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slowd1ving · 10 months ago

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✦ II. COME HITHER, CURSE WHERE HE LIES

"This was the tale of the seventh prince; an elegy hidden from the footnotes of history. Within the game Lament of Ouroboros, his sorrows were summarised thusly: A strangely warm vein of ore. Hero, come here when dusk kisses the edge of the Borderlands. As your palm brushes against the rock, you may be able to feel the pulse of a slumbering prince. Three sentences were all that was afforded to the disgraced prince, forgotten to all but the Moirai." • . * cursed prince ratio + alchemist m reader rough design for minoan fashion ratio here warnings: video game violence, death? kind of? tyranny (are we surprised), male-coded reader (or at least the in-game avatar is), depictions of gore, turning into stone wc: 4.2k

LAMENT OF OUROBOROS MASTERLIST

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

It took all of one year for the warning to become prophecy. One year, approximately four hundred and eight days—give or take—for the two Suns to align themselves in the exact arrangement they had on the Day of Silence. And in that single year, the schemes of Veritas Ratio would germinate, blossom, and finally wither away irrelevantly.

He was born quietly, and thus his end would, too, be quiet.

The month of Hekatombaion had the seventh prince leave his tower: like a bird set free from its gilded cage. Though he was never caged, per se, the youth knew it was safest to stay in its stone walls: away from the all-consuming, bloody struggle for the throne, away from the greedy claws of his siblings and their power-hungry gazes. Yes, it was far easier being a shunned seventh prince than getting swept up in the tides of fatal politics.

Fatal, indeed—the internal strife had already claimed the lives of two of his siblings. He was the fifth prince, if one regarded the situation objectively—but it was better to lurk in the oblivion. Seven was a less significant number than five, after all.

Hekatombaion was the month of venture. The Day of Silence had occurred in its beginning; the day to mark the new year, where the blank canvas of muteness would sluggishly accumulate the sins and sorrows of the populace in the coming days and weeks. Like honey trickling over sweet basyniai, the seventh prince would begin to spread his own influence to achieve his saccharine conclusion.

So, the youth ventured forth—though not into the bloody palace, but the summer-worn streets and the agora. Past the stands selling their wares, and the philosophers sermonising on the achromatic cobblestones, were those conducting business and students of the various schools in Metis. The work and school day had shortly ended—the evening of debates and discourse had just begun.

Without the gilt laurels which suggested his status as one of Elation’s blood, he was no more prince than he was peasant. The drape of his clothes and their exceptional craftsmanship did, however, mark him as a wealthy man—perfect for infiltrating the symposium of a guileless young master.

Thus, the prince incognito began frequenting these conferences and gleaning precious information and gossip from the drunken fools who sought to boast of their knowledge and logos. Their fallacies were awful for entertainment, but Veritas was very grateful for how witless their lips were. All the news, rumours, and information passed around students and teachers alike were his for the taking: the rudimentary designs from which he would craft his weapon. From these anserine gatherings with peers a few years older than him he crafted a network of the politics of the kingdom: who sat behind and whispered to the magistrates; who supported the polemarch and just who was responsible for the military advancements of the archon in charge of armed forces; and finally, the influence of Aha and his siblings on the spread of the kingdom.

These were the preliminary preparations for investigating the ruling class of Metis.

Metageitnion was the month for thanksgiving. The seventh prince’s presence at the mess hall was nothing out of the ordinary, then, for the arid weather heralded festivities and games where his attendance was expected—if not mandated. As opportunistic as he was for information, he naturally assumed his place below his siblings: slightly sycophantic, yet assuredly not a threat.

Dried figs melted on his tongue—a mellifluous snack he’d consumed plenty of in his tower, but tasted especially cloying as praises flowed from his mouth like honeyed wine. His siblings, vain as they were, dangerous as they were, liked observing how their shunned brother cowed neatly before them. Though, the watered-down liquor they ingested was nowhere near enough to loosen their lips on matters of heresy; another span of days passed without gaining information. In its stead, he established himself as a vapid fool with no interest in scrabbling for the throne: a slippery, cowardly bastard who simply wasn’t worth the effort to kill off.

Had they paid attention to the glowing reports from his tutors, had they cared an iota for anyone but themselves, they might have noticed that his smarts didn’t just extend to backing off from the throne. Perhaps then, they would have surmised that the compliments and agreements uttered with his smiles were strategic more than anything.

But his tower was isolated from the main palace, and he was no more a danger than a caged bird.

A fool, just like the rest of them. Alas, his gormless act perhaps was a bit too convincing—the siblings in the know wouldn’t entrust state secrets to someone who appeared as imbecilic as he did. Nonetheless, they grew accustomed to seeing him, and his presence where they were no longer seemed unusual.

This was how Veritas tactically placed himself onto the petteia board as a piece that could no longer be overlooked.

Boedromion was a month of aid, so the prince decided to extend a hand to those seeking help in the assembly. From behind the scenes, he handpicked those he needed for his investigation: those who had the ear of the archon in charge of the military, those who worked in administrative wings of the palace, those who could be moulded into perfect aides for his siblings. He observed the strata unable to speak up, unable to assert themselves in the agora, unable to hold any sway of their own.

It was no altruism when he pulled them aside. Into their minds he painted himself as the benevolent saviour; the silver tongue who gave them their voice in the assembly back. In return, they turned themselves to pieces on his game board. Hence, he gained valuable information and more reliable rumours to investigate about the imperial family. Who to talk to, who to bribe, who to follow when the twin suns dipped below the horizon and the moon embraced the sky once more.

These were the new connections the seventh prince forged—a net far more sound than the ramshackle collection of drunken scholars and fools from the symposia.

Pyanopsion was the month of harvest, so his Highness watched his efforts fruit into an audience with Aha. The drunkard was shrewd—far too clever for someone rumoured to be an imbecile—therefore the seventh prince bowed before the sovereign and spoke no honeyed platitudes to THEM. When the king asked for his thoughts on the assembly, he answered honestly—and THEY guffawed with THEIR chalice in hand. When the king asked for his opinion of the people, he answered fraudulently—and THEY ruffled his amaranth locks with a hand that felt far too distant for a father.

What are people, if not tools for the Elation?

There is no greater joy for them than serving us on this grand stage.

Do you not agree, your Majesty?

Lie after lie dripped from his composed mouth. Even as he thought of the bright children running through sun-dappled streets, even as he thought of the beaming pedlars and their wares, even as he thought of the joy in the ordinary, mundane families he came across in the synoikiai—all these mentations came to a halt behind his expression. In those three sentences, his heart had hardened against THEM: as THEY smiled, as THEY affectionately broke bread with him, as THEY gestured for sweet wine to be poured into his cup.

The youngest prince was no longer a mere prince but Aha’s son; an acknowledgement that only served to disgust the youth further.

How vile.

And though his goal was reached, this was how the Elation successfully alienated itself to Veritas.

Maimakterion was the month of cold, and so the prince retreated to the stone palace for the first time since childhood. Past nightfall, he breached the lax security of the grand library and accessed its restricted section. All his manoeuvring, all his alliances and mind-numbing conversations—it was worth it to finally enter this place once more.

There, in a forgotten corner that seemed more sepulchral than even the mausoleum, the seventh prince found what he had searched for. Penned in faded ink that he could barely see even with the light enchantment, was proof of collusion between the imperial family and the so-called ‘heretics’.

This was the point in time where his Highness felt the most vindicated towards the venerable Sophos and THEIR mockery.

This was also the point in time where his Highness could no longer step off the path he had chosen.

“Do you think he can feel it?” The maiden idly twined threads past HER fingers, for it was far more entertaining to see a mortal walk towards his doom with a head held high. “Surely there must be some sense of ill portent.”

“The men most arrogant are least prepared for their end, Clotho,” the mother rebuked, but the syllables were about as harsh as spring butterflies—for SHE, too, anticipated the boy’s expression as he stared into the face of his own hamartia.

“Hubris!” the hag cackled, yet the tremble of HER deathly grin belied the ever-present tears that traced the weary lines of HER face. “What a terrible conclusion.”

For the Moirai, this fate was nothing more than a short-lived, tragic play.

And so, the month of Posideon passed quickly for both the three and the prince. The information inked into the yellowed scrolls was his proverbial labyrinthine thread, tugging his body to his salvation. Through the throngs of regular humans, his path was etched towards the harbingers of heresy: alchemists and their ilk.

Throughout these days, he hardly thought of Sophos Nous at all; yet the familiar sensation of exoneration remained. He would prove himself before THEM; he was ready to put Aha to trial in front of the assembly if need be.

The archontes were not infallible.

This fact applied to Aha especially.

When he probed those labelled as heretics, he was bitterly reminded that this wasn’t their fault. They were not the lawmakers, nor were they those with choice. Victims. Shackled to the Elation, their actions were akin to those of a puppet: pushed towards their day of reckoning by a force far superior to their own.

Thus, the seventh prince worked tirelessly. Through the short days, through the long nights—he toiled away in his tower. He compiled sets of arguments, practised endless logos, drafted out the evidence necessary to condemn those at fault within the upper echelons of Metis.

Gamelion came and went. Under the guise of a serving boy and some forbidden enchantments, Veritas walked the long stretches of the palace with nothing but worn sandals on his feet. He traced its ancient mosaics: memorising the old walkways and floor plans gifted by one of his acquaintances. For preparation was the friend of success, and the prince was nothing if not successful in his endeavours.

It all led up to this night—stepping into the room sequestered from any official floor plan.

“Look at him,” the maiden cooed. The spindle in HER cruel hands stilled momentarily—for a brief while, none were born. Though, this was an insignificant deviance in the tapestry of humanity: far too quick for anyone to realise. “Has he realised he’s out of his depth yet?”

