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#i don't want this to be robotic
maridoodles · 1 year
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space angel 🌙
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egophiliac · 3 months
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GREAT GOOGLY MOOGLY, THE NEXT BOOK 7 UPDATE FOR THE JP SERVER IS SET FOR MARCH 1ST.
HOW WE FEELIN LADS!?!?!
AHHHHHHHH NOOO I'M NOT READY, I thought we'd be getting the fourth anniversary first and then Sebek's birthday and then maybe some more episode 7, I didn't -- I didn't think it'd be Friday --
oh god and they're rerunning the story cards, they didn't say this was the final part but it feels like...maybe the penultimate chapter? could the end of episode 7 finally be looming in the distance?! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO
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edelorion · 6 months
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alot of robotgirl posting is stuff like "imagine having a virus installed in me slowing my cpu down" and "getting sticks of ram pulled out of me while in the middle of telling you everything i enjoy" and part of that is appealing...
but if i were a robot girl i'd rather you be careful with my components. my insides are of wires and metal and glass but it's delicate nonetheless. my consciousness is also fragile. i can still get overstimulated. i enjoy your touch as you stroke my head, my cheek, as you work on me, as your fingers trace across my motherboard. but please be delicate.
my entire life is at your fingertips and it makes my fans spin at full speed, but i trust you to preserve it
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velichorus-k · 2 years
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Horror media that isn’t really horror media but thinly veiled tragedy media my beloved
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0046incognito · 3 months
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no fucking jaywalking
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Need more giant robot media with the focus on the giant robots.
I don't care about Billy and Susan's human romance, I want to see Supreme Destroyer 3000 and World Ender Machine 62 get hammered at the local bar and rob a Build-a-Bear
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palskippah · 3 months
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Hi!
Based over the fact that my lil bro when like he just turned five cut a bunch of his hair off and my mom and I were like :000
Also, Mario connected the dots very quickly bc just that morning he told Nettarina they looked alike and then by afternoon she had many inches less of hair🧍but he didn't say anything.
BUT! Of course Nettarina did, and when Peach said "why,,?" like not really expecting an answer, she said "because mamma said I look just like him, but I didn't bc he doesn't have long hair so I cut mine!"
And Peach sent an unfairly killing stare to Mario who was like hehe sori :D
Then Mariella saw her sister and wanted to be just like her, so then they took both girls to a stylist to cut their hair properly and later after that they get ice-cream and go to a park and is very nice but Peach laments that they don't have their pretty long hair anymore, the whole afternoon alskdadf too big of a change maybe bc she wouldn't be able to braid their hair or do nice hairstyles anymore waa (she now can do the little palm tree pigtails tho and she's like aww like when they were babies! :'D)
(When Nettarina's older, she starts liking longer hair again so she returns to how she had it before the cutting from when she was five ajsdka)
BTW Mario and Peach have two more babies and they're both girls and one's called Carolina and the youngest is Giovanna and WA Carolina's design looks too much like Mario therefore too much like the twins aksjdajd but she got Peach's nose and also her big ol' eyes from the moment she was born (in Mario's eye color tho).
And Giovanna got Mario and Luigi's dad's hair (aka also Luigi's hair) so it's dark and more like Peach's rather than Mario's. She also got his nose and his eyes and his eyebrows and basically everything sjdsh
Anyways what I'm trying to get at, is that none of their four daughters look that much like Peach at simple view, but if you look closely, you notice that they got her eyebrows, or her smile or her eye color mixed in with Mario's or her eyelashes or the shape of her face whwhw
ALSO, Peach's height yippie!! They're all taller than Mario🧍and he's like psh the disrespect >:c because he gotta look up to any of their daughters, even Carolina, who is the shortest of them (by nature's laws Giovanna, being the youngest, is the tallest).
Sorry I love when children look much more like a parent than the other, especially if it's the parent that gave birth to them SJDK (it's only fair, since they carried the babies >:v)
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tatck · 10 months
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testing ink
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angiestown · 4 months
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I finished that dressup game I said I was working on !! would very appreciate people giving it a go because I spent literally a week on this. like 7 days off work doing nothing but drawing clothes lmao
in order to make the different body types work without ballooning up the file size way more than it already is, I had to make it so you choose your skin tone twice. in meiker you can't arrange the order elements appear in, but I recommend starting with these two options to pick out your body type and skin tone first, since some options look better on certain bodies imo
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also !! meiker !! I don't hear people talk about it much, but it's really cool I like it a lot! it's like picrew, but instead of uploading a bunch of pngs, you arrange and label your layers in folders and upload a single psd file. personally I liked the process a lot more than picrew because I'd rather work with one big file than a million tiny image files, but that's just me. plus you can make the images bigger than you can on picrew too
also posting this again since I can attach it to a post with the game, but I made a tutorial on how to create a bunch of colour options super fast if you want to make your own dressup game. there's no way I'd have nearly as many options if I didn't know how to do this. once you understand the actions feature you can do so much stuff so much more efficiently it's insane it's like my favourite photoshop feature
youtube
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fablepaint · 5 months
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I know you probably get a flood of these questions weekly, but when can we expect a job opening announcement for future Lackadaisy animations?
