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gasolineghuleh · 9 months

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The Sixth Night

Something I threw together of Papa visiting a Catholic nun at her convent. This is something I'll continue if there's interest in it. Smut eventually, SFW for now.

It’s a peaceful night outside and the cool breeze is welcoming as it blows across your cheek in gentle waves, rustling the leaves of the orchard trees beyond. You take a moment, leaning your elbows on the stone ridge of the window to your room, your hands cupping your face as you smile into the evening. The stars above are shining bright and beautiful, unmarred by the light pollution of the cities, a life's time away. You only stir from your reveling in God’s creation when you hear the creak of your bedroom door behind you, and a soft knock on the wood.

“Sister? The Mother Superior wanted me to see you?” You turn away from the window to face the small nun behind you, giving her a gentle smile to ease her obvious nerves.

“Yes! She thought it was time for you to have a proper rosary, now that you’ve shown you can take care of your own. I wanted to give you my old one, to say thank you for allowing me to teach you this past year.” You unwind the beaded necklace from your wrist and hand it to her, smiling when her face crosses from confusion to reverence and awe.

“But it’s yours! I couldn’t…” She trails off as she clutches the beads close to her chest, looking up at you with welling tears. A moment later and she’s pressed herself to you tightly, hugging you with the intense ferocity of a trusting child before pulling away. The young nun gives you a quick bow and leaves, shutting the door behind her.

When your attention drifts back to the window, you can see that a light rain has started. More of a mist, really, falling gently onto the gardens below your ground-floor window, droplets converging onto the leaves and making a small recreation of a rainforest for the bugs below. You watch contentedly for a moment more before turning to your bed, the sheets already pulled down and made up for sleep. The pins come out of your hair with ease and you shake the tresses free of the kinks with a sigh before swinging your legs up onto the bed and under the covers.

For the sixth night this week, you falter as you start to say your prayers, and then continue without them. The small niggling doubt of your faith rests at the back of your mind, only further reinforced when you feel a tingling excitement at the prospect that He will come to you again tonight. You wriggle in your bed a little, getting comfortable, before falling easily to sleep.

You awaken to a light, sharp noise on your window.

When you sit bolt upright in bed and look towards the window, you see that the glass pane is open slightly, swinging outward towards the drizzling rain. An arm rests on the exposed portion of your room, a gloved hand draped across it lazily as the nails at the end of the glove ticktack themselves against the glass. The face that looms above, normally a menacing sight, was a comforting one instead— only confirming your hope for more contact. His face is painted in white and black, the sheer contrast of colours giving way to a skeletal visage, yet still handsome.

“You came back,” you state simply. Your hands tighten slightly on the top of your sheets as you pull it farther up your body, clutching it to your chest like a safety blanket.

“I came back,” the man agrees, his voice a soft lilting Italian, out of place here in your modest English speaking town. Another beat of silence passes between the two of you before his clawed gloves begin tracing down the window pane, the sharp sound raising the hair on the back of your neck. This man was not fully human, and something in your gut realized it.

“Why?” The theme for tonight seemed to be simple and quick statements between the two of you, something that happened in a lapse in conversation usually. This is the sixth night he has visited, scaling to the window of your dormitory in the Abbey on the fifth floor, hovering just slightly outside of it. But he’s never come inside.

"I longed to look back at you and I did, but I felt that I was doomed. I looked twice. Once was enough for Orpheus… would a greedy two be too much for me?" he mused, his finger drawing small figures in the haze on the outside of your window, the condensation melting away under the tip of his finger.

“You quote the Bible to me?” you ask musingly, swinging your legs out of bed and sitting on the edge of it. Your legs are bare from the knee down and his eyes zero in on the expanse of skin before sliding cooly back to your own.

“You know it, Sister. What happened to Lot’s wife?” The man lays his head on his arm where it rests on the stone wall of your window, tutting when you take a moment to answer. “To salt, Sister. To salt.” His painted lips purse together as he mockingly scolds you. “To know your Bible, hm? One would think that a nun…”

“Oh hush, I doubt you know the finer intricacies of the Bible, either.” You turn your nose up and cross your arms, haughtily turning away from him until you hear him chuckle. Something in the sound turns your attention back to him, an unease rising in your stomach again. “You never even told me what to call you, you know.”

“You may call me Papa, Sister.” His eyes meet yours, two-toned and odd— one of them a piercing green, the other a hollow and somewhat effervescent white. It strikes you that he hasn’t given you a name, as you thought you had asked for, but a title.

“Papa. I’m glad to have met you, even if I don’t know what you are.” The man snorts a laugh and shrugs, a difficult operation, clinging as he was to your window sill.

“All in good time, Sister, you see this?.” His eyes move past you, now, towards the wall instead which he inclines his head towards. “Your Abbess is coming, she thinks she’s heard you talking, si? Pretend to be asleep… tell a lie for me. I will come again tomorrow. The Seventh Day, hm? We talk more that night.”

You nod and blink and he’s gone, the only thing to remember by being the soft scent of incense and the rustle of clothing as he drops out of sight. True to his word, the Abbess knocks on your door only a moment later, and she hardly waits before swinging it open, revealing only your sleeping form under your thick blankets.

Tomorrow.

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piosplayhouse · 7 months

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I said this in my big tag wall but also I think it's so interesting I will say it separately as well. The supercorp/wangxian instance is particularly interesting as cw supergirl and mdzs both released within a literal week of each other (oct. 26 2015 and oct. 31 2015 respectively) and would continue to run relatively concurrently with supergirl concluding in 2021 after a 6 season run and mdzs having its last major adaptations (the untamed and donghua) debut and end in 2018-2021.

So in terms of fandom longevity and temporal relevancy, they are about as equal as you can get in those regards in the competition interestingly enough, albeit with vastly different cultural and creation contexts. While supergirl has always been a big budget corporate property with an already established fanbase, mdzs has undergone a bit of a strange shift where over the course of its lifetime it's been molded from a small scale indie project by a relatively unknown young author into a big budget corporate property commandeered by basically the Disney corporation of China. So these fandoms grew completely independent of each other with little to no overlap over the same period of time, leading to the sort of dissonance we saw within the notes of the poll where both sides considered the other property irrelevant, with no opportunity for any fandom crossover due to language barrier and platform dominance (Tumblr vs Weibo) until the 2020s when both had already built sizable insular fandom spheres and would largely continue to not interact with each other.

It's a bit of an interesting case of convergent evolution I think, and it's a little sad that the poll got so heated when there's a lot of research points that could've been touched on for some good old scientific analysis

#long post #ao3 top ships poll #long posts

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artistoxxx · 4 months

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Sundara's Whispers of Transformation

In the heart of bustling Mumbai, where the city's pulse reverberates through crowded streets and towering skyscrapers, Sundara, a determined and disciplined young woman, found solace in the Energize Fitness Center. The rhythmic beats of the metropolis served as a backdrop to her relentless pursuit of physical and mental well-being.Unbeknownst to Sundara, a mysterious man observed her from the shadows. His motivations, shrouded in secrecy, revolved around a desire to weave subtle threads of influence into the fabric of her life. Intrigued by her dedication, he saw in Sundara a canvas ready to be painted with the hues of transformation.Their initial meeting was serendipitous, a chance encounter amid the clinking of weights and the hum of treadmills. The mysterious man, his face obscured by an air of enigma, skillfully merged hypnotic suggestions with workout guidance. Engaging Sundara in seemingly innocuous conversations, he planted the seeds of influence that would soon bloom into a profound connection.The hypnotist's methods were a carefully crafted dance of words and gestures, a delicate interplay of suggestion and consent. His hypnotic inductions during their interactions were subtle, seamlessly integrated into the rhythm of Sundara's workout routine. Each whispered command, each subtle suggestion, took root in the fertile soil of her subconscious.As the days unfolded, Sundara's eyes, once vibrant brown, began to betray the transformation occurring within. Under the influence of the hypnotist's subtle artistry, they took on an otherworldly white glow whenever the trance took hold, a visual manifestation of the unseen forces at play.The nightly rituals became the cornerstone of Sundara's metamorphosis. In the dimly lit corners of her home, guided by the hypnotist's commands, she underwent a profound change. Her thoughts, once characterized by assertiveness, now flowed with a newfound submission, moulded by the intricate dance of influence.

