The Megalomaniacal Supervillain assumed you, a renowned scientist, would object to being kidnapped and forced to build superweapons at his hidden volcano lair. In reality, however, you’re just really excited to finally play around with unlimited funding.
Now you might be thinking many things about this like “Well that seems excessive” and “hey Kali aren’t you a Computers Dipshit” and the answer to both of those is yes.
There’s another two posts in me about this, one about why this typewriter in particular is such an interesting piece of cultural history, and another about how it works and why it’s Like This. This post is about neither of those interesting things and instead about me showing off the cool new thing I got and explaining why I wanted it.
One of the old boxes of ribbon cartridges that came with this. Manufactured 1984. Graphic design truly is my passion.
Alright breakdown of what I got:
1976 IBM Selectric II Typewriter (with Courier 12-pitch typing element)
An original Vinyl cover for the machine
Three additional typing elements (in Orator, Artisan and Diplomat)
The original manual
Two large boxes of ancient ribbon cartridges.
A bag full of correction reels
A few pads of correction film
An antique toothbrush for cleaning the elements
A box of accessories that came with the typewriter: Correction tape, typeballs, correction films, three typeballs, some fontface samples on an old envelope, and a toothbrush.
This is an old working machine, not a showpiece. In fact, it was in use right up until the day I bought it and I fully intend to keep using it for as long as I can. This thing is 44 years old, also known as twice my age, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to be the one who breaks it.
I bought it for ZAR 1200 (about USD 70) from a woman who deals in imported wines, she used it to fill in shipping forms. She has several other typewriters and has been slowly selling them off so I don’t feel bad about this. She’d had it since the 80′s. USD 70 is an absolute song for a working Selectric, they usually go for at least double that without any accessories, but no one is buying typewriters around these parts.
The original manual, dated 1978.
I’ve wanted a typewriter for a little while now, because I wanted a writing tool that produces physical artifacts quickly and immediately. I’m very avidly aware that while I write more than I ever have (mostly Tumblr posts) these days, they’re all very ephemeral. They will not outlive Tumblr, and they certainly will not outlive me. Carbon black on paper is much more long lived, typewritten texts are still readable over a century later in many cases. MySpace accidentally deleted everything that happened on their site before 2013. You decide which one is more sensible.
In addition, this is a nice way for me to produce writing that is too personal for my usual habit of cracking open a Tumblr edit tab. A lot of posts are languishing in my drafts folder after I realised I didn’t actually want to post them online and just needed to get them out of my head. This is mostly intended to take the place of wandering in circles in my room talking to myself.
A sample sheet with the four font faces that came with this typewriter
Now you may say that I should just type stuff on a computer, or write out notes longhand. To that I say a) printing is the worst experience one can have on a computer and b) I hate writing by hand. I could never keep diaries as a kid because it involved writing by hand and it sucked, in fact I’m almost certain that I don’t actually know how to write and that I just figure out the shapes of letters new every time I have to do it. I can type extremely naturally, almost at my speed of thought. I will only get better at this. It is also UNBELIEVABLY loud.
I’ll have to talk more about the historical and social legacy of the IBM Selectric and, to a lesser degree, that of typewriters in general in another post, as well as the utter miracle of engineering prowess that is the IBM Selectric. Let’s just say that those were also a big part of why I chose this. It’s a really important piece of history for engineers, computer nerds, typists and secretaries, the last of which is a group to which I have no real claim but I think they’re neat.
A scan of the demo page the last owner wrote for me, showing most of the capabilities of the machine.
This thing is a battleship, it’s in basically perfect condition. The only problems are that the correction tape needs to be replaced and realigned, and the currently installed typeball is stuck on and the release lever isn’t working. These can both be solved without too much trouble, plus there’s a phone number for a repair and servicing place that the previous owner took it to stuck on the outside, so that’s good for me. Yes, there are still places that service these machines as normal business, I was very surprised.
little bit of my own demo text. Did you know William Gibson wrote Neuromancer, that cyberpunk hyperfuturistic work of fiction, on a typewriter? He didn’t own a computer until after it was published.
1:1 pixel focus of the text from the above photo. It is a VERY smooth operator. You can see where I corrected an error in the word “channel”.
