#is when we're in the ground

[centaurianthropology]

On Faceless Death, From the Perspective of Someone Who Deals with Death Every Day

This is a post I’ve toyed with writing for a while, and I keep thinking about writing it every few months when a new tragedy or accident or some other event that leads to loss of life comes up, and I see the inevitable deluge of people celebrating the deaths.  And these are very rarely the deaths of known actors, those whose actions, both good and bad, are public record.

These are, for lack of a better term, the unknown and faceless.  The “Ten People Die in Such-and-Such a Circumstance” people.  What is known about them is usually that they were in a place when an event occurred, be it a concert, a festival, a town, whatever.  But there are assumptions made about them because of where they were and what they might have been doing.  People claim that “everyone” doing a specific thing or being in a specific place was a member of XYZ group, and that’s why it’s fine to laugh and celebrate the deaths of these very ordinary people.

And I call them ordinary because they are.  Because all death is ordinary, because everyone is equalized in that.  Because these are not known actors, but those people who simply were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and their names, their faces, their stories are likely known only to those they left behind. 

I am a medical examiner.  Every day I go to work and I’m greeted by photos and stories of the dead.  These are also often people who were in a certain place at a certain time, who have judgment passed on them.  These are the woman found in a cheap motel room with a syringe floating next to her in a moldy bathtub.  These are the tatted-up uncle walking his nephew home when he’s caught in a drive-by.  This is the wealthy man who is bludgeoned to death while out walking on a secluded trail.  These are the kids caught in cross-fire as their older siblings shoot out their disputes.  These are an old woman dying alone at home and not being found for weeks because no one thought to check on her.  These are young college students driving home from a party when they roll over and get ejected through a windshield.  These are the rich, the poor, the addicted, the previously-sick, the expected-right-up-until-it-wasn’t.  These are those who at least someone will claim weren’t “innocent” victims.  These are people of unknown pasts and stories found dead far from home, whose stories and even identities may never be known.  Sometimes it’s natural, sometimes accidental, sometimes they kill themselves or someone else kills them.  Sometimes we just can’t tell because they’re so decomposed by the time they’re found that all we can say is that there’s no obvious trauma and no retained bullets. 

And the thing that unites all these cases, from the mundane to the photos that still haunt me, is that they’ve almost all left people behind.  These are the people who death truly hurts, because for the dead there is no more hurt, but for those that remain there is nothing but hurt.  The woman who overdoses in the tub is found by her boyfriend.  The old woman finally has a daughter who comes from hours away to crawl through a window and find her.  The nephew sees his uncle gunned down.  The siblings realize exactly the cost of their war when their baby siblings are bleeding out.  They are the ones left behind.  They are the ones who feel the guilt and the grief and the hole in the world where their loved ones used to be. 

And every time I see people celebrating the death of some stranger whose name and life is unknown to them, purely because they were at a certain place at a certain time, or they are assumed to be “one of those sorts of people”, I think about these deaths: lonely or in public, in fear or shock or the simple and chill acceptance that comes with realizing they will die.  I think about the conversations a medical examiner or a paramedic or a scene investigator has with those left behind.  I think about these lives, each unique, intricate, and gone.  I think about the tattoos that tell a story.  I think about the color of clouded-over eyes.  I think about the clothing they or someone else chose for them.  I think about text conversations, about emails and scribbled-down notes in handwriting so bad I can only make out a few words.  I think about all the things that they have done or could have done, all the paths they have walked and will never walk.

Working with death on such an intimate level is an incredibly humbling experience.  It makes me realize how small we all are, and yet also how vast.  How our lives and deaths spread out to touch so many others.   It’s why, with very few exceptions, I view all deaths as tragedies.  Yes, including the death of that nameless, faceless person you’re thinking about right now who was probably a member of some group you think deserves it.  Because lives can change.  Paths can change.  People can change, right up until everything stops.  Death is the one thing that guarantees a person will never change.  Maybe you think that because they might have been a part of a certain group, they are purely and simply Bad People, or that they must have done terrible things and their death is therefore somehow a good thing.  In your hypothetical world where this very real death can be used for moral clout and grandstanding.

