towards continuing, hoping for satisfaction. Her response came without words as she proceeded to lift the hem of her dress. 

"Slower, please." Adrian's eyes move from her hips to her eyes and trap her gaze. The same power she felt in their fingertips dripped from their gaze and into her essence, tugging at her chest. She melted, her body deciding that she was going to do anything they asked. She paused, dropping one hand from the dress. The other continued, pinching her left strap between her fingertips and slowly pulling it over her shoulder, escaping her arm. Her other hand wove underneath the dress, not pulling it up but groping her breast instead. A subtle smile rose to Adrian's lips as they followed her hands. 

The saliva began pooling beneath their tongue as their imagination began playing games with, causing their body to react. They felt the sensation of Wanda's breast between their teeth, their tongue swirling over her nipple. They felt their fingers hooked in the crook of her knee, their fist in her hair and the heat of her core against their abdomen. Finally, her dress slipped over her other shoulder and onto the floor beneath her, revealing her naked body, nipples erect to the cold air of their home. They lean back onto their knees, resting their head in their hands, admiring the view. 

Lifting their head, they motion her forward. Slowly, she approaches, expecting them to extend their grasp. Much to her dismay, they do nothing, only looking up to her as she inches closer. Releasing their lip from their canine, they make eye contact with her and hear her mind begging for more. A quick glance downwards reveals her glistening thighs, which brings a smirk to their face. 

"May I touch you?" 

Wanda bites her tongue, abstaining from begging. "Yes, you may," her tone controlled as she strives to mimic them. They rest their fingers on her hips and pull her closer as they glide their hands up her sides and gently over her breasts. Then down, gently caressing her thighs as they kiss her abdomen. A whine erupts from Wanda's throat, her head thrown back and her hands gripping Adrian's hair. 

"What's the matter, love? Do you want me to touch you differently?" They ask as if they're so innocent but she knows they are well aware of what they're doing. The smirk on their face says it all. She can't help but feel an intense desire to kiss them, bite their lip, but when they smirk that way she wants nothing more than to climb on top of them and grind her hips against theirs. 

When she only whines again, they remove their hands, holding them in the air defensively. "Show me where you want them, baby." She heeds their instruction without question and takes their right hand in her own. She guides them slowly, their fingers grazing her pelvis and their palm gently running over her bush before they rest their thumb against her clit. The pressure sent shivers down her back and they tilted their head as they began pressing slow circles around the nerves.

Their left grips her ass and they press lingering kisses to her hips and pelvis, biting at every other kiss. With each kiss their thumb pressed harder and circled faster, eliciting moans from Wanda as she ran her fingers through their hair. Saliva pools in Adrian's mouth as they become mindful of their breaths, smelling how wet she is, her moans vibrating at their core. Their mind rang with Wanda's internal begging, her mind loud with heat. 

They look up and see her eyes closed, lip red between her teeth. "Tell me what you want," they slow their thumb and begin removing themselves from her body. She whips her head downwards and shakes her head, her hands frantically weaving in their hair to pull them back. For a second she sees their gaze darken and they pull away completely, crossing their arms as they lay back against the couch. A loud whine erupts from her chest as she reaches forward, but they stop her. "I can hear you, love, but I need you to tell me." 

The red returns to Wanda's eyes and she grits her teeth, "I..." She begins, holding their gaze as she becomes aware of the wet between her thighs, "want you to fuck me." Her voice is weak as she demands.

Even through her aroused haze Wanda could see darkness flash in their eyes and for a moment she thought she could see into their mind as they bathed in the control she was allowing them to have. They gripped her hips tightly and smiled wide, biting their lip. "You're so good for me baby," they tell her as they pull her onto their hips. Her knees on either side of them and her core lowered against their bulge. Slowly, they began guiding her hips, grinding onto them. Her breaths became shorter and her cheeks rosier. She'd forgotten about their darkness and instead focused on the pleasure running through her body, shocks pulsing through her clit and up to her chest. 

Wanda wraps her arms around their neck and kisses them deep, sucking on their lip between labored breaths. Moans poured through their lips, the vibrations between their mouths causing the heat to rise in their cores. Wanda's grinds became heavier as she made every effort to glide against their bulge. With each thrust she became more confident, unclasping her hands and pressing them to Adrian's chest. 

Adrian chuckled, startling Wanda from her confidence, "What?" She whimpered as she continued grinding, unwilling to stop the pleasure.

"I thought you didn't know what to do?" They teased, sliding their right hand up her throat and gently gripping her jaw, directing her attention. 

She presses her forehead against theirs, her breaths pushing their hair out of the way. "I don't..." She whispers as she presses her lips to their forehead.  

"I'll teach you," they tell her with a laugh and wrap an arm under her ass, the other hand hooked under her knee. They lift her swiftly, eliciting a yelp from her as she giggles and wraps her arms around their neck. They make their way up the stairs and throw her on the bed, climbing on top of her and biting bruises on her neck. "What do you want?" they whisper against her neck. 

They're met with light moans as her hands scale their body, unbuttoning their shirt. They continue kissing her until the final button. As it comes undone, they sit up on their knees and remove the shirt, "Use. Your. Words." They remain on their knees, retrieving a hair tie from their pocket and throwing their hair up in a quick ponytail. 

Wordlessly defiant, Wanda jumps to grab their hips and pull them back down. Disregarding her defiance, they support themselves with hands on either side of her head as they kiss her slow and deep. Her hands take each passing second to make their way from Adrian's chest to their abdomen, and quietly slipping her fingertips into the hem of their slacks. She navigates her way to their button and begins discretely undoing them. 

In a moment her arms are flung back, pain coursing through for only a second before she notices Adrian's hungry eyes trained on her, "patience, darling." They move both hands up above her head and hold them tightly together with their right as their left hand drifts down her neck. As their thumb passes her pulse, their teeth replace it, their canines threatening to break skin. 

When a cry melts from Wanda, they loosen their bite pressure and make their way downward with nibbles that will leave barely visible bruises. Wanda's legs are bent at the knee but spread as they waver between her, creeping downwards and letting her hands go free. Reaching her pelvis they begin leaving darker marks, moving to her thighs but intentionally avoiding her center. 

Growing impatient, they take their teasing step by step. First, they kiss her right knee and make their way down her thigh, stopping at her pelvis. Then the same with the left leg, though this time they linger their lips against her pussy. Adrian’s fingertips take the climb up her body to her breasts, just as her free hands go to their hair. Giving up on words and settling for actions, Adrian complies as Wanda’s grip full of hair pushes them into her wetness. Tongue flat against her juices they begin licking long strides. At the top of the first lick, a gasp escapes from Wanda’s throat and she starts to arch her back. 

They smile against her, bringing their hands back down and weaving them under her ass, lifting. Wanda instinctually lifts her legs to rest them across Adrian’s arms, but is surprised when they pull her closer to their mouth. Their breaths are warm and wet against her, it relaxes her. She removes her hands from their hair and trails up her ribs, grabbing her breasts and playing with her nipples. Picking up the pace they begin to utilize their whole mouth; their lips begin sucking on her clit, kissing her labia, their tongue finally dips inside of her. Their entrance into her body elicited a hip thrust, getting them deep enough to retrieve creamy wetness. 

Her moans are closer together as they alternate between dipping their tongue inside and sucking her clit. Slyly, they pull away to see her pussy red and swollen with pleasure. She begins to whine from the lack of stimulation, hands sliding away from the bedsheets she’d been gripping. They train their eyes on their wife, admiring the view of her breasts, her head tilted back. Tearing themselves away, they look back to her folds and bring their right hand out from beneath her. Curling all but their middle finger, they slip inside of her and begin curling rhythmically. 

She lets out a long moan, “thank you,” she whimpers. Little did she know, that match was enough to fuel them further. They slid the finger out and replaced it with two, curling once more. Wet noises began and they slowly started thrusting their fingers in and out, curling with each entrance. She frantically reaches her hand downwards, catching their left hand and squeezing as another loud moan left her lips. Once the wetness came to their liking, they slowed again and entered once more with three fingers. 

They thrust their fingers, but as her hips began to buck they realized she was becoming needier by the second. They held their fingers in place and began curling again, making sure to press and linger against the rigid spot inside of her, over and over. The wet sounds picked up again and her breaths came faster until they placed their lips around her clit and began sucking. She gasped and let go of their hand to grip the sheets. 

Amidst their sucking, they began to swirl over the bundle with their tongue. Their now free hand maneuvered to press against her pelvis. Pressing that spot, they could feel their fingers curling inside of her and their mind reached into hers. Unaware of their reach, she spoke, “I’m gonna cum, baby, please,” she whimpered as her breath hitched. They willed her to breathe through the process as they pressed slightly harder against her pelvis and began thrusting and curling their fingers, still sucking on her clit. A near deafening scream erupted from her chest and she bucked her hips into their mouth. Her hands, still gripping the sheets, pulled them up as she wrapped her legs around their body. Wetness began spilling from her, into their mouth, which they lapped up gratefully. 

As her breathing steadied, they did not surface. Instead, they pulled their fingers away and dragged them down Wanda’s chest, leaving a trail of cum. Their tongue licked long and slow, once again, as they craved every last bit. Feeling like they were about to go again, Wanda reached down and hooked her fingers on their jaw. Though weak, she still tried to pull them forward. They looked up at her, eyes hazy with lust, lips glistening. She smiled faintly, “I want to try the strap.”

They adjusted their gaze, wordless, “Please baby, I want to try it, please?” 

They smiled, seeing she finally used her words, and moved upward to kiss her. Their kisses were less forceful but did not lack in passion as they wound their tongues together with light moans. Reluctantly, they climb off the bed and begin undoing their belt. She rolls onto her side and reaches out to them, pulling their shirt out of their slacks. Once undone, they shove their pants off and lift off their t-shirt before climbing back onto the bed, attacking her with kisses. After kissing her, they lean back against their ankles and push the strap through the gap in their boxers. 

They topple on top of her and continue their kissing. Wanda, still needy, reaches between her legs and retrieves some of her wetness. Once she felt her fingers to be adequately wet, she gripped their strap and stroked. Surprising her and themselves, they faltered and rested their lips in the crook of her neck before they let out a quiet moan. She turned her head towards them to get their attention before she continued stroking, “do that again,” she demanded. 

“Do what again?” They tried to act clueless, but their flushed cheeks gave it away. 

She grinned and guided the strap to her entrance, “moan, baby. It made me wet.” She tugged and they instinctually dipped their hips forward. The strap slid inside her with ease and she tilted her head back, whimpering. Their eyes flutter and they swallow, their chest burning with pleasure as they slowly push deeper into their wife. They begin to thrust slowly, acclimating themselves after having not been able to have sex like this for a while. The other Wanda had taken that ability from them, and they didn’t realize how starved they’d been. 

Breaths becoming heavier, they shared a few short kisses before Adrian began biting their way down her neck and shoulder, finally leaving hickeys on her breasts. Appreciating their carefulness, Wanda still feels the burning need. With just her index finger, she presses it against the underside of their chin, effortlessly getting their attention. “You’re safe,” she whispers, watching the darkness begin to fade from behind their eyes. Once faded, it was replaced with hunger. 

They practically leapt forward, kissing her deeply. “I love you,” they told her as they began thrusting harder into her. She whined as her hands grabbed their face and held it close. She watched their strap move in and out of her, becoming slicker with each visit. The strap is curved slightly so with each thrust, it brushes against the rigid spot inside of her. Giving her a bruising kiss, Adrian leans back against their ankles, pulling out. She starts to question, but stops once they grab her hips and yank her to the edge of the bed. She giggles, adoring the smile on their face as they kiss her before grabbing them again. 

They lift her hips and she naturally lets her legs rest against their shoulders as they angle the strap inside her once again. A devilish grin plays against their cheeks as they make momentary eye contact with her before they begin thrusting mercilessly into her wet folds. Gripping her hips, they bring her back and forth as they thrust. She tries to cover her mouth as she starts to scream, but they reach a hand down and smack her hands away. 

“Don’t be shy, princess,” they tell her and pull out again. 

She cries out, “baby, fuck me!” Adrian giggles to themselves and takes her hip with one hand, pushing her onto her stomach. Adrian begins to think she was lying about not knowing what to do because she almost immediately props her knees on the mattress and stretches her back. Their face flushes red at the sight of her; her breasts pendulous, her shoulders sharp with scars scattered over her back, her ass round and pussy still warm and swollen. 

They rested their own knee on the bed and angled their strap again and eased it into her. They moaned simultaneously, craving each other. Inhibitions lost, Adrian begins slamming into her. “Fuck,” they moaned, the sensation of her warmth sending shivers up their body. They reach underneath and begin stimulating her clit, making it grow more bulbous with each thrust into their wife. 

Their breaths became heavier and Adrian couldn’t be further from her anymore. They pushed her forward a bit and climbed up onto the mattress, and thrusted more. Then, they reached forward and groped her breasts, pulling her back against them. Wanda, unaware of the intent, was shocked with pleasure at the angle. She gasped as her shoulders pressed against their chest, each movement forward pressed against her g-spot. Adrian’s heart was pounding with pleasure, feeling her walls begin to tighten around them. They reached their hand down to play with her clit, they placed their lips against her neck and began giving faint kisses. Both of their breathing became labored as the heat rose in their cores. Adrian’s other hand slid up and gripped Wanda’s breast, then slid further up and squeezed her throat lightly, pulling her closer. 

Their heavy breaths tickled her ear, “cum for me,” they whisper and her mouth drops open. Her breaths became quick, whines finishing them, and their hand leaves her throat, turning her face towards theirs. They kiss roughly and moan together. Her body begins to shake, the tension leaving her lower back, but as it does, she feels a warmth gush into her. Adrian’s lips rest against her pulse as their hips shake the same, and Wanda feels their strap twitch as they relax. 

They slowly back away, pulling out of her and she feels wetness begin trickling down her legs. She collapses onto the bed and they move forward and grab the throw at the end of the bed before laying next to her. Gentle kisses are pressed into her back and shoulder, and eventually, she turns and kisses them gently. While her head is turned, they lace their arm underneath her neck to offer support, their other hand drapes across her body and pulls her closer. She laces her fingers with the hand draped over her body and pulls it to her chest. Afterwards, she grabs the throw that they’d brought and drapes it over them as best as she can. Once comfortable, she turns to ask them a question, but finds they’re already asleep.

