them as the greatest robot romance of all time

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Kiana Khansmith

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Love Begins
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Cosmic Funnies
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
NASA
trying on a metaphor

if i look back, i am lost
Not today Justin
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them as the greatest robot romance of all time
Imagine growing up in the apocalypse with these nerds.
☆ How did the eyebrows start? ☆
☆ tip jar | commissions | prints ☆
male gaze is not 'when person look sexy' or 'when misogynist make film'
death of the author is not 'miku wrote this'
I don't think you have to read either essay to grasp the basic concepts
death of the author means that once a work is complete, what the author believes it to mean is irrelevant to critical analysis of what's in the text. it means when analysing the meaning of a text you prioritise reader interpretation above author intention, and that an interpretation can hold valid meaning even if it's utterly unintentional on the part of the person who created the thing. it doesn't mean 'i can ignore that the person who made this is a bigot' - it may in fact often mean 'this piece of art holds a lot of bigoted meanings that the author probably wasn't intentionally trying to convey but did anyway, and it's worth addressing that on its own terms regardless of whether the author recognises it's there.' it's important to understand because most artists are not consciously and vocally aware of all the possible meanings of their art, and because art is communal and interpretive. and because what somebody thinks they mean, what you think somebody means, and what a text is saying to you are three entirely different things and it's important to be able to tell the difference.
male gaze is a cinematographic theory on how films construct subjectivity (ie who you identify with and who you look at). it argues that film language assumes that the watcher is a (cis straight white hegemonically normative) man, and treats men as relatable subjects and women as unknowable objects - men as people with interior lives and women as things to be looked at or interacted with but not related to. this includes sexual objectification and voyeurism, but it doesn't mean 'finding a lady sexy' or 'looking with a sexual lens', it means the ways in which visual languages strip women of interiority and encourage us to understand only men as relatable people. it's important to understand this because not all related gaze theories are sexual in nature and if you can't get a grip on male gaze beyond 'sexual imagery', you're really going to struggle with concepts of white or abled or cis subjectivities.
What do you think of Arcane not using Camille, Ezreal, or anything of the other PnZ champions, and especially reworking the hex tech crystals? I think there was a voice line in the game that Camille was somewhat responsible for Vi and Jinx's parents death.
It was absolutely the right move for Arcane season 1, back when the show wasn't supposed to be the main canon. Arcane Season 1 already struggled with having too many storylines and not enough time to fully explore them, and adding ANY more characters to the cast than were in it already would have made it impossible to make anything cohesive.
It was a very good move to basically seal Arcane away from Runeterra Prime and most of its characters, and focus closely on the story of the three pairs: Piltover and Zaun, Jinx and Vi, Viktor and Jayce, weaving their stories in and around each other to tell a single tragedy.
... and there's really no better example of what a good move it was to do that than Arcane Season 2, which was catastrophically crippled trying to tell at least three full seasons' worth of story in a nine episode mini-season, ON TOP of trying to fulfil the sudden new role of becoming the new bedrock of lore and storytelling for the entire fucking IP. Imagine if somehow they would have had to try and also fit in Camille and Seraphine and Zeri and the Brackern and Blitzcrank and Twitch and Urgot and Zac and Ziggs and Renata Glasc and, jesus christ, Dr fucking Mundo.
That's what Riot wants to do with it now, though. They want, somehow, for the setting created by Arcane to be able to contain all of those characters coherently. Which it cannot, and should not.
Ah well. Corpos.
Artfight attack for my friend @teal-drawings :D
*wishing I had read this fifteen years ago*
Second best time is now
I have foraging instincts on par in intensity with herding dogs' need to herd. It doesn't matter where we are or who I'm with, if I see a wild berry or edible plant I recognise, you can bet your teeth that I will not rest before I have either picked those things or you have physically removed me from the premises. As much as neither of us want this to happen, I have monkey brain and nimble fingers and excellent colour vision and I just spotted some bilberries. Here we go.
Once i fed a wild blackberry, from a blackberry bush nearby, to my dog and im pretty sure he like it because 27 seconds later the blackberry bush was just a bush. I dont know how he ate them so fast.
You introduced a ground-level operational professional food roomba to a new type of food, which is found on the ground.
