#GNU Squeak
Note
Is the CATS ARE NICE a reference to Terry Pratchett's Death? If yes, you're awesome. If no, you're also awesome because cats are in fact nice.
Yes, it's a Terry reference.
It's also my opinion about F. domesticus, especially since for all the Cats from Hell which get mentioned on-line and TV, the most we ever had with Our Lot was an occasional cat from heck.
Like the time Squeak tried to steal a roast chicken. All of it.
As in leap onto counter, grab convenient part of chicken firmly between teeth, straddle it, put head back and start walking. Just like a leopard with a gazelle or a lion with a zebra, except instead of a trail of blood and innards, there would have been a trail of roast potatoes, cocktail sausages and gravy.
Here's Squeak thinking plotting something.
The in-house joke was that his CV - yodelled at @dduane when he turned up on our doorstep one morning - started with: "I am not very clever, but I can lift heavy things..."
He was, in fact, a surprisingly bright cat who could recognise himself in a mirror and worked out, after a bit of checking, that the news ticker-tape across the bottom of DD's monitor did not in fact come in or out at the sides, never would, and was thus beneath his notice.
I'm not saying he could have pulled off the Great Chicken Robbery, but I'm not saying he couldn't, since he was a Norwegian Forest Cat in his prime of 8 kg / 18lbs.
Squeak was built like a furry rugby player, "...can lift heavy things..." was true and was frequently demonstrated (a favourite toy was a log of firewood).
Unfortunately for Squeak and fortunately for dinner, he lost focus and thieved several sausages first, otherwise he might have got away with it - if it hadn't been for those meddling kids humans, who could count, noticed the gang begging around our ankles was short the largest, loudest member, and reached a correct conclusion.
Steps were taken (quite rapid ones, IIRC) before any real mischief was done, and we even had some more sausages in the fridge to replace the ones in the cat.
Squeak was Not Pleased and sulked for a good while - there was no mistaking it because when he showed you his back, there was a lot of back - but when that didn't have any effect he returned to begging like all the others, and (because we are Big Softies) it paid off.
We miss him.
We miss all of them.
They were very fine cats, very fine cats indeed.
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Some say "Merry Christmas". From the world I come from, we say "Happy Hogswatch"!
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“IT'S THE EXPRESSION ON THEIR LITTLE FACES I LIKE, said the Hogfather.
"You mean sort of fear and awe and not knowing whether to laugh or cry or wet their pants?"
YES. NOW THAT IS WHAT I CALL BELIEF.”
― Terry Pratchett, Hogfather
#discworld#hogfather#hogswatch#terry pratchett#gnu terry pratchett#ankh morpork#death of rats#squeak#death#deathdiscworld#the grim squeaker#reaper man#grim reaper#happy hogswatch#merry christmas#dont fear the reaper
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I started a new job after being laid off in July, and had to decorate my office whiteboard appropriately. I have a lot to learn, so this quote was chosen to keep me grounded.
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zebra boys pester the gnu (and each other)
source: NamibiaCam
#i think there are cute zebra squeaks in there too#namibia cam#animals#antelopes#gnu#wildebeest#blue wildebeest#zebra#burchell's zebra#plains zebra
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Proud Tag Game
Tagged by @autumnalwalker, thank you for this!
Rules: Post a snippet you've written that you're proud of and tag 5 people. This snippet can be from today, last week, last month, or five years ago, it doesn't matter! Show us what you're proud of.
I'm tagging: @starbuds-and-rosedust @sparrow-orion-writes @tryingtimi @pb-dot @deanwax and anyone else who wants to join!
Mine is exceedingly long, and I can't quite explain why I'm proud of it...but I am. It is my favorite part of a larger scene. It's from Weald and Wen and takes place about twelve chapters in, shortly after two of the main characters meet the third and are resting in his home -- after saving him from himself.
Faerai has just woken from fainting, after experiencing a harrowing memory not her own, and after everyone's mostly calmed down -- and Mitra has begun sleepily munching her crystal treats -- her stomach draws her attention to the rucksack that is not where it should be.
~ * ~
“I placed your belongings in the dining area,” Delgrij offered and added, “No, allow me,” as Faerai made to leave the shelf.
As he stood and stepped from Infae's side, the nuru trilled, clicked and hopped up to pad giant feet after him. They headed to, and down, a stairwell in the back of the room before Delgrij’s head bobbed out of sight and Infae dove after him, through a much wider opening beside the stairwell. The tap-tap of the thick heeled caps on Delgrij's roots faded shortly after and Faerai retraced his path, her eyes studying her surroundings.