[envihellbender]

Tristan/Atlas scenarios

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Atlas Six

Characters: Tristan Caine, Atlas Blakely

Content: character death x2, canon divergent, noncon, high school au, reference to caning

Summary: A series of scenarios from alternate universes regarding Tristan Caine and Atlas Blakely.

Scenario 6

“Mister Caine,” a voice said snapping Tristan up from his laptop. He was sat in his Father’s pub, looking over the books and all the other boring grunt work the Witch King of Crime left to keep Tristan busy. The man made it clear from the beginning that any ability his son had was useless to him. In response, Tristan also made it very clear he wanted to leave, it was clear no one wanted him there for one thing. However, Adrian was very good at keeping a tight grip on Tristan and had done so for so long he didn’t even know why he did any more. Back to the present however Tristan’s work was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a man far too well dressed for the environment he found himself in.

“Can I help you?” Tristan asked, visibly confused. Beyond the sneers and free drinks no one gave him a second thought in this establishment and he liked it that way.

“I have a proposition for you,” the man said simply, seemingly oblivious to everyone around them who couldn’t help but stare.

“You want my father-” Tristan began before Atlas raised one hand dismissively and shook his head.

“I have no use for Adrian Caine, you’re the one I need.” The man pulled out a chair and sat cautiously perched keeping his hands off of the sticky table.

“You… What’s your angle, mate?” Tristan couldn’t believe a wealthy stranger simply would approach him as if he was someone who was worth a single thought.

“Ah, I haven’t introduced myself, have I? Atlas Blakely, of the Alexandrian society.” He spoke very simply yet with far more gravitas than Tristan was used to.

“Never heard of it,” Tristan mumbled. He looked down at his laptop and frowned, he wanted to be alone more than ever, certainly not looked down on by some wealthy man from a secret society.

“Hardly a surprise, we are a group of the best, most intelligent medians in charge of the biggest archive of the world’s knowledge, anything else I cannot divulge outside of the institute.”

“You must have me mixed up with someone else, mate.”

“I assure you, I don’t.” Atlas sighed and leaned forward - his words were becoming intense alongside his stare. “You have abilities I’ve not seen before, I think there is potential inside of you. No matter what disguise anyone would wear, anyone in the world you’d see exactly who they were underneath it. You could be working for an intelligence agency, you could crack codes, anything. I wish to simply take you in before anyone else sees what you’re worth.”

“I- thats one hell of a speech.” Tristan was visibly taken aback and embarassed. He felt so horrifyingly perceived. Atlas slipped a card from his pocket and left it next to Tristan’s laptop.

“My invitation has been extended, whether you accept it is up to you. Nice to meet you, Mister Caine,” Atlas said rising to his feet, leaving Tristan to stare at him as he left like he was a baffling hallucination.

Scenario 8a

“You can’t kill Atlas,” Callum had said that morning, the words teasing and coquettish, almost. He told Tristan that whilst they were in bed together, his bare chest against Callum’s naked warm back. Tristan had insisted he could, Callum simply pointed out that Tristan hadn’t been able to murder him. Now, he was stood in Atlas’s office staring face to face with the man who as far as Tristan could tell, was a body for the Library. Now it turned out Libby hadn’t been sacrificed, they had to get rid of someone. It made sense that they chose the one who had been responsible for dragging the powerful young adults with god complexes under one roof and playing mind games with them for two years. Tristan didn’t bother to pretend there was any other reason for him coming into Atlas’s office, he was fully aware that Atlas knew. There was no need to insult either of their intelligence.

“Mister Caine,” Atlas said simply staring at the silent Tristan who had been stood there trying to build up the courage to act. Were Atlas not a telepath he might have been quite baffled by the whole affair. “I think it may be best you do not act on what you have mistakenly convinced yourself needs to be done.”

“The Library needs bodies. Yours being one of them,” Tristan said simply. “You ducked out of the murder once, remember? And shit followed your fellow initiates everywhere they went their entire lives as a result.”

“Rumours. Nothing of the sort happened.”

“Why can’t it be you? The one we kill.”

“I never said it couldn’t be.”

“Good, then you’ll go down without a fight.”

“I didn’t say that-” Atlas began, only to be interrupted by a click and a loud blast that caused Tristan to grow disoriented, his ears aching as a ringing sound filled them. When he managed to look back he saw Atlas was face down on his desk, his skull blown open with bits brain lodged into the cracks on Atlas’s vintage desk. There was a large bloody hole on the side of the man’s temple, the golden bullet visible in his shaved head, nearly lodged into the skull. Behind Atlas stood Callum with a smirk on his face.

“I was going to do that! I just wanted to talk to him first,” Tristan snapped, his hands holding onto his ears and a scowl carved into his face. “Fuck! Why didn’t you use a silencer? Shit, you might have fucked up my ear drums.

“Took too long,” Callum shrugged, seemingly oblivious to Tristan’s pain but the wince in his eyes and tensing of his limbs showed that he felt every second. “Who’s next?”

“Next is Rhodes’ ex-boyfriend,” Tristan mumbled. “Then hopefully the Library will…”

“Accept you as it’s Lord and saviour?” Callum suggested, with a sly smirk.

“Fuck you.”

Scenario 8b

Mister Caine. What do you think you’re doing?

The words shot through Tristan’s mind like an icicle through his temples. Atlas hadn’t shown this ability before, he could see into minds not place thoughts into them. Or so Tristan thought. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried to empty his mind.

Do you think that gun will take me down, Mister Caine?

“Snap out of it, ignore him,” Tristan muttered. He hadn’t even reached Atlas’ office yet. Callum was already there, a distraction of sorts he supposed. The voice in Tristan’s head told him how well that was going.

Don’t worry, Mister Nova is quite safe. He thinks he’s untouchable. It’s amusing.

Tristan felt his heartbeat in his ears, but it didn’t cover Atlas’s barbed thoughts. He felt his footsteps vibrate through his body, the noise and sensation. His breathing grew heavier and stronger as he reached the handsome oak door, one hand reaching for the brass handle.

Do you think you and Mister Nova can take me?

This time the thought was highlighted with a laugh, one that was filled with pity and amusement. Tristan slammed the door open, he saw Callum sat on a chair opposite Atlas. Tristan was surprised to see he was dressed in one of his favourite suits. A dark purple fabric, a silver shirt, bespoke leather shoes dyed a dull silverish grey, and with one leg over the other, Tristan could see Callum had forgone socks. His pale ankles were at the centre, the first thing the eyes went to. The whore, Tristan thought in amusement.

“You’d think a telepath wouldn’t double book,” Callum remarked before anyone greeted each other.

“Mister Caine, can I help you?” Atlas said coldly. His eyes piercing through Tristan’s chest almost causing his heart to stop. Callum’s feet were both on the floor now, one hand in the table and his gaze was searching through Atlas’s body for anything useful. He decided to turn down the aspect that wanted to kill Tristan or at least stop himself from being killed. He upped Atlas’s recklessness, and added in an extra few tablespoons of wanting to kill Callum instead.

“Don’t mind him, he’s just the jealous type.” Callum’s joke either went over everyone’s head or they were not in the mood for such frivolity. Tristan let out a pained gasp and winced, Callum turned back to Atlas with a scowl. “Forcing a horrible memory into his mind isn’t very unsporting.”

“He’s showing me how he plans to kill you,” Tristan said through his teeth.

“Yes, well, even the family gardener thinks about killing me, I wouldn’t worry,” Callum said dismissively. Atlas stood up, kicking out the chair from behind him. Callum smirked, that restlessness was about to pay off.

“Do you know why you want to kill me? Is it a thought that came from you or someone else?” Atlas asked, turning his head to the left side as he spoke.

“I’d know if someone implanted something in my head, I’m not like you,” Tristan replied in a low voice. Atlas didn’t go for Tristan as expected, instead in a swift movement he used an ability he’d clearly been working on for a very long time. He shifted the room so that Callum was in his arms. Atlas’s hand tightened in Callum’s hair and making a fist, he bent the young man’s spine bend back on itself to use him as a human shield. However, seeing Callum be manhandled, seeing his eyes going wide and empty, seeing his body panic as he went as limp as a rag doll… Tristan gave three shots. Two hit Atlas in the face, one missed. When Callum gingerly got to the floor, coated in blood, viscera, and bits of brain, his ears were still ringing and aching.

“You could’ve shot me,” Callum said, in a strange mixture of anxiety, shock, and arousal. “You were extremely close to shooting me.”

“I know. But I didn’t,” Tristan shrugged, his eyes not leaving the corpse on the office floor.

Scenario 8c

When Tristan watched Atlas Blakely enter his flat, he wondered if he knew what was about to happen. Atlas had a wary look about him, ever since Tristan had opened the door he was looking over his shoulder and seemed… Off, somehow. In fact, Tristan was sure in fact that it wasn’t Atlas at all, it was … an animation? He thought. He’d never seen it before and thought they were just a myth… Regardless, it was a form of magic that he knew his father wouldn’t see through. Tristan couldn’t help but steal a quick glance at the cameras watching them. It was a terribly kept secret that Adrian Caine had devices and people specifically placed and hired for spying on his children. Tristan couldn’t help but admire the animation posing as Atlas that had been sent to him. They made small talk for a little while, Tristan pretended to be interested in his society, and Atlas’ animation gave a few stock answers that seemed real enough. Tristan offered him a whiskey, Atlas said he didn’t drink. That was another reason Adrian Caine hated the man, probably, Tristan thought.

“I am sorry about this you know,” Tristan said eventually, and the fact that when he slipped a gun from the waistband of his trousers and shot Atlas Blakely in the forehead with little to no reaction was the final confirmation what Tristan had seen from the second he opened the door. The real Atlas Blakely was a telepath, he’d have known Tristan’s intentions immediately and dealt with him. Clearly the man had suspected Tristan and Adrian’s plan and sent an animation in his place to test the waters. It didn’t matter to Tristan, his father got his little show. He downed his whiskey, deliberately avoiding the bleeding mess sat on his favourite armchair.

“There you go, dad, it’s done,” Tristan said solemnly as he toasted into the closest camera.

Scenario 15

“Do you know why you’re here, Mister Caine?” The Headmaster asked, Tristan sat on the other side of his desk, his arms folded and scowling at his scuffed trainers. As Tristan regularly told his friends, Atlas Blakely had a “hard-on” for him. Whatever Tristan did, for some reason the man had an opinion on it whether it was good or bad. Apparently that extended to the area under the water tower where him and his friends hung out after school.

“Nope,” Tristan answered, it was a lie but as far as he was concerned he’d done nothing wrong on school grounds.

“You, Mister Nova, and Miss Komali, were spotted smoking-”

“Outside of school,” Tristan interrupted. Atlas frowned, people didn’t interrupt him.

“You were wearing your school uniforms, thus associated with the school.” Atlas had a proud smirk on his lips, as if it was the ace up his sleeve he’d just revealed.

“So are Callum and Parisa going to be brought to the Headmaster’s office or is it just the lad from Bethnal Green who gets that treatment?” Tristan asked pointedly, he knew it wasn’t a class thing - he could hear the east end in Atlas’s voice even if he desperately tried to hide it. However, until Atlas admitted he wasn’t the toff he pretended to be, he was going to play whatever cards he had.

“Mister Caine,” Atlas responded, Tristan hated the way his lips curled around his name. It sent a chill up his spine. “I assure you Mister Nova and Miss Parisa will be brought to me. This is nothing to do with your upbringing.”

“Just feels like I get singled out a lot.”

“Mister Caine.” Tristan winced, the exact same tone like he was about to be swallowed whole again. “You have potential, something I do not wish to see squandered. You know full well that had the police caught you smoking marijuana Mister Nova would have gotten off Scott free, and Miss Komali’s connections would’ve ensured it was-”

“Weren’t smoking weed,” Tristan interrupted. A lie, but something that may help his case a little that Atlas couldn’t disprove. “They were just regular cigarettes.”

“I- I was told it was clearly an illicit substance,” Atlas said indignantly. He had a stammer and his smirk faltered, Tristan took delight in that.

“Well, they were wrong. Your source either made it up or made a mistake,” Tristan shrugged. He had a small smile on his lips. He knew full well Atlas was having him followed but he could hardly admit it.

“Fine, if you insist.” Atlas had an irritated scowl which Tristan couldn’t help but feel a little smug about. “You have had your first warning, Mister Caine. If you are found to be smoking either cigarettes or something else I will have to inform your father. However, for now, we can settle this in house for now. Do stand up, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Tristan responded curtly, getting to his feet and reluctantly unfastening his belt as Atlas stood and retrieved his cane.

[thxnews]

UK Space Science Leader Awarded Prestigious OBE

The United Kingdom has long been a hub of scientific innovation, particularly in the field of space science. The New Year Honours have brought this to the forefront, with Professor Adrian Michael (Mike) Cruise receiving recognition for his pivotal role in advancing gravitational wave research and elevating the UK's status in international space science.  

Pioneering Gravitational Wave Research

Establishing Groundbreaking Research at the University of Birmingham Professor Cruise's tenure at the University of Birmingham has been marked by significant achievements. He established the Gravitational Wave Research Group, thereby placing the UK at the forefront of this innovative field. His efforts have not only advanced the UK's capabilities in space science but have also paved the way for groundbreaking discoveries in the realm of gravitational waves.   Extensive Contributions to Gravitational Wave Detection Professor Cruise's impact in the field of gravitational wave research is profound and multi-dimensional: - LISA Pathfinder Mission: His critical role in the development of the LISA Pathfinder mission set a solid foundation for the future Laser Interferometer Space Antenna (LISA) mission. This mission was a landmark in demonstrating the technology needed for space-based gravitational wave detection, thereby paving the path for future advancements in space observatories. - Ground-based Detectors: In addition to his work on space missions, Professor Cruise has made significant contributions to the development and enhancement of ground-based gravitational wave detectors. His expertise in high-frequency detectors operating at 14 GHz and optical frequencies has been instrumental in pushing the boundaries of gravitational wave detection technology. - First Detection of Gravitational Waves: One of the crowning achievements of Professor Cruise's career is his direct contribution to the first-ever detection of gravitational waves in 2015. This groundbreaking event not only confirmed a key prediction of Einstein's theory of general relativity but also revolutionized our understanding of cosmic phenomena such as black holes and neutron stars.   Leadership and Innovation in Space Science Dr. Paul Bate, CEO of the UK Space Agency, heartily commended Professor Cruise for his well-deserved award. Importantly, he emphasized Professor Cruise's role as a distinguished leader in the space science community, effectively highlighting his significant contributions to our fundamental understanding of the universe. Furthermore, his involvement in major UK investments in international space missions and his advisory roles notably underscore his extensive contributions to the field.  

