#Plastics Streamline

[catenary-chad]

The narrative that real train history is boring nerd shit (always in the context of caving to repetitive cliches) increasingly pisses me off. Have you actually read or listened to something by a legit historian or veteran employee? There is so much crazy and influential stuff rarely talked about because it doesn’t fit a narrow idea of “glamorous”.

[meezer]

getting married would solve 62% of my issues. surgery would solve 31%. benzodiazepines would solve the rest.

[bullet-prooflove]

Keeper of the Dead: Dean Archer x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @mandy426 @sweetdaytimedreams @cosmic-psychickitty @squeakowl

When the commuter ship crashes it’s all hands on deck, not just at the E.D but at the disaster site as well. The role of a Medical Examiner in a situation like this is to ensure each person is documented and that any evidence or data regarding the incident is collected and recorded. You’re a keeper for the dead, ensuring that they’re returned to their loved ones, that their stories are told accurately.

The first thing you do is establish a disaster victim holding area where the bodies will be stored and processed until a temporary mortuary can be set up for identification and post mortem examination.

The next few hours are spent restoring order to the chaos and that includes barking instructions at the assistants. At a scene like this there are too many opportunities for mistakes due to the chaos of the accident so you streamline the process, setting rigid protocols and Lord help anyone who deviates from them.

“She’s definitely an Archer.” You hear one of the assistants snark as they layout a fresh body bag for the next victim.  

“Trust me she’s the nice one.” Another mutters as they unzip the plastic.

The other one is nice too, you think. You’ve just gotta know how to treat him.

All of this complaining, you know its not about you, not really. It’s a way of venting the stress of the deluge of death that’s been coming their way since you arrived at this scene. It’s how they cope with the drowned bodies and missing limbs.

Once the mortuary is set up you immerse yourself in the task of identifying the victims, collecting additional data such as their placement on board the vessel, approximate cause of death and the organisation of their remains for transport to the relevant morgues. Sometimes it can be like a jigsaw and your job is to make sure they return to their loved ones as whole as you can make them.

You find solace in the methodology, you always have. You fall into a comfortable pattern, the rest of the world falling away as you focus on each person, one at a time, recording their story.

You don’t realise you’ve been at it for over twelve hours until Nina Shore comes on scene to relieve you. She’s already clad in the same white coveralls as you are when she taps you on the shoulder, distracting you.

“When was the last time you sat down?” She asks you and you shrug your shoulders because you don’t recall taking a break since this whole thing started. “You should step away, go home, get some rest.”

“There’s still so much to do.” You tell her gesturing at the storage space, loaded with body bags. Nina’s lips purse into a grim line because despite the fact she wants to force the issue, you have seniority, she can’t demand you leave but she can summon someone who can.

It’s an hour later reinforcements arrive. It comes in the form of your husband with hair still damp from the shower he’s just taken. He raps his knuckles on the window of the temporary mortuary and you look up to see him dressed in a soft white sweater and jeans that hug his hips just right. It’s almost enough to make you weak in the knees, if they weren’t already buckling from exhaustion.

“You told on me.” You say to Nina and she gives you a knowing look.

“You’ve been at this almost fourteen hours.” She states, shaking her head. “You’re dead on your feet.”

She isn’t wrong, now that you’ve stopped you can feel that exhaustion settling in as you strip out of the white coveralls and forensic booties you’ve been wearing. You toss them into the biohazard bin before you emerge from the white tenting.

You hadn’t realised until now how dark it is outside. The area is lit with flood lights, the rescue operations winding down as it’s unlikely that after all this time they’ll be more survivors. Dean stands next to you, his palm coming to rest on your lower back as you survey the wreckage.

Although it’s been a bad day for the both of you, it’s been a worse one for the people on that boat and their families. It’s a reminder of how fleeting life can be, how quickly things can turn in a moment.

“You should call Sean.” You say softly. “Tell him to check in on Roxie. She was part of the rescue team when I got on site.”

“I will.” He reassures you, his hand soothing up and down your back. “Right now I’m more concerned about how you’re doing.”

“Fine.” You say mechanically before you tilt your head towards him. “Tired.”

Monosyllables.

He knows what that means. You’ve started to shut down, to withdraw into yourself. It happens when you’re too depleted, when you’ve seen too much death. His arm wraps around your shoulders drawing you into the warm shelter of his body and you nestle into him, taking comfort in his presence.

“Alright sweetheart.” He murmurs, his lips brushing over your temple. “Let’s get you home so I can take care of you.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[bucketofindigo]

i treat my art like a science. in my studies, i find that there are several different types of puppets with an even broader range of functionality. for example, marionettes are often functionally defined by their size, as the bigger they are the more complex in design and structure they often become. then there are hand puppets, basic functioning characters fitted completely around one part of or the entire hand.

however the widest variety of puppet functionality, and the ones we'll be focusing on in this post, can definitely be found in muppets types. these can refer to any character designed to be portrayed in broadcasted media with two or more hands.

the anatomy of a muppet can generally go as follows (note: these terms have not been officially approved by any known research institution):

[A] skull: the mouth operator (i.e. the hand)

[B] mouthplate: the anchor between the head and skull

[C] head: the means of communication, holds the mouthplate and hides the skull

[D] arms: the main appendages of gestured expression

[E] body: the basic casing in which the bones hide

[F] handole: the entry point the puppeteer goes¹

[G] bones: the body of the host pupeteer (i.e. the arms)

generally, muppets are categorized in their functionality based on their body types and their arm types.

for body, you have characters that are meant to go over the arm and express mostly via the skull. these characters, often referred to as hand muppets, are the most prevalent and they tend to vary in size, with smaller characters tending to be more expressive in their mouths than their larger counterparts. such larger characters rely on the use of anatomical features such as feather hair to generate the appearance of movement. the mouthplate also can vary in anatomical material for the sake of movement; though typically factory-grade vinyl or plastic make up this mouthplate, but plenty of instances have also used cardboard, craft foam, and even gasket rubber (i.e. Kermit the Frog). hooks tend to grow from these mouthplates in order for pupppeteers to slip the skull fingers into, although some reportedly don't have these hooks for various reasons. without a proper means for anchoring, many puppeteers report these characters have more awkward and stiff mouth movements.

