#with scientists doing world-changing science

[black-rose-writings]

*incoherent squeeling*

[ckret2]

please more evil ford please i stare with my puppy eyes for this i am obbsessed

Yeah all right, I've been working on some art. (For context, we're talking about this Evil Ford.)

Evil Ford is Evil as in "cheerfully works with Bill even after learning his full plot" and "is totally ready to conquer and/or destroy the world." But other than the shocking lack of basic ethics and the supervillain objective he's mostly the same guy—which means he still cares about his family. He's hoping to get them to join in on the world conquest plan.

Forty-odd years ago he went off to college promising someday he'd be a big shot scientist who changes the world and he'd make his family a fortune. If taking over reality doesn't qualify he doesn't know what does. The family can join him and his buddy Bill and rule the universe together. Pines Pines Pines Pines!

Unfortunately for him, the rest of the family still has normal moral compasses. And also they've met Bill.

Bill can't currently possess Ford due to Reasons; but even though he can't get in the driver's seat he still has permission to ride shotgun at any time. Ford talks to him pretty regularly. He HAS been caught doing this. Stan thinks he's just gone a little nutty from thirty years of isolation.

Naturally, since he was always on Bill's side, Ford's perception of events during Weirdmageddon is a bit different:

I finally made an official Evil Ford New Costume Character Design, check out his exciting totally different brand new look:

I decided that, since Ford is still basically the same person aside from his terrible life goals, he'd probably have the same fashion sense. And so... nothing changes except two tiny details lmao.

But he DOES have tattoos:

I traced a canon character model and took off its top to get a base to slap tattoos on, and then went dang... they gave him a big head and arms. He looks goofy. Anyway,

His forearms have less incriminating tattoos—just a birch tree and a sunrise. (The sunrise looks like the Journal 3 "The Muse Has Spoken" page.) The red text is the "triangulum entangulum" ritual; if anyone asks he'll go "it's uhh an ancient Sumerian poem about how great science is." It's not until he's topless that it's like "oh so he's a CULTIST cultist." The one exception is an unconcealed Eye of Providence on his right palm—but it's in an ink that's only visible in certain lighting. It's there so at any time he can point his hand at something and go "Bill are you seeing this BS?"

Of course, he still has the "hey now, you're an all star" neck tattoo. I didn't have room to draw it.

As you can see, he's made being Bill's right hand man a core part of his personality. Rather than spending 30 years scrabbling around the multiverse desperately searching for a way to destroy Bill, he spent 30 years chilling in the Quadrangle of Qonfusion as Bill's specialest favoritest Henchmaniac, and only scrabbling around the multiverse occasionally for fun & profit.

Here's a photo Bill & Ford took at a Nightmare Realm house party like fifteen years ago, three minutes before Bill started an argument and set the house on fire.

Most people have their wild party years in college, Ford has his in his 40s.

[exhaled-spirals]

« To mention the global loss of biodiversity, that is to say, the disappearance of life on our planet, as one of our problems, along with air pollution or ocean acidification, is absurd—like a doctor listing the death of his patient as one symptom among others.

The ecological catastrophe cannot be reduced to the climate crisis. We must think about the disappearance of life in a global way. About two-thirds of insects, wild mammals and trees disappeared in a few years, a few decades and a few millennia, respectively. This mass extinction is not mainly caused by rising temperatures, but by the devastation of natural habitats.

Suppose we managed to invent clean and unlimited energy. This technological feat would be feted by the vast majority of scientists, synonymous in their eyes with a drastic reduction in CO2 emissions. In my opinion, it would lead to an even worse disaster. I am deeply convinced that, given the current state of our appetites and values, this energy would be used to intensify our gigantic project of systemic destruction of planetary life. Isn't that what we've set out to do—replace forests with supermarket parking lots, turn the planet into a landfill? What if, to cap it all, energy was free?

[...C]limate change has emerged as our most important ecological battle [...] because it is one that can perpetuate the delusional idea that we are faced with an engineering problem, in need of technological solutions. At the heart of current political and economic thought lies the idea that an ideal world would be a world in which we could continue to live in the same way, with fewer negative externalities. This is insane on several levels. Firstly because it is impossible. We can't have infinite growth in a finite world. We won't. But also, and more importantly, it is not desirable. Even if it were sustainable, the reality we construct is hell. [...]

It is often said that our Western world is desacralised. In reality, our civilisation treats the technosphere with almost devout reverence. And that's worse. We perceive the totality of reality through the prism of a hegemonic science, convinced that it “says” the only truth.

The problem is that technology is based on a very strange principle, so deeply ingrained in us that it remains unexpressed: no brakes are acceptable, what can be done must be done. We don't even bother to seriously and collectively debate the advisability of such "advances". We are under a spell. And we are avoiding the essential question: is this world in the making, standardised and computed, overbuilt and predictable, stripped of stars and birds, desirable?

To confine science to the search for "solutions" so we can continue down the same path is to lack both imagination and ambition. Because the “problem” we face doesn't seem to me, at this point, to be understood. No hope is possible if we don't start by questioning our assumptions, our values, our appetites, our symbols... [...] Let's stop pretending that the numerous and diverse human societies that have populated this planet did not exist. Certainly, some of them have taken the wrong route. But ours is the first to forge ahead towards guaranteed failure. »

— Aurélien Barrau, particle physicist and philosopher, in an interview in Télérama about his book L'Hypothèse K

[yeonzzzn]

for astra: park sunghoon

intro of for astra | spotify playlist

pairing: sunghoon x afab!reader word count: 5.8k

synopsis: sunghoon finds himself waking up and repeating the same day over and over again until he finally breaks the cycle and finds himself on a space station called ‘astra 1’. he soon learns he is one of the few who are still alive and that they aren’t alone…

genre: space!au, survival!au, neurologist!sunghoon, neurologist!reader, strangers to lovers, angst, smut.

warnings: swearing, blood, m*rder, guns go pew pew, other life forms, some science talk, unprotected sex, biting, hair pulling, sunghoon fucks reader against the wall, adding more as the story progresses, MINORS DNI!!! (these tags will be on every part even if they do not consist of said tag)

intro | part one | part two

a/n: tysm for 4.3k follows guys!!! i’m grateful more than words can describe. this means the world to me. so have this spacey thriller based off my favorite video game for the celebration 💜

[ ����𝙾𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶… ]

[ … ]

[ … ]

[ … ]

[ 𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙿𝙰𝚂𝚂𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳 ]

[ ****** ] 

[ … ]

[ 𝚆𝙴𝙻𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺, 𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳 ]

[ 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙳𝙾? ]

[ 𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙈𝙀𝙉𝘾𝙀 𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙅𝙀𝘾𝙏 𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙍𝘼 ]

[ 𝙻𝙾𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶… ]

[ … ]

[ … ]

[ 𝖴𝖯𝖫𝖮𝖠𝖣 𝖯𝖱𝖮𝖩𝖤𝖢𝖳 𝖠𝖲𝖳𝖱𝖠? ]

[ 𝙔𝙀𝙎 ]

[ //𝖴𝖯𝖫𝖮𝖠𝖣𝖨𝖭𝖦… ]

[ 𝖴𝖯𝖫𝖮𝖠𝖣𝖤𝖣 ] 

[ 𝖯𝖱𝖤𝖲𝖲 𝖤𝖭𝖳𝖤𝖱 𝖳𝖮 𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖱𝖳 ]

[ 𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙍 ]

Sunghoon’s eyes fluttered open, wandering them to the glass sliding door leading out to his balcony. The morning sun shone brightly into his studio apartment. With a sigh, he pulled himself out of bed, dragging his feet across the floor towards the bathroom. Stretching out his arms and letting a small yawn leave his lips. 

He really didn’t want to go to work today. But nevertheless, he brushed his teeth and changed into his favorite pair of tan slacks and gray button-up shirt with lab-appropriate shoes then out the door he went, waving a hand and giving a smile to the apartment staff, “Good morning Mr. Park!” They smiled and waved back. 

Sunghoon took the elevator to the roof, where his private helicopter was waiting for him, the pilot giving him a nod as he climbed in, “Good to see you again, Mr. Park.” 

“Pleasure is all mine, like always.” Sunghoon teased. The pilot's laugh filled the copter and forced Sunghoon to smile even more. He really did have the best staff working for him. 

And soon enough, he was walking into his company building, pulling his ID badge from his pocket and sliding it across the counter to the guard, once his ID was confirmed he was well, him, he was sent through. 

“About time you showed up!” Heeseung teased with a tilt of his head, “What time did you wake up this morning?” 

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, “Do you forget who owns this company? I show up when I want to.” 

Heeseung patted his best friend's back, “Co-own. Don’t forget my half.” Sunghoon chuckled and shoved his friend, following at his side to the lab. 

“What tests are today?” he asked. 

“Let me think,” Heeseung checked his watch, “I think we can start with the drawings.”

Sunghoon groaned, “The damn drawings?!?” 

They turned the corner and walked into the lab. All the scientists and lab techs rushing around to prepare for today's tests, “They won’t take long, promise!” Heeseung crossed a finger over his heart in terms of his promise. With a sigh and eye roll, he stepped into the testing box. 

“Good morning, Dr. Park.” One of the scientists said, “We are starting with drawings, yes?” 

Heeseung slid to the scientist's side, giving Sunghoon a thumbs up. Oh man, if there weren’t a glass wall between him and Heeseung right now, “Correct,” Sunghoon said looking away from his best friend, “Send them in.” 

Sunghoon sat down at the desk in the middle of the room, a tablet sat in front of him. With a press of a button on the counter by one of the lab techs, the tablet screen went bright, showing the first drawing. 

Sunghoon raised a brow, “It’s two people facing away from each other.” 

Heeseung glanced at the computer on the counter, looking at the same image Sunghoon was. 

“Good, good. Next photo.” The scientist waved the lab tech to continue. 

Sunghoon slid back into his chair, glaring up at everyone on the other side of the glass, “These are fucking stupid.” 

The test they were running on him was the Rorschach Inkblot test. Ya know, the blobs of ink someone dumped on paper to show to psych patients and see how crazy they are. 

“Hoon,” Heeseung warned, “Please.” Heeseung was always the more level-headed one out of the two of them. 

Sunghoon pushed his tongue into the left side of his cheek, shooting his eyes back down to the tablet, “It’s a butter—“ His vision went blurry. A massive pain in his head throbbed and his ears rang. He shot to his feet, covering his ears with his hands, and let out a scream. 

“FUCKING DO SOMETHING!!!” Heeseung yelled at the scientist, “SHUT IT DOWN!!!” 

Once his vision went black, everything went silent. 

His eyes fluttered open, wandering them to the glass sliding door leading out to his balcony. The morning sun shone brightly into his studio apartment. With a sigh, he pulled himself out of bed, dragging his feet across the floor towards the bathroom. Stretching out his arms and letting a small yawn leave his lips. 

He really didn’t want to go to work today. 

Sunghoon stopped midway to the bathroom, slightly shaking his head. Something felt too…familiar. He shrugged his shoulders, deciding it was just another day. 

“I think we can start with the drawings today.” 

“The damn drawings?!?” 

Sunghoon dropped his head into his hands, stumbling back a few steps, Heeseung immediately at his side ready to keep him from tumbling over, “Hoon, you okay?” 

Sunghoon wasn’t sure how to answer that question. How does he tell his best friend he’s been getting a major case of deja vu today? So he shrugged him off, “It’s nothing. Just a small headache is all.” 

