#Conventional Coating Machine

[neocorp012]

Innovative Tablet Coating Machines in Ahmedabad

Neocorp is a pioneer manufacturer of tablet coating machines in Ahmedabad. We provide a wide range of tablet coating machines that are closed material handling, automated cleaning, uniform mixing and flexible batch sizes.

[adinathinternationalindia]

Tablet Coating Pan

Tablet Coating Pan (conventional coating pan) including Tablet coating system is cGMP machine designed for coating tablets. Coating Pan Machine designed from MS fabricated structure with SS coverings electric control, air filter and SS Pan inside the enclosure, which makes simple cleanable outside covering. Machine is mounted on Dyna mounts which avoids foundation.

Coating Machines are provided with interlocked electrical circuit so that heaters operated only after blower’s switch ‘on’ to avoid burning of hearts. Coating SS Pan Mouth ring is soldered at their rim cavities to avoid collection of dirt or contaminated drug. Standards machine with helical Gear Box, induction Motor and all electrical controls made of well-known brands. Thermostat control can be provided on demand. On customer demand, Gear Box and electricals including motors can be flameproof/explosion proof. We manufacture Coating Pans ranging from 8-inch Small Coating Pan to 48-inch Industrial Coating Pan.

[nihilityuniverse]

𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐱 𝐅𝐄𝐌! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ 𝗦𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁 𝗖𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿 ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇʏᴠᴀᴛ 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗕𝗼𝘀𝘀.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Story inspired by Acheron's Lore, Power, and Personality...

ENG is not my First language

I do not own Genshin Impact or any of the pictures used.

Do NOT Repost

Story also available on WattPad: Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Chapter 0 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏

𝐀 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭'𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐨

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Eight members of the Harbingers had gathered in the palace-like church. Inside, the air was so frigid that the nation's flags began to freeze, crackling under the intense cold. No candles lit the space; only the ethereal glow of the polar lights streaming through the stained-glass windows provided illumination.

A petite woman with long hair, her eyes concealed behind a delicate white lace mask, hums a familiar lullaby from her deceased friend as she leans against a casket. Her voice echoes softly in the frozen stillness.

The eight other Harbingers watched her from a distance, each wearing a similar coat of identical design. By order of Her Royal Highness Tsaritsa, all Harbingers were required to attend the funeral, even the elusive 0th Harbinger.

The 0th Harbinger, code name: Innamorati — The Lovers;

A figure shrouded in mystery and danger, Innamorati remained an enigma even to her fellow Harbingers.

Known only by whispers and rumors, she was a being crafted by the Cryo Archon herself, a weapon designed to challenge the Celestial Gods. Hidden away for years, her existence was the subject of much speculation.

Some Harbingers were indifferent, focusing solely on the success of their plans, while others were intensely curious. Pierro, the Director of the Fatui, claimed to know nothing about her, adding to her mystique.

Rumors abounded: some said Innamorati would annihilate anyone who crossed her path; others believed she had perished decades ago, her legend merely a shadow from the past.

What they all knew for certain was that Innamorati had a notorious reputation for forgetting critical missions assigned by Tsaritsa herself. This unreliability made her both feared and ridiculed within their ranks.

"We are gathered here today to remember our dear comrade," an old dwarf with a long nose and mustache solemnly broke the deafening silence. "In honor of her sacrifice, all work shall halt for half a day as the nation mourns her passing."

"Hehe, merely half a day...?" Pantalone laughed coldly, crossing his hands in front of his chest with a mocking smile. "People say the Northland Bank's true currencies are blood and tears... But mayor, even speaking as a banker, that sounds a little unconscionable."

"Rosalyne died in a foreign land," Arlecchino stepped forward, her crimson red X-cross pupils glowing dangerously bright with annoyance. "But you heartless businessmen and dignitaries always find a convenient excuse to remain in the comfort of your homeland..." She frowned. "You couldn't hope to understand, so why don't you keep your mouth shut?! We don't want to make the children cry."

"Hey, c'mon now, even I don't think this is the right time or place for a fight," Childe chipped in, lazily sitting on one of the wooden benches.

"Utterly risible!" Sandrone mocked, and the machine behind her emitted an audible angry sound.

"Though her methods tarnished her honor, Lohefalter's sacrifice is a great pity. Her loss shall not hinder our progress," Capitano's deep voice resonated through the entire palace, catching everyone's attention.

He turned towards the Doctor, his face hidden behind a dark veil. "But Dottore... What of Scaramouche and the Gnosis from Inazuma?"

Dottore smiled, twirling a tube filled with blue liquid between his fingers. "Conventional wisdom holds that Divine Knowledge cannot be rationally comprehended. After conquering the Divine Gaze, he will make his next move."

The heavy, frozen church door creaked open, allowing the bitter winter air to sweep inside. Everyone turned their gaze towards it, even Columbina, who had paused her humming. 

A woman, clad in a coat of the same design as theirs, stepped into the church, holding a red paper umbrella. The door closed behind her with a resounding bang. The click of her heels on the marble floor echoed through the hall, a stark contrast to the silence that had filled the room.

Her face remained obscured by shadows, yet every person in the room knew instinctively that she was not someone to be trifled with. 

The sense of her power and presence was palpable, a mutual understanding among them all. To cross her would be to invite disaster.

This was Innamorati, the 0th Harbinger, a figure shrouded in mystery and danger, whose very presence commanded respect and fear.

As she advanced, the air seemed to grow even colder, the weight of her presence adding to the already frigid atmosphere. Each step she took resonated with authority, and the silence in the room deepened, a silent acknowledgment of her status among them.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Finally, you found your way to the place where the funeral was to be held. You hadn't thought you would make it in time, given the ferocity of the snowstorm that had nearly obscured your path and made the journey treacherous.

Your heels clicked sharply with each step as you approached the group of people gathered at the center, where the casket lay. You set your red paper umbrella on one of the wooden benches, the action deliberate and unhurried. 

As the shadow over your face disappeared, the polar light from the stained-glass windows illuminated your features.

With the shadow gone, the collective breath of the eight Harbingers halted involuntarily.

Your beauty was striking: peach-colored, plump lips; long, dark eyelashes framing eyes that seemed to hold the very essence of winter. Your skin was pale and flawless, with a cold radiance that mirrored the icy surroundings. Your presence was both ethereal and commanding, a juxtaposition of delicate grace and chilling power.

You stopped a few steps before the group of Harbingers—your comrades—and looked up at them. 

"0th Harbinger, Innamorati... That is what they call me. You may call me whatever you wish," you introduced yourself, your voice ethereal and soft, yet so cold and lifeless it sent shivers down their spines. "This must be the first time we meet."

"You are quite late, Lord Innamorati," Pulcinella, the old dwarf, addressed you with a mix of respect and caution.

After all, The top-ranked Harbingers, from rank 1 to No. 3, possess powers that can rival the gods. So what about No. 0? Could she surpass the powers of the gods? Or even be greater?

You let out an annoyed sigh. "All the snow-covered streets look the same, and the blizzard did not make navigating to this gathering any easier."

Pantalone chuckled, turning towards you with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"If I had known, I would have taken you with me in my carriage, Lady Innamorati. Alas, I am left to wonder why there were no escorts ready for you. I thought I had ordered the highest-ranked Skirmishers for your protection." His voice was dangerously smooth, laden with speculation, hinting at the rumors of you annihilating anyone who crossed your path.

Before you could respond, Childe interjected from the side. "Huh? The oh-so-feared Innamorati getting lost in a mere snowstorm? This is truly a sight to behold." His tone dripped with mockery. 

"Were you also getting lost on the way to your missions?" His voice carried an angry undertone, bitterness seeping through his words. 

He had often been the one to hurriedly take on your missions at the last minute, running from one nation to another like a lackey. The mission to obtain the Geo Archon's Gnosis had been assigned to you, not him, nor the now-deceased Signora. In the end, he had faced severe repercussions after the Northland Bank had to pay heavy reparations.

If gazes could kill, Childe would have been long dead under Pantalone's icy stare. Though his slight smile remained, his eyes closed behind his glasses, he radiated a murderous aura. He longed to hear your voice again and to capture your attention. Such a rare opportunity shouldn't be wasted.

"Insolent child! How dare you—!" Sandrone hissed at Childe, her anger palpable. She, too, feared inciting your wrath. If Childe weren't a fellow Harbinger, Sandrone would have killed him long ago for destroying her ruin guard factory.

"It's time to end tonight's foolish theatrics." 

A deep, husky voice resonated through the church, cutting through the cold silence like a blade.

The man stepped forward from the shadows, his right side concealed by a dark mask. It was Pierro, the Director of the Fatui, and his presence commanded instant respect.

His voice, cold and demanding, echoed with authority as he advanced towards the casket.

"Right now, you have no captive audience," he said, his gaze sweeping over the assembled Harbingers and guests, silently commanding them to gather and pay heed.

You stood on the opposite side of Pierro, your own presence a stark contrast to his imposing figure.

"Let every worthy sacrifice be carved in ice, and let this nation endure for all time," Pierro intoned, his voice carrying the weight of solemn duty.

The assembly lowered their heads in reverence, eyes closing as he delivered the farewell speech. Your hand drifted absently towards your Divine Key, a subconscious gesture.

"In the name of Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa," Pierro continued, his voice imbued with a steely resolve, "we will seize authority from the gods."

After several minutes of mournful meditation, Pierro broke the silence and left the building, his movements purposeful and commanding.

The others followed in silent procession, a testament to their respect and shared grief. You took your red paper umbrella, closing your eyes briefly before stepping into the freezing, snow-covered landscape.

"Absolute peace."

As you all departed, the church behind you began to freeze over, layers of crystal ice encasing it under the unyielding winter sky, which shimmered with the ethereal glow of the aurora.

"Such is the gift from the Tsaritsa, such is Her Majesty's benevolence," Pierro declared, his voice carrying a chilling reverence as he halted and gazed up at the celestial lights.

"Now you rest in this coffin, encased in layer upon layer of ice. But, Rosalyne, I promise you..."

"Your final resting place will be the entirety of the Old World," Pierro's voice echoed through the night sky, his farewell imbued with a cold resolve that matched the frozen land around you.

As you watched the polar light dancing across the vast darkness of the sky, a thought surfaced in your mind. You had never known this person, but you had made a promise to someone...

You halted in your steps and glanced back at the frozen church.

Some tasks have to be done, even if they seem pointless.

Amidst the snow, you caught a glimpse of shadowy hands emerging from the icy landscape, reaching out towards the sky one by one, as if seeking transcendence. As you blinked, everything returned to normal.

"Another Memory..."

"Lady Innamorati, is something the matter?" Pierro's voice broke through your reverie as he noticed you staring back at the frozen church.

"...meaningless," you whispered to yourself, yet the faint wind carried your words to Pierro. 

"Pardon?" Pierro asked again, this time capturing the attention of some of the other Harbingers, especially Dottore. The Doctor, ever curious, considered whether you might make an intriguing subject for his experiments.

"It's nothing. Continue without me. I wish to be alone," you ordered, your voice light as silk yet cold as ice. Pierro nodded, casting one last glance at you before leaving. 

Dottore lingered a moment longer, watching you with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. As he did, the falling snow seemed to halt and move backward, defying the natural order.

"Existence is fleeting as the dawn's dew," your voice echoed in a dimension separate from the real world, where time had ceased.

Dottore's breath caught as he watched you, disbelief etched across his features. His analytical mind struggled to comprehend the anomaly unfolding before him.

"Yet, I guide the wandering souls on the still waters of oblivion..."

The dimension around you cracked like glass, shattering as you began to walk towards the church.

"...and weep for the departed."

A powerful gust of wind struck Dottore, and in that moment, he perceived everything yet nothing. The world seemed meaningless and empty. He felt his body ascending, his soul slipping away...

