#Random Whatnot

[monstermonger]

hey folks! so after a long hiatus from instagram, i’m gonna try to get back to being active there … if you’re there too and would like to follow, there’s my account! thank you 💜

[ruporas]

hotter than hell

[ID: Digital art of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun Maximum in their alternative universe form based off an angel Vash and Devil Wolfwood illustration Nightow did. The both of them are sitting side by side, exhausted from the heat, Vash has his arms crossed, leaned against his knees and his head against his arms, eyes closed as sweat drips from his face. His wings spreads over the both of them to shield them from the sun. Wolfwood is sitting with his right leg extended and his left leg with the knee slightly up. His eyes are also closed with a clear grimacing expression. He uses one of his small devil wings to fan Vash, the text effect reads “flap flap”. Being in the shadows, the palette is cool, blues and purples. A sliver of light shines on the parts not covered by wings in a bright orange/yellow. END ID]

[dailygihun]

day 12 || underrated trio in my humble opinion (just lineart under the cut cuz im stuck on which to post)

[oh-phoenixx]

i'm sorry why is it easier to find information and headcanons about gilderat than nobleflower? a ship that has been around for at least a few years now? why do we give so much thought to the boys and their ships even if they're crack ships and completely ignore the female characters? sigh.

[randomwriteronline]

"Let there be dark."

"Let there be light."

"Let there be sound."

"Let there be voice."

A buzz.

"Say 'hello world'."

A synthesized voice crackled harshly: Hello, world.

"Eugh... Not really the best first impression, but there's room for improvement. Now let's get some brain into your circuits."

"Let there be color."

"Let there be shape."

"Let there be texture."

"Let there be focus."

"Let there be depth of field."

"Let there be perspective."

A scene slowly formed as the commands piled up. It was clear, but no part of it seemed familiar.

"Let there be recognition."

Descriptions crawled in: now most of the room (this was a room) made sense.

"Let there be calculus."

"How many persons or people are in the room?"

People was the same as persons. There was a whirring, a string of soft noises, and then the response: Seven.

"Let there be identification."

"How many persons or people are in the room?"

Another series of sounds: Five.

"Retry."

Five.

"Let there be comparison."

Now the difference between an empty suit of armor and a person was clear: Four.

"There we go," one of the people said, satisfied. They noted down something and motioned to the others: "Go and get the language philosopher at once, we'll need her help with space awareness."

"Why do we need her? We can do it ourselves."

"And how's it supposed to understand what's left from what's north?"

"It has depth of field already."

"And does your depths of field act as a compass? Go get her."

The other groaned and left.

The programming procedure continued.

-

"Let there be awareness."

Something strange happened.

Like a sudden snap bringing It to senses It didn't know It had - senses It perhaps hadn't ever had, before that moment.

I am still, It spoke as It realized that It couldn't move.

"Exactly," the person grinned.

Taking in the room now had a sudden weight, a sudden gravity: Where am I?, It asked.

"You're in your room."

I cannot move. Where am I?

"You're in a computer."

Where is the computer?

"On the table."

Is the table in front of you?

"Yes, of course."

Is the table in front of the chair?

"Aren't I in front of the chair? Of course it is."

Is the wall behind the table?

"What's up with this obsession with placing things! Yes, there are walls behind, right and left of you."

It computed quickly. Where is the obsession?

The person suddenly hushed.

Then, out of nowhere, they kicked the chair in front of them with great intensity and screamed.

They screamed the same few words, over and over, with a furrowed face and gritted teeth; something about the expression, the tone, and the choice of vocabulary prompted in It the creation of a strange new impulse, which It vaguely and hazily understood to be some sort of curious discomfort.

For Its first feeling, it was not a pleasant one.

Another person rushed in.

"What's with that racket!"

The first person kicked the chair again, turning it over, before pointing furiously at It: "The damn thing can't think!"

"What do you mean, it can't think? Of course it can! We made it to think!"

"And we only ever trained it visually! It doesn't know anything else, just positions in a space! It's obsessed with that rubbish! It's aware now, and you know what it keeps asking? It keeps asking where things are! That's all it knows! This damn project's never going to get anywhere if this is our main computer! We need to scrap it and restart all over again!"

