#cycles render engine

[cjgladback]

[ID: Two sets of image comparisons, testing three Pixel Filter width values on two camera angles of a 3D render. The consistent information is listed across the bottom of each comparison, including the credit:

Models, textures, and tests by CJ Gladback Pixel Filter Type: Blackman-Harris Cycles Render Engine, Blender 4.0.2 512 samples denoised and mixed with original in compositing

The compositor nodes overlay the images to the right of this information; the rendered image is denoised using its normal and albedo passes, mixed with a factor of 0.8 over the original image, denoised again, and mixed over the original image with a factor of 0.975 for the final composite.

Both comparison shots feature a green plaid blanket in golden hour lighting, folded around the shaft of a cane and fastened with a leather belt. The first shot is closer up and from above, focused on the curved folds of the blanket where they bend around the cane. The second is from a glancing angle to the top of the blanket and further away. Each image compares a pixel filter width of 0.5 px, 1.5 px, and 2.5 px. In both, there's a strong wave-like pattern called moire in the 0.5 px example, most visible where the weave of the fabric is compressed, either from bending away from the camera or shrinking into the distance, on the folded blanket edges and, in the oblique shot, on the top of each blanket layer. The 1.5 px example nearly eliminates the moire, only a ghost of curves cutting through the woven patten where the 0.5 px distortion was most extreme. The 2.5 px examples are both very soft, completely eliminating the moire but also smoothing the details of other materials in the shot. End ID]

Yesterday I learned what the Pixel Filter in Cycles does! It would make sense if I had heard of it (I've followed plenty of people trying to create 3D pixel art and the automatic antialiasing that the filter represents would have to affect that). But I don't recall ever touching that set of parameters in the Film render settings before.

That changed yesterday while I was being productive in anything but my handful of equally-high-priority items and happened to open Blender Artists to check their support section for questions I could answer. And lo! There was one about Blender seeming to post-process renders to the detriment of a fabric texture, even when the artist had requested no denoising nor other compositing functions. I've had my share of suspected glitches when Blender's image viewer just doesn't handle an irregular zoom well, but the artist confirmed it had the same issue when viewed outside the app. How bizarre! Obviously it required some research.

Thankfully, from photography, monitor troubleshooting, and more™ I'm quite familiar with the term moire (shoutout to my once-classmate Hannah Paz-Westbrook who's done whole series' of paintings exploring it). So I was outfitted with a helpfully specific search term that turned up a past struggle with moire on a dense pattern rendered in Cycles -- and their solution was to render a larger image and scale down and widen the "pixel filter." I had to look up where that even was and in the process found an old discussion on what it does.

But the new knowledge wasn't complete until I could do a few tests to see how it could be applied...and once you have your tests and images are nicely labeled for your own reference, obviously you gotta publish them. So behold!

It's not surprising that the default 1.5 px width works best with this blanket and its surroundings at this level of zoom when I had already dialed in all the normals' intensity with zero awareness of this value to tweak. But it will definitely help me in future high-detail cloth renders to know that there is another control to work with when the moire comes to play.

[gordonfreemanspussy]

@scienceteamtober day 4: sweet voice

omg who is he singing for.....

[jermany-gaming]

[phoenixiancrystallist]

Month 11, day 27

And now for something completely different: an axe!

[bugjester]

following a blender tutorial for a little car and i can't get my whole car to not be red help help help help help help help he

[trickinabucket]

Everybody!!! I found out how to do something w nodes I’ve been trying to figure out since like. A month after I started fuckin w blender

I had 3 slight variation of a skin shader that were all separate nodes; there were 4 in all. Each worked w a different color ramp. Everything else was the same.

So, u could account for cool, neutral, olive, and warm tones.

The problem was, it was a bit more complex than necessary to have them all be separate nodes. And what if I wanted to test out the different undertones for a new character? Have the same value, but different undertones? It’d be a pain shuffling thru them all to find out what u want.

But now it’s one shader! There’s a different output based on choice, but numbers plugged in could be the same.

Im happy abt it. I’ll show yall, maybe. One day.

[reasonsforhope]

"A new study evaluated a low-cost yet effective way to combat bacterial resistance using curcumin–the natural yellow plant compound in turmeric.

In 2017, a tragic death in a Nevada hospital was linked to a new strain of bacteria that had developed a resistance to 26 different antibiotics. Called ‘superbugs’, such antibiotic-resistant bacteria (including MRSA) remains a pressing public health threat.

Now researchers at Texas A&M University have shown that curcumin, the compound that gives turmeric its characteristic bright yellow color, can be used to reduce this antibiotic resistance.

They showed that when curcumin is intentionally given to bacteria as food, and then activated by light, it can trigger deleterious reactions within these microbes, eventually killing them. They demonstrated that this process reduces the number of antibiotic-resistant strains and renders conventional antibiotics effective again.

The results of the study were published this week in the journal Scientific Reports.

“We need alternative ways to either kill the superbugs or find a novel way to modify natural processes within the bacteria so that antibiotics start to act again,” said Dr. Vanderlei Bagnato, professor in the Department of Biomedical Engineering and senior author on the study.

Photodynamic inactivation, a technique that has shown promise in combating bacterial resistance, uses light and light-sensitive molecules, called photosensitizers, to produce reactive oxygen species that can kill microorganisms by disrupting their metabolic processes.

In the new experiments, the team used curcumin, which is also a natural food for bacteria. They tested this technique on strains of Staphylococcus aureus (MRSA) that are resistant to amoxicillin, erythromycin, and gentamicin.

The researchers exposed the bacteria to many cycles of light exposure and then compared the minimum concentration of antibiotics needed to kill the bacteria after light exposure versus those that did not get light exposure.

“When we have a mixed population of bacteria where some are resistant, we can use photodynamic inactivation to narrow the bacterial distribution, leaving behind strains that are more or less similar in their response to antibiotics,” Bagnato told Texas A&M News.

“It’s much easier now to predict the precise antibiotic dose needed to remove the infection.”

MORE PROGRESS ON SUPERBUGS: • The Humble Potato Could Hold Key to Beating Hospital Superbugs and Crop Diseases • Compounds in Amber Could Help Fight Drug-Resistant Bacteria Superbugs, Say Scientists • When Antibiotics Failed, She Found a Natural Enemy of the Superbug to Save Husband’s Life

The team noted that photodynamic inactivation using curcumin has tremendous potential as an adjuvant or additional therapy with antibiotics for diseases, like pneumonia, caused by antibiotic-resistant bacteria.

“Photodynamic inactivation offers a cost-effective treatment option, which is crucial for reducing medical expenses not only in developing countries but also in the United States,” said Dr. Vladislav Yakovlev, professor in the Department of Biomedical Engineering and author on the study..."

-via Good News Network, February 8, 2025

[tacko3d]

THE DAZZLING WARRIOR!

Dazzle!

Wherever evil lies, we are there to shine!

[yangcherie]

mating season

𐀔 pairings: astarion x reader. karlach x reader. halsin x reader. background cast (wyll, shadowheart, lae’zel, gale) x reader. background rolan x tav.

𐀔 content warnings: tiefling!tav, LITERALLY PWP, alcoholic consumption, brief sexual memory (halsin), heavy petting, noncon to dubcon (with astarion only), slight slutshaming, oral (f!receiving), mentions of breeding, afab anatomy but g/n pronouns. astarion is very slightly, slighty mean, up to you if he is ascended or not.

𐀔 sypnosis: you, a tiefling, go through your first heat cycle around your companions. some are willing to either indulge you or take advantage of you.

𐀔 author’s note: hoppinh on the bandwagon of tieflings having heat / rut cycles. astarion, briefly halsin, ROLAN and karlach get some action, teehee. and don't worry. everyone is a pervert and thinks about it. everyone will get a chance. someday. merry christmas!!

