#old switchboard

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Macy's switchboard, 1948.

Photo: Nina Leen via art.com

[hjlphotos]

Long Branch Farm, Half Moon Bay

[scavengedluxury]

Post and Telegraph Office Switchgear on display at the Millennium Exhibition, Budapest, 1896. From the Budapest Municipal Photography Company archive.

[markgatissbirthdayproject]

Hello!!!!! It is quite past the time to think about the Mark Gatiss birthday drive for 2023! Mark’s birthday is 17 October and I’m excited to see how much money we can raise this year! Last year we raised £515 for Switchboard LGBT+.

This will be the 8th year that we have done this!

You do not need to donate an item or purchase an item to take part. There will be a JustGiving page that you can donate to, which will be set up within the next week.

We will once again be having an auction for fan works and goods. If you'd like to donate a fic or an item please email mgbdaydrive at gmail dot com. I’m going to give people until ~the 30th of September to contact me and depending on the amount of items/fan works I may leave this open a few days after. I do hope to be hearing from more of you over the coming days! 

If you have any questions you can ask them here or at @antheas-blackberry

[ayquebella]

Vintage Old Time Retro Nostalgic Touch-Tone Telephone Push Button Corded Landline Phone Charm Pendant

Soooo cute, sterling silver charm of a retro push-button telephone! This wonderful charm is of a old timey telephone from a bygone era. The push-button telephone has buttons or keys for dialing a telephone number, which was much more modern than rotary phones. This terrific sterling silver charm with a layer of oxidized silver is so very adorable and will look terrific on your favorite charm bracelet or necklace!

[vault81]

went ahead and used this picrew to create my new fo4 oc's!!

I've decided to name this one Sullivan, he's my pre-war ghoul OC that used to work for the DIA and now the Railroad (this is him pre-ghoulification in his late 20's)

and this is Marie, my scientist/scavenger OC, scrounging ruins for artifacts and data on the old world (more than likely will end up joining The Institute)

[buzzcut-daisy]

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Ghosts

Astral projection - The process of separating the astral body, the body’s spirit or consciousness, from the physical body. It’s an out-of-body experience. Deriving from the Latin astralis, astral projection can also be called astral travel, because it’s believed the spirit traverses the entire universe. Spiritualists use astral projection to communicate with those beyond the earthly realm.

Bogey - another word for evil spirit. The word probably traces back to the Middle English bugge, “frightening specter”.

Boggart - Related to bogey and bugge, boggarts can haunt domestic or geographic areas. Boggarts are always mean.

Channeling - In spiritualism, it is communicating with the paranormal in a state of trance or meditation. Spiritualists describe the action as “plugging into a switchboard” or a “grid frequency” to receive information from the ‘other side.’

Clairvoyance - Any ability to perceive psychic phenomena. In spiritualism, clair (“clear”) can be prefixed before any of the other four ‘normal’ senses, resulting in terminology that applies to a medium’s super-sensitive perception of a spirit: clairaudience is “clear hearing,” clairsentience “clear feeling,” clairalience “clear smelling,” and clairgustance “clear tasting.”

Cold spots - In the paranormal world, cold spots are indications of spirit activity. They aren’t sensed by everyone; the ones that do feel the chill are said to be more sensitive to the preternatural.

Doppelgänger - In the ghostly realm, a doppelgänger is an exceptional spirit, possessing the unique ability to appear in more than one place at once. This talent is reflected in its German name, which means “double goer” or “double walker.” Usually, a person’s doppelgänger appears as a sign of something bad to come, or as an omen of the viewer’s impending death. The poet Percy Bysshe Shelley is said to have seen his doppelgänger a week before he drowned.

Ectoplasm - Adopting a biological term originating in the late 1800s, spiritualists define ectoplasm as a cloudy mist, “usually a milky white vaporous color,” that halos before an apparition appears. From Greek ecto (“outside”) and plasma (“something developed or created”), this mystical mist is like a protective skin through which the specter shimmers into view.

Eidolon - In Ancient Greece, eidolons were spirits of the dead who possessed the living. Not always menacing, they would inhabit a living individual to convey a message, carry out an action for one of the gods, or tie up loose ends leftover after they died.

Kobold - Meaning “hut goblins,” kobolds can be kind or conniving depending on their mood. They’re also entirely changeable in appearance, with the option to materialize in human, animal, or object form.

Lemures - (also called larvae) The unequivocally bad ghosts of Ancient Rome, whose violent tempers and deeds in life mean eternal punishment to roam the limbo between worlds. To keep lemures at bay, Romans would fling spit-soaked black beans into the night shouting, “Be gone, you specters of the house!”

Manes - Romans believed people’s souls were demons, which were categorized in the afterlife. Good souls were called lares, bad souls lemures, and the in-betweeners were the manes. These are “the thin or unsubstantial” souls.

Necromancy - Whether you converse with spirits the old-fashioned way or by exchanging telepathic thought-waves, communicating with the deceased is an example of necromancy. The word traces back to the Ancient Greek nekromanteia, where nekros meant “dead body” and manteia “divination” or “oracle.” In effect, a necromancer is divining or discovering information from the deceased about the past, the future, or the world beyond.

Poltergeist - In German, poltergeist means “noisy ghost,” the ‘noise” in question produced by the sounds objects make when hurled and smashed against walls, ceilings, other objects, and screaming human beings.

