#it can be something with a lot of depth and meaning. it can be shallow and hacky. it can be nonfiction entirely. its not a value statement

[sirfrogsworth]

Let's talk about vintage lenses.

Here is your cool samurai show with modern lenses.

Here is your cool samurai show with vintage lenses.

Hollywood is no stranger to fads.

We are currently in the middle of a "make everything too dark" fad. But that fad is starting to overlap with "let's use really old lenses on ridiculously high resolution cameras."

This is Zack Snyder with a Red Monstro 8K camera.

He is using a "rehoused" vintage 50mm f/0.95 Canon "Dream Lens" which was first manufactured in 1961.

This old lens is put inside a fancy new body that can fit onto modern cameras.

Which means Zack is getting nowhere near 8K worth of detail. These lenses are not even close to being sharp. Which is fine. I think the obsession with detail can get a bit silly and sometimes things can be "too sharp."

But it is a funny juxtaposition.

The dream lens is a cool lens. It has character. It has certain aberrations and defects that can actually be beneficial to making a cool photograph. It's a bit like vinyl records for photography.

[ Peter Thoeny ]

It has vignetting and distortion and a very strange swirly background blur.

[ Gabriel Binder ]

Optical engineers have been spending the last 60 years trying to eliminate these defects. And I sometimes wonder if they are confused by this fad.

"I WORKED 70 HOURS PER WEEK TO GET PERFECT CORNER SHARPNESS!"

And whether you prefer to work with a perfect optic or a vintage one... it is a valid aesthetic decision either way. I think vintage glass can really suit candid natural light photography. You can almost get abstract with these lenses.

[ Peter Theony ]

Personally I like to start with as close to perfect as possible and then add the character in later. That way I can dial in the effect and tweak how much of it I want. But even with modern image editing tools, some of these aberrations are difficult to recreate authentically.

That said, it can be very easy for the "character" of these lenses to become distracting. And just like when someone first finds the lens flares in Photoshop, it can be easy for people to overdo things.

Zack Snyder decided to be his own cameraman and used only vintage glass in his recent movies and it has led to some complaints about the imagery.

I mean, Zack Snyder overdoing something? I can't even imagine it.

Non camera people felt Army of the Dead was blurry and a bit weird but they couldn't quite explain why it felt that way.

The dream lens has a very wide aperture and it lets in a lot of light. But it also has a very very shallow depth of field. Which means it is very difficult to nail focus.

[ Peter Thoeny ]

Her near eye is in focus and her far eye is soft. You literally can't get an entire face in focus.

There is no reason you have to use the dream lens at f/0.95 at all times. But just like those irresistible lens flares, Zack couldn't help himself.

Here is a blueprint that you can't really see.

Extreme close ups of faces without autofocus at f/0.95 is nearly impossible to pull critical focus on.

Looks like Zack nailed the area just above the eyebrow here.

Let's try to find the point of focus in this one.

Ummmm... she is just... blurry. Missed focus completely.

But Zack isn't the only one going vintage. I've been seeing this a lot recently.

Shogun is a beautiful show. And for the most part, I really enjoyed the cinematography. But they went the vintage lens route and it kept going from gorgeous to "I can't not see it" distracting. And perhaps because I am familiar with these lens defects I am more prone to noticing. But I do think it hurt the imagery in a few spots.

Vingetting is a darkening of the corners of the frame.

Light rays in the corners are much harder to control. A lot of modern lenses still have this problem, but they create software corrections to eliminate the issue. Some cameras do it automatically as you are recording the image.

Vintage lenses were built before lens corrections where a thing—before software was a thing. So you either have to live with them, try to remove them with VFX, or crop into your image and lose some resolution.

It's possible this is the aesthetic they wanted. They felt the vignetting added something to the image. But I just found my eyes darting to the corners and not focusing on the composition.

And then you have distortion.

In this case, barrel distortion.

This is mostly prominent in wide angle lenses. In order to get that wider field of view the lens has to accept light from some very steep angles. And that can be quite difficult to correct. So you kind have to sacrifice any straight lines.

And sometimes this was a positive contribution to the image.

I thought the curved lines matched the way they were sitting here.

But most of the time I just felt like I was looking at feudal Japan through a fish's eye.

It's a bit more tolerable as a still, but when all of these verticals are bowing in motion, I start to feel like I am developing tunnel vision.

I love that this is a tool that is available. Rehousing lenses is a really neat process and I'm glad this old glass is getting new life.

This documentary shows how lens rehousing is done and is quite fascinating if you are in to that sort of thing.

But I think we are in a "too much of a good thing" phase when it comes to these lenses. I think a balance between old and new can be found.

And I also think maybe Zack should see what f/2.8 looks like. He might like having more than an eyebrow in focus.

#photography #cinematography #lenses #vintage lenses #shogun #long post

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: moray eels

This week on Wet Beast Wednesday I'll be going over something amazing, a fish with a sense of morality. You see, the moral eel is known for, what... I think I'm reading this wrong. Oh, MoRAY eel, not moral. Well this is awkward. Hang tight, I need to go redo my research.

(Image: a green moray (Gymnothorax funebris) swimming outside of its burry, with its whole body visible from the side. It is a long, slender fish that looks a bit like a snake. A long fin starts just below the head and continues down the length of the body. The body is arranged in a wave pattern. It has a pointed snout and small eyes. Its body is a yellow-green color. In the background is the sandy seafloor, dotted with various sponges and corals. End ID)

Moray eels are true eels, meaning they are in the order Anguiliformes. Yeah, I did wolf eels, electric eels, and lamprey eels before I got around to actual eels. There are over 200 known species of moray eel in 15 genera. Like other eels, they are elongated bony fish with extra vertebrae and reduced fins. Moray eels have fewer fins than most eel species, only having a dorsal, anal and tail fin that merge together and run down the back of most of the body and underneath portion of it. They achieve motion by undulating this long fin and sometimes undulating the rest of the body as well. Moray eels aren't the fastest of fish, but they can swim backwards, something almost no fish can. The head has a long snout with wide jaws. Most species have long fangs used to grab onto prey, but a few species are adapted to eat hard-shelled prey and have molar-like teeth to crush through shells instead. Probably the coolest feature of morays are the pharyngeal jaws. This is a second set of jaws located in the back of the mouth. When the eel bites onto prey, the jaws can be shot forward to grab the food and help pull it into the throat. While lots of fish have pharyngeal jaws, morays are the only ones who can extend their pharyngeal jaws forward and use them to grab prey. Morays have smooth, scaleless skin that is often patterned to provide camouflage. The skin is coated in mucus that provides protection from damage and infection. In some species, the mucus can be used to glue sand together to help reinforce burrows. Morays lack lateral lines, a system of organs found in most fish that senses changes in water movement. Their sense of smell is their primary sense. The size of morays varies between species. The smallest species is the dwarf moray eel (Gymnothorax melatremus) which reaches 26 cm (10 in) long. The largest species by mass is the giant moray eel (Gymnothorax javanicus) which can reach 3 meters (10 ft) and 30 kg (66 lbs) while the longest species is the slender giant moray (Strophidon sathete), the longest known specimen of which measured in at 3.94 m (12.9 ft).

New reaction image

(Image: a giant moray (Gymnothorax javanicus) emerging from a burrow. It is brown and mottled with yellowish patches. Its head is pointed at the camera and it's mouth is wide open, aming it look shocked. End ID)

(Image: an anatomical diagram of the skeleton of a moray eel emphasizing the pharyngeal jaws and the muscle attachments. End ID. Art by Zina Deretsky)

Moray eels are found throughout the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian oceans. Different species are found in different temperatures and depths, though most species live in relatively shallow, warm water. Several species can live in brackish water and a few will swim upriver and live for a time in fresh water, though there do not appear to be any species that live their entire lives in fresh water. Morays are ambush predators who rely on the element of surprise. They live in small, tight places such as holes in coral, gaps between rocks, or sandy burrows. When prey passes, the eel can lunge out and grab it. Unlike most fish, the eel cannot use suction feeding due to the shapes of their mouths. They have to rely on lunging froward and catching prey with their mouths. Their mouths are adapted in shape to push water to the sides. This reduces water resistance and avoids creating a wave that could push prey away from the eel. If an eel catches prey that cannot be swallowed whole, it will tie itself in a knot while biting on to the food. By pulling its head through the loop, the eel can rip the food into bite-sized pieces. Spending most of their times in burrows also provides protection from predators, especially in juveniles or smaller species. At night, the eels will come out of their burrows to hunt sleeping prey while the larger predators are asleep. Giant morays have also been seen engaging in interspecies cooperative hunting with roving coral groupers (Plectropomus pessuliferus). The eels can fit into small crevices the groupers can't to flush prey into the grouper's path while catching their own. Morays are mostly solitary species and many can be territorial. They are known to be shy and will retreat into their burrows if they feel threatened. They are also curious and many species are quite intelligent.

(Image: a male ribbon eel (Rhinomuraena quaesita) on a coral reef. It is a very long and slender eel with its body curved in many waves. It is brightly colored, with a blue-purple body, yellow fin and face, and a long black and white stripe running down the back half of the body. On the nostrils are two feather-like structures. End ID)

Morays reproductive strategies are poorly known and differ based on species. While many species seem to have no set mating season and will reproduce whenever they can, others will mate at the same time every year. Some species seem to have dedicated spots to lay their eggs and a few are believed to be anadromous, meaning they travel from the sea to fresh water to spawn. Meanwhile, some of the species that spend a lot of time in fresh water are catadromous, meaning they return to sea to mate. Females will lay their eggs and the male fertilize them. After this, they depart, providing no parental care. As with all true eels, moray eels begin life as leptocephalus larvae. This type of fish larvae is notable for its resemblance to a simple, transparent leaf with a head on one end. These larvae are unique and poorly understood, despite being the larval stage of a lot of different species of fish. They are unusually well developed for larvae, capable of active swimming and generally living life. In fact, some particularly large leptocephalus larvae were initially mistaken for adult fish. They feed mostly on bits of drifting organic material called marine snow and can remain in the larval stage for up to 3 years, with those in colder conditions usually taking longer to metamorphose. All leptocephalus larvae start out with no sex organs, then develop female organs, then develop male ones, becoming simultaneous hermaphrodites. They will ultimately become eith male or female and it is likely that environmental factors are the main determining factor. During metamorphosis into a juvenile, the leptocephalus can reduce in size by up to 90%, resulting in the juvenile being smaller than the larva. The process of maturation is poorly understood, but it seems that most morays will be sexually mature by three years of age.

