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missameliep · 10 days ago

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Title: In a Little Book Shop - Part 1

Book: Desire & Decorum AU

Pairing: Ernest Sinclaire x Hayley Parker (OC)

Rating: Teen

Word count: ~3k

Summary: Ernest Sinclaire inherited his father’s little bookshop at London and, for the last decade, is used to the uneventful routine of a shopkeeper until a mysterious woman walks in and changes everything.

A/N: English is not my native language; there's one swear word; the poetry in bold blue letters are from Pablo Neruda's Poema 14 from "Veinte poemas de amor y una canción desesperada"; and Hayley Parker is @rosesnink's OC and I'm borrowing her.

Noe, I hope I did Hayley justice. This is just a silly little idea I had, and now I'm sharing it with you.

The Brahms’ piece playing in the back of the store swells in crescendo to a loud forte, almost muffling the sharp sound of the ancient brass bell at the door.

Like every other Tuesday afternoon, at 3 o’clock sharp, the deliveryman walked in. Head bobbing to the music playing into that gigantic white headset he never takes off, today he was carrying only one brown box that almost matched the shade of the company’s uniform.

The man nodded to Ernest Sinclaire, who had been sprucing up the counter for the past forty minutes, despite it already looking neat when he started or the fact that less and less customers have stopped by these past weeks. Not to mention most of the people who did cross the threshold were solely interested in the shop’s AC. With the heatwave, people certainly have fled London, he keeps telling himself.

But he could be wrong.

Printed books might have gone out of fashion this season like some insist.

The situation has been so critical, he’s been considering his friend Bart’s suggestion of turning part of the antique bookshop into a cafeteria.

‘A book ‘slash’ coffee shop. It’s trending', the man often says. However, Ernest is less than thrilled with the idea of fiddling with the antique shelves his father dedicated so many hours and love to restore years ago. Except for the improvement in the acclimatization and the profusion of autobiographies, the shop looks exactly like it did at its inauguration day in 1816. The framed lithographs in the entrance testify of the superb work.

Almost bouncing, the deliveryman quickly crossed the distance between them, not sparing a second glance around, which Ernest always considers a shame. Does he even realize this bookshop has outlived 7 kings and 2 queens?

Putting down a box with the handmade bookmarks commissioned to the talented artist Annabelle Parssons, Ernest signed the electronic receipt and took the brown box from the deliveryman’s hand. After the usual polite but wordless interaction, the man left. He was alone again when. The only sounds on the store from the first notes of one of Chopin’s nocturnals and the pens pushed aside to reach the pair of scissors in the top drawer.

Like always, he unpacked and carefully inspected the content of the box. Taking one by one, he examines the book covers, searching for any sign of damage. This time the box is filled to the brim with several copies of two cookbooks that trend whenever another season of the Great British Bake Off starts.

Cookbooks and travel guides are the best-selling items. Despite his personal opinions, he won’t complain if they keep the businesses going. Occasionally a customer after them might accept one or two of his recommendations or be drawn by the siren’s call of one of the poetry books or new authors he strategically places around the store.

It happened to that young Spanish writer whose thrilling debut fantasy trilogy became the hit of the store last Christmas. He’s not ashamed to admit he had his friend Bart rambling about the story whenever a new customer arrived nor the way he made use of the beautiful art of the cover. Some of the customers were instantly drawn to the fiery red head in the cover – he cannot blame them though, since he was mesmerized by the heroine’s beauty himself – but most of them returned merely days later to buy the other books. Which reminds him to write a note to himself to place an order for more copies of the author’s new trilogy.

A fit of laughter from a small child outside draws his attention from the paper and he smiles. His gaze follows the kid and the middle-aged woman holding their hand until they disappear after passing the large side window. The store’s location in the corner of two busy streets is privileged and is a perfect spot for people watching.

Across the street, a pair of young women, who look too young to be drinking, linger by the pub’s door, and a group of teenagers walk past the door but don’t look twice at the windows. They are probably going to the ice-cream parlour two stores down.

Keeping himself busy, he takes the recently arrived box. While moving some books aside to give space to the new ones without messing the systematic alphabetical and subject order, a copy of The Tucci Cookbook slips from his hand, hitting the ground with a dull thump. Kneeling to pick it up, a glimpse of someone outside catches his attention. An indistinct mass of blonde hair moves quickly, almost running. A second later, the bell rings sharply and hits the base producing a long higher pitched sound, like it does whenever someone opens the door with too much force.

“For fuck’s sake!” The angry feminine voice startles him. There’s some mumbling while the door closes with a soft click.

From where he is knelt, he only catches a glimpse of a pair of high heeled black leather boots, which is a rather unusual choice for a scorching day like this. The heels click sharply against the wooden tiles, while she moves around the store.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” he speaks to make his presence acknowledged, while pulling himself up and returning the book to the appropriate place.

Moving around the box, he finally comes face to face with the woman, who had just removed an ash blonde wig from her head and was trying to shove it inside a small studded leather backpack.

The woman’s hair is dark and glued to the head with a mix of sweat and some kind of greasy product, and her makeup is heavy, covering her face almost like a mask. The long and thick fake eyelashes look like spider legs and it’s hard to even distinguish the colour of her eyes. Not that he is trying to, of course. It was a polite gaze. Not even a gaze; barely a glimpse that allowed him to acknowledge the bright enticing eyes.

Dressed all in black – black tank top, black sequin leggings, black heeled boots –, she looks like one of the artists that perform in The Club at Margaret Street. Even her lips are painted in a shade of ripe plum, almost black. If she’s one of the famous ones and is trending on Spotify or whatever is cool this week, he definitely cannot tell. Or maybe she’s just another TikToker committed to the art of making the most entertaining videos according to Bart, who often shoves the mobile into his nose to show the next Amy Winehouse, and wants to revel on the AC. As long as she doesn’t mess with the books and at least buy a bookmark, he’s fine with it.

The woman zips up the bag and shoots him an inquisitive look.

“Cat ate your tongue?” she asks and there’s a lilt of laughter in her tone. His gaze meets hers, and she looks pleased with his reaction and not offended, even though he’s been silent for impolitely long.

His first guess might be right. She’s probably famous and he’s pulling a William Thacker again. And her eyes are brown in this light.

He straightens himself and clears his throat.

“Welcome to Ledford Park Bookshop. How can I help you, miss?”

“I’m buying a gift.”

“Anything in mind?”

“A book.”

Her wide teasing smile almost makes him smile, but he doesn’t. Instead, he keeps his usual bookseller unbothered expression that some might mistake by grumpiness, which is not. It’s professional and he’s learned from past mistakes: smiling freely encourages idle conversation.

“I was thinking about poetry. Something sensual,” she speaks the last word with an accent. “Do you have anything?”

“The Erotica section is in the back.”

“Perfect!” she replies while looking over her shoulder at the window. There’s a hint of relief in her words and the sigh she let out, but perhaps he was mistaking it by the effects of the heat.

Her heels click rhythmically following him to the back of the store, and he stops himself from glancing over his shoulders and let’s his mind picture the way her hips sashay instead.

In a second, they’re surrounded by shelves dedicated to erotic poetry, art catalogues and a range of classic authors like Sappho and Ovid, to best-selling from the 20th century like Pablo Neruda.

A smug grin pulls at the corner of his mouth as she looks around, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. This is the most frequent reaction to the extensive collection. Just one of the many treasures that pleases the regular customers, who keep coming back for more books, more enlightening conversations, more ideas for their own books.

“Poetry is over there,” he points at the neatly arranged books on her right side.

Looking over her shoulder, she asks, “Any Spanish authors?”

Taking a deep breath to consider, his lungs are filled with her sexy and intoxicating perfume. It emanates from her body and hangs heavily in the air. His attention is caught by it like flies on spiderwebs. It takes all his willpower to remind himself of the question. To free himself from the web, he walks around her, trying to clear his mind, and his eyes settle on the section reserved to books written in Spanish, Italian and Portuguese.

“Are you familiar with Pablo Neruda?”

“He’s Chilean,” she corrects him without missing a beat.

“You are absolutely correct. Most people mean books written in Spanish, I simply assumed that’s what you meant... I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she speaks bluntly, “I don’t walk around expecting recognition about my intellectual capacity or general culture. Especially not from men.”

She slowly and deliberately walks in front of him, glancing over her shoulder. There’s a menacing but also hypnotizing glow to her eyes, almost catlike, what it’s probably enhanced by the eyeliner, but mostly because her eyes resemble those of big felines one would see in wildlife’s documentaries, it’s the same look when they are ready to jump an antelope. And her big defying eyes are definitely grey.

With maybe hints of blue in this light.

She turns around and deliberately sashays back to him. Smiling, she takes the book from his hand. Her mouth curls into a smile, wide and showing her a hint of her teeth, and it makes her look prettier. Pretty. She’s pretty. Not enough to tempt him, but pretty enough to have people composing sonnets about long legs and shapely lips. Not him. He’s not thinking at all about how desirable her lips look.

Flipping through pages of the book, she starts reading one of the sonnets in perfect Spanish. But not any of them, she’s reading his favourite one.

When she changes language, her voice is melodious in an unexpected way, it loses the edge, every word sounds like coated in honey.

Entranced, Ernest cannot avert his gaze from her lips while she reads.

Mis palabras llovieron sobre ti acariciándote. Amé desde hace tiempo tu cuerpo de nácar soleado. Hasta te creo dueña del universo. Te traeré de las montañas flores alegres, copihues, Avellanas oscuras, y cestas silvestres de besos.

Before he realises, he’s reciting the verses with her, enunciating every word as clearly as he could.

Tilting her face up, her eyes flick from the page to his face. Her gaze burns his skin. She looks straight at him. Perhaps she’s looking straight to something hidden inside his eyes.

Her voice fades and he recites alone the last two verses.

Quiero hacer contigo Lo que la primavera hace com los cerezos.

Her expression changes, lighting up almost as if a treasure had been unearthed in front of her eyes.

“¡Guay! ¡Hablas Español!” she cries, and the next words flow quickly and excitedly from her lips, and he cannot follow them at all, except for a few of the nouns and pronouns. His knowledge of the language is practically non-existent: he poorly reads and can only speak a few sentences to save his life in case of a catastrophe.

“Sorry, I don’t. I only know some of Neruda’s poems by heart, and that’s one of them.”

He lowers his gaze, shame burning his cheeks and warming him more than the heatwave had done so far. His fingers go to the collar of his white shirt, and pull at it, loosening it slightly.

“For a moment, you could have fooled me.” Her words sound too flirty, almost daring.

Is it a dare? Would she want me to pretend?

Her lips twitch, pulling at the corners when she laughs. It’s impossible to look direct at her eyes, like one cannot look at an eclipse, risking burn their retinas. The intensity of her gaze probably does the same. His gaze wanders, then focus on the shelves, from one book spine to the next.

“Why learning the poems if you don’t speak the language?” Her long fingers run through the spines of books, stopping his contemplation. “Trying to impress the ladies?”

The silence stretches for a bit, giving him time to think; he stares at her, considering if she’d be truly interested in the truth.