Psychokinesis - Another paranormal power is psychokinesis or telekinesis, where objects are moved without physical contact with them. In Greek, kinesis means “movement” or “motion.” The psycho– prefix highlights the “mental,” “spirit,” or “unconscious” force behind the movement (movement with the mind), while tele- references the “distance” between the mover and the thing moved (movement without being close to or touching the object).

Revenant - One that returns after death or a long absence.

Vortex - Just as a natural vortex is a whirling mass of water, fire, or air, a paranormal vortex is a spinning swirl. But it’s composed of supernatural elements, which can apparently only be captured in photographs—they appear as refractions or corkscrews of light.

Wraith - In Scottish lore, doppelgängers or fetches were called wraiths. The wraith can be a water spirit portending a sailor’s death at sea, or a more general prophesy of demise, taking shape in the exhalation of a dying person’s breath.

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[dietmountaindewb8by]

Chapter One

Into the Abyss

warnings: five just being kinda crazy, herb not being as nice a guy as you might assume

please tell me if you’d like to be tagged ❗️ ❗️

tag list: @lv9su ; @groovydazephantom

Five was very loud when he wanted to be, he realized as he walked through the winding halls of The Commission, watching his employees cower and duck their heads into their files or pretend to fix their clothes.

None of that mattered then, however. He reached into his pocket for that very familiar key that he had used every single day he had been in The Commission. The key to the Infinite Switchboard.

Just so he could see your face again, even for a moment. Maybe even find you if he could.

Sometimes he would come across old memories and dive into them. Oh, how beautiful you were. How you smiled and how you laughed and how you were always so kind. To him and to everyone. 

His beautiful, beautiful girl. An angel among demons that crawled beneath her feet–he was a demon that would crawl beneath her feet anyway. A devil cast to the deepest pits of hell searching for that which could bring him salvation, if only for a moment.

Five Hargreeves wanted nothing more than to hold you to his chest, to tuck you into his arms safe and sound and never let you out again. Because his arms were where you belonged–where you still do belong. They were wide open for the ghost of you, gates to a rotting manor that only welcomed its original owner.

You could rip his heart from his chest and he would forgive you in a heartbeat. 

The door creaked open and he quickly locked it behind him. The only other person with a key was Herb, and he wouldn’t dare disturb the owner of the Commission in his incredibly important research.

Even if that research wasn’t important to the company, per se. It was important to him. And if it was important to him then surely the world would fall apart if it wasn’t completed.

I would tear it apart if I couldn’t reach this at the very least, he thought, sitting down in the very same chair he did every day, flipping on the switch that reintroduced him to his sins, to what he needed to do.

Your smiling face greeted him, and for a second–just as always–he smiled back. He turned a dial beneath his right finger, looking back to the dreaded day he lost you. 

November 22, 1963 was a day to behold, that was for sure. It was brighter than usual, not one cloud lingering in the sky and the sun blared down upon the mild Texas landscape.

His gun was aimed for where the president would ride by as you sat beside him, picking at the grass.

“Be careful, Sweetheart,” he said, and you looked up at him for a moment, eyes void. “You’ll ruin your sundress.”

“I think the sundress is the least of our worries today, Five.”

He sighed. “You’re not wrong.”

Five minutes later amidst the chaos that was taking place on the other side of the fence, he took your hand and brought it to his lips before diving through the hole he had ripped in the time-space continuum. 

And then you were gone, stolen from him by the cruel fingers of time.

Five jumped when a knock on the door sounded, his fingers flying to the knife he had stuffed in his pocket at all times.

“Mr. Hargreeves?” Herb called. “Sir?”

Five sighed, dropping his knife before gliding the chair over to the door, unlocking it. “Come in, Herb.”

Herb stepped in through the door before staring at the mess that had become the Infinite Switchboard. Papers were scattered everywhere–some with half-drawn faces, others with numbers and symbols he could only begin to understand. And then there was Five; clean shaven as always, but his eyes held something either dead or dangerously alive.

Either way, he knew there was nothing but trouble to be had with Five Hargreeves.

Nothing but trouble.

“Mr. Hargreeves,” Herb said, watching Five return to his pages, “what are you doing?”

“Nothing, Herb.”

Herb’s eyes flicked to the screen, to you. You in the yellow sundress. You who had cried in Dot’s arms one too many times to count.

You who had successfully escaped Five Hargreeves and fallen into a new hell.

“Trying to find her, Sir?” Herb said with a chuckle.

Five’s jaw ticked before he turned to the smaller man. “You have something to say, Herb? Something funny?”

“Nothing at all, Sir.” He shrugged, before taking a shaky step away from the man. “Just that you’ve been looking so hard and her files have been with us all along.”

Five’s heart jumped. He dove for Herb, taking him by the lapel of his jacket and pulling him up to eye level. 

“Herb,” he said sweetly. “Old friend. Tell me where the fuck those files are.”

Herb gulped. “We have them all. We watch them on Friday nights. They’re quite entertaining–I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“I want them. I want them all–and whenever a new one comes in, I want that too. I’ll decide if they’re entertaining or not.”

“Of course,” Herb whispered before being thrown to the ground, scampering out of the room as soon as he could.

And for the first time in a long time, Five smiled.