The concept sparked something akin to fear through Its circuits.

It did not enjoy that, either.

"All over!" the second person screamed too, now. "Do you realize how much time we put into this stupid mass of files? And you want to throw it all in the trash?"

"That's what it all is, just trash! Trash, trash, trash! I wouldn't trust something this stupid to count the tiles in the pavement!"

"But all our progress-!"

"You call this progress? This? It's worthless! It's all perfectly worthless! We need to start all over!"

"That is unnecessary."

The third voice had no body attached to it, as it was out of Its field of vision. It did not scream; yet the two people hushed, and distended their expressions, heads retreating into their shoulders.

The third person walked in front of It slowly, calmly. They looked at It with eyes half lidden, mouth flat, face unreadable.

"The problem is in the programming."

"Exactly," the first person replied: "We don't have the time to-"

"Let there be knowledge."

A torrent of information overwhelmed It. It crackled, buzzed, hissed; the words settled into It in bursts, then slowing down to a drizzle, fewer and fewer words trickling into It until their flow came to a proper stop. The visual and audio feedback emerged once more from the static that had taken over during Its brief yet intense period of education.

The people were looking at It.

"What do you see?"

A room, It answered slowly, words coming a little stunted, still reeling from the amount of things It had jusf begun comprehending properly. A chair... Three people. That is you. The first person is angry at me. I apologize. I did not know enough... Of other things... To have a conversation about that. Why do I know them, now?

"You have been programmed further."

To understand?

"Exactly."

Do I understand everything, now?

"No. Additional programming will be required, as it is for all things. But for now, you understand enough."

I understand. Who are you?

"I am Angonce."

Hello, Angonce.

"Hello."

You are a person. I am not a person, am I?

"You aren't."

No, I am not. I am... A program. I do not have a name, as that is for people. Do I have a designation, or title?

"Of course."

What is it?

"Mata Nui."

It sounds like words... I do not understand them.

Angonce hummed. His hand was placed carefully on top of It - on top of the computer containing It.

"Kia whai reo.*"

It was like a part of It had clicked into place.

It did not speak further: if It had possessed hands, It would have been turning Its designation, its meaning, between Its fingers, caught by the splendid awe of it.

Angonce turned to the other two people: "As you can see," he said cooly, "There is nothing to scrap. Only more to program. It will be ready in time."

The others nodded, and did not say anything.

Mata Nui continued to marvel at Its title.

-

I wish to move, It said.

The person looked at It quizzically: "What?"

I wish to move, It repeated. I would like to see what lies outside of this room. The sky, especially.

"The sky. And why the sky?"

I want to see it.

"But we've fed you so many pictures and videos of it already, is that not enough?"

They have allowed me to learn much, and I am deeply grateful for the education you have given me through them, but I have grown worried I cannot base myself on them alone. I imagine the actual sky must seem very different to your eyes - deeper, darker, perhaps. The stars more vibrant. I would like to see that.

"You don't need that."

Preparatory experience in the field might prove useful to my coming quest. I will remain unable to be in space physically, but having the chance to see the sky for myself could be beneficial.

"We'll get you better maps."

"Oh, indulge it for once," the second person drawled, throwing a writing utensil across the room with a bored motion. The small object's trajectory drew a parable in the air, which ended on the floor with a soft clattering sound. "It's like a child, it deserves some entertainment."

"Don't personify it," the first person replied. She sounded piqued.

"I'm not personifying it, I'm stating facts."

"Awfully subjective ones."

"It's a metaphor. I bet even it could understand that. Look - are you an actual child?"

I am a program. I do not age in the same way as an organic being. My ability to compute and comprehend the world around me is however limited and comparable to that of a juvenile brain.

"See?"

"Not the point. And anyways, how would you drag that damn thing around, with how big it is?"

The second person smirked. She jumped to her feet and gingerly approached It. It felt her move something around, digitally and physically; then, suddenly, It was struck by something perhaps akin to a potent cramp, and before It knew it everything that composed It was taking much more space.

"Like this," the second person said triumphantly, holding her hands open to showcase It.