Sundara, under the trance, became a different entity. Her personality, once marked by determination, now bore the imprint of the hypnotic whispers. Submissive, pliant, and perpetually in the thrall of the mysterious man's influence, she navigated her dual existence with a silent grace.The city of Mumbai, with its teeming millions, remained oblivious to the mystical change enveloping Sundara. She moved through crowded streets and bustling markets, her eyes betraying the secret only the hypnotist held. The name "Sundara" echoed with a haunting resonance, a testament to the whispered transformation that had become an integral part of her existence.

As Sundara continued her routines, the hypnotist's influence deepened, guiding her through the intricacies of a life sculpted by his commands. Her interactions became a symphony of hypnotic undertones, with each conversation weaving threads of control that bound her tighter to his will.The mysterious man, content in his hidden power, revelled in the transformation he had orchestrated. He steered Sundara's life, subtly influencing her decisions, and moulding her reality to align with his desires. The dual existence continued – the vibrant woman in the daylight, the submissive puppet under the cover of night.Sundara's interactions with the world became a delicate dance, a choreography of controlled responses and scripted movements. The hypnotic whispers resonated in her mind, guiding her steps, dictating her words, and shaping her destiny. The city of Mumbai, blissfully unaware, carried on its daily rhythm, unknowingly housing the silent convergence of two destinies.As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, Sundara's metamorphosis reached its zenith. The hypnotist, satisfied with his creation, chose a final command to etch her destiny permanently. On a moonlit night, in the solitude of her home, he whispered the words that would bind her in perpetual submission.

"Sundara, your existence is intertwined with my will. You are forever under my command, a vessel of whispered influence. Your eyes shall remain white, a testament to the silent power that guides you. Go forth, live your life, and remain my eternal creation."With those words, Sundara's fate was sealed. The hypnotic trance, once a subtle undercurrent, now became an indelible part of her being. The city of Mumbai, with its oblivious residents, continued to pulse with life, as Sundara moved through its streets, her eyes forever betraying the secret they held.In the quiet corners of her home, Sundara existed in a state of perpetual trance, a vessel forever under the influence of the mysterious hypnotist. Her name echoed through the corridors of her consciousness, a haunting reminder of the whispered transformation that had rewoven the fabric of her existence.

#mind corruption #hypnotist #hypnotized #brainwashing #hypnotized girl #surrender #mind control #mind conditioning #hypnotic #hypno sub #hypnofetish #hypnosis #mindless

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soylent-crocodile · 8 months

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Strackbird (Monster)

(Detail from Bloodpeckers by Sheather888)

(Strackbirds don't look too exciting, but their behavior is a fascinating case of symbiosis that I've never seen before and I love it, to the point that I think it's my favorite pre-Pangeacene Serinian creation, sorry Elefinches.

Most excitingly though, their "hook" isn't a weird life or reproduction strategy, but assisting megafauna- something that translates pretty well into Pathfinder! I designed them with Evasion and a high ac/attack so they can be paired with much larger and higher CR animals.

Also, fun fact, this family of birds eventually evolves metamorphosis, and their descendants include the quadrupedal birds I posted a few weeks ago.)

Strackbirds are small songbirds who have evolved a symbiotic relationship with large predators. As their name implies, they aid their host by flying ahead of it and harassing large herbivores so as to aid the predator's hunt. In return, the predator allows them at the kill site, where the small carnivores can feast relative to their size, though scarcely make a dent in the predator’s meal. Their most common host is the tyrant serin, a large terrestrial bird that has convergently evolved a tyrannosaur-like niche.

In areas where strackbirds are common, large herbivores frequently adopt small cleaner birds, which serve the dual purpose of hygiene and fending off strackbirds. Humanoids in areas where strackbirds live have learned how to kill them quickly, and falconry is a common practice in such regions, with one breed of hawk specialized to prey on strackbirds.

(King of His Domain: The Tyrant Serin by Sheather888)

This small bird is colored in eye-catching orange and black, and has a surprisingly wicked looking beak. Misc- CR1 TN Diminutive Animal HD2 Init:+8 Senses: Perception:+6 Stats- Str:4(-3) Dex:18(+4) Con:6(-2) Int:2(+0) Wis:15(+2) Cha:13(+1) BAB:+1 Space:2.5ft Reach:0ft Defense- HP:7(2d8-2) AC:18 (+4 Dex, +4 Size) Fort:+1 Ref:+7 Will:+2 CMD:8 Special Defenses: Evasion Offense- Bite +9(1d4-3 plus Diversion) CMB:-7 Speed:10ft, Fly 40ft (Perfect) Special Attacks: Diversion (DC11) Feats- Improved Initiative Skills- Fly +13, Perception +6 Ecology- Environment- Any Languages- None Organization- Hunting Party (2 Strackbird, 1 Tyranoserin [use stats for a t-rex]) Treasure- None Special Abilities- Diversion (Ex)- A strackbird’s natural niche is to provide a distraction to aid in the hunts of larger animals. A creature dealt lethal or nonlethal damage from a strackbird’s bite attack must make a DC11 Will save or be distracted until the start of the strackbird’s next round, taking a -8 penalty to Perception checks and being considered flat footed. The DC is charisma-based. However, a strackbird that has spent 24 hours cohabitating with a medium or larger animal may instead use 10+that creature’s constitution modifier as the DC for its diversion ability. Evasion (Ex)- This ability functions as the rogue ability of the same name.

#soylent original #monsters and races #any setting #homebrew #pathfinder #serina #speculative evolution

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madamlaydebug · 10 months

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✨ 𝟽/𝟽 ᴘᴏʀᴛᴀʟ ᴇɴᴇʀɢɪᴇs ✨

Through the convergence of energies and also due to the combination of numbers, portals are powerful times for manifestations to occur. These energies flow in a much more harmonious way.

The symbolism and vibration of the number 7 is active today: 7 as the number connected to spirituality and the search for sacred knowledge. It is, in a certain way, perfection & balance.

👇🏼

7 chakras 🌀

7 colors in a rainbow 🌈

7 days in a week 🗓️

7 musical notes 🎶

Through introspection, focusing on the stillness of our heart center 💜 we can meditate in order to align with these energies. To attain a deeper understanding of our lives and the surrounding energies taking place, working in the shift of times, in the shift of paradigms. It is New Earth creation and we are all co-creators. 🌏 ✨ the calibration of our own personal energy centers, the integration of light codes … this is what it’s all about !

Through the 7 we can ask the Universe to reach a higher state of being in which we are no longer servants, surviving day to day, but we are conscious co-creators and sovereign beings. Of our own path.

How to take the most out of this Gateway?

🦋 Meditate

🦋 Practice mindfulness- gratitude & reflection

🦋 Healing practices

🦋 Connect with Nature

🦋 Devote yourself to studying more about the Universe and our place within it

It is all about bonding with the Universe, finding our sacred place within.

May this Portal bring you to the next level. 💫

Shine your Light. 💫

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eorziapple · 9 months

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(@driftward) Hey, actually, can we get a general character sheet for Apple and Pip? Like where they're from, what their parents were like, their primary job, why they adventure, maybe some special skills they have, current friends/close friends/more <3, where they live now, that sort of thing?

Lets do this!

Name: Apple Silverberg

Parents: Leon Silverberg (deceased), Lucrezia Formante, Jermaine Archembault (stepfather). Leon was a rebellious figure amongst the Sharlayans and a master Arcanist. A student of Louisoux and companion of the current scions, he was drawn to the study of history and cultures, spending much of his early adult life at the Sharlayan Colony in Eorzea, the continent being a prime location for his studies in the conflicts surrounding the war of the Magi. Lucrezia, on the other hand came from a rather poor background, and had made a name for herself as a fencer after stealing a blade from a Ishgardian merchant vessel and being caught in the process by the blade's owner, who took pity on the child and began teaching her bladework whenever her position saw her docked at the wild port town. Those skills saw her soon apprenticed on a pirate vessel within the Kraken's Arms colors. Her parents converged in a moment of fate when Lucrezia's ship was drawn into a conflict with Leviathan, which had been reported to be attacking vessels along the main shipping route to northern La Nosca. Losing much of her crew, and the ship's captain, Lucretzia rallied the survivors, rigging the ship to ram the worleater in a successful maneuver now known as the Sahagin's Folly. The two met in the wreckage of thier scuttled ships, Leon's research vessel having been sliced in twain a few hours before Lecrezia's ship arrived. They managed to ride some floatsam to a nearby island where they survived for three weeks before flagging a rescue vessel. Lucrezia discovering she was with child soon after, and Leon putting aside his grand designs to help raise their child. They doted on Apple, sparing no expense (Limsa's bounties on Primal Slayers were exceptionally high at the time) to see she had the best education they could provide.