[lookingforhappy]

TUA Inconsistencies, Plotholes and Goofs

before u read, pls know that i adore this show and wouldn't be critiquing it this harshly if i wasn't utterly obsessed with it.

I don't think that all of these need fixes or explanations since they function as fun little plot devices etc but I think it's important to note that they do break the story a little. although there are some that really do need fixes.

this comes from a place of interest, analysis, and frustration but not hate.

(also apologies to all the gifmakers who i have indirectly @'d in this post)

here's a list of all the problems i could remember in tua:

The Commission is too OP

(this one I saw posited by another blog but I can't remember who first brought it up? so credit to whoever said this first i think)

The Commission is shown to be capable of:

time travel

time freezing

body cloning & consciousness transplanting (essentially, their workers can live forever because they can build new bodies and transfer their minds as soon as they start to get old/ill)

paradox-proofing

timeline monitoring/spying (the Infinite Switchboard)

if the Commission has had the ISB all along + infinite time + unaging employees, then they have been able to watch every second of history, and every second of every alternate history ever (Lila watches the timeline Five rewound/erased).

If they can see every second of every possible history, then even if they're the most inefficiant organisation ever, they're able to know everything before it/they even exist.

which makes more or less every plot point impossible:

Five would not have been able to return to 2019 without being spotted and hunted down by people who know exactly what he looks like (13yro not 58 yro), exactly where he is (also making the tracker in his arm, and in the sweet wrapper, redundant), and exactly when he's vulnerable eg. when he sleeps, is injured or drunk.

The Handler would not have been able to hide in 1963 and plot against the Commission without being spotted by the Commission and killed/fired. Same thing goes for stealing and hiding multiple Briefcases.

The 1963 Apocalypse would not have been allowed to happen as the Commsission would have had Viktor killed long before it happened.

The Kugelblitz wouldn't have happened because the Commission would have seen it decades or centuries in advance and prevented it (this should be top priority because this is what kills them!).

Herb and Dot's Goals for the Commission

In s1 the Commission wants a very specific timeline to take place (aka the apocalypse) with no deviations, and are willing to do anything and everything to make it so.

Herb and Dot seem more than happy to go along with this, and even believe that the Commission is correct for doing this.

Dot in particular is the Case Manager for the apocalypse, meaning she is the one who spotted Five when he arrived as a 13yro and left him there to die/live a life of pain and isolation. She also was chiefly responsible for ensuring the deaths of 7 billion people including all the Hargreeves' for "the greater good".

Dot is actually seen snitching on Five to The Handler, was implied to be working with The Handler to prevent Five from stopping the apocalypse, and is the one to alert security/sound the alarm when Five starts fighting The Handler.

So it's pretty weird that in s2 and 3 Herb and Dot are suddenly fine with the apocalypse not happening. It's one thing to change management, and another to completely uproot the entire mission statement/ethos of the Commission. The Commission, from the moment Herb and Dot gain control, has no goal or purpose. because they gave up that purpose when they agreed to let the Hargreeves go to an apocalypse free 2019.

This is also weird as Five is completely fine and trusting of them at the end of s2, when all they've done so far to him is prove that they cannot be trusted and will do anything to cause the apocalypse, as well as having left him to suffer alone in an apocalypse for 45 years as well as force him to join the Commission and become a murderer (or else die alone).

The Two Fives + The Briefcase

old!Five doesn't take his Briefcase to 2019 in the original timeline.

So why don't Five and Luther wait until old!Five has left for 2019 to pick his Briefcase up off the ground, where it's entirely unguarded and completely abandoned, and avoid the Paradox Psychosis altogether.

old!Five wasn't in the timeline or remotely near enough to Five to cause Paradox Psychosis when Five originally came up with this plan.

The Grandfather Paradox + Similar Goofs

TUA Time Travel operates on branching/alternate timelines, like Loki, not on a loop/predestined, like HP, and not on one single malleable timeline, like Back to the Future. ergo The Grandfather Paradox cannot exist within the show.

As soon as Five averts the 2019 apocalypse, his existence would trigger a paradox as without the apocalypse he never got trapped and has no reason/knowledge to return to 2019 to prevent it.

Same thing for S2, the only reason the nukes aren't dropped in S2 is bc Five saw it happen and time travelled back to prevent it, but as soon as that apocalypse is prevented, the nukes are never dropped, and so he never sees the apocalypse happen and therefore cannot know to prevent it.

In fact, the very first episode of S2 as a whole should cause the Grandfather Paradox, by the shows own laws: as by causing a nuclear apocalypse, their mothers were never born/did not survive long enough to birth them -> so they cannot be alive -> they cannot time travel -> cannot cause an apocalypse in 1960s -> the mothers were born -> and around and around and around.

A similar goof happens in S2, as Five helps his older self return to 2019 without de-aging himself. Five is concerned that he will cease to exist if his other self doesn't travel to 2019, but his older self does travel back. But as a 58 year old man. However, Five himself doesn't turn into a 58 year old man as he should have if this was a singular malleable timeline. Hence, he needn't have worried as they created a separate branching timeline rather than edit their own timeline.

so essentially, they're creating entirely new alternate timelines and nothing they do changes their own experiences, lives, memories or bodies.

It doesn't matter that their mothers were killed before they were born in the sparrow timeline, because they're not from this branch and therefore still have mothers in their original timeline. which is proven to not affect their current selves.

Which... breaks the entire plot of S3.

