#but I can do that! I have the technology!

[reasonsforhope]

"A medical technology company in Australia is aiming for a world-first: it wants to launch a blood test for endometriosis (sometimes called 'endo' for short) within the first half of this year [2025].

In a recent peer-reviewed trial, its novel test proved 99.7 percent accurate at distinguishing severe cases of endometriosis from patients without the disease but with similar symptoms.

Even in the early stages of the disease, when blood markers may be harder to pick out, the test's accuracy remained over 85 percent.

The company behind the patent, Proteomics International, says it is currently adapting the method "for use in a clinical environment," with a target launch date in Australia for the second quarter of this year [2025].

The test is called PromarkerEndo.

"This advancement marks a significant step toward non-invasive, personalized care for a condition that has long been underserved by current medical approaches," managing director of Proteomics International Richard Lipscombe said in a press release from December 30.

Endometriosis is a common inflammatory disease that occurs when tissue similar to the lining of the uterus grows in other parts of the body, forming lesions. The disease can be very painful, and yet the average patient often suffers debilitating symptoms for up to seven years before they are properly diagnosed.

While there are numerous reasons for such a long delay, symptoms of endometriosis are often highly variable, unpredictable, difficult to measure or describe, and dismissed or overlooked by doctors.

Today, the only definitive way to diagnose endometriosis is via keyhole surgery called a laparoscopy, which is expensive, invasive, and carries risks.

Proteomics International is hoping to change that.

In collaboration with researchers at the University of Melbourne and the Royal Women's Hospital, the company compared the bloodwork data from 749 participants of mostly European descent.

Some had endometriosis and others had symptoms that were similar to endo but without the lesions. All participants had a laparoscopy to confirm the presence or absence of the disease.

Sifting through the bloodwork, researchers ran several different algorithms to figure out which proteins in the blood were best at predicting endometriosis of varying stages.

Building on previous research, a panel of 10 proteins showed a "clear association" with endometriosis.

For years now, scientists have investigated possible blood biomarkers of endometriosis to see if they could differentiate between those who have endo and those who do not. Similar to cancerous tumors, endo lesions can establish their own blood supply, and if cervical cancer can be diagnosed via a blood test, it seemed possible that endometriosis could be, too...

Proteomics International claims patents for PromarkerEndo are "pending in all major jurisdictions," starting first in Australia.

It remains to be seen if the company's blood test lives up to the hype and is approved by the Australian Therapeutic Goods Administration (TGA). But that's not outside the realm of possibility.

In November of 2023, some researchers predicted that a "reliable non-invasive biomarker for endometriosis is highly likely in the coming years."

Perhaps this is the year."

-via ScienceAlert, January 9, 2025

--

Note: As someone with endometriosis, let me say that this is a HUGE deal. The condition is incredibly common, incredibly understudied, and incredibly often dismissed. Massive sexism at work here.

I got very lucky and got diagnosed after about 6 months of chronic pain (and extra extra lucky, because my pain went away with medication). But as the article says, the average time to diagnosis is seven years.

Being able to confirm endometriosis diagnoses/rates without invasive surgery will also lead to huge progress in studying/creating treatments for endo.

And fyi: If you have a period that is so painful that you can't stand up, or have to go home from school/work, or vomit, or anything else debilitating (or if any of those things apply if you forget to take pain meds), that is NOT NORMAL, and you should talk to a competent gynecologist asap.

[luveline]

hi lovely, was wondering if you would be able to write any hotch x bombshell!reader ? maybe before they got together or any scenario/prompt you feel like!

take care of yourself and have a great day!!💝💝

The problem with Aaron Hotchner is that he’s too lovely for his own good. He might not think of himself that way. Not many, if any, of the office would agree. Morgan thinks Hotch is a hard-ass and Elle likes him in her way, but she rolls her eyes when he gets snippy, and Spencer… well, you think you and Spencer are probably on the same page. 

Hotch is kind, and a good man, and if he looks handsome when he’s frustrated that’s just how nature intended it to be. 

“Stop it.” 

“No.” 

“Stop.” Hotch levels you with a look over his computer. You’re surprised he knows how to use it, considering the semi-permanent callus on the pointer finger of his right hand. You must’ve watched him pen a thousand case files, consults and forms in a love letter to the old ways. 

He types slowly, but you’ve decided to keep your comment about it to yourself. “You’re looking at me like you know something I don’t,” he says. 

“Maybe I do.” 

“I’m sure you do. Stop bragging.” 

You lean on your elbow on the desk. He’s got a file open in front of him he’s transcribing for the sake of security. It details a case from a few months ago, and each line of the investigation is printed in Hotch’s neat script, lilting to the left over time. He frowns as he turns a page and realises it’s practically margin to margin with detail.

You want to offer to do it for him, but he’ll say no. You want to slide your foot up the leg of his slacks to see if he’ll blush as he did last Friday when you’d done the same thing, Gideon in the doorway none the wiser and somehow disapproving regardless. 

And Hotch, he’d laughed like a kid when the door closed, not turned on in the slightest but endeared by the guts it took you to try. Then he’d sort of enticed you around the desk somehow —you don’t remember the before of it, only slinking to his side with your heels tumbled on their sides under the desk still, his palms wide and open as you settled on a wooden corner. 

“I’m pretty good on the computer.” 

“I know,” Hotch says. “I authorised your computing and communications technology seminar myself.” 

“I was good at it before the mandatory company training garbage,” you say without heat, wondering how you might entice him over your side of the desk. Flirting aloud doesn’t work. Neither does footsie, and besides, what fun is that for you? But he’d looked at you in this strange way, none of his commanding sternness about him. A smile lingered on his lips; he can’t have known he was smiling at all, or it wouldn’t have shown. He’d left something honest there for you to see. 

Maybe it’s in your best interest to let down your own walls for a minute, too. 

“I could help,” you say. “Perhaps not from the same file, but I can get the laptop and start on the Maryland stuff. If you like.”

He looks at you steadily over the computer. His eyes seem lighter, the suspicious set to his mouth oddly close to smiling. “What do you want?” he teased quietly. 

