kingsonne-zedecks - Tumblr blog

[kingsonne-zedecks]

Cyberpunk heist movie where a trans woman's favorite hot swap genitals are stolen and being held hostage, so she has to get together a crew of trans human misfits to recover them. Meanwhile the thieves have locked out her pubic region with a hack through the genitals' wireless ability and are spending the whole time edging her to fuck with her ability to concentrate on retaliation.

[kingsonne-zedecks]

No "other" option. If you don't like multi POV books, please keep scrolling!

[kingsonne-zedecks]

It *is* a problem that charismatic species are often focused on for conservation at the expense of less charismatic but important species, but threatened species that are the subject of a lot of public outreach and education are also typically strategically selected.

I suspect that monarch butterflies are an example of this. Milkweed is a highly valuable plant for pollinators and a host plant for like. 400+ insect species. Getting people to plant it to save monarchs is funny because you're essentially finessing people into saving a ton of other insects that they wouldn't ordinarily care about

[kingsonne-zedecks]

id: screenshots from twitter thread by @shirilevari on common phonemes in swear words, linked here. the linked paper at the bottom is here. /end id

[kingsonne-zedecks]

When people get a little too gung-ho about-

wait. cancel post. gung-ho cannot be English. where did that phrase come from? China?

ok, yes. gōnghé, which is…an abbreviation for “industrial cooperative”? Like it was just a term for a worker-run organization? A specific U.S. marine stationed in China interpreted it as a motivational slogan about teamwork, and as a commander he got his whole battalion using it, and other U.S. marines found those guys so exhausting that it migrated into English slang with the meaning “overly enthusiastic”.

That’s…wild. What was I talking about?

[kingsonne-zedecks]

ARE YOU A FAMOUS PERSON

ARE YOU THE REASON WHY MY WING DRAWING IS GETTING ATTENTION

WHAT THE FUCK

(if you are a famous person, can you tell people to go look at my other art, like the vampire and schism arc stuff)

-@its-target-official (on main)

…I wouldn’t know about “famous.” Some folks know my writing work from Star Trek, or from the Young Wizards or LGBTQ-centered Middle Kingdoms universes.

I reblogged this, though. (And one of your posts was in the thread.)

Because for artists (and writers, too!), reblogging is the lifeblood of this place. That’s part of the reason I do so much of it.

So if people would kindly go look at your other art too, that’d be fantastic!

And meanwhile, folks: please reblog artists. Likes just lie there, and do nothing for the artist’s visibility (or their work’s). Reblogs travel.

So help an artist’s work on its way!

…Please & thank you. 😄

[kingsonne-zedecks]

James baldwin’s the artists struggle for identity. Btw.

[kingsonne-zedecks]

in the hour or so it took me to draw this op turned reblogs off

[kingsonne-zedecks]

I'd love to bookmark but I always forget. So I have to click through my history for forever to find old fics I want to reread

reblog for bigger sample size

[kingsonne-zedecks]

This poll proves that more people need to watch Russian Doll.

Thank you to @sleepnoises for making the original poll & for giving us the idea to to this :)

Sorry if we couldn’t get your favorite on here, we were limited to only 12 options (11 if you don’t include the “other” option).

[kingsonne-zedecks]

Y'all, the world is sleeping on what NASA just pulled off with Voyager 1

The probe has been sending gibberish science data back to Earth, and scientists feared it was just the probe finally dying. You know, after working for 50 GODDAMN YEARS and LEAVING THE GODDAMN SOLAR SYSTEM and STILL CHURNING OUT GODDAMN DATA.

So they analyzed the gibberish and realized that in it was a total readout of EVERYTHING ON THE PROBE. Data, the programming, hardware specs and status, everything. They realized that one of the chips was malfunctioning.

So what do you do when your probe is 22 Billion km away and needs a fix? Why, you just REPROGRAM THAT ENTIRE GODDAMN THING. Told it to avoid the bad chip, store the data elsewhere.

Sent the new code on April 18th. Got a response on April 20th - yeah, it's so far away that it took that long just to transmit.

And the probe is working again.

From a programmer's perspective, that may be the most fucking impressive thing I have ever heard.

[kingsonne-zedecks]

Next up: the heron! Another from this series.

[kingsonne-zedecks]

you bottle Miette??

[kingsonne-zedecks]

do you not ever get tired of pessimism? of hating hope? of being miserable? like yeah life is full of horrors and terrors. but it’s also full of strangers who hold the door open for for you. the color green. stained glass windows. bluegrass music. cats who butt their heads against your leg. dancing and laughing and crying.

none of that cures the agonies, but they are small acts of resistance to it. things may be shit, but life can still be good. and i know that because good things still exist. simple and small and full of hope.

[kingsonne-zedecks]

Time Travel was depressing.

That's the fact of the matter really. Yes, sure it's wonderful and fantastical and magical, but at the end of the day its really more sad than anything else.

Sometimes you start to think its only you that find it to be this way, but then another Traveler comes through your Depot, and you can see it in their eyes, that same deep weariness, and you know they are like you, one of the Adrift.

