#Audio Shearing

[auspicioustidings]

*bangs hands on table* bondage! fear play!

...I think this is actually just angst oops

You know the ropes will hold, you've tested them 5 times this week. The tree you are using you have also tested extensively, the anchor points are solid. The first set of safety shears are taped to your right arm, the second tucked into your waistband, the third and fourth on the ground nearby with the first aid and aftercare kits. And as always, you take your damn time with it. You will never tire of the look of jute rope against Simon's gorgeous skin. It's almost like an extension of his scars, or perhaps a way of highlighting them. Here hangs Simon Riley, the man who fucking survives, the Ghost who cannot die.

The blindfold is new, something that has been worked up to. He hates it. He has not untensed since the moment it went on. Taking any of his senses away makes him scared, you know that. But that's the goal.

He has not seen all of your tests, he does not know about all the shears on you and around you or the kits sitting for easy access as soon as you need them, so when tension goes on the chest harness his breathing is already starting to hitch. Not fully suspended yet, but the creaking of the tree branch and the groan of rope is enough to put the images of something snapping in his head, something giving way. The meat hook he had been left hanging on once had not ever ripped it's way fully through, had not split him in half, but you know he has nightmares that it did. You know in the absence of his sight he is making his own scene in his head. The tree branch snapping and him hitting the ground with a dull thud that will snap his spine. One of the ropes breaking and causing the others to tighten so much that they cut straight through him.

His fear is delicious. You feel bad about that a lot of the time, but in the moment you love how you can see the blindfold dampen with tears, muscles rippling with tension and whole body vibrating with terror.

It takes hours before he is where you want him. You wonder how the time has been passing in that pretty head of his. He hasn't said a word because he is a soldier. He won't give you anything, just like he didn't give him anything. Your beautiful, brave boy. You don't say anything either. It's depriving him of another sense in a way because his ears are straining to pick up anything from you, trying to get any warning or information on what is happening.

With no sight he has no concept of how high he is suspended either. It is not high, just the right height for what is to come, but he doesn't know that and you can tell it bothers him. There is not enough movement in his legs or arms to be able to reach down and check if he is close to the ground. He tries once to strain his arm down and you tap him lightly on the shoulder in warning when you aren't happy with how hard he is pushing. He stops immediately.

This is the part you need to be quick. You know how long he can suspend like this safely, but you cut that time down to even less because what is officially safe and what you consider safe are different metrics. You are always overly cautious with him without ever letting him know. You suspect in his mind right now you are overly risky with him. You set a timer on your watch that will give you warnings as you get closer to the time to get him down, but just in case the vibrations don't alert you properly you also pop an earbud in that will give you audio cues. It isn't noise cancelling, you want to be able to hear him.

Yes for safety reasons, but you know yourself you also drink up his gasps. You adore how he tries to hide his sobs from you, tries to project strength even now when he is bound, terrified and at your complete mercy. God it's heady, the power he has put in your hands. You could hurt him so easily and he could do nothing. You could sink a knife right into his beating heart and still he would hang there helpless.

It's a balancing act, fucking him. You want to touch on that trauma, but you don't want him to be lost in it. Rough enough to hurt but not to harm. Just enough simulation for him to get him hard and leaking, but not enough to make him cum. You want him scared that you won't ever let him and disgusted that he wants to. It feels so wrong to take pleasure from his body while he is crying and scared, but you can't help it. This behemoth of a man is reduced to your toy and the power trip is heady. So you go hard as you approach that high, cum hard using him as he sobs and tries to fight his own arousal because the guilt at the enjoyment is drowning him.

You clean yourself up and he is left hanging there without you touching him for the first time. This is the part where his vulnerability is the rawest and it's the part you have to fight with yourself to stand it for the whole two minutes. That is how long you have set that he has to be there alone with his thoughts. He cannot see, he is straining to hear, his body is hurt and tired and his cock is still straining and leaking against his will. In the absence of the noises of you tying him or fucking him his whimpering sobs are more audible.

You are there the second the two minutes is up. You talk to him so gently, massage his skin as you begin to take him down from suspension. When you finally get to taking the tension off of his chest harness he is boneless. You've already put a nest of soft blankets under where he was hanging because you know he's going to crumble to the ground harder than you would like (you can take some of his weight to lower him slowly, but Simon is a big man so you cannot slow him completely).

There is a heater hooked up to a mini generator and you turn it on. The soft glow makes him look so achingly beautiful as you begin unwrapping him from all those ropes that have soaked up his trauma. You worship his skin as you go, leaving light kisses and massaging it to get the blood flow going. You give him water, softly praising him when he drinks. When you finally take off his blindfold he isn't fully back yet, he won't be for a while you know.

You take him in your mouth, a slow and gentle blow job that deliberately puts you in a vulnerable position in front of him. You are laying down, head in his lap, totally trusting and submissive. When he cums he gives a shuddering sigh of relief and you praise him softly after. He's a good man, he deserved to cum, he deserves pleasure without guilt.

It takes an hour for him to come back to himself enough that you can go home. Aftercare will continue when you get back, after a session like this you both need a few days to wind down from it. Tonight will be about him. Tomorrow he will focus on you as your head starts to betray you, starts to see you as a monster taking advantage of this man's trauma. But he'll hold you close and thank you over and over for it. He'll make love to you lazily throughout the day, keep you both in bed cosy and together.

Nobody else was willing to love him once they knew what that really entailed. Nobody could sacrifice themselves and play the part of the most evil man in his life. Simon Riley hadn't cum once after Roba, not until he met you, not until you let him share his vulnerability and helped him work through it. He will spend the rest of his life trying to show you how much he loves you for it.

[syena-journals]

Limitless

Chapter 01- Fracture Point

Pairing: Elias Voit x reader

Summary: voit’s growing obsession with you, a simple flowershop owner, and girlfriend of an FBI agent whose team is hunting him down.

Pov: third

Word count≈ 898

Warnings!- mentions of drugging, implied murder, elias being elias, stalking, close proximity, and mentions of threats.

The weather was muted, cold, and sharp- typical autumn, a low fog slithered along the asphalt, softening crosswalk lines and swallowing bollards like a memory fading in real time. Quantico woke slowly, the city ticking to its government-scheduled rhythm—predictable, polite, precise.

Elias Voit walked through it like a program running clean code.

He fit right in, long gray wool coat, a neatly kept tie, and a charming smile to greet passerby’s. In his right ear: a dead channel. Elevator static fed through a ghosted scanner. Useless audio, functional only in its design—to fill silence. Real silence was too loud. Real silence invited questions. Static, though? Static was camouflage. His eyes didn’t dart. They mapped. Each movement was sector-based, not spontaneous: storefronts, security cams, badge readers, stairwells, mirrored windows. Second floors were better than ground-level glass—reflective angles caught the things people didn’t want seen. The BAU field office lay seven blocks behind him now. He’d already logged its weaknesses: aging motion sensors in the rear loading dock; a poorly secured HVAC system that ran too close to the parking grid. No one would have guessed he was the Elias Voit the FBI is searching for, standing right outside their main building.

But today wasn’t about breaking in.

It was about Jason Marin.