“Nothing. Just figured it would make your life easier.”

“When have you ever made my life easier?” 

Your smile slips before you can stop it. Immediately, Hotch isn’t smiling either. The, “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that, honey,” almost doesn’t reach you, over that sharp second of hurt. 

“It’s fine.” You plaster on a smile again to save him the trouble. “I know you didn’t.” 

“No, really. I didn’t mean that.”

“Hotch,” you say, thumbing over his name slowly, “I know. We were teasing.” 

“Flirting,” he corrects. 

Your smile is real, then. “Flirting?” you ask. “That’s rather forward. Flirting might imply we like one another enough to, oh, I don’t know, help each other with our overflowing workloads?” 

He looks at you, all dark and him, steady, strong, all the stupid things that draw you in. You’re not just in it for his arms, however tightly corded they might seem when he’s pulling off his tie after a long day. “You do more than enough for me just sitting there,” he says, holding your gaze with a careful casualness that has your heart tripping in your chest. “Can you do that for me?” 

“Do what? Just sit here looking pretty?” 

His shoe touches your ankle. “Exactly,” he says quietly. “Just sit there exactly as you are. I promise I don’t need anything else from you.” 

Warmed from the inside out, you sit back in your chair. Grinning like a fool. “Why didn’t you just say that?” you ask. Any chance at sounding casual is lost when your voice comes out gossamer thin. 

He looks you over appraisingly. “See?” he says, turning back to his case file. “Thank you, honey. You’re a big help.” 

You swing one leg over the other to get comfortable, crossing your arms over your stomach smugly. “I know.” 

[rowles6]

one of my favorite YouTubers Cathode Ray Dude has a thesis about technology I find very enlightening. It's over. Technology is over. All progress is obvious incremental Improvement and every company can do it equally well. No new revolutionary tech is possible, and the capitalist structure is having an existential crisis about it. So, they made up AI, because it means they can make "progress" by gluing the suffex AI to their product and leaving three nerds in a room with the goal of making their product spit out some content without human intervention. No new features are needed. Same with the metaverse, same with blockchain. It's a way to sell progress without having to figure out something to invent. And the subscription is because you need to make *some* money or the VC runs out.

[nevadancitizen]

-> ROT IN PUREST GOLD

synopsis: you've been skipping through universes ever since you touched the source of the hexgates. through everything, you've never stopped searching for your viktor -- now, you've found him, and you just want to go home.

word count: 2.7k

ships: viktor/reader

tags: angst with a happy ending, fluff and angst, pre-established relationship

notes: inspired by purest gold by miracle of sound. and this is my first shot at writing viktor.. lmk if i got anything wrong ^_^

It’s been years since you saw Viktor. Many years – artificial years. Years spent close, away, at a distance but still observing. But they were never your Viktor. 

Viktor with the accented voice and the long face. Viktor with the work ethic of a hive of worker honeybees, tireless and continuous. Viktor with the eyes of pure gold – never pyrite or brass with a yellow twinge. He’s always been made of the purest gold.

None of them ever could’ve replaced him. With all these alternate universes you were hopping between, you met plenty of Viktors. Some came close, but none replaced him. It wasn’t their faults; they couldn’t compete with a memory. 

You were a variable, too, so you couldn’t blame them completely. You went by different names, had different stories. Anything to make this depressing, grueling trudge through many lives more tolerable. 

Some things made things less annoying, like cars. (Well, sometimes. Sometimes they were a nuisance.) Cars are one of the things you think your Viktor would’ve liked to study. To take apart, to put back together, to modify and make better. You could see him becoming a real torque dork while listening to Speedfreaks FM. 

Mostly because that’s what he insists on listening to when you drive him to his doctor’s appointments – both of which you’re doing right now. Well, this universe’s version of him insists on Speedfreaks FM, and insists on you not calling him a ‘torque dork.’ Differentiating the Viktors from each other gets really complicated really fast, but giving them numbers feels dehumanizing. (If you did, this Viktor would be V-24. You’ve been keeping track.)

You turn on your blinker and wait for an opening to drive into the parking lot. Beneath the chatter of the radio hosts, you can hear Viktor tap his slender fingers against his forearm crutch in the passenger seat. Another difference you’ve noticed – both his outward fidgeting and his different mobility aids. 

When your turn comes, you turn your car into the parking lot. You slowly let the car drift, your foot hovering above the brake in case someone needs to cross. 

You turn down the radio a few clicks. “You think you’ll need your wheelchair?”

Viktor is silent. You take your eyes off the road for a split second and glance at him. He’s looking out the side window, at the plaza’s tall buildings and a sign that says Pueblito Plaza. 

“Viktor?” You say. “You hearing me?”

You pull into a parking spot and put the car in park. Worry eats through you – you don’t know what’s happening. Why is he acting like this?

He’s turned in his seat, looking through the back window at the buildings. There’s amazement on his face and for a second – a split second – he’s there. He’s your Viktor. 

But he’s not. He’s not. 

Those eyes are not gold. They are topaz and they are citrine. They are the yellow-orange that accompanies the sunrise. Beautiful, yes, but not yours.

“Where… are we?” He asks, his voice soft and wonderful.

“We’re going to your doctor appointment,” you say. “With… what’s her name? The pulmonologist. And then you have a CT chest scan.”

“No – the nation,” Viktor says. “What nation are we in? I have never seen technology like this.”

He runs a hand over the console of the car, then over the glovebox. He opens it, then looks inside. Nothing but napkins from fast food places and a laminated copy of your car insurance. 

“What’re you looking for?” You ask. You turn the key, and the car shuts off. 

“The power source,” Viktor says, looking at the key in your hand. “May I?”

“Viktor, you’re not cleared to drive,” you say, your voice growing sterner and firmer. “The doctors said your legs are… too weak or something – I don’t know.”

You clutch the key (and the carabiner it’s attached to) tighter in your hand. The charms hanging from it jingle and clink together. A small cog and a toy that looks like a spark plug make a metallic click as they collide.

