#Steam Man of the Prairie

[thinkblotted]

Eater

He feels the movement before he sees it.

The heartbeat is small and taps against the ribs in a tantalizing tattoo. It picks up before the hare breaks from the cover of the brush, just as David's foot is about to come down on it.

It's fast. Four paws pound across the frozen earth almost as fast as the heart pounds in its chest. Shooting between bushes and over hillocks of old, dead prairie grass, it's a pale, shooting star across the blackness of the world at night. Faster than foxes, faster than wolves. Faster than death itself.

Not faster than David, though.

He leaps as it leaps, following after the trail it leaves just behind it. In the night, he can see its white body dashing too and fro as it tries to confuse him, but the heat of its life gives it away, ribboning off behind it no matter where it goes. David's feet are as bare as the hare's, claws giving him as good traction as the animal. He doesn't feel the ice of the January air in Colorado. He doesn't mind the sharp rocks and uneven ground that any mortal would have killed themselves tripping over. His body is low as he flies across it, keeping pace with his prey.

Letting it run just a little more so he can run with it.

Hunger howls, though. The chase always ends. David doesn't pretend there is honor in his actions - any of them - but he does honor what nature demands.

With a forward pounce, his hand strikes out, fingers catching on a back leg. The hare lets out a terrible squeal as it's jerked into the air, long, pumping legs windmilling in space, kicking out a final time. David skids to a halt, two legs on the ground, one hand joining them in a crouch more animal than man as he holds it in a crushing grip.

He takes a moment to breathe in. Fur and dirt and dry snow. It's too cold for the scents to linger and fester in the air with ocean humidity. Up here, it's clear. Everything is to itself. The heat from the body is a glowing ember.

Its blood is pure and singular.

David takes the first draws that leak between dense pelt and across his tongue. Just to taste. To reward that being in his mind that becomes one and the same as himself every year, every moment of his continued existence. Feed it kindly, feed it often as he dares. The blood is salty and rich, but there's not much of it. He draws away with smears of it on his lips. He thumbs those off and licks himself clean.

Then, he digs into his pocket. The small knife's handle is dark, rosy wood and burnished. It flicks open and catches some of the thin moonlight from the sliver of crescent above, both curved and pointed as a bared fang. The tip of the knife is set to the hare's back, and digs it in.

The skin parts easily under the blade. Once he's got a handhold, David licks the knife clean and folds it back up. He slips his fingers under the fur, and pulls.

Skin comes away from flesh as easily as stripping a shirt off his own back. Steam rises in the cold air, from the slaughter, and David rips the pelt clear off.

He eats.

Their kind is not really made for this. His teeth are long, made for puncturing bare skin and deep arteries, hidden under inches of muscle and ligaments. But the meat is raw and red, and the snap of pulling it away from the bone, and then cracking those little bones between his jaws to lick away the red insides is easy enough. The heat filling him from within feels right enough.

Offal falls to the ground, and gnawed bones are discarded. The legs, the head, the fur, allowed to lay where they fall. Scavengers will be circling nearby soon enough, drawn be the sounds and scents of a successful hunt, eager to fill their own bellies. David is not greedy. He takes what he will, but no more.

Prey runs, predator chases.

Prey dies, and predator feeds.

[knickynoo]

Back to the Future Part III, The Novel by Craig Shaw Gardner: Thoughts, commentary, and general ramblings

Part 3: Maggie and Seamus experience the most confusing evening of their entire lives

previous posts here

• So, last we left dear Martin, he had just tumbled down the cliffside, bonked his head, and was fantasizing about closing his eyes and never having to walk around in the Old West ever again. Very concerning stuff. But no worries! Not even his third serious concussion of the series can keep Marty down for long.

• He wakes up at the McFly Farm with Maggie speaking to him, and there’s this really sweet moment where it says, “Marty let out a sigh of relief. His mother’s voice made everything seem safe and sound.” He is a little confused about the Irish accent, though, but decides, “It probably had something to do with his fever.”

• That’s another thing. There are two mentions in the opening paragraphs noting Marty has a fever, which isn’t something I ever got a sense of in the movie. I always just assumed the cold cloth was because he’d hit his head and it was all she could think to do to try to help him and wake him up. This is an interesting revelation.

• Maggie hands him a steaming cup of some concoction she says will perk him up and bring down his apparent fever. Marty’s happy to accept what he thinks is an old fashioned herbal tea and takes a sip. “It wasn’t tea. He almost gagged. He felt like his eyes were going to leap out of his head. This stuff must be a hundred proof!” As soon as Maggie leaves the room to tend to William, Marty decides he doesn’t have time to get drunk and abandons the drink.

• Maggie hands William to Marty, and Marty is concerned because he doesn’t know how to hold a baby. Which is another interesting tidbit because we know Marty’s got a big family, at least on Lorraine’s side. I’m sure he's got lots of cousins who are much younger, so it's surprising that he wouldn’t be familiar with handling babies. Curious…

• During dinner, Seamus asks Marty what his “trade” is, and Marty has no clue what that word means. I’m going to blame the head injury for this. Seamus goes on to say, “By the condition of your hands, it’s clear that you ain’t a farmer or a lumberman or a miner. I’ve only seen hands like that on a gambler or a baby, and sure’n you ain’t no baby.”

