#string spacesuit

[thegikitiki]

For Those Who Know What They Want...

"The String Spacesuit"

Starwear by DiNardo, 1978

[fihas]

thought about all of the 2001: a space odyssey references in venture bros and how pretty much all of them unintentionally ended up playing a huge part in the show's overall narrative. for example, consider the PROBLEM and how it started out as your common hal 9000 clone to eventually evolving into something that is more akin to the monolith, an extremely advanced piece of technology that is used to alter humanity's dna in order to ensure the species' survival. however, this much reliance on advanced technology has never really gone well for anyone, and this situation is no different.

at the end of 2001, the monolith ends up absorbing a whole guy, essentially "emulating" him, destroying his physical body while retaining all his memories of his previous human life. this forces him to go through the cycle of death and rebirth, and once this process is complete he has been transformed into the star child, who at the time appears as a baby. this could apply to how jonas sr built vendata and how he invented his cloning process simultaneously, and hits harder considering both he and the monolith pulled every single string in their respective narratives, especially since jonas was trapped in the PROBLEM for 30 years. there's always some ominous rectangle at the scene of the crime.

it also causes the orange 2001 inspired spacesuits in vbros to become significantly more impactful, especially since they're worn by rusty, hank, dean, and the monarch. and all 4 of them are clones. gary is the singular outlier to this which is kind of funny. sorry man we're going to be dragging you into venture bullshit forever. bodyguard curse or whatever.

cool fact: the scene in haunted problem where jj recovers the PROBLEM from the gargantua 1 crash site parallels a scene in 3001: the final odyssey, in which the original monolith is dug up in a similar fashion in kenya.

and then there's another reference to the monolith in what goes down must come up, yet again associated with something jonas sr directly caused. this episode also comes with a bugged out supercomputer too.

not exactly sure where i'm going with this but i will say that i think this is the best possible way to utilize pop culture references instead of constantly making them surface level one off jokes. venture bros does this so much in such a rewarding way for people who recognize these references, and it does it best with space odyssey to me. this is because doc and jackson wanted to torment me specifically with their show.

[captain-dville]

(more) Things to Do With a Drunk Space Pirate

*A couple of pages from Jonny's songwriting notebook, written in his messy penmanship with many crossed-out lines and scribbled notes. There's the familiar lines from the final version, as well as others - unused, unfit for singing, or just passed over. There's the sense that most if not all of them are things that have actually been done to their resident 'Drunk Space Pirate'.*

Throw 'em in the airlock 'til they're sober

Shove 'em in the brig with a slavering moon-beast (fuck you, Ashes!)

Strap 'em to the rear hull in a spacesuit

Twenty kisses of the vibrolash (fun)

Shave their belly with a rusty razor (oh fuck all of you. it grew back uneven for weeks!)

Make 'em clean the vents while the engine's running (you steal Nastya's tools one time...)

Cut their ears and tongue out and feed them to the octokittens (bit too wordy for the song. Also, you don't need encouragement.)

Make 'em drink bleach 'til they choke on vomit (fuck that burned)

Throw 'em in the garbage chute while passed out (alright fair, that was pretty funny)

Burn all their clothes and leave them stranded (I liked those trousers!)

Take Him For a Nice Walk (TS, this isn't a suggestion box. also the walk was in SPACE and I was fucking COLD)

String them upside down in the galley (creative, but did you have to burn my clothes again?!)

[unreadable, scribbled over] (again, not a suggestion box. and I'm not singing this in front of people!)

[unreadable, scribbled over]

[unreadable, scribbled over]

I hate all of you. stop writing in my notebooks. (no) (fuck you) (fuck you!)

(A note from Ivy has been appended to the end of the pictures.

Jonny left his comms unlocked, and I believe these would be interesting to both the crew and the people on here. Rest assured that the scans have been stored in my digital archives for safekeeping -IA)

[pixiemage]

My Fate Is In Your Hands - Entry 7

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[A/N: This is a story entirely guided by you guys, by the readers. Be sure to vote at the end of each entry! ALSO, if you'd like to be added the tag list, please let me know and I'll be sure to add you next time!]

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

➤ Examine the patches. He could learn something new about the familiar stranger.

Learning more about the stranger Jimmy rescued can only help the situation…right? The more they know about him, the better they can handle the situation…and the better they can help him.

The spacesuit the pilot is wearing used to be pure white, Jimmy’s sure, even if it was now dusted in gray and black and red, ash and soot and mesa sand. But even then it’s in fairly good condition despite the crash, and the patches stitched into the fabric and their accompanying lettering are still legible. Jimmy squints at the text, reading past the damage.

The word H.A.S.A. is stitched on a round blue-and-red patch at his shoulder, though the logo isn't one he recognizes. And there's another string of letters across the man's chest, backed in red and sewn in black - something Jimmy can only assume must be a name.

T. TEK

It’s familiar, much like the stranger himself. This, too, feels like something Jimmy should know, and it tugs at his mind, at a memory just out of reach.

"...of the Tek variety. Nice to meet ya! So he dragged you into his game too, huh? Heh, should be a good time..."

There's a cocky sort of grin hovering out of sight, and eyes he can't make out the color of that sparkle with a chaotic sort of mischief. He pauses and pulls the cleaning cloth away to stare at the still and expressionless face of the man on the bed. He swears he knows him.

"...welcome, contestants! This is Dare to Flare..."

"...called You Bet Your Life. Basically, what it is..."

Jimmy reaches out against his better judgment and runs his fingers over the nametag, the stitching raised beneath his touch. He frowns, chewing his lip, a flurry of familiar words and voices running through his head like an echo as he puzzles over what that first initial might stand for. Then–

“Noooo! No, I’m so sorry–”“What happened, Tango? Take me through it…”

Tango.

Tango.

Tango Tek.

Jimmy lets out a breath with wide eyes, tracing the letters again with his fingertip and letting that revelation sink in. He doesn’t know how he knows it’s right, he just knows. He can’t explain it. He’s still staring in wonder at the soot-dusted nametag when he hears the sound of approaching rockets and jolts from his thoughts.

Oh, void, right. The crash. Shelby. Potions. Gods, he’s being an idiot–

Jimmy carefully cleans the rest of the blood and soot from the pilot’s face with all the gentleness he can muster, and he’s only just depositing the cloth back in its bowl when he hears Shelby calling from the front door.

“In here!” he returns, his eyes lingering on the stranger - on Tango. “Bedroom!”

Now that Shelby’s here, he feels a little (a lot) more confident that Tango’s going to be alright. For now, he can focus on helping patch him up. For now, he can shove the odd familiarity of the not-stranger from his thoughts. Later, he can ponder at why he even knows Tango’s name and why his face feels so achingly familiar…but later. Later. Maybe when Tango is finally awake. Maybe he’ll gain some answers to his questions then. Later.

The door clicks open and Shelby nearly trips into the room, clutching her oversized hat to her head with one hand and scrambling to catch her broomstick with the other, just barely managing not to fall.

“Who is it? What happened? Whaddaya need?” she asks in a rush, clumsily kicking the door shut again and leaning her broom in the corner of the room. “What’s – oh my gosh.”

Jimmy sets the water and rag aside as she comes closer, smiling sheepishly at her wide-eyed expression.

“So, er…” He gestures toward the pilo- Tango. Toward Tango. “Funny story. A spaceship crashed outside Tumble Town an’ this is the pilot.” Shelby’s wide eyes turn to him instead and he chuckles weakly. “Trust me, I know how crazy it sounds,” he says, and she comes over to stand beside him and stare down at Tango’s unconscious form.

She pokes his leg with her finger.

“Is he an alien?” she stage-whispers, and Jimmy almost laughs. Almost. Instead, he twitters weakly and gestures to Tango’s non-human features.

“I don’t know!” he says, a bit hysterical. “He fell out of the sky! And he was unconscious when I found him, it’s not like I could ask! He’s - look,” Jimmy yanks off his hat and rakes his fingers through his hair, sighing heavily. “Look, all I know is he’s hurt, alright? I just wanna help ‘im.”

At this, Shelby jolts.