A Broad Spectrum of Contributions in Space Science

Diverse Achievements Beyond Gravitational Waves Professor Cruise's expertise and contributions extend far beyond the realm of gravitational waves: - Space Instrument Design: He is the author of a notable textbook, "The Principles of Space Instrument Design." This work is highly regarded as a valuable resource for students and researchers in space science, providing comprehensive insights into the intricacies of instrument design. - Exploring Electromagnetic-Gravitational Wave Interaction: His research in understanding the interaction between gravitational waves and electromagnetic fields has led to a deeper comprehension of these fundamental forces. This work is crucial in the broader context of astrophysics and space research. - Commitment to Public Outreach: Professor Cruise's passion for science communication is evident in his regular public engagements. He is known for his captivating lectures and talks on gravity, gravitational waves, and space science, thus inspiring a wider audience and fostering a public interest in these complex topics.   Recognition Reflecting a Stellar Career Receiving the OBE is not only an individual milestone for Professor Cruise but also a testament to the collective strength and achievements of UK space science and astronomy. This honor reflects the immense support and collaboration from organizations like the UK Space Agency and STFC, showcasing the UK's commitment to fostering scientific excellence.   UK's Rich Talent Pool in Space Science The New Year Honours also recognized other esteemed individuals in the field of space science and astronomy, including Dame Maggie Aderin Pocock, Professor Emma Bunce, and Professor Philip Diamond. Their accomplishments, alongside those of Professor Cruise, highlight the depth and diversity of talent within the UK's space science community.   Sources: THX News & UK Space Agency. Read the full article

[inevitablemoment]

Bannister Children Headcanon (4/5) - Adrian Bannister

Born April 28th, 2007. Adrian is the fourth child and youngest son of Frank and Lucy Bannister. He is forty-two minutes younger than his twin, Maddie. He is also the younger brother of Julia and Seth, and the older brother of Libby. From an early age, Adrian showed a talent for music. As he grew older, his passion began spill into musical theater, where he quickly found a new group of friends. He’s very charismatic, both on and offstage, and fiercely protective of his family, both blood and extended. While he can be a bit rebellious and come off a little tough, he still has a big heart and can demonstrate a sweet vulnerability.

As of this post, Adrian is a tenth grader at Fairwater High School. He has been in numerous theatrical productions in town, most recently his school’s spring production of The Wedding Singer, in which he played Robbie Hart. He plans on attending the University of Michigan-- known for it’s amazing theater program-- and hopes to make it on Broadway one day.

[novannna]

Same Sea, Same Soul, Same Heart

Danna is the daughter of a noble in Gatlon city.  Gatlon is ruled by King Hugh and King Simon, members of the Renegades, the gruop that saved it from the anarchists and Ace Anarchy.  Nova is the niece of Ace Anarchy and is the worlds most feared and dangerous pirate.  She kidnaps Danna as ransom, and while they travel back to Danna’s father the two girls begin to realize they weren’t so different after all…

Both girls deal with missing each other, and Danna has to make a big decision

link to masterlist

link to chapter 6

wc: 2074

Danna blinked her eyes open blearily.  

“Nova?”  she asked, her words slurring in her mouth.  

A body collapsed on top of her.  “Oh, Danna, you're alright.”  It was her mom.  “I’m so glad you're safe!  I was so worried.  Are you okay?”  

“Mom.  What happened?” Danna asked.  The last thing she remembered was Nova looking down on her, eyes bright with tears and guilt.  

“That awful pirate almost killed you!”  Her mom let out a sob.  “Oh, I was so scared.  He held a knife to your throat.  A knife!  Can you believe it?”

Danna’s hand trailed to her throat where a thin cut lay.  “No,” she whispered quietly.  “I can’t.”

“Well, it’s all okay now.  You’re back.  You're safe.”  her mom hugged her tightly.  “You better come downstairs.  Your father will be glad to know you’re up.”

Danna tried to smile.  “Okay.”  She picked herself out of bed.  “What about No- the pirate?”  she asked, correcting herself mid sentence.  Danna wasn’t quite sure why.  Nova had left her.  SHe knew exactly what she was doing, but Danna was still protecting her. 

“What about him?”

“Is he caught?”

“No.”  Her mothers lip curled.  “He got away.  But don’t worry.  He will never get anywhere near you again.”  

“Good,” Danna said quietly, hoping with her entire heart it wasn’t true.  

“Come quickly, your father has news!”  Her mother said, then hurried out of the room.  

“Would you like to bathe, Miss Bell?”  A maid asked.  

She shook her head.  “I’m okay.”

“Let me help you change,” she started forwards, but Danna stopped her.  

“I’d rather do it myself.  If that’s alright.”  

The maid looked at her confused, then nodded.  “Of course, milady.  Call if you need help.”  She hurried off.  

Once Danna was alone, she crumpled to the ground.  She struggled to find her breath as tears racked her body.  Danna was alone. All alone.  Nova had left her.  Danna felt like she was suffocating.  

So she lay on the floor sobbing, trying to find a reason to keep going.Without Nova near her, the future looked pointless.  Was what Danna had even a life?  No freedom, no choices.  There was nothing for her.  

They said she was home.  

But Danna knew they were wrong.  

This wasn’t her home.  Her home was with a short girl with choppy black hair and sea colored eyes.  Her home was with a girl who was as unpredictable as the sea.  Her home was with a girl who was just as likely to cut you with her words as a blade.  Her home was with Nova Artino.  

No.   Her home was Nova Artino.  

And Danna wasn’t home anymore.

---

Nova dragged the chest into the storage, arms barely strained by the heavy gold.  

“Nova?”  A voice asked hesitantly.  

“Yes?”   She didn’t bother looking up.  She knew who it was.  “What is it Viv?”

“Look, I know you aren’t going to say anything.  I know you are going to keep up your nothing gets to me, facade.  But it's okay.  You don’t have to pretend.”  Viv placed a hand on Nova’s shoulder gently.  

“What are you talking about?”  Nova ducked away.  

“I saw the way you and Danna acted together.   I can tell when two hearts are made for each other.  You’re like me and Moxie.” 

“Listen.  I have no feelings for Danna Bell,” Nova said quietly.  

Viv sighed.  “I know you won’t admit it.  But I know you.  And I can tell you're hurting.”

“I am fine.”

“No.  Nova, you’re not fine.  You are hurting, and I know that you don’t want to let your walls down.  And that's okay.  I get it.  I get it maybe more than anyone else,”  Viv sighed.  “Just… I’m here for you.  When you’re ready.”

Viv started to leave, but Nova shot her hand out.  

“Wait,” She said in a quavering voice. “Stay… please.”

Viv smiled.  “Of course.  Do you want to talk?”

Nova slammed the door shut, and fell into Viv’s arms.  She shook with sobs. 

“I miss her,” Nova cried.  “I could have let her stay.  She wanted to.  But I was too much of a coward.  I was too scared of Ace.  I traded Danna for money I don’t even need.  I sentenced her to a life without freedom.  It’s all my fault.”

“It’s okay, Nova.  It’s okay,” Viv said, holding tight to Nova’s shaking form.  “This isn’t your fault.”

“No.  It is.  This is all my fault.  I should have just kidnapped Adrian.�� That would have been better. Then no one would have gotten hurt.  Danna and I never would’ve met.”

“Look at me.  If you never met Danna, you wouldn’t be the person you are.  She’s like a second part of you.  She’s your heart.  Without her, you wouldn’t be Nova Artino.  Never wish that you never met your soulmate.  Because even if they leave you more hurt than before, they fill a part of you that was left empty before.”  

Nova wiped her eyes.  “I’m never going to see her again.  She’ll spend the rest of our lives hating me.  For what I did.  And I deserve it.”

“Nova, you don’t.  You deserve love.  Not hate.  And you have to believe that you are going to see her again.  The universe works in strange ways.  But if she’s yours, then you’ll see her again.”

“Promise?”

Viv nodded.  “I promise.”

Nova smiled weakly.  “I should go.  Thank you.”  She wiped her face off.  “And Viv?”

“Yeah?”

“If I ever hear you telling people about this, I won’t hesitate to throw you overboard.”

Viv laughed.  “That’s my girl.”

---

Danna stepped into the parlor, dress pinching her ribs tightly.  She hadn’t worn a corset in ages, and she certainly hadn’t missed them.  

“Danna!  Oh, my baby, I’m so glad to see you home, safe and sound,” her father said, racing over to embrace her.  “We were all so worried.”

“Thank you father,” she said stiffly.  “I’m just glad that this whole mess is over.”

“As am I.  Sit, sit!  We have news.”  He ushered her over to one of the plump couches.  

Danna settled down, and reached for a scone.  She stuffed it into her mouth, and sighed as the tart raspberries exploded on her tongue.  

“Danna, back straight,” her mother reprimanded.  

Danna suppressed a groan, and sat taller.  She hadn’t missed that either.  

“So, what’s the news?”  Danna asked.  

“Oh, we’ll tell you soon.  We just need to wait a little bit longer,” her father said.  

Danna gulped.  “Wait for what?”  

“You’ll see.”  Both her parents were grinning.   

“Hm.”   Danna grabbed another scone, and crammed it into her mouth.  

Her mother raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.  

Danna suppressed a grin.  Normally her mother would have stopped her at one scone.  But she was still worried about Danna.  

“Have they found the pirate yet?”  Danna asked nonchalantly.  

Her father sighed heavily and shook his head.  “No.  But don’t worry.  They will find him, and make him pay for what he did to you.”

Danna tried not to grin.  Nova was still safe.  “That’s too bad,” she said, trying her best to sound sad.  She wasn’t.  At all.  She was giddy.  Nova was still okay.

The doorbell rang, and the butler hurried off to answer.  

“Smile, Danna,” her mother instructed.  

“Who is it?”  she asked anxiously.  “Who’s coming over?”

“You’ll see.”  Her mother smiled primly.  “Please behave.”

“Behave?  Mother, I’m not a child anymore.  I-”  Danna stopped talking when she saw who walked through the door.  Her jaw dropped.  

The Kings, and the crown prince stood in the doorway to the parlor.

“Your highnesses!”  Danna hastily rose, and dropped into a low curtsy.  

“Please,” the prince said awkwardly.  “No need for any of that.”  Adrian smiled.  

Danna brushed herself off, and put what she hoped was a demure smile on her face.  It felt like more of a grimace.  

“What do we owe this visit?”  

“You didn’t tell her?”  King Hugh looked at her parents with surprise.  

Danna’s father cleared his throat.  “We thought it would be best if he told her himself.”

“Tell me what?”

“Perhaps we should give them some privacy,” King Simon suggested.  

“What's happening?”  Danna asked.  

Adrian shuffled awkwardly.  “Maybe we could go to the gardens,” he suggested.  

“Good idea,” Dannna said quickly.  She needed to get out of the house.  She needed to be outside.  “This way, your highness.”  She extended an arm, and nearly bolted away.  

She pushed the door open, and inhaled the scent of salt and flowers gratefully.  

Adrian chuckled.  “Couldn’t handle being inside any longer?”

Danna groaned and nodded.  “Ugh yes.  It’s awful.  I’ve been back for less than a day, and I’m already suffocating.”  Adrian and Danna were actually much closer than they seemed.  For years, they had snuck away during events along with two other friends. They hated the scheming and politics of the court, and bonded over their shared hatred of it.  They tried to keep it secret so no unwanted rumors would spread.  

Adrian's face creased.  “How are you?  That must have been so scary…”

Danna laughed.  “It wasn’t too bad.  Can I tell you a secret?”  

Adrian nodded.  “Of course.”  

“And you promise to never tell?”  Danna asked.  

He solemnly held out his pinky.  “I’ll even pinky swear.”

Danna laughed, and shook his pinky.  “Nightmare isn’t Noah Artino.”

“What is that supposed to mea?”

Danna sighed.  “She’s not Noah, She’s Nova.”

“Nightmare’s a girl?”  Adrian’s eyes widened.  “Really?”

Danna nodded.  “And she isn’t as bad as she seems.”

“Danna, she kidnapped you.”  

“Yeah, and while I was kidnapped, I was more free than I ever had been.”  Danna sighed.  “She’s done bad things, but at heart she’s a good person.”

Adrian raised an eyebrow.

“So.  What’s so important that you came here to tell me?”

Adrian groaned.  “Danna, I know this isn’t what you wanted.  I know you never asked for this life.  I didn’t either.  I have the same amount of choices as you.  Maybe less even.  But I get to choose who I marry.  And…”

“No.”  Danna held up her hands.  “Don’t even finish that sentence.”  she hurried away.

“Danna, wait.  It’s not what you think!”  Adrian jogged after her.  “I don’t like you.”

“Thanks,” she said dryly.  

Adrian sighed.  He caught her arm.  “Please… just listen to me.”

Danna groaned, and spun around to face him.  “Okay.  I’m listening.”

“Listen Danna, I know this isn’t what you want.  But you have to face the reality of our lives.  We can be together in public, but not as a couple privately.  This is the only way we can escape something we both don't want.”

Danna inhaled deeply.  “Adrian… I’m lesbian.”

“Oh.  Shit.”

Danna laughed softly.  “Yeah.”  

“Can’t you tell your parents?  My dads are together, and they are fine with it.”  

Danna shrugged.  “I don’t think it would matter.  They would just say I’m confused.  Or that I’m just being difficult.  Look, Adrian, I don’t have a choice now.  I know that you wanted to help, but you’ve just made everything so much harder.”  Danna groaned, and rubbed her temples.  

“The pirate… Nova…”  Realization dawned in Adrian’s eyes.  “You love her, don’t you?”

Danna nodded sadly.  “I don’t even know if she loves me back.  But I’d die over and over again for her.”

“I can help you escape!  I can get you to her.”

Danna smiled softly.  “Adrian, thank you, but I can’t.  I don’t want to risk it.”  She sighed heavily.  “I’ll marry you.  You were right, it is our only option.”

“Danna, that wouldn’t be right.  That’s not you!  Don’t pretend to be someone else,” Adrian pleaded.  “Shit, this is all my fault.  Danna, I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s not.  You were trying to help.  And you are right.  It’s a good option.  We can pretend to be together.  Hell, maybe we can adopt a kid or something.  But I can’t be with Nova.  I know that.”