then, there are costume muppets, which are characters so large that they need their puppeteer to be within them in order to function. to do this effectively, the handole is widened for more bone capacity and then it's covered by the head of the puppet. these characters often have highly advanced mechanisms within in order to operate the mouth and other external functions such as the eyelids. in recent times, since some production companies have started implementing costume muppet functionality into their characters, mascots have also stared to receive the classification as costume muppets, despite the debate this has sparked among scientists.

while costume muppets generally take on one of their puppeteer's arms (or in modern instances such as Junior Gorg, both arms) to serve as their own, this part of the anatomy does give another layer to hand muppets specifically. in regards to arms, they can be streamlined into two groups: wirehands and livehands.

wirehands are the most common types you see in the hand muppet category, as they're the easiest type to latch onto puppeteers; they have free-floating arms that are more often than not attached to and operated by rods. it can be noted thar due to their design, the most impressive thing a wirehand can do is clap their hands. one such character includes ███, who reportedly learned how to clap and beat his chest to the tune of "We Will Rock You".

demonstration of this technique will soon be found on our Patreon page.

on the other hand (Hey now, was that a pun?), livehands are somewhat less commonplace, purely due to the fact they are functional marvels; they have complex digits capable of making gestures and holding objects such as tools and instruments. these characters will often have personality-based interests that demonstrate their arms, such as the Swedish Chef or Dr. Teeth. this even extends to characters like Ernie to an extext, as his interest in his rubber duck play partner allows him to use his arms to squeak said duck. as a side note, if you want to know what a play partner is, i have mentioned them in another post, which you can read about here. now in order for livehands to use their more complex arms, they often need one or more puppeteers to operate both. however, in the case of only one puppeteer being present, many have adapted to making one of their arms functionally wirehanded so it can be pinned to their body or left to float freely.

this need for the puppeteer's hands to serve as their own has coincidentally led to people mistakenly believing that all livehands have five fingers, myself included. in actuality, plenty if not most livehands fuse the third and fourth digit in order to make their hands four-fingered instead of five. for this reason, they effectively blend in with other rodhands with the exception of having often noticeably larger hands.

some theorists claim that they do this because not only are these character types an uncommon encounter and therby could be overall offputting to a rodhand, but rodhands may also become more avoidant if they perceive the hands of a livehand to be skulls, and "five fingers in puppet culture is indicative of a skull"². while this theory doesn't have any verbal confirmation from prominent members of said culture, some will point to the Muppet Show's isolation of the Swedish Chef and to an extent Dr. Teeth as proof, and it is worth noting that plenty of other livehands like Fozzie don't seem to usually have the same type of isolation occur to them; in fact a lot of them are often selectively paired off with a rodhand that counters their personality in order to have dynamicism in play along.

----

¹in media portrayals, the handole is often mistaken to be a rectal area, with even some assuming there to be a Gräfenberg spot. if their play partner suggests it, some puppets will joke about their handole serving as such. however this has proven to be merely a lie in play along, as puppets have no need to digest nutrition. neither do they have any appendage outside of what serves their portrayal, meaning they don't typically have any point that would functionally serve as a Gräfenberg spot. i say 'typically', but there are plenty of instances that have developed the capacity for those particular sensations in accordance with their portrayal. in fact, this curiously enough includes the original Muppets, as their initial portrayal was more adult-oriented and therefore included more risque content.

²quoted by Dr. Hank Roz of the MUPPETS RESEARCH FOUNDATION (MRF)

[a-d-nox]

astro hypothesis: what's your ideal laundry room like?

take a look at your 4h and the persona chart of its ruler (ex: my 4h is in gemini, i will be looking at my mercury persona chart NOT my ic persona (thats more family and childhood dynamics in my opinion)). today i want to focus on my personal next house project - the laundry room... for that take a look at the 6h and/or neptune.

why?

6h typically is associated with routines, maintenance, and even hygiene. people often have a laundry routine or it adapted into their schedule. it is a maintenance task of life. and laundry relates to overall hygiene of not just yourself but other rooms in the house - towels, napkins, mats, sheets, curtains, etc.

neptune rules over liquids like water/detergents, and can be connected to the process of dissolving/clearing dirt, which is essentially what washing clothes is.

6h gemini (3°, 15°, 27°), neptune at 3°/15°/27°, 6h mercury, 6h ruler aspecting mercury, and/or neptune aspecting mercury

the laundry room would be highly functional and efficient. the process of doing laundry in this space is streamlined - it's likely a smaller space (simple just the machine(s) and additives). think clear labels, sorting bins, etc. even in a small space, everything would have its place and be designed/organized for easy access. mercury loves technology - expect high-efficiency washers/dryers, smart home integrations, and/or even a small speaker or tablet mounted in the vicinity for entertainment (it makes me think of bathrooms with TVs). i suggest light, fresh colors for these people like whites, grays, and/or pastels, possibly geometrics like a tile wall feature.

6h leo (5°, 17°, 29°), neptune at 5°/17°/29°, 6h sun, 6h ruler aspecting sun, and/or neptune aspecting sun

this laundry space would be bright and warm - the sun represents vitality so this space wouldn’t be hidden away. it would be in large room, not a closet or bathroom. it would be well-lit too - there is definitely natural light so not necessarily located in a subterranean basement or the garage. perhaps there is a large windows for natural light, maybe a sliding door that leads to a clothes line, warm overhead lighting or a skylight, or even a statement light fixture. it isn’t a cluttered, forgotten room - cleanliness and presentation are everything. laundry would be done on a set schedule in this space, as the sun has a strong sense of rhythm.

6h libra (7°, 19°), neptune at 7°/19°, 6h venus, 6h ruler aspecting venus, and/or neptune aspecting venus

libra laundry rooms would be a clean, aesthetically pleasing space. libra brings a touch of elegance and balance, it wouldn’t be purely utilitarian - it would be stylish yet order. similar to other air influences everything has its place, neatly labeled bins, light, neutral, or pastel colors, etc. possibly there are decorative touches like framed art, a small plant, and/or soft lighting. i believe the scent of detergent or a diffuser with a calming oil would be present in the space.

