#i hate that all the robot shinies are the same

[zirkkun]

if you guys want to know why ive been so like not posting the past couple weeks, blame my sister she bought me violet the other week and it's been consuming my soul

Anyway look at my shiny iron valiant i love them so much and now we're cuddlin and its cute

[ravenadottir]

islanders' data and anecdotes if they were honest:

SEASON 1

❝ main character ❞ she's the only one that makes any sense

❝ allegra ❞ 24, swansea, cocktail entrepreneur, the public loves to hate her

❝ erikah ❞ 20, norwich, jobbing actor, she changes, every guy will be the love of her life until a new guy comes around

❝ jen ❞ 22, london, fashion blogger, the equivalent of a piece of paper until she couples up with someone for clout

❝ talia ❞ 23, watford, music journalist, she's the only one everyone agrees is the best person here

❝ jake wilson ❞ 29, preston, chef, chicken shit that waits way too long to say something

❝ mason❞ 24, romford, musician and underwear model, if "this could've been an email" was a person

❝ miles ❞ 22, glasgow, carpenter, not interesting enough to remember. also tattoo

❝ tim ❞ 23, truro, dj, alright, we'll allow it

❝ jasper ❞ 26, kingston, financial advisor, straight to the bin

❝ levi ❞ 26, manchester, professional water polo player, sock balls

❝ rohan ❞ 23, wolverhampton, psychology student, he joined the villa and that's pretty close to the circus. also, see "injustice"

❝ cherry❞ 20, suffolk, west end performer, try hard

❝ reese taylor ❞ 22, birmingham, newsagent by day, professional wrestler at weekends, revolting lack of personality

❝ sammi ❞ 22, london, graphic designer and artist, the definition of 'wasted potential"

❝ lucy ❞ 25, bristol, “adventurer”, *snake sounds*

❝ returning miles ❞ 22, glasgow, carpenter, we still don't care

❝ returning jasper ❞ 22, kingston, financial advisor, at least we found out he has a pet snake

SEASON 2

❝ hope ❞ 26, london, brand ambassador, '‘voted “most likely to be the center of the drama because she puts herself there"

❝ lottie ❞ 24, melbourne, makeup artist, i have one personality trait and that's all you're gonna get

❝ main character ❞ she should change her name to 'girl #5'

❝ hannah ❞ 21, st. albans, social media assistant, she went home really soon because she was so shy, we're sure that's not gonna bite anyone in the face

❝ marisol ❞ 24, portsmouth, law student, talks too much/says nothing at all

❝ gary rennell ❞ 23, chatham, crane operator, SLUT

❝ noah ❞ 25, romford, librarian, QUIET SLUT

❝ rocco ❞ 21, belfast, owns a “cocktails and cronuts” food truck, LYING SLUT

❝ ibrahim ❞ 22, birmingham, gold player, SHY SLUT

❝ bobby mckenzie ❞ 24/26, glasgow, hospital caterer, does impressions and bakes some stuff

❝ priya ❞ 29, manchester, estate agent, should've noticed she's bi during the fucking season

❝ henrik ❞ 23, isle of wight, climbing and wilderness survival instructor, shiny and dumb/smooth brain/nothing behind those eyes

❝ lucas koh ❞ 27, oxford, physiotherapist, yes

❝ chelsea ❞ 23, buckinghamshire, interior decorator, there's pink and there's champagne

❝ jakub zabinski ❞ 25, rochdale, personal trainer and fitness model, real life mutant ninja turtle but like white

❝ elijah ❞ 26, watford, hairdresser and model, he's there and then he's not

❝ felix ❞ 21, rotherham, nightclub promoter, annoying little cousin that grows up to be the annoying little virgin at the club

❝ kassam ❞ 26, new castle, techno dj, if you blink you might miss him

❝ graham ❞ 23, devon, commercial fisherman, ginger thanos

❝ arjun ❞ 24, norwich, dog groomer and influencer, "where's my hug?" kind of guy

❝ carl ❞ 29, dublin, tech entrepreneur, he's almost learning how not to sound like a robot

❝ shannon ❞ 24, dublin, professional poker player, "you'll forgive how annoying she can be because of her body"tactics, players, poker analogies all the time"

❝ blake ❞ 22, kensington, if you blink you won't miss her because she's so goddamn annoying

❝ elisa ❞ 22, london, social media influencer, the human form of a gear shift because of all the blame she shifts

❝ jo ❞ 23, cheshire, bmx racer, was here for only three days and it was still too long

❝ returning henrik ❞ 23, isle of wight, climbing and wilderness survival instructor, absolutely not the same person and it gets worse

❝ returning lucas ❞ 27, oxford, still a physiotherapist, "toxic fucks"

❝ returning hannah ❞ now 22, st. albans, she resented lottie so much she became her

[ofsappho]

Magindara

When invaders threaten your home, life, and people, you, a sirena, strike a desperate bargain with Dream of the Endless to save them all.

Dream of the Endless x mermaid!reader, one shot (for now)

Tags: war, gore, torture, death/murder, mentions of SA, slavery, things that generally come with colonialism

Inspired by the episode “Jibaro” from the Netflix show Love Death + Robots. This one shot draws heavily from Filipino mythology, culture, and history. I ENCOURAGE and INVITE people who don’t come from a Filipino background to read this story and enjoy! There is so much beauty to be had in cultures of color, for everyone. Just as I have read many stories steeped in Greek, Celtic, Norse, medieval England, etc cultures, without coming from those backgrounds, I humbly ask you do the same and entertain this little fic. Thank you. I may write a follow up if there’s interest. Glossary at the end.

-

From the banks of your river, you can hear the horses.

Metal plate clangs and screeches against itself, swords jostle in their sheaths, and shields bump where they rest on armored backs so loud that you want to scratch your sensitive ears out, just to make the sounds stop.

Your ates and kuyas hide deep below in the caverns known only to your kind. When you close your black eyes, you feel them tugging at the edges of your mind like little lights in the deep darkness of the sea. They believe that will be enough to save them.

Only you have braved the surface, because only you know what these strange men upon their strange beasts want.

They want the gold in the dark, fertile earth. You don’t understand why - it’s just shiny metal. Only the dwarves under the hills covet it. But the men who ravage your lands and your kin like wildfires, grasping everything and destroying it in the same breath, care very much. They want the never-dying orchids that line the banks and the brilliant emerald green vitality bursting from every leaf and vine that could keep a mortal alive for a thousand years. They want to feed their glory on your broken bodies. They want to take the people you protect for slaves, the women shamed and disgraced and the men subservient and humiliated.

You’ve seen it for yourself.

You’ve tasted the water of streams running red with blood, the iron like acid on your blue tongue.

You’ve swam farther and seen enough to make you hate. Families torn apart, children with their hair cut off and given names in an ugly language, forbidden to speak their own - the same language you speak. Fathers dragged onto large ships, larger than a butandíng, never to return. Altars burned. The men put your red sisters who live in the balete trees, their hair tangled with vines and lovely, fierce, flickering yellow eyes, to the flame. You witnessed their dying howls and curses for vengeance.

Some of the white-haired annani have already begun to clip their pointed ears, tear the crowns of flowers from their hair, and even cut out their tongues so as to lock away the magic these men desire, never to be spoken again. “There is no place for us,” Those tall, graceful elves told you. “We will be gone in a generation, by sword or by starvation.”

They’re coming.

The jungle is quiet as it has never been in a thousand years.

You could no more hide your tail, glittering blue and turquoise, with long, sweeping fins like ferns, than you could hide the long sweep of hair that reaches your waist, or the ink-black lines embedded on your skin, painting your face, your neck, and your arms with the story of your people and your home.

The calls that echoed from the depths of the river have stopped. It seems that your family has accepted that you won’t come back.

You look at your webbed hands, test your claws against your flesh. What is one magindara to a hundred conquistadors?

When the men spear you, they won’t just be slaughtering a mermaid. They’ll be killing the stories you keep. Centuries of stories. Countless names. Each pearl around your neck is a tribe, full of the old songs of grandmothers and the new rhymes of babies. You’re draped in thousands of shimmering strands of pearls.

You may not be the cleverest, or the most beautiful, or the one with the sweetest voice…

But you can be the bravest.

“Lord Morpheus,” You intone, frowning as the syllables ripple wrong and harsh from your throat.

You’ve never spoken to any of the gods beyond your islands before. “Dream of the Endless.” All you can do is hope and pray this one listens and comes to you in time. Will they be kind? Will it be merciful? Will he, or she, save your home?

Perhaps such a god does not exist at all, and you are praying to wind and sunlight, and soon your guts will color the cerulean water purple and black. The strange men will defile your body, no doubt. A week ago, you crawled from your river to cut down the corpse of a long-gone ate from a stake, jagged holes ripped into the tail of her corpse that made you vomit and her dead eyes full of pain.

Once you’d laid her to rest in the water, she dissolved into nothing. “Prince of Stories,” You sing. That is what faces everything you’ve ever loved if you fail.

“I beg you, save us. Save our stories, our dreams. We call for your aid.”

The men bark at each other. Any moment now, they’ll see you, your hands raised and your face tipped towards the heavens, inky flowers blooming on your forehead and cheeks and crocodile teeth tattooed on the sharp line of your jaw.

