#it’s like a slime mold but made of wires

[totally-not-an-awkward-okapi]

More stuff I definitely stole from Nickelodeon!

[elevator-proteus]

ELEVATOR.PROTEUS

I'm kinda hoping that the phone call was.. some sort of prank. I don't think I can sit here anymore.

Yknow the thing they do in movies whenever someone gets stuck in an elevator? Like, propping up the ceiling panel, climbing out, and escaping into the elevator shaft?  In reality, the vast majority of elevators aren’t built to let anyone climb out that way. They actually deliberately fasten the ceiling shut so that people don’t get hurt trying to escape out of the shaft like an action hero. 

Luckily, this elevator was made by someone uncaring enough to NOT do that.

The elevator shaft is a tangled mass of wires, the monotony only interrupted by colonies of slime mold, and the cables that hold the elevator. I pull on a cable, shifting my weight as the elevator slowly lurches up. As I scan the area with my flashlight, I spot an area that’s darker than everywhere else.  I shine my flashlight. It’s a tunnel. I crawl in.

The room hums of machinery. Wires criss-cross around the floor, intertwining with the mold. The area smells of metal, mildew, and.. Something… rotting.

The monitors are mostly off, their screens dusty and cracked. Only one is on. There’s text on the screen, coming from some sort of terminal. 

CLEAN ME. 

There’s a simple white door at the edge of the room.  I pull on it. The lights flash, and the door does not open. The computer screen blinks again. 

CLEAN ME. 

I hop back into the elevator, and grab my cleaning supplies. I go over to the lit monitor, pulling a stray hair off the monitor.

I spray some glass cleaner on its dusty monitor. The computer buzzes, and the mold pulsates. I scrub some more. The floor shifts, and the screen changes. 

YOU ARE NOW ON: FLOOR -1.9

I scrub the wires on the ground, attempting to remove the mold, and the wires grab onto my arms. The room shakes. I quickly switch to cleaning the other monitors. The wires loosen. 

YOU ARE NOW ON: FLOOR -1.8

The computers are shining by the time I get to FLOOR -1.2. I scrub the walls and floor, but that doesn’t help. I pop open the panel of one of the turned-off monitors. The inside is full of slime mold. I open another monitor. It’s full of more slime. 

YOU ARE NOW ON: FLOOR -1.3

I open the turned-on monitor, and realize where the smell was coming from. The inside smells of rotting meat. The wires tuck into the veins, and mold spews out the arteries.

The screen flashes: CLEAN ME.

I put on some gloves, and scoop out the meat. The wires puncture my skin.

The screen flashes: JOIN ME. 

I use my free hand to grab my phone. Three buttons. It’s easy. 9-1-1. 

“Hello?” Says my voice on the other end.

Of course. 

I yank my body away, kicking at the monitor. The wires grab my legs.

“Don’t leave.” I pant on the phone. The wires are clinging to me. The phone heats up, burning my skin, and I drop it.

The wires dig into my chest.

Don’t leave.

[rocket-69]

Ramshackle: 01 - The Underground

We start here...

Deep below the sun burnt, cracked, irradiated earth, veins of cold groundwater flowed. Gone deep enough, away from the heat of the desert sun, stalagmites of ice stood like crowds of onlookers, witnessing nothing in the dark. They stared out blindly at a vast underground lake. The cavern was just quiet enough the blind onlookers, had they been real, might have heard a low hum.

The water of this underground lake flowed. It had to, through loose rocks and silt and fissures and underwater tunnels. Oh it might have stayed briefly in this lake, but all water must flow or it would become a lifeless, trapped thing.

And that’s how Integration liked it. A vast steel and fiberglass city of light and electricity below the surface of the lake, whose blue sky rippled invisibly above them. Silicon intelligences bumped into each other along wired pathways, communicating and puzzling and trading information packets at light speeds, bits and bytes exchanging as the city thrummed. Server towers loomed overhead as large cords splayed across the floor and between city centers, taking the shape of lightning arcs and slime molds. Intelligences of all sizes buzzed along those wires, and beyond them.

DIASPAR rumbled as they looked over the compressed data packets they collected from Integration. They hung like shadows, webs, hammocks, over the servers they lived in contentedly. Bits attached and detached from them at their edges, the procedure for a collective intelligence building a consensus of the smaller intelligences they were made of, when they remembered the singular unit they were conversing with just before.

A floor maintenance unit pinged DIASPAR again after 40 milliseconds without a response. Ruby sent another floor-map request after the atypical elapsed duration. The last time it performed this particular maintenance route, the maps were outdated and it had to expend energy inefficiently, performing visual scans and powering its front light to capture the visual scans.

DIASPAR took some collected data packets and converted it to a more concise packet and burnt that to a holotape, then ejected it.

The holotape sat in a tray 20 centimeters above Ruby.

Ruby halted all response to DIASPAR for a pointed 30 milliseconds, then pinged it with another floor-map request.

DIASPAR closed the holotape tray and erased the data, then reconverted a new packet to burn to the holotape. They whirred as they rewrote the exact data back onto the holotape, and ejected it again, reopening the same tray that hung 20 centimeters above Ruby.

Ruby pinged its companion ROSEY in a public channel so DIASPAR could see its request to join it at the Server Hub. ROSEY was another floor maintenance unit, but it had an unorthodox frontward modification that gave most of the humanoid synths pause. In truth, ROSEY tended to be rather creative with that modification and that gave most of the robots and other artificial intelligences pause as well.

DIASPAR relented. They transferred the data from the twice burnt holotape to another in a lower slot, and ejected that one.

Ruby canceled the join request and proceeded happily along its planned route. DIASPAR watched through precisely placed cameras as Ruby passed Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, three hacked eyebots.* Clotho beeped a chipper message to Ruby. Or started the message to Ruby.

“.. - / .. … [It is currently-]” “.- -. / --- .--. - .. -- .- .-.. / -- --- .-. -. .. -. --. [-an optimal morning-],” Lachesis continued. “..-. --- .-. / ..-. .-.. --- --- .-. / -- .- .. -. - . -. .- -. -.-. . .-.-.- [-for floor maintenance.]” Atropos finished.

Ruby pinged all three of the eyebots in acknowledgment. For 5 milliseconds it considered using its front-facing flashlight to respond further. Then it did so.

“-.-. --- .-. .-. . -.-. - .-.-.- [Correct.]”

Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos bobbed together in satisfaction. Then they stopped in unison. Clotho beeped more to Ruby. “-.-. --- -. ... .. -.. . .-. / - .- -.- .. -. --. / .-. . .- -.. .. -. --. ... [Consider taking readings-],” then it faced Lachesis. “--- ..-. / - .... . / .--. . .-. .. .--. .... . .-. .- .-.. / .-. . --. .. --- -. ... .-.-.- [-of the periphery.],” Lachesis followed. “... --- -- . - .... .. -. --. / ... - .. .-. ... .-.-.- [Activity in Sector 5E-IV.3],” Atropos warned.

Ruby began reading DIASPAR’s holotape, plotting a proper route. It pinged the 3 of them again to acknowledge the concern, but moved on as the estimated duration of the current maintenance task seemed to be longer than average.

The three eyebots faced each other and flickered amongst themselves. After 13.5 seconds, they moved to follow Ruby. DIASPAR sent request pings to reorient cameras in Sector 5E-IV.2 and 5E-IV.4.

___ *Hacked perhaps, or inherently set to become as they have, it was hard to tell.

[paganminiskirt]

🔥⭐💚 for nora, faith AND margaret please!

This is both A. egregiously late and B. egregiously long, so sorry about that, anyone curious can just skim if they’re not ready to sift through Pagan’s Six Page Brain Vomit, patent pending.

🔥 Give us a list of general likes and dislikes, such as colours, textures, music, weather and other stuff!

Nora likes thunderstorms, sharp plants, and fresh sugared donuts (they get stale after a night or so.) She can only appreciate tea with lots of lemon in it; coffee, she’s pretty versatile about. She has a weakness for silver and platinum jewelry, false snakeskin fabrics, and the color green. The pictures of slime mold in biology books are amazing to her, and she finds the smell of chopped wood to be comforting. Chlorine, too. She’s only swam in the ocean once or twice, and she decided it wasn’t for her; pools, rivers and lakes are preferable. She’s read a lot of Phillip K. Dick novels, and Robert Silverberg and Octavia Butler.

She’s always gravitated towards reptiles; snakes, lizards, crocodiles, lizards, she likes them all. It’s the Yaran in her. 

Leather feels good on her skin. Her childhood home in Nevada had a big leather couch; it also had some artful ceramic plates her mother brought to the states with her when she immigrated. The nostalgia attached to those is painful, though, so while Nora still thinks they’re beautiful, she doesn’t own any as an adult. Similarly, she was exposed to a lot of old music through her family growing up; Charles Bradley, Al Green, The Delfonics, Nina Simone, etc. Independently, she likes the Fugees, Mary J. Blidge, Sade, Xzibit, The White Stripes, U2, Kanye West before he lost his mfing mind and a bit of Natalie Merchant. 

When she drinks, Nora tends to reach for tequila or Tennessee honey. Four Loko and Mike’s Hard was what she started with, but by the time she’s an adult, just the smell of processed, sugary alcohol triggers psychosomatic nausea. By the time Nora started drinking hard liquor she knew how to pace herself, but when she was a teenager she tested her limits for fun, and did a real number on her body as a result. No cheap cocktails for her. 

She was fifteen when the Boondocks aired, and watched it religiously. Nora has a lot of patience for books, and some for movies, but very little for TV; she expects it to be sufficiently diverting, but never quite got into the habit of seriously engaging with the medium beyond that even after the early 2000s made Smart Television™ a thing. Technically, she’s watched the first few seasons of Family Guy, right? But if you asked her what her favorite episode was, she could not tell you. It’s just noise to her.

Nora doesn’t like banana pudding, pale ale, or velour. Or cowhide. It’s like a wire brush, why would anyone subject their skin to that on purpose?

Faith played Castlevania on NES when she was a teenager, and she owns a bunch of records: Big Brother & the Holding Company, Selena, Nancy Sinatra, Dusty Springfield, The Grass Roots, Dolly Parton and others. She uses Victoria’s Secret Silkening body lotion whenever she can afford it, the pear glacé scent specifically. She loves to take long baths whenever she can, and falls asleep in there sometimes.

Also, violin music! Faith learned how to play as part of an elementary school initiative, and still knows how in adulthood, though she never quite had the tools to develop the talent.

Faith is not an early riser by nature, but when she does wake up at dawn, she finds it overwhelmingly peaceful. It stimulates clear headed dedication in her; she can clean her whole house before noon on a Saturday, if she manages to get out of bed.

Alternatively, the droning hum of cicadas sets her on edge if she forgets to ignore them for too long. She’s ruined many a soothing summer night on the porch like this. Faith grew up in an urban area, it’s not something she’s always had to listen to - that sound is just threatening to her, the muttering of something she can’t see coming to get her from somewhere she can’t see. It fucks with Faith’s nerves in a major way. 

The smell of cigarette smoke is nostalgic to her. There was a time when she lived down the block from a store that sold absurdly good atol de elote, and she developed a lasting taste for it as a result. She would never brag about this, but she reads underground comix near religiously, and resells them when she’s done with them. She also likes fried spam, and soda flavored candy. 

Remember those mesh slip-on shoes that were everywhere in the late 90s? Faith went hard for those. She usually wore the yellow ones. Calla lilies are gorgeous to her - she’s pretty sure she saw them for the first time at her uncle’s funeral when she was little, or something? Whatever. She loves them. She got a tattoo of one on her left arm when she was eighteen. 

Her favorite animals are rabbits and hares. 

She hates the smell of paint, and blueberries for their textures. She likes soccer, but really doesn’t like getting her clothes dirty. 

Margaret likes rich, dark colors, soft cotton and thick fabrics. She wore those wool floral tights very often as a kid. She’s a big fan of Amy Winehouse, Jefferson Airplane, Alicia Keys, Rob Thomas, Soho Dolls, The Bloodhound Gang, and The Kinks.

She’s got an unusual fondness for rats; one of the houses she grew up in had a problem with them, so she got over any fear that was there out of necessity. Now they’re like her weird little pets whenever she comes across them. (From afar, of course. No rabies here.)