“What is that?” Viktor reaches out, but just barely stops himself from touching the spark plug toy. You pause for a second, then give him the entire carabiner. 

Viktor holds the spark plug toy up to his face, inspecting it closely. He lets the rest of the charms on the carabiner dangle freely. You watch him – watch his eyes. A spark of gold. A fleck of cooler color in a pool of a warmer, yellowish orange. 

He sets the pad of his thumb on the hex of the toy (the hex here is a piece of metal on a spark plug fitted for a wrench – not the hex you were used to, so long ago). He wiggles it back and forth, then spins it. The hex spins with a barely-audible metallic rasp, like a fidget ring.

“It’s very intricate for a toy,” Viktor says. “Who made this?”

“Wh… you did. You gave that to me,” you say softly. “Why don’t you remember that?”

A quiet question nags the back of your mind – is Viktor getting worse?

You silently beg that you’re right. In a twisted, selfish way, you want him to get worse. You’ve taken care of Viktor before. Watched him die in multiple dimensions. In some of them, he even died in your arms, his golden eyes fading and his hand falling from your cheek.

You know what it’s like to watch him get worse. You’ve done it before, seen it before. You know what to do, how to grieve. You don’t know what you’d do if this is… Viktor. Viktor for real. Your Viktor.

“Are you trying to stifle my curiosity?” Viktor asks, a teasing smile on his face, his eyes still on the toy. 

“You gave it to me… I don’t know, six, seven years ago?” You say. You turn so that your shoulder is leaning against the car seat, facing him. “A spark plug. It’s important to the engine. I don’t remember how. And now… I’m failing your test.”

Viktor puts the carabiner down on the console. He laughs, and he’s looking at you like… you don’t know how he’s looking at you. But it’s something familiar. Something long-lost that you’ve been yearning for. 

“How could I test you on something I barely know anything about?” He asks. His smile falters a little.

“Don’t bullshit me,” you say, smiling. (His laughter always manages to make you smile.) “You know everything there is to know about cars, trucks, motorcycles…”

Viktor’s smile turns forced and confused. His eyebrows furrow a little. “I… have no idea what you’re talking about…”

And then he says it. He says your name. Your real name, your true name – the name V-1 called you. The name the real Viktor called you. 

It goes through you like a cold shock. A baptism in electrified ice water. You want to put your hand to his throat and ask, “What the fuck? What the hell did you just call me? Who’re you talking about?” 

You want to… but you can’t. You’re frozen until Viktor places a hand on yours.

You jerk it away, cradling both hands to your chest and scrunch back against the car door. “Don’t touch me.”

And he says your name again. Again, in that tone that invites sympathy, but mostly pity. He’s pitying you. You’ve gone through this too many times, with too many therapists.

“You – Viktor,” you say, his name coming out in a gasp. There’s a lump in your throat and you feel almost nauseous. 

“You’re not… you’re not the real one,” you grind out. “You’re not my Viktor, so stop acting like it. In th– in this universe, you’re just a friend, and that’s it.”

Viktor is silent, his mouth agape. “My love –”

“Don’t! Please,” you say. The words escape you before you can do anything. “Please, just don’t. Who – who told you?”

“Who told me what?” Viktor asks. His voice is still soft and sympathetic and sickly sweet.

“That you’re… you were…” You slump against the car door. Your elbow knocks against the steering wheel.

You look at him again. Your eyes dart between both of his, looking, observing. They’re not gold anymore. Well, they never really were, but now they’re… they’re opaline – pearlescent. A whole kaleidoscope in a drop. This is something different, but, still… it’s almost like you can sense him. This is the true Viktor – your Viktor. 

“I was there, Runeterra, the core of the hexgates, and then… I wasn’t. I’ve lived twenty-three lives before this. My first memory of… here… is of my fifteenth birthday party. I had to grow up all over again. Make new friends, go to a child’s school. I didn’t have anyone. And you –” Your voice catches in your throat, on both anger and sorrow. “You left me here! You left me to do this all alone!”

“I would never.” Viktor’s cold hands meet yours. He cradles them both. “I would never leave you, my love. I’m so, so sorry.”

“But you did!” You grip his hands as tight as you can, trying to savor the feeling. Tears well at the corners of your eyes. “You left me with this… this rot. These gilded Viktors that look like you, act like you. And it hurt. Everything hurts.”

“I know,” Viktor says softly. “You’re hurting me, too.”

You blink, then realise what you’re doing and loosen your grip on his hands. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He breathes out a soft laugh, then brushes his thumbs over your knuckles. “It must’ve been lonely, all by yourself.”

“You have no idea,” you say, your voice breaking a little. You blink hard, and a tear runs down your face. “We went to an arcade, and I spent all my quarters on you. We went to a museum, and I bought you a small paperweight of a statue that was on display there. We went to this weird, exotic place – Great Britain, I think it was called – and we shared tea and scones. And, no matter what I did, it… it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t right. It… he wasn’t you.”

“I’m here now.” Viktor gives your hands a gentle squeeze – much softer than what you gave him. “How long has it been?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” you say tearfully. “Time moves differently here. Maybe… sixty years? I’m not sure.”

“Sixty?” Viktor balks. “Oh, my love…”

His hands slowly, carefully, move away from yours. Cold fingers meet your jaw, and your eyes flutter shut on instinct, head tilting down into the touch. Viktor cradles your face, both his thumbs brushing back-and-forth over your cheeks. 

 “I dreamt of you,” you say softly. “Every night. And I thought of you every day. Just… thinking of you, every moment I could spare.”

“Surely that’s an exaggeration,” Viktor says. 

You shake your head and lean further into his touch. “I’ve waited so long… so long. And now you’re here, and I – I don’t know what to do.”

He moves his hands, the tips of his fingers splayed across the sides of your neck and his thumbs gently pressing into your temples. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “This is nice, though. Just… you being here is nice.”

You lean forward, placing your hands over his to ensure they stay in place. “It felt like eternity, waiting for you. Just waiting, and longing. None of them could replace you.”