A new quiet falls over the world. Like nighttime, when things are resting, not dead.

You have called, and I answer.

A being stands on the banks of your river in the shape of a man. His hair is blacker than Bakunawa’s maw and his eyes are filled with gold and silver stars brighter than any you’ve seen before. His pale skin carries no markings.

He is as grotesquely, menacingly beautiful as the razor’s edge of shark teeth, as a great python curling in a tree, as an eagle with its claws stuck in the beating, bleeding heart of a monkey.

You feel the weight of his gaze on your brow heavier and hotter than the sun on the longest day of summer, burning out the truth in your heart. “I would bargain with you, Dream Lord. For my people, and my land, and my home, which I love more than my own life.”

What would you have me do? When Lord Morpheus speaks, his voice pours through your mind ringing like the purest, clearest freshwater.

The many jewels around your throat, pearls, sapphires, rubies, diamonds, plates of beaten gold, click as you swallow nervously.

The dream king stands so tall that he could touch the sky if he reached up. And he doesn’t look away or blink. You can’t read the inhuman planes of his face whatsoever, you can’t find any familiar sign in his long limbs that might bring comfort. For all you know, you’ve spelled your doom.

“Keep them alive. Keep our names and spirits alive. Bring our stories into your kingdom so that we won’t be forgotten. That is what the men want. They want to raze us to the ground and rebuild the world in their image but we will not go.” You pause. “We will never, ever go,” You growl, fierce and deadly, around a mouth full of fangs. In your words you pour the horrors you’ve seen, combined with the beauty surrounding the two of you.

The hot, muggy air, the warm rain, the scent of night-blooming jasmines. Orange mangoes, bursting with sweetness, bamboo sticks clacking as joyful youths dance in and out of them, laughing gaily. Rolling drums. Bright feathers tucked into black hair. A toddling child reaching out to her grandmother with a chubby-cheeked smile, pressing the back of the withered, ancient hand against her little forehead. Love, so much love.

I have not walked these lands before.

You found traces of Lord Morpheus scribbled in the margins of paper and in the back alleys of lost dreams. Your last and only hope.

When you went to Diyan Masalanta, she wept and showed how the soldiers bound her hands. When you cried out to her brother, Apolaki, the sun god called back and said the invaders took his shield.

Bathala is gone. Mayari is gone. Lakapati is dead. The conquistadors stripped her naked, cut her ribs from her chest, and planted her bones in the fields they set their slaves, your people, to work.

“They say you are Endless. You preside over all beings in all places. Please, I beg you, preside over us. Are we not worthy of your favor? Do we not deserve to live in your dreams and nightmares?”

If Lord Morpheus refuses you, you’ll cut your throat before you let your enemies have you.

He tilts his head like he can hear your thoughts. One shining hand stretches out, almost as if to touch your face. You sing prettily, little siren. You draw back with a start. Why is there hunger in his voice? A hollow, all-consuming, terrifying hunger?

You know what it feels like to starve when the fish are scarce. This is leagues away, a typhoon to your trickle of rain. Shadows bloom under his hollowed cheeks. His pupils eclipse his brilliant aquamarine irises.

He’s-

He’s aching.

Morpheus flashes his bone-white teeth as he bends at the waist to examine you further. His gaze traces your tattoos, your large, frightened eyes, and your body beneath the necklaces and bracelets.

As scared as you are, as convinced that you’ll bleed the instant his fingers brush your blue-streaked skin, your numb lips move.

“I vow to you now, Lord Morpheus, before every god and being I know, that should you render us this aid, I will give you anything within my power to grant that you wish.”

Anything?

“Name it, my lord, and it shall be yours.” With that, your eyes flutter shut as you await his judgment.

You can’t hide from him, even in your mind. You don’t see him, but you feel a straining pressure build where he prods at you, pushing on the fragile edges of your being like he’s cracking a duck egg. He claws and scrapes until-

I will aid your people.

You open for him like a sampaguita flower. Dream of the Endless picks through your soul like he’s picking blossoms, you feel how much he wants with every brush, every long moment where he sticks his fingers in and relishes the feel of you. Nothing has ever touched you like this before.

He’s on his knees on the riverbank, the dark soil pressing into his clothes. His hands clench the rocky edge of the bank. Your wet hair sticks to your back as you rise up, close enough that you can count his night-black eyelashes. There’s a dizzying amount of them.

“Thank you. Thank you. Salamat-po. And your price, majesty?”

You’ll do whatever he wants. Does his thirst demand souls? You’ll harvest them by the dozen. You can picture Lord Morpheus unhinging his jaw, swallowing those soldiers whole. Their swords wouldn’t even scrape him going down. Riches? You have no use for them if you’re dead. He can take every speck of wealth to be had.

You. I want you.

Your sisters and brothers wail. They sense the foreign king tearing at the flesh binding you together. They feel him taking a knife to your indigo heart and cutting it loose from your body. Your head tilts back as you gasp for breath and see him hold the organ aloft. Dark blood trails in rivulets down his wrists.

“I-“

There are no creatures like you in my realm. So I shall have you, in every way that I wish, and you’ll obey. Those are my terms.

Your tail lashes in the water as if you fight hard enough, you can swim away. The cavity pulses with searing, unholy pain. You’ve made a mistake. You’ve summoned- He is an aswang, a devil, a soul-eater, you’ll never see your home again, you’ll never touch the water you’ve known since birth.

Lord Morpheus brings your heart to his mouth. His lips are beautifully-formed. You can’t find it in yourself to hate such a wondrous creature. Even your amethyst ichor looks more beguiling when he’s covered in it.

It was never a question. “Yes, my lord. I accept these terms.”

His white teeth stain purple when he sinks them into your heart.

-

Glossary:

Ate (ah-tey) - sister

Kuya (koo-yah) - brother

Butandíng - whale shark

Balete tree - very cool large tree native to Southeast Asia

Annani - elves from the stories of the Ibanag people, who look like humans with pointed ears. They are kind guardians of the forest and often share healing knowledge with humans if treated with respect.

Magindara - mermaids from the folklore of the Bicolano people. Beautiful half human, half fish guardians of rivers/streams/lakes/the oceans, who sing to lure fisherman and warriors to their death but leave children unharmed.

Bakunawa - a great mythic serpent and god/goddess of darkness. Various myths place Bakunawa responsible for eclipses.

Diyan Masalanta - Tagalog goddess of love, war, childbirth

Apolaki - Tagalog god of the sun and war, patron saint of warriors, soldiers, modern day patron saint of Filipino traditional martial arts (Kali/eskrima/arnis) practitioners

Bathala - the Tagalog supreme creator god

Mayari - the Tagalog goddess of the moon, war, revolution, and justice. She fought her brother Apolaki for dominion over the heavens.

Lakapati - the Tagalog goddess of fertility, food, bounty, balance, and prosperity. She represents both male and female and has both male and female genitalia. Patron saint of queer/trans people.

Sampaguita - the Filipino name for sambac jasmine, the national flower of the Philippines

Salamat-po (sah-lah-maht poh) - thank you (utmost respect) in Tagalog

Aswang - overall name for the malicious/demonic/monstrous beings in Filipino folklore. Vampires, zombies, ghouls, organ eaters, cannibals.

I hope you guys liked this! Let me know if you have any questions or want to read more from this.

[hannahssimblr]

I shoulder through the front doors into the fresh spring air, still a little breathless with adrenaline, to where Michelle is waiting for me. She looks unhappy. 

“How did it go?” I say. 

“Oh, awful, they were like robots, so intimidating. I didn’t know what they thought of my work, you know? I really thought I’d start crying at one point.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and that woman was so cold. She was pulling all of these faces at my self portraits and saying they were naive.”

“Oh, God,” In an attempt at reassurance I start rubbing her arm, “I’m sure they liked plenty things about your work.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I sensed they hated all of it.”

“They couldn’t have, it’s probably just your perception, they… I bet they’re harsh to everyone, you know? They probably don’t want to get anyone's hopes up with there being limited places and all…”

She looks at me, “Was yours bad too?”

“Awful,” I say without missing a beat, “Same as you, they gave me nothing. It was hard to tell what they really thought of my work, but they didn’t seem overjoyed by any of it to be honest.”

“Oh,” her shoulders relax, “well if they were like that with you then they must be just playing hard ball.”

“I think so.”

“What if we don’t get in?”

“Well fuck ‘em,” I grin, “We don’t need them. NCAD? Who cares, right? It’s not exactly at the top of our list.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“I usually am.”

“Something else will work out, right?”

“Of course it will! C’mon, let’s just grab a coffee and chill out,” I drape my arm over her shoulder and walk her around the corner to where I parked the car. 

The car, the brand new, shiny, blue Volkswagen Polo that my parents got me for my eighteenth birthday, is gleaming under the afternoon sun, one tyre wedged awkwardly against the kerb because I haven’t yet mastered the art of parallel parking when there are two other impatient drivers beeping their horns at me and gesticulating wildly out their windows. 

“He just got his fucking licence, you spas!” Michelle screamed at them from the passenger window as I manoeuvred myself into a gap big enough to house an articulated truck but somehow felt the width of a water closet as soon as I tried to fit my 1.0 litre hatchback into it. I could have told her that firing middle fingers at other drivers left and right wasn’t really doing much to diffuse the situation, but it seemed she was reaching some sort of catharsis from it. She likes that. Screaming, I mean.

