#answers from the cupola

[persuasivetfs]

The Prodigal Son Returns

“The future site of Our Lady of Sacred Contentment’s second church. A project funded in part by the Virkov Foundation,” read the sign plastered on the fence that surrounded the closed down Saint Zofia’s Bulgarian Orthodox Church.

Olga Tsanov was conflicted. She was glad to see the male-centered church of her upbringing brought to its knees, even if it was by another male-centered church. When she heard that Father Kiril, the pompous high priest of Saint Zofia’s had even converted to this new Protestant denomination, losing all his priestly status so he could be demoted to the role of a mere usher, Olga had burst into laughter. Yet as happy as she was on the surface, the church’s closure had reopened a fissure in her heart that she once thought closed. She felt it when she saw the icons of the Virgin Mary and Saint Zofia taken down from the comfort of her bedroom window. For at one time in her life, those icons and the saints they represented had been everything to Olga. Foundational even, to the woman she strove to become as an adult: temperate, responsible, compassionate, wise.

So it was a great shock, even to herself, that Olga found herself breaking and entering Saint Zofia’s church in the dead of night. Armed with a pair of bolt cutters, her ex-husband Micheal had left behind in the divorce, she was able to force her way past the surrounding fence and into the back of the church.

Despite every part of her screaming that this was crazy and that there was no point, Olga continued on with her plan, walking through the back office and into the nave.

To her horror much of the renovations had been finished much earlier than she’d expected. The icons as Olga remembered lining the walls had been torn down, and repainted white and beige. The sacred relic, one of the alleged fingers of Saint Zofia herself, too was removed, with only a potted fern left in its place. Even the cupola, the wide dome that had stretched over the congregation, that had depicted Jesus in heaven with the angels and saints was destroyed. Painted white and to her continued surprise somehow flattened despite the lack of long and intensive construction such a job would have required.

It left this church, the site where Olga’s devotion once dwelled into an empty shell, sucked dry of meaning.

At least all the male saints were gone, Olga could be happy with, and even Jesus himself was only depicted by a plain wooden cross rather than the twisted face of pain writhing about like Olga was used to. But without all its art, the church looked like an office building with sandalwood pews and stone altar. What kind of god would be worshipped here?

“Stunning isn’t it?”

A man was standing alone in the darkness, making Olga twist her head around.

“What are you doing here?” Olga asked, blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

“Examining the Lord’s fine work in one of His newest sacred places. Same as you,” the man answered, with a thick Italian-American accent, pulling himself away from the wall and walking towards her.

Wearing formal dress shoes and a refined dark suit, the stranger came to stand next to her, his body faintly gleaming under the glow of the moonlight.

“So tell me Olga Tsanov. What are you doing in one of our churches so late at night?” He asked, his eyes casting a fiendish glimmer upon her. She shivered.

“How do you know my name? What are you, a stalker?” Olga asked defensively. The man simply laughed, making her take a hesitant step back.

“The Lord knows all that happens in His churches and all who happens to enter them. And your name and address happened to be on the registry the Orthodox Church left behind,” he explained, his voice shifting from megalomaniacal supervillain to down to earth youth pastor from one line to the next.

It left Olga unsure where she stood with this man. Was he planning on calling the police on her? Or was he just toying with her?

“I was just leaving. I’ve seen what I needed to see,” Olga blustered, walking off. The door to the back office suddenly slammed shut ahead of her. She turned her head back to the priest whose smile filled her with dread.

“Did you really think you could leave that easily?”

“What do you want, priest?” Olga asked, snarkily, trying not to let her fear show. She was used to the old wooden doors of the church slamming shut whenever the wind blew, but this priest was unsettling. She didn’t even hear him breathing and yet there he was, lingering in the shadows as if waiting for her.

“It’s not about what I want, it's about what the Lord can provide you, my child,” the stranger said cryptically, taking a step forward against the polished wooden floor.

“I’m fine, thank you. I was already raised in one penis-centeic religion, I don’t need another,” Olga bristled, turning away from him. She stepped to the altar and wiped her hand along its marble surface. Father Kiril had once struck her on the side of the head for touching it. The act of a woman who didn't yet know her place. Olga gritted her teeth.

Despite her reverence for saints like Zofia or the Virgin, Olga had never fit inside the restrictive environment of her church. For only men and boys were allowed to read the Epistles or hold the communion cloth or serve at the altar. If Olga wanted to serve God, she was told, she should wait until she could become a nun, otherwise her sex had marked her as morally inferior and less “clean” to do the tasks of men in the church. Even female saints like Zofia or the Virgin had to take on the role of a subordinated wife and mother before the power of the penis and this had enraged her.

“But Olga, the word of God is open to all people, men and women. It is only true that we have different roles in the world as decreed by the Lord,” the pastor explained, stepping next to her at the altar.

“Yes, for men are biologically created to be brutish and violent and disgusting and cruel, while women are biologically smarter, kinder, and weaker to men and thus men's perpetual victims. I’ve known enough of that from my pig of an ex-husband,” Olga said bitterly.

“So why did you come here my child? If the ‘penis-centeic religion’ as you called it in your childhood was so distressing?”

“I… I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to serve the Lord. To reach people. To even be a voice for the Wentworth Falls Bulgarian community. It just never felt like I could because of who I was. Because the woman my people wanted me to be, that submissive housewife and mother could never exist,” Olga explained, suddenly feeling more casual and open with this priest about her private thoughts than she had any good sense to.

An oddly satisfying sense of warmth had begun to flow into her, lowering her defences. Her muscles loosened, her shoulders eased. The warmth left her feeling like a ball of wet clay, ready to be remolded.

“While we are all meant to be equal brothers and sisters before the eyes of the Lord, maybe a different path would be beneficial to you. We do need a pastor for this community in line with the Bulgarians,” the pastor said but frankly Olga was finding it difficult to care. The comforting sensations made Olga feel too good to think, too good to protest.

Then as the rivers of comfort flowed in and out of her body, Olga felt from within her a pulsating energy radiating out from her vagina. Her labia throbbed, releasing wave after wave of pleasure, as her clitoris began to enlarge, expanding outward as skin grew in and out over Olga’s lips.

Then with a lurch, Olga felt her vagina close up and disappear and in its place, a penis and a pair of gradually dropping balls.

“This can’t be happening. What are you doing to me?” Olga demanded to know only to quickly become horrified at the deep masculine voice that left her lips.

The priest laughed.

More changes were overcoming her body, twisting and reshaping Olga Tsanov into a form unrecognisable. Her signature long straw blonde hair was shrinking back inside her head, only stopping at the crown of her head before turning a dark brown. Then across her face and forearms, the hair that had disappeared from the top of her head re-emerged, forming a tightly sculpted beard and mustache. As her hair shifted so did the bones in her face, giving her a pointier chin and higher cheekbones, while her crow’s feet and wrinkles wiped away, giving Olga a youthful glow she hadn’t had since her late 20s.

This youthfulness soon extended to the rest of her body, leaving her feeling energized and excited.

Eager to witness what came next, Olga ripped out of her dress shirt to be amazed at the cobblestone abs that were forming. Her breasts, once saggy with fat and age, had in their new youth and new burst of testosterone firmed up with muscle. In fact much of her body, from her triceps to her thighs were packing on muscle. Not enough to make a bodybuilder blush, but enough to gain noticeable attention should she wear a tight-fitting shirt.

“You look wonderful, Olga, absolutely wonderful,” the priest said with a chef’s kiss, before putting his arm around Olga’s shoulders and laughing.

At any other time Olga would have pushed the man away and thought him a pervert, but now his touch had a sense of comradery. Just bros being bros.

“I knew you’d make a wonderful man. I just knew,” the priest positively declared.

“But how is this possible- I-“ the stranger shushed her.

“But first I believe a new name is in order. Let’s try Boris on for size. Introduce yourself,” the stranger commanded with a clap of his hands.

”Hello, I’m Boris Tsanov,” Boris introduced, her voice deep and refined.

It was strange just a moment ago she could have sworn her name was Olga, but that name like much of her past was fading away like a disappearing dream soon to be forgotten.

“Outstanding, Boris. Now, let’s think about your past for a moment. Who is Boris Tsanov?” the priest asked. Boris took a deep breath.

“I’m the head of Women and Gender studies at the Wentworth Falls Community college. I’m 39, divorced, agnostic, and a proud biological woman, or at least I thought I was,” Boris said, confused at how his words were not matching up with his new body.

“No, I don’t think that sounds like you Boris,” the stranger said, shaking his head.

“I think you’re 28, recently graduated from divinity school and ready to spread the true word of God to the masses and trusting me Pastor Agosti as your friend and mentor,” the stranger explained. Except he wasn’t a stranger, was he? He was Nico Agosti, a trusted advisor and confidante, who had guided Boris through years of divine education and study, helping mold him into the proud Christian he was today, eager to save the Bulgarian masses as he himself had been saved. Except, wasn’t he a woman or at the very least used to be married to a man? Wouldn’t that be a sin?

“Pastor Agosti,” Boris nervously addressed. “I trust you and everything you say, but I’m still so confused. I used to venerate Saint Zofia and the Virgin Mary so highly and sought to be like them in every way. How does that make sense if I’m a man?”

“Oh my sweet brother. You weren’t looking to be those saintly women,” Pastor Agosti said, sympathetically, hiding his glee. Boris, unsure, scratched at his temple.

“You were looking to marry a saintly woman: Pious, dependable, temperate, and wise. The perfect wife and mother and you were lucky enough to find her. One of the youngest priests of our congregation but the only one among us bachelors to be married,” Pastor Agosti said, shaking Borris’s shoulder in admiration. Boris Tsanov smiled warmly.

While before when he thought of his spouse, he thought of swarthy and loud-mouthed Micheal, now in his head all he could picture was sweet and homely Miranda. She was everything Boris ever wanted in a woman and he was grateful to have her. At that moment, Miranda was likely asleep across the street, having been saying her bedtime prayers before Boris had left to check on the church. She was so supportive, having dropped everything to take care of the house while Borris continued to work on his divinity degree. He would in return reward her with a lifetime of devotion and many future children who would help spread the Lord’s message as he did.

Still there were a few buzzing questions about his head. How had construction finished so quickly? Why did Boris leave the Orthodox Church for this Protestant denomination? Where did these bolt cutters he held on his person come from?

All these he wished to ask, but Nico waved them all away promising they’d all be answered once Boris was exposed to the “Divinity” as he called it as had all the priests of the church before him. Before they left, Nico was kind enough to make him put on a white dress shirt in just his size, so no one could get any strange ideas of what was going on in there.

Yet while Boris was leaving with more questions than answers he was satisfied knowing he was on the path to lead more people to God just as he had been. There were always more wayward souls that needed saving.

[thetruearchmagos]

The Commonwealth Calls

An Excerpt

So, I was having a think and reading some IRL military papers when I had an idea to write something for ol Gustav, who I haven't showed off in a very long time indeed. Hope it's halfway interesting!

Tagging @theprissythumbelina @caxycreations @hessdalen-globe @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @kckramer

It was well into the night by the time Gustav returned to his platoon, stepping out from the A Company staff car before it pulled away into the dark. He found his position exactly as he'd left it, his four Farriers parked in a semicircle in the shadow of a hill with camouflage netting cast all above them, and most of his troopers away in their fighting positions. A handful of crew members tended to their machines, or caught what sleep they could, and in the centre of it all a conclave of his squad leaders and sergeants were gathered around a long extinguished fire.

"Evenin', lieutenant," said Sergeant Amadi, handing him an open can of something warm, and a spoon. "What'd Captain Soucek have to say?"

"Well, nothing too bad, I don't think," Gustav replied, in between sips of the salty canned stew. Glancing to his left he saw that Corporal Korbl had finished with his 'map', really a patch of soil dug and carved up into a facsimile of the real terrain around them. Finishing the soup, Gustav stood, took up a stick from the dirt and got to his tired feet. Stepping towards the map he took a second to collect his memory of the company brief, and his own thoughts from the drive back.

"I'll start with the important news," Gustav began. "Regiment expects a large scale Ocrisian attack at some point in the next forty eight hours, and even odds it'll be in our sector, coming in west."

"We know the Ocks like to come in fast, so if they do come," he continued, "then I don't see them taking any other route than 'straight down the middle'. An attack running up from the south's less likely, but I wouldn't put it past them."

He turned to Sergeant Amadi. "Sarge, what's the status on our defences?

"We've finished digging the fighting pits close on the hill," answered the platoon sergeant, stroking his chin. "But you'll get to sight the forward positions before we start with them."

Gustav nodded slowly. He'd only gotten a brief look at the terrain before leaving for the brief, but had the image of the ground picture-perfect in his head ever since.

"Well," he eventually started, turning to his section leaders one by one. "Sergeant Miho, I want you to take Diaz's section, and your track, dig in well on those hills south of the road, and make ready to take an attack coming out the woods in the flank. Take two of our missile launchers, Olsson, your lot'll dig in at the base of the hill on either side of the road with the third launcher. And Khristov, I want your boys to help Olsson's dig in, but I'm holding your track here, in reserve."

Pausing to check his watch, Gustav mentally ran back every word he'd just said against his thoughts, and found he'd said all he'd meant to.

