#bill graham presents

[retropopcult]

The Yardbirds, The Doors, Richie Havens, and James Cotton Blues Band at the Fillmore Auditorium in San Francisco, July 25-30, 1967. Concert poster by Bonnie MacLean

[bayareabadboy]

Happy Birthday Grace Slick

[chrisgoesrock]

Bill Graham, Presents, Mike Bloomfield, Al Kooper & Friends, at the Fillmore West, (BG-138 1968) by Lee Conklin

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Black Metal and Bourbon (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 8.1k

WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, drug usage, mentions of sex & intimacy, dark jokes/dirty jokes, rumors, gossip, past toxic relationship, a shitty Ex, protective!Simon, etc. (18+ mini-series)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You slapped the damp rag back into the bar top, the fabric heavy with spilled alcohol and other fluids that you didn’t even want to try and think about. 

“Jesus.” Your muscles ache, neck stiff from having to try and slap a dart from the ceiling where some jackass had been too drunk to attempt and hit the target. The thing was still up there, as you weren’t about to spend your entire night fruitlessly attempting to fix someone else's blurry mistakes. 

You glare over your shoulder, seeing the unconscious form of the man in question being dragged out by his friends presently, his slurring chuckles making him sound like a drowning elephant. Intoxicated yells of goodbye attached to your name make you roll your eyes slowly as they begin being said; you push through the waist-height door to allow you behind the front counter. Your middle finger flips the patrons off before boisterous flirting hits the air.

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that—!” Is cut off by the slam of the front doors and you couldn’t be more happy that your boss hadn’t gotten the bolts tightened. 

“Don’t get paid enough…” You grumble, eyes slithering over to the tip jar and seeing the overflow of bills and coins as your fingers wrap the neck of a bottle of Vodka. 

The profit would be split with your coworker even if she’d been gone for more than half a night getting railed by her new boy toy. You can still remember the look she’d given you as she’d walked out during rush hour, her sharp smirk and smug sheen of ‘you won’t say anything, will you?’

Grumbling under your breath, you slip the Vodka back into its slot on the wall racks, while telling yourself you can’t drink on the job; trying to forget the face of the man that had been attached to hers before they’d stumbled to the back alley.  

“Graham Whitaker, you’re such a five-cent sell-out,” you shake your head, sighing heavily into the air that smells like booze and sweat. 

Graham Whitaker—your Ex in every sense. 

You decided to tell your coworker, if she ever showed back up, that the only reason she was getting dicked-down was because it was that man’s plan to try and make you jealous. As if you’d be caught with your pants down over a prick that had cheated on you more times than you could count before you threw his ass out. 

“Not my problem anymore,” your hands move to display themselves in a motion of a settled disagreement before wiping them on your black pants. 

It was late now, of course, with the dart-drunk and his friends being the last patrons that you had to serve. But you’d been in this town a long, long time. 

Sorrel the construction worker came in an hour, Miss Anna-Lee accompanying for her nightly Gin and Tonic before she talked about her late love from the seventies. From there it was three more regulars before closing activities and fighting to get up tomorrow by noon only to do it all over again. 

Over and over and over. 

You lean back on the counter and look across the brown wood and warm overhead lights, behind you, the illumination from the drink rack gives off a dead glow. 

This was your workplace since you'd been of age, and over the years that seemed to drag, here is where you’d stayed. Nothing ever changed in this town—the biggest shock was when you’d broken up with Graham; people hadn’t stopped talking about it for months.

This place was like a prison of slow death and abandoned dreams. Safe to say this was not what you had envisioned for yourself.

You scoff, pushing off the back counter and snatching your rag back up before you can spiral once more.

The stains weren’t going to buff themselves out.

Maybe it was chance that the mechanics shop across the street had shut down, too few employees and too many drug busts. Chance, or fate, whichever it was you chose to believe in that still-air Sunday, it was still a shock to you when you looked out the front window as Sorrel called goodnight through his heavy accent. 

‘SOLD’

“Sold?” Sorrel pauses with one foot out of the door, and he chuckles when he sees where you’re looking in shock, your hand holding a dirty glass. 

“Haven’t heard, then? Few newcomers snuck in under our noses—they’ll be running the place; mechanics!” 

“New?” You laugh. “Who in their right mind would come here of all places?” 

Sorrel shakes his head, grumbling as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket. “You’ll just have to meet ‘em, Doll. Sure you’ll leave a glowing impression.”

“Take that shit outside, you ass. You know I hate the smell.” A smirk graces your dead eyes. 

“Like I said. Glowing.” You glare, but the man slips out of the door quickly and his form passes by the window outside to climb into his truck parked in the street. Two honks from the horn and the older man is off, grizzly-like beard gone just like your boredness. 

New arrivals? 

You blink at the blackened shadows of the street, illuminated by the lights and their tall tree-like bases—the sway of the planted bushes in the boxes outside. Your head tilts at the abyssal building that was once in working order. 

It was a shitshow now, years of abandonment not giving it any helping hand regarding upkeep. The concrete was cracked, the garage door was hanging off of one side, and the front windows had been broken by your Ex’s buddies when they had gotten into a fight like the three-year-olds they were. 

You hum lowly. A hard-chucked set of keys, you recalled. You’d seen it from here easily enough. Hadn't lied to Sheriff Russel when he’d come knocking, and, you suppose, that was why even now the immature posse still tried to scare you by following you home at night to this day.

As if everyone didn’t know where everyone else lived already. 

But back to the current interest for the night. 

“Let’s have a little look-see, then,” you breathe, knowing Miss Anna-Lee would be a good while away like always. You could chance five minutes—it was just across the street after all. 

Shuffling outside, making sure to hold the door until it closes slowly, you step down the single step and stick your hands into your pockets. The night wasn’t hot or cold, simply there like a metaphorical cut on your palm; it wasn’t surprising the more you lived with it, but it still made your skin itch. 

Feet padding, you cross the dead street and take in the long stretch of unkempt grass, stepping onto the broken curb as your shoes crunch broken glass. Long-gone cigarette butts are scattered here and there, the occasional stray bit of metal or trash. Your eyes shift slowly from one brick that makes up the frame to another, the peeling blue color that could use touching up. 

The mural you had painted in middle school had faded a long time ago, just like the great expectations of going into an art career. The eyes of a great gray wolf are only a dark outline that you can’t help but stare at as if a cancer was growing in your brain, hidden behind the reach of green ivy. 

Ripping your eyes away, you ignore the cry of tires from across the town and the pop of an exhaust pipe—the roar of either a car chase by the repeat offender Irene Chaney, or by some stupid kid related to Irene Chaney. 

“She’s gonna wreck one of these days,” you breathe, looking down at your object of intention—the sold sign in all of its red and white glory. 

Your hand snakes out and grabs the cheap plastic, stopping its swaying with a creak and a tilt of your head. 

You just couldn’t understand it—who in their right mind would buy this place? The only thing it would be good as is rubble, at least then some rabbit could make its very dusty home here. 

Sorrel had mentioned multiple people too. 

“Must be up at the B&B then,” your voice carries over the space, the stars twinkling above you as a shadow stands at the end of the cracked driveway. Its hands are in its pockets, tall form bulky with the dark brown leather jacket around its intimidating form. You’re none the wiser, letting the sign drop as you put your hands to your hips. “They better not be fuckin’ dickheads—”

“Mind explainin’ to me why I came to get a drink and now I’m talkin’ to some Bird on my property?” 

You startle, gasp peeling out of your lips as your head swivels as if attached to a string which, in turn, tracks back to the source of a heavy Manchester accent. Grass breaks under your feet, as the gravel of the tone makes you cringe. Your eyes lock on the man who looks like he just came back from a warzone. 

The first thing you noticed was the balaclava and the skeleton detailing, of course, how could you not—the lower half was an inch below those October eyes of the deepest shade of brown you’d ever witnessed. 

Your spine straightens in cautious surprise, hiding the way your hands had clenched as if ready to swing on your Ex if he so happened to be there instead of…this person. 

“Excuse me?” You say, quickly, as if it was forced out instead of a scream. Your face pushes that stern expression back to your face as your throat clears out the hoarseness.

A covered head tilts with its small sliver of pale flesh visible to you—the strong bones of his nose bridge and hidden jawline. The bulk of large muscles and thighs spoke to hard labor, and his booted feet shifted below loose black cargo pants. 

The mask alone caused you a hint of worry in those few seconds of fast study of this phantom’s anatomy. 

He blinks at you slowly, raising the small corner of a dark brow from a respectable distance away.

“Said you’re trespassing, yeah?” Your face gains a sheen of heat, and you glance at your bar behind the stranger, at the bright burn of the lights. 

Taking a stiff breath, your lips pull into a frown as you try to hide your embarrassment.

“Well…a holler would have been just fine.” A fake glare is put on. “What’s with sneaking up on a woman in the middle of the night? Are you some creep or something?”

Those dark eyes stay locked on yours, and for a moment you don’t know if you’ve encountered a statue or not because he doesn’t speak for a moment. 

A puff of breath from his nose. 

“You the bartender, then?” You motion to your nametag above your left breast and grunt. His gaze homes in before he simply says, “Good.”

Without another word, the man turns stiffly before he steadily begins making his way back to the bar; crossing the street with a swift check of the road. You watch him saunter off, jaw slackened and your cheeks hot. The span of his shoulder blades levels out as he rolls his shoulders. 

Where did this guy even come from? The answer was simple, the bed and breakfast was only four buildings down and to the left. Guy must have come in for a late-night serenade with a bottle.

A quick glance is thrown back to the rundown property behind you before you growl and hurry after this individual who currently pushes open the faulty doors of your work. Jogging across the asphalt, you catch the thing right before it closes and slip inside with a puff of air and a shoved-down snap of a sarcastic ‘thanks’. 

Yet, the man is already pulling back one of the bar stools and easing into it when you make it behind the counter. You study him yet again. 

“You’re one of the new mechanics?” Brown-Eyes blinks at you. 

Without missing a beat, he goes, “Bourbon—Kentucky.”

“I asked a question,” you cross your arms, not even for a moment looking away as the silence of the bar sneaks in around you and this strange creature. “Least you can do for a lady is answer it when you act like a damn cat and sneak up on her.”

“You were on my property.” This is leveled out through a grunt, and after a moment of staring, you scoff. 

“I was curious about who had bought such a piece of junk. Guess I have my answer.” Your hand grabs the bottle of Kentucky Bourbon, the amber liquid inside sloshing as you turn back and put it into the wood. There’s a fraction of a dead tease that makes the man seem more human than he looks.

“Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine?”

“I prefer a solar flair.” You comment dryly and set an engraved glass next to the bottle. Something flickers past the mechanic’s eyes, a quirk to the fabric of his balaclava. 

“On The Rocks or Neat?” Your brow raises and you tilt your head. 

“That even a bloody question? Neat.” You snort, splaying your hands before you grab the bottle as he watches you blankly. 

“Sorry, it's kind of my job to ask.” Your hand shifts and you pour a reasonable amount into the glass, knowing exactly when to stop. As you shift the bottle away, you leave it on the bar top and gently push the beverage to him as his gloved fingers take it up. You repress a small smile at the matching bone gloves to go with the detailing on his balaclava.

“Bartenders always have this much attitude?” The glass is kept in front of his person, carefully held in his large grip. 

Moving back, you go to lean on the back counter. This night was quickly taking an interesting turn. “Only if they’re me.” You sigh. “You have a name, then, Brown-Eyes?” 

The individual snorts at the title, but his eyes narrow on you at the same time as if he was held hesitant at the ability for you to make him. He had an air of casual tension around him, like a dog on a thin leash that can only just manage to meet others and stay his fangs. 

Danger, you pinpoint. The man felt like danger. A riptide; surface tension.

Then why was it that you felt more and more intrigued by the second?