“Hardly,” the matron scoffed. “He’s ablaze with self-righteous anger, as it were. Surely he could not have been ignorant of the sins on his own blood-kin’s hands?”

“Lachesis,” the hag warned. “Keep silent and enjoy the act.”

“Don’t tell me you feel sympathetic, Atropos?” the mother sneered, for it was ludicrous that the Moirai felt any sort of attachment to humanity. To fairly allot, the reason for THEIR very existence, was no longer possible if any bias was introduced to any of them.

“Hardly,” the crone muttered. HER sentimentality would not affect HER role in this universe; just as it had been before, and as it would be after, HER shears would continue their severing of life from humans.

The three were rapt as the prince gazed around the hall. Every turbulent beat of his heart, every miniscule grit of his molars, every bitter fist his sinuous hands made—all of his reactions were carefully documented, since a tragic hero like him had not been observed for an age and then some.

It was by no means a modest room. The circumference of the marble spanned the equivalent of the large temple dedicated to the Elation, propped up by frieze-decorated columns. Stone reliefs etched into the walls depicted the rise of his lineage; they were intertwined with a sickening repertoire of mythos that they had no place against. Heroes of the old gleamed bright against his family’s wickedness—so utterly out of place he couldn’t help but gaze foully at the castings.

Turned yonder, and the door through which he came glinted with the tell-tale light of an enchantment: a rippling string of formulae that indicated the space warping which enveloped this place. Yes, although the archon had expressly forbidden use of enchantments, they clearly had no qualms about taking the knowledge for their own gain.

For the Elation is above the law.

Past the vast anteroom was another door; this one, too, distended and undulated under his piercing gaze. Or rather, the silent movement of his mouth as he shattered its illusions and breached its innermost chamber—and this one was the one which struck him still.

The seventh prince could only watch, horrified, as the expanse of terror unfolded before him. There was no escape from the sight, not unless his eyes were plucked out of his skull.

Aeons.

There was no space unblemished by golden cadavers. Cadavers, for statues surely wouldn’t possess faces distorted in crazed screams and bodies contorted in the most despicable of agonies. Cadavers, for surely their pain had ended—he prayed they were dead within their metallic shell, he prayed their souls had departed the material world, he prayed that his presence didn’t disturb their rest any further.

Bile rested bitter in his mouth, and he struggled not to let the acrid film swirl into vomit—for his stomach churned and his palms grew clammy at the sight.

These were the supposed threats to the Elation—innocents whose only crime had been to be against the tyranny of his family.

For their dissent, they’d been dipped in molten gold—either dying through the intense heat, or slowly withering away as the alchemy chipped away at their flesh.

Both options were equally horrifying. The seventh prince’s vision swam, and he barely made it back to his tower before his legs finally gave out.

Yes, the prince had gained the knowledge he finally needed to take down his family, but at what cost?

Deep inside, he already knew the heavy feeling in his heart was the price he was beginning to pay.

If only he knew the fate allotted to him at the end of this thorny path.

Anthesterion trickled by slow as a fat bee. Sluggish. Every second was prolonged, every moment was accompanied by his racing pulse and adrenaline-stricken brain. No longer did he need to act the cowed prince—for before his siblings, his mouth grew dry and his pupils constricted into mere pinpricks.

When he glanced at his sister, he saw the golden woman who’d wept with her body curled in on herself: shoulders hunched to her ears, hands sharpened into desperate claws (gouging at her flesh, since everyone knew pain nullified pain—and what greater anguish was there than losing your very body to aureate?). She’d writhed in her last moments; the harrowing movements had sent shockwaves all throughout the security enchantments.

He could taste her tears.

When he stared at his three brothers, he also stared at the man who had ripped off his own arm to escape his inescapable fate. He stared at the blood that had pooled like gilt on the marble floor, for not even his most ardent lifeblood could evade the disgusting talons of his kin. He stared at the expression of horror the man had: eyes bulging out of their sockets, mouth twisted to an excruciating scream, and a wretched gaze afflicting him.

He could feel the oily sanguine dripping from his own hands.

He could no longer escape his siblings either.

They relished in the iron grip they had over the city. They revelled in the generated fear. They savoured their long talks—talks which Veritas was now privy to, talks in which he did his best not to heave up the fruit in his stomach and the bilious film that now perpetually dwelled on his tongue. He was reviled, but they indulged in their craving for petrification with a particular sapidity that broke him down—over and over and over until he could no longer smell anything that didn’t carry the stench of copper.

That was perhaps the month in which the seventh prince grew the most ill.

Elaphebolion trailed its ghostly fingers around his neck like a noose. He grew careless in his haste to put his family before trial: left too many loose ends, made too many connections, and drew the attention of far too many eyes.

It didn’t take long for his tower to truly become the cage of his metaphor.

No, it took less than three days from his last meeting with an informant to find the door to his tower securely locked. Overnight, while the seventh prince restlessly slumbered, wrought bars enclosed his windows in one final trap.

Thus, the prince was prince no longer, but a bird with its wings clipped forevermore.

But that was not the end of it—for if it was, his life-thread would not have been seeped with the bloodiest of carmines.

Mounichion was when Aha finally came to visit THEIR wayward son.

Join me, THEY offered—though Veritas knew THEIR proffered hand was no salvation, but puppet strings that would attach to his own. For the ceaseless entertainment of the Elation, this was perhaps the greatest mercy Aha could extend: to become a dull marionette in this gilded cage until only his bones were strung up for all to ridicule.

And when THEIR son’s incensed gaze did not waver, THEY sighed.

Maddened with grief, boy? THEY mocked the look in his irises—once as bright and sweet as cherries, now dulled to the hue of dried blood.

Kill me, those numbed eyes seemed to respond—but futilely, the youth wanted to live.

“I’ve something much better, son.”

Mounichion was thus the month of confinement, where Aha planted a short-lived weed of hope that sprung up in the cracks of the prince’s heart—and withered just as quickly.

Thar-gelion was when Veritas avoided death, but lost many things in return.

It had started off small. His vision began to blur somewhat, but he chalked it to confinement in his tower. Even when he crafted himself ocular lenses and fitfully forced himself to sleep in the topmost room, there were moments in which the edges of his sight faded and greyed with a frequency that slowly increased.

He browsed anatomical manuscripts. When the light from the twin Suns was particularly dim, he struck the oil-lamps with crude enchantments and perused their words as though they held the key to his answers—yet the lack of solutions was not enough to alarm him.

It should’ve been.

His sense of smell was next to mute, though this was a far more subtle difference than his sight. Being confined to a particular area would obviously force one to grow accustomed to its ins and outs—including the odours and various scents of it. It wasn’t a problem, until one day Veritas Ratio noticed he could no longer quite smell the papery fragrance of his scrolls, nor the rich tang of his ink.

Yet still, he ignored the warning signs. After all, he was preparing for his eventual execution.

Naturally, his taste palate, too, had dulled due to his weakening olfactory sense. Although, this loss was far less profound than one might have anticipated—but it made all too much sense if one took into consideration his status as a prince awaiting judgement. Feed him enough so he survives. A few pieces of flatbread, some cheese, and one or two bruised handfuls of dried fruits were dropped through the bars daily—along with a skin of sour wine—much like feeding a wild bird when it had not yet been tamed enough for the door to open. These various foodstuffs were bland enough that it wouldn’t have made a difference if he could taste either way.

Thus, the prince simply did not notice this sense fading.

The next sense to take leave was his hearing, and this time he did feel the difference. His balance was affected, though he surmised that was due to the lack of nutrients his body received. But when the fragile rustle of paper against his fingers stopped registering; when the tell-tale thump of his heart in the silence of his room grew silent; when he could no longer hear his own neurotic waves of breathing—this was when the seventh prince realised something was dreadfully wrong.

He’d screamed himself hoarse, tearing at his skin with his nails to wake from this forsaken dream—only to no longer feel his crescent nails digging into flesh.

No. No.

Air came shallow to the prince as his fading eyes desperately fixated on the blood welled on his arms. He could not feel the wounds. He could not smell the metallic crimson dripping in rivulets. He could not hear the hasty, panicked breaths and his racing pulse. And finally, when he put his mouth to staunch the flow, he could not taste the acrid tang on his palate either.

And so, the prince spent the month of Thar-gelion slowly losing his mind.

Skirophorion was when it came to a bitter end.

In those days, His Highness barely left his bed. Sleep was now the only respite; he could no longer read his books, he could no longer pore over his beloved tools, and he could no longer support his weakening body. Any meals were now delivered far more sporadically; alas, the prince rarely ever ate.

Death was imminent.

His mind had long since given up, and his body was sure to follow.

Any day now. Veritas could only count the seconds, the minutes and the hours—no longer could the youth cross the days off, not when his joints and limbs had petrified.

Death was a mercy the prince would not receive.

It was when Aha next visited THEIR son at the tower that Veritas truly learnt of the state he was in.

No, he was no longer at his tower. That was a lie—a last comfort afforded to the prince.

Poor child, all of this suffering could have been avoided, Aha’s message burst bright in his dulled mind. He thought he felt his index finger twitch.

Would you like to see what you look like? The golden impression faded, as though Aha was waiting for the prince to answer. Well, I suppose you can’t answer either way.

A sort of horrified fascination lingered in the scholar’s mind. Had his flesh, too, been transmuted to an aureate statue?

Did you think you’d join your people as one of MY sculptures? The question shook sympathetically, or maybe it was a dry laugh as the king looked on at THEIR pitiful son.

No, child, you deserve a tragic end befitting MY line.

And thus, the youth blindly awaited his judgement.

Death shall never end thee, for madness will be thy salvation.

No longer did he sense Aha’s presence.

Rather, one last image was transmitted through the king’s enchantment—a cliffside, in which Veritas could faintly see his own features carved into the rock. Then, nothing.

The stone smoothed out, and his image was struck from history forevermore.