"Don't look back..." Your ethereal voice called to him, a beacon of light in the encroaching darkness.

He felt a pull from behind, "Move forward," you whispered. In the next instant, he stood where Pierro had asked if you were alright moments before.

Dottore's breath hitched, his cold heart pounding faster than ever. This was neither a dream nor an illusion. He knew this with certainty. What had just happened? The question echoed in his mind, a mystery as deep as the winter night itself.

One thing was certain: he had unmistakably felt the presence of the Almighty One—the Divine Creator.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Reblog if you like this story

[ruesol]

If you find it in you to still love me - part 1 / 3

(scientist!geto suguru x reader)

plot:

What’s worse than being accidentally sent to a parallel universe by a coworker you hate?

The answer: said universe being the dimension where you and your nemesis of a coworker are deeply in love.

chapter based tags: fem/afab!reader, physics and neuroscience jargon (I swear it’s nothing too intricate), enemies to lovers(ish)

series masterlist

—

The large auditorium was filled with bright eyed physicists, neurologists, and journalists from all over the world. Why wouldn’t it be? You, one of the intelligent scientists who is working on a five-year long secret project under the government, was presenting it to the world. Making this presentation its official debut (right after there was a press conference done to announce that the government had created a machine to travel to different parallel universes with.)

You just had to stay confident. You knew what you were doing—creating history. At least the bright stage lights made it almost impossible to see your audience.

“There have been rumors and there have been conspiracies about this. Many false claims as well, but I’m here to bare it all. Ladies and gentlemen, introducing, the Dimension Shifter 8.” The large screen behind you projects the image of a small chair with a helmet attached to it.

Uncannily, It looked like an electric chair.

“I know, I know, the design is a little…unsettling.” Your joke earns you a few laughs. “But, it actually represents the basis of the principle behind parallel universes.”

Hundreds of eyes trailed your figure as you walked across the stage to a table with a glass of water. It was kept there in case you got thirsty or cotton-mouthed mid speech. You take a small sip and place the glass down.

“I just created a new reality. By taking a sip of water, I created a new reality. Crazy, isn’t it? Because somewhere out there, is a dimension where I didn’t take a sip of water and continued with my speech.”

You hear faint scratches of pencils and pens against notepads and you giggle internally, thinking how a few years ago, you were in the exact same position.

“You see, different realities stem from right here,” you say as you tap your temple. “Your consciousness is split into multiple different universes. This machine just helps you travel to them. Ergo, your body doesn’t change. Just your consciousness.”

The scratches get a little louder.

“So, for example, say that I travelled to a universe where I was a man instead of a woman, I’d be conscious about the change in my body and so would my ‘other’ self.” He’d be a man aware that he’s in this—“ you point down your body with your index finger “—a woman’s body. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

The presentation goes surprisingly well considering how nervous you were and the questionnaire that followed afterwards had exhausted you to the bone.

You were finally going to get the full night’s rest you’d been craving for the past few years. Working on one of mankind’s greatest inventions was taxing and you’d been holding on to your sanity by the threads of caffeine and free pastries in the break room.

But as soon as you entered your hotel room, you were surprised with a loud pop and confetti all over your woolen grey trench coat. At least you had packed your lint roller with you.

Your coworkers gathered around you, patting your back, giving you hugs and congratulating you on being the most popular panelist at the convention.

“It was so crazy, I swear one of the other panelists only had like, what? Ten listeners? People were tripping over each other to get a seat for your presentation!” Gojo clamored as he patted your head.

“Well, it was our work. I just presented it,” you bashfully replied as you walked over to your closet, taking off your coat to hang it in.

“Still, you’re the face of it and your credentials are what drove people to you. Which is why we’re going out to celebrate. Yaga’s buying,” Shoko said as she handed you a red solo cup. The ominous smell of the liquid inside was enough to tell you that it was another one of her famous cocktails that was guaranteed to get a person sloshed with one sip.

“Um…I’d love to drink this but my tolerance is not what it used to be back in college,” you say as you move away from Shoko and instead pull out your sleepwear from your closet. “I think I’m just gonna turn in for the night. You guys go out.”

Your coworkers looked at you with a dumbfounded expression. “Uh, did you not hear Shoko? Yaga’s buying. Even Nanami’s coming along and he’s a philosophical drunk. It’ll be fun, come on,” Gojo wrapped his long arms around you and gave you puppy dog eyes.

The man was more of an overbearing child than a scholar with multiple degrees.

You looked around the room, and everyone looked at you with hopeful eyes except for one person—Geto Suguru. He wasn’t even making eye contact, too busy with his pupils trained on his phone.

It didn’t surprise you that he hadn’t even spoken a word since you’d entered the room. The man despised your guts since the day you two had known each other.

You weren’t even sure why he felt that way. He just began throwing condescending remarks at you and simply ignored you right after work hours. Going as far as to pretending like you didn’t exist when you saw him at the same grocery store as you.

But the man finally broke his silence when Gojo began unnaturally whining. “Let it go. I told you she wouldn’t come,” he said without looking away from his phone. “Yaga texted me that he’s waiting downstairs. Said he’ll take back his offer if he doesn’t see us in five.”

All your colleagues (except Geto) gave you one last longing look, hoping that you’d change your mind and you simply shook your head. “I’m really tired,” you sighed out.

There was a collective groan from Shoko and Gojo but Nanami simply patted your back to congratulate you one last time as the trio walked out—leaving you and Geto alone in your room.

Geto walked over and stopped when he was nearly toe-to-toe with you. His obsidian gaze raked over your exhausted figure as his scent clouded your personal space.

You can’t help but feel exposed and self conscious for wearing a figure hugging dress, despite its modesty in length. Your heels help you feel taller than you usually do next to him but it’s of no avail because he still has to bend his neck to make eye contact.

He smelled like coffee and fragrant talcum. You had the scent memorized. It had a special seat in your amygdala, years of memories of working with him rushing into your head every time you smelled something faintly familiar.

You peered up at him with half-lidded eyes, sleep already taking over every single cell, melatonin slowly secreting into your system.

“I was there today…watching you. It was good.” His voice was smooth and rich; your skin felt like it was melting and fusing to the fibers of your linen pencil dress.

“I—“

Before you could thank him for his unexpected compliment, he had already brushed past you with a momentary palm on your waist and walked out the door.

The slamming of your door had jolted you out of your clouded haze.

—

Bright minds can also be catty. It’s what you’ve learned after being in academia and later on joining industrial research.

You just didn’t think that people would do it when the government was paying them to create something that elevated humanity to the next step of being a supreme civilization.

After the announcement of the Dimension Shifter 8, the federal research institute you were working under had announced for the need of human subjects to test out the machine. It had worked perfectly fine on animals with higher intelligence, such as monkeys, but now it was time to see if a person who had just travelled dimensions could give their own accounts of what they saw.

Meaning, the next half of your project was about to begin: the effects of one’s consciousness quantum jumping to another world.

There were a steady number of applicants who had sent their info in (mainly due to the compensation money) and they were set arrive the next morning.

“You cannot possibly expect me to work closely with him again. I can handle the final touches myself,” you tried to convince Yaga as your trainers squeaked against the lab facility’s tiles. The man was exceptionally tall at six feet and three inches, making it hard for your shorter stature to catch up with his much larger, and relaxed pace.

“I know you can. But Geto himself suggested that he should be there to correct and verify every tweak you make. He was adamant about it so I let him join,” the older man said nonchalantly. His years of being a Principal Investigator had taught him not to worry about employee dynamics.

Who cares about mental stability, amirite?

“Wait, Geto insisted? Does he know that it’s me who’ll be working with him?”

“Yeah,” Yaga coolly replied. Your eyes nearly pop out of your skull. Either the man wanted to torture you or didn’t trust you enough to do anything.

You think it’s both.

Yaga ignores your clamoring when he walks into his office to settle into the massage chair a government official had oh so gratefully gifted him after the machine’s first prototype had been completed.

“Now, I’m exhausted and you have a whole night’s work ahead of you. Chop, chop!”

With a huff and a finger rubbing your temple, you walk to the authorized personnel restricted lab, where the greatest invention of mankind since instant noodles sat (this has been your opinion since you were a broke college student. The success of your career still cannot buy the rush of serotonin you’d get when you’d slurp the ultra processed, floppy noodles from a paper cup after a long day of studying and sucking up to professors.)

You immediately walk to the storage area where all the things you’ll need are kept: converters, amplifiers and, electrodes.

You carry them all in a cardboard box and place them on the counter next to the machine, which was placed on a small stage in the middle of the lab.

Your eyes glanced at the wall clock. It had been an hour since the work day had ended, and you half expected Geto to arrive much earlier due to his heavy distrust in you.

But surprisingly, he was late.

You continued tweaking the machine, checking the wires and tightening certain bolts. You noticed that the helmet adjuster was jammed so you tightened the screws and applied more lubricant for smoother movement.

You still weren’t convinced that the adjuster would move well so you sat in the chair and pulled down the helmet on your head. And as you had predicted, the adjuster stopped working as you tried to pull up the helmet. “Bingo,” you mumbled to yourself as you recorded the improvements you had made in past hour in your report book.

“Now, I’m just gonna slink out—“

“Planning on being a test subject? What? Yaga cut your pay or something?” Geto’s deep voice jolted you out of your work rhythm. You were still sitting in the chair when he had walked in.

The man effortlessly exuded charm. Compared to you, he was much more well dressed at work, sporting a simple long sleeved polo under his lab coat. Instead of ratty trainers, he wore comfortable ankle boots, making him look more like an attractive and laidback software engineer than an uptight physicist. His hair was always pulled back in a neat half-man bun, and sometimes he’d tie it up completely, giving you a small peak at the tattoos snaking up to the base of his neck.

Not that you thought about his naked, broad back that often. He just had good proportions and you were curious about his gym routine. Though you’d slap yourself on your face in front of the world before asking him that.

“The adjuster was stuck. I was just checking what’s wrong with it. Now I know,” you flatly answered.

“Sure,” he retorted as he grabbed a screw driver and squatted on the ground next to you as you were still sitting on the machine.

The fragrant smell of talcum wafted around you again. It was oddly comforting. Habitual even, with the way your brain would send phantom signals to your nose whenever you’d read his name on lab reports and research papers.

“I could’ve taken care of this by myself, you know. As much as you hate to admit it, I’m just as smart as you. I can figure out tiny mistakes.” You didn’t like the fact that you were basically being babysat by someone—you felt like your work was being questioned.

And by a peer of all people.

“Why didn’t you just ask Nanami to work with me?”

“He’s going on a date today.”

“Nobara? Gojo?”

“Said they didn’t wanna work overtime.” His replies were curt. Much like his concern for you.

“So you just decided to work until the next morning cause you’re such a deligient scientist?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Geto stared at you like he was going to swallow you whole. You could hear everything from how close he was next to you. The faint sound of him exhaling through his nose, his lab coat rustling as he continued working on the adjuster, and the slick sound of him licking his lips.

It kind of sounded like—

The lab is not a sexy place to be hot and bothered.

He didn’t wait for your answer though. He simply used his screw driver to tap on your report book that was sitting on your lap.

He changed the subject, “What have you done so far?”

“Uh, this and that. I was actually calibrating the machine when I noticed that the adjuster wasn’t—“

“You were calibrating?” His tone suddenly goes from deep and smooth to sharp and calculating.

“Yeah,” you replied with a small yet concerned voice.

“You did turn off the machine after that, right?”

Your brain was fuzzy. You couldn’t recall. The dread sitting in the pit of your stomach weighed you down, preventing you from moving your head and checking if the machine was on.

Were you… no, no way.

His focus had entirely shifted to you, screwdriver abandoned in the toolbox. He moved to sit across you, still on the ground.

“Hey, look at me, Did you turn off the machine? I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” Your eyes were wide with terror.

