#best new products

[kinnbig]

I'm sorry.

[thepeacefulgarden]

[celebrimborium]

Amazon waiting to renew...

I'm part of the (invite-only) Amazon Preview program where Amazon Studios send you questionnaires about their content to get audience feedback.

A couple days ago I got a survey about The Rings of Power Season 2. It was extremely detailed and took me an hour to complete.

One question early on basically point blank asked how I'd feel about the show getting cancelled (options ranging from "extremely disappointed" to "not at all disappointed").

Take that for what you will.

(Fwiw I do think S3 has been soft-greenlit but Amazon is mulling it over due to the viewership numbers and they will likely retool the show and exert stronger influence, however long it may take and whatever budget cuts this might spell.)

[risingshards]

Some of my most cherished belongings: in 2005, I saw that Sly 3 had a demo at E3, and wrote a letter to Sucker Punch asking if they had any available. They sent this nice card back to me and promised to send a demo when they had copies. I don't remember what story questions I asked, but it was probably something about Sly's dad or the Clockwerk eggs if I had to guess.

And true to their word they did send the demo which I put untold hours into, which featured the original opening with Sly on the beach and some stuff that was changed for the final game. Sly has a different move instead of the charge attack, having little jabs that build up to the spin. Bentley is a lot stretchier in the demo (and in a "yeah I can see why you changed that" moment uses his legs as an attack as he spins his wheelchair around instead of the gadgets in the final game).

I'll always be grateful to Sucker Punch for this 💖

[whatsfourteenupto]

Fourteen follows Donna to work one day, “Not to do any world-saving, just to look around! Check out the archives, see how Kate’s getting on, the like!” It lasts until about 11:00, at which point he’s become such a distraction that Kate calls Shirley and tells her that her schedule for the rest of the day has been cleared, and to “For the love of God take him down to the lab, show them the projects, goof off for all I care, just don’t cause any structural damage and get him out of my hair.”

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Home cooks beware — Best Buy has just recalled thousands of pressure cookers in Canada due to a potential burn hazard. The electronics and home appliances store issued a recall notice on Thursday involving Insignia Multi-Function Pressure Cookers. The affected pressure cookers sold at Best Buy have either a six or eight-quart cooking capacity and operate on 120V, according to the notice posted by Health Canada. The brand name Insignia appears on the front of each pressure cooker and on its permanent product label. These are the model numbers of the recalled pressure cookers: 6 QT Digital Pressure Cooker: NS-MC60SS9-C 8 QT Multi-Function Pressure Cooker: NS-MC80SS9-C

Continue Reading.

Date of article: October 26th, 2023.

Tagging: @politicsofcanada

[gvnuzi]

Drone.exe

She has taste

Me when I scroll on TikTok and every audio I hear reminds me of them

[ohyespotatous]

Dear, 2025

I only have one goal this year. Please be kind to me 🙏

[kirby-the-gorb]

[seventh-district]

Dying Star

In the back of your mind, you recall something you once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can still see a star that's already burnt out, because its light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

- - - - - - -

Sam’s words have been weighing heavy on your mind ever since you discussed your shared future and the various forms it could take. You didn’t realize just how heavy they were until it all came spilling out of your tired mind on a late night spent together beneath the stars.

Pairing: Sam x Darlin' / Reader

Word Count: 4,053

Contains: [angst] [a dash of humor] [a hint of chubby!Sam bc i like 'em strong and soft] [crying] [cuddling (dub-con cuddles with Quinn in the past & consensual ones with Sam in the present)] [emotional hurt/comfort] [implied/referenced dub-con sex (nothing graphic) (in the past between Darlin' and Quinn to be specific) (refer to my Ao3 notes for further explanation)] [mentioned Quinn] [not quite Dissociation i guess but Darlin' does zone-out/get lost in thought more than once] [pet names (Darlin' (obvs.) and honey)] [Reader is Darlin'] [Sam wears a cowboy hat bc i said so] [some passive suicidality from Sam if you squint (hell, maybe you don't even have to squint)]

A/Ns: Well, well, well, here I am, the person who said they wouldn't write any Redactedverse fanfic. I recently felt a mighty need to expand upon the blurb I wrote in this post, and I'm braving my fandom anxiety by sharing it here. pls be nice 2 me abt it

Timeline-wise, this fic takes place sometime after the ‘Talking About the Future With Your Vampire Mate’ audio but sometime before their presumed eventual departure from the house that William gave Sam, given that they've already had the 'turning' discussion but are still on the same roof in this fic.