. 　⁺ ✦

When the next Day of Silence came and went, the prince was truly mute. He had no mouth, after all—so not a scream left him.

The only thing he had left were his thoughts: one last, final burden.

Is this the cost YOU foresaw, Nous?

Veritas Ratio’s arrogance was no more. And so, the prince’s story came to a swift, acrimonious end. No, not end, for that implied that he was not shackled to limbo. Bound to neither gold nor a statue, he would spend the rest of time waiting to be purified of his sins—for gold was finality. Gold was the most sacrosanct form of death he had not been afforded.

And as the prince continued to count away the seconds, the minutes, the hours and eventually the years which trickled past in the hourglass, only insanity awaited him.

This was the tale of the seventh prince; an elegy hidden from the footnotes of history.

Within the game Lament of Ouroboros, his sorrows were summarised thusly:

A strangely warm vein of ore.

Hero, come here when dusk kisses the edge of the Borderlands. As your palm brushes against the rock, you may be able to feel the pulse of a slumbering prince.

Three sentences were all that was afforded to the disgraced prince, forgotten to all but the Moirai.

Three sentences were how his tragedy was retold.

Three sentences, a final insult to the most pitiful of princes.

. 　⁺ ✦

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geekcavepodcast · 4 months ago

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"Predator: Black, White & Blood" Announced

Marvel's latest Black, White & Blood comic will showcase violent and terrifying hunts featuring Predators.

Predator: Black, White & Blood #1 tells three tales.

Writer Joe Kelly and artist Álvaro López shows a young Predator out to prove himself in the Australian frontier. His hunt takes a turn when he runs into a group of humans from a convict colony, changing everyone's lives.

Writer Eliot Rahal and artist Brian Level mixes the Predator's space-age technology with swords and sorcery in a retelling of Arthurian legend.

Writer Sarah Gailey and artist Fran Galán's tale tests Yautja's honor code when a Predator infiltrates an international weapons industry conference.

Predator: Black, White & Blood #1 (of 4) goes on sale on May 21, 2025. The debut issue features a main cover by Simone Di Meo and variant covers by Paolo Villanelli and Mahmud Asrar.

(Image via Marvel Comics - Simone Di Meo's Cover of Predator: Black, White & Blood #1)

#predator #predator black white and blood #marvel black white and blood #black white & blood #joe kelly #alvaro lopez #eliot rahal #brian level #sarah gailey #fran galan #simone di meo #yautja #marvel comics #20th century studios #TGCLiz

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embarrassedanon · 11 days ago

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FOR INTERNAL USE ONLY TO: Whispering Winds Resort & Spa Human Resources FROM: Vincent Mora, Junior Croupier SUBJECT: Documentation of "Embarrassing Naked Moment" at Roulette Table I should start by saying this was not my fault. I genuinely have no idea how this happened which scares me a bit because it could easily happen again. A guest was stripped completely by my roulette wheel.

I was hosting the entire C-suite of Calder & Aims, the firm in for the conference last week, at my roulette table. Things had been going great all night. Lively bunch, six or seven guys in their 40s, all in impeccable suits. They were drinking quite a bit, but not too rowdy. They tipped great and were as respectful as you can expect from these guys.

At one point, Mr. Caroll, who I now know is the CFO, lost handedly. He banged both fists on the table in a sort of comic display of his frustration. I wasn't too thrown by it but this must have been when microscopic loose threads in his suit got caught up in the roulette wheel.

He made a pretty serious bet on the next round, determined to show he wasn't phased by his loss. When I spun the wheel that's when everything got crazy. In the blink of the spinning wheel pulled at all the threads of his suit. In a matter of seconds his belt hit the floor with a loud clang and he was left in nothing but his shoes, socks, and tie around his neck. Evidently Mr. Caroll picked an inauspicious day to forego underwear.

My training kicked in an instant. I yelled code blush to all the dealers and bartenders on the casino floor. It was so loud with all the slot machines and music that it took a while for people to hear me and react. This was where I think we lost control. The lag to get people over to my table, was just enough time for all of Mr. Caroll's colleagues to react to what just happened. And react they did. If the other staff couldn't hear me over the slot machines, the raucous laughter certainly didn't help.

From the group's reactions, I take it Mr. Caroll sees himself as the big swinging dick over at Calder & Aims. Judging from what was on display, that may be how he acts in the board room but certainly not in the bedroom. I know we keep the air conditioning blasting in the casino and pump in fresh oxygen, but I don't think we could fully be blamed for what he was, or rather, wasn't showing off.

The laughter and now pointing was so severe that I knew I couldn't wait for other staff to assist me with a huddle. I ran from behind my table, attempting a one man huddle until help arrived. Mr. Caroll's colleagues were quick to point out that although I covered his minuscule manhood, his backside remained exposed. Too busy covering his front, I didn't see it firsthand but their comments led me to believe that it was far hairy and more dimpled than any of their own more manicured and pert bottoms. It also seems like Mr. Caroll was shaking a bit from nerves that caused a jiggling they found particularly funny.

After what felt like ages to me and eons to Mr. Caroll I'm sure, several other croupiers arrived and we were able to build a solid huddle around him.

I went to work quickly tell him that he was ok and no more embarrassment would befall him now. He was completely despondent.

"I'll have to quit my job. My wife is going to leave me. I can't believe this is happening." He kept rattling off versions of these sentiments.

Eager to move him out of the environment, I said "Sir let's get you somewhere more private." "My life is ruined" was all he could muster as a response. I knew he'd be no help in getting us out of there so I took charge with my colleagues. We began slowly moving our huddle and he wasn't so stunned as to not follow us.

He had no spare clothes with him on the casino floor so we had to return to his room. His room key was destroyed in the carnage to his suit so our huddle did have to make a pit stop in the lobby which was unfortunate.

I kept using all the phrases you gave us to assuage him, but he was truly rattled by this. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so embarrassed. I kept saying "It wasn't that bad." But we both knew I was lying.

Once we got him safely in his room, all of us from the Casino floor called maintenance to come look at the roulette wheels. If that could happen to a guest, it's bound to happen to us guys who spend all day at the wheel. I knew I was lying when I said "it wasn't that bad." If that happened to me I'd quit. We need someone to fix that, pronto.

#enmstory #my writing #SHAME

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felassan · 5 months ago

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Business Wire: 'Electronic Arts Pre-Announces Preliminary Q3 FY25 Results'

"REDWOOD CITY, Calif.--(BUSINESS WIRE)--Electronic Arts Inc. (NASDAQ: EA) today announced preliminary results for the third fiscal quarter and a revised outlook for the fiscal year ending March 31, 2025. Business Outlook as of January 22, 2025 EA’s initial guidance for fiscal year 2025 anticipated mid-single-digit growth in live services net bookings1. However, the company now projects a mid-single-digit decline, with Global Football accounting for the majority of the change. Global Football had experienced two consecutive fiscal years of double-digit net bookings growth. However, the franchise experienced a slowdown as early momentum in the fiscal third quarter did not sustain through to the end. As a result, EA revises its outlook for Global Football to end the fiscal year down mid-single-digit at the midpoint of the new outlook. Separately, Dragon Age engaged approximately 1.5 million players during the quarter, down nearly 50% from the company’s expectations. As a result, EA is providing preliminary results for its third fiscal quarter and updating its fiscal year 2025 net bookings outlook. It now expects net bookings of approximately $2.215 billion for the third fiscal quarter and an updated range of $7.000 billion to $7.150 billion for fiscal year 2025. For its third fiscal quarter, EA now expects GAAP net revenue to be approximately $1.883 billion and approximately $1.11 in GAAP diluted earnings per share. “During Q3, we continued to deliver high-quality games and experiences across our portfolio; however, Dragon Age and EA SPORTS FC 25 underperformed our net bookings expectations,” said Andrew Wilson, CEO of EA. “This month, our teams delivered a comprehensive gameplay refresh in addition to our annual Team of the Year update in FC 25; positive player feedback and early results are encouraging. We remain confident in our long-term strategy and expect a return to growth in FY26, as we execute against our pipeline.” “We continue to balance investment for future growth with operational discipline, and remain committed to EA’s long-term financial framework,” said Stuart Canfield, CFO of EA. “As we look to FY26, we expect to grow as we launch more of our iconic franchises.” EA will announce its results for the third fiscal quarter ending December 31, 2024 on February 4th, 2025 and will host a conference call at 2:00 pm PT (5:00 pm ET) to discuss its quarterly results and financial outlook. Listeners may access the conference call live via a dial-in number or audio webcast."

"Tuesday, February 4, 2025 2:00 pm Pacific Time (5:00 pm Eastern Time) Dial-in numbers: Domestic: (855) 761-5600; International: (646) 307-1097 Conference ID: 5939891 Webcast: http://ir.ea.com"

"EA’s financial results release will be available after the close of market on February 4, 2025 on EA’s website at http://ir.ea.com. A dial-in replay of the conference call will be available until February 11, 2025 at (800) 770-2030 (domestic) or (609) 800-9909 (international) using pin code 5939891. An audio webcast replay of the conference call will be available for one year at http://ir.ea.com. Forward-Looking Statements Some statements set forth in this release, including the information relating to EA’s expectations under the heading “Business Outlook as of January 22, 2025” are forward-looking statements that are subject to change. These forward-looking statements are current as of January 22, 2025. These forward-looking statements are not guarantees of future performance and reflect management’s current expectations. Actual results could differ materially from those discussed in the forward-looking statements. Factors that might cause or contribute to such differences include those discussed in Part II, Item 1A of Electronic Arts’ latest Quarterly Report on Form 10-Q under the heading “Risk Factors”, as well as in other documents EA has filed with the Securities and Exchange Commission, including its Annual Report on Form 10-K for the fiscal year ended March 31, 2024. EA assumes no obligation to revise or update any forward-looking statement, except as required by law. In addition, the preliminary results set forth in this release are estimates based on information currently available to EA. While EA believes these estimates are meaningful, they could differ from the actual amounts that EA ultimately reports in its Quarterly Report on Form 10-Q for the fiscal quarter ended December 31, 2024."

