drudge work

pandafleur  asked:

I've been thinking about the fact that there seems to be an actual difference between Sith and Fallen Jedi. Some Sith started out as Fallen Jedi, not every Fallen Jedi is a Sith. Also, if Jedi can Fall, do Sith have an equivalent of Rising? And I don't just mean redemption. My theory, outside of the occasional bad egg, is that since Jedi are taught from as early an age as possible that Emotions Are Bad And Meant To Be Eschewed they become so unused to their own emotions) Part 1

(2) … that they end up easily overwhelmed by them. Emotions are fuel for the Force. Therefore, a Jedi who loses control of their emotions Falls. This makes sense to me because what do Sith do to convert Jedi? Overwhelm them with negative emotion until they can’t tell up from down. Now, the interesting similarity between Jedi and Sith philosophy is they both reject attachment. We know why Jedi do, attachments lead to Falling. But why Sith?

(3) Sith are very emotional so surely being attached to something is perfectly fine. But this is not so. Sith are carefully coaxed into a constantly negative state by having every positive attachment in their life ripped away in as traumatic a fashion as possible. This teaches them to shy away from positive attachment out of subconscious fear they will be taken away. Sith are taught to hate what they fear. Thus Sith too eschew attachment.

(4) This implies to me the calmer and happier a Sith gets, truly positive emotion, the more control they have over themselves. So, one can actually be a Risen Sith but not “redeemed” of the Dark Side. Because using the Force emotionally is the Dark Side, and there are more emotions than negative ones, and using the Force emotionlessly is the Light Side which glorifies logic. Somewhere between Fallen Jedi and Risen Sith is the Gray Jedi Faction. And yes, that’s a canon thing.

(5) The Gray Jedi are a splinter group that wanted to combine the best of both worlds. Jedi control and ethics, Sith emotionality, and Corellian Jedi freedom to have attachments. Corellian Jedi too, started out as a splinter group but are still considered part of the Jedi Order, Gray Jedi are not. Corellian Jedi philosophy basically states that attachments are fine, it’s just possession and loss that make you Fall. Which made Corellian Jedi the most emotionally stable Jedi that weren’t Gray.

(6?) According to Sith philosophy Power = Freedom and Freedom = Power. Going by that the average Sith ought to be one of those Carefree Amoral You Can’t Tell Me What To Do types and yet every Sith we see is working tirelessly to restore the Sith Empire. That is a lot of endless, drudging work to subject yourself to when you don’t even like dealing with people on a good day. And you want to tackle administration and bureaucracy? Sith don’t seem very free no matter what they insist.

So this was interesting and makes me wish I’d experienced more of the SW universe besides movies 4,5,6, and 1 so that I would have internalized more information on Force philosophy, lore, and history. Because different viewpoints will definitely be a key argument to explore in OOPS so I do need to get a handle on that better at some point.

( I’m not sure part 6 was connected to the first five because the topic shifts slightly, but here we are.)

@elenathehun @jaycrowind You guys are SW fans, right? Thoughts? Views on both Sith and Jedi sides have shifted throughout the millennia of the EU right?

Occurrence Reports

That was

the most depressing TV finale I have ever seen.

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On Hufflepuff Secondaries

Hufflepuff Secondaries invest themselves into their world with service and support. When things turn out well for a Puff it often comes as a result of those old investments culminating and giving back. Old debts might raise their head in a time of need. Communities the Puff has supported or built might marshal to their aid without even being asked. Their reputation might precede them, allowing them trust or the allowances that they need.

Often overlooked, Hufflepuff Secondaries are handed secrets, access, or tasks of monumental importance because they have developed a reputation that they can be trusted with them. This reputation has been earned through a slow and steady process of hard work and actually being that reliable that the Puff will have built up over years. 

This is what makes a Hufflepuff: they show up. They do the work, often for no obvious gain except for the satisfaction of a job well done. This is the source of their power, and it is slowly gathered, not obvious to look at, and rarely spent. Where Gryffindors charge and Slytherins transform, the Hufflepuff seems inconsequential and harmless until the moment when they rise up and call on all their debts, secrets, and trust.

For a broader overview of our system, which we suggest you read first, please go here!

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INTPs Hard at Play

I haven’t updated for the past few days because of sheer laziness extra hours at work. If you’re an INTP, then you understand how much of a drudge work can be, unless the work is personally fulfilling. (INFPs often feel similar) INTPs also know that what they consider “playtime” is often seen as work from outside observers. Other people may be perplexed that an INTP may consider academic reading fun, or research to be entertaining. As an INTP I might wake up one morning and suddenly want to teach myself Indian beadworking and devote the rest of the day to watching tutorial videos on Youtube and trying to make a pattern. The next day I’m on to learning about ancient Spartan society, setting aside the beadwork bracelet I began the day before. INTPs don’t abandon projects, but rather set them aside until the topic interests them once again days, weeks, months, or years down the line.

