#something like the euclidean circles

[taperwolf]

There's many things that could be upgraded in my Eurorack case, but its biggest actual failing is that out of 16 modules, only four of them have any kind of blinkenlights.

(Those are the two Sigma function generators, the Within the Scope oscilloscope module, and the DSPFX effects box — and of the latter two, the first uses an OLED screen and the second just LED 7-segment displays, so they're kind of borderline.)

[warpedlegacywrites]

Eldritch Horror Prompts

Based on the list found here. Please like and reblog the original version.

Forbidden knowledge

Made of the Void

A strange and ancient statue

Something pretending to be human

Parasite and host, puppet and puppeteer

It watches from above

A glitch in reality

I've seen too much

Eldritch corruption: human

Eldritch corruption: animal

Eldritch corruption: environment

A creature from the deep

Eldritch circuitry, what lives in the wires

Maddening music

Humanity's smallness

Too many eyes

Too many teeth

Non-euclidean geometry (think M.C. Escher)

Swarm or hivemind

Something in the walls

Unearthly arthropod

Fungal/plant takeover

Mirrors, reflections, and doubling

Vampiric entity

Ritual circle

Anatomy/body horror

Eldritch and fey

Horse/farm animal horror

Something on an old VHS tape

Fear (based on a phobia of either the writer's or the asker's)

Okay, fine: Tentacles!

[xmothbrothx]

Just gonna throw out my ideas for the Fraud layer of Ultrakill because they've been spinning in my head like that one Pikachu in a chair gif-

(spoilers maybe??? putting this here just in case)

-Fraud, by definition, is the act of deception. So, my main prediction is that this layer's mechanics will be in place to deceive the player in some shape or form. -The setting of this layer could be...a Masquerade Ball! As masks are often made to hide one's true intentions. Plus, I think it'd make for a banger aesthetic -Non-euclidean spaces. Hakita has mentioned non-euclidean space in the past, and Fraud would be the perfect place to work that in -The boss of this layer could be Geryon, a demonic beast that got residents of the eighth circle of Hell to hop onto his back, only to sting them with his scorpion tail. -Funhouse mirror maze! I think it'd make for a great environmental-based level, similar to that of Shot in the Dark(4-3). Again, it works with the themes of deception. -I know we all joke about V2 coming back("Reconstuct WHAT?!"), but I can imagine one of the levels trolling you into thinking V2 will return, much like 4-3 did with Something Wicked. Heck, maybe the mirror maze might show V2 in the reflections instead of V1.

Anyways that's all I got right now byeee-💥

[crowdsourcedgender]

hey so what about euclidean and noneuclidean genders? like euclideangender or whatever is when every time you question your gender you end up in the same place and noneuclidean gender is the opposite. so in a euclidean gender you think "hm maybe I'm not X after all." and then you come to the conclusion that you actually are still X. but in noneuclideangender you think "hm maybe im not X. i think im Y" and then identify as Y. don't have a good flag or name for these but something about euclidean or not would be cool. and maybe you could clean up the definition?

[Image ID: Two flags with five stripes and similar color schemes. The first has the design of a circle that connects to the middle stripe, revealing another stripe below. Its colors go purple, light blue, blueish white, greenish blue revealed stripe, light cyan, and dark green. The second has the middle stripe suddenly bend up at an angle, continuing off the flag and revealing another stripe below. The colors go pinkish purple, blueish purple, purplish white, light turquoise, dark mint. /End ID]

Name: genderlooped / genderaltered

Genderlooped: A gender where the user frequently questions their gender, but comes back to the same conclusion like a loop.

Genderaltered: A gender where the user frequently questions their gender, and comes to a new conclusion each time.

For day 5 of @ecstasyangel 's 150 follower coining event, prompt: free space -> request (blog theme lol)

[kadavernagh]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Just Couches PARTIES: Regan and Jade SUMMARY: What comes first, the couch or the home? Jade says couch! So she and Regan are off to find the perfect one, which will be without a single weird feature.

The Kavanaghs had a couch. It was covered in dark brown leather, the kind that sucked your skin in when you sat on it wearing shorts. Regan used to like the feel of it against her arms and legs, though in hindsight, maybe there was a little death there, too. Sometimes she plopped herself across the whole couch when Al came into the living room, forcing him onto the armrest if he wanted to sit at all. She watched late-night unpermitted horror movies with Liam that her dad would have hated, had he known. Reilly once sat her down there to discuss how their parents had started sniping at each other more frequently (a rough patch that was mended, but had all four of them wondering about a particular d-word for a few months; Al said authoritatively that it was her fault). Couches see a lot. And they had a couch. 

Then Regan had a couch. She couldn’t remember the color and material. She couldn’t even remember where she purchased it. Only that… well, she must have, right? In that old Baltimore apartment she also barely recalled, all of it awash in medical text memorization and memories of her hands inside of cadavers – though most of that was gone, too. It would have traveled back to Augusta, that theoretical couch, in that moving truck she must have rented, that had been filled with possessions she must have kept. Regan must have had a couch. And then she forgot what they were for about eight years, because comfort, her grandmother often reminded her, could not taint her capabilities. An instrument sliced through fabric; to be disarmed by such distraction as comfort would cost control; Cliodhna’s hanging rabbits spilled their coiled innards on the floor.

“I don’t trust it.” Regan said, appraising a bright orange couch coated in velvet, one of far too many options crammed into a claustrophobic store. Her grandmother’s similarly-colored wings flashed a warning in her mind. She walked around it in a half-circle like it was a crime scene, not even considering sitting. She had warmed up to the idea of being a couch owner, but primarily for Jade’s benefit, because they had a yet-to-be-determined house that would “require” furnishing. (And maybe they should have reassessed that order of business, but it wouldn’t be Jade’s beautiful but non-euclidean mind to do that, and Regan was… distracted.) She did not have to like the couches. That would be asking too much. “Velvet is difficult to clean, don’t you think? And the color… I cannot even think of a fluid found in the human body that’s comparable in hue. It won’t do. It is not even fit for Emilio.” She had bought a better couch for him. Jade needed something one hundred times better than that.

Regan finished circling around the couch and ended up right next to Jade again, where the thought of couches didn’t bother her quite as much. She tapped Jade’s hand lightly before stealing it for herself. “Come on, there has to be something here you would rather sit on. Where is the stone section? Or… I will compromise. I am famously good at that. We could get something wooden. Cats like wood, right? For scratching?”

—

Truth be told, Jade had never put that much thought into couches before (a true shocker there, right?). So like, as long as they were comfy, that was it, she was set. And sometimes not even that! Who was she kidding? Cause Jade had spent a decent amount of time on Emilio’s couch, so her standards could mean anything, actually. Couch used to be whatever. But the past didn’t matter, anyway. The present mattered. As did the future. Her future, their future. Cause she was so excited to pick her very first couch. Like a real true adult. Nah, a real true adult in a committed relationship. It was a lot, which was probably the reason why her entire body seemed to be buzzing like she’d drank five shots of espresso. Or well, she imagined that’s what it felt like. (She never needed caffeine to be that energized, people envied her). Seeing the Just Couches logo as they entered the store filled her with an extra dose of warm and fuzzy feelings. This chain had kinda become a staple in their relationship, right? Cause she would always remember her first date with Regan at Just Coffee. (And the mint julep she had after in the place next door, Just Cocktails). And now their first couch would be Just too. 

They hadn’t walked around for two minutes when Regan found their first option. Sorta. They just stumbled upon it, so it was time to judge it. And judge they did. “Oh? How come, baby?” Jade prompted after the initial assessment on the bright orange sofa. Regan inspected the thing like she was choosing her torture device instead of the sweet spot where they would have their most entertaining movie nights. But knowing the why behind that stiff gait and those shifty eyes meant Jade didn’t treat it as an obstacle. It might look silly to outsiders, but she knew this was important. It was a bit of a milestone for Regan too. And she would not stand (or well, sit) for any couch that Regan couldn’t at least relate to some type of bodily fluid. That was just, pft… entry level. So Jade would totally commiserate with her on this. “Was it mean mugging you? I swear, I totally saw it do that when we came in. I like the color, but it needs a better attitude.” Regan was right though, velvet was difficult to clean, and they both knew she was a little sloppy with her food sometimes. So, that was like, just inviting mess. And not the fun kind. She followed Regan without a rebuttal when she decided to move on, cause they were on the same page. (Or, well, the endgame was the same… despite their different ways of looking at it, so, same thing).  

Jade squeezed Regan’s hand as she grabbed it, the action tugging a smug smile on her lips. One that turned into something sweet as she beamed at the other couple making the rounds. They looked like their names would be Doris and Bob. Yup, Doris and Bob. And they were a few years into retirement, looking for a couch for their third house on the beach so their grandkids could stain it with chocolate ice cream when they came over. Doris and Bob probably wouldn’t have it any other way. Daydreaming about a similar future, Jade played with Regan’s fingers, pushing on the pads lightly, like they were the keys to her sister’s old Casio keyboard, the one she’d lock away so Jade couldn't get her sticky hands on it. (Joke’s on her, cause Jasper knew where she hid it). 

And, did Regan really just ask her about what she’d rather sit on? She quickly glanced down at her shoes, biting down the dozens of dirty jokes rushing to come out. She cleared her throat. “Oh, there is,” said softly, cause Bob and Doris did not need to hear about Jade’s sitting preferences. She could spare them. Cause even if the innuendo flew right over Regan’s head, she’d show her later anyway. “Yup, I love it when you compromise…” Where was Regan going with this? Oh. Nowhere bad, actually. “The frame can be wood or stone, that sounds super cute. Except you were so not thinking about the frame though, were you?” she gave Regan a skeptical look. The cats were something Jade was taking into account for sure, though. “Back in the apartment, we put scratching posts and pads everywhere so they wouldn’t care about the couch. It mostly worked.. but maybe we can get some covers too?” Cause, she loved her children like the most devoted mother would (at least she thought that was what mothers did), but this was obviously like, an investment for the future, she didn’t want it to be ruined in the first week. She didn’t want Regan to think that she wasn’t two hundred percent invested in this.  

“I really like…” she drew the L shape in the air, then nodded to the sectional couch they were approaching. She leaned in and pressed her cheek against Regan’s shoulder, closing her eyes when she felt her scent drifting. She was a little weak in the knees. Regan’s neck was truly a menace to society, no wonder she kept it covered a lot of the time. “It just feels like the prime snuggling couch, don’t you think? For purposeful holding only. All the extra space. And the nice armrest,” she sighed, staring at the gray… what was it, linen? The color was kinda eh. Or like, really eh. Which reminded her, she should probably let her non-negotiables be known. “I insist on soft fluffy cushions, think of the glutes, babe. I can compromise on material and color and shape, but like… what kinda bisexuals are we if we don’t pick a green one?” 

