titsay
we're not kids anymore.
taylor price
ojovivo
if i look back, i am lost
No title available
No title available
hello vonnie
No title available
$LAYYYTER
Andulka
Mike Driver
Three Goblin Art
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
shark vs the universe
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Cosimo Galluzzi
wallacepolsom
Stranger Things
Sade Olutola
seen from Malaysia
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Argentina
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Moldova
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from Mexico
seen from Switzerland
seen from United States
seen from Argentina
seen from United States
seen from Argentina
@arrowrandoman
No one reblogs on tumblr anymore.
No one leaves comments on Ao3 anymore.
Seriously people the lack of fandom interaction these days makes me genuinely depressed, it never used to be like this, makes me wonder what's the point of coming online to do anything anymore.
Reblog a post so other people can see it.
Leave a comment so the author doesn't feel like giving up.
Fandom cannot live on Likes or Kudos alone.
Gorgonocephalidae
What kind of Eldrazi nonsense is this?
I like the idea of a story where, rather than that the turaga are already aware of at least some of Metru Nui's bad things being inherent, the realization proper starts with their return.
It's the ease the matoran keep working. They have regular breaks, can call in sick, socialize, and play, and are all the more productive for it.
The Rahaga and Dume have helped calm down the lingering rahi or put them elsewhere where they could live in peace. The matoran know how to live with them and the ones reintroduced.
So, no more imprisoning rahi in the Archives. Whenua headstarts a mapping of everything before anybody starts to explore and renovate them.
Matoran of the different koros mingle to help with rebuildung. They help rebuild the chute system and the core knots in Le-Metru. Po-Metru gets proper villages with supply lines. They rebuild each metru, every important piece of infrastructure, to safe.
The turaga feel uneasy. Like there's something missing but they can't think of what. This is everything they wanted, isn't it? Isn't it?
You know, when I see fictional characters who repress all their emotions, they're usually aloof and very blunt about keeping people at a distance, sometimes to an edgy degree—but what I don't see nearly enough are the emotionally repressed characters who are just…mellow.
Think about it. In real life, the person that's bottling up all their emotions is not the one that's brooding in the corner and snaps at you for trying to befriend them. More often than not, it's that friendly person in your circle who makes easy conversation with you, laughs with you, and listens and gives advice whenever you're upset. But you never see them upset, in fact they seem to have endless patience for you and everything around them—and so you call them their friend, you trust them. And only after months of telling them all your secrets do you realize…
…they've never actually told you anything about themselves.
Adding onto this: characters who are so deeply repressed that they don't even realize they're not fine, or at the very least not supposed to be fine. Characters who do tell you about a situation they're in that should be bad, but instantly laugh it off saying they can handle it (spoiler: they can, in fact, not handle it). Characters who laugh with you and listen to all your woes and much later you learn that they were actually going through something at least equally bad at the time, but they wave it off and don't want to speak of it. Characters whose main coping mechanism seems to be "don't think about it" on endless loop.
Basically, the fictional embodiment of the "this is fine" dog.
Im just gonna save this for when I write Hunter. I will not elaborate yet.
I have an idea for a baking show. I know nothing about baking, and I've seen so little of any show, but here goes.
The show has a bunch of professional bakers, but they can't touch anything. Instead, each will have a partner they coach through making the food. The partner would likely be someone who isn't super experienced in baking (to add to the drama). Maybe it's a friend or family member, I don't know.
Going back through my Tumblr has been kind of fun. I'm reblogging just to get it out there again.
Yeah, not been on in a while. Thought I’d share something both as an update and as an advice for anyone interested. I don’t know what else to do with this blog, but since I made it, I might as well use it.
THE UPDATE:
I actually started writing, which has been harder in the past with my ADHD. It’s more that I’ve been digitizing my old written-on-paper-in-junior-high stuff, but I am still more excited and driven to write my ideas than ever! Granted, that means I have to dredge through get to enjoy some of my old writing style.