“Geto, I need you to look at the oscillograph,” you rasped out. Cold sweat began to trickle down your neck, wetting the collar of your shirt. You were starting to feel nauseous and lightheaded.

His glanced at the monitor behind you and his jaw went slack. “Okay, listen to me, I need you to be completely calm, when I tell you this—the machine is on and you’re being transported as we speak. Don’t move. We don’t know what could happen to you.”

“Geto, you need to get me out, please. I’m really scared,” you sobbed as tears began to flow down your face.

You didn’t give a damn about looking pathetic to your hated coworker because your brain was just about to be turned into quantum smoothie (no matter how hard you wanted to believe in your abilities of invention, there was still a small chance that this machine would destroy your consciousness on an atomic level.)

“It’s okay, I’m right here. For all we know, more than half of your current consciousness may have already travelled to another dimension. It would be dangerous to stop the machine now.” You could only wail harder at his conclusion.

His large hand holds your cheek as he earnestly looks into your tear-filled eyes. “I swear I will map the dimension you’re going to and bring you back in one piece. Just remember that I—“

Static fills your senses before you can hear Geto complete his sentence.

——

I haven’t proofread this so I’m sorry for any mistakes 😔

[xvazx]

The Beauty of Our Chaos

Throwback - Circa 2016

Nobody prepares you for moments like this while dealing with puberty. I could be helping Miss Rosso grade yesterday’s italiano grammar quiz but instead I’m fulfilling my duties as team captain. I felt like I was about to throw up, partly from the paranoia of cargo losing our project (they didn’t), but mainly because we just made it to our first Nationals. It was the first time an all-girls Catholic school had made it this far, and Principal Mowry lectured (warned) us about bringing home at least a diploma.

We made an entrance whether we wanted to or not. The room fell silent as our team walked through the main hall, the sharp click of polished formal heels against the convention center floor breaking through the noise. Unlike the other teams dressed in hoodies, sneakers, and team T-shirts, we arrived in pressed uniforms, tights, and neatly styled hair—Miss Sutton, our tech coach at our side like a chaperone to a debutante ball. It was all part of the St. Trinity ladylike image.

Across the room, the boys from Gilman—three-time nationals competitors, and last year’s champions—swaggered in, like they had already won. Teams frolicked with chatter, some friendly and others dripping with judgment. I overheard some whispers about how “This year, we have some new babes” like it was some novelty. Of course, there were the usual sexist remarks. One girl from an elite East Coast school even spread some gossip, “I heard that the captain is a total shrew,” which quickly escalated into a full-blown discussion about how Catholic schools in California were far behind compared to their prestigious institutions.

I didn’t pay them much mind—at least, not at first. My focus was on making it alive out of this.

After the inauguration, the host invited everyone to freshen up before the first round of competition. We put on our big coats (yes, we Californians get cold) and made our way to the cafeteria for a quick meal. While enjoying our few minutes left, the inevitable question arose: Were there any cute boys?

“Ay noo, muy creidos,” I groaned. “They all look like finance bros in training.” (Noo, way too snooty.)

Mariel, my best friend, waggled her eyebrows. “There’s got to be at least one.”

We decided to head to our station early and begin setting up our project—a fully functional, intelligent Barbie Dreamhouse. As I booted up my laptop to check the code, I tested the app on my iPad, making sure each function was in place.

Across the arena, a team of boys was engrossed in their project—battle robots. They cheered as two metal machines clashed, the room filled with the sounds of scraping steel and excited shouts.

But I wasn’t watching the robots.

I was watching someone.

Curly-haired, thick eyebrows, completely focused. While his teammates hollered like cavemen, he controlled the remote with calm precision, pressing buttons with the ease of someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

“Why are you staring?” Mariel asked with a teasing smile.

Without thinking, I muttered, “I’m not. I just… the robot’s noisy.”

“Uh-huh,” she teased. “Come on, let’s go over there.”

Before I could protest, Mariel pulled the fabric of my coat for me to follow her. The second we walked up, the boys quieted, some of them suddenly straightening their postures. A few gave an attempt at being suave, offering lazy greetings.

“Didn’t expect to see heels at one of these competitions,” one of them muttered.

“First impressions are important,” Mariel shot back, smiling sweetly.

The curly-haired boy, their captain, didn’t join in their jokes. Instead, he watched me curiously as I glanced at the battle robot. “Hey,” he greeted, polite but reserved. “I’m Luigi. Sorry about all the noise, we are testing the weak points.”

Mariel nudged my arm. I straightened and stopped fidgeting. “Right….I’m (Y/N). S’cool, they sound like they have decent resistance.”

He nodded. “They were designed for defensive combat—angled armor and optimized speed-to-weight ratio. Took us months to perfect.”

He explained the mechanisms with the confidence of someone who knew his work was good but wasn’t arrogant about it. Then, he turned the question to me.

“And you? What’s your project?”

“A Barbie Dreamhouse.”

“Oh.” His reaction was neutral, but his teammates weren’t as composed.

“A dollhouse for the Malibu Barbies,” one of them joked. “Is it glittery?”

I raised an eyebrow. “It’s a different approach. I wonder how many battle bots do the judges see every year?”

That shut them up for a second. But one of them, smirking, tilted his head. “So you’re the shrew.”

My jaw tightened, but I refused to let them see me flinch. “Wow,” I said dryly. “How Shakespearean.”

The curly-haired captain turned to his teammates, frowning. “Cut it out.”

They only shrugged, but I had already moved on. There was work to do.

Mariel, knowing that I had to walk it off, gave me space. “Text if you need me."

I didn’t care if they thought it was girly. What they didn’t know was that I had originally wanted to build a big prototype tidal power generator, but the girls one-upped me with the Barbie house. The project was great and I was going to defend it.

I turned back to my station, running another test. Suddenly, the miniature air conditioner inside the dollhouse stopped spinning. Pushing my hair back, I disassembled the parts, searching for the problem, when a voice interrupted me.

“Need some help?” I glanced up, Luigi stood there, hands in his pockets, watching. I exhaled. "Looks like the solder thinned out."

"Yeah," he agreed, kneeling beside me and offering the solder lead roll. "You should reinforce it."

I arched my brow. "Thanks."

He smirked slightly at my attitude but didn't comment. Instead, he studied the model. Then, turning to me with a curious expression, he asked, “Why a water setup?”

I hesitated before explaining. “It’s part of our philanthropic plan. We’re using tidal power to generate resources. We wanted to make something sustainable.”

I showed him the app we’d created to control the Dreamhouse functions, which was set up like a smart house. The house lit up, the AC flickered back to life, the smart appliances responded seamlessly with multiple variations.

He exhaled, impressed. "Actually, this is—".

"Too smart for a Malibu Barbie?" I interrupted, teasing. His lips twitched. "I was gonna say 'innovative,' but sure, let's go with that."

He scratched the back of his head. "Sorry about my teammates, by the way."

I shrugged. "To be fair, I did expect a battle robot from a Jonas Brother."

Just then, Mariel and the others came over to grab me, asking me to check out a dog robot from another team. I turned to walk with them but glanced back one last time. Luigi was still smiling from my comment.

Ugh. Stop

——

After several rounds of competition, it was time for the oral presentations. One by one, the team captains took the stage, presenting their projects with polished confidence. Their chaperones stood beside them, adding credibility with measured nods and approving smiles.

Then it was my turn.

I stepped up, adjusting the microphone. My heart pounded out of my chest, so I took a breath.

“So, um… hi,” I started, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N), representing Daughters of St. Trinity. And this—” I gestured to the screen behind me, where an image of our Barbie Dreamhouse prototype appeared—“is not what you expected to see at a tech competition.”

A few chuckles rippled through the crowd. Good.

“But here’s the thing,” I continued. “It’s more than just a Barbie Dreamhouse. Our project is about connecting natural resources with technology. The city where we’re from sits along the coastline, and we asked ourselves: What if we could harness the power of the tides to create a fully self-sustaining home?”

I clicked to the next slide. A detailed diagram of the house’s tidal power system appeared.

“This prototype is powered by a small-scale tidal energy generator, which—if applied to a real house—could significantly reduce dependency on the electrical grid. And, of course, we built an app that allows users to control everything from lighting to temperature, all while maximizing energy efficiency.”

While taking another quick breath, I glanced at the audience, scanning their faces. Most of them were attentive—some skeptical, but listening. Then my eyes met his.

Luigi was watching me intently, arms crossed, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips. My stomach flipped. Ew

“This isn’t just about making something ‘girly’ smart,” I concluded. “It’s about challenging assumptions. About what innovation looks like. And if we can reimagine something as simple as a dollhouse, imagine what we can do for real homes, real cities—real change.”

A beat of silence. Then applause.

The girls grinned at me as I walked back to my seat. Mariel squeezed my hand. “That was awesome.”

I exhaled, finally allowing myself to relax.

The judges deliberated. The room was thick with anticipation. When they returned, the lead judge gave a cliche speech of ‘everyone is a winner’ and after cutting the crap he cleared his throat and announced:

….

“Second place… Gilman from Baltimore, MD.”

Luigi’s team.

The boys exchanged nods, some disappointed but still satisfied. Luigi gave a short, polite clap.

“And… first place… Daughters of St. Trinity, Santa Barbara, CA!”

We erupted into cheers and rushed forward to claim our prize—a sleek glass trophy engraved with the competition’s name.

On the podium, I turned and found Luigi beside me. He extended a hand, his expression unreadable.

“Congratulations,” he said.

I took it, giving him a firm shake.

Before I could pull away, he leaned in slightly and murmured, “You think I look like a Jonas Brother?”

Squinting my eyes I responded with a ‘a little bit’ hand gesture.

@nosebeers

hi i’m Vaz, this was just a product of my active imagination, free time and the need for a better outcome. Hope u enjoy xxx

English is not my first language, so it could sound old timey at times. (Academic English Education yaaay)

(Y/N) is mostly an original character. And some of the plot ideas come from movie references. If you are able spot them we can be friends :) Yes she can be a pick me but I promise she has a reason.

[realitythroughthelensoffiction]

Parallels: Hastur and Sandalphon

I know the Good Omens fandom loves parallels, so I wanted to add a further parallel that I noticed: one between Hastur and Sandalphon.

Hastur is cruel even in the book. His evil deeds extend far beyond the requirements of his job as a demon. Crowley thinks that both Hastur and Ligur take "such a dark delight in unpleasantness you might even have mistaken them for human" (Pratchett/Gaiman, p. 257; cited below). But the series made an outright sadist of Hastur.

Now, the scene were he turns into a bunch of maggots that eat the call centre employees alive came from the book. His behaviour was explained by his frustration about being stuck in the answering machine. Moreover, "if he were going to have to face the possible wrath of the Dark Council, at least it wouldn't be on an empty stomach" (Pratchett/Gaiman, p. 310; cited below).

However, the series added many additional scenes that show how Hastur (and to a lesser extent, Ligur) clearly takes pleasure in torturing people. He pushes Eric into the cell with the hellhound to test if it's hungry - probably just for amusement. In Megiddo, he discorporates all of the three Erics for annoying him with minor things.

He is also the one who announces Crowley that he will be punished for losing the Antichrist. In the book, it is not clear which demon is speaking to Crowley; the fact that he receives a second message shortly after trapping Hastur in the answering machine suggests that it was not Hastur whom he had been communicating with (cf. Pratchett/Gaiman, p. 254f, 284; cited below).

Furthermore, the scene were Hastur burns down the convent of the satanic nuns was altered. In the book, he does not talk to the nuns before doing it, but "[n]o one was badly hurt by the fire" (Pratchett/Gaiman, p. 52; cited below). He sets the building on fire to destroy all records and thereby all evidence of the baby swap.

