#Massachusetts Moving Companies
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mastodonmoving · 6 months ago
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Meet our management - Meet our management team. Owner JJ, Sales Manager Dave, Business Development Jim and President Connor. https://mastodonmoving.com/middlesex-movers/
#movers #moversnearme #shortdistancemovers #moversinma #middlesexmovers #moversmiddlesexma #localmovers
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kingmovers · 2 years ago
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King Affordable Movers is a professional packers and movers company in Marblehead, Massachusetts that can assist you with stress-free packing and multiple shifting services. Our comprehensive range of services includes moving and packing services for customers throughout Boston. We are making your move as simple as possible in order to accommodate your schedule. For more information, please contact us at 781-513-0269.
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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago
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Autoenshittification
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Forget F1: the only car race that matters now is the race to turn your car into a digital extraction machine, a high-speed inkjet printer on wheels, stealing your private data as it picks your pocket. Your car’s digital infrastructure is a costly, dangerous nightmare — but for automakers in pursuit of postcapitalist utopia, it’s a dream they can’t give up on.
Your car is stuffed full of microchips, a fact the world came to appreciate after the pandemic struck and auto production ground to a halt due to chip shortages. Of course, that wasn’t the whole story: when the pandemic started, the automakers panicked and canceled their chip orders, only to immediately regret that decision and place new orders.
But it was too late: semiconductor production had taken a serious body-blow, and when Big Car placed its new chip orders, it went to the back of a long, slow-moving line. It was a catastrophic bungle: microchips are so integral to car production that a car is basically a computer network on wheels that you stick your fragile human body into and pray.
The car manufacturers got so desperate for chips that they started buying up washing machines for the microchips in them, extracting the chips and discarding the washing machines like some absurdo-dystopian cyberpunk walnut-shelling machine:
https://www.autoevolution.com/news/desperate-times-companies-buy-washing-machines-just-to-rip-out-the-chips-187033.html
These digital systems are a huge problem for the car companies. They are the underlying cause of a precipitous decline in car quality. From touch-based digital door-locks to networked sensors and cameras, every digital system in your car is a source of endless repair nightmares, costly recalls and cybersecurity vulnerabilities:
https://www.reuters.com/business/autos-transportation/quality-new-vehicles-us-declining-more-tech-use-study-shows-2023-06-22/
What’s more, drivers hate all the digital bullshit, from the janky touchscreens to the shitty, wildly insecure apps. Digital systems are drivers’ most significant point of dissatisfaction with the automakers’ products:
https://www.theverge.com/23801545/car-infotainment-customer-satisifaction-survey-jd-power
Even the automakers sorta-kinda admit that this is a problem. Back in 2020 when Massachusetts was having a Right-to-Repair ballot initiative, Big Car ran these unfuckingbelievable scare ads that basically said, “Your car spies on you so comprehensively that giving anyone else access to its systems will let murderers stalk you to your home and kill you:
https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/03/rip-david-graeber/#rolling-surveillance-platforms
But even amid all the complaining about cars getting stuck in the Internet of Shit, there’s still not much discussion of why the car-makers are making their products less attractive, less reliable, less safe, and less resilient by stuffing them full of microchips. Are car execs just the latest generation of rubes who’ve been suckered by Silicon Valley bullshit and convinced that apps are a magic path to profitability?
Nope. Car execs are sophisticated businesspeople, and they’re surfing capitalism’s latest — and last — hot trend: dismantling capitalism itself.
Now, leftists have been predicting the death of capitalism since The Communist Manifesto, but even Marx and Engels warned us not to get too frisky: capitalism, they wrote, is endlessly creative, constantly reinventing itself, re-emerging from each crisis in a new form that is perfectly adapted to the post-crisis reality:
https://www.nytimes.com/2022/10/31/books/review/a-spectre-haunting-china-mieville.html
But capitalism has finally run out of gas. In his forthcoming book, Techno Feudalism: What Killed Capitalism, Yanis Varoufakis proposes that capitalism has died — but it wasn’t replaced by socialism. Rather, capitalism has given way to feudalism:
https://www.penguin.co.uk/books/451795/technofeudalism-by-varoufakis-yanis/9781847927279
Under capitalism, capital is the prime mover. The people who own and mobilize capital — the capitalists — organize the economy and take the lion’s share of its returns. But it wasn’t always this way: for hundreds of years, European civilization was dominated by rents, not markets.
A “rent” is income that you get from owning something that other people need to produce value. Think of renting out a house you own: not only do you get paid when someone pays you to live there, you also get the benefit of rising property values, which are the result of the work that all the other homeowners, business owners, and residents do to make the neighborhood more valuable.
The first capitalists hated rent. They wanted to replace the “passive income” that landowners got from taxing their serfs’ harvest with active income from enclosing those lands and grazing sheep in order to get wool to feed to the new textile mills. They wanted active income — and lots of it.
Capitalist philosophers railed against rent. The “free market” of Adam Smith wasn’t a market that was free from regulation — it was a market free from rents. The reason Smith railed against monopolists is because he (correctly) understood that once a monopoly emerged, it would become a chokepoint through which a rentier could cream off the profits he considered the capitalist’s due:
https://locusmag.com/2021/03/cory-doctorow-free-markets/
Today, we live in a rentier’s paradise. People don’t aspire to create value — they aspire to capture it. In Survival of the Richest, Doug Rushkoff calls this “going meta”: don’t provide a service, just figure out a way to interpose yourself between the provider and the customer:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/13/collapse-porn/#collapse-porn
Don’t drive a cab, create Uber and extract value from every driver and rider. Better still: don’t found Uber, invest in Uber options and extract value from the people who invest in Uber. Even better, invest in derivatives of Uber options and extract value from people extracting value from people investing in Uber, who extract value from drivers and riders. Go meta.
This is your brain on the four-hour-work-week, passive income mind-virus. In Techno Feudalism, Varoufakis deftly describes how the new “Cloud Capital” has created a new generation of rentiers, and how they have become the richest, most powerful people in human history.
Shopping at Amazon is like visiting a bustling city center full of stores — but each of those stores’ owners has to pay the majority of every sale to a feudal landlord, Emperor Jeff Bezos, who also decides which goods they can sell and where they must appear on the shelves. Amazon is full of capitalists, but it is not a capitalist enterprise. It’s a feudal one:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola
This is the reason that automakers are willing to enshittify their products so comprehensively: they were one of the first industries to decouple rents from profits. Recall that the reason that Big Car needed billions in bailouts in 2008 is that they’d reinvented themselves as loan-sharks who incidentally made cars, lending money to car-buyers and then “securitizing” the loans so they could be traded in the capital markets.
Even though this strategy brought the car companies to the brink of ruin, it paid off in the long run. The car makers got billions in public money, paid their execs massive bonuses, gave billions to shareholders in buybacks and dividends, smashed their unions, fucked their pensioned workers, and shipped jobs anywhere they could pollute and murder their workforce with impunity.
Car companies are on the forefront of postcapitalism, and they understand that digital is the key to rent-extraction. Remember when BMW announced that it was going to rent you the seatwarmer in your own fucking car?
https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/02/big-river/#beemers
Not to be outdone, Mercedes announced that they were going to rent you your car’s accelerator pedal, charging an extra $1200/year to unlock a fully functional acceleration curve:
https://www.theverge.com/2022/11/23/23474969/mercedes-car-subscription-faster-acceleration-feature-price
This is the urinary tract infection business model: without digitization, all your car’s value flowed in a healthy stream. But once the car-makers add semiconductors, each one of those features comes out in a painful, burning dribble, with every button on that fakakta touchscreen wired directly into your credit-card.
But it’s just for starters. Computers are malleable. The only computer we know how to make is the Turing Complete Von Neumann Machine, which can run every program we know how to write. Once they add networked computers to your car, the Car Lords can endlessly twiddle the knobs on the back end, finding new ways to extract value from you:
https://doctorow.medium.com/twiddler-1b5c9690cce6
That means that your car can track your every movement, and sell your location data to anyone and everyone, from marketers to bounty-hunters looking to collect fees for tracking down people who travel out of state for abortions to cops to foreign spies:
https://www.vice.com/en/article/n7enex/tool-shows-if-car-selling-data-privacy4cars-vehicle-privacy-report
Digitization supercharges financialization. It lets car-makers offer subprime auto-loans to desperate, poor people and then killswitch their cars if they miss a payment:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4U2eDJnwz_s
Subprime lending for cars would be a terrible business without computers, but digitization makes it a great source of feudal rents. Car dealers can originate loans to people with teaser rates that quickly blow up into payments the dealer knows their customer can’t afford. Then they repo the car and sell it to another desperate person, and another, and another:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/27/boricua/#looking-for-the-joke-with-a-microscope
Digitization also opens up more exotic options. Some subprime cars have secondary control systems wired into their entertainment system: miss a payment and your car radio flips to full volume and bellows an unstoppable, unmutable stream of threats. Tesla does one better: your car will lock and immobilize itself, then blare its horn and back out of its parking spot when the repo man arrives:
https://tiremeetsroad.com/2021/03/18/tesla-allegedly-remotely-unlocks-model-3-owners-car-uses-smart-summon-to-help-repo-agent/
Digital feudalism hasn’t stopped innovating — it’s just stopped innovating good things. The digital device is an endless source of sadistic novelties, like the cellphones that disable your most-used app the first day you’re late on a payment, then work their way down the other apps you rely on for every day you’re late:
https://restofworld.org/2021/loans-that-hijack-your-phone-are-coming-to-india/
Usurers have always relied on this kind of imaginative intimidation. The loan-shark’s arm-breaker knows you’re never going to get off the hook; his goal is in intimidating you into paying his boss first, liquidating your house and your kid’s college fund and your wedding ring before you default and he throws you off a building.
Thanks to the malleability of computerized systems, digital arm-breakers have an endless array of options they can deploy to motivate you into paying them first, no matter what it costs you:
https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/02/innovation-unlocks-markets/#digital-arm-breakers
Car-makers are trailblazers in imaginative rent-extraction. Take VIN-locking: this is the practice of adding cheap microchips to engine components that communicate with the car’s overall network. After a new part is installed in your car, your car’s computer does a complex cryptographic handshake with the part that requires an unlock code provided by an authorized technician. If the code isn’t entered, the car refuses to use that part.
VIN-locking has exploded in popularity. It’s in your iPhone, preventing you from using refurb or third-party replacement parts:
https://doctorow.medium.com/apples-cement-overshoes-329856288d13
It’s in fuckin’ ventilators, which was a nightmare during lockdown as hospital techs nursed their precious ventilators along by swapping parts from dead systems into serviceable ones:
https://www.vice.com/en/article/3azv9b/why-repair-techs-are-hacking-ventilators-with-diy-dongles-from-poland
And of course, it’s in tractors, along with other forms of remote killswitch. Remember that feelgood story about John Deere bricking the looted Ukrainian tractors whose snitch-chips showed they’d been relocated to Russia?
https://doctorow.medium.com/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors-bc93f471b9c8
That wasn’t a happy story — it was a cautionary tale. After all, John Deere now controls the majority of the world’s agricultural future, and they’ve boobytrapped those ubiquitous tractors with killswitches that can be activated by anyone who hacks, takes over, or suborns Deere or its dealerships.
Control over repair isn’t limited to gouging customers on parts and service. When a company gets to decide whether your device can be fixed, it can fuck you over in all kinds of ways. Back in 2019, Tim Apple told his shareholders to expect lower revenues because people were opting to fix their phones rather than replace them:
https://www.apple.com/newsroom/2019/01/letter-from-tim-cook-to-apple-investors/
By usurping your right to decide who fixes your phone, Apple gets to decide whether you can fix it, or whether you must replace it. Problem solved — and not just for Apple, but for car makers, tractor makers, ventilator makers and more. Apple leads on this, even ahead of Big Car, pioneering a “recycling” program that sees trade-in phones shredded so they can’t possibly be diverted from an e-waste dump and mined for parts:
https://www.vice.com/en/article/yp73jw/apple-recycling-iphones-macbooks
John Deere isn’t sleeping on this. They’ve come up with a valuable treasure they extract when they win the Right-to-Repair: Deere singles out farmers who complain about its policies and refuses to repair their tractors, stranding them with six-figure, two-ton paperweight:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/31/dealers-choice/#be-a-shame-if-something-were-to-happen-to-it
The repair wars are just a skirmish in a vast, invisible fight that’s been waged for decades: the War On General-Purpose Computing, where tech companies use the law to make it illegal for you to reconfigure your devices so they serve you, rather than their shareholders:
https://memex.craphound.com/2012/01/10/lockdown-the-coming-war-on-general-purpose-computing/
The force behind this army is vast and grows larger every day. General purpose computers are antithetical to technofeudalism — all the rents extracted by technofeudalists would go away if others (tinkereres, co-ops, even capitalists!) were allowed to reconfigure our devices so they serve us.