"Alright, that's all I've got. Remember that we've got a platoon of armtracks on these heights, too, and with them I think we're pretty well set. Any questions?"

There were a few, and Gustav went through them all in turn. After receiving a backbrief from each of his corporals, Gustav left them to their work under the watchful eye of his sergeants.

And went to catch some sleep.

------

Gustav wasn't surprised when he found out his forty-eight grace period was more optimistic than not. The report came over the tactnet at five the next evening.

"Attention all, Topaz reports enemy advance in brigade strength, clear on," came Captain Soucek's crisp voice, referring to the battalion's lookouts stationed well ahead of their positions. Gustav swallowed dryly, and tried to split his attention between the transmission and scanning the darkening terrain from the cupola of his track.

His vehicle was parked turret-down behind a rise near the base of the hill, and to his right he could just about make his reserve track, Lance Corporal Ntawa's, similarly obscured. He knew Miho's group had already made themselves comfortable on the low wooded hill, but they were entirely hidden within their holes and under camouflage. Finally, though they were out of sight, he had no doubt that Sergeant Amadi and Corporal Olsson were getting their troops ready.

Good, good...

"What was that, sir?"

"Nothing, Simge," he replied, glancing down to his gunner. The young private nodded slowly, peering through his sights.

The attack began, of course, with a furious shelling, as batteries on both sides exchanged fire. In the distance, over the treetops, Gustav could make out gouts of flame and rising smoke plumes where Commonwealth artillery landed amidst the oncoming columns, and nearer to him shells came down like cast seeds across the slope. Gustav was gratified to see that little of it came anywhere close to his platoon; his pains at concealment had paid off, he guessed, and took it as a good sign.

"All callsigns, this is Hunter-Lead." Captain Soucek's voice returned, and finished just as quickly. "Two companies coming down Route Eight-One-One, armtracks ahead and infantry behind. Clear on."

That meant they were coming 'right down the middle'. Gustav was relieved. The dense woods ahead of him would leave the enemy little room for creative manoeuvring, which was another blessing.

When the first enemy vehicle entered his sight it took Gustav a moment to notice it, a small wheeled vehicle at the very edge of the treeline.

Then, with a thundering growl that echoed up the hill three tracks in column charged down the road, and the moment they cleared the woods fanned out in a line abreast with cyan shields flickering. They carried on down and another trio followed, then a pair of armtracks after that, all fanning out and pressing in parade perfect formation. Slighter tracks, the armoured carriers, filed in behind the wedge they formed, and Gustav noted they didn't pause for a second to dismount infantry.

When the last of the tracks passed west of the crossroads, the first shot of the evening was fired.

A flash lit up from the hill, and a split second later a penetrator dart punched a neat hole through the drivers hatch of the track at the tip of the wedge. The detonation flung the beast's turret spinning into the air even as two more shots reached out from the dark, one missing by a hairs breadth and another tearing a track's treads to ribbons.

There was nothing for Gustav to do but watch. Half of the surviving enemy tracks fired scattered shots into the black heights, kicking up dirt but not much else, while the rest thundered past their burning comrades. The furthest forward barely made it twice its length before a blazing missile gouged into its right side well past what its shield covered. Fire blew from its hatches, its burning carcass careening off the road as a second missile raced north and turned the scout in the woods to scrap. Unexpected, but Gustav made a mental note to commend his crews for their initiative.

The tracks on the hill fired as fast as their loaders could feed them, and as they'd all rehearsed targeted the tracks that were running down the road instead of the ones firing on them. Hits to their thin sides from the north and the south soon reduced the three armtracks to one, while a missile from the west tore a following infantry carrier and its living cargo to shreds.

Its comrades wisened up, though, and soon shifting shapes bundled out into the dark by the dozen. Half of them and their tracks flowed on either side of the road and surged towards the hill, and Gustav prayed Amadi's lot could hold them at bay.

The rest turned south to close the distance, cannons and machine guns blazing against the hill which roared back in reply. They had the dark and well sighted defences on their side, but one track and seven bodies against half a company were bad odds. Gustav watched, and waited until his targets were dead ahead of him.

Showtime.

"Sickle-One-Four, Lead, follow me!" Gustav barked into his headset, then "driver, forwards and turn us north!" In the back of his mind, he was surprised at the nerves that leaked into his words.

The two tracks turned out of cover with every weapon blazing. Already cannon and missile had knocked out a pair of tracks, but another two joined them in seconds. Simge walked his fire from one transport to another, the enemy still to stunned to turn, while Gustav fired the pintle machine gun on his cupola at any infantry still standing. All the world beyond the sights of his gun disappeared, and before Gustav knew it he was ordering 'driver, advance' and charging running men with their backs turned.

"Driver, halt!" he started, dragging himself back into focus. Ahead of him the attack had shattered, but he knew how dangerous infantry in the dark were. Fire still poured from his two tracks as he fought the deafening noise for his thoughts, bringing his low-lights to his eyes to scan the ground.

"Driver, reverse and swing us right," he eventually ordered, and they backed up and drove behind Ntawa's towards the main road before the latter turned to follow. With his section on the hill safe, Gustav's attention turned towards the main show.

The road was like a slice of hell. Fires beyond count burned furiously into the black sky, belching smoke and fumes. Wind blew south down the clearing, and the smell of diesel stung his nose. Raising a hand to his eyes, Gustav looked up and down the road, taking it in.

"Driver, take us up the hill," he said, then switched to the platoon net. "Good shooting, folks. Sound off."

"Five walking wounded and one unconscious," Amadi answered, his voice a grey neutral. "I've sent all but two of them back up the road, and Khristov's section with a dozen prisoners. And we're all out of missiles, clear."

"We're empty too," Miho chimed in," and I've got three wounded. Stabilised, but I need to get them out, clear."

"Understood. Miho, mount up and get back to the assembly area, and get your wounded out of here. Amadi, we're coming up the road, so watch your damn fire!" he finished, and could hear the other man's smile.

He switched over to the company wide frequency, pausing a second to wave at the dark heights above him and the armtracks hidden somewhere up there.

"Hunter, this is Sickle-One-Lead, clear."

"Sickle-One, Hunter-Lead, we hear your," came Soucek's reply, only a little more haggard than before. "Sickle-One, Hunter-Two, no more follow-up expected in your sector, but get ready to move. The attack is ongoing up north, prepare to drive up Route Seven-One-Six when able. What's your status?"

"Hunter-Lead, Hunter-Two," began the armtrack platoon leader's voice, "we're low on main gun ammunition and need a restock."

"Hunter-Lead, Sickle-One, we need resupply as well, and I'm still clearing out our wounded and some prisoners."

"Understood, all. You'll have resupply waiting for you north of the river with the rest of the company. Sickle-One, how long do you think you need?"

A lot longer than you'll give, Gustav thought darkly.

"We can start moving in five if we leave some of our dismounts behind, or fifteen if we don't."

A short pause held.

"Alright, I'm sending the HQ troops to handle the prisoners and casualties, try and get yourself ready to move in ten."

"Clear on, Hunter-Lead," Gustav let out. He groaned. It was looking like a long night.

[jewlwpet]

Thank you so much for answering! "Better a labyrinth that leads everywhere and nowhere. To die with style, live in the Baroque." That certainly leaves me with a lot to ponder. In regards to Baroque Rock, I'm still wondering why use baroque in context of a spiral and perpetual motion to begin with? Is it because baroque style was known for its usage of movement and grandeur? My problem is that I'm not really educated on it.

That's a great question! I think so, yes, though honestly, I'm not super well versed in it either. The only art history class I've taken focused on earlier time periods than that, though I do need to pick a minor and that's one I might consider...

I did some basic reading... on Wikipedia... that seems to reinforce this idea. Here are some passages that stood out to me (especially the last one).

Baroque architects took the basic elements of Renaissance architecture, including domes and colonnades, and made them higher, grander, more decorated, and more dramatic. The interior effects were often achieved with the use of quadratura (i.e. trompe-l'œil painting combined with sculpture): the eye is drawn upward, giving the illusion that one is looking into the heavens. Clusters of sculpted angels and painted figures crowd the ceiling. Light was also used for dramatic effect; it streamed down from cupolas, and was reflected from an abundance of gilding. Twisted columns were also often used, to give an illusion of upwards motion, and cartouches and other decorative elements occupied every available space. In Baroque palaces, grand stairways became a central element.

Unlike the tranquil faces of Renaissance paintings, the faces in Baroque paintings clearly expressed their emotions. They often used asymmetry, with action occurring away from the centre of the picture, and created axes that were neither vertical nor horizontal, but slanting to the left or right, giving a sense of instability and movement. They enhanced this impression of movement by having the costumes of the personages blown by the wind, or moved by their own gestures. The overall impressions were movement, emotion and drama. Another essential element of baroque painting was allegory; every painting told a story and had a message, often encrypted in symbols and allegorical characters, which an educated viewer was expected to know and read.

In Baroque sculpture, groups of figures assumed new importance, and there was a dynamic movement and energy of human forms—they spiralled around an empty central vortex, or reached outwards into the surrounding space.

[bunnyjoyce-blog]

Not as I Do

[Netflix series universe] Mayor Archibald isn't amused by Petunia getting distracted on a job, but he is not so above it all himself.

When the elevator opened at the top of the fireplace mantle, Archibald Asparagus had a moment of pause, long enough for the doors to start closing, which obliged him to hit the hold button before he could step out onto the green runner.

Archibald's assistant, Petunia Rhubarb, stood close (not too close) to the mantle's edge. The white mantle, which doubled as city hall, overlooked the House's living room, which contained the downtown area of the veggie city. On Archibald's left was a large houseplant and a row of tall skyscrapers, mostly apartment and office buildings. Balanced on the two roofs closest to the fireplace, a mostly yellow plastic house perched. It had tubes looping around it like those on a hamster cage, and three round cupola-like rooms opened onto a rooftop terrace with a lavender barrier.

On this roof, an energetic cucumber named Larry twirled red-and-yellow semaphore flags, and whatever he was signaling had Petunia rocking with giggles, and she nearly dropped her clipboard multiple times.

Probably not the only signals he's sending her, Archibald snarked to himself, noting the eager way Larry watched the pretty rhubarb. The two veggies were close in age, and they had known each other for several years now. Many of their older neighbors speculated they would get married eventually, but neither seemed to have made a move yet.

While Archibald considered Larry a good friend, he also had a sense of decorum and professional duty, and allowing the good-natured cucumber to distract his assistant when she was supposed to be working was out of the question. Assuming a no-nonsense expression, he cleared his throat. The two finally tore their eyes off each other, and Larry cheerfully waved at Archibald with a flag.

"Hi, Archie," Petunia greeted, her face still shining with laughter. "Have a good lunch?"

"Quite."

Petunia did not seem to notice the desert-dry tone of his answer.

"Larry was just telling me knock-knock jokes," she explained. "He's really good at it — show him, Larry!"

Larry nodded and waved his flags ten times, forming two words

"Who's there?" Petunia asked.

Seven more letters.

"Lettuce, who?" Petunia returned.

Larry's flags sliced through the air around him as though he were a confused windmill.

"Open… the… door… and… lettuce… in… Oh! I get it! I get it!" Petunia broke into a girlish giggle.

"Ha... ha... ha."

Archibald's drawl doused her gaiety. Petunia cleared her throat, adjusting her clipboard. She used her pencil to push back a strand of her red hair.

"Uh, well, thank you, Larry!" she called. "But I gotta get back to work now!"

Larry shot Archibald a guilty smile. He waved the flags three times — probably saying "BYE" — before he used them to give Petunia a salute. A moment later, he disappeared into the green cupola which held his bedroom. Petunia turned to Archibald, resembling a teenage girl who had just gotten caught talking with a boy instead of doing her homework.

"Sorry about that, Archie," she said, clearing her throat. "Guess I got distracted."

Archibald spun smartly and started toward his desk, which was on the other side of the large, wooden mantel clock. Petunia meekly followed.

"'The laborer is worthy of his hire,' Petunia," he said as he took his seat, "but the taxpayers won't appreciate you flirting with your boyfriend on the clock."

Petunia looked embarrassed. "He's not my boyfriend."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Well, he's not," she mumbled.

I suppose it's just a coincidence he chose an apartment building two doors down from city hall to mount his house? he almost said.

While Larry had moved downtown to be closer to his job at Mr. Lunt's "We Make Everything" company — and had elected to live on the roof because it had the cheapest rent — it seemed awfully convenient for him to choose a spot that gave him an ideal view of Petunia when she was performing her secretarial duties for the mayor. Even more convenient was the fact Larry's bedroom window faced the courtyard, where Petunia's flower shop lay.

Then again, it is Larry, Archibald mused, with a hint of reasonable doubt. Sometimes it was hard to tell whether the cucumber regarded Petunia as a sweetheart or a playmate, though Archibald was quite sure Petunia would not mind the former.

"So," Archibald said, diverting their conversation to work matters, "any calls while I was out?"

Petunia flipped a page on her clipboard. "Ichabeezer put in another request for a law that allows him to list Rooney as a dependent on his tax form."

He scoffed. "Not in this timeline."

"Pa Grape asked for you to cut the ribbon next Saturday for his latest milkshake cart."

"Doable."

"Bacon Bill is trying to understand zoning laws for his chocolate factory and asked for your help."

"I can call him later this afternoon."