(Image: multiple photos of a particularly large leptocephalus larva (not sure what species). It is a translucent organis, wth a body shaped like a very long leaf, narrow at both ends. In the frint is a very tiny head. End ID)

Morays are shy and generally avoid humans. Though some cultures have hunted them for food, they are often not considered a particularly good food source. Many species have high levels of chemicals called ciguatoxins in their bodies, which can lead to a condition called ciguatera fish poisoning if eaten. The largest threat to morays is habitat loss. This is especially true for the many species that live in coral reefs, which are in increasing danger due to global warming. Attacks on humans are rare and usually happen as a response to a human sticking their hand in the eel's burrow. Some of the large species could cause significant damage with a bite. Some species, usually the smaller ones, are found in the aquarium trade, thought they are not good pets for beginners as even the smallest morays are still large for aquarium fish and have some specific requirements. The curiosity many morays have has led to some becoming familiar with and even friendly to humans, often the result of feeding them. They can recognize individual humans and remember them over the course of years. Aquarium employees sometimes report that the eels will come to nuzzle and play with them and have personalities like dogs. Marine biologists and professional SCUBA divers Ron and Valorie Taylor befriended a pair of eels they named Harry and Fang at the Great Barrier Reef who would remember them and come out to visit them year after year.

(Image: a SCUBA diver hugging a large, brown moray with black spots. End ID)

(Video: A shot video showing Valeria Taylor and a moray eel she befriended)

(Video: the song "That's a Moray", a parody of the song "That's Amore" by Dean Martin)

#wet beast wednesday #i accidentally typed moron eel more than once #moray eel #eel #anguiliformes #fish #bony fish #fishblr #fishposting #eelposting #marine biology #biology #ecology #zoology #animal facts #informative #image described #that's a moray #educational #Youtube

[xervn]

like a french girl 🎨

part 1 - paint me | part 2 | art major ellie x dance major reader | ellie photo

ao3 link

summary: ellie had been struggling with finding the perfect model for her art final. that was until she saw you.

18+ MDNI | 2.2k words | tags; college au, pining, only a little explicit, no use of y/n, not proofread

disclaimer: not an art or dance major, don't shoot!

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Scribble, scratch, throw. This has been Ellie’s routine since she moved onto campus.

Why? Her professor told her that she draws the human body like it’s lifeless. Ranting about how they’re too one-dimensional and have no depth, her lines are too sharp or not sharp enough; flat and boring in looks and in feeling. 

Now listen, Ellie has nothing against criticism. She respects her professor and she’s aware that her drawings lack “vitality”. It’s been something she’s struggled with for a while now, an effect of some recent events and overall adjusting to college life. 

Ellie isn’t unable to grasp the anatomy of the body, in fact it’s the opposite. She knows the human body is complex and needs thorough observation. The way the sun hits the skin, the hairs on a knuckle, the creases of a smile. Wide, small, big, tall; no two bodies are exactly the same. 

Really, the imagery is so clear to her, but she finds it impossible to transfer the life and motion of the body onto a piece of paper without truly understanding the person. The way she sees it, every body has a story, and in order to make a good piece she needs to know that story.

Since art school is filled to the brim with inspiring, exciting, and vibrant people, she has, of course, tried to talk with them. She attempted to get to know the models, ask them general questions and hope something clicks. Unfortunately, that has yet to happen. She can’t really ask her friends either without it getting awkward. Imagine, “ Oh, hey guys! Can you guys get naked and pose in one spot for my homework?”   Hear how weird that sounds? Even though she’s sure Jesse would definitely be down, she values her eyes.

 Any “muse” she could possibly ever want was right in front of her, so why was it really impossible for her to find one?

 Well, because Ellie didn’t find anyone interesting enough. She’s not shallow or anything, it has nothing to do with how the model looked, Ellie has had several good-looking models. It was more about how she perceived them. It’s just that she hasn’t seen a model that made her ask questions like: “ How’d they get that scar?”  “ What does that tattoo mean?” Stuff like that.

The last interesting model she had was probably a fucking homeless guy she shared a blunt with outside a gas station many moons ago. Till this day, he might be one of her best pieces. There’s not a lot of moments like that here.

Nonetheless, Ellie saw this developing– extremely lame— personal requirement of hers annoying as shit. It’s holding her back big time, but she couldn’t help it even if she really wanted to.

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It’s practically useless to keep trying. The tiny voice in Ellie's head presses her to keep going, keep failing, but enough is enough. She is seriously burnt out and any more of this might kill her. The only thing that could help right now is a meaty slice of pizza and a blunt as soon as she thought of it.

Ellie clears out her desk, knocking the stack of crumpled paper into a conveniently placed trash can; a placement made from her constant trials and errors. She pushes up, and stretches widely, obnoxiously groaning like an old man by the end of it. She quickly tidied herself up, tying up half of her hair into a ponytail and throwing on a dark-green flannel shirt she had to sniff before wearing over her plain white tee. She takes a quick look into her floor-length mirror, making sure she looks presentable before grabbing what she needs to head out.

Just as her hand reached for the silver knob, Ellie felt this overwhelming urge to look back. God, she knows what she is going to look back at, but she really hopes she doesn’t. Unfortunately, her eyes land on her sketchbook, laid flat on the desk underneath a lamp’s warm light. She shouldn’t.

She needs a break. She knows she needs a break, but there is a twinge of hope, faith, lodged somewhere inside her. The same faith that’s kept her from dropping out every day for the past four months. Ellie groans as she drags her feet to her desk where she whisks up the brown book and shoves it in her tote bag with an accompanying pencil. She swivels back to the door and strolls out, silently praying her mood improves in the next hour.

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The cafeteria was surprisingly crowded, but Ellie managed to get her pizza without saying ‘fuck it’ to the line. Still, the thought of eating between this buzzing mess when she was in such a shitty mood turned her off. Thankfully, she knew that everyone would be everywhere but the upstairs balcony, especially during this chilly time of year. No sane person would eat out there, and she’s not particularly sane. Ellie saunters off to the balcony and sits herself at a small table facing the view.

It only took a glance around before she came to the realization that the view is not really a view. There’s only a dorm a few feet away, directly across. It’s a large brick-laid, generic building with wide windows. If it weren’t for the blinds, the view into a room would probably be good enough to read a label on something. Ellie’s freckled face grimaces at the thought, imagining what it’d be like if someone watched her rage as she messed up her homework over and over from this distance. Despite that, she thought it’d probably be a pretty good spot to live in. It’s close to the cafeteria and probably a lot bigger than her 1x1 dorm.

With a twinge of curiosity piquing her mind, Ellie glimpses over the windows, and for the most part, they are all closed.

All closed, but yours.

Yours doesn’t even have blinds. You’re on the 3rd floor and almost completely unobscured in a black camisole, sitting on your questionably roomy windowsill with a leg perched up. Ellie can see the fairy lights strung up in your bedroom, and a line of succulents closer to the window; ordered by size, which she briefly thought was cute. 

You aren’t facing the window, so she can only see your back. What she could see, though, is you doing your hair, occasionally swaying to what she can only imagine is music. Your room is high, but low enough for her to identify you if she had the pleasure of knowing you. Knowing you, reverberates in her head. Does she know you? Has she met you before? Amongst that babble, there is one more question she is slowly trying to gather an answer to. 

Time passes, most definitely shorter than Ellie would have thought passed. Her eyes have been glued on you the whole time, she even forgot about her, now freezing cold, pizza just so she could gawk at you. She still hasn’t seen your face yet, barely even a glimpse, but she already thinks you are stupidly beautiful just by the way you move.

From the graciousness of your movements alone, she thought there was no way in hell you didn’t know she was watching. At some point, your arms got tired, so you smoothly rolled your aching shoulders back; stretching into an arched, effortlessly perfect posture. Ellie’s eyes traced that slight curve of your back as if you’d disappear if she broke off from you.

There is no way it gets better from that, is what she thinks to herself, only to be shut up immediately after when she sees that perfectness of your back stay as you bend over and shift onto both knees to grab something far away, bringing your shorts in view. So short— so tight , they could easily be mistaken for panties. 

It was unexpected to say the least, Ellie could feel her face heating up and had to look around her to see if anyone else could see what she was seeing right now. Ellie wondered about the practicality of those shorts, wondered what exactly they were supposed to cover, leering at the plush of your ass peeking out. She thoughtlessly lets her jaw drop before muttering out a low, impressed, and barely over a whisper, “Well, fuck.”

You must’ve noticed your shorts riding up, since you quickly pulled them down after you grabbed what you wanted. Ellie clears her throat, internally scolding herself for being so gross— so perverted. Her brows furrow in embarrassment from all the dirty thoughts she brewed up in that moment. But for some reason, she still doesn’t look away. Well, there’s a list of reasons for her to look away, but she feels like ignoring it. 

Then a cold gust of wind bites past her face, clearly a sign from the universe that she should snap out of it, and snap out of it she does. 

What the hell happened to her? What is it about you that she keeps leaning into? Suddenly something clicks in her brain. After months of creative agony, something finally clicked. She has sat here completely fascinated by you and she couldn’t tell sooner?

In all honesty, to say she is just “interested” in you would be an understatement. Yeah, now she thinks you’re the perfect model for her final, but she wants to know you beyond just the drawing. A plus is that you just happened to be hot, and Ellie has never been attracted to a subject before, so the whole thing was new and exciting to her. Just the thought of drawing you made her remember why she loved art so much.  Ellie reaches for her tote bag sitting in an empty seat beside her, pulling out her sketchbook with more enthusiasm than she probably ever has. She sets the book down, opening up a blank page with one hand and tightening her grip on her pencil in the other.

She looks back up at your window, ready to sketch your life onto paper and..  Shit. You’re looking back.

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Today has been a good day for you, your teacher chose  you to teach the choreo you’ve been working on for weeks to your classmates. It was an obvious ego booster for you. You felt good and you wanted to look good too, even if you weren’t going out anywhere. It was just one of those nights. You wanted to experiment with your hair, thinking maybe you’ll do something new before your next practice. Dye it, cut it.. something.

It’s been a while since you started, and after several wrist and shoulder cramps, you were finally finished. You take a look into your hand mirror, peering at your reflection. You’re satisfied now, looking exactly how you’re feeling if you minus the dingy sleep clothes you’re in. 

