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saintescuderia · 6 months

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pancakes (pt. 3)

AKA - the story of how the naive australian rookie befriended the gym junkie F1 hospitality worker with the shoe collection - and inadvertently broke the grid's most treasured and unspoken rule: you don't go for y/n.

series masterlist here :) // the pancakes recipe here :)

A/N: don't come for me. i love daniel. it's all for plot. (also, if the timeline seems odd it’s bc creative liberties have been taken 😌)

P3 - stairmaster endurance

As you walked down the steps to the Drivers Gala in your stunning red dress, you were unaware how one Ferrari driver couldn’t take his eyes off you. Looking at you smiling elegantly to one of the reps who greeted you, Charles realised just how much of a mistake he had made. Carlos was at his side, saying something that was back ground noise. All Charles could focus on was you. Your flowing hair, your eyes glinting in the light as you smiled your beautiful smile at whoever was talking to you. You always spoke with such passion. Charles always loved that about you. He would always love every little thing about you—

The alarm went off.

You blinked and stopped the timer notification that essentially shook you out of the deep rabbit hole of F1 fanfiction you had found yourself falling into. Closing the purple app, you wondered why you still remained on Tumblr even after the 2013 hype of it died and everyone shifted to Twitter. Let alone the fact that your Tumblr had become your closeted way to fangirl about the sport you had dedicated your life to.

Then again, what were you to expect? The algorithm clearly picked up on your interests. That or the government was listening in and knew that Formula 1 was your day-to-day. That would explain how, one day, you were simply scrolling through the random, niche memes and BAM! You were met with the completely random gif-set of Arthur Leclerc and Oscar Piastri sat in an interview for Prema.

It had caught you off guard, seeing that come up on your phone screen. It had also been a while since you had seen Arthur. For the whole duration of that single and endless moment, you didn't know how to react.

So your thumb double tapped the screen.

And maybe it was your fault for liking it, for encouraging the algorithm. But you could’t help but smile at the gif of Arthur confident and proud of his 18 hour screen time. That boy had no filter and never gave a fuck about the social norm. That and he often just didn’t read the room. Even after all these years, and his climb up the motorsport ladders, that youthful element about him had remained. It made you smile. You always liked that about him.

However, with that gif-set came more stuff. Innocent stuff. More F2 bits - you really missed those boys - and then everything else. Funny bits of Max at Red Bull. Carlos and Lando. All the Guenther Steiner moments. It was a little weird to be liking gifs of a team principal, you were well aware, but if anything it just made you feel proud of how far the German-Italian had come.

Back in the old Red Bull days, Guenther would always tell you about his dreams of directing his own team. It was nice to see him finally achieve that. It was also an endless source of amusement for you.

For example: the day Kevin had shattered the door.

When it happened, though, it was definitely not a laughing matter. You had been just finishing up the lunch service at the Haas motorhome - making sure to pack up some food for the drivers and mechanics who still were in a meeting - when you had heard the loud noise. Mack, the sous-chef, had stopped and looked at you with wide eyes.

You had both exited the kitchen to walk out to the main space of the motorhome and see other Haas employees equally as confused and whispering. Not getting a clear answer, you patted Mack on the shoulder and returned to the kitchen to finish plating up Kevin and Romain’s lunch for later.

Fifteen minutes later, however, and you had gotten your answer when Guenther stormed into the kitchen fuming. “He does not slam my fucking office door! What am I going to do? Call Gene and tell him his drivers are some fucking idiot babies?!”

You had simply stared at him, blinkingly.

Guenther had then spied a plate of food sitting on the bench. “That fucking driver doesn’t deserve any of your fucking food!” And he picked the plate and dumped plate with its contents in the bin.

“Guenther," you had began in a calm voice, "that was my lunch. Kevin’s plate is in the fridge.”

“Well eat his fucking food! Or—" Guenther reached into his pocket and pulled out a credit card and slammed it onto the table in front of you. “Go to a fucking five star hotel and have lunch there on that fucking idiot baby's pay.”

And the two of you had actually done so.

Even after he calmed down, Guenther had been adamant to take you to lunch which, admittedly, wasn't the most odd thing ever. Guenther was removed enough from all the driver drama and you had known him a for long time. You were the reason he had helped in the debut in 2016 anyway.

Still, no matter how Guenther Guenther was, Kevin was still a driver. You knew how it might look.

Said driver, however, had thankfully just dismissed it when you offered to pay him back. "Make me those mini pizzas next time you're with us and we're good."

And so when you clocked on this morning to see you were covering Haas, you immediately smiled and went to make good on your promise to K-Mag.

You always loved working in the Haas motorhome. If only half the stuff you saw Guenther did and said ended up in gif-sets on Tumblr.

Pushing yourself off the stool, you pocketed your phone and grabbed the oven mitts to pull out the mini pizzas. You had made extra for the engineers since there was an issue with Nico’s PU and knew they would be up late working on the engine. It wasn’t a secret that your pizzas were a coveted snack, being low-carb and high protein enough for even the drivers to consume. You were half expecting Fred Vasseur to pop in and steal some. He did love these pizzas. Any time you were stationed at Alfa Romeo, it was a guarantee you would be making them at his request.

Though, now Fred was moving to Ferrari. So you weren't sure if he was still going to be nice to you. Mattia Binotto had always treated you like the fucking plague.

"Ah, Y/N. For fuck's sake!" You heard the German accent and felt your mouth curve up into a smile as Guenther arrived on scene. He was dressed in the Haas gear for 2023, lanyard around his neck. "You still here running the coffee when you can beat any of these idiots in the car."

You gave him a fake two finger salute. "If I drove, no one would stand a chance."

"Well maybe you could help us score some fucking points." Guenther said. Immediately, he got down to business. "Harry Kane did well last night. Scored two fucking goals."

You snorted. One of the many reasons you and Guenther bonded so well was that you one of the few people amongst this Paddock that took football seriously. Almost as seriously as Formula 1. Almost.

"Didn't see it." You said, shaking your head. Bundesliga was lower on your list of priorities when it came to games. You only paid attention to the German league when it came to teams making it into Champions League. Besides, Guenther should’ve known what game you were watching last night. Still, you reminded him. "The Reds were playing."

He rolled his eyes, though unsurprised. "Of course you're going to watch English fucking football."

"Hey, only because of Salah.” You reminded him and hit your chest proudly, “I gotta represent."

"That much is fucking obvious." Guenther said. One of the many reasons you liked working in Haas so much was that it was by far the most relaxed garage out of them all. For example, you hadn't yet taken off the hoodie you wore which had, on top, the number 10 Liverpool jersey. It looked unprofessional, having a t-shirt over a jumper like that, especially mixed with the headscarf you had tied on your head like a durag, but Guenther couldn’t care less. If anything, he was probably just offended at your choice of EPL team.

“United is fucking Red.”

"Ah, Guenther. You know my heart really lies." You reminded him.

Your uncle, with his love for football, had brought you up following the iconic Real Madrid. He literally visited the hospital with a teddy bear and Bernabeu membership, adamant he would get his newborn niece into the sport. No matter what.

From the moment he found out your number one team, Guenther was salty. “Los Blancos.” He scoffed. “The fucking villains of football." He came round to see the circular pieces of bread covered with sauce and an array of different toppings. Guenther picked one up - and immediately dropped it. "Fuck!"

"It's hot." You said, dryly. You took out another tray and set it down. You closed the oven door and turned it off. You flipped the towel over your shoulder as you watched Guenther now at the sink, running water over his burnt fingers.

"You don't fucking say." Guenther blowing on his fingers.

“Stop being a baby.” You laughed, bringing up your hands to your head to fix your headscarf.

Guenther ignored that comment. "Fred fucking loves these things. Don't tell him you made them. I don't want him in here stealing them."

You said nothing and turned around to pretend to busy yourself with the trays of mini pizzas. It was best to just remain quiet sometimes. Bahrain testing had kept everyone occupied and at that start of the season F1 Hospitality were usually running around after Stefano Domenicali and the FIA Co. for last minute set up. It was only into the race calendar that Hospitality were eventually went around to the teams.

So, no. You hadn't seen Fred. You hadn't seen anyone. You were just grateful that your first race of 2023 was in the safety of Haas. Nico and Kevin were older and, therefore, a little more out of it when it came to driver drama. If they knew anything, they were old enough to be mature about it.

Though, that couldn't be the same of others from their generation. You were already losing sleep from the feelings that arose from seeing Daniel in Red Bull gear. It didn't help that the last time you two had spoken, things hadn't exactly been civil.

You were on the stair-master. The clock on the machine read 37:48. The sweat was dripping off you.

Your grey jumper had darkened in shades, wet from the sweat. You kept your hands on your head as you stepped and stepped and stepped and stepped. Angsty rap music blasted into your ears. Tinnitus was likely to worsen, but you would take that over the shit storm that was currently breaking all over the Paddock.

I understand that, without my agreement, Alpine F1 have put out a press statement late this afternoon that I am driving for them next year. This is wrong and I have not signed a contract for Alpine for 2023. I will not be driving for Alpine next year.

Oscar hadn’t even yet joined Formula 1 and he was already stirring trouble. That was a problem. For you. You were supposed to lay low. The whole point of this was to lay low and not drawing any attention to yourself. The agreement was that you could still be there if only in the role of Hospitality.

And the idiot had tweeted that and then, ten minutes later, decided to follow you.

How he even found your Twitter was surprising? It wasn’t very personal - your profile picture was solid black - so no fans would be able to recognise you. But the Paddock? The FIA and your bosses? They were raising confused eyebrows that Oscar Piastri would drop that bomb and then follow you.

You could already imagine what Otmar was going to say. God, the 2023 season hadn’t fully started and you were already dreading walking into the Alpine home. And then Jos Verstappen was rumoured to be attending more races this year and who could forget about Daniel coming back to Red Bull? The universe apparently needed to give you some character development, it seemed.

Your legs ached, begging to stop. Your mind thought about pressing the red emergency button, to just end it. But you knew better. You knew this was all a mind game. Pain is an allusion. Keep going. Shit hurts but you push through. Keep going. Keep going. Keep fucking going. It's what you always told yourself. It's how you got yourself through everything. It's how you'll get through all of this. If you can push through the pain of the stairmaster, then you can push through the pain of anything. You had learned that pain was temporary and it was just a mind-game. You could always go longer than you thought possible. You just had to keep reminding yourself of that fact. So, right now, it was just practice. Each step you took right now was practicing the endurance of pain from this stairmaster fucking filling your legs. If you could get through this, you would be able to handle any drama in the future.

Unfortunately, drama walked through the door before you could make it through the current pain of said stairmaster.

Daniel Ricciardo stormed into the Driver’s Only Gym, knowing all too well that this was where you would be. He had been the one to tell you about this fucking place in the first place. Before everything, you had always loved working out and exercise was part of the reason you two ended up as you did. Now, you didn’t have the luxury you did before. You didn’t have the lanyard.

So, now, you had to workout in the shadows.

That didn't mean Daniel didn't see you. Didn't hear you. Didn't know what you were doing every single day of every weekend the both of you avoided each other at the Paddock. He knew you still wore your sneakers according to the race location. He knew you still wore headscarves when in the Middle East and covered your tattoos when in Japan. He knew you still avoided Charles just he like he knew you still avoided him. He knew you.

So Daniel knew you woke up at 4am every day to work out. And after Zak Brown told him the news, he spent the night dealing with his spiralling career through a bottle of Jack Daniels. Then he had the idea to come out from the four walls of his hotel room and see you.

Because Daniel knew you had made your pancakes for the rookie, that fucking Oscar Piastri. And Daniel was one of the few people who knew, who fully understood just what that meant to you.

