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Hello, fellow space enthusiasts and fans of Epic Alien Storytelling!   We are thrilled to announce a major milestone in our cosmic journey together. Our WordPress site, Epic Alien Storytelling, has officially crossed the incredible mark of 500 views! This achievement wouldn’t have been possible without each and every one of you who has joined us on this intergalactic adventure.   First and…

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>Meow!

Was that a cat? Where did that noise come from?

Warsaw's WEIRD TALES Return with Frightful Spite on Frenetic 2nd LP

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

WEIRD TALES are back with plenty of new steam to burn in the provocatively titled, 'Second Coming, Second Crucifixion' (2023). Throwing all fucks to the wind, the stoner-doom trio from Poland present their second full-length album this weekend, and today Doomed & Stoned readers get an advance listen.

The band's first major release since the pandemic is true night music, fit for dirty, windswept streets 'neath lonely street lamps and shuttered buildings, brown bag in hand, guts emptied for all the world to see.

When I asked frontman Dima Rasputin about the sinister monicker that accompanies the shocking album cover by artist Kriss, he told me, "Well, you know, people are so dumb. If Jesus Christ comes back they will crucify him again." As to the tone, thematically and lyrically, of the songs before us, Dima adds, "So overall an overall disappointed feeling is a big part of the album. With them noses in them phones, we are doomed."

Weird Tales make their intentions known straight away with "Disgusting & Mean." Guitars screech, fret, and snarl, while groovy bass and drums double team to pummel your senses, topped by forlorn vocals that decry the absurdity of dealing with jerks we encounter in this rat race.

I see your dirty eyes I hear your dirty voice I don’t like your lies You think you’re wise? Now look at me, come on! You can’t get what’s going on! Do you see this smile? Now you die!

”Dead People’s Shit” takes the tempo down just a notch or two for this churning doomer. Upon first listen, you might think this is a tale told by a ghost, but indeed it is about the living dead and told from the perspective of one confronting them. “You are dead, how can’t you see it?” Then he cries out, “Nobody listens, nothing is real. Can you even feel?” The song might serve as a critique of a world in which each person escapes into their own private dimension of addictions and distractions.

”Undertaker” is a dyed in the wool doomer, in the vein of Cough, that carries plenty of emotion. Some excellent guitar work on display, as well. The song reaches into the depths of the genre and pokes at its boundaries.

Following this, is Krokodil Blues, a reference to an easily synthesized homemade drug so horrifying in its effects that it was hard to believe that anyone would want to try it. Currently fent and tranq are doing much the same thing in the States. The ‘20s are shaping up to be The Age of Anxiety for everyone, as the artiface of modern civilization and high technology ratchets up its demands on all of us. Is it any wonder that people want to escape? These chemicals, however, are transforming the human being into the basest of animals.

Should I have to explain This shit drives me insane When the God talks to you There is no choice I’m warning you!

"Damned Lovers of the Swampire" is another standout track, with damning downtuned fuzz-covered riffs that reach inside of you and grab you by the guts. Five minutes in, the song breaks out into a groovy foot shuffle full of spit, bile, and blood, and the guitar burst at 6:30 is wicked bluesy, finally giving way to the screams of the damned. Then the album draws to a conclusion with the voracious 9 minute monster, “Acid Lobotomy.”

Second Coming, Second Crucifixion represents Weird Tales most concerted and terrifying effort yet -- lyrically and musically nihilistic to the core. Dima (guitar, vox), Kriss (bass) and Smoku (drums) have cobbled together a true soundtrack for the End Times. Look for the album to drop this weekend on Interstellar Smoke Records (pre-order here). Stick it on a playlist alongside Dopelord, Temple of the Fuzz Witch, Salem's Pot, Church of Misery, and Electric Wizard.

Give ear...

SECOND COMING, SECOND CRUCIFIXION by WEIRD TALES

SOME BUZZ

'Second Coming, Second Crucifixion' consists of six new tracks -- 40-minute riff-based dance music for psychopaths. On their most rebellious and edgiest work to date, Weird Tales are manifesting disappointment in humanity, friendship and love. Hatred from the deepest abyss of the heart is mixed up with the creepshow stories about schizos, drug addicts, and slaughter.

Starting as a stoner doom band, they incorporated proto-punk, psychedelic and noise to their music and amplified it with narcotic psychosis. Now they put it to your face straight from hell!

Harsh guitars, rapid, vigorous drums and dirty bass will fall on your head like a storm. Filled with dark psychedelic vocals and filthy lyrics it brings sardonic fun to all fans of heavy music, who are disappointed with life.

Like a stab between the eyes, Polish Warsaw trio Weird Tales deliver their outrageous new full length album via Interstellar Smoke Records.

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Why do I like space stories so much:

DISTANCE - The problems of earth appear inconsequential and so the story can serve as a means of dissociation.

HUMANITY - It is often a storytelling genre filled with human emotion, emphasising the miniscule kindnesses between creatures in the vastness of space (see: the golden record, videos of loved ones across space, etc)

TRUST - Because of the general cruel and fair threat of constant death, trust between crew members/fellow astronauts is paramount. Working apart is assured mutual destruction, rather than one party at least benefitting.

IMAGERY: space is one thing that is almost objectively beautiful. Even if the aesthetics dont please one's eyes, you can't help but have your breath taken away by the sheer magnitude of planets or moons, or by the shattering unimaginable miles until the next star.

MECHTO AMORE: The romance of mechanics. There is beauty in the sheer and unforgiving practicality of a spacecraft, and then there are the little spaces for keeping personal belongings/places for comfort/recreation. Things that a team thought about being nice for another person and implemented in their design.

Additionally: the romanticism of the noble robot.

+ Cassini - a probe who after years of taking pictures and transmitting data was sent into a death spiral through the atmosphere of the planet it was built for.

+ Opportunity - "My battery is low and it's getting dark."

+ Voyagers - probes sent out to reach further into the universe than any human has gone, equipped with a message from us made in compassion and good faith, alone and cold and soon to "die".

Dying for them is objectively power failure and the end of transmission - emotionless and without pain, since there was none to begin with. But we still feel for these incredible pieces of engineering whom we tasked with being our eyes, our minds, our hands, out where we cannot be, not just yet.

FELLOWSHIP: The irrational and ridiculous idea that somewhere out there is a society filled with beings who would feel compassion toward us. If you take the realistic concept of a near identical species existing, and assume the human hierarchy with them, then the people in charge of their society would have two things in mind: personal gain and fear.

But we chose not to believe this. We believe that maybe, against all odds, this kind of society could exist who is run by the voices of reason and compassion amongst humanity. Who would treat us as we would wish to be treated.

