sub basement

Appendix A: About The Librarians

I Know Too Much about how libraries and librarians work. This resulted in complicated headcanons about job roles and org charts, trying to figure out how the behind-the-scenes of all the accumulating bits of canon and fanon would work. Hope it’s okay to share this here.

Crossposted to AO3

*

Libraries contain vast amounts of information that create possibilities, and stories, that have an immense amount of narrative weight and power. They are basically one giant liminal space, but one that exists for the people that use it. And it’s the people that work in the library that create that connection.

The Fair Folk have opinions about librarians. There’s a certain amount of idealism involved that would make them vulnerable, but so much of what they know and do is dangerous. They are accorded a certain not-inconsiderable amount of respect and caution, let’s say, and leave it at that.

There are two kinds of librarians at Elsewhere University, two sides to the same coin. There are the librarians who have an employee ID number, and a title on their nametag. They have lunch breaks, vacation time, and salt and iron in their pockets and stashed in odd corners in their desk drawers and offices, just like the rest of the staff and faculty. And then there are The Other Librarians. The other librarians can be found on floors ten through twenty-three. Officially, there are nine floors to the library. (This does not include the rooftop garden that is not accessible by stairwell or elevator.) The sub-basements are officially recognized. The tunnels are not.

The other librarians also have officially-issued library nametags. All they say is “librarian.” Some of the other librarians may have been human once. They may have officially retired. They may have learned too much, or willingly given up something that held them tethered to mundane cares outside of The Library, or made a bargain for something the library needed.

There are stories of a cataloguer, best of his generation, who reached a point where he could recite chapter and verse of the standards, never misjudged a subject heading or used the wrong cutter number. The arcanest of arcane inscriptions held still for him while he captured the true author and all relevant cross-references. There was not a text he could not read, or element of biliographic control that he could not master. The years went by, and the standards changed, Anglo American Cataloging Rules superceded the Rules for Descriptive Cataloging, ISBNs were introduced, AACR became AACR2, and a switch from cards to computer records loomed large. He knew so much, but was afraid so little of it would still be relevant. He made a deal.

He wasn’t the first. There are still cards appearing in the card catalogue today written in copperplate Library Hand script, as proscribed by Melville Dewey, with a pen and an inkwell.

There are still memories on the lower floors of a reference librarian who could find anything. There are people on staff who worked side-by-side with her on late night reference desk shifts, and tell stories of how she had an infinite command of Boolean logic to wring every penny out of the paid-by-the-second online search services. There was not an annotated bibliography or index that she didn’t have at her fingertips, and she could walk a student though the reference interview from “I need a book, I guess” to “help me find three print sources for my introduction to pre-confederate Canadian literature mid-term paper” in twenty seconds with a smile. Rumour has it that she bargained away the memory of every childhood pet she ever had to get internet access in the library for undergraduates. Officially, she retired in the late nineties. But in the Deep Library, there are those who can coax the dial-up modem into connecting to a Dialog subscription that the university hasn’t paid for in two decades, and bring back an answer in seconds every time.

There are fading echoes of the year that the entire cataloguing department and half the reference librarians vanished in the stacks in the early 1940’s. The university was smaller then, and the protections that were needed to balance a tumultuous time in world history took a terrible toll. It was said that if you stood in certain parts of the stacks, you could hear the air raid sirens, and watch the collection grow as refugee books were taken in. There were dark whispers that some of the staff disappeared into the library in a trade for safety for family members or one of the other desperate bargains made in wartime, but some were promoted to the upper floors without warning because the library didn’t want to lose their valuable talents to conscription or worse.

If the Library needs you, it will take you. If you are lucky, it will be on your terms, at a time of your choosing. In most cases, a masters’ degree in library and information sciences from a nationally-certified graduate program is required, though in some rare cases, an equivalent combination of education and experience may be considered.

Most undergraduates and visitors (both the mundane kind that come from outside the campus, and the Visitors), and some university support staff, will leave with a vague impression of any of the librarians as an ominous yet helpful shape, and an overwhelming sense of sameness. This is a type of protective camouflage that the library generates, and it extends to cover all the librarians, the one that leave at the end of the day, and the ones that do not. They cannot all be the same. It is, of course, impossible to run a library without a wide and varied pool of skill sets and personalities, all of which contribute to the, shall we say, unique personalities, egos, interdepartmental rivalries, feuds, and alliances that are the lifeblood of an academic library.

This protection waxes and wanes depending on the year. During the spring and summer semesters following the Chemistry Majors’ Revolt, anyone remotely associated with any of the science departments would find themselves on the doorstep of the library with a ringing in their ears like the sudden absence of a loud noise, holding the books or other information they’d gone to the library to find, with no memory of how it got there. An entire spring-semester introductory chemistry class knows the structure of an APA-style bibliography inside and out, but could not tell you when or where they learned it.

In more recent times, sufficiently motivated undergrads, graduate students, and faculty will have little trouble differentiating one librarian from another, if they are on floors one through nine. (They must, of course, be referred to by job title as they do not have names.)

There are operational needs that must be met. It’s hard to plead your case as to why the library really should keep that critical music theory database for your graduate level seminar course that currently costs as much as all of the journal subscriptions for the art history department combined when you’re not sure if you’re talking to the subject liaison librarian for fine arts, the head of interlibrary loans, or an eldritch creature with no face but a really excellent recall for geopolitical boundaries in medieval Africa, and a working knowledge of twelve dead languages, seven of which were never spoken by a human tongue.