[source]

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #mass effect #mass effect 5 #dragon age 5 #video games #long post #longpost

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autumnalal · 23 days ago

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i have a possible resource to share for my chronically ill, disabled folk, especially those who may be living with dysautonomia! 'tis the season for conferences, many of which are difficult or impossible for us homebound or flare-prone, and i discovered a newer dysautonomia organization called Awareness for POTSies is having a virtual conference on june 6-7th, running from 12:00-7:30 PM (EST) both days. i found out at least one of the speakers is also speaking at the Dysautonomia International Conference, so that's cool. most of the folks speaking are medical professionals passionate about dysautonomia and related conditions, and many of those have some of these conditions themselves.

registration at full price is $10 but if you're in a bind, they're offering a discount code to register for $5.

some of the sessions will be on things like POTS, Long Covid, ME/CFS, MCAS, EDS, as well as more useful stuff like pacing, occupational therapy, medical gaslighting and more. again it’s all virtual, and they're recording sessions so if you're flaring or in a different time zone you can watch them later up to 3 months afterwards. all the info is on their website, including the agenda, speakers, and registration! https://www.awarenessforpotsies.org/conference

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sleepyfan-blog · 1 year ago

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Sabotage Most Foul

Author’s note: This was written for the July challenge by @au-roulette. Crossposted on AO3 here. This is for the fill Coffee Shop!

Tagged:��@egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @whorety-k @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @i-am-a-dragon34

Word count: 5,762

Warnings: sabotage, blackmail, mentioned medical issues, mentioned self-image issues, nonconsensual sedation, mentioned capital punishment, banishment

Summary: When it’s reported that all of the recaf machines on the fourth deck of Maccrage’s Honor have all stopped working at once, it is suspected that they have been sabotaged. Zalthes, Battle brother of the second company of Ultramarines, has been set to the task of investigating who did it and to bring them before the Primarch and captains for justice.

"Good, you're here Zalthes." Captain Alcaeus stated, gesturing for the younger Ultramarine to come into his office. The second company captain looked bleary-eyed and seemed to be having a small amount of difficulties focusing.

Alarm shot through Zalthes as he stepped in, silently assessing his superior officer "Yes sir..." He did not catch the distinctive earthy scent of the other's morning caf, nor did he see the usual mug he almost always had either in hand or on his desk at the start of his shifts. "The message calling me here was marked urgent?"

"Yes. Twenty minutes ago it was reported that all of the recaf machines on the fourth deck are broken. At the same time. There is concern that this is a deliberate sabotage attempt. All nine of the serfs who work with the recaf machines have been brought into separate meeting rooms and are being monitored. I am charging you with the task of finding out if any of them were responsible for the damage done to the recaf machines and to bring them to justice. If you are unable to do so..." The captain winced a little, shaking his head "Given the mood that our Gene-sire is in, it's likely that he'll have all nine of them publicly servitorized."

Zalthes winced internally at that. Primarch Guilliman tended to avoid using servitorization as a public punishment due to the fears and anxieties that such punishments caused among the mortals who lived and worked upon Maccrage's Honor. But the fact that this was a potential sabotage attempt was deeply concerning. While the recaf machines weren't necessarily critical to the functioning of the ship, the fact that they had done this so brazenly meant that the saboteurs - or whoever had sent the saboteur or saboteurs were preparing to go after more critical pieces of equipment, should their agents be able to successfully evade notice and capture. "Yes sir. Have the on-board saboteur protocols been enacted?"

They were a series of security protocols that everyone on board was to follow, should a saboteur be found or suspected to have infiltrated aboard the ship. It included but was not limited to heightened security around critical areas of the ship the use of coded phrases when entering and leaving certain areas of the ship, and an increased vigilance when it came to off-duty hours activities of all aboard the affected vessel - and if the vessel was traveling in a fleet, the entire Ultramarine fleet, as it could be assumed that where there was one saboteur there could be more. It was part of the standard training that all of those who worked and lived aboard Ultramarine vessels received once they were assigned to a specific ship.

"It has. May you find the snake hiding in the grass quickly." Alcaeus answered, dismissing him with a flick of one hand, staring down blearily at the top dataslate on his desk. He had several huge stacks of dataslates neatly stacked on his desk. "I have just transmitted to you which conference rooms that the serfs are being held in. I suggest that you speak to each of them individually before reviewing the evidence that has been collected at the scene and by the cameras, to avoid any bias."

"Yes sir!" Zalthes answered, saluting his captain before turning on his heel and heading off to the nearest conference room.

It did not take Zalthes long to arrive at one of the conference rooms where one of the possible suspects was being held. He nodded politely to the two mortals who had been posted on the outside of the door as guards and called out "Good morning, gentlemen. I have business inside to attend to." As he spoke, he signed the correct entrance gestures, and waited for the two of them to respond in kind.

Both of the guards nodded, signing the correct responses as they answered out loud "Good morning, my lord."

As was correct, the guard on the right pressed the button for the door to open and Zalthes walked into the room to find a half-asleep serf sitting on one of the chairs. They were wearing off-duty garments typical of their ranking and were slumped forwards in the seat that they had taken, arms folded on the table in front of them, face down and resting against their folded arms. Their breathing was light and even, though they'd jerked a little in response to the sound of the door opening, head shifting so that they could peer up at him through their thick and curly dark hair.

It seemed to take the serf several seconds to process that they were almost napping in front of an Ultramarine. Zalthes could tell the exact moment that they'd processed it from the sudden tensing of their body and the near-silent swearing as they hurriedly sat up properly, pushing their hair out of their face "My lord angel! My apologies for being asleep while you entered. I typically work third shift and had been woken up and brought here from my bunk and it's been difficult for me to try and fully awaken while waiting for... I wasn't told why I was brought here, as a matter of fact."

Zalthes hummed in acknowledgement, carefully looking the serf over carefully as he state "I am here to ascertain your whereabouts for the past couple of hours. A small but important issue has come up in the place where you work, and I have been chosen to figure out who is responsible."

"I've been sleeping for the past three hours sir. Before that I spent an hour eating my late-meal ration with my wife and spouse, did some tidying up of our shared room and helped our children with their assigned work, my lord. My wife and spouse can attest to the fact that we were all resting together... Err, do you need earlier than that?" The dark, curly-haired serf asked, blinking tiredly up at him.

"I will need to speak with your spouses about your whereabouts in order to verify your words." Zalthes answers. But he could detect no hints of deception from the other. Their heartbeat and breathing were steady, their body posture showed their confusion and exhaustion, but no unaccounted for tension or distress.

"Yes sir. If you want I can call them? They went back to sleep after I was called in, s' far as I know, sir." They offer, equal parts baffled and willing to do whatever was required of them.

"Do so now." Zalthes orders them.

As he had suspected, both of Zm Tay'lish's partners had been able to confirm that zey had been where zey had said that zey had been. Footage from the connecting hallways also proved that Tay'lish had arrived home when zey had said zey had, and had not left until the Auxilla guards had come to fetch them, hours later.

Zalthes internally marked them as unlikely to be the saboteur, and continued to where the second serf was being held. After speaking with them, he continued to talk with each of the Recaf dispensing serfs, steadily whittling down his list of potential suspects based on their reactions as well as the video evidence of who was where, when. He had narrowed down his initial list of suspects from nine to two - possibly three, as one of the serfs he had spoken to was unusually nervous, despite having a good alibi that he had been nowhere near the recaf machines in the window of time it was most likely that the recaf machines had been sabotaged. It was possible that one, two or all three of them were in on it, which was why he was going to press each of them on their accounting of what they had been doing.

He was going in to speak with the first of his suspects was a serf by the name of Remy. He had oculocutaneous albinism and was strikingly pale as a result of that. "My lord?" He called out as Zalthes entered the room again, looking wan and uncertain.

"I have found some discrepancies between what you said happened, and what actually happened according to both the ships' logs of the area and the internal cameras. You stated that you left the fourth deck recaf station at the end of your shift.This was not entirely correct, as you left ten minutes before the end of your shift, moving at a speed that was very nearly a run through the serf's corridors until you went out of sight of the cameras. Care to explain why you left early and where you were going?" Zalthes asked, staring at the baseline human, waiting for a response.

Remy swallowed and shifted uncertainly in their chair, briefly looking up at him before looking away again "Must I go into specifics?"

"Yes. You are suspected of sabotage. You either tell me what you were doing, or I bring you before the Primarch and you give Him an account of what you were doing then." Zalthes answered bluntly, allowing his eyes to narrow slightly at the mortal, waiting for their response.

Remy visibly wilted at that, hunching in on themself and swallowing. They wrap their arms around their midsection and rock back and forth a little, their heart beating rapidly as the scent of fear and shame stung his nose "I... I had a medical issue come up, just at the end of my shift. In addition to being an albino, I have a really bad intestinal issues that flareup from time to time that require medical treatment to prevent it from getting worse. I felt the flareup start at the end of my shift and had to rush off before I... I made a horrible mess all over the floor over the recaf distribution area's floor." red flooded their pale, nearly translucent cheeks and they ducked their head in shame. "If you doubt my words, I was tended to by Apothecary Listerius. He can corroborate that I was in treatment for over an hour."

Zalthes allowed the stern but neutral expression on his face to soften into something more compassionate, and his voice to gentle "Thank you for telling me the truth. Had you told me this the first time we spoke, you would have been able to leave sooner. I will vox with Apothecary Listerius to corroborate your story."

"Yes sir. I just... Its' difficult for me to speak of this... This condition of mine." Remy explained, calming down, though still unable to look at him directly in the eyes.

