#i love technology so fucking much

[littlemouserat]

So my laptop has no sound with no one knowing how to fix it, and now my tv has decided to stop working. FUckInG GREAT!!!!!!!

[luck-of-the-drawings]

"I think this is the most inhuman; and human, that I've ever felt.." MUCH CAN HAPPEN IN A YEAR. IN FIVE YEARS. A DECADE. imagine how much can happen in a century. just ONE (1). How will you grow? what phases do you find? even in 5 years, you will find patterns.

[cestacruz]

Drawing the messiest sketches is actually so good for my brain

[steakout-05]

been drawing a sorta reference thingy for Salesman Barry in the timeloop au i've been rotating around in my brain for a while recently :] it isn't as much a character design reference as it is more of a reference for how Barry's mental state begins to deteriorate as he starts having intense deja vu and nightmares every time his timeline gets reset upon death and he tries to piece together what is going on out of pure desperation and instincts (he is being experimented on and doesn't know it yet). i want to throw him at a wall (affectionate)

it is still a WIP as i haven't drawn all the details yet and i want to change the colours as they look too dull on my pc,,, also here is the original sketch :D

[carcarrot]

having another one of my job-related crises

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2024: ALWAYS NORTH by Vicki Jarrett.

To me, the scariest place on our entire planet is the Arctic, partially because the scariest thing on our entire planet are polar bears, which have been stalking my nightmares since middle school. So, of course, when I saw a fucked-up polar bear on the cover of a weird and fucked up maybe mystery maybe thriller definitely apocalyptic sci-fi adjacent book that takes place in the Arctic, I thought, "Oh yeah I should definitely start reading that at nighttime IMMEDIATELY while winter still nibbles on the edges of the weather, this is foolproof."

Reader: I am the Fool™.

I'm 80 pages in, and so far we've got weird inexplicable shit going on that we're trying to ignore, and we've been warned about bears SO Many Times All Over The Place (yikes), and we're now being stalked by a polar bear who has a History with the captain (borderline Moby Dick but make it a vicious land-capable predator), and time is fake because it's Always Daylight and we are doing Science on a Boat but make it Evil Capitalism also, and there's some neat textual framework going on with chapter headers, and I'm excited to see where this all goes!!

[groggygrimalkin]

One day I'm gonna reach my fucking limit WHY pray tell do I get relatively expensive earbuds and the fucking charging case DOESNT HAVE A FUCKING BATTERY TO CHARGE ON THE GO I MISS MY 30 DOLLAR EARBUDS WHAT THE FUCK???? WHY DO YOU PAY MORE FOR LESS THIS IS BULLSHIT

[caterpillarinacave]

rip Will Herondale you would have loved Candy Crush

[danvillecheese]

hiiiiii so i didnt really want to do this but ive made all the fics on my ao3 only available to registered users due to this stupid ai data collection thing. if you like reading fics on ao3 please make an account - you can bookmark your favourites and subscribe to authors AND works and it even keeps ur fic history (which is great for finding a fic you once read and lost to the abyss). like i said, i didnt really want to gatekeep my fics, but if it means my work isnt getting stolen by robots then so be it. okay bye thats all for now <3

[marsbotz]

think i got spoiled for life on mars bc i wanted to make a stupid fucking post abt gene x sam hatesex. TWICE spoiled

[airbrushfather]

i hate robots and i hate metal and i hate wires and circuit boards. i am actually a normal person who enjoys fucking human beings. some of you need to like. see a cloud.

[oflgtfol]

“But no one actually ‘looks’ through [modern telescopes]. Margaret Huggins lamented the shift from gazing at the heavens to squinting at tiny patches of light. Now we’ve gone much, much further. In today’s astronomy, photons of light from the sky, along with the celestial secrets they contain, are picked up by electronic detectors, converted into digital data and crunched through impossibly complex equations by some of the most powerful computers on the planet. In 2016, bricklayer-turned-astronomer Gary Fildes described visiting Chile’s Very Large Telescope (VLT) in his best-selling book An Astronomer’s Tale. Incorporating four mirrors, each 27 feet wide, the VLT collects visible and infrared radiation and can distinguish points in the sky separated by less than a millionth of a degree. Here, at the forefront of today’s attempts to understand the stars, Fildes was struck by the sight of scientists hard at work in control rooms, eyes glued not to their telescopes but to banks of screens: ‘They didn’t look as if they had seen the real sky for days.’”