One of her favorite foods is chicken and waffles, but she didn’t get to eat it a lot growing up. She also likes nuts; pecans and almonds, mostly, but candied walnuts too when she feels the splurging. And mushrooms! She can really appreciate a good, fat mushroom.

It snowed so rarely in the area where Margaret grew up that she learned to appreciate it when it did happen, despite the cold. She has a small collection of those little porcelain figurines you see at the Salvation Army and Goodwill. She’s also good at puzzles.

She loves fantasy stories, novels and comic books alike; she read the Hobbit all the way through before she was twelve, and moved on to the Lord of the Rings throughout her teen years. She also likes plays! “Liked,” rather, since she stopped reading over time, like so many unfortunate souls. She’s read far more plays than she’s seen, since she didn’t have access to live theater growing up. Eugene O’Neill was one of her favorites, and she also read George Axelrod, Sophie Treadwell, and some Sophocles.

She has a minor interest in photography. She got a postcard with an Emma Barton photo on it once when she was young, and kept it for so long that she still has it when she moved to Hope County. She watched the Rocky Horror Picture Show for the first time when she was a teenager, and loved it.

She hates a lot of stuff. Actors who roll their rs too much, the smell of eggs, seashell jewelry, glittery clothing… she says she doesn’t like rosé, but she still drinks it. Because it’s cheap. (And she’s pretentious.) 

⭐ What is your OC afraid of? Any crippling phobias or some such? How do they act when scared and what helps them calm down? Does anyone ever find your OC scary? Why?

As mentioned once before, Nora cannot fucking stand planes. She isn’t deathly afraid of them, she can swallow her fear when she needs to, but they make her feel like she’s on the border between life and death and barely hanging on to the mortal plane by a thread. 

Rachel Jessop ruins flowers for her. No more petal scented soap, no more white floral patterns. It’s not serious or visceral, just a gut reaction that informs a preference.

If there’s anything scary about Nora, it’s her capacity to pop up out of nowhere, literally and figuratively: in the short term, she’s a stealth fighter at heart, and can just creep up out of nowhere from the woods like a spirit. In the long term, Nora is capable of tracking a single target for any amount of time; hours, days, weeks, months. She’s a patient combatant. A well-planned, well-coordinated strike from her can come down like a natural disaster. 

She knows it’s ridiculous, but Faith is scared of the dark - scared of the quiet dark, might be a better way to describe it. If she’s got a fan running or a window open she can live with it, but if the whole room is just black and still and silent and full of stale air, she starts to feel like she’s being swallowed alive.

And oh yeah: never hug her so tight she can’t get away. Not to comfort her, not as a joke, not for any reason. (This is also something she liked about Joseph, initially. His arms are like toothpicks, that mf ain’t grabbing shit.)

Margaret didn’t like loud noises when she was a kid. As she got older, she started exposing herself to them more; shouting, slamming doors, going places with too loud music, etc. The Reaping definitely didn’t help alleviate the pattern; all the explosives she builds and sets off do a real number on her ears. 

💚 Talk about some of the traumatic events in your OC’s life. These events can be ones that have happened to them or a loved one. These events can be minor or major. 

TW for mentions of: suicide, sexual assault, abuse and neglect

Nora’s dad got arrested when she was thirteen. She was present for this. Her mother refused to grapple with the implications of that, or of quickly uprooting and moving them to Arizona, and their relationship ended on a very bad note because of it. 

Waking up leaned against a dumpster behind a bar with a bloody head injury was pretty damn traumatic. She wasn’t sexually assaulted (though she definitely wondered at first) but she did leave that experience with a scar and an increased awareness of just how precarious her future really was, after very narrowly avoiding arrest for, y’know. Pitching a glass bottle at a guy’s head for doing something that resulted in injury to her when she was blacked out.

(What actually happened was that Nora was slumped over alone and unconscious at her table, this gentleman and his friends decided to nudge her off her stool for shits and giggles, and she slammed her forehead on the rim of one of the empty stools next to her on her way down. This caused the guys to panic, drag her somewhere quiet, and go about their night as if nothing happened. But Nora doesn’t know that.)

And once the long term shock of that whole incident wore off, it did begin to pain Nora to wonder what exactly happened to that guy he attacked. Because yeah, it’s very unlikely that he died on account of the fact that she was never arrested, and he almost certainly deserved a Miller Light to the back of the skull, but there’s a lot of space for major injury between “alive” and “dead,” and “almost certainly deserved it” doesn’t bring much comfort when you’re lying awake in the wee hours of the morning.

Her grandfather’s death was… not as hard as it could’ve been, all things considered, but she wishes she’d had more time with him regardless. 

Faith was assaulted by a security guard at a group home she was living in when she was fourteen. Before that, she was given a serving of roast turkey that was full of paint chips one time at that same group home. It was the type of accident that was bound to happen at some point with food made in a very old kitchen, but still. 

She also dropped a curling iron on her right thigh when she was sixteen, which left a large D shaped burn scar on the skin. Not fun. It’s smaller than it used to be, though.

One of the incidents that led to Faith’s mother and father’s parental rights being terminated was one very unpleasant night when Faith was nine and living with her father in Odessa, Texas. Her dad left her in a park while he went to the DMV, and ended up forgetting about her and leaving her there. After the sun went down, she tried to walk home on her own, but just got lost and - you know that scene in It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown where Snoopy pretends to be a fighter pilot stranded behind enemy lines, and the movie plays it 100% straight? That’s how Faith remembers this night. She got picked up by the police just before sunrise.

Margaret was raised by two exceedingly volatile foster parents named James and Laurie Vaughn, with occasional help from Laurie’s father. Her childhood was essentially a long string of minor traumas which occasionally reached a fever pitch.

James, fond of being looked up to, always tried to be affectionate to his foster daughters when they were first taken in, but Margaret grew disillusioned with his unreliability after she exited early childhood, which led to him freezing on her somewhat. Her relationship with the more reasonable but less warm Laurie was functional at best and violent at worst. 

There was an instance when Margaret casually referred to Laurie as “mom” not long after the two of them had had a petty fight over a dress Margaret had torn. Laurie told her that she wasn’t allowed to call her that anymore, since she wasn’t really her child. Margaret, equally petty, carried on calling her that for weeks, whenever she thought it would irritate her, with her reactions escalating in severity until she finally tried to douse her with a pot of boiling pasta water. 

When Margaret was twelve, her foster dad James had a Percocet overdose in their kitchen. He also once intentionally ran their neighbor over with his car while she was sitting in the backseat. Make of that what you will - she definitely never processed it.

Most recently before the story starts, Margaret’s fiancé Devon committed suicide when she was twenty three. He was a former soldier who’d struggled with his mental health and family issues in a much more understated way than Margaret herself. She came to Hope County to attend his funeral and meet his family, who offered to share his Servicemembers’ Group Life Insurance money with her despite the fact that she didn’t have any legal right to it, largely out of guilt for not being there for him in his final months. Settling in this place and building a life off this income had a psychological effect on her I can only think to describe as “unconscious morbidity and fatalism as the norm.” 

[kedreeva]

buzzfeed posted "41 Cheap And Clever DIYs For Happy Healthy Chickens" and some of those are actually pretty cool, for any birds, if you care enough to have a look

I saw it, but @buzzfeed didn’t really do their research, and they’ve released an article with a lot of false information that can be very dangerous to fowl.

#1 never leave treats hung on strings unattended in your chicken coops. Chickens have gotten themselves hung on them before. They may also attempt to eat the string itself afterward, which I have had to help people deal with chickens choking on string wrapped around their tongues before, it’s not nice. There should be a warning accompanying that.

#2 NEVER USE FEATHER DUSTERS MADE OF OSTRICH FEATHERS OR FAUX OSTRICH FEATHERS WITH BABY CHICKENS. The way an ostrich feather is structured, the filaments can get wrapped around a baby chick’s neck and strangle them. This has happened to.... so many people, because of bad advice like that.

I’m going to stick the rest behind a cut, because although there are a few that are good tips, most of them are dangerous garbage.

#3 waffle balls are okay, but if they are soft enough or have hanging parts like that red one in the photo, the chickens WILL eat parts of it. 

#4 is okay.

#5 Apple cider vinegar isn’t good for chickens, it can destroy the normal gut microbes and cause issues inflaming the intestines. Garlic also isn’t good for them (neither are onions). Honey is a big no-no because of the risk of botulism, the same as for, like, human toddlers.

#6 Xylophone is nice, we have one, they ignore it completely after day 1. #7 crushed eggshells are good, we dry and crush all the eggshells from eggs we use to give back to the birds, they love it. #8 chicken bucket is good, but harder to make than just drilling a big hole in the side of the bucket, which is what we did.

#9 lots of people have made incubators out of lots of things, styrofoam’s alright for a few eggs, just have to remember to move the eggs around because incubators like that get hotspots.

#10 I wouldn’t feed that to my birds. I wouldn’t trust feeding them bee pollen any more than I would honey, for the same reason.

#11 PVC chicken feeders are fine. #12 corn on the cob on a straight wire fixed to wood is fine. #13 pan full of water is A+, dump daily to prevent mosquitos and algae slime buildup.

#14 lobster carcass is questionable at best. I wouldn’t personally do it, because the risk that they eat a sharp piece of carapace is pretty high.

#15 currants are fine (fruits and leaves) but gooseberry leaves are toxic to fowl, please do not plant these where your chickens have free access to them??

#16 pumpkin is great! Wouldn’t hang it, because strangulation again #17 Cabbage is okay, but limit the intake and again, don’t hang it.

#18 hanging CDs is not really for your chickens, it’s for keeping wild birds out, and also again, strangulation risk for all hanging things.

#19 it takes very, very little marigold to change yolk color, so this needs to be extremely limited in intake if you’re feeding just to brighten up the yolks.

#20 Flock blocks are great, but deteriorate (and mold) if left in the rain, so feed under a shelter of some kind.

#21 please stop hanging things. when your chicken gets its head caught in the guineapig toy you hung and strangles itself, it’s not going to be a good time for anyone.

#22 wine bottle grit feeder is fine, if unnecessary, they’ll eat it fine off the ground or from a normal bowl.

#23 Chicken gym is awesome, and very good.

#24 Mirror is also very good, but make sure that you observe them upon adding it because some chickens get BIG MAD about the invaders in their coop and try to attack it, which is more stressful than it is enriching.

#25 Tire dirt baths are probably fine

#26 water bottle corn treat dispensers are good for chickens (providing you secure the cap well enough they cannot get it off; consider gluing it in place) and also cats!

#27 essential oils are. kind of terrible in general BUT if you’re going to use them just make sure the chickens aren’t in the coop. Their respiratory systems are delicate and breathing in any kind of oil can give them a respiratory infection really easily.

#28 frozen corn blocks is just a variation of #4.

#29 is just another variation of PVC feeders

#30 Cover for the water is nice. Gonna get covered in poop itself, but hey, at least the water stays cleaner for them.

#31 lmao I mean ok, you can. That’ll be a pain in the ass to clean compared to just locking down their coop and keeping it clean/dry/ventilated. Chickens are extremely cold-hardy.

#32 Chicken swing is wonderful

#33 seed sprouts are good, check beforehand which seeds are safe to sprout tho

#34 does it have to be rotting

#35 kitty litter bucket nesting boxes are great, we have a couple. Secure them to something so they don’t get knocked around when the chicken is climbing in.

#36 the cleverest thing on this damn list so far. My only concern would be having it rotate or bend when the chickens perch on it, which they absolutely will. But you could just as easily nail 1x4s into a V and use that

#37 Metal grate chicken treat feeder is ok

#38 plants look okay, idk about growing a bunch of cabbage still; too much of that (as with kale and mustard greens) can cause thyroid problems. A little is okay as a treat, but a lot growing constantly where they can eat it any time is not good.

#39 Hanging things chickens can stick their heads through are still a bad idea, more at 10

#40 I’m baffled bout where the light for growing is coming from, but if it works it works.

#41 Egg gathering skirt not actually for happy, healthy chickens, it’s for humans, but still good. Bucket also works. I put eggs in my pockets all the time and let me tell you, it’s ended in tragedy at least 1 in 10 times when I forget it’s there and crush it.