Heeseung placed his hands on his shoulders, “We can reschedule today for another if you’re feeling sick?” 

“Let’s just get the damn drawings over with.” he pushed past his friend. 

Sunghoon stared at the inkblot pictures in front of him then shot to his feet, covering his ears and screaming until everything went silent and black. 

His eyes fluttered open, and this time he didn’t look out onto his balcony. He stared straight up at the ceiling. His head was pounding. His heart was racing. But he got up anyway. 

He glanced around his studio apartment, looking like it always does. Neat and clean. Not a single spec of dust. His couch looks new. Like new new, hasn’t been sat on kinda new. 

As he made his way towards the bathroom, Sunghoon couldn’t shake the feeling that something was…well, wrong. His deja vu and the splitting headache wouldn’t stop. Sunghoon tried to wrap his mind around it as he reached for his toothbrush. 

“I think we can start with the drawings today.” 

Sunghoon blinked multiple times and shook his head, connecting his palm to the side of his face. 

What the hell is going on??

He sees the inkblot of the butterfly and he starts screaming, everything going black until he’s once again waking up and staring up at his ceiling except this time….

He remembers the events that just took place. Sunghoon quickly sits up in his bed, sweat dripping down his face as he takes in his apartment. It looks normal but more eerie. The air felt thick and the apartment complex sounded too quiet. He swallowed as he stood from his bed, slowly walking to the middle of the room. He listened for any sound possible, but only heard the quiet. Not even the sound of birds was present. Something was definitely wrong. 

That’s when his eyes landed on his kitchen countertop, a card sat there straight up, his name written on the front. It drew him in, calling for him. He took the white card between his fingers, flipped it open, and read the contents inside:

Sunghoon,  Meet me in your office as soon as you get up and get ready. We have a lot to discuss.  You’ll need to break the glass. 

Sunghoon scoffs and tosses the card back on the counter. What did this mean? Who sent this to him? But the more he lingered his eyes and thoughts on the card, the more questions he had and the more confused he was. With the events that happened yesterday(?) and now waking up to this card…all on top of his deja vu and headaches…He needed answers. Now. 

He quickly got ready and laced up his boots, checking the time on his watch, the helicopter that takes him to the company building would be leaving in ten minutes, he needed to get a move on. 

He counted each step it took to his front door, holding his breath as he reached for the door handle. Here goes nothing. The knob twisted and turned, pulling the door open slowly and his heart nearly ripped out his chest. 

The hallway was dark. One of the light fixtures was barely holding on by its cord, flickering and sending out sparks. 

His whole body shook as he took that first step out of his apartment, realizing there were no other doors on this floor besides the ones to the elevator. 

What is happening…

Sunghoon slowly walked into the hall, immediately clenching his fingers over his nose. Eyes searching up and down the hall for the source of the smell until he found it. 

One of the apartment workers on his floor was slumped against the wall, head hung low, and dried blood covering their entire body and staining the floor around them. Tools and other equipment are laid beside them. They’ve been dead for a while because of the looks and position of their body. “Good fucking god,” he pressed his back against the wall, forcing his eyes down to the other side of the hall, “What the fuck is going on?!” 

The office. His office. He needed to get to his office. With a deep breath, Sunghoon pushed himself off the wall and rushed down the hall, keeping his eyes straight ahead to not look at the decaying body as he moved past it, heading for the elevator and quickly tapping the button. He bounced his weight back and forth with his anxiety building up along with the questions running through his brain. He reached forward again and pressed the button once again, the realization sinking in that the elevator was not working. 

You’ll need to break the glass. 

Sunghoon turned back around, looking at the empty hallway with only his apartment door being the only door. What glass does he have to fucking break??

Then it hit him. The glass door to his balcony. 

He quickly rushed back to his apartment, the bright sunlight forcing him to squint his eyes until they adjusted but he didn’t stop moving, taking notice that he couldn’t see his reflection in the glass. Sunghoon tried to open the sliding glass door, only for it to be bolted shut…or…maybe…

Sunghoon placed his palms against the glass and pushed, but it didn’t budge. He furrowed his brows and traced the tip of his finger along it, could this be…??

He needed to break the glass. But if his suspicions are true…

The tools by the dead worker. They had a wrench. He rushed back out of the apartment and into the dark hallway, averting his eyes from the body and locking them onto the tools, and picking up the wrench from the floor, its metal cool against his skin. Once he found himself back in front of the glass, his heart raced. What was he about to find once he broke the glass? What was waiting for him? Heeseung. He could only hope his best friend was the one who left that note for him. It only made sense. 

So he swung the wrench, connecting it to the glass and watching it shatter, the sound of it breaking echoing in his ears. His eyes widened as he took in what was now in front of him, arm slowly resting back at his side and hand clenching the wrench tighter. He pressed forward, carefully stepping over the broken glass and into the new area before him. 

His suspicions were true. He was being watched. 

Two rows worth of computers, monitors, and cameras filled the room. Dry-erase boards that tracked every movement Sunghoon made sat in the corners of the room. Stacks of folders filled with records sat on almost every desk along with multiple broken coffee cups scattered amongst the floor. In the furthest part of the room were rows of shelves filled with food and water. The same exact food Sunghoon has in his cabinets. 

Sunghoon slowly turned around and faced his…apartment? Would that even be the correct term to call it? He wandered his eyes over the room he was held captive in, seeing that every inch of that wall along the glass door was see-through. It only proved his suspicions more. Not only was he being watched, the entire wall was a two-way mirror. 

Quick on his feet, he rushed to one of the desks, grabbing at the folders and flipping through the records, hands shaking at everything being revealed to him, “What the fuck…” Sunghoon was being used as a test subject. Forced to replay a specific part of his life over and over again as the experiment for over a year. Everything about his experiment was fixed. The time he woke up every day. The meals he ate. The time he left the apartment. The helicopter(which was just past the elevator and in fact just a simulation ride). The company building. It was all fucking fixed. This whole area he was currently standing in was a fucking stage and he was the performer. 

Squeezing the wrench, then pushed everything off the desk out of anger, frustration, and confusion. What the actual fuck was going on here? He needed to get to his office. And since this seemed to be the company building, he knew exactly where to go. 

Before a step could be taken, a mug rolled past his feet. It startled him, but he kicked it away anyway, chalking it up to be one of the items he pushed off the desk and walked towards the door assuming to be the exit. As he reached the door, the sound of the mug still moved, causing Sunghoon to whip his head around, seeing the mug finally halting in its place. There’s no way he kicked that mug that hard, did he? He didn’t have time for this and completely disregarded the stupid mug and opened the door, leaving his captive place and the weird mug behind. 

Only to step foot into the lab, the main source of his deja vu. He placed his other hand onto the wrench, slowly making his way further in. Bodies of the scientists and lab techs were on the floor, at their desks and stations, and leaned against the wall. Their bodies were different than the one in the stage hallway by his ‘apartment’. Their skin was completely pale, their faces looked hollowed in like someone vacuumed sealed their skin to their bones. Sunghoon didn’t know which was worse to see between the bodies here and the worker in the hall. He kept his eyes moving, wandering off to the testing box, seeing the tablet still sitting on the desk with the butterfly inkblot still pulled up. How hasn’t that thing died yet? 

His head pulsed just then looking at the inkblot. Body wincing and bringing him down to his knees, dropping the wrench at his side to cup the sides of his head with his hands. He bit down on his lips to keep from screaming, trying with all his might to keep his eyes open. 

Please don’t black out again. Please don’t black out again. 

A noise from across the room shook him from his daze and settled the pulsing of his head and blurred vision. He looked in the direction, swearing to god he saw something moving from behind one of the desks. 

“Hello?” He slowly brought himself back to his feet, squeezing the wrench in hand and ready to use it as a weapon, “Who else is in here?” there was silence, “Heeseung, I swear to god man if that’s you…” 

Except it wasn’t Heeseung that moved from beside the desk. It wasn’t even human. The thing was small, black, with four legs and dark veins that moved from his circular body down to all the legs. It moved fast, quickly jumping itself onto the nearest desk. Sunghoon took steps back, keeping his eyes locked onto whatever the hell that thing was. Watching as it moved itself from one desk to the other, making its way to him, jumping back to the floor, and morphing into a piece of paper that it landed beside. Without a second thought, Sunghoon rushed over, slamming the wrench down onto the monster, its appearance going back to normal and its four legs wrapping itself around the wrench and his wrists. On instinct, he lifted his arms up and quickly slammed them back down repeatedly, shoving the monster over and over again onto the floor until it stopped moving and its legs went limp, releasing his wrists. 

Sweat dripped down Sunghoon’s face as he squats down to inspect the thing, “What are you?” 

ₐₙd wₕₐₜ ₐᵣₑ yₒᵤ?

Sunghoon fell back on his ass, swinging the wrench once more against the monster until its black blood pooled onto the floor. 

“Oh, fuck,” He whispers, “Oh, what the fuck!” He scrambles to his feet and rushes away from the dead thing, nearly tripping over the dead bodies as he runs to what he was praying to be the exit. He just needed to get to his office. Then everything will be answered for him. 

But what Sunghoon was expecting to find, and what he did find, when the door swung open were two completely different things. His jaw dropped as he stared out the windows, arms limp at his sides as he walked to the nearest railing, “Holy fucking shit.” 

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Blinking multiple times just for good measure to double-check he wasn’t dreaming. 

He was in space. He was in fucking space. Sunghoon looked over the railing, seeing what he was assuming to be the lobby of this…spacecraft? Space station? He goes with station after seeing banners and signs of the like with the name ‘Astra 1’ written on them. 

He swallows and decides to explore, walking down the steps to the first floor of the lobby. He couldn’t help but smirk as he took in the sights in front of him. He was in space?! What the fuck happened that lead him here? 

As much as Sunghoon wanted to explore the lobby in its entirety, he remembered the small alien(?) he just encountered. If there was one, there had to be more. Maybe even something worse than that small one lurked among this station. He needed to find his office and get the fuck off this station. Fast. 

Thankfully for him, purple signs that matched the station's color theme pointed him in the exact direction he needed to go. The offices were on the top floor of the lobby along with a few meeting rooms, a break room, and the trauma center. Sunghoon walked the three stories of stairs as fast as he could, finally reaching the top floor and noticing a turret sitting in the corner, pointing to the door of the trauma center. 

What could a turret be here for? Sunghoon looked at the door to the trauma center, seeing the keypad was green, probably meaning the door was unlocked. Curiosity got the best of him as he slowly walked to the door. What could this turret be watching for? All those questions were answered the minute the door caught his motion and slid open. The sound of the turret started up and Sunghoon quickly dropped to the floor and pushed himself backward. The alien he saw standing before him looked exactly like the small one, except more human-like. As tall as one, with two large dark purple eyes at the top of its head. Its skin was also black but shinier, almost electric-like; a current flowed through the outer layer of its skin. It stared back at Sunghoon, tilting its head. 

yₒᵤ’ᵣₑ ₐfᵣₐᵢd? wₕy?

The turret starts shooting out its bullets, the creature quickly rushing further into the trauma center for refuge and the door sliding closed. Sunghoon rushed back to his feet and over to the keypad, pressing his index finger against it, finding the lock icon, and pressing it repeatedly until the screen turned red. He waved a hand over the motion detector and let out a sigh of relief. 

yₒᵤ’ᵣₑ ₙₒₜ ₗᵢₖₑ ₜₕₑ ₒₜₕₑᵣₛ. wₕy ᵢₛ ₜₕₐₜ? yₒᵤ ₜₕᵢₙₖ?

