#mass recognition of my skills when?

[coilserpent]

astrology observations pt. 13

Hello, everyone! 💜 I am back again with the observations after a long long time away from tumblr; I am taking sidereal birth chart readings, for those contact me at my email: coilserpent@gmail.com. Enjoy!

sidereal cancer is a natural yearner similar to sidereal taurus and libra, however it is not exclusive to a romantic interest. the yearning transcends romance, it goes to the past, friends, family, older versions of the self.

sidereal leo is pedantic about their goals, they like to track their progress and also keep their spaces clean and pleasant looking.

9th and 12th placements are experimental, they may not believe in the concepts presented to them but they do not reject them. 12th housers especially may even try them out and embrace something just to feel what it brings to them as an experience simply,

people put sidereal leo on a pedestal and look up to them because of their skills and the way they carry themselves, their wisdom too (magha nakshatra) but they feel like an impostor often and don’t even like being noticed in that way, they mostly prefer recognition for certain skills.

7th housers can’t learn their most valuable life lessons and develop themselves to their fullest potential without their 1:1 connections. be it business, friendship or romance. they take the wisdom from those unsuccessful relationships and use it to strengthen their 1st - sense of who they are outside of the relationships.

8th housers have a tendency to not let their traumatic experiences go and this stunts their ability to grow emotionally. (2-8 nodes especially here) they have a tendency to always remember the people closest to them did that affected them so deeply where they don’t even get out of this deep whole of negativity, this breeds chronic low self worth (2H) and no motivation to be more.

1st housers when not evolved may be tricked into giving a lot of attention to the 3D and associate 3D themes with what makes them “Them”, they may define themselves as their career and hobbies. this is a recipe for existential crisis because once those 3D elements change (they will) or are no longer interesting to the masses this individual essentially “loses value”.

sidereal taurus moon vs sidereal scorpio moon have polarizing approaches to lively aspirations. due to the exaltation of the Taurus moon and this sense of natural internal security they are born with has its downside, that shows up in someone as not striving for more than the ”comfortable” lifestyle and not really having build any special skills to achieve milestones. this makes them prone to falling into depressions later in life (and issues with overeating/drinking often). sidereal scorpio moons are not “blessed” with this sense of internal comfort, the hardships they face early on makes them motivated to rebuild themselves and acquire skills which are important for success. the other downside is they have to learn how to appreciate their achievements and not just diminish them and going for the next, taking time for a little rest now and then is okay, scorpio.

[sphnyspinspin]

OMG, I’VE BEEN WANTING TO SHARE THIS AU FOR A MINUTE—

Meet my Magnificence Reforged AU Connie!

Though Scorponok only ever referred to her as Experiment: A9-2416 (usually in Decepticon dialect).

Her story is that Scorponok created her as an experiment to see what would happen if an organic was able to produce a set of chemicals that are deemed somewhat powerful, yet common, by organic standards but emphasized to a certain degree with the help of Cybertronian technology. Entirely inspired by the mere Earth-Human conceptual myth known as the—

Indomitable Human Spirit.

What Scorponok was able to take away from eight years of properly caring for the experiment is that these chemicals that fuel basic organic functioning can be utilized exponentially to a degree where a full grown one of these things could even rival some of Cybertron’s strongest warriors. Maybe even the galaxy’s toughest warriors wouldn’t be able to stand a chance.

It became labeled as Adrenalineregon.

(dope naming skills I know)

It turned out to be some crazy-powerful stuff once injected into a strong enough specimen.

Now why would Scorponok need to make something like this? Power? Recognition? Fun? All of the above honestly. But it’s also because in this Alternate Universe the Decepticons won the war for Cybertron, and Megatron has already built his perfect Decepticon Army to conquer the rest of the known universe, and he and the Grand Architect thought their Army of Tarn clones needed a little more pep-in-their-step.

You heard me. TARN. CLONE. ARMY.

(this isn’t a specifically cyberverse based timeline I just took the tarn army as inspo)

But what they didn’t expect was for the Tarn clones to go insane and turn on each other when being on mere drops of Adrenalineregon. Resulting in a mass extinction of Tarn Clones, with too many bodies to count, therefore being dropped on top of Scorpnok’s planet sized lab to remind him of the consequences of his actions.

EX: A9-2416 was, at the time, forever curious about the outside world, since she’s never been above the expansive laboratory planet’s surface. It always felt as if some unseen beings were trying to lead her to her escape every day since as long as she can remember. Small sign after small sign, guiding her to even bigger signs that kept getting her closer and closer to the way out. Of course, Scorponok always stopped her from getting too close.

A9-2416 always hated the amount of gruesome tests she had to do afterwards as punishment for misbehaving.

Until on her ninth birthday, A9-2416 finally made it to the exit, and Scorponok got exceptionally pissed off so much that in self-defense A9-2416 grabbed the nearest cannon she knew how to operate and blasted it through his spark. She cried a lot that day.

BUT HEY! Her life didn’t stay too depressing for long, because soon after she committed her very first act of murder, she became good buddies with the little voices in the walls that have been apparently guiding her throughout her life!

THE LOSTBOT BOTBOTS!!

(lol I’m nowhere near finished with every Lost Bot design, I just wanted to finish these couple few and make this post for the AU)

MEET THE LOST BOTS CLAN OF THE BOTBOTS!

They’ve been trapped on Scorponok’s Lab-planet-tory (im so funny) for decades along with the other Botbots who remained in hiding. But this clan was the only one brave enough to get anywhere near Scorponok’s main stomping grounds. What they didn’t expect to find was some weird sentient purple meat-potato in a makeshift industrial cradle. Turns out it was just a baby. And that baby turned out to be A9-2416. Who soon became known as Connie.

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.

.

After A9-2416 escaped the inner dwellings of the lab and joined the Lost Bots on their little side quests up on the surface, she later changed her name to Constance, hence her more well-known nickname being Connie. The name change was suggested by her Botbot friends who knew a bit about Earth human culture and used their knowledge to help Connie have the most happy and carefree life that she could ask for.

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Also the TEG Lost Light crew is there because I’m still obsessed with that fic 👍✨

@deepfriedhopesanddreams @viewer-of-many @celestite-caroline @asmoteeth @novafire-is-thinking @dragonsgirl572 @autistic-fool-with-ideas @mysticfoxdesigns @hyp3rfixation-h3ll

[piratefishmama]

Crossing the line | Part 10

Even with the plugs in his ears filtering the harshest of sounds, Steve could feel the music when it began, could feel the vibration of the guitars, the bang of the drums, he felt more than he heard.

Felt it right through to his soul.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the stage as it lit up, revealing the full band, Eddie at the front, guitar in skilled hands he welcomed the audience with a loud,

“ARE WE READY TO ROCK THIS PLACE TO THE GROUND?!”

The riotous uproar of approval from the crowd as their response, Robin beside him adding her own voice to the crowd. Not him. He was just there. Soaking it in. Lost in his own mind as he stared at the front man, unable to tear his eyes away.

It wasn’t like the coffee shop. The Eddie on stage didn’t look a single thing like the tired minimum wage employee who’d eventually served him his coffee, dressed in browns, in an apron, his hair tied back, this was a wild animal. All blacks, chains, rings, and leather. His mane of dark curls free and wild to be tossed along to the beat.

It wasn’t Steve’s scene by any means, but he could easily find himself lost in it, find himself lost in a song Eddie introduced as “Into the Underdark.” Like laying there in his living room the music washed over him, loud, and all consuming, fast, and rough, no room to think, barely room to breathe. Robin had joined the collective metalhead version of dance, jumping on the spot hands raised high, Steve didn’t even realise he’d joined in too until Robins hand found his to hold like sea otters scared of drifting apart in open waters.

Even for someone who claimed dislike of the front man, she was happy to bounce around to the racket he made as long as she could hold onto Steve as she did it.

All Steve knew was that he was completely one hundred percent fucked over this man and the crooked grin he wore. Over the flex of taut muscle beneath slender arms from lifting band equipment and excessive movement on stage, over the glint of chains, the dark shade of smudged kohl around his huge chocolate Bambi eyes, and the rough gravel tone of his voice.

Even if Robin never grew to like him, which even though she’d never make him choose, would suck, he wanted this ridiculous metal head for himself. Robin would simply have to get used to him.

They were mid-way through a Metallica cover that Steve did vaguely recognise, something about sandmen (it was one of the many his fans put forward to be covered by himself) when Robin decided she was parched. Keeping her hold on his hand she pulled him through the masses toward the bar, it was easy. Nobody recognised him there, there was no recognition in the bartenders eyes, especially since the pretty blonde with the blue eyeshadow seemed to be focusing entirely on Robin’s mouth.

Could have been to try and read her lips over the music, but Robin had more natural game than she liked to think she did. She was beautiful, and the babbling was adorable, so of course, a cute blonde would be struck stupid by her. And Steve doubted she was reading those lips too, cause it took her three attempts to hear what Robin was saying.

Could be the music, but Steve doubted it with the way she was laughing, with the cute little twirl of her pony tailed hair, he leaned in, a grin on his lips as he got close to her ear to talk over the music “Robbie I’m gonna get closer to the stage okay? You know my drink order right?”