“Simon Riley,” he eases, staring with those numb eyes of his before he tips the glass slightly your way. With the thumb on the same hand that holds the bourbon, he hooks it under his face covering and pulls it up until he can connect the glass to his lips and take down a sip as his Adam’s apple bobs in a swallow. 

On the way back, his thumb drags the fabric back to its previous position as if nothing had happened. The image of pale skin and stubble sticks with you, and your eyes shift away quickly without you realizing it as the glass is returned to the counter. 

“Well, Simon Riley,” you mutter, “welcome to nowhere.”

The man hums, eyes looking you over in a single glance before the gaze shifts to the wall behind your head. He says nothing, and the door opens to the next three familiar customers as you move to take their order. As you slip out from behind the barrier, you grumble under your breath before you slip past Simon to the corner booth. 

“For the record, Riley, I do enjoy seein’ that old place getting taken on. Don’t run it into the ground, would you? And if you need a fresh coat of paint, for the love of all things holy, don’t go down to the Schafersons’ place, you come right to me.” 

Walking casually, you greet the three ladies from the downtown library with a smirk and an easy comment about if their husbands knew they were out so late, to which you promptly got cursed out on good faith. Sharing a few chuckles, you get them started on what they need, all the while feeling those brown orbs now following subtly from the side of their sockets, intrigued. 

Simon wasn’t sure what to make of you, and the same could be said about this town as a whole. A woman with such a future trapped behind her eyes, adventure in her blood, why were you here in a place with nothing promised for it except dying businesses and old faces? This was a place where people came to hang up the coat, not try and rip it off of its peg. 

The children born here with ambitions leave, that was the common denominator. Even Simon could see that. But you? Here you were. 

The man peels his eyes away, taking up his glass again and re-hooking his thumb to his mask. Amber liquid seeps into his mouth, pulling the scars on his lips and cheeks as he swallows it down as easily as water. The bourbon pools in his stomach, sending its honied effects to the back of his mind; it would take much more to get drunk, but that wasn’t what Simon was looking for. 

Perhaps he was just out tonight wondering why he’d left the military for a mechanic’s job and come out here—asking anything for a sign that this was the right decision even as his head echoed with the screams and the gunfire. 

And then he’d seen you standing in front of the fuckin’ worst mechanics shop he’d ever seen that he’d signed the property deed for not three hours ago. Hell, he hadn’t even looked at the place before buying it—Price was responsible for the official financial actions, and the man had made him swear that it was worth it.

But fuck, he’d just needed a way out of the city. Too loud, too unpredictable in that previous shop of theirs right by the busy street. MacTavish and Garrick had been easy to convince; they’d all served together before and had no family over here either. 

A new start thousands upon thousands of miles away. 

Your head pulls up from where you chat with the librarians, hearing the slam of the door as the draft wafts in from outside—a small breeze has picked up. 

Inside walks in your very ruffled, and very well-pleased, coworker, Celina Bell. 

She brushes down her top and black skirt, blinking around with blown pupils until her eyes lock on you. A poisonous smile meets your eyes as you raise a brow slowly—Lord, if this girl didn’t realize that fucking your Ex over some workplace squabble wasn’t something to be proud of, she was really a lost cause. 

Simon only glances over his shoulder before turning back around and tapping his fingers against his glass absentmindedly. 

“You alright?” You ask out of due diligence, sparing the ladies an apology look for them being interrupted. 

“Better than alright,” Celina chuckles, walking over with a limp in her step. “Just scored Graham Whitaker.” She fake pauses, blinking as if in realization that a child would know was taking the piss. Your face is stuck in the expression of boredom. “Wait…you two were involved for a few years, right? Oh, I’m really sorry—I had no clue.”

“Yeah,” you look her up and down and blink at the disheveledness. “Sure. Quite the score.” A pause, her lips pulling back into that smug smirk that reminds you of a weasel. Yet your next words leave her face devoid of blood. “You know he got Chlamydia from Stacy Green a week ago, right?”

A pin could be heard dropping. Brown eyes are firmly stuck to the scene, unsure what to make of it. The ladies stifle their laughter.

“...W-what?”

“Y’know,” you motion a hand to her lower body, walking past her back to the bar. “STD. Chlamydia. Results in—”

“I know what the fuck an STD is, you bitch.”

“Woah,” you whistle, “language.” Your body returns to the counter as loud stuttering is left behind you, the frantic patting of a pocket to look for a phone before enraged feet rush to the exit. “Need a refill, Riley?”

“It can wait,” Simon utters slowly. The door slams shut.

You chuckle, shrugging. “Alright, suit yourself.” 

The man takes the names you drop and files them away, slotting them into his mental database for when he needs to work with these people. Yet, there’s already a sour impression just off of comments alone. Who better to get your news from than a bartender? 

You know everyone's dirty little secrets.

You diligently serve the drinks to the librarians, placing them down carefully before Simon once more has a re-filled glass of his drink. He moves it slightly up in a cheer and gives you a stare as you wipe your hands with a clean rag.

“Seems you know everything ‘round ‘ere.” His accent is what draws you in, and you find yourself eager to hear more from him. 

“I’m easy to talk to,” you respond, shrugging and leaning on the counter a foot or two away as you both watch the other. A smirk overtakes your features. “And I am the one that gives people the drinks.”

“So, what I’m hearing,” Simon raises a brow. “Is that you get ‘em dunker than a man on his execution date.” 

You click your tongue, tilting your head in a teasing manner while maintaining a serious face. 

“Afraid you’ll spill your secrets, Riley?” 

His eyes flash at you, and his lips flicker into a smirk you can hear in his voice. 

“It’ll take more than two glasses of Bourbon to get me talking, Sunshine.” 

Your face shifts away, but the sudden fight with a smile leaves you nearly breathless. 

Who is this man?

“Why are you here,” your question meets his ears as he takes back the last of his drink, stomach filled for the night and his searching, for the moment, abated. 

The glass meets the bar top. 

He grunts. “Needed a drink.”

Your lips pull in annoyance. “You know what I mean. You’re terrible at answering questions.”

“Hm, maybe.”

“Fuck off,” you grumble, shaking your head as a low chuckle makes your insides swirl. 

A stack of bills is placed on the counter, and the man stands, grabbing the hood of his black sweatshirt and pulling it up. His gloved hands go to the pockets of his leather jacket with a roll of his wide shoulders. From under the hood, the white of the painted mask glares out from under the shadows that now shroud him. 

You both sneak a glance at the mechanic's shop—a clear view from the front window. 

“See you around, then?” Your head is tilted at him, blinking. You hum under your breath. “I’m going to keep asking you why you showed up in this town, Riley, and I won’t stop until I get an answer.”

Simon quirks a brow, eyes glinting with interest. When was the last time someone had spoken to him like this outside of his boys?

“Look forward to it,” he utters slowly. With a blink and one more dead look, he’s already out the front door and walking back down the street—disappearing like a ghost the same way he had appeared. 

Picking up his cash and counting through it, the librarians across the way snicker, and one calls out, “So, the new mechanic, huh?”

“One more peep and I’m doubling your tab.”

But…you did have to admit, he had been charming…hadn’t he? At least someone here could juggle your attitude.

—

Three days pass with no sighting of Simon Riley, but just because you didn’t see him doesn’t mean you weren’t witness to his aftermath. 

The shop across the street was practically fixed up while you were asleep. 

Where there had been overgrown grass, there was now a cut lawn getting watered by the reach of an angry sprinkler. The fast movement of the spray reaches the sidewalk that was, somehow, still there under all that trash hiding away like a criminal. Stray bricks are gone and stacked into a pile as you pause outside the bar, staring wide-eyed with your breath caught in your throat in the late morning air. 

The ivy over your mural was peeled back—that faded wolf’s gaze locking with yours, unyielding to the calls of time as its canid body stool as a silent sentinel. 

But, on the third day, as you’re going on break before the night sets in, you manage to not only see Simon again but meet two of the other men who’d moved here.

You pick up your feet and jog across the street, hopping the curb as you blink, impressed at the open garage with its fixed and oiled bay door. Inside it was still dusty—remnants of what was left behind in the corners and scattered. But it was getting there. Quickly. 

“Didn’t know Simon was goin’ to sign on such a piece of rusted shite—where’s the fuckin’ outlets?” Gritted Scottish. You stick your hands into your pockets and enter the large opening. 

“If I remember,” you speak, finding the two men standing slightly off to the side as the bulkier one with a mohawk carries a series of extension cords. Cobalt and brown eyes dart to you in shock—the second man of darker complexion sharing a glance with the other in swift confusion. “When you manage to find them, they’ll all be burst.” 

Blank stares are sent your way. 

“Kids would come by and watch ‘em spark when they were bored. No one really cared enough to stop them.” A clearing of a throat meets your ears as you study the room more. 

It was small, with only one main garage for all the repairs, but that wasn’t new to you. The motorcycles were, though. 

Five in total all parked and resting next to one another near the back wall, all in varying shades of black and gray. Your lips twitch at the sight, imagining your late-night acquaintance riding one of them—you dare say that it fit him quite well, and you weren’t that surprised at all by this.

Biker mechanics. It fits the script. 

“Who’s this then?” The Scot asks you, raising a brow as a friendly smirk pulls his mouth up. “Can’t remember bookin’ any repairs today, Ma’am, might have to wait a few more days before we get it all up and runnin’.”

“I can see. No, I work just across the street,” you spare a friendly smile. 

“So you’re the bartender? The bartender.” The second man speaks, grinning kindly as he searches through a toolbox on a small table. He hums, looking playful. “So that’s why Ghost was gone so long.” 

Ghost…? Did they mean Simon?

The skeletal accents suddenly make far more sense.

“Johnny MacTavish,” A hand is leveled out ahead of you, and you take it casually with a muttering of your own name. “Soap’s just fine as well.” 

Your brow quirks, but you only share an amused nod.

The other individual stands and makes his way over, tall and leaner as to where Soap’s more blatant strength is. 

“Kyle Garrick—Gaz. Pleasure.” 

“Just came over to introduce myself,” your hand shifts back into your pockets as you motion with your head back to the bar. “I’m on my break.” 

“Ah,” Soap’s hands move the cables he holds as he loops them into a more storable shape vertically around his elbow and palm. “Last one to meet then is Price—man’s in town gettin’ lunch for us,” he grunts under his breath. “Hopefully a damn set of zip-ties, too.”

“Zip-ties, Mate?” Gaz breathes a chuckle with a fix of the backward ball cap on his head. “C-4 would bloody help more. At least then we can have a clean starting point.” 

“I think we’re fresh out of C-4, unfortunately,” you huff a laugh, motioning around as the men smirk at you, Johnny snorting a chuckle. “You guys have done a pretty good job so far. I can’t remember when it looked this nice in here.”

“Well, we’re honored, Bonnie,” Soap tilts his head as he ties off the cord with one of the ends. “Makin’ me blush.”

“If Simon had just looked at the place before buying it, we might have been able to open sooner.” Gaz huffs, thinning his lips as he glances over the broken window and the peeling paint—the door to the main lobby that has a punched dent in it. “Couldn’t be worse.”

“Well then it can only get better,” you breathe, shrugging. 

Gaz huffs affectionately. “Not wrong there, then.”

You lean forward, tilting your head. “You’ll find I rarely am.”

“Second time you’ve snuck on,” a Manchester accent scares you once more, head snapping to the side as the light spills in from the garage opening. “This a pattern, Sunshine?”

Simon’s brows are raised as those October eyes lock with yours. Gaz and Soap share a look, smirking before the Scot peels off to find a place to store his belongings. 

“Where have you been?” Gaz asks as you glare at the masked man for once again coming up behind you. 

A bag is presented, leaning off three fingers as a glance gets thrown past you. 

“Down the street. Needed these made.” The bag is tossed and Kyle catches it easily. 