“Oh! Potions! Right! Sorry!” She swipes through the air, summoning her inventory and rifling through it for what she needs. Colorful glass bottles fall into her hands and she sets them on the bed one by one, red and pink and orange clinking softly against each other. Health. Regeneration. Fire resistance.

The last one makes Jimmy pause. He hangs his hat on the chair by the bed and picks up the orange-filled bottle from the collection. He tilts it in his hand, the light of the lanterns overhead reflecting off the glass and making the potion inside look like lava. He recalls what he thought he’d seen on the flight over, the dancing light in Tango’s hair that he was so sure were flames. Then his eyes fall on Tango, remembering the bruises and the scrapes he’d acquired…but no burns, as far as Jimmy could tell. No burns.

“...I don’t think he needs this one,” Jimmy murmurs, and that same certainty stirs in his chest that he’d felt upon realizing Tango’s name.

Shelby doesn’t notice, too busy darting around the bed to get a closer look at Tango - what little of him wasn’t covered by his spacesuit.

“Hmm…we probably need to get him out of this thing to see how bad it is,” she muses, her head tilting to the side and her hat tipping precariously. Her eyes widen. “Oh, geez - he’s bleeding. Hang on–”

Jimmy’s breath catches and he abandons the fire resistance potion where he found it. Right! The head wound. Void, he’d forgotten–

Jimmy quickly offers her a clean cloth across the bed and she pours bright red potion onto it, tugging aside Jimmy’s makeshift bandage and replacing it with the healing-doused rag. Shelby sets the open bottle on the bedside table and reaches for a pink one instead, tugging out the cork with her teeth.

“Any chance you know how to get this spaceman armor off?” she asks, dripping regen carefully onto the rag she’s already using, the scent of sweet melons and nether spice wafting into the air.

“Er–” Jimmy blinked down at the spacesuit, at the odd stiff collar the helmet had been attached to and the thick material the suit was made from. He can’t see a zipper or buttons of any kind at a glance - though he’s sure he can find an opening somewhere if Shelby really needs him to.

“I dunno,” he tells her with a wince, taking up a cloth of his own to start tending to the other scrapes and cuts littering Tango’s face from his shattered visor. “But he got into it somehow, right?”

Shelby nods, her tongue sticking out between her teeth as she focuses on her task.

“Let’s get this sorted first, then we can take a look,” she tells him, taking a tick to glance up at him. Maybe she can tell how concerned he is, because she flashes him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Sheriff! He’ll be fine. I’m great at potions, and you’re great at taking care of people. We’ve got this!”

Jimmy lets out a soft, tired breath and returns the smile.

They’ve got this. The stranger will be okay.

Tango will be okay.

...

At the maw of a glowing purple rift that cuts a jagged shape into the wall of the massive cave it calls home, an avian with macaw-colored wings stands gaping at its purpureal light. A pair of well-worn goggles is clutched in his grip, flecks of redstone dust rubbing off onto his skin. He’s quiet. He’s quiet, and his eyes mirror the rift before him in both color and luminescence.

Almost an hour has passed since he arrived to find a friend standing where he now stands, his blue hair ablaze and an untamable emotion spilling off of him in waves. Tango had looked so upset, so desperate…and Grian hadn’t quite been able to talk him out of his insane idea.

“You said it’s a portal to other worlds. Plural. So one of ‘em could be his.”

“Technically, maybe, but - but it’s unstable! Why d’you think I’ve been experimenting with–”

“Screw unstable! You said you sent stuff through, right?”

“Yes, but I haven’t gotten anything back. And I haven’t even tried to send a player through–”

“Then send me.”

“What?! Tango–!”

“I’m going through either way. You might as well collect the data when I do–”

“No! Absolutely not! Xisuma would have my head - Impulse would have my head if I let you–”

“You’re not letting me do anything. I’m going.”

The rest of the conversation had spiraled, had exploded, had careened out of control - and Tango had thrown himself through the rift before Grian could stop him. He hadn’t been able to stop him. So…he’d Watched. He’d kept an eye on his friend, as well as he could when following a speck through an endless and unpredictable schism in space, but he’d Watched.

He’s Watching.

He sees the connection, the transformation, the way the narrative of the Empires server brings Tango into her fold, morphing a piece of his past into the form he takes in the present. He may have been acting as a dungeon master on Hermitcraft, but on Empires he becomes a pilot. He becomes an astronaut. He becomes the desperate not-quite-hero he’d been at the end of the last season, and he crashes.

Grian keeps his Eye on Tango for as long as he can, or at least up until he watches Jimmy salvage him from the wreck and bring him home. It’s only when Jimmy and a witch from a neighboring empire are arranging potions on the bedside table that he pulls away, letting out a breath and massaging the bridge of his nose.

Voidammit, Tango.

At least now Grian has more reason to rush and finish fixing the rift. They’re going to need to get Tango back eventually…he can only hope the narrative doesn’t affect Tango’s memories too much in the meanwhile. And at least he found his soulmate again. He’ll be happy there until the Hermits can reach him. Jimmy will make sure of it, Grian knows.

Soulmates don’t ever stop being soulmates, after all.

:3

[Tag List] @firefly124 @mellioops @beaversuenightly @aris-has-a-paracosm @sincerely-nines @changeling-ash

Let me know if you'd like to be added!

[trisshawkeye]

OH BOY SOME MORE

Gosh. The Hourglass Twins are an absolutely *fascinating* concept, what an exquisite encapsulation of the time-based gameplay cycle. One planet is pretty much completely unexplorable at the beginning of the loop (as I found trying to land there first), the other with an ever-impending inexorable time limit on your exploration as it fills with sand. And the sand is no joke, as I found myself getting crushed to death in a tunnel by accident towards the end of my first loop there.

Got too eager on my next try and flew directly into the Sun. Oops.

Third time's the charm - landed on Ember Twin right near the crash site and carefully followed the trail through to the Sunless City. Despite the ever-present low-key stress of the rising sand, my actual doom was losing half my air to a cactus-induced spacesuit puncture and coming out at the gravity cannon too far from my ship to refill in time.

I'm going to have to make another couple of trips out here before I've explored it to my satisfaction (and also figured out an ideal strategy for approaching the Ash Twin), but the vibes are definitely oppressive and slightly horrifying. Drawing some red string based on the information I've gathered so far:

The memory backup system was designed to activate if the Ash Twin Project worked OR if it failed, specifically because if it failed the Nomai literally would not notice. This suggests to me that a time reversal element was either deliberate and baked in to this project somehow, or a known potential side-effect/fail-safe in the event of a failure.

With this in mind, the signal from the Ash Twin Project to fire the Orbital Probe Cannon is almost certainly concurrent with and/or the actual anchor for the beginning of the loop. This is backed up by the fact that it is stated to fire the cannon at a randomized angle, and indeed the cannon fires at a different random angle each cycle (therefore the cycle begins just before it fires, rather than with the firing itself (incidentally this implies that the Nomai are using a non-deterministic random number generator which is pretty neat and also entirely irrelevant)).

The Ash Twin Project is powered by the Sun Station, a controversial piece of technology that potentially put the entire stellar system at risk, but would be the only achievable thing that could power the Ash Twin Project. Could this be the actual cause of an accelerated supernova cycle?

There is at least one other Nomai escape pod out there, and I now have a signal frequency to go find it, if I didn't fancy braving the hourglass again immediately.

From first glance at the statue, the Nomai have this very dignified-looking slightly mystical wise-old-three-eyed-goat appearance, but it's quite clear from literally any of their writings that they are just as unhinged, if not more so, than the Hearthians. These guys should really not be trusted with the technology to manipulate time and space. OH WELL, TOO LATE FOR THAT NOW

[silverthewerewolf]

Date night

The drifter and lettie have been together a while and fallen into routine they both have hectic and unpredictable work lives and appreciate the stability, Friday's are date night, a rather simple affair the drifter cooks, candle light dinner 'precusive maintenence' and cuddles until they fall asleep this night however things do not go according to plan.

Lettie arives back at the backroom flat, expecting to find the drifter cooking something they called 'Ostron yogwun paella' instead finding her lecturing a sullen youth in a futuristic spacesuit sitting on the workshop table "sol damn it I said you could visit your friends in fortuna not take nidus on a rampage across the vallis! And don't give me that 'it was nidus I lost control' shit you decided to take him even after I asked you to stop using him lua I was never this stubborn"

"Mi corazón is this who I think it is. Is everything okay?"

