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A friend of mine thought the lyrics to Bad Romance was: "Je veux ton amour. I don't wanna be french!" and now that is all I can think about

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Clara, your wish is my command

This is so fucking funny

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I like that the energy on this is like 'Yup, those sure are some dinosaurs'

Don Punchatz

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Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind | 2004 | Michel Gondry

“Some endings don’t end.

They just loop until one of you learns the lesson.

I’m not chasing the loop this time.

I’m just watching it close.”

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Rebellions Eat Their Own

-An Andor fanfic

The Empire has fallen, but the Rebel Alliance hasn't won

A year has passed since the Battle of Endor. A New Republic has been born but it's future remains uncertain.

Set after the Return of the Jedi and follows mainly the women of Andor: Kleya, Vel, Mon, Bix and Dedra - as they navigate the political landscape of a changing galaxy.

Read on AO3

[excerpt below]

One room housed an exhibit titled The Screams of Alderaan —a vast, pitch-black chamber, soundproofed to absolute silence. No natural light penetrated; only dim, glowing orbs circled slowly in the air. The room absorbed even the sound of footsteps. Vel stood alone with nothing but her own breath and heartbeat. At the center, elevated on a platform, rested a single rock. A plaque read: Recovered from the site of Alderaan's destruction.

The artist had encouraged visitors to touch it—to "feel the pain." Vel let her fingers graze the surface. In the suffocating quiet, the texture of the gravel beneath her fingertips intensified. As she scraped lightly, the faint rasp of her nails began to sound like distant cries—voices calling out from the void. A cold shiver ran down her spine, and she pulled away.

It felt wrong to stroll around in fine clothes, drinks in hand, making small talk while images of fallen comrades flickered across the floating screens. At the center of it all was Wedge Antilles, the star of the evening, regaling eager listeners with war stories and securing financiers for his new flight school. Some men know how to turn their service into a career. The hollowness of it all made her miss the battlefield.

From across the room, she spotted a familiar face studying the Wall of Martyrs��hundreds of images, each life reduced to two dates and a line between them. Her eyes scanned for fallen friends.

"He isn't there, is he?" Vel asked.

"Why would he be? He was just an antiques dealer who killed himself," Kleya replied.

"I could talk to Mon. Maybe they'd add him—"

"Please don't."

They stood in silence. Near the edge of the wall, Vel noticed a man with unwashed dark hair, a short beard, and sorrowful eyes. Cassian. Where would they be without him? Or K-2SO? Or Jyn Erso? Without the sacrifices of those she'd never meet—those who gave everything so handsome pilots could take the credit?

Near the center of the wall was a young man in a red hat, his expression hopeful, almost smiling. He'd be smiling now, she thought. With the Republic's future uncertain, they needed more like him—fewer like her. People who fought for something, not just against it. Someone who could guide them, steer them in the right direction.

Lower, surrounded by members of the Ghorman Front, was a woman with wavy black hair and soft lips. A knot tightened in Vel's stomach. The grief was always there—sometimes sharper than others. Cinta gave her life for the cause. That meant something. She had to believe that. 

A wave of sorrow washed over her—for all those who dreamed of a world they'd never see. I hope we don’t screw it up for them. She fought back emotion; public displays weren’t her way.

"You know, Skeen’s not up there either," she said to lighten the mood. 

Kleya let out a small, but genuine laugh. It brought a faint smile to Vel’s lips. "I’d forgotten about Skeen," Kleya admitted.

"Where’d you even find a sleemo like that?" Vel nudged her shoulder.

"We couldn’t be picky back then." Kleya’s hand found hers, and Vel clasped it without thinking.

[read more]

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“Space Age Stuff” in blue and green

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Serial Experiments Lain (1998)

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Information desk at John F. Kennedy Airport, (1956).

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the Star Wars fandom isn't having enough fun with the acronym for the Confederacy of Independent Systems but this one youtuber is showing us the way

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“WHO IS THE LIVING FOOD FOR THE MACHINES IN METROPOLIS-?!”

I am, guys. I am…

Metropolis commission 2013

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Getting really high and listening to the heroic theme from Digimon on repeat. Transcdental experience

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Philco Television, 1958

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Erte-inspired image