“Danna…”

“Adrian, we are out of options.  Even if my parents let me turn you down, eventually they’ll force me to marry someone.  I’d rather it be you.”

Adrian wrapped his arms around her.  “If this is what you want, then I will help you as best I can.”  

Danna smiled gratefully.  “Thank you Adrian.  It means a lot to me, I hope you know that.”

He nodded.  “We’d better go tell the others then.”

She cringed.  “Fun.”

“Get used to it.”

Tag list: @novissa @thepurpledragon4444  @phobidawg   @rvbell @redassassin @ifyouhadntbutyoudid (let me know if you want to be added/taken off!!!)  

[just-stop]

From AFLW to roller derby, experts say its time to take concussion in women's sport seriously

When the Crows chase their third AFLW premiership on Saturday, captain Chelsea Randall will be watching from the sidelines.

A concussion from a collision during last week's preliminary final left her ruled out of the match.

It's a bitter sweet way to end a season — but as Sarah McCarthy knows, a concussion can have much longer consequences

In 2016, Sarah was the jammer for her Sydney roller derby team, skating at high speed in the league's Grand Final, aiming to get past the opposition and score points.

Risks of contact sport

Sarah McCarthy received a knock to the head during a roller derby match.

"I was a few feet in front of the pack, looking over my shoulder," she tells ABC RN's Sporty.

As she skated, a competitor's elbow hit Sarah's neck and jaw hard and she crashed to the ground.

She doesn't remember if she passed out or not, but recalls feeling briefly sick.

She got up, sat out for awhile, but later re-joined the bout, feeling reasonably ok.

It was Sarah's second concussion that week, having had an earlier blow at training.

The next few months passed in a blur of sickness, dizziness and ringing ears.

"I could barely make it past lunch time without falling asleep. My head felt like it was in a vice 24 hours a day," she says.

What was worse, says Sarah, was the memory loss, heightened emotions, and constant haze in her mind as she struggled to manage a big work project.

Sarah's experience is not out of the ordinary. Experts say sportswomen are at higher risk of concussion than male athletes, and the effects of concussion in women tend to be more severe.

Sarah still lives with the ongoing after effects of her concussion even today.

Almost five years on, Sarah continues to live with the implications of Post Concussion Syndrome.

"I struggled verbally, and I still do now if I have a poor night's sleep," Sarah says.

"It's almost like I'm sitting on a chair in a room with a curtain around me and all of my vocabulary is just beyond the curtain. And I can't reach it or I use the wrong words. I forget people's name all the time," she says.

"I'm fatigued every day. I still can't exercise. I can't handle stress, I can't handle light, I can't handle sounds."

What happens when you're concussed?

Dr Adrian Cohen, an emergency and trauma physician who researches concussion prevention, says concussion is not as simple as was once thought.

He says concussion results in less blood flow to the brain.

This means brain cells, called neurons, don't get enough oxygen and glucose. They also suffer a "structural deformity".

Basically, Dr Cohen says, the brain has a "metabolic crisis" and neurons stop working properly.

Why is concussion more common in women?

We don't have enough data on the size of the problem, Dr Cohen says.

But research and scrutiny of concussion in women in sport is growing — largely in the wake of developments in elite men's sport such as the AFL and NFL.

"Doctors like myself who work in this area are definitely seeing it more often and we're seeing it with more severity," Dr Cohen says.

He says women sustain more concussions than men in high-impact sports such as rugby league, rugby union and Australian rules football. Women also take longer to recover.

One possibility is that women may be more likely to report concussion.

But Dr Cohen says there are complex physiological factors at play.

"There are structural differences between men and women's brains," he says.

"They actually have a slightly faster metabolism than male brains, and they have slightly greater oxygen flow to the head.

"The cells themselves can be thought of as being slightly hungrier. So in the context of an injury that disrupts the supply of glucose and oxygen, it can help explain why they suffer more damage."

He also says women are joining high impact sports without years of tackle training and have had less opportunity to build up the strong neck muscles crucial in protecting against impact.

Dr Cohen says these factors are not an argument for reducing women's participation in contact sport — the benefits, he says, far outweigh the risks — but he is urging for new ways to minimise those risks.

"We have to outlaw illegal play that causes damage, we have to get people off the field when they have an injury, we have to recognise concussion," he says.

He is part of a team developing a new device which he says can quickly and accurately assess a player for concussion.

"Instead of just asking somebody whether they're okay, and putting [them] through a 10 minute test, which seems fundamentally flawed at the moment, we have got to put this in the field of objectivity."

Concussion and migranes

Dr Rowena Mobbs, a Macquarie University neurologist who researches and treats the effects of concussion in sportspeople, says there is truth to suggestions that women experience concussion symptoms more severely.

"But there is this really important overlap of chronic migraine after trauma, and the term for this is post-traumatic headache," she says.

"When we talk about migraine ... they're the same multitude of symptoms that can occur in concussion.

"So you can be dizzy and clouded in your thinking, lethargic and have double vision. And we know that women are at three times the risk of chronic migraine than men."

A woman on roller skates playing roller derby can be seen flying up the court.

Experts say more research is needed into concussion in sportswomen.(Liam Mitchell Photography )

She suggests there could be an association between chronic migraine syndrome and concussion, a kind of double whammy for women.

"It's really a complex area," Dr Mobbs says.

"It's fairly new to research because, unfortunately, there's been so much preferred research in men in sport, and we're only just now approaching female concussion."

In Australia, the Sports Brain Bank works on diseases such as chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) and other brain disorders associated with previous concussions or head impacts.

Dr Cohen says there are several Australian sports women who've pledged to donate their brain to the Sports Brain Bank.

"But in general terms, these women won't have been playing the games for as long, and at as high a level," he says.

He says concussion and its long-term consequences "are a numbers game".

"The more impacts to the head you have, the more likely you are to suffer short, medium and long-term consequences. Therefore, the more likely it is to show up as CTE. But we're going to be seeing it in women unfortunately, in the not too distant future."

Invisible injuries

Concussion rules are changing in Australian football codes — the rules that mandated Randall miss the AFLW grand final were brought in earlier this year.

Dr Mobbs welcomes these new rules, but hopes the conversation in elite sport will extend to how concussion is managed at training and in community sport.

In 2019, the Australian Institute of Sport released an updated set of concussion guidelines to improve player safety and address rising concerns in the community around the links between concussion and CTE, which has been linked to dementia and behavioural problems.

Dr Mobbs wants measures like restricting heading the ball in soccer training to be considered.

"We must look after people's brains," she says.

"We can preserve what we love about the sports, they can still be played hard, but it just means that we've got to all get together and think of ways we can preserve brain health for these players."

Sarah McCarthy wishes she'd been stopped from returning to play in the 2016 grand final, and regrets not taking time to immediately rest after the injuries.

She has advice for other people who experience concussion.

"First and foremost, stop everything - stop," she says.

"If you can, stay in a dark room, don't do anything that's too mentally taxing. Don't exercise.

"If I had taken that four to six weeks to rest [and] not have too much mental and emotional stimulation, I think my recovery would have been a lot quicker."

[architectnews]

Preston Mosque Design Competition, Lancashire

Preston Mosque Design Competition, Architect, Lancashire Architecture Contest, Building Site Photo

New mosque near Preston, Lancashire

26 February 2021

Preston Mosque Architecture Competition

Thursday 25 February 2021

The RIBA launches an international design competition for a new Mosque near Preston, Lancashire, northwest England, UK.

The Royal Institute of British Architects (RIBA) has today (Thursday 25 February) launched a competition for the design of a new mosque on a site near Preston in Lancashire on behalf of a local registered charitable trust.

The client is looking to create a landmark, timeless building on this site, close to the city centre.

This site is located close to the city centre but in its own, prominent setting, visible from a large part of the surrounding area including key routes into Preston therefore there is a great opportunity to design a building which will become a proud element of Preston’s skyscape for many years to come. At phase one, the competition seeks initial anonymous design concepts. A shortlist of up to five teams will then be selected to develop their designs.

The RIBA competition is open to registered architects worldwide. Further details about the competition and how to enter can be found here.

Initial design proposals must be submitted by 14:00 (BST) on Thursday 22 April 2021.

Date: 22 April 2021, 14:00 Place: Preston, Lancashire, UK Contact: call+44(0)113 203 1490 | riba.competitions@riba.org Fee: £4,000 +VAT

Introduction

A local charity is seeking a talented and ambitious architect to develop ideas for a new Mosque on the northern outskirts of Preston, Lancashire.

The design solution should be of the highest quality, both enduring and at the same time modern and reflective of current trends. As such, the design team should seek to create a landmark building.

Examples of landmark buildings of worship in the local area include:

• Preston England Temple in Chorley, Lancashire – The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints • Fairhaven United Reformed Church in Lytham St Annes • Church of St Walburge’s in Preston – boasts the third tallest spire in the country

Location

The site for the proposed Mosque is at the western end of D’Urton Lane on the northern edge of the City of Preston. The site has been cut off by the recent completion of the Broughton bypass alongside the junction of the M55 and M6 and as such sits in a particularly prominent and elevated location. Drone footage of the site is available to view here:

Design Guidance

The intention is to produce a strong and bold design that is clearly identifiable as a place of worship but not necessarily to the extent that it is dominated by the traditional Islamic designs. Similarly, it is acceptable to have an element of Islamic flair or features but this is not paramount and if the building has minarets they should be subtle and modern in appearance. The building should have a clear focal point or strong design features which gives character and visibility at some distance. It should not be so institutionalised as to simply have the look of a contemporary office building.

Consideration should be given to the potential for the creation of an external courtyard area or sahn which would be part of the public realm and available for informal meetings or relaxation.

Detailed consideration should be given to the appropriate use of materials as part of the design but also in terms of the future maintenance and operating costs of the building which will be run by a charity. For example, it may be that a material such as marble or other high quality stone is acceptable whereas timber, although having the potential to add a contemporary element to the design, is not due to the ongoing maintenance requirements. Simple composite panels and cladding are unlikely to be the solution and the preference is most probably for the use of more traditional materials such as brick or stone, including marble.

Maintenance should also be considered not simply over 25 years but much longer.

Scale

It is expected that the mosque will extend to the equivalent of three storeys, with a large prayer hall of double or triple height and a capacity for some 450 prayer mats plus circulation space. This area should be open to allow clear views for all worshippers. There should be no columns in this area, but the prayer hall does require a domed roof to accommodate a double or triple height grand space.

In addition to the prayer hall, there should be three floors of other accommodation including a ladies’ prayer hall on a separate floor with a separate entrance and clear views into the main prayer hall. This area should extend to approximately half the overall footprint of the building.

The charity’s retained architects have prepared an indicative sketch of how the site may be laid out. This demonstrates a footprint of at least 730m2 is achievable but this should not be regarded a minimum or maximum requirement.

Interior

The building should make maximum use of natural light where possible. At this stage it has not yet been determined how the interior design will be addressed. Entrants are therefore encouraged to put forward their general ideas for the interior design which should be simple and not ornate with a general open and contemporary approach.

Sustainability

The architect should seek to achieve a zero carbon development or as close to this as is reasonably possible, subject to the demonstration of costs and benefits. This may include the achievement of a BREEAM Excellent rating or the equivalent but should look at all opportunities for the incorporation of renewable energy, enhanced thermal efficiency and sustainable materials where possible. However, such renewables should not be visually dominant and should not be clearly visible in views of the building.

Prominence

Given the location of the site, the potential is there for this to be a visually prominent building and the design should take advantage of this. It will be visible from both motorways, the surrounding area and, of course, close up.

It is therefore essential that the building makes a real visual statement from whichever angle it is viewed. It should become a real focal point and landmark building for North Preston and the approaches to it.

Landscaping

Consideration should be given to the potential for landscaping of the site. This should take into account short and longer distance views of the site to maximise the quality of the setting within which the building will site. There is a preference for the landscaping to incorporate a majority of evergreen species, but it should also address the emerging requirement for a 10% biodiversity uplift.

There may be an opportunity to combine the scheme of landscaping with that to be undertaken by the highway’s authority on adjacent land. Maintenance of the grounds should be taken into consideration also.

Parking

The layout should maximise the opportunities for parking with a minimum of at least 140 spaces including disabled spaces and electric charging points. There should be no underground parking. Cycle parking should also be provided and thought should be given to the overall pattern of travel and accessibility to the site. The parking should respect the landscaping scheme and not dominate the site

Preston Mosque Design Competition images / information received 250221 from the RIBA

Location: near Preston, Lancashire, north west England, UK

Preston Architecture

Contemporary Architecture in Lancashire – architectural selection below: Preston Buildings

Preston Bus Station Date built: 1969 Design: Building Design Partnership (BDP) photograph © Adrian Welch Preston Bus Station Building

Beautiful and Brutal: 50 Years in the life of Preston Bus Station Curator: Charles Quick Location: Harris Museum, Art Gallery & Library, Market Square, Preston, PR1 2PP, England photograph : Ian Clegg Preston Bus Station Birthday Exhibition Preston Bus Station is an internationally important piece of architecture that was built for everyday use by the people of Preston.

Brockholes Wetland and Woodland Nature Reserve Visitor Facilities, east of Preston Design: Adam Khan Architects Lancashire nature reserve

National Football Museum, Deepdale Design: OMI Architects National Football Museum Preston – the contents have now moved to Manchester’s Urbis building.

Avenham Park Pavilion Design: McChesney Architects Avenham Park Pavilion

Sika Liquid Plastics Limited Design: Frank Whittle Partnership Sika Liquid Plastics Preston

Preston Design Competitions

Preston Design Competition RIBA University of Central Lancashire in Preston Design Competition

Preston Office Building Competition Design: Moxon Architects Preston Office

Preston Housing Competition Preston Housing Competition

Park Houses Design: Ushida Findlay Architects and Holmes Partnership Preston Houses

Manchester Buildings image courtesy of architects office

Comments / images for the Preston Mosque Design Competition page welcome

Website: Architecture

The post Preston Mosque Design Competition, Lancashire appeared first on e-architect.