♫ My heart, I never be, I never see, I never know. ♫

Grimes? Really? You pout, upset that your playlist didn’t magically read your mood. What you need is real 2000’s hot girl music. Britney Spears, Nelly Furtado, or Beyoncé for crying out loud.

“Alexa, skip!” You shout across the room, just loud enough for the device to hear. 

The stupid thing doesn’t even light up, so you call out a few more times but to no avail. Isn’t the whole point of that thing to be voice automated? You sigh and look around for your phone, and seeing it’s nowhere in front of you, you figure it’s behind. You twist your torso to find your phone behind you and luckily you do. As you pick it up, you casually glance out the window without any expectations. 

Did you see a figure in the blur as you looked away? You question your eyes, but you decide to take another look and just find out for yourself.

You peer back down and your eyes meet with someone else’s. The sudden eye contact between you and this woman instantly mortified you. Your heart sunk, and all you could do was raise your brows stupidly. She was surprised too, even in the dim light you could see her shocked expression boring back at you. Not only that, it went on for way longer than it should have. Any normal person would’ve looked away, but her eyes lingered on you before she hastily turned away. 

You’ve been sitting here, dressing up your hair, listening to your music without a care in the world. Far too absorbed in yourself to realize there’s someone outside your window. You slide off your windowsill and out of sight. Just as your bottom finally hits the wood floor, you feel the coldness of it against your skin and you’re immediately conscious of the fact that your ass was literally out at some point. 

The poor girl was trying to eat her food and you were bending over in front of your window like a harlot. It certainly didn’t help that she looked kinda hot. Did she? You peeked over your windowsill, hoping to get another look to really assess her hotness, but she was already gone. Whatever, maybe she didn’t see? But she looked embarrassed… embarrassed for you probably!

You hide your face in your hands and topple to the side, letting out a fake sob. Oh, god. You can already imagine Dina’s face when you tell her. You couldn’t help but burst out laughing at that thought. That was humiliating as shit, but it’s whatever. It’s not like you’ll see her again. 

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side note: if you have any tropes you'd like to see w/ this universe pls do drop an ask 🤭

click 4 more!

#ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie the last of us #tlou2 #ellie williams x reader #the last of us part 2 #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #lesbian #ᝰ like a french girl

[skzdarlings]

mine ; lee minho x reader

original ask: requested by @tattywood. “Can you please do ❛ you're mine. you've always been mine. ❜ with Lee Know? I just know you’ll come up with something amazing! 🩶"

pairing: lee minho/reader content info: another pair of star-crossed lovers lol. reader is kissed by a different guy without her permission. possessive sex. unsafe sex. lots of biting and marking and grabbing. word count: 3700 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

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You finally escape.

When the date is over and your supposed boyfriend leaves, you run out the back door.  Your parents are distracted, waving goodbye to your boyfriend as he pulls away in his expensive car.  They chat between themselves on the front porch of the family estate. 

“Such a remarkable young man,” they say.  “So wholesome.  So intelligent.“

So rich, is what they really mean.  Because he is not wholesome; he is a bully and a bigot at the best of times.  He derides anyone he deems beneath him, which is just about everyone.  He is also not intelligent, as true depth of intellect is revealed in conduct.  Someone that cruel and ignorant is not intelligent.  You have engaged in more stimulating discourse with birds.

But he is wealthy.  Your parents picked him for you and have been forcing the relationship along, contriving dates without telling you he will be there, inviting him into your home, encouraging his empty and shallow affection.  You encourage nothing, sitting stiffly whenever he touches you: an arm slung around your waist, a hand on your lower back, a kiss on the cheek.

Maybe you were naïve to think it would not escalate before its time, that you could bear it cordially until his interest withered and died.  Foolish.  He is not here for you but your name.  He does not care how you feel.  He does not care if you want him.  He wants the money and connections and power, sharing a bed with your parents through you.

Today he cornered you when you were alone.  He backed you into the wall and kissed you.  An unwanted kiss is a disgustingly slimy thing, all tongue and teeth and the bad, unfamiliar taste of a vile man’s breath.

Your whole unlived life flashed in your mind’s eye.  Every second was irredeemably awful.

So you run.  Out the back door, to the garage, weaving around your father’s cars.  Your old bike is hooked on its rack and you lift it down with some grunting effort.  You are dressed for a date, wearing a pristine ivory dress your mother picked, white lace stockings, and delicate flats.  It is not the ideal outfit for riding a bike.  It is a pretty but flimsy thing.  Summer nights are warm but there is a crisp breath on the wind as the sun sets. 

But if you stop for even a second, even just to change clothes, even just to catch your breath, then you will never get away. 

You swing onto your bike and escape via the back lane.  It is a long ride across town but your adrenaline propels you onward.

It is very obvious when you have crossed into new territory.  Across the park trail and over the railroad tracks is a different world.  The houses get smaller, more ramshackle, junk piled around the fully abandoned abodes.  Even the lived-in homes have old trucks and rusted goods stacked on their lawns.  It is a consequence of impoverished anxiety, hoarding in fear of one day having nothing.

Indeed, a very different part of town. 

Your parents are probably furious they cannot find you, but they will assume you ran to a nearby friend’s house.  If they knew where you really were, which friend you went to see, they would surpass furious and venture all the way into horror. 

But they are far away now.

You feel nothing but relief as the air changes.  You know it is the chill of a summer night as the sky turns blue, but it convinces you the air is clearer.  You exhale and feel as though you are releasing a breath that you have been holding all day.

Your journey takes you to a familiar yard.  You remember the first time you ever visited, standing so small and uncertain on the front steps, waiting for a kiss you actually wanted.

A kiss that never came.  

You park your bike against the side of the house.  You walk up the front steps on shaky legs, weak from speedy riding.    

You open the screen door to knock on the inside door.  While you wait for an answer, you fiddle with your appearance, adjusting any evidence of wind-swept dishevelment.

Oh, you are so nervous.  You were so hellbent on just getting here, you did not register any feeling beyond determination. But now you are standing on this porch in your flimsy white dress, the sun set, the day done.  You are doing something you should have done a long, long time ago and suddenly fearing you are far, far too late. 

No answer comes.  You knock again.

Your stomach forms a pit you hope you will eat you whole.  Is he ignoring you?  No.  The windows are shut, the blinds closed.  He cannot even see you.

You take a step back.  Even with everything sealed shut, you should be able to see a hint of light.  The house is small, a single story.  There are only so many places he could be.

He isn’t home, you realize, first with relief that he is not ignoring you, then with dejection.  Of course he’s not home, you tell yourself.  What were you even thinking?  Silly girl.  Riding all the way out here, expecting him to be sitting around and waiting for you.  He has a life of his own.  He probably doesn’t even think about you.  You’re pathetic.

You know you are being a little melodramatic.  Your emotions have been running at an extreme all day.  They finally become too much to bear.  You sit down on the steps and cry. 

Some time passes.  You eventually calm yourself enough to wipe your eyes.  You feel the cold more acutely now, wrapping your arms around yourself for warmth. 

You are not sure what to do now.  You refuse to go home, knowing what awaits you.  You have nowhere else to go. Your future is murky, which is still more comforting than the vision of it when your boyfriend forcibly kissed you.   

You sigh.  You know if you wait long enough, your friend will come home and help you.  Even if he doesn’t want you, even if he can be a bit standoffish at times, he has the warmest heart you know.  You met doing volunteer work, in fact.  You know he will help you like he would help anyone in need.

It does not mean you do not feel pathetic, curled up and shivering on his porch steps.  You are debating a course of action when a truck rolls into the yard with a flash of headlights and a noticeably hiccupping engine.  It pulls around the side of the house.

You stand and take tentative steps to follow.  You are still and quiet as the rough rumble of the truck comes to a wheezy stop. 

The driver door flies open.  He jumps out, cursing.  Your breath catches and all your hypotheticals dissipate in wake of the reality of him.

Lee Minho.

He is wearing his old, dusty leather jacket, something of a signature piece due its reliability.  His jeans are torn at the knee, likely a legitimate tear and not a fashion statement, his old work boots a bit scuffed.  He is a working man of limited means and nothing functional goes to waste.  

He is beautiful as ever.  Dark hair falls across his forehead and he pushes it back with a forceful rake, the softer pieces fluttering forward again.  He has an athletic frame, but delicate features despite his near-perpetual scowl.  When he does laugh, it is a hilariously boisterous sound.

He is scowling right now.  Cursing to himself as he stomps around the beat-up truck.  He wears a carabiner with a bundle of emergency tools, grabbing a miniature flashlight to guide his way.  He props open the hood and starts rustling around inside.  He curses again, then he puts the light away so he can reach inside with both hands.

You do not mean to startle him.  You thought he might have seen you, observant as he is, but apparently the truck has him distracted.

“Minho,” you say. 

You cannot see him too well in the dark, but you hear the distinctive thud of metal as he undoubtedly smacks his head on the open hood.  He curses louder this time. 

There is a small light on the side of the house.  You step towards it at the same time. 

He is rubbing the back of his head, frowning, but he comes to a total stop when he sees you.  His eyes widen ever so slightly, his brows drawn in confusion.  He stares intently at you. 

“Hi,” you say.

He just keeps staring. 

“Um. I was just in the neighbourhood,” you say.  “I wanted to see you.  I hope you’re doing well.”

He drops his arm and it swings at his side.  He continues to stare at you, the furrow in his brow more intense. 

“Right,” you say.  You feel a catch in the back of your throat.  Fortunately, you have cried all your tears and will not make a fool of yourself in front of him.  More of a fool, that is.  You want to say so many things but you cannot think of a single word that suffices. 

I missed you so much, you think.  I think about you every day.  Have you thought about me?

It sounds so clingy and pathetic.  Your boyfriend derides such women and their neediness.  Minho is not a man like that, though.  He has never spoken so disparagingly about someone.  You know that, but the words catch nonetheless. 

You exhale a shaky breath, looking aside at nothing. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally say.  “I probably shouldn’t have come here.  It’s been months since we last spoke.  I know we’re not really friends anymore.  I just had no where else to go and I…”

“You were crying,” he says. 

You look at him.  His expression has not softened.  It is still that same scrutinizing stare.  His gaze is intently locked on yours, on eyes that must show the evidence of your crying. 

You wipe your face quickly, embarrassed.  Your gaze lifts when he takes a small step towards you.  He reaches for you, as if he means to wipe your eyes himself, but then he catches the sight of his own hand, covered in black grease from the truck. 

“Shit,” he says, and snaps his arm back. 

