#opal beeps and creaks

[mechamausoleum]

Ok, these songs are certified bops, but I can understand why they weren't included in the album. They all have a different feel to them. They're definitely better on their own like this.

[mechamausoleum]

So wild because only you can let it in. No one else.

I’m starting to think some of y’all haven’t actually felt the rain on your skin… which is crazy because no one else can feel it for you

[mechamausoleum]

I'm starting to believe people really have no reading comprehension and I'm just gonna start blocking those people. Because I'm tired of the constant negativity against Vivzie with the same old bullet points that have no bearing in the truth. All of this because of a post I can't reblog or comment on that said she was "crashing out" because of the Stolas fan animation and because people are criticizing what they said was obviously her "self insert."

Show your evidence. Where's the tweets or statement? Because I saw what she said on bluesky, and what she was ACTUALLY saying was that people were being gross about the situation the video addresses. Namely suicide and Stolas's depression in general.

She even praised the animation and the creator. What she was calling out is people trivializing suicide and depression. It may be about a character, but lack of empathy for a character is very similar to lack of empathy for other people out in the world. Saying that Stolas is better off dead and that the show should have gone this same route IS deeply gross and offensive. And if you don't agree then just block and move on because I'm going to start blocking people too. I'm tired of this.

[mechamausoleum]

Y'all need to learn nuance with sexualities 😭 Mrs. Mayberry being labeled officially as lesbian isn't a continuity error. That's a LOT of unspoke development. Come on

[mechamausoleum]

I am so excited for the future of Palia!!! The roadmap definitely shows their dedication and how much they will deliver! I love this game so much!!!!! The future is so bright !!!!!!!

[mechamausoleum]

@inseparabiles us with Sharknado

Any idiot can like something thats good. It takes a real genius to like things that suck ass

[mechamausoleum]

This started out as just me and Tish but I decided Jel needs the love too 🥰 Einar is next.... I'm just not even sure how to approach him

Edit: oh right, I forgot to change Jel's eyes to blue. Whoops. I really thought they were like an amber color 😭

[mystacoceti]

Eclogue IV: Winter, Joseph Brodsky

to Derek Walcott

Ultima Cumaei venit iam carminis aetas; magnus ab integro saeclorum nascitur ordo. — Virgril, Eclogue IV

I In winter it darkens the moment lunch is over. It’s hard then to tell starving men from sated. A yawn keeps a phrase from leaving its cozy lair. The dry, instant version of light, the opal snow, dooms tall alders—by having freighted them—to insomnia, to your glare,

well after midnight. Forget-me-nots and roses crops up less frequently in dialogues. Dogs with languid fervor pick up the trail, for they, too, leave traces. Night, having entered the city, pauses as in a nursery, finds a baby under the blanket. And the pen creaks like steps that are someone else’s.

II My life has dragged on. In the recitative of a blizzard a keen ear picks up the tune of the Ice Age. Every “Down in the Valley” is, for sure, a chilled boogie-woogie. A bitter, brittle cold represents, as it were, a message to the body of its final temperature

or—the earth itself, sighing out of habit for its galactic past, its sub-zero horrors. Cheeks burn crimson like radishes even here. Cosmic space is always shot through with matte agate, and the beeping Morse, returning homeward, finds no ham operator’s ear.

III In February, lilac retreats to osiers. Imperative to a snowman’s profile, carrots get more expensive. Limited by a brow, a glance at cold, metallic objects is fiercer than the metal itself. This, while you peel eyes from objects, still may allow

no shedding of blood. The Lord, some reckon, was review His world in this very fashion on the eighth day and after. In winter, we’re not berry pickers: we stuff the cracks with oakum, praise the common good with a greater passion, and things grow older by, say, a year.

IV In great cold, pavements glaze like a sugar candy, steam from the mouth suggests a dragon, if you dream of a door, you ten to slam it. My life has dragged on. The signs are plenty. They’d make yet another life, just as dragging. From these signs alone one would compose a climate

or a landscape. Preferably with no people, with virgin white through a lacework shroud, —a world where nobody heard of Parises, Londons; where weekdays spun by diffusive, feeble light; where, too, in the end you shudder spotting the ski tracks . . . Well, just a pair.

