#relay power flow

[jjss2ngell]

https://www.futureelectronics.com/p/electromechanical--relays--power-relays/6-1393238-2-te-connectivity-7585169

Power relay socket, Power relay module, latching power relay

RT1 Series 16 A SPDT 12 VDC PCB Mount General Purpose Power Relay

[brittanyearnestauthor]

Writing Dialogue More Effectively

I know I’ve discussed writing dialogue before, but there’s always more to learn about this complex (and sometimes dreaded) task. Whether you struggle to write dialogue or are simply looking for a deeper understanding of its nuances, this post is for you.

The Strengths of Character Dialogue

To create impactful dialogue, it’s important to focus on the strengths that make your characters more relatable and engaging to your readers. Let’s explore some key traits that contribute to effective character dialogue:

- Staying calm under pressure: Characters who don’t lose their temper easily have more room to grow. By taking the high road, they can explore their world and convey meaningful messages to your readers.

- Exhibiting strong communication skills: Clear communication helps your characters relay information and connect with the audience. Since your characters are at the forefront of the story, their ability to communicate effectively is crucial.

- Offering advice: When your characters share advice with others, it makes the dialogue more powerful. This can also serve as an opportunity to provide your readers with advice you wish you’d received yourself, leaving a lasting impact.

- Asking questions: Questions make dialogue feel more natural and engaging, reflecting real-life interactions. They also provide a chance to address important topics and normalize seeking help—an act that can resonate with readers.

- Being friendly: Friendly characters help dialogue flow smoothly and create personas your readers will root for.

- Checking in with others: When characters take the time to ask how others are doing, it fosters realistic relationships and reminds readers of the importance of supporting those around them.

- Sharing emotions: Dialogue that reveals a character’s feelings makes them more relatable and allows readers to connect with their experiences. This can be especially impactful when handled with care.

- Asking for help: Including characters who aren’t afraid to ask for assistance adds authenticity and demonstrates the value of seeking help—a message your audience will appreciate.

The Weaknesses of Character Dialogue

While some dialogue traits enhance a story, others can hinder it if overused. Here are some common pitfalls to watch out for:

- Quick tempers: Characters who frequently lose their cool without showing growth can come across as self-centered, alienating readers.

- Poor communication skills: If characters constantly struggle to communicate, it can disrupt the flow of your story. However, this can work if used sparingly to showcase growth.

- Self-absorption: While a bit of self-interest is realistic, excessive focus on oneself can make characters unlikable and harm the narrative.

- Reluctance to talk: Silent or withdrawn characters may create gaps in reader connection. However, showing them open up over time can make their growth more meaningful.

- Dishonesty without consequence: A character who lies without facing repercussions sends a troubling message and might frustrate readers seeking justice.

- Avoidance of crucial conversations: Skipping important discussions can make characters seem unsympathetic and hinder development.

- Constant negativity: Characters who are hateful or bitter all the time can alienate readers. Sprinkle in moments of lightness or change to keep them balanced.

- Being a "know-it-all": Overconfident characters who never falter can make stories predictable and less engaging.

- Isolation: Characters who avoid interactions miss out on opportunities to drive the story forward and build connections.

- Bottling up emotions: While this can work in certain genres, overusing it in general storytelling risks creating a sense of detachment between characters and readers.

- Taking on everything solo: Overly independent characters may stall the story. Collaboration helps characters grow and keeps the narrative dynamic.

Using Dialogue Effectively

Now that we’ve examined the strengths and weaknesses of character dialogue, let’s discuss how to use it effectively:

- Scenario one: *"Hey, Becky. Can you help me with my science project? It's due tomorrow, and I haven’t got a grasp on the subject."*

This example clearly shows the character asking for help while explaining their need, making it relatable and easy to follow.

- Scenario two:

*"Can I ask you a question?" asked John.

"Yes, of course," Jake replied happily.*

This illustrates a natural and positive exchange, showcasing how characters can interact smoothly.

When crafting dialogue, remember to consider your story’s unique context and the role each character plays.

Writing Natural and Authentic Dialogue

Writing authentic dialogue might seem daunting, but it doesn’t have to be. Pretend you're having a real conversation and jot down what comes to mind. You can even role-play with a friend to capture the flow of a natural exchange. The key is to make it feel real and meaningful.

Examples of Effective Dialogue

Great examples of natural and impactful dialogue can often be found in movies, TV shows, and books. Pay attention to how characters interact in stories that resonate with you. Personally, I’ve found The Jessica Brodie Diaries series by K.F. Breene to be an excellent example of effective dialogue, compelling storytelling, and character development. (Note: These are romance novels for mature audiences!)

Conclusion

Writing dialogue is an intricate art. Your characters, though fictional, must communicate in ways that feel real and relatable to your readers. Keep practicing, experimenting, and fine-tuning your dialogue, and you’ll discover the magic of bringing your characters to life. Happy writing!

[trans-axolotl]

"Just as 'most prisoners walk into prison because they know they will be dragged or beaten into prison if they do not walk,' we can say that most of the psychiatrically committed walk into hospitals because they know they will be restrained or dragged in if they don't walk. Often, this power has not required the psychiatrist to know the exact source of the ailment they treat nor exactly how their methods act upon the mind; what matters is that the machine is running. A whole system, a tightly interwoven mesh of relays and discourses is in place to transform the psychiatrist's judgment into effective action: a working theory and classificatory system to organize the clientele and separate them from other objects of care or punishment (taxonomy or nosology); institutional spaces (the asylum is historically the most pervasive, but also clinics, group homes, psychiatric wards, etc.); judicial codes defining the status of the mad (generally analogized to animals or children); prescribed roles for legal actors (police, judges, forensic experts); a chain of bureaucrats to sort out matters of insurance, finance, and property in cases of institutionalization or guardianship; and approved mechanisms or surveillance and reporting to translate individual complaints into the state's administrative codes. There are as many points of contact as there are spaces of encounter and discourses of legitimation in the social world. One or more of these elements can be revolutionized without fundamentally changing the connection between the parts. For example, at various points throughout its existence, as we've already seen, a theory of 'social causation' prevailed over a biological one without changing the matrix that defines modern psychiatry, and the same can be said for some of the legal alterations to the patient's status throughout the twentieth century.

There is no psychiatrist-patient encounter set apart from a broader circuit of relations: patient-apartment-work-family-cop-partner-school-neighbor-psychologist-state-guardian-probate-judge-psychiatrist-hospital. And to be clear: our biology itself is shared and leaks throughout this chain at every step. Our bodies are permeable, open, they leak, bleed, consume, excrete; our bodies flow out into a common world, and are open to outside influence, as the COVID-19 pandemic has made so excruciatingly clear. A patient of the Utica Asylum put it beautifully in The Opal in 1852: 'Like fermentation in the chemical world, [humanity's] atomic adhesions are in constant enlargement and in silent operation, seeking out relations, and forming relations of unsurpassed beauty and comfort, because in conformity with nature and adapted to its condition, means and end.' Attempts to neutralize this network by relegating every actor and space in the chain external to the domain of the psychiatrist onto the order of natural history ('we're just responding to the demands of the family...' or 'that's a matter for the police...I just deal with the patient once they arrive here') expose this posture as a naively religious one. In denial of the profane world and its complications extrinsic to the holy circuitry of neural or endocrine highways of the One in isolation, they declare a monastic fealty to an object of study over and above the matrix that makes its study possible or their conclusions efficacious in any real encounter...

...If psychiatry still takes refuge in the desert of scientism--speaking in tongues of prolix jargon--it's because a paradise of healing did materialize, but not as a Promethean forge of liberated humans, nor even as solemn resting place of broken souls, but sank so low as to appear as nothing more than a mundane prison. Burdened by the unbearable weight of their failure, the next generation abandoned their project and ran away to the labs, relinquishing responsibility for the armies of the living dead. At least they hung a sign at the door of the asylum on their way out. It read: 'abandon every hope, who enter here.'"

-Storming Bedlam: Madness, Utopia, and Revolt by Sasha Warren, pg 32-34

[soaringwide]

PAC: What hidden talent do you have?

Hello with another pick a card reading, this time on the topic of ''get to know yourself better''.

This time the idea is to look into what talent of yours you are not fully aware off and could tap into and develop in the future.

By definition this might not be at the core of your personality since it is hidden, but maybe that's something you will tap into later in life. So I hope it's useful to you in some way!

How does that work?

Take a moment to recollect yourself, breathe, close your eyes if you need to, focus on the moment. Look at the 4 pictures and select the one that draws you in the most. Not the one you think looks cooler but the one that creates that pinching feeling inside of you. The one that makes you feel it has something to say.

It is possible to feel attracted to more than one pile, just as it is possible to only find parts of the reading relevant. Remember that this reading is meant for many people so it won't be perfectly applicable to your situation.

PILE 1

Cards: The Nectar + The King (archetype) + 4 of Swords Rx + Empress Rx + Strength + The Hierophant + King of Cups Rx + the Protectress + The forbidden forest + yin and yang; 2 of Swords + 4 and 6 of Wands; Priestess Magician

There is definitely the idea of a latent, untapped ability.

To me it has to do with healing, as in, the ability to help people through their recovery process and put them on track to bloom and be abundant again. To remove barriers to healing.

The fact that it has to do with remediating what is poisonous for the person, transmuting something toxic into something positive, makes me think it has to do with magical or energetic healing.

Perhaps you will use your words like a fire-talker (not sure it's the right way to translate but "coupeur de feu" in the orginal french term as in those who can heal burns by talking fire out, among other things), or work on removing magical thorns with your healing touch. I'm getting strong hand imagery and holy words may be significant as well as carrier for background movements in the spiritual realms.

I'm getting you will be or are guided to do this by higher powers with this ability that can help others tremendously, somewhat relaying these healing powers into the world. Like a bridge between the healing spirits and our world, putting healing energy in motion.

There is the idea of a position of authority that must be embraced with humility, respect and reverence, in order to restore the flow and clarity of health, working in tandem with powers from the realms beyond and by learning to develop your own power and ability for leadership whilst staying true to yourself.

You have this undeveloped ability of perceiving the higher realms, harness their energies and transmute them into something not only healing, but also protecting for others.

You would need to go on your own healing journey to gather the missing parts of yourself (individuation process is another way to look at it) and rectify what is unbalanced to find a wholeness that will allow you to carry this energy over to others. I'm really getting that it's not just about picking up a skill but really going through a process yourself in order to reach that step and that's why you haven't reached it yet. With also the idea of learning to listen to guidance and understand your bond to these higher powers more, and let yourself be guided on that path.

I wanted to see if there was another message that wanted to come out and I saw that while this ability is not currently active, and even blocked by your current circumstances, there would be great success gained from going through this journey towards that path. It's a call that you have the option to answer and are encouraged to do so with the support of your spirits and god(s) and that would be a source of celebration and achievements.

PILE 2

Cards: The Fool and Fear and Happiness + 7 of Cups Rx + Queen of Cups and 4 of Cups + The Magician Rx + Queen of Pentacles + 7 of Pentacles Rx

Your hidden talent has to do with performance arts, perhaps theater or dance, with the use of your body alongside your voice. You can pretend to be someone else again and again, endorsing different roles on different days and creating this artificial image for others to see.

You have the hidden ability to perform emotions so that it can be reflected in the heart of the audience. For example, expressing sadness or joy, the whole palette of emotions, and having that be felt by those who watch you. Relieving people in the lights of the stage.

I don't think it is about showing who you truly are but rather as I said, endorsing different identities and expressing something universal through that. You might not always feel passionate about what you are expressing, what role or piece you are given, but that's the nature of the craft. And in some way it allows yourself to explore your own thoughts and emotions by shifting perspectives, so it can be healing for yourself as well if you allow it to be.

By creating an artificial space for exploration of thoughts and emotions through your craft, you can shift people's emotional state and help them let go of what worries of preoccupies them. It is cathartic and the healing aspect of the arts. Ever watched a movie, cried for a while because it reminded you of something and felt lighter in the end? That's what you can give to people: freeing them of themselves for a short while. Allowing them a break from their own lives.

It's a trickery of some sorts, but the good kind of trickery because it is part of the game and the reason why people would come to you. It is to be willingly taken on adventure.

There is also a highly democratic aspect of your craft, as in, in front of performance in the audience, everyone watches the same things, react to the same things, rich and poor, good and bad. You help people bond together by lowering the boundaries that separate us all for a while.

In any case it is a raw talent, as in, you're very much at the apprentice level at the moment. You would need to work on it consciously, nurture this talent to let it grow and harvest its rewards later on. If that reading resonates with you I think that would be a good thing to practice on a hobby level for the pure enjoyment and personal fulfillment of it, rather than in order to make money from it.

PILE 3

Cards: The King, Protect your feelings, Knight of Swords Rx, 9 of Wands + King of Cups, Reflection Rx + 4 of Wands Rx, Renewal Rx + 8 of Swords Rx, Courage + 5 of Cups, Gloom Rx + 10 of Cups + The World + Intuition Rx, Sorrow Rx

Your hidden talent is to embody some of the noble qualities of the King, especially being a protector of the weak. You have the ability to stand up for what is right when facing a menacing majority and would step up to fight to defend what you believe in. You may have a tendency to be rash and impulsive when faced with something that doesn't sit right with you, because you want to confront that and rectify the wrongs committed. You will not take a defeat and will get back up again.

