#it's meant to be like. like a fisheye lens

[bellejolras]

i don’t mean to go on a rant but I’ve been reading reviews of Poor Things bc i hate being happy and ohhhh my goddddd

spoilers under the cut but I have complaints about people’s (lack of) media literacy

Oh my god okay so first of all, if you haven’t seen a movie how are you going to comment on it. Reading summaries and other people’s reviews only is not sufficient to make an original point. you do not know what you’re talking about. just stop.

Second, the movie is. satirical. Which I thought was obvious from the absurd premise and surreal visuals? This is not supposed to be the real world. Nor is it advocating for all the stuff it shows. In fact, it’s even actively indicting some of what it shows. For example: fucked up power dynamics in sexual relationships exist in the movie, but the movie is not saying they are good, it’s criticizing them. Is this not getting through to people?

Third, and related, it’s not ! just ! about ! a sexy baby !! Partly because again, satire. But also partly because she rapidly goes through childhood & adolescent maturity. And it’s not meant to be, like, linear… the regular laws of empirical data and science do not apply to this world… so she is not in fact, like 6 when she’s having sex but more like 16. Which you could argue is still a minor, and im not disputing that, because again the movie is critical of this part and duncan is a total loser. But there’s a massive difference between the mental development of those two ages. ALSO there’s literally nothing inherently wrong with baby bella autonomously discovering masturbation. That’s extremely normal for little kids, often just as a way of self-soothing because it feels nice and not with any awareness of sexuality. And it’s fine if you thought that was a weird scene! but it’s hardly pedophilia to include in the film when the “baby” in question is in fact played by fully grown adult emma stone and I cannot believe that I’m seeing people accuse this movie of that

Fourth, if you claim your takeaway from this movie is “it wants me to believe that women’s power only exists through their sexuality” then I don’t believe you’ve seen the entire movie (see point 1). Narratively it’s only a means to an end for Bella, and when she gets tired of it, she stops! She gets bored of duncan and reads philosophy! She leaves her sex work career and becomes a medical professional! And, even in the sex scenes, while there are many, they center her and her experience, her pleasure. Yes, her tits are out a lot but the sex scenes are weird, intentionally grotesque without being violent. The montage with duncan is shot through a fisheye lens and literally pans away from the bed to focus on a bird landing in the room. Duncan can proclaim himself the best lover in the world, but he’s really not important to the scene ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

In conclusion, I know the people I’m complaining about aren’t going to read this, but just in case, I urge you to learn media literacy. And anyone else who read all of this, thanks lol!! accepting good faith discourse in the notes/replies

[mellxncollie]

Part 1 of looking into some of the technical cinematography aspects of the show

(or, why does Dead Boy Detectives look Like That?)

(update 6/30/24: there's now a part 2! check it out here)

Dead Boy Detectives has some interesting things going on with the cameras. You probably noticed it at some point while watching the show. Whether it was the weird blurs or the sort-of-fisheye, there’s something about many of the shots that doesn’t look the way many people expect TV shows to look.  

The main reason why is because it uses an anamorphic lens instead of a spherical lens. These lenses are pretty different from spherical lenses, and the recent rise of anamorphic lenses in TV has not been without some pushback, as viewers unaccustomed to them may find the look weird, distorted, or that it pulls their focus away from the content. Whether you enjoy how Dead Boy Detectives looks or find the cinematography distracting, this post is designed to explain the different effects that the lens has on the show.

This post is very long and very graphics heavy (I made lots of gifs to illustrate my points) so the rest is under a read more.

What is an anamorphic lens and what is it used for?

To begin with, a bit of history and technical info. Say you’re making a movie at most any point before the mid-'90s and you want it to be widescreen. However, the 35mm film you’re shooting on has a smaller aspect ratio (closer to a square than widescreen). You could use letterboxing (black bars on top and bottom) but then you waste the top and bottom parts of the film, and it ends up being slightly lower in ‘resolution.’ The solution: use a lens that records the full height onto the film, but squishes the picture horizontally so that it fills up the whole film frame without any letterboxing. Then, a projector (or a computer) can stretch it out again to display the whole thing in widescreen. The kind of lens that can do that is an anamorphic lens. They've technically been around since before the 1920s but were mostly used between the 1950s and the 1990s.

Up until sort of recently, television networks broadcasted using a smaller aspect ratio that they required shows to be in, and TV shows were not given the kind of cinematography budgets that movies were afforded. Anamorphic lenses are expensive and for widescreen, so they really just weren’t used for TV shows. Instead, a spherical lens was used, which is just the standard lens you think of when you picture a camera lens. 

In the 90s, new flat/spherical film formats came out that allowed for widescreen (one of the popular ones being Super 35) caused anamorphic lenses to drastically drop in popularity. However, there has been a recent resurgence, one that you’ve probably subconsciously noticed in both film and television.

In the last 10-15 years, TV has been given larger and larger budgets. Additionally, the rise of streaming services and the use of phones and computers to watch shows rather than actual televisions has meant that networks have started allowing wider aspect ratios, paving the way for anamorphic lenses to begin to be used for series. 

The history of these lens’ usage means they’re associated with a ‘cinematic’ look. They have a lot of characteristic effects that are not really ‘natural’ and depending on the viewer, this either enhances the experience or detracts from it.

Lots of recent series have been embracing these lenses (to varying degrees of success), including The Witcher, Sandman, Shōgun, Narcos: Mexico, The Mandalorian, Andor and Chilling Adventures of Sabrina. Doctor Who also started using anamorphic lenses at the switch to the 13th Doctor, so that may be a good reference point. For some of these, it’s a very subtle look, for others, the lens choice is glaringly obvious and overdone (I’m looking at you Sabrina), and sometimes, as is the case with Dead Boy Detectives, it’s really obvious but it remains an effective and compelling choice. 

Why use an anamorphic lens in the 21st century when you could just use a spherical lens?

Anamorphic lenses create a look that some filmmakers desire, whether for their associations with a more cinematic look or their sometimes unusual quirks. In a film and tv world filled with spherical lenses that are nice, clean, and precise, anamorphic lenses introduce some irregularity and character. Making an informed decision on what kind of lens to use can enhance different themes of the work. 

I want to briefly bring up Moonlight to illustrate this point. Go watch the trailer if you haven’t seen it, and you’ll probably see some parallels with the cinematography of Dead Boy Detectives. There’s less of the ‘radial’ look, but otherwise, there’s a lot of the same kinds of things. Moonlight uses an anamorphic lens and it makes the whole thing look dream-like, nostalgic, and a bit like we’re getting into the character’s heads. To me, it indicates that the story is being filtered through people. We’re not detached from the characters, observing them. The story we are watching is personal, emotional, and necessitates intimacy. 

Dead Boy Detectives really benefits from the same visual effects. This is not because it enhances a dream-like or nostalgic quality, but because in the context of the show, it makes it look a bit otherworldly, magical, or otherwise supernatural. Additionally, the constraints of the lens means we get lots of focusing in on individual characters, with nice long looks at their faces allowing for more reflection on their dialogue and reactions.

So, here’s 5 different effects of anamorphic lenses to point out to you all. Starting with the one that allows us to easily identify that anamorphic lenses are being used in the first place.

You’ve probably heard of bokeh before. It's the way the lens renders the direct sources of light that are in the background but out-of-focus. You can see in this shot of Jenny how all the string lights are not circular, but elongated. On a spherical lens, these would be round.

In this next shot of the Cat King, the candles around the floor are all those elliptical shapes. Additionally, lots of other details in the background that aren’t from direct light sources also have an elongated shape. This is sometimes called waterfall bokeh.

Finally, check out this shot of one of the cats. Not only are the lights in the background irregular and elongated, but if you look to the left where the ‘horizon’ line is, there's a series of elliptical shapes where the light hits the edge of the docks.

The bokeh effect is one of those things that just happens because of the lens, and makes it pretty easy to identify that an anamorphic lens is being used. Unlike some of the other effects I’ll mention, I don’t have much to say about how this does or doesn’t add to the visuals.

Breathing is how the field of view changes when you refocus to a subject closer or farther from the lens. While spherical lenses also breathe, there’s a much more distorted look to the breathing that occurs with an anamorphic lens.

