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chaoticowlpost · 5 years ago

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Hi GiRa, I don’t know if you do this, but do you have Captive Prince fic Recs? I’ve followed you for the Draco/Harry content, but Damen and Laurent looked like something I would enjoy so I’ve read all the books last week. It was sooooo good 😍 and now I need all the quality fic in my life. Please help!

Hello nonnie~ Yes omg I do have fic recs but I’m afraid they may be a little biased as of now haha. That’s because I leaned towards fics in the setting of the canon when I first started but then slowly began reading Modern AU fics as I went- and I haven’t gone through nearly enough fics yet,- so I’ll probably have to do another sweep of all the fics on AO3, BUT here are some fics I’d love to recommend to start with

1. @mfingenius

That’s it, that’s the tweet. HBFSJDF okay no I’m joking but I absolutely love their works and they were the one who introduced me to capri. There’s a bunch of short fics on their account that I like to indulge in constantly and you should definitely check it out because there’s too many for me to just pick one!

2. itallends ( @goldencuffs )

For Better, for Worse (9.2k) - Laurent arches an eyebrow. “I am married, Jord.”

Jord blinks at him slowly. “…To your job?”

“To a man.”

Jord’s eyes fall on Laurent’s bare left hand.

”Right,” he says.

Or: five times Laurent says he’s married, and the one time everyone finally believes him.

Receipts and Reciprocity (9.5k) - Damen has a thing for buying Laurent stuff.

I love their works with my whole heart nobody touch me hnfdgjg but seriously these are some of my favorite fics! They’re both Modern AUs if that’s what you’re looking for and partial reason as to why I started opening up more towards Non-Canon setting fics.

3. waywardwriter

Courts, Crowns, and A Little Game of Chess (55k) - In an attempt to diffuse the rising tensions between Akielos and Vere, Prince Auguste invites a group of Akielon ambassadors to the Veretian court. He expects many things to come out of this visit: trade agreements, festivities and celebrations, and perhaps the emergence of better diplomatic relations between the two nations. What he did not expect, however, was for his younger brother to take an interest in the Crowned Prince of Akielos.

AKA: The fic where Laurent is a reserved, bookish, hero-worshipping boy who meets Prince Damianos for the first time.

Waking Up To You (1.7k) - Damen wakes up from his wisdom teeth surgery only to find the most beautiful man in the world sitting beside him.

I couldn’t help but insert Waking Up To You 😞 It’s a weakness because why wouldn’t I want a high-as-balls Damen just being in love with Laurent in general. The first fic, however, is up among one of my favorites. Damen courting Laurent? Sign me the fuck up! This was so well written I just fell in love with all of the characters.

4. DisraeliGears

Anything For You (39k) - Laurent will do anything for Damen. Including make friends with Nikandros…if he must.

The story of Nikandros and Laurent’s friendship.

A Party of Our Own (5.5k) - Nikandros escapes Damen’s party for some alone time…and ends up locked in the wine cellar with Laurent. As one could probably imagine, some snarking happens. And some airing of grievances.

These fics are mainly Nikandros and Laurent building a relationship and getting to understand one another and I’m absolutely HERE for it! The characterization of Laurent was so well done and Anything For You is also among my top favorites because of how intense it was towards the end and just everything Laurent did in general, but through Nikandros’ eyes (even better!)

5. damnmads & The Librarina (tears_of_nienna)

Pawn Sacrifice (85k) - The war with Akielos has settled into an uneasy alliance, and Prince Damianos is sent to spend a year at Arles. Seven years later, he returns to Vere to offer condolences to King Auguste on the death of his father. But Auguste’s younger brother is much changed, as is the political climate in Vere, and Prince Laurent is the target of an assassin. When Damen returns to Akielos, an unexpected guest is sent with him—but danger follows, and the fate of two kingdoms hangs in the balance.

What might have changed if Auguste lived—and what was inevitable, even so.

Another Auguste Lives AU because I love him and yes (the best brother™) . This is a slow burn fic about how the story might have gone if Auguste lived to become king and how Damen and Laurent’s relationship might have gone. It’s quite a lengthy read but I think it’s a great fic to immerse yourself in if you’ve got the time

6. Just_Another_Day

Five Times Laurent and Damen Unintentionally Caused an International Incident (and One Time They Meant To) (28k) - Everyone in the world knows for a fact that Laurent and Damen despise each other with a burning passion despite their countries supposedly being allies. Strangely, though, the two of them seem to have missed that whole ‘hatred’ memo. Nikandros really doesn’t get paid enough to deal with this shit.

The title says it all and it’s absolutely perfect! Pray for Nikandros and give him a raise in this Modern Royalty AU because Damen and Laurent can’t keep their feels out of view for anything so watch as these boys in love make Nikandros lose 10 years of his life.

7. thewriterofperfectdisasters

kimihia (22k) - Laurent frowned and drummed his fingers against his laptop as he considered what to say. In theory, nothing was stopping him from going to Greece. Nothing was stopping him from maybe running into someone he met over Tinder. The only thing standing in his way was his own apprehension and mistrust about the whole situation.

A Modern AU with the help of online dating because why not. This is such a feel good AU and it just makes me so happy to read it so I hope you like it as well

8. Entity_Sylvir

How Not To Court A Veretian Prince (13k) - “He was—” Damen breaks off, swallows hard, pauses in the manner of a man soundly failing to find an explanation in what he is trying to explain, “—really pretty.”

“What,” says Nikandros, “the fuck.”

The first time Damen meets Laurent, he mistakes him for a pet. It doesn’t go well.

No one lets him forget it.

Words cannot DESCRIBE how much I love this fic! The fanart, the way Damen’s actions come to haunt him, and Laurent being a little shit™ in the best way had me cackling and just everything about this fic had me in love.

9. dawnofthursday ( @americancupsofbritishtea )

The Pitfalls of being Overprotective (2.2k) - Auguste makes a discovery, and then wishes he hadn’t.

Another fic that had me screaming because Auguste deserved whatever he got in this fic for being big brother™. I’m not sure what else to say without spoiling it because this is absolutely hilarious but you gotta read the tags (PLEASE READ THE TAG IT’S GREAT)

10. LaLaCat1

The Oath (78k) - Young prince Laurent arrives in time to stop the killing blow from falling at Marlas. A split second decision has Damen swearing Auguste an oath to protect his younger brother, and it’s not until he brings the Veretian princes back to parley with his father that Damen realizes how difficult that oath will be to keep.

Okay so this fic is also kinda intense but it’s another AU about what would happen if Auguste lived and the amount of feels and stress (good stress) that came with this fic was just.. damn. I’ve lost sleep on this fic and every moment was worth it so if you’re interested in this type of fic, definitely give it a read when you can!

There are probably a few more in my list somewhere that I haven’t been able to update but here are a few to get you started! I hope you enjoy them as much as I did and I hope I was able to help

By the way, if anyone knows the tumblr accounts of the authors I tagged, could you please tell me? I’d love to give them a follow to keep up with them and help others find their accounts as well if they’re interested!

#ask #anon #fic recs #captive prince #lamen

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elleselanguitsansfin · 4 years ago

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Hello all! Just wanted to share a draft for a short story I'm working on at the moment. The 'planets' (cough cough Luna and Sol) are based off of pre-Copernican cosmology, so this is just my interpretation of their characters in a work setting. There's a lot that I want to change but I was curious about what you thought so far!

“Earth!”

Mercury, the memo-boy, comes speeding down the hallway sending papers scattering across the floor. In his hand is a piece of gold note paper, which I know must have come from the boss’ office, which he presents to me as he skids to a halt. “Boss wanted me to give you this. He said it was urgent.” And then as quickly as he arrived, he leaves, tearing down the corridor.

“Jove, what now?” I open the note and read.

Hello Earth! Sorry about the inconvenience, but I need you to do a task for me. A few years ago I gave someone — one of the planets — a package, and I need that delivered to the address below. Unfortunately, I’ve forgotten who it was, but it’s an urgent matter so I was hoping you could ask around for me. I would do it myself, but I’m busy at the moment dealing with administration. Did you hear that the council is planning on revoking Luna’s and Sol’s status as planets, and replacing them with two nobodies called Uranus and Neptune? They’re crazy! Anyways, the sooner you get this done, the better. Thanks!

A mysterious package… Well, I suppose I should go talk to Luna first. She’s my closest friend, after all.

I push past the silver door with LADY LUNA inscribed on a plaque, and step inside the dimly lit room. “Luna?” There’s a bluish glow about, and I haven’t quite figured out whether I find it eerie or comforting.

“Yes?” A soft voice that sounds like tinkling bells echoes throughout the office, and I follow it to find Lady Luna herself in the middle of a pond. She’s standing atop a canoe that looks as though it’s been woven by silver threads, with little blue lights surrounding her head, while stirring the water around her with a long staff. Though I’m not in my office at the moment, I can feel my tides shifting.

“I’ve been sent on a mission. Would you happen to know anything about a package the boss gave you, a few years back?”

Luna looks up from her stirring. “No? Should I?” Her pale face wears a concerned expression, and her fingers dance up and down her staff. It’s a tic she has when she worries about something. Apart from her fingers, nothing besides her long hair and her long white gown moves — I’ve never quite figured that out, there’s no breeze in here.

“No, it’s fine, just trying to find someone.”

Her posture relaxes. “Oh, good. I haven’t heard from anyone but you in a while, actually, I was worried I had missed something.” Though Luna and I are close, she doesn’t talk much with the others. They usually only come to her for therapy, because she’s very calming, but otherwise they avoid her because she also has a little bit of a reputation as a lunatic.

“You haven’t, don’t worry.” Then I think. “Actually, there is a little bit of a concern at the moment… I don’t think it’s something to dwell on too much, you’ll probably be fine, but they’re reconsidering yours — and Sol’s — statuses as planets. I don’t know why, they’ll probably not change anything.” I have no doubt that Luna will keep her position, but I see her face shift and know perhaps it wasn’t something I should have mentioned.

“What?! How could they?! My work is so important! It’s because I don’t talk to anyone, isn’t it? They think all I do is follow you around all the time. I’ll show them! Get out!” Her skin remains the same glowing white as it always does, but her fists are clenched and her face is furious. One of her blue glowing orbs shoots towards me, and I narrowly miss it as I slip out the door.

I love Luna, but her moods are all over the place. You have to watch your words around her.

I walk through the cafeteria with the intention of finding Venus, but Mercury comes whizzing around a corner a little too quickly and knocks us, along with his stack of newsletters, to the floor.

“Hey, watch it!” He sounds mad, but Mercury is much smaller than I am so I don’t really care.

“You should watch it. You’re the one that goes way too fast.”

“Can you blame me? If our maker didn’t want me to go fast, he wouldn’t have given me super speed.” He glances around nervously. “That, and Sol’s chasing me because I stole his favourite paper weight.” He pulls a gleaming golden bird figurine out of one of his many pockets. “How was I meant to know he cared about this bit of junk?”

“If it’s a bit of junk, why take it?”

“I’m a kleptomaniac, I can’t help it. Besides, that’s my whole shtick. If I don’t steal everything, who will? It’s the principle of the thing.

“Right.” A thought occurs to me. “Actually, Mercury, has our boss given you a package or anything to look after? Within the last few years?”

“You do realise that nobody gives me anything if they plan on getting it back, right?”

“So that’s a no. Okay, then, well I’ll see you around then, Mercury! Do you need any help getting those papers?” I ask, pointing to the memos scattered on the floor.

“No, I’ll be fine. See you!”

I make it around a corner before I notice one of my shoes doesn’t feel quite right. I glance down. The lace from my right boot has vanished, somewhere—

I go back to yell at Mercury for stealing my shoelace but he’s already gone, not a single paper in sight.

At the end of another long hallway is an amber-coloured door with a sign reading VENUS. I don’t talk to her a whole lot — we’re quite similar, but she causes a lot of drama in the office and it’s a bit of a pain. You see, the thing is: she’s very, very pretty. By that I mean beautiful, and by that I mean drop-dead gorgeous. Venus has a bad habit of making people fall for her, only for them to get their hearts broken, and I don’t know if she does it on purpose or not but it’s fair for me to dislike her a little bit for that. Right?

I push through the door and the first thing that surprises me is the heat. Admittedly, I’ve never been in Venus’ office before. It’s like walking into a sauna, or a rainforest, or a very humid greenhouse. The second thing that surprises me is the amount of greenery everywhere. The walls and ceiling are obscured by plants in all different shapes and sizes, from tiny cacti to enormous monstera plants. Lying on a chaise in the middle of the room, with a sketchbook in one hand and a pencil in the other, is Venus. A large feather fan flaps furiously beside her, which makes a cool breeze strong enough to ruffle her dark curly hair and occasionally flip the pages she’s trying to draw on. She wears an orange dress that compliments her skin, and it looks like a very fine material. Makes sense, considering how hot it is in here.

I slip off my sweater. “Hey, Venus.”

Venus glances up, and a look of surprise crosses her face. “Earth? What are you doing here?”

“Boss sent me. Do you know anything— gosh, it’s so hot! How can you work in this room?” I wipe my forehead with my arm, and it’s slick with sweat.

“Oh no, come sit here! It’s much cooler by the fan.” She drags me by the arm to her couch, where I immediately feel relief from the temperature. I can see her sketchbook now, she’s working on storyboards for advertisements. Venus has a knack for making things look attractive, hence she’s in charge of advertising and sales.

“Thanks. Do you know anything about a package the boss might have given you? A few years back?”

Venus shakes her head, her frizzy curls bouncing. “No, I’m afraid not. Why?”

I shrug. “He just needs it for something. Don’t worry about it.” I get up to go, but Venus grabs my arm again. “What?”

“I’m sorry, I just…” She hesitates. “You’re so good with plants. You have so many, and they thrive. But I’ve been trying to grow my own and it’s just not working. Are the conditions not right?”

“Oh— well, I think this greenhouse effect is good in theory, but it’s a little extreme and not all plants are suited for these kinds of conditions. Maybe you could set up little areas with different, I don’t know, climates for each? And you could research what different plants need to survive.” I have lots of plants, but they tend to take care of themselves.

“Great, thank you so much! I’ve tried asking around, but nobody really seems to care. Some of the interns are having a competition to see who can get a date first and whenever I try to talk to anyone that’s all that ever gets brought up anymore.” Venus looks both happy with the information but also quite dejected. I never really bothered learning office gossip, I just assumed Venus liked having all the attention.

“I’m really sorry to hear that, Venus… if you want, you can find me in my office and we can talk about plants any time you want, alright?” I offer.

She beams. “Earth, that would be brilliant. Thank you.”

I say goodbye, and leave Venus’ room. It seems I didn’t know her as well as I thought I did.

I plan on finding Mars next, but a clamour outside turns my attention to the window. Mercury zips along the path, the same paperweight clutched in his hand as the one he showed me before. Shortly after he disappears out of my line of sight, a tall, bronzed man in a chariot comes racing after him.

“Sol?” I call in surprise.

His chariot screeches to a halt, and Sol turns to me. He says nothing, but beckons for me to come outside. I crawl out of the window, and jog over to where he is. “Hop on, please, Earth. This kid’s messed with my belongings for too long.”

“I— what?” I’m too confused to register what he’s talking about, so he just pulls me up onto the chariot, cracks a golden whip, and the horses with manes of fire pulling the chariot whinny and start their chase again.

“You called me, was there something you wanted to ask?” Sol towers over me, which would be intimidating especially as I know him to have a fiery temper, but he radiates warmth which makes him seem friendly.

“No, sor— actually, yes. Did the boss give you any sort of package to look after? Within the last few years?” It would make sense if he did. Sol is very responsible and one of the more powerful of the planets. However, my guess is wrong.

“No, he hasn’t. He did give me that paperweight, though, and I’d really like it back.”

I laugh. “I’ll talk to Mercury later. Hey, aren’t you meant to be working right now?” Sol is in charge of scheduling, and he has the important role of being the one to chase the night away. It’s not a job that generally has breaks, so I don’t know why he’s out here.

Sol gives a sheepish smile. “I got Luna to cover for me. The eclipse will only last so long, though, so I’m hoping a few minutes will be enough to catch him.”

“Face it, Sol, the boy is too fast for you. Go back to work.” I pat him on the back and he sighs, before bringing the chariot to a slow stop.

“Fair enough. I hope you find who you’re looking for!”

I get off the chariot, and walk back into the building. Conveniently, Sol has dropped me off right next to Mars’ workshop.

Mars has a heavy iron door with his name on it at the entrance to his workshop. Inside is an array of tools and machinery, some of which looks so obscure I can’t imagine what it could be used for. Mars is toiling away at something metal at the other end of the room, which is made evident by the routine CLANG of metal against metal. I have to shout to be heard over the din.

“Hello, Mars!” The clanging doesn’t stop, but he looks up from his work. A few tufts of bright red hair stick out from under an iron helmet. Whether he’s wearing it for protection, or because he just likes armour in general (he’s a soldier every single Halloween), I can’t tell. I realise that if I want to talk to him I’ll have to be beside him, so I cup my ears with my hands and walk up the room.