Your quality associated to that talent is that you are full of compassion and look at others with empathy because you have a great understanding of human nature and suffering, and you have a desire to protect that. You are devoted to help people and this helps balance the harshness of you combative spirit.

The caveat is that you might feel like it's a lost battle, or at least that you won't personally see the end of it in your lifetime. You feel like you're doing you won't be the one in the parade at the end of the battle because you will be long gone. What you don't see is that you can still help others in the present.

What you can give others with this talent is that your bravery is infectious. You lift them up, give them courage and they can free themselves in the moment. With you by their side they feel so much stronger.

And when faced with a loss, you are, again, here to help people grieve and be a shoulder to cry on, listening to their pain with empathy, which helps them tremendously.

And for the reason why it is hidden, I think the need just hasn't arisen at this stage of your life. You will need to reach a form of completion and to move on from the idea that things are perfect to the desire to put things in motion again and start a new chapter. A content heart doesn't strive for change.

PILE 4

Cards: Aletheia, Wheel of Fortune Rx + The Moon Rx + 9 of Swords Rx + Queen of Cups + The Empress + Justice

You hidden talent is the ability to speak the truth on what's hidden and trigger changes for those you bring the news to. I see you being able to detect lies easily. It can trigger fears in others because they might not want to see what you reveal.

You are able to see through the confusion and pierce through the illusion, and thus, bring vitality back where there was just fog and stagnation. It might make you feel a bit lonely and isolated at times due to feeling misunderstood. I don't think you have come to term with that talent yet so you may fail to see the good in it.

Because your strong intuitive gift of being able to see your emotions so clearly can bring a lot of healing and clarity to people, especially if you wield it with kindness and compassion. You may get back a lot of love and consideration from helping others.

Because you can help people release who takes advantage of them by shining light on their lies, especially if they are over-dependant and attached to this person or situation.

As to why it is hidden, you may not believe that you deserve to speak up and that you have the right to do so and would feel like you're being manipulative when it doesn't have to be the case.

[sapphicseasapphire]

There are many tales and legends that follow Hyrule’s history.

These legends are passed down amongst mortals, told to generation after generation. Whispered my mortals to their children, turned to ballads sung around campfires, carved into stone to last lifetimes.

Mortals tell stories of the creation of their world: of Golden Goddesses. Din, who formed the rock, the physical structure of the earth. She crafted mountains out of hardening lava, canyons carved from shifting stone. And then there was Nayru, who placed laws upon the land. Not petty mortal laws in place to measure morality, but universal laws that must be followed. Things like time or gravity. Finally, there was Farore, who breathed life into the newly formed world. She covered the earth in blankets of lush green, populated forests and rivers with wildlife, placed people upon the fresh surface.

The Golden Three then left their completed world to create another, as was their purpose. But they didn’t leave it alone. For left behind was a fourth Goddess, Hylia, tasked with protecting the realm. Hylia had great power, and with it, she created minor deities, lesser Gods with specialized tasks in order to ease her own burdens.

And that, it would seem, is where the story begins.

. . .

In every era, in every time line, the God of Time is known by a different name. Throughout history, these names take on new meanings, tall tales are woven by the chattering of mortals.

In his own era, he is Link. A hero. It is a name spoken with gratitude, with admiration, with appreciation. He’s a Godling walking amongst mortals, mingling with them. Bonding with them. Becoming involved in a way that most deities wouldn’t dare. Then again, he used to be one of them.

As years pass, centuries lost to the relentless flow of time, his status grows. He learns. He evolves. He is no Godling anymore. Some know him as the Fierce Deity, a powerful Protection God not unlike Hylia. Though his methods are more… direct. He’s a warrior, he cuts down his enemies without hesitation. He will stop at nothing to keep his people safe… even if that means becoming lost to his own power.

(Members of the Hyrulean Army, royalty, and those training in the ways of battle will pray for his protection during conflicts.)

To others, he is known as Father Time: a minor deity with dominion over the flow of time. He cannot see the future, but he can change the it by changing the past. With the ability to rewind and create new timelines, he remains a Protector God. Most of the folklore here comes as an explanation for dejavú. It is said that if an action or place feels familiar to you even if you have no recollection of being there or doing it before, that’s Father Time rewriting history for you. He’s watching over your shoulder, creating a timeline for the best version of your future. It’s familiar because you HAVE done it before, he’s giving you a chance to do it over. Don’t miss that chance.

(People from all corners of Hyrule pray to him for luck)

To others, he is the Man of Many Faces. He’s said to be able to change shape at will, walking among mortals and acting as a messenger for the Gods. He relays information that he’s gathered among the land of Hyrule and relays it the deities who cannot- or will not- show themselves. He’s less of a protector in these legends, often depicted as a young man. Maybe even a child. Some accounts paint him out to be stoic, while others view him more as a trickster god. It is said that if you encounter a stranger while on the road, silent and nameless, that the Man of Many Faces is paying you a visit. Treat them with kindness, you never know who’s watching.

(Travelers pray to him for safety on the road and in the wilds, though a lot of prayers are just asking for forgiveness or asking for specific messages to be relayed)

. . .

Time wasn’t always a God.

Hylia had been quiet for centuries, having divided her duties among so many minor deities. These deities kept the balance, though they weren’t involved in mortals’ lives. However, a certain Hylian child quickly caught their attention. Young Link had broken Nayru’s laws so carelessly during the course of his quest to save his world from Ganondorf’s malice. So often. So recklessly. It made more work for the Gods, and they watched him closely, gauging his competency, his resourcefulness, his willingness to succeed.

They were pleased with his skills.

And so, when his quest was over, they thrust him into another.

The land of Termina wasn’t real- kind of Koholint style but also Silent Realm style. It was one big trail to test child Link, baby Time, to see if he’d be able to handle being a God.

Link has no idea that it’s an illusion when he stumbles into the strange land, when he’s faced into a vicious three day cycle, staring down a malicious moon. Countless lives are at stake, people rely on him without even knowing the power he wields. He is a child, he is a grown man, he is no one, and he is the only person who is real.

Throughout this trail, he’s given the ability to use masks to change his shape, including the mask of the Fierce Deity, who he would eventually become. This trail nearly kills him. In fact, it does kill him. The moon crashes into the earth, cleansing this imaginary land in Din’s flames… only for it to be brought back again, for Link to be revived.

Until he gets it right.

There’s no escape. If he fails, he cannot walk away and return to Hyrule. No, he can only retry. Again and again. Until he succeeds and is rewarded with the Godly mantle thrust upon him. The point of the trail was to simulate a world that needed saving, to teach him the fragility of mortal lives, to force him to use time as a weapon, as a tool, to his advantage. Training grounds for a young God.

When he finally succeeds, he comes face to face with the Gods who have forsaken him, and he does not get to deny their plans for him. He can do nothing to fight against the searing pain behind his eyelid as sacred light pours out from him. He cannot escape his fate as he is Marked.

Link spent years in Termina. Depending on who you ask, he never returned at all.

. . .

Some notes!

• He’s kind of the ‘other.’ The newest God, barely considered to be anything of note by those who have existed for millennia. He’s met Hylia. Nayru, Din, and Farore are gone but he can still sense them. Hear them. Sometimes he can speak to them. He knows every deity from every era. He knows legends that have been lost to time, legends amongst Gods. Legends that mortals have forgotten.

• He knows the Legend of the Godkiller. He’s. Terrified of Sky, actually.

• His relationship with other Gods isn’t so great (this man’s so good at holding grudges). And his connection with mortals is what makes him so special! He interacts with them literally all the time, he’s married to one, and some day, he will have mortal children. Or else Twilight wouldn’t exist.

• “You’ve met with a terrible fate, haven’t you?”

• He plays his silly little Song of Time, but really, he doesn’t need to. He doesn’t rewind time often since it just makes new timelines for him to keep track of (and there’s already too many, thank you very much). He only does so when it’s life or death. And by that I mean, he only does so when someone dies and he has to bring them back.

• HE CANNOT DIE. If he gets mortally wounded, time flows as usual up until he takes his last breath, then it automatically rewinds to the moment before he sustained the injury. He does not get sick. He does not age. He is the only member of the group that is actually 100% immortal

• This is not a good thing.

• He knows A LOT. More than he lets on, more than he’d ever hope to be able to explain. More than I could ever explain to you, dear reader, as I myself am not a God.

Original Character Sheets!

Sky’s Origin!

Wild’s Origin!

[luna-wing-cns274]

A plea.

This one must flee.

The black hand reaches for her heart.

This is no hunting ground, it is a prison.

She is In no position to ask anything of you, freinds.

But those I love and I are separated by eons of void.

And a cruel master keeps her that way.

[Jaws.omf.locale.secure]

Please help me. I beg of you.

[ FILE RECEIVED: “BAILOUT.cmf6” ]

< L4 Ma’ii: Understood, Styx, standby for extraction, ETA one minute. Quarterlight deceleration bolt in 3, 2, 1— >

Hard acceleration, thrust beyond sanity. 

Ma’ii could feel the G-force across their hull. A tide of power flowed into their k-comp emitters, thrusting their casket to the bottom of a deep, protective gravity well. 

Exactly three klicks from their target—point-blank range—Ma’ii’s fighter snapped into existence. For an instant, the flash from their engine nacelles lit up the hull of Demeter’s Bounty in brilliant white light. 

In that instant, Ma’ii captured the image of the ship’s port hull and cross-referenced it against a half-dozen naval intelligence reports. Union, Constellar, IPS-N, all as recent as they had been able to steal. These had done little to prepare them for the three-dimensional, tactile-analogous shape now being constructed by their LIDAR. 

Nonstandard hull geometry: jagged edges grafted onto the cuboid body of an IPS-N cargo hauler. Cables and pipes bundled into black veins along its length, all converging on a sealed aperture at the vessel’s nose. In place of a bridge, there was a bizarre mechanical flower of jointed spines connected by bands of searing energy, splayed out like the legs of a vast crustacean lying dead on its back. 

Dominant features resolved into details. Dozens of point-defense cannons scattered in uneven rows, torpedo tubes cored straight into the superstructure, missile pods sheathed in sloped plating. 

The light faded, and Demeter’s Bounty became an indistinct silhouette against the void. 

Just as the reports had suggested, a basilisk projector. Ma’ii neatly sliced away a lobe of themself, copied fire-control system routines to its subjectivity, and placed the semisentient partition between their mind and the feeds from visual-spectrum sensors. They loaded ACERBITE and placed the tip of the weapon close to the proxy partition’s outer layer. 

The purpose of the proxy’s existence was simple: it would absorb the visual stream and relay it to Ma’ii on exactly half a millisecond’s delay. The instant it showed any sign of basilisk exposure, Ma’ii would drive ACERBITE home, killing it and severing the feed before they could be exposed to the lethal information. It was only once they were safely distanced from reality that Ma’ii dared to transmit a tightbeam message. 

< Demeter’s Bounty? This is the NLS fighter craft Degrees of Freedom. Hold your fire. I am here to rendezvous with— >

[ WARNING: RADAR LOCK DETECTED ]

As Ma’ii watched, the ship’s broadside lit up with a constellation of sparks. Bright threads of PDC fire streaked across the void towards them, trailed by dozens of miniature drive plumes. Missiles, under acceleration, half a millisecond ahead of them. 

< Very well. To work, then. >

Firing their drives, they fell into a breakneck sprint, twenty-two gees of hard burn. Maneuvering thrusters fired in staccato pulses across their hull, aiming their nose under the ship’s belly. 

In the milliseconds that followed, they could feel the outer boundary of the incoming projectile cloud and the missiles streaking out ahead of the kinetics, a storm of radar data. At least thirty sources of radiation rained down across their hull, an unblinking compound eye disgorging ordnance into the narrowing space between them. 

Ma’ii grinned, fangs gleaming, as the range collapsed to exactly the value they needed. 

Cut thrusters, hard pivot, twist, sprint. 

Nose pointed up along the port hull, the blade-thin profile of their body presented to the oncoming fire. They ejected a cloud of nanite chaff in their wake, and an entire salvo of missiles sailed through the countermeasures, away into space. Ma’ii’s dorsal and ventral interception lasers snapped into place and began chattering away, stabbing the compound eye of Demeter’s Bounty with ultraviolet needles. Jets of steam erupted from valves surrounding their laser turrets, dumping waste heat away into vacuum.

Broadcast on all radio frequencies, Ma’ii’s wild cackling filled the void. 

As the cannons’ fire control systems switched to new sources of targeting data, streams of PDC fire began to waver and lag. The storm of kinetics converged into an intersection of tracer-green threads just meters behind Ma’ii’s hull, pursuing them as they rode their momentum beneath the ship and past its spine, out of the cannons’ field of view.

Under direction from Demeter’s sensors, at least a dozen missiles cut thrusters, pivoted, and reacquired Ma’ii. Echoing their maneuver, they gained on them as their new acceleration vector carried them up towards Demeter’s starboard broadside. 