Lets start with this shot:

You can see how much the frame widens when the focus shifts from the jar of coins to Jenny. It affects the edges much more than the middle of the frame. Here’s the same shot, but with some of the features outlined (forgive my messy outlining, I used my laptop trackpad) so you can see the movement.

The frame widens when the focus goes from the foreground to the background. It appears like the whole shot is being stretched apart horizontally and compressed vertically.

However, it also does the reverse, narrowing as the focus moves from the background to the foreground.

(also in that last shot of hell, notice how the two points of light in the background elongate into those oval bokeh once they are no longer in focus)

Breathing is a very dramatic way of refocusing, and it forces us to pay attention to different things. In the shot of the Night Nurse, we have a light but the important thing after it turns on is not the light but the reaction that the people have to the cause of the light. In that shot of Niko and Edwin, it’s telling us: listen to Niko. In the shot of hell, it’s not letting us forget what the characters are running from. 

The next effect is the lens flare. You can get a lens flare from a spherical lens too, but anamorphic lenses typically generate strong, horizontal flares. A spherical lens would typically create a more radial flare, with multiple lines shooting out in different directions from the light source like rays from the sun.

We see these all over the show, sometimes they’re very prominent, such as in these shots with obvious light sources:

And sometimes they're a bit more subtle. Take this shot of Edwin, Charles, and Crystal on the dock:

While the lens flare at the top of the frame has a clear source, there’s a bunch of other horizontal lines cutting across near the middle and bottom half of the frame. These likely come from light sources outside of the frame.

Some directors, cinematographers, and other creators really like anamorphic flares. Others don’t. For a show with so many dark scenes that have colorful and dramatic lighting, the lens flares seem to enhance this. They are also a constant reminder of the interaction between the lights and the camera, kind of a fingerprint of the production. Sure, they make it seem more ‘cinematic,’ but I think they also ground us in the physicality of the production. (Kind of ironic given the lack of physicality of the main characters, and also you could consider the flares themselves to be the ghosts of the lights and the camera!)

Barrel distortion is where we start getting into why exactly the show looks the way it does. This is basically a subtle fisheye effect. Because of the squishing and stretching of the footage, anamorphic lenses have more distortion than spherical lenses, and it is strongest around the edges. 

You can see it most clearly in shots that have lots of vertical lines. They are relatively straight in the middle of the frame, but the closer to the edges, the more they are warped.

Looking at that shame shot of Niko in the bathroom, I have set it to stop at 3 different spots. Pay attention to the shape of the edge of the door.

At the start, it’s curved outward, like an open parentheses: (

Then, in the middle, it’s a vertical line: |

Finally, as the door passes all the way across the frame to the opposite side, it curves inward, like a closed parentheses: )

Again, notice how the lines in this shot of the Lost & Found Department change as they move from the outside towards the center. The door has an outward bulge at the beginning but becomes more 'normal’ shaped as it gets further away.

Anamorphic lenses can also have a pretty shallow depth of field and it’s used a lot in this show which is why we get a lot of those centered close-ups, and why we get that ‘radial blur.’ 

The center of the frame is where the actors are least likely to be distorted, meaning its easiest to have just one character in the dead center (pun intended). With a shallow depth of field, the background is out of focus, and since the actor is in the center, the background gets the most affected by the barrel distortion, leading to the sense that the background has been radially blurred. 

This blurred background with a strong, centered foreground really makes objects in the foreground pop. We are then able to really focus in on different objects and characters. It brings immediacy and intimacy. Here, we have nothing to do but consider Charles. He isn’t speaking so we must consider his reaction to what’s being said. 

Also, the further a character is from the center of a shot, the more they are distorted, such as Edwin and Charles in this still:

This kind of distortion definitely lends a more unnatural look to the shots, which definitely supports a show about ghosts and the supernatural. If the subjects are able to see things in our world in a way the viewers cannot, then why display the physical world the way we see it?

Finally, we have focus falloff. This is (like some of the other effects) a distortion that occurs around the edges. Here, the focus decreases the further from the center of the frame even if they’re all about the same distance from the camera.

In this shot of the Tongue & Tail, the sign 'Butcher Shop’ is clear and legible. But imagine if that sign was up in the top left or right corners, where things start to get blurry. We probably wouldn’t be able to read it.

It's also visible in this shot of Edwin. Not only does the floor get blurrier the further you get from the center, but you can see how the rope is less in focus in very top and very bottom of the frame.

The falloff (combined with the barrel distortion) is how we get the really unique dream-like look of the Edwin and Niko scene on the roof in Episode 8. (If you’re having a hard time spotting the falloff here, look at their legs)

When you start looking for falloff in this show, you start to see it everywhere. It’s easiest to spot in the corners of shots, but you can usually see all the way around the edges.

Look at the corners of this still of Edwin, or the way the top and bottom of Niko’s rent envelope aren’t as clear as the middle of it.

Or in this still, look at Charles’ jacket. The arm closest to the center has a much more defined line between it and the background compared to the arm closest to the edge. 

This blur definitely is one of the more noticeable effects in the show, and it’s good at focusing our attention on the center of the frame. It guides the viewer exactly to what we should be looking at. We get tons of centered shots in this show because of this and the barrel distortion. 

The falloff makes the show look softer and artistic, sometimes painterly or impressionistic. More than any other effect, the falloff is what makes me feel like I’m watching a dream or a vision. It puts us into the sensation of being fully immersed in a story.

I would argue that all of these effects (but especially the last two) not only enhace the supernatural aspect of the show, but they help us fall in love with the characters. They focus us on their faces, and encourage us to reflect on their motivations, reactions, and thoughts. The lens is telling us that we are not to take things at face value. It’s not letting us forget that there are multiple people and multiple stories involved, that things are blurry around the edges, and that things are not perfect and clean-cut. 

-----------

Sometime in the next week or so I’ll be working on part 2, where we’ll take a closer look at the cinematography of Edwin’s flashback to 1916 in Episode 1. It's posted! Read it here.

I really wanted to highlight the work of the cinematographers, Marc Laliberté, Craig Powell, and Pierre Gill because it’s clear that there was so much care and intention put into every aspect of this show. 

I’m so glad fans of this show are really embracing the work of different crew members, like the work of costume designer Kelli Dunsmore (and if you somehow haven’t seen @captainfantasticalright's posts about the costumes and other aspects of the show, please go check them out right now. My roommates and I have a kind of 'stop everything, new costume analysis dropped' attitude towards their posts, and their approach to show analysis was definiteily an inspiration for this)

If you want to read more about anamorphic lenses, the article Why ‘Shogun’ (and the Rest of TV) Is Slightly Out of Focus in The Ringer is about Shōgun and the rise of anamorphic lenses in TV (Marc Laliberté also worked on a few episodes of Shōgun) and it's a great place to start.

Finally, I want to first thank @skyvoice for these tags on one of my gifsets for semi-inspiring this post (I was already considering making this but these made it into a reality).

[do-it-for-the-fandom]

18! Castle and a sick Beckett 🙏🏼

In sickness and in health

Nine weeks ago an unrelenting virus had started the making rounds among the men and women of the twelfth precinct, taking down half a dozen employees at a time, confining them to their homes for days on end. The days were long, those healthy enough to do so were pulling insane amount of overtime to compensate the ongoing rotation of employees on sick leave.

Two weeks ago, when it seemed they had all seen the last of the nasty bug, he jinxed them. She didn't believe in jinxes. But, if she did, this was definitely his fault.

"We must be immune or something," he joked, holding his fist out to her, no doubt expecting some sort of celebratory fist bump.

Three days later he could barely get out of bed.

She hadn't seen him since. He had insisted that she stay away, stay healthy, and with the extra hours she had picked up over the chaotic few months, she was too exhausted to do anything more than go home and go straight to bed. Some nights she didn't even make it that far, crashing on the couch instead.

But it was too late. When she woke up with a scratchy throat and a pounding head, she silently cursed Castle and his stupid fist bump for tempting fate.

She was on day five of this hell and only seemed to be getting worse. Every muscle in her body felt tight, in need of a good stretch, but any movement made her entire body ache. She was feverish, yet freezing cold. Fatigue made her eyes heavy, everything uncomfortable, but she could not succumb to sleep. And with each cough that rattled her chest, throbbed through her pounding head, her malaise only intensified.

Her phone began to buzz against her thigh.