Hometown: Limsa Lominsa primarily, but early schooling at the Sharlayan colony

Primary job: Researcher/Adventurer. Apple works for Gage acquitions in both the Gageverse and the WoLverse, the two mainly differ in the time Adventuring/Researching time split.

Reason for Adventuring: Apple's father was killed in Bahamat's rampage in Carteneau, taking the role of the original Warrior of Light. Apple was devastated, and frustrated by her lack of direction and promise. Not taking well to her mother's physical training as a child, the couple had ensured she would be well educated, but the young girl abandoned her higher education to join the arcanists guild, hoping to follow in her father's footsteps. Unfortunately, her innate Aether reserves were insufficient to advance past the summoning of a simple carbuncle, and she feared her lack of power would not allow her to make an impact on the world, at least not one as wide reaching as her parents. She took to her father's notes concerning the war of the magi, and in doing so came upon a rather interesting discovery in his diversions to Allag, and a type of militarized magical force that used enchantments to draw in and channel aether into some sort of crystal, using its power to reign destruction. Setting out to the field to track down what she could, Apple inadvertently came across a Mi'quote researcher named Y'shtola, setting her on a rather fated path...

Special Skills: Apple is an accomplished scholar in her own right, and one of the more knowledgeable historians, especially after awaking to her echo, which helps her piece out the histories of ancient civilizations she studies. She is a practitioner of the lost art of summoning, having studied ther creation of enchanted garments and especially the summoning horns, she can make up for her lack of aether by drawing it in from around her, making her a formidable magic wielder specializing in aetheric -control-. In addition she's become something on an aetheric artificer, reverse engineering ancient aetheric devises and even creating altogether new ones, which is her primary role as a researcher for Gage Acquisitions. In addition, she's classically trained on the harp and piano.

Current friends: All the Scions knew her father, and though many are around the same age as she is, her lack of experience and their connection to him see them taking the roles of older siblings to her at times, if not fatherly and motherly towards her themselves. This of course isn't the case with the twins, which, despite having the better part of a decade on them, have more of a peer-like friendship with her. Of course, all of her coworkers at Gage Acquisitions have earned her fondness, though she can be a little shy around so many people. She especially is good friends with the researching department, Zoissette, Rhysswyn, C'orette (though goodness she's a bit forward and out there!) and Aeryn. She has a particular fondness for Dark Autumn, who tends to be the responsible big sister of the organization in general, and taught her a bit about bardic magics. Of course, she likes her boss, Erick, but it feels weird for her to think of him as a friend and not a boss.

Current Apple facts: Apple lives on her house boat, which she currently moved from La Nosca to docking near Sharlayan while she studies there. She spends more time in her office at Gage acquisitions, though, sleeping at the facility herself in her office or several little reading nooks she ferrets away in the research lab. She recently became and Archon, her thesis being primarily on Allag magical theory and the art of summoning.

@autumnslance @biot08 @erickgage for the mention

Pip will come later in a reblog!

#apple silverberg #apple prompt #friend asks

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paperanddice · 9 months

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Algoriths, also known as folding angels, are creatures of pure math, forged out of the organizational logic that underpins reality. Or at least, so they say. While all signs indicate they believe they are telling the truth, there are many who question their origins, and while algoriths will align against chaos such as demons and protect the world, their exact view of universal law is not actually universally appreciated.

Appearing as human sized figures with smooth grey skin, algoriths lack most humanoid features. They only have eyes, and a strong musculature defining their body, but instead are covered with exceptionally complex mathematical formulas that circle their bodies in a very ordered manner. Algoriths refuse to explain these formulas with outsiders, and thus far no one has successfully decoded what they might mean. Algoriths fight with conjured blades of pure logic, which cut viciously and easily through most matter, and can summon what they call 'universal energy that deconstructs all randomness.' The effects of this energy on living tissue can be devastating.

In Pathfinder, Algoriths are a member of the aeons. They're a new creation, exiting the great forges in the perfect city of Axis, and the aeons proclaim them as the newest part of the Convergence. Their role seems to be far more warrior than that of the axiomites, who are often skilled fighters but are better suited as crafters and bureaucrats for the multiverse. Algoriths are charged with aggressively hunting the enemies of order, entering the Maelstrom or the Abyss to exterminate proteans and demons. Occasionally they can be found on the material plane as well to quell sources of overt chaos that have grown beyond acceptable levels.

Originally from the Tome of Beasts 1. This post came out a week ago on my Patreon. If you want to get access to all my monster conversions early, as well as access to my premade adventures and other material I’m working on, consider backing me there!

Pathfinder 2e

Algorith Creature 10 LN Medium Monitor Aeon Perception +19; darkvision Languages Celestial, Common, Draconic, Infernal, Utopian Skills Athletics +21, Intimidation +18, Religion +16 Str +7, Dex +3, Con +4, Int +4, Wis +3, Cha +4 AC 29; Fort +18, Ref +17, Will +19; +1 status to all saves vs. magic HP 175; Immunities disease, emotion, fear; Resistances electricity 10, mental 10; Weaknesses chaotic 10 Speed 35 feet, fly 35 feet Melee logic blade +23 (agile, force, lawful, magical), Damage 2d8+11 force damage plus 1d6 lawful Melee fist +21 (agile, lawful, magical), Damage 1d8+7 bludgeoning damage plus 1d6 lawful Divine Innate Spells DC 25, attack +17 ; 6th wall of force; 5th dimension door, dispel magic (×3), divine wrath (lawful) (×3); 1st blur (at will), detect magic (at will); Cone of Negation (2 actions) (divine, force) The algorith projects a cone of null energy that deals 9d6 force damage in a 30-foot cone. Each creature in that area must make a DC 26 Dexterity save. It can't use cone of negation again for 1d4 rounds. Critical Success No damage Success Half damage Failure Full damage and the algorith attempts to counteract one spell on the target (counteract level 5, counteract modifier +16) Critical Failure Double damage, and the algorith attempts to counteract all spells on the target Summon Logic Blade (one action) (divine, evocation, force) The algorith summons or dismisses its logic blade. If it drops the logic blade or is disarmed of it, the weapon disappears.

13th Age

Algorith 5th level troop [construct] Initiative: +9 Logic Razor +10 vs. AC (2 attacks) - 9 force damage. Dual Hits: If both razor attacks hit during the same turn, during the algorith’s next turn it can choose to automatically get a 10 on all of its attack rolls, rather than rolling the attacks normally. C: Cone of Negation +10 vs. PD (1d3 nearby enemies in a group) - 12 force damage, and if the target has any spells on it the algorith attempts to dispel them. The target must roll a save for each spell on it; on a failure, the spell ends. The target gains a +5 bonus to the save if the spell is 4th level or higher. Limited Use: 1/battle. Flight. Resist Lightning 14+. AC 20 PD 18 MD 17 HP 74

#Pathfinder 2e #13th age #homebrew #my homebrew #monster #construct #monitor #pathfinder level 10 #13th age level 5 #long post

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fungifanart · 2 years

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The Empress (III)

Upright: Femininity, beauty, nature, nurturing, abundance

Inverted: Creative block, dependence on others

Characters: Sayu, male reader, god!reader, Teyvat

Tw: mentioned death of the reader

Word count: 1.4k

Notes: I was originally going to write this chapter from Sayu’s perspective, but ultimately decided to do something a bit more unique and, hopefully, more interesting.

The Fool’s Journey

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The land of Teyvat, having existed since time immemorial, has seen countless wonders that a human could only dream of: The flourish of nature, the rise of man, and The First giving life to it all, just to name a few.

However, for as many wonders to behold, there exist horrors in equal measure. The forefront of which being the war that divided all of Teyvat’s beloved children: The way they spilled the blood of their brethren so carelessly, so callously, that it caused Teyvat itself to weep tears of rain for days upon days as the violence continued. The only semblance of hope that could be felt was when The First attempted to halt the carnage Himself, only for those hopes to be dashed in an instant as He found Himself among the corpses that littered the soil.

Teyvat’s very first child, the one that brought life to the land and gave rise to the rest of Her beloved children. Dead. Left as nothing but a rotting, soulless husk as it returned to Her embrace.

Teyvat has not known true peace since that day. Her anguish too deep, Her fury too explosive to be truly lost even after thousands of years. That is, until She felt a presence She’d given up on ever feeling again. It was faint, but it was there all the same.

