#cosmos interior

[jonamias]

[kirbyfigure]

[389]

Exhibition Destination Cosmos: The Immersive Space Experience in New-York | Hall des Lumières

[wardensantoineandevka]

Thoughts on parallels between the scene where Phineas beats Sherman and where Imelda tortures weepe?

Jonas Spahr is there, and he's also not having a good day. 😔

So, I initially meant that as a joke about how I'm a huge fan of Jonas and will obnoxiously take any opportunity to talk about him. I do think there are many parallels and resonances between these scenes, and there is much to say about the four characters named and the central action of nearly killing someone for the sake of the Trust, but those angles are more obvious and more likely to be recognized by most. (And I'm willing to talk about some of those as well, if asked again. Or, if there's a specific aspect you'd like to hear about, let me know.)

In terms of my interests, it IS a pretty interesting point to be made: Jonas Spahr is there, watching. It's integral to both scenes that Spahr is a witness; he's even the ONLY witness in the Arca. His role as such is also explicitly recognized by the active character in each scene:

Since this is about the cabaret and Arca scenes specifically, I won't spin off into an entire commentary and analysis of Spahr's role as an observer and witness. For now, we'll have to content ourselves with the short version just for context, but I can go into it at a later time.

The heart of it is: thus far, his role in the narrative is a generally passive one that largely centers on watching and observing. It's the first thing he does as a player in this story. He steps back and watches how Phineas handles the Ginsberg situation, and the narrators remind us four separate times in 1.03: Mica:

Deeds of Valor—and Caenum, apparently—need to be witnessed, after all! Thing is, Spahr does a lot of watching but, until more recently, doesn't really SEE all that often. He is for a long time a passive, immovable, unreadable observer to events as the eyes of the Trust. He is that witness for much of events he's involved in, for better or (more likely) worse.

After Phineas attacks Sherman, Spahr himself is quick to identify this problem with himself in 2.02: Ascendancy, that he is watching and looking but he is, perhaps intentionally, not seeing and noticing:

The incident in the cabaret and the incident in the Arca are directly connected and bound together by Spahr as witness. Phineas attacking Sherman and Imelda torturing Weepe are moments that Spahr is truly seeing, bearing witness to events and comprehending them, their context, and their implications.

In both, he bears witness specifically to the damage that the Trust causes and the ways that it harms people inside and outside of it. Phineas and Imelda believe that Spahr will witness something else—Phineas hopes that Spahr will not be witnessing a failure where Imelda hopes that Spahr will be witnessing one—but what he is seeing instead is the raw brutality that the Trust and its systems and pressures naturally engender at their logical extremes. He immediately recognizes it to be a horror:

Spahr experiences a dread born of comprehension typically reserved for moments of understanding in eldritch horror. Sucks to be the guy whose role is to see things and you end up actually comprehending some of them! And comprehend them in these two scenes he does.

Spahr doesn't do a ton in terms of active action in either scene—the cabaret scene is notably set off by his mere presence, and he ultimately freezes in the Arca scene—but in each, he does ultimately move to attempt to stop what is happening. And, notably, he does so under his own power and motivation.

That said, he fails to prevent a significant amount of the damage. He moves fast enough to prevent Phineas from killing Sherman, but too late to prevent the harm done to Sherman and all the spiraling consequences of this. He is frozen into a paralysis by Imelda's threat, so he fails to follow through and stop her, stop the harm done to Weepe, and again stop the spiraling consequences from this.

Twice, once in each scene, he fails to meaningfully prevent the harm done here. He attempts to stop them when he is standing here in the room with them, but by then it's too late. ("Too little, too late," as Sherman will eventually say.)

Obviously, Spahr is not the sole bearer of responsibility in either incident. Phineas and Imelda have an immense amount to answer for there, and the system of the Trust itself created the conditions that one way or another pushes them and Spahr to do as they do. However, both are incidents that he in some way has allowed. He reflects on having not seen, or even ignored, the signs of what was brewing inside Phineas and what he was being pushed toward; he helps engineer this intervention and stands by while Imelda locks Weepe in the Arca, never asking enough questions.

He has allowed both to happen. When he begins to feel the emotional aftermath of each, in 2.02: Ascendancy and 2.17: Compensation, the narration of his internal monologue even uses that wording:

They're both critical scenes to Spahr's development as someone whose role is largely passive, both within the Trust systems and within the narrative. Just as much as he is to be seen, he is also very much here to see—and to refuse to see. To stand by as a passive witness to horrors and allow them, silent and impassive and watching. He can try to intervene, but he's already facilitated this.