(Interlibrary Loans and Fine Arts–the subject librarian, not the department–have been in the midst of a prolonged feud for the past decade over a hiring committee disagreement regarding practicum student placements and a botched exorcism. It is rivalled only by the cold war between Interlibrary Loans and Cataloguing over supply budgets that’s been running since the late nineties. Confusing one for the other would be unhelpful, to say the least.)

The Other Librarians generally do not encroach on their colleagues’ responsibilities. They are still librarians with all of the professional ethics that entails, and are generally orderly and rule-abiding, unless a fundamental principle of librarianship is at risk. (Do not speak of internet filtering within the library walls if you wish to leave with all of your fingers intact.)

The Deep Library should be approached with utmost caution, regardless. Some people in the profession say, your library should have something in it to offend everyone. EU’s library would agree to that statement, with some extensive additions, explanatory footnotes, and cautionary appendices. Respect the Library.

[x]

Public School Gothic

you were sent to the library a while ago but the purpose of your visit is unknown to you. “i need you to go to the library for me”. it drones on and on in your mind.

you hear the screaming down the hall at least once a day. no one says anything. we dont know what may happen if we do.

every school has a basement, or even a sub-basement. weve never been to it but we know its there for us.

the applause in the cafeteria started from nowhere, and ceased just as quickly as it started. no one knows where it originated.

its gym class. “were running today”. everyone knows that once you start running its impossible to stop.

in every school there are a few empty classrooms. sometimes you can peel back the old paper covering the windows and see whats inside, but i wouldnt recommend it.

theres an outbuilding that used to be used to heat up the school its not supposed to be used anymore, but sometimes you see smoke rising from its old chimney. youre sure of it.

school hours have been shortened due to district budget cuts. no one ever sees the teachers leave in the afternoon. we never see them leave the school.

everything goes smoothly, up until rain starts falling. the students raise their heads one by one to stare out the windows.

sometimes our school runs out of paper. we can no longer print documents or worksheets or office referrals. everything comes to a halt. even when unable to function, we must return to school.

you hear someone yell down the hallway “WHAT TEAM?” the answer is wildcats, apparently. our school mascot is a gryphon. we dont have team sports.

public schools dont have nurses offices. we cant get medicine or disinfectant for the many wounds we acquire throughout the day. we rarely have access to bandaids, yet you always hear someone say “im going to the nurses office”. where are they going?

acebeatriz  asked:

Sci-fi AU in which Credence is an android that grew way beyond his programming and Graves is the handler that has grown much too attached to something that was supposed to just be another project.

On the second day of testing, the C prototype of his Obscurus project learned how to mimic human body shapes. It tried on his own face and the face of one of his junior programmers, then settled on something entirely its own. It gave itself a pronounced nose and a strong jaw, large features that stood out even in the cloud of grey.

On the fifth day, the C prototype began to buzz and hum. For an hour, it screamed at pitches so inhumanly brutal that Percival Graves made the call to cut the audio recording himself. That was a mistake. He’ll never know exactly when it was the C prototype learned to speak.

On the sixth day, the C prototype sat on the other side of the triple-sealed polymer glass and said, “Hello, Mr. Graves.”

On the one hundred and seventy second day, President Picquery called him before the board.

“Graves,” she said. “Is what Dr. Barebone says true? Is the C prototype self-replicating?”

“He’s learning,” Percival said. “That’s what he’s programmed to do. His advancement is astounding, as I’ve put in my reports.”

“It,” Mary Lou Barebone said. “The protoype is an it, Mr. Graves, not a he. It is a cloud of nanomachines dangerously close to bringing all our nightmare projections about grey goo to reality.”

Keep reading

Pen Pal

The majority of Elsewhere U. students really interest me. Those who live in a liminal space and refuse to see anything out of the ordinary.

This is my first time writing in second-person POV (it happened on accident) and I hope you like it.

————–

It started dully enough. Someone had written ‘Hello’ in the bathroom (in fancy curly purple script, so extra). Juvenile, but it was the single-stall Everyone bathroom in the second sub-basement of the library, so you were willing to write it off as a bored freshman or something. And maybe you were a little bored yourself. Or lonely. Because you replied. You bought a green Sharpie specifically to respond to the purple word on the light orange paint.
‘Hey. W/ u studying?’

You went to check the little-used bathroom a few days later.
'Humans’ was written in beautiful purple handwriting under your green message.
'Psych major, cool. I’m eng-his double major’
You hoped the janitors wouldn’t clean off or paint over this little conversation. It was a little like having a pen pal. A couple days later you had another reply in purple swirls.

'Would you do something for me?’
The request was weird, but so were college kids; and you could always just not do it, you didn’t know who you were talking with, and were pretty sure you weren’t being followed. Like 75% sure. 70% sure.
'W/ u need?’
'Bells NOT silver candy cream beads appreciation’
It took you a few seconds to understand that the beautiful words written at all angles on the wall were a list. (Seriously? Upside down?) It was a pretty cheap request, aside from 'appreciation’, but most college kids lived off dark humor, so you didn’t pay it much mind. Maybe they were doing a psych-sociology experiment; you didn’t want to screw up their data.