The drifter looks over her shoulder, pale green eyes glowing brighter upon seeing lettie quickly closeing the distance and puling her into a loving embrace. "Ah shit sorry my heart, I completely forgot, been distracted," they say, waving towards the kid

"This isn't how I wanted this to happen, but yes, lettie, the kid, kid, this is my girlfriend lettie"

"I have a name, you know. Void, I thought the clothes were just to fit in, but no, you've gone native" the kid interjects, mouth twisting in distaste.

The drifter crosses the distance between lettie and the kid in the beat of a heart without appearing to move through the intervening space, lettie's breath catches, not believing her love would strike a child but concerned still her rages could be extreme, however the drifter just puts a hand on her shoulder firm but gentle "You. Do. Not. Talk about lettie like that you do not talk to me like that I have not 'gone native' I have found a home and someone to share my life with I love her and you will keep a civil tounge in you head when talking to her do you understand me" her voice cold.

"Yes. mother." The kid sniped back pointedly, the meaning clear to both, the drifter and lettie the drifter dropping into a nearby chair, like a marionette with its strings cut

"I.. I'm not.. I wouldn't.. I didn't... lua, there's a room for you, under the stairs, hidden door"

"We didn't know I'd be coming here until umbra found you in cetus... how do I have a room already?"

Lettie crosses the room to put an arm around the drifter who absentmindedly returns the embrace.

"Because Tris, they've been planning on inviting you here all year, yes I know your name, i know alot about you, she talks about you all the time and I can tell I don't need to explain to you why that comment was out of line, go freshen up, the grown ups need to talk, we will call you when dinners ready."

The kid hesitates for a moment as if about to say something before vanishing, reappearing at the side of the stairs hesitating a moment longer before disappearing into the bedrooms.

"She's gone corazón, are you able to tell me what happened now"

"She... She had another episode vanished from fortuna, the debt prison colony, I told you about it, right?"

"Sí, she spends time with the ventkids or something right"

"Yeah, well, apparently one of the kids got grabbed by a corpus patrol, kids fine she got him out, don't worry, but she didn't come back in, for two days, nobody could contact me here, if I hadn't needed to visit cetus... if umbra hadn't found me... lua, I'm gonna have nightmares, I found her in some cave on the vallis, dripping, I mean literally *dripping* blood and oil, you should have seen it, the corpses piled to the ceiling in the back, infested mass already growing over it, I think nidus had her building a hive or something I don't know"

The drifter buries her face against lettie's neck, tears streaming down her face, letting out a breath

"Fuck! I just... I don't know what to do, she deserves a normal childhood, but she just. won't. listen. She doesn't nee-"

"Mi corazón, you do realise getting a lecture from a parent after doing something stupid is a normal childhood experience. look, you're doing better than you think, I've seen a few new sides of you tonight, I like them, with you in her corner, she'll be okay, I promise, now I was promised dinner and we have a kid to feed so get to it and I'll reward you later."

"Heh, okay, okay, I'm going. You really think i can do this?"

"Of course we can, and I'm sure the rest of the hex would be happy to help too. Now hurry up, I'm starving."

"Thank you, my heart truly"

And so date night became family dinner the first of many the drifter and the kid apologise to each other, lettie introduces the kid to her rats, who loves them eventually falling asleep on the couch with them piled in her lap, the drifter tucks her in with a kiss on the forehead, only for her to stir and still asleep murmer "thanks mum, love you" the drifter tearing up slightly just responding "Love you too sweet dreams"

[fullmoonfireball]

So like what's the deal with olimar and the pikmin

^^^ only knowledge of olimar comes from smash bros brawl

FUCK yes you have given me the chance to infodump. thank you <3

so Olimar's this little middle-aged man (literally. the man's less than 2cm tall, despite what Smash might have you believe) from the planet Hocotate who's basically a space trucker. he works for Hocotate Freight, and flies a rocket all around space, unfortunately without a lot of breaks. he's doing his best to support his family, even if his schedule doesn't leave a whole lot of time for him to see them.

at one point, he gets a much-deserved vacation from work, and decides to take his beloved ship (technically it's Hocotate Freight property, but that's not the point), the S.S. Dolphin, and have some fun out there!

this is where Olimar's string of miserable luck begins.

while traveling, a meteor hits his ship, and forces him to make a crash landing on an unknown planet, later dubbed PNF-404. Olimar survives, but the Dolphin is a wreck, its parts scattered god-knows-where about the planet. to make matters worse, the planet's atmosphere contains high levels of oxygen (which is poisonous to Hocotatians) and his spacesuit's life support system will only last for 30 days. what fun!

as he begins his search for the Dolphin's lost parts, he stumbles upon a strange... creature? construct? entity? whatever it is, he decides it resembles his planet's onions, and thus dubs it an Onion. the Onion lifts itself out of the ground on three long legs, and spits a single seed into the earth. the seed quickly sprouts, and Olimar, ever the curious sort, feels the need to pluck it, and surprise!

that's no ordinary plant, that's a little fella! its shape reminds Olimar of the Pikpik brand carrots he quite loves, and so he dubs the creature a Pikmin. through working with the Pikmin to help them multiply by bringing Pellet Posies and the bodies of defeated beasts back to the Onion, he manages to recover his ship's engine, allowing him to at least lift off from the planet's surface overnight.

PNF-404's creatures, while still posing danger during the day, are largely nocturnal. staying on the ground overnight is extremely dangerous, and any pikmin left unattended overnight are quickly devoured- this is the origin of his final smash, End of Day! thankfully, in Pikmin, Olimar does not crash again in the morning, even if the Dolphin is still worse for wear. so yeah, Olimar's trying to recover his 30 (now 29) ship parts with the help of these strange creatures, discovering yellow and blue pikmin, and fighting many strange beasts along the way.

there are three possible endings to the first game, but for the sake of simplicity, I'm only going to cover the best one here. if you manage to collect every single ship part in time, he gets to go back home to Hocotate in his like-new S.S. Dolphin, maybe even pick up a souvenir for his kids real quick!

...now, one thing you may realize here is that is not the ship used in End of Day.

that would be because, well... Olimar has absolutely terrible luck. while on the way back home, he went to park his ship (again, technically company property) back where it belongs with Hocotate Freight, and.... yeah I'm just going to show you the cutscene

[anomyn]

[comic ID copied from @stormclouds-chainmail:

A four panel comic containing images in greyscale and red and text.

Image 1. A black background with a white silhouette of a dog with a stylised red eye underneath a red moon.

Text: In English and Nordic folklore, it was believed that the first person buried in a new churchyard had to guard it against all ills, from graverobbing vandals to the Devil himself.

To prevent a human soul from having to perform such a duty, a black dog was buried as a substitute.

Image 2. A drawing of a graveyard with graves, a red tree, angel statue and clouds. In the sky is a black dog with a red eye and red star on its body and red teardrop shapes on its tail. Its head is turned to almost look behind it. On the ground the hand of the angel statue appears to be petting another red eyed black dog on the ground.

Text: The Church Grim.

Custodian and protector of the consecrated ground.

Image 3. The top half shows Laika, a happy looking dog wearing a spacesuit vest, is walking through the cosmos. Comets and stars and black holes or planets are around her. An insert in the bottom left shows human hands petting her goodbye. In the bottom right corner a black silhouette version of Laika stands looking proud. She has three white stars outlined in red and connected by a red line on her body.

Text: Often, I think about Laika.

She was the first to exit the Earth's atmosphere, and died in orbit within hours.

"After placing Laika in the container (...), we kissed her nose and wished her bon voyage, knowing that she would not survive the flight."

Image 4. A human in a spacesuit is standing on what might be the surface of the moon. Their visor has a large and ominous red crack on it. A white Laika is sitting beside them with red outlined stars around her.

Text: Often, I think about Laika.

Sent first, she became the Church Grim of our orbit.

Dutifully watching over the departed.

poem ID:

First Dog in Space (poem title)

They say that, from space, the Earth looks like a small, blue ball, but how did it look to you, Laika? From that shuttle like a balloon whose string they let go, and which they never trained for recall?