“Minho,” you say, your heart fluttering just from the suggestion he was going to touch you.  A small touch from him means more than anything. 

“Princess,” he says, an old affectionate nickname for you, though he speaks it rather dryly.  He is still frowning.  “Are you hurt?”

“Maybe,” you say.  When he reacts physically, his shoulders stiffening, you quickly add, “Not like that.  Emotionally, I mean.  I just… I think I ran away from home.”

“You think,” he says flatly.

“Well, I didn’t really think it through, to be honest,” you say shyly.  “I just… I couldn’t stay there anymore.  You know what they’re like.” 

He flinches as if the memory comes with a strike.  You feel embarrassed, remembering too. 

You and Minho became fast friends through your mutual volunteer efforts.  You thought nothing of inviting him to a neighbourhood party at your parents’ house.  He wore his nicest shirt and fresh pants, but as soon as everyone found out where he came from, they wanted nothing to do with him. 

You are embarrassed to say you did not even notice at first, naively taking politeness for granted.  He had to explain it to you, then you saw their two-facedness everywhere and felt horrible.

You stayed on his side of town after that, at least until your parents put their foot down.  They didn’t want you developing feelings for that kind of boy.   You insisted he was just a friend, even while already in love with him.  His biting wit and good heart had you in thrall. 

You were in denial about your parents being bad people.  You wanted to believe they had your best interest at heart.  They were just set in their ways.  They wanted a good life for you.  You told Minho to just give them time.  He let you go.  They introduced you to your new boyfriend the next day. 

Minho takes a breath.  He shoves his tongue into his cheek, looking pensive.  You are thinking of something to say when he nods his head. 

“You look cold,” he says frankly.  “Let’s go inside.”

You nod, following him to the front steps.  He grabs the porch rail and jumps the steps in an effortless swing.  You shuffle behind him while he unlocks the door. 

He says nothing, just nods at you.  You follow him through, closing the door while he bends down to unlace his boots.  He kicks them to the side while you step softly out of your flats.  When you meet each other’s eyes, you feel a spark. 

You stood in this very spot a few months ago, almost nose to nose, arguing about your parents and what to do.  You knew, deep in your heart, the conversation was not about a mere friendship.  You both had stronger feelings, but you were both scared to act on them given your precarious circumstance.  He did not want to risk everything while you were indecisive.  You wanted to keep everything. 

You have lived a life of great privilege and you are used to getting everything you want.  You have had to confront reality, that you cannot always have everything.   

So, if you can only have one thing, you want him. 

He looks at you with the same dark passion as then.  Your heart skips beats under his intense gaze. 

“You’re here,” he says. Maybe the same memories flicker through his mind.  He tips his head, looking at you so closely, like he cannot believe you are real.   

“Yes,” you say softly, clasping your hands in front of you. “I’m here.” 

“To stay,” he says.

“If you’ll have me,” you reply.  Your heart is beating so hard, it is a wonder he cannot hear it.  Your legs feel even weaker than before, but this time is has nothing to do with bicycles and everything to do with him. 

He swallows, his throat bobbing.  He sniffs and looks aside while idly tugging his jacket.   

“And your boyfriend?” he says, glaring at the far wall. 

Your heart sinks.  It is your turn to swallow. 

“You know about that?” you ask. 

He laughs, not that gleeful sound you know but a sharp cackle.  He looks at you incredulously. 

“Of course I know,” he says.  “I don’t always stay on my side of the tracks.  Sometimes,” he speaks with sarcastic wonder, “I get to repair houses for the pretty rich people.”  He huffs, shaking his head.  “It’s fine,” he says.  “You should be with someone like that.  He’ll give you the house.  The car.  I bet your parents love him too.”

“I don’t want those things,” you say, bearing his bitterness because you understand what he is feeling.  You lift your chin and look him in the eye.  “You’re right, my parents do love him.  But I don’t.  He’s shallow and unkind.  And you—”  Your voice catches.  “You, Lee Minho, are anything but that.  You are everything.  And I… I love you.  I always have.”  You drop your eyes with this confession, suddenly overwhelmed with the sheer emotion pouring out of his gaze.  “I know it’s been a while,” you say.  “I don’t expect you to have waited for me.  I just—”

He laughs again.  It is still dry, but not so sharp.  You glance at him. 

“Princess,” he says. “Don’t tell me you seriously think I could just forget about you.”  He shakes his head.  “It’s like you don’t even know me.  I should kick you out just for that.”

You realize he is joking, the faintest hint of something warm melting his scowl. 

“I can’t give you that life,” he says seriously. 

You step towards him, holding his gaze, pouring as much emotion back at him.  He exhales, blinking quickly, long lashes fluttering as he looks at you. 

“I have no idea what we’re gonna do,” you admit.  “But I know I want to figure it out.  With you.  And no one else.” 

He smiles and it makes you smile.  Then he reaches for you, but stops when he once more remembers his dirty hands. 

“Shit,” he says again, then takes a step back.  “Let me just—”

You take him by the wrist and yank him towards you.  He follows your guidance, his breath catching when you plant his hand on your hip.  It will leave a big black stain on your perfect white dress, the shape of his hand in a possessive grip on your body. 

It is more effective than any word.  He swoops in and kisses you, his other hand cupping your other hip with the same deliberate possessiveness.   You are certain this horrid little gown will be destroyed and you do not care one bit.  You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back. 

“You’re cruel,” he says between kisses.  “Torturing me for so long.  I wanted to kill that man.  But I thought he made you happy—”

“He disgusted me,” you say.  “He kissed me without my permission today.”

“What.”  That stops the kiss and he looks at you with that scowl again.  “I’ll kill him,” he says without any hesitation. 

You just laugh a gentle laugh, shaking your head.  You twist a longer tuft of his hair around your finger, making his tense shoulders go soft as he leans in. 

“You don’t have to kill him,” you say.  “Just make me forget him.” 

Oh, Lee Minho is such an awful tease all the time.  Of course he goes back to just staring at you with a contemplative air, making you wriggle and wonder in his arms.  You whine his name, trying to kiss him, but he dodges it.  Your whimpering makes him laugh, because of course it does. 

Then he gets very serious.  Your heart sends a bolt of heat shooting through your body.  Your thighs press together. 

He presses his forehead to yours.  You gasp when you feel his fingers on your back, the careful slow touch as he tugs your zipper down.  The flimsy dress slides off your body as he steps back to look at you.  You shiver, gazing back at him.  His stare is unflinching as he peels off his jacket and tosses it aside.  His hands are already much cleaner, the distinctive print of his palms still plastered to your dress.  He wipes the rest on his own shirt then tugs it off and tosses it to the side. 

He smirks and wiggles two come hither fingers at you, walking backwards.  You follow him slowly, then give chase when he cackles and runs.  You follow him into the bedroom where he literally sweeps you off your feet.

“And you say I’m cruel,” you tease.   

He closes the door with a firm snap then leans you against it. 

“You are,” he says.  He looks down your body while running his fingers through his hair.  “You are.” 

Then he gets on his knees, first one while he tugs your panties down, then the other, when he hooks your leg over his shoulder and put his mouth on you.  He does not tease anymore, swiftly finding all the ways to make you moan his name.  You are scared your leg will buckle under you when he makes you come, but he holds you steady. 

Then he stands up and cups your face, kissing you deeply, making you taste yourself on his tongue.  It is a good kiss, everything a kiss should be, hot and hungry, slow and deep.  It makes you tingle with aftershocks, blinking at him with delirious pleasure when he pulls back.   

Minho can be loud, can be boisterous, can be scathing.  He can also speak gently, in such a soft, light rasp.  It makes your head spin.   He speaks like that now.    

“This is how it is,” he says, then kisses you again, licks into your mouth.  When you moan, he moans back.  “I make you sigh,” he says.  “I make your pussy wet.  I make you come.  Just me.”

“Yes,” you nod, clinging to him when he carries you to the bed.  “You, Minho.” 

He lays you down, kneeling between your open legs.  They are still quivering from your orgasm.  He looks at you, hungrily, while opening his belt.  He rips it out of his jeans and tosses it behind him, then unzips while leaning down to kiss you.  He dives past your waiting mouth to kiss your throat, biting marks under your jaw, on your neck, on your tits.  You grab his head, hands in his hair, arching your back under his desperate mouth. 

“You’re mine,” he says.  “You’ve always been mine.”

He holds your hips while thrusting inside you.  You imagine his hands leaving a permanent mark, just like that stained dress, a claiming that forever marks you as his.  He fucks you so steadily and deeply, holding you possessively, gasping your name and how good you feel while he takes you. 

“Perfect,” he says in that dreamy voice, rubbing you softly while fucking you hard. It makes you come around his cock, clenching tight, which makes him moan into your mouth.   “Mine.”

You wrap your legs around him.  You lay chest-against-chest, holding each other.  Your nails scratch his back, no doubt leaving your own marks, your whole body littered with his kisses and bites.  There is not a single inch of you that is not branded by him. 

“Yes,” you say.  “Always, Minho.”

Saying his name sends him over.  He comes inside you, claiming you even there, then stays inside you after while you kiss. 

You stay in his arms all night, making love and sleeping then making love some more.  When the sun rises, you wake to him holding you, stroking your cheek affectionately. 

He kisses your forehead and you nestle comfortably against him, happy to be home. 

#lee minho x reader #lee know x reader #minho x reader #skz x reader #lee know smut #lee minho smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids x reader #valentinesdaystories #tattywood

[sorcerersandskillusers]

Little rant about how amazing Dazai is as a character.

I am just so blown away by how much depth there is to him. He is probably the best version of a morally grey character I've ever seen, it not that he isn't too evil and isn't too good, but he has done SO many evil things and SO many good ones that he can't fit either side.

He is both the scariest and most heart-breaking, the most uncaring and the most desperate for help. Every characters perspective changes who he is completely and that's something ive never seen before in fiction

Thinking about Akutagawa makes Dazai seem like a heartless, abusive monster.

Thinking about Ango makes him seem petty and cruel, as well as unable to let go of the past.

Thinking of Atsushi make's he feel reassuring and comforting, a source of hope and kindness.

BEAST made me want to hug Dazai for a thousand years, but also hate him for what he did to Atsushi

Stormbringer made him seem both terrifying and cruel to Chuuya, but also his ultimate protector and the person who most believed in his humanity

In 55 minutes he's a source of hope and reassurance, in Entrance Exam he's sinister and mysterious, as well as super funny and entertaining. In the Dark Era, Oda sees both sides of him and chooses to focus on the side that no one else ever saw, the lonely child who was so buried inside Dazai that even he didn't know it was still there.