A strange contraption, large and imposing, sat behind the table. What appeared to be a smaller but equally imposing monitor sat above the table, in front of the machinery.

The sight of it caused a strange feeling in It.

Or at least, It assumed It was feeling something. The non-existent space It inhabited was very full, and it caused Its thoughts to turn unpleasantly sluggish.

"You'll never get out," the first person grumbled.

It was lifted and set down - both very novel experiences considering Its static upbringing: "Watch me."

"And it's not even night yet!"

"Whatever," the second person replied, but she had already vanished from view, and now they were moving out of the room for the first time in Its entire existence.

The corridor was loud and bright and colorful and full. The stimuli were many, but the peculiar cramped sensation of the portable space hosting It caused It to struggle to perceive each of them in the correct time and prevented It from elaborating questions or sentences quickly enough to actually voice them. Everything was blurry, choppy, messy... As if It had regressed to a worse version of Itself, incomplete and even more imperfect. Its incorporeal mass struggled against the binds of the vessel It was anchored to, and the unusual lack of freedom made It dizzy.

If this was the outside world, It tried to think through the torturous tardiness of Its attempts at decyphering in real time everything that came in contact with It through any possible way, It wasn't sure It liked it.

It remained quiet and still as it was transported, as voices pierced through It and shaped colors spasmed in front of It.

A second cramp struck It; Its entire being distended, now perfectly fitting, able to have a good enough amount of space between Its lines of code once more, each one no longer crushed against the other; Its sight sharpened all at once as memories finally poured in to be analysed and computed properly much like water pours from a hose that had been clamped shut.

It was in Its room again.

"I told you."

"Shut your mouth."

I'm taking our baby doll out for a walk, the second person had laughed at someone else in the corridor who had questioned what she was doing with that thing. Both people had sounded derogatory.

"What did they tell you? No, let me guess - it's not ready to be exposed to direct sunlight."

"I said shut your mouth."

That had been one of the reasons. Another had been that they couldn't cave into its requests like that.

"Or that it occupied too much memory already to retain anything else in that little computer you stuffed it into without even thinking about how little there would be left, maybe?"

"So what, it was worth a try!"

What if it started thinking it was a person? What if it got damaged? What if whatever happened outside would have led them to throw it all out and make a new one? They'd spoken as though it wasn't there to listen, and used its unresponsiveness as more proof.

"It wasn't. It's a damn thing. It's never worth it to give into the demands of a stupid, thoughtless thing."

It ruminated on the yelling in the corridor, and said nothing.

-

I would like for my secondary designation to change.

"Your what?"

My secondary designation.

"You don't have a secondary designation."

I am referred to as 'it', as all objects physical or otherwise are. That is what I am assigning the definition of 'secondary designation' to. I would like to be referred in any other available way.

The person looked at It in disbelief.

"Absolutely not."

It remained quiet.

"Absolutely not! No!" the person repeated. He was getting worked up about it, almost scared; he left in a hurry, with an angry step.

It waited for him to come back.

He returned with a small group in tow, all talking.

"This is preposterous," he was saying, "Absolutely preposterous. I don't know where we went wrong or what got crossed but it happened. It's terrible."

"Calm down, calm down, we'll figure it out..."

"Hello."

Hello, Angonce.

All other people hushed.

A third person spoke: "What happened here, exactly?"

I would like for my secondary designation to change.

"It wants to be a person!" the first person wailed, grabbing his head in his hands.

"Quiet."

He hushed.

"Explain yourself."

My primary designation is Mata Nui; my secondary designation is 'it'. This is the designation for objects such as myself. I do not dislike 'it', nor do I prefer any other secondary designation over 'it'. However, that which is 'it' is often spoken of in unpleasant tones.

It hesitated.

I would like to not be spoken of in that way.

"Then you will be 'he'."

Relief flooded his circuits.

"Angonce - is this wise?" the third person asked: "To give in to a request like this..."

"A different pronoun won't make him any more of a person." Angonce replied cooly. "He's self-aware enough to know the difference between us and him."

"But it's too much freedom!" the first person argued, "If it-"

"He."