This car has been a point of contention, not because I can’t park it well, but because it was an extravagance I neither needed nor desired. “We live in the city,” I protested when my parents handed me the keys, “I can just take the bus.” But they had this idea that I might like to drive it into school and be the envy of all the other students, poverty stricken losers without parents who can buy them vehicles worth half the average national salary. I told them I can just walk like always, and they didn’t like that. 

“This is a good present,” said my dad, as though insisting could make it so, “You can drive all over, you won’t have to rely on public transport any more.”

“Did I say I didn’t like public transport?”

“Well, you could get mugged on the bus, someone could pull out a knife and take your phone and all of your money! That kind of thing is happening all over the city lately.”

I showed him my Nokia from 2004 and asked him what kind of person might like to risk prison for it, but he didn’t appreciate that, and it just escalated the argument further. 

“I’m not going to even live in Ireland in a year, not if I can help it!” I cried with exasperation, after a further ten minutes of his dramatics, “What’s the point?”

“Sell it then!” he bellowed back, “I don’t care what you do! It’s yours!”

“I just don’t need it! It’s too much. You can use that money for something better.”

“Money? Money is not an issue.”

“Well that car will be wasted just sitting in the driveway.”

“You’ll figure out what to use it for.”

And I did. I still walk to school, I still take the bus into town most days (when I’m not hauling two A1 portfolio cases along with me), but sometimes, late at night Michelle and I drive up and down the coast. We get ice cream at the drive through, we talk, but mostly I park it in the darkest corner of some car park, sea facing for maximum romance, and we fuck in the passenger seat. Not that I’ve kept track of it by any means, but I’m almost certain I have spent more time having sex in my shiny, blue, Volkswagen Polo than actually driving it. I’m sure it wasn’t Christopher’s intention for it, and it might affect the resale value, but the car has become a haven of sorts, a place where we can go to be alone, at a safe distance from my nosy sister, from Michelle’s anxious father, and perhaps most vitally, from Jen, who has never quite stopped being weirded out by our relationship, even with nine full months to get used to it.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[cellarspider]

7/30 germs.

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We return to a movie that disrespects the archaeological importance of roads, Prometheus.

I am still not over that. I will never be over that.

This time, content warnings for continuing frat boy archaeology, cringeful application of racist terms to lily-white androids, me screeching about site contamination some more, and Apollo’s dodgeball striking this movie with a glancing blow about masking.

So, back in the theater in 2012, I had already lost sympathy for the cast. They were being set up as stock horror movie characters, they were doing their jobs in a way with a certain flair for the incompetent.

And one of them, I suspect, the movie intends to make into a “flawed but you feel for him” kind of guy. Or, I hope they intended to make him “the guy in the slasher movie who you hate and want to see die”. That’s Holloway, one of the two archaeologists. He’s robot racist.

Like, seriously robot racist. The whole crew is, David literally gets referred to as “boy” here, which isn’t so much a dogwhistle as a tornado siren. No wonder David is quietly starting to show his disdain for the human crew.

“They're making you guys pretty close [to human now], huh?”

“Not too close, I hope.”

One of the few themes the movie handles halfway competently is the parallel between the humans stumbling all over themselves as they rush to go meet their makers, while David is already experiencing the disappointment of actually meeting his, and finding out they’re a bunch of clueless assholes. Are we supposed to believe the same of the Engineers? I don’t know. They definitely think of humans as lesser, though. More to come on that later.

Because right now, an expedition is barrelling toward the alien structure–again, driving all over the FCKING ALIEN ROAD–and they’re doing it with only six hours of daylight left, because Holloway literally says “It's Christmas [...] and I want to open my presents.”

I cannot communicate how heinous this character felt. The actor did a perfectly fine job playing him, but if Charlie Holloway was real, his name would be said with the same venom as that of the man pictured below: Heinrich Schliemann, the man who found the real, actual city of Troy, and immediately dynamited a trench through the royal palace, destroying who knows how many artifacts from the period the Iliad was based off of. Yes, I picked out the most assholish-looking photo of him I could find on purpose.

Also, Holloway’s an anti-masker, apparently.

I’m going to step back for just one second and list the one practical, movie budget reason why characters might take their helmets off. The costume designers did an admirable job coming up with something that fits the general requirement of a helmet in major studio releases, prior to The Mandalorian: make the actor’s faces completely visible, because without actors with a strong sense of physical presence and voice acting, you’ll lose connection with the audience.

They did a great job with that. Unfortunately, shiny helmets are a bastard to digitally edit film crew out of. 

It’s not impossible to place lights and crew so that the audience won’t notice them. Alien certainly pulled it off. Clear plastic elements in helmets also mean other logistical challenges, though: fogging being the main one. This, and cooking your actors in a fishbowl under studio lights.

Both problems can be simultaneously combated by installing A/C fans within the helmets, but because these helmets are entirely clear, you’re limited to hiding them down near the neck, and anybody who’s done similar for a cosplay or suit will know that it’s potentially noisy and not always effective. You can actually see condensate on the helmets in the movie, though whether that’s from the actor’s breath or a deliberate choice, I don’t know.

All this adds up to increased time resetting actors (i.e. cleaning sweat off of them without disrupting their makeup), more exhaustion from said actors, and the worry that the highest-paid, plot-critical actors may decide they don’t want to do a sequel if the shooting experience is too physically unhealthy.

And then there’s also more time spent carefully arranging crew and lights to hide their reflections, or more time making some poor VFX artist erase a transparent, curved reflection from frame and replace it with something else, or make the actors more comfortable by adding the glass in later with CGI, at the potential loss of some realism. The average modern movie studio would choose one of these VFX-driven options and demand it done in a week, which is why VFX artists need to unionize.

So. I understand at least a few logistical reasons why you don’t tend to make actors wear helmets for too many shooting days. But it has to be balanced with the story. It has to feel believable. It has to fit the story. It has to not make your characters look like mud-witted morons.

As soon as they find liquid water and the oh-so-deadly CO2 levels start to drop, Holloway takes his helmet off.

“Don't be an idiot.”

“Don't be a skeptic.”

Flames on the side of my goddamn face.

Now, this is the moment a lot of people lost sympathy for the human characters, even back in 2012. It was a dumbass idea even then, in the pre-’rona years. Sadly, Millburn the biologist isn’t written smart enough to punch Holloway in the nuts over even thinking of doing this, because we have two problems with what Holloway’s doing here: Biology, and biology.

First, biology.

(https://www.turbosquid.com/3d-models/13-viruses-virus-3d-model/1071200)

Obviously, they don’t know if anything’s in the air. He could find out that humans are deathly allergic to alien dust mites. He could have just caught himself a case of space covid, which he and the lemmings that follow him can then transmit to the entire crew if he’s not kept in quarantine. They can sterilize the sealed suits, but they can’t sterilize the inside of his lungs. Yet.

Second, biology. 

Specifically, Earth biology. Do you know how carefully modern space agencies sterilize anything that’s headed for Mars, or anywhere else that might have a biosphere of its own? A lot! They sterilize everything a lot! Because microbes are hardy little bastards. We’ve never found extraterrestrial life, only precursor molecules that show the capacity for life to develop in other places. How are you going to verify you’ve found alien life, or even those precursors, if you can’t prove that your samples are uncontaminated? What happens if microbes from Earth manage to survive the trip and establish a foothold somewhere? What if they destroy native life?

This movie’s characters treat this with only a fraction of the gravitas that the cinematography does, which is part of why this remains so jarring throughout. The practical sets, the art direction, and the camerawork are all excellent. The editing continues to do its best, though it almost feels like things were cut very tight through this to speed things along and to give more time, unfortunately, to what the characters are doing. 

their crimes against my sanity are not done yet

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As a side note, rounding up some discussion from a previous entry: The most excellent artist @noordzee pointed out that the clashing artistic style of the moon and stars slapped onto the carving of Kʼinich Janaab Pakal I. In the previous post, I focused on the link between that carving and its use in ancient aliens conspiracy theories. But let's dig a bit into actual Maya iconography around celestial bodies instead.

Now, I am not an expert on Classical Maya stuff. Not in the slightest. And there is a lot of information on their art that is linguistically inaccessible to me, as a non-Spanish speaker. But out of the Maya art and writing that survived the book-burning conquistadors, we have some iconography for the moon and stars, and they don’t look like what’s in the movie.

I wasn’t able to find any specific pieces of art that contained stars, but I did find the glyph for star, ek’. 

I was only able to find depictions of a crescent moon in the context of the moon goddess, where she tends to be sitting on the crescent like a chair, or one part of it is shown behind her, almost like a tail (though I can’t be certain whether that’s due to chipped paint).

The moon by itself was somewhat harder to find. I couldn’t find any Maya depictions of it with my limited poking around of the spanish internet, but I did find a (much later) Mixtec depiction of the moon, complete with a lunar rabbit! Much like East Asian cultures, the darker markings on the moon are culturally interpreted as a rabbit shape.

Thanks again to nordzee for pointing out the dissonant art style, because the real mesoamerican art on this subject is phenomenal.

Next time, the movie will hurt me more, so if anybody else has fun facts to share or details to point out. PLEASE. Ease my pain.