You’ve probably noticed the skirmishes with inkjet printer makers, who can only force you to buy their ink at 20,000% markups if they can stop you from deciding how your printer is configured:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/07/inky-wretches/#epson-salty But we’re also fighting against insulin pump makers, who want to turn people with diabetes into walking inkjet printers:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/10/loopers/#hp-ification
And companies that make powered wheelchairs:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/08/chair-ish/#r2r
These companies start with people who have the least agency and social power and wreck their lives, then work their way up the privilege gradient, coming for everyone else. It’s called the “shitty technology adoption curve”:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/21/great-taylors-ghost/#solidarity-or-bust
Technofeudalism is the public-private-partnership from hell, emerging from a combination of state and private action. On the one hand, bailing out bankers and big business (rather than workers) after the 2008 crash and the covid lockdown decoupled income from profits. Companies spent billions more than they earned were still wildly profitable, thanks to those public funds.
But there’s also a policy dimension here. Some of those rentiers’ billions were mobilized to both deconstruct antitrust law (allowing bigger and bigger companies and cartels) and to expand “IP” law, turning “IP” into a toolsuite for controlling the conduct of a firm’s competitors, critics and customers:
https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/
IP is key to understanding the rise of technofeudalism. The same malleability that allows companies to ���twiddle” the knobs on their services and keep us on the hook as they reel us in would hypothetically allow us to countertwiddle, seizing the means of computation:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men
The thing that stands between you and an alternative app store, an interoperable social media network that you can escape to while continuing to message the friends you left behind, or a car that anyone can fix or unlock features for is IP, not technology. Under capitalism, that technology would already exist, because capitalists have no loyalty to one another and view each other’s margins as their own opportunities.
But under technofeudalism, control comes from rents (owning things), not profits (selling things). The capitalist who wants to participate in your iPhone’s “ecosystem” has to make apps and submit them to Apple, along with 30% of their lifetime revenues — they don’t get to sell you jailbreaking kit that lets you choose their app store.
Rent-seeking technology has a holy grail: control over “ring zero” — the ability to compel you to configure your computer to a feudalist’s specifications, and to verify that you haven’t altered your computer after it came into your possession:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/30/ring-minus-one/#drm-political-economy
For more than two decades, various would-be feudal lords and their court sorcerers have been pitching ways of doing this, of varying degrees of outlandishness.
At core, here’s what they envision: inside your computer, they will nest another computer, one that is designed to run a very simple set of programs, none of which can be altered once it leaves the factory. This computer — either a whole separate chip called a “Trusted Platform Module” or a region of your main processor called a secure enclave — can tally observations about your computer: which operating system, modules and programs it’s running.
Then it can cryptographically “sign” these observations, proving that they were made by a secure chip and not by something you could have modified. Then you can send this signed “attestation” to someone else, who can use it to determine how your computer is configured and thus whether to trust it. This is called “remote attestation.”
There are some cool things you can do with remote attestation: for example, two strangers playing a networked video game together can use attestations to make sure neither is running any cheat modules. Or you could require your cloud computing provider to use attestations that they aren’t stealing your data from the server you’re renting. Or if you suspect that your computer has been infected with malware, you can connect to someone else and send them an attestation that they can use to figure out whether you should trust it.
Today, there’s a cool remote attestation technology called “PrivacyPass” that replaces CAPTCHAs by having you prove to your own device that you are a human. When a server wants to make sure you’re a person, it sends a random number to your device, which signs that number along with its promise that it is acting on behalf of a human being, and sends it back. CAPTCHAs are all kinds of bad — bad for accessibility and privacy — and this is really great.
But the billions that have been thrown at remote attestation over the decades is only incidentally about solving CAPTCHAs or verifying your cloud server. The holy grail here is being able to make sure that you’re not running an ad-blocker. It’s being able to remotely verify that you haven’t disabled the bossware your employer requires. It’s the power to block someone from opening an Office365 doc with LibreOffice. It’s your boss’s ability to ensure that you haven’t modified your messaging client to disable disappearing messages before he sends you an auto-destructing memo ordering you to break the law.
And there’s a new remote attestation technology making the rounds: Google’s Web Environment Integrity, which will leverage Google’s dominance over browsers to allow websites to block users who run ad-blockers:
https://github.com/RupertBenWiser/Web-Environment-Integrity
There’s plenty else WEI can do (it would make detecting ad-fraud much easier), but for every legitimate use, there are a hundred ways this could be abused. It’s a technology purpose-built to allow rent extraction by stripping us of our right to technological self-determination.
Releasing a technology like this into a world where companies are willing to make their products less reliable, less attractive, less safe and less resilient in pursuit of rents is incredibly reckless and shortsighted. You want unauthorized bread? This is how you get Unauthorized Bread:
https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2020/01/unauthorized-bread-a-near-future-tale-of-refugees-and-sinister-iot-appliances/amp/
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If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon
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[Image ID: The interior of a luxury car. There is a dagger protruding from the steering wheel. The entertainment console has been replaced by the text 'You wouldn't download a car,' in MPAA scare-ad font. Outside of the windscreen looms the Matrix waterfall effect. Visible in the rear- and side-view mirror is the driver: the figure from Munch's 'Scream.' The screen behind the steering-wheel has been replaced by the menacing red eye of HAL9000 from Stanley Kubrick's '2001: A Space Odyssey.']
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Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg
CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en
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mayakern · 6 months ago
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upcoming store stuff & why we're doing a super sale
omg hiiii it's devin again, and this time i'm bringing store news
the short version: we're moving ourselves back to minnesota, and we're moving order fulfillment to a fulfillment center
wow, that's big news! maya and i are so so so excited to be closer to our minnesota friends (and also my family lol). i'm hoping to be back in northeast minneapolis, but let's be real we're probably gonna get priced out and into the suburbs
in addition to that, due to a variety of reasons i'll explain in more detail below, we're transitioning from in-house fulfillment to working with a fulfillment center (or 3pl, short for third-party logistics). we're at an awkward size that makes staffing difficult and have had issues with extended processing time. the 3pl should be set up by september, and we're working on the back end to have fulfillment centers in australia, canada, the UK, and eventually the EU. if tax authorities work with us we should have all that ready by december 2024!
to prepare for that we're doing a super sale. ash told me not to call it liquidation but she said that like 30 seconds after i hit send on the marketing email, sorry about that. items that we don't want to pay to move to the 3pl are discounted by 25-70%, with some of them priced at cost. under no circumstances will anything ever be 70% off again
if you're nosy you can read the q&a i made up in my head while eating pigs in a blanket:
how are the labor protections at the 3pl?
pretty good! we were shocked to find anything even halfway decent in the US; we went looking for a fulfillment center in the EU to handle all international fulfillment, and the one we found just so happened to have bought a US location two years ago.
they're located in ohio, pay $19/hr, and provide health insurance and 401k matching. that seemed too good to be true so we dug through employee reviews on places like glassdoor, and while there were some bad reviews those were all dated prior to when the facility was purchased by this new company. they also have a very low turnover rate which is a HUGE green flag
why are you transferring to a 3pl?
the serious
sometimes we have a high volume of sales, and it makes sense to have two full-time employees plus a part timer! but usually we have a low-to-medium volume of sales. we can float by on that, but it gets risky, and the economy is in a bad enough state that we're concerned about the longevity
related, the 2023 holiday sale showed us some major flaws in our fulfillment process. if the same issues were to happen this year the business probably wouldn't survive
we're moving cross-country in early 2025 and would've had to close this location anyway
the dumb:
i'm sick of dealing with commercial landlords and if i have one more wall leak i'm going to throw it into the river brick by brick
what about your staff?
unfortunately we will have to say goodbye to our office staff. they have been given 3.5 months notice and no-questions-asked PTO for interviews with a small severance
why are you moving back to minnesota?
troy was always meant to be a temporary move. initially the plan was to move to vermont or massachusetts, but after being out here for 7 years we just kinda want to go home. the weather in troy is perfect for us, we love the mountains, and we have some great friends here, but for some goddamn reason we want our eyelashes to freeze together.
will you be returning to midwest cons?
if we return to cons at all it will be with ariel and/or ash running the booth, maya will not be involved. this would likely be in california and/or in the northeast US.
my friends are begging me to go to CONvergence as an attendee so ig you might see me there? maya has pledged death before crowded venues tho
will you do any local events in minnesota?
we might do sample sales. honestly idk what we're gonna do with the samples we have in troy, most of them are terrible. do you want samples of the strangest low rise bell bottom pants ever created? please take them from me. my bush hangs out
also my kid brother has gotten really into library events and if he asks nice enough we might do some of those
is there anything else?
i mean probably, but i started this last week and i haven't had any other ideas on what to include
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fairyrcts · 4 months ago
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THINKIN BOUT YOU, C.S.
by fairyrcts contents - angst, cursing, intended lowercase, use of y/n, 3rd person, mentions of depression
an - i love chris angst
taglist - @pvssychicken , @gothiccvnt6996 , @emely9274 (header by @issysh3ll )
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it was 2 am in new york and y/n was just getting home. her day was exhausting to say the least. the struggle of being a full time college student with a job and rent to pay in new york is something that was unimaginable.
she fiddled with her keys, eventually finding her apartment key. she unlocked her door to her roomate, aleah, sat on the couch watching some cheesy rom-com on her laptop. y/n dropped her bag and kicked off her shoes at the door.
"hey hey." aleah waved.
"hey, girl. watcha watchin?" y/n's voice rang as she walked to the open kitchen, grabbing a cup and poaring ice water.
"27 dresses. literally never seen this dumb shit before but evangeline wants me to see it."
aleah was the definition of a stud. she was gorgeous, too. dark complexion, curly hair that hung in front of her face and piercings on her plump lips and nose.
evangeline was her girlfriend, who y/n's only met a few times. usually in the mornings after getting very little sleep from their noises filling the small apartment.
"man, that movie's so mid. did we get any mail?" y/n chuckled as she walked back in the living room, sitting in the opposing sofa.
"any mail?"
"uh, one from some credit card company and someone left a note in the crack of the door. said to y/n from chris sturnolo." she spoke, her eyes not leaving the computer.
y/n stopped in her tracks. "christopher sturniolo?" her voice was slightly shooken.
christopher was her childhood bestfriend. they were in almost every class together since kindergarten. they were inseparable. they did sports together, went to prom together, went to get their drivers license together (guess who didn't pass). they were family, at this point.
after college, she never heard from him again. happy birthdays and merry christmases every year or likes on every post, but not a single text, call, email, anything. she talked to nick and matt regularly, but not chris.
she'd ask how he was and they'd give short, vague, one-word answers. it was unfair, really. because there wasn't another soul on earth that knew her better than chris did, and all that time was wasted.
it's been 3 years without a word. and just now he's contacting her. her mind rambled as to what might have gone wrong, otherwise, there wasn't a reason to speak to her. now, especially. she'd been such a mess after leaving for cornell, and she debated not going to stay with chris. but he convinced her, saying he'll stay in touch and talk to her every day.
so much for that promise.
"uh, yeah, chris sturniolo, sturnolo, stromboli, all the same to me." her roomate shook her out of her thoughts.
"aleah, where's the damn letter?" y/n's voice sounded scared almost, not understanding what's going on.
"over on the bookshelf." aleah pointed to the letter wrapped with a little bow and a stamp in the corner of the boston streets.
her hands hurried and undid the bow, ripping the envelope open and unfolding the letter.
Dear Y/n
There seriously isn't an explanation for my distance. After you left for college I fell into such a state of depression and I don't know why but I was scared to contact you. I mean, you're out doing great big things, NYU and detective criminal type stuff. Meanwhile, I'm still here in Massachusetts, I just moved out of my parents house a year and a half ago and my career is making videos on the internet. I guess it was the jealousy that stopped me from speaking to you or some kind of fear. But all I know is that I miss you, dearly. And I guess this is kind of me asking do you think about me still? Because I haven't stopped thinkin about you.
(p.s. i know i couldve sent this over text but i didnt know if you blocked me or not)
just his handwriting caused tears to stream down y/n's face. the note itself, the words and his explanation made her sob.
she made her way to her room, shutting the door behind her. she reached for her phone in her back pocket and called chris's contact.
it rang three times before he answered. there was silence on his end, soft sobs on hers.
"chris, where the hell are you and why did you answer so late?" she said through sniffles and cries.
"i'm uh, in syracuse right now. we're here with nate for his birthday. i asked matt for your address and uhm, i was waiting for you to call." chris's voice sounded nervous almost.
"so you're.. able to come see me?" she asked to which chris affirmed.
"give me the name of your hotel. i'm coming over." she spoke. her tone wasn't demanding, but chris knew it was a demand.
chris told her the name and room number, y/n writing down each letter. after he had explained the whole thing she hung up without warning. she walked out of her room, her movements were fast as she wiped tears off her cheeks.
"woah, what's up?" aleah asked, concerned.
"i'll tell you when i'm back." y/n brushed her off, grabbing her keys, leaving and shutting the door quite harshly.
she jogged down the stairs, her hand grazing the railings and the other jingling the keys with each step.
she pushed the door that so clearly said pull. the frustration just added to her unexplainable feelings.
"why the fuck won't this shit open!?" she shouted. the small, teenage boy at the front desk squeaked out a few words.
"it's uhm. it's pull. y-you're pushing it." y/n looked down at the sign.