In the series, of course, this plays out differently. Here the nuns believe that they will be rewarded for their help and that their order will continue to exist. When Sister Theresa protests against its dissolution, Hastur kills her with a single wave of his hand. The camera shows her dead eyes. Hastur then recommends the abbess to inform the other nuns about the dissolution of their order unless she wants that "they all perish in the fire". The convent then bursts into flames, with the nuns screaming and running for their lifes while Hastur is laughing maniacally.

These changes from the book to the series clearly show that the creators wanted to give Hastur's character even more shape.

Sandalphon is a sadist, too. Aziraphale remembers him for his crucial role in the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, an event Sandalphon has very fond memories of, as his expression implies. In the scene were he, Michael and Uriel corner Aziraphale, he punches him in the gut without necessity (Aziraphale wasn't trying to flee or to physically defend himself) and without preemptive warning. He's also eager for the war between heaven and hell to start.

You get the impression that Sandalphon will take any possible pretext for himself to use violence. Under the guise of enacting God's will, he acts out his sadistic desires. That's why I've always perceived him as the angelic counterpart of Hastur who also takes advantage of the fact that as a demon, he is expected to do evil, when he would even enjoy it if it wasn't required.

The fact that they both wear long beige coats even intensified this impression for me. I don't know whether this was a conscious choice by the costume designer, but I thought it was an interesting parallel.

That being said, I'm curious whether these two will return in the finale. I think Hastur's character was explored well enough in season 1, so if he makes an appearance, I believe it will rather be in the background. But there have been rumors that Sandalphon, who was originally supposed to be in season 2, but was replaced by Saraqael due to the actor being involved in a different project by the time, will make a comeback for the movie.

If so, I hope they will make an effective use of his sadistic nature. He may not be as appealing as the other angels, but I think he's interesting enough to dive a little deeper into his character and thereby to expose the hypocrisy of heaven, who call themselves the good guys while committing the same atrocities as hell. It could also tie nicely into the "heaven and hell against humanity" theme if Sandalphon came to the conclusion that he does identify himself more with demons like Hastur than with heaven's values, and decided to join forces with them in order to destroy the earth and all living beings on it.

Do you think that Hastur and Sandalphon will return? And what will their roles be?

Work cited:

Pratchett, Terry and Gaiman, Neil: Good Omens. The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. London 2011.

[softness-and-shattering]

Requisite grouch about the representation of embroidery, particularly in Bridgerton. Season 3, Im just getting to. So I get the point of this little scene is "Eloise is not interested in conventional feminine topics and doesnt fit in with her peers, and we are doing this by showing disdain for embroidery" and I fully get that in the cultural consciousness embroidery is this frivolous nonsense that rich women did to keep busy and isnt worth anything.

But two things. One, as Ive said before, the Bridgerton costuming is full of embroidery, of the kind that has to be machine made. And Im not gonna talk about historical accuracy because I consider the costuming part of the shows premise ie something you just have to accept to enjoy the show because its central. Like you cant enjoy Dungeon Meshi if you have to know how its possible for magic and dungeons to exist, you just have to accept that its part of the setting.

So either the seamstress has a few machines shes using for the lavish embroidery or her cloth is extravagantly expensive beyond all reason. LIke even more than youre already thinking.

And these women are surrounded by it, making their trade with it, its literally built into their fashion. So scorn for it makes zero sense. Second, in this scene in particular at the ball. The dialogue goes, almost exactly:

"Well the leaf stitch is tried and true"

[I think Eloise says something]

"Then theres the running stitch, the straight stitch, the fern stitch, the French knot -"

"What's your favourite stitch Eloise?"

This is not how people talk about embroidery! Its not exciting because of the stitches that exist, its exciting for how you use the stitches and what shapes and textures you can make, and how you manipulate the thread and fabric to create all kinds of interesting effects and patterns. And I fully understand that someone can be bored by that, its not for everyone. Im just mad that their "this is a normal conversation about embroidery" is listing stitching and asking someone their favourite. They could have done something like

"I just learned a new stitch, its called the split stitch, and it has this really cool effect that makes the thread look like its knitted, so Im embroidering my dog with this technique to really capture his fur, and im using French knots for his little beady eyes, and then Im gonna use the split stitch and this gorgeous russet floss to make him the coziest little sweater!"

"Oh my god I do not want to hear another thing about your thread dog and its fake thready sweater."

Thats like, a real conversation someone might have that someone else could find boring, and its respectful - and realistic - to the hobby and craft and art of embroidery! It sounds like something a human might say. Not "here are some stitch names, wait why are you being rude?". Its like imitating a conversation about someones dog like "and he has paws and his paws have nails and then he has knees and then he has two eyes and a tail" thats not how people talk about dogs! you might see "his tail is so waggy, and his eyes are so soulful, and his little feet are the cutest thing, let me tell you a story -". We couldve had a story about an embroidery mishap, that could be funny.

but no we must hold onto old outdated and sexist ideas about things and disdain them for no good reason while our costume department is embroidering everything because lets not examine any of our attitudes about anything!

The worst was still the dressmaker last season complaining about ladies and their embroidery MAAM THATS LITERALLY YOUR JOB. Ok now I can go back to watching for the pretties. And I very much admire Colin's big swooshy coat.

Im also trying to work out if Cressida is sapphic. Eloise and Pen absolutely have "middle grade sapphic friends have strangely intense friendship and then huge strangely intense breakup fight," and looks like Pen is bi, but Im really hoping they properly go into queer themes with Eloise and not just sign her up for a guy later. Also pretty sure the latest Bridgerton this season - Francesca? - is ace. Big ace vibes on her.

Swooshy coat!!

[crristinaa-level6]

Specialist practice

Saddle Stitch Binding

Our first binding method is saddle stitch, which happens to be the easiest of all. Saddle stitching proves affordable and ideal for documents consisting of fewer pages. By stapling wire through the spine and folding printed sheets in half, a finished product takes shape. Alternatively, utilizing looped staples permits insertion into ring binders without requiring punched holes.

Side Staple Binding

The side staple technique is primarily employed to bind perforated pages, such as those found in quote books and delivery notes. The procedure involves stacking individual pages together before stapling them with wire through the front cover from front to back before trimming.

Singer Sewn & Side Sewn Binding

Singer-sewn binding is a sturdy technique employed for creating resilient materials such as passports. It employs an industrial sewing machine to stitch the pages together along the spine lengthwise. Additionally, side singer-sewn or side-sewn binding provides another option where pages are jointly fastened through both front and back covers, making it perfect for thicker books and notepads.

Padded/Pad Binding

The technique of pad binding, also known as "padding," is utilized primarily for notepads and enables the easy detachment of individual pages. A lower-strength adhesive coating is applied on the edge of a stack of pages to create these pads. To ensure stability and usability when held, a thicker board is generally affixed at the back end.

Wiro /Plastic Coil Binding 

The two primary types of punched binding are wire and plastic coil binding, enabling books to open fully flat with the pages rotating 360 degrees towards the back. Firstly, printed pages are trimmed and then hole-punched before being fastened using a spiral coil or wire that is crimped shut.

Japanese / Stab Binding 

Dating back centuries, Japanese or stab binding is a decorative technique where sheets are folded once at the center, hole-punched and sewn by hand along the spine using different needle and thread patterns.

Perfect binding

The process of perfect binding involves using machinery to bind softcover books, magazines and brochures. The technique entails stacking individual pages together before affixing them to an outer cover that sports a square spine. This is achieved by the application of potent polyurethane (PUR) glue which gives the method its name- Perfect Binding.

Burst Binding 

Burst binding is essentially perfect binding with a unique twist whereby pages are grouped into sections, folded and then notched down the spine by machinery to achieve stronger adherence of glue. This results in an exceptionally robust finish that makes it particularly ideal for books containing a greater number of pages compared to standard bindings.

Quarter Binding 

In the past, quarter-bound, half-bound or taped bindings were commonly used to produce books at a lower cost by employing inexpensive materials. These binding methods involve two distinct materials - one for covering the spine and another for protecting the cover. However, to enhance durability, pages are often bonded together and fastened on one side which results in reduced ease of opening compared with

Case Binding 

The conventional hardcover book involves printing pages that are folded and stitched into multiple sections, safeguarded by a firm rigid cover. The covers may be coated with various materials like linen, buckram or leather; alternatively, a printed design can be affixed on top of the tough casing. Such casebound books have long-lasting durability and might even sustain restoration years down the road.

Pamphlet Stitch

A refined binding technique known as the pamphlet stitch is ideal for documents with a modest number of pages. After folding and hole-punching the printed sheets, one manually threads them together using needle and thread before tying them off at the book's center to finish it elegantly.

Exposed Spine Binding

Exposed spine binding, also known as exposed Smyth sewn or thread-bound, is an aesthetically appealing method of bookbinding. The pages are folded into sections and then hand-sewn together at the spine with a continuous thread. To reinforce durability, pad glue is applied to the spine after sewing it. Books bound in this manner open almost completely flatly for easy reading.

Chicago Screw Binding 

The Chicago Screw technique involves utilizing metal screw posts for fastening pages, allowing flexibility in terms of adding or removing sheets. This makes it a desirable option for materials like menus and folios that undergo frequent revisions. Furthermore, an expandable hardcover can be customized with exterior, interior or concealed screws to fit any desired dimensions. Given its versatile nature, this binding process is particularly popular among property sales pitches as well as showcasing photographic portfolios.

Custom Boxes, Slipcases and Ring Binding

sophisticated storage solution that allows for showcasing your valuable materials and samples, custom boxes and slipcases are just the perfect fit. This type of binding is artistically crafted according to your precise specifications. Manual assembly entails utilizing top-quality board material before wrapping it with an array of premium fabrics including buckram, linen cloths as well as leather or printed laminated paper.

[poupeesdecirque]

WiP - Bookman Jr - Shirt

Shortly done after the pants. I had cut parts for the shirt and the pants at the same time as after all the conventions I attended my social batteries were quite empty I needed a lot of time to regain.

And weirdly sewing was one of the things I was able to do.

I decided to make this shirt different from Link's, you can say it's the same basic shirt but I used non stretch fabric this time and wanted to try if the collar looks better if added by machine.

As you can see I decided to add a closure in the back to remove the shirt when the head is attached.

Well... let's say the idea was good the execution not so much. As I ignored the fact the fabric is NOT strechty and his shoulders are wider than his hips and ... there was literally no way to put him into the shirt.

But I was not in the mood to redo the whole shirt. Instead I decided to just sew him into the shirt, it's a basic one and I don't think there will be much outfit changing for him going on.

And here we have the finished shirt with the pants. I think it came out nicely.

I hope the fabrics will arrive soon to start on his jacket and coat =)

[powdercoatedmetal]

Powder Coated Metal: The Ultimate Finish for Durability and Style in the UK

In the bustling world of manufacturing and fabrication across the UK, the demand for durable, aesthetically pleasing, and environmentally conscious finishes is ever-growing. This is where powder coated metal truly shines, offering a superior alternative to traditional liquid paints for a vast array of applications. From architectural elements to everyday household items, the distinct advantages of powder coating make it a preferred choice for professionals and consumers alike.

What Makes Powder Coated Metal Stand Out?

At its heart, powder coating is a dry finishing process where finely ground particles of pigment and resin are applied to a metal surface. Unlike wet paint, it contains no solvents, making it a much greener option. The magic happens through an electrostatic process: the powder particles are electrically charged and sprayed onto a grounded metal component. This charge causes the powder to cling to the surface, creating a remarkably even and uniform layer.

Once applied, the coated metal then enters a curing oven. Here, heat triggers the powder to melt, flow out, and form a continuous, robust film. This crucial curing stage results in a bond far stronger than that of typical liquid paints, creating a finish that is not only beautiful but also incredibly resilient.

Unrivalled Durability and Protection

One of the most compelling reasons for the widespread adoption of powder coated metal is its exceptional durability. This cured finish creates a tough, protective barrier that offers superior resistance against:

Chipping, scratching, and abrasion: It stands up to daily wear and tear much better than conventional paint.