But you don’t know who they were.  You don’t know what they did or who they left behind.  Death is never clean.  It is a fracture that goes through so many lives.  There are so few people in the world whose loss is a genuine net good.  Of course they exist, but I find that they are rare.  And I certainly can never assume that someone I don’t know, who was simply in a place at a time and may or may not be “one of those people”, whichever people are being discussed, would be so bad that their death should be celebrated, and that the pain of those left behind should, in turn, also be celebrated.  I think the world has more than enough casual cruelty without adding to it in that way. 

[clarionglass]

here we go :) part one of three, updates to be released weekly!

---

sam says 4 (game master cinematic universe, part 3)

Ruby was at her mum's for a family dinner she couldn't miss on pain of death, apparently, and the Doctor was many things, but a family dinner kind of guy wasn't one of them—particularly when Carla had already slapped him once in the short time he'd known her. He thought he'd broken his streak of bad luck with mums, but… well, seemingly not. So he was companionless for a few hours, and while he could wait for her to get back, maybe catch up on his reading—what was the point of waiting when you had a time machine? 

He ran his hands over the TARDIS console, marvelling at her clean lines and metallic flourishes, the way that even now she felt brand new but familiar, and paused. He’d just pop off for a quick adventure, nothing too dangerous, but—where to go?

He could scan for a distress call nearby, and pitch in to help. He could drop in on Donna and Shaun and Rose, beautiful Rose, and see how they were all doing. Or he could just hit the randomiser button, and jump in feet first wherever he ended up.

He remembered a conversation from a long time ago, when he wore a different face, and his gorgeous TARDIS wore a face too, for the first and only time.

“You didn't always take me where I wanted to go.”

“No, but I always took you where you needed to go.”

He grinned. Who could resist an offer like that? He pressed the button and whooped as the time rotor spun into action, ready to see where the universe would take him.

---

Apparently, he was needed pretty close to where he already was. Earth, 2024. Huh. Same planet, same time—within a few months of where he’d left Ruby, even. The main thing that had changed was the location: he was now in the good old US of A. California, to be more specific, and Los Angeles to be more specific still. And to really narrow it down, the Doctor discovered as he poked his head out of the TARDIS doors, he was in… a broom closet. Not bad, as a parking spot—a bit squeezy, but out of the way. And as he poked his head out of that door, he could finally see he was in the backstage corridors of a studio of some kind. Film or TV, if he was to hazard a guess, it was a different vibe from Abbey Road.

With a shrug, he decided to go exploring.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute before a young woman wearing the full-black outfit, headset, and permanently stressed expression of a production assistant came running up to him.

“Are you the fill-in Sam organised?” she asked breathlessly, and honestly, seeing the look on her face, the Doctor didn’t have the heart(s) to tell her no. And really, what was the Doctor, if not a professional fill-in? This, this was why he had a randomiser button on the control panel, because whatever he was about to get himself into was going to be fun.

“Sure!”

“Oh, thank god,” sighed the production assistant, relief dawning across her face. “When Ally tested positive this morning, I thought we were sunk for the record, because we called around and we couldn’t get a hold of anyone. But then Sam said he could get someone in, and, you know, here you are, and just in time, so—ah, yeah, if you could follow me this way?”

Smiling all the way, the Doctor followed his guide through to hair and makeup, looking around as they went. The studio seemed to belong to a company called Dropout, according to the branding scattered around, and things seemed, at least on the surface, to be… well. Fine. He couldn't tell why he'd been brought here yet, which meant that when he found the reason, it was going to be particularly tangled. He couldn't wait! 

And then he looked back at his guide, still engulfed in a miasma of anxiety, and realised he'd been too busy looking for clues to notice the person right in front of him. 

“Hey, it's cool, you've found me,” he started with a gentle smile. “You can relax. Hi, I'm the Doctor. What's your name?”

“Oh!” she said, startled. “The Doctor, yeah, of course. Um, hi, I'm Kaylin. Look, sorry, it's just that I've been so busy this morning, I'm so distracted… Shit, and I would've completely forgotten to get your details too. There's paperwork to fill in, but you can do that later. Um, just for now, though, can I get your pronouns?”

The Doctor thought for a moment. “He/him, for now.”

Kaylin nodded, making a note on her phone. “Okay, cool! And do you have any socials?”