“Huh? Oh! Yeah—yeah! I’ll find you!” Steve was absolutely never getting that drink. Not unless he flagged down the other bartender, but that was fine, he was happy to leave Robin to it, happy to weave his way through the masses to somewhere on the side, not in the middle where the ‘pit’ had slowly begun to form as if one could in such a limited space, happy to get a little closer to ogle the lead guitarist.

It wasn’t like in the movies either, when the band member looked up from their instrument and caught sight of that one person in the crowd, none of that. Eddie was focused, focused on his music, the lyrics, lost in pure magic and Steve was so deeply gone over it.

He knew that feeling, could appreciate it, being lost in making music, in the crowds dancing, the beat, the noise drowning everything and everyone else in the world out. Eddie was a goddamn rockstar confined to a dive bar, Corroded Coffin were metal legends in the making who just needed a foot in the door, and maybe… even if Eddie wound up not wanting him, maybe he could at least help them with that. Get that foot in the door for them or shove them in the direction of where to start shoving their own damn feet.

What they were, what they could be… he wanted to see it happen. Be there for it, support Eddie, and his band through it, a feeling only intensified by the smile seemingly fixed on Eddie’s lips as he sang, the joy he put into those lyrics whether they were joyful or not. He loved this.

This was what he was born to do.

“You found him!” A voice broke him out of his thoughts midway through the third song, one that just managed to make it over the music, forcing him to turn and look toward its source to one curly haired young lady with big blue eyes and a strong jaw line, dressed up just like he was for the evening, only she looked like she actually fit in there. She looked comfortable, and she recognised him.

“Him?”

“Eddie, you found him! He told me you stopped by the shop! You still came to the gig anyway?!”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” He was going to go anyway, regardless of whether or not Eddie had agreed to a date with him, he wanted to go to the gig, that was the whole point of being there. He wanted to hear Eddie play something other than video game tracks, wanted to see what he looked like up on a stage where he clearly belonged.

“I’m Nancy! Eddie’s friend!”

“Oh shit!! The reporter! Robin told me about you! That’s how she found him, through you!” Nancy’s eyes widened in alarm, “Don’t feel bad! Robin’s scarily good at hunting people down on the internet and Eddie had one of your stories on his Instagram feed! Definitely not your fault!”

“Oh god! What an idiot!”

“Right?!” Steve laughed

“Where is Robin?! I thought she’d have come with you!”

“She did!! Over by the bar flirting with the cute blonde!”

“Chrissy?! Hah! She’ll have to play nice with Eddie if she wants a shot, those two are thick as thieves! He’s known her longer than me!” Well shit, good luck Robin. “He got her the job here!”

“Well shit! I’m sure she’ll love that!” So far being antagonistic towards the worlds least threatening wet cat seemed to be Robin’s favourite pastime. “How long do these gigs usually last!?”

“Getting bored?!”

“No! I just—I wanna… y’know!” Have his attention on him. Wanted to let Eddie know he was there. Nancy laughed, not unkindly but, it still had him ducking his head in bashful embarrassment.

“You’re so cute! They have one more song after this then a break for ten minutes! But it’s definitely not over yet! Want me to take you back stage so you can grab him early?!” Or be grabbed by him?

“Please!” It’d been a long time since he’d last felt ashamed of how eager he could be. He was Steve Goddamn Harrington, he refused to hide his excitement.

Which was how he wound up in a back room, the walls lined with photos of past performances, bands, and solo acts, each one up there, captured for the sake of history. There were couches in there, clearly not new but they looked plush enough to be comfortable. There were cases, Eddie’s own guitar case there, shaped like a coffin and lined with a deep red long-pile velvet, because of course it was. A mini fridge stocked with waters and a few bottles of beer, just enough for the band to have one free one each. Fair, it was a small venue.

Nancy had assured him that she’d tell Robin where he was, and there wasn’t a migraine in sight.

He grabbed himself a water out of the mini fridge, downing half the damn bottle in one go very quickly realising he really had needed that drink. Not that he blamed Robin, the blonde had been very cute.

He was so caught up in his perusal of the room that he didn’t even notice when the music stopped. Didn’t notice until the door opened, and four guys piled in, all stopping dead at the sight of him stood there.

“Holy shit he’s really here.” One of them, the one who’d been on base blurted out.

“Huh” the other guitarist laughed “Eddie wasn’t bullshitting…”

“Alright lads, get your drinks, we’ll chill out back for ten, I need a smoke anyway” the drummer grabbed the other two, gently pushing them through “don’t mind uuuss~” grabbing drinks on their way to the far door, an emergency fire exit. Eddie just stood there, wide eyed, staring at him like a doe in headlights.

Only when that door closed shut did Eddie snap out of it, but only to blink, open his mouth, then close it again, and then open it again to say “You—you’re here…”

“I’m here… not gonna throw something at me again are you? You really only have your guitar there and she’s far too pretty to throw.” Eddie’s head snapped around to look over his shoulder at this guitar, a disbelieving sort of laugh bubbling from him, Steve called her pretty, while stood there looking like every poor queer metal heads wet dream.

Fuck. He looked back to Steve.

“W-Where’s Robin? Thought she was like, attached to your hip.”

“Flirting with a bartender, or being flirted with, I wasn’t sure, didn’t stick around long enough to see. Do you really care about where Robin is right now?”

“No.”

“Thought not.”

Part 12

[okay-j-hannah]

Episode 5: The Unknown Subject

Doctor Who : Multishot

Eleventh Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 3413

Warnings: some gunshots. some blood. some violence. some virus warfare. some of the oncoming storm. River taking matters into her own hands... inspiration and some lines came from Criminal Minds Season 4 Episode 24 “Amplification.” 

Request: This just came from my own head 😊

A/N: A skilled team of FBI tactical profilers analyze the country’s most prevalent oncoming disasters, anticipating the criminal mind’s next moves before they can inflict doomsday.

Episode 4: The New Heir

Episode 5: The Unknown Subject {You Are Here}

Episode 6: Dr. Smith

The DAU was overrun with representatives of all international governments. The army was instructing team members under the FBI and CIA to form search parties abroad in each country. Agents were conversing with contacts across seas as they tried to get everyone on the same page about the suspect.

SSA Smith was in the conference room having a heated discussion with other leaders and officials. They could all see him fuming behind the glass walls.

Jack was leaning into Donna, muttering some theories about where they were going to be stationed next. “I heard the professor was last seen in France.”

“She crossed the border after the stunt in London,” Donna agreed, readjusting her blazer as new agents caught her eye. “I think John’s talking to the Prime Minister and the president of France.”

Rory was sitting at his desk, glasses pushed up his nose, “He’s been tense.”

(Y/N) agreed, folding her arms and standing next to the rest of her team. The Doctor had been avoiding her as of late. He had become this hardened, cold-shouldered character since the last reality.

It was hard to associate him with her Doctor. He was so dark and strict and to-the-point. But she could see the split second of recognition in his green eyes when he looked at her.

He still looked at her with fondness.

“You think the professor will cook up some new disease?” Donna asked rather morbidly, “After we traced the last one?”

“Well, with the CDC already synthesizing a cure after the last attack,” Rory said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to create a 2.0 version to throw us through a loop.”

Jack nodded towards the conference room, “Look. He’s calling us in. Time for another debriefing.”

The team walked determinedly through the crowds of agents and military personnel, climbing the ramp to get to their seats.

The Doctor had his arms folded, already introducing their guest before they all sat down.

“Hello everyone, this is Dr. Martha Jones, chief of special pathogens with the CDC.”

(Y/N) nodded to the woman she recognized as a past companion of the Doctor. But the Martha here didn’t know her – she just looked worried with a light sheen of sweat on her forehead.

“Hello, I’m sorry to meet under these circumstances,” Martha said. “The target, Professor River Song, has been developing an unknowable strain of virus capable to compete with our most deadly naturally occurring viruses.”

“She’s already tried that,” Jack said, “We’re creating a cure, aren’t we?”

The Doctor frowned, “She’s struck again with an entirely new strain – in Lyon, France.”

“Oh my god,” Donna whispered.

“Last night, 47 people checked into hospitals with similar symptoms,” Martha began, “And by this morning 22 of those people have died.”

Jack took a seat, “Damn.” He set his jaw, “Were you able to detect the virus?”

“Yes,” Martha said, “Disease control centers across the world have taken samples and are working around the clock to create a new cure.”

“In the meantime,” the Doctor said, “We have to apprehend the professor before she strikes again. We have reason to believe she’s entered the United States. She may have been spotted at the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport in Georgia.”

Rory piped up, “But she didn’t attack the airport?”

“No,” said Martha.

“Then what are we doing about other potential mass targets?” Rory continued, “Malls, trains, subways?”

The Doctor sighed, “There’s a media blackout. We can’t tell the public.”

“There’d be a mass exodus,” Jack nodded in agreement, “The panic would end up killing more people.”

“We’re heading to Georgia,” the Doctor said, “Wheels up in five. Thank you Dr. Jones.”