Fading: Particularly with polyester powders, powder coatings offer excellent UV resistance, ensuring colours remain vibrant even with prolonged exposure to sunlight, crucial for outdoor applications in the varied UK climate.

Corrosion and rust: The thick, continuous layer provides an effective shield against moisture, chemicals, and the elements, significantly extending the lifespan of the underlying metal. This makes it ideal for items exposed to the often damp UK weather.

This inherent toughness means that powder coated metal often requires less maintenance and fewer touch-ups over its lifespan, which can typically range from 5 to 20 years or more, depending on the specific powder type, application quality, and environmental conditions.

Aesthetics and Environmental Advantages

Beyond its strength, powder coated metal delivers on aesthetics. It offers an almost limitless palette of colours, gloss levels (from matte to high gloss), and textures (smooth, wrinkled, hammered, metallic). This versatility allows for incredible design flexibility, ensuring a perfect finish for any project.

From an environmental standpoint, powder coating is a clear winner. Being solvent-free, it releases minimal or zero Volatile Organic Compounds (VOCs) into the atmosphere, making it a safer process for both workers and the environment. Furthermore, any overspray can often be collected and reused, significantly reducing waste compared to liquid paint applications.

Common Applications in the UK

You’ll find powder coated metal everywhere, from industrial settings to your own home:

Architectural: Window frames, doors, railings, building facades, and outdoor signage benefit from its weather resistance and long-lasting appeal.

Automotive: Wheels, chassis components, and various vehicle parts are powder coated for protection against corrosion and wear.

Domestic: Appliances like washing machines and refrigerators, as well as garden furniture and barbecues, rely on powder coating for their durability and attractive finish.

Industrial: Machinery, tools, and electrical enclosures frequently use powder coating for robust protection in demanding environments.

While the initial setup for powder coating can be more involved than traditional painting, the long-term benefits in terms of durability, reduced maintenance, and environmental responsibility make powder coated metal a smart and sustainable choice for a premium finish.

[thefireintheshadow]

ruin me (gemxdoc)

The perimeter was breathtaking. Gem loved to fly over it, swoop down, soar around Doc’s gorgeous environmental build and admire the crisscrossing architecture.

She’d perch on the chained skeleton in the center, running her fingers along the intricate bone, taking in the incredible artwork adorning the walls of Doc’s labor of love. Trying not to think about how she wished she had the courage to tell him without falling all over herself. Without becoming a damn puddle.

She sighed, swinging her legs, leaning back on her hands, relaxing into one of her favorite daydreams-

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” An all-too-familiar voice asked, and Gem would have gone ice cold at the shock if the thrum of his German accent didn’t set her on fire so hard, so fast.

“Oh!” she squeaked, hating how lame and pathetic she sounded. She was sure her face was bright red as she turned, looking down at him, standing so unassuming on the platform below…where had he come from? She always made sure he wasn’t home or awake when she spent time here, had he been freaking hiding? “I’m-I’m…sorry!”

“You don’t have to apologize for existing near me, little bird.” He chuckled, and if it were possible to blush harder, she did.

And god, he was so gorgeous when he smiled, the curve of that plump mouth on the green side of his face. Most found his glowing red cybernetic eye disconcerting but she thought it was beautiful, a glittering ruby currently sparkling with amusement.

Her heart thundered in her ears, because she was staring and god this was embarrassing, why was she such a mess around him? And why wasn’t he wearing a shirt under his open lab coat? It should be illegal to be so damn hot, viridescent pecs peeking out between the crisp white fabric.

“I…” she stammered, then realized she was still sitting on his build and leapt to her feet, the urge to rocket away from this situation so strong.

“Hey, whoa,” he said, holding out his hands, as if he were trying to calm a spooked horse. “You’re okay. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You shouldn’t have to worry about startling someone who is totally encroaching on your territory, like, I shouldn’t have been just lounging in your base without asking I just really like your artwork and I — god — I’m so sorry I-” Gem bit off her verbal diarrhea, because she couldn’t just be normal around him, she was either mute or a rambling idiot.

“Gem,” Doc said, chuckling and shaking his head. “I know my reputation precedes me, but unless you’ve blown up any of my machines I’m not going to be upset you’re visiting.”

“No!” She waved her hands back and forth in front of her face. “I’d never touch your redstone!”

“Good girl,” he said, and god why did he have to say it with that voice, that mouth? Gem thought she might spontaneously combust. “I was just going to test the elevator, would you like a tour?”

She blinked dumbly, realizing far too late that he’d asked her a question, and social conventions required her to participate in the conversation and provide an answer.

“Come down here, little bird, goats don’t bite,” he said, holding out his hand, and as if being closer to him would make her brain short circuit less-

But Gem’s body was more intuitive than her brain, it seemed, because she slipped down, swooping gracefully to land next to him, and it was a beautiful mistake because she could smell him now, a heady tang of copper and birch and something sweeter, some kind of pheromone that sang to her senses like a siren.

He took her hand with his, the green one, the warm one, tucking it up into the crook of his arm, leading her like a gentleman, and she floated along with him, so tiny next to his hulking frame, beastly but so gentle as he moved, so fluid and graceful despite how massive he was.

He chattered about design choices as they walked through his base, and Gem drank in every detail, only losing herself once or twice — okay, three or four or five times — in his dulcet tones before refocusing on what he was saying. As disarmed as she was by him, she also adored his skilful style and talent, and hearing him explain his choices and intentions made the details even more impressive.

The elevator blew her mind, standing at the bottom and looking up. He’d even managed to create a light up display that showed what floor it was on. Gem couldn’t even pretend to understand how the circuitry worked for something like this.

“Ready?” Doc asked as he led her inside.

“Oh yeah,” she managed to breathe, maybe sounding about a quarter as cool as she wished she did.

He hit the button and her heart leapt into her throat, the utter power of the machines thrusting them upward surprising her. She gasped, gripping his bicep with both hands, eyes alight as a thrill zipped through her.

Doc chuckled, low in his throat, an almost sadistic sound that sent heat through her belly. “Easily spooked, little bird?”

She didn’t answer, cheeks flushing, but didn’t let go of him either. The feel of his muscled arm beneath her clutching hands was delicious, and even when the initial shock wore off and her body relaxed, she allowed herself to indulge in touching him, how hard he was.

At the top, they toured his gardens, tomatoes and bees and vines and leaves, a peaceful gorgeous haven amidst such miracles of machinery. It was a multifaceted base, much like its creator.

“I can take you to see the tunnel borer, if you promise not to touch any note blocks,” Doc said, and Gem swallowed hard, bravely forcing her gaze up to his.

“I would never,” was her promise.

“It’s down a long, shallow tunnel, and we have to fly,” he explained, pointing across the perimeter. “It’s tricky to navigate, and we have to stop at an exact place so there is distance between where mobs are spawning and my anti-mob mechanism. The floor and ceiling are very jagged.”

That all sounded incredibly dangerous, which sent Gem’s stomach into flip-flops and butterflies. She must have hesitated too long in responding, because he leaned down a little, mouth closer to the blushing tip of her pointed ear.

“I could carry you, if you’re nervous.” God, why did his voice have to sound like that? Like such an invitation?

The thought of being in his arms made her swallow, throat suddenly dry as the desert. Part of her raised its hackles, wanting to declare that she wasn’t nervous, she could do it.

But the truer part of her felt safe enough to admit the fear, an even truer part admitting that she liked it. Doc had handled this whole interaction without making her feel bad about how out of sorts she was, and it crashed down on her how that, despite mentally chastising her embarrassing behavior, she was comfortable in her discomfort. Safe to just feel how she felt and react how she was reacting, and she didn’t feel like he was judging her in any way. He was warm and accepting and-

Oh god, he was holding her.

In one fluid motion, he’d scooped her off her feet, cradling her small form against his chest, and leapt into the perimeter.

[finish on ao3]

[lulu2992]

From the Inquisitor to the Baptist: The Evolution of John Seed

Part 6: Sources, references, and further reading

(There are links under all the pictures in this post)

1: Concept art posted by Nick Arnett on Instagram

"Here is some more concept art I got to be in, that never made it." https://www.instagram.com/p/BvwpicenXHg/

And many thanks to @minilev for originally sharing the picture on Tumblr here!

2: “Last-Supper-like” images

The first picture was used to promote the game, for example during E3 2017 where it was on display outside the Los Angeles Convention Center (it briefly appears in this video).

I couldn’t find who exactly made it, but you can see/download it in very high definition (12,500 x 2,000 pixels) here:

The second is the “Key Art”, made by an entire team (and some of the people below most likely also worked on the previous one):

Creative Director: Michael Hammond Art Director: Brian Tippie Lead Artist: Wil Wells Assisting Artist: Camille Fache Assisting Artist: One Pixel Brush - Shaddy Safadi, Matteo Marjoram Character Art: Petur Arnorsson Brand Management: Dilip Priyanath, Ann Hamilton, Bailey McAndrews, Thomas Seris Project Management: Alicia Ruiz, Sam Nielsen Authenticity Coordinator: Travis Getz Reference photography: Ryan Flynn with Brick & Chrome Additional work by Blur Studio (they usually make the CGI trailers), Helix, and Studio Mtl.

See/download it in HD (7,000 x 4,054 pixels) here:

3: AmCo Studio

See development sketches for the “Last-Supper-like” images here.

4: Fire Without Smoke

Find development sketches and details about the creation of the “Last-Supper-like” images here.

5: The symbols on John’s fingers

This mystery was finally solved in February 2022 by @commonant (deactivated account; if you see this, thank you) here!

6: “Taolennoù Ar Mission” by François-Marie Balanant

See the scans here on the website of the Bibliothèques de l’Université Rennes 2 (Libraries of the University of Rennes 2, France).

7: Seven deadly sins (Wikipedia)

The page that most likely inspired the developers a lot.

8: Infantry tattoo

An example by Garrett Tankersley (@tat2garrett) on Instagram:

"Infantry tattoo" https://www.instagram.com/p/66MheiDlc8/

9: Old Far Cry 5 official website

Still visible thanks to the Wayback Machine here.

10: PlayAsia blog

They posted information about Far Cry 5 and its characters here. I still have no idea if the pictures are official or not...

11: Promotional picture for Far Cry Absolution

Posted on X (Twitter) by the Official Far Cry account here.

12: Inside Eden’s Gate

The short film is available for free on Ubisoft North America’s official YouTube channel here.

13: Rob Evors’ actual tattoo

Visible in this picture (the three letters on his left wrist):

14: John’s tattoos in Inside Eden’s Gate

Casey Lynn Stuckey’s Instagram post (3 pictures):

"Check out these sweet detail shots of the tattoos I hand painted on @foreversevors for Far Cry 5: Inside Eden’s Gate." https://www.instagram.com/p/Bf1q09eFJ1K/

And another Instagram post by Nina Shyne Alviar showing Casey Lynn and Sandra Stuckey painting tattoos on Rob Evors:

"My amazing MUFX/HMU team members Casey and Sandra, hand painting tats on Rob Sevors’ hands for his role as John Seed in Far Cry 5: Inside Edens Gate! Casey did it the first time all on her own, carefully matching the designs to the gameplay. Have you seen it yet? On Amazon Prime Video right now. And the game is out on 3/27." https://www.instagram.com/p/BgeuadJnNHj/

15: “Anything Can Happen, Everything Will” live-action TV spot

Watch it on Ubisoft North America’s official YouTube channel here.