This is a songfic, inspired by and quoting verses from 3 songs. Those being:

‘Dying Star’ by Ashnikko feat. Ethel Cain

‘Fix What You Didn’t Break’ by Nate Smith

‘No Plan’ by Hozier

The roof of Sam’s house is far from a ‘cushy’ place to relax. But as you lie here next to him under the stars, a knowledge settles within you that you wouldn’t trade the rough shingles beneath you for the softest mattress in the world. Not if it meant there’d be anyone other than him lying next to you.

Some people might counter that it’s an easy thing for you to say, given the number of nights you’ve thrown a balled-up shirt onto one end of a worn-out couch and called it a bed. But some people don’t know you as well as they think they do.

You’ve known luxury. Quinn might’ve been just as content taking his fill on a seedy motel bed as he was wrapped in silks at a Hilton, but he knew how to play up the luxe when it served him to do so. And in the early days as he worked to lure you in, it did. Plush sheets and expensive drinks helped to soften the preordained blows and dull the imminent pain that your nights with him held.

Once you’d latched onto the bait though, he let the act drop one piece at a time, like props collapsing on a stage. After all, what was the point in all of those frivolities when you both knew what you really came to him for? It wasn’t to be wined and dined, it wasn’t to be dressed up and shown off, and it wasn’t even to be slowly stripped of it all, laid out across the rolling clouds of a pillowy mattress.

It was to be used. Tranced. Restrained. Bitten. Drank from. Choked. Hit. Edged. Denied. Made to writhe and whine and bleed and plead. Plead for more, for less, for nothing, for anything. Anything to quiet your mind and fill the ever-expanding void inside you where you suspect love was supposed to live.

That’s what you both really wanted.

At least, that’s what you told him you wanted.

That’s what you told yourself.

You only got what you asked for.

To your right, Sam stirs, stretching gently with a yawn. The soft noise he releases as he does so reminds you of where you are, and you trace back through your thoughts to find how you got so lost.

…Right. Luxury.

While your relationship with Quinn certainly changed over time, you never forgot what it felt like in the beginning. 

You remember nights laid next to him, body sore, mind quiet. Quinn’s idea of aftercare was lacking to say the least, but you had nothing better to compare it to at the time, and you’d take what you could get. At least your head felt empty, and the bed was soft. Exhaustion would pull you under soon enough.

The mattress, sheets, and pillows enveloping you were likely worth more than you even made that past month. ...Or several. You found that display of luxury hard to be impressed by though, when it wasn’t the type of comfort you’d been seeking.

As Quinn shifted in his presumed sleep, pulling you in tighter, you didn’t fight it. You found yourself unwilling to fight anything he did, like his mere presence was enough to drain the fight right out of you. You told yourself that you were okay with that. Because you wanted it.

Lying there with your head on his bare chest, you took a deep breath and told yourself that you liked the stench of cheap cologne, poorly masking the cigarettes and alcohol on his breath. You silently told yourself that you liked everything. You liked the pain that he chased with hints of pleasure. You liked the loss of power, the way you couldn’t fight back if you wanted to once he looked you in the eyes. You liked all the things he said, no matter how much the truth might hurt.

He was right, you supposed. Your desires, the things you craved, the depravity that you so enjoyed, wasn’t normal. It was uncommon, unusual, and in the eyes of some, unfathomable. To possess such dark desires, there must be something truly broken inside you.

How lucky you were, to have found someone willing to indulge you. Someone that could give you everything you wanted, and be so kind as to keep it a secret too. He promised that word of the things he did to you, the things you let him do, would never get out. You remember the way he held your hand as he told you, falling for the guise of sincerity in his eyes. You remember his warm smile, and his razor sharp teeth.

You remember seeing that exact same smile on his face through one-way glass as he sat across from Sam and told him everything.

You stood in that room and thought back to those nights of luxury. To the feeling of his nails ghosting over the freshly healed punctures in your neck. To the way he held you against him. You remember laying there, lifeless, feeling like prey playing dead. Afraid to move, afraid to disturb him. But why? He hadn’t threatened you. He never told you that you had to stay. He never said that you couldn’t move, or pull away. So why did you feel that way?