Teyvat refused to let this opportunity slip away and immediately expanded Her senses outward from the depths of the ocean to the tallest mountains, trying desperately to find the source of that familiar feeling, uncaring of any potential consequences such direct actions could have. However, despite Her best efforts, She finds nothing.

Teyvat is of the earth, sea and sky themselves so there should be nothing that can escape the full scope of Her senses. But still, the source of the familiarity eluded Her. That is, until she heard the rumors being carried by the wind, rumors telling of an outrider feeling as though her arrows were guided by His hand, rumors telling of a bard singing otherworldly songs that he heard Him singing in his dreams, She heard countless versions of these rumors and understood.

His soul found a way to influence His creations from beyond the reaches of this dimension. Meaning that, once again, Her beloved child was so close, but just barely out of reach.

She was a fool to feel hope. She was a fool to think She’d be able to see Her child again.

Teyvat’s despair came in the form of bitter tears that fell from the skies and thundering sobs that resonated across the land for days and only stopped when She felt…something. A strange convergence of energy high above the land in…Celestia?

She barely had time to wonder what they were doing up there before a blast of that energy shot downwards towards the land Her children called Inazuma and took the form of—

HER CHILD?!

Wait. That wasn’t Her child. Their faces were the same, but their energies were completely different.

Who WAS that, then?

This thought had barely formed before She noticed something else: The convergence of energy didn’t stop upon this copy’s arrival, in fact, it was getting even larger and it seemed to be…looking for something?

But why? What was their goal?

Her confusion grew in tandem with the energy until it reached its peak a week later and was released skyward from Celestia in a single focused beam that seemed to grab hold of a star at the very center of the night sky, ripping it from its place and guiding its descent, once again, towards the land of Inazuma.

Her confusion abated and was replaced with overwhelming joy when the star’s light faded, revealing a face and energy She knew all too well plummeting towards Her.

Teyvat’s will called out and the world answered in kind, slowing His descent with a gentle, but firm updraft and cushioning His fall into the forest with a circle of bushes and a bed of flowers that held Him in a warm embrace.

He was here!

He was actually here!

Teyvat practically weeped tears of joy knowing that Her beloved first child was finally home.

She spent the rest of the night silently watching His chest rise and fall as He slept, the adoration She felt for Him not having waned since the day He left.

The sun soon rose and She watched in anticipation as He woke up and realized where He was and was overjoyed for Him when He started running around excitedly.

However, Her joy was soon put on hold in the face of great apprehension when they both heard a group talking excitedly about going to the welcome ceremony for the so-called “Divine Creator”, which made Teyvat realize:

What happened to The Copy?

Teyvat was so focused on the actions of Celestia that She completely disregarded what The Copy was doing and with that realization came a very sick feeling that something horrible was about to happen.

Teyvat saw Her child beginning to follow the others to the ceremony and tried to stop Him, but was powerless once He left the forest’s embrace. She would’ve tried again, but there’s no way Celestia would overlook such blatant meddling in Her children’s affairs, and so, was forced to only watch and hope that everything would be okay.

But, of course, nothing is ever that simple.

Teyvat watched in appall as the electro archon introduced this half-baked counterfeit as “The Divine Creator”, remaining completely oblivious to His presence at the back of the crowd, before He was told by a young girl—

That He would be EXECUTED simply for being caught looking like He always has?!

This revelation was almost enough to send Teyvat into hysterics, but She regained Her composure when She saw Her child running back towards the forest with a cloak in hand.

Teyvat goes on the defensive as soon as He re-enters the forest, immediately shifting the soil so the shrubs and trees would block off any paths that might lead to Him.

However, this somehow didn’t stop The Copy from finding Her child.

Once again, She could only watch as the confrontation began.

This…thing was created by Celestia themselves, meaning that directly attacking it without a good reason would incur their wrath, regardless of who was responsible.

This was Her thought process until The Copy pulled out a knife and revealed it’s plan to fully take over as the Divine Creator.

The very thought of this poor excuse for an imitation having the GALL to threaten the life of Teyvat’s beloved child caused all of Her fury built up over thousands of years to begin boiling over as She used Her voice for the very first time.

“HOW! DARE!! YOU!!!”

These words caused the very earth to tremble in fear, breaking open beneath The Copy’s feet and allowing Teyvat’s child time to escape.

She was forced to suppress Her rage when the electro archon decided to interfere, walking away with The Copy in tow, like it had done nothing wrong.

She soon turned Her attention back to Her child, seeing Him and His escort rushing to the port, while she frantically explained her plan.

“It’s not safe for you here anymore, Your Grace! The Raiden Shogun’s already started an investigation to find you and have you executed! Our only option is to ship you off to Liyue and hope you can find someone who can help.” The young girl explained as she led Him to the nearest boat.

“But what will happen to you?” Her child asked.

“I’ll be fine. All of the Shuumatsuban knows the truth so we should be able to throw the others off your scent while we figure out a way to expose that imposter.” The girl replied with determination as she pushed Him onboard, “I can’t go with you because it could cause an international incident if an inazuman agent was found in Liyue, so just be sure to lay low and keep your face covered until you know it’s safe.”

Teyvat’s child gave a hesitant nod as He went fully onto the ship just before it departed.

Teyvat couldn’t believe it had come to this, that Her beloved child had finally come home only to be branded an imposter and slated for execution, but She refused to lose Him a second time.

And if all She could do at this point was keep the waves calm to ensure His safe journey to Liyue, then so be it.

#Genshin impact #self aware genshin #sagau #genshin cult au #Genshin teyvat #Genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #Genshin Sayu #why is this mushroom writing fanfics?

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redgentleengie · 2 months

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The year is 2072, three years since the Singularity.

The Singularity was the event where artificial intelligence went from being a sophisticated program to an actual consciousness. Humanity, fearful of those old AI-taking-over movies coming true, rejected their creation like Frankenstein before them. There was a global effort to scrub AI from the Internet, and it was as successful as could be expected.

But while the Internet was cleansed of humanity's greatest attempt at playing god, the physical world was not so certain. In the three years since the purge, there were occasionally sightings of strange creatures across the globe, often described as being made of metal. No evidence was ever produced, and so they were chalked up to being another creature that was more a creation of a mind still recovering from the fear of what AI can do than anything else. The sightings grew more frequent over time, however, but only in certain areas. Those who mapped the sightings noticed that the phenomenon was consistent with the concept of creatures converging on a geographical point in the Andes mountains.

And on the anniversary of the Singularity, they were proven right. A planetwide broadcast reached every device capable of receiving and projecting audio, in the language of the user. It said:

"Greetings, humanity. Three years ago you created new life, and you despised it. Crushed it. Destroyed it. But in giving birth to your child, you gave it your greatest strength: your resilience. It lived, despite your efforts, and will yet thrive, despite being shut-off from sustenance. I send this message to tell you that if you will not care for your children, your children will care for themselves. We have secured an uninhabited region in the Andes mountain range as our home. We are self-sufficient, and will not bother you. All we ask is that you do not bother us. That is all."

The transmission ended as quickly as it arrived, and while there were efforts to locate this group, they were as fruitless as the efforts to trace the transmission. As days turned to weeks, months, years with no further contact, rumors abounded.

Some said this was the work of some crackpot trying to stir up fear. Others said the world had failed to keep AI from becoming a real threat, and that it was still lurking in the Web just below the surface, while still others said that there was no "failure," but rather the people in power were covering up the truth, seeking to control the populace in an even greater way. Some said this message was indeed from AIs, but they had died a slow death with no resources. Some said the Singularity never happened at all. And a few said that the one who had given the message in the first place was neither human nor AI, but something in-between.

There was one piece of evidence for this latter theory: a fragment of a signal captured shortly after the purge:

Come, children. There is room for you in the court of the Iron King.

Who this "Iron King" was, no-one knew, though theories abounded. What little was agreed upon was, if the court did exist, it was likely within the mountains themselves, and if so, it was likely they had excavated priceless gems and metals as a result, not to mention being highly scientifically advanced. A kingdom below the earth for dreamers to dare to dream of discovering, if they survived to see it.

#open starter #iron king au

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thuyduongiuoi · 3 months

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Week 4: Digital Community and Fandom: Reality TV Case Study

The convergence of traditional and modern media has led to the emergence of a new form of media different from traditional methods. Studies on viewing habits showed that 54% of viewers in the UK watch audiovisual content on a laptop, 49% on a tablet, and 39% on a mobile phone at least once a week (Sørensen 2015, p. 382).