You got some cheap gold-painted aluminum jingle bells, thread, and a package of plastic beads at the craft store. They were the same kind of cheap beads a lot of the art majors wore on necklaces, so you figured that’s what your pen pal wanted. At the grocery store you added a box of unflavored single coffee creamers and a bunch of candy, including caramel with creme centers (you couldn’t tell if 'cream’ and 'candy’ were meant to be combined on the bathroom wall or not). You brought it to the single stall bathroom in the second sub-basement of the library and left the bag in the corner. You threw out the receipts, thought a second, then tore out a piece of paper from your notebook and grabbed your green marker.
'I appreciate you :)’ You wrote, messily folding the paper into a crane, the only origami you know, and leaving it on top. 

You went back to your dorm, finding a small pile of pretty-looking junk on a huge leaf on your pillow. Your roommate wasn’t there. Must be a weird prank or some new internet challenge or something. You sorted through the odds and ends. Pretty rocks, tiny animals carved from wood, marbles, pieces of broken safety glass cracked through with green-blue and so fragile that some crumbled off the sides when you picked them up (you cleaned the miniscule slivers of broken glass off your pillow with some duct tape)… Eventually you found a little purple origami turtle. You opened it to find writing inside. 

'Your assistance is appreciated*’
There was no other asterisk anywhere else on the paper, so it must have been a stylistic choice, not a grammatical one. You put it out of your mind and carefully refolded the turtle and set everything on your desk to deal with later. Maybe you’d give it to an art student, they always seemed to have little trinkets like that. Or trade, the student body really liked trading, or maybe most colleges full of poor college kids were like that.

———–

In the week before midterms you suddenly awoke one night. You almost groaned and rolled over to preserve what sleep you could, but when you grabbed your blanket your hand landed on paper. You squinted at the post-it in the dim light, making out swirly fancy handwriting. Across the room, your roommate was asleep. Whatever. You stuck it to your phone and went back to sleep.

You read the post-it the next morning.
‘*I can help’

“What does that mean?” You asked your roommate, slightly accusingly. He frowned at the note.
“You should probably leave this alone.” He tells you seriously.
“Then why did it you stick it to me last night?”
“What? No I didn’t. My handwriting looks nothing like that.” He had a point. 
“Are you having a friend write the notes? Is a friend of yours messing with me by way of you?”
“No, I have no idea what that’s about. But if I were you, I’d steer clear of it. And make sure you have iron, salt, and cream on you.” Pippin was a theatre major, so he may be lying, but if he wasn’t lying his superstitions were true to his nature. The only group that could rival theatre majors for superstitions were D&D players.

You frowned at the post-it, debating what to do. You decided to stick it to the backside of the dorm door, adding your own post-it below in your green marker.
‘Help how?’ You didn’t think your roommate was the plagiarizing type, hopefully he only meant studying together because of how english, history, and theatre all came together.

You checked the back of the door after lunch to find a new post-it.
‘If you want to find out, come to the pool party tonight. I’ll find you.’
You debated. You knew you needed to study for midterms, but what if your roommate could help? What if he was trying (in a really weird roundabout way) to take your mind off midterms and get you to relax? You decided to go.

The pool party was more fun than you thought it’d be. You jumped in the deep end and swam around there early in the evening, before you could get drunk. They were playing good music, had more than just cheap beer in the coolers. You were genuinely having a good time.
“Hey.” A smiling girl in a bikini put her arm around your shoulders. “You’re Green Marker, right?”
“You’re Purple Marker?” You asked. She nodded. “How do you know Pippin?”
“I know all the theatre majors in passing. And I know anyone down that deep in the library could use a hand come test time. What do you say?”
“You’d help me study? Without plagiarizing?”
“You’d have to provide me with something, too. Fair’s fair.”
“What would you want?”
“What are you willing to offer?”
“More candy?” You tried.
“To help you ace your midterms?”
“Okay, um…”

You tried to think. People were always saying to never wager something you couldn’t bear to lose. What was something valuable enough to get studying help, but that you could bear to lose? You glanced around and realized you’d been slowly walking away from the party, into the darkness.
“I’ll give you…” She wanted appreciation. “I’ll give you my friendship. How’s that?”
“Wonderful.” She sighed, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

 (x)

Trust Me

So this is from last month, there were two girls whom I owe two fanfics because I guess the notes on my phone didn’t save properly. If there were anyone else’s that got looked over, I apologize but I only have time to redo these two.
I’m sorry again M and R! Here’s the first one!

Prompt #12:  The heat is off in my apartment and you know how to fix it and now you’re shirtless in my living room.
Superstar: Dean Ambrose

Thanks again ladies for the request :)

Keep reading

Journal Entry, 2/10/2017

12:34pm

Big bro says, keep a journal, lil bro.  And I think I used to do that but I can’t remember and I can’t find it anywhere.  Big bro says dont worry, so I don’t, but I wonder if I’ll lose this one too, just like the last one.  Don’t remember too much from those days.  Lil foggy, lil hazy.  I remember goin to the gym, startin to go to the gym.  That was like, what, a year ago or so, I think.  I remember struggling with 50 lbs.  I remember thinkin, hey, in a year’s time, I’ll be pushin up more weight and here I am pushin more weight.  It’s like I read a fortune cookie or got my future told and here it is, bein fullfilled. 