- The Human Cosmos: Civilization and the Stars by Jo Marchant

[soulfullives]

the grandfather clock ticked two after midnight, and regulus was not asleep.

he was sitting at his old, mahogany desk, a single, long candle lit up, giving his face weird shapes, angles, and shadows. the light was warm against his old face, and it gave his eyes a glint of madness, characteristic to the noble name of black, some would say

he remembered dumbledore, and he let a bitter chuckle out. "hogwarts will always offer its help to those who need it." ; regulus found it funny, how exactly the opposite had happened, warriors who had barely bid goodbye to their teachers, to their school that had been their home, to adolescence. warriors who were his age, fighting for a war that wasn't theirs to fight.

regulus had always hated the headmaster, electric eyes and moon-shaped glasses, hiding so many secrets, the secrets of alvus dumbledore.

he had been studying the locket all night, heavy gold, another symbol of nobility, and a glittering, green stone, and a serpent s imprinted in it. salazar slytherin; they were descendants of him, which made them almost royal, his blood coursing through their veins.

the real locket had been in their family for a bit of time; someone had bought it after merope gaunt had sold it, and it had been theirs since. a family heirloom, riddled with death and the past, riddled with secrets and love that had been brewed, and not shared.

the copy was tucked deep within the pocket of his cloak.

regulus twirled the locket between his fingers, the stone between his eyes moving slightly, like a pendulum, hypnotizing. his gray eyes shined in the dim, warm light of the candle, his mercury dipped in its gold.

the letter to the dark lord lay under his hand, and regulus let his fingers wander to it, feeling it, the parchment dry under his fingers, and heavy with his destiny.

to the dark lord,

i know i will be dead long before you read this, but i want you to know that it was i who discovered your secret. i have stolen the real horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as i can. i face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more.

rab

the way he had written it resembled sirius, regulus thought, his heart filled with melancholia. maybe they hadn't been so different, after all.

in a family of madness and secrets kept in the light of the stars, they were very few, the ones that came in the light of the sun.

and regulus had stayed in the shadows, where, seemingly, he belonged.

but both of them had loved the sun, a metaphor for glory, although momentary, temporary, but a rush of adrenaline that set them on fire, lit them up like a match, burning to ashes, hoping to do one last act of good before they would go down, and the sun would set with them.

family had always been important to regulus. sirius had been his family, too, once. when they were younger, all chubby cheeks and prudent steps, and not long hair and earrings, an act of loud, brash rebellion, or a shadow and a gold locket, an act of silent rebellion that would be his, dug in his heart, that no one would know.

regulus let his mind wonder about what would come. imminent death, he presumed, because the cave had not been a place from which many had come alive. inferis rest in the water, waiting for prey, waiting for another wanderer that was ought to join them. they'd lure him in and never let him go, and that'd be the end. some of their people, the death eaters, were there too. alone and dead, and no one would ever know what had happened to them.

regulus had never thought about joining the death eaters much. it had always been something that had been written for him, in the book of his destiny, and he'd have no other choice. he had joined, a dark mark and a black cloak, death and its omens, hanging in the air, think and green and black, a sign of bloodshed.

maybe he had been a bit late to realize, but he had, in the end. and later's better than never.

he had pushed the chair back, scraping against the hardwood floors, and sighed. the end was nearing, cornering him, and he had felt it. he felt at ease, though. what he was doing was right, even though no one would know what had happened, no one would know his secret, what he had died for, no one but him and his accomplice.

regulus closed the door behind him. kreacher was waiting for him downstairs.

death was waiting for him in the cave, and he'd greet it like an old friend.

[notmycircusnotmysilmarils]

Tolkien Secret Santa Advent Calendar Day 5: Yule Log

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

For the @officialtolkiensecretsanta !!!!

(Rated G)

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

It is the crash coming from the main parlor that alerts Sam to the fact that he has visitors rather than his wife.

“Two for you in the front room, Mr. Gamgee”, she tells him, eyes twinkling.

Sam sighs, a strong hunch growing on exactly who she is speaking of, kisses her cheek, and goes to get his dressing robe.

Sure enough, waiting for him in the front room when he returns are Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took.