It's foolish, but that is what we are.

there are some fics of mine, that "i look over it and i ache."

because they're just so precious to me, and never read and loved in the way that i've sewn them-- which is amazing and wild in it's own light, because how could i have written something that meets so many people in so many different emotions?

In Which Space Orcs are Men

[AO3] A "what if humans are space orcs" take on Dagor Dagorath. (Aka the prophecied apocalypse of Middle Earth. Scifi story accessible to non-LotR nerds!)

Elves weren't really supposed to leave Earth. That's what they told us—the Elves, that is, told people thousands of years ago, when Elves could still be found here and there. When I was born, elves were nearly as much a fairy tale as they’d been on Ancient Earth.

Elves weren't supposed to leave Earth, the Elves said in the fairy tales, and in a few old scraps of records scattered around known space. They literally weren't made for it. They could only do it if they brought Earth with them—Arda they called it, leaves or dirt, water or a rare bubble of air, perfectly preserved in a white crystal. There are tons of tales about Elves losing their lifeline jewels—their hearts, their silimirs—and roping people into epic quests to get them back before they—the Elf—faded to nothingness. 

Even the jewels weren't enough, though. That's why there are also stories about Elves who fell in love with a person or a place and stayed there until they faded, or Elves who charmed someone into following them back to Fairyland on Earth...because whatever they said, Elves didn't really live on Earth. Humans have maintained their home planet as a monitored nature reserve since like the 40th century, open only to vetted research teams and serious Human religious pilgrimages. The most confirmed accounts of Elves that exist are of their ships appearing out of nowhere, with no trace of any tech that would enable it, at random, always-changing points within 100 miles or so of Earth.

Nobody ever came back from trying to follow Elves home. Mostly Elves tried to dissuade people from trying. But there are always crazy and curious people—and Elves usually attracted those, because any Elf who left the home they were "made" for was usually crazy and curious themselves. 

Those were the stories I grew up with. There was a cave near the orphans' creche which was supposed to be haunted by a faded Elf. I didn't really believe it—like I said, the last confirmed Elf was last seen like 5,000 years ago, and not even on my planet. People have met two dozen new sentient races since then. We've discovered that reincarnation is probably real (just functionally untrackable), prompting the Pan-Religious Reform Wars. The last person to see a live Elf was still traveling via natural wormholes—they literally didn't know that you could loop pi.

.

When the Human natal sun started to turn really red, it wasn’t that big a deal at first. It’s a very important, very sad event for any species, but it happens to everyone eventually. It happened to the Hectort just after we invented interstellar flight. There were some unusual gravatic waves around Earth’s Sol, but nothing worth noting to anyone who didn’t already care for personal reasons.

Then the Elves sent us a message.

The local Parks Service picked it up, of course. I bet the Humans meant to hush it up at first—though the Centaurian government still won’t admit anything—but someone leaked it immediately on the intergalactic net. It should’ve only been famous as a joke of a hoax, but…

It was basically just a metal box with rudimentary fire-thrusters soldered on the sides. It contained two things. The first was a recording/replaying device so antiquated that the only way they got it working is that it was already playing on loop, and didn’t stop until someone disconnected it from its power source.

The message was in Ancient Bouban, which some folklorist soon announced is the latest language an Elf could know, since the last known Elf went back to “Arda.” The voice somehow sounded melodic to every species with a concept of music, from the screeching Vesarians to the deep-sea sub-sonic Thinkers, even when translated through cheap, staticky speakers. And to most species, the speaker was audibly distraught.

They said,

This is the final message from the Firstborn of Eru to the Secondborn, and everyone else. The Battle of Battles has come, and we…are losing. If there are any who remember the ancient love and loyalty which bound our peoples, if there are any heirs remaining of Thargalax the Magnificent, of Nine-Fingered Frodo, of the noble Houses of Haleth, Hador and Beor—

The speaker drew a sharp breath, there.

—by great oaths and greater friendship I bid you now to raise your swords and ride to our aid. Ride as swiftly as you can!

We will hold for another year. We will, they said determinedly. After that, it is unlikely that…

Another, shakier breath. A smile forced into a voice which would rather weep.

Fëanáro and Nienna believe there is a way to destroy the Straight Road. If we must, if it comes to it, we will do so, and trap the First Enemy here in this dying world with us. Though I don’t know about—

Hair-aristocrat! a more distant, slightly less perfectly melodious voice called, in a language so dead that they needed computers to decode it. The walls are falling, we need to go!

If you never hear from us again, and no sudden discord arises among you, you will know we succeeded, the first speaker said quickly. If otherwise…I am sorry. Either way, I bid you all only, remember us! Oh beautiful flames, remember us, as we have ever remembered y— 

There was a sudden screech of tearing metal, a defiant, musical battle-cry, and a jarring silence. Then the message restarted.

And that wasn’t even the strangest thing in the box. The strangest thing was the recorder’s power source, which was powering the whole tiny rocket mechanism as well. It was an Elf-jewel right out of a fairy tale, a fist-sized, translucent not-quite-diamond—but instead of rock or water or a much-loved scrap of plant, the only thing it held was light.

...Kind of. It isn’t normal light. It arguably isn’t light at all, as we know it—scientists now think it’s technically some sort of plasmoid aether, except it only acts like a plasmoid aether about half the time. 

It has no detectable source within the jewel. It fully illuminates whatever space it’s in, no matter how big. Its visible radiation is a frequency, the scientists say, that matches a hyper-accelerated version of what the universe must’ve sounded like in the split second after the Big Bang.

It makes people remember things, when they see it in person or sometimes even across a holo. Some remember a similar light in a strange traveler’s eyes. Others, dreamily enchanted valleys where spring never faded, or tall castles, bright swords, and stern and glorious lords and ladies. And some of us got hit with a whole lifetime of memories in one go: an identical gem on the brow of a sober forest king, friends who slipped through trees like shadows save for their merry laughter, an impossibly beautiful gold-haired maiden dancing in a glittering cavern...

(And all the pain and loss that came with them.)

And some people just remember the sight of a distant star—in another world, in another lifetime.

Reincarnation was provable but untraceable…until now. 

The Thinker ambassador on Astrolax Station 5 was the first to kick up a fuss. Most Thinkers never leave their home planet, they're too huge and aquatic. But like I said, there's always crazy and curious people. The ambassador started bellowing the second che heard the message, without even seeing the light, because, "I know him! My Wisdom! We must send aid!" That made some news, and random other people shared their own, less dramatic revelations, and soon a compilation swept the net with timestamps showing that most of them were organically independent, not just jumping on the bandwagon….

Even that might've gotten written off intergalactically. The Thinkers are big in reincarnationist circles, on account of how they claim that deep in their planetary ocean they can hear echoes of their past lives. But being mostly planet-bound means they're not really influential on a big political level. Or it would've sparked another surge of the Reform Wars, and everybody would've remembered the rock, but not the recording. Or there would’ve been a fight over this potentially infinite energy source (though that is so last giga-annum)….