According to old finnish folklore, having a wild animal wander into your house is an omen of death. The bigger the animal, the more imminent the death. A small bird, like a sparrow or a finch, is a sign that someone who lives in the house will die within the year. If the animal that has somehow made its way inside the house is a small mammal like a hedgehog, or a larger bird like an owl or raven, would mean that death is coming to visit in the next few months.
Massive megafauna, like a fully-grown moose or a bear, is a sign that someone will probably die within the next 20 minutes.
So what would having an ant wander into your house mean? You die in like a decade? Does it get longer and longer the smaller the animal? How long for how small… small enough animal walks in and guarantees another century before you die
I think having ants and spiders and stuff in your house just means that you are mortal. If you never even get random bacteria in your house you're not human.
I know I couldn't handle having kids but if I was left in charge of some, I'd take them to the park to feed ducks. Not bread though, you shouldn't feed that to ducks. We're feeding them lettuce. Let the ducks going apeshit over lettuce show the kids that lettuce is actually awesome. When they go home, their parents are baffled by the fact that the kids are now willingly eating salad. In the most horribly animalistic fucked up way possible.
Imagine writing a book or making a game or a comic that gets adapted into a cartoon that's got so many distinct elements of your hometown and region, to the point that all the characters even speak with that very exact dialect you grew up hearing everyone talk. But nobody outside of your tiny hometown area really knows or recognises it, or had ever heard it anywhere else, so now everyone in the wide outside world only associates it with the thing you created, it's The Accent They All Have In That One Cartoon.
And your old schoolyard bullies can never leave town because anywhere they would go, they'd keep hearing people say "hey idk why but your accent sounds exactly like that talking trash bin from that one game. Yeah the one that was made by that person you tortured for drawing talking trash bins."
It's honestly amazing how easily life offers you side quests when you've got your eyes open for loose threads and enough free time to start pulling on it. Today we learned just how unbelievably, implausibly easy it is to snatch a baby seagull.
bro that's kidnapping
If two idiots with a box can just walk up to you, put you in the box, put the box in the trunk and drive off while your parents just sit there and watch without even thinking about doing anything about it, that's just going to happen. Nature is cruel like that.
It would be fun to learn a new language to the point that I could hone a specific manner of speech. Like being able to consciously choose a style to speak in and focus on mastering it, to the bafflement of native speakers. Like what if I want to learn Spanish, but specifically in a mixture of very formal, old-fashioned 1850s-ass language and wildly poetic, dramatic and romantic phrasings and figures of speech.
I want to be able to just casually say shit like "it is not only a fruitless effort to try to fight against my own nature, but I find that seeking to do so is a downright sin" before picking up and drinking from the For Dogs Only water bowl on the street in front of a tourist pub.
The finnish adjective "villi" means "wild" in a way that covers everything from "wild animal", "out of control/outlandish", "feral", both "untamed" and "undomesticated" and simply "unruly". But as a noun, it's "a savage", which is both archaic and degoratory, something a 1800s-ass brit would call any indigenous persons that don't have a specific slur they could call them. Anyone that a person who uses words like "uncivilised" would call "uncivilised". In plural, the noun villi is villit.
The name Ville is a finnish man's name, derived either from Wilhelm or William, depending on which language's wikipedia I look at. I have never met someone named Ville who wasn't an almost overwhelmingly normal millenial guy. Like the platonic ideal of the finnish variant of Literally Just Some Guy. It wasn't uncommon for there to be two or three boys named Ville in the same year or even the same class when I was in school. The plural of multiple guys named Ville is Villet.
But in partitive plural, villi and Ville are the same word, villejä. Spelled, written, and pronounced the same - you just have to trust that you can tell from the context at hand. In Disney's movie Pocahontas, the song Savages was translated as Villejä. And therefore, one can interpret the lyrics to be either about "savages", or "some dudes named Ville".
In conclusion, every Ville I've met who has had classes, been in the same class group, or god forbid been friends with another Ville has found this song supremely unfunny.
I could never own a parrot. They are splendid and delightful joyful creatures but I could not match their fucking whimsy. If I woke up at 4:45 am on a tuesday to the sound of some gleeful feather-cloaked varmint doing aerial somersaults all over the house while singing the world's most high-pitched whistle nightcore one-man a capella cover of Funkytown, I'd eat it.