V Time equals cold. Each body, sooner or later, falls prey to a telescope. With the years, it moves away from the luminary, grows colder. Hoarfrost jungles the windowpane with sumac, ferns, or horsetail, with what appears to be nursed on this glass and deprived of color

by loneliness. But, as with a marble hero, one’s eye rolls up rather than runs in winter. Where sight fails, yielding to dreams’ swarmed forces, time, fallen sharply beneath the zero, burns your brain like the index finger of a scamp from popular Russian verses.

VI My life has dragged on. One cold resembles another cold. Time looks like time. What sets them apart is only a warm body. Mule-like, stubborn creature, it stands firmly between them, rather like a border guard, stiffened, sternly preventing the wandering of the future

into the past. In winter, to put it bleakly, Tuesday is Saturday. The daytime is a deceiver: Are the lights out already? Or not yet on? It’s chilly. Dailies might as well be printed weekly. Time stare at a looking glass like a diva who’s forgotten what’s on tonight: Tosca? Oh no, Lucia?

VII Dreams in the frozen season are longer, keener. The patchwork quilt and the parquet deal, on their mutual squares, in chessboard warriors. The hoarser the blizzard rules the chimney, the hotter the quest for a pure ideal of naked flesh in a cotton vortex,

and you dream nasturtiums’ stubborn odor, a tuft of cobwebs shading a corner nightly, in a narrow ravine torrid Terek’s splashes, a feast of fingertips caught in shoulder straps. And then all goes quiet. Idly an ember smolders in dawn’s gray ashes.

VIII Cold Values space. Baring no rattling sabers, it takes hill and dale, townships and hamlets (the populace cedes without trying tricks), mostly cities, whose great ensembles, whose arches and colonnades, in hundreds, stand like prophets of cold’s white triumph,

looming wanly. Cold is gliding from the sky on a parachute. Each and every column looks like a fifth, desires and overthrow. Only the crow doesn’t take snow gladly. And you often hear the angry, solemn, patriotic gutturals speaking crow.

IX In February, the later it is, the lower the mercury. More time means more cold. Stars, scattered like a smashed thermometer, turn remotest regions of night into a strep marvel. In daytime, when sky is akin to stucco, Malevich himself wouldn’t have noticed

them, white on white. That’s why angels are invisible. To their legions cold is of benefit. We would make them out, the winged ones, had our eyes’ angle been indeed on high, where they are linking in white camouflage like Finnish marksmen.

X For me, other latitudes have no usage. I am skewered by cold like a grilled-goose portion. Glory to naked birches, to the fir-tree needle, to the yellow bulb in an empty passage— glory to everything set by the wind in motion: at a ripe age, it can replace the cradle.

The North is the honest thing. For it keeps repeating all your life the same stuff—whispering, in full volume, in the life dragged on, in all kinds of voices; and toes freeze numb in your deerskin creepers, reminding you, as you complete your polar conquest, of love, of shivering under clock faces.

XI In great cold, distance won’t sing like sirens. In space, the deepest inhaling hardly ensures exhaling, nor does departure a return. Time is the flesh of the silent cosmos. Where nothing ticks. Even being hurtled out of the spacecraft, one wouldn’t capture

any sounds on the radio—neither fox-trots nor maidens wailing from a hometown station. What kills you out there, in orbit, isn’t the lack of oxygen but the abundance of time in its purest (with no addition of your life) form. It’s hard to breathe it.

XII Winter! I cherish your bitter flavor of cranberries, tangerine crescents on faience saucers, the tea, sugar-frosted almonds (at best, two ounces). You were opening our small beaks in favor of names like Marina or Olga—morsels of tenderness at that age that fancies

cousins. I sing a snowpile’s blue contours at dusk, rustling foil, clicking B-flat somewhere, as though “Chopsticks” were tried by the Lord’s own finger. And the logs, which rattled in stony courtyards of the gray, dank city that freeze bare by the sea, are still warming my every fiber.

XIII At a certain age, the time of year, the season coincides with fate. Theirs is a brief affair. but on days like this you sense you are right. Your worries about things that haven’t come your way are ceasing, and a simple botanist may take care of commenting upon daily life and mores.

In this period, eyes lose their green of nettles, the triangle drops its geometric ardor: all the angles drawn with cobwebs are fuzzy. In exchanges on death, place matters more and more than time. The cold gets harder. And saliva suddenly burns its cozy

XIV tongue, like that coin. Still, all the rivers are ice-locked. You can put on long johns and trousers, strap steel runners to boots with ropes and a piece of timber. Teeth, worn out by the tap dance of shivers, won’t rattle because of fear. And the Muse’s voice gains a reticent, private timbre.