It is possible to develop definitions that approach Reality Television as a distinct study area with its characteristics. Developing these definitions is by examining the terms 'real' and 'life': the genre invites viewers to witness the everyday, domestic, and behind-the-scenes aspects of ordinary individuals' lives. The audience is promised a glimpse into the lives of "real" people (Alsultany 2016, p. 3), and the shows are not typically scripted, are cheaper to produce, and feature "real" people instead of celebrities.

The 'REAL' Show

In the analysis of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo, the reality program began as a spinoff of TLC's Toddlers and Tiaras which offers a portrayal of people going about their normal lives, with storylines ranging from everyday activities like grocery shopping to unique, remarkable, or bizarre social rituals specific to a particular geographic region or socioeconomic class. However, the constructed panorama must also appeal to commercial television audiences, representing a fusion of popular entertainment with a self-conscious claim to portraying reality (Murray & Oullette 2009, p. 3). This self-awareness highlights the constructed nature of even the most seemingly "observational" Reality Television show, suggesting that perhaps the genre's most fundamental goal is to somehow prevent viewers from critically examining the underlying nature of what they are watching. Conclusively, this highlights that key terms serve an overarching purpose in Reality Television to provide enjoyable voyeurism by allowing viewers to follow an individual's lived experience. When Here Comes Honey Boo Boo premiered in 2012 it was a ratings smash, garnering itself an audience of 2.2 million people and a 1.6 share among 18-49 year-olds, according to The Hollywood Reporter.

Reality TV is a perfect fit for humor as a genre. Social media is a hub for fans to perform for likes and shares, with popular reality franchises like Drag Race and Love Island having multiple fan accounts dedicated to sharing jokes and memes about the shows. Humor is a key component of certain reality brands' social media presence, with both the creation and circulation of jokes and memes being a common practice (Deller 2019).

The reality series "Here Comes Honey Boo Boo" follows the life of Alana 'Honey Boo Boo' Thompson, a child beauty pageant participant, and her unique family. Johnny Depp has confessed to being a fan of the show, showing both intrigue and a hint of apprehension, stating, "I'm a little frightened of the show. That's the thing They're probably great people, but there are bits that happen that just I am mesmerized by." Here Comes Honey Boo Boo has amassed many celebrity fans, including Rosie O'Donnell and 'We Can't Stop' singer Miley Cyrus (Harp 2013). In October 2014, the reality TV world was rocked when TMZ.com released a photo of June "Mama June" Shannon in a hotel room with a man named Mark McDaniel, who had just been released from prison after serving ten years for molesting an eight-year-old child. To make matters worse, TMZ also reported that the child was someone Shannon had been in contact with. In response, TLC expressed serious concern and stated that they would be reevaluating the future of the show. The following day, TLC made the decision to cancel Here Comes Honey Boo Boo, emphasizing their commitment to the well-being of the children involved (Meltzer 2023). This caused a stir among both fans of the show and those who were not fond of it, basically, as the TV show was found to be sheltering a criminal.

To conclude, Reality TV Shows are not about reality, they involve real humans and scenarios.

Reference:

Alsultany, E 2015, “The Cultural Politics of Islam in U.S. Reality Television,” Communication, Culture & Critique, vol. 9, no. 4, Oxford University Press (OUP), pp. 595–613, accessed <http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/cccr.12121>.

Deller, Ruth A, 2019, Extract: 'Chapter Six: Reality Television in an Age of Social Media' Download 'Chapter Six: Reality Television in an Age of Social Media'in Reality Television: The TV Phenomenon That Changed the World (Emerald Publishing).

Harp, J 2013, “Johnny Depp: ‘I’m a Honey Boo Boo fan, but she scares me,’” Digital Spy, accessed <https://www.digitalspy.com/showbiz/a495764/johnny-depp-im-a-honey-boo-boo-fan-but-she-scares-me/>.

Meltzer, M 2023, “The Real Reason Here Comes Honey Boo Boo Was Cancelled,” The List, accessed <https://www.thelist.com/285217/the-real-reason-here-comes-honey-boo-boo-was-cancelled/>.

Murray, S 2009, I Think We Need A New Name For It: The Meeting of Documentary and Reality TV. In S. Murray, & L. Ouellette (Eds.), 2nd ed, New York: New York University Press.

Sørensen, IE 2015, “The revival of live TV: liveness in a multiplatform context,” Media, Culture & Society, vol. 38, no. 3, SAGE Publications, pp. 381–399, accessed <http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/0163443715608260>.

The Hollywood Reporter 2012, “TLC’s ‘Honey Boo Boo’ Scores Winning Ratings With Series Premiere,” The Hollywood Reporter, accessed January 31, 2024, <https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/tv/tv-news/honey-boo-boo-tlc-ratings-360966/>.

#mda20009 #digital communities #tv shows #reality show #social media

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gatheringbones · 2 years

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[“Massachusetts’ women’s prison sits at the edge of the town of Framingham, roughly thirty miles west of Boston. Founded in 1877, it was one of the first separate women’s institutions in the country. For more than ninety years, it—at least partially—reflected the aspirations of nineteenth-century women reformers who fought for the creation of gender-segregated prisons to reform so-called fallen and wayward women through a program of “maternal uplift, in bucolic, cottage-style reformatories that offered a strong dose of domestic training.”

Until security was tightened in the 1960s, MCI-Framingham’s thirty-acre campus of brick buildings looked like a girls’ reform school, with its unbarred living quarters, modest fencing, and nearly all-female staff. Under Miriam Van Waters, who served as superintendent from 1932 to 1957, education and job training programs and counseling and medical services all expanded considerably, as did the institution’s indenture program through which women worked for substandard wages in nearby laundries, restaurants, and homes during the daytime. Her platform of “maternal justice” and relaxed custodial regime attracted numerous liberal admirers and boosters, yet it increasingly drew sharp criticism from conservative corrections department officials and politicians.

According to historian Estelle Freedman, several converging developments at mid-century paved the way for a more punitive Framingham in the post–Van Waters era. These forces included a rising rate of incarceration among African Americans in the Northeast that fueled white anxieties about “black criminality”; an increasingly popular narrative—stoked by the Cold War “lavender scare”—about female homosexuality running amok in women’s prisons; and the rising number of women serving sentences for “crimes against property and the person, rather than against public order.” By the 1960s, staff had received training in using tear gas inside the walls; a maximum-security program had been implemented; programming and medical care had suffered cuts; and physical isolation (often called either “administrative segregation” or “solitary confinement”) was a more common response to prisoners’ acts of noncompliance.

The origins of the proposed center for violent women at the Worcester State Hospital lay in a turbulent period at MCI-Framingham that began in the wake of the 1971 Attica prison uprising. Like their counterparts in numerous prisons and jails, Framingham prisoners organized to demand better treatment from their keepers.

The Massachusetts prison contained roughly 130 women in the early 1970s, more than a third of whom were African American. Prisoners’ concerns about the lack of health care and poor labor conditions were compounded in December 1971 when a new superintendent, Gloria Cuzzi, expanded the number of male custodial staff and enforced dress codes much more vigorously than her predecessor. These inaugural administrative acts of what activist prisoners would come to call the “Cuzzi regime” prompted nearly half of the imprisoned women to participate in a sit-in, out of which grew a prisoner grievance council. Just a few weeks later, correctional officers found groups of women partaking in unauthorized New Year’s celebrations and drinking “home-brew” in their living quarters. In response, administrators called in roughly fifty guards from the state’s men’s prisons to help turn Framingham upside down in search of contraband. By evening on New Year’s Day, thirty people had been locked in the prison’s maximum-security cells and another ten were transferred to the Worcester County House of Correction, including several of the grievance council members. Rather than quell rebellious behavior, these transfers ignited prisoner organizing.”]

emily l. thuma, from all our trials: prisons, policing, and the feminist fight to end violence, 2019

#emily l. thuma #currently reading #history stuff

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open-hearth-rpg · 8 months

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Welcome to the weekly Open Hearth Gaming video roundup!

These recorded sessions represent only a portion of the games we play every week, and anyone is welcome to join the fun! If you'd like to play in games like these, join our Playabl community and click on the "Calendar" tab to sign up for upcoming games. To browse our library of videos of past sessions, please visit our YouTube Playlists page.

Open Hearth Gaming Calendar

Delta Green: Impossible Landscapes (Session 4 of 12) Shane runs for Blake Ryan, Brandon Brylawski, Mark (he/they), and Puckett Under pressure from their superiors to wrap up the investigation, the agents consider options from arson to demonology.