Intel liaison. Minor clearance. Clean facial structure. Messy finances. He’d failed a polygraph once and passed the second time—Voit remembered the spike on question 4.

Divorced. Impulsive. Schedules his addiction like a meeting.

Perfect.

Twelve days of observation. Marin walked eastbound by 9:36. Bagel cart at 9:41. Keycard swipe at 9:48. Every day. Every time.

Until today.

At 9:39, Marin turned right.

Into a crowd. No glance back. No message sent. No hesitation. Just—

deviation.

Voit adjusted without pause, slipping behind a woman pushing a stroller. His posture changed. Left foot dragged slightly. Limp acquired. Burner phone raised to his ear—powered off, but convincing. The crowd thickened here: construction crews on break, tourists with museum maps, a man swearing into a Bluetooth mic. Smog from a halal cart twisted upward in ribbons, clinging to the chill. He scanned again.

Marin was gone.

Not paused. Not crouched.

Gone.

Voit stopped walking. No panic—he didn’t panic. Panic was noise. He only felt it as a flicker, a pixelated edge at the corners of his vision.

The simulation had glitched.

His left eye locked onto the far side of the street. Familiar shapes. Dry cleaner. Pawn shop. A federal surplus storefront with dusty blinds and fingerprinted glass. An alley beside it, graffiti refreshed—new paint, new hand. And then— Between a shuttered real estate office and a papered-over boutique:

A flower shop.

No branding. No logo. Just wood-framed windows, faded sea-blue trim, and a sagging green awning damp from last night’s rain. The name on the door was hand-painted in slanted cursive:

The Violet Hour

The inside glowed.

Golden light spilled from within, softer than the flat daylight outside. Dust particles moved differently in there. Slower. As if gravity obeyed her rules instead of physics. And she was there.

Behind the counter.

Unaware.

Rolled sleeves. Clean hands. A pair of shears in one palm. There was music—low, foreign, maybe French—but it was just texture. The real rhythm was in her motion.

She wasn’t cutting quickly. She was measuring stems against her fingers. White tulips. Each one chosen with care. Deliberate. Precise. Waste was absence. Every clip of the scissors felt intentional. Voit didn’t register her face at first. He registered her stillness. Not the kind born of inexperience or fear.

Stillness like hers—unmoving, unbothered—invited chaos to orbit her. It was the stillness of someone who could endure disaster. He blinked. Then again. The simulation corrected. She turned slightly to grab a roll of parchment. Her profile caught a line of light.

He stayed. Too long.

A man exited the bakery next door. Unfolded a newspaper. Voit used it as cover to keep watching. She brought out another set of tulips. This time, pink-edged. He watched her count them out.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Five.

Not four. Not six.

Odd number. Balanced asymmetry.

That meant something. People who arranged in odd numbers had ritualized thinking. Patterned emotion.

Grief. Control. Obsession.

The stroller woman looped past him again. A bus huffed. A truck belched steam.

Still—he didn’t move.

His fingers slid into his coat pocket. Out came the burner. No SIM. Screen cracked. Just a place to think. He opened the folder labeled Marin_Assets. Stared at it. Deleted it. Three seconds flat.

Started a new one:

Petal_01

He typed:

Observed asset deviation:

Primary detail:

Surveillance overlap:

Emotional resonance:

Stillness noted. No assistant observed. Unregistered target. Tulips (white, pink-tipped). Working solo. Predicted trauma-bond behavior.

Observation required. Priority… rising.

He closed the phone. Looked up. She was smiling at someone now. A customer. Not a customer smile. Not performative.

Real.

He memorized it. The shape of it. How it split one side of her mouth just slightly more than the other. Not for her. Not for them.

For him.

He turned. Finally. Not hurried. But altered.

Something had shifted.

The simulation no longer ran clean. It had a heartbeat now.And that heartbeat had a name. A place. A scent of tulips in damp air. He didn’t know what she was yet. But she was dangerous.

Which meant— Inevitably—

He’d be coming back.

[whatifieatedpaperlol15]

I'm a yanny kid. I've always been a yanny kid, 'long as i remember. every time i come back to the yanny vs laurel audio, its almost always been yanny. One time I sat there, listening to the audio, thinking "how could anyone ever mistake this for laurel??" and then I heard it. deep and unnerving . unfeeling and commanding . laurel . rewind . yanny again. and again. yanny. yanny. yanny. Was it even real? I keep trying, yanny, yanny, on and on. I gave up then, it must've just been my imagination. Recently I came back to it. yanny. yep. always been yanny. yanny, yanny, LAUREL??? AGAIN??? what the hell is this?? the voice. that unsettling voice. Laurel. Again, laurel, laurel. I pause the video, my mind reeling. What? I unpause. Yanny. I feel like a puny ant, briefly being given an insight into the human mind, the shear scope of feeling and knowledge and love, before returned to my antly state. I am broken, I have been shown something I could never have experienced, and understood it fully, but only as i experienced. I have been returned to a sense of confusion, panic and despair. Will i ever be the same? this is true cosmic horror. Laurel. Laurel, a person i ocasionally see staring at me, who i can only recognize as i see them, maybe i even know them, maybe we were friends, family, something, but they disappear as the bus passes, and so does anything i could remember about them. I SWEAR. I'm convinced it might actually be all in my head . its an easier solution than the thought of laurel existing just out of my sight, not watching me, necessarily, but always uncomfortably near. They say folks who are older are more likely to hear laurel. I don't *want* to hear laurel.

What if I were to tell you the original creator said it was laurel

[sointothisrightnow]

The quality really declined. Idk how to fix that, Sorry guys.

Anyways, it's Brittany again! Can you tell she's my favourite to draw :^)

This audio really fit the art so I used it. Although that was not the narrative I imagined when drawing this. It was originally a fan-art inspired by "Locked Away" by EverythingAtOnce on fanfiction.net. A fantasy au with the aatc characters as humans ofc. This scene is from chapter 16.

To add add a little descriptor here's a direct quote from the story:

Brittany stared at the balcony doors curiously before she abruptly headed over to them and spread apart the shear curtains. Pushing them to their opposite sides with such agility, she placed each of her hands on the golden door handles and took a moment to stare out the clear glass doors. Just to make sure there wasn't an unwanted guest waiting outside for her. When she found the small, half-oval shaped balcony appeared safe and empty, she turned the door handles and thrust open the doors.

As she stepped out onto the white solid surface, she inhaled the night fresh air and gazed at her surroundings, finding the old fashioned city with its many structures lit up by a yellow lighting. Which in return kept the entire city looking alive and awake. As far as she could see, it seemed like every building had its lights on, except for a few.

There was a slight breeze in the air, which playfully danced with Brittany's hair as she leaned against the cement railing and exhaled, closing her eyes. It felt nice to finally take a break and just relax...be alone...and go back to a similar living she once used to live. Even if it was just for a few hours...

Brittany hardly realized how hectic her way of living had currently been, due to all the distractions she's had until now...If she knew the price she would have to pay just to be a part of this world she apparently belonged in, she wasn't too sure if she would actually have accepted to come along this journey or have made it this far. This was more than just dangerous...

