#lurking-latinist

[fictionadventurer]

How about my favorite poem, Henry Vaughan's "The World" (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45434/the-world-56d2250cca80d):

I saw Eternity the other night, Like a great ring of pure and endless light, All calm, as it was bright; And round beneath it, Time in hours, days, years, Driv’n by the spheres Like a vast shadow mov’d; in which the world And all her train were hurl’d. The doting lover in his quaintest strain Did there complain; Near him, his lute, his fancy, and his flights, Wit’s sour delights, With gloves, and knots, the silly snares of pleasure, Yet his dear treasure All scatter’d lay, while he his eyes did pour Upon a flow’r. The darksome statesman hung with weights and woe, Like a thick midnight-fog mov’d there so slow, He did not stay, nor go; Condemning thoughts (like sad eclipses) scowl Upon his soul, And clouds of crying witnesses without Pursued him with one shout. Yet digg’d the mole, and lest his ways be found, Work’d under ground, Where he did clutch his prey; but one did see That policy; Churches and altars fed him; perjuries Were gnats and flies; It rain’d about him blood and tears, but he Drank them as free. The fearful miser on a heap of rust Sate pining all his life there, did scarce trust His own hands with the dust, Yet would not place one piece above, but lives In fear of thieves; Thousands there were as frantic as himself, And hugg’d each one his pelf; The downright epicure plac’d heav’n in sense, And scorn’d pretence, While others, slipp’d into a wide excess, Said little less; The weaker sort slight, trivial wares enslave, Who think them brave; And poor despised Truth sate counting by Their victory. Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing, And sing, and weep, soar’d up into the ring; But most would use no wing. O fools (said I) thus to prefer dark night Before true light, To live in grots and caves, and hate the day Because it shews the way, The way, which from this dead and dark abode Leads up to God, A way where you might tread the sun, and be More bright than he. But as I did their madness so discuss One whisper’d thus, “This ring the Bridegroom did for none provide, But for his bride.”

Lovely!

Lots of great lines here, but this phrase especially struck me. I want to use it as a title for something.

A way where you might tread the sun

[thisbluespirit]

@lurking-latinist I'm sure you will already have done this, but for your Hornblower obsession needs: The Hornblower Story (BBC Radio 1979-1980) link!

[misscrazyfangirl321]

android is also the local tech expert, so when they start to malfunction they have to talk their human friends through how to repair them, even though the procedure is painful?

OOOOO

"There's a panel-" Speech. Talking. Unexpectedly difficult. Something is wrong. Wrong. Malfunctioned. Glitching. "On my back. On the left side." Left? Process. Repeat. Clarify. "Right side."

"Listen, I don't know about this." Scared. The human is scared. (So am I. Another glitch. Another malfunction. Another failing.) "Maybe we should wait until Frankie gets back."

Frankie Hills. Mechanic. Fifteen. Expert. This human is not an expert. He's new; his name isn't in my database yet. But he's not a mechanic. I know that; he told me. "No time. Glitching. Crashing. Odds of successful repair... Dropping."

This doesn't make him calmer. His hands are shaking, which is bad. Wrong. He's glitching. (But humans don't glitch. They just exist. Why can't I just exist?) I search my database, ignoring the strain on my processor. If I'm not careful, I'll overheat, but he'll never get anywhere without my help.

Comfort words. Excellent. "It will be-be okay." Repeating. Echoing. I'm overloading my system. Audio quality is suffering. "I believe in you."

An odd thing: belief. I don't know what it means. But I know I'm broken, and he's the only one who can fix me. I need him to fix me, before it's too late.

In any case, the words seem to assure him. His features shift. Change. The word comes to my processing center unbidden: Soften. He relaxes, and clears his throat. "Left panel?"

"Right." Then, when he starts to reach, I clarify, "Right panel. Right side. Not correct. Right."

This gives him pause, but only briefly. Then he reaches again, this time for the right (right, correct, direction) panel. When he twists the screwdriver, my sensors burn in protest, and I cannot stop a noise from slipping out. Unfortunate; it frightens him.

"Did I hurt you?"

Hurt: to cause pain. My sensors are not for pain; they serve as alarms for things that pose a threat. They tell me if things are too hot, too cold, subject to cause harm to my hardware or programming. It sends a warning through my wires; I find it unpleasant, but that does not make it pain.

My processor is too close to overheating; I cannot explain all of this. "Yes." It falls within the parameters of truth the Organization has defined for me. "Remove the panel."

"But if it's going to hurt you-"

"It must be removed. There is no other way to repair me."

He makes a noise of his own: a groan, a human sound for pain. But why is he in pain? He isn't; he hurts for me. Hurts because I suffer. Still, though, he sets to work, removing the panel. This time, when noises escape, he does not falter.

"Now what?"

"There are two wires: red and green."

"You have a lot more wires than that back here."

His voice has changed. Taken on a sound: a drawl. So this is sarcasm, then. A human attempt at humor, to make me feel more relaxed (or perhaps, to make him feel more relaxed).