But first it was shown in person to the current Director of the Admiralty of the Astral Alliance, President of the X-ee Empire and Matron of the House of S,sh, Ch’ees/i’i S,sh. I was actually there—I was Captain of her ceremonial Alliance guards, in a last-ditch attempt to salvage my career after Zanzibus. Very ceremonial, considering the X-eee have laser-proof shells and pincers and I have, what, opposable thumbs? Vestigial tusks?

I wasn’t paying attention at first, too busy being suddenly assaulted by all my own memories. So I missed the President freezing mid-step and gasping (in X-eee), “Mother.” I also missed her rising alarm call of an attempt to speak Ancient Elvish without an Elvish tongue or lips.

I sure didn’t miss her snap back to X-eee for a sharp call to attention, and everything that followed: the call to arms! The rousing of the Alliance! A tour of the galaxy, to find anyone and everyone else in whom the Light could awaken ancient memories! And for the love of X'eeh, why had nobody figured out how to get back to Fairyland with this thing yet, and every warship in the quadrant?!

If I believed in the One Behind, or in any other creator god or gods—I'm not saying I do, but if I did, if there really is something out there all-powerful and all-kind—then it'd be because out of every soul in the entire universe, the probably one in the best position to act on the Elves' message turned out to have, from a past life, two parents and a much-loved twin still in Fairyland. Like, that's insane, right?

I stayed with the Director's ceremonial guards for the whole tour, actually more than ceremonial for once—it was the weirdest mission of my life, and I've been on a lot of weird missions. Or supposedly routine missions that got weird (and usually disastrous). My friends joke that I'm cursed. S,sh requisitioned an Inquiry-class ship, so the science boffins could study the Light and jewel along the way, and we started wormholing at weft speed, hitting a new planet every week. Sometimes every day. In each major spaceport and ground-city, S,sh stood with the jewel on the highest available point and gave a recruitment speech for going to save the Elves and fight the oldest enemy of all reality. 

Honestly, it seemed a little redundant? The Astral Alliance was made for this sort of rescue mission (and for escorting trade convoys). But I was...if not happy, then sure as hell more self-certain with my ancient memories restored, and most people who joined up seemed to agree. It was mostly people who remembered, when exposed to the Light, who joined—so before long, we had a whole tag-along trail of mostly civilian ships, trying to get up to Alliance Fleet standard on the road in less than a year.

Three different religious sects tried to kill S,sh for "profaning the mysteries." Five others tried to steal the jewel because we were apparently appropriating a holy object. The boffins announced that, bar the can't-prove-a-negative possibility, the evidently sourceless Light should be counted as an infinite energy source, and at least seven different groups, ruthless financiers and sustainability idealists, immediately tried to steal it for that. And I still don't know what the rival thief-queens of Likkiliani were about, except that I got tied up upside-down from a palmdar tree for two hours trying to stop one, the other paid me 700 cron then threw me off a cliff, and in the end they recognized each other from past lives and just made out on worldwide live-holo before joining our growing fleet. 

It turned out they were the Director's past life's great-grandparents, and a Canid pop princess was her niece. The Thinker ambassador was some sort of ancestor, too. Crazy extended family. 

Most people who remember just remember the sight of a star in the sky. A buddy of mine from Fleet Academy remembered looking up at it as a Human sailor. The historians—and you’d better bet we picked up some Earther historians on this mission as well!—say this jewel or one like it was probably astrologically conflated with the planet Venus by early Humans.

(The more time I spent around the jewel, the Silmaril, the more I remembered, of my first life and more. Lifetime after lifetime with bad luck dogging my steps, killing loved ones in my arms, destroying cities I was supposed to save… One restless, haunted night, I met a Rigilic in the cafeteria who’d been awake with some of the same nightmares, who’d been my dead older sister once.)

The tour was cut short when word came from the Earth system that there was a black hole growing in the center of their reddening sun. 

No, the sun wasn’t compressing into a black hole millennia ahead of schedule—one had just spontaneously manifested within it, like it’d teleported in. No, not literally—that was impossible. We were pretty sure. No, the sun wasn’t falling into it…somehow. Yet. The black hole was only 17 quectometers wide, but it was growing at an erratic but unceasing rate. If their best estimation of the pattern held, it would consume the sun 2 months before the Elves’ deadline, and the Earth 4 to 950 minutes later.

We pulled back to Earth—well, to the dwarf planet Eros, on the edges of Earth’s star system. That’s where the nearest shipyard of any note was, and we were gathering the whole Astral Alliance. This is exactly the sort of thing the Alliance is for. 

I was released back to ship duty. Zanzibus was still a black mark on my record, as was Jorab, and really everything on the AAS Endeavor…and that thing in third year of Fleet Academy… But no matter how bad my curse, I was an experienced captain and one of the best pilots in the Alliance. For this, we needed all the best.

The boffins had pretty quickly mastered limited manipulation of the Light, using modified aetheric resonators, and every day they came up with something new for us to test. They focused the Light into a laser cannon like no one has seen before. They laced it through plasma shields until a fully shielded ship glowed like a distant star. They managed to nearly replicate the Silmaril’s crystalline structure, so they could make “copies” that shone like the original for first a few hours; then, with refinement, a full week…

The one thing they couldn’t pin down with any real confidence was how to get to Fairyland. The frequency of the Light resonated with large bodies of Earther saltwater in a particular way, and models suggested that if the Light source moved horizontally along the water within a certain range of distance and velocity, the resonance would create a wormhole-like ripple in space—but wormhole-like, was the key word, and models suggested. The closest anyone had seen to that spatial distortion was in a logbook of dubious veracity from the Delta Quadrant, four hundred years ago. Alteia, my Academy buddy who’d been a Human sailor, took the Silmaril in an M-wing on a series of highly monitored test flights above the Atlantic Ocean, and space did repeatedly start to hollow in front of bom—so bo had to stop every time, rather than risk vanishing with our single, maybe-one-way ticket.

Then Earth’s moon stopped shining in the sky. Its albedo just dropped nearly to zero, from one night to the next. There was nothing wrong that anyone could figure out—nothing with the orbit, nothing with the surface rock, nothing with the artificial atmosphere. Inhabitants reported feeling colder by several degrees, but no measuring equipment recorded anything.

The black hole slightly off-center in the middle of Sol was now 844.9 zeptometers, and growing more steadily.

We didn’t have time to keep testing. We needed to raise our swords and make our ride, even if we only got one shot at it.