“Hello” — CLANG — “Earth, what can” — CLANG — “I do for” — CLANG — “you?”

I grab the metal tool he’s using, so I can talk properly. “Two things: firstly, perhaps you could pause your racket just for a moment?”

Mars looks displeased, but complies. “Yes?”

“Thank you. Secondly, has the boss given you any sort of package recently?”

“No.” With that, the work continues, and my hands fly back up to cover my ears to protect them from the deafening noise. I already knew Mars was not one for conversation. He’s like Sol in the way that he’s hot headed, but perhaps he’s more likely to show it, or act on it. He’s usually behind the biggest fights at work, and I know that’s not a rumour because I’ve witnessed it myself. We keep him around though, because nobody is as good at production as he is.

As soon as I’m out of the workshop, I head towards the elevators. Who else could there possibly be? I’ve spoken with Luna, Mercury, Venus, Sol, Mars… what if he forgot? What if he actually didn’t give it to someone, and just left it lying around? I step into the elevator, because I can’t think of anywhere else it could be, and press the button for the top floor where Jove’s office is located.

The doors open with a cheery ding and I stroll through the corridor. It’s easy to see which door is the one I want: it’s wide open, and all around it are golden decorations in the shape of a grapevine. Without bothering to knock, I march through the doorway. “Hello, sir!”

“Oh, don’t bother with that ‘sir’ rubbish. Call me Jove!” Sitting at an elevated desk is a large man, with sparkling eyes and a rosy face. Jove reminds me a lot of Santa Claus, or Father Christmas, in the sense that he’s always cheerful and loves giving away presents. “What’s the matter, Earth?”

“Well, s— um, Jove. Is there any chance you may still have that package yourself? Because I’m sure I’ve asked everyone about it, and I know I certainly don’t have it, so I don’t know where else it might be.”

Jove frowns, a puzzled look on his face, which is so different from his usual friendly smile it’s surprisingly jarring. “Are you sure? Who have you spoken to?”

“Luna, Mercury, Venus, Sol and Mars,” I recite in order.

Jove’s expression changes from a frown to one of understanding. “Ah, I see. I know who has it — makes total sense, really, I don’t know how I could have forgotten. Then again, I suppose you forgot about him too, didn’t you?”

“Who could I possibly have forgotten?”

“Don’t you remember who works in our archives, taking care of everything we don’t immediately need?” Jove encourages.

“I don’t… Saturn!!” My jaw drops, and I am overcome with guilt. How could I have forgotten about Saturn?! I feel awful.

“Don’t worry about it, dear. It’s not that you see him often, anyways. I don’t think he’s been outside for at least a century.”

“Yes, but still…”

Jove gestures towards a tray on his desk. “Have a biscuit, you’ll feel better, and then go and fetch me that package, please?”

I take one, and walk out to go back to the lifts, but there’s an unfamiliar weight in my pocket. I reach into my pocket, and pull out a golden pen, with bands of different coloured metals going around the cap. A sticky note attached reads ‘For taking notes and remembering things’. It’s impossible to leave Jove’s office without a gift of some sort.

I haven’t been in the basement before. It’s cold, damp and dark, and it’s like a maze with shelves full of old files and peculiar artifacts that haven’t seen the light of day for years. I wander around for a bit, and almost walk past a row of shelves when I spot a figure balanced at the top of a tall ladder, leaning against a bookcase. “Saturn? Is that you?” I call out.

The figure turns, to reveal a wizened face with a long white beard. “Yes, that’s me. And you must be Earth.”

“How did you know? I don’t know if we’ve spoken before,” I inquire.

“No we have not, but I know everyone in this building, or has ever been. In fact, I know everything that has ever happened here in all history.”

“Really?”

The old man smiles. It’s a crooked one, but the one of someone who is very wise. “Really. All records are kept here, and I have read every single one.”

That is unbelievable, but perhaps spending so long down here gives you a lot of free time. “Saturn, Jove gave you a package some time ago. Could I have that please?”

Saturn’s face turns to one of knowing. “It is time, then.”

“Time for what?”

He says nothing, but climbs down the ladder and vanishes into the labyrinth. Mere minutes later, he returns with a package, wrapped in Jove’s signature golden paper and tied up with a simple white ribbon. “Take this and follow the markers in bronze to get to the exit. Good luck, Earth.” With that he’s gone again, and I don’t know if he was wishing me luck with leaving or with the package. I follow his instructions and leave the archives, Saturn just as much of a mystery to me as he was before.

The package glimmers prettily in the lights of Jove’s office. Jove welcomes me back with a shining goblet of wine, which now sits precariously on my arm rest, as I am sitting in a chair opposite his desk.

“Thank you Earth, you’ve done splendidly. Now, do you have any idea what this package is?”

“No, I don’t.”

Jove starts to undo the ribbon at the top. “You see, we were hoping we could increase our audience a little bit, but in order to do that we needed to find a place for them to go. I have been conducting some secret research throughout the company and have concluded that you, Earth, are the best fit for this new assignment.” He opens the package fully, and extracts a small box. “This is for you.”

I take the box and open it. Inside is what looks like dirt. “Thank you?”

Jove chuckles heartily. “It is more than what it looks like. From that, you will be the first planet to have people.”

“People?”

“Humans. They’ll learn to live off what you provide for them, and they’ll be full of wild and wonderful ideas that we planets have never come up with before.” His voice lowers. “They may hurt you. They may forget who gave them what they needed and that they wouldn’t be anywhere without you. However, they will be better with you than anyone else and it is a privilege to be able to host life. Not even I have that. Are you willing to accept this assignment?”

My jaw drops, but I close it hastily. “Of course.”

Jove smiles from ear to ear. “Then take the box, choose a place in your office to put it, and see what happens. I wish you luck, Earth.”

With steady hands despite my nerves, I take the box of dirt — people? — and rush back to my office on a lower floor. It’s a calming combination of blue, green and white, and as I scan the room, my eyes fall on a large green area on the floor where I know I’ve got forests, mountains, deserts and ocean. “Africa,” I decide, and place the little box in the middle. There’s a flash, then I feel a tingling sensation, and the box is gone. However, I look closely, and I can see movement that was unlike anything else I had seen before. I was already used to creatures, but never any that were as apparently developed as these. Already they were moving things around and taking parts of plants to make things. Remembering I told Sol I’d talk to Mercury, I decided I could leave my people to their own devices for a little bit. As I slipped out of my office into the coffee room, I made a few plans.

I would treat them with kindness. Hopefully, they returned the favour.

#writing #english #planets #draft #cosmology #aesthetic #dark academia #academia #light academia #academia aesthetic #dark academia aesthetic #have fun i guess

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bowlegsandbiceps · 4 years ago

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Suptober Day 2: Earth

A Case of Space

Explicit / Destiel / 3,500 words

Read on AO3

Castiel sat in an uncomfortable chair, listening to the head of finance blather on about fuel budget and fought the urge to vomit. He tried to tell himself that the seesawing feeling in his chest was all in his imagination. The floor under his feet was firm and level, and even though they were hurtling through space faster than the speed of light, the equilibrium sensors absorbed any changes in density. He designed the system for god sake. The ship was not rocking back and forth.

His stomach didn’t seem to get the memo. A cold sweat broke out across his upper lip, and there was no way he was going to be able to sit through the rest of this meeting. Not with the inky blackness of space looming oppressively from the wall-length viewing glass on the other side of the table. What idiot decided it was a good idea to include that in a boardroom where important decisions were to be made.

Oh, right, it was him.

Something was wrong. Had to be. Castiel knew the Impala as well as he knew his own body. Lived, breathed, and thought her into existence from as early as secondary school when he’d stare up at the stars with bare feet on solid earth and dream of when he’d be up there one day.

Castiel stood on shaking legs, holding up a hand in apology as he stumbled to the exit and made a bee-line for the maintenance port hidden discretely behind a wall, the only indication it was there a small security pad near the wainscoting. He waved his hand over it, the dot on the inside of his wrist glowing white as the security pad blinked green. His stomach gave another precarious lurch like he’d reached the apex of a roller coaster and his mouth began to fill with saliva, a pulse of anxiety shooting through him when he wondered what it would feel like to start the descent.

He slipped through the opening, trading the artificial daylight of the main hall for the shadowed maintenance corridor, and took the stairwell down until it leveled out, hearing the clink and hum of the Impala’s systems and engines hard at work. He hurried along the suspended walkway, making his way to the heart of the ship, and something about the twilight heat made him breathe easier.

Another wave of his hand at the last security point, and he was able to hurry down the tight circle of stairs to the bottom of the ship, resolutely avoiding the panoramic viewing glass that looked out under the bow. His heart gave a pitiful lurch anyway, the pressure on his throat immense as he sidled up to the main terminal and began doing a system check.

The longer he searched, the faster his heart seemed to beat, finding everything to be in perfect working order. In fact, the levels were better now than they’d ever been in their pre-flight tests. He ran a report on the equilibrium sensors and gravity apparatus, the numbers blurring in front of him as he started to hyperventilate.

Something was wrong. Maybe if he did a complete system restart…

He’d given secondary clearance when he heard an angry shout echo down the maintenance shaft as the sirens began to wail, warning of a complete system shut down in 10…9….8…

Castiel was shoulder checked out of the way, tumbling to the ground as a young man in dungarees and an A-shirt covered in sweat and grease, welding goggles perched atop his head was scowling at the board. His fingers flew over the glass as he bypassed screen after screen, adjusting numbers here and there before pushing the commands to the system.

The siren cut off mid-wail, and Castiel glanced up, seeing the propulsion sphere begin to ascend again as it orbited around them, the frenzied whir dulling to its rightful, pleasant hum. Castiel’s eyes fell to the man who was also watching the inner workings of the ship, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, broad shoulders loosening a bit before he huffed a sigh out his nose and ripped the goggles off his head, hurling them, so they skidded across the floor to clink hard against the viewing glass. Castiel’s stomach lurched, and he was suddenly terrified that the glass was going to crack, and he’d be sucked out into the void.

“I don’t know how the fuck you got down here, but you nearly killed us all!” A large hand closed around Castiel’s bicep, jerking him to his feet.

This time Castiel’s stomach lurched for an entirely different reason. Green eyes, furious but clear as a summer lake and fringed with thick lashes so long it was practically obscene, especially on a man, held Castiel’s. Full pink lips were moving over hateful words but glistened as if he’d just wet them, and a stubbled jaw sharp enough to cut glass flexed with his frustration. Castiel was so mesmerized by the constellation of freckles spreading across the man’s nose and cheeks that it took Castiel a full beat to realize that he was looking up, a few inches shorter and much more narrow, the other man’s broad shoulders and bowed legs holding space the way Castiel’s lithe frame never could. His eyes lingered on the corded muscles of the man’s arm, moving down to the large hand with thick fingers that dug into Castiel’s arm. Castiel looked back at the face again, tuning back in to what he was saying…well, yelling.

“…insane, great. I oughta knock your fucking head off, but I’ll let security deal with you.”

“Something’s wrong!” Castiel blurted, planting his feet when the man began to drag him towards the stairs. The man stopped and narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah, okay. Come on, I’m sure they’ve got a nice jacket around here for you somewhere.”

“I’m not crazy!” Castiel ripped his arm from the man’s grasp, and he gave a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes as he turned before he gave Castiel a placating smile. Castiel scowled. “The equilibrium sensors have to be down. The system isn’t showing it, but if they were damaged or if there was some kind of surge-”

The man waved a silencing hand before he cut Castiel off. “We’ve had clear skies since we launched and electrical has been steady the entire ride-“

“Even if it fluctuated by 1 to 2 Oms, it could trip another system to surge into another without setting off the alarms.”

The man lifted a brow and then laughed. “Do you know what kind of perfect storm in the machinery would have to occur for that to happen?”

“Yes, I do, in fact.” Castiel glared hard, reaching up to wipe the sweat from his upper lip. “If the surge happened in the gravity channel-”

“Gravity channel has barely moved half an Om either way since we took off. Look, man, I been running this thing since the very first tests. She’s my baby and ain’t nobody knows her better than me ‘cept maybe the designer-”

“Castiel Novak, nice to meet you.” Castiel thrust his hand forward, and the man’s face went sober, eyebrows shooting to his hairline.

“Uuuuuuuuuh…” the man took Castiel’s hand, blinking at him as if seeing him for the first time.

“And your name is? Certainly, it’s not ‘uh.’”

“Uh - shit!” The man used his free hand to rub at his forehead and heaved a sigh. “It’s Winchester. Dean. Dean Winchester. Sir.”

Castiel waved a hand as he let go of Dean’s and realized it came back with black fingerprints smudged across the back. Dean grimaced and pulled a rag from his back pocket, offering it to Castiel. He wiped his hand methodically, trying to calm his racing heart, but the panic still crackled along his skin. Dean was eyeing him up and down, and he felt a flash of heat that had nothing to do with anxiety.

“Shit, my brother is gonna freak,” Dean muttered as Castiel handed him back the cloth and shook his head.

“We need to do a full system restart.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed, and he held out a hand, a cautioning gesture. “You… you know that will literally kill all of us, right? Like, you’re supposed to be smart, man! You gotta know that shutting down all systems when going hyperspeed through deep space is a death wish.”

“It’s dangerous, I know, but-”

“Dude, the climate shields will freeze over, and the slightest density shift would shatter it like glass. That’s game fucking over.”

Castiel frowned. “They wouldn’t freeze over.” Wait…

“Yes, they would, and I can see, now, you realize that.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest.

“But, something is wrong!” Castiel’s voice cracked at the last word, arm flinging out towards the panel, and Dean’s face shifted from disbelief to suspicion.

“Wait…”

Castiel was trying to judge if he could sidestep Dean and get to the panel, shivering at the thought of their bodies colliding, so he didn’t hear what Dean had asked. He blinked at him, head tipping to the side.

Dean rolled his eyes, heaved a sigh, and Castiel found himself being corralled back against the wall, Dean invading his personal space. His brows were drawn, green eyes searching blue, and Castiel had the strongest urge to kiss him. What was wrong with him? Castiel was so freaked out he didn’t even flinch when Dean’s wrist pressed warmly to his forehead, then the backs of his fingers to Castiel’s cheek.

“How long you been off-planet?” Dean’s brow was knitted in concentration. Castiel shifted, very aware suddenly that he was half hard in his slacks.

“Three days…”

Dean’s mouth did something interesting that stole all of Castiel’s attention. “Hey? You hear me? Is this your first time? In deep space, I mean?”

“Oh,” Castiel felt his cheeks heat up and was further embarrassed when the backs of Dean’s fingers returned to his face, undoubtedly feeling the warmth of his blush. “Yes, actually.”

Dean gave a perfunctory nod. “You got a case of space.”

Castiel’s brows pulled down, and his head tipped to the side. Dean grinned. “Case of… what?”

“It happens to everyone,” Dean rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Well almost everyone the first time they go deep. You get all queasy and panicky and… other things. It’s the artificial gravity.”

“No one…” Castiel swallowed hard as that sudden sense of falling hit him again. “No one mentioned that.”

“Probably thought you knew, man. You being… well, you.”

“Well I’m definitely queasy and panicky. What’s the other things?” Castiel’s eyebrows rose when Dean blushed, looking away, putting a good foot of space between them.

“Uh… well…” He huffed a laugh as he reached up to rub at the shell of his ear. “It can do things to… well…” Dean gestured vaguely between them.

Castiel’s head tipped to the side and squinted. “I’m sorry I don’t-”

Dean sighed. “It makes you really horny.”

Castiel blinked and looked down. “Oh…”

“Yeah, oh.” Dean chuckled. “My first trip deep, I almost got fired because I spent the first week disappearing to jerk off every hour.” Castiel’s eyes widened, and Dean’s smile slipped away, adam’s apple bobbing in a way that made Castiel want to bite at it. He was fully hard now. “That was an overshare, sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine.”

“Yeah,” Dean’s eyes flicked down. “You’re just saying that because you got a steel rod in your pants right now and I’m…. well…” Dean flicked a hand up indicating himself, and the cocky grin that spread across his handsome face made Castiel step forward right into his personal space.

“You are quite attractive.”

A subtle blush covered Dean’s cheeks making his freckles stand out even more. He chuckled. “I uh… don’t think it’s a great idea to fuck the boss.”

“I’m not your boss.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “My boss’ boss’ boss then.” Dean let his eyes drift down, pausing at Castiel’s lips before traveling all the way down and back up again. “Shame, though.”

“How long does this last?”

Dean shrugged. “Week or so.”

“And masturbation…”

“Helps, yes.” Dean smirked, and Castiel felt a tug between his legs that made him shift forward, hands reaching to grip Dean’s face.

“I’m going to kiss you.”

Dean didn’t move. “Okay then.”

It was tentative, Castiel trying to remember the last time he kissed someone, much less another man. Dean’s lips were soft and warm, and he almost seemed to melt into the kiss, letting Castiel lead, which surprised him. After a few moments, he pulled back, finding Dean’s eyes still closed, lips even cushioned into a soft pucker. Green eyes opened and the insistent pull Castiel felt in his balls nearly made him whine.