Obsessed with that entire statement. Marty’s got dainty, delicate little hands and Seamus wants ANSWERS. Has he unknowingly taken a gambler into his home??

• Marty replies by saying he’s still in school, which is not the right thing to say since it was super weird back then for someone as old as Marty to still be getting an education (unless you were very wealthy and could afford college). Maggie and Seamus continue to be baffled.

• Marty changes the topic to asking them about Ireland, and Seamus says they’re from “Ballybowhill,” which I cannot find any evidence of being a real place. I found a Ballyhahill and a Ballyboghil and a Ballyboughal. So, I assume this was a typo? Anyone know? It’s cool to have that detail of exactly where they came from, though.

• Marty desperately has to use the bathroom, and he has SUCH A TIME trying to figure out how to ask where it is. Seamus and Maggie just have no clue what this “bathroom” is that this strange young man is talking about, and Marty doesn’t know any of the terms used at the time. (He doesn’t know the word outhouse?? Has this kid never seen an episode of “Little House on the Prairie??”)

• After some difficulty, they get it sorted and Marty scurries outside. The following text sums up how Seamus and Maggie are feeling nicely.

“Oh, dear. This was troublesome. They were good Christian folk and all, but perhaps, this time, their generosity had gone too far.”

• Maggie then says that it’s obvious Marty is “feeble-minded,” which is the old timey term for someone with an intellectual disability. She’s very concerned about the whole situation and how they’re going to handle it.

Seamus—kind, sweet Seamus—agrees that, yes, Marty is a bit off, but he’s got a feeling about the boy. They have to look after and take care of him, and his words put Maggie at ease. She decides that even though Marty is “simple”, he doesn’t seem like the type to cause any harm to them.

• Meanwhile, Marty runs from the outhouse in a state of horror and returns to the farmhouse to ask for directions into town. After some more confusion and blank stares from Seamus and Maggie, who are very concerned that Marty doesn’t seem to understand the concept of nighttime or danger, they convince him to wait until the morning. Seamus tells him it’s only FOURTEEN MILES to town.

Seamus takes him to the railroad tracks, and Marty has 6 miles to walk from there. Average walking speed is 3-4 miles, but keep in mind this is unpaved, gravelly terrain and under the hot sun, so let’s say Marty managed 2 mph. That’d be a 3 hour walk into town. Which is ridiculous and makes me all the more upset that Marty can’t get his ice water when he arrives at the saloon. Kid needs a Gatorade. That’s it for now. Hope things get better for Marty soon!! (They won’t!!)

[chronivore]

“The Steam Man of the Prairies”, USA, 1868.

[rj-drive-in]

Hunting and Gathering Department:

Those bones in the ground were once like you and me.

COLD BLACK RAIN © 2023 by Rick Hutchins

1.

Cold black rain spattered aimlessly from the ashen gray sky– as it did every day, as it had done for years– soaking the bleak wasteland of mud puddles and dead trees. The sooty drizzle smeared Mususimani’s skin with black streaks and stung his eyes. Today, the cold seemed more painful than usual; it chilled him to the bone and made him weak. He crouched against an embankment and wrapped his arms around his knees.

For hours, he had searched this dark landscape for a turtle or rabbit. Some kind of food to bring home to the kunti. But there had been nothing save a stunted apple tree whose withered fruit tasted like smoke. A heavy fist of despair squeezed his heart.

Mususimani remembered his youth, those days when his parents still lived, when the sun shone more than once in a moontime. Those were days of plentiful food and clean water, of happiness and play.

The vast grasslands and deep forests still existed then, and were alive with food animals. The camels, the mastodons, the giant sloths. It had been easy for the men of the tribe to bring back a kill, even when the big cats were hunting.

Then the Three Fireballs roared across the sky and struck the distant ice mountains in the North. Clouds of steam and smoke thundered across the world, and raging fires consumed the woods and prairies. The sky turned black. The animals died. The people died. Only a handful, burned and scarred, survived into a terribly changed and horrid world.

That had been years ago. Long enough for Mususimani to grow to manhood. And long enough for Pomonawiha to become a woman and give him a child. Now this woman and child waited for him back at the kunti; waited for him to bring them their daily meal.

Nor would he fail them. He had never failed them yet. In a moment, he would rise and continue the hunt, find a turtle or rabbit to feed his family.

If the heaviness would just lift from his heart.

2.

The man in the cardigan sweater leaned forward. The only light in the small lab was the blue glow of the computer monitor. The only sound was the soft tap of the keys and the click of the mouse.

He would be willing to wager that this was the greatest anthropological find in history: The almost perfectly preserved remains of a Clovis hunter. And thanks to the miracle of modern forensics, the details of his life and death reverberated through thirteen thousand years to today.

Like the man in the cardigan sweater, the hunter had been in his early twenties. He had been badly burned at some time in his life, but had survived and healed. He suffered from malnutrition, scurvy and Black Lung Disease, and had perished from cold and exposure; he had been found curled up in a fetal position.

Clearly, he had lived through the comet impact that had decimated the Clovis People, only to succumb to the environmental collapse that followed.

The man in the cardigan sweater pressed a key, darkening the lab, and sank languidly into his chair.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered to the silent room.

[sickkarter]

Was that a reference to steam man of the Prairies I just saw now?