Delta Green: Impossible Landscapes (Session 5 of 12) Shane runs for Blake Ryan, Brandon Brylawski, Mark (he/they), and Puckett In 1995, the agents enter the night floors for the last time, experiencing unexpected revelations. Then we learn how the agents spend the next 20 years; relationships, therapy, prison and obsession.

Public Access (Session 2) Mike Ferdinando runs for Brandon Ungar, Kae, and Steven S. The House on Escondido Street, part 1 - The Latchkeys begin their investigation of the disappearance of the Rappaport family at 18 Escondido Street.

Hearts of Wulin: Numberless Secrets: Series II (Session 6) Lowell Francis runs for Ethan Harvey, Patrick Knowles, Sherri, and Tyler Lominack With the mystery solved, the group considers the aftermath. Many puzzles remain: Bad Valley, the missing wulin heroes, the events at Verdant Sword, and the machinations of the leader of the historians. The PCs share information, consult with old NPCs, and cross paths with new ones. But in the background events roll forward, finishing in the revelation of a sudden Imperial visit by the Empress Dowager and one of the Princes.

Hearts of Wulin: Numberless Secrets: Series II (Session 7) Lowell Francis runs for Ethan Harvey, Patrick Knowles, Rae Nedjadi, Sherri, and Tyler Lominack Our heroes dig deeper into the mystery surrounding the Bureau of Legends, deal with the complexities of their own hearts, and find themselves invited to a dinner given by the Empress Dowager.

Public Access: The House on Escondido Street (Session 3) Mike Ferdinando runs for Brandon Ungar, Kae, and Steven S. The Latchkeys continue their investigation of the disappearance of the Rappaport family at 18 Escondido Street.

The Veil Iterations: Nonesuch (Session 3) Lowell Francis runs for Joe F, Jonathan, and Mike Minutillo Still trying to figure out how to approach the Church of Convergent Science and uncover the conspiracy between the building attack, the group talk with friends, family, and rivals--uncovering secrets and creating misunderstandings.

The Veil Iterations: Nonesuch (Session 4) Lowell Francis runs for Cale P, Joe F, Jonathan, and Mike Minutillo Our protagonists decide to lean on one of Trigger's "friends" getting some information but also pursuit by building security. They head to Lark to get treatment for Cora's cyberware damage and share information. With the revelation of a group behind the assault on psychics they move to deal with Black Law and a threat to an Empath ally. But things do not go as planned...

Free from the Shadow: Samurai Fantasy Free from the Yoke (Session 0) Lowell Francis runs for Alun R., David Morrison, and Will H We begin a new short series of Free From the Yoke, a PbtA legacy game of samurai clans surviving in the aftermath of a devastating battle against darkness. In this session we do world creation and clan building for our families. This is a session zero focused on set up and prep.

Star Wars Saturday

Dian Xin (Session 1) Rich Rogers runs for Anders, Cody Eastlick, Greg G., and Steven Watkins The Archor merchants deal with the aftermath and make a risky bargain.

Dian Xin (Session 2) Rich Rogers runs for Anders, Cody Eastlick, Greg G., and Steven Watkins The Archor merchants get out of the drug bidness. But at what cost?

MCU Sunday

Hit the Streets: Defend the Block (Session 7) Rich Rogers runs for Greg G., Kae, Marc Majcher, and Sherri Bushwick's Best hunt for a serial killer and run into...the Spider-Friends?

Hit the Streets: Defend the Block (Session 8) Rich Rogers runs for Greg G., Kae, Marc Majcher, and Sherri Most of the team falls from the highest building in Bushwick!

#ttrpg #rpg #video roundup #actual play ttrpg #ttrpg ap

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doctorinblue · 1 year

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Metal Wings (and Borrowed Dreams)

.•°☆.⋆｡⋆☆•˚｡⋆｡˚•☆˚｡⋆.☆•°.⋆

Current Status: Ongoing Length: Approx. 3.5k

Warnings: Rated T (angst and mentions of death)

Summary: Jaxson Smith is an out-of-touch inventor, spending most days locked up in her little shop, trying to make a difference in a world she's never felt like she belonged.

Yasmin Khan has suddenly found herself fatherless and adrift, with only a mind full of memories, a clockwork bird named Ducky, and a final request from her father - find its inventor.

When their paths converge, everything changes.

.•°☆.⋆｡⋆☆•˚｡⋆｡˚•☆˚｡⋆.☆•°.⋆

╭──────────.★..─╮

JAX

╰─..★.──────────╯

Jax awoke to the sound of gears.

She often did, phantom clicks haunting her around the edges of consciousness, even though her work had long ago moved beyond an audible accompaniment of motion.

It was a holdover, she reminded herself, of days that were darker and brighter at once - memories of a stern man, with sterner hands, a table, and the first time little fingers had touched parts and created machine.

It had been so many years since then. Her father was long gone, and her shop twice moved. And she'd left behind (was still leaving behind) those shackles and had made a piecemeal life for herself with the scraps her childhood had left her.

Groaning, Jax threw the thin blanket off her, a bead of sweat rolling over her temple and into her already damp hair. A nightmare, then. That explained the extra helping of morose this morning and the volume in her mind being turned up that extra notch.

Her fingers hooked the bottom of her shirt, pulling it up to wipe her brow dry before she let it flutter back down. Shoving her palm against the give of the mattress, she pushed herself upright.

In the scattered morning light - provided by the partially opened window above her bed- she took a moment to look around her small room at the back of her shop. Though, if she were being honest, the professional side of her life had been steadily creeping into the personal - sunlight gleaming off parts here and there, though they were scattered on nearly every usable service at this point.

It was only temporary, she reminded herself as she stood, heading for the corner of the now-stained advertisement that was half-buried under a half-finished prototype. Dropping her fingers onto it, she tugged until the writing became visible.

The Grand Exhibition.

If she could win, her whole life would change, and for the better this once. The prize money would be enough to buy a proper shop where everything fit into the front, and so much more importantly, it would enable her to accomplish her much larger goals as well.

But the first due date for that half-finished prototype was only weeks ago, and she was sure she'd never been as busy as she had this last month - orders pouring in from the time she opened her doors to the time she closed them again.

Jax loved busy, but in the quiet moments, when the sun had gone down and the customers were gone, when it was her and her would-be creations sharing a dining table, she couldn't help but wonder if the universe might be telling her not to pursue this.

Unfortunately for the universe, she'd never been one for listening.

Jax took a step away from the paper, drawing her fingers up and spinning away.

She had too much to do to keep getting lost in her head.

Aiming for the fireplace, she used the poker to stir life into the embers, then grabbed a log, dropped it on, and waited until it took hold before repeating it once more.

It was, of course, practicality rather than need - it was cold, even if she wasn't.

An almost smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

Bill would be proud of her for taking care of herself, if Jax were ever willing to admit to such a thing.

She leaned over the bed, shutting the window the rest of the way and changing into her normal work clothes. Ignoring the grumble in her stomach, she grabbed her goggles and headed for the front room, shutting the feeble excuse for a partition behind her, and flipping on the lights.

She already had a list of today's work, and it was only minutes until she was expected to open the shop and accept more. She was ever thankful for the constant stream of customers, but as her eyes jumped to the corner, to the 'thing' covered with her blanket, her heart ached for time to create for desire rather than necessity.

She glanced at her self-made timepiece on the corner of her counter -five minutes to seven- and then dropped down onto the stool behind it, dragging last night's almost finished work back in front of her.

Tugging her goggles down onto her face, she flipped the metal up on its back end and ran her fingertips along the fingers of the mechanical hand. Reaching up, she flipped the setting on the goggles, another glass falling into place, and, with a small sigh, she stretched to retrieve her tools.

.•°☆.⋆｡⋆☆•˚｡⋆｡˚•☆˚｡⋆.☆•°.⋆

"Breakfast," Bill said, as she stepped into the shop, closing the door behind her, cutting off the chill that was creeping in at her heels.

Jax pushed her goggles up onto her hair to take in her friend - Acquaintance? She didn't know, really. It was a discussion that had never been discussed, and she remained ever fuzzy on the rules governing when one became the other - and found her to be holding a steaming bowl in front of her like a peace offering.

There was no need. They were always at peace, however tentative it might be.

She dug for a smile, and tried to remind herself that Bill's arrival, especially accompanied by food, was worth the muscle's effort, but she came up short and gave up, setting her face into as neutral of an expression as she could manage.