“My father worked with publishing,” he started, and his voice did not falter or waver as it would years ago; it’s easier to speak about him, almost comforting as if planting these memories like seeds, they’d bloom... “Every summer I’d work a few days a week at the office... When I was fourteen, he was working on a collection of Neruda’s poems and... well, that’s it.”

“That's it? That's barely a story,” she laughed. “So, what happened? You memorised the poems to impress your father or something...?”

He shook his head and delved into the memories of the suffocating summer surrounded by manuscripts and heated arguments about the imagery invoked by the cherry trees. “Father was a man easy to please. I never felt the urge to impress him. It always seemed that being myself was enough...”

“Lucky you.” The hollow laugh that left her mouth startled him, but she recomposed herself. When she spoke again it wasn’t a question, but a statement, “Your father taught you about poetry.”

“He taught me most things, including the tragedy of translators ignoring the profound differences between cultures and the meaning lost in translation when the works is rushed, and one chooses literality over intent... I was probably too young at the time to truly understand all he was trying to say... But I noticed in Spanish the poems sounded...” he paused, searching for a word. “More poetic somehow... Melodic in a different way... And then I memorised this one. And plenty of others –”

“Which ones?” she cuts him off, and he’s about to answer – and Ernest suspects her feline eyes would compel him to answer questions until his throat was sore and his mind emptied of words – but the phone rang.

With a sigh, he excuses himself. “If you need any help, don’t hesitate in calling me.”

“I won’t.” The same expression from before returns, and so is the sharpness behind the words.

He walks behind the counter to take the call, and he can no longer see the woman; for once, he’s not worried about shoplifting.

The call takes longer than he wishes, and his patience almost runs out when the caller keeps inquiring about books’ covers that would match a specific shade of purple. The person doesn’t know the name of the author or genre, just that it's trending online.

He lets out a long exhale through his nose.

Any other day, this wouldn’t bother him, and he’d welcome the challenge, putting the phone down, he’d look around, like an archaeologist digging a site. But now he must go back to this one customer, because he needs to serve well. Nothing else.

“Maybe you should stop by. We’re open until 20:00.”

The person reluctantly thanks him and hangs up.

Ernest’s eyes search the monitor underneath the counter. She’s moved to the shelves on the side of the store, next to the psychology section, closer to Jung.

There’s a book close to her face, but her gaze is not on the pages.

“Have you changed your mind about the gift?” he asks softly trying not to startle her or sound pretentious but fails.

Her shoulders tense and heave with an intake of breath, before she turns around to look at him with an unreadable expression.

“Should I take the Neruda, or should I browse some more?” she asks breezily, one side of her mouth curled with a smirk, “I wonder if there’s something else more... suitable for my taste...”

“By all means,” he replies politely, “Feel free to look and see if there’s anything else, you’d prefer.”

“I definitely will.” She glides amongst the tall shelves closer to the window, then halts and looks at him over her shoulder. He was observing her, and his cheeks warm at being noticed.

“Our bestselling books are over that table,” he says and returns to the task of organizing cook books but still observes her.

Finally, her heels click as she comes to him.

“I know what I want,” she says casually, and the book in her hand passes to his hand.

Neruda.

Her fingers graze his, and his breath catches in his throat. He swallows hard the surprise. That’s the most human contact he’s had in several weeks, and it’s surprisingly pleasant. Not anything else. His heart is racing because he’s shocked. This entire interaction has been incredibly odd.

From the backpack, she takes a few notes to pay for the book. The money is placed in the counter, and so is the change. His attention is entirely focused on gift-wrapping the book, and not once he looks at her while doing it.

When the package is passed to her hand, she thanks him, says goodbye and leaves.

He never gets a name; but she lingers by the door and smiles pointedly at him before closing it. Surrounded by a cloud of her perfume, he wonders if it’s the last he’ll see of her.

Thanks for reading!

#desire and decorum au #ernest sinclaire #mr. sinclaire #mr. sinclaire x oc #oc: hayley parker #choices fanfic #desire & decorum au #desire & decorum #choices desire and decorum

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johnsondesigns · 1 month ago

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omegaremix · 7 months ago

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Rioux, 1999.

Post-Brentwood was a turning point in my life. The minute I heard Sick Of It All played at Drew’s (♀) graduation party was the very minute my music tastes would change forever. As an Eighties’ kid, I grew up on Duran Duran, Run DMC, Alisha, Lisa Lisa & The Cult Jam, Poison, and other chart-toppers. Anything could be ‘pop’ if it becomes popular enough. That’s how it got its name. Pop set me up to be diverse person I am now with stations like New York City’s Z100 where there’s a new market trend manufactured and released every five years to be fed on by the majority.

“Maladjusted” blasted through her backyard boombox for all of fifty of her closest friends and classmates to hear; the same friends and classmates who laughed at me or ignored me for being a poser. They weren’t laughing or shit-talking behind my back now that they saw me at Drew’s get-together. “How did he get in?” they wondered. That didn’t matter. They didn’t say shit to me. I never saw most of them again after that, nor did I keep tabs, either. I asked Drew who they were and she told me. Boy, did it go down angry and aggressive. I didn’t hear anything like it. So I went to the South Shore Mall’s record store and copped Scratched The Surface on cassette to quickly become my go-to record during senior-year summer. That was my introduction to hardcore and the start of something more personal and relatable than what I listened to before.

Shortly thereafter, Wipeout XL came out for Playstation and my trajectory in taste had changed for a second time. It was one of the first games released that had a major soundtrack thanks to disc capacity. A line-up of Underworld, Fluke, Photek, Future Sound Of London, The Prodigy, and Chemical Brothers gave me a three-month head start before - you guessed it - pop and alternative rock stations jumped on that wagon as the next great profit maker. Even stations changed their formats for a night or two to keep up with the hottest trend of the year, such as when Atari Teenage Riot slipped through the airwaves and literally changed my attitude of music. Another hand would be dealt, and one which was the most fascinating: industrial. Mortal Kombat motion picture soundtracks were the gateway to it after establishing Nine Inch Nails, Filter, and Ministry as my Big Three. I snatched up on three Meat Beat Manifesto tapes, four Skinny Puppy discs, The Wax Trax box set and label mail order, and some Cleopatra label compilations. (Yeah, I know. No need to tell me.) It all goes to show how a lot can happen in one year before heading to community college.

Whether or not I had employment, I still managed to purchase tons of music. It became a beast I constantly had to feed. I had record store visits, radio, magazines, and now the internet (‘world wide web’ they once called it) to keep me updated. Every week I found something new to check out. Oh, look. Alec Empire is on the cover of another magazine! The December 1997 issue of Wire, #166. Have to buy it as his stock was riding high with (once again) Atari Teenage Riot and his DHR label. On the way to Empire’s glow-up were two other artists I came across in their pages: Autechre (who they proclaimed as noise gods) and Merzbow.

When you keep hearing the same names over and over, eventually they’ll get you to check them out. That’s what happened with those two and with expectations - what you shouldn’t have when diving into an artist or album. Autechre’s Tri Repetae++ caught me off guard. They said it was an electronic record and I foolishly thought it was techno instead. I hear the album opener “Dael” expecting a build-up leading to an explosion of sound. Wrong. The minimal structure and complex melodic rhythms of a cold, mechanical, emotionless being started as-is and moved its way to the end. This wasn’t anything to a traditional dance record I was accustomed to. No. These were experiments that Sean Booth and Rob Brown created which were so innovative that they’ve gotten endless praise for them since. A few listens later and I had Tri Repetae++ on constant repeat.

Merzbow? That’s another story. Like Tri Repetae++, I bought Pulse Demon at the Port Jefferson Music Den, once a bastion of everything obscure which hasn’t existed in 20 years. That was my introduction to noise. Fucking Lady Godiva riding on a Sybian did I not know what was in store for me that day. It was the shiniest and sharpest-sounding thing I now had in my collection. I load the disc in, pressed play and - what?! It was one giant maelstrom of harsh white noise, produced and output louder than usual, complete with Bridget Riley-esque op-art and its silvery prismatic sheen. Pulse Demon was devoid of any rhythm, melody, beats, measurements, sound structure, tonality, vocals, or even a sense of time whatsoever. It was a giant endurance test that felt like there was no end in sight. Again, expectations are a foolish thing to ask for.

I didn’t know what to think. I immediately dismissed it and never played it again. I couldn’t say I was actively disappointed or put-off but rather dissuaded. It was nothing what I experienced. Back then, I was a feature writer for the student paperduring my disastrous time at community college’s middle campus. The campus majority consisted mostly of shallow club-goers and superficial people who stood in their safe comfort zone of basic dance music, fashion, and friends who judged and dismissed anyone who were weird or different from them. I always went against the grain and reached for something different and challenging; things that loudmouth belligerent chauvinist Opie & Anthony fans were too stupid to learn from. I had no other albums to review on the backburner, so Pulse Demon was it for the following issue. I was honest about my take on it: it was an unlistenable mess of a joke. I handed in my 1,000 words to our features editor, a long-haired burnout held over from the hippie generation, and it finally saw print in one of our Spring issues.

The day after my review came out, I was called in to the office by my editor-in-chief Phil. Somehow we got word from a professor who read my article and took issue with it. “Really?” I said. But it didn’t stop there. Phil also told me that Professor Rioux wanted me to visit his office to discuss the article with him.

I failed an article for a professor I didn’t even know I had?

Phil had him for English. But not to fear. The overall consensus was that he was friendly, calm, and reasonable with his students. And here was an odd moment he shared with me: Pfr. Rioux played some of his favorite weird music during an end-of-the-semester holiday party for his students to hear. Seriously, not to fear. He sounded like someone I would connect with. Phil assured me that all would be fine and ended up arranging a time and day to meet up with him. That would be next week Wednesday after the publisher’s meeting.

I arrive at Prf. Rioux’ office where he welcomed me in and introduced himself, dressed up in the usual teacher’s attire of blazer and dress pants. So far, so good. I sat down in his office and looked around to notice two rows of tapes sitting on a desk next to his bookshelf. There was a Temple Ov Psychick Youth cross hung up on the wall and also noticed the black shirt he was hearing under his blazer which featured Aube’s Quadrotation on it.

We sat down for a good 45 minutes discussing my article. Not once was Prf. Rioux mean, belittling, or off-handed - unlike others who called themselves ‘professors’. Rather, he gave me constructive criticism. Judging by my article, he told me that I missed the mark on Merzbow and didn’t come into the album open-minded. Clearly I didn’t understand noise music enough for me to write what I did and there was way more to it than I thought. The most important takeaway was that I shouldn’t have compared noise to anything else in a traditional sense. Sure, it was an entirely different animal that can still have value, substance, a structure, a methodology, and a meaning to it all like everything else.

So he kindly offered to make me three cassettes of whatever rang familiar and whom I was curious about to widen my horizons and get a better understanding. All early industrial and / or noise. Wonderful. I obliged. One week later, I returned to his office where he had them all ready for me. I thanked him for the tapes and said goodbye to him.