I had reread this fic recently and now I can't stop thinking about it 💠

Fanfic link:

[ras-favourite-balor]

Honorary CORSAIR Gannascus Cossa

In our time of need you repaid the damages you had caused to our home. You took in our people into your care. You had earned the trust of Roadburn and Longbeard. You had your place in the book of Legends.

You will notice I said had.

I do not think you are fit to carry the title of CORSAIR any longer with the danger you are to my people in your crew. I will not let my people be dragged into... whatever the fuck you have turned into......

Cossa.... what... what have you even become? This isn't the pilot I remember. The pilot I respected.

And for this I have to request that you cease, or I will be inserting myself to bring my people home. Or at least someplace safe from you and the thing you have become.

I won't let you hurt my people.

Till Legends Bleed Cossa.

//Miss Morse\\

[ENCRYPTED TRANSMISSION :: INCOMING]

[TRACING TRANSMISSION. . .]

[TRACE ATTEMPT :: FAILED]

[DECRYPT TRANSMISSION :: Y/N ?]

INPUT: Y

[DECRYPT TRANSMISSION :: PASSKEY REQUIRED]

INPUT: EVEN LEGENDS BLEED

[DECRYPT TRANSMISSION :: PASSKEY ACCEPTED]

[DECRYPTING TRANSMISSION. . .]

[DECRYPTION COMPLETE]

[BEGINNING PLAYBACK]

The footage is still, a simple headshot of SHALLOW CRIMSON FLOOD. The single, glowing eye stares through the camera. Brigand's voice is garbled, though somehow less so than usual.

[BRIGAND} NO ONE LEAVES AND NO ONE BOARDS TILL THE RATS ARE FOUND. TILL THEY LEARN FEAR THAT WAS STOLEN FROM THEM. THEY WILL WEEP AND THEIR TEARS WILL WASH AWAY THE BLOOD.

Footage flashes over the screen, familiar footage. In snippets, Brigand hunts and executes dozens of interlopers. Their deaths are horrific, bloodsport. With each death, a dossier appears. They detail the dead. Each is stamped in purple, all work under Harrison Armouries.

[BRIGAND} AND YOU. "MISS" MORSE. YOU OBVIOUSLY DO NOT KNOW ME. THIS HAS ALWAYS LURKED JUST BENEATH THE SURFACE, WAITING TO RISE. TWAS ONLY A MATTER OF TIME.

Brigand's "face" is back. That black dome, that baleful red. Both are starting to look strangely familiar. . .

[BRIGAND} I WOULD THINK YOU MIGHT KNOW THE STORIES. BUT THEY THAT ARE "TOO TERRIBLE FOR TRUTH", AREN'T THEY? MERCENARIES ARE EXCELLENT STORY TELLERS AFTER ALL.

Audio starts to play, low, barely audibly. As it grows in volume, it grows in number too. Other tracks join to make a chorus of stories. Single words come through louder than the others: "PIRATE KING", "BUTCHER", "WRAITH", "SLAUGHTER", "MERCILESS". . .

[BRIGAND} MANY CORSAIRS WERE PIRATES ONCE. THEY ALL KNOW OF ME. ASK THEM OF THE TALES TOLD IN DARK, LIGHTLESS BOARDING CRAFT, ON COLD SLEEPLESS NIGHTS. WATCH THEIR FACES PALE, THEIR BREATH SHUDDER AS THEY SPEAK.

The storied chorus reaches a cacophony. Brigand's eye flares. Malice, Death, Desolation. The video is overtaken by static as it reaches a crescendo. Only Brigand's rough, distorted voice remains.

[BRIGAND} OR PERHAPS A DIFFERENT MONIKER MAY RING TRUTH LIKE BRASS. TITLES HAVE POWER, YOU SHOULD KNOW BETTER THAN ANYONE.

A list of names and titles begins to scroll. Thick red text, violent somehow. The names of various famous pirate lords, if Morse knows her history. None were ever caught, ever persecuted. Brigand's eye narrows, once again seeming to stare through the camera, through the monitor.

[BRIGAND} THE BLACK HAND. CARCOSSA HEART-EATER. SCOURGE OF THE KII'ROHS BELT. DOOM OF OLYMPUS STATION. THE NIGHTMARE KING. SHALLOW CRIMSON TIDE. FATHER WINTER.

Brigand speaks a handful allowed. His voice is heavy with reverence and familiarity. His voice drips gold.

[BRIGAND} I HAVE BEEN CALLED DEATH DEALER AND THROAT CUTTER, DESPOILER AND RUIN. I HAVE LAID WASTE AND DESOLATION ACROSS THE BREADTH HUMANITY.

A star map dominates the screen. The stars ignite one by one. Until everything humanity has ever touched is ablaze. A scrolling history is overlayed, pirate attacks listed for each star, each system. The shear breadth of it is staggering.

[BRIGAND} IPS-N'S 1'000'000 MANA BOUNTY FOR THE SO-CALLED "BLOOD WRAITH"? SSC'S 5'000'000 FOR THE "BUTCHER OF HARBOR STATION"? HOW ABOUT THE 3'000'000 FROM HARRISON HIMSELF FOR CAPTURE OR PROOF OF DEATH OF PIRATE CAPTAIN "BARBUTE"?

Next come the wanted posters. None bear faces. All wear masks or helmets. Some posters simply show a frame or ship. Others have only an vague outline. There are dozens on dozens.

[BRIGAND} IF YOU THINK I LIE, GO AND LOOK. SEE THE UNCLAIMED BOUNTIES, SEE HOW FAR THEY STRETCH BACK.

The posters in question stretch back years, decades, a millennia. More. A lifetime of piracy, no. Multiple lifetimes of piracy. With only a single interruption. An arrest by a DOJ/HR officer, nameless. Callsign "AGENT". Morse almost misses it, with how fast it comes and is gone.

[BRIGAND} YOUR PEOPLE ARE SAFE MORSE. THE CORPORATE DOGS ARE MY QUARRY. DO NOT INTERFERE.

At last comes footage of former Corsairs. The halls are bloodied, yet they sing, they laugh, they drink and dance. Until they hear the heavy metal bootfalls. They know to avoid the steel nightmare that possesses their captain. . .

[BRIGAND} I NEVER SHOULD HAVE RETIRED.

[PLAYBACK ENDED]

[dynamic-swap-au-archive]

And here we have part three of the Ultimate Guide to the Gorillaz Dynamic Swap Au!

If you're unfamiliar, the full explanation for what dynaswap is can be found here: [Link]

This part will cover phase 2, as well as what we have for 3 through 5 !

The separate parts of the guide can be found in these links: Phase 0 [Link] Phase 1 [Link] Phase 2 (and onwards) [You Are Here] and Extras [Link]

Or you can see the full guide in my google doc: [Link]

Disclaimer: Please do not bother anyone who was involved with creating the au. They have asked not to be associated with it anymore and we should all respect that.