Martha nodded to him, “I’ll be your direct contact for the cure. I’ll let you know of any developments.”

The team all stood and made for the elevators to pack for their coming trip. Martha followed to converse with the military scientists outside. (Y/N) remained behind with the Doctor, anxiously waiting for him to look at her.

“Doctor,” she said cautiously, “Are you okay?”

It looked like he was hardly breathing, “Perfectly fine.”

“You don’t sound like yourself,” she continued, “I can tell you’re upset.”

“Why would I be upset?” he said lowly, “I only learned that a close friend of mine wants to kill you.”

He went to exit the conference room, but (Y/N) stepped in front of the door.

“I wasn’t going to die.”

“Yes,” he said darkly, his voice deep and angered, “You would’ve.”

“But not in reality. Not in our true reality,” she pressed, “This is a dream, Doctor – you know that.”

“How can you be so sure dying in here doesn’t mean you’ll die in real life?” he asked, brow furrowed.

Gone was his dancing fingers and giddy steps. Gone was his childlike smile and eccentric movements. He was tall and cold and angry.

“I trust River,” she said quietly, “Her logic is sound.”

“But unproven,” he said, “We don’t know what’s keeping us here. It could be dangerous to wake up. There has to be another way.”

There was the strange tingle of anticipation growing. The dream was about to zap them to the next scene. They had been off script for too long.

“This isn’t up for debate, (Y/N),” he said.

She hated the way he looked at her like he couldn’t fully see her. He was clouded by the storm that had developed and resided within him. The Oncoming Storm.

Something sparked in her stomach. The reason he became like this was because she almost died. Because he cared about her so much he was willing to do anything to keep her safe.

~~~

(Y/N) was suddenly sitting in a booth in a local Georgia café. Across from her was Jack, sipping a massive chocolate milkshake.

It seemed like a more Jack thing to do rather than this FBI agent character. It almost made her smile.

“You sure you don’t want some?” he asked, biting off the candied cherry.

She slumped into the booth, “I’m okay, thanks.” She looked around to see if any of the other team members were there. “I wouldn’t want to spill on my suit.”

Jack looked amused, “And you think I will? Am I a messy eater?”

“The worst,” she snickered. But her mind was still clouded with the interaction with the Doctor. He had looked so angry.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Jack said, swirling his straw around. “Don’t be coy, I know that look.”

She gave a nervous smile, “John?” The scripted lines came out of her easily while her mind dwelled on the dilemma at hand. “We had an argument.”

“Obviously,” Jack said with rolling eyes, “We all saw you in the conference room. He’s just worried about you is all.”

“I know, and it’s infuriating.”

Jack sighed, “You had a close call last case – you almost died.” He contemplated his next sentence for a second, “I think Smith realized that it was possible to lose you.”

“That was always a possibility.”

“But he got a taste of it,” Jack leaned in, putting emphasis on his words, “He had a taste of those feelings – of that loss – and it terrified him.”

(Y/N) could feel her heart snap into motion. It might’ve been a script, but what Jack was saying made total sense to the Doctor as well.

There had been a pattern to all of these dreams. And she was starting to see it.

“You’re making it sound like…”

Jack clicked his tongue, “Like he’s in love with you?” He grinned, “That’s because he is.”

Every dream had a theme of getting the Doctor and (Y/N) together. In the New York apartment there was the tender moment they shared in the coffeehouse. In the fantasy realm he rescued her from an arranged marriage – had said I love you to each other. In the old English estate they were prompted to be friendly with one another in hopes of an eventual marriage.

There had never been a spoken word between them about being anything more than friends, than companions. Sure there had been initial attraction but it was quickly set aside when it was evident the Doctor wasn’t interested.

Or was he.

Perhaps (Y/N) had been blinded by her own efforts to avoid greater feelings. It made traveling with him easier. If she had developed true love with him then the entire companionship would be at risk of falling apart.

But as Jack started rambling on about the evidence he had gathered on why John was in love with her, she continued to connect dots.

These dreams were tailored to the Doctor.

When he wanted to catch River Song for what she did, the dream state changed into a reality where that was plausible. It was set in a crime drama where they caught bad guys.

Somehow the Doctor was in charge. He might not even realize it.

“I’ve completely stumped you, haven’t I?” Jack asked, setting his milkshake aside, “Hard to believe Smith is capable of love, huh.”

“Not entirely.”

Jack looked up quick, “Really?”

(Y/N) shrugged, eyes glazed as she tried to pull herself out of her deep thought. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the guy crack a smile, let alone express an ounce of affection.”

She became reminiscent of the Doctor that was the opposite. The one that was all smiles and all doting affection. Was her safety really the reason for him acting so different?

“But I do know that I’ve never seen him more relaxed than when he’s with you,” Jack said with a growing smirk. “You bring out the best in him.”

“And the worst,” she said quietly, “Evidently.”

Jack threw a few dollars on the table, “It’s gotta be nice to be loved that much though.”

She wrung her hands, “We have to go meet Smith and Pond.”

“I’m telling you…” Jack said, leading the way outside and brandishing a pair of sunglasses, “You gotta say something to him. The poor guy is hopeless when it comes to first moves. Trust me, I’ve worked with the guy for years.”

(Y/N) walked alongside him, making sure her firearm and badge were secured at her belt. “I don’t think he’s in the mood for any love confessions.”

“He’s never in the mood,” Jack said with a laugh. He slung his arm around her shoulders, always the light heart. “But if you’re so concerned with why he’s upset, maybe you need to talk about it.”

“I tried this morning,” she grumbled, his bouncing steps infectious.

Jack squeezed her shoulder, “Then you try again. He might not be an easy man. But he’s a good man.”

She wholeheartedly agreed with that statement. The Doctor was a complicated, eccentric genius who made things more difficult than they had to be. But he was also the loveliest, most generous man who gave the best hugs.

And they deserved to get out of there. And (Y/N) had to get through to him somehow – even with him being stuck in this arrogant, gruff character.

She spotted the Doctor and Amy through the windows of the local police station. They seemed to be discussing something as they looked over a city map. Jack led them across the street and towards the entrance.

He gave her a playful wink as they walked into their work room.

“(Y/N),” said Amy, always looking her best in her professional attire. She was usually underestimated by the agents, but always made the looks on their faces all the more amusing when she proved them wrong.

“Have you found anything?” she asked, avoiding a glance in the Doctor’s direction.

Amy shook her head, “We’re waiting on some intel in central Atlanta. Our profile has led us to believe that the professor will plan an attack at the Atlanta History Center.”

The Doctor muttered, “It’s a historical museum. A place she might enjoy.” He flashed his eyes toward (Y/N) and they both dwelled on their archeologist of a friend. River would love old museums.

“What intel are we waiting for?” Jack asked, eyeing their position on the city map.

Amy scrolled through her phone, “They’re verifying that the professor was spotted in the vicinity. Noble and Williams are giving out the profile and monitoring the surveillance.”

“Let’s not start a panic at the museum unless we have to,” the Doctor said, rubbing hard at his face.

“Understood,” Jack said.

But (Y/N) had fixated on the scruff of the Doctor’s jaw. It was so strange to see him like that. He looked older. He looked more tired. He looked… like an adult.

She wanted his little toyshop salesman self to come out and make some childish remark about the taste of custard cream or the boredom of taxes.

“Can I have a moment alone with (Y/N).” The Doctor was still looking away as his colleagues shared looks.

Jack and Amy cleared their throats, sidling out of the room with quick steps.

(Y/N) wrung her hands again, feeling the uneasiness of an unscripted moment.

“Doctor…”

“You’re going to stay here when we go apprehend River Song.”

“Excuse me?” the words became lodged in her throat, “You can’t do that.”

He gave her a heated stare, “I’m not risking you getting hurt.”

“Doctor, how many times do I need to tell you not to worry. This isn’t real. I won’t really get hurt.”

“Did that Spanish flu hurt?” he asked, emotion flaring in his eyes, “Did laying in your sickbed hurt you?”

It did. But she knew there wasn’t any permanent damage. It was just a dream.

“I’ll wake up,” she said quietly, “It would force me awake.”

He gritted his teeth, “And what if it doesn’t?”

“God, I’d risk it, Doctor! We can’t stay stuck in here for the rest of our lives.”

He looked conflicted, “But it hasn’t been so bad, has it? The roles we’ve played.”

“That’s all it is, Doctor. It’s all play. It’s not real. I want to get back to our real lives.”

“You’re real,” he deadpanned, uncharacteristically still as he stood his ground. “You’re enough for me.”

She blanked. Her mind sifted out of her ears as she scrambled to form words. “Doctor… there are more realistic ways to have a life with me. You don’t have to dream one up.”

His shoulders stiffened, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I have a feeling you might.” She took a step forward, “You can’t create some fictional life with me where we play these characters that live normal married human lives.”

“We’ve never been married,” he said quickly.

“I had a feeling the next one might have us be,” she said just as fast. “It shifts to your wants, Doctor. But what you want here… right now – it’s not what I want. I can’t play a character and pretend that I’m happy with all this.”

His fingers started to fidget like they use to on their adventures, “You’re not happy.”

She lightly shook her head. “I want to go home.”

“You’re not happy here with me.” He said it more to himself then to her.

But she quickly cut in, “I’m happy with you on the tardis. I’m happy with you back in our own lives.” Her hands rose to clutch at her chest, “Please, Doctor – this isn’t right. We have to wake up.”

“There has to be another way than dying!” he said, furious again.

There was a whoosh of air and the pair of them were standing outside of a historical building, groups of people running around in a panic.

Their talk of the real world had them flying to the next scene.

They were clad in bullet proof vests, guns poised in their hands. Wires crept up their backs and into their ears. They could hear the rest of their team asking for orders and the whereabouts of Professor River Song.

“No,” the Doctor growled, addressing (Y/N). “You are staying here while I find River.”

“Like hell I am,” she cried back, taking off for the museum.

“(Y/N)!” the Doctor yelled, “It isn’t safe.”

The screams of the bystanders became muted as she searched for their friend. Seeing her here would mean River was sucked into the dream world too. She could no longer manipulate the rules of the dream.

Her feet pounding into the cement, she frantically searched the faces of the crowd. The Doctor was getting lost behind her, being swarmed by the public.

She cried out, “River! River I’m here!” She kept her finger off the trigger, but her gun was still brandished. “River Song!”

Then in the distance she heard a voice cry back, “(Y/N)?”

She flew around, there at the edge of the building was a pile of crazed, curly hair. She had her own gun at her hip.

“How did you get here?” (Y/N) asked, “Did you get pulled in?”

“Unfortunately,” River said, meeting her friend with a hug. “But I can still try to pull us out.”

(Y/N) eyed her gun, “You trying to get back in prison for murdering someone?”

River shrugged, “This is just a nightmare. None of it is real.”

“Feels real,” (Y/N) whispered, staring at the gun, “I suppose that’s what scares you awake.”

The gun was raised and aimed for (Y/N), “That’s the theory.”

“The Doctor’s not so sure.”

“He gets skeptical when it comes to the safety of those he loves.”

“People keep telling me that,” (Y/N) said, holstering her gun.

River took a deep breath, taking aim, “That he worries for your safety?”

“No,” (Y/N) said, “That he loves me.”

“Maybe you should take the hint,” the professor laughed, “This should only sting a little.” Her eyes flickered to behind (Y/N), “Incoming.”

“Hands in the air!” came the voice of Amy, “I said hands up!”

Jack was right behind her, “(Y/N), where is your gun?”

“It’s alright,” she responded over her shoulder, “I’ll see you guys when we wake up.” She gave a nod towards River Song.

She nodded back, firing three gunshots.

Red hot pain ran through (Y/N)’s lower abdomen. Two shots barely clipped the vest, but the third lodged itself near her hipbone, but definitely into her major organs. It was true, the shock and adrenaline that coursed her system made the bullets only slightly hurt.

She was falling to her knees when more shots were fired. In the distance she could see River Song fall to the ground.

The pain was sharp but was growing into something dull and achingly present. A hand pressed to her stomach came back coated in bright blood. The life was beginning to slip between her fingers.

“(Y/N)!” came a cry from above. Rough hands grasped at her body, pulling her in a way that made her wounds flare up.

She cried out, “Stop!” Her fingers were weak where she grabbed at the arms around her. It was hard to see – her vision was blurry. Her ears were full of a buzz.

But it was the Doctor that cradled her now, “What did you do?” he whispered. “What did you do?”

There was a crack in his voice and her heart began to hurt just as much as the rest of her body.