MY ADVICE:
I couldn’t figure out why I lost my fire for writing. I was still creative, and I was still putting my thoughts into written form, but I wasn’t “writing.” I have an idea why. Granted, there are many reasons, but one of them is that I WAS WORKING ON THE SEQUEL.
When I was young and beginning my ideas for books and stories I wanted to write, I kept it simple, like how a first book should be. As I got older, I started working on the sequels, the stories that came later. That’s not a bad thing to do, but it got to the point that I stopped working on my “first book”.
No one has the same troubles, but I would give the advice to MAKE THE FIRST BOOK FIRST. I give that as one who actually wants to write now that I am focusing on making a “first book” first. Make sure if you want to make an expansive world to not get too caught up in the more sequel-y stuff.
I mean, these are some stray thoughts I thought I’d share. Obvious disclaimer: I am not a professional. Goodness, I’m hardly even an amateur.
One of the hardest parts of living with ADHD is forgetting to follow through.
A discussion in one of my college classes today got my creative juices flowing. Here is the result, called "My Memory" written mostly stream of consciousness.
-=-=-=-
When I was a child, my memory got me home. My memory kept a list of Do and Don'ts to keep me out of trouble and safe. My memory helped me make friends that liked robots and laser swords. My memory was a toy I could play with when I wanted to.
When I was a teenager, my memory got me away. My memory kept a list of "Fun" and "Boring" to keep me entertained or distracted, or at least satisfied enough to do what I was supposed to do. My memory helped me make friends that shared my excitements and complaints with fantasy worlds and laser swords. My memory was something to show off with fun facts and grammar corrections. My memory loomed over me too. My memory lost innocence. Could it lose goodness? I didn't have any experience to look back on for an answer.
When I became an adult, my memory got me wondering. I had a life of experiences I began reflecting on. My memories of the past blossomed into potential career paths and decisions for college to give me future opportunities. My memory of past friends helped me make better, longer lasting friendships that dive deeper than discussions about schoolwork and laser swords. I could still talk about robots and fantasy worlds, but we could do more, go further than before. I still showed off the trivia I was gathering, and I held back on correcting others' grammar as much. My memories of my youth, as strange as it was to consider it my "youth," were now subjects of analysis and contextualizing. I continued into adulthood. I analyzed my past and tried to figure out the reasons for each of my actions. Why did I love robots and laser swords so much as a kid, and why did laser swords stick with me when other things fell away? I must have found meaning in the laser sword stories, or perhaps it was because I didn't have ready access to the robots? Memory became a puzzle. Simplicity wasn't acceptable for a while. There had to be a reason for everything. The stories I loved as a teenager, the ones that filled my escapist fantasies. Why did those work for me? Would they work now?
When I got lost in my thoughts, my memory gave me a way to safety, away from the darkness. My memory of God gave me a list of achievements to bolster my confidence and failures to keel as learning moments. My memory of family and friends helped me remember I wasn't the only one who had or has or will experience confusion in the mists of the world. I wasn't alone. My memory became something to cherish like a toy from childhood, set on the shelf to remind me to get back to simple things. My memory became a hope that though I am not sure I can call myself fully innocent, I could still claim to be good. My memory became an understanding that I have my own experiences to learn from, and I can learn from others' too.
I recognize I don't understand everything about my memory yet. I look forward to what comes next in my journey to love, learn, and wonder. I am excited to remember what lies on the path ahead.
Free Write 7-17-2022
Long one, for sure. Wanted to write an analogy I came up with after church on Sunday. Now I have this character building moment. I admit it's unedited. Any thoughts or critiques are appreciated.
"How long will you stand wondering before you open this door?"
The question startled Trigger from his pensive trance. He turned and raised an eyebrow at Shridao, the large elderly Gyandiu at the table behind him. Trigger gestured to the large pane of glass that made up the wall of the dining room.