“Uh… so…”

“Your room is in the residential wing or down here?” Castiel knew it was down here. He designed the ship after all.

Dean’s lips quirked. “We’re going to my room?”

“It’s closer.”

“Thought you didn’t know where it was?”

Castiel nearly hissed as Dean’s hands landed on his hips, the heat searing through the fabric between them. “I wanted to give you the option to decline one more time before I take you right here.”

Dean’s eyes grew large, his pupils blown wide, and Castiel had to have lost his mind, but who could blame him with his erection throbbing the way it was. He wondered if he’d regret this later, once the fog wore off. They didn’t say anything after that, lips colliding over an over in a heady rush of teeth and tongue, pin-balling off various panels and encasements until Dean managed to pull them through the door of his small room.

Only a double bed with a small side table and a tall dresser filled the space barely larger than a closet, but the wall next to the bed was entirely viewing glass, and Castiel remembered wanting to make sure that the ship’s crew had views as spectacular as the residents. He was momentarily frozen, but a quick whistle from Dean and his attention was back just in time to catch the small bottle of lube as it hit him in the chest.

It was suddenly very easy to ignore, with Dean tugging his tank top over his head and tossing it aside before dropping his pants and boxers. Castiel tossed the bottle on the bed and made quick work of his own clothes as Dean stepped into his personal space, grabbing up the bottle and squirting some into his hand, grabbing Castiel’s cock as soon as his pants and boxers slid past his thighs.

“Oh, fuck,” Castiel groaned, his forehead thunking against Dean’s as his slick, warm palm moved over his flesh, and he didn’t think he’d ever been this hard in his life.

“God, you’re so hard,” Dean murmured, voice a low rumble that sounded wrecked with want. “Fuck I want you inside me.”

Castiel didn’t need any more coaxing, grabbing Dean by the biceps and spinning him to face the bed, a firm hand going to the back of his neck as he bent him over the footboard, one foot tangling in the pants around his ankles to kick his feet further apart. Dean moaned, hands gripping the metal bar of the footboard, arching his back.

The head of Castiel’s dick brushed against the back of Dean’s thigh, leaving a trail of precum across his skin as Castiel got more lube, giving his dick a sharp jerk before pressing the pads of his fingers to Dean’s hole. Dean whimpered, the sound tugging in Castiel’s balls, and he applied pressure, the tips of his fingers pushing past the tight ring of muscle and immediately began scissoring as he pressed gently forward.

“Fuck, Cas, yes, open me up.” Dean’s head hung loose on his neck, and Castiel admired the muscles in his back as they tensed and rolled with each twitch and roll of his hips.

Castiel’s fingers were seated to the knuckle after only a few moments, Dean hissing while urging him not to stop. Castiel couldn’t take it anymore, all the pent up, nervous energy threatening to burst from his skin. Dean’s whine when his fingers left him was immediately covered by a gasp as Castiel guided the blunt tip against Dean’s hole, prodding experimentally before applying pressure, and they both moaned when the head popped in.

Castiel felt frantic, hands moving to grip Dean’s hips, and he tried to press in slow, sweat gathering on his brow, but Dean was pushing back, and they met in the middle with harmonizing groans. Castiel’s fingernails bit hard into Dean’s skin, begging silently for control, but he knew this wouldn’t last long.

“Dean…”

“Give it all you got, Cas. I ain’t fragile.”

Castiel’s accompanying moan was drowned out by the sharp sound of skin smacking skin, and the rest was a blur of savage thrusts and slick skin. Castiel’s orgasm hit him hard, body curling in and over Dean as his hips kept working against him. Dean’s body began to tremble, moans turning to shouts as the new angle sent pulse after pulse against his prostate. Castiel’s arms wrapped around Dean’s waist while one hand trailed down, finding Dean’s own fist working himself furiously. All it took was Castiel’s hand closing over his for Dean to shout, his release flowing over both their hands as his ass clamped down, milking the dregs of Castiel’s pleasure from his tender flesh.

They both ended up on their backs, feet still tangled in pants and boots but neither cared. The bed was barely big enough for the two of them, so they were pressed thigh to thigh, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, and Castiel was half surprised not to see steam rising from their cooling flesh.

Dean heaved a sigh after a while. “Well that was definitely not how I envisioned my day ending.”

Castiel let out a reluctant snort and made the mistake of glancing over at Dean, which got him an eyeful of the inky black outside, a nebula in the distance splintering the dark with purples, pinks, and blues. Dean’s arm lifted at the sound of distress pulled from the back of Castiel’s throat, tucking Castiel in against his chest and shushing him softly.

“It’s hell the first couple-a days.” Dean patted his hair placatingly. “You go up to medical they’ll be able to give you something for the nerves.”

“But not the lust?”

Dean was quiet for a moment. “Uh I dunno. Most folks only talk about the panic and paranoia.”

Castiel glanced up at him. “You never took it?” Dean shook his head. “Why?”

Dean shrugged. “I’m a badass.” Dean jostled him, grinning. “Now, my brother, Sam? - He thinks the sun shines out your ass, by the way-” Castiel gave a startled laugh. “First time I took him deep, I had to lead him around with his eyes closed any time there was viewing glass. Dork slept in the bathtub for a week because he said it felt safe. Space does screwy things to your psyche.” Dean rolled his neck, digging his head back into the pillow and closing his eyes. “The sex helps.”

“It seems to, yes.” Castiel peeked over Dean’s chest and out the viewing glass, the clouds of the nebula shifting. He shuddered. “Thank you.”

Dean chuckled, his voice turning to a silken purr. “Oh, it was my pleasure.” A pause. “You know I could be persuaded to let you stay down here, you know until you get evened out… Walk you through the logs every day… other things.”

Castiel blinked, his eyelashes brushing against Dean’s skin, and watched it pebble to gooseflesh. “That’s kind of you. What do you have in mind?”

“Welp,” Dean grunted as he dug his arm over the side of the bed and tugged out a book. Castiel’s head lifted, realizing it was his book. “Maybe you could sign this for my kid brother?”

“Sam?”

A fond smile pulled at Dean’s lips. “Yeah, Sam.”

“I find your terms agreeable.” Castiel wiggled back down and planted his cheek over Dean’s heart, exhaustion settling heavily on him suddenly. Dean snorted.

“Shoulda pushed for a video call.”

“We can do that too,” Castiel murmured, eyes sliding closed and felt Dean’s muscles tense.

“Wait, for real?”

“Someone needs to teach him that the sun is located in the Local Interstellar Cloud and not my ass.”

It took Dean a solid minute to quit laughing.

Three weeks later, after a complete overhaul of the Impala’s technological maintenance schedule, two video calls with Sam Winchester, and frankly a disturbing amount of sex with Dean, it was officially concluded by medical that his cells and organs had adjusted entirely and all his bloodwork came back normal. Dean’s casual observation that with most of Castiel’s stuff was already down there and the mechanical maintenance evaluation kicking off, it was probably for the best he just stayed down there. Castiel, without hesitation, agreed.

#suptober20 #suptober #destiel #deancas #casdean #spn fic #fanfic: supernatural #writing by me

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grim-faux · 4 years ago

Text

5 - Down the Drain

A trail of red footprints led from the shadows across to an iron door. If it wasn’t locked I might’ve continued through, driven on by my sick curiosity. Beyond the safety of a secured door could await dangers the same as the hall I was now in, but I couldn’t afford not to check. The thought alone brought chills to my spine, that behind any door a new danger could await. How far could I run before I was caught? In this place I welcomed broken lights.

I returned to the lit path now on my left, were another of the countless slain of this place rested. Briefly, I looked over his body, maybe he had a card or something I could use later. The nametag read Doug Jenkins, he was high level security, probably down here to regain control and lost himself in the process. He had no weapons, but he was grasping a walkie talkie. From that I salvage two batteries, there was a chance they would have no power given the drafty chill that slunk in through every corridor.

As I continued through the broken segregation gate, I realized this was where that camera shy freak had made his scene. I was glad he seemed to be gone, but his absence was discomforting. Nothing had changed since I left this area, the gate still locked, but the floor along my right had shattered from some climatic event. A thin edge of cement remained, enough for me to strafe along I gambled. It looked sturdy enough with rebar exposed at the crumbling edge, the drop wasn’t far enough to hurt if I did manage to fall.

The Asylum was shut down years ago, and degraded to a condemned state before the Murkoff Corpotration reopened it for their research. They didn’t even bother with the minimal of repairs to maintain it, they barely shoveled out the collapsed ruble from walls and floors. I could just picture the memo

All staff must use Cell 52-E to reach the other side of the upper floors

I began to wonder if some of the patients locked away were ever looked in on, or if Murkoff only focused on those used in their research. Even a doomed dog was fed up until he was put down. Those affiliated with Murkoff were some of the lowest of the lowest bastards out there.

Carefully I slide my back along the rough wall and tested my weight on what remained of the walkway. It felt more than sturdy, as I continued to slink along little by little. I tried to focus on my footing and not get distracted by the lost souls, locked in their broken routine. The man that had been smashing his skull against the walls had sat down and, I think he was mumbling to himself while he persisted to crack the side of his head on the corner of a pillar.

They could have easily killed me, the opportunity was still there should they decide to pursue - hunt me down. But the humane side of me felt sickened to the core. Something about this, everything that was done here, the way they were left, was all wrong. If there was a way to escape Mount Massive, why had they not left this place? Or had others already fled? The Warrant for Seizure indicated so, before all of this came about.

When I reached the other side, I barely recalled the twins and their sick promise. They were absent.

“You, ah, didn’t wait until I finished.” I sprang back as the man from the room I omitted to shut, sprang across the distance and shoved at the door. “But I saved some for you. Just wait.” He turned and skipped down the steps like a jolly school boy, his voice full of merriment. “Just wait…Mm! Hmm!”

Maybe I should have shut his door AND propped the little chair in front of it, for good measure.

The open hall behind me was the only available route. The lights above had failed in this section, but I could make out dark blood splatters scrawled on the wall across from me, illuminated by an open door. I wanted to avoid using the cameras NV as much as possible, but odd sounds were nearby somewhere in the dark. Beside me was a set of bars, but pressed against them ‘gazing’ up at me was another discarded man tied up in a straightjacket with bindings coiled about his mouth and eyes.

It was easy to feel sorry for him, and attempt to undo the cruelty done to him. But my instincts warned me to hold my ground, and this time I listened. The worst killers of our world could feign normalcy, but the soil in their basement could conceal the bodies of many duped by this illusion. I easily recognized a makeshift muzzle.

From this point on I burned it into my thoughts, if I didn’t I was damned. Speak with no one. Trust no one. EVERYONE wanted to kill me in some way. The MHS cop warned me to hide, well I could fuckin hide.

Ahead, someone, probably their ‘Father’ Martin, scrawled a new message for me in red.

God annoys…

I blinked and read again.

God Always Provides a Way.

Follow the blood

Below the wording was a red streak, another wide mark was on the ground leading into some sort of pressurized chamber. The interior was lined with what looked like foil or thermal material of some type, most likely a fire retardant. I examined the large pipes that ran along the upper corners, connecting into pressurized caps. As I entered my attention dropped to the floor, where there was a pair of bloody shoeprints I recognized. The door hissed shut upon my entry and a shriek of hydraulics spooked me. My mind flashed to Auschwitz, death camps and gas chambers. I knew at once this wasn’t to be my demise, it was a light chemical spray to sterilize the air. Though it did manage to stall my heart for a second.

Once the pumps ceased, the opposite door opened and I stepped out. I was still shaken, but continued on without hitch. Another broken segregation gate and beyond that stairs that curled up and around leading to the next floor. Behind the first set of steps lay the crushed pieces of a wheelchair, I ducked to check behind them for anything valuable to my progress but there was nothing, aside from more low key patient files discussing prescriptions for the none volatile class. The sounds of muttering came to me, and I took the concrete steps softly gazing up at the floor above.

On the wall was a large arrow indicating my route, I touched the edge to certify the blood was fresh, still sliding down the brick wall. A large plate read A Block. The Block I just came from was B Block. Good to know.

The voice grew louder, and echoed as I made the first landing. Another locked grate, but an area I was excused from exploring.

Continuing up the steps I could pick up an overbearing reek of old copper, along with the source of the voice. Another emaciated patient scooted sideways, pressing his knuckles into the weathered cement wall until he had worn the skin away leaving bloody smears.

“Down the drain. With the blood, he said.” He seemed fully lost in the wall and strafed right, then left, repeating his words. “Only way out is down the drain.”

Behind him slouched against the wall was what looked like a doctor, he was dressed in thick white scrubs stained black with blood. My shoes squelched in the fluid as I neared him, and I turned my eyes back to the patient as he continued with his song and dance. I raised the camera and filmed his jargon, then turned to the dead man. It looked as though he had been sliced in multiple areas and all his blood poured out onto the floor, I stepped over the puddle and looked into a crimson bucket across from him filled completely with the thick black clumps.

My stomach did a flip and I retreated to the far side of the hall, another dead end blocked with crap. I sat down on the desk to gather myself while I watched the patient shuffle and repeat. “Down the drain,” he said. I took a shallow breath through my collar and exhaled.

This reminded me of the dead man I found in the lavatory, with “Witness” painted on the wall above him. Down the drain. With the blood. I guess I knew where all the blood scribbles came from. It was never a mystery in the first place.

There was another file on the desk beside me. I checked my friend before I turned to the folder and did my best to record the pages with the night vision.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Patient Art Program / PATIENT “FATHER” MARTIN ARCHIMBAUD

Helen-

Dr. Zeichner gave me your info to contact regarding the cancelation of the arts program. My patient, Martin Archimbaud, has made enormous strides in his therapy on account of his finger painting. Just in the week since canceling the arts program, his schizoaffective assertions of some “higher calling” have accelerated enormously. Please, just let the man finger paint. The few dollars you’re saving on temper paint is more than swallowed by the cost of Clozapine. I can’t imagine the logic at play here, unless Murkoff WANTS our patients to become more disengaged from reality.

Please advise.

Dr. Neil Wolfram

Martin Archimbaud. Yep, sounded like my guy. It felt good to know for certain he was the one leaving all these messages for me.

Fuck you Murkoff. Why couldn’t you just let the man finger paint? It would have saved so many lives.

My heel slipped in the blood as I tried to step over it, but I caught myself before I could lose my balance. I shuffled along the floor following a set of bare feet prints stained thick with blood leading along the same route, to a hole in the concrete and rebar where the drooping arrow on the wall directed my path down into it.

“With the blood, he said.”

Sighing, I eased myself down the opening and looked around. Another corridor, blood stained floor, walls eroded and bleached, the usual. Furniture was crammed down the way with dark streaks across the surface, and another pressurized chamber with blood indicating through a sealed door.

I took note that this was the room I had seen from the other side of the gate, and cursed my bad luck colorfully.

The door failed to open on my approach, it was either locked due to malfunction or just flat out locked. There should be a way around, but the path marked out for me was through there. I wouldn’t rationalize following a blood trail left by a psychotic ‘priest,’ but maybe he would show me the way OUT of this place if I humored him.

I didn’t want to think about his plans if this was all some elaborate delusion of his, right before he or one of the other patients decided to murder me. In the distance I could hear screaming, or someone sobbing, or something between the two. It seemed like there was always someone crying out, for whatever reason. I had a suspicion that for many it was their last cry before death.

Or escape through finality.

Light on my feet. Be observant. And above all else, survive.

I covered my nose as the heavy stench of rot hit me hard. Another corpse, right beside the desk I crawled over. Everyone with a half a mind in this place was dead.

“Just shut up and let me think for a minute.”

The sound of grunts and meaty thwacks came from around the corner. I dove down against the wall and listened as the violence continued. It sounded like someone was sobbing and thumping about with wild abandon. “Quiet! Quiet! Ah!” Then it ended.

This place was horrible. I hated this place. Down the drain. Gotta get out. I repeated these meditations to myself as I crawled under a murky window with trails of soggy red slipping down. The wall would end in a few feet, I would be exposed to whomever was there.

Slowly, I peeked around the edge into what looked like an office, or check station. Another corpse of the asylum, and fresh I presumed. A patient stood over the body with a wet club, droplets still dripped from the desk onto the crushed man. It might’ve been my nerves, but I swore the body jerked as the last impulses left what was left of his brain.

The patient turned his head, then spun fully to where I was. I froze in place coiled in a crouch ready to sprint. I was right in the middle of the opening, there in full view of the murderer.

“I’d like you to stay quiet.”

He remained where he was and I stayed right where I was on my hands and knee. Caught in a stupor, I nodded and scooted away.

That was weird.

I checked a Security door from my humbled position, and he gently reminded me to be quiet. I used the shelf in the next hall to pull myself up and get going. I just needed to stay quiet. That corpse was quiet.

At the halls end waited a metal door which I carefully opened, without so much as a whisper. Inside the room a figure stood tall staring up at monitors mounted high on the wall. Below them was a darkened window, I was between figuring out what was marked on the glass and the man as he spoke to open air.