[vastdetailrichworld]

11-13-24

october was quite the month! carlo, morgan, and brandon came to visit. morgan announced she was pregnant, and mamaw just revealed today that the baby is a girl!! we were watching old vhs tapes and watched one of morgan as a baby, and mamaw casually said "i bet that's what her little girl could look like" :D

anyways, i went to my first football game at lucas oil stadium!! it was really cool. i had some delicious philly cheesesteak nachos. our team won!!!

we also went to connor prairie and had a lot of fun at the headless horseman festival! the hayride was cool but definately wouldve been cooler in the dark. i tried fried plantains for the first time and they were pretty good, at least with everything else in the bowl [rice, beef, beans, cilantro i think? i dont realy remember, some kind of leafy green]

mo came to town and we went to an orchard :] i was brave and ate apples right off the tree- normally im funny about those kinds of things.

earlier in the month i finaly got to go to one of tammy's halloween parties!! it was so cool, the decorations in the haunted woods walk was awesome

dad and i went to his cowerker's house [i dont really remember who] and had hotdogs, chilli, and smores. we sat around the campfire and then walked around the neighborhood looking at all the ufn halloween decorations!!

i stayed the night at kylee's house with will! we started an alien ttrpg but got too tired to finish, and will got sick and left early in the morning so we couldnt continue. we played jackbox and took pics at mounds, and got dinner at buffalo wild wings. man they have good cheese curds

halloween itself was pretty great, not many people came to mamaw's door so i had plenty of time to trick or treat :3 lots of people loved my anteater costume and i got a TON of candy!!

so far in november ive gone to the planetarium to watch cole give a presentation about terraforming mars in the future. it was really cool and i was bummed he didnt win most thought provoking but the votes were predetermined anyways which kinda sucks but ah well. afterwards we went to this brewery place and split some spinach artichoke dip and some wings. those wings were INCREDIBLE and i wanna go again. myla got an apple beer and i learned that i like beer, as i suspected i would. it tastes how it smells which is really comforting and nostalgic to me because it reminds me of bb. that hangout is definately gonna be a core memory

today, as i mentiond at the beginning of this post, i went to mamaw's house. i vaccuumed, we split a pear, and then watched some old vhs tapes. she told me about my dad's ex-wife who ive always been curious about but never bothered to ask in case it was a sensitive topic. it was also ash's birthday so we hung out in vrchat for a while :] ah! i also got my dream cec plush [14in '96 coach] and the raz and lilli plushies !!!

ive been working on ref sheets for thh buster's gang, i really hope i dont lose steam bc im really excited to remodel them, especially now that roblox supports rigged meshes iirc

ive also been working out more!! mom said people with low estrogen should lift weights for bone health but i want to anyways

[shadowoftheprarie]

Smoke Rising

By Rose

——-

Over the prairie

Through dusts and brambles

Tumbleweeds blow past bandit camps

And horses and riders gallop past

Smoke rising

Steaming from a gun

Rose on a wound

Man shot clean through

Telling the legends

In death

Of Lightning Rose

[letterbombbreakdown]

im never gonna complete stardew valley on steam even though i have thousands of hours it kills me as an acheivement hunter but i dont give a single fuck because i refuse to play journey of the prairie king i dont even have arrow keys man

[dzmoot]

When we last left our Tuun compadres, they had been recklessly traveling through different dimensions with the help of a magic ladle from Aiken Drum. After getting mashed together with their alternate selves, the Tuuns were taken to the home of Rupert Frackle, the Man Drill, who scolded them for their actions against space and time. Now Rupert is leading our Tuuns through an underground tunnel taking them God knows where.

For what seemed like eons, the Tuuns slid down a tunnel as Rupert kept drilling away with his hat. Dirt and stone flew all around them and as the tunnel he was making moved upward, the Tuuns sprung out from the ground like rocket powered prairie dogs. It was a dark, dreary environment and the Tuuns looked over the side to see they were atop a mountainous region. Man Drill, twirling his cane for a moment, positioned it between his arm as he pulled out a small vile from his cloak.

Yes, it's true. Aiken Drum told you that all you had to do was raise the ladle, spoon side down and shout Ladders and Chutes to get back home, but he left out a few things! I had to use the ladle to brew a special potion.

Zappy got to his feet.

What kind of potion?

Rupert opened the vile and sprinkled the mixture upon the ground. Soon, steam began to erupt from the stony cracks and a formation of rocks began to rise above their heads. Zappy continued.

A potion that makes rock piles! Go figure!

Man Drill tapped Zappy on the head with his cane.

It's not a rock pile, dufus. It's the Guardian of Limbo and keep quiet or else he won't form properly!

The stones continued to move about until they formed a large doorway like opening. A blue, watery like substance emerged and to the Tuuns' surprise, the Guardian of Limbo started to speak.

Who dare interrupt my slumber! I was in the middle of a dream.

Man Drill snickered a little.

Was it the same dream you had last time? The dream about you on a deserted island with Brooke Shields?

The Guardian let out a thunderous laugh and the ground shook just a bit.

Rupert, I thought that was you! What brings you to Limbo this time around?

Man Drill turned to the Tuuns. They were all so perplexed that the pile of rocks was speaking.

These....Tuuns need to speak with the Great Ones Above....at once! Permission to enter?

The Guardian's gelatinous inners started to glow.

Permission granted.