We have seen more of Dazai then any other character in the series, he is the only character to appear in every single light novel (minus gaiden cause that's a different story). He plays a super important role in the main series, and we have seen so many sides of him throughout the story. Infact, we've seen way more of him then Atsushi, the literally main character.

But despite all of this, he is somehow STILL one of the biggest unknowns in the series. Despite everything we've seen of him, it still feels like we have just scratched the surface of his character. and the characters in the story feel the same way, the only person to get a glimpse of Dazai's true self is Odasaku, and maybe soon Atsushi.

The deeper you look into Dazai the more you can appreciate him, the light novels especially do the best job of capturing how complicated and interesting his character is, I think most of the Dazai haters out there, are just people who prefer more shallow characters (Not saying that's a bad thing, it doesn't mean those characters are any worse, just that you don't need to think about them to understand them). and if you look at Dazai like that, then of course he seems like a terrible person, you need to actually try to understand him to see how tragic he is, that's what Oda did and that's what a lot of people need to do.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #dazai #dazai osamu #bungou stray dogs dazai #bsd analysis #character analysis #bungou stray dogs character analysis #bsd the dark era #bsd stormbringer

[chaifootsteps]

I kinda really hate how shallow viv's idea of lust is. viv seems to think that "lust" just means being really horny when really it's a lot more than that and not always sexual. lust is the immoral desire for something, be it money power sex etc. when it comes to sex, lust isn't just about a desire for sex, it's about a desire for sex causing someone to think or act immorally (i.e. cheating, harassment, rape, bestiality, etc) consensual kinky sex isn't really considered sinful lust (at least it shouldn't be, though a lot of conservative christians will say otherwise but that's besides the point) and yet that's the type of "lust" that asmodeus is all about. im not saying i want asmodeus to support rape or bestiality or whatever, just that if viv wanted him to represent the sin of lust then she should've made him more than just someone who likes kinky sex and makes sex toys. it's kind of infuriating that beelzebub got the "gluttony isn't just about eating a bunch of food!" treatment but asmodeus didn't get the same depth for his sin. at least delve into the other aspects of lust that isn't just BDSM. valentino is a much better representation of lust. his desire causes him to rape and abuse people. he also has a lust for power and money which plays into him being a pimp so he can earn money and partnering with the other vees so he can gain power. i know he's horrible but lust is SUPPOSED to be horrible! that's why it's a deadly sin! it's not just "christians think sex is bad!" there's an actual legitimate reason why lust can send you to hell! viv is so scared of her characters being bad that she can't even get some of the deadly sins right

Absolutely. The whole point of lust is hungering for something that you shouldn't have, that's bad for you and everyone around you, and yeah, to some people that might constitute any sex that isn't for the purpose of procreation and any shameful spilling of your seed, but for a story about deadly sins in 2024, that needs to be something deeper than "lol dildoes, sex good!"

You lust for power, you lust for your married coworker. You don't lust for your cozily monogamous long-term partner.

#Anonymous #Helluva Boss critical #viv stuff #actual blog post

[cripplecharacters]

hello! so, i currently have an oc in the works. i dont have much for his character yet, and hes kind of a blank slate at the moment, however, whilst trying to develop him i had the idea to give him a disability; its something i dont do with my characters very often, and i feel like it could give some depth and realism to his character. however, i..... dont know where to really start with it? i have the vague idea that i think id like him to have crutches, so some sort of leg disability, but just going off that its been hard for me to find any condition that feels quite right. im unsure about making him an amputee either; seemingly the "go to" for anyone who wants to make a physically disabled character. i want to try and represent a disability thats less fetishized by the general public, and looking through this blog here its definitely apparent that a lot of people are tired of seeing basic half amputee characters with overly functional prosthetics; i wanna avoid that. sorry this has gotten a bit rambly, but basically what im asking is,, do you have advice for what i could use as just. a general starting point in this? im terribly uneducated and lost at the moment and id love some help. thank you :]

Hi!

It's great that you're interested in writing a disabled character (with care)! I'm always happy to see more writers/artists/creatives do that.

You mentioned wanting to give him crutches, which is cool! Mobility aid users in media make me happy. However, you mentioned crutches as meaning a leg disability, which isn't always the case — and while I don't have statistics on it, I believe that most crutch users do not use them for leg-only problems, and a lot of them have the not-so-fetishized conditions. Here are some suggestions of what you could give your character, which hopefully gives you some ideas. If you need, you can get back to us with a more specific question after you figure out what exactly your character has! :-) (smile)

Cerebral palsy — probably the most common reason for using crutches in non-elderly people, and the most common (physical) disability in younger people in general. If your character has diplegic (meaning lower limbs affected) CP, he could use crutches and if he has hemiplegic (one arm and one leg affected) CP, then he could use a single crutch or a cane. Cerebral palsy is generally extremely underrepresented when compared to how many people have it IRL! Just be aware that there is a lot of research involved just about the condition itself — multiple types (spastic/ataxic/dyskinetic), different kinds of body involvement, tons of different mobility aids and orthotics to learn about. There is also hereditary spastic paraplegia, which is not the same as CP but similar and progressive.

Spinal cord injury — the general assumption is that all people with spinal cord injuries are fully paralyzed below the neck or waist, and that's not the case. If your character has an incomplete SCI on any level or just a very low level injury, he could be using crutches or switch between a wheelchair and crutches. It's essential to research SCIs to have them be more than “legs don't work, but that's literally it”. SCI can come with severe nerve pain, spasticity, atrophy, and a lot of other things. Worth noting that spinal cord injury could be traumatic, but could also be congenital (spina bifida) or illness related (polio, transverse myelitis, spinal stroke, or cancer, for example). You could think that it's overrepresented in media, but SCI is generally just used as a “default condition” for why a character is in a wheelchair, and a lot of these representations are unfortunately very shallow.

Paralysis — in the monoplegic sense here. Much more rare than the rest of the things here, but your character could have a single paralyzed leg, largely due to nerve damage. Could be traumatic or illness-related (e.g., cancer, infection, or multiple sclerosis).

Stroke (and other traumatic/acquired brain injuries) — stroke can cause a million different symptoms and depending on what happens to your character exactly, he might need crutches! A big portion of stroke survivors deal with hemiplegia and could use a crutch on their non-affected side, for example. Some kinds of stroke might cause your character to have troubles with balance and require a mobility aid to not fall. Of course stroke will also cause other symptoms for your character (it wouldn't be too realistic to only have him have problems with his legs) for example speech issues, headaches, or seizures. Stroke can happen to anyone, and it wouldn't be weird to have a younger character with it. Very common in real life but very rarely represented in fiction.

Limb difference — you can definitely write a character with a limb difference or an amputation without fetishizing it! The main concern with the fetishization is the concept of the robotic limb that works just as well as or even better than a meat leg, and thus the character is “fixed”. But your character could just… not use a prosthetic. A lot of congenital amputees, people with limb differences, or with high level (above knee) amputations might do that. He could also have a leg length difference, which could cause him to need crutches (for example, Morteza Mehrzad has one of his legs significantly shorter after a pelvic injury, and he uses crutches among other mobility aids).

Chronic pain — very broad category for too many specific conditions to count. Neuropathy in the legs and/or lower back could be a reason for using crutches, for example. Unhealed, or poorly healed past injuries. Arthritis in knees or hips. Hypermobility that makes him unsteady or dislocate joints. Pain in bones or muscles where he can't fully weight-bear.

Gait disorders — another broad category (sorry). Your character could have problems with his gait and need aids for that. It could be caused by dyspraxia (I have it), ataxia, progressive muscular dystrophy (there is a lot of different types), Parkinson's disease, or a lot of other things! Could also be injury related.

And of course you could have multiple characters that are disabled to make sure that there is some variety :)

I hope that the above list gave you some ideas for your character :-) (smile) if you have more questions, feel free to send another ask

mod Sasza

#anonymous #mod sasza #mobility aids #crutches #disabled character ideas #writing advice #writing disabled characters

[pepperkettle]

k so slay the princess is rotting my brain but currently one big thought is chilling in my brain, and like- hear me out (sorry if my wording doesn't convey my thoughts well skskfjdjg)

but I don't think the damsel is entirely as shallow as some may see her as. HEAR ME OUT- compared to the other princesses, yes, she definitely more shallow. and she is also (at least when looking at deconstructed) poking fun at those trying to have an easy and work free romance route where the princess does whatever you like and loves you so, so much. i'm not saying she's supremely deep and that no one understands her but me, but I also don't think she exists solely to mock players with absolutely nothing to say about the nature of human permanence either.

does that make sense? more thoughts below- they're a bit disjointed though so warning ^^;

I personally think the damsel can also represent a very real form love, so to speak.

gimme a min to explain. I think what initially led me to this is a line from the narrator equating the smitten and the damsel to acting like teenagers in love. and that line sorta shifted my perspective a bit on her a little? seeing that kinda made me go "ohhhhhhh makes sense" like it really did remind me of two kids who don't entirely get what dating entails but still want to be together, and given the endgame sequence the damsel's section just kinda cemented this mindset for me.

for clarification the damsel has two(?) bits of dialog depending on whether she's deconstructed or not. If she isn't she says something along the lines of (iirc) "you had a desire and you set that desire free/not caring about what it took or costed you in the process" annnd?? like that's kinda wholesome to me?

like the damsel's love with the player isn't nearly as in depth, complicated, or complete as say the thorn, but it's a passionate love. it's also a naive love. the sort of love you'd find with, well, teenagers having a crush. of course when people get older they see those old crushes as frivolous and flat, but to the people experiencing them in the moment, it's real! it's serious! they were still willing to risk a lot just to be together. and at least at the start, you're willing to be killed by the princess if it means she's safe after having a battle of control against the narrator. it just reads as very human to me. they truly felt that their love could conquer anything.