You open your eyes, just the slightest bit, and take Viktor in. Good god, he’s Viktor. He’s your Viktor. No longer the purest gold, but something new. Something better. Something life-bringing and something with infinite mercy.

“That is flattering, coming from you,” Viktor says. “You could have anyone you want – anyone across twenty-four universes. And you chose me, in every single one? That is the highest praise I could receive.”

You breathe out a laugh as your eyes shut again. “Shut up.”

“Eh… if you continue to act like this, I don’t think I will,” he teases. In a softer, warmer tone, he adds, “Your face is getting warm, too. I can feel it.”

You groan and hide your face in Viktor’s hands further. Even though you act like you hate it, you’ve missed this – you’ve missed this immensely. His teasing, his compliments that make you feel like you hung the sun, the moon, and all the stars by yourself. 

“Maybe you’re just getting warmer in general,” you say softly. “Maybe you’re getting better.”

“I have gotten better,” Viktor says, his voice light. “In our universe… I… I have touched the Arcane. I have been healed, and I am a healer. A herald into a new, better world – not only for the Undercity, but for the whole of Piltover.”

You shift his hands so that they’re resting on your cheeks and open your eyes, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “That sounds nice. I’m… sorry you had to do all that without me.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Viktor asks. “It’s not your fault.”

“I don’t know. I just…” You sigh. “I blamed it all on you, and I was angry. Real angry. But it wasn’t your fault – it wasn’t anyone’s. I was angry and I took it all out on the memory of you.”

“Do you really think I care?” His voice is soft as he swipes a thumb over your cheek. 

“No,” you admit after a moment. “But, still…”

“You are occupying your mind with the past and what-ifs,” Viktor says. He draws a hand over your scalp, his fingernails lightly digging into the skin there. “Focus on the here, the now.”

You shudder and melt into his hands. Your eyes, though still closed, sting with a fresh wave of tears. 

“I missed you,” you choke out. 

“You’ve said that already,” Viktor says. 

“I can’t say it enough,” you say, your voice sticky and wet. “I was your champion in the arena. I was your personal knight. I was the chieftain of your armies. I was your tool, your instrument. And you were my everything.”

“You are my everything,” he says. His tone is so sincere and heartfelt that it makes your throat seize up. “Why would you ever doubt that?”

“I didn’t,” you say. “It–it’s just that, all these memories… I was so many people, and so were you. And some things blur together, and it gets hard to differentiate everything, and…”

You groan and lean into Viktor’s touch. You glance up into his eyes, still opaline. “Everything got so complicated so fast. I just wanted you – the real you.”

“It’s okay, my love.” His hands move to hold your jaw, to draw you closer. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“But I feel like I have to,” you say. “I just… I just want you back. I wanna go back to the Viktor I know. I wanna go home.”

“We can go home,” Viktor says. “I can take you home.”

“Then take me home,” you say, almost too quickly. “Viktor, please.”

“You don’t have to beg,” he says. There is no teasing or hidden malice in his voice. He just wants you home, too. 

Viktor’s hands slide to the back of your head, his palms almost cradling your skull. He presses his fingers down and tilts your head forward, towards his. Your eyes flutter shut as your forehead touches his. 

It’s white. It’s the bright, cleansing light of some sort of heaven. Heaven? Haven? You’re not too sure. You’re not sure you can bring yourself to care, either. Not when you’re here – not when your Viktor is in reach. Not when you can touch him, hold him, talk to the one you love. The one you’ve been pining for, fighting for, losing and winning for. From somewhere between sixty years and eternity, you’ve been wanting him. And now he’s here. Your Viktor is here. 

It’s unbelievable. Your Viktor is here. 

The memories of your past lives, the former realities you’ve lived, meld and blur into distinct feelings. Visual memories blend into base emotions. A warrior’s pride. A traveler’s wanderlust. A teenager’s excitement. A knight’s confidence and courage. A chieftain’s insecurity cloaked as hostility. 

They melt away into contentment. A gentle wave lapping at a quiet shore. Acceptance. 

You are healed. 

You are home. 

[13thdoodle]

Found my old arknights Danny sketches and it was fun so I clean it a bit

This is like old old, bc I wasn't sure what class he would be in. But on second thought, a Dollkeeper Specialist would fit him better

[ Dollkeeper specialist : Does not retreat upon receiving lethal damage, instead swaps to a <Substitute> (Substitute has 0 Block). Swaps back to the original after 20 seconds. ]

the skillset still the same regardless of the class tbh so yea

Arknights lore rambling under cut

Also Sankta race Danny because Sankta (equivalent to angels:tm:) and Sarkaz (has horns, very ostracized and oppressed race in Arknights) both shares the same ancestor and a fallen sankta would have both horns and halo iirc

All Sanktas has guns / patron guns and natural affinity with arts [ Guns and bullets in arknights works via magic/Arts. Sankta's are extra proficient with guns and maybe even the race that made em? ]

but if you're a fallen sankta (broken the Law or sth) you can't use your patron gun anymore and stripped of all rights and exiled?

There's also infected. Originium is how technology works in this world, it channels arts and such into many things and make them works. But originium dust is extremely infectious and if you caught it, crystalized rocks will grow on your body and eventually kills u.

Rhodes Island (the protag main base) is a pharmaceutical company (also do a mercenary works and escort ppl here n there) been looking on how to lessen or cure the infection so yeet Danny there for treatment and also plot bc fun

But yea idk if i want fallen sankta danny or normal sankta danny mostly bc angel with a shotgun is a fun concept

also old sketch bc wow u can see the difference from 2 years ago wow

[elbiotipo]

*Trump voice* we are going to bring back megafauna folks, and it will be great, we have the technology, the best people, trust me, I've read the papers, the best papers, they all say this can be done, I've spoken to scientists, really great people, they all tell me "Trump, this is the best idea" nobody has ever had this idea... and we will clone huge, beautiful mammoths, you will see saber-toothed tigers on the beautiful plains of our country, there will be so many mammoths you will eat mammoth steak, believe me! Sleepy Joe? He couldn't even clone an Iberian Ibex, nobody does it like I do... trust me folks, we will Make America Pleistocene Again

[80s-v-i-b-e]

Okay a few corrections servicing them is like connecting a screwdriver to a ground and discharging it. Definitely dangerous, but most TVs, especially recent ones, have bleedout resistors so I often don't even hear a little arc when I discharge it if it's been off for a while. Secondly, they can emit x rays / gamma rays if you do weird shit to them like put way too much power into them, but that's incredibly rare and wouldn't really happen in your TV. I highly doubt they were putting out any electromagnetic radiation other than the light of the screen, even in that story from someone who serviced them. I'm so sorry but the idea that CRTs or microwaves are radioactive in any way have annoyed me since I was little. That story is very interesting and some freaky high voltage shit was definitely happening but I highly doubt it was something to do with the tube itself or electromagnetic radiation. They are REALLY cool though and I love how they work. Technology Connections has a great video about them and color TV if you're interested in learning more.