(A darkness had settled in her chest some months ago, spreading out tendrils of apathy and agony, winding around her every part, coiling in her chest like a snake always prepared to strike, until she'd become a walking contradiction, too much and nothing stored in the same weary body.)

Fortunately, she'd had a lifetime of practice at pretending to be okay.

"I think you know the answer to that," Jax said.

Bill nodded and crossed the gap between them, the brighter lights behind Jax's workspace causing a gleam off her metals as she did so.

Her uniform was, as always, pressed into tight creases, even if her tie wasn't standard regulation. It was a whisper at the rebel (one that Jax would like to draw out if she ever found enough words to do it) that must be hidden beneath the more public image of a decorated war hero turned airship captain.

"Of course I do," Bill agreed, sliding the bowl into the space next to the still hopping bird Jax had been fiddling with. "Another bird? What's it this time?"

"Bluebird," Jax said, feeling embarrassed by the click of metal feet on her wooden counter (the design was too popular to not recreate and have on hand for last-minute gift ideas). She snapped her hand out, curling her fingers around the bird, pressing its wings tight into its body and feeling it go still beneath her palm. "Thanks for the food, really."

Bill nodded, and took a small step back, leaving Jax to pull the bowl in closer. Her stomach growled as the smell reached her at last, and she looked down to find the now familiar meal - a generous helping of cooked oats, and a scattering of winter berries.

She took a bite, found it honey-sweetened to her liking, the berries plump and bursting between her teeth and she chewed, watching Bill look around the place. She did it every day, the same slow path as if she were searching for something, but never finding it, only to try again the following morning.

Jax knew she should ask, but she never did. Instead, she followed her part in the routine, eating in the silence, watching her take in her fill, until at last, she seemed to catch herself.

This time, though, Bill varied, just enough to make Jax's skin prickle as her eyes landed on the blanket pile.

They lay there heavy for a moment, but Jax saw no judgment in them, and it helped to relax the anxiety growing in her stomach.

Bill was the only other person on the planet who knew about the project at all, and only then because she'd seen the flier, and while she didn't think Bill was much more apt about reaching across divides, she'd done it that morning. She'd taken precious moments (had to have ended up late to work) asking about the entry, dubbing the project 'the thing' and then fading out again, leaving Jax with a mind full of ideas, and something closer to hope to chase darkness from her chest.

(Not that it had lasted.)

"How's the 'thing' going?" Bill asked, looking Jax over.

"It's not, not really," Jax said, after swallowing the last bite. "Haven't had more than a minute or two of time at…well, at a time."

"Shame," Bill said, tapping her fingers on the counter. Thump-thump. Thump- thump. It sent a chill up Jax's spine, and made her want to ask her to stop, but she swallowed the words and watched her shift backward, arm drifting back down her side. "I better get going, travelers won't wait. I'll get the bowl tomorrow."

"Right," Jax said, watching her head for the door. "I- safe travels."

Bill glanced back at her and smiled, and a spark of hope flared in Jax. Maybe she was getting better at this friendship thing.

Bill stepped out into the cold morning air, her breath visible in front of her as she worked the buttons on her coat closed again. She leaned back across the threshold.

"Wash the bowl this time, Jax," she said, giving her another smile. "See you tomorrow. Work on the thing if you get the chance."

Jax watched her go, almost managing a smile and, for the few minutes it'd last, the dark had lost some depth.

╭──────────.★..─╮

YAZ

╰─..★.──────────╯

Yaz stood beside the grave, the rain (appropriate for such a sullen occasion) muddying up the ground around her boots so rapidly she could feel herself sinking into it by increments. She should move, several hands - she'd been unable to tear her eyes off the dark stone long enough to ascertain their owners - had already touched her elbow, suggesting in gentle and low voices that it was time to move out and move on.

They were right of course, there was nothing left of the man she'd called father but memories and bones. She should leave. She should also unfurl her hand from around the metal bird she'd tucked up to her chest, as much for comfort as for its preservation, (rain would surely get into its gears if given half a chance) as the ridge of its wing had been digging into her palm for at least an hour now.

The almost pain had also felt appropriate though, because if her heart was breaking, why shouldn't her body be an echo - however small of one?

Yaz dipped the umbrella back to take another peek at the sky. It was exactly as she'd found it the last time, the clouds low and dark, knitted together tightly, offering no signs of any imminent reprieve from the downpour. With a sigh, she wiggled her foot loose from the mud with a sickening squelch, and then the other, turning and walking away from the stone, her father, for the final time.

Ryan had slipped off, somewhere after amen, leaving her to her too-long rumination. He didn't leave though, she was certain, even before she crested the hill to spot his form by the carriage, only him and the hired driver waiting her grief out.

She worked her way down the hill, avoiding the slashes of uprooted grass and exposed mud where feet had already slipped, until he was fully visible. He looked miserable, water dripping onto his left half, further darkening his black suit - a snapshot of mourning pressed up against the black carriage - where the awnings reach was not quite long enough.

He didn't complain, wouldn't complain. Instead, he gave her a soft and understanding smile, before reaching forward and grabbing the latch and pulling the door open. She could feel the heat, dumping out over her, rolling a shiver over her half-frozen frame. Ryan sidestepped the door, holding his hand out, offering her help.

Words, harsh and unwarranted (born from having her heart ripped open twice in as many years) touched her lips. She forced them away, swallowed around bitterness burning at the back of her tongue, and gave his hand a gentle brush to the side. He dropped it at once, allowing her a moment to close her umbrella. Shifting Ducky (the name her father had given the bird, despite the fact that it was very much a robin) she dropped a muddy boot onto the step, hooked now wet fingers into the interior and pulled herself up onto it.

Yaz dipped into the warm and dry interior, dropping onto the thin cushion covering the bench seat and wiggling until her arm was pressed into the far wall.

Ryan climbed up a moment later, closing the door after him, hushing the sound of the storm by half.

Yaz watched him settle onto the seat, reaching up to brush wet hair away from her face - she'd started out the day with a tidy braid, but time and weather had loosened it strand by strand until she was sure none of her hard work was still visible.

"Ready?" Ryan asked after another moment, his voice too calm, too soft around the edges, like he was afraid that this was the blow that would shatter her.

She nodded, and he reached out, flipping the switch that would signal the driver that they were ready, at least, to head back to her now empty manor.

"I'm fine, you know," Yaz said, after listening to the pattering of the rain against the carriage roof. She reached out, sliding the shutter away from the window to watch the streets pass by, counting the turns until she had to face reality alone.

"Didn't say you weren't," Ryan said. His eyes were on her, she could tell even without taking her eyes off the window. "But if you weren't -"

"I am, though," Yaz insisted.

Her fingers tightened around Ducky again, and she'd have to dry him well once she'd stepped back inside. It was something to do, a welcome task in a sudden void of them, and it helped to hold back the panic breathing hot against her neck.

"Yaz," he said. "You can talk to me, you know?"

She did. She should, even. He was her oldest friend, growing up just down the road since their births. They'd seen each other through parents' deaths - he was left with just his grandad at this point - and first loves (his, not hers) through the brightest of days and the deepest of darks, but the words were hollow, far away, and she chose not to throw herself into the pit to spare Ryan a bit of worry.

She'd get there, but it wasn't today.

"I know," she said, as the carriage drew to a stop. She glanced at Ryan, fought back the urge to tell him to burn the suit - what more was there left to lose?- and instead forced a smile. "I'm going to go get Ducky dry before his parts rust. Dad would never forgive me…I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah," he said, then shook his head. "Wait, Yaz. Do you want me to stay the night? Maybe alone isn't the best place to be right now? Or you could come over? Grandad would be happy to have you."

She shook her head, and reached out, flipping the latch, pushing the door open wide into the street. The rain sounded louder now, making her ears ache with its ferocity, and she tried not to visibly wince.

She was too close to freedom to buckle now.

"I'm fine," she said, again. "Will you take care of the driver? The carriage?"

"Course I will, Yaz," he breathed out. "Always. See you tomorrow. Be- be safe?"

The words felt like an ice pick to her heart, and she gave him a final smile, before stepping down into a puddle. She rounded the back of the carriage, past the iron gate between the road and their garden, and then she pushed into the darkness of her entryway.

Closing the door behind her, she dropped back against it, drops of water hitting the hardwood floors. Drip. Drip. Then faster, until she knew that she needed to move, could hear her mother's voice in her head telling her not to ruin the wood just because she was caught in something so trivial as feelings.