- [Main Story | Audio] ??? | A call for the Pot household [Link]

- [Main Story | Prose | Image] EXCLUSIVE: We Visited Stuart Pot in Jail [Link] - [Fanart] Street cred [Link] - [Image] Stuart Chat is now available! [Link] - [Image] bad boy loser [Link]

- [Main Story | Prose] My Loyal Subjects [Link] - [Image] Teaser [Link]

The Beginning (without the end) Of Phase 2 | Warnings: Slapstick, Addiction, Mild Sexual Content

- [Main Story | Image | Prose] Let's catch up! [Link] - [Image] Demon Daze [Link] - [Lore | Ask] Stu's new scar [Link] - [Image] Golly geepers whered u get those peepers [Link] - [Lore | Image] Stu's glass eyes [Link]

- [Main Story | Image | Prose] Stu's Prelude [Link] - [Main Story | Audio | Prose] Stu's Prelude | Audio [Link]

- [Image] 2005 [Link]

- [Image | Ask] Feel Good Inc [Link] - [Image] 'Cause I don't get sleep [Link] - [Image | Gif] it daeh [Link] - [Video | Ask] This version of dare is, Different [Link] - [Ask | Lore?] You've got to press it on you [Link]

- [Audio | Image | Video] Ring Ring | Motorola [Link] - [Image] “This is me, cuttin��� an onion.” [Link] - [Image | Ask] Real Egyptian Silk [Link] - [Image] Eat my shorts [Link] - [Lore | Image | Ask] Does Cortez exist in this AU? [Link] - [Image] Power Trip [Link]

- [Image] Close your eyes and see when there ain't no light [Link] - [Image] stupid idiot takes his medicine just as prescribed because hes a good boy [Link] - [Image | Ask] Jake Sheares Fanservice [Link] - [Image] Handsome Stuart [Link] - [Image] happy birthday to you too dickhole [Link]

- [Main Story | Image | Prose] Flight of the Bluebird [Link] - [Image] li’l bastard traveling kit [Link] - [Prose | WIP] Interview Script [Link] - [Image | Ask] Who's the most emotional? [Link]

An End And A Beginning | Warnings: Death, Kidnapping, Abuse

- [Image] WELCOME TO PLASTIC BEACH [Link] - [Main Lore | Ask] What would have been [Link] - [Image] Something brewing [Link] - [Image] Forbidden cyborg russel [Link] - [Image] Concept Art [Link] - [Image] Stu and murdoc pier life [Link] - [Image | Ask] Sleeve A [Link] - [Image] Pirate-y Stu [Link] - [Image | Lore] Demonic Radio [Link]

- [Image] DoYaThing [Link]

Piecing Together What's Left

- [Image | Lore?] A little peak at phase 4 stu [Link] - [Image] bathmeme.jpg [Link] - [Ask | Lore] Who wrote each album? [Link]

- [Ask | Image] Who will be replaced by whom phase 5? (Teaser) [Link] - [Image] Whom Indeed [Link] - [Image] Apparently noodle is visiting townsville [Link] - [Image | Ask] Tranz goes a little differently [Link] - [Image] Stu Wip [Link]

- [Ask] Will stu and murdoc ever get along? [Link] - [Ask | Image] Does stu become nicer to murdoc? [Link] - [Ask | Image] Stu looks so cute [Link] - [Ask | Image] Getting along [Link]

- [Major Lore | Image] The question of stu and murdoc's relationship [Link] - [Image] Bro C'mon. Where's my smooch? [Link] - [Major Lore | Image] Stu, murdoc's, and Several Demons' relationship [Link]

- [Image | Lore?] One last elephant in the room [Link]

- [The End] The official announcement for dynaswap's cancellation [Link] - [Ask] Boundaries for fan content going forwards [Link]

[arthurdrakoni]

Residents of Proserpina Park is a mythology audio drama. It is currently funding season 4 and 5 on Indiegogo. I’m call on all of you to help however you can.

Hello everyone. I’ve got another call to action for all of you. As you might, or might not know, @proserpinapark is currently funding not one, but two new seasons coming out later this year. I’m calling on all of you to do your part to help out.

So, some of you might be wondering what is Residents of Proserpina Park. Why, it is a monster of the week, anime-inspired audio drama. Think like Percy Jackson meets Pokémon meets Scooby-Doo, with a dash of Jackie Chan Adventures thrown in. Throw all that good stuff into the blender, and you’ve got an excellent audio drama.

Residents of Proserpina Park follows a young woman named Alina who discovers a park that is, basically, a nature reserve for mythological creatures. Each episode follows Alina and the gang meeting a new creature from across World Mythology and Folklore. At the same time, they are try to uncover the mysteries of the park itself.

One thing I love about RoPP is shear variety of creatures. We got creatures Filipino Mythology, Māori Mythology, Lenape Folklore, Aztec Mythology, Lithuanian Folklore, and a whole lot more.

Now for a bit about the people who make RoPP possible. Series creator Angela Yih has worked on podcasts for Realm, Pod People, and more. Their credits include shows such as Overleaper, Echo Park, Blood Forest, and Harley Quinn and the Joker: Sound Mind!

The point being, Angela knows their stuff. But not just the technical stuff. They’ve also got quite a few voice acting credits under their belt. Angela has lent their voice to works such as Dreamscape Highway, Mx. Bad Luck, Omega Star 7, and even The Books of Thoth.

And what about the rest of the gang? We are over fifty percent people of color, fifty percent female, and I’m autistic. We have performers from all walks of life, and we’re all very passionate about bringing these mythological stories to life for your listening pleasure.

But okay, what’s in it for you? I’m very glad you asked. You see, you’ve got six different options to choose from. Or you can donate a custom amount with no perks. But if you do what perks, here’s what your options are…

$5 - Tourist

All the shoutouts! Shoutouts on social media, on our website, and in the last episode of season 4 for being an awesome supporter

$15 - Visitor

Early access to ad-free episodes a week in advance as well as all the perks from the Tourist Tier

$30 - Local

A digital copy of the official Residents of Proserpina Park Light Novel, which is a collection of short stories focused on the characters from the show, and all the perks from the previous tiers.

$50 - Member

A physical copy of the official Residents of Proserpina Park Light Novel plus other merchandise and all the perks from the previous tiers.

$100 - Resident

Learn what it’s like to be on the show or work on an audio drama. Work with Angela Yih and be featured in a bonus episode in season 5 as well as all the perks from the previous tiers!

$300 - VIP

Become an executive producer on Residents of Proserpina Park and be credited in season 4 and 5! Determine a creature for season 6 as well as all the perks from the previous tiers.

So far we have raised $696, and I contributed $306 out of that. But you don’t have to contribute as much as I did. Small drops fill the bucket, and every little bit helps. If you aren’t financially able to help, then I would only ask you help spread the word, and encourage others to pitch in. We can all do our part to make season four and season five the best seasons of RoPP yet.

So, you have heard the call the action. Now the ball is in your court. Do your part out to help the Residents of Proserpina Park Indiegogo campaign however you are able.

Link to the Residents of Proserpina Park Indiegogo: https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/residents-of-proserpina-park-season-4-and-5-launch/x/29874655#/

[swaps55]

Trademark: Pining So Hard They Become Trees(tm)

Proud to be home to this particular trademark, my friend. Is it really pining if they aren't going so hard they can still long for each other while in each other's arms? I think no. XD

I could cite this entire chapter of Cantata for Pining So Hard They Become Trees, but I'll keep it to this bit, which is one of my favorites: ~

In the silence of space, the ‘Yang skips through firing lanes close enough to stick a knife in the enemy’s gut, the knife in this case being the GARDIAN lasers chewing away armor plating and shearing apart small enemy fighters that stray too close.