All was red-lit, but dim and dyed purple in places by the pale blue glow spilling in from a large window set in the wall behind her. Assuming, by that color, that latelight had yet to pass, Faerai shrank as worries of her father and home threatened her eyes with further tears. What she saw through the Breath had been too dark, too terrible and the memory of its icy fingers returned as she recalled it. But, before it could draw her into its chill dread, the tapping of Delgrij's root-caps brought her again to the present and she sat up at his approach.
He held her rucksack close to his chest, protectively and shoved the nuru’s curious snout away from it twice before reaching her. And it was so warm in her paws when he pressed it into them.
“Elleyfen!” she shouted, and her flattened ears bounced to attention before embarrassment dropped them again, “we mean th—thank you.”
Delgrij bowed and she squeaked as she rummaged through her returned rucksack—her link to her warren, to home—while he returned to his chair.
Infae curled up beside him as he sat and whimpered for the return of his branches, filling the room with rumbling purrs as Delgrij gave them. But his eyes were on the sprout, and the odd item she had pulled from her furry bag.
The glowing blue cube of hyla glared at Faerai; imperfect, a failure and she frowned as she studied its awkward edges and chaotic glow. Ozma wriggled, pressing its snout into her knee and she sighed before she bit into a corner of the hyla's thin, membranous surface. With a gooey chunk secure in her teeth, she tossed the rest of it into the rucksack and chewed her bite of captured Breath. Its electric warmth ran down her throat, igniting Breath and blood and smoothed the trials of her previous lights.
But it did not soothe the failure of its making.
Confused agony shivered through her and for a gasp, a flash, she saw herself as the gnu had; a bright blue cloud of death. Then the pain withered, replaced by guilt and shame that popped on her tongue as her thoughts prodded, too young to reap. But Faerai ignored it and swallowed the rest of her bite, smiling as she caught Delgrij’s worried eyes.
“You collapsed,” He said in a quiet voice, branches firm on Infae's exposed belly as the nuru cooed and twitched.
Faerai's false smile wrinkled and fear trickled into her words, “We did?”
“Yes. You did,” He said, eyes returning to Infae.
Faerai’s nose wriggled then, with the scent of him, as Delgrij’s bark and leaves practically oozed with a worry too worn and rich to be for her. “We saw,” she said slowly, quietly, studying the sorrow carved so deep in his bark before looking to Ozma's bright yellow eyes, “darkness.”
Delgrij stilled and then he stood, careful not to wake Infae, and moved to sit beside her, “What sort of darkness?”
“Cold,” Faerai said, her face heating as she scooted to offer him room, but she held her tongue. Papa warned, she fretted, not to share…not to tell who we—
“I will not harm you,” Delgrij soothed her unspoken fears, “you are protected here.”
“No tricks?” Faerai asked, eyeing the little light then cracking with snores.
Delgrij smiled so bright, so warm and put his hands up, “No tricks, sprout. I am well fed. My words are what I wish them and nothing more.”
She tilted her head with the aroma of those words and nodded. He smiled again, flushing her cheeks as she asked, “What means sprout?”
“It is the brand—our name—for young Napyr, those freshly grown and newly sprouted,” He answered before easing against the carved wood walls, content to wait however long she needed for his answers.
“We are youngling to Elders,” Faerai said and scooted back to join him, but the color of the wood bled too red, too dark and she shuffled again to the edge.
“The same meaning then,” Delgrij said as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
Faerai wrung her tails, “We are protected...because we are young?”
“Yes,” He said, opening a single eye before adding, “and because I am unsure what you are, exactly and have never been fond of eating strange things.” Faerai gasped and Delgrij chuckled, waving his branches, “A joke, only a joke! I promise you, sprout, I could no more harm you than I could Infae there.”
Ozma pressed closer to her, flashing its eyes at Delgrij and Faerai sighed at it, a heavy, irritated sigh that narrowed Delgrij’s eyes.
Then she spoke, “Darkness was black. Too black and smell of…we smell many things, too many, but darkness smell only of hunger and fear. But not of own fear.”
Delgrij moved to join Faerai on the shelf’s edge and dropped his voice to a whisper as he watched Infae, “do you know of my kind?”
“We know stories,” Faerai said, ears perking high as she explained, “papa use paintings and carvings to tell tales of pretty trees. Say trees so beautiful they spell any who see.” She looked away then, as a blush burned in her cheeks, “they use looks and words to sing younglings into gorebarks...to eat.”
Delgrij laughed, as a gentle breeze through dry leaves, before he said, “Well, your papa is not wrong, at least not entirely. We do not eat younglings. I am not entirely certain I know what those are. In fact, I do not believe I have ever beheld anything quite like you.”
The flattery in his tone and warmth of his smile burned Faerai's cheeks hotter and hotter until she had to hide her face in her paws for fear she would ignite. But Delgrij tugged at those paws, gently, and held them in his much smaller branches.
Then, when the burn only smoldered, Faerai smiled and pulled her paws into her lap.