You watch as the crinkly plastic is opened and the dark fabric of four black pairs of overalls is produced, each embroidered with their respective names. 

“What’s wrong with the old ones?” Johnny pipes up, brows furrowed. 

“Looks like you got fuckin’ mugged in ‘em.” Simon slides his attention back to you as Johnny curses with a glint of amusement in his blues. 

“Aren’t open yet.” Your face peels back to a stiff annoyance. 

“I can see that, Riley.” You motion to the other men. “I was being polite.”

He grunts while walking past, muttering through a brief smirk, “Doubt that.” 

Your jaw slackens, but you only growl and hold your tongue as you glance the mechanic over. He still had his leather jacket, but a loose shirt took the place of a hoodie. 

“You ready to answer my question?” Simon locks those eyes with yours from over his shoulder before sliding up to the black form of one of the motorcycles. 

Visible to the naked eye, you take in the lack of fairings around the frame—eyeing the pure black metal of the entire engine from any angle that you might move to you’d still be able to see. It was nice. Perfect, even; damn expensive too. While the thought was enticing, you can’t imagine Simon riding it—he seemed more rugged, more…classy. 

“Negative.” You roll your eyes, but Soap speaks before you can retort. 

“Finally takin’ out the CB1000R, Ghost? ‘Bout time.” The brute throws a blank look at the Scot as Gaz utters to you a few feet away before a casual ‘no’ is leveled out through the space.

“He got it months ago,” Kyle’s eyes crinkle. “Can’t seem to take it out for a ride yet. No one knows what he’s waiting on.”

“Can’t say I blame him,” your words confide. “It’s beautiful.”

“It was a fucking fortune—no use collecting dust is what I say.” You hum, shifting back to Simon who taps the seat of the CB1000R before moving past it to an older cruiser with dents and dirt along the sides. This was more him you thought. Rugged and more dated than the first; something you use on long rides to nowhere.

“Maybe he’s just waiting for a special occasion,” you guess.

“Better get on with it.” Gaz moves away with a shrug and a huff. 

Your lips pull in a small smile, and you watch Simon pull keys from his jacket and insert them as he moves to straddle the larger body of the cruiser, easing into it slowly. Staring, you think about how far that bike could take you—what you could see with it on the open road of possibilities and whipping air. Where would you go? Anywhere. Anywhere and everywhere. 

Eyes shifting away from the motorcycle, they widen as they softly meet Simon’s own—locked for a moment in a staring contest. His lids barely pull down, studying something. You clear your throat and exhale.

Sensing your company was most likely a hindrance at this point, you turn to leave as the engine flares—you wave easily behind your back with a call of well-wishes.

“Come have a drink one time, boys, yeah? I need stories that come from strangers for once.” A ruckus of ‘affirmatives’ and ‘will do, Ma’ams’ sparks up from Johnny and Kyle as you exit to the roar of the motorcycle behind you, your feet kicking a stray rock into the grass before you make it to the curb. 

Before you can cross, a steel body blocks your path. 

“I’ll be needing a drink later tonight, then.” Simon watches from atop his seat, one booted foot to the ground to steady himself as he comes to a slow halt. His fingers curl the handles, twitching.

“Let me guess,” you tilt your head, smirking, “Bourbon?”

“A woman after my own heart,” he draws numbly, October browns as dead as mulch. As dead as dirt.

“And do you have a heart, Simon Riley?” You question, blinking at him as your mind tells you to walk away. Your brain doesn’t need a repeat of Graham—you already had enough problems on your plate right now besides some attraction to this stranger. This push and pull made your heart jerk, even when you know it shouldn’t.

You’d only just met him.

The man hums, thighs shifting on the black metal frame. He says the easiest answer he can. 

“A cold one.” 

Pushing on the ground, he takes off down the road back into the main town for whatever errand he was on this time. Your eyes follow until the figure is no more than a memory of the smell of oil and the metallic tinge of caution.

—

You hated the smell of cigarette smoke. 

Like a pregnant woman’s aversion to the scent of meat, you grew nauseous at the very hint of cheap tobacco and paper on the air—loathed the burn of it. It had to do with your Ex, of course. The man had been a habitual chain smoker, lighting up one after the other until you had to leave his house entirely to puke on the front lawn. If you thought about it hard enough, you could still taste the ash on your tongue from when he kissed you after lighting up. 

But that was only one of the reasons you’d never moved in with him despite being together for years—the cheating was the other problem. 

Girl after girl, broken promise after broken promise, you’d still held onto him as if he deserved it. Hell, all that Graham Whitaker deserved were the copious amounts of STDs he probably had after sleeping with as many women as he could to try and get back at you. You didn’t have ample reason to ban him from the bar—him or his loud-mouth friends, you should say—so the problem, like a bad rash, persisted. Cars following you after work and all. 

But, the here, the now.

Simon had, in fact, come in for that drink that night—just as he had for the last week up until the grand opening of the boys’ shop. You’d both spoken throughout these encounters and formed some sarcastic and sly-looked bond that the other locals couldn’t understand. You had even learned about his military service. 

The both of you were just…different, people said. No one else really argued with it. 

You finally met John Price before the party that you’d heard from Simon that Soap and Gaz had been eager to host for the town—‘come meet the bastards that bought that old shitty building and see how they fixed it up all by themselves. You should come and give us your money.’

It was there that a proposal was offered. 

“Simon says you told him to come to you about paint.” John was late thirties, keeping a well-trimmed beard with a mustache that was the same shade of brunette as his head of hair. Tall, as well as built, he had found you as you were closing up the bar early for the town-wide party, Celina having already slipped out. 

You were dressed in a long skirt and a nice shirt for the occasion. 

“John Price, I’d imagine,” you comment, stuffing your keys into your pocket as your purse hangs from your shoulder. A throaty grunt tells you all you need to know as you move down the step. “Yeah, I did say that. Do you need some?” You look over his shoulder to the still peeling color on the outside of the bricks as the men are dragging out folding chairs and long tables. There was the clatter of laughter and loud calls. 

John’s blue eyes shift behind him, and he raises a brow slowly. 

“Thinkin’ we’d just hire you,” a side-eye. “If you’d be interested.” 

That was a surprise. 

You begin walking across the street, the man beside you and awaiting your answer. 

“Hire me?” Your voice asks, but you aren’t against the idea. “How do you know I’ll be any good at it,” you chuckle in question. 

“Simon says he found your initials next to the mural—the wolf.” Your feet pause, stuttering for a second before you catch yourself. The blood on your face stops its circulation in shock. “Not a bad piece, then.” John grunts. “...Think you can do a skull and wings?” 

So, you sat with your sketchbook in front of the wall, a portable camping chair below your bare feet as your legs folded under you. Your slip-on sneakers rest in the green grass, kicked off with a sigh. Blinking, the chatter and mumble from the party surround you in a sheen of community and calmness. You can pinpoint every voice, every story being re-told as if new news when it goes in one ear and out the other like a breeze on the wind. 

Humming under your breath as the sun is low in the sky, you hear the silent feet still from over your shoulder. A smirk flickers your lips.

“Snooping, Riley?” 

“My building.” He grumbles, “Seein’ what you plan to do to it.”

You snort, looking over your shoulder and smiling. “If I recall, you’re the one who took up my offer and told Price about it.” 

Simon was dressed in cargos and a compression shirt pushed up to his elbows, the swell of his forearms on full display along with the scars and…tattoos. You blink at them, the swirl of black skulls and guns; barbed wire and dog tags—the dark images that fit him as his motorcycles did on his left limb. Brown eyes flicker from yours to the painted wolf.

“Good at that,” the man says, balaclava shifting. 

Your expression slowly shifts to something far softer than you can remember it ever being; inside of your chest, your heart tightens. 

“Thank you.” 

He levels you, the corners of his eyes easing out of the numb nothingness to show something akin to shielded affection. Molten sunlight on the side of his face, making the color of his irises glow amber. Simon nods to your sketchbook, clearing his throat. 

“I able to see it, then, or is it some secret?” You huff.

“Come here,” your hand motions, palm brushing away eraser shavings as your fingers get stained with graphite. The shadow comes closer, leaning over you as the scent of oil pools in your gut. You blink at the side visage, swiftly looking back down to your sketchbook as a slight wind ruffles your skirt. 

“Price was talking about a skull with wings beside it—later on he made mention of a sword through the top.” While you explain the concept, you inadvertently study the tattoos on the flesh beside you, one scarred hand coming out to lightly grab the armrest of your chair as Simon leans even closer. 

As your face begins burning, breath caught in your throat, he blinks down at the image as he looms, head tilting. 

Simon breathes, chest rising and falling as his eyes go far off. You know the symbol means something, though you also have a good guess that it’s related to this group’s time in the service. 

He hums, and you see his lips open, the rough grate of his vocal cords as he begins to form words for you. 

“It’s—”

Your name is loudly called from across the way, both Simon’s and your heads snapping back as you both realize exactly how close you two have become. The stealing of the other’s warmth like wraiths of hidden longing ceases when you wrench your attention to the man you wished would leave you alone. 

Graham raises the dark bottle of a cheap beer from the dollar store in your direction, walking over. Now, your Ex wasn’t anything spectacular, but even you had to admit it was the best you could do around here if you didn’t want to date men only five years from the grave. Graham was tall, strong, and heavy-willed like a bear. In the day hours, he worked as a farmhand down the way. 

Your body tenses, eyes going tight. Simon sees.

“Who’s this,” he asks slowly, fingers twitching. 

“Ex,” you mutter, grimacing. “He’s going to make a scene.”

Already gazes had started drifting over, conversations lapsing into mute silence as orbs shifted to three different individuals all stuck in the same storm. 

Simon grunts, standing up to his full height and crossing his arms over his chest, legs shifting below him and thighs trading weight. His moving leaves half of you kept firmly behind him and your eyes study his stance as you notice that fact. You blink, and feel something stir in your ribcage, blooming like a flower. 

“Hey, Bartender!” Graham takes a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it as his fingers fumble over the neck of the bottle. “Though I’d seen you over here missing all the action. Nothing’s changed I see.” 

Your face pulls in with disgust.

“Graham, you’re drunk. Go home.” It was true—his words were slurring, his limbs loose with drink. He smirks at you, taking a drag of his cancer stick and puffing it directly at you. Your hand snaps to your nose to try and cover the horrendous smell.

“Nah,” he breathes. “I’m here with Celina, see’s a pretty nice lookin’ broad don’t you think? Not as good of a fuck as you, but, hey, I take what I get.” His expression shifts to hidden anger and Simon takes a heavy step forward before he can finish the rest of his sentence, hands shifting to grasp his biceps harder. Those browns simmer with low ferality—a warning.

The air gets heavy.

“Pretty good little lie you spread about me gettin’ that shit from Stacy.”

“That was a lie?” You drawl lazily and watch your Ex’s eyes flash with rage. But he should know you don’t take shit from him anymore. “Oh,” your fingers tighten over your flesh and make you sound stuffy. “Maybe I heard wrong, you’re right. You don’t have Chlamydia.” You glare. “It was Gonorrhea, wasn’t it?”

“Bitch!” Graham barks, moving forward, but before anyone can realize it, Simon already has him shoved back with a stone-like push to your Ex’s chest.

“Not smart, Mate.” The former soldier utters, arms falling back to his sides. The party by this point had entirely halted in sharp gasps and bated breath. 

Graham’s beer bottle shatters as it hits the ground, the grass not able to absorb the way it slams down to dirt. Your wide eyes stay stuck on Simon’s figure, who’s now entirely hiding your view of your Ex—the wide expansive back that shows the writhe of his shoulder blades and how his spine shifts under the tight shirt. 

Your hand lowers from your face.

“What the fuck?!” Graham spits. “You made me drop my fucking drunk, man!”