[jfarvin]

Psalm 103 With my whole heart, with my whole life, and with my innermost being, I bow in wonder and love before you, the holy God! 2 Yahweh, you are my soul’s celebration. How could I ever forget the miracles of kindness you’ve done for me? 3 You kissed my heart with forgiveness, in spite of all I’ve done.[a]You’ve healed me inside and out from every disease.4 You’ve rescued me from hell[b] and saved my life. You’ve crowned me with love and mercy.5 You satisfy my every desire with good things.[c]You’ve supercharged my life so that I soar again[d]like a flying eagle in the sky!6 You’re a God who makes things right, giving justice to the defenseless.7 You unveiled to Moses your plans and showed Israel’s sons what you could do.8 Lord, you’re so kind and tenderhearted o those who don’t deserve it[e]and so patient with people who fail you! Your love is like a flooding river overflowing its banks with kindness.[f]9 You don’t look at us only to find our faults,[g]just so that you can hold a grudge against us.10 You may discipline us for our many sins, but never as much as we really deserve. Nor do you get even with us for what we’ve done.11 Higher than the highest heavens—that’s how high your tender mercy extends! Greater than the grandeur of heaven above is the greatness of your loyal love, towering over all who fear you and bow down before you!12 Farther than from a sunrise to a sunset—that’s how far you’ve removed our guilt from us.13 The same way a loving father feels toward his children—that’s but a sample of your tender feelings toward us,[h]your beloved children, who live in awe of you.14 You know all about us, inside and out.[i]You are mindful that we’re made from dust.15 Our days are so few, and our momentary beauty[j]so swiftly fades away! 16 Then all of a sudden we’re gone, like grass clippings blown away in a gust of wind, taken away to our appointment with death, leaving nothing to show that we were here.17 But Lord, your endless love stretches from one eternity to the other, unbroken and unrelenting toward those who fear you and those who bow facedown in awe before you. Your faithfulness to keep every gracious promise you’ve made passes from parents, to children, to grandchildren, and beyond.18 You are faithful to all those who follow your ways and keep your word.19 God’s heavenly throne is eternal, secure, and strong, and his sovereignty rules the entire universe.20 So bless the Lord, all his messengers of power, for you are his mighty heroes who listen intently to the voice of his word to do it.21 Bless and praise the Lord, you mighty warriors, ministers who serve him well and fulfill his desires.22 I will bless and praise the Lord with my whole heart! Let all his works throughout the earth, wherever his dominion stretches, let everything bless the Lord! 

The same Jesus Who turned water into wine can transform your home, your life, your family, and your future. He is still in the miracle-working business, and His business is the business of transformation. Adrian Rogers

[reddieao3feed]

nightlights

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2OpwQcM

by LesbeanLatte

Sometimes, when Georgie got up to go to the bathroom or get a glass of water, he would hear Bill in his room crying and saying ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I should have saved you sooner. I should’ve protected you.’ Georgie didn’t know if Bill was talking about him or Beverly, but he knew Bill was talking about the Deadlights and the events of That Summer. Bill didn’t need to know how much Georgie remembered, or how it was as if a fragment of light from the deadlights were still inside of him, making him dream things like the blood-filled bathtub.

“It was just a dream,” he said out loud to the empty, dark, room.

‘Wrong,’ said a cruel little voice. ‘The Deadlights show you things, Georgie, all kinds of things. You know for sure some of them are true.’

*********

The summer after fourth-grade, the Losers Club defeated Pennywise and rescued Beverly and Georgie from IT, but being trapped in the Deadlights didn't leave Beverly or Georgie untouched. Now they have strange and terrifying gifts. After a series of horrifying visions, the Losers Club must face the possibility that IT is still out there and they may have to fight a battle against fate in order to all survive.

Words: 1251, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 4 of Six Different Ways Inside My Heart (The Losers Club after the first Battle)

Fandoms: IT - Stephen King, IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT (1990)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M

Characters: Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom, Stanley Uris, Mike Hanlon, Bill Denbrough, Georgie Denbrough, Kay McCall, Audra Phillips, Patricia Blum Uris, Adrian Mellon, Don Hagarty, Ricky Lee, Myra Kaspbrak, Bill Denbrough's Parents, Richie Tozier's Parents, Alvin Marsh, Sonia Kaspbrak, Henry Bowers, Oscar "Butch" Bowers, Will Hanlon

Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris, Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh/Kay McCall, Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips, The Losers Club - Relationship, Georgie Denbrough & The Losers Club, The Losers Club & Kay McCall (IT), The Losers Club & Audra Phillips, Eddie Kaspbrak & Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom & Eddie Kaspbrak, Bill Denbrough & Mike Hanlon, Bill Denbrough & Georgie Denbrough

Additional Tags: Fix-It of Sorts, Fix It, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Horror, Psychological Trauma, Childhood Trauma, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Universe, Canon Compliant, ish, not really but hear me out - I'm gonna deal with the whole mutliverse thing, Multiverse, here's how stan eddie georgie adrian all the kids & literally everyone can still be saved, The Turtle (IT) CAN Help Us, by god we gonna get these kids some therapy, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, this is like. horror & adventure but it's ME so there's still gonna be fluff because. again. it's ME, part of a series but no you don't have to read the other parts to understand, The Shining References, Stephen King Extended Universe (SKU), Time Travel Fix-It, Time Travel

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2OpwQcM

[sciencenewsforstudents]

Ice cream can be a cool treat on a warm day. But eat it too slowly and you could soon have a sticky mess on your hands. Researchers have searched for ways to slow ice cream’s melting. Now they report some success.

Tiny particles from the ground-up stems of banana plants can help a scoop of ice cream keep its shape longer, they report. The engineers presented their findings March 21 at a meeting of the American Chemical Society in New Orleans, La.

Ice cream is a complex mixture of fat droplets, water, sugar, air bubbles and ice. All of these ingredients can affect how quickly or slowly ice cream melts, explains Jorge Velásquez Cock. He’s a chemical engineer and graduate student at Pontifical Bolivarian University in Medellín, Colombia. There, he uses chemistry to improve the texture and taste of ice cream.

Fat is especially important. The number of fat droplets in ice cream helps determine how quickly it will start to drip. Lower fat recipes will lead to ice cream with fewer fat droplets. These ice creams tend to “collapse” into a drippy mess faster than higher-fat versions. Fat droplets create obstacles for water to move around as the ice crystals melt, Velásquez Cock explains. That “increases the viscosity of the mixture,” he notes. Viscosity is a measure of how easily a liquid flows. Liquids with high viscosity (such as ketchup) flow more slowly than those with a low viscosity (such as water).

But on a warm day, even high-fat ice creams can turn soupy in minutes. Velásquez Cock suspected some new ingredient might extend how long your ice cream remains firm. And to find it, he turned to the garbage can.

Thickening the mix

Velásquez Cock lives near a banana-growing region of Colombia, a nation in South America. Bananas grow in bunches from towering plants that look like trees. A thick stalk attaches each banana bunch to the plant’s trunk. Banana growers consider these woody stalks as garbage.

Finding ways to recycle banana wastes has been part of Velásquez Cock’s research. The stalks are rich in cellulose. It’s a molecule that helps make plant cells stiff. Indeed, wood pulp is a major source of cellulose. That chemical is what makes tree branches and stems so strong.

Cellulose has many uses outside of plants. It’s an ingredient in paper, cellophane and certain types of fabric. It’s also used in some foods. Cellulose molecules stretch out and take up more space as they dissolve in water. This allows them to increase the thickness or viscosity of a liquid. That’s why food scientists sometimes add cellulose to sauces or salad dressings — it can impart a thick, creamy texture.

Scientists extracted tiny plant fibers from a part of the banana stem (red circle) called the rachis. CREDIT: Adrian Pingstone/Wikimedia Commons, adapted by L. Steenblik Hwang

Velásquez Cock wanted to test whether cellulose from banana stalks might help keep ice cream from turning soupy. He used a special machine to extract tiny bits of cellulose from ground-up banana stalks. The width of each piece was less than a thousandth the width of a human hair.

For the next step, Velásquez Cock worked with his advisor, Robin Zuluaga Gallego, and with Douglas Goff, a food scientist at the University of Guelph in Canada. The trio added the banana plant bits to ice creams with differing amounts of fat. Then they compared how fast the ice creams melted. Those with cellulose held their shape longer than ice creams without the particles. And among those with cellulose, fat content seemed to greatly affect melt rate.

Most ice cream is about 10 percent fat, by weight. (Low-fat ice creams may have just half as much; rich ice creams may contain around 15 percent fat.) “We saw the biggest differences with the normal fat ice cream,” says Velásquez Cock. Adding cellulose particles at 20° Celsius (68° Fahrenheit) increased by 20 minutes the time it took 120 milliliters (about a half cup) of normal-fat ice cream to start melting. The researchers performed the experiments in a closed chamber with no air movement. Just to be clear, that’s not like leaving it on a countertop. Under these artificial conditions, it usually takes that much ice cream a little more than two hours to turn completely liquid, Velásquez Cock notes. In the real world, “Air currents or wind can affect melting behavior in unaccounted ways,” he points out.

Like all ice cream, the new creation did eventually melt into a soupy puddle. But the added cellulose, he says, meant “you can enjoy a little bit longer.”

[esoteric-codes]

Interview with Winnie Soon

Winnie Soon is an artist-researcher whose works intersect media/computational art, software studies, cultural studies and code practice. She has been awarded the Top-Ranked LABS Abstracts 2017 by Leonardo and the Winner of The 2018 Aarhus University Research Foundation PhD award with the thesis titled “Executing Liveness: An examination of code inter-actions in software (art) practice”. Artistically, she has received the Expanded Media Award for Network Culture at Stuttgarter Filmwinter — Festival for Expanded Media, WRO 2019 Media Art Biennale Award and Public Library Prize for Electronic Literature (short-listed), Literature in Digital Transformation in 2019. She is a member of the Critical Software Thing Collective, co-founder of NN Cluster at Aarhus University, senior research affiliate of the Humanities and Critical Code Studies Lab, Information Architect and advisor of A Peer-Reviewed Journal About. Currently, she is Assistant Professor at the Department of Digital Design and Information Studies, teaching Aesthetic Programming and Digital Culture.

» What first drew you to critical code studies and to making work where humans are "not the sole actors"?

Although I have been working with software and programming for a fairly long time (since my high school study), I haven’t really paid attention to the idea of authorship, and more just considered software as a supporting and technical tool to actualise my idea in the past. Not until I was introduced to the field called software studies in my Master study and started to think deeper with and through software, in which writing, reading and executing code actually inform my creative processes and conceptual thinking. The classic book Software Studies: A Lexicon opens up my thinking about the in-between technical, culture and art by unpacking keywords yet are technical terms at the same time e.g interface, algorithm, class. I was truly inspired by reading this in 2008, in which code or technical elements can be studied differently.  

Besides, some of my artworks are made through programming. It is the practice of coding that provides insight for my on-going interest in the invisibility and liveness of software and infrastructure. This article “The aesthetics of generative code,” which is written by Geoff Cox, Alex McLean and Adrian Ward in 2001, is especially influential, calling for a deeper understanding of how machines and code sense differently, and to think about code and the resultant actions together, but not in separation, that constitute an aesthetic experience. Last but not least, code can be thought differently beyond the technical and functional applications, such as code poetry that is illustrated in the article. I found all these just open up my mind in thinking about code critically and aesthetically.

During my PhD study, I was also drawn into Critical Code Studies which emerged at the University of Southern California, the HaCCS Lab. Their approach to code has a reference to literary studies, exploring computer source code as text for interpretation. Source code becomes a key object of study and research, exploring rhetoric, material history, linguistics, politics, culture of code and many other aspects. This gives me another way of seeing code as material for inquiry, investigation and research.  

» Tell me about the "throbber," the symbol appearing on the cover of your dissertation (and as a Processing sketch). It seems almost a personal totem embodying issues of liveness and the buffering of the digital present.

In the past four years, I have been thinking about the iconic symbol in our contemporary culture called Throbber, and it is especially seen when we are loading webpages, waiting for social media feeds, streaming movies, etc. It is presented as a spinning icon and perceived as repeatedly spinning under a constant speed as well as hinting at invisible background activities for an indeterminate and unforeseeable timespan. I have been interested in how this icon obscures our conception of time and especially the thinking around ‘nowness' that is embedded with unknowable and invisible computational processes and infrastructure. This graphical icon serves as an interface for me to think about machine and micro-time and extends to a more planetary scale of time.

With the processing sketch in my dissertation, that is the source code as well as the book cover, I want to exemplify the way of how I inquire time, which is through reading, writing and executing code. The throbber symbol appears on the cover of my dissertation is actually part of my project called "Throb" http://siusoon.net/throb/ that utilizes four different keyboard characters —, \, |, / with a reference to the loading icon in Unix operating system that operates in an animated and clockwise direction. It is manifested as an installation and a screensaver that can be freely downloaded.

I used this icon as my central focus in one of the chapters, investigating the associated micro-temporal activities that are related to critical time decisions, such as digital signal processing, packet switching, buffering and the drop frames with glitches and/or jitters phenomena to illustrate the time-critical processes and parameters in technological infrastructure, and how our perception of ’nowness’ is constantly changing.

READ MORE...

[chalabrun]

after so long (trephacard)

 @oddsandendsandeverythingbetween requested: How about a reincarnation AU where Alucard repairs the Belmont/Dracula manor and just sulks for centuries after Trevor and Sypha pass away only to have these two college punks barge into his castle one day because they dared each other to go in and see if it’s really haunted. As expected, chaos ensues 

Warning(s): G, none

Syfa Velnumdes was known for a lot of things, but keeping her boyfriend, Ralph C. Belmondo, in check wasn’t one of them. University students from Bucharest like they were, of all the things they’d expected on their trip to provincial Sibiu, coming across a Gothic style castle in the countryside wasn’t one of them.

It was a thing built improbably, built upside down almost in the way it spanned and configured like a Cat’s Crade in the sky. Honestly, she and Ralph simply weren’t sure. The reason they’d come at all was his distant connection to the Belmonts that ruled the Belmont Estate still in splendid condition half an eon later. It blotted high against the lowing twilight, and the forest was devoid of birdsong usually present this time in spring. Syfa’s brows furrowed and she flashed a look towards Ralph, the brunet regarding it quizzically, inverted thing that it was.

“What do you think? Do you really think we should go in? I thought you wanted to concentrate your thesis on the Belmont Estate, Ralph,” Syfa said over her shoulder as she craned to look at him. One thing they had in common was a connection to the Belmont and Belnade Clans, something unprecedented, but very cool—she thought so, as a history major. Masters to be, at least.