Sunghoon looked through the small thin window of the door, seeing the dark purple slits looking back at him. The creature hunched over into a corner. Why can he hear these things speaking to him in his mind? What the fuck is going on in this damned space station?!

He turned quickly, marching past the turret and down the hall that led to the offices. The hall had three doors on each side that had two desks on either side of each of the rooms. One door sat at the end of the hallway. It was cased in purple steel with a golden outline of flowers. It was beautiful, truly. 

As he got closer to the door, just above the trim was a silver plate that read: Dr. Park Sunghoon. This was it. This is his office. 

The keypad was red to show it was locked. Sunghoon pressed the lock icon and two options popped up:

Enter passkey

Face ID

Sunghoon chose face ID, because what the fuck would the passkey even be? He clearly doesn’t have any memory of stepping foot into this space station, what made him think he’d know the passkey? 

The screen changed into a camera, showing him his reflection. A white bar moved up and down, and side to side across the screen to scan his features. It lit up green, and the door to the—his—office opened. 

With a deep breath, he walked inside. The lights seemed to be motion-censored as they lit up the office with just the few steps he took inside. This office was HUGE. To his left, he had a view of the Astra 1 lobby and the infinite space. In front of him was a locker with another passkey he didn’t know. To his right sat his desk at the far side of the room with a workbench off to the side and a kitchen on the other. 

He slowly walked over to his desk, tracing his fingers across the smooth surface as he rounded the corner of it. Sat on top of the desk were two monitors with the logo of his company slowly spinning in a circle and three picture frames. One with him and Heeseung as children, the other with them the day they created this company, and the last one is a photo of him, his younger sister, and his parents at one of his last figure skating competitions. Sunghoon smiled at these photos, fondly remembering them. But his smile soon faded at the realization he doesn’t remember anything else after a certain point. 

He sighs and shifts his head to the other side of the desk, seeing a fresh apple and another card. He picked up the card first. 

Sunghoon,  If you were able to make it here, unlock the computer and click accept on the operator screen which will be already loaded up. The passkey is 20201130. I know you must have a lot of questions, everything will be answered soon.  Please eat the apple as well. You more than likely haven’t been given proper nutrients. 

Sunghoon didn’t realize how hungry he was until reading the card. Quickly tossed the paper down and grasped at the apple and sinking his teeth into the fruit. He dropped himself into the chair and leaned back as he chewed. How long has he gone without actually eating? 

Once he finished the apple and tossed the remains in the trash can under the desk, he got to work with the passkey, typing it in and watching as both screens unlocked. Just like the card said, a window was already open to accept the operator. He clicked accept instantly. 

Curtains came down the windows and the lights dimmed. One monitor shut off, and the other loaded up a video. 

“Hello, Sunghoon.”

His heart stopped. The video was…of himself. And a small white ball floated beside his head…an AI, he assumed. 

“You probably have a lot of questions,” he said, holding his hands together and leaning forward in the chair he was sitting on. The room he was in was a bit dark and looked to be in the corner of the lab downstairs, “For starters, I want to apologize on behalf of the things they will do to you,” he looked to the floor, licking at the corner of his lips, “I hacked into our companies system and saw the things they are planning for you, for us.” The white ball floated to the other side of his head, “How rude of me,” he chuckled, “This is November, Nov for short. He is…exceptional. He is us of course. We created him with the help of our technology and the neuroscience department. With the help of…” he looked down at his hands and twisted a ring around his middle finger, forcing Sunghoon to look down at his own hands and seeing that ring wrapped around his middle, when did that get there? “We were able to implant pieces of our psyche into these wonderful robots. We are the only one who successfully implanted our psyche into these things,” he gently tapped his index finger to the small bot, it turned to face him, obviously giving an attitude, “Hee was pissed we figured it out first,” Sunghoon smiled and looked down at the floor away from the monitors, missing his best friend and wondering where on earth he could be in this station. The video continued, “I’ll get to the point since I’ve messed around enough,” he leaned back into the chair, squeezing at his thighs, “The Typhon—the life forms we found while exploring space—I’m sure you’ve encountered them. If my predictions are correct then you undoubtedly encountered a few types. Or your memories returned and you’ll remember everything and I made this video as a safeguard for nothing,” he shrugged, “But I doubt it would be the case, unfortunately.” There was another voice shouting off in the distance. He stood to his feet and walked closer to the camera, worried filled his face, “My worst fear has happened,” he placed both hands on the side of the camera and swallowed, “I’ll leave instructions with Nov to explain the rest,” he glanced away from the camera, tucking his lip between his teeth, “Godspeed, Sunghoon. Good luck.” Then the video ended. 

The curtains drew up and the lights came back on. What the fuck was that? The sound of a panel opening somewhere in the office jolted Sunghoon to his feet, the small white robot flew into the room, turning and looking at Sunghoon. 

“Hello again, CEO Dr.Park,” Sunghoon carefully walked around his desk, meeting Nov halfway, “Have your memories returned?” It shocked Sunghoon on how alike his voice sounded coming from the bot. 

He shook his head, “No.” 

Nov tilted to the side, “What is the last thing you remember?” 

Sunghoon shrugged, looking away from the ball, “That I was reliving the same day repeatedly, taking the inkblot test. Seeing the same image and everything going black until I finally somehow stopped the loop. I have no memory of this station or even stepping foot in it.”

Nov hummed, “It’s because you stopped taking the medication they were forcing you to use, to keep you in that loop.”

They were drugging him? “Explain to me what is happening!” 

“CEO Dr. Lee and yourself, built Astra 1 after the discovery of the Typhon,” Heeseung and himself…discovered these aliens on this station? “They are smart creatures, and hold the key, secrets, and abilities for the mission you and Dr. Lee aimed for.” 

To reach beyond the depths of our psyche and grant gifts to those who have none, to heal the less fortunate, and discover ways to extend our lives by transferring our psyche. They did it. Nov and the video Sunghoon was shown is the living proof of that. He couldn’t believe it, “How did we discover these aliens?” 

“After Astra 1 was finished being built, Dr. Lee, yourself, and multiple others came up here to take a look before officially opening the station. The Typhon snuck their way into the station somehow. You and Dr. Lee found the mimics in the kitchen down in the crew quarters. One moment there was one mug on the table, a second later there were two.” 

Sunghoon chuckled, thinking back to the small creature he encountered in the lab, “Mimics, perfect name for them.” 

“Dr. Lee named that one.” 

“Of course he did,” Sunghoon bit his lip, “Where is he?” 

Nov tilted to the other side, “The whereabouts of Dr. Lee Heeseung are unknown. His tracking bracelet was disabled after the outbreak.” 

Sunghoon froze, “The outbreak?” 

“Yes. The Typhon are smart creatures, they played a coup and waited for the perfect opportunity to break out.” 

Sunghoon scoffed, “That’s what happened in the video I was shown wasn’t it? The outbreak was happening.” 

Nov hummed, “Indeed it was.” 

Sunghoon gripped the side of the desk, “What happened to me?” 

“After the discovery of the typhon and their abilities, as the video stated, you with the help of another doctor, successfully found a way to transfer over the psyche and created the neuromods to help with the transfer. Then the trials of using the neuromods on the typhon commenced. Once the trials were successful, it was time to take the psyche of the Typhon and plant them into humans. You being the primary test subject.” 

Sunghoon clenched his fist, anger boiling up within him. He was fucking used as the primary test subject? HIM?! The fucking CEO of this goddamn company was used as the test subject?!

“I didn’t spend years of my life getting my doctorate in neuroscience just to become a damn fucking test subject!” Sunghoon snapped, locking his jaw tightly. 

“That’s the thing, Dr. Park,” Nov moved closer to him, “You volunteered for it.” 

His heart stopped. He did this…to himself?

“But you had no idea what the other scientists had planned, at least not at first. You were injected with the Typhon neuromods and took tests every single day to see how their abilities were working. It went perfectly until your mood started to change. That’s when they started wiping your memory. They stripped the Typhon psyche from your brain and restarted the trails.” 

Sunghoon nearly fell to the floor, a piece of memory coming back to him of seeing Heeseung on the other side of the glass, screaming at the scientists each time over and over again to shut everything down, “Heeseung was a part of this too…He put me through this, he let me do this?!” 

Nov fell silent for a couple of moments, “Dr. Lee tried to talk you out of it. Once the results were good, he no longer tried fighting you, until your mood changed and the other scientists took over the project. Dr. Lee had no control after that and had to play into their games, same as you.” 

Sunghoon shook his head, “How has he completely just gone missing?! I just saw him yesterday for the tests!” 

Nov shook as if saying no, “Dr. Park, the last trial you went through was almost three months ago,” Sunghoon stared at the floor with wide eyes, “The outbreak was contained a bit, but your trials continued. You eventually caught along to the trials and hacked into the station's mainframe and discovered everything they’ve done to you and what they plan to do to you. Not just you, but also the Typhon. You had plans to shut the project down but were caught in the process. The last memory you have was right after that final trial and before you were caught.” 

His headache formed once again, dropping his head into his palm and gripping the desk tighter. It all made sense. Every ounce of it made sense. He needed to get off this ship. To find Heeseung and get off Astra 1 and report what has happened here to the police. 

“I need to get out of here,” he said quickly, looking back at Nov, “You said Heeseung had a tracking bracelet, and I’m assuming the whole crew had one. Is there a way to turn it back on and find him?” 

Nov went silent again, moving to look at the floor, then back up at Sunghoon, “There’s a list of the entire crew's bracelets and their locations, but after the outbreak, only one person was given access to the locations. Which brings me to the next piece of information you told me to tell you.” 

Sunghoon nodded, waiting for Nov to continue.

“You need to destroy Astra 1 and all the information here along with the Typhon.” 

He froze once again, “What about the survivors here? There have to be survivors on this station! Innocent people!” 

Nov went silent then floated even closer to Sunghoon, “There are escape pods just below of the bridge, use those to escape with the survivors along with yourself after setting the station to explode.” 

Sunghoon sighed with relief. This was good. It gave him time to search for Heeseung. 

“You’ll only have ten minutes after setting the station to explode to get back to the bridge and escape. You’ll need to move fast.” 

The locker slowly swung open, “I went ahead and unlocked the locker for you. In there, you’ll find your space suit to protect you not just from the damages of the station, but also the Typhon that is lurking around. A shotgun is also provided.” 

Sunghoon walked to the locker. A red suit hung inside with the shotgun sitting on a shelf above up. He took the suit in his hands, inspecting it. Dr. Park Sunghoon was written on the name tag attached to the chest. He wasted no time pulling the fabric onto his body and zipping it up. God, past him really thought everything through with this outbreak. Too bad he doesn’t remember a damn thing about it. 

“The suit has an auto function for the helmet,” Nov said, “For example, if you encounter a typhon or radiation, the helmet will automatically equip.” 

Sunghoon raised his eyebrows, impressed, “Who designed that feature?” 

“Why, you did, Dr. Park.” 

Of course, I did.

Sunghoon grabbed the shotgun and the box of bullets sitting beside it, working fast to load up the gun. 

He was officially ready to find Heeseung and blow this motherfucker into pieces. 

“You said one person was given access to the entire list of the bracelets,” Sunghoon shifted his weight to the side, “Who is this person?” 