16: Jon Oswald’s Instagram post about the Far Cry 5 TV spot

"New Far Cry commercial out today! Keep your eye out for me at the end. I'm the asshole in the GUCCI TRENCH COAT." https://www.instagram.com/p/BgRoavQhgcP/

17: Kenz Lawrén’s Instagram post about Inside Eden’s Gate and the TV spot (8 pictures)

"✨✨ I am so excited to announce the release of The FarCry5 short film: EDEN’S GATE on amazon prime!! ✨✨I had such an awesome time shooting in Montana and just wanted to take a moment to thank the production, the cast and the fans of Far Cry for all their love and support." https://www.instagram.com/p/BgpYTCojq7x/

18: Jon Oswald’s tattoos

In this picture (right wrist):

And this one (dog on his left forearm):

19: Storyboards for the TV spot

Drawn by Anthony Winn and shared on ArtStation.

20: The Book of Joseph

Rare promotional item given as a pre-order bonus for Far Cry 5. It’s never been available for sale (officially) but you can find several options to read it in this post.

21: “Far Cry 5: Why John Seed Is Your Charmingly Deadly Enemy”

Watch the video on IGN’s YouTube channel here.

22: John’s “You have been Marked” video

The source file (which doesn’t have sound) of the final in-game version was extracted by @hopecountyradio here.

As for the audio, you can go here to listen to John only, here for the background noise and voices, and here for the original, full version of the music.

23: “Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse” concept art

The artwork was based on a painting by Viktor Vasnetsov (1887). It’s official but I don’t know the name of the artist(s).

Find it in HD (5,000 x 2,672 pixels) here:

24: Official screenshot(s)

Created by Screenshot Artist Jayden Bell and posted on ArtStation.

There are more here, here, and here.

25: Poster

Official picture you can find here (3,276 x 3,276 pixels), for example. I don’t know the artist(s) who created it.

26: “John Seed - The Inquisitor | Character Spotlight”

Watch this trailer on Ubisoft’s official YouTube channel here.

27: John’s vest

Its secret was exposed by @inafieldofdaisies here. Again, great find!

28: John’s 3D model and textures

They were extracted by HeliosAl and are available for download on DeviantArt here and here.

29: John and Sloth

Just in case anyone is interested, I posted my opinion and analysis here back in September 2020.

30: Pictures in the Holmes Residence

Extracted by @vls-gamingscrapbook here.

31: Seed family portrait

Extracted by @vls-gamingscrapbook here.

32: Picture in Dutch’s bunker

Extracted by @vls-gamingscrapbook here, as well as the source files for the poster and billboard (even though the images included in my post were my screenshots).

33: Journal image (The Confession)

Found on the Far Cry Wiki, but made by Graphic Designer David Bouchard-Gagnon.

34: Early version of the “You have been Marked” TV broadcast

The video I posted was recorded in my game, but the source file was also uploaded by @vls-gamingscrapbook here.

35: Pictures from the deleted in-game encyclopedia

Extracted and posted by @xbaebsae here.

36: Render

The picture I posted was my screenshot, but you can find the full, original render here (3,840 x 4,937 pixels):

37: Early icons

Extracted by @vls-gamingscrapbook here.

38: “Seeking Absolution - Interview with Urban Waite”

Watch the video on Ubisoft North America’s official YouTube channel here.

39: Holly in Far Cry 5

NPC line about Holly Pepper:

I remember a girl named Holly used to live here with her girlfriend Charlie. They were the first people I knew to join Eden's Gate.

You can hear it in the game.

40: Drew Holmes interview

It was deleted so the link doesn’t work, but you could read it here:

https://www.gamecrate.com/far-cry-5-lead-writer-villains-cults-and-crafting-story/18396

I posted a screenshot of it here in September 2018.

41: “Far Cry 5 - Inside the intro sequence”

Watch the video on Ubisoft UK’s official YouTube channel here.

An article about it was also published on the now-deleted UbiBlog here (retrieved thanks to the Wayback Machine again).

42: oasisstrings

Available either here (website by Steve Botter a.k.a. Steve64b) or on the Far Cry Wiki here and here (subtitles).

43: John’s deleted lines

Listen to them here on @voices-of-hope-county.

44: Hudson’s comment about John

Posted here by @oh-the-bliss.

45: Seed Ranch concept art

I sadly don’t know who the artist is, but you can find it here (1,398 x 845 pixels):

46: Tennis courts?

Listen to Sharky and Nick talk about John’s tennis courts (which don’t exist in the game) here on @voices-of-hope-county.

I tried to trigger Nick’s comment in the game but couldn’t, so it may have been cut, but Sharky’s line still exists.

47: Seed Ranch

Picture by Environment Artist Brian Harries found on ArtStation.

48: John’s “sex room”

I tried to find more information about this mysterious room here.

49: Survivor’s comment in New Dawn

Find it in oasisstrings here. I know it’s in the game because someone recorded it once, but I couldn’t find the post...

50: Cultists’ lines at Seed Ranch

I recorded two videos and posted them here and here. The comment about John being so busy he barely goes to the ranch is in the second one.

51: “Your Question”

John’s letter for a cultist named Terry. See the screenshot of the complete answer on the Far Cry Wiki:

52: John and Mary May’s secrets

This was originally discovered by @xbaebsae in this great post I recommend reading if you like early/deleted content!

53: Abandoned storylines

Listen to three outdated lines here on @voices-of-hope-county.

54: Kim’s deleted line about John

Listen to it here on @voices-of-hope-county.

55: Joseph’s eulogy for John

Listen to the audio here on @voices-of-hope-county.

56: Joseph’s message for John at Seed Ranch

Listen to it here on @voices-of-hope-county.

[allthistrashtalkmakemeitchin]

Ghostwriter ch 24

Unbetad Unedited Unhinged || AO3 Wattpad

Character(s): Kendall Knight, James Diamond, Carlos Garcia, Logan Mitchell, Katie Knight, Gustavo Rocque, Kelly Wainwright, Arthur Griffin, Mercedes Griffin, Jennifer Knight, Veronica Clark oc, James Clark oc

Pairing(s): Kendall Knight/Female Original Characters, James Diamond & Female Original Characters, Jennifer Knight & Male Original Characters, Kendall Knight & James Diamond & Carlos Garcia & Logan Mitchell

Somehow, James Clark got a job as a production assistant for an action movie. He often worked late with the SFX team, which frequently tried to cut costs by skipping safety measures. For a man in his early sixties, this didn’t seem like a job for his age, but he proved everyone wrong. He wasn’t some frail older man who hobbled around with a hunched back. He took care of himself. Even when Veronica was younger, he would make fun of the other people his age who were deteriorating. He viewed them as people who gave up on their lives and were waiting to die. That wasn’t who he was. Although he was diagnosed with prostate cancer, and there was nothing they could do because it wasn’t anywhere close to being stage 1, he wasn’t going to give up. He had the rest of his life to live. The government told him he was healthy. And every other doctor's visit told him he was healthy. Even though some man in a white coat told him he had six years left to live, he doubted it. His father lived longer than the doctors told him. 

“Hey, James. How do you keep everything so organized without labels?” A twenty-something blonde was lounging in the breakroom with a Pop Tiger magazine. 

“It’s easier than you think once you pull your face away from that phone,” James remarked. He slotted quarters in the vending machine for a Diet Coke. 

“Ouch. I don’t have an eidetic memory like you,” 

“It’s not an eidetic memory. I pay attention to my actions and don’t panic under pressure.” 

“Okay, I do not panic under pressure.” The young man frowned and flipped a page. He put the magazine down and gasped. “Hey, man, don’t you have a daughter named Veronica?” 

“Yes? What about her? She’s a writer for some boyband.” 

“Read this,” 

“Dylan, what are you going on about?” James sighed and took a seat at the table. The young man slid the magazine toward him. 

“No, I’m serious. Read this.” 

James took his reading glasses from his pocket, picked up the magazine, and leaned forward. As far as he knew, Ronnie worked and learned at Rocque Records. He had no idea the extent of her learning, but he was sure she was in good hands. If she had a problem or if something happened, he could trust his teenage daughter to talk to him. The Pop Tiger article was formatted with white text on a colorful and bright background. The older man squinted to read the words. There was a reason why he never picked up a Pop Tiger magazine. They were so colorful, and sometimes reading them was straining for his eyes. He was partially glad that Ronnie never asked for one of them. 

A couple of days ago, the band was featured on Backstage Access, where Ronnie appeared during the show's last moments. The editor, Christiana Fraiser, detailed how fun and down-to-earth the band members were. The interviewer and editor were surprised to learn that Ronnie was writing music for the band, which was soon overshadowed by predictions and theories about his daughter's love life. Like any father would, he didn’t want to think about his daughter dating. He may have been surprised she somehow made friends rather quickly. He was worried about what she would do with such a complicated relationship. It adds layers to societal conventions and more unspoken rules. 

Of course, James had no room to speak. He had a couple of relationships in high school, but as things change and evolve, so do relationships. Growing up, he had the upper hand because no one wanted to mess with him. Some of his classmates feared him, but Ronnie was meek and skittish. She needed time to thrive in a different environment. Initially, he was worried about moving to Los Angeles because of that. Whenever a significant change happened in their lives, Annette and Ronnie shut down. He stood by and watched during Ronnie’s childhood because Annette specifically asked for him to take a step back. He “cared too much” about their daughter, and Annette didn’t like how much Ronnie cried. The girl was learning about the consequences of her actions. Of course, she was going to cry. 

James choked on his saliva. He reread the sentence, leaning closer to the page as if that would enhance the words. At first, he thought he was seeing things, but the words were bold. His heart was disappointed, but the pang of discomfort overshadowed it. Had he made Ronnie feel like she couldn’t tell him anything? As much as James hated Kendall, he would have been over the moon to find out they were dating. He would want to do the same thing as every father and intimidate the boyfriend. It wasn’t like that opportunity wasn’t taken from him. He could intimidate Kendall whenever he wanted, and he had practically already intimidated him and his friends, but it would have been different if Ronnie and Kendall had been dating. 

“Good for her. My younger sister goes crazy over Big Time Rush.” 

“Yeah…” James slid the magazine back to Dylan and stared blankly at the middle of the table. 

“Are you okay, man?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Just… Thinking.” 

“Don’t tell me you just found out.” Dylan’s jaw fell open. 

“Okay, I won’t.” 

“No way!” Dylan gasped. “Was she keeping this from you? That must suck,” 

“I know.” James’ jaw clenched. It was as if Dylan was trying to rub it in his face. 

Technically, James was her last relative. If Ronnie had needed to share anything, she would have had the decency to tell him about her boyfriend. It would have put him at ease if she told him. Had he made her think he would judge her? Was she afraid to let him know? James furrowed his brows. Was this how Annette felt when Ronnie kept things from her mother? Did Annette make her feel safe enough to tell her things like this? 

It seems they didn’t have a close relationship like he thought. James had tried his hardest to be a safe confidant for his daughter so she wouldn’t end up doing something she would regret. Unlike most parents, he was okay with his teenage daughter smoking weed as long as she was safe about it. And if she ever started drinking, he would want her to drink at their apartment or house where he could keep an eye on her. Mary, his mother, told him often that he was going soft and letting his daughter walk all over him, but that couldn’t be the farthest from the truth. 

The workday went by in a blur. He was stuck in his head, but then again, he had no idea what he was doing as a parent. He and Annette had their first child at forty. His wife wanted a child badly, and James couldn’t deny her. He loved his wife. They got engaged in June when they conceived their daughter. When Ronnie was one, they had their wedding, and their daughter was the flower girl. That was the first time Annette’s family tolerated James and his family. It was also the first time they tolerated Annette. He had met her five older brothers beforehand, but they were increasingly on edge because their father had died and entrusted quite a bit of money to Annette. It caused the six of them to fight. 

When Ronnie was older, Annette’s family only tolerated his wife because of her daughter. Except, when Ronnie cried about her cousin Jordan making fun of her, Annette saw nothing wrong. It was just girls being girls. But James knew something was wrong. As a kid, Ronnie loved meeting new people. She was a social butterfly but grew quiet and avoidant at her cousin's house for some reason. He was essentially an outsider watching through a window as his daughter grew up because Mary and Annette had a problem with how he wanted to raise his child. He watched his wife and daughter fight and watched his daughter become a shell of herself when her mother and grandfather died. 