"shut the fuck up, curtis!" she yelled once more, yanking the door and storming out of it.
"dumb ass name." y/n mumbled to herself. she walked hurriedly to her car, clicking the unlock button on her keeys and jumping in the drivers seat.
she turned it on, putting the ignition in reverse. she internally conflicted wether or not to put on music. of course, there was no need for it. buttt to make the whole event more dramatic, she turned on her playlist, thinkin bout you by frank ocean coming in through the speakers.
the music made tears swell up in her eyes. the whole situation was just fucked.
her car sped, running through red lights here and there, honking at any car that was slow or in front of her.
when she arrived at the hotel, she shut off her music and her car, locking it as she slammed the door of it behind her. she pulled the door to the entrance to the entrence of the large hotel, the door refusing to open.
"it's a push door!" the lady at the front desk yelled loud enough to be heard.
"oh, fuck me." y/n groaned, finally opening the door. she stormed inro the elevator, the front desk lady attempting to stop her by shouting 'miss'.
as if that was gonna stop her. y/n pressed the 4 button aggressively, multiple times.
"hurry the fuck up!" she was so out of it, she was yelling at an inanimate button.
when the door started opening, she squeezed herself through the space, looking at the numbers on each door until she found the 103 in a big font.
she knocked hard and loud continuously until the door opening interrupted her.
and now, she was faced with the man who made her, and broke her.
the two stared into one anothers eyes momentarily before y/n brought a hand up and smacked the side of his face.
a 'youch' came out of chris's mouth. he rubbed the side of his face that was now red while y/n began rambling.
"now, what the fuck is wrong with you! i mean, you know better! christopher, holy fuck, where do i even begin with you!?" her voice rang through the halls as she pushed herself into the room.
"i- i don't know." chris's tone was sorrowful, but that wasn't necessarily something she cared about right now.
"you are such a douchebag! i fucking can't believe you. ignoring my calls, texts, letters, everything! the only information i ever got about you was through 10 picture slideshows on instagram and your brothers, who werent much of a help! you can say whatever all you want, but chris, i was so mentally fucked up! i was so behind in my classes, that you know i put a humongous amount of effort into getting into, i was rude and emotional all the time and pushed away people i love and adore because i was so hung up on the thought that you stopped caring and you stopped loving me! you know how terrible of a feeling that is? to believe that the one person you love most in the world doesn't give two damn shits about what you're doing now? do you?!"
she yelled and yelled and yelled as her eyes didn't just shed tears, but boy, they poured.
"n-no, no i don't know how that feels." christopher mumbled as water welled up in his own eyes.
"yeah, and that's because you know i'm incapable of unloving you! you're aware of my love for you, because i reminded you every day. you know i wear my heart on my sleeve and you still pulled this dumb shit! i don't even know how you managed to do such thing! i was at such a terrible place, chris."
her words were less aggressive now as she cried tears of sadness rather than anger. she sat herself on one of the two hotel beds while chris sat beside her. he awkwardly pulled her into a hug, y/n leaning into it immediately.
her head laid in his lap as he rubbed her back, whispering small shushes every now and then while she kept bawling.
"y'know. i've been thinkin' bout you. i never stopped, really. i just- i don't even have an excuse. and you can keep yelling at me, and i'll keep listening, but i can't explain as to why i didn't. i just don't know, y/n." his voice was calm and gentle and his hands glided up and down her side.
once she finally stopped crying, she sat up and wiped her tears. "I'm sorry." chris stated, his eyes meaningful along with his voice.
that's all she wanted to hear.
he pulled her into an embrace once more, engulfing himself in the girl he missed so deeply.
"i was thinkin' bout you, too, y'know." she mumbled into his neck.
and that's all he wanted to hear.
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ursuburbanmother · 9 months ago
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I’m On Fire, But I’m Trying Not to Show It || Chapter One
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Pairing: Angus Tully x fem!Reader
Summary: You and Angus have been best friends since you were little children. Now in high school the only thing that separates you is a lake between both your schools. Due to what was describe by your headmaster as "Unfortunate circumstances due to chance, and poor planning on our part," you are forced to stay at the Barton Academy for the holidays with the company of your best friend or maybe more.
a/n: hi guys! I’m new so try to be kind to me lol. Anyways this is probably not very good. It’s slow paced cause I wanted to establish their friendship. Not sure where this is going so if you have any suggestions let me know! Also not grammar or beta read so…
Word Count: 3k
Find: Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
Enjoy!
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December 17th, 1970
You hadn’t spoken to your parents in months. You figured they would call or write a letter or something. In October they wished you a speedy little, “Happy Halloween,” before hanging up. You could hear the loud party in the background. Always the socialites, they were probably eager to get back to enjoying themselves by downing flutes of champagne and appetizers. Now it was December, and you had not received a peep from either. When the holiday plans form was passed out to the girls of your boarding school at the end of November, you ignored it. Then the deadline came, and you hastily checked off the box that said, ‘Plan to stay on campus.’
Your parents hadn’t called to dispute it and now you’re stuck at mass, sitting in a pew, watching other happy families and their daughters anxiously waiting to leave. You wondered if there was still a way for you to get away. Your friend, really only friend, Angus Tully was headed to St. Kitts and with him gone, your only true escape was gone. If he knew you were stuck holding over, he would beg his parents to take you, but you knew it would be too much of an imposition, so you kept that fact secret.
Life had always seemed to throw you two together. Even at the age where cooties were still a very legitimate fear. Born in the same snobby Boston neighborhood you two were often the only kids at your parent's parties. You remember that humid night on the Fourth of July when you had met the lanky boy with a mess of brown curls. The fireworks had begun to go off and everyone wore white dresses and suits. You had become restless and started to wander the halls of your home aimlessly. Streamers of blue, red and white hung from the ceiling and servers walked around passing out sparklers.
You found him on the patio. He tugged, annoyed, at his tie. Your own dress was stifling in the heat and for a pair of seven-year-olds, you found the best solution to your ailment was to jump into the shallow end of the pool.
“I’ll do it, if you do it,” you had promised under the hum of cicadas and floating fireflies.
“Deal,” you shook hands.
The water was cold and clear. You swam around for a while, splashing each other and playing Marco Polo. It was at the same time your mother had decided to move the party outside so people could watch the lights in the sky a bit better. You two were pulled out of the pool and shook like wet dogs.
Livid, your parents fed you the line all parents wait to say to their troublesome child, “If your friend jumped off a bridge, would you?” You decided at that moment that yes, you would.
After that you two were inseparable. Because when you're a kid all you need is one single act of solidarity to devote your life to someone. Throughout elementary school you were practically fused to one another. You’d exclude people from your game of hopscotch and eat lunch in secret nooks. When you two were headed to high school your parents enrolled you in a posh all-girl boarding school and Angus to some prep school in another rural part of Massachusetts. Phone calls rang long. You remember the groans you would get from other girls who would give up trying to use the payphone. At some point you had run out of quarters and so to save money you had begun writing letters. Angus being Angus, he’d write as if he was off at war and the letters were the last things keeping him sane.
You knew he never enjoyed school but after he was kicked out from his first preparatory, then his second and third, you had turned into a scolding mother.
“What are you going to do now?”
“Die if I’m lucky, shave my head at Fork Union if not.”
“I want to go to college with you Angus. If not college then I at least want to be able to be an adult with you. One with a diploma so we can get easy jobs as regional salespeople or something,” you mumbled, twirling the phone cord around with your finger.
“You really thought this out,” he laughed.
“I’m serious, Augie.” You heard him sigh across the line.
“Okay. I’ll do better. No screw ups next time.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
When he was sent to Barton, your sister school, you couldn’t have been more excited. It was a short walk away; you could see it from across the lake that separated you. Your mom had been the one to call you about the change. She said his mother thought having him near you would make him less fussy. Something about you being the good influence he needs. You doubted that yet bit your tongue, knowing it would create more trouble than anything. Now it had been over a year and Angus had kept his word. When the opportunity arose for you to meet up, you would take it. Football games or talent shows, you were there. To anyone outside, it would have appeared as though you two just held a lot of school spirit. Like that beach boy's song.
“Be true to your school now,” you’d sing into Angus' ear.
He’d roll his eyes but always join in, “just like you would to your girl or guy.”
“Rah-rah-rah-rah sis boom bah! I love that part!” You’d giggle.
He’d try to hide his smile, but you could always tell. He’d put his arm around your shoulder and say, “Yeah okay.”
Once you were dismissed from mass you sighed and trudged all the way back through the snow to your dorm building. Having it so empty was eerie, you could hear your own footsteps echoing down the halls. You made your way into the common room to wait for Ms. Orchard.
She was meant to be your babysitter for the next few weeks. She was your Renaissance literature teacher. Ms. Orchard was nice but on the older side, which meant she was traditional. You often thought she would be better suited to be a Home Economics teacher if she was so invested in being ladylike.
You sat in the corner of the couch and opened a book. Minutes passed and it seemed obvious no one was coming to join you. Not even Mrs. Orchard. She probably broke a hip trying to make her way back in the snow.
“Ms. Orchard has broken a hip while walking in the snow,” the door suddenly bursts open hitting the side of the wall so hard it shakes the room.
“What?” Your mouth drops at the news. Shit, had you jinxed it?
Your Dean, Mr. Jameson says as he walks in, covered in snowflakes. “Yup. She slipped on ice on the way here. By the parking lot. Didn’t you hear the ambulance?”
“Uh… no?”
“Hmm,” he hummed, looking around the room, “where are the other girls?”
“I think it’s just me sir.”
“Ah, right. Well that makes this easier. You’ll be spending your Christmas break at Barton. Now, it’s awfully last minute so we hope they take you. Why don’t you go get your bag ready and-,”
“Hold on. Barton the boys' school?” You could almost gag at the idea. No offense to Angus, but you could remember the endless horror stories he would tell you of life in a boys' school. The air always smelled weird, and cleanliness was the least of their worries. “Isn’t there somebody to replace Ms. Orchard?”
“This place cleared out thirty minutes ago, Ms. L/n,” he said, “And I have a family to get back to.”
“But-, I just-, isn't there a rule against this or something?”
“I have no doubt that the teacher supervisor there will ensure you have a safe, jolly time Ms. L/n.”
“But I-,”
“That’s enough. I understand this is an unprecedented situation, but the only alternative would be to leave you here alone and that just is not going to happen. Please Ms. L/n, make this easy for everyone.” With his hand he motioned towards the door.
“Fine,” you gritted out. You got off the couch and went to your room. You half-heartedly crammed anything you could into your suitcase. Some shirts, sweaters and pants. You ran out of space and resorted to carrying your books in your hands along with your potted plant. You felt bad leaving your lavender to just sit and wilt, so you took her with you.
“I made a few calls. Everything should work out. You all settled then?” Mr. Jameson said once you had made your way back to the common room. Nodding with a tight-lipped smile you headed out. You two could have walked but apparently, he was in a hurry to catch a six o’clock flight and you ended up taking his car.
It was a short drive and with reluctance you made your way inside the school. “Come on. Put a pep in your step,” Mr. Jameson clapped.
He navigated you around. You had only been in the main building, never the dorms. Blindly you let him guide you until you found yourself in a room with four other boys and Angus. Angus who was supposed to be half-way to the airport by now. His sulky face shifted into one of shock. You took a step towards him only to be stopped by your dean's arm in front of you. The other guys were looking at you with mouths wide open. It was like their eyes were about to fall out of their sockets. You grumbled, not knowing what else to do.
Mr. Jameson took the lead, “Mr. Hunham? Correct?” He outstretched his hand for him to shake. Hesitantly the older man took it.
“What’s the meaning of this,” he pointed between Mr. Jameson and you.
“Unfortunate circumstances due to chance, and poor planning on our part. This is Ms. Y/n L/n. Come introduce yourself.”
“I’m Y/n L/n,” you shrugged, looking at Angus for guidance. In unison they all say hello.
“Can we speak in private,” Mr. Jameson asked.
“Alright,” Mr. Hunham says, “no funny business,” he gives a pointed look to the boys.
The two teachers leave, and you quickly move to Angus to encapsulate him in a quick hug.
“What the hell? What are you doing here?”
“Funny, I was going to ask the same thing.”
“What the hell Angus. You have a girlfriend?” A blonde boy with a red tie says as his eyes scan your figure. You shift uncomfortably at the action. “A smoking one too…”
“Shut it Kountze, you’re catching flies,” Angus scoffs.
The door creaks open as both gentlemen return from their brief chat. You and Angus move away from each other like you were caught doing something wrong.
“It seems we will be extending you an invitation to Ms. L/n,” Mr. Hunham says, “you okayed this with Woodrup?” He verifies again with Dean Jameson.
“Yes, it’s all settled. We at Janie Patrick’s School thank you. We owe you one,” he turns to you, “goodbye L/n, you’re in good hands.”
He was halfway through the door when Mr. Hunham cleared his throat obnoxiously loudly. “As I was saying, we will be following a standard school schedule.”
“Uh, sir? We’re on vacation.” Kountze points out.