“Not me, babes,” he replied. “I'm hardly sitting down long enough to be able to update, you know?”

“On a day like this, I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “That's okay, Lou didn't have socials either for the longest time. Right, so if you go through there, the team will get you sorted, and once you're done, someone will take you up to the greenroom. All good?”

“All great,” the Doctor replied. Kaylin flashed him a quick, relieved smile, then hurried off.

Hair and makeup was a fairly quick process, the sound mixer fitted him with a microphone, and before too long, Kaylin was back to take him upstairs. 

“This is the greenroom,” she said, pushing the door open. “The rest of the cast for the episode are already here—they’re great guys, and they’ve both been on the show a lot, so they’ll be able to help if you’ve got questions. And if you need anything else, just come find me or any of the other PAs, okay?”

The Doctor nodded, beamed at Kaylin, and walked in.

---

The greenroom was small but comfortable, and its occupants, two men around the same age as the Doctor appeared, looked up as he entered.

“Oh, you’re new,” the taller of the pair said, clearly giving him the once-over.

The other sighed with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, just as clearly used to his friend’s antics.

“Hey, I’m Brennan,” he said, levering himself up to standing from his perch on a chair arm, and holding out a hand. “That’s Grant.”

The Doctor took it warmly. “The Doctor. Just passing through, and happy to help.”

Grant’s eyebrows quirked. “Doctor… something?” he prompted.

“Or is it just ‘the Doctor’?” Brennan asked.

“Just ‘the Doctor’,” the Time Lord confirmed cheerfully. “You’ll get used to it, everyone does.”

Grant didn’t look convinced, but—

“Copy that,” Brennan shrugged, and settled back on the arm of the chair, returning his gaze to the door.

Grant, in turn, looked at the Doctor and rolled his eyes in a clear expression of ‘no, I don’t know why he’s like this, either’.

“Okay,” the Doctor said after a moment of watching the watching. “I wasn’t going to ask, but now I think I have to. What’s up with the door?”

Brennan huffed a laugh. “Well, the last time there was one of those up—” he pointed to the Out of Order sign stuck to the bathroom door, “—we got locked in here for the game.”

“He’s paranoid,” Grant interjected.

“Well, yeah, maybe,” Brennan retorted. “Or just cautious. Because Sam’s been acting weird lately, and we’re coming up to the last few records of the season, so he’s probably planning something way out of the box for the finale. And the original cast was you, me and Beardsley, so…”

He shrugged one shoulder meaningfully, and Grant nodded, conceding both the point and the potential for chaos.

“So if Sam comes in to give us the briefing, rather than waiting til we’re on set,” Brennan continued, “or there’s anything else weird going on, I’m gonna know about it right from the beginning.”

He turned to the Doctor. “The only reason I'm not quizzing you is because I know for a fact Beardsley was genuinely scheduled for this, so you can't be a plant by the production team. No offence.”

“None taken,” the Doctor smiled. “That sort of thing happen often, does it?”

Grant and Brennan exchanged a look. 

“More than you'd think,” Grant answered with a grimace. 

“Alright,” the Doctor said slowly, then brightened. “So what is it we're actually doing?”

Grant gave him a disbelieving glance. “You don't know—?”

“Very last minute fill-in,” the Doctor said breezily. “But don't worry, I'm a quick study.”

“Well, you're not that much worse off than the rest of us,” Brennan said encouragingly. “You know about Game Changer, obviously, if you know Sam, and we only find out the rules of the game once we get on set. Hopefully,” he added, with a dark look back at the Out of Order sign. 

The Doctor nodded. No, he didn't know Sam, and he didn't know Game Changer, but he could work out the situation from context clues. This was a game show. And with the Toymaker banished, and Satellite Five not coming into existence for another 198000 years, give or take, he found himself smiling. Maybe third time would be the charm. 

“Mmm, hopefully they aren't going to throw you in the deep end,” Grant said. “Because Brennan might seem lovely now, but as soon as we get out there, he's a whore for points. He'll stab you in the back and won't even blink.”

Brennan barked with laughter. “Yeah, and you wouldn't?”

“Excuse you, I'm always a goddamn delight,” Grant replied, the very picture of injured dignity. 