Drunk and emotional, Daniel planted himself right in front of the stair master. He stared at you, caught like a deer in headlights and got right to it.

“You must be fucking happy.”

It was the first time he had directly spoken to you in five years.

So it took you a second to process what was happening.

Daniel Ricciardo was right here, in front of you, at 4:50 in the morning as you sweated your body weight out through the repeated steps you took on the machine.

Suddenly you were aware that you had rolled yourself out of bed with a little less motivation than the norm. You had been extra tired, hitting snooze more than twice. You hadn’t washed your face and you wondered if Daniel would be able to spot the stain of egg yolk on your hoodie. It had been some time since he had been this close to you and you were in bike shorts and currently on a bulk. Suddenly, you wished you were on a cut. Why did the one time he came this close to you had to be so big and puffy?

"Excuse me?" You found yourself saying, shifting one headphone off your ear. “Can I help you?”

"Did you know?" Daniel asked. He didn't give you a chance to respond. "Of course you fucking did."

Without even thinking, you pulled the red plug your mind had obsessed over and jumped down. The pain was already here so there was no point going through any more than necessary. You looked up at Daniel, panting. He, too, was exhaling a little heavier than normal. Too angry and, judging by the smell of his breath, drunk to be stable.

There was no point lying to him. Aside from the fact that Daniel was emotionally charged (and drunk - and he got super passionate when he was drunk) you knew he would immediately pick up on it. You don't spend three years with someone and not know them like the back of your hand. And, unlike him, you can safely say that you hadn't really changed since 2018. If you lied, he would know.

"I signed a NDA, Daniel." You said simply, walking to your gym bag sat on the red bench. You picked up your bottle to take a sip, your throat dry. You tried to keep yourself calm and not shaky. Do my legs look too big? God, Please don’t let me smell like BO. Your thoughts were still running rampant. Despite the extensive cardio, your body was buzzing from the anxiety of having Daniel so close.

Daniel. To think you had once been so deeply in love with the man stood before you.

"Fuck off." He spat. You recoiled. "No one gives a shit about that."

"I do." You said, trying to keep your voice from growing small. "Sorry I care about my job."

Daniel let out a sardonic laugh. You braced yourself, knowing what was to come. You had experienced this many times before during your fights. "What? Making coffee and fucking washing the dishes? Yeah, great job you got there, babe."

"Don't call me babe." You spat back. "And can you not be a dick for two fucking seconds, Daniel."

You said it. His name. When was the last time you had said it? It made you both take a second to process what was happening, to acknowledge how long it had been since the two of you had actually spoken to one another, how long since you had addressed the other as a human being that actually existed.

In that moment, Daniel finally seemed to lose a bit of anger and, instead, show a glimmer of vulnerability. "I lost my seat. I don't know what I'm going to do."

You looked down at your shoes at show of helplessness. New Balance 350s. Red and yellow. They had been on sale. You liked them for stable LISS circuits but hated the colour way. Now, they were the most interesting thing to look at.

Everyone knew that Daniel Ricciardo was always all smiles and that, no matter what, he was optimistic. Happy. He never showed any weakness.

Except, you had seen him when the smiles fell away and the laughter died. In the safety of your private hotel rooms and Daniel could just be, you saw him vulnerable, you saw him hurt, you saw him stress, worry, cry, swear and be open to how he was really feeling. Like right now.

“Daniel I—“

"You didn’t even think to fucking tell me."

You looked up at the change of tone and how he was frowning-- no, sneering at you. This made you change and any remorse, any pity, you felt for the man in front of you immediately vanished. You weren’t in a hotel room. You were in the gym. And it had been five fucking years.

"Are you fucking blaming me right now?"You snapped back. "What the fuck do I owe you, exactly?"

"I’m the reason you’re here!"

By now, your heart was racing. And not from the exercise. This, this was it. You finally had your moment to say it.

"Yes, exactly, Daniel. You’re the reason that I am, as you said, making coffee and fucking washing the dishes! If it weren’t for you, we both know where I would be right now. But you got fucking scared of Max and blamed me for it!"

This hit a nerve. "I was not scared of Max! I outperformed Max!"

"Yes, on the weeks I fucking trained you!"

"Fuck me,” Daniel was shooting straight daggers at you despite the wry grin on his face, “do you really think that was all you?"

You put your hands on your hips and squared up to meet his eyes, narrowing your own. "Considering how your teammate took me on as a trainer and then became the number 1 driver, yes, I will take some fucking credit for that." Daniel's face dropped when you said it. And you knew it was a low blow, but you couldn't help the words before they tumbled out from your mouth. "The world’s fucking moved on from Monaco 2018. Maybe you should too."

"Fuck you!" He shouted.

"Fuck you!" You shouted back. You grabbed your phone and found yourself tapping onto a recent chat and speedily composing a text. You hated how your fingers shook. You also hated how you were texting for help.

"Well, clearly you haven’t moved on from Monaco if you’re bringing it up." Daniel said, no longer shouting, but his tone still as icily. "You’re going to be mad about that until the end of time?"

You closed your eyes and willed your eyes not to think of the image of him with her, the pain you felt walking in and seeing that. Instead, you opened your eyes and stared him dead in the eye and spoke as calmly as possible.

"Jos Verstappen will be coming to the races more often this year. That means I won't be able to work in the Red Bull garage. If I'm at AlphaTauri, do not fucking come."

Daniel ignored this, undeterred. Instead, he kept grinning down at you thinking he found something. "You seriously aren't over it, are you?"

"No, the memory of you putting your dick into another woman still keeps me up at night." You rolled your eyes despite how it still did admittedly hurt. You pretended it didn’t and hoped he believed it. "Please stop thinking so highly of yourself. Remind yourself of why you're here, right now, talking to me."

Daniel's eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to say something but the sound of the doors opening had him closing it. You grabbed your gym bag and finally made a move to turn around and escape the gym.

Ignoring the looks of one very confused Carlos Sainz as you breezed past him.

"I have to go deal with idiots who can’t tell me what’s wrong with the engine." Guenther said. You had brought forth two plates and slide two pizzas onto each.

"Here. For you and Nico." You said, knowing Nico would join the meeting about his car. "I'll bring a tray in a little bit for the rest of the engineers."

"Make me and Nico some coffee, please." Guenther said, taking the plates. "And pour in some fucking whiskey." You laughed and watched him disappear down the hallway of the offices set up. Haas' lack of financial support meant their motorhome was mediocre at best. Still, you loved being here more than anywhere else. It was the safest, really.

Wiping your hands on the towel, you went outside to where the coffee cart was situated. Another example of Haas' lack of funding was needing a Formula One coffee cart and not having an in house machine like everyone else did. You went about preparing the coffees like how you knew Nico and Guenther liked - as well as making yourself one while you were at it.

"No Real Madrid today?"

You found yourself jumping at the familiar Spanish lilt of the other Ferrari driver. Carlos Sainz was someone you never really paid any close attention to. He wasn't close enough to either Daniel or Charles' circles to ever have been on your radar. He had left Red Bull before you did and since he was Ferrari associated, it meant you never really had much to do with him.

Still, he was pleasant and nice. He always had been. He was one of those drivers that if word had spread to him - and it was very likely that it had - he didn't show it. Or care enough about it. Any time Carlos saw you around the Paddock, it was with a warm smile and a quick small-talk question about your thoughts on Real Madrid's latest match. But that was really ever it.

Until that time he had walked in at 5am to see you and Daniel Ricciardo screaming at each other.

"Uh, no. Liverpool was playing yesterday." You said, wondering if he knew you also cared about the Scouse team. Admittedly, you didn’t have the same love for them as you did for the Spanish legends, but you couldn’t have Egyptian heritage and not care about Mo Salah.

"You're Egyptian, no?" He asked. You focused on frothing the milk, unable to really look him in the eyes so soon after this morning.

"Yes." It was there in the mix, yes, but you really weren't up for explaining the complicated heritage of your ethnicity this morning. Looking at the milk circling in the silver jug, you realised your face was heating up. You were slightly surprised he even knew you were Egyptian in the first place. Unlike with Guenther or the splattering of other football fans in the Paddock, you and Carlos only ever had brief snapshots of Real Madrid small talk.

Still, this wasn't an odd conversation, you had to remind yourself. You were talking about the one thing you and him ever talked about. But, again, this was after Carlos had walked in to see you, a Hospitality worker, arguing with a driver.

"Please don't tell anyone about me being in the gym." You finally said, turning off the frother to gently tap the metal jar against the bench and settle the bubbles in the milk. "I could get into a lot of trouble since it's only for drivers."

Carlos waved a dismissive hand and shook his head. When it was clear he wasn't going to, you breathed a small sigh of relief. But then he leaned against the cart and you felt yourself starting to get anxious again. There was a quiet moment for a second as your poured the latte for Nico. Carlos' eyes followed your hands.

"I will say something if Ricciardo upset you." He said in a quieter voice.

You immediately shook your head and finally looked him in the eye. "Please don't. There's enough complication with... everything." You finished lamely.

"So I've heard." Carlos said.

You looked away. He knew.

"So then you'll know I don't need anymore complications." You said through gritted teeth, hating very much the confirmation that word had spread about what had happened.

"You haven't done anything wrong, though."

This caught you by surprise. It was the first time anyone - or, at least, a driver - had said those words to you. At the start, everyone had immediately pointed fingers at you. You were shunned and blamed. Some saw your position with the Formula One Group as part of Hospitality too light a punishment for what had happened. For the longest time, it was the confusion as to why everyone had reacted that way that did that hurt you. You hadn’t thought you had done anything wrong. Not really. You struggled to understand why no one else saw it that way. Least of all any of the drivers that knew what had happened.

Hearing Carlos say that really threw you for a short second. Carlos even caught it. He said your name and you finally looked up at him when you heard him say your name.

"Sorry it’s just - uh, Carlos, man.” You laughed a dry laugh. “You're probably the only driver who thinks so."

"I'm not." Carlos crossed his arms. "I might be the only one who has said so, but if I've understood correctly... then I'm not."

You looked down at metal jug in your hand with the extra milk you had frothed for yourself. Suddenly, you didn't feel like any caffeine. Your anxiety was already through the roof.

"Do you want a coffee?" You asked, sounding, again, very lame as that was your response to Carlos' comment.

The Spaniard looked back down at the spoon and jug in your hands. He nodded. "Have you had one already?" You asked. He shook his head and so you went about pulling down another paper cup to make his piccolo.

"You remembered." He said, laughing slightly.

"First coffee is a piccolo. Second and third are black." You recalled his order. Carlos smiled at you as you poured the milk. "I know everyone's coffee orders."

You didn’t catch how his smile lessened slightly at that.

You looked back at him and tried to ignore the thought of whether his kindness was exaggerated for your sake. A pity thing or something. Carlos accepted the coffee and then he actually offered a thank you in Arabic. You found your lips turning up hearing the marhaba on his Spanish tongue. “Es un placer.” You came back with his own native language.

You don’t work in Formula 1 without picking up a few things here and there.

Hence how you could recognise the German swears that sounded from within the motorhome as Guenther suddenly appeared.

“Where is that Y/N? Liverpool fucking tops the league and thinks she can take her time with— ah, you Ferrari fuckers!” Both you and Carlos looked to where he had come up behind the driver and slapped a friendly pat on his back. “Tell Fred he can’t have any pizza.”

“Pizza?” Carlos asked and looked down at you. “You made your pizza?”

You didn’t get a chance to respond before some Haas engineers appeared behind Guenther and called for you and him. Carlos took this as his sign - he was technically on Haas territory - and nodded at you and Guenther, holding up his piccolo in salute. Guenther had already taken the coffees you’d made for him and Nico and disappeared behind the sliding doors. You made a move to follow when Carlos called out.