“Which means we’ll be taking our meals together. And you will observe regular hours of study.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“The Peloponnesian War awaits, Mr. Kountze, you and Mr. Tully. The rest of you can get a jump on next semester. It’ll pay off. You’ll see.”
“We’re already holding over, and now we’re being punished for it?” Angus says bitterly and on fast reflex you rub his arm comfortingly. Mr. Hunham is just as fast to notice.
“Oh no, no, no. Do not tell me this is your girlfriend Mr. Tully.”
“Wh-what. No! We’re just friends.”
“Yeah, we were born on the same street!”
“I do not intend to break apart your romantic escapades all break long.”
“We. Are. Just. Friends,” Angus reaffirms, venom on his tongue. You could see the blush rising on his pale cheeks. You could feel your own as well.
“Mhm,” Hunham hums skeptically, his gaze lingers on you two for a second before glancing back at his clipboard, “Alright… You will be afforded limited windows for recreation and supervised physical activity.”
“The gyms are not even open yet.”
“Yeah, they only lacquered half the floor,” another boy points out, this one has long blonde hair that reaches his shoulders.
“Fresh air will do you good,” says Hunham.
“It’s like 15 degrees outside.”
“And the Romans bathed naked in the freezing Tiber. Adversity builds character Mr. Tully. Uh, speaking of which, the school will be cutting heat to dormitories and faculty housing and so we’ll all be bunking in the infirmary. With separate accommodations for Ms. L/n of course.”
They all groan. You're just upset. You had thought you would spend the next two weeks avoiding Ms. Orchard and lying to Angus about your whereabouts while he admiringly described the beaches of St. Kitts to you over postcards. Although you supposed it wasn’t all bad. You could spend more time with him, under the watchful glare of Angus' teacher of course.
Together you all get ready to haul your things to the infirmary before being stopped by Mr. Hunhams tsking in disapproval.
“You philistines are just going to let the lady carry her own things? I’m sorry to see Barton has failed in ingraining a sense of chivalry into you.”
“Oh no, it’s alright really, I can do it,” you protest but they all scramble to help you anyway. “Can I carry your suitcase Y/n?” Kountze says, in an odd way, that was meant to be suggestive.
“Okay Kountze, piss off,” Tully pushes him away, leaning down slightly to get your things, “let’s go.” He walks quickly out the door, leaving the rest of you to follow him.
As you are slapped in the face by the harsh winds you curse the idiots at your school who refused to let you wear pants. You were forced to put on double the tights and your warmest coat. It did not do anything to aid you and your shivering made that clear. It was like they wanted to torture you when the boys stopped halfway down the quad and in front of a truck. You're still holding your books so it's not like you can rub your arms to help you out a little. They were complaining about Hunham, who they so endearingly nicknamed “Walleye.”
“Hey, guys, hold up for a second,” Angus tells the young kids in front of you. He sets his, and your things, down on the grimy paved road. He searched through his pockets and lit a cigarette. “Want one?” he asks you and Kountze.
“No. I got something else. Give me that,” he grabs the lighter from him and sparks a joint.
“Hey, don’t smoke that out here. I don't want to get busted by Walleye.”
“Don’t be such a pussy,”
“I’m not a pussy, I just don't want to end up at Fork Union paying for your mistake.”
He ignores Angus and instead turns his attention to you instead, “You're not like a total priss right?”
You shake your head. At least you didn’t think you were.
“Alright,” he smirks and stretches his hand out for you to shake, “Teddy Kountze.”
“Nice to meet you,” you say. The other unnamed boy is the next to greet you.
“Jason Smith.”
“We know who you are. You want to hit this,” Teddy offers the jock the joint.
Jason scans his surroundings before agreeing, “Uh, yeah.”
“You got a great arm man,” he compliments,
“Yeah, well, it’s just football.”
“How’d you get stuck holding over?”
“I’m supposed to be skiing with my folks up at Haystack, but my dad put his foot down. Said I can’t come home unless I cut my hair.”
“So why don’t you cut your hair?
“Civil disobedience, man.”
“I dig that,” you comment. “You know that when they tried to cut that tree between our schools, I organized the tree-sitting.”
“Holy shit that was you? Figured it was some hippies from Boston,” Teddy snickers.
“Nope. I sat in that tree for hours, drinking from water bottles that Angus tossed up to us.”
“Did it work?” Jason wonders.
“For now, yeah.”
“Awesome…. But no, he’s cool. It’s just a battle of wills. Still, I was hoping he’d cave first, because the powder up at Haystack is so sweet right now.”
“What about you, Mr. Moto? Why are you here?” Teddy asks one of the first-year boys.
He appears embarrassed to be singled out, “No, my name is Ye-Joon. My family is in Korea, and they think it’s too far for me to travel alone.”
“I figured it was because your rickshaw was broken,” Teddy laughs to himself. Angus didn’t exaggerate when she said this guy was a jerk.
“What a rickshaw?”
Angus intervenes, “You’re an asshole, Kountze. Your mind’s a cesspool and a shallow one at that.”
“Who’s the asshole Tully? You’re the one who blew up history.” Jason notices the tension and brings the group's conversation back to the freshman.
“What’s your story man?”
“Alex Ollerman. I’m here because my parents are on a mission in Paraguay. We’re LDS. “Mormons, right?” Alex nods yes.
“Don’t you guys wear some kind of magic underwear?” It's like Teddy loves to hear himself talk, you think.
“Common misconception. Actually, it’s called a temple garment, and we’re only supposed to wear it when-.”
“Hey, what's with the townies?” Kountze spots two men emerging from the chapel with a large, heavy green tree in their grasp.
“Hey, what are you doing with our Christmas tree?” Angus shouts, tapping you on the shoulder in a way that says can you believe this?
“The school sold it back to us. Scotch pine, still fresh.” The stranger shouts back.
“Yeah, we’re going to put it back on the lot. We do it every year.”
“This is the most bullshit ever.”
The boys put out their separate smokes much to the relief of Alex and Ye-Joon. You fall behind the rest of them and Angus naturally finds his place next to yours. You stroll in silence until he decides to break the ice.
“You going to tell me what happened?”
“You tell me first. You were so excited to go on vacation.”
“One word. Stanley.”
You grimace, knowing what that means. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
“It’s whatever. They want to spend their honeymoon forgetting my existence then they can do just that. I’m almost an adult anyway. Then I can go anywhere I want anytime.”
“Is that what Judy said?”
“That was the bullshit excuse, yes.”
“Hey, you got me though. We’ll make this fun.”
“We have no tree, Hunham will be breathing down our back, and Kountze hasn’t stopped ogling at you since you arrived. Does that sound like the perfect Christmas to you?”
You laugh softly, “Ignore Hunham and Kountze. As for the tree, we could always Charlie Brown it. What do you think the lavender is here for?” You shake your plant a little. The purple bush sways in the wind.
He smiles, “Yeah… It’s not a bad little tree,” he begins to quote.
“Maybe it just needs a little love,” you say together and break into a fit of giggles.
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cartermagazine · 10 months ago
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Today In History
An impresario in the broadest and most creative sense of the word, Quincy Jones’ career has encompassed the roles of composer, record producer, artist, film producer, arranger, conductor, instrumentalist, television producer, record company executive, magazine founder and multi-media entrepreneur. As a master inventor of musical hybrids, he has shuffled pop, soul, hip-hop, jazz, classical, African and Brazilian music into many dazzling fusions, traversing virtually every medium, including records, live performance, movies and television.
Quincy Jones was born on March 14, 1933, in Chicago, Illinois, and brought up in Seattle, Washington. His musical studies at the prestigious Berklee College of Music in Boston, Massachusetts, afforded him the opportunity to tour with Lionel Hampton’s band as a trumpeter, arranger and sometime-pianist.
He moved to New York in 1951, where his reputation as an arranger grew. By the mid-1950s, he was arranging and recording for such diverse artists as Sarah Vaughan, Ray Charles, Count Basie, Duke Ellington, and Dinah Washington.
Celebrating more than fifty years performing and being involved in music, Jones’ creative magic has spanned over six decades, beginning with the music of the post-swing era and continuing through today’s high-technology, international multi-media hybrids.
Jones has 28 Grammys, including a Grammy Legend Award in 1991, producer of the album Thriller, by the king of pop Michael Jackson and as the producer and conductor of the charity song “We Are the World.
CARTER™️ Magazine
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useless-catalanfacts · 6 months ago
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Did you know that the Catalan vault can be found in many buildings of the United States of America?
Here's some examples:
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Grand Central Terminal, New York City. Photo from Getty.
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Boston Public Library. Photo by Michael Freeman/Boston Public Library.
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Ellis Island Registry Room, New York. Photo by Mike Ward on Flickr.
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City Hall station of the New York subway. Photo by Michael Freeman.
The Catalan vault is a brick arch that is widely used in traditional Catalan architecture. It's also present in other parts of the Mediterranean, but not as common. Its main characteristic is that it's built with the longest side of the brick facing down (usually, ceilings are made with the shortest side facing down) and with a very gentle curve, resulting in a strong self-supporting vault that allows covering a whole room without needing columns or pillars in a way that would be impossible with other kinds of masonry, and also makes it possible to build it quickly and without needing centering (the wooden structure used to support the vault or arch while it's being built, and which is removed once it's made).
So how did it make its way to the USA?
It was brought by the Valencian architect Rafael Guastavino i Moreno (1842-1908). He had already designed important industrial buildings in Catalonia, including the factory that later became the Industrial School in Barcelona and La Massa theatre in Vilassar de Dalt, among others. At the time, in Catalonia, the Catalan vault was being widely used to cover ceilings in factories.
In 1881, Guastavino moved to New York City (USA), where he used the Catalan vault to cover big ceilings, which made him gain some fame for it. He patented the vault in the USA with the name "Guastavino system".
At the time, Americans were very worried about buildings catching fire, because it often happened and had caused a huge destruction in the Chicago 1871 fire. As a response, in 1883 Guastavino bought a patch of land in Connecticut, built two houses in it using the Catalan vault, and set them on fire. He took photos of the whole process to document it and prove how this architecture style is efficient in the case of fire. He wrote about it in the magazine Decorator and Furnisher and soon won the contest to design the Progress Club's building in New York City, which made him famous among architects in the area.
He created his own company (Guastavino Fireproof Construction Company) which was focused on building the Catalan vault. He was hired for many buildings and this architectural element spread. Most churches with stone vaults built between 1890 and 1940 in the USA were designed by Guastavino's firm, as well as many other buildings across the country, particularly New York and Massachusetts.
He's buried in the St. Lawrence Basilica in Asheville (North Carolina, USA), a building he designed.
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yourmomsawh0r3 · 6 months ago
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Crossroads:
javier pena x fem/single mom reader
summary: escaping an abusive ex husband isn’t easy, but with the court deaming you full custody and legal guardian of your daughter. it was time for a fresh start. Packing up and moving you and your daughter 1,000 miles away from massachusetts.
Y/N and her daughter Elle had just moved into town, their car packed to the brim with everything they owned. The summer sun blazed down as they drove along the highway, filled with hope and anticipation for a fresh start
"Mommy, can I have another chicken nugget?" Elle asked from the back seat, her voice sweet and hopeful.
"Of course, sweetie," Y/N replied, reaching into the bag from McDonald’s that sat on the passenger seat. She handed Elle a chicken nugget, smiling at the sight of her daughter’s delighted face.
"Thank you, Mommy!" Elle chirped, happily munching on her snack.
Y/N continued driving, feeling a momentary peace. They were on the road to a new life, leaving behind the shadows of the past. But as luck would have it, a sudden jolt and a loud thud interrupted their journey. Y/N’s heart sank as she pulled over to the side of the road, realizing they had a blowout.
Stepping out of the car, she was met with the oppressive heat of the 100° day. Sweat trickled down her back as she assessed the situation. The tire was completely flat, and she knew she had to call AAA. After a few minutes on hold, the operator informed her that the wait time was over three hours. Y/N felt tears of frustration welling up in her eyes. She leaned against the car, trying to console Elle through the window.
"Why are you crying, Mommy?" Elle asked, her tiny fingers reaching out to wipe away Y/N's tears.
"Mommy is just stressed, my love," Y/N replied, attempting to smile for her daughter's sake. "We'll be okay, I promise."
As Y/N tried to calm herself and Elle, she heard the rumble of another vehicle pulling over. She looked up, squinting against the sun, to see a large Ford F250 with "Lorayo County Sheriff's Office" written on the side. Relief mixed with apprehension as a tall, broad-shouldered man in a sheriff's uniform stepped out.
"Is everything okay, ma’am?" he asked, his voice carrying a comforting southern drawl.
"Unfortunately, no," Y/N began, her words tumbling out in a rush. "I got a flat tire, and the AAA company says it’s a three-hour wait. It's 100° outside, and I have my daughter here with me. I don’t know what to do."
The officer, whose name tag read 'Javier,' nodded sympathetically. "I can change it for you if you don’t mind."
Y/N's eyes widened in surprise. "You would do that? Thank you so much!"