Zalthes voxxed the Brother Apothecary and sent a written recounting of Serf Remy's most recent treatments, making to mark the request as an urgent one. He got an answering ping less than a minute later, and read over the summary of treatment, which included the time and date, as well as an overview of what had been done and how long the treatments took. "Brother Listerius has corroborated your story. Before I allow you to leave, I will ask you again; did you notice anything strange or unusual during your shift? Were any of the machines acting oddly before you left?"

"I... Uhm... Not really? I mean. I did notice that one of the Lord Angels was frequently visiting the recaf station. Like once every half an hour and requested another cup, but I thought that he was merely getting recaf for some of his fellow Lord Angels who may have already used up their allotment of recaf before resupply is in. That happens quite often, actually. He didn't have any specific markings or heraldry as to which of the companies he belonged to, so I assumed that he had been recently promoted from scout to full battle brother. The machines were working as intended before I left." Remy answered, frowning a little in thought.

"Did this battle brother identify himself?" Zalthes asked, frowning a little at that.

"I don't know, I usually work in the back, making the pastries and sandwiches that are on offer as well. My... The sight of me can be... Off-putting for many." Remy admits, shame burning their cheeks once again. "Rowan was on ident-check for first-shift."

The Ultramarine nodded "Thank you for your cooperation. I will speak with her about that. You are dismissed."

"Thank you, my lord." Remy sighs, sagging a little in the seat they were in before getting up and leaving.

Zalthes left a moment or two later, asking one of the auxilla to fetch recaf serf Rowan as he went to go speak with his second suspect.

Averich fidgeted a little under Zalthes' scrutiny, but he waited to be directly addressed by the Lord Angel who was observing him.

Zalthes cleared his throat and stated "You were the one to report that all of the recaf machines on the fourth floor were broken, correct?"

"Yes sir. As far as I know, I was the first one of the three of us who work the middle shift to arrive. None of the serfs who work the first shift were there, which was a little odd, but since Remy's the one who usually works until the close of the first shift, I wasn't terribly surprised. They've got a stomach thing that flares up sometimes that they need to take care of and-" Averich abruptly stopped speaking, shifting a little in his seat "But that's not what you're interested in, right sir? You want to know about the recaf machines. I wish I could tell you more about them, but I... I'm still in training on how to properly use those machines and learning on the different kinds of recaf that can be made, my lord. Twenty minutes before the end of first shift they're supposed to turn the recaf machines off, to allow them time to cool down and reset, since they're usually in use pretty much all the time... Sometimes the machine spirits within them get grumpy if they weren't shut down properly, or if you're off-key when singing the hymn of awakening as they're turned on, sir. It took me about half an hour to figure out that something was wrong with the machines, rather than anything I had done - or not done - in order to get them on and in proper working order. When I realized all of them were broken, I called it in."

"... I see. There are ways to discover whether or not you are newly assigned to working at the recaf station. If I find that you are hiding something or misleading me in any way..." Zalthes hummed, keeping his face a pleasantly neutral expression appearing on his face "Given the fact that there are concerns that this may have been done deliberately, the judging of any act of sabotage on Maccrage's Honor and sentencing is done by the highest ranking officer of the Imperium on the vessel. Which would be the Lord Primarch himself. Is there anything else that you'd like to tell me about your accounting of your actions during the start of your shift? Apart from the damaged recaf machines, did you notice anything out of order, something misplaced, any oddities whatsoever?" The babbling from the serf was a definite sign of anxiety, as was the fidgeting with his hands, but it didn't necessarily indicate that he was guitly of anything. Particularly if it was true that he had been recently assigned to a position where he would have regular contact with astartes and higher-ranked baseline human warriors as well.

Averich fidgets a little again, a frown of concentration appearing on the serf's face. He closed his eyes, muttering to himself, a very similar recounting of what he had been doing since the moment he had woken up in his assigned cot. "Oh! I had been sent a message by Kai, saying that she was going to be late to shift. She didn't say why. I think I told you that last time? But it's not that I was trying to hide that if I hadn't. I just didn't remember until now, my lord..."

"Did you keep the message on your vox?" Zalthes asked. If he had deleted the message, it would be a relatively simple thing to retrieve the message, if it existed.

"Yes? It's not like I had a reason to delete it, my lord. Would you like to check for yourself? They took everything out of my pockets when they brought me in here, lord, but one of the guards should have my vox, sir." Averich answers, seemingly earnest.

"Very well. I will." Zalthes answers "Stay in this room for now. Your story will be checked for veracity as much as can be determined." With that he left the room to acquire the serf's vox.

Sure enough, there was a message from someone who was at least using Serf Kai's vox stating that they would be late to their shift. Which was interesting, given what Kai had already said... Time to speak with Kai again.

Kai was, like the other serfs, nervous. Similar to Averich, they were fidgety. Unlike the others, there were discrepancies in the first story that they had told Zalthes and the video evidence and the eye-witness accounts of when other serfs saw them out and about the ship before and after the time-window where the sabotage had to have happened to the recaf machines. While Zalthes was keenly aware of the fact that eyewitness testimony was unreliable to the point where it was inadmissible as the only evidence for certain kinds of crime within the realm of Ultramar (though eyewitness testimony could and had damned the allegedly guilty in other areas of the Imperium). Zalthes watched as they shifted from side to side a little in their seat.

Unlike the other serfs, Kai alternated between giving him a little too much eye contact while they had spoken to the first time, interspersed with long periods of no eye contact whatsoever. This particular serf was also hunched over, arms crossed defensively over their chest as Zalthes walked into the room again. He was holding Kai's vox in one hand and walked around the meeting room table that had been between himself and the serf. He did not stop moving until he sat down in the chair next to the serf. He very carefully set down the baseline-sized communicator on the table between himself and the serf.

As before, his helmet was off, and he wasn't in his armor, but rather a deliberately semi-casual toga that he had changed into in order to seem more approachable and slightly less threatening during the interrogations. "Do you recognize this vox communicator?" He asked, starting off easy, gently.

"Yes sir. It's mine." Kai answered immediately, having glanced at it briefly.

"And, apart from when it was on the charging stand in your room, and when the guards outside the door took everything from your pockets, it's been on your person since you woke up for your shift today, correct?" Zalthes asked, curious as to whether or not the other was going to challenge that statement, or stand by what they had said before.

"That's correct sir." Kai answered, nodding a little.

"Please state for the record, when your second shifts start." Zalthes encouraged, giving them a little smile of encouragement, and to hopefully get them to relax.

"Fourteen hundred thirty, sir. We're supposed to arrive a half hour before the recaf station re-opens in order to get any cleaning or last-minute set up completed." Kai answers, again that answer was correct.

"And where were you at fourteen hundred thirty hours today?" Zalthes asked.

"I... was in bed, sir. I slept through my alarms and was just starting to wake up. I realized that I was going to be running late, so I texted Remy and Alexius that I was going to be late. I then shoved a ration bar down my throat and got dressed as fast as I could. It was about fourteen fifty when I reached the re-caf spot and found out that it was closed down, due to the investigation, sir. Or at least, about then, sir. I didn't check my chronometer for the exact time, sir." Kai answered, voice shaking just a little as they look at their vox as they speak.

"Fascinating. You do realize that lying to me, as the lead investigator on this case is a crime in and of itself, correct? And with the damage done to all of the recaf machines, this has been labeled a sabotage case. The Primarch takes a very dim view to saboteurs and traitors. Particularly ones who lie as badly as you do." Zalthes presses, leaning in closer to the mortal, grabbing their chin between his thumb and forefinger "You either tell me the truth, or I bring you before the Lord of Ultramar."

"Wh-What? I-I'm... I'm n-not-" The serf feebly started to lie.

Zalthes clicks his tongue, shaking his head a little as he tightens his grip ever so slightly on the serf's jaw. Not enough to bruise, but enough to catch their attention and to still their lying tongue "Alexius' and Remy's vox communicator were both checked for messages from you during that time period. Neither one of them received anything. A vox message from this communicator was, however, sent to Averich, the trainee, stating that you would be late... Twenty-minutes before you claim to have been awake this morning. We also have video evidence of you leaving the serf quarters fifteen minutes before your alleged wake up time. Again, I ask you for the truth. Tell me what you were doing, truly. There is absolution in confession, even though I am not a Chaplain."

"I... I... What does it matter? I am damned either way!" Kai wails, starting to sob into his hand, tears warm and wet and freely flowing down their face.

"What do you mean by that?" Zalthes pressed, tasting the beginnings of victory. But he needed a full confession. He needed the why, not just the who.

"I... Last time we were planetside for... For leave, I got... I got drunk with a bunch of other serfs. we were... We were talking with some of the locals, who were curious about what it was that we do. So we started talking about what it's like to serve the Angels of the imperium. M-Most of what we said was what we were supposed to, but they kept buying us more and more drinks and..." Kai looked guilty and haunted "I apparently said some things that I really shouldn't have. I don't remember saying anything like that but I was... I was approached by a very strikingly handsome, teal-eyed stranger in the morning, while I was stumbling around trying to recover from my hangover. He had recordings of me saying... Less than flattering things about my masters, and pointed out that such things could... Could get me killed or worse if it was spread around. All he said he wanted was passage to the next solar system that Maccrage's Honor was headed to, but he said that he didn't have the credits to pay for passage... He talked me into smuggling him into the serf's' quarters. That was... That was two weeks ago."

Zalthes' grip on Kai tightened, but he very deliberately did not otherwise outwardly react, despite the explosive growl threatening to escape his chest and the many, many things he'd like to say about that. But if he interrupted them, they might lose the temerity to speak, and confess everything that they had done.