In order for INTPs to feel self-worth while being an active participant in the work force, they must feel challenged (and be motivated enough) to solve what ever problem may be at hand. INTPs favor jobs which leave open doors, unanswered questions, new puzzles, and flexibility. INTPs that haven’t found their niches yet may bounce around from job to job feeling unsatisfied. Once an INTP begins to figure out their passions and how to apply their large body of knowledge and know-how, finding a satisfying job comes easier. An INTP might want to work under the blanket of academia, try freelancing, conduct independent research, self-educate, or even turn the process of making money via alternative cash streams into a game. The ins and outs of our modern capitalist society might not appeal to INTP life, but we must realize that we need a means of income in order to sustain ourselves. And why waste our time working in a job we don’t like for a society we don’t exactly believe in? That’s why it’s important for INTPs to strive for getting paid for having fun. Even if your definition of fun is manually checking thousands of lines of code for inconsistencies, you nerd.

I’ve come to the conclusion that people who wear headphones while they walk, are much happier, more confident, and more beautiful individuals than someone making the solitary drudge to work without acknowledging their own interests and power.
—  ― Jason Mraz
burning in the fire of a thousand smiles :: ii

by popular demand, I am continuing the Modern British Royalty au I posted last night (here). if interest keeps up, I will make it an actual multi-chapter. So enjoy the fact of me not being evil. Ahem.

For the next several weeks, as coachloads of schoolchildren tromped through the public rooms of Buckingham and inevitably left behind quid coins, Oyster cards, takeaway wrappers, homework assignments, keychains (and in one dismal incident, chewed gum stuck to the underside of a two-hundred-year-old antique endtable) to the horror and overwork of the Palace caretakers, Emma thought carefully about the fact that she really should try to find a job. She had graduated from St. Andrews with a solid 1:2 degree in English last spring, and as her mother was in good health and could easily be around another thirty or forty years, that meant she had a whole lifetime to fill before she ascended to the role that all of this was preparing her for. In the past, heirs in waiting had led the leisurely lives of spoiled aristocrats, but Britain had gone sour on that idea quite a while ago, what with the future Edward VII drinking, carousing, constructing special sex chairs as not to crush his numberless paramours with his portly princely physique, and other such escapades that had contributed to Queen Victoria’s perpetual state of Non-Amusement with her eldest son. Modern royals were expected to go to college and do something at least resembling a career, not just smashing wine bottles on ocean liners, visiting ill children in hospital, and riding down the Mall in fancy carriages, escorted by men in tall furry hats. They were to have charitable causes, public involvement, productive investment, and to do enough to keep down the constant low-level mumbling that the royal family was an absurdly outdated cabal of useless wankers living it up on the UK taxpayers’ dime. It was, to say the least, a delicate balance.

Moreover, now that Emma’s status as heiress to the throne was confirmed, it would soon be time for her to conduct her first solo overseas tour; she was expected to have visited, if perhaps not all fifty-three countries of the full Commonwealth, at least the sixteen of which she would be ruling monarch by the time she became queen. She had been to several of them as a child with her parents, but those probably didn’t count. They had suggested she start this autumn, in fact, but there hadn’t been time to pull together a state visit on short notice, and besides, nobody wanted to go to Canada in winter, not even Canadians. So it would be next spring and summer, which further illustrated the complications faced by a young royal trying to have a career; most regular jobs wouldn’t let you just take off for several months to jaunt around the world. Nor were you going to stick the future head of state of close to a third of the earth’s population behind a coffee counter. Security and logistical concerns had to be factored in. There were plenty of online crazies obsessed with the beautiful blonde princess. If one of those showed up, at the very least Liam had to be there to punch them in the nose and rugby-tackle them to the ground.

Overall, Emma’s options were slim. She supposed she could try to catch on at a London publishing house, but she was also aware that most entry-level positions in publishing were drudge work, and if she did have a certain freedom to select her occupation, it seemed a bit pointless not to take advantage of it. Interning on a movie set? Maybe in the short term, but not for a career. Then what –

And then, almost blindingly simply, she had it.

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I’ve come to the conclusion that people who wear headphones while they walk, are much happier, more confident, and more beautiful individuals than someone making the solitary drudge to work without acknowledging their own interests and power.
—  ― Jason Mraz
2

Panasonic’s pink Dalek delivery bot has been cleared for hospital work

Panasonic’s range of Hospi robots are designed to take over drudge work in hospitals — toting around medicine, patients, and performing rote tasks like hair washing. Now, the company’s porter bot (the Hospi type R) has been cleared for personal care duties, both in Japan and abroad.