“Napyr require ichor to function,” Delgrij continued without question, without judgment, as he rested his arms on his legs, “and, I am sorry to confirm, the methods you describe are accurate, but I did not ask to frighten you. I asked as a means of explanation. You see, when you...found me, I had been without ichor for many turns, or cycles, perhaps even ages—our minds are not intact when we are so dry. Wyld is what we brand the state I was in and I had been wyld for…far too long.”
Faerai motioned to the glistening reds of the walls and asked, “But ichor is all over, in trees and leaves and grass, everywhere there is ichor. How Delgrij dry?”
His eyes jittered and she set a paw on his knee, retrieving it as he flinched, but the smiled apology did little to soften her worry.
“The darkness you saw,” He continued, “the fear you smelled? My brood was beset by darkness such as that.” He looked out the window then and Faerai’s worry grew with the sight of blue light twinkling on red tears, but his voice held none of it, remaining calm and even, “One of cold fear and impossible black. All were torn to splinters when I found them, their seeds left rotting in the dust. All save our eldest, our strongest. They were...changed. As they remain out there,” He motioned to the window with a wave of his branches, but his eyes would not follow, “Statues hewn of callous gray, unmoving yet warm to the touch. I tried to wake them. To draw them from their torpor but something pulled at me, at my ichor. What writhes now within that stone is no seed of mine. It is dark, cold, endless and—and I had lost much before I found them...that way. I could not bear losing more so I...I let myself dry.”
Faerai kept her worry quiet as she dug in her memory for the scent that wafted from his bark. The chill of it, the confusion, the strangled fear and her lips twitched as she found it.
Papa, the worry sang and, avoiding Delgrij's eyes, she kept her voice low as the memory of the voice in the darkness, the Fyrni voice, swelled in her own, “does darkness...change only Napyr?”
Delgrij gawked, an answer wrinkling his bark but the worry in her voice trapped it behind his lips, It is a predator without end, sprout, sure to devour all it touches…but I will not add to your worry, I will not be the reason for what glistens in those wide, perfect eyes. Without a word he hopped off the shelf and eyed the stains of his earlier sorrow on her fur and trousers.
“You need fresh covers, sprout!” He announced before coughing the unsteady rasp free to ask, “Do you have spare covers in your satchel?”
Faerai blinked at him, her father's voice replaying a similar question through her thoughts and that fear-laden stench swelled again, but she ignored it and muttered, “No.”
“Well, I have traded with many an Auru over the ages and you appear...roughly the same size as their fawns,” He hurried, eyes everywhere but on hers, “Perhaps I have something that will suffice.”
Faerai watched as Delgrij disappeared into an alcove, and then she watched the empty space he left behind before finally settling her wet eyes on her shadow. Its yellows flickered with a sadness she could not know and she patted its wisping head. The little light still cracked and creaked with snores and the massive fluffy beast purred with a flowery, contented scent on the smooth wood floor.
Discovery is distraction, Faerai’s thoughts sang, mimicking a remembered phrase and a shiver chased it as she searched for who had said it. But the memory squirmed, slithering from her attempts to catch it, to know it...and slipped away.
Then she slipped with it, off the shelf, vaguely aware of a throbbing in her ear as she searched for a distraction.
#tag games#proud tag#open tag#writing community#weald and wen#i just love this sad daddy tree#it's honestly not the best written and i see flaws i want to fix despite how many times i've edited it#but it's still my favorite
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The Hunt - Status Update
Hello everyone! I finished POV 1 today and to celebrate it, have a sneak peek from what’s coming!
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Before anyone could say anything else, a loud, running noise came to their ears. Oikawa’s enhanced hearing caugh it first, which made him look toward the door and the hallway with a frown. Iwaizumi saw his boyfriend’s look and also turned to watch, confused about what could be going on. His radio was on his belt, but no one had said anything through it for a while now. Yahaba saw the alphas’ changing mood before hearing the noise himself. He started to push his chair back so he could stand up and be ready for any threat that could come through the door. Keiji was the only one not affected by the noise as he frowned at the others, confused. Then he realized what it was and waved a hand, dismissively.
“Don’t worry, it’s just Bokuto-san.” - he said.
“Bokuto?” - Oikawa looked at him confused. “I mean, I know he is loud, but this actually sounds like Lion King’s gnu’s stampede.”
“The what?” - Yahaba asked, totally confused.
“It’s from a movie. We can watch it another time.” - Oikawa dismissed the issue with a wave.
Less than a minute late, Bokuto was running inside the dining hall as if he was being chased by demons. His eyes were wide and his breathing accelerated, the front of his uniform had some drops of water and his hair was all around the place.
“Bokuto, what’s wrong? Why the rush, bud?” - Iwaizumi asked, an eyebrow raised.