~~~

There was an insistent beeping somewhere next to her. The air smelled sterile and stuffy with disinfectant.

Her fingers picked at the cotton sheets around her. There was something taped to the back of her hand.

Opening her eyes, she spotted the IV drip. After adjusting she noticed the white walls and old machines measuring her heartrate.

She quickly lifted the blankets to look at her abdomen. After a quick inspection she realized that there weren’t any bandages. There was no evidence at all that she was shot just minutes before. Her skin was clear.

“Dammit,” she whispered, her head falling back into the pillows. They had jumped to another reality.

A crash against her windows had her looking for the source.

There, clad in scrubs and white lab coats, was Amy and Rory. The pair of them kissing like they were hungry for their last meal. Pressed against the window they were unabashed as they consumed each other.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. Great… they were stuck in a medical drama now.

And something else had become evident. The Doctor might have more control over the dream than she realized.

It was apparent that if the Doctor didn’t want to wake up, then (Y/N) wasn’t going to wake up either.

~~~

Tag List:

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[notknickers]

in the last few days, i have been rotating the big austrian lad in my head relentlessly and, even though i may change my mind about some of these, or have mutually exclusive headcanons cohexist in different renditions of him, i feel like he is starting to take more deifinite shape in my mind. therefore, i want to write a list of my interpretation and share it, both for personal reference, since i'm juggling two different fics, and as modest contribution to fandom. i'll try to keep things coherent, but...

in spite of the misleading banner, which portrays a silly, cartoonish version of tentakönig i had a lot of fun doodling specially to embellish this post, the following is about human!könig, military contractor. that is just to give an idea of how much he has been bouncing in my skull as if my brain were a trampoline.

♛ he is between forty-two and forty-five years of age;

♛ his untreated social anxiety only increased during his military recruitment and gradually exacerbated into full-on PTSD during his career as contractor; he is afflicted by dissociative episodes, panic attacks and night terrors, as a consequence, which he keeps hidden at any and all cost and manages covertly, sometimes through questionable means;

♛ he is very quiet, pensive and observant. as such, he loathes using more words than he needs to and uses as little as he can, trying to avoid long conversations and small talk alike;

♛ his mask is the only remnant of his pre-military life. he clings to it as a reminder of his own humanity, of the person he used, for good or ill, to be and as acknowledgement of how far he has come from the scrawny, fearful lad he was, even when sometimes, he wishes he would have made different choices;

♛ under his mask, the features on his face are slightly uneven, such as one of his ears, which hangs at a slightly different angle than the other and his left cheekbone, still crooked from a past injury that healed poorly. he also has some deeper disfigurement, the scars of which still remain, less and less visible as time passes, and his lips are ruined. these are the consequence of both maltreatment and bullying during his childhood and adolescence, from both callous peers and neglectful parents, and of injuries incurred on the job. ironically, the worst are not from his military career, however. as such, he barely ever removes his mask, chiefly when alone or on leave.

♛ his hair is light in colour, kept cropped very short as it tends to grow quickly and get matted under his mask and helmet, but beyond the slightly receding hairline typical of men his age, he is nowhere near starting to bald; ♛ his eyes are grey. not blue, nor black. grey. sometimes lighter, sometimes darker, sometimes glittery and glassy, but always grey, according to his state and the light conditions;

♛ even though he is barely average in attractiveness and the presence of keloidal scar tissue, which often ranges from being off-putting to instilling repulsion in others, he is noticeable in size. some would find the mass of packed, rounded muscles in more than 2m rather interesting. however, given that very fact, he probably has or will soon start experiencing heart issues as he ages. realistically, he will probably die younger than his peers, in spite of being in top shape;

♛ his approach is practical and detached: if he's on a rescue mission, that's what he will focus on; what happens afterwards is none of his business, as long as his job is done and he gets recognition remuneration for it. if, on the other hand, civilians or competitors are a liability, he will not hesitate to take care of the situation in the most expedient way, the way that will not impair the status of his mission;

♛ this strong preference for detachment and pragmatism is not to say that he does not take pride in his skills, even though his job is nothing more than a means towards an end, or, well, more than one. namely, a paycheque to live comfortably and never fear poverty or food insecurity again; isolation from people or controlled interactions with predictable scripts, when necessary; the rules that apply, which are different from those of society at large, in which he always struggled and still struggles to fit in;

♛ when engaging the enemy, he is not reckless, but he is beastly and brutal. he displays a sort of controlled berserk mode. he has no particular respect for life and under those specific circumstances, allows himself to delight in carnage. he otherwise appears in control of himself, even though he spends as much time as he can alone, so others only know him so much;

♛ he is not beyond torture, even the disfiguring, excruciating kind, the kind that carries long-lasting, when not permanent effects on body and spirit alike. however, he merely sees it as a means towards an end. he is not the type to waste time threatening and warning: he thinks practical demonstrations are more eloquent that any word. as such, his methods tend more towards the crude, than the sophisticated, but they are equally effective in half the time;

♛ when on leave, he lives frugally and anonymously, barely leaving his abode unless necessary; he lives below his means as a matter of habit, a consequence of his childhood poverty, even when he could afford much, much more;

♛ his modest flat is a pigsty and he likes to leave it like that to break out of the stifling rules and expectations of his job. this is also reflected on his shabby sense of fashion: better to be a practical slob than an elegant buffoon who wastes his hard-earned money on impractical peacocking attires;

♛ whilst true that his height, build and scars attract stares in public, he has become very adept at shutting such rudeness down with one of his strategic, whithering looks. out of combat, he is just some bloke and that is all he cares to be until he is called back from leave;

♛ he compartmentalises a lot his civilian persona from his military persona and, even within his military persona, there are more subdivisions to be found (coold-headed, reserved, collected and calculating vs murderous, bloody and savage in conflict.) to be clear, he is not ashamed of what he does for a living, but his profession also requires a lot of discretion on his part, which makes the compartmentalising already so natural to him an external necessity;

♛ he's a smoker and a drinker: as long as he still performs well on the field, he has no interest in denying himself the scant pleasures only vice can offer;

tentakönig rolled and bounced all the way down here to say: "if you do not wish to find out what i'm like sexually and romantically, do yourself a favour and do not read below. proceed at leisure, otherwise."

🗡 perhaps not every single time, but more often than not, he cries when he comes;

🗡 i get submissive vibes, with a dash of unpredictability. for now, let's say that, with his lovers, occasional and less so, he knows how to be both rough and rash or gentle and devoted. sometimes, even within the same session, all depending on mood and circumstances.

🗡 i'm toying with the idea of him having a specific type of mummy kink, the kind expressed by seeking the gentle, comforting touch of a willing-enough woman who he will address as mummy, in german, only to end up weeping on her tits as he greedily sucks on them... i may have already begun writing a fic along this lines... >.> i did and more are coming. this is both a promise and a threat.

🗡 when he gets desperate and/or fuckdrunk during his sexual encounters, he starts muttering nonsense in austrian german, incapable of focussing his brain enough to maintain some coherency; it's very endearing to see him lose control like that. if the sex in question is happening with a very lucky woman (lucky according to whom?!) who he trusts enough to be that vulnerable, besides giving in to his native tongue, he will probably also cry, as mentioned above;

🗡 when on leave, he occasionally pays for sex when he can't (or won't bother to) find anything on his own, or when he has something particular in mind and prefers to put himself in the hands of a professional;

🗡 even though he does not consider himself queer, when mercenary sex isn't in the cards, he frequents local gay clubs. as a tall, athletic, middle-aged and moderately hairy man, it is hardly challenging for him to find a willing man to fuck in the face or the arse, even though he never reciprocates;

🗡 though more or less settled in his reality full of idiosyncrasies and resigned to it, he occasionally allows himself to wander off his established path to seek companionship outside of the above-mentioned methods. he knows he could hardly stand a regular life with wife, children, pets and a less dangerous job. yet, there is a part of him still curious, which would like to discover whether he could get what everyone else allegedly seems to want, what he feels he should want but is not sure he actually does. as such, he occasionally tries and manages to establish a relationship in between deployments, but it often collapses or remains in the early stages. the older he gets, the harder he finds to make them happen, especially when he is very much not everyone's cup of tea;

🗡 nevertheless, i believe he would appreciate to know what it's like to see himself through the eyes of someone genuinely infatuated with him and not see them recoil in disgust or reflect back the image of the mindless killing machine with little depth left he considers himself to have become;

may add more in future. apologies for any potential mistake: it's very late and i don't have time to reread everything. thanks for reading.

[prying-pandora666]

Let’s Talk About Fanfic and Fanart For A Second

I have no idea why this person got so mad at my post about how the fandom would probably empathize with Aang (and his painful backstory) more if he had grown up into a more shippable/attractive age like the other boys.

But tag yourself if you also make and promote convoluted fanfic that will never be respected by the masses. @book4air my beloved.

Making art because you want to is enough reason. You don’t need to be popular or profitable. The fact that you enjoy it is reason enough. I promise.

And hey! Sometimes, as a nice bonus, it even gets you an IMDB credit or two!

Or invited to a Netflix premiere!

And may even get you recognition from the people who make the things you love.

More importantly, sometimes your art helps others connect with the material when they previously couldn’t.

Most importantly though, sometimes it just helps you make it through the day. Sometimes it’s the reason to get up in the morning. Sometimes it’s where you go when you’re suffering excruciating pain from your disability, or mental illness, or trauma. Sometimes when I’m bed ridden, working on the project, learning from other skilled and lovely creatives in the fandom, or getting to teach the next generation, is what keeps me going.

Make art because you want to. And not for the tenuous “respect” of people who are dedicated to hating you for no other reason than you had the guts to do it.

[mariacallous]

I can predict with safety that the prosecution of 700 innocent postmasters and mistresses will be remembered for decades.