“Trying to trap us in here.” Camera stupid, get your camera. I lifted it and checked the visor, needed to hit record too. Of all things….

“Not a lot they can do about it lying in their own steaming guts, is there?”

The variants were responsible for this shit hole disaster. But how did they manage to kill the Security personal, and the MHS? As far as body count went (excluding limbs and pieces) those that could be identified had all been staff, very few of the slain had been patients. This statistic should be reversed, unless they moved their dead. I didn’t believe enough of them had the cognitive faculty for that, but I hardly viewed a blood stain that was unaccounted for. I was barely scraping the surface of this horror mystery.

“Who…?” He had spied me when the door creaked as I leaned in a little. “You’re one of Murkoff sons of bitches, aren’t you? I want to show you something.”

He had nearly reached me at the end of that sentence, but I had whirled away to run. He wanted to kill me. Thought I was Murkoff or something, maybe I looked too normal for him. I didn’t feel healthy in thought.

“You FUCKER!”

I tried the metal door across from the librarian, locked. No shit. I darted off as my pursuer skid around the corner. There was no other place for me to go, no place to hide! Maybe I could get back up the drain, it was my only option I could see.

At the halls darkened end, all but invisible was the hairline creep of light from a door! I picked up speed smashing it open with an arm, in the same motion I spun about catching the edge and threw it shut. I didn’t see if he had followed this far, or if his hoots had done him in.

I looked around, another office. There was a desk, filing cabinets that hadn’t found the hall yet, a barred room with lockers and janitorial equipment. I walked the perimeter and found an open cell door, through the NV feed I could make out a bed but little else. I entered and shut the gate and slipped under the bed. Here I lay safely secured by my only ally, the shadows. He would know I had no place to hide, no place to run. If only there was a way I could lock that gate.

The door knob twisted and the door opened. My breath caught as I turned my face into my shoulder and shut my eyes.

“Son’s of bitches.” I heard his footfalls fade. The door of a locker opened and shut, all in the same motion. “Sooner or later. Doesn’t matter.” I pried an eye open as he paced the room, he paused to examine the bars of the room I hid within. I stare at him unblinking, it felt like my heart and blood ceased all at once. If he came in he would find me.

But the closed gate deterred him, and he swung away knocking over the computer monitor out of spite. The screen crashed and flashed out beside my head, I hadn’t flinched from the explosion and saw bright spots as a result. “Doesn’t matter.” Satisfied with his inspection, he turned and exited the room whistling an off tune melody.

Even after his song faded, and the clack of a door echoed to the room, I waited. I could never overcome this icy clutch of feebleness I felt, the overbearing weight that my life was out of my control. I shoved myself a little more under the bed until my back pressed against the wall. For a moment I felt safe.

People live in famine, mothers watch their children starve. Families are torn apart by war, yet life goes on. Men kill children because their leader orders it, then live free and safe because they are still useful.

The world had fucked up shit in it. I was going to get out of here, I was going to survive and tell the story. Others had survived. My will couldn’t be broken, no matter what they did. I hadn’t seen the worst of it yet. There will always be the worst, waiting just around the corner.

I pushed my arms out and crawled from under the bed. A little puddle of blood had stained my elbow, but it was so insignificant. This was probably my most favorite room in this entire place. It was so…tame.

“They weren’t experiments.” His sudden voice didn’t alarm me, I think I knew he was there the whole time. I pulled my knees up and wrapped my arms around them, staring into the dark and where his shape moved. “They were rituals. A conjuring.”

A conjuring. This seemed along the same lines the Priest was on about. This ‘Walrider’ he called it, same as in the project reports that Murkoff based their studies. And they found it in the mountains.

I rose to my feet and left, trying to find the door so I could shut it, only to recall it was on the other side of the door frame. He was still muttering behind it as I tiptoed through the hall, listening for the echo of steps not my own. It sounded like the patient left through the metal gates, but I hadn’t seen the quiet man yet.

Cautious and quietly, I stepped beside the wall that separated us. He was still there, now staring at the cold corpse. He didn’t seem too interested as I passed by toward the control room, this suited me.

I peered into the open room before waltzing right in. Desk with monitor to my left, control panel where I left it, and lockers with a desk situated in front of them on the far right. I crossed over to the panel where a button sat on the terminal, one that looked important or might shed some light on my whereabouts. I gave it a swat and cringed when the lights behind the glass blazed a nasty yellow, the doors hissed as they opened.

Follow the blood.

I had to hand it to the ‘Father’ Martin, he was getting creative with his grim messages. If I moved side to side I could tell the arrow indicating my path was painted inside the sterilizing chamber, and Follow was scripted on the glass. It would have been more impressive if the message wasn’t written in blood.

My battery was running low on power, best to fix that now while everything was calm. I decided to use one that I had salvaged from the guard and popped it in, but was dismayed to find it only had half strength. Probably because it was some off brand Murkoff had ordered, typical. Better than nothing.

I listened, picking up the faint pats of bare feet echoing from the hall. The doors had made a good deal of noise when I activated them.

The camera went to its hoister, and I moved quickly to the lockers and slipped inside. Two lockers. Wouldn’t take a rocket surgeon to figure out if both were empty….

I held my breath when he entered. Indeed, it was the librarian. He approached my side of the room, checking the brightened window as he twisted the sticky club in his red hands. He was thinking of leaving, there was no one in this room. Just turn and leave, there would be no more noises, at least not until I was safe beyond those doors.

His gaze fell on the lockers. I swallowed as he moved over and pulled the latch on one. There were two lockers, someone was in the second one. That was what he was thinking.

He shut the door and turned to the next, right when I decided to throw it open and flew out. The door smashed into his chest, as a result I couldn’t clear the door and tumbled when my foot glanced the sharp lining of the interior. He toppled to his knees as I rolled into the filing cabinet.

“Come back here!” He had already made it to his feet and was nearly upon me as I scrambled to get up, my vision distorted by vertigo like in a bad dream. I bolted for the open hall dead ahead.

A sharp whistled cut through the air and I felt the crushing blow to my shoulder, causing me to stagger. The walls quivered as my vision warped, the pain began a slow march up my shoulder into my neck. I didn’t know if it was broken, quickly I decided it couldn’t be.

I zipped around the corners and flew over the desk, the patient had trouble keeping up from whatever Murkoff had done to him, or I was just moving too fast for my own good. I skipped across the bloody threshold of the sterilizer’s doors, they shut at once and misted the area with their foul smelling spray. Even after the other door opened I knelt down for a beat, to calm my nerves and test my shoulder. It was hurt, not fractured, but it would bruise up later. Regardless of what could happen, I needed my arms no matter what. Hell, if they were tethered by little tendons, or bloody-butchered stumps I would still use them. I couldn’t afford not to.

Red streaks and an arrow greeted me on the other side. At least it was something. I stepped out, checking around the corner and listened. No sounds, nothing but the occasional distant shriek. I ventured into the decrepit hall and tried the Security door, locked of course. The hall ahead was still inviting and the familiar echoes of cracking came to me, I stepped over a fire extinguisher as I went. I wanted to kick the stupid thing but knowing this place it would spew ice or blood, or something else horrible. The hall took a left, but in an alcove at its end was another dead man, but I wasn’t keeping count. Looked like another one of Murkoff’s Research division, he seemed a long way from home.

In actuality, I was losing my patience with them. I had seen so many corpses, dead and crushed in every way imaginable, and why? Why the fuck did they lose control of this place? Why wasn’t anyone alive? Why couldn’t they have gotten out, called someone, and kept me from joining them in this shithole?

I paused and sighed as I reached the corner. I wasn’t being fair. I had entered under my own terms, though I had misgivings, I ignored them until it was too late. The one to blame here was not the people duped into working the system. It was me. I had to look in the mirror and remind myself, I had climbed into that window. I wanted the story. I was getting the fuckin story of a lifetime.

Just had to survive it first.

“We gave him a chance.”

Oh for Christ’s sake….

“That we did.”

“I’d say we were more than fair.”

“Paragons of patience.”

The voices drifting around the corner sounded amused, or pleased, or every sort of happy I could describe. I glanced around the edge ready to bolt if necessary, but it looked like they had another one of those beautiful metal gates between them and me. I breathed a sigh of relief, and winced. My ribs hated me.

“Job-like in the suppression of our desires.”

“But now.”

“Now.”

“Now we indulge.”

“Yes.”

“His tongue and his liver.”

“Yours.”

“Mine.”

My options seemed unfairly limited.

I stepped out from behind the safety zone and moved forward, keeping eyes locked on the twins. They watched my every move with a morbid fascination I was not comfortable with. The gate between us might have looked locked, or they might wait until I neared and then they would burst through. They couldn’t know I was trapped here, if they had plans they would wait until I was too close that they could catch me with little effort. But I had no idea what was going on here.

Aside from the discussion of how to divide me up. I refused to imagine what those plans entailed.

The first door on the segregation section had been torn off and left in the middle of the floor. I stepped on it as I examined the area keeping a portion of my attention on the twins, always. They were on the other side of the second gate with weapons that could slip through the bars easily to deal fatal injuries. Beyond the frame on the left was another door labeled Security, I didn’t know if it was locked or not and I didn’t plan to get close enough to find out. They said nothing more, content to palm the flat side of their weapons and teeter anxiously as I weighed my ‘options.’ On my right was a smashed out window with a dark crimson stain stretched on the sill, but that presented no better route. Was the mark another indication of my path by the ‘Father?’

I looked out without getting too close, viewing a long drop to Block B where I first explored. The man that had been smashing his skull into walls had resumed his mission, and patrolled, sobbing about voices. From the distance he was easily identified by his blood drenched face, as his actions. I thought he would’ve succumbed to the self-mutilation long ago.

I pretended not to notice the twins as I climbed onto the sill and slipped over, grabbing the ledge on the other side and hung there. My shoes scuffed against the wall, but my grip was firm despite my wounded arm. There were no other areas of interest to the right, but I knew the twins could judge my actions and would wait for me wherever I decided to go. If I slipped under their view I might have a chance to get up on the other side and take off before they could surprise me.

Given there was any place to go once I was there. A locked door could be waiting, or a blocked corridor. The fresh bruise in my muscle alerted me to action, as visions of my body plummeting to certain death haunted the forefront of my mind. I hastened my movements locking it in my mind that I must not let go, no matter what. Was there even a way in, a shattered window that was away from those two?

There was, but it wasn’t far enough to be worthwhile. At this point my arm was burning, I needed to rest it or I wouldn’t be able to pull myself up. From there my only option would be to drop.

I braced my toes against the wall and heaved up over the frame enough to see into the hall.

They were gone.

#miles upshure #outlast novelized #outlast fanfiction #outlast

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daggerzine · 4 years ago

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R.E. Seraphin molds tiny shapes into big songs.

Though he’s been on the scene for a while now (with different bands) I hadn’t heard the music of Bay Area musician R.E. “Ray” Seraphin until this year via a cassette called Tiny Shapes via Paisley Shirt Records (more on the label below). His first real band was Talkies, which he discusses below (and I have enjoyed), but he seems to have really come into his own this year with that cassette and a new EP, A Room Forever, which came out just a month or so ago. In his music you’ll hear influences of 80’s jangle pop as well as some deeper post-punk stuff (and for more current stuff I hear whispers of Dean Wareham and his bands and Wild Nothing). Reading below he seems very well grounded and seems to have a great attitude about everything (even not being able to play shows during a pandemic or being in a writing slump). I think once this is all over this guy will go on 5-year tour and gain lots and lots of new fans. In the meantime do check out his stuff, you won’t be disappointed.

Where did you grow up?

Berkeley, CA. The area I grew up in was filled with Victorian homes and dilapidated industrial warehouses. My family home was walking distance from a lagoon and an old, rusty set of train tracks. I felt I lived in an unremarkable college town. There wasn't much activity outside of the school. I discovered Berkeley’s storied political and musical history much later in life. Now, of course, there are many books written about Berkeley, but I thought it was a kinda nondescript city as a kid.

Do you remember what band made you fall in love with music?

Dating myself hard here, but I remember being floored by The White Stripes’ “Fell in Love With a Girl” video when I was 11. The Top 40 music making the rounds on VH1 and MTV at the time was beyond dreck — a lot of Train, Staind, Matchbox 20. The White Stripes were the first band I was exposed to that made succinct, catchy, no-frills music. I was genuinely enthralled. Plus, the Lego animation in that video still holds up.

Was guitar your first instrument?

I started on bass. My first instrument was an extremely cheap, pointy BC Rich knockoff monstrosity. I believe I was 13. I had no idea how to play and little interest in learning. For the first year, I putzed around with a Pro Co RAT, a wah pedal, and a tinny-sounding Crate practice amp. I just tried (and succeeded in) being as obnoxious as possible. When I started writing songs, I eventually graduated from playing bass poorly to playing guitar poorly.

Tell us about your first band.

My first band that played shows was called The Phil Spector Shotgun Experience. That was primarily a cover band I put together with my high school buddies and my mom. We covered Radio Birdman, the Pink Fairies, and the MC5; we also had an unwittingly hilarious original called “Nitroglycerin Man” — the first song I ever wrote (maybe I was subconsciously inspired by Wages of Fear). At some point, we kicked my mom out of the band and started playing as the Impediments. That band kicked ass — we made pridefully dumb American punk music. That was also my only band to sign a record contract, so it’s quite possibly been downhill from there!

Tell us about The Talkies (unless that was your first band mentioned above).

Talkies (no article!) was a group I started in 2014 as a vehicle for my songs. My previous bands had been more of a shared vision, so Talkies was my first foray into being the lone genius of a group. The sound was mostly drawn from what is disparagingly known as power pop. Basically, I was heavily into the band Shoes for a few years.

We released a few albums and EPs. Did a couple short tours. During that time, the project was dragged from the Bay Area to Austin and back before I finally, mercifully pulled the plug last year. It was time.

When did you transition from Talkies to the solo stuff you’re doing now? Did it feel comfortable?

Talkies had run its course, but I had a smattering of songs leftover from that project that I wanted to record. Around that time, I learned my good friend Jasper Leach (Burner Herzog) was getting ready to skip town. I had always wanted to work with him and, seizing my final opportunity to do so, we banged out my début, Tiny Shapes, last summer. The whole experience was fairly serendipitous. The stars aligned for that one.

I wouldn't say the process was comfortable. Recording the album felt necessary, urgent — almost compulsory at times. My heart was ready for a new project and I truly wanted to center myself for the first time. I’m glad I did. This is the happiest I’ve been musically in some time.

“I think therefore I am”

I love the songs on A Room Forever. How did they come together?

So glad to hear that! I got asked to contribute to a compilation back in April. With the deadline approaching and inspiration still eluding me, I took a glance at my bookshelf, noticed a particular Carson McCullers title, and whipped up “Clock Without Hands.” After my trusty collaborator Owen Adair Kelley added his parts, I felt we had stumbled upon a great sound. I tried to harness the creative spirit and pushed myself to finish a few ideas buried deep in the recesses of my Voice Memo app. I got friends Matt Bullimore (The Mantles) and Yea-Ming Chen (Yea-Ming & The Rumors) involved, and that was that. No great origin story — just pure American ingenuity and elbow grease.

Tell us about Paisley Shirt Records. Who runs it and how did you hook up with them?

Paisley Shirt Records is simply the man, the myth, the legend — Kevin Linn. He is a San Francisco-based musician and artist who records as Sad-Eyed Beatniks.

I met him when I was looking for someone to release my album, Tiny Shapes. He had just put out a tape by Hits — a great local band featuring some friends of mine — and I felt a kinship with his roster. So, I reached out to him. Foolishly, he agreed to put out my album and we’ve been inseparable ever since. Solid dude. High marks.

Have you done any solo tours? If so where and how did they go?

Ha! No. I had only notched two shows as R.E. Seraphin before the pandemic hit. Likely not doing anything beyond the odd live-stream show for a while. That said, if any tastemaking European touring agencies are reading this — give me a ring!

The latest EP

What are your top 10 desert island discs?

Ah, jeez. This question. I’ll just say these are 10 (plus one) that I come back to quite often. In no order:

Marquee Moon by Television

The Everly Brothers’ Best

Forever Changes by Love

Let it Be by The Replacements

Third/Sister Lovers by Big Star

The First Songs by Laura Nyro

16 Lovers Lane by The Go-Betweens

In a Silent Way by Miles Davis

A Different Kind of Tension by Buzzcocks

Something Else by The Kinks

Old No. 1 by Guy Clark

What are a few Bay Area bands that we should know about.

This is a golden-era for weirdo pop music in the Bay. To name just a few: Galore, Cindy, The Umbrellas, Tony Jay, Flowertown, Healing Potpourri, Latitude, Cocktails, The Reds, Pinks, & Purples, Yea-Ming & The Rumors, Anna Hillburg, the 1981, Toner, Frank Ene, Neutrals, Owen Adair Kelley, April Magazine, Telephone Numbers, Hits, Sad-Eyed Beatniks. Essentially every act associated with Paisley Shirt Records and/or Mt.St.Mtn. My bias is strong.