Ship-to-ship combat is an attrition of heat and numbers, and Kaidan has no control over any of it.

Not the moments of vertigo as the inertia dampeners temper the ‘Yang’s maneuvering burns, the intermittent shudder as the weapons systems find a target, not the slow, steady buildup of waste heat that will eventually force them to flee or cook within their own hull.

And not Shepard. The entire covert operation will play out on helmet cams and comm channels, with Kaidan as a witness. Shepard is nothing more than a pinprick of warmth, lost in the rage of heat playing out on sensors. Kaidan glues his eyes to that pinprick, heart in his throat as he waits to see if the Cannae’s GARDIAN lasers detect the infiltration team hidden in the heat signatures of the battle playing out around them.

It’s not until Shepard’s grav boots connect with the Cannae’s hull that the white drains from Kaidan’s knuckles.

But now that they’ve reached the target, there’s a new fear. Pendergrass hovers over Kaidan’s shoulder, chewing a hangnail as the N team hunts for explosives along the hijacked ship’s hull, because its captors would rather slag the whole thing than see it taken back.

Shepard finds the first bomb.

Pendergrass stops chewing and reviews the scans, walking Shepard through diffusing it, and every other one they find, while Kaidan listens in helpless silence until he’s forced to take another breath.

The comms erupt with gunfire when they breach the hull. Kaidan fixes his gaze on Shepard’s helmet cam, the visual slightly out of sync with the audio feed. They had no way to know how many enemies would be waiting on board, but four N6s led by the galaxy’s first N7 don’t give a shit about the odds. Somewhere in the mix Anderson manages to shut off the gravity, taking the linear firefight into multiple planes.

It’s like freeing a predator from a cage. Shepard’s helmet cam spins with dizzying swiftness as he kicks off walls, floor and ceiling ceasing to have meaning in zero G. His shotgun barks over the comm, tendrils of blue flickering around the edges of the camera lens, but this far away Kaidan’s gravity well remains silent and still.

A ragged cheer raises the rafters on the ‘Yang as the lead ship of the ragtag flotilla goes up. Kaidan presses a finger against his ear to ward off the sound, concentrating instead on the helmet cam and looking for any change in Shepard’s biofeeds.

The N team reaches the CIC. A lieutenant named Angevin goes down when they trigger an explosive while breaching the door, but not Shepard, it’s not Shepard, because there he is on Anderson’s helmet cam, blowing in like a tempest and executing three people, including their leader, without uttering a word. Minutes later, the stolen ship’s transponder changes back to an Alliance signature and the cheering begins anew.

Half the crew waits at the ‘Yang’s airlock to greet the N team when they return, Kaidan among them, swallowing back his relief like it’s a living, breathing thing. He gets lost in the shuffle when the airlock opens and the yelling starts, but Shepard’s gaze cuts through the crowd, and he parts it like Moses and the Red Sea. With a grin on his face that could shake the stars, he throws an armored arm around Kaidan and hugs him tight, thunking an energetic palm against his shoulder. Kaidan returns it just as fierce, the plating stiff and sterile against him.

“Did you see that?” Shepard exclaims when they part, elation on his face, hand still on Kaidan’s shoulder, biotic field humming with kinetic energy. This is Shepard in his element, Shepard at his best. The impossible means nothing to him.

Kaidan grins back. “Yeah, I saw it.”

How can I look away when it’s you?

[bedigiart]

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[silvernskye]

my god this post is massive

note: the conferences are going to be mostly uk ones based bc that where i am

feel free to ask questions, i want to talk to people about this!

Conference the first - The Oxford Real Farming Conference

[youtube]

a yearly uk conference of farmers that are farming in alternative ways (mostly organic & regen) since 2010

not to be mistaken with the Oxford Faming conference which is the usual industrial farming conference (but there seem to be increasing regen ag talk over the years)

both happen around the same time in january and have their archive on youtube for free

the orfc was created bc farmers were frustrated that they couldnt find a place to discuss more progressive ag ideas

not all sessions get recorded as video, some are audio only (you can find them on the website), only a couple dont get recorded at all

sessions ive watched

ive barely started watching/listening to the sessions this year but here are some that i have watched & i found interesting:

Doing Dairy Differently

a talk about doing dairy better like keeping the calf with the mothers, rotational grazing, ect & the benefits and challenges trying to do that

Farmers — Saving More Lives Than Pharma

a talk by Dr Jenny Goodman, a doctor who uses organic food (and other stuff) as a tool to cure various illness (bc almost everyone is deficient in micro nutrients and micro-dosing on pesticides really doesnt help)

she has some good books with very actionable advice for the individual and with a lot of peer reviewed citations

the books are 'Staying Alive in Toxic Times: A Seasonal Guide to Lifelong Health' (ive read this one, got it from the library) and 'Getting Healthy In Toxic Times'

Homegrown Fashion: The British Fibres Regenerating Landscaoes and Creativity

panel that covers the state of the native british fibres and their industry of wool, linen, hemp and leather:

Fantasy Fibre Mill - developing open source linen and hemp processing machinery for the mid-scale/farm-level (uk has lost all processing infrastructure)

British Pasture Leather - a company developing the supply chain for leather from pasture for life (uk grassfed label)

Fernhill Farm & Fernhill Fibre - mixed livestock farm that is part of the south west england fibreshed, processes and sells their own wool and clothing, holds traditional blade sheep shearing competitions, records and monitors their carbon & biodiversity and and is verified as regenerative

Contempory Hempery - grows hemp for fine fibre fabric and aims to process the hemp into fibre and fabric

Growing the Rainbow: LGBTQ+ Perspectives in Landwork

Indie Food Retail: Challenges, Learnings and Success Stories

sessions i havent yet watched

here are some havent watched/listened to yet and you might want to too (very roughly categorised):

socialish stuff

Roots of Resistance: Farming in Palestine

Smash Imperialism! For a New Trade Framework Based on Solidarity!

Rooting for Diversity: Cultivating Farms for Neurodiversity To Thrive

WORKSHOP: Cultivating Long-Term Solidarity with Farmers in Palestine

WORKSHOP: Reparations — Learning From Examples Existing Within Modernity

farming stuff

Making Public Farmland Work for the Public Interest

Creating New Crofts: A Pathway Towards Land Justice?

Is a Fossil Free Food System Possible?

WORKSHOP: Farms and Kitchens — Forging Connections Between Food Citizenship Hubs

WORKSHOP: Beyond the Tech Divide: Rethinking Innovation for Agroecology

What Might Insect Sentience Mean for Agroecology?

Better Meat, More Plants: Opportunities for Farmers?

FARM DEEP DIVE: Our Journey into Nature Friendly Livestock Farming

animals & meat

WORKSHOP: Deer Are Food for the Future (deer is a big problem in the uk bc of lack of natural predators)

Pigs, Environmental Engineers or Architects of Destruction?