Hospi-R is basically a medicine cabinet on wheels, designed to move fragile or bulky medicine and equipment around a hospital. It uses a combination of cameras, Wi-Fi, and pre-programmed maps to navigate around buildings, and is capable of using elevators that have been kitted out with the right hands-free components. (Don’t test it on stairs, though.)

anonymous asked:

Namjin??? Thank you!

“you just want me to kill a spider?” 

seokjin nods. “it’s there. in the corner.” he points and namjoon stares at a daddy long legs the size of his thumb. 

“you had to summon a demon to do it?” namjoon asks, stepping out of the summoning circle. “you went through the entire process of summoning a demon just to kill a spider.” 

seokjin blushes a little. “i’m just…really scared of spiders. and i live alone so. there’s no other way to kill them?” 

namjoon shakes his head. “no, let me rephrase that. do you know who i am?” 

seokjin blinks. “you have a name? most demons don’t i thought. only the most powerful demons have…oh.” 

namjoon nods. “i’m wrath. one of the seven deadly sins. and you summoned me. to kill a spider.” 

seokjin squeaks. “uh…i guess?” namjoon stares at him. “so could you kill the spider now?” seokjin asks meekly. 

without looking away from seokjin, namjoon forms a ball of dark energy in his hands and aims it at the corner. it explodes, leaving a charred mass in its wake. 

“thank you?” seokjin squeaks. 

namjoon rolls his eyes and then squints at him. “you must have a lot of fucking power to be summoning me let alone to do drudge work.” 

“um…about that…could you maybe help me cut these carrots? i want to make stew tonight…”

I’ve come to the conclusion that people who wear headphones while they walk, are much happier, more confident, and more beautiful individuals than someone making the solitary drudge to work without acknowledging their own interests and power.
—  ― Jason Mraz
This Is Your Heart--An Olicity Fanfic



Title: This Is Your Heart (Can You Feel It)

Rating: M

Relationship: Oliver/Felicity

Read on Ao3 or FF.net

AN: This is a big thank-you work for 1700 followers on Tumblr.
FYI: Rated M for you know what. I have never written a smut scene before and won’t make a habit of it, but the story warranted it and I delivered. That’s how much I love you guys.
The biggest thanks to thatmasquedgirl and alizziebyanyothername for beta this and all their encouragements. Also, the graphic is by me (i’m trying new things apparently).

Felicity Smoak had always wanted a soulmate. She’d craved the warmth that accompanied the rush of blood, endorphins pumping underneath her skin. She’d dreamed of someone to share secrets with, to fall apart on, to meld with, body and mind.

Too bad soulmates were rare.

With six billion people in the world, how could one person find that one other person that matched them completely, like puzzle pieces.There were stories out there, stories that gave people hope, stories of soulmates meeting,  stories of the sound of the beating heart, the rush of fire in the veins, passion taking over every thought. A coupling in the dead of night, filled with pleasure.

Because only soulmates could have sex.

No one remembers when it first started. Suddenly, out of nowhere, human babies were born with no heartbeat. Their hearts were dead, cold in their chests, oxygen the only thing pumping through their veins mixed with plasma and white blood cells. People without a soulmate bled white.

However, the second one half of a  soulmate pair laid eyes on the other, the other half gained a heartbeat. A galloping, roaring stampede that drowned their senses. The rush of heat as blood, red blood, flowed through the hollow channels, warming the human body.

The soul is cold until it spies its mate. Then comes the inferno.

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People often take for granted the role that wealth and classism play in competitive dance. In a world where attending TDA costs more than I paid for a semester of uni, where now dancers attend nearly a dozen competitions per year and seem to do a different solo at each, where flying to California to say you competed on the west coast (even if you aren’t west coast-based) is seen as a huge achievement, people who maybe aren’t old enough to really understand finance need to know that most elite competitive dancers are from total 1% families.

And that’s not to say that this makes them bad people, but it’s more to give some perspective: this is not an accessible world. This is not a world that is in line with how the vast majority people in the world live. And when you’re a dancer, particularly a young dancer, who trains 20+ hours a week and spends darn near every weekend from March on competing, traveling and staying in hotels with people who are, for the most part, just like you, you tend to get a skewed sense of the world. You tend to know very little outside of your own circumstances. (Not to mention the amount of kids who are homeschooled for dance.

I was a “poor” dancer - my family struggled financially, but we had the good fortune of my brother and sister never doing any extracurricular, never travelling, etc. that dance was somewhat attainable for me. Nevertheless I worked at my studio to get a discount in my tuition, I used secondhand costumes, my parents didn’t accompany me on a single trip. We didn’t even hold a candle to the kind of demands studios, companies and competitive teams have nowadays, but it still felt difficult being around kids who were so much better off than me.