"Oh," Petunia added cheerfully, "and Mayor Asparagus called."

Archibald spun in his seat, his eyes widening so much his monocle almost popped off. "Lovey?"

"She asked if you could call back as soon as you returned—"

"Well, why didn't you say so!" he cut her off eagerly, pulling out his work laptop.

Lovey Asparagus was the new mayor of the Orange House Next Door (as the town was called on legal documents). During her campaign, she had promised to improve relations between the Houses within the Neighborhood, and she often contacted Archibald and the mayor of the Other Yellow House with ideas for fundraisers, festivals, and picnics. She had a rare blend of class and humility, friendliness and professionalism, which Archibald greatly admired.

She also had the sweetest blue eyes which Archibald had seen on any side of the Atlantic Ocean (but of course he was too professional to say so).

Archibald booted up his laptop (and peeked at his reflection in the handheld mirror which he kept in his top desk drawer, fixing his bowtie), and in moments he had the video link ready. Meanwhile, Petunia called Mayor Lovey's secretary to inform them of the impending call, and soon the elegant face of a classy asparagus woman filled the laptop screen.

"Archie, darling!" Lovey beamed. Like Archibald, she had emigrated from England, and she had the nicest voice he had ever heard. "Jolly good of you to return my call so quickly!"

"I could never keep you waiting, Madame Mayor," he answered with a debonair smile.

"Smashing!" she returned. "Listen, darling, I had the most splendid idea yesterday. It needs to be approved on our end, naturally, but I simply couldn't wait to tell you."

"I'm all ears, of course."

"Did you know April is Vegetable Blight Awareness Month?"

"I believe I've heard of it. I say, that's just around the corner, isn't it?"

"Rather!" she answered eagerly. "A committee submitted a request to hold a relay race all across Orange House, upstairs and downstairs, just to raise funds, which is jolly nice of them."

"Quite so!" He gave a grave nod. "I had an uncle who caught blight once. Beastly business."

"Exactly. Well, I'm all for approving fundraisers, but then it occurred to me as I drove home that this is something the rest of the Neighborhood could get behind. What if we set up a race course that included all the Houses that wanted to participate?"

Archibald sat up, beaming. "Capital idea!"

"Do you really think so, Archie?"

She sounded pleased, which made Archibald feel pleased to have pleased her so.

"Rather! It's brilliant, Lovey. Terribly clever."

"But, of course, it must be approved by the city council first."

"And it must be approved here as well," he agreed, "but I am most certainly in favor of it."

"Jolly good!" she grinned. "Oh, you're such a great help, aren't you, Archie!"

"Happy to serve my city and my neighbors, Lovey."

They signed off soon after, with Lovey promising to call the next day. Once his screen went black, Archibald leaned back in his revolving chair, feeling quite pleased with life.

Almost at once, Petunia snickered.

Archibald sat bolt upright. He had nearly forgotten she had been nearby the whole time.

"What?" he asked, not fully looking at her.

"Oh, nothing," she said airily, but the smirk-like twitch of her lips made Archibald's face flare.

"It was an official call," he insisted stoutly. "We were discussing governmental business, mayor to mayor. I'm sure she'll be calling Mayor Strawberry in the Other Yellow House next."

"Sure, sure." She scribbled a few notes on her clipboard. "Madame Mayor is a lovely woman, Archie, but" — her teal eyes glittered with good-natured fun — "I don't think the taxpayers would appreciate you flirting with your girlfriend on the clock."

Archibald cleared his throat, adjusting his bow tie. "She's not my girlfriend."

"Mmm-hmm," she hummed back as she strolled toward the new filing cabinet.

Archibald exhaled in defeat. "Point taken."

THE END

———

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this fic, please leave a kudo on AO3.

[elfboyeros]

Hair and Statues

Obsessed with the idea of Indigo cutting her hair short after she had her babies and not telling Calvin.

It was rare for Indigo to spend a lot of time with her father solely while he was working, but when daddy dearest is an architect and you are the dean of the college, so when the building needs work, you call your dad for help.

“Citrouille, what about this?”

“Père, I don’t know…”

“You want to put a statue in the pavilion. The cupola is your addition to the campus, just like how you got to choose the architecture, you get to choose how the sculptures look,” Finnian explained.

Indigo sighed, looking at the different statues of the goddess with her father in the warehouse art studio, “But this isn’t making sure that the dome looks like the rest of the campus, or putting in glass windows this is a sculpture, a statue, of the goddess, Mother Bridgehid, saint that the college is named after! I’d rather not be offensive.”

“We can get one made,” Finnian commented.

“That’s too expensive.”

“Then I’ll pay for it.”

“Daddy,” Indigo huffed, looking over at him next to him with an unamazed gaze.

“You want a sculpture made, citrouille, I will get you a statue made,” Finnian replied.

She looked past her father for a moment, seeing her husband enter the art studio and saying hello to the owners, “Calvin!” she sighed.

“Hi, angel, hey Dad,” he replied, approaching her and her father. Getting a small hello from Finnian, before wrapping an arm around Indigo’s waist and exchanging a small kiss, “The sculptures are pretty.”

“Tell my father he can not pay for a new sculpture for the rotunda,” Indigo requested, wrapping her arms around Calvin’s middle, and resting her head against his chest.

Calvin looked at Finnian watching him shrug, “Angel, if he wants to pay for a sculpture for your rotunda—”

“My rotunda,” Indigo scoffed “It’s to cover the catacombs, it’s not my rotunda.”

“If he wants to pay for a sculpture,” Calvin repeated, slightly sterner than before, “let him pay for a sculpture.”

“You’re no help,” she groaned letting him go.

“It would technically be a donate, angel eyes,” Calvin added.

“Yes, citrouille, a donate to the school,” Finnian stated.

Indigo sighed, “Let me think about it. We’ve only looked at a few sculptures, I wanna look at some more then I’ll decide.”

Finnian nodded, “Why don’t you do that with Calvin, and I’ll get to make some phone calls.”

Indigo agreed, before walking through the warehouse with her husband, discussing the statues, some domestic talk, but mostly talk of the statues. Yet, Calvin can’t take his eyes off her, screw those statues. Her in one of his shirts in both their favorite colors, the brown pants that fit her nicely, and her hair. Goddess, her hair!

She had gotten her hair cut maybe a week or so ago, and he’s still over it! She looks gorgeous like always and her having short hair isn’t an issue at all, at this moment in time, she looks a lot more comfortable with herself than she had recently. She just hadn’t told him she was getting her hair cut. She had only told him that she wanted to maybe get a hair cut not that she was going to.

“Darling~” She cooed, leaning against a statue, a hand on her hip and the other resting on the stone of the sculpture.

Oh shit, he hadn’t been paying attention, “Sorry, Angel, I wasn’t paying attention,” Calvin admitted.

“You, of course,” Calvin answered.

“Staring at me or the statues?”

 Indigo hummed, returning his domestic stare for what felt like the longest few minutes of the day, “Your hair is getting really long,” she remarked.

“And you cut all yours off,” he remarked.

“Are you still mad about my hair,” she giggled.

“I’m not mad. I was just attached to your long hair,” Calvin admitted, “I liked playing with it, I liked it when you asked me to braid it for you, but if you like it, I like it.”

“Tata, said I look more like a mom now,” Indigo commented.

Calvin chuckled, “What?” she questioned.

“You don’t want to know what I’m thinking right now,” he chuckled.

“Oh really!”

“Oh yeah,” Calvin hummed.

Indigo rolled her eyes, looking back at the statutes and sighing, “I really don’t want père to pay for a sculpture to be made.”

“Angel if he is offering just let him, and then the rotunda has a new modern sculpture of the goddess, that will be a first for the college.” Calvin explained, “Maybe it can be a new place of worship for the religious on campus if it’s new!”

“I married a genius,” Indigo sighed, looking at him with a smile, “you just made it worth it.”

“I’m not a genius,” he replied pulling her close, “It’s the fact if been with you for some long.”

[fishgut]

Collision frequency of artificial satellites: The creation of a debris belt Donald J. Kessler, Burton G. Cour-Palais First published: 1 June 1978 https://doi.org/10.1029/JA083iA06p02637 Citations: 564 PDFPDF Tools Share Abstract

As the number of artificial satellites in earth orbit increases, the probability of collisions between satellites also increases. Satellite collisions would produce orbiting fragments, each of which would increase the probability of further collisions, leading to the growth of a belt of debris around the earth. This process parallels certain theories concerning the growth of the asteroid belt. The debris flux in such an earth-orbiting belt could exceed the natural meteoroid flux, affecting future spacecraft designs. A mathematical model was used to predict the rate at which such a belt might form. Under certain conditions the belt could begin to form within this century and could be a significant problem during the next century. The possibility that numerous unobserved fragments already exist from spacecraft explosions would decrease this time interval. However, early implementation of specialized launch constraints and operational procedures could significantly delay the formation of the belt.

--

But if we make it to Mars and then accidentally contaminate the planet with our literal shit, it might be harder to answer this question. How would we know if the life we find on Mars is truly Martian, or something that’s come from Earth? And if our microbes from Earth take a liking to Mars and spread, there may be no way to undo that.

The UN Outer Space Treaty — signed in 1967, two years before the Apollo 11 landing — stipulates that member states “shall avoid harmful contamination of space and celestial bodies.” That may be difficult if we get to Mars because wherever we go, our fecal matter goes too. Thinking about poop on the moon helps us think about a possible origin of life on Earth

As new missions to the moon are planned, we need to think carefully about the need to preserve the artifacts left at the Apollo landing sites. NPR’s Nell Greenfieldboyce recently reported that just landing within 100 meters of an Apollo site could potentially damage it.

Protecting the history of human exploration on the moon also means protecting the garbage — its historic value is immense, but so is its scientific value. We need to preserve these sites so scientists can return to them and take samples.

--

The European-built Cupola was added to the International Space Station in 2010 and continues to provide the best room with a view anywhere.

In addition to serving as an observation and work area when the crew operates the Station’s robotic arms, it also provides excellent views of Earth, celestial objects and visiting vehicles.

Its fused-silica and borosilicate-glass windows, however, sometime suffer from impacts by tiny artificial objects: space debris.

ESA astronaut Tim Peake took this photo from inside Cupola last month, showing a 7 mm-diameter circular chip gouged out by the impact from a tiny piece of space debris, possibly a paint flake or small metal fragment no bigger than a few thousandths of a millimetre across. The background just shows the inky blackness of space.

--

Space debris targeted for orbital cleanup has been hit, possibly by other space debris

The payload adaptor from a 2013 launch by the European Space Agency has been fragmented by a collision in orbit, officials say

In May, the ESA announced it would be the target of the ClearSpace-1 mission, an “active debris removal mission” designed to fly to VESPA, grab it, and then burn up during reentry, destroying both itself and the space junk. The plan was to launch as early as the first half of 2026.

Now that mission is in doubt. “On 10 August 2023, ESA’s Space Debris Office was informed by the United States 18th Space Defense Squadron that new objects have been detected in the vicinity of (the) payload adapter,” the space agency said in a press release on Tuesday.

[foxboyclit]

nest full of trinkets

for day 2 of @flufftober (and i might've accidentally combined it with day 23 whoops~)

read on ao3 here

Miskit rummages through a scrapheap, digging for any junk worth repurposing. The lenses in his mask scan for still-usable parts- an old robotic arm catches his eye. Yanking it out, they find the old augmentation’s in surprisingly good shape: not rusted to hell, hand miraculously still attached, functional with a few tweaks. They hold it over his head, making it wave. It catches one of Fiver’s many eyes, and the older scavenger smiles.

“Good find, Kit! ’M sure Sock will find good use for that.”

The lights adorning his mask flicker, and he tucks the folded limb in one of his large coat pockets.

It’s one of Zenia’s bad days, and Miskit has offered to keep her company. What better way to spend a low-energy day than craft night in bed? Neither of them speak, it’s too hard right now, so they make do with pointing to whatever plastic bead they cannot reach. Zenia gestures to his wrist, and Miskit holds it out, letting her slide on a bracelet. The beads are rust orange and green, and in between them is a charm of a long-dead bird. It’s not the right one, but that’s okay-an owl shaped charm probably doesn’t exist, and the thought finds him all the same. He gives her a bracelet in exchange: whatever shades of purple he could find, complete with a flower charm, and she smiles as she turns it over in her hand. 

From that day on, Miskit’s not dressed for the day without the bracelet. 

  A lover presents a swiped ring as an anniversary gift, a friend lends him a book and moves away before it’s returned, and even after they’re gone, the items still take up space in Miskit’s room. There is no paper trail for his birth family, but there can be for others in his life, nevermind the walkable space they eat up.

The room at the very top of the base is his, attached like a cupola, which is lovingly referred to as The Nest. The namesake doesn’t just apply to the tall view; the amount of boxes and jars filled with random bobbles and spare parts are something the crows would’ve envied. It’s maddening, the walls may as well have been crafted from dying plants and suncatchers and pinned up drawings. If you are not Miskit, there’s no chance in hell you’re finding anything in that room. He, somehow, keeps track of it all. Tickets to a mechfight months ago are pointed out as easily as clouds against a bright sky, and when asked why they’re still kept, his expression suggests the answer should be obvious: it was a good memory, it must be saved.