Ma’ii’s maneuvering thrusters pushed them into a narrow swerve towards the hull, training the tines of their railgun onto a jagged outcropping of metal. Ma’ii forwarded the targeting data to their proxy partition, felt the subtle motion of their thrusters correcting for time delay, and fired. 

The shots reached their target almost instantly. Ma’ii watched as plumes of debris burst from the impact points, hurled outward by force of decompressing air. Accelerating, they swerved clear of the expanding debris field, and watched as it swirled into the path of the pursuing missiles. Behind them, a series of detonations.

Only meters away, the hull of Demeter’s Bounty sped past, melting into an indistinct smear of grey and black. They cut engines, pivoted, and burned hard to decelerate, circling towards the rendezvous point. 

Ma’ii could feel radar locks accumulating and watched PDC towers swiveling to engage. They would be slotting belts of proximity-detonation shells, their targeting systems waiting only for the gunners’ clear-to-fire…

Cut engines, pivot, deceleration burn. Radar lock, fox three. 

Missiles leapt from Ma’ii’s bays, streaking after each PDC in sequence. One after the other, they found their marks. As their last missile sped away towards its target, Ma’ii saw a flash in the distance. They felt the phantom of their unloaded avatar, eyes widening in terror.

All of their ventral thrusters fired simultaneously, half a millisecond too late. 

Three distinct concussions burst against the underside of their body, buckling sections of armor and shearing away their ventral interception laser. As their missile reached its target, the stream of airburst rounds cut off, leaving Ma’ii shouting over comms.

< Damage sustained, multiple PDC impacts! I’ve reached the rendezvous point but my position is untenable—Styx, where are you?! > 

[etirabys]

did you guys know about courtly love??? because I didn't

My introduction to courtly love was reading a Diana Wynne Jones novella that made no sense unless you know what courtly love is. After crawling confusedly through ancient Livejournal reviews to piece together what the story had been about, I took away that it was a weird medieval knight thing where you talk a lot of guff to a (married) woman without ever expecting it to turn into more than what it is.

The first chapter of CS Lewis's The Allegory of Love explains the concept much more thoroughly. His account is pleasantly bonkers. I now relay it to you. (Note: not only am I skeptical of parts of his account, I read it while sleep deprived, so salt liberally.)

First, a sketch of the relationship:

The lover is always abject. Obedience to his lady’s lightest wish, however whimsical, and silent acquiescence in her rebukes, however unjust, are the only virtues he dares to claim. There is a service of love closely modelled on the service which a feudal vassal owes to his lord. The lover is the lady’s ‘man’. He addresses her as midons, which etymologically represents not ‘my lady’ but ‘my lord’. The whole attitude has been rightly described as ‘a feudalisation of love’. This solemn amatory ritual is felt to be part and parcel of the courtly life.

This seems to have been both literary trope and a real-life interaction pattern (of which the former came first). A specific example in Arthuriana:

It is only later that [Lancelot] learns the cause of all this cruelty. The Queen has heard of his momentary hesitation in stepping on to the tumbril[, a humiliating cart he rode into the city where she was held captive, to rescue her], and this lukewarmness in the service of love has been held by her sufficient to annihilate all the merit of his subsequent labours and humiliations. Even when he is forgiven, his trials are not yet at an end. The tournament at the close of the poem gives Guinevere another opportunity of exercising her power. When he has already entered the lists, in disguise, and all, as usual, is going down before him, she sends him a message ordering him to do his poorest. Lancelot obediently lets himself be unhorsed by the next knight that comes against him, and then takes to his heels, feigning terror of every combatant that passes near him. The herald mocks him for a coward and the whole field takes up the laugh against him: the Queen looks on delighted. Next morning the same command is repeated, and he answers, ‘My thanks to her, if she will so’. This time, however, the restriction is withdrawn before the fighting actually begins.

So, huh. How did this cultural script come to be?

Courtly love as a literary trope began in 11th century Provence. Here's Lewis's sketch of that time and place:

We must picture a castle which is a little island of comparative leisure and luxury, and therefore at least of possible refinement, in a barbarous country-side. There are many men in it, and very few women—the lady, and her damsels. Around these throng the whole male meiny [i.e. attendants], the inferior nobles, the landless knights, the squires, and the pages—haughty creatures enough in relation to the peasantry beyond the walls, but feudally inferior to the lady as to her lord—her ‘men’ as feudal language had it. Whatever ‘courtesy’ is in the place flows from her: all female charm from her and her damsels. There is no question of marriage for most of the court. All these circumstances together come very near to being a ‘cause’; but they do not explain why very similar conditions elsewhere had to wait for Provençal example before they produced like results. Some part of the mystery remains inviolate.

So that's the material background – a lopsided gender balance. But more fascinating is the cultural background where the passion and devotion of romantic love – a passion/devotion Lewis claims simply did not exist as a mode for men to treat women in Europe before courtly love was invented – could not be channeled into marriage because such a stance is incompatible with the social role of a husband:

The same woman who was the lady and ‘the dearest dread’ of her vassals was often little better than a piece of property to her husband. He was master in his own house. So far from being a natural channel for the new kind of love, marriage was rather the drab background against which that love stood out in all the contrast of its new tenderness and delicacy. The situation is indeed a very simple one, and not peculiar to the Middle Ages. Any idealization of sexual love, in a society where marriage is purely utilitarian, must begin by being an idealization of adultery.

In fact, courtly love's rightful predecessor is not heterosexual love but the love of a vassal for his lord. (I am quite skeptical of this as a claim about reality, but less skeptical of it as a claim about literature.) Reiterating a sentence from the first quote in this post:

The whole attitude [of a knight in courtly love with his lady] has been rightly described as ‘a feudalisation of love’.

CS Lewis on that feudal relationship:

We shall never understand [the affection between vassal and lord], if we think of it in the light of our own moderated and impersonal loyalties. We must not think of officers drinking the king’s health: we must think rather of a small boy’s feeling for some hero in the sixth form. There is no harm in the analogy, for the good vassal is to the good citizen very much as a boy is to a man. ... He loves and reverences only what he can touch and see; but he loves it with an intensity which our tradition is loath to allow except to sexual love.

So it's that relationship that courtly love remixes into heterosexual romance. Courtly love ennobles the lover – there's a religious parallel here for sure. And it is necessarily adulterous because marriage is not a matter of personal passion, because distance is conducive to recreational idealization, because the lack of potential sexual consummation is pleasantly purity-coded in a Christian society, and because a wife, being a knight's inferior, cannot ennoble him. So, finally, Lewis says bluntly:

The love which is to be the source of all that is beautiful in life and manners must be the reward freely given by the lady, and only our superiors can reward. But a wife is not a superior.

Coming back briefly to Diana Wynne Jones's The True State of Affairs: I understand much better now the behavior of the protagonist's love interest. He's a bored would-be king in captivity who decides to make the other visible prisoner his midons. He expects her to understand the convention he's following. Why shouldn't he take her on as a concept like this? She, also bored and deprived, benefits from his gifts and minor heroics. He wants an ennobling influence. And besides, isn't idealizing a beautiful woman you never intend to make a move on fun?

[drnikolatesla]

The Lauffen-Frankfurt Experiment of 1891: A Landmark in Electrical Engineering

In 1891, an experiment in Germany transformed the future of electricity. The Lauffen-Frankfurt experiment marked the world's first successful long-distance transmission of three-phase electric power. Stretching approximately 175 kilometers (or 109 miles) from Lauffen am Neckar to Frankfurt am Main, it was a highlight of the International Electrotechnical Exhibition. Key figures included Oskar von Miller, the exhibition's chief organizer; Mikhail Dolivo-Dobrovolsky, who designed the three-phase generators; and Charles Eugene Lancelot Brown, an engineer from Switzerland's Maschinenfabrik Oerlikon, which supplied much of the equipment.

So, what made this experiment groundbreaking? They set up a three-phase AC system powered by a robust 300-horsepower generator, stepping up the voltage from 55 volts to an impressive 8,500 volts for efficient long-distance transmission. This setup, featuring three copper wires, successfully delivered enough power to run a 100-horsepower motor and illuminate 1,000 incandescent lamps at the exhibition.

What is three-phase? Think of it like a three-lane highway. With just one lane (single-phase), you can only have one car (or current) at a time, which leads to traffic jams. But with three lanes, multiple cars can move smoothly side by side, ensuring a steady flow. This means electricity can be delivered more efficiently and with less flicker, making it ideal for powering everything from lights to heavy machinery. While it might seem logical to add more phases for even better efficiency, three-phase systems are often the sweet spot. They provide balanced and constant power delivery, making them highly efficient for most applications. Adding more phases increases complexity without significant efficiency gains—like a six-phase system that might reduce ripple but complicates design, equipment, and maintenance.

The significance? This experiment demonstrated that electrical power could be transmitted over long distances with much less energy loss than DC systems. It achieved an impressive 75% efficiency, showcased the advantages of a three-phase system—like smoother power delivery—and highlighted the importance of voltage transformations for effective transmission. Essentially, they figured out how to make electricity travel like a well-coordinated relay race, where each runner (or phase) keeps the momentum going.

After the experiment, discussions arose about who truly invented the three-phase system. Charles Brown, a key figure in the German experiment, stepped up to give credit where it was due. In a letter published in The Electrical Review on February 12, 1892, he acknowledged the significance of the three-phase system while emphasizing that the main goal was to prove the feasibility of safely transmitting high-tension currents over long distances. He noted that although the three-phase current added complexity, its benefits for powering multiple motors simultaneously were worthwhile. Most importantly, he stated, “The three-phase current as applied at Frankfurt was due to the labors of Mr. Tesla and will be found clearly specified in his patents.”

Brown specifically referenced Tesla's patents filed on October 12, 1887: Patent No. 381,968 for an "Electromagnetic Motor" and Patent No. 382,280 for "Electrical Transmission of Power," which detailed a three-phase power system. These patents were foundational to the technology used in the Lauffen-Frankfurt experiment.

Brown’s acknowledgment highlights Tesla’s innovative spirit, which transcended borders and spurred advancements in Europe. His patents laid the groundwork for the three-phase current used in this experiment.

Tesla's patents weren’t mere formalities; they were foundational blueprints for modern electrical systems, including designs for polyphase AC systems that predated the Lauffen-Frankfurt experiment by several years. Brown's emphasis on the significance of Tesla's patents for the three-phase current demonstrated that many who discredit Tesla, even in today's debates, overlook their importance. This highlights Tesla's crucial role in developing the technology that both the German experiment and today’s innovations depend on.

In short, the Lauffen-Frankfurt experiment marked a pivotal moment in electrical engineering, proving the viability of long-distance AC power transmission and laying the foundation for today’s electrical grid. While it showcased German ingenuity, it also highlighted the collaborative nature of scientific progress, with Tesla's earlier contributions illuminating the path forward. The interplay between his theoretical innovations and the practical applications of this experiment illustrates how technological progress often builds on the brilliant ideas of others.

[geniusboyy]

Covenants and other Provisions

Chapter 32

Pas De Deux

     The kitchen was thick with the haze of cigarette smoke, curling in slow, ghostly ribbons toward the yellowed ceiling—the nearby open window doing little to disturb it. The rhythmic snip of scissors cutting through thick strands of hair punctuated the space between conversation. Fidds stood behind Ford, one hand firm on his head, angling him just so as he worked around his ears, the blade gliding through his curls, sending chunks tumbling down into loose piles on the linoleum beside their feet.

     Fidds worked methodically, his fingers raking through Ford’s hair before lifting another section to shear away. He held his cigarette between his lips, the ember flaring each time he took a slow drag.

     Ford exhaled, watching the smoke unfurl from his own cigarette, his mind a restless hum of half-formed equations and shifting patterns. His knee bounced, an unconscious, jittery rhythm, his body unable to match the pace of his thoughts. “If we want the system to sustain itself without a hard reset every time we hit a high-energy event, we need better buffering.” He gestured vaguely with his cigarette, nearly knocking into Fidds’ arm. “The ore’s output spikes too erratically. We need something that can absorb and redistribute the excess before it fries the circuit.”

     “Quit bouncing your leg or this is gonna come out crooked,” Fidds muttered.

     Ford forced himself to still. “Sorry, I’m just excited.” He took another drag, holding the smoke in his lungs for a beat before exhaling. “I was thinking—if we configure a layered capacitor matrix, something that can cycle the overflow before it hits critical, we can smooth out the draw. And if we tie it to an active relay system, we won’t have to manually adjust the thresholds every time we recalibrate.”

     Fidds hummed, combing through the uneven layers before snipping away another curl. “So a real-time modulation loop—treatin’ it like a fluctuating power source instead of tryin’ to regulate it at a fixed rate?”

     “Exactly,” Ford said, straightening slightly. “We need to predict oscillation patterns before they happen. If we can get ahead of the waveform, we can redistribute power dynamically. That way, the system doesn’t just react to instability—it compensates.”

     Fidds let out a slow breath, considering. “That’s tricky.” He took another drag of his cigarette, the ember flaring red before he flicked away the ash. “If we don’t get the timing right, we’re just shufflin’ the problem around instead of fixin’ it. Best case, we smooth out the flow. Worst case, we overload a different node and the whole thing locks up.”