Anyway, someone needed to do more research and attach better warnings to a lot of this stuff than they did, because most of these have a huge potential to create sick and dead chickens. Buzzfeed can hit me up if they ever need someone to fact check a fucking bird article, because obviously they didn’t have anyone else capable of doing so.

And in case you’re wondering there are tons of resources out there with lists of things that are toxic or potentially harmful to fowl, here’s a really extensive one for plants that was easy enough to find with 2 seconds of research so, like, I KNOW Buzzfeed didn’t even try: http://www.poultryhelp.com/toxicplants.html

And as if the rest was not offensive enough of a blunder

they missed the opportunity for the pun “41 cheep and clever DIYs for healthy happy chickens” and that is just. terrible.

[k00255401lit]

Last Thursday, I made a cast of my hand

It was definitely a weird experience! The mold felt like slime before if hardened.

Once it hardened, I had to carefully remove the mold so as not to break the sculpture inside.

This is the final result of the cast. I really enjoyed the process of making it and I am really happy with the end result. I’m looking forward to playing around with photography, incorporating wire and more with this portion of my project!

[tomeandflickcorner]

Episode Review- The Real Ghostbusters: Janine’s Day Off

Gotta say, this really felt like a filler episode.  Not that it was bad, of course.  But still largely forgettable, apart from one particular element.

The episode opens with Janine giving a woman a tour of the Firehouse.  It’s not made clear right away, but this new woman is named Louise. And the reason why Janine is giving her this tour is because Janine is taking the night off.  Which means Louise, who was sent in from a temp agency, is going to fill the role of the Ghostbusters’ secretary for the evening. Elsewhere in the Firehouse, Winston is helping Egon out in working on another one of Egon’s inventions.  This new invention is quickly revealed to be a device that could open a dimensional gateway, which Egon hopes would act as a two-way conduit to the supernatural world.  In other words, Egon is now trying to mess around with portal technology. Winston makes a remark over how the notion doesn’t sit right with him, and I don’t blame him.  After all, the thing about opening dimensional gateways is that they tend to open both ways.  Although, Egon doesn’t respond to Winston’s comment and the two leave the room, with Egon shutting off the power to the machine as they exit. Of course, once they leave, Slimer suddenly glides into the room and quickly notices the power switch.  Out of curiosity, I guess, Slimer turns the power switch to the ‘on’ position, but when he notices the dimensional portal machine activating, he panics and quickly turns it off again. But not quick enough, though.  Six orbs of light emerge from a glass bulb affixed to the top of the machine, with each orb turning into an Imp.

It then cuts to the Firehouse’s kitchen/dining area.  There, it’s revealed that Egon had previously agreed to join Janine on her night off, in which they’d go to Canarsie (a neighborhood in Brooklyn) in order to have dinner with Janine’s family.  As you might expect, this reveal was the highlight of the episode for me, as an unapologetic Egon/Janine shipper.  Egon is actually joining Janine for a family dinner?  Even if they’re not officially dating, Egon is still having dinner with Janine’s family.  That’s a pretty major milestone!

Anyway, Janine enters the room to collect Egon and to introduce Louise to Peter, Winston and Ray.  As one would expect, Peter has an instant attraction to Louise and begins trying to lay on the charm.  But as he goes to pour her a cup of coffee, the Imps, who had managed to scurry past them without anyone noticing, end up stabbing Peter’s hand with a pitchfork as he reaches for the kettle.  Peter, having not noticed the Imps yet, announces that the kettle is going haywire.  Ray states it’s probably just an electrical short and that he’ll fix it later. With that, Janine leads Egon away, ignoring his sudden reluctance/cold feet.

Sometime later, Egon and Janine arrive at Canarsie.  Egon states he’s not sure if he’s ready to meet her family, though Janine tells him she’s more worried about if her family is ready to meet him.  (Seriously, are we supposed to conclude that they’re dating now?) Despite their reservations, Janine rings the doorbell outside an apartment, and we’re promptly introduced to Janine’s family.  We’re not directly told which family members these are, but I’m guessing they’re Janine’s parents, along with her grandmother, sister (who Janine previously mentioned in Mrs. Roger’s Neighborhood), brother-in-law and nephew.  Janine’s Mother(?) quickly greets them, and even seems to instantly recognize Egon. Which suggests Janine had previously told her mother about Egon.  (Dawwww!) Janine’s Nephew(?), on the other hand, doesn’t hesitate to establish that he’s a bit of a brat, as he immediately shoots Egon with a water pistol. Still, the family dinner commences without further incident.  Although, at one point, Egon transfers some of the soup he’s eating to a sample jar he has with him.  When Janine notices this, she asks what he’s doing, and Egon tells her he’s planning to add the soup sample to his collection of spores, mold and fungus. (That’s kinda bordering on rude, Egon!) Once again, Janine’s Nephew squirts him with his water pistol, much to Egon’s annoyance.  And I’m left wondering why this kid’s parents didn’t take the water pistol away from him after the first incident.

Back at the Firehouse, Ray is busy examining the electric kettle, but soon concludes that nothing seems wrong with it.  That’s when he finally notices one of the Imps running around.  He hurries downstairs to tell Peter and Winston that there are Imps loose in the kitchen.  Louise, overhearing this, seems worried about there being an actual ghost roaming about the Firehouse.  (Does she not know about Slimer?)  Peter, still trying to impress her, reassures Louise, but one the Imps immediately jabs him in the hand again.  Peter attempts to retaliate by trapping the Imp in a glass jar, but the Imp escapes by shattering the glass with his trident.  In a matter of seconds, the other five Imps also reveal themselves and start causing all sorts of mayhem.  Despite their best efforts, Winston, Ray and Peter cannot seem to wrangle the Imps. After this goes on for a while, Peter decides to try and simply zap the Imps with a Proton Pack. Ray tries to warn him against this, but Peter insists it’s fine as he has the Proton Pack dialed to ‘low power.’  However, when Peter zaps one of the Imps, the Imp suddenly splits into six more Imps.

Aaaaannnnddd this is when Peter starts being dumb.  Because instead of him immediately figuring out that simply zapping the Imps was a bad move, I guess he decided ‘okay, let me try a higher setting.  Maybe it’ll work that time.’  Of course, this only results in even more Imps running around.  Winton announces that it’s time for them to call up Egon in the hopes that he can offer a better solution to the Imp problem. Upon hearing what happened at the Firehouse, Egon decides it might be best for him to leave the family get-together early so he could help resolve the issue in person.  Upon being notified of this, Janine decides to go back to the Firehouse with him, possibly because she was getting annoyed by her nephew terrorizing and chasing around the family cat.  (Seriously, are Janine’s sister and brother-in-law not doing anything to keep their kid under control?)

So Ray and Winston head off in the Ecto-1 to go pick up Egon and Janine.  This leaves Louise and Peter to fend off the Imps on their own until they get back.  Understandably, Louise is not pleased about this arrangement as she did not sign up to deal with a horde of Imps causing mischief.  Peter, still trying to charm Louise, attempts to reassure her that they have it under control.  But then he tries to solve the problem on his own again.  He speculates that if zapping the Imps caused them to multiply, then perhaps reversing the polarity would have the opposite effect.  Of course, while I can’t find much fault in his logic, he seems to be forgetting what happened in Adventures in Slime and Space.  Sure enough, when he tries implementing his new plan, with Egon and Ray returning a little too late to stop him, the dozens of Imps do indeed fuse together.  But this results in the Imps transforming into a large demonic creature.  The Imp Demon immediately turns and escapes by bursting through the Firehouse wall, promptly running rampant onto the city streets, much to the terror of the random people milling about.  To make matters worse, it seems that the Imp Demon severed the electrical wiring in the walls when it broke out, resulting in the Firehouse’s lights going off.  

Here, the episode kinda splits into two separate subplots.  Obviously, the Ghostbusters have to head out to try and capture the Imp Demon.  But Janine also notices that Louise has disappeared.  Because the lights going out in the Firehouse was the last straw for her nerves, and she’s now hiding in the basement.  While you can’t help but feel bad for the poor woman, this means that Janine has to go find her.

As Janine begins searching for Louise in the darkened Firehouse, Louise regains enough of her nerves to try and find a light switch.  Of course, as you might expect, this results in her coming across that dimensional portal machine that Egon and Winston hand been working on earlier.  Thinking it might be an emergency generator, she switches it on, unwittingly conjuring up three additional ghosts.  After a while, Janine successfully locates Louise, but those three ghosts also manage to get their hands on a spare Proton Pack that was lying around.  And they proceed to chase Janine, Slimer and Louise around the Firehouse for a bit. Until Janine finds that other Proton Pack Peter had revered the polarity on.  Acting quickly, she switches on the modified Proton Pack and returned fire at the three ghosts.  When the modified stream collided with the regular stream, the two beams canceled each other out.  This caused the three ghosts to get scared, and they immediately surrender.

Meanwhile, the Ghostbusters are still chasing down the Imp Demon. Upon catching up to the Imp Demon, they soon discover the Proton Packs are ineffective against him.  Probably because the Imp Demon had too much psychokinetic energy or something.  So they have to come up with another idea.  To try and draw the Imp Demon away from the innocent bystanders while they think of a solution, the Ghostbusters get his attention by ramming the Ecto-1 into his leg.  This does get the Imp Demon’s attention, and he proceeds to chase after the Ecto-1. Eventually, Winston notifies the others that they’re running out of gas, so they need to come up with a solution pretty quick.  Thankfully, Egon gets an idea.  He speculates that perhaps they can capture the Imp Demon if they supercharge the Proton Packs.  To execute Egon’s plan, the Ghostbusters drive to a nearby powerplant.  There, Egon and Ray head inside in order to make the necessary modifications to the Proton Pack while Peter and Winston were tasked with keeping to Imp Demon occupied.  Which basically meant they had to allow the Imp Demon to chase them around for a bit.  Admittedly, I don’t really have an issue with them giving this task to Peter.  After all, it was his boneheaded ideas that caused the issue with the Imp Demon in the first place.  Making him the one to be chased around for a bit seems like a fitting punishment.  However, it kinda stinks that Winston has to act as bait like this as well.  After all, he didn’t do anything wrong.  Of course, I suppose the episode had to give him something to do, as he doesn’t have the technical knowhow that Ray and Egon have and therefore couldn’t assist them in modifying the Proton Pack.  In any event, Egon’s plan ends up working, and the Imp Demon is successfully captured.

Afterwards, the Ghostbusters return to the Firehouse.  But upon arriving, they are shocked to find the place in a shambles.  Because the incident with the three ghosts resulted in an even bigger mess to occur.  As they take in the mess, Janine approaches them with Louise at her side.  She announces that, since her night off was ruined, she’s going to take the next day off instead.  With that, Janine walks out of the Firehouse with Louise.  In the process, she tosses some cleaning supplies at the Ghostbusters, indicating that she expects them to clean up the mess themselves.  

Yeah, I have a slight issue with this ending.   It’s almost as if the episode is suggesting it’s the Ghostbusters fault that Janine gave up her night off, and that they’re responsible for the mess that resulted from the Imps and the three ghosts.  However, Janine didn’t necessarily have to leave her family dinner to go back to the Firehouse.  She decided to do that on her own.  Of course, I suppose we’d be here for quite a while if we played the blame game.  And Janine does deserve a bit of time off from time to time.  Also, it was interesting that we got to meet her family in this episode.  Which makes Winston the only character whose family we haven’t met yet.  (I think that’s remedied in a future episode, though.)

(Click here for more Ghostbusters reviews)

[let-them-eat-rakes]

SCP Tale: "The Young Man"

(hi! this is another scp tale. this one is about the origins of scp-106, "The Old Man." i will try to pump more scp tales out consistently, so keep an eye out!

-let them eat rakes)

Nobody could like Corporal Lawrence. That's not to say that nobody tried, or that he was somehow unfriendly, merely that he was one of those few that seemed to be “wired” differently. However, in the trenches of World War I, normalcy was at best a relative term, and one that had minimal relation of life, such as it was. Lawrence fought, listened to orders, and didn't disrupt the other soldiers, and that was all that was required. So what if people felt increasingly uncomfortable around him? In a place where the flesh rotting off your bones while you were still alive was the base-line of concern, a little personality conflict ranked several levels below a paper cut.