"I want to try some famous Y/N pizza!” He said, turning on his heel as he walked backwards and called out to you.

You smiled and shook your head, walking back into the Haas home. You went back to the oven and set about plating up the pizzas to be a little more presentable to them. You also made sure to put some aside especially for Kevin. This was supposed to be for him.

You thought idly of saving some for Carlos when some Haas engineers you vaguely recognised walked past.

"Oh nice!" One engineer said, coming up and immediately reaching for one to stick it in his mouth. You watched him do the same blunder that Guenther did.

The other engineer, a woman with a thick Irish accent? was staring at you. Smug. "Damn, who got you smiling like that, missy?"

"What?" You asked, eyes going wide. You hadn't realised the wide smile on your face that was likely the direct result of one Carlo Sainz. Your face became hot again and it took every ounce of will to not seem affected by her words. “No one.”

"Mmm. If you say so.” She said in a sing song voice. “Well and me Mr Cool over here,” she gestured to the the other engineer trying to breathe through the hot pizza, “are heading to the garage now to see Kevin. Can we take them?"

"Yeah." You nodded. "Go ahead."

"Not saving some for anyone?"

"No." You shook your head firmly. "Take them all."

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sysmedsaresexist · 3 months

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im a system trying to learn more about endos.

so far in syscourse ive only seen proof of cdds being traumagenic but they dont disprove non-cdd plurality, so what sources are there that have evidence of endogenic systems, if you have any?

Right now? There isn't any hard evidence that would satisfy anti endos. There's TONS of papers and articles talking about the recent emergence of endogenic systems, but they're mostly interview based. I debunked a lot of them when I was still anti. Small sample sizes, personal bias about dysfunction levels, all interviews. Those won't stand for those who are skeptical.

Now that I've calmed my gender neutral tits, though, I can look at where all this research is heading, and I can look back and find all the different terms that have been used to describe this same phenomenon. Those terms don't fall under psychology, they appear in journals about consciousness and self and philosophy, and they go all the way back to the 1800s, developing right alongside theories on hysteria and split personality, and the TOSD.

I don't need to do the work for you (/nm), just Google multiple self theory and fall down the rabbit hole. Trust me. One Google search, move at your own pace. It'll mean more when you find all this yourself and make the journey on your own. It was way more effective when I went alone.

That said, I'm not heartless.

The most promising research coming out is the tulpa studies.

Tanya Luhrmann and Michael Lifshitz are incredible, but it's Luhrmann who really stole my heart. She has a long list of work on religious communication with God and "others", and was a huge part of putting tulpas, and several other different voice hearing, religious communities into the fmri scanners to see what's going on. The reddit AMA is being passed around now, and it's largely being ignored by antis, without understanding what it was.

The tulpa studies began... shit, 5 years ago? Covid put a hold on the project, but it's back up and running and they're working on the final paper. The AMA was a chance for people to ask questions to the lead researchers about the project, including whether they found anything.

And they did.

The brains of tulpamancers and other practitioners lit up in unexpected areas and outside of conscious control (very basic overview).

Luhrmann also wrote about how this kind of research can help other voice hearers, and could potentially point to some new therapy opportunities for those struggling.

No, Luhrmann and Lifshitz are not dissociative specialists. Endogenic systems have screamed for decades about how they don't have CDDs and we just refuse to listen. This research is occurring in other areas and specialities. They don't need to be dissociative specialists to work fmri machines and see there's something happening.

My hope is that once the final results are published, we'll see some very quick movements comparing CDDs and endogenic systems. We're not there yet, but I think we'll actually have firm answers within the next couple years.

And after looking into other areas of research, and seeing the potential positives, and that they DID see some unexpected things on the scans...

Not to mention that I've spoken with Colin Ross, THE dissociative expert, who in the 1980s, wrote about "endogenous multiplicity," a subsection of those with MPD that had no trauma history, no dysfunction, no amnesia, etc, and he still stands by that to this very day. I've spoken with several other experts. Go look at Jamie Marich on Twitter and see all her colleagues in the notes.

Anti endo is a dying stance.

Learn nuance while you can (CDDs and endogenic plurality are different, occasionally overlapping), and jump ship before it's too late to take the harm back.

Happy googling and good luck!

#syscourse #not syscourse #anti endo #pro endo #system safe #pro syscourse conversation #research #debunk

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foxsoulcourt · 25 days

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what if the world supported a kinder framework where listening well was important before the doing of things?

Today (which will be days ago by the time this posts) was one for long stretches of s o l i t u d e to recharge. As often happens on these days, I went down some rabbit holes. Found this unassuming interview of Ben from Dec 2022 and found it encouraging, particularly from 9:00 minutes to 15:00 (the end).

In these last few months before the next US Presidential election, I am choosing to focus on, invest in, imagine, hold space for envisioning how it will be to have a female President. Not that everything will be All Better Now (it won’t be, not hardly), h o w e v e r, it WILL be different!

And, I for one, am ready for different.

#women talking #sarah polley #love learning more + more about the collaborative + emotionally safe container she created for this film #ben whishaw #acknowledging later on in the interview how the set was decidedly different because it was primarily female actors + creative staff #yeah yeah yeah i know this could get interpreted in A Way #however #i don’t believe respect for compassion + kindness + listening is gender specific e x a c t l y…#…it’s that many public men in our current world do not exhibit the capacity willingness or ability to live in this way #gender is a social construct

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wolven91 · 5 months

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Drifting - Part 7

"That went well." Qik said as she slipped a foot into the nerve suit's trouser leg while Casper was currently running his fingernails across the top of his scalp, itching it vigorously. The man glared at the messy cap of hair that had plagued him for the last hour.

He'd had to wear it for the entire interview with a GC representative. All a giant farse to hide the fact that as a 'critically endangered species' mere months of living in geckin space, Caper was now piloting thirty-foot mechs that had the potential of killing him if he took a bad hit.

"I want to burn this." He said bluntly, glaring at the ridiculous yellow, blonde wing that was more in place on a fictional character than real life.

"Do it, throw it into the furnace." Qik shrugged, as she shimmied into the Nerve-Suit, its shiny material hugging her curves in ways that made the human stare quite openly. Qik was slim, sleek, and athletic. Her abdominal muscles showed through her fur quite easily and the 'skintight' Nerve-Suit only emphasised that further. His eyes greedily drank in the way the light played over the smooth contours. He blinked, snapping back to reality. Why was it hard to concentrate?

"Uhh, I... Can't. That was it. It belongs to a geckin, not part of the military. But... why did they have a wig?" Casper asked, holding it in his hands and squinting at the item, trying to distract himself from the toned leg that was parked on the bench next to him as Qik adjusted and made sure the suit was in place.

"Apparently they had a fantasy of a human. Or a facsimile." Qik explained as Casper put it aside and began to disrobe.

"What do you mean?" He asked as he turned away from her to remove his underwear, still suffering from the human-made taboo of being undressed in front of the opposite gender. He'd discovered that, that was not a common fear amongst the stars. Humans were the odd one out for how much they cared about separating the genders. Even on his public ID, it didn't have his gender listed.

"Humans aren't new in some parts of the galaxy apparently." Qik began, fists now on her hips whilst she openly stared at Casper as he donned the stretchy Nerve-Suit. "You might have only been officially part of the GC for like, six months? But it seems that Ssypno media has human-things running around long before then. Rumours and shit. This geckin was a human lover." The lopel mercenary finished with a grin.

Casper frowned and ensured his suit was donned correctly, trying to line up the needle holes with the red welts that covered his ashen skin.

"Human lover, before humans were found. Sounds like a-abduct-..."

Casper blinked as the changing room was suddenly filled with a deafening roar, he tried to say something, but nothing came out as he became lightheaded and lost his balance. Toppling forwards, strong arms and hands grabbed him, arresting his fall. It took a moment for his legs to work and lift himself back up, knees shaking. He looked down at the brown fur and black latex covered arms holding him.

Qik.

Noise from behind his ear. She was saying something. He took a guess, not wanting her to know how far gone he was.

"Dizzy... Just a bit dizzy." As he was sat down on the bench with her help. "Got up too quick."

"You been eating?" Qik asked, her face close to his. She had knelt down and held his head between both of her hands, peering into his eyes, using her thumb to pull his eyelid down slightly and observed him. They were warm. Her hands were so warm and blocked out the world and the roaring noise. He gently reached up and touched her hands, not quite holding her there, but ensuring she didn't pull away too quickly.

"Yeah..." He lied, the young man hadn't been hungry recently. He'd nibbled the nutritional mush but had poured most of it down the toilet before going to bed. He felt fine, he'd felt this way before, and knew the moment he was back in the rig, he'd be better than fine once more.

The brown furred rabbit-like alien merely frowned, then clicked her tongue. She let go, much to his disappointment.

"Come on then. We're testing live weapons today. No more simulations. You're going to need a pick-me-up." She decided on his behalf, her voice moving away.

Blinking, Casper willed himself to concentrate, to get back in the room and turned his head to find the alien rifling through her jacket's inner pockets. She pulled a tiny hard packet and held it between two fingers, holding it to the light. Standing back up, her legs going on for days, she cat-walked back over to where he was sat and folded herself back down.

She took the packet, snapped it in half and held it to Casper's nose with one hand, while the other grasped the back of his head, preventing him from retreating.

"Sniff. Once and hard." She ordered, eyes fixing him in place.

He trusted her, Casper complied.

Immediately he felt better. The second he finished inhaling, his lungs breathed out through his mouth and his vision became notably clearer. His eyes felt as if he had put drops into them. The tightness in the back of his skull was gone. He wasn't high or wired. There wasn't a tremble to his hands like when he had, had too much coffee, but in a matter of seconds; he was awake and alert once more. Qik nodded at his eyes focusing on her a moment later. Even his legs felt strong and ready, the tremble, gone as if it were never there.

"It's not a fix, but it keeps you on point during extended missions. It'll get you through today. You'll need to eat tonight though. Come on. Let's get going." She explained, patting his knee and standing up right, leaving his head at hip height.

== 0 ==

Casper received a message from Qik. These were public knowledge, and Qik never spoke of private matters over these messages as anyone could have been reading them. At least while they were operating under geckin jurisdiction.

{Okay New Guy, first up. Heavy weapon frames.}

Qik's rig was running ahead, the spiked ends of her rig's legs tip toeing across the landscape like she was merely a thirty-foot mech running through a feel of daisies. As the pair of them left the safety of the hangers and went to the wider, more deserted firing ranges for the rigs, Casper was reminded that they were travelling a not insignificant distance at high speed.

Casper's rig was running alongside her, but it was more of a skip, where his massive metal feet kicked at the earth and his booster suite, fit to his back, propelled him forwards in great leaps and bounds. It didn't matter which way he wanted to move, the directional jets would automatically move with his desires, and fire as one, launching the human rig in a complete 3D space. Even up into the sky, although jumping was ill-advised at most times.

While Qik's rig was armoured and designed to be fast and deadly, offering her an all-round offence and defence, Casper's rig was an 'ultralight', designed to not *be* hit, by being faster than the opponent. It suited his style, fast and accurate, avoiding confrontation if he could. The near zero drift of his connection to his rig meant that plenty of effort was put into freedom of movement of the machine. If his body could do it in 'real life', he could do it inside his rig. Even jumping, the engineering crew of the geckins had put a lot of thought into shock absorbers, just to prevent the utter destruction of the suit from one bad landing.

It had gone so far that Qik had been tasked with teaching the young man how to roll and fall safely on crash mats in the real world. He hated those lessons; his biological side was even weaker now... not like his mechanical body. It had yet to fail him even once.

The new received message caught his full attention.