—

“There was no mugging,” Regan reassured Jade, though she didn’t really understand the question, “couches are not known for committing crimes, but the… leisurely attitude they encourage could be considered an unofficial one.” Jade’s voice had jabbed her with playful concern, and it was sinking in that it had been a joke of some kind. It still eluded Regan. She chalked it up as a Jade-ism she would need to conduct further research on so she could add it to her ongoing dictionary. “Well… I guess spare change ends up between the cushions, doesn’t it? Mugging.” Maybe that was what Jade meant. But probably not. Her bone partner seemed to have her eyes elsewhere as she teased her fingers (which was unheard of, actually, her looking at anyone else, so it must have been important). Regan followed Jade’s line of sight to an older couple. She made a mental note to keep her distance in case one or both of them were close to death. When her eyes flicked back to Jade, she still seemed caught up in her thoughts. Something light bubbled in Regan’s chest (indigestion?) as she guessed what was going on. And Jade was right for thinking it: that lady did look a little like the dead squirrel from the night they met over ulcers, stiff and grey. “I know,” Regan said quietly but fondly, Jade’s attention re-tangling itself up in her veins and arteries. “I see it, too.”

Regan was not superstitious; for most of her life, she couldn’t have been any further from it. She always thought that way of thinking was for the weak-minded humans, even though she had come to doubt that anyone had true autonomy – it was better to simply call it Fate and accept that it did not show its cards in the shapes of clouds or constellations at night. But Regan did listen to death. And if that older woman reminded her of the most important dead squirrel in their relationship, then it meant something. It was a reminder of how far they had come, wasn’t it? So Regan tried to keep her mind partially open, which wasn’t nearly as interesting as having an open brain. 

“The frame? No, I wasn’t talking about that. I meant instead of extraneous cushions. It would be nice and cool, wouldn’t it? You like that. Oh, and better for your posture than some… sack of feathers. Besides, how often would you be directly on the couch, anyway?” She might have known the answer to her earlier question about places to sit. Jade didn’t seem swayed. “I am attempting to compromise. We are getting a couch in the first place.” Her hardened expression didn’t last long, washed away by a simple raised brow and the soggy tide of Jade’s eyes. Of course there were things Jade wouldn’t budge on, either. And the sand always shifted under Regan’s feet when Jade asked something impossible of her (strange how it became less impossible when she slid enough to gain a new perspective).

The couch Jade seemed to like was oversized and she could imagine the pillows expelling down. Soft, fluffy cushions. Despite her best efforts, the thought put a scowl on Regan’s lips. She was trying to be human, and humans indisputably liked comfort (too much of it). But it was still hard to come face to face with such a deviation, to ask for it. Somehow different than ending up on Jade’s couch that she already owned, or purchasing one for Emilio that was far more self-indulgent than she would have ever allowed hersel– than she would have ever been allowed. But, again, a couch wasn’t only about her. And Jade’s gluteus maximus (and medius and minimus) deserved the world. “I do know your glutes… but… I mean, the cushions, if they aren’t made of stone, what if they’re too… and we should be disciplined, shouldn’t we? We’ll grow idle.” She hesitated. “I like green.” Her attempt to say she wasn’t so sure about this ended up being a rare mumble. 

When Jade made up her mind, she made up her mind. And… when Jade made up her mind, Regan did, too, now. [insert whipped vanilla pic]

When she exhaled what remained of her willpower, Jade’s face felt heavy against her shoulder. Trading one for the other hadn’t left her with regrets so far. [insert whipped vanilla pic again]

“There is a lot of space there.” Regan glanced down at her shoulder, where Jade’s bright eyes looked up at her. They said this was important to her. How did she do that, speak so loudly with a look? Even when neither of them said a word, Jade was never silent. Regan exhaled again, and it became an obvious sigh. Her hand slid around Jade’s waist, and she tugged her closer in some vaguely hug-like gesture that obviously wasn’t a hug, because she didn’t do that (her ‘last night on earth’ hug at the hotel didn’t count). “Okay. We can find a sectional like that. But the cushions must be removable. That’s… practical, anyway.” 

The store was a maze of couches, and while Jade might have been content bouncing from option to option, Regan needed a more organized approach. She scoped out the couch to the immediate right of the too-big one Jade had pointed out. A body could sink between the cushions and be preserved like it had been sucked inside a bog. They were huge and plush, so it met Jade’s specifications in that regard. It was also green – a muted pastel, not nearly saturated enough to be comparable to undigested bile. Remarkably, it might have fit the bill. For Jade, anyway. Which meant it fit Regan’s, too. She made an uneasy circle around this one as well, not trusting it. Her skin prickled like it was a familiar threat. “If only it were more cramped,” Regan mused, wondering if that was a concession Jade was willing to make when she thought about the end result of being cramped. Sometimes not being comfortable was better.

She alighted on the next couch. It was small, drab like a dead field mouse with only patches of its coat remaining, and it had a huge tag hanging off it (weirdly, it said the price was FREE?). Regan studied the whole couch first as if it could snap over her like a trap, and when she deemed it safe enough, she waved Jade over and checked out the tag. “Look, Jade, look at the tag. It lists the features. This one comes in a ‘suffocation’ model with an iron maiden mode.”

—

“Mmm. Phew! We don’t have to worry about the couches then,” Jade quipped after Regan explained that couches couldn’t be criminals. Her smile grew fond, smitten cause… why did she have the cutest girlfriend (er...bone partner, her bad) in the world? She won so hard, it was still like, wild to believe it. Their story grew more epic with time. Jade had lost her, then she came back, then they decided there was no point in being apart. And now they were buying a couch. Pacing around the store just like Bob and Doris (just in a sexier way). They were ready for the movie! (She didn’t think there were many options available to play her though). Anyway, it made her feel super validated to know she was right about them from the start. (The biggest kind of satisfaction). And like, sure a couch wasn’t much, but it was symbolic. It made the relationship feel serious. Which, obviously, it wasn't how she liked things to be. But when it came to Regan? She’d be the most serious person in the world. And to go back to the second cutest couple in Just Couches, Regan had also taken interest in them. Was she also thinking about the future? Did she envision buying more furniture with her? Did she think about all the fun they could have painting the walls baby blue? Or like, all the friends they were gonna host? It would be like, so many pounds of banana bread to feed the guests! 

Regan’s eyes were sparkly as she spoke, and Jade thought all those cliches about getting lost in blue eyes like they were the ocean kinda came up short when Regan had that dreamy haze about her. I know. Her stomach fluttered, cause Regan said she saw it too, and… look, considering the recent mishaps in communication, there was a fair chance they were on like, totally different wavelengths. It could mean anything. But Regan’s gaze didn’t lie (it literally couldn’t since the moment they met), there was love swimming in it. And Jade drowned for a moment, not caring about whatever words were being exchanged. She squeezed Regan’s hand, resisting the urge to go full on PDA, cause… well, she didn’t care they were in public technically (and neither did Regan if her past record was any indication) (Like, the cemetery, really?), but maybe if they behaved now, they could misbehave later, in like, a more ideal situation.   

And see, look at how serious she was taking couch buying! Cause there was going to be so much negotiation involved in getting the perfect one. And Jade wanted the perfect one, the 8.2/8 on the Bloodworth scale. If Just Couches wasn’t the one to provide it, then they’d go elsewhere. (She really hoped it didn’t come to that, though. The Just brand had never failed her before). Regan talked about frames and extraneous (?) cushions, while Jade looked up at her, batting her eyelashes. It was innocent, but she did like seeing Regan try to dictate her terms only for her convection to deflate by the virtue of some consistent eye contact. She finally broke it, letting Regan muster up some new resolve. In the meantime, she pressed a kiss to her shoulder. (Clothed, sadly. But a good shoulder either way). 

Had she not thanked Regan enough for fighting against herself just to please her? Welp, that had to change. “Thank you for doing this, babe. I so appreciate it, you know. I'll show you how much when we get home, maybe... You could even get to choose the how?” Another flutter of her eyelashes, this time less innocent. Watching the rise and fall of Regan’s chest pick up just a bit was totally worth it. It meant she was in the mood to be persuaded. “What if a couch’s purpose is literally to allow for idleness? We’re allowing it to fulfill it. We’re so responsible.” And who knew more than the two of them about the struggle to carry out one’s purpose? But this was always gonna be a fun game of thumb wrestling. At least Regan wasn’t opposed to the color of their couch being green. “Yup, I know you do, babe” the amount of green in Regan’s closet had totally skyrocketed since they got together. She was such a sap. The dampest of them all. (And she’d chosen to share her dampness with Jade. Which, again… felt like winning the lottery).  

But even if she liked green, Regan looked a little lukewarm about the particular couch they were judging. A little whelmed. Cause even if this one was the right color (so a total plus), it seemed to be too big according to Regan, which sounded like a bad thing. Jade let her go to examine the couch for other flaws, knowing soon enough Regan would need her pressed up against her again. And yup, sure enough, two beats later she felt Regan’s hand tugging her closer, reeling her in. Right. Too much space was a bad thing, how dare she forget. (She couldn’t question Regan’s methods here). 

Jade met Regan’s gaze again, checking in with her. She’d learned by now, what those eyes revealed about Regan. When she was asking for help, or when she was done listening for the time being. She knew when they hit a roadblock, when Regan was done expanding, when it was time to relent. Or when, despite everything, a last minute push was needed. It used to be a push and pull, but it was more of an ebb and flow these days. Right now, her eyes read open. Hesitant, but open. So a little more encouragement could still go a long way. "A sectional then. And we can totally get removable cushions. That’s like super smart, anyway. But smaller, yeah? Cause you'd miss me too much, hm?” she quirked an eyebrow, then shook her head, pretending to be offended. “You just want me on top of you," and there was nothing wrong with, like, a cozier couch, that was true. Maybe she was focusing too much on choosing something to show off, instead of finding something for them. 

Regan was fine with a sectional, which was a step closer to finding the one, even if it wasn’t the pastel green they were in front of. Jade didn’t like this shade of green, anyway, she could admit that, cause it wasn’t pastel-y enough to remind her of mint. So to recap, no velvet, not too spacious. And no fixed cushions. That didn’t sound too restrictive at all. 

And oooh! It seemed Regan had found the one, judging by her voice. Her eyes darted from the green couch they were leaving behind to the new contender and… huh. It sure was a couch. Or was it a giant mouse cosplaying as a couch? Hard to tell. It was exactly the type of couch white people would fall for in a movie, and then they’d be haunted forever. But like, the FREE tag was tempting, totes. Why exactly was Regan in favor of this? Oh… as if reading her mind, Regan read the couch’s attributes. Of course it had a suffocation model. Not exactly what Jade looked for in a couch. (But like, she made a mental note of stopping by a different store when they were done looking at couches, maybe Regan could find something that would suit her taste there). 

She rolled her eyes, an affectionate laughter bubbling softly. “Stop it.  I love you,” she whispered, light and easy. Four months ago she wouldn't have dared to say those words, even as she was choking on it. But now it was as easy as breathing. And she was tired of sideway glancing stuff, so she shifted until she was facing Regan. She rubbed along her bicep, loosening Regan some more. “I want you to have comfort, I want your back and your thighs to touch the softest surfaces. I want you to feel like you’re literally sitting on a cloud,” Regan’s right eyebrow twitched, and Jade was so charmed. “Figuratively, babe. I know we can’t sit on clouds and it would probably not be a super great experience. And hear this: You could still sit on the frame for a few days. Test it out,” her eyes twinkled playfully which should’ve warned Regan she was about to rile her up. “I get the vibe you’ll cave in a few hours… Once you realize what’s on the other, superior side, anyway,” she wiggled her eyebrows, reaching for Regan’s hand to coax her away from the weird mouse couch, trying not to look back in case she had that wistful look in her eyes or that pout on her lips that made Jade agree to silly things.  