Do you feel that the pandemic has helped your songwriting or hindered it (if either)?

A li’l column A, a li’l column B. I’m a natural procrastinator, so I’ve definitely savored the lack of band practice and shows (things that often necessitate new material). That said, I doubt I would have finished A Room Forever had I not been quarantined at home. Without having many obligations and without being able to leave my house, music definitely became my raison d’être for the first time as an adult. I was fortunate to not be deemed an “essential” worker and to be able to focus energy on my passion momentarily. Silver lining.

What’s next ? A new record by the end of the year possibly?

Hopefully continuing to promote my music and play shows on the ol’ webiverse. A Room Forever will be receiving a small vinyl and tape pressing at the end of September via Mt.St.Mtn. and Paisley Shirt Records. So, looking forward to that.

I was creatively tapped for a few months after A Room Forever. While a new album is possible, it’s not probable. I am plugging away at a few tunes, but I tend to conceptualize albums as a thematic whole and not as a collection of songs. Haven't stumbled onto my next Big Idea yet. Don't count me out, though. I could see myself dashing off a covers album for sure.

What is one song you wish you’d written?

Too many to name! I’ll reframe that question to mean a great song I could see myself capable of writing in an alternate time, place, or dimension. Maybe one of Peter Holsapple’s songs from The dB’s — “Black & White” or “Neverland.” Also: anything by Wreckless Eric or Martin Newell.

Final thoughts? Closing comments?

Just finished reading an interview with the great James Purdy, and thought this quote summed up iur current political climate well:

“You go out into the world and no one knows you, you can be ruled because you’re programmed. Everything is stamped, put on the shelf, described, thrown out into the garbage. It’s a political process, and behind that an economic process. But to be nothing, that is the worst of all possible things.”

www.reseraphin.com

www.paisleyshirtrecords.bandcamp.com

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bananaofswifts · 6 years ago

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In the wake of Sunday’s blockbuster announcement that Scooter Braun has acquired Scott Borchetta’s Big Machine Label Group — and with it the rights to Taylor Swift’s first six albums — most reports have noted that Swift could have purchased the rights to her music and/or the label itself. While that is true, the playing field was not quite as level as it might seem.

Parsing the statements from both Swift and her attorney Donald Passman, it is clear that she was not offered the opportunity to acquire the rights to her music without signing a new deal with Big Machine, under terms she herself said were not acceptable. Her Tumblr post from Sunday begins: “For years I asked, pleaded for a chance to own my work. Instead I was given an opportunity to sign back up to Big Machine Records and ‘earn’ one album back at a time, one for every new one I turned in.” It is worth noting that nowhere in her statement does she say she was not offered any opportunity to buy her masters, as many have reported.

“I walked away because I knew once I signed that contract, Scott Borchetta would sell the label, thereby selling me and my future. I had to make the excruciating choice to leave behind my past,” she wrote.

In his blog post titled “So, It’s Time for Some Truth,” Borchetta writes, “As you will read, 100% of all Taylor Swift assets were to be transferred to her immediately upon signing the new agreement. We were working together on a new type of deal for our new streaming world that was not necessarily tied to ‘albums’ but more of a length of time.” Those terms, judging by the excerpt of the deal memo he posted, were proposed as seven years by Swift’s team and 10 years by Big Machine — the contract was never signed, so presumably that is one of the terms on which the two sides did not agree. (Reps for Swift and Big Machine did not immediately respond to Variety‘s request for comment.)

Informed observers might say: “Duh! Of course he wouldn’t let her just buy her masters!” Although Big Machine still has strong artists on its roster, obviously Swift’s catalog represents an overwhelming percentage of its reported $300 million value — and apparently Borchetta made the calculation that he’d get a better deal selling the label with Swift’s masters than selling the two assets separately.

And despite the seeming disingenuousness of some of the other comments from Swift and her camp — Braun and Borchetta had been conspicuously bro-ing down for weeks and insiders, particularly the industry trade Hits magazine, had speculated loudly that something big was afoot, so the claim that her camp did not know the sale was imminent is almost on the level of climate-change denial — in the context of her stated feelings about Braun and her history with him, her comment that she “walked away because I knew once I signed that contract, Scott Borchetta would sell the label, thereby selling me and my future” is at the core of the situation.

That is the unique disadvantage in which an artist can find themselves when trying to acquire the rights to their past work — which amounts to, “You can buy it if you agree to give me more” — and the reason why this particular playing field is not as level as some might maintain.

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calleo-bricriu · 5 years ago

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Rampage.

(( Send me a number and I’ll write a micro story using the word or phrase Always accepting. ))

Three years after Director Yandle's retirement, and Calleo still hadn't managed to shake the feeling that, any time he did anything to attract attention from outside the Department of Mysteries, that the Director would show up and scold him.

Of course, now that he was the department Director, once he realised there wasn't really anybody above him (save for the head of the Department of Mysteries, who seemed content to not bother himself with things of that nature) to scold him he'd often make a show of scolding himself in front of whoever had come down to complain about something he'd said or done. It never helped and often escalated matters, but Calleo found himself hard pressed to care.

Crouch had sent his --whatever he called the unpaid intern who was what amounted to his personal servant at work--down to relay a strongly worded suggestion that Calleo quiet his often less than quiet criticisms of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Nothing out of the ordinary; he frequently received messages of that nature, especially now, when putting up good appearances of being a cohesive government was evidently important.

All things Calleo had heard hundreds, if not thousands of times by now, throughout his career at the Ministry and he made no show of pretending to give the poor Witch who'd been sent down to deliver the message even part of his attention; the only indication she received that he was listening was a detached, "Is that all?" any time she paused to watch him and see if he had any reaction.

"No, sir, it--" she stopped when Calleo rolled his eyes, unsure as to what that meant or how to react to it.

"I'm not your superior. You know my name, it's on the door as well as on my desk. He," Calleo gestured absently to the ceiling, "isn't either, regardless of what he tells you. If it's all the same, wrap up the novel so I can get properly back to work."

There was a stunned pause before Crouch's intern found where she'd left off in the three page memo-lecture and continued, "--considering the overall political and social climate at the moment, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would appreciate it if you would cease any and all criticisms, written or otherwise, of Magical Law Enforcement or the Minister for Magic, for the greater good of--"

The quill that had kept moving since she'd entered the office stopped and along with it and with it, the entire atmosphere of the cluttered room shifted to something colder, despite the fact that Calleo's voice had never changed in volume or tone since she'd arrived, "Sorry, could you repeat that last part? I've either misheard of you've misread."

"I--no, that's what it says," not wanting to seem argumentative in an department that already made her nervous and an office that was somehow now even worse, she laid the memo down on Calleo's desk and lightly pushed it toward him.

"Mm." He picked it up and spent far too long reading it over before it disintegrated to ash in a bright, split second, and very small and contained Fiendfyre. After taking a moment to remove his glasses and rub the bridge of his nose, he continued, smiling brightly and as pleasant as he'd sounded the entire time, "Go back up to him and tell him that the fact that I cleaned out this department without having to be told is more proof of where I stand than he deserves, is all he's going to get, and if he ever has the unmitigated gall to speak that phrase where I can hear it, it'll be the last four words he ever says to anyone."

"The day I do anything," Calleo stood and walked around his desk to escort her back to the lift, "by order of a high ranking government official 'for the greater good' is the day you'll all know I've lost my entire mind."

"The last time someone tried to work under that turn of phrase, close to sixty million people were killed as a result, so the Department of Magical Law Enforcement will have to forgive me if I'd prefer not to engage in even a local version of it. Oh," Calleo propped the lift door open as it began to close, "and don't come back down here again. If Crouch has something to say to me he can drag himself and his silly mustache down here and say it to my face instead of hiding behind an intern like the spindly coward that he is."

Hours later, Calleo had all but forgotten about the memo and the conversation itself; it wasn't unusual at all for that sort of thing to happen, and nothing ever really came of it aside from a few more passive-aggressive memo exchanges.

He had no idea what or how that intern had reported what had been said back to Crouch, which was primarily why it caught off guard when several people stopped him at various times and various places within the Ministry to ask about the rampage he'd allegedly directed at an intern.

By the fourth or fifth person who'd asked, Calleo had figured out that this was some sort of attempt at a minor internal smear campaign, and all he could do was laugh and ask them when they had ever heard him so much as raise his voice, let alone do anything remotely approaching a rampage.

He had sixty-seven years of having the worst of whatever temper he had left being little more than sounding a bit more terse than usual and Crouch's reputation was already firmly cemented in being something close to unhinged and paranoid, after all.

Oh well.

If nothing else, maybe it would keep people from coming down to his office for awhile.

#v: ftbawtft #v: first war #hp rp #1979 #you can't even be serious it's only been 34 years

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fisherfurbearer · 5 years ago

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I would absolutely live to hear about Future Plans and heritage fruits! My partners and I are looking at buying a house by the end of the year and I'm so excited at the prospect of a back yard to fill with food plants and gardening and everything! So I'd love to know more about someone else's plans!!

mmMMMMMMMMMMMMMM YOU OPENED THE CAN OF WORMS THE WORMS ARE OPEN THEY ARE EVERYWHERE NOW!!!! OHHHHHHH JEEZ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! NOTHING CAN STOP THIS!!!!

MMMMMM. I LOVE. DOMESTIC CROPS AND ANIMALS. SO MUCH.

SPECIFICALLY “heritage” varieties. The pre-industrial/commercial varieties that people lived on for hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of years, or even the stuff younger than that, it’s just...so!! Good!!!

You didn’t QUITE ask for this but this is where I’m going with it. I LOVE. LOVE. LOVE. The HISTORY of our domesticated crops (specifically fruits and vegetables, but mostly Tree Fruits!!!! But I’m also suuuuper partial to heirloom sweet potatoes/normal potatoes even though I don’t like the taste of sweet potatoes, they’re just SO FRICKING COOL and I want to learn more about other vegetables too) and animals is just....HOOOOO!!!!

Locally adapted,, perfect little....NUGGETS that just...perfectly fit their own SPECIFIC LITTLE NICHES...no matter WHERE you live, no matter HOW much space you have, no matter HOW good or bad your soil, NO MATTER WHAT, there is ALWAYS something to grow or raise, and we can thank so, so much of that to the incredible variety of heritage crops/animals (and methods of agriculture) out there. Mild, cold, hot! Lots of space, little space, no space!! Fertile, barren!! Every condition in every color and shape and flavor and size and ahhhhhhh!!!!! AHHHH!!!!

Hold onto your butts because this is one Hell of a Mega Ramble okay, there is so much to talk about here, oh man.

Some background, which you can skip if you want...!!! It’s a LOT and it get’s VERY NEGATIVE but also VERY GOOD AND HOPEFUL, it’s a real big story and it’s My Story and gives a lot of insight into Why I’m Like This but it’s okay to skip for sure!! Anyway:

I’ve been researching (i.e. writing literally 1.5-2k+ words nearly every single day) for literally 7 years now about all of my various Passions and Plans in life. Obviously breaks were taken due to Sad Times but no matter what I did, no matter what happened, I’d always come back to my dumb awful stupid notes. I have notes on my current laptop, my old harddrive, my SO’s laptop, my stepdad’s laptop, my SO’s OLD gaming laptop, my old netbook, my OLD OLD netbook, every phone I’ve had in the past 7 years (which has been like uhh...five? I have bad luck with phones..) and COUNTLESS pieces of paper and cheap composition books.

To call it research, it seems to silly. Writing these words here, to you strangers on the internet, I CANNOT EXPRESS TO YOU how VITAL these notes are to my VERY EXISTANCE.

I have been researching and writing and talking to folks and asking questions and LIVING AND BREATHING this stuff for LITERALLY, LITERALLY HUNDREDS AND HUNDREDS if not ALMOST A THOUSAND OR MORE HOURS at this point!!!! If we were to actually SOMEHOW backtrack all the way to late 8th grade/freshman year when I first started dipping my toes into reptiles and fell in love with my first jumping spider that landed on my arm after I read Darren Shan’s Cirque Du Freak, after being so fascinated by the intelligent giant magic tarantula in the first book, and gathered ALL of my notes from then to NOW (I’m 21 now, if I was in college, I’d be graduating next May) it would EASILY surpass that. For YEARS in high school my family thought I was always playing games on my laptop, but really from the moment I got home to the moment I went to bed, I was watching lets plays with one side of the screen and reading, reading, reading, and writing, writing, writing with the other. For HOURS. Every. Single. Day.

Hell, this has been my most recent “Renaissance” of writing, after The Big Realization of earlier this year (I’ll get to that), and this is AFTER I went on a horrible depressed/manic rampage and deleted like 80% of my notes (that would have been from...hmm. This is what I didn’t delete, what Jessie recovered, and what I’ve added...so March to Early September, when Jessie switched my notes to a new program (I lost a lot of notes from lack of autosaving so now they’re on our nextcloud so I can’t lose them...but I’m too stubborn to use it still) and this is still like. A lot.

Keep in mind the average 10-11 kb file is 1500-1700 words for me. My biggest files (only of the ones I still have, on this laptop) are 40-60 kb. (Also these are Big Secrets that I don’t ever show anyone but Jessie, who I’ve been with now for almost 7 years, so this is pretty dang important to me and a big thing to be revealing.)

Current folder I’m usually saving to:

Nextcloud I don’t bother to use usually but probably should use:

Again, this is ONLY on my newest laptop, and this DOESN’T include the files I deleted a few months ago, nor the files I lost from February-early April after Jessie updated my computer and wiped my files, and I still have a BUTTLOAD left on my old harddrive from last year, but we never moved it up and I don’t feel a need to. (I’ve learned so much. So. Much. In the past year. I think I’ve matured a lot and really become more...Me. But I’ll get to that.)

Also doesn’t include the SEVERAL notebooks I’ve filled front to back this year (cheap $0.50 ones from work...I’ve blown through a couple biggish ones and I think 2-3 little quarter-size memo books) and all the receipt papers I have crammed into my work uniform...

But anyway why is this important? It really helps iron in just how HUGE this is to me. My future “Plans” aren’t just...it’s really important to me. Okay? I am but a humble stranger on the internet and my life and everyone elses’ respective lives are infinitely more complex than we can ever dare imagine one anothers’ existences to be, but just trust me when I say that I’m not pulling this from nowhere, this shit isn’t some sort of “fad” to me, this has been a long, long series of events and realizations and heartbreaks and so, so much pain that have finally led to everything kinda falling into place sometime this year where it hit me.

You see...all of my research topics followed a pattern. It went, in my rough memory, something like this.

It started with reptiles. Lots of reptiles. So many reptiles. I was so naive and young then and my sources sucked and I was very much a novice who dreamed of owning all sorts of cool reptiles when I got older, and of getting a gecko when I went to college. That was how it started and it went downhill from there. I branched off into gardening (I wanted and still want a blue tongue skink and had thoughts about how I’d grow a garden for vegetables and squashes and stuff for the skink and feeder insects) and THAT grew into this whole THING about raised bed gardening, square foot gardening, then into permaculture, which planted the seed for many things to come...and now I’ve ALWAYS LOVED BIRDS,, but when I learned that keeping CHICKENS was a thing (thank you Jennifer (Nambroth)!!!!!!!!!! Our emails back and forth are still saved forever, our talks about chickens changed my life and way of thinking Forever!!!) and I researched that, then I’d jump back to reptiles again, and back to chickens, then more reptiles, then chickens and QUAIL, or OTHER poultry,, and so on and so on. This beautiful fluid branching path that would always rebound on itself and I’d drop some topics, gain new ones, revisit old ones, learn what I liked, what I didn’t like, what were brief interests, and what were there to stay.

Some topics (chickens, new caledonian geckos, antaresia pythons, tarantulas, gardening...) would always come back. No matter what I did...they came back. As I grew as a person, I started to figure out what was important to me (CONSERVATION, animal welfare, reptile/invertebrate enrichment, vivarium design, combining art with animals, and did I mention CONSERVATION? and combating climate change/The World but that came later.) and while some of those points didn’t show up in my research until later...like my obsession with native wildlife/plants and domestic species...it never went away.