“Oi, Clark, congrats on the famous son-in-law!” One of his coworkers clapped a hand on his shoulder as he passed. 

James blinked twice. He knew the other guys were making fun of him for it, but he couldn’t shake the twinge of sadness creeping up his neck. He was distraught that his daughter didn’t tell him. Maybe he made her think that she had to hide things from him. Perhaps he wasn’t taking as active a role as he should be. After work, he went to the coffee shop on the corner. He couldn’t stand the taste of coffee and could only tolerate it when it was iced. His sister, on the other hand, absolutely loved coffee. She drank it all hours of the day. Yet she wondered why her sleep schedule was abnormal. 

He rubbed his eyes and assumed it was because he was tired, but the woman in line standing in front of him looked a lot like Jennifer Knight. 

Because he didn’t like coffee, he chose the most straightforward thing the barista could make when it came his time to order. The girl couldn’t be any older than his daughter, with long black hair slicked back under the visor. Her nametag read A. Torres. He slipped a five-dollar bill in the tip jar when she wasn’t noticing. He could see the dark circles under her eyes. 

“James?” 

He stopped at the counter on the other end. A sign hung above it labeled this was where you picked up your order. The woman who looked like Jennifer Knight was Jennifer Knight. From the looks of it, she had an iced matcha. Her perfume was somewhat floral, reminding him of his father's. 

“Ah, Mrs. Knight. How are you?” Much like his daughter, he was caught off guard, which was alarming. 

“You can call me Jen! We’re friends, aren’t we?” 

“Of course,” James cleared his throat. “I hope the boys aren’t causing you much trouble.” 

“Not at all! The four of them have been friends for a few years, so I’m used to it.” 

“I see, I see.” 

“I don’t mind caring for your daughter either if you need a vacation.” Jennifer’s eyes sparkled. She was warm and inviting. James couldn’t help but think Annette would have loved to be friends with her. 

He twisted the ring on his finger absentmindedly. The simple gold band caught the light at the right angle. 

“Oh, I see you’re married! Is your wife back in Vermont?” Jennifer tilted her head. 

“Ah, no. Unfortunately, she is not in Vermont.” 

“Oh?” Jennifer’s expression changed. “Oh, I am so sorry! My condolences. How long has it been?” 

“Four years,” 

“How has Ronnie been? I can’t imagine what that was like for either of you,” 

“We’re carrying on with our lives. There’s no use in wallowing in pity. I don’t doubt she hasn’t struggled with it, but she’s putting on a brave face.” 

“That makes things complicated. How is everything? How are you adjusting to Los Angeles?” 

A barista called his name, and he picked up his coffee. 

“I found insurance and a doctor. I have a stable job as a production assistant.” James took a sip of his iced coffee.” All in all, I’d say the transition is going well.” 

“Good, good. If either of you need help, don’t hesitate to ask. My son and his friends get along well with your daughter, and I’m glad they’ve welcomed her with open arms so quickly.” 

“Yes, about that…” James sucked a breath in. “Did you read the Big Time Rush interview in Pop Tiger?” 

“Oh, I don’t bother with the magazines.” Jennifer waved her hand about. “They always managed to spin any truth into a lie for dramatization.” 

“Well, yes, but the article featured talks in detail about my daughter and your son.” 

“Kendall’s trying to make it up to her because he wasn’t so nice initially.” Jennifer didn’t quite understand what was wrong with the article. She sipped on her matcha, and a thought bubbled to the surface. “Are you just getting off work? It’s 10 A.M.” 

“That's why I have coffee,” James chuckled and shook the cup gently to stir the artificial sugar that had settled at the bottom. 

“You stayed on set all night?” 

“The shoot went late, and I had to help with the SFX and prop teams.” James leaned his head back, stretching his neck. “I can’t wait to go to bed.” 

Despite being unable to find a job in Hollywood, Jennifer Knight didn’t mind taking a stroll downtown. She needed a break from staring at the four walls of apartment 2J while doing her kid's laundry. Jennifer loved doing their laundry and caring for them, but even parents need a break occasionally. That morning, she witnessed her son and his friends fight over the latest Pop Tiger magazine because their interview had been featured in an article. They were waiting for the episode of Backstage Access to air. Katie, of course, had nothing to do with the chaos. She innocently made herself breakfast and would glance up to see who was winning the fight. In the end, James must first look at the Pop Tiger article. 

Today, she had a few errands she told everyone about last night. It wasn’t uncommon for her to be out of the apartment. On her list was grocery shopping, followed by a quick stop at a coffee shop and then to the library to find that book Logan was looking for. Could Logan look for it himself? Yes. But would he find time with everything his friends rope him into? No. 

First on her list, though, is grocery shopping. 

As she expected, the parking lot was packed. Unfortunately, her parking space was far from the supermarket, but she wouldn’t let that get her down. She needed the exercise. On the large windows were colorful posters advertising products at a discount. Jennifer had already picked through the paper for all the coupons she needed and more. Half off oranges, buy two and get one free on toilet paper, four for five dollars on frozen fish sticks. Various customers were out and about in parking lots. Young children were helping their parents put away the groceries, and elderly couples shuffled to their cars clutching the shopping carts like their lives depended on it. 

When Kendall was younger, he loved going grocery shopping with his mother. No matter what, he would attempt to carry the heavier items for her. When he was thirteen, he stopped going and expressed his need for independence, but also because he wanted to stay home and watch Katie. Jennifer didn’t know why, but she was glad he wanted to spend time with his little sister. Their mother had always worried their six-year difference would be a problem. When Katie was born, her son wanted nothing to do with his sister, but somewhere down the line, that changed. 

“Mom! Can I get a chocolate bar?” Mrs. Knight passed by the checkout aisle at the front of the store. A little boy stretched the word “mom” in a whiny voice as he pleaded with her. 

One of the wheels on the shopping cart she pushed was stalling. Since it moved, it wasn’t that big of a deal. It wasn’t much of an inconvenience. She moved around other customers and employees in matching uniforms with green aprons and striped ties. The air smelled fresh. Her purse was nestled in the part of the shopping cart that small children would sit in. She sifted through her purse for the grocery list as she stopped in the refrigerated section with cheese, eggs, and milk. Four teenage boys and a pre-teen girl eat much more food than one would think. Checking off items in the dairy section, Jennifer grabbed a jumbo pack of eggs, string cheese, and two things of milk. 

After the grocery store, she quickly stopped at the coffee shop around the corner, where she ran into James Clark. Although many adults in the Palm Woods were watching over their children, Jennifer hadn’t interacted with many of them. She had only spoken to Tyler’s mother once and hadn’t seen many other parents. The only other adult she talked to frequently was Buddha Bob, the janitor. It was nice to stop and chat with someone around her age after being surrounded by teenagers all day in the Palm Woods. James Clark may not be very talkative, but at this point, she enjoys sitting in silence with another adult, unlike the loud chaos of four teenagers running around and destroying everything they touch. The boys were endearing and always attempted to clean up after themselves. They were kept out of trouble with Ronnie around, but she had to deal with the relationship drama tenfold. 

Of course, Jennifer was worried Kendall would find a way to get between Ronnie and her boyfriend, but she hoped that wasn’t the case. Although he had these budding feelings for her, Kendall wasn’t the type of person to do something like that. His feelings for Ronnie seemed to be venturing into rebound territory, but she got him to focus on his feelings for longer than usual. Jennifer should stay unbiased, but she was rooting for her son. 

Kendall fell head over heels for Jo, and when they broke up, it was as if nothing could fix his broken heart. As a mother, she couldn’t help but hope he would have another romance that would make him as happy as his relationship with Jo. It wasn’t that she was comparing them. She would never compare the girls to each other, which would be rude. But she did wonder what would become of the band if they were to get together. What if they broke up? Would the band get torn apart? Jennifer wasn’t anticipating their downfall, but she was very cautious. Her son wasn’t the best when it came to complicated feelings. If Curt and Ronnie ever broke up, she was sure that there would be a multitude of complex emotions. 

On her way back from the library without the book Logan asked for because there were no more copies, the mother stopped at a bookstore and decided she might as well buy it for him. Logan never said that she couldn’t buy it for him, and if anything, it was better than having a library book since he didn’t have to take it back when he was finished. It doesn’t mean she didn’t want to support local libraries, but she also wanted to support Logan’s interest in the medical field. It was something his mothers, Joanna and Linda, cultivated, and just because he’s in a boy band doesn’t mean he shouldn’t work toward his dream. 

The book he wanted was on the human anatomy and nervous system. Since she had frozen food items in her car, she was on a time crunch as she browsed the shelves for the specific book. Initially, she thought she would be in and out in fifteen minutes, but it took longer. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed someone and turned. Again, she runs into James Clark at a bookstore. The red-haired woman assumed he would have already been home by now. 

“James?” She raised a brow. 

The older man turned around with some books tucked under his arm. He was startled to see her. She crossed her arms and tilted her head. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re following me.” 

“Apologies,” James chuckled and lifted his glasses. “Last night, my daughter asked me for a few books, but it slipped my mind.” 

“I’d think with all the running around after my son and his friends, she wouldn’t have time to read,” 

“It’s mostly music theory, books Gustavo asked her to buy.” James smiled sheepishly even though he was standing in the romance section of the bookstore. Unfortunately, that section was right next to medical sciences. 

“If she’s into romance novels, I suggest “The Girl from Honeysuckle Farm” by Jessica Steele. It’s a wonderful read and won’t take up much of her time.” Jennifer smiled. 

“Thank you. I don’t read romance novels myself. I have always enjoyed books about war and history, even as a little kid.” James chuckled. “So, this is a bit out of my expertise.” 

“Don’t worry. I have so many more recommendations if you need them, but I have groceries in the car.” 

“I uh… Shouldn’t keep you from your errands.” James plucked the book from the shelf and adjusted his glasses over his nose. 

“See you later,” Mrs. Knight waved and made her way to the cashier at the front. 

Hopefully, the parents wouldn’t run into each other again. It was already awkward, and Jennifer wasn’t sure how to interact with other parents, which might be why she couldn’t make friends. Of course, there could be different reasons why she couldn’t make friends with any of the other parents at the Palm Woods. One mother-and-daughter duo did say that she and Katie were far too overcompetitive. 

The day was relatively unassuming, but Jennifer was nearly run over by her son, who was carrying Ronnie over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He and his friends passed by her in a blur. She could hear the din outside of the Palm Woods lobby and shrugged. Whatever they got themselves into, they could get themselves out of. Unfortunately, while they were busy with their situation, the woman was left alone to carry her groceries to her apartment. 

At least she thought she would be alone until she ran into James again. 

“We must stop running into each other,” Jennifer laughed awkwardly. Multiple bags were hanging off her arms, and she struggled to get into the elevator. 

“Perhaps there’s a reason we keep running into each other. Here, let me help with that.” James took some of the plastic grocery bags from her. 

“Oh, you don’t have to–” 

“I just saw your song and his friends. Why aren’t they helping you?” 

“I– I honestly have no idea.” Jennifer shrugged. “But, thank you,” 

“Of course! We may not live next to each other, but what are neighbors for?” 

“Well, when you put it that way…” 

Mrs. Knight, with Mr. Clark's help, got all of her groceries in apartment 2J. Her daughter, Katie, was lounging on the orange couch in front of the television. She barely glanced up from her handheld gaming system but did a double take when she noticed the older man. 

“Oh, hey, Mr. Clark!” The brunette paused her game and tossed the console to the side. “Mom, let me help you put the groceries away!” Katie smiled wide and jumped to her feet. 