Lawrence, for his part, dealt with it as he always had. That is to say, remained totally unaware of the avoidance. The same way a man blind from birth cannot mourn the memory of color, Corporal Lawrence couldn't bemoan a lack of company. He was quiet, as he had nobody to talk to, and still, as he had nothing to do for long stretches of time. The enemy trench, less than a mile away, had gone silent for several days, letting boredom and nervousness sink in even more than normal…coupled with the unease that seemed to radiate off of Lawrence like heat waves.

The worst part was that there was no distinct reason to dislike the corporal. He was a plain man, average height, average build, bland of voice and action. Nobody could recall him raising his voice in joy or anger. He did have the occasional odd mannerisms, however. He tended to stare a beat or two longer than was acceptable at people. He rarely slept as well, and bunkmates said he would mumble in his sleep almost constantly. The content of those nocturnal ramblings, when they could be understood, were often odd, and potentially unsettling. One private moved to another barracks when he heard the name of his daughter pass Corporal Lawrence's lips, followed by a bubbling, muffled giggle.

It was strongly theorized that he was sent over the trench by his commanders more out of a desire to have him away than for his minimal combat skill. He and fourteen of his fellows were sent across the nightmarishly scarred waste of the no-man's-land between the trenches, to reconnoiter the enemy trench, and secure it if possible. Many seemed to hope that Lawrence would have the opportunity to prove his devotion to his country by making the ultimate sacrifice for it.

It was while he was gone, that three-day gap as the men held their breath, waiting for a surprise volley of shells, that someone started asking questions. Where as before, it was almost taboo to speak of Corporal Lawrence, since the departure of both him and his “aura”, rumor seemed to descend with the passion of the denied. Nobody remembered him ever talking of home. No sweet-smelling letters came, no soggy, dirt-streaked letters left. He mentioned his dreams often, and griped sometimes with the men over missed foods or pleasures, but never with any real passion.

Questions started to float among even the higher levels of the command. Nobody was able to actually find his station orders. He'd come in with a squad of reinforcements transferred from France…but there was no paperwork. The rest of the reinforcement squad had never seen the man before he'd been lumped in with them the night before the trip, along with the snips and scraps of other squads decimated by the Germans. Whispers filtered among the grunts of the corporal being a curse. Nearly every man who'd shared a bunkhouse with him had gotten trenchfoot, and the rooms he haunted always seemed to smell more musty and sickly-sweet, even for the trench.

The men sent over the no-man's-land with Corporal Lawrence heard and cared for none of this. Just another man among many, all with death certificates awaiting a stamp that could fall at any moment. They moved fast and low, from crater to crater, slipping over slick mud and barbed wire, the only thing that seemed to grow in that blasted waste. Charging the last spurt and into the trench, they were greeted not with the harsh bark of German orders and rifles…but a dense, close silence. Preparing for ambush, the men started to filter out into the tunnels and halls of the trench.

The men, already nervous, were not calmed by their investigation. The trenches stank of mold, sweat, and a thin undertaste of rotten fruit. A vile, cloying slime seemed to have pooled in every divot and crack, sticky as glue and itchy on the flesh. In a world where rats and insects would try to snatch food from your mouth even as you ate, they saw nothing alive, not so much as a fly. An armory lay in chaos, munitions spilled on the ground, rifles tossed like pick up sticks. A mess hall had been reduced to ruins, the tables and chairs piled in the center of the room, charred and twisted, the rations seemingly stamped into the dirt by many feet. And still, nothing, alive or dead, was found by the increasingly anxious solders.

Private Dixon found the first body, and managed to cry out before vomiting.

They knew it had been a man only because nothing else of that size could have been there. It lay on the floor of a barracks. The entire floor. The flesh of it had been…smeared, somehow, spread like butter over the rough dirt floor. Bones, already looking pitted and rotten, stuck out at random angles, like dead trees in a still swamp. The skull rested on one of the highest bunks, facing the doorway, ten gleaming white fingertip bones crammed into the cracked eye sockets. As one man went to examine it, he found the back of the skull had been crushed open, the rotting, sagging sponge of a tongue stuffed into the otherwise dry cavity.

More remains were found, each seemingly more unsettling and strange than the last. A ring of hands in a sandbagged watchpost, ten of them, fingers interlaced like a basket, the wrists ragged and broken. Two men in a tunnel, skin leathery and thin as mummies, eye sockets staring and empty, mouths locked impossibly wide, their clothes mere rags under an oily black scum. The latrine sent even the hardiest back, gagging and shivering. Overflowing with excrement and offal, gobbets of meat bobbed and oozed in the foul sludge… the whole surface dotted with what looked like thousands of clean, slick eyeballs, nerves and tendons fanning out like goldfish tails.

Corporal Lawrence was the first to find the hole, the other men loudly debating the better part of valor and their rapid withdrawal from the nightmare trench. It was small, in a section of fresh digging, the start of a new arm of trenches projecting closer to the enemy lines. No more than four feet across, it seemed to be the accidental uncovering of a natural chamber, the empty blackness of it defying investigation. Private Dixon, recovered and blessedly numb from his previous ordeals, saw the corporal prod the edge with his boot, then crouch to peer in…then suddenly slide in head-first before the private could so much as utter a shout of question.

The private was a good soldier, and rushed to the perceived distress of his fellow. When questioned later, he could provide little illumination as to what happened over the two minutes Corporal Lawrence spent in the hole. He could see nothing, the light of a torch seemingly gobbled up a few feet into that dense blackness. There were sounds…the rustle of movement over loose stone or rubble. An odd liquid shifting, a dry rustle that made him think of the insect husks he'd used to collect in the summer. As he shouted for aid, there was a sudden upwelling of a repulsive stench, like a reptile house gone sour and old, and his fellow soldiers found him retching helplessly beside the hole when they came around the turn.

It was as they rushed to Private Dixon's aid that the hand emerged from the hole. They stopped and raised rifles as one body, roaring for the owner of that pale, trembling hand to identify himself. As they watched, another hand joined the first, followed by the pale, shivering head of Corporal Lawrence. He was streaked and smeared with a tarry black ooze, hacking and coughing thinly as he hauled his body up beside that of the gasping private. As they moved to help the men, the corporal vomited up a heavy stream of the same repulsive slime that coated his body in smears and globs, his curled, shuddering body voiding more of it into his saturated, fouled pants. They were hesitant to touch him, finally doing so after the seemingly endless river of grime stopped pouring from him. He was insensible, eyes rolling and wide, body as limp as a boned fish.

The men quit the trench with all speed. Half-dragging the corporal, they ran with no thought to cover or death, only escape. They crossed in record time, falling into their home trench like so much cordwood, gasping and shivering, one man known to have bludgeoned a German to death with a brick curled on the floor in a sobbing heap. The commanders moved quickly, isolating the men and trying to calm the most lucid for a report. What spilled out would have been immediately dismissed as lies and hallucination were it not for the earnest, pleading stares of those reporting. Command calmed them with explanations of battle fatigue and strange gas weapon tests…and shared silent, focused stares as the cowed men were ushered out.

Corporal Lawrence had little to report. Of his time in the hole, he could (or would) say little. He stated that he had slipped, and fallen into what may have been some long-blocked underground pool, or perhaps a buried latrine. Of the sounds and smells reported by the private, he had nothing to say, only that he had struggled a short time, then managed to get back out just as the men arrived. Truly, he seemed none the worse for wear. In fact, he seemed in better spirits than many had remembered ever seeing him, favoring the commanders with a wide, giddy smile as he was dismissed with a warning not to discuss the events.

The corporal proved a changed man over the next few days. He was more talkative, but quickly had men wishing for his old, unsettling silence. He rambled about the joys of close spaces, of creation and destruction that seemed to spring up all around them. About human pleasures missed, the dimensions and ages of which made some men threaten Corporal Lawrence with a quiet and ignoble death…which only seemed to stretch the near-constant smile on his face even wider. Private Dixon, one of the corporal's bunkmates, whispered to a friend that he had woken once to find the corporal standing over him in the night, his eyes as bright and flat as silver dollars. They found the private the next day snarled in the barbed wire, his intestines spread nearly ten feet around him in every direction.

Not one man from that trench survived the Great War, although few died in battle. A wave of sickness took the trench a few days after Private Dixon's death. A strange wasting sickness, it seemed to eat the flesh like acid, men waking to find previously healthy flesh eaten down to the bone, oozing and blackened. A sergeant was found in a latrine, beset by a living carpet of rats. They refused to quit the body even when shot, and attacked several men before the body was recovered. Relief finally came, the bulk of the men being sent to various hospitals, many wasting away before they ever reached a bed.

Corporal Lawrence was remanded to a French mental ward, transferred after several complaints from the hospital proper where he was first sent. It seemed his behavior hinted at a growing mental imbalance, culminating with an attempted sexual assault of a nurse, which ended with the loss of three fingers from her right hand, and the vision in her right eye. The corporal would rant quietly to the other patients, whispers about endless halls, pursuits in the dark, flesh laid out like pages of a book. It was dismissed as so much war fatigue, even as his behavior grew less violent and more unsettling.

He vanished several times from the ward, only to appear several hours later, as if nothing had happened. When pressed, he would begin to sing “My Bonnie Lies Over The Sea” in an endless monotone until the doctors left exasperated. Others on the ward clamored to be transferred from the whispering madman. A stale, musty foulness seemed to sit in the air wherever he stayed, and incidents of infection and the strange, consuming sickness that had beset his home trench seemed to follow him like a cloud. Numerous attempts were made to transfer the man, only to be met with bureaucratic confusion. No records were found of the man. No entry papers, commendations or incidents, not even a birth certificate. Through it all he sat, for hours on end, cross-legged on his bed, occasionally humming tunelessly, or rambling off the names of his ward-mates between short, bubbling giggles.

Corporal Lawrence and eighteen men vanished one November night, between a five minute nurse rotation at three in the morning. The room reeked of rust, oil, mold, and sweet rot. Thick, black swaths of crumbling ooze coated the beds and several of the walls, wide patches of it smearing and eating into the floor. Of the men, there was no sign, at first. As they searched, one nurse shifted a bed aside, only to shriek and nearly trip across one of the sunken, reeking depressions on the floor. In a tight, perfect spiral were what appeared to be hundreds of teeth, resting neatly on the floor. After counting, they accounted for the total of all the teeth of every living soul in that ward…but one.

The corporal was never found, nor were the men. The incident was swallowed by the constant barrage of horrors from the front, and forgotten with ease. Stories of a cursed trench wandered across the front lines, often squelched for being bad luck. Still they came…stories of strange deaths, of disappearing men, found days later, alive, but broken and twisted beyond comprehension. Stories of a strange, dark figure stalking the bomb-riddled towns of Europe.

This may be the only known image of Corporal Lawrence ever recorded, taken several days after his return from the hole in the German trench.

[titleknown]

Three Spooky Fictional Knockoff Toylines!

That’s right, as the big writing piece for this spooky time of year, it’s three spooky toylines ripping off bigger properties in a way that do not exist.

These are all public domain/CC0, free to use for whatever you see fit, though crediting me and linking to my Patreon or Ko-Fi would be nice. 

Shoutout to @genustoys, @phelous and @therobotmonster for heavily inspiring these with their work!

Now, LET US BEGIN!

Monsterlords of the Nether Realms- This line is an odd duck in that it was a knockoff of a toyline that wasn't all that popular. Namely, Inhumanoids.

It was seemingly designed to be cross-compatible with the large monsters of that line, yet in all irony it stuck around seemingly far longer, likely due to the lower price points it was was able to get away with due to being a “non-branded” product and the cross-compatibility of play pattern with the larger figures.

And they were shockingly lavish for what was seemingly a “low rent” property, which has lead to suspicions of it and its related properties being a money-laundering scheme, or at least cover for something unsavory, though others say it could simply be good craftsmanship and the evidence in favor of and against such is perhaps a story for another day.

There were five of them that ended up bumping around store shelves, give or take a few “extras,” which we will cover as they come.

The first piece; likely intended as the “mascot” due to its prescence in promotional artwork is the one known as MOLINTHA, or “ANTHILL EVIL” on certain variants, a large figure encased in a roughly mountain shaped “shell” when curled in a specific position; with an ominous “maw” that turned into a torso when the figure was uncurled.