And Rupert, like a jackrabbit on a date leaped through the Guardian as if it was blueberry jello. The Tuuns stared at each other for a few moments. Zappy spoke yet again.

Why do we always end up in situations like this?

Kruonch was the next to speak.

Well, we gotta get back home. Let's get to it!

And within seconds, all the Tuuns passed through the Guardian and everything turned bright, brighter than bright. It was as if all of them went face first into the sun itself.

When the Tuuns started to make themselves out amidst the brightness, they all noticed that they were clad in glowing robes of light. Zilch, the little ghost dog was no longer a ghost but a regular dog with four paws. They were, as you would imagine, stunned but it was Siobhan who brought up a good point.

I've never felt this way before. It's like we're in that place the humans go when their bodies disappear! What's it called, haven, halla, Valhalla?

They soon heard a voice from nearby.

It's called Heaven and no, we're not there. If you went there, you'd be so divine, you probably wouldn't go back to the moon. This is Limbo, the land between the spiritual world and the physical world.

It was Rupert, who was also glowing bright but he was still clad in his usual attire.

Come along, the Great Ones await.

The Tuuns were led down a path of pure bright whiteness. Sure, at some points they could make out strange otherworldly ornaments upon the wall and a few other individuals standing in place, but it was mostly like looking at a sheet of paper with a flashlight behind it. Then, to their great surprise, they could see a large doorway. There was always a large doorway. It was decorated with strange otherworldly creatures which Rupert warned would drive the Tuuns insane if they looked at them for too long. He took out a key from his robes and unlocked the door. Once again, they were all overwhelmed with brightness.

When the Tuuns came to again, they were all standing before a trio of large, glowing figures. They were all dark on the inside with glowing light outlining them like Christmas lights and they spoke in voices so profound, they all thought their eardrums would melt. It was the Great Ones Above, at least in their Limbo forms. Their true forms resided in the heavens above and were beyond comprehension.

Zappy the Kangarabbit, Commander Horatio Kruonch, Siobhan Shvizzle, Ignatius Krattz and Zilch, you have been accused of multiversal disruption with an object of alien origin. Do you deny these allegations?

Of course, Zappy, the firecracker he is was the first to speak.

No, but here us out. We weren't trying to cause any trouble. Besides, why is it that we travel the multiverse and get punished while the Darkies get away scot free?

One of the Great Ones spoke.

Because the Darkies, as you so call them stayed where they were. They didn't carelessly go dimension hopping like you did. As Mr. Drill has told you, each being resides in their respective dimension for a reason. If all beings did what you did, the multiverse would collide in on itself and all existence, all existences would cease to exist. That is why your Multipus had you use that ring to try and return your alternate selves back to their homes, did he not?

Zappy continued.

Okay, sure, but do I have to be reminded time and time again of all this mumbo jumbo. I never wanted to be Zantu's sacred rabbit son or whatever nor did we want to get embroiled with some conflict involving virus headed buffoons and strange brain creatures. We just did, the same way we got embroiled in this multiverse stuff. We never meant to break anything.

The Great Ones spoke.

There is truth in your statement, Zappy. We applaud your spirit to vouch for your friends. Still, you all deserve penance for your crimes. It is in our nature to discipline multiverse hooligans according to the severity of their actions.

Soon, another voice was heard from behind. It was Rupert.

Alright, before you go sending our little Tuun troublemakers to Lucifer's prison playground, I think you should consider the fact that the Tuuns have indeed done a lot of good during their multiversal dips. Intentional or not, the Tuuns have taken out many threats to various dimensions including their own. They helped take out the Mitziwonker and revert Razlaobo back to it's previous state. Zappy has even helped one of his alternate selves come back to his senses after being brainwashed.

Soon, Man Drill was standing directly in front of the Great Ones.

Great Ones, I beg of thee to reconsider. The Tuuns, sure they are flawed, erratic and don't stop to think about their actions before they do them, but they are well intentioned, I assure you. I believe we should allow them a chance to undo their wrongs.

There was a period of great silence, as if everyone had gone deaf or time had frozen in place. The Tuuns all stood there, their nerves in knots hoping they would be able to get out of the web they found themselves entangled in. Then, the Great Ones spoke again.

Very well then. We will allow one of the Tuuns to go back in time and prevent their multiverse incursion. Tuuns, you have a moment to decide who will go back.

The Tuuns huddled around each other. Kruonch was determined as a bull to set things right so he was the first to volunteer.

I'll do it. I'll go back and strangle that Aiken Drum and knock him a few times with that confounded ladle!

Hampire was the next to volunteer.

I'll go. My enchantments will prevent me from altering the space time continuum and messing up the timeline.

Then Siobhan, knowing full well that it was her who got them all into this pickle to begin with stepped forward.

I'll go. I got us all into this mess. It should be me who goes back and convinces my younger self not to travel the manyverse. Zilch will go with me.

Kruonch was adamant.

No, kitten! I can't have you do this....

Siobhan hugged her father.

You can't have me do this, but it's what I want to do. I'll be fine, daddy.

And as she let go of her father's hand, Siobhan, along with Zilch passed through a glowing portal through time and space.