I'm a bit reluctant to post openings for a couple of reasons. One is I'm trying to prioritize the people who already worked on the pilot. They put in the work to make the pilot possible, I want them to get a shot at the jobs.
The other reason is any time I open up publicly about jobs, I get flooded with emails. I get a lot of emails now even though I've posted nothing. Before the pilot released, every job opening received hundreds of submissions. And I WILL read and sort through every email that comes my way for a position (when we're looking), so when thousands come in (and it would be thousands as it would be so so much worse now) that would mean I'd have to spend weeks reading and sorting emails rather than helming production.
We do not have the budget to make that someone else's job. And I don't want to put it on my leads' shoulders either.
If/when we have future openings, I'll be letting my crew members know they can spread the word around. Then they'll be making postings in community spaces for people to respond to. That's what we did for the recent VA castings and it worked to reduce the number of responses to a more manageable number of folks who met the minimum requirements (good recording space and microphone). It still took three people sorting through a designated email for two weeks to sort everyone and make decisions.
So if you're interested in applying in the future, maintain your connections with other VAs/artists/musicians/etc and figure out where they're sharing job listings.
Does that mean there's zero chance of listings here or on other social media? No, but it can only happen if I know we have time to handle the flood.
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willowser · 7 months
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one thousand lonely stars, hiding in the cold—
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android!shouto x reader
wc: 2k+
tags: angst, cyberpunk dystopian setting, financial vulnerability, explicit language, minor mention of sex work + sex workers, reader has strong/conflicting feelings about their situation, and — as always — the question of true humanity.
notes: what a great opportunity this was for me to continue exploring this idea !! tysm to @shoto-brainrot for not only giving me the chance, but also for being such a support and helping me to figure out all this commission jazz !! i so appreciate you, and i hope you enjoy it ! 🩷
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You’ve yet to find out what caused the damage to Shouto’s faceplate.
By the time you discovered him outside the credit exchange, he had been busted open and left for—whatever the equivalent of dead is for an android. A gaping hole in the left side of his disturbingly human face exposed his inner circuitry to the rain and you think that should have finished him off, truly, but—he's still kicking. 
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Technology in the lower district is distinct. The most careful hands could have crafted him down in the best underground salvage yard and he still wouldn't have lasted half an hour with his face submerged in a shallow mud puddle like that. Wiring would have been shot, fuses blown.
Even if the Todoroki Corporation symbol on his wrist wasn't glowing, a blinking light in time with his would-be heart, you'd know what he is. You'd know he didn't belong down here, beneath the smog, in the industrial bones of your dying city.
And yet—
The left side of Shouto's face took the brunt of whatever blow he'd been dealt, and the scarring—if it's even called that?—has extended down over his cheekbone and backward, so violently that his ear had only barely been hanging on. Without the bandage you've wrapped him up in, he's quite a sight: half a tangled mess of wires and pins, a dull cyan light glowing in his orbital socket. With the wrapping, however, he’s almost exactly as he was meant to be: seamless.
The fate of his detached ear had been unknown. Until this morning.
It still works, much to your surprise, learning so only after wondering aloud the whereabouts of your data docket and hearing Shouto answer from across the apartment. Whoever put him together, you realize, took great care to make him durable, adamantine; the carbon nanotubes and polymer arrays that make up his cochlea were hardly affected by the assault.
Someone—or something—meant to harm him, and you know that for certain, now. Such wreckage couldn’t have happened naturally, not to a Skin-Puppet like him.
(When you look at him, you can’t help but consider his creator. How far he is from them and why. If the hands that made him and the hands that ruined him are the same, if he meant to leave or if he was cast out. You haven’t asked, but it’s odd that a machine could keep such information to himself—itself.)
(Given the brutality behind his mutilation, perhaps it’s best you don’t know the answers.)
Working tech from the richer district—KōkyōLuxuria, above the smog, built high into the clouds—could not only earn you enough to eat this week, but also to pay off all your debts to the League. Maybe even finance a decent apartment a few stories up.