So yeah, I been makin progress, I think.  Take my supps at night, the Z-core stuff.  Supposed to make my testosterone bigger.  I dunno about all the math stuff, I just kinda listen to what big bro says.  I wake up, take the meds that are in the box marked F, cuz its Friday, then I eat some breakfast, then I supp up for the gym.  Even got some extra cardio in today cuz it snowed like a mother the other night.  Get home from the gym, super fuckin pumped.  A lil dizzy, even.  So pumped that I take a shitload of selfies and send em to big bro.  Even take a flexin, posin video, and send it to big bro.  Got a lot to work on, but thats okay.  Big bro knows best - gotta grow for big bro.  Right?  Right.

Last night big bro kinda spooked me a lil, lol.  We were talkin on the phone, like we do every night, and he said, “Your kinda like an experiment, lil bro,” and I was all like, whoa, wait, what?  These, like, dim alarms rang somewhere down in the sub-basement of my brain for a minute.  “But you dont gotta worry, lil bro,” he said, and I know I dont gotta worry, but sometimes like that elevator of thought goes down there and I’m all like wtf is going on?  I speed back to the past in my head and I see myself pushin my glasses up on the bridge of my nose and talkin real fast with someone across the bar, bout some book we were both readin.  I remember gettin all tense and angry, kinda like when I do a shitload of crunches, like 50 or 60 or so, and my abs are all tight and my veins are pulsin at the temples of my head and my shoulders are all tight, but YEAH, fuckin 60 crunches!  Time to go do 3 sets of 12 side crunches.  Gonna feel that tomorrow.  Big bro’s gonna be so proud.  “You there, lil bro?” 

“Yeah, big bro,” I say, though I’m a little hazy in the brain.  Ding!  Some kind of bell going off in my brain, like the bell between rounds in a boxing match, or a wrestling match, or a UFC MMA fight.  Big bro’s gettin me into UFC a lil.  I like the rough n tumble shit.  Big bro sends me selfies sometimes and he’s all in this kinda like fighter’s stance and he got this confident gleam in his eye.  He just got a haircut and he says when I visit it’ll be time for mine too.  I am gettin kinda bushy up top.  Like to keep it pretty short.  Not too short, but you know.  “Don’t worry about it, lil bro,” says my big bro confidently.  Everything he fuckin does is confidently.  He could part a crowd just by walkin thru it, head high and stride wide.  “Big bro knows best.”

That’s usually when I cum, actually, lol.  Big bro’s voice in my ear makes me cum, and usually so hard that it flies up to my forehead lol.  Never cummed like that before.  Fuck, never even talked bout cumming before, but big bro coaches me to be more comfortable with that.  It’s fuckin natural, right, just like jackin off is natural.  Just workin out another muscle.  Just like goin to the gym and workin out, watchin my heartrate climb.  Big bro watches my heartrate too, every day thru the monitor I wear on my wrist.  Every day.  And I keep track of my water and tell him every fuckin thing I eat, so he keeps track of my macros so I can get big for big bro.  Grow for big bro.  That’s what’s best.

Uh, I kinda lost my train of thought.  Hard as a motherfucker though, lol.  Feels so good to think about big bros voice in my ear.  Urgin me on, sometimes only in a whisper, sometimes in a shout, sometimes commanding, sometimes coaxing.  Sometimes persuasive and sometimes firm.  Sometimes I lay around in a fuzz of gray static, with his voice curlin around me like mist.  Sometimes he is the sun exploding over the dark horizon, a clarion sound trumpeting that I WAKE UP, FEET ON THE FLOOR, LIL BRO, and before I even know it, I’m up, hands on the pill box, downin what big bro says, shake is already in the blender.  Sometimes before I even know it, I’m out on my way to the gym.  Am I even wearin a shirt?  Well, if I dunno, I just ask big bro, and he’ll tell me. 

So uh thats it guys, lil bro out for now.  Gotta take a muscle nap cuz I just went to the gym and had my postworkout shake.  Got some real life shit like work or whatever to do tonight but I’ll get thru it becuz on the other side big bro will talk me down to sleep and thats my favorite part of the day.  Well any part of the day with big bro is my favorite part of the day.  Sometimes feels like hes takin over, and soon I’ll just be like, a part of him, but I dont mind.  As long as I get to make more muscles, thats cool.  Fuckin love big bro.  Dont need to worry, dont need to think.  Just cruise on thru and flex some more.  Take some pics and flex some more.  Soon enough big bro will be by my side and thatll be the best day ever.

List the first lines of your last 20 stories (or however many you have altogether).
See if there are any patterns.
Then, tag your favourite authors.

Thank you @victuri-oh-nice for the tagging I’m always down to procrastinate a term paper.

Tagging: @muspellssynir​ , @machinewithoutfeelings​ , @kingotabek​, @the-stoned-ranger​ and whomever else would like to participate. 

Lots of first lines behind the readmore. Patterns include lots of descriptions and narration. Not surprising since that’s probably what I am best at. Recent works include lots of Otabek thinking about stuff. Being pensive, etc. 

1. Yuri’s Kitten 

“I don’t believe you’re actually a witch,” Otabek looks Georgi up and down.  He’s dressed head to toe in crushed purple velvet. His evenly applied wingtip eyeliner looks like it’s pulled straight from this month’s Vogue. The crystal ball plugs into the wall, and Georgi had to consult the instruction booklet for his tarot deck during the reading.