What was on those tapes? First, Merzbow. Not surprisingly. Three unknown tracks from the Lord of Harsh Noise. On the other side was Masonna, another Japanese noise artist whose Inner Mind Mystique finished up tape #1. Tape #2 was more varied. I heard very little of Coil other than “The Snow” off the Wax Trax compilation. Right after that was Jim G. Thirwell / Foetus whom followed up with three tracks. (Coincidentally, both aforementioned artists remixed Nine Inch Nails). Rioux threw on three tracks from Einsturzende Neubauten’s Kollaps with a small sampling of Clock DVA tracks from Black Souls In White Suits. Our final tape had a good ten tracks of Death In June whom I never heard of, and several versions of Throbbing Gristle’s “Discipline” rounded out all that Prf. Rioux gave me. Never had I received anything like it from any professor.

I was forever grateful. I played those tapes to good use, enough to go back into my usual grind of music and artist reviews with a better understanding and reasoning. I didn’t review any of the artists after that Merzbow debacle, but my stance of him changed for the better and went back to Pulse Demon several more times. I happened to purchase several more of his albums where I could, dove back into Inner Mind Mystique and picked up on Nic Endo’s White Heat when that was released. I pushed more heavily into Einsturzende Neubauten’s chaotic phase, Clock DVA’s experimental era, and the world of Throbbing Gristle. I would be only toes deep with the other artists; checking in from time to time.

What were the chances that anyone (who appreciated the genesis of industrial and a knowledgeable noise fan) would notice a specific artist printed in a campus newspaper no less? It was bad enough that I dealt with one disappointment after another interacting with people and trying to find my place on campus; which I eventually did with neutral results. Where reaching out to people with similar tastes in music were few and far between (only one or two people on campus wore Dead Voices On Air, Ant-Zen, and Ras DVA shirts), someone reached out to me instead. Of all the professors I ever had, no one and I mean no one had that kind of knowledge that Prf. Rioux did, with mixtapes to boot, too.

As his tapes played in my Walkman while trekking around campus, everything else around me was happening as usual. Cover bands and boring flavorless local bar acts peppered the Long Island music scene. WBLI continued to pump out more puerile paint-by-number club mixes as usual with Fatboy Slim and Robbie Williams up next. Ska fans hopped out of the woodwork to defend their precious circus music and became overnight know-it-all elitists ready to play the scene-politics card. And free pink PVC cowboy hats came included with Pamela Anderson, Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Spice Girls, and Limp Bizkit worship. Forget it. The late Nineties was clearly a bad era in music and pop culture - and it still had time to get even worse. The only places of solace I had were the few record stores I frequented. Commack’s Cheapo’s, West Babylon’s Looney Tunes, Central Islip’s Mother’s Music, Port Jefferson’s Music Den, and Centereach’s None Of The Above. At least they catered everything to my choosing.

But I never forgot where I came from or lost track of where I headed. By the time I attended Stony Brook, I fell victim to the Mothers Of Noise ‘scandal’ and discovered Prurient from it. I’d be one of the few on campus familiar with Whitehouse, Boyd Rice / NON, and even Lou Reed’s Metal Machine Music on top of everything else.Each and every one of these artists were mentioned in my new wave of reviews and I even featured on my radio show. I also never forgot those tapes. I still have them, and they became one of the few shining reminders of an era that was mostly ill to me.

Cassette #1, side A:

Merzbow: “???”, “???”, “???”

Cassette #1, side B:

Masonna: Inner Mind Mystique

Cassette #2, side A:

Coil: ”Panic”, “Tenderness Of Wolves”, “Clay”, The Anal Staircase”

Foetus: “What Have You Been Doing?”, “Today I Started Slogging Again”, “Gums Bleed”

Cassette #2, side B:

Einsturzende Neubauten: “Tanz Debil”, “Steh Auf Berlin”, “Kollaps”

Clock DVA: “Consent”, “Anti-Chance”, “Uncertain”

Cassette #3, side A:

Death In June: “Hello Angel”, “Heaven Street”, “She Said Destroy”, “Fall Apart”, “Leper Lord”, “C’est Un Reve”, “Touch Defiles”, “The Torture Garden”, “Come Before Christ…”

Cassette #3, side B:

Throbbing Gristle: three live “Discipline” performances.

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shamelesslymkp · 3 days ago

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REC: pisces_spider - of something so flawed and free

URL: https://ift.tt/bwSzAE4 Edwin and Charles dance.

It didn’t start for a while, at least a few years in, when they were finally starting to shed some layers of armor in front of each other. Even then though, it was just Charles at first, insisting Edwin join him while he played 80s classics on the CD player he had swiped from the electronics store down the street. Eventually, Edwin caved.

After Port Townsend, they’re long overdue for a night of dancing. Port Townsend has set them back weeks, and Edwin can feel the strain settling in his muscles. Now that they’re back in London, every other thought is consumed by the way Charles moves, his eyes drawn to the old CD player over and over.

(Words: 2,802) | Part 2 of i could find you darling, in any life !!!fandom, !!fic, |site:ao3, +fandom:dead.boy.detectives.(tv), ::rating:general.audiences, ~author:pisces_spider, character:edwin.paine.|.edwin.payne, character:charles.rowland.(dcu), relationship:edwin.paine.|.edwin.payne/charles.rowland, relationship:edwin.paine.|.edwin.payne.&.charles.rowland, ::category:m/m, \no.archive.warnings.apply, ~ao3:fluff, ~ao3:fluff.and.angst, ~ao3:domestic.fluff, ~ao3:soulmates, ~ao3:platonic.soulmates, ~ao3:romantic.soulmates, ~ao3:i.am.once.again.asking, ~ao3:is.this.platonic.or.romantic, ~ao3:honestly.i.really.dont.know, ~ao3:but.baby.its.gay, ~ao3:80's.music, ~ao3:dancing, ~ao3:slow.dancing, ~ao3:touch-starved.edwin.paine.|.edwin.payne, ~ao3:edwin.paine.|.edwin.payne.loves.charles.rowland, ~ao3:charles.rowland.loves.edwin.paine.|.edwin.payne, ~ao3:no.beta.we.die.like.charles.and.edwin

#i eat fic for breakfast #fic recs #via:pinboard #schrödinger's content warnings #q #dead boy detectives

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kitclock · 1 year ago

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Interview with Christi Haydon-Wilson - 10/26/14 (source)

Early Work With Ron and Russell Mael

Monte: How did you come to work with Sparks?

Christi: I was working in Bullock’s Department Store in Los Angeles, which is no longer in existence. This was 1986. I was working at the Estee Lauder cosmetics counter. The other girls who worked at the cosmetics counter would always ask me, “have you noticed that the singer from Sparks is always coming in here?” I knew who he was, but I never saw him!

One day I came back to work after a day off and one of the girls said, “oh my god, the singer from Sparks left a package for you.” It was a 45 record, Music That You Can Dance To, and Russell just said, “I really like your looks. Please give me a call.” I gave him a call, and we ended up on the phone for two hours, we hit it off really well. He and Ron were looking for a female singer, or perhaps a girl group to produce, and we started working on music together with them writing for me, and it turned into a really long friendship with the guys. We’re still really good friends now.

Monte: I was going to ask whether you still stayed in touch with them…

Christi: I do. When I gave birth to my daughter there were only three people that we invited to the hospital and they were two of them. They were also at Autry’s first birthday party, her fourth birthday party…they’re two of the nicest guys I've ever met.

Monte: That’s what a lot of the people I've talked to say. Not all, but the majority.

Christi: They mainly want to be known for their music, and the stories that go with the music. The stories I have about time with them aren't at all embarrassing, they’re really charming. But a big part of our (friendship) is mutual trust. They know I won’t be telling embarrassing stories about them. They really just want to be known for their music.

Monte: It must have been a productive period. Katherine Hepburn – what a great song! Did you have higher hopes for that? Were there additional recordings made that they produced?

Christi: Yeah, we did some recordings and we shopped it around. I got in the door with Simon Fuller, who manages Annie Lennox among other cool people. I got in the room with some really cool record labels in England. As a matter of fact the first trip to England I took by myself, Ron and Russell paid for me to go. I remember literally Russell typed out a sheet of paper for me and said, “these are all your meetings! You’ll do great!” So now the Mael brothers shipped me off to London to start meeting with record labels.

It’s unfortunate (though), it was kind of a “lose-lose” situation because what happened was, doors were opening obviously, because people knew that Sparks produced me, but if Sparks had written for me like they wrote for themselves, there was no way I was going to get a record deal. I mean THEY have had times when it was hard to get a record deal, because they are just so ahead of their time. So people would hear what they had written for me and it actually sounded fairly commercial. It was still interesting, had a lot of musical integrity, but way more palatable than anything they would do for themselves. And people hear that, and I know it was a disappointment to them. The feedback we would keep getting was, “it’s too commercial.” So what does that mean? Too radio-friendly? Too hit-like?

It was too commercial for Sparks, but I wasn't supposed to be Sparks. But if it wasn't avant-garde like Sparks are supposed to be, there’s no way people were going to go for it.

Performing

Monte: When you performed as a member of Sparks, you were playing percussion, along with the electronic pre-recorded music on stage. How did that work? Did you have any freedom with your parts?

Christi: I had no freedom! It was pretty stressful. Sparks’ songs are very precise, and not a lot of room for improvisation. They know what they want to have happen.

So, the States, you had to have a musician on stage to represent every instrument. The nice thing about England (at that time), I guess because of the dance music craze at the time, it seemed like as long as you were honest about it, if some of your stuff was coming off the computer, that was fine. As long as the audience could see that, it wasn't communicated as bogus. So we had a fourth member on stage, and that was the computer.

I covered a lot of percussion, but there was no way I could cover all of it.

We did MTV Most Wanted live, and we did six or seven songs, and all these faxes were coming in while we were performing. We’d take breaks during commercials, and they would come and read some of the faxes to us. For every fax where they mentioned me and said something great, there would be that fax that said, you know, “where’s Dinky Diamond?”

I don’t have a problem with that. I totally get that. It’s either going to be their thing, or they’ll accept it or they won’t accept it. I mean, I was a chick in a ballroom gown, and I was covering percussive parts but I wasn't covering every drum part. I didn't have a kick drum, I wasn't doing big-ass drum solos.

Monte: Did you have formal training as a percussionist?

Christi: I was literally groomed to play the parts. They were producing me as a singer. The thing I love about them is that they just have these cool ideas and try to make them happen. I had always wanted to learn to play the drums. I’m a rhythmic person and I just thought, what a cool thing to be able to do so I jumped all over it.

I did have training. I was trained by a really great drum coach in Los Angeles. A lot of money was spent on getting me those lessons. They wanted me to be good. They hadn't performed in a long time, so this was a pretty big deal – who is in the band? What do they look like? So there was a lot of pressure.

It was a funny way to be trained. I literally knew their stuff. That was my training.

Monte: You were trained on the spot.

Christi: My drum instructor had never heard of Sparks before. He had no idea who they were. He’d look at me sometimes and it was like, “how am I going to teach you to play this stuff?”

Monte: So it wasn't a matter of learning the rudiments of drumming and moving on from there, it was more a matter of, “here’s the song; what do I do?”

Christi: Yeah. It was tricky because I was only using my hands. I didn't have the luxury of four limbs covering a bunch of beats; it was two limbs covering a lot of beats – a lot of unusual beats.

One of the hardest songs for me to learn was At Home, At Work, At Play. Just listening to that song is a little bit challenging! It’s a wonderful song, but there’s a lot going on.