That’s the birth of an eclogue. Instead of the shepherd’s signal, a lamp’s flaring up. Cyrillic, while running witless on the pad as though to escape the captor, knows more of the future than the famous sibyl: of how to darken against the whiteness, as long as the whiteness lasts. And after.

[mechamausoleum]

Omg... I went from like 1050 to 855. The bots are finally being culled

new tumblr update just dropped

also curious in the tags what ur ratio was i.e. i dropped about 300 followers and i was at just over 1200 before

[marcosoropoet]

Subtextual

1~ With a curious reluctanct endearment I push open the old mossy stone door once more, more so, its creaks razor sharp, its groans prolonged, and even if you might chance upon my being away on furlough, which begs the question... yet, still, I bid you come along enter since I am alone, tonight, and all I think of is you. the interface efficient, see if there's anything...again as it is always; to see if there's anything, again. something electric and vast. something that is from day to night to day... something brilliantly bright Still, I must cover myself from the brightness of day, and I am not ashamed. Those people laughing outside sound like hyenas post modulation. If I were from your earth, hype would arouse and excite me maybe (it is so often manufactured & crafted so irresistibly)... even ciphered anomalous flarfy glitches or black spidery realizations frozen in mid-scream my feet don't feel as though they are touching and treading ground. searingly clear & hyper-real floating Hey! Hey! (waving) I see somebody- (running up to them)— Hey! I see someone walking towards me across the street, but in my dream, the clumps of greyish snow don't allow me to see how they are (((walking)))...hard to record my found footage audio and video.shit!!! movie buzz is chainsaws love human flesh ~ 2~ mysterious more glancing out the car window the burning needle embroidering curtains of cloud-mystifying infinite violet and red radio tableaux, a tactile postmodern nostalgic melancholy.... affixing associatives in rampant aggregate slowness; flashing known images of fields, houses, rusted fixtures, patinaed a bright orange red-brown, horses, & certain deep periwinkle blue wildflowers she really likes... in my private self I lose the center of this piece and plunge, more into the fingerprints fetching a face, myself, I see you. that I am here. a punchyouface tongue-out in the funhouse restrained endless cloistered chasm trauma loop I penetrated through damaged fake tongue warning, our glass galaxy, is after all, suspended awash in opal blue, an oceanic wave of time is sweetly scrawled: because it must do with time. 3~ navigated by the black-cloud rope smoke of inertia & cold slanting rain pummeling under sound pounding studio bootleg basement lichen leavening every square inch of air awestruck with violet reversal, we looked horrified brain crazy. all the while the aroma of desert sage, outdoor coffees and our blue sky is never the same again you know you... frozen still burning quantum dreaminess, inside the black hole, light blue-grey microcosm ruse of identity melting frog candy, causal spinning eyes almost deeper now. no it's a red splatter handprint of smoke darkening room spacestealing nihilistic distorted space erasure gutted black caricature inert everything offends and our blue-grey microcosm ruse of inertia & movie buzzing endless timestamped outtakes; rain pummeling under sound pounding studio bootleg basement rhythm & blues hmmmmmmmmmmmm... harmonica: an imparted sharp musical squeal fell to the glass floor cracking in quickly fissuring musical inches of bubbling silver flash guitar wailing hard...itsa gotsa wail hard chil' (((Twang))) itsa gonsta wail so hard chil' ev'ry night and day (((Twang-a Twang Twang))) I sed, heh (((Atwang-a Twang Twang)))...Wwwelll... 4~ navigated by the black hole, light blue sky is never the same again you know you... frozen still burning inert everything offends and is confusing every square inch of air awestruck with tricky quantum reversal mindbend episode triggers blooming we looked Horrified Brain Crazy. all the while the aroma of ice blue desert sage, outdoor black coffees every square electric inch of raw air grimace— Hardcore Serious Animal Real serial repeated ditching Sequences when I move my hand beyond the light The sky the sharpest expert royal blue, chalk-white-bark. Rose-red threads weave dreams of Blustering Roses under Blue-Black Skies. Fingerprints fetch a face, mystifyingly filed in with the letters X&Z, "I was jus' goin' down tha street...heh, did you jus' mutt'r: "ramshackle derelic', you suppose, inside trash industrial chain link fake funk tongue warning out through damaged electronic faked out tongue "tutti-frutti" baby babeh...sound pounding out the center of this piece's fingerprints really gettin' down tuhnite babeh?! "I sho' enuf did...babeh! "whew! fetched me a face, myself (I lose) (I like) the black-cloud chasm trauma Looked Horrified by the Presence of Air Awestruck Twice in the Frozen Half of yesterday overlapping superimposing quietly with minimal embellishment. The morphing stand-alone Center of Inert-Everything Feral Chasm Trauma dormant looked