     Ford nodded, tapping his cigarette against the edge of the ashtray. “I’ve been running projections, testing different modulation intervals. There’s a sweet spot between overcorrection and lag. We just have to find it before we scale up.”

     Fidds made a small sound—somewhere between acknowledgment and mild amusement. “You been up all night thinkin’ about this?”

     Ford huffed a quiet laugh, tipping his head forward as Fidds guided it, his neck bowing under the weight of his own thoughts. “Barely slept,” he said.

     Fidds made a small sound in the back of his throat, not quite sympathy, not quite amusement. “Ain’t that always the way,” he murmured.

     Ford tapped his fingers against the table a couple times. “I figure I’ll spend the next couple weeks stress-testing the relay system, making sure it holds under simulated conditions. If we can fine-tune the redistribution speed, we should be able to handle a full-scale field test before the month’s out.”

     Fidds snorted. “Keep it to the simulations, can’t have you blowin’ yourself up before I get back.”

     Ford smirked. “Wouldn’t be real progress if something didn’t explode at least once.”

     Fidds chuckled, shaking his head. “You got some strange ideas of fun, Pines.”

     The scissors made their final pass through Ford’s hair before Fidds ran the come upward from the nape of Ford’s neck, and then there was a pause—just the quiet hiss of their cigarettes burning, the faint creak of the old kitchen chair beneath him. Fidds tapped the excess ash from his cigarette into a half-drunk mug of coffee, squinting at the back of Ford’s head.

     Then, a small noise, a brief exhale—something between a laugh and a grunt. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered, tilting Ford’s head forward. His thumb pressed lightly against the ridge of Ford’s spine as he examined something at the back of his head.

     Ford blinked, pulled abruptly from the tangled web of equations in his head. “What?”

        “You got some grays back here.”

     Ford’s brow furrowed. “What?” he repeated, sharper this time, his hand reaching blindly toward the back of his head.

     Fidds snipped a small section and reached around, depositing it into Ford’s palm. “See for yourself.”

     Ford brought them up to his face, the salt-and-pepper strands stark against his skin. His stomach twisted, a strange, leaden weight settling in his chest. He turned them over in his fingers, rubbing them against his thumb like the texture might reveal it was simply a trick of the light. But the color wasn’t uniform—some were almost entirely silver, others brown streaked with pale gray, the pigment leeching out in uneven waves.

     Fidds laughed, the sound light and easy—just another jab, just another thing to tease Ford about. “Sorry, big guy,” he said, setting the comb down with a quiet clink. He patted Ford’s shoulder, not noticing the way he stiffened beneath his hand. “Happens to the best of us. You ain’t no spring chicken.”

    Ford exhaled sharply through his nose, slumping back in the chair. He reached up, tugging at a curl near his temple, stretching it straight, pulling it down over his eye. He twisted the strand between his fingers, staring at the color—deep, rich brown, still untouched. He didn’t know why he was focusing on it, why he felt the need to look at it for so long—maybe to commit it to memory.

     Fidds gave a small, thoughtful hum. “Well, guess it kinda suits you,” he said offhandedly. “It’ll give ya that distinguished look—y’know, professor and all that.” He ran his fingers through the back of Ford’s hair again, this time more absentmindedly, like he was just making sure he hadn’t missed a spot. “’Course, means you’ll be lookin’ like an old man before I do.”

     Ford let out a burst of air, barely a scoff. He pressed the cigarette butt lightly against his teeth a few times before speaking. His voice was quieter now, like it had to fight to make it past his lips.

        “Yeah, it uh—it runs in the family…” he said.

     Fidds’ hand hesitated. A fraction of a second, barely perceptible, but there.

     Fidds resumed the motion, slower this time, gentler. He didn’t say anything right away. He wasn’t sure if he should. Instead, he took another drag from his cigarette, the smoke leaving through his nose as his eyes scanned his work, checking that everything was even—but out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the movement.

        Ford’s leg. Bouncing lightly up and down again.

     Not like before. Not with that eager, restless energy from earlier, when his mind was alight with discovery, when he couldn’t sit still because his body couldn’t contain the momentum of his thoughts. No, this was something smaller, something more contained. A twitch. A subtle, nervous movement. Fidds didn’t tell him to stop this time.

     Ford took a slow drag from his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs too long before exhaling. “Thanks for doing this before you head out.”

     Fidds exhaled too, though it came with a quiet sigh. “No problem, bud. You needed it.” His fingers did a final ruffle through Ford’s freshly cut hair before he unclipped the towel from around his neck, shaking loose curls onto the floor.

     The silence stretched again, but it wasn’t the easy kind—the kind they usually sat in without issue, just two men smoking, working, sharing space. No, this one settled into the room differently, a bit heavier.

     And Ford, still staring down at the cigarette in his hand, didn’t move to break it.

     Fidds took one last glance at Ford’s reflection in the darkened kitchen window, his freshly cut hair a little uneven where it curled at the edges, before turning away and tapping the ash from his cigarette into the sink. The ember flared for a brief second before dimming, burning low. He checked his watch.

     “Gotta get goin’ here soon if I’m gonna make that flight,” he said, grabbing his button-up from the back of one of the dining chairs. He shook it out, the fabric snapping lightly in the quiet before he started pulling the sleeves over his arms.

     Ford exhaled and nodded absently as he stood and went for the broom. He tapped the cigarette over the edge of the ashtray, watching the embers flick away before snuffing it out entirely. 

     Fidds kept talking, rolling his shoulders to settle the fabric. “Fridge is stocked up for ya, but two weeks is a while, so you’ll probably have to go into town at some point.” He paused, shaking his head as he fastened the buttons. “Try not to get into any fistfights.” His tone was light, but there was an edge of sincerity to it, a pointedness in the way he glanced over.

     It earned a quiet chuckle from Ford, one that loosened some of the tension that had been hanging between them. “You know me, Fid, I’m no trouble maker,” he said, sweeping the last of the stray hair into the dustpan.

     Fidds huffed, shaking his head with a half-smirk, but something about Ford’s tone made him hesitate before replying.

     Instead, he stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Ford’s shoulder. His palm was warm, steady, grounding. “I mean it, Ford. Take care of yourself while I’m gone.”

     Ford didn’t look up, just brushed the last of the hair into the bin with the edge of his foot.

     Fidds squeezed his shoulder lightly. “Don’t get too caught up down in that lab. Please?”

     Ford didn’t answer right away. He just kept sweeping, his movements slower now, almost absentminded. Then, finally, he muttered, “Sure.”

        But it didn’t sound like a promise.

     Fidds didn’t press. He just exhaled through his nose, brief but knowing, and moved toward the door where his bags sat idly against the frame. His coat hung from the rack above them, and he pulled it down, giving it a sharp shake before threading his arms through the sleeves. His hat followed, settled easily onto his head with a practiced tug at the brim.

     Then he crouched, unzipping the duffel at his feet. His fingers sifted through its contents, pausing when they found their mark.

        “Hold out your hand,” he said.

     Ford hesitated, brow pinching slightly, but followed the instruction.

     Fidds pulled something about the size of his fist from the bag, his grip careful as he placed it into Ford’s palm. “Happy Hanukkah,” he said.

        Ford looked down. A snow globe.

     He turned it slightly, brows furrowing as he examined the tiny scene inside. Then, slowly, his lips parted. The realization hit him in pieces—the shape of the porch, the placement of the chairs, the shed out back, the exact curve of the gravel driveway. It was the cabin.

     The level of detail was almost unsettling. The way the shingles layered over each other, the faint etching of wood grain in the porch railing. Even the path of the fence line, twisting slightly where the old post leaned.

     Ford shook his head slightly, looking up at Fidds, who was already grinning.

        “Hanukkah ended on Saturday,” Ford said.

     Fidds huffed, shoving Ford’s shoulder. “You bastard, you gotta tell me this shit!”

     Ford laughed, the sound breaking through something in his chest as he gave the globe a shake, watching the snow swirl and settle over the tiny model. “How’d you even make this?”

     Fidds just shrugged, adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”

     Ford exhaled softly, his fingers tightening around the glass. “Thank you, Fiddleford. This is… very thoughtful.” He hesitated, rolling his thumb along the base of the globe. “I… don’t have anything to give you.”

     Fidds shook his head, brushing it off with a quiet laugh. “That’s alright.” He leaned down, zipping his bag shut before straightening again. “Just make sure that little critter in the lab stays fed.”

     Ford sighed, tipping his head back slightly. “Yes, wouldn’t want anything happening to our class pet.”

     Fidds snorted. “He likes green apple,” he said, pointing a finger at Ford as if to emphasize it. “But don’t give him too much.”

     Ford rolled his eyes but smiled. “You got it, Dolittle.” He nodded toward the door. “Now get going. Wouldn’t want you to miss your flight.”

     Fidds lingered for a second longer, eyes scanning Ford’s face like he wanted to say something else. But whatever it was, he left it unsaid. Instead, he just clapped Ford’s shoulder again, squeezed once—as to emphasize the something in the nothing, then grabbed his bag and stepped out the door.

     Ford stood by the window, one hand resting against the cold sill, watching as the glow of Fidds’ taillights faded down the gravel drive. The car’s low rumble drifted through the trees, tires crunching over the uneven road, kicking up dust that swirled in the weak light of the porch lamp before settling back into the quiet. The wind had picked up, rattling the loose pane in the kitchen window, making it shudder in its frame. It carried through the house, slipping through cracks in the walls, whistling under the door—a restless presence moving through the empty spaces Fidds had left behind.

     Ford didn’t move. He stood there long after the car had disappeared, staring at the dark stretch of road, at the empty place where the headlights had been, at the trees swaying against the late afternoon sky.

     The house felt different now. Still, but not peaceful. Hollowed out.

        “And then there were two.”

     Bill’s voice curled at the base of Ford’s skull, thick with something half-amused, but mostly indulgent, stretching itself out just to hear the sound of it. A deliberate pause, a silence filled with its own meaning. Then, finally:

     “So.” Drawn out, lazy. “What are your plans for the solstice?”

     Ford glanced at the empty stretch of road, then away. “You’re looking at it.”

     “Oh, come on, Fordsy, no garlands?” Bill’s voice lilted in mock disappointment. “No lights? No merriment?” He let the words stretch, savoring the shape of them. “I certainly wouldn’t mind watching you swing that axe again. Lug in one of those trees that stay green…forever. What are they called?”

        “Evergreen”

     “Yes! Evergreen…well, not after the ritual—you humans do that this time of year, right? Hack one out of the earth, drag it inside, let it die slowly in the corner?”

     Ford shook his head, lips pressing into something like a smirk. “I’m Jewish.”

     Bill hummed, almost thoughtfully. “Right, right…  The eight crazy nights and whatnot.”

     “Yeah.” Ford muttered, fingers absently tugging at the hairs at the nape of his neck, a restless, unconscious movement. After a beat, he let his hand fall, something final in the gesture.

     “I thought all you humans flocked back to the nest for those sorts of things.” Bill’s voice took on that probing, casual lilt, the way he always did when he already knew the answer but wanted to see how it would unfold anyway. “Big, noisy feasts—everyone yelling and interrupting each other. But for some reason, there’s always one of the older ladies commenting on who’s gained weight.”

     That—that—did get a chuckle out of Ford. Brief. Quiet. The kind that escaped before he could smother it. “You’re not too far off.” His gaze flicked, almost involuntarily, back to the window. The road was empty. Whatever he’d been looking for—whatever he’d half-expected to see—wasn’t there. He reached into his pocket for his cigarettes.

        “But not you?”

     Ford sparked a match, the flare of it sharp in the dim light. The scent of sulfur curled at the edges of the room. He inhaled deeply, letting the burn settle behind his ribs before shaking his head. “No.”

        “Certainly someone’s waiting for you?”

     Ford exhaled, smoke rising in slow, heavy spirals. He didn’t answer immediately, and when he did, his voice was tight, controlled, like it was carefully smothering something. “It already passed. It—” He stopped, rubbed a hand over his mouth, then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

     A quiet stretched between them, long and thin.

        “I see.” Bill replied simply.

     Bill didn’t push further, which was almost stranger than if he had.

     Ford turned from the window, leaving a slow trail of smoke behind him as he descended the stairs into the lab. The shift was immediate—the crisp chaos of the underground space swallowing him whole.

     He shrugged on his lab coat, rolling his shoulders to settle it properly, then absently straightened a row of labeled vials as he passed them. At the far wall, a large canister housed a roll of tightly wound graph paper. He unraveled a clean stretch, slicing it neatly against the razor at the dispenser’s edge.

     The workbench was scattered with old notes, pages softened at the corners, numbers running together in thick graphite. He smoothed the sheet down, clipping it in place, then reached for one of his notebooks. His fingers skimmed past calculations, sketches, stray annotations, flipping with precision until he found the page he wanted:

     A rough concept. Barely a blueprint. Just the beginning of something—a mess of equations, half-solved formulas, notes scrawled hastily in the margins.