Sustainable Meat: Minimise Transport, Slaughter Humanely, Stay Profitable (about small abattoirs, very important for animal welfare and sustainable meat production (both in the profitable and the ecology sense); we are are losing them so fast, tw: discussions of animal death & butchery)

Rise of the Planet of the Chicken

Ensuring a Just Transition from Intensive Livestock

grains

WORKSHOP: Next Steps in Building a New Cereal Seed System

Increasing Home-Grown Protein in an Organic Farming System (about growing native non-soya feed for animals)

other produce

WORKSHOP: Learning to Connect with the Ocean

WORKSHOP: Adding Flowers to Your Farm: Increasing Profits and Pollinators

Can Farmed Salmon Ever Be Sustainable

[tablestoastandtime]

One-Way Ticket Through the Backstage Door

I wanted to write Cal fighting Grievous, so I did that. Mostly an exercise with combat and outsider POVs, but also just a lot of fun to work on. Title bc I listened to Juke Box Hero on repeat while writing it.

Feel free to think this fight would go down differently. This version's for me :p

The holo itself was of middling quality. The edges of the image were hazy and the colours muted, mostly overridden by the primary blue of the tech. The audio was tinny, like the receptors had been reaching outside of their normal range to pick up what they could. Even the file itself ran poorly, like it had been converted from something else to run on this particular console.

None of that was what really mattered about the recording.

No, the most prominent feature was the unknown man's blazing bright amber saber.

There was no Jedi in the Order of his description, none outside of undercover Shadows who would even dress like a worn-out spacer. The scant armour and blaster on his thigh were at odds with the casual ease of his movements as he cut swathes through the squads of droids that tried to pen him into a corner of the Separatist hanger.

And for all their talent at subterfuge, even several years into the Clone Wars few Shadows had the open battle experience to chain together Force abilities and violence like breathing. Plenty of Knights and Masters had built that skillset as the galactic conflict escalated, but if this man had been one of them, then someone would have recognized him. That being said, there was nothing else he could be as the more esoteric Force sects of the galaxy didn’t use lightsabers in the same ways and the evidence of Forms I and IV were unmistakable in his opening footwork. It was possible someone would recognize him, if they got a chance to test his Force Signature, but as it was all the Council had was the holo.

Well, not quite.

All they had was the holo and the remains of a Separatist base and general pulled apart at the seams.

In the recording, a panicked B1 called for reinforcements as the unknown Jedi reduced a contingent of B2s to heaps of sparking slag, deflecting bolts with every flicker of his saber and blitzing from droid to droid in bursts of Force that left the machines reeling. Droidekas auto-deployed from a storage unit on the far wall, but before they could even come to a stop, the insectoid droids froze mid-roll at a blurry twitch of the man's fingers. They shook and shuddered in place, and the Jedi spun his sabre out in a throw that sheared through the metal like flimsiplast. That maneuver left him without a weapon and a bold B1 tried to capitalize on the vulnerability, stepping in close and swinging its blaster at the back of his head -

Only to drop a second later with a hissing hole in the center of its processing unit.

The Jedi fired another four shots from his blaster as he ducked and wove around bolts before his saber returned to his other hand, zigzagging through another half dozen droids. Each bolt found a home in another chassis and then the blaster was away and the other end of the man's saber ignited instead.

He dove into the crowd of durasteel in a whirlwind of push, pull, and shining amber light. Droids flipped into the air, the walls, each other, meeting their ends on a beam of plasma or crashing into the floor with more force than the station's gravity could produce. His sabre danced around his hands, his hips, blades snapping in and out of the hilt on a whim, batting bolts out of the air, splitting some down the middle in a show of frankly concerning efficiency.

It was less a fight and more a salvage operation. A scrapper decommissioning old tech to be reused elsewhere. Thorough, procedural, smooth.

In one gesture, the Jedi yanked half of the remaining droids in tight and cut them down in a superheated spiral and then stopped entirely.

There were more droids yet, another trio of droidekas surrounded by B1s and 2s, but they all stood frozen, juddering. The Jedi surveyed the crowd and twirled his saber, rolling it through the shadow of forms before settling with one blade lit and burning into the durasteel floor. He turned slightly and looked directly at the recorder.

"Come on out Grievous," he called, what was discernible of his tone almost friendly if it weren't for the tension in his shoulders and the careful balance of his weight. "I could keep taking down your troops, but I think we both know this is a waste of time. We're going to do this today, so either you come down here and we talk in this big open room where your long arms might mean something, or I come find whatever closet you're hiding in and deal with you like a baby bane back in a jar."

Behind him, the droids began picking up speed.

The Jedi seemed oblivious, attention drifting somewhere overhead, tracking something through the floors of the complex and spinning his sabre like a reflex. “Yeah, there you are. Let’s have a conversation.”

Another beat, and blasters rose a little higher.

Searing orange-stained blue went round and round, the Jedi bouncing slightly in place. He rolled his shoulders, and the audiceptors caught some kind of clattering noise. It came through garbled and grating, but it sounded vaguely like metal striking metal.

By the looks of it, the primary access elevator for the hangar was back behind the droids and to the left. Instead of paying it any mind, the Jedi stared directly at an otherwise unremarkable section of durasteel plating.

The stasis hold on the droids slackened in increments and the feed shook as if something jostled the recorder. How they managed that with the device lodged firmly along the edge of the ceiling several shiplengths above the hangar floor was-

Suddenly very obvious. With no other warning Grievous dropped from a vent in the roof, hitting the floor in a crouch, two sabers drawn, and diving straight at what should have been the man’s back. Instead stolen blue and green met the previously unlit end of the Jedi’s saber in a two handed strike at his neck.

A parry, pushing the two blades down towards the ground opening Grievous to a Force push that only managed to move him back a few metres, and the Jedi sprang after him in a lunge. Grievous countered the first strike at his chest, the second at his head, and the third that narrowly missed severing his left hand before lashing out in a kick that sent the Jedi flying into a flip, pressing the advantage and slicing to split open his gut and bisect his head before he could land and recover.

At the same time, the droids finally regained full motion and began firing.

Except the Jedi didn’t even try to touch down, twisting mid-air like a lothcat and tearing forward through the maze of burning red, back to a single blade that wove right past Grievous’ guard to score across the plating of his torso. Grievous snarled, one of his secondary limbs snapping out in a backhand blow that caught the Jedi across one scarred cheek, followed closely by a green saber slash that was ducked as the Jedi followed the downward momentum, juking sideways into a half-crouch and then up, using Grievous’ thigh as a springboard to launch himself back into the air and then meteor down in a Force-assisted modification to a traditional Djem-So strike.

Grievous met the blow in a crossed guard, clawed feet digging into the durasteel floor for traction. His secondary arms swept up, now armed and aiming to slice the Jedi in half while his blade was occupied.

Again, the second half of the Jedi’s saber ignited as he disengaged, a spinning block that also served to return several blaster bolts to their senders. This time, Grievous didn’t immediately close the gap. Instead they circled each other, the Jedi still blocking what would in most other combat scenarios classify as suppressing fire with the comfortable ease of a Knight working through katas.

“You know,” the Jedi started, no trace of the earlier levity only plasmacutter focus. “This doesn’t have to be your legacy.”