Bokuto didn’t answer, but his eyes sparkled and a huge smile spreaded across his face when he saw that Keiji was still in the room. “You’re here! Have you had breakfast yet?” - he asked, eagerly.
Keiji nodded. “We have just finished it, Bokuto-san, thank you for asking.” - he said politely, but frowned as he saw the alpha’s demeanor shrink instantly. “I-I mean… did you want to eat with us?” - the omega asked, slowly.
Bokuto pouted and crossed his arms, looking toward the floor. “I wanted to serve your breakfast.” - he muttered sadly.
“Hey! What do you mean by that!?” - Oikawa scowled at the other alpha. “You know that’s my job today. Are you trying to get my job so that Captain can make me do something else!?”
Bokuto frowned at the brunette. “Dude, I couldn’t care less! I just wanted to serve Keiji! I was even punished by Captain already, I don’t care if you get one as well!”
Oikawa squeaked, outrageously, but Iwaizumi cut his incoming argument. “What did you do to get punished already? It’s not even 10 in the morning?” - he asked with a frown.
Bokuto just pouted again and looked at the floor without answering. “He spoke over Keiji, apparently.” - Yahaba was the one to answer, sitting back down on his chair after realizing there was no imminent threat.
“Ha! Rookie mistake, stupid owl!” - Oikawa laughed.
“Shut up!” - Bokuto hissed back.
“Alright, you two, don’t start.” - Iwaizumi said, then he turned to Bokuto. “That’s a bathroom wash. Don’t tell me you were running away from it? You know that whenever Captain finds out-...”
Iwaizumi was cut by a loud, long beep noise that echoed around the room. “What’s that?” - Yahaba asked, the last third of his tart still in his hand. Keiji was frowning as well, trying to understand where the sound was coming from. It wasn’t painfully loud, but annoying enough to get everyone’s attention.
“It’s the base’s internal sound system.” - Iwaizumi answered, but when the omegas frowned at him, he pointed to the electronic panel on the side of the room’s door. “Do you see the panel where the light switch is? There are three dots with different colors where the red one is lit? That indicates that someone is about to make an announcement.”
“From where?” - Keiji asked.
“From anywhere around the base, basically.” - Oikawa said with a shrug. “Every room in the common areas and the hallways on the bedrooms’ ward has a panel like that. Usually it’s used when someone needs to make an announcement to be heard by everyone inside the base. In case of emergencies, attacks, surprise inspections, or stuff like that.”
“And right now I believe it’s about a manhunt.” - Iwaizumi said as he looked at Bokuto, who shrinked even more on himself.
“Attention all units, attention all units.” - a voice sounded around. “Does anyone have eyes on Bravo? I repeat. Does anyone have eyes on Bravo?” - Bokuto squeaked in terror as Oikawa and Iwaizumi deadpanned at him after hearing the question.
“Jeez, it sounds just like he’s speaking right in here.” - Yahaba said.
“Why are the colors changing from red to yellow?” - Keiji asked, suddenly curious about the device.
“That’s because of the speakers connected to the panel.” - Iwaizumi told Yahaba and pointed to a couple speakers on different sides of the room, then he turned to answer Keiji. “Red light indicates someone is about to make an announcement, while the yellow one shows that the message is being broadcasted to all areas of the base.”
“And the green one lits up when the message is directed to the room in question.” - Oikawa added, then he reached out to take his radio from his belt. “Which will probably happen right now, so keep watching.”
“Wait!” - Bokuto jumped at the brunette to stop him from taking the radio out. “Don’t snitch on me! I promise I did nothing wrong!”
“Hey! Let go!” - Oikawa said while wrestling with Bokuto who was holding onto his arm to prevent him from taking the radio out. “You know we can’t cover for you! That will get us punished as well, you know the rules!”
“You’re the one always saying that we need to fight oppression together!” - Bokuto argued, using his strength to hold Oikawa’s arms away from the radio.
“That’s when oppression’s coming my way, I won’t cover for you just to put my ass on the line!” - Oikawa said, trying to push Bokuto away from him.
“I repeat, does anyone have eyes on Bravo? This is code yellow. It will be your last warning.” - the voice echoed again.
“What’s code yellow?” - Yahaba asked.
“It’s a reminder that, by today’s rules, anyone that covers for another alpha by either lying or not answering the Captain’s call will be punished with two bathroom wash and one storeroom inventory.” - Iwaizumi said as he pulled his own radio from his belt while the other alphas were still tossing and turning around the dining room. “And it also establishes that every squad member has to call in to share intel on the matter being asked. No exceptions.”
Keiji frowned. “How many punishments did he come up with?”
Iwaizumi snorted. “He is quite creative, believe me.”
The radio on Iwaizumi’s hand made a static noise at that, then a new voice came. “This is Alpha speaking from the south entrance. No signs of Bravo here, over.” - Asahi’s call echoed.