“You’ll need to find Dr. YN/LN. She has the list.” 

Sunghoon glanced up at Nov, “And where do I find Dr. YN?”

intro | part one | part two

— perm. tlist: @alvojake @ikeuverse @woniebae @shawnyle @jwnghyuns

@in-somnias-world @zyvlxqht @aaa-sia @wonniethepoo @addictedtohobi

@eneiyri @skzenhalove @fakeuwus @cherry-park @vousty

@ladyartemesia @criminalyun @cmoundiamante @enhaverse713586 @wondipity

@lhsvibez @jaeyunq @rikizm @kaykay11sworld @pockettwinzz

@vixialuvs @seunghancore @enha-cafe @ppanghoon @sunpov

@zeeloveshee @hxxsxxng @moonrisearies @brownsugarbaybee @nshmrarki

@vveebee @teddybeartaetae @kookify @abysofsteel @aileeeeeeeeeeeee @hee-lvrr @1309zip @moon0fthenight

[bogkeep]

in which i tell you about medieval timekeeping methods

ok we gotta start with BABYLONIAN TIME and SUNDIALS because this is the Foundation. this is what they used for thousands of years. pretty much every structure we have for understanding and conceptualizing time is based on The Movements Of The Universe - years, months, days, this is how we understand Time to pass. the sun and stars were used for keeping time since Always!!!! there were also multiple ways of keeping time with the Shadows of the sun, not just sundials, but also tablets to measure the length of shadows. And Such

BABYLONIAN TIME is twelve hours daylight, twelve hours nighttime. this makes very good sense considering Sundials, you just split the indicators into twelve parts. don't know why Twelve specifically other than that the babylonians liked it, but it is a very nice, divisible number, and its been kept as the base for all the hour keeping systems i've read about so far.

but yes this does mean that a babylonian hour does not have a set, static length like a modern hour does...! it changes with the seasons and the place, so a babylonian winter hour is different from, say, a winter hour in northern norway. it probably helps to be closer to the equator and reliable sunny weather.

until the invention of mechanical escapement clocks, babylonian time was The main, foundational understanding of timekeeping, BUT...!!!!!! the church put a spin on it. what the monasteries needed to keep time for was Prayer Times, which they had seven of and were based on the passion of the christ. so they signaled the Seven Canonical Hours, starting at sunrise, ending at sunset. church bells is also how people kept time, because you could hear them out in the fields. timekeeping was a bit of a wibbly wobbly art but accuracy wasn't That important.

the various methods used to keep time in addition to sundials included: the cock's crow, candles, hymns, incense, and water clocks. not hour glasses, as they were invented around the same time as mechanical clocks. isn't that wild!!!!!!!

WATER CLOCKS, also called clepsydra, are a diverse category of clocks ranging from a container with water dripping out of it at a steady pace, to complex hydraulic mechanisms with weights and stuff that i honestly have yet to grasp. the simple versions were used in classical greece + rome in the same way you'd use hourglasses, to keep track of speech time, watch time, et cetera. the islamic world + china were the ones to develop the complex water clocks. there's documentation of a water clock in gaza that had like, moving automata and stuff around year 500. there was a water driven astronomical clock in china around year 1000. water clocks made a comeback in europe around the 1100ds, and were getting more widespread use. like at least they work at night, unlike SOME dials

"mechanical clock" is a bit of a misnomer since water clocks were clearly also mechanical, and the exact time of invention of what we think of as mechanical clocks is Vague. the word "horologia" was used to refer to any kind of timekeeping device, including the noble rooster, so it's a bit of a semantic haze.

they had astrolabes, which Could be used to tell the time, but weren't used to do that in the daily life. scientists wanted to make an automated astrolabe for like, the Science, they just needed to invent the perpetuum mobile first and then combine them. obviously.

the missing piece for the MECHANICAL CLOCK was the escapement, the mechanism that regulates the time with which the gears turn. once they got this going, probably early 1300ds, they got the shows on the road. the shows being: the astronomical clock, and the public striking clock. these were considered different things, you see.

the astronomical clock is the Automated Astrolabe. it shows the movement of the sun and moon and stars and as a consequence, the Time. they had dials that people could read the time from, but they were generally considered objects of prestige and god's glory, kind of like cathedrals. they often had moving figures and such.

now, public clocks that mark the hours with sound, THAT'S a timekeeping device. they didn't even have clock faces at first, and it really is so interesting to think about how looking at a clock wasn't considered the main way to tell the time. these clocks seem to have originated in italian cities and spread from there, and this is where we get ITALIAN TIME.

to show babylonian time with a mechanical clock is impractical. the machinery is good at regular movement, to show babylonian hours you kind of need the astrolabe. so italian hours were static and unchanging in length. you had twenty four hours in a day, and the cut-off point was half an hour past sunset. that was the end of the twenty fourth hour, and a new calendar date begun.

of course, the time of the sunset keeps changing all the time As Well, so these clocks had to be adjusted for that Continuously. which was annoying but they still did it until the 17th century. this method was used in italy, bohemia, silesia and maybe poland? i'm unsure what they used outside these spaces at the time, if they stuck to the babylonian hours even with mechanical clocks and did complex maths about it.

at least the NUREMBERG CLOCK had its own take on it, even if it didn't spread beyond southern germany at all. they used babylonian hours, but instead of changing the length of an hour, they changed the amount. eight day hours and sixteen night hours in december, opposite in june. the tables needed for how many days with how many hours were very complex and annoying also.

the concept of starting a new calender day at midnight, and never needing to constantly adjust day hours or when the sunset begins, WAS known but only used for scientific and astronomical purposes. like that's such a weird way to split the day!!!!! twelve at MIDDAY?? WEIRD. some travellers noted that this was a very practical and elegant solution, though, but travel and far flung communication was still very slow, so mismatched timekeeping was more annoying than inconvenient. but anyway that's for the future to figure out

[midnightanxietytm]

He takes his whiskey neat

A/N: Look, I think i was possessed while writing this one /j. It was like 1 am and I was procrastination on college work, I dunno what happened but this is the ungodly spawn of my imagination mixed with sleep deprivation, caffeine and stress. Enjoy and don't question it too much

Contents: Ford Pines x reader, pinning (lots of pining), I pictured reader in their late 40s to early 50s so there is an age gap but nothing extreme. There's some plot in those holes. uhhh lots of tension and no payoff because im pretty sure I passed out before I got to that part.

Word count: 996

There’s this look on his eyes now that you can’t quite figure out.

Ever since Stanford Pines came back from the portal, ever since weirdmageddon and the end of that fateful summer, something about him fundamentally changed. There’s contempt, relief, sure, but there's more to it, something that he keeps deep in that rattling metal-protected brain of his.

And god forbid sometimes you just want to pick him apart entirely, figure out every detail, note it down, absorb it, maybe then his mere presence won’t entice you, mess you, so goddamn much.

It culminates, as all events are bound to do, right before that year’s summer vacation, you blame the heat. 

Soos and Melody took a vacation for themselves, entrusting the shack back to Stan’s less than trustworthy hands, just like old times. Ford slips back into the basement so easily you almost follow him; your mind briefly longing for that nostalgia of being freshly out of college, when you and Ford were easily impressed by the oddness of the world.

You were a prodigy; a good ten years younger than him yet still doing your masters while he did his doctorate, and in the same area with similar themes! Back then, you two were just bright-eyed yet very tired academics… Then Gravity Falls presented itself on a silver platter, and Bill followed through.

You were there, on the day of the portal, or at least, almost there, going back for the thousandth time, expecting no answer to your knocks at the door as usual, only to be met with the fallout of something far worse than refusal.

And then he was back, less jittery, less paranoid and less sleep deprived than he was before at least. But there was that thing in his eyes, that inherent distrust, detachment…? You struggled to find the words and if there’s one thing that you as a scientist can’t deal with is a question that goes unresearched.

So it began; your “research” depended on experiment and to experiment, you firstly decided to get close to your unwilling subject. And you go down the rabbit hole.

You find him in the basement, of course. He’s drawing on loose sheets of paper, some of the discarded pieces lay on the floor, and the cd player by his side is playing just loud enough to muffle your footsteps as you approach him by his right side. “Updating the journal?” You ask, nonchalantly, as if you hadn't obsessively turned each page of his journals before, as if your own handwriting wasn’t squeezed in the first ones before his old muse took all the space left.

Ford just hums, raising his chin slightly, but not his eyes, just to acknowledge the question. “Not really, just trying to get some proportion practice. Looking back, some of my work on the first journal was… Not the best.” 

A chuckle leaves your mouth; “If you say so…” You hum, picking up one of the filled out pages that were pushed aside in the table and pretending to look it over as he places his pen down and looks up at you.

“Any advice?” He asks, and once again you pretend to be paying attention to anything but him and his every movement.

“Not really… I think you’re good.” You place the paper back at the table, leaning against it. “Thought you’d be going through your abstract phase by now, honestly.” And you smirk down at him.

He leans back, crossing his arms; “I fear I’m too logical to have an abstract phase, even my craziest dreams have math and science behind them.” And you both laugh, and your curiosity itches more and more every millisecond.

The next words that leave your mouth were planned and inwardly rehearsed, but they come out natural as a summer breeze. “Every tortured artist has an abstract phase, get on with the times, sixer!” It comes out as a joke, it's a test. And suddenly you’re too nervous to stay there, staring at him and waiting for a rebuttal. You push yourself off the table and zipline to one of the bookshelves, reaching towards the back of it, you pull the ‘eureka whiskey’ and the two cups.

He just watches you for a second, then accepts the cup as you pour him one, then one for yourself. 

And it’s truly the eureka whiskey, because goddamn you just found something in those eyes. 

He takes a sip; “Yeah I guess those portal days would do for some good surrealist pieces at least.”

“I can’t even imagine.” You say.

He smirks, lips inches from his cup. “You can’t…” He takes a sip. “That’s the point of surrealist.” You want his brain under a microscope, you want his breath mixing with yours, you want to never see him again, you want to wake up near him every day.

The curse of science is that in the endeavor to figure out the world, the scientist often loses sight of themselves. 

The witty remarks, the planned lines, the psychological strategies, all fly out of you head and you lean back against his desk. He’s leaned further back now and his chair is turned diagonally towards you and he watches with a smile and those eyes. “What did you see?” It’s almost a whisper, because you think he might actually tell you, and that scares you more than anything.

“Too much…” He swallows, sighs, takes a swing of whiskey and rests the empty cup on the desk. “It was very chaotic, honestly that’s all I want to say…” You sigh, pushing yourself up to sit at his desk, and his head tilts as he watches you. 

“I’m glad you’re back.” You settle, even though it doesn’t even come near to all the things you want to express. He smiles, and his eyes travel down, landing on your hands, holding your barely touched whiskey glass. You follow his gaze, and chuckle. “I’m more of a whine person.”

“I know…”

[pyrrhiccomedy]

What sort of proof would you need to believe that a fundraiser was real?

I actually put in the legwork to verify one of these fundraisers today (I wanted to see how hard it was to actually vet one of these posts). It took about an hour, but I was satisfied by the end of it that the person in question exists, is who they are claiming to be, has a GoFundMe, and that the GoFundMe being spread around is probably the same one being linked to (I wasn't 100% satisfied by what I could find on that count? but I ended up in a place where I was reasonably confident). I'm happy to share my work, and have added it below.