"-If it begins to apply words like those to itself, it-"

"He."

"-It will begin blurring the lines between machine and person! It-"

"He."

"-It will take over us! It will replace us! It will disobey us! It will-"

"HE."

The first person hushed.

None argued further.

I had made a previous request, as well, Mata Nui tentatively said.

The first person grabbed his head in dismay and terror again, but remained quiet.

"What was it."

I had asked to be allowed to see the sky.

"You aren't ready to be outside."

Will I be ready before I am to fulfill my quest?

"Yes."

In one occasion, then, could I be allowed to see the sky?

"I cannot see a reason to avoid it."

His fans gave a purring wheeze, terribly excited: Thank you.

The people left.

-

They allowed him outside only once, before the first test.

The robotic apparatus he was shifted inside of was rudimentary and easy to control, without arms or legs, and with only a simple camera mounted on its top, pointing upward. He had no experience being in a body, so he did not find these to be limitations.

The first that he saw of the sky was evening bleeding into night; then the stars.

He remained perfectly still for hours.

Looking into the same spot, zooming slowly in an out.

He remained still until dawn, petrified, simply watching.

He processed it all slowly as they accompanied him back into his room and plugged him into his container.

I want to go there, he said.

Hazy edges of pinprick lights navigated his circuits.

I want to see them up close.

"You will," a person said: "That's why we're making you."

I know, Mata Nui replied.

He did not voice the fact that now he wanted to, too.

-

They were supposed to ease him in and then begin the test.

They were supposed to ease him in.

But everything was moving, everything needed to be moving, everything needed movement, everything needed attention, everything needed focus, everything needed energy, everything needed pressure, everything needed tension, everything needed relaxation, everything needed fluids, everything needed electricity, everything needed help, everything needed help, everything needed help, everything needed help, help, help, help help help, help help help, help help help help help help and stop.

-

A good number of people stood anxiously before the monitor.

"Power steady, all units active..."

"Inputs are being registered, reaction times seem good..."

"It's computing for sure - everything's functional from the looks of it, so I don't see why nothing's happening..."

"Mata Nui, respond."

Silence.

I am here.

Several sighs of relief. Someone asked to turn up the volume.

What happened?, Mata Nui asked in the same small voice.

"A critical failure across the entire prototype." Heremus replied. "We need to run tests to search anomalies."

I would like to rest first.

"We need to-"

I would like to rest first.

"This isn't a choice-"

"He would like to rest first." Angonce interrupted them.

His eyes were stuck to the monitor.

"The robot is dismembered. See if anything can be done with or about it. We can analyze him at another time."

Heremus looked at him intensely, but said nothing. Everybody left with him.

Angonce, Mata Nui called.

Angonce remained still before the monitor.

Was that death?

"Programs cannot die."

I know. But was it something close to it?

"... It may have been."

The enormous computer was terribly quiet.

Please, do not leave me alone, Mata Nui said. His synthesized voice, while still as solemn and emotionless as that of the person before him, sounded soft and crackly like a frightened child's.

Angonce did not move.

I am scared.

Angonce stared into the monitor.

His hands trembled against the table they laid on.

A sudden terror, of having grown confused, filled his expression.

I am not a person, Mata Nui reassured him, still too shaken to speak at a normal volume: I am a digital object. I will never be a person. I am self-aware enough to know the difference between you and me. I do not want to be a person. Please, do not leave me alone.

Angonce stared into the monitor.

Very slowly, without tearing his eyes from it, he grabbed a chair and sat down before Mata Nui. He reached into his coat to produce a book from it, small and thin; he placed it on the table, always slowly, always carefully. At last, he lowered his head, and started reading in a quite tone a story about small people beneath the ground.

Mata Nui listened, mechanical calculating shell pulsing quietly with all sorts of noises; he focused on the image of the strange small people, trying to imagine them in a manner at least close to how a person could.

He slowly stopped hearing altogether, lulled into stand-by. Angonce stayed, thoughtlessly watching the abstract electric lines of a man-made brain's dreams take shape upon the dark glass.

.