As you stood, helplessly witnessing hours of his slander in that interrogation room, you understood. Your rose-tinted glasses had long since shattered, and you saw that smile for what it was. It was the smile of a man playing a dangerous game, brimming with satisfaction, thinking he’d won.

The radio near you begins to crackle, static obscuring the hosts voice as they announce the upcoming song. Sam doesn’t even open his eyes, just raises a hand and reaches out, blindly adjusting the antenna of the old device.

You’ve teased him for holding onto it for so long, as he is wont to do with damn near all of his possessions. But as you watch him deftly extend and angle the antenna with practiced care, the response he once gave you proves itself true once again.

“I don’t wanna replace it, Darlin’. It’s not broken. It just needs someone who knows how to make it sing again.”

The static clears, and music flows through the radio’s old speakers once more.

You watch Sam return his hand to its prior position beneath his head, acting as a makeshift pillow of his own. The way he’s lying has his hat pushed forward, and it’d be doing a damn good job of shielding his face from the sun if it weren’t somewhere around midnight at the moment. Still, it suits him somehow, despite its lack of any practicality. All he’s missing is a stalk of wheat between his teeth and a tree to lean against and he’d be the spitting image of the cowboy he swears he isn’t.

His other hand rests on the soft curve of his stomach, rising and falling again as he breathes. He’s the image of peace in moments like these, and you’re drawn to it like a moth to flame. Maybe one of these days you’ll find some of your own, but for now you’re more than content to bask in his.

As you admire him, he takes a slow, deep breath and you mirror it on instinct. The grounding practice helps you leave your mind and return to your body, if just for a moment. In doing so, you realize just how tense your ruminations have made you.

You relax your hands, releasing the blanket beneath you from your iron grip. You brush your palms over it, worried that you’ve torn the fabric once you realize that your nails had halfway shifted to claws. You don’t fret much over damage to your own possessions, but this blanket is Sam’s and you’d hate to ruin it. Though, you suppose he doesn’t prize it too much or he wouldn’t have laid it out here across the roof in the first place.

“If I buy somethin’ it’s because I wanna use it. Now quit frettin’ and get over here.” You recall what he told you earlier as he patted the blanket next to him in invitation, and you smile.

Doing a small stretch of your own, you release the tension in your shoulders, turning your attention back to the stars above you. For a while, you let the soft music wash over your tired mind.

“I asked him not to kill me politely. He drained my magic core, bottled up at the source. I washed up on the sea glass shores. I’m nobody's captive.”

In spite of your best efforts to relax, you’re still subconsciously futzing with the loose threads of the old blanket beneath you.

You’re made aware of it when Sam reaches a hand down, gently laying it over yours and effectively stilling your anxious motion.

“Burning like a dying star, invasive weeds rooted in my heart, set in a crooked trajectory. The journey here was hard, I was almost pulled apart. Trying to leave his orbit took what’s left of me.”

You flip your hand over beneath his so you can hold it properly, lacing your fingers together.

For reasons beyond your understanding, emotion tightens your throat, the threat of tears pooling in your eyes.

…You must be more tired than you thought.

As minutes pass and one song fades into another, your gaze dances across the blurry, scattered points of light in the dark sky.

“You were the star in the pitch black, shine the way on the way back. Out of nowhere, answered all my prayers.”

Sam’s always been so much better at identifying stars and finding constellations. But as the music plays, you begin to see one of your own.

“Picked up the towel that I threw in, took in a heart that was ruined. Showed me the past ain’t a tattoo, loved me even when you didn’t have to.”

“Sam.” You squeeze his hand to get his attention.

He squeezes back in acknowledgment. “Hm?”

“I want you to look at something.” You swallow back the emotion that tries to seep into your voice, but it catches his attention all the same.

He leans up and lifts his hat from his head, setting it aside near the radio. He then reaches to turn a dial back, lowering the music’s volume to give you his full attention.

You release his hand, raising yours up as he turns back to face you. You don’t say anything at first, nearly too lost in your own mind to realize you need to actually voice your developing thoughts.

"What—what're you pointin' at Darlin'?"

Your hazy focus is trained on the brightest star visible in your line of sight, arm stretched out to the sky above you. "That really bright one, to the... to the left."

Sam does his best to follow your less-than-specific directions of 'to the left', your pointed finger doing little to help given the difference in perspective. Luckily, after all these years, he knows this stretch of night sky like the back of his hand, so it isn't hard to locate the brightest one. Ghosting his fingers up along your exposed wrist where your sleeve had slipped back, he takes your hand in his again and brings it back down to earth. "Okay, yeah, I see it now. What about it though?"