Monte: What were others that were a challenge?

Christi: Number One Song In Heaven and Never Turn Your Back On Mother Earth (which they performed as a medley) were challenging, at least how we performed them live. They were extremely repetitive and I’m pretty sure they lasted 12 minutes. My wrists were almost killing me and we had only gotten one song into the show!

Monte: So you enjoyed being in Sparks, but you ended up going in a different direction.

Christi: The main thing that puts the brakes on was deciding I wanted to have a child. It didn't take a lot of thought. I always wanted to have at least one child. It seemed like it was the right time. I fell in love and got married.

They would have continued having me in the band. We weren't even working on stuff for me at that point, it was more about me being in Sparks. We had taken a break from demo stuff with me and it was all about recording Gratuitous Sax and Senseless Violins (1994). They had a gold record in Germany so we were supporting the record. We were taking a break for the holidays, it was Christmas 1995, and I got married on December 2nd, 1995. I realized it was just hard for me to get excited about (Sparks stuff). It had nothing to do with the guys at all. It wasn't an easy decision but it was the right decision. Sometimes doing the right thing isn't easy.

I couldn't get a record deal, but I could get pregnant!

Monte: Well, it was only a short time that you toured with them, but you won a lot of people over. People seem to have a soft spot in their heart for you.

Christi: Why do you think that is the case?

Monte: They hadn't toured for a while, and they came up with this very new presentation without a band, and they had a new vision and you were a big part of it. You helped make that happen. You were musically making a lot of great contributions. You had a very striking appearance, and then you had a great song. They performed Katherine Hepburn on their last tour.

Christi: It was a great song. I think all that translated – a lot of people had a built-up romance, especially in Germany, where both of our videos (from Gratuitous Sax) were shown there – When I Kiss You (I Hear Charlie Parker Playing) and When Do I Get To Sing My Way. Both of them have a running theme where Ron is getting left out – Russell is getting the girl and I’m the girl. People had a lot of fun with that, I think, wondering “oh is there something going on with these three?” and also, because I felt so grateful and joyful to be part of Sparks, I think that translated. That can be contagious, when you know someone is enjoying their job.

Monte: The My Way video is my favorite Sparks video. It’s so well done – maybe that’s another reason people have that soft spot in their heart.

Christi: I love that video too. Sophie Muller is an amazing director – she’s so good, a hoot to work with. I remember that little boy in the video – he hated my kissing on him! At one point I said to him, “listen kid, someday you’re going to think you’re the luckiest guy on the planet!” But he was like, ahh, a woman kissing on me!

Mai The Psychic Girl

Monte: I believe you were involved in the Mai the Psychic Girl project (this was Ron and Russell’s film adaptation of the eponymous Japanese anime comic which never came to fruition – despite years of effort by Ron and Russell).

Christi: I was Mai The Psychic Girl (for the demos). We’re talking two hours of music. That movie was going to be wall-to-wall sound. It was literally going to be all music and spoken dialogue with music, and breaking into song as well. It went through a lot of incarnations. A lot of big directors were attached but it just never saw the light of day. We had Francis Ford Coppola, we had Tim Burton…

Monte: I never knew about Coppola.

Christi: We never met with Coppola, but the higher-ups at Zoetrope were the ones meeting with us and speaking on his behalf. The intent was for Francis to direct, but they were saying that even if he didn't direct, it would still be with (Coppola's studio) Zoetrope, and they would help get a director attached.

Then there was Darrell Roodt, the South African director who directed Saraphina!, he was very interested in directing. That one (also) fell through.

Monte: Do you think it will ever see the light of day? It seems like they are still interested in it.

Christi: I could see it happening. I’d be kind of shocked if it happened, but we all cared about that project so passionately that there will always be a push there, I think. Even now, if you heard the music, there’s no way it sounds dated. It is so unique. It’s crazy, I’m not sure they still have the rights to that comic book. Larry (Wilson, husband and oft-time collaborator with Tim Burton) put 10 grand up every couple years, to keep the rights to that comic book. He finally let it go.

But you know what’s interesting on the demos, Jane Wiedlin is on them, and Lance Loud – he’s so funny. A good friend of ours. He was an amazing guy. A great writer and a great musician. He was with The Mumps…a real character and a lot of fun to be around. Everything his character was supposed to say – he was playing a snot-nosed German kid – and everything coming out of his mouth was hysterical.

#I love this interview so much #'I really like your looks'#okay 'mutual trust' is cute but I wanna hear some stories #She got drum coaching but only to learn Sparks songs LOL #I wish their other MTV Most Wanted appearances would surface #Sparks #90s Sparks #Christi Haydon #interviews #long text post

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cynicalrosebud · 1 month ago

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Loyalty & Instinct (2) - Crossfire

Navigation

Series Masterlist

Summary: Gaz and Doll follow Captain John Price into the fray, hoping with everything they have that it wasn't a mistake.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, you are responsible for your own media consumption.

Notes: None, enjoy!

25 OCT 2019

1830

Sgt. Kyle Garrick and K9H Doll

SAS with CTSFO

London, UK

The chaos of Piccadilly Circus overwhelms your senses. The sounds of gunfire, explosions, and terrified screams echo off the buildings as civilians scramble for safety. You move swiftly, keeping pace with Kyle as he and his team rush down the street. Amidst the pandemonium, your heightened senses pick up on everything: the scent of smoke, the crackle of comms, and the subtle shifts in the wind that signal more danger ahead.

An explosion roars nearby, shaking the ground beneath your feet. The cries of the injured mix with the distant wail of sirens, but you push through the noise. You’re focused—your ears twitching at every sound, eyes scanning for threats as you dodge debris and obstacles with ease.

Ahead, you see an Al-Qatala fighter standing atop a car, firing into the crowd. Sgt. Crowley shouts, “On the car!” The team moves quickly, their mission clear.

Kyle’s voice cuts through the chaos as he directs civilians. “Get down! Get to safety!” His orders are sharp, urgent, but you stay close, a steady presence by his side.

Your ears perk as you catch a flicker of movement to the right—a group of Al-Qatala fighters, weapons raised. Instinct takes over, and a sharp bark escapes you, alerting Kyle before the first shot is fired.

“Cst. Fowler, left side!” Kyle calls out, never missing a beat as he opens fire. You’re already moving, your powerful legs launching you toward the nearest enemy. Your movements are precise, lethal—one quick strike and the threat is neutralized.

The fighters begin to retreat, disappearing into nearby buildings. Kyle assesses the situation, glancing toward you. “We need to clear ‘em out.”

You’re already ahead, your nose twitching as the scent of explosives fills your senses. You lead the way into the Aural Chic electronics store, ears pricked as you catch hostile voices from inside.

The door bursts open, and you charge in without hesitation. An Al-Qatala fighter is about to execute a hostage, but you’re faster. With a powerful leap, you take him down, disarming him in one swift motion. Kyle is right behind you, securing the area and freeing the hostages.

“Go! Get safe!” Kyle urges the civilians. He radios Raven, his voice calm but firm. “Raven, Sabre 2. Hostages secured, one suspect KIA. Electronics store. North building.”

“Received. Medical response teams are on the way. Keep clearing those buildings, Sergeant,” Raven responds.

Kyle gives you a quick nod, a silent acknowledgment of your work. Together, you push forward, moving toward the subway entrance where two more Al-Qatala fighters are holding hostages. Your instincts kick in, sensing the immediate danger. You rush ahead, dispatching both enemies with swift, deadly precision.

“Stay down. Stay here,” Kyle instructs the freed hostages, turning to a police constable to ensure their safety. You stand guard, ears flicking in every direction, ready for the next threat.

The mission doesn’t stop as you enter The Reading Place store, where more fighters are holding their ground on the second floor. Your keen senses guide Kyle, and with your help, he coordinates an effective assault, taking down the remaining enemies.

“Book shop secure,” Kyle confirms, checking over the scene as you stand at his side, ever watchful.

Suddenly, a police officer’s urgent voice crackles over the radio. “Sergeant, those civilians at the bus need our help!”

Another officer shouts, “Sir—there’s a hostile near the red bus!”

Kyle doesn’t hesitate. He moves quickly, and so do you, racing alongside him toward the threat. Your heightened senses allow you to pinpoint the attackers before they can do more harm, and you take them down with lethal efficiency.

“Proper shootin’, sir!” one of the officers calls out to Kyle in appreciation.

You give a low growl of acknowledgment, ears twitching as you hear movement ahead. “Contact! Ground floor of the bookshop!” Cst. Fowler warns.

Kyle’s radio buzzes with Raven’s voice. “Sergeant, I need a status on those hostages. Get to the Tanto building, now.”

“There’s hostages in the Tanto building!” an officer shouts.

As you near the building, a suicide bomber wearing a vest charges toward you and Kyle. Your body reacts before you can think, launching forward. You collide with the bomber, giving Kyle just enough time to take the shot, ending the threat before it can harm anyone else.

“Raven, Sabre 2! Officers down outside the Tanto building! Officers down!” Kyle’s voice is steady despite the chaos around you.

The situation is tense, but you remain focused. Kyle lifts a fallen door, only to be attacked by an Al-Qatala fighter wielding a knife. With a single shot, Kyle takes him down. It’s then you notice Captain Price and two SAS soldiers approaching.

“Blue! Blue!” Kyle calls out.

Price gives a sharp nod in your direction. “I see you. You armed up?”

“Yes, sir,” Kyle replies, helping to clear the area.

Price’s eyes settle on you, curiosity flickering in his expression. “And who’s this?” he asks, his tone respectful.

Kyle smiles slightly, placing a hand on your back. “This is my partner, Doll. She’s been with me through thick and thin.”

Price nods, clearly impressed. “Good to have you with us, pup. We could use all the help we can get.”

You dip your head slightly in acknowledgment, your sharp eyes never leaving the scene around you. Price gives Kyle a look, his tone serious. “We’re gonna need all the support we can get to secure the area and protect the hostages.”

With Price’s reinforcement and your senses sharp as ever, the three of you move into the Tanto building, ready to face whatever waits inside.

#call of duty #fanfic #x reader #k9 hybrid au #kyle gaz garrick #john price #gaz x reader #18+ mdni #cw violence #cw blood #canon typical violence

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celestiall0tus · 1 year ago

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All That Remained - Human - Velze

Beginning || Previous || Next

Velze flew through the streets, unseen by mortal eyes. It searched for others that had known its children when it paused at an electronics store. It glanced inside and saw on one of the many screens a news report sharing something from London. It blinked and stared at the screen. London. Felix. Amelie.

Velze entered the store and approached the screen. It phased through the screen to London. It looked around before it sifted through Duusu’s memories to find its way to the Graham de Vanily residence. It arrived and phased through the walls into the mansion. It paused at the state of the home.

Not a single light was lit throughout the dark mansion. The only light was provided by the late afternoon day that shone through. Broken vases, frames, and other fragile objects were scattered about. The walls and floors soiled by thrown objects and their contents. Curtains half-torn off rods and ripped. Furniture had long gashes and claw markings down the fabric.

Velze moved through the mess until it came to a large living area. The window walls shattered with their remains everywhere. The furniture in this room turned over, torn, and smashed. Amelie lay in the middle upon the largest of glass shard pile. She was curled up surrounded by photos of her and Felix. At her feet was a pile of ashes and the urn they once occupied.