A deep burgundy couch came next, which kinda remind her of wine. She liked wine! Plus she kinda liked the color too, even if it wasn’t bisexual green. “I have nothing to hate her for, actually. She’s innocent. But it’s not… it doesn’t feel like it, how about you?" Before Regan could share her take, Jade glanced to the side, to a striped black and white model. Ooooh, like a piano, obviously. Nothing else. It was weird that the tag advertised it as the ‘quietest couch in the world’, though. What did it mean? Why would a piano couch be quiet? Was it that the base didn’t squeak or screech if dragged across the floor? Actually… that might not be too bad of an idea for them. The concept was very confusing though, so she tugged on Regan. “She’s giving me mixed signals, which is only hot when you do it.” Skip! 

—

The longer they were there, and the more they “compromised” (Regan was persuaded), the more obvious it was that Jade’s heart swelled at the thought of the perfect couch. Regan’s fingers trailed up to Jade’s wrist, capturing some of her pulse for herself; she wished she could borrow some of Jade’s certainty, too. She thought, at least, that they understood each other in this. The couch was meaningful to Jade because it was the first staple in the weepy incision that was their future together (it was a good incision; a surgical one, a healing one, and it wept profusely). Couches were meaningful to humans, to families, to couples – like that squirrely pair now approaching the first overly-bloated couch she rejected. 

Regan saw understanding in Jade’s patience, too. Maybe she realized more about Regan’s trepidation than Regan even did. That often seemed to be the case. Did she know that when she’d kissed Regan’s shoulder, hours of tension drained out of it? (And went lower, actually.) For someone who was new to planning, Jade’s actions sure had some suspiciously desirable consequences at times. Could Regan counterstrike without getting the two of them banned from Just Couches? Probably not. Did she care at the moment? …Not enough, but her law-abiding sensibilities gave her just enough pause to think better of removing any clothes. They could stop by a cemetery after this. If they did, would they be able to write the couch off as a ‘business expense’ due to Jade’s slayer credentials? Okay, that was a stretch.

Even the word stretch had become problematic. And the thank you? The tantalizing form of said thank you? …In a couch store. “Why are you like this?” Regan breathed, one of those stupid, almost human smiles on her face. The most beautiful eyes beamed back at her. How could she not fall into them like the deepest of bogs? Jade’s whole face glowed with love and… couch. Right. This was improper conduct at a Just store. She gave Jade’s arm a small tug then released her hand, because she needed both of them to be able to focus again– this was a particularly laborious mission, wasn’t it? 

In any case, it sounds like they more or less agreed: a sectional with removable cushions. So Regan could remove the ones under her own butt, and Jade could slide it under hers to double up and feel taller. If they could stay off of each other, which they couldn’t. Fearg an chinniúint, it wasn’t even worth asking herself how this had happened, because she had her answer every time her eyes landed on Jade. I love you came so easily to Jade now, didn’t it? It did to Regan, too, even if it stumbled at her mouth or keyboard sometimes (a work in progress along with all other expressions of emotion). And so much for behaving, because Jade had a lock on her, straight into her eyes. They could have been in a store called Just Jade, for all Regan noticed.

She also couldn’t really argue against Jade wanting something for her. Regan huffed once, then twice as the cloud comment was clarified. They both knew this was a losing battle (for Regan, as always). “They already do touch the softest surface on a daily basis. I don’t need to be on a couch for that to happen. Siobhan wouldn’t sit on a couch.” Actually… “Or maybe she would, because she no longer has a need to avoid such things. But it’s a slippery slope. If I’m comfortable on a couch, what’s next? A mattress pad? Cashmere sweaters?” She was, unfortunately, completely serious. Persuasive as always, Jade was. Regan groaned at the word test, because Jade knew she had this by making it experimental. “Credit me with more than a few hours. My mind is not so easily changed unless in the face of compelling evidence.” She reached for Jade’s arm and leaned toward her, because she appreciated the sentiment she argued against. “I’ll last at least four just to be right. Have you ever tried not sitting on a cushion, hm?” They both knew the answer to that. “Hey. This isn’t a bog or a cemetery.” Regan breathed a shaky sigh, like that ever helped her release any tension. “I think we’re supposed to sit on the couches to try them out. Not what we’re both thinking. Mostly you. I behave.” 

If Jade had been trying to lead Regan to another option without having her think twice about the patchy mouse hair couch in the rearview, she succeeded. She noticed the new contender. The color was okay, though she found it wanting for more brown. Then it might evoke dried blood a little more. It was a dead ringer for zinfandel though, wasn’t it? Maybe that’s why Jade seemed to be admiring it (when not looking at her), despite it not being the green they had discussed. Also, were couches gendered now, or was this similar to when Jade spoke of other inanimate objects as being female? “It looks like an ordinary couch to me. How can you tell when one is it? Are there any actual criteria, or are you going to tell me it’s more of an intestinal feeling?” Regan considered her own question and glanced at the red couch again. No. Her intestines did nothing other than obediently digest lunch. “When I bought Emilio a new couch, I asked them to select it. I didn’t care. My goal was getting rid of the old one. They could pick for us, don’t you think? I expect only couch experts to work here.” 

Jade had spoken, though. Not this couch. Onto the next. Which was larger, with deep cushions that were almost dizzying to look at due to the black and white vertical striping. “I like the color, if not for the stripes.” So solid black, or white. “More of a flesh color would be better, actually. Solid. Maybe in leather?” Out of the corner of her eye… had the couch moved? It almost seemed to shrink away when she spoke. Regan shot a harsh glance at the couch, the very same kind Jade thought she might have been receiving from the couches earlier. Had Jade seen it? Or was this one of those things that only she was gifted to see? What did it have to do with death? Regan’s face scrunched up when she noticed the description on the tag. Quietest couch? Absolutely not. “I would sooner buy a screaming couch than an exceptionally quiet one.” Neither of them were good at silence, and Regan held disdain for it, seeing it as an insult. The idea of a screaming couch perked her up though. “Do you think there is a screaming couch here?” She motioned toward the next in the row, ever hopeful. 

Regan lifted a brow at Jade’s assessment. “My signals should inspire the utmost certainty. Like right now, you can tell you’re able to walk all over me. Not literally.” She twisted her lips. “That, too, though.” And… the couch? This one was completely flat. No cushions at all, other than outlined suggestions in chalk. It was more of a drawing of a couch on the ground than a real couch. Because that’s what it was. “This one! What do you think?” Once more, ever hopeful.

—

Her laugh returned as she watched in real time how easily Regan folded with a few suggestive words. Really! It was just called having manners, nothing more. Why wouldn’t Jade thank her all the time? (And well, especially if she got that reaction). Anyway, her laugh grew in volume, but not enough to sound like a hyena. Cause she didn’t wanna disturb the older couple. She squeezed Regan’s fingers, but the urge to draw closer and bury her face on the crook of her neck just to hold each other for a prolonged time (also known in some circles as hugging) was like, a true test. Why are you like this? Jade could barely think when she spotted the soft smile stretching on Regan’s face. If making her smile had been a duty, Jade would’ve been the GOAT, no doubt. (And she would’ve never ever questioned if she wanted to continue doing it) (Not that… anyway). “Mmm, I hear no complaints.” But Jade did use to wonder why she was like this. And not like her siblings. Or like her parents (cause if she were, then maybe they would’ve loved—) And actually, that same question had been making a real comeback recently. But when Regan said it, it felt like… it could maybe be a good thing. Being… Just Jade. 

Regan’s apprehension didn’t simply melt away, but Jade could see the small progress she made beat by beat, with a healthy mix of sound logic and shameful flirting. (And wasn’t that the most fun way to get through Regan anyway?) Plus, adding the removable cushions meant she didn’t have to fully embrace all of the softness just yet. Only until Regan realized that there was a superior side to the couch. (She was a smart cookie, she would get it eventually). “Siobhan totally sits on a couch, I’ve been to her place like, once or twice” her comment wasn’t needed, as Regan herself realized the flaw in her argument. And look, Jade was understanding of her concern about a slippery slope. (She’d been thinking about slippery slopes a lot recently) “You don’t have to be comfy in any of those things yet, just a couch, for now.” Did she… hear a ‘Ta-da!’ ding as she finished her sentence? The Just chains were amazing, weren’t they? She hoped one day she’d get to meet Mr. Just (Or Mrs. This had all the makings of a woman’s idea). “I can’t believe you want me to act like you wouldn’t look hot with a Cashmere sweater,” she sighed dramatically, eyes twinkling as they flickered back to Regan. If she could pretend it was for her benefit, she could probably get Regan to buy one, right? 

It was pretty cute, the way Regan believed she’d last for hours away from her. Adorable. She wasn’t gonna burst that bubble yet. More gloating for later. “I am compelling evidence, though,” and by the way Regan leaned forward, Jade was inclined to think she agreed too. Yup. And maybe she did let her eyes wander to Regan’s lips, but in a totally chill way. Cause they were in Just Couches, looking for couches. A gal knew about time and place. (Wasn’t it nice that nobody could contradict the blatant lies she told herself?) Regan did look like she had a cemetery or a bog in her mind though, and sure enough. Focus. Just Couches! Another laugh bubbled, cause Regan was openly joking with her. And something about that dryness in her tone and the quick wit, made Jade feel a little funny. “Wow, I can’t believe you’d lie about behaving while looking at me like that in a couch store,” she tutted, letting herself be pulled along before either of them could misbehave. “We’ll sit when we think we have one. It feels a little rude to sit on every single one.” Cause if someone truly desired that mouse looking couch, they should be allowed to test their cold, fluffy cushions in full glory.  

In front of the burgundy couch, Regan popped the most important question yet. (Nope, not that one) (She was pretty sure they were past that one already. But she should like, confirm some day, shouldn’t she?). How could they tell when they had the right couch? Jade didn’t ponder on it long at all, it was super obvious to her. She glanced at Regan, eyes soft but certain, “the same way I knew you were it. And how you knew I was it. The vibes, not vibrations, will come to you,” it was how she also knew that this burgundy couch was sexy, but there was a better one waiting for them. “Some would say it’s an intestinal feeling, yup. Like butterflies. Not the real kind. Like the ones we talked about at the cemetery,” the ones she felt that same night, looking across the ground to find Regan picking up a floral arrangement. 