⛬

(Previous) | (Index) | (Next)

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Alt text citations:

None this time. Many ramblings, though.

[astrowaffles]

Love Does Much, Money Does Everything

General Audiences | banter, bickering | last one out for @fengqingaction

“You’re late,” Mu Qing greeted. He was leaning against the hood of his shiny new car and scowling disapprovingly at Feng Xin’s steaming coffee cup.

“So are you. You’re supposed to go inside, you know,” Feng Xin returned, moving to walk past.

“I’ve already been inside,” Mu Qing sneered. “We’re supposed to be setting out now."

“At least let me clock in first.”

Mu Qing shrugged. “Take your time. I could probably solve this by myself anyway.”

“Thanks for waiting,” said Feng Xin insincerely, already climbing into the passenger seat. “Let’s go.”

“Who put you in charge?” Mu Qing complained, sliding into the driver’s seat and turning the key. “But for once you’re right. Let’s go.”

They drove in tense silence, Feng Xin shuffling the debrief papers just for something to do.

“Are you gonna read those out?” Mu Qing asked.

“What, didn’t you wait to be briefed?” Feng Xin teased.

“Of course I waited!” Mu Qing yelled. “Don’t read the papers, then! I don’t care!”

“Oh, but since you asked so nicely…”

“No! I don’t want to hear it!”

OR: millionaire detective au!

“I hate him,” Feng Xin complained. The coffee shop queue inched forward; he shuffled along obediently, checking his watch. “And I’m gonna be late.”

“Well, we’ll both be late, then,” Xie Lian comforted, squinting at the menu. “Why do they put the menu behind the counter? By the time you can read it, it’s time to order!”

“You always get the same thing anyway,” Feng Xin reminded him. “At least if you’re late, that’s your only inconvenience of the day. My whole partner is an inconvenience.”

“Isn’t that a little unfair? He’s barely started work.”

“And he’s already fucking annoying!”

At the front of the line, someone dropped their coffee. Feng Xin groaned. “This is such a great start to the day,” he snarked, checking his watch again.

“You never know, maybe this is all the bad luck we’ll get,” Xie Lian suggested, still peering at the menu like an old man who forgot his glasses.

“Did you forget your glasses?”

“For the last time, I don’t need glasses!”

“Do you want me to read the menu out to you?”

“….Yes please.”

Feng Xin dutifully began reeling off the various combinations, knowing full well Xie Lian would end up ordering his usual with a sheepish grin and an ‘I couldn’t decide!’. Xie Lian listened attentively until he got to the front of the line.

“Your usual, sir?” the cashier asked, already tapping the order in.

“Please,” said Xie Lian, ignoring Feng Xin’s eyeroll.

“You’re late,” Mu Qing greeted. He was leaning against the hood of his shiny new car and scowling disapprovingly at Feng Xin’s steaming coffee cup.

“So are you. You’re supposed to go inside, you know,” Feng Xin returned, moving to walk right past his new partner.

“I’ve already been inside,” Mu Qing sneered. “We’re supposed to be setting out now.”

“At least let me clock in first.”

Mu Qing shrugged. “Take your time. I could probably solve this by myself anyway.”

Feng Xin rolled his eyes and continued into the office block, followed by Xie Lian. They swiped their cards; Xie Lian continued into their office, but after the mission’s debrief papers had been shoved into his hands, Feng Xin turned on his heel and went back to where Mu Qing was still stood against his car, surrounded his usual palpable air of sarcasm.

“Thanks for waiting,” said Feng Xin insincerely, already climbing into the passenger seat. “Let’s go.”

“Who put you in charge?” Mu Qing complained, sliding into the driver’s seat and turning the key. “But for once you’re right. Let’s go.”

They drove in silence; Mu Qing’s earpiece, which Feng Xin was still suspicious of, was talking to its owner at a volume too quiet for Feng Xin to understand, but he could make out the awkward rise and fall of a robotic voice. Did Mu Qing have a robot butler or something? It seemed like the kind of thing someone with too much money would have.

“Do you have a fuckin’ robot butler or something?” Feng Xin was not one to keep thoughts inside his own head for long.

“Kind of,” said Mu Qing, which was more civil than could really have been expected. He didn’t elaborate, though, so Feng Xin fell back into the tense silence, shuffling the debrief papers just for something to do.

“Are you gonna read those out?” Mu Qing asked.

“What, didn’t you wait to be briefed?” Feng Xin teased. From the look on Mu Qing’s face, he was fighting not to rise to the obvious bait.

It was a losing battle. “Of course I waited!” Mu Qing yelled. “Don’t read the papers! I don’t care!”

“Oh, but since you asked so nicely…”

“No! I don’t want to hear it!”

“No need for the attitude! I was trying to be civil!”

“You were not! Civil people don’t argue with coworkers for fun!”

“Who said this was fun?! I’m not having any fucking fun!”

“Then stop arguing!”

Silence again.

“….So where are we going?” Feng Xin asked.

“FOR GOD’S SAKE, READ THE PAPERS!”

Mu Qing stopped the car on a seemingly innocuous street; it was clean, busy and perfectly normal, as far as Feng Xin could tell. He scanned the sides of the buildings for suspicious alleyways or lurking people, but couldn’t see any.

“Did you read everything?” Mu Qing asked. He didn’t move to leave the car.

“Two street performers found to have been buying a dangerous drug, mescaline,” Feng Xin recited. “We are to investigate and arrest if necessary.”

Mu Qing nodded. “Well, off you go then.”

“Stop slacking off! You have to come with me!”

“I don’t see why.”

“Because it’s your fucking job!”

“Not at all. My job is to investigate. I’m sure you can find some street performers by yourself.”

“They aren’t even on this street! How am I supposed to find-“

Mu Qing’s earpiece interrupted Feng Xin’s tirade with a loud BEEEEEEP.

“They’re here now,” said Mu Qing. He leaned over to open Feng Xin’s door and started to push him out. “Go on then.”

“What- how do you- I don’t think- can you fucking stop-“

Mu Qing gave him one last shove, pushing Feng Xin out into the street. “Bring them back here, kay?”

Feng Xin glared at him. “Fuck you.”

“No thank you,” Mu Qing sniffed, and closed the car door again. The tinted windows prevented Feng Xin from seeing his partner’s expression, but he could imagine it.

It was irritating.

With a sigh, Feng Xin dusted himself off and started to look around again. Most of his original observations still held true; it was clean, busy, and absent of suspicious characters. The only difference was the two people setting up speakers by a big tree close to the centre of the widest part of the road. They weren’t particularly suspicious in themselves, and without the CCTV footage proving they’d bought the drug they probably would never have been truly suspected.

He stepped up to them with a smile, flashing his ID and trying to appear pleasant, despite the lingering irritation with Mu Qing.

“Good morning, my name is Feng Xin, and I’d just like to ask you two a few questions.”

It took a long time, following the drug’s trail through endless connections. From the street performers to their friends, through minor celebrities that played small bars downtown right into the model Isezaki. Luckily for him, Mu Qing had enough connections to get right to the bottom of it and clear him of the major blame.

“So who gets the blame, then?” asked Feng Xin impatiently.

“Gondawara Gumi,” said Mu Qing.

“The organized crime group?”

“No, they sell mayonnaise.”

“….Seriously?”

“No, idiot! They’re an organized crime group!”

Feng Xin shrugged. “You never joke, how was I supposed to know you were kidding?”

“This isn’t the place for humour,” Mu Qing sniffed.

“It’s not like you have any friends to joke with anywhere else.”

“I have friends!”

“And I’ve got twenty pet pigs in my backpack right now.” Feng Xin hadn’t anticipated how genuinely fun riling up such a stiff person could be. Mu Qing’s glares got fiercer every time he had to hold himself back from punching Feng Xin in the face, which just made Feng Xin want to push him further. 

"I will kill you," said Mu Qing.

"Not if I kill you first!"

"So...what are you trying, exactly?" Mita asked, trying to keep up with Feng Xin's long strides.

"I'm trying to infiltrate this fuckin' party," Feng Xin replied, scanning the list of floors in the elevator. "I think it's floor 84? Does that sound right?"

Mita, poor journalist that he was, simply followed along and tried not to get in the way. "Is it a party full of evil people?"

"Basically," Feng Xin agreed, and waited for the elevator doors to open. "Now look like you're meant to be here."

Mita attempted to straighten his tie while Feng Xin smoothed back his own hair. 

"Ready?"

"Ready."

They stepped out of the lift, confidently accepting drinks from the waiter on standby and beginning to circulate as best they could, being vague about their 'business plans' and their connection to Gondawara Gumi, the hosts of the banquet. 

"We're looking for the boss," Feng Xin whispered.

"What do we do when we find him?"

"Leave that to me." Feng Xin hoped he sounded confident. In reality, it was all he could do to find out where this party was being held, courtesy of Mu Qing's - girlfriend? Assistant? Who knew who she was, but she had infiltrated the group admirably and brought them back some sweet, sweet information. Well, she'd brought it back for Mu Qing. Feng Xin had just happened to be there at the time.

All he needed was some evidence, right? He could bring it back to HQ, show Mu Qing up for being useless, end the partnership, and get back to working with Xie Lian like he was supposed to.

"Is that him?" Mita hissed.