Velze shifted to the material plane and examined Amelie. She was warm, though her body not at the proper temperature for a human. Blood was caked on her skin and clothes with large, untreated gashes. A few of the wounds appeared to be infected. It sighed and pressed its head against her forehead. Bright light covered her as it healed and cleaned her up save for a splatter of blood. It wiped it off as her eyes fluttered open.

Amelie blinked against the brightness. She shifted and groaned at the stiffness of her joints. She looked around at the dilapidated state of her home. Disappointment, rage, and sorrow consumed her again as she remembered everything. The peaceful evening with Felix, Monarch appearing out of the blue, and him snapping Felix out of existence before her very eyes.

Amelie’s emotions twisted into grief and despair. Her baby boy, her little miracle, snapped away. Ruthlessly stolen from her to never come back. It hurt too much. She didn’t want to remember anymore. She desperately searched the pile for a sharp enough shard when a light blinded her. She shielded her eyes as she glanced in the direction of it.

Within the light, the form of a boy’s body took form. Amelie’s heart skipped a beat as it swelled with hope. She waited with bated breath as the light faded and her Felix stood there. Tears sprung from her eyes as she took him into her arms.

“Oh, Felix! My baby! My precious baby boy!” Amelie cried as she showered Felix in kisses.

Felix looked around and at himself. He didn’t understand what happened. The last thing he remembered was Monarch, then he was here. How? Did Monarch snap him out of existence? If he did, how was he here? Who created him again?

Prismatic colors caught Felix’s eye. He gently nudged Amelie aside when Velze approached.

“Felix? Is everything ok?”

“There’s… a kwami? Don’t you see it?”

Amelie shook her head.

“She won’t see me, not yet. She has not come into contact with my children. Therefore, she cannot see me,” Velze explained.

“Please, do what you must to allow her to see you. Please,” Felix begged.

Velze bowed its head. Bright light flashed again and faded. On Felix’ right ring finger was a bulky platinum ring with a prismatic sheen. On Amelie’s left hand was a rainbow shell bracelet. Amelie marveled at the bracelet then at Velze.

“Are… are you the one that brought my Felix back?” Amelie asked.

“I am.”

More tears sprung from Amelie’s eyes. She squeezed Velze and kissed it.

“Thank you. Thank you so much! I can’t thank you enough for bringing my baby boy back!”

“How did you?” Felix asked.

“I am the kwami. All kwamis are me and I am them. As such, their powers are mine as well. With their powers, I retrieved your soul and fashioned you a proper human body. No longer are you a sentimonster crafted through a miracle. You are a flesh and blood mortal boy.”

Felix’s breath caught as joy bloomed in his chest. “I can’t believe-! Thank you!”

“Truly. We are forever in your debt,” Amelie added.

“No need, mortals. I’m simply fulfilling the wishes of my children.”

“Duusu?” Felix asked.

“He did not wish to see you gone forever. You or Adrien.”

“Adrien! You have to help him. His father is-!” Felix started.

“Your enemy, I know. It was Gabriel that brought me back.”

“Gabriel? He was… that bastard! Will Gabriel pay for everything he’s done?” Amelie asked.

“Due punishment shall be delivered,” Velze answered.

“How soon?” Amelie demanded.

“By the day’s end. If you two wish, you may bear witness to his downfall,” Velze offered.

Felix smirked. “What do you say, Mom?”

Amelie returned the smirk. “Would you fancy a visit to Paris?”

“Always.”

“I do have a stop left to make before we head to the lair of the monster. Would you two indulge me?” Velze asked.

“For you? Anything,” Amelie said.

Velze grinned and teleported them all to Paris.

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waxing-hiraethh · 8 months ago

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Things to Do in the Belly of the Whale

2. count the ribs

A year after the war, he began to go to church.

His mind was quiet there between the pews and the traditions and the evil that seemed to cling to every surface. The holy water which may have once made him flinch only served as a blade with which he sliced into himself, spilling out onto the cobbled floors.

London was empty, when you took all of the people out of it.

It was nothingness tied up in a tattered bow, presenting itself to the world as special when it was really the opposite. He sat in St James Cathedral and imagined his parents were sitting on either side of him, sandwiching him in something warm and uncomplicated.

He stuck the prayer books when they came on his desk. He impulsively bought a computer from a store he’d passed by. It’d had impossibly large windows with flashing screens in all sorts of colours. It sat on his desk, untouched, for months.

At night, the ocean sunk into him. He made sure to blink away the salt when he woke up.

Ron came, sometimes. Usually he brought fire whiskey and they drank by the fire, talking about nothing important at all.

“It’s bloody sweltering,” Ron would complain. Harry kept the hearths lit at all times; it was the comparable evil to being cold, freezing, sinking further into the deep as his lungs tried to expel water, as his limbs burned and the light slipped to a pin prick-

They’d drink until Harry grew snappy and Ron got tired of walking on eggshells.

One night, before he slipped through the Floo and back to the Burrow, he’d hugged Harry so hard his lungs had expelled all of their air and he'd almost screamed in agony at the sensation until Ron loosened up, turning his face to be in line with his own.

“Did you know Draco’s started some kind of business?” he said, still clutching at Harry’s horribly overgrown hair.

The columns, the cold, the shock of white.

“I don’t care,” he muttered and did not smile when Ron waved him goodbye.

He didn’t care about much those days. At least that was what Hermione would tell him when they went out for lunch. Most foods he couldn’t stomach anymore, but he tried for her. There was something in the act of dying which did not lend itself well to the act of living.

He went to church. He prayed. He tried to believe in God. He stared at the ceiling of St James and brushed his eyes over the vaults in the ceiling. Each arch curved perfectly, dividing the thunderous roof into manageable portions.

His desk was full of dusty prayer books and pointless electronics, and the cold always came, no matter how hot the hearths.

#ao3 fanfic #harry potter #drarry #draco x harry #hp fanfic #hp #draco malfoy #harry james potter #short but multichapter

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mariacallous · 9 months ago

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Mark Nelson took the call in an immigration detention center—a place that, to him, felt just like prison. It had the same prison windows, the same tiny box rooms. By the time the phone rang, he’d already spent 10 days detained there, and he was wracked with worry that he would be forced onto a plane without the chance to say goodbye to his kids. So when his lawyers relayed the two options available under UK law—either stay in detention indefinitely or go home wearing a tracking device—it didn’t exactly feel like a choice. “That’s being coerced,” says Nelson, who moved from Jamaica to the UK more than 20 years ago. He felt desperate to get out of there and go home to his family—even if a GPS tag had to come too.

It was May 2022 when the contractors arrived at Colnbrook Detention Center, on the edge of London’s Heathrow Airport, to fit the device. Nelson knew the men were with the government’s Electronic Monitoring Service, but he didn’t know their names or the company they worked for. Still, he followed them to a small room, where they measured his leg and locked the device around his ankle. Since then, for almost two years, Nelson has been accompanied by the tag wherever he goes. Whether he is watching TV, taking his kids to school, or in the shower, his tag is continuously logging his coordinates and sending them back to the company that operates the tag on behalf of the British government.

Nelson lifts up his trousers to reveal the tag, wrapped around his leg, like a giant gray leech. He chokes down tears as he describes the impact the device has had on his life. “It’s depressing,” he says, being under constant surveillance. “Right through this process, it’s like I’m not a human anymore.”

In England and Wales, since 2019, people convicted of knife crime or other violent offenses have been ordered to wear GPS ankle tags upon their release from prison. But requiring anyone facing a deportation order to wear a GPS tag is a more recent and more controversial policy, introduced in 2021. Nelson wears a tag because his right to remain in the UK was revoked following his conviction for growing cannabis in 2017—a crime for which he served two years of a four-year sentence. But migrants arriving in small boats on the coast of southern England, with no previous convictions, were also tagged during an 18-month pilot program that ended in December 2023. Between 2022 and 2023, the number of people ordered to wear GPS trackers jumped by 56 percent to more than 4,000 people, according to research by the Public Law Project, a legal nonprofit.

“Foreign nationals who abuse our hospitality by committing crimes in the UK should be in no doubt of our determination to deport them,” a Home Office spokesperson tells WIRED. “Where removal isn’t immediately possible, electronic monitoring can be used to manage foreign national offenders and selected others released on immigration bail.” The Home Office, the UK’s interior ministry, declined to answer questions on “operational details,” such as whether GPS coordinates are being tracked in real time and for how long the Home Office stores individuals’ location data. “This highly intrusive form of surveillance is being used to solve a problem that does not exist,” says Jo Hynes, a senior researcher at the Public Law Project. GPS tags are designed to prevent people facing deportation orders from going on the run. But according to Hynes, only 1.3 percent of people on immigration bail absconded in the first six months of 2022.

Now, Nelson is the first person to challenge Britain’s GPS tagging regime in a high court, arguing that the tags are a disproportionate breach of privacy. A judgment on the case is expected any day now, and critics of GPS tagging hope the decision will have ripple effects throughout the British immigration system. “A judgment in Mark’s favor could take quite a lot of different forms,” says Jonah Mendelsohn, a legal officer at data rights group Privacy International. He adds that the court could force the Home Office to stop tagging migrants altogether, or it could limit the amount of data the tags collect. “It could set a precedent.”

The GPS tags are part of an intensifying surveillance regime that migrants and refugees are now subject to in the UK, the US, and Australia, says Mendelsohn. “There is so much tech that’s being rolled out and used almost in an experimental lab-esque way,” he says, pointing to how migrants arriving in Britain on small boats have been told to hand over their phones and pin codes or fitted with bar-coded wristbands. “GPS tracking is just one aspect of that.”

Allegations that the tags are prone to malfunction also aggravate the stress people feel while wearing them, Mendelsohn says. By law, the tags can’t be removed. But they still need charging, either by being plugged into a socket or a portable battery pack. Nelson’s first tag would run out of battery every two hours, he claims, meaning he could never travel far from a plug socket—failure to charge a tag can count as a breach of immigration bail conditions, risking return to a detention center.

The battery was just one in a series of problems, Nelson claims. Between November 2022 and May 2023, he believes his tag was no longer logging his GPS coordinates, with his legal team at Wilsons Solicitors arguing this proved the tag was redundant and should be removed. But until now, the Home Office has refused to take off the tag. “[They said] the law is the law and I’m subject to the law,” says Nelson. “So I’ve got to wear this broken tag whether it works or not.” The company that monitors and maintains the tags on behalf of the government since 2014, Capita Business Services, did not reply to WIRED’s request to comment.

Nelson might have been the first person to challenge the GPS tagging regime in court. But others were close behind. British law firm Duncan Lewis Solicitors is representing another four people forced to wear GPS tags, ranging from EU citizens to people who arrived in the UK on small boats. “Such surveillance of vulnerable individuals is not necessary in any democratic society, and we are proud to represent these claimants in their fight against this poorly run and dystopian regime,” says Conor Lamb, who works in the public law department at Duncan Lewis.