Javier removed his vest, revealing a muscular build, and went to the trunk to retrieve the spare tire and the necessary tools. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how his strong, capable hands worked with ease, despite the heat. She stood by, trying to keep Elle entertained through the window while stealing glances at Javier, who was now glistening with a light sheen of sweat.
As Javier finished tightening the last bolt, he straightened up and cleared his throat, pulling Y/N out of her reverie. "There you go, ma'am. You're all set."
"Thank you so much," she said gratefully, her cheeks flushing. "I didn’t catch your name?"
"Javier," he replied with a smile that made Y/N's heart skip a beat. "And yours?"
"Y/N," she answered, trying to maintain her composure. "Thank you again, Javier. You really saved us."
"Glad I could help. You ladies be safe now and have a great rest of your day," Javier said, giving a small nod before heading back to his truck.
Y/N watched as he drove away, feeling a mixture of gratitude and curiosity about the kind officer. She climbed back into the car and continued the journey to their new home. Pulling into the driveway, she took a deep breath, feeling a sense of relief and excitement. This house represented a new beginning, a safe haven away from her abusive ex-husband.
With Elle's help, Y/N began to unload the car. Despite her small stature, Elle insisted on carrying some of the lighter items, her enthusiasm infectious. Y/N couldn’t help but smile as they worked together, making trips back and forth until the car was finally empty.
Inside, the house felt like a blank canvas. Boxes were piled high in every room, and Y/N knew it would take time to make it feel like home. She decided to tackle the kitchen first, putting away pots, pans, and dishes while Elle explored her new surroundings.
As the sun began to set, Y/N realized it was time for dinner. Good thing she had placed a Grocery delivery earlier.She placed Elle in her portable high chair and began to cook, asking her daughter about her day as she chopped vegetables. "What do you think of our new house, sweetie?"
"It's big, Mommy! I like my room," Elle said, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
After dinner, Y/N ran a bath for Elle. The bathroom echoed with the sound of giggles as Y/N played with her daughter’s toys, creating bubbles and splashes. It was moments like these that made all the struggles worthwhile. "Alright, peanut, it’s time to get out," Y/N said, lifting Elle from the tub and wrapping her in a towel. She covered her daughter’s face with kisses, eliciting peals of laughter.
In Elle’s room, Y/N dressed her in pajamas covered with tiny stars. Elle looked up at her mother with wide, innocent eyes. "You’re so pretty, Mommy."
Y/N's heart melted. "Thank you, my sweet girl," she replied, brushing a strand of hair from Elle’s face.
They settled into a comfortable position on the floor with Elle snuggled against Y/N's chest. Y/N read her favorite book, a story about a brave little bunny, until Elle’s eyes fluttered shut. She gently placed her daughter in bed, tucking her in and kissing her forehead. Turning on the sound machine, she quietly left the room.
In the kitchen, Y/N poured herself a glass of wine and stepped out onto the porch. She took a deep breath, savoring the quiet of the evening. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a flicker of light from her neighbor’s porch a cigarette glowing in the dark. She couldn’t see much else, but it reminded her of the friendly faces she hoped to meet in the coming days.
As she sipped her wine, her thoughts wandered back to Javier, the helpful sheriff. She couldn’t shake the image of his kind smile and strong hands. But before she could dwell too much on him, the baby monitor crackled to life with Elle’s cries.
Y/N quickly rushed inside, her motherly instincts kicking in. She found Elle standing in her portable crib, tears streaming down her cheeks. Y/N scooped her up, whispering soothing words and rocking her gently until she calmed down and drifted back to sleep.
Once Elle was settled, Y/N went through the house, locking doors and turning off lights. She headed upstairs to her bedroom, grateful for the quiet and the chance to finally relax. She took a long, hot shower, letting the water wash away the stress of the day. Afterward, she slipped into her pajamas, completed her skincare routine, and crawled into bed which was on the floor. Furniture would be delivered tomorrow she mumbled to herself.
As she lay there, she thought about the future. She wondered briefly about Javier and if their paths would cross again. With those thoughts, she drifted off to sleep, feeling hopeful about the new chapter unfolding in their lives.
A.N: this is a new series im starting, comment to be added to the taglist
NEXT CHAPTER
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Angel In The Snow
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Summary: Modern AU where Nicky died, and months later, on Christmas Eve Agatha and Rio see each other at Nicky's grave.
Warnings: Hurt/slight comfort, referenced child's death, like one curse word, exes who still love each other.
Word Count: 1,319 words
Christmas Eve morning, what had once been one of Agatha’s favorite days, now spent standing in front of the cemetery, in the snow, trying to get the nerve to enter. Eight months, and it still ripped her heart out just thinking of the funeral. The one she loved the most standing beside her silently as they watched the coffin lower into the ground, the rest of her heart inside. Agatha tightened her grip on the bouquet of purple azaleas in her hand as she forced her feet forward, making her way towards the grave she came to see. A shuddering breath escaped her as she crouched in front of a headstone, reaching a gloved hand out to brush the snow away, revealing the name. Nicholas Harkness-Vidal. Nicky, her pride and joy, her little boy, forever six years old.
The illness had come quick, there still wasn’t a name for it, or treatments, so Agatha had been forced to watch her little boy deteriorate by the day, his own body betraying him. She never understood exactly what the geneticist had told her and Rio…Rio, the woman Agatha loved, still loves, even after their divorce. Neither woman ever reached acceptance in their stages of grief, both staying in anger, at the situation, and at Rio. It had been something to do with Rio’s egg that caused Nicky’s illness, at least that was how the doctor’s had explained it to Rio and Agatha in the hallway of Boston Children’s Hospital.
Agatha and Rio divorced not even two months after the funeral, unable to look at each other without screaming, if Rio was even home. Being a badass FBI agent meant she was rarely home even when Nicky was alive and well. But once he got sick, and eventually passed she claimed it was just too hard, leading to one of the worst fights they ever had in their almost ten year long marriage, the fight that led to their divorce.
“Being here is hard for you? Seriously, Rio? You were never here!” Agatha had screamed at her wife.
“I tried, I am trying. But at least you got to be here for him, make sure he knew he was never alone. You got to help him with his homework after school, drive him to sports, be here for dinner, his bedtime routine. You knew his favorite food, favorite color, stuffed animal, everything, unlike me. You got to be his mother, in every way that counts. Thanks to my job, and the crazy schedule I work, the most maternal thing I did for him was use my egg for his conception, and that’s what killed him,” Rio had replied softly, tears in her eyes, no fight left in her anymore as she avoided Agatha’s furious, hate filled expression.
“I wish we had never used your egg! We should have used mine, it would’ve saved us money, and probably wouldn’t have killed him! I want a divorce, Rio, you look too much like him, and I hate you for it.”
“Aggie…” Rio started, but a cold look from Agatha shut her up.
“It should’ve been you, not him.” With that Agatha had turned on her heel, storming out of the room.
Agatha shook her head, as if that would make the memory of her cruel words go away. She didn’t really hate Rio for her resemblance to Nicky, or blame her for Nicky’s death. But Nicky had Rio’s dimples, and her smile, and her unnatural ways of sitting in chairs that simultaneously drove Agatha insane and made her smile. It had all been too much seeing the woman she loved, and also seeing her little boy in Rio. So once the divorce had been finalized Agatha packed up her life, sold the house, and moved from Salem Massachusetts to Westview New Jersey, a small town where no one knew her as Agatha Harkness, the stay at home mother who tragically lost her only child. Instead they knew her as one of the best cops in the whole department.
She’d even made friends in Westview, Jennifer Kale, a cosmetic company founder. Lilia Calderu, a fortune teller who Agatha knew was just scamming people, but somehow it was legal. And Alice Wu-Gulliver, a fellow cop whose mother had once been a well-known rockstar, apparently. But Agatha wasn’t sitting in front of her son’s headstone on Christmas Eve to think about them.
Agatha carefully set the bouquet of azaleas on the ground in front of Nicky’s headstone, a shaky breath leaving her as she wiped her eyes, realizing she had started crying. “Hi, baby, mami and I both miss you, with all of our hearts. I’m sorry you had to hear us fight so much when you got sick, and I’m sure you saw it get worse, because there is not a doubt in my mind you’re keeping an eye on both of us, just like Santa if you think about it. I wish it had been me instead of you…parents aren’t meant to bury their children.” Agatha heard the snow crunching under someone’s relatively quiet steps, but she didn’t turn, assuming the person would just pass by, they didn’t.
“You and I both know he’d hate hearing you talk like that, Agatha. You’re right, parents aren’t meant to bury their children, but six year olds aren’t meant to bury their parents either,” a voice behind her said quietly, and it just made the tears slip down Agatha’s cheeks more. She didn’t turn her head as Rio crouched next to her, placing a bouquet of green azaleas, her gloved hand finding Agatha’s without thinking. “I saw you sold the house,” she said, attempting to make small talk, some sort of connection.
“Yeah, I couldn’t stay there, every time I turned a corner I expected him to come running up to me, wanting cuddles. The ghosts of the happy family the three of us once were was too much to overcome…”
“Just like our divorce.” There was no anger, or resentment, just sadness and understanding in Rio’s tone. “You know, Salem hasn’t had a white Christmas since the year Nicky was born,” Rio noted, looking up, some of the flakes catching on her eyelashes, and melting on her face.
Agatha nodded in agreement, moving to rest her head against Rio’s. “Our little boy’s watching over us,” she said hoarsely, and she believed it.
When they both left the cemetery a little while later Agatha finally met Rio’s eyes for the first time. Both had dark circles under their eyes, neither slept well anymore. “Do you…maybe…wanna get a cup of coffee, just for old time’s sake? No expectations, just two people who’ve known each other for years?” Rio inquired.
“Unfortunately I can’t. I have to get back to Westview because a friend of mine is having a Christmas party tonight, I’m sorry,” Agatha answered, her tone surprisingly sheepish as she glanced away from her ex-wife.
“Oh, well, it was worth a shot. Merry Christmas, Aggie.” Rio hadn’t even noticed she used that old nickname, but Agatha did as Rio turned, starting to walk away.
Before Agatha could think things through, or even at all she called after Rio. “Wait, what are your plans for Christmas?”
“No clue, probably unpacking my apartment that I’ve been living in for six months and haven’t done anything with,” Rio admitted, now the sheepish one.
Agatha scoffed, shaking her head. “Come on, Nicky would be disappointed in me if I let his mami spend Christmas alone. You’re coming to New Jersey, and staying in my guest room.” Her tone made it clear Agatha wasn’t going to accept any arguments from Rio.
What neither of them could see was Nicky watching from above, smiling ever so slightly. He didn’t know if his mama and mami would find their way back to each other, but for the first time since before he died, he had hope.
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greatworldwar2 · 2 months ago
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• M50 Reising Submachine Gun
The .45 Reising submachine gun was manufactured by Harrington & Richardson (H&R) Arms Company in Worcester, Massachusetts, USA, and was designed and patented by Eugene Reising in 1940. The three versions of the weapon were the Model 50, the folding stock Model 55, and the semiautomatic Model 60 rifle. Over 100,000 Reisings were ordered during World War II, and were initially used by the United States, though some were shipped to Canadian, Soviet, and other allied forces.
Reising was an assistant to firearm inventor John M. Browning. In this role, Reising contributed to the final design of the US .45 ACP M1911 pistol. Reising then designed a number of commercial rifles and pistols on his own, when in 1938, he turned his attention to designing a submachine gun as threats of war rapidly grew in Europe. Two years later he submitted his completed design to the Harrington & Richardson Arms Company (H&R) in Worcester, Massachusetts. It was accepted, and in March 1941, H&R started manufacturing the Model 50 submachine gun. H&R promoted the submachine guns for police and military use, and the Model 60 for security guards. After the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941 the US was suddenly in desperate need of thousands of modern automatic weapons. Reising's only competitor was the .45 ACP Thompson submachine gun. The US Army first tested the Reising in November 1941 at Fort Benning, Georgia. During this test, several parts failed due to poor construction. Once this was corrected, a second test was made in 1942 at Aberdeen Proving Ground, Maryland. In that test, 3,500 rounds were fired, resulting in two malfunctions: one from the ammunition, the other from a bolt malfunction. As a result, the Army didn't adopt the Reising, but the Navy and Marines did, due to insufficient supply of Thompsons.
The Reising submachine gun was innovative for its time. In comparison to its main rival, the famous Thompson, it possessed similar firepower, better accuracy, excellent balance, a lighter weight, a much lower cost, and greater ease of manufacture. Despite these achievements, the poor combat performance of the Reising contrasted with favorable combat and law enforcement use of the Thompson mired the weapon in controversy. The Reising was far less costly ($62) compared to the Thompson ($200). It was much lighter (seven vs. eleven pounds). The Model 55 was also more compact (about twenty-two vs. thirty-three inches in length). The M50 Reising's delayed blowback operation, often classified as hesitation lock, works as follows: as the cartridge is chambered, the rear end of the bolt is pushed up into a recess, in a manner similar to tilting-bolt locked breech guns; but whereas such weapons rely on an additional mechanism to unlock them, in the case of the Reising the end of the bolt that pushes against the back wall of this recess, is subtly rounded, while the wall is correspondingly curved. On firing, the extreme pressure from the propellant gases is thereby able to force the bolt-end down, back to the horizontal. From here the bolt can move to the rear removing the cartridge from the chamber; but the combination of mechanical disadvantage and friction the force of the gases must overcome to push the end of the bolt down has achieved a delay of a fraction of a second, allowing pressure in the barrel to drop to a level sufficiently low for safe and efficient cartridge extraction. The Reising was made in selective fire versions that could be switched between semi-automatic or full-automatic fire as needed and in semi-auto only versions to be used for marksmanship training and police and guard use. The Reising had a designed full-auto cyclic rate of 450–600 rounds per minute but it was reported that the true full-auto rate was closer to 750–850 rounds per minute.