Feng Xin turned as inconspicuously as possibly, spotting a man surrounded by a large group of people, all of whom were listening to him talk with a strange kind of tense reverence. "Uh. Probably."

They crept closer. Feng Xin started trying to spot gaps in the crowd where he could squeeze in. They gathered some strange looks from the rest of the man's 'audience'; it could have been because the crowd didn't recognise them, or it could have been because the crowd hated being pushed around as Feng Xin fought for a space to listen to the mob boss speak. He seemed to be ranting about the economy? 

"If he's anything like my dad, he'll be at it for hours," Mita whispered. Feng Xin nodded, and started to creep forward and around until he was practically stood by the boss's left side.

"AND THEN, they said I had to pay 20% of it in taxes!" the boss hollered. The audience booed; Feng Xin used the cover to sneak closer and grab what looked like a phone from the table next to the (admittedly zoned-out-looking) security guard. He slipped it into his pocket and snuck back into the crowd.

"I think I got it," he celebrated. "Let's go before-" The rest of his sentence got cut off by a strong hand grabbing his bicep. "What-"

"Get a move on," Mu Qing hissed in his ear. "We've got to go."

"Why the fuck-"

"Let's go, idiot, we haven't got all day!" Mu Qing started to drag Feng Xin away, Mita on their heels looking anxious. 

"Why do we have to go?" Feng Xin managed, staring in wonder at Mu Qing's arms. They just looked like twigs to him, but apparently they had more muscle than originally advertised.

"You're messing up my plan," Mu Qing said. 

"Last time I checked, you didn't have a plan!"

"You didn't check, moron. You just went for it." Mu Qing had succeeded at yanking Feng Xin almost the entire way back to the elevator, smiling and nodding at anyone who looked a little concerned.

"This isn't very subtle," Feng Xin noted, attempting to turn back around and walk into the party again.

"It's too late for that, you absolute fucking dumbass," Mu Qing said - and before Feng Xin could tease him for picking up the bad language, Mu Qing swept an arm under his legs and carried him into the elevator.

"WHAT THE FUCK," Feng Xin yelled.

"Shut up," Mu Qing told him. "I didn't want to do it either. It's your fault for coming here."

"How is it my fault that you decided-"

"This is my building now," Mu Qing interrupted. When the elevator doors opened, he stepped in and immediately dropped Feng Xin. 

"So what?" Feng Xin snarked, rubbing his tailbone as he stood up. "And that fucking hurt."

"It was meant to, genius." Mu Qing tapped his earpiece. "Have it on standby," he told it, but didn't elaborate, even at Feng Xin's curious eyebrow raise. "And you," he added, turning to Feng Xin. "Stop doing stuff by yourself."

It was only when they'd exited that Feng Xin realised why he and Mita had been evacuated so quickly; after buying the building, Mu Qing had it flooded with sleeping gas.

"I would've been out for the count," Feng Xin realised.

"You never know. Your skull might be so thick it the gas wouldn't get to you."

Feng Xin glared at him. "What is your fucking problem?"

"His name is Feng Xin, he's twenty something years old-"

"YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW OLD I AM?!"

"Why would I? We won't even be working together after this, thank god."

"Thank god," said Feng Xin, for once in agreement -

but it will not surprise you, dear reader, to know that they kept working together - and upon reaching this discovery, they punched each other's lights out.

[apoemaday]

The Hurting Kind

by Ada Limón

1.

On the plane I have a dream I’ve left half my torso on the back porch with my beloved. I have to go

back for it, but it’s too late, I’m flying and there’s only half of me.

Back in Texas, the flowers I’ve left on the counter have wilted and knocked over the glass— I stay alone there so the flowers are more than flowers.

At the funeral parlor with my mother, we are holding her father’s suit, and she says, He’ll swim in these.

For a moment, I’m not sure what she means, until I realize she means the clothes are too big.

I go with her like a shield in case they try to up-sell her— the ornate urn, the elaborate body box.

It is a nice bathroom in the funeral parlor, so I take the opportunity to change my tampon.

When I come out my mother says, Did you have to change your tampon?

And it seems a vulgar life all at once. Or not vulgar, but not simple.

I’m driving her now to the Hillside Cemetery where we meet with Rosie who is so nice we want her to work everywhere. Rosie as my dentist. Rosie as my president.

My shards are showing, I think. But I do not know what I mean so I fix my face in the rearview, a face with thousands of headstones behind it. Minuscule flags, plastic flowers.

You can’t sum it up, my mother says as we are driving and the electronic voice repeats, Turn Left onto Wildwood Canyon Road,

so I turn left, happy for the mundane instructions. Let us robot at once.

Tell me where to go. Tell me how to get there.

She means a life, of course. You cannot sum it up.

2.

A famous poet said he never wanted to hear another poem about a grandmother or a grandfather.

I imagine him with piles of faded yolk-colored paper, overloaded with loops of swooping cursive, anemic lyrics

misspelling mourning and morning. But also, before they arrive, there’s a desperate hand scribbling a memory, following

the cat of imagination into each room. What is lineage, if not a gold thread of pride and guilt. She did what?

Once, when I thought I had decided not to have children, a woman said, But who are you to kill your own bloodline?

I told my friend D that and she said, What if you want to kill your own bloodline, kill like it’s your job?

In the myth of La Llorona, she drowns her children to destroy her cheating husband. But maybe she was just tired.

After her husband of 76 years has died, my grandmother, (yes, I said it, grandmother, grandmother) leans to me and says,

Now teach me poetry.

3.

Sticky packs of photographs heteromaniacal postcards.

The war.      The war.        The war. Bikini girls, tight curls, the word gams.

Land boom. Atchison, Topeka and the Santa Fe. Southern Pacific.

We ask my Grandma Allamay about her mother for a form.

Records and wills. Evidence of life. For a moment she can’t remember her mother’s maiden name.

She says, Just tell them she never wanted me. That should be enough.

“Red sadness is the secret one,” writes Ruefle. Redlands

was named after the soil. Allamay can still hold a peach in her hand

and judge its number by its size. Tell you where it would go in the box

if you’re packing peaches for a living. Which she did,

though she hated the way the hairs hurt her hands.

4.

Why do we quickly dismiss our ancient ones? Before our phones stole the light of our faces, shiny and blue in the televised night,

our elders worked farms and butchered and trapped animals and swept houses and returned to each other after long hours and told stories.

In order for someone to be “good” do they have to have seen the full tilt world? Must they believe what we believe?

My grandmother keeps a picture of her president in the top drawer of her dresser, and once when she was delusional she dreamt

he had sent her and my grandfather on a trip to Italy.  He paid for it all, she kept repeating.

That same night on her ride to the hospital, she talks to the medical technician and says,

All my grandchildren are Mexican.

She says it proudly. She repeats it to me on the phone

5.

Once, a long time ago, we sat in the carport of my grandparents’ house in Redlands, now stolen for eminent  domain,

now the hospital parking lot, no more coyotes or caves where the coyotes would live. Or the grandfather clock

in the house my grandfather built. The porch above the orchard. All gone.

We sat in the carport and watched the longest snake I’d ever seen undulate between the hanging succulents.

They told me not to worry, that the snake had a name,

the snake was called a California King,

glossy black with yellow stripes like wonders wrapping around him.

My grandparents, my ancestors, told me never to kill a California King, benevolent

as they were, equanimous like earth or sky, not

toothy like the dog Chacho who barked at nearly every train whistle or roadrunner.

Before my grandfather died, I asked him what sort of horse he had growing up. He said,

Just a horse. My horse, with such a tenderness it rubbed the bones in the ribs all wrong.

I have always been too sensitive, a weeper from a long line of weepers.

I am the hurting kind. I keep searching for proof.

My grandfather carried that snake to the cactus, where all sharp things could stay safe.

6.

You can’t sum it up. A life.

I feel it moving through me, that snake, his horse Midge sturdy and nothing special,

traveling the canyons and the tumbleweeds hunting for rabbits before the war.

My grandmother picking peaches. Stealing the fruit from the orchards as she walked

home. No one said it was my job to remember.

I took no notes though I’ve stared too long. My grandfather, before he died, would have told

anyone that would listen, that he was ordinary,

that his life was a good one, simple, he could never understand why anyone would want to write

it down. He would tell you straight up he wasn’t brave. And my grandmother would tell you right now

that he is busy getting the house ready for her. Visiting now each night and even doing the vacuuming.

I imagine she’s right. It goes on and on, their story. They met in first grade in a one room school house,

I could have started there, but their story, their story is endless and ongoing. All of this

is a conjuring. I will not stop this reporting of attachments. There is evidence everywhere.

There’s a tree over his grave now, and soon her grave too

though she is tough and says, If I ever die,

which is marvelous and maybe why she’s still alive.

I see the tree above the grave and think, I’m wearing

my heart on my leaves. My heart on my leaves.

Love ends. But what if it doesn’t?

[velmashaircut]

My favourite and least favourite OPM hairstyles

Least Favourite

Garou’s hair is ugly af it makes him look like an evil rabbit and it looks really knotted too, if you tried to brush it out the brush would break. I hope his hair is naturally styled like that because I refuse to believe Garou would purposely style his hair that way every morning before he goes hero hunting. Idk how anyone could take him seriously with hair like that.