[that-hazbin]

I have some HCs from twitter I'd like to transfer here, so pspspsps come get some food

Alastor hung out with women who liked to seduce their way to success, and inadvertently picked up their body language. When he was alive, many people thought that he was intentionally seducing men and women alike, which had landed him in some hot water once or twice. There is a DIRECT correlation between this and Vox's One-sided Psychosexual Obsession with him. He is not doing it on purpose and he has no idea what his body language comes across as.

Alastor has Uber Autism, specifically the kind where he needs to listen to the same exact song 379 times before he is satisfied. Dying and going to hell was an absolute delight because he no longer has to uphold standard broadcasting procedure, and instead can do whatever the fuck he wants. Everyone in Hell believes he's attempting to torture them when he plays Duke Ellington's "It Don't Mean a Thing (If It Ain't Got That Swing)" for the 67th time. He's not, he genuinely just loves playing the same song over and over. (He also loves that magic can prevent his records from wearing out so quickly.)

Alastor likes to divulge the Deep Lore to Angel because he knows no one will EVER believe him. It does not bother him at all that Angel knows things about him that no one else does, because Angel ALSO hates the Vees and therefore is very unlikely to go around spilling any of it to anyone outside their mutual circle of merry misfits. And, again, no one would believe him anyways.

Alastor is hyperaware of other people's facial expressions, and believes this is normal, which is why he controls his own facial expressions so obsessively. He thinks it's a universal behavior to hyper analyze facial expressions and guess what goes on in people's heads that way. He has yet to figure out that it's not, even after a near century in Hell.

Vaggie reminds Alastor of Susan. He vaguely believes that if he ever pointed out the similarities to Charlie, it could possibly ruin their relationship. Which is pretty cruel even for him, so he'll be keeping his mouth shut.

Alastor built the entire radio network in Hell. Before he arrived, Hell was actually pretty far behind technologically. People were too busy suffering. Luckily for them, Alastor is Autistic and his special interest is Radio. Nothing will stop this man from indulging in his passions.

[genderqueerdykes]

I am a trans man who abandoned my previous account because i needed to leave the community.

The trauma and self hatred runs so deep that despite it being months i still can't think of my masculinity as anything other than wrong. Not just that, but leaving made me happier. Not having community made me happier. Think about that.

At least now I can see i deserve better. But it's hard knowing that my love and support was so summarily rejected by the transfems on this site.

i'm really sorry you've had to go through this, anon. you shouldn't have to do that

the thing is people don't realize that while this online fighting is pointless, it does hurt people. and it can cause genuine trauma because it IS abuse. abuse doesn't have to occur in person to be legitimate. a lot of acts of abuse and violence can be committed remotely with modern technology. basically anywhere people can interact, abuse can happen. this is actually hurting and scarring people in real ways and we need to acknowledge this

Not just that, but leaving made me happier. Not having community made me happier. Think about that.

the fucked up thing is i feel the exact same way. i interact with community on here in order to educate but outside of this, i currently do not interact with the queer community. once im off this blog, i'm not really interacting with queer community, i will talk to my queer friends and engage in my own queerness, but i am not thinking about the community for the vast majority of my day. i'm not interested in trying to casually go to a trans space and be misgendered all the time.

i immersed myself in my local punk community last year and all that happened to me was that i got a lot of hollow compliments, condescended to, talked over, fetishized, treated as a sex object, descriminated against, had people stop respecting me the instant they found out i was a trans man, had people try to tranny chase me for being a trans man with a vagina, got called too whiny and emotional, got accused of hating trans women because i'm a transmasc lesbian, got mocked for not having a penis, watched my roommate treat me with annoyance that wasn't there prior, felt alienated in my own home, and just in general felt ashamed that i wasn't an amab trans woman, because those were the only trans people who hung out there for any substantial amount of time

the transmascs and trans men never hung around for too long. the majority of the trans punks who showed up were transfem. like. almost all of them. it was rare to find another transmasc, and i can work a crowd, i don't feel scared or uncomfortable in crowds, so i will talk to just about anyone who acknowledges my presence. i met so many transfem punks that i've lost count, and about 3 or 4 transmascs. it frustrated me and took a while for me to realize why. that place was deeply transandrophobic. the regulars did not treat transmascs with kindness. i was actually sexually assaulted by one of the transfems there multiple times, and had another that was trying to come on to me because i have to do stretches for my lower back or else it locks up, and she saw this as an invitation for sex. my ex gf started treating me completely differently the second she discovered i didn't have a penis, to the point of actually progressing to yelling at me for being too whiny and emotional. the cis gay men that were there would talk about how breasts and vaginas were gross because they were gay men right next to me.

after leaving that community i feel so much better. i'm basically on my own, i don't mind it, that's how i like to live my life as a schizophrenic person, but outside of the way i interact with the community as someone who participates in education and activism, i don't really interact with queer communities. i'm tired of being harassed, targeted, insulted, misgendered, sexualized, and getting sexually assaulted.

this is the really sad truth right now. transmascs and trans men in particular usually live outside of queer communities. we are so alienated. that's the entire reason people think we don't exist. it's because so many people will not let us exist inside of queer spaces, so we have to live elsewhere. so many trans men end up having to have mostly cishet friends to avoid drama and harassment. it's not that we don't exist- it's that a lot of people just will not let us take up space in queer communities long enough for people to see how many of us there are. there are a lot of us, but we aren't being allowed to exist inside of queer spaces, so people trick themselves into thinking we're not real trans people

you do deserve better. i hope in time the trans community learns to treat trans men better. you don't deserve to have to alienate yourself like that, but that's just how things are right now. take care of yourself. you're important even if people don't want you to feel like you are.