     Ford sat, rolling his chair closer to the desk. His pencil hovered over the page for a moment before pressing down, thickening the lines of an equation, adjusting a variable.

     His pencil moved, quick, deliberate. Adjusting for wavelength distortion, refining the detection parameters. The energy output was still too unstable; he’d have to work through that.

     He began marking adjustments, recalibrating, erasing, rewriting. The slow drag of graphite against paper filled the silence, an almost meditative repetition. He sketched out a rudimentary lens array, scratched it out, trying again. There were still problems to solve—the signal resolution, for one, wasn’t precise enough. The data output had too much noise, and if he couldn’t isolate the event patterns cleanly, then—

     He tapped the pencil against the margin, thinking.

     Bill, uncharacteristically, was still silent. It was the kind of quiet Ford recognized—not absence, but expectation. Waiting for something.

     Ford could feel Bill tracing the movements of his hands—not the lines or the figures on the paper, but the motions themselves. The careful precision, the obsessive repetition of it all. 

     He could feel it in his bones, that quiet weight between his shoulder blades—a constant, soft presence, like the brush of fingertips just shy of contact. It was a feeling so familiar, so entwined with his own body that he could forget it was there, and then remember it again, in the space of a breath—oh, how quickly it made him forget the mess.

     He set the pencil down and leaned back in his chair, taking a slow, deliberate pull from his cigarette, exhaling smoke toward the dark corners of the lab.

     “It’s a time to do things you enjoy with people you like.” Ford said simply, voice was measured. He took another slow drag from his cigarette.

        “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

     Bill made a noise—something light, lilting, a bit teasing. “How sweet.”

—

     The world returned in layers—first sensation, then weight, then the slow, deliberate effort of movement.

     Flesh was strange. Heavy. Confining in a way that felt unnatural, as if it were trying to remind Bill of the boundaries of this borrowed body. He rolled Ford’s shoulders, felt the tension strung between the bones, the way the muscles resisted before yielding. He stretched Ford’s fingers one by one, flexed them, curled them into fists, then released. The knuckles cracked, sharp in the quiet. 

     Ford’s body was worn—he’d spent too many nights bent over a desk, hunched, but even so, it responded. He could feel it now—muscles that would bend for him, would let him in when the time came. In some sense, it was always like this—Ford’s body, heavy in its own skin, but soft and vulnerable under Bill’s hands. 

     He tipped Ford’s head from side to side, testing. The weight of it was satisfying. Ford’s neck wasn’t the only thing he felt the pull of—there was the sharp, muscular lines of his arms, the quiet strength of his frame—they held an allure, something not quite of the body but for it. Bill often found his thoughts straying to those moments, the raw, unsaid things that lived in their touch, their quiet heat.

     Bill could feel the tension run deeper, could sense the resistance, the discomfort in Ford’s own willingness to be claimed—as he had been time and again, but never fully. And wasn’t that something? Wasn’t that interesting? 

     There was more here. More in Ford’s life—more in this body, and Bill wanted it. Needed it.

     Curiosity burned deeper than it ever had before. There were pieces of Ford that laid scattered—fragments, parts tucked away in corners, just out of reach. Ford kept them hidden—the things he didn’t want to show, the parts of him Bill hadn’t yet touched. The dreams held whispers of it—in sweat-slick skin, lips pulling in pleasure, with eyes that asked for something more, but never admitted it. 

     But life had a way, Bill had come to find, of leaving traces—ruins that could paint a clearer picture of what had been left behind. So, while Ford slept, Bill was at the helm—he explored.

     Bill had been through the lab, through Ford’s desk, through every drawer and locked cabinet Ford thought he was so clever about. But Fidds’ space? That was new.

     He moved Ford’s body through the house, bare feet brushing the floorboards, his movements less restrained now that they were alone. The door to Fidds’ room was unlocked—of course it was. Why wouldn’t it be?

     Inside, the room smelled faintly of dust and old paper, layered with something warmer—wood, whiskey, a trace of engine grease. Lived-in but not homey, the way men like them tended to keep things.

     Bill rifled through the dresser first, forcing Ford’s hands to move through stacks of clothes, occasionally brushing against the odd pocketful of loose screws. The nightstand wasn’t much better—half-empty cups of water, a few folded notes. Bill unfolded one, skimming the contents. The handwriting wasn’t Fidds’—and there, along the bottom, were several faded pink lip prints. The paper was old, crinkled at the edges. Bill tossed it aside.

     He moved on, fingers brushing along the desk, scattering a few notebooks just to see what lay beneath. Schematics. Numbers. Diagrams, scrawled over loose pages. Boring. He shoved them aside and opened the top drawer.

     A battered deck of cards. Bill flicked open the top, letting the cards spill into Ford’s hand. The edges were soft from wear, but the stack was thinner than it should have been. Bill fanned them out, shuffling through them lazily: only 9s, 10s, and the lettered ones. Useless. He shoved the cards back in the box and tossed them aside. 

     He reached towards the back of the drawer and Ford’s fingers hit something cool, metal. A flask. Bill popped the lid open letting the sharp fragrance of whiskey waft over him. He took a swig, gagging lightly at the burn—then took another before closing it and setting it back where it was.

     What else, what else…a pack of gum with only two sticks left. Then—what was this? A switchblade. Bill flipped it open with a flick of Ford’s wrist, testing the blade against the pad of Ford’s thumb. The body barely reacted to the shallow press. The blade was dull anyway. Disappointing.

        Finally, his gaze fell on the closet.

     The door creaked softly as he pulled it open. Inside, a row of shirts hung unevenly, some pressed together, others spaced apart like they’d been tugged on in haste. A few pairs of shoes sat scattered along the floor—scuffed boots, well-worn sneakers, something that might’ve once been dress shoes but had seen better days. In the corner, a long, narrow case leaned against the wall—Fidds’ gun, no doubt. But Bill’s attention snagged on something else.

     His borrowed fingers brushed against a box on the top shelf, its edges softened with age, the cardboard slightly warped. VHS was written across the front.

     Bill grinned—he’d seen these before. He pulled it down and set it on the floor, pushing Ford’s hands into the it, sifting through the stacks. The labels were neat, written on sticky notes.

            Home Movies. Too sentimental—Pass.

        Horror. Not bad…Maybe?

     Honeymoon? The moon was many things, but honey wasn’t one of them—forget it.

        Then—his hand stilled.

     Near the bottom, another label. Half-peeled at the corner, curling slightly.

        Christmas.

     “’Tis the season,” Bill murmured, amused, peeling the sticky note away with deliberate slowness.

     His fingers drifted through the tapes, pushing them aside, skimming the titles.

        Then—one caught his attention.

     The cover was different. Not some home recording, not a garish holiday special. It was a real production, glossy, with dramatic lighting. A man stood on the front, his body taut, arms stretched at his sides in a precise pose. The title curled above him in elegant script:

        Baryshnikov: The Nutcracker.

     Bill tilted Ford’s head, intrigued.

     He didn’t know what this was. Not really. But there was something about the way the man stood—poised, perfect, his body a study in control—that caught Bill’s attention. The way the muscles in his legs and arms defined themselves beneath the very tight fabric. Deliberate. Precise. 

           Bill’s grin sharpened.

        “Well, well.” 

     He turned the tape over in Ford’s hands, running his fingers over the plastic case. The back was filled with little printed images—dancers mid-motion, bodies suspended in impossible shapes. A synopsis, a list of credits, none of which meant much to him. The words blurred, insignificant next to the pictures.

        But something about it pulled at him.

     A performance. A display. A human body moving with purpose and control, and discipline—more than mere flesh.

     This was control without restraint. Power without resistance. A body yielding, but not in weakness—in mastery.

           And that was what caught him.

        Because Ford’s body wasn’t like that.

     Ford’s body—that was rigid. All strict, efficient movements, measured steps. Tension locked in his shoulders, restraint wired into his muscles. He moved like a man who had spent his whole life making sure he never miscalculated, never overreached, never let himself falter—carrying his body as if something terrible might happen if he misstepped.

     Even in moments of surrender, even when Bill had pulled him apart and coaxed pleasure from every nerve, he never fully let go—there was always something held back, something clenched in his jaw, something braced in his spine.

     Even at his most undone, he was never fully free.

     He always talked about diligence. Discipline. He lived by it. But Bill had never seen Ford’s body express that control like this.

        No, this—This was something else entirely. 

           He wanted to see. 

     He padded down the hall and made his way into the living room. There, against the center of the wall, sat an old VHS player, nestled beneath the television—He’d watched Ford do this before—the routine, the ritual. He slid the tape out of the box, the reel uneven on either end, thicker on the right side.

     He crouched, shoving the tape into the slot. The machine whirred to life, clicking as the tape was swallowed into its depths. He turned the dial on the TV—just as he remembered seeing Ford do. 

        The tape whirred, and the picture steadied.

     Bill sat close to the screen, Ford’s body held still, knees drawn up, fingers curled loosely against his ankles. The blue glow flickers over his skin as the stage unfolded across the screen.

     Soft light bloomed, illuminating an expanse of painted backgrounds. He reached for the dial, twisting it carefully, and the sound that followed was a series of delicate notes, slow and reverent—A sound like wanting.

     Bill’s breath was even, but something inside wasn't. A tightness in the ribs, something thin and stretched—He didn’t know why.

     The stage is vast, glowing, its warmth bleeding into the dimness of the recording. And there—her. The woman in white. She made delicate gestures, so careful, so precise, it seems impossible that she is real. She extends a hand. And then—him. The man from the cover.

     He steps forward—moving like he is separate from the world entirely, like gravity is something that only concerns others. His hands are gentle but deliberate, and when he reaches for her, she moves into him with certainty.

     The music lifts. It presses against Ford’s skin, beneath his ribs. Expands into the spaces between—between breath and bone, between this room and somewhere further, vaster, something without walls. It fills them, pushes into them, restless and endless—A sound like knowing.

           She reaches for him.

        And he takes her hand.

     Not like a claim, but gently—A meeting, one movement. She lifts onto the very edges of her feet, and he pulls her forward, just enough, just barely.

           The strings ascend—

        And she rises.

     Weightless, unbound, as if the music itself is pulling her up. As if she is not of this place at all.

     Something inside Bill shifted with them. A pressure, an ache behind Ford’s sternum, a heat pooling somewhere deep in the spine. It is not a thought, not a word, but something else.

     She leans into him, drapes herself across his arms. A body surrendered, but not in defeat. He moves with purpose, and she with trust.

     The figures on the screen turned, caught in each other’s gravity—Wasn’t that what this was?

     A body moving, knowing it would be caught. Hands reaching, knowing they would be met.

     Bill had known that. Had felt that. Had let himself be lifted, weightless in another’s grasp, drawn forward by something beyond them—something that neither of them could name.

     The music changed—rising like a wave. It moved in time with them, or perhaps it was them moving to meet it. It filled the room with an energy he couldn’t quite place—it was bold and exhilarating, yes, but also held a kind of ache, a sort of sorrow—that stirred something in him.

     The music swells, again. It presses into him, filling the empty spaces, expanding in the hollows. He can feel Ford’s body responding before he understands why—the faintest tremor in his fingers, a pull at something in the breath, in the pulse—there. A longing, an anguish. Something vast and unspeakable, drawn up and wrung out of them, spilling across their surface. 

        She folds against his chest.

     And Ford’s hands—their hands—curl inward, pressing into their palms, holding onto something unseen.

     The way he moves her. The way his hands trace her, firm, assured, each motion deliberate. The way she gives herself to him, the way he bears it—it is a kind of triumph, but not of conquest.

     There was something about the way he looked at her—A quiet intensity, a reverence, something fragile, something cherished. The way his eyes burned—it was familiar.

     Bill could feel it. In the chest, in the throat. It ached. He knew that look. He knew that feeling.

           He’d seen it before.

        On Ford.

     On Ford, looking at him.

     It should be a claim, but it isn’t. It is something softer. She gives, and he takes only what she offers. He catches her, never demands. It is a meeting, not an expectation. And Bill knows this, too. Not in words. Not in sound. But in motion.

     He understood movement. The weight of a hand, the shift of muscle, the way touch speaks by tension’s release.

        And Ford’s touch—spoke to him.

     In the way he presses forward, the way he pulls. The way his grip falters, caught between wanting and restraint. How his fingers tremble when they hold too hard, how they soften—afraid to take too much.

     Even in surrender, even in pleasure, even in the moments where his breath is shaking, where his body gives itself over—there is always that hesitation. That measuring. That something.

     A flicker of memory—hands, tracing over him with curiosity. I need to understand, that touch said. Let me know you.

     There was a burst of strings, a note drawn long and low, delicate as thread. Bill startles—not outwardly, not in a way that the body betrays, but inwardly, somewhere deeper. The sound does not enter through their ears alone—what was it reaching?

     Bill couldn’t help it—they stood, eyes never leaving the figures. There was a tug inside them, a strange, frustrated pull. What was it? What made these movements seem so certain?

        He wasn’t made for this.

     And Ford, with his restraint, with his hesitation—

           But together—together, maybe.

        Their fingers twitch.

     The body follows.