They say that you were a stray who never fought with other dogs, and that the clever people called you pet names through the wires of your shrinking cages, and that, before you died, overheating in that heavy, weightless cold, one of them took you home, and you played with his kids.

They say that, from space, the Earth looks like a small, blue ball. I'll throw it for you, Laika, if you'll chase it,

dart through the stratosphere like a comet, undeserving of its fate.

Brennig Davies (author)

end ID]

I drew a little something for the Hiveworks micro comic summer~

[johnkatsmc5]

Fortress Europe "Amadeus"2019 + Fortress Europe & Moonflower "1925 - 1988" 2021 + "Old World" 2023 Australia / New Zealand Psych,Experimental,Classical,Balkan,World Music

full spotify

https://open.spotify.com/album/6Vb8DtPTjmDAKQGczwOuuC

https://open.spotify.com/album/2sOhMUROwy8iOQ6kPppWFj

https://open.spotify.com/album/3U0fTEqvBvBy6IBvrNdhSa

Fortress Europe & Moonflower "1925 - 1988" 2021

1925-1988 is a delirious lockdown collaboration between Leon Radojkovic of Fortress Europe, and Scott Satherley of Auckland doom juggernauts Demons of Noon, working under the moniker Moonflower. The EP combines the cinematic Eastern European fervour and instrumental sophistication of Fortress Europe with the gothic Mama's & The Papa's vocals and weird poetry of Moonflower. The result is a primal and emotive psychedelic odyssey and ecstatic confrontation of existential angst, romantic longing and erotic mysticism.....~ Credits Scott Satherley – Lyrics/Vocals Brodie Hoare - Vocals Leon Radojkovic – Music/Guitar, Saz, Tamburica, Accordion, Darbuka, Hand Percussion, Synths, BVs Tracklist Organ Grinder 03:24 Pothos 05:00 Sigilator 03:28

Fortress Europe "Amadeus"2019

Amadeus is a reimagining of selected works and fragments of works by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, performed by a 12-piece band and featuring soprano Madison Nonoa and bass-baritone Joel Amosa. The arrangements utilise interweaving post-rock guitars, haunting synths, spaghetti-western trumpets and trip-hop inspired drums, alongside more traditional orchestral instrumentation such as woodwinds and strings. The album was inspired by bandleader Leon Radojkovic's award-winning work as musical director for Auckland Theatre Company's production of Peter Shaffer's play Amadeus, directed by Oliver Driver, and starring Michael Hurst and Ross McCormack. Radojkovic's goal was to create a new interpretation of Mozart's work that remained true to his music and spirit, rather than simply reproducing a facsimile, while avoiding at all costs the tired trope of “rock band plus orchestra”. The recording features only a partial selection of the over 20 pieces which were performed in the Auckland season. They are presented chronologically as they were composed, and only the section of each work which was featured in the production was recorded....~ Credits Joel Amosa: Vocals Jonathan Burgess: Bass Tom Broome: Drums Peau Halapua: Violin Joseph Harrop: Viola Robin Kelly: Keyboards Abraham Kunin: Guitar Madison Nonoa: Vocals Leon Radojkovic: Guitar, Keyboards, Percussion Finn Scholes: Trumpet, Vibraphone Scott Thomas: Winds Rachel Wells: Cello Miyo Yoon: Violin Tracklist Serenade for Winds (Excerpt) 01:50 Martern Aller Arten (Excerpt) 01:16 Turkish Finale 01:12 Mass in C minor (Excerpt) 01:58 Act 1 Finale 00:56 Ah Tutti Contenti 02:22 Heil sei euch Geweihten 01:53 Lacrimosa 03:30 Rock Me Amadeus (Live) 04:12

Fortress Europe "Old World" 2023

Fortress Europe return to The Wine Cellar to celebrate the release of their long-anticipated debut album, Old World, an album densely packed with intriguing and baffling musical monoliths, each one a genre-defying slab of sound orbiting outside of time, blissfully ignorant of prevailing musical trends. Combining avant-garde rock sensibilities with Balkan music traditions, Fortress Europe features yearning violin, snaking time signatures and Balkan and Middle Eastern folk instrumentation colliding with jagged guitars, squalling sax, haunted retro synths, and apocalyptic bass and drums, all performed by musicians from acts as varied as Demons of Noon, Tami Nielson, The Black Quartet and Luger Boa. Featuring special guests, and with support from Oksun Ox, the one-man-band act of Ben Holmes (Drorgan/The Hoolie Buzzes/Spacesuit etc), bringing twangy scuzzed out guitar, casio boogaloo, live finger beats, foot thumping rumble, songs from the domestic disaster zone sung with a passionate croon and frenzied strum....~ Credits Jonathan Burgess – Bass Peau Halapua – Violin Scott Thomas – Saxophone, Clarinet, Bass Clarinet Tom Broome – Drums Leon Radojkovic – Guitar, Keyboards, Accordion, Tamburice, Glissentar, Saz, Ocarina, Melodica, Percussion, Vocals, Glockenspiel Tracklist 1946 04:53 Angelus Novus 04:05 Roads 05:41 Neretva 04:39 Diaspora 04:18 Volk 04:25 Belgrade 04:02 Old World 05:27 Elegy 04:01

Fortress Europe "Amadeus"2019 + Fortress Europe & Moonflower "1925 - 1988" 2021 + "Old World" 2023 Australia / New Zealand Psych,Experimental,Classical,Balkan,World Music

https://johnkatsmc5.blogspot.com/2025/02/fortress-europe-amadeus-2019-fortress.html?view=flipcard

https://johnkatsmc5.tumblr.com/post/776663659010211840/fortress-europe-amadeus2019-fortress-europe

[somedaynotsoon]

Super Small Stardust Saga, Chapter 6

"Oh no!! The consequences of my actions!"

I basically split this chapter into two parts - Chapter 5 was the first part, and Chapter 6 is the second. Made it a lot easier to get back into it.

As usual, this is an archived version of a Cohost post. The formatting and HTML broke, so this post in particular is turbo-scuffed. Feedback is always appreciated, thanks!

You awaken to utter darkness. Below you is cushioned softness of an utterly pleasant caliber. All around you is a warm humidity, coupled with an intense feminine scent. As you stir and roll, you feel a wet spot.

...Oh no!! Did you wet the - no wait.

You slowly pick yourself up and flip yourself over, looking up at a thick string of viscous alien fluid. You were so cozy, you'd forgotten you were in Nadira's panties overnight, you suppose. You couldn't see anything very clearly with how dark it is in here.

You're surprised how recognizable the entire environment is, despite the disparate physiology. The only hint that something is amiss or nonhuman is a scent of hair or fur, and a lingering aftertaste not dissimilar to some 'rustic' or 'rugged desert' beverages you've tasted. It's still unmistakably feminine and hot, though.

You have your glasses, though your spacesuit/uniform was left on your own bed. You suppose you were going to have Nadira take you back there so you could change before today's launch...

...Oh gosh that's right the launch-! Nadira needed to wake up...!

Just as you think that, you hear a great and powerful stirring from above. Gravity itself shifts below you as Nadira sits up in bed, her crotch imposing down before squishing on top of you. It's too dark to look at it, but it certainly feels like a vagina. Or at least, it feels like how you'd imagine a vagina would feel at your scale. You were something of a mote against hers.

She didn't seem to even notice, though. You felt her rise up from her bed, march to the sink, and lean over to wet her head and face. As she dried herself off, Nadira looked calmly into the mirror. You heard her, muffled, speak to herself in the mirror.

"Just get dressed... nobody will notice if you shower after the launch, but everybody will notice if you're late. Yes. We won't even be the most disheveled one there. Miss Friya probably stayed up all night playing MMOs the night before launch again. We are pristine. We are perfect. Okay. Off we go."

The odd pep talk was difficult to hear, but you realized all too late that Nadira was just going to toss a sweater, socks, and boots on. Her fur-skirt meant she didn't really see the need to wear pants...but more importantly, she was going out there with you still in her panties--!

Just as you squirm to try to get up, Nadira exits her door, then swiftly crosses her legs as she stands, as though caught off guard by someone. You let out a squeak, which is purely buried against the dark fold smothering your entire body.