{Heavy weapon frames are equipment packages that are launched into the combat area during the softening barrages. To the enemy, it could be an unexploded ordinance. To you? It's a power up.} Casper felt *something* ahead, it made him giddy. It was something pleasant. Something good. Like a 'blip' in his mind, he made a straight line for it.

The pair of the giant rigs came up to the lip of a crater. At the centre, in the lowest part of the divot, was a metal lid. Without prompting the lid pinged off and a weapon package appeared from the ground.

{Approach it.}

Casper complied, sliding down the loose dirt with more ease than should have been possible. The loose dirt of the craters had toppled more than one mech in the past. As he approached however, the package unfolded, and an autocannon revealed itself to him. Without training, the software of the rig stepped in and he instantly knew how to equip the item. It was always odd when the software packages that were part of his rig inserted their knowledge in places that he had previously no experience.

He had not known to aim for joints to disable a mech's weapons or movement. He did not know that pilots were almost always situated between the shoulders at the back of the mech. He didn't know, to duck his head and shoulder the weapon platform, nor how to all clicked and clunked into place. But now, thanks to the software, he knew it by instinct. The moment he needed the information; it was there, in his mind as if he had merely forgotten it.

Casper stood up straight, shouldering the platform and felt the weight. He could feel that his movement was lessened dramatically, bending his knees under the weight.

[Its heavy.] He sent.

{You're not going to be able to boost or move at your normal speed with that thing. This is a shoot, empty the weapon, then bug out package.}

[Speed is life?] He sent with mild hope she would get the reference.

{Yes, that's a very good motto to keep in your head. Now, that mountain over there insulted us, fire at will.} She demanded, and a pockmarked slab of rock was pinged as a target. His optics tracked it perfectly, so did the cannon. The cannon was easy to use. It was as if Casper had gained a third eye, one that followed exactly where the barrel was pointing. It was no harder to aim the weapon than it was to cross or uncross one's eyes. It took concentration, an effort, but no more than that. A mild effort to aim an oversized tank cannon.

If Casper could smile, he would have, he settled for clicking his optics. The satisfying clunk and explosion of the weapon rattled the entire frame of Casper's rig with each round. His shots, despite aiming somewhat carefully, went far wider than he expected. It certainly wasn't as accurate as he wanted, so he knelt low and aimed his shots instead of firing wildly, tensing his arm.

Clunk.

The shells of the expended ordinance flew out the side of the cannon, away from his rig until they dented the earth. He was watching the rounds carefully as they arced, however. He was pleased when each hit the centre of the previous round's explosion, visibly boring into the side of the mountain until entire sections began to crumble and begin a rockslide now that gravity wanted its due.

Each time Casper willed the weapon to fire, not pulling any mechanical trigger, he felt a counter in his mind. Like each fired round made him lighter, and emptier until finally nothing more happened. He knew that he had nothing left in this weapon.

{You're out, that equipment is now nothing more than extra weight. Eject it.}

Casper shrugged and pins fired as one. The new frame that had locked around Casper's rig fell to pieces, freeing him. Immediately he felt his spine lengthen and had to resist the urge to bounce on the spot with the returned freedom. His rig twisted and flexed, while Qik's rig merely watched on, still as a statue. His rig's arms extended, then returned, shadow boxing in the open air.

{You really feel more alive out here, don't you?}

[You have no idea...]

{Tell me about it, we got more stuff to try, Southeast.}

A new 'blip' appeared in the distance. It was a curious sensation, like there was a physical presence touching his forehead when he looked in that direction. The software, melding perfectly with his nerves. The pair of them began their run once more, bounding over hills and along valleys. Casper breathed deep, the vents across his chest opening fully, reducing his armour, but allowing his reactor to run hotter. Everything was in sync.

He was the mech. The mech was the real him.

[It's a freedom unlike any other.]

{I've enjoyed lots of different freedom New Guy. It can't be that good. }

[I don't think I could explain it to you unless you lived like a human did only a little bit ago. We were told we had freedom, we didn't.]

{I hope your old leaders survived, only a matter of time until a juicy contract pops up for them}

[I don't want revenge. I just don't want to go back.]

Casper hadn't even laid eyes on the metal capsule before the lid audibly pinged off this time. His mech grabbed the lip of the crater as his legs and boosters threw him up and over the lip. It was the same movement as jumping over a fence, only his entire body knew where it was and where the ground was. He'd never catch his foot on the ground, he'd never worry about being tired. He was truly in control now.

Similar to the Autocannon there was equipment hanging in the air, ready for Casper's rig to get into position. He did so without hesitation, he trusted himself.

{Fastest method of taking out a threat is to ensure its destroyed. Let me get clear before you turn all that on.} Came a message from Qik before he felt her rig retreat rapidly over several hills.

Casper's rig stepped into the frame and a hilt was presented to his hand, which grasped and locked it into place. On his opposite arm, a round disc was bolted into place, the lug nuts twisted and locked in within seconds. Casper turned and swept the hilt in an arc in front of him, just as the fusion engine buried within burped to life.

[You got me a sword!?] He demanded, moving through several motions, finding them natural and fluid despite never having held a sword, real or fake, before.

{It's technically a blowtorch, but if you want to designate it a sword, go for it New Guy.}

Again, Casper's rig's optics clicked in glee as he swung the sword in greater arcs with faster and faster strokes until he was spinning and hopping from one leg to the other. He was graceful and deadly in equal measures. The young man felt as if he could take on any master swordsman if they had the ill fortune to cross him.

{Enjoying yourself? Good to see you so loose and limber. It'll be useful for this next bit.} Came Qik's next message, but she was beyond his range of perception, even if he tried to extend his sight, his feelings; wherever she was, if she was still in the dunes, she was low and still. Hidden from him.

He was turning his head from left to right, searching the horizon for a clue to where she might be, when the first shot pinged off his left shoulder. Sparks flew and something squealed off into the distance. Casper rolled forward with the force of the below, bending over and getting cover within the crater.

More rounds from the west began to fly overhead, chewing up the crater's edge. He could see and hear the bright flashes of the live rounds whizzing mere inches, or what felt like inches, from his head.

{New Objective: get back to the hangers without being disabled. Good luck New Guy.} Was the final message Casper received from Qik. Emotions never came across in the text format, but this felt cold, or maybe she was amused? Either way, Casper knew the lopel pilot was serious. Casper shuffled on his hands and knees, the ignited blade dying at his whim. He made his way around the crater away from the barrage of bullets that threatened to take the head off anything that appeared.

In the brief moment that Casper's reconnaissance unit popped up, time seemed to slow. His optics clicked and he immediately saw the tower that had sprung up from the ground, from between two of the formerly unimportant hills. Atop it was a turret that was firing a stream of bullets his way. In this slowed state, he could see the barrels twist and adjust to his new position, so he ducked again and shuffled to the bottom of the crater.

Moments later, the space his head had occupied exploded in a shower of dirt and sod. But Casper didn't care.

He might have cared if he was weak.

If he feared for his flesh.

But he didn't.

He was inside a machine that made him fast, strong and dangerous. He might have worn a frown, or even a grimace, but the rig couldn't recreate those movements. As he prepared to leave the crater, his optics clicked instead.

From the crater, Casper's rig exploded out of it with a burst of speed that belied the size of the machine. His legs unfolded and braced him for impact as the rig landed, scraping down the side of one of the hills, sending dirt and grass flying. There was no delay, the main thruster that sat in the very centre of Casper's back roared to life and catapulted him forwards!

If he were a mere human, he may have feared the speed at which he rocketed forwards towards the turret, he may have even feared the barrels as they tracked him, spinning up, ready to vomit another stream at him.

But not whilst he was within his mech, not while he was who he was meant to be.

He.

Was.

Invincible.

The tower grew and grew as his rig approached at Mach speed, all he had to do to reach it was kick the ground only a few moments before he hit the base directly. His trajectory changed in an instant and the rig soared into the sky majestically. The barrels flashed and burped another stream, but the sword was only part of the weapons package he had picked up, the shield bolted to his other arm was raised high, tilted to deflect, rather than absorb the rounds that screeched and wailed as they ricocheted off the solid shield.

The sword came to life once more, flame and fire that burned in the thousands of degrees flowed from the hilt, directly into the metal of the turret, cutting through the armour with ease and destroying both the precious wiring and the volatile ammunition within. Like a knife through butter. As gravity reasserted itself, Casper bent his knees and the booster pack closed all the vents on his back, opened the vents to his front and fired, softening his landing in a cloud of dirt just as the tower and the turret exploded in a shower of sparks and fire.

[Hah! Take that!] He sent on a broad wave, standing in his moment of true victory, one fist raised, holding the sword aloft.

The RL238 AAFPPT (Anti-Armour, Falling Petal, Pass Through) round pummelling straight through the left hand vents on the front of Casper's rig without losing even a fraction of its energy. The spinning munition tore through internal components without a single care, easily completing its mission of punching right back out the otherside of the machine. The round continued its journey for just short of a mile before being oblitorated as buried itself into the dirt.

The barrel of the 120mm rifle that had fired the round was still glowing at this moment. Vapour steamed gently away, unfussed by any breeze despite the violence of noise and light that flashed by only moments ago.

Qik winced in her rig as she observed the perfect hole straight through the chest of Casper’s rig. It was a hard lesson, but one every pilot needed to have.To be disabled.

What did it mean to a pilot with no drift though?

[r/WolvensStories]

[Ko-Fi]

#conservationverse #cuddleverse #human #hfy #haso #humans are space orcs #furry #human x furry #lopeljack #rabbit

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shefightslikeagirl · 1 month

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apologies for the EXTREMELY niche question, but has ea ever talked about what type of strings she uses on her violins? I know she's talked about her gear in various interviews, but I can't recall ever seeing that bit of info specifically..... many thanks in advance

TL;DR: I can't find a good answer for you, but I feel like this is a question EA might actually answer if you write or email her. (Good luck!)

However, I did end up going down a rabbit hole trying to answer this, so I thought I would share what I found.

"I play three types of violin at present, the electric (a Zeta Strados Series), a classical Gand & Bernadel from 1885, and a beautiful baroque violin and bow."

- Emilie Autumn, MyMac Interview (2002)

The Electric Violin

Emilie Autumn playing the ZETA Strados Electric Violin, 2011 || Photo by mauszozo

EA uses a ZETA Strados Series Electric Violin, purchased around the time she was 12 or 14 (the story changes based on the interview). In most of her interviews she points out that ZETA went out of business, which they did, but they're back in action now. The ZETA website doesn't call out what type of strings the current Strados Series comes standard with, and since EA was a child in the late 80s/early 90s, information is scarce.

Gand & Bernardel (1885) and Baroque Violins

EA, Gramercy Theatre, 2011 || Photo by Ken Pierce

Gand & Bernardel (1885) & John Speak Baroque Violin

The most I could find about these was in a post where EA thanked Marc for getting her violins rejuvenated for her birthday in 2020, plus a little bit more from the old MyMac Interview.

"...thank you to W14BB @marcsenter for the fabulous surprise of having my instruments rejuvenated. 🎻 I had absolutely no idea that my case had even left the Asylum, and then there I am, standing in the workshop of @davidbonseyfineviolins, my beauties in perfect condition—it's not like they were broken, but after traveling all over the world and being with me since my childhood there was some painful wear on my 1885 French baby (you've heard this on everything from "Opheliac" to "The Art of Suicide" to "Fight Like A Girl" to "One Foot In Front Of The Other" and more), and my bows were down to their last horsehairs. The other is my Baroque fiddle, which is also on "Opheliac" (in the middle breakdown fiddle solo) and "Marry Me" and ALL of Laced (of Laced/Unlaced), and so YOU, my fellow Inmates, are in fact dear friends with these instruments yourselves!⁠"

- Emilie Autumn on Instagram (September 24, 2020)

In the MyMac interview, EA identifies that she uses a Pajeot Violin Bow and a Ralph Ashmead Baroque Bow. I am assuming the photo included above is the Baroque; I'd be shocked if she took the Gand & Bernardel on tour, considering that they sell for ridiculous prices.