The first thing everyone wakes up to is heat. Sweltering, palpable heat, pervading the air up to the point it felt like it was trying to smother them, casting annoying, relentless burnishes of perspiration on their skin.

It couldn’t be the sun, no. The warmth felt too close, within of reach – but even then, it was no lively and unextinguished campfire, no engine out of hand nestled within Karlach, Shadowheart concluded.

They’d all been taking turns the entire morning seeking cold relief in the stream. Thankfully, as the day prevailed, the sun was no longer so glaring, the heatwave lessening by a tad bit, the rest of the party excluding a certain Ravenguard had found it now bearable.

It wasn’t until Wyll was fed up with the sweat that would inevitably come no matter how much he wiped at it, marching towards where it felt most blistering, most fervent; the intense source.

It had led him to your tent — and without doubt, the demon believed the source was your tent; your fucking otherworldy furnace of a tent. Even as he stood from outside, the heat was practically choking him. He wouldn’t be surprised if he took a look inside and finds out you, little fiend you, stuffed the entire Nine Hells inside. And take a look inside he does, peeling away the entrance, a delirious but polite request to turn down the heat ready on his tongue —

But it isn’t the Nine Hells’ heat and musk that slaps him to his face, to his utter surprise.

It’s you; trembling, flushed raw and in all of your fiendish glory, naked. Tail loud and thumping on the floor as your whimpers permeate through the air, legs spread and — No!

Somewhere in the back of his horned head, he wonders if it’s the heat, the shock, or simply his building arousal that has rendered him stuck to his position. It takes Wyll all his strength he can muster to tear his eyes away; what was he doing? He was intruding on your tent— your privacy! How could he forget basic etiquette, so much for being a noble-!

(Without a doubt, he’s ruined his chance of any traditional courtship.)

“Sorry.” The Blade himself awkwardly coughs before pushing himself out of your tent with an inhuman force, slamming the fabric entrance shut and tripping on his own two feet on the way out. “It’s Tav!” He shouts, sprinting with little idea on where to; the heat is unbearable and by the gods, he isn’t so sure anymore if it was coming from your tent or if it was simply his body. His commotion with Tav gathers the attention and eyes of his fellow companions, and it is both Karlach and Shadowheart that push at him to settle him down.

“Hey, hey. Calm down, you!” Karlach, ever the concerned companion with her furrowed brows, assures him like steed. “Tav, you mentioned?” Shadowheart, upon quick confirmation that he was not injured, is quick to coax him for answers of his behavior. He’s a bit mortified as his little flustered fit had everyone around him.

“Tav, they’re– get this–” Wyll swallows, tense with the image of you squirming and dripping still on the front of his mind. “T-they’re hot.”

It’s a dreadful thing, he realizes later a split second more than he’d like, the silence that follows. Through the tadpole, they’ve seen what he’s seen; and judging from the atmosphere, they’re chalking it up to an active imagination. All but loud, with a lone cricket chirping in the distance. He shoots up to in an attempt to explain, but wordlessly splutters instead.

“So you’ve had your first wet dream, I take it?” Astarion scoffs, finding the dirt under his manicured nails more interesting than what the fiend had to say next. “Had an issue with morning wood, perhaps– or should I say, a hardened blade?”

“No!” Wyll refutes, now standing up with the help of Shadowheart. “I-I meant to say they’re hot, literally. They’re drenched with sweat, lookin’ like they’re about to keel over. You saw it, in my head, what they looked like!”

“Ah, yes.” The vampire recalled that vision. Though brief and concerning, yes, it was also undeniably delectable. What he wouldn’t give to have seen you writhing with want up close. But still, he slips his desperation behind a theatric mask. “Like a mutt in heat, how hilarious.”

“In heat.” Karlach had repeated Astarion’s words and bristled, her muscles twitching once but violently enough that it had them staring at her like they had been with Wyll. The look on her face tells everyone she’s had her eureka moment, a light flickering beside her head. “Tav is in heat. Of course they are; it’s breeding season!” She guffaws then, disregarding the disbelief of the party — save for Halsin, who simply nodded.

“So what you’re saying is we have a feral, unspayed animal amongst us for the time being?” Lae’zel grunted, though she certainly did not mind if the blush on her face was anything to go by.

“Mating season is upon most of the forest.” The druid responded, crossing his thick arms, ever the calm elf. “Given the... more animalistic features of some cambions, it is not entirely unreasonable. Given the intensity, it must be their first heat since you’ve all been on this journey.” The party gapes; Karlach nods, and though she does not mention it, she’s mildly disappointed your heat had not aligned with her rut.

“So, what you’re both saying is that they need to breed – or be bred?” Though the vampiric rogue balked, he was unable to deny the inkling of lust that washed through him at the idea. You, and your all proud visage crumbling into one of a desperate, slut of a fiend.

“Well, when you put it in such a frank and vulgar manner...” Gale coughs, flushed, Astarion notices, inwardly grimacing. The wizard’s never been discreet about liking your musk – and today, it is especially honeyed and heavy around the campsite. “Yes.”

And that’s when it hits the rogue, the shared tension and ignited lust in everyone – not just Gale. It’s a slow and heavy shift, like puffs of smoke. The current of lust in the air runs deeper when a small, inviting moan permeates from your tent. The sounds of heavy breaths and trousers shifting from around the party, it all goes unobserved to any eye that doesn’t belong to an experienced rogue.

Still, the rest would’ve been fools to think only one or two of them would be intrigued, he thought. It was with a silent agreement amongst them that by the end of this week, you’d be thoroughly savoured.

The first thing you wake up to is a dull ache across the expanse of your stomach, and a pool of your own arousal drenching the bedroll between your legs. Your bed-kissed face tightens, glaring down at the growing tension in your belly. A groan is torn out of your dehydrated throat – and if the obvious lack of sun on your tent was anything to go by, you’ve slept through nearly the entire day.

Fuck, what was going on? Distoriented, you attempt to sit up only for the dull ache to morph into heated convulsions that immediately spread like wildfire around your weakened body. It was then that you realized that to your utter horror, you were burning hot, to the Nines and beyond — as if you were forcefully thrown into an early heat.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. No. The edges around your vision blackened for a split second before you violently lurched yourself out of your too-warm, too-cramped tent, slamming your palms and knees into the dirt ground and digging your nails in, your mouth open to welcome the hot pants stuck in your dry throat.

You spat out a vicious string of Infernal curses, your focus blurring in and out of itself. You shut your mouth, biting your lip to keep in whimpers, sweat trickling down from your forehead as your mind fought in vain against the primal urges now closing in on it; the feral ache for relief deeming itself more important than reason.

Relief. Fuck, it sounded good right now. You hissed, your mental resolve crumbling, tail furiously lashing against the dirt. Relief. Your eyes darted around the camp anything that could relieve the heat in your loins; Shadowheart and her healing hands or a cool river stream to let the water wash over you, but fuck, you needed real relief. A body you could sink your teeth into and ride until the next morning – preferably Karlach, or Halsin–!

Thick, strong Halsin.

“You feel good, little one.” Halsin quietly groaned up from above you, touching you as if he’s been longing to.

He moves inside you; thick cock bruising your insides. Every open-mouthed gasp and hurt or pleasured cry was eagerly welcomed into his own mouth with wet kisses. He was unrelenting, but kind. Full of sinew your hands could run across or scratch in slight distaste if the fat tip of his length pressed a sensitive spot deeper than you’d have liked. And without fail, he had laughed everytime, gentle and light, even if his deep thrusts into your spent hole were anything but.

He must have been trying to burrow in you with how deep he was inside, letting you raggedly cry into the slope of his neck meeting the thickness of his shoulder. Halsin set out to plant an apologetic kiss into the crook of yours, fucking you deep until you fluttered around him, dragging him to his peak alongside you.