Not because it made them bad people, but because for the most part they just didn’t understand.

When one girl told me she was sick of people calling her spoiled because she “worked really hard for everything she had” I was caught somewhere between wanting to guffaw and wanting to cry. This girl had only ever had one job - teaching at the studio. She didn’t have to apply. She didn’t even want to do the drudge work that I was doing - reception, cleaning, sorting costumes, selling dance wear, sending invoices. I even cleaned up pee when a few of the little ones had accidents. She hadn’t ever known what it was like to spend all summer working at a fast food joint coming home with fries stuck to her shoe, smelling like shortening, taking orders, being treated like crap by people. She didn’t know what it was like to work 5 am-8 am before school because that was the only way you could accommodate your schedule. And yet she had her own car the second she got her G2 - was I to believe she had paid for that all by herself?

So when I see people telling stories about being at competitions and being upset because they’ve been spurned or alienated by other teams, I’m sad but I’m not surprised. Competitive dance is kind of like an isolated community where you know so little about the outside. You don’t think you’re wrong, but you still have no idea how - or no desire - to relate with anyone else.

This isn’t me saying that your faves aren’t the amazing “cinnamon rolls” you see them as; children are innocent and don’t have these biases or tendencies on purpose. But I think it’s safe to say that few realize how charmed a life they live, or how different their world is from the “real” world. My hope is that dancers are able to grow up with enough self-awareness to not let that affect the person they become when they are older.

Birthday-present Cherik ficlet for rozf–only a LITTLE late… I’ll put it up on AO3 momentarily, but here you go.

Sequel to the one in which Charles is basically Cinderella. Here’s Charles’s POV of the night, and a surprise. :-)

##

It’s midnight. The king’s coronation anniversary ball’s nearly done. Skirts and coats ripple in liquid jewel-colors: ruby, sapphire, amethyst, tourmaline, pearl, aquamarine, jade. The blaze of the candles bathes the room in dreamlike flickering gold; the chandelier’s a massive thing, heavy wrought gilded iron, and it shines glittering replies back-and-forth with the slim pillars of hot wax in wall sconces.

A dream, Charles thinks again. It is. Must be.

Has to be, because there is no bloody way that he’s snuck out of his stepfather’s house and come to the king’s ball and danced once with that king and then heard that king proclaim, in earshot of every assembled guest, that Charles Xavier would be his Royal Consort.

Several people had responded with, “What?” A few of them had said, “Who?” A certain number had looked envious or infuriated. At least one woman’d inquired loudly, “Isn’t the Xavier heir dead?”

Charles’s own “What?” hadn’t been the loudest—too shocked for much volume—but probably hadn’t done much for his reputation as future Consort, either. At the moment he doesn’t care.

The king—Erik—is looking at him with a mix of worry and stubbornness and desire. Charles refuses to find this expression endearing.

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Whipped

“Oh my god, Sherlock.” John shook his head as he chuckled heartily.

“What now?” Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes.

“You are so whipped!” The doctor grinned as he looked at the consulting detective juggling all the items in his hands. “She’s done it. She’s really done it.”

“I have no idea what you’re going on about.” He paused and looked down at himself.

He was simply carrying two coffees from the shop around the corner. It wasn’t as if he didn’t want a decent coffee for himself too. The swill from the doctor’s lounge was practically a criminal offence. It wouldn’t do for Molly to get sick from consuming anything from the canteen either. Hence, the paper bag clutched in the last few fingers of his right hand.

It was mid-morning and Molly had started very early for her shift. She would probably be a bit hungry right now. If he was buying coffee and the pastries were right there… Why wouldn’t he get a few at the same time? It was logical! Otherwise, one of them would have to stop work and drudge all the way out all over again to buy something. No, that would be ridiculous.

And, he said as much to John.

“Alright, fine.” John conceded. “That makes a lot of sense.”

Sherlock smugly nodded and started walking again.

“But, how do you explain the additional two lunches you bought - after forcing that restaurant to open their kitchen early. The bouquet of flowers and the picnic blanket you have rolled under your arm?”

“Oh, piss off, John!”

I’ve come to the conclusion that people who wear headphones while they walk, are much happier, more confident, and more beautiful individuals than someone making the solitary drudge to work without acknowledging their own interests and power.
—  ― Jason Mraz
When I debuted, my energy would burn out just trying to keep up with our schedules. Apart from idol activities, I was too tired to do anything with my time. Just existing within a space of work and drudging along. It got to the point where I questioned who I was and what I had accomplished aside from SNSD. Has my body been signed away to this franchise? So I sat down and began organizing meticulous targets, and started feeling I should gain as much vicarious awareness of the world as possible through reading. So every day and every detail would accumulate eventually to make up the life I really want.
—  Seohyun, Ceci Magazine 2012