The U.S. Marines adopted the Reising in 1941 with 4,200 authorized per division with approximately 500 authorized per each infantry regiment. Most Reisings were originally issued to Marine officers and NCOs in lieu of a compact and light carbine, since the newly introduced M1 carbine was not yet being issued to the Marines. Although the Thompson submachine gun was available, this weapon frequently proved too heavy and bulky for jungle patrols, and initially it, too, was in short supply. During World War II, the Reising first saw action on August 7th, 1942, exactly eight months to the day after Pearl Harbor, when 11,000 men from the 1st Marine Division stormed the beaches of Guadalcanal, in the Solomon Islands. The same date of Guadalcanal's invasion, the Model 50 and 55 saw action with the 1st Marine Raiders on the small outlying islands of Tulagi and Tanambogo to the north. Serious shortcomings in both guns were becoming apparent. The reality was that the Reising was designed as a civilian police weapon and was not suited to the stresses of harsh battle conditions encountered in the Solomon Islands—namely, sand, saltwater that easily rusted the commercial blued finish, and the difficulty in keeping the weapon clean enough to function properly. Tests at Aberdeen Proving Ground and at Fort Benning, Georgia, had found difficulties in blindfold reassembly of the Reising, indicating the design was complicated and difficult to maintain. The producer, H&R, had not yet mastered mass-production technologies in 1940-1941, and many of the parts were hand fitted at the factory just like the company did with their commercial firearms. While more accurate than the Thompson, particularly in semi-automatic mode, the Reising had a tendency to jam. The Reising earned a dismal reputation for reliability in the combat conditions of Guadalcanal. The M1 carbine eventually became available and was often chosen over both the Reising and the Thompson in the wet tropical conditions.
In late 1943 following numerous complaints, the Reising was withdrawn from Fleet Marine Force (FMF) units and assigned to Stateside guard detachments and ship detachments. After the Marines proved reluctant to accept more Reisings, and with the increased issue of the .30-caliber M1 carbine, the U.S. government passed some Reising submachine guns to the OSS and to various foreign governments (as Lend-Lease aid). Both the Soviets and Canada purchased some Model 50 SMGs, others were given to various anti-Axis resistance forces operating around the world. Many Reisings (particularly the semiautomatic M60 rifle) were issued to State Guards for guarding war plants, bridges, and other strategic resources. After the war, thousands of Reising Model 50 submachine guns were acquired by state, county, and local U.S. law enforcement agencies. The weapon proved much more successful in this role, in contrast to its wartime reputation. Production of the Model 50 and 55 submachine guns ceased in 1945 at the end of World War II. Nearly 120,000 submachine guns were made of which two-thirds went to the Marines. H&R continued production of the Model 60 semiautomatic rifle in hopes of domestic sales, but with little demand, production of the Model 60 stopped in 1949 with over 3,000 manufactured. H&R sold their remaining inventory of submachine guns to police and correctional agencies across America. Decades later, in 1986, H&R closed their doors and Numrich Arms (aka Gun Parts Corporation) purchased their entire inventory.
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thewhitewitch-bitch · 2 months ago
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In Astris Supra (Chapter 7: Non Discedo a Calle, Mortis in Manu Teneo)
Agatha Harkness x F!OC
Read it on AO3
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Boston, Massachusetts
July 1716
My letters went unanswered. I retreated into my work. After peace was negotiated some two years after the siege of Port Royal, Rupert Kingsley and I amicably parted ways. He offered to refer me to an associate of his in North Carolina, but I politely declined. There was a part of me that knew I couldn't drift so far from the place that I so begrudgingly held close to my heart. Instead, I used the abhorrently small amount of money that I earned for my services to acquire a new horse, a big-bodied Clydesdale that would be sturdy in the winter and rode south. Upon my arrival to Boston, it felt as if I had been suddenly swallowed by darkness, it was as if a shadow had encased me the closer I got to Salem, and because I couldn't bring myself to go any further, I remained there.
I took lodgings in a boarding house beside the Boston Common, exchanging board for a bit of cleaning every now and then, and continued to study in solitude. The room was small and composed of cold, brick walls with barely enough room for a bed and no fireplace, but the mahogany desk was large enough for me to spread out and work without impediment. Hatch continued to work as a diligent familiar, flying in and out of the crown glass window in front of my workspace, bringing me ingredients and materials as I needed them. My work carried on well into the night, when the stars would dance across the sky beneath the watchful eyes of the moon. More often than not I woke up the following morning with my face plastered against my spell books or my notes with ink smeared across my cheeks. And like the day before, I would remain seated there, pouring over alchemical concoctions and improving upon them, all the while studying the well-detailed anatomical structures of the human body and noting how different potions impacted each of them. 
For four years, I did not engage with the outside world. I closed myself off from the world and the people within it and hated every second of it. It was in that time that I realized I would have never been able to truly isolate myself in Salem; my head and heart would not allow it. What can I say? Lunar witches... we are most certainly empathetic to a fault. And now I was torturing myself, confining myself within the four drafty walls of a lonely boarding house bedroom, as though I were a prisoner in a jail cell. I had allowed myself to feel too much, and as a result, I was alone. Not even the company of my familiar was enough to fill the gap in my chest. 
But on a warm, humid morning in early July of 1716, for the first time, a knock echoed across my door. I was in the middle of scribbling some observations down regarding the properties of an improved fever reducing salve and the hard-hitting sound was so sudden that I lost grip of my quill. Blotches of black ink soaked into the page, all but ruining my notes. I growled under my breath and tore myself away from the desk.
"Go away." I snapped, "I'm not taking callers today. Or any day for that matter."
The knocking came again, this time more forceful, as though whomever it was on the other side was preparing to break the door down. I rolled my eyes and went to the door, throwing it open with as much force as I could muster. 
"I said go-" 
The words in my throat suddenly became clogged, stuck like a bit of food caught on the way down. Bright blue eyes were boring into mine, alight with shock and something else... something raw that I couldn't quite categorize as an emotion. Her lips were slightly parted as if she were about to speak but couldn't find the words. Her dark hair cascading past her shoulders in the same luxurious waves that I remembered. Agatha Harkness looked exactly the same, and yet I knew she had changed. I moved to shut the door, but she caught it quickly, her strength masked by her feminine frame. 
"Aislin, please." she begged, something I had not expected from her, "I’ve been trying to find you."
She held up the pearl ring that I had given her. It felt like a lifetime since that first night in Salem when I had gifted it to her. So much had changed, not only for her but for me as well. My heart had started to become cold and detached, a trait that had been instilled in me by Kingsley while we journeyed from battlefield to battlefield. Keeping your distance served you best when most of the people you encountered were going to die within the day. 
"What for? To take my power just as you did your coven?" I spat, "Or is that beneath you now?" 
I turned away, letting the door swing wide open. Agatha paused, looking down at the floorboards between the door frames. 
"There's no spell here," I told her, my tone softened, "because I assumed that I no longer need protection from witches hellbent on destroying me. Am I right to continue to assume that?"
Agatha's gaze moved back to me as she slowly took a step inside. Then another, and another. Once she was fully inside, she shut the door behind her and let out a long sigh of relief. She pressed her back into the creaky old door, sliding slowly down to the floor before burying her head in her hands. 
I scoffed, "Finally met your match, have you?" 
"It's... complicated." her voice came out muffled and strained, but I could hear her well enough. 
"Complicated how?" 
"I didn't finish the job." 
"What job?" 
She let out a heavy sigh, slowly lifting her head up to look at me. The faint trace of fear in her eyes was barely noticeable, but I was able to pick up on it as I studied her. 
"When I... when I killed them, I didn't kill their daughters." she explained softly, her voice surprisingly small, "I let their daughters live and now... they've become something else. Something monstrous."
"The daughters of your coven are hunting you, aren't they?" I concluded. Agatha blinked back the tears in her eyes and nodded. 
"They're killing everyone and everything in their way. Mortals, witches, animals, monsters, it doesn't matter to them. They've become... they're like hellspawn."
A chill raked down my back at that word. Demons were a touchy subject; inherently dark as opposed to my own inherent light. They were drawn to Lunar witches like moths to flames, particularly when said witches exposed themselves physically and emotionally. As sad as it was, many accounts regarding the deaths of Lunar witches detailed the gruesome consumption of their spiritual and physical forms by demonic possession. To hear that these witches might have made some sort of pact with the High Lords of Hell was disturbing to say the least. Adding in the fact that they were pursuing Agatha in an effort to exact revenge only increased my concerns, though I managed to mask it well. 
"Sounds like you need a banishment ritual." 
"I need you."
My heart stopped beating, my breath caught in my throat. Watching her as she slowly rose to her feet, I wasn't sure if the way she was looking at me was out of genuine care, or if it was all a ploy to trick me into helping her. To hear her say those words was the very beginning of what I wanted, but I had to play my cards close to my chest. 
"No," I whispered, keeping a straight face as I turned away from her to address the ink-stained pages of my notebook, "I don't think you do." 
With a wave of my hand, the ink lifted from the page, returning to the inkwell where it belonged. My notes were still intact, the delicate curve of my handwriting still clearly legible on the page as I gently shut the small book and set the quill back in its proper place. Through the open window, the sound of beating wings became louder and louder until Hatch landed on the sill. 
"My lady, I hate to interrupt, but it appears Agatha Harkness is- oh," the raven cocked its head curiously as he noticed the witch standing behind me, "already here." 
"Ever the observer, aren't you, Hatch?" I replied dully as I slammed a few tomes shut.
"I know that raven." Agatha said. I turned to look at her as she stared down at my familiar. "He brought me this." 
She pulled out a piece of folded parchment and held it up. Hatch bobbed his head. I scowled, my grip on my books tightened.
"And he brought nothing back to me." 
"Because I went looking for you!" she snapped, a torrent of emotions finally being let loose, "I put the ring on and followed the path that it showed me, but it took me up and down the coast for three years! I eventually came to the conclusion that you didn't want to be found so I gave up. I went back to Salem only to find that I was being hunted by a coven of demonic witches and the only way to stop them was by finding the one witch left in the Colonies that could possibly be willing to help me!"
My scowl faded away, my grip loosened. I realized what that raw emotion was hidden in her face: vulnerability. I looked away, back to the raven on the windowsill. 
"Leave us, Hatch." I muttered halfheartedly, "Take the rest of the day for yourself." 
He cocked his head to the side for a moment, looking between Agatha and myself before giving a small bow and flying back out over Boston. I unlatched the windowpane and closed it before moving my hands to grip the sides of my desk. I lowered my head, squeezing my eyes shut. A hand found purchase on my waist before wrapping itself around me from behind. 
"I need you, Ash." Agatha's voice whispered in my ear, "I've always needed you."
The grip around my waist remained as her other arm wrapped around my shoulder. Her forehead pressed into my shoulder blade as we stayed there in silence for a while. Everything became quiet as I remained frozen in place. The sound of people laughing outside in the Common all but vanished when I closed the window, but the noise in my head, the constant repetition of alchemical formulas and incantations and anatomical structures came to a halt. My right hand released its hold on the desk and drifted to where hers rested around me. Our fingers intertwined as I turned back around. My eyes met hers and the gap in my chest just barely started to close. 
"Prove it." I whispered back. 
Her hand reached up to cup my jaw, her lips pressed into mine, and the rest of the world melted away until only the two of us remained.
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Laying upon the small bed in the corner of my room, naked limbs entangled with hers, I felt at peace. Her head rested upon my chest, her hand tracing small designs across my bare chest, over my breasts, along my collarbone. Her featherlight touch was ethereal, lighting my skin on fire with every pass. It almost didn't seem real, to have her there beside me. But the gentle pass of her breath on my neck, the soft touch of her hair on my shoulder, the ache between our legs... it was all real. 
"I hope that was enough proof for you." she muttered as she pressed herself further against me. I chuckled, running my hand through her splayed-out hair and pressing a kiss to her hairline. 
"I'd certainly say so." I replied. The day had ticked away, the bright, sunny morning giving way to afternoon rainclouds and distant thunder. Raindrops pattered on the crown glass, the temperature in the room dropped, but neither of us felt the chill as we lay there. A crow cawed somewhere just beyond the confines of the boarding house. Agatha's hand stopped tracing. Her breath hitched. 
"What is it, darling?" I asked her softly, letting my hand slide down her back wrap around her shoulders. 
She lifted her head off my chest, the fear returned to her eyes, "They're coming. We don't have a lot of time." 