I did find this fascinating article about an 1870 Gand & Bernardel here. It talks about some different strings that were tried on the instrument, but it's entirely unrelated to EA.

Bonus Photos from the Behind the Scenes photos included with The Opheliac Companion:

#emilie autumn #asks #if anyone knows feel free to message me #violins #violin

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 14 days

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Longtime fans of Andrew Zaltzman will be aware of his famous early review that called him "grindingly mediocre". He brings it up fairly often. He used to have a thing in his stand-up where he'd introduce himself dramatically at the beginning, as though he were both a pro wrestler and his own hype man, shouting about all his accomplishments, and one was bragging that he was the comedian who was once called "Grrrrrr..." - said in a Tony the Tiger voice, but then he goes "Grrrrrindingly mediocre" instead of "great". He used to bring it up somewhat regularly in Bugle introductions too. And I've heard him tell that story in several interviews, that "grindingly mediocre" was the first review he ever got, when he was just starting to get serious about stand-up.

Last week I was down a bit of a rabbit hole in the ancient history of Zaltzman's comedy career, with the So You Think You're Funny finals from 1999, where Andy Zaltzman was a finalist alongside Russell Howard, Josie Long, and Jimmy Carr, and they all lost to David O'Doherty. Though Jimmy Carr was left off the Wikipedia page for years, which caused some brief research to confirm whether it was even true that Carr was there, though I think it is true, as he was on their website. And I found an old Bugle clip of Andy Zaltzman and David O'Doherty talking about having been in a new act competition final with Jimmy Carr once.

Anyway. I decided that today was the day to tackle another part of Zaltzman's comedy career's ancient history. Or rather, to tackle it again. Because of course I've tried to find that review before. I'd heard Andy mention that it was from 2000, and it was in The Observer. For the last couple of years, every once in a while I'll try again to search various combinations of those words, but nothing comes up.

But today, I was listening to Andy Zaltzman's appearance on The Horne Section Podcast, in advance of seeing more Zaltzman/Horne pairing next week. And I heard this:

Those were a couple of new details! I'd pictured this review being of a performance that Andy did in London; it was news to me that it was an Edinburgh thing, with The Comedy Zone. It was also news to me that his name was misspelled, which would explain why searches for "Andy Zaltzman" along with other key words was bringing up nothing. This gives me a new angle to try!

So I tried doing the searches with common misspellings of Andy Zaltzman's name - he gets Zatlzman and Zalztman sometimes. Then I tried without his name in the searches at all, just trying to find reviews of The Comedy Zone from 2000. I tried searching with the names of the people who were in the 2000 Comedy Zone alongside Andy: Karen Taylor, Danny Bhoy, and someone I'd not heard of named Spencer Brown. No luck.

I did find some other culture-based broadsheet news articles from 2000, though, and that sure is an interesting thing to click through in 2024. I found one 2000 Guardian article with the headline "Gay kiss on TV shows hidden power of disgust threshold".

Anyway, I started searching for names of people who could have written the review. Googling who were the Guardian critics who went to Edinburgh in 2000 to write reviews.

Whenever I found a name of one person who wrote culture stuff for The Guardian/The Observer in the early 00s or late 90s, I went to their profile to find all the articles they wrote in August 2000. I started with Brian Logan, because 1) he's the Guardian critic I know about already and I've found his very old reviews of Kitson shows before so I know he was with The Guardian that long ago, and 2) "grindingly mediocre" does sound like the sort of thing Brian Logan would say. But I checked - he only wrote a few articles from Edinburgh 2000, and none of them mentioned The Comedy Zone.

Through this, however, I realized The Guardian uses a tagging system, and I could click on the "Edinburgh Festival 2000" tag to get all the articles with that tag at once. There were 151 of them. First I skimmed them, clicking on any headline that looked like it could be related to The Comedy Zone, or a negative review. Nothing came up, so I just went to the beginning and started a system of clicking on every articles. Open ten or so articles at a time in new tabs, then in each one, hit CTRL+F - enter, with the word "grindingly" in the "find" bar, and when nothing came up, close it and try the next one. I did this over and over, for several pages worth of links, and at some point it became clear that it's not going to come up, and I was just still clicking because I may as well be able to say I checked everything.

I'm not proud to say how long I spent on this. I mean, I shouldn't be proud, but I did just spend quite a few paragraphs in this post explaining all the different steps I took, and the only reason to do that would be if I think the amount of research I did is impressive enough to be worth explaining, so I suppose I can't really say I'm not proud of it. Anyway, it was a bit over two hours. Well, two hours from when I started searching today until I found it. That doesn't include the many hours scattered across the last couple of years from other days when I've tried to look that up.

Two hours into today's searching, when suddenly, as I hit "enter" on a search for "grindingly" on some old article, it jumped down the page, and there it was. There it was.

That's the final paragraph for a larger article by Sam Taylor, a reviewer I'd not heard of before, that covered several different acts from the Edinburgh Festival, on August 6, 2000. Found it! I fucking found it!!

Firstly, when Andy said his name was misspelled in the review, and I was trying to guess what spelling they might have used so I could search for that, I would never have guess they spelled it "Zeltzman". I've never seen anyone spell his name like that before, not even in a YouTube comment.

Secondly, it turns out Andy was not kidding when he said he only got two words. I had always assumed he was exaggerating about that, saying he only got two words but meaning he felt reduced to those two words. Not that his first-ever review literally described him with only the two words "grindingly medicore". I shouldn't have doubted him.

It's an interesting assessment, that paragraph. Fairly accurate about Danny Bhoy, I guess, if you wanted to describe him in the meanest way possible. I don't find Danny Bhoy's comedy particularly funny, but he does have a personal quality that comes through on stage in a way that I'd describe as "charming and likeable", and yet, if I wanted to be as uncharitable as I could toward him, I could possibly describe that same quality was "boyishly narcissistic". I'm immediately suspect of what this guy said about Karen Taylor, as 2000 is early enough so women were more likely to get dismissed as "crude" for just doing stuff that was considered fine when men did it (I'm thinking of some of those old sexist Smack the Pony reviews). I mean obviously that can still happen now, but it was more common then. Maybe Karen Taylor wasn't any good. But this was right around when The Sketch Show came out and she was very funny in that, so I'm inclined to think this reviewer is just not a good judge. Especially since Zaltzman was one of two surnames he misspelled in that paragraph alone - there's no E in Sean Lock's last name. Also, the one Comedy Zone member that reviewer said was good is the only one I've never heard of. Which doesn't necessarily mean he wasn't good, but it does mean that reviewer picked wrong about who'd find success.

To be fair, he wasn't all bad in his predictions, as this was just the last paragraph of an article that largely consisted of praise for Rich Hall's character-based show, which would go on to win the Perrier Award that year (back when it was actually called the Perrier). And he praised Dave Gorman's show that also got nominated for the Perrier that year. This was, of course, the year of Are You Dave Gorman?, the godfather of concept-based Edinburgh hours. The article encourages anyone named Dave Gorman to help the comedian in his quest by contacting "[email protected]".

But that's not all. That reviewer, still within the same article, had some stuff to say about just-out-of-a-double-act Stewart Lee:

The show is his usual patchily inspired mix of pseudo-profundity and postmodern knob gags. The knob gags get the laughs. Lee challenges his audience's value systems. That gets a laugh too. And so on. If you've never seen him before, it will probably seem really fresh and original. If you have, you'll realise this talented man has been treading water for several years now. The more you see Lee's show, the more transparent the veil of mystery appears. Strip away his intensely stylised delivery - slow, sarcastic, agonisingly repetitious - and the actual jokes are mostly rather conventional: anti-American gags; pisstakes of people making obvious statements; observations on Australia; anti-German gags; pisstakes of Ben Elton and John Denver; observations on anal sex and his penis. There are a few great lines - he has always secretly known that he was Scottish because he 'craved shortbread, offal and heroin' - and a dazzling little section in which he does the sea diary of an owl, trapped in a rowing boat with a pussycat and a jar of honey, to the accompaniment of moody ambient music, like a TV documentary on Scott of the Antarctic. Twenty minutes of brilliance is, admittedly, more than you get in most stand-up shows, but you're still left with the slightly sour taste of someone whose abilities are only being half-used. If he's really so jaded by comedy - 'My job is going round the world, talking about scatalogical filth,' he says, 'which is a bit rubbish, in my opinion' - then maybe he should give it up and do something more fulfilling instead.

Like with Danny Bhoy, a few of those lines are what I'd call technically accurate descriptions of Stewart Lee - in fact, in a few ways this suggests that it's amazing how little he's changed since 2000 - but only if those descriptions were written by someone being as uncharitable toward Lee as possible. Yeah, sure if you strip away the intensely stylized delivery he's just a guy telling jokes. We know. The intensely stylized delivery is quite a big part of it.

I do find the first paragraph of the Stewart Lee bit I quoted especially funny. The guy spent a few sentences quite accurately describing Stewart Lee's shtick as it's been for well over 20 years now, and then says: "If you've never seen him before, it will probably seem really fresh and original. If you have, you'll realise this talented man has been treading water for several years now." In 2000. I think Andy Zaltzman can discount the review that called him "grindingly medicore", as that same review claimed that by 2000, Stewart Lee's shtick had gotten old and people who'd seen it before would be tired of it. I also enjoyed the reviewer saying that Stewart Lee should just quit stand-up if he's so sick of it, as I think Stewart did just that the following year, after going on tour with Andy Zaltzman as his opener. Sort of. I'm not sure he entirely stopped performing, but left his agency and stopped doing major stand-up things for a few years. So a better prediction there, I guess.

Well, that was a satisfying day's rabbit hole-ing. I hope everyone is doing something... more productive than I am with their time.

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atwooozi · 2 months

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gojo x oc

Chapter 13: Fushiguro Toji

summary: Amid the whirlwind of press interviews, Ai finds herself in an unexpected moment of introspection and connection with Gojo. As they converse, Ai peels back the layers of Gojo's public persona, uncovering his past struggles and the significant influence of a mentor named Toji. Their conversation takes a turn, revealing Gojo’s unspoken burdens and his unwavering commitment to those he cares for. A shared late-night walk cements their bond, offering Ai a rare glimpse into the heart of the man behind the celebrity, and leaving her with a renewed sense of purpose for her article.

genre: modern AU, slice of life, comedy, eventual romance, eventual smut, some angst

A/N:

Wednesdays seem to come by so fast lately. I'm always so surprised when it's time for me to post a new chapter of this story. Recently, I've been taking a break from writing to focus on school work and studying, and while I know it's the responsible thing to do it's not as fun.

Anyway, the song for this week isn't Japanese or within the future funk/city pop space but I feel suits this chapter well. It's Off The Record by IVE. I've kind of been in and out of the kpop space for the past few years and I heard this song randomly on Spotify. I think it fits perfectly within this fic, especially, this chapter.

READ ON AO3

When Ai returned to the hotel where the press junkets were taking place, a few reporters were still waiting for their ten to fifteen minutes with Gojo and Okkotsu. She didn’t envy them at all. Although the journalists were just waiting around, she could only imagine doing it alone and how exhausting it was by the end of it. Countless hours passing by without someone there seemed like hell.

She quietly made her way into the small green room set up in a corner of the large hall. Taking a deep breath, she sat down in a deceptively comfy-looking chair and took out her iPad to pick up where she left off in The Tao of Wing Chun , her most recent piece of research for this profile. Ever since she went down that rabbit hole with Toji, she had somehow found herself here.