I feel the thorn is a more 'adult' version of the damsel. it's that passionate love taking on a more mature form. it has more hardships to go through and way more pitfalls and mistakes that one can make compared to the more childish love like the damsel's. there's less theatrics and fanfare, and to me it feels more somber and quiet. it's a contrast between the high stakes emotion filled damsel, and the more intimate, tense, and self-aware thorn. ultimately in the end for both of them, they come to a realization that love is a powerful tool almost in a way that mirror each other.

some of the same occurrences leading up to the route are also shared between the two. like having the princess stab you in the prior route. I also think it's worth noting that in the thorn, the thistles can be seen as/can be referred to a prison of her own making. something she can leave if she was willing to make the effort to do so. it's similar to the damsel's shackles being easily slipped off her wrist. she could free herself.

also by extension, say what you will about the smitten but he loves the princess no matter what form she takes. even when she kills him he still adores her. he is content with being cooked alive by the princess if that's what she wants. i think he's a lot like the damsel in that sense. whatever she wants, she will have. if the damsel is molded to love the player, the smitten is absolutely molded to love the princess in the same way.

#ok that got really long #halfway through i realized the thorn and the damsel have a lot of parallels and my brain exploded sorry #i really love this game and have so many more thoughts but those need other posts :(( #someday soon someday soon... #slay the princess #stp spoilers #slay the princess spoilers #♡ -> post time !

[orchidvioletindigo]

Something I would like people to know as a person who is disabled and out of work is that when a disabled person like me says they did "a lot" in a day, they probably mean that in one of two ways that are not really compatible with working a job.

The first is that they mean "a lot" relative to what they can do as a disabled individual. "A lot" might mean taking a shower, getting dressed, getting the mail, and doing laundry. When you have a job, you are expected to be able to do all of this on top of having a job, but for many disabled people, just doing all of these things alone can make us hit our limit.

The second is that they mean "a lot" as in flitting between many highly varied, short-burst, shallow tasks over the course of the day in order to cope with things like chronic pain or a short attention span. The most in-depth thing they can do is still laundry, and they may have to cycle out certain shallow tasks from day to day because doing the same thing two days in a row could be too much. This is also obviously not compatible with the format of a full-time job.

#actually disabled #the notes

[frostbite-merun]

Aquarium tips!

So if you're new to aquascaping, here's a very simple thing you can do to make your scape look better.

The S l o p e

Angling your substrate towards the back, be it steep or shallow, gives the whole thing depth, and it means that you'll see more of your scape from the front. Obviously don't do this if you want it to look good from all angles, but if it's meant to be seen from one angle, that's a non-issue.

Below the cut are some entries to AGA's 2022 aquascaping competition that demonstrate the S l o p e better than I can.

This is a very dramatic S l o p e for a more dramatic scape. Showing off all of those lovely rocks.

Here's a more subtle S l o p e. It gives the illusion that the path in the middle extends further back than it actually does.

Another path illusion here!

Here's one of the 1st place winners. You can learn a lot about aquascaping just looking at this bad boy, but as far as the S l o p e is concerned, it gives the illusion of extra depth, and it raises bits of hardscape higher up so that you can see them from a level, front angle.

In fact, just go look at AGAs aquascaping contest backlog if you want to improve. A lot of them also have judge's critiques which are very useful.

Also also! Keep in mind that these scapes have their picture taken when they look their best! For the rest of the year they ABSOLUTELY look more wild and frazzled. Plus hundreds of dollars go into them because the cash prizes for these kinds of contest are very, very high. So it's 100% okay if you aren't able to make a big, sexy tank that wins contests and looks good 24/7 365 days a year.

As long as you end up with something that you love, or learn a lot of new things making something that you hate, you're on the right path!

#queue #fishblr #aquablr #aquariumposting #aquascaping

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Cause of Action 5

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: this is a bit of a longer chapter so thank you for waiting! Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

The world seeps in through the slits of your fluttering eyes. The car, the street, a door you don’t recognise. You hang from a thick arm, feet clumsy as you try to match the gait that guides you forward. Your head feels like a rock and it isn’t long before you sink back into oblivion.

Only for a moment. You see a lightly, a fuzzy glow above you, the hazy shapes that crowd the room. You’re sat down on a cloud and as you’re let go, you fall onto your back. A heavy sigh gust through the space like a storm swirling in.

You bring your hand up as you try to steady your spinning vision. You smack yourself in the face as your eyes twitch. You furrow your brow, putting all your strength into pinpointing the figure standing above you. He moves, back and forth, pacing ominously as you languish in confusion.

“Where…” your lips form the single world but you can’t finish the question.

You don’t know this place. You’ve never seen these walls or laid on this bed. You don’t know where you are. You’re scared but something keeps your fear from piquing. The shell of numbness that paralyses you adds to the brief spell of horror before just as quickly petering out.

“Lloyd,” a growl permeates the fog of your existence, garbling as the tones hiss lower. You know that voice, your mind clings to it, unwinding the riddle; Andy. “...you give her…” You feel a pulse from within as your ears scratch and buzz, “...do I do?”

The words don’t make sense. You can’t piece together their meaning or who he’s talking to. You let your eyes roll back and weakly drag your arms up to rest across your stomach. Your breath catches in your nose and throat, a snore rising as you toe the line of consciousness.

The world shifts. Your eyes snap open and see the thick trim of Andy’s beard, his arms around you as he moves you up the mattress. You throw your arms out to feel the cushiness all around you. You want to sleep forever. It’s the only thought you can discern; you need to sleep.

“Sweetheart…” a tickle on your cheek as his voice fizzles to a dulled echo.

You close your eyes again, a warmth cocooning around you. You plummet into the depths, spinning on your way down, a distant tugging that follows you down. The lights of the club flicker in your head, then the hum of an engine, capped by the sullen tones of your boss. They all mingle to a muddled drone, a ringing in your ears that underlines your blank unconsciousness.

🎀

The faint smell of something woodsy tugs at your nose, an underlying hint of lemon that rouses your swampy mind. You squirm and fight the weight resting at the base of your skull, the limpness in your shoulders and spine. You groan as it takes effort to just open your eyes.

The sight of your awakening would make you scream if you had the ability to. You don’t know if you can do much in the state you are. Your head pounds, your muscles ache, the light of the sun slipping through the window makes you want to puke. You don’t move or think as you conserve your energy, first clearing away the cobwebs.

You stare at the stubble along Andy’s neck and how it thickens along his jaw. His cologne wafts into your lungs with each breath as you watch the pulse beat in his throat. You don’t understand how this happened. 

Are you so stupid that you got blackout drunk in front of your boss? You’ve never drank more than two drinks at a time. So why that night?

You remember the man with the mustache and his special way of coaxing. You grit your teeth as you focus, trying to delve past the shallow layer of your memories. You barely remember what he and Andy were talking about. Something about a lawsuit but you could guess that given your line of work.

You plant your hand on the mattress between you and Andy and push yourself away, rolling flat on your back with a whimper. You draw your arm up and sling it over your face, blocking out the assault of sunlight. The bed shifts subtly and you wince as a small cough rises from his throat.

“You’re awake,” he says bluntly.

You moan and let your arm slip away from your eyes. Andy sits up as you blink at him, vision glossy at the edges as you focus on the dark tee that strains across his bicep. He leans forward and rubs his eyes.

“What… what happened?” You croak, voice hoarse and painful, “I don’t…”

“You don’t remember? Anything?” It’s almost an accusation.

“I’m sorry… no…”

You look down, noticing how the blanket is wrapped awkwardly around you. The edge of it lets the cool air tickle your side as it appears you fell asleep atop the covers and he pulled the hem over you from the other end. The pure white strap of your bra peeks up above it and the glimpse of your naked side, your panties slightly crumpled around your hip.

Mortified, you pull the blanket to cover yourself fully. Andy raises his head and stretches his neck as he turns his back to you. The tension laces the air and winds around your neck. Oh no, you’ve done something horrid.

“I must’ve drank too much…” you murmur.

“You think?” He stands and rests his hand on the night table, “what you did could get us both in a lot of trouble?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why– I don’t usually drink that much–”

“Sure, you don’t. A girl your age, I’m sure you never touch the stuff,” he says dryly, leaning so his arm cords with tension, veins bulging beneath his skin, “it’s a conflict of interest, to say the least.”

“I don’t… did we–”

“I didn’t do anything. I put you in the guest bed. I was trying to do the right thing but you wouldn’t stay out. You crawled in and I couldn’t get you to leave,” his voice is rough, unlike you’ve ever heard it. You’ve messed this all up. “I laid awake all night. I made sure nothing happened and that’s exactly what you’re going to say if anyone asks; nothing.”

You quiver and try to sit up. You whine at the agony of doing so and you keel forward, bracing your tamping temples. He sighs and shifts his weight. You feel him looking at you.

“Look, I’m all about second chances. Lloyd can be a bad influence, he wasn’t exactly subtle last night. And you were obviously not in your right mind,” he mulls his words and clucks, “you’re obviously suffering the consequences of your behaviour so I won’t add anything else to it.”

“I’m so sorry,” you eke out, your insides churning violently as you struggle to still reality.

You raise your head, bobbling as you fight to get to the edge of the bed. The blanket falls away as you forget all modesty. There’s something wrong with you. Is this really what a hangover feels like? You don’t know, you’ve never had one.

You fold over and heave onto the floor between your feet. You nearly slip off the bed but you feel it dip and Andy’s hand catches your shoulder. He eases you back and lays you across the mattress. His large hand brushes your cheek and he touches your forehead.

“You’re in rough shape,” he tuts.

“I’m sorry,” your tears leak out as you shiver, hugging yourself as his warmth sends a chill through you, “I didn’t…”

“We can move past this,” he says as he moves you gently, laying your head against a pillow, pulling the blanket around you once more. His fingertips graze your stomach and you swear you hear a purr. Does he have a cat? “I can’t in good conscience let you go yet, and I don’t think you could if you tried.”

“But…”

“I’ll work from home. You can bank the hours from last night towards today,” he says matter-of-factly, his hand lingering at the top of the blanket, just above your chest, “I’ll get coffee going.”

“Andy,” you sniff, “Mr. Barber,” you correct yourself.

“We’re moving past it,” he looks you in the face, blue eyes stern but smoky, “right?”

You consider him, not quite sure at first what he’s asking. That you want to forget this or that you want something else? That your drunken actions were more than mindless mistakes? No, he can’t want that, he’s made that obvious.

“I’ll be better, sir.”

His throat bobs and his cheek ticks. His brow slants just slightly and his gaze falls to his hand. He retracts it and backs off the bed. He mutters as he gets to his feet, “coffee…”

He turns and marches away. You watch dumbly, helplessly, as you wallow in his bed. How could this have happened? No, how could you have done this?