He is coming to understand his part in this, in brutalities such as these, with horror. In the aftermath of the Arca incident, we see him increasingly discontent with his role in the Trust and desperately in search of ways to stop what he can. He is not yet successful, but his vision is very much clarifying. His arc turns around these scenes as paralleled experiences for him in his narrative, as moments that he witnesses, allows, and fails to stop against even his own belated efforts. These two scenes bookend his growing comprehension and self-reflection throughout season two.

Twice now, it's been asked of him: What are you refusing to see, Jonas? What horrors and brutalities are you allowing to happen? Will you always be intervening much too late?

Third time's a charm, perhaps.

[visualcontinuum]

Chamber of time

[the-iron-shoulder]

2021 cross-stitch piece. I found the two character images online, and unfortunately I don’t know who the pixel artists were.

Mystical Ninja Starring Goemon is special to me since it’s what got me interested in the Japanese language, which had a massive impact (lol, get it) on my life. I love the character of Impact, the giant roller-skating robot in Edo-period Japan who’s a famous singer in France and a movie star in the US but who still makes time to smash evil when he’s called upon! His theme song just plain makes me happy, and let’s face it, we all need this kind of robust silliness in our lives.

At some point I had the thought that he would absolutely be bros with the King of All Cosmos, and then I realized that no one could stop me from cross-stitching that. So I did.

Making this piece is almost certainly the gayest thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve had sex with other men.

[thevisualvamp]

Plant life

[someoneactuallylivedhere]

[prodesign77]

🌌 "Cactus Cosmos" – A Desert Dream Beyond the Stars! 🌌

Immerse yourself in this surreal vision of a cosmic desert, where giant cacti rise under a sky filled with planets and shooting stars. This artwork beautifully blends the tranquility of the desert with the wonders of space, creating a truly captivating scene.

✨ Perfect for Modern Spaces – Add an extraordinary touch to your living room, office, or any space needing a unique and dreamlike vibe.

🌵 Transform Your Wall into a Gateway to Another World!

📏 Available in various sizes to fit your space perfectly.

Visit Our Store From Here

[geekpopnews]

"O Livro Astrológico dos Planetas" revela segredos do cosmo

🔮✨ Descubra os Mistérios do Cosmos com "O Livro Astrológico dos Planetas"! Uma jornada fascinante rumo ao autoconhecimento profundo. 🌟#Astrologia #LivroAstrológico #MistériosdoCosmos #EditoraLunae #RicardoHida

A astrologia sempre exerceu um fascínio irresistível sobre a humanidade, com suas narrativas cósmicas e suas promessas de compreensão mais profunda do universo e de nós mesmos. Sendo assim, atenta ao crescente interesse do mercado editorial por essa temática, a editora Lunae anunciou o lançamento de “O Livro Astrológico dos Planetas”, organizado pelo ilustre astrólogo e pesquisador da PUC/SP,…

[nanashomegallery]

CosmicCanvas Star Projector

Ignite your space with cosmic vibes using the CosmicCanvas Star Projector. Watch as stars and nebulae paint a mesmerizing scene. Perfect for dreamers, this projector transforms any space into a celestial escape. Illuminate your world with the magic of the cosmos. 🌌✨ #CosmicCanvas #StarryNight #GalacticMagic

[here-be-dragons-and-whatnot]

Pearl's House

And here we have a very rough block out for the environments in Jar Full of Cosmos. I used Sketchup because I find CAD style modeling in Blender to be incredibly tedious, and I wanted to quickly model things to real world scale. Additionally, Sketchup has a huge library of objects I can drag and drop which makes tasks like filling up the livingroom much easier. The colors are not accurate since I have a limited palette in free Sketchup. Next up will be a color script to figure out materials and mood. I wish color wasn't such a struggle for me :']

Although it's not terribly apparent looking at these screengrabs, I was inspired by the trend of cozy, isometric rooms that I have been seeing on Youtube and other places where 3D artists tend to congregate.