And that’s why you’re here: racing through the slums in the rain, doing your damndest to make this sale before time runs out and you’re forced to find another buyer. Coming across a Hack with 1,640,254 credits in their docket is rare; who knows when you’ll find someone from the Trade in Musutafu sector again? You’re likely to sooner perish—either from your empty stomach or that broker that demanded payment two days ago.
Shouto, however, doesn’t see the urgency.
“Hello, handsome! Awful cold out tonight…care to warm me up?”
“Oh, hello.”
At the even, all-too-friendly lilt in his voice, you halt your sprint again, and spin around with a hiss. “Shouto!” You snap—but it comes too late; the Entertainers have struck like lightning, already scrambling his code. 
Out of habit, you’d pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head before leaving the apartment, and now the material separates his image from view—though you can easily imagine the pleasant expression showing on his face, illuminated in pink under the NanotechNymph advertisement.
At his easily captured interest, two women strut from the open doors of the low-lit den, all allure and swaying hips, mirage flickering beneath the heavy rain. They only meet him halfway—too far from the emanator deep within the club—and you dash forward to stop him from wordlessly accepting their offer. You can’t afford to owe anyone any more than you already do.
“Shouto,” you say again, mouth twisting when he looks at you simply. Despite the hood, his bandage grows dark from the rain and—despite his framework, worry fluxes in your stomach at the thought of him getting too wet. “We have to go.”
“Aww,” an Entertainer says to you, girlish pout pulling down her full lips. “You don’t want to come inside and play with us?”
“No,” you try not to look at them any longer, just in case that racks up a charge, too. Rock solid as he is, Shouto allows himself to be steered away, much to your relief. “Buzz off, holo-ham.”
“I’d like to play.” Shouto pipes up, peeking behind his shoulder when the girls squeal in excitement. “Can we come back once we’ve finished?”
“Not for that kind of play.” You put a hand on the back of his head and swivel it, all while shoving him down the sidewalk. You almost remark on how man-like he’s acting, before chasing the thought away.
“What other types of play are there?”
“Just—hush.” 
And he does, finally, when you loop your arm through his: a presumably innocent gesture that draws his attention fully back to you, as physical touch seems to do, with him. Beneath the material of the jacket, he feels natural, all muscle and bone, even leaning into you as if the weather has made him cold. You can feel him tracing your face with his one-eyed gaze—scanning you—and you pretend not to notice.
“Your heart rate has gone up. Have I made you angry?”
“Yes,” you tell him, though he hasn’t, really. “You and your curiosity are gonna make me late, and then we’ll be in some serious shit.”
He looks away then, down to the soaked pavement, a mimicry of disappointment. From the corner of your eye, you can see his manufactured Adam’s apple bob, and the muscle beneath your hand shifts.
“They seemed nice, the holograms.” He says, and you can’t help the soft snort such a comment merits. 
“Yeah, they’re nice, alright, until you can’t pay them.”
Shouto looks at you once again, stride threatening to falter until you tug him along. “Do you know them?”
You already know where he’s going with his question, and the corner of his lips quirk up when you cast him a filthy look. “Well, no, but—”
“Then how do you know—”
“I just do, alright?” You frown at him and he accepts it in full, studying once more. Whatever he finds in your expression amuses enough that he’s placated for the moment, though you know it won’t be long before he’s piping up again.
He does it often—studies you: body language, physiological changes, speech patterns, vocal cues. Human behavior he catalogs and streams to someone back at the Corporation headquarters, finding the miniscule details he can use against you, some day. Whatever the reason behind his damage, he is still a product of his evil overlords, made for reasons you can only imagine. 
This is what you tell yourself. 
As his fingers shift until their smooth pads are brushing the delicate veins in your wrists, as he tightens his arm around yours when another stranger on the streets knocks your shoulder, as he leans into the warmth of your humanness: this is what you tell yourself.
You’re overcome with a sense of loss and you don’t know why, and you clear the strange lump hardening in your throat. “Life lesson number six, Todoroki,” you murmur it closely to him, nearly into the fabric at his shoulder, though he doesn’t react to the name. “Everybody wants something from someone, holo-hams included.”
Shouto seems to process your words, for a moment, and his face is expressionless when you steal a peek up at him. Technicolor rains down on your both, swathing him in a wild array as advertisements dance on the buildings that tower above you, and again you think of his creator. The careful hands that crafted his smooth cheeks, the sharp line of his nose, the leanness of his body. You wonder if he’s ever been deemed precious.
Nearly all of the residents relegated to the lower districts owe the Todoroki Corporation in some way. Be it through credit loans or applied interest rates on subsidized housing or hidden costs and high premiums on mandatory, shit insurance—Enji Todoroki sits in the lap of KōkyōLuxuria, has probably never even stepped down from his pedestal. 