It went without saying that Jade was letting no ‘couch experts’ decide where she and Regan would rest their beautiful behinds for the next few years. So the only acknowledgement she gave to that idea was a head shake, then moved onto the striped couch. Which, Regan wasn’t sold on it either, but like… not exactly for the same reasons. She wasn’t sure how she felt about a flesh colored leather couch, even if the leather bit of it kinda sounded sexy. She wouldn’t hate a leather couch, but she did worry a little about the cats. And… hadn’t they already discussed what the plan was to keep them away from it as much as possible? So, yup. She was warming up to a leather couch for realsies. And wait, Regan wanted a screaming couch? How was she not supposed to crack a joke about that? She nibbled on her bottom lip, sensing Bob and Doris strolling somewhere behind them. Nope, she couldn’t make any kind of jokes. Behave, she reminded herself. 

Thankfully, Regan was dutifully guiding them around the store, and if she could sense Jade was about to lose it, she didn’t even show it. When she was finally able to get back in the conversation, Regan had some thoughts on her signals, it seemed. “Oh, they do inspire certainty now. During the snail saga? Not as much.” But honestly? Who was she kidding? Then too. Jade always liked Regan’s signals, even when they pissed her off a little bit. Why else would Jade have been so persistent that there was something beautiful to explore between them?

Not as beautiful as the growth in their relationship, was the model Regan was pointing at. It was a drawing on the floor of where a couch should’ve been. And ugh, the way Regan pointed at it, hope sparkling in her blue eyes. It was unfair, okay? How dare she be the most endearing person in the world? And now she felt horrible, that she had to let her down. But she wasn’t gonna make fun of it. Even if she sometimes suspected Regan did this sorta thing to see how much she could push. Classic baby sibling behavior. Jade took it seriously. She rubbed her chin, pretending to consider it. “Well it is sectional, which we agreed to… But it’s missing my side of the cushions, isn’t it?” She raised a pointed eyebrow, like she was making the most logical argument in the world. (Cause she was). “I don’t wanna have to buy them separately,” yup. That was it. That was the reason. 

She tugged on Regan’s hand, distracting her from her dream couch, and stood on her tiptoes, doing a quick sweep of the store. There were like, so many couches. (Of course there were, they were Just Couches), but she focused on spotting the green ones. “Come on, there’s one there!” And sure, when Jade picked up pace and brought Regan along with her it meant they were bypassing a bunch of (probably) decent models in the process. And they weren’t really following any kinda order but, green couch! She speedwalked, giggling all the way to their next destination. A second (or third?) green couch. The cushions were so, so big on this one. Her feet would probably dangle if she sat. But it wasn’t huge to the sides, so Regan could still snuggle as much as she wanted. Jade was obsessed. She could probably hide like, several blades underneath. For defense reasons. She looked back at Regan, who was too far away from her liking. She needed more of her, so she got it, pulling her to her side. Hazel eyes greeted her first, and then she spoke. “I like it.”

—

Regan was a little unclear on how picking a couch was similar to falling in love, but she admittedly wasn’t an expert on either (she hadn’t done so terribly with the latter though, right?). Vibrations she knew; vibes, not so much. That was all Jade. Was she about to say this couch’s vibes were bad? Regan’s stomach tightened, because she wanted to defend this choice but logic was no counter to Jade’s decisions, sometimes. But when Jade spoke, it wasn’t about feelings that had no rational origin – instead, her concern was practical and cushion-related. “Would it be so bad to buy them separately? It means you could choose the color.” Currently, the couch – a simple outline – was the color of the floor itself, which was grey cement. It reminded Regan of headstones. Tasteful. A true classic. “You could get green ones. Or baby blue. Or maybe a nice pattern, like herring bones.” Regan looked at the couch again, a little more critically this time. “I suppose it is a little low to the ground.” Closer to the buried dead, she thought, optimistically. She knew when things became a losing battle, though, and Jade’s glutes needed to be as comfortable as Regan’s were sore. 

Jade was on a mission, and Regan barely kept pace as Jade surged through the store with more grace than any human ought to have. Every once in a while she’d pause, do a quick scan as if she had something in mind but didn’t see it, and then take off into a dash again. It was usually Regan herself doing this, in hot pursuit of death she was trying to pinpoint. The role reversal brought a small smile to her lips even as she was being pulled along. Regan chose not to interrupt such a delicate process. It didn’t take Jade long to find what she had in mind, anyway – like an osprey diving for a fish, she careened them toward a luxurious – and green – couch. If Regan had to describe the exact color, it would probably be, well, jade.

It looked far too inviting. This was a couch that would destroy one’s posture, reduce the firmness of the buttocks, and, who knows, maybe murder your family. It looked like the kind of couch Regan might have needed to leverage up to rescue a flattened decedent who had died underneath. The kind of couch with pillows ideal for committing a homicide via obstructive asphyxiation. Regan didn’t trust it, even if the color did remind her of the precious ring on her finger and the woman next to her. Curiosity compelled her to check the tag, which showed a reasonable price and, like the other couches, listed some of its features. Regan raised a brow as she read them off. “One hundred knife storage pockets, a cup holder – singular, I don’t know where, vibration mode, night mode, couch mode, disco mode, flotation mode, and includes one year of membership into the Just Club.” At least the membership was nice. And Jade would appreciate all the knife pockets. Regan wasn’t yet convinced.

But when she looked into Jade’s eyes – okay, the comparison to love started to make sense. Jade might have simply said she liked the couch, but Regan recognized what want looked like on her face. Jade was probably picturing the couch in all kinds of homes, thinking up decorations, carpets (Regan was also opposed to carpets), a fireplace. And, what Regan was most certain about: she was thinking about both of them on it. Suddenly all of her distrust hardly registered. Just like Regan had come around to soggy fries and chocolate so bitter it made her mouth pucker for hours, she would also come around to this. Probably. Maybe.

“What have you done to me?” Regan said under her breath, unsure if it had been in English or Irish, but with some amusement either way. Regan leaned against Jade, her head rolling to the side to rest on Jade’s shoulder. “You can’t go around telling everyone that I never say no to you, even if it’s true, okay? But I think I could absorb the look on your face right now forever, like decompositional fluid on a white shirt. So if this couch makes it stick – again, like decompositional fluid on a white shirt – then we will get the couch.” And even if seeing that beautiful shine of desire on Jade’s face forever was unrealistic, Regan would keep it there for however long the two of them would have together. And then even after, could she conjure it back up if she brushed her fingers over Jade’s maxilla and mandible, hundreds of years from now?

“Not so fast, though. Can we get both?” Regan tilted her head, making sure the depressing fluorescent lighting of the store hit her eyes now. “This one, and the flat one. A couple of cushions and you wouldn’t mind, right?” Plus it seemed compact enough that both couches could fit both in a storage unit, should they choose to reside there. “I don’t know how you expect me to stay awake during an entire movie on this thing. Which, come to think of it, we should ask if there’s a matching mattress that comes with the other couch, just as firm.” Jade’s eyes were quick to call her out. “Fine. An ottoman?”

—

Jade was totally sure she didn’t want to buy separate cushions. Like, almost as sure as she was of the ring on her finger and the meaning behind it. (Almost. The idea of baby blue cushions did give her a small pause). Nope, no cushions for the imaginary couch. In the meantime, Regan had found another con, and Jade latched onto it. “Mmmm, it's so low. If I wanted to be that low I would get one of those puffy beanbag chairs…” She trailed off, cause actually! Her eyes lit up at the idea. Weren’t beanbag chairs so comfy and cute? The best part is that they wouldn’t be able to get up after, they would be stuck there till the end of times. Kinda like her bog. As much as she was vibrating in excitement, she decided to spare Regan of her new genius idea, though. On the account of her mourning her dream couch. This way, they both lost something, didn’t they? It was a super fair exchange.

Plus, they had found a real contender now in the green couch, so beanbags were forgotten. It was promising that Regan was examining this one without the same stiffness she had the others. Maybe she had been exposed to so many comfy couches already that she had warmed up to them. They weren’t just torture devices anymore. Jade got her hopes up, for real. And oh! She hadn’t even read the tag yet. “Knife pockets!?” Wasn’t that like, so convenient and perfect? How did Just Couches know? That was probably why the Just chains were so popular. They catered to every interest. But, forget about knives (you heard that right), what was that about different modes? She moved closer to read the tag too. (And to get a better look at that sexy eyebrow Regan was rising) (Mmm, the right one). Yup. Disco mode? Vibration mode? They had to try all of them. Her excitement skyrocketed. And at this point, she was bracing for like, major disappointment if Regan decided to pull the plug for any reason. “Do you think this is couch mode?” she mused. Maybe it was store mode. She dragged her eyes lower, finding out about the Just Club membership at the same time as Regan. “I wanna go there, we are gonna go there,” she let out a dreamy sigh.

Her hand found Regan’s waist, pulling her closer. Sparkling eyes darted between her dream couch and her dream woman. (Wasn’t it weird, to be so freaking blissful at a couch store?) She didn’t have to say it, Regan could read the pretty please all over her face. And she got to see in real time how Regan melted to her mushiest version. Ugh, adorable. She snickered and not satisfied with a head on her shoulder, she nudged Regan so they could see each other. “Never. It’ll be our little secret,” she whispered, face inching closer just cause being in Regan’s orbit did that to her. She wasn’t gonna bring up the fact that a lot of people could probably already tell anyway. Cause there was nothing wrong with a small dose of delusion. Regan said yes to the couch, and Jade gifted her one of those smiles the other loved so much. It was a fair deal. In fact, she wanted to make it an even better one. Cause Regan was setting aside her own doubts and fighting her demons to find a comfy couch for her. It meant like, so much. She leaned in, for the faintest brush of their lips. And when Regan needed a little more than that, she gave in too. Cause Jade aimed to please, always. But she kept it sweet and gentle, okay? So nobody could come and yell at them to ‘get a room’ (which, knowing them, would've been more of an encouragement than anything else).

Parting was always the worst part, but she stayed close, enjoying the softness of Regan’s skin against the tip of her nose. No one ever warned Jade about how addicting that softness would be, but she had zero complaints. “You’re gonna love it too, I just know,” and when had she ever been wrong when it came to Regan? Reluctantly, she put more distance between them, cause they had a store clerk to call and like, sort out the purchase. She reached for Regan’s hand when her words stopped her. “Hm?” Both… what? Oh. Nope, actually, she was back to blanking on what Regan was trying to communicate, her two brain cells short-circuiting a little bit when she saw the fluorescent light reflect on Regan’s eyes. She could stare at her all day, and that was not a hyperbole. She had to restrain herself from going for another kiss. And shoot, right, Regan was talking. “I don’t see why not,” and maybe, that was her gayness talking, what about it? She knew Regan would ditch the outlined couch the second she saw Jade sprawled on their fancy green couch, ready to be snuggled (those back examinations were gonna hit so hard). She let out a cackle. “A matching mattress?” so, like… made of air? Those were a real thing. Except Regan probably meant another rectangle taped on the ground. Her eyebrows pinched together, and Regan came in hot with a correction. She laughed again, feeling extremely waterlogged. Regan was so sure it was her who never said no to Jade’s whims, but did she know how hard it was for her to not go along with every silly idea that popped into Regan’s head? Especially when there was a smile that reached her eyes? Hardest thing she’d ever done. Forget about hunter training. “Yup. We can get you an outlined ottoman, baby.” So really, why say no? Her hand reached down, giving her a love pat. “Come on, let’s find someone, before we end up agreeing on the free mouse couch too”.