And as I grew older, outside of my research life went on, and I really went through A Lot in these seven years. Undiagnosed anxiety/depression all through high school, practically living in the guidance office junior/senior year, dealing with an emotionally abusive and animal abuser teacher for many years, living with my emotionally abusive/narcissistic mother, and eventually going to an amazing art college and having both the best and worst time of my life (Hahah!! Almost straight As and skipped a writing class with my amazing scores and was top of my class, Dean’s list first semester, in the Visionary Women’s Honors society, worked in the admissions office and did lots of cool things, but hahaha also really wanted to die and was Destroying Myself) and trying to get help while keeping it a secret from my mom...lo and behold of course she eventually found out about the Depression when I had to go inpatient near the end of my second semester, and she. HA, I can’t even cry about this anymore. She literally disowned me (took all my money, sold my car, cut me off of health insurance, made me pay my own hospital bills, refused to do my FAFSA for college anymore, dropped all support, and later when I had to come home because I relapsed again and the college made me go on a medical leave of absense, she threatened to kick me out and call the police [hilariously enough though the house was owned by my stepdad, not her, so she couldn’t do anything. Also I never did anything to her and she was just crazy and made up excuses. But yeah not fun trying to walk to work and being threatened over the phone that she was going to have me dragged out of work by the cops and not to come home, hahaha!!!!!! But then also when I did live with my neighbor for a few days she was apparently so distraught?? Haha what a weird person!!!! I haven’t seen her for three years now and it’s been the best thing that ever happened to me. Don’t mourn for me, it’s SO Much better now. Speaking of, she was a PETA-hugging ARA nutjob and if she knew what I was planning on doing she would’ve disowned me either way!!!!!!), and of course fighting to be able to move out and rent an apartment with my SO (I hate the word boyfriend. It’s been 7 years come January 11th, and we’ve been through so fucking much. And she [my mom...] and other people always made fun of him being my BOYFRIEND that that word is tainted for me...so Significant Other it is) and then being forced to live alone there for a couple months,, and then even after that, the fights with his family, the car accident in November, my mom ruining all chances of me going to college (keep in mind I had after leaving college, spent the next TWO AND A HALF FUCKING YEARS OF MY LIFE trying to make it so I COULD go back, spent all of my time, energy, hope, eVERY OUNCE OF MY BEING trying to do so,,, and she manipulated me and then lied to me and made it so I couldn’t), my rebounding depression, my Intensifying Aggression (terrifying. Developed when I was in college...I guess it’s some kind of rapid bipolar disorder, maybe triggered by me going on antidepressants in college, they said. But it was so long ago and they never knew the full story for a proper diagnosis anyway. But it’s gotten manageable and We’re Coping), the housefire on Christmas, moving Once Again to the new place and being told I can’t bring my 15 year old cat (he’s with my stepdad still now but it’s not okay.), the rats have to be in the basement, and oh yeah if you want to attend college again loans will be nearly 13% interest hahaha!!! and then finally just straight up breaking down in February and not leaving bed for DAYS and nearly committing suicide, just the real worst time ever, and my former therapist/psychiatrist place weren’t responding (turns out they discharged me!! haha kinda hard to make appointments WHEN YOU DON’T PICK UP THE PHONE and we DIDN’T GET THE NOTICE IN THE MAIL because our HOUSE WAS CONDEMNED and my mail was being sent to my STEPDADS an hour away!!!!!!!! Also really hard to talk to you when you BLOCK OUR FUCKING NUMBER and HANG UP ever time we fucking call haha!!!!!! Literally on the verge of suicide and not on my anxiety meds for MONTHS but hey sure that works too guys!!!!) which really didn’t help, and yeah it was really just the pits! Just the absolute pits, the Very Worst.

Now at this point I don’t remember exactly when/what changed, but SOMETHING did.

Leading up to February, I wanna say it was about October that I started getting kinda weirdly depressed, and I started REALLY tanking after the fire. After the fire, I had to move back to my stepdads within the night, and had to live without Jessie again and commute really far and keep the tarantulas a secret and in general be very alone and very sad. I started wearing down and it was getting so hard to just...enjoy. Anything. Even just taking care of the pets became difficult, and doing art or researching was impossible. I just...didn’t care anymore. I stopped caring.

On top of that, my climate grief and general feelings of Despair were at an all time high, and I just didn’t. Fucking. CARE. What happened next.

I spent YEARS of my life WEARING MYSELF TO THE BONE trying to get into college, the get back into college, to just try to do this thing that I was supposed to do, my ONE hope of having a career and a future that I probably wouldn’t even be happy with (I was an illustration major. I liked drawing. It’s what I was best at. But looking back, I wouldn’t have been happy doing it for a living. And Moore [no that’s not what my blog is named for, it just also happens to be my last name] was a great college but it just...wasn’t worth $30k a year with no cosigner for loans, even AFTER my scholarships) and my body and mind were wearing down and no matter what I did I didn’t care about myself, my animals, my partner, my life, nothing. I can’t explain how terrifying that is. Of all the time in my life, I think this was the worst. On top of my life problems, it must be said again that my climate grief and Misery regarding the state of our country and the world was also at an all-time-high, and I just felt...POWERLESS. Powerless and empty and uncaring and dead inside. I really wanted to just...drive off a bridge or eat a ton of pills (which I did do a couple times, don’t do that. Please. It’s NOT worth it.) and just stop Existing.

But then something just...changed.

I don’t know what it was, exactly. But I got SOMETHING back. SOMETHING “clicked”.

I’m crying a bit now. It’s so stupid to say, but I truly believe this is what saved my life. Realizing my purpose in life. That everything fell into place and finally made sense.

I’m going to be a bit more concise here but...basically...many of my passions and smaller aspects of myself all fell into place, so PERFECTLY.

It hit me that...ah jeez.

I will digress one more second. For those of you who don’t know, I have two Eurydactylodes geckos, named Vladimir (E. vieiliardi) and Estragon (E. agricolae). They are named for my favorite drama that we read in AP English, Waiting for Godot. It’s an aburdist theater play about two men who wait under a tree for someone (we don’t know who, just that his name is Godot) and that’s about it. Everyone had a lot of different things to say about that weird little book, but my take on it was that it’s supposed to be what happens to two men when they lack a “purpose” in life. Existentialism, and all that. They sit there and sit there and completely lose themselves just WAITING for this guy that they don’t even remember, they don’t even know why they’re there, and they do nothing to try and change that. The difference between existentialism and absurdism, however, is that absurdism specifically discusses this idea of a Chaotic Universe, this Lack of Meaning, this pointless quest of humanity to seek value and meaning in a universe without reason. It’s a fruitless effort, it’s Absurd! But the beauty of absurdism, this tiny idea that stayed with me in the goofy names of my geckos (I chose the names because I thought the play was amusing and I loved the characters’ relationship, which is Quite Gay and so Loving and Charming it warms my heart, and I loved that they called each other “Didi” and “Gogo”) and really held true to my own life. I DO NOT believe that THIS is why this change happened for me, but it’s ironic, no?

Back to Absurdism, Absurdism says... “here is this meaningless, Chaotic, RIDICULOUS universe. There is NO reason for ANYTHING, there NEVER will be, you DO NOT MATTER, you DO NOT HAVE A PLACE HERE. There is NO POINT to anything. So fuck it, and try to find one anyway.”

My original therapist did not understand why I found this so wonderful and inspiring. It’s so rebellious and selfish, I LOVE IT. To embrace the Absurd is to take the bull by the horns and flip it upside down! It’s to stare all of this dreadful pointlessness in the Void, and when it says “Why bother? Why care about these insignificant invertebrates? These ridiculous reptiles? These ABSURD apples???” and flip the bird both hands and say “BECAUSE I WANT TO, BECAUSE I SAID SO, BECAUSE I AM HUMAN, AND I CAN!!!” It’s...also more than that, it’s this long, defiant lifelong journey, this stupid, ridiculous journey of fumbling about trying to find one’s place in a cruel, vast world, and finding oneself in that journey.

I love people. I love the ABSURDITY of humanity, of people, of myself, of others. A Huge part of my Future Plans has to do with People, and Community, and Changing my little patch of the world. It’s not much in the grand scheme of things, but I know it can make a difference to someone and myself and that’s what matters.

Anyway back to the Clickening.

Around that time I had a moment like that. It was as if something in my mind was screaming at me, listen. You are here, and you have always been here to love animals, to love life, to make art, to tell stories with your art, to raise little sheeps.

And like that, it started Something.

I agreed to go to a local doctor, and was put on antidepressants. I’ve been on them since late February. I also got accommodations for work, so I have two excused absenses due to mental illness each month, which was good, because they tried to fire me 4 times now and they haven’t succeeded yet. (I’m DAMN GOOD at what I do, I’m just Sad and Unlucky and Dumb, but I’m doing a lot better now!!) I started taking all of the things I learned in the past many years and what I’ve learned about myself as a person (I won’t talk about it here but I’ve always struggled with my Identity [not gender wise, just...with my mental health and my mood disorder, it’s really hard to know What is ME and What’s The Illness) and it all started falling into place. My needle felting, my love for animals, conserving native wildlife AND heritage breeds with restoration grazing and positive impact forestry, utilizing my Overwhelming Charisma (in person I swear I’m quite a good talker! Way better than my typing here!) for education, outreach, and farmers market sales, my love for life and my fellow human beings and my plans to work hard to help feed my local communities and encourage sustainable agriculture and the dismantlemant of capitalism Love of our native wilds and backyards alike (I also have Big Thoughts about getting native peoples input as well, but I need to research that more and actually talk to people, but that would be in future years!!), and so, so many things!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That started in late February/early March now, and since then I’ve still had Really bad times, but I’d say in the past mmmmm...probably since late July? I think yeah since about then things have really taken great turns. I’ve Matured a lot, really embraced who I am and what I want to do, and while I KNOW my plans are going to keep changing over time (tentative goal is to look for/buy our property in 2025!! That gives us 5 years post-graduation to settle down and see how things go, where Jessie will be working, where we’ll be living, how my mind changes, all of that!!) but I KNOW in my BONES in my SOUL that this is what I have always been meant to do. To raise things, grow things, and to Care.

ANYWAY WOW HAHAHA YOU SURE DIDN’T ASK FOR ALL THAT BUT THERE YA GO THERE’S THE BACKSTORY, THE FIRST HALF OF THE WORMS!!!!!!

TL;DR: I’m a sad sap who is now slightly less sad and has Big Plans that were 7 years+ in the making and I want to take all my Big Thoughts about exotic welfare (well, reptiles and spiders mostly, but sure) and also apply it to DOMESTIC welfare and Make a Dang Difference!!!!

Okay now I’ve become very burnt out, I’ve been writing for like two hours now? So this part will sadly be shorter, but I will definitely write more about it again if you or anyone else has questions or actually wants to hear about it.

Basically...the amount of These Plans that I am willing to let you folks know, is uhh...oh jeez where do I even begin, haha...

Well it started small plans (early years of research, when I used to think a small greenhouse was Super Wild and Crazy) but nah bruh we goin’ full hog, literally. My plans are to get a decent sized property, still in my state, and have a HUGE focus on Sustainability and Positive Grazing/Management! That means rotational grazing to IMPROVE soils!!! Thinning the woodlot and clearing brush for the HEALTH of the forest!!! Reintroducing blight-resistant american chestnuts to restore our forests and support a healthy wildlife population!!!! Using both honeybees AND cultivated native bees [did you know that’s a thing???? You can buy native bee cocoons, like raised humanely, and raise them for pollinating plants!! Like Orchards!!] and grazing pastured pigs and chickens under orchard trees, while also providing BUTTLOADS of native flowers and domestic tree blossoms for native pollinators!! All that great stuff.

My biggest focuses would be raising practical heritage livestock for sustainable agriculture and conserving heritage fruit trees, with a focus on apples and pears. I also want to grow a lot of mutually beneficial/low-impact perennial resources...think honey, maple syrup, nut trees, stuff like that! And I want to graze on pastures with native grasses and locality-specific wildflowers (check out Ernst Seeds, especially if you live in/near PA like I do!! Wow it’s so frickin’ cool) and focus on northern european short-tailed sheep (finnsheep, gotland, icelandic, leader, shetland, and soay) and small landrace American hogs (american guinea hog, ossabaw island hog) and the more recent but so full of potential idaho pasture pig. I also want to raise icelandic landrace chickens for utility (parasite/pest management, composting), conservation, and eggs. I also want to raise rabbits (silver fox crosses for meat, and french angora crosses for fiber! I have a dream of producing high quality tri color angora for spinners...three colors on one animal, and I want them to be especially great for fiber artists who want to raise their own fiber animals but don’t have a ton of space) and I have BIG orchard plans...SO MANY ORCHARD PLANS, HHHHHOOO YES....SO GOOD...also COPPICE WITH STANDARDS and FORESTRY and HOO YES!!!!! I LOVE SOME GOOD OL FORESTRY!!!

I think the best way to describe my current plans standings is that it seperates into a couple different “zones”, for my Current Ideas. This has taken months and so many countless hours of thinking, researching, and ironing out, and I’ve made so much headway in just this past week, but basically imagine this...

It’s mostly split into two pastures, the orchard, and the woodlot.

PASTURE 1

Pasture 1 would be the largest, where we would rotationally graze two primary groups of ruminants. Polled NES-T sheep (finnsheep/gotland) and horned sheep (icelandic/leader) with dairy cows (dutch belted) as well. Dutch belted for milk and specifically cheese production, and they would be grazed in front with the icelandics to help take care of the taller grasses that the sheep would avoid, and help keep the sheep a bit safer. All would be guarded by livestock guardian dogs. Group #1 of the icelandic chickens would be grazed behind them, to help break up manure and disrupt parasite cycles.

Pasture itself would be mostly a big bluestem/little bluestem/indian grass/switchgrass mix, with a good variety of livestock-safe wildflowers (small portion being nitrogen-fixers like tick trefoils and pasture pea) and seed-producing flowers for birds (wild birds and our birds!). Would be rotationally grazed 1-2 days at a time (avg. 3-4 days total) with a 21-35+ day rest period. Polled NES-T sheep would be moved to “silvopasture” (copse with standards, a portion of the woodlot, with coppiced trees for fuelwood/timber interspersed with standard-sized mast producting trees [would double as nut and persimmon orchard, and hog foraging in fall/winter!!!]) in the summer to help them deal with the heat. Summer would be the best time, as it’s after the spring predator pressure and before the acorns fall, which could be bad for them if they ingest too many. Rams and hogs would otherwise graze this land with much longer rest periods otherwise (more like 30-45 days or so).

PASTURE 2

Smaller pasture with similar planting, arranged ‘paddock paradise’ style for a small group of icelandic horses (SO GOOD, and useful!! Little horse hooves are much kinder to the forest than a UTV, and herding on horseback is less stressful for the livestock) and rotationally grazed shetland and soay sheep. Pretty simple, but important. Would also contain Icelandic chicken group #2.

ORCHARD

Worthy of a novel all on it’s own. I want to grow semi-dwarf heritage fruit trees with the fruit drop type synced to the rotation of pastured hogs (idaho pasture pig, american guinea hog, ossabaw island hog) and group #3 of icelandic chickens. Hogs would be in orchard spring-fall, and in the copse with standards fall-early winter. Hogs and chickens would be moved to a holding area during rainy times to help preserve the orchard floor and during winter, where we would also have a large waste management/composting set up for them to root and turn to their hearts content. Should be a lot warmer than the outside in the winter too, and I plan on it being in a high tunnel/hoop house so its covered.

I am ALL ABOUT pairing livestock with crops and encouraging multi-purpose acreage in general, so this is definitely one of my FAVORITE plans so far, and every time I revisit it, it gets better. I also want to raise BEES (honeybees, mason bees, leafcutter bees!!!) for honey and pollination. I also want to plant BUTT-TONS of native flowers and goodies for pollinators, as well as lots of seed producing plants and sunflowers for the chickens to forage for by themselves. These would be some happy livestock, for sure.

WOODLOT

Another huge part of the plan is that I want at LEAST 1/3-1/2 of the property to be Woods. Only a small fraction of the Woods would be managed for livestock foraging and more frequent harvesting (still looking at a good 7-10 year coppice cycle though for trees) and the rest would still be tended to, with the help of the local forestry folks, but it would be preserved for wildlife and low-impact timber and nut/fruit/sap collection.

The VAST MAJORITY of the farm would be multi-purpose acreage for both livestock AND wildlife benefit (and people too of course) and I truly, truly believe and KNOW it can be done. In fact it HAS been done, IS being done, in so many different ways by so many different people in different times, and I know that I want to be a part of it and I can make a difference and use my weird passions for Good and make a dang difference.

Ohhh jeez I’m real sorry I didn’t quite answer your question though but I hope this gives a little insight into what I mean?? And if anyone has Specific questions after reading this (if you make it to the bottom, bless your cotton socks, I’m so proud and also distressed) I can definitely answer them a bit better than this. And hopefully much less...whatever this is, haha!!

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makistar2018 · 6 years ago

Link

Taylor Swift Couldn’t Buy Masters Without Signing New Big Machine Deal

By JEM ASWAD July 3, 2019

Passman’s statement on Tuesday reads: “Scott Borchetta never gave Taylor Swift an opportunity to purchase her masters, or the label, outright with a check in the way he is now apparently doing for others.” While Passman declined Variety’s request for further comment, a source close to the situation confirmed that Swift was not offered the opportunity to buy either her masters or the label without signing a deal that would bind her to Big Machine, apparently for another 10 years, and whomever Borchetta chose to sell the label to.

In his blog post titled “So, It’s Time for Some Truth,” Borchetta writes, “As you will read, 100% of all Taylor Swift assets were to be transferred to her immediately upon signing the new agreement. We were working together on a new type of deal for our new streaming world that was not necessarily tied to ‘albums’ but more of a length of time.” Those terms, judging by the excerpt of the deal memo he posted, were proposed as seven years by Swift’s team and 10 years by Big Machine — the contract was never signed, so presumably that is one of the terms on which the two sides did not agree. (Reps for Swift and Big Machine either declined or did not immediately respond to Variety‘s request for comment.)