2. Let the Record Drop

Otabek lives on the nineteenth floor. But he parks the bike in the sub basement, which means they have to climb up the steps to get to the lobby elevator first.It might as well be up on the goddamn fucking moon when Otabek’s doing everything in his power to delay the process. Otabek’s got his fingers threaded into Yuri’s beltloop and tugs him close so that their hips knock awkwardly together as they walk.

3. Line and Verse

Otabek doesn’t much care for poetry. This becomes apparent upon his fifth birthday. He peels away the wrapping carefully, as to not disturb the thick butcher paper in which the gift is wrapped.

Keep reading

Watching episode 1 again, because the last time wasn’t enough, and the dialogue is so quick that I missed half of it. For example: It went over my head how much this show digs at all the classic superheroes.


Sam: I love having a sub-basement of solitude with our very own genius girl to think up wildly improbable stuff for us! 


That line alone just took a serious jab at about a million different superhero universes and I appreciate it immensely. 

2

The 459 - The Best of the Rest

This is the 14 pieces ranked 101-114 of 459 in my ranked list of Steve Argyle illustrations.  The list is all of Steve’s work from Magic, Legend of the Five Rings, Warlord, Star Wars, and Dungeons & Dragons as well as a few other pieces here and there.  The list is not in rank order.  Once I start the Top 100 I’ll be listing them in rank order.

Every once in a while (ok it seems like all the time) Steve just doesn’t share an image of his art.  Try as hard as you can and dig through the bowels of the sub-basement of the internet and you will not find it.

The reason I bring this up… Beckon the Sea.  One of Steve’s merfolk-ish pieces from the Crimson Coast expansion of Warlord.  Everyone loves Thalaasa, Ocean Queen and don’t get me wrong so do I and you’ll see her in my top 100 eventually.  My point is that Steve showed of his flagship work for the set (there’s even an alternate nude of it out there if naked mermaids strike your fancy) but neglected to share some of the other work with the public.

The reasons for this are never clear.  He’s really busy thankfully and it may slip his mind that when a set gets published he has to go back in his records and find a bunch of stuff to share.  Maybe no one asked.

Well I’m asking.

Steve… pretty please share a picture of Beckon the Sea.

I have a feeling it will break my Top 100 next time once I can see it better than card size.

I invite you to discuss.  If you want to see more about any of these pieces just add the name of the piece (with spaces intact… it will work) to the end of this address:

http://gatheringsteveargylesmagic.tumblr.com/tagged/

Hidden

The last time Gabriel had seen the outside world had been in the Spring of 1942. He’d lost track of counting some fifty years into his entrapment. All he knew of anymore was the ring of Holy Fire that burned waist high around him.

He was trapped in a windowless room of a sub-basement in the Men of Letters Bunker. He had been captured long ago, when a Hunter somehow figured out he was more then a mere Trickster. How he’d figured out he was an Angel was beyond him, though they had never realized he was an Archangel, thank Dad.

So he rotted in a small, dark room. The only light the burning oil. It cast eerie orange & yellow shadows dancing on the walls. It made the sigils painted there seem to dance. As the years passed, it seemed to dull the golden light that had once shown in his eyes.

The only thing he had in his circular prison was his Angel Blade. When it became apparent he had been left alone in the Bunker, left to rot in the dark, he took to cutting himself. Long, thin lines carved into his forearms. The pain the only thing keeping him remotely sane. Until even that doesn’t work. He can’t retreat into some kind of created pocket dimension, he can’t even snap up a lollipop. But he can slice into himself & watch the blood run down his arm. He can watch the wound heal slower & slower with time. The floor stained red with his blood.

He had long forgotten where the door was in the room. Hell, he’d forgotten about the Bunker. All of his focus had narrowed down to just ‘The Room’. So when there was suddenly the sounds of voices coming from inside the Bunker, he didn’t think much of that. Perhaps Ghosts had finally decided to show up. And honestly, about fucking time. But then there was nothing.

And then, there was light. Almost as impressive as when Dad created light. And just as loud to Gabriel’s over-sensitive ears. He winced, curling up into a ball, his hands covering his ears, eyes squinched closed against harsh light.

Runaway Bride Observation

After watching “The Runaway Bride” for I don’t know what number time, I just came to the realisation…

That the point when The Doctor gets really mad

When he makes his angry face, is when Lance is insulting and belittling Donna. He really didn’t like that. Not one little bit.

He also laughs, really laughs, for the first time since losing Rose when he is with Donna.

Donna laughs after all she has been through, for the first time, when she is with the Doctor.

Other points:

  • While at Donna’s reception, he can’t help but smile at Donna’s quick thinking and her spirit. Even if he’s still missing Rose.
  • Donna chooses the Doctor over Lance, even before discovering his betrayal, by leaving the reception with him.
  • Donna chooses to stick with the Doctor when he finds the sub-basement and offers her a way out.
  • Donna: “You’d better come back!”
  • Doctor: “I couldn’t get rid of you if I tried”
  • Donna - little smile
  • Donna puts herself between the Empress of the Racnoss and the Doctor to protect him,
  • By that point the Doctor has saved Donna a few times himself.
  • Donna: “What? There’s a secret base hidden underneath a major London landmark?”
  • Doctor: “I know. I know, Love”
  • The Doctor tries to cheer Donna up after seeing she is upset after learning about Lance’s betrayal.
  • Donna saves the Doctor from dying under the Thames.
  • The Doctor makes it snow for Donna to try to make Christmas a little better for her. To make her happy.
  • The Doctor is visibly disappointed when Donna decides not to travel with him at the end of the episode.