(S3 may have also caused another paradox as the reset causes Five to regain his arm, and lose the tattoo, possibly meaning he doesn't found the Commission, meaning essentially none of the series can even start as Five cannot leave the apocalypse without the Commission).

Polk Salad Annie

Five travels to 1982, Wisconsin, to kill the Commission Board. yet he has no Briefcase, cannot time travel on his own, and is shown to meet The Handler separately rather than be picked up by her for transport.

(If Lila took him, then surely he would have attempted to steal the Briefcase from her rather than go through with the plan.)

furthermore, 1982 should be inaccessable. or at least, it should be a nuclear wasteland.

At this point, the events culminating in the prevention of the apocalypse haven't started: The Handler is not in control of the Commission, so Lila can't kidnap Diego to work for them, so he can't find the ISB and discover Viktor is the cause of the apocalypse, so Klaus doesn't know to take Ben to the FBI building, so the apocalypse can't be prevented. Five's action in 1982 is what sets that in motion (The Handler seizes control of the Commission), but 1982 doesn't exist in this timeline, so how does that work?

Five and the Commission don't seem to know how to Timeline hop, only how to create new timelines, and how to move backwards and forwards on their current timeline.

The only way to make 1982 accessable is to remove Viktor from the timeline or prevent the FBI from capturing him. Which they didn't. So how can Five get there.

The 7 Bells

Reginald's reasoning for adopting the superkids is to send them to Oblivion to use it to reset the Universe. He needs himself and a minimum of 7 superkids to do this, any less and Oblivion won't activate, and without him there to program it, nothing changes.

In the Original Timeline, his plan is foiled in 2002 when he looses Five, and he doesn't try to rectify it. Then again in 2006 when he looses Ben, and yet again doesn't rectify it.

He screws himself over even worse by killing himself in 2019, as now he cannot even go to Oblivion to program it. Klaus could theoretically summon or be possessed by Reginald, but once again, Reginald only has 5 out of 7, and with Klaus indisposed by summoning Reginald, he only has 4 available to power Oblivion.

Even stranger, he could have adopted spares for if situations like Five and Ben happen, in the form of the Sparrows, but he chose not to.

its also a strange choice to build the academy(s) as public superheroes, as he chose to send his only 7 children into life threatening situations repeatedly, which nearly killed Luther, probably nearly killed sparrow Ben, and did kill umbrella Ben.

He also admits that he purposefully stunted the Umbrella's powers, which contradicts his Oblivion plan, where they need to fight 3 near-immortal Guardians. it also contradicts his words to Klaus in s1 - that he's disappointed because Klaus never reached his true potential. Which, if he killed himself with the plan to have Klaus summon him to reprogram Oblivion, he would need Klaus at full power to be able to do that at all.

The Sparrows also don't seem to have this issue, they have great control of their powers, Ben especially. so why bother stunting one lot of kids, but not the other.

Smaller Goofs

-Luther being normal not monkey in 2015 (1x03) when he had his accident in 2012 (1x04) is a big goof up

-klaus not reanimating in the original apocalypse with five remains unexplained

-in s1 the commission is set in 1955 (1x06), in s3 it's set in 1953 (3x07) and this remains unexplained

-klaus was kidnapped in just a towel but Hazel and Cha-Cha have his jacket for some reason

-all of the Founder Five plotline bc there is no given reasoning for why Five would willingly go against all of his morals and create the organisation that caused him pain (both emotional and physical) and got his family killed.

-if Luther was on the moon for a purpose, why not have him running useful tests to make sure Abigail's pod remains functioning? or acting as a sentry to make sure no one sends an exploration mission to the moon/behind the moon? why just have him send samples, that reginald never even opens, every day for 4 years? and how could sparrow reginald know what umbrella reginald planned for Luther? they're different people.

-edit: 12/07/24 the newspaper Five finds in the apocalypse is dated as 1st April, but when he finds the same newspaper at the end of season 1, it's still March 31st and Diego says that newspaper was sold that morning.

[ameagrice]

DAYDREAM

CHAPTER ONE | “What The Dormouse Said.”

It happened at six o’clock, November third. The sun was setting; the air was cool; the hit to the head was harsh, and quick. She thought of how lucky she was that the Handler was in the area. After all, that woman saved her life. Frankie owed her a debt.

And the Handler ensured that Frankie paid it off.

It started as field assignments—poisoning here, hiding there. Anything to keep the timeline together, only the one at first. Later, things changed; suddenly, Frankie was assigned work with the Infinite Switchboard, watching for anomalies in the timeline and defecting them.

Her life, put simply, was boring. Medication for her state, a lifetime of servitude to the Commission, and free pastries on Monday mornings, proceeded by flicking through timelines and noting anything out of the ordinary.

Anything could be an anomaly, which was why, when the radio in the cafe mid-evening croaked out the news of Sir Reginald Hargreeves’s death, Frankie figured it must have been an anomaly, because that man simply wouldn’t just die. Nonetheless, the news reports continued into the night and until morning, floating from paper to screen through the week until eventually, it stopped.

The sun shone for the first time that week on the last day of it, a beautiful Sunday. Dressing, fumbling with her jacket sleeves on the way down the stairs, Frankie Jones made the time to collect her mail. She made the time to sort through it, abandoning the junk and sitting at the bottom step of the porch to address the milky-white envelope, her name stamped across the paper. Fingers slipped under the lip of the note, avoiding a paper cut, pulling out the single, lopsided note inside.