I was given command, for seniority, skill, and because I was the one who managed to talk S,sh out of leading the fleet herself. (If my lives had taught me anything, it was the importance of having someone, anyone, ready to be emergency backup.) Ironically, I was back on the Endeavor, with most of my old crew—though we got permission to rename the ship, in honor of the mission. A lot of people did. Alteia was now commanding the AAS Elendil on my right flank, star-friend in Ancient Elvish. That Canid pop princess had taken over a hospital ship and renamed it Rivendell. An Earth Park Ranger, of all things, remembered being my dad—briefly—and he was leading the Rangers plus my Rigilic drinking buddy on the EPSS Elfsheen. 

We weren’t sure if any ship but the one with the Silmaril would get through. The fleet numbered in the hundreds in battleships alone, not counting scouts and scuttlers. Twelve races had sent ships on top of their typical Alliance Fleet tithe, and S,sh had brought about half the full force of the X-ee Empire. We all just locked tractor beams and hoped. 

I was piloting as well as captaining, with the Silmaril between my forehorns. It was held in place by about a dozen wires and other connectors to the ship, like an old-timey pilot’s headset. We took off in orbit around Earth, as close as possible to the surface—not very close, in warships of Class S and higher, but within range of the oceanic resonance. A Likkilianian thief-queen stood at my shoulder, ready to advise if anything “Musical” started to happen.

Think about what you’re trying to get to, and why, the boffins had advised, so I did—bright-eyed kings and dancing maidens; lost friends, families, cities, planets and all. The jewel got warmer against my skin and shone brighter with every pulse of the engine, brighter than we should’ve been able to see through.

The silver-gold Light twisted and diffused as space did around us. But there was no familiar rippling wormhole boundary—instead, spacetime thinned to a curtain like driving rain, like Vesarian silver-glass.

A ghost appeared next to me. She looked like the oldest, grumpiest writing teacher at the crèche, though I knew that was only in my head.

“There you are,” she said, impatient and relieved like I’d been hiding in the sandbox again, rather than coming to class on time. Her sewing scissors went snip snip snip as she darted them around my body—and a chain on my soul faded into guiding threads.

Before she’d even disappeared again, I punched the engine and blasted through the silver-glass curtain.

Fairy tales said there’d be a peerlessly beautiful land on the other side, green with eternal spring, full of endless light and laughter. They said there’d be sunlit shores and shimmering waves, with welcoming docks for sea-ships, sky-ships and space-ships all…

We flew into the worst battlefield I’d ever seen, in any lifetime. It was more desperately vicious than Jerusalem V at the height of the Reform Wars, more ruined than Glaurung’s wake, more desolate than Zanzibus after the nuclears fell.

Either a massive supercontinent or a small moon had been shattered, leaving nothing but a roiling debris field. The brand-new meteoroids ranged from pebbles to rocks the size of a small space station, and included space-frozen corpses, forests, and what might have once been city blocks.

I gave the helm back to my Pilot Officer—zer had, I can admit, slightly better reflexes for dodging debris—and focused on captaining.

Most of the life signs were clinging to the larger rocks. There shouldn’t have been atmosphere for them, but walls of thunderstorm wrapped around every shard with even a single life sign—wind and water desperately hand in hand to safeguard the last of the Elves. The only thing visible through the impossible storms was the Light of a second Silmaril, on a meteoroid shaped like half a broken eggshell.

A corpse lay at the epicenter of the explosion—what might’ve been a corpse, if it wasn’t also shattered. The broken pieces of a massive stone humanoid, taller than my ship if it’d stood beside her, still bleeding lava so hot that it burned even in frozen space. Another titan knelt at the shards of its head, a figure of towering bark and leaves, wailing with grief even worse than the end of the world. 

A slimmer tree-woman stood with one hand on her shoulder, comforting, and the other wielding a skyscraper-sized club spiked with incandescent wildflowers. Guarding her sister’s heartbreak, she fended off a swarm of bat-sized monsters with wings of darkness and whips of flame. 

Bat-sized relative to the gods of Elves and ancient Humans. About the size of an M-wing, in flight.

Countless more of the bat-things flung themselves at the storm-bubbles, like carnivores chasing the prey hidden inside. They were fended off by an equal army of creatures with wings of light and swords of lightning, led by a towering figure who seemed to dance from one bloody battle to the next.

The biggest battle by far was the farthest away, over where the sun had been. In this dimension of stories over science, Sol was another woman-shape, smaller than the others but burning just as brightly as her star. Also just as blood-red. The light was centered on a fist she kept clenched at her chest, and instead of containing the black hole, the unseeable thing that it was here surrounded her, striking at her with a thousand hungry jaws and grasping legs, and she had only a one-handed whip of a solar flare to fend it off—

But she didn’t fight alone. A warrior tore at the Darkness’s spidery limbs with his fists, image on the cameras flickering impossibly between every hero I’d ever heard of. A snarling figure bit at it with jagged teeth, gored it with horns, shredded it with claws and talons, and generally made every ancient prey-instinct in me scream. And a queen with a crown of stars, a shield like the night sky and a sword like a streaking comet, stood dauntlessly at the sun-holder’s side. 

With all that, and with the speed of even her most exhausted strikes, I thought the sun-holder could probably have gotten away if she’d tried. But I knew how a person fought when they weren’t willing to leave a friend, and a smaller, silver figure lay at her feet, unmoving and drained of light.

But even the battle for the sun wasn’t what grabbed my eye. No—all my attention, all my guiding threads of fate and the quick temper that always used to get me in trouble, before (and sometimes after) I learned to leash it in an Alliance uniform— All of that took me straight to the fight happening orthogonal to the stone giant’s corpse.

It was another one-versus-many. Morgoth, the First Enemy of Elves and Men— Master of Lies, Maker of Chains, Sonofabitch Curser of Bloodlines—towered over even his fellow gods. His shape changed constantly, sickeningly, but it was always black-armored with eyes like dying stars that hated you personally. His maul dripped with lava and every other kind of blood.

He fought against three great gray figures who moved as one. The tallest wielded a star-studded scythe with swift, efficient strokes, and wore the dark gray of corpse-shrouds. The shortest shimmered with more colors than even a Stamotapadon could dream of, and his weapon shifted likewise. The third was the clear, clean gray of skies after rain or tears run dry, and fought with only a shield—and hit harder with it than either of her brothers.

Around their heads darted the only Elves on the battlefield, in small fliers more like sea-ships than aircraft. But they moved fluidly, pestering the Dark Lord like flies, pricking his skin and threatening his burning eyes.

Until Morgoth swung his maul with a roar of fury that traveled even though soundless space. My ship and heart both shuddered. The gray gods all staggered back, and the Elves fell from the no-longer-sky—all but their leader, more fire than flesh, who wore the third Silmaril. Morgoth caught him in one massive black hand and with sharp claws plucked the jewel away, as easily as a ripe berry from a tree—

“All power to fore-cannon and fire,” I ordered—and the jewel on my brow shone bright again as several stored months’ worth of infinite Silmaril-Light slammed into Morgoth’s chest with all the force that the best scientists in the Astral Alliance could engineer. 