"Second Mate Nadira III. Please report to the deck immediately! Your coworkers are waiting! I can't believe I have to round up a bunch of stragglers like this. We're supposed to be professionals." That seems to be Lt. Bitwise. He's a busybody as usual.

"Right away, Sir Bitwise. We are ready."

"...Mmmgyeah..." Mads seems disenchanted from Nadira's princessy speech mannerisms. You hear him march off.

"Three...two...one...okay he's out of earshot. I shouldn't run in these boots, however."

Oh no. She's not going to-!?

The Phosfynx takes off into a sprint, her boots leaving loud and heavy clunks as she books it for the bridge. Or maybe it's just to get away from anyone with higher authority than her who can chew her out for showing up to the launch ceremony eight minutes late without having gotten a real shower yet.

You are once again completely and utterly stifled from getting Nadira's attention, this time her thighs smearing the fabric of her underwear to and fro, slowly but surely tugging it snug against her body and folds, before beginning to swallow it. The more she sprints, the more your face and arms are swallowed by the cavernous flesh above you. Each full-speed turn she takes is driving you further against what must be vulva, but in this darkness may as well be a dark, drooling monster engulfing you whole.

You hear Nadira skid to a harsh stop, and a moment later her panting and the dings of the Main Elevator. Oh...no no.

You still can't get her attention, even now-! You yelp as best as you can, but it's just lost against her very flesh. The vulpine crotch all around you absorbs the pithy sound effortlessly, and while you would easily be audible if you could just get your face off her folds, your humiliation is far from over, as Nadira didn't even tug out her cameltoe before entering the bridge. She plunks down in her seat, and crosses her legs, further sealing you in her musk and lips.

Though, now that you're no longer below her, a very, very faint trace of light filters in from beyond the wall of her underwear. You can see extremely blurry figures moving back and forth. There seems to be commotion amidst the various officers.

"Nope! Haven't seen her, sorry." Jora chirps with a dismissive sneer.

"Moss?" Jynx barks across the room.

A chair swivels. "Nope, sorry. Dunno where the captain is, either. She's not in her room?"

You feel Nadira's body chill for the slightest of moments. She fidgets in her seat.

Oh. Oh no. She forgot you were a human again, didn't she?

"N-no...Ahh...ahh..." Nadira breathes, her sighs hot and heavy. You freeze, but it's already too late. You can feel the infinite expanse larger than a city above you contract with vibrations that shake you to your very bones. Fluid pools around your body.

Everyone present in the bridge turns.

"Sorry, what was that, Nadira?" Jynx says, not even having realized Nadira was here yet.

"A-aahhihihi...I-I'm c-cummiiiiIIIIING---!" Nadira moans blissfully, her voice completely out of her own control.

Wave after wave of thick, saline juices pour from the unknown darkness directly over you in heavy, merciless waves, shoving you from privacy and against the front of Nadira's panties. Humiliating on its own, but her underwear was so displaced from her run that you found yourself shoved along the sides, the flow of sticky love pouring out onto Nadira's seat, and you along with it. Where everyone, their attention thoroughly captured, were now looking.

The good news: You are out of Nadira's panties! Hooray!

The bad news: You are soaked in her cum, stuck to her thighs and chair, in just your own underwear, with half of the rest of the officers looking directly at you in horror.

Nadira's handpaw smashes down on you with a lightning speed, quickly covering you and shoving you immediately back into her panties, as though to hide you. Of course, she's just shoved you haphazardly directly back into her own orgasmic tide, so it is little consolation, especially not when everybody already knows.

Nadira stutters to try to come up with something, anything. "A-aha...Where are our manners. We are not feeling well. We should...visit the...room." She's completely out of breath. It's hard for her to get through the sentence without groaning. She's sweating.

Jynx is succinct and professional, silencing everyone else in the room with but a single lift of her paw. "Nadira."

"Queen Jynx... ehehehe. Y-your majesty?"

"Do you have the Captain in your underwear?" Jynx says it so matter-of-factly.

"N-no...? This is..." Nadira struggles to come up with a lie. "...A stowaway?"

Ramon shouts from across the room. "BULL FUCKING SHIT! Why do you think I keep my doorbell off for everything except ship-wide emergencies? THIS ALWAYS FUCKIN' HAPPENS!!"

Jynx shoots a look at him, and he stops talking. She turns back to Nadira. She is as calm as ever, though her voice lacks her usual playful candor.

"I have only one question. You will answer it succinctly and honestly, are we clear?"

"Y-yes ma'am."

"Did you approach her, or did she approach you?"

"S-she called me to her room last night. She was in just her underwear and asked me to...'support her'."

"..." Jynx is silent for the longest time. A great and palpable tension sits in the air.

"Okie doke! No harm in a little consensual fun, then! As long as you clean up your chair so it doesn't stain, you're squeaky clean. Nobody outside this room has to know."

"R-really!?"

"Oh, of course. Justine's the one in trouble. May I speak with her?"

You feel Nadira's paw shove itself into your prison and pull you free again, your body sticky with Nadira's fluids sticking to you all over. You do your best to sit at attention atop her palm, even though your muscles ache and all you want to do is lay down on her soft paw and fall asleep. Maybe wake up from this very awkward nightmare.

Jynx locks eyes with you, and you feel a chill run down your spine. The short feline alien is nevertheless menacing when she's serious. And well, still monumentally massive to you.

"Captain, we all need to destress from time to time. That's why this vessel has an entire Gallery Deck with a library and a gym and a hundred other things. And your choice of playmate is yours to make at any point. It complicates your relationship with your other crewmates, of course, but you're free to do that if you want. Hell, you can conduct the ship launch from the tip of Second Mate Nadira's waistband, for all I care."

You avert your gaze. Yes you're blushing, but you just imagined you proudly announcing takeoff from Nadira's cute panties and you're struggling not to snicker. You shouldn't. You REALLY shouldn't laugh now of all times.

"However! You are under no circumstances to abuse your power to beget sexual favors from your subordinates, and you should absolutely NEVER delay a vessel like this on Bureaucracy launching orders because you're too busy exploring your coworkers. The Captain's badge is not a license to do whatever you please, and it is extremely questionable to me that this is one of the first things you've done with your newfound authority."

"O-oh. S-sorry, Director. Am I going to be punished for this? I don't want to lose my badge -"

"No. No, you are not going to be punished for this. The embarrassment of almost all your officers getting THIS first impression of you is plenty already. I want one, and only one thing from you right now."

"Y-yes?"

"Go get changed and cleaned up and get back here immediately. We're launching in four minutes, and I am required by law to document your exact circumstances in the black box should you not be on the bridge at that time. So unless you want your little tryst to be immortalized in the ship's logs for the rest of time, both of you had better move your butts." She sticks out her tongue and does a wiggly wave-goodbye.

You and Nadira exchange a nervous glance. You duck and hold on to her palm for dear life as she immediately books it towards the elevator.

Three and a half minutes later, you are dry, clothed, and seated in your Captain's chair, and Nadira, has changed into a pair of spats.

The launching ceremony occurs without incident, though the majesty of the roar of the ship's engines and the sight of the great dark frontier ahead of you is undercut slightly by the rest of your officers sneaking glances at you and giggling, whispering amongst themselves.

Damnit. You were never gonna live this down, were you?

Well... you suppose you'll have plenty of time to try in between here and the first stop on your mission.

Here begins Day One of your adventures as a spaceship captain.

You should probably familiarize yourself a bit more with the Rampant Lovelander. Tour it a little? Meet more crewmates? You ought to spend time anywhere but up here on the bridge.

So... where to go.

Option 1: The Gallery Deck Option 2: The Main Deck Option 3: The Gut Deck Option 4: You need a proper shower. Back to your room you go.

{None of these chapters were written yet as of the announcement of Cohost's closure.}

[eisenvulcanstein]

Whatever they didn't spend on special effects went into maintaining their supply of blue eyeshadow. This is why they made spacesuits out of shower curtains and used ravioli on strings in that one episode.

And don't forget the dog with the ice cream cone on its head and the alien flower that's visibly a hand in a floofy glove. God I love that show.