"Be-" she choked into her phone.

She braced herself, forcefully cleared her throat and winced slightly at the pain that ricocheted through her skull in response.

"Beckett," she tried again, more successfully this time.

"Wow, you sound like hell," Castle said bluntly. "I'm coming over."

"I'm fine-"

"When I said I'm coming over, I actually meant I'm here."

The knock at her door forced her to her feet, ruefully leaving the cocoon of blankets she had nestled into on the couch. She leant against the door, peeping through the hole. It was nice to lay eyes on him, even through a fisheye lens.

"You shouldn't be here," she said softly into the phone that was still pressed to her ear.

"But I missed you," he replied instantly.

She watched the smile grow on his face as he realised she was watching him. He stepped closer to the door, looking at the peephole as if it were a window into her heart.

She missed him, too.

She hung up the phone, stepping back to open the door just enough to rest her body between it and the frame. Not an invitation inside, she just wanted to see him, all of him.

His eyes drifted over her, taking in her appearance. She hadn't looked in the mirror in God knows how long, she didn't even want to think about how horrid she probably looked right now.

"Can I come inside?" he asked after allowing himself a few moments to study her.

"No." She shook her head, she would stand her ground. "You've only just recovered."

"Surely that means I have some sort of immunity, right?"

She laughed, weakly, but the sharp expulsion of air from her lungs was enough to trigger a deep barking cough. She shut the door slightly, trying her best to hide behind it - she didn't want to be seen like this - but he slipped his foot forward, keeping it ajar.

"Kate-"

"I believe the last time you tempted fate with the notion of immunity, you got us both struck down by karma," she jested, cutting him off, trying to ignore the burning of her throat.

He read her cues, thankfully, and removed the pained look from his face.

"I thought you didn't believe in fate."

Her eyes dropped to his lips, the smug smirk residing there.

She hated how much she loved that smirk.

"I don't," she assured him. "But, still, it's not worth the risk."

He moved forward, pressed his palm to her pale cheek and brushed his thumb along the prominent bone as she melted into his touch.

"You are worth the risk." He pulled her closer, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. "Besides, it's Valentine's Day and I didn't want you to be alone."

She sighed, he had already won this battle the second he showed up, they both knew it. "Can you stop being so sweet when I'm too weak to fight against it, please?"

"Does that mean you're letting me in?"

"Well, you're way too close right now. You're bound to be contaminated." She took a step back, pushing the door open as she did. "At this point, sending you home is just putting Martha and Alexis at risk."

"Exactly," he agreed enthusiastically, walking into her apartment before she could change her mind. "We wouldn't want to put them at risk, now, would we?"

She closed the door, leaning back against it once it clicked shut. She was physically and mentally drained, but just having him here already had her feeling so much better.

"Okay, back to bed," he ordered.

"I was on the couch."

"Fine, back to couch then." He grabbed her hand, pulled her from the door and guided her toward the abandoned cocoon. "Get comfy, pick a movie, I'll make you lunch."

"Thanks, but, I'm not hungry," she whined just thinking about the painful battle that was trying to eat. "Help yourself, though."

She lowered herself onto the couch, tucked her legs back into her cocoon and began to make herself comfortable again.

"When did you last eat?" he asked, noting the trash was full of empty medicine packaging and used tissues.

The obvious lack of any traces of food - no packaging, no scraps, no takeout containers - and the dish rack clear of any dishes was concerning to say the least. She had been sick for days, he highly doubted she was worried about keeping on top of her household chores at this time.

"It hurts," she justified.

"That's not what I asked."

She flopped her head down on the pillow, pulling the blanket over her head in true melodramatic style.

He shook his head, made a mental note to limit the amount of time she spent with his mother.

But her silence was an answer in itself.

He sighed, moving toward the fridge. He opened it to, thankfully, find an assortment of ingredients available.

"I'll make soup."

"Thank you." He heard muttered from under the thick pile of blankets.

He didn't hear a peep from her as he prepped the vegetables and soaked the noodles. Every time he peaked over to the couch to check on her, the lump of blankets remained unmoved. He added everything to a large pot, leaving it to finish cooking without disruption.

He crouched in front of the couch, gently pulling the blanket from her face to find her fast asleep. Cheeks flushed, mouth agape due to her inability to breathe through her nose, the corner of her mouth wet with drool that threatened to escape at any second: she really was a sight to see.

He brushed her hair back from her face, accidentally startling her awake.

"I'm sorry," he soothed. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Her eyes darted around the room as she regained her bearings.

"Sorry." She pulled her arms from under the blanket, tried to scrub the weariness from her face. "Must've dozed off."

Her eyes rolled involuntarily as she tried to fight off the fatigue, stretching her body out despite her protesting muscles.

He reached out for her hand, brushed his thumb along her knuckles while his other hand soothed fingertips through her hair.

"Close your eyes," he encouraged in his hushed tone. "I'll be right here when you wake up."

She rolled slightly, hugging his hand to her chest.

"You just wanna snoop through my stuff while I sleep," she mumbled with eyes closed.

He smiled, leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Obviously," he whispered.

She fell asleep with a smile on her face.

[courtingchaos]

I know on that Joe Keery post you meant like the ring security camera system

but my mind went straight to NuvaRings 😭😭😭

Drac. I’m fuckin dead.

It’d still be fisheye lens if it was a nuvaring, no?

[halcyonramblings]

Letters I Can Never Send, No. 5

Dear D,

After our New Years Eve date, I heard from you just about every day. Some days it was a meme, sometimes it was a song, and sometimes it was a deep philosophical question meant to initiate heated banter. Those were always my favorite.

Valentines Day came and went with little fanfare, but it didn’t matter because you spent your evening with me. Granted, it was through texting as opposed to in-person, but still you dubbed me your Valentine and we talked all night, so I went to bed with a contented smile on my lips and - dare I say it? - love swelling in my heart. I had three months until graduation, I had recently been awarded a full scholarship, and I was falling hard for you. I swore to myself that my first night at college, I was going to sleep in your arms.

Two days later, February 16th started as just another mundane day of high school until it all fell apart during 2nd period, AP U.S. history. Mr. Brown’s classroom felt as chilly as the biting air outside, and the fluorescent lights felt too bright as I shivered against the fuzzy fleece of my North Face jacket. Classmates chattered idly all around me while Mr. Brown swore under his breath at the Smart Board, which was refusing to display the Power Point that would guide his lecture.

Covertly, I slipped my iPod Touch out of my pocket, the pink and white giraffe print case cool and smooth in my palm. It had recently become common knowledge that the school’s wi-fi was unsecured, so we could freely use apps just so long as we didn’t get caught. I clicked onto Facebook and began to absently look through my newsfeed, when the sight of your name made me pause my scrolling. You had “liked” a photo.

I had never seen the girl before. Never had I seen a trace of her in the comments of your posts, never a tagged photo, never a wall post, never a mention of her as part of your regular rotation of friends. Already feeling panicked, I clicked through to her profile. Right there, under her recently added, there you were. Brand new Facebook friends. I clicked back to the picture, began to scrutinize her.

As much as I hated to admit it, she was kind of pretty, in a hipster sort of way. She had shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair in flat-ironed layers, thick bangs covering a large portion of her face. A purple bandanna was tied in her hair like a headband and she wore a gray t-shirt bearing the emblem of your university. Her eyes were partially obscured by thick, rectangular glasses and she smirked at herself in the mirror she was using to take her picture.

At this point, my heart had completely fallen out of my chest and landed in stomach acid, where it threatened to come up my throat and splatter like a tomato on the grimy tile floor. I clicked back to her profile, tears bubbling up in my eyes. She was pretty. In one picture, she didn’t wear her glasses and instead flashed huge, ice-blue eyes, black mascara piled on long lashes. In another, she played a guitar in the middle of a convenience store, right in front of the icee machine. There was one where she sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, trippy posters on the turquoise wall behind her and a Spam can on the bookshelf being used as a pen holder. She had a professional grade camera; photo after photo featured her holding up random objects in front of a fisheye lens.

I couldn’t deny it; she was everything I wanted to be. She was perfect. And she was your type. As the day wore on, I obsessively stalked both your Facebook profiles. You “liked” another of her photos, an older one taken with a webcam; she had obviously recently showered, hair in damp, wild curls framing her face.