He stumbled. He dropped both the jewel and the elf-king (who’d been trying to bite him). The Lady of Mercy tossed her shield to catch them, staying low and out of sight—though she needn’t have bothered. The so-called “Lord of All” had already found his next enemy.

“All ships, move forward and join shields,” I ordered, and met his burning stare though the viewscreen. “Then broadcast me on all external frequencies.”

The wires on my forehead shimmered as we shifted Light-flow to the shields—and to my right, so did the Elendil, and to my left, the Cosmian Blade, and all around us the Minas Tirith, the Elfsheen, the Muse, the Rivendell, the Heart of Zanzi, the Longbottom Leaf… They were still soaring out of the silvery distortion behind me, tractor- and Silmaril-towed: sleek Rigilic eels-of-prey and Centaurian cruisers full of Humans eager to fight for their homeworld, Betan mine-ships and Canid X-M-wings and my own Hectoan starlighters, a full third of the X-ee navy with their X-eee–shaped six-engine dreadnoughts, and hundreds more. 

“This is Captain Pel Cinia, once Túrin Turambar, of the Astral Alliance ship Gurthang,” I said. My words were broadcast from every ship on every frequency in every language that the people of Arda might know, as the Fleet assembled from forty-plus different worlds flew into position. Our Light-infused shields blazed and locked together, until we formed a seamless wall right in the Enemy’s face, with the Elves and their other allies safely behind us.

I’ve never felt more proud to recite the most cliché line in the Fleet:

“We got your distress call. We’re here to help.”

What to read after Light Bringer? (Series similar to Red Rising)

August 2023 update!

Red Rising is my favorite series of all time, and since I first read it, I have sought series and books similar in both spirit and execution. Some of these recs are books I haven’t read personally, but have often come up in discussions with other users!

1. The Stormlight Archive by Brandon Sanderson

Status: ongoing, expected 10 books in total, 4/10 out at the moment

Book 1: The Way of Kings. The Way of Kings takes place on the world of Roshar, where war is constantly being waged on the Shattered Plains, and the Highprinces of Alethkar fight to avenge a king that died many moons ago.

2. The Craft Sequence by Max Gladstone

Status: finished, 6/6 books out.

Book 1 (in publication order): Three Parts Dead. Comprised of 6 standalone books set in the same universe, the Craft Sequence tells the tales of the city of Alt Coulumb. The city came out of the God Wars with one of its gods intact, Kos the Everburning. In return for the worship of his people, Kos provides heat and steam power to the citizens of Alt Coulumb; he is also the hub of a vast network of power relationships with other gods and god-like beings across the planet. Oh, and he has just died. If he isn’t revived in some form by the turn of the new moon, the city will descend into chaos and the finances of the globe will take a severe hit.

3. Hierarchy by James Islington

Status: ongoing, 1/3 planned books out

Book 1: The Will of the many. The Will of the Many tells the story of Vis, a young orphan who is adopted by one of the sociopolitical elites of the Hierarchy. Vis is tasked with entering a prestigious magical academy with one goal – ascend the ranks, figure out what the other major branches of the government are doing, and report back. However, that isn’t quite as easy as Vis or anyone else thought it was going to be…

4. Suneater by Christopher Ruocchio

Status: ongoing, 5/7 books out

Book 1: Empire of Silence. Hadrian is a man doomed to universal infamy after ordering the destruction of a sun to commit an unforgivable act of genocide. Told as a chronicle written by an older Hadrian, Empire of Silence details his earlier adventures and serves as an introduction to the characters and the setting.

5. Dune by Frank Herbert

Status: completed, 6/6 books out

Book 1: Dune. Set in the distant future amidst a feudal interstellar society in which various noble houses control planetary fiefs. It tells the story of young Paul Atreides, whose family accepts the stewardship of the planet Arrakis. While the planet is an inhospitable and sparsely populated desert wasteland, it is the only source of melange, or "spice", a drug that extends life and enhances mental abilities.

6. The Expanse by James S A Corey

Status: completed, 9/9 books out

Book 1: Leviathan wakes. Set hundreds of years in the future, after mankind has colonized the solar system. A hardened detective and a rogue ship's captain come together for what starts as a missing young woman and evolves into a race across the solar system to expose the greatest conspiracy in human history.

7. The First Law by Joe Abercrombie

Status: completed. 3 books in the original trilogy + 3 standalone books + 3 books in the newest trilogy

Book 1: The Blade Itself. The story follows the fortunes and misfortunes of bad people who do the right thing, good people who do the wrong thing, stupid people who do the stupid thing and, well, pretty much any combination of the above. Survival is no mean feat, and at the end of the day, dumb luck might be more of an asset than any amount of planning, skill, or noble intention.

8. Cradle by Will Wight

Status: completed, 12/12 books out

Book 1: Unsouled. Lindon is Unsouled, forbidden to learn the sacred arts of his clan. When faced with a looming fate he cannot ignore, he must rise beyond anything he's ever known...and forge his own Path

9. Hyperion Cantos by Dan Simmons (one PB’s favorites)

Status: completed, 4/4 books out

Book 1: Hyperion. The story weaves the interlocking tales of a diverse group of travelers sent on a pilgrimage to the Time Tombs on Hyperion. The travelers have been sent by the Church of the Final Atonement, alternately known as the Shrike Church, and the Hegemony (the government of the human star systems) to make a request of the Shrike. As they progress in their journey, each of the pilgrims tells their tale.

A little press release from Image comics - we're putting out a mass market edition of Griz Grobus! Press release follows:

PORTLAND, Ore. 12/07/2023 — The high fantasy, graphic novel Kickstarter sensation, Griz Grobus, by co-writer/artist Simon Roy (Prophet, Jan's Atomic Heart and Other Stories) and co-writer Jess Pollard, with colors by Sergey Nazarov, will be available in trade paperback format for the first time this June 2024 from Image Comics.

Griz Grobus was originally a popular Webtoon sequential webcomic that leveled up its exposure with the 2021 launch of a Kickstarter campaign for a stunning hardcover edition. The campaign ignited fandom fervor, was fully funded in under a day, and raised nearly $70K—far exceeding the stretch goal. This Summer’s forthcoming paperback edition will bring this roaring success story to an even wider audience of readers.

"Part of what we wanted to make, in Griz Grobus, was a story that felt like a foreign film from a country you haven't heard of," said Roy. "Natural, familiar elements, sitting harmoniously alongside the new and unfamiliar. The proposition of getting to introduce a whole new audience to our little pocket universe, and the worlds within it, is very exciting!"