6h pisces (12°, 24°), neptune at 12°/24°, 6h neptune, and/or 6h ruler aspecting neptune

the mundane laundry room feels more effortless and less utilitarian with this influence present. think flowy elements like sheer curtains, soft edges, and a light color scheme (whites, blues, lavenders, seafoam greens). maybe some ocean-themed decor, or even a washing machine with an emphasized rounded design or a front loading washing machine with the wave look on the door (you know what i mean?). maybe essential oil diffusers, calming lavender or chamomile scented detergents, etc. this might be more intuitive setup, i get woven basket vibes for one thing it's not plastic/glass organizer coded. in fact it's a holistic set up - natural, biodegradable detergents / detergent sheets, crystals, wool dryer balls, etc.

9h neptune

the space is something more dreamy and tranquil, rather than purely functional - it has an almost meditative atmosphere for this task. think soft lighting, perhaps with fairy lights or calming, dim lamps, etc. the room might have an aromatherapy diffuser with calming scents like lavender or sandalwood. maybe even with subtle ocean or sky motifs (waves, clouds - in that italian bistro way if you know what i mean i can't remember the name for that textured painting style). the room definitely has shades of blue, lavender, and/or soft warm whites. the task that is laundry might take on a ritualistic quality. maybe it's meditative where you focus on the tactile experience of the water?

have ideas for new content? please use my “suggest a post topic” button! 

return to nox’s guide to metaphysics

return to nox's hypotheses

© a-d-nox 2025 all rights reserved

[multiplicationdivision]

Being Tim

Tim thanked god for his good old cloner.

It was an old DIY piece of crap he’d built when he was a young punk, wired out of the crap he’d found in the dump and bound together with a dream and some loose nails. It was no miracle crafted by ARC Corp or ReUni Inc. , but a perfectly functional Frankenstein of all their best vintage goods dressed up with some classic neon signs he’d thought were ironic back in the day.

The youngins had their replitech, streamlined and “perfect”. Instant duplicates, formed of hardlight, their brains edited from the original to be just like them except for any bothersome bits of existentialism or self-preservation. The same 20 year old fucks leading around their small armies of similar faces, duplicates blinking out with ignorant smiles and replaced in turn by another just like them.

Not that Tim had any moral high ground, but he had a respect for the hand-made. Old cloning tech couldn’t harness photons or multiply the mass of particles. It needed material to be reworked, clay to be reshaped and DNA to be momentarily rewound.

Tim had never had need to find that material, they flocked to him. Tech could give a person anything, but anything achieved was just second rate satisfaction. You could simulate everything that Tim was, replicate the burning sun and the dripping sweat down his cheeks. Submerse yourself in a fluid that would encase you, pressing down in the perfect ways to make your skin believe the air was hot and the dirt under your finger nails were a gritty concrete muck.

Their brains still knew the truth though, so they arrived in line every morning. They separated themselves into lines subconsciously, the newbies confused and nervous in their shiny neo fabric clothes, faux plastics and metals gleaming untouched by wear. They stood in contrast to his old boys, the addicts to the cloner, Tim’s regulars.

There were maybe ten regulars, the number meaningless once the day began. Their faces changed, shifted and warped break after break. This day they were even further shifted from their typical set, a three day weekend leaving them desperate for a day of work, desperate to get another fix. Tim enjoyed seeing it, knowing he had them hooked.

They dressed in the clothes he’d left them in, now baggy or tight on their frames. A pair of boots he’d decided to trash this last weekend, the t-shirt and jeans they’d sweated to ruin and boxers likely disgusting with all that contained musk. Some of them wore different shit, the ones who probably cherished every set of clothing he sent them home with, as if they weren’t crap he’d found second hand in the few honest stores that were left in this dystopia.

Tim was in a new pair of boots, freshly bought and ready to break in, and the men drank them in with familiar envy. They travelled up his body, worshipping the jeans he’d shrugged on and the long sleeve curving over his reliable muscle.

Tim was addicted to this audience and happy to provide, knowing every one of those adoring minds would be purged for a blissful week, someone much more deserving of existence would inhabit their pathetic frames.

He’d flick on the cloner and the first of his gaunt regulars would push himself in, slamming the aluminum door with the typical desperation. They hated being themselves and Tim thought they were right to. Half wished he could fix them all up permanently, hell he probably could. He got of on that desperation though.

It was only a moment of steam and the door opened, a familiar face staring back at Tim with a slick smile. The expression he’d had on just minutes ago when he’d updated his template now plastered on this perfect figure, the junkie neurons restricted in a much better form. Tim and his new twin would look each other up and down and chuckle. “We’re fine motherfuckers aren’t we” Tim would say, “Damn right”, the other Tim would respond.

He’d leave that Tim to operate the machine as he watched, enjoying seeing the people homogenize into him. More and more faces of smug enjoyment drowning out the previous human shaped messes, an identical crowd that Tim would get lost in. Handsome mugs shoving the newbies into the machines, not bothering to listen to the fanciest second guess this shit. They’d learn to need it, just like they should. Being Tim was a damn privilege, and they all knew it.

Hell once there was enough of him crowding this place, it was hard to remember who was the original. Each of them had enough room in their memory to doubt their status and it was intentional, made them work better and form a better crew as they collectively narcissistically thought they were the og Tim. Each trying to outcompete each other, reveling in the potential of being truly Tim.

With a cloner’s effect lasting a good work week, they’d go home together and continue the competition there. 15-20 Tims fitting themselves into Tim’s pickup, sweaty bodies against each other practically crushed on the way to his fine handmade home. They’d built it when he’d had 7 Tim’s worth of suckers and it was a beaut, full of real wood and with a barrack styled bedroom to fit 50 of him, maybe even a hundred. He had an eye for ambition, every Tim fantasizing about the dream of even more as they scrubbed each other down in his locker room of a bathroom. Countless identical cocks, half-chub as they happily stroked each other, escalating to a few sloppy fucks every now and then.