I wonder how many jars of hair gel Lightning Max goes through a month when he styles his hair, it looks like a stiff dollop of cream on his head. Idk why but the hairstyle, plus the fact he’s blond and blue eyed makes me think of Tweety Bird whenever I see him. Garou’s hair is ugly, but Lightning Max’s hair is plain silly.

Tbh with Puri Puri Prisoner’s hair everyone I’ve met with this hairstyle I’ve hated. His hair reminds me of the annoying people at school who’d bully you and disrupt the class and that alone makes him worthy of being placed in this category.

Favourite Hairstyles

Tatsumaki’s hair is so pretty I love how it curls at the end and how it floats and bounces around her, especially when she uses her powers. To me her hair makes her look really classy, I really liked the look of her hair when she was first introduced.

Let’s not act surprised Flashy Flash is the King of Keratin and could probably be the face of Tresemme if he so wished. Here Murata really went out of his way to draw his hair as shiny and slick as possible even when he’s executing a double kill. Even when Flash’s hair is messy and gets in his face I still like it because I think it makes him look prettier.

You could argue that Okamaitachi and Garou have the same hairstyle and it’s unfair that I put his hairstyle in my least favourite category and Kama’s in my favourite. But the thing is Kama’s hair is actually nice. I like the slickness of curvature of hair, it actually looks like she takes care of her hair unlike Garou. I also appreciate the bangs clipped to the side and the loose stands at the front. Her hair is cute and eccentric, Garou’s hair only ticks one of those boxes.

Drive Knight’s hair is underwhelming when you first meet him, it makes him look like a weak, nerdy robot who gets zero robot bitches. But when you see him fighting with Nyan?? It’s like his hair had a glow up and now he gets all the robot ass he wants. It’s longer, more fluffy and luscious and makes him look more scary. I wonder if it’s real hair.

Bomb’s hair is bomb. That’s all I have to say.

[shinypokemonshowdown]

Shiny Miraidon propaganda: I hate how all the future paradox shinies follow the same exact formula, BUT Miraidon does it best! I would have preferred the other colors swap as well, but I think the original purple and yellow gradient goes stunningly with the chrome/steel look it has going on. It's a really gorgeous metallic look!!!! But I don't want to shiny hunt for any other future paradox mons because they disappoint me so greatly :(

Similarly, pre-3d Uxie was one of my favorite shinies because it looked like a golden idol, though it's more clearly matte/muddied in 3D wah

I understand that reasoning! Unfortunately it just doesn't look all that neat to me, I'm just not really a robot fan either.

I don't hate-hate them, just disappointed nothing more was done.

With that being said there really isn't any need for propaganda, I just wanted to see which one people preferred the most djjdndnd

None of the bonus polls will have any effect on the main tournament so the winners of them don't matter

[darby-draws]

for Andre - 🎯🥊 and 🍀:]

[Ask Game] Andre!!! I love this guy!!!! Thanks for asking! :)

🎯 -What do they do best? As a mechanic, he's really good at fixing things! Well. Things that he really knows are cars. He IS good at that! He can manage with some electronics and other handy crafts, but the whole plot being He doesn't actually know Computer and Android repair and now he has to learn that because he owns a broken robot now. You know how it is.

🥊 -What do they love to do? What do they hate to do? Andre loves working with his hands, staying busy with tinkering and all that. He's good at it, so he likes doing it, and he likes doing it, so he gets good at it! He loves singing and dancing, he doesn't take it seriously and is just having fun with it, but he's got a decent singing voice for sure! Very much a whistle while you work kinda guy, always has a lil tune stuck in his head. He also loves swimming, and watching/reading sci-fi stories for fun hobbies!

Andre hates having to dress up fancy and attend stuffy formal parties, it's so uncomfortable!!!! He has to on occasion as a family obligation, his sister and brother-in-law host fancy fundraisers and things on occasion and would REally Appreciate if he Showed UP SOMETIMES. Boo...

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC? Hm, this was 10 years ago and I don't remember specifics for What had inspired Andre in particular. I needed a human counterpart to Delilah, a glitchy droid in a brand new story at the time. I designed them pretty much at the same time but I was more focused on the robot and just general sci-fi aesthetics! (He really was Just Some Guy who accidentally got into this situation. A Broken Man for a Broken Android.)

There wasn't a lot to him yet, just knew he was just some poor unemployed mechanic, very down on his luck kinda guy who winds up with a broken android to fix for a family member. He couldn't repair her (and in fact makes some problems Worse) and ends up keeping her when the original owners didn't want a glitchy old broken model. They'll just buy a shiny new replacement!!! :)) Awesooome…

He didn't exactly WANT the droid at the start, but had too much sympathy seeing something intelligent (and really cool, it's A ROBOT, hello???) with a personality just cast out like it was trash, just because it's brain didn't work in the way it was "Supposed to"™. (*points* 🫵 this man is autistic and his family is always letting him down when he needs it most 🧍‍♂️)

All this was pretty much set from the beginning, and I remember things that inspired Delilah, the concept of the glitchy robot, but I don't remember like. Why I came up with "her human". He just always was here, Like That, and the core info never really changed. 😌

Some inspiration that was really vague and still really has no place, but the first "I Need a sci-fi robot story!!!!" feeling is literally just images of walls of glowy computer/TV screens. That's… not a character. HOW did I make Characters from That!

[themadauthorshatter]

Okay, so if you saw my poll post, you saw this coming, and, to make a long story short, this is a rewrite for the movie Robots

.

.

One thing right off the bat, I'm establishing that this will have more edge because I've seen to much whump posts and it's a movie about Robots, so we can be a little more loose with the rules.

We do start with seeing Rodney grow up and become the robot he is, but we're also seeing stuff like his schooling, seeing that even with hand-me-downs and being a 'misfit' he is a bright student and does well and is very humble about it. In this school, there are both outmodes and "new model" robots that are shiny and pretty, and one of these robots is Cappy, who is also a bright student. The two know each other more and talk frequently, because they're friends and they're nice to each other, but Cappy leaves for the city because that's where robots really shine. Both do watch the Bigweld show and are inspired, but Cappy, as she leaves for the city, tells Rodney to keep doing what he's doing and not give up, because he can shine no matter what he's made of. For clarification purposes, this would happen MAYBE a few years before Rodney graduates school and works at the same restaurant as his dad.

Also established early is Ratchet, who starts off as an assistant to Bigweld before rising in ranks. In the ealry chapters of the movie, he'd be scene in the background of the show, but he steadily moves closer until he's eventually a spokesman in the show itself before it ends.

Wonderbot is still here and acts as a sort of voice of reason for Rodney because he just doesn't listen to his own sometimes, something that will come nack a few times.

A lot of the story stays the same, Rodney is a big fan of Bigweld, he's a bot that's gotten hand-me-downs all his life, he's a skilled inventor, all that jazz.

The only real tweek I can think of is he has a small amount of resentment for not being all new and shuny like some other robots he sees and it hurts him and makes him lash out at his parents and himself, and even Cappy, but Cappy reminds Rodney that being shiny isn't all that great because there are only two colors in being shiny: Chrome and gold. Any darker or 'dyed' metal isn't considered "new and pretty" so she's stuck looking boring and dull next to everyone else. Her upgrades don't serve a purpose except for aesthetics and the only thing that isn't an aesthetic that she's allowed to have are her roller blade heels, and she hates them because she didn't even want them in the first place. She compares all that to Rodney, who is colorful, easy to look at, FUN to look at, his upgrades DO something for him and he can always switch out hand-me-downs and make himself something new. It's a whole emotional scene, but what it boils down to is Cappy, a robot that is rich enough for upgrades 24/7 and is going to the big city for the big name status, is essentially cracking under the pressure and also has some anger towards Rodeny who has an easy life, in her eyes, and yet he's complaining about it. Rodney does also express that he has some anger towards Cappy for the same reason, but admits that he's also just tired of seeing upgraded robots be snooty and talk about how he and his family are ones that use hand-me-downs and spare parts rather than upgrades because it gets to be degrading after a while. Rodney does apologize and make it up to his parents, and even learns for himself the benefits of his hand-me-downs price to be more durable than some of the upgrades; MORE ON THIS LATER

Rodney is still called a hand-me-down and his dad still works as a dishwasher, and his big "I need to find a need" moment comes from wanting to make his father's job a little easier. His mom is supportive, but makes sure that he knows to not get too caught up in the hand-me-down or "outmode" stuff, even telling him what being an "outmode" means more clearly than Cappy.

Rodney still leaves for Bigweld city, telling his mother that he wants to be someone, then explaining that he wants to be more than Rodeny the Hand-me-down son of a dishwasher, that he wants to invent and improve people's lives and simply be MORE. Both parents accept this, though Rodney's mother is more reluctant because this is her only son, and Rodeny leaves as he promises to make both parents proud, though both admit that he already does.

IN THE BIG CITY!!!!!! Not much changes when Rodney first arrives. He still runs into Fender and Deisel, still ends up looking for Bigweld Industries, and still takes the ball transport with Fender on accident. The two share some small talk, mainly Fender learning where Rodney's trying to go and then giving a hint that Bigweld isn't around anymore with a forced encouraging smile and a mention that Fender has a place to stay.

The "ride" goes about the same, but Fender is literally knocked away by the giant hammer right as he's about to tell Rodney to look for him as night falls.