Set in the same sci-fi universe as Roy's Habitat,Griz Grobus is another tale of life after the collapse of the interstellar empire. But unlike Habitat—where a once utopian orbital community found itself descending into cannibal tyranny—the characters of Griz Grobus inhabit the rural world of Altamira, where post-utopian frontier life has blossomed into something a bit more wholesome.

Pollard added: "I can definitely say it is one of the funniest, most delightful things I've ever been a part of, and I laugh every time I read the story, as if I'm reading it for the first time. I hope readers will feel the same warmth when they read this edition, whether it be for the first time, the second, or third.”

Griz Grobus tells two parallel, intertwined tales from the far-off colony world. High in a sleepy mountain village, the overzealous academic ambitions of a young scribe lead to the resurrection of the town’s ancient colonial-era priest-bot. This long-defunct pastor finds himself in a world that has passed him by, but refuses to simply accept his obsolescence, much to the chagrin of the scribe and the local townsfolk. The second story, a mise-en-abyme, is Altamira’s most famous novel (being avidly read by the characters of the first story). It is a fantasy tale about a war-god who gets trapped in the body of a goose, and the efforts of one pacifist cook to delay the war-god’s bloody return to the battlefield.

This lush, intricately detailed, standalone fable is perfect for fans of Hiyao Miyazaki, Asterix, and Arthur C. Clarke.

The Griz Grobus trade paperback (ISBN: 9781534397866) will be available at local comic book shops on Wednesday, June 5 and independent bookstores, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Books-a-Million, and Indigo on Tuesday, June 4.

Griz Grobus will also be available across many digital platforms, including Amazon Kindle, Apple Books, and Google Play.

Blooming in the Sickness

Reader/Argenti, Argenti Honkai Star Rail, Angst, Character Death, First Post, Fanfiction, 1.3K Words, Honkai Star Rail, English.

Summary:

As the formidable knight of beauty he was, Argenti finds you lost in a place not deserving of such a pure soul as you. Which actively turns out to demonstrate that he has fallen for something more than solely your outside stunning beauty.

Unfortunately, things didn't go as planned...

...

Your face had been pale and sickly for some time now. Not wanting to burden your loved one, on deathbed you've decided to deliver one last rose to him.

Blooming in the Sickness

The interstellar winds whispered through the vast expanse of space as Argenti, the noble knight of the Knights of Beauty, traversed the cosmos on his solitary journey. His silver armour gleamed under the distant stars, a beacon of unwavering commitment to the Path of Beauty. Little did he know that his path was about to intersect with a fleeting moment of beauty that would change him forever.

You, an enigmatic traveller with a heart filled with grace and kindness, had been a silent companion to Argenti in his interstellar adventures. Your paths crossed on a desolate moon, and from that moment, a subtle connection began to blossom. Though you spoke little, your actions spoke volumes, and Argenti found solace in your company.

"As the stars above, you appeared in my solitude, a gentle whisper in the cosmic winds," Argenti mused one evening as you both gazed at the distant galaxies. "Why do you accompany me, traveller, on this lonesome journey?"

Your response was a soft smile, eyes reflecting the luminosity of distant constellations. "In the vastness of the cosmos, I saw a kindred spirit. A knight dedicated to beauty, yet burdened by the weight of solitude. I wished to share this journey with you, to bring warmth to the cold expanse."

As the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, a unique bond grew between Argenti and you. Nights were spent beneath the celestial canopy, sharing stories of distant realms and dreams that echoed in the cosmos. The silent moments spoke louder than any words could convey.

Argenti, usually reserved and composed, found himself opening up to you in ways he never imagined. "I never thought I would find a companion in this solitary pursuit," he confessed one evening as you both watched the stars. "Your presence brings a new light to my path."

You smiled, reaching out to gently touch his hand. "The beauty of the cosmos is best appreciated when shared, Argenti. We walk this path together, bound by the threads of fate and the love that silently grows between us."

One day, as you explored the vibrant gardens of a celestial haven, you discovered a rare celestial rose – a flower of unparalleled beauty, said to hold the essence of the cosmos itself. With a gentle touch, you plucked the rose, and in that moment, you decided to send it to Argenti along with a letter expressing your gratitude for the shared moments.

As the rose arrived at Argenti's side, its delicate petals whispered a tale of unspoken emotions. Argenti, curious and touched by the unexpected gift, carefully unfolded the letter. In the quiet solitude of his ship, he read your words, written with love and adorned with a poignant farewell.

"Dear Argenti,

In the tapestry of the cosmos, our paths converged like stars in the night sky. Your unwavering dedication to the Path of Beauty has illuminated my journey, and for that, I am eternally grateful.

As the celestial rose graces your presence, let it be a symbol of the beauty we found in the vastness of the cosmos. Our moments together were fleeting, yet they were the most cherished. Continue to walk your path with the same grace that guided us.”

"Do you remember the night we first spoke of our dreams, Argenti?" the letter continued. "I saw a galaxy in your eyes, and in that moment, I knew my heart had found its home. Though our time together is brief, the love that bloomed between us is eternal."

"As the final petals fall, know that my spirit will linger among the stars, and our love will endure in the cosmic winds.”

“I love you.”

Argenti's heart sank as the weight of your words settled upon him. He clutched the celestial rose close to his chest, feeling the fragility of life encapsulated in its petals. The realisation struck him like a celestial storm – the silent companion he had grown to cherish was slipping away, and he had been oblivious to your struggle.

A mix of emotions overwhelmed Argenti as he recalled the shared moments, the laughter, and the silent exchanges that spoke of a love that transcended the boundaries of time. He whispered your name into the cosmic winds, a prayer for your soul to find peace among the stars.

In the vastness of space, Argenti continued his journey, carrying the celestial rose as a poignant reminder of a beauty that once bloomed in the cosmos – a beauty that silently faded away, leaving only the echo of your unspoken farewell.

As the starlight dimmed and the galaxies continued their dance, Argenti vowed to honour the memory of the silent companion who had taught him that even in the cold expanse of space, love could be a beacon, guiding one's path with warmth and grace.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, yet Argenti's heart remained heavy with the weight of your absence. He found solace in retracing the paths you once walked together, visiting celestial havens where memories lingered like echoes of a distant melody.

One day, as he explored a crystalline asteroid belt, a beacon of ethereal light caught his attention. As he approached, he “saw” an imaginary projection of you, smiling amid the twinkling stars.

"Argenti," the image said, "Know that my essence lingers in the cosmic winds. Our love was a fleeting bloom, but its fragrance remains in the corners of the universe."

Argenti's eyes glistened with unshed tears as he listened to your words. "I never revealed the truth, for I wished to spare you the burden of my fate. The celestial rose was a token of the love we shared, a love that will endure beyond the boundaries of time."