Ralph stood beside her and pocketed his hands casually. “I think a better question is, why not? This castle could be important to my family’s history and we’ll never know if we don’t try. Nothing gained, nothing lost, right?”

Syfa cast a smile at him. “Oh, alright. And here I’m usually the one you have to caution against these things.” It seemed they were largely in agreement. 

Genya Arikado didn’t think he would have returned all these years later. A secret agent of the Japanese government, he didn’t really have reason to be. But when his superiors had offered him the chance to pursue some black hat hacker coincidentally based in Romania that had narrowly compromised their network just a month later, he’d taken them up on it.

He walked these lonesome before, back when he’d been Adrian Tepes—and that had just been at the turn of the century some twenty years ago. The library didn’t recognize his black hair or his pressed suit, or the way he walked with a modern, catlike saunter as he stalked the halls only a practiced agent could. Genya thought he could’ve waited, he did. That his lovers and their shared family would somehow last forever until, one night it didn’t. That he received word of their demise and suddenly his grief cut sharply as stone. He’d slept until the late 1700’s he was so aggrieved, only to defeat his father again and again, and sleep again.

He wondered what his friend, Soma Cruz, would think if he knew who he really was.

But, he couldn’t exactly tell Yoko Belnades, his associate, that he was here, could he? It felt like too much of a revelation, too much of tearing off old wounds he thought had scabbed and scarred and long since healed, but just a sharp enough pinch and they could easily bleed again.

“Ralph, what are you doing? If you’re not careful something could collapse in on us!”

No…it couldn’t be, could it?

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Syfa? Besides, it’s not like this place is zoned off. Does it look like some bloody museum to you? If it’s haunted, we’ll be the first to know.”

His heart lurched. God above, it was.

Remembering a complex system of mirrors he’d set up some centuries ago, he activated one closest in the proximity of where the voices emanated and angled it just so. They were a spitting image of Trevor and Sypha, a fact that made his heart pound into his throat. Genya pinched the bridge of his nose, willing that old grief for his lovers to subside. No matter how alike they looked, he had to prevent them from finding out.

From finding him. He’d already lost more than he could handle and phantoms of the past were those he couldn’t suffer. Not anymore.

Sighing deeply, he retreated into the shadows. Hopefully, this wouldn’t take long.

“What was that?” Syfa demanded in alarm as she flashed the flashlight over what appeared to be a procession of statuesque gargoyles, their eyes glinting red whenever the light traveled directly over them.

“Your paranoia by the looks of it,” Ralph replied jokingly, only to be swatted at by Syfa who wasn’t having it. “Hey!”

Syfa dashed the flashlight to another corner. “Ralph, there it is again! I’m sure of it!”

Ralph squinted, unconvinced. “This place is old and hasn’t been touched in ages. It could just be your— What the hell was that?!” He saw it, he fucking saw it! Not only a massive streak of white but glaring red eyes to accompany it. That of a voracious, hungry predator.

Both stood in paralyzed shock as a great white wolf emerged from the shadows like the moon from cloud cover. At its shoulder it easily stood at Ralph’s height if not taller, a growing blot of terror forming in her throat. The wolf growled as it advanced upon them, stalking with such deliberation that every step back for them was two for it.

Poised on its haunches, the wolf was prepared to strike before something seemed to stop it. Syfa took a foolishly intrepid step forth, Ralph shouting at her to back away. Except, she couldn’t. It was like something kept her transfixed on the spot.

Syfa’s hand extended and tears began to form in her eyes, disarming the wolf whose snarl fell and its shock registered in the whites of its eyes, too. “Why do I feel like I know you? Why does my heart ache to look at you?” she thought aloud, the wolf’s defensive stance seeming to dissolve away like their fear. She was almost poised to touch its snout before Ralph seized her hand.

“Syfa, we have to leave, now!”

“Huh?” was all she could muster as Ralph led them in a headlong dash down through the grand foyer and out the entrance, through the dismal night that swallowed them up again. Ralph never looked back while Syfa kept throwing looks over her shoulder at the wolf.

“Ralph, did I just imagine that?” she asked him once they were safely away and deep in the woods, on the hiker’s trail, in stunned silence moments later.

The brunet looked troubled, eyebrows furrowing. “No, you didn’t. It was like the wolf was familiar, somehow. Did you feel it? Grief instead of fear?”

“Yeah, but I don’t understand. I’ve never been here in my life.”

“Neither have I,” Ralph agreed, folding his arms at the looming shadow.

“…Let’s get back to the hotel. I don’t want to be out here any longer than we have to be.”

“Agreed. Strangely familiar wolves, included.”

[haberdashing]

Spider-Void: Tragic Backstory

Exactly what it says on the tin. (Don’t say I didn’t warn you.)

on AO3

A Beginning / on AO3

Adaptation / on AO3

Note: This chapter includes a detailed account of a fictional mass shooting incident. If that may be a problem for you, I would recommend that you skip this chapter.

Adrian didn’t have too many options when it came to sharing information about their newfound superpowers with people.

They had lost track of all their friends from high school and college, which Adrian liked to think was for a number of complicated reasons, but really, in the end, it all boiled down to them not putting in the effort to maintain those relationships, and one by one their old friends stopped reaching out to them in turn.

They had some friends on the Internet, which was great- really, it was great, they were great- but they were hesitant to talk about something so big with those friends, unsure how much their Internet friends could help from states or countries or continents away, worried that one way or another anything they said on the Internet would get shared and traced back to them.

Their extended family had basically turned their backs on them entirely the moment they came out as agender, which, honestly, fuck them. If they couldn’t accept Adrian for who they really were, then who gave a shit about them, really?

(Adrian tried not to think about how they had been so close to a number of those same relatives during their childhood and adolescence, about exactly how many budding familial relationships had been completely and utterly destroyed by one uncomfortable truth.)

Adrian was an only child, so there were no siblings for them to reach out to or lean on in this time of need.

And their mother wasn’t around anymore. She had died in a car accident when Adrian was fourteen. It wasn’t pretty. (Even after years of therapy, Adrian still had never been able to bring themself to get behind the wheel. Which, they supposed, was now suddenly a non-issue. One small upside there.)

Which left... their father.

Their father, who Adrian’s phone showed was calling them now, a little over a week after their unexpected overnight transformation.

Adrian hesitated for a moment before taking the phone call.

“Adrian?”

Adrian let out a soft laugh, and then wondered as their laughter faded if their voice had always sounded so high-pitched and childish.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“I just thought I’d check up on you. It’s been a while, you know.” Adrian’s father didn’t say that he wished Adrian had thought to call him rather than vice versa. Adrian’s father didn’t have to say it; Adrian knew just the same.

“I know, I’m sorry, I’ve just been caught up with work.” Not a lie, exactly. They weren’t good with lies, and they certainly knew better than to try lying to their father, who might as well have been a living lie detector. But they had been caught up with work, had buried themself in projects so they had something on their mind besides the whole superpower transformation weirdness, and thus minutes had turned to days with them barely noticing.

“My dear child, always the busy little worker bee.”

Adrian couldn’t quite tell if that was sarcasm on their father’s part.

“I’ve been busy too, actually,” he continued. “I’ve been working a big case the last few weeks, but it finally wrapped up today.”

“Uh, that’s good, I guess.”

Adrian knew what their father was going to request before the words could leave his lips.

“Hey, Adrian, can we meet up after I finish work tonight?”

Knowing in advance didn’t make the blow any softer.

Because Adrian wanted to meet their father, they really did, but...

But going out like this wasn’t an option.

And meeting their father like this definitely wasn’t an option.

“Uh, I don’t know...”

“Come on, it’ll be fun! We can go to that cafe you like so much, the one with the chocolate croissants, I always forget the name-”

“Cafe Amito.” Adrian answered reflexively.

“That’s the one! I’ll swing by around six, get two croissants- one for me, one for you- and you can drop by when you finish up with your work, how about it?”

“Uh.” The silence hung in the air uncomfortably, almost tangibly. “I’m not sure if I can-”

That was a lie, of course. They were sure. Sure that they couldn’t meet up, as much as they wished they could.

“Sure you can! Aren’t you always saying how flexible your work schedule is? Can’t you make a little room in it for your dear old dad?”

Adrian’s insides tensed up. “It’s not that, it’s just, uh, well, it’s complicated- wait, aren’t you supposed to be cutting back on your sugar?”

Their father laughed a little. “You’re right, I am. I guess you’d better get there before I eat your croissant, too, then.”

“Wait, Dad, I-”

“See you there!”

Click.

Adrian let out a long sigh as they stared at their phone, the call over, hoping that their relationship with their father wasn’t over along with it.

As they sat there and stared, however, they began to form an idea.

They couldn’t actually meet their father at the cafe, but maybe, if they did everything just right, they would get the chance to see him all the same.

Adrian pulled together an outfit made entirely of black clothing, including that ski mask they’d bought on a whim months ago and never actually wore, even in the depths of winter. Their skin blended in with their clothing, making their appearance look significantly less, well, freakish. Good. Between the black clothing and the evening sky growing darker and darker, maybe nobody would give them a second look.

Next, they opened one of their windows.

And looked down.

And gulped.

Part of them suspected that this wasn’t actually that good of a plan after all; part of them was determined to follow through with it nonetheless.

And sure, their spider webbing had held out firmly enough when they were swinging from room to room earlier.

But it was one thing to jump into the air and swing from the top of a doorframe, and it was an entirely different thing to jump from their fourth-story apartment and hope that they would manage to swing to safety before hitting the ground.

They thought about what a bad idea this whole plan was.

They wondered if they could stick to the side of their apartment building like they had stuck to their ceiling before, if that might be a way to save themself if their webbing failed them.

They were pretty sure that even if that didn’t pan out, either, falling four stories wouldn’t kill them. Probably. And hey, they had super-healing, right? What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and all that?

They closed their eyes and let out a long breath before jumping.

They looked at the closest building that wasn’t their own and focused really, really hard on getting their spider webbing to shoot out towards it.

And so it did.

Their heart raced as they spun web after web and flew from skyscraper to skyscraper, moving fast enough that they never came too close to hitting the ground. Their arms were shaking. Their adrenaline was racing. Their legs felt a little weak and their stomach was a bit queasy and they were sweating bullets- wearing all black in the dead of summer, while necessary under the circumstances, wasn’t exactly the best choice when it came to beating the heat- but they felt strangely alive in a way they couldn’t remember feeling before.

Luckily, Cafe Amito was a straight shot from their apartment building, only a few short blocks away. (The part of Adrian that hadn’t completely freaked out by this point was quietly glad that they wouldn’t have to figure out how to navigate turns; web-slinging from building to building was hard enough as it was.) Adrian started directing their webs further and further up as they approached the cafe before climbing onto an adjacent rooftop and staring down at the cafe below.

They couldn’t really see that much from all the way up there. Adrian considered testing their theory about clinging to the sides of buildings as a way to get closer to the cafe, but even though they were pretty sure by now that they could web themself to safety if they failed, a person standing on the side of a building without falling seemed like the sort of thing that might get people’s attention, and the last thing they wanted to do right now was draw attention to their presence.

But even though they couldn’t see too many details from the top of the nearest building, they could still tell that, a few minutes before six, their father dutifully sat himself down at one of Cafe Amito’s outside tables. He was wearing that one brown striped suit that he’d owned ever since Adrian could remember, one that Adrian sometimes gently teased him about, saying how old it was or how it didn’t flatter him.

Adrian couldn’t tell from this high up if the plate their father had put on the table held croissants, let alone whether there were one or two sitting there.

For a brief moment, Adrian thought of how some scientists would say that their world was just one of a great number of universes in existence. Adrian wondered if, in one of those other universes, they were sitting down there right now, teasing their father about that old striped suit in between bites of chocolate croissant.

They stood there for a few long minutes, watching their father sit outside waiting in vain for their arrival, but soon enough, they decided to turn back and head home. Watching their father from afar wasn’t really accomplishing anything; all it did was make them miss him all the more, made them feel that much further from him, the distance between them vast and overwhelming even though he was just a building over and a few dozen stories beneath their feet.

After they got home, they took a moment to catch their breath, took off most of their too-hot clothes (that ski mask was positively filthy now, and practically dripping with sweat, sticky to the touch as they pulled it off of their face), and sat back down next to their computer and went back to work as if nothing had happened. In a way, perhaps nothing had happened, really.

But then one of their Internet friends pulled their attention away from their work.

Adrian, are you okay?

Adrian stared at the words on the screen, blinking a few times, as if that would answer the half-formed questions in their head for them.

Yeah, I’m okay.

After a moment’s consideration, Adrian sent another message.

Why? Did something happen?

Their friend responded almost immediately.

You didn’t hear?

Adrian’s hands were shaking as they typed their response, but this time, it wasn’t because of an adrenaline rush.

I guess not. Hear what?

The seconds seemed to go by so slowly, time trickling by as their friend typed up their response.

Someone shot up a cafe in New York. A couple people died, a few more are in the hospital now... I’m glad to hear that you’re safe and sound, at least.

Oh.

Oh shit.

It didn’t take them long to connect the dots, even though the logical part of them was screaming that there had to be thousands of cafes in New York, that the odds of the one in question being Cafe Amito were slim to none, that they were jumping to conclusions as recklessly as they had jumped from their apartment building not too long ago...

But it seemed that today, at least, luck wasn’t on their side.

One glance at Twitter revealed that #CafeAmito was trending. (As was #NewYorkStrong, and #ThoughtsAndPrayers, and half a dozen other hashtags related to the shooting besides.)

Adrian looked to the news articles and scanned them for references to the victims, hoping against hope that they wouldn’t see their father’s name among them, that he had left before the bloodshed started, that this tragedy would be just another senseless shooting that happened to take place in their hometown, rather than... than...

The victims included Savannah Connor, the gap-toothed blonde second-grader who loved math and unicorns and the color yellow and would never grow up to be a doctor as she had dreamed of doing. And Mr. and Mrs. Park, newlyweds on their honeymoon, exploring New York City together for the first time; Mr. Park was killed in the shooting, while Mrs. Park was still fighting for her life from a hospital bed. And Daniel “Danny” Riley, his middle school’s star quarterback, who survived the shooting, but was told by doctors that he would never walk again. And Jackson Hunt, a bright young man who survived a childhood bout with leukemia and was headed to MIT in the fall for a degree in Computer Science, who had been injured by the first bullet that hit him and killed by the second.