[happi-tree]

Terrow and/or oakworthy?

Hey, Rae! Hope you're having a beautiful day 💜💜💜

First up: Terrow!

While they're not my absolute favorite of the kiddad ships, I love them and also their potential dynamic! I diiiiiid have a fic idea lined up for them at one point that is still very dear to me so mayhaps. Eventually. I'll give it a shot sbdfakbffs. I think they'd be SO cute together and... I don't want to necessarily say good for each other bc like there still would definitely be issues but maybe the two of them would actually be one of the pairs to talk out their issues. I really think Terry and Sparrow have such an interesting dynamic to explore - they're both such observant people and kind of the therapist friends of the group by default (Sparrow as the lovewolf, Terry as the son of a therapist). I'd love to see how they'd navigate a relationship together - it's something that holds a lot of potential to me!

Up next: Oakworthy!

THEY ARE. SOOOOOOOOOOOO GOOD I NEED THEM TO KISS I NEED THEM TO KISS PLEASE FOR ALL THE GROSS TEENAGERS OUT THERE!!! Okay now that that's covered I think Oakworthy actually has so much depth to it beyond them being gross weirdo overdramatic rival(!!!) silly guys in love (though that very much is an important and vital part of their appeal). Normal and Hermie are both struggling so much with their identities this season and kind of. Foil each other in that respect. And what is SO interesting to me in the aftermath of episode 31 is where it all goes from here (obviously). Like, Normal's entire life has been turned upside down with the revelations about his family, the discovery of his powers and his attunement to the Doodler, and he threw off the identity he so desperately clung to in order to help his friends fight for a better world and save his family and fix this catastrophic mess. And now, with Teeny stolen, there's a very real chance that Normal can never get that part of himself back, creating even MORE identity issues and problems in the process (Normal is a cleric and Teeny is his idol, and having that taken from him is devastating on so, so many levels as both the source of his power and of his personal beliefs and ideals). On the flip side, Hermie ALSO had no idea what the fuck he was getting into - he just wanted the costume, but he just had to commit himself to the performance and in the process he learned that (1) something is inherently fucked up with these teenagers and also they're probably the only ones who can stop,,, whatever happened to Tony Pepperoni at the dance, (2) the world is ending apparently? has been ending???, (3) he's adopted, and (4) he's never been human because he's actually half non-euclidean trickster and half demon. Like, the "I'm either disassociating or this is who I am" line is SO MUCH to me actually. He just wanted to do something for his school and then he ended up with his entire identity stripped away from him! Who is Hermie? How is he supposed to know? And then, after everything, he goes and circles back and steals the mascot outfit - and, I might be eating my words with this one come Tuesday, so take this with a grain of salt - he steals Teeny, and this reads to me like he's doubling down on the person he used to be and reprising that role in an attempt to mentally push down those feelings of not knowing who the fuck he is anymore. Which, you know, valid! But his actions are stripping away a huge piece of Normal's identity in the process, therefore rendering Normal incapable of doing the very thing that Hermie is attempting to do - use his previous persona as a sort of safety net, a safer place to return to from a bygone era when things were simpler and he was just a regular kid, more or less. And I think that there's something pretty poetic about that.

Oh my god, that got long. Um, yeah, anyway, I think the world needs more representation of disgusting weirdo-for-weirdo teenagers being in love and I think Oakworthy should be that representation. Please I need them to kiss. Like. Pretty please I'm begging.

[milokissa707]

Wttt/Wttsh weak 1, time for Cryptid Rhode Island. Also, also known as I know, way too much about the Cthulhu extended universe 

For Cryptid Rhode Island, obviously we’re going to do something along the lines of HP Lovecraft(as much as I have a love-hate relationship with this man, you racist antisemite ablest asshole, his unimaginable idiocy really did help him make horrors beyond comprehension because he didn’t have comprehension of anything again he’s an idiot! Come on man, we live on a circle everything is non-Euclidean!). Anyways, besides my point about my hatred and love for this man, I know a lot of us think of Rhode Island Cryptid as Cthulhu or at least like him, but I think it would be cooler if he looks like the deep one. The best way I can describe it is fish, lizard, monster thing. So if we combine Cthulhu and the deep one together, I think we would get a nice little horrendous Cryptid man. Aka I want Rhode Island to be a fish, lizard, bipedal, tentacle man. It also would be kind of funny if he was just like an octopus and it’s something like Cthulhu’s daughter, and which, like he’s mistaken from some kind of rare octopus I just got put in an enclosure. TBH I want to put all these men and literally enclosures and watch them. Anyways, maybe some inspirational stuff from Father Dagan. To be honest, most of HP Lovecraft’s monsters fit well into Cryptid Rhode Island. Honestly, picking only one of his monsters to take inspiration from would only be doing Rhode Island a disservice because meds are a hideous ocean being and I love him for that. Like I could also see the man looking like gloon, mostly because of the homoeroticism. Also, when I say Lovecraft, I’m not just talking about Lovecraft works. I’m also talking about the extended universe created by writers.

I also think a good chunk of lovecraft works would also fit England, I mean, it makes sense the guy was a New Englander. But I’m really hesitant to say that would be my idea for England as there’s a girl, a bunch of cool folklore from that country.

Tomorrow, my dears were talking about peaches and some other stuff. Since it’s Friday, I’m gonna give you double post.

[nimblermortal]

All right I no longer remember why I was reading about de Sitter space, but I’m getting into a Wiki hole so I’m taking some notes here.

1. “In mathematical physics, n-dimensional de Sitter space (often abbreviated to dSn) is a maximally symmetric Lorentzian manifold with constant positive scalar curvature”

2. A Lorentzian manifold is a type of pseudo-Riemannian manifold

3. “In differential geometry, a pseudo-Riemannian manifold,[1][2] also called a semi-Riemannian manifold, is a differentiable manifold with a metric tensor that is everywhere nondegenerate.”

4. “In mathematics, a differentiable manifold (also differential manifold) is a type of manifold that is locally similar enough to a vector space to allow one to apply calculus.”

5. “In mathematics, a manifold is a topological space that locally resembles Euclidean space near each point.” 

5. This is actually a sentence that makes sense to me, but in case it doesn’t to you: a Euclidean space is basically the sort of space that you’re thinking of with points on a graph. It’s regular, it’s even, it’s got a consistent coordinate system... A non-Euclidean space is, say, if you’re trying to project the Earth onto a map. Even assuming the Earth is perfectly round, trying to get that onto a flat plane leaves you with vastly irregular spacing and, well, all the flaws of the Mercator projection.

So a manifold is a shape, in n dimensions, such that any point on it looks like the space around it is Euclidean, but if you zoom out a bit further it ain’t. “One-dimensional manifolds include lines and circles, but not lemniscates.“ - a lemniscate ~is a figure 8 or an infinity symbol. On either side of the intersection point, it’s basically a circle and works as a one-dimensional line or circle, but at that intersection point, you have to have two dimensions (n+1) to describe the intersection of those lines, so it no longer locally resembles a 1-dimensional Euclidean space at that point.

4. A differentiable manifold is one that you can work calculus on. (I’m going to assume you remember scalars and vectors. If not, a scalar is a number, a vector is a number with a direction, or in graphical senses a ray.) I’m not... super clear on why you need a vector space to work calculus, but then, I’ve always tried to forget visual representations of math as fast as possible because I am a hugely non-visual person and they just confuse me. So it probably has something to do with that, and the way integration represents the area under a curve and differentiation represents its... na, slope or inflection point or whatever.

3. “In the mathematical field of differential geometry, a metric tensor (or simply metric) is an additional structure on a manifold M (such as a surface) that allows defining distances and angles, just as the inner product on a Euclidean space allows defining distances and angles there.”

The inner product is the dot product, fyi. If that doesn’t make sense to you... I’m not explaining it here. Sorry if that’s rough, but ultimately I am here for my own understanding and that’s a whole class on matrix arithmetic. Suffice it for here that the inner product lets you take your matrix representation of two curves, do math to them, and come up with a scalar representation of their relation. The metric tensor here is the generalization of that concept, something that lets you define curves’ relationship to each other.

(Note I am using the word ‘curve��� to represent lines and scribbles with arcs, consistent or not.)

“In mathematics, specifically linear algebra, a degenerate bilinear form f (x, y ) on a vector space V is a bilinear form such that the map from V to V∗ (the dual space of V ) given by v ↦ (x ↦ f (x, v )) is not an isomorphism.”

So a non-degenerate metric tensor is one such that the map from V to V* IS an isomorphism. Note that if I am remembering correctly, v is a vector in the space V. I had to remind myself that the dual space is like. Every vector that can exist in V? if you do basic mathematics to them? (Note that I am using phrases like ‘basic mathematics’ very broadly and in a not mathematically-approved sense.) And of course f(x) is a function. And an isomorphism is something that can be reversed with an inverse function.

So then x maps to f(x,v), and v maps to whatever ray or space that original mapping defined, and you can’t undo that. Except that we’re talking a non-degenerate space, so in fact the pseudo-Riemannian manifold that we started out talking about is a manifold (point 5) on which you can work calculus in a way that enables you to describe directions and angles and reverse functions/mappings done in that space. (I am much less confident in that last point.)

That brings me through point 3, but now I have to sleep.

[canmom]

No, this is not non-Euclidean geometry. Euclid was perfectly au fait with curved lines, the Greeks used them all the fucking time (think of all those ruler-and-compass constructions), and more to the point, constructing a circle is literally the third Euclidean postulate. You can construct this shape perfectly well within a Euclidean plane, such as your computer screen. Non-Euclidean geometry is generally speaking something subtler: a space where parallel lines can meet or diverge.

For a super basic example, here's a triangle with three right angles constructed on the surface of a sphere:

You cannot construct a triangle with three right angles in a flat plane, so this is non-Euclidean geometry (to be specific, the surface of a sphere does not obey Euclid's parallel postulate). On a sphere, the 'straight line' (which we generalise with the notion of the geodesic) is a great circle, so you can construct 'polygons' using great circles. The interior angles of a triangle constructed on the surface of a sphere will in general add up to more than 180 degrees.

The 2D surface of a sphere is not all that weird to us 3D creatures, since it can be easily embedded in a 3D Euclidean space... but there are many more, much stranger curved spaces in mathematics than this, particularly when you start considering higher-dimensional curved spaces. There are a few games out there which are all about playing with non-Euclidean spaces, such as Antichamber or HyperRogue. There are also some great visualisations of curved space on ZenoRogue's channel, such as this one:

As much as Lovecraft could get freaked out by some pretty innocuous shit (e.g. penguins), there are some pretty damn weird spaces in mathematics, and I think if you found yourself in one you'd be less than chill about it. (I mean, if physics even worked there.)

That said, our universe is actually a 4D curved spacetime, so you are in a non-Euclidean space right now. That's what gives us gravity! The geometry on the universe is on very large scales, and in deep space, approximately Minkowski space, which is sort of like Euclidean space but the time dimension works a bit differently. Close to a massive object, it gets more complicated - some structures like a spinning black hole (Kerr metric) even permit you to go in a time loop if you're on the right trajectory.