The imaginary projection extended a hand, and a radiant rose materialised within it. "Take this, my love. Let it be a reminder that even in the vastness of the cosmos, our love transcends the limitations of mortal existence. Carry it with you, and may it bring you warmth on the coldest of nights."

The projected image faded, leaving Argenti standing alone amid the silent beauty of the asteroid belt. In his hands, he held the radiant rose, a symbol of love that reached beyond the boundaries of life and death.

As Argenti continued his journey through the cosmos, the celestial rose became a source of both sorrow and solace. Each petal held the essence of your love, a love that had blossomed like a silent bloom in the heart of the noble knight.

In the quiet moments of interstellar solitude, Argenti found himself whispering to the rose, sharing thoughts and dreams as if you were still by his side. The cosmic winds carried his words across the galaxies, a tribute to the silent companion who had left an indelible mark on the noble knight's heart.

The beauty of the cosmos unfolded before Argenti's eyes, a vast tapestry of stars, nebulas, and galaxies that seemed to dance in harmony with the celestial rose in his hands. Each celestial body became a reflection of the love that once flourished between two wandering souls.

One fateful day, as Argenti stood on the edge of a cosmic precipice, he felt a gentle breeze, a whisper in the cosmic winds that echoed with a familiar warmth. Closing his eyes, he imagined your presence, and in that moment, he knew that your love, like the celestial rose, had become a timeless beacon in the cosmic tapestry.

In the quiet vastness of space, Argenti continued his journey, carrying the celestial rose as a reminder that love once again, even in its silent bloom, could transcend the boundaries of time and space. As the stars above witnessed the noble knight's solitary voyage, they bore witness to a love that endured, a love that whispered through the cosmic winds, and a love that remained eternally engraved in the heart of Argenti.

Water is the most common chemical molecule found throughout the entire universe. What water has going for it is that its constituents, hydrogen and oxygen, are also ridiculously common, and those two elements really enjoying bonding with each other. Oxygen has two open slots in its outmost electron orbital shell, making it very eager to find new friends, and each hydrogen comes with one spare electron, so the triple-bonding is a cinch. Hydrogen comes to us from the big bang itself, making it by both mass and number the #1 element in the cosmos. Seriously, the stuff is everywhere. About 75% of every star, every interstellar gas cloud, and every wandering bit of intergalactic space debris never to know the warmth of stellar fusion in 13.8 billion years of cosmic history is made of hydrogen. That hydrogen got its start when our universe was only about ten minutes old, and all the hydrogen that has ever existed (except for random radioactive decays and fission reactions, but that would come later) formed before our universe turned 20 minutes. A dozen minutes, 13.8 billion years ago. When you quench your thirst with a healthy glass, that’s what you’re consuming. We can understand this epoch of cosmic history, known as the nucleosynthesis era, because over the past century we’ve become rather skilled at dealing with nuclear reactions, and in one of the hallmarks of our species we have unleashed this radical understanding into the physical nature of reality and deployed it for both peacetime energy generation and wartime bombs. Our understanding of nuclear physics tells us that earlier than the ten-minute mark, our universe was too hot and too dense for protons and neutrons to form. Instead their subatomic parts, known as quarks, were unglued in a heaving maelstrom of nuclear forces, constantly binding and unbinding in a seething rage-filled sea of gluons, the force carriers of the strong nuclear force. Once the universe expanded and cooled enough, condensates of protons and neutrons formed like droplets on the windowpane, low-energy pockets capable of keeping themselves together despite the temperatures. Eventually, however, as soon as the party got going it fizzled out: when the universe became too large and too cool, a mere dozen minutes later, there wasn’t sufficient density to bring the quarks close enough together to perform their nuclear binding trick. Some protons and neutrons would find each other in those storm-filled days, though, forming heavier versions of hydrogen, some helium, and a small amount of lithium. And since then those hydrogen atoms have wandered about the cosmos; most lost in the intergalactic wastes, some participating in the glorious construction of stars and planets, and a lucky few finding themselves locked in a chemical dance with oxygen. The oxygen has another tale to tell, also a story of fusion, on its way to becoming water. But not the fusion of the first few heady minutes of the big bang, but in the dance within the hearts of stars. There, crushing pressures and violent temperatures slam hydrogen atoms together, forcing them to fuse into helium, in the process releasing an almost vanishingly small amount of energy. But that forced marriage happens millions of times every second, in every one of the trillions upon untold trillions of stars strewn about the cosmos, enough to light up the universe for all conscious observers to enjoy. Near the end of a star’s life, it turns to fusing the built-up ash of helium piled in its core, The fusion of helium produces two products: carbon and oxygen. Now this oxygen would end up forever closed off from the cosmos, locked behind a million-kilometer thick wall of plasma, if it were not for a trick of physics that happens when the star meets its final days. Our Sun will someday experience this fate, about four and a half billion years now. When it grows old and weary, it will swell and turn red, violently spasming as it draws its last fatal breaths. Those gargantuan shudders release material from the star, launching it into the surrounding system, billowed by gusty winds of fundamental particles streaming away at nearly the speed of light. Fit by ragged fit, the Sun will lose its own self, driving away over half its mass into a spreading nebula, the only sign that distant eyes can perceive of yet another noble star laying down its struggle against the all-consuming night. But in that gruesome death, a miracle. The cycle born anew: the hydrogen and helium, the primordial elements of the star, now mixed with carbon and oxygen drift off into the interstellar void, someday to take part in the formation of a new star, a new solar system, a new world wet with water, and, if the chances are perfect, a new life. The post Thirsty? Water is More Common than you Think appeared first on Universe Today.

Swish-swish~

She looks irritated and frankly hostile. Letting out a small huff she curls her tail against her waist.

“We are space dust.”

The more I think about it, the more it hits home.

These tiny particles from ancient stars - each speck, a storyteller - whispering tales of supernovas and interstellar voyages.

I imagine them as celestial breadcrumbs, guiding us through the vast expanse of space.

It’s humbling to realize that we’re made of the same stuff as the stars, reminding us of our place in the universe.

@sparkandashes via tumblr

Meet Lord Nichron! He's a guy with a lot of stories. A heck of a lot!

In his time he's been many things. From tending bar, selling things that fell of trucks, dabbling in a bit of space piracy to such lofty heights as interstellar diplomat.

He's been many places, seen many and now end his days as a renowned scholar collecting myths and history from across time and space.

Going forward he will be my narrator in the tales I write though I will still just post as myself.

The first tale he will tell will be set in a deep dark past...

Hey, @t0tally-n0t-3m0, figured this might be easier to read as a post. Here's 24 pods with nonbinary lead characters to get you started. There's more out there, so if anyone wants to add on, go for it.

Additional Postage Required: (Sci-Fi) Adventures of an interstellar courier who starts to get glimpses of the past from their packages.