One of the people whom Duncan Lewis is representing is a 25-year-old former asylum seeker from Sudan who arrived in the UK via a small boat and has no criminal history, according to his lawyers. The tag brought up painful memories of being bound and tortured during his journey to the UK, they argued in court. After two psychiatric reports were submitted to the government, the tag was taken off and his data deleted. Despite that, the man, who uses the pseudonym ADL, remains part of the court case in order to challenge the practice of tagging new arrivals.

Meanwhile, Nelson is still waiting for his tag to be taken off. He’s frustrated that he has to wear the tag despite already having served his time in prison. “Before all of this, I was social,” he says. Now, he says, he’s too self-conscious to go out much, in case others see the tag and mistake him for the perpetrator of a violent crime. He describes how the tag has left him feeling “up and down,” as if he has no good choices left. “In order for me to see my family and to be part of my family, I’m still being forced into 24/7 monitoring, someone watching me and watching what I do, every day.”

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gadgetsboy · 9 months ago

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Meet Fujifilm's New X100VI Digital Camera

While some might argue that a majority of consumer-grade photography nowadays is now mostly achieved through the use of smartphones, it goes without saying that there's still a sizeable population of enthusiasts and professionals who'd still rather get their photography done via a dedicated camera. This has resulted in some rather impressive hardware from the biggest names in the industry, including Fujifilm. With that in mind, the company recently unveiled the launch of the Fujifilm X100VI digital camera, which boasts some pretty cool features. The camera is the latest addition in Fujifilm’s X Series line of digital cameras, and Fujifilm says that the new model offers exceptional image quality, in addition to its compact size and lightweight profile, as well as Fujifilm’s colour reproduction quality. Camera Design and Features Fujifilm says that the top and bottom of the X100VI's body is built from aluminium which is pressed and machined for sharp edges, while the surface is finely blasted for a smooth texture in addition to the anodised aluminium on its surface. The camera also features an LCD monitor for media viewing and playback which can be stored in a fully flat position, and also comes with touch support. Additionally, the control buttons on the back have been moved to a position that is easy to operate with the right hand. As the sixth-generation model in the X100 Series, the X100VI comes with the new 40.2 megapixel X-Trans CMOS 5 HR sensor, as well as a high-speed X-Processor 5 image processing engine. The camera also includes a newly-developed in-body image stabilisation function, with up to 6.0 stops. Fujifilm says that this is the first time that this feature has been incorporated in an X100 Series product, without a considerable increase in size and weight. Going back to the camera's hardware, the 40-megapixel CMOS 5 HR sensor inside is designed to allow more light to be captured in comparison to its predecessors, as well as native ISO 125 support. The X100VI also comes with a total of 20 "Film Simulation" modes, including a new ‘REALA ACE’ mode with a wide range of different tones. The camera also incorporates an autofocus prediction algorithm for reliable focusing that works even on moving subjects, with subject detection autofocus to accurately track a range of subjects. Fujifilm says that its developed using deep-learning AI technology, allowing it to detect wildlife, vehicles, and more. Other Details The X100VI also includes an ‘Advanced Hybrid Viewfinder’ that lets users switch between the optical viewfinder (OVF) and the electronic viewfinder (EVF). The latter is equipped with a high-resolution OLED panel with around 3.69 million dots for a clear visual user experience. The camera comes with a built-in ‘Electronic Range Finder’ (ERF) function allows a small EVF to be simultaneously displayed on the OVF, which can allow photographers to capture a subject in the OVF and subsequently magnify the in-focus area in the smaller EVF, making it convenient for snapshots and such. For video recording, there's built-in support for 6.2K resolution 30P movie recording that also supports tracking AF function during recording. One of the X100VI's most handy features comes in the form of Frame.io Camera to Cloud support, allowing users to wirelessly connect to an active internet connection, authenticate to Frame.io, and automatically upload photos and videos online right after creation, speeding up a user's workflow process. Pricing and Availability The X100VI will be sold in Black and Silver models, and will be available in the UK from 28 February 2024 from authorised retailers and the Fujifilm House of Photography in London starting at £1,599 including VAT. There will also be a special edition of the camera to celebrate Fujifilm’s 90th anniversary year, which will be available starting on 6th April at £1,934. The limited-edition models are individually numbered and delivered in a special box with strap, soft release button and history cards. The camera body is engraved with the original Fujifilm corporate brand logo from 1934, along with the unique serial number. Read the full article

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script-a-world · 2 years ago

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Submitted via Google Form: Underground City

Hi, I have a large city in my story with a lot built underground. How does that work in construction and how deep could they go? I'd like to start by modelling it a bit on Taipei's underground malls which connect between some metro stations but I want mine to have multiple floors (10-20 I'm hoping at least) and stretch for a lot longer under a lot more surface area so it's more of an underground city with the same stuff available as on the surface, you know, residential flats, shops, businesses, restaurants, entertainment/sports venues, etc... And definitely a lot of these spread all over the city. I'd say about 20% of the entire surface area will be above these underground areas. And yes, since this is in a city that needs public transport, most of these places will connect with metro stations as well.

I saw a few posts around about problems without natural sunlight. Well, the outside is perfectly safe and there are no farms down there, so it wouldn't be a problem besides the people who choose to stay there all day/night long, not going outside if they do not require going out into the sunlight to get everything they need.

Tex: Given that your story is fictional, you can always Rule of Cool it and build as deep as you want. For suspension of disbelief, the 10-20 floors is entirely reasonable, and as you’re not performing agriculture underground nor having your populace living underground permanently, I think your readers will find a lot of this feasible.

It might be helpful to arrange the floors by category - things that like light, such as sports venues, might benefit from more surface-reaching floors, whereas shops, movie theaters, etc can still use artificial lighting through creative means. If you’re having electricity, and particularly technology that allows you for something more advanced than street lamps, then you can experiment with things akin to neon signs and electronic billboards to add atmosphere to the different levels.

Your metro stations can be a focal point that if you wanted could allow in a modicum of natural light. This is something Star Wars does a little bit with Coruscant, particularly the upper levels - hyperlanes operate in a “gouge” that goes several stories deep, and eventually the city’s levels partition themselves according to the mix of natural and artificial lighting.

Addy: Just to add on to Tex's comment, Derinkuyu Underground City is an ancient underground city in modern-day Turkey. It's old, and so doesn't have things like public transit or other modern amenities (electricity, etc), but it might be useful to look at existing examples for reference. It goes about 280 feet deep over 18 levels, and it could hold up to 20,000 people (plus livestock and food stores). I'll include a few links for you.

You may also want to have a low water table in a dry area, so as to help prevent against flooding. If it's a moist or humid area, you'll want some kind of system to keep the water out of the tunnels.

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Derinkuyu_underground_city - there are some other underground cities in the "See Also" section, too

BBC Article on the City

Licorice: As a reader, something I’d be interested to know is why they decided to dig deep rather than build high (or perhaps they do both?). The factors that constrained them would probably also be relevant to the construction techniques they used.

You asked about construction techniques. Probably the history of the London Underground could help you there.

Do you know this article by Francois Mancebo? https://www.thenatureofcities.com/2017/01/22/future-cities-live-underground-thats-not-pile-schist/ It contains a number of informative links.

#google submitted #geography #architecture

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random-imagines-blog · 2 years ago

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Crimson Day {Unfriended: Dark Web Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 4292 Summary: The aftermath after the events of the movie. Warnings: Mentions of death.

Trauma is hell on earth. Trauma resolved is a gift from the gods. - Peter A. Lavine.

You knew a thing or two about trauma. You’ve been living through it for months now. Looking over your shoulder at every turn, avoiding all electronics, living off of the grid and in hiding. Four months ago, life had been absolutely normal. Almost dream-like compared to now. You were just a regular twenty-something year old, living in the city. Your main concerns, like many other people your age, were finding your purposes, and having enough money to cover the essentials and maybe some treats every once in a while. A University graduate, but you had to work two jobs in order to keep affording rent in your small studio apartment over a convenience store. Working, working, working, job searching for something better, keeping your space clean, and once in a while, hanging out with friends. Up until Damon moved to London, anyway. Then it was a mix of seeing your friends around and hanging out with them online. Video chats. Game nights. The worst part was supposed to be maybe the internet lagging or someone not being able to make it or missing your friend who was ‘across the pond’. It wasn’t supposed to come to this. It was someone else’s plan but it certainly hadn’t been yours.

That dreadful night when you lost five of your friends in one foul sweep. A secret organization that was kidnapping people, killing them. Setting up other people to take the fall. You were supposed to be dead. The organization tried hard enough. You barely escaped with your life. A concussion and different scrapes was getting off dreadfully light compared to your friends.

Amara had been shot. It had been a bad one, but it just managed to miss her heart. It dug into her shoulder, and it stayed there. Luckily, a security guard had heard the gunshot and called it in. The security guard didn’t survive when he went in to see what the noise was, but the police that came after arrested the shooter, and Amaya was taken in an ambulance to the hospital. It took hours of surgery to get all of the bullet fragments out. To remove the pieces of shattered bone, put the arm back into it’s socket, and stitch the wound shut.

Matthias had it worse than that. He had been hit hard by a car on an otherwise empty road. Many broken bones. Fractures. A concussion. The ambulance, taking a shortcut to the hospital with Amaya on the back, almost ran him over for the second time, but they managed to stop in time. Called in a second ambulance. The car that hit him was gone. His cellphone was gone. They had a hard time bringing him back, the damage was so extensive. It took a couple of days for him to be lucid enough to get visitors.

Not that he was allowed any.

But you were there nonetheless. Every single day, you sat in a waiting lounge of the hospital, warm drink from the cafeteria in your hands though you hardly drank it. The police questioned you, questioned Amaya, questioned Matthias over and over and over. They didn’t believe you. Who would? All traces of the conversations, the videos, the entire Skype call, was gone from your computer. Matthias’s was never recovered. There was a kidnapped girl in Matthias’s apartment. Damon’s fake confession about what they had done to all of those missing and murdered girls. Matthias was handcuffed to his bed at all times. He had an officer with him if he wanted to get up and use the bathroom once he was able to get onto his feet.

The police wanted to take you to the station but you protested, panic attacks coming in waves. “There’s too many cameras there, I can’t,” You said, shaking your head. The Circle - they must have heard that you had survived. They were probably watching you. A hospital had cameras, but not as many, it wasn’t as heavily watched as the police station would be.

Your heart raced to the point where the doctors advised that they keep you, despite not having any external injuries. They had you on a heart monitor. The police had you in handcuffs nonetheless, but you accepted this without argument. You just wanted to get your story told and then get out of there. In prison, you might be safer, if they didn’t listen and did choose to arrest you.

There was a single detective that took you seriously. You, Matthias, Amaya and your friends all had verifiable alibis during Erica’s abduction. The Circle couldn’t wipe that away. And it reminded him of another case, a few years back. Almost identical details - except no one survived. The ‘murderer’ had committed suicide by jumping in front of a train. There were two witnesses that said he had been pushed, but the police ignored that. The evidence being on computers, the friends of the murderer dying under strange circumstances.

Detective White was the only one that was on your side. While the police wanted to officially arrest you and bring you in, he’s the one that hunted down your alibis, got statements that showed you were nowhere near Erica’s home when she was abducted, and secured at least some freedom for you. It was far from over. It felt like a hollow victory getting those handcuffs taken off of you. But at least it was a victory.