"That's you." You say, matter-of-factly.

"That's me?" He questions, humor in his tone.

"Mhm." You nod with finality, blinking slow.

Sam considers the odd statement for a moment before gently correcting you. "I'm uh, I'm pretty sure that's Sirius, actually."

You scoff. "I am being serious."

Sam stifles a laugh. "No—no I mean—like... what's another name for it... Oh, it's also called the Dog Star."

"C'mon Sam, at least call it the Wolf Star if you're trying to turn this around on me..."

He shakes his head and readies himself to explain further, but you cut him off before he can start. "But no. No, this isn't about me. That's you."

He decides to play along, finding something endearing in your overtired nonsense. "Okay... then would'ja be so kind as to explain to this confused old man just how, or why that star is me?"

Your frown is audible in your voice as you latch onto the wrong part of his sentence. "You're not old, Sam. ...Do I need to tell Asher to kick the jokes down a notch?"

He smiles at your over-protectivity. "There'll be no need for that, now. Was just a joke, honey, I promise."

You huff, but begrudgingly shift focus back to the prior topic. "It's... I dunno. It's just you, Sam. It's... bright. Light. Something warm, out there in the cold dark. Standing out amongst all the rest. Calling to me, stealing my attention.”

Sam’s brow furrows as you continue to explain, realization setting in that you really are being serious.

“I... I didn't come out here looking for it, but there it is. ...And there you were. In the dark. The only bright thing I'd seen in... fuck, in years. Years of chasing fleeting warmth, tripping over myself in the pitch black, falling into... places and people that I shouldn't have. You were the light in that darkness. Even there, at Wonderworld, surrounded by the ghost of him. Your warmth, your presence, your aura—even with all of your walls up, you outshone it. Your warmth didn't hurt. I didn't have to squint when I looked at you. You weren't the blinding sun. You were the brightest star I'd ever seen. You guided me home."

In the back of your mind, you recall something you once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can still see a star that's already burnt out, because its light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

"...-lin'? Darlin'?" Sam's calloused hand squeezes yours tight, his urgent tone pulling you out of your thoughts. "There you are. Think I lost ya' for a minute there... you good?"

You look up at Sam, concern creasing his features, faint shadows cast across his face from the light of the dying stars above him.

You reach out, pulling him down into you. He falters for a moment at the sudden proximity, but quickly embraces you in turn. Burying your face into his collar, Sam's concern grows when he feels it saturate with tears. A human might struggle to hear your words, muffled against the thick flannel, but his hearing catches them just fine.

"Don't burn out too quickly. Please. I still need you here. I don't—I don't wanna be left in the dark again. Please, please Sam. Don't leave me here. I'm not selfish enough to ask you for forever, but please. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet."

The words feel like a weight being lifted from your shoulders, but with it comes a flood of emotion they’d been holding back. You cry harder into him, and as much as it pains Sam to witness, he lets you feel it, for as long as you need.

Your fear of losing him manifests itself physically, nails curling and sharpening again. When he feels them prick his skin through the fabric of his shirt, he calls your name but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans further down into you, letting his weight ground you. “Darlin’, I am right here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

As you eventually cry yourself out, enough wherewithal returns to you to realize that you should probably release the poor man from your grasp, and the awkward position you pulled him into. When he pulls away enough to see your face, you notice a string of snot running from your nose to his shirt collar. Quickly batting it away out of embarrassment, you cringe, voice thick as you apologize. “Eugh, gross. Uh… sorry. About that.”

He shakes his head, laughing good-naturedly as you wipe at your nose with your jacket sleeve. “It’s completely fine, honey. After all, I’ve been covered in plenty of your, uh… various fluids before. When you come from my line of work, this is child’s play.”

He leans to his right, reaching back and pulling—of all things—a handkerchief from his jeans’ left back pocket. You laugh at his words, and at the sight, but with how congested you are it turns into more of a hacking cough than anything. Accepting his offering, you blow your nose into the black patterned fabric.

As soon as you can speak somewhat clearly, you can’t stop the teasing remark that slips out of you, gesturing with the wad of fabric in your hand. “You know, you really aren’t beating the cowboy allegations with stuff like this.”