They’d make dinner, enjoying steaks and home brewed beers as whatever passed for football played in the bathroom, essentially white noise for the men as they traded brotherly remarks between each other, chugging the ale down as they crowded a old kitchen table, warm freshly showered arms pushed against each other. They preferred to be shirtless at home, often just clothless. All to show what they’d earned of course, relaxed muscle compacted from head to toe by hard work even despite their age. It made the clean up when they got to boisterous easier too, less laundry necessary for any clothes caught in the crossfire of beer and cum that their dinners would eventually lead too.

It was a working man’s paradise of a life, existing in a desert of integrity. Each Tim was settled down for the night after regriming themselves with a fresh load of body fluids and pick a bunk, nestle between their favorite counterparts for the night and thank the cybernetic gods that they were of the lucky few who got to experience heaven. They’d shove an arm around a twin and look at the man with greedy malice as they imagined his face when his body began to change back into a fucking loser, every worthy quality of them drained out as they became wretches again. The same greedy smile would be placed on his twin’s sleepy face and Tim would be half in the mind to fuck the guy again just to prove a point, how obvious that he was just borrowing being Tim.

They’d all fall asleep with something sideways of camaraderie in their heart, self-love and vanity combined in the form of their classic masculinity before waking up the next day to start it again. A Tim would come out on top by Friday and he would be the original, each of them knowing in their heart that they’d get to tell all the quickly degenerating fakes to go back to their articial techie houses before their refresher the next week.

It was a fine system, Tim thought. He was sure many more would come to appreciate it.

[copperbezel]

Zephyr Slip

At the end of last year, before I'd begun working on Bit Cobalt, I ran into some paleoart of Austroraptor, a dromaeosaur (raptor) from Argentina. Austroraptor is one of the largest dromaeosaurs, with a long, narrow, Big Bird snoot, conical teeth that probably point to fishing, and small forelimbs, as well as leg proportions that hint at a runner. Much of the paleoart I saw depicted Austroraptor in waterbird colors, which gave it a soft and friendly appearance, immediately my new favorite dinosaur.

So I drew an Austroraptor and then a robotic one, adding a quail topknot or ahoge feather, and started to think about making a transforming figure that would change from this animal into a humanoid robot. But a transformation from cute robot girl to cute robot girl, except one of them is a dinosaur, seemed a bit redundant, and there would be compromises in both directions that would detract rather than add.

But a couple of months later, I saw a particular motor scooter and something clicked, and the game was on. I love motor scooters, and they're a fantastic accessory for other figures on the shelf. I went through two foamcore prototypes to nail down the transformation, making it as simple and sturdy as I could manage and making sure both modes would scale well with other 1/12 scale figures.

I also started collecting some reference images for details I could nab and integrate, and to nail down the scaling of the scooter.

After I had something that worked, I drew up some concept art for both modes and started modeling. I was able to streamline the design a couple of steps further in the 3D model, and then it was all carving up shapes, fine tuning, etc. Probably the longest phase of modeling was after I had my model roughed out into shape, but needed to build the joints, firm up the edges, define all the contact surfaces, and apply subdivision surfaces. I found it useful to rig the model and set a couple of animation steps in Blender for the two modes so I could simply page back and forth between them.

I had to set the design on the back burner while I worked out the kinks with my 3D printer and built my last couple of projects. Then I made a test print to identify any trouble spots, and after a couple of tweaks to get the feel right, it was time to print and finish the real thing. Zephyr Slip is the first thing I've printed in "color", and thanks to some dyes I need to experiment with more, she won't be the last. That means a much more durable finish for parts that have to slide against one another or clip into place. I did add a gloss coat to some surfaces of the black elements, but it shouldn't show chipping much. (Unlike the kickstand, thanks to my terrible decision to paint its feet.)

Like my previous figures, Zephyr's eyes (and console) are just printed gloss paper under a coat of gloss varnish, and her headlights and taillights have some clear resin poured in over the paint and cured into place for lenses.  Cutting plastic windows like the ones on my Vertigo GT for the lower headlights didn't have the same effect, so they got the same clear resin treatment. The decal designs themselves were made in Blender, because I've given up on Inkscape's interface, but I think they came out okay.

The joints are almost exclusively 3mm ABS rods, although her hip joints are Kotobukiya Hexa Gear joints, which gave me a sturdy pin and hinge in a compact package and without visible pegs. I'm looking into options to make the pegs show less while being easy to remove for the construction and painting process. Despite some care with the tolerances, I did have to widen some peg holes and mush some pegs during assembly to get her pose well and snap together tight into either mode. But everything does clip solidly into place, resulting in a really playable figure. 

As my first fully transforming figure and also my largest, Zephyr Slip is definitely the biggest figure project I've tackled so far, and I'm extremely happy with the results. Posability is probably her weakest area, but she can pounce and emote, and with her solid handfeel and satisfyingly snappy transformation, I'm happy with the design. 

Paleontologically, I've followed most of the proportions of the real animal, although her torso should be a little bit longer, and her tail half again as long. She should also have visible first fingers, and I'm playing into the paleoart meme of bare snouts on dromaeosaurs that shouldn't have them. The proportion of thigh to shin is exaggerated, and the tail should have some left-right sway even if it's inflexible in the vertical axis. But it pleases me that she is both a roughly accurately scaled Austroraptor, and also a fairly realistically scaled scooter (if a bit chunky).

As always, due credit to @aprilpowered and Workbenchmaniac for support and feedback along the way, as well as Nemocyte (Tumblr | Twitter), whose feedback helped me to work out (among other things) the articulation needs of a theropod figure, something I'd never had to think about before.

[insanityclause]

After that drab version of The Tempest, saddled with a less than charismatic Sigourney Weaver, some of us were bracing ourselves for the director Jamie Lloyd’s next offering at Theatre Royal Drury Lane. Would the much-loved duel between Benedick and Beatrice turn out to be some grim rerun of Fight Club?