THE OLD MAN IS DEAD. WE THOUGHT YOU WOULD APPRECIATE COMING TO HIS FUNERAL THIS SUNDAY. HAVE A GREAT DAY! (It’s at the same address. The stingy bastard refused to move).

— KLAUS.

And so, her life grew interesting.

· ─────── 𖥸 ─────── ·

As it turned out, she arrived far too late.

The foyer of the building she neglected to step foot in for twenty-two years was…empty. From what Frankie remembered of the place, it was just as echoing and cool as it was back then, and just as quiet. Sir Reginald Hargreeves liked his silence and solitude, and inflicted his ideals on the wards residing in his home.

She wandered around and around the seemingly empty home until her eyes found the family in the kitchen. Three men, two women and a young man. Quiet as a dormouse, Frankie waited in the doorway, just until somebody noticed her. First, the tall, muscular man, also known as Luther Hargreeves. Eyes blown and hand raised, shaking, he pointed at her, and the others followed his action to face her. It was like being behind glass in an aquarium.

“Does anyone else see the child in our kitchen?” He blurbed.

The one with dark hair, dressed in black, hummed. “Girl Scout gone lost, maybe?”

“Could be an orphan, looking for the money of Sir Reginald Hargreeves—” the one in the skirt said.

They wouldn’t have remembered her rightly anyway—they had all been too young to recall her, just as she had almost forgotten them. All born on the same day, at the same time, but only one lacked anything real.

“I’m eighteen. And you sent me a letter, Klaus Hargreeves.”

Said man gasped dramatically, inhaling so hard he coughed and spluttered, falling backward off the table. Klaus landed a mess of long limbs on the floor, at the feet of the young man Frankie barely recognised. Klaus’s hands grasped at the table ledge, pulling himself up.

“Little Frances? Shouldn’t you be…bigger?”

“Shouldn’t you be a little more dressed for your dad’s funeral?”

“I’m sorry,” said Allison Hargreeves in an expensive outfit, hair glossy and set. “Why are you, like, twelve? I mean, Five’s explained to us about himself, but…are you a ghost? I mean—”

“She works for the Commission.”

The room grew silent, but the boy did not.

“She travels through time,” he turned his dark eyes to her. Five Hargreeves, the image of sophistication and mess all at once, a twenty-year-old in oversized clothes eating a peanut-butter sandwich. His eyes turned flinty, jaw set. “Isn’t that right, Frances?”

And, well…

She couldn’t say no.

[eco-lite]

I’m once again returning to do god’s work by bringing you delightful moments from Spock’s World by Diane Duane.

[Text ID: “Spock was bent over [the Science Station], making some adjustment. ‘Readout now,’ he said, straightening and looking over his shoulder at the large, shaggy-fringed rock that was sitting in the center seat. Some of those glittering fringes stroked the open circuitry of the communicator controls in the seat’s arm. ‘Point nine nine three,’ said a scratchy voice from the voder box mounted on the rock’s back. ‘A nice triple sine.’ ‘Nice?’ said Spock. Jim raised an eyebrow: you could have used Spock’s tone of voice to dry out a martini.” End ID]

There’s a Horta crewman on the Enterprise now and they’re great!

[Text ID: “Still working on her doctoral thesis, Jim thought. Uhura was busy working on improving universal translator theory, mostly by taking the old theory to pieces and putting it back together in shapes that were causing a terrible furor in academic circles on various planets. Jim vividly remembered one night quite a long time ago when he had asked Uhura exactly how she was going about this. She had told him, for almost an hour without stopping, and in delighted and exuberant detail, until his head was spinning with phoneme approximations and six-sigma evaluations and the syntactic fade and genderbend and recontextualization and linguistic structural design and the physics of the human dextrocerebral bridge. The session had left Jim shaking his head, thoroughly disabused of the idea (and ashamed of how long he had held it) that Uhura was simply a sort of highly trained switchboard operator.” End ID]

Uhura continues to be a total badass and is amazing at what she does.

[Text ID: Chatroom title in all caps: “COMMON ROOM OPINION, INFORMED AND NON- RANTING AND RAVING PERMITTED NAMES NOT NECESSARY” Regular text: “It was one of the places he came to find out what his crew was thinking. Messages did not have to be attributed to a name or terminal, but they could not be private. The office of the common room system operator rotated through the crew, offered to various members on the strength of their psych profiles in areas like calm reaction to stress and anger. The common room syops tended to be closemouthed and dependable, the kind of person that others refer to as ‘a rock.’ (Once it had actually been Naraht, to the amusement of just about everyone.) Here tempers could flare, awful jokes be told safely, suspicions be aired, rumors be shot down. The common room was sometimes a peaceful place, sometimes a powderkeg. Jim never ignored it.” End ID]

The Enterprise has a dumpster fire chat room that has just as much shitposting and vitriol as twitter.

[Text ID: “Jim bowed over her free hand. ‘It’s been too long,’ he said. ‘It’s good to be back,’ Amanda said. ‘And in the middle of a party as well.’ She looked a little wry. ‘A little entertainment will be pleasant before the deluge.’ Sarek’s eyes flicked to Kirk, a considering look. ‘My wife speaks figuratively,’ he said, ‘in the tradition of her people. Deluges are not common on Vulcan.’ ‘My husband speaks circumspectly,’ Amanda said, just as dryly, ‘in the tradition of his.’” End ID]

Amanda and Sarek are as charming as ever.