It was not just that when the Post Office jailed employees and drove them to suicide it presided over one of the gravest miscarriages of justice in modern British history.

It is that the injustice will be remembered far beyond the UK. The technology said the postal workers were guilty of stealing from their tills, and everyone – judges, juries, police officers and government ministers – believed the faulty software rather than innocent men and women.

As facial recognition technologies take over police work and AI determines job prospects, the story of how the Post Office computers got it wrong will be a part of 21st century folklore.

But this terrible scandal deserves to be remembered for one other reason: the attitude of managers, who did not for a moment think there was something wrong in believing that hundreds of their colleagues were criminals.   

The notion that the accusations must be flawed because the scale of the alleged fraud and the numbers of suspects beggared belief never occurred to them. They justified their salaries and bonuses as a legitimate reward for presiding over underlings who were no better than common criminals.

Chris Dillow, the author of the Stumbling and Mumbling economics blog, is one of the best critics of the managerialist ideology that drove the Post Office scandal. You can listen to my Lowdown interview with him via the links above.

I thought it would be worth going through the evidence we discuss on the show as we look at the dictatorial attitude of so many managers.

We are not making an argument for anarchism. Successful organisations have successful managers.

They tend to be modest managers who understand that it is impossible for the people at the top of complex organisations to know all they need to know.  They have genuine consultations with their staff to fill the gaps in the knowledge. They do not behave like dictators by insisting on subservience and by refusing to allow criticism.

However many managers, perhaps most managers, are not like that. And here is the main reason.

They have been imbued with the ideology of managerialism, which holds that organizations in the public and private sector can be run from the top down by an elite of experts.

Instead of valuing specific knowledge about a company or organisation they believe in a generalist skill of “management”; and that a managerial elite can move from company to company, public body to public body, without losing effectiveness.

In place of specific, practical knowledge about the institutions they are meant to control, they offer “visions” and demand obedience.

Paula Vennells, was the chief executive of the Post Office as the number of false imprisonments rocketed.  She had not spent a working lifetime getting to know her colleagues. She had flitted between  Unilever, L'Oréal, Dixons Retail, Argos, Whitbread, the Cabinet Office and the Anglican Church.

If the people at the top of organisations cannot know all they need to know, and if their subordinates know they must suck up to the boss and tell him what he wants to hear rather than what he needs to hear, then you have miniature versions of Vladimir Putin’s Russia where no one dares contradict the big boss.

The type of people who thrive in these conditions are, frankly, psychopaths. By which I do not mean mass murderers but egomaniacs with no capacity for empathy or remorse.

According to a study dating back to 2010, there were at least three times as many psychopaths in executive or CEO roles than in the overall population. More recent data estimated that psychopaths filled 20 percent of executive posts

The Dutch management scholar and psychoanalyst Manfred F.R. Kets de Vries described managers who were

“Outwardly normal, apparently successful and charming, [but] their inner lack of empathy, shame, guilt, or remorse, has serious interpersonal repercussions, and can destroy organizations. Their great adaptive qualities mean they often reach top executive positions, especially in organizations that appreciate impression management, corporate gamesmanship, risk taking, coolness under pressure, domination, competitiveness, and assertiveness. The ease with which [they] rise to the top raises the question whether the design of some organizations makes them a natural home for psychopathic individuals.”

Shareholders may think that psychopath bosses will benefit them by keeping the profits flowing. As one business theorist put it in 2022

“Being a CEO or in a position of true power requires certain skills and abilities that psychopaths exhibit with ease. Making objective, clinical decisions entirely void of emotion, planning meticulously and in great detail, being patient, restless and confident, having a need to be in control… are all characteristics that psychopaths and prominent leaders share.”

And it is true that I have never heard of a CEO or head of HR refusing to fire subordinates because they could not bring themselves to ruin the lives of people less fortunate than themselves.

For all the talk about woke corporations and management diversity and inclusion initiatives, when it comes to mass sackings the new boss is much the same as the old boss. And you can see why that might please the shareholders.

Chris Dillow explains it thus

“People who are unusually concerned with status and power are precisely those who aim for the top of hierarchies (whereas many others of us just want to get on with our jobs), and psychopaths' superficial charm and fluency appeals to hirers. As David Allen Green says, "the likes of Paula Vennells are always with us and will always somehow obtain senior positions." This is consistent with a finding by Luigi Zingales and colleagues, that a lot more corporate fraud occurs than is actually detected. What's more, companies also select for over-confidence as they mistake ‘competence cues’ - the right body language or the illusion of knowledge - for actual ability. (All this might also apply to politics).”

You might think shareholders have nothing to complain about because vicious management protects dividends. But, as I have seen happen many times in the media, brutal managers can destroy businesses.

Chris explained the tension

“Often a company needs to cut costs and a psychopath who doesn't care about making people redundant, might be better at cutting costs than someone who's more empathetic. On other hand, we know that, psychopathic tendencies, can be very corrosive to an organization because it leads to managers who don't listen, managers who are so determined to make cuts to their organization that they end up cutting not just the fat, as they like to think, but, but cutting the meat and the muscle as well.”

If you listen to the podcast, you will hear a long discussion on why checks and balances don’t work. In theory shareholders are in control. In practice, as economists have recognised since the 19th century, they do not have day to day power. Managers can enrich themselves and follow disastrous policies without being stopped.

In the case of the Post Office, all checks and balances failed including, and most ominously, the checks of the legal system.

Dismal though that picture is, I will not end with it. One point that is not made often enough is that today’s full employment in the UK and the US is freeing workers. People who are stuck in terrible organisations with psycho bosses can just walk out and w​alk into other jobs.

Full employment is not high up on progressive wish lists. But for millions it is a liberation.

[lamarckianenterprises]

On Alledgely Intelligent Machines

All of this reminds me of like, two to three years ago when AI Dungeon 2 was this hot young thing and 'respectable' gaming news sites were posting opinion pieces about the wild unrestricted adventures they were having on it and how it would change the way they roleplayed forever, even though it was this bumbling, lawless thing that could barely find the plot to lose most of the time.

And then fast forward a year or so and we find out that the algorithm isn't magic, and that prompting it with 'the end' specifically outputs a 'thanks for reading, please donate to my patreon' message lifted from all of the thousands upon thousands of poor schumcks who had the misfortune of deciding to share their work online for other people to freely read.

All of this 'AI is progressing too rapidly and will one day very soon develop into real AGI that will change the world' malarkey is just jingling keys. I think it's called Longtermism, they want us to fret and fuss about how this will affect the lives of our great great great grandchildren commutting to Mars 200 years from now, and not about how this is affecting real people today.

"Think about how neat it would be to have an AI that can answer all of the questions left in the universe for us" Sam says, as his company hurriedly cuts ties with the underpaid Kenyan workers manually sorting and tagging the database his LLMs are based on.

"Look at how well it rhymes now, this will definitely distrupt the Poetry Industry which definitely is a thing that exists in real life I am a real scientist I know these things," his employees say, in a research paper hyping up their own product while they improve its ability to deepfake images that gradually erodes any trust we still have in our society.

All the while touting the most mediocre, average examples of just about any creative field as proof of its rapid, inevitable and perpetually explosive growth as if it was the figurative Antichrist heralding the coming of the Son of God and the Kingdom of Heaven.

I miss when we just let these things run rampant without a single care for consistent style and realism because we enjoyed witnessing what utter insanity it came up with, I miss when it was just a 'neat tool' that could maybe provide a freaky background or add trippy dogfaces to your clouds, I miss when we were wondering about what all of this weirdness said about what understanding language and having pattern recognition means when it's divorced entirely from reality instead of wondering how quickly we can refine and normalize its output well enough to mechanize all forms of artistry.

And above all else I miss not hearing about it, because honestly it still isn't that good. The slightly uncanny photos, mass art style plagiarism module and extremely resource intensive shorts are neat and all but, when it comes to prose, and DMing?

Well let's just say that AI Dungeon 2 crawled so that ChatGPT can sorta aimlessly waddle around in those babywalker things that seem neat and helpful, but are actually deathtraps that can cause long term health and developmental issues by actively preventing your child from spending the time they need to crawl around and develop the motoric skills and musculature needed to stand and fail repeatedly at walking. (Which is why they have been banned in Canada since 2004.)

_____

Maria D.R./Lamarck is an Indonesian writer whose boomer mother has talked about how great AI is to me and everyone in her social circle every damned day since ChatGPT was released.

[kirbles]

really rambly post regarding bw fics merry christmas

i got into bloodweave when there was only 20ish fics, constantly refreshed the tag for every single new upload cuz there wasn't much so early in the games release. and now that it's in the 800s (including ot3/polyship content which i usually exclude in my own searches) it's nice that i can be picky! cuz i AM very picky!

but also kinda sad that i can't keep up w the constant uploads as much as i was able to abt 3 months ago. i still try to! but its hard ;; cuz i love this ship!! and there is so many new fics that are incredible and high quality.

it's almost w shame that anyone newly getting into this ship will probably only sort the tag by hits/kudos and miss all the other fantastic fics that are likely buried under the absolute mass of uploads, esp if ppl aren't used to excluding other ship tags.

i hate how we equate hits/kudos to how good a fic is because i have tons of bw fic recs that barely even break a couple hundred. the more 'popular' fics are great, sure, but also they were some of the only options at the time with so little uploads, of course they're going to be the reason for a lot of ppl into the ship and be ppls fave fic. but they aren't the only good fics!!!! there are fantastic fics constantly being posted!!!! you just need to keep an eye on them