I've gotten a lot of nasty messages since making that post accusing me of being anti-Palestine. My heart and money is 100% with Palestine, and I've given as much as I can afford, to reputable aid organizations. I believe both in a free Palestine, and doing your own research on the recipients of your money when you decide to financially contribute to a cause.

Anyway, this is the GoFundMe that I think is legit, and below is the legwork I did to reach that conclusion. While I still think it is better to give to a relief organization if your goal is improving the lot of the people in Gaza, I don't think this one is a scam.

This is the fundraiser for Eman Zaqout, who - first of all - is a real person! This is very easy to verify: Googling her name returns a LinkedIn with a complete work history (she is a molecular biologist), her profile with Unesco, and her profile with the Palestine Academy for Science & Technology. You know, the kind of stuff you'd expect to see when you Google someone. Great start.

Next step: Is the person running this GoFundMe the real Dr. Zaqout? (While I have some sources which say she is in a PhD fellowship and does not yet have her doctorate, she is listed as Dr. Zaqout at the Palestine Academy for Science & Technology, and I'd prefer to use the honorific in case it may in fact be more appropriate.)

So. Dr. Zaqout joined LinkedIn in 2014. And she does link to her Instagram from her LinkedIn, and her Instagram links to the GoFundMe. That's a great start!

However, it's worth mentioning that her contact information on LinkedIn was updated less than 3 months ago (which includes the link to her Instagram). Given the number of Palestinians whose accounts have been hacked or spoofed by scammers in order to lend their scams legitimacy, I don't love that change. That coincides with the surge in scam activity following the All Eyes on Rafah movement gaining momentum. Plenty of Palestinians have had their entire social media presences stolen by scammers.

However again - her LinkedIn (which, as established, may be compromised) also links to a TikTok account! And the TikTok account has video! And that sure looks to me like Dr. Zaqout in the video! While the photo of her on LinkedIn is no longer trustworthy since we know her account has been updated in the past 3 months, there is also a photo of her here at Palast.ps, which is a legitimate scientific organization. And yeah, sure, a dedicated scammer could have hacked that too, but there are also photos of her on LinkedIn that look like this:

It's not the best photo in the world, but it's identifiably her. Fabricating this kind of ephemera is more than I would expect of your typical charity scammer.

And in the most recent TikTok video of her, she's even talking about a GoFundMe, on 7/17! And she posted another video on 7/21 in which she is not seen, but you can hear her voice, and it does sound like her.

Today is August 2nd. The last two videos uploaded to Dr. Zaqout's TikTok are just photo collages, so they can't be used to verify that she still has control of her social media accounts. But for now, I'm prepared to say with some confidence that that woman is Dr. Eman Zaqout, that Dr. Zaqout is legitimately a Palestinian scientist, she did actually start a GoFundMe, and that she was posting about it as recently as 12 days ago.

All right all right, we are cooking folks. The last questions we need to answer: is this actually Dr. Zaqout's GoFundMe? The last scenario we need to rule out is that her social media presence was stolen in the last 12 days.

Let's start with that GoFundMe.

First of all, it's not being run by Dr. Zaqout. That's normal: GoFundMe isn't supported in Palestine, and all Palestinians will have to rely on friends or family abroad to set up their campaigns and collect donations on their behalf. This campaign is being run by a Mazin Fakak. I think that's supposed to be this Mazin Fakak, which makes sense; he is based in Quebec, and Dr. Zaqout either studied at or is in close affiliation with McGill University, which is in Quebec. He also lists Arabic as one of his spoken languages. So far this is a plausible connection for Dr. Zaqout to have. His LinkedIn profile also hasn't been updated in over a year, which makes me disinclined to think this is a recently-stolen scam account.

My one issue here is that when I Google Fakak, this is all that comes up. A LinkedIn profile created in 2014 that hasn't been touched in over a year, and two GoFundMe fundraisers for Palestinian families. And Dr. Zaqout never mentions Fakak anywhere. I would feel 100% confident of this fundraiser if she did.

But while my investigation into Fakak didn't turn up anything that confirms the connection to Zaqout, it also does nothing to disprove it, and the circumstantial evidence available to me lends credibility to the claim. So while I land somewhere around 80% on the verifiable credibility of this GoFundMe, please balance that against my 95%+ confidence in Zaqout's legitimacy, and the fact that she appears to still have control of her socials as of 12 days ago. If she posts on TikTok with another live video again (and not a photo slideshow, which can't be considered verification of anything), then I'd say this one is completely safe.

[affectionatecorpse]

Okay so I see some people are debating what the monster from Still Wakes the Deep is. I'm inspired by the support from my Death Angel post, so I'm gonna try giving an analysis. Now science is not my strong suit, I'm much better at zoology, but here we go.

Of course, spoilers ahead!

So, the entity comes to light in act one. While Caz is being yelled at by his power drunk boss, Rennick, a worker going by the name Gibbo calls up to say there's an issue with the drill, something highlighted earlier by another worker. Rennick orders the drilling anyway, and thus begins the nightmare, as the drill seems to unearth and awaken a destructive parasite out for revenge. But I don't think that's as deep as it goes, pun intended.

Let's say, the creature is a parasite. A form of near sentient bacteria, though take that description with a grain of salt, I'm no scientist. Parasites simply cannot live on their own. That's an objective fact. They need a host. They exist within another for survival and breeding purposes, and multiply and spread through the body of another.

Parasites, bacteria and even fungi can live underground for years, and have been discovered to do so. Ancient lifeforms have been discovered just under the surface of earth, let alone deep underneath the ground and in the bottom of our oceans, one of the most complex and diverse biomes that our current science has barely scratched the surface of. It's highly likely this creature is a self replicating bacteria or parasite that was unearthed by the drill, and took up new hosts to survive in this change of environment.

But not every host worked. You can see half transformed, mutilated bodies everywhere, and some that haven't even changed at all. These bodies could not support the parasite and shortly died.

However, a few select hosts DID end up surviving; Gibbo, Muir, Rennick, Addair and Trots. It's unclear what sets these people apart from the others, and I don't know enough about this topic to claim an answer. But I certainly do think these folks died soon into the transformation, and are not fully conscious in the body. They frequently repeat terms and phrases, and never say anything you might expect from an entity possessing them, implying it's borrowing words and sentences that have been said by the host before, in other circumstances.

The entity plays with Caz's memories and definitely the others' too, though not all of them good. It wouldn't be a surprise to realise that's where it's getting information about it's host, as it reads the memories inside the brain to learn faces, names, and even the host's personality. Which makes me wonder, does it even realise what it looks like? Does the creature itself actually realise it's a parasite? Or does it completely and fully believe it is the person it's connected itself to? It almost downloads their personality and tries to pretend like everything is completely normal.

Let's talk about arguably the best monster (in my opinion), Muir. Muir moves about the area he frequently worked as what I assume was an engineer. He roams the familiar ground, almost unsure of why he's by himself. He often calls out to his coworkers, wondering out loud why they're treating him like he's different. Sure, this could be the real Muir's consciousness slipping in and out of the seams, but it's highly unlikely he would still be alive. Much like the zombie fungus, as it's often called, the host is not alive when the fungus is controlling it, and is merely a puppet. If the spiders it was corrupting could talk, I daresay, they'd be acting like them. Taking their place in the world, even if they don't realise it.

But every animal needs to eat. And eventually, that body is going to run out of tasty, tasty neurons. Like I said earlier, a parasite needs to spread. It'll breed, then spread to another to keep it's species alive. By infiltrating a 'pack' of animals, it will take anything to spread to the others. Which is exactly what the parasite does whenever it sees another human. Either that, or it will consume them, theoretically to feed the host so it stays alive, while keeping those tasty, tasty neurons for itself. You can almost see this process with Innes, as the elevator ascends without him, and you just faintly see Muir doing something in the distance. Likely consuming him for nutrients, as he was not connected to the parasite yet.

Next, there's Addair.

Addair, much like Muir, patrols familiar ground. Even though Addair himself wasn't even in that area when the drill struck. Now Muir was actively in that familiar space in the beginning, and it's safe to assume that's his place of transformation. But Addair was eating in the cafeteria when the incident happened, not deep down in the engine. Did he go down when the impact happened, while Caz was unconscious? Maybe. But the lights were fine then, and the engine wasn't the problem, so he didn't need a reason to. Plus, he doesn't seem like the type to be work dedicated, more inconvenience dedicated. Considering what I said about the parasite (badly) taking their place in society, did it go to his place of work after detecting that as his 'natural environment', per se?

Plus, unlike Muir, who greets the situation with quotes of confusion, fear and anxiety, Addair is instantly aggressive. Even an asshole like Addair is likely to panic if conscious in this situation, so the nervousness was Gibbo and Muir exclusive. But Addair and Rennick become immediately angry upon seeing Caz, as they actively disliked him in life, and so the parasite processes him as a foe to it's host. I thought that was neat.

Now another take I have admittedly heard from several other people, but I thought was worth mentioning. The monsters are incredibly similar to sea creatures. Which means this underwater bacteria was possibly leaking out already, and transforming our animals, not enough to completely corrupt them, but enough to twist their bodies. Think of the appearances of deep, deep sea creatures, such as the anglerfish. Isn't it possible this parasite was responsible for their uncanny appearance, in this universe? Muir especially looks like a spider crab, or perhaps even a bigfin squid.

Which again, is a deep sea creature. Rennick also reminds me of a blobfish once removed from the pressure of the deep sea. Addair seems very jellyfish-like, but may be something else very... tick-like. And even Trots gives me major merfolk vibes, with how untouched his torso is in comparison to his lower half.

This parasite could have been feeding off the neurons and breeding through our very ecosystem as the ground slowly gave away above it. The drill unearthing the source likely gave it a burst of control as so much energy was released at once, hence why it was so fast to literally spiral out of control.

But Scotland, by all means, is not the only place in the world connected to the ocean. Sure, they destroyed this batch, but other forms of this parasite live on elsewhere on earth. And the explosion may not have even destroyed it. It definitely would've destroyed the host bodies, yes, but certain bacterias can survive impressive damage, even heat hot enough to burn off human flesh. We'd best hope this is not one of those bacterias.

I didn't really get as far with this observation as I did with other horror studies, but I had fun nonetheless! Like I said, I'm really better with zoology (hence the sudden enthusiasm when I started on sea creatures), but I loved Still Wakes the Deep SO much that I just wanted to write down my thoughts. If you have any other theories, feel free to add them!

Also if I used your pictures/gifs and you would like me to add credit, I am so so sorry, I will absolutely add that as soon as you say so, I just got most of these off Google and couldn't find most the original sources. So yeah if you'd like me to add your name and mention, or you want me to remove it in general, feel free to just say and I'll add it, I don't bite I promise. Well... I won't bite YOU.

Sorry sorry, had to make a zombie reference--

[gunsandspaceships]

About HP fandom and JKR

Hate is trending these days, isn't it? First, I want to state my position on JKR: I am a trans guy and I support trans women. To me, trans women are women. Period. I also fully support women's rights. But I do not support extreme views. Any extreme views. I do not support views or actions that are intended to harm people. Thus I do not support JKR's views on transgender women. I also do not support the views of people who hate J.K. Rowling just because of her views. I hope everything is clear with this.

Nobody is perfect. We are biological creatures. Look at our internal organs - it's gross. Why do we think that our inner worlds are better? Each of us has "good" and "bad" sides. JKR has a thing for transgender women, but she helps people with multiple sclerosis. To hate her and wish the worst for her is to hate those people who benefited from her charity. Better wish her understanding of the problems of transgender women. Sometimes people change for the better.