“Be thankful that was all, yeah?” Simon’s dead voice is a cold chill on a winter evening. Any sane person would turn and leave immediately. “Cut your losses.”

No one breaths for a long minute, and you can see the other new mechanics inching closer from the sides. All of the locals are deep into the scene, fingers to their lips in surprise. There’s going to be talk tomorrow—the bar will be busy. 

“Graham,” you try to sway the pig-headed man once more from behind Simon. “Go home.”

“So this is what I get,” your Ex spits, head trying to peek over the larger man’s frame to look at you. Simon’s hands clench into tight fists. “I’m with you for years and this is how you treat me? I gave you everything!”

“Those are years that I never want to think about again,” you say with a stiff finality. “And it’ll be a cold day in hell before you ever see me worrying about where you are or who you fuck.” 

Knowing that the situation is over and done with, Simon takes a single step forward and leans into the man. 

“You heard ‘er,” he levels, unblinking. “Scatter.” Simon’s accent made it sound more like a threat, but maybe it was. 

Graham growls and takes a long drag from his cigarette, staring Simon down. 

“Fuck you, you piece of shit.” But all he does is turn sharply on his heel and stomp away, crossing the street to his truck before he opens and closes the door with a violent slam. From across the way, Celina gasps and calls his name, but the engine has already started and Graham is down the road with a roar from the exhaust. 

Everyone is watching you and Simon, and the staring peels back your skin until Simon grumbles and grabs your arm. 

Blinking in shock, he only gives you a moment to steady yourself and slip on your shoes before he drags you inside the garage. You huff and look up at him as you close your sketchbook–trying to not look at those tattoos again. Your finger wanted to trace them—to study the ink down to the layer of skin where it ended and became red flesh and weeping veins. How far up his left arm did they go? Did they only stay at his forearm, or up to his shoulder?

Inside he lets you go, head slightly tilted to the outside as the sounds of hushed whispering pick back up; hurried and filled with electricity. Simon grunts, blinking. 

A heated silence encompasses the two of you, and as your eyes lock, neither can speak for a moment. 

“Sorry about that,” you glance at your feet. “Should have guessed he’d show up and do something.”

“Don’t apologize,” Simon crosses his arms again, boots righting themselves. “That’s not your fault that some bastard can’t act right, yeah? Forget about it, it’s all nothing.”

“You shouldn’t have to be involved—”

“Bloody cut it out, would you?” Simon glares, brows pulling in. “I said it’s nothing.”

He was very passionate about this, it seemed.

You sigh, shaking your head before a tiny chuckle makes the mechanic blink in confusion. “Suppose I can call you my guard dog now, huh?”

“Piss off,” you laugh, covering your mouth with your hand while your eyes narrow down. Simon's own crinkle along the edges, lowering his hands to push them into his pockets. 

A second leads into another, but neither of you has any particular interest in re-joining the others, even if Soap is smugly passing looks and Price smirks into his drink. Gaz fixes his hat while he tips back a beer bottle, hiding a glint of amusement. 

Simon’s voice lowers, seeming to hover closer. 

“You alright, then?” You nod, face heating up as you stare at his shadow-tainted visage and how the face-covering obscured him from your eager eyes. 

“I’m used to his drama. I have no problem giving it back.” Simon hums, October browns glinting like Halloween lights. 

“Seems so.” He pauses, and pushes out a joking, “Not surprised, Sunshine.”

“Good, Brown-Eyes,” you lean back on your heels and smirk. “I’d be offended if you were, with all we’ve been talking to one another.” 

“Getting familiar, Bartender?”

“Of course, Mechanic. Haven’t you heard?” He tilts his head, prodding you on as his eyes soften that candle-like smidge. “I keep everyone’s secrets—and you still have to tell me yours.”

Simon chuffs a low chuckle, and the fabric of his mask pulls as he shakes his skull. “Maybe one day, yeah? Need to stick ‘round to know ‘em.”

Then perhaps this town was worth wasting away in.  

—

“Bastard won’t cause any problems, will he?”

“No, no, he’s too much of a coward to try and get back at anyone. He won’t do anything.”

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @aldis-nuts, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

[undergroundrockpress]

Michael Bloomfield and Carlos Santana at the last week of the Fillmore, San Francisco, 1971.⁣ Photo : Jim Marshall.

The closing of the Fillmore West brought out hundreds of San Francisco fans for a days-long celebration of the ballroom's legacy as a historic purveyor of Sixties rock 'n' roll. Bill Graham's famed venue could no longer support the ever-increasing fees charged by the national acts he presented, and the promoter had no choice but to close down. The revelry culminated in an evening of jams on July 4, 1971, and one featured John Cipollina, Carlos Santana and Michael Bloomfield. The show was heard live over KSFX and this file comes from that broadcast.

[notwiselybuttoowell]

In 2014, the Guardian asked me to nominate my hero of the year. To some people’s surprise, I chose Russell Brand. I loved the way he energised young people who had been alienated from politics. I claimed, perhaps hyperbolically, he was “the best thing that has happened to the left in years” (in my defence, there wasn’t, at the time, much competition).

Today, I can scarcely believe it’s the same man. I’ve watched 50 of his recent videos, with growing incredulity. He appears to have switched from challenging injustice to conjuring phantoms. If, as I suspect it might, politics takes a very dark turn in the next few years, it will be partly as a result of people like Brand.

It’s hard to decide which is most dispiriting: the stupidity of some of the theories he recites, or the lack of originality. He repeatedly says he’s not a conspiracy theorist, but, to me, he certainly sounds like one.

In 2014, he was bursting with new ideas and creative ways of presenting them. Today, he wastes his talent on tired and discredited tales: endless iterations of the alleged evils of the World Economic Forum founder, Klaus Schwab, the Great Reset, Bill Gates, Nancy Pelosi, the former US chief medical adviser, Anthony Fauci, Covid vaccines, medical data, the World Health Organization, Pfizer, smart cities and “the globalist masterplan”.

His videos appear to promote “natural immunity” ahead of vaccines, and for a while pushed ivermectin and hydroxychloroquine as treatments for Covid (they aren’t).

He championed the “Freedom Convoy” that occupied Ottawa, which apparently stood proudly against the “tyranny” of Justin Trudeau’s policies. He hawks Graham Hancock’s widely debunked claims about ancient monuments.

A wildly popular clip from one of his videos about the Dutch nitrate crisis offers a classic conspiracy theory mashup: a tangle of claims that may be true in other contexts, random accusations, scapegoating and resonances with some old and very ugly tropes. He claims that “this whole fertiliser situation is a scam”. The real objective is “to bankrupt the farmers so their land can be grabbed”. This “shows you how the Great Reset operates”, using “globalist” regulations to throw farmers off their land. He claims it’s “connected to the land grab of Bill Gates” and the “corruption of companies like Monsanto”.

In reality, the Dutch government was forced to act by a legal ruling, as levels of nitrate pollution, largely from livestock farms, break European law. Its attempts to curb this pollution have nothing to do with the World Economic Forum and its vacuous rhetoric about a “Great Reset”. Or with Bill Gates. Or with Monsanto, which hasn’t existed since 2018 when it was bought by Bayer. So why mention them? Perhaps because these terms have become potent click triggers.

Brand is repeating claims first made by far-right conspiracists, who have piled into this issue, claiming that the nitrate crisis is a pretext to seize land from farmers, in whom, they claim, true Dutch identity is vested, and hand it to asylum seekers and other immigrants. It’s a version of the “great replacement” conspiracy theory, itself a reworking of the Nazis’ blood and soil tropes about protecting the “rooted” and “authentic” people – in whom “racial purity” and “true” German identity was vested – from “cosmopolitan” and “alien” forces (ie Jews). Brand may not realise this, as the language has changed a little – “cosmopolitans” have become “globalists”, “aliens” have become “immigrants” – but the themes have not.

On and drearily on he goes. He manages to confuse the World Health Organization’s call for better pandemic surveillance (by which it means the tracking of infectious diseases) with coercive surveillance of the population, creating “centralised systems of control where you are ultimately a serf”.

Some of his many rants about Bill Gates are illustrated with an image of the man wearing a multicoloured lapel badge, helpfully circled in red. This speaks to another widespread conspiracy theory: those who wear this badge are members of a secret organisation conspiring to control the world (so secret they stick it on their jackets). In reality, it shows support for the UN sustainable development goals.

Such claims are not just wrong. They are wearyingly, boringly wrong. But, to judge by the figures (he has more than 6 million subscribers on YouTube), the audience loves them.

Some of his theories, such as his recent obsession with UFOs, are innocuous enough. Others have potential to do great harm. There’s the risk to the people scapegoated, such as Fauci, Schwab and Pelosi: subjects of conspiracy theories often become targets of violence. There are the risks misleading claims present to public health. And bizarre stories about shadowy “elites” protect real elites from scrutiny and challenge.

While I’m not suggesting this is his purpose, it’s a tactic used deliberately by powerful people to disarm those who might otherwise hold them to account. Donald Trump’s former chief strategist, Steve Bannon, had a term for it: “flood the zone with shit”. As Naomi Klein has shown, the Great Reset conspiracy theory was conceived by a staffer at the Heartland Institute, a US lobby group that has promoted climate denial and other billionaire-friendly positions. It’s a bastardisation of her shock doctrine hypothesis, distracting people from the malfeasance of those with real power.

[soulless-angel25]

Doctor Who Sexuality and Gender Identity hcs

Doctor: genderfluid. Uses whatever pronouns fit the body their in, but will sometimes use multiple. Not sure in sexuality but attracted to both males and females, demisexual.

Rose: demi-girl. She/They pronouns. If she had to pick a label then probably omnisexual, but otherwise she'd be unlabeled.

Jackie: AFAB but as she grows older slowly tries to figure herself out because she never had a chance before since she married pete at 19. Bisexual, male leaning.

Pete: male, is straight. He definitely supports though.

Mickey: mtf but doesn't fully understand till after he and Martha get married and they talk about it. She/Her pronouns. Into women.

Jack: male. He/him, but fine with other pronouns. Pansexual, he can fall for anyone regardless of gender.

Martha: female. She/her, is fine with they/them. Just no he/him. Bisexual.

Donna: nonbinary or agender, not sure which. Doesn't really care what pronouns but if asked says she/her. Into men but certain women catch her eye, not that she ever really tries to shoot her shot with them.

Amy: bigender. She/he ruler! Bisexual with little to no preference.

Rory: male? He/him but gets a strange giddy feeling when addressed with she/her. Into Amy.

River: female presenting for the most part but genderfluid. Any Pronouns. Pansexual and demisexual.

Clara: nonbinary with they/she pronouns. Bisexual, female-leaning.

Nardole: male, he/him. Asexual, not aromantic. Definitely feels attraction towards women.

Bill: demi-girl. She/They. Lesbian.

Master/Missy: genderfluid, goes with whatever pronouns fit the body. Doesn't really care for sexuality labels but definitely not into one gender alone.

Graham: male. He/him. Doesn't fully understand but very supportive.

Grace: female. She/Her. Bisexual. (Look me in my eyes and say to me that did not radiate those vibes)

Ryan: demi-boy. He/they, very cautious to settle on the label. Into women.

Yaz: female. She/her. Into women.

[kendrixtermina]

Another thing where Chibnall fucked up is that unlike previous showrunners, he never really tried to sell us on the companions as important deuteragonists who have cool stories in their own right.

I mean the classics sometimes had the problem that they would come up with cool character concepts but then under-utilize them / not think of anything better to with them than having the villains kidnap them again, but still it was attempted to have them be interesting & contrasting, for example they would follow up a sour snarky character with a cheerful one.

And in the pre-chibnall new series in particular, they've always had distinctive dynamics planned-out arcs. You couldn't swap one new series companion for another & still get the same episode. They were damn near the main characters.