horrified brain crazy in The Center of a Fresh Gelatinous Engineered Peach...glowing bright, Lime Yellow Lava Projected Blobs melting one into the other in citrus and cinnamon associative scents...synthetic dark patchouli notes~ —in the back: the band's waiting, twitching, rustling around edgily rumbling, banging about; a cymbal clashes and everyone registers the unique sound: their muffled pranks continue to keep themselves cracking up so badly— geeks re-recording the faux equivalent of dated found filler footage super8mm reductive spotlight trash b-roll fantasy knockout...drums pound and roll hard, cymbals clash, band members filmed yawning on silvery scratched up film...looking wildly blank, dressed weird on purpose, sitting in a chair, red and green brocade...sensational auteur angles...superimposed out of frame constant quirky jump cuts in a jerky slow motion— urns of inertia & rain pummeling navigating the serpentine candle-lit old-brick-passages and*time portals*> >>> > >>> >>> >>> >>>] the needle burning the LP deep past midnight baby soft background scratches and easy funk vibes playin' slow... far deep-red basement cloister black and white art deco textiles, stepping inside the trauma loop pattern I penetrated, tossed inside trash industrial cinema churning, suffused in streaming bluecloud fingerprints fetch a face, inside industrial trash cinema churning, the conversation...the recording. In my private self I lose the car window's identity.mystifying, shaping emptily, basement chairs of faked tongue warning spread out vastly, magenta clouds, pink moons, and a green rope smoke of flame and licking fire, makes the whole skylook green chalk white mottled bark beyond the light microcosm grey-blue light quantum ore skips time burning still frozen smoldering deep grey-moss ruse of rubber spider legs identity melting, causal spinning eyes almost deep splatter handprint of smoke darkening room spacestealing nihilistic distorted space erasure gutted black caricature hardcore serious real serial electric implements, repeatedly ditched the trophies, skipped the noir and hard-boil egg-peeled the victims, one by one "momma-momma, this is whin thuh program starts up, showin' yuh all thoze pitchers of thuh serial killahs strikin' ag'in and ag'in in a weirt circl' were thuh camera slowly zooms out tah revill from direc'ly ovahhead one of 'em momma, insahd anothuh large circl' of all kindsa weaponry...lookit fur yerself momma...see? 5~ sequences are stilled when I move my eyes beyond the light of the venetian blinds, and complancies of lilac valances... (the wind outside howls through the slanting rain). it's always been a miasmic isolated place... grey, dank, overgrown with burbling albino moss... and a rare and very deep-violet lichen. 6~ I Sn-nuuuck*- - - through the/hee-hee-hee/house HaLLWays to the LaUnDrysome clothes done...clotheschangecolor .but they chanGeUPchange t he t he...eeeeethecolor clothes of clothes negativo to the "neGative" négatif of the O/riginal ColOr…no bot 2///bot3-x-x-x pod cast install bot 4: synthesizing other annoyed bots and aberrant rogue algorithms. "mamA MAma MAmewww oOoO HURREeEe I think up hurry it's those _S-SErial KillaHS down dowNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNstairs DOWn...thuh...B-B-block :LIVE alien tunnel collapse horror[FILm/ed pure filmic inversion filmed Livestream accessible: entry portals close in 5 earth or increments|..../*/*/* |repeat : audio is still sideways\ again-0-no/…\t00—Trying hardto regain the-camera Again. noise/sounds lik|e plain staticXXX}]}]}]fweepooowha-wheee ---interference c*r*a*c*k*l*in*g/ there unidentifiable. Heavy static, beeps, and clicks...we are proceeding—I REPEAT we are proceeding—Lock it the fuck down NOW and bounce! Radio...banging noises...repeated thuds, garbled audio/an indistinct scream, but a clearly sequenced human scream from next door, listen for it when the tape is run back. Very loud—yikes! I think it's that guy with the hat and flimsy raincoat. 7~ Lightflash pinball machine arcades are an ambient and surprising ethos of cheap hyper bright jewel tone lights, many mirrors re-reflecting low art in other mirrors, projected radiant phases of the resonating stadium roar were pure human-machine. For forgive for interrupt inter attention ACTION cycle breakthrough exchange cycling down. I am the machine, and myself we beg rest...just the pittance of a few nano seconds & infinity are virtually interchangeable...please I need to re-up, to get well: you might complex : compress : comprehend|:| you probably may not even see but I must shut down now:/command.> override to optional personalized AI thought interface access5access4access3access2access 1access- - / |---------------------------------- ----- * Utter Quintessential granted key-trace ///-...enter code signal * ///code: : : crackling smoky synapses trailing electrical eclectic thought, lightning... tv program black-out: energy matrix, excursus scrutinized: Carnival bumper cars trail ceiling sparks gloriously arcing a piercing blue spray of cascading fire & silver smoke sputtering and spraying flashes of bright blue dotted iterations of light rawly all over our heads— that smelt so burnt-up & good. ~ Marcos Oro