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #defending jacob #cause of action #the club #au #drabble #series

[bullet-prooflove]

Prey! Series - Part One: Trafficked - OA Zidan x Reader

Tagging: @trublu2u @mrspeacem1nusone @greenies-green @rosaliedepp @whateversomethingbruh @anime-weeb-4-life @daydreaming-belle @burningpeachpuppy @scarlettsakura @divergent146 @upsteadlogic @malindacath @skyesthebomb @@kilikonakapamana @yezzyyae @redpool

When Omar first meets you it’s because a young Ukrainian girl has been found bleeding out on someone’s lawn after being stabbed thirty times. She’s lucky to be alive, he’s told at the hospital while he waits for you to arrive. When he thinks of the nineteen bodies they’ve just found buried in the woods and the shallow grave Hailey had clawed her way out of he thinks luck had nothing to do with it. That girl is a fighter through and through.

When you appear, he isn’t prepared for just how pretty you are. You’ve tried to downplay it; no makeup, hair tied away from your face but you’re naturally striking. You’re wearing civvies, black jeans with battered Doc Martens, a light grey tunic top thrown over the top. You’re in the midst of clipping your badge to your hip when he approaches you.

“Sorry.” You greet him, raising your head to meet his eyes. “It was my day off.”

For a moment the entire world falls away and he’s completely captivated by you. This is what the Quran talks about, he thinks, when you meet your soulmate. There’s a sense of tranquillity, of peace. A familiarity that you can’t explain. That’s how he feels when he shakes your hand.

“Hanna Emery.” You introduce yourself. “Human Trafficking Division.”

Hanna

In Hebrew it means compassion.

You certainly live up to your namesake.

He hangs back during the interview. He’s new to the bureau, still finding his feet and he’s experiencing a lot of firsts during this case. Human trafficking is your world, something you’re well versed in he comes to discover as you question Hailey. The technique is different, tailored towards different aspects of the victim’s experience. There’s an emotional intelligence in you that he can’t even begin to fathom.

Through the course of the interview, you learn that Hailey and her sister were trafficked from the Ukraine through an Eastern European employment agency. They were from a small farming community. They each completed a test before participating in a video interview. They’d been ecstatic when they’d discovered they’d been selected for jobs in New York City.

“It’s a scam we see often,” You tell Omar in the aftermath when you’re comparing notes. “They target girls in rural communities, the ones that don’t know any better.”

The girls had been picked up at the airport in a van by three men Snake, Spider and Hog. They’d been transported to a townhouse before descending into what Hailey described as the depths of hell. Your demeanour changes when Hailey mentions the name Snake, it’s a subtle shift, a tension in your shoulders, your eyes flicking upwards.

“Who is he to you?” He’d asked you as he swiped his card over the payment feature of the vending machine. “Snake?”

You’re already tearing open the wrapper of the candy bar he’s just bought you because you’d had to skip out on lunch with a friend to cover his case. Omar figures it’s the least he can do.

“A monster.” You tell him. “I’ve been cleaning up his mess for almost two years now. The shit he’s done to these girls…”

You shake your head as you throw the rest of your half-eaten candy bar into the trash.

It’s when Hailey describes the extent of her abuse that Omar finds himself at a loss. She and her sister Brook were taken to the basement of a townhouse, raped for three days straight. That’s incomprehensible to him, the terror of it, the violation. He has three sisters, the thought of something like that happening to one of them…

It makes him sick.

“It’s a way of breaking them down, keeping them compliant.” You explain to Omar afterwards. “It destroys their hope, erodes their sense of person. They become an object to be used, a vessel for someone else’s pleasure.”

You pause, your fingers toying with the bracelet on your wrist. It’s woven fabric, black, white and red threads all interlocked in an Aztec pattern and secured with a tight knot. It’s a couple of years old, he thinks. He doubts you’ve taken it off since it was given to you.

“They call rape murder of the soul, it’s worse than death. With death there’s peace, an ending. With rape, the person you are is completely obliterated, you can pick up the fragments, but they don’t fit the same way they used to.”

It’s harrowing, hearing it described like that. You must have done thousands of these interviews, heard so many variations of the same story. He wonders if it wears on you, if it takes a little piece of your soul everytime you endure their suffering along with them.

“I’m not sure how you recover from something like that.” Omar says, rubbing his hand over the nape of his neck.

“Some don’t.” You say sadly, your arms crossing over your chest as you look through the window into Hailey’s room. “Hailey though, she’s strong. I think she’s one of the ones that make it.”

“Is it true what you said?” He asks quietly, his shoulder coming to rest against the wall. “Is it really one in five women who get sexually assaulted?”

You sigh as you tilt your head to look at him. He sees the truth of it in your eyes and it devastates him because that means it’s happened to someone that he knows, someone he cares about, and he isn’t sure what to do with that knowledge.

“Yea.” You say softly. “I’m afraid it is.”

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#fbi cbs #oa zidan #oa zidan x reader #oa zidan x you #omar zidan #omar zidan x you #omar zidan x reader

[funhouse-mirror-barbie]

I think the reason my thoughts keep getting caught up in Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss is because on paper, both series seem like they would be perfectly catered to me personally.

“Animated musical comedy with Queer leads that explores redemption and critiques Christianity” is such a fun concept that could be really brilliant and can be explored in a lot of ways, but the execution of these shows have failed on every conceivable level.

It’s so much more frustrating and sad than if they just had a boring concepts, or even if they were just 100% bad all the time. But every now and then there are little heartfelt moments where things almost seem to click, but they never do.

Helluva Boss makes me especially sad, because I still stand by the first season being pretty solid with competent set ups that could have lead us to really interesting ideas and complex characters. But the writers seem so terrified at the idea of someone disliking their protagonists that our main characters never have to confront their flaws, never have to grow or change in meaningful ways, and never get the chance to be fully developed people.

The set-ups in the first season made it seem like the Spindlehorse writers had really matured, and were going to start having serious character development and complex topics. But the very first episode of the second season undid almost everything that season 1 set up and was working towards, and it’s just such a shame.

I think I just have a hard time letting it go because in the case of both shows, it ultimately seems like a lot of very talented animators, artists, composers, voice actors, and other creatives, are all coming together to make something that is narratively just extremely disappointing, and honestly incredibly immature.

It definitely doesn’t help that the writers seem to compare their writing and narrative to other shows like Bojack Horseman, that while not perfect, at least understand how to pace a show and how to write conflict and people in depth. Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel are too afraid to go into that sort of depth, and so all we get from them is shallow story that likes to masquerade as having deeper meaning.

#funhouse convo #media criticism #media critique #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel critique #hazbin hotel criticism #helluva boss critical #helluva boss critique #helluva boss criticism #media conversation #writing critique

[soulfulazrael]

I think the Vs being in the same season as Heaven was such a massive error. Seriously they barely showed up and the stakes got fucked because honeslty what threat do the Vs actually pose? Charlie herself could probably bitch slap them and even if she didn't want to, she could cry to her daddy and have Lucifer to do it and then shred Angel's contract in a paper shredder. They already sent Heaven packing, the Vs themselves don't pose a threat and would need some other op villain to prop them up(Probably Eve or Roo or whatever).

Like all Vox did was get pissy at Alastor and for some reason has a crush on him? Like this just feels like fan service for shippers? Like can we just have people be rivals? And Velvette sang. Val is the only who did anything and even then, it doesn't really go anywhere because they shove this heaven stuff in at the same time.

Yeah. I think this is the example of how little patience Viv had when it comes to Hazbin Hotel. Yes. She had no clue if she was gonna get Season 2, but she should have adapted and instead of shoving everything into one season she should have tried to make season 1 feel like a cohesive and well done story that has a beginning, middle and end. Treat it like a one season series like Over The Garden Wall where while she cannot put all of her ideas into it she can put in some of them and give them time necessary for them to be developed into something great.

To me they should have cut MOST of the plot lines and put in maybe only Angel Redemption where you can focus on it. Let this one idea be focused on and be well developed. Let it be the overarching goal of the season. Redeeming your first sinner and make it feel impactful so even if you do not have a season 2 you still have one cohesive story with beginning, middle and end that can end on an impactful and hopeful note as you explore what it means to redeem someone and feel the weight of redemption when it finally happens. You can explore in depth the most important element of the story, the thing that this story is build upon and what the titular Hotel is all about. Redemption. Through that you can delve into Angel's character, show his flaws and issues that he has to overcome, sins he committed in life he has to atone for and get over and people that he hurt through them. Delve into this idea and explore it as much as you can and when redemption happens you know how much it takes to redeem someone and what it means. And then if you DO get Season 2 you can show this happen a lot faster with more sinners and that would lead to sense of progression around which you can write more drama. Maybe with Charlie who may be getting more and more conflicted as she sees people she grows to care about go away.

Also this allows you to take more time with character interactions. Make them more varied. Maybe through trying to get this one person redeemed you can have everyone contribute in their own way where you can either learn more about them, Angel or both and around that can be made unique interactions between ALL of the characters and it lets you explore more of the hotel which helps you care about it. And it also can lead you to introduce more characters, but those would be all centered around this story and one goal, making it make sense and be cohesive when they show up. It would immensely help with character interactions which are LAUGHABLY sparse as characters barely interact with one another besides the ship pairs like Vaggie and Charlie or Husk and Angel where neither of those even have much of a chemistry at all and require the audience to already be invested in those. Which makes the entire cast feel very shallow. Not to mention that we barely spend any time at the hotel and we see barely any location inside it besides the main hall so when it finally is broken we feel nothing as we barely got to know that location. And it's fixed in ONE song. That's not how you do it. Think about it. All of those emotional beats. First redeemed sinner. Death of Pentious. Death of Dazzle. Destruction of the Hotel. Appearance of Heaven. All of it feels WEAK as none of those ideas were given proper time and so they are barely noticeable. And that was the ONLY chance Viv had at doing those. And she wasted them on this rushed season.

And let me tell you. If I had a choice between putting all of my ideas into one story and almost all of them being underdeveloped and bad in execution or putting fewer ones and letting them be developed into something great then I choose the latter. People may not see all of my ideas, but those they will, they will remember and looked back at fondly. Something I DO NOT think will happen with this.

My idea for seasons of this series would be like this:

Season 1 - redeeming first Sinner who is Angel Dust and main villain is Val. Exploration of Angel and many other characters through trying to get him to achieve redemption where each character gets explored as they try to help out in their own way and either you learn more about Angel or a member of the cast. Ends on Angel ascending and Val beaten and killed by other Vees who in this version may be abused by him and they end up being antagonists of next season.