It had felt like only minutes with how absorbed she had gotten into the book, but when the door swung open, she realized that she had been sitting there for almost an hour.

“Reading on the job?” Gojo teased as he took a seat across from her. He grimaced as he tried to get comfortable in the chair and quickly relaxed as he crossed one leg over the other, resting his chin against his fist. Gojo looked tired, but somehow he still glowed despite having to go on for hours with the same questions posed in a handful of different ways.

Ai turned off her tablet and tucked it against her side as she sat up a bit straighter. “No, I was doing some research.” She took out her phone and pressed the record button before setting it on the small table between them.

“You read whole books for research?”

Ai shrugged. “I guess I’m an overachiever.” Saying those words felt sour on her tongue. Despite usually priding herself as a perfectionist, she felt like anything but that lately. She had nothing to show for all the work she did.

Gojo smiled at her and nodded his head. “Careful not to burn yourself out, Ai-chan.”

Ai nodded and ran her hands along her pants to try and soothe her nerves. “Noted.”

Gojo leaned back in his chair. “So, what have you learned?” he asked, genuine curiosity evident in his tone.

Ai shrugged. “Well, I’m just learning about Wing Chun…”

“Oh?” Gojo arched an eyebrow. “What’s that about?”

Ai gave him a quizzical look. “Don’t you already know?”

Gojo hummed, urging her to keep going to give himself a break from speaking.

“We don’t have to do this now, Gojo. You’re tired,” Ai said as she moved to get out of her seat.

Gojo quickly grabbed Ai’s wrist, holding it firmly. “I’m fine.”

Ai frowned as she held Gojo’s gaze. His eyes were tired, it was obvious. The usual ethereal eyes that sparkled were now dull.

“Fine,” Ai said as she sat herself back down.

Gojo gave a satisfied smile and sat back in his seat. “Good, back to Wing Chun.”

“You’re pretty bossy.”

Gojo couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m used to getting my way, I guess.”

Ai rolled her eyes and let out a sigh. “Before acting you were an athlete, right?”

“I was.” Gojo grinned, but his expression slowly became complicated. “I injured my knee, though, so that was that.”

Ai nodded as she jotted down some notes. “...So instead of slowing down, you decided on doing stunt work?”

Gojo shrugged. “I mean, it seemed like fun.”

“That’s it?”

Uncertainty flashed in Gojo’s eyes when Ai lightly pressed him. “Well, it wasn’t exactly my idea.” He shifted in his chair, an annoyed expression taking over his face as he tried to piece together his answer. “A friend of mine did some stunt work and I was going through a tough time after my injury so…” Gojo gestured vaguely in the air.

Ai nodded as she listened to Gojo. She almost felt bad as she watched him squirm in his chair, but he had made it so hard that she was reveling in it just a bit. “Not Geto or Shoko, right?”

“No…”

Ai nodded and pulled out her phone, pulling up the picture she found of Toji and Gojo together from years ago. “Is this your friend?”

Gojo clicked his tongue at Ai’s question as he looked at the picture. “Where did you find that?”

“Answer my question.”

Gojo tsked and leaned back in his seat. “Yeah, that’s him.”

“Why hide him?”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Gojo replied as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Why does it matter?”

Ai sighed as she looked at Gojo with a frown. “Because I am writing a story about you.” She leaned forward in her seat. “I can’t do that if you hide everything from me.”

Gojo’s jaw tensed, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. It was the first time Gojo didn’t have a quick reply to offer. Even when Gojo was uncomfortable, which was rare, he always had something to say, but now he had nothing to ease the pressure.

“So… Fushiguro said his dad helped you get into stunt work.”

“He did.”

“Why be so secretive about that?” Ai pressed.

Gojo sighed and rested his cheek against his palm. He seemed unsure of what to say. “Is this what your article is about?”

“I’d be lying if I said it wouldn’t be an aspect of it, but if it’s Fushiguro-kun that you’re worried about, I’m not going to exploit his past for a story.”

Gojo seemed to relax somewhat and let out a deep breath. It was obvious to see how much he cared for his young co-star just from his body language alone. “I was friends with his dad, Toji.” He admitted. “If anything, he was more of a mentor to me.”

Ai nodded as she listened to Gojo, quickly writing down what she could as he spoke.

“How did you meet?”

“We met at the gym that I trained at,” Gojo explained. “He told me my form sucked, and then we sparred…” He chuckled. “He kicked my ass and then he stole some money from my wallet.”

“Wh–”

Gojo interrupted Ai, continuing on with the story. “He said something like, ‘You’re so bad that you should pay me for beating your ass.’” He broke out into a smile the more he thought about it. “And so I kept bugging him to spar with me, but he would always blow me off.”

“Did he ever spar with you again?” Ai questioned.

Gojo pouted and shook his head. “No, but he started training with me after that...” He looked up at the high ceilings as he tried to remember. “He told me that it would be embarrassing for him to fight someone as weak as me, so I had to work harder if I wanted him to waste his time.”

“He sounds–”

“He was so cool.” Gojo’s eyes sparkled. “I feel like if I hadn’t met him, my life would’ve been completely different.”

“Different how?” Ai felt like she had finally broken down whatever walls were between them. She just needed to push a little bit more.

Gojo shrugged. “Just different.”

“Can you elaborate on that just a little?” Ai asked desperately.

Gojo shook his head. “No.”

Ai’s head dropped in disappointment. She felt like she could cry. Why was he making this so difficult for her? Whenever she took a few steps forward, Gojo would take a step back. Was seeing her struggle like this fun for him?

Probably…

“We can stop here for now,” Ai said as she closed her notebook. She was glad that Gojo talked about Toji, but didn’t want to push him too much.

Gojo gave Ai a skeptical look. “That’s it?”

It was almost as if he was disappointed that Ai didn’t push him for more. She wondered if she did, he would’ve given in to her, but she didn’t want to play with him. She was tired.

Ai nodded and stood up. “Yeah, it’s late and you’re getting grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy,” Gojo pouted as he stood up from his seat.

As Ai made her move to leave the room, she stopped when Gojo called out to her. When she turned back to look at him, he was wearing a wide grin and had his hands in his pockets.

“Wanna go on a walk with me?”

Ai hesitated for a moment. She had to walk to the train station anyway, so if Gojo tagged along with her part of the way, it wouldn’t make any difference to her. Maybe the walk would do them both good.

“Fine.”

“Let’s go then! I can’t stand to be here any longer,” Gojo said as he pushed Ai out the door.

Once they were out of the hotel building, Gojo walked a few steps behind Ai. It made her anxious. She could feel his eyes on her. She felt that if she looked over her shoulder at him, she would meet her untimely demise. Not that Gojo would attack her, but all the swirling anxieties that she had felt for the past week and a half had her on edge.

Ai sighed and tried her best to imagine as if Gojo wasn’t there and she was just walking to the train station like she normally would. It seemed to have worked, but then Gojo opened his mouth.

“Hey, let’s stop here really quick.” Ai looked over her shoulder and Gojo was pointing at a Lawson’s. “I want a snack.”

He walked into the convenience store without waiting for Ai’s reply. She debated on ditching him but opted against it. He made her nervous, but that didn’t mean she should be an asshole in return. As Ai walked through the sliding doors, she wandered over to the coolers, looking for a drink.

“You buying something?” Gojo asked as he peered down at the drinks with her.

“...Thinking about it. You?” Ai mumbled as she continued to look over her options.

“I already paid.”

Ai glanced over at him, and he had a bag already in hand. She was unsure if Gojo was inhumanly fast like the character he played or if she was just so lost in thought that it dulled all her other senses. Not wanting to waste any more time, she grabbed a Calpico and went to the self-checkout. It wasn’t necessarily what she had in mind when she went to pick a drink, but the almost too sweet flavor was something she felt she needed.

They walked outside the store together quietly. Although it was late, people were still walking through the streets of the city.

“Aren’t you tired of doing interviews?” Ai asked as she unscrewed the cap of her drink and took a sip.

Gojo chuckled. “This is nothing.” He unwrapped a melon pan and took a bite, chewing it thoughtfully before continuing. “It’s boring, but I try to have fun with it, keeps it interesting.”

Ai nodded, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. Despite his casual demeanor, she could hear the tiredness in his voice. “You make it look really easy.”

Gojo flashed Ai a relaxed grin. “That’s the idea, gotta keep everyone entertained.”

They continued walking in silence, the soft glow of the streetlights illuminating the sidewalk. Ai found herself relaxing a bit, the tension from earlier slowly melting away.

“Can I ask you something personal?” Ai asked after a few moments, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Unfortunately, yes, I am still single,” Gojo joked and gave Ai an exaggerated sad look.

Ai rolled her eyes. “I’m being serious.”

“Sure,” Gojo smiled, his tone inviting.

“...Earlier, you mentioned that your life would have been different if you hadn’t met Toji.” Ai paused as she tried to think of how to phrase her words. “Do you ever wonder what life would be like?”

“Off the record?” Gojo asked.

Ai nodded. “Yeah, off the record.”

Gojo slowed his pace, his expression unreadable as he thought. “...I can’t–I don’t want to think of a world where I didn’t take Megumi and his sister in.” He looked over to Ai, his eyes containing a depth of emotion that she couldn’t comprehend. “I don’t regret how things turned out. If I could go back, I’d do the same thing again each time.”

Ai wasn’t sure how to feel when it came to Gojo’s sincerity. It wasn’t often that he showed this side of himself. She thought carefully about what to say next; she didn’t want him to close himself off again.

“Megumi and his sister mean a lot to you…” Ai said softly.

Gojo nodded, his gaze distant as if he was going back in time. “Everyone thought it was a stupid idea.” He gave Ai a wistful smile. “I hadn’t even finished high school yet when I took them in, but I couldn’t just let them be separated, not after everything that happened.” He explained as he started to walk again. “I think they’ve given my life a greater purpose.”

Ai walked silently with Gojo as she absorbed his words. She felt a newfound respect for Gojo, not just as an actor, but as a person.

“Thank you for sharing with me,” Ai said softly, her voice genuine. “It won’t be in the article, but it helps me understand you better.”

Gojo chuckled. “You’re a good listener, Ai-chan.”

“Thanks, I try,” Ai laughed, feeling the tension in the air lift.

As they continued to walk, Ai couldn’t help but feel that their conversation had given her a deeper insight into Gojo. If he wasn’t walking with her right now, Ai would shout in celebration. It was moments like this that reminded her of why she loved her job–she had finally caught a glimpse of Gojo Satoru. The real Gojo Satoru.

By the time they reached the train station, Ai was beaming with pride. She didn’t care how late it was, she was going to call her mom when she got home. She needed to share her accomplishments with someone.

“Thanks for the walk,” Gojo said as they approached the station entrance. He put his hands in his pockets and gave Ai a more reserved smile than usual.

Ai nodded a small smile on her lips. “Anytime.”

As Ai turned away from Gojo to walk into the station, he called out to her. Ai looked over her shoulder at him.

“Don’t go writing any sappy stories about me, okay?” Gojo said with his usual playfulness. “I have an image to maintain.”

Ai laughed. “No promises. Take care, Gojo.”

“One more thing!” Gojo called out to her.

When Ai looked over her shoulder once more, a small box was tossed in her direction. Instinctively, she reached her hands out to catch it. Once it was firmly in her hands, she looked down at the small rectangular box. It was Chocorooms. She couldn’t help but giggle as she looked down at the box.

“Since I ate them last time.”

Ai glanced up at Gojo and nodded, doing her best to hide the smile taking over her face. “Thanks…”

With a final goodbye, she turned her back to him as she hurried onto the train. A sense of satisfaction washed over her. There was still so much to learn about Gojo, but she felt like she was finally going to be able to write an article about him that did him some justice.