"Shhh, love. Get dressed and let me look through my books." 
We reluctantly parted, retrieving her simple grey frock and my breeches and shirt to redress ourselves before I returned to my desk and began searching through my books for a proper banishment spell. All the while, Agatha paced back and forth, her hands wringing in front of her as she moved across the room. 
"Are you going to read every single page or are we going to be able to survive the night?"
"Got it!" I declared, ignoring her remark as I finished flipping through the pages of Dux Daemoniorum, "I need... chalk." 
I began searching the drawers for any leftover chalk that I had stashed, finally finding a few stubs tucked away in the back of the bottom one. Holding it up like a spoil of war, I spun on my heel and intercepted Agatha mid-walk. 
"We need to get out of town. Somewhere with enough space to draw a spell circle." I told her, pocketing the chalk in a small leather pouch that hung from the belt on my hips. The book was coming too, tucked into the same belt. Stretching out my hand to Agatha, I smiled when her fingertips brushed mine. "Let's go for a ride, darling."
I led her out to the stables behind the boarding house, trying to dodge raindrops as I grabbed my saddle and bridle to tack up my horse. Agatha watched quietly as I saddled up and threw the bit in his mouth before leading him out of his stall and hoisting myself on to his back. Reaching down, I offered her a hand and lifted her up with a grunt, setting her behind me to wrap her arms around my waist. 
With a tap from my heels the horse trotted forward onto the cobblestone street, and I began to steer him south, out of Boston and into the frontier beyond its outer limits. Once we were out of the bustling streets, I squeezed my heels into the Clydesdale's sides and lifted him into a lively canter. Agatha's grip on my waist tightened. I smirked, leaning back a bit to ask her, "Never ridden a horse before?" 
"It's been a while." she retorted, though the waver in her voice told me she was lying. 
"I'll teach you properly one of these days. I promise." 
"I'd rather not, thank you!" 
I laughed, straightening up again as we carried on. For another ten or so miles, we remained on the dirt path that cut through majestic oaks, gleaming white birches, and tall maples. Once Boston was far enough behind us, I navigated us off the beaten path and into the woods, dodging trees and fallen logs as we maintained our pace, kicking up last autumn's fallen leaves and rain-soaked earth. The rain eventually wore itself out, coming to a stop as we approached a rushing creek. I decided to follow its path to where it was sourced, hoping that there would be a large enough space there to draw the necessary runes. The sky became darker overhead as afternoon shifted into evening. The horse huffed, drenched in frothing sweat as we kept going. We were running out of time.
"Stop!" Agatha shouted suddenly. My immediate reaction was to tug sharply on the reins, making my horse skid to a sudden halt with a squeal. It was a good thing too; we had reached the source of the stream.
A series of waterfalls, standing some thirty or forty feet high, came crashing down into a kettledrum pool. Surrounded on all sides by large, smooth slate stones, there was more than enough space for me to work, but I was running out of time. I handed the book to Agatha and leapt down from the horse, grabbing the chalk and running over to the widest patch of stone. 
"Page sixty-six, Agatha!" I called as I bent down and started drawing the outline of the circle. She was hot on my heels, flipping through the pages quickly and stopping when she found it, turning it around for me to see as I continued to draw the intricate lines and runes. A crow cawed from somewhere within the trees, a fox cried, a coyote howled. 
"Let's hurry this up, Ash." Agatha said through gritted teeth. Her eyes studied our surroundings, her head was on a constant swivel as I continued. 
"Almost done." 
A few more runes and I was finished, tossing the chalk away and stepping out of the circle, but remaining on its outermost edge. I waved her over, pointing to the center of the circle where a pentacle sat. 
"Stand there, darling." I ordered. She obeyed, keeping her eyes on the woods around us, while I continued to instruct her, "Once they cross the threshold of the circle, start the incantation and don't stop until they're gone." 
"You should get out of here, Ash." she said, taking her place, "Put some distance between us until this is over." 
I smirked at her and shook my head, "Not a chance, sweet. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here, bolstering the magic at your feet." 
Pointing up at the sky overhead, I guided her gaze upward to a break in the late evening clouds. A full moon was shining down over us. I was at my peak, in perfect condition for banishing rituals. Hope crossed her face, as she met my gaze through the moonlight. My heart swelled. 
"I'm with you, love." I told her as shadows within the woods began to approach us, "Now get ready." 
The shadows crept closer and closer until I was finally able to realize that they had taken solidified form. Seven women in black robes and masks stood before us, all of their attention fixed solely on Agatha. I lowered myself to the ground and set my hands as close to the circle as I could without touching it. Any break in the line would render it useless, and that couldn't happen. 
"Goad them." I instructed softly, hoping Agatha could hear me. 
Agatha sniffed, not out of sorrow but out of pride and tucked the book under her arm, "Took you long enough. So, who wants the first crack at me?" 
As a single unit, they all hissed, "Agatha... Harkness..." 
They began to approach, moving as one, taking even steps as black smoke drifted from their shoulders. There was certainly something dark and unsettling about them... something hellish was going on. Just a few more steps and they would be close enough, just a few... more... steps...
They crossed the line with animalistic growls and hisses. I spoke my spell as Agatha started her incantation. 
"Confirma hunc circulum cinge inimicos nostros."
"Exi de hoc regno et non reverteris. Exi de hoc regno et non reverteris."
The circle began to glow, its near blinding, pure, white light creating a barrier from which the witches could not escape. They howled in pain and frustration as Agatha's spell continued. One by one, their flesh began to burn, turning into ash and sparks as they began to vanish like smoke on the wind. 
"Keep going!" I called out over the cries and screeches. The witches crumpled to the ground, their bodies writhing in pain as Agatha remained focused on her spell, her voice clear and crisp. A few more minutes of chanting and the crazed coven was nothing more than piles of dust, banished to an infernal plane until forces beyond our power brought them back to the physical plane. The light of the circle faded away, leaving us in nothing but moonlight. The only sound was the crashing of water and the rustling of leaves in the breeze. 
I rose to my feet, my heart racing from the adrenaline. Agatha slowly turned around, shock clear on her face even in the reduced light. I wasted no time going to meet her in the middle, knowing that she would crash into me as soon as I was close enough. Her arms wrapped around me, her head buried into my chest. I pulled her close, letting my eyes flutter shut as I breathed her in. 
Wood smoke, rosemary, tilled earth.
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kingmovers · 2 years ago
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mariacallous · 2 months ago
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More than a decade since Russian lawmakers banned "LGBTQ+ propaganda," the Kremlin's self-declared crusade for "traditional values" has found a new target — Russians who don't want children.
On Nov. 12, the Russian State Duma voted to outlaw the support and promotion of "childfree propaganda," effectively imposing fines on those who publicly express such views.
Once approved by the upper house of the country's parliament and signed into force by Russian President Vladimir Putin, individuals can be fined around $4,000; state officials will see a $8,000 fine, while the fine for businesses can hit up to around $50,000 and get the company's license revoked for 90 days.
Being vague in its interpretation, the legislation could be used to target advertising or selling of contraceptives and further restrict abortion rights. A last minute exception was made in the law for those who have chosen to remain celebate for religious reasons, such as monks, at the request of the Russian Orthodox Church.
The term "childfree" describes adults who have consciously decided not to have children, rather than those who may not be able to give birth. While it first hit the feminist mainstream in the 1970s, interest in the term has grown in recent years as more young women discuss their own complex decisions on child-rearing online.
That, according to Russian officials, is a threat — both to Russia's social fabric and its already plummeting birth rate. In June 2024, Deputy Chairman of the State Duma Irina Yarovaya equated being childfree with a weapon "aimed at Russia's younger generations."
"When we talk about protecting life, law enforcement officers know what to do. If you have a person with a weapon in their hands, they act as decisively as possible," she told visitors at the St. Petersburg International Legal Forum. "So how should we act here when we are also dealing with weapons that are aimed at younger generations?"
On the surface, the law may seem superfluous. There is no wave of childfree activism in Russia and no organizations advocating for the rights of adults without children. The law is also unlikely to affect Russia's sluggish demographics: couples who wish to have children often have more pressing concerns, such as the country's uncertain economic and political scene.
"The law is striking in the sense that it seems so completely unnecessary; it seems like a response to something that doesn't really exist," says Dr. Valerie Sperling, professor of political science at Clark University in Massachusetts.
"For people who want to have children, it's not like a post from someone who says they don't want to have kids, or even a post saying that other people shouldn't have kids, is going to change their mind."
But such laws do have benefits for the Russian government — both at home and on the global stage.
Patriotism and conformity
Russia's declining birth rate has been a key concern for the Kremlin since the 2000s. In many ways, the move to ban "childfree propaganda" is the latest in the long line of pro-natalist policies, which range from the practical — such as providing cash payments to families following their children's birth — to the repressive, such as limiting abortion rights.
Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine, however, has sent this long-standing policy into overdrive. State messaging on the importance of childbearing has become increasingly aggressive in recent years, says Sperling. In a speech to mark Women's Day in March 2024, Putin described motherhood as women's greatest gift and a "glorious mission."
A year prior, the International Criminal Court (ICC) issued an arrest warrant for Putin and Russian Presidential Commissioner for Children's Rights Maria Lvova-Belova, over the deportation of Ukrainian children from Russian occupiead parts of the country.
Putin previously praised Lvova-Belova for her work overseeing the deportation of Ukrainian children, portraying it as a so-called "humanitarian effort" to "protect Russian citizens."
Lvova-Belova claimed that 700,000 Ukrainian children have been brought to Russia since the start of the full-scale invasion.
One factor of the Russian state now going against the local population unwilling to have children is rooted in how society's image of patriotism meets with gender roles.
If men are pushed to show national pride during wartime by enlisting, women are similarly expected to show their devotion by raising children loyal to the state. "The reason that pro-natalism is highlighted during wartime is because women's status as mothers is what lends them their patriotism. Women are supposed to be dedicated to the cause by raising future soldiers and supporting whatever wars the state engages in," Sperling says.
But it also reflects how Russian society has become increasingly repressive. Pro-natalist laws can also be used to punish or pressure those who do not conform to the state's narrow vision of what a family should be. Russian lawyers have already raised concerns that the "childfree propaganda" bill is vaguely worded and could be interpreted to stifle conversations on anything from abortion to birth control.
It could also become an additional legal tool for the Russian security services to punish those who stand against Moscow's invasion of Ukraine — particularly feminist activists who have become a key part of Russia's small anti-war resistance.
"Targeting feminists is one of the presidential administration's main goals, as they know that women's protests are currently the strongest and most powerful force within the country," says feminist activist Ira Heuvelman.
On a practical level, she worries that the law will impede sex education for teenagers, resulting in a rise in unwanted pregnancies and illegal abortions. But she also believes that the law could be used to target any woman without children who is involved in opposition activity.
"Pregnant women or those with children are less likely to have the power to resist (the government), given the many economic and social pressures they face," she says. "They will likely find some high-profile cases and imprison individuals to scare others. Even though "child-free propaganda" only exists in the minds of the presidential administration, they will manage to fabricate cases and bring them to trial, making the process as public as possible."
A global signal
Such laws, however, are not purely domestic tools. As with the ongoing persecution of the LGBTQ+, legislating against "childfree propaganda" is being marketed by the Kremlin as part of a global struggle for socially conservative values.
When discussing the law at the end of September, Vyacheslav Volodin, the speaker of Russia's lower house of parliament, told journalists that childfree ideology was being promoted by the United States. "Our country is vast and their (U.S.) ideology is dangerous. Under no circumstances should it be allowed to spread," he said.
For the Kremlin, the image of Moscow as a conservative bastion against a degenerating "liberal West" is a vital soft power tool, says Dr. Jenny Mathers, senior lecturer in the International Politics Department at the University of Aberystwyth. It portrays Russia as an ally of countries and leaders that share similarly conservative, often oppressive social tastes.
"There are some key countries, especially in the global south, where this message of 'traditional values' really seems to resonate," says Mathers. "It serves a foreign policy purpose. It's one way of creating a more positive image of Russia in the wider world, at least for some."
Socially conservative rhetoric and policies have helped Russia find common ground with countries with whom it may otherwise have little in common. These emotive topics can also be used to stress resentment towards the West. "They tap into the shared sense of yes, we too are feeling oppressed by the West and their demands that we should give rights to LGBTQ+ people and so on," says Mathers. "It makes some communities in the international arena more sympathetic towards Russia, more willing to listen to what Russia has to say."
Once they have that sympathetic ear, Moscow can also use that opening to gain support for its own goals. The conservative rhetoric to which the "childfree propaganda" bill belongs does not just provide an identity for Russia on the global stage — it is also a platform that can be used and twisted to justify the country's invasion of Ukraine.
Russian officials have repeatedly spoken of the need to "save" Ukraine from liberal Western values by bringing it back under Russian control.
When Putin announced the start of the full-scale invasion in a televised address on Feb. 24, 2022, he decried a West that "sought to destroy our traditional values and force on us their false values … attitudes that are directly leading to degradation and degeneration, because they are contrary to human nature."