Siobhan was bored and down in the dumps. She didn’t tussle with her dolls in the dollhouse, nor did she finagle with her beloved Ippicus snow globe or draw any pictures of characters to come up with funny names for. She just sat there, festering away in the sea of boredom she made for herself, sighing and longing for something exciting to come along. Lizardton Longleggs was attending a reptile convention and Zilch, his candy corn headed ghost dog was staying with the gang for a few days. He quietly floated over to Siobhan and offered to play fetch with his beloved bone, but Siobhan just turned back around and sighed once again.

Sorry Zilch, but it’s just one of those days. If only there was something to do beside sit around this place and stare at the rug.

Then she rose off the floor and patted him on the head.

I wanna go somewhere, somewhere exotic, somewhere I’ve never been to before.

Zilch whimpered and Siobhan smiled.

Ha, I know I’ve been to a lot of exotic places in the past but there are so many other places to explore!

Before Siobhan could rise and go to show Zilch the drawings she did in her sketchbook, a glowing portal emerged before their eyes. Out from the portal came Siobhan and Zilch from the future. Needless to say, the past Siobhan and Zilch were shocked out of their wits.

Past Siobhan rose to her feet.

Imposter! Go away before I put a few more cracks in your head!

The Zilches were growling at each other as future Siobhan tried to calm her younger self down.

Relax, me! I'm here because I know what your thinking. You want to travel the manyver...I mean multiverse, don't you?

Past Siobhan was startled.

How did you know....wow....you're like...me from another universe or something.

Future Siobhan sat down next to her past self.

Not another universe, just the future. I, like you, wanted to travel the multiverse and see exotic, new places. And you know what, I did those things! We traveled to the land of Aaz, became superheroes and even tussled with a few card soldiers. But traveling the multiverse is dangerous, even more dangerous than I or anybody else realized. We got fuzed together with other versions of ourselves and had to go see some Great Guys Above. They let me go back in time to warn you not to do what I did!

Past Siobhan stood up.

I still want to go. It gets boring here sometimes! I want to see new things.

Future Siobhan continued.

I know, but Namasis isn't always boring, you said it yourself. You can have a great big adventure right here, right now, without any multiverse stuff. How about taking Zilch up on that offer and go play a little fetch the bone, heh?

Past Siobhan sighed.

I don't know.

Future Siobhan patted her on the shoulder.

Look, in a few moments now, a weird guy with spaghetti for hair called Aiken Drum is going to be arriving here and we have to tell him to take his magic ladle and stick it up his....

And then, just as future Siobhan predicted, Aiken Drum had emerged from his slumber, great big silver ladle in hand. The food fellow smiled revealing no teeth in his mouth, strands of melted cheese in their place. Then he began to talk.

You never heard of me, have you, little one?

Past Siobhan shook her head.

Yeh, I actually have. You're Aiken Drum, the spaghetti headed guy. You have some sort of magic ladle or something?

Aiken was surprised.

You know me! I'm flattered. So, are you gonna use my ladle and travel the multiverse?

Past Siobhan and Zilch looked over at their future selves hiding in the corner. She still held on to the desire to travel but it was future Siobhan's words that cut like a knife and she made up her mind there and then.

Nah, I think I'll pass. My buddy Zilch and I have a game of fetch to go and play!

Aiken displayed an onslaught of emotions all at once. He was mostly angry and thrilled, angry that someone had declined his offer while thrilled that someone had stood up to him. Then, to the Siobhans' surprise, Aiken began to weep. Marinara sauce began pouring from his meatball eyes.

I don't believe it. What am I to do now? I guess I'll go back to my little hole in the ground.

Just then, future Siobhan emerged.

I know what you should do Aiken. You take that ladle and go back to your home. I'm sure your family misses you and all.

Aiken turned to face future Siobhan and was bewildered. His head turned back and forth at the sight of both Siobhans. Finally, he smiled and wrapped his banana hands around future Siobhan.

You're right, little one. You're absolutely right. I can't wait to tell them all I have seen throughout my travels! Thanks for the advice!

Aiken got to his feet and waved goodbye to both Siobhans as he raised his ladle to the sky, spoon side down and said the magic words.

LADDERS AND CHUTES!

A small portal opened up and he was gone, leaving the ladle behind in the process. Both Siobhans embraced each other and the two Zilches sniffed each other as a way to say thanks.

Thanks for helping me. I don't know what to say. This has been an awesome experience and I can't wait to tell daddy and the others!

Siobhan clasped her past self's hand tightly.

Nah, you better keep it to yourself. I'll see you around sometime.

Past Siobhan laughed.

Oh, I bet you will!

A glowing portal emerged from behind future Siobhan as she and future Zilch, carrying the ladle passed through. As it closed, past Siobhan stood there, still processing everything that had just transpired.

When Siobhan returned to Limbo, everyone was delighted to see her, even Rupert and the Great Ones.

Well done, Siobhan. You have proven your tenacity and loyalty to your friends and to the universe. You and your friends may now use the ladle to go back to Namasis.

As her friends gathered around her, Siobhan raised the ladle, spoon side down and said the magic words.

LADDERS AND CHUTES!

Something odd had happened once the Tuuns returned to Namasis. They were all back to where they were before their little multiverse trek. They had no memory of all that had happened. Zappy was still playing his game, Kruonch was still reading his paper, Hampire was fiddling with his potions, but Siobhan, who had recently had an encounter with her future self was outside playing fetch with Zilch. To her surprise, she was having loads of fun.