“Oh, absolutely!” agreed a new voice. The Doctor turned to the now-open door to see a bearded man in a pinstriped suit smiling broadly. “That's why we keep inviting you back!”

Grant bowed sarcastically. “Why, thank you, Sam. Good to know I'm appreciated by someone here.”

“Always,” Sam replied, gently but firmly ending that particular path of the conversation. He scanned the room, and his eyes lit up when they landed on the Doctor. 

“Ah, you must be the Doctor!” he said with obvious delight, walking over with his hand outstretched. “I'm Sam—thanks for filling in for us, you've made sure we're going to have a good show. Seriously, it's a pleasure to have you here.”

“Aw, cheers!” the Doctor smiled, shaking the offered hand. “Glad I could help out, I'm really looking forward to this!”

“Well, great!” Sam exclaimed, then took a step back, regarding all three players in turn. “Now, folks, I'm just letting you know that we're just about ready to start the record, so if you can start heading down, that'd be great.”

Grant and Brennan nodded—Brennan, the Doctor noticed, with relief. 

“See you down there,” Sam said, smiling. “Have a great show, and—”

His eyes caught on the Doctor's for a second, twinkling. 

“Good luck.”

---

Backstage, the Doctor, Brennan and Grant were marshalled into podium order and given a final briefing from the crew. And then, with a thumbs-up from Kaylin, that was it.

Showtime.

“Get ready for a Game Changer!” came Sam's voice from onstage. “Tonight’s guests: he can shoot off a monologue with laser accuracy; it’s Brennan Lee Mulligan!”

Brennan, his back to the camera as the curtains opened, spun on his heel and, with a stone-cold expression, pointed finger guns straight down the barrel, before letting the facade crack open. “Hi!” he exclaimed, and walked over to the leftmost podium.

“It’s his first appearance, but he’s already on fire; it’s the Doctor!”

The Doctor leant against the archway to the stage and flashed a broad smile towards the camera, then in a few skipping steps, had bounded over to the next free podium. What the hell, why not make an entrance?

“And even in the toughest of mazes, you’ll always be able to find him; it’s Grant O’Brien!”

Grant dipped his lanky frame into an approximation of a curtsey, spreading his arms wide, then sauntered over to the closest podium with a grin.

“And your host, me!” Sam announced, a ring of manic white showing around his irises as he beamed down the barrel of the camera. “I’ve been here the whole time!”

“This,” he continued, pushing his microphone shut and stowing it in his jacket pocket, “is Game Changer, the only game show where the game changes every show. I am your host, Sam Reich!” 

As he said his name, he looked at his hands, front and back, as if he was pleasantly surprised to be himself, then gestured towards the three podiums.

“I am joined today by these three lovely contestants! Now, you understand how the game works.”

“Of course not,” Grant started. “You know we don't.”

“We can't, Sam, that's the whole point of the theatre you've set up here,” Brennan said over him. 

“Not yet,” was all the Doctor said, anticipation starting to drum a tattoo of excitement against the inside of his ribcage. 

“That’s right!” Sam said brightly, shooting finger guns at the camera. “Our players have no idea what game it is they’re about to play. The only way to learn is by playing. The only way to win is by learning, and the only way to begin is by beginning! So without further ado, let’s begin by giving each of our players fifty points.”

The Doctor, biding his time, watched the reactions of his fellow contestants. Grant looked at the front of his podium, checking the point total, and nodding approvingly when he saw that yes, it was sitting at a round fifty. Brennan, on the other hand, was starting to frown.

“Players, Sam says: touch your nose,” Sam began, and Brennan sighed the sigh of someone who wasn’t happy to be proved right.

“Oh, no,” he groaned. “Oh, you son of a bitch. Wasn’t one this season enough?”

He touched his nose anyway, as did the others, and Sam smiled encouragingly. “Sam says: touch your ear.”

When they all did, Sam nodded. “Touch your other ear.”

Everybody held still, fingers on the ears they had originally touched.

Sam beamed. “Easy, players, right?”

“You say that now,” Brennan said darkly. “Which makes it worse, because all you're doing is setting us up for failure.”

Sam gasped, pretending offence. “Would I do that?”

“Yes,” Brennan and Grant replied in unison, which drew a grin from the Doctor and set Sam off chuckling.