[reality-detective]

Social media is ablaze with confronting discussions about Project Stargate, which I believe is part of the intention. How best to get the world to focus on the Transhumanist agenda and its psycho architects than to throw $500 billion at it! Correction: than to get the culprits themselves to throw $500 billion at it!

I agree with what Ian Carrol

expresses in this video, except that I believe that Trump knows fully well, just like we do, who these people are and what they’re trying to do, but it’s not an easy task to defeat a group of billionaires with that kind of technological and data power. So how do you go about it? You entice them into a trap…

First, let’s make sure the world knows who you are and what you’re trying to do, ie more red pilling, aka more awakening. I can (and I have) exposed the Transhumanist agenda, but the reality is most people are still completely oblivious to what I believe is the greatest threat to humanity. So what better way to educate everyone about it than to shine the spotlight on it in an almost theatrical way?! Watch how Trump purposefully asked Larry Ellison to explain about the mRNA vaccines. You think Trump doesn’t know that his base is against them?

$500 billion dollars is an astronomical figure, is it enough to bankrupt these guys?🤔 Could that be part of the move?

Elon has already called Sam Alrman a liar today on X, there is clearly going to be some Big Tech vs Big Tech battle here, which is extremely interesting in itself and Trump announced this before RFK’s confirmation as MAHA czar… interesting don’t you think? It would have been at complete odds with everything RFK stands for… I can’t wait to see what he has to say about these 48hr AI mRNA bioweapons!

None of us have the answer, and of course I could be monumentally wrong here, but my instinct tells me there’s much more than meets the eye here… this could be yet another brilliant chess move by Trump.

Let’s wait and see 🤔

[alarajrogers]

OK, I understand what this person means. They are laughably wrong and committing one of the most common mistakes of the 20th and 21st centuries, but the mistake is largely one of vocabulary.

Aging and death are natural. They are fundamental parts of the condition of being alive, based on the law of entropy, which affects everything in the universe, including the universe itself. Everything breaks down and then ceases to exist in its current form. But that doesn't mean this is good. The person who is arguing that "aging is unnatural" is confusing the concepts of "natural" and "good."

Arsenic is natural. Cyanide is natural. Tsunamis are natural. And aging and death are natural. Things can absolutely be very natural and still be bad.

It is true that aging and death are worth fighting and that we have some ideas about future technologies we are working toward that can prolong life substantially or even make us effectively immortal (by current mortality standards anyway; humans who live a thousand years won't actually be immortal but they'll live a lot longer than we do now.) It is also true that those technologies don't yet exist and nearly everything sold as "anti-aging" is a scam. The beauty industry wants you to believe that there are over the counter creams you can rub on your face to make your wrinkles go away. This isn't true. Someday it may be true, but not yet. Currently, there is little you can do to prevent death or aging. Almost everyone who tells you otherwise either wants your money, or has been deluded by people who wanted their money. There are a handful of scientists who may be on the track of something real, but we just don't know enough yet.

Claiming that aging and death are worth fighting and we should not resign ourselves to death is good and valid. Claiming that aging and death are not natural makes you look like a total chump. Don't confuse natural with good. And don't confuse "death should not be inevitable and we;re working on it" with "death is not inevitable." Make no mistake, probably everybody on this web site will have a normal human life span or less, not because we want to, but because actual anti-aging technologies that come out (which they have not, yet) will be hoarded by the rich unless we fix the problem of income inequality before anti-aging technologies let the existing crop of billionnaires live longer than we do.

scrunching my face real hard rn

[scribblue]

@acksolotel618 Got inspired by this post and ended up using it as a writing prompt for a short scene with Zane and Garmadon!!

You can read it on Ao3 here , or after the cut

❆ A Lesson In Humanity ❆

Zane speaks to Garmadon about their shared history of being manipulated emperors.

{ 940 words, no major warnings }

"I was once like you."

The words landed heavily on Garmadon's shoulders, yet with further consideration he refused to believe they carried any real weight. Merely a vapid placation, or worse, outright mocking. He furrowed his brow. "You couldn't possibly understand me, metal man."

Zane stared back evenly. His eye contact was unwavering, unnatural. It felt as though he could see through Garmadon's very chemical makeup, and was intent on dissecting him down to his barest components like a hunk of biological technology. The nindroid stood on the catwalk connecting their underground base of operations to the elevator up to the monastery. The rest of the ninja had left to take a break, following a particularly intense—and unsuccessful— training session between Lloyd and Garmadon. Garmadon had to admit his surprise, if only internally, at the company he now found himself forcibly entertaining; Zane had never made an effort to speak to him one-on-one, and the cold shoulder was reciprocated.

"You are free to believe that, if a sense of individuality brings you comfort,” Zane said. “However, it is an inaccurate assessment."

Garmadon rolled his eyes. "Thank you for reminding me why we never spoke. You may leave now,” he said, waving a hand to dismiss him. 

Zane remained. An unsurprising development, and an aggravating one. "Do you not wish to know of our similarities?”

A frown crossed Garmadon’s face, and curiosity clouded his thoughts. He was quick to disperse it with a shake of his head; Zane was clearly trying to get under his skin, force his guard down so that he would ease up on Lloyd. It would never work. Mastering Oni form took an iron fist, not a distracted mind. He turned away and clasped both sets of hands behind his back, pretending to focus on the computers for a long moment.

Not long enough, evidently, as Zane made his continued presence known. “I am going to tell you anyway.”

“Great,” Garmadon muttered.