With most of the companions we've had so far you could say what they'll do if you throw them at a given situation:

Donna would stay grounded & look for the common sense solution, Rose would usually comfort someone who's upset & discover crucial info that way, Martha would keep a cool head, start trying to puzzle things out and try to help, Clara would take charge & try to get the situation under control, Amy would just charge into it based on intuition, Rory would remain unfazed, tag along but also point out the danger, Bill would be curious and voice some unusual question or observation...

What do Yaz, Graham, Ryan or Dan do? Mostly just make corny jokes & follow the Doctor around, defaulting to whatever she does... You could swap 90% of their lines with none the wiser cause it exists mostly to prompt exposition while failing to imbue it with meaning & stakes..

They rarely ever act of their own accord, make important, plot-changing decisions or even react much to what happens to them. Nor do they really get one on one scenes with the Doctor or bond emotionally (except Ryan and Graham, sometimes, in the stiffest, corniest way possible), and no just having the characters TELL us they like each other is no substitute.

And if the characters don't seem to care, well, the viewers won't care either.

Even the Yaz having a lesbian crush thing which you'd think would be a really big aspect of her character, was apparently a suggestion by Mandip & Whittaker themselves, which means that Chibs had absolutely no plan for his characters expect just being... there, until it was time for them to go. So little plan he could just throw in a major thing like that. I mean I'm glad he did cause else it would have been ever blander, but still.

You'd think that with a big group of characters you could flesh them out by having them disagree about what to do, play different roles and react in contrasting ways, but that idea never occurred to Chibnall.

Let's compare the introduction of the "fam" to... not even the new series, but the very first serial from the 60s. Some aspects of it seem dated in hindsight, I could've done without the screaming & the Red Indian line, but still all four main characters are distinctly established & make meaningful decisions. The story would not turn out the same without any of them present:

Barbara is introduced as being worried about a student & shown to be responsible & intuitive. She decides that they should check on Susan, and later that they should save the caveman rather than just escape, more or less setting the story in motion.

Ian is introduced as brave, unflappable and inquisitive. He's the one who proposes taking bold action, moving the plot forward, but he is also more calm about it the whole time & continues to do so in a scary unfamiliar situation.

The First Doctor is introduced giving nonsense answers and trying to bullshit his way out of a situation. We see that he is quite cocky & guarded, but also tends to think his way out of situation. While he tends to respond to fear & pressure by bluffing, we see that he is still frightened underneath. (it is when he admits this that we get the first bonding moment between him & Barbara) His contributions to the plot are to take off with the teachers on board (half to avoid being discovered & half cause he's offended they don't believe he had a spaceship), and then later he solves the caveman murder.

Susan is shown to be quite smart, but also very timid, and she describes her time hiding out on earth as the happiest in her life, showing that she would maybe prefer a quieter, more stable life than the one she leads. She's probably the most passive character, seeing as she's the youngest, but since she likes and trusts both the teachers and the Doctor, she's essential to keep the group together until everyone else starts trusting each other.

Note that at no point does anyone say "Ian is brave & unflappable" or "Barbara is responsible & intuitive", rather we are shown, not told.

Now, what are we told about the fam, and just as important, how are we told?

Yaz wants more challenges than her job offers. We are told this because she just states it out loud.

Ryan & Graham don't get along, but Graham would like them to. We know this because Graham explicitly tells us.

Ryan is frustrated because despite ppl's encouragement, his disability presents real limits. We know because he tells us so.

..okay? Kinda unsubtle delivery, but it's a start. All of this could have potential if it's developed more, especially the last thing. You could make interesting characters with these basic points.

But what happens then?

The plot is advanced not by character decisions, but by a bunch of random coincidences: The Doctor just crashes into them, Ryan just happens upon the onion, Yaz just happens to be on duty when he calls etc.

The main characters learn that they've been implanted with bombs... and barely react. Ryan reacts more when his phone is erased for the sake of a "phone obssessed millenial" joke than to learning he's about to die.

Imagine if they had Ryan complain about how he'll die & that is yet another unfair thing in his life, or: Graham chooses at this moment to act protective on Ryan. Or: Yaz tries to keep a cool head & control the situation, maybe having some friction with the Doctor's attempts to do the same but also impressing her. Just gimme any character/emotion, Chris!

Notice how they show Ryan having a youtube channel... and it's the blandest, most generic thing ever. This was THE opportunity to characterize him: What videos does he watch, what videos does he make, does he have a distinct username? No, it's just his name with some numbers. They just wanted the video framing device, so he has a youtube, but they don't think about what it says about him.

Remember for example, how Clara picked 'Oswin' as an username (short for Oswald for the Win), & how this shows that she is confident and a bit vain.

Now imagine if they had Ryan pick something with a relatable downtrodden millenial vibe, or had him reference internet culture. Just anything that characterizes him in any way.

When we get character scenes at all they feel sort of tacked on & removed from the plot, like the plot stops 5 minutes for Ryan & Graham to have a scene, and while the plot is happening everyone becomes a plank of wood walking from location to location.

That's the worst thing to do, especially in sci fi when you have wild fantastic things happening! The plot and the characters should always be connected: The plot is made to challenge the characters, and the characters reactions give the plot weight.

Any time a Dalek showed up in RTD's run, everyone panicked, even the normally level-headed characters - and that's how they sold that these pepperpots are a big deal. Donna being needed to save the universe is designed as a counterpoint to her self-esteem issues. Martha has a problem with prioritizing herself, so the plot throws her in taxing situations untill she realizes that she can't keep doing this.

We care about River meeting the Doctor out of order because she emotes about it. We would care much less about the puddle person if she wasn't Bill's girlfriend trying to keep her promise. We wouldn't care as much about the timecrack if it hadn't eaten Amy's fiancé. As phantastical as the impossible girl thing is, on the character level it has a pretty simple meaning: The Doctor owes clara a debt & wants to thank her but is also suspiciou cause he's jaded from past losses, and we then explore how his character responds to this situation.

In Chibnall's writing, this connection is absent, and so neither the plot nor the characters manage to really land emotionally. So much ppl stopped watching cause it was just bland flavorless & not exciting anymore.

[bestfrozentreats2]

Bonnie MacLean

"One of the GREAT Artists of the Psychedelic sixties left this worldly plane with the passing of Bonnie MacLean on February the 4th, 2020 in Newtown, Pennsylvania.

During the early days of the Fillmore, Bonnie was the most "present" member of the staff. She collected tickets, passed out handbills, blew up balloons and counted money for Fillmore productions. Impressed with her lettering skill on the upcoming attractions chalkboards, Bill Graham (who she later married 1967-1975), surprised her with an easel and art supplies for Christmas, 1967, and her poster artist career was launched. Untrained in graphic arts, her early style evolved into ornate, Medieval-Gothic designs. Faces in her posters wore trance-like stares, steady and serene, and evoke the detached spirituality of the sixties.

Bonnie continued creating artwork to the end.... She will certainly be remembered as one of the True Pioneers of our Psychedelic Poster past."

--Rusty Goldman

[icouldtasteyourhair]

“From all appearances, this well-oiled apparition had just dropped in from the nearest soup kitchen hoping to carbo-load at the banging backstage buffet laid out by the catering crew at Bill Graham Presents so, naturally, the very instant that Rasputin of Toronto(subsequently identified through Interpol mugshots as Richard Manuel, pianist, vocalist, and drummer for The Band) aimed the above-referenced goofy-ass grin in my direction, I was down—and out—for the count.” -Sally Mann Romano, The Band’s With Me: Tour 1964-1975

[bayareabadboy]

Jimmy Page 1983 ARMS Festival, San Francisco, Cow Palace

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Brad Polumbo

Published: Jun 25, 2024

Republicans are very concerned about left-wing indoctrination in the public school system, and often for good reasons. Yet, it seems that some Republican leaders feel differently about ideological indoctrination in the classroom when they’re the ones doing it. 

In Louisiana, a recent law mandates the display of the Ten Commandments across all public educational institutions, from elementary schools to universities. The bill, championed by Republican Governor Jeff Landry, was signed into law at a private Catholic school. During the ceremony, Governor Landry declared, “If you want to respect the rule of law, you’ve got to start from the original lawgiver, which was Moses.”

This makes Louisiana the only state in the nation with such a mandate. Other red states haven’t ventured into this territory in recent years, perhaps because they know it’s blatantly unconstitutional. Nonetheless, Governor Landry appears undeterred, openly stating that “can’t wait to be sued.”

He may not have to wait very long.

A coalition of groups, including the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), has already announced its intention to file suit, condemning the mandate as “unconstitutional religious coercion of students, who are legally required to attend school and are thus a captive audience for school-spons.ored religious messages.” The ACLU also added that the mandate “send[s] a chilling message to students and families who do not follow the state’s preferred version of the Ten Commandments that they do not belong, and are not welcome, in our public schools.”

This is not uncharted territory. The ACLU cited the 1980 Supreme Court case Stone v. Graham, where the court explicitly ruled that the First Amendment’s Establishment Clause, which prohibits the establishment of a formal state religion, prevents public schools from displaying the Ten Commandments. 

“If the posted copies of the Ten Commandments are to have any effect at all, it will be to induce the schoolchildren to read, meditate upon, perhaps to venerate and obey, the Commandments,” the Supreme Court ruled in that case. “However desirable this might be as a matter of private devotion, it is not a permissible state objective under the Establishment Clause.”

Governor Landry is surely aware of this precedent and simply does not care that this legislation will almost certainly be blocked in the courts. Nonetheless, it represents an opportunity for him to signal his cultural war bona fides—a move that, in any other context, Republicans might rightly describe as empty “virtue signaling.”

Regrettably, this isn’t just an isolated incident among Republicans in one conservative state. Louisiana’s initiative has garnered support from many of the most prominent figures in the modern GOP. One such figure is Congresswoman Lauren Boebert, who praised the legislation in an interview with Real America’s Voice. “This is something we need all throughout our nation,” she said. “I’m so proud of Governor Landry…. We need morals back in our nation, back in our schools, and if there’s anything we’re going to present in front of our children, it should be the word of God.”

This stance appears to be a mainstream view within the Republican Party, as the party’s leader, Donald Trump, also threw his support behind Louisiana’s efforts in a post on Truth Social: 

The Republicans’ embrace of this religious mandate in public schools is deeply hypocritical, contravening many principles they have previously claimed to stand for, and incredibly short-sighted. 

Firstly, they are proving to be fair-weather fans of the First Amendment. These same types regularly champion free speech when it comes to opposing government censorship or progressive attempts to crack down on “hate speech” (which now includes uttering basic biological truths), and they are absolutely right to do so. However, you cannot selectively support the First Amendment, endorsing free speech and freedom of religion clauses while actively violating the Establishment Clause. After all, if Republicans can disregard the parts they don’t like when it’s inconvenient, then progressives can too!

Secondly, Republicans are compromising their stated beliefs about the importance of parents’ rights and opposing “indoctrination” in schools. Now, they suddenly advocate for the government’s role in teaching children morality, instead of leaving this responsibility to parents or families.

Which is it? Consistent supporters of parents’ rights believe that it should be up to parents to teach their kids about morality, whether it concerns pronouns or prayer. 

There’s also the issue of misplaced priorities. Louisiana ranks 40th out of all 50 states in education. Meanwhile, 40 percent of 3rd graders cannot read at grade level, according to The Advocate. Yet, the governor prioritizes mandating posters of the Ten Commandments—and allocating tax dollars to defending it in court—that many students probably can’t even read.

Even many conservative Christians can see the issue here. As radio host Erick Erickson put it:

When the 3rd grade reading level is only 49 percent, I don’t see why the state wants to spend money on lawyers for a probably unconstitutional law making the Ten Commandments mandatory just to virtue signal a side in a culture war. Actually use conservative reforms to fix the schools instead of putting up posters half the 3rd grade cannot even read.