There’s no good reason a product of his could have found its way to you: this is what you tell yourself.
“And you want my ear.” Shouto says, looking back down at you as your shoulders tense. There isn’t a byte of hostility in his voice, but he must understand the sharpness to what he’s saying.
“Yes,” you admit with a nod, and some underlying, rogue streak of guilt has you pressing into him, as if your proximity could make up for your selfishness. “The sensors in your ear are gonna pay for our dinner tonight, handsome.”
His stride falters once more, and despite the time clock ticking in the back of your mind—you let him stop you. Maybe you want him to. Nothing ever goes unnoticed by him and you know that and maybe it’s cruel of you to say such a thing, to offer a comfort you can’t admit to, but Shouto looks down at you in all his ruination and—
Before he can say anything, a fat drop of water hits the tip of his perfectly manufactured nose. It makes him flinch, delayed, and the surprise he wears and the scrunch of his brow seem so—human, there before you. Shouto tilts his face to the dark, smoggy sky, and again that worry bites you, about too much water trickling into his core.
“We’re going to be late,” you repeat, though it’s much weaker than it was earlier. This is one those moments in which he overrides all your defenses, uploads something warm and hopeful and frightening into your chest cavity; you can’t tell if you want to run because you have to, for the sale—or if it’s a result of watching him now, haloed in neon.
He’s not one to ignore you, but he doesn’t respond, instead retracting his arm from your grip in order to push the hood back off his head. Raindrops soak into his bandage and the excess pools, dripping down over the line of his jaw and the column of his throat. So close to him, you can see the goosebumps that break out across his skin.
(You wonder if he’s ever been deemed precious. You wonder if he meant to leave, or if he was cast out. You wonder if he was created for continued corruption—or if someone out there wanted him to experience life, no matter how rusty.)
(You wonder if he feels as human as he looks. If he can blush, or if the soft skin below his ear can bruise.)
A small sound bubbles out of him, like a light laugh of disbelief. 
You found him face down in the rain; you’re not sure why it could cause such a reaction now, but he turns to eye the commercial playing behind him, before watching the path of a man walking by the two of you. Rain collects in his perfect cupid’s bow until he licks it away, and his hair slicks to the side when he pushes it out of his face. 
Shouto turns his attention back to you rather plainly, though the edges of his smile pull up a little higher than they usually do, enough that the apples of his cheeks round. He asks you, “What’s going to be for our dinner?” and the question is oddly worded, but each one is intentional. 
Maybe it’s not the rain that amuses him—and maybe it is. Maybe it really is that simple, that innocent. Maybe it’s the microtremors in your voice and your increased heart rate, all the little details that could never go unnoticed. 
There isn’t a way that this could end well: this is what you tell yourself.
You nod once and turn to face back the way you came, resigned, before looping your arm through his again. You trace the delicate veins on the inside of his wrist, careful not to cover the slow-blinking symbol embedded there, and you decide it doesn’t matter what his creator did or didn’t want. Because he has wants of his own, just like anyone.
“Okay,” you sigh, and when you slosh through the puddles collecting on the sidewalk, Shouto seems happy to follow along, this time. “I can probably sweet talk Toyomitsu into buying us some takoyaki, but you’re gonna have to play it cool.”
“Is this the kind of play you were talking about?”
That lilt has returned to his voice, even and friendly and amused.
“No,” you swat at him to hear his little huff of laughter, “now stop asking about that.”
Of course he doesn’t.
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catocappuccino · 6 months
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He got a sweater WITH A DOG ON IT?! So happy and joyous
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dragongirltongue · 1 year
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No mattter what Love Death and Robots does it'll never outdo Sonnie's Edge tbh...
Khanivore my beloved......
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fernsnailz · 3 months
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What Gundams are you building?
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ok so technically i LIED i'm actually building Eva Unit 02, not necessarily a gundam lol
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i'm very new to model kits (the only other kit i've done is the Tanjiro Demon Slayer one that's in like every Target lol), but this has been very fun so far! i need to get some better sanding materials though, the little plastic bits are bothering me. also i need to build her other leg and arms but tbh this is still pretty show accurate since Unit 02 gets destroyed like every other episode LMAO
but yea i got this guy as a little gift for myself on valentine's day :] i love how the Evas are designed and actually building one is crazy cool, i'm so impressed as to how poseable it is and it's fascinating to see how everything fits together. i definitely want to build Unit 01 after this but these things are. expensive 💀
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rosizoitsa · 23 days
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Wakeman Labs' Robot Girl Safety Matches
Inspired by vintage Japanese matchbox labels.
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aueua · 3 months
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t-boy...
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