Detective White was the one that wheeled Matthias out of the hospital. Policy, they insisted. He could walk with a limp, but they still made sure to treat him like a victim until they reached the detective’s personal vehicle. He had taken the GPS out, at your urging. It could be easily hacked, or tracked. Since he was taking you to the safe house, the only place that you, Matthias and Amaya could agree on, you couldn’t risk a damn thing.

You gave him handwritten directions to your parents place. It was outside of the city. A long drive. He took a couple of backways when he could, going past farmlands and through small towns, rather than the major highways, for even they had cameras on them. Neither you nor your two friends dared to get out of the car during the one and only gas stop, opting for hoods up and heads down. Even though Marrhias had to pee, he didn’t dare, just in case a camera caught his face while going in to use the bathroom.

It was a quiet ride. Detective White kept asking questions, and he even knew a little sign language so was able to somewhat understand Amaya when she would answer. But mostly, it was just the forced silence. Any little noise made you and Matthias jump, causing Amaya to worry. Anytime that a car seemed to follow for longer than ten minutes, your heart started to beat quickly again, and you couldn’t breathe until it finally made a turn, or you did. A dark van in a driveway nearly sent Matthias into hysterics. He had to lay his head down on Amaya’s lap, be comforted until the panic attack passed. You dug your nails so deep into your palms that they started to bleed.

The traffic grew more and more sparse, until it was just Detective White’s car on the road. That’s when you felt like you could relax for the first time. You rolled your window down - actually having to use the crank because the car was an older model, and let yourself enjoy fresh air for the first time since all of this happened. It blew in, caressing your face, drying out your eyes. It smelt of trees - evergreen and pine.

The reason why this was a safe house was because it wasn’t actually under your parent’s name. They had an apartment in the city that was, where they’d spend time when they had to come in for work, usually just on the weekdays. But this - this house, the place that they poured love into, turned into a home - it technically belonged to one of your father’s friend’s from college. He had inherited it but it was too far from the city, so he just let his friends take it over. It was all paid off, and your parents would send money to pay the property tax and other bills.

It was as off the grid as it was possible to be. Your father was one of those doomsday preppers. It was coming, he always said. The apocalypse, the robot uprising, the government shutting down, whatever it was, he was prepared. You used to be embarrassed about it. The teenager that followed him through Costo as he bought stacks of Cream of Mushroom soup. But now you were thankful for it. This was as off the grid as it was possible to get these days.

There were a few technological appliances, thankfully. A microwave, a fridge, an oven, and a working bathroom with plumbing so you didn’t have to go the old fashioned way, out to an outhouse. But apart from that? There was no computer, no laptops, no gaming systems, no internet for you to connect to. You didn’t get service on your phone out here, but there was a landline that worked if the weather was clear enough. There was a small TV with rabbit ears that got a news station and a cartoon chanel - as long as the weather was clear enough, again. Bored? There were decks of cards. There were books. Go for a walk. There were a few Disney films on VHS that you could watch over and over for the nostalgia.

It wasn’t ideal. But at least it was safe. After Detective White left, you went around checking all of the windows and the doors to make sure that their locks worked. Matthias double checked after you did, holding onto Amaya’s hand throughout it all. The two were inseparable since the hospital. She had slept on his shoulder for most of the drive. He hadn’t complained once about it. There was still love in these traumatic times. Their relationship was closer than ever. You were the odd one out. The lonely one out of the bunch. But at least you were with your old friends. You weren’t totally alone in this.

Amaya brought a book about ASL. She taught you and Matthias so that there was no miscommunication anymore. Matthias was more eager to learn now than he used to be. Now that there was no program that he could make to try to make it easier for her to understand him. Now he could understand her. You all could understand one another, bringing you closer, as if sharing the same house didn’t do that for you.

It was a beautiful day. The sort of day where it’s all that people could talk about. They’d greet each other in the shops with a nod, a smile, and a ‘Beautiful day isn’t it?’ The kind of day where bosses panicked because people called in sick, but they knew full well that their employees were going to take a fishing trip that morning or take their families down lakeside for a bit of fun. The dog parks filled up and the air was filled with the sound of happy yips and barks.

However, you, Matthias and Amaya weren’t a part of that. The windows were closed, the white and gauzy curtains pulled over, blocking out the light breeze and the sunlight. It was stiflingly warm inside but the anxiety caused you to triple check the windows every time you got up, despite not unlocking them since the day that you got there. No, the three of you were sitting on the ground in front of the couch, the television on the news channel, playing The Game of Life.

You were laughing at how corny Mattias was being throughout it. It was only in the last week that you were able to start finding things funny again - after a couple of months being here. To start smiling and start laughing. You attention span, thanks to the lack of social media, was growing longer and longer, so these games had become one of the most fun things you could do together. Matthias was making a big show of naming the pegs when he was putting them inside of his ‘car’. He signed Amaya’s name when he stopped and got married, carefully picking a pink peg and putting it inside of the car. He was in the lead, already having a son, whom he would consult Amaya on what to name, before either you or Amaya made it to the marriage piece.

‘What about Steve?’ Matthias asked, spelling out the name with his fingers. You wrinkled your nose and stuck your hand out, giving it a thumbs down. Amaya shook her head, her ponytail flying wildly behind her. Matthias thought, tapping the top of the blue peg. ‘Matthias Jr?’

‘In your dreams’ Amaya said, making you really start to laugh. Matthias grinned goofily and nudged her with his elbow.

‘I’m putting my foot down,’ He signed, and made a show of it, tapping his against the ground. ‘Our son is named ... Elliot.’

‘That’s way better than Steve’, you signed, and Amaya nodded showing that she agreed. The game went on. Your little car stopped at the marriage spot, and Matthias and Amaya bugged until you finally gave your husband a name, just throwing out one of the last person that you had a crush on. Amaya reached the spot last, and to the surprise of both you and Matthias, she gave you both a mischievous grin.

‘Zac Efron’ she signed, coyly.

Matthias jumped up to his feet, his words moving quickly with shock and outrage. You wrapped your arms around your stomach, falling to the ground with laughter coming out of you. A deep one from your stomach that felt like the greatest release. Tears came into your eyes and you couldn’t see what Matthias and Amaya were signing to one another again but it didn’t matter because it ended up with the three of you all laughing and grinning at one another. Even Matthias, who signed that he would let this slide just the one time, but she better name his kid Matthias or there was going to be a car crash. You never expected him to say the last bit, considering what had happened but that felt like letting go of the past too. It was just a good feeling all around.

Once the laughter died down and the game continued, the sound of the television caught your attention. You left it on for background noise, just for you and Matthias, just a little something to get rid of the overwhelming silence, but some of the words actually made you pause and stare at the small and fuzzy screen. It wasn’t one hundred percent clear, but the reception was better today than it usually was. You tapped on Matthias’s shoulder and motioned towards the television. Amaya stopped moving her red car and turned to look at it too, reading the lips of the newscaster.

“- and we are recommending that if you have any children, to ask them to leave the room or to change the channel. What we have to show you is very disturbing. Viewer discretion is advised.”

You felt your stomach rising to your throat. What was on the screen was pulled right out of your memories, a sight that you could not forget, never, as long as you live. The choice that Serena had to make. Your face on the screen, Matthias’s face on the screen. Amaya watched with rapt horror, for this was her first time actually seeing this footage. She hadn’t been in that skype call. She only heard what had happened afterwards. You didn’t know what was worse, seeing it for the first time or for the second, both of it a surprise. An assault.

Your friends cries. The machine beeping as the heart monitor came to a stop. Lexx being pushed in front of the train. You couldn’t look anymore. You turned your eyes downcast, but that didn’t stop you from hearing it. The next, you assumed, was Damon being hung. It was a quiet one, and when you thought that it might be over, you turned your eyes back. No, there was an open word document and it was typing. Exactly like you had seen that night.

‘Why are they showing this?’ Amaya asked, not being able to look any longer. You were wondering the same thing. Was it actually on the news or did The Circle manage to hack this small TV? Could they do it through the small rabbit ears?

The screen went back to the news anchor who looked unsettled to say the least. It actually took a couple of seconds for her to regain control of herself. “Those are the videos that lead to the arrest of an underground group that call themselves The Circle. It’s an organization with surprising members from parliament, the entertainment industry, and corporate leaders, that play so-called games with innocent people using hacking skills, and in-person violence-”

Matthias was signing all of this to Amaya as the words were being spoken, since it was hard to read the lips during those long words. The landline started to ring, making both you and Matthias jump. You excused yourself to get it, hoping that it was who you thought it was. Only four people knew the number to this house. You didn’t even get spam calls or telemarketers here. If the phone rang, it meant that someone important was trying to get ahold of you. Your parents, Your parents friend, or Detective White.

You answered the phone with a little hmm, trying not to give away the fact that you were shaking. Please - please - please let this be real - you never wanted anything more -

“Is this you, y/n?” Detective White’s familiar and tired voice came from the headset.

“Yes - I’m watching the news. Is this real? Or are they hacking us somehow?” You asked, your voice rushed. Panicky.

“I’m pleased to say that it’s real,” He said. Matthias and Amaya were both staring at you, and you signed the good news, and who it was on the phone. Neither of them could move. Truth be told, neither could you. “I didn’t want them to play the footage that we got from one of their laptops, but the media specialist suggested it, something about making sure that the public was turned against them.”

“What, because hearing that they’re a bunch of kidnappers and murderers wasn’t enough to do that?” You asked, pinching the bridge of your nose. For the last while, you managed to escape from the past. You were still looking over your shoulder but not actually expecting to see them. “And you couldn’t have called to give us a warning? We just saw that on the television and-”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Detective White cut you off. “I’ve been dealing with tracking down the others, but we got the leaders, including the ones that had physically attacked you and your friends. It’s a lot of paperwork as you can understand.”

The leaders, and the ones that physically attacked you. You were tunnel visioned on those words right now. Repeating them over and over inside of your head. You tucked the phone as best as you could between your chin, jaw and shoulder so that you could sign everything you were hearing towards your friends. Amaya started to hyperventilate. Her face was turning darker and Matthias put his hands on her shoulder to try to help her breathe. They stared at one another, breathing together. He was the only one who could touch her like that. She even flinched from you sometimes. But from Matthias? Never.

“It’s over. It’s really over.”

“We’re hoping so. We’ve already got a long list of names, connecting with police forces around the world to make sure we get these bastards.”

“The world?” You asked, turning your back on your friends to look at the wall. Matthias could still hear you, of course. But you didn’t want Amaya to read your lips. Not when she was already panicking like this. “They’re all around the world?”

“This is bigger than just America,” Detective White grunted. “Japan’s been trying to get these guys for years. The UK too. But we’ve got it. We’ve got them. That’s the good news. Now I have to give you the bad.”

“Oh god,” You gasped. “What’s the bad?”

“I’m not going to be able to expend anymore resources on keeping you three safe now that they’ve been caught. I tried arguing for it, that there could be retaliation though I don’t think that will be the case, they’ll all be busy running for the hills. So you’re going to have to get a legal address again, get back to normal.”

It was bad news. Detective White had been right about that. But it wasn’t as bad as you thought that it could be. You could still live here. You were sure your parents would let you. And your friends too. You’d break the news to them in time.