Rodeny meets Tim and the exchange stays the same, but when Rodeny asks how people get in and join the industry itself and why the rules changed, Tim says they left with Bigweld before "leaving on a lunchbreak."

Our real introduction to Ratchet remains mostly the same. The only thing that will change is he's somewhat focused on Cappy, who has been working with the company for a while and is now worn down, tired, and all together jaded from events we don't know about(these will come to be known to be Bigweld's resignation). The plan to stop the production of spare parts in favor of upgrades is still here, and we see Cappy get very uncomfortable with it, and having an offoce near Ratchet, who has taken a subtle interest in her.

What changes is when Rodeny shows up, as in he still uses Wonderbot to fly to the window in order to get in. Cappy would see this and try not to react, firstly because there's a robot scrambling to commit a B and E, and then because it's RODNEY trying to commit a B and E, and then succeeding because he falls in and onto the board room table, and we get a classic reaction from both Cappy and Rodney:

"Rodney!?"

"Uh... Hi, Cappy."

Ratchet is not happy about seeing Rodney or almost getting hit by Wonderbot.

Rodney still apologizes and asks to see Bigweld, even explaining why he came in through the window, but Ratchet tells him that if the gate closes, that means Rodeny should turn tail and leave.

Rodney asks if he can at least tell him how to contact Bigweld or when he'll be back in, but Ratchet has a better idea:

Kicking both Wonderbot and Rodney out of the building.

Rodney is still magnetized and meets Tim again, who's shocked to see him. Rodney explains what happened and how Bigweld wasn't even there, then sees the new motto:

"Why be you, when you can be new?"

He asks Tim who he met, explaining what Ratchet looks like, and Tim explains back to him that he met the new head of Bigweld Industries and, seeing where Rodney is, probably doesn't like him or how his "outmoded" behind in the city.

Rodney asks why Ratchet is in Bigweld's chisr and spot, but Tim snaps for Rodney to get lost before he ends up in worse trouble.

Rodney is stuck more or less shuffling down the road, unable to properly lift his feet, and he encounters a Sweeper. It's something of a tense moment with Rodney being stuck to the sidewalk as the Sweeper draws close, but he evades it and ends up falling and getting himself stuck in a large can.

The Chop Shop scene happens as usual, but Gasket, being a mother, asks Ratchet why he looks disgruntled and isn't his usual self. He tries denying it, but she eventually makes him reveal that Rodeny is around and she only thinks to keep her ear to the ground because it's been years since they had a persistent inventor try to throw things off.

There's more to this, but I'll make that a part 2. Hope you enjoyed!!

[parme-san]

For the fandom game! SpongeBob :)

YIPPEE >_<

ask game: send me a fandom and i'll tell you my...

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most):

I LOVE SPUNCHBOP ^_^ 🧽💛🧨 he is nice... and pretty. his eyes are blue and he likes hamburgers and working at a restaurant. like me. he looks soft and has elegant little hands. and. his shoes are shiny. he is so happy and i am so sad and i almost think i could be happy just because he is. but he is kind of just a guy, you know? with a life and a house and job and stuff. i like that about him. maybe life is uniquely hard for him because he is so silly but that's okay. the world has space for silly people in it. it needs silly people in it and joyful people in it and hardworking people and even sad people. it needs spongebop and maybe it even needs me. i like the way he dresses it's similar to the clothes i like. he is so... pretty. he is good at talking. i like him. i want to see him all the time

scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped): this is also spongebob 👍 he is the most shaped. that shap is square. you understand me.

actually specifically i think the patrick star show spongebob design is really really cute. he is so tiny and politely dressed. i don't really like the show itself though which is a dreadful shame because conceptually i would love to watch a whole show of nothing but patrick. to some extent gary is also a scrunkly to me

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave): karen should have a major role in Every Episode. i like karen so much she's my silly rabbit and i NEED to chill and hang out with her. i like when she's happy ^_^ it's cute

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week): SPONGEBOT... binary bottom in general. mfw i'm obsessed with a character that showed up for one (1) episode. i love the way he'll repeat certain phrases in the same tone (e.g. "morning squidbot!" "excuse me! pardon me.") and glitch/stutter over some words it's very cute and somehow satisfying to me. i also like that his design features a lot of circular shapes (maybe to compensate for the lack of pores?) and his wheels squeak like spongebob's shoes. oh oh and the antenna i like the detail where when he gets stressed out over squidbot and robogary falling in the fryer he starts tugging on the antenna. overall he really encapsulates the idea of an overexcitable little robot and i love him so much

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave): when has there been a problematic character is spongebob. oh, squilliam. for a long time i kind of didn't get the hold he has over spongefans when he shows up in like 4 episodes. i get it now though he serves so much. i like that he's kind of nice to spongebob it's funny and contrasts nicely to squidward. would have liked it if there was an episode featuring spongebob and squilliam i want to know more

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason): umm i don't know. mr krasp? squitwirt already has this happen to him every single day and with what my next answer it would seem like i don't love him (i do so much. but his suffering is often to my amusement i'm sory squitwart) there's a scene in sponge out of water of him slipping around on a sunbathing woman's back and as cringy as it is to watch i think it really captures something about him (slippery and wet)

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell):

GIF I MADE OF SQUIDWARD GOING TO SUPERHELL

(not because i hate him just because he is gay. you understand)

[cinder-aj]

This is one of my weirder ideas. It's the alphabet but each letter is one of my characters.

I wrote the names of each in the same way the character themself would sign!

I tried to make the background look like the wood grain on one of those alphabet boards they give to toddlers.

It was so hard choosing a character to represent S and C. I have so many fun characters with names that start with those letters.

Abyss: Sea/Night. She can see the future, but does not like what her visions foretell. She leaves her found family behind because she risks making a future in which they all die come true.

Basil: SporeWing. Wannabe witch but in reality she just lives alone in the woods, drinks a lot of mushroom tea and makes ink drawings of weird dreams. About as eccentric as she sounds.

Crater: Castaway. Cold and quiet, but neat and organized. He was once Stalagmite's butler and had a bit of a crush... that was until Stalagmite became successively more evil and twisted to the point where Crater could hardly recognize him. Crater was the one who put Stalagmite's rein of terror to an end.

Distantsky: NightWing. A total nerd, energetic and honestly kinda crazy. She had a vision of the future of a radio and built it for all of Pyrrhia. She also had visions of alien dragons (the Castaway fantribe) and predicted the reintroduction of the now technologically advanced Specus fancontinent tribes.

Ensconce: RainWing. He's known to be aloof and distant and lives in the Ice Kingdom disguised as an IceWing. Sibling to one of the most unapologetically evil dragons on Pyrrhia: Starfruit. Ensconce saw the downfall of his brother but left him to follow his own dreams of exploring. Ensconce regrets leaving his brother behind in his time of need.

Fluorite: QuartzWing. She's a rebellious, loud, bold, and rude little bi- and she will hurt you if you mess with her best friend, Circuit. She's supposed to be the replacement dragon in a war stopping prophecy, but at heart she's an anarchist who loves chaos and having fun.

Goldi: SkyWing (IceWing ancestry). She's energetic and loves crazy loud parties, but she is secretly an insecure perfectionist. Loves shiny things especially all things gold.

Harpy: RainWing. Disguises himself as a SkyWing. Nervous and Insecure, he's brothers with Ensconce and Starfruit. Unlike Ensconce however, he wasn't bold enough to eventually stand up to his brother. Harpy hates feeling useless, and has a job as a SkyWing royal guard. Plated in armor, he finds the strength within himself to act strong.

Ivy: Rain/Sea. Ivy is a sarcastic grump with the tendency to make dark jokes. Her father died in the SandWing Succession war and her mother was too distraught to raise her, so she was raised with the other RainWings and teased mercilessly. When she met her girlfriend Plutonium, her life changed forever.

Jackrabbit: Sand/Hive. Grumpy and mean old man with a heart of gold. He's that strict history teacher that softens the moment he finds another history lover.

Khaki: Hive/Mud. A brave and outgoing swashbuckling privateer. She catches thieves as she sails the seas with her first mate (and sister), Pumpkin, by her side.

Loon: MudWing. Trans female. An oddly smart MudWing who became the bigwings for her little family after her brother Pad, died. She has the tendency to be recklessly protective. Despite seeming so sweet one minute, she will stomp you if you talk smack about those she cares about, consequences be damned.

Mantis: Hive/Leaf. A timid and shy little dragon who wants to find her lost sisters more than anything despite having a new found family.

Nightshade: Butterfly-Tongue/Ringtail/BetulaWing. She was once a teacher but was framed for a horrible crime and was exiled. Nightshade is quiet and polite; a dragon of few words. Like Loon, she can be recklessly protective. She saved the life of her girlfriend, Sunflower and died trying to save her the second time. Her soul was put into the body of a robot and so she had a second chance at "life." (Long story lol)

Onyx: QuartzWing/Mistforme. One of the sweetest dragons you'll ever meet. 🥺 He's gentle and polite and likes friends. Onyx is a blacksmith and makes weapons.

Plutonium: QuartzWing. She's a shy nerd who can see ghosts and loves nature and exploring despite the anxiety it gives her sometimes. Separated from her older sister that sheltered her for most of her life, now she has to find her own courage. She's Ivy's girlfriend, and together they stood up to evil Stalagmite and helped prevent him from taking over the world.