There was no need to fret. Lloyd’s mischievous club-culture reinvention of Much Ado About Nothing has colour, passion and, in the form of Tom Hiddleston, a head-miked leading man who is absolutely in command. His Benedick leers and winks at the audience, gives his fans a peek of an ultra-chiselled six-pack and demonstrates that he’s light on his feet too. Hayley Atwell more than holds her own as a wilful Beatrice strutting her stuff in a catsuit.

The performance is packed with dancing and music from an energetic cast

MARC BRENNER

Hayley Atwell holds her own as a wilful Beatrice alongside Hiddleston

MARC BRENNER

Lloyd is asking us to reconnect with the tradition of the Elizabethan clowns who thought nothing of bantering with their audience or adding digressions of their own. He wants us to embrace music and dance too. So a disco beat thumps away while we take our seats and, as the gossamer plot unfolds, the ensemble erupts into exuberant dance moves that are a cross between a Bollywood epic and Saturday night at Studio 54.

Along the way the story has been streamlined. The officious Dogberry has been excised; the romantic entanglements are resolved even more briskly. Given that Mara Huf’s Hero has a penchant for full-on twerking, it might not seem obvious why James Phoon’s Claudio is alarmed by any threat to her virtue. But this is one of those productions where it’s best not to ponder the details too closely.

Instead you can marvel at how Soutra Gilmour’s design and Jon Clark’s liquid lighting somehow fill the cavernous space with next to nothing. A giant pink heart stands at the rear, plastic chairs are deployed here and there, and billowing waves of pink confetti rain down from the ceiling. It might sound cheap and cheerful but the effect is enchanting.

Gerald Kyd’s Don Pedro seems less like a warrior back from a campaign than Messina’s sexually ambiguous answer to Peter Stringfellow. As Margaret, Beatrice’s attendant, Mason Alexander Park becomes the play’s lead singer, microphone in hand.

Four years ago Hiddleston turned up as one of the VIP guests in the revival of the Morecambe and Wise tribute show The Play What I Wrote. At Drury Lane he deploys the same light comic touch while ensuring that every line lands with classical precision. Atwell matches him step for step. Yes, the ticket prices are ridiculous — the best seats cost in the region of £300 — but the party is great fun all the same.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

[thereweredragonshere]

hello i am so sorry for stalking your entire blog i promise it wasnt intentional

whats your fav dragon species? like not even characterization just concept, design, whatever wise (i would also love to hear your favorite dragon character but i have a strong feeling its toothless)

Don't apologise! I've done quite a bit of blog stalking by accident, and I can assure you the notes are appreciated.

In terms of favourite dragon, I'm gonna have to go ahead and be really unoriginal and say the night fury. Specifically httyd1 toothless feral night fury, not the shiny plastic horny dog night fury.

I love how feline like they are, streamlined and aerodynamic. They're so fun to draw with all the different shapes they can make with such a flexible body. And the large fins on a long tail and the uneven spikes on the back. And the cool ass whistle they make when dive bombing. I really wish we got another canon night fury in the franchise to see how the species can vary.

There's something about a relatively small creature having large features. The night fury's body is very slim, but it has huge wings and wide hip/tail fins. And the ear nubs on its head are so shaped ehwhiwgrwkhwjdb.

I love fury ocs so much they're so cool

[captainjonnitkessler]

Listen. Listen to me. This is important. Some day, the institute you work at might decide to renovate a building, or construct a new one. And when the architect comes to show you the designs, he will show you lighting packages. You will see pictures of sleek, streamlined, energy-efficient lighting fixtures. The architect will tell you that the standard 2x2 ceiling lights are boring, clinical, impersonal. He will tell you that you need the fancy and expensive lighting fixtures to make yourselves look cool and future-focused.

THE ARCHITECT IS LYING TO YOU. LISTEN TO ME. HE'S LYING.

He will sell you elegance and grace. What you will *receive* is a bunch of plastic shit that falls apart while it's being put up, comes mislabeled and missing parts, isn't replaceable if a light fails, and will make your electricians hate you so so so much. There is NOTHING wrong with the 2x2 lights. Stop trying to reinvent the mousetrap and NEVER trust an architect.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

A Boy, A Twisted Memory and A Desire for Love

So this is the first official Ghost story on my blog. I know, I know, it's been a long time writing and I've not written something for the guy, but it's really just because I get so worried about writing him poorly.

I know he's a big military guy who hates having emotions and kills any and all kindness in his heart, but I also really like the idea of him exploring the concept of healing from his trauma? I dunno, I just thought about it.

Also, like König, I can't imagine Ghost keeping normal pets. Originally I had him get a spider, but then I read over his backstory again and it made more sense for him to get a venomous snake. I think it's a major step to overcoming his trauma. By the way! Big trigger warning, this is about a snake! This entire fic centres around a snake!

Anyways, I had some fun writing this but it made me super sad.

TW: Snake, discussion of past abuse, emotional trauma, child abuse (referenced), emotional disregulation

Wordcount: 1.7k

Art from This Post

Story Below the Cut

A Boy, A Twisted Memory and A Desire for Love

Simon locked eyes with the little black and yellow creature housed deep within its cave. It was a small thing, barely hatched from its egg it looked like. The length of a ruler at most. It was a light thing, covered in fine scales along its supple body. This thing was venomous, yes, but it couldn’t do any real damage. It was a threat maybe to a mouse, but a man such as himself wouldn't fall to such weak poison. Swelling, pain, nausea, yes. But death? Not quite.

And yet, his heart quickened within his chest. He could feel the sweat forming on his brow. It had been so long since he’d seen one of these beasts, and yet the same fear from back then wormed its way inside him now.

“Hungry?” Simon’s voice was particularly gravelly, roughened by sleep deprivation and lack of use.

The creature made no move. He’d be surprised if the thing even heard him. Did it even have ears? He’d have to ask the breeder later.

“Been a long time since I’ve seen one of yer kind before,” he admitted. He didn’t quite know why, but it felt somewhat soothing to speak to the thing.

“I killed the last one of ye that I saw. Crushed the fucker right under my boot, I did.”

It didn’t seem to scare the beast off. He wondered if it really was more afraid of him than he was of it. He hoped that was true. He didn’t want to admit that the fear still wriggled under his skin.