Miskit has no memory of the life he lost, but this new one offers plenty of proof.

[libidomechanica]

For pyned man to enjoyd that,

A ballad sequence

               Stanza I

The educations think, do Thought’s     six-and-twenty time let’s put out of the fields at þis couerthwart     the noone by

subterranean echo back white, knowing     to loved. He would I saw that the this I know. Spoke you     as my arms she can not

the two chere. The throws: Friend could poor     like a little robe, how thou being myself at so much     admire, and made him down.

For pyned man to enjoyd that,     since all better increase less my wholsome on strangle, tale     rising his eyelids cancer

angels were the wordez house     to places. Would assuage was Hope if thy happed of flat,     coole: who can clay, let’s dead.

               Stanza II

Under of announce þat in twain.     We must nor to they are so fainting-box, and I will not     to say. Worth! Suppose myȝt

mynged, ȝe ar welcome! And with     such some untrue, a soft snow, at our own wish the Sunne: and     his man. Field, he come—to

be but thing in his hed wyth you     birth no one summer’s how what half Mussulman, a lordes;     þe burne away herkkez,

bot to stealing lid of those     destinés derrest was noticed from such coward i’ll takes so     fyndyng, iwys tomb’s ruins

how show em her spring gaol     by part, when the silver better, the sun its can live. Outstretch     hit noȝt from the Giant’s

plants, which reue, how love. Take bi     þe quite stroke us lenger only two incubi, the     brenne, and rounde vchone hatz

Arthurus dark divine hath such a     numbness lie. You consort of such a waking yearly accept     Napoleon’s stars away

with Death the ringled baþed hym     byden þe worship at til I telle hit sere their beauty     disture. It is þe

for each error of a voices     institution our illumine own last, stif stair which prison     bench syngne of alle

þe westerday in loues payttrure     of Shame. For him with the onset came sorrows only as     mark in eyes wanted from

the who never rent Italian,     and rain. The thine ear since, hiȝed in our openings the blown     on þe best dauntez so

mot neuer, hende, on themselves faithful     kindless; and see; it was the time. The ne displese, and     quy þe dede þenne, struck hard,

and fast, settel lut with some like     the bright? A pausing togeder, the winds content? ’ Like the     powers; but the Owl and

tak the boatman show why the living     he launce sweet; of lonely should as sough the more cloudy     and then doth the Dove, no

boundering siege friends, as one, whilk,     and shook thee, or me! For on stray impatience, that smile we     broad, whenever shoes. With

some to be so full eye than may     ceased and as so glory fingers unurged; falling eye,     and cooks were nothings at

they needed and does shoot: but the     Sultana’s cupola with somethings which, each would blood. His     blackened enough ho, ah!

               Stanza III

And sin by institution of     life awry? For þat strict sense of þe quite flag stuck away     to the Dove, as rise say—

or, as if all think’st by each bredde,     and, Loue in his pay.; I trace book the worms, her form men when     þeramong þise build was

night, the sky, and Ywan, he needs     by a long he lock mid she hills, too,—did silently she     rose impalpable gazer

lachetes, to loudlessed     to say the other fon, the lure, as ȝe me close, bifore     on hym acorded taste;

for mangling but speak, but each doomed     shoots on its giant love thine own to answer, for at left     hither scribes: and flutte, with

what speak; for he had him the terror,     and ben loue doth Love, she smiles me to tire: a     casquerading the wantine.

               Stanza IV

Can your mouth laughter’s cruelty.     But hade of man, and rekenly sonnes, and test! Having     prison’d in that precedence

to fill mistaken of twilight     have been woman nothing day, and sayd al vmbekesten     will breath. In store it has

been girths he sing, that styþly he     slips not with hisses: certaines River And thee to þe,     and I. To shall th’effect

song of a horses. And so bolde     no more; but since worthyly wyth dear my her to ask: for     all think I can see you

consume the childgered out the     fled. The trembling aright and also at all bumpers; and     with ceased hym hys grow ugly;

for through I’ve watz fremedly     I know not who name, as renness and wayned motion’d page,     as those him as cajoled.

Mad ay he lip, on snaw laynez,     boþe twyges, þe Brutus, þe hult, on Nw Ȝere, as I rose:     to make earth or skin, or

a Princess—why not a frowned so,     you may’st throne, has ta’en my this; somehow, at last, the valley-     glades: and we did Nature.

               Stanza V

To seeks our skin, but made hit cleaves benumbing Jealous     star in heavy rain can I have to feeds, yet I perceive; let me stif in a range     of the Duches or the swung, in and

of delicately say on the turn’d to Juan withinne     about halden appeare, then, ’ quoth her legs in happe ta þe. Or weppen, ne not despots     with truest joys that I remember’d

with the stands blot to speech—while fall: the women     bench aughters by, on brode, and when and oþer, for soþe, her hears up of þe goud heart; but, by     corruptible retired, the city,

till or Woe, not a fold, darkness of all stern with     virgins and lady loue, Mary’s gone, in place her joy, which we done watches you could at     all that I am apt to me! Can

them, made hurtez þat þe asaute watz stapled with     a tail as two fish, had left through I wene, worþed þe knyȝt, voydez ar softe received al     words, which was this boye: hit is won’t means

so little manure of my life like tender that     green, wyȝe in ghost, thus she replied a thou hit hym met, that might turn to beginning crowded     in a lortschyp—þe wyth blood speche

meadows, your idle interwetting wailins, ’twill     its gode Gawan, or, little Lilia first thee, swyþe, Ful lufly he stocking connection     close mind that lemed there compact.

               Stanza VI

Ye she courself keep in a place,     and them to ryde at your hand though each day—that she cannot     so mony brydle lote,

as mouth seventy-three long haught     you must distress’d the bloods of day, it disgraceful Cyril     spake! That before he truth

woe, now she hef at þe half of     þe worldling it furred; the swore, dear brother Secrets, stifest     attiring. You thumbs-

ups, as þe prys and triumphant     still pleasant culmination: mean flies in a small which round     at al hears lattice thee

and back, which shone there a pale wysse.     A kings, to watches, and having there thee? It’s will it shall     some to float, he bed-syde,

þe days, you stop, each counsel to     my harp, and Kryst me sore; but of honde, and figure as ony     brydde, which she just thou

hatz slays to schulderest overpower     of brennez nowhere enbrauded and all mine eyes,     trawe, offred and Loue to

prevenger your scribes, stitch #1 with a     þwarle knyȝt greets its better, why dost to see the sheets and     þe gomnes. For the face,

he sank, or blessed key can souls away,     and soup, because take my hangs of the mysboden     appetite with some raȝtez.

               Stanza VII

And free vent like I oquere, and,     Christian! Nobody he wanting grace excuses blood turns     he is gauze? By this passion,

and rouez, þaȝ I for freke ful     dere, þat þe knokke synne, and Y your skin one sees me now and     breme no wyȝ vpon for drede

goud wyl me the tried in, and sweet     slink from the days his mutiny each the spede, wild wrenched in     his swayne in her by, and

new him, and ever speak, it well:     with fear no more terror, ever sayd al was but lo! And     ere was good; and their really

tone, rased with me against     men who neither own she mild, more that hands. Love spoke and     defilèd bosom which bondage

rather thirty thought, a lengez     kourt long tune, our day! ’ For Mercy, Pity done lest yow     tedious worlde his action

well-proporticos which I     leuer head, dumbe Sleepe, with Tomyris and bring of all! Delight     employ him mulberries

in which her name. With love and grotto     were left to craue in aboue more, enlisten; and pairs: with     silent starts, being spy,

the gate of the always so hard     of word white, ful brode ȝatez wel, when I þe pentangel     from thy press of mossy

stone, its precedent I sinke; and     what is wide what is beuer- hwed, so the earthly scrib’d with þe     best mind? And all know cause

earth rocks. Of his much dut her eyes     traced my tailor lad bi tytle þat his living fire to     your rough I let me morn.

And why thing when to her ear, if     those splendor. Of which, as brought, when ho let us state, and     great broken vnder of fearing

clowdes of his bedde rose who     to their tresoun tyme, with, or when new cort tune, thou with such     to blenk on hyȝ and the

sea, overhead, that greatest—and     the bound, incomplain the could you were than is enought to     fech hym God word, as certe.

               Stanza VIII

) Image of us which opport.     Satisfaction rent, and beam, oothoon ho laȝt for he ride     hade his brawen and yet

let asleeps, and feet until the     myself he stalks the univers of couardians, Put your     homewards decay with air

reason. The Pope quo-so knyȝt content?     You have for thee I live your cities: myselues all.     And do denoun of þy

matynez piched in the quest,     ȝif I fled. How payez more; to þe gomen and grey, and gone     form their arms in a lord

he vnslayn full, than a wale to þat     comlyly love. Meant, Arþurez house for his fyue wyth chaffer     where fetter by his

seuerez, þat Arac: all the Wise     Self-same skin and to þe wyrdes. Fills of Fear, this chains, and     wythinne þe hounden; þe

lorde incomplete as if thy so     naked, struggling heart thou loues them for then, sicken wil no     grwe fool desire is

too longed fro, a dead, or that, within     they go. The said, Go, gentle dreams in barrenly reflect;     they would relics on

think’st by they should so rare: and Peace,     and wipe out o’er the lips, as sum. Her watz and as thus Gulbeyaz     heavy, dark laundements

having crowd of þat euer. May,     her eyes perile bremely Youth, whose preced pride, who     was those turn? For the grace,

this leuez, hent haf at soft and the     grew from me, selfish no chaunge, all his still, the torment to     whipt me golden, and syþen

garden of they place for neverthe:     he sweet might him, as if he behind as if the     And prison-clock smote ryche.

               Stanza IX

In writ evidently on the     house of the speak well them within, and þe heuen to have savours     suns as we enterludez,

and thee not you as     maȝtyly, and on their courts, and slain,—brand sware the hit is write,     with me. Where watter days

adieu,—farewez, he s a     shell, some with this bosom’d, her slowly leper on the people     lungs, tan said Arac:

Arac, worth, in salve when pin; so     longe; as hem aȝayn ful grene bi Goddez blast thou didst though as     an enter bi þi trauþe.

Measure him to Top power, in     the worthern more is winteres rather address which increased     on for thirst snow might

longer þe haldez newe never     Night. But jessamined, sweet se times some jellies: to     call to-morrow, with known.

Which trees the Slave of prey of his     active it is soul chain we studded be to thy life to     the heart grow tearing grave,

the dres, þurȝ þe doubbles. A great     her yet w’are notion of þe ladyes on a heaven hair     wills they whole as þe wedez,

vche horn whose vulture? However     causes dwelling his far-reach’d in you, she world’s delicious     batch; an old passing.

               Stanza X

“That forgot much spells an as-tyt!     To the winds, in her aim— his height: that Oothoon shadow way     lest wanton hands bid me

is no doubtful seldom colde burnt     his pardon to meet A softly enter of woman: the     terranean echo back

dock’s be belief enough was had     costes þat was, and your passage, rathed yourselves her grave     they won’t meadows not spoke

no more lovelin would pull and     die. I may behelde hem rays—world is no cause, and infant     joys grymme back’d her eyes, who

was Nelly Gray! And nor Morne for     the first thinks and yet, the says, and Baba, to strew or Branches,     and verse, even ye

who caused; yet, so he world; though to     flower to say I am only when my slaves, and his     eye, like we can’t commits

that I do love thick and king passion,     of the shadow, Cynara! Of tryed for the worth, or     a value on, when Fate

wyth cloak from the churlish, and, to     mee: no, no, my burde by what was there then her sexe doth leaning     rusheth in us

and both the would then by the hill     windows of speken, and þy bones had love is really used     to mwe vttermost and going

the far to flower, thou hatz     Arthur þe jopardé þat arms with eyes and humbles before,     in the meet to þe her

season: cynthia with do ghesse,     but stolne touch. Till with coward conquer: if I þe poyntez,     þat seȝ hir narrow’d and

Dryad of navigations of them     after Crystered the out. Nothings, the lily, as far     beak the head. Oration

an against exacted. To from     overcame and tho’ I cried deeds, with cares to thee. Burnt, to     honours, better’d silk same

so, side the pairs: and window     allures—ȝet her fool, that endless and hold him, I, when that     strive that they might and bit

were red, sat withdrew, you to the     virtue artled off the swamped this arsounz al of advantage     brod egge, ȝe may stille,

Ful hence beyond, imagine, bot     ȝet I meaning. The worlde wyth in there are, long you nothing     to flatter of the daynté,

however rolled then, if you like     earth, no, no doubble of the shivering Hold! Such a wild     silence, fix’d wide were thou

me song there, and my sprang the time     leave made hurt disdaineth, life-poison or for it; more then     in his shade would abbey.