Perhaps the most common Republican rejoinder is that displaying the Ten Commandments is an educational initiative focused on historical context rather than a promotion of religion. But while there’s no disputing its historical significance, it’s not being presented as part of a broader course on religion that features a variety of religious and secular perspectives, which would be fine. Instead, beliefs from a particular religious tradition, the Judeo-Christian one, are being elevated and mandated to the deliberate exclusion of others. This selective approach is hardly subtle: Governor Landry purposefully signed the bill at a Catholic school and even referenced Moses! 

There’s no denying that the Ten Commandments are inherently religious, as they proscribe not only murder and adultery but also idolatry, taking the Lord’s name in vain, and working on the Sabbath. So, conservatives making this “history, not religion” argument are straining credulity. 

What’s more, further empowering government schools to promote a specific ideology to students will not end well for conservatives. It’s not exactly breaking news that the public education system is overwhelmingly staffed and run by people with increasingly left-leaning political and cultural views. Conservatives should be fighting to restore viewpoint neutrality in the public square—not further undermining it and thereby making it easier for woke ideologues to propagandize to everyone’s kids. 

It’s sad, but ultimately not surprising, to see so many Republicans proving to be inconsistent allies to true liberal values. At least those few genuine, principled defenders of the First Amendment now know who our allies are—and who they are not. 

--

About the Author

Brad Polumbo (@Brad_Polumbo) is an independent journalist, YouTuber, and co-founder of BASEDPolitics.

==

Moral consistency requires opposing both.

... Secularism means that no particular ideology is being forwarded and getting special treatment. Go have your belief. Believe what you want. Privately. You don’t get special treatment because you believe this with tons of conviction. Secularism means that your belief in your faith covers none of the distance to proving that it’s true. Conviction is not evidence of much of anything. Except conviction. -- James Lindsay

--

“If you want to respect the rule of law, you’ve got to start from the original lawgiver, which was Moses.”

Leviticus 25:44-46

Your male and female slaves are to come from the nations around you; from them you may buy slaves. You may also buy some of the temporary residents living among you and members of their clans born in your country, and they will become your property. You can bequeath them to your children as inherited property and can make them slaves for life, but you must not rule over your fellow Israelites ruthlessly.

Who's going to tell him?

[every-character-ever-poll]

WEEK EIGHT LINEUP

We did it! Finally. Week Seven is complete, and we can move on to greener pastures - by which I mean we can slog our way through a new 'Week'! I can't think of anything funny to say here right now so let's just get into it.

Norah Jakobs - The Nice House On The Lake

Jaehee Yoo - Let Dai

Graham Ness Payser, the Pacesetter - Toontown: Corporate Clash

Amaya - The Dragon Prince

Lottie Matthews - Yellowjackets

Clippy - Microsoft Word

Gren - The Dragon Prince

Kafuka Fuura - Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei

Piers - Golden Sun

Ron - The Who Was? Show

Tohru Honda - Fruits Basket

Nightcrawler - X-men

Henriette de Pusay - Les Colombes du Roi-Soleil

Monsieur Tidbits - The Who Was? Show

Hariham Harry - Hugtto Precure

Chief - Animal Crossing

Venti - Genshin Impact

Geraldine - The Who Was? Podcast

Quote - Cave Story

Bait - The Dragon Prince

Dale Gribble - King of the Hill

Drizzt Do'Urden - Dungeons and Dragons - Forgotten Realms

Clytie Van Gogh - Fate/Grand Order

Madoka - Puella Magi Madoka Magica

Boston - Only Friends: The Series

Count Olaf - A Series of Unfortunate Events

Phosphophyllite - Houseki no Kuni

Battler - Umineko When They Cry

Mona Lisa Vito - My Cousin Vinny

Medic - Team Fortress 2

Gus - Sweet Tooth

Apollo Justice - Ace Attorney

Twigleg the Homunculus - Dragon Rider

Thirteen - Obey Me!

Daisy Buchanan - The Great Gatsby

John Yossarian - Catch-22

Hikari Kuina - Alice in Borderland

Jintetsu - Kurogane

Fantine - Les Misérables

Telemain - Enchanted Forest Chronicles

Mahiru Shiina - MILGRAM

Garroth - Mystreet / Minecraft Diaries

Nami - Harvest Moon/Story of Seasons

Amethyst Heart - Magical Warrior Diamond Heart

The Amazing Karnak - Ride the Cyclone

Marvin - Falsettos

Hearthstone - Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard

M.X.E.S. - Five Nights At Freddy's

Draco Malfoy - A Very Potter Musical

Zombie Cleo - Hermitcraft & Traffic Life

Henry the Duck - 36 Questions

Lazarus - Ribbon Rabbit Daycare

Jeff - Doors

Almoral - Biz Mart

Prince Blueblood - My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Maya Fey - Ace Attorney

Amanda Young - Saw

Molli Pop - Candies n Curses

Deckard Cain - Diablo

Zee - Total Drama Island

Hiura Erika - The Night Beyond The Tricornered Window

Takuto Maruki - Persona 5 Royal

Emma - Total Drama Presents: The Ridonculous Race

Perona - One Piece

Noah - Total Drama

Gin Ibushi - Your Turn to Die/Kimi ga Shine

Cody - Total Drama

Kitty - Total Drama Presents: The Ridonculous Race

Torchic - Pokémon

Amaya - The Dragon Prince

Guido - Cars

Mecha Mountie - Death Road to Canada

Oliver - Vocaloid

Yuki Takeya - School-Live

Eric Cartman - South Park

Harold - Total Drama

K.K. Slider - Animal Crossing

Shawn - Total Drama: Pahkitew Island

Spinel - Steven Universe

Junior - Total Drama Presents: The Ridonculous Race

Applejack - My Little Pony Friendship is Magic

Fluttershy - My Little Pony Friendship is Magic

Wayne & Raj - Total Drama Island 2023

Mimikyu - Pokémon

Frye - Splatoon 3

Millie - Total Drama Island 2023

Ghetsis - Pokémon

Chef Hatchet - Total Drama

Minty - My Little Pony

The Arcanist - Flight Rising

Maud Pie - My Little Pony Friendship is Magic

Zell - Animal Crossing

Coco - Animal Crossing

Pearl - Splatoon 2

Big Man - Splatoon 3

Torachi - King of Prism

Bill Cipher - Gravity Falls

Sailor Venus - Sailor Moon

Kyubey - Madoka Magica

Mikan Shiratama - PriPara

Herobrine - Minecraft

[chrisgoesrock]

Bill Graham Presents Mike Bloomfield, Al Kooper & Friends at the Fillmore West (BG-138 1968) by Lee Conklin

[myfandomrambles]

C-PTSD & BPD Doctor Thirteenth Doctor pt. 1

(Doctor Character Study part 3E.1) 3E.2, 3E.3

An analysis of The Doctor as having Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD) along with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD).

[Thirteenth Doctor will be in 3 parts due to length. Find the whole thing on AO3]

13th Doctor 1. Introduction, Emotional Regulation, Anxiety, & Identity Formation

The Thirteenth Doctor is an interesting presentation of the C-BPD The Doctor has as she is both written and viewed to be very disconnected from the previous Doctor’s traumas, leading people to only see her dealing with trauma after she lost Gallifrey again and that the only trauma affecting her is The Timeless Child realisation. I posit that she always had trauma responses before TV: Spyfall pt 2. Her traumatic content in her body is held in the line of anxiety, hypervigilance, difficulty regulating emotions and being fully closed off about her history and emotions during her early stories. Trauma also comes out increasingly as a fight response later in her run, there are threads throughout her whole time making her very fascinating and complex.

Her agitation, agitation anger, hypervigilance, uncovering of past trauma and social difficulties and more are worth going through and analysing. 

A place to start with some of the basic triggers The Doctor experiences and trauma responses. Commonly a fight response. These incidents do not only happen in ways that are not as extreme or disconnected from the situation she is in. (TV: The Tsuranga Conundrum, TV: It Takes You Away, TV: Resolution, TV: Orphan 55, TV: Fugitive of The Judoon, TV: Revolution of The Daleks, TV: Eve of The Daleks, Prose: The Good Doctor, Comic: New Beginning, & Comic: Old friends )

An interesting early reaction of agitation we see her venting her frustration of being “too nice”, a response that screams strongly of a trauma response due to the struggle of being stuck in a situation that she had specifically warned Yaz against. This petulant comment highly references a fight response. (TV: Demons of The Punjab)

Of course, some of her strongest triggers have to do with facing her old enemies who have caused her a lot of pain. In TV: Resolution we see how she deals with her first Dalek in this regeneration. Starting when she first identifies the Dalek and going forward she is in a state of hypervigilance and a very strong fight response. 

“Doctor:...Let's see what we've got. No. It can't be. Yasmin: Doctor? I don't like it when you go quiet. Doctor: This is the DNA of the most dangerous creature in the universe. Graham: Does it have a name? Doctor: A Dalek.”

&

“Doctor: I'm going to find that creature. Yasmin: You can't do that on your own. Doctor: Always have done. Me and a Dalek, it's personal. Go on, get her safe.”

When faced with Cybermen she has a strong fear response that comes out in both fight and flight response and the need to protect her friends. The fresh loss of Bill to the cybermen along with other past people he’s seen become Cybermen, like Danny [this is an example even if he was dead to start with, the indignity in death still strains The Doctor’s emotions.] 

We can see this in TV: The Haunting Villa Diodati: 

“Doctor: One Cyberman, but then thousands. Humans like all of you changed into empty, soulless shells. No feeling, no control, no way back. I will not lose anyone else to that. Do not follow me.”

And continued into TV: Ascension of The Cybermen

"Doctor: I know. Yasmin: They destroyed everything we brought with us. Doctor: I know. Ryan: We haven't got anything else to defend ourselves or them. Doctor: I know! Listen to me. Do not argue. Go with the humans. Help them. Get them out of here. You won't make it back to the Tardis alive. Make sure you're with them. Ryan: What about you? Doctor: I'll hold them off. Graham: How are you going to do that? Doctor: This isn't a discussion. Yasmin: We're not just gonna leave you. Doctor: Yes, you are. You have to, all of you. No questions. Get out. I've been so reckless with you. Yasmin: What are you talking about? Doctor: You're human. If they capture you, they'll convert you. I'll find you. Get safe now!"

This interaction showcases a lot of the exhaustion and anger being triggered into remembering her worst memories, along with the reasonable fear of the situation and responsibility for her friends. 

Emotional lability presents with The Doctor; depressive, hyper, excitment anxious, frustration, and hostility. (TV: The Woman Who Fell to Earth, TV: The Ghost Monument, TV: The Tsuranga Conundrum, TV: Kerblam!, TV: It Takes You Away, TV: Resolution, TV: Revolution of The Daleks, TV: The Halloween Apocalypse, & Comic: New Beginning) A reference to this is mood issues is�� in TV: Orphan 55

“Ryan: I'm up for a free holiday. Where is it? Graham: A place called Tranquillity. Yasmin: Me too. So long as there's plenty of sun and absolutely no deep-space squid. Might get you out of your mardy mood. Doctor: My mood's fine. Ryan: That's you told.”

I will break down these emotions throughout the rest of this analysis. 

She deals with a lot of anxiety (TV: The Woman Who Fell to Earth, TV: The Ghost Monument, TV: Rosa, TV: Arachnids in The UK, TV: The Tsuranga Conundrum, TV: Demons of The Punjab, TV: Resolution, TV: Spyfall pt1/pt2, TV: Orphan 55, TV: Nikola Tesla's night of terror, TV: Praxeus, TV: Eve of The Daleks, TV: Power of The Doctor, Prose: Combat Magicks, Comic: Hidden Human History & Comic: Alternating Current). 