That is the unique disadvantage at which artists can find themselves when trying to acquire the rights to their past work — which amounts to, “You can buy it if you agree to give me more” — and the reason why this particular playing field is not as level as some might maintain.

Variety

#taylor swift #2019.07.03 #scooter braun is a piece of shit

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astarryon · 7 years ago

Text

Hard Feelings Part 2

Pairings: Bucky x reader

Warnings: None

A/N: inspiration hit me heavy for this update, and I think I’ve finally decided on the direction I wanna take this series. I hope you like this one! A bit angsty toward the end, but I promise the fluff will be rolling in soon Until then, enjoy!

Part 1

Aside from the very specific case of Bucky Barnes, you seemed to be excelling at making friends in the tower. Steve had taken the initiative to call a group meeting among all of the people residing in the tower for the time being in order to introduce you, which pretty much meant that you were now acquainted with all of the Avengers. And to think you’d been star struck when you had met Steve just a little earlier that morning.

“So which one of us are you here to babysit?” Clint, who was reclining against Natasha’s side, lightheartedly questioned you. “It’s not me, is it? I’d hate to be on Fury’s shortlist of ‘misbehaved individuals’.”

“Sorry to say, but I think everyone in this tower is on that list,” Tony Stark quipped, walking over from the counter he’d been standing at for several moments and depositing a glass of water into your hands. You smiled at him in thanks, sipped from it for a moment, and then set it down on the coffee table in front of where you and Steve were sat.

Sam Wilson, who was perched on the arm of the sofa beside you, scoffed. “Speak for yourself, tin man. My behavioral reputation is spotless.”

In an effort to put a stop to the bickering, Steve raised his voice above all of the chatter. You smirked a bit, unable to keep from chuckling at the fact he seemed like a father chastising his misbehaved children. “Y/n isn’t here to babysit anyone, guys, come on. She’s been assigned to Bucky’s, uh, therapy detail.” Conveniently, Bucky happened to be the only person missing from the room; you got the sense that hadn’t been an accident on his part.

At the sound of Steve’s words, a hush had fallen over the large group before you. Wanda, her wide eyes glancing at you in sympathy, sheepishly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear; the main emotion you were currently getting from her seemed to be one of sympathetic surprise. Bruce Banner’s predominant emotion was one of outright panic, and the rest of the group’s feelings seemed to complement the tone.

Well, everyone’s emotions aside from Tony’s.

“Rest in fucking pieces, you poor soul,” he muttered from under his breath, unable to help the guffaw which escaped him directly after. “Fury seriously didn’t get the memo after the last one?” That earned a couple of snickers from the group around you, and you found your interest piqued in a morbid fashion.

As an agent of SHIELD, you had obviously heard some details about what happened to those who were assigned to Winter Soldier duty; it was why you’d been so hesitant to agree to this so called promotion in the first place. Nobody would say so out in the open, but everyone regarded being given this particular assignment as a form of quiet punishment from Nick Fury. There had been many days when you and your colleagues had sat and laughed together at your lunch time, discussing the small tidbits of gossip and knowledge you had all managed to glean from your superior officers. Lena Vasquez, your closest friend, had been the one who always managed to gain the most information, and somehow always won the bets you and the rest of your group would place on how long the next psychologist who was sent to stay at the tower would last. As hard as you tried, though, you couldn’t seem to place who the last assignment had been, or what had become of them.

“Oh my god,” Natasha laughed. That was a little weird to see; each time you’d pictured Natasha Romanov, you thought of her has someone to be feared. Of course, she was definitely intimidating, even if she was currently casually cuddling Clint. It was just, on the list of things you had expected to witness in your life, seeing Black Widow in blue jeans and a messy ponytail hadn’t been something you’d deigned to pencil on. “Morgan was here for like what, three days?”

“Yeah, and then Farrah Fawcett Hairspray threw the biggest tantrum this side of the country,” Tony muttered. The irritation which must have been tied to the memory bubbled up to the surface, extending out from Tony’s words and seeping into your skin. “Took me three weeks to get that glass replaced. Insurance doesn’t exactly cover somebody getting thrown from a 93rd story picture window; that shit came out of my pocket.”

“Your name is plastered on buildings all over the city, Stark,” Sam quipped. “I’m sure you can afford a damn window.” You might’ve laughed at all of the chuckling and grumbling going on by everyone around you if you weren’t suddenly so concerned for your own survival, and at the casual mention of an attempted murder.

“He… he threw someone out of a window?” What had you done? What had you done to make the universe become this dead set against you? Scratch that, actually; who the hell had outed you to Fury and when was going to be your next available chance to sock them in the jaw?

“It was fine,” Clint offered, the fact that he was attempting to do damage control coming across as mildly insulting, considering the fact that he was still laughing. “The guy only fell one story, okay? The balcony broke his fall; Buck knew it would.”

“Great,” you muttered, blinking and raising your eyebrows. “Glad to know I’m safe, at least.”

“I mean,” Wanda chimed, staring off thoughtfully. “No matter what, it could never be as bad as the time that Bucky blew up—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Steve interjected, his embarrassment rising, punctuated with a spike of stress. The flavor of it left a sour taste in your mouth. “You guys are gonna scare her off, and that’s the exact last thing I need.” Offering you a tentative glance, Steve placed a hand on your shoulder to provide you with some sense of comfort. “I know it sounds bad, but you’re the first agent with a superpower to be assigned. And I promise I’m not gonna let Bucky throw you out of a window, if that helps at all.”

Confusion suddenly took over as the predominant emotion in the room, in addition to wonder and curiosity. You would need to tune out of your gift soon, if the emotions of the others kept swaying back and forth so drastically. That was something you had learned to do at a young age, and it was a skill necessary to maintaining your sanity. Your emotions were something you could easily get into check, but the heightened sympathy your power forced you to hold for others and their feelings possessed the ability to send you over a mental cliff, which was something you weren’t interested in in the slightest.

“Whoa, wait,” Bruce began, “you’re a super?” When you nodded, he looked around at the others in the room, pleasant surprise etched onto his features. “I mean, Bucky hasn’t had anyone with powers try to treat him since Wanda.”

“Because powers that can manipulate mental aspects are hard to come by,” Steve agreed. “Yeah, trust me, I know. That’s why I’m hoping Bucky won’t be so quick to turn y/n away, like he did with all the others.”

You shook your head, a humorless laugh escaping you. When Steve glanced at where you sat beside him, you said, “You remember what he said this morning, right? Said he didn’t care who I was or what my powers were, then called me a mood ring, and pretty much told me to go fuck myself after that. Guy definitely already wants me gone, Steve.”

“That’s kind of just how Bucky is with new people?” Sam tossed out.

“Correction,” Tony quipped, taking a swig from the glass of scotch he’d acquired while pouring your water. “That’s how he is with everybody.”

“No, I’m pretty sure he just… doesn’t like you,” Wanda chuckled. Maybe it was because Wanda was the closest to you in age, but you liked her. She seemed like someone you’d be able to hang out with, maybe watch stupid movies and stay up entirely too late with.

Tony waved his hand, flippantly dismissing the words. “Semantics, Maximoff. What I wanna know is what this kick ass power is. What do you have, y/n? Mind reading? Super guilt tripping? Or, wait, you said Barnes called you a mood ring? Holy shit, do you change color?”

You laughed, shaking your head in pure amusement. You got the feeling you would at least be able to enjoy your time in Avengers Tower, no matter how long or short a period that was fated to be. “No, I don’t, but I…” You were suddenly very conscious of the many eyes focused on you, and you involuntarily blushed. God, why were you embarrassed? You’d never spoken about your power out loud or so casually before, sure, but this was ridiculous. “I can read emotions, and I can also influence them. It works better if I’m able to touch the person who I’m working with, but it’s not actually necessary. Like, uh…” You allowed yourself to tune into the emotional climate of the room a bit more thoroughly, latching on to the first set that caught your attention.

Tony.

“What’s the project you’re working on right now, Tony?” you asked him, tilting your head to the side. “You’ve got a lot of excitement going on in your head, and it feels like it’s linked to creativity. You feel annoyed about it too, though, so I’m assuming it failed a test of some kind? But, then, it’s like… oh, okay I see. Your prototype failed, so you built a new one. That one failed too, but you’re pretty sure you have a workaround. Is that why you were all annoyed and uppity when you walked in here? Steve called the meeting and it interrupted you fixing the prototype of whatever you’re working on?”

Tony’s jaw dropped, genuinely caught off guard and impressed. “Did you just read my mind? You’re sure you aren’t actually a mind reader? Rogers, am I being punk’d?”

You’d spent the rest of the afternoon entertaining everyone, reading their emotions separately and announcing to the group what was on each individual’s mind. They all seemed to be getting a kick out of it, and for that you were grateful. Part of the reason you’d never been willing to share your power with anyone was because you’d been deathly afraid of judgement, of being called a freak of nature. That was less likely while working in a place like SHIELD, of course, but you found it difficult to let go of your worries.

If anything, you were just happy to know that you had friends in Avengers Tower, even if the one person who was your entire reason for being there seemed to want absolutely nothing to do with you.

Whatever. You would deal with it later.

—

It was about your third night in the tower that you’d begun taking part in some pretty risky business, and you were sure that your well being now depended on your ability to keep said risky business a secret.

Because if Bucky found out what you were getting up to, if he even suspected you in the slightest, you were pretty sure he would do a lot worse than throw you out of the 93rd story window.

It had started that morning, when you’d walked over to Bucky’s door and rapped a decisive knock againt the wood. You knew he was awake, because you had heard him come and go from his room several times while taking your morning shower, and you knew he was in his room now because you could sense his familiar emotions, only becoming more and more potent as he neared the door to open it. Annoyance, irritation, and the tiniest drop of fear which had been present the very first time you had met him. That was, perhaps, the part about Bucky which perplexed you the most. The man could probably bench twice your bodyweight without a second thought; what reason did her have to be frightened of you?

The door was wrenched open before you could ponder about it much further, revealing Bucky’s scowling face. He was clad in sweats and a plain black tee, but the simplicity of the clothing did nothing to disservice his physical attributes, but that wasn’t really surprising. Everyone in the tower seemed to be unfairly blessed in the looks department, though Bucky was especially. Everything about him was sharp angles and muscle, topped off with a voice that would probably make you weak in the knees if it weren’t constantly being used to insult your character.

“What are you staring at?” Bucky demanded, voice breaking you from your reverie. The metal of his left arm gleamed in the light of the hallway, whirring quietly as he shifted to lean his weight against it, and you blinked several times. You couldn’t even defend yourself against him because you had, in fact, been staring.

“Um, s-sorry,” you stuttered. Oh, damn it all. You’d been so confident when you’d strode over to his door, so sure of what you wanted to say. Why were your words failing you now? “Good morning, by the way.”

“Not anymore,” he muttered under his breath.

You let it go, not really having the wherewithal to be witty at the moment. “Listen, I was wondering if maybe we could try, like, an emotion reading today? It won’t take long, and I’m gonna have to start sending Fury updates any day now, so I just figured—”

“No,” Bucky told you plainly.

Not one to give up easily, you tried again. “Look, I know it’s sort of an uncomfortable situation for you, and believe me, I get it, but I really need to—”

He cut you off, and you wondered if Bucky ever let anyone finish a sentence before going completely postal on them, or if this behavior was specifically for you. “You don’t understand shit,” he barked at you, looking for all the world like there was no one he hated more. “You think just because you can tell if someone’s happy or sad that you somehow understand what I’ve been through? Uh uh. No dice, sweetheart. I already told you we weren’t playing this fucking game. Stay in this tower for as long as you like, but you’re wasting your time if you’re hoping to get anything out of me.”

Overwhelmed and unsure of what to do, you dropped your eyes to the floor and tried to ignore the embarrassment in your chest. That was something Bucky was good at, it seemed. Making you feel embarrassed. “I’m just… trying to help you,” you offered lamely. “I’m only here to help you.”

“And I didn’t ask for it,” Bucky shot back. “I don’t want it. So why don’t you do the both of us a favor and stop trying to make yourself useful, okay? Because it’s not working.”

The hostility rolling off of Bucky was so thick and potent that you could’ve choked on it. He meant what he was saying about not wanting help; he was being sincere. This assignment really was just the most impossible one, wasn’t it?

You shook your head, unsure of what to say. You glanced up at Bucky, decided that was a mistake, then began to turn your back to him, content to walk back to your room. “Guess I’ll just go fuck myself then,” you muttered sarcastically, still in shock at the sheer hostility rolling off the man behind you.

“Yeah, why don’t you?” he egged you on. “Least that way one of us gets to be a little less than miserable.” The slamming of his bedroom door let you know that he’d removed himself from the situation.

For Christ’s sake. How were you meant to help someone who clearly didn’t want your help and couldn’t manage to be civil to you for more than five seconds?

“Give it time,” Wanda had advised you later on in the day as the two of you ate lunch together. “Bucky will come around to you eventually. He wasn’t thrilled about me rooting around in his head at first either, for the few weeks that we tried to go that route.”

“Yeah, but you’re his friend,” you’d told her, shrugging a shoulder. “Even if he wasn’t happy about it, he didn’t hate your guts.”

“He doesn’t hate you, y/n,” she repeated. It was sweet of her to say, but she couldn’t feel what you did. She might have a guess at Bucky’s emotions, but you had a concrete handle on them, and they weren’t pleasant.

You’d gone about the rest of your day normally. Or, as normally as you could, having to adjust to living in the tower with a number of new roommates. They were all lovely people, save for one very stubborn super soldier with a disregard for your feelings, but you were beginning to feel disenchanted. Was the field agent position really worth all of this? Fury had basically said you would be staying in this tower as long as it took to correct Bucky’s emotional issues, and it was a testament to how awful you were doing that you weren’t even sure what exactly those issues were. Bucky had declared more than once that you really shouldn’t bother to hold your breath, because he wasn’t going to entertain you.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, it seemed.

You had retired to your room early that night, not very inclined to people please for the time being. Distantly you felt everyone’s individual emotions from the few floors separating you, but eventually you tuned them all out, ignoring reality in favor of reading a few chapters in the book you’d picked up last week. Only, a few chapters had quickly become many, minutes had turned to hours, and suddenly you had read the ending sentence of the last page and all you could see when you looked out the window of your bedroom was the inky blackness of the night sky.

“Hey Jarvis?” you called out, yawning and stretching your arms toward the ceiling. “What time is it?” Had to be late; you could feel the sleep dust forming in your eyes.

“Half past one, ma’am,” Jarvis answered immediately.

“Thanks,” you murmured. Okay, so a little later for you than usual, but it wasn’t like you had any plans tomorrow morning. You stood, stripping off the clothing you’d been wearing and switching them out for pajamas. You’d been just about ready to ask Jarvis to switch the lights off as you crawled into bed when something gave you pause.

Reading your book had been a good way to tune out everyone else in the tower and their emotions, but now that you were no longer distracted you were feeling… agony. Terror. Desperation. And just as you were about to write it off as you simply being tired, as your mind and ability playing tricks on you, you heard it. Plain as day, you heard it.

Someone was screaming.

Without thinking practically or having the sense to grab a weapon in the event that you would need to defend yourself, you raced to your bedroom door and threw it open, the strength of the complete and utter pain growing tenfold as you did so. Listening intently, you concentrated, trying to pinpoint the location of the screams and bristling as your body and mind recognized the direction in which both the noise and the pain extended from.

Bucky’s room. It was all coming from Bucky’s room.

You ran to his door, unsure of what exactly you should expect but completely unwilling to let Bucky fend off whatever was causing him this amount of harm by himself. The quality of emotions, the taste and tang staining your tongue, the essence of what Bucky was projecting? It felt like he was being murdered. It felt like he was dying. Bucky might not have been the nicest to you and you might have had only the most basic form of self defense training, but you’d be damned if you condemned him to suffer through whatever was trying to kill him alone. You could at least assess the situation and have Jarvis call for backup. Ruching to throw the door open without having time to work up the courage to do it, you burst into Bucky’s room with shaking hands and a heart full of anxiety, unsure of what to expect. Only… what you could see made no sense whatsoever.

Bucky was still screaming, still in enough agony to prompt your emotion sensors to believe that he was on the verge of death, but he wasn’t being attacked or physically harmed at all. He was laying in his bed shirtless, entangled in the comforter and thrashing wildly, the dim illumination from the window casting just enough light into the room to allow you to see the pure fright and pain contorting his face. Bucky wasn’t being attacked. Bucky wasn’t dying.

Bucky was dreaming.

Unsure of what to do and unable to help yourself, you walked forward until you stood just a step from the edge of his bed, the volume of his screams growing louder and the intensity of his pain becoming almost unbearable. He was moving, struggling, fighting whatever it was that terrified him so. This wasn’t… no, this wasn’t okay. In all your time as an emotional telepath, you hadn’t ever felt anything this specific or concentrated. It was like each of your nerves was being individually electrocuted at the highest wattage possible, your mouth running dry and your hands beginning to shake. Nobody should have had the capacity to feel this much grief and hurt. It was debilitating; it was life ending.