No, you winced, tearing your eyes open and your mind out of its lust-ridden gutter, the burn inside you relentless. No Halsin nor Karlach, not a single soul that could provide you relief to be found around camp — and damn them all, you were in no state to be crawling around searching for even the slightest whiff of their scent in gods know where.

Relief.

Yet another infuriating wave of heat rolled through you, forcing you to clench your hands and drive dirt beneath your nails. What remained of your rationality sought out to the crevices of your memories, ones that weren’t flooded of nightly trysts with the druid elf or — Rolan.

Relief – Rolan. A drop of your drool hitting the ground; Rolan with his horns you could grip and sharp teeth that could sink into your shoulder. No doubt warmly cooped up in Ramazith’s Tower, signing trades or shoving his nose in dusty books. He’d do, for tonight – he’d understand, indulge you and lift you from the unbearable heat clouding your head. He wouldn’t mind, you know it, because you’d be a blind fool to not see the way his eyes would fondly trail over your face, or the dips in your body.

He wants you, and for tonight, you will do him a favor and want him back.

You urge your trembling body to stand up and begin the treacherous trek from camp to the Gate’s city.

It was only the next night, moon high, that you sauntered into camp instead of out your tent, sporting a relieved glow, a fresh set of bites around your throat, a heavy limp, and of course, the hands of a flushed Rolan around your waist.

Your ragtag party watched from their campfire logs, a petty and envious air about them whilst the winsome smile on your face turned into an airy laugh as Rolan tenderly cupped your jaw with his hands, whispering something that had you curling your tails together. You shook your head and sweetly pecked his cheek as he nodded and bumped your horns together like lovers as a bid goodbye before stepping back to part ways.

“Well?” Karlach greeted with an amiable smile as you joined the group’s circle, having been worriedly sniffing around and asking for you the entirety of the morning; your scent lingering faintly around the air but with no continued path as to exactly where you were. She knew firsthand the extent of pain and delirium heats could bring, and god forbid you had fallen in the wrong hands.

(And thankfully, you hadn’t. She was simply glad you found someone trustworthy to mingle with instead of being alone.)

You scooched near her with a charmingly teasing grin, matching her liveliness, turning a blind eye to the tension in the air. “Well, what?” And before the red-skin tiefling could play banter with you, a certain rogue had pettily overtook the conversation.

“Well, did you enjoy your little fling?” Astarion dryly teased, a goblet of wine in his spindly hands and a sardonic smile on his face. He let the wine swivel for a moment. “Enjoyed playing charity, whoring yourself out?”

Karlach quietly called out his name in a disappointed manner, either to scold or deter him from what next he could say.

“What can I say?” You entertain his snark, peeking around the campfire logs for a bottle of blingdenstone blush wine; grabbing ahold of ot and pouring yourself a goblet. Taking a gracious swig, you allow the fruity taste to melt on your tongue. “My company is sought after.”

“Sought after? You amuse me,” The pale elf laughs, dry in a manner that has you eyeing him, his hand tightening around the rusted goblet whilst you set down yours. “Are you sure?” He asks, glaring. “I’d say it’s desperation, on your side of the coin – you’d spread your legs to anyone asking politely, darling.”

You scrunch your nose at that, the warmth and flavor of the wine turning cold and bitter in your throat.

The silence is almost hostile around the campfire – the crackling of it serving to make it less awkward. “Take that damn wine out his hands,” you hear Wyll whisper to a reading Gale and a Lae’zel sharpening her dagger – but both the wizard and githyanki don faces that tell you they aren’t approving of your escapade either. You allow your eyes a brief roam around all their faces; finding it tightened in displeasure.

You don’t feel so well, all of a sudden. Some part inside you chalks it up to the wine.

Save for Karlach who was nudging you with her tail, pleading you from the corner of her eye; asking you to back down from Astarion. Considering it was an option until he opened his mouth once again, his breath smelling of merlot wine. “You’re missing out, you know.” He hisses when you raise him a brow.

“These flings you have,” he eyes around the party, making sure to pointedly look at Halsin for a second longer. You’re half-sure he’d vex Rolan if he was here. Slurring, he pauses again to savor another sip from his wine. “They can’t give you something real.” Your eyes meet his, hesitant, reading the unsaid but he can in them.

“You...” You’re not sure if it’s a trick of the light, the fire shedding a hopeful glint in his eyes for a split second at your tender tone of voice, face softening at the way you curl in yourself. “You’re drinking too much.” And just as quickly as it came, it left.

Something heavy twists in your gut; and you can’t quite decide if it’s from the wine, the second wave of your heat, or distress. Silently pushing yourself off the log, you might as well to take that soak in the river that you’d been dying for.

(You’re not very surprised to feel the many eyes piercing through you.)

Shortly after you left the circle, Karlach had followed you, indiscreet. It’s a game of chase, really – and she’s hot on your tail but you just keep evading her when she thinks she’s got you, a hairsbreadth away from her hands. The way your shoulders tremble with little laughs from your lips are not missed by her, and if she were any closer she’d chase it with her own.

(She smiles, not seen through the dark mouth of the night. Was it her presence or the alcohol that has made you soft?)

It’s not a long trek to the lake by any means, the path obscured by dense foliage she’d occasionally lose you in. Within moments, she’s at the edge of the water with the gravel crushing beneath her boots, overtaking the slow stream of water you’re delicately undressing by. Her longing gaze lingers on the slope of your jaw, the fullness of your lips and the fresh, deep indents of teeth along your shoulder. She’s unsure of whether it’s from Astarion’s feeding or Rolan.

It’s only when you’re fully bare that you turn to face her, that same plush smile that’s melted the hearts of hundreds.

“Are you joining me?” The sweet lilt of your voice makes the gears stop turning in Karlach’s nodding head, her body moving before her mind to start peeling away at her own clothes at the appealing invitation; wading into the water with you as soon as she’s done. A snort is pulled from her when you playfully splash at her with your tail when you hear her behind you.

“Don’t play a game you can’t win, you little...” Karlach jovially returns the splash, inwardly rejoicing at your giggle; this little, shared intimacy is nothing new, but it makes her heart lurch all the same. What she wouldn’t give to have more time with you.

By the gods, she could never get enough of that you and your joy. Some selfish, unbidden part of her hopes you’ll take her up on Wyll’s offer on the path to Avernus, for the sole reason to see it just a little longer.

She shifts around for a topic to hear your voice a little more, “How is your heat coming along?” The smile on your face falters slightly at her choice of inquiry – but you relax instantly. She’s one of your dearest friends, concern is her second nature.

“When is it never dreadful?” You shrug, casual though your words ring true. An unmated tiefling’s pain during a rut or heat was nothing short of agonizing. She watches the nervous swallow bob in your throat. “But I had a little bit of help- from Rolan.”

“Ah, the new master of the tower, was it?” You nod at her, and it comes to you once again that Karlach was no jealous woman. She was glad you had your fill of enjoyment. “He looks smitten with you; are you courting him?”

“Huh?” Your tail whacks against the relaxed surface of water in disbelief, a flush festering on your disgruntled face. “It’s more like the other way around, he bumped his horns to mine earlier.”

Karlach guffaws at your distress, tearing up with her joy until her breath catches on a sweet aroma. She squints, cautiously sniffing the air, once, twice – and she looks to you, pursing her lips when she realizes it isn’t the fragrances you’re washing over yourself; it’s just you, or rather, the second wave to your heat. She hopes the hunger welling in her isn’t clear in her eyes.

You smell really good, she thinks as she chews on the inside of her cheek, staring at the dip of your back as your turn around. And you’re a really good friend, too good, maybe. She feels what she’s about to do isn’t very good.