Next. What people have created throughout history is unique and important. We produce what no one else in the world can. No, not only plastic. We produce culture. We create stories. We produce art. We create lives. We live in a multiverse of fictional worlds that we have created for ourselves and for other people. Every one of them is valuable. Losing any of them is a tragedy because each one is unique and impacts other stories, even if sometimes it's not obvious.

Most people before us were homophobic, transphobic, nationalistic, treated women like property and animals like things without feelings. Some of them owned slaves and killed other people. But we all live in the world they created. With all its good and bad. Many of our parents are transphobic and homophobic, but they created us. Many writers, artists, scientists, philosophers, etc. held views that are problematic by modern standards. But they have shaped human literature, art, science and philosophy. Now all of it is ours to enrich with our own stories. We do not start from scratch - we stand on their shoulders.

JKR created Harry Potter fandom. But Harry Potter fandom is not only JKR. It's not her views on trans women. It's much more than that. It's the story she told, and millions of other stories. Including stories of transgender women. I'm sure there are fanfics written by them and fan art drawn by them in the fandom. Do you hate them too?

What you, cancel culture guys, want is to erase human history. Thus destroying the foundation of the present. And ultimately putting an end to the future. Censor all the inconvenient moments. Close eyes, shut mouths, put earplugs in ears. Burn books. Remove all inconvenient people. Witch hunters did the same. Nazi did the same. I know who you are. The worst enemy of humankind.

HP fandom - don't let cancel "culture" discourage you. Don't let it destroy worlds. Live and create.

[roughentumble]

OKAY FIGURED IT OUT, old anxieties about feeling like i needed to work with something that had physical results on the world to feel satisfied(i.e. the difference between reading a slide and welding), exhibiting as logan feeling dissasociaty about the idea of being a biologist, expressing that its "out of character" for him. then suddenly remembering there are biology jobs that dont involve lab work

oh weird swoopy dissociaty moment. where i felt like i wasnt a person. its like logan just stepped back and left the controller seat empty. like cmon big guy at least invite eddie and venom to take over for a bit you cant leave the station unmanned my fucking god

[grison-in-space]

Hi fellow neuroscientist and animal behavior observer! What's up? It's a weird ass time to be a scientist in the US right now. Like there's the doom and despair taking up most of my brain but also I have a lab presentation in 1.5 weeks and my committee meeting two weeks after that. How do you make yourself focus on lab/science stuff?

I'm so sorry it's taken me a while to get back to you; I've been rotating this ask in my mind for over a week now. I hope your lab presentation went well, and I hope your committee meeting does, too. Bear in mind that I am reeling as much as anyone else, but... well, I have had a lot of things happen during my academic career, and I have had some practice with this by now. I was displaced from my home three or four times during grad school, and all but once that was because of climate change related flooding. (I actually cannot remember offhand. That kind of thing fucks with your ability to reckon in chronological time, which is why no one has been able to work out how years work since 2020 at latest.) I did my PhD in Texas, too, which gave me some exciting experiences around campus violence and guns.

But maybe the biggest thing for me is that I started grad school in 2012, right in time for the government sequester of 2013. That was the year Patty Brennan (of corkscrew duck penis fame) published an article in Animal Behaviour laying out helpful tips in case your research is targeted as "wasteful spending" by members of Congress seeking to reduce scientific funding. Brennan's work legitimately is groundbreaking--I started out close enough to her field to be able to say that almost no one was looking at vaginal anatomy when she started and she's really driven the field of reproductive conflict forward by systematically looking at methods by which females exert "cryptic choice" to control their own reproductive futures. But it sounds silly at first blush in a sound bite, so she immediately became a target when her work went viral. And that paper came out a decade ago, and we are no better than when we started.

I've gotten pretty good at working through grief and fear, and I've tangled with burnout more than once. So how do you handle it when everything is overwhelming and frightening?

You sketch out the work you can do, and you do it as best you can. Same as anyone else.

Here's the thing. You're a budding scholar. Whatever your field is, you probably know more about it than anyone who isn't a scholar in your field already, and you care about broader justice or you wouldn't be asking me this. This makes you a precious potential resource for whatever activist cause is nearest and dearest to your heart. You are placed, as a person whose career is focused on the pursuit of knowledge, in a position of great authority. Yes, even as a PhD student, although I do agree that having the PhD makes the things you say even more impactful. But you'd be surprised how far even just "PhD student" can go when you're making a stand.

You are a valuable voice when it comes to the intersection of your expertise and your community--and by that, I don't just mean your discipline and your geographical location; I mean your lived experiences and your identities too. If you burn out, your voice and effort may be completely irreplaceable. So make sure you don't burn out, but don't waste your potential to speak out, either. You can do that by working out what your "beat" is: pick one to two things you care really deeply about working on in the world, that you want to make better, and focus on those. Use your authority to make changes.

Currently, my "beat" is focused on disability justice (especially in terms of neurodivergence) and sex/gender, because those are communities I am part of and that I think deeply about. My work there can take a lot of forms: shoving hard on the pernicious medical thought process that tends to conceptualize disorder and disease as a deviation from a uniform functional population; pointing out the complexity inherent in sex differences and sex itself; building relationships with disabled academics to make networks for one another so that we can better support trainees as well as ourselves building alliances between disability justice scholars and researchers tackling these topics with an eye towards integrating the comments and interests of disabled people into the field of study that theoretically focuses on us. These are topics that tie into my research interests (context dependence, decisionmaking, strategy, developmental plasticity, etc) but also into my sense of justice and the communities in which I spend my life as an autistic queer butch.

Think about the things you care most about making better, and think about how those things intersect with your research interests. Is there a bathroom bill you could write a deposition for explaining how complicated sex actually is? A local news reporter who could use a scientist talking about the long term climate impacts of the new fracking project up the road? A new policy on immigrant familial separation that is going to lead to kids with major attachment issues down the line and increase the odds of terrible outcomes? Creative ways to send promising undergrads from underrepresented backgrounds on for new opportunities if you live in a state where DEI initiatives have been banned? (Man, that was an exhausting conversation to have with the North Carolina folks at my last conference. And the Floridians.) Where will your voice carry the most weight for the amount of energy you allocate to it?

Here's my best stab at practical advice for junior trainees:

Figure out what your limit for practical engagement is and defend it viciously. The thing about being in academia, and about having the PhD for that matter, is that it gives you a lot of leverage for speaking authoritatively about problems in your field and in your community. This, too, can be a form of activism and shaping the world. But if that's the weapon you are making out of your career, you can't also be an effective organizer on the ground for eight different local causes. You can't do everything at once, so pick a limited subset of things to focus on and work on those. Like academia, public impact will suck you dry if you let it, so you have to set boundaries and you have to be clear with yourself about that.

As always with research, your topic should be something you're interested in. Apply your priorities as a human being to your research. Move your project in directions you really care about and which are aligned with your values. Talk with your mentors about how you pitch that to other scientists in your field, of course, but if you're really shaken and scared by the political climate... well, better to apply that to your work than to not be able or interested in focusing on the work at all.

Look for things to celebrate and militantly celebrate them, even if it feels silly. You submitted a manuscript? Make a special dinner. You survived your committee meeting? Meet up with a couple of friends for coffee and cheering. You need things to cheer about, and your job is not going to naturally provide them, so lay out things you can celebrate and celebrate them even if you don't feel like you really achieved anything. (Your PI should help with this, but a lot of them don't. If your PI is absentee, try to find labmates or colleagues to celebrate when you can.) Joy and pride fuel us to keep going; make sure you are feeding them. You do not need money to make this happen, either: there are inexpensive ways to make things feel special, even if your stipend doesn't stretch nearly far enough.

Especially if your lab isn't full of people in your corner, make some friends who feel the same way you do about your "beat". Fellow activists (or just people who care) about your biggest priority are a great choice. Back in the day, I would have exhorted you to join Twitter to build that network; these days, I think most everyone is on Bluesky or Mastodon. You need people who get you and who are in your corner, and you need people who don't have power over your career to help you weather it when the storms rise.

People in the midst of despair don't know the future, either. There will be victories to come moving forward. It will be impossible to imagine them as you are today. The future is murky and uncertain, and you never know what battles you can win until you pitch them. Don't let anyone tell you a battle has been lost until you fight it, and don't make the mistake of thinking that what you do today doesn't matter intensely.

Life is iterative: it always starts from what you do today, and small aggregate decisions have a lot more power over the whole than any individual large one. If you don't like the direction you're going, you can always change direction for a while and see where you go. The best time to plant a tree was ten years ago; the second best time is now.

Find ways to take breaks completely from the political situation. Currently, I have just gotten into Minecraft for the first time, and I am playing a lot of stupid pixelated escapism games. You have to have time to recharge yourself away from all of it. Whatever that looks like to you is good enough. I need, personally, to get back into going for long walks in the woods; that one is one of my old reliable helpful ways to think without getting overwhelmed about it.

So. I don't know if anything has gotten better or worse for you over the last couple of weeks, but I hope for better for you. As for me... well, it's probably time to go back to my grant. We're short on funding going into this mess and who knows if the grant I'm writing for an explicitly DEI-oriented program will survive the coming hammer blows long enough to get it in. Even if it doesn't, I have a couple of book pitches I'll write up and a couple of suggestions for jobs along the way I can take. I can always redirect my effort to a new direction.

Take care of yourselves, friends.

[ckret2]

You know, after seeing your evil Ford au, I wonder what would happen if evil! Ford, met cannon! Ford. I feel like Cannon! Ford would hate him because he's just an example of what would happen if he haven't learned his lesson on perfection and how it's impossible to reach and how he doesn't need to impress people to be happy. I wonder what evil! Ford would think of his original counter part..would he be a little regretful? Since his cannon counterpart got more happiness than him? It's honestly intriguing to think about.

That's actually part of why I made Evil Ford: I was thinking about a dimension of lost Fords (like the dimension of lost Mabels in Don't Dimension It) and asked myself, which Ford alternate would Canon Ford most hate to meet?

So yeah you're right, Canon Ford would HATE Evil Ford—but not for thematic "you haven't learned the moral lesson about perfection & family" reasons. That's how audiences think about characters, it's not how people think about other people. When's the last time you hated somebody in real life because they missed the point of their own narrative arc—rather than because, say, they're rude to cashiers?

No, the reason Canon Ford hates Evil Ford is much simpler.

Similarly, meeting Canon Ford wouldn't make Evil Ford feel regretful because Evil Ford still thinks he made the right decision. What does he care if Canon Ford is "happier" if he only found contentment by—what—giving up on his high ambitions and settling for being a washed-up burnt-out ex-academic with no memorable achievements to his name? Evil Ford would rather die as a miserable overachiever than live as a peaceful slacker.

And he didn't spend thirty years on a completely different life path from Canon Ford without developing a totally different perspective.

Note: when Canon Ford found out Bill lied about the portal and declared he'd stop Bill no matter what, Evil Ford thinks that's Ford betraying Bill, not the other way around.

Also note: Evil Ford thinks Canon Ford is only motivated by anger over being deceived—not concern for the safety of the whole planet. Like yeah sure, he's HEARD that excuse; but that's what he thinks it is: an excuse. If he'd decided not to forgive Bill, he probably would've used the same excuse himself. A convenient, heroic-sounding moral justification for a thirty year vengence quest—but he doesn't really care that much about who's running the Earth, why would his alternate self?