Tears continued to flow freely down Kai's cheeks as they took in a deep breath and continued their confession "Apart from teasing my fellow serfs by pretending to be them somehow, and enjoying scaring the shit out of me by appearing suddenly and in unexpected locations, he didn't ask for anything else... Until two days ago. He wanted me to break the recaf machines. To see how the, and I quote Mighty Ultramarines react to not having access to their precious recaf... I didn't... It wasn't like it's that important, or so I told myself... and he threatened to turn in the recordings he had of drunk-me saying shitty things about Lord Angels if I didn't... So I spiked Remy's lunch with something I knew would set off their medical issue on a day that Rowan and Sasha both take off before the ends of their shifts because they've got to pick up their little ones from daycare. I also knew that the newbie was going to be starting the second shift and I hoped that they would assume that he accidentally fucked up the machines, rather than it... Being done... Deliberately..."

"... I see. Can you give me as exact a description of this interloper as you can, as well as where you know him to hang out? I will tell you this, you are in serious trouble. You should have informed your superior officer that someone was attempting to blackmail you, rather than buckling to his pressure. Reporting that and the description of who was pressuring you would have gone a long way in repairing your reputation that drunken foolishness may have undone... But this?" Zalthes shook his head a little. He's not sure what is going to happen to this serf, as the decision was ultimately Lord Guilliman's... But he doubted that they would be afforded much mercy. They'd shown that they could be blackmailed into disobeying safety protocols for in an attempt protect themself... and in so doing, damning themself to far more intense punishment and possible retraining.

"He... He seems to be some kind of shapeshifter. He first approached me as a taller than average man with tanned skin, bald except for his dark eyebrows, and teal blue eyes. His voice was almost... Hypnotic as he spoke to me, and that still holds true. I... I know that I've badly fucked up and I surrender myself to judgment. He was in the recaf area during the first shift, dressed as an Ultramarine, my lord. I don't know how he got ahold of the armor..." Kai explained, tears still streaming down his face.

Teal eyes. Tall. Tanned skin. Motherless, snake-tongued bastards! "I believe I know who you were approached by, and while you will be punished for this, your obedience to him was not entirely unwarranted, as he too, is a Marine, though not one of Ultramar." Zalthes explained before putting on his helmet and sending a message directly to captain Alcaeus [The person behind the sabotage is likely to be an Alpha Legionnaire, sir. He blackmailed one of the recaf serfs into sabotaging the machines. I have the recaf serf's full confession recorded sir. What do you want me to do do?]

Zalthes kept holding the weeping serf, as the seconds stretched into one minute. Then two. The Ultramarine was starting to get concerned when his vox crackled to life... With the sound of his Gene-sire.

"Bring the serf to my office, Zalthes, along with their recorded confession. I have informed Chief Librarian Tilayious to begin scanning for the serpent trying to nest here. We will flush him out of hiding soon enough. There are only so many places he can hide." Lord Guilliman ordered him.

He snapped to attention on instinct, letting go of the serf, just barely stopping himself from saluting the superior officer who was not in the room and would not be able to see it. It took him a couple of seconds to find his tongue, not used to being directly spoken to by his primarch. It was an incredible honor; despite the unfortunate circumstances this has happened in. "Yes sir. I will be there with both within five minutes sir." With that he stood up smoothly, scooping up the serf and their vox, tucking the device in one of his pockets and tucked the serf over one shoulder, immediately setting off to his Primarch's office at a quick but not visibly hurried looking pace.

It did not take long for Zalthes to arrive at his gene-sire's office with the evidence he had collected and the still-weeping serf in tow. The two Ultramarines who were guarding Father's door looked him over and he gave the correct code phrase - and they did the same - before letting him in.

"Come in, and set the serf down Zalthes." The Lord of Ultramar instructed him.

"Yes sire." The young Ultramarine answered, promptly if carefully setting down the weeping serf onto their feet...

Only to watch as the serf crumpled on their joints, throwing themself prostrate before the Primarch, sobbing endless apologies for their fuck ups and pleas for mercy.

Zalthes was silently taken aback at how terrified and morose the serf had become and took a small half-step away from the weeping baseline human, uncertain as to how to respond. He was, however, watching them carefully, should they attempt to suddenly do something foolish - like lunge for a chair and try to harm his gene-sire. Not that they seemed the type (nor would they be able to life the astartes and primarch-sized furniture unless they were heavily strength-augmented) to do so.

"I did not ask you to speak." Father spoke, voice calm and face showing a devastating amount of disappointment. Zalthes could feel his soul shiver and his hearts quake, and he wasn't the one to have fucked up to the extent to have put such a look on the Lord Primarch's face.

Zalthes couldn't blame the serf for the terrified-miserable squeak that left them at the expression and tone Lord Guilliman was using. He was pretty sure if his Lord Father looked at him like that, he'd drop dead on the spot in shame.

The serf immediately ceased their babbling, though they stayed pressing themself belly-down onto the cold, hard metal floor of the ship.

"Now, Zalthes, give me a report about everything you have found in the course of your investigation." Father ordered him, the expression on his face ever so slightly warmer.

Zalthes snapped to attention and nodded, promptly explaining everything he had found - and how he had sought to reconcile the discrepancies he had found, leading him to getting the confession out of the still-trembling serf before the two of them. "-that was when I informed Captain Alceaus of our stowaway sire."

"You have done well, Zalthes. I commend you for your diligence and swift action. As for you... How many years have you served aboard this ship, serf... Kai, is it?" Father asked, blue eyes turning icy cold once again as he beheld the baseline mortal.

"Fif-fifteen years sir. I was born on Maccrage's Honor, and was raised in the communal creche. Once I was old enough to start working, they put me to work, m-my lord. This is the only home I've ever known." Kai explained, still trembling all over.

"A pity, then. That you would betray your home due to a moment's foolishness. You will be leaving Maccrage's Honor permanently, once we reach the next port. There will be a black mark on your record as a serf, though you will be allowed to take all of your personal belongings and the wages you have earned. Should you be found within Ultramar space you will be further prosecuted as a traitor and a saboteur. Do you understand?" Primarch Guilliman stated, looking down upon the serf "Until then, you will be held in the brig, as you cannot be trusted to complete your duties without potentially causing harm. If you resist arrest or attempt to escape into the serfs section of the ship, you will be found and killed."

"I... I understand, my lord. I will not resist arrest." The serf agreed miserably.

"Zalthes, take this serf to the brig and have them properly processed as a traitor to Ultramar." The Primarch ordered him.

He saluted his lord father before picking up the serf and twisting their arms behind their back, holding their wrists together in one hand. "Your will be done, my lord." Before he marched them off to holding, having to drag them when they stumbled over their feet. They had started openly weeping as soon as they left the Primarch's office, and started mumbling all sorts of nonsense, but Zalthes tuned them out. After all, they had committed the crimes, even under duress. There were certain things that one did not do, and ship-sabotage was one of them. They had their life because they had been blackmailed by a snake-tongued Astartes, of that Zalthes was fairly sure.

The mortal did not protest when they were dragged into one of the isolation cells, nor did they protest being strip-searched for anything that could be used to get them out of the cell. Once they were safely behind bars, Zalthes bid a fond farewell to the Brothers on guard duty and headed off to tend to his usual duties, pressing up against a wall as Chief Librarian Tilayious and two terminator-armored veteran brothers dragged in a still-thrashing and cursing teal and silver painted astartes.

"Let me go! I am performing the duties that my Primarch gave to me, you have no right to detain me!" The hydra howled, still struggling in their grip.

"You had part of our ship sabotaged, you piece of shit. I don't care if that's what your primarch told you to do, that's a fucked up thing to do. If your Primarch wants you back, he can negotiate with ours for your worthless hide. Until then you're going in the brig and you're staying there." The head librarian huffed, the blue fire of warp-craft binding the alpha legionnaire in place.

"FUCK! YOU!" he spat, not noticing the apothecary silently making his way up behind him as he was jabbed in the jugular with a sedative. His head lolled forwards as it took effect, the fight being forcibly taken out of him. "You'll... pay... for this... All of you."

"Yeah, yeah. Bastard. We'll see about that. Strip his armor and weapons off of him. Alpha Legionnaires are difficult to keep hold of, even stark naked and chained to a wall, which he's going to be." the chief librarian ordered, sighing a little as he eased up on the psychic grip he held on the now sleeping Alpha Legionnaire.

Zalthes made his way back to his squad lead, telling him that he had completed the task that Captain Alceaus had asked of him, before returning to his normal duties.

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wandamfonseca · 1 month ago

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TNC Conf CMS Version – Webflow Event Website Template

Are you planning an event and need a professional website? Look no further than the TNC Conf CMS Version – a beautifully designed Webflow event website template. It’s the perfect solution for anyone looking to build a stunning event or conference website quickly and easily, even with little to no coding experience.

What is the TNC Conf CMS Template?

The TNC Conf CMS Version is a pre-built template on Webflow, a popular no-code website builder. This template is specially designed for conferences, seminars, webinars, meetups, or any type of event. It includes all the important features needed to promote your event, manage content, and keep your visitors informed.

Since it is built using CMS (Content Management System) features in Webflow, you can easily update information like speakers, schedules, blog posts, and sponsors without changing the website's design or structure.

Don’t Forget To Visit: Live Preview

Why Choose This Template?

There are many reasons to choose the TNC Conf CMS Webflow template:

Easy to Use

You don’t need to be a web developer to use this template. Webflow’s user-friendly interface lets you update text, images, and pages easily. The CMS feature allows you to manage your content from a simple dashboard.

Professional Design

The template has a modern, clean design that looks great on both desktop and mobile devices. The layout is perfect for showcasing event details, speaker bios, and schedules in an organized way.

Responsive Layout

Your website will look great on all devices. The TNC Conf CMS template is fully responsive, which means it automatically adjusts to look good on phones, tablets, and laptops.