i really didn't think this would be the most popular origin ship? (it's the most popular on ao3 right after like, 5 variants of astarion/player character LMFAO) i honestly expected more people to like wyllach or shadowzel (which i enjoyed before bloodweave had me in a chokehold)

everyone i've met thanks to bloodweave is so incredibly sweet and talented. skilled artists and writers alike. fantastic friends.

i have been so much more creative in the past few months than i have for years. i got back into writing fanfic after over a decade! i'm getting out of my comfort zone with art! i'm making character and ship playlists again! it's so nice to embrace fandom again

but i think the fics especially matter a lot to me. the writers who i consider great friends now deserve so much recognition that they don't get enough of. i wish i could scream from the rooftops how amazing and skilled and talented and sexy my friends and their writing are

anyway 😃 pointless post im just ranting

[starburstfloat]

so i saw your tags on that reblogged post about hybe and removing the k from kpop, and i'm super interested in hearing your thoughts! and yeah i do agree that bts' music in recent years has lost a lot of what makes it unique :/

Oh I'd love to chat about it - thanks for giving me the opportunity to share more of my thoughts!

For those who don't know, we're referencing this opinion piece article that discusses, in an appropriately scathing tone, how bang pd/hybe executives are leading kpop to its demise by making poor creative choices for their artists (mostly BTS, but whoever comes after will evidently be affected by their creative decisions). Namely, releasing superficial bland pop music, in the attempt to remove the K from Kpop and make the genre more global and palatable for all audiences; essentially, taking away Kpop's core essence to appeal to the US music market.

Having been an avid kpop fan since 2010, and more of an observant media/pop culture enthusiast since 2016, the westernization of the genre doesn't come as a surprise to me. What does surprise me though are the masses of BTS army, whose demographic comprises the largest share of Hybe fans, who avidly support this trend. It's a reason I found myself getting distant to the fandom since the release of Butter, since the mere suggestion that BTS were losing their creative identity garnered hoards of angry responses of people retaliating with "well it's good they're getting the recognition they deserve!" and "it's catchy music for the radio, why would you be upset?"

I think what a lot of people who support Hybe's decision are missing here is that most of us don't really care if the lyrics are changed from Korean to English - if it's a good song, I don't care what language it's in. But that's not what bang pd means when he suggests removing the K from Kpop. He's removing the entire sound of kpop and, with most Korean artists not lyrically skilled enough to write their own verses in English, which will be the dominant language going forward for title tracks (at least for now; this may change as new waves of trainees and more stringently enforced English lessons hit the writing room), we're going to see most Kpop songs no longer written or produced by the members of the groups.

It's a bit ironic, since that's what kpop grew to embrace in third gen, especially with BTS's penmanship getting recognition from fans and non fans alike. BTS rose to fame for their authenticity, their songs crafted from personal experiences and imagination, and that's what attracted so many people to them, myself included. They had something meaningful to say. Then when they rose to popularity, the goal became to become as marketable as possible, and we witness a complete creative downfall at the start of the dynamite era, what the author of the article dubs the English Trilogy.

I could even look past the superficiality of a track if it's able to become something noteworthy or iconic. Consider the success of GIDLE's Queencard - a title track that rocks lyrics like "I'm hot, my boob and bootie's hot, spotlight, I'm Star Star Star". It completely dominated Korea's music charts this year, and saw success internationally too. Why? Firstly, the title references a well established Korean slang word (calling someone a King or Queencard in correlation to their cool aura). Secondly, it doesn't take itself too seriously. GIDLE said, Here's a camp song for the girls and the gays and delivered, without slapping on some forced heartfelt deeper meaning. Thirdly, the music video, from the styling and choreography, draws artistic inspiration from early 2000s films like Mean Girls and White Chicks - a creative choice that enhances the comical and vibrant tone of the track. Lastly, Queencard is so undeniably kpop - from the song structure, the vocal blending, the bridge, the choreo - it's kpop perfection. Is it a basic pop track? Yes, absolutely. But it's also bigger than that, for all the reasons I just mentioned, so it's a shame that hybe, in its pursuit of monopolizing the industry, sees something like that and goes, how about we just strip kpop of all its fun parts and give audiences the blandest cardboard cereal blend they've ever tasted? Evidently Jungkook's solo album Golden was this very attempt to experiment with a solely western style, detract from the vibrancy or intensity of what kpop was before. Where's the artistic charm in that? It's disappeared.

I guess it all comes down to the fact that hybe, and at this point we can assume the bangtan members too (since I don't subscribe to the "bang pd evil, members get no say in decisions" narrative that some people suggest) aren't concerned with the meaning behind their craft anymore, just the money.

It's a bit infuriating because I, and assumedly thousands of others who have been part of the kpop wave long before BTS's rise to fame, would happily pay big money to see live music from acts currently releasing quality music. But I guess that requires more effort, and for hybe that's the least of their concern.

[drbased]

'The Collective Giving Up' of Feminism

Part 1.

I've heard of radfems complain that feminism is 'couple's therapy for straight women' and in the middle of a huge rant last night a lot of things clicked into place for me: we're currently in the middle of a mass exodus from feminism. The hope of the first wave may have been primarily political, but from the second-wave onwards the focus has been on the personal, the psychological, the emotional. The desire to improve society, or improve men, has had an undercurrent of 'if we can do this, then men and women can finally live together in harmony. We just have to hope that men are merely ignorant of our suffering, and once they are made Aware, once they realise that recognition of women's humanity will not crumble society they will begrudgingly pick up the mop and bucket, a small smile forming on their faces.'

But as time has gone on, as women have gained even more rights and freedom, men have responded with increasing levels of ridiculousness. Not only that, but average man seems to be crummier than ever; he doesn't keep himself well-groomed, he's not skilled in the art of a trade, he can't do DIY, he doesn't want to court you with fine dining and lavish gifts - he expects your relationship to be 'equal' without doing an equal share of the work. You're still a hyper-feminine angel, he's more basic than ever. The romance books of stoic hunky protectors were all a blatant lie.

After this most recent wave of male backlash (gamergate, trumpism), the response has been by the majority of women to simply... give up on feminism entirely. We will never re-habilitate men, so what's the point in all of it?

So, let's go through the different responses of the 'Collective Giving Up':

Mainstream Feminism: Mainstream feminism has effectively re-branded. Now, its primary goal is not real feminist action, but a last sliver of hope that if we de-fang feminism enough, then men might calm down. But this is not for any long-term strategy; it's the equivalent of a woman talking softly and backing down when her abusive husband has a tantrum. Its other, more insidious goal has been to 're-educate' women who wish to use feminism as a liberation tool - a way of soothing angry women by ensuring them that they don't have to do anything or care about women (including themselves) to be feminist - and that's the most feminist thing of all! Especially because it means you get to keep buying things - isn't capitalism great!? But most importantly, mainstream feminist women are incredibly embarrassed and scared of their chosen position; feminism has been put on a spotlight for the past decade, and with men constantly laughing at sexist air conditioners and mansplaining, these scared women, with no social structures to turn to to ensure them that their criticisms are right, have been put on the back foot. Made incredibly insecure and fearful for the few freedoms we have, feminists have back-pedalled.

Trans-activism: Trans-activism has been the final nail in the coffin, a perfect excuse to backpedal without having to deal with cognitive dissonence; if 'gender' is the problem, then you never have to have that stupid air-conditioner argument ever again. phew.

BDSM acceptance: I've said before about what BDSM offers women, and I will try my best to sum it up here. BDSM offers the following to women: 1. recontextualisation of rape and abuse under a symbolic framework, where a new narrative can be reconstructed that it's mutually enjoyed and a demonstration of man's natural, animalistic desire; 2. a simplicity whereby the woman never has to worry if she wanted sex, or wanted to orgasm, or is even attracted to her partner, because she essentially exists in a storybook setting where both partners play pre-destined roles; 3. a situation where the man seems to be willing to reciprocate sexually the way she's always wanted him to - he will dress well, curate an atmosphere, show her full-blooded sexual desire, focus on her orgasm, buy her toys, surprise her etc.; 4. In the case of female domination/pegging, it means she finally gets a semblance of equality through supposed 'role-reversal' and she gets to feel safe from sexual violence whilst never questioning why penetration and submissiveness seem to be inexoriably linked. In other words, BDSM allows an illusion of mutuality, allowing women to believe that male sexual violence was never a problem all along, and if they just roll with it, then all will be well.

Porn/'sex work' acceptance: I originally put this together with BDSM acceptance, because both of them posit the same fundamental idea: that male sexual violence was never a problem all along, and that if women just roll with it, then all will be well. Porn/'sex work' in particular have a particular nasty undertone because they fit neatly into the madonna/whore framework. Modern feminism, dripping with postmodernism, wants to believe that 1. we can successfully remove the stigma and connotations from certain things and 2. that doing so fixes the problem of those things. Supporting porn and 'sex work' allows the typically more privilged feminist to pay lipservice to breaking down the madonna/whore framework whilst simultaneously indulging in it, safe in the knowledge that she's the one who's not participating in those professions and experiencing the horrors that come with them. To really illustrate the point, the fact that viewing porn is considered to not 'count' as cheating, demonstrates the essential dehumanisation of the people involved. But ultimately, all this is window-dressing for the real reason porn has been accepted: men have not only continued to watch porn but they have escalated it - so if you want to secure your chance at a relationship, you have to give up on feminism.

Femininity acceptance: this one is also pretty obvious, but I also want to draw attention to the fact that whilst femininity rituals have gone up, male grooming has gone down. Men don't wear suits regularly in public anymore. There has been a recent growth in some men participating in certain appearance-based self-harming such as cosmetic surgery, but overall the scales couldn't be any more tipped. In many ways this is part of the collective apology - the extra energy put in by the abused women to prove that she was never in any danger of leaving him.

[esotericfaery]

Intimate Spiritual Diaries, 13: Tapping Into Ones Pure, Cosmic Alchemical Power