"I know your people have all sorts of words for stuff, but this can't possibly be a door, right?" He sat in a chair opposite the strange man. "I'll admit I was 'standing wondering' in front of this window about..." He shifted nervously, "stuff."
Shridao huffed. Trigger had learned over the past few weeks that meant Shridao was amused.
"Kisyato, Ser-Etegaio; this is truth. That is a window." Shridao shifted his constant kindly smile into a knowing one. "However, you stand wondering in front of a door as well, one my people call Brinika, Opportunity. Let me show you."
Shridao piled dirt and leaves on the table in front of Trigger. Trigger's face lit in wonder. He sat up to see the magic.
Shridao took a deep, careful breath, he puffed his chest and throat in a barely noticable rhythm. A deep, ominous melody began to fill the air, at first from Shridao before the wood and stone in the room took over the sound. The quiet song came from every direction, even the table to pull at the large pile of leaves and dirt, to lift the parts above the table. The dancing mass split into three, a figure of a man on the left and a tall rectangle in a small frame to the right. The third, a small ring, began to slowly turn on the surface of the table around the scene.
"When a man is invited to Brinikla Hyesuo, the Door or Gate, the Entrance to Opportunity, he may stand as long as he wishes. He may look over the door or try to see what lies inside."
The figure leaned toward the door as if in thought. The echoing melody became soft and thoughtful.
"He may decide to move on, to leave it behind."
The figure leaned back from the door. It stepped away into the ring and fell apart. The melody gave a sad yet understanding chord.
"Perhaps he will open the door and step into the new opportunity."
A new figure emerged from the ring and opened the door. Part of the ring formed into a long-haired woman in a dress. The two figures stepped together to hold hands. They drew into a kiss with a bright, triumphant song.
"But there is another option before the one at Brinikla Hyesuo, one you should be aware of, young Trigger."
The scene spun to return the figure to the left side of the door. The box disappeared with the motion as the deep, ominous melody returned. Trigger looked into the ancient, wisened eyes of the Gyandiu songmaster.
"Should a man find himself before this door, he may wonder on what waits beyond, on what comes next on the path ahead. The dangers of waiting at the Entrance to Opportunity can be many. Behold, Ser-Etegaio."
The deep, resonant sound grew stronger. It filled the air like an echoing chant from a twisting cavern. Trigger looked down at the figure in front of the door again. It leaned in thought as the same soft, thoughtful notes from before peeked through the ominous resonance.
"This is the warning I would give today. Should the man wait too long at the Entrance to Opportunity, he may find another has found what he was too cautious to seek."
The figure opened the door. The frame moved to the left, behind the figure to fade into the turning ring. Two figures stepped out of the ring. The woman from before stood at the side of a new cloaked figure. They waved to the first figure before turning to kiss each other.
The cavernous sound was joined by the sad, understanding chords from before. The sound took the first figure to its knees. It held its head, shaking in the sorrowful sound as a radiant tune played quietly for the other couple as if at a distance from the sorrow surrounding the shaking mass.
The music stole away Trigger's control. Tears fell down his cheeks, and he found himself shaking in sync with that little mass of dirt and leaves. He could not tell how long that sad, empty sound trapped his attention before a voice startled him from his trance. It was a voice both stern and kind. It was full of experience Trigger lacked. He looked up to the gold eyes of his first friend in this world, unable to understand the words of that voice. The voice spoke again.
"Trigger, I have seen what things lie on the path ahead for each of this party. While the others complete their task in the forest outside, I must ask you to consider what lies on the other side of your own door."
Trigger nodded slowly, still shaken from the powerful magic Shridao had summoned. He knew being in a new world meant he had to look for his own opportunities. There were so many things he had been thinking about before.
"Shridao," the young man whispered pas this tears. "What door do I open first?"
Shridao pulled his strange stern expression back into his kindly smile. He reached over the table to put a hand of Trigger's shoulder.
"I would suggest the door you were pondering, Ser-Etegaio." Shridao looked out the large glass pane that made up the wall of the dining room. He smiled deeper and turned back to Trigger.