“Kilo from the bedroom’s ward, no signs of the missing owl. Over.” - Kuroo’s voice came next.
“Not here!” - the third call was more of a pissed growl than a proper reply, but they managed to distinguish Kyoutani’s voice clearly.
Iwaizumi started to move the radio closer to his face so that he could answer, but Bokuto squeaked in terror. “NO! Don’t do it!” - he started to move toward Iwaizumi but Oikawa jumped onto his back and leached onto him like a koala, almost knocking both of them to the ground.
“Sorry bud, you know the rules.” - Iwaizumi said to Bokuto, unfazed by all the ruckus. “Tooru and I can give you a head start if you want to run, but I’ll call it in.”
“But I can’t run! Keiji’s here!” - Bokuto cried out and Keiji blinked at him, surprised, while Yahaba only snorted, amused with the terror the Captain was able to hold against the sentinels.
Iwaizumi only shrugged before opening the channel on his radio. “This is India speaking from the dining hall. Bravo’s here, over.” - he said as Bokuto yelled a dramatic Nooo…
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So... did you like it?
I hope everyone is doing well and I am sorry for how long this is taking. But POV 1 is done and I don’t think POV 2 is going to be very long, but POV 3, oohh, that’s where the magic is taking place!
Kudos to you all and until nect time! Be safe people!
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The Death of Rats is an underrated Discworld character
#he's an awesome little creature#Discworld#terry pratchett#hogfather#death of rats#discworld death#gnu terry pratchett#SQUEAK
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SQUEAK
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I was
looking at craft supplies for a project and the online craft store had these
and having read a bunch of discworld books I naturally thought of the Death of Rats and Mr Politeness himself. All I’d need is a cloak and a very small scythe.
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Inktober 2017 day 26 SQUEAK
#my art#inktober#death of rats#disctober#discworld#death#rat#squeak#gnu terry pratchett#terry pratchett#grim squeaker
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I forgot to mention in my last request for nsfw 25 it would be Ace x f reader please but afab gnus also fine :) thank you again 🥺
Hey there anon! sorry for the long wait i hope it was worth it
Y/n let out another sigh for what felt like the millionth time as she walked down the halls of the moby dick with a heavy frown crossing her features. She stopped in front of the second commander's room her foul mood growing worse. She grabbed the door handle stepping inside his room shutting the door behind her.
Pops had sent ace on a job a couple of weeks ago and he wasn't back yet. Y/n felt like she was going to go crazy at this point, it had been too long without him in her arms or being able to hear his laugh. it was far too quiet on the ship without ace around.
Y/n looked over ace's room before she took a seat on his bed with a heavy sigh before she laid down burying her face in his pillows inhaling the sweet scent of cinnamon and amber. she shut her eyes she could practically feel his arms around her right now. She moved her hand on the blanket touching something, she sat up and looked down.
Her eyes softened seeing the sun-colored shirt, she picked it up bringing it to her chest as a soft smile crossed her plump lips." typical he didn't put his clothes away" she mused out loud. Before the wheels in her brain started to turn, ace wasn't here, surely he wouldn't mind if she just tried it on?
y/n turned to look at the closed door before she slipped off her clothes sitting in her orange-colored underwear the ones she knew ace loved on her. Her nimble fingers pulled the yellow shirt on before buttoning it up. Y/n couldn't help but to laugh almost, it almost looked like a dress on her frame. Y/n gulped seeing the way it fit was starting to make her feel a little bit hot
y/n laid down on her side shutting her eyes as she moved her hand grasping her breast through the fabric letting out a small gasp as her free hand ran up and down her body, picturing it was ace's much larger one. She sucked in a breath as she rubbed two of her fingers over her bright-colored underwear. "come on baby girl " were the words she pictured ringing in her ears. She moved her hand into her underwear rubbing messy circles on her soaked womanhood, letting out soft moans into the pillow
Y/n bit her lip as she gasped as she moved two of her petite fingers inside pumping them in and out of her "a-ace" she gasped out bucking her hips as she moved her thumb rubbing over the top of her clit as her fingers plunged into her wet heat, as she moved. she could never hit as deep or ace could she could feel the sweat running down her face as she tried to do what ace always did. Y/n let out low pants and moans, lost in her pleasure she didn't hear the door open
Ace stopped as he shut the door behind him spotting his girlfriend in his shirt with her fingers buried deep in her cunt, he swallowed thickly feeling himself start to get hot, and not from his devil fruit "oh did you miss me firefly?" ace asked walking in as he locked the door behind him
Y/n eyes snapped open as she turned her head so fast almost getting whiplash seeing ace standing there with a cocky grin across his freckled face "a-ace it, it isn't what it looks like" she squeaked out. Ace set his bag on the floor as he took a seat on one of the chairs in his room "don't stop now" he said as his eyes glanced all over them " Lay back and touch yourself, I want to watch"
y/n gasped hearing his words as she could feel the heat growing between her legs as she sat up facing the second division commander, her face bright red as she shyly looked up at ace who was leaning back his leg over his knee with that amused smile never leaving his face "O-okay I can't really say no if you ask me" she said softly
Y/n moved her fingers opening up more of the shirt to give him a better view as she slipped her panties off onto the floor as she was bright red as she opened her legs up wider for him to see her glossy heat. She moved her hand up to her bra pulling it off, exposing her round breasts. She moved a finger pinching her nipple "a-ace" she gasped out as her other hand moved down rubbing over her clit as she stared him in the eyes before she plunged a finger in.