"Those do not matter. Find the red and green wires."

He makes another noise, similar to the grunt, but lighter. Louder. I identify it as laughter; he thinks I've made a joke in turn. Very well.

"Okay, got 'em. What do I do?"

This will be unpleasant. I know this. These wires are not meant to be exposed, so they're connected to powerful sensors. When he does what he must, it will overwhelm my system. But it has to happen.

"Wait until I finish speaking. Disconnect both wires, and insert the yellow drive on the table into the slot behind those wires. Then, reconnect the wires. Make sure you do not cross them."

He waits five seconds-I count-to ensure that I'm done talking. I've encountered droids far less compliant than him. Then, he asks, "What happens if I cross the wires?"

The sensation I experience isn't truly fear; it's simply programming, a jolt of warning, an attempt to preserve data. I'm more useful when I have all of my data, after all. Still, I sound unsteady even to myself when I reply, "System reboot."

Wiping me. Erasing me forever. I would still be here, but not here. Not me. Something else. Someone else. But me. I don't want to think about this; it will definitely overwhelm my processors.

"I'm done speaking," I inform him, because he still hasn't continued the procedure.

"Right, just, uh... Brace yourself." There is nothing to brace myself against; there is nothing to prepare me for this.

"I will not be able to guide you any longer," I warn, and he hesitates. Humans have something called intuition, and I suspect right now that his is activating, inferring from the data I've provided that this will not be a good experience for me. It will, however, be a necessary one.

He knows. Clears his throat. "Okay. Here goes nothing."

A strange thing, something humans often say before things which are most definitely not nothing. A human contradiction; they have many.

Then, all programs running in my mind cease, replaced only with sensor alerts, warnings, jolts- (it hurts-)

Processing fails.

-

I've been recharged. It isn't truly waking up, but that's what humans call it, when I shift from powered down to powered up. All of my sensors are operating at normal levels, not detecting any negative input.

And all of my data is in-tact.

The man is sitting by my charging stall, watching me with an odd look on his face. I run it through my processors (running smoothly now, easily able to take in the new information): It is exhaustion. While I have been recharging, he has not done the same. Curious.

"You require sleep. My calculations indicate that your performance will be diminished by more than-"

"You're okay!" He interrupts me, and-as per my programming-I cease imparting information. Then he stands, reaching over and wrapping his arms around me.

A hug; I don't need to check my database for that. I've observed it before, frequently. It's strange, finally experiencing it. My sensors exist for detecting threats, but the pressure is too light to register as a threat. It does register, though; awareness without warning. It's... Not unpleasant.

"You performed the procedure adequately," I inform him, because my records indicate that moments of embracing call for phrases of sentiment.

He laughs, again. That's not the correct response to sentiment; maybe I didn't do it right. But he hugs me again-more tightly, but still not tight enough to send a warning-before releasing me.

"Thanks for talking me through it," he says.

Odd, to thank me for something that benefitted me more than him. Programming and experience both tell me, however, that there is only one response he's seeking.

"You're welcome."

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

I’m a time traveler and I’m lost! Please help me! What is the current year?

No! I don't know!!!

[theladyjojogrant]

Hey, do you have a sense of where in the Doctor's timeline the Audacity stories fall? Are they pre-Divergent Universe? (I haven't heard them yet but I am curious)

Yes, they’re pre-Divergent Universe! They fall somewhere in the early Charley days; I’m not sure if Big Finish has said anything official about exactly when, but I’ve seen some people place the Audacity sets right after The Further Adventuress stories, which again are early in Eight’s travels with Charley (and this makes sense to me so far, although I’m listening to the second Audacity set currently and haven’t heard the first). I’d say they definitely take place before The Chimes of Midnight because there’s a shift in Eight and Charley’s relationship/travels there that you definitely don’t get in these stories.

It’s possible there could be more context in the first Audacity boxset, but from what I’ve gathered, this seems to be what everyone’s agreed upon. (I actually did some research on this yesterday because I was mildly confused about the timeline when I started In the Bleak Midwinter lol)

[theskyismadeofpenguins]

hap birth!!

thank u!!!

[trailmixtime]

🎭🟥🍎

🎭What genre of writing comes easiest to you?

honestly i think fluff comes the easiest to me. it's not my favourite genre (though i do really enjoy it), but it's the easiest for me to write.

🟥How long do you spend in edits?

so the thing is. i generally edit as i go. it's just what works for me, so i spend about the same time editing as i do writing. the amount of time it takes depends on the fic i'm writing.

of course, there are exceptions to this where i'll go back with a fine comb (such as in the narnia au), and that process can take several hours, depending on length, detail, etc.

🍎What's something you learned while researching for a fic?

not so much researching for a fic, but the most recent fic i've written: The Hell in Bells Hells was a direct result of me learning something (in an immunology book i have) and then deciding to write something based off what i had just learned.

fic writer emoji asks

[lydiahosek]

#and then proceeds to get married (via lurking-latinist)

some kind of irony in Howl being characterised as, in essence, a "slitherer-outer" when the entire plot is based on getting him out of a contract. my guy made one singular commitment and said "wow well I'm never doing that again"

[allieinarden]

It's your birthday?! Hap Birth!