Built-in Features

This template includes many useful sections:

Homepage with event highlights

Speaker section with photos and bios

Schedule page with sessions and times

Blog to share news or updates

Sponsors and partners section

Contact form for visitor inquiries

Everything is ready-to-go – you just add your content.

Time-Saving

Since the design is already done, you don’t have to spend weeks building your site. You can launch your event website in just a few hours.

Who Should Use It?

This template is great for:

Event organizers

Marketing teams

Conference planners

Non-profits hosting community events

Anyone who wants a stylish, functional event website without hiring a developer

Final Thoughts

The TNC Conf CMS Version Webflow Template is a smart choice for anyone who needs a reliable and attractive event website. It combines great design, powerful CMS features, and ease of use – all in one package.

Whether you're planning a local meetup or a large international conference, this template can help you build a strong online presence and keep your attendees informed and excited.

So why wait? Try the TNC Conf CMS template today and create your event website with confidence!

#design #web development #webflow #business #web design #home & lifestyle #template #aesthetic #education #beauty #website #computer #event planner

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nysocboy · 1 month ago

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Gemstones Season 4 Finale: A special goodbye message from Aimee-Leigh

In March 2023, my partner and I subscribed to the streaming service HBO/MAX to watch science fiction programs like The Last of Us and Doctor Who. He also wanted to watch The Righteous Gemstones, a comedy/drama about "a famous and dysfunctional family of televangelists," but "No, thanks." After a childhood of preachers screaming "God hates you!" every Wednesday night and twice on Sunday, I thought that even a critique of evangelical homophobia would be too traumatic.

Then one day I was walking through the living room on the way to a snack, and I saw the Gemstones walking in slow motion toward Jason's Steakhouse: A nuclear family husband, wife, and kids; another male-female couple and their pregnant daughter; and, taking up the rear, a gay couple! They were holding hands! They joined the others at the dinner table with no recriminations, no stupid questions about "which of you is the man?", no yelling about the Book of Leviticus. I was astonished.

Watching from the beginning, I found a show that was crass, vulgar, and often grotesque, with annoying plot holes and a complete disregard for internal consistency. Plus it took forever for the showrunners to admit that Kelvin and Keefe were canon, resulting in endless annoying "they're really straight buddies" arguments. But once they were acknowledged, Season 4 became a masterpiece of gay inclusion, with their wedding the pivotal moment of the entire series.

A gay wedding was the pivotal moment in a series about Evangelicals!

Plus: A more obvious romance between Gideon and Scotty.

Both Eli and Baby Billy have gay relationships in their past.

Queer coded characters everywhere. Just when you think there couldn't be any more, they start dropping hints about Pontius.

Two gay bands of brothers taken directly from Tom of Finland prints.

A near total absence of heterosexual activity, and almost no lady parts.

Nonstop beefcake.

P* enises in nearly every episode.

Gay men were not only welcome at the table, the table was designed for them. There has never been anything on tv like it.

Two years have passed, with two conference presentations, a scholarly book, two blogs with over 500 posts, over 20 fan stories, and endless fan discussions. And now it's time to say goodbye.

The Series Finale features a goodbye message from Aimee-Leigh, for those viewers who found the show, and the characters, especially meaningful:

Saying Goodbye is Never Easy: During the Kelvin-Keefe wedding reception, while Eli watches everyone dancing, we hear the letter that Aimee-Leigh wrote to Lori years ago:

Saying goodbye is never easy -- it's not something I've ever been good at. Sometimes it's easier to never say goodbye and just leave things where they lay. Don't wrap it up all nice and neat.

Hear that, fans? We're not going to tie up every loose end.

The Grave: Eli hugging Lori as she cries at Corey's grave.

Don't look for closure in a goodbye. We rarely get the closure we want. Most times we don't even get the closure we need. Sometimes things happen and the life we knew is taken from us, just like that. It can happen fast.

I'll need a minute.

Hugging: Back at the reception. Eli grins at the people dancing and hugging. Jesse and Amber hug. Kelvin dances with Tiffany and Judy. Keefe hugs Baby Billy.

Cut to Baby Billy, Tiffany, and the Nanny having a picnic.

It's in those times you realize how precious friends are, family.

The Gold Bible: The Siblings install the Gold Bible on a pedestal at the Salvation Center, in front of a video presentation about Aimee-Leigh and Eli's ministry.

How important it is to let Jesus' love find you through them so we can lift each other up.

Gideon Finds His Place: Performing at the opening of the new Gemstone Christian Skatepark, Gideon is able to combine his interest in stuntwork and the ministry. Banners say: Christian Skate Summit.

A shot of Jesse talking to Vance was cut. Apparently they're on friendly terms.

Pontius and Abraham, with Ash on one side and Edge on the other, gawk at the stunts. Now there are girl skaters; previously Pontius' group has been entirely male. I'm calling it: he's bi.

And Abraham's pink shirt: he's gay. Prove me wrong.

Aimee-Leigh continues: So we can fly even higher.

Shot of Gideon flying high.

The Fireworks: At the reception, Kelvin and Keefe count down to the banner bursting into flame, followed by fireworks. Everyone applauds. Closeups of Jesse/Amber, Gideon/Pontius/Abraham, Baby Billy/Tiffany, BJ/Judy, and Martin/The Nanny (wait -- are they dating?).

Aimee-Leigh: When things change, it's easy to give into the darkness. When we hold on to the pain too tight, we lose the ability to grab the light. Sometimes grabbing the light seems impossible, so let go.

Let go of the pain, not the light, right?

Eli watches for a moment, then turns and walks away.

His love is there for you always, just like I will be there for you.

The Dark Night of our Soul: Cut to Lori walking along a path in the swamp, looking miserable. And cold -- it must be wintertime, several months after the wedding (which she did not attend, but not due to homophobia, because Jesse killed her son).

Aimee-Leigh: Even if years go by and we lose our way to each other. know I'll always be waiting, ready to share my love.

Cut to Eli sitting in his dining room before a painting of him and Aimee-Leigh, the same shot that opened his plot arc in Season 1. He reads the letter and cries.

I'm here whenever you need me. Please don't ever forget that.

Epilogue: "Somewhere in Florida," Eli on his boat. Whoops, it's Lori, with luggage.

"How did you find me?"

"You know I always got your number." Slip 69, har har.

"I figured you could use a first mate." Mate, har har.

"Someone to point you in the right direction, when you get lost." The Gemstones pointed a lot of us in the right direction, when we were lost.

The end.

The full review, with n*de photos and supplemental material, is on RG Beefcake and Boyfriends.

#the righteous gemstones #kelvin gemstone #keefe chambers #Gideon Gemstone #Pontius Gemstone #gay characters #Brock O'Hurn #God Squad #Season 4

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darkmaga-returns · 7 months ago

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This morning a read a long and fascinating essay in the New York Times titled The Secret Pentagon War Game That Offers a Stark Warning for Our Times: The devastating outcome of the 1983 game reveals that nuclear escalation inevitably spirals out of control.Day 7 of nuclear war in Europe per 1983 war game.

The writer, William Langewiesche—who is also the author of The Atomic Bazaar: Dispatches From the Underground World of Nuclear Trafficking—provides a detailed exposition of what I have been worrying about since the U.S. government sent Kamala Harris to the Munich Security Conference in February 2022 to represent the U.S. in talks about the rapidly escalating tension between Russia and Ukraine.

The essay concludes by quoting Paul Bracken, a Yale international relations professor who recently wrote a book titled The Second Nuclear Age: Strategy, Danger, and the New Power Politics.

Bracken flagged what he called the “transcendental madness” of the whole enterprise. He said: “Sometimes the only way to deal with it is with humor. ‘Dr. Strangelove’ started out as a serious movie about nuclear war, and Kubrick just couldn’t do it. So he turned it into a dark comedy.” But Bracken is not laughing. He believes that the nuclear modernization currently underway is necessary but misguided. He said, for instance: “Building a harder command-and-control system using blockchain so we can get the ‘go’ code to the missile forces is an improvement on one of the most fantastically unlikely scenarios that anyone can dream up. I’m at least looking at real-world threats and dangerous pathways to nuclear war. I don’t think a bolt from the blue is one of those. So I’m looking at the right problems, with inadequate skills perhaps, but the Pentagon is applying high levels of skills to the wrong problem.” History shows that deterrence often fails and that countries can maneuver themselves into corners where they have no choice but to enter into wars they cannot win, wars of assured self-destruction. Now we are entering an era where nuclear arms control is an open question, nonproliferation has failed, conventional conflicts are spreading, overwrought nationalism is on the rise, the use of small nuclear weapons again seems possible, deterrence is weakening and fools dream of managing nuclear escalation in the midst of battle. Nuclear war in some form seems to be coming to the neighborhood. There is little sign that changes are being pursued to lower the risk. There is no reason to panic, but Katie, bar the door.

Bracken states what I have long known to be the case. Time and again throughout history, fallible men in positions of power have grossly overestimated the amount of foresight and control they possess. Embarking on the path of escalation always triggers an unpredictable train of actions and reactions with an uncertain outcome.

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yellowmanula · 22 days ago

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Słuchając wystąpień na International Conference on Live Coding zrozumiałam, że algorave tworzą niezwykle innowacyjne umysły i muszę się skupić teraz naukowo na swoim doktoracie, jeśli chcę mieć coś do powiedzenia w tej społeczności. Że ciężko być człowiekiem renesansu i ogarniać krytykę literacką, poezję, korki z polskiego, itd. Nie mam bogatych starych, ani moja edukacja i wykształcenie nie przebiegały linearnie i systematycznie od wczesnego dzieciństwa. Jestem w dużej mierze samoukiem, oraz muszę dorabiać, bo ze stypendium nie wyżyję.

Myślę, że nadal będę pisać wiersze, ale czas kończyć pewne sprawy. Dokończę recki obiecane sobie i innym i kończę z tym chyba przygodę. Nie jestem w stanie naukowo-artystycznie udźwignąć tak wielu tematów.