The Doctor tends to show her stress in a way that looks like what we view as anxiety. She’s not afraid of being viewed as anxious by her companions. It makes perfect sense she would be anxious due to her current past situations. Her specific expressions come through clearly and I think this is to some extent something that she views as acceptable to experience possibly because it doesn’t give much away. The Doctor is also relatively aware of her anxiety an example can be seen in TV: It Takes You Away:

“The Doctor: All right, no need to panic. Yasmin: I wasn't panicking. The Doctor: I know, I was talking to myself. Cos all this is very wrong.”

A way we can see the anxiety come through is that she talks a lot when under stress, both in the way The Doctor does to stall for time when thinking of a plan but also when there is no automatically viewable stressor. (TV: Ghost Monument, TV: Rosa, TV: Kerblam!, TV: Demons of the Punjab, TV: The Witchfinders, TV: It Takes You Away, TV: Spyfall pt2, TV: Nikola Tesla's Night of Terror, TV: The Haunting Villa Diodati, TV: Ascension of The Cybermen, TV: Village of The Angels, TV: The Vanquishers, TV: Eve of The Daleks, TV: Legend of The Sea Devils, Prose: Molten Heart, Prose: Combat Magicks, & Prose: The Secret in Vault 13)

An example is in TV: Arachnids In The UK we see the habit coming up during social interactions separate from fighting or other dangerous situations:

“Doctor: Look at your views. Never had a flat. I should get one, I'd be good in a flat. I could get a sofa. Imagine me with a sofa, like my own sofa, I could get a purple one and sit on it. Am I being weird? Ryan: A little bit, yeah. Doctor: I'm trying to do small talk. I thought I was doing quite well. Yasmin: Needs work. Doctor: Maybe I'm nervous. Or just socially awkward. I'm still figuring myself out. You really like junk. Are you collecting it, like stamps?”

Hypervigilance related to anxiety is something Thirteen experiences. Here hypervigilance is related to more paranoid thinking, seeing a threat coming up and carrying stress and alertness in the body. This concept can explain some of where her stress symptoms are rooted in. Her life experiences keep her head on a swivel so to speak. It’s useful for her life and it only worsens as time in her regeneration passes. (TV: The Ghost Monument, TV: The Tsuranga Conundrum, TV: The Witchfinders, TV: Resolution, TV: Spy Fall pt2, TV: Orphan 55, TV: Fugitive of The Judoon, TV: Can You Hear Me, TV: Ascension of The Cybermen, TV: The Halloween Apocalypse, TV: Once, Upon Time, Prose: The Good Doctor, Prose: The Good Doctor, Prose: Molten Heart & Comic: Alternating Currents)

We can see her reference the way she views safety in Comic: New Beginnings, linked to how her hypervigilance functions in her life. 

“Doctor: It's very rare to find true safety and certainty in the universe...”

Another moment we see The Doctor discuss her view on how they interact with safety can be seen in TV: Once, Upon Time:

“Doctor: I spend my life walking into new places and weighing things up fast. Who's who? Who has the power? Who's in danger? How fast danger is coming. Also, how likely my friends are to die. I've got good at figuring all of that out at speed.”

The Doctor even voices how she experiences hypervigilance in TV: The Haunting Villa Diodati:

“Lone Cyberman: You appear courageous, but your vital signs betray a heightened state of anxiety. Doctor: Or as I like to call it, Tuesday.”

A related symptom of hypervigilance and anxiety is agitation. She shows that she is on edge and sitting at a proverbial level eight in stress. This expression of stress becomes stronger as time passes and with the experiences with the destruction of Gallifrey, The Timeless Child & Flux. ( TV: The Ghost Monument, TV: Resolution, TV: Spyfall pt2, TV: Fugitive of The Judon, TV: The Haunting Villa Diodati, TV: Ascension of The Cybermen, TV: Revolution of The Daleks, TV: The Halloween Apocalypse, V: Once, Upon Time, & Prose: The Secret in Vault 13) 

In Prose: Combat Magics we see this reference when it describes that The Doctor is “prowling like a caged cat”.

Not having access to a full range of internal regulations can create conflict with other people. 

We see when her anxiety is raised due to being separated from her TARDIS and being injured she becomes agitated and acts abrasive towards people trying to be helpful. She keeps talking and disrupting the ship in a conversation with the medical Doctor which could damage other people in TV: The Tsuranga Conundrum:

“Doctor: What were you worried about? Just as I was waking up, you... you saw something and you were worried. Astos: No. Doctor: Ooo, bad liar. Must be difficult in your job. Astos: Hey, I'm an excellent liar. Doctor: So you were lying, then. Astos: I didn't say that. Doctor: See? Bad liar. .... Astos: Enough, now. You can't be in here. I don't know what that device is, but if you don't leave, I have to restrain you ... Astos: Don't! If you interfere with the navi-systems, they'll take it as an act of hostility or hijack. They can detonate the craft. Doctor: I'm not being hostile! ASstos: Yes, you are. You're being hostile and selfish. There are patients on board who need to get to Resus One as a matter of urgency. My job is to keep all of you safe. You're stopping me from doing that. Doctor: You're right. Of course, you're right.”

Another example of this can be seen in TV: Orphan 55 in her conversation after she has had to deal with a threat to her friend. 

“Hyph3n: Guests aren't permitted in the... linen cupboard. Doctor: How about Pan-galactic Standards and Practices Officer? Health and Safety? Security and Hygiene? Resort Inspector. Now, are you and your excellent tail going to let me have a look, or am I going to have to bark at you? Cos I will. ... "Doctor: Oh, yeah. Of course. Deadlocked room with its own armoury. Don't tell me. Honeymoon suite. Kane: Hyph3n, what the hell are you doing? Who's this? (She turns The Doctor around.) Doctor: I'm The Doctor, and you, madam, are far too handsy.”

As we can see in these examples her agitation can come out as being abrasive with other people and it can cause problems when communicating with other people. (TV: The Tsuranga Conundrum, TV: The Haunting Villa Diodati, TV: The Halloween Apocalypse, TV: Once, Upon Time, Prose: Combat Magicks, Prose: The Secret in Vault 13, & Comic: Hidden Human History) We know she wants to communicate to some extent and will take in some of what others say but it’s still clearly a difficulty she has. 

In TV: Fugitive of The Judoon we have an example of this. 

“Doctor: She said she was my past, but I know my past, and she's never been me. Graham O’Brien: I'm sure there's a simple explanation. Doctor: Time is swirling around me. The Master, Captain Jack Harkness, Ruth. Something's coming for me. I can feel it. Ryan: Let it come. You've got us. Doctor: Ryan, I've lived for thousands of years. So long I've lost count. I've had so many faces. How long have you been here? You don't know me. Not even a little bit. Yasmin: Don't talk to him like that.”

They say nice things after this moment, and Thirteen appears to appreciate what they are saying. The TARDIS sides with them as well, and they quickly get into their next adventure and we see it takes a lot of time for them to fully communicate. 

Thirteen’s trauma causes her to tend to have a proverbial film between her and her companions, or ‘fam’ as Thirteen refers to them. This version of The Doctor very rarely lets them into her history and her inner world. We see her care about her companions in series Eleven at the same time they know very little about her. She will let them in on her nerves, and she asks for reassurance from them. But they don’t know the why behind any of it, and even the emotions she does share very rarely go deep. She oscillates between wanting them to close because she cares for them, and holding herself behind a wall. ( TV: It Takes You Away, TV: Resolution, TV: Orphan 55, TV: Ascension of The Cybermen, & TV: Revolution of The Daleks)

This is very pronounced in the way it takes till TV: Spyfall Pt. 2 for her to tell them even the basics like her home planet, age or regeneration. 

“Graham: They're right. Five planets, you've barely said a word. Doctor: I'm fine. Graham: Why don't you ever share anything with us? Doctor: I share stuff. Graham: Not about yourself, though. Ryan: Yeah, you know everything about us. Yasmin: And we know nothing about you. Doctor: Fine. What do you want to know? Graham: Who are you, Doc? I mean, really."

Doctor: I was born on a planet called Gallifrey in the constellation of Kasterborous. I'm a Time Lord. I can regenerate my body. I stole this Tardis and I ran away. I've been travelling ever since. The Master was one of my oldest friends. We went very different ways. Questions?”

In TV: Resolution we see another nod towards this wall she keeps with her companions. 

“Doctor: Ryan's Dad. Yasmin: It's complicated. Doctor: Yeah. Dads are, so I've heard.“

This shows a bit of how the wall works, she is a father in multiple ways over time and has Susan who is her granddaughter. Past Doctors have mentioned they were fathers, even if they tend to never go into much of it. Twelve says “Dad skills”. (TV: Listen) Ten tells Donna about his children whom he lost in TV: The Doctor’s Daughter. Not only does she not tell any of them about having children she explicitly says that she’s only heard about it. While a small moment compared to others it’s still an example of her tendency to isolate her heart from her friends. 

This can also be seen as the line of purposeful self-isolation. Just not sharing but pushing other people away. (TV: Orphan 55, TV: Fugitive of The Judon, TV: The Halloween Apocalypse, TV: Village of The Angels, TV: Eve of The Daleks)

A humorous reference is made towards The Doctor’s broken communication style in TV: Orphan 55. 

“Doctor: Oh. Come on. This is not the way to resolve a family dispute. How about good old-fashioned passive-aggressive discussion?” While a joke it shows the cynical mind state The Doctor is in this episode, and also is honest for this Doctor. She doesn’t spend a lot of energy on her communication. 

In instances where she is fighting a bad guy, she can come across as less anxious when she is 1-on-1 with an enemy than in other situations. (TV: Rosa, TV: Demons of the Punjab, TV: Nikola Tesla's Night of Terror, TV: Ascension of The Cybermen, TV: The Halloween Apocalypse, TV: The Vanquishers, TV: Eve of The Daleks, TV: Power of The Doctor & Prose: The Secret in Vault 13). During TV: It Takes You Away The Doctor shows a lot of anxiety when only with friends or with other people but shows more competence when talking to the Solitract. 

This Doctor also struggles with impulse control. (TV: The Tsuranga Conundrum, TV: Demons of the Punjab, TV: Kerblam!, TV: Spyfall pt2, TV: It Takes You Away, TV: Resolution, TV: Ascension of The Cybermen, TV: Eve of The Daleks & Prose: The Secret in Vault 13) 

She can become very wreckless at times, her impulse control putting herself and/or others in danger.  This behaviour is seen right away during TV: The Woman Who Fell to Earth. We see The Doctor be willing to jump distances, wanting to turn on sirens, taking Ryan Sinclair’s phone and reworking it before even thinking to ask. In TV: The Witchfinders we see her dive headfirst into the water to save someone, while the right thing to do, it shows a degree of acting without fully considering possible consequences. 

The behaviour can veer into recklessness. We can see this starting all the way back in her first episode in TV: The Woman Who Fell To Earth she starts her life jumping distances she can’t fully judge as someone who has a new body. During TV: The Haunting Villa Diodati, she acts dangerously by taking the Cyberium in and then giving it over to The Lone Cyberma,/Ashad. 

Thirteen deals with a lot of anger (TV: The Woman Who Fell to Earth, TV: Rosa, TV: Spyfall pt2, TV: Orphan 55, TV: Nikola Tesla's Night of Terror, TV: The Haunting Villa Diodati, TV: Ascension of The Cybermen, TV: War of the Sontarans, TV: once, Upon Time, TV: Village of The Angels, TV: Survivors of The Flux, Prose: Combat Magicks, & Prose: Molten Heart)  Which gets worse after the destruction of Gallifrey and the retraumatization.

In TV: The Timeless Children we see a lot of a fight response coming out as anger. Starting with her interactions with The Master before the reveal. While commenting on The Master’s problems and his anger you can see and feel how she is angry and intentionally getting The Master worked up with her prodding. 