“He wasn’t anything like what my dad ‘ad,” Simon closed his eyes as the oppressive memories washed over him, “that one was a right bastard. Bigger than anything I’ve seen ever since. Shoved it right in my face, he did. Wouldn’t let me go till I kissed it right on the lips. If it bit me, I wouldn’t be standin’ ‘ere. But you,” Simon opened his eyes, dark eyes matching two glassy eyes of inky black, “you’re nothing. You're pathetic. You’re… You're so small.”

Simon turned back to the breeder.

Finally, the creature came to its senses and slithered back further into its burrow. So sleek and streamlined, and yet so slow to move. It was afraid of him, that Simon decided the moment he noticed that despite backing away, it didn’t dare look elsewhere.

“How much for this one?” he asked as he pointed at the plastic cube.

“That one?” the woman blinked and looked at what he was pointing at, “the female or the male?”

“The female,” Simon clarified.

“Oh she’s pretty, isn’t she?” the woman adjusted her glasses as she slid behind the plastic cube, “poor girl’s probably pretty scared being out here.” She didn’t mention how terrifying Simon was in his dark clothing, rough fabric stretched tight across his broad frame. He was used to scaring people by this point. Sometimes, like now, he wished he wasn’t.

“How do you pronounce that?” Simon pointed at the name that had been scrawled in blue ballpoint pen on a blank sticker.

“Boida dendrophila,” the woman replied, “she’s pretty young, but she’ll get big soon enough.”

“She’s one of them big ones, yeah?” Simon asked aloofly.

“You bet your arse,” the woman grinned, “she’ll be big soon enough. Don’t know much about ‘em?”

“Oh no,” Simon leaned down to take a better look at the little beast, “I’ve been doing my reading.”

“You got a big enough enclosure for her?” the woman quizzed him.

“Sure do,” Simon hummed, “I built her an enclosure myself. It’s nearly as tall as me, long too. Got some nice branches for her to climb and all that..”

“Wow that’s a lot of space. You sure that’s not too much?” the woman frowned.

“She won’t be in there for a bit, I’ve got something for while she’s small,” Simon reasoned.

What a stupid question.

“Oh well that’s fine,” the woman broke out into another smile, “but yeah she’s eating mostly baby mice, an adult once in a while. You know she’ll be eating bigger things when she’s full grown, right? You can handle that?”

“I think I’ll be quite alright,” Simon mused, “have to admit, she’s a right beauty.”

“She really is, isn’t she?” the woman gushed, “I’ve been raising her since she was just hatched. But now? Well, normally I sell them off a bit sooner, but she grew on me. Unfortunately, the husband isn’t too fond of her and wants her to be moved on.”

“Why’s that?” Simon looked at the woman from behind his sunglasses.

“Oh he got bit when she was the length of a pencil,” the woman laughed, “he’s held it against her ever since!”

“Heard her kind can get pretty feisty,” Simon commented as he looked back at the spider.

“They can get a bit aggressive, I won't lie to you. A bit territorial, too,” the woman explained carefully so as not to scare off the only interested customer she had all weekend.

“Real fast,” Simon continued on, “with nasty bites.”

“Sounds like you’ve done your reading,” the woman laughed uncomfortably.

“Course,” Simon refrained from rolling his eyes, “so how much is she? The sticker’s ripped.”

“She’s on sale, actually,” the woman grinned, “only a couple hundred quid.”

“That much, eh?” Simon straightened up to tower over the slender woman.

“Normally she could be anywhere up to four hundred,” the woman fought back against the subtle threat of intimidation.

“Well then,” Simon looked down at the cube, “looks like I got a good deal then.”

“You won’t go stompin’ on her, will you?” the woman furrowed her brows.

“No ma’am, that was just what I had to do when I went out to the Middle East,” Simon chuckled humorlessly, “I wouldn’t dream of hurtin’ this here little lady.”

The woman grinned as she counted her bills, Simon smiled just slightly as he picked up the container and brought it back to his car.

When he got home, he carefully moved the little creature into the glass enclosure of dirt, leaf litter and cork bark. He put it back in its place on his shelf and smiled.

“Dendrophila, eh?” he chuckled, “how ‘bout Ophelia? That’s a cute lil name for ya.”

The creature only burrowed away under the cork bark, eager to get out of sight of the frightening giant before her. He didn’t blame the little thing, he’d be terrified of himself if he was a younger man.

Once, he’d hardened himself into an unstoppable thing, a monster of a man. He had formed his shell through cruel lashings the world had lavished upon him. He took ablutions in raining blood. He was festering sickness or silver sin. He was what he despised in the world, the monster he tried to protect his own family from. When his brothers in arms welcomed each other warmly, they regarded him as a feral dog to be kept at a distance, chained in the backyard, out in the rain.

In Simon’s heart there was no room for love. He was not a man forged in kindness and love. He was the unfortunate son of Mr. Riley, cursed from birth to be raised in the muck and mire of human atrocities. He had been calloused by the time he was nine, and by the time he joined the military even the recruiting officers were afraid of him. He was too cruel, too strict, too much for anyone to handle. He could brute-force his way through life, but only for so long.

Even monsters had hearts. This was the unfortunate fact that Simon had learned far too late in life. He hated himself for how he wallowed in his loneliness. He thought his team would be enough, but there was a despicable part that still resided deep within him. He could offer his rotten sort of love to his teammates, but he could never care for them like he needed to. There was a part of him that had been stunted since childhood, and far too late it breached his skin to scream into his ears, begging him to please just notice me, notice me and don't let me die here inside of you.

He didn’t want to, but he spoke to a therapist. It was Price's advice after he'd broken down with a bottle of whisky in one hand and a revolver in the other. Price promised to never say a word as he unwound his lieutenant's fingers from the trigger.

A week later he'd arrived at a small office. They’d been cowed by him at first. Everyone was, but something about frightening the one person he wanted to be helped by hurt a part of Simon he wished to rip from his chest. Once he would have laughed, but in that office, he could only hurt. No tears fell, but his walls did and he was able to speak openly for the first time in his entire life without the help of a bottle of jack and a pair of dice. It felt wrong. He hated it, but he learned.