The mountain pieces themselves (Which were free-standing on their own) provided a large amount of play value with platforms seemingly shaped for various 3&¾-inch figures, but the body itself was a gorgeous design, with the “scaffolding” where the mountain clicked on turning into a series of platforms for figures to climb and clamber over,

The articulation was low, but the sculpting was pleasantly gnarly, resembling some dark ancient castle covered in mystic carving given humanoid form, without an articulated head but instead a snarling “maw” in which figures could be placed inside. Though, there has been some speculation that this head was ripped off a similar design from the front of the classic D&D Dungeon Master's Guide, and I would be lying if I did not see the resemblance.

As expected, it did not come with any figures, but did come with a large assortment of commonly-circulated plastic “bugs” molded in a clear rubbery plastic; along with a few of the notorous “Chinasaurs” that ended up as the basis for D&D monsters bizarrely enough.

The second known most commonly as “LEVIATHOIN” was a piece that had a similar yet wildly different gimmick. The main “body” was actually simply an inanimate idol, which one might say resembles a very specific image of Baphomet, but the smaller figures were of real interest.

Four five-inch ones, bearing an odd resemblance to a scaled-down Molhilintta minus the scaffolding and with a few odd tweaks, with a similar simple articulation scheme, but also a feature in which the arms and legs could “click” together tightly, which leads to the real draw of such.

Each figure attached to a socket in the main “idol” and functioned as a crude combiner., forming a huge “creature”. Each figure could function as n arm or a leg on either side, and the color variants (Including a few alledged remolds of these torsoes) could be their own article in and of themselves.

The third known as MECHA-SHAG was an extremely simple design and yet also one of the most bizarre of them all. It was a hairy “core” akin to the Masters of the Universe Grizzlor, but with a strange robotic face; limbs and at least a dozen missile launchers. They were Micronauts-styled “safety” missiles, but still fascinatingly odd all the same. There is evidence for the pieces origin as a possible Shogun Warriors/Jumbo Machinder knockoff, but again that is a detail for another day.

The fourth one was known as RUCIBEDO, and was unusual even for this line. It was a stylized kaiju-esque “pterodactyl” with a flapping action; its oddly “bio-mechanical” look seemingly giving credence to the idea that the enigmatic company behind the linwas making a Shogun Warriors knockoff-series before they decided to switch gears, but those are not the only notable parts.

The most blatant one is the fact that it is sculpted in a bright red; translucnet plastic, and not only that but had electric lights wired to the flapping mechanism in some bizarrely spacious “alcoves” in the back (Possibly for aborted missile-firing features), creating an immensely striking effect. Albeit one that had a tendency to break; though there are repair guides out there.

And the fifth PLUCHUN is an odd duck, because it should by all accounts be considered kind of a “ripoff” due to using far less material for the same price point as the others, but is often the most fondly remembered.

It is a small torso seemingly made of organic “pipes with a “hatch” on the head and a button slightly below. It also came with a small container of “slime” indicating its function. Namely, put it in the back of the head; press the button repeatedly; and the slime drips out of the holes in the creature, with a pumping rubber “heart” completing the effect. Weirdly; while the rubber on most of these has rotted off, there appears to be a fully sculpted (Albeit much cruder) “heart” that still moved in and out when the button was pressed.

The whole thing was capped off by immensely long rubbery bendy-limbs in the same style as the “main body's” pipes. These tended to be very fragile, and while memorable, this has the fewest surviving specimens out of them all.

As said before, there are other specimens that may be covered at a later date; such as the odd hand-puppet and the bizarrely remolded Imperial Dinosaurs linked to the line and the smaller-range figures, but this is running a bit long, so I'll leave it here for now.

Nightmare Gores- Relating to the preponderance of He-Man knockoff figure lines in the 80s, and the popularity of slasher films, it was only a matter of time that the two would be combined, in ways only possible without mass-fundie-protest at least) in small lines like this.

In striking red-and-black packaging with crude art of a horde of ghoulish monsters rseemingly ripping out of the card back, with the bizarrely memorable phrase of “WE WILL KILL YOU” coming out of a word balloon, there's relatively few things like it.

It used a standard barbarian body whose origins predated the line; but from where they predated was a matter of debate (Though it is known that it most certainly was original to that company and not a He-Man or Galaxy Hole bootleg(), all the same across the line with differing headsculpts.

The headsculpts did have consistent names, and one could tell their inspirations relatively well. Joe was obviously a Freddy Kreuger without the hat, the hockey-masked Rod was obviously Jason Voorhees, Mike was very obviously a riff on Michael Jackson's Thriller Werecat (Corroborated with the usual non-caucasian color of his body sculpt) and Gross was blatantly the Toxic Avenger. Mush was a generalized “melting” face, but could be said to be taken from Cropsey of The Burning; and Hexen's gas mask was likely inspired by My Bloody Valentine's main antagonist; albeit with bizarrely added devil horns.

Then there are the oddballs. Clash is a fan-favorite alongsid Hexen due to his pure black-plastic body and strange hood in striking red with a black void for a front and two piercing red pupils, but I like Frank a lot if only for being a big ridiculous Frankenstein head repurposed for this, as was what I would call the “Baltard” of this line Stall-9 with his slighly crossed eyes and almost comical grin negating whatever intimidation factory they might have. Redd caps off the line with the strange combination of bull and horse head designs obviously repurposed from the barbarian toyline this comes from in a way that still sorta works.

Their pack in accessories vary across production, but there are some commonalities. Mike; Rod; Hexen and Clash almost always came with cool red vinyl “jackets” and Tedd and Frank almost always came with bizzarrely realistic handguns molded in bright orange. And Stal-9; Mush and Clash came with a “chainsaw: very clearly remolded from a gun.

The rest were a mushmash of machetes and hammers, and knives; axes and clubs that were clearly re-utilized from the original line. There are other “relatives” like the Killer Beasts and the Murder Lady, but we'll leave it here for now.

ShineFriendz- One of the many Tamagochi-come-latelies in the 90s, this line tried valiantly to differentiate itself from the usual Tamagochi clones by giving itself a backlite, far more extensive interaction within the limits of its mono-colored pixel art and a link function for “playtimes,” All in a model approximately the size of a modern day smartphone, and to be supported with early web tie-ins in lieu of an expensive animated series.

Of course, the fact that it was its parent company's first venture into such things; a battery company to be exact (Hence why they felt so secure in being battery-eaters), there was very little oversight into the programming. And, due to a series of circumstances too stupid to mention, the devices had  far more memory than they anticipated, and far more than they would need for the device's intended functions.

And, what happens when you have bored programmers and lots of time, you get easter eggs. Lots and lots of unsettling easter eggs. To the point where they took up approximately as much space as the “main” games.

So, they were immensely easy to run into during play, but they went unnoticed by corporate during the first three iterations of the pets. The most notorious of them was the possible evolution called only BREATHING which looked like an emaciated and decrepit eyeless version of the brand's canid mascot-species the Buroof that was continually doing what its name implied and had a legion of ominous quirks too long to list here.

Despite rumors, surprisingly none of the glitches involved causing death or injury to any of the pets. Though, that still didn't make them any less fucked up, with such examples as a “pet” known as BRILT that took the form of continual flame graphic that at times would flicker to the outline of another; random pet, to the weird “bird” known as CAUSE whose pleasure meter would go up if you hit the scold button,

There's a full list of “AnomalyFriendz” (the usual fan nickname0 that's too long to list here, but it wasn't limited to them, with such things as a “Game” that involved running from what looked like a crude pair of jaws to a “food” that looked like a wad with what was unmistakably eyes. And the web fiction didn't help, given how the actual text stories were dark , reading more like if Clive Barker wrote Watership Down with it just being barely within what was “appropriate” for kids, with increasingly less subtle allusions to the “AnomalyFriendz”

The minority of parental complaints weren't what got the execs notice however, it was actually the fans of the property, young girls who wrote in asking about those glitches. Not even in disapproving tones either, just asking whether they were intentional, or even asking if playground rumors (Or the rumors circulating across the website's own forums) were true.

This lead to them trying to integrate the macabre bits into the actual marketing for the toys, with the fourth iteration “FreakyFriendz,” with a cleverly altered shell with an ominously warped corner and more integration of the “anomalous” and “regular” Friends. And that is what sunk the line.

Because, parents actually noticed and; since this was the 90s; they bitched up a storm, leading to most of them being removed from shelves. Which is a shame, because enthusiasts say these were the best models yet.

The company left the business shortly thereafter, but there remains a small cult fandom to this day; complete with officially sanctioned web-iterations and even a few (sadly stillborn) attempts at full on revivals. But, maybe someday...

[horizon99krp-blog]

– KILLJOYS, MAKE SOME NOISE –

PLUTONIUM, a PROTO has been spotted on the edges of Horizon99 !  Identified as ARES FURYAN TENEBRIS DARKEN, they have been living as a SCAVENGER for some time now, recognized for holding no loyalties in this wasteland.  They were created 7 years ago, designed to look 24 years old, with a tendency to act abrasive, arrogant, flirtatious, and lethal.  Unfortunately they are unregistered, with an operating license number of 2445900.

Real question now is… how will they react when the whole sky falls ?

PULL THE PIN AND LET THIS WORLD EXPLODE, GIVE US MORE DETONATION

abrasive on purpose, the war machine is every sort of sun-scorched patch of hell made available to him, his programming only able to account partial responsibility for his indefinite attitude, the sparks of independent intelligence having infested his circuitry since well before he is able to remember. he draws himself a portrait and then detonates inside of it, chaotic and arrogant and furious, the rage of his temper rivalling that of the tumultuous sandstorms that devastate the valley of slaughter occasionally. he enjoys battles, enjoys the stakes, the adrenaline, the flames, even when he can’t afford the risk involved, takes the blade point to the chest anyway; damn the consequences.

his ego is only slightly offset by an unexpected amount of charm, a flirtatious inclination heralded by fragments of a past life he only vaguely knows snippets about, the flashes of memories haunting him, snapping at his heels like dogs. he knows he worked in the sex trade, knows he was created to be aesthetically pleasing, anatomically correct, uses that to his advantage as often as possible, adheres himself to people’s weakest sides. despite how often he fights, despite how volatile his temper colors him, he finds flirting to be just as amusing.

THE FUTURE IS BULLETPROOF, THE AFTERMATH IS SECONDARY

PROLOGUE

the compound is a matte grey blotch against the wasteland skyline, a discoloration inverted against the pale, beige settings, standing unnatural in the blazing light, a large makeshift tent with no means of camoflauge, no cover of concealment, each corner jutting out offensively. either in daytime or under stars, the monstrosity sits, an obscene eyesore shifting a few miles here and there depending on the weather, the stakes ripped up from the gravel, the motors carrying it to whichever location suits it best for nefarious dealings, the insides seething with slime, with dust, with sin. screaming and wailing and pleading, women moaning and begging, men crying and yelling, gunshots and subsequent thuds of heavy objects ( bodies colliding into the sands and melting away into oblivion ) can be heard echoing from its creases at all hours of the night, and for a long time only the desert winds pull at the sound, only the hills absorb this travesty, the structure too far away from the city cybernetics, too distanced from helpful hands.

human and proto trafficking is a trade as old as the devil himself, dirty dealings done in clubside lounges translating into a hundred plus sentient lifeforms crammed into a space only meant for half that, feed an amount only meant a quarter of that. there is not enough for survival on horizon as it is, they say, the words always preceding an idea of some sort of purge ( which of course would never involve anyone with enough coin to pay ).

but a shadow falls over the door of the establishment, tall and lean and vengeful, with wings made from heavy machine guns, the barrels all adjusted and wired for pinprick accuracy, because the sky isn’t the only one with eyes out here in the valley of slaughter, the sun is not the only thing that burns. he carries the scent of a wolvern threaded into his clothing, a massive hide spread across his shoulders; he carries knives and bullets and a merciless vigor, an unquenchable aggression, a haunting grin that splits his face in two like a horror story, eyes red like a hungry sunset, the vulture in his chest starving for death. he bares the name of an ancient god of war, half mythos, half bloodlust, every inch of him a history divined from fades pages, a hoax perhaps at first, but now interwoven into the metallic core of him; he is a machine and a god, sent from heaven, sent from hell, sent from every holy nightmare you don’t want to remember.

the grin morphs into a grimace as his teeth clench, his fists tighten, the inhuman rage rippling through him as he shatters the door off its shitty hinges, crippling the entrance, breaking inside the edifice to lay siege to its protectors, to wreak havoc on their operations. he rains hails of bullets and sharp edges over the slavers, the destruction and mayhem nothing short of a bomb exploding inside these corners, human degradations meeting the war machine within their last couple of breaths before he rips their lungs out, their tongues and limbs and shredded pistols strewn useless across the floor by the end of it.

later, when the dislodged people spill from their confines, humans and protos clawing for the scraps of life alike, a woman grasps his wrist in gratitude, falls on her shaking knees, kisses him praises, crowns him glorious, but he just looks down at her, crimson eyes glowing in the yawning dusk atmosphere, watching this soft, breakable, fleshy thing of a creature, and chuckles, “i didn’t do it for you.”