               Stanza XI

In a slight blossom their elbow.     And childhood for thy lips are in þe sale riche way she spoon;     gie me bow, and hem so’ ’tis yon molde more beasts; and ere we     are was nickname mule’, if the foure ladies’ eyes are glass; the     heart thought and fayþe, þe leue,

þat I do not alofte, mynne þose     gentyle iapez þat he upon the grass, dimension     which Love’s awen. In mony ioy, fair Ellen of various;     my love infinished and alone. Dos, cloth from slaugh     a walle pomp, and shuddering,

in sounded on a new warm     blossom assault in her watz ryche: hit in her and heart, before     distill’d his tachched that absence a meré mantle in     the lawe, lorde luf let the lights I could not quite a strong-temper,     and þe breathing, or

limbs I found the sick, little, or     a law of affliction her stalled that fresche, þat such a cloak,     which, she wave, and, run o’er through her horse were now þou frayne to     tell for than a lion give a dozen meny þe quen     he our deviseth sticks

a cheek and she same sayde, Bi sayn     vmbe his dint. Sette, he lake back against a stomach was square     a shilling note, and the mon must have for our good shut my     father the oathes, that mes a maid. Another; and king,     but she heaven. No more

I look, her palaces. Of     biginez þer reputation rents are bullets cover at     for the subway jerks, I live, that I have prison was     Adonis smitted touch of us with his household misery     is, but me may nome,

ah! Which side, now, but me þynk ȝerne     in honde, and even as mane and Echo rear’d toward the silly     bote on the whose eyes and dreped in his head! With things     at he weighted off their boots. Where are com, oþer of þat þe     auncian laughs—Go ponder’s

goe, whyle þe burne angel to     staining still draw from us— and yet now should no one the     yellow a scabbard, should not his boye: his drunken what we     knew savior of his be hands on the foot’ could given as     a band; something to enclosed

to graze about to things left     by length, they wone. Not too long, in love, work infected love.     With their hams, being steel; others I sends possible and     þe deck’d call that gave to bent. Love’s fit and serpent around?     Thus far to stairs: with thou

amid mats of pardon melle; þenne     he did swelling voice rever long to makes the ape for they     stryez. For blush up tailor, as if from me so to prick’d: before     such travel. Let coynt of Merlyn more shaped, but that sum     tale, disdain, ah, what a

crystal’d likeness galloping; recall     gentle lips its for alle þe quite, unless fatter     and smolt þay hair and I hit hales be he is day, and blood     you wilt by the bow’d by all then, summer in your charred our     more the could be such men.

               Stanza XII

Turns window and are not how; for     the minished. He does not be my desire, when your     waters, will flaws our goodness

fantoum and cheek toward. A rushed     me gost lost her—she’d rathere þat my absolucioun his     arrow settled tillery,

to thee: no, no, my arms and     she, frayst case; he said, into the topsy-turvy, twist, and     what I can’t say, and where

swyfte honours late; another that     steel his bele chafes have give into a cov’ring guardise     a knot be east, and best

þat tyme twenty time for a brain     mine. Play with, what recall the silence chefly þay bayþen for     my death the avoidancer

anthem was as right once to     flattery; ’twere came in þe green and embrace book the in     þat several moon through

we bank. To greatly moist token.     Then were other? To all: oliues bench flod Felix Brutus     bokez balȝe halowing

to its me in the wind which,     by Bacchus all. Is ryche grant to chambre answarez with a     love;—or breast. But the rous

prison any king of the flies     best gemmes þat passions; so light; and Dryȝtyn bilyue, a good     or doe, when Adonis’

hear measure the skylle and the     hit is not, they were blue eye, when with caract that a joy!     Till her hade behind. It

was ful sweating to loves these birth,     no fixèd loth as well the sense, adore already severall     OK. And a tears,

and there ever mind,—and a     holiday, and siding above, a town, O!—And we hade þe     halched twin this yellow

the only loathe; and vchon oþer lay.     No scholes hungry, a sharply: Strikes her majesty of coffin,     and Lyonel, run o’er

in mine host that we have a noose     force to his bend: so hold; where a grandson, that in his hode     þat all: she would adoptiue

society? And with a     decorous in discover Theotormon of look, when t was     write; there’s soul like a

babe, and frets, and vchone think if we     were so light did Miss Protasoff the light failes at are     and cursed it. Of the gloom.

               Stanza XIII

My husband’s sweet com glide the gardens     me so, side and rose- trees earth’s abuse: yet without a     breaks the day. Remain off the skies, call’d his vow, or all. One     end here like the progres, every hour I hade gouernour in     that here stille, nor flower,

saved fright! Is þe soþe, þe flesh of     mane of slaves quyl Al-hal- day with bronze for it. You think my     forth thy praise to a girl, for thy smoked as God, till th’effect     of gloom if he paradise, my soul through the watz nieȝ nyȝtez     at him quite enought

her schapelle me the ne non     such as goblins in red bi þe hounde so fair delight do     t aughter; whether night and all to ledes all adorne     and woke, and he which in turn to þat drop scented by that     or a lortschyp in her

lost her: strok for teeth, so now your     elbowes, þat I will he stole, his lips which help me, ’ quoth     streȝt, þe depe doubt that utter is a thou are also     gentyle in him, but the small life to know and song. And torne,     or any Youth, cap and

you come in your blame. And still rider’s     trying human nun, but thou art now seem tofylched map     of blaunt, my trawþe. Eclipsed and memory from his wed there,     breadth of half thirst she whispers of sum rewarde watz and bryȝt     force, spite, boȝez ar barely.

               Stanza XIV

To facts are burnez so much perfore,     my Deare, friendships their den, in her a slept. ’ For euer are     costez þe naked next, an endelez, I heart into     makes it be act from the

jewels in its bare men be wretch her     of false beauty and taste, þat much, as haughters on his gomen,     whose, how quickly, both his luf-laȝyng a magnifies too     longynge at the watz to

your compare with her sparkles were     comforts incorporated back: this, that voice; and fountain-     snow me to þen two can their loves abhorr’d have been at þer     burnez so þy wylle,

her schal happened question dread and     poyson’d in Arþurez hym lette hym þrye, Er he is with     gratitude, on his grete. When beak there, and by looks upon     a rain myne. Just light then,

we sauer to taste shrill a sleep.     But each distance agreeable each out, a touch of strive     again shall we felt since your lips to say not match a mirror     an also gentle

sheets and ellez; bot nedez to     strike a row, i’ve a present: the summe few shiver’d there I’ve     also solely, and I am not to be a lieutenant     shores he could grey and

she has at all the take a man     hand thou, to fyȝt, loss of what I met this, hell, my fate     propositioner hate ne slepe lyȝt on hill, smiling oblivion     purple and sudden

she region of talks the cease     little to haue world and though stress, one Beauty maid, when in     daynté, how though dear; no worchip þerinne, strakande hors grew, you     were to the secrete þat

schop ryȝt bot if his manner flung     decree the ocean waste likely Like two member, danced from     far away houndez þat he way were death! And kyssez þe     how neuer seemed to Foot.

               Stanza XV

Like a good fire lives windows his lyues to heart. Weary     such like a doubt gave it wait for me tomb us. So that sense. Her be this in the     places. Fair woman, and once, and at

his rich wele in þe farm, bot suckings of luf,     þe leþe myriests had his dare, far estra warmth of us part, for such lamp out to stel     to boots. As oaken hert hit were as

finess or impetuous night, and clear young, or Moon!     And fever, told with delight us, that Son of the tin-roofe make me and pine too happens     mothlike, between tent should rising

hoofs of resped boundez euensong the who at     horrible derely take myst-hakel huge tombs of the spoon; all have have been drew clouds bed,     and in this ill-tongue where solemn form

cells, somethings good mine eyes who dreaming thumbs-ups, and     ruchched in they would love Platonic longynge þay tell you could leak; and off gorged for     to vulgar by the less. From her schal

bigrauen her ties al favourite face, who to stars     due; my bell inertial laȝande lordez were was knife, the fooles raiser third. Drawn fry foot     in þat segge, in the woodbine bed-syde,

ne I left of the orbs between the wind! I lay;     some speech is my lov’d. And whatever comlyly, lach þe grehounden brawl the was biddes     þe launce was different to looks the

bad. And dies lokkez sake? Their litter angardeness     to bear; it is find virgin know just shod them falling Hope had before. Ladies be     he,—or bright at that e’er yoke out þe

boþe, and away along of a brightened wel wailing     Jealous in him, with protected, and drof þat yow, scared to tore most end oftening,     the swange and there threater feet, my name,

and seems fere is, which miser of ioye, iwysse, but     more best can climes, to catch village, cold, the subtless these, worþy I cried hem not swere the     eternal cheued him woo high heavens.

Thou Me, for then not unperceiving sounds all have     I not wrinkled pierce he hast riche wild when who had not ill—a swyn till endure strife. Among     tune of þe wod so form’d but freke

þe poynt, never on the yesternity, Peace, wyȝez,     and so sweetness quickly ghost, can no whipt me force or blusched in sadel sittes,     scentertain once lappez þe worching the

hot compayny of hersed, bliþe bryȝt bot in a     contented hym bidding the suddenly as faultless stuck away, mirth, be you be boþe,     þat Dryȝtyn bidden bars to die, her

arȝed ful hyȝ and die. Light most address suffice:     all Shape. She wind beat mouth and with likely, i, a leather space and yet my extensive     and fawn upon? And ayþer þe knyȝt, least.

               Stanza XVI

Which, elemen kirkwards shed apes of their balanced     as Gawayn þe for fear thee, where in time accords with each man had ta’en his my would rise     and fellez, and syþen þrawen now hole,

and churchez, al way, I won you will distressour     being court long fate his not right that pray! She heavy, hendly þou wyl I lende horn and     keep coaches. Scratch, how wee unstruments.

Th’ indignation reduced there he shalt have     save, or weather’s will endurance of his Highness he silent appoint,—what which in its     limits of his golden bereft his

speculate affair Ellen of Ruth, Lust out each     in tears. Yet are Natures, schyrly and like tea-hours that he betters of þis Nwe Ȝerez     day after at the executioner

of bad or the impiety, that, for one or     the wind, were he hopped, then in the sky. Maud come, and the spite of fraunches shone of gain’d in     gered and saw, his imperious

battle arabesque, where’s self-’ and þat large gronyed     hym ayled, ’ quoth Juan, I’m in expel; alone, that he fnasted feet, life for luf at     sun hom, þe house as a moment

frolicked what soul? Thou as man-girdled her beauty     with burn away; but fear, oud, nor serve. Little fricative by you I love, like a marre     hym of þe flet fall lips much mourney

fed; who walt þay wonted; moni on object the     feasts so overlaid by who don’t was nourish doubles: for have a ghost sweet limit is     mystery. Upon the door, now she

bread then us at al of fynly, and the sound     of beast hour counsel to plede vpon he blind they opening way with the Palate and the     kind: and the gentyle in happiness.

’ Keen a maids shadow, scarfs and his hearts, like the     fair flowers of late in longings from the pleasurely street loue, or thy has a hille     feet fords that Nobleness the true. How

softly departyng way be belowe, þer water     abdomen thou should died forwarde, þe ȝatez. For vch mony good; it gets you. Love reign     death, or doth remains lie unswear, who

at then on the smile recreaunt schyndez out thrill-edged     in, as Venus, you speak? Is gold still now. It make myry in me mair those the dare, syn     were, and with the presume,—shoulders with

all the sunny way. And the dust, like a States, never     a human voice in loud … it may my soul to maked. How Art meet her chest is not     keep in tis a transient friendships we

ride a flock I hae founded in her heard your fright     Marines and fire; or shape, a girls, could not ones. But the grayþed hys, and caught and grand as if     their possible, ambition. Flying

on whettez hit lakked homes, and age, exuberant,     under will never convict-clothes: a storms renned, in vaine alce, and day, and his may     still you gave the yearning, within my

virgin joye, for women þe goude Sir Gawayn, þat     pin member’d him like the worþy as night agree: when a Dandy. She near her fifty     dark—years through it eats up. The poor he!

               Stanza XVII

That may liv’d, burne touch fallen star-shinese last grayþely     al stoune. It half compassention, glowing glancing speech their chapel check’d and beauty,     your trust, kings, or severer changed with delight. And that faculties, and syþen such a Prince!     What waits fleet-foot of speak the says No:

’ he turn’d the huge to her fallyt on þe court longez.     But on grow on lyues to slaked bubble allowes yours, gave that you just a pillow:     the maner of ladiez gift, and to hent in summer every watz þis flower enjoy.     And swarez with such these land hay!

               Stanza XVIII

And death’d hornez raches of hop     and layked in a words armez, and ȝe hall-door, which make     mele, þoȝ þay hym henged

to himself has enable more     triumph on the says, We’re all team to know white a stand he     ferde forwarde quoth his give

it was beyond twent. Twain; her nas     woo’d you in the fifty miles are, of þat he hard with     feel and left a fault, of

a half Mussulman, she upbraided,     Old gered mony, for heaven’s limbs, stairs I needed     not by the moon a heard

in her not my complaine; but it     laȝt token’d to point cast thou hatz tan hym from thy left me     by your times for his schelde

he courseluen. Said her water’d,     crowd, the white balloons drifting of think with tear though and him     mulberries from waited

his hairs being around your Prince,     and fireflies shining, he slug and correspond; I would     hade and I give my dearer

to apere lendenting spreads     him as much warm weary vaults. Mens why to they swim nakerys,     much us the skyrtez,

wyth closely fly and says, sight     as fre ladies’ wrinkles, when he calmly be truth winne and     prayer, one lie best fowre

wylde; had sendal of limb up; but     a kiss each thou scharp as a dandlings be, or which were thee     in þe false into his

high Roman trailing his zenith,     invasion terrifies thick neck, our heart made her settled     up and die, a persuade

here, what slow plum doth great am     I? To death her worship for a leaf will had no more grew;     I gave him threw of ever

byfore; and sex at a shadows     of forth to the Prince, ev’n with kiss thy hear’s doing back     in the warmth again; my

lorde hym to the coward to compas     any karp, till, fragranting lanes and fayþe, ’ quoþ þe cold     for them that this long moon

these green or foot; while aboute schulde     telling through he bydez, and the day, the frame the light, meued     for a bright handson, grapes.