"How long will you stand wondering before you admit and address your feelings for Kelsie Ralsmith?"
"This should do it." It looked down at itself, pleased.
The two - rather long - legs jut out under it's torso. It used it's new - ew - five fingers to feel along it's skin, feeling the bumps of a ribcage underneath. A heartbeat too.
In front of it was a mirror, and staring back at itself was a human. Well, an illusion of one.
Time and time again, the newly star bound aliens, humans, had infiltrated it's species ranks through elaborate disguises. They got better at it every time.
Not only were humans great with what they call "make up" but they had a way of mimicking their behaviors. It's species tried to replicate this. Failed to. In the end, they had something better.
A team of highly immoral scientists who were given boundless permission to try whatever the hell they wanted. And they went with genetic mutation.
It was a painful change, and slow. Agonizingly slow. But now, it was a super solider with one superpower. A shape-shifter.
And it was time to test it out.
It strolled out of the bathroom and into the eating area where various alien species were seated. Only one human - the unwitting test subject - was present.
If this could pass for normal conversation, this could pass for war.
It strolled right up to the other creature - a man who had not yet seen him - and sat down.
"I'm glad to see one other human on this station," it said.
The human non-committedly looked up. Only to jump with a start after taking it in.
"What are you?" he said.
"A human?" it said. If it's species could sweat, it would do so by now.
The man stared at it a moment. He turned to the alien on his right and pointed to his left.
"Forgive me if this question is batshit insane, but what do you see?"
"Two humans?" The alien had three eyes.
Her species' third eye was famous for detecting the most miniscule details and then committing it to subconscious memory. The rise and fall of a chest. The careful rythem of a human heart. How often - or little - a human blinks. Even human's make-up tricks couldn't bypass her species' extra form of security.
"So it is," said the man. She turned away and it found itself blinking quickly in relief. It cut that out when the human turned to it. "Sorry, I guess you're just real ugly."
"Ugh, rude." All humans are ugly.
He scooted in closer on the bench and leaned in towards it. It found itself leaning away, but couldn't help but notice the bead of sweat on the human's forehead and how the pupils were shrunken as far as they could.
"Wanna hear an old Earth tale?"
"I'm sure I know it." Was this a test?
"I doubt you know this one. My grandfather experienced it himself." He leaned away. It had stop itself from blinking too rapidly again. "This is about an Earth cryptid."
"Bigfoot?" it said, but nodded as if it already knew.
"Everyone knows Bigfoot," he laughed. "No, he was driving down a dark country road unlit by street lights. He didn't have his brights on - that's important to the story, you see - but heaven knows why."
Brights??? What are brights???
"Down the road an animal was crossing. A simple male deer with antlers. He couldn't see its body yet, but he was familiar with the eyes. They glowed as his car sped closer."
"He slowed as the deer became more apparent, and eventually came to a stop when the creature wouldn't move. By now, he could see the antlers, the four legs, the neck. Not in detail, mind you, but he could see it "
Other aliens in the room- not hearing this conversation - were trickling out of the room. There was no dramatic reason for this, they simply finished their lunch. The human, not paying any attention to his own lunch, continued the story.
"It's not uncommon for deer to freeze, especially when lights flood their eyes. So my grandfather gave it a moment to realize it should run. When seconds ticked by, he honked at it."
"There was something... off... about the deer. It looked every way like a deer, but the longer he stared, the longer that just didn't seem right."
"Was it a deer?" it said.
"It was not."
"What was it?"
"Not a deer."
The alien found itself frown at this in a perfectly human way.
"Time went on, and my grandfather decided to turn on the brights to try and see the creature better. And it was still... a deer... but not..."
It found its frown deepening.
"What's worse was it began to move. Similar to a deer, but all wrong. Like maybe its legs bent the wrong way. Or perhaps the legs were too long. It was every way like a deer, but it just was not."