See, the thing about time is that its like a river, you can splash about in it and throw rocks and make waves and ripples, and then for the most part it smooths back out and the river runs as smoothly as ever, with not a thing different. It was your Traveler that explained this all to you when they first appeared in your life in a blaze of adventure. They took you back and forth along the time stream, to walk ancient cities that archeologists of your day would have killed to see, and to travel amongst the stars in the far future with its impossible technology.

The thing is, sometimes when you splash about in a river, some of the water hits the banks, and it never rejoins the flow. Sometimes a big enough rock can change the path of the river forever.

When you returned to your home and your time it looked mostly the same. The strangers on the street looked like strangers always did, the buildings in your neighborhood the same as always. Except where they weren't. A house painted the wrong color. A restaurant selling the wrong food. And your home filled with strangers. Your family gone. Your friends vanished.

The river moved on, and in the grand scheme of things nothing changed. But you had spent too much time out of the water, and everything familiar had washed away.

Your Traveler explained this all to you rather sheepishly. Its the Anchoring technology you see. Any Time Traveler worth their salt ensures that their machine is equipped with it. Your Traveler isn't the only one you know. While you were off gallivanting so were others, some make their changes accidentally, some Travel with the intention of altering the timeline, but changes are made all the same. A solid Anchor is the only way to make sure you don't get written out of history while off exploring.

You were Anchored. Your life was not. And now, you were Adrift, and Alone.

Life was hard after that, in those days before the Depot. You had your wallet still, and a bit of cash, but your ID was for a person that didn't exist. You were a ghost to the system. Housing was difficult, jobs as well. Each night you went to sleep wondering when someone would make the change that would wash you away.

You were in some approximation of rock bottom when he found you. He brought you back to his home, back to the Depot. That first night he didn't explain anything, didn't ask any questions, just shared a drink with you as you blubbered your story out.

The next morning you explored the Depot. It was organized chaos. Fabricated metals and bizarre gizmos, parts and pieces, glowing power sources and sleek control consoles all spilled from packed shelves into piles on the floor. No two pieces were exactly the same, each as unique as the machines each Traveler built.

It was a few weeks before a Traveler appeared in the Depot. It was one of the good ones explained the Mechanic. He'd never given you his name, or his story, and you never asked.

The Good One's were the geniuses, the ones who had really figured things out right before they ever Traveled. They knew their machines inside and out and could handle their repairs themselves. You listened attentively to the lesson while the Traveler dug through the mess, pulling bits and bobs out with confidence. They were up and running in less than an hour. More of a maintenance visit than anything else the Mechanic explained. That's another thing the Good Ones had going for them. Keeping up on repairs meant less chance for catastrophic error.

The next one was one of the Bad Ones. A teenager pulling up to the front door, a tow truck hauling some modified sports car behind it. A joyride, out for a spin in his father's ride, only to get in a regular car accident 80 years in the past.

It took the Mechanic a couple weeks to get the thing working. During the days, he would work on the car, explaining things to you about the commonalities and differences in the Machines as he went. In the evenings you learned about the Depots.

They'd been started by a Society of Time Travelers a few millennia in the future, secure facilities scattered throughout time, and around the world, as safe havens for Travelers in trouble, places and times they could go to for help if they ever got stranded. The Society had only lasted for about a decade relative time before messy infighting and power struggles has ended up with the society destroying itself before it ever existed.

Relative Time, what a headache. The Depot was Anchored, just like any good machine, which protected it from flips and twists of causality. A haven founded by an organization that would never actually exist. The sort of place someone could write Beethoven's Fifth.

Over time you learned more about Time, about the mechanics of its manipulation. You started to assist in the repairs, listening to the stories of the travelers as you worked to save them from the fate of being stranded out of their time and place. Most times you were able to keep the bitterness down.

You didn't even really notice when you started to handle the bulk of the repairs yourself. it felt good to be doing something, to have some sort of stability in your life once more. Which made it all the more painful when the Mechanic told you he was leaving.

He'd maintained this post for decades, far longer than he'd ever expected. It was only supposed to be a temporary posting, but without the Society, a replacement never came. Now though, he could move on, secure in your ability to maintain the Depot without him.

The Depot is yours now, and you've made it yours in truth. The shelves are organized, the parts catalogued. You've traded for a few creature comforts from various Travelers, some of whom have even become friends, stopping by even when they don't need any repair.

Some nights you even go out. The world is different each time, new faces, new buildings, new everything. Whoever maintains the Depot back in the 20's does a good job maintaining a bank account for you all, so you've always got cash to spend. You've even found yourself a favorite restaurant. Somehow, despite everything else that changes, it always seems to be the best spot around to eat, no matter what they are serving.

In a way it's its own adventure-stepping outside each day to a new world. You try your best to hold onto that, and when you look in the eyes of a weary Traveler you can see it there too. That tenacity to hold onto the sense of wonder when you can never go back.

Secret bunkers full of time machine repair equipment are placed throughout history by time travelers just in case someone gets stuck in the wrong time. You are tasked with manning one of these bunkers

[kingsonne-zedecks]

you’re outside, the moon has just fully eclipsed the sun, and you hear me yell in anguish. you look over and watch, horrified, as the sleeves on my “sun’s out, guns out” shirt start to rematerialize