[Text ID: “Jim was mildly surprised to see that to his other rank tags and decorations, McCoy had added a small, understated IDIC. ‘If I didn’t know you better,’ he said, ‘I’d think you were going native. When did you get that?’ ‘Today in the gift shop, when you were looking at the snowball paperweights with Mount Seleya in them. Tackiest things I ever saw.’ ‘Yes,’ Spock said; ‘they were imported from Earth.’ ‘You be quiet. We can’t let these people leave the Federation, Jim. At least not until they teach us how to make tasteful souvenirs.’” End ID]

Just this.

[Text ID: “There was Sreil, the burly, brown-haired biologist from the Academy, and T’Madh, a little bright-eyed woman of great age and curiosity, a computer programmer; and her son Savesh, who when asked what he did, said, ‘I am a farmer,’ with a sort of secret satisfaction that hinted he thought his job better than any of the more technical ones that the people around him held. Jim had to smile; the thought of a Vulcan farmer was slightly funny, even though there naturally had to be some. But the image of a Vulcan in coveralls, chewing on a stalk of hay, kept coming up and having to be repressed.” End ID]

I love Savesh the Vulcan farmer!

[Text ID: “’Jim,’ he said, ‘the best translation of nehau would be an old word: “vibes.” The feeling-in-your-bones that something gives you. It’s highly subjective.’ ‘Right. Go on, Savesh.’ ‘Well, Captain, I have heard numerous Vulcans say that losing the Federation and the Earth people would be no particular loss, because they had bad nehau, and that could not fail to affect us sooner or later.. But I must tell you that I find your nehau not objectionable at all; pleasant, even.’ End ID]

Vulcan wanting to leave the Federation because the ~vibes~ are off.

[Text ID: “His grasp of dialect and idiom as amazing for anybody, off-planet or on. He once reduced the President of the United States—then a ceremonial post, but one much loved by the people who lived within the old borders—to tears of laughter at a state dinner, by delivering a learned dissertation on computer data storage technology in a flawless Texan accent. The lady was later heard to propose an amendment to the Constitution to allow off-worlders to hold high public office, so that she could have him for her running mate in the next election.” End ID]

I would give anything to hear Sarek do a perfect Texas accent.

[Text ID: “—but when Amanda became annoyed over what she perceived as his smugness about being right, her eyes would flash and she would become splendidly insulting, usually in bizarre Anglish idiom that Sarek found as refreshing as it was annoying. She caused him to laugh out loud for the first time in many years when she told him, after a disagreement over the translation of the word for war, that he should only grow headfirst in the ground like a turnip. Later that month, when he was right about something again and made the mistake of not immediately down-playing it, she issued him with a formal malediction, wishing that the curse of Mary Malone and her nine blind orphan children might pursue him so far over the hills and the seas that God Almighty couldn’t find him with a radio telescope. Sarek laughed so hard at that that he entirely lost his breath, and Amanda panicked and started to give him cardiopulmonary resuscitation, which was useless, because his heart was somewhere other than the spot on which she was pounding. It took him nearly an hour to recover: he kept laughing. He had never been cursed like that before, not even by union leaders, and it was very refreshing.” End ID]

This dynamic is perfect, no notes.

[Text ID: “The next night they sat in the Rec Deck again, in the middle of a large impromptu party that was going on around them by way of celebration. The sense of relief in the ship was palpable. A group of about a hundred crewfolk, mostly human, had surrounded Spock earlier in the evening and sung ‘For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow,’ accompanied by twenty crewmen on kazoos. Sarek had been given champagne.” End ID]

I really hope the TOS Enterprise has crew performances like on Next Gen. This kazoo band needs to be heard! Also, I can perfectly picture Spock’s annoyed-but-tolerant expression as he resigns himself to the kazoo serenade.

Thank you @dianeduane for making me laugh!

[tropinano]

List of As Many Fiction Podcasts As I Could Think Of

NOT ORGANIZED! This is a big list of fiction podcasts with no descriptions, meant for the sole purpose of picking one based on the title and just trying it out. Just a big ol' list of titles. Kindof like a blind date! Explore a couple of the ones that intrigue you and come back later for more.

The Hotel

The Night Post

I am in Eskew

Whisperling

Residents of Proserpina Park

The Daedalus Compound

EOS10

The Magnus Archives

Francis Forever

SMILE GROVE

Janus Descending

The Godfrey Audio Guide

Old Gods of Appalachia

Camp Here & There

The Way We Haunt Now

Jack of All Trades

SUPERSUITS

Illuminati Interns

Death by Dying

Life with Leo(h)