THE END

[biglisbonnews]

How a Map Mistake Saved a Forest of 300-Year-Old Trees The trees here tower a hundred feet above the forest floor—a ceiling as high as in prehistory and vanishingly rare today. That’s because no logger’s ax has ever touched these woods. Pillars of the Green Cathedral As you walk among the giant pillars of this green cathedral, you might think you’re among the redwood trees of California. But those are 1,500 miles (2,500 kilometers) away. No, these are the red and white pines of the “Lost Forty” in Minnesota. This is the largest single surviving patch of old-growth forest in the state and a fair stretch beyond. And it’s all thanks to a surveying error. Despite its name, the Lost Forty Scientific and Natural Area (SNA) is actually 144 acres (0.58 square kilometers) in total. Still, it’s an easily overlooked part of the Chippewa National Forest, which sprawls across 666,000 acres (2,700 square kilometers) of north-central Minnesota. And that—being easily overlooked—is kind of this area’s superpower. In the 1820s, when European-Americans arrived in what is now Minnesota, they found about 20 million acres (80,000 square kilometers) of prairie and 30 million acres (120,000 square kilometers) of forest. Two centuries on, both ecosystems largely have been depleted. Fewer than 100,000 acres (400 square kilometers) of natural prairie remain, and fewer than 18 million acres (73,000 square kilometers) of forest. And today’s woods are different. They’re not just younger; the original pine stands have been harvested and largely replaced with aspen and birch. To the Moon and Back White pine especially was in heavy demand during the lumbering boom that had Minnesota in its grip by the 1840s—a boom driven by an insatiable demand for building materials and supercharged by the steam that powered the saws and the rails that transported the goods to market. The two decades flanking the turn of the 20th century were the golden age of lumbering in Minnesota. At any given time, 20,000 lumberjacks were at work in the woods, a further 20,000 in the sawmills, and another 20,000 in other lumber-related industries. Production peaked in the year 1900, with over 2.3 billion board-feet (5.4 million cubic meters) of lumber harvested from the state’s forests. That was enough to build 600,000 two-story houses or a boardwalk nine feet (2.7 meters) wide, circling Earth along the equator. From then on, yields declined, albeit slightly at first. By 1910, however, the first lumber operations started packing up and moving on to the Pacific Northwest and elsewhere. With their craggy bark, massive trunks, and dizzying height, these trees look like the ancient beings they are. Minnesota’s era of Big Timber symbolically came to an end with the closure of the Virginia and Rainy Lake Lumber Company in 1929. At that time, a century’s worth of lumbering in Minnesota had produced 68 billion board-feet (160 million cubic meters) of pine—enough to fill a line of boxcars all the way to the Moon and halfway back again. Now spool back a few decades. It’s 1882, and the Public Land Survey is measuring, mapping, and quantifying the wilderness of northern Minnesota—and its as-yet-unharvested Northwoods. Setting out from the small settlement of Grand Rapids, Josias Redgate King leads a three-man survey team 40 miles north, into the backwoods. Mapping Error Becomes Cartographic Fact Their job, specifically, is to chart the area between Moose and Coddington Lakes. And they mess up. Perhaps it’s the lousy November weather, the desolate swampy terrain, or both. But they make a serious mistake: their survey stretches Coddington Lake half a mile farther northwest than it actually exists. As happens surprisingly often with mapping mistakes, the error becomes cartographic fact, undisputed for decades. The area is marked on all maps as being underwater and is therefore excluded from the considerations of logging companies. Only in 1960 is the area re-surveyed and the error corrected. But by then, as we have seen, Big Timber has moved on from the Gopher State. Incidentally, Josias R. King was more than the mismapper of Coddington Lake. He has another, and rather better, claim to fame. When the Civil War broke out, Minnesota was the first state to offer volunteers to fight for the Union. At Fort Snelling, King rushed to the front of a line of men waiting to sign up. So it was said, with some justification, that he was the first volunteer for the Union in all of the country. During the war, he attained the rank of lieutenant colonel. After, he returned to his civilian job, surveying. Because of his credentials as the Union’s first volunteer, he was asked to pose for the face of the bronze soldier on the Civil War monument which was unveiled at St. Paul’s Summit Park in 1903. The Loggers’ Loss Is Nature’s Gain But back to the Lost Forty. The loggers’ loss—hence the name—is actually nature’s gain. The SNA’s crowning glory, literally, is nearly 32 acres of designated old-growth red pine and white pine forest, in two stands, partially extending into the Chippewa National Forest proper. (In fact, much of the mismapped area seems to fall within the Chippewa National Forest Unique Biological Area adjacent to the Lost Forty.) Old-growth forests represent less than 2 percent—and designated old-growth forests less than 0.25 percent—of all of Minnesota’s forests. The oldest pine trees in the Lost Forty are between 300 and 400 years old, close to their maximum natural life span, which is up to 500 years. Similar pines in other parts of the National Forest are harvested at between 80 and 150 years for pulp and lumber. As a result, the pines in the Lost Forty are not only higher than most of the surrounding woods but also bigger with a diameter of between 22 and 48 inches (55 to 122 centimeters). One of the biggest has a circumference of 115 inches (2.9 meters). With their craggy bark, massive trunks, and dizzying height, these trees look like the ancient beings they are. And they exist in a cluster the size of which is unique for the Midwest. There’s nothing lost about these trees; in fact, it’s rather the reverse. Perhaps the area should more precisely be called the “Last Forty.” This article originally appeared on Big Think, home of the brightest minds and biggest ideas of all time. Sign up for Big Think’s newsletter. https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/the-lost-forty-minnesota-strange-maps

[p2ii]

more recs here we go :D

The Last Words of Rex Marksley

'And he died an old man alone on the prairie they say' But before the great marksman Rex Marksley passed away, he received a letter from a fan from San Diego.