A rattling scoff. “Your death will be nothing but a footnote in my conquest. I have brought down regimes since I could walk, and your Republic will only be the latest in a long line of victories, Jedi.”

“There is no victory in this war,” the Jedi disagreed with a flourish that dropped the last of the B1s. The droidekas kept firing at the unrelenting shell of the Jedi’s defence. “Only death, including yours. The Confederacy is a sham and there is no place for you in the Empire the Sith seek to build.”

Grievous hissed, air catching in his vocoder in a wave of hollow static. “Fearful lies will not save you or your people. The stars will ring with their screams as I burn your Temple.”

The Jedi’s steps didn’t falter but they did shift, sliding out of the agile balance of Form III into the pointed calculation of Makashi. His wrist curled and one thumb ran along the glinting metal of his hilt.

The circle tightened.

“My people,” his voice was almost too soft for the audiceptors now, but the volume did nothing to hide the danger in his words. “Do what they can in the face of an ungrateful galaxy. They must face many hard truths to have a future, but they will do so alive.”

And then the Jedi flicked his saber in another flourish that would have been standard fare except at the apex of the movement he twisted his hands and the hilt came apart. The first blade swung up and over his head in a wind up straight into a throw, arcing high and devastatingly quick as he raised the other, hand half open to grip a section of the hangar wall, tearing dozens of rivets out in one motion and pistoning several hundred pounds of reinforced duranium at Grievous from the other side.

One arm deflected the blade, sending it careening off towards the remaining B2s, another two carving a hole through the plating and allowing Grievous to sidestep the imminent collision.

Unfortunately, that left him with only one arm free to defend himself as the Jedi closed in, blurring across the space in a second with his remaining blade in an underhanded swing that forced Grievous onto the back foot followed by a jab that seared a hole through a shoulder servo. The backswing neatly parried the immediate retaliation looking to sever the Jedi’s cervical spine, and then the blaster was back in hand in a quickdraw as he fired one, two, three shots into Grievous’ neck before letting it hit the deck to catch the soaring return of his second blade. A flurry of blows centred to the left side where half of Grievous’ arms no longer reacted with the lightning sensitivity needed to match a Jedi waist deep in the Force.

Grievous lost a finger, a palm, an elbow joint, before tipping backwards to catch half of his weight on his remaining hands and using one foot to lever a chunk of molten metal straight at the Jedi’s head. The Force caught the body of the slag, but the Jedi recoiled from the splatter of molten alloy all the same, one breath of pure reflex that left him open to a slash of Grievous’ mutilated hand that tore open the flesh of his exposed forearm.

An audible cry, a stumble, and a bolt finally catching him in the thigh but the blood and burning seemed to give the Jedi back his focus and his grip remained sure as he blocked the much more dangerous follow ups with a saber, high, low, midbody, high again, and then he brought his hilts together, clicking them back into one and using the extra length to buy back some space.

Once more the Jedi disengaged, dripping blood and breath coming visibly controlled.

Bolts still flew through the space and lip curling, the Jedi raised an open hand. The remaining B2s sailed into the air and the droidekas twirled in place like children's’ toys. His fist clenched. Military grade armour and tech crumpled, dropping to the ground with a definitive clang.

“Let’s be honest with ourselves, Grievous.” The Jedi stalked closer, weaving in and around the remains of the hangar wall. There was nothing defensive left in his posture, only tooth-sharp intent. “What do you think happens next if the Separatists win the war?”

If Grievous tried to answer, it was lost to rasping, wet coughs. His three remaining sabres stayed in a typical low guard, but the bottom half of his chest plating hung out of place and his left shoulder sparked where the connections had melted away.

Still, there was no disguising the naked hate in his eyes.

“They won’t keep you,” the Jedi said, cold and confident and sliding his hands into a low grip. Two fins at the mouth of his saber’s emitter collapsed down and ignited, the single sizzling blade stretched out behind him well past what a lightsaber ought to be capable of. Its brightness exceeded the recorder’s capabilities, turning the weapon into a long line of searing and colourless blue. “You’re a rabid nexu and say what you will about the Banking Clans, but they know a thing or two about divesting themselves when the time is right. Personally, my money is on an orbital strike if you make that far.”

Grievous screamed back at him, all wrath and ruin and long dried blood, a sound that hurt even through the recording’s poor quality.

Still, Grievous was no fool and had never been above fleeing a fight he was losing. The first step back was an admission of weakness, the second a dead giveaway.

Any window for ending this fight definitively was closing. Rapidly.

The Jedi’s pace stayed a steady prowl. His sabre traced a white-hot path into the smoking floor. “You could surrender now, but we both know you’d never make it to court.”

Grievous pivoted his weight backwards, primed for a leap. The question was, where was he planning to go?

It didn’t matter.

In the same breath Grievous began to uncoil, the Jedi flicked a hand and the Separatist General’s legs began to vibrate beneath him. “No. We’re not quite done here.”

That great saber swung up overhead in motion that belied a massive and illogical weight and left monstrously distorted afterimages across the holo. Trapped as Grievous seemed to be, the Jedi was still far too far away for anything except a dashing strike under normal circumstances.

There was very little normal about these circumstances.

The saber came down. Half of the recording disappeared into a wall of blinded blue, photoreceptors failing as the sound of sabers colliding resumed.

A shout, ragged and furious, threatening death, mutilation, despair.

Another, indignant. Frightened.

There were no sounds of combat then, just a warped noise like industrial welding.

One more cry. Pained. A blaster shot. The hum of active lightsabers went quiet.

For a long stretch, there was nothing but quiet footsteps. Boots on metal. Shifting. Then the noise of the hangar doors and a ship’s engine starting. A takeoff sequence.

The hangar doors had still been open when the Republic forces arrived to investigate the unexpected ping on what was supposed to be an Order-specific comm freq.

According to the timestamps, the holo continued for another fifteen minutes, but there was little more the damaged recorder could discern about the events that followed. Other parts of the facility’s security system provided a little more context, but beyond some slightly clearer images of the unknown Jedi’s face and his systematic destruction of every active droid he could find on site, they had nothing.

There was no sign of where he’d come from beyond the vent he dropped out of in the earliest stamped security holo they could find. He hadn’t left any indication of where he was going. Even the Force impressions he had left behind had been odd, like a child standing in the centre of an antiques store after having been pointedly told not to touch anything. Full of wonder and longing and an absolute certainty they did not belong there.

The Senate was going to have a field day.

[spymeister]

Sound waves and spark oscillations:

Premise: Jazz has a different playlist for different things- and this includes missions, and off time.

Thesis: Jazz's choice of music in each playlist affects his performance in the positive.

Hypothesis: Sound waves actually affect spark oscillations thanks to Brillouin scattering.

Evidence: In electromagnetism, Brillouin scattering (also known as Brillouin light scattering or BLS), named after Léon Brillouin, refers to the interaction of light with the material waves in a medium (e.g. electrostriction and magnetostriction). It is mediated by the refractive index dependence on the material properties of the medium; as described in optics, the index of refraction of a transparent material changes under deformation (compression-distension or shear-skewing).