Quark: Sparktail. He's a mean little jerk that acts like he's better than everyone and does and says what he wants. Secretly though, he's extremely insecure and his bold and arrogant behavior is a front. Quark is (probably) the only full-blooded Sparktail that can fly and he's the son of an ex-royal

Roselyn: SkyWing/QuartzWing (Secretly a hybrid). Her mother gave her a mysterious pocket watch after flying away and never returning. Roselyn dedicated most of her life trying to find her. After discovering that the watch was magic and allowed her to travel back in time, she tried to use it to get her mother back. No matter what she did, her mother always disappeared. Later, she found out that her real father, Stalagmite, killed her.

Stalagmite: QuartzWing. Not only is he manipulative, cold, and backstabbing, but he's also a jealous murderous lier with Animus powers. He stabbed his brother in the back for taking credit for the good deeds that Stalagmite was too shy to say anything about. He tried bringing back his dead lover, Phoenix, in several forms that all rejected him, even the most recent iteration: Crater. Hungry for control and power, he became King of the Castaways and took over their spaceship. He used dragons to power the ship, introducing uncontacted tribes on Pyrrhia and Pantala to Specus and the Castaways. He was pushed out the airlock of his ship by Crater, who was backed by the resistance.

Tumbleweed: Castaway. Fun-loving, rude, and sarcastic, she loves making crude jokes. Now Queen of the Castaways, Tumbleweed began as an eccentric content creator focused on conspiracy theories and pseudoscience. She make a video about casting a protection spell against malicious magic. She didn't know it at the time, but she was an Animus and whoever watched the video was actually protected. This came in handy when she led the resistance against Stalagmite with her girlfriend, Starfield.

Ursula: Orquidtail. Potions, poisons, she's got bioweapons galore for your assassination needs. She'll also keep secrets... just don't listen to most of the "information" she gives you. Ursula lies, often just for the fun of it.

Viprens: QuartzWing. Viprens is insecure due to her her mutated tails and is rather lonely. GIVE HER A HUG, PLEASE! Despite being practically blind in sunlight, she has the really cool job of being a flagger for spaceships.

Wake: IceWing. A vengeful lighthouse keeper that was frozen in ice for millenia by her animus sister so she couldn't challenge their mother to the throne of the IceWings. Has a bracelet that can make others fall asleep at the snap of a talon. No wonder she's so cold.

X: HiveWing. Her actual name is Executioner, but she doesn't feel the name fits her. Edgy without actually being edgy. X is known for acting like she doesn't really care; which is true, but she's also just lazy. X likes stand-up comedy but is actually terrible at it. Despite her name being Executioner, she couldn't kill anyone if she tried... unless you're counting humor as a person. (Ba-boom-tss)

Yellow Mistress: Butterfly-Tongue. Cold, quiet, and calculating, she is the terrifying leader of the guild of assassins (or mafia, really) known as The Comma. Despite wanting to lower the crime rate, instead she's monopolizing it. She actually leads a double life as the Yellow Queen. Only her terrifying Purple Butler knows. However, that's not the scariest thing about her. The Yellow Mistress is no longer the dragon she used to be, literally. She made a deal with a dragon named Aurora (who's practically the devil at this point) and was tricked into swapping bodies with her. Now she's stuck in a puppet made of leaves and bones while Aurora is free.

Zest: SandWing. Energetic, friendly, and in your face, that one loud hype-friend and your number one bestie. Her favorite thing is convincing others to do stupid dares (and also being dared).

[heavy-lobster]

It always makes me so sad to see people hating on the future paradox shinies because I really do like them. Like I get that they're all kinda the same thing and that some of them change less/look worse than others and that's fair but! Idk my first thought when I saw them was that it's like some sort of factory mistake. Like when a mass produced toy is missing a bit of paint on some parts only instead of a toy it's a killer robot that can shoot lasers

[isleofgont]

The Hurting Kind by Ada Limón

1.

On the plane I have a dream I’ve left half my torso on the back porch with my beloved. I have to go

back for it, but it’s too late, I’m flying and there’s only half of me.

Back in Texas, the flowers I’ve left on the counter have wilted and knocked over the glass— I stay alone there so the flowers are more than flowers.

At the funeral parlor with my mother, we are holding her father’s suit, and she says, He’ll swim in these.

For a moment, I’m not sure what she means, until I realize she means the clothes are too big.

I go with her like a shield in case they try to up-sell her— the ornate urn, the elaborate body box.

It is a nice bathroom in the funeral parlor, so I take the opportunity to change my tampon.

When I come out my mother says, Did you have to change your tampon?

And it seems a vulgar life all at once. Or not vulgar, but not simple.

I’m driving her now to the Hillside Cemetery where we meet with Rosie who is so nice we want her to work everywhere. Rosie as my dentist. Rosie as my president.

My shards are showing, I think. But I do not know what I mean so I fix my face in the rearview, a face with thousands of headstones behind it. Minuscule flags, plastic flowers.

You can’t sum it up, my mother says as we are driving and the electronic voice repeats, Turn Left onto Wildwood Canyon Road,

so I turn left, happy for the mundane instructions. Let us robot at once.

Tell me where to go. Tell me how to get there.

She means a life, of course. You cannot sum it up.

2.

A famous poet said he never wanted to hear another poem about a grandmother or a grandfather.

I imagine him with piles of faded yolk-colored paper, overloaded with loops of swooping cursive, anemic lyrics

misspelling mourning and morning. But also, before they arrive, there’s a desperate hand scribbling a memory, following

the cat of imagination into each room. What is lineage, if not a gold thread of pride and guilt. She did what?

Once, when I thought I had decided not to have children, a woman said, But who are you to kill your own bloodline?

I told my friend D that and she said, What if you want to kill your own bloodline, kill like it’s your job?

In the myth of La Llorona, she drowns her children to destroy her cheating husband. But maybe she was just tired.

After her husband of 76 years has died, my grandmother, (yes, I said it, grandmother, grandmother) leans to me and says,

Now teach me poetry.

3.

Sticky packs of photographs heteromaniacal postcards.

The war.      The war.        The war. Bikini girls, tight curls, the word gams.

Land boom. Atchison, Topeka and the Santa Fe. Southern Pacific.

We ask my Grandma Allamay about her mother for a form.

Records and wills. Evidence of life. For a moment she can’t remember her mother’s maiden name.

She says, Just tell them she never wanted me. That should be enough.

“Red sadness is the secret one,” writes Ruefle. Redlands

was named after the soil. Allamay can still hold a peach in her hand

and judge its number by its size. Tell you where it would go in the box

if you’re packing peaches for a living. Which she did,

though she hated the way the hairs hurt her hands.

4.

Why do we quickly dismiss our ancient ones? Before our phones stole the light of our faces, shiny and blue in the televised night,

our elders worked farms and butchered and trapped animals and swept houses and returned to each other after long hours and told stories.

In order for someone to be “good” do they have to have seen the full tilt world? Must they believe what we believe?

My grandmother keeps a picture of her president in the top drawer of her dresser, and once when she was delusional she dreamt

he had sent her and my grandfather on a trip to Italy.  He paid for it all, she kept repeating.

That same night on her ride to the hospital, she talks to the medical technician and says,

All my grandchildren are Mexican.

[epiphemera]

--- Izuru pays no mind to Akon puttering about, putting his things in place. These human magazines can be fascinating. There is an article on the latest advancements in prosthetic care in here, which Izuru cannot very well ignore as a coincidence. Though, if he were honest, Akon does not need help from humans to fashion more advanced technology in that regard than they could ever dream of producing. In fact, staring at the pictures of the artificial arms and legs, and bionic hands that move with brain signal input, Izuru cannot help but think it is more likely that that knowledge was stolen from Akon, rather than the other way around. That was.. If Akon ever would have ventured outside the lab, let alone outside the soul society..

Once the scientist joins him, and the warmth of his body becomes ample distraction from the shiny pages, Izuru looks up, once again quirking a brow. "I don't care what your quarters look like." He says matter-of-factly. It is true; such rules of propriety might have bothered him when he was alive, but in death.. It all seemed nitpicky and inconsequential. This was Akon's space, and if this was how he preferred to live in it, that was his business.

He folds the magazine closed and rests it on his thighs. "Now what?"

if he were prone to it, the scientist could almost pity humans for their meagre advances in prosthetics and artificial body-parts, but then they're also somewhat limited by their physiology. they don't have the advantages of working with and manipulating reiryoku as he does. it's a far more direct method than having to work with the nervous and circulatory systems. izuru's arm, for instance, isn't reliant on robotics or nerve impulses to operate it, it simply responds to the reiatsu that the dead man channels into it. it's the same for the empty bodies he builds for gigai, they just need a soul inside to operate them. of course, the dead man's arm is a good deal more advanced than the gigai——it generally needs to withstand a good deal more. akon shrugs a sloped shoulder. "what do people normally do?" well, 'normal' people anyway, a category that very clearly excludes them both. he fumbles for a cigarette with tired fingers and leans his head back against the wall when it's positioned (unlit) between his lips. dammit. he hates when the booster wears off, but it's unsafe to use it more than twice without sleeping; the effects on his mind are... disconcerting.