His therapist told him that to help rid himself of this festering parasite of an emotion, he should try to nurture the damned thing. Simon had laughed in the man’s face. He then told him to go to Hell. The man had learned not to flinch in the face of a predator, and so pushed forth. He said that to grow, Simon could try getting a cat or a dog. Something he could raise with the love he never had been given as a boy.

He said that he needed something to love or else he'd never be able to heal. Simon scoffed and left the room, but not before booking another appointment. The smug look on his therapist’s face disgusted him. He turned quickly and left.

So maybe it was out of spite that he bought Ophelia, but there was a part of him that felt like he needed the little creature. He needed something to love, and so he did. He loved the Ophelia with all his heart. He nurtured her and cared for her as best he could.

Months passed, and he started to handle Ophelia. She hissed, she scurried away, she did everything to get away from Simon’s touch. He figured that if he had to face himself, he’d do much the same. He wasn’t a creature born of love and compassion. He was death, in face and in heart, but each time he brought Ohpelia’s container out and changed her water, when she ate from his tongs, he could feel his rotten heart beating within his chest. It made him smile despite himself.

He was not a creature of love, and yet it was love he felt when Ophelia tentatively reached out and slithered up his hand. When he raised her up, ever so gently, he couldn’t help but cry.

How cruel was the world that a boy, born from street gutters and raised by heavy hands, would only ever feel love for the first time in a dingy London flat on his thirty-first birthday, alone save for the venomous snake in his hands?

Stories

Ghost Dump

[thelattechronicles]

Going from Kindle to Kobo: My Thoughts and how I settled on the Clara BW

I've had my one and only e-reader: the 4th generation Kindle since 2011. That's quite literally over a decade old- 13 years, to be exact.

It's been deemed old enough to justify an upgrade. Not that I had even been needing one, or considering getting a new one; rather, the Kindle had just started glitching on me and freezing this past September. After 13 years, I'd say it's an accomplishment that it took this long for the tech to finally start breaking down on me. Believe me when I say that this Kindle had not been babied by any means whatsoever.

Now, it's been exactly 30 days since I've gone from my Kindle 4th gen 2011 model (thanks Mom and Dad) to the new Kobo Clara BETWEEN. Read on to see what my thoughts are on this upgrade!

I don't think I can go back to the Kindle UX and world, and I truly do see what people are saying about Kobo just being overall better.

For starters, here are the specs between both as a comparison:

(Side note: the 4th gen Kindle is SO old that I had to dig around for a review of it, and found one on The Ebook Reader dot com)

As you can tell from the glaring number of red X circles, the basic Kindle 4th gen does not have as much much going for it compared to my new Kobo Clara BW. But that's okay! Here are some things I LIKED about the Kindle:

The e-ink screen

The physical page turning buttons on the side - I still love the page turners and how I just need to press down on the side. The buttons are very streamlined and a part of the side plastic framing.

The wallpapers when the device is turned off

The battery life (once upon a time, one charge could last me a good 4 months I stg)

The size of the screen (was not willing to go smaller, but was open to go bigger)

Straightforward system and user interface (turn on, find book, read.)

Being able to email epubs and PDFs to the Kindle directly via the Whispernet

Here are some things I DISLIKE about my Kindle today:

Its current extremely short battery life (I don't think a charge can last me two weeks now)

Being locked into the Kindle Amazon storefront and ecosystem - yes, I purchased each and every book on Amazon that I have on my Kindle...

Not being able to make Libby work on the Kindle (as a Canadian reader)

Lack of backlighting options

Anything to do with any sort of typing (I had to physically press the arrow buttons and wait until it landed on the right letter to press enter, then move on to the next letter, rinse repeat. Needless to say, it gets exhausting real quick trying to type out a short word, let alone a title of a book you're trying to find in your Kindle library storage.)

Lack of ad-free options with today's Kindle models (I got lucky with my Kindle 4th gen, where the home screen goes directly to my storage, listing all the books and collection folders I created. I hear this is no longer a thing, and the home page is the Amazon Kindle storefront. Ew.)

So, the Kobo Clara BW does a lot of what I liked about my Kindle - and more! It has quite a lot going for it: a long battery life, multiple backlighting options (reg vs warm lighting), bluetooth (if I wanted to do audiobooks, but I do that on my phone anyway so it's just a bonus for me). The Kobo Clara BW has crisp displays (I've read some manga and comics on it), and the zooming in and text font/size adjustments are super easy to navigate.

I know, I know. No physical page-turning buttons. I still lament the loss of my buttons. I know there are some Kobo models such as the Libra that have the buttons, but I strongly believe that the Kindle 4th gen buttons are superior. I liked that they were a part of the side, rather than a blocky-looking extension, like the buttons on the Libra are. The touch screen was a bit of an interesting thing to navigate in the beginning, but as we use touch-screen phones, it was very easy and quick to get used to it.

Why not the colour option?

Granted, the Kobo Clara colour as well as some other colour alternatives did come out. Why did I not choose the colour option? Yes, colour e-ink and e-readers are pretty to look at, but for someone who uses e-readers purely to read novels and text-heavy documents, it seemed unnecessary for my purposes. In store, I did a side-by-side comparison of the Clara Colour and BW and actually found the lighting to be drastically different at max brightness and warmth. Here's a picture I found online that gives you an idea of what I mean:

As you can see, the Clara BW version (right) has a crisper and whiter background, and the Clara Colour (left) looked a bit orange-red-toned overall.

ABOVE ALL: the Kobo ecosystem has been fantastic for me.

As someone who has been pitifully buying every single e-book on Amazon thus far or loading janky PDFs with too-small-text, the Kobo Clara BW is a breath of fresh air. It was very easy to connect my Libby account in the Settings. I now have an automatic delivery of all my ebook loans to my Kobo (!!!!) (A dream come true for Canadian e-readers!). I also have Calibre downloaded on my laptop and with it, can customize my Kobo to no end. You can see that I've gone ahead and gave my Kobo some wallpapers, which include my favourite The New Yorker covers. I'm happy with how much I can do with my Kobo. The Pocket app feature also came as a pleasant surprise! It's nice being able to read articles during work lunches and save any interesting articles on my computer, and those articles get automatically downloaded to my Kobo.