Karlach doesn’t know what compels her to do what she does but she follows like it’s law; catching your wrist in her hand, capturing your jaw in her other and kissing you tender, swallowing the gasp that comes out.

It’s only when the air starts to feel thick with your heat and her lust that she pulls away, a string of spit following you both – and she’s already pulling away, horror welling up in her eyes but before she can grovel with apologies, you’re reeling her right back to your spit-slick lips with a moan so utterly full of want it has her pulling you closer.

“I can help you,” she murmurs against your taste before pulling away, your want reassuring her she’s got nothing to be sorry for. Your heaving breasts press against her face when she dips half of herself in the water to wrap her arms around your legs. She pleads. “Let me help you. Please.”

Karlach carries you with her muscled arms and settles you on the edge of a rock, softly parting your legs for you and making herself a warm home between them. The way she looks up at you gives you a bashful knot in your stomach.

“Do you want this?” She swallows thick, as if to wash away the heavy weight of her need, eyes situating her hands on your hips with a trembling but still dominant grip. “Use your words.”

You nod, frantic. Breathy pants now visible in the hot air. “I do,” your tongue feels weak when you speak, looking at her with dazed eyes. “P-please, I- I want it, Kar.”

It’s all the push she needs to lick a stripe up your slit, rendering you still when she wraps her lips around your clit and sucks. It drags a heavy moan out of you and it’s nothing but music to her ears. She hopes it’s the sound that greets her in the afterlife instead of angels with their harps or trumpets.

“Ahah,” Karlach pants, hot against your clit, and you look down to see your slick running down her chin, her tail pulling you closer by your calf while yours whips around. “You taste so fucking good.” She murmurs against you, sending an arrow of pleasure straight through your trembling spine that makes her dive right back in, tracing your fluttering hole.

She tongues inside your hole, moaning when it tightens around her, fucking and writhing it around in response.

If the heat wasn’t so heavy, you’d think she was tracing her name on your cunt. You huff, rocking your hips into her face as much as you can with her hands firmly clasped around your hips. Your hands find themselves around her horns and they gently pull her head closer to you, riding her face as if to help brace you for the knot snapping in your stomach.

Karlach takes a moment to pause, smiling with your heady flavor on her lips, chuckling against your core. “So needy.”

You don’t last long, not with her smile and teeth and tongue around your folds, no, and it’s a blind rush of time and hot white when your thighs tremble around her head, mouth dropping open in a silent scream.

“Karlach...!” You cry her name, cumming and convulsing around her tongue with open-mouthed moans. Her grip on you tightens, an Infernal curse leaving her as your slick taste floods her mouth. Her hands run over you, the small of your back, your hips and then to your ass, gripping the fat of it to keep you still while she laps at what little you have left to give; only giving in when you whimper and try to kick her away.

(In the rational crevices of your head, you’d hate to prove Astarion right about being a whore but fuck, does she make you feel good.)

It’s soft silence that fills the air, after you both cease your panting. You stare at the stars, head foggy with the orgasm that racked your body, humming when Karlach gently sets you in her arms again to wash your arousal away in the water while your head contentedly lies against her shoulder.

“Let’s get you to your bed, hm?” She coos, bumping her horns against yours – only letting you go to stand up again when she finishes washing and drying you, allowing you to clothe yourself. Time is a blur then, as you spend it aided to walk by her warm arms, staring at the intricate maze of foliage you’re surrounded about.

You’re snapped out your limping daze when you look around to see the foliage isn’t dark anymore, lit around by hues of oranges from a familiar campfire. Karlach grins, closed-eye as she squeezes you and kisses you warmly before nudging you towards the direction of your tent, quaintly lit up by a candlelight lamp you set inside earlier.

“Go inside,” she coaxes you, all-kind. It’s a certain emptiness you feel when you peel yourself away from her warmth with a whine that has her chuckling and pressing her lips against yours again. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You do as she says, stumbling inside your tent and falling with a thud to your soft bed – but not without curling your lips into a loving smile, savoring the memory of her. It’s the last thing you see before you succumb to the hands of rest.

Fuck.

It’s the middle of the night when you’re next startled awake.

And it’s no surprise when you wake up to yet another surge of dull aching and your own arousal just starting to drip out of you. You waste little time; stumbling like a fawn out your tent, movements laden with the remnants of sleep –

You’re halfway out when your face slams against a body; lithe and cold, and in your sleep-ridden state, you could be convinced you just bumped into a slab of ice draped in flesh. But you urge your heavy lids to open up, to see the man, well, vampire you’d bickered with earlier, staring down at you from the very opening.

“Astarion,” you state, bleary-eyed and fisting your nightshirt closer; the fleece of it grounding you under his piercing gaze. Your heart is beating quick; a brief thought hopes it stays beating, and you will it away. You have half the mind to ask what he’s doing in front of your tent, but you have no time. The air is thick. The heat inside you is boiling. You need relief – Rolan.

“I...” Your words crawl in your throat, the line of your brows furrowing when you feel the familiar pinpricks of your heat pressing into you. “Please, move. I have somewhere to be.”

You almost feel small under the depth of his gaze; everything about him reeks of fury mingling with need.

“Off to find another bed to warm, I assume?” Astarion hisses with the slightest slur, the breath which he speaks out carrying the scent of fine wine – the air around him dangerous. Starving. He moves closer, and you, in all your confusion, slowly crawl back into your tent, unsure on what to fight first; the heat that consumes you or the danger you feel is about to overtake you.

“Astarion,” you mumble, this time with a bleat to your voice and your eyes wide like the lamb to be drained and slaughtered you feel you are. The air is heady; laden with fear and need thick like honey. Everything around you is too much. Where is Rolan? Karlach?

A hand tightens around your ankle, refusing to let go even as you yelp and watch Astarion force his way inside your cramped tent and crawls himself between your legs to nestle his face in the crook of your neck.

“No, no,” You whisper to him, shifting under him in a panic when you feel his familiar lips on your neck. “I’m sorry but you cannot feed from me tonight, Astarion. I need to leave, now.”

“I’m not here to drain you dry, silly.” Astarion’s voice is husky, breathy. It has you clenching your thighs around his hips; his hands clasp around yours in return. “Though, I am starving, I have something else in store for little you.” You grit in discomfort, the unease and desire a blend that you feel entirely drunk on.

(He would never admit it but that tender pit of terror in you has him salivating.)

“Leave...!” You hiss. He chuckles at that; the sound velvet-rich and grating, and does exactly the contrary – pushing himself closer to you until you’re chest-to-chest. You hate that you cannot see him tucked away to your neck. It does not help he is close to your raw, still-sensitive core; you have nothing on save for a long, flowy poet’s shirt thanks to a certain crimson tiefling.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. I can’t have you running off to somebody else.”

It’s then that you feel it; the press of a cruel, toothy smile against your throat and something of leather, something of warmth digging into the meat of your thigh. He is not here to drain you out of his anger, rather, he’s here to devour you, prey on you. You fear you’ve catched on belatedly.

“Mfh. I don’t want–” Your late, futile resistance is met with a finger to your lips, flushed thighs being pushed further apart as his hips slot between yours. Somewhere in the back of your muddled mind, you hear yourself keen with delight at the friction before he hushes you.

“You’re right, you don’t want it.” Astarion croons, watching as you writhe your hips against his for friction, as your bare cunt instictively grinds against the hot imprint of his still-clothed cock even as your head grasps for even a thread of coherence. “You need it, need this - need me.”

Your body does not deny his claim, arching your hips to meet his grinding, swollen folds clinging to his leather trousers – the pit in your stomach and the crawl up your spine indistinguishable between dread and ecstasy. The line of reason and morals are once again blurred in your head.