[kasiabobula]

[holographic-mars]

Also consider the fact that

1) his frame must have had to be modified to become an amusement park ride and

2) he was conscious the whole 15+ years, just locked in his alt mode unable to do anything

The implication of earthspark cosmos being stuck as an amusement park ride for 15+ years is a little horrifying

[ninibeingdelulu]

His biggest fan ✧

Plot: You’re Michael’s girlfriend, cheering him at one of his games.

A/N: It’s so bad I hate it😓

The roar of thunderous cheers flooded the stadium as Michael unleashed another stupefying display of lethal precision and brute physicality that defied mortal comprehension.

You watched with breathless awe seated front row as that signature blue mohawk wove a hypnotic cyclone of calculated ferocity carving apart the helpless defense trailing hopelessly in his wake.

Each savage yet eerily choreographed burst from Michael's heavyweight strides reverberated across the pitch warping the boundaries of space and time itself directly proportional to his gravitational soccer supremacy.

Until the entire cosmos distilled into that infinite singularity split-second with just your striker boyfriend, the ball and the yawning maw of the goal awaiting its inevitable oblation.

You bit down hard stifling the visceral shudder trying to escape as Michael's rocket-powered thunderbolt smashed past the defenseless keeper and ignited the back of the net in a blaze of cosmic glory.

Celebrating with that bone-chilling sovereign roar staking his unchallengeable dominion once more before this mortal realm of sporting conquest still so far beneath his transcendent plane of greatness.

Even after the final whistle sounded you remained spellbound observing Michael bask in those rapturous post-coital moments savoring his ineffable feat.

Utterly transfixed upon the hyper-masculine sculpture of your man still slicked with the spoils of carnal supremacy while casting that chiseled nordic profile against the floodlit heavens he reigned sovereign over.

Until his peripheral laser focus abruptly snapped in your direction lancing directly through your aura with a telepathic tractor beam manifesting into actual physics-warping forces.

Almost like each molecule surrounding Michael compressed and bent inward before being shunted aside clearing his path towards you with terrifying inevitability.

You barely had a chance to brace yourself as the unstoppable tsunami slammed into your front row section without mercy or resistance.

The concussive shockwave blasting through your senses while those titanium bulwarks materialized around you scooping your diminutive frame against Michael's furnace-stoked musculature with crushing intensity.

"My sweet empress…I could only hear your voice back there. It motivated me, thank you.”

His rough-hewn bassline resonated against every nerve ending vibrating at some untapped primordial stratum while you strained to surface through the endless whitenoise overloading your synapses.

Only Michael's low gravitic pulses penetrating the oblivion flooding your faculties from that unholy cosmic union now peeling away every layer keeping you distinct individualities during submersion into this event horizon state of indistinguishable polarities collapsed together.

Until finally resurfacing from that singularity after an eternity compressed into nanoseconds - though still deliriously consumed by the aftershocks rippling across your intertwined vessels smoldering in the embers of rapturous conflagration yet still ravenous for more extreme escalations eternally rebirthing from the expended remains!

Only the roaring crescendos from those frenzied supporters still filling the stadium slowly penetrated the vacuous void reverberating between you both savoring that suspended infinitesimal post-orgasmic bliss together.

You felt Michael's stern facade gradually reassemble while withdrawing from your interiors just fractionally enough to restore individuation-yet sense his alpha dominion expanding throughout your reconstituted synaptic matrices cementing his reign over your fused polarities once more.

Then with a subtle shift his smokey granite stare cleaved directly through the veil drawing your reawakened senses under that spellbinding trance spellbinding instantly.

A hushed imperious rasp now caressing your essence from that primal domain where all worldly laws bent to his sovereign decrees:

"Why don’t I reward you tonight, huh, meine liebe ?”

Just experiencing the infinitesimal microcosm of his supreme essence bleeding into your rematerialized corporeal vessel already whiplashed your senses through multiple clinical deaths and resurrections beyond this plane's dimensional limits.

His seismic vibrational frequencies triggered endorphin avalanches detonating every neurotransmitter into frenzied paroxysms anticipating the ineffable escalations still awaiting together...

[gravedwe11er]

Echoes through the cosmos

My friend @cosmique-oddity had a brilliant idea about mecha AU Coswave and I had to write my own take on it. Make sure to check out his wondeful writing/art for this concept too! We're posting our works in tandem, so by the time you see this, it should be on his blog.

Aaanyway, this was supposed to be a short one-shot. It is not. Part two and three will be coming soon. As always, based on the Mecha AU by @keferon.

When he was a kid, the first book he’d ever gotten was a children’s space encyclopedia.