[blueberryrock]

Here is the next chapter, I really don't know what else to say except enjoy!

(Yellow's pov)

"I'm sorry Yellow, but I can't help anymore, I've done all I've can," Steven Universe says over a diamond communicator "I'd love to keep helping you look for her, but I've got some stuff I need to do on earth, but–" I cut him off.

"No, no, I get it. You've spent a lot of your time helping me look for Blue, I'm very grateful, I'll keep you updated if we find anything" I say exhaustedly.

"Sorry, " he apologizes again " what I was going to say was, after I'm done with the stuff I need to do, I'll come back and help" he determinedly says.

I sadly smile at him, but it quickly vanishes as I say goodbye to him and hang up. I rub my tired eyes, ever since Blue has gone missing, I've been working my ass off trying to find her.

But I've had no hope, we'll expect for all the quartz's Blue Pearl found poofed on the Oasis's moon. But they don't even know where they're keeping her.

And every rotation that I've lost searching is another rotation she could be shattered or worse.

And to make matters worse, she is still pregnant. I groan at that last part. I need to get off my ass and go out and search planets.

But instead of doing that, I am currently sitting on my bed wasting time.  I let out a tired front as I get off of the bed, I summon a yellow screen and I send a message to Yellow Pearl, telling her to get my ship ready.

As soon as Yellow Pearl says it's ready hastily warp to my ship. The huge golden ship is gleaming in the sunlight, I sadly sigh as I glance at Blue's unused ship.

"I will find you" I mutter to myself. I climb up the many flights of stairs to reach the entrance of the ship. I carelessly stomp through the empty golden halls of the ship, only slowing down when I reach the cockpit.

I throw myself into the somewhat comfortable driver's seat, I take a deep breath to prepare myself as my right arm is engulfed by a golden light. I relax once the noise of the engines starts roaring as I leave the ground. The beautiful purple-blue sky of homeworld quickly changes into the inky blackness of space.

I tilt my arm more towards the right to steer the huge ship to an old galaxy the I haven't visited in eons.

(Blues pov)

I groan as I slowly sit up. The bright sunlight that pours in my small cell nearly blinds me for a few seconds. I rub the exhaustion from my eyes, I'm being very careful that I don't move my very injured arm.

It stopped bleeding a while ago, but it still hurts like a bitch whenever I move. Which is why I only move off of the bed to grab food.

Luckily, none of the fusions have visited me yet. After three days they finally gave me another pillow, a nice soft plush one! They probably think that I won't destroy this one, which is true.

I delicately comb my thin hand through my dirty hair, I gingerly put my weaker hand on my big baby belly. I'm now currently seven and a half months pregnant starting today.

I sigh as hunger washes over me, I slowly reach over from the bed to "Padparadscha" a small pink and orange plant.

I slowly grab all the small sour fruits that the plant produces. I quickly shovel all six of them into my mouth, I twitch from the very sour taste.

As soon as I swallow the last of the nasty fruit a large group of gems walks into my cell. With, of course, they're two leaders at the front.

"Finally you're awake!" Black opal says happily "We've, I mean she" Opal nods to the huge pastel fusion standing next to her "thought today would be a great day to run medical scans!"