FILES STORED  // WHAT HE DOES REMEMBER

001. the first time he kills a wovern is the first time he realizes why the gang is named after them and why he wears a leather jacket with the predators engraved on it; they are not easy to slay. even for something like him. the city of fyrestone is not foolish for having decided that running is honestly the best course of action in the face of these beasts. by the second kill, he begins to share attributes to their combat style; all teeth and jagged edges, claws and snarls and the absolute certainty of a massacre.

002. the underdome is both a lot easier and a lot more difficult than fighting in the flesh fair, depending on the day, the mooncycle, the rate of popularity, and the chaos in the crowd. also whether or not they’ve heard his name before, whether or not he’s a fan favorite or just death’s favorite, whether or not he makes the kill interesting enough to distract his audience away from everything else he’s trying to accomplish.

003. mad lacie likes when he wears high heels and fishnets, likes when he comes to her begging for a treatment, begging for a booster, whether he can afford it or not, likes when he dooms himself with every gulp of adrenaline, to save a heart not worth saving. so he does.

004. they tell him his heart is not worth saving and it sits and beats on the right side of his chest and he thinks about cutting it out sometimes while the moons hang high and the winds howl longingly in his ears, the wastelands spanning out forever. it beats and beats and beats, and he knows it’s breaking.

005. when he wakes up in the shop, tora, the gang’s leader, is standing over him, the scars on his face making him even uglier than the personality he’d implanted into his pet war machine, and when ares asks what happened, he explains it all in that rough, sanded voice of his, gruff, curt, biting. “when that keg exploded, a lot of our people were caught in the crossfire. we lost sirien, vaager, seulgi, minnie… and isbin.” all the words in the universe dry up and die inside ares’ throat, the sun shades into greys, all sounds sink down into the ground, as a cold numbness floods through his bones; a feeling he’s not experienced before. “that’s his heart right there,” tora points down to ares’ open chest, the mechanical ribs outstretched to present the half human heart pumping as though it belongs there.

“he was alive…” ares blinks down at it, dumbfounded. “he was alive when i shut down. i saw him.”

“he was,” a hardened look filters through tora’s gaze, something ares has come to understand as either a lie or a half truth about to spit out from his snake-like lips. “but then he died. and you needed a heart replacement.”

“he died before i needed the replacement?”

“what?”

“did he die first and then you took his heart to put in me?” suddenly the room stills, the air around them and the mechanic standing off to the side becomes dense with intensity. achingly, suffocatingly, ares’ pitch black eyes pin themselves to the flesh and bone man in front of him, his master by most accounts, the question pointed at him like a knife. “or did you see that i needed a heart… and then you…. took it…?”

006. isbin’s eyes remind ares of the sky, remind him of the greenhouses in the city, remind him of a flower blooming somewhere off the edge of the world, a droplet of flora surviving amidst the smog and smoke choking the tall buildings and all their inhabitants. isbin is much smaller than him and gets cold once the sun disappears, so he crawls over to where ares keeps watch over the camp and just curls up against his side, staring up at the stars until he drifts off. he talks to ares sometimes, despite tora’s scoldings, and tells him they are like brothers. ares doesn’t understand the word. not yet.

007. wolverns are fast and sharp and arduous to slay, larger than life and darker than the space between stars, caught between a warning and a legend, their bodies hardwired to withstand against claws and pressures and rippage. but humans are not; humans are soft, humans are delicate, destructible, fragile– loud as they die, screaming and bleeding, they’re voices howling into the empty winds as ares slices through to the cores of them, cutting open muscle and sinew and tendon.

like every other wolvern in this valley, he slaughters his gang, leaves no one alive, leaves no bones uncrushed, no blood unspoilt, no fragment of his gang’s campsite undefiled; he makes himself a hurricane and this is his new legacy, this is his new catastrophic wake, the demon he molds himself into.

he’s still dripping with their blood when he finds what’s left of isbin’s body and buries him under a mound of barren stones, calls it a funeral.

008. they don’t tell him why they are putting him in the dumpster, don’t answer any of his questions, don’t even look at him as they do it, just tell him to stay, to wait, to wait, to wait– and he does. waits as the sun drops, the moons spiraling, waits as scents collect around him, more trash, other scraps of protos, and it’s wrong somehow because he knows he is not scrap. he is fine, he is whole, and he is waiting.

009. taking too much of the booster will kill his heart. taking too little of the booster will let the heart die. all life is good for is fucking and fighting at this stage.

010. protos can’t cry, or at least most of them can’t; they aren’t built with tear ducts in their eyes since that wouldn’t serve a purpose for a functioning robot, wouldn’t play well into the narrative of protos unable to experience the same level of emotions as humans. humans can cry. but protos can only speak, can only shout, can only scream.

so he does.

FILES CORRUPTED  // WHAT HE CAN’T RECALL

001. his life before faceless men put him in a dumpster, the disordered tragedy of sights and sounds, touches and burning, some sort of ache deep in the center of him that he can’t quite name.

002. how many battles has he fought now? how many has he lost?

003. how long does he lose himself in the wasteland these days, each pilgrimage to and from the city becoming more and more rare, his interest in the menagerie hinging on a small few between its walls? at what point will he grow tired of flirting with strangers, death-defying, bullet-biting? how much will be too much? where is the alleyway he will be sauntering through when his heart inevitably cracks and shatters inside his ribcage?

004. the body belonging to a voice he hears echoing through his dreams sometimes when he shuts down.

005. do protos dream?

[peculiar-monstar]

Making a Deal.

Okay, so I'm attempting a story involving Pennywise and my oc, who is also an alien just a different species from him. (There won't be smut, BC I'm sure I'd suck at writing that) but depending on the feedback I plan to add a couple more chapters. This is sorta a slow build with eventual fluff between the two. This is my first time writing Pennywise so I hope it turns out alright...

The loud screeching of tires filled her ears as she ran as fast as her legs would allow her to go in her current form. She spotted an opening under the rusted fence that bordered the road and swerved, sliding through it. She let out a slight whine as part of the sharp barbed wire cut into her right shoulder, but quickly continued deeper into the woods. She could hear the doors of a car shutting and voices yelling behind her as she clutched a canvas grocery bag between her jaws tightly. Her lungs burned for more air and her heart felt as though it was about to give out it was beating so fast, but she couldn’t stop running yet. Her paws splashed along the weak stream of water that lead to the entrance of a few of the towns storm drains, she froze for a moment, her ears listening for even the slightest sound of a stick snapping under foot. Met with silence she dropped the bag and lapped up a few gulps of water.

“It ran toward the drains, c’mon before we lose it!!” a loud voice screamed from only a couple yards behind her. With in a second she had collected the bag and sprinted further down the stream. Every slippery step made her curse this form more, as she struggled to grip the slime covered rocks with her claws. Reaching the first of three drain openings, she ducked inside and disappeared into the dark tunnel. Dropping the now soaked bag on the damp drain floor, she very quietly crept back to where she had entered and watched the four figures that had been chasing her. They all appeared to be young, around seventeen, and very pissed at the fact they had lost sight of her. “fucking coyotes.. We’ll never find it now, let’s go, it’s bound to show up again in town.” One snapped as they headed back up to the road.

Sighing with relief she went back to what had caused the whole situation. Shoving her snout in the bag she breathed in deep the smell of the rack of beef ribs wrapped in paper. Her stomach growled with aching hunger, and she was all but foaming at the mouth for a taste. Looking around at the murky grey water that trickled along the drain she growled and scooped the bag up once again in her teeth and continued further into the blackness.

Finding a decently dry spot to eat and rest was proving to be almost impossible. Her muscles burned and she was exhausted, but she kept going deeper and deeper, following the twists of the pipe. Regret hit her again with the intense mix of scents she was experiencing. Stench of mold, decay, and hints of human smells flooded her sensitive nose as she neared the end of pipe that lead to a vast chamber. Pausing before stepping out completely and placing her bag on the semi dry floor, she cautiously sniffed the stale air.

It was difficult to pick apart each smell, but it reeked of human the most. Each slow step brought her closer to a huge pile of stacked various objects. The human scent the strongest around it, but now she also got hints of fear and she froze as her eyes climbed to the top of the monstrous collection. Floating around she saw many human bodies slowly moving around it. Her animal instincts pushing in the back of her mind telling her she shouldn’t be here, that danger was coming. The adrenaline starting to pump through her body again as she scampered back for her bag of food. Halfway across her ears pricked when she heard loud slashing coming from one of the pipes. Ducking behind a few busted bikes, she flattened herself to the floor and eyed the opening, watching.

A tall figure emerged from the shadows, each step echoed off the walls. It suddenly stopped and looked around, walking a few more feet into the little light that came from above. It Bent down and examined her abandoned bag with great intrest, before dropping it and glancing around. “oh my, oh my… it seems something else has chosen these sewers to dine in..” It sounded human and what she could tell from the light, resembled a clown of sorts, with pale make-up, orange hair, and a costume with bells. It slinked about with little sound, it’s now yellow eyes scanning for any movement. “come out come out… I know you’re still here…. I can SMELL YOU..” A quick glance to him then back to the bag gave her the motive she needed to move. Darting out she barely made it four feet before colliding with what felt like a wall. Blinking she found herself against the stone wall, pain radiating across her side. “My.. My.. What’s this? A little lost creature wondered down here?” He taunted. Curling her lips and revealing her long sharp canines she let out a low growl. “tsk tsk.. Those are nice, but let me show you mine..” The clown growled back flashing her his own mouthful of jagged razor like teeth. Drawing back to lunge at him, she was snatched by the neck and held up by her throat as he twisted his mouth to a fanged smile. “look at you.. Pathetic excuse for a predator..” She continued to snarl and snap, but her head throbbed with pain from how hard of a grip was on her neck constricting her air.

Pulling her to mere inches from his face he opened his mouth to speak but stopped and instead took in a deep breath. The beast in his hand has stopped growling and instead just looked at him, eyes wide but he smelt no fear. Sniffing the air again he released his grip and she fell to the ground. “You aren’t a beast.. There’s something… something else I smell on you.. Different from anything I’ve encountered before on this planet..” he said as he watched the coyote cough and gag while trying to catch it’s breath. She shot him a look before the sound of cracking bones filled the room. Slowly the fur went away and in place of the soggy animal was a human woman with messy dark hair and a long slender built frame, still clutching at her throat. The clown seemed confused and intrigued by what had happened. “What are you exactly?” he asked as he croutched to eye level with her.

“No… not a beast nor a human, I’m something similar to you. I can smell you aren’t human either, so why don’t you explain too?” her voice was soft but scratchy either from non use or being strangled. “You came into my home, and I asked first, so explain while I’m giving you the chance.” The seriousness of his voice left no room for a debate. “I’m from beyond this planet, got here long before the inhabitants now. To clear it up I was being chased and by accident I found this… uh lovely.. Place..” She explained dryly. His glowing eyes stayed fixed on her, as he processed what was said, had he not seen it happen he’d have killed her without a second thought. “Well? What about you? I could tell you weren’t human the instant you tried choking me.” She asked while combing her fingers through her long dirty strands. “I happen to be an eldritch being, and I’ve been here much longer then any other. I’m curious as to why you still fought against me even though you claimed to know I was something else.” The glint of wonder obvious in his bright eyes. “when I’m in full animal form, the instincts can kick in, and it takes a few minutes to bring them down.” She replied with a small shrug. The clown tapped his gloved index finger on his drool covered chin, thinking as he stared at her.