“And I'm not having it,” Brennan continued, leaning his elbows against his podium and pointing at Sam with the hand not touching his ear. “You better watch yourself, because I know how this game works, and you're not going to get one over on me.”

“Strong words, Brennan!” Sam said, clearly delighted by this response. “Okay, then, let's start making things a bit more interesting!”

The game continued as per Sam Says usual, some rounds done as a group and some individual. Points were won, sure, but lost slightly more frequently, and even the Doctor found he was having to concentrate to avoid getting caught in the host's traps. 

It was fun. Genuinely, it was like playing a game with friends, and the Doctor felt himself leaning into it. There wasn't any sign of danger—maybe there wasn't a mystery to solve at all, and the TARDIS just decided he needed a total break. 

Well, probably not. But the way things were going, he was able to let himself hope. 

“Alright, players,” Sam said a good few rounds in, just as pleasantly as he would start any other question, and the screen behind him dinged as a new prompt popped up. “Survive the death beam.”

For a second, everything was frozen perfectly still. 

And then came the crash, the explosive noise of heavy machinery moving relentlessly through a drywall set.

The Doctor was already moving. “Everyone down!”

“Duck!” Brennan yelled at the same time.

The two of them hit the ground within milliseconds of each other, but Grant was still paralysed in the face of the giant, science-fiction type laser cannon that had just ploughed through the wall. 

It whined ominously, screaming its way to fever pitch. And then a sharp pain in Grant’s ankle made him stagger, pitching forwards onto the carpet behind the podiums as the Doctor rolled away to avoid getting pinned.

“Sorry, babes,” the Doctor whispered. “But it was either kick you to get you down, or—”

A hideous metallic screech ripped through the air, and all three of them could feel the crackle of ozone as a beam of energy swept across what had, moments ago, been neck height.

“…Or that,” the Doctor finished with a grimace.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Grant breathed, suddenly very conscious of every inch of his 6’9 frame. “Thanks.”

“Well done, players!” Sam exclaimed delightedly from above them. “But… sorry, I didn’t say ‘Sam says’, so that’s a point off for everyone.”

“What the fuck!” Brennan snapped.

“Are you actually insane?” Grant demanded at the same time, his voice overlapping with Brennan’s.

In response, Sam just wheezed with laughter. “You can come back to your podiums,” he said, cheerfully ignoring them.

Nobody moved.

“Very good!” he acknowledged, and even without seeing his face, the grin was obvious in his voice. “Okay, Sam says: come back to your podiums.”

Although the words were innocuous, and his tone was just as light and breezy as usual, there was nevertheless an edge hiding just underneath the surface. And while the death beam loomed large in the minds of all three players, it was impossible to consider disobedience as an option.

Slowly, they stood, returning to their places. Now they had the time to look at it properly, the death beam was even more sinister, and Brennan and Grant both kept flicking nervous glances its way, ready to move if it looked like it was charging up again.

The Doctor, however, was focused purely on the man standing in front of them. Unbothered, Sam met his gaze like a challenge, a mischievous smile playing about his lips.

“Oh, you’ll love this one,” he said, and the screen changed. “Sam says, starting with Grant: say my name.”

Grant frowned in confusion, but answered quickly nonetheless. “Sam Reich?”

The man himself shrugged tolerantly, moving on. “Brennan?”

Brennan just stared at him coolly. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“Well caught, Brennan!” Sam said happily. “Sam says: say my name.”

“Sam,” Brennan replied, suspicion clear in his voice. “Samuel Dalton Reich.”

He nodded, still with a hint of indifference. “And lastly, Doctor.” His smile broadened. “Sam says: say my name.”

It was easy. Too easy. And as the Doctor looked into the eyes of the man calling himself Sam Reich, he felt his hearts stutter in recognition, because something had changed. He wasn’t hiding himself anymore, and while the face was different yet again, the Doctor would know the shape of that soul anywhere. It was impossible. It was inevitable.

“You can’t be,” he breathed. 

Sam smirked, leaning in across his podium. “Oh, but Doctor… I’ve been here the whole time,” he stage-whispered with a wink.

“He said you lost,” the Doctor said, shaking his head, looking wrong-footed for the first time that Brennan and Grant could recall. “You lost, and he trapped you.”