That night, though, you texted me as if everything were normal. You made no mention of this mystery girl, instead sending me a song to listen to: “Warning Sign” by Coldplay. In return, I sent you “Bedroom Eyes” by the Dum Dum Girls. We continued like this, back and forth musical tag with some conversation sprinkled in, until you said goodnight around midnight. You promised you would talk to me tomorrow, punctuating your text with a ;-) face. Perhaps I had overreacted, I told myself as I burrowed under the covers.

You didn’t text me the next day, though. In fact, that was the last I heard from you. Days or weeks passed, I’m not sure. It felt like forever.

You certainly had time for your new friend, though. Over the next several days, I endured constant “likes” and even wall posts between the two of you - feigned sarcasm, playful arguing, exchanging songs, just like we did. It almost felt as though you were rubbing it in my face. But the thing that hurt me the most, the twisting of the knife - remember one of the songs you sent her?

Fucking “Warning Sign” by Coldplay, D.

[kirby-the-gorb]

[scapegrace74-blog]

Don’t Let Me Fall, Chapter 1

A/N  Inspired by my recent experience at a Cirque du Soleil show and a desperate need for distraction from my real-life worries, I bring you the zaniest cross-over AU idea ever: Outlander meets the Circus.  This will be a medium length story once it’s done, but posting may be somewhat erratic as I’ve only written the first three chapters.  Thank you in advance for your patience, and for coming along on the adventure!

Chapter 1, Crashing Down to Earth

In my dream, I was flying.  Pointe shoes beating an allegro of seemingly weightless steps, I performed a bourée towards my partner, waiting in the wings.  He joined me, hands firm at my waist as I spun in effortless pirouettes to centre stage.  A spotlight obscured the audience beyond the orchestra pit, but I knew they were there, a presence heralded by the absence of noise.  Our intricate pas de deux was as good as it had ever been.  The sweet madness of the violins, the familiar odour of chalk and sweat, my costume of carnation pink: they all melded together and shot through my veins with a narcotic rush.  This was what I was meant for, my calling, my singular gift to the world.  I was a prima ballerina, and I could fly.

Higher and higher I flew until Frank’s arms launched me skyward into a grand jeté, our signature movement that graced myriad posters and websites.

Memory is a faithless narrator.  Certainly, the music didn’t stop the second Frank’s grip faltered.  The audience, genteel in the extreme, probably did not gasp in horror as I transformed from majestic swan to shot dove before their eyes.  Any agony I should have felt was twice muted: once by the blunt shock of finding myself earthbound, and again by the omniscient perspective of a dream.

Through the fisheye lens of slumber, I witnessed myself laying in a shocked pile of tulle and nylon while a thousand faces watched on with pity, but also with a kind of mortified fascination.

***

Beyond the lethargic raindrops that smeared my living room window, London was dressed in summer grey.  My practice barre faced the view, which on a more hospitable day looked over slate rooftops towards the commons of Richmond Park.  As I mindlessly proceeded through my morning routine, over a decade’s worth of muscle memory took my body through a progression of movements while my thoughts wandered elsewhere.

After forty minutes, I acknowledged I was as limber as I was likely to get and made my way to the kitchen window box to harvest some wheatgrass for my morning smoothie.  Grabbing The Guardian from my doorstep, I perched on the sofa and sipped at my drink while paging through the Arts section.  A half-page ad for The Royal’s upcoming production of Romeo and Juliet halted my semi-conscious flipping.  There was Frank, in costume as Romeo, knelt at the foot of his new partner, a Slovenian ingenue with doll-like features.  I forced myself to turn the page, the smoothie souring to ash in my mouth.

As the Royal Ballet’s prima ballerina for the past five years, the role of Juliet should have been mine.  Would have been mine, were it not for a ruptured Achilles tendon and a painfully slow recovery from surgery.

I rose from the sofa, my eyes trained on the hazy middle distance.  Lifting on pointe, I assayed a pirouette on my left leg, but found myself toppling forward, still unable to bear my weight at full extension.  Tears of frustration, not to mention pain, blurred my vision.  It had been six months, and while my physical therapist urged patience, I knew my days were numbered.  My future as a ballet dancer was floating further and further away, while I was trapped, weighted down to earth.

***

“Ye’ve no’ said much about what ye’ve been up to, doll.”

Geillis Duncan was stirring honey into her hibiscus tea, but her jade eyes assessed me with tangible weight.  There wasn’t any point trying to hide from her.

“What’s there to say, Geil?  I go to physical therapy, I do yoga and some light barre work, and I otherwise just sit around and watch my bank balance plummet while trying not to turn into a hippo.”

My agent scoffed before taking an appreciative sip of her tea.

“Ye’re hardly at risk of becoming fat, Claire,” she commented once she’d swallowed.

“That’s not what Frank said, and he was the one tasked with holding me aloft.”

A task at which he’d failed rather spectacularly, thus landing me in my current predicament, but that only added weight to his argument, as it were.

“Have ye heard from the wanker, then?”  Geillis had never been a fan of Frank’s, even before my injury.  The fact that we were no longer dancing together gave her all the excuse she needed for open hostility.

“Not since he sent flowers to the hospital after my surgery,” I conceded.  Geillis arched an expressive eyebrow but was otherwise atypically silent.  She stirred her tea methodically, and I realized she was working up the nerve to say something.  In all the years we had known each other, Geillis had never once shied away from telling me exactly what she was thinking, even when I didn’t want to hear it. It made her an excellent agent and an even better friend, and the fact that she was hesitating now was cause for nerves to boil in my empty stomach.

“What is it, Geil?” I prompted, crumpling an untouched scone into smaller and smaller crumbs.

“Weeel, there’s a chance I may have found a solution to yer wee financial conundrum,” she began, voice raised over the continued clank of her teaspoon against porcelain.

My financial woes were anything but wee, but I only nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“Ye canna dance, obviously, so I’ve been exploring some, shall we say, less conventional options.”

“What is it, Geil?  Commercial work?  You know I don’t give a rat’s ass so long as it pays the rent.  Dress me up as a French mime or have me do the splits over a pit of alligators for all I care.”

The fact that Geillis still looked wary after my outburst should have worried me, but the possibility of finding both employment and a distraction from the monotony of my recovery made me reckless.

Taking one last gulp of her tea, Geillis finally met my gaze head on.

“Jes promise me ye’ll keep an open mind…”

 ***

“Ye wanted to see me, Mr. Marylebone?”

The office was crowded with bookshelves holding numerous awards, a potted palm and oversized furniture, leaving Jamie very little space in which to stand. This had the fortunate side effect of giving him a plausible excuse for leaving the door ajar.  It had been a while since the florid artistic director had made a play for his virtue, but it never hurt to be prepared.

“Jamie, Jamie, Jamie.  What has it been?  Four years? I’ve asked you a hundred times – call me Clarence.”

He nodded his head in seeming acceptance, although he had no intention of taking up the offer.  In addition to creating some much-needed distance between the wee hedonist and himself, the man was also his boss.  He held a tremendous amount of sway at Cirque des Etoiles, and Jamie knew that the more he left the man wanting, the greater leverage he wielded while negotiating his own terms.

“Good,” the director exclaimed, as though they had come to some sort of agreement, “now, I need to speak with you about our latest project…”

Without pausing to let Jamie get a word in edgewise, Clarence Marylebone proceeded to describe the Cirque’s newest artistic endeavour.  As he spoke, he drew imaginary scenes in the air with his heavily-ringed hands, his face growing flushed with emotion.  Despite everything, Jamie couldn’t help but admire the man’s unrelenting passion for his work.

“The show will be called Tropico, and it will be our most daring, sensual production yet.  Of course, we want you for the principal male aerial role – a Tarzan for the digital age, half-savage, half-Ubermensch.  It’s going to be absolutely delicious, just you wait and see.”

While he was obliquely flattered, this announcement was hardly a surprise. Since joining the Cirque straight out of circus school, Jamie had been cast in seven different principal male roles. He was a rare combination of ridiculously strong and remarkably flexible, in addition to being fearless. It had stopped feeling like an accomplishment when Jamie realized that he owed his success to nothing more than a genetic fluke.  These days, his ambition was to bargain his way off the Cirque’s hallowed roster of performers, not onto it.