There’s more, but it was really the point where Ten is getting visibly angry at Lance’s insults towards Donna that I decided to post something. I am not sure why I never noted it before. But it is all right there. 

The Doctor was already quite taken with Donna Noble at that point. 

It makes me feel even worse for Martha now.

But even warmer for Donna and the Doctor.


@basmathgirl

     metamorphosis
           n. a striking alteration in appearance, character, or circumstances


synopsis: 
      As the designer of the infamous Aether Paradise, and now-former Aether Foundation employee, Charlie Moore had been stunned to find the less than savory experiments occurring in the sub basements of the facility.  After surviving an attempt on her life courtesy of Aether’s own security branch in effort to preserve their secrets, Charlie finds herself among the ranks of Team Skull, courtesy of an unexpected friend.  She is recovering from injuries,  both physical and mental, and learning to trust again.  Eventually, and under the guise of a skull grunt, she begins raiding the standalone Aether Houses in effort to find some incriminating evidence to expose them for what monsters they really are underneath that pristine surface.

details: 
     This will be regarded as my main verse for Pokemon Sun & Moon.  I will still be doing aus and variations, but consider this a default unless otherwise specified or discussed.  This is a loosely structured verse so that it does have flexibility in regards to interactions and is meant to get Charlie’s main Pokemon verse kicked off as well as provide some support and a main plot for it.  

     This verse will continue to tie into my various aether architect tags since those are already established and likely I will include a tag that is verse || metamorphosis on new interactions.  

     This verse is available for mutuals.  Please message me if you would like to be involved!

characters involved:

     Guzma ( @fcilure ) , Xavia ( @xaviatheasgardian ), Nyx ( @aetherpoison ). Bara ( @grunt-low ), Mina ( @whxt-trial ), Marius ( @giildedbones ),

Butch DeLoriaxFemale Lone Wanderer Headcanons

So I have this HUGE idea for a Butch DeLoria x Female Lone Wanderer fanfiction. And I have all these damn headcanons. Shall I write a giant story about all these? (Please don’t steal the ideas! I really want to write this someday but I can’t hold these ideas in anymore.)