“When I was trapped in the Never Realm, I was manipulated into becoming the Ice Emperor: a cold and ruthless entity who spared no one in his quest for retaining power. My true self was hidden from me for sixty years, until Lloyd helped me restore it,” Zane said, a waver of emotion in his robotic voice. “It has been some time since it happened, yet I still feel the effects of this event to this day.”

“Hmm.” Garmadon pressed a couple buttons on the keyboard in an attempt to make his distraction look convincing. “I fail to see how that relates to me.”

He heard Zane take a small step forward. “When you became Emperor of Ninjago, that emperorship was predicated on lies and manipulation by Harumi. She encouraged you to reject your humanity, just as my advisor Vex did to me. And I am willing to bet you have also suffered lasting effects.”

Garmadon scoffed. “Please,” he said, turning a tight-lipped scowl towards Zane. “I am an oni, I never had humanity to reject…that is, until Vinny of NGTV news took me under his council. And even so, such humanity would not benefit me here. Lloyd needs to learn to release his oni form, and I can assure you I am in the perfect condition to do so—no ‘lasting effects’ as you say.”

“Perhaps that is true. Or perhaps you only wish it to be.” Zane’s pointed stare finally wavered, drifting to some far-off corner of the room. “I have spent much of my own spare time wrestling with the reality of my situation, versus what I wish to believe… It is difficult to grapple with the truth that I have hurt innocent people while under another’s influence. It sometimes holds me back from being the best version of myself that I can be, for fear of hurting others again.”

That did sound familiar, not that Garmadon was willing to admit it out loud. He was often plagued with memories of his short-lived reign over Ninjago, and the atrocities committed under his hand. He was loath to say he regretted any of them, in fact he wasn’t sure he was even capable of regret– nonetheless, the flashbacks were bothersome, and the more he attempted to embody “goodness”, the more frequent they became. “So…what? You believe I am compromised in some way? I can assure you I’m not.”

“I believe you have begun the process of betterment, without addressing the root of the issue.”

“...And what might that be?”

“Your relationship with Lloyd. You hurt Lloyd during your time as Emperor. Now, your beliefs and goals are changing, but you have not mended the rift that has grown between the two of you, or attempted to grapple with the effects your actions have on both yourself and others… you cannot expect to find success in the present, until you face your past,” Zane said. His even tone and matter-of-fact delivery did nothing to lessen the blow of his words. “You may not believe it, but Lloyd is your humanity. As he was mine, when I needed it most. Do not forget that he needs you too.”

Something twinged in Garmadon’s chest. He had half a mind to blame it on his incomplete resurrection, and perhaps that truly was the case; complicated emotions could simply be a byproduct of his botched vessel. He averted his gaze and said nothing. 

Zane didn’t attempt to break the silence, either. He lingered for just a moment longer, before turning heel and wordlessly leaving the room, where Garmadon remained alone with his thoughts. 

“…I won’t,” he said, knowing there was nobody there to hear him.

[iteratorsex]

What do you think is the lore reason for creature pipes existing?

Obviously, they exist in-game pretty much solely for the gameplay reason of traveling between rooms, and the way they work is also only really for gameplay purposes. But like, outside of that, what were they actually used for? What are they? Why do they function the way they do? Hell, why were they even built? They still must exist in Rain Worlds infrastructure for a reason.

Creature's that enter them can't stop moving forward until they're out the other side. Creatures also can't do anything while traveling in the pipes, as evidenced by predators not being able to grab prey while traveling in it. Are creatures restrained while in the pipe? The pipes symbol is distinct, almost as if to invite sight-based creatures to enter them. Their symbols light up with the corresponding color's of creatures approaching them, meaning they can sense things. They seem at least somewhat technologically advanced due to this. Are they alive like other machinery? Perhaps the insides of the pipe are biological and soft, able to contract and hold a creature in place as it's moved . . . . . Kinda like a sphincter . . . . Now that I think about it.

All of this has led me to think that creature pipes are basically the rain world equivalent of the "salmon cannon." A way for designated purposed organisms to harmlessly move about the surface world, to complete whatever task they're made for. Now only used by the countless forms of feralized surface fauna.

But anyway, any thoughts from you on what creature pipes are?

It might disappoint you to say this but I think that its just purely a gameplay feature meant to indicate some kind of "crack" in the wall you go through, at least for dens and room entrances

I feel like shortcuts have more going on, but theres also no reason why the ancients would ever lay out anything like this and want to crawl into shitty little pipes about it

I'm pretty sure creatures not being able to see you in the pipes is a bug that ended up becoming a feature

Maybe the pipes are purposed organisms. Idk. They're way too gameplay focused and feel too disconnected from lore to be much else but that. But I also think the pipes within Industrial Complrx are alive because they look like intestines

The symbols are different so that tje player can recognize where they are and where it'll takr them, similar to how objects flash when you walk next to them

[mrnightingale]

When I watch supernatural I'll be so insufferable... Like, most of my Pinterest feed is Tumblr screenshots. Superwholock screenshots of, like, 2015 posts. That's why I have Tumblr. So I can reblog posts from 10 years ago.

And I can't help but think that's the whole story of my life over and over again. When I was a child I used to read a lot. I read classic literature, when everyone else read Harry Potter. I liked classical music when people on the radio were playing old raggaeton and hip-hop rap. And now I listen to Hamilton and think "this is so cool" and it's 10 years old, people don't play that music anymore, and I watch Sherlock and it's 15 years old, and I think what the fuck I was doing back then and it's read Sherlock Holmes novels. I used to think a lot about adolescence and think I was going to listen rock rebel music and dress cool but I'm still old-fashioned and my music taste sucks sm I feel ashamed when I say "someone play music" bc no one wants to hear music half a century old. Nor one full century old.

And the thing is, I'm always too late. For everything. I used to think I was going to work as an artist and draw illustrations and all of that, but I'm not so sure anymore, bc in the last few years all the technology changed a lot and I know I won't be replaced by ai, but do I even know that? Is hope even an option anymore? I'd like to be an actor but I've never been a theatre child, it wasn't even an option to me, and the industry is dying. If we can't even save a wonderful show like dbda and make all these people keep their jobs now, what the hell would it be in 5 years? If people at Netflix already don't care anymore about Art but viewership numbers and money, what would happen in 5 years? I know the world won't end tomorrow. It never does. But sometimes I think the world ended a lot ago and I didn't noticed, I was too late.