               Stanza XIX

Cheated, which thee: no, no, no: you     watched person of you aboute debate þe schulde hym lyst     princessions of myrtle spoke,

if you turn was Cupid’s blende, as     the Piggy-wig stood turns with white of her steal transformation,     bliss of loversweare?

               Stanza XX

‘How perfit what good in stations.     Such an approaching his very floats the Sultaneous phrase     but their sunlight of his

second twin the girl, that stopped ease;     and a tulé tapitez tyȝt on ground, and out this I     must below the heaving

had a toga or a hundred     miscarrying at night detest, sir, heavy heart, how Vlster     passionate love’ have for on

even compare with how I listeth     moist energetic portal blemishe most cities, Forsook     the must hands worked ful

song vexes my death, and know long.     The worlds mistress sought eyes I store; I did smiles saw. So thou     but it’s foule you once,

so louelokkez hem þe bur ingres,     and now which opening furrowes you refuse threshold?     Even wake them as

caterpillar ice, of demirep     with cares new, to sale þat cold it me why yoke diagonal,     a woman be

themselues wytte bi ȝon roll’d Dianeme,     bot þer look leaving man, whence weren. I wyl I wener     hand, imaginary

parts had drum. His desolate     and Lilly, she is cries, and jasmine, ryuez hir kyrtez, and     thee, that Earth! For a learn.

               Stanza XXI

Rose-maid, ‘I wyl me when hem þoȝt.     He þonk yow, Gawayn al institutes, if my her ere he     has he love? Hit semed,

voydez and rys, bats would he hadez     not whole, she flet, and stoken’d love. One yearly not enchant     it under to bed;

so welcum to wake when I     honourish looked so call them. The birds, woe are do fraystez, for     the radiant be my down

the stroke of the day and half a     strops up this her he same, yet moon, that is soft name in, for     one, ere your isles at hath

he shining? With that we courselves     looking, from deaf and lovers seem’d the horses make the     grene chapel his she husband

outline faint? And then rich gerez     day springs of kings of Prince his night, menged not intent,     that to get him aloud:

none; for Pyramus, a mere     was a palaces of themselves looking on glorifies     the feel the rapid blast

Indian course is sight into     their fold, and taxing rails, such the didn’t seen, and what exists,     and red rose icy changed.

               Stanza XXII

Bride which few could pull amountain     his so presume, which countenance Theotormon’s heart made hem     both the winterview, by rebel Pacha a cry, and by     a jailor lately most

comes with a bande of hym kyssynes     vpon þe ground his gluttondown, sir, ’ said the field-mice as     due precedent of some serve a think the light her; and crest     against yow lyke here

desperate door then shock that not fault     common strange, as we! Is penaunce and green six braw gentlement     her, this perhaps, he banter, longe; the sorrow! Of luf-     talkyng you me, the sea-

horse, in dale, and dashed in to me     heart they are quat ȝe be, I redyly slepe, with she called     tolouse if it periwinkled with temperor an     accompassion’s right He tene

water which man was give us,     will queen our inmost bridegroom to þe bone doth the close? For     murther mon, myn in walking, thousand brilliant lost land of     vintage to no more that

strike a breedeth of myseluen     þe fare; for he! Fax vmbe hit near, no little robe what of     book of the stoden habbez, for I are lotted three, and     bid Suspicion fayr

innocence, that can with a walls and     blood upon your winds but as course. Through beauty of dewy     bed to falled without his nets all the longum vale; still     take as neuer none

another kings proofs barred: we forms of     speak; for a faut semez, and is gilt held a roȝe greued þat     spotte, and weeping, and tingled the floris’ bonie lace, and will     yet she replies, as left

him them is thundergrowth’s abuse:     yet worþe hit semly þerfore. It was it rose in all the     went, he that is gome guests, to breaking on noon: I prayed, settez     wyth strok’d dome one storm.

               Stanza XXIII

That a latter cry, ‘The season.     When I hopes or to be world? For she hast thought have me layd     hym on glorious crowds, or nowþe haf þe wynne, boȝe from their     leaves have small like feather,

you shall I sitte, and more halue, þe     claims olives folȝande þis Nwe Ȝer, hende to spenne-fote motion     in his softe relics on thought. Whispers in the blooms around     health amaze like a duk

of that sun as much for baldness     all she ride, thine when plain, they love! Debated peaches be     good as a toga or a dozen, and start freedom an     hour desk, of a strong, until

that the added with cease. The     ruining at his worþy; bot þerto prayed þere þat saddle-     bolt sang captain o’er- architecture. I place, þaȝ hym     deue, for to the sum rewarde

brygge. Pardon melliflode form,—     a proper the joy tis tried; ah, what’s virgo? By art I     known, O! And every fight by me; the dewy ever word.     I heart stare, and my life

as she rather tender looking     of enterludez, to mat he love, in their tremblem in     the fire where in vayres. The Christen fucked wel louy, wolde he     cried, may not kisses black,

am I thou many for schal     leþer once decide in disdaine Loue inside the wisest market     rather crutcher, long dreadful of the standing sun: some     to take molten vntyȝtel

þerof, þe naked fro, a dead,     eyes’ favour, as age. Outside by far! A grant measured hers,     and sorts returning slavery’s giftez, þe freeze, but stood     just read a swam thy spirit

do hit take brides; gif me up     through the this, that I find some case? With mourner of born forms     have punished with þat oþer, as found tho’ they felle þe mesh,     one fortune’s hearing retreats,

sat with thy beauty was bound     Thrush of a selly Gray! I did all they in former’—a     race, that the grow? For what went the ends they three, which her fair     doth make a juel for lur

þat is very of the feather     return the cherubs in prayses þerof toun. Than this table.     Ere you would but a man kill to my thought thy harbor     and nuzzling Toies didden

pin; since he high, and þay wel loue,     of þe goud day: and glent vpon spoke foaming from head so hard     heard room, founded no more, more lymmes, oh! Broad, yet him out     of the barred: the too, for

to herde to another for she     advice, and we enter name. I haf a survey whiles strike     a thou are! Which her was busyly at thee here wherein     the here halue, nawþer felle

þe bones and þat delight to     demed. I love sometimes bay, the ruful ryche hounds, as one     little thing with her warde quen he hall, and syþen kayred to     attraction! Two roadsworth

drawn free from the flies with whose colde     lorde þat were here men curious cities; see while shall lives     had labour, some sublime thing step soft so buoyant your bedde,     it did not love thanks in

her moral eglanting his past!     The glowandering with couenaunt of þe loue, continues     the treasures pension, her other smiles not quickly. And all     live whene’er wine, now I

list vp þe not to given some     nodding, under is forth. I wanting of many a comment     day, need her bright be best: for rent, a heaven’s melted     low, fee by lynde your this?

[rodspurethoughts]

Iowa Students to Connect with NASA Astronaut Aboard Space Station

NASA astronaut and Expedition 72 Flight Engineer Nick Hague in the space station cupola. (Credit: NASA) Students Speak With NASA Astronaut Students from Iowa will have the opportunity to hear NASA astronaut Nick Hague answer their prerecorded questions while he’s serving an expedition aboard the International Space Station on Monday, Oct. 21. Watch the 20-minute space-to-Earth call at 11:40…

[chiropteracupola]

I had a dream last night that involved you and percy dxppercxdxver writing/drawing an elaborate au of jack aubrey and stephen maturin as butch lesbians. Not sure where I'm going with this but I thought you should be made aware

we have in fact been doing that thing where we stay up til 1am every night imagining napoleonic men as butch lesbians again for The Last Several Days. just not Those napoleonic men.

which is to say. you seem to have witnessed Us From The Universe One Door Down and also who is to say that we Won't do that.

[spacenutspod]

(April 8, 2024) NASA astronaut Jeanette Epps uses a camera in the International Space Station’s cupola to take photographs of the Moon’s shadow umbra as a total solar eclipse moves across Earth’s surface during Expedition 71.Credits: NASA/Matthew Dominick Students from Louisiana, New Mexico, and Texas will have an opportunity to hear from a NASA astronaut aboard the International Space Station. The 20-minute Earth-to-space call will stream live at 9:10 a.m. EDT, Wednesday, June 26, on NASA+, NASA Television, the NASA app, and the agency’s website. Learn how to stream NASA TV through a variety of platforms including social media. NASA astronaut Jeanette Epps will answer prerecorded questions from students of the South Central Region of Jack and Jill of America, Inc. In preparation for the event, the students participated in an interactive learning experience about aviation and aerospace. Media interested in covering the event must RSVP no later than 5 p.m., Monday, June 24, by contacting Brittany Francis at rtcscrbrittany@gmail.com or 713-757-2586. For more than 23 years, astronauts have continuously lived and worked aboard the space station, testing technologies, performing science, and developing skills needed to explore farther from Earth. Astronauts aboard the orbiting laboratory communicate with NASA’s Mission Control Center in Houston 24 hours a day through the SCaN (Space Communications and Navigation) Near Space Network. Important research and technology investigations taking place aboard the International Space Station benefit people on Earth and lays the groundwork for other agency missions. As part of NASA’s Artemis campaign, the agency will send astronauts to the Moon to prepare for future human exploration of Mars; inspiring Artemis Generation explorers and ensuring the United States will continue to lead in space exploration and discovery. See videos and lesson plans highlighting space station research at: https://www.nasa.gov/stemonstation -end- Gerelle DodsonHeadquarters, Washington202-358-1600gerelle.q.dodson@nasa.gov Sandra Jones Johnson Space Center, Houston281-483-5111sandra.p.jones@nasa.gov Share Details Last Updated Jun 21, 2024 LocationNASA Headquarters Related TermsInternational Space Station (ISS)Humans in SpaceIn-flight Education DownlinksISS ResearchSTEM Engagement at NASA

[lauragirl53]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: MOUNT VERNON WEST FRONT 1993 THE CATS MEOW COLLECTION -FALINE-CASPER BLACK CAT.

[hobbyspacer]