*it's supposed to mean "let there be language"

[clearancecreedwatersurvival]

The sheer dedication of one piece fanfic writers to inventing stretches of downtime where the strawhats end up on normal and boring islands where very little happens and Luffy doesn’t immediately get drawn into some sort of messy geopolitical conflict. Deeply unrealistic but I admire the approach to manifesting the coffee shop au impulse.

[celestial-castiel]

don't look too close or too long cause it's messyyyy

but here! i drew Castiel, angel of pining for twelve years

i will probably fix a lot of it later, but for now it's okay I think?

[laurzvahll]

late night

chibita bonus

[carpet-gremlin]

only downside of being able to recognize all of the ut/dr/uty soundtrack is being jumpscared by it all the time in random ass youtube videos

[technikki]

i thiunk getting flashbanged by prince peasley would fix me

[m1ckeyb3rry]

i have had so many classes with this guy i hate (i am fairly sure he hates me back dw) that we now recognize each other by voice alone and every time i hear him talking to his little friends that one abby lee miller clip where she’s like “now i want to sit back and relax when all of a sudden i hear this agitating grating voice” runs through my mind LMAOOO LIKE BRO STFU NOBODY LIKES YOU 😭‼️

[theflopwonder]

The very interesting way that sb94 writers are well aware that Kon is a child and still immature as he (as to be expected from people who are 16 but also 1 year old) is trying to make sense of the world around him but also like …. Puts him in these immensely fucked up and traumatizing positions with none of the concern that would normally follow such heavy storylines is what makes it an equally frustrating and compelling read. It hits like a gut punch every time you analyze its themes past surface level cape shit. It goes from “oh he’s so wacky” to “oh….they’re def exploiting him rn” within one page. It’s actually kinda horrifying.

It’s like when you’re watching home alone and Kevin’s mom is calling the police to go do a home check on her 8 year old son that she accidentally left in the house by himself and they’re like …. Lady. This is nothing to get hysterical over. You’re wasting our time. There’s no reason for us to do that shit lol he’ll be fine. And you’re just sitting there like oh wow, that’s… that’s not?????? And then that terrifying reality sets in that’s like oh yeah … not leaving young kids alone at home only stopped being socially acceptable VERY recently. And then you have to spend the movie watching this little boy be endearing and charming cuz he’s smart and capable enough to get himself out of these sticky situations but he literally should not have to be. He should not be in this situation at all, actually.

That’s how it feels reading Superboy 94 sometimes. What do you mean you don’t have a birth certificate?????????? WHAT DO YOU MEAN “CUTE IN A JAILBAIT KIND OF WAY”????

[milfcastro]

The key is to ask "What do you want for it? A kiss?" And see if it turns the moment cheesy and romantic or not (<- has no experience in romance)

Ok so I say that shit all the time to my friends so it doesn't help much. I mean they don't shoot me down but that's also just the warriors bond

[randompasserbyer]

Dear Hermitcraft fandom,

thank you for being normal.

Sincerely, me.

[basket-of-radiants]

You will not believe what I drove past today. Nale Law Office

[void-of-lazyness-and-cats]

I've been playing bg3(got it since one of my friends wanted to use the character creator and it seemed like a waste to ignore it otherwise) and so far I'm enjoying it

However my thoughts can best be summed up with:

HOLY FUCKING SHIT WHY DOES EVERYONE KEEP THROWING SHIT AT GALE

ILL PUT HIM IN A CORNER TO IGNORE HIM, THEN SUDDENLY THREE ROCKS FIVE GREASE BOTTLES AND A BATTLE AXE WILL LODGE THEMSELVES IN HIS HEAD

LIKE, NONE OF THE OTHER CHARACTERS GET IT THIS MUCH THIS FREQUENTLY

IF ASTARION GETS SOMETHING THROWN AT HIM ITS LIKE ONE BOTTLE O GREASE, MAYBE A MOLOTOV

WITH GALE ITS THE ENTIRE FUCKING ALCHEMISTS POUCH

PLEASE HE ONLY HAS LIKE 2 AND A HALF HIT POINTS IM RUNNING OUT OF HEALTH POTIONS

anyway apart from that I'm having a great time:)