You curse yourself for having indulged in the alcoholic delicacy earlier. He’s emboldened by the wine; you’re weakened by it. The finger on your lips slip inside your mouth, firm on your tongue. You gag on it when his other hand clasped on your hip reaches down in between your legs and feels around for your, unsurprisingly, dripping vulva, the both of you gasping in delight.

“You’re soaked. What a fine surprise!” He chuckles, continuing to buck his clothed erection into your heat, petting your hair when you moan around his fingers. “I hope it’s because of me and not just your little heat.”

Your body is transparent, visceral with him, loyal to the promise of pleasure he can give you – even if your mind, what is left of your rationality indignantly fights tooth and nail to convince your body to stop giving in to animalistic pleasure.

It’s not long then, until Astarion becomes impatient, always having been; unlacing the ties on his trousers with one skilled hand and leaning over you to toss it off – it’s all too quick for your swarmed mind to catch up to, and the next thing you see and know is that you’re hissing through your teeth and thrashing while he pushes the burning head of his cock into you, hushing you as if you were a distressed animal. Your muscles tense, jerking away, a feeble little no on your lips—

But it’s an easy intrusion, a quick thrust into you is all it takes to bury himself deep with the help of your slick and his pre. He groans as, eyes rolling back as yours start to prick with tears, hold tightening on you as you whimper and turn limp like a ragdoll to his experimental thrusting. Some part of you wants to preen at the pleasure; the honeyed heat inside you pleased.

“Good- fuck, good pet.” He breathily murmurs, clasping a hand around your hip again; alternating between sensual grinding and abruptly slamming into you. All while he laughs and watches with a vicious smile as you’re torn between pathetically moaning and crying, the fingers in your mouth helping to muffle the sounds.

“See? Not so bad if you just close your eyes and give in.” He presses down particularly hard on your tongue when you wail at a sharp, unexpected thrust. He couldn’t have someone from the party playing hero. “I’m trying to help you.”

Tears sting at the corner of your eye, and you have no doubt you look pitiful right now - but fuck, he feels good. You don’t want to admit it, but you won’t deny it either; you needed this. And though you would have preferred to have it be Rolan, all gentle, rutting into you with sweet whispers and even sweeter promises, the heat in your body cannot be satiated with the tenderness he can give you. But you would rather stake him first than admit he’s helping you fill that gaping need in you.

“Astarion...” You furrow your brows and swallow around his fingers, your own life clinging to the back of your throat. It’s with a certain horror and desperation that you realize you’re approaching the edge faster than you’d like – and you know he knows, because he pulls his fingers out your mouth and presses a warm, spit-slick thumb to your aching clit. Your hole flutters around him, and you writhe around, the tightening burn of your incoming orgasm too much to handle. Pleasured, honeyed mewls are wrenched from you as his hips snap, driving his cock deep.

Astarion purrs – a hand on your thigh to help him slam into you, gripping hard enough to form bruises whilst the other was relentless at your clit. It’s with a shriek that you fall apart, seizing on his thrusts that only seem to quicken, the wet sound of skin on skin and your crying permeating through the entire camp, no doubt. He coos when a whine slips out of you, a tear gliding from your eye.

You’re seeing fucking white, blots of black dotted along your vision by the time he greedily slams inside you a final time with a low groan – something pleasingly warm filling you up, satiating you. Astarion holds your face and tugs it meet his for a breathy, passionate kiss whilst he twitches seed inside you - smiling in delight against your lips when you melt.

Relief is found; a warm glow settling on you despite your lids fighting their damndest to stay up. You’re a soft, slow little thing now, all but warm and ready to be taken by approaching slumber. Astarion gladly takes the chance to lie on his side and gather you in his arms, lips curving sweet yet again, but with less threat, as he watches you contentedly curl yourself up against his side. He sighs at the warmth that washes over him, thankful that fatigue has tamed you and fanned out that little spark and scratch you had earlier.

“Happy?” The smitten vampire asks, cheeky, smug as he pulls you closer into him, massaging your sore hips. “No need for you to go looking around for victims when you have me at your disposal, darling. I’d hate for you to lose sight on what really matters.”

You hum as if far away, you’d slap him in the morning that comes, but for now you’d let yourself be lulled into a soft, gentle slumber. A kiss on your head is the last thing you feel, a feeble little goodnight whispered.

[dresh-rx]

So this thing is dropping soon but-

When the fuckass 10sec animation takes 1.5hrs to render on Evee

Kqnsjalbskwjdnwlnr

Oh, and it estimated that a SINGLE FRAME in Cycles engine would've taken 13 HOURS to render like what the fuck 💀💀💀

Okay maybe i shouldnt expect more from a laptop

(But i'll try on PC when i can and see cause i love the look of raytracing)

[planet-hwa]

BAD BOY FACADE CHAPTER 6 — 산

. . . ⇢ previous chapter  ◦  series masterlist word count     2.5k

warnings     petnames, swearing, gang affiliations, gang fights, mentions of drug dealing, slight gore?

❝ when you look at me like that, my darling, what did you expect? ❞ 🎧 now playing   505 ; arctic monkeys

Speeding down the streets and passing all the nice houses, eventually turning to the wretched ones, San glanced at the message Wooyoung sent once again.

‘White Guardians at the warehouse. They’re looking for you.’

Harshly stopping at the entrance of the abandoned warehouse, bikes owned by members of The Black Pirates were mixed with other bikes belonging to their biggest rivals — a larger number of bikes. San jumped off his bike and rushed inside, met with the stand off of the two gangs.

The two gangs used to be closer, more recently , business partners some would say. Everyone but authorities knew that The Black Pirates held a drug dealing operation, and The White Guardians used to be one of their biggest consumers. Until a younger generation of the gang got caught with the contents, and were quick to rat out the providers. That was the moment The Black Pirates cut all dealing ties with the gang, and unintentionally started a hell cycle of sabotages and physical altercations between the two.

“What the fuck do you dicks want?”

“Finally, the man of the hour!” A tall boy cheered, the smaller group behind him snickering at his comments.

Of course, it was always this group that would cause trouble, never the older members of the gang. And San, Wooyoung, Mingi and Jongho were always the four that had to deal with them.

“I’ll ask again,” He said, standing face in front of the ring leader of the group, still threatening enough even to the taller boy. “What the fuck do you want?”

“You know what we want.” The boy said, serious and determined to intimidate San, but his confidence was hard to falter.

“We don’t sell to you anymore, now fuck off.” San snapped.

The boy scoffed, turning before pulling his fist back and throwing a punch, one San avoided quickly. Chaos erupted quickly, kicks and punches being thrown around. Though there were a couple more on the attackers, the small group of Black Pirates held up a good fight, majorly keeping the upper hand.

San focused his attention on the main boy, landing every punch he could, and gaining a few in return. The boy backed up and swiftly pulled out a pocket knife before lunging back at San, avoiding any potential fatal wounds he could. The two gangs were so focused on attempted murders that the sound of police sirens growing closer didn’t render to them until the last available second.

_________________________

Night fell upon the town, the moonlight shimmering through the sheer of your curtains and casting a gentle glow in your room, along with the white light that gleamed from your phone. Your eyes grew weary as you did your ritualistic scroll through social media before bed, blinking away the blue light induced tears that glassed over your eyes.

Though it was extremely late — 12:27am to be exact; and the rest of the house lay quiet, you couldn’t sleep no matter how tired you were. Even with all of the commotion throughout the last week, every emotion and image of what happened still burning away in the back of your brain, sleep just refused to chase you. You closed your phone and placed it on charge, turning away to try and rest for the night. Just as your eyelids started to feel heavy and ready to grace you with slumber, the sound of an engine outside caught your attention.

Who would be driving at this hour?