That’s about all I got for now, this is extremely cool. I’m really enjoying using it.
i can't believe anachronism is over. what am i going to do with my weekend DX
a bittersweet goodbye for sure 😔
you could always read the other fics in the series, or check out fics by some other great writers like @bannedd567 @strongcatra @ahelpfulpeach @scrawnycatra @silks-stuff @catrasredemption
oh my god that was so hot... i want adora to be my sugar daddy 🥰😳 uhhh part 2??
this one is for everyone who asked for pt 2❤️ here you go
(link to part one)
It was raining in Tokyo when the plane touched down.
From what Adora had told her — in soft, whispered tones, since it was the middle of the night over the Pacifc — that was normal, especially in this time of year.
It was the first time Catra had ever been out of the country. It was also the first time she’d ever flown first class, which she had Adora to thank for. She had a lot of other things to thank her for, but this would do for now.
She’d mentioned it offhandedly when they first discussed the trip a month or so prior, and Adora had booked it without a second thought.
Later that night — as a combination of thank you and I’m so fucking excited — Catra rode her until neither of them could take anymore.
Catra had never particularly enjoyed the rain. Her hair always got too frizzy in the humidity, and she hated the feeling of water on her clothes.
So when Adora suggested staying in their hotel room until it passed, Catra was more than happy to sink into her arms instead.
As an engineer, Catra didn’t throw around the word ‘perfect’ often, but she thought that day came pretty damn close.
Adora was always so busy, after all. They rarely got time alone like this.
And even though their arrangement didn’t start out with romantic interest in mind, it hadn’t taken long for it to go that way.
Catra had been scared at first, but it had passed. After all, there were things far worse than falling in love.
Today, she was curled up into Adora’s side in a cozy, compact ball while the rain pattered gently against the windows.
Catra realized she must’ve dozed off when Adora gave her a soft smile and said, “Hey, you. How was your nap?”
There was a movie playing on the TV across from them, though it had been so quiet it was almost muted.
Pretty Woman, Catra realized. Very appropriate.
“Not bad,” Catra said, interrupted by a small yawn. “How long was I out?”
“Thirty minutes tops.” Adora was looking at her with something hard to place in her eyes. Her smile widened a little as she brushed a strand of hair out of Catra’s face.
“Shit. Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to fall asleep for that long—”
Adora shook her head. “No need to be sorry, baby. Besides, I didn’t want to wake you.”
At Catra’s confused stare, red colored Adora’s cheeks. “...You look peaceful when you sleep. It’s cute.”
Whatever Catra was about to say was interrupted by an alarm buzzing on Adora’s phone. “Work?” She asked quietly, trying not to let her disappointment show.
She wasn’t expecting Adora to shake her head and grin at her. “Nope,” She said, trying to contain her smile.
Adora brought a hand up to scratch at the back of her head as she continued, “The conference doesn’t start until the weekend. I, um... I flew us up a few days early.”
Well, Catra definitely wasn’t expecting that. “What?” She asked, hearing her own stunned voice. “Wh— why?”
Adora shrugged. “You told me you’d never been, and I was able to clear a few clear days in my schedule. And since you’re on break I thought, y’know... we could spend a little time together.”
As if it were rooting for them, the rain slowed and stopped within ten minutes.
That meant the first step of Adora’s plan could finally happen.
She’d spent hours coming up with an itinerary for them, which Catra found hopelessly endearing, but she still hadn’t revealed exactly where they were going.
So when they left the hotel walking arm in arm down the street, Catra really wasn’t sure what to expect.
Normally, when they went places together, they were name-brand designer stores: Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Dior— on and on the list went.
Catra had realized early on that Adora liked— loved, really, seeing her in well-tailored, expensive clothing.
And if she was being honest, Catra loved it, too.
There was something about feeling of silk and satin against her skin, some heaviness that rubies and sapphires held where they sat on her neckline and her fingers, that was exciting in a new, unfamiliar way.
The jealous looks of passerby that saw her in them made her feel... desirable.
But the hungry, half-desperate expression that Adora always looked at her with made her feel wanted.
Adora was possessive, too.
It wasn’t to an unhealthy degree, and she always respected Catra’s wishes, but there were little tells that always made Catra blush— a hand on her lower back or just barely against the back of her neck, a note to wear a specific dress or outfit Adora picked out for her, and marks too visible to hide, for example.