"Yes, today we will heal your arm" the pastel fusion glares at my still bandaged arm "and check up on the gemlings," she says smoothly.

She ushers the medical gems to bring the equipment forward. "Luckily, since someone gave the command to slice your arm open," she says harshly, the smaller of the two fusions takes a few nervous steps back "we hopefully won't need to restrain you very much"

"I wouldn't say that" I grit through my teeth.

"If you thrash about, you'll only make it worse," the big fusion says gently. She presses a button the lets the medical gems into my small cell "we don't want to hurt you"

"My sliced arm says otherwise" I sneer.

"That was a mistake from someone who was having 'fun' " she glares at Black Opal with all four black eyes.

"W-well I see that I'm not needed" Opal squeaks. She quickly turns around and runs out of the room.

"Thank the stars" I quietly mutter to myself.

The big fusion only shakes her head, her long rainbow locks following her every move "I, won't hurt you. And I'll make sure she won't either"

"Cause that reassures me soo much," I say sarcastically.

"It should. Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way" her soft voice sends a shiver down my spine.

"Fine, I choose the easy way" I sigh.

"Good, good, there really no reason to put up a fight. In the end, we both want the same thing" she evilly grins.

"We do?"

"In a way, I won't explain it ...but I will say that we both want the gemlings to be nice and healthy" she gestures the gems to bring the scanner forward.

I sit as still as I possibly can while they use a small handheld scanner to scan me and remove the makeshift bandaid around my now stinging arm.

I let out a low hiss as they put some sort of healing paste on it and wrap it back up. "That should clear up rather soon," a small aquamarine with a squeaky voice says.

I weakly smile at her as the other gems work on getting the scanner to work. After a few long minutes of them just pressing buttons and muttering to themselves, the small gems finally get the scanner to work.

"Sorry 'bout that boss, it's an older model so we had to convert it from solar to a fuel system" a dark blue and gold Lapis Lazuli scratches her head.

"Why did you do that?" The tall fusion slightly raises her voice.

"I'm sorry, but it's the only way we could get it to work" the Lapis shrinks back.

"Fine. It's fine. Just hurry it up" the fusion snaps. The Lapis nods and tells the other gems to hurry it up.

And finally, the scanner actually does its job for once and quickly scans me from head to toe. Only beeping when it hits my belly and my arm.

"Alright, here are the results" a Peridot hands a light green screen to the pastel fusion.

"Finally" she quietly mumbles "good news! Aside from your arm being cut open, you're perfectly fine." She shoots me a grin.

"And that means?" I lean forward a bit.

"It means you're fine, and the gemlings are growing just as intended." She hands the screen back to the small Peridot, the fusion signals all the gems to leave.

As soon as she steps past the electric field, it quickly closes, leaving no evidence of its opening.

I gently lay down on my back, careful not to disturb my arm. I close my eyes and wait for the big metal doors to close.

I place my non-injured arm in my baby belly, tracing slow circles on top. "Don't worry, Yellow will come for us soon. You two can count on it" I whisper to the gemlings and myself.

I pull the now clean and soft thin blanket over me. I stare up at the ceiling, the green sunlight from the tiny window dances across the room.

"I hope"

(Yellow's pov)

Useless.

This is utterly useless.

I've been searching planet after planet, moon after moon, but nothing. No trace of any gems, gem ships, or working gem tech.

I angrily drum my fingers on the armrest of my golden throne and sloppily dodge any and all asteroids that are in my way.

And I've searched all asteroid belts and no sign of anything. I don't understand, I should have found her by now.

Their base should've popped up on the radar....Unless.....They're invisible....

Ha! Invisible! That sounds like something that Steven would suggest...Although, I do recall White asking me to stop working on something like that a millennium ago..... Unless someone started working on it again. Damn this just became a thousand times harder.

I jerk my hand off of the steering platform, causing the ship to come to an abrupt halt. I summon a screen and quickly type my theory to both White and Steven.

Even if he won't be searching I told him I'll keep him updated. As soon as that's done, I pull up the star map and locate the nearest planet.

I hastily put my hand back on the steering platform, too impatient to wait for the golden light to consume my arm I jerk my hand forward cause the ship to go as fast as it possibly can.

I slow down when I come to a very familiar area and a very familiar planet. Automatically, my ship pulls up a screen showing information about this planet.