And Anthony “Tony” Ragno, a local attorney and widower, who had been pronounced dead on arrival at the nearest hospital, and whose adult child, not present at the shooting, could not be reached for comment.

Tony was one of the first to be shot and killed on the scene, Adrian read on as they fought off tears. The gunman had pointed his gun at Savannah Connor, and Tony Ragno had gotten up from his seat and tried to wrestle the gun away from the shooter before little Savannah could get hurt.

It had almost worked, too.

Almost.

(None of the news articles made any mention of whether Tony Ragno had been eating a chocolate croissant at the time.)

As they read article after article, they learned not only about the victims of the Cafe Amito shooting but about its instigator. Some part of Adrian knew, from the moment that they read the shooter’s name, that they would never be able to forget it for as long as they lived. They saw pictures of him smiling at his college graduation, saw a less-flattering mugshot from when he had been taken into custody a few months prior for a domestic violence charge that never got prosecuted. They learned that he had lost his job two weeks beforehand, and that he had been living with his girlfriend, who he had shot and killed in their shared apartment before heading to Cafe Amito. Nobody had a good answer for why he had chosen Cafe Amito as the site of so much violence, and it seemed likely that nobody would ever know the truth, as the gunman had shot himself in the head as the police were closing in on him, choosing death over a probable lifetime of imprisonment.

Adrian turned their phone on silent and let it ring and ring and ring, let the missed calls pile up and their voicemail inbox fill without giving it so much as a second glance. They checked their Facebook early the next morning and decided to delete their account altogether rather than dealing with the outpouring of messages directed their way.

Adrian couldn’t go to their father’s funeral, much as they wanted to be there, much as they wanted to get the kind of closure that that might bring. But their relatives (who had consistently misgendered and deadnamed them in interviews with the press, to the point where half the news outlets were referring to them by their deadname, even though they had been officially named Adrian for over four years now, thank you very much) already thought they were a freak, and they weren’t going to show up with pitch-black skin and prove them right.

They sent flowers, though.

Actually, they sent flowers to all the victims of the Cafe Amito shooting, sent a large arrangement of spider lilies to the living and the dead alike, to funeral beds and to hospital rooms. The bouquets were all sent anonymously, with a note that read simply, You deserved better.

Adrian knew, logically, that the shooting wasn’t really their fault, that this blood wasn’t on their hands. But they also knew that they had superpowers, that they had been near Cafe Amito only a few short minutes before the shooting began, and some part of them couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, if they had stuck around, if they had joined their father at the cafe after all... maybe they could have prevented it.

But they would never really know for sure, they supposed.

That wasn’t the universe they were living in. That wasn’t the way things had played out. Anything else was nothing more than baseless speculation.

That’s what they tried to tell themself, anyway.

Cafe Amito hadn’t accepted orders for delivery before the shooting, but a lot had changed since then, and when they were facing bankruptcy and received a sizable anonymous donation requesting that they do deliveries, well, the cafe’s owner wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The majority of orders were still placed by people wanting to eat in or around the cafe itself, but they gained a fair amount of delivery customers as well once the option was available. Most were one-off orders, but soon enough they developed a handful of regular customers who, for one reason or another, preferred to have the cafe’s food delivered to them.

One of those regulars lived in a fourth-floor apartment only a few blocks down the street from Cafe Amito, who once a month, like clockwork, would place an order for two chocolate croissants, to be delivered right to their door.

[throughtheglassdarkly]

Roadblocks, part 1

“Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don’t give up.” – Anne Lamott

Hey, you’re back. Welcome to hell.

So, after Pam got the note from Cassi, we all settled into our usual routine for a couple of days, but all of us were on edge. Bella ended up going back to work but asked us for some space. I started doing a little digging into some questions I had about what happened after I was taken. The others focused on getting their own projects done.

Our next big adventure started on an otherwise lazy Sunday morning. After the blowup with Day’s and Bella’s Fetches and hearing from Yova how her Fetch went bonkers, I realized I couldn’t ignore my Fetch anymore and I needed to track it down. My Facebook page gave me a few hints. Before I was taken, I had posts set to private, but check-ins and some photos were public. My Fetch hadn’t changed the security settings, so I was able to see that it was still doing things. I figured the best way to look for it was to simply re-trace my steps and go to the places I used to go before I was taken.

I ended up striking gold at my old apartment building. I was waiting around for about twenty minutes, trying to see some sign of life (the fading “O’NEILL, D.” sticker next to the buzzer at least let me know it hadn’t moved on) and was about to give up, when I saw it coming down the street carrying a couple bags of groceries. As it got up to the front of the building, it dropped its keys and sighed, kneeling down to pick them up. I steeled myself and stepped up, asking, “Need some help?”

It looked up at me and its eyes went about as wide as I’ve ever seen. Looking down at it was – unnerving. It was just like looking at myself before I was taken. A couple of years older, but the same messy hair, same beard growth, even the same glasses. The feeling passed after a moment, but for a second it was like I was questioning who I was. The Fetch started freaking out, trying to grab its keys and telling me it didn’t want any trouble.

I let out a sigh and reached out, jiggling the doorknob to the front door of the building in the way it used to let you open it even if you forgot your keys and propped the door for the Fetch. It looked wary but picked up its groceries and stepped inside. “Thanks,” it said, still looking like it was going to bolt at any second. “So why are you here?” I shrugged and said, “I got back. Wanted to see what was going on. If you were still here.” It shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “Well, I’m here,” it said. “You still doing data entry?” I asked. “Yeah,” it said. There was a minute of silence. I exhaled and asked the question I didn’t really want the answer to: “Let me guess, mom and dad haven’t reached out to you at all, have they?” It paused for a second and said, “No. And I feel like I should be pissed about that… but I’m really not.”

I didn’t know how to react to that. I haven’t told you a lot about my life before I got taken, but cliffs’ notes version is that my entire extended family is blue-collar Catholic mill workers and my folks didn’t react well at all when I came out. Not in the “Get out, we’re never talking to you again” routine, but in some ways that would have been easier. They just had a blow up and then refused to ever acknowledge it again. And over time, that turned into not really acknowledging me at all. When I learned that they hadn’t tried to contact me for the entire two and a half years I’d been gone, it… felt like something broke. Like it was just more confirmation that they really hadn’t cared about me at all. They didn’t even notice I was gone because they’d barely even noticed I was there.

My Fetch was waiting for me to say and do something, so I shook my head and told it that it could have my life, that I didn’t want it back. It slammed the door to my old apartment and I heard the deadbolt turn. I turned and started walking off. As I did, I saw a sleek red Mustang across the street, definitely a car that was out of place in my old neighborhood, with a driver wearing a scarf over her head and giant sunglasses, but she drove off before I could get a good look at her. My hands were shaking, so I put them in my hoodie pockets and just kept heading away.

While this was going on, Day was fixing up his office. He’d gotten a new ID and name, Lance Wilde, which I’d helpfully pointed out was also the name of several fine performers in man-on-man pornographic features. His office was nicely decorated, courtesy of Yova, but he’d been having trouble getting clients to come in. He heard a knock at the door and opened it to see Brenda standing there with some coffee. They had banter about his terrible new name and how she’d make a good wife someday. She ribbed him about not having any clients and he said, “Hey, it’s gonna happen! I just need a few high-profile clients!” “High-profile clients. In Albany,” she deadpanned.

It turned out that Brenda hadn’t just stopped by to give him a coffee – Bella’s parents were in town from Chicago and they’d filed a missing persons report. “They say she’s been missing for something like a few days now,” she said. Day took in a deep breath and said, “Oh, shit. That’s a big problem.” Brenda told him that she couldn’t dissuade them from looking for their kid, and that they were not going to just go away.

“Can’t we fake it by sending a note or something, make it look like she’s okay but going to be away for a while?” Day asked. Brenda scoffed and said, “You haven’t met her parents. And there were at least three siblings waiting outside while I was talking to them.” “Man, when things go wrong,” Day said, downing his coffee. Brenda said that she had to go to work and he asked if she wouldn’t mind going out to breakfast with him. “Do you actually want me to hang out with you?” she asked. He scoffed but admitted he missed their banter and she agreed to go get a breakfast sandwich with him. “Yes! You’re paying, right?” he asked. “Dude, I still have your tab from before you got grabbed,” she kvetched as they headed out.

Bella and Yova were having quiet mornings. Bella was at work, selling crystals, sage, and delicate hand-blown glass pieces that were totally not bongs to anyone who was stopping in. Yova was in DIY mode, hunched over her sewing machine and making a very fancy outfit for the upcoming Winter Formal. (She’d shown me some sketches and I told her that Marigold was going to be completely swept off her feet.) Both of them, however, were about to have things turned completely upside down, as were Day and I. And who was responsible for this? Dear, sweet, I-don’t-wanna-be-a-bother Pam.

Pam was having a rare lazy morning, sleeping in well past the time she’d set her alarm for. Changelings have pretty much near-control over our dreams: we can make them just how we want them to be, featuring anyone and anything we want in them. Pam was dreaming about the wonders of space, sitting and watching the stars and the expanse of the universe, while sipping a nice apple cider that maybe had just a touch of brandy in it. And that’s when the trouble started.

As Pam was enjoying her stargazing, she felt a ripple in the air and suddenly saw mossy greens growing up into her dreamscape. The path of stars she was sitting on became a forest floor and the comets started to become vines. She saw a small figure walking ahead, looking confused and walking around. Pam stood and walked toward the figure, closing the distance a lot quicker than she should have been able to, and greeting whoever it was. The hood the figure had on fell back and Pam saw Cassi, an absolute shit-eating grin on her face. “Oh, my God, I can’t believe that actually worked!” she said.

Pam gave Cassi a huge hug and told her how good it was to see her. Cassi squeezed back and said, “You would not believe the crap that’s been going down. There’s not a lot of time to explain, I don’t know how much time I’ve got here. Crap, where do I start? Quick, ask me a question.” Pam was a little startled, but asked, “How’s everyone doing?” “I’m fine, I think Adrian and Luca are fine, Belle’s probably not fine, but she’s never really been fine, so that’s not new. But yeah. Amberleigh’s still a bitch and everybody else is just trying to keep her happy, as far as I know. It’s been a while since I’ve been at the keep.”

“And you said you’re working on getting out, right?” Pam asked. “Yeah, actually, that’s a work in progress,” Cassi told her. “It’s more I’m trying to bust them out. When you guys left, Amberleigh went, like, shit hit the actual fan and she wasn’t too happy about us letting you guys go. I managed to get away, but she’s got the others locked up somewhere. I don’t know. I can’t get in, they shut off that cave entrance. There’s not a lot in the way of safeness for one changeling in the whole of Arcadia. So, I’m working on it.”

“And how did you find out about your dad?” Pam asked. “Well, I’m not exactly good at getting things in, but Adrian’s good at getting things out,” Cassi said with a sly smile. “He finds a way. I don’t know how he finds me – well, that’s not true, psychic, but that’s not important – the thing is I need help.” Pam promised to help and asked her what she needed. “I need people here. I need some sort of allies or tools or something to be able to get back in, but I don’t want – I can’t actually get back here if I leave. It’s weird, like only the fae know how to get back to Arcadia. Or only the people they let know. So, any way you guys can try to get back here would be great.”

Pam thought for a second and said, “I think Yova might know something about this.” She told Cassi about the Summer Court and its ideals, which Cassi thought was awesome. “But I don’t have a lot of time. I bought this dream teleporter thing off some weird guy and it’s probably going to blow up if I use it too much.” She told Pam to tell the rest of us she missed us and that when we got in, she was hiding near the border between Scáthach’s and Lamashtu’s territory. “Amberleigh’s been doing what Scáthach did, trying to snap up whatever she can. She’s actually doing a lot better job of it than Scáthach ever did.” With that, she vanished.

While Pam was dreaming a little dream of Cassi, Yova got a text from Marigold, asking her if Brenda was free for the interview she was hoping for that day. She signed off as she always did, “Best regards, Marigold.” Yova cooed a little over that, then told Marigold she would check in with Brenda. She called Brenda, who was halfway through Day eating the restaurant they were in out of house and home. Brenda told Yova that she could meet Marigold around dinnertime because she had a long shift ahead of her.

While Yova was on the phone with Pam, Pam sent out a group chat message to all of us, giving us the skinny on what her dream had been about. I was a few blocks away from my old apartment when I felt my phone buzz, pulled it out and stopped dead in my tracks, my head feathers sticking up and out in every direction. Day got the message and swallowed a sausage roll whole, making his way over to Pam’s quickly. Yova grabbed her work clothes and sped over in her new car (RIP her crappy Jeep, which met an ignoble end after it wouldn’t start in the Arby’s parking lot). I decided to run, burning up the pavement as fast as I could go. Day saw me coming down the street and started saying, “Hold up there, I don’t see a coyote.” I was in no mood, so I just kept going straight at him and jumped with all my force, barely clearing his head and continuing on up to Pam’s door. Yova pulled up just after this. Day seemed nonplussed.

You might notice that there’s one of us who didn’t react much to what was going on. Bella was at work and just kept going about her business, not responding to Pam’s text. It wasn’t long after this that she heard the bell chime and saw two uniformed police officers come in. Trying to play it cool, she said, “Oh, welcome! Can I offer you something from our selection of frankincense or sage? They’re very good at warding off malevolent spirits.” The cops looked like they wanted to say something snarky, but one of them said they wanted to talk to her about a missing person. Around this time, Professor Fauxlawney came in and asked what was going on. The cops filled her in and Fauxlawney asked Bella on the DL if she needed an immigration lawyer. Bella managed to keep from punching her in the face, suggesting that she spread some lavender. One of the cops asked Bella if she would be willing to come down to the precinct to answer some questions about a missing person she resembled. She agreed to go if they would let her call “her roommate.” She dialed Day’s number.

Back at Pam’s apartment, she was finishing up telling those of us who made it over what Cassi had told her. I would really love to say that I was keeping calm and collected, but I’d needed a paper bag to breathe in and out of since about halfway through her story. Yova and Day both came up with the idea of going to the Summer Court and asking them for help, though Yova also pointed out that Aurora could be a way to get back into Arcadia, and that we had the list of locations Buck had provided us about where she might be. Day’s phone rang and he got the call from Bella, who was trying to let him know how much shit was about to hit the fan. He got her to describe the cops and realized he knew one of them from his time on the force. “Okay, listen to me. You are obviously not who they are looking for, so just go along with them and we’ll figure some way to get you out of this,” he told her. They hung up and she agreed to go along with the cops. We all piled into Yova’s car and drove off to the station, putting a pin in our rescue planning for the moment.