"He drove home as soon as that not deer was out of his path. And yes, he found himself alive the next morning. But that encounter disturbed him, so he recounted it to everyone. And many people - especially in that town - could tell him their own stories."
"...okay?"
"Well, that story is funny. Probably a figment of his imagination, but it does reflect a very real human instinct."
This was another test. "Would this be something I know of?"
"It's called uncanny valley. It occurs to us when something looks human... but is not."
"Why?"
"Well, rumor has it that it was a instinct formed from a predator. Something that looked human but was not. A not human."
"A not human? Is this true?"
"No," he said. He laughed. "No, we most likely developed it for something a lot more practical. Corpses, you see. They carry a lot of bacteria, so we have a fear of them."
"...interesting."
"I have that very same feeling of you," he said. The room was empty besides the two. He reached for his bottle above his lunch tray.
"But I'm not a corpse?"
"You're about to be."
The human tossed down the bottle, effectively cracking off the bottom half and forming his weapon.
It shape-shifted as it scurried away to retreat from the very much human.
I've always been intrigued by amulets and things like that. I blame it on my childhood desire for one of those crystals in Atlantis: The Lost Empire. I've been working different designs for an amulet-thing I have in mind for a character of mine. It's a character that makes me wish I was more confident drawing rather than building with whatever Lego I have. He looks so cool in my head.
This amulet is the most recent result of my efforts. I really like this one. Makes me wish I took pictures of the other versions so I could see how it improved. Oh well.
Just wanted to share this because it is absolutely one of my favorite things I've built out of Lego. I've been wearing it constantly since finishing it. It's so much cooler than I thought it would be.
I've decided to wear it when I stream too. This excitement is why I stuck with making stories, and Lego is how I've explored story ideas. I'm rambling. There's always something to find wonder in.
This is it this is my magnum opus audio design is my passion
i defy anyone who tells me this is not the original audio
I HAVE WAITED ALL YEAR TO POST THIS
date of origin: December 24th, 2015
since its the 24th right now…
A Free Write I found from forever ago
Here I am, posting out of the blue!
I found this among some stuff I wrote last year, and I was impressed by it today. If it’s just me knowing more because it’s from the worlds I’ve made, let me know. Maybe I just thought it was cool becauseI haven’t read it in a while. I guess I just want to put this out there and see what people think, and I don’t want to wait until I get home from campus. Before I overthnk it anymore though and lampshade it a bunch, here is the short free write as I wrote it:
-=-=-=-=-
A giant walked through a dark forest. His black staff shined in the little rays penetrating the roof of the forest. Dark armor shifted with gravelly creaks. Orange eyes watched from an angular visor for what lie in the shadows. Two hands hung at his side, brushing against his two larger arms.
A man in green followed, a brown cloak bundled in his arms. Intent green eyes scanned the way ahead. The wrinkles on his brow creased further. He locked his gaze on a shadow darker than the rest. He tapped his finger to his thumb. The quiet sound of leather drifted in the air.
A young girl tensed. Her eyes darted wildly to find the anomaly. Her blue rested on the giant’s orange. He nodded at the man, and she turned a protrusion from her golden bracelet. Blue light glided across her gray tunic, fading as quickly as it lit. She took a quiet breath through her tense jaw and whispered a prayer.
A roar filled the dark forest. A blade rose with a flash of red. A tear ran along gray cloth. A pool formed at the soles of stolen boots.
I have an idea for a baking show. I know nothing about baking, and I've seen so little of any show, but here goes.
The show has a bunch of professional bakers, but they can't touch anything. Instead, each will have a partner they coach through making the food. The partner would likely be someone who isn't super experienced in baking (to add to the drama). Maybe it's a friend or family member, I don't know.
Nidhiki: Say you have 5 madu fruit & someone takes 3, how many do you have?
Krekka: 5 madu fruit.
Nidhiki: O-kay, say you have 5 madu fruit & someone takes 3 by force, how many do you have?
Krekka: 5 madu fruit & a corpse.