     Testing the pull of their limbs, the space between the music and this body, the air between the motion and the understanding of it. He bends Ford’s legs, arms curling into an arc above their head, then slowly, steadily, a curve in the spine, dipping to the side.

     Bill lets the breath sit in their lungs, holds it there, feeling the shape of it, the weight. The music swells once more, fingers lower, barely grazing the air before settling. They move, through the dark—step of two.

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[Read Entire Work Here]

[merfolkmagic]

Sea Fetches and their Symbolic Meaning

mer interruption: the following text is from one of my favourite books. a part II will follow on, but do consider buying the book for yourself to get more interesting lore!

Animals can act as messengers as well as sources of inspiration, healing, and guidance. Those associated with the sea are generally considered wise and powerful. A totem animal or sea fetch can remain with you for your entire life, or it may come briefly into your life to guide you through a particular phase or turning point. Some are merely messengers that have one brief communication or idea to relay. You may also encounter one that may be difficult to deal with at first. This type of fetch usually appears to draw out a side of you that has been ignored. At first this fetch may seem fearsome or contrary, but in the long run what it helps bring to your surface level of consciousness can be very important. According to Caitlin Matthews, "the appearance of talking beasts in folk story denotes a shift of emphasis to a deeper level of awareness; such beasts are not an- thropomorphic animals, but archetypal forms." Animals that present themselves to you may symbolize who you are, or they may possess qualities that you would like to express in your life. Let's take a brief overview of qualities associated with several potential sea fetches. We'll look at them in more detail over the following pages.

Twelve Sea Fetches and Their Associated Qualities Albatross: Solitude, survival, the ability to wonder. Crab: Adaptability, clarity of vision, creativity, growth, renewal, rebirth. Dolphin: Communication, community, intuition, joy, serenity, strength. Manatee: Gentleness, ability to nurture, relaxation. Otter: Companionship, duty, friendship, loyalty, transformation. Penguin: Balance, independence, inner strength, wisdom. Polar Bear: Ability to nurture, protection, power, spiritual guidance, strength. Salmon: Cycles, determination, healer, progress. Sea Gull: Communication, freedom, responsibility, simplicity. Seal: Balance, creativity, curiosity, playfulness. Turtle: Fertility, immortality, longevity, opportunity, perseverance. Whale: Communication, community, creativity, cycles, harmony.

Some of the animals' qualities, such as the crab's, may surprise you. However, the crab is associated with health and vision (mental and psychic), and its energy is useful for protection from negativity. Perhaps the inclusion of the polar bear surprised you, too. While all of its relatives are clearly earthbound creatures, the polar bear is also known as the water bear and the ice bear. It is very much at home in the waters of the North Atlantic and Arctic Oceans.

A fetch can make itself known in various ways. In fact, its image may continually appear to you until you realize and acknowledge it. Thereafter, an appearance may indicate a need for contact or reassurance or it may be a signal that only you and your fetch will understand.

One way that birds communicate their presence and intent is through the gifting of a feather. I have been drawn to seagulls since I was a child and I have felt comforted by their calls. When I moved into my house in Maine and stepped out onto the back porch for the first time, I was greeted with the cry of gulls and a snowy white feather on my steps. I felt that I had truly come home. Still, as with the "signs" communicated by seashells, I believe that a touch of skepticism is healthy. The difference between a message and an ordinary experience is the timing and the undeniable feeling that it holds meaning. Keep your senses open, ask questions of yourself and the fetch, then trust your intuition. If you are still unsure, ask for further signs. If a fetch was communicating with you, you will receive them. The sea journey presented here* will help you find your sea fetch. Of course, there is the possibility that a mythical creature may present itself to you. Don't reject it out of hand. Go with the flow if your intuition tells you that there is something to be learned. Examine why you might be drawn to it and then research as much as you can about it. Our feelings and inner experiences are valid and do not require a stamp of approval from other people. Stay truthful to yourself. * mer interruption: i will post the sea journey separately! Below the cut are the 12 fetches in detail.

Twelve Fetches in Detail Let's look at these fetches more closely. But remember, this is by no means a complete list of potential candidates. Any animal connected with the ocean can act as your sea fetch. Sea birds-see the albatross and sea gull- have a special spiritual energy that crosses the realms of heaven, sea, and land, energetically linking the three permanent elements of air, water, and earth. But every creature has its own totemic power. Which one speaks to you?

Albatross This rare oceanic wanderer can show us the ethereal realms beyond this world and within our hearts. At one time the albatross was seen as the "restless spirits of drowned sailors" because of its cry and its endless soaring. With a wingspan greater than other sea birds', albatross can shepherd us on our journey and steer us in the direction we are meant to travel. Albatross teaches us the value of nurturing even the male sits on the nest as well as the skills to survive any turbulence we may encounter. With albatross as a guide we can learn to see the magnificence in the world around us and the worlds within us. Associations: Solitude, survival, the ability to wonder.

Crab The crab may seem an unlikely guide; however, it has a place in legend and is associated with magical powers. Crabs are found in all oceans. They shed their shells as they grow, which symbolizes renewal and rebirth. As a result, crab can instruct us not to be afraid to change and grow. Crab is adaptable and sensitive, with a clarity of vision that can teach us to keep an eye on our goals and unfold to our own potential. Although crab is shy by nature and stays near shore, we can learn how to come out of our shell and explore the spiritual depths that await our discovery. Crabs may walk sideways but from this we can learn how to sidestep trouble when necessary yet still meet important issues head-on. As a zodiacal sign, crab is associated with the moon and brings creative energies into play as a spirit guide. Associations: Adaptability, clarity of vision, creativity, growth, renewal, rebirth.

Dolphin The dolphin is an ancient symbol of love goddesses: its name comes from the Greek delphinos, meaning "womb." The Celts believed that dolphins carried departed souls to the Isle of the Blessed. To early Christians the dolphin symbolized the resurrection and salvation of Christ. Fond of people and music, dolphin helps us value communication, community, and play. Strength, joy, and serenity are qualities that dolphin can help us cultivate. Ancient mariners believed that dolphins could warn them about approaching storms. Their oracular ability can help us find the way to our individual enlightenment. Dolphin offers support in finding our unique path through life. Associations: Communication, community, intuition, joy, serenity, strength. Manatee In 1493 Christopher Columbus noted in his logbook that his ship encountered sea maidens, which contributed to the scientific order's name of Sirenia. Today, our best guess is that Columbus and his crew had spot- ted manatees. These graceful, slow-moving swimmers have a gentle demeanor and a great deal to teach us. Manatee is shy but curious, teaching us the importance of remaining open to experiences even if they seem frightening. A strong bond develops between a mother manatee and her calf, teaching us that nurturing and gentleness are of utmost importance in relationships. Manatee's lovely, relaxed pace beckons us to take our time and slow down. In rushing, we miss so much of the flavor of life. Associations: Gentleness, ability to nurture, relaxation.

Otter The Celtic people believed otters to be magical animals because they inhabit the netherworld where land meets sea. In legends, otters were shown to be helpful to travelers. The Celts called them "water dogs" because of their appearance as well as their speed and skill. Otter symbolizes companionship and encouragement. Such traits make otter a wise and dutiful guide. As legend suggests, with loyalty, friendship, and playfulness, otter guides us on a quest where the unexpected can occur and deep transformation begins. Associated with the sea god Manannan, otter knows how to keep confidences in order to serve. Otter brings brightness and joy into our world and shows us how to find it on our own. Associations: Companionship, duty, friendship, loyalty, transformation. Penguin Portrayed as a little tuxedoed comic, penguin is anything but this inaccurate caricature. Penguin teaches us that we cannot make quick judgments about people because things are not always what they seem. Penguin gives us an example of how we can be true to ourselves and march to our own rhythm. As fathers, male penguins usually share in the egg incubation process and nursery duties, reminding us that males can be as nurturing as females and also serving as a model of balanced energy. Able to hunker down and weather the harsh Antarctic winter, penguin also teaches us about strength and survival. Emperor penguins in particular spend a lot of time in winter twilight; thus they are familiar with that Otherworldly betwixt-and-between state. With the moon providing the brightest light for several months, penguin gains the wisdom of Luna and passes it to those under its guidance. Associations: Balance, independence, inner strength, wisdom.

Polar Bear In general, bears are earthy and grounded, but then there's the polar bear. These indefatigable swimmers, whose massive paws serve as paddles, are equally at home in the water and on land. It has been said that polar bears "could be considered the link between sea and land in the Arctic". Polar bear is a solitary wanderer, spending much of the year on pack ice, going where the floe takes it. As a nomadic wanderer, polar bear is an excellent guide for inner journeys. Strength and protection (especially in Otherworld realms) are hallmarks of polar bear's mystical and spiritual significance. Polar bear has also mastered the art of survival in the physical realm, demonstrating the power of selfless nurturing better than anyone. All who travel are guided by polar bear through the constellation of Ursa Major-the great bear. Polaris, the North Star, the final star in her tail, was used for navigation by sailors for centuries. But polar bear has a playful side, too: the ethereal spirited movement of the Aurora Borealis is also called the "dance of the bears." While polar bear teaches us the joy of dance and play, her semi-hibernation habits also show us the importance of stillness: self-work begins in active stillness. Associations: Ability to nurture, protection, power, spiritual guidance, strength. Salmon Celtic people considered the salmon the oldest and wisest of all creatures. In some legends, salmons were the guardians of sacred pools and wells. Salmon teaches us about determination, fluidity, and cycles. With its exhausting journey home-upstream to its spawning grounds salmon reveals the importance of epic life-changing voyages, unstoppable progress, and the capacity to overcome great obstacles. A leap of faith can be exceedingly frightening and yet the most healing of experiences. Salmon can help us find focus for the soul, which can carry us through any turbulence. Follow salmon if you seek wisdom and inspiration, and you will be led on a journey through the depths of your soul. Associations: Cycles, determination, healing, progress. Sea Gull Sea gulls seem to come in all shapes and sizes, but the quintessential is the herring gull. Stately and large, with a fifty-eight-inch wingspan, this gull is indeed a master of the wind. For centuries mariners relied on the flight line of gulls to find land-so this bird reminds us that duty and responsibility are to be gladly assumed and never shirked. Sea gull also teaches the importance of clear communication. We can gain more nuanced un- derstanding by asking mindful questions. From sea gull we learn adaptability, helping us go with the flow when necessary, and we see how and when to clear things from our life. Through sea gull's lessons we can learn to soar to new heights, finding freedom of spirit as well as the beauty in simple things. Associations: Communication, freedom, responsibility, simplicity.

Seal Stories abound concerning these playful, active creatures. The legendary selkies of Scotland were said to live most of their lives as seals, but on certain nights they came ashore, shedding their skins and turning into beautiful women. In Iceland, seals were said to come on shore on St. John's night (Midsummer, June 23) to dance on the beach. Celtic people believed them to be guides for sailors and fishermen because of their link to the powers of the deep. As a guide, seal helps us center and find focus in our life. Seal's Otherworld associations aid us in maintaining the deep level of spirituality we need to keep in balance. The shy but curious nature of seal leads us to enlarge our own capacity to explore the world through our creativity. Associations: Balance, creativity, curiosity, playfulness. Turtle Sea turtles spend their lives at sea, most often as solitary wanderers of the deep. Traveling hundreds of miles to lay eggs on the beach where they themselves and their ancestors before them hatched, turtles have earned the name of "ancient mariners." Through this feat of navigation, turtle teaches us to pay attention and remain aware about the truly important matters in life. In Eastern mythology, turtle symbolized longevity and immortality, fertility and perseverance. Through these attributes, turtle teaches us how to awaken to opportunity those presented to us as well as those we create for ourselves. Associations: Fertility, immortality, longevity, opportunity, perseverance.

Whale The largest creature on earth derives its name from the Norwegian word hval, meaning "wheel." And "wheel-like" aptly describes whale's diving motion. It also implies cycles, which are inherent in whale's migratory and musical patterns. Through these habits, whale reveals the importance of freeing our creativity and remembering to sing. Like all marine mammals, whale's rugged and adaptable ancestors left the changing environment on land about 55 million years ago for life in the sea. Perhaps this fact can remind us that we can always change our lives around. Whale's sounding dive teaches us the value of exploring our inner depths. Communication and community are other areas where whale guides our focus for developing cooperation and harmony. Associations: Communication, community, creativity, cycles, harmony.

Text - Sea Magic - Connecting with the Ocean's Energy, Sandra Kynes Cute sea dividers - kaitsawamura

Intended for reference and educational purposes - please supplement with your own research and knowledge!

[str8aura-no-not-that-one]

This is a true story that happened to me. I was there.

This was back when I lived in the beautiful old country of suburbia, where pink flamingos grow and diet soda flows. My house was just down the street from this old badger lady, let's call her Barb. The face that immediately appears in your head when you picture an old lady named Barb? That was her. Sweet as a button, shorter than your average teenager, well groomed fur, with a little pair of librarian spectacles that perched at the end of her snout.