Zaczyna mi brakować czasu, jestem w Barcelonie, mieście przepięknym, oszałamiającym, a nie widziałam żadnych dzieł Gaudiego ani Sagrady Familii (jedynie z daleka). Tyle, co podziwiam miasto z okna autobusów miejskich.

Dosłownie dzielę czas między pisanie grantu NCN Preludium (trzymajcie kciuki, bo to gruby, potężny grant dla początkujących naukowców z Polski), a czytaniem o wyborach i kandydackich poglądach, żeby nie być amebą i mieć zdanie, a w końcu i konferencję.

Dziś musiałam olać koncert i biegiem wracać do hotelu, bo do jutra dział projektowy musi dostać wniosek.

Także przygoda z recenzjami się chyba powoli kończy, bo jednak ja się bardzo angażuję w czytane tomy i pochłania mi to czas.

Myślę, że jak podciągnę się z programowania może po prostu będę robić coś artystyczno-audiowizualnego dalej, ale jednak czas się zawęzić, wyspecjalizować.

#International Conference on Live Coding #barcelona #muzyka #muzyka eksperymentalna #po polsku #muzyka elektroniczna #algorave #artyści #moje myśli #moje życie #NCN Preludium #programowanie #olga rembielińska

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chogiwow · 2 years ago

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in an alternate universe | stray kids

pairing: none; ot8 (stray kids)

genre: slice of life

warnings: none

wc: 1.8k+

notes: like strangers bumping into each other, carrying the pollens of familiarity every time.

a/n: uhh...word spill turned into concept writing??

chan being a single dad, late to his morning meetings because his kid spilled the entire jar of strawberry jam on his pants and shirt and between scrounging for an ironed shirt and creaseless pants and getting changed and dropping his kid off to school because they missed the bus, by the time he's through the doors of the large conference room, slipping in with a murmured apology to his boss, fidgeting with the singular crease right across his stark white shirt in the semi darkness of the projector wall shining in the room, the lull of the day finally settles in, a quiet hum of the mundanity of life. but he's happy, he has a kid to go back to at the end of the day and the box of doughnuts to take back that felix had promised him. later he'll tuck his kid with a kiss on the forehead and he'll be a little scared of the day they would be too grown up for that stuff and he'll quietly sip on his beer in the darkness of his tiny but cozy living room. and he'll remind himself to live in the moment because that's all he knew he had right now. who knows what the future would hold.

felix silently checks in on the kids in his classroom, though a bunch of harmless maniacs screeching like banshees while they work on their colouring assignments, felix is content with being spared a day of innocent accidents and of trees coloured with hues of reds and purples. the kids tell him his blonde hair looks like cotton candy and he smells like cake and chocolates and he discreetly hides the chocolate stain on his shirt under the daycare apron. accepting the compliment, he makes a promise to bake cookies for the entire class and is met with smattering cheers, desperately trying to quieten them down with the empty threat of revoking his promise if they didn't. he spends the day colouring trees the shade of vibrant purples and skies the colour of pink, because this was fine. skies could be pink and trees could be anything but green. that was childhood and he was happy to be a part of it anyhow.

minho is waiting at the cafe at five past two, looking out for for a blonde haired boy who comes hurtling in not long after, slumping across the counter for his vanilla latte with whipped cream. minho gags every time he makes it, but he indulges the younger's diabetic choice with a sarcastic hope that he chokes on it some day, only to be met with a sweet smile. it makes him shakes his head and tend to the few stray university students who frequent the cafe erratically, drained and tired and internally screaming for caffeine. in the midst, he spots the boy in glasses, always arriving at fifteen past two on tuesdays, ordering a coffee so bitter it would put the vanilla latte he had just made to shame. he waits with his nose buried in his phone scrolling though something, pinching his fingers across the screen sometimes to zoom in and out. minho works at the station, the smell of coffee beans and vanilla everywhere, the chattering fading out as it always did around this time, the tiny pings of a game felix played on his phone and the whirr of the coffee machine. minho hands the boy in glasses his coffee, receiving a polite thanks and a small smile before he's left alone again. it would be a while, he thinks, before the general rush was back. till then, he would silently wait at the counter, alone with his thoughts and the smell of coffee beans and vanilla everywhere.

seungmin walks briskly towards the law department, reciting what he had just revised through the small text on his phone at the coffee shop, sipping on the bitter drink in his hand. his exam starts in fifteen minutes, he has plenty of time to go over his summarised and colour coded notes exactly once and finish his coffee before switching off his phone and putting it away for the exam. greeting a few friends, he politely avoids any further conversation so he could revise. the fifteen minutes are up soon, he finishes reading the last lines of his neatly highlighted notes and gulps down the last dregs of his gradually turned cold coffee, disposing the cup in the dustbin before the TA arrives for invigilation and almost bumping into him on his way to his seat. the exam goes well, remembers all of it - well, most of it, he does get two of them wrong. but by the time he is out of the building, now readily mingling with his friends and discussing the paper and as he walks down the aisle, he is already mentally drafting a timetable; his next exam was on friday and he thinks, he doesn't mind. he was allowed a few mistakes, it was a part of learning after all.

changbin's phone rings cheerfully, an incoming message from his professor to drop the answer sheets in his room and get his letter of recommendation too while he was there. he replies in affirmative, stacking the last sheet in a neat pile before putting them away in a yellow envelope. he almost bumps into his junior - the same one from before - while leaving the class. they both bow at each other politely, making their way out of the class along with the diminishing crowd. changbin remembers how it felt to have been one of the students sitting for his exams, and now he was graduating in a few weeks. and he wonders now how everything just has a tendency to fall into place in its own time. how the most concerning issue for these juniors right now was to pass their minors, how just a few months ago he had been utterly lost, not knowing what he was going to do in life, how right now, as he made his way to receive his letter of recommendation, the tiny part of him that had been wriggling in anxiety and worry was slowly calming down. how in a few weeks, he was going to be out of this place, out of these halls and into a whole new world and he would have to start from scratch there all over again. but changbin knows that life won't just throw luck and opportunities in his way, and he had learnt to earn it himself. changbin knows that when he leaves this place one last time, when he walks down these halls one last time, he'll be a bit braver.

hyunjin receives an alert on his phone; a new message, a new commission. a sister buying her brother a custom painting for his graduation. a sweet gesture, in hyunjin's opinion. the client paid extra, for a priority service, only two weeks and an amalgamation of some very specific details and rest left up to the artist - him. hyunjin liked these kinds of commissions, he knew what was needed and he could do whatever he wanted to with it. in fact, hyunjin liked it when knew things. he did not like the indecisiveness of certain things but that doesn't mean he was predisposed to surprises. however, he was not expecting the tuft of shocking bubblegum hair to temporarily blind him the moment he stepped into the auditorium. it's visible even from a distance, his friend's boastfully reckless endeavor, but surprisingly, it suits him. hyunjin didn't like taking risks like this though and he consoles himself, that one day he might. one day he might get the belly piercing he had been wanting to. one day, he might dye his hair crimson. one day, he might not mind not knowing. hyunjin knows people think of him capable enough to do that, he's got that vibe, they say. but the hyunjin of now secretly revels in the simplicity of knowing certain things and dismissing the ones he didn't. and he thinks, it's okay to be a little simple. a little boring, just the slightest bit ordinary.

jeongin sucks on a bright red lollipop, sweet on his tongue with its cherry pop. he basks in the compliments of his recently dyed hair - a pink so bright, his parents had almost fainted. it'll fade, surely? they had not been so sure while asking that. he kind of liked it though, it went well with his skin tone. it had been an impulsive decision for sure, but he was ultimately glad that it had worked out in his favor. jeongin thinks he's been much too serious his whole life (which is not much, he just turned twenty-one), but adapting to a carefree flow had come easier than he had expected. his guitar tutor would disagree, in lieu of him playing hooky much too often in their lessons. but what he wants is spontaneity, the nervous gurgling in the pit of his stomach while getting his hair dyed into an atrocious shade, the unforeseen horror of dunking a piece of sushi in chocolate dip that settles like a belated realisation of utmost disgust. the thrill of being so sure of embracing the unsure, he thinks he might be ageing a bit too fast or has aged backwards into a reckless life much alike kids who let go of the handles of their bikes down the hill only to fall and get up and fall again till they learn. no, jeongin was definitely maturing and the self awareness was a happy realisation.

jisung blinks in surprise at the tiny figure eyeing him from behind the man's back, safely tucked between the couch and the protective shield of the father. he's to teach this five year old how to play a guitar? chan assures him it would only be a two week trial session for the time being and that he would be paid for it. jisung doesn't mind of course, he's a good tutor too, he believes. he's just, never taught someone so young. leaving aside the fact that even two week's worth of payment would do wonders to his wallet - adulting was hard, more so when you were trying to be as financially independent as you could be - he didn't have anything else to hold against the offer to turn it down. if anything, this was another challenge jisung was ready to take head on. he's been told, that he's too passionate sometimes. that he puts in too much into things one wouldn't expect him to. but jisung is what he is; someone desperate to prove himself worth. someone being passionate in what he did because that is all he knew how to do, that is all he knew that could make up for his otherwise lack in proficiency. jisung wasn't trying too hard, he was only trying as much as he should to make up for the areas he lacked in. chan sees this, he recognises it but he doesn't prod it. he sends jisung off with a doughnut wrapped carefully in a napkin and with the weight of his guitar strap digging into his shoulders, jisung hopes to someday rise above all that he lacked. for his passion and hard work to pay off.

#stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids x you #skz x you #bang chan imagines #lee know imagines #changbin imagines #hyunjin imagines #seungmin imagines #han jisugn imagines #felix imagines #jeongin imagines

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