I love seeing a meme and being like oh, tumblrs going to love this one

[delphiniumarchangelmoon]

Had a weird ass dream last night, guest starring Schlatt

So it was one of those all-nighter type dreams, the ones that really feel like it took 8 hours to get through it, so bear with me.

For context, if you look out my kitchen window you can see an empty lot diagonal to my back yard, and beyond it the street is split around a retention pond so the street behind mine kind of has a knockoff roundabout in the middle of it.

Anyway the dream starts with a bunch of dogs out on the sidewalk between the circle and the empty lot and I want to go give them treats, so I root around in the cupboard for for treats.

But when I stand back up all but one dog has been replaced with a cross???

And the last dog stands up and oh shit, it’s not a dog, it’s a person wearing a dogs head as a mask! What the fuck?

And somewhere in the middle of this sequence of looking away from the window and back (it’s like, five seperate instances of looking out the window) I see an orange jeep driving down the street behind my house and somehow I just know this car belongs to Schlatt, who is apparently my neighbor and I’m far too shy to talk to

I go out to the front of the house to tell my neighbors to get the fuck inside there’s a maniac on the loose, and I’m also dead set on fighting the guy for some reason idk I always turn into a goddamn action movie protag in my dreams I’m always ready to throw down.

But, I can’t because between me and the fence lead g to the empty lot there is, I shit you not, an angry water buffalo.

So I scream for everyone to get inside because now there’s a maniac and a water buffalo on the loose. And they do. And we have a moment if “well wtf do we do now?”

I don’t remember how we all got to this decision but everyone went to the other end of the street and all gathered in a specific house. And some of my cousins were there, and the kids all left to go practice shooting (we all apparently just. Accepted that there was an apocalypse I guess? So the kids were shooting guns idk)

But after a minute I’ve of the kids comes back and screams that my younger cousin (wheelchair bound, this is notable) has also lost his mind and gone rogue.

So I take the girl and run back to my house and ask her to explain what was going on. But her story doesn’t line up, she says he attacked her and his sister but it shouldn’t be possible given how easy he is to outrun or subdue with his specific medical conditions.

I realize this about the time she does, and she attacks. I parkour around my garage like gravity doesn’t exist because it’s a dream and I can, and escape out the back door and hop the fence.

I then see the orange jeep driving fine the road again, so I wave it fine and ask the driver (literally just done dude) if he’s with Schlatt. He says he is and tells me to get in when I say I’m being chased.

While he’s driving us back to their house (which takes way longer than it should and we are definitely not going the correct direction but my dreams are rarely Euclidean so I’m not surprised) I explain what I’ve discovered about this seemingly contagious madness

We get back to the house and I am face to face with Schlatt and desperately trying to play it cool, but I hardly get a chance to say hello before the guy who drove me in says something about “releasing a prototype”

Schlatt freaks out—apparently this was not a good idea—and tells me to hide.

I run through the house and start locking doors behind me, I find a (badly) hidden door that leads to a bedroom with a back door, I lock it behind me and run, internally monologuing about how I can’t trust anyone, I have no idea who’s been infected.

I get ahold of a phone and somehow log in to a chat room with Schlatt and his friends, they tell me to come back to the house, it’s safe now, but I don’t listen. Instead I break into a random house and hidden under a mattress on the floor

and then, just as it was getting good…

…my alarm goes off and I wake up.

Tl;dr imagine a zombie plague but they retain all their intelligence and have no visible sign of infection until they’re trying to kill you and also Schlatt is there for some reason

[the-city-in-mind]

The Aesthetic City looks at the new Cayala district of Guatemala City, designed from the ground up by Estudio Urbano with Léon Krier.

It’s a human-scaled, mixed-use, moderate density development using traditional town planning principles, incorporating a mix of Spanish colonial, classical, and indigenous Mayan architecture; it’s designed for the local climate, and is a carfree / autoluw environment.

People flock to it. They spend money there. It’s such a success, new developments nearby advertise how close they are to it.

I don’t want to say “see, this isn’t hard,” because in our current car-centric, Euclidean-zoned planning environment, with every type of NIMBY group waiting to complain about the nerve of other humans to exist within their field of view, it’s very hard to build something like this.

Cayala succeeded because it was an entirely private real estate development on privately owned land, whose owners could have built a cluster of generic five-over-ones that would degrade in a tropical environment, but chose instead to allow themselves to be won over to this kind of vision.

If I were king of Chicago I would insist that this be the norm, and that when parts of land are up for redevelopment or expansion, this kind of process and insistence on high-quality, detailed building be mandatory.

Thinking again of the area around the UIC Circle Campus, the weird dead zone in the Motor Row District / South Commons hospital campus, or any of the clusters of office parks out towards the airport or Schaumburg, there has to be a strategy to rehabilitate these non-places into real places.

[jonathankatwhatever]

I find it hard to believe that people argue we need more sexuality in public, but I can imagine all sorts of arguments, visualizing them as Storylines over a Story space. Never managed to label that before. There’s a Story space, and it consists of D4-3 constructions, meaning iThings which relate to a D3-4 Thing. That phrasing is careful: I mean specifically that these Attach, which means over a 1-0Segment, but they are 2 Things, not 1. As much as they share, they remain 2 Things because they were separated can never ever get completely back together as the unsplit 1. They can wrap around each other, but they are always separated by a 1-0Segment. But rather than being a bad thing, it’s actually the best, because separation allows you to bind across all the dimensions, not just the ones that you shared as one Thing. In other words, the longing is the looking back is the Eden story is more stories is counting to 2 by taking that as the distance from 1 to 2, where ‘that’ means a known, meaning you can’t let go of that longing until you are ready to let go of that longing, and that occurs when you are able to look forward because you realize what we have gained by being able to connect in as many ways as we can. That is the image I’m trying to render. Very difficult.

It’s an inversion over an Attachment, like said, and it’s attaching D4-3 to D3-4 and the other way. This seems to say something very fundamental in counting. Yes, I remember that counting to 2 is all we need because that creates uncountable segments on either side of an End, so it’s 1-0-1-0-1, meaning 5 states (which read both ways is the obvious base10 generator). This embodies 1Space: the depth of 1-0Segments make a 1-0Segments. You can do that directly by reading back and forth, laying this out in a line to make 10 or 11, or by constructing in grid squares so we can lay these chains on top of each other, separated by the Attachment, which makes 10 count 11 and 12.

When I said constructing in grid squares, I meant it’s a visualization in this wire frame form, like if the grid squares reveal when turned away from ideal. That is the idea, right? The one that’s always been there, that lines are grid squares. That’s how we make sK and zK disappear: they cancel each other when the wire frame is in ideal, leaving xK and yK, which are in K form because they combine each axis and a ghost of the other, like they imprint on each other. That’s exactly what’s happening here. Imprinting is done when the separation occurs, and thus it recombines not through dimensions but through threads, through Storylines that exist in a shared Story space. In other words, shared thread, shared Storylines that intertwine but intertwining does not mean exactly the same choices but rather complementary growth, meaning there’s a count of 2, and that joins 1-0Segments, which are uncountable. But remember that grid squares is the reduction to finite from uncountable and countable to finite Ends, which are also in the count of 2, because you can simply swing one End around and make a circle or sphere.

So that sets up the inversion of a End to its Boundary. This becomes a Thing, so we have Things made of Things which we can treat as Boundaries, which means there are fields. I never thought this would connect so well. Gee, so I was thinking about how that song finally makes complete sense to me, and that turns into me examining the very basic assumption of ideal K-axis form containing x and y and z. So now we can say that these axes in Euclidean space, for example, are the projections of those wire frames. These locally become 3D. Need to connect that to D3 better. The idea is that 3D is included within D3, that it’s the 0Space rendition, meaning it’s the D3-4 existence, which highlights the point much better: when we say 3D, we inherently mean 2 to 3 and 3 to 4, so we construct using lines and make triangles, etc., and I’m trying to get out that none of these constructions are limited to such simplistic dimensional labels, that to say D3-4 means whatever constructs using gs process as potential Storyline for that D3 object. So the notational idea of D3 object is getting clearer too; it means what makes up that existence, at the D3 End, which means Triangular, which translates into grid squares through the probabilities associated with the pathways which develop out of the generation of a gs out of a bT, then an fD, then 3fD, and so on.

I have a lot more to say but I’m out of energy and need to take some cold pills to sleep. My mind keeps drifting off.

It’s early morning 10 June 2023.

[cant-think-of-anything-creative]

OoooOOooooOooo guess what!!! This scene well and truly won't leave me alone so I have spent another night writing up my Thoughts and Ideas into something somewhat comprehensible!!!! I blame @jackdaw-kraai @darthstitch @bookwyrmie completely, congratulations y'all!!!!! You Did This!!!!!! 🤣🤣

In the middle of a crowded ballroom, Vader and the child currently held in his arms stared at each other. Luke had handed her to him before he fully understood that what he was receiving was in fact both alive and a small child, and not something inanimate and, say, less fragile. While he tried to recall what to do with an infant, she did something that, in hindsight, he should have expected.

She reached up and hooked her tiny fingers into the slots of his respirator.

"I would advise against that, child," he said.

"Aba," she babbled at him, her other hand joining the first.

"This is not a plaything," he gently added. A pop-up on his HUD alerted him to a blockage and the estimated time he could stay conscious with the decreased rate of oxygen. "It is a vital piece of medical equipment. I must ask you to treat it as such."

He carefully guided her hands away and continued to fend off her attempts to touch either his mask or the unit on his chest. Eventually she settled for his hand, gripping his thumb and pinky finger and manipulating them as much as she could.

"Thank you for your compromise," Vader said.

The child strung together a set of nonsensical syllables that nonetheless had Vader nodding.

He stood there for a while, half-listening to Luke's conversation and letting the child play with his hand until she got bored. His attention was recaptured when she began making small distressed sounds, ones that dredged up a spark of foreboding within him.

"What is it?" he asked her. "Are you hungry, perhaps?"

He looked at the selection of food -- none of it designed for a child. Moreover, he had no idea what kind of preferences or allergies this one may or may not have.

She whined more insistently and stuck her fingers into her mouth.

Vader turned to Luke, still chatting animatedly with his fellows. He placed a hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

"I will return," he said.

"Sure," Luke agreed, patting Vader's hand, and launched right back into his conversation. Vader looked to the guards stationed at the perimeter of the ballroom and only then did he release Luke's shoulder.

He walked a little ways over to the buffet tables and took a knife and fork from the offered cutlery.

"Look, child," he murmured, tilting the utensils this way and that so the glinting of the light caught her attention. Her eyes latched onto the shiny metal, reaching for them with the hand not currently occupied. Her distressed coos tapered off slightly, but began to rise again when Vader wouldn't let her grab them.

"Hm, not so interesting for you, I think," he mused. "But you may hurt yourself if I allow you to hold them."

She looked at him crossly, wisps of her brows furrowed in caricature of what she'd observed of others. She took her hand out of her mouth to babble insistently and slap the arm holding her, smearing saliva across the dark leather.

"Very well," Vader sighed. "Perhaps there is a mutually agreeable solution."