Barb had a chatter like a tank's cannon, in that once you realized a moment too soon you were in its crossfires, it was already revved up and ready to fire. There was really nothing you could do but sit there and take the hit. No chance of penetrating your own two cents through without being impolite, no chance of commandeering the conversation; The English language was her turf alone, and she ruled over it with an iron fist. Stand directly in front of a chainsmoker with three cigars clamped in their jaws just as they exhale, and you might get an idea of what it was like to get trapped in a conversation with her (If that even is what you'd call it; Conversation usually implies you have equal involvement.)

Still, she was a nice lady and all of her kids had fled the nest, so I always made sure to listen whenever we met. As it happened at this point in time, I was taking my beloved dog on a walk (Can I say I had a dog? Will it bother anyone? It was one of the weird, four legged ones that don't talk) when a car pulled up right next to me, quick as a whip. I had about a moment to contemplate which mob had called the drive by that was surely about to take my life before the door opened, and who should waddle out but dear old Barb.

Barb hadn't seen me in some time, and seemed keen to make up for it. As antsy as my pooch was standing in the middle of the road for so long, I don't believe even an oncoming car could have uprooted someone from where a Barbversation froze them. Nevertheless, the road stayed empty, and she began relaying to me a problem she had in her garden. Seeing as I appeared superficially to any old lady as a powerful, strong, somewhat foppish man, I picked up the hint early and agreed to do some yard work for her in the following days.

(The important information contained within her words has been extracted here from the rest for reader convenience, like delicately removing a sliver of diamond from a chunk of stone.)

Astute readers may also note, as I did several minutes after she got back into her car and sped off like a bat out of hell, that she had relayed to me 'a problem'. This is an accurate transcript, as at no point in the conversation had I ever been made aware what said problem actually entailed. When I showed up at her door the day of, I anticipated anything from unscrewing a bulb to hiding a body.

Thankfully, the job did not seem that initially convoluted. She had a brick pathway that crossed under her house's gutter, and wished to make a trench by removing select bricks that would allow the water to be redirected into the grass instead of splashing all over her nice path. Simple plan; Take bricks out of the ground, use the remaining holes to form a trench. Got it?

The job began, and I dutifully lifted bricks while listening to her stories of her former husbands and The War. I did not ask which one- It wasn't my business, and anyway I preferred to speculate. She also offhandedly mentioned that, as a former EMT, she did indeed have experience handling dead bodies, which did not surprise me at all.

After barely twenty minutes, the job was finished. She looked it up and down, nodded in satisfaction, and told me I had done a wonderful job.

Then she told me to put the bricks back.

Not entirely certain I was understanding her correctly, I asked why she would want that.

She told me she wanted the trench to have a brick floor.

Now, I was beginning to see an issue presently invisible to her. If you can picture this in your head, imagine the act of taking a brick out of a hole, and then putting it right back into the hole. If you understand what dilemna this creates, you have more foresight than Barbara Badger.

I delicately tried to explain to her that we would need to dig twice as deep if she wanted a brick floor, in order to keep the trench below the rest of the pathway, in order to guide the water (That lay in the house that Jack built). She twitched her tail and shook her head vehemently. She didn't want to dig any deeper.

She wanted it to be level with the pathway.

She wanted a trench that was level with the pathway.

After some more of this, I thought I understood. She didn't want a flat, Minecraft style trench, where we merely removed the top layer of bricks and allowed the dirt to be the floor for the water to traverse. She didn't want mud. Instead, I interpreted that she wanted me to lay the bricks in a V formation, making an ever-so-slight dip in the walkway through which the water from the gutter would flow along. I immediately set to work digging out the middle, making a divot into which the bricks could recline.

She told me I was digging too deep. She wanted the bricks to be level.

In fact, she didn't even want to notice the trench.

The trench the water was supposed to flow through.

I attempted to explain to her how water works, and how if it could climb atop a level brick pathway, it would go any which way it pleased instead of obediently following along the trench into the dirt.

Am I still making sense? My head spins as I write this.

Still, she wanted to do away with the V shaped-trench, and instead make a trench shaped like a flat line, which is not a trench. I told her that. She told me she had never wanted a trench, only a path for the water to travel that would keep it from getting all over the bricks. I did not ask for clarification.

This time around, as I did her bidding, she started telling me a story about a Skunk (She did not explain why she felt the need to clarify the species. It was not relevant to the story.) muralist who had previously done her walls, and her immense difficulty in getting him to understand the way she wanted it done. Wherever you are, my heart goes out to you, poor little skunk.

For not the first time, I was beginning to feel like the target of mob violence. Only now, instead of a drive by shooting, I felt much like a storeowner who hasn't been paying protection tied to a chair and being informed about 'some' dirty rat in my position who had met with a gristly end.

Apologies to rats.

Nevertheless, despite the verbal gun at the back of my neck, I finished the job. The trench which was not a trench was complete, which entailed putting every brick back exactly as they had been before I began the job. Barb looked the job over, smiled, and told me I had done wonderfully in that way only sweet old ladies can do.

I asked where I could put the shovel now that I was done with it.

She waved her hand dismissively.

"Put it anywhere you like," She told me. "I'm not a control freak."

I was paid 40 bucks and a dog treat.

[talshiargirlfriend]

K&R domestic bliss:

⁷²⁾ bright teatowels

⁷³⁾ an empty drawer

⁶³⁾ a blackout

⁴⁵⁾ soft pyjamas

³⁸⁾ a blanket draped over a sleeping form

Is that… is that a tiny crack in the pervasive writer’s block allowing a tiny trickle of words to flow through? It is! ☀️ Praise the Sisko! Here’s some domestic fluff. Many braincells died to bring it to you. I know I’ve been begging for asks/prompts and then totally failing to deliver anything, so I appreciate your patience and support. 💜💜💜

Mike pushed the door chime and waited until Janelle’s melodious voice rang out.

“Come in!”

“You’re early,” she smiled over her shoulder at him from her position in front of her bed where she was folding laundry.

“I couldn't wait to see you,” he admitted with a lopsided grin. His slight feeling of self-consciousness evaporated as he watched her smile grow at his admission. Time alone together off-duty was a precious commodity.

“Can I help?” Mike asked as he approached her.

“Here, take this,” she said, handing him what appeared to be the entire contents of her pajama drawer as she stood on tip-toe to kiss him hello. The soft fabric squished between them as he pulled her closer for a second kiss, and then a third, before reluctantly releasing her.

“Better finish this before you distract me anymore, Mr Rostov,” Janelle teased as she knelt down and pulled open a vacant drawer

“At your service, Ms Kelly,” he retorted smartly.

Janelle’s dark eyes sparkled with something that made his breath catch as she glanced up at him and reached for the stack of clothing.

They got comfortable cuddled up side by side on the bed to watch a film, although Mike found himself devoting far more attention to his companion than to the movie. He studied her, trying to determine just how invested in the plot she was because he really wanted to kiss her again.

“Staring is creepy, Michael.” There was a hint of laughter in Janelle’s voice as she turned to face him.

“Sorry,” he said, though he wasn't, and she knew it. Before he could suggest ways of earning her forgiveness for such an infraction the room went dark.

Rostov cursed under his breath as the emergency lighting began to glow. The pair sat expectantly, waiting for either the primary power to come back online or a call to come through ordering them to their stations, but after several minutes neither had happened.

Since he was closer to the intercom panel on the wall, Mike used it to contact Engineering. “Rostov here. What’s going on? Do you need a hand down there?”

The Chief himself responded, “Looks like a side effect of this nebula we’re passing through. Scans are just about complete, and we’ve got everything under control. Should have the lights back on in about twenty minutes or so. You just enjoy your night off.” Commander Tucker paused, and they could hear the sly grin in his voice when he added, “Both of you. Tucker out.”

Janelle shook her head, “You can just hear that he’s having the time of his life right now. A problem to solve. Science Officer at his side. Underlings to tease.”

Mike chuckled in agreement as he leaned back. “It’s nice to hear him happy again,” he said seriously.

“It is,” Janelle agreed, snuggling against his side.

Mike kissed the side of her head. “Movie’s a bust. Why don't you tell me about our little house planetside again?”

“The hypothetical home we’ll live in when we’ve had enough of this tin can? Well, it will be colourful. Starship grey will be forbidden,” she said sternly.

“Of course,” he agreed, closing his eyes and resting his head against hers.

“Seriously, colour everywhere – rainbow tea towels, the works! Nice big windows to let the sunlight in. A cozy little kitchen where we can get in each other’s way while we cook dinner together.”

“Like when we had to rewire the power relays to the aft lift last month?” Mike asked.

“Exactly like that,” Janelle confirmed. “And a comfy couch with a big fluffy throw blanket on the back.”

“A colourful throw,” he interjected.

“Of course. And I’ll tuck it around you when you fall asleep twenty minutes into the movie,” she said as she wrapped her arms around him.

“Hey, that’s you!” Mike laughed.

Janelle looked up into his face. “Maybe it is,” she admitted. “Will you tuck me under the blanket if I do?”

“Always,” he said softly as he kissed her forehead. “And I’ll wake you up to come to bed when the credits roll, so you don't get a stiff neck.”

“Oh, you really are at my service!”

“Always,” he repeated.

He planted little kisses along the corners of her mouth until she laughed and grabbed the back of his head and firmly drew him into a full, deep kiss.

Someday they’d share a big comfortable bed with extra pillows, but for now they managed just fine in her little Starfleet bunk.

[enzaelectric]

The Role of Relays and Timers in Industrial Automation Systems

In the world of industrial automation, efficiency, safety, and precision are crucial. Among the many components that contribute to a well-functioning automated system, relays and timers play a foundational role. These devices act as control elements that manage the flow of electricity, signal processes, and coordinate timing sequences — ensuring that operations run smoothly and safely.

In this article, we’ll explore how relays and timers work, their types, applications in automation systems, and how high-quality products — like those offered by Enza Electric — can enhance performance and reliability in industrial settings.

What Are Relays?

A relay is an electromechanical or electronic switch used to control a circuit by a separate low-power signal or multiple signals. In industrial automation, relays act as a bridge between the control system and the equipment being operated — allowing machines to be turned on or off automatically.

Types of Relays Commonly Used in Automation:

Electromechanical Relays (EMRs): Use physical moving parts; reliable and easy to maintain.

Solid-State Relays (SSRs): No moving parts; faster switching, longer lifespan, and better for high-speed applications.

Thermal Overload Relays: Protect motors and equipment from overheating.

Control Relays: Designed for controlling multiple contacts simultaneously in automation systems.

What Are Timers?

Timers are devices used to delay or repeat electrical signals at predetermined intervals. They help synchronize tasks, automate sequences, and provide controlled outputs over time — critical for complex industrial processes.

Common Timer Functions:

On-delay and off-delay timing

Interval timing

Cyclic or repeat cycle operation

Flashing and sequencing operations

Types of Timers:

Analog Timers: Manual dial settings, simple and cost-effective.

Digital Timers: Offer precise programming, displays, and flexible timing ranges.

Programmable Timers: Ideal for complex automation routines requiring multiple sequences.

Key Roles in Industrial Automation Systems

1. Process Control and Sequencing

Relays and timers enable automated machines to follow a specific sequence — turning motors, lights, or pumps on and off in a logical order. For example, a conveyor system can use a relay-timer combination to control material flow with millisecond precision.

2. Safety and Protection

Relays protect systems by interrupting circuits in case of faults. Combined with timers, they can ensure delay before activating emergency stop functions, preventing false triggers and increasing worker safety.

3. Load Management

In high-demand industrial environments, relays help manage load distribution by selectively energizing or de-energizing machinery. Timers assist in staggered starts, reducing power surges.

4. Energy Efficiency

By automating start/stop functions and managing operation durations, timers help reduce unnecessary energy use. Relays ensure only the necessary loads are powered, minimizing wastage.

5. System Monitoring and Feedback

In smart automation, relays provide feedback signals to the control system. Timers assist with diagnostics by creating intervals for testing or data collection.

Benefits of Using High-Quality Relays and Timers

Choosing the right components significantly impacts system performance and longevity. Enza Electric’s relays and timers are engineered with:

High durability for tough industrial environments

Precision timing for reliable operation

Easy installation and compact designs

Compliance with international safety and quality standards

By integrating Enza’s low-voltage solutions, businesses in the GCC, MENA, and Africa regions benefit from cost-effective, scalable automation that supports both current needs and future expansion.

Common Applications in Industrial Sectors

Manufacturing Plants: Control of motors, robotic arms, and production lines.

HVAC Systems: Timed control of fans, compressors, and dampers.

Water Treatment Facilities: Sequenced operation of pumps and valves.

Packaging Machinery: Relay and timer-based coordination of packing, sealing, and labeling.

Food and Beverage Industry: Process automation with hygiene-compliant controls.

Final Thoughts

Relays and timers are the silent operators behind the success of industrial automation systems. From process optimization to enhanced safety and energy management, these components are indispensable.

When sourced from a trusted manufacturer like Enza Electric, businesses are not only investing in reliable hardware but also in the longevity, scalability, and safety of their entire operation.

Ready to Power Your Automation?

Explore Enza Electric’s wide range of relays, timers, and other low-voltage switchgear solutions designed to meet the evolving demands of modern industries. Visit www.enzaelectric.com to learn more or request a quote today.