“That’s lovely, sweetheart! Do you know what your brother is up to?” 

“When do I never know what Kendall is doing? The four dorkwads are trying to clear up whatever PR drama is circulating Ronnie and Curt.” 

“Ronnie and Curt?” Mr. Clark furrowed his brows. “What PR drama?” 

“Well, Curt went on an interview, and Lindy Lam from Starstruckk said his girlfriend was cheating on him.” Katie shrugged. “It’s been all over gossip news stations.” 

“Oh.” Mr. Clark nodded slowly. “Those two are dating. Not Kendall and Ronnie?” 

“Why would Kendall and Ronnie be dating?” Mrs. Knight asked as she put the milk in the fridge. 

“Cause of the article in Pop Tiger– Ah, never mind.” Mr. Clark sighed and shook his head. “At least they’re not dating. What a relief.” 

“Doesn’t mean my brother doesn’t want to date Ronnie.” Katie slid into one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “Haven’t you seen how he acts around her? He gave her his sweatshirt, you know, the blue one.” 

“What?” Mr. Clark’s eyes twitched. 

“Katie! That’s enough. You don’t need to stress the man out.” Jennifer scolded. “Now, put the cans in the cupboard, please. Busy hands mean you won’t stop to chit-chat.”

[rudolphsb9]

I was originally going to write an entire rant about the treatment Skip Woods gives to his female characters across both his outings in the Hitman franchise. I started going through Hitman (2007) with the intention of studying how Nika was portrayed as a character with the sole purpose of ranting about problems I saw in the way Woods handles women, female leads in particular (to be frank, there are few other female characters of note in either film; Diana is grandfathered in as an important character, but as I've ranted about before and will do so again, Katia's mother doesn't get the grace of a canonical name despite haunting most of H:A47). But, as I was doing that, I realized how similar the films are overall, at least in how they set themselves up.

One of the big points for me was the similarity between Katia and Nika, not in minute details but in overall character sketch: a woman in a bad position in life who is in need of rescue and (perhaps by necessity of genre convention) sexy. But not just any kind of sexy, she also has to be exotic. Nika is a Russian sex slave, a stereotype that may have flown in 2007 but needed necessary updating for 2015. So, Katia's mother is Sri Lankan Tamil. (She's initially implied to be mixed, which would slot her into the But Not Too Foreign trope where acceptable love interest territory lies, but when the story shifts gears to sibling team up mode and John is revealed to be a straight up antagonist, Katia is directly stated to be the product of mad science. It's highly probable that but for necessary modifications, she is a direct clone of her own mother--"You are the reflection of the woman I loved.")

There are other points I observed, too, mostly in setup (the details of deviation allow for the films to run different courses in their second halves). The prologue of the program that produced 47, the placements of any flashbacks (they taper out by the half-way point), the entire plot of "initial hit kick starting the action, followed by find the girl (whether that was an original goal or not), followed by kidnap the girl and deliver to her a series of key revelations, followed by drag her along to help on the mission". I don't watch enough movies (action movies in general or Woods' work in specific) to know whether this is scènes à faire or if H:A47 is really just Hitman (2007) with a different coat of paint. But I also don't think it's a bad thing. Lots of creatives have pet themes that make it into almost all their work.

The similarities also make it really easy to see where I think one version did better than the other. The prologue and flashbacks 47 has to getting tattooed from Hitman (2007) are something I prefer over H:A47, for example. Instead of the clinical sterility of medical exams, we get glimpses into the actual training the boys were given, including the implication that they were the ones responsible for shooting any of their number who tried to escape. 47 fixates on the tattoo because it caused him a lot of pain. There's a similar moment in H:A47 but instead 47 is asked if it hurt, and says yes. Coupled with the fact that in the 2015 version of the prologue, we do see 19 get his number, and the machine doing the stamping... gets it done in a couple of seconds and 19 doesn't even flinch. In the 2007 version somebody is using an actual tattoo gun, forcing him to keep a steady hand and 47 to hold as still as possible to not mess up the lines. To quote Dan Olsen: "inference is dramatically inferior to being shown."

(As a random aside, the monks in the 2007 version go completely unexplained. I think they were only included because in the second game 47 briefly converts to Catholicism and lives in a monastery. I have a web of theories about how the movies and games play off each other; this and 47's wearing the stripe tie from Blood Money for the first act are on that pin board.)

On the other end, I think Katia is an improvement, character wise, over Nika, and that boils down to one specific change. Katia is 47's little sister, a product of the same experiments that produced 47 himself. Because Katia also has Agent abilities, this handily allows her to participate freely in the action, in part because 47 spends the second half forcing/teaching Katia to use her abilities for combat until she can manage without prodding. Nika, for her part, acts in her storyline in spite of 47. She's told over and over again to stay put and not wander off or interfere, and she wanders off and interferes (though she does only interfere once; 47 scared her straight after that). Nika's primary story function is... teaching 47 to love? It's unclear, and her method half the time is to attempt to seduce him which, given his explicit rejection of the idea, counts as assault. Making Katia 47's sister eliminates the need for any weird "romance" dynamic involving 47 himself, and makes them much more equal in their interactions.

I want to make another point of comparison, too, and this is going to bring in ideas from the games. It's 47's relationship to his own name, which has clearly changed as time goes on. In Blood Money (which I'm certain influenced Hitman (2007)), 47 states "Names are for friends, so I don't need one." In Hitman (2007), he tells Nika "The place I was raised, they didn't give us names, they gave us numbers. Mine was 47." Both of these statements imply that he doesn't view 47 as a proper name but as something imposed on him (there's an argument to be made that in the 2007 film, the Organization used numbers as a means to strip their orphan charges of identity to keep them in line and foster loyalty).

However, in H:A47, he has this exchange:

Sanders: "So why don't we start with your name." 47: "47." Sanders: "That's... not a name." 47: "No, but it is mine."

Additionally in the prologue sequence of Hitman (2016), he has this exchange:

47: "I believe they called me... 47." Diana: "That's not a name." 47: "So make it one."

The acceptance of "47" as a name in its own right implies a version of the character more at peace with his clonehood and circumstances. In H:A47 especially, there are implications that the clones had a sort of subculture, or cultural identity among themselves (47 outright states that while each clone gets barcoded at birth, they only get the corresponding number stamped on them "when [they] become Agents", and if that's not a rite of passage I'm a wheel of cheese). One could surmise that their numerical identifiers were given appropriate significance, and I have nothing to go on here but I do think they lined up in numerical order for everything that required them to assemble in an orderly fashion (which is everything they could have been required to do at the lab).

The point I'm trying to make here is that as the Hitman franchise has progressed, the character of 47 has changed his relationship with the fact that his name is 47 (and everything that implies). Here I'm not going to say one or the other is bad, but I do think it's interesting and worth further study.

[b0kksu-gone]

@saiakv: “ you’re not a machine or— or some thing. you’re a person, and i’m sorry anyone ever made you feel otherwise. ” :)

              The air feels thick, sweltering in the longs as nostalgia trickles in, he ponders the last time the Metropolitan sat heavily upon the tongue? In youth his long frame would strive across the bustling streets, in a sea of bodies, forgotten && free from the conflicts of the world that pulled apart the modern deity.  There’s a brief hum, it lifts effortlessly from the shiny tiers of lips, “This assignment took longer than I suspected, an entire village, that’s just bad luck” he chuckles, effortless with devil may care attitude. Exhaustion hangs heavy behind the designer glasses, sliding from the perch upon his nose, he wishes to sleep but the realm of dreams is far from his grasp. It would have been easy to teleport home, the amenities of city life though were not lost upon him, when did it all become a blur he could no longer remember? A ghost that walks among the rest, stolen youth that came with the swing of the blade && his head nearly severed. It’s just a nightmare now, nothing to worry about, his might has grown && the caged bird still remains with bound wings.

            “I still have paperwork to write up, there is no possibility of returning home for sometime now, well, at least Tokyo can supply fine dining” the small jest leaves with a wave of the hand, in luxury, the convenience of sleek estate would await in posh neighborhoods who knew nothing of the surname Gojo would bring. Thrumming, the gentle beat of a pulsating headache, he isn’t sure if it stems from the illumination of neon or that of anxiety, a mixture of both that continues to thrap upon the frontal lobe. “Hm….?” the sudden expression catches him off guard, even as the train pulls away && the bustle of people continues to echo, the vibrancy that moves with an energy that cannot be ignored, Satoru hears it. Frozen, gnawing upon his stomach it’s the same fear he felt that caused a moment of hesitation, where the blade was plunged into the crevices of his ribcage. Cracking it open to expose the sinew of a beating heart, too big for his body, too big for him to ignore. It hasn’t submersed itself into the deepest tundra? He could cackle; what a joke.

            “Oh, what’s with the sudden sentimentality? In public of all places” a man that lacked modesty or social conventions should not chastises, though he scowls, pouting like an insolent child that was overly indulgent && spoiled. A machine, that was too mechanical, he lacked bits that were metallic && shiny in pristine condition, who worked perfectly when commanded. Instead, he was an altar of flesh slowly stripped away, sliced bit by bit, till there was nothing left. Scars upon the hands, visage, neck, everywhere - on the stomach that wrapped itself like thorns, on an arm that was once severed && regrown, this physical form that was bondage to an infinite soul.

           His throat grows dry, fingers that coil into the lavish fabric of his black coat, gold, gold everywhere like a sacrificial offering, upon his fingers && wrist - the highest moniker one could be blessed with. “Does it matter anymore?” weeping, the fragile young boy is weeping internally, it’s reminiscent where all went about && the sun was blazing - so thick upon the back of his neck, higher than he could remember, scorching his pale skin. That damnable question that lived && thrived in the confines of his mind, emerging when he did not wish for it, as if an anchor to keep what remained mortal tethered to this existence. “There is no place for weakness in this life; if this must be a designated role than I wear it of my own being && consent, it’s been a long time since I was just Satoru, in truth I speculate if he exists to this day” somber words that quickly disintegrate underneath the comical mask. He doesn’t wish to speak anymore, a deflection in haste, the wound is starting to bleed && he fears it won’t stop.

              “Hey, stop saying such things, let’s go! We’ll miss our ride, old men like I cannot stand out here for long - we grow tired quickly after all” 

[marlie-cosplays-again]

Hey there

I'm Marlie and i’ve been attending conventions for about 20 years and sporadically cosplayed for about 10 of those years. For the last 10 years my health, my schedule, my finances, my…exhaustion has prevented me from putting my all into a hobby I truly love.

For the last 2 1/2 years I have been unemployed and just absolutely depressed about it. But this last January I got involved in Community Theater through some of my friends. Being part of something big and creative has been a giant mood booster. I'm personally more of a backstage person and was lucky enough to be under the wing of a professional Stage Manager for my first production.

I then painted the whole set for the next production, took a break, and then came back to Stage Manage the huge end of the season show. I'm now Stage Managing the first show of this theater's 68th season. It's been a rocket of a fast track but I love it. And all of it has reminded me how much I miss cosplay.

I've finally gotten another job after 100+ applications, and while it doesn't pay well, it does pay.

I then stumbled onto Sarah Spaceman on YouTube and ended up binging a few of her cosplay builds and watching her con vlogs. My husband ended up watching them with me and we both are just aching to create like this again.

So we're going to.

I haven't touched my sewing machine in years and everything I did before was based on reasoning through my partial retention of pattern instructions and some advice from my mom. So I'm gonna start over. Back to square one. I'm gonna be thoughtful about the process. I'm gonna surge the hems. I'm gonna line the coat. I'm gonna do it right(my own ADHD self definition of right).

And I'm gonna compete.

Do I expect to win? Not really.

But I want to create with such pride that showing it off on stage is the only way I can find peace.

So that's what this is. Just a place to put my thoughts. My build sketches. My process and progress. My lessons learned.

Thanks for hanging out.