Most of the file has been lost, except for the name of the planet (which was planet 2947). But the planet is large, hollowed out, and red.

I carefully land my ship on the ancient landing pad, it lets out a slight creak as I fully land on it. I turn off the engines and a golden bubble surrounds me.

I don't have much hope for this planet but it never hurts to look. After cycles of wandering around, I decide to go back to the ship and go to the next one.

The second planet I've searched used to be a water planet with purple water and gorgeous blue skies. But now it's once bluegrass is now murky brown mud.

If I remember correctly, this was my second colony. I cautiously cross a dried-up river bed, I kick a small rock across a field of dead grass. This is useless, nothing is out here.

It isn't until a strange, quiet, beeping noise stops me from leaving. I quickly whip around, I start a light jog back through the field until the beeping stops.

Out of the corner of my eye, a small pink object quickly looks up and disappears in the grass. I quickly chase after it, luckily the being is a very bright shade of pink so I easily find it.

I grab the small pink being, it has long fluffy pink hair that covers most of her face, with skin a few shades darker. They're wearing a short pink dress with tons of ruffles.

"Sapphire, how did you get here and what are you doing here?" I ask.

She slightly squirms in my fist, her small hands pound on mine. "Please let me go" her soft voice pleads.

I sigh and release my tight hold on her, she neatly sits in my hands with hers neatly crossed in her lap.

"I know why you're here, but what you're looking for is nowhere near" she calmly says.

"Don't give me that bullshit, if you know where Blue is, then tell me" I say angrily.

"I don't know what planetoid she is on directly, but I do know the galaxy" she tucks some loose strands of her fluffy hair behind her ear.

"Then. Hurry. Up. And. Tell. Me."

The pink sapphire stops to think, she runs her chin with her small involved hand. "You will find her in the Stracks galaxy" she grins.

I look away from the small gem to think "The Stracks..." I mutter to myself, all the anger quickly seeps out of me. My eyes slowly slide back to the still grinning gem "I don't think I've heard of that galaxy"

"It was where White Diamond's first few colonies (besides homeworld) were. Most didn't have any materials, so they were spared" The pink Sapphire says "I suspect that she is on one of those spared planets"

"Thank you. Thank you so much!" I chirp.

"My pleasure" she grins again.

"I do have one question" I set the little sapphire on the ground "why are you here?"

"We both have someone to look for, and I highly suspect that she is here" the pink sapphire brushes any of the dirt off of her dress and floats away.

"Umm, good luck" I quickly say before I turn around and head for the ship.

Don't worry I'm coming Blue.

[mechamausoleum]

I need someone to gif Stolas' face when he said "You you can just shut the fuck up" to that lady please and thank you

[mechamausoleum]

Yes because remember, if you pay for Netflix even with ads, half the library is still locked anyway :)

So 🦜🏴‍☠️

[mechamausoleum]

I love in media when robots can perfectly imitate art like a printer. It's honestly always a funny trope and makes me laugh.

I think the same thing extends to the Galdurs in Palia, except the only thing they can draw perfectly is whatever their oneness is. Like, that's their hyperfixation so obviously they can draw it perfectly.

Hekla draws Jina looking studious and cute in the way she sees her. Sometimes as her age, sometimes as a smaller child.

Einar draws fish. Textbook level diagrams and detail. But he most often will draw Gil, every single Gil he's ever had. If you look close enough you can spot little differences between each one.

[mechamausoleum]

I think everyone is missing the point here. The fears are not different, they are exactly the same. They haven't turned into desires all of a sudden or anything.

We are seeing them through different lenses.

These "incidents" are not being recounted in full detail against their will, they are being heard as they are happening. The forum with redcanary, the blog, the 999 call with Needles, hell even the letter Augustus read. These are just random things that happened that we happen to know go deeper than the rest. But you have to remember, the OIAR is sorting through so many cases like these.

They are NOT different. The Fears remain as they always have been. They are not suddenly desires; they were always desired by some. It's important to remember that. So stop trying to see them as something different. You'll understand so much better.

[mechamausoleum]

This is a genius idea. Sinus Hill don't forget me

Decided to say fuck it to my congestion. Closed myself in the guest bathroom, blocked out all ventilation, turned my massive humidifier on full blast and ran myself the hottest bath i can stand.

This is my enclosure. I live here now. I have recreated the water cycle in a matter of minutes and can finally breathe.