As the noise became louder, it became more recognisable. It wasn’t a car’s engine, but the engine of the motorbike that dropped you home earlier tonight. Questions began racking your brain; why would San be on this side of town at this hour, what was he here for, was he coming to see you? You peaked through the window’s curtain that sat just above your bed, glancing up and down the street and finally catching sight of the bike as it slowed at your driveway. You watched as San hopped off the bike, quick to notice the way he stumbled as he began walking to your front door.

Was he drunk?

Before he could reach the door, you had quickly tiptoed down stairs so as to not wake anyone — considering they somehow didn't wake from the loud, revving engine outside their yard. He raised a knuckle to the door, ready to knock, but it creaked open before he could. As you gained more of a sight of him, your heart sank. Your eyes gazed over his face, though it was in the shadows, you could see the discolouration and access of blood.

“Hey princess.” He mumbled, a weak smile on his lips.

“San, what are you doing here, are you okay?” You whispered, concern laced in your voice and readable on your face; he thought it was adorable.

“S-sorry, I know it’s late but…” He looked down at his bruised knuckles before returning his eyes to yours. “I didn’t feel safe going anywhere else right now.”

Glancing over his body, you noticed the blood dripping from his knuckles and the slight tears in his clothing, as well as the bruises and splits in his face. You grasped his hand gently, not wanting to hurt him more, before quietly pulling him inside and up the stairs to your bedroom. Thankfully, your bathroom was connected to your room, so the little noise you would make would be shielded by the extra walls of your bedroom.

“Sit on the toilet seat, please.” You pointed whilst bringing in a small stool from your makeup vanity, he did as you said and sat down, positioning the stool in front of him as you collected your small first aid kit from the drawers.

He achingly removed his leather jacket and discarded it on the floor, the bruises up his arms easily noticeable, especially with the lack of sleeves on the grey tank top he wore. Your eyes ran over his biceps as he rubbed over them soothingly. Though he was bruised and injured, you couldn’t help the gaze that was glued on the defined muscles, quickly looking away once he caught you staring.

“You don’t have to-”

“Shhh~” You hushed, wetting a cotton pad with disinfectant before beginning to lightly dab it on the cuts on his face. He winced at the sudden sting but remained still. “You can’t let them get infected.”

Wiping away any dried blood and adding ointment to the small, non scarring cuts that scattered over his face, you moved your attention to the worst of them. A nice split through his eyebrow that was likely to scar and a deep cut on the side of his lip, almost looking like piercings gone wrong. The moment the damp cotton pad grazed against his eyebrow split, San pulled back suddenly at the strong sting, sharp eyes glared back at you.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, gently cupping his face with your free hand and pulling it closer, you pressed the cotton pad lightly against the cut once again — now he accepted the comfort and warmth of your hand that held his chilled cheek, he almost melted into the touch.

You replaced the cotton pad, now soaked with burgundy blood, with some tissue and continued dabbing away any reminiscence of pain. So focused on curing San, you hadn’t noticed the way his eyes remained fixed on you and your every movement. The way his gaze stayed on your eyes, never roaming your body which felt slightly more exposed than usual, even in fully covered pajamas. The small smile that settled on his lips the moment you opened the door, and how it remained the entire time even with the pain he was feeling.

“Can I ask,” You paused, watching as he cocked an eyebrow slightly, a small nod encouraging you to continue. “What happened?”

“Uhhh, just a small fight.” He smiled and lied right through his teeth, and you knew it — there is no way a ‘small fight' would cause such harm. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

“It’s hard not to worry about it when you leave in a hurry, and then show up in the middle of the night covered in cuts and bruises.”

San hummed softly in response, eyes still deeply attached to your own, yet he was quick to glance away once you looked back at him. Holding his chin in your hand, you tilted his head up slightly, his eyes turning from fierce cat eyes to gentle puppy eyes, and began swiping the cotton pad against his lip. The cut was deep, almost splitting his lip completely in half, but he remained still as the antiseptic pad wiped the dried blood away. 

Finally finished clearing his beautiful face of injury, you focused your attention on his bloody knuckles. “Give me your hands.” And he complied, resting his hands in yours as you cleaned his wounds.

“How do you know all this stuff?” San asked, watching intently as you began wrapping one of his hands with a bandage.

“I did a first aid course once,” You explained. “And, I have an older brother.”

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence as you finished off the final bandage, a small amount of blood still seeming to soak through the fabric. As you tightened the bandage, your fingers grazed against San’s causing bolts of electricity to flash through you — through the both of you. Tension buzzed through the static in the air, your hand still holding onto his and refusing to move, and he wasn’t pulling away from the touch either.

Looking up into his eyes, you were met with a gentle sense of adoration, something you weren’t used to. Usually San seemed confident and overly cocky around women, but it was different with you, he almost felt… shy. The moment you opened the door, his heart was fluttering uncontrollably. He’s never felt this way before, and it was more confusing to him than algebra.

There was no way that a girl he met only a few months ago could have this much of an effect on him.

“A-all finished.” You stuttered, shifting your eyes around the bathroom and attempting to avoid him, yet you were drawn back to them in an instant.

He smiled, his dimples prominently showing themselves. “Thank you, princess.”

You looked away and rolled your eyes jokingly. “You gotta stop calling me that-”

Your sentence was short lived, your attention being pulled away by the sudden hand that grabbed your chin lightly. You watched as San’s eyes drifted back and forth between yours and your lips before leaning closer towards you. His breath was warm against your skin, your lips were mere inches away but he still held a sense of hesitance, waiting for your unspoken conformation.

Suddenly, his lips were attached to yours, ever so gently. It wasn’t his usual tone, passionate and lustful, he wanted to embrace the moment. He wanted to feel the soft plushness of your lips against his. Noticing you weren’t pulling away, his hand cupped the nape of your neck and pulled you closer, adjusting you onto his lap, the material of the bandage around his knuckles lightly tickled your skin. His free arm wrapped around your waist securely, making sure you felt safe and weren’t going to fall backwards.

You never thought that you would kiss anyone else apart from Yunho; let alone San; let alone in your bathroom in the middle of the night. Butterflies flourished within your stomach as the kiss deepened, yet a sense of innocence remained. It was obvious there was no push for anything more, simply enjoying the feeling of your lips dancing together. Your hand held his jawline, fingertips tracing the defined bone lightly. A pink tinge painted across his cheeks at the touch, his ears beginning to turn a bright red.

After a few minutes, you disconnected to catch your breath, but his lips instantly tried to chase yours for more. Landing a chaste kiss on your lips, then another quickly on your cheek, he watched as your face grew flustered, giggling at his delicate actions. Your fingers were lightly intertwined with his, watching as your fingertips grazed over his bandaged knuckles, unsure of what to do or say next.

“I-I should probably go.” He mumbled, almost inaudible and stuttered.

“Or you could stay…” The second the word left your mouth, his eyes found yours once more.

He couldn’t tell if you were serious or not.

“I mean, in your condition, you probably shouldn’t be riding in complete darkness for twenty minutes.”

He thought about it for a few seconds before silently accepting your offer with a nod. You got off his lap, promising yourself you’d clean the bathroom tomorrow, and lead him back into your room. Quickly grabbing some clean clothes from your older brother’s room, extras he had left before heading to college, and gave them to San. As he began to change into the new clothes, you distracted yourself by dragging the mattress out from under your own bed and decorating it with cozy blankets and pillows.

“You can sleep on my bed-”

“No, I’m not kicking you out of your bed.” He shut down your offer quickly, holding a serious tone yet you could see a smile casted over his face in the dim light. “You will sleep in your bed, and I will sleep comfortably on the mattress.”

Rolling your eyes in slight annoyance, you didn’t fight him on it, seeing as he already had a tough enough fight tonight. You climbed into your bed, snuggling yourself under the covers and making sure no limb stuck out for any “monsters” to get — because, yes, you were still cautious at your grown age. San followed, falling into the mattress below and tugging the blankets over himself, turning his body to face your bed.