Secrets of the cosmos, it was titled, and he’d fallen in love with it at first glance. It talked about planets and stars and the possibilities of alien life, and he’d carried it around everywhere for years, so much so that it earned him the nickname Cosmos from his peers. It might have been a little mocking at the time, but he’d refused to take it as an insult - quite the opposite, really, and eventually, it stuck.

On clear nights, he’d sometimes sneak out of his house after bedtime, lie down on the grass and just look at the sky. He’d watch the stars flicker, thinking of distant planets filled with cool alien people. Imagined himself meeting them one day, leaving Earth behind for greater adventures and new friends, and whenever he saw a shooting star, only one wish ever came to mind – “I want to meet an alien someday!”

In retrospect, perhaps he should have wished for something else. Chocolate cake for breakfast, maybe.

Because the aliens came. And unlike in the movies, they came with little fanfare; no dramatic declarations of war, no menacing signals sent over the airwaves or bright lights in the sky. They just dropped down from atmo and started ripping humanity to pieces.

Cosmos, who at that point had been in his last year of college and working an internship at decently large observatory, got pretty much front row seats to the first planetfall. The quintessons hadn’t bothered to hide. Hadn’t needed to, really – they’d had too much of an upper hand to worry much about human defense forces.

Life after that was a bit of a blur. The shatterdomes sprung up in a matter of months, humanity started fighting back and actually winning sometimes. Cosmos graduated and got hired immediately as one of the many, many people monitoring satellite data, watching for any incoming quint dropships.

And while yes, even a few minutes of warning ahead of an incoming enemy drop could save thousands of lives, it was never quite enough. New mecha were being made constantly, but such things take time, and the losses kept mounting. Clearly, something else needed to be done.

Which is how Cosmos finds himself here, orbiting some twenty thousand kilometers away from Earth in a haphazard little shoebox of an observation station, all alone in the void between worlds.

Well, to be fair, the actual scientific equipment of the station is top of the line. It’s just the everything else that his bosses on Earth skimped out on. The interior is cramped, dull and grey, with only the bare necessities needed for his long-term functioning as a glorified space cameraman. His days are fairly monotone too – exercise routines to keep up his muscle and bone density twice a day, interspersed with long hours of going over telescope footage, checking for enemy signals and keeping an eye out for any potential anomalies.

Now, despite his occasional grumblings about the quality of life here, he’s not really bothered by most of it. Besides, he gets it – there’s only so many resources the world can spare. He’s fulfilling his dream and helping save lives in the process, so he can put up with a little discomfort. It’s still better than his old college dorm, that’s for sure.

He is in space. Actually in space. That little detail sort of makes up for a majority of the gripes he has about the station.

All except one.

When he signed up for this mission, he knew he’d be alone up here. He just didn’t know how much it would ache.

For the record, it’s not like he’s completely cut off from others- that’d be a one-way ticket to madness, and even the most heartless of higher-ups know it. They’d given him a fast internet connection and permission to make as many video calls as he needs, as long as it doesn’t affect his work. He has his parents back on Earth, and his fellow watchmen are usually up for a quick chat, but- It’s not the same. It’s not nearly enough.

Nothing can replace seeing another living being with his own eyes, a casual pat on the shoulder or just the simple warmth of a person existing in your general vicinity. The longer he stays here, the more chill seeps into his bones, into his very soul.

Soma days, it’s as if there’s a layer of frost underneath his skin, and he’s not sure how long he can take it before he shatters.

Cosmos is sipping on his breakfast coffee when the main console pings, the custom alert he’s set for this specific anomaly making him scramble for the railings immediately. Floating over, he goes to check the data, and- yeah, there it is again.

These signals have been a mystery for the past month now. As of yet, the only thing anyone knows about them is that they’re not from the quintessons and are seemingly completely random. Mission control stopped caring about them once they figured out they’re not of enemy origin, but he and a few of his fellow watchmen have been trying their best to learn more. Command hasn’t told them to quit it yet, so Cosmos assumes they don’t mind, at least.

Not that they’ve really gotten anywhere. A few times a day, the signal will originate from seemingly nowhere, just barely strong enough to be noted, bounce around a few satellites and disappear. No pattern that they can see, no changes in strength or even any indication as to its purpose. It’s just- there.