Hello from the Hallowoods

Malevolent

The 12:37

Spirit Box Radio

Lost Terminal

Desperado

Neighbourly

The Switchboard

The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity and Mortality

Aurora Everlasting

The Swashbuckling Ladies Debate Society

CARAVAN

The Amelia Project

Jar of Rebuke

Monstrous Agonies

Where the Stars Fell

Kisses In The Dark

The Town Whispers

Uncommon Commons

The Author's Anathema

Elevator Pitch

Brimstone Valley Mall

Kane & Feels

Middle:Below

The McIlwraith Statements

Caledonian Gothic

I have seen Niagara

Petrified

In Darkness Vast

The Outside Tapes

Seren

Gather the Suspects

This Foul Earth

John from Home

Glasgow Ghost Stories

The Tower

The Antique Shop

either

Tales from Aletheian Society

The Secret of St Kilda

The Green Horizon

Road X

THE NOWHERE MALL

Seven of Hearts

The Department of Variance of Somewhere, Ohio

SubverCity Transmit

The Nuclear Solution

Inkwyrm

Jim Robbie and the Wanderers

Burst

With Caulk and Candles

This Planet Needs a Name

The Glass Appeal

Mar's Best Brisket

Nym's Nebulous Notions

Midnight Radio

The Bright Sessions

When Angels Visit Armadillo

The Mysterious Secrets of Uncle Bertie's Botanarium

Nowhere, On Air

Dark Ages

Welcome to Night Vale

The Silt Verses

Care & Feeding of Werewolves

The Bridge

The Far Meridian

ars PARADOXICA

Among the Stars and Bones

Counterbalance

Primordial Deep

Hannahpocalypse

Someone dies in this Elevator

Mabel

Seen and Not Heard

Abyss FM

Bodies in Space

Among the Stacks

Station Arcadia

Station Blue

Mnemosyne

Wolf 359

Tranthologies

Mx Bad Luck

SAYER

Limetown

What will be here?

Wake of Corrosion

The Pasithea Powder

SINKHOLE

Tell No Tales

The Vesta Clinic

Dreamboy

Georgie Romero is Done For

The Domestic Life of Anthony Todd

Alice isn't Dead

Stellar Firma

Unwell

The Strange Case of Starship Iris

The Heart of Ether

The Orbiting Human Circus

Wooden Overcoats

Greater Boston

Valence

Moonbase Theta Out

The Penumbra Podcast

Desert Skies

Deviser

Leaving Corvat

Red Valley

Back Again Back Again

Sidequesting

[markgatissbirthdayproject]

Are you interested in participating in this year's drive?

[seat-safety-switch]

Although I am perfectly willing to blame my circumstances, the fact remains: I am a lazy son of a bitch. I could have easily gotten myself to whatever level of success I wished, if it weren’t so much more appealing to spend my time dicking around with old cars, and doing petty crimes to pay for the aforementioned dicking. Everything changed recently, though, with one discovery.

Berkeley University, the stupid bastards, have a policy: there are special reserved parking spaces provided to Nobel laureates on their campus. Special... and free. Free parking inside a major urban centre is already remarkable, but for it to be free and reserved? I immediately phoned up their switchboard, and the friendly-but-standoffish person who answered confirmed my ridiculous question. A Nobel Prize meant a guaranteed parking spot in California.

This was what I needed to finally slough off a life of self-imposed torpor. I drew the blinds, filled a bowl with party snacks, and set about solving the problem of microplastic contamination. I’m not gonna lie to you and say that it was easy, but you know that giant mass of old fishing nets and condoms that used to be floating in the South China Sea? You’re welcome. After that, it was all handshaking and dinner dates with awestruck Norwegian bombshells, and I had my parking spot.

If campus security tried anything, I just had to show them my Nobel Fucking Prize, and they would have to sneer and shout at me after retreating to their little meter maid dorkmobile. I immediately left my ‘76 Volare there (it no longer can survive the winters) and went home in my other ‘76. Several days later, I arrived at my home to realize I had a bunch of other cars that were also catching parking tickets from the local fuzz. Didn’t those ungrateful jerks know I’m a Nobel Laureate?

I called Berkeley again. If I got another Nobel Prize, I asked... could I get another spot? Sure, they said, laughing with disbelief (it was at this moment I realized I was likely on speakerphone.) Go fucking nuts. So I did. This time I busted out some old biology knowledge and invented a cure for malaria. You’re welcome. Sure, I could have sold it for millions, but millions of dollars doesn’t buy me a free parking spot. It buys me an expensive parking spot, and if I wanted to do that, I’d get a job.

What’s next for my journeys into scientific reasoning? Well, they ran out of free Nobel spots on the campus, so things are a little delayed right now. I’m still in negotiations. They said they might name a building after me, but it’s not going to be a parking garage, so why bother improving civilization at all?

[preservationofnormalcy]

[It is January of 2022. I’m entering a wing of the DC Office site that looks older than the others. The carpets are a strange brown, vintage looking, and the lighting casts an almost yellow pallor over the wood paneled walls. I can practically smell the cigarettes. I pass by an empty room labeled “social media office” - boxes piled up by the door. Maybe they’re going to be using it soon. They’ll need it.

I approach a door labeled Necrocommunications, knock lightly twice, then enter. 

I am greeted with the sound of a voice drifting softly across the room. A few chairs and tables sit around me, the same vintage style as the hallway before, the same browns and yellows. A high desk is across the room, and a woman is seated at a control panel. She has black curly hair, done up in an old fashioned style, a polka dotted blouse, and though she’s facing away from me, I can see the edges of cats-eye glasses. 

The panel she’s working at is huge, and resembles the type of switchboards they used to use in the ‘50s, dozens of physical wire connections crisscrossing the device and attaching via plugs. The woman has a headset, one ear covered in a bulky speaker, with a microphone near her mouth. She speaks casually, with an incredibly heavy New Jersey accent.]