“Goodnight, San.”

“Goodnight, princess.”

The room fell quiet, the only sound being the light buzz of the internal heating and the soft, sleepy breaths from the two of you.

“Oh wait, I forgot something.” San whispered.

You heard him rustling around, unable to properly see anything but a moving shadow, until he was leaning above you. He cupped your face gently, pressing a soft kiss to your lips for the final time tonight before returning to the mattress. Warmth began to fill your body, your cheeks felt like they were on fire, and your lips tingled slightly. You hadn’t felt that way about a kiss since your first, though it was a feeling you welcomed.

The two of you drifted off soon after, the sound of San snoring lightly easing you to sleep after him. When you woke up in the morning, you expected to look down and see his quiet body, but he was gone. The mattress was tucked back under your bed, the pillows and blankets folded neatly on the floor along with the clothes you lent him. A small sense of dejection filled you at the sight, or lack thereof, of San — it almost made you feel like ‘just another girl’ even if you didn’t sleep with him.

Or maybe, he was just really good at Irish goodbyes…

. . . ⇢ next chapter

author's note this chapter is actually quite short because i deleted a bit of the fight due to it being a bit repetitive and wanting to leave a little to your imagination, but it wasn't posted on time because i worked two early morning shifts and was completely drained so i do apologise for that + a timeline check for this series if anyone is confused: this chapter is set roughly around 2-3 months after the first chapter

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written by planet-hwa™

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Science Vocabulary

for your next poem/story

Word — Science Meaning; Public Meaning

Bank - land alongside a river/lake; a place where people store money

Bar - unit of measure of atmospheric pressure; place to drink alcoholic beverages

Belt - collection of asteroids in a disc shape; materials worn around waist to support clothes

Bonding - electrostatic attraction between atoms; making an emotional connection

Charge - force experienced by matter when in an electromagnetic field; demand a price for rendered goods/services

Code - software/computer language; encrypted message

Crust - outermost layer of planet; edge of pizza/pie

Current - water or air moving in a direction; belonging to the present time

Cycling - flow of nutrients or elements; riding a bicycle

Dating - determining age of site/artifact; initial stage of romantic relationship

Driver - influential factor; someone who drives a vehicle

Dwarf - celestial body resembling small planet; characters from Snow White

Fault - fracture in a rock with movement; responsible for accident/misfortune

Fetch - distance traveled by wind/waves over water; go far and then bring back something/someone

Force - strength/energy of action/movement; make someone do something against their will

Grade - gradient/slope; level of proficiency

Hertz - the SI unit of frequency; rental car company

Jet - gas stream ejected from an accretion disk surrounding star; an aircraft powered by jet engines

Mantle - planet layer between crust and core; important role passed from person to person

Matter - physical substance in general; be of importance, have significance

Model - computer simulation; promotes fashion/product

Mole - SI unit used to measure amount of something; small rodent-like mammal

Plastic - substance that is easily shaped/molded; synthetic material

Pressure - force per unit area that gas/liquid/solid exerts on another; use of persuasion to make someone do something

Productive - creating organic matter through photo/chemosynthesis; busy and efficient

Sample - to take a sample for analysis; a small part of something

Scale - system of marks used for measuring; device used for measuring weight

Shear - difference in wind speed/direction; cut wool off of

Shelf - a submarine bank; a surface for displaying/storing objects

Stress - pressure/tension exerted on a material object; mental/emotional strain

Submarine - existing/occurring under the sea surface; a ship that stays submerged under water for extended periods

Surf - line of foam on seashore from breaking waves; riding a surfboard

Swell - sea movement in rolling waves that do not break; to become larger in size (e.g. a body part)

Source ⚜ More: Word Lists

[phoenixiancrystallist]

Month 11, day 21

What do you do when some mean Mother Hubbard wants to tear you a structurally superfluous new behind?

Use a gun :3

Yes I slightly changed up the format specifically to make this joke, no I am not sorry, yes it will likely happen again.

[yunaversalluv]

FOR MY LOVELY @valeisaslut HERE IS THE PART 2 EPILOUGE DEEP-DIVE ( THIS IS PART TWO OF THIS DEEP - DIVE CAUSE IT WAS TOO BIG FOR TUMBLR)

PART V: LINGUISTIC PRECISION & EMOTIONAL LEXICON

- The Power of Monosyllables

Many of Ellie’s lines are clipped, one-syllable, or spare. There’s a reason:

“Didn’t ask you to.”

“You’re late.”

“Didn’t want this.”

These aren’t just curt. They’re protective syntax. This is a linguistic survival strategy — short words keep emotions at bay. The fewer syllables, the less room for vulnerability to leak in.

Interpretation: Ellie isn’t being cold — she’s limiting the number of exits her pain has. She’s constructing walls in real-time with punctuation.

- The Absence of Metaphor = Bleakness

Ellie’s inner world is devoid of lyricism until the very end (“the dream... had burned to ashes”). Why?

Because metaphor requires imagination — and imagination requires hope. The lack of it mirrors a world gone grayscale.

Only once she chooses to move, does metaphor return. You’re signaling this subconsciously: language blooms after choice.

PART VI: TRAUMA PHYSIOLOGY IN THE SCENE

Dissecting Ellie’s physicality as textbook trauma behavior, which you’ve intuitively rendered with emotional accuracy.

- Dissociation:

“She didn’t feel real.”

Classic trauma response. The mind detaches from the body when emotional overload hits.

The hoodie detail (comfort object), the mechanical heartbeat, the ghostprint — all signs of her watching herself from outside her body.

She’s not suicidal. She’s post-suicidal. This is the realm beyond ideation — where the mind’s only priority is stillness, even at the cost of life.

- Haptic Avoidance:

“Didn’t curl around him.”

The inability to reciprocate physical contact is not a lack of affection, but an autonomic freeze.

Touch = intimacy = danger.

Even Jesse and Dina don’t reach for her until she reaches first. That’s a phenomenal detail — it's not written, but it’s felt.

PART VII: STRUCTURAL ENGINEERING — HOW THE SCENE MOVES

This scene doesn’t just happen. It spirals inwards before cracking open. Here’s the architecture:

1. Collapse

Ellie is inert. There’s no emotional engine left running. We start from maximum stasis.

2. Disruption

Joel arrives — not as savior, but as interruptor. This breaks the cycle. She is no longer alone with her pain.

A quiet room can be comforting — until someone else enters it and you realize how loud your silence was.

3. Friction

They don’t harmonize. This is not a moment of mutual clarity. It’s jagged, uneven, full of frayed wires.

4. Volcanic Pulse

“I should’ve died.”

This is the emotional apex — a raw truth that neither party can clean up.

You drop this line like a detonation. You don’t explain it, contextualize it, or soften it. And that’s exactly right.

5. Deflation

Joel doesn’t fight it. This is crucial. He doesn’t offer clichés or redemptive speeches. He simply says:

“Still here.”

Like gravity itself — inescapable, unglamorous, but real.

6. The Microchoice

Ellie doesn’t declare her will to live. She stands up. And that’s enough.

PART VIII: HIDDEN MOTIFS & ECHOES

Let’s pull apart recurring motifs across this scene — things your subconscious may have planted, and which can now be developed thematically:

1. Mirroring Without Matching

No one in the scene mirrors Ellie’s pain with the same energy — and that’s what saves her.

Joel doesn’t break down. He stays still.

Jesse and Dina don’t perform empathy. They offer presence.

Lesson: Grief isn’t healed through matching intensity. It’s stabilized through contrast.

2. The Sacredness of the Mundane

The hoodie zipper. The blanket. The door opening.

These aren’t just practical items — they are altars of reality. Proof that time still exists.