Broken down: Sound waves interact with light by changing its momentum into preferential directions. This means, for example, the higher the BPM of a particular track, the faster it spins the spark- creating extra energy without the frame having to utilize its own fuel source. It's only by a fraction of a percentage: .25% or so- but enough that Jazz can use it for surprise maneuvers.

Or even that extra burst of speed.

Conversely, a slower BPM or RPM on music can slow down a spark's oscillating spin- making the mechanism sleepier or destressing them to the point their processor can shut down- ESPECIALLY if they have extrasensory equipment like doors, audio horns, or sensor panels.

This is also evidence of why mechanisms like Blaster, Jazz, and Soundwave are so deadly: music can save or end a life.

[rachelbethhines]

60 Years of Doctor Who Anniversary Marathon - McCoy 9th Review

Question Mark Pyjamas - Short Story

The Virgin Decalogs were kind of a precursor to the Short Trips of today. An anthology series that at first focused on Doctor Who, that then went on to feature the Expand Who Universe, and finally focusing on original works with no connection to the series.

This is because Vrigin lost the publishing license for Who after the TV movie. More on that later.

Question Mark Pyjamas is the final story in the second Decalog "Lost Property". The recurring theme of this anthology is all the random properties the Doctor acquires through out his travels... houses, land, condos, boats, hotels... ect.

It's an odd theme, but I haven't read the entire book yet so I can't tell you how well it works as a whole, but I can tell you that said theme is front and center within the short story I'm reviewing today.

A house the Doctor owns is stolen by a alien conman looking to set up a theme park on an asteroid. The Doctor and his companions are held hostage and forced to become a side show attraction for the park. They must quite literally 'play house' and pretend to be a 'normal' earth family for the constantly viewing audience.

I probably make the story sound way cooler than it actually is with that summary.

In reality the narrative has a very slow first half, an awkward middle, and doesn't really come together until the very end.

Part of the problem is that the Tardis crew just kind of stumbles onto the theme park and discovers the stolen house by shear coincidence. They then get captured by the villain when they try to confront him.

Rather than making the very comedic villain an unstoppable force to be reckoned with, it instead just makes our heroes look weak... especially Ace who is supposed to be combat hardened by this point.

Also they aren't forced to preform for a live audience, but are made to 'rehearse' for the villain who never shuts up.

The tension of the story is basically downgraded.

But that's alright, this is intended to be a lighthearted comedy piece.

Except it's not particularly funny.

A lot of the jokes fall flat for me. Mainly cause it only seems to have one joke.

Two foul mouthed, 'modern' women are forced to perform sanitized outdated stereotypes that they hate, and they won't shut up about how much they hate it, but quite literally won't do anything about it with out the Doctor's permission. Hardy, har, har...

Oh and the Doctor makes a weird, out of character, sex joke at some point.

Finally, I just hate how everyone is written through out most of it.

It's like I'm walking into middle of on going argument between a poly group that I have no context for.

Why is everyone in the tardis crew so rude and bitchy to each other at the beginning? What's up with all the awkward innuendoes between them? Why has Ace regressed as a character despite supposedly being older now?

Yeah that's the real disappointment here. I know the NAs had nothing to do with the Professor and Ace audios, but it's still disappointing to go from one story where she shows actual character development to another story where she's even more immature than she was on tv.

Like the character's main conflict in the story is that despite being in her 20s now, Ace is forced to play 'the child' for the attraction. Except she is childish.

She's rude, bratty, calls her own supposed friends names behind their backs, paranoid, self-centered and more concerned with 'having fun' then actually rescuing her friends.

The narrative makes a point to say that she's 'a woman now' and 'old before her time' but then has her behaving like a spoiled 13 year old.

But it's not all bad.

As I said, things pick up as we head towards then end. After Ace decides to remove the stick up her butt and help out, we get several cute scenes.

Ace escaping the house on a motorbike, driving through the amusement park with killer robots chasing after her, laughing all the way, is just unfiltered concentrated Who.

The Doctor and Benny cooking lunch together is adorable, and I love the pay off at the end regarding the roast.

And Benny's pure joy at getting to raid the Doctor's wine cellar full of antique alcohols from around the universe is perhaps the most realized the character has ever been to me.

Like counting this one, I've only read/heard three stories with Benny in total and the character never really clicked for me until this moment. Where she's cradling a wine bottle like a baby and cooing at it, going on and on about how much she's going to enjoy drinking it.

That's hilarious.

Hopefully that humor follows her into the Benny spin-off series which we'll be covering next.

[lupismaris]

Ok to do list (I will be functional this week so help me)

Tshot (you're already a day late c'mon)

Smoke #1

Food (something of substance but it can be easy)

Hair cut (we bought new shears for this yes you can go for the fixation cut if you want but it's time) (BUY YOURSELF THE SHEARS MY FRIENDS THEY REALLY MAKE A DIFFERENCE. YOU MIGHT DO A BIT OF A HACK JOB OUT OF EXCITEMENT YOUR FIRST GO BUT ITS A BETTER TIME)

Shower + hair gloss

Smoke #2

Tony's audio book while you go to bed

Bed (please before midnight we have to be at work so fuckin early c'mon my dude) (one 30 is good enough

[sheetmusiclibrarypdf]

Hello, Guitarists! This new upload of sheet music is for you! (June 2025)

Hello, Guitarists! This new upload of sheet music is for you! (June 2025). Guitar Play Along B.B. 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King - Blues Guitar Collection 1950-1957 36 early blues classics Recorded Guitar VersionsBarbara Pravi Voilà Easy Piano Solo (2021)Guitar Music Theory Vol. 1,2 and 3 (Complete) by Sublime Studio Beginners, Advanced and TipsGuitar Play Along Deluxe Vol. 16 The Who book with Audio MP3 Embedded Tracks With TablatureGuitar Play Along Deluxe Vol. 21 Neil Young book with Audio MP3 Embedded Tracks With TablatureGuitar Play Along Deluxe Vol. 23 Creedence Clearwater Revival book with Audio MP3 Embedded Tracks With TablatureGuitar Play Along Deluxe Vol. 24 Jimi Hendrix book with Audio MP3 Embedded Tracks With TablatureGuitar Play Along Deluxe Vol. 25 The Doors book with Audio MP3 Embedded Tracks With TablatureGuitar Play Along Deluxe Vol. 27 Stevie Ray Vaughan book with Audio MP3 Embedded Tracks With TablatureGuitar Play Along Vol. 152 Joe Bonamassa book with Audio MP3 Embedded Tracks With TablatureGuitar Play Along Vol. 175 Michael Schenker book with Audio MP3 Embedded Tracks With TablatureGuitar Play Along Vol. 176 Eric Clapton and Blues Breakers John Mayall book with Audio MP3 Embedded Tracks With TablatureGuitar Play Along Vol. 177 Albert King book with Audio MP3 Embedded Tracks With TablatureGuitar Play Along Vol. 195 Metallica 19831988 book with Audio MP3 Embedded Tracks With TablatureGuitar Play Along Vol. 94 Slow Blues with Audio MP3 Embedded Tracks With TablatureUltimate Guitar PlayAlong Radiohead book with Audio MP3 Embedded Tracks With Tablature Read the full article