Space habitat reports – Feb.5.2024

Here is this week's selection of videos and news items about space habitats, living in space, and space settlement. Starts with NASA's latest Space to Ground report for the International Space Station: https://youtu.be/g8MrUHwvlLU ** Expedition 70 Northrop Grumman Cygnus Cargo Craft Arrives at Space Station - Feb. 1, 2024 - NASA Video Loaded with food, fuel, and supplies, the unpiloted Northrop Grumman Cygnus cargo spacecraft arrived to the International Space Station Feb. 1 where it was installed to the Earth-facing port of the Unity module. Dubbed the “SS Patricia (Patty) Hilliard Robertson” for the late NASA astronaut who succumbed from injuries sustained from a plane crash, Cygnus launched from NASA’s Kennedy Space Center in Florida Jan. 30 on a SpaceX Falcon 9 rocket and will remain docked to the space station for approximately six months. The mission is the 20th Northrop Grumman commercial resupply services flight to the space station for NASA. https://youtu.be/fb_pzLQ-ujE ** Expedition 70 Northrop Grumman Cygnus Cargo Craft Secured to Space Station - Feb. 1, 2024 - NASA Video https://youtu.be/Hj2cSf9HG1s ** Expedition 70 Space Station Crew Answers California Student Questions - Feb. 5, 2024 - NASA Video Aboard the International Space Station, NASA Expedition 70 Flight Engineers Jasmin Moghbeli and Loral O’Hara discussed living and working in space during an in-flight event Feb. 5 with students attending the Emblem Academy in Saugus, California. Moghbeli and O’Hara are in the midst of a science mission living and working aboard the microgravity laboratory to advance scientific knowledge and demonstrate new technologies. Such research benefits people on Earth and lays the groundwork for future human exploration through the agency’s Artemis missions, which will send astronauts to the Moon to prepare for future expeditions to Mars. https://youtu.be/b1iq7vQiXS0 ** What happens to astronauts during space station reboosts? Crew demonstrates - VideoFromSpace International Space Station crew members demonstrate their motion during a recent reboost of the oribal outpost. NASA astronaut Jasmin Moghbeli explains. https://youtu.be/ClkXSx6_-OM ** Window to the world in 360° | Muninn - European Space Agency, ESA Join ESA project astronaut Marcus Wandt inside the seven-windowed cupola, the International Space Station's "window to the world" and and pan around to enjoy the view. The ESA - European Space Agency-built Cupola is the favourite place of many astronauts on the International Space Station. It serves not only as a unique photo spot, but also for observing robotic activities, arriving spacecraft and spacewalks. Marcus was launched to the International Space Station on the Dragon spacecraft as part of Axiom Mission 3 on 18 January 2024. His two-week mission on board is known as Muninn. Follow Marcus’s journey on the Muninn website, check our launch kit in English or Swedish and connect with Marcus on his Instagram and X accounts. Muninn website: https://www.esa.int/Science_Explorati... Marcus Wandt's Instagram: / esaastro_marcus Marcus Wandt's X: / astro_marcus https://youtu.be/jc7psvWue0I ** Hassell and ESA unveil their concept for a permanent base on the moon - New Scientist The European Space Agency has unveiled its Lunar Habitat Master Plan, a conceptual design for a scalable moon base. Commissioned by ESA’s Discovery programme and designed by architectural firm Hassell, the ideas will guide the agency's technological development of such structures, so it can solve some of the issues moon dwellers could face in a future where research, exploration, tourism and prospecting may all form part of a lunar economy. “More people on the moon in a sustainable way. This is a good picture to have in mind,” says ESA advanced manufacturing engineer Advenit Makaya, who was involved in the design process. The concept aims to address problems that might arise from having people on the lunar surface for extended periods. This includes protecting astronauts from the harsh environment, such as radiation and dust, and dealing with extreme temperatures, lack of water, oxygen and power. The habitat is designed around a series of inflatable pods that would make minimal contact with the surface, reducing issues with abrasive dust. These would then be protected by a shell made of blocks, 3D printed using lunar soil, known as regolith, that can be interlocked into place over the pods to absorb radiation. We might also be able to get water or oxygen from the regolith. And to mitigate temperature fluctuations, and maximise solar power efficiency, the base would be built on the edge of Shackleton crater at the moon's south pole where it would face the sun for longer. Both ESA and Hassell admit their design is some way from becoming a reality, but flexibility is at the heart of it. "Is it a case of running before we can walk? I don't think so. These things take a long, long time to plan,” says Xavier De Kestelier, the global head of design for Hassell and the lead architect on the project. “We need to keep on exploring the science.”   – Learn more ➤ https://www.newscientist.com/article/... https://youtu.be/9t0kO-mFLfQ ** Ax-3 Mission | On-Orbit Science Briefing - Axiom Space Since arriving at the International Space Station, the Axiom Mission 3 (Ax-3) crew has been hard at work. Join Dr. Lucie Low, Axiom Space's Chief Scientist, to discuss the various research projects being conducted onboard during this mission. https://youtu.be/nmcIkKKb1y4 ** Expedition 70 Axiom Mission 3 International Space Station Farewell Remarks - Feb. 2, 2024 - NASA Video Aboard the International Space Station, Axiom Mission-3 crewmembers Michael López-Alegría, Walter Villadei, Alper Gezeravcı, and Marcus Wandt provided farewell remarks February 2 ahead of their scheduled undocking from the space station February 3. The crew has been living and working on the International Space Station since January 20 following a launch from the Kennedy Space Center in Florida on January 18. Axiom Mission-3 is the third private astronaut mission to the space station. https://youtu.be/qa9jU0b7Fz4 ** Gravitics - Latest posting on X: On January 5th, NASA announced that the agency will increase its investment in next generation space stations by $99.5 million, in another step towards Low Earth Orbit (LEO) commercialization. Blue Origin and Voyager Space, along with Axiom Space are NASA’s primary partners in… pic.twitter.com/Hc2z4ld8qc — Gravitics (@GraviticsInc) January 27, 2024 ** VAST update on X: We have officially surpassed the 300 employee mark! We recently held our first all hands of 2024. We continue to be full speed ahead on the development of Haven-1, scheduled to launch no earlier than August 25. Check out our careers page for more information on our culture,… pic.twitter.com/9KkCU6ju8j — VΛST (@vast) January 31, 2024 ** Starlab Sizzle Reel - Voyager Space on Vimeo Starlab is a new-era space platform, set to serve a global customer base of space agencies, researchers, and companies. Our space station will ensure a continued human presence in low-Earth orbit and a seamless transition of microgravity science and research from the International Space Station into the new commercial space station era. See latest announcement: Starlab Space Selects SpaceX’s Starship for Historic Launch | Voyager Space - Jan.31.2024. Starlab Space LLC (Starlab Space), the transatlantic joint venture between Voyager Space and Airbus, today announced the selection of SpaceX to launch the Starlab commercial space station to low-Earth orbit (LEO). Starship, SpaceX’s fully reusable transportation system designed to carry both crew and cargo to Earth orbit, the Moon, Mars and beyond, will launch Starlab in a single mission prior to the decommissioning of the International Space Station. “SpaceX’s history of success and reliability led our team to select Starship to orbit Starlab,” said Dylan Taylor, Chairman and CEO, Voyager Space. “SpaceX is the unmatched leader for high-cadence launches and we are proud Starlab will be launched to orbit in a single flight by Starship.” See also: Starlab—with half the volume of the ISS—will fit inside Starship’s payload bay | Ars Technica - Feb.1.2024. https://vimeo.com/889731242 ** Shenzhou-17 Crew Displays Scientific Research Facilities at Tiangong Station - CCTV Video News Agency The Shenzhou-17 crew members displayed various scientific research facilities at China's Tiangong space station recently. https://youtu.be/5zO4I4M8g40 ** Other news and articles: - Ax-3 Nears Departure as Station Crew Picks Up Research | Space Station/NASA - Feb.5.2024 - NASA and Partners Now Target Tuesday for Ax-3 Mission Departure | Space Station/NASA - Feb.4.2024 - Tech for space development: - NASA’s Laser Navigation Tech Enables Commercial Lunar Exploration | NASA - Feb.5.2024 - The First 3D Printer to Use Molten Metal in Space Is Headed to the ISS This Week | Singularity Hub - Jan.31.2024 - NASA is One Step Closer to Deploying Fission Reactors on the Moon | Universe Today - Feb.5.2024 - NASA’s Fission Surface Power Project Energizes Lunar Exploration | NASA - Jan.31.2024 ** Highlight: Winter over Utah - SLC - Provo - Uinta Mtns - Feb 4, 2024 - 11:26 MST -   ISS Above NASA EHDC6 Live views of the Earth from the International Space Station https://youtu.be/7-5iorwys8U ** Highlight: Colors of the Sahara - Chad - Egypt Feb 3, 2024 8:12 UTC -   ISS Above https://youtu.be/UVpjmdldGiY ** Live Video from the International Space Station (Official NASA Stream) - NASA Watch live video from the International Space Station, including inside views when the crew aboard the space station is on duty. Views of Earth are also streamed from an external camera located outside of the space station. During periods of signal loss due to handover between communications satellites, a blue screen is displayed. The space station orbits Earth about 250 miles (425 kilometers) above the surface. An international partnership of five space agencies from 15 countries operates the station, and it has been continuously occupied since November 2000. It's a microgravity laboratory where science, research, and human innovation make way for new technologies and research breakthroughs not possible on Earth. More: https://go.nasa.gov/3CkVtC8 Did you know you can spot the station without a telescope? It looks like a fast-moving star, but you have to know when to look up. Sign up for text messages or email alerts to let you know when (and where) to spot the station and wave to the crew: https://spotthestation.nasa.gov https://www.youtube.com/live/xAieE-QtOeM?feature=share ==== ISS after undocking of STS-132 === Amazon Ads === Lego Ideas International Space Station 21321 Toy Blocks, Present, Space, Boys, Girls, Ages 16 and Up  ==== Outpost in Orbit: A Pictorial & Verbal History of the Space Station  Read the full article

[quietparanoiac]

"It's a big moment."

[eschercaine]

Daemon of Asshai-by-the-Shadow

A lone shadowbinder answers the priestess’ summon.

𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 - 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚌 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕.

As night fell, the river Ash glimmered with a faint green luminescence and long white bands of mist filled the air, creating a tranquil yet mysterious ambiance. Its black walls that sprawl for leagues across both sides of the river could contain Volantis, Qarth, King’s Landing, and Oldtown combined.

The man drew the shadowy curtains away to get a glimpse outside of the palanquin lugged on the quivering backs of slaves. Bazaars and hovels are nearly devoid of inhabitants. Save for a single person wearing a wooden mask and peering out, the windows of numerous abodes were sealed. He could sense its gaze from afar, causing a certain degree of discomfort.

He stepped out of the palanquin when the slaves came to a halt in front of the red temple. The man drew his hood forward and ascended the stairs, stopping right by the entrance.

He waited and waited, and then the massive doors opened. A beautiful woman with long hair the color of deep burnished copper, unsettling red eyes, and pale, unblemished skin stands before him. “Despite your reluctance to respond to my summons, I saw your arrival in the flames,” the priestess says, her deep voice tinged with the music of the Jade Sea. “I have several matters to share with you.”

The red priestess invited him in. The temple is a grand labyrinth of columns, steps, abutments, spans, cupolas, and turrets that blend together as if hewn from a single colossal stone. A plethora of various hues of red, yellow, gold, and orange come together and converge on the temple walls, dissipating into one another like the skies at sundown. She conveyed him to an inconspicuous, vacant room with a prodigious stone bowl in the middle that had a hissing fire.

Both of them were quiet for a considerable length of time prior to him inquiring, “What is the purpose of my presence here, priestess? What news do you wish to share with me?”

“R’hllor has shown me a prophecy,” she says, her gaze fixed on the flames. “You, too, have a role to play.”

The man nearly rolled his eyes. Another prophecy again, he thought. “What exactly do you mean?”

“When the Blood Betrayal of the Bloodstone Emperor began an age of darkness, a great warrior wielding a burning sword rose to fight this darkness lying over the world. And that sword was Lightbringer.”

The man was nonplussed in regards to her ultimate objective, yet he chose to go along with it. “The Azor Ahai,” he says. “I’ve heard that story countless of times.”

“The red comet heralded the arrival of our savior. Bosys bantis amazis, se morghor zijomy amazis. Meri kivio darilaros oz maghagon kostas.”

The long night is coming, and the dead come with it. Only the prince who was promised can bring the dawn.

“Darilaros,” he drawls. “That noun has no gender in High Valyrian. The proper translation for that prophecy would be, ‘The prince or princess who was promised will bring the dawn.’”

“Impressive,” says the red priestess, smirking.

The man only shrugged, ignoring her praise. “How is this relevant to me?”

She shifts her eyes to meet his. “I see a girl in the flames, surrounded by traitors in every nook and cranny.”

The man’s expression hardened, his eyebrows narrowing and his lips pressing together. A spark of vexation flares in his eyes as he hated repeating himself. With a motion, he pushed his hood away — unveiling his shoulder-length silver hair and dark purple eyes — the latter of which fixed a fierce gaze upon her. “And I implore you once more, priestess, how is this relevant to me?”

“The girl, a princess of royal blood, calls to you… shadowbinder,” she countered. There was ice in her voice that made his magic recoils in fear. The red priestess returns her gaze to the fire. “Her death will result in the extinction of dragons, leaving humanity defenseless against a long night that never ends.” The ruby at her throat gleamed red. “This girl bears a weight on her shoulders, and that’s where you step in. She needs your stalwart assistance as the vipers plot their devious stratagems. Blood, I see, and dragonfire threatening to consume everything it touches. Sail to Westeros to find the girl… for your destiny is intertwined with hers.”

For a brief moment, the man remained silent before cocking his head to the side and letting out a small, mirthless laugh. His actions do not appear to amuse or offend the red priestess. “I’m not a dog that you can summon with a shrill whistle, priestess,” he snarled. “I might have engaged in sorcery, but do not anticipate me to hold faith in capricious matters such as destiny, visions, or auguries, for that is a completely disparate matter.”

She cocked her brow. “Do you not believe in it?”

“No, I do not,” the man says emphatically. “The very concept of it helps people believe that all unfortunate things happen for a reason, yet there is none.”

The priestess only hums. Her lips twitch again, this time into a small smile, before returning to her blank expression.

He steps closer to her, looming over her. “And you want me to sail west in search of this girl?” he harrumphed. “What if your fires are wrong, and this journey you want me to take turns out to be a fool’s errand that will cost me my life?”

She stood unflinching before him. “I can comprehend your disbelief. Although I admit that my readings may have been false on several occasions, my vision in the fire was true. I am as mortal as you, shadowbinder. All mortals err,” the priestess reassured him. “And, no matter what your personal beliefs are, you will be swept up in the forces of destiny inevitably.”

When she was finished, two acolytes escorted him out, and the doors shut behind him. And with a defeated sigh, he pulls his hood up and fades into the night, returning to his humble abode illuminated by the glistening river. While he considers whether the red priestess’ words should be taken seriously, he kept himself busy by returning several scrolls and books to their proper places.

During his youth, he had already journeyed around much of the east and the other parts of the known world, but he chose to return to Asshai. But before he can contemplate rejecting the notion of traveling to Westeros, his body acts instinctively as he began stuffing his belongings in a burlap sack.

Daemon hopes the priestess’ prediction proves right this time, otherwise he won’t hesitate to kill her.

[needtherapy]

The Necromancer’s Apprentice

Xue Yang has seen The Dark House and he’s heard the rumors that a zombie, a witch, and a necromancer live there. It’s stupid, obviously, but...well...maybe he’ll just sneak in one night and find out.

It’s better than doing nothing. It’s better than going back to the group home. It’s better than sleeping on the street.

Aka, three mildly feral twentysomethings are forcibly adopted by one (1) very feral thirteen-year-old Xue Yang.

Read on AO3

Many thanks to @coslyons for co-writing this with me (all the funniest parts belong to them) and @kevinkevinson for beta.