And to that end…

“Aye, it sounds very interesting, Mr. Marylebone,” he interrupted when there was a brief pause in the onslaught for breath.  “I should very much like to learn more about what goes inta creating the show.  Tae learn from a master such as yerself.”

Jamie wasn’t above using flattery to obtain his ends.  When he saw the man’s cheeks grow even more crimson with pleasure, he couldn’t help pressing his advantage.

“Have ye had a chance tae look at the portfolio I left wi’ ye?”

Over the past two years, any time he had a moment to spare from his grueling schedule, Jamie had been working on an idea for his own show.  Set in Scotland and inspired by the myths and legends he recalled hearing in childhood, The Woman of Balnain was Jamie’s lovechild, and his best chance to retire from circus performance and move into a creative role.

“Not yet, my boy.  When would I find the time?” Marylebone blithely dismissed.  “Now, we only have four months to prepare the show, so I want to start auditioning for your female counterpart immediately.  She needs to be something truly special.  Delicate refinement to contrast with your brute masculinity.”

“Excuse me, sir, but wouldna Anna-Louise be the obvious choice?”

For the first time since entering his office, the artistic director appeared at a loss for words.

“Yes, err, well… I rather thought she’d already have told you.  What with your, err, personal relationship and whatnot…” He spent an inordinate amount of time fiddling with some papers on his desk and clearing his throat.

“Tell me what, sir?” Jamie asked, already predicting the answer.

“Well, you see, Anna-Louise has accepted an offer to join the international touring company of Allegro.  I needn’t tell you what an amazing opportunity it is for her.”

It was strange, Jamie mused as he made the long walk back from Marylebone’s office to the training facility.  Between the news that his girlfriend of several years was leaving him for a better professional opportunity and the news that Marylebone still hadn’t reviewed his artistic proposal, it was the latter that he found harder to bear.

[laurelier]

We got our 28/09 gift in the form of Falling mv bts photos

We did. We really did. And I’m so emotional about it because ouhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHH it’s Falling. It had to be Falling. Falling……… god it just sits there right in my little heart and boops my little soul right on the nose so this is big for me.

I’m just gonna. Use this ask as an opportunity to curate my own little gallery of some of my favorites, all cozied up in pairs. Every pic released today is my favorite, I couldn’t pick just one for the world, but I think these are fun when you put them side by side. Long post with no cut not sorry about it I just wanna sit here and gaze lovingly at these forever.

First and foremost this LIGHT. God this light. This annnnnnngeeeeellll light. Filtering through his angel gown. Help this light is all of my emotions hitting me at once like a blast of fire from the sun. Look at him. Look at him looking at us. The first one is as passive and open as the second is confrontational and closed off and the combo is just so sharp: like he was sitting there playing and we interrupted, and he hasn’t decided yet whether he minds our intrusion on him and his soul. Come in, but tread carefully.

Press play on pretentious mode. The composition of these????? I don’t know shit about photography yal like literally not shit but what I do know is how looking at a slightly shifted (look at the floor and walls) double exposure (?) of Harry playing the piano with two different expressions on his face—one anxious and thoughtful, one passionate mid-song grimace—with the one where he’s wailing more blurred, as if it’s in the background of his mind—what I do know is how that makes me feel. And it's a lot. I feel a lot.

And the second one here looks to me like it was taken in a mirror?—it’s got the FL fisheye element a little there with the circle, and then a single Harry—but really, if it's taken in a mirror, there's two of him here as well—and two of the lighted windows behind him, also.

Same kinda beat here. On the left, with the world's most elegant walmart wolf shirt overlay edit—if this is meant to evoke a mirror, even partly........ there's just so many Harrys here. There are so many Harrys in this room.

On the right: Harry and Harry again. The self splitting. The whole room splitting. This one has pieces that make it look like a reflection, too—like that little blue stained glass halfcircle in the middle, on top of the window slats there, the circles like a lens flare. As if the room’s turning sideways and reflecting across the middle of the Harrys’ chests. Nothing has a secure place.

In a lot of the ones that look like this—like a photo with another photo overlay—there are these elements (the checkered floor, certain windows, that little gold arch thing) that repeat throughout, almost making it seem like the room is doubling and tripling and flying apart around Harry. Dreamy, indeed—indulge me a silly metaphor for a minute: it reminds me of the way that little unresolved parts of ourselves—little doubles of ourselves, even—so often float around, disembodied, in the rooms of our hearts until we can place them.

Confrontational camera gaze, eerie and arresting, is it aggressive? Or caught? Both? And then the second here, on the right, where his head is just all shadow? I take back what I said earlier: this one might be my favorite, actually. He’s just a shape and a frill. He looks so delicate, with the light illuminating that collar like that. And so inaccessible to us, the way it shadows his face.

Ohhhhhh and these. These. These give me the end of the SOTT music video a lil bit, honestly—the colors, the light. And that window. Always that window that is She to me: he turns to it a couple of times in the mv and sings toward it, almost like there’s a person there looking at him, from within the light. And the way it reflects off the water in the one on the right………. man. It’s as if Harry’s bathing in himself: all the light and water of himself.

Thanks for this, anon <3. And thanks to symbolic ass Harry and WOW hugeass thanks to beautifully talented Annie Noelker. I can’t get enough of the way he’s captured here. All pics from posts rbd in my falling tag.

[m-y-fandoms]

COMMISSION: Joker/Akira/Ren x Reader Part 2

Part 1

This is gonna be many more parts... I can already tell 

Word Count: 2.2k

SFW, SLOW BURN romance friends to lovers, gender neutral reader, anyone can enjoy it and place themselves as the reader!

- Admin Myah

You spent your entire free period up on that roof, hoping by some miracle that you weren’t crazy, that the group of second-year students that had seemingly vanished before your eyes were in fact pranking you, and upon seeing that you weren’t amused, would get tired of hiding and pop out, finishing the surprise. No such luck, however, and so you left, the second-period bell forcing your hand. Spending the first period of your day - a bit of free time meant for studying, finishing homework, or otherwise enriching yourself educationally - up on the roof and unaccounted for by any teachers was a bit risky already, and you were a decent enough student. There was no way you could just sit there all day, skipping the rest of your classes. Sighing, you resolved to just give up the hunt for your destined main character and by extension the group of potential new friends.

＊

Often after school, you headed to the library, which stayed open along with a select few other areas of Shujin for student use after the last bell rang. Today, however, you felt drawn back to that place, back to that rooftop where you’d seen Akira, Ryuji, and Ann disappear hours earlier. It just wasn’t sitting right with you; you felt a stirring in your soul, like a tiny voice in your head, a shimmering blue butterfly in your stomach. Lucky for you, the rooftop was also open, though you’d never really spent time there. Certain students, including another third-year you admired raised plants up there where the sun could reach them, while others simply came up there for the view or the breeze, some private space to study.

Today, the breeze was indeed blowing, and you sat there writing as it whistled past your ears, polishing up some plot points, scrawling down ideas for your protagonist straight from the imagination, since it seemed you wouldn’t be finding any real-life inspiration anytime soon. It was frustrating, writer’s block, and for the past month or so, it’s all you could do to write a single paragraph. You always found yourself lost in the pages of the novels you loved, and you could identify great writing, appreciate the artistry of another writer, but it was sometimes so hard to put your own thoughts down on the pages of your journal. Why was it so hard? You knew what real romance was. You knew which themes and cliches were overdone and unrealistic. You had a mature and healthy outlook on real relationships and could pick apart the stereotypical female protagonist who was strong and independent until she met the man who would break down her walls or the toxic bad boy who women loved on paper but would cry their eyes out over in real life. You’d read thousands of books and fan-fiction, listened to hundreds of audiobooks, watched tons of romance movies, so why, lately, was it not clicking?! Where was the disconnect between having thoughts and transcribing said thoughts down into your very own masterpiece? Fantasy came so easily to you, sci-fi, non-fiction essays for class, mysteries, research papers, but romance, the genre you loved the most, seemed to purposely elude you.