He rolls his eyes but his soft smile remains. “It’s a practical thing to have on me, ‘allegations’ be damned.”

You shake your head with a smile of your own, but don’t disagree. As you’re visibly unsure what to do with the dirtied fabric, he takes it from you, setting it aside. “I’ll toss it in the wash when we go back inside. Along with my shirt, and…” He eyes you for a moment. “…that jacket of yours too, given how long you’ve probably been wearin’ it.”

Normally you’d argue that it hasn’t been that long, but come to think of it, you actually can’t recall when you last washed the thing.

Reaching up and rubbing your temples, you already regret your crying fit as a headache begins to set in. “Fuck, Sam... I’m sorry for… whatever that just was. I don’t know what came over me.”

His expression falls into something serious again. “You never need to apologize for feeling. And it certainly seems like… you needed to feel that.”

You nod quietly, but don’t elaborate, prompting him to question you gently. “Darlin’. What was that about? The—the askin’ me not to leave. Are you… afraid that I’m gonna leave you?”

You close your eyes, weighing out your response. “…Not in the sense that you’ll break up with me or something, no.”

His gaze narrows and his head tilts as he rolls your answer over in his mind. “If it ain’t that, then—” He remembers how you mentioned ‘forever’ and cuts himself off as the puzzle pieces start coming together. “Oh. …Oh, Darlin’, no.”

You open your eyes to watch as he shifts from leaning next to you, moving to sit up beside you. “Is this about what I told you, when we sat up here and had our uh… turning discussion?”

You hate to admit it, but you nod in confirmation. “…It’s your choice, Sam, and I never want to take that away from you. I shouldn’t have said what I just did, I—I don’t want to make you feel guilty, or like you have to stick around for my sake. But I’d be lying to you if I said it hasn’t been playing on my mind. The thought of you… leaving. Like that.”

He reaches up, running a hand through his hair. “I… think I maybe should’ve been a bit more clear, when I said that. Because I wasn’t talking about any time soon. I didn’t want to give you the false impression that I plan on sticking around for centuries, but… I also wasn’t trying to imply that I’ve got plans to do it next week either.”

You bolt upright, voice cracking. “Next week?! I sure as shit hope not!” You grab your head, pain flaring and suddenly dizzy from the quick shift in position.

He places a hand on your shoulder to steady you. “I’m not, honey, I’m not. Did you catch the rest of my sentence? I’ve got no plans to leave this world any time soon. I promise.”

You groan, head pounding. “I heard you, I did, I just—fuck, I don’t even wanna think about you leaving so soon. Here I am, stressing, thinking I’ve only got—I don’t know—some odd years left with you, and…” You sigh, trailing off.

Sam stays quiet for a minute, letting the crickets sing.

Eventually, he interrupts their chorus. “…Can I get closer to you?”

You nod. “…Please.”

He closes the gap between you, carefully wrapping a strong arm around your curled shoulders. “You’ve got way more than a couple years. I promise you that.” Your tension begins to ease a bit as he clarifies. “You… you’ve helped me find a life that I actually feel like livin’ again, for the first time in a long time. And I want to experience it with you for as long as I can.”

“…Really?” Your voice sounds so small, so unsure, so… unlike you when you question him that he wants to kick himself in his own ass for the role he unintentionally played in making you feel this way.

“Yes. Really. I mean—” His voice takes on an edge of humor. “If you decide to set your sights on the year 3,000…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know about that. But as far as the 21st century is concerned? …I think I’d like to see it through. For as long as you’re there to see it with me.”

His words cause fresh tears to well up in your eyes, and you sniff in an attempt to hold them back. The sound catches his attention, and he leans forward, thumbing across your warm cheek. “…I’m makin’ you cry again…”

You shake your head, clearing your throat. “No—No, it’s okay. It’s good. They’re… they’re good. It’s… relief.”

He breathes out a relieved sigh of his own. “Yeah?”

You nod, leaning into him. “Yeah.”

As you rest against each other, breathing in the cool night air, you nudge him with your shoulder. “Can we… lay back? For a bit?”

He squeezes your arm in gentle confirmation. “Of course.”

He twists and reaches back to straighten the wrinkled blanket beneath you, before laying out across it himself. The radio crackles as he turns the volume back up a bit. Watching him with tired eyes, you smile at the sight of him patting his chest in habitual invitation.