[thisbluespirit]

For the Fanfic kiss meme, for @lurking-latinist - who asked for Seven/Romana + 20 (on a scar), but unfortunately while I am for the most part happy to go along with a bit of Doctor/Romana on demand, for some reason this is any Doctor/Romana except Five or Seven, who are NOTPS. (THis is totally illogical! idk. it just is.)

Have some Six/Romana, with thoughts of The Apocalypse Element in mind to make up for it, for the same prompt:

***

The story of what the Daleks had done to her was written on her hands.  Elsewhere, too, he imagined, his face darkening.  He did not let her withdraw his fingers from his.  He lowered his head and kissed them.

“Really, Doctor,” she said, her head leant a little to one side.  She’s still the same as ever to him, even if her voice has gained a wry, weathered tone, and her face a few lines from time as well as the Daleks.  “You seem to be getting terribly romantic in your old age.”

“Perhaps one of us has to.”

She gave a small smile.  “Oh, Doctor.  As if you don’t get tortured every other Wednesday.”

“That’s not the same!”

Romana turned his hand over and traced a finger across its tell tale marks: a burn here, a cut there.  “Isn’t it?”

“Not the every other Wednesday kind, no.  What you went through –”

“I’d rather you didn’t mention it.”  For one moment her hand quivered in his.  She raised her head.  “Better not, I think.  Don’t you?”

She kissed his palm.

“Oh?”  He arched an eyebrow.  “Who’s being romantic now?”

She laughed.  “Well, it is good to see you again, Doctor.”

Send me a ship + a kiss here!

[misscrazyfangirl321]

no but what if I actually sit down and write a mosquito!vampire AU with my OTP….

PLEASE tag me in it if you do

👀👀👀

[thisbluespirit]

#faceblind doctor content!!#with an actually good description of faceblindness!!#what’s this from?#doctor who#seventh doctor#i was trying to get Faceblind Doctor (Doctor Who) canonized on the archive at one point#but I didn’t apply it consistently even to my own works so it didn’t get canonized

@lurking-latinist In order to get a freeform canonised, you don't need to be consistent - you need at least two other people who aren't you also using the same tag concept. (This is the 'Rule of Three' that freeform canonisation on AO3 goes by, or Ro3 for short.)

The Doctor had decided that what defined a place best was its smell: everywhere has its own particular fragrance, and he now maintained that this characteristic was far more evocative than any view or sound could possibly be. From between the neutral but quietly clean smell of his cream suit and fedora hat he could follow his nose back through his six previous lives with the greatest of ease: with a single sniff he found himself thrown back centuries to feel vividly what he had felt then, while… well, he never had been particularly good with faces or at holding a tune. It annoyed him. He felt he covered up convincingly well, but it annoyed him inside: that split second when he looked an acquaintance in the eyes and felt a void of anonymity beneath him, or the tune he could hear in his head but couldn’t make his lips reproduce. He supposed the difficulties he had recognising other peoples’ faces stemmed from never quite remembering what to expect when he looked in the mirror at himself. And his desire for musicality was probably a simple reaction against the legacy of his boorish, multicoloured and tone-deaf predecessor.

But smells…

Smells seemed never to change.

faceblind doctor content!

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

(For the ask meme)

I think your brain system that generates words would sound like electronic music. Like fun videogame thinking music.

That's a funny request -- like, I can give you a style description, but that's really different from saying "I'll write you a song in that style"

"Fast arpeggio figures, like a 120 bpm electronic cover of a Tom Lehrer parody"

"laughs like electronic cover of a Tom Lehrer parody

[serpercival]

These bitches gay!

[magicofthepen]

🪲 (centered on favorite character) for dw and/or gallifrey?

bug me for fic recs!

🪲 Recommend a great fic centered on your favorite character!

I’m interpreting this as a fic truly centered on that one character, not equally on a pair or group of characters.

Gallifrey and Romana:

descansos by @sircarolyn: They are laughing, the ghosts. They are always laughing. Romana can never see them, not properly, not except for snatches of twisted faces, insubstantial hands reaching out for her, trying to grab her, pull her down. She cannot move. She is helpless.

(in which Romana falls through a surreal landscape of her traumas and failures. twisting and painful and grappling with all she’s experienced and done in Gallifrey)

Doctor Who and River Song:

Not All These Things Are Lies by ShadowsOffense: River Song lies. She lies all the time, but not all of the time. Not all these things are lies.

(a haunting character study of River Song. it raises so many possibilities for her life, some of which contradict each other, and leaves you wondering which are true.)

(and yes Romana is my other TV Doctor Who favorite, but the TV era fic I’ve read is centered on both her and the Doctor)

[rebloggingrexan]

#d’you think he might be invisible?

For a book titled The Invisible Man, The Invisible Man sure is prolonging the mystery of what’s wrong with the man