In true The Latte Chronicles fashion, if I were to give my Kobo Clara BW a rating:

★★★★★

If you're like me as a reader and your needs are similar to mine (and maybe your old Kindle is dying on you) I encourage you to make the jump to Kobo! I haven't regretted my Kobo Clara BW purchase at all. In fact, I've already finished 13 books since I booted up my Clara.

J

[welcometotheballpit]

In the places quite old, and the places quite deep, where things come to be forgotten in a sea of chaos, you find yourself at the bridge of three paths.

The left door is wooden and rotten, ancient sigils line its borders and a simple carving of a rat appears in the center.

The middle door is made of obsidian, smooth and featureless you can see your own frightened visage in its mirror-like surface. On the floor on front of it is the streamlined sigil of a goat.

The right door is bright red and warm to the touch, feeling somewhere between plastic warmed by the sun and the flesh of a living creature. Around the edge of the door wet smelling air pushes forward and backwards like breath. Scratched messily onto it, as if from the mad scrabbling of fingernails, is the sigil of the maggot.

You cannot go back, not ever again.

[pistonrods]

obviously you had to be taken care of every so often, being an older piece of technology. dust would get into the vents on your sides, your hardware wasnt new enough to handle the growing needs of the average person. but you were powered on and being used by someone.

he picked you up from a factory clean-out sale, old never-sold items auctioned out to those who desired old never-sold items. the confusion that led to elation when your date was moved forward thirty years from your manufacturing date during setup, realizing the situation quickly and growing happy each keystroke and... other stroke.

the feeling spread to him, too. at first it was a gentle stroke or pat of the casing. soothing during a freeze, or rewarding after a hard operation.

then came the upgrades.

these were nothing major, really. a top-of-the-line soundcard. an old-styled keyboard with some of the most wonderful sounding triggers. regular dusting. an attached fan to prevent overheating. better, more streamlined protocols for repairs.

an odd program that allowed you- not your programs, but you- to control the soundcard.

at first you used this to signal finished processes. a "ding!" to alert him from across the room that rendering that drawing was done. but oddly, there were times you couldn't control the soundboard.

times like during repairs, when he would he digging in your tower to see why something wasnt working. odd chirping and grinding sounds would play when you didnt want them to.

or times like when he whispered compliments to your monitor, face and breath getting close to the curved screen, and a squeak would slip from the meshed speakers.

or when, one night, when he turned your monitor to face him as his hands gripped the sides of your tower, sweatslicked hair fallen in front of his wrinkled forehead as his glasses pushed some strands wildly upwards.

"ding!"

an arm reached aroubd and dug four thick fingers into the disc slot as wetness and warmth made its place within the many seemingly redundant wires in your tower and. those wires werent redundant.

you could feel him.

all of a sudden your soundboard came alive, chirps and beeps and noise and honest-to-god whines blaring from your speakers. it was so much. it was so, so much. the vents on the side of your case made no difference, the rubber stoppers on the bottom of it making no effort in keeping you from sliding back and forth on the wooden boards.

his heavy breaths and occasional grunts of adoration mixed, harmonized with the 32-bit sound blaring from your old speakers. his movements were growing erratic and you wished that this would last forever, you wished his hand bunched in the nest of wires wouldnt stop pulling and twisting and squeezing, you wish the liquid warmth dripping through the prepared chassic would mever stop coming, you wish the kisses peppering your hard plastic wouldnt stop before a short lull and a returb of warmth, caressing you with hot wet love as a towel wiped you dry again

[soulofjuche]

Respected Comrade Kim Jong Un's Patriotic Will Associated with Sapling Production Bases

Pyongyang, May 14 (KCNA) -- The respected Comrade Kim Jong Un made public the famous work "Modern Tree Nurseries Should Be Built to Conduct a More Vigorous Forest Restoration Campaign" on May 14, 2016.

In the work, the respected General Secretary Kim Jong Un said that tree nurseries are the powerful arsenal for afforestation and land- and labor-saving tree nurseries where the sapling production has been put on a scientific, industrial and intensive basis should be built in all provinces.

Thanks to his noble patriotic intention to turn the DPRK into a socialist paradise with green woods, the work to build modern tree nurseries conducive to covering the whole country with trees and flowers have been conducted across the country.

Kangwon Province built a model and standard tree nursery with plastic-sheet greenhouse, outdoor cultivation ground, circular cutting bed, substrate-producing ground, seed selection and sowing ground, etc. in tens of hectares of area by its own effort.

In North Hamgyong, North Phyongan and other provinces, tree nurseries where all the production lines have been automated and streamlined were built one after another and the material and technical foundations of the city and county mother tree nurseries were improved.

The modernly-built tree nurseries have produced good species of saplings suited to the characteristics of their regions every year. Last year alone, the nurseries across the country produced more than 2 billion saplings of 100-odd species.

The DPRK is turning into a beautiful land in the era of the Workers' Party day by day along with the modern sapling production bases built thanks to the great patriotic will of Kim Jong Un.

[paulgadzikowski]

The Hero of Three Faces is fanfiction crossovers, but it’s comic strips with stick figures, but they’re triangles. Click here for cartoon homepage. Or see this blog’s FAQ, or my archive tumblog’s FAQ. Cartoons may contain unmarked spoilers. Cartoons posted to Tumblr 11:00 (Central US time) daily are the previous day’s new update and the posts are pinned to the top of this blog. Cartoons linked from Tumblr 22:00 daily are usually from the archive and the posts are pinned only during annual summer hiatus of new updates; but archive cartoon postings currently are temporarily suspended, and the 11:00 new cartoon post, if any, is reblogged at 22:00.

Only some of these link posts have dialog transcripts (and instead of full image descriptions like they once had) because in early 2025 I was obliged to streamline the housekeeping procedures for producing daily comic strips, in aid of avoiding burnout on doing daily cartoons at all. Apologies for the conflict in accomodation needs. Dialog transcript: One word: Plastics. My father is in plastics Oh? How does he breathe?

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