Anamnesis (on the Tin Can Audio feed): (Mystery, Weird Fiction) Someone wakes in a temple in an empty town with no memory. Short, really nice sound design.

Badlands Cola: (Mystery, Supernatural & Horror elements) big city PI Sunny is hired to find information on a rural cult leader, and is drawn into a world of strange radio, horse enthusiasts, and dinosaur bones.

The Dead Letter Office of Somewhere, Ohio (one of two leads, you'll meet them halfway in): (Supernatural, Weird) Two workers for an Ohio dead letter office read the strange confiscated mail their organisation collects, and do some follow up investigation.

either: (Weird Fiction, Sci-Fi, Romance) An explosion at a duck factory sends a pet robot to another reality, connecting two very different (but both lonely) people.

Hello From The Hallowoods: (Supernatural Horror) A dramatic entity beyond your comprehension visits your nightmares to tell stories of the people (in varying degrees of human and alive) that inhabit the strange, deadly, and beautiful Hallowoods.

Inn Between: (Fantasy, Adventure) Ever wondered what the party gets up to at the tavern between D&D sessions? (Not a tabletop).

Jar of Rebuke: (Supernatural, Horror elements) An unkillable amnesiac scientist (they die, just have a hard time staying dead) investigates weird entities, makes friends, and eats a lot of tasty food in the strange town he lives in.

Khôra Podcast: (Sci-Fi, Adventure) Somewhere between inspired by and adapted from greek mythology, a space adventure following four mythological figures on their search for the golden fleece.

Less is Morgue: (Comedy, Horror elements) A ghoul and a ghost host a podcast about whatever they please in the ghoul's mom's basement, and manage to get off topic anyway.

Light Hearts: (Slice-of-Life, Supernatural elements) Three friends run a lightly haunted queer café. Upbeat and wholesome.

The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality: (Weird Fiction, Supernatural, Horror elements) A friendly AI tour guide leads you on a tour of the Mistholme Museum, explaining the strange and often alternatural story behind each item. (To be clear, the nb lead is an AI with no concept of gender, but the creator is NB also and it is far from the only nb character.)

Monstrous Agonies: (Advice, Supernatural) An interpersonal advice show for supernatural entities and other people living liminally in the modern world.

ROGUEMAKER: (Sci-fi, Whodunnit) A commercial space flight explodes and passengers are left isolated in the escape pods, only connected for minutes at a time and unsure what happened, or why.

Second Star to the Left: (Sci-Fi) Audio logs of a colonist sent to a new world and her communications with the minder in charge of keeping her alive.

Sidequesting: (Fantasy) A wholesome podcast following Rion, an adventurer with a difference: they only do sidequests.

SINKHOLE: (Sci-fi, Weird Fiction) Forum posts from a data restoration community in a near future where the human brain is its own computer and one city hosts a massive void.

Skyjacks: Courier's Call: (Tabletop, Fantasy) Three young postal workers aboard a skyship go on various adventures. Kid-friendly but enjoyable for all ages.

The Starport Inn: (Supernatural, Mystery) An FBI agent sent to a rural town to solve a disappearance finds they've walked into something much stranger.

The Supernatural Protection Agency: (Supernatural) Call logs for a helpline that aims to solve the supernatural problems plaguing your life.

Tell No Tales: (Supernatural, Horror elements) Leo Quinn, secretary to the man in charge of the world's leading ghost removal service, interviews various ghosts in an attempt to create a device capable of actually recording them, in the hopes of taking down the company they work for.

Trial and Error: (Sci-Fi) Interviews with various AI as a scientist attempts to make sense of spontaneous machine sentience.

Under the Electric Stars: (Sci-Fi) A courier's failed heist to help their AI friend/navigator pulls them into a world of crime organisations and unethical science.

The Weird: (Tabletop, Supernatural, Comedy, Horror elements) The two staff members at The Department of the Weird travel America in their shitty Ford Fiesta to investigate various strange happenings

Departing from Guangzhou, China, our small animation team has spent five years self-funding and creating "The Legend of Lucky Pie," a series beloved by audiences. Now, after another three years, we bring you the trailer for our latest work, "Cosmic Travelers," a grand sci-fi epic seamlessly blending Eastern wisdom with Western science fiction.

"Cosmic Travelers" delves deep into the mysteries of the universe, weaving a vast tale of artificial intelligence, Mars exploration, and interstellar colonization. Here, American storytelling styles merge profoundly with Eastern philosophy. If you're drawn to the multi-universal adventures of "Rick & Morty," then "Cosmic Travelers," with its unique Eastern tone, will offer you a different kind of sci-fi journey. We not only grasp the essence of American animation but also infuse it with the essence of Eastern emotions and thoughts.

We now need funding to assemble a team and spend two and a half years creating the first season. We sincerely invite investors to join us in this dream-building venture. The investment isn't as large as you might think. Investing in "Cosmic Travelers" not only offers the potential for substantial returns from future works but also makes you a copyright holder of this animation—a project with the potential to land on mainstream streaming platforms like Netflix and HBO Max.

Visit our website https://www.cosmictravelers.tv/ to learn more!

This could be the day your destiny gears start to turn. Join us on this incredible journey to create a global IP!

A book

In a sea of #silly and contentiously politicized Hollywood memoirs, Lynda Obst's Sleepless in Hollywood: Tales from the New Abnormal in the Movie Business is a glaring, very useful exception.

The woman knows her trade and she really has nothing to prove, after a very rich career as a cinema and TV producer, that took her from Flashdance to Sleepless in Seattle to Interstellar, one step (and sometimes even one flop) at a time.

Having just started to read it in earnest, I was pleasantly surprised to find perhaps the best explanation for ***'s insistence to promote BOMB as a viable project after OL is over. The roots of the problem are not limited to its particular situation (future merger/acquisition, post-strike context, etc.). They are much older and have everything to do with a business model that has been used since at least the early 2010's, first in the movie business and (more and more) now in TV productions.

You will forgive the long quote. It's worth it:

In other words, expect less and less quality content, in a business landscape looking more and more to milk an already captive audience of their hard-earned buck. And invest less and less in script and talent, precisely because the recipe for success is not unlike those three-ingredient cookies Tick-Tock is apparently so fond of.

The simple fact Disney was one of the main proponents and promoters of this (abysmal) business model is, of course, a coincidence. As is the very insistent use of the term 'tentpole', when directly referencing OL, in ***'s shareholder reports.

This confirms my prior analysis and I take no pride, nor joy in writing it. OL is (still is) ***'s strongest asset and main sale argument. I should only hope Season 8 will not completely bastardize what started as something that could really have reached for the stars. And this has nothing to do with S and C: they went above and beyond what was expected. Because magic is magic, even if you try to dim or mutilate it.