You were shaken out of your frazzled state when something caught your attention out of the corner of your eye. Shaking your head a bit to try and focus your vision, you looked over your shoulder to see that the black spot on the fringe of your blind spot was in fact actually there. You rubbed your eyes just to be sure, but there it was, a wavering black inky spot hovering in the air. Another appeared, then another, now red in color. You were beginning to feel insane for the second time that day, but rather safe than sorry, you quickly stood, shoving your work and pencils into your bag and shuffling away from the blobs, which were now oscillating and dancing around each other, phasing in and out of existence like a fisheye lens. This was a bit too freaky for your liking, and you were beginning to feel a frightening chill up your spine. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, and you elected to put some kind of barrier of safety between yourself and the floating bubbles. Like any rational person, your mind was screaming “unknown situation: possible threat: run!” but again, that little butterfly in the pit of your guts was saying there was something worth staying for. So, running to the door to the roof, you swung it open, a ringing in your ear starting to buzz and chime. You closed it frantically, pressing your nose up against the small glass windows that allowed a limited view of the roof. A small gasp escaped your lips, and you instinctively grabbed onto your bag a bit tighter.

The red and black splotches began to dissipate and fade like some kind of glitch in reality, and three figures appeared like mist, like ghosts before beginning to solidify and slowly become tangible silhouettes. Then, as if some kind of magic ritual was coming to a close, the figures poofed into existence, and your brain processed the scene before you.

“Holy shit…” you whispered. There, clear as day were Sakamoto, Takamaki, and the new kid. They were just standing adjusting their clothes, stretching their arms and legs, situating their personal items. It was just then that you saw a little furry head poke up out of Akira’s school bag. Your harsh, analytical gaze softened a bit upon seeing the small black cat that appeared. Had he been carrying that cat around all day? Surely not, right? How would he keep it quiet and still? “What the…?” The inquisitive glare returned to your features when they began… speaking to the cat. It wasn’t the cute baby talk people often use with their pets, either. It was a full-on, serious conversation, and the cat was meowing back, clearly, in response to their statements.

It was a bit muffled by the thick door, but you could make out bits and pieces.

 Metaverse? Palace. Shadows... treasure? Kamoshida? Great, that asshole, but what could he have to do with this? What even was this? 

You were questioning everything you knew. You were wondering if the juice you had this morning at breakfast was spiked. There was no winning in this scenario, either you were crazy, or these kids were. You looked downward, contemplating your navel as your mind tried to make sense of the events of today. You glanced up again, trying to eavesdrop a little better, get some more detail. You took a step closer, trying to will the sound of their voices through the door to be just a little louder, just a little clearer, when Sakamoto suddenly pivoted, stretching and cracking his spine with a sigh.

“Gah!”  You shouted out. His eyes met yours through the window and widened like a kid caught in the cookie jar. You jumped with a start, taking a cautionary step back and nearly tumbling down the stairs. It was a miracle you caught yourself in time, but your little outburst had definitely caught the attention of the group. Your cover was thoroughly blown. “Oh, no…” You cursed under your breath, spotting both Ann and Akira’s eyes on you now as well.

“Shit! Do you think they saw?” Ryuji’s hands flew to his hair, mussing and working out his frustrations on the dyed strands while simultaneously, Akira was already in motion, rushing toward the door to apprehend the unwelcome listener.

Your heartbeat sped up, and like a gazelle spotted by a lion, a fire was lit under you and you began to sprint, clumsily fumbling down the stairwell and onto the flat platform where the stairs rotated 90 degrees and continued downward. Inhaling sharply, your foot, nervous and supporting jelly-like legs, missed the final step. Your belongings, along with your body, spilled across the square, flat platform, and the door behind you slammed open.

“Hey!” Akira’s yell echoed through the stairwell, and your thoughts bounced off the walls just like his voice. Scrambling, you scooped only the essentials into your hands: your journal, the phone of course, a few homework binders, ditching the easily replaceable items like chewing gum and pencils. Taking to one scraped-up knee and ready to bolt, you felt a hand close upon your bicep and clamp down firmly. “Hey, hey… slow down.” Akira again, now gentler with his tone, spun you around to face him. You stood clutching your things to your chest like a life preserver. “I’m not gonna like… kill you or anything.” A breathy chuckle, and now he was on the platform next to you, scanning you up and down for injuries with his hands in his pockets. “So, uh… so don’t kill yourself by fallin’ down these stairs, huh?” He played off the tense feeling in the air with humor, but the sheer proximity of him, standing there in front of you mere inches away in the cramped space, it was like you could hear your blood pounding in your ears.

What was he thinking right now? Did he think you were some weirdo stalker? I mean, you’d just met him this morning and now you were watching him through a small window like a creep after school… after following him there. Wait, that wasn’t important right now! Was he going to kill you? He didn’t seem like the type of guy to do that, but then again, he didn’t seem like the type to phase in and out of existence either… neither did Ryuji and Ann… what were people with powers like that capable of?

Right now, you were just going to mind your business, and play it safe. It wasn’t worth getting mixed up with people who warp through a “metaverse” and talk to animals just for some good writing material, not if it turned out to be dangerous.

“Well…” you hesitated, “it’s none of my business, what I just saw, and I won’t tell anyone.” You breathed a little easier, tried to regain your composure, to not look too weak.

“So they did see! Awww, shit!” Ryuji’s head popped through the door, interrupting the uncomfortable conversation, and the hot air of the enclosed space was cut through by a gust of wind from the now open rooftop door.

“Now, just hold on, Ryuji,” Akira held out one hand to placate his rather temperamental friend.

“No, no really it’s fine that you talk to your… cat and just… vanish... and I’m sure it’s all fine and multiverse-y and…”

“Metaverse.” Akira corrected you with a small smile, bending down to pick up the rest of your scattered objects.

“Dude!” Ryuji ran a hand down his face in defeat.

“They saw us, no point in being tight-lipped,” he stood, handing them to you.

“Metaverse… right,” you took them, watching every move he made carefully. “Sorry, I’m… a bit more... eloquent in my writing,” you moved to the side, ready to sneak past and descend the rest of the stairs. Anything to get on with your day and escape this unbelievable situation. Akira shuffled, mirroring you and completely blocking the stairwell. There was something clever about him, something sharp and charismatic. He knew exactly what he was doing, what he wanted to achieve, and he knew how to calmly and smoothly execute his plans, unlike Sakamoto, who was far less… organized.

“Writing…?” He was keeping you locked into this conversation, as gently and amiably as he could, and you were not leaving until he was sure he could trust your word.

“Uh… yeah, that’s why I was up…” your eyes met his, quickly recoiling and looking toward the floor again, “...up on the roof. I was just looking for a quiet place to write.”

“What, uh, what kind of stuff do you write?” Ann had now joined Ryuji at the top of the stairs, leaving you feeling completely caged in. Ann threw Akira - who seemed like the leader of the small band of misfits - a desperate glance, a sort of look that seemed to ask: “Where are you going with this? Are we screwed?”

“It’s… it’s kind of private. It’s just… romance stuff. I don’t know, I do all kinds of different stuff, whatever I’m in the mood for.” Akira nodded, more to his friends than you, something you had a feeling you weren’t supposed to pick up on. He stuck his hand out flat, gesturing toward the rooftop behind you. You took the hint, heading a bit anxiously back up the stairs, Ryuji and Ann making way for you.

“You any good?” Akira followed behind you, and now on the rooftop once again, the cool air felt freeing, less constricting, though his question felt a bit insulting, a bit nosey.

“I don’t know… I’ve been told I am…” The three friends took a seat in areas that seemed very familiar to them, like they’d been up here warping in and out of this realm many times before. Now settled into place, Ann spoke up, obviously as apprehensive as you were:

“Well do you… do you think…?” Her high-pitched voice seemed to be hesitant, not yet confident in her next words, not sure if they were all on the same page.

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly,” Akira smirked as if the three had one mind. He turned to you, trying to make eye contact that you vehemently avoided. “How would you feel about helping us out?”

[hikarumkns]

Sk8 Episode 6 (TRICKS)

Spoilers ahead

.

.

.

While I love everything about this show, I LOVED THIS EPISODE THE MOST.

I've been saying for a while now that I've been dying to know more about the characters and although this episode didn't really dive into their lives specifically we got to see them in a totally different situation outside of Skateboarding. First of all, I did the horrible mistake of watching this episode at 5am (TMI: I'm an insomniac) and I'm shocked I didn't wake anyone up 🤣🤣

To start off, Shadow being the permanent "babysitter" is literally giving me so many feels cause I've been in his situation before 🤣 I think we had a lot of relatable moments. Especially this one

I just love how they managed to have all the main characters in the same spot coincidentally and have it work without it being awkward. I would also like to point out that Kaoru is totally against this like 1000% of the time but deals with it so gracefully. I LOVE absolutely LOVE Kaoruband Joe's relationship. Maybe because I'm used to Midorikawa Hikaru being either very callous or elegantly devilish.