  • The Female Lone Wanderer’s headcanonical name is Eve, Eva or Evelyn. James and the FLW’s mother were both religious and quoted the bible. Also, The GECK James searched for stands for Garden of Eden Creation Kit. He would want his daughter to belong to something beautiful. Not to mention…President Eden is this big lie in the same way that utopia can never exist, and the FLW comes to accept that. While she searches long and hard for a better life, she is only shown that she can no longer obtain what she wants. Not to mention, Butch is a Tunnel SNAKE, like the snake who tempted Eve. He believes in anarchy and making one’s own choices that defy the higher power (the Overseer who plays God).
  •  Butch’s father was killed by the overseer. Ellen DeLoria is always drunk like she’s washing away sorrows. Butch’s father used to tell him stories about the outside world and tell him to never tell anyone because everyone is supposed to believe that you are born in the vault and die in the vault. Eventually, when Butch was three or four, his father tried to leave the Vault and was shot by the Overseer’s henchman, perhaps Officer Kendall. Butch could barely remember this…but eventually figured it out as the years went on. His hatred for the Overseer’s control was a personal matter as well as his rebellious spirit coming to light.
  • Butch and the FLW were best friends before the age of nine. They used to share Grognak the Barbarian comic books, and play in the atrium. Eventually however, Butch received pressure from the other boys (mainly Wally Mack) to break away because of gender roles. The female lone wanderer then got even closer to Amata.
  • Butch DeLoria is afraid of radroaches because, when he was five he was locked in the lowest level of Vault 101. His alcoholic mother Ellen DeLoria locked him there.  Butch kept asking his mom about what happened to his dad, and afraid of the Overseer’s wrath, she told Butch to stop asking. But being a  typical five year old, he kept asking over and over. So, she dragged him to the sub basement area while intoxicated. After locking the door, he began to cry and scream after a radroach came out and attacked him. James shows up with his daughter to unlock the door and comfort him. After that, Butch holds a respect for James, but has a resentment towards his daughter that he doesn’t have a father like him. When Butch bullies the lone wanderer, James never actually gets angry since he still feels bad about Butch’s lack of a father figure.
  • The FLW always cried to her dad about Butch. James told her that boys only tease you when they like you… For years, she hoped that was the case. But she still didn’t believe that hitting on her actually meant hitting her!
  • The Female Lone Wanderer is nicknamed “Nosebleed” because of what Butch did. At the age of nine, the kids were playing baseball in the atrium. Eventually, the female became MVP (because the perk says so) and jealous of this, the opposing team’s players told Butch to bring her down a notch. When she was up to bat, he was pitcher, and threw the baseball right at her face, where it hit her nose and she received a bloody nose. He’d been calling her “Nosebleed” ever since.
  • The Female Lone wanderer never fights back against Butch unless he’s bullying someone else, namely Amata. He then stops targeting  Amata after realizing this and tries even harder to get a rise out of her, like throwing gum in her hair during class or tripping her after class. When it never works, he gets obsessed with this…and maybe even develops something far different from hatred.
  • When they were seventeen, Butch fucked up the FLW’s hair. To get back at him for all his teasing she called him a hairdresser instead of a barber. He decided to pull  a prank and botched her long hair unevenly. When she told Amata, Amata tied it like her own hair. So they wore similar hairstyles for a long time. Over time, the ponytail began to grow out more until it no longer resembled the other girl. But she refused to go back to the Vault hairdresser…err barber.
  • A year before the FLW left Vault 101, her relationship with Butch got…somewhat…better. While he still teased her, shoved her in the halls when the other guys were around, etc, he began to get quiet when it was just the two of them. He’d watch her shooting her BB gun in the basement, and even gave her a shot of whiskey he managed to steal from the Overseer’s chambers. They finally got to talk about what it was like growing up with one of their parents being dead. It turns out they had more in common than they initially thought.
  • Butch began to date Susie Mack, Wally Mack’s sister. She’d never admit to it, but when the FLW catches them making out in the hall, she immediately turns back around where she came from and feels like she could cry without fully comprehending why. Butch tries to talk to the FLW and be nicer, but she instead treats him harshly because of her jealousy. He again turns hostile. Wally Mack soon quits the Tunnel Snakes after that, pissed that Butch would go with his sister. 
  • After she left the vault, the FLW always wore the Tunnel Snakes jacket Butch gave her. She began to panic as it got more and more damaged. Eventually, Moira fixed it up, and teases that it has the scent of a man’s aftershave and cologne.
  • Butch DeLoria was the one who spray painted “Fuck You, Overseer” on the “Thank You, Overseer” sign. Amata kept yelling at him to stop it. But he managed to make a contraption out of rope to allow him to paint the sign with the other Tunnel Snakes
  • Butch meets James Hargrave in Rivet City. The kid with a bad attitude has a dead father and alcoholic mother and he reminds Butch so much of himself as a child that it begins to disturb him. He tells the kid about his own life and even becomes like a big brother James could look up to. He also told James to be always be good to C.J. Young, the little girl who always follows james around. And if he does, he’ll even let him join the Tunnel Snakes when he grows up. James asks why he has to act so nice to her. Butch tells James that he’ll understand why when he’s older…. Because he wishes he could’ve treated the FLW better. Every day, he’d been waiting for her to show up in Rivet City…
  • When the FLW agrees to travel with Butch again, she knees him in the groin. Butch apologizes for all the times he bullied her and beat her up when they were kids. So, she knees him in the balls and says she forgives him. He of course crumples to the floor and says “Yeah…maybe…I deserved that Nosebleed.”
  • Butch DeLoria is still a HUGE Grognak the Barbarian comic book fan at the age of 20. His line “I hear there were dragons out there. You ever seen one?” reveals this. It drives the FLW crazy, especially since he spends all their caps on rare issues rather than on the supplies they need.
  • When the pair sleep in Raider camps outdoors, the female lone wanderer always takes the top bunk when they manage to find bunkbeds. Based on the line “Man that creeps me out. That thing up there…you know? The sky…” The lone wanderer knows he’s terrified to look up there, so she alleviates his fear by taking the top bunk, making it feel like he’s back in the Vault.
  • Butch suffers from monophobia: the fear of being alone. His whole “Tunnel Snakes 4 LYFE” motto is only him trying to belong to something. The Tunnel Snakes have no real goals or purpose besides to be “the most badassest gang in the wastes”. Plus, he’s the only one to leave the vault for good after Trouble on the Homefront. This likely means, he knows the gang is over with and everyone else abandoned him… Even still, he follows the FLW and uses the “gang” as an excuse. He never wants anyone else following you. So how could a gang ever form?
  • Butch sings along to Galaxy News Radio. Whenever they are at a bar, Butch gets buzzed and just starts singing along. The FLW told him a million times to shut the hell up, but he just sings louder. His favorite song is supposedly “I’m a Mighty Mighty Man.” because it says that “I really don’t need a wife.” This upsets the FLW though she never says so.
  • The Female Lone Wanderer loves when Butch cuts her hair. The feeling of his fingers against her scalp takes her breath away…until he decides to play the same prank like when they were kids and shaves part of her scalp. She sics Dogmeat on him.
  • Butch really likes Dogmeat, though initially acts like he doesn’t. This is since he doesn’t mind having Dogmeat follow as well. He wanted to sew Dogmeat a personal Tunnel Snake jacket… The FLW forbid it.
  • Butch manages to find a way to bake a sweetroll. He goes through life and limb to obtain the ingredients. He gives it to the female lone wanderer as a peace offering after taking her sweet roll at her birthday party ten years prior.
  • The Lone Wanderer says goodbye to Dogmeat and Butch during the last quest (without expansion). She makes a slight joke that Dogmeat and Butch should go into the irradiated chamber of Project Purity. And while Butch declines, he doesn’t believe that she planned to do it anyway. He doesn’t understand why she says goodbye and tells him to take care of Dogmeat. When she goes in, he tries to stop her but it’s too late.
  • Butch goes into a huge depression before the events of Broken Steel (aka end of game without expansion). He becomes an alcoholic just like his mother and only has thoughts of the lone wanderer. Dogmeat ends up taking care of him more than he takes care of Dogmeat. Every day, Butch regrets that he didn’t activate the control chamber in her stead. Whenever he hears Three Dog mention her on GNR, he gives a toast before downing his last shot and smashing the glass. Instead of “I’m a Mighty Man” he only listens to the slow sad songs like “I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire.
  • Ok, that last one made me tear up. AHEM. The female lone wanderer and Butch are in love. I mean…that damn dialogue. As a follower, he flirts so much only if you’re female. Need I say more?
  • Butch and Dogmeat are reunited with the Female Lone Wanderer… The Three Tunnel Snakes For Life. 
Blast From The Past: Part 13

Pairing: Reader x Bucky
Word Count: 1.2K
Warnings: Angst (as always)

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy!