A fine ribbon of the Force wound around them, pulled deftly from the fabric of reality by an old weaver's hand -- the utensils rose on invisible strings, twirling gently around each other like a mobile. It had a similar effect, as well; the child returned her attention to them, now silent but for the small grunts she made as, again, she tried to reach out.

"I agree," he nodded. "A tactile distraction would be best. But these have far too many points for you to prick yourself on, child."

He twitched his fingers and the utensils collided midair, bending around and around each other until there was a packed ball of metal. One could hardly tell where fork ended and knife began. The metal squealed quietly as it was bent into shape, and the more pressure Vader Forced upon it the more it began to glow a red heat. The child watched as the color changed to a burning orange and eventually a bright, molten white.

Vader held the condensed ball of silver at arm's length, thankful now for the wide berth people tended to give him at these functions.

"I believe you would quickly become dissatisfied a simple ball. Would you not agree?" Vader asked. The child, now that it was well and truly out of her grasp, was already looking around with a lazy, hooded eye. "Hm. Something more complex, then."

He turned back to the metal and began twisting. Some sections pulled apart, some connected together, until the latticework of a great dodecahedron rested above his hand, spinning on all axes so he could ensure the angles were correct from every direction. A shape that would occupy her for some time, hopefully. He carefully rounded each vertex and smoothed every edge, and double-checked it with precision.

Then, once he was satisfied, he began to wick away the heat held within the metal. Slowly, the silver set and hardened. He had to be careful, so the lattice did not cool in sections and split apart.

The child began whining again. Vader idly tucked her more securely against his chest, mindful of his life support -- but something inside him he could not name seemed to both stir and settle once she laid her head on his shoulder.

"Almost finished," he consoled her. "I have to make sure it is not too hot for you."

Eventually, Vader released his grasp of the Force and the dodecahedron fell into his hand, cooled completely to ambient temperature. He turned it over once more, a last check for burs or points that he might have missed.

"Here you are, child. Will this hold your attention?"

She took it from him and immediately placed a rung into her mouth. If she minded the taste, she did not show it.

"I am glad to see it," Vader nodded. "This is the framework of a great dodecahedron, which is a regular polyhedron. Many are taught that there are only five regular polyhedra, but there are actually forty-eight in three-dimensional Euclidean space."

She looked up at him with attentive eyes and removed the shape to talk to him, waving the latticework about.

"Exactly. Perfectly foolish to exclude all but the platonic solids."

She resumed her chewing. Vader began explaining the finer points of three-dimensional geometry, and her attentiveness as a pupil only wavered once he started on hexagonal tiling. (Which was more than fair, in Vader's opinion -- the tilings were the least interesting of the lot.) He continued as her eyes drooped and she settled in his arms, turning her new toy in her hands as she listened.

Suddenly, the great dodecahedron fell to the floor, clinking softly to a stop a few paces away. Vader looked down and stilled in surprise; the child was laid fully on his chest and shoulder, eyes closed and breathing deeply in relaxed and restful slumber. She seemed unconcerned by the hard metal of his mantle, but he dared not shift and risk waking her.

He looked for the dodecahedron and found instead Luke, already rising with it in his grip and making his way over.

"This is cool," the boy said, twirling it in his hands. "Where'd you get it?"

"I crafted it from cutlery," Vader replied, wincing at the volume of his vocoder.

"Woah, neat!" Luke took a closer look at it. "I can't see any seam lines."

"No," Vader confirmed. By the grin Luke flashes at him, his tone had a prideful air to it. The vocoder interpreted his chuckle as a small burst of static.

Luke's smile turned sweet, looking to the child in his arms.

"How is she?" he asked, still fiddling with the toy. "Sorry I handed her off so abruptly. I got caught up."

"It was no trouble, little one," Vader dismissed his apology. "...She fell asleep."

"Ohhh," Luke cooed, hand to his cheek. "That's so precious. I wish I brought my datapad."

"And I am rather glad you did not," Vader lightly countered.

Luke rolled his eyes. "Aw, come on. If I took a picture I wouldn't share it with anybody."

Vader was about to reply when--

POP!

At the other end of the table, a burst of applause followed as someone uncorked a bottle of carbonated wine. The child flinched awake in Vader's arms, blinked twice at the loud and bright surroundings, and heaved in a breath.

"Oh no," said Luke, right before she began to wail.

Vader hesitantly pat her back -- his mantle was too hard to bounce her on unless he wanted to give her a concussion. He looked to Luke, whose arms were already extended.

"Can I...?" Luke asked, and Vader readily handed her over. Luke started swaying in place, rubbing her back in gentle circles. "You were doing great, it's just--"

"My armor is not designed for comfort," Vader agreed. "I believe you are much better equipped for her, little one."

Luke's eyes stayed on him for a beat longer than he expected.

"Yeah, I guess not," he eventually agreed. He turned to the child still crying on his shoulder. "But wow, you've got a set of pipes on you, huh? Hey, what's this? You remember this? Did Lord Vader make it for you?"

Luke managed to catch the child's attention once more, her cries diminishing to hiccuping sobs once she had hold of the latticework again. After a couple of minutes it was back in her mouth, and Vader went to retrieve a napkin from the table so Luke could wipe her face.

While at the table, he let his irritation bleed into the space around him and the Dark responded, prickling eagerly up his neck. The gathered crowd immediately quieted and scampered off to another, less disruptive location.

"She really likes it," Luke said when he returned.

"Indeed. She is an exemplary student."

"Is that what you were talking about over here?" he asked, smiling. "Weird math stuff?"

Vader crossed his arms. "It is a fairly simple geometrical concept. She grasped upon the context immediately."

"Aw," Luke crooned. "That's the cutest thing I've ever heard. You're gonna be a scientist one day, huh, sweetling?"

He poked lightly at her belly, just enough to make her laugh -- and drop the dodecahedron. Vader buoyed it with a quick reaction of the Force, guiding it once more into her hands.

She stared at it with wide eyes, then brought it overhead and threw it.

"Oh yeah," Luke said as Vader retrieved it once again. "A scientist for sure."

[ghaniblue]

The Problem with Non-Euclidean Geometry

written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt Parallel. Thanks to @hbee and @mystisblom for telling me this made sense. | 1.2k of angst. Someone ban me from Wikipedia. | also on AO3

Two straight lines in a plane that do not intersect at any point are said to be parallel.

∥

'Malfoy heir disappeared without a trace!' the headline in the Prophet read. Draco leaned over Harry's shoulder and scoffed. "They really could've chosen a more flattering picture."

Draco reached for Harry's cup of tea like always but his fingers never touched the ceramic.

∥

Harry spread out the map on their kitchen table in Grimmauld Place. There were cross marks and scribbled circles all over the place.

"What about this one?" Draco asked, peering at a note that said 'talk to the proprietor'. "I don't remember visiting this store." Harry underlined something in his notebook about Trerice House in Kestell. So that was good, Harry was getting closer to fixing this. "Don't forget to look through my notes in the study. You know I write everything down. And talk to Hermione."

∥

"We should've come here together," Draco said, looking up the path that led toward the Zennor Quoit, at the green farmland and blooming purple heather. "It's quite lovely, don't you think?"

Draco turned around when Harry did not appear next to him. Hunched over his notebook, Harry had no eyes for the beauty of Cornwall in summer. Trerice House had not offered the answers they had hoped. If they had come here together, maybe Draco would not be in this mess. Or, maybe they'd both be stuck now. No, Draco admonished himself, Harry needed to stay unstuck. Draco was still learning to be less selfish. He was a work in progress, as he used to tell Harry all the time.

∥

Hermione, Ron and Harry had their heads bent together over Harry's notes. Now and then Hermione referenced something in a battered edition of Spellman's Syllabary. The kitchen table was covered in books, Muggle and Wizarding: The Thirteen Books of Euclid's Elements (Draco's), the latest of Lukas Karuzos' Arithmancy books (Hermione's), Ley Lines and Cream Tea, and Apparition and the Problem of Infinity (both Draco's). "What does parallel pros—postulate mean?" Ron asked, his face scrunched up.

Draco was pacing behind them; back and forth, back and forth. "I don't want to tell you how to do this," Draco declared—he was lying, of course; he was getting rather agitated about how long it took to fix this pickle he had found himself in—"but Euclid is not the answer." Nobody paid him any mind. Draco threw up his hands. "He is the problem! It's all in my notes, don't you see? Infinity! We need to find the horizon!" Nobody answered.

∥

Harry sat at their kitchen table with his notebook open in front of him. Now and then he consulted the map, made a note and went back to reading and re-reading his notebook. His eyes were bloodshot and his face had started disappearing underneath his beard sometime three months ago. He needed a haircut.

"It's alright, darling, go to sleep," Draco said. "I'm right here."

∥

Ron kept staggering against the wall. Harry might not look like much, but he weighed a ton. Especially when his own two feet were no help keeping him upright like now.

"I hate this," Draco complained, following them up the stairs. He could hear the sound of bottles being vanished by Hermione: clink-clink from the parlour and kitchen and back garden. Draco hoped she knew some teetotaler protection wards for the house. "I don't know how to help him," he confided to Ron.

∥

Molly bellowed for Charlie to hurry up and come downstairs and help put up the Christmas tree. "Take care of him for me?" Draco asked, but he already knew she would.

Hermione and Harry sat in front of the fireplace, his head on Hermione's shoulder. Draco settled down next to her. "You are the smartest person I know," he began, "so you already know he will not ask for anything. You have to promise me to make him ask for what he needs. Promise me." Hermione took Harry's hand and squeezed. "Good." Draco nodded. "That's decided then."

∥

Draco crouched on the ground next to Harry. It was a beautiful day for February in Wiltshire, with crisp clear air and a bright blue sky. It had even snowed last night. "I did not expect so many people to come, " Draco said, fingers tracing a particularly lovely wreath of camellia. "It was rather nice, all things considered."

Draco was lying. He never wanted to see Mother cry ever again.

∥

Draco's robes were laid out on the bed next to his shirts and waistcoats. "Maybe you could donate them," Hermione offered, her voice careful.

"Yes," Harry said, his fingers tracing the leaf pattern of an emerald-green waistcoat with silver thread. It was Draco's favourite. "Maybe." Draco did not look, he was resolutely staring out the window.

∥

Harry hugged Ron outside the Leaky. "That's brilliant. I'm so happy for you two." Draco watched Harry's face. It's been so long since he's seen Harry smile.

"Don't tell Hermione I blabbed." Ron laughed. "She'll kill me."

∥

It was just a blink, not even a look, really; but Draco's eyes followed the man weaving his way towards the bar anyway. He was tall, slender and blond. Draco looked at Harry who was frowning into his beer.

Draco swallowed hard. He could do this, for Harry he could be generous and selfless. "You're allowed," Draco whispered across the table, even though his insides felt all twisted up. "Darling, it's alright."

∥

Draco watched in fascination as the dark lines appeared on Harry's skin. Ron was with them, looking slightly queasy with the procedure but here nevertheless. Charlie ran his wand over Harry's wrist once more and muttered another spell. The air seemed to shimmer over the new tattoo before sinking like mist into the skin.