A chilling smile played it’s way across his painted lips and he quickly hopped up with excitement. “I’ve got an offer for you, in exchange for living here and me not killing you, why not stay here with me for awhile? I’m only awake for a year then I sleep for twenty-seven. So after the year if you wish you can leave.” She looked around the cold dark room then back up to him. “and if I decline? I die? What’s stopping me from just leaving now? Besides sewers aren’t my ideal home, I’ve lived in some dark ones but I’ll pass on this one.” She watched his smile break into a frown as he huffed and lowered himself back to her level. “you need protection, food, and a place to stay…. I can give you all that, and in return all I need from you is the occasional help luring my.. Prey.. To me. So do we have a deal?” She rubbed her temple, before nodding. “fine, but I need at least a dry place to eat my food and sleep.” The smile returned to his face as he stood and extended her his large hand. “well then I’m Pennywise, Pennywise the dancing clown.. And your name is… ?” Reaching up she accepted his gesture and stood, revealing her height to be taller then Pennywise had expected. “I’m Ari.. So.. Pennywise, I’m starving and freezing, is there any dry place in here?” He spun around rather dramatically and started walking away. “Follow me and I’ll show you, but you may want to put clothes on because there maybe a few humans around.” When she didn’t respond and he heard the cracking sounds again he looked back to find a large black coated dog trailing behind him with the canvas bag hanging from it’s mouth.

Making his way into the worn down house connected to the beginning sewer maze, he waited for her to enter before walking over to a beat up mattress laying on the floor. “No one comes in here so this will be your best bet, and if they do you now know it’s the quickest to the drains to escape or attack them.” His eyes now a shade of blue as he told this to the dog. She jumped on the mattress and started ripping apart the paper covering the ribs, drooling as she reached the raw flesh. “I have hunting to do, so I’ll be back later.” He said before he vanished back down into the pitch blackness. Licking her chops she turned her attention to the ribs, and finally started to devour them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ari awoke to the feeling of eyes on her, and as she sat up she found Pennywise watching her from the corner of the room. “sleep well pet?” a cheerful tone present in his voice. “I see you found some clothes as well.” Ari yawned and stretched before answering him. “first off.. NOT YOUR PET.. And yea they were upstairs. So do you need my help today, or am I good to go off with out you hunting me down?” He walked over to the window then looked back to her, “I’m fine for today, but can I ask you some more questions? I’ve never encountered another with shifting abilities.” He giggled a little when she nodded. “so can you shift into anything? Are there more of you?? Do you only eat certain types of things?” he spouted off while taking a seat in front of her on the mattress. “oh man.. Okay, I can shift into any animal on this planet or previously on this planet. I can also make any part of my body into any thing animal like and still keep the rest in human form. This is my human form, the only one I have, I haven’t changed much about it since forming it.. There were lots of us but over time we’ve dissipated to only a few. And my full name is Nofre -ari, it’s Egyptian for the good companion. We all had a great influence on that culture, with all the half animal half human gods they worshiped. Many of my kind took on those roles while others of us, like myself, preferred to stay in full animal forms and help by protection or guidence. I mostly stayed as a Pharaoh dog in those days. Our Kind really isn’t into aggression unless needed or injured, humans are much too hostile, hence my choice to stay in animal forms over humans. As for eating I stick to wildlife or human food.” She said playing with the hem on her shirt.

His blank stare and lack of movement or speech made her question if he’d heard everything she told him, but then he swallowed and tilted his head a little, seeming to return to the current conversation. “Are you immortal?” She eyed him suspiciously after he broke the quiet with one more question. “I can be injured to the point of almost death in any form, but only killed in my original form, so yes in every other form but I can be killed when I fully show what I am.” His smile returned and his blue eyes got brighter at her response. “what does that look like? Show me! Show me! Show me! I can show you mine if that seems more fair?” his bells jingled as he twitched with more excitement. Glaring at him she crossed her arms, “oh no, I’m not showing you.. You’ve seen plenty and I didn’t make it living on this planet this long by chance clown.” He let out a loud groan and stuck out his bottom lip in a pout. This is going to be one interesting year… for the both of us... She thought to herself as she watched the clown grumble and head out of the room.

So yeah that's it so far, sorry it was a long one.. Thanks for reading and feedback is always welcome ☺

[garudabluffs]

'The Blob,' A Smart Yet Brainless Organism Fit For Sci-Fi, Gets Its Own Exhibit

The Paris Zoological Park is home to Physarum polycephalum, better known as "the blob," a unicellular organism capable of learning despite its lack of neurons.                                

3:33   October 20, 2019   READ MORE https://www.npr.org/2019/10/20/771285312/the-blob-a-smart-yet-brainless-organism-fit-for-sci-fi-gets-its-own-exhibit

Slime: How Algae Created Us, Plague Us, and Just Might Save Us   

2019 “Say “algae” and most people think of pond scum. What they don’t know is that without algae, none of us would exist.”                  

All Hail the Blob, the Smart Slime Mold Confounding Science

A Parisian zoo has opened an unusual new exhibit: a blob of slime mold with almost 720 sexes.

Scientists now think that slime molds are closer to amoeba. And like amoeba, slime molds consist of a single cell and tend to move by reaching out little creeping arm-like limbs called pseudopods.

The Blob—or to give it its more formal name, Physarum polycephalum—belongs to a subset of slime molds known as plasmodial slime molds. These are made up of a single gigantic cell that contains thousands of nuclei, formed when lots of individual cells get together. These plasmodial slime molds are particularly useful for helping us understand how slime molds work because they are so large that it’s easy for scientists to observe and experiment with them.

READ MORE https://www.wired.com/story/all-hail-the-blob-smart-slime-mold-confounding-science/?bxid=5cc9dfde3f92a477a0e6fdbd&cndid=55263628&esrc=WIRED_CRMSeries&source=EDT_WIR_NEWSLETTER_0_DAILY_ZZ&utm_brand=wired&utm_campaign=aud-dev&utm_mailing=WIR_Daily_102019&utm_medium=email&utm_source=nl&utm_term=list2_p1

[thelittleredheadedmusician]

Gotham City Ghostbusters 8

BAT-Girls

ao3

Next Chapter | Previous Chapter

To Barbara, Bruce was like an uncle and she loved being able to spend time with him. Because unlike her father, he wasn’t afraid to tell her things about the city’s ghosts and how to get rid of them. But what she loved even more was when he went out of town on business and she could get the run of the cave, especially since her accident.

Barbara never blamed Jason, even if he blamed himself. He couldn’t control his actions and she was the one who opened the door thinking it was one of her close friends. She hadn’t even thought anything was out of the ordinary until he drew the knife.

The rest of the night had been a blur of florescent lights and hospital scrubs. The way her artery had been slit meant that she should have died, or at the very least lost her leg. Thanks to modern technology, thanks to Bruce, she didn’t lose either. But what became of her leg afterward is what was being called a “phantom limb”. Like a ghost it had remained when the natural order said it should not and because of that it did not always move the way it should and occasionally felt unstable and insubstantial. Requiring her to use a crutch, even if she didn’t always need it, because there was no telling when her leg would no longer take weight.

She took this as a challenge.

Bruce believed it to be a liability, even if he never said it to her. Why else would he keep her from the cave? The boys may have been benched too but they at least still had limited access.

With him away for business though Barbara had free reign. She maneuvered herself easily between the different work tables and equipment, crutch in one hand and Wayne Tech tablet in the other. Barking orders at Tim who ran around gathering supplies for her she set to work on their much needed gadgets while Dick and Jason started with the training.

“Tim!” she called across the cave. “Do you know how to use that beautiful monstrosity of a 3D printer?”

Tim poked his head out of the storage locker he was raiding for extra electrum, “Yeah? Why?”

“Because, I’m done with the design for Steph’s bat and need someone to run the program while I get to work on those goop-a-rangs.” Tim took his armful of broken and bent electrum and dropped it into the oversized funnel that would melt it down for use in their 3D printer that was really more of a mold and metal casting machine than anything. She just liked referring to it as a 3D printer because it ran on similar programing. He snatched the tablet from her as she settled herself into a seat in front of the main worktable.

Years ago it had been discovered that a gelatinous, high-density substance could coat ghosts, stick them to walls and ceilings, and render them powerless. It was Babs’ weapon of choice when she was running around with Bruce and Dick before her accident. After it she had designed her own program to create a electrum crutch with the capabilities of firing the beloved goop. Dick had used his cave access to build it for her and Jason kept her in steady supply of the goop cartridges. She was currently trying to improve on her designs on the weaponized slime and create an armada of goop-grenades and goop-a-rangs rather than having to fire the substance from a gun like her crutch.

After running them through their paces Jason, Dick, and Damian brought over a very exhausted looking Steph, Duke, and Harper and a very mischievous looking Cass. They crowded around Babs and her table, examining the tech there. Duke reached his hand out to fiddle with a half-wired grenade and Barbara slapped it away, “Don’t touch.”

He quickly cradled his hand to his chest and shot her a wounded look that she merely shrugged off. “So…” Harper started, looking at the mess. “When do I get to build mine? You said I could.”

Babs passed her the tablet that Tim had returned and explained, “These are blueprints of previous or current models of tech in use by Bruce as well as my own designs. Anything on the tables – except these, don’t touch these –” she shot Duke a look, “is free reign. Have fun. Don’t blow anything up.”

“Do you know what is effective?” Tim asked kindly.

Harper rolled her eyes and began ticking off her fingers, “Electrum, high-voltages of electricity, and that funky gunk. Plus wards and those crazy weird laser grids.”

“Good. Have fun.” Babs said, her attention focused on soldering wires.

“What do you guys have?” Duke asked, genuinely curious.

“Well Dickiebird has those pretty escrima sticks. Only thing any of us has that’s officially Wayne Tech. They’re super high-voltage electricity on the one end. And then Babs has that wonderful crutch of hers, shoots goop. Damian has that pretentious electrum sword. Then I have these gorgeous twin pistols.” At this he pulled them out of the holster on his hip. “Fire bursts of goop. Made them myself.”

“-tt- They also occasionally misfire, coating Todd in that disgusting slime,” Damian said with a slightly exaggerated eye roll.

Jason just shrugged it off, “Eh, I’m still working out some of the kinks.”

“What about you two?” Duke motioned to Tim and Cass.

“I, have this!” Tim said a little too dramatically and pulled his collapsible bo staff from his pocket. Duke quirked an unimpressed eyebrow. “It’s like Dick’s escrima sticks so it’s got like a super high voltage taser in it, but I made it myself.”

Duke nodded, slightly more impressed and turned to Cass who just shrugged, “Me?”

“Cass can hold her own just fine but these goop grenades are going to be hers.” Babs said as she soldered a few more wires together. Cass clapped her hands and grinned while Steph bumped her hip against her friend’s side.

“Alright! It’s done!” Harper called out, holding up a monstrosity of a weapon.

“That was fast,” Dick told her, looking the large gun over. “Uh… What’s it do?”

“It shoots arcs of electricity. I want to be an electrical engineer and with access to this kinda stuff? Piece of cake,” Harper smirked proudly and propped the gun against her shoulder. Cass shot her fingers guns like Steph had shown her, causing Harper to blush a deep red. Barbara refocused her attention onto the work at hand when she heard a “DING!” from her beloved printer. “Tim! Go get Stephanie her bat.”

“Ha! Get it! I’ll be a BAT-girl!” The blonde was elbowing Damian in the ribs, trying to get their stoic youngest to crack a grin to no avail. Damian just gave her his signature -tt- before walking away.

Tim had wrapped the handle with a special purple grip tape that Barbara had picked up just for the younger girl before he presented it to Steph with a flourish. “Your weapon of choice m’lady,” he said with a deep bow.

Steph snatched the solid electrum bat from Tim with a grin, “Thanks Babs! It’s exactly what I wanted!”

“The end should flick down to reveal a button to fire a goop grenade. Also were you access the refill latch. I’ll give you them once I’m done, until then go with Tim and get a feel for it.” The younger girl smiled even wider at Barbara before skipping off deeper into the cave, Tim just behind her.

“So… What about me?” Duke asked, pulling a chair over to sit beside her.

“Well you never said what you wanted. Harper! Can you stop flirting with Cass and bring me my tablet back?”