~~~

TLDR; I’m a “snob”, scholars & addicts, criminal fixed stars & more, why I get tired of people in general, the 6th, 8th & 12th Houses, everyone relates sometimes, hope of avoiding misunderstandings, & this is the core of each life-forms connection with the Divine.

If only more people would live naturally & consciously to be more like the Ascendant sign, this would contribute to causing the resolution and future lessening of many Sun (ego) mirroring off the Moon (emotions) patterns, which further complicate themselves as illustrated throughout the chart.

This is how working with Astrology promotes free will, not strict prognostication.

The Ascendant is the purest spark of Who creates each being, as we incarnate.

Uncovering the mysteries of the Ascendant causes recognition of the Divinity spark of the self, and that which is or had been buried in others.

The Ascendant is the spirit. The body drives the ego part of the human. This is why it's so important to not only regularly meditate, but ground, centre, and shield our energies from the chaotic emotion forms and thought forms of the masses.

But no, we often can't have that, because we get stuck in laziness (“thanks” trines). So then we ignore the lessons of Mars which are wise strategic actions, and react harshly towards ourselves & others. We allow ourselves to be distracted by the overly-luxurious Venus. We could work with other things, including specifically Venus for creative solutions.

The 6th House (and by association the 12th) in Astrology, form the axis where the everyday meets the esoteric.

This means, when in unawareness, constant subconscious-only attempts to process the forms of energy people expel in unawareness.

This functions as an un-oiled machine; a toroid which slows its spinning. Poor health in some form is a result, through the etheric layers of the body & thrown around dangerously also, inside the physical part of the body.

Everyone experiences what I described above at times in life, through transits involving either one of those houses, and transits involving their associated signs (Virgo & Pisces’) ruling planets, Chiron & Neptune.

Those of us who have developed and continue to develop the innate human ability for psychic skills, know this very well through our experiences, and have tools to protect ourselves, and transmute.

It’s constantly fatiguing though, to people like me, who have stuff like Sun, Moon, Saturn, Jupiter, Mercury, Juno, plus more asteroids and fixed stars than I want to lengthen this post with, conjunct in the 6th. I also have my Ascendent at the anaretic degree (the 12th House), which indicates presentation of lesson completion energy. Each house has lessons for us all to learn in life.

In recent years, I’ve been congratulated by my Ancestors for having completed the lessons of the 1st house. We all have lessons in each house. I have others to learn, and am determined to. Gratitude to my Ancestors and to my earth angel (incarnated people) friends and family for all of your help.

Those of us with prominent emphasis on both of those houses are often misunderstood as snobby, when we're naturally either scholarly, or become addicts. Many of us, including me, are as friendly as anyone else, if people aren’t impatient & overly judgemental. Both houses, for various reasons, are partly to deal with, and heal, how very real it is that we have to both resolve our own shadow work, and the shadows of everyone else around us who is in unawareness.

We don’t get tired and isolate because we think we’re better than the rest of you. We do it because we require such healing retreats.

One final note on me being misunderstood, & how there’s hope: The fixed star Unukalhai. It is known as the star which compels those with already-criminally-configured natal charts, to act on their dark desires. As with everything else in Astrology, as it’s in the skies, we all have it somewhere in our charts. My birth chart has it in the 8th House (Scorpio), conjunct Uranus (shock, unusual innovation).

They’re also in a stellium with these fixed stars: Alphecca (“lord of death”, indicates gifted Astrology access), Zubenelgenubi (wrongful accusations, obstructions, lack of forgiveness), & Zubeneschamali (high ambition, good fortune, loss through enemies leading to influential friends).

The Arabic Lot of Courage is also in that stellium.