Feedback is always appreciated. Let me know if you want to be added to the tags list.

E/C: Eye Colour

Part 1 // Part 12

You slowly flutter your eyes open. Your head feels heavy and there’s a throbbing pain coming from the base of your skull.

Looking around the empty bank vault, you were confused. Then you remember what happened before you were knocked out. You whip your head around, trying to identify where you are. There’s a machine in the corner of the room, one that you had seen a few times before, decades ago.

“Hey, hey,” Bucky’s soft voice broke through your thoughts, “Y/N, baby, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Your eyes met Bucky’s and your heart broke. He looked so worried, but also terrified. You nod, “I’m okay, handsome. Are you? Did they hurt you?”

He shook his head, “Well, apart from knocking me out. Do you know where we are?”

“Yeah,” you could feel a lump rising in your throat, and tears welled in your eyes, as you realised why neither of you had been killed yet, “This is where they’d bring you to wipe you,” your voice broke as Bucky’s shoulders slumped and his expression changed. He remembered, and it still hurt him.

You try to extend an arm to him, but you’re strapped down. Your wrists were bound to the metal arms of a chair, and your ankles to the legs. Bucky was strapped into his chair too, “We’re in the sub basement of the compound. Nat is coming back for us, she’ll find us,” you tried to soothe him.

“She won’t arrive in time,” a male voice sounded from across the room. A middle aged man walked into the vault, followed by a dozen Hydra agents. You immediately recognised him. George Cleardon.

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‘Blood Will Out’ Reveals Secrets Of A Murderous Master Manipulator

Let’s say you meet a Rockefeller — Clark Rockefeller — and suddenly you have this connection to a world of wealth and privilege. Or so you think, because one day you find out he’s an imposter. And not just an imposter — a murderer.

That’s what happened to Walter Kirn, and Kirn’s a smart guy — he’s a journalist and the author of two novels that have been adapted into films, Up In The Air and Thumbsucker. How he was deceived, and what the consequences were, is the subject of Kirn’s new memoir, Blood Will Out.

On how Rockefeller manipulated people

“Here is the secret of a master manipulator and liar: They leave lots of blanks for you to fill in. For example, when he was living in San Marino and pretending to be a British aristocrat — and this came out of the trial — he told one young woman, “Oh, you know, I have an aunt in England, her name is Elizabeth.” Then at another point he said, “I have to go visit my family in Windsor.” This person thought, “Oh my lord, he’s related to the queen! The queen is named Elizabeth and she lives in Windsor.”

He was always doing that. He was always dropping breadcrumbs because he knew that if you put the story together in your own mind you’d be more convinced by it than if he told you the whole story …

When I first met him, he took me out to a very fancy dinner atop a skyscraper in Midtown Manhattan. We looked down on Rockefeller Center. At one point he said, “Let’s go take a private tour of it, I have the key in my pocket.” … I think I said “Oh, sure,” but … he said it in a way that’s like how people say, “You must come and stay at my house for a week.” And you say, “I’d love to,” but you don’t ever take them up on it? He’s making a social gesture here, but do I really want to go through the sub-basements of Rockefeller Center with this character at 10 o'clock at night? He made a lot of offers he knew you wouldn’t accept.”

[Originally broadcast March 2014, now in paperback] 

dykerose-deactivated20170413  asked:

jupeter pushing daises type of power au (Juno is a detective who can bring the dead back to life with a touch but if he doesn't touch them again within a minute to kill them again, someone else dies in their place)

I’m particularly happy with how this one turned out.

Warnings for referenced gore and child abuse. And, you know, death.

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irlpinkiepie replied to your post “a lot of the arguments about differences between variants of english…”

ok but: floors with multiple basements; it makes no sense to go from 1 to -1, and 0 should be a baseline floor

sure it does you dont have to do fuckin Floor Math it makes more sense to use counting numbers for floors than natural numbers i.e. exclude 0

you dont go ‘oh okay i gotta fuckin add the fourth floor and subtract the third sub-basement’ no ur just counting the total number of floors or basements

in fact honestly the best possible solution would probably be to designate the first floor as the deepest basement, and then ground level might end up being the 5th floor or whatever

thats impractical of course because people usually keep digging down as well as building up

(ive already tossed out ‘always keep the ground floor as the first floor’ btw because of one thing that people forget about a lot: buildings built into hillsides. i had to deal with a lot of those in high school where the ground floor on one side of the building would be the first floor and the other side, also at ground level, would be like, the second or third floor, or the alternate case where the ground floor would be floor one and then the other side would be a basement level or something. its all kind of based on the assumption that floors are all of equal size and built on perfectly flat ground and etc etc its just kind of impractical to try and establish a ‘floor zero’ imo)