Silver grey ley lines bisected by parallel lines meeting at the horizon, one red one green.

∥

Harry lay curled up in their bed, on his side of the bed, with his glasses and a book which Draco had talked Harry into reading two years ago on the side table. The bookmark was perennially stuck at page 78. At the rate Harry was going, he would need infinity to finish it. That was alright with Draco. Draco had nothing but time now. Harry's brow was creased and he fidgeted like he couldn't get comfortable. He had always been a restless sleeper, twisting up the sheets or waking Draco up in the middle of the night with indistinct mutterings that sounded far too close to pleas.

Draco lay down next to Harry, on his side of the bed, and watched. Harry was clutching a pillow to his chest, Draco's pillow. Draco reached out a hand across the divide. "I miss you, too."

∥

Two straight lines in a plane that do not intersect at any point are said to be parallel. Why then do parallel lines meet at infinity?

[bibliocratic]

How about Jon Martin and the cursed trip to IKEA?

Thanks for the prompt! :D

I’m sure this absolutely could have been read as like ‘IKEA is not-so-secretly a Spiral domain’ but this non-Euclidean hell-hole is of mortal making I’m sure of it.

(I love and fear you IKEA, never change <3)

 --

“I simply don’t see the reason why we’d ever need them.”

“If we have guests over!”

“We’ve never had guests over.”

“One day we might!”

“And over for what?”

“I dunno! Dinner or something, make a night of it.”

“Martin, neither of us can cook.”

“Well, we could learn.”

“Alright, fine. Pushing that to one side for the moment, my question is why do our hypothetical guests require a different set of fancier cutlery? What’s wrong with the ones we’ve got at home?”

“I mean, nothing really, just… well, it’s a thing, isn’t it? Having some nice stuff to bring out if people come round.”

“Will we be moving on to the fine china aisle next?”

“Maybe! Ha, ha, don’t give me that look – Why not splash out a little? At worst, we just have more forks and some extra knives.”

“…Alright, fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Before I come to my senses. But I reserve the right to refuse guests the good cutlery if they’re undeserving.”

“What, are you planning some rigorous questionnaire they’ve got to pass first?”

“Absolutely. Come on then, the fine china awaits.”

--

Alfonse has never really been one for home improvement. He’s got a rolled-up stick of posters that he’s dragged around from his old room to student digs to slightly nicer student digs since he was a teenager, their corners creased and dotted with blue-tack stains. He’s had the same chipped plate, chipped bowl, chipped cup set since uni, and has been belligerent about swapping them out for anything less likely to shatter the next time he puts it in the dishwasher. But it’s their first flat together, and it feels real, and grown-up, and kind of scary, and he thinks that it’s important to get this part right, to set their life together off with a different start than the other places. Meaning that now, somehow, they’ve got a squeaky-wheeled trolley full of pillows and a cheese grater and storage containers that aren’t see-through plastic boxes and honest-to-god frames for his Quentin Tarantino posters. He’s finding himself entertaining the rather luxurious thought of buying a large and leafy potted plant to brighten up their cramped living room.

Tom is in his element here, and he’s put on his ridiculous reading glasses that Alfonse says make him look like Dame Edna, peering over their chunky glittery frames to inspect the ballroom’s worth of lighting they’ve found themselves amongst. He’s humming as he does so, making notations with the pint-sized pencil they collected at the door. Alfonse is entirely content to let him take the reigns on this one.

He idly people-watches for a while, making noises of interest at another floor lamp when it’s expected of him – the students clearing out the kitchenware section, lugging around the straining blue blags, the parents with children who have been swayed by the toys – before he catches sight of a man circling the desk lamps. Glancing down at his phone, gnawing on his lower lip with some discontent before he glances up and around the terrain before frowning. He swings his phone in an arc, giving the hope of it a hopeful tap, muttering a comeoncomeoncomeon under his breath.

His mobile gives a chirpy buzz, and the man almost hits himself in the ear with the force of answering.

“Where are you?” Alfonse overhears. “I can’t… Jon… Jon, you’re breaking up, yeah, the signal’s… Jon. I’m by the lamps… The lamps. Lamps. I’ve got the trolley, yes, yes – you… hello?”

Alfonse hears a very emphatic fuck’s sake before he decides to go back to Tom and leave the man suffer in private.

--

Sinead’s planted herself on one of the sofas in the well-lit display areas and has committed to not budging an inch for at least ten minutes. The fabric is a cheery yellow, and it suits the colour-coordinated pretend living room, but she’s not sure she’d choose it herself.

She’s getting a headache. Mel’s off with her nephews and nieces over in the kid’s bedroom section and she just needs five more minutes before she can look at another floral wallpaper or toy car bed.

She’s disrupted from massaging her temples by an irate-looking man with some rather intense eyebrow game throwing himself down on the half-egg-shaped armchair nearby, letting forth a truly impressively disgruntled sigh.

“You look like you’re suffering,” she offers, because she is and she wants to know someone else is too, and he nods peevishly and gives another irritated noise.

“I didn’t realise there’d be so much drama involved in buying a sofa,” he grumbles.

“Amen,” she agrees. They share a quiet moment of strung-out solidarity as they sit moulded into the seat cushions.

“… What’s that one called?” the man asks after a moment of stewing in his own mood.

She shrugs but picks up the tag and squints at it.

“Brathult? With one of those… those A’s that have the little bobble hat. Apparently, it comes in yellow, blue and green.”

“Comfortable?”

“Not bad.”

“Hm.” For a while he goes silent. Then he points out two sofas tucked into different displays and artfully layered with appropriate throw pillows; the first, a stocky black number set upon a sleek wooden frame that serve as its legs, the second, a dense cuboid of cushions currently being looked over by in fastidious detail by a tussle-haired man wearing a t-shirt covered in lots of small cartoon cacti.

“Between that one and that one,” her companion in furniture-based suffering says. “What do you think?”

Sinead studies them carefully.

“The second.”

He huffs. It was clearly not the answer he wanted.

“Why?”

“Not sure. I guess, yeah, it’s not as flashy, but the cushions look deeper. And there’s more width there, even just looking at them.”

“But the first one has all that space under it to store things.”

“Yeah, but you just know it’s going to build up with dust, and you’d be having to get the hoover under it all the time. It seems a bit finnicky.”

The man gives a considering nod.

“You’re right.”

He hefts himself up and calls over to the other display room: “Martin!”

The tussle-haired man whirls around.

Her companion holds up his hands. “You were right. The second one.”

The tussle-haired man looks smugly victorious. Sinead tries to hide her smirk at the sight.

--

Andy’s heaving the flat-pack box for a small bookcase into their trolley when they hear a conversation bleed through from the other side of the huge metal shelves in the warehouse part of the store.

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it.”

“It’s coming down on my side – woahwoahwoah – ”

“It’s – Christ, swing it this way a bit – ”

“I’ve not – Jon, I’ve not got – it’s – Jon, it’s slipping.”

“Put it down – DOWN – yes, that’s… Right. Let’s… let’s just have a moment. Catch our breath.”

“God, why’s it so heavy? It’s not like it’s even that big!”

Andy pops their head around to the other side of the shelf. Two men are puffing and sweaty, the colour on their faces blooming with exertion. Between the two of them is the long and bulky cardboard box they are clearly trying to manhandle into their trolley.

“Do you… um, do you need a hand?” they ask.

The shorter one waves a polite but dismissive hand before they manage to wrangle some air into their lungs.

“We’re good, thanks.” He says. The taller one raises an eyebrow.

Andy knows well enough to leave them to it.

--

“Hmmm! You weren’t lying about the meatballs.”

“I know right, like, what’s the secret?”

“Probably E-numbers.”

“Don’t ruin these for me, Jon!”

“Haha, alright. Help me out with the chips?”

“You finished?”

“The hot dog was enough, I’m getting full.”

“Pass them over then…. You know, I think we did alright with our spoils today. And it wasn’t so bad, all told.”

“We have to get this all in the car yet.”

“God, don’t remind me.”

[thehumanfront]

Mount Analogue

Here we bring to you a potent discussion on death and identity from Mount Analogue: A Novel of Symbolically Authentic Non-Euclidean Adventures in Mountain Climbing by René Daumal, described as follows:

‘In this novel/allegory the narrator/author sets sail in the yacht Impossible to search for Mount Analogue, the geographically located, albeit hidden, peak that reaches inexorably toward heaven. Daumal's symbolic mountain represents a way to truth that "cannot not exist," and his classic allegory of man's search for himself embraces the certainty that one can know and conquer one's own reality.’

In the passage below Father Sogol begins; the narrator replies.

‘With a little money in this galloping civilization of ours one can easily obtain the basic physical satisfactions. The rest is fraud. Fraud, ticks, and tricks — there's our whole life, from diaphragm to cranium. My Superior was right: I suffer from an incurable need to understand. I don't want to die without having understood why I lived. What about you? Have you ever been afraid of death?’

In silence I hunted around among my memories, deep memories where words had never before pried. And I spoke with difficulty. ‘Yes. When I was around six I heard something about flies which sting you when you're asleep. And naturally someone dragged in the old joke: “When you wake up you're dead.” The words haunted me. That evening in bed with the light out, I tried to picture death, the “no more of anything”. In my imagination I did away with all the outward circumstances of my life and felt myself confined in ever-tightening circles of anguish: there was no longer any “I” … What does it mean “I”? I couldn’t succeed in grasping it. “I” slipped out of my thoughts like a fish out of the hands of a blind man, and I couldn’t sleep. For three years these nights of questioning in the dark recurred fairly frequently. Then, on one particular night, a marvellous idea came to me: instead of just enduring this agony, try to observe it, to see where it comes from and what it is. I perceived that it all seemed to come from a tightening of something in my stomach, as well as under my ribs and in my throat. I remembered that I was subject to angina and forced myself to relax, especially my abdomen. The anguish disappeared. When I tried again in this new condition to think about death, instead of being clawed by anxiety, I was filled with an entirely new feeling. I knew no name for it — a feeling between mystery and hope.’

‘And then you grew up, went to school, and began to “philosophize”, didn't you? We all go through the same thing. It seems that during adolescence a person's inner life is suddenly weakened, stripped of its natural courage. In his thinking he no longer dares stand face to face with reality or mystery; he begins to see them through the opinions of “grown-ups”, through books and courses and professors. Still, a voice remains which is not completely muffled and which cries out every so often — every time its gag is loosened by an unexpected jolt in the routine. The voice cries out its great questioning of everything, but we stifle it again right away. Well, we already understand each other a little. I can admit to you that I fear death. Not what we imagine about death, for such fear is itself imaginary. And not my death as it will be set down with a date in the public records. But that death I suffer every moment, the death of that voice which, out of the depths of my childhood, keeps questioning me as it does you: “Who am I?” Everything in and around us seems to conspire to strangle it once and for all. Whenever the voice is silent — and it doesn’t speak often — I’m an empty body, a perambulating carcass. I’m afraid that one day it will fall silent forever, or that it will speak too late — as in your story about the flies: when you wake up, you’re dead.’

Did you feel that, too?