(And really, Canon Ford? Thirty years? Thirty years?? You never found anything more productive to do with all that time than stalk your former mentor because you're MAD about ONE LIE?? If Canon Ford had said he thought killing Bill would net him more interdimensional fame and praise than he'd ever have as his underling, then Evil Ford could understand THAT—he himself has had misgivings about the fact that he's signed up to spend all eternity playing second banana—but as it is, though...)

Also also note: Evil Ford never reconciled with Fiddleford because he never acknowledged Fidds was "right" about Bill. He spent two-thirds of his life estranged from his brother. He moved across the country from his family. He made no friends in Gravity Falls, and likely no other college friends than Fidds. But he spent over half his life working with, dreaming with, living with Bill Cipher.

Evil Ford is evil; but he's not heartless.

Bill's the muse that gave him the blueprints he needed for his greatest invention and for the culmination of his life's work as a scientist and explorer. Bill's a near-god who hailed Ford as the greatest genius of his century, the man who's going to change the world, and via divine weirdness intervention he personally made sure that prophecy come true. Bill's the guy who—after Ford's embarrassing failure of a portal accident—welcomed Ford into his gang with open arms and the assurance that all his hard work wouldn't be for naught. He's Ford's longest-lasting friendship, his partner in crime and in science and in just about everything else by now, the person he trusts to puppet his body.

Is that a very skewed perspective on Bill? God, yeah. But it's Evil Ford's perspective.

If someone told you that all your suffering is due to the one person you trust most in all the world and the one person outside your family you care about the most—someone you've known for over thirty years—and your life would be so much better if you'd ditched this person the very first time you didn't get along—and that ditching them would have been the moral action—and that, in fact, you should have dedicated your life to killing this person...

Would you regret your life? Would you envy the life of the man who told you all this?

Or would you despise him?

How much more would you despise him if you knew he was you—had lived the same life as you—and that he had killed the most important person in your world?

Oh, Evil Ford resents the hell out of Canon Ford. Who are you—you slacker, you betrayer—to say you're "happier" than your counterpart? How do you deserve that "happy" ending? How is that fair?

Evil Ford only has one regret: not locking up his entire family before Weirdmageddon, where they'd all be safe... and where Bill would be safe from them.

[kiwi-on-ice]

I found u on tik tok🤩 u said ur taking requests but if that has changed u can just ignore me. Could u do a F! Reader taking a nap in Moira’s lab while shes working. Maybe she gets distracted and they get freaky😏

Moira O'Deorain x fem!reader

Summary: When Moira allows you to stay in her lab while she works, you quickly find out how boring that can be. However, a surprise visitor and your outfit choice means the geneticist may not be able to concentrate on her work for long.

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: 18+ smut, kinda mean dom!moira, no use of y/n, spanking, fingering, degradation, slight somnophilia, slight overstim

Notes: got several requests for Moira which i'm glad about, I love my sadistic evil scientist gf

“Fine, you may stay in the lab. But you will not distract me in any way, do I make myself clear?”

That confirmation meant the world to you, as you gleefully accepted her conditions. You knew upon becoming involved with Moira that she put her work above all else. You admired it greatly; despite her disregard for ethics and morals, she was a brilliant woman who was truly pushing the boundaries of science. But it meant you’d become needy, needy for any sort of attention she’d give you. So there you were, spinning on a desk chair absentmindedly on your phone as Moira worked. Occasionally, you look up to watch her, her brow furrowed as she tries to solve a complex problem you most likely wouldn’t be able to understand the half of. But you can’t deny how stunning she looks while she does it, how in her element she seems.

However there’s only so much you can do in a lab, especially when you’ve been instructed not to touch anything or even move in a way that was distracting. You watched as she synthesised different formulas, injected a test rabbit with a syringe that you shudder to think of what it contained and typed some data into her computer. But you weren’t a scientist, so you just glanced around the room or went on your phone. Listening to music in your earbuds, watching youtube, scrolling though tiktok, staring at Moira’s hands as she works diligently…boredom starts to set in regardless. Spinning in the chair softly, your eyes dart to the lab door opening and your head tilts.

“How’s it going hermana?” came a voice from behind Moira, causing both you and your lover to jump. Glancing up, you recognise the hacker immediately. Sombra, that’s what you remember Moira had called her. She’d given you information on her colleagues at Talon, most likely not being meant to, but you appreciated it regardless.

“Peaceful, until you showed up.” Moira mutters curtly, returning to her work and causing Sombra to smirk.

“Ah no need to get tetchy, the boss just wants an update is all.”

You watch as Sombra speaks, her hands behind her back as walks, before her eyes fall on you.

“It is progressing as expected.” Moira replies, her jaw clenches when she sees the hacker’s eyes trace over you. When you’d shown up in your skirt that perhaps was a little too short for Moira’s usual liking, she’d not imagined anyone else seeing how delectable your legs looked. Sombra seemingly doesn’t care about the doctor’s response anymore, instead slinking over to you.

“Well look at this, didn’t tell me you had a cute mascota cooped up here.” Sombra coos, a little condescending as she looks at you. Before you have time to react or reply, Moira interjects.

“She’s just visiting.”

“Doesn’t look like it, she looks quite cozy hm?” she giggles, booping your nose. The unexpected action causes you to giggle softly in return, and the curling claws of jealousy unfold inside Moira as she watches you smile.

“You may tell Akande that he will have his results within the month.” Moira says, clearly trying to dismiss Sombra from her laboratory, and get her away from what’s hers.

“Aw, you’re always so serious. Loosen up a little doc.” Sombra replies with a smirk, giving you a little wink. “Alright, nos vemos.”

And just like that, the hacker disappears from view. Your eyes widen a little, glancing around.

“How does she do that?” you ask, marvelling at the technological prowess.

“She’s as much digital as she is human, bunny, it would be impressive if she wasn’t so irritating.”

You laugh softly at Moira’s dismissive tone, getting comfy on the chair as you fiddle with your phone. Letting your head fall back, you bring your legs up and cause your skirt to ride up higher. Moira certainly doesn’t miss it, her eyes glued to the exposed skin of your thighs before returning to her work.

“…I’m sure I won’t be long.” The doctor says, in a tone quite unlike any you’ve heard from her before, soft and almost impatient. Either way, you smile softly as you keep getting comfy. With the soft hum of the lights, and the gentle tinkering of Moira moving beakers and typing on a keyboard, it isn’t long before your eyelids flutter shut.

Moira likes to think of herself as a capable woman, a woman of strong conviction. But after about an hour of sneaking glances at your sleeping form, of the way your chest rises and falls and how that damn skirt of yours is riding up so high she can catch a glimpse of your panties, even a woman like her is capable of becoming restless. She sighs, rubbing her eyes for a moment. Your soft breaths seemingly call to her like a siren song, and she at last relents.

You stir softly in your sleep, before a sharp feeling causes you to jolt, eyes fluttering open. Moira smirks cruelly, her hand underneath your shirt before pinching your nipple again. A strangled whine escapes your throat, your back arching a little involuntarily as you adjust to being awake again.

“Good that you’re awake dear,” she says lowly, her thumb gently circling your nipple almost as a soothing gesture, “you look charming while you sleep like that.”

You make a soft noise of contentment at her praise, her eyes drinking in the sight of you so vulnerable underneath her. She snakes her hand back out from under your shirt, before tugging the garment off. You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks as she does; you’d forgone wearing a bra today, not thinking anything of it. But now you were in her lab, completely topless and on show.

Moira seemingly appreciates the view, groping at your chest for a moment before she stands at her full height. “Do you have any idea what you do to me bunny? So distracting in your slutty little skirt.” She sneers down at you, and you hate how much it makes you wet. Clenching your thighs together, she smirks before pulling you up by your arm and capturing your lips in a kiss.

It’s messy and controlling, but oh so perfect. Her tongue completely overpowers yours, dragging across your bottom lip before exploring your mouth. Tangling in your hair, her fingernails scratch at your scalp as she pushes you backwards, your ass hitting the surface. You go to hop up, before she pulls away and turns you around, bending you over.

“That’s better…a position a slut like you should be used to.” She smirks, flipping your skirt up. You quickly brace yourself, scrambling to hold on to the counter before she slaps your ass, pretty gently for her standards. “Having to work, while your little doe eyes stare at me so pathetically…it’s a wonder I got anything done.”

She slaps your ass again before hooking her fingers underneath your underwear, pulling them down slowly. Moira always loved a show. Revealing yourself to her, you can’t see the soft smile that graces her usually severe features as she slowly drags a finger up and down your drenched cunt. Your thighs shake a little, as she drags her finger up to your clit, circling it softly. You immediately try and grind against her finger, causing her to tut and slap your ass once more.

“If you can’t stay still, perhaps I should strap you down hm? Treat you like the little lab rat you are?” she threatens, gripping your hip firmly. You shake your head quickly, not wanting to test her when she’s clearly riled up. Humming, she seems to accept that and starts to circle your clit yet again, although not before spanking you once more for good measure. Laying over the counter, you close your eyes and focus on the gentle pleasure she’s giving you, sighing softly. Her touch builds, circling over and over again as her other hand strokes your hip. You can feel the slight change in texture of the fingertips of her right hand, the artificial decay she’d infected herself with altering the skin to have a slightly rougher quality. Despite your worry about her well-being, you can’t deny the feeling of something so different, so dangerous touching you like that makes your pussy clench around nothing and your breath become shakier.

Eventually she decides to relent, sinking a finger of her left hand inside you. Stretching you out quickly before slipping another one inside, relishing in your moans that escape. “Good pet, tell me how you feel.”

“Good…feel so good.” You manage to say, doing your best to keep your body still and to not thrust back onto her fingers wantonly. She pumps them in and out at a steady pace, curling them and feeling you shiver as she hits your g spot repeatedly. Nobody knows your body quite like her; you’re her experiment, a girl all for her that she can touch and push and pull to see the results of her stimuli, and to watch as you fall apart beneath her touch time and time again. But when she sees you like this, willingly giving yourself to her and letting her be as mean or as gentle as she wants…an all too familiar feeling seems to warm her chest.

Shaking those thoughts away, she returns to the experiment at hand, as she digs her nails into your hip to make you jump. “There we go pet, keep making those delightful noises.”

You nod and moan, wanting to please her as much as she was pleasing you. Back arching, you whimper out her name, knowing what she likes. If it’s a show she wants, you can certainly provide. She smirks at your attempts to win her over, dragging her nails over your hips towards your back, leaving fresh red lines in her wake. The added pain only serves to intensify the pleasure, clenching around her fingers as she continues to thrust them deep inside you.

“How silly you look, taking my fingers like it’s your job. Although I suppose it is. Here I am, advancing humanities understanding of the scientific process, with my pet who exists to entertain me in my downtime.”

Her words cause a flush to rise up to your cheeks, but you know you can’t deny them. Instead your pussy gets impossibly wetter, as you confirm her degradation. She smirks and pulls her fingers out before flipping you round so you’re facing her, before settling your back against the counter. Spreading your thighs, her fingers make themselves at home within your cunt once more, thrusting a little faster as he gazes at your body. With your wriggling and squirming, you’re worried that you’ll cause the counter to move but Moira doesn’t seem to notice, or care.