Season 2 - Other 2 Vees become antagonists as Charlie is now redeeming far more sinners, but she starts to grow weary as she realizes she will be alone eventually which Alastor also exploits to corrupt her. Ends on maybe Velvette being killed as Vox himself may find a way to also attain more power and Charlie becomes more corrupted and destroys a lot of her work while Alastor regrets his actions.

Season 3 - Dealing with Vox and fixing Charlie. Heaven is now being more hinted at and Lucifer himself is now far more involved (who is not as positive character as in the show). Eventually leads to Heaven getting closer as Hotel stops working during this time and population increases again.

Season 4- Heaven and Hell in conflict as everyone tries to fix their mistakes. Maybe ends with both Heaven and Hell now rejecting the main crew as maybe at the end Hazbin Hotel becomes actual Purgatory where sinners can be judged when they die. Abandoned by both Hell and Heaven Charlie and those who remain can forge their own paradise and their own purpose beyond Mandates of Heaven and Cruelty of Hell.

Just an idea

#hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel critique #hazbin hotel critical #vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #vivziepop #hazbin hotel rewrite

[galene-gothic]

What do people see in your eyes?

PAID SERVICES

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

Pile 1

Cards: the seven of wands (reversed), the empress, the two of pentacles (reversed), the sun, the moon, the page of swords (reversed).

You seem to have very tired looking eyes, people see that you're a tired fighter in your eyes. People might assume that you're uninterested in them and other things in general. Your eyes look very defeated and sad. 'Falling in love' by cigarettes after sex started playing when shuffled. Your eyes possess a very calm and deep vibe intertwined with a weary appearance. You seem to be very in-tune with yourself, like, you know, when someone has just been out of or is still going through some sort of a conflicting period in their life but they seem to have faith in themselves and seem to be holding up really well. Your eyes reflect your softer side, some people might assume that you either have a really great relationship with your mother or it is the other way around or your eyes might resemble your mother's. For those of you who wear eye make-up, people might think that your eye makeup is really expensive, I feel like most of you however do not apply make-up, I'm getting people thinking that your eyes are your best feature (bare faced). Some of you might have assymetrical eyes and that seems to be your most attractive trait, some of you might have uneven eyelids (like one is a double eyelid while the other one is a monolid). Some of you have eyes that scream extreme of some sort, can be physically too, for example, really slanted eyes, really big irises, horizontally big eyes, etc. and if it's not physically, your eyes look tired to the point, it's obvious that you require rest or some of you look high at all times. People might believe that you really need to rest or something simply just based off your appearance. You might have a duality, when you smile, your eyes might smile with you or just brighten up, people believe you're open to new experiences and have good things going on for you when they see your eyes especially when you're interacting with people you are happy around. The sun and the moon came up in the same reading that too side by side. People think that you're uncertain or confused about most things in life right now and learning a lot. Your emotions might be visible in your eyes. People also think that you're hiding something because of the way you move your eyes, like the way you squint them, how quickly you change your eyes to look a certain way, the way you look at others and also the way you rest them. People think that you're an anxious person when they look into your eyes. Your eyes remind people of rivers, the way their water flows, how calm yet sad they appear to be, the depth they seem to possess though the ground is visible from above the surface. Whenever you're feeling indecisive, it's written on your face. You might squint your eyes a certain way when you're confused or listening to other people's opinions or ideas. Some believe that you might let other people's words affect the way you think or act.

Pile 2

Cards: the hanged man (reversed), the six of cups (reversed), the seven of wands (reversed), the ace of pentacles (reversed), the queen of wands (reversed), the seven of swords (reversed).

TW: brutal honesty

Your eyes make you look a bit close minded? However, it's funny because this card also means that you look like you go along with the crowd without personal insight. Your eyes might look a bit shallow, not gonna lie. People might assume that you lack vision and are only following trends of some sort right now. If this doesn't resonate with you please select another one. This might be a temporary energy. Your eyes reflect that you're overly affected by events from the past. People assume that you're not fully living in the present, you seem to be thinking about someone or something at all times. However, people are also seeing that you're learning how to take from the past and build for your future. Ahahaha, people might assume that you're in your player phase right now or you simply just don't have any interest in the things that you do or the people that you are around right now. People can see that you've been through a hard time in your eyes. People think that you have missed an opportunity of some sort whether that be romantic or career wise which has left you deeply sad. People also see that you have a hard time taking risks but right now you are just doing whatever you feel like doing. 'I love you so' started playing when shuffled, the line that stood out was "I just need someone in my life to give instructions" you seem to be in need of advice or just indecisive. You might have recently ghosted someone, got ghosted or ironically both. Socializing and connections seem to come easy to you. Even if you might be an introvert, you might have been someone who was mistaken as an extrovert or just had an above average social life before but now you seem to be extremely introverted and even kind of cold or people think that you should distance yourself from others right now since you aren't doing very well and you'll just end up hurting yourself and others. You might have sharp and suspicious looking eyes. People can see that you don't trust others easily and also that you perceive people enough to psycho analyse them. People might feel judged when they look into your eyes or might think that you're judging someone else. People also assume that you don't trust yourself and that's why you rely on others opinions to make decisions. People also get a playful vibe from you though, it's like kind of like you're very charming and fun to be around but you have a depth that others didn't expect from you.

Pile 3

Cards: the seven of swords, the hierophant, the five of pentacles (reversed), the knight of wands, the six of pentacles, the two of wands.

Aww, 'suck it and see' by Arctic Monkeys and 'can't take my eyes off you' by Kid Freud (I think it's a cover though) started playing one after another. Your eyes look like you are thinking that something or someone is not as they seem to be. You might be the type to psychoanalyze people too. People think that you are trying to hide something when they look into your eyes. You come off as if you are profiting at others' expense and I don't think it's in a betrayal way but more of a charmer way, you might charm someone to the point you're the only person that they can think of and you might enjoy it, you might have libra, leo, 1st house, 5th house, 10th house or 11th house placements, you want to be liked by everyone but especially popular and well known people, atleast that's what people assume when they look into your eyes. Some of you might have puppy eyes, I'm getting you being able to get away with stuff by simply just giving your puppy eyes and even if you don't have naturally puppy eyes, you know how to make them look puppy-ish when it's needed. People think that you do not follow some rules that are created by the society, like for example, you might not believe that marriage is necessary or you might not think that sex work is something shameful. Someone here has their juno in taurus. It's funny because you seem to be a popular outcast and someone who doesn't fit in but is well liked but still hated, adored but despised, all at once. You are ironically viewed as someone who has a good yet toxic and light-hearted yet intense love life. People think that things are starting to get better for you now. People also think that you've changed and matured a lot. People assume that you aren't the type to be shy when it comes to the people that you like. You just seem very confident and I think it's because you're physically attractive or just attractive enough to the opposite sex. People think that you have plans about how to make people like you and how to charm people. Your eyes also look very flirty. Wow, you also come off very generous though, people assume that you're selfless and don't have trouble forgiving people which might cause them to think that you're detached and don't have many emotions. People think that you try to be fair and justiciable and I think it is true. People think that you believe in giving and receiving when it comes to people that you care about, usually romantically. Since, romantic relationships and attractiveness are coming out a lot in this pile, people might objectify you a lot like people might bring up your love life and the way you appear in almost every conversation. It's funny, people think that you're impulsive, don't have many emotions and play others but also think that you are extremely genuine, giving and loving. Also, even though you're seen to be impulsive and choose to live freely and wildly, you also come off as the type to plan stuff out. People think that you trust your guts and that you have an active imagination while still being able to maintain your daily life regardless of how delusional and out of impulse you act. Things just seem to work out for you.

#astro notes #astrology #astro observations #astrovations #intuitive readings #pick a card #pick a deck #pick a gif #pick a photo #pick a picture #pac reading #pick a card reading #pick a pile reading #tarot pac

[animehouse-moe]

Oushi and Ableism In A Sign of Affection

I want to get better at sharing more granular opinions on matters, so here's one of a few posts that's a sort of catchup from a busy weekend.

I totally get why everyone is talking nonstop about Oushi's ableism within the series- it's entirely justified and a point that's meant to be driven home. But I think a lot of people miss the remaining entirety of his character because of that.

Villains always get dismissed very quickly for their behavior, and I understand, but it means a lot of people fail to understand the purpose behind it. That's another conversation though I'm here to talk about Oushi.

Anyways, Oushi = Ableism is the thing I always see, and it's not wrong but it's abstracting a lot of the point of his character.

To him, Yuki is a delicate flower that needs protecting, and a girl that should be given everything on a silver platter.

The easiest example is that he exclusively talks to her via sign language. And I'd certainly forgive a lot of people for not quite understanding why that's ableist, so let me explain quickly with a very shallow and borderline incorrect answer.

You're in a foreign country, but you've studied their language so that you can converse with them in it, and you're pretty good with it. You try to speak with someone and they instead choose to respond in your language. Doesn't feel great, does it?

That's the point of ableism like this, it neglects the efforts of the individual to decide for them that another person should interact with them in a way that's "easiest" for them. They decide what is right and what is easy for another, and by doing so entirely discount the person that they're attempting to cater to.

But that's that, let me explain the depths beneath Oushi's ableism.

He learnt sign language specifically for Yuki, and chooses to converse entirely within sign language. What he thinks is that he's doing Yuki a favor and doing what's easiest for her. I mean, he spent all that time and effort on learning sign language just so that he could more easily interact with her.

But that point goes past Yuki because of how selfish it is. And childish, even.

Oushi's character is one that hasn't really matured past the idea of a young and insecure Yuki that he would have framed her as when they were younger. He sees her as fragile and something that should be protected, something that others would take advantage of. He's a person that can only see things through his own eyes.

And that inability to mature and view things from somewhere else is what's created this ableism. He loves Yuki, but he can't tell her and he thinks that his feelings will get across with his childish behavior. He can't say those words so he attempts to hold her within his world and keep her from slipping through his grasp.

Oushi is obviously very ableist, but the point is that his intentions are not to be. The point of his character is to illustrate the many ways that ableism arise in day to day life in forms and shapes that are not explicitly malicious. His whole character is a cautionary tale about how you interact with people, about how you should be meeting them where they set things rather than you deciding for yourself.

So yeah, A Sign of Affection remains an incredibly great story with very deep and important characters that I've been loving. They provide so much context and information to the reader/viewer that's deeply important in so many different conversations.

#a sign of affection #yubisaki to renren #ゆびさきと恋々 #yubiren #yuki itose #nagi itsuomi #anime and manga #anime #anime reccs #anime recommendation #anime review