You guys are always calling the original Star Trek series low budget but I need you to understand it was one of the most expensive shows on TV at the time. That was literally the best special effects 1960s TV money could buy.

[toskarin]

I hate that Achilles and Castor are so heavily clothed, it breaks the whole design aesthetic of greek servants. They're supposed to be hot men and women in wildly impractical slutty clothing that does nothing for them as armour, Odysseus literally added a titty window to his invicible god spacesuit but Achilles cant even show some fucking leg. Useless, his whore father wouldn't do this to me, Peleus would show up to the summoning chamber in assless chaps. And for all his being a siscon, Castor can't even do the basic duty of all twins and wear the same outfit. Put this twink into tiny string panties and heels so he doesn't die of heatstroke in the mediterranian summers under all those layers

staring blankly at the keyboard

[naomifj97]

Hoping and wishing

"Garrus is a sniper. He knows about waiting."

Shepard makes a choice in the Crucible that should’ve cost her life. But also should have suffocating in the depths of her spacesuit and falling off from a planet’s atmosphere like a falling star.

Or: In which Commander “I don’t die easily cause I’m pretty much immortal at this point” Shepard refuses to leave and Garrus hopes that’s enough for them.

Hi! Haven't been posting here in a while, but life has been a bit difficult lately and my creativity is suffering consequences. However, last saturday my friends and I went to a thematic Mass Effect party (surpirse! I'm a Mass Effect fan, too) and I had the urge to post this very short oneshot that has been on my laptop for like...two years, I think? Nevermind. I'm Shakarian trash and still in denial about the ending of Mass Effect 3, so, enjoy!

"I'm falling

In all the good times I find myself

Longing for a change

And in the bad times I fear myself

I’m off the deep end, watch as I dive in

I’ll never meet the ground

Crash through the surface, where they can’t hurt us

We’re far from the shallow now

In the shallow, shallow”

She’d been told she would die. He said she’d die.

Death and she were old friends. Close enough to know how the other behaved, smelled, felt.

But she was Commander Shepard. Cheating death, escaping from its claws, was something she’d became pretty good at.

She had to admit that, for a second, she thought she would.

And then, collapse came. Her body’s, that just couldn’t support the burden of her devastated system; the platform’s, that was swallowed by the weight of her decision.

She felt everything. The burning in her skin, her cells ripping apart, the shocking wave. And the fire. The problem had been the fire. It licked the shattered pieces of her torn, ripped armour, burying her in an indistinguishable mass of ravished flesh, metal shards and broken pieces.

So no. Not this time.

While the rumbling started, the Citadel exploded and the Crucible fell apart around her, Shepard found herself remembering Garrus. His jokes and his warm voice, the purring of his subvocals, the ones he thought she couldn’t hear, the soft stroking of his talons in her back during late hours of the night, when sleep was too stubborn to arrive, or the feeling of his words whispered under breaths in her hair when he thought she was too asleep to notice.

She thought of everything she was going to miss.

Before everything went black, Shepard thought that maybe, this was really it.

It isn’t.

She’s pretty sure she’s dead.

She can’t see anything.

She can’t hear anything.

She can’t feel anything.

Until the pain hits, so sudden she can’t help but gasp.

She’s breathing.

—I’m sorry. We…we haven’t found her.

Admiral Hackett’s words feel deaf, hollow in his brain.

—She has to be somewhere!

Joker’s reply is a bit louder, like a voice suffocating under dark waters.

Garrus can’t force himself to worry. Or care.

Was that what she had felt? That first time, after the Collector’s attack, with her damaged suit, suffocating, trying to breath but not finding air, wandering around with nowhere to go. That second time, when the Crucible crumbled over her while the Reapers suddenly stopped in their trays and fell to the ground like lifeless puppets whose strings are suddenly cut.

—The ruins are still there.

—Doctor T’Soni…

—If the remains of the Crucible are there, that means Shepard may be, too. We’ll dig her out. Give me a shovel, I’ll do it myself.

Of course she would.

—Even if she’s…still there…there’s no way she could have survived.

That’s obvious.

Even if the explosion that had ended with the Reapers had not killed her, the fall of the Crucible should have.

But she’s Shepard.

She’s been dead before.

And not even Death has been able to stop her.

—She’s not dead.

His voice sounds strange to him. Hoarser. Fiercer.

—Vakarian. I understand-

No, he doesn’t. No one else does.

—She’s not dead.

Commander Shepard made him a promise. And she has never failed him.

So, Garrus hopes.

Why? He doesn’t know.

It’s only during the long scanning of the battlefield, over the battered ground covered in ashes, blood and broken dreams, searching for her in the place he saw her for the last time, that he realizes it’s because he knows that their first can’t be their last “I love you”.

EDI finds her first.

Her radar catches the soft, minimal thumbing of her heart, so mild that other sensors would have missed it.

She races towards the spot, transmitting her position to Tali, Liara and Garrus, falls to her knees, and starts digging. By the time she finds her arm, three more pair of hands, one with five fingers, two with three, have joined her.

Tali radios Joker, tells him to get Doctor Chawkas ready for them and set a course to the nearest medical centre. Liara stabilizes her vitals with such an amount of medi-gel she may had gotten high on it wasn’t she so outside her body, and EDI connects herself to the implants that have kept her alive despite death to make sure they don’t stop working.

And Garrus picks her up, prepares her for transport, keeping her torn and exhausted body (or what’s left of it) together.

Shepard breathes.

And Garrus breathes with her.

Miranda works with the doctors. She pushes them, screams at them, sometimes, when they don’t do as she commands, when they say that’s simply not possible.

Bullshit.

She brought Shepard back from the dead once.

They don’t get to tell her what’s possible from what’s not.

There’s nothing impossible to her.

Kaidan, Hackett and Vega are fighting with the Council for resources to keep Shepard alive.

They say she’s not going to make it.

But the Alliance is not giving in this time.

Because they did once, and Shepard paid the consequences. Because she’s in an operating room fighting for her life as they speak because they did not support her. Because she’s dying cause the Council refused to listen, refused to believe.

Because Shepard is a hero.

The discussion ends when Urdnot Bakara arrives to the Normandy’s communications room and menaces with unlashing a horde of angry krogan if they don’t pay. By her side, Urdnot Wrex growls in a signal of support.

And then, the Council decides to pay.

Grunt is a bit disappointed, but, well, he can handle it.

Because Shepard is going to survive.

They’ve done everything they could, they said to him.

Now, all that’s left is waiting.

Garrus is a sniper.

He knows about waiting.

He’s good at it.

So he sits down near her bed, counting her breathings and taking note of all her heartbeats, eyes fixed in the bandages that cover her body.

He’s made a mental list of her wounds. Knows is not healthy, but he just couldn’t help it. Burns, cuts, bruises, broken bones, destroyed tissue. A lot repaired, but also a lot permanently scarred.

She needs time.

He sits and listens, in the quietness, the fear that creeps in his chest, but also the blind hope. He asks the spirits for a chance, the last chance, because they’ve come too far to end this way.

Doctors says she’s a fighter. She refuses to leave.

And Garrus hopes. He just hopes. He chuckles a bit, too, because of course Shepard is a fighter.

Of course she’s stubborn. Of course she’s not leaving.

She promised.

So, the afternoon he feels her hand moving in his talon, her eyes fluttering lazily awake and the light smile she gives him in the haze of pain-killers, analgesics, skin grafts, needles and gauzes, he thinks he should’ve known better from the beginning.

Her voice is low, barely a whisper, but Garrus hears her as she had screamed in victory.

—So…a human-turian baby, was it?

He smiles.

Shepard and Garrus deserved better. Hope you liked it!

A/N: Team effort to save Shepard? Sign me the fuck in.

I kinda invented my own ending for this because I'll never get over the three ones we are given in the game. Also, are you really telling me that Cerberus tech could bring Shepard back to life in ME2 but not after ME3? Not buying it, Bioware.

[honourablejester]

Incredibly Random Starfinder Character Concept

Okay, so. The Diaspora is far and away my favourite area of the Pact Worlds system. The asteroid belt is just … so many of my favourite things. And one of my favourite bits of the Diaspora is the House of the Void, which is an asteroid monastery, ostensibly for the contemplation of the mysteries of space, and actually for the worship of the Empty Traveller, an aspect of Nyarlathotep.