You weren’t able to stop yourself as you reached forward, pressing a palm to Bucky’s chest as gently as you could. His muscles had tensed at the contact, but you’d subconsciously been prepared for it. You weren’t sure what it was you were doing, but you were sure that he couldn’t be left to feel that way anymore. Not if he wanted to survive. The anger had to be pushed out, the hurt and the shock and the discomforting presence of cold, all of it needed to go. Bucky needed happiness, not pain. He needed compassion, not torture. He needed warmth, not iciness. He needed love, not terror.

And so, you gave him what he needed and took what he didn’t.

It took a few moments, but it had worked nonetheless. His thrashing had been first to cease, and his screaming followed quickly after. That heartbreakingly expressive face had smoothed into content, and the blue tone which had been corrupting all of Bucky’s unconscious emotions had faded out, a bright pinkish red now coloring them. He was still and calm now, and you weren’t sure where he was in his dream now, but you hoped with all your might that it was somewhere sunshine filled and comforting.

Cautiously removing your hand from Bucky and waiting a moment to make sure he wouldn’t need you to influence him again, you marveled at what you had just done. You didn’t believe in making people feel what you wanted them to against their will, not unless it was an emergency of some kind. You figured it had to be some form of immoral. But, what Bucky had just been feeling, the very miniscule amount of what you’d picked up from it? That seemed like a pretty intense emergency.

Fuck, did he always feel those things while he was sleeping?

Once it became clear that Bucky’s dreams would hold nothing but serenity for the rest of the night, you slowly turned, exited his room, and returned to yours, unable to shake the magnitude of what you had just been made to feel. You crawled into bed, asked Jarvis to turn the lights off for you, and laid there, hugging yourself as you continued to play over what you had just felt and done.

“Jarvis?” you whispered after a few moments of laying in the dark.

“Yes, Miss?”

You were beginning to hiccup, and you wondered if Jarvis understood what crying was and what it meant. “Will you… will you let me know if Bucky starts having a nightmare again, please?”

“Yes, Miss,” came his simple reply.

“Will you let me know every night, if he has a nightmare?” you clarified, eyes burning with the tears brimming in them. “You, um, you can’t let him know.”

A pause.

Then, “Yes, Miss.”

“Thanks,” you choked out.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you were sure you’d done it sobbing.

—

Part 3

Tag List: @ayyomizzy @frost-11 @abswritesmarvel @wantingtobekorra @lordemjay @elleatrixlestrange @ly--canthrope @little-bit-of-your-heart

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #sebastian stan x reader #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction #mcu #marvel #fanfiction #x reader

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hornyliverpudlianputz · 6 years ago

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This might be a bit too personal, but can you tell us more about your job as an archivist? Like have you always known you would do it, what you studied in school, how you came to get the job? I’ve never heard of archivists before you said you’re one, LOL

Oh my gosh Anon I would LOVE to talk about my job! Thank you for asking!

For a very long time I actually wanted to be a Librarian; I was a very bookish child and I thought that if I could work with books for the rest of my life, I would be happy. A lot of people don’t seem to be aware of this, but to be a Librarian (not an Assistant Librarian, a full-fledged Librarian) you need to have a Master’s Degree. So I enrolled in college on track for a Bachelor’s in “Information Science”. It used to be called “Library Science” and in some places it still is, but with the advent of the Information Age a lot of schools have changed the name. (And indeed a lot of my undergraduate courses involved a lot of digital components; I had to learn basic coding and database searching skills.)

But Then. I took a look at the grad program offered through my school (some people go to other schools to get their grad degree, I went to the same one I got my undergrad for reasons that are for a whole other post) and I saw that the Master’s in Information Science had three “concentrations: IT, library, and archives. The packet I was looking at had the required courses for each track listed and I found myself more interested in the archive focused courses. I went and looked up exactly what an archivist did and promptly decided THAT’S what I wanted to be when I grew up. Fortunately I hand’t enrolled yet so all I had to do was specify which concentration I wanted when I did and I was on track. I was also able to secure an internship at the college archive, once I processed my first collection I was absolutely in love.

(If you are looking for more specific advice on how to earn an Information Science degree here’s a quick sum up: find a reputable university that has a Master’s program that has been credited by the American Library Association or ALA. If you want to go into libraries it helps to have an undergrad degree in something like Information Science or Sociology. For archives, History or Information Science.)

After I graduated with my Master’s I went about looking for a job the same way anyone else does; looking for advertised openings and applying for ones that I thought I could get. To start with I had to do a lot of “contract” jobs and paid internships. Basically the position was either full time (40 hours a week) but limited to a short time (like a few months or a year) or not full time and also limited. I was very lucky and found a permanent, full-time position about a year after I got my degree, which is very fast. (I was unlucky in that it happens to be located in a climate that I strongly dislike; after I have a few years experience under my belt I plan on looking elsewhere.)

To be more specific about what I do, I like to think of archival materials as a cross between libraries and museums. Libraries contain published works that you can come in, look at, and check out and take home with you. Museums contain mostly historic objects that you can come in and look at, but not touch or check out. Archives contain unpublished material, usually created by a single “entity” (person, family, corporation, etc.) that people can come in, look at and handle, but not check out. The materials I deal with are things like letters, diaries, scrapbooks, notes, pictures, ledgers, memos, programs, etc. (We also have a rare books collection, which is made up of books that are old and too fragile to be in the main stacks of the library, or unique in some way.)

My job is to keep the collections in as good a condition as possible so that as many people as possible can view them and glean information. I also do my best to organize and describe the materials so that researchers can actually use them rather than staring hopelessly at a pile of unorganized papers. It’s called “processing” and it involves “arranging and describing” a collection which is essentially putting the materials in some kind of order (assuming one does not already exist) and creating a “finding aid” which has basically the same function as a chapter index of a book.

Different kinds of archives will also have different kinds of material, not just paper based. There are archives that specialize in certain subjects (usually corporate archives, but also something like the Vatican Archives) and ones that specialize in certain materials like audio/visual (A/V). Film archives for example, and music archives as well. These keep materials on many different kinds of mediums from old-fashioned reel-to-reel tape to cassettes to what we call “born-digital” material.

When a band comes out with “unreleased” music, they are pulling from the record company’s archives. When you see candid background or behind-the-scenes footage from a movie, it’s from an archive. What we call “Presidential Libraries” here in the States are actually archives of the particular president’s official papers.

I love my job because I interact with history, tangibly, on a daily basis. We have materials that predate this country that I have held in my hands. And anyone who comes in to see us can too! For Free. And if that’s not the coolest fucking thing you ever heard I don’t know what to tell you.

#ask and ye shall receive #personal #archives #long ass post

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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years ago

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SOFTWARE COMPANIES ARE SOMETIMES ACCUSED OF LETTING THE USERS DEBUG THEIR SOFTWARE

At least, that's how we'd describe it in present-day spam, because spam evolves. We serially dated RAID suppliers. Like many people that age, I spent a lot of the reason is that the kind of parallelism we have in a hundred years. Though we were comparatively old, we weren't tied down by impressive jobs. They just wanted lots of people who are really good at lying to tell members of some profession the most common question you'll get from investors will be compelled by the structure of the investments they make to be ten times bolder than present day VCs. The prices seemed cheap compared to print, which was what advertisers, for lack of any other reference, compared them to. One way to design a language is to just write down the program you'd like to work.

But the best thing of all is when people call what you're doing every hour. The most important ingredient is formidable founders. 99. Most of our competitors were offering desktop software and actually had version numbers. If someone started sending mass email to support some political cause, for example, what would happen if the government decided to commission someone to write an official Great American Novel. Working to implement one idea gives you more ideas. Why not start a startup that has nothing more than create a new, resistant strain of bugs. Creating such a corpus would be useful to you in a place where startups are happening all around you. 01 morris 0. 9359873 managed 0.

But remember that we already have almost fifty years of history behind us. I don't think corp dev got the memo, he replied. There are always new ideas. At the very least we want options. Maybe the increasing cheapness of startups will mean they'll be able to solve the problem with fairly simple algorithms. Web-based software through ISPs is like selling sushi through vending machines. No one knows whether a startup will make it big. I was in college I imitated the pompous diction of famous professors. Once someone is good at it than something very interesting with someone who's good at it than something very interesting with someone who's good at it, but I think there will still be living in the same direction technology evolves in.

In software this kind of bug is the hardest to find, and also occurs once or twice in spams referring to Korea and South Africa. 9734398 paul 0. 09019077 people's 0. My father's entire industry breeder reactors disappeared that way. What I found was that recognizing that last few percent of spams got very hard, and that he did all the actual design of the Apple I and Apple II in his apartment or his cube at HP. You can tell that from indirect evidence. Or the would-be successors both directly, as Roger Bannister did, by showing how much better you can do is consider this force like a wind, and set up your boat accordingly. Only in the preceding couple years had the dramatic fall in the cost of sending them the first month's bill. GMail, but fast, that alone would let you start to think of startup ideas, because their subconscious filters them out. It won't come to that; investors or acquirers or if you're so lucky underwriters will nail you first.

That is a liberating prospect, a lot like the arrival of PCs twenty-five years ago. If you can just turn off the service. 027040077 quite 0. Inexperienced founders make the same mistake as the people who keep starting projects, and finish at least some of them. At its current rate of mutation, God knows what Perl might evolve into in a hundred years, which is the least work to write, regardless of whatever obstacles are in the scarcest ingredient in startups, co-founders, but by default you change what you're doing every hour. They never explain what the deal is with money. That's where you'll find the juiciest projects still undone, either because they sold desktop software, because it's followed immediately by less hackable tests.

And for the first 3 years we ran alternating batches in Boston and Silicon Valley. Some larger merchants were reluctant to use Viaweb because they thought customers' credit card information would be safer on their own server. Won't we just tell computers what to do as you're doing it, not a biological one. Fundamentally the equation is a brutal one: you have to identify some specific trend you'll benefit from. When you're operating on the maker's. My mother doesn't really need a desktop computer. They'd have to make it a tragedy. That's one of California's hidden advantages: the mild climate means there's lots of marginal space. Soon you're releasing whole features you know are broken. When I say Java won't turn out to be Microsoft's last victim? If you have a done deal, and Microsoft was 24, and that is very convenient in a situation where you are constantly making and testing small modifications.

Poverty implies you can live cheaply, and this is responsible for a lot less fun. At Yahoo it felt as if they'd deliberately accelerated this process. In addition to being the right sort of experience, one way or the other it's going to get replaced eventually, why not your calendar? But I have no trouble believing that computers will be very successful. Traditional long distance carriers, for example, but after a number of users, there won't be a thing of the past, but users won't hear about them anymore. Even if something was going to take, and the ones who wrote the software. But every institution was at one point just a handful of people who are really good at seeming formidable: Make something worth investing in, you'll have to figure out how to put it into words. And yet the prospect of a demo pushes most of them are money guys rather than technical guys, so they don't understand what the startups they're investing in do. I'd proposed the partners all get nose rings. Fortunately an audience for software is now only an http request away.

Thanks to Qasar Younis, Garry Tan, Harj Taggar, Robert Morris, Lisa Randall, Olin Shivers, and Paul Buchheit for the lulz.

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royalnugget42 · 4 years ago

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God just imagining

Philza comes to visit. It’s rare for him to leave Techno’s area, but Techno wanted Tommy’s friendship emerald back so he could give it to Ranboo. Of course Techno didn’t want to accidentally run into Tubbo, so he sent Phil. It seemed a bit unecessary, all things considered. “Why can’t you just rename a new emerald?” But Techno insisted that he didn’t want Tommy going around and saying they were friends. Whatever, wasn’t like he had anything better to do.

Only he couldn’t find Tommy anywhere. Not his house, though he’d clearly decorated a bit since last time. Or rather Tubbo probably had. The flowers seemed like something he’d do. He checked the hotel, but no luck there either, and apparently the hotel wasn’t Tommy’s anymore? He asked Jack about the name change, and he just mumbled something about it being under new management. Weird. He’d sounded so excited about it. When he asked Jack where Tommy was he just shook his head and wandered off, muttering about how he “couldn’t do this shit again” and “gotta get a memo out or something”. Very weird.

Last he’d heard Tommy was living here. So what changed? Tommy hadn’t gotten into trouble or anything. He laughed at that. Deeper trouble than usual he supposed.

Then it hit him. No wonder Jack was being sulky, no wonder he wasn’t at his house. He was probably living with Tubbo in Snowchester. He didn’t know exactly where Snowchester was of course, but it couldn’t be too hard to find. Ranboo had tried to remember the location, only saying it felt cold and wet.

It took longer than he’d expected, but eventually he found the coastline, the sturdy looking spruce buildings. Tubbo’s skills as an architect had only gotten better it would seem.

And there was Tubbo, tilling the earth and planting some new wheat seeds. Probably hard to grow in this climate, but Tubbo never seemed to mind, had always had an uncanny green thumb to him.

Well, if anyone would know where to find Tommy...

“Hey there Tubbo.”

Tubbo looked up, surprise evident on his face, but it looked strangely muted. Then to Phil’s surprise he broke out in a smile.

“Phil! How’ve you been?”

“Erm...alright I suppose. You seem to be doing well.”

“Yeah, I’m very busy here at Snowchester. Lots to do. I’m hoping to get some bees soon.”

Had Tubbo always been so cheery? He seemed perfectly fine. But then had his smile always looked so icy, like frozen plastic?

“I actually came here looking for Tommy, you haven’t seen him have you?”

“Hmm...can’t say I have. But he’ll be back soon I’m sure.”

Philza looked closer. Something was wrong. Tubbo’s grip on his hoe was white knuckled, and Phil could see dirt smudged on his face, which wouldn’t be unusual except for the two faint lines running across his cheeks.

“Tubbo...are you alright? Where is Tommy?”

“I...well I did think he’d be back by now. But don’t worry, he’s done this before he’ll be back.”

“Back from where? Done what before?”

Tubbo turned to face him fully. He had been digging up new sprouts without waiting for them to grow, digging into earth that looked freshly tilled, when it should have been frozen adn hard. He looked sweaty and chilled, like he’d been at this for hours.

“Don’t worry. He’ll come back. They’re wrong, they’ll see. He’s just fine. I’ll see him again.”

“Tubbo what happened? Who is they?”

He turned away again, brushing his hair away. “Oh you know, Sam, the prison guards. They said...oh it’s just so silly. They said Dream killed him.”

The prison guards?

“Why would he be—“

“Of course just because Tommy was in there for a week doesn’t mean his gone. Sam came to me and said he’d died but that’s just so silly, I mean, he’s been dead before. He always comes back eventually.”

Tommy was in prison with Dream for a week?!

“Tubbo look at me. What happened, what do you mean he’s been dead before?”

“Oh well you remember! Oh, but I suppose you wouldn’t would you...I went to see him! I went to visit him at Logstedshire, but when I got there it was all blown up, and there was a pillar way up in the sky, and I thought...and I...well I thought that...”

He stopped moving. Staring resolutely at the ground. Phil could see fresh tears at the edges of his eyes, already starting to freeze as they fell onto the earth.

“But it was fine! Because Tommy wasn’t dead at all! He was with Techno, and he did hate me when he came back, but that’s alright, I did deserve it.”

“Tubbo...”

“Tommy isn’t dead. Because he can’t be dead. I did everything right, I did everything I could’ve done. It wouldn’t even be my fault this time. I mean Dream wouldn’t have just killed him, because Dream can’t kill him. He said so.”

He put down the hoe and picked up a bag of seeds, carefully placing them individually into the dirt.

“I’ll bet Sam knows where he really is. He looked so sad, but I’m sure that’s just because he felt guilty about lying to me. Go ask Sam, I’m sure he’ll tell you. You are Tommy’s dad after all.”

His dad. He was Tommy’s dad. His son was dead. He watched Tubbo rearrange seeds that he’d be uprooting not five minutes later and he knew it. His son was...

He backed away from Tubbo, from this spectacle of grief. As he moved to leave Tubbo called out after him.

“If you see him, tell him to come home, alright? I don’t know why he’s staying away this time, but tell him I already miss him. Tell him to come back.”

Phil left to go find Sam.

Before y’all go on and say how Tubbos reaction to Tommy’s death wasn’t good/accurate

Tubbo, the actual person, was very tired and literally couldn’t put more effort in

it actually makes so much sense for his character to not really react rather than breaking down sobbing

Remember when Tubbo visited Logstedshire?

He saw the pillar and assumed that Tommy had ended his own life. Tubbo then went back home heartbroken, only to then see Tommy alive and well

So why wouldn’t he think it again?

Him saying ‘surely not’, and ‘you’re joking right?’ just solidifies that he’s in denial

Tubbo doesn’t want to think that Tommy, his best friend and other half, is gone forever and he’ll keep thinking it until reality slaps him across the face and he’ll have to face the truth

#tw character death #tw grief #tw grieving #tw implied suicide #tw implied death #dream smp

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