On to skateboarding which we got a little of but still worth pointing out.

Now I mentioned this earlier from someone who asked (thank you btw ♥️) I've been dying to talk about this. A trick I want to point out that is so worth talking about called the 360 Boneless. (I recently labeled this as the Nose Grab No Comply which I see now is completely wrong so I apologise for any confusion 😔)

I love this trick cause it's simple, complex and just earns a lot of cool points in my opinion. Add a 360 to it and I'll got yourself a pretty nice trick up your sleeves. At first I thought Joe had done a nose grab no comply since he grabbed the nose but if you look closely, you can see he's actually holding onto his board the whole entire time.

This is a nose grab no comply. Notice how he lets go of his board after he jumps rather than hold onto it.

The more this show progresses the more we see that these characters really are street skaters. They skate anywhere at any time regardless of the situation (literally) and with style lol. They're banging out a lot of tricks that are so simple to do but yet complex and I give thanks to the creators for that because despite this episode not being all that skate oriented we still see something completely new.

This was so much fun to see! Aside from the tricks done by each individual character, I love the angle they chose. A old school photo skate magazine kind of vibe with a good fisheye lens.... ☺️☺️ Just beautiful.

There are tricks that are being pulled off here. Since I'm not too familiar with Langa, who pulls off snowboarding tricks 24/7 and their names sometimes vary, I won't be able to name what he's pulling off here. Reki and Shadow did an Ollie but then you have Miya, Joe and Kaoru.

Miya does a pop shuvit

Joe does an airwalk (I've always loved seeing these during the X Games. I've seen them done on a lot of big jump tournaments)

I'm almost certain Kaoru does an airwalk fingerflip. Which I think would make sense if he's trying to one up Joe with his own variation of the airwalk given their rivalry lol

Most of these tricks are flat ground based which I find interesting given that these guys basically have verts on their S course but we hardly see grabs and aerials tricks. Take Miya and ADAM for example, their tricks are very technical and definitely not meant verts and half pipes. I haven't seen them take a lot of air as opposed to Joe or Langa. I feel like Reki is definitely an all rounder type and we have yet to see him really go at it. He's definitely a freestyle skater from the opening of the show.

I love how in this episode of was a perfect balance of comedy, seriousness and Skateboarding that really blended well together. I do feel like ADAM was a little out of place in this though I think it was still necessary to introduce the inspector and their relationship... If there's anything there. Now we know that ADAM is just that weird character in and out of the course... A little disturbing tbh but that's what makes him a good villain.

Here's to another week

[bifurious-rex]

Music Video for Hurray for the Riff Raff’s RHODODENDRON, from their new album, Life on Earth. (link)

Image description under the read more.

1. The opening title screen for the Hurray for the Riff Raff music video, Rhododendron. Text is overlaid on people running across a meadow and a VHS-styled shot of someone in a pink balaclava spraypainting the song's lyrics on a wall.

2. A shot of Alynda Segarra singing in the field pictured earlier, with two people dancing oddly behind them. All three are dressed in colorful but sparse eclectic clothes. The next shot is another of the singer with two background dancers, though these are two different dancers than before. The two are chewing gum and stretching it out to twist around their fingers. Alynda Segarra sings into the camera, which is warped to resemble a fisheye lens. The final shot in the gif is the singer sitting on a bed covered in unreadable text, with text projected over them. Three shots in quick succession, of

3. A spinning overhead shot of Alynda Segarra singing while laying on a foil blanket outside. They are wearing a green crocheted bikini top with daisies on it. The next shot is a sped up one of them and the two background dancers dancing in the field. The third shot is another inside with the two alternate background dancers, no longer warped with a fisheye lens.

4. The singer is pedaling a swan-shaped boat on a lake, dressed in classic gothic makeup and clothes. The turn to grimace at the camera. Again, the footage seems sped up.

5. Another shot of the Alynda Segarra, this time in a surreal room filled with all kinds of plants. They are playing guitar and styled in an eccentric style reminiscent of 70's and 80's New Wave, with their hair spiked up in a fashion similar to A Flock of Seagulls. Under their leather jacket they are wearing a skintight suit meant to look like the human muscular system.

6. The final gif is a spinning overhead shot of Alynda Segarra singing, laid out on the text-covered bed. They are in a tank top and underwear and appear to be soaked in blood but uninjured.

[gofancyninjaworld]

2020 in One-Punch Man. Part 1: Manga

How shall I describe this succinctly?

It's like ONE and Murata looked around them, saw a raging pandemic, massive disruption to all walks of life, uncertainty of when, if, or how it might affect them, took a massive drag of their cigarettes and said: “Fuck being conservative.  Let's go wild. Fuck making our current arc a webcomic retread with fancier fights.  Let's introduce more lore, let's have more characters interact in ways one would never have imagined, let's have characters do things that hadn't previously been thought of and make this really exciting.“

If you were holding onto the webcomic as your guide to what next, 2020 was not a good year for you. 

723 pages in 24 updates (including revisions) changed the status quo ante in deliciously unanticipated ways!

Where we left off in 2019, we were following the webcomic pretty faithfully, with most manga-original elements being removed at a fast clip.  Phoenixman was dead, the mercenaries had died a brutal death, the ninjas had been resurrected but had run off buck naked, Orochi was dead, G5 was very much destroyed, Drive Knight had appeared but had obligingly limped off, taking Nyan with him.  The S-Class heroes were in trouble with the cadre exactly as expected and Saitama had met up with Flashy Flash.  Tatsumaki had finally found Psykos. Yup, no real changes here.

2020, HAHA! 

Awaken!

Throwing manga-specific elements away? As if!   They took the great opportunity that preparing chapters for publication to critically review and revise the story so as to first, make it move at a faster pace and second, to be enriched.   It’s meant that chapters for volume 22, 23, and 24 (to come) have been redrawn to accommodate the changes and we got the benefit of many of them between April and August of this year.

We started with Phoenixman’s fight with Child Emperor.  It started innocuously enough with Phoenixman resurrecting, but then we got a much more interesting chunk of knowledge -- the existence of a metaphysical world modelled on one’s on psyche where the assault on Child Emperor’s sense of self took a much more existential nature. 

From a purely physical battle (and some nifty cool info about the Subterraneans) to an otherworldy battle happening in parallel with the physical battle:

It ended up a very interesting examination of Child Emperor’s character and his relationships with other heroes, as well as telling us something else freaky about Saitama’s ability to be anywhere he damn well wants to be.

Ah, and Phoenixman lives. Albeit as a little chick (for now).  He’ll probably be back, but not just yet.

The mercenaries were next.  They didn’t die.  Not because Amai Mask had a change of heart, but because Iaian listened to the niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach and turned his team mates around to intervene just in time. 

As you’d expect, trying to guide the mercenaries back to the safety of the surface has been an incredibly challenging ordeal for the disciples. It’s revealed much more about the way the disciples trust each other and lean on one another, and yet, when there was no option to do so, Iaian stepped up wonderfully to fight to save the mercenaries.

We’ve also learned something interesting about why mercenaries exist at all in a world supposedly at peace.  I look forward to seeing where this plot might go next.

Elsewhere,  we got to learn a little less about Puri Puri’s dancing and swimming lessons, but we got some really awesome nods to the mythical in Bakuma (the baku is a long-nosed creature formed out of all the bits left over after creation that eats dreams) and Electric Catfish Man’s sudden sense of doom is both reference to the way catfish are supposed to detect earthquakes and just damn cool. 

A monsterised exploitative business man taking the form of a demonic dream-eating monster that consumes weaker monsters so as to exploit their abilities is so appropriate on many levels (and unreasonably hot!).

Yes, Waganma does make it to the surface, along with Saitama and Child Emperor.  Saitama gets chased away by a Sekingar outraged that there’s a clueless hero just wandering aimlessly around.  Child Emperor goes back underground and I loved to death Waganma being pierced with remorse as he realises that the hero is going to go risk his life anyway.   He’s spoiled, but his keeping quiet came from a place of being a scared human being desperate to be saved  (a surprising number of fans did not like that -- they preferred to think of him as a psychopathic monster incapable of remorse).