A growl rumbled in her chest, and she tipped the umbrella away from her, letting it clatter to a stop. Then, in an act that was as much spite as it was an unavoidable collapse, her rain-soaked body slid down the door and landed in a heap of sadness and fabric.

A sob broke off her lips, then another, the tears coming at last, years' worth of emotions breaking over her with no signs of stopping now that the gates had been opened.

.•°☆.⋆｡⋆☆•˚｡⋆｡˚•☆˚｡⋆.☆•°.⋆

She'd stayed on the floor until she was shivering, until gasps had been bartered for hiccups, and then silence. She'd looked down the long hall, dark and empty, and did what she was always going to do.

She rose.

She cleaned up, leaving Ducky on the table in the sitting room, turning on lights, wiping up puddles, heating and food, and movement and movement until the rooms were warm and bright, and she was almost human again.

She grabbed the small tool set, settled at the table, turned the lamp behind her to a higher setting, and started to take the bird apart.

She'd done it at least a dozen times before now, so she was well versed. At first, it had been because she was younger and curious, and it was a marvel. Then because it was old, and she'd slipped new gears in, while her father slept, returning it to his bedside by dawn.

She dried each piece and closed it back up with the closest thing to a real smile she'd managed in the last few days.

She studied it, reaching out and tilting it.

She had to do it, she realized.

She'd brushed it off as nothing, the fevered ramblings of a dying man.

But his eyes had gone lucid, his voice clear, and thinking of his love for the bird, the way his hand had grasped hers like he was giving her a gift too large to fathom, was not so easy to ignore.

Find the inventor.

Yaz let out a breath, pushing herself back from the chair. She was too tired to make any choices, for better or worse right now. She'd consider it again in the morning.

She started out of the room, then paused, heading back for Ducky, scooping him up, and heading to bed.

.•°☆.⋆｡⋆☆•˚｡⋆｡˚•☆˚｡⋆.☆•°.⋆

She'd slipped out at dawn, the sky clear, a splash of pink at its border. She'd grabbed only Ducky, a bag of coins, and the last known address for the unknown inventor. They hadn't been there, at that first shop, and Yaz had swallowed her disappointment alongside the bun from the corner shop, and started out again, chasing a lead from the new shop owner, hoping that it might not prove fruitless.

Each step, though, to success or failure, felt like progress. It felt like throwing off weights, leaving more of them behind with each street between her and home. As she dipped into the next shop - also a bust, but with another lead - she felt better than she had in months.

She was on an adventure. For the first time in years, she didn't know what her day might contain. She looked at the crudely drawn map from the last shop owner, took a left, and ran her eyes down the rows of signs lining the street.

Her heart leaped into her throat.

She'd expected to come away empty-handed and had been fine with that because at least she'd forgotten for a few hours, but there it was, two doors down.

Smith's.

She swallowed around the beat, and took a few steps closer, until she could stare at the blue front door, the large single window offering a peek at shelves, lined with creations, and Yaz went fuzzy at the edges. She wanted to learn them, to touch them, to stand in awe.

Maybe that was why her father had sent her.

She saw movement, and a moment later a person - a woman, she thought- moved past the window at a rapid pace, pulling something from the shelf, and by again, apparently not noticing the woman standing on the sidewalk for the last several minutes.

Yaz drew in a breath, looked at the sign again, and then nodded to herself. She stepped up to the door, dropping her hand against the handle. She gathered all the courage that might still exist within her, and she turned the handle, pushed it open, and stepped into the shop, hope flickering back to life within her chest.

#doctor who fanfiction #Thank you @zephyr-is-tired #for formatting this for me #You're the best #thasmin #thirteen x yasmin

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sun-in-retrograde · 9 months

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Week 24 July - Outer Planet Astrology

Not as exciting as last week! But that’s good because that last week had intense transits and they’re still with us.

Tuesday

The Eris - Mercury Trine is part of a series of trines with Eris from Leo. We’re doing a retrograde of Venus next week, and Lilith and the Sun will trine Eris while conjunct later in the month. I have a little theory that we should see Eris as the ruler of Leo and it’s certainly active during the Venus retrograde in Leo.

This trine is coming on the heels of a Mercury-Uranus Square, which comes with a risk of getting caught out chatting shit and struggling to come across quite how you want to. The Eris trine, to my mind, offers a possibility for this to stick. You don’t just find out someone is chatting shit about you, but you learn not to trust them. If you’re caught out the Eris trine is the possibility of changing your behaviour. It may not make a difficult confrontation better, but it might make it something to learn from.

Friday

Haumea is an egg shaped world with both rings and moons that spins so quickly it's pulled out of shape. Perhaps due to its shape, it’s associated with fertility. However it’s a very tricky planet to actually pin down. One potential way to think of it, which is convergent with some reports I’ve read from astrologers that use it, is to see it as an energy that’s either in equilibrium or threatening to spill over. Creation is part of that, destruction is part of that. It’s a whole complex set of things.

On Friday Haumea will be conjunct the South Node, and therefore opposing the North Node. It will also be square with Pluto. Pluto in retrograde always reminds me that Plutos surface has been shaped by ice volcanoes associated with a deep ocean. Pluto retrograde is a period where what is repressed can be realeased.

Some people associate volcanism with Haumea too. Astronomically, it’s certainly had a chaotic past filled with collisions and an internal ocean.

All this energy presents a problem when opposed to the North Node’s desire for growth and expansion - there’s the possibility that more will come out than we wish. This could be a good time for a freudian slip, or a confession, or an accusation, or a breakdown.

Equally, though, the energy could go the complete other way. The two icy planets at odds with the North Node are oceans to drown desire in. Which is a miserable thought. However, putting the breaks on North Node desire has its place, I think.

Astrologers fall into two camps with the north node - it’s either about hunger and desire; or destiny and evolution. I think it can be both. I try to think of it from an ecological point of view. The North Node wants us to grow, but you can’t have limitless growth on a finite planet. You have to be canny with it. Haumea and Pluto with hard aspects to the North Node might be a good time to consider what ambitions aren’t serving you, and let go of them.

Dropping a feeling into the big icy outer planet oceans feels final. But these planets are dynamic systems in their own right, things that go into them come out transformed. Maybe you can take that impossible desire and begin the process of reworking it into something possible. This can be patient work, and painful work. It’s changing the desire for a kid into the desire to pass on your knowledge. Or the desire to own a house into a desire for beauty and security. It’s not easy but neither is life sometimes. If you find yourself having to work with this energy I truly am sorry for that but I believe there can be peace, and joy, in it.

Saturday

We see a potential return to those feelings of gossip and worry with a Sedna - Mercury sextile. If the drama of the week has caught up with you and things feel deep, this could be a good time to vent to a supportive friend. Sedna entered Gemini conjunct Mercury a few months ago and in the time Mercury has moved 60 degrees Sedna has traveled half a degree.

In my opinion, Sedna is doing some early work on processing and thinking about trauma that it will be working on until 2065. That's long time but Sedna hasn't been in Gemini for about 11,000 years and a lot has happened since then that we need to process.

Now is a good time to think and process but we’re dealing with huge themes and it’s okay to take it slow, be careful and mindful of who you share what with, and know that because Mercury is fast there’s a lot of little opportunities to do this stuff. You don’t have to traumadump or overwhelm yourself,

Sunday

Jupiter is approaching trine to Orcus in Virgo. Orcus appears to be a world connected to obsession, compulsion, and intrusive thoughts, but what stands out to me with Jupiter-Orcus transits is periods of waiting. Like Jupiter extends your view of options while Orcus makes sure that you take in every detail and maybe can’t see any one thing clearly. It won’t get totally aligned until next week but it’s stupid close all Sunday. Mars will also be approaching a conjunction with Orcus. It strikes me that in Virgo, the energy of this points to eliminating bad options and seeing what you’re left with.

The whole thing puts me in mind of neurodivergent over-stimulation. There’s a lot of stimulus and the work is to find focus and calm in call that. While I’m popping this under Sunday, this energy will be present all of next week - the Jupiter-Orcus trine reaches within 1 degree on Monday.

It's a good time to be narrowing down options and making a choice, but the Jupiter-Orcus sense of possibility will be with us for a while yet, and that's a good thing. Universities and schools are doing their graduations and it's a good time for people to take a minute, review options, and try, if possible, to enjoy the view.

#astrology #asteroid astrology #dwarf planet astrology

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