Y/n threw her head back before she inserted another finger up to her knuckles as her chest heaved with her thighs shaking, as she moved her fingers in and out of her " you can go faster" ace cooed at her as he watched her before her thumb moved in a slow circle over the top as her brows furrowed speeding up making her yelp almost "c-commander" she cried out as her brain was starting to get hazy from the pleasure. Having ace watch her touch herself was making her so hot "like this?" she asked
Y/n lips quivered as she tried to keep her moans down but they only grew louder and louder the closer she was getting to the edge losing herself slowly as she slammed her fingers into her cunt, trying to ride her own fingers. The band in her stomach was starting to get more tighter as she ruthlessly speed up pushing a third finger in as she gasped and rolled her breast. "t-to much" she cried out
Ace smiled "you're doing so good firefly" he praised her watching how her whole body was trembling from his praise alone, Tears were welling in her eyes from the pleasure. Before the knot in her stomach exploded as she came, tears and makeup running down her face with her thighs covered in her juices . "welcome back home ace" she said between pants
Ace stood up walking over brushing her tears away kissing her lips " you did so good firefly" he said with a smile " let me show you how much I missed you"
#Portgas D. Ace#portgas d ace#fire fist ace#ace one piece#one piece#one peice x reader#Whitebeard pirates#spade pirates#portgas d. ace x reader#portgas d ace x reader
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From J. Michael Straczynski's Twitter...
Funny thing, I thought - what with Krypto and all that - Supie was a dog person. Learn something new... :->
*****
We don't have the moon, but the hawthorn tree at the bottom of the garden where our cats are resting can bloom pretty bright in season.
@dduane and I both miss them, but we wouldn't have missed having them, not for the moon, not for the world.
And I really must vacuum my office. It's been less than a week since the last time, but it seems to be dusty in here...
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GNU Terry Pratchett
Not all the signals were messages. Some were instructions to towers. Some, as you operated the levers to follow the distant signal, made things happen in your own tower. Princess knew all about this. A lot of what traveled on the Grand Trunk was called the Overhead. It was instructions to towers, reports, messages about messages, even chatter between operators, although this was strictly forbidden these days. It was all in code. It was very rare you got Plain in the Overhead. But now:
“There it goes again,” she said. “It must be wrong. It’s got no origin code and no address. It’s Overhead, but it’s in Plain.”
On the other side of the tower, sitting in a seat facing the opposite direction, because he was operating the up-line, was Roger, who was seventeen and already working for his tower-master certificate.
His hand didn’t stop moving as he said: “What did it say?”
“There was a GNU, and I know that’s a code, and then just a name. It was John Dearheart. Was it a-”
“You sent it on?” said Grandad. Grandad had been hunched in the corner, repairing a shutter box in this cramped shed halfway up the tower. Grandad was the tower-master and had been everywhere and knew everything. Everyone called him Grandad. He was twenty-six. He was always doing something in the tower when she was working the line, even though there was always a boy in the other chair. She didn’t work out why until later.
“Yes, because it was a G code,” said Princess.
“Then you did right. Don’t worry about it.”
“Yes, but I’ve sent that name before. Several times, Up-line and down-line. Just a name, no message or anything!”
She had a sense that something was wrong, but she went on: “I know a U at the end means it has to be turned around at the end of the line, and an N means Not Logged.” This was showing off, but she’d spent hours reading the cypher book. “So it’s just a name, going up and down all the time! Where’s the sense in that?”
Something was really wrong. Roger was still working his line, but he was staring ahead with a thunderous expression.
Then Grandad said: “Very clever, Princess. You’re dead right.”
“Hah!” said Roger.
“I’m sorry if I did something wrong,” said the girl meekly. “I just thought it was strange. Who’s John Dearheart?”
“He... fell off a tower,” said Grandad.
“Hah!” said Roger, working his shutters as if he suddenly hated them.
“He’s dead?” said Princess.
“Well, some people say--” Roger began.
“Roger!” snapped Grandad. It sounded like a warning,
“I know about Sending Home,” said Princess. “And I know the souls of dead linesmen stay on the Trunk.”