You’re leveraging the mundane as spiritual intervention — which is how trauma healing often actually begins.

3. Soundlessness as Elegy

This scene has almost no auditory detail — no music, no external sounds. It’s like you’ve hit the mute button on the universe.

That makes sense: when someone is spiraling internally, the outer world fades out. You’ve scored silence into the text — and it works like a knife.

YUNA'S MEGA-SUMMARY: ELLIE’S COLLAPSE, CHOICE, AND THE LANGUAGE OF ENDINGS

This scene captures the slow implosion of a person—not through violence, but through inertia. Ellie is not screaming, crying, or thrashing. She is quietly vanishing.

The true heartbreak isn’t that she’s broken. It’s that she almost doesn’t care.

Her collapse isn’t cinematic—it’s cellular.

At its center, the scene is about post-traumatic freeze. Ellie’s not processing pain anymore—she’s suspended in it.

She doesn’t want to die, exactly. She just doesn’t want to be. That’s what makes this moment different from a classic suicidal beat: there’s no cry for help, no drama. Just emptiness with edges.

Her mind is a vacuum. Her body a ghostprint. Her name barely hers.

And that’s the scariest place to be.

You use language like a scalpel. Every line is economical, sharp, and unfinished—like Ellie herself.

Short, clipped phrases: a survival mechanism.

No metaphor at first: imagination has shut down.

Physical withdrawal: the body says “no” before the mouth does.

You don’t need to say “Ellie is traumatized.” The syntax is the trauma.

The scene isn’t about a fix. It’s about witnessing.

Joel doesn’t save her. He stays.

Jesse doesn’t preach. He pleads.

Dina doesn’t cry. She offers quiet presence.

Everyone meets Ellie where she is—not where they wish she were. And that restraint is where the emotional devastation (and healing) lives.

This is a non-rescue rescue.

The emotional flow is crafted like a spiral inward, then a single outward breath:

Stillness → She is unreachable. Beyond numb.

Friction → Joel arrives. The past reenters the room.

Crack → Ellie says it: “I should’ve died.”

Stasis → No rebuttal. Just grief’s gravity.

Movement → She stands. No speeches. Just breath.

That stand is everything. It’s not hope—it’s motion. And sometimes, motion is all that saves us.

“The tour was over. The music had stopped.”

This is the eulogy for her old self. Not just her career, not just the band—but the girl who believed this dream would save her.

The line isn’t just about music—it’s about grief. And in this silence, the next version of Ellie is born.

Let’s bring in one final, deeper reading:

This scene isn’t just about Ellie falling apart. It’s about her choosing, even in that state, not to disappear.

The fact that she stands up?

Not because she believes it’ll get better.

Not because someone convinced her.

But because some ember of her—some primal animal self—still says:

“Move.”

And that? That’s survival. That’s character. That’s your scene's heartbeat.

You’ve written something unsparing, deeply emotional, and honest to the marrow. It resists easy redemption and rewards emotional attention.

This is the kind of writing that doesn’t just show pain—it maps it, so that what comes after can feel earned.

It’s a funeral of self. And the quiet miracle is that Ellie still breathes at the end of it.

COUGH COUGH (I hope you know I had to write this while animal crossing noises came from my keyboard and my fiancé on the bed sick watching me furiously typing away in like full uninterrupted dedication.

HAVE A WONDERFUL NIGHT/DAY VALL <3

[archoneddzs15]

Microsoft XBOX 360 - Sonic World Adventure (Sonic Unleashed)

Title: Sonic World Adventure / ソニック ワールドアドベンチャー

Developer/Publisher: Sega (Sonic Team)

Release date: 19 February 2009

Catalogue No.: HEC-00002

Genre: 3D Action Adventure

Sega's Sonic team development division, learning from Sonic 06's mistakes, made the XBOX 360 perform some pretty impressive tasks in their demos, some of which were used in their games. Sonic Unleashed is one of those games (the other one being 2019's Shin Sakura Taisen, a visual novel for the PS4). The game marks the first-ever time a Sonic game debuted with a rendering system dubbed by Sonic Team as the "Hedgehog Engine", designed specifically to handle the drawing of 3D geometry and environments in a fast-paced setting. (The game still uses CRI Middleware and Havok technologies in some parts).

As a result, compared to the likes of Sonic 2006, Sonic Unleashed is capable of producing CGI film quality graphics very similar to those from the best Disney/Pixar animated film properties. Yoshihisa Hashimoto who was the Director of this game at the time, spent months analyzing video games, CGI films, and even people and places in real life. He came to the conclusion that current-generation games are missing an element known in the computer animation field as Global Illumination.

This allows for a light source to hit a scene, and light is reflected off every object in the environment. To cover the vast amounts of calculations that needed to be processed, they also came up with a system that connected 100 computers for the team to distribute the workload. This enabled them to complete all the lighting calculations for an action stage (which is about 6-8 miles long) in 2 or 3 days.

Hashimoto's team also developed a technology called Light Field, which blended the characters naturally into the environments. With this technology, Sonic can run through an action stage while the light is being reflected off him naturally as if he “belongs” there (in contrast to past games where Sonic looks out of place in several environments). As a result, Sonic Unleashed manages to stand out from the rest of the platformers of its age in that rather than lowering the quality down to PS2 levels (as was the case with some early PS3 and 360 games around 2005-2007), the game uses pseudo-raytracing, coupled with the introduction of the then-novel Boost gameplay mechanic and a custom control scheme dedicated to the Werehog/Night levels, as well as a seamless day/night cycle to provide fast and smooth looking 3D environments.

Coupled together with the XBOX 360's great sprite and polygon capabilities for enemies and explosions and polygon-built ships (mainly those from Dr. Eggman), along with the PS1-quality ease of development that made the XBOX 360 the king in the eyes of general gamers, makes Sonic Unleashed look like quite a feast for the ears, as well as the eyes.

So how does it play? Well, I'm not too sure if it went down well in Malaysia but judging by how hard it is to find a copy, I'd say it wasn't well received (in my area). Most households in Malaysia probably only owned a PS2 back in the day, so the PS2 version of Unleashed is much more common. Globally though, and on the Sonic circles, I remember Sonic Unleashed being showered with praise the world over, with high critic scores and glowing fan and user reviews. This could be because Sonic Unleashed fixed the flawed controls that plagued '06 and turned the franchise's reputation from being stained into a great sendoff for the future, with great gameplay, a killer story, and an AWESOME mix of orchestral, rock, and miscellaneous soundtrack genres as you played all the way from Apotos (based on Mykonos, Greece) to Eggmanland (based on Luna Park Sydney).

There is a lot to blast and search for as well as getting yourself lost quite often in the Open World Hubs (^o^;) Oh and about the gameplay, the Daytime stages are some of the BEST that you'll ever see in terms of graphical fidelity (only bested by Frontiers, Shadow Generations, and the upcoming Crossworlds), and the Werehog stages, it's debatable, but it is pretty good to me. It's not 100% perfect though - there are some minor flaws such as very weird frame-rate issues, and falling down easily when using your ring energy, the Werehog levels can be very long but not as bad as other worse beat-em-ups on the 360 such as TMNT Turtles in Time Re-Shelled and Golden Axe Beast Rider. I wanted to call it "God of War inspired" but that would be me pulling the Sony fanboy card. Let's just say the combat reminded me of either Spike Out, Streets of Rage, or even Batman Returns on the Super Famicom, maybe a touch of Arkham Asylum and Arkham City (though these are later games). You need to replay levels to get the medals which become harder to find.

Bottom line, if you're into the odd type of action platformer with a killer story, then I think Sonic Unleashed will suit you. This game is compatible with XBOX ONE and XBOX SERIES consoles, and if you play it on an XBOX SERIES S or X, you get the added bonus of 60 FPS boost mode which is really awesome.