Merry is clumsily trying to re-right the toppled coat rack with one hand, other hand trying to juggle the fallen coats. Pippin is sat on the ground, watching the process with a tilted head, unlit pipe dangling from the corner of his mouth.

As Sam approaches the both of them, he can smell the mulled wine radiating off their beings.

Oh, dear.

“Alright, now what—”

“There he is, the man himself!” hoots Pippin, shooting to his feet and flinging himself directly into Sam’s arms. “Do we have an idea for you!”

Sam gives him a scolding shake, hardly effective what with Pippin currently being the consistency of a stocking full of pudding. “What you’ve had is too much to drink, I’d say! There are children sleeping in this smial—“

Merry gives up his fight with the coat rack, dropping both it and the coats back to the floor with another loud clatter.

Sam winces.

“Ah, yes, the little ones. Should we wake them to ask their opinions too?” Merry wonders.

“Ask your own!” Sam exclaims, marching across the room with his armful of Pippin to plop him into Merry’s arms in exchange for the coat rack. He rights it with a huff. “So what is it you two needed to tell me so badly you blew down my door at midnight?”

There is an exchange of glances between the pair.

“So, it’s about a contest,” Merry begins.

Sam slowly leans back against the wall. Sweet Eru, what drunken competition have they come up with—

“Specifically, the Yule Log contest coming up in Hobbiton in a few weeks.”

Now Sam’s just confused. “Er. Why, exactly? Your areas don’t even participate in the contest.”

Pippin flops out of Merry’s arms, catching himself wobbily on his feet. “Precisely. Which is why we are oh-so-generously sharing our prizewinning idea with you!” His hand not strongly gripping Merry’s shoulder for balance flails itself in Sam’s direction.

“I see,” Sam says drily. “That’s mighty generous of you, but to be honest, I don’t usually pay that particular competition much mind. Everyone trying their best to gussy up a plain old log with some berries flowers and ribbon is hardly an exciting tradition compared to contests for things like flowers or topiary or large gourds—“

Merry cuts him off again. “No, we get that, we definitely agree. That’s why our idea is better than some bits and boubles on a lump of wood.”

“Well go on and tell me, then!” Sam says. “All that swaying in anticipation is going to make you fall down before you can sit down.”

“Right,” the pair choruses in unison, their legs collapsing out from under them like cut string puppets and sending them to their rear ends with a thump. They do not, Sam observes, appear to have felt or even noticed a thing.

Merry claps his hands together and points his fingers at Sam like an arrow. “Treebeard.”

“Treebeard?” Sam echoes. “How does he fit into any of this? What, are you planning to go all the way to bother the Ents just for advice on silly Hobbit traditions?”

Pippin snaps his fingers. “Oh, ask him for advice, now that’s a good idea, Mer. He’s all wood, he’d know better than anyone how to dress it up fancy-like.”

“You’re right, we should have thought of that,” Merry muses, before turning his crooked grin back on Sam. “As good a guess as that is, though, it isn’t what we mean.”

Sam is starting to wonder whether their drunk brains even have a point they’re getting to or not. “What do you mean, then?”

“We mean, make your log Treebeard!” Merry says, shaking his hands and wiggling his fingers in excited emphasis.

“You want…” Sam blinks and shakes his head. He feels he can be forgiven, it is late, and they aren’t making sense. “You want me to dress my Yule log up as Treebeard?”

Pippin sighs dramatically. “No. We think you should invite Treebeard here to be your Yule Log.”

There truly can be no response to this besides: “What.”

“It’s a banging simple and brilliant plan!” Merry jumps in to add. “You don’t need to have him stand outside your yard for the entire holiday season like a regular decorated Yule Log or anything, how boring would that be?”

“But imagine!” Pippin continues. “Night of the contest judging comes around, everyone’s looking at the twenty ninth spruced up log of, uh, spruce? Maybe one or two birches or something in there for extra flavor. And then, then, out of the dark comes a giant, decked head to toe—er, root?—in ribbons and glass trinkets and colored paper that hasn’t gotten melted by rain! Some may argue cheating—“

“—But it won’t hold up, because an Ent is, in all technicality, a log, just a bit… bigger,” Merry finishes. “You’ll blow everyone’s holly and candles right out of the water!”