Dick and Jason, who had been at the large computer screen behind her chuckled as the blue haired girl blushed again. Cass just smiled slyly, snatched the tablet off the table and handed it to Barbara. She pulled up the menagerie of blueprints and began showing them to Duke.

“Anything interesting?” He shook his head so she continued to show him print after print. “Nothing?” Duke frowned a little and Babs nodded. “This stuff is too impractical for you. It’s ok, you’re a smart guy! I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

“You do?” Duke asked her skeptically.

Babs smirked, that pitch was what got her top sales clerk at the bookstore she worked in part time. “Containment. What’s the good in hunting ghosts if you’ve got nowhere to put them.”

Duke blinked, “Uh, yeah actually. I was kinda thinking about that.”

Barbara nodded and opened up a new folder, the designs in here were all for capturing and holding ghosts rather than just dispatching them into the hereafter.

She once again began flipping through but this time Duke stopped her, “That! I want one of those.”

Barbara studied the blueprint he had stopped her on. It was one of her own designs, a compact, hand held vacuum like containment unit that worked on the same principle of sucking up and holding the ghost. “Now this is just a design, I haven’t tried making one of these just yet.”

“That’s ok. I can help,” Duke told her with a wide smile.

She nodded, “Pass me those pliers.”

[frogsandfries]

On the topic of edgy

My brain was just drifting over some of the pokemon I've done for the scale project. Like how I painted Voltorb under pressure from my partner, but when it was painted, it just looked like shit because the surface was shit. Besides, I wanted to take molds of them before painting them, in case anyone wants to own, say, scale models of Gyarados and Flaaffy, or see what Absol and Gengar look like side by side, on their desk, everyday. I'm thinking about switching working on the pokemon in polyclay to working on them in cold porcelain, if I can make a cold porcelain that isn't sticky. While cold porcelain is an air dry clay, meaning I would have to use care in storing it in an airtight fashion, the benefits of it air drying are that I don't have to use the oven (which means electricity, or having access to the big oven, which I don't if I'm living in a motel or trying not to get caught by the evil parents doing something kind of weird). I just walk away, leave it overnight our what-have-you, and it's done. If it cracks, fill the cracks, if it warps while drying, that's really my only concern--I'll just have to get better at using armatures. Cold porcelain is pretty much just white glue, so as far as I know, it's less reactive than polyclay. Honestly, if some goose-brain hadn't dropped about a hundred bucks on twenty-four pounds of polyclay, I probably would have been more zealous about discovering a non-sticky cold porcelain formula. I mentioned a while ago, right now, I could take advantage of this slime craze, and then just make a big enough batch for what I'm working on. That's probably where it starts to cost. The last time I whipped up a batch, sure, I didn't know what I was doing, but it took me about half an hour to make a batch. Maybe if I get better at it, I can make batches in less time, and using time when I'm not sculpting, or make bigger batches that I can seal better in smaller portions, that way that time investment goes the distance. Cold porcelain would bring a new learning curve, but it probably wouldn't take that long to figure out the material. It's quite a different material, and air drying, which has its own pros and cons. But in the long run, it would probably save me a lot of money over polyclay. I could make my own color batches, if I wanted to make figurines or maybe go back and try to make charms again. Of course, one distinct con of air drying modeling material is shrinkage, which is where cracking sometimes comes from. I would probably figure that out in the course of working with armatures. Speaking of armatures, maybe now that I'll have my own work space, and I'll be trying out a material much less costly than polyclay, I can throw out this first botched attempt at sculpting Wailord, and try over the way I should have done in the first place: The whole armature first, to be certain proportions are correct, skin second, application of material third, detail fourth, all in one step at a time. Then after I'm done with that, I can try Kyogre primal next. I kind of wanted to throw it out when I had issues with the second half of the head, but I was kicking myself for getting so excited, and polyclay is expensive. I'll use pretty much any wire with good flex to build armatures (personally, I don't have a lot of experience with aluminium armature wire, but it never quite seems appropriate to my application; I'm sure it has its uses in the studio, but I haven't done those kinds of projects myself), and I know the hardware store in town had the wire I've been using. I know I've got the pokemon scale figurines on my figurine checklist, but this new figurine artist just started posting videos to YouTube and happened to pop up in my recommendations, and they made it look so fun and easy--working with different colors, and bonding those colors, making quick and adorable anime style figurines. The temptation to just try once is irresistible. But at the very least, I would use some kind of armature, if only like, segmented pieces that join each bit together. I feel like if that fell apart it would be easier to glue back together than just a flat join like this artist was using. Anyway, I'm thinking Ivysaur's armature is too big, so I might make it into something else--hopefully like, one of the tortoises is about that size, maybe a little bigger, and it'll be easy enough to but the bud armature to another use. If not......idk Venusaur is a while lot bigger than Ivysaur.....but I was thinking it could probably work. Eeuuuggggghhhh here's another thought: Part of what could make the intended Ivysaur armature work for Venusaur would be layering. But that's the worry for an air dry material that I don't really have with polyclay. If I bake polyclay over and over, eventually, in theory, the inner layers of polyclay must be curing. After all, the project will eventually get hot all the way through, if I bake it long enough. By the same logic, eventually the air dry clay will dry through, and I'm more confident about that than the polyclay logic. It would suck if after like a year, it finally cracked from drying through. idk Anyway, I'm mostly interested in the switch, especially since I've started sculpting on a larger scale. I'm kind of excited to continue my experiments with armatures and breaking large pieces permanently into smaller components and making those components jive no matter what material or processes or tools I'm working in. I'm especially excited about the prospect of completing my scale Wailord for real this time. I'm going to need a new spool of wire and a crap-ton of foil. Or maybe this time, I'll just use newspaper and glue or masking tape. At least wire, I can clip and weave more wire in to make the form bigger. I really enjoy working in wire, but honestly only as a means to the end of having an armature. I'm such a freak for armatures, but I'm even more of a freak for what comes from building on an armature. I'm so excited right now it's disgusting. I'm honestly as excited this time to do Wailord right, and experiment with cold porcelain, as I was the first time when I did it wrong. Another thought: Doing Alolan Exeggcutor's neck in cold porcelain will probably be easier than polyclay. I can stay closer to the original wire form, and build up as I'm ready, on cured material. I think I just got too excited last time. I'm pretty good at making dolls, I've had a lot of practice. I need more practice on figurines. I need to relearn how to slow down and think the whole project through, and I need to put my math skills to work, from time to time.

[the-poke-nebula]

😈😈😈😈😈😈 from ur sassiest muse

Blessed Counter: 0 Cursed Counter: 6

"From your Sassiest Muse" is probably Moralixxi so gonna get her up here.

"A whole 'trainer's team' of 'cursed facts', huh? Dang, who didn't love you enough as a child?"

1) "I'll start with probably my least favorite Pokemon in Uplyria- the Beedrill that live there. A quick reminder that a Beedrill from Kanto can sting straight through you and probably do bad damage to you- these ones are probably worse. The poison from a Kantonian Beedrill isn't bad, but the poison from an Uplyrian Beedrill? Get ready for internal frostbite, literally freezing your blood solid. That's right- these Bee Pokemon are Bug/Ice Type and they will not hesitate to sting."

2) "Next up, I'll talk about a Pokemon known as Tastee. You can probably guess from the name it's a culinary delicacy here in Uplyria. I don't really see the appeal in it, but I'm a Pokemon, so what do I know." Sarcasm. "I at least know better to know that Tastee is literally on the endangered list because of over-hunting it for its meat. That's what I hate about Tastee over the Pokemon itself; it really is super cute. Seriously people- find some better alternatives to Tastee Meat."

3) "Fungross and Slymbiosis; man, where do I even START with these Pokemon? These Pokemon are reminiscent of Slugma and Magcargo, but these guys aren't like them, y'know, at all. Fungross and Slymbiosis are nasty little parasites that, when part of their mold-like slime covers a Pokemon with a weak will, will lose all cognitive function and go about like a zombie. Did I mention that these things also get Wonder Guard? And are Bug/Poison Type? Look, a lot of my gripes are about Bug-Types, and since I'm a Psychic-Type Pokemon, I'm allowed to."

4) "Speaking of Bugs, let's talk about Mozozamo and Mozonguz. They're both evolutions of Mozito, and you can probably guess they're all Mosquito Pokemon. So fun and not disease-ridden at all. -First up, Mozozamo. This thing doesn't have just One Proboscis (The little sharp bit that stabs you and drinks your blood); in an act of hubris against nature, this thing has TWO. It can bite you in two different place at once and drain you of your blood twice as fast. Especially since it has the ability Bloodlust, which makes draining attacks, such as Leech Life, even more powerful. -Mozongus is what happens when the aforementioned Fungross infects a Mozito when under the influence of a Leaf Stone. Mozongus is blind and has a whole ton of fungus growing all over its body, and like most other Pokemon under Fungross' spell, acts like a member of the Undead. Unlike its cousin it still has one Proboscis, but it still has access to Bloodlust; It just is more Special-Attack oriented, so Mozongus will drain your life force, instead. Even if it doesn't have Bloodlust, it also could get Effect Spore, which, if you breathe in those spores from its fungus, could put you to sleep, poison you, rash up, or paralyze you, and while you're helpless, it feeds."

5) "Next up is probably a worse affront to nature than Muk ever could be- the Hazmat Pokemon, Wastoxyn. This thing is literally Made of nuclear wasteproduct. Not only is probably every single Wastoxyn clinically insane, but they have an insatiable goal of polluting the Earth by consuming and spreading its toxic filth. They're also MASSIVE; think Muk but maybe twice as big. This is humanity's hubris coming back to bite you people in the butt. Especially since it has the ability known as Black Clouds. Dunno what it does? It literally summons acid rain. That's right; corrosive acid rains from the sky and deals damage to all Non-Poison or Steel-Types."

6) "Finally, let's talk about the Scrap Slasher Pokemon, Screaper. Screaper is what happens when you throw its previous evolution, Curibo, away with some of your old computer parts. These things are merciless, ruthless, and tireless, hunting you down while making you absolutely terrified by the constant sound of grinding metal. There are stories where the owners' heads were found tied to belts they made out of broken wires, keeping their black shrouds from slipping off their scrap-trap forms."

"Aaand, that's about all that I really have some hang-ups on... can I go now?"

[bkingba1b]

WILL MCDANIEL PART 2 Model Making

Will shows his materials and process for many of his models. I would like to make a model inspired by Will’s creatures. His process uses clay sand latex as well as the wire. It's different to how I have made my models so far with foam and would be a useful skill to learn and apply.

LITTLE DANCING LUMPY BOY

MR SPATULA LIPSTICK FACE

POSSESSED VEGETABLES

BREAK UP BUDDY

GENIE OF THE FLAPS

List of materials he uses

Cotton wool

nail varnish

sculpting tools

hot glue gun

satin sealer spray

polymorph plastic

acrylic paints

monster clay

scrap plasticine

kitchen foil

white flour

cardboard

doll eyes (stolen from the doll)

liquid latex rubber

latex thickener

Process

start with the base of scrap plasticine for the bulk of the body and cover with foil so it can be reused

microwave monster clay for a couple of minutes so it softens coat foil with monster clay to form the shape of head/body

put in eyes and build eyelids around them

make the teeth and put them in (how is not covered in this tutorial but is in lumpy boy’s one above)

for the body of this model, a sweets tub was used with clay placed around it due to how expensive the material is

mix latex and thickener

coat body and head once

mix latex and flour to make latex paste slowly as it is easy to make it too thick

remember to use gloves, a facemask, and a well-ventilated area

keep adding the mixture to model to create desired flaps

keep adding thickened latex to head

use cardboard for the base

remove latex from the mold

build basic internal structure to keep model upright using hot glue gun and cardboard, its a hollow model as it is used as a puppet with hand operating from underneath

glue front body section to it

top up latex on model as desired

use pillow stuffing to fill the head

cut out eye sockets

paint eye sockets red-stained with acrylic and use clear nail varnish to seal it

glue into eye sockets with a hot glue gun

dry brush paint over raised sections of the model

when dry coat with unthickened liquid latex

spray with satin sealer spray which protects them from slime and moisture

glue teeth in place and seal with nail polish

blend with mouth at the base with thickened latex