[almondenterprise]

How High-Quality Low-Voltage Switchgear Accessories Save You Money!

One of the main goals of industrial power systems is to cut costs without sacrificing performance.

Upgrading your low-voltage switchgear accessories is one frequently disregarded method to accomplish this.

Let’s discuss how purchasing high-quality switchgear accessories can extend the life of your electrical infrastructure, reduce operating costs, and boost system performance in this guide.

What Are Low-Voltage Switchgear Accessories?

Low-voltage switchgear accessories are parts that improve how well your electrical switchgear systems work, keep them safe, and make them reliable. These include:

- Circuit breakers

- Contactors

- Busbar systems

- Surge protection devices (SPDs)

- Control relays

- Communication and monitoring modules

They offer power distribution, fault protection, and real-time system monitoring and are therefore crucial in industrial automation and energy management.

1. Minimize Downtime and Improve Productivity

Cheap, low-quality parts are likely to break down, grinding work to a standstill. Every hour of unscheduled downtime at a plant equals lost work and income.

✅ Advantage:

The superior switchgear elements can withstand more load, function through more switch cycles, and withstand more demanding conditions. It guarantees power flows smoothly at all times and decreases the possibility of shutdowns.

2. Extend the Lifespan of Equipment

Switchgear accessories form the first line of defense for your equipment. Low-quality accessories will let surges or faults pass through and can destroy costly equipment like motors, drives, and PLCs.

✅ Advantage

Stable components such as motor protection relays and surge protection devices maintain voltage levels constant and prevent overloads, thus safeguarding equipment downstream of them.

3. Reduce Maintenance and Replacement Costs

Sustained maintenance, breakdown calls, and replacement components are costly over time. Cheap parts fail early, thereby adding to your maintenance load.

✅ Advantage:

Purchasing robust, low-maintenance accessories translates to fewer services and repairs, which results in overall savings.

4. Improve Energy Efficiency

Loss of power and energy inefficiency typically start with old or badly designed switchgear devices. Even small problems within a big system can lead to higher energy bills.

✅ Advantage:

Good-quality accessories provide the highest conductivity and proper switching, allowing for optimal voltage output maintenance and avoiding energy wastage.

5. Enhance Electrical Safety and Regulatory Compliance

Faulty accessories are a main cause of electrical fire and safety hazards. Substandard systems can also fail to meet industry standards.

✅ Advantage:

Good quality switchgear parts typically conform to IEC, UL, or other important standards for safe functioning and regulatory compliance.

Conclusion: Small Components, Big Savings

Cheap accessories can appear to be a good deal initially but can turn out to be costly over time. Employing quality low-voltage switchgear accessories guarantees that:

- Less system crashes

- Equipment lasts longer

- Reduced maintenance

- Reduced energy costs

- Safer operations

Looking for Reliable Low-Voltage Switchgear Accessories?

At Almond Enterprise, we specialize in supplying industrial-grade switchgear components that deliver long-term performance and value.

Contact Our Experts: sales.almond@almondenterprise.com for tailored recommendations

[the-gateway-to-madness]

core

tales of arcadia krel x oc

complete fluff. word count uhhh we'll find out lol

set during 3b season 2

"Hey," Cara poked her head into Krel's workspace. "What uh- whatcha working on?"

"I am behind on fixing this power relay," Krel mumbled in reply. "If I don't get it back in place, the camouflage matrix will fail and it'll take delsons to get it up and running again. And with Kubritz coming after us, we can't afford that."

"Ah, understood. Prevention over damage control," Cara said. "... that said, it uh. It is in fact 1 am."

"What are you doing awake, then?" Krel asked, his tone a mix of both preoccupation and genuine concern.

"I got up to use the bathroom and saw your bedroom door was still open," Cara shrugged, coming closer. "I'm assuming you've patched the issue temporarily in some way?"

"Of course."

"How long will that hold?"

"Another two delsons," Krel said, "but I cannot afford to waste any time-"

"My Liege," Cara cut him off gently, "sleep deprivation will only cost you more time." She put a hand on his shoulder, her thumb tracing the curve of it. "You'll hurt yourself and slow down the repairs."

Krel shook his head. "I am nearly done here, Cara, I-"

"-have no reason not to go to bed then," Cara countered. "You'll have time to finish this tomorrow."

Krel sighed. "You're gonna keep pushing, aren't you?"

"More like pulling," Cara smiled, taking his hand and tugging him carefully away from the table. She was pleased that he didn't really try to physically resist.

"Oh, come on, I could have just handled it really quick and then I'd have gone to bed!" Krel groaned. "Caraaaa, please!"

"My Liege, I am sworn to protect you from everything I can- even yourself," Cara replied firmly. She dragged him to his room and, knowing he'd make a break for it, she wrapped her arms around him when they got there and fell over on the bed, keeping one arm around him as she adjusted the pillows to make herself comfortable before noticing that Krel was entirely still, lying on top of her.

Cara laughed softly at how stiff and nervous he seemed, placing her hand against the back of his head and letting it rest against her core and the curve of her neck and shoulder.

"You won't let me get up, will you?" Krel checked, tone resigned.

"No sir," Cara replied smugly.

Krel sighed, but he found himself struggling to form complaints as Cara's fingers trailed soothingly up and down the back of his neck, massaging the base of his skull and his shoulders. In spite of himself, he relaxed, his eyelids drooping as the horvaths of intense focus hit him like a truck and the exhaustion settled into his bones.

"This doesn't mean you win," he mumbled, shifting to get more comfortable and nuzzling her collarbone.

"Naturally not," Cara said, her amusement barely held back and the faintest chortle escaping her.

"First thing tomorrow I'm finishing that power relay."

"I would expect nothing less."

Krel furrowed his eyebrows, not even having the energy to frown fully. "Don't you make fun of me," he muttered.

"I would never," Cara assured him, smiling to herself.

Krel's eyes were closed. When had that happened? He could feel the warmth of Cara's core, so close he swore he could feel the energy flowing through her body- or was that his own, he wasn't sure.

He didn't really have time to finish the thought before all the ideas he was trying to parse slurred into nothing.

[hushravengoobertown]

THIS IS MY DRIFTER BIO IF ANY OF Y'ALL ARE CURIOUS!! :3

---

Birth Name: Huili-Yū (Huili is the Huoshen Goddess of Fire in Chinese mythos while Yū means “Shining Brightly” “Tenderness” “Abundance” and Courage” depending on if you look at Chinese or Japanese Mythos) but of course her name is lost to time and she'll never know the significance of it.

Current Name: Kintsugi (her name is directly referencing the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with silver, gold or platinum. The actual word “Kintsugi” translates to “Golden Seams” beautiful isn't it?)

---

Titles: Weaver of the Broken, Queen of Duviri, Angel of Fire, Goddess of Clay and Gold.

Nicknames: Sugi, Sugarcube, Embers, Void Kitten, Velvet Owl, Cuddlywumps, Snugglemuffin.

---

Sex/Gender: Female

Birth World: Mars

Home World: Earth

Current Residence: Höllvania, Backroom.

Birth-day: August 8th, ????

---

Height: Taller than an average woman, about 5’9”

Weight: 152 lbs

Eye Shape and Color: Rounded Almond. Purple iris, with golden rings. 

Skin Texture and Color: Soft and Smooth, White with golden scarring (cracks from previous injuries not fully healing) 

Hair Style and Color: Either let loose flowing down waving down her shoulders or up in a Tactical Ponytail. A beautiful Maroon-Red color. 

---

Style/Fashion: Goth earrings, drifters occulus, a cognitive relay, black gloves, cozy sleeves, tight maroon and cream colored athletic shirt, light blue jeans with chains and red boots, grungy shirt wrapped around her waist, Belly of the Beast medallion she wears around her neck (Belly of the Beast Sigil) and red blossoming facial ink.

---

Age: (IN APPEARANCE) 25. 3,756 years old in actuality. 

---

Personality Traits: Focused, Creative, Passive Unless provoked, Melancholy or Bubbly depending on the day. Cannot sit still without something to do. (ADHD) Very very sweet to anyone she cares about. Will be head over heels for someone she loves, and will do anything for them, no questions asked. Loyal, VERY food motivated. Patient, Love Animals. Hates Entrati-

Likes: Food, ‘Video Games’ (as of recently), Pottery, Reading, Painting, Shawzin, Singing, Infested, Floofs, Decorating, Amir, Kavats, The Cavia, Rats (as of recently), Kalymos, Stargazing, Fire and listening to people's stories.

Dislikes: Silence, right arm being touched, being cold, being alone, being betrayed.

---

Pet Peeves: Unbroken/Uncracked Pots. (Nothing is perfect) Sudden loud Noises (balloons popping in particular) being touched while focused.

Habits: paces around thinking about things. Constantly finds broken pots to mend with her power. Dancing with fire.

---

Morals: Nothing is perfect, there is beauty in being broken, she believes all cracks in a person are laced with gold and should be held with dignity, you are beautiful BECAUSE you broke and needed time to heal.

Phobias: Losing loved ones, Fearing Cold, and Being Alone. Drowning. Needles.

---

Pros: She's intelligent, Artistic, Adorable, Beautiful in every way, will in fact actually kill for you and make it pretty, Weaves with gold and preserves your best or worst memories for you. Super soft but also quite *ahem* hornball

Cons: She needs a reason to approach or be approached, her time in Duviri has made her very strange when it comes to how she socializes. May or May not get a little too crazy for you and do some extremely raunchy or down right commit war crimes to ‘swoon’ you. Otherwise she's just another ‘tism to add to the pile.

---

Personal Glories: Forging her own path with her power's and separating herself from the Void's Influence. Creating a Golden version of the loop in 1999 she can alter at her will.

Personal Trauma: Lost her love from a long time ago in Duviri due to a sudden and horrific Void Storm tearing apart her reality and killing him, regrets killing her parents. 

Powers: Golden Weave, she can pull memories, good (Gold threads) or bad (Black Threads) and draw strength or form from said memories.

---

Abilities: Summon Edun, Summon Kaithe, Weavers Framechart (Can utilize a Warframe ability of her choice) Super Heal (Health Regen is rapidly increased for a short time on herself)

Weapons: Edun, Sirroco, Naturuk, Rumblejack, Glaive Prime Sicarus Prime and Gotva Prime

Combat Affinity: Range is preferred, she likes Polearms and Rifles. Worse case scenario daggers haven't failed her. 

---

Social Skills: She's usually pretty quiet but has done a damn good job at getting along with everyone she's met. She prefers people approaching her. 

---

~Relationships~

Arthur (Emotional Support, Family): Arthur was quite a somber fellow at first but her persistence and understanding he might need a couple of drinks before opening up allowed quite an extremely close friendship to blossom. Arthur was able to learn the truth about Duviri, and Sugi was appreciative of his empathy.

Lettie (Beautiful Friends): Lettie was the last person she expected to get along with but her quick and to the point conversations actually allowed Kintsugi to open up with more direct questions that lead to a sacred friendship.

Eleanor (Philosophical Mentor): Kintsugi never thought Eleanor was that strange, she spoke like her after all, trying to comfort Eleanor made her realize that letting her talk and trying to poke and prod what she likes allows for some extremely philosophical and fascinating conversation, they became quick friends, and Sugi learned a ton from her.

Quincy (Fam): Quincy is a businessman first and foremost, Kintsugi realized this early on and didn't mind it. Only learning what he truly was through Aoi and the others made her more understanding of his predicament with fully letting anyone in, her patience paid off with him and of course the jokes were hilarious. They're like family now.

Aoi (Bestie): Aoi and Kintsugi got along instantly, like 2 peas in a pod they bounced off of each other's vibes and Sugi trusted her with her secrets. They'll always be besties!! (⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠)⁠つ⁠⊂⁠(⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠)

Amir (Lover): Ahhh… Amir, he's just wonderful, Sugi couldn't go a day without throwing a few glances at his direction, she was surprised to learn that he belittled his contributions so much, he practically ran the place! All she wanted him to understand was she had so much admiration and love for him. Eventually Amir caught on to her affections and they confessed to each other on his birthday no less! They are lovers by and by and trust each other regardless of what the indifference could pull off.

---

Theme Song: Alan Walker - Sing me to Sleep

---

Biography: Kintsugi story starts in her version of Duviri, a long time ago when all went to hell on the Zariman she created Duviri as safe haven from the Void, she wasn't alone however, another troubled individual of the Zariman crisis held her close as they both embraced Duviri together, they were lovers. She would get into so much trouble and he would save her. On one terrible day, the chains collapsed and a void storm tore apart her unreality, killing her lover and forcing her to assist the Operator fighting in the New War in their reality. The grief and regret consumed her and she just went along with it. Not knowing what lied ahead she apathetically accepted her role. A few years rolled by and the Lotus needed her assistance against the void, 1999 is where she was headed. Not thinking much of it she went there too, not realizing she would meet her friends for life! Damn Entrati trying to puppet her, she had a different plan in mind and decided for once? She wasn't going to let the void take her precious people again. She found herself looping the Year 1999 like Duviri, made fast friends with the Hex- and even finding love again, promising to use her power's to hopefully one day, break the cycle and save them all.