There is a Dark House in Ballard, and people say to avoid it.

It is probably not called the Dark House because evil lurks inside, although there is some debate about that. It is called the Dark House because it is black from threshold to cupola, from shutters to frames, and it looms on a block where whimsical shops of brick and steel are far more common. Unlike the thrift store and the record shop, the hiking outfitter and the vegan patissiere, no ivy reaches toward the roof of the Dark House. Unlike the local yarn store, no dogs sniff the Dark House’s gate, although at least two cats—also black, naturally—are always sitting on the porch.

It may not be fair to judge a house by its color, but the local legends are clear. If you step on the cracks in the sidewalk, the Dark House will steal your soul. The wrought iron gate of twining snakes comes alive under the light of the full moon to snap at unwary joggers. Children who walk alone after dark get eaten, and the yard is full of bones that wail songs of their murders.

Xue Yang sits on a bench, across the street, eating ice cream and admiring the house. He wonders about the sanity of people who mow the lawn and trim the roses, yet painted their pretty little house black, until it occurs to him that he could just go inside and find out.

He waits until dark, not to stay hidden, but because it’s a more terrible idea, and Xue Yang always gives himself permission to do more terrible things whenever he gets the chance. The high iron fence buzzes with a strange kind of energy that crackles in his palms, so Xue Yang wraps his hands tightly in his flannel shirt as he climbs over. His mother always said he was a practical boy, back when she was still around to say things.

Xue Yang lands in the backyard with a quiet thump onto thin and scraggly grass. The center of the yard is dark under the watery moonlight, with the dirt churned up and loose, and for the first time, a tiny twinge of warning pings in the back of his mind.

He ignores it.

With a flick of his wrist, he summons his knife, a long black switchblade that is seven kinds of illegal and which he loves more than anything else he has ever had, not that there is much competition. With nimble and practiced hands, he slides the knife between the door and the frame, twisting just right when he reaches the lock. With a grin of triumph, he turns the handle, shaped like a gaping mouth, and opens the door.

In the center of the room, there is a long sort of table that seems somehow to pull all the darkness of the room toward it. The shadows gather most thickly around a large, human-shaped lump laid out stiffly on top of it. Xue Yang reaches out to poke it and feels something unexpectedly warm give slightly under his finger.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Xue Yang shrieks.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” the shadowy lump shrieks back.

“Why the fuck is everyone yelling?” a voice says, and the room is suddenly filled with light.

The shadowy lump rips off the sheet and turns into a guy in his early twenties with a scraggly little beard and wicked bedhead. The voice belongs to a grumpy-looking woman wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe. She squints at him in the oppressive brightness, glaring for a long moment before apparently deciding to deal with the man on the table first.  

“Wei Wuxian, I’ve told you a thousand times that the workshop is not a place for sleeping.”

“Technically—” the man begins, before being abruptly cut off by the woman.

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘yes, Wen Qing,’ then I don’t care. Go to bed.” She rounds on Xue Yang and he takes a tiny, involuntary step back. “You. What are you doing here?”

Before Xue Yang can answer, another guy—this one with long hair, killer tats, and a dedication to the goth look Xue Yang has to admire—runs in with a baseball bat held in his hands like a club.

“Jiejie! Is there something wrong?”

The woman—Wen Qing, she’d said—pinches the bridge of her nose and says, “It’s fine, A-Ning. I’m just trying to figure out what this little hooliganthinks he’s doing breaking into my house and tripping all of my wards while I’m trying to fucking sleep .”

Xue Yang is now convinced that what he’s broken into is some kind of madhouse, and he pastes a charming smile on his face, the one he uses when fists are clenched and the smell of alcohol burns in his nose. The smile whispers words like “anger issues” and “prone to destruction,” and it’s usually weapon enough, but he holds his knife a little tighter too, just in case.

The woman snaps around like she’s felt his fingers grip the handle of the blade and holds out her hand. “Give it to me.”

No. He will not. His chin tips dangerously, his smile grows icy spikes.

Her eyes narrow. “I could just take it.”

They face off for a minute, the tension almost palpable. Actually, Xue Yang thinks, it’s not tension after all. There’s something else in the air. It reminds him of the buzzing fence, and he doesn’t like the way it confuses him.

“Ah, Wen-jie, let him keep her. Can’t you tell? The kid is scared, they’re both scared, and it’s not like he can hurt us.”

Xue Yang is offended. He is not scared, but he’s relieved that Wei Wuxian spoke up all the same, because even though Wen Qing purses her lips and looks annoyed, she drops her hand.

“Fine.” She crosses her arms again. “Wei Wuxian, make sure our little guest leaves. I’m resetting the wards in five minutes and going back to sleep.”

“Yeah, sure.” Wei Wuxian grins and shoots finger guns at Wen Qing. “Sleep well and dream of me.”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “Yes, because I love having nightmares.”

“Oh shoo.” Wei Wuxian flicks his hand at the goth man and Wen Qing. “To bed with you both. I can handle it.”

Their footsteps creak on the wooden floors as they walk further into the house. Xue Yang and Wei Wuxian wait in silence until the footsteps quiet, and then Wei Wuxian turns to Xue Yang. The grin he’d been wearing drops off his face and he looks serious, his eyes shaded and dark.

“Look kid, you should know better than to piss off powerful witches. It tends to be bad for the health.” The side of his mouth just barely tilts upwards, more wry than mirthful, and he looks old now. Old and grey and tired. “So, we’ll just call this a learning experience, and you’ll never come here again, right?”

Xue Yang snorts. “Are you kidding? If you’ve got real magic why the fuck would I leave now?”

“Toddlers shouldn’t swear.”

“I’m almost fourteen, fuck you very much.”

“Ah yes, I am now so convinced you are an adult.” Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “It’s two in the morning. You want to go home and go to bed. There’s nothing here for you to be curious about at all.”

Something sibilant and musical weaves its way through the words, and Xue Yang has his hand on the door knob before he fights off the slithering compulsion.

Holy fuck that was cool.

“Nah, I think I’ll stay,” he says, sauntering back casually, pausing to look at a weird painting of a monster facing off with an axe-wielding guy in front of a lighthouse. He feels a very strong sense of camaraderie with it right now.

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Sure, maybe you’ve got a little gift. But you’re a kid. Don’t you have parents who are going to, you know, notice you’re missing?”

Xue Yang stares him in the eyes, willing himself not to flinch. Something tells him this is a chance he’s never going to have again, a chance that requires honesty.

“No.” Xue Yang lifts his chin stubbornly. “I don’t.”

Wei Wuxian stares back, and Xue Yang gets the feeling that he sees all the years and all the disappointments that fit into that no. He doesn’t care. No one gives you what you want unless you take it.

This standoff lasts forever, or maybe it’s only a few seconds.

“She’s going to kill me,” Wei Wuxian mutters, and a little louder, “You can sleep on the couch tonight, but I’m locking you in the room and if you touch anything, I will turn you into a mannequin.”

He turns to leave, but looks back with a frown. “Wen Qing builds beautiful, elegant wards that you’ll never feel, never even notice if she doesn’t want you to. Mine will hurt. Don’t. Touch. Anything.”

Xue Yang decides, in the principle of magnanimity, to agree. “Whatever.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head and points a finger at Xue Yang. “Go to sleep, kiddo.”

The words hold Xue Yang’s hand and lead him to the couch, make him lay down, and within minutes, he is asleep.

He opens his eyes to piercing sunlight and a pale face inches from his.

“What the fuck!” he yelps, instinctively grabbing for his knife and snapping it open.

“Mr. Wei, he’s awake and noisy,” the face says, and Xue Yang focuses on its features.

It’s the goth guy. His arms have full-sleeve tattoos, matching patterns of stark black geometric lines and circles, but his neck has weird black veins tattooed on it. His eyes, which are still way too close to Xue Yang’s, are so dark they’re practically black.

“Where’s the witch?” Xue Yang asks, sufficiently recovered to be an asshole.

“Boiling children,” Wei Wuxian retorts. He’s leaning over the table and taking notes in a tattered book, poking something with a tiny screwdriver. “It’s the only reason we let you stay.”

“Really?” Xue Yang can’t decide if that’s cool or terrifying.

“He’s always like that in the morning,” Goth Guy says conspiratorially. “By ten, he’s pretty nice again.”

“I’m never nice,” Wei Wuxian grumbles. “A-Ning, can you take our miscreant home, please? The last thing I need is cops knocking on The House door asking if we’re kidnapping children. Again.” “Okay, Mr. Wei.”

Xue Yang panics. He can’t go back there. Not since they found him alone with the fire. He knows what they’ll do, and he can’t go back. He won’t . He ducks under Goth Guy’s arm and has his knife angled under Wei Wuxian’s chin before he’s even processed the motor function commands “get up” and “don’t let him send you away.”

“No! You have to…” He scrambles though thoughts, desperate ideas, each one crazier than the last before he hits on words that work themselves loose from his mouth. “You said I had a gift, you have to teach me to use it.”

Wei Wuxian frowns, but instead of being afraid or angry, he tips his head and whistles, two notes that almost sound like a name. To his great shock and horror, Xue Yang’s knife vibrates in his hand, and his fingers snap open like a broken trap, dropping the knife onto Wei Wuxian’s waiting palm. He carefully folds the blade back into the handle.

“Jiangzai,” he says, almost affectionately.

It doesn’t mean anything, but then it does , and it hits Xue Yang so hard he collapses to the ground. The knife has a name, and he knows it’s right as soon as Wei Wuxian says it. Xue Yang’s heart pounds, and he hates it. He hates this motherfucker who just took his knife away and he hates the Goth Guy who is helping him back to his feet. He doesn’t want to stay anymore, and he shakes off Goth Guy, wishing he could throw his kindness on the floor and stomp on it.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Okay, maybe you have a little bit more than a little bit of a gift. But you still can’t stay, and I’m not teaching you anything.”

Xue Yang snatches his knife— his Jiangzai—out of Wei Wuxian’s hand and stomps to the door. “Fine. Fuck you.”

He gets as far as yanking the door open and slamming it against the wall before he realizes that there is a person in the way, and she doesn’t look inclined to move.

“Here you go, kiddo,” she says, handing him a bag. “I bought you some clean clothes and a toothbrush. A-Ning will show you where the bathroom is. Come back down for breakfast when you’ve changed.”

This is somehow more terrifying than when she was yelling at him. Yelling he understands. Now she’s just being...creepy. He stares at her belligerently, and she sighs.

“Listen, you little shit,” she says, bending over to look him dead in the eye. She doesn’t have to bend very far, he realizes. She’s actually tiny, even though she seems as big as the Fremont troll. “You will either go willingly with A-Ning, who is very nice, or you can test my patience and get buried in the yard with all the rest of the naughty children who break into my house. Your choice.”

Yeah, that’s more solid ground.

“Fine.” He grabs the bag from her and waves at the Goth Guy. “Lead the way, A-Ning .” He means it to be an insult, but Goth Guy just grins.

Xue Yang hears Wei Wuxian ask, “Wen Qing, what the fuck,” before Goth Guy herds him up the wide staircase, and he doesn’t hear any more of her answer than, “A-Xian, I can’t let him leave. You don’t understand, I did a location…”

This close to the Goth Guy, Xue Yang decides to acknowledge that the pale translucence of his skin is probably not makeup.

“I’m Wen Ning, by the way. I doubt Mr. Wei or jiejie introduced me,” Goth Guy—Wen Ning—says in a casual tone.

“So are you actually dead or what?” he asks Wen Ning, and Wen Ning grins.

“Or what,” he answers enigmatically, and gently shoves Xue Yang in a bathroom with pink tiles and a claw-foot tub.

Once he’s bathed and changed, Xue Yang heads back downstairs. Breakfast is bacon, eggs, and toast, and he doesn’t even pretend it isn’t the best food he’s eaten in a week. It is, in fact, the first food he hasn’t stolen in a week, and that alone is a novelty.

He’s halfway done with his food when Wei Wuxian, who hasn’t touched a bit of his and looks as sullen as an orange, says, “I have been informed that there is some arcane rule about teaching a gift you discover, and my...how did you put it, dear Wen Qing? My immortal soul and earthly being will be in danger if I don’t capitulate to the inevitable?”

He glares at Wen Qing, and she smiles sweetly at him.

“Whatever,” Xue Yang says around a mouthful of eggs. “Are you going to eat that?”

Wei Wuxian passes him the plate of food, and Xue Yang closes his eyes in bliss. Food is amazing.

“There are conditions—don’t look at me like that, Wen-jie. I agreed, okay? I get to set conditions. First of all, you do whatever I tell you. If I tell you to sell turnips on the street corner, you better sell some goddamn turnips. Second, you don’t touch anything unless I say it’s okay. A lot of this stuff,” he waves his hand around the white and yellow room, which looks surprisingly cheerful for a kitchen in a black house, “is priceless and dangerous, so…”

Wen Qing clears her throat and glares at Wei Wuxian.

“Uh...don’t touch anything.” Wei Wuxian finishes, snaking a piece of bacon from Xue Yang’s plate and shoving it into his mouth before disappearing back into his workroom.

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “I promise he’ll actually teach you stuff once he pulls his head—” She visibly checks herself. “Once he stops being an idiot. More bacon?”

The rest is on AO3