#sampled movement cycle memory

[sw5w]

Security Battle Droid

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 02:01:08

[ttttaehyungie]

lazy day cuddles | ksj x reader

lazy day cuddles | kim seokjin x reader

genre | established relationship, smut summary | As payment for waking you up, your boyfriend owes you cuddles. You’re here to collect that payment. Anything that happens beyond that? It’s not your doing. rating | 18+ word count | 2k words warnings | softttt smut, clit rubbing, nipple play, pwp a/n | i gotta admit, this is just gratuitous smut and cuddles LOL life has been really tough lately and i just wanted to write some soft smut alrite 🙈

Laid stretched out across the tiny couch, your boyfriend’s long legs spill over the wooden armrests, bare feet sticking peeking out from behind the cushions. His breathing, heavy with slumber, fills the living room with an atmosphere of serenity. One arm rests on his tummy, the other over his eyes to shield them from the bright noon sunlight that’s streaming in through your apartment windows.

You’re not surprised to find Jin napping. He was up before dawn for his fishing trip with Yoongi. As quiet as he’d tried to be while washing up, you were too light a sleeper to not have woken up from the running of the tap in the ensuite. Squinty and grumbling, it had taken many minty, damp kisses to your cheeks and the whispered promise of warm cuddles later to appease you. Through the foggy sleepiness, memories of Jin dragged themselves up, hair wet but fresh-smelling from the shower, crawling into bed for a nap after fishing trips. Ok. Cuddles are acceptable payment. With that, you released your grip on the white cotton of his t-shirt and let the waves of sleep pull you back under.

Only, you’d woken up alone today. It seems Jin didn’t make it to the bed this time for his usual post-fishing trip nap.

Crossing to the front of the couch, you kneel before your sleeping boyfriend and take a moment to admire his features, pulling his arm away from his face. The smooth, long breaths that he’d been taking stutters at that, signaling his rousing. You lean forward and pepper kisses across his face, skimming your lips across the smooth skin between pecks, knowing it will bring him to alertness.

Warm hands grasp your face gently, softly, and pull you in to meet plush lips that kiss yours with equal tenderness. Half-lidded dreamy eyes meet yours as you pull away.

“Hey,” he says, voice thick from having just woken up, and he clears his throat.

“Hey,” you parrot with a smile. “Why didn’t you come to bed?”

“Too tired. Didn’t wanna shower.”

“But you promised cuddles,” you whine jokingly. Jin responds by pulling you into him, smushing your face up in the juncture between his neck and shoulder, muffling your cries of not like this! and shaking you as he chuckles at your pleas.

When you break free, heaving a little for air but grinning, your heart is set alight when you catch sight of Jin’s matching grin. He stretches his arms out. “How about cuddles here?” he suggests.

It’s not the lazy cuddles between soft sheets that you originally planned, but it’s lazy cuddles with your boyfriend all the same. He lets out a soft oof as you accidentally elbow him in your enthusiasm to get to cuddling and you hurriedly apologize. He laughs. You and your love for cuddles are too cute for him to stay mad at. Clambering into his embrace to nestle yourself into his broad chest, you squirm around a little to find a comfortable position.

Nose buried in the soft white of his shirt, you take a deep inhale and are met with the floral fragrance of your laundry detergent, slightly muted undertones of ocean brine, and the familiarly thick scent of Seokjin that has become akin to home. With a kiss to his jaw -- which is conveniently within reach without much movement -- you lay your head back down on his chest and hum contentedly. This is what Saturdays are meant for. Soaking up the feeling of mutually shared body heat and relishing the feeling of your boyfriend gently stroking your back, sending goosebumps up your spine.

His hand dips under the fabric of your shirt as it continues its wandering. “No bra?” he asks. You shake your head. “Shameless.”

You scoff and pretend to get up. “I can put one on if it bothers you that much,” you quip, but Jin tugs you back down.

His gentle tracing resumes. “I didn’t say it bothered me.”

“You called it shameless.”

“Maybe I like my girlfriend being a little shameless,” he says, slipping a hand between you to stroke the side of your breast. When you turn to adjust your position, he seizes the chance to pinch the bud. The thrilling jolt of pleasure elicits a gasp from you.

“You’re really handsy today,” you note, but arch further into his grasp, and he takes it as confirmation to continue with his ministrations.

“Yeah, well, having you squirming on my dick and rubbing your soft chest up against mine doesn’t really help anything.”

“And here all I wanted was some cuddles,” you say, and it’s true that this was your only agenda. But the whimpers that escape you as he flicks his thumb against your nipple contradict the innocence to your statement.

“We can still cuddle,” he says. You eye him. You know him better than that. He laughs. “While doing other stuff.”

“And what might ‘other stuff’ include?” you tease, pushing him. He pushes back. The hand that’s unoccupied slips its way down from where it rested on your waist to skim the curve of your butt, till two fingers press firmly against your core. The feeling is muted through the extra layers of your sleep shorts and underwear, but it somehow makes it extra titillating. “Right here on the couch? Shameless.”

“I told you. Maybe I like shameless.”

There’s little space on your tiny couch, so you remain on top of Jin, but you plant your knees down on either side of his waist and lift your hips. With the new angle, your chests are pressed together, leaving him no space for his handsy wanderings on your chest. He pouts. But cuddles, you insist.

He relents and wraps an arm around you. The comforting warmth that emanates from him steadies you as he holds you close. And it’s a good thing it does. Because when his other hand slips under the waistband of your shorts and underwear, painstakingly slow as it slides down to your core, his hold is the only thing keeping you grounded. When he reaches his destination, he cups your mound for a moment. Teasing you. Just as you love to tease him.

“Jin. Please.”

Upon your whimpered plea, he parts your folds. A lone finger takes a long, slow swipe from your dripping hole to your quivering clit. There, it presses firmly as the pad of his finger drags up and down the bundle of nerves, aided by the slick of your own arousal.

You relish in the indulgent richness the ebbing pleasure of his strokes bring. It’s slow. Painfully but deliciously so. But it’s like a sampling that has whet your appetite and soon has you ravenous for more.

Rutting against his finger, you attempt to ramp up the pace. Jin lets you take over, stilling his movements. But before it can build up too much, he withdraws his fingers, the pleasure along with it, and you keen.

“I thought you liked me being shameless,” you huff, all pouty. He tilts his head to kiss your pout.

“I do,” he promises, moving to kiss the crease in your brow. “But I want to try something new.”

He doesn’t explain beyond that, but despite your confusion, you follow his cue as he begins stripping his shirt off and then yours. You trust him. Soon, your clothes are in a rumpled pile by the couch.

When you’re both naked and bare, you lay back onto the couch. You watch as Jin rolls the condom on and joins you to lay side by side this time. With your tiny couch, it’s a wonder that he’s not falling off. But somehow you manage.

Caged in between the soft cushions before you and the hard planes of Jin’s chest flush against your back, you realize there’s few places else you’d rather be. Time seems to have slowed back down to its leisurely crawl after your frantic stripping. It seems that Jin is on the same page, his wandering hands resuming their exploration as they come to fondle your chest once again.

Tilting your head back, Jin’s lips capture yours in a languid kiss. His hand makes its slow descent down to your core. But just as it arrives, it makes a seeming detour to your thigh. He hitches it up to guide it over his hip. Parting your folds in the same unhurried manner, he pushes inside you slowly, filling you up inch by inch.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

You nod. “More than okay,” you assure him.

He kisses your temple softly, and you shudder within his grasp. He eats this up, placing open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder. The feeling is all so much and yet not enough at all.

And then he moves. Carrying on with the stretched-out pace of things, he’s unrushed in his movements. Slipping a hand underneath you, he reaches around to gently squeeze your breast. His other hand finds your clit and he circles it with just the right amount of pressure to set you aglow with a simmering pleasure.

He continues on in this infinite cycle of pulling out, then sinking back into your wet heat, the pace measured and sedate. When you whine and try to increase the pace by bucking your hips against his, he calms your movements down with a hand on your hip -- fingers glistening slightly from your lingering arousal -- until you stop.

“Why?” you whine.

But what he says next is vocalized in such a hushed tone that somehow you catch it. You get what he’s trying to get at. “Just enjoy this moment.” You understand. The bubble of pleasure where he’s so wrapped up in you expands so you’re equally wrapped up in him. The quiet hum of pleasure is enough. It’s not quite a stagnant stasis but it’s not a frenzied chasing of highs either.

Instead, you rest in the confident assurance that your peak will come. Succumb to the bone-melting sensation that his gentle tweaks of your clit bring. And when they slowly, gradually, increase in pace infinitesimally, you clench your walls lightly, pulling a groan from him. The gruffness of it goes directly into your ear with the way you’re positioned, and it sends a new spark of arousal shooting down your spine.

You follow his pace, picking up when he does. But it never goes anything beyond relaxed. Yet, the pleasure builds, accumulating steadily like water behind a dam until it eventually cracks and breaks.

When you crest that peak, it’s like nothing else you’ve ever experienced. Rather than the usual bright flash, a quick high and the breathless, panting descent that accompanies it, your orgasm this time feels entirely different. It’s like you’re back floating in the ocean, casually rocked by the push and pull of the water that cradles you and lifts you ever higher till you ascended on a particularly big wave and now you’re riding it out gently, bonelessly, languorously as the tingling orgasm fills you from head to toe. You can still smell the salty ocean air that clings to Jin’s hair. The aptness of it fills you with a fuzzy warmth.

Soon after, Jin is grunting into your ear, his arms now encircling you and holding you tightly to his chest as he reaches his own peak. Tilting your head back to look at him, you take in the visual of him in his blissful post-orgasmic haze.

When his eyes finally flutter open, he gives you a close-lipped smile. The kind that makes your heart swell as it fills up with so much love for him that it brims over. He holds you in his gaze with galaxies in his eyes and you know he feels the same.

He makes quick work of the condom and helps you get back into your clothes after getting dressed himself. Sipping water from the cup he hands you, you glance at him from over the rim. “Is it bad if I still want to cuddle after this?” you ask.

He laughs at you, knowing your penchant for cuddling. “Hm,” he taps his chin in feigned thought. “After knowing we can have amazing sex while cuddling, I’m not opposed.”

You roll your eyes and swat at him lightly.

But when he proposes round two when you’re tucked under the covers after a quick shower, you don’t refuse.

[goodbysunball]

Bring it on home

Comparatively easy listening from the set of records showcased this time around, but there's a world of grief settin' your jaw to grind. You deserve a neck massage and a cocktail; lean into these after you put your misery rectangle aside for a spell.

Astute Palate, s/t (Petty Bunco)

Emily Robb, David Nance, Daniel Provenzano, and Richie Charles got together and hammered out this LP during "48 sleepless hours" in Philadelphia. It's definitely a fairly rough documentation, but if you know the players, that's generally what you'd be gettin' into with 'em anyway. Gotta admit that I'm not a huge fan of what I've heard by David Nance - respect his hustle, though - and the same goes for the tracks he leads here; in particular, the studied classic rock caterwaul employed on "Stall Out" basically rolls my eyes for me. I am, however, fond of David Nance the Guitarist and his heroics on "Stall Out," and "A Little Proof" definitely has me more curious about his recent solo work I've skipped. These are pithy grievances, though: the album rules, as a whole, but it's just hard to stomach some of Nance's lyrics when they're side-by-side with bonafide jammers like "Bring It On Home" and "Treadin' Schuylkill." "Bring It On Home," in particular, with its Velvets-inspired chug and Robb's bleary vocals coolly beckoning you to do as the title says, heats to a boil with the blustery, fried guitar interplay. For me it wipes the floor with anything else on the album, and pretty much anything else I'll hear this year, so let's put all my petty complaints aside and declare this the Summer of Astute Palate, OK? Looks like the secret's out - the LP's sold out from the source, but can be found hiding in various distros and shops. Hunt it down, crack a tallboy, and embrace the sweltering heat of our melting planet with Astute Palate.

Maraudeur, Puissance 4 (self-released)

New and best LP yet from Leipzig's Maraudeur, self-released with some of the best packaging/artwork I've seen in a minute. My memory's usually a bit faulty, but I recall the band being a three-piece on their last, still very good LP from Bruit Direct Disques. I'm inclined to think that the group's ranks have swelled to five anyway, since the sound here is a bit more bright and full, lots of different moving parts zipping and moving around, giving the crisp recording some effervescence. Compared to older songs like "Computer Dreams," Maraudeur sounds sharper, capable of backing up any threats rather than coming across as deflated and listless. Even the slower songs on Puissance 4, such as "Slow Dress," thrive on tension, guitar strings set to snap amidst the robotic/hypnotic vocals. The band seems to have located a sweet spot between the simmering minimalism of Household and the technologically damaged vision of Chrome, and "TWYWYS" basically sounds like a collaboration between the two groups. Guitars are used as window dressing, favoring instead synths and showcasing the chops of the rhythm section. "Face/Figure" and my favorite track "C'est Caché" are the best examples of Maraudeur's rhythmic foundation, but nearly every track causes inadvertent head bobbing. While accessible and familiar on the surface, Maraudeur's dry humor, the carefully camouflaged layers of sound, and whatever is going on in "I Am Here" keep boilerplate post-punk comparisons at bay. Puissance 4 is a refreshing, addictive brew from the not-too distant future, and probably a blast to experience live.

Astrid Øster Mortensen, Gro Mig En Blomst (Förlag För Fri Musik)

New Gothenburg talent alert! Mortensen is apparently a newcomer to the scene, and her debut LP fits in nicely amongst the Förlag För Fri Musik discography. Gro Mig En Blomst features lonely and debased late-night solo explorations with guitar, piano and what sounds like an accordion, accented by electronic manipulations and the found sound that accompanies most FFFM records. It's dreary and stark, and can quickly bring the mood down when it's on. For me the most obvious reference point is Grouper's Ruins, in that both are recordings so intimate that it feels like an interruption to move while it's on. But I also get bits of Picastro's Whore Luck ("Hvor Kommer Mørket Fra?" sounds like it was plucked directly from that album), and there are similarities to Chloe Alison Escott's solo work, on the title track and "Piano i" and "Piano ii." Gro Mig En Blomst is a far cry from more traditional singer-songwriter music, dabbling in Stars of the Lid-like drone on "Brud ii" and jumping into the "Is there a record on or...?" genre on "Solen Er Et Lille Hus" and "Brud i." I can't say I go out looking for records this fragile and surface-level bleak anymore, but Mortensen's work is more often beautiful and calming than hopelessly gray. Another keeper from FFFM, sure to be one of the most sought-after records from the label, and for good reason.

Nightshift, Zöe (Trouble In Mind)

Travel back in time with me, if you will, to a time when "indie rock" was a genre label that had some meaning. After getting rid of the bad taste in my mouth and shaking off the embarrassment at who I was when I largely listened to stuff that'd broadly fall under that label, I'll allow that Nightshift is making a strong argument for some of the music released during the comparative naiveté of the late '00s/early '10s. Across Zöe, you get shades of Broadcast, Lower Dens' Twin-Hand Movement, the UV Race ("Spray Paint the Bridge"), Belle & Sebastian and A Sunny Day In Glasgow ("Power Cut" and "Romantic Mud"). The trick to Zöe is that it folds all these reference points in neatly and places it on a sturdy percussive base. I won't argue that every song here is memorable, but they're all enjoyable, and the songs that hit - "Outta Space," the title track, "Infinity Winner" - send chills down my spine every time. Guitars are plucked and scraped for leading beats, accentuating shuffling drums and giving the bass the spotlight. The vocals are dreamy and lyrics direct, and for the duration of Zöe you're relieved of the pessimistic present and allowed to rigidly dance to Nightshift's hesitant groove. They've charmed their way through my cynicism, and Zöe's been on heavy rotation despite my reluctance. Take it for a spin, and fall under Nightshift's spell.