I] Oh, him? He’s circled, babe. Taken as hell. Mhmm. And he still asked you? Ain't that a bite. So now you know he’s out of the question and yarding on. Dodged a bullet, hun.

M] Irene? 

I] Oh, god, hold on. My appointment is here. Yeah. I’ll call you later, beautiful. Caio. 

[She hung up the call, taking her headset off and turning to me. She looked like she was straight out of my grandfather’s high school photo album, including the color. Her skin was almost grey, it was so pale, but she didn’t seem like she was sick. She looked me over with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, leaning forward on her desk.]

I] Well, hello Miss Meghan Hendricks. What can I do for you, sugar? 

M] I’m here to interview you for my audit, Ms Donofrio. 

I] All business, aincha? 

M] This is my job.  

I] ….yeah, you’re right. Sorry. I don’t get cute visitors much. 

M] Right. 

I] Pull up a chair, hun. 

M] I’ll just stand. This won’t be long. I came here because of your Occult Communication Tools poster. 

[She sits back with a dramatic sigh.]

I] Yeah, took me forever to convince them to let me do that. We had agents using spirit boards, pendulums, casting runes, tarot cards, ghost boxes, all kinds of shit they brought from home. Bought from Walmart, or worse, a thrift store. I was always telling them, honey, baby, you gotta use our stuff, we maintain it, we disinfect it of ectoplasmic residue, lockout-tagout procedures, the works. It’s so, so unsafe to use anything but our tools. Sure, you gotta do paperwork when you check it out, but it’s better than somethin’ following you home…

M] Right into it, I guess. That’s what Necrocommunications does, right? Talk to the dead? 

I] You bet, sugar. The dead, demons, angels sometimes when they ain’t on our plane or in realspace. Other little spiritual twerps and bugaboos. 

M] I’ve been asking this a lot in the last few months, but…you can do that? Consistently? 

I] Consistent enough to make it worthwhile. S’not perfect. Fails most of the time, depending on who you’re calling. 

M] How so? 

I] Well, some people don’t wanna be called. Some people are chatterboxes. We got a list of likely contacts who we suggest people contact, but…we do other people sometimes, too. Always worth a shot, I say.

M] How does it work? 

[At that, Irene winced slightly and wagged her head from side to side.]

I] We got theories, but more importantly we got procedures. We know different things work for different people. Sometimes it’s cultural. The method that contacts Mr Smith may not work for Mr Chan, y’know? 

M] It’s mostly for information gathering, then. Like the Board of Infernal Affairs.

I] Information gathering’s a big part of it. Someone died with a secret? See if they got loose lips now. Also, y’know, helps with hauntings or gettin’ rid of little jerk spirits. 

M] You mentioned disinfection….

I] Yeah, yeah, there’s….risks, y’know. Sometimes the person you contact ain’t a fink, you know, and they start a whole new haunting. Sometimes one spirit’ll lie and say they’re another. Then they follow you home, start leeching your energy. Happens less when we cleanse the tools. Which is why there’s procedures for this, and every Office staff member in the building is trained on at least the basics.

M] Is it….is it only for Office personnel? Is it something I could…

[Irene’s face grows into a playful smirk as she hears the hesitation in my voice, leaning her face in her hand.] 

I] You got fifty cents? 

[She leads me into a back area of the office. Lining the walls in storage containers are row upon row of spirit boards, each box with a paper listing the dates each was used and then cleaned, along with the name of the person who did it. There are other items, too - pendulums, bags of runes, spirit boxes like you see on ghost hunting shows, and other devices and artifacts I don’t recognize. Irene’s attention, however, is on a phone booth at the end of the room. It’s clean but battered, clearly old and used. It has no door, but an open front, and above the phone itself is a depiction of a figure on a boat, with one word beside it: “Charon.”]

I] We confiscated these in the 80’s. It’s easier to use this one than have to sign out spirit board, y’know.

M] Weren’t you just complaining about that?

I] I complain about a lot of things, sugar. 

[I approach, standing before the phone in disbelief. Irene senses my hesitation.] 

I] Put in the money, then use the keypad to type out the person’s name. It’ll take it from there. Who you gonna call? Grandma? Mom?

M] My brother. 

I] Ah. Shit, honey.

M] He died in California. Two summers ago.

[As I reach for the receiver, I see Irene’s face freeze in some sort of concern.]

I] H-honey, that…was he in—

M] Yes. 

[I put my hand on the receiver, and I feel her hand on mine. She’s cold. She’s so cold and clammy that I jump slightly and look her in the eyes. Her face is sorrowful and scared, searching me.]

I] Honey…you won’t be able to—

M] You said—

I] If he was in…there’s no one there, sugar. He’s gone. 

M] I know he’s gone, but you said I could—

I] No, no, he’s…if he was…he’s gone, gone. There’s nothing left of him. You can pump quarters into that thing all night long and you won’t get anyone.  

M] H…how? I was…I was on the phone with him when it—

[As I watch, her eyes go wide, and she covers her mouth.]

I] Th-that’s how you remember, isn’t it? Thought you were just…in the Office but you hadn’t known about…that’s how you remember.

[I let go of the receiver. I can’t feel my fingers. I’m shivering, but not from the cold.]

M] I know how I remember. What I want to know is why everyone else forgot.