The pair are beaming at Sam like they’ve never had a more ingenious scheme in their life. Sam thinks…

“Huh. I, erm, I can’t say that’s what I was expecting to hear when you showed up tonight?” Sam hesitates before taking a breath and returning their clasped hands-fingers pointed gesture back at them. “That being said, I don’t really think that would… work?”

Pippin pouts at him. “Whyever not?”

“It’s just that, he’s never come to visit us before, right?” Sam asks. “Wouldn’t it be kind of rude to just be like, ‘Oh, do come and visit, you’d make the most perfect oversized lawn gnome?’”

“Oversized lawn gnome,” Pippin pshhes with a flap of his hand. “Hardly! Why can’t it be a lovely way to introduce him to our dear old culture full of rich traditions? Allowing him the honor of taking direct part would be the highest form of flattery!”

“Okay then, and you suppose he won’t have a problem with our practice of chunks of his tree relatives being hacked down and displayed for aesthetic purposes?” Sam counters.

Merry and Pippin share another look. “Just make sure everybody ethically sources their log this year,” Pippin suggests.

“Ethically sourcing?” Sam echoes, bewildered.

“Yeah,” Pippin says with a shrug. “Just make sure you’re taking the logs from already dead trees. You’ve got authority around here now, people might fuss but they’d agree to the rule if you asked.”

Sam crosses his arms. “Well then we’re just showing him how we disrespect the corpses of his relations!”

“Well if you want to be depressing about it…” Merry wrinkles his nose. “You’re not being very fun. Corpse disrespecting…”

“I guarantee when you’ve sobered up tomorrow, you won’t even remember the idea,” Sam tells them.

Pippin has managed to keep his pipe dangling out of his mouth the entire conversation, but now he takes it out to point it stubbornly at Sam. “I’ll write it down. He likes us, it would be great.”

Sam snorts. “Why can’t you both just host your own Yule Log events?”

Pippin shakes his head. “Took traditions run more the route of setting things on fire,” he says, like one of the primary purposes of logs aren’t exactly that.

Merry gives his cousin an odd side-eye. “Yeah, and Brandybucks have too many holiday contests as it is, what with the singing and the baking of pies, never mind our sacred duties to guard the life of our beloved decorative sculpture.” The side eye turns into a glare. “From arson.”

Pippin doesn’t even try to cover his smirk. “I don’t know what you could possibly be implying about my family’s cherished traditions, but I was talking about our bonfires. Look, I sympathize with your family’s misfortunes, I do! But I cannot help but point out—again—that if one makes a gigantic animal sculpture out of flammable material, they should expect something or someone to try and burn it down each year! Not that I would know who, of course but—“

“Oh I know, Pip, don’t rub it in,” Merry moans, leaning against Pippin’s shoulder. “Now that I have more responsibility, it’s fallen under my charge to protect it! Me!”

Pippin clumsily pats his shoulder. “Yes, yes, foxes and henhouses and all.”

Sam clears his throat. “Everything alright then, lads?” It’s cold outside and he hates to kick his friends out; drunk or no, he hasn’t seen them in a bit, and they never fail to bring that bright spark to make his heart lighter.

Pippin releases another theatrical sigh, bracing one hand against Merry’s nose to push himself to his feet. “Yes, I believe so. We failed to bring you enlightenment, so we should probably be going.”

Laughing, Sam helps Merry up and reaches for their coats amongst the righted coat rack. “I’ll let you try again if you switch and bring food instead. Just come back next time when the rest of the world is awake, understand?”

Merry rolls his eyes, reaching out and ruffling Sam’s hair before he can duck it. “I think we can manage that.”

Pippin darts forward and smacks an affectionate kiss on Sam’s cheek. “We sure can. What do we do now though, Merry?”

“Hmm,” Merry says as he walks through the opened door to the smial Pippin is holding for him. “Suppose we could go next door and see if Frodo likes our plan?”

The door closes.

Hang on…

“Absolutely not,” Sam declares, yanking a cloak that might actually be Rosie’s off the rack and scrambling out the door. “Don’t you dare, you two—!”

[void-tiger]

[grasps the endless like a bunch of colored pencils.]

[makes them become semi-functional siblings that realize they care about eachother even without being asked first, pay up later.]

[happylandfill23]

i want to inject technology is a dead bird and all of its versions into my bloodstream