2016-The Birthday Present

Rabbit finds a way to cheer The Spine, who is in a funk over a missing memory.

(i love cowboy spine fics so much lol)

We're All Just Star Scrap

"Is….is that true, Pappy? Is-is that why y-y-you left?”

What to do if the screw turns loose

'Peter Six had always tried to keep a very clear line between his life at home and his life at school.' He was as normal as he could be, considering his family's reputation. And he nearly made it through without incident. Until something goes wrong at a Steam Powered Giraffe concert.

lyin' awake

zero gets… stuck, sometimes. one day, the jon notices this fact.

The Chance I've Got

Peter VI decided they should keep just enough Crystal Pepsi in storage to bring the Jon back for special reunion concerts every few years. Seventy-two hours of being activated again, long enough to rehearse, long enough to catch up. The Jon agreed. The Spine did his best to stay stoic.

The Evolution of Touch

I wrote a thing for tumblr, and I wanted to post it here so I could clean up some of the typos, and archive it somewhere. So, yeah. Brotherly fluff. For tumblr.

The Way Things Weren't

They're her responsibility now…

(fair warning this one is incomplete/abandoned forever ago but the chapters that ARE published are great, the summary isnt that descriptive but its basically an AU where Peter Walter i dies of the illness and Delila inherets walter manor from him)

And You’re So Lovely Dears

She got up from her seat, not able to sit in the cockpit with Spine and Hatch for even one second more.

hope these are helpful!

Yippee let’s go on ao3 and read some Spg fics!

[niudl-blog]

The Huge Hunter, or, The Steam Man of the Prairie | Nickels and Dimes | Northern Illinois University Digital Library

This novel by Edward S. Ellis is one of the earliest examples of the Edisonade genre, or stories about boy inventors and adventurers. It’s also one of the earliest novels to feature a mechanical man, likely inspired by the inventions of Zadoc Dederick. Like later examples of the genre, the boy inventor in this story--Johnny Brainerd--uses his mechanical creation to subjugate and terrorize Native Americans. But unlike later examples, this boy inventor is also a dwarf.

Ellis’ novel was very popular, re-issued several times in various series by Beadle and Adams. Editions of this story in Beadle’s American Novels, Beadle’s Half Dime Library, and Beadle’s Pocket Library will be digitized soon as part of the Albert Johannsen project, funded through a Hidden Collections grant from the Council on Library and Information Resources.

Posted by Matthew Short, Metadata Librarian

[apas-95]

It’s very funny how much of Lovecraft’s work can be seen as, effectively, an aristocrat’s existential horror at the idea that, as Rosa Luxemburg said, “Bourgeois society stands at the crossroads, either transition to Socialism or regression into Barbarism.”

In 1921, Lovecraft wrote ‘The Outsider’, one of the more clear expressions, in his works, of a fear of lacking a place in society. A man wakes up in a decaying, decrepit castle - once great, now in ruins - and descends, down to the townsfolk, who have renovated an old mansion, turning it into apartments. Upon seeing him, they panic, finding him terrifying and disgusting. Looking in the mirror, he sees that he is, in fact, a beast; even going so far to describe himself as “a stranger in this century.” In 1921, as the aristocracy gave its final breath, it’s not hard to see why.

However, ‘The Call of Cthulhu’ stands as the most direct example of the ‘existential horror’ of capitalism. Luxemburg’s quote, that bourgeois society - capitalism - stands at the transition to socialism was not just an expression of a specific historical period. Capitalism innately, inherently works towards its own destruction. Capitalism develops and expands the proletariat, the class that aspires to destroy it. As capitalism develops science and technology, as it develops the means of production, it makes itself obsolete. Capitalist relations of production become limiting factors for new forms of industry - just as a nation that remained feudalist would be left behind and destroyed in the age of steam and industry, a nation that remains capitalist is dooming itself to the march of history. It is precisely the development of capitalism that makes possible, if not historically inevitable, the building of socialism. Compare this with the passage from ‘The Call of Cthulhu’:

The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.

Of course, socialism would seem like madness, in the eyes of the aristocrat. Comprehending, but briefly, the idea of communism, of a society without class, without class conflict and class oppression, might drive one to conclude that “mankind would have become as the Great Old Ones; free and wild and beyond good and evil, with laws and morals thrown aside.“

Historical materialism, the scientific understanding of human society, cares very little for the ideas or desires of individuals, as far as shaping the course of society goes. It is quite resolute: the only options are class society, and the inevitable march towards communism, or no society. This would have been a very pressing fact in the 1920s, with the establishment of socialism in Russia, and socialist movements across the world spreading like prairie fire. ‘The Call of Cthulhu’ describes Cthulhu’s dream infecting the human psyche - “average people in society and business“ in the west are unaffected, though scientists and artists stir with it. Across the global south, however, there is great unrest, especially among indigenous peoples - even Ireland gets rowdy - and in South America, “a fanatic deduces a dire future from visions he has seen.“

The idea that class society is a specific historical phenomenon, one which is unerringly moving towards its own abolition, must be a frightening one for a member of the upper classes. I’ll leave it to Lovecraft to express this existential horror: “Old Castro remembered bits of hideous legend that paled the speculations of theosophists, and made man and the world seem recent and transient indeed.“

[emeraldgreaves]

HI hihihihi halcyon for beloved Moira? <3

absolutely 💕 let’s goooo

—

halcyon (adj.) - denoting a period of time in the past that was idyllically happy and peaceful.