On the way over to the station, the cops were trying to talk to Bella about who she was with the usual gentle coaxing they do to try and convince you that you aren’t in trouble. She managed to stay clammed up the entire time, so they just escorted her inside. And then the trouble started.

Bella saw her oldest brother, Antonio, arguing very heavily with one of the beat cops. And Bella, beautiful idiot that she is, immediately cracked. She called out to him and he ran over, scooped her up, and gave her a huge hug. She started crying. He asked her where she’d been and she pulled the classic little sister move by crying so loud the glass in the station windows started cracking. Through her hiccoughing and crying she asked him if they could go somewhere else and he practically dragged her outside.

In the car, we were discussing the various ways in which we might try to get Bella out of this mess. And it was around then that I heard my phone ding. I looked at it and saw a message from Bella. “Hi, Derek! I’m with my brother outside the station right now!” along with a couple of happy emojis. I paused, staring at it for a few minutes. Then when Yova came to a stop at a red light, I said, “Hey guys? I just got a text from Bella. She’s hanging out with her brother right now.” All the oxygen got sucked out of the car. Yova wordlessly reached over to the Bluetooth and changed the song playing to “O Fortuna.”

I texted back, “Just stay where you are, don’t say anything crazy, and try to stay calm so that when we get there, we can strangle you properly.”

Antonio and Bella ended up sitting in a park outside of the station and he asked her what the hell happened. “Why did you guys freak out so bad?” she asked. He told her that she’d dropped off the face of the earth and hadn’t posted on Facebook or Instagram for two days and wasn’t answering her phone. “If you’re getting second thoughts, that’s one thing, but you can’t just leave and not tell anybody,” he told her. This, combined with the ring, finally made the synapses in her brain connect and she realized her Fetch did get engaged.

“No, I don’t want to get married,” she said. “Oh, thank God,” he said. He told her that he could cover for her until she broke things off with Carlos, but that they should get dinner that night and that almost their entire family was in town. “What? Why are they all here?” she asked. “We were worried,” he said. Bella wasn’t sure about dinner and was particularly worried about her dad, but Antonio told her that their dad was probably going to just be glad she was alive. “Carlos wasn’t… hurting you, was he? Because if I need to break some knees…” he said. She cut him of at the pass and said absolutely not, that she just realized she was not ready at all to get married.

“I’m just glad you decided on things a month in and not right before the wedding,” Antonio told her, much to her relief. He realized she needed some space and said he would head out, but made her promise to call him later that day. “I’ll talk to mom and dad, but you know we’re not getting out of dinner,” he said. “Maybe I can postpone it a couple of nights, but they’re going to want something for coming all the way out here.” As he was about to leave, he took a second look and asked, “By the way, when did this goth look happen?” She shrugged and said, “Well, it’s kind of always been in there, but when you have to be a certain way for everyone else…” He gave her a hug and told her he’d call her later before he made his way off.

We’d pulled up outside the park shortly before Tony left and Yova was the one to take the lead, heading up to Bella and sitting down next to her, asking if things worked out okay. Bella was still shaken but realized things worked out better than they might have. “And apparently she got engaged to somebody,” she told Yova. Yova gently tried to remind her that we told her about that the night of the rave. “I don’t remember any of it,” Bella said. She squared her shoulders and told Yova how Tony wanted her to go have dinner with her family. “Do you want to go have dinner with them?” Yova asked. Bella started crying, talking about how much she missed her family, and Yova hugged her, suggesting they go back to Pam’s and talk about something else so she could get her mind off it. Bella agreed and we all got back into Yova’s car, heading to Pam’s.

Our first order of business was trying to figure out who, if anybody, we could call about getting backup on storming the castle. Pam reiterated what she’d told Cassi about the Summer Court and Day and Yova both agreed that it sounded like something along the lines of what the Summer Court was all about. “Do you think the Autumn Court might also be able to help?” Pam asked me. I thought for a second and said, “I’ll try calling Stella. She’s not going to want to come, but she might be able to tell me who can help us. Or who can help us crack the riddle about getting them out. And I’m going to call Evain, too. He’ll definitely be on board.”

I stepped out onto the balcony for some privacy and called Stella’s number. It rang and rang and just as I thought it was going to go to voicemail, she picked up. “It’s Stella, state your business,” she said with her trademark warmth and sympathy. “Hi, Stella, it’s Derek. I was wondering if maybe you could help point me in the right direction of anyone in our Court who knows how to deal with a couple of things that might seem completely unrelated at first but actually have a lot more to do with each other than it looks,” I said. “Speak,” she told me. “First, anyone who might be able to help us get back into Arcadia and break out some of our friends who we had to leave behind when we escaped, and second, anyone who might know how to untangle contracts and agreements with the True Fae.” There was a single beat of a pause. Then she said, “As to the first inquiry, are you insane? And as to the second, possibly. I will look into it and call you back within the hour.” I got out, “Thanks, Ste-” before I heard the *click* on the other end.

The second call I made was to Evain. Like Stella’s call, it rang for a few times before he answered, saying, “Hey, Derek, what’s up?” I said, “Hey, buddy. Wanted to let you know we’re about to break back into Arcadia to try and bust Cassi and our other friends out and I was checking to see if you wanted in?” A full thirty seconds of dead silence went by. Then he said, “Yes. Yes, I do. Holy shit. I would be insulted if you thought I didn’t want in.” We talked for a few minutes about supplies or anything we might get and he told me that he’d ask around, but things were probably going to be difficult to find outside of the Goblin Markets. “Oh, and just so you know, Cassi says she’s punching you in the face when she sees you,” I said. He paused for a second and said, “Yeah, that’s fair. I deserve it.” “You totally do. Catch you soon, dude,” I said.

While I was doing this, Yova was calling the Summer Court. She only had the one number to contact and was hoping to get Cahir and not Dania on the line. However, she ended up hearing a new voice she hadn’t encountered before, a woman’s voice that was inviting and oily all at the same time. She introduced herself as The Red Lady and asked Yova what she could do to help. Yova explained the situation and the Red Lady said, “Interesting. I’d love to hear the story, but I’m frankly not sure what the benefit to our Court would be and the resources spent would be extreme, to say nothing of the risks.” Yova was grinding her molars by this point, but she had to admit The Red Lady had a point when she said, “We’re here to keep the Fae at bay, not to pick fights.” Yova did her best to schmooze The Red Lady by asking if there was any information or advice she could get, which The Red Lady seemed to think was fair enough. She thanked Yova for passing the information along and hung up.

Yova joined me out on the balcony, where I was white-knuckling the railing. She pulled out a cigarette and asked me if I wanted one. “No thanks, I don’t smoke, even though I would look so grown-up doing so,” I said. She gave me a look and held it out. I sighed and said, “Fine,” then took it and put it in my mouth, chewing on it. Pam, Bella, and Day came over to the frame by the balcony and we tried to figure out what our next step was going to be. “I hate to say it, but I think it’s time for us to pay an old friend a visit,” Yova said. “Yeah. She is definitely overdue on hearing from us,” I said. “This whole thing is freaking nuts,” Day said. “But what choice do we have? We can’t leave them there. We already left them there once,” Yova said.

I straightened my back, looking out over the city and thinking about what had happened that day. From the queasiness over talking to my Fetch to Bella actually managing to get her life back to the possibility of getting everyone – especially Adrian – back, it had been a complete roller-coaster of a day. “Yeah. We’re not leaving them there. I’m not going to leave them there,” I said.

And that’s as good a place as any to stop for now. Next time, war preparations and other shenanigans. Until then, stay safe and may you never get snubbed by your doppelganger.

[fibula-rasa]

Cosplay the Classics: Greta Garbo

Greta Garbo was one of my very first favorite actresses. That perfectly magnetic face was a force even on a television screen. I set my VCR to tape every movie she was in as they appeared on TCM, then bought them all on DVD as they were released. In high school, a few of my friends even crafted Garbo-themed doodads for me because she wasn’t plastered on all manner of goods like Audrey Hepburn, James Dean or Marilyn Monroe were in the early 2000s. Though I didn’t put voice to it at the time, seeing a woman whose romance so clearly knew no gender was formative for me.

Garbo is by no means obscure, but even more people need to be watching her films. Don’t fret! Filmstruck to the rescue: Greta Garbo is their star of the week!

No time like the present to try my hand at a wearable Swedish Sphinx look. I aimed for late-silent Garbo, a la The Kiss (1929) and The Mysterious Lady (1928).

Taken and collaged by photographer Clarence Sinclair Bull in 1931, this photo spurred on the sticky nickname.

The Face of Garbo

The face of Garbo has inspired odes in spiritual, philosophical, and psychoanalytical terms over the past century and, yeah, it would be way above my pay grade to contribute to that canon. In lieu of that, let’s learn a little bit about how Garbo’s image was constructed.

When Greta Garbo made the trek from Sweden to Hollywood in 1925, she had all the raw ingredients to be a screen star. A face with no bad angles that still and film cameras can love alike is rare. All Garbo needed was a bit of polish to marry her outward appearance to the languid grace of her performance style.

Off screen, Garbo was often reported as wearing unassuming baggy trousers, loafers, and oversized sweaters. A thoroughly uncomplicated person. On screen, Adrian collaborated closely with her to style and design fashions that would follow her every move in seventeen of her feature films.

While I didn’t do a full-body look this time around, I tried to choose a top that would slouch with my posture.

Garbo’s makeup is beautifully consistent across her fifteen years in Hollywood. The application evolved as camera and projection technology advanced, but the shapes remained the same. Starting with Torrent (1926) and her first few silents, her makeup was drawn in higher contrast with heavier lines. In the late silents and her first few talkies, the lines were softened with more gradients in her eyeshadow and lipstick, and film cameras and lighting rigs began to capture more subtle gradations of light and dark. Throughout the rest of the 1930s all the way to Two-Faced Woman (1941), the lines were thinner and more delicate and paired with further shading, but still with a graphic effect.

from Torrent (1926), The Mysterious Lady (1928), and Conquest (1937)

The theme of her iconic look was a dreamy sensuousness, and I personally love that her makeup design is so simple. If applied properly it could be flattering on any face.

Read on after THE JUMP

Garbo wore a heavy line across her lashline, usually the darkest drawn element on her face. If you had the eyelashes of a mortal this line would be too heavy, but we’re talking about Garbo here. I put on a full strip of falsies. 

The line elongates the eye, much like a cat-eye flick, but it extends down and out to create a sultry-but-kind look. (Note: this liner style is currently en vogue in Japan right now & I think it’s overdue for a comeback on this side of the Pacific.) On the outer edge of the lower lashline a lighter line is drawn from the end of the upper line to the lower lashline, forming a small triangle. This finishes off the elongation of the eye. To make it more striking, you can fill in the triangle with a lighter nude liner.

On the lid, Garbo’s crease was emphasized sharply. Across the makeup eras described above, first it was a deep line that met the eyeliner in the corners, then a more natural gradient still with a cut crease, and then back to a distinct line, but applied with a much lighter hand.

from Flesh and the Devil (1926), Anna Christie (1930), and Two-Faced Woman (1941) 

Her eyebrows were plucked and drawn thinly, as was the style at the time. Regardless, Garbo usually followed her natural brow shape.

Garbo’s skin was described as remarkably flawless; Louise Brooks called it “petal-like.” So, a good powder is a must. Reportedly, she used a Max Factor foundation with a silver tint so the light would reflect strongly off her face. (This also probably explains why in a few of her films her face is so much brighter than her usually quite tan neck and shoulders.)

For blush, I used a simple dusty pink because her cheeks are much fuller than mine--so I didn’t want to add dimension. Dusty pink was also her favorite color. Like really.

Garbo’s New York apartment was decked out ceiling to carpet almost exclusively in rose pink!

Her lips were lined in a single tone following her natural shape. My lips are fuller but not as wide as hers so I drew them out a bit at the edges with a lip brush and filled in the shape in this method:

from The Kiss (1929)

Over the past year or so, I’ve experimented a lot with wet-set curling to improve my vintage chops. Many 1930s styles are difficult to achieve and Garbo’s is the least fussy hairstyle I’ve attempted from the period. So, even before the effortless long bob Garbo sported for much of her life, her styling was simple.

There are some accounts that she was a little erratic about working on her image but it must have been some relief that Garbo had close collaborators ironing out the glamor to accentuate her own art. Garbo took acting very seriously without much interest in being a movie star. Time has told that with Adrian as a costumer, Max Factor as a makeup designer, Clarence Sinclair Bull as a portrait photographer, and William H. Daniels as a cinematographer, an adequately sublime, timeless image was created to match her sublime, timeless performances.

Garbo’s Reach

Often when people talk about Marilyn Monroe’s predecessors, they can’t seem to get past her fluffy blonde hair. They draw endless parallels to Jean Harlow, with whom she shares little more than a hair color. Monroe herself idolized Garbo. And it shows if you’re looking for it.

All together, the lazy/sexy ideal is embodied by both women. Where Monroe usually infused this spirit into dizzy comedic roles, Garbo primarily put it to use playing women of mystery. Suffice it to say, both stars have reached an iconic status at least in part because their roles were intertwined so cleverly with their respective public images.

I look to Monroe’s eye makeup as the dead giveaway. Monroe and her makeup artist, Whitey Snyder, created much the same shapes but with gentler lines.

When Garbo first emerged with her long bob, it was admired by fans, but magazine writers were quick to point out that this was unflatteringly long and advised that only Garbo could pull it off. Likewise, Monroe was put down in the press for her too-long unstylish hair--some journalists even comparing her to a dog. (The ideal then being closer to Elizabeth Taylor’s neatly coiffed short curls.) Funny that both styles are considered almost universally flattering today.

According to Katharine Cornell, when Garbo was considering a return to the screen she wanted to star alongside Monroe. Garbo confided that she wanted to play Dorian Gray with Monroe as Sibyl Vane. If you’re queer-hearted like myself (and Garbo) it’s devastating that we never got that film.

I suppose I’ll sign off now with tears in my eyes for what could have been and for the mutual appreciation that Marilyn Monroe probably never knew about.