So far, it looks like he’s not figuring it out today either. Still, he logs the data into his personal file and straps himself into his chair; might as well get to work, since he’s already here.

The quintesson warships have their drop off point on the edge of the asteroid belt, about halfway between Jupiter and Mars. Same place every time. Scientists down on Earth have been throwing around theories as to why, talking about wormholes, string theory and weak spots in the time-space continuum, but it’s more speculation than anything for the most part. Faster than light travel was supposed to be the stuff of fiction after all, but here they are. One moment there’s empty space, and next there is a warship. Really exciting stuff, really! It would just be a lot better if it wasn’t being used to ruin his home.

The quints’ sub light engines reach some impressive speeds as well, but they’re still slow enough to give the people on Earth half a day’s notice before they make planetfall, provided they’re informed the moment the ships appear. Which is why Cosmos is here, watching both the space around both the planet itself and the drop-off zone, warning of incoming attacks. Or, well, to be more precise- he’s mostly watching over the equipment doing all those things, and making sure it keeps doing them no matter what. The human failsafe, so to speak.

It's a bit of a hurry up and wait sort of job. The few days after a drop, it’s constant reports and data being sent back and forth, trying to decipher enemy comms and a simmering worry in his gut as he hopes the pilots down there manage to fend off the quints without heavy casualties. Then, it’s back to long silences and practically twiddling his thumbs, waiting for the chaos to erupt once again.

Which brings him back to the signals. They’re something to break up the monotony, something to occupy his thought on the days when the systems have nothing else to report, like today. Or the past two weeks.

That is why, when a small group of quints suddenly peels off from behind Earth’s mass, heading full speed in his general direction, Cosmos nearly suffers a heart attack. The station’s sensors scream at him, and he may or may not begin panicking a little. He’s a sitting duck here- the station has no defensive capabilities, and no shuttle could get to him fast enough. That is, if they even bothered to try in the first place.

But- as he’s trying and failing to open a last call to his family with shaking fingers, he notices the quintessons slowing down to a stop, still nowhere near his position. Instead, they seem to be targeting - he types a few commands into the sensory array with clammy hands - a communications satellite? It looks like any of the thousands of others like it, ESA make, if he had to guess, so why-

And then the satellite- moves. Parts of it shift around each other, forming what looks like limbs and a head, and- no, okay, what?

The satellite, which is now very much not a satellite anymore, opens fire at the quints. Cosmos watches the scene through several sets of digital eyes, mind reeling as the small enemy platoon is- well, torn to shreds, to put it mildly. Whatever this mech is, it’s incredibly efficient, dodging between enemy strikes and dealing devastating blows of its own. His own? Is there a pilot in there? He doesn’t think so; if such technology was in use, he’d have known about it.

Then again, it could be a prototype of some sort. A secret project, maybe? That sounds slightly more plausible, but still- look, Cosmos is no mecha engineer, but even he can recognize something for being wildly out of human technological scope when he sees it. Which leaves only one remaining option, really.

Whatever this is, it’s not from Earth.

And yeah, alright, shit. That’s- well, it’s probably not a bad thing? Seeing as it just sliced through a bunch of quints like a knife through butter, it’s safe to assume it’s not aligned with them. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right? God, Cosmos certainly hopes so, at least.

As the last of the quintessons die, their bodies floating off into the distance, the station’s alarms turn off one by one. All except his custom one, that is. The cheery little chime keeps on ringing, one screen off to the side showing the same odd signal he’s been tracking for weeks now, only stronger. Much, much stronger. Having started the moment the satellite changed shape, the signal keeps going, now recognizable as a multi-layered frequency and coming directly from the alien mech itself.

He's not sure if it’s the adrenaline, his innate curiosity or just plain madness, but Cosmos does something very, very stupid. With still shaking fingers, he tunes into the frequency, puts his headset on, and calls out.

“Unknown craft, this is Cosmos of the Hermes-9, please-“ his voice hitches. Swallowing tightly, he continues, “please identify yourself. I repeat, this is Cosmos of the Hermes-9, unknows craft, please identify yourself. Over.”

For a few moments, the silence is deafening as Cosmos waits for an answer, fear and anticipation mixing in his gut. Then, the mech turns around. Two glowing red optics look straight at him, as if bypassing the hull of his station and piercing through his very soul. His screens black out one by one in rapid succession, words draping themselves across the darkened expanse like stars against the endless void of the universe.

[Designation: Soundwave.]