Hugo Randulv, Radio Arktis: Samlade Ljud Från Den Norra Polcirkeln (Förlag För Fri Musik)

First solo LP from Hugo Randulv, an active presence in the Gothenburg scene with his involvement in Enhet För Fri Musik, Skiftande Enheter and Amateur Hour, among others. Though typically a guitarist, on Radio Arktis, he drops the guitar and instead fills both sides with glacial synths and dusty samples. The label's original write-up for this record called it "grand ambient," though to me it sounds and feels much more personal than something that would soundtrack the Olympics. His use of samples, most notably on "Radio Reykjavik," sounds intimately tied with some fleeting memory, the music serving to enhance or exorcise the feeling tied to it all. It reminds me most of the Fun Years' "God Was Like, No" in that both records used the tools common to ambient/drone music but applied a much more personal touch, that certain nameless attribute that keeps drawing a listener back in. Can't put my finger on it, but both records just sound like they had to be made, rather than serving as a genre exercise or one-off exploration. I don't know that Radio Arktis is going to change anyone's life, but it could, and I've been hypnotized by its wordless, sparkling gray tones for weeks. Even though the "solo musician embraces synths" thing is usually pretty tired and pointless, Hugo Randulv's contribution shows why it's an alluring proposition at all.

Sunhiilow, Beyond the Cycle (Ikuisuus)

More solo synth, this time coming from Valerie Magisson and her Moog Mother-32. Magisson's Sunhiilow project veers into new age/ambient with its bite-sized kosmische explorations. There's something about the combination of the short length of these tracks and the sense of movement present within each that allows Beyond the Cycle to transcend the lifeless drivel that's usually tagged "new age" and "synth." It seems intentional that Magisson was trying to capture the mood of each track title in its corresponding music, and she is largely successful, though its unclear if the title provided direction or was applied afterward. The somewhat jarring introduction of "Wilderness Bloom" and the stoned growth of "Circle Motion" are my top picks, but the album works best as a whole and played very loudly, the overall effect immersing the listener into heady zones traversed by the Nightcrawlers. Leave it to Ikuisuus to release an "ethereal ambient music" record that satisfies, and sounds and looks great to boot. Sunhiilow's a lot more tame than most of what Ikuisuus releases, but it's an accessible, recommended starting point to one of the best active labels. HOWDY.

[anon-e-miss]

I'm so sorry you're going through such a tough time. I love your writing and I'm glad you can escape a bit through it. Do you mind if I request another prompt form the ask meme? "I hit my head, now I don't feel so good"

Thank you. 🖤🤍

As mega-cycle’s went, Prowl thought this had been a rotten one. His energon press had malfunctioned, and he had faced a light-cycle of paperwork and disciplinary meetings with benefit of that quick burning fuel.  There was pressure behind his optics, a tension helmache perhaps, or the continual drag of his ATS as it scraped along. Unfortunately, while there was a rather fancy press in the mess hall, it did not have a setting remotely close to “black like Prowl’s spark”, and the two cubes he had downed had not been able to give him the quick burst he needed to clear the static and to get his processor running smoothly.

Why Prowl would reasonably blame the Twins for most misfortunes that fell upon him on base, he was the favoured victim of their pranks. His press had not fallen victim of a petty prank, however. They knew better than to touch it. Prowl tolerated friendly mischief, but there were lines you just did not cross. It had been falling apart for a long time, and it had been getting touchy of late. This final collapse had been coming, Prowl had only hoped his press would hold out until he finally found a suitable replacement. Unfortunately, he had never been a lucky mech.

Prowl glanced at the datapad containing the agenda for this officers’ meeting he was already a bream late to. For a mech to whom punctuality was almost of religious importance, Prowl loathed being late by even nanokliks but the matter of Brawn and Cliffjumper had run long. Getting the minibots to stop arguing long enough to give them their punishment duties had taken Prowl half a joor. Though his colleagues considered him a consummate bureaucrat, Prowl actually loathed  these meetings. They took precious time away from his real work. His mood was foul, and the prospect of the meeting he was meant to be chairing did not make Prowl any sunnier. As Prowl hurried around the corner, his peds slipped out from under him. Before he even realized he was falling, Prowl crashed to the floor with a crash.

“Ah,” he gasped.

For a klik Prowl lay sprawled on his back, his ventilations having been knocked out of him.. His padded back plate had done its job, and though his doorwing sensors flooded his sensory grid with a grating burn, his joints were unharmed. Some of that insulation would have been good in his helm, Prowl groaned with pain as his digits brushed against the back of his helm. The tension helmache that had been haunting him all light-cycle exploded. He held his helm in his servos as and gritted his denta. That fragging hurt.

“Prowl?” Optimus’ voice burst into his helm as their comms automatically linked. Prowl had to stop himself from hissing a curse. “Did you forget the staff meeting?“

“Of course not,” Prowl replied. Scowling, he looked to his scattered datapads and dragged himself up onto his servos and knees and quickly collected them. His helm spun for a nanoklik but Prowl summarily ignored it. “I was delayed with Brawn and Cliffjumper. I will be there shortly.”

The meeting was a waking memory purge. They argued over the same points, revisited decisions long decided. Prowl hated these things. He snapped, more than once, as he forcefully brought the meeting back into focus. Though he got some dirty looks for his highhanded behaviour, Prowl could not have given less of a damn if he had tried. When the meeting wrapped, Prowl tried to think if they had accomplished anything. Probably not. All he wanted was a half joor in the quiet and dark of his office. His tank churned a little as he rose from his chair. That energon from earlier was not sitting right. He had always had a nervous fuel tank.

“Ready for our session?” Jazz asked as he sauntered up. Right.

“Of course,” Prowl replied. He cursed himself for forgetting. They to go over the intelligence packet Mirage had sent in the other mega-cycle. It would only take a joor, probably. If he could keep Jazz on task, rather than letting the saboteur get... conversational.

“Yer office or mine?”

“Mine. I am not convinced you even have a desk under all that scrap.”

“Oh there’s a desk. Somewhere. Although Sideswipe did steal it last quartex and it took me an orn to notice anything had changed.”

“That may not be something a mech in your position should be admitting.”

“Bah,” Jazz laughed. I know there’s nothin’ important in there. That’s the point. If one o’ Soundwave’s minions ever gets in they can dig through that scrap, waste a few joors, ‘n maybe lose a digit or two to one o’ my traps.”

“You have the most peculiar of methods,” Prowl replied. Jazz’s workspace was chaos incarnate, it matched the mech. Upon seeing it the first time, Prowl had voiced some serious concerns to Prime but Jazz had proven himself to be a singularly talented operative. Chaos got him, and the Autobots, results.

Jazz talked as the walked. Prowl tried to listen but his processor was throbbing. He considered taking a pain blocker but they muddied his processor, and it was hard enough to really get his ATS going without his “rocket fuel”. At least Jazz did not expect more than one glyph answers or the occasional affirmative noise. As always, Mirage’s packets came heavily encrypted, but Jazz had already cracked it before they had booked this session.  He had already gone over himself as well. Prowl’s purpose here was to lend Jazz his tactical systems so they could more quickly sort the junk of the jewels. Except his tactical systems felt like junk right now.

“Ya a’ight, Prowl?” Jazz asked as they sat opposite each other at Prowl’s desk. It was a bit weird. Jazz was sitting straight, not sprawling.

“Fine.”

He tried to think, really he tried. Prowl studied the schematics of Shockwave’s lab, and tried to make sense of the chemical samples Mirage had taken. As they moved on to the next file within Mirage’s packet, alluded to a device within the lab, and Prowl had to go back to the blueprints to remind himself where it was in regard to the other equipment. He flipped back and forth, twice, three times. A 3D map was projected from the communicube, it turned. It turned. Prowl grabbed his waste bin and purged.

“Scrap, Prowl,” Jazz cursed. Prowl groaned. His tank was rolling, and his helm was throbbing in time with his spark. When Jazz touched his servo to Prowl’s browridge, Prowl recoiled. The sharp movement had him swaying from side to side and he would have toppled out of his chair if not for Jazz catching him. “What’s wrong, Prowl. Got a crash comin’?”

“No,” Prowl groaned. “I hit my helm... Now I do not feel so good.”

“Scrap. When?” Jazz asked. He held Prowl’s shin and moved a digit back and forth across Prowl’s field of vision. His optics dimmed.

“On the way to the meeting.”

“I thought ya were a bit off,” Jazz declared. He shook his helm. “Silly mech. Ratchet was right there. He coulda had a look at ya.”

“Was not that bad,” Prowl argued. It had been. Maybe.

“Ya got a worse self-destructive bent than I do,” Jazz said. “‘N that’s sayin’ somethin’. Let’s get ya to Ratchet ‘n see just what ya knocked loose... Lean on me.”

“I might purge on you,” Prowl worried. Jazz shook his helm as he pulled Prowl’s arm over his shoulders and looped his own arm around Prowl’s waist.

“I’ll forgive ya if ya do.”

[bluepenguinstories]

Remoras Full Chapter XXIX: Mother of the Forest

When I received the call, an open refrigerator door hummed as its light leaked through to the dim space that was my apartment. Its light chill came as a breeze while I placed a bag of grapes within. Automatic, robotic, subconscious movements: standing in place, pivoting from one item to the next. I once heard that every seven years, the human body becomes anew, the old self having died out. There was a faint memory of a self of mine, a few deaths ago, long before the idea of having children ever came to pass, who stood and bagged groceries for minimum wage, and wondering how she would balance work and getting through high school.

In that same moment, I repeated that past life, in a more private setting. Just an hour prior, I had been the customer in line at the checkout counter. The woman behind me who I assumed to be one life older than I, arguing with the cashier over an expired coupon. Her spittle flew over the counter, and the scrawny and zoned out worker covered his face with the back of his arm as a means to protect himself.

I’m better than that. I’m not that kind of person, I often told myself, although if I had any sense of honesty, I often was. Something about the desire to be right, even when you know you don’t have a case, held such a sweet and sour taste; some of the grapes in the fridge had already spoiled from my last grocery visit.

My hand reached for the bottle of cranberry juice, but it soon became out of reach as my phone vibrated right beside it. There was a disconnect – a momentary hesitation – where I stood in place.

Just put that juice away, then answer it, my thoughts buzzed and scraped across my ears. Who was I to deny them? I had no expectations that the call would amount to anything of substance. If I had to guess, it might have been my boss, ready to beg and guilt trip me into working on one of my days off. That was a foolish decision, as I didn’t even notice the name on display on the screen. If I had, I would have picked up right away.

So it buzzed. Twice. On the third buzz, the refrigerator door swung closed and I picked up the phone. That was when I saw the name on the phone and a magnetic pull from below sent all the blood in me to sink down to the tip of my soles. When I tried to speak, I thought I would only manage a gasping breath. But instead, it was a normal, if gasping, voice:

“Demetria? Is that you?”

Not since I last heard from her, several months back, did I ever think I would hear from her again. No, maybe that was unrealistic. It wasn’t that I didn’t think I would hear from her at all: a simple hi every now and then sent through text, happy mother’s day or happy birthday messages. Those were the least (or most) I could hope for. But what it was instead was a belief that she had gone down the same path of the rest of my children and was too busy with her own life to think much of me.

So when she told me the truth, that she had dropped out of college, moved to the arctic over some crush, and worked as a waitress in a restaurant, I was elated. Any shock or sense of betrayal I may have felt didn’t register because there she was, alive, and wanting to come home. One of my children actually wanted to see me! It was enough to make me want to tap my shoes together and do a little jig!

After our conversation, however, I had no choice but to be aware of the environment I was in: empty, so empty. Every little space was covered by every day objects or some assortment of clutter. Paper towel rolls, post-it notes, bowls of fake fruit, tea and coffee cups, a box of makeup from that time I was suckered into buying from a friend’s multilevel-marketing gig. That was just a small sample of things which took up space on the kitchen counters. That didn’t even cover the hallways or the living room.

It was funny, really: when my kids lived with me, I’d get onto them about cleaning the house and made sure they did so. But when it came to me, alone and (in my own mind) free, I pretty much said, “fuck it, this is my space” and let the clutter do its thing.

Well, it sure did its thing, didn’t it? Hopefully Demetria wouldn’t mind.

When it came time to meet her, I felt the pervasive feeling that she wasn’t someone I recognized. It wasn’t the green hair, although that I didn’t expect. Nor was it her coming out, which although the notion never crossed my mind, didn’t really come as a surprise, either. Her loss of interest in her studies? Unfortunate, but not unheard of, especially when one attends university. Her new interest in knives? Concerning, but I could live with it.

No, it must have been something else. Even when she tried to revert to her old self, who I knew her as, I could tell there was something different. What it was, I just couldn’t place, but a thought crept in which brought shivers across my spine:

Maybe she’s not different and maybe I just never knew her very well to begin with.

That thought didn’t know what she was talking about. As far back as I could remember, Demetria was someone withdrawn and preferred her alone time. She valued hers and others’ hygiene and was quick to judge others, but also seemed to have a good heart deep down (at least, I’d like to think so). I always tried to give her her space, as I knew I would have wanted the same if I were her.

But there were little things which made me wonder if I was perhaps living with a different Demetria than the one I raised. One such example was when I sat at the sofa, watching one of my soap operas, Young and the Breastless, when I took a quick glance beside me to see none other than Demetria, pacing about and reading a book. Well...I assumed she was reading, but the book was upside down. She shook her head while she paced, flipping from page to page.

“Nope. I just can’t get into this,” she muttered, and it sounded less disappointed and more like she hadn’t yet given up hope that she would. I leaned forward and saw the title of the book: ‘Banana Fish.’

“What’cha up to?” I asked, and the show no longer took up my attention, instead becoming white noise.

“I’m trying to get back into marine biology, so I figured I’d read a new fish textbook, but no matter how hard I try, I just can’t get into it,” she explained and peered up from her book.

“Are you sure it’s about fish? I see a couple of guys on the cover,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, I’m assuming it’s one of those edutainment-type deals. Y’know, like Pajama Sam. Anyway, they haven’t actually talked about fish yet, but maybe it’s a slowburn textbook.”

Call it mother’s intuition, but something told me that book had nothing to do with actual fish. Props to her for trying to get back into her old interest, but she ought not to force herself.

“You know, you don’t have to get back into marine biology,” I suggested, “maybe pick up a new interest. What about knives?” That was such a weak suggestion, but it was something.

Even with her glasses on, she squinted, although it seemed less like a vision thing and more for effect, as if to say, “are you crazy, mom?!” It was weird to admit, too, but I already missed her green hair and as much as she tried to appear and act like her old self, it only seemed to highlight how much she had changed.

“What am I gonna do? Knive-ology? I don’t think that’s a thing,” she snapped her fingers for added effect.

Her old self would have just said something like, “I don’t want to make a career of that.”

I knew she had returned home due to having such a rough time with someone, but if anything, she had been more expressive. At least, around the house. I still couldn’t get her to go outside. Through every cycle of one’s life, it seemed at the core, some things remained.

Another day, I was watching a different soap opera on my day at work, this show called ‘The Good Doctor’ (yeah, generic name, I know).

“Good doctor! Your patient is having heart complications!” The assistant rushed to the good doctor in a panic. The good doctor sat at his desk with a suede suit and a polka dot tie and looked up, a bushy eyebrow raised.

“What’s the complications?” He asked, before pushing himself out from his seat.

“It’s complicated! Hurry!” The assistant urged the good doctor, who then rushed into the patient’s room. In the room, the patient leaned up from his bed, a shriveled up old man.

“Are you a good doctor?” He asked, a gravelly voice.

“I am the good doctor,” the good doctor replied, rather humbly, too.

“My heart keeps beating,” the patient moaned. “I don’t know why.”

“That’s what hearts do,” the good doctor answered, and a smile spread across the patient’s face.

“Wow, thanks doc. I’m cured!”

My viewing experience was interrupted by a plop as I turned to my right to see Demetria’s face looking back at me while she hung off from the top of the couch upside down.

“What’cha watchin’?” She asked in a tone that indicated that she was bored and didn’t really care.

“The Good Doctor,” I told her as I tried to keep my attention fixed on the show.

“Gee, I sure hope so,” she snickered. “If I was at the hospital, I know I’d want to be seen by the good doctor, not the bad one.”

I nudged her.

“Since when are you such a smart-ass?” I asked.

“You missed a lot of character arcs,” she continued the snark. “I went through several developments and regressions, and now I’m here.”

“I can see that,” I teased right back. Yes, two of us could be sarcastic.

“No, but for real, I’ve always been like this,” her voice turned quiet, contemplative. “I’ve just usually kept it in my head.”

That. That never occurred to me.

“Well, it’s fun,” I remarked. “I’m really glad to have you around.”

Her (glasses-less) eyes widened, then turned to a near-squint.

“You are?” She sounded quite puzzled by such a statement. As if it weren’t obvious to her.

“Of course! You’re my kid!”

“What about your other kids?” She pointed out.

“I love them, too, but they never come visit me. Well, Hestia does sometimes, but that’s still rare. It gets lonely here, you know.”

“What assholes,” she scoffed. I nudged her again.

“Those are your siblings you’re talking about!” I scolded, something I didn’t think I had to do. Oh well, it was a playful scold. “They’re good people, they’re just busy much of the time. Hestia’s an architect and works with various non-profit groups on the side. Hermes has his job as a fitness instructor. Then there’s Log...he’s busy being Log.”

“Sheesh, what’s with all these Greek myth names, anyway?”

I drummed up a storm of laughter, something which wasn’t really funny, but sometimes I just laughed to reminisce.

“Funny story about that…” I caught my breath. “Back when I was your age, I won a contest to go study abroad in Greece.”

“Did it come with a time machine?” She butted in.

“Are you gonna keep snarking or you gonna let me tell you?” I shot back. In response, she slunk down the couch, then sat up in a flurry of movements.

“Fire away, cap’n!” She gave me some goofy salute.

“So while I was at some museums, I met this nice Turkish guy and we hit things off pretty well. We went to a nice cafe and I got to unload my love of myth to him. That’s when he laughed and told me he was half-Greek himself, and he was visiting some family. After I went back to the states, we kept in touch as penpals and sent letters to each other back and forth. You probably don’t need me to tell you the rest.” I stopped myself. If I were to continue, it would have been a much longer story than it needed to be.

“Uh, yeah I do. What’s that got to do with giving us weird names?”

“Well, you know how there’s that tradition in our family to name ourselves after trees. My mom named me Sequoia, and she was Cypress. So when I had my first kid, all the relatives wanted to know what tree-related name I would give them. I gave it some thought and then decided that I wanted to do something different, so chose the name of a goddess I loved, Hestia.”

“Ugh, Hestia,” Demetria groaned, “it’s always ‘Hestia is bestia’ and ‘is there nothing Hestia can’t do?’ It’s grating.”

While I admit the praises seemed rather excessive, I was proud of her, just as much as I was proud of all my children in some way or another.

“Next came Hermes, and at that point, the whole family was up in arms, begging and pleading for just one tree name. So I compromised and said that if I had a third kid, I’d name them something tree-related. That seemed to get them off my back.”

“Thus, lo and behold, Log was born,” Demetria raised her head up and put her hand to her chest, almost singing out the words. Talk about dramatic.

“But then, you were born, just a few years after Log. I really didn’t expect to have another kid, and I figured to balance things out, I’d name you Sycamore. But then I decided: fuck it. You’re Demetria. And the rest was history.”

Yes. I was sure she heard the explanation before, but I suppose it bore repeating. It was just a shame that she never got to meet her father.

“What was he like?” She once asked me.

“He was a kind man. Patient, loved to listen to others. Never had a mean bone in his body. You would have liked him, I’m sure.”

“Would I have?”

“Maybe. I suppose it’s hard to say.”

Yes. Just a few months before Demetria was to come into this world, Beet Root (he took my last name) lost his life in a car accident. It was hard, to say the least. More than hard. But what else could I do? I couldn’t just stop raising my kids. So I continued on, through the grief and confusion. So it may have gone that she was born with a little bit of grief and confusion as well.

At least with the way things were, there was more time we could spend together. More things I could learn about her. There were still things I would have liked to see from her, though: making friends, finding a job, getting outside more. All things she didn’t seem to want anything to do with. I mean, she came out to me, didn’t that mean she wanted a girlfriend? It wouldn’t happen if she didn’t try.

I know, I’ll help her out, I thought in the middle of my shift. While my main job was working front desk at the Himbo Hotel, I’d sometimes work as a part-time taxi driver on the side. It didn’t pay a lot, but it was fun to meet different people, sometimes.

One person that I picked up was a tall and twig-like girl with blue and pink pastel colored denim clothing (jacket and pants) and hot pink hair.

“Are you Macie?” I asked as I rolled down my window.

“I might be,” she replied, then got in through the backdoor.

Once she was in, I let curiosity get the better of me.

“So...I’ve got a daughter,” I mentioned.

“Yeah? You want me to babysit her?” She asked offhand.

“No, no, I was just wondering if you’d like to meet her.”

“Why?”

“Well...she’s gay…” As soon as those words left my mouth, I saw her put the back of her hand over her mouth in the rearview mirror and laugh.

“Okay then, what’s she like?”

“Hmm...well...she likes...knives?” I just realized how hard it was to describe her to someone else.

“No thanks, I’m not into the hardcore type.”

“She’s not hardcore! It’s just an aesthetic thing...I think. She also likes to work out, and she’s got a bachelor’s degree in zoology.”

There. I think I listed enough positive traits.

Macie shrugged.

“All right, I’ll bite. I’ll write down my number. But if it turns out to be one of those weird catfishy things, I’m blocking both of you and leaving a one star review.”

I gulped, but couldn’t help but whisper a triumphant “yes!”

After I dropped her off at her destination, I returned home and raced to Demetria’s room to deliver the good news. I knocked on her door and after a few successive pounds, she opened up. She stood with a small towel over her forehead, a black tank top on, and working up a sweat.

“Hey! Guess what? I got a girl’s number!” I couldn’t wait for a greeting, I just had to tell her.

“Aw, you didn’t even give me time to guess…” She turned her head and looked down, disappointed.

“Aren’t you excited?”

“Oh, yeah, grats.”

“No, not for me! For you!”

“Oh. Not interested,” she turned away.

“Come on, you might like her! At the least, you might make a friend!” I urged her. She should’ve at least tried.

“I don’t wanna make any friends, especially not with someone I know nothing about.”

“It’s not good to shut yourself off in your room!” I pleaded.

“You never had a problem with it before.”

...She had a point. I shouldn’t have minded so much, but I just really wanted to help her out and didn’t know how.

“You’re right. I hope you’ve had a good day,” I softened my voice, then closed her door.

Other than watch TV and eat together, we didn’t really interact much. That was fine, we didn’t have to, but she should’ve at least interacted with someone. What I saw in her wasn’t someone who was in her room all the time, indulging in her study. Instead, I got the notion that she was deliberately avoiding going outside. As if there was something out there that she was afraid of. If that was the case, I didn’t know what.

There was one girl I managed to get her to speak to, though. Granted, it was her sister, but it was something. Especially since I knew how much she didn’t like to spend time around her siblings.

I had a video call set up with Hestia on my laptop.

“Hey mom, how’s things been?” She asked, her bright smile ever-present on her face. She was seated at the dining room in her own apartment, a much more effervescent air surrounded her while her tucked back teal hair took up a large part of the top of the screen.

“I’m good, things have been great, actually. Demetria’s living with me now,” I told her.

“Oh? I remember how freaked out you were a while back ago. It’s good to know she’s okay.”

“I know, right? Apparently she went to the arctic for a while because of a crush.”

Hestia laughed, a sort of high-pitched “ohoho” laugh.

“She always did do her own thing, didn’t she? I regret not being closer with her, but what’s done is done and there’s no room for regrets.”

“You could come visit,” I suggested. And it wasn’t just that I was lonely. “Maybe you two could hang out or something.”

Hestia put her index finger on her chin and hummed.

“I would like to, but you know how busy I can be. I won’t rule it out, though, ‘kay?”

I sighed. That was the best I could hope for, wasn’t it?

“By the way, it turns out she’s gay.”

Again, hum.

“I’m not surprised at all,” she replied, that same kind voice as ever. “Did you hear about Hermes’ new boyfriend?”

I shook my head.

“No, what’s he like?”

“No idea! But he says he has one, and he seems happy, so that’s all that matters, right?”

“Heh, guess so. Say, how’s things with your girlfriend?”

“Good, good. Aphrodite’s been helping me volunteer at an animal rescue on my days off.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Maybe you and Demetria can bond over your love of women,” I suggested. That was met with another hum.

“That’s a decent enough idea, but everyone experiences love differently, so we may be too different to relate to one another.”

Just because it wouldn’t be exactly the same, that didn’t mean the two couldn’t relate, could it? That just didn’t make sense to me. Yet when I could have voiced as much, I didn’t.

“Would you like to talk to her right now? I could go get her,” I instead said.

“Of course, I’d love to say hello to my dear sister!”

“Demetria!” I called for her. Without a moment’s hesitation, she made sluggish motions toward the dining room. After rubbing her eyes, she looked my way.

“What?” She groaned.

“Wanna say hi to Hestia?”

“Sure,” she shrugged, then looked at the laptop screen. “’Sup?”

“Why hello, Demetria! You’re looking as cute as ever!” Hestia oozed joy from the swaying of her head.

“Uh, thanks. You’re looking tryhard as ever, yourself,” she replied in a flat, deadpan tone. I nudged her.

“Be nice,” I whispered. She looked up at me in response, a wide-eyed and pathetic expression on her face.

“No puppy dog eyes, either.”

“How have you been, Demetria?” Hestia seemed to wave off the snarky remark, “do you still shut yourself off in your room?”

My face felt like it was about to turn red, but Demetria seemed unfazed.

“I shut myself off in your mom,” she shot right back. As if she was some grade-schooler.

“Ew. We have the same mom.”

Yes. That same mom was listening to the two of them as they spoke.

“Uh...well…” Demetria stammered as she struggled to save face.

I snickered. Now both girls looked at me and in unison asked, “what’s so funny?”

“It’s nice to see you two get along so well,” I remarked.

The two laughed as well at that notion.

“Yes, I agree,” Hestia proclaimed, “it was nice to hear from you, my dear sister. You look well.”

“Yeah, later, spoiled princess,” Demetria shrugged, then walked away. Then, the unexpected happened:

“Butthead!” Hestia yelled back, and stuck her tongue out. Upon realizing what she had done, she put both hands over her mouth. I shook my head.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“I don’t know, that was rather unbecoming of me. Do forgive me,” she spoke all fancy, then gave me puppy dog eyes as well.

“You’re ten years older than her! You’re supposed to set a good example!” I cried out. To that, she raised and index finger and with her eyes closed, gave a triumphant smile.

“Actually, we’re both adults, so if anything, she should know better than to have such an attitude!” She declared.

Once again, I shook my head.

“Talk to you later. Love you.”

“Love you too, mom! Do give Demetria my sincerest of apologies!”

The video call ended. As much as that (began and) ended in bickering, it was still progress. They spoke to each other. Baby steps. Maybe after that, she would branch out a little more and –

I could only wish.

About a week after that conversation, I got off work and noticed a text on my phone. I opened up the message and I felt my heart caught in a bear trap:

Demetria: Hey, try not to worry too much when you get home, but I won’t be there. I went outside and got a smoothie like you wanted me to. It was good, but it got me thinking how I the whole time I’ve been with you, I’ve felt stuck. Not stuck because of you, but stuck because I haven’t found any interest that I’ve felt passionate about. I don’t know what I want to do and it frightens me. So I’ve decided to go off and try to figure things out. I’ll see if I can stay with Juniper for a little while, maybe a change in environment will help. Love you, and goodbye for now.

I rushed home. I tried texting her back, but it wouldn’t send. I tried calling, only to receive dead air.

Her phone must be off. But why? Is she in danger?

Frantic, unsure of what else to do, I called Juniper.

“Hey, is Demetria with you?” I asked, as Juniper answered right away.

“No? Not unless she’s hiding somewhere. Why?” She seemed genuinely puzzled by my question, meanwhile I was still hyperventilating.

“She left me a message. Said she’d be with you.”

“Huh. I haven’t heard anything like that. But maybe she’s on her way? I dunno.”

“Okay. Just. Let me know if you see her, okay?”

“Sure thing! Hope she’s doing all right!”

“Me too.”

I hung up. Next was Hestia, but not because I thought she’d know Demetria’s whereabouts, but just because I needed someone to vent to. The phone kept ringing, but there was no answer. Then it timed out.

Of course. Because she’s always doing something.

However, just a minute later, Hestia called back.

“Hey mom, what’s up?” She greeted.

“Demetria. She...she…” I had trouble getting it all out.

“Everything okay?”

“I don’t know. She ran off.”

“Oh my…”

“I don’t know what to do. She left a message saying she’d see if she could stay with Juniper.”

“So maybe she’s with Juniper.”

“I called her and she said Demetria’s not there. I’m worried.”

“Yeah, I can tell. When did you last see her?”

“This morning. Right before work.”

“That’s probably why. I’d say it takes more than an afternoon to reach Juniper’s place.”

Right. That thought never occurred to me. But then, where would she stay on her way there? Motels? What if something bad happened there?

“I’m just...I really thought she would stay. I gave her her space. I let her do whatever. But she didn’t want to make friends and she didn’t want to leave the house and –”

“...Sounds like she left the house, though,” Hestia pointed out.

“You’re right. I should be happy. She’ll be fine. She was fine before.”

“Mom.”

“What is it, dear?”

“Chill. She’s an adult. Just let her do her thing. She’s always been an independent person, so let her be. If she wants to come back, just tell her ‘no, I’ve made my choice.’”

I balked.

“I couldn’t do that!”

“I’m not saying to be mean. Look, I know this family’s known for being overly nice, but that doesn’t mean you have to be a pushover. It’s bad enough you’re a worrywart.”

“I just don’t want to be too tough. I remember how Juniper’s mom was and I told myself I wouldn’t be like her.”

“You’re not…” Hestia muttered, then continued, “you’re afraid of letting her go, aren’t you?”

That struck me. Not because of how harsh it was. No, her tone of voice was sympathetic, if anything.

“I just wanted to spend more time with her,” I began to tear up, “She didn’t stay for very long and I thought I could have some company.”

“I understand. It probably gets lonely.”

“It does…”

“It’s not too late for you, either. You can try to make friends, you can go out and have fun. You should take care of yourself, too.”

“You’re right,” my voice turned weepy, but I smiled. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course. I gotta go, mom. I’m busy petting goats at a petting zoo. Did you know that statistically, one in five goats don’t get pet?”

“One of your volunteer works?” I asked.

“You know it.”

The call ended after that. So once again I was left in an empty house, full of clutter. Days went by, the same routine, and I waited for some update, some word as to where she was. So far, nothing. At a certain point, I considered adopting a ferret. I hadn’t quite decided yet, but it might help.

[phantom-god-suki]

Precautionary Elegance

Chatter filled the ballroom as more people arrived at the gathering. Every noble in Nightmare was there to either socialize in leisure or with hopes of improving their social image. The elegant dress you were wearing was a bit too pricey for your liking, but at least it accentuated your curves quite nicely. Kaim had to drag you around town all day to find ‘the perfect dress’ for the occasion. On top of that, you were forced to wear this damned corset that made breathing unbearable. However, beauty is pain so you supposed it was worth it. As you observe the ballroom, your eyes unconsciously trailed to the sunshine haired outcast that everyone seems to alienate.

You smile as you see him happily chatting to the lord of the Angels and King, Lucia. After repeating the same cycle for an eternity, he was finally able to liberate you both from the curse. Now that you have your memories back from other timelines, you felt just a tad bit closer to him. No matter how much you tried to be with him though, he always pushed you away. You feel a presence behind you and turn around.

“You will age faster if you keep glaring like that.” A green demon chuckles as he approaches.

“You don't say. Why are you even here Mefy?” You suck your teeth and roll your eyes at him.

“Fine by me hag but if you get old then how am I going to blame you for my pranks?” Mefy muses.

“Oh please. I’ll be a cool granny. Don't you ever think I can't keep up with you. Plus if I'm older than you, you'll have to listen to me for once.” As you were chatting with your frenemy you felt a pair of eyes on you. Mefy notices this and leans into your ear.

“Wanna make your crush jealous?” He whispers. 

“You know this won't work...” You lean in and whisper back. “He said he loves me but lately he has been avoiding me.”

“...There's a word for that you know.” Mefy smirks.          

“Don't you dare say it!” You hit him playfully.

“There might be a way for you to… motivate him” You can see the gears turning in his head as a sly smirk spreads across his face. You can guess what he was planning but was it fair to Lucas? What if he didn’t want you? Doubts in your head started swallowing you.

“Sulking about it wont do you any good. You have to take a risk at some point.” You can tell he was getting impatient.

“You're planning something, aren't you?” 

“Always. Now come on.” He giggles as he grabs your hand and drags you to the balcony away from prying eyes, especially Lucas’.

The cool evening air grazed your skin as you stepped onto the balcony. It was nice to take a breather from over ambitious nobles and all the court drama for a while. The balcony reminded you of some unpleasant memories but you decided to stay on point.

“Ok what's up Mefy? Why did you drag me all the way here?” You said.

Mefy takes out a vile of potion from his many hidden pockets. It was kind of ridiculous how many items he had with him at all times. It's like he had a warehouse in his pockets but considering his magical abilities it might not be far from the truth.

“See this thing? It's a love potion.” He smirks. 

“Love… potion…?” You give him a look of suspicion.

“What's with that look? You don't trust me?” He asks in a sickly sweet voice.

“Fuck no.”

“Aww come on. Have I ever lied to you?” He says as you remember when he used you in alternate timelines. 

“Literally all the time but okay. Ugh just give me this ‘love potion’.” 

“Sure. But you owe me a BIG favor, got it?” Mefy skips away and you sigh, wondering if this was a good idea or not.

You had a basic understanding of potions from living in Nightmare for a while and all your alternate memories. They’re not any different from drugs in the human world. You hid the vial of potion in your sleeve before you entered the ballroom. What you are about to do is really not fair and Lucas does deserve better but so do you. You were sick of being pushed away and not getting any answers from him. Desperate times require desperate measures.

You walk to the drink fountain and grab two drinks for Lucas and yourself. You carefully pour the liquid into Lucas’ drink. You were scared for a moment that the contents in the vile would change the color of the wine but luckily that didn't happen. With both drinks in your hand you seek out Lucas. You find him at the food table eating a cupcake.

“Hey Lucas,” You approach him like a predator stalks her unsuspecting prey. “I got you a drink.” You smile sweetly. 

“Oh thank you Y/N.” He smiles forcefully. You're not sure if it's that he is tired or pissed that you were with Mefy a couple moments ago. He tends to get awfully protective of you whenever you get close to Mefy or Ricardo. And you can understand why though. 

“Ever since you became the advisor I never got a chance to talk to you. I missed you a lot you know.” 

“I'm sorry it's been really stressful lately. Not all nobles are happy with the decisions that Lucia made.” He says as he takes a sip. Bingo. You get a surge of arousal just by looking at his neck and collarbones. He was a model in your eyes.

“Y/N?” His question snaps you back to reality. 

“Sorry, I couldn't hear that part.” You answer sheepishly.

“I was just saying if we could go somewhere else. It's really stuffy here.” 

With that you started following Lucas through many many identicals hallways the castle had. You reached out and grabbed his hand nonchalantly. 

“So where are we heading?” You can a sharp inhale escape from Lucas’ mouth.

“Planetarium. So we could get a breather. I'm so sick of the nobles but don't tell them that” He winks. 

The planetarium was huge. In fact, huge was an understatement. Above you was a dome shaped glass that made the stars seem bigger than they actually are. By the time you arrive you can hear the subtle huffing coming from Lucas. You ignore it and stare up at the sky.

“They are beautiful.” You say looking up at the constellations.

“Yes… they are..” He replies while looking at you. Lucas was really warm. He had a cute blush on his face already. The potion was working wonderfully. 

“Did I take your breath away Lucas? You are blushing” You nudge his side smirk. 

“O-oh it’s just a little warm in here that's all haha.” He shyly averts his gaze. 

Both of you sit at the bench in the planetarium and talk about your daily lives as if nothing was wrong. You decide to make a move and scoot a little closer to him until you can feel his warmth but he moves away. You get closer again and he moves away once again until he has nowhere else to move on the bench. 

You put your arms around his shoulders. 

“Y/N? W-what are you doing?” He whimpers pathetically. You lean to his ear and whisper. 

“I missed you Lucas. You never pay visits anymore.” 

“I-Im sorry it's just Lucia and the nobles-” He shudders and takes a sharp breath as you lick his ear. 

“That's no excuse Lucas~” You got him where you wanted. It's like he was under your love spell. Well he is under the potions influence literally. You sit on his lap so he can't escape. Not this time. The games end tonight whether it ends in your favor or not.

Lucas wraps his arms around you. Poor Lucas you thought. It was bitchy of you to do this but the look on his face was delicious. Droopy eyes, face red as a tomato, winded. You barely touched him and he was wrecked already.

“Do you love me Lucas?” You whisper against his lips.

“I do… more than anything…” The way he was rocking his hips sent shivers up your spine. This is all you’ve ever wanted. Him between your legs… where he belonged. 

“Prove it baby…” You murmured. His eyes were glossed with a dark, desperate and lustrous look. He was very motivated as Mefy would say. Even though there was no one but you in the planetarium, this was a public space.

‘What if someone walks in on you. Maybe this wasn't the right time-’ He worried to himself.

His thought process comes to a halt when you roughly grab his hair and slammed your lips against his. You can feel a deep shiver run through him. The taste of his lips were sweet probably by the cupcake he was sampling earlier. He let out soft whimpers and pulled your body closer to him as he was easing up. If only he was inside of you… You started removing his clothes and revealed his pale skin. 

“W-Wait! What if someone hears-” 

“Then we'll just have to be really quiet.” You smile at him. “Let me help you”

You got up from Lucas’ lap and easily stripped of your evening gown to reveal lacy lingerie. Lucas gasps and covers his face.

“Lucas… I want you to look at me…” With that you started touching yourself sensually and swaying your body to an imaginary song. Lucas was looking at you from the gap between his fingers. The damn corset was limiting your movements to an extent but it wasn’t so bad. You grab the strap of your bra and let it slide over your shoulders. You then toss the undergarment onto the ground in a whimsical manner. His eyes wander around your body before fixating on your chest. “Oops.” you say cheekily as if you accidentally dropped your bra. In a single gracious movement, you bend over, pretending to pick up your bra. You can feel his gaze on your ass intensify as you begin to peel off your panties in front of him and show how excited he made you. It seemed like Lucas forgot how to breathe after seeing your little stunt. You sit on his lap again and grind yourself against his thigh.

“This is what you do to me Lucas...” You moan. With shaky hands he grabs your waist and pulls you closer. It's like you were made out of glass and he was afraid of breaking you. You grab his hands and put them on your breast. 

“Touch me…” You say before resuming the kiss. He was a lot more eager to please you. Lucas started massaging your soft breasts while kissing you hungrily. You quickly unzip his pants and pull down his underwear to reveal his erection. Just looking at it his member makes your mouth water. A slight glistening on the tip of his cock suggests how aroused he already is.  When you grab it and give it a jerk, Lucas can't help but moan loudly against your lips. You break the kiss. 

“Ah ah ah Lucas... You need to be quiet or we'll get caught...” You tease him.

“It feels s-so good.. I can't stop it…” He stutters softly. 

“Well I did say I would help you…” Lucas squealed in shock when you stuff your panties in his mouth. The taste of your juices spread on his tongue and muffled moans emerged from his throat as his lips pursed over your panties. You resumed stroking his manhood as Lucas threw his head back in pleasure and exposed his neck. It was too tempting not to mark him like this. You pepper his neck with kisses before focusing on a certain area to mark. His body convulsed in pain and pleasure when you sank your teeth into his soft flesh. You tasted a slight tang of iron as you broke the skin. His cock started tensing up in your grip signaling his inevitable release. Lucas trembled when his orgasm hit him like a train. He spurts his hot load all over your chest and corset. You remove your panties from his mouth so he could breathe easier. The advisor took a big gulp of air as he tried to compose himself. You then bring your fingers to your lips and taste him while looking intensely at Lucas.

“I'm glad you enjoyed yourself” You teased.

“Y/N… why..?” He whimpered shakily. “Of all of them… why me..?” Tears welled in his eyes. The sound of his sorrowing echoed through the planetarium's walls. Your blood ran cold for a second. What was he referring to? Does he hate you now?

“L-Lucas?”

“I'm not like you!.. I'm not even like them. All my life, I’ve had a single purpose. To save Nightmare...I wasn't meant to have you...” He says while breaking down. You breathe a sigh of relief while tears of sorrow run down his cheeks. 

Lucas tensed up when you embraced him. “I know but.. It's not like that anymore. We saved this world. Together. Now we can be free.” You kiss his tears then softly kiss his lips. This kiss was more passionate than all the rest. You left little pecks on his lips before slipping in your tongue. He kisses you back almost immediately while his hands explore every crevice of your body.

“Lucas please… I want you in me…” You whimpered. He takes you by surprise when he lifts your hips and slams you down his cock, filing you to the hilt, stretching you. Lucas waited for you to get adjusted to his girth for a moment. “God you feel amazing… so warm and tight... “ Lucas growls against your ear.

After getting used to his size you started grinding your hips against his. Lucas was still somewhat sensitive from his previous orgasm but he didnt care. Pleasure was consuming his mind, throwing all the reason from the window. Both of you were trying to hold back your moans but with each thrust it was getting more difficult. Then suddenly you found your back on the bench. Lucas was on top of you, looking at you with an intense expression.

“Even though I still feel like I don’t deserve you, I am going to cherish you with all of my heart.” He softly smiles and kisses your cheek before starting to move. As soon as he thrusts inside, you wrap your arms around his body and dig your nails into his back. 

“Fuck...Lucas...your huge cock feels so good inside of my tight pussy.” Lucas clenches his teeth and starts to move faster. He leans down to suck on your nipples. He licks one nipple while flicking the other one with his fingers. 

“Princess… You are doing so great… I love you so much.” He moves faster while lifting up his head to place soft kisses on your neck and lets out small moans. You shiver every time you hear his beautiful moans on your body. It didn't take long for you to reach the edge of climax.

“Lucas...please...more. I’m gonna cum.” You feel drool running down your cheek. Lucas licks your cheek and leans into your ear.

“Come for me then.” You whimper and melt with his words. You can’t hold back anymore and cum. His pace became erratic and you could hear the low growls in his throat become louder and louder. He is about to pull out but you lock your legs around him and pull him closer gently.

“It’s okay Lucas...You can come inside.” He smiles and lets out a loud groan before releasing inside of you. He collapses on top of you and hugs your shaking body. 

“Y/N...Are you alright? Are you hurting anywhere? ” Lucas breathes into your neck and leaves a light kiss. 

“I… I’m okay Lucas. I love you. Please never say that you don't deserve me.” You lean into Lucas’ head and stroke his hair.

“Alright Y/N. Thank you so much for accepting me… I love you so much.” You can hear a little sniffle as he nods his head. “Can you stand up? Let me help you.”

“I can stand but i don’t think I can walk properly after such a performance.” Lucas blushes at your words and helps you stand. He grabs your dress and helps you put it on. He then sits you down while he gets dressed. 

“You're so handsome… It makes me want seconds~” You smirk as you stand up by yourself. 

“Just wait till I get you in bed then. I won't be holding back.” He chuckles as you reach over and smack his ass. His back jolts up and he turns to get revenge but you are already wobbling away. He smiles and walks slowly behind you to admire the stars for just a little longer. You make your way back to the hall and feel an arm wrap around you. You look to see Lucas smiling softly at you. You both enter the hall holding each other. You look around before seeing Mefy at the drink table sipping wine. He spots you and smirks while lifting his glass. You chuckle while Lucas looks at you genuinely confused. 

“What is up with that little gremlin?” He squint his eyes and whispers to you. 

“Ahh nothing honey, he's just being dumb~” You laugh his comment off. 

“What else is new.” Lucas rolls his eyes while grabbing you closer and pulling you in for another kiss before saying. 

“I can't wait for tonight.” 

[sw5w]

Pinned Down

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:52:56

[indiatourmantra]

Varanasi Tour With Prayagraj And Ayodhya

Introduction to Varanasi, Prayagraj, and Ayodhya

Embarking on a tour to Varanasi Tour With Prayagraj And Ayodhya is a journey into the heart of India’s rich cultural and religious heritage. Each of these cities holds profound significance in Hindu mythology and history, offering travelers a glimpse into the country’s spiritual essence.

Exploring Varanasi: The City of Ghats

The significance of Varanasi in Hindu culture

Varanasi, also known as Kashi or Benares, is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world. It is considered the spiritual capital of India, drawing pilgrims and seekers from all corners of the globe.

Famous ghats along the Ganges

The city is renowned for its picturesque ghats lining the sacred Ganges River. These ghats serve as bathing and cremation sites and are integral to Hindu rituals and ceremonies.

Visiting Kashi Vishwanath Temple

A tour of Varanasi is incomplete without a visit to the Kashi Vishwanath Temple, dedicated to Lord Shiva. The temple, with its towering spire and intricate architecture, is a symbol of devotion and faith.

Journey to Prayagraj: The Sangam City

Understanding the spiritual importance of Prayagraj

Formerly known as Allahabad, Prayagraj holds immense religious significance as the site of the Triveni Sangam, the confluence of the Ganges, Yamuna, and mythical Saraswati rivers.

Exploring the Triveni Sangam

Witnessing the meeting point of these sacred rivers is a spiritual experience like no other. Pilgrims gather here to perform rituals and seek blessings, especially during religious festivals like the Kumbh Mela.

Visiting historical sites like Allahabad Fort

Prayagraj is also home to historical landmarks such as the majestic Allahabad Fort, built by Mughal Emperor Akbar. The fort’s grandeur and architectural marvels are a testament to India’s rich past.

Ayodhya: The Birthplace of Lord Rama

Historical and religious significance of Ayodhya

Ayodhya is revered as the birthplace of Lord Rama, a central figure in the Hindu epic Ramayana. The city holds deep religious sentiments for millions of devotees worldwide.

Ram Janmabhoomi Temple

The Ram Janmabhoomi Temple, situated at the site believed to be Rama’s birthplace, is a focal point of devotion and controversy. The temple complex is a symbol of faith and resilience for devotees.

Other attractions in Ayodhya

Apart from its religious significance, Ayodhya boasts architectural marvels like the Hanuman Garhi and Kanak Bhawan, which attract visitors seeking spiritual solace and historical insights.

Planning your Varanasi, Prayagraj, and Ayodhya tour

Best time to visit

The ideal time to explore these cities is during the winter months, from October to March, when the weather is pleasant, and festivals abound.

Accommodation options

From budget guesthouses to luxury hotels, Varanasi, Prayagraj, and Ayodhya offer a range of accommodation choices catering to diverse traveler preferences and budgets.

Transportation within and between cities

Traveling between these cities is convenient via road, rail, or air. Local transport options like auto-rickshaws and cycle rickshaws are readily available for exploring within each city.

Cultural experiences and local cuisine

Participating in Ganga Aarti

Witnessing the mesmerizing Ganga Aarti ceremony on the ghats of Varanasi is a spiritual highlight of any visit. The rhythmic chants, synchronized movements, and flickering lamps create an unforgettable atmosphere.

Sampling local delicacies

Indulge your taste buds in the culinary delights of Varanasi, Prayagraj, and Ayodhya. From piping hot kachoris and chaats to delectable sweets like malaiyyo and peda, each city offers a unique gastronomic experience.

Shopping in Varanasi, Prayagraj, and Ayodhya

Souvenirs and specialties of each city

Take home memories of your journey by shopping for souvenirs like Banarasi silk sarees, brassware, and religious artifacts from Varanasi. Prayagraj is known for its exquisite handicrafts and Ayodhya for its intricately carved idols and mementos.

Tips for a memorable trip

Dress code and cultural etiquette

Respect local customs and traditions by dressing modestly, especially when visiting religious sites. Remove footwear before entering temples and mosques, and seek permission before taking photographs.

Safety precautions

Exercise caution while navigating crowded areas and be vigilant with your belongings. Stay hydrated, especially during hot weather, and carry necessary medications if traveling during the pandemic.

Conclusion

A tour of Varanasi Tour With Prayagraj And Ayodhya promises a soul-stirring journey through India’s spiritual and cultural tapestry. From ancient temples and sacred rivers to vibrant markets and delectable cuisine, each city beckons travelers with its unique charm and allure.

Mob = +91 9319002744 https://indiatourmantra.in/tour-package/varanasi-with-prayagraj-ayodhya-tour/ info@Indiatourmantra.in

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[victoodles]

Lady Luck

i’m back to live out my low honor arthur fantasies because i’m too scared to actually play him. find on AO3!

“C’mere darling.” Arthur’s voice is as smooth as the whiskey he’s sampling, lined with the same warmth. The type that starts at your cheeks and spreads down to your fingertips after a few sips. It’s alluring, as always, and your feet carry you without a second thought. 

Arthur’s gathered around one of the many makeshift tables with a few of the other men: John, Bill, Lenny, and Uncle. It’s a quiet evening, one that doesn’t call for money to be robbed or men to be shot. So during this lull, they spend their time gambling at apropos of nothing. Why steal from strangers when they can empty each other’s pockets just as easily? 

It seems Arthur is currently the most successful poker tycoon, an impressive pile of wooden chips resting just in front of him. It’s just a hunch, but something tells you that his streak won’t be beat anytime soon.  

“Mister Morgan,” you greet, blushing slightly at the wolffish grin that crosses his face from his name. You’re well acquainted with his preferences, what sparks his moods like flint. It’s a song and dance he’s taught you many times now, the steps are muscle memory. 

Arthur reaches out for you and takes your hand in his, an idle thumb tracing your wrist. “Why don’t you sit with me?” He asks, patting his thigh with his free hand. It’s posed as a request, but he knows you could never deny him of anything. “Watch me bleed these fools for all they got,” he adds with a snicker earning eye rolls and groans from those he’s mocking. 

“Come on Arthur, don’t embarrass us in front of the lady!” Lenny pleads, his defeat apparent on his face.

“This is a men’s game, Arthur. Leave your woman out of it.” Bill barks but quickly swallows his remaining choice comments when he sees the ferocious glare Arthur directs at him. Arthur’s bad side is the last place anyone wants to be. 

“Shut up Williamson,” John laughs, “let her stay. Arthur’s reign of terror will end soon and she’ll be here to pick up the pieces.” 

“We’ll see about that, Marston.” Arthur responds coolly, turning his attention back to you.”Well darlin’?” He asks you again. 

Don’t keep him waiting.

You smile shyly and nod; Arthur spares no time pulling you into his lap. A soft whisper of praise is purred against the shell of your ear. and a shiver wracks you on queue.

“Well ain’t Arthur a lucky duck,” Uncle says with a lecherous whistle. “We’re doomed now fellas, Arthur’s got himself a pretty lil’ Lady Luck.”

“Careful Uncle, or I’ll personally put you in an early grave,” Arthur warns. Uncle just retorts to the threat with a raspberry. The chatter is quickly ceased and their attention is returned to the game at large. 

Arthur uses one arm to hold his cards while the other is wrapped snugly around your waist, settling you comfortably into his lap. You hope the dim light of the kerosene lamp masks the pink adorning your cheeks. It doesn’t, and Arthur notices. It’s only amplified as his hand sneakily travels down to your rear, palming it eagerly just below the table’s view. 

You fight to contain a yelp of surprise when Arthur starts to move your hips against him. He quickly silences you with a well placed pinch to your bottom, stopping his movements briefly. You know better than to voice your displeasure.

Although he isn’t shy to unconventionally displaying his affections, there’s an added excitement when he expects you to hide it from the rest of the gang. Another familiar game of his with a memorized set of rules. 

Stay quiet, win a prize.

You bite your lip, mentally preparing yourself before you wrap your arms around his neck.

Check.

Arthur taps his knuckles against the wood, passing his turn on to Bill beside him. While Bill mulls over his strategy, Arthur resumes his ministrations. He uses your hips to trace subtle circles with your rear against his lap. 

Bill follows Arthur with a check as well. Uncle and Lenny regretfully have to fold. They can’t afford to be bankrupt by Arthur - again. John checks and deals another card.

Raise.

Arthur makes things interesting in the form of forty cents, earning him a few scoffs of disbelief. He looks down at his cards confidently and then to you.

“A kiss for good luck?” He presents his cheek to you and you concede to his wishes with a giggle, gifting him a chaste kiss. Arthur rewards you in kind with an upward thrust of his hips, disguised as a seating readjustment. 

A heat forms in your stomach as you feel the hard ridge of his erection on the underside of your thighs. The friction is pleasant, nipping just underneath your skin and enveloping you in a pleasurable haze. 

It sends that same heat fluttering lower, lower, and lower. 

A moan bubbles up in your throat, begging to be set free. You hold it back and Arthur chuckles darkly as you grip his shirt a little tighter than before. His laughter rumbles in his chest like thunder as he generously pairs a swivel of your hips with another well calculated “adjustment”. 

Another cycle of turns weans the competition, eliminating Bill from the pot. John turns the final card upward on the table and regards his hand with a wry smile. 

Proceed with caution if you want to go up against the wolf.

“All in, Morgan.” John growls as he pushes his remaining chips into the center. The table goes eerily silent as the onlookers go back and forth between the two outlaws. They unanimously think that John Marston is a fool for challenging Arthur Morgan.

“Oh so you’re finally ready to play with the big boys huh?” Arthur taunts, pulling you as close to him as possible before taking your chin in his hand. 

“All in.” Arthur follows John’s poor attempt at one-upmanship as he pushes his own chips into the pile before turning to face you. 

Arthur calls for a hungrier kiss this time to quell the adrenaline surging through his nerves. His lips move against yours and you can taste the whiskey on them still, further intoxicating you. You gasp into his mouth as he bites at your bottom lip before he retreats to handle this unfinished business. 

The gentle sting and the press of his cock against the building pressure in your belly is a spectacular promise of more to come. But first he has to remind an insolent boy who’s top dog around here.

Breath is held as John reveals his hand with gusto, a simper spread across his scarred face. 

Full House.

Arthur gives John an unimpressed look, disregarding the hand he was previously pleased as punch about. Immediately, John senses the trouble he’s soon to be knee deep in.

“That all you got Johnny?” Arthur jabs, feigning boredom. Any defensive rebuttal dies on John’s tongue as Arthur nonchalantly tosses his own hand onto the table for all to witness.

Royal Flush.

Arthur takes all. 

You’re so giddy with excitement, all the protesting discordance is mere background noise. Your focus is primarily on Arthur, basking in his victorious, golden glow.

Win fun games, win fun prizes.

“Gentleman.” Arthur addresses everyone as he stands, sweeping you into his arms with ease. He doesn’t attempt to hide the hand that eagerly finds purchase on your rear once more. You try to contain your squeal of delight but it seems Arthur is keen to hearing it.

Arthur regards his winnings tepidly; this was never about the prospect of taking a meager amount of pocket change. 

“I’ll be taking my winnings and retiring for the evening.” Arthur begins to head back to the manor of Shady Belle, leaving a seething and significantly poorer John behind. The hand on your bottom is soft (for now). Arthur thinks you’re in for a well deserved reward. 

“And John,” Arthur regards the loser once more. “You can bring my money to my room in a few hours.”

[aiweirdness]

GPT-2: It learned on the Internet

Prompt: The black-capped chickadee is a small songbird native to

Response: The black-capped chickadee is a small songbird native to Africa that is powerfully seductive. In the songs of Barry Sequson, Harry Holness and Alan Emerson the black-capped chickadee competes with others—and climbs on top of each other and fights with high-powered snakes, Emperor jockeys and mysterious unicorns.

This is text generated by an artificial neural network that the researchers at OpenAI unveiled this week. In fact, it’s generated by the worst neural network they trained. Even the worst neural network generates text that, if not demonstrating actual knowledge of chickadees, is leaps and bounds over the coherence of any neural networks I’ve trained myself. They’ve built in a way for the model to zoom out and look at longer-term features of text, which means it’s much better at making sentences hold together, and even remembering what it’s talking about from sentence to sentence.

The model learned by crawling the Internet and seeing which words are used together in which order, trying to build up an internal model that will let it predict which word comes next in a sentence. It’s similar in concept to the models I’ve trained to generate paint colors, first lines of novels, and Harry Potter fan fiction, except it’s a lot more powerful. It also learned from a much larger dataset than I use, consisting of every page that was linked to somewhere on Reddit with a minimum number of upvotes. That encompasses a LOT of topics.

It includes fan fiction, for example.

Prompt: Harry wished that Hermione would hurry up. The icing was beginning to harden.

Response: Even now, the cracks only hurt and were beginning to make the steel in her hair and tie in like clumps. Hermione sipped the bitter frost from her dinner and chewed on her eating soup.

Prompt: Darth Vader entered the room, cape billowing. "What is the meaning of these... festivities?"

Response: ”Strange and solemn, now," Princess Leia replied. "Will pirates make jokes at Jabba's birthday cake? Oh, and for a moment, Darth Vader was too full of himself for that ceremony, hence all the mirth."

"Did your father suffer there?" Vader roared and growled and turned to gaze up from the balcony.

The model can also try to communicate Important Science Facts, although its actual facts are a bit suspect.

Prompt: Our solar system consists of the inner and outer planets, separated by an asteroid belt. It has

Response: Our solar system consists of the inner and outer planets, separated by an asteroid belt. It has only one sun, Pluto.  Mercury rotates on its axis a little to allow a few planets, called gas giants, to be independently charged.  During some of these cycles periods between  90% and 64% of the solar system's surface might be charged.  (Not enough is needed for vermin but that is gradually fading away.)

Prompt: Throughout the long cold Antarctic winter, the residents of South Pole Station

Response: Throughout the long cold Antarctic winter, the residents of South Pole Station lost virtually all of their ancient crustaceans, most notably pterodactyls, and all of the all-important plankton hydrates and protozoan eggs of the five ordered species of mammal.

Other deposits for sea organisms included eraymarine calcifye, the redfin ball, penguin heads, and the red whale.

Prompt: A carbon atom's outer orbitals

Response: A carbon atom's outer orbitals are basically a ring of ions around the border of thin mini-glaciers (usually colloquially referred to as bubble"). Like viruses, these planes are in islands in large weather groups. In and out they get all of their energy from many small regions of solar wind and dense cloud cover (usually thousands of square meters). Like viruses, their weaponry is imaged to record the movement of material-- (by deflecting rays, for instance) to complete waves or to cause the material to deform under shell impact. Capacitors--like gravity ids-- produce buoyancy with the exhalation of liquid hydrogen atmospheres, an essential electrolytic letdown when the material is what one calls a watermelon. Heat range is quite long and space is limited so one must stick with watermelons for a stability boost at a given coordinate system vital to shelter those who require them in space.

Interestingly, it takes its cues from the phrasing of the prompt more than from its specific content.

Prompt: Behold, the three-toed sloth, known for its

Response: Behold, the three-toed sloth, known for its ichorotic smile, with its four shades, pantered organic wizened broken bony paws, bulging knees, hairy tubercles, and orange's-black mandibles.

It’ll also do recipes, delightfully. Its recipes aren’t enormously more coherent than the recipes I’ve been able to generate. Part of the problem seems to be that the model is getting a bit confused by other types of recipes in its dataset.

Prompt: Quitterbread bars. Ingredients:

Response (some formatting adjusted for readability):  

Quitterbread bars.

Ingredients:

Creamy cole slaw, chopped fresh cilantro, garlic, etc. 1  few very good options at lime-light, milky-white (at a light foodie) space 1  medicated towel (albino & aluminum mesh - see a friend's link to see if you can use it carefully & what you're expecting) a few paraffin-y dice (sleep about half of the weight, use the 1 ounce plus 2 pounds extra when handling these onto a hot baking sheet) 20 baking sheets 30 1/2 lb. white sanding board 1 didn't dry paper cup 1 cup extra hot water

boil the butter and electrical polishing after 20 minutes 3LB neurons

gently massage these into their slots, reduce heat in oven to approximately 350°F

stuff seam side-side down with binding compound, avoiding every drop of water the thinner sides will be tidy and seperate and pull out after 24 hours know how long they will keep it's held well, thin enough to live with 3-4 weeks teach you all the serenity you'll need to know for fantasy...

_______________________________________ >>> A limited amount of not-spicy crème brûlée (orange - read about how to do it in Meteor!) I used black chocolate cake Crème Brûlée

Painted cocktail draped across the small purple curtain of Shana Liu's Stepmother Coconut Guild guest house in France. 35' x 30' $150

Embargo thank you. Our magical rich chocolate cube

Still, its memory is better than any model I’ve worked with before. Look how it manages to almost remember that it was making a list!

Prompt: My 10 favorite animals are: 1.

Response:  

My 10 favorite animals are: 1. zebras with a white scar on the back; 2. insiduous spiders and octopus; 3. frog with large leaves, hopefully black; 4. cockatiel with scales; 5. razorbill with wings hanging about 4 inches from one's face and a heart tattoo on a frog. 3. cockatric interlocking tetrapods that can be blind, cut, and eaten raw. 4. black and white desert crocodiles living in sunlight. 5. zebra and many other pea bugs.

And this is just the worst model, the one that was trained with 117 million parameters instead of 1542 million. What can the best model do?

Here’s an example of its output:

This give you a clue as to why the OpenAI researchers have decided for now not to release their best model to the public. They’re worried about people using it to produce destructive bots, fake news, phishing emails, and other dangers. It might be difficult indeed to moderate a forum filled with angry time-wasting mostly-coherent bots. In their blog post they posted more examples of the full-powered model producing impressively coherent text, including a delightful news story on four-horned South American unicorns.

What will they end up doing with their model? Even now, someone else with the time and resources - a government, for example - could train and use a model like theirs, especially now that they’ve shown everyone what their technique can do. They’re hoping that their paper will prompt some regulation, or at least some countermeasures, that can guard against this technology’s misuse. They’re also hoping that other researchers will stop to think about potential misuse before they release their models to the public.

For now, the GPT-2 version OpenAI released isn’t going to fool very many people.

Prompt: NO!!! You should NEVER feed a dog from a silver platter.

Response: It will make them bark in farts when you put it away.

Prompt: Actually, you should never microwave your food, because

Response: it holds sodium, mercury, mercury or "cold enemy cocktail" flavorings and the exact same flavorings used then for chili powder. This is wrong, it's not safe, and some people get hurt while cooking at their homes! If you have these very dangerous ingredients and want to keep them around, you should absolutely rinse them and cook them in a dishwasher and set aside.

Support AI Weirdness and get bonus content: A few more GPT-2 samples I generated.

You can download and play with the second-best model here - requires some familiarity with installing and running python code. Or there’s a colaboratory version (works in-browser; no coding required). Content warning: it learned some awful stuff from the Internet.

[dustedmagazine]

Dusted’s Decade Picks

Heron Oblivion, still the closest thing to a Dusted consensus pick

Just as, in spring, the young's fancy turns to thoughts of love, at the end of the decade the thoughts of critics and fans naturally tend towards reflection. Sure, time is an arbitrary human division of reality, but it seems to be working out okay for us so far. We're too humble a bunch to offer some sort of itemized list of The Best Of or anything like that, though; a decade is hard enough to wrap your head around when it's just your life, let alone all the music produced during said time. Instead these decade picks are our jumping off points to consider our decades, whether in personal terms, or aesthetic ones, or any other. The records we reflect on here are, to be sure, some of our picks for the best of the 2010s (for more, check back this afternoon), but think of what follows less as anything exhaustive and more as our hand-picked tour to what stuck with us over the course of these ten years, and why.

Brian Eno — The Ship (Warp, 2016)

You don’t need to dig deep to see that our rapidly evolving and hyper-consciously inclusive discourse is taking on the fluidity of its surroundings. In 2016, a year of what I’ll gently call transformation, Brian Eno had his finger on multiple pulses; The Ship resulted. It’s anchored in steady modality, and its melody, once introduced, doesn’t change, but everything else ebbs and flows with the Protean certainty of uncertainty. While the album moves from the watery ambiguities of the title track, through the emotional and textural extremes of “Fickle Sun” toward the gorgeously orchestrated version of “I’m Set Free,” implying some kind of final redemption, the moment-to-moment motion remains wonderfully non-binary. Images of war and of the instants producing its ravaging effects mirror and counterbalance the calmly and increasingly gender-fluid voice as it concludes the titular piece by depicting “wave after wave after wave.” Is it all Salman Rushdie’s numbers marching again? The lyrics embody the movement from “undescribed” through “undefined” and “unrefined’” connoting a journey toward aging, but size, place, chronology and the music encompassing them remain in constant flux, often nearly but never quite recognizable. Genre and sample float in and out of view with the elusive but devastating certainty of tides as the ship travels toward silence, toward that ultimate ambiguity that follows all disillusion, filling the time between cycles. The disconnect between stasis and motion is as disconcerting as these pieces’ relationship to the songform Eno inherited and exploded. The album encapsulates the modernist subtlety and Romantic grace propelling his art and the state of a civilization in the faintly but still glowing borderlands between change and decay.

Marc Medwin

Cate Le Bon — Cyrk (Control Group, 2012)

There's no artist whose work I anticipated more this decade than Cate Le Bon, and no artist who frustrated me more with each release, only to keep reeling me in for the long run. Le Bon's innate talent is for soothing yet oblique folk, soberly psychedelic, which she originally delivered in the Welsh language, and continued into English with rustic reserve.

Except something about her pastoralism seems to bore her, and the four-chord arpeggios are shot through with scorches of noise, or sent haywire with post-punk brittleness. In its present state, her music is built around chattering xylophones and croaking saxophone, even as the lyrics draw deeper into memory and introspection, with ever more haunting payoffs. It's as if Nick Drake shoved his way into the leadership of Pere Ubu. She's taken breaks from music to work on pottery and furniture-making, and retreats to locales like a British cottage and Texas art colony to plumb for new inspirations. She's clearly energized by collaboration and relocation, but there’s a force to her persona that, despite her introverted presence, dominates a session. Rare for our age, she's an artist who gets to follow her muse full time, bouncing between record labels and seeing her name spelled out in the medium typefaces on festival bills.

Cyrk, from 2012, is the record where I fell in, and it captures her at something close to joyous, a half smile. Landing between her earliest folk and later surrealism, it is open to comparison with the Velvet Underground. But not the VU that is archetypical to indie rock – Cyrk is more an echo of the solo work that followed. There’s the sharp compositional order and Welsh lilt of John Cale. Like Lou Reed, she makes a grand electric guitar hook out of the words “you’re making it worse.” The homebound twee of Mo Tucker and forbidding atmosphere of Nico are present in equal parts. Those comparisons are reductive, but they demonstrate how Cyrk feels instantly familiar if you’ve garnered certain listening habits. Songs surround you with woolly keyboard and guitar hooks, and one can forget a song ends with an awkward trumpet coda even after dozens of listens. The awkwardness is what keeps the album fresh.

She lulls, then dowses with cold water. So Cyrk isn't an entirely easy record, even if it is frequently a pretty one. The most epic song here, reaching high with those woolly hums and twang, is "Fold the Cloth.” It bobs along, coiling tight as she reaches into the strange register of female falsetto. Le Bon cranks out a fuzz solo – she's great at extending her sung melodies across instruments. Then the climax chants out, "fold the cloth or cut the cloth.” What is so important about this mundane action? Her mystery lyrics never feel haphazard, like LSD posey. They are out of step with pop grandiose. Maybe when her back is turned, there's a full smile.

Who are "Julia" and "Greta,” two mid-album sketches that avoid verse-chorus structure? Julia is represented by a limp waltz, Greta by pulses on keyboards. Shortly after the release, Le Bon followed up with the EP Cyrk II made up of tracks left off the album. To a piece, they’re easier numbers than "Julia" and "Greta.” The cryptic and the scribble are essential to how Cyrk flows, which is to say it flows haltingly.

This approach dampens her acclaim and her potential audience, but that's how she fashions decades-old tropes into fresh art. She’s also quite the band leader. Drummers have a different thud when they play on her stage. Musicians' fills disappear. She brings in a horn solo as often as she lays down a guitar lead. The closer tracks, "Plowing Out Pts 1 & 2," aren't inherently linked numbers. By the second part, the group has worked up to a carnival swirl, frothing like "Sister Ray" yet as sweet as a children's TV show theme. Does that sound sinister? The effect is more like heartbreak fuelling abandon, her forlorn presence informing everyone's playing.

Fuse this album with the excellent Cyrk II tracks, and you can image a deluxe double LP 10th anniversary reissue in a few years. Ha ha no. I expect nothing so garish will happen. It sure wouldn't suit the artist. In a decade where "fan service" became an everyday concept, Le Bon is immune. She's a songwriter who seems like she might walk away from at all without notice, if that’s where her craftsmanship leads. The odd and oddly comfortable chair that is Cyrk doesn't suit any particular decor, but my room would feel bare without it.

Ben Donnelly

Converge — All We Love We Leave Behind (Epitaph)

Here’s the scenario: Heavily tatted guy has some dogs. He really loves his dogs. Heavily tatted guy goes on tour with his band. While he’s on the road, one of his dogs dies. Heavily tatted guy gets really sad. He writes a song about it.  

That should be the set-up for an insufferably maudlin emo record. But instead what you get is Converge’s “All We Love We Leave Behind” and the searing LP that shares the title. The songs dive headlong into the emotional intensities of loss and reflect on the cost of artistic ambition. The enormously talented line-up that recorded All We Love We Leave Behind in 2012 had been playing together for just over a decade, and vocalist Jacob Bannon and guitarist Kurt Ballou had been collaborating for more than twenty years. It shows. The record pummels and roars with remarkable precision, and its songs maniacally twist, and somehow they soar.  

Any number of genre tags have been stuck on (or innovated by) Converge’s music: mathcore, metalcore, post-hardcore. It’s fun to split sonic hairs. But All We Love… is most notable for its exhilarating fury and naked heart, musical qualities that no subgenre can entirely claim. Few bands can couple such carefully crafted artifice with such raw intensity. And few records of the decade can match the compositional wit and palpable passion of All We Love…, which never lets itself slip into shallow romanticism. It hurts. And it ruthlessly rocks.  

Jonathan Shaw

EMA — The Future’s Void (City Slang, 2014)

When trying to narrow down to whatever my own most important records of the decade are, I tried to keep it to one per artist (as I do with individual years, although it’s a lot easier there). Out of everyone, though, EMA came by far the closest to having two records on that list, and this could have been 2017’s Exile in the Outer Ring, which along with The Future’s Void comes terrifyingly close to unpacking an awful lot of what’s going wrong, and has been going wrong, with the world we live in for a while now. The Future’s Void focuses more on the technological end of our particular dystopia, shuddering both emotionally and sonically through the dead end of the Cold War all the way to us refreshing our preferred social media site when somebody dies. EMA is right there with us, too; this isn’t judgment, it’s just reporting from the front line. And it must be said, very few things from this decade ripped like “Cthulu” rips.

Ian Mathers

The Field — Looping State of Mind (Kompakt, 2011)

Looping State of Mind by The Field

On Looping State of Mind, Swedish producer Axel Willner builds his music with seamlessly jointed loops of synths, beats, guitars and voice to create warm cushions of sound that envelop the ears, nod the head and move the body. Willner is a master of texture and atmosphere, in lesser hands this may have produced mere comfort food but there is spice in the details that elevates this record as he accretes iotas of elements, withholding release to heighten anticipation. Although this is essentially deep house built on almost exclusively motorik 4/4 beats, Willner also plays with ambient, post-punk and shoegaze dynamics. From the slow piano dub of “Then It’s White,” which wouldn’t be out of place on a Labradford or Pan American album, to the ecstatic shuffling lope of “Arpeggiated Love” and “Is This Power” with its hint of a truncated Gang of Four-like bass riff, Looping State of Mind is a deeply satisfying smorgasbord of delicacies and a highlight of The Field’s four album output during the 2010s.

Andrew Forell

Gang Gang Dance — “Glass Jar” (4AD, 2011)

Instead of telling you my favorite album of the decade — I made my case for it the first year we moved to Tumblr, help yourself — it feels more fitting to tell you a story from my friend Will about my favorite piece of music from the last 10 years, a song that arrived just before the rise of streaming, which flattened “the album experience” to oppressive uniformity and rendered it an increasingly joyless, rudderless routine of force-fed jams and AI/VC-directed mixes catering to a listener that exists in username only. The first four seconds of “Glass Jar” told you everything you needed to know about what lie ahead, but here’s the kind of thing that could happen before everything was all the time:

I took eight hours of coursework in five weeks in order to get caught up on classes and be in a friend's wedding at the end of June. Finishing a week earlier than the usual summer session meant I had to give my end-of-class presentations and turn in my end-of-class papers in a single day, which in turn meant that I was well into the 60-70 hour range without sleep by the time I got to the airport for an early-morning flight. (Partly my fault for insisting that I needed to stay up and make a “wedding night” mix for the couple — real virgin bride included — and even more my fault for insisting that it be a single, perfectly crossfaded track). I was fuelled only by lingering adrenaline fumes and whatever herbal gunpowder shit I had been mixing with my coffee — piracetam, rhodiola, bacopa or DMAE depending on the combination we had at the time. At any rate, eyes burning, skull heavy, joints stiff with dry rot, I still had my wits enough to refuse the backscatter machine at the TSA checkpoint; instead of the usual begrudging pat-down, I got pulled into a separate room. Anyway, it was a weird psychic setback at that particular time, but nothing came of it. Having arrived at my gate, I popped on the iPod with a brand new set of studio headphones and finally got around to listening to the Gang Gang Dance I had downloaded months before. "Glass Jar," at that moment, was the most religious experience I’d had in four years. I was literally weeping with joy.

Point being: It is worth it to stay up for a few days just to listen to ‘Glass Jar’ the way it was meant to be heard.

Patrick Masterson

Heron Oblivion — Heron Oblivion (Sub Pop, 2016)

Heron Oblivion by Heron Oblivion

Heron Oblivion’s self-titled first album fused unholy guitar racket with a limpid serenity. It was loud and cathartic but also pure beauty, floating drummer Meg Baird’s unearthly vocals over a sound that was as turbulent and majestic as nature itself, now roiled in storm, now glistening with dewy clarity. The band convened four storied guitarists—Baird from Espers, Ethan Miller and Noel Harmonson from Comets on Fire and Charlie Sauffley—then relegated two of them to other instruments (Baird on drums and Miller on bass). The sound drew on the full flared wail and scree of Hendrix and Acid Mothers Temple, the misty romance of Pentangle and Fairport Convention. It was a record out of time and could have happened in any year from about 1963 onward, or it could have not happened at all. We were so glad it did at Dusted; Heron Oblivion’s eponymous was closer to a consensus pick than any record before or since, and if you want to define a decade, how about the careening riffs of “Oriar” breaking for Baird’s dream-like chants?

Jennifer Kelly

The Jacka — What Happened to the World (The Artist, 2014)

Probably the most prophetic rap album of the 2010s. The Jacka was the king of Bay rap since he started MOB movement. He was always generous with his time, and clique albums were pouring out of The Jacka and his disciples every few months. Even some of his own albums resembled at times collective efforts. This generosity made some of the albums unfocused and disjointed, yet what it really shows is that even in the times when dreams of collective living were abandoned The Jacka still had hopes for Utopia and collective struggles. It was about the riches, but he saw the riches in people first and foremost.

This final album before he was gunned down in the early 2014 is full of predictions about what’s going to happen to him. Maybe this explains why it’s focused as never before and even Jacka’s leaned-out voice has doomed overtones. This music is the only possible answer to the question the album’s title poses: everything is wrong with the world where artists are murdered over music.

Ray Garraty

John Maus — We Must Become Pitiless Censors of Ourselves (Upset The Rhythm, 2011)

We Must Become the Pitiless Censors of Ourselves by John Maus

Minnesota polymath John Maus’ quest for the perfect pop song found its apotheosis on his third album We Must Become Pitiless Censors of Ourselves in 2011. On the surface an homage to 1980s synth pop, Maus’ album reveals its depth with repeated listens. Over expertly constructed layers of vintage keyboards, Maus’ oft-stentorian baritone alternately intones and croons deceptively simple couplets that blur the line between sincerity and provocation. Lurking beneath the smooth surface Maus uses Baroque musical tropes that give the record a liturgical atmosphere that reinforces the Gregorian repetition of his lyrics. The tension between the radical ironic banality of the words and the deeply serious nature of the music and voice makes We Must Become Pitiless Censors of Ourselves an oddly compelling collection that interrogates the very notion of taste and serves an apt soundtrack to the post-truth age.

Andrew Forell

Joshua Abrams & Natural Information Society — Mandatory Reality (Eremite, 2019)

Mandatory Reality by Joshua Abrams & Natural Information Society

Any one of the albums that Joshua Abrams has made under the Natural Information Society banner could have made this list. While each has a particular character, they share common essences of sound and spirit. Abrams made his bones playing bass with Nicole Mitchell, Matana Roberts, Mike Reed, Fred Anderson, Chad Taylor, and many others, but in the Society his main instrument is the guimbri, a three-stringed bass lute from Morocco. He uses it to braid melody, groove, and tone into complex strands of sound that feel like they might never end. Mandatory Reality is the album where he delivers on the promise of that sound. Its centerpiece is “Finite,” a forty-minute long performance by an eight-person, all-acoustic version of Natural Information Society. It has become the main and often sole piece that the Society plays. Put the needle down and at first it sounds like you are hearing some ensemble that Don Cherry might have convened negotiating a lost Steve Reich composition. But as the music winds patiently onwards, strings, drums, horns, and harmonium rise in turn to the surface. These aren’t solos in the jazz sense so much as individual invitations for the audience to ease deeper into the sonic entirety. The music doesn’t end when the record does, but keeps manifesting with each performance. Mandatory Reality is a nodal point in an endless stream of sound that courses through the collective unconscious, periodically surfacing in order to engage new listeners and take them to the source.

Bill Meyer

Mansions — Doom Loop (Clifton Motel, 2013)

I knew nothing about Mansions when I first heard about this record; I can’t even remember how I heard about this record. But I liked the name of the album and the album art, so I listened to it. Sometimes the most important records in your decade have as much to do with you as with them. I’d been frantically looking for a job for nearly two years at that point, the severance and my access Ontario’s Employment Insurance program (basically, you pay in every paycheck, and then have ~8 months of support if you’re unemployed) had both ran out. I was living with a friend in Toronto sponsoring my American wife into the country (fun fact: they don’t care if you have an income when you do that), feeling the walls close in a little each day, sure I was going to wind up one of those kids who had to move back to the small town I’d left and a parent’s house. There were multiple days I’d send out 10+ applications and then walk around my neighbourhood blasting “Climbers” and “Out for Blood” through my earbuds, cueing up “La Dentista” again and dreaming of revenge… on what? Capitalism? There was no more proximate target in view. That’s not to say that Doom Loop is necessarily about being poor or about the shit hand my generation (I fit, just barely) got in the job market, or anything like that; but for me it is about the almost literal doom loop of that worst six months, and I still can’t listen to “The Economist” without my blood pressure spiking a little.

Ian Mathers

Protomartyr — Under Colour of Official Right (Hardly Art, 2014)

Under Color of Official Right by Protomartyr

By my count, Protomartyr made not one but four great albums in the 2010s, racking up a string of rhythmically unstoppable, intellectually challenging discs with absolute commitment and intent. I caught whiff of the band in 2012, while helping out with editing the old Dusted. Jon Treneff’s review of All Passion No Technique told a story of exhilarant discovery; I read it and immediately wanted in. The conversion event, though, came two years later, with the stupendous Under Color of Official Right, all Wire-y rampage and Fall-spittled-bile, a rattletrap construction of every sort of punk rock held together by the preening contempt of black-suited Joe Casey. Doug Mosurock reviewed it for us, concluding, “Poppier than expected, but still covered in burrs, and adeptly analyzing the pain and suffering of their city and this year’s edition of the society that judges it, Protomartyr has raised the bar high enough for any bands to follow, so high that most won’t even know it’s there.” Except here’s the thing: Protomartyr jumped that bar two more times this decade, and there’s no reason to believe that they won’t do it again. The industry turned on the kind of bands with four working class dudes who can play a while ago, but this is the band of the 2010s anyway.

Jennifer Kelly

Tau Ceti IV — Satan, You’re the God of This Age, but Your Reign Is Ending (Cold Vomit, 2018)

Satan, You're The God of This Age But Your Reign is Ending by Tau Ceti IV

This decade was full of takes on American primitive guitar. Some were pretty good, a few were great, many were forgettable, and then there was this overlooked gem from Jordan Darby of Uranium Orchard. Satan, You’re the God of This Age, but Your Reign Is Ending is an antidote to bland genre exercises. Like John Fahey, Darby has a distinct voice and style, as well as a sense of humor. Also like Fahey, his playing incorporates diverse influences in subtle but pronounced ways. American primitive itself isn’t a staid template. Though there are also plenty of beautiful, dare I say pastoral moments, which still stand out for being genuinely evocative.

Darby’s background in aggressive electric guitar music partly explains his approach. (Not sure if he’s the only ex-hardcore guy to go in this direction, but there can’t be many.) His playing is heavier than one might expect, but it feels natural, not like he’s just playing metal riffs on an acoustic guitar. But heaviness isn’t the only difference. Like his other projects, Satan is wonderfully off-kilter. This album’s strangeness isn’t reducible to component parts, but here are two representative examples: “The Wind Cries Mary” gradually encroaches on the last track, and throughout, the microphone picks up more string noise than most would consider tasteful. It all works, or at least it’s never boring.

Ethan Milititisky

Z-Ro — The Crown (Rap-a-Lot, 2014)

When singing in rap was outsourced to pop singers and Auto Tune, Z-Ro remained true to his self, singing even more than he ever did. He did his hooks and his verses himself, and no singing could harm his image as a hustler moonlighting as a rapper. He can’t be copied exactly because of his gift, to combine singing soft and rapping hard. It’s a sort of common wisdom that he recorded his best material in the previous decade, yet quite apart from hundreds of artists that continued to capitalize on their fame he re-invented himself all the past decade, making songs that didn’t sound like each other out of the same raw material. The Crown is a tough pick because since his post-prison output he made solid discs one after each other.

Ray Garraty

[rxpper-roo]

💣 The First Experiment 💣

{💣}—; Roo jotted down some notes for a book he was writing in his journal, but the blue experiment was just a little distracted today thinking about where things went wrong for him. Thinking about when he must’ve been captured and taken away by Dr. Cortex to be experimented on, he didn’t do anything to deserve all that had been done to him.

The marsupial thought about it, back to the day that changed everything and gave him damage to his mental state that he still had not found a permanent fix to. While Roo didn’t remember every last detail of his life during the time he spent in the lab and before that, he still had bits he remembered. So as he thought about it, he began to write about it in his newest book which was to be an autobiography, it took some time for him to remember certain details especially after all the mind tampering he went through, feeling it was important for others to understand.

My life began not so eventful, I started as a normal kangaroo with parents that despite being like an ordinary kangaroo was a good existence with no major troubles in my life other than predators.

I remember that fateful morning where everything changed, when I opened my eyes to the warm air and hot beams of sunlight shining through where I was sleeping that night. As I opened my eyes I could only see the shade that surrounded me, where I was positioned it was somewhere I could conceal myself from predators and to keep out of the direct heat. You see, it was Summer at the time and it would get so very hot out there during that time of the year.

That morning I was particularly thirsty at the moment, I hadn’t gone without water for a few days and we kangaroos could stand not drinking water even in hot temperatures such as this, for a handful of days maximum if we don’t have continuous movement. I got up and hopped towards a body of water, seeing many of my fellow kangaroos roaming around the surrounding area. Now, I had no idea at the time that my time here was coming to a close, and that someone that I know now to be Dr. Cortex had been watching me specifically for days on end after he suspected I could be the perfect subject for his demented experiments that have left me with long term issues.

As I treaded closer to the water nearest to me I approached it slowly and carefully, as to ensure no predators were around and I remember being very happy and so I drank my fill spending some time there. After that I chose to get something to eat before I would move on....but I didn’t know that stopping there would be a big mistake, no way of knowing such a thing.

It all happened so fast, a sound caught my attention as I felt my ear perk up and I shot up to see what was the matter only to see nothing out of the ordinary but then hearing the snap of a twig I stood upright and looked in that direction...only to feel the sudden pinch of pain in my shoulder, feeling threatened and panicked I started to hop away until I suddenly felt very tired and sleepy. Something overtook me, enveloping my body in heat and what felt like a wave of drowsiness coursing through me as I stumbled in my hopping and I became sluggish, soon I stopped against my will and in seconds I was dizzy and my vision would fade. Before I knew it I was down on the ground breathing softly after being shot with what I know now, was a tranquilizer dart, and my memories of what happened next turned to a fog as my vision faded to darkness as I know I passed out...the one who’d done this was of course Cortex himself.

However long it took to get back to Cortex’s castle and lab, I didn’t wake up the entire trip and wasn’t awake again until I had arrived. I distinctly remember hitting my head, and when I looked at my surroundings, I realized that I was in a cage but to me at the time I was just trapped and began to fear what was going to happen as I didn’t like being stuck inside.

I listened to what the strange men in glasses and lab coats were conversing about with each other, and that’s when among them I saw for the first time, with my own eyes. Both Dr. Cortex and Dr. Brio, and I heard Cortex mention I was the perfect ‘subject’ to start their experiments on. I made audible noises that let them know I was awake because I didn’t think they’d harm me but their experiments...weren’t pleasant.

After spending a long period of time in the lab, time soon became nonexistent within the confines of my steel cage and I learned that and to be obedient very quickly. Around me were several other cages, but they were at that moment still vacant and not labelled while mine clearly read “kangaroo.’

Things became worse before they became better for me because I had samples of my DNA taken from me in a variety of ways most commonly a blood sample. Not long after arriving or after certain experiments to check for change, then I was subjected to experiments that could be considered horrible treatment, on top of the fact I was watched 24/7 every day to ensure I didn’t do anything to escape. To name specifics, I was injected with unknown liquids and chemicals which caused me...terribly unpleasant discomfort which was painful to the extent that I writhed in pain within the steel walls of my cage and I curled up painfully, and slept while still clutching my stomach and where the injection was introduced into my bloodstream.

Every time I might’ve done something they deemed wrong, or to be disobedient then I’d face electrocution through a cattle prod that was so painful I couldn’t hide the pain or discomfort to whereas I whimpered and cried out in pain with each shock and painful process, as some were more intense then others. I might not have been how I am now just yet, but I remember cowering when Cortex would come near me. Utter cruelty is what I faced there, I was nothing but an innocent creature who was abducted from his home all for the purpose of being used as a lab rat..I never wanted to be zapped b Cortex’s ray gun or the prods so I tried to take everything as obediently as I could.

Some experiments I endured also altered parts of my genetic makeup, and at one point I begun to attempt speech...I was able to learn in the beginning a little better given what had already been done, but I wasn’t a talkative type at the time. Most of the words that came from my mouth was nothing by pleads for these terrible things to end and to please allow me to rest. Luckily for me Cortex wasn’t always performing experiments every second of everyday and if he wasn’t there for me, that was the most amount of solace I had at the time. What didn’t aid was the unspeakable terrors spoke of from his captors, and also heard some of their plans, that he was intended to be one of Cortex’s perfect soldiers to take over the world but....he didn’t want to hurt anyone.

Then on a cloudy morning, judging by my view from my cage to the windows to the outside, a place I hadn’t been in quite some time. I overheard they were planning on subjecting me to a device known as the Evolvo Ray, and heard this would be the very first time it’d be used which made me nervous, I couldn’t believe what was happening and that it was going on and on. So this time I didn’t want to be subjected to anymore so once my cage was opened I used the claws on my hands and scratched one of the lab assistants while I shouted for them to. “Let me go!” I even growled at them and showed I was going to defend myself and I hoped I could make a run for it, but I was electrocuted once again and forced to submit.

After all to them, the Evolvo Ray was waiting for me and I was forcibly strapped down to the table right underneath the giant laser of the device pointing directly at my midsection. While I was being strapped in I shook in fright, now that I was also more aware of things given the previous experiments.

I remember distinctly that Cortex ordered Brio to activate it and once he pulled the lever I saw the ray fire and hit me directly in my chest which unleashed a wave of searing hot pain that I had no choice but to unleash a scream and cry of agony feeling the immense pain and burning in my chest. As well as what felt like my body altering in shape, what one may call a more humanoid shape, my upper body shifting and straining...enduring it until the first beam ceased and I was left gasping for air and as I attempted to calm myself a scent of smoking fur but thankfully not burning flesh though it certainly felt like it, the pain hurt with an intensity unparalleled by anything I’d felt in my life up to that point.

After the initial shot I felt, empty and I remember starring off into space with nothing more but a vacant look on my face as I could not hear, all I had was my ears ringing and feeling nothing but blankness within my head. As if I’d received a shock to strong it was difficult to comprehend the amount of searing pain I felt...it was unlike anything I’d ever felt and hope I never do ever again. As it took so much energy out of me and had effectively stunned me and had me trembling nonstop. However, before I could do a thing I felt  second shot hit me causing a second cycle of pain shaking me down to my core, it felt as if my entire body was on fire this time, while hot tears streamed down my face.

Despite the amount of pain, I soon started to realize the more I endured it by the ray it was like soon enough the pain had...lessened significantly. I know now that this, was the beginning of a higher pain tolerance that would allow me to survive and stand up to great amounts of pain, far more than any ordinary being. That however, was not the only effects the second shot had on me as this was also what caused my body’s mutation to go even more out of the ordinary, beyond evolving me for it caused an unexpected affect causing my fur to turn unnaturally blue, and I could assume this was why my whole body felt as if it were lit ablaze.

Once it was over, I would have looked very different much like I do now. What most would consider a now strange looking kangaroo with my new blue fur and shorter tail, with features that were far different than a natural roo. While my mind was black moments ago I now pondered many questions like I’d suddenly been thrust with a lot of intelligence and sure enough that was precisely what it was, but I was still shaken up and I questioned it all. “W-what have you done to me?!”

But seeing the success with the only drawback  being my blue fur made Dr. Cortex overzealous and impatient to see if I was able to handle anymore, so instead of letting me have a break he chose to take me directly to the Cortex Vortex, and I didn’t want to go from one major experiment to the next for obvious reasons. For those unfamiliar, the Cortex Vortex was an invention intended to turn any subject into Cortex’s mindless slaves although it turned out to have a low success rate but I was nothing but the guinea pig to test these items. For me, I was the first of the experiments so the Vortex was more unstable as it had never been tested before.

Despite the amount of pain lessening suggesting a higher pain tolerance brought onto me by it, even then I was too tired to protest and once I was in place and raised into the Vortex I know now, Dr. Cortex chose to set it to overload.

I remember the terrible things I had to endure inside there, I was so scared...even now I can recall the interior of the Cortex Vortex being lined with television screens that at first stood still until i twas activated and began so spin around me head much like it’s namesake, a vortex. The screens would begin to broadcast with the purpose being to feed signals directly into my brain, it felt like an invasion into my head and that it was being defiled by this device. The intention to transform me into a mindless slave, and shortly after I struggled and kicked my legs and pounded against them to no avail, I just had to do something, anything to get out of such a situation.

Although eventually it felt as if I couldn’t move after prolonged exposure, my mouth agape and eyes wide as tears streamed down my cheeks as I remained helpless in this situation no choice but to watch the screens. The pain and intensity of it all was too much to bear, I wouldn’t wish such a thing on anyone.

After a while my eyes practically burned with irritation from seeing endless screens, begging to be spared these images as I kicked and pleaded. Any pleas I might’ve had were either unheard or fell on deaf ears, and during all this one question appeared in my mind as my brain was forced to take in all the information and defiling my mind.

“Why?”

My head felt like it was burning and becoming disjointed almost as if I were going to die but that wasn’t what happened the more I was forced to stare, the more my eyes began to throb and my sanity began to slip. You understand, I was trapped, left in that infernal machine for days forced to watch the spinning contraption and instead of the end result Cortex wanted, my mind bent over backwards until my mind snapped like a twig and turned me into a cackling maniac, I wouldn’t be the same again as I still deal with mental issues involving insanity.

The noise I was making inside went unnoticed for a while, but when the sound of insane laughter finally caught Cortex’s attention I knew he went to investigate, details here aren’t as clear since I lost myself for the first time. But I remember once I was let out through my deranged laughter I thrashed in my bonds... then when I was freed I pounced on him and attacked, grabbed onto him and tore into his lab coat but never managed to get to his skin, before I was shot down by another dart or quite a few rather...but a lab assistant and once again my vision faded to darkness.

When I awakened I was back in my cage and my arms were restrained in a straitjacket I still wear to this day, as a way to protect myself and others should anything go wrong with my more unstable state of mind. All that came from my mouth was the very sound of a cackling mad kangaroo that I’d become.

I used to slam my head into anything solid, and tried to escape my cage while I was being fed and given water while sedated because I was too unpredictable and erratic during this time, as I was still insane 24/7, and I was quite noisy and one of the many things I’d be howling in the night is what got me my name, one part had to do with my claws and the other was because I once howled. “rip...rip...RIPEROOOOOOO”

Some time after that besides being declared as a failure, I was left to my own devices and in a state of perpetual motion, but I was left alone for the most time except when it was time for supper and I was made to eat to ensure I’d remain alive and not pass away from dehydration and hunger.

For the longest time nothing would change from there, until the day Dr. Cortex was placing finishing touches on his final experiment...Crash Bandicoot. Things of course didn’t go as he planned and he not only escaped his clutches but I know now that after that he rounded up experiments failed or not, that could fight and placed them in designated locations.

While I too was placed somewhere, I was left on the Wumpa Island where for a while I would wander the jungles, terrorizing the local animals and even attacking or hunting them for food over the days I was left alone, completely and utterly insane at the time it was when my mental condition was at it’s worst for certain. But eventually, I would settle at old ruins sitting atop the waterfall under the Uka Tree, where I would soon enough have a fateful encounter with Crash Bandicoot himself.

For all the...disagreements I’ve had with Crash, the first time we fought it led to me eventually going forward to go to therapy and finally get a batter handle on myself and begin to understand that I had gained high intelligence and I used my knowledge to go to school, get high marks and achieve the things I wanted by working and gaining a degree for psychology, all in the name of becoming who I am today...

[sw5w]

The Droid Army Marches On

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:49:58

[mightyclockparts]

Replacement Clock Motors

Showcasing Timepieces with Quartz Clock Motors

Quartz clock motors remain in significance the engines of modern watches, running digitally rather than mechanically. Quartz clock motors (additionally called activities) have the ability to duplicate all of the timekeeping functions of their conventional, mechanical, counterparts and also broaden on them better, often leading to spectacular showcases. Herein we review these mechanisms in higher detail as well as exactly how they operate the connected parts of dials, hands, pendulums, and chimes.

Quartz clock motors obtain their name from their resource of power, a tiny quartz crystal that has the building of generating a fast stream of energy pulses at a specific regularity when based on a voltage differential. Software application count the pulses and accumulate the running matter in digital registers. It is then fairly straightforward to subdivide the buildup by the appropriate conversion number to calculate elapsed seconds, mins, and also hrs.

Contrast this digital operation with the old mechanical gizmos based on weights, springtimes, pendulums, as well as elaborate networks of gears, all designed to derive the same exact temporal proportions. Possible power was exchanged torque (rotational energy) that would certainly or else freewheel without governing tools called escapements. The collection of all these parts called for a particular minimum quantity of area.

The set of electronic parts that compose the modern movement (memory chips, accumulators, CPUs, etc) are miniscule in comparison, giving clockmakers with a lot more adaptability in their layout job. However, the final translation right into brief position of three hands superimposed on an adjusted clock face is the same for both techniques. Both types of wrist watches have actually concentric shafts placed in a case, each shaft corresponding to and managing among the hands.

All clock motors are routine, implying that they eventually cycle back to a "reset" placement. One of the most common period is twelve hrs, though it is not hard to find a 24-hour cycle, maybe catering to those with a military bent. However some modern quartz movements go even better, with the only accommodations being an additional hand and a specially created dial.

The various other durations of rate of interest are the week, the month, and the lunar day (24-hour and 50 mins). The week and also month cycles need an extra hand to point at a published day of the week (radiating out from the facility of the clock face), or to among 31 numbers spread around the dial area, specifically. The lunar day cycle is for tracking the tides, and may be a standalone watch or incorporated with an average clock.

It goes without saying, these extended-time clocks are fairly intriguing as well as mesmerize the visitor. One more method to interest the observer is with the lack, or unique therapy, of the previously owned. All motors sustain a second hand, though you can constantly leave it off; however, some movements carry out a tick-and-stop (audible) motion, while others silently move the hand constantly.

You can additionally locate motors that track the climate sensations of temperature, pressure, and also humidity. There's no periodicity below; sensors are utilized to sample existing values, which are converted into hand placement within a provided range.

Novelties are also lots of fun and also preferred with the clients. Chimes and pendulums are the ones most typically discovered. The chimes are activated to seem on the hour (possibly likewise every quarter-hour), playing a familiar melody, as well as often followed by a count of the hr. Pendulums are not functional in digital movements, as they are purely mechanical, however their oscillations are eye-catching to several, as well as the motor can easily be extended to give such an add-on. clock parts

It can be jubilant and fulfilling for the clockmaker to develop a job that brings awe, gratitude, or affection. The craft comes to virtually everyone, and parts can be found via online vendors. Why do not you consider the venture of showcasing timepieces with quartz clock motors?

[s-t-e-m-blog]

Stefano/Reader

Encounter  ; Cravings

Part 2 of ? up! Memories of an encounter. Each chapter will have these ‘flashbacks’ to add to the stories background, some may be exlusively memories. Critique, advice, ideas, etc welcome!

Previous chapter - Next chapter (TBA)     Find me on AO3 

May 2012

It was another night at the Krimson City Lounge that you were sat at the polished wood bar, although this time you were not enjoying a sweet drink, chatting up a friendly storm with a colleague, no. Tonight, your demons were catching up and this was your battle against them. Not the greatest tactic, but… war is war, and it worked.  For a time, until the cycle repeated itself. With one swift movement, the brown liquid in your tiny glass rushed down your throat and slowly warmed you up. It wasn’t packed tonight, but a few other patrons lit up the cozy establishment with some laughter and talk.

“I’m here for a good time, not a long one.” You said with a grin, pushing back the empty shot glasses across the bar table. Marcus, the bartender you have gotten to know a little too well, shook his head and scoffed, although with a smile.

“(Y/n), at least get some water in you. Or some food? It's not a good idea with the amount you drink...” A glass of icy water appeared before you faster than you could protest, and despite the original plan to get hammered quick, you accepted it. At least the hangover might be a little less… severe? You tugged at the straight neck of your wine coloured sweater, adjusting it back to its horizontal cut.

“You’ve seen me take shot after shot with barely a buzz, Marcus. I’m going to be fine. But I’ll accept your offer of some sliced bread and...cheese?” You smile at the older man, watching him laugh and disappear into the back. Your eyes moved away from him and to your glass of water. Watching the condensation form on the glass was relaxing as you felt the darkness of your mind creeping in. You’ve only had a glass of rum and five shots of your favorite, cinnamon whiskey, yet you feel nothing. Disappointing, but… you had time tonight. No gallery, no side jobs, nothing. The least you could do was enjoy it all.

The door to the bar opened with a jingle, and your head turned to see who the newest addition was. A tall man, white dress shirt and waistcoat made his way through the door. Undone, uncaring. Tired eyes, messy hair, and a darkening five o’clock shadow.. You noticed the KCPD badge peeking out of his little pocket. You quickly glanced away, although your gaze resumed as he passed you by, the smell of his cologne sending a flutter through your heart…. You weren’t drunk that fast, were you?

The plate of bread Marcus set before you startled you out of your almost… longing gaze, and the bartender laughed. “ Detective Sebastian Castellanos! The usual?” he asked the man as he sat down at a booth, already working on his usual order.

Sebastian Castellanos… you went over his name in your head, picking up one of the slices of cheesy bread and taking a bite. You chewed cautiously, watching Marcus deliver the detective his drink, barely looking up as it was placed before him, his attention deep in one of many files. As he returned, you looked at him with a sheepish look on your face. “Does he always come here to work..?” You tried to avert.

“I see that look,” Marcus said, wiping down the surface of the bar with a rag from his apron.

“I don’t,” you say with a mouthful of cheesy bread, signaling with a nod and a finger for another drink. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” Marcus shook his head, pulling out a clean glass and pouring the brown colored rum into the glass, and bringing it to your awaiting person. He leaned closer to you, aimlessly wiping down the bartop again.  

“Don't kid me, (y/n). I’ve worked here 20 years, I know what I saw in that look.” he chuckled, his brown eyes falling on the detective, already finished with his glass. “He’s been coming here a lot more lately… Must be tough after losing your kid, and your marriage falling apart.”

“Oh, he’s a married man… ” You bite on your inner mouth, taking a sip of the alcohol and looking back at the detective. “Maybe we can both relish in the grief of loss and to be lost, then?”

“I’ve seen a few women try their luck on him, but he hardly batted an eye at any of them... “ Marcus was interrupted by the call of a group of patrons, stuffing the rag into his apron as he answered to their call. “You can try, though. It won’t hurt….maybe.” He laughed, walking off to the rowdy group on the far side.

You sighed, shoving the last bit of your snack into your mouth and looking back at the detective. He was definitely attractive, you couldn’t deny that. Could you even talk to him? Did you want to? If he still had a wife, there was no point in trying for any romance… The detective’s face turned into a frown as he rubbed his face with his free hand, slapping the file down on the table. He looked tired. As he looked up, you quickly turned away, slumping back in your chair and closing your eyes to think. Maybe you should..  at least the company would be nice, married or not. Maybe that would be better than a hangover.

You waited for Marcus’ return, taking a swig of your own beverage, trying to force an iron will. You might as well. Your intentions may seem questionable, but above all, you just want company. As Marcus returned with empty glasses, you took one final gulp of your own drink and set the glass down, replacing it with the water and taking a long drink, to please your friend.

“Marcus, give me what he likes. And I'll take another whiskey.” you smiled,

“So two then… I see that fire in you.” Marcus laughed, quickly prepping the two drinks and setting them before you. “Good luck.”

With a deep breath, you stand up, taking the two drinks in your hand, and muster all your courage as you make your way to the detective.  

Setting the glass before him, you take your seat across from him and take a sip of your own, blood pumping from anxiety.

“You look like you could use a friend. Or another pair of eyes.”

~ U W U ~

March, 2017

Stefano and you were lounging about in your kitchen, sitting on the tall chairs surrounding the small island. You were reading a novel you’ve been meaning to finish for about a year now, while he was sorting through new photographs he had printed as samples for the gallery event later tonight you two would attend.

“Stanotte è la notte, mia dolce!” Stefano exclaimed, looking up from the file of his printed works, icy blue gaze watching you shove yet another strawberry into your mouth with your free hand. It's the second carton now. The first one you took down last night with more (homemade!) whipped cream than you have had in your life, while sobbing into your blanket watching Planet Earth. He looked at you curiously, amused. “Another night where the uneducated masses will be shown true art..”

“It’s been quite some time since we’ve gone to something this… refine, though, hasn’t it?” You reply, throwing the small bit of leaves into the designated ‘leaf bowl’ and wiping your hand of the juices on a towel. You noticed your weight gain lately, and you were not happy about going out with how self-conscious you felt.. And despite the time of day, around 4 in the afternoon now, you still felt fatigued, even with sleeping in. “I’ll admit, I’m excited to be on your arm tonight, too..” You were excited and raring to go out, but at the same time, you were feeling down today. But power on you will...

“Of course, (y/n). You are the belle of the ball, afterall. It is an honor to be showing you off as mine.” Stefano grinned, slipping over to you and grabbing your face in his hands, giving your strawberry-saturated lips attention with his own. You chuckled into his kiss, and felt yourself shiver at his gloved touch, your legs instinctively wrapping around him and bringing him closer to you.

“You hush…” you mumbled into him, flipping the book upside down on the table and bringing your arms around his neck. You felt one hand slide down to your waist, grabbing it firmly, while the other took place on your lower back. Heat rushed to your cheeks, Stefano’s lips attacking yours with need.

“Shall I mark you as mine for all to see tonight, mia cara?” He asked, pulling ever so slightly away from you to admire your blushing face with a devilish smile.

“They all know it’s look but don’t touch, Stefano..” You whisper, your (e/c) eyes looking right into his, feeling a heat building in-between your legs. “You have to be there earlier than I do, and..”

“You deny me?” He gasped, pulling away with a dramatic flourish. “You break my heart, signora!” You shake your head and laugh, unwrapping your legs and pulling stray pieces of hair out of your face. “Although.. You are correct.” Stefano glanced at the time, setting a hand on your thigh and gripping it. “But that will not stop me later, mia dolce.” He winked, pulling away from you entirely and picking up his prints. “I will see you later at the galleria, (y/n). Six at night.. Oh! Do wear the dress I have brought to you. It is on your bed.” The dark artist smiled. With that, he turned on his heel elegantly and made his way to the door, leaving you alone in your apartment again. You sighed as you watched Stefano leave, slipping out of your chair to return the strawberries to their place. Maybe a shower would wake you up..

[juniperpublishersoceanography]

An Acoustic Archival Tag for Long-Range Tracking Of Small Fishes- Juniper Publishers

Abstract

This mini review describes the development of an acoustic tag for long-range (tens to hundreds of kilometers) tracking of small fishes or other marine animals. Tracking is achieved by standard RAFOS triangulation using the arrival times of unique sound signals emitted by moored sources. The tag also records temperature and pressure. All functions of the tag are controlled by an application specific microchip. The collected acoustic and sensor data are stored in a non-volatile memory. A cylindrical hydrophone of 25.4mm length and 10.7mm diameter also serves as housing for all electronic components. Power is provided by 2 button cell batteries, which enable an active tag lifetime of approximately two years.

Introduction

Much has been learned about the behavior of fishes during the past few decades through various kinds of data storage tags (DSTs), which were attached either externally to the back of the fish, or subcutaneously (e.g. Metcalfe [1], Block [2]). By recording in-situ physical parameters such as temperature, depth and light intensity, the geographical position can be inferred on the basis of retrospective analysis of known hydrographic features of the animal's environment or light level for surface species. However, such retrospective positioning is invariably imprecise because physical features may vary only slightly (horizontally, and vertically in higher latitudes) or be poorly known (at least for purposes of retrospective positioning). During the first decade of the new millennium, a new technology emerged, which allowed equipping the tags with compact high frequency acoustic transmitters, each transmitting a unique ID code. When a fish tagged with such a transmitter passed within the acoustic range of a moored stationary receiver, a record of that event was kept. While fish cannot be tracked continuously this way, this widely used technology provided valuable insight into the overall range and timing of their movements [3].

To track submerged objects over much longer distances, Rossby [4] pioneered a new approach more than 30 years ago with his SOFAR floats, that passively listened for scheduled acoustic transmissions from anchored sound sources (Rossby [5], whose narrow-band emissions, centered at 260Hz, could be detected tens to hundreds of kilometers away depending on the physical conditions of the sound channel. The selected 260Hz range renders signal absorption insignificant and avoids most of the low- frequency ambient noise Urick [6], Wenz [7]. Each RAFOS float keeps a record of the arrival times of the precisely timed sound signatures. The source distance can then retroactively be inferred by multiplying the travel time of each sound signature by its known propagation speed.

The Fish Tag

Thanks to the continuing reduction of the transistor dimensions in microelectronic circuits (Moore's Law), it is now possible to implement the complex acoustic arrival time detector of a RAFOS float on a tiny microchip. While in its most active mode when the tag is searching for sound signatures, the chip dissipates approximately 70|iW, but the stand-by power is not more than 4|iW. Assuming a realistic duty cycle of 10% (e.g. searching for sound signatures for 6 minutes every hour), the average power dissipation amounts to just 10-11|iW. Two 1.5-volt button cell batteries of 80mAh capacity can thus keep the system running for more than 2 years. The microchip also houses a thermal sensor as well as a pressure sensor interface to assess depth. The sensors utilized in the fish tag yield a resolution of 0.05 °C and approximately 0.7 PSI (~0.5m), respectively. If so desired, pressure and temperature can be sampled more frequently than searching for sound signatures. A more detailed description of the chip's features and its design can be found in reference Fischer [8].

Accurate timing is critically important in any time-of-flight based positioning system. Since the fish tag’s energy capacity is severely limited, it uses a low power commercial watch crystal oscillator circuit as the clock source. To avoid severe clock deviations, the fish tag timer employs a digital correction unit, which allows adjusting for offset errors stemming from the manufacturing process and compensating for the expected temperature deviations. The 6-bit digital correction scheme limits timing errors to ±0.95ppm or ±0.6 seconds per week. The remaining clock deviations can be mitigated by utilizing the travel time differences from three source to determine the position hyperbolically. One can then retroactively determine the clock correction needed to obtain the right travel time [9].

The assembly of the tag is a relatively straightforward matter. The custom microchip is surface mounted on a tiny printed circuit board (PCB) together will all other electronic components, i.e., the watch crystal oscillator, the nonvolatile memory chips and 3 filter capacitors. This PCB is only 8mm wide and fits tightly inside the hydrophone cylinder, which also serves as the tag's housing. The circular pressure sensor board is attached perpendicular to the PCB and forms one of the two end plates of the cylindrical tag. Figure 1 depicts a RAFOS sound source together with one of the 4 cm long prototype tags without its final polyurethane coat.

Field Test Results

A series of field tests have been conducted during the course of this project to validate the performance of the tag in its various stages. The first was a preliminary test designed to evaluate the critically important analog preamplifier and the potential tracking range. In this experiment, source and receiver were kept below the surface mixed layer at ~40 and 30m, respectively, on the New England shelf south of Nantucket. At a distance of 70km from the acoustic source, the records revealed a robust in-band signal-to- noise ratio of approximately 6dB [10].

Encouraged by the positive early test results, the project continued. But it was not until this past summer that first complete prototype tags became available. This paved the way for a more comprehensive test conducted approximately 50km south of the Mississippi delta in the Gulf of Mexico. The logistics of this experiment were simple. The tags were attached to the ends of two 30m long ropes, which in turn were tied to 2 surface drifters equipped with GPS trackers. The sound source was kept on the host vessel, the Endeavor, and lowered repeatedly to a depth of approximately 25m from the Starboard side at various distances starting at ~130km.

The submerged tags recorded an almost uniform water temperature around 27 °C during the 40-hour test period. This warm surface layer provided for less than ideal acoustic conditions, since it bends the acoustic energy away from the surface. But a thin fresh water lens of Mississippi origin created a shallow surface sound channel such that transmissions could be detected as far as 60km away. The source level was measured with a calibrated hydrophone to be 180dB re 1μPa at 1m. It was therefore no surprise that none of the tags detected a signal emitted from any of the three farthest source sites located 72 -130km away.

4-8 sound signatures were emitted at each source site. The recordings revealed a remarkably small spread in signal propagation times, 0.053-0.132 seconds. This corresponds to a spatial uncertainty range of not more than 200m.

Conclusion

The presented fish tag, with a length of approximately 4cm similar in size to other archival tags, operates according to standard RAFOS tracking principles: it detects and records the arrival times of signals transmitted from moored sound sources. Navigational accuracy is determined by how well clock errors in the tag can be controlled, but can be kept quite small thanks to knowing total drift error and temperature of the crystal clock during mission. The two main drawbacks of the presented tagging technology are the cost for the sound infrastructure and the need to retrieve the tag to upload the archived data. At a future time, we will explore how to avoid the second drawback by adapting the tag to a miniature satellite transmitter and a release mechanism, which allows the device to float to the surface at the end of mission. The added bulk means this technology will be best suited to larger species.

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