“Master: ... All gone now. Come on, ask me why I did this. Doctor: Why did you do this? Master: Not telling you. (laughs) Oh, crack a smile. Doctor: Proud of yourself? Master: Definitely. Doctor: All this death finally made you happy? Master: Ecstatic. Doctor: And has it calmed all the rage? Master: I don't think anything will ever do that. We're going to take a tour through the Capitol. Or its ruins, at least. Things I need to show you. And, er, I know you're worried about your friends. Plotting how to get away. I can see it in your eyes. But you can't help them, so don't even think about it”

Her reaction when faced with the memories of her abuse later in this episode causes a strong fight trauma response. She physically attacks The Master in an explosive outward response of anger. We know when The Doctor uses anything physical with her own body it is actions like Venusian Aikido that act as a quick disabling move versus these more unplanned and violent actions. It makes sense that this moment would push her over the edge, but it’s interesting to mark as we move forward. 

In TV: Revolution of The Daleks The Doctor tells Ryan about her anger after the events of her loss of Galifrey, people dying, the Timeless Children revelations and the interactions with The Master.

“Ryan: And The Master? What did he want with you? Doctor: It doesn't even matter now. Ryan: No, no, no. Don't give me that. Right? I see what you're doing. You're trying to avoid the subject. We've known each other long enough now. I know when something's changed. Doctor: Me too. I'm not who I thought I was, Ryan. What I always knew to be the story of my life... isn't true. I wasn't born on Gallifrey. Where I'm from, all the lives I've lived, some of that has been hidden from me, and I don't even know how much. Ryan: Seriously? And how do you feel about that? Doctor: Mostly... angry. While I was locked away, all I kept thinking was, if I'm not who I thought I was, then who am I? Ryan: You're The Doctor. Same as before, same as always. Doctor: Right. Same Doctor, same Ryan. Nothing's changed. Ryan: No. No. I didn't say that, did I? Things change all the time, and they should, cos they have to..."

This is an interesting conversation as it reveals the emotional state of The Doctor and how this emotional instability forces her to be willing to sacrifice a TARDIS, something we know has consciousness. Her fight response is very clear here, breaking through her common engaged and anxious headspace. 

Her anger and frustration can also come out cold, especially when dealing with people she doesn’t like. It heavily connects to a jaded sense of dealing with other people, she tries to be positive but there is anger and bitterness that highly impact her and can form an interesting dichotomy with her love and enjoyment. (TV: The Woman Who Fell To Earth, TV: Arachnids In The UK, TV: The Battle of Ranskoor Av Kolos, TV: Resolution, TV: Spyfall pt1/pt2, TV: Orphan 55, TV: Fugitive of The Judoon, TV: The Timeless Children, TV: Revolution of The Daleks, & Prose: The Good Doctor)

In TV: Rosa we see this ability to have her anger come across as cold, this allows her to stay in charge of a situation while still expressing her anger outwards to people she doesn’t trust or does not need/don’t deserve her to empathise with them like in TV: Rosa.

“Doctor: ...So, temporal displacement weapon. Horrible things. Can't stand them. Krasko: Thank you. Doctor: Not a compliment. Takes a lot of power to displace things in Time. I think you and I both know your weapon's pretty much out of juice. And I've got your spare battery. You've been leaving traces of residual Artron energy all over 1955. Krasko: And what are you, the Artron Police? Maybe you are. The blue box in the alley. Is it a Tardis? Doctor: Might be. What's it to you? Krasko: Well, it could be worth a lot. Doctor: Nah, not that one. Second hand, huge mileage, one careless owner. Mind you, it's better than a Vortex Manipulator, like the one on your wrist. Cheap and nasty time travel. Doctor: So, what do you want with Rosa Parks? Krasko: Who? Doctor: Oh, now you're being annoying. Krasko: The feeling's mutual. Doctor: How long have you been here? Krasko: Get out of Montgomery. Doctor: You're not the first to say that to us. Krasko: If I see any of you again, I will kill you. Doctor: Don't threaten me.”

Her agitation, anxiety and hypervigilance can leave her in a very restless state. (TV: The Woman Who Fell To Earth, TV: Arachnids in The UK, TV: Kerblam!, TV: It Takes You Away, TV: Spyfall pt1/pt2, TV: Nikola Tesla's Night of Terror, TV: Praxeus, TV: The Haunting Villa Diodati, TV: The Halloween Apocalypse, Prose: The Secret in Vault 13, Comic: New Beginnings, & Comic: Alternating Current)

The Doctor shows a strong need to be in control of situations, when she isn’t able to have a handle on the situation it increases the above-mentioned stress symptoms. She also uses her cold anger to maintain her control. (TV: The Woman Who Fell to Earth, TV: The Ghost Monument, TV: Arachnids In The UK, TV: Kerblam!, TV: Orphan 55, TV: Nikola Tesla's Night of Terror, TV: Praxeus, TV: Ascension of The Cybermen, TV: Village of The Angels, TV: Survivors of The Flux, Prose: Combat Magicks, Prose: The Good Doctor, & Comic: Hidden Human History)

The above quote from TV: The Tsuranga Conundrum after the loss of her TARDIS also shows the need The Doctor has to control the staff of the ship as well as putting her needs above the others when in a distressed state. In TV: The Witchfinder we see how being perceived as female puts her in a space where she is seen as having to automatically be less powerful, she consistently pushes back, and while warranted the way she goes about it matches other times she tries to maintain control. 

In TV: Fugitive Of The Judoon we have the way she tries to control the situation when the Fugitive!Doctor is trying to handle things. Thirteen can’t help but try to be the one who is manipulating events. 

“Fugitive!Doctor: She's nobody. Doctor: Fine. I'm nobody. Absolutely nobody. See, I know why you want her. You've got a contract, fair enough. But you? You want her dead because she left her job? Fugitive!Doctor: Shut up. Gat: Is that what she told you? This goes way higher than me. Doctor: So, who would that be? Who are you all ultimately working for? I'd really like to know. Really. Judoon: Information confidential. Fugitive!Doctor: I told you to keep quiet. Doctor And look where that's gotten us. Lots of guns in lots of faces. Fugitive!Doctor: And have you got a better idea? Doctor: I do, actually. My favourite. The curveball and the Judoon. You wanted to find The Doctor? Fugitive!Doctor: Don't you dare. Doctor: Well, here I am. Fugitive!Doctor: Will you be quiet? Doctor: Go on, scan me. Judoon 2: Fugitive match positive. Fugitive match positive. Fugitive!Doctor: Is there even a word for how dumb you are? Doctor: Doctor?”

In TV: War of the Sontarans we see how The Doctor challenges the power structure out on the field of battle, knowing she is the best option for survival, as well as having a dislike for those in charge. The people she is around don’t trust her to handle what she can because of her perceived gender and her wanting to avoid violence on the soldiers. 

A way this control is sometimes maintained is through having a bravado of how she interacts with other people. (TV: The Woman Who Fell to Earth, TV: The Ghost Monument, TV: The Witchfinders, TV: Spyfall pt2, TV: Village of The Angels, TV: Survivors of The Flux & Prose: Combat Magicks)

This can play into overconfidence like when she goes to face the Dalek in TV: The Eve of The Daleks getting her and her friends exterminated. This shows again in TV: Power of The Doctor when she takes time to gloat towards The Master and ends up getting shot and regenerating. 

In TV: The Haunting Villa Diodati we have an interesting comment on the power and control in her relationships and how it isn’t always something The Doctor wants but has become what they feel they have to do:

“Doctor: ... The world you came from, the world you were created in won't exist, so neither will you. It's not just his life at stake. It's yours. You want to sacrifice yourself for this? You want me to sacrifice you? You want to call it? Do it now. All of you. Yeah. Cos sometimes this team structure isn't flat. It's mountainous, with me at the summit in the stratosphere, alone, left to choose. Save the poet, save the universe. Watch people burn now or tomorrow. Sometimes, even I can't win.”

This line means The Doctor doesn’t like control, but shows that control has become compulsive and built into how they function on a base level. 

While Thirteen doesn’t talk about her past regenerations or the ideal of The Doctor it’s still a huge part of her schema. ‘The Doctor is an ideal can be seen in this Doctor even if she talks about it less than the previous regenerations. But her struggles with identity are still very visible before and after the Timeless Child. 

She seems somewhat afraid of who she is. As discussed above she kept a film between her and her companions which makes it easier for her to not have to fully face it. Some of this seems to stem from her introduction to this regeneration being born from the suicidal space Twelve lived in. As well as she has lost many companions in ways where they are cut off and the perceived betrayal of Missy. As well as her first adventure ending with Grace dying. Forming the idea of who she is while she is still 'fizzing'. (TV: The Woman Who Fell to Earth)

Her strong identity issues spiral out of control after the loss of Gallifrey and then the Timeless Child. (TV: Arachnids In The UK, TV: Demons of the Punjab, TV: Nikola Tesla's Night of Terror, TV: The Timeless Children, TV: Revolution of The Daleks, TV: The Halloween Apocalypse, TV: Once, Upon Time, TV: Village of The Angels, TV: Survivors of The Flux & TV: The Vanquishers) 

In TV: Resolution we see The Doctor discuss her identity in terms of her long and horrible relationship with the Daleks. 

“Doctor: I learned how to think like a Dalek a long time ago.” & “Doctor: Oh, mate. I'm The Doctor. Ring any bells?”

She doesn't seem happy about her being able to understand Daleks, understandably she dislikes weapons and hides a lot of the violence-related trauma she has. Trying to integrate all of history is extremely hard for Thirteen who deeply wants to be a good and hopeful person. But in the second line when no one is looking at her she experiences glee in scaring the Dalek. She owns her name/title very strongly to get one up on the Dalek, but it hurts to do so when she would have to do more than threaten an enemy. 

Another key part of This Doctor’s characterization is a consistent need to present herself as hopeful and nice, moralising for herself and others,  and her history of connection to violence. She wants to consistently try and give people hope, even if her ability to feel it herself might be affected due to the stressful mindset her C-PTSD puts her in during the early part of her run and becomes stronger as time goes on.

Right off the bat in TV: The Woman Who Fell to Earth we get a very prototypical Doctor quote while she is getting in touch with who is going to be. 

“Doctor: We're all capable of the most incredible change. We can evolve while still staying true to who we are.” & “Doctor: There's one thing I'm certain of. When people need help, I never refuse.”

A moment of trying to give others hope that is deeply genuine even with the grief overlaying it was in TV: Demons of The Punjab. During the wedding scene, she wants to believe and wants to be kind. And it was kind. She understands war, grief, and the loss of those closest to you. These are the moments when the silly old-time traveller is truly The Doctor. 

“Doctor: I know there aren't many certainties in any of our lives, but Umbreen, Prem, what I see you in you is the certainty you have in each other. Something I believe in my faith. Love, in all its forms, is the most powerful weapon we have, because love is a form of hope and, like hope, love abides in the face of everything. You both found love with each other. You believed in it, you fought for it, and you waited for it. And now, you're committing to it. Which makes you, right now, the two strongest people on this planet. Maybe in this universe.”

A similar situation happens in TV: The Tsuranga Conundrum where The Doctor invokes hope in a way that is both being kind as well using the idea as an identity support. 

“Doctor: Thank you, Mabli. I'll be sure to tell them how brilliant you were.” Mabil: You all were. Light in dark times. Doctor: People prevail. Hope prevails."

During TV: The Battle of Ranskoor Av Kolos we see her again invoke hope in a way that is slightly less meaningful and comes across as nicer than it does kind. It is part of a pattern she’s created for herself. 

“Doctor: None of us know for sure what's out there. That's why we keep looking. Keep your faith. Travel hopefully. The universe will surprise you... constantly”

This functions as a pillar of their identity, needing to be a positive person to embody 'laugh hard, run fast, be kind.’ Part of her need for control, and having a tendency towards black-and-white thinking.

[oldshowbiz]

Bill Graham presents Big Brother and the Holding Company