“Who told you that?” said Grandad.
Princess was bright enough to know that someone would get into trouble if she was too specific.
“Oh, I just heard it,” she said airily. “Somewhere.”
“Someone was trying to scare you,” said Grandad, looking at Roger’s reddening ears.
It hadn’t sounded scary to Princess. If you had to be dead, it seemed a lot better to spend your time flying between the towers than lying underground. But she was bright enough, too, to know when to drop a subject.
It was Grandad who spoke next, after a long pause broken only by the squeaking of the new shutter bars. When he did speak, it was as if something was on his mind.
“We keep the name moving in the Overhead,” he said, and it seemed to Princess that the wind in the shutter arrays above her blew more forlornly, and the everlasting clicking of the shutters grew more urgent. “He’d never have wanted to go home. He was a real linesman. His name is in the code, in the wind, in the rigging, and the shutters. Haven’t you ever heard the saying ‘Man’s not dead while his name is still spoken’?”
-on the meaning of GNU, and keeping someone’s memory alive.
~Going Postal, By Terry Pratchett
#Going Postal#GNU Terry Pratchett#discworld quotes#discworld#very long post#long post#hand typed this sorry for typos#may his memory always be a blessing#march 12 2020
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me, amazed it took 46 episodes of ta z to finally tear up: ok im chill for tonight, this is cool me, getting into episode 48, bawling my fucking eyes out: ok fuck
#like fuck the minute t ravis said that ma gnus was broken looking at his wife i lost it and cried until the end of the break#it was awful and i hate being really emotional#im just surprised it took me so long to get there like i shouldve teared up at the end of pttm tbh#like that would be on brand but nope#mousie squeaks
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SAMBA versus SMB: Adversarial interoperability is judo for network effects
Before there was Big Tech, there was "adversarial interoperability": when someone decides to compete with a dominant company by creating a product or service that "interoperates" (works with) its offerings.
In tech, "network effects" can be a powerful force to maintain market dominance: if everyone is using Facebook, then your Facebook replacement doesn't just have to be better than Facebook, it has to be so much better than Facebook that it's worth using, even though all the people you want to talk to are still on Facebook. That's a tall order.
Adversarial interoperability is judo for network effects, using incumbents' dominance against them. To see how that works, let's look at a historical example of adversarial interoperability role in helping to unseat a monopolist's dominance.
The first skirmishes of the PC wars were fought with incompatible file formats and even data-storage formats: Apple users couldn't open files made by Microsoft users, and vice-versa. Even when file formats were (more or less) harmonized, there was still the problems of storage media: the SCSI drive you plugged into your Mac needed a special add-on and flaky driver software to work on your Windows machine; the ZIP cartridge you formatted for your PC wouldn't play nice with Macs.
But as office networking spread, the battle moved to a new front: networking compatibility. AppleTalk, Apple's proprietary protocol for connecting up Macs and networked devices like printers, pretty much Just Worked, providing you were using a Mac. If you were using a Windows PC, you had to install special, buggy, unreliable software.
And for Apple users hoping to fit in at Windows shops, the problems were even worse: Windows machines used the SMB protocol for file-sharing and printers, and Microsoft's support for MacOS was patchy at best, nonexistent at worst, and costly besides. Businesses sorted themselves into Mac-only and PC-only silos, and if a Mac shop needed a PC (for the accounting software, say), it was often cheaper and easier just to get the accountant their own printer and backup tape-drive, rather than try to get that PC to talk to the network. Likewise, all PC-shops with a single graphic designer on a Mac—that person would often live offline, disconnected from the office network, tethered to their own printer, with their own stack of Mac-formatted ZIP cartridges or CD-ROMs.
All that started to change in 1993: that was the year that an Australian PhD candidate named Andrew Tridgell licensed his SAMBA package as free/open source software and exposed it to the wide community of developers looking to connect their non-Microsoft computers—Unix and GNU/Linux servers, MacOS workstations—to the dominant Microsoft LANs.
SAMBA was created by using a "packet sniffer" to ingest raw SMB packets as they traversed a local network; these intercepted packets gave Tridgell the insight he needed to reverse-engineer Microsoft's proprietary networking protocol. Tridgell prioritized compatibility with LAN Manager, a proprietary Network Operating System that enterprise networks made heavy use of. If SAMBA could be made to work in LAN Manager networks, then you could connect a Mac to a PC network—or vice-versa—and add some Unix servers and use a mix of SAMBA and SMB to get them all to play nice with one another.
The timing of Tridgell's invention was crucial: in 1993, Microsoft had just weathered the Federal Trade Commission’s antitrust investigation of its monopoly tactics, squeaking through thanks to a 2-2 deadlock among the commissioners, and was facing down a monopoly investigation by the Department of Justice.
The growth of local-area networks greatly accelerated Microsoft's dominance. It's one thing to dominate the desktop, another entirely to leverage that dominance so that no one else can make an operating system that connects to networks that include computers running that dominant system. Network administrators of the day were ready to throw in the towel and go all-Microsoft for everything from design workstations to servers.
SAMBA changed all that. What's more, as Microsoft updated SMB, SAMBA matched them, relying on a growing cadre of software authors who relied on SAMBA to keep their own networks running.
The emergence of SAMBA in the period when Microsoft's dominance was at its peak, the same year that the US government tried and failed to address that dominance, was one of the most salutary bits of timing in computing history, carving out a new niche for Microsoft's operating system rivals that gave them space to breathe and grow. It's certainly possible that without SAMBA, Microsoft could have leveraged its operating system, LAN and application dominance to crush all rivals.
So What Happened?
We don't see a lot of SAMBA-style stories anymore, despite increased concentration of various sectors of the tech market and a world crying out for adversarial interoperability judo throws.
Indeed, investors seem to have lost their appetite for funding companies that might disrupt the spectacularly profitable Internet monopolists of 2019, ceding them those margins and deeming their territory to be a "kill zone."
VCs have not lost their appetite for making money, and toolsmiths have not lost the urge to puncture the supposedly airtight bubbles around the Big Tech incumbents, so why is it so hard to find a modern David with the stomach to face off against 2019's Goliaths?
To find the answer, look to the law. As monopolists have conquered more and more of the digital realm, they have invested some of those supernormal profits in law and policy that lets them fend off adversarial interoperators.
One legal weapon is "Terms of Service": both Facebook and Blizzard have secured judgments giving their fine print the force of law, and now tech giants use clickthrough agreements that amount to, "By clicking here, you promise that you won't try to adversarially interoperate with us."
A modern SAMBA project would have to contend with this liability, and Microsoft would argue that anyone who took the step of installing SMB had already agreed that they wouldn't try to reverse-engineer it to make a compatible product.
Then there's "anti-circumvention," a feature of 1998's Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA). Under Section 1201 of the DMCA, bypassing a "copyright access control" can put you in both criminal and civil jeopardy, regardless of whether there's any copyright infringement. DMCA 1201 was originally used to stop companies from making region-free DVD players or modding game consoles to play unofficial games (neither of which is a copyright violation!).
But today, DMCA 1201 is used to control competitors, critics, and customers. Any device with software in it contains a "copyrighted work," so manufacturers need only set up an "access control" and they can exert legal control over all kinds of uses of the product.
Their customers can only use the product in ways that don't involve bypassing the "access control," and that can be used to force you to buy only one brand of ink or use apps from only one app store.
Their critics—security researchers auditing their cybersecurity—can't publish proof-of-concept to back up their claims about vulnerabilities in the systems.
And competitors can't bypass access controls to make compatible products: third party app stores, compatible inks, or a feature-for-feature duplicate of a dominant company's networking protocol.
Someone attempting to replicate the SAMBA creation feat in 2019 would likely come up against an access control that needed to be bypassed in order to peer inside the protocol's encrypted outer layer in order to create a feature-compatible tool to use in competing products.
Another thing that's changed (for the worse) since 1993 is the proliferation of software patents. Software patenting went into high gear around 1994 and consistently gained speed until 2014, when Alice v. CLS Bank put the brakes on (today, Alice is under threat). After decades of low-quality patents issuing from the US Patent and Trademark Office, there are so many trivial, obvious and overlapping software patents in play that anyone trying to make a SAMBA-like product would run a real risk of being threatened with expensive litigation for patent infringement.
This thicket of legal anti-adversarial-interoperability dangers has been a driver of market concentration, and the beneficiaries of market concentration have also spent lavishly to expand and strengthen the thicket. It's gotten so bad that even some "open standards organizations" have standardized easy-to-use ways of legally prohibiting adversarial interoperability, locking in the dominance of the largest browser vendors.
The idea that wildly profitable businesses would be viewed as unassailable threats by investors and entrepreneurs (rather than as irresistible targets) tells you everything you need to know about the state of competition today. As we look to cut the Big Tech giants down to size, let's not forget that tech once thronged with Davids eager to do battle with Goliaths, and that this throng would be ours to command again, if only we would re-arm it.
(Crossposted from EFF Deeplinks)
https://boingboing.net/2019/07/18/kill-zones-r-us.html
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Milo: So you found a new therapist?
Zack: Yes. And he's really good.
Zack: For one thing, I no longer have this recurring nightmare where I'm being chased by a gnu...
Zack: ... where the walls are dissolving around me...
Zack: ... until the whole house collapses on top of me.
Milo: Yeah, that was quite a memorable day.
Milo: And you must admit that the gate really stopped squeaking after that!
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