“Sit in and watch the sunlight fade. Honey, enjoy, it’s gettin’ late. There’s no plan. There’s no hand on the reign. As Mack explained, there will be darkness again.”

Curling up against his side and laying your head on his chest, you release a heavy sigh when his hand comes up to rest on your shoulder. As his fingers press rhythmically into the tense muscle beneath them, you breathe in his scent. Black coffee and wildflower honey… he smells like home.

“Your secret is safe with me, and if secrets were like seeds, when I’m lyin’ under marble, marvel at flowers you’ll have made.”

You reach your hand out across his broad chest, slipping beneath his open flannel and sliding down to rest on his waist. He sighs, relaxing further beneath your touch.

“My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand. That’s how I know now that you understand.”

Yeah, you’ll take this over ‘luxury’ any damn day.

“There’s no plan. There’s no race to be run.”

Laying there with him, listening to the low hum of the radio, the moment grows so comfortable that you almost hesitate to break it.

“The harder the pain, honey, the sweeter the song.”

“…Sam?” You whisper into the night.

His hand sweeps across your back before returning to your shoulder. “I’m here, Darlin’.”

“There’s no plan. There’s no kingdom to come.”

You smile. “I… I’d like to be there, to be here, to see it through with you, too.”

It takes him a moment to recall exactly what you’re referring to, but when it hits him he hums a low understanding tone, clearly pleased. “Then let’s see where it takes us, yeah?”

“But I’ll be your man if you got love to get done.”

He presses a soft kiss to your temple. “We’ve got plenty a’ time.”

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. You can find my extensive notes and commentary on this fic right here on Ao3. My Sam & Darlin' Playlist My Sam Playlist My Darlin' Playlist My Sam & Darlin' Moodboard My Sam Moodboard My Darlin' Moodboard Header Image Credit: Gage Smith on Unsplash

[pinazee]

Quick thought on the lords in black, are they a commentary on the internet, beings created in a space of black (the screens of our phone) and white (the light that reflects back)? They represent the worst thats come from it- how quickly we are enflamed to rage (wiggly), consuming the fake pageantry (nibbly), watching us destroy ourselves and each other (blinky), keeping record of all the mistakes we’ve made in the past with no redemption (tinky), and getting locked into a singular opinion, or voice (pokey).

Then with Webby, she is the best to come of the internet, which is that it connects us all. She can’t save the citizens of hatchetfield because ultimately the existence of the lords and how they interact in hatchetfield is up to the them. The lords exist because they summon them and until they can find a way to take away their power, they’re doomed to keep repeating their mistakes.

Sidenote: i kind of hope the hatchetfield saga ends in an Into the Woods style musical, where they’ve pulled characters from all these different timelines. So we get the original Paul (who was pulled after pokeys reign and has his mind mostly back except he sings all the time now), stoner emma (or linda for that matter), pete spankovski (eventually freeing ted from his box), lex (and grace chasity as a villain), becky or ms. Holloway, green peace girl (and melissa for a joke), and general mcnamara (who’s the only one who knows whats going on). Et al really

[isame-allen]

Happy new year y’alls :D

It’s the year of the snake so enjoy snake ink!

[featureenvyproductions]

happy new year time for me to bother you with a TRAILER for my short animated film about a mars mission 🎉

surprise I have cobbled together shots I have done from my [traditional] animation I'm working on along with a TEST recording (which is why it sounds like it's being recorded in a toilet that is also a cathedral) of some of the music clips. I tried to edit it like a Real TM Trailer but the pacing is a little weird bc it's a silent film sorry

OK LOTTA BACKGROUND INFO UNDER THE CUT

So if you haven't seen my other posts, I sort of have this thing for doing projects I know damn well shouldn't be done by Just Me however if there's 3 things I enjoy it's exacerbating my wrist problems, traditional animation, and social isolation so last year to get my mind of the trash fire of an election season I bought a bunch of cels and paint and started working on this short film. It's gonna be maybe 10-15 minutes when done and, aside from a handful of tweaks*, it is all traditional 2d animation - hand drawn AND painted (which is why the frame rate makes even the recycled clips in 80s he-man cringe) .