“Okay, that’s not too bad,” You sighed. “I think we can handle that. Is there anything else that we have to do? We don’t have to erm - come in and ... you know, testify?” The nerves started to shake up again at the idea of being in the same room as those monsters. At your friends getting attacked.

“No,” Detective White said, squashing all of that down. “We’ve got more than enough evidence. You can if you want to, but just from the video footage alone, the things found on their computers, they’re going to get life. At least. Probably multiple life sentences.”

“Good.” You said, and you meant it. They should spend the rest of their life in an uncomfortable jail cell. No, worse than that, they should have to spend their lives in the conditions that they put other people under. The fear. The small rooms where they kept their kidnapped victims until they were planted in someone innocent’s apartment. All of it. This didn’t feel like enough of a win. But you had to admit that it was a win nonetheless.

After a few short minutes more of conversation and a promise that you’d get back to him once you figured out what you were going to do, you hung up the phone and joined the group hug with your friends. Amaya seemed to have regressed a few steps back after seeing what had happened on the television. Even though they were caught, it was still a heavy trauma. The weight hadn’t been fully lifted from your shoulders quite yet. It wouldn’t be until after the trials. Who knew how long they would take though.

‘It’s all my fault that this happened in the first place’ Matthias signed, also seeming to have taken those steps backwards. You were holding strong in your position, shaking your head.

‘It’s not,’ You signed back shaking your head. ‘They made the choice. It would have been us or someone else, and they might not have gotten out alive like we had.’

It took a whole week for it to sink in. The news was playing the footage over and over again, so you had kept it off. You didn’t need the background noise anymore, you craved the silence. Your parents came back to see you, to promise to help you and your friends look for another place. Together. You’d been living with one another for so long, it felt wrong to be apart. You were bonded now, for life.

You made your first trip into the city after two weeks. You went straight to the police station to see Detective White in person, sunglasses covering your face, attempting to keep low-key but everyone inside of the precinct seemed to remember exactly who you are, all eyes on you the moment you walked through that door. It took time to get used to being around people again. To the attention. You were the first to brave it, then Amaya and Matthias came the second time, holding onto one another. Anyone so much as brushed by Amaya, she flinched, but that was going to take a lot of time to get over. If ever. Eventually though, eventually you might be able to make it to a normal life.

Eventually, Matthias and Amaya would get married. You acted as interpreter during the wedding, saying aloud the vows which the couple signed to one another. The crowd wasn’t as large as it should have been. Your friends should have been there, and it hurt so much that they weren’t. It was one of the most bittersweet days of yout entire life, and you were sure that your friends thought the exact same.

The tragedy was rounding out to a close. You had the scars. You had your traumas. But you survived. Nothing more than that, you survived through it and that meant that you were going to keep on living because there wasn’t much of a choice in the matter. Keep going for Nari, Serena, AJ, Damon and DJ. Getting back to where you had been before, settled in with friends, working, back in school - life continued, but not as if nothing ever happened. But because everything had happened. A new appreciation for every second, for every friend, for every new experience. That’s how you were living from then on. From now, until forever.

#Unfriended Dark Web #Unfriended oneshot #Horror oneshot #imagines #one shot #oneshot

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newedensgarden · 1 year ago

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Vinyl Shopping

There were many songs, bands, and genres that many people had not even discovered yet. The thought of this fascinated August, and so sometimes when he was on tour he would seek out local record shops. Vinyls, instruments, posters, and more. Just to see if he could discover something he never heard before. Or perhaps something he hadn't heard in many years. It helped to inspire him to make more music. They were travelling through some city with a teeny population and big heart. With him today was someone else who loved music almost as much as the Father did, if not more. The redhead lifted one of the vinyls up, showing him from across the aisle. As per usual, she hit a jackpot. Wandering over to where she was, his fingertips flipped through the several titles of the thick vinyls. Current goth bands such as Roadside Memorial and Lebanon Hanover. Rock music like Sisters of Mercy, Switchblade Symphony, Faith and the Muse, and London after Midnight. Deathrock, never his cup of tea despite the type of music his band Avantgarden made. Snythpop bands like Wolfsheim were discovered, the essential type of tunes you would find in any 80s club. Darkwave. How could Auggie describe such a genre? Music fest stoners if they were dark-inclined. He put on a vinyl and put the big squishy headphones on to listen to half of it before delicately putting it over bumblebee's head, letting her listen to dark wave as well. She made a face, clear dissaproval. "Sounds like a gateway drug." A grin cracked across stone features, creasing dimples into stubble cheeks as he tried to hide his reaction to her comment. Pressing his lips together, August moved on to another aisle of records. All alphebitzed and color coded. Industrial to ethereal and everything in-between. Electronic Body Music. New Romantic, mostly 80s bands. The Prophet was never the romantic type as it is, so he moved on. Coldwave. Snythpop. New age punk. And then he found the jackpot. Right in the center. Whistling, he waved the woman with him over. She rest her chin on his shoulder and looked over to see what the curious shortking had uncovered in the heart of the vinyl shop. The two went straight into the Batcave. Bauhaus, Sioxsie and the Banshees, Joy Division, the Cure, Twin Tribes, Drab Majesty, Lebanon Hanover, Mode Moderne, The Hearse, She Past Away, Draconian Incubus, Linea Aspera, Virgin in Veil, Actors, Tempers, Merciful Nuns, Angels of Liberty, Neon Tzigane, O.Children, Cabaret Nocturne, SRSQ, Light Asylum, Night Sins, Hante, Sonsombre, Her Despair, The Awakening, Artificial Monuments, Scarlet Leaves , Geometric Visions, Boy Harsher, Pretentious Moi, Sombre, Whispering Sons, Velvet Condom, This Cold Night, Riki, Korine, Malefixio, Horror Vacui, Mirages, Cold Cave, HIGH-FUNCTIONING FLESH, Bat Nouveau, Disjecta Membra, Egoprisme, Opened Paradise, Molchat Doma, Living Temples, Future Faces, Kuta, Plastique Noir, Ritual Howls, The Rope, Wisborg. His head spun with excitement, almost overwhelmed. The only thing that yanked him back was the sound of a feminine laugh. Velvet and snake venom. He finally reached an inked hand out and settled on whatever it landed on. Leaving the store with Romeo's Distress.

#august #seed #drabble

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chebmimo · 2 years ago

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15.02.2023 - Tribute to Rachid Baba Ahmed - Radio Show notes

On the 15th of February, it was the 28th anniversary of the passing of Rachid Baba Ahmed. He was tragically assassinated by Islamic fundamentalists in front of his record store during the Algerian civil war. Rachid was a highly influential record producer from Algeria who modernised Rai music, elevating it to an international level. He owned a studio in Tlemcen that was modeled after Chris Blackwell's London Island Records studio (the same studio that Bob Marley recorded at), and he was always welcoming to up-and-coming Rai singers such as Cheb Khaled, Cheb Hamid, Sahraoui, and Fadela, among others.

Born in 1946 in the western Algerian city of Tlemcen, Rachid grew up in an artistic family with a musician for a father. He quickly learned and mastered the Oud and joined a band playing Andalusian music since his teenage years. He later ventured into pop rock and disco, forming a duo with his brother Fethi and releasing some of the best North African Disco 45s, including "Mnami Twil" and "Ana Gharib." Eventually, Rachid transitioned to more electronic music before finally focusing on Rai in the late 80s.

Rachid's eclectic and sophisticated catalogue earned him the nickname of the Algerian "Jean Michel Jarre," and he was undoubtedly a pioneer that left an incredible musical legacy for Algeria.

1 - The Essential Hamid by Rachid & Fethi - Intro & Instrumental - 1985

A call from a fan to the studio “Editions Rally”, asking for the new music produced for Cheb Hamid - first to answer the phone was Fethi before passing it to Rachid who asks the fan to stay tuned in to listen to the latest release. After the instrumental portion, Rachid follows up with the fan to ask for feedback on the track. The name of their label "Editions Rally" is related to the fact that both brothers are Rally Racing amateurs, and Rachid even won competitions on multiple ocasions.

2 - Rachid & Fethi - Mnami Twil - 1974

Rachid & Fethi's debut single introduced Algeria to the vibrant sounds of psychedelic funky soul music and marked a significant milestone as one of the first video clips ever produced by an Algerian band.

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3 - Rachid & Fethi - Ana Ghrib - 1976

4 - Rachid & Fethi - Sidi El Maalam - 1975 This particular track exudes a surf pop rock vibe and could have been part of a Californian music documentary. It's evident that the artists draw inspiration from the western music culture, and this song perfectly showcases their eclectic style in their productions.

5 & 6 - Rachid Baba Ahmed - Album : Altitude 800 - O.D.B. + Asteroide V.2. - 1984

In my opinion, the top tracks by Rachid Baba come from what is likely my favorite album of theirs. This cassette stands out as a pivotal moment in their career, marking the shift towards producing more electronic disco music. Each track is named after a music recording element, , such as "Multitrack," "Line-out," "Limiters," and so on.

This album is a marker of the transition to the phase of their career where they started producing some more disco electronic stuff - in this album every track is called after a music recording feature - Multitrack / Line-out / Limiters / …

7 - Rachid Baba Ahmed - Racine - 1990

Recently reissued by Maghreb K7 Club, on the disco singles collaboration between the labels Sofa Records and Les disques Bongo Joe.

8 - Rachid & Fethi - Mexico - 1986

The legend says that Rachid composed this music in just 24 hours following Algeria's 3-0 victory over Tunisia in Tunis, which secured their spot in the Football World Cup in Mexico. The track is a testament to Rachid's Andalusian influences from his teenage years, with trumpets, guitarron, and mariachi sounds, combined with football chants vocals, to capture the excitement and anticipation surrounding the Algerian national team's journey to Mexico.

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9 - Cheb Sahraoui - Aachki Aouel - 1983 A classic, nothing to say here apart from that I love the fact that Awesome Tapes From Africa started his Boiler Room set in Viva! Festival with this track!

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10 - Chaba Zahouania - Goulou Lima (Tell my Mom) - 1988

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Ryuichi Sakamoto, the pioneering Japanese producer, composed the music for the movie "The Sheltering Sky" and selected this track from Zahouania's album "Nights without Sleeping" produced by Rachid baba Ahmed to be included in the film.

11 - Cheb Sahraoui & Fadela - N’sel Fik - 1987

One of the most renowned Rai music tracks, this song has achieved global success and has been played in various corners of the world: from its origin in Tlemcen to Santa Monica, and throughout Europe. During the recording session of this track at Rachid's studio, Sahraoui introduced his wife Fadela and suggested to record the song as a duo. After the first take, Rachid declared it perfect, without the need for additional recordings.

Below a video of Fadela & Sahraoui live concert in Santa Monica, California playing N'sel Fik.

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12 - Rachid Baba Ahmed - House Rai Music - 1988

"House Rai Music" appears to be strongly influenced by the dance music scene of its time, incorporating elements of acid house and electro with the distinct vocals of Fadela and Sahraoui. This fusion provides a rare glimpse into the early house music influences in the MENA region, and serves as a testament to raï's ascent to become a prominent 'world music' genre.

#Youtube #Bandcamp

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