#jujutsu kaisen #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #jjk #gojo satoru #gojo x oc #jjk gojo fic #gojo fic

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garbbitch · 9 months

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i have a request!! maybe julien talking about her crush on reader (who is also a singer and maybe part of a band) but she’s like super duper femme, and people starts shipping them online maybe

do ur magic!! thank u (and pls pls pls)

this was such a creative ask. i love this.

i’m gonna do this as little moments from interviews n stuff where she’s talking about reader and her crush on her and as time goes on their relationship.

julien was scrolling instagram while lucy was playing music in the background of the tour bus when she heard a song by you playing in the background

"who sings this?" she asked lucy as she tapped her foot to the beat of the song. "(Y/N)" lucy said back not looking up from her own phone. julien googled you, she thought the song was catchy. she saw your picture pop up on google and blushed a little. she saw the first photo and tapped it, it was from your instagram. she scrolled through your curated feed seeing all of the outfits you wear on tour. lucy looked over at julien and saw a blush creeping across her cheeks. "what're you looking at?" she asked. "hmm?" julien peeled her eyes away from the screen, "i found (Y/N)'s insta. she's pretty. have we met her before?" she found herself scrolling through your feed. lucy smirked a little, "you got a crush jb?" she asked loud enough to catch pheobe's attention. pheobes head picked up from her phone. "ohmigosh who is it?" she said quickly walking over to julien to look over her shoulder. julien hid her screen from phoebe. "none of your business." she said with a twinge of sass in her voice. "it's (Y/N), we met her at that party that one time, remember." lucy said to pheobe. julien racked her brain for a time of meeting you. "when?" she turned her head to them. "aww look she's blushing." pheobe said to lucy ignoring her question. julien got frustrated and flipped them off before walking into a different area of the tour bus.

she doesn't mean to but she literally constantly talks about you now that she remembers who you are

like when boygenius did their first Zane Lowe interview when The Record came out she brought up her "crush" constantly

she also saw that you reposted The Record announcement on instagram and freaked out

"oh my gosh, did you guys see?" she said all giddy looking at her phone. "aww" pheobe and lucy said in unison when julien showed them the story post. julien flipped them off. "shut up." she said quietly as she found your tiktok page. she saw some tiktoks you had made recently talking about your tour while doing a get ready with me video.

a couple weeks later when julien was going on a tiktok detox (i get this vibe from her, she has her moments idk) lucy was scrolling and saw an edit of you and julien in the same video

she kept her mouth shut and only sent it to julien. "what is this?" she asked her as she tapped the link. "just watch it, i think you'll like it." she said as julien's eyes quite literally lit up when she saw that it was an edit of the both of you. she scrolled through the comments where everyone was saying that y'all would be cute together. she blushed and then she saw a comment by you on the post. [y/n]: OMG we should recreate this she felt her face heat up when she saw it.

after this she literally redownloaded tiktok and went down a rabbit hole of watching edits of you

she also loved the comments of people shipping the 2 of you

she felt like a sily fan-girl

pheobe and lucy didn't let her forget it either

they teased her constantly

one night after a show lucy talked her into sliding into your dm's

"she probably won't even see it, what's the point?" julien said to lucy as they walked onto the tour bus. "you'll stop loudly swooning." lucy said back. "i am not loudly swooning." julien tried to defend herself. "yes you are." she said back to her before climbing into her bunk to relax after the show. julien sat in her bunk thinking of whether or not she should dm you. she wrote and wrote several different messages and sent none of them. "what should i even say?" she said to lucy. lucy rolled over and groaned a little. "i dunno, use that charisma that makes you a foot taller." lucy said before adding "just be you." she said sincerely. she gave up on actually saying something and liked your story. she swiped up on it. [julienrbaker]: i love your style she turned off her phone and went to bed.

for the next couple of weeks y'all texted and she sent you tickets to the msg show.

she did send you an extra one just in case you had someone you'd rather bring with you

the week before the show you were featured on gayotic and talked about being invited to the msg show by one of the members of boygenius and twitter literally erupted

julien was getting sent screenshots from lucy and pheobe about this and they were laughing their asses off about it

julien was wildly embarassed by this fact

at the show she was already super nervous but everytime she saw you in the crowd when she was even more nervous.

she had someone find you during the set and invite you back stage

when you met her you ran up to her and hugged her. she was caught off gaurd but leaned into the hug.

"you look great!" julien said to you pulling back a little from the hug admiring the outfit you were wearing. "you don't look too bad yourself" you said to her. you both walked together for her to put some stuff away. "you wanna see your instagram melt down?" you asked her as you got an idea. she looked at you puzzled. "what do you mean?" she asked a little confused. "get someone to take a picture of us." you said back to her. she looked at you a little confused. "just do it, it'll be funny. people have been frothing at the mouth since i brought boygenius up on gayotic." you said to her. she got lucy to come over and take a couple pictures of you guys. as you guys took pictures you were hugging and laughing as you took pictures and you felt your stomach flutter with butterflies with the closeness of julien. you guys both paused in place like you both had the same thought and wanted the same thing but lucy just snapped a pic of you guys looking deeply into eachother's eyes. lucy giggled before handing you back your phone. "send me that last one." she said as she walked out.

you sent her that one and with in the second you sent it it was posted on her feed

of course she tagged you and julien

your phones began to melt in your hands and you and julien could only laugh.

i hope this is what you wanted. this was intruiging to me and i had a good idea, i'm not sure if i did it good.

#julien baker fluff #julien baker #boygenius

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thegirlwhowrites642 · 2 years

Text

Written for @hinnyfest

prompt #2: I did something bad

(I know I'm late, sorry)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry followed Quidditch, he loved Quidditch, but since Ginny's change of career, he had stopped being as updated as he once had been about all the performance stats of the various players, he usually knew just the ones that ended up in his wife's articles. So, when Ginny had told him that lately, some players had been having unreasonably good performances and that her latest interview with one of the new Puddlemere's players had confirmed her suspicion of weird potions going around the League, he had been surprised. He had told her that she had no actual proof, and therefore he couldn't look into it, that she too could do nothing about it (because he knew his wife far too well). But Harry's brain hadn't been able to let it go, and when that day, one of the informants from Knockturn Alley had said something about highly-empowering potions in red bottles, he had finally let himself go down the rabbit hole and now he was seated at a kitchen table full of files while his kids hopefully weren't killing each other upstairs.

He heard the entrance door open, and before he could put any of the files away, his wife was in front of him, hands behind her back. "I did something bad," she said, not looking particularly guilty, Harry thought.

"There are no patronuses for me from the office this time, it's already an improvement," He still remembered vividly the faces of pure embarrassment of the two junior Aurors. He had felt particularly glad that Mrs Robards never had Ginny's temper.

"They were so melodramatic, you rightfully hex someone," Harry really couldn't fault her, he had had to stop himself from killing the man when he had found out what he had done, "and just because it was inside the Ministry..."

"Gin,"

"Uhm?"

"What did you do?"

"Right,"

Ginny put two photos on the table, they were of a locker, and there were little red bottles inside.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. When would she ever stop putting herself in danger? "Ginny," he growled, "I told you to leave it be," Then he frowned. "How did you even get into Puddlemere's facilities at this hour? They train in the morning on Thursdays..."

She sat down, a playful smirk on her lips. "The security guy has a crush on me,"

"What?"

"Oh, don't start, you get free things all the time because women like you,"

"Do I?" he asked confused. If he did, it was only because he was Harry Potter, certainly not because of his looks or personality. Ginny, on the other end, could charm anyone in a room without even trying.

"I'm not even validating that with an answer," she dismissed him, "Wait, how do you know Puddlemere's training hours?"

"Er..."

Her bright gaze went from him to the files on the table, "You looked into it! Mister I-am-Head-Auror-I-have-to-follow-the-rules, ah! You knew I was right!" Her brown eyes danced, she was so beautiful, Harry briefly hoped the kids had all decided to take a nap.

"Maybe,"

"So, what do we do now?"

"Besides setting a terrible example for our children?"

"If we went through a war, they can get over this,"

"I need to find some legitimate proof to start an official investigation,"

Ginny looked taken aback. "What? I thought we were going to sort it out ourselves! What happened to the guy who lead a secret anti-government club?"

"He hated seeing you in danger too, so I'm not sure where you think this argument is going,"

She huffed in that adorable way of hers that James had inherited. "Fine. I'll go greet the children and take the parchment, I need to start writing all of this down," Harry's smile fell off his face, and his heart stopped, Ginny looked at him, and as usual, she already knew what he was thinking, "Did you seriously believe I wasn't going to write an article on this? Have you hit your head?"

"You are not following the official investigation," His voice firm. If his suspicions were right, this case was far more than a couple of athletes with poor moral codes.

She rolled her eyes, "Sure,"

"I don't like press around when I'm working," he insisted.

"I think it's adorable of you to believe you have a choice,"

Harry knew she was right. The moment it got out that the Sports Department hadn't noticed what was going on in the League, Kingsley would only encourage some press in favour at least of the Aurors. "You spend too much time around Rita,"

"The woman has no soul, but she does know how to do her job."

#harry x ginny #harry potter #ginny wealsey #hinnyfest #hinny

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emarasmoak · 2 years

Text

The Rings of Power: Charlie Vickers on That Monster Revelation

This is probably the most insightful interview I have read about Charlie's understanding of his character' motivations.

Taking a break from Season 2 production outside London, Charlie Vickers discussed the big revelation about his character and what it means for Halbrand’s relationship with Galadriel (Morfydd Clark).

When he auditioned for the Amazon prequel series “The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power,” Charlie Vickers did not know he would be playing two roles: the conflicted human Halbrand and the ultimate deceiver, Sauron. But he began to have suspicions early on.

During his audition, he was asked to read pieces from William Shakespeare’s “Richard III” and John Milton’s “Paradise Lost” — “literally auditioning as Satan,” he recalled by phone on Thursday, just hours before the Season 1 finale dropped overnight, on Friday. “That was a bit of a clue.”

But it wasn’t until filming was about to resume for the third episode (after a Covid production hiatus) that the series’s showrunners, Patrick McKay and J.D. Payne, took Vickers to the set for an evil fortress, turned to him and said, “Hail, Lord Sauron.”

“That was a seminal moment for me,” Vickers said.

While he missed out on playing the spiky armored version of the dark lord in the show’s prologue in Episode 1 (“I wish that was me!” he said), Vickers went all-in on his Sauron studies, reading “The Silmarillion” in its entirety and combing through obscure passages in Tolkien’s Legendarium as part of his “subconscious work.”

How does it feel to be the answer to the question tormenting the internet? Or if you’re Sauron, maybe you enjoy tormenting the internet.

"[Laughs.] Exactly. Maybe there has been some kind of sick enjoyment that I’ve been getting. Luckily, I’ve managed to stay off the internet, but it’s been hard to avoid. I’ve had friends guessing and telling me I’m Sauron ever since the second episode, which I’ve not been able to confirm or deny. So it’s a relief."

"What’s been so interesting about the show is that it doesn’t shy away from the lore. For the people who know, there are little Easter eggs or hints here and there. When you look back to the second episode, you’re like, “OK, that makes sense in the grand scheme of things.” So I think it’s great that there’s been so much debate."

You once mentioned that you found useful things in Tolkien’s letters, although you didn’t specify which ones. I took that as a possible reference to the period in which Sauron sought redemption. But then the showrunners talked recently about another way to read Sauron-as-Halbrand: as a power addict. What was it that you found in Tolkien that helped shape your portrayal?