With this new position, being able to see her slender body bend over yours to touch you, means your orgasm builds suddenly. You gasp and writhe, her nails once again digging in to your hips before opting to hold your thigh apart.

“You know what to do pet, prove I’ve trained you well.”

You immediately know what she means, and you nod rapidly. “Please can I cum? Please I’ve been so good please…I need it please…” you beg and plead, hoping she won’t deny you like she sometimes does after a more stressful day at the lab. Instead, her smirk remains as she nods, her fingers holding your thigh trailing down to rub your clit.

“Good, cum on my fingers.” She says bluntly, but with her permission it isn’t long until you’re clenching around her fingers and cumming with a breathy moan. You never get tired of the intensity of the pleasure she gives you, always thrilling and all-consuming. She keeps going, wanting to see you truly wrecked before she pulls her fingers out slowly.

“Breathe.” She instructs, stroking up and down your thighs as you come down. You nod softly, your breathing deep and evening out slowly. You sit up when you’re more grounded, smiling up at her. Your affection for her is prevalent in your gaze, and it makes her…blush a little. Once she realises, she quickly leans down to kiss at your neck, lavishing it with her lips and tongue. Tilting to give her access, she kisses your pulse point before biting softly, creating a hickey on your skin.

“Can you give me another?” she asks you against your neck, and your clit throbs from the insinuation. Giving your confirmation, she bites at your neck again before trailing her fingers back down between your legs. “Good pet, always so eager.”

She circles your clit, and you gasp at how sensitive it is. She shushes you, biting at your collarbone before pulling away to watch you. Her decayed hand reaches to caress your tits, and you grab at her waist to pull her closer. If she were in a harsher mood, she’d have punished you for touching her without consent, but her mind strays to how you’d smiled at Sombra when she’d teased you, and her possessive need wins out. You want her, you’re her pet. Nobody else's.

With your closeness, she leans down to kiss you once more, eagerly caressing your tongue with hers as her fingers play your clit like a finely tuned instrument. She’s aware of how sensitive you can get, especially going again in quick succession after cumming, so she wants to make the most of this moment. Her hand slides up from your tits to your jaw, holding it and angling you so you’re looking up at her. Moments like this remind you completely at how tall she is, how she always looks down at you (physically and to an extent metaphorically). Blinking, your eyes focus on hers as she pulls away from the kiss. Her hair is out of place, her skin slightly flushed and her lips parted, you think she looks like a goddess. So you tell her, causing her to look down momentarily before deflecting.

“I’m sure I pale in comparison to the way you look at this moment, sweet pet.” She murmurs, never one to be good at taking compliments. Her fingers increase their pace, causing all thoughts to flurry away from you as you lose yourself in the sensations. Sweat glistens on your skin as you moan, her eyes hungrily taking you in as you near your second climax. Her hand cupping your jaw gently traces down to hold your neck, ensuring you can’t look away. She can feel your pulse through her fingers, as you start to shiver.

“Cum for me again…” she whispers, as you start to tip over the edge, “oh, mo chroí.”

Whatever she said makes you cry out her name, cumming for a second time before leaning against her. She drags out your pleasure for as long as possible, before you start to twitch from overstimulation. Removing her fingers from between your legs, she holds your hip with one hand before her other slowly massages your scalp. Being with her like this, it was always one of your favourite parts. How she’d treat you delicately, like you were some porcelain doll, even for only a few precious moments. You stay like that, your breathing slowing before she looks at you.

“Perhaps it was not such a good idea to have you stay in here at all, you were most distracting.” She teases lowly, eliciting a soft giggle from you. “Come on pet, we can go home now. I’ll set my computer to monitor the cellular generation I’ve synthesized.”

You watch as she goes over to fiddle with her device, while you get changed and do your best to look a little more presentable. With a final tap of the keyboard, she moves back to you, placing her hand on the small of your back as she leads you out of her lab. Although the curling of her fingers around your waist as you leave the building tells you that it may not be the end of your night after all…

Sombra listens from her seated position, her eyes wide and eyebrows raised. Hacking your phone had been child play, hoping she could hear anything she might be able to use against the geneticist. Instead…she got a lot more than she bargained for, not that she’s complaining.

She smirks a little as she saves the audio file, maybe it’ll be useful. Maybe not. Either way, it’ll be fun to replay later.

[negativepeanuthoarder]

I think I've said this before but one of my least favorite things ever is when ppl claim to be atheists and then treat science as God because they never did the deconstructive work surrounding their belief in God and try to mold scientific fields to fit their need for answers.

Science is not permanent or perfect. Science is an ever changing mode of study and understanding that helps inform how we see the modern world. It's important to listen to scientists who know more than we do, but also to recognize when science falls short and push to improve those areas of research.

We're never going to have all the answers, and that's okay. The best we can do now is work with what we've got and find ways to make the world better with new data and research.

[drzone]

you should put time travel in ur story… yea….. in all of them actually. carelessly. all over the place. make it horror make it a looney tunes gag. make it a musical element make it a physical appearance make it an emotional reaction make it a machine or a weapon or a mode for learning. make it the center of your society make it the fringe science of your world make a weird scientist who invents it make a team of geniuses. come up with timelines and paradoxes and in universe documented wormholes and what would happen if they DID kill their grandpa besides popping out of existence. what if they used time travel as space travel. what if it was vice versa. what if we learn to time travel and the consequences are catastrophic. what if we learn and it changes everything. what if its only available to the super rich and everyone must rise to stop them from ruining the timelines. what if time travel corrupts. what if theres physical effects. mental effects. effects on the ecosystem. what if a wormhole can only be used so many times. what is your time machine made of. do you have a time machine. is it logic is it magic is it art is it being human is it being curious. Hello

[astriiformes]

Hi, i just learned about the scientific revolution in europe at school. Can you tell me why you dont think scientific revolutions exist? im curious!

So I feel like I have to lead with the fact that I'm kind of arguing two different points when I say scientific revolutions aren't really a thing

One is that I'm objecting to a specific, extremely foundational theory of scientific revolutions that was put forth by the philosopher Thomas Kuhn, which I think really misrepresents how science is actually practiced in the name of fitting things to a nice model. The other is that I think the fundamental problem with the idea is that it's too vague to effectively describe an actual process that happens.

It's certainly true that there are important advances in science that get referred to as "revolutions" that fundamentally changed their fields -- the shift from the Ptolemaic model of the Solar System to the Copernican one, Darwin's theory of evolution, etc. But there are historians of science (who I tend to agree with) that feel that terming these advances "revolutions" ignores the fact that science is an continuous, accretional process, and somewhat sensationalizes the process of scientific change in the name of celebrating particular scientists or theories over others.

Kuhn's model that he put forth in The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (which is one of those books that itself stirred a great deal of activity in a number of fields) suggests science evolves via what he called "paradigm shifts," where new ideas become fundamentally incompatible with the old model or way of doing things, causing a total overturn in the way scientists see the world, and establishing a new paradigm -- which will eventually cave to another when it, too, ceases to function effectively as a model. This theory became extraordinarily popular when it was published, but it's somewhat telling who it's remained popular with. Economists, political scientists, and literary theorists still use Kuhn, but historians of science, in my experience at least, see his work as historically significant but incompatible with how history is actually studied.

Kuhn posits that between paradigm shifts there are periods of "normal science" where paradigms are unquestioned and anomalies in the current model are largely ignored, until they reach a critical mass and cause a scientific revolution. In reality though, there is often real discussion of those anomalies, and I think the scientific process is not nearly so content to ignore them as Kuhn thinks. Throughout history, we see people expressing a real discontent with unsolved mysteries the current scientific model fails to explain, and glossing over those simply because the individuals in question didn't manage to formulate breakthrough theories to "solve" those problems props up the somewhat infamous "great men" model of history of science, where we focus only on the most famous people in the field as significant instead of acknowledging that science is a social enterprise and no research happens in a vacuum!

Beyond disagreeing with Kuhn specifically though, I think the idea of scientific revolutions vastly simplifies how science evolves and changes, and is ultimately a really ahistorical way of thinking about shifts in thinking. Take the example of the shift from Ptolemaic, geocentric thought to the heliocentric Copernican model of the solar system. When does this supposed "revolution" in thought actually start, and when does it "end" by becoming firmly established? You could argue that the publication of Copernicus' De revolutionibus orbium coelestium in 1543 was the beginning of the shift in thinking -- but of course, then you have the problem of asking where Copernicus' ideas came from in the first place.

The "great men" model of history would suggest Copernicus was a uniquely talented individual who managed to suggest something no one else had ever put forth, but realistically, he was influenced by the scientists who came before him, just like anyone else. There were real objections to the Ptolemaic model during the medieval era! One of the most famous problems in medieval astronomy was the fact that assuming a geocentric model makes the behavior of the planets seem really weird to an observer on Earth, referred to as retrograde motion, which had to be solved with a complicated system of epicycles that people knew wasn't quite working, even if they weren't able to put together exactly why. There were even ancient Greek astronomers who suggested that the sun was at the center of the solar system, going all the way back to Aristarchus of Samos who lived from around 310-230 BCE!

Putting an end point to the Copernican revolution poses similar challenges. Some people opt to suggest that what Copernicus started, either Galileo or Newton finished (which in and of itself means the "revolution" lasted around 100-150 years), but are we defining the shift in terms of new theories, or the consensus of the scientific community? The latter is much harder to pinpoint, and in my opinion as an aspiring historian of science, also much more important. Again, science doesn't happen in a vacuum. Copernicus, Galileo, and Newton may be more famous than their peers, but that doesn't mean the rest of the Renaissance scientific community didn't matter.

Ultimately it's a matter of simple models like Kuhn's (or other definitions of scientific revolutions) being insufficient to explain the complexity of history. Both because science is a complex endeavor, and because it isn't independent from the rest of history. Sure, it's genuinely amazing to consider that Copernicus' De revolutionibus orbium coelestium and the anatomist Andreas Vesalius' similarly influential De humani corporis fabrica were published the same year, and it says something about the intellectual climate of the time. But does it say something about science only, or is it also worth remembering that the introduction of typographic printing a century prior drastically changed how scientists communicated and whose ideas stuck and were remembered? On a similar note, we credit Darwin with suggesting the theory of evolution (and I could write a similarly long response just on the many, many influences in geology and biology both that went into his formulation of said theory), but what does it say that Alfred Russel Wallace independently came up with the theory of natural selection around the same time? Is it sheer coincidence, or does it have more to do with conversations that were already happening in the scientific community both men belonged to that predated the publication of the Origin?

I think that the concept of scientific revolutions is an important part of the history of the history of science, and has its place when talking about how we conceive of certain periods of history. But I'm a skeptic of it being a particularly accurate model, largely on the grounds of objecting to the "great men" model of history and the idea that shifts in thinking can be boiled down to a few important names and dates.

There's a famous Isaac Newton quote (which, fittingly, did not originate with Newton himself, but can be traced back even further to several medieval thinkers) in which he states "If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of Giants." I would argue that science, as an endeavor, is far more like standing on the shoulder of several hundred thousand other people in a trenchcoat. This social element of research is exactly why it's so hard to pull apart any one particular revolution, even when fairly revolutionary theories change the direction of the research that's happening. Ideas belong to a long evolutionary chain, and even if it occasionally goes through periods of punctuated equilibrium, dividing that history into periods of revolution and stagnancy ignores the rich scientific tradition of the "in-between" periods, and the contributions of scientists who never became famous for their work.