Nidhiki: The person taking your fruit is Gorast. How many do you have?
Krekka: Closes his eye and tries to count on his fingers
Krekka: …none.
this is better than the entirety of the deathnote anime
ME, A NORMAL CONTRIBUTOR TO FANDOM: So let’s talk about the pedagogical implications Thanos’s snap would have on the Sesame Street curriculum within the greater MCU.
I don’t know how pedagogical it is, but I guess now I’m thinking about Bert sitting alone in a room, missing Ernie.
That is absolutely the emotional core of what a post-Snap episode of Sesame Street would be about (I feel like Bernice would be missing too, and Bert would try to play chess with Rubber Duckie?), but for the episode to function there needs to be something they’re teaching the audience besides ennui, and that is where I’m really stuck.
Because the emotional core wouldn’t stick if it’s not supported by the structure of the show! But it seems like the Snap destroys basically all structures in place. But that makes the structure of Sesame Street that much more necessary. And then I spiral like this for a while.
Disclaimer: I have not watched a full episode of Sesame Street in a long time
Big Bird has been waiting for the store to open for a very long time now. He’s a patient bird, and he knows about waiting his turn, but his watch has the big hand on the three and the little hand on the nine and he’s pretty sure that Alan usually open the store when the little hand is on the seven.
Finally, when the little hand goes all the way to the four, the door opens.
“Hi, Big Bird,” Chris says, his eyes red and puffy. “We aren’t going to open the store today.”
Big Bird doesn’t understand; Hooper’s store opens every day. “Why aren’t you opening the store, Chris?” Big Bird asks. “I need beakpaste, I’m all out.”
Chris just looks sad. “Big Bird, did you hear about The Snap?”
“No,” Big Bird says, and the way Chris is talking is very scary. He feels like he might need to sit down. “I don’t even know how to snap!”
Chris steps out form behind the door and gestures for them to sit on the stoop. When they’re settled, Chris takes a deep breath before he speaks. “Well, a bad man named Thanos came to Earth. Do you know about Thanos?”
“Yes,” Big Bird nods He heard some of the grownups saying that name. “He fought with the Avengers.”
“That’s right,” Chris says. “And the Avengers lost their fight. Sometimes, even when grownups try really hard, they can’t do all the things they want to do, and sometimes that means that bad things happen.”
“Did a bad thing happen?”
“Yes,” Chris says, taking Big Bird’s wing in his hand. “Because of Thanos, a lot of people are missing. And Alan is one of them.”
Big Bird has to think about that for a moment. He went missing one time, when he was a blue bird in a circus, but his friends found him and brought him home. But something about Alan’s face tells Big Bird that this isn’t the kind of missing where your friends can find you.
“Is Alan dead, Chris?” Big Bird asks. “I remember when Mr. Hooper died.”
“The honest answer is that we don’t know. He might be. Or he might just be missing.”
Big Bird tries to understand that. “Missing?”
“Yeah,” Chris says. “He might come back some day, and he might not. We just don’t know.”
Big Bird wants to cry. He loves Alan, and he doesn’t want any of his friends to be missing. “Is anyone else missing?”
“Yes,” Chris says. “Some of your friends may be, or their parents, or yours cousins and uncles and aunts. A lot of people are. And it’s very scary.”
“What can we do?”
Chris is crying a little, a few small tears pooling at the side of his eyes, and Big Bird wants to do something, wants to say something, but he kinda feels like crying too, and doesn’t know what will help. “I don’t know,” Chris says. “I think the only thing we can do is be here for each other, and love each other, and take care of each other. When things are scary, and when bad things happen, the most important thing to do is look around at the people who are still here, and try to do your best for them.”
Big Bird nods. “Hey Chris?”
“Yeah, Big Bird?”
“Do you want a hug?”
Chris nods. “I would very much like a hug, thank you.”
Big Bird does the only thing he knows how to do; he opens his wings and wraps them around Chris, doing his best to be there for the people who are still with him.