Days later, the leader of the Russian Orthodox Church, Patriarch Kirill, insinuated to worshippers that Russia was protecting Ukraine's Donbas region, consisting of partly occupied Donetsk and Luhansk oblasts, from Western governments angry that the region did not want to hold a pride parade.
"It's this idea of Western deviance versus Russian purity and morality," says Sperling.
"The implication is that Russia was obliged to invade Ukraine to prevent the irrational, immoral, perverse Western incursions on Russia that would take place if Ukraine remained an independent state. That is where it all ties together."
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sitp-recs · 7 months ago
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hey!!!
absolutely love love love your recs you are such an amazing human being <3333 i was wondering if you had any recs for drarry in america? i hope you have a great day!! <3
Thank you so much for the lovely message ❤️ I definitely have some recs for you, love this theme. Enjoy!!
Between the Power Lines by @tackytigerfic (M, 3k)
For Harry Potter, all roads eventually lead to Draco Malfoy.
Spooked in Salem by @xanthippe74 (T, 3.4k)
When his holiday with Draco in Salem, Massachusetts, doesn’t go to plan, Harry takes a walk to figure things out. A story about saving someone you love from the ghosts that don’t go bump in the night.
like freedom by softlystarstruck (M, 4k)
Harry doesn’t know the exact moment his life changed. Maybe it was the day Draco Malfoy unwillingly turned up at his front door, or the moment the plane’s landing gear went up and London-Heathrow fell away below them. Maybe it was in the dusty swirl of red rocks and motel rooms somewhere between Tennessee and California.
Nothing Left to Burn by @skeptiquewrites (E, 5k)
Over ten years after their fling crashed and burned, Harry runs into Draco and finds embers still burning bright. Sometimes your ex-lover is (metaphorically) dead. And sometimes it's summertime in Montreal and the past won't let go.
Inside These Walls by RenVeree (M, 5.6k)
The year before Draco moves to Los Angeles, Harry Potter disappears. Draco doesn't mean to find him. He's just doing his job.
in a rambling way by @fw00shy (T, 7.5k)
Ron knocked Hermione up, and now Harry's got to figure out how to clone himself so that his friends don't split up fighting over him. Falling for Draco again was never part of the plan.
in between two tall mountains (there's a place they call lonesome) by @oknowkiss (E, 8k)
In the shadow of a mountain on the Oregon coast, there may or may not lie a shipwreck, on which there may or may not be a magical relic, lost hundreds of years ago. Harry's been tasked with finding it, and Draco is there to take notes, and they're stuck in a campervan pretending to be married, and it's all going to be just fine. That's what Draco's gotten rather good at telling himself, anyway.
Look For Me In The Sun by @wolfpants (M, 9k)
Harry and Draco are on the run in America after a mysterious string of werewolf-like attacks in the Muggle community causes the Ministry to impose new and harsh anti-werewolf legislation. Giant trees, crashing waves, seedy motel rooms, and the long and winding coastal road awaits them, but will they ever be able to go back home?
The Hardest Hue To Hold by @cavendishbutterfly (M, 17k)
Harry needs to get the hell out of England. So he sets up a teaching assistantship in America, hops on a plane, and heads off to a fresh start. Except there’s a familiar face among the university faculty, and it’s really not the familiar face that Harry wanted. Or at least, it’s not who Harry wanted at first.
To Live & Die in LA by @fw00shy (E, 28k)
Someone blackmailed Pansy Parkinson. Pansy's father hires Harry Potter, P.I., to get to the bottom of the scam. But how is Harry's errant ex-boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, involved? And why did Draco run to Los Angeles in the first place?
Faint Indirections by ignatiustrout (T, 30k)
Draco Malfoy is the last person Harry expects to turn up in Boston, Massachussetts. But now he's here, and he won't stop requesting books from the library where Harry works.
LA, Who Am I To Love You? by @epitomereally (E, 42k)
Harry’s summer in LA is not going as expected. Pansy Parkinson keeps inviting him to parties in the Hollywood Hills and harassing him to finally go to the physical therapist, Blaise Zabini keeps slipping new strains of his company’s magical weed into Harry’s pockets in hopes of an endorsement, and Draco Malfoy keeps having sex with everyone but Harry.
Unseen by RenVeree (T, 47k)
Harry Potter finally has the chance to leave England and its expectations for The Chosen One behind for good. All he has to do is survive one Auror training conference overseas with Draco Sodding Malfoy.
Antediluvia by @lol-zeitgeistic (E, 56k)
Everyone always forgets about the Merpeople. So did Harry until the day his, Lee’s, and Hermione’s Portkeys land at Reagan National Airport’s Arrivals dais. He’s just had to leave a job he loves and pack his entire life—literally—into his luggage. Then Malfoy and his subplots arrive, and suddenly, saving the world again, one Mermaid at a time, sounds like the perfect excuse to do something he’s always wanted. The one with mermaids and DC.
Among Ancient Pines by @graymatters (M, 74k)
A fic about challenging assumptions, discovering self-worth, the silver lining in failing to meet expectations, and finding friendship, love, and purpose in a small Alaskan town that’s steeped in magic.
Knead by laughingd0g (E, 83k)
This is not a story about Harry renovating Grimmauld Place. This is a story about coffee shops and brewpubs, about Ginny and Luna on a farm with creatures, about magical Oregon, coastal road trips, flying, friendship, and Draco Malfoy's lean arms.
Left My Heart by emmagrant01 (E, 85k)
Auror Draco Malfoy has disappeared, and Harry Potter has been sent to San Francisco to find him.
Way Down We Go by @xiaq (T, 109k)
In which Harry and Draco both run away from their pasts and conveniently choose to hide in the same tiny American town. It's super.
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zombiipcps · 4 months ago
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( layout ib : @/stcpidcupid )
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˙ ˖ ✘ . . . MEET THE MEMBERS OF ZOMBIE POP !
Are you a new Survivalist who wants to learn the Zombie Pop members? Are you trying to pick a bias? Well, you're in luck! Here is where you can learn about the prettiest brainless boys of STARBORN CREATIVE and CULT CREATIVE!
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˙ ˖ ✘ . . . ETHAN LEE, known professionally as ETHAN, was born as the oldest of three brothers on January 14th, 1997. Growing up, he and his younger brothers developed a love of music through his parents, who were both music historians at a public university in Boston, Massachusetts. In 2014, when he was seventeen, his family moved back to South Korea after his mother was invited to be a guest speaker for a music course at a university in Seoul, giving him and his brothers a chance to audition for entertainment companies, and they were accepted by STARBORN CREATIVE in 2016. Ethan trained for two years before he debuted in Zombie Pop as the main rapper of the group.
STAGE NAME › Ethan
FULL NAME › Ethan Lee
KOREAN NAME › Lee Woosung
BIRTHDAY › January 14th, 1997
BIRTHPLACE › Boston, Massachusetts, USA
NATIONALITY › Korean-American
ETHNICITY › Korean
TRAINING PERIOD › Two years
POSITION ›  Main Rapper
FACE CLAIM › Kim Hosung / Lou (VAV)
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˙ ˖ ✘ . . . KIM SEUL-KI, known professionally as SEULKI, was born September 2, 1997 as an only child in Busan, South Korea. Growing up, Seulki was influenced by his father’s intense love for music, something always playing in their home.
With his parent’s support, Seulk started his trainee career at Cult Creative Records in 2014. He was added and removed from serval group line ups throughout his time as a trainee, he was added to his final lineup in 2017 — debuting in 2018 as a main dancer and sub vocalist of the co-managed boy group ZOMBIE POP.
STAGE NAME › Seulki
FULL NAME › Kim Seul-ki
BIRTHDAY › September 2nd, 1997
BIRTHPLACE ›  Busan, South Korea
NATIONALITY ›  Korean
ETHNICITY › Korean 
TRAINING PERIOD ›  Four Years
POSITION › Main Dancer, Sub Vocalist
FACE CLAIM › Yoo Taeyang (SF9)
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˙ ˖ ✘    . . .    NATTHAWUT SANGSINGKEO, known professionally as DEAN, was born as an only child on January 8th, 1998. He grew up in a small town, where everyone knew everyone and everyone in the town was deeply religious. Growing up, he had traditional religious beliefs shoved down his throat since he could walk and talk, which did not hinder his love for songwriting. Despite his parents' protests, in 2016, as soon as he turned eighteen, he traveled to South Korea by himself, having been inspired to start his songwriting career thanks to watching BTS and EXO content. He was quickly picked up by STARBORN CREATIVE, and trained to become an idol for two years before debuting in Zombie Pop. 
STAGE NAME  ›  Dean 
FULL NAME  ›  Natthawut Sangsingkeo
BIRTHDAY  ›  January 8th, 1998 
BIRTHPLACE  ›  Phuket, Thailand 
NATIONALITY  ›  Thai 
ETHNICITY  ›  Thai 
TRAINING PERIOD  ›  Two years
POSITION  ›  Main Vocalist, Composer 
FACE CLAIM  ›  Boun Noppanut (actor)
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˙ ˖ ✘ . . . HONG INSEO, known professionally as INSEO, was born March 23rd in 1998, as the youngest and only boy of four. Inseo grew up around the arts; his sisters all taking part of some form of dance, while his father taught piano. It was his mother who pushed him to become a singer, she’d signed him up for vocal lessons at an early age. It, too, was her idea for him audition for music labels.
After a short stint at Cube Entertainment in 2016, he began training at Cult Creative in 2017; debuting not long after he joined. Inseo debuted as a sub rapper and composer of the Cult Creative and STARBORN CREATIVE boy group ZOMBIE POP in 2018.
STAGE NAME › Inseo
FULL NAME › Hong Inseo
BIRTHDAY › March 23rd, 1998
BIRTHPLACE › Seoul, South Korea
NATIONALITY › South Korean
ETHNICITY › Korean
TRAINING PERIOD › Six months
POSITION › Sub Rapper, Composer
FACE CLAIM › Ji Changmin / Q (The Boyz)
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˙ ˖ ✘ . . . CHA DONGYOON, known professionally as ECHO, was born as the middle child of three siblings on April 18th, 1999. Growing up, he didn't see his parents often, as they focused more on work and relied on babysitters and relatives to raise their children as they went to work long hours, leaving him and his older brother and younger sister to rely on everyone but them. He grew up as a shy kid, finding solace in music — more specifically, the orchestra. He quickly developed a love for the violin while in school, eventually moving to Seoul with his aunt and siblings and busking with his siblings in the streets of the city with the violin he received as a birthday gift from his paternal grandparents. They were eventually scouted by STARBORN CREATIVE in 2016, and Dongyoon trained for two years before debuting as the lead vocalist and dancer of Zombie Pop.
STAGE NAME › Echo
FULL NAME › Cha Dongyoon
BIRTHDAY › April 18th, 1999
BIRTHPLACE › Gumi, North Gyeongsang, South Korea
NATIONALITY › Korean
ETHNICITY › Korean
TRAINING PERIOD › Two years
POSITION › Lead Vocalist, Lead Dancer
FACE CLAIM › Kang Yeosang (ATEEZ)
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( tw. mentions of drugs + alcohol, implied child abandonment + abuse )
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˙ ˖ ✘ . . . YANG HYUNWOO, known professionally as NOIR, was born as the middle child of three brothers on September 15th, 1999. When he was four years old, his father walked out on their family, leaving him to fend for himself as his mother had become addicted to hard drugs and alcoholism and did nothing to care for her three young sons, going as far as to taking out her anger on them daily.
In 2017, Hyunwoo was accepted into STARBORN CREATIVE after he and his younger brother Hyunjae applied in secret. Both were accepted, and Hyunwoo trained for one year before debuting in Zombie Pop.
STAGE NAME › Noir
FULL NAME › Yang Hyunwoo
BIRTHDAY › September 15th, 1999
BIRTHPLACE › Daejeon, South Korea
NATIONALITY › Korean
ETHNICITY › Korean
TRAINING PERIOD › One year
POSITION › Main Dancer, Lead Vocalist
FACE CLAIM › Yeo Hwanwoong (ONEUS)
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˙ ˖ ✘ . . . HARANO AKIRA, known professionally as AKIRA, was born on August 8th, 2000. Growing up, he was a lonely child, relying only on his mother for everything, and vice versa. His only solace throughout life was music, as he picked up piano, cello, and violin, among other instruments. He also took up songwriting, oftentimes writing more song lyrics than notes in school. In 2016, he and his mother moved to South Korea, and he went to live with some of his friends who ran away and had reunited with him. There, they all shared an apartment together as they looked for jobs, and Akira ended up auditioning for STARBORN CREATIVE to be a composer. The company was more interested in his ability to dance, however, and was accepted as a trainee. He trained for a year before debuting as Zombie Pop's maknae.
STAGE NAME › Akira
FULL NAME › Harano Akira
BIRTHDAY › August 8th, 2000
BIRTHPLACE › Sapporo, Japan
NATIONALITY › Japanese
ETHNICITY › Japanese
TRAINING PERIOD › One year
POSITION › Maknae, Lead Dancer
FACE CLAIM › Hamada Asahi (TREASURE)
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