Orochi still has a date with a gloved fist, but he’s getting to live a little longer than he did before.

Overall the story is tighter and there’s a lot more interest as well as future plot hooks than there were.  I’m interested in seeing how it gets tied up in the next volume sometime in 2021.

Reddit did not take it well.  Summary of discourse:

sorry not sorry, I lost patience around the 500th whiny post

Advance!

What about the new chapters we got?  Also here, ho ho ho, that status quo has gotten a good kicking!

Orochi came back.  Not the most surprising surprise in the world, given how carelessly Saitama punched him. Also not surprising that he came back stronger; Phoenixman had wonderfully demonstrated that monsters can bounce back from near-death situations much stronger.  But his form... such a disgusting, slimy, ever-shifting mass of tentacles and dragons, consuming all in its way led to the third craziest development: his fusion with Psykos to launch a new monster.

I’ll spare you the disgusting intermediate stages but the end result has been the birth of Psykos-Orochi and with that, what had been a total sweep for Tatsumaki turned into a much more dangerous enterprise where every mistake of hers got punished brutally.

Why is that only number three?  Because Tatsumaki raised up the entire base to try to encompass the whole monster (and it turns out that she was thinking far too small -- the monster had actually eaten large sections of City Z) and Psykos-Orochi uses the space to launch a beam so powerful that it literally cuts off part of the Earth itself.  It was a real I see it, but I don’t believe it moment.

if you didn’t spend a few seconds just staring in disbelief, you’re not paying attention. OMG.  Boy is the Earth in trouble.

Why is that only the second craziest thing?  Because of why this fusion monster was able to do as it did. ‘God’ doesn’t just go round looking like a semi-tangible being giving random homeless men magic powers.  Yup, the Earth really in in trouble if some supernatural being is smushing monsters together to make a stronger one and then granting it extra powers.   Just like that, the struggle has turned cosmic.

Tatsumaki trying to figure out how to fight back and save City Z from being swept away by a tsunami, save the heroes, and save the planet from further damage by the beams all at the same time was one of the most spectacular fights to date. 

As I said earlier, this monster has presented Tatsumaki with a real fight where the slightest mistake on her part leads to severe punishment.  She wound up in trouble when she underestimated how extensive the monster actually was and let up on twisting it too early, only to have it come right back and skewer her hands. 

Thankfully, Genos came in and saved her from that pinch, then held the monster at bay long enough for Tatsumaki to finish saving the strike team so she could give the monster her undivided attention.

Which is a very tame way of saying that that was an incredible development in capability.   That some of the fandom had trouble accepting (they suck). Watching their protests has been an exercise in special pleading.  They have no trouble understanding how Murata uses scale...until it came to accepting the size of the explosion resulting from Genos smacking away Psyko-Orochi’s execution beam then it had to be a fisheye lens (visibly incorrect, but who’s talking facts here?).   Have had no trouble understanding how Murata portrays escalation... until it came to accepting that Genos is strong then no, somehow the monster had to be weaker.   Have had no trouble with the freeze frame language that Murata uses to portray things happening at great speed... until it came to accepting that Genos could move really, really fast.   For some people, the new is only welcome when it confirms and validates preconceptions.  Anyway, that’s my rant done!

the most unlikely of partnerships and they’re still going despite having taken a hell of a battering since this scene

Guess who’s back?

We’ve also been seeing more heroes come back to the fray.  The emergence of the Tower of Doom acted as a clarion call to every hero around and able to move.  Metal Bat sneaked out of hospital to come running back.  Tank Top Master hitched a ride with Mumen Rider to go to City Z.  He intended to stick around and save people, but seeing how much wider scale the fight was,  he literally threw himself into battle. 

Drive Knight decided he literally had to have a piece of the action,  took up a ton of power from the nearest substation and came flying in to intercept a desperately escaping Psyko-Jet... ah, I didn’t say?  Yes, the monster turned into a machine to run away once hard-pressed.

And we finally got to see what Blast actually looks like, courtesy of a flashback of Amai Mask’s.   He definitely looks the part of a caped superhero and it’s little wonder he’s stuck in the imaginations of so many.   But now I’m even more interested in seeing what his deal is and what is he’s like now

The one thing we know for sure will be happening is that Garou will not be denied his destiny.   He’s coming.  But what else is happening?  Ah, that’s all in the air.

Bring on 2021!

[geniusvirgin]

the focus is her bare ass, and her face is blurred out. how is it not sexualised??

i totally understand how you could see it as sexualized, but to me personally my first reaction was that it felt like non sexual nudity. i can think of other pop album covers- teenage dream by katy perry comes to mind- where the art is less explicit, but comes off as much more sexually suggestive because of the way in which the artist is posed/the costume and setting. i felt that because of many elements of the photo, the way she’s wearing a swim shirt, the blurry almost fisheye lens, the pose which to me does not come off as it’s meant to be sexy, her nudity feels less like it’s saying “here’s lorde’s ass, don’t you want to fuck her?” and more like it’s saying “here’s lorde on a beach day”. this is just my opinion, and maybe it’s wishful thinking on my part bc i don’t actually want a lorde era that’s super sexual, but i hope i articulated why i feel like this. :)

[cupcakecait17]

The saga of a 32 year old woman seemingly perpetually stuck in a loophole of uncertainty and mental breakdowns.  I Don’t Know What I’m Doing Here : Part One

I think the hardest thing about writing is the beginning. I remember in college hating writing essays. You’re introduction and 3 body paragraphs and a conclusion, pretty much making me say the same thing 3 different times in slightly different ways... and we wonder why women have a hard time communicating. Just try to listen to us the first time cause we get lost ourselves ok? So for this first installment on the “dromedy” ( drama & comedy ... did I do that right? fork it ) that is my life I will NOT be following a essay format but probably more of a ramble of the basics of my life. Cant throw you right into the wolves den of the present day, nay nay. First lets establish some rapport with the characters of this epic saga. Hopefully this can shed a small fraction of light into who I actually am so you can understand how I survived and ended up where I am. Strap in bitches, this aint The Magic School Bus! ( I will not object to Ms. Frizzle taking over the bus driving responsibilities if anyone has her contact info help a girl out. )

December 6th 1988. Twas a Tuesday in Nashua NH. I dont think it was snowing, I dont remember. Everything was as planned as it could be. A slender yet very pregnant  32 year old woman climbs into a car and waves at her dad as they drive down the street, him filming the entire ordeal from the second she woke up until much much later in the day when everyone was overjoyed and exhausted. She gets to the labor and delivery department at Nashua Memorial ready for the epidural and C-section she knew was coming because her baby was flipped around and making things complicate. Even before that small person took its first breath of worldly air, it was already showing its defiance at doing things the “right way”. The room was all ready to go and the doctor was too. At 1:11pm she gave birth to what everyone believed was going to be a happy healthy perfect little boy, but nay nay. While the doctor shouted to the hazey doped up woman “We have a boy!!” his wife who was a nurse immediately chimed in “NOPE! It’s a girl!!”. And to everyone surprise, I was born. My mom had picked out the name Jackson for me since literally everyone thought she was having a boy. Back in the 80s you didn't do ultrasounds at the obgyn unless they believed something was wrong. So there was no gender reveal until the child reviled it. Took my mother DAYS to figure out my name. Once she finally did, I think 6 or 7 other Caitlins were born in that hospital that same week. Never met a one of em. 

So here I am, all fresh to the world. I don't know the joys or heartaches that I'm about to face, no one does. All they can think about is how amazing I am in that moment. And Im sure I was. I know that feeling of love. That feeling of wanting them to have the best, everything you didn't but in all the best ways, and protect them from the things you have had that you know one day they will have to face too. Here’s the thing about the human condition, we are selfish even in ways we dont see and aren't meant to harm anyone. We want to bring a child into this state of being not knowing what that child might have to deal with once they accept they are someone on this earth that will have to create their world for themselves one day. Its not the parents fault, nor the childs. There are countless numbers of people who feel as if they simply hadn't been born, certain suffering would never have happened, and that it can be next to impossible to find a light in that void, