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autumnalwalker · 1 year

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Empty Names Side Story - There Are No Dogs At The Dog Park

Author's Note: Ringing in the new year with a side story set a couple years before the main plot, shortly after Eris and Lacuna met. Inspired by this sx-year-old post by @helloitsbees. Masterpost here. Word Count: 4,256 Content Warnings: Brief appearance of blood. Stream of consciousness narration of someone turning into a werewolf, panicking, slowly loosing sense of self, and chasing someone.

“Yo, Lacuna, sorry about this but I’m gonna have to bail on seeing that movie tonight. I just remembered tonight’s a full moon and I’m volunteering at the Dog Park. Err, right, rebranding - I’m volunteering with NALSA.

“Actually, if you’re interested I could probably get you on the volunteer roster for tonight. Could be something you’d be interested in so long as you don’t mind staying awake until sunrise. I’ll send you the link to their site.

“Call me back when you get this. Laters.”

*******

The sound of the wind is her first clue that she was somewhere else now. The drop in temperature is her second.

The sound of a woman’s deep voice addressing her is her third.

“Yo. You must be Sarah.”

She opens her eyes to find a muscular man towering over where she’s sitting on the bus stop bench, silhouetted by the sun. She blinks in surprise. No, wait, that voice, and something about the jawline. A woman, just the tallest she’s met.

“How’d you know?” Sarah asks.

“Gita told me we were getting a new first timer today and I know all the regulars,” the woman says. She notices the look on Sarah’s face and takes a step back, better illuminated now. “Ah, shit, I’m looming again, aren’t I? Sorry ‘bout that.”

With the woman no longer blocking her view, Sarah can see just how obviously she’s no longer at the same bus stop she sat down at. Behind the woman - “Eris” and “Volunteer” the nametag sticker on her shirt reads - is a long, low concrete building with grass growing on the roof and adorned with an emblem above its door depicting the stylized red outline of a howling wolf overlaid on top of a blue moon with the letters NALSA in white. The same emblem is replicated on the volunteer’s t-shirt with “North American Lycanthrope Sanctuary Association” in smaller print around it. In any other direction is nothing but empty scrub-covered prairie as far as the eye can see, broken only by the faint outline of dirt road the bus stop is situated on and the tall, inward-curving chain link fence extending out from either side of the building.

“Welcome to the Sanctuary,” Eris says as Sarah stands up and brushes off her jeans. Was that dust from Tennessee or… wherever this is? The other woman puts out a hand and says “I’m -”

“Eris,” Sarah says as she shakes the proffered hand and nods at the nametag.

Eris glances down and then back up, flashing a grin that Sarah can’t help but think of as feral. The moment passes and Eris chuckles, all friendly volunteer guide again. “So I am,” she says and lets go of Sarah’s hand. “Anyway, Gita’s in the middle of setting up for tonight, so I’ll give you the tour.”

Sarah hesitates for a moment, watching Eris walk toward the building’s entrance. She’s not exactly tall herself but not even being eye level with another woman’s shoulder still feels strange to her. And those muscles; she’s known guys that would kill for that. Is she going to end up looking like that? She’s not sure if that thought scares or thrills her.

Following along, she finds herself wishing she’d looked up more about this ahead of time. But there was just so much contradictory information out there. And if she was being honest with herself, she was afraid to. Maybe that guy who recommended she come out here was wrong and nothing would happen tonight. Maybe she didn’t actually even need to make this bizarre trip to…

“Where are we anyway?” she asks as she catches up with Eris.

“Dakota.”

“Which one?”

“At the moment, I’m in North and you’re in South. The bridge you came in through’s right on the border. Same for the visitor center. The liminality here made it easier to set up shop, mostly for the bridge, but a few other things too. And for extra oomph Montanna’s like half a mile that way. The Park extends into all three. Sorry, the Sanctuary,” Eris corrects herself as the door slides open. “We rebranded back at the start of the year. ‘There are no dogs here, only people,’” she says, holding up a finger and adjusting her voice for a startlingly accurate impression of the elderly woman Sarah had spoken to on the phone the other day, “‘so there’s no reason to call it the Dog Park.’” She shrugs and returns to her normal voice. “That’s what Gita says anyway.”

In contrast to the blocky, utilitarian appearance on the outside, the interior of the visitor center greets Sarah with carpeted flooring, nature scenes hung on the walls, and meditative music softly playing from unseen speakers in the ceiling. Examining the paintings and photographs they pass by as she follows Eris, she notices markedly fewer wolves in the decor than she’d expected. Just landscapes and close-ups of plants.

The tour Eris leads her on is as straightforward as the building’s layout; several spokes of hallway wings extending out from a central entrance, each clearly labeled in multilingual signs. Overnight Accommodations, where Eris sets her up with a small bedroom with a shower, a lock keyed to her voice for the next forty-eight hours, and what looks like a paper hospital gown hanging in the closet that Eris tells her is “to change into later so you don’t ruin your clothes.” Maintenance and Administration, skipped by for now but promised to return to later. Cafeteria and Recreation, containing a small library, gym, and lounge “to help unwind and recover after transforming back.”

As the two of them eat a complimentary lunch, Eris finishes explaining the benefits of a large, early dinner to lessen the likelihood of “chewing on something during the night that you’ll regret in the morning” and asks Sarah if she has any questions before they move the tour on to the Medical wing.

“Where is everyone?” Sarah asks, taking the opportunity to bring up something that’s been increasingly striking her as being off since the tour started. “This whole time I haven’t seen anyone but you and Pete over there working the kitchen.”

“Well, it is barely noon,” Eris replies, “most of the regulars won’t be here for another few hours and the rest of the volunteers and staff are busy with last minute safety checks. To be honest, I was surprised you showed up as early as you did.”

“Well, I know that sometimes you can see the moon during the daytime and I didn’t know if that would…” Sarah trails off in a mixture of nerves and embarrassment, “do things to me?”

Eris nods, understanding. “Yeah, I get that. But nah, from what I’m told as long as the sun’s up the most the moon’s gonna do to ya is make you a bit restless. Maybe amp up your hearing and smell a little bit while making colors weird if you’re real sensitive to it.”

“From what you hear?” Sarah starts at the realization. “You mean you’re not… not a…”

“Werewolf?” Eris finishes her question with a grin. “You’re allowed to say it, you know. But nah, I just show up once a month to provide a pair of opposable thumbs while you all have fun running around under the moon. My job’s mostly to drive you all out to the middle of the Sanctuary just before sundown, help steer anyone that wanders off away from the fences, and pick you all up in the morning with a change of clothes.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume. I just -” Sarah cuts herself off, realizing there’s no good way to end that sentence.

To her relief, Eris just laughs. “It’s fine. You’re not the first to make that mistake and I doubt you’ll be the last. And honestly, it’s far from the worst thing I’ve been called.” A shorter laugh, this one more forced to Sarah’s ears. “Sure as Hell beats getting accused of steroid abuse. But if you’re worried about your condition ruining your figure, don’t sweat it.”

“Okay.”

“No, seriously, don’t worry about it. Gita and Rani - her wife, you’ll meet her when we go to the Medical wing - can tell you more about it, but the gist is that they’ve spent decades studying this stuff and as best as they can tell any physical changes outside of the lunar transformation are purely an autogenesis thing.”

“Autogenesis?”

“You know, the whole thing with exposure to and knowledge of things Backstage causing subconscious internalized self-image to manifest externally?”

“What?”

“Oh wow, you are new to all this, aren’t you?”

Sarah nods. “So you mean there’s more out there than just werewolves and magic bus stops.”

Eris lets out a long breath. “Hoo boy… I’ve never been good at intro spiels, but yes and you have no idea how much. But back to what we were talking about, the short version is your lycanthropy isn’t going to affect you outside of the full moon unless you expect and believe it will.”

Sarah is still trying to process that when a vibrating buzz comes from Eris’s pocket. The larger woman looks just as relieved as she feels for the interruption, especially after checking the text message.

“Looks like Gita’s back in her office,” Eris says. “If you don’t mind, we can go ahead and cut the tour short here and I’ll take you to her. She’ll be able to fill you in on what to expect tonight better than I can.”

Sarah assents and follows her to the Maintenance and Administration wing. Eris’s phone buzzes a second time along the way - longer this time, indicating a call rather than a text - but after a quick glance she silences it without comment.

Before long, the two of them stop in front of a door with a frosted window bearing the label “Dr. Gita Patel - Sanctuary Director.” Eris knocks on the door and a voice bids them to come in.

On the other side of the door Sarah finds a small, tastefully decorated office with small pieces of religious iconography on the walls and shelves that she thinks might be Hindu but lacks the knowledge to identify more specifically. Altogether the effect is cozy rather than cramped. An impression further reinforced by the warm greeting from the short elderly woman in the center of it all.

“You must be Sarah,” she says as she shuffles around from behind the desk to shake the newcomer’s hand. “So glad you were able to make it.”

“Thank you ma’am. It’s a lovely place you have here.”

“Please, call me Gita. No need to be formal just because I have a sign on my door. Come, come, take a seat. Eris already gave you the tour, I take it? Well, I’m sure you still have questions about your first moon. Everyone always does, but never you worry. You’re safe here.”

Sarah struggles to suppress a smile at the accuracy of Eris’s earlier impression. Nervous as she still is, the combination of Eris’s nonchalance about Sarah’s condition, Gita’s enthusiasm, and the entire existence of the Sanctuary gives her some hope that tonight won’t be as bad as she feared.

*******

“Hey, uh, so, I guess you’re already at the Sanctuary. Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll pass tonight. Not sure I’d actually be able to help much and it feels… I don’t know, voyeuristic? Objectifying? Something like that to just show up and gawk.

“Also, long day at work so I’m not sure I’ll be able to stay awake all night anyway.

“Might be cool to talk to Dr. Patel though sometime though without a deadline of the sun going down. I’ve only skimmed it so far, but her paper on the mechanics of the transformation was, well, it’s got some stuff that’s interesting. To me. Is that awkward to ask for an introduction like that? Sorry. I’m rambling now, aren’t I?

“Hanging up now. But let me know if you want me to come pick you up and help you get home in the morning. Or is that awkward to offer too? Blah, I’m bad at this. Hanging up for real this time.”

*******

Howling. All around her. Inside her. From her. From her?

Lights growing so bright. Nearly hurts. Colors warping draining distorting. No more red. No more green. Wash of blues and yellows and grays.

So loud. Noises deafening. Too much all at once. Smells too. So many. So sharp. Sickening.

“She’s panicking!”

“First time’s always a trip. She’ll get through it.”

Skin crawling. Stretching. Bones cracking, extending, filling in. Doesn’t hurt but feels wrong. Alien. Itchy. Where’s the mass coming from? Can’t think about that. Itches too much. Outside and in. Try to scratch. Skin feels too soft. Scratch feels too sharp.

Look down. Flinch back up. Down again. Arms covered in fur. Hands end in claws. Muscle growing as she watches. She whimpers.

“Sarah. Sarah, look at me.”

Look up again. Piercing eyes. Solid face. Holding her in place without touching. An anchor.

“You’re going to be alright. Just breathe. Take it slow.”

Nod. Try to speak. To say “okay.” Hear a bark instead.

Clap hands to mouth. Hit her face too soon. Mouth and nose are too far out. Don’t think of the word for it. Don’t make it real.

Try to stand up. Stumble. Center of mass is all wrong. Joints don’t bend right. Body so heavy. Struggle back up. Look around. Surrounded by wolves and things that are almost wolves but wrong. Where is she? How did she get here?

“Sarah…”

People here too. Staring at her. Why are they looking at her? Please stop looking at her. Go away. Get away. Need to get away.

“She’s running!”

“It’s fine! She just needs time to work through it. Follow but give her space!”

Keep moving. Two legs? Four? Which works better? Find a rhythm. Pick up speed. Just need to get away. Can’t get away from herself. Something wrong inside her. Need to get it out. Get it out!

Fence ahead. Trapped. In a cage. Need to get it out. Need to get out. Need to escape.

“She’s going for the fence!”

“Should I tranq her?”

“Jeez, calm down guys. Don’t worry, I got this.”

Hand on the chainlinks, furry and clawed. Is that really her hand? Who else’s could it be? Feels wrong. What does right even look like? Stop looking. Just climb. Pull to climb. Pulling rips the metal away. Breaks the links. Snaps and pops hurt her ears. Too loud. Everything is too loud. So strong. Monstrously strong. She’s a monster. She’s a monster. She’s -

“Sarah…”

Is that her name? Is that her?

Turn around. Someone right behind her. Looks familiar. Looks too small.

“I know yer freaking out right now, but I’m going to need ya to get away from the fence. Can’t have you getting lost out there.”

Solid presence. An anchor. Remember to breathe. A hand extended. Reach out to take it.

“That’s right. Now let’s get you back to the others.”

Lips part underneath those anchoring eyes. Teeth shown. Barred. A smile threat! Danger! Swipe at the hand. Leap back. Growl deep. She can be dangerous too. Go away! Get away!

“Dammit…”

Teeth disappear. Come back more numerous. Lips stretched back and curved up. Eyes are eager now. Hungry. No longer an anchor.

“Screw it. The fun way it is then. You two go see what’s taking Gita so long.”

Hunker down. Ears back. Growl continues. What’s coming?

Blur of motion toward the torn fence. Hand waving in front of her face. Liquid dripping from a finger and smeared over the palm.

That smell! Enough to make her sick. Enough to make her slaver.

“That’s right. Go ahead and let go. Run wild and get it out of your system.”

Barred neck. Unprotected belly. Vulnerable. Tempting. The hand liquid smears across the face with those eyes.

“What are you waiting for?! Come get me!”

Howl. Lunge. Chase. Across the grass. Over the gullies. Pant. Run. Revel.

Close. Jump. Catch!

Catch?

Caught.

Redirected. Thrown to the ground. Land on back. Barely feel it. Stars are so beautiful tonight. Has she ever seen so many? And the moon! She could stare at it forever.

Movement nearby. That’s right. Hunting. Roll over back to her feet. Resume the chase.

Mouth noises from the other one. Words? Those meant something once, didn’t they? Laughter now. She still knows that.

Catch up again. Rear up. Bear down with jaws and claws.

Hands around her wrists. Or are they ankles now? What’s the difference? Drawing in. Nose inches from the prey’s. But prey doesn’t snarl back. Prey doesn’t laugh. Prey doesn’t have eyes shining with joy.

So what is this?

Spinning around until they’re forced apart. Regain balance. Repeat the chase. Panting harder now. Limbs heavier. Slowing down but so is the other one.

Bite! Catch something! Pull down to the ground!

At last!

Standing over her catch. What to do now? Ah, yes! There’s only one th-

Suddenly pulled down and to the side. Rolled. Positions reversed. Struggle and roll again. Back and forth. Back and forth. Claws flail. Jaws snap. Wrestling.

Stillness.

Pinned to the ground. Weight on her back. Strong arms around her. Holding her tightly but not painfully. Somehow calming. Protective.

Hand running through her fur. Stroking from head to back. Whispers soft even to her. What are words again? She’s so tired. Tired, but satisfied. This is nice.

One sound keeps coming back up. One that means something.

“Sarah…”

Oh. Right. That means her.

A soft padding on the grass. A contradictory smell of wet soil and dry leaves.

The weight eases off. The arms slide away. One last pat on the way out.

Look around. The other one is still here, sitting next to her. On the other side of her an old wolf, thin and white-snouted. The old one nuzzles her and she feels peace.

The old one turns to leave. She gets up on all four legs and pads along behind to follow. She can smell others nearby in the dark now. Waiting for her.

Spare one last glance back for the not-prey other one. That one waves.

She disappears into the night.

*******

“Eyugh?”

“Sorry, did I wake you up?”

“‘S’fine… alarm was going off in… seven minutes anyway. I’ll be there in a bit. Will bring coffee.”

“You’re a saint.”

“Uh, thanks? How’d it go by the way?”

“Pretty chill. Nothing too exciting.”

“Huh. Well, I’m heading out. You can tell me more about it when we’re both more awake.”

“Sounds good. See ya.”

*******

Sarah peeks out of her room, still disoriented in spite of Gita telling her what to expect yesterday. It’s one thing to be told that you’re going to black out and wake up in an unfamiliar room, but it’s a whole other bea- a whole other thing to actually have it happen. At least there had been a shower at hand and all her clothes on a hanger.

She’d been afraid to look in the mirror at first but once she’d worked up the courage to do so she found she was still her. Maybe tired despite sleeping past noon and disheveled with a few light scrapes and bruises, but otherwise none the worse for the wear. Easy enough to believe the hazy memories of last night really had been a dream.

“Yo, you’re up,” comes a voice approaching from down the hall. Eris, carrying a cafeteria coffee cup in each hand. “I was just coming to check on you. Sleep well?”

“Like I just ran a marathon without stretching first.”

“Heh, that’s not too far off from the truth,” Eris says and then offers one of the coffee cups. “Caffeine?”

“Yes please.” She steps all the way into the hallway and takes the cup. As she brushes Eris’s fingers in the process, some memory, some impression of emotion flickers and disappears before she can grasp it. For some reason she feels a slight flush to her cheeks, but she writes it off as still being tired from last night.

Last night…

She pulls the cup to her lips and the smell and taste derail whatever that train of thought was turning into. She’d briefly worried that there’d be some lingering amplification of her sense of smell that would make it intolerable, but it’s no more than what she would expect from cheap instant coffee. The taste is just on the tolerable side of bad and there’s a mild sourness to whatever powdered creamer got added in, but frankly that’s doing as much to wake her up as the caffeine so she counts it as a blessing.

“Unfortunately the guy in charge of stocking the kitchen has a major tea bias,” Eris says in response to Sarah’s flinch upon her first sip, “so that’s where most of the caffeine budget around here goes.” She settles against the wall opposite of Sarah and nurses her own beverage for a moment before adding, “That, and there was that one time a guy got the bright idea to do like ten shots of expresso right before sundown. Rani was this close to switching the whole stock to decaf after that fiasco, but I’m pretty sure half the permanent staff would have walked out if that happened.”

Sarah suppresses a laugh while she tries to swallow. “Stop, you’re going to make this go up my nose.”

Eris chuckles. “It’ll probably taste better that way.” She takes another gulp of her own drink and puts on an exaggerated grimace. A moment’s pause and her face goes more serious. “But really, how are you doing? Things got a bit rough last night and I wanted to apologize for that.”

“I’m fine. It all just feels like a dream really. I figure I’m as tired and sore as I ought to be from running around all night. What is there for you to…”

Locked eyes in the moonlight. Strong arms around her. Throwing her. Grabbing her. Calming her. Comforting her.

“Apologize…”

A broken fence. The scent of blood. Chasing down prey. Pulling it to the ground.

“For?”

Eris cocks her head at the way Sarah trails off into a long pause before suddenly gasping and clapping a hand to her mouth.

“Oh my God! Did I bite you?”

“What? No. I mean, you got my pant leg pretty good, but that’s why I bring that old pair on these nights.”

“Are you sure? I think I was trying to. I’m so sorry. I was - I tried - I -”

“Hey, it’s cool. I’m pretty good at not getting bit and I’ve got some protections of my own in place in case that happens.” Eris shrugs. “Besides, it’d hardly be the end of the world if I did wind up as a regular here instead of a volunteer. If anything, it’s my fault for intentionally provoking you.”

“But your hand.”

“Cut it on purpose on the fence. But look.” She transfers her coffee cup to her other hand and holds up a fingertip with a barely-visible scab. “I heal quick. Long story. Honestly the worst thing I got out of last night was a dressing down from Gita and Rani this morning about recklessness, tetanus, and putting you under undue stress. Apparently trying to give you an excuse to let go so that you weren’t stuck in that halfway conflict state isn’t considered best practice. Or at least, not my way of doing it.”

“What do you mean ‘not best practice’?”

“Like I said, putting you under more stress than I should have. That’s the big reason I wanted to check on you. I figured I’d throw you in the deep end with the thing most likely to make you lose control so you’d know you can get through anything.” Eris hangs her head, breaking eye contact. “In retrospect, that was a dick move. I’m sorry.”

“I’m… well, I’m not sure if I am fine. I’m still processing it all. But apology accepted anyway. I figure you at least meant well. And,” she pauses, embarrassed, “I think I did enjoy some of the parts that I remember.”

Eris chuckles softly and flashes that grin again; wilder for a fraction of a second than anything Sarah was last night and then taming itself into amiability. “Glad to hear it. Just be careful about which parts you enjoy. You don’t -” The buzz of a text message vibrating her phone cuts her off. “Well, that’s my ride, so I should get going. Feel free to hang around and recover as long as you need. It was nice meeting you.”

“Thanks. It was nice meeting you too.” More than nice? No, don’t go there. “Will I see you next month?”

“If you want, and the good doctors aren’t still mad at me.” Eris turns to walk off, and pauses. “Oh yeah, speaking of them, Gita’s going to want to talk to you to see how you’re doing too. Don’t be afraid to let her know if she starts going full psych eval on you, she gets carried away like that sometimes worrying after the newbies.” Her phone buzzes again, longer. “Well, laters,” she says and walks off toward the visitor center’s exit with a wave.

Sarah sips her terrible coffee and waves while watching her go.

Next month then.

*******

“Hey, Eris. I hate to be that guy, but I think I’m lost. What were the directions to get there again?”

#writing #original fiction #urban fantasy #Writeblr #WIP #Empty Names #writing practice #writers on tumblr #creative writing #fantasy #fiction #my writing #emptynameswriting #Yes the title is a Night Vale reference but the similarities don't go much further than that #Also the NALSA emblem is a wolf-ified version of the NASA “Meatball” logo because MOON #and also Gita and Rani are low-key space nerds #Unfortunately there is no safe and ethical way to test the effects of sending a werewolf to the moon

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paraparaparadigm · 1 year

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#NASA #Meatball

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m1dnight-ex1gent · 1 year

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For context, NASA has two logos: Worm

Meatball

#input type = poll #curious as to which logo you prefer #NASA #polls #yes those are the official names

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clonerightsagenda · 2 months

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NASA's logos have nicknames! The logo you're probably most used to seeing

is nicknamed "the meatball".

However from 1975 - 1992 NASA experimented with a different logo.

To my delight, this one was nicknamed "the worm".

#space worm....#terrible space facts #not really terrible but it's going in the tag #reading a book on the first female astronauts rn

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things-ford-pines-missed · 7 months

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Nasa changing from the worm logotype to the meatball insignia

this is such an ominous ask if you don't know specifically what is being referred to help

Thing Ford Missed #83: Death of the NASA worm logo

#things ford missed #ask #mod ferret #1992 #nasa #technology #STANLEY QUEUE SOMETHING

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wafflebloggies · 4 months

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the long con - part 1/7

a Don't Feed The Muse crossover story. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

The con was coming to an end.

DIGIVID, the largest annual convention for digital content creators in the Southern United States. Three days of booths, networking, merch, watchathons, speeches, special previews, presentations, weird food, crowded spaces, fun.

Fun in theory, anyway. For Mark Mayhew, it had been three days of a brand new kind of purgatory. Unavoidable, self-inflicted, endless.

“...honestly, we couldn’t choose, so like for our first video we just put all our favourite movies into a picker thing and it turns out Watchmen came out the exact same year as Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, and I know, they’re totally different movies, but then we were like, wait, there’s some parallels here...”

Mark was certain by now that the con had been a terrible idea. True, if he’d had the time all over again, there were several big, pressing reasons why he would still have made the same choice, but only a couple of them were fit to explain to anybody else. Even if he’d known how frankly- miserable- it was going to turn out to be, he probably still would have chosen to go, but knowing this didn’t make it feel like any less of a mistake, or change the fact that he would have given almost anything, right now, to not be stuck in the middle of it.

“...and the whole ship metaphor they cut from the movie, and like, Flint’s invention basically has the same thematic purpose as Veidt’s EDBE? We kept saying ‘eeby-deeby,’ it took us like, twenty takes…”

It was almost incredible to him, as he stood in silence, how alone it was possible to feel in such a big crowd. The main convention hall was hot, airless, busy. Even though some people were already packing up, here at the end of the third day, plenty of bodies still shuttled back and forth in clogged little streams whenever they found the space to move, elbow to elbow between the double rows of human backs shutting out the tables, the crowded booths. It was easy to feel overwhelmed by the sheer press of people, the talk and the noise. If Mark had only walked in alone, twenty minutes ago, and spent the time silently trying to make his way from one side of the massive space to the other, he would already have been more than a little agitated, ready to leave.

“...and he has all these shell companies, like all these theatres that play alien invasion movies all the time, to subconsciously prepare people? And when you look at Meatballs, you’re actually getting lowkey bombarded with fast-food imagery the whole time right up to when he turns on the machine...”

Mark had been in the hall for hours, and he was done. Currently, he was standing in a small pocket of space in a very nicely put-together booth belonging to a fairly well-known ASMR channel, watching a conversation happen right in front of him that he had about as much share in as an exiled Martian had in a conversation backstage at NASA. Yes, he’d started this conversation, he’d introduced himself, he’d started to steer the topic in a useful direction… and then Anthony had happened. Anthony Williams had turned up with his big, friendly grin and his busted paper carrier bag full of leaflets and merch which had been shedding everywhere since Friday and his completely distracting, distracted self, and now…

“...actually the biggest audio problem we have is my cat, Blaze, when we film at my house she’s got a real thing for the fluffy boom whatever on the mic, she wants to kill that thing on sight, right Mark?”

“Yeah,” said Mark, in the same way a corpse will twitch if you electrocute it. Anthony, who was too into the conversation to notice his friend’s thousand-yard-stare, carried right on going.

“Yeah, so we have to shut her in my parents’ room, but then I feel so bad, and she yells so loud in there it picks up on the video! So we usually record at Mark’s, but with our Parasite video...”

And so on. And on.

Not that the ASMR guys seemed to mind. People always seemed to open up and respond to Anthony quicker and with far more warmth than they did with Mark alone, which added another layer of frustration to the silent, invisible war he was fighting against himself. If Anthony could only have understood, and been focused, if Anthony could have been trying like he had been, these last three days, they might have found a sponsor already.

A sponsor, a partner, a collab, anything, anything to make the whole weekend feel worthwhile, instead of a painful waste of time.

Mark could tell that these guys had lost focus completely. One of them was still chatting quite happily with Anthony about God alone knew what, relaxed and disengaged, and the other was already moving away, eyes on a new bunch of visitors. There was no way Mark could steer this back the right way again now. Even though, at the bottom of his heart, he’d known it was a lost cause before Anthony had joined them, the tide of bitterness ebbed higher as he listened to the conversation wander so far wide of the point.

He must have looked distant enough for a party of people trying to use the booth as a short-cut to mistake him for an unconnected bystander, because as he stood there they pushed gently between him and Anthony, widening the gap as they passed through. On impulse, he went with it, let them nudge him and his whole parcel of garbage feelings to the side, let the general stream of the crowd push him out of the booth.

Without waiting to see if Anthony had noticed, he started shoving his way towards the main exit at a quicker pace. It was a relief to just move, without Anthony winding along just behind him, getting distracted at an average rate of once every four booths. Through the whole weekend, every time Mark was just trying to get from A to B, every time Anthony spotted something which made him want to stop and take a closer look, he would reach forwards and pat Mark on the back of his right shoulder. By this point, three days in, the feeling was starting to evoke a kind of Pavlovian response in Mark, knowing that every time he felt that light touch he would have to stop and stand and wait, getting hotter and more squashed and more impatient by the second, until Anthony was done, and by now just the feeling of Anthony’s hand on his shoulder had become a button that hiked his blood pressure, his heart, his temper.

By all appearances, Anthony had enjoyed the weekend a great deal. He got on with everyone he met, he was absolutely down for talking with new people on a vast range of subjects (with absolutely no practical application towards growing the channel whatsoever) and with his usual unbounded enthusiasm he seemed happy to keep going for as long as the con lasted.

Which wouldn’t be for that much longer. The hall was crowded now, sure, but already not as bad as it had been on the previous two days. Mark could see stalls and tables beginning to clear as their owners began to pack away. Pressing towards the main door, he had a sharp and ghastly vision of the convention hall as a vast interconnected series of nodes, bright and promising, each shutting down and turning black and dead as he touched them, came into contact, even approached them at all. Each booth, each prospect, each point of hope-

(nobody is going to want to work with you.)

He couldn’t feel normal, he couldn’t relax for a second, when on the one side the enormous thundercloud of dread loomed and on the other… something nobody here could understand, something he barely understood, something that lurked at the bottom of his stomach like a squishy leaden bowling-ball, the part of him that whispered that he really was just torturing himself for no reason, because what he had been granted out of the blue was, could be, his miracle. That it had been pointless coming here at all, that he was wasting time, wasting precious time not just ditching any other blighted and unreliable possibility and reaching for it with grateful hands-

“Mark!”

Unaware up until that moment that he’d stopped dead in the heaving crowd, Mark started and looked back as Anthony shouldered through the general stream of people, a small, willowy splotch of red flannel and concern. He felt Anthony’s hand on his shoulder again, guiding, steering him forwards and sharply left into a faster-moving stream of people that quickly swallowed them both and spat them out on the other side of the main doors. He wasn’t even aware of how much he’d just wanted the fresher air outside the hall until they were out in the gigantic hub of a lobby, the atmosphere so much lighter and cooler just from the fewer bodies and the bigger space, the vaulted metal-and-glass ceiling lined with great sheets of striped tarpaulins like a vast circus tent, shaded against the fading July sun.

He gulped several big breaths, realised his eyes were watering from the heat in them, the blur of colours and the crazy nimbus around each far-distant light, and angrily dragged his glasses from his face, looking down to clean them on his T-shirt as Anthony arrived by his side.

“Hey, you just dis- are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” said Mark, putting on his usual wry, flat, deadpan tone with difficulty, like a familiar sweater that suddenly felt too small. “You sure you’re done? You didn’t have any more hilarious cat stories to tell them? ‘Cause you all seemed to be getting on great.”

“Uh… yeah? They seemed like cool guys.” Anthony never usually minded Mark’s sarcasm, but finding the sharp end of it directed so pointedly towards himself clearly threw him. He shrugged, uncomfortably.

Good, thought Mark. Be uncomfortable. The thought wormed sharp and slimy through the back of his head, and it left him feeling ashamed. He didn’t want Anthony to be miserable just because he was, as if making Anthony feel awkward or hurt could make him feel any better about himself. He wasn’t that shitty a friend.

At least, he didn’t want to be.

Anthony looked down, shuffling through his bulging paper bag full of garbage, the thing he’d been stuffing every sheet, pamphlet, sticker and card he’d collected the whole weekend into as if it was as big as a lending library. He pulled out a couple of stickers from the top. “Here, they gave us a couple of these.”

Mark took the stickers. They were the window-clinger kind, for cars. He didn’t want to put any stickers on his car. They would be a pain in the ass to peel off, if-

(when)

-he had to sell it.

“Thanks, Anthony. Using my car to advertise someone else’s YouTube channel instead of our own, that’s a really proactive move there. Real four-D chess strats.”

“I, um… I just thought they’d look neat.”

“Yeah,” sighed Mark. “I know. Come on, let’s go find somewhere to sit.”

Even though it was getting towards evening, there weren’t too many people in the food court seating area, and half of the kiosks still had their metal hatches pulled down. At a long, near-empty table, sticky and spotted from a day of crumbs and wipe-downs, Mark dropped into a chair across from Anthony, always easy to spot in his bright red-check flannel, who was already halfway down a container of loaded chilli wedges.

He shrugged his backpack into the darkness under his feet and back-kicked it under his chair, and set his styrofoam carton on the table. Following the trend of the whole weekend, he hadn’t had as much luck with the food options as Anthony, whose potato wedges looked pretty good, apart from the whole ‘drenched in meat’ thing. His vegetarian lasagna looked like a slab of undercooked doormat in half an inch of thin red soup.

There were no real quiet places anywhere in the hall, but the food court was at least a little quieter, only a couple of other people at this table, eating alone. Mark tried to let himself relax, as much as he could, forcing himself to untense joint by joint as if his skeleton was an IKEA diagram strictly controlled by his mind, but only got about as far as his elbows before giving up.

Anthony grinned at him. Mark attempted to smile back, didn’t point out that he had a speck of chilli cheese on the tip of his nose, and ate a couple of bites of lasagna. The best that could be said about it was that it held no surprises- it tasted exactly how it looked. His phone buzzed, and he checked it hurriedly, trying to look preoccupied enough to dodge any conversation, to at least catch ten minutes worth of peace and silence while they ate.

He got maybe two minutes, because by then Anthony had wolfed down enough chilli to have taken the edge off his appetite, and wanted to talk.

“What happened back there, anyway? I just looked round and you were gone.”

Mark shrugged. “They weren’t going to give us anything,” he said. “Before you came over, I managed to give them our card, but really, I could just kind of tell they weren’t going to bite, so, like…”

With some trouble, he could make himself see that what had just happened wasn’t Anthony’s fault. He had known those guys weren’t interested, just like all the others. He’d known it in his gut before Anthony had even shown up, and with just a little distance he could see that clearly and admit it, and know that it wasn’t fair for him to put the blame on Anthony at all-

“Wait, that’s why you were talking to them?”

-for almost five seconds.

“Yes,” said Mark, trying to keep his voice, down, for all that it mattered. “Yes, Anthony, that is why I was trying to talk to them, before you-”

“But they’re nothing to do with our channel!” Anthony looked genuinely confused. “They do 3D print projects, they do that ASMR printing thing-”

“I know, what they do, Anthony,” said Mark, barbing every comma as if it was a physical thing, something pointy he could flick against Anthony’s forehead. “It doesn’t matter, they get two hundred K views per video, we could do something-”

“Come on, Mark,” Anthony drooped back in his chair, rubbing his face, obliterating the chilli cheese with his palm and pushing his curly mop of hair out of the way. His legs slid forwards on the tiles and his heels bumped into Mark’s toes. Mark pulled back and tucked his legs under his chair like a curling bug, hooking both feet tightly around its front legs. “You’ve been doing this the whole weekend, the mobile game people, the wallet people, the deodorant people, the freaking- weird pillow things people-”

“You think we can just wait for someone to come to us? That’s not how it works-”

“This isn’t how it works, Mark,” said Anthony. Now he leaned forwards, pushing his chilli to the side, all earnestness, his freckly face an open book urging Mark to hear him. “I’m just being realistic. We’re a really small channel, we don’t need sponsorships, it’s okay if none of these guys want to work with us yet. Maybe if we get bigger it’ll happen, fine, but you can’t force it, you’re just making-”

“When are we going to get bigger, Anthony? When? How long? When is our first sponsor going to come along and ask us? Another six months?”

“Maybe-”

“A year? Two years? I don’t have-”

“Maybe not at all!”

“-I don’t have that kind of time!”

Mark had almost yelled over his friend, but he’d heard him perfectly well. Although he knew exactly what Anthony meant, although it was only echoing his own thoughts, the words still stopped him dead.

“Maybe never,” said Anthony, quieter. “Look, you know I love our stuff, I love the channel, I’d love it if it got as big as those ASMR guys one day, are you kidding? But I’d be fine if we never got any more subscribers than we already have, I’d do it if we got like three views a video. It’s just supposed to be for fun, Mark! Remember the first time we uploaded and we got like, twenty views? We got pizza to celebrate!”

“That’s… that was different.” Mark did remember, and the memory made his throat tighten and his eyes prickle. It didn’t feel like a long time ago. The summer they started the channel, leapt into making videos as soon as term ended. That summer, back when his dad was only normal-crazy, back when Theo’s acceptance letter was stuck right on the front of the fridge all month, back when the thing that sucked the most in the world was the prospect of having to miss the second half of summer for some stupid family cruise.

That summer. Before everything went to shit.

Anthony pushed a finger against the smeary tabletop, drawing a big invisible circle, tapping a small dot next to it. “We have to think of it like, there’s hundreds and thousands of people here who have a channel, and you know it’s only a tiny, tiny percent of a percent that ever get big enough to get sponsorships and stuff. You know that. We were never doing this for sponsorships. I mean, I’m not, and- we’re on the same page, right? This is like when you wanted to do that video reading negative comments-”

“Okay, that? That stuff works. People love hate-comment videos. We’d easily get twice as many views as our last video, and we wouldn’t even have to write a script-”

“We don’t even get hate-comments- we’ve had like, one! Even if we did get a bunch for some reason, why would we even want to focus on that shit?” That’s just going to make it seem like we don’t care about the people leaving us good comments, and then we’d just look like assholes!”

“We don’t have to wait for real ones.I could make some fake accounts, or- or something. Who cares what we look like-”

“I do,” said Anthony. “And so do you, Mark.”

He sat back, as if he’d made a really good point, and gave Mark his best knowing look, which made him look about as sly and full of deep psychological understanding as a first-grader’s spelling primer.

“I know you, and I know the channel means way too much to you, for you to really want to screw it up like that just for a bunch of views.”

(It’s not about what I WANT!!)

In the real world, where screaming at the top of one’s lungs is unacceptable mealtime behaviour, Mark swallowed and looked down at his lasagna.

“It’s not like that’s why we’re here,” said Anthony. “This was just supposed to be fun. I mean… it was supposed to be.”

His tone of voice made Mark look up, quickly. Anthony was still watching him, and he looked worried. Not just worried, but uncertain, sympathetic. Mark felt his stomach lurch. He knew that look, because he’d found himself on the receiving end of it a lot lately, from a lot of different people, all for mostly the same reason. He hated it. He hated the pity, the pointlessness of it, the unwanted obligation of knowing someone felt bad for him when he never asked them to, wouldn’t ask them to, because they couldn’t do a single thing to help. Seeing it in Anthony’s guileless hazel eyes was worse than seeing it in the face of a stranger, because-

(he could help he just doesn’t want to)

-it cut deeper, somehow. Mark shut his eyes hard for a second. Hard white light, clean surfaces, the pervasive smell of disinfectants and sickness and waiting, and the voice, thin and drowsy and blurry with sleep and painkillers, but the same, the same well-loved voice-

(It sounds great, honey. You two go have a good time. You’ll have fun.)

“Sure,” said Mark, to his lasagna. “Fun.”

There was a short silence. Anthony clearly wanted to say more, probably to the same purpose, but he knew Mark well enough to recognize when he was being shut down. He shifted uncertainly in his seat, picking at a bit of cracked decal on the front of his t-shirt. Mark picked up his spork again.

“You know,” he said, casually, drawing small deliberate lines across the top layer of his gross lasagna, just like someone might do when they were absolutely unbothered and totally not trying to force the issue, absolutely not so wound up to the point that their usual sharp, smooth-running voice was fracturing into bits and pieces of sentences like grammatical shrapnel, “if you ever felt like- you were kind of done with this whole thing, with the- the channel, I’d completely understand. It’s been a... stressful weekend, right? It hasn’t really worked out like we wanted it to, and I can tell you’re not really into it, I... I wouldn’t be mad.”

He coughed, poking holes in the lasagna like he was trying to seed a miniature lawn. He hadn’t even eaten three bites, but it felt like it was stuck in a big ball in his throat.

“If- if you were feeling like, ‘You know what, I’m over this stupid YouTube thing, but I don’t want to disappoint Mark!’ I’d get it. Really, you wouldn’t be disappointing me, or- letting anybody down, I’d be- I’d be fine with just- running it on my own.”

He looked up, barely daring to hope. “If that’s how you were feeling... you could hundred-percent just tell me.”

Anthony leaned across the table, putting a hand on Mark’s arm, stopping the nervous movement of the spork mid-jab. His face was encouraging, wholly sincere.

“Mark,” he said, with serious emphasis, “I love our channel. I’m never going to be ‘done.’ I’ve got you, buddy. You don’t have to worry about me- I am never gonna just leave you to do it on your own. Okay?”

Mark looked at him, helplessly. Anthony smiled, his beautiful Anthony smile, nothing but sunshine and freckles, a smudge of chilli cheese and a total absence of doubt. He squeezed Mark’s arm, gently.

“We’ve had a long day,” he said. “I’m gonna go back to the room, get some packing done. Take your time, okay?”

And with that, and another quick, reassuring grin, he grabbed his raggedy paper bag and the rest of his chilli, and was gone.

Mark sat there for a little while as if he’d been hit with something heavy around the back of the head, looking at the place where Anthony had been. After a moment or two, he screwed his eyes very tightly shut, jabbed his spork into his lasagna so it stuck there like an upright little sail, put his face down in his hands and made a noise like a high, muffled nearly-silent scream.

#dftm #don't feed the muse #muse arg #alex bale #mark mayhew #anthony williams #my writing #happy christmas eve c:

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hylianengineer · 10 months

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NASA meatball NASA meatball NASA meatball

#this is the only non-handmade patch on my battle jacket which i think is fitting #this makes me and also my younger nasa obsessed self very happy #I've seriously always been like this about outer space #hylian rambles #id in alt

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reality-detective · 10 months

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No I don't remember, but it wouldn't surprise me because they are packed with lies as they use a red serpent's forked tongue in the logo. And what does it mean if you speak with a forked tongue? 👇

The logo we're all familiar with. 👆

This was the original logo. 👆

The description of their logo they want you to believe is: 👇

The red v-shaped wing represents aeronautics.

The circular orbit around the agency's name represents space travel.

NASA used the "worm" logo from 1975 until 1992. After it was introduced, the "meatball" was the most common symbol of NASA for 16 years, but in 1975 NASA decided to create a more "modern" logo.

Let's ask some questions... 👇

Why did they use the term "Meatball" as a description?

What do you usually find meatballs in? Spaghetti and Meatballs maybe? What is spaghetti considered? Pasta? 🤔

Pasta is a code word for pedophilia just like pizza and hotdogs.

As always... You Decide 🤔

#pay attention #educate yourselves #educate yourself #knowledge is power #reeducate yourself #reeducate yourselves #think for yourself #think for yourselves #think about it #you decide

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lonestarflight · 5 months

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AU Space Shuttle Enterprise

Circa 1985 to 1987

From my Alternative History Post (link) this is how the Space Shuttle Enterprise evolved from the 4th operational orbiter in 1985 to the prototype unmanned shuttle.

More History on the Shuttle:

• April 1983: Enterprise is returned to Palmdale for her disassembled and rebuild.

• As a weight saving measure her mid-fuselage is returned to Convair for a complete rebuild to bring it inline with OV-103 and OV-104.

• to further lighten her frame, her aft-fuselage is rebuilt with similar materials as her sisters.

• Engineers at Rockwell suggests rebuilding or replacing her wings as well but NASA doesn't have room in the budget.

• May 1985: at long last, Enterprise is rolled out and joins the fleet. She weighs slightly less than Columbia. Her main issue is her wings are heavier and weaker than the other Orbiters.

• September 1985: STS-21 is Enterprise's first mission

• 1987: During the Shuttle hiatus following the Challenger Disaster, she went through a mini refit that saw her exterior markings change. (NASA in this timeline returned to the Meatball logo sooner than in the OTL)

Circa 1988 to 1993

• April 1988: STS-30 is Enterprise's first launch following the hiatus.

• December 1993: following STS-61, Enterprise is retired due to being the oldest in the fleet. Endeavour takes her place in the fleet.

• June 1994: Enterprise is flown to Dulles Airport, Washington DC, and is given to the Smithsonian for eventual display when the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center is built. NASA retains the option recalled her if needed.

• 1998: NASA studies modifying the Shuttle-C software to work on the Space Shuttle and potentially using Enterprise as a reusable Shuttle-C. The reasoning behind this option this configuration would be a cheaper alternative to the X-33 program. However, while the shuttle could be retrofitted with the software, the shuttle would have less cargo capacity than the X-33 and still required use of expensive legacy launch facilities (ie VAB and LC-39). The study ends with only the software in a beta state.

• December 2003: Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center is opened with Enterprise being one of its major exhibits.

• November 2003: the Shuttle-C software is used to return STS-118 Columbia to Earth and with critical damage to her structure (mainly her port wing and some internal damage from a collapsed landing gear).

• May 2004: NASA recalls Enterprise to replace Columbia.

• August 2004: initial plans are to return her flight, unmodified. However, NASA develops the Shuttle-C software further and changes it's name to A.S.Tr.O.S (Autonomous Space Transport Operating System).

• New wings! Enterprise is fitted with new wings which are of a modified design and lighter and stronger than the wings of her sisters. With other upgrades and modifications, she is slightly lighter than her younger sisters.

• Some within NASA joking refer to her as Enterprise-A, as a reference to Star Trek.

• September 2006: to commemorate the 30th anniversary of her unveiling to the media, Lockheed-Rockwell rolls her out of their Palmdale facility to rechristen the Shuttle. In attendance, Leonard Nimoy, George Takei, Nichelle Nicholas, Walter Koenig, Christopher Doohan and Rod Roddenberry.

- when asked by the media, Leonard remarked she is still a sight to behold and is glad she will continue her mission of exploration.

Enterprise A (unmanned)

• July 2006: to test the A.S.Tr.O.S. during a return to earth and landing, a new series of Approach and Landing Tests (ALT) were conducted with NASA's 747 SCA (N905NA) at the Dryden Flight Research Center, Edwards Air Force Base. 15 flights are flown to put the software in the real world, with two astronauts on board to step in when needed. Barring some higher than normal landing speeds, the software passes all of its objectives.

• It should be noted, while the rebuilt Enterprise is mainly used as an unmanned orbiter, this is a misnomer. It is more accurate to call her a hybrid shuttle. NASA has the option to convert her back into a manned shuttle if desired or needed.

- This nearly was used in 2015 during STS-154. Space Shuttle Atlantis was after conducting maintenance/upgrades on the Hubble Space Telescope (HST), the crew was unable to disconnect the shuttle from the telescope. CTS-48 Enterprise was already on LC-39B for a cargo mission to the International Space Station. All that was needed was to remove supplies from the payload bay and reinstall the seats in her crew space. Fortunately, this rescue wasn't needed as the Astronauts conducted an unscheduled EVA and manually disconnected the Shuttle from the HST.

• November 2008: first flight of Enterprise-A (CTS-11)

• When Columbia was given a cosmic restoration for her display, the first set of wings from Enterprise was used to replace her damaged one.

• 2019: Enterprise is retired for the final time following CTS-74.

• 2020: Enterprise is on display at Space Center Houston with the restored Star Trek Galileo Shuttlecraft prop.

Original artwork by bagera3005: link, link, link

#Space Shuttle #Space Shuttle Enterprise #Enterprise #OV-101 #Orbiter #NASA #Space Shuttle Program #Enterprise-A #alt history #Alternative History #AU #Complete Shuttle Fleet Timeline #my post

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