"I think the repentant Sauron is a really interesting thing. But I like to leave it ambiguous because it was ambiguous in Tolkien’s writing, such as in Letter 131, and in “Morgoth’s Ring,” in the History of Middle-earth series. He spoke of Sauron repenting “if only out of fear.” I think his repentance is fascinating — and this is why I don’t want to say necessarily how I interpreted it as an actor — because it creates two different [possibilities] for Halbrand."

"If you look at him as if he’s genuinely repentant, and he wants to escape this dark path and live as someone who’s been humbled, then Galadriel inadvertently draws him back to this power. She says to him in the smithery, “There’s no peace here,” and that scene illuminates this whole idea for him of: “Well, you’re right, there is no peace for me as a regular person. My peace is in power. I need to rule. I need to lead.” And she literally gives him the keys to the kingdom and sends him back down the rabbit hole. That is, if you view him as repenting genuinely."

"But, if you view his repentance as an act, then it leans more into his deception, and his deception of her, in that she’s a tool for him to get back to where he wants to be. You rarely see Halbrand alone before the finale, save for this moment when he’s in the smithery, staring at his pouch, making his decision. Otherwise, you mostly see him through the eyes of other characters."

And yet he’s about to cry in that moment by himself.

"I always like to think that in shape-shifting, the best way to deceive is to fully take on the form of what you’re trying to portray: thinking, feeling, living, breathing as a human man. Only through a wholehearted embodiment of his form could he deceive these massively influential figures. This is even when he’s by himself, because the gods are always watching. And we know that he fears the gods; we know that he’s scared. Because Tolkien says that explicitly."

"He can use Galadriel as a tool. She knows the right people. She gets into the right rooms. If he’s by her side, it can only lead to good things, as long as he remains undiscovered. So I made a decision as the best way for me to approach it, to make it real for me. And let people interpret it as they will."

Did you decide for yourself about a lot of little details? Like, what’s in his pouch? Why was he at sea? Was his injury was self-inflicted so that Galadriel would take him to the elves?

"I have a belief about what’s in the pouch, but I won’t share that. Him being at sea may or may not be explored farther down the line. The injury, yes, I think he wounds himself, because he was very aware of what was coming. He thought he had stopped it, but he knows there’s only one way to get out of this mess. He risks this Halbrand form to get to the elves because he understands that the only way he can be healed is through their power and magic."

Do you think he wanted Galadriel to figure it out?

"Yes. He’s ready for her to see him for who he is, and he thinks she’s ready to know it. He makes this pitch to her, and it’s so closely linked to the mirror of Galadriel in “The Fellowship of the Ring.” It gives it an interesting context, I think."

He offers to make her his queen. Is that a marriage proposal?

"That’s something I thought about a lot, but I don’t think so. W.H. Auden wrote an essay on Tolkien, and he said something along the lines of, “Evil loves only itself.” [“Evil, defiantly chosen, can no longer imagine anything but itself.”] So I think in his pitch to Galadriel, it cannot mean that he loves her or that there’s any kind of romantic relationship. There should be no ambiguity around the fact that Sauron is evil — he’s terrible, and he’s using Galadriel to enhance his power."

"Throughout the season, she shows him a different way of ruling and maybe illuminates some things for him. So in making that pitch, I think he’s saying, “Join me and we can rule, and I can coordinate everything and rehabilitate Middle-earth.” But having said that, I also think he would have gotten there anyway without her. He would have descended back into evil. It was inevitable."

Haladriel shippers will despair.

"[Laughs.] Shipping, by the way, is actually a word that Morfydd taught me! Hopefully people will see that any kind of romantic feeling, which couldn’t exist, vanishes into thin air."

What’s the plan going forward, given that Sauron is a shape-shifter?

"There are a lot of twists and turns coming with the character of Sauron. We know that [his disguise as] Annatar is such a massive part of this world, and the prospect of that is really exciting to me. I can’t say much more than that."

"I love that cloak so much! I didn’t get to keep it, unfortunately. I have one gift that was given to me by one of the stunt guys, Daniel Andrews, which is a T-shirt printed with an artist’s image of Halbrand doing the sword flip on the back. That’s Danny’s trick; he’s had it in his stunt arsenal for 30 years, and he’s been trying to get it into a show for 30 years. There’s been nothing released with Halbrand, so I haven’t dared to wear it, even around the house. But that’s the coolest souvenir."

Annatar is the lord of gifts. Did you get or give any gifts on set? Maybe that wonderful hooded cloak you wear to Mordor?

#halbrand #galadriel #haradriel #the rings of power #charlie vickers #trop #trop interviews #trop speculation #sauron

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astonishinglegends · 10 months

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Ep 271: Amelia Earhart – Decoy for a Spy Plane?

"Not much more than a month ago, I was on the other shore of the Pacific, looking westward. This evening, I looked eastward over the Pacific. In those fast-moving days, which have intervened, the whole width of the world has passed behind us, except this broad ocean. I shall be glad when we have the hazards of its navigation behind us." -- Amelia Earhart, a few days before her final flight

Description:

On July 3, 1975, the Ministry of Justice in Japan responded to an inquiry by Amelia Earhart researcher and investigator Major Joe Gervais. Gervais had sent a letter to the Department of Immigration and Naturalization in Tokyo, operating on the hunch that Earhart had been taken prisoner and held on Saipan during WWII but under an assumed identity. The Ministry of Justice responded, saying the woman in their custody was known to them as Irene Craigmile. This was not a name mentioned by Gervais to the Japanese authorities. So, who is Irene Craigmile? Craigmile and Earhart were acquaintances and pilots who looked similar, but photos show they are two separate people. This begs the question for the “Japanese Capture” theory of Earhart’s disappearance: who then went down with the plane that was apparently ditched near Buka Island in Papua New Guinea? Were these two women connected via some secret mission, and is the plane at Buka a version of Earhart’s Electra 10-E? These questions and evidence are just a few of the puzzle pieces of the enduring mystery of Earhart’s fateful last flight, meticulously stitched together by William “Bill” Pennington Snavely, Jr. in his latest book, Lost in Flight: Amelia Earhart, Giving Cover as a Decoy for a Spy Plane. In 2018, Bill was a guest on our show, where he outlined his research leading to a startling theory of Earhart’s plane possibly having crashed near the coast of Matsungan Island near Buka, eventually sinking to a depth of 109 feet. Two main aspects of Bill’s investigation that remain novel are that, unlike the other researchers, he calculated his flight tracking starting from the last known location and then traced backward and that his team is the only one with an aircraft to investigate whose characteristics match the Electra. Bill’s multiple expeditions to Buka have yielded intriguing evidence supporting his claim, evidence which has previously been kept under wraps due to nondisclosure agreements. However, as his research in the intervening years continued, a new hybrid theory emerged from his discoveries that may solve the disconnect between “Japanese Capture” and the wreckage at Buka. Could it be that a failed reconnaissance mission led to one of the greatest coverups in US history? Bill Snavely is now free to disclose the shocking findings he revealed in his book. Also joining us is longtime friend and fellow podcaster Chris Williamson, whose podcast Chasing Earhart and its companion book, Rabbit Hole: The Vanishing of Amelia Earhart & Fred Noonan, is the definitive interview collection. Prepare to suit up as we dive for the truth behind one of the world’s most famous and significant aviation enigmas.

Reference Links:

CLICK HERE to purchase Lost in Flight: Amelia Earhart, Giving Cover as a Decoy for a Spy Plane, by William “Bill” Pennington Snavely, Jr. from The Paragon Agency™ and SpecialBooks.com

CLICK HERE to purchase Bill Snavely’s previous book on Earhart and the Buka discovery, Tracking Amelia Earhart: Her Flight Path to the End

SpecialBooks.com from The Paragon Agency™

CLICK HERE to purchase Chris Williamson’s book Rabbit Hole: The Vanishing of Amelia Earhart & Fred Noonan

Irene Craigmile Bolam

1987 Marshall Islands postage stamp showing Earhart’s Electra from the “Amelia Earhart Controversy” website

Astonishing Legends episode 106: Earhart’s Plane Found?

Astonishing Legends Bonus Episode: EARHART'S PLANE? UPDATE WITH BILL SNAVELY

Astonishing Legends episode 90: Chasing Amelia Earhart with Chris Williamson

Astonishing Legends episode 4: Amelia Earhart Vanishes Part 1

Astonishing Legends episode 5: Amelia Earhart Vanishes Part 2

Buka Island

Jaluit Atoll

Imperial Japanese Naval ship the Koshu

“The Ground Loop Monster” from Trent Palmer’s YouTube channel

Ground Loop on Wikipedia

The Hawaiian island of Niʻihau

“Aircraft [Lockheed 10E Electra ZK-BUT painted as ZK-AFD]” entry on the New Zealand Museum of Transport and Technology website

Lockheed Electra stock photo images from the dreamstime.com website

Boxfish Robotics website

The MV Indies Trader surf exploration vessel, which took part in Quiksilver's Crossing from 1999-2005

Martin Daly, Australian Captain, and surfer

Location:

Matsungan Island, part of the Buka Island collection in eastern Papua New Guinea. Matsungan Island is where a young boy claimed to see an airplane ditch into the sea within 100 yards of the shoreline, with its left wing on fire and the occupants trying to use their radio before the plane sank. None of his fellow islanders believed him at the time, but in 1995, a local sponge diver named Teolo and his partner found the wreck of an aircraft resembling an Electra submerged in 109 feet of ocean water and a few hundred yards from the shore.

Related Books:

CLICK HERE to purchase “Lost in Flight: Amelia Earhart, Giving Cover as a Decoy for a Spy Plane” by William Pennington Snavely, Jr. from SpecialBooks.com

CLICK HERE to purchase Bill Snavely’s previous book on Earhart and the Buka discovery, Tracking Amelia Earhart: Her Flight Path to the End

Suggested Listening:

Woo Woo with Rachel Dratch

Comedian Rachel Dratch gets a little bit Woo Woo, discussing stories of the unexplained, the eerie, and other-worldly with her funny friends in her new comedy podcast, Woo Woo with Rachel Dratch. Along with her co-host Irene Bremis, Rachel invites guests to share stories they may only tell a trusted pal who will not judge. Psychics? Spirits? Astral Projection? Check, check, and check! Sure, you may think we live in a world where there’s a logical explanation for anything out of the ordinary, but after you spend some time with Rachel and her pals, you might have your doubts, and ﬁnd that… you too are WOO WOO! Join Rachel, Irene, and friends in a comedy podcast that turns the mysterious into a lively conversation among kindred spirits. Search for Woo Woo with Rachel Dratch wherever you’re listening now!

Suggested Viewing:

CLICK HERE to watch the documentary Earhart’s Electra: Eyewitness Accounts of What Happened to Amelia Earhart’s Plane by Richard Martini

Find us on YouTube!

Click this text to find all Astonishing Legends episodes and more on our Youtube Channel https://www.youtube.com/c/Astonishinglegends

Join us on Patreon!

Click HERE or go to patreon.com/astonishinglegends to become one of our Patreon members and receive exclusive offerings, like our bonus Astonishing Junk Drawer episodes (posted every weekend the main show is dark) commercial-free episodes, and more!

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FIND OTHER GREAT DEALS FROM OUR SHOW’S SPONSORS BY CLICKING HERE!

CREDITS:

Episode 271: Amelia Earhart – Decoy for a Spy Plane? Produced by Scott Philbrook & Forrest Burgess; Audio Editing by Sarah Vorhees Wendel of VW Sound. Music and Sound Design by Allen Carrescia. Tess Pfeifle, Producer and Lead Researcher. Ed Voccola, Technical Producer. Research Support from The Astonishing Research Corps, or "A.R.C." for short. Copyright 2023 Astonishing Legends Productions, LLC. All Rights Reserved.

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