~970 words, no plot just food

The sun sets on Westwood, turning the prairie to amber and sending rays of light through Grandmama’s crystal punch bowl in the cabinet. The one “for special occasions,” her mother had said.

“Birthdays are special occasions,” said her father, and stole another piece of carrot from the serving dish.

Today must be a one such day, because years later Triba Lari takes it down and wipes it out with a gingham cloth. “Fetch me some snow, Moira,” she says, and Moira hurries to comply, grabbing the tin bucket by the door that holds flowers in the summer. The freezing metal stings her fingers as she scoops up the cleanest patch she can find and rushes back into the kitchen, already full of women chattering as pans sizzle on every surface.

A million different smells float through the kitchen—butter and dill for the crisp golden potatoes ladled into a dish, a soft dome of cornbread steaming in a skillet, a roast crackling in the oven. A squat, round cake sits patiently in the icebox with the first of the strawberry preserves between its layers—Miss Corinne had watched the oven like a hawk yesterday, oblivious to her and Zori sneaking spoonfuls of jam behind her back.

Her father hovers uncertainly in the doorway. The hesitation is almost comical on a man his size, but he’s in charge of every piece of Westwood except for the space in this room. Triba Lari scoops in some snow and pours over something red and sweet-smelling, then takes pity on Yorick and passes him the punch bowl before loading up Moira with the potatoes and shooing them both out of the kitchen.

The mayor’s house is the only one large enough for a separate dining area. She spent all afternoon scrubbing this room before company came, dusting the baseboards and wiping down the windows out of some vague sense of obligation to the way her mother used to keep it. Someone’s spread the table with their second-best blue tablecloth, and wooden chairs from the neighbors’ house crowd at the corners. A couple of crates lie stacked by the door—supplies for her Flower Day next week, things too fragile to stay in the shed.

Golden light seeps through the windows, making the creamy white porcelain gleam. Her father follows her to the empty place in the table, setting the bowl between the empty gravy boat and a dish of orange sweet potatoes with sage and onion. Away from the bustle of the kitchen, the silence seems to settle back into place, a heavy crate sinking to the bottom of a pond.

“She used this at our wedding,” Yorick says suddenly. “Your grandma, she gave it to us. Said it was traditional.”

He’s still staring down at the punch bowl, never at her, like he’s afraid some part of Elinor will look back. But an opening’s an opening, and she tries to think of something to ask.

A peak of laughter breaks it like glass before Zori comes tearing in, flour in xeir coppery hair. “Sorry,” xe gasps, hands braced on their knees. “Turns out I can’t steal a taste after all.”

They all crowd round the table shortly afterwards. The room fills with laughter as the sun disappears, leaving a comforting quilt of blackness beyond the blue curtains. Zori sits next to her through dinner, chatting brightly about skating on the creek as Tekrom Galen sneaks another helping of stewed apples to her right. Someone proposes a toast to surviving another year. The punch must be spiked, because they grow increasingly more elaborate—a toast to Yorick, for leading their little town, to the Autarch in faraway Haven, to the moon for rising so beautifully full.

Zori’s father Thom catches the two of them just as the plates are being cleared. “You kids want to try something?” he says, grinning with the mischief of a man half his age. Brimming with the confidence of nearly being trusted adults, they follow him eagerly to the shed.

The fireworks for Wintersun had come on the caravan with the rest of her Flower Day decorations, but her Uncle Thom had winked and said they’d better test them, just to be sure. The first singing candle goes flying in an arc across the plain; the second sputters and fails to light, but the third soars high into the air, whistling merrily as it shoots out of sight. The noise draws the rest of the adults out onto the porch, the women in their colorful shawls and men in their greatcoats. Someone fetches the cake and passes around slices.

She and Zori are each handed a sparkler and promptly go tearing off together through the tall grasses behind the house, golden light hissing and spitting in their hands. It’s like holding a shooting star. She lifts it and trails it through the air, dreaming for a brief moment of flying like one of the candles, floating untethered among the constellations.

“Someday, I’m going to be a pilot,” says Zori.

“Only if you take me,” says Moira. “Someone’s got to keep you on course.”

Xe grins. “Perfect. I’ll fly, you navigate.”

“Shake on it.” And after one complicated spit-handshake, the pact is sealed.

They duel with the sparklers until their weapons finally fizzle out, leaving them to trudge home in their heavy boots and collapse on the doorstep. Far above them, the last few fireworks glitter against the first crackles of winter frost. Her father passes them the last slice of cake, patting her briefly on the shoulder before going to double-check the shed.

Later that night, watching the stars through her bedroom window, she counts them one by one, safe in the knowledge they’ll always be there for her.