(Sidenote: such a cool aspect, btw, an empty spacesuit full of tentacles and void, that’s such a classic Doctor Who vibe)

Starfinder is absolutely chock full of cults of dark space gods, because it’s a space fantasy horror setting, and I am loving that, absolutely not going to lie. And if you want to be a cultist of a dark space god, or an ex-cultist of a dark space god, the Pact World setting book gives you the Cultist theme, in the section on Aucturn, which is the horrifying Lovecraftian living planet on the edge of the Pact World system. Because Starfinder has one of those. Heh.

Now. I don’t necessarily want to play an Aucturn cultist, because they’re a little bit on the overt end. But the House of the Void …

And, for some reason, this merged with something completely separate in my head. Starfinder has a race of bee people, the Astriapi, from the Near Space planet of Colveare. Colveare is sort of a communist theocracy, a techno-organic utopia that will potentially soon fail, because all the knowledge of how to run the technology behind it was lost with the Gap. Society is quite regimented and focused on service to/protection of the planet and its systems, and guided by a theocracy of priests called the Hierarchs who have visions of how things should be done. You don’t have to serve the planet or take up your assigned role, you can become an Unworking, a caste of essentially outsiders to society who do their own thing, and this mostly won’t be minded, but there has been heretical thoughts and leaning-towards-religious-uprisings among that community.

Now, the god those uprisings are focused around is Oras, the god of evolution and change, and I’m not necessarily sure I’d want to play an actual Colveare Astriapi either. But. For whatever reason, reading this merged with the earlier thoughts on space cults. Colveare is quite cultish, as a society (down to the rumoured secret police and brainwashing). Maybe an Astriapi raised there, even among the Unworking, might have a slight tendency towards cult thought. And if, say, a travelling Astriapi later stumbled on one of the many, many other creepy space monasteries knocking around the setting … The House of the Void. The Fastness of the Ordered Mind. Dealers choice.

Because. There was one other thing about the Astriapi that caught my eye:

“Some astriapis carve intricate patterns, pictures, or phrases into their exoskeletons as a method of conveying their individual passions and interests; the astriapis of Colveare prefer religious and spiritual poetic prose and geometric patterns, but astriapis living away from Colveare display carvings as varied as any spacer’s tattoos. Astriapi exoskeleton scrimshaw is displayed as a wearable work of art as well as a symbol of an astriapi’s identity, societal role, and personal goals.”

Spacer tattoo exoskeleton scrimshaw. That is such a fantastic set of words to string together. And, look. If we’re in Lovecraftian territory, and we’re talking about the Empty Traveller, so we are … then how gnarly could you get with a insectoid Lovecraftian cultist who could carve eldritch sigils into their exoskeleton? Astriapi tend towards religious body art from a standing start. So during their years at the House of the Void, contemplating the darkness of vacuum and the emptiness of the soul, they carved secrets and sigils and signs of their devotion into their own form.

And then. If they tried to leave the cult. If this is an ex-cultist of the Empty Traveller, trying to move past how they were raised and how they spent their early life … then that’s a hell of a thing to have to carry with them. Like the worst gang tattoos in the galaxy. You see them naked, see their exoskeleton, and scrimshawed across their entire form are these strange symbols that make you uneasy. And, if you’ve got the Mysticism to know what they mean, extremely uneasy.

Then you put a class on top of that. And obviously we’re leaning towards a Mystic, here, because cultist. And of all the mystic connections, the sources of power or devotion, the Delusion connection feels most apt. Deception is truth. Nothing is real. Reality is a thin tissue paper of botched perception over a void. And you’re not saying this because you’re still a devotee of Nyarlathotep, but because that’s what you learned on your childhood and young adulthood journey from one cult to another. Deception is reality, in as much as anything is reality. It’s lies all the way down.

You’re not a bad person. Mostly. Anymore. You’re not evil. You don’t worship a dark god, at least not any longer. But you are cynical as fuck, because you were born in an (arguable) cult utopia, and then spent your defining years in a cult dystopia, and all of them were lies.

You still have magic. You touched the void, during your time. You communed with the Empty Traveller. Nyarlathotep doesn’t care what you do with it. The Empty Traveller has no anathema. If you want to be a saint wearing a cultist’s exoskeleton, you go right ahead. You both know the truth anyway. A thin tissue over darkness. A lie across the void. But feel free.

So you do your best. You try to be kind, because it’s not like it matters anyway. You’re an ex-cultist bee person trying to make your way in the galaxy, with healing honey in one hand and mind-warping magic in the other, and the scrimshawed sigils of a dark god scrolled across your spine.

A Starfinder character. An Astriapi Cultist Delusion Mystic. Heh.

I think I like the bee people.

(Also, I love that in both Pathfinder and Starfinder, Nyarlathotep, and I’m pretty sure the other Outer Gods, don’t have anathema. They don’t care. The Crawling Chaos says do whatever the fuck you want. You will work to his aims whether you want to or not. It’s very fitting, and I love it. In Pathfinder he still has the alignment requirement for clerics, but in Starfinder mystics don’t work that way, you’ve just got to pick a broadly matching connection)

[thirdreverie]

alright gamers usually i would make a proper drawing to go along with this post but i've already drawn a lot lately already so i guess i'm not doing that today. ANYWAY so as you may or may not know i have an nms traveler anomaly oc

this thing. yes. this thing

their name is iteration: pandora and i literally just wanted an excuse to talk about why i named them that (or why i think the nms player character would be named that) because i have found out as of late that there is very much an nms lore community on tumblr and that fact has been fueling me to nmspost nonstop. also can you tell i don't actually have anyone else who is in-the-know about the lore of this game to infodump to lmao

i'm putting this under a read more. massive nms spoilers follow

SO. let me make one thing clear. i have no goddamned clue whether or not the traveler anomaly counts under the "traveler" race or if they're like a secret, wholly separate fifth thing BUT i think the general consensus seems to be the former so i think i'm going with that?

right. and if the traveler anomaly is a traveler who has stepped foot onto the anomaly (the location), then they must've surely heard of the other iterations who were given names because nada and polo didn't want to call them by numbers

and—isn't the thought of that nice, in a way? the traveler anomaly woke up without a "before" with no memories nor self to call their own, and presumably up to this point they've done less of "exploring" and more of "surviving".

wouldn't it be lovely to have a name one can be addressed by, a string of letters and sounds to anchor oneself to even in the deepest depths of the dark?

ahem. anyway. here's why i picked "pandora" for them specifically

i understand that the named traveler iterations (with the exception of -null-) are named after greek gods, and that the mythological pandora is the name of the first ever human in greek mythology instead (except in accounts that depict epimetheus as the first man instead of prometheus' brother).

however, my idea is that. like. you know how the iterations are all various kinds of nonhuman-looking humanoids, except for the traveler anomaly who simply just looks like a person in a spacesuit?

if the traveler anomaly is the last iteration, then i feel like it makes sense to consider them the closest the atlas has ever gotten to replicating a "real" human (and possibly its own creator) since real astronauts do actually wear spacesuits and helmets, thus also making them—in a way—the first """human""" of the no man's sky universe.

and if the traveler anomaly is a replica of the atlas' creator and possibly the closest one to ever make the cut, then aren't they technically responsible for the simulation, in a way?

pandora opened the jar which contained all of the evils of humanity. the creator of the atlas gave birth to a world that'll soon fold in upon itself within sixteen minutes.

however, what pandora found at the bottom of the jar she opened was hope. as the end of days approaches, the lines between universes and realities blend together to give two people who would've never met each other otherwise the opportunity to explore together until the very fabric of reality all comes crumbling down.

but it was still worth it, isn't it? at the very least, you had someone to call company in those last sixteen minutes.

‎‎ㅤ

anyway i decided to just name my oc "iteration: pandora" because i don't think anyone else is already doing that so

[pepperfield]

Hayasaka, Relationship Expert Extraordinaire

Happy holidays, @spacepandar!! I had a great time writing your gift for the Oresama Exchange, I hope you like it!!