The other two watched, uncomprehending, but Sam just smiled, drumming his fingers against the podium with an audible beat, fast but distinct. Four taps, four taps, four taps. “I’m waiting.”

The Doctor took a slow, deep breath. Set his jaw. 

“Master.”

---

missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): you are here!

[copia]

"It. Is. Going great, now. Innit."

PAPA EMERITUS IV and SISTER IMPERATOR in RITE HERE RITE NOW (with ASHLEY MCBRIDE and KEVIN "JESUS" KAUFMANN)

[fortheloveofexy]

look I know nora said we're only getting one more book but tbh I am just waiting for the day she pops back on here to begrudgingly tell us that tsc2 got too long and she's had to split it in half (again)

[the-itzy-bitzy-spider]

Not sure how I feel about this but my redneck hick boss just warned me to be careful because people are having violent anti-jew protests and I am visibly Jewish. And I mean, yeah, I know it's rough out there. But my boss is ALWAYS either high or drunk (or both) and he immediately clocked that it's not about Israel or Palestine, but about hating Jews. And I'm grateful that someone cares enough to say something, but it also means the bar is so fucking low that it'son the ground. If this guy can see it, the rest of y'all are being willfully ignorant or just flat out lying about your intentions.

[sforzesco]

some "new" designs for different crassus and pompey, specifically for a side project I've been playing with that's so removed from anything relevant (action/adventure/horror standalone story lmao) that they kind of needed their own thing. this story's pompey has a neck scar from an Incident™, crassus has shorter hair and wears (checks notes) jewelry sometimes.

[post-it-notes7]

I think they get along

[ghostly-cabbage]

We need to talk about the worst thing about making AUs....

The fact that then when you inevitably think about crossovers you don't want the crossover with the canon you want it with your specific AU. Your brain worms, your circus, but THEN WHAT?

Oh, yeah, to understand this crossover you need to go read this entirely different fic/series? Girl help 😭 you can't do that

[lemondoddle]

"It's problematic for guillermo to hook up with his boss"

You turned a woman of color into a white man.

[simplydnp]

what's your opinion on fanfics about dnp? (more in a way of do you think that it's crossing boundaries and/or being parasocial)

i'm of the same mind of dnp in that phanfic is fucking incredible. it's an important and valid way to express yourself, as well as a building block of our community. i don't think it's crossing boundaries, as it's fiction. i don't see it as parasocial either--you're writing for you and others like you. most people don't want dnp reading their fics, it's not for them in a sense, it's for us.

i think dnp are extremely aware of fanfic and its value and place in community. they've always encouraged it, appreciated the support, and given us space about it. they're not ones to make videos about it and mock fans for it (which happened to some of our lovely fic writers here writing for other yt fandoms, and i'm so sorry about it). dnp are fandom culture people. they've written fic themselves! and published it in their book!

the word parasocial has been twisted lately to imply any fan support is unnatural and should be shamed, which is complete fucking bullshit. making art is always important and valued. and it is necessary for your existence as a human, but also for the thing you're a fan of to thrive.

the parasocial side comes in once you start believing you know this person. and that you're their real friend. when in reality, they do not know you specifically, and you are not their friend, you are an audience member.

so a parasocial relationship only occurs when people start crossing boundaries (digging for not publicly available information, contacting people in their personal life, showing up to their house, etc). which, is absolutely nowhere close to real fan behaviour.

tl;dr: phanfic is great, i love you fic writers, parasociality is a problem but not one that we have

[fisheito]

watched aegis yaku's r5 and immediately felt the need to balance out the universe [SMUSHES YAKUMO FLAT]

[torchickentacos]

Finished another :)

[momentomori24]

So I only watched a couple of routes for Flipside but now I'm fully convinced that Nicole's characterisation either got handed to someone else or was just changed entirely. I knew she was different in Re-Up and I had an inkling on how but I couldn't 100% place my finger on it until this instalment came out. I'm starting to feel like whoever wrote her here didn't completely get her character in the first game. Is that just me.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

the picnic table scene

[shadystranger]

the switch from worry for sam to appealing.. oh he knows how to fuck him up so perfectly tailored for him

[columboscreens]