As that’s all in the heavily transformative-pushing 8th House, people instinctively think that when I’m casually giving good advice they seem to be asking for, because it’s something that’s worked for me, I’m trying to “lord of death”, them, and they think that I have hidden (criminal) intentions. Multiple times, people in unawareness have said to me, even after years of friendship, stuff like, “I just feel a darkness in you. I can’t continue this friendship.” I used to try and understand why, but they couldn’t or wouldn’t ever explain it further. This has happened through dating, as I’m always the one getting ghosted. This situations don’t involve anything even resembling what anyone could consider an altercation.

It’s mind control, and people give in to it.

Aside from shoplifting as a kid, to distract myself from being bullied by most of the kids at my school, I don’t have criminal behaviours. I felt guilty for the shoplifting because as my parents correctly lectured me about why it was wrong, I stopped.

I’m tired of lazy, sometimes even perverted people dumping their 6th / 12th / 8th trash on me, and avoiding their own karmic responsibilities for their own shadow work. Even those who have somewhat aware lifestyles do this.

May everyone learn personal responsibility, the tools to do their own shadow work, and thrive.

[rhea314]

For the ask the vidder questions: 10, 12, 21!

10. What was the best comment you've received on one of your vids?

One of the best comments I've received was Dorinda’s comment on Know Better (Nirvana in Fire) of “I really liked this--so elegiac, wistful and loving, the way it's like their souls start to recognize him although their eyes can't. The pain of losing him, but also of having him there-but-not-there, the way he feels he has to resist the recognition. Sigh! Also, I like how many of the most important (and knifey :D ) moments you chose have to do with hands, especially Mei Changsu's hands. Something lovely about that, how he works so hard on controlling his face and his eyes, but his hands keep giving him away in these subtle tiny ways.” I'm not great at responding to comments but that's one where as a vidder I have a flailing ‘yes that!’ reaction, it’s cool when someone can put into words maybe something you didn’t fully intend but were ruminating on in the vidding process.

Honorable mention to anytime someone says in a comment that they watched a show because of a vid I made.

12. Most underrated vid that you wished had gotten more views?

For small fandom life: Highest Light (Chicago Typerwriter) I was so pleased with my song choice and hoped the vid would be enjoyable regardless of knowing the fandom but hasn’t seemed to be something that jives with others, so maybe it requires either knowing the source, liking the Indigo Girls, or both.

For larger fandom: Odds Are (911) I’m very pleased with and proud of this vid, but perhaps because it’s ensemble rather than a ship vid it’s not what folks are looking for as much?

21. How would you describe your vidding style?

Vibes and emotions / intuitive. I listen to music until a song grabs me when I have a critical mass of songs, or one song idea that’s very compelling to me, then I clip for those projects. At this point in my vidding career I’m not particularly perfectionistic, I often have a strong idea of what clips I want where but I don’t always know why and sometimes it’s throwing things agains the wall and seeing what sticks. I am deeply appreciative of and improved by betas and think my vidding skills are still growing, a lot in thanks to what I’ve learned from various betas over the years.

[kassandras-one-braincell]

You said you wanted to write blurbs! I’d love to know what you think Eivor’s favorite nickname/title for herself is, maybe in a little character study? (if you really felt like fleshing it out. Just your opinion is cool too) She’s called so many things: drengr, warrior-poet, etc. but I don’t know if she ever reacts to any of them for us to see what she sees herself as.

Hi!! Trying to wrack my brain for all the things she gets called over the course of the game is tough, but:

I think she ironically quite likes when people call her "raven-feeder" as an insult. Sýnin is a little shit, and she finds hidden comedy in the name. And, typically, it's used towards the start of an acquaintanceship with her by someone who is gravely underestimating her prowess in stealth and combat. It's a challenging title, to her.

Her attitude towards being called "drengr" probably changed over the course of the game's events. Earlier in her life, she took great pride in it. Between then and Hordafylke, she likely felt indifferent about the title - it's occupational. But after Hordafylke, I can imagine it became quite troubling for her, given its virtuous nature and how she had to re-evaluate her entire concept of virtue and purpose.

Then, from a perspective of reverence, I can imagine Eivor rather likes when some people refer to her as "the scourge of Mercia". There would be two different trains of thought:

From an ally, the words are spoken with admiration. But to her, they might jog a painful reminder of the consequences of her reckoning on Mercia, especially the lives lost.

However, from a stranger, the words are spoken with intimidation. A slight tremble, an anxious glance for solidarity, for someone to back them up if things start to go south. People talk, and the masses know that it was Eivor's axe which cut through the mess of false kingdoms. That has to spark some gratification, and keeps her connected to her fighting spirit.

"Warrior-poet" strikes me as her favourite. Firstly, because it gives her some recognition outside of her skill in battle; whomever bestowed it upon her views her as more than a sellsword. But most importantly, there's a huge difference between someone who dabbles in poetry, and a poet. Eivor's natural inclination towards written arts is a beautiful thing, and something she is definitely proud of, so to be recognised for that is a very high compliment.

[samusique-concrete]

1052R

i read something today that forced me to reconstruct the history within it as my favorite instance of what the kids today categorize as “game recognizing game.” both game entities in my new favorite recognition instance happen to be johann sebastian bach, because bach is and was unparalleled. he’s the only one that could go head to head with his particular mind. this thought brings me comfort.

historians and musicologists today presume bach wrote a violin concerto so difficult to perform that it led to it not being preserved by [lack of] virtue of there simply not being many around able to keep playing it. late in his life, historians and musicologists today presume, he’d recover this concerto and repurpose it as a harpsichord-centered piece, thus making it more accessible. this ended up becoming the 1052. the reconstruction of the presumed original violin version is known today as 1052R. bach was so painfully aware of the magnitude of his snapping with the original 1052 that he refused to let it die. the previous sentence is my reconstruction of the history inside the hypothesis.

i like to think about him often. i think about him writing the minor, lesser pieces in his repertoire because i like thinking about how, in contrast, his bigger, grander pieces feel in terms of showmanship. i like to imagine him symbolically waving away the tails of a period-and-culture-inaccurate frac before sitting down at his clavier stool (a gesture that could only mean “Time To Break Out The Big Guns”) in order to write works like the 1004, the 582, the 997, the apostles’ passions, the mass, the offering, the variations - as opposed to writing something like the WTC prelude N°1 tucked in bed in his nightgown by candlelight. this is why i speak of showmanship; the c major prelude is one of the most perfect portraits of western music sensibilities - it just happens to be subtle about it. both the lesser pieces and the grander pieces required of him the same amount of skill, albeit with different subsets and configurations of it. these are, again, my reconstructions of a particular history.

history does something funny to us: we let it wrap itself around our perception of it in such a way that there ends up being room for only one conjecture to be conjured. reading about the conception of the offering is a great example of this: it is impossible to finish that story without thinking of bach as what the same kids that’d classify him as “game” would call a “baller.” we like to think of bach as a baller. when i finally went to see a live performance of the 582, the organist told the audience a bach-biographical baller story i’d never heard. we like to think of his pilgrimage to buxtehude’s door as a baller move. i like to think of his body of work as the biggest flex on his contemporaries. this only inflates the image of bach the showman. this is the biggest reconstruction of all.

bach loved god. bach feared god. this is as far away as we can get from a reconstruction of his persona: it being the closest we can get to a fact, it leaves us with more of a reproduction. whether devotion and showmanship can coexist is not what i wanna argue. i wanna argue that historians and musicologists throughout the years have pretty much determined the presence of one of these traits in him, and not so much the other. i don’t want to argue whether we should reconstruct him possessing the latter trait or not. i just know we do. i also know this inevitably makes him, fortunately or not, a baller.

[brenolustee]

Week 1 – May 13/20

It is with great pleasure that I can say that this will be my first of several blog entries for an internship that I am extremely proud to be apart of.

My name is Brendan Jordan and I am an undergraduate at the University of Central Florida, working on receiving two degrees in History and Anthropology. This summer, I have the privilege to be working alongside Dr. Gannon on her project focusing on the Battle of Olustee – a civil war engagement fought in Florida that has otherwise gone relatively unnoticed to the general knowledge that encompasses the civil war era. Alongside Dr. Gannon and several other peers, we work towards proper recognition being shown towards those who fought and died in this conflict, specifically black union soldiers who have not been treated in the same way their white compatriots have. This includes furthering engagement with the topic as well as determining the location of the mass grave in which these men were placed, and have since not been recovered for proper burial. Through the project, with conducting interviews and allocating important information, we hope to shed light on this facet of history and commemorate the lives of the fallen in a fashion befitting their service to an unforgiving United States.

Through my engagements with this internship, I believe I will gain several important skills. As I am very interested in working within the sector of public history throughout – and following – the course of my studies, there is plenty for me to gain from the Olustee endeavor. Improving methods of research, compiling information in the most effective manner, and maximizing teamwork to further our shared pursuits are just a few skills that I am anxious to improve on, as I strive to be the best I can possibly be when it comes to what I am passionate about.

Several weeks, and in extension, several more blog posts await me. I can say for certain that I will have plenty to talk about in each, with the summer that awaits me.

Until next time!