Anyway if you didn't gather from the intertitles, this [a FICTIONAL STORY WHERE EVERYONE IS FICTIONAL PLEASE NO ONE SUE ME] is about the US and Russia collaborating on a mission to Mars where they're gonna send some folks up there to hang out and do research indefinitely until another mission happens. While the crew - comprised of an astronaut Adam and a cosmonaut Yuri - is in transit, war breaks out between the US and Russia back on earth, snapping the ever tightening rubberband of willing cooperation between the countries. Everything goes to hell, and in this case it also threatens to compromise the mission, meaning an uncertain future for the crew, who have to choose between loyalty to the death cult of blind nationalism, or loyalty to science and each other.

I am aiming to finish this in 2025...The story has been in the works for a while, but I only recently felt like "huh I kinda wanna animate this"

Im sorry the music is so....Like That lol. I wanted to get this done today before I go back to work and like I don't think anyone who follows me really minds if it's not perfect rn. See I only have a keyboard at the moment and I was trying to do an aux cable from it to my laptop to keep from recording the UNMANAGEABLE CLOMPCLOMPCLOMPITYCLOMPPP of the keys but it just made the sound toilety uhg oh well. Anyway I am writing some original stuff for the eventual whole film, but for this trailer I arranged some snippets of Tchaikovsky's sleeping beauty for piano (the score is in the public domain fyi...My arrangement is my own...). I've got some other bits of that in the works as well which will also show up in the full film.

Oh another thing is, most of the technical stuff should be fairly grounded in science (maybe aside from some Artistic License Engineering for story/ease of animation reasons, but....). So there's that. I don't think it makes much of a difference for the trailer but IM TELLING YOU BECAUSE I DID SIT THERE AND PAINSTAKINGLY RUN A FUCKING ORBIT PROPAGATION ALGORITHM TO BALLPARK WHERE THE SHIP SHOULD BE AT CERTAIN POINTS IN THE NARRATIVE AND YOU WILL KNOW I SUFFERED. FOR YOU, THE AUDIENCE.

*full disclosure by tweaks I mean stuff it's barely noticeable to you but impractical for me bc cels are REALLY expensive, so stuff like blinking and mouth movements I drew in photoshop because that's probably 100s of mouth-or-eye cels I can't really afford to waste, and you can only scratch paint off and reuse a cel so many times before it looks like crap. Some of the panning I also did by scanning the hand drawn cels and then changing the subject position in photoshop for each frame because I'm compositing frames essentially by sticking them face down in a stack on my scanner bed and haven't found a good way to do it yet. I've attempted to built a little track before but can't get it flat enough for the cover to make contact with the frames and smash them into the glass. If you have a solution for this, let me know.

anyway the target audience of this is people who liked Apollo 13 but wished it was worse quality and was more gay and anarchist so if you are vaguely that please enjoy and follow for updates on this costly and questionable venture

[mucseszter22-blog]

The cutest phone case 🥰

Dm for link 😌

[ravenousgf]

saying "get help" is so condescending (unless its funny. and even then it could be funny because of that not despite it and now im getting caught up in technicalities) but really truly actually taylor swift needs some help from someone who doesn't like her recent music. and doesn't think all her decisions are great. the problem is she dismisses all crit by fans (fair enough, We Don't Know You) and loses respect for anyone bigger if they have anything not as peachy to say about her as the cultural zeitgeist does. sad! at least we'll always have love story 2008

[eddie-redmayne-italian-blog]

New Photos of all Tony Awards Nominees!!

TONY AWARDS

Photos: Meet the 2024 Tony Awards Nominees

The nominees let their personalities shine at the annual Tony Awards Meet the Nominees press junket.

BY PLAYBILL STAFF MAY 10, 2024

Here they are boys! Here they are world! 

The 2024 Tony nominees filled the Sofitel Hotel with glamour and excitement during the annual Tony Awards Meet the Nominees press junket May 2. See these Broadway stars shine in their first appearance to the media after being dubbed a nominee in these exclusive portraits taken by Playbill's Heather Gershnowitz. 

Winners will announced at the 77th Annual Tony Award on June 16 at Lincoln Center's David H. Koch Theater, starting with The Tony Awards: Act One. The show can be found on streaming for free on Pluto TV. Details are to be announced.

The 77th Annual Tony Awards will follow Act One at 8 PM ET, broadcasting live on CBS (check local listings) and streaming live (for premium-level subscribers) via Paramount+. All Paramount+ subscribers will have on demand access to the broadcast beginning June 17. Stage and screen star Ariana DeBose will be back for her third consecutive year hosting.

All photo nominees here :

Photographer Heather Gershonowitz