Rating: G Relationships: Hayasaka & Mafuyu, Mafuyu/Okegawa Characters: Hayasaka, Kurosaki Mafuyu, Okegawa Kyoutarou

Hayasaka isn’t qualified to comment on the way people conduct their romantic entanglements, but the day Kurosaki starts dating Okegawa, he gets the sinking suspicion that he’s about to become someone’s personal relationship coach.

Is that too pessimistic? After all, Kurosaki is pretty good at a lot of things that aren’t studying, and maybe dating is one of them. Besides the possible trouble that this development might cause him, Hayasaka is happy for her. Kurosaki likes to go on and on about her thrilling, adorable high school life, so having a boyfriend should be exciting for her. Too bad Hayasaka is probably going to be dragged into this excitement too, whether he wants it or not.

As expected, a few days into this new relationship, Kurosaki corners him in their club room, her arms raised as if primed to attack him for whatever nefarious reason.

“Hayasaka-kun,” Kurosaki barks, a deranged light in her eyes. “We need to go shopping!”

“Uh, for what?” he asks, raising his broom to fend her off if she tries to tackle him into a hug. Dammit, if only Yui were here to help even the odds!

“For my ~one~ ~week~ ~anniversary~,” she trills, spinning in three wide twirls that traverse the whole span of the room. Sometimes Hayasaka is amazed by the way she moves, and then she’ll do something like fall flat on her face while begging Ayabe for lunch. 

That seems like a pretty fast milestone to celebrate, but what does Hayasaka know? “Okay, we’ll go after this. Help me wipe the table.”

She salutes him and gets to work vigorously scrubbing the table, moving at a speed that’s quick enough to strip a layer of wood away.

--

The problem with shopping with Kurosaki is that neither of them is a particularly skilled gift giver.

“What does Okegawa like?” Hayasaka asks as they peruse the shelves of the bookstore they’re in. Kurosaki is holding A History of Knives in one hand and Sew Your Own Plushies: 15 Kawaii Patterns for A Modern Princess in the other.

“...not books,” Kurosaki says blankly.

“Oh, right.”

They head over to a jewelry store next, and stare at the sparkling pendants and adorable earrings, completely overwhelmed by the options.

“Does Okegawa wear gold chains? You could get him one of those.” Hayasaka points to the display with gold chains of varying weights.

“I don’t think Banchou likes having things around his neck,” Kurosaki says as she examines a huge golden dragon brooch. “He always loosens his collar.”

“Hm. Maybe jewelry isn’t the right fit. What about something useful? Like hair gel,” Hayasaka suggests as they exit. 

“That’s too boring! This is my anniversary we’re talking about, Hayasaka-kun!” She reaches her hands up, clutching at his shoulders to shake him.

Hayasaka’s head bounces back and forth like a balloon on a string. “Okay, okay, I get it.” 

They wander in and out of three more stores before getting bored and going to the arcade to refresh their energy. Twenty rhythm game battles later, Kurosaki’s eyes suddenly light up.

“That’s it! The limited edition Space Nekomata-san!” 

She points at the claw crane filled with those weird little cat guys from that one kid’s cartoon.

“You want one of those?”

“No! But Banchou would!”

Hayasaka watches dubiously as she shoves a couple hundred yen into the machine and begins moving the claw over to a Nekomata wearing a spacesuit. He expects the cat to flop right out of the claw’s grip, but somehow Kurosaki’s wiggling the joystick in such a way that it keeps the doll trapped as it travels toward the chute. Hayasaka holds his breath, but Nekomata-san makes it safely home.

“Perfect,” Kurosaki crows as she tucks the cat under her arm.

“Wait, how did you do that?”

“Oh, I’m just good at these kinds of games.”

“Teach me,” Hayasaka says, even though he doesn’t actually want a space cat.

“Hohoho, certainly, young man. Money please.” She holds her hand out until Hayasaka dumps some change into her palm. “First, we need to scope out the weakest member of the crew. See that loner in the corner? We’ll target him.”

Strategic. “Got it.” 

Hayasaka watches as Kurosaki adds another Nekomata to her collection and then takes the helm. On his first attempt, he fails miserably, so of course he has to try again. And then again. By his fifth try, he’s no closer to winning, so Kurosaki illustrates again, and there’s now a third Nekomata sitting next to its brothers.

“One more try,” Hayasaka swears as he shoves another coin in the machine.

“You can do it!” Kurosaki cheers, but Hayasaka suspects she doesn’t believe it.

Twenty-five minutes and another four Nekomatas for Kurosaki later, Hayasaka finally succeeds in catching his own. What used to be a strange and unappealing mustached creature has suddenly become beloved in his eyes. He smiles down at the Space Nekomata in his hands.

“Hurray, Hayasaka-kun, you did it!!” Kurosaki wipes a single tear away from the corner of her eye, and Hayasaka doesn’t even have the heart to be offended.

“What are you two crying about,” a voice asks from behind them, and they whirl around to see Okegawa himself staring down at them.

“Banchou!” Kurosaki says, her face bright.

“M-Morse,” he replies gruffly, quickly hiding the bag in his hands behind his back. Hayasaka has to wonder at what point in a relationship people start calling each other by their actual names, but he decides it’s better not to ask. They’ll wind up married with kids who think their parents are named Banchou and Morse.

“Happy one week anniversary! I got you a gift!” Kurosaki thrusts her armful of Nekomatas at Okegawa, who takes a step back in slight alarm as he receives them. But his eyes begin shining shortly afterwards. Apparently Kurosaki knows her boyfriend better than Hayasaka thought.

“Space Nekomata-san? But why seven of them?”

“One for every day we’ve been dating!” 

“Oh. Thanks, Morse.” Somehow he manages to reach over and pat her on the head even with his hands full of stuffed cats. “I…I got you something too.”

Hayasaka does him the favor of handing the bag over to Kurosaki, who pulls out what looks to be some kind of elaborate castle shaped headpiece. She gasps and immediately pops it on top of her head; how it stays there with no strap or clips, Hayasaka doesn’t know, but balancing things on her head has always been one of her skills. 

“Look, Hayasaka-kun!” Kurosaki glitters at him like she’s waiting for a compliment.

“Uh, you look…like a princess?” he tries, and she scoffs.

“No, no, no, I look like the place where princesses live! The foundation that supports them! The ground they step on!”

“It fits you, Morse.”

“Thank you, Banchou!”

They smile at each other, on some alien wavelength that Hayasaka doesn’t understand, but it suits them well.

“Anyway, since it’s your big anniversary, you two should go on a date or something.” They both turn a brilliant red and jump away from each other, each muttering something that he can’t make out.

He squints at them for a moment as they avoid eye contact. “Why are you being so weird?”

“You can’t just- Morse and I can’t just suddenly…scuttle off on a date! That’s indecent!”

Huh?? “Don’t you two hang out together all the time? Isn’t a date the same thing?”

“No, a date is- you know,” Kurosaki says, waving her hand around in embarrassment. “Peak romance! Bubbles and flowers! Everything is pink!”

“Exactly!”

Hayasaka has no earthly idea what they’re talking about but he’s also never been on a date either, so they’re three idiots flying blindfolded without a license out here. “Then what have you two been- never mind. Look, just go out for cake and a movie. That’s a normal anniversary activity.” 

“Oh. Are you sure?” Okegawa asks suspiciously.

No. “Yes.”

“I do like cake,” Kurosaki says. “Well, if I can’t trust my best friend, who can I trust?” Hayasaka can practically hear the bolded font. “C’mon, Banchou, we can get a slice of strawberry cake to share!” Okegawa is still a bit red, but he peers down at Kurosaki over the wall of Nekomatas in his arms and nods.

“Alright.”

Good. Hayasaka gives them a half-wave, half-shoo. “Have fun. Call me if anyone starts any trouble.”

“Okay! Thanks for your help today, Hayasaka-kun!” She flashes Hayasaka a double thumbs up and then scampers off with Okegawa toward the cafe.

Hayasaka watches them leave with his own Space Nekomata-san in hand, feeling some mixture of relief and accomplishment. With one date down, hopefully they can figure out the next one on their own. He doesn’t need the additional stress of chaperoning dates on top of his Public Morals Club duties — but if they ask him to, he supposes he’ll have no choice but to help.