I want to do something worthy with my life. I don't want to see Art die. But I don't know what to do, there isn't a clear path anymore. I was prepared for a future in a world that died 5 years ago, and I don't know what to do anymore. I want to be in the room where it happens. But I think that room disappeared 5 years ago. And I'll always be too late.

[alan-without-the-an]

(I wanted to join in @quartztwst's No Yan Sim AU!! The idea's hilarious and ridiculous /pos and I saw an opportunity to draw Alan lookin' like a jock hehe)

Alan is the stereotypically cold, ruthless jock of the school. A loner whose only trusted companion is their own self and has no interest in making friends. They're silent, hostile and completely unapproachable... ...Right?

Image w/ just the art + additional info under the cut :3

General personality:-

Their quiet demeanour comes from their softspoken and reserved nature. More often than not, they can be found with their head in the clouds thinking about something... like cats! They can be awkward and they never make the first move to socialise, but they're more than happy to engage in conversation with someone!

They're TERRIBLE at photography and at handling a camera in general... that and the long, rambly nature of the club discussions completely demotivate them from participating.

(They're too awkward to say something about leaving to the other members however, so they're honestly just waiting for the day they get kicked out.)

They have insanely good memory despite the terrible attention span, however. They're on top of all of their sports meetings, knows exactly what classes they have to walk on autopilot to, and during quiet times when noone is around and they don't have anyone to socialise with, they pull out their sketchbook and draw the first thing that comes to their mind.

When sneaking a peek, the drawings may incite a bit of deja vu... doesn't this sketch look awfully familiar to something Quartz did earlier today...?

Game mechanics:-

Sometimes, subconciously, Alan draws things they remember seeing but didn't quite process due to how 'not present in the real world' they are. They might not even realise what they're drawing is from memory. If someone else finds this, it could potentially lead to a certain school detective connecting the dots. (Hippity hoppity, these pages are now my property)

When they're alone and not busy talking, Quartz can ask them to do 1v1 practice sessions with her! Having these practice sessions can increase her strength and some of her abilities (then maybe one day she can take on the tweels... and Shuu).

When they aren't loitering around or drawing, their next activity of choice is to bring out some cat kibble and go around the school in search of cats. Perhaps Quartz could ask her about these cat hangout spots or ask for some kibble to lure in some cats... which then lure in a wild Idia. (Could be used for distraction purposes or to take photos of him?)

Personal items:-

Flip phone: Technology is hard to figure out and what they've got still works! No point in fixing what ain't broke.

Satchel: Trusty ol' bag of holding! Its contents fluctuate often, but whatever's inside is usually necessary for the day. Losing this will result in quiet panic.

Sketchbook + excessive number of pens: Even just one sketchbook is hard to fill out in one's day-to-day life. Pens, however, can be used for almost any situation!

Cat kibble: For the kitties.

(Aaaand here's the artwork! Both with a clean bg and a transparent one :D This was a brain workout to think about, but I had so much fun trying to brainstorm ideas!!)

[margridarnauds]

Something I'm tossing around in my head re: Chat GPT and academia is that...in some ways, I think it's a symptom, rather than the root problem. Not just of the structural ways that mainstream pedagogy + the general structure of academia (particularly in the States) sets some students up to fail, but in the way that a lot of work, even at the graduate and above level, is in itself treated as a product to be cranked out in the least amount of time possible as opposed to a work of dedication and love that requires thought and care and intricate research.

You want to get an undergrad degree? Crank out ~2-3 essays a year. These can be varying degrees of research, because the point is you need to get them in NOW and you need to get them in QUICKLY and you can't take any more time to do them than necessary.

(And for students who are later along in their academic careers, writing 8-10 page papers is nothing, but to that undergrad who's stepped into class for the first time? It might be the most complicated thing they've written.)

You want a PhD? Crank out that dissertation, and don't you DARE take longer than you should. How can you do it? We don't know, our obligation to you is over at five years. Also, you have a semester to come up with a ~25 page prospectus that gives a detailed plan for your dissertation before you can even begin WRITING it, which you'll have to get approved by your committee, so good luck!

Also, don't forget, while you're doing that, you need to keep submitting articles for publication, which you will, of course, have to format individually according to the style guideline of the journal you're publishing to! Publish or perish, so keep your head above the tide or you'll end up drowning!

And, on top of that, expect to write ~ten page presentations for conferences! Don't worry, you don't need to cite your sources TOO rigorously for this one, but you are going to need to make sure you know what you're talking about, otherwise you might be humiliated in front of the scholars you want to impress! Write, write, write! Create that Powerpoint!

You want academic tenure? Crank out that monograph! And don't forget to do it sooner rather than later while ALSO publishing articles and coming up with teaching plans!

Also, don't forget, with everything that you write, that it should be on something popular! Something in keeping with the latest trends, so you can be on the cutting edge! Wanted to do something else? Why did you enter academia if you wanted to follow your own research ideas?

And the point isn't that I think that Chat GPT is GOOD or that it SHOULD be used to write an entire paper. Frankly, I dummied a dissertation outline on it (note: my uni account...which I still hate that they provided for us...doesn't use it to train data, meaning that the environmental impact is minimal) and it was bland as fuck, factually inaccurate, and dated. I DON'T use it because, beyond the morality or ethics of the situation (which I think are more complicated than a black and white "It's harmless" or "It is an actual technological death cult aiming for world domination"), on a purely pragmatic level, my field is TERRIBLE for it.

RATHER my point is that it's hard to take arguments about the sanctity of human creativity seriously SPECIFICALLY with regards to academia when it's an industry that has systematically pried human creativity out of itself and encouraged creating an unsustainably massive amount of work at once if you want to survive and even though I am going to do everything possible to make sure my students DON'T use it for their assignments as a primary tool...I can kind of get why they would be drawn to it beyond just "they're lazy."