Catra felt it now, as she and Adora walked arm-in-arm down an unfamiliar street.
They’d passed most of the higher-end stores on the way to wherever Adora was taking her, and with every one Catra just got more confused.
When they finally stopped in front of a narrow, half-hidden building with a sign Catra couldn’t read, she had no idea what to expect.
“Okay, where the fuck are we?” She asked in a low voice, squeezing gently at Adora’s forearm.
“This place,” Adora said, raising an arm to point at the door, “has the best ramen in the city.”
Catra looked at the door, then back at her. “It’s 200 square feet, tops.”
“Well, you know what they say about size,” Adora said, stepping forward to open the door.
As soon as it was open, a gust of warmth hit Catra square in the face.
The smell of broth, sizzling meat, and some spicy element she didn’t have the words for followed, and the noticeable growl in her stomach told Adora all she needed to know.
True to her word, it was the best ramen— maybe the best food, period, that Catra had ever had. She left the building sated and happy, and got the best sleep of her life in Adora’s arms that night.
The next day proved to be.... a little different.
The sun was shining overhead when they woke up. As she lay in bed, scrolling through her Twitter timeline as if it were the daily news, Adora brought her a cup of coffee.
Her outfit — a crisp, expensive-looking shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled to the elbow tucked into tailored slacks — was a far cry from the jacket and jeans she’d been in the night before.
Catra couldn’t help but gulp at the sight of it. Whenever Adora dressed like this, it meant they were going out together somewhere. That meant....
Well, to put it mildly, Adora had always enjoyed teasing her in public.
“So, um,” Catra started, blinking a few times as Adora gave her a sly grin. “Where are we going?”
“There’s a jewelry store a few streets away that I want to take you to,” Adora said. “Then I want to revisit all those designer places we passed yesterday. I saw you looking, you know.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You will,” Adora said. She gave her another grin. “Get dressed. The car will be here in 20 minutes.” She turned to give Catra some privacy before stopping in the doorway.
“Oh, and Catra?”
At the sound of her name, she looked up. “Yeah?”
“Don’t bother wearing underwear.” Adora flicked her eyes up and down Catra’s body. “You won’t need it.”
Catra tried — and failed — to hide the shiver that ran down her spine at the words. “Um. Y-yeah,” She nodded. “Cool. Sounds— yep. Sounds good.”
Four stores and countless shopping bags later, Catra was sitting in the patent leather interior of a sleek-looking black car.
Her legs were pressed together under a tight, form-fitting dress she knew Adora loved.
Around her neck was a necklace Adora had bought her, sitting snug against the hollow of her throat.
It was simple — little more than a gold chain with a small pendant hanging from it, really — but that didn’t matter.
What mattered was that the pendant pressing against Catra’s throat was a neat, diamond-studded A.
Between the dress, the necklace, and the fact that she’d been given such a calm command, Catra would be lying if she said her heart wasn’t racing at the thought of being so visibly Adora’s.
She loved when Adora got this way.
At the beginning, she was almost timid. She was slow, careful, and always asked for permission before touching Catra.
It was sweet. Adora treated her so gently, like she would fall apart at any touch harder than a graze of her fingers.
But as the weeks turned to months and the months turned to nearly two years, she’d gotten much more confident. Adora had learned quickly how much Catra liked it when she got possessive, so that had steadily increased.
Adora noticed the way Catra’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open just a bit when she was given a command in a calm, almost condescending voice.
And Adora felt the way Catra clenched around her fingers when she put a hand against her throat.
There were plenty of times she was still gentle, and Catra loved those. But she wasn’t going to deny the fact that Adora being just a little more dominant made her head spin and her pussy clench in the best way.
In the car, Adora slid in beside her. She didn’t hesitate before putting a warm hand on Catra’s thigh, pulling her legs open just a little.
Catra couldn’t help but let out a sharp exhale as Adora’s pinky brushed the wetness between her thighs, hearing a satisfied hum from her.
“I thought you’d like that,” Adora murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to the underside of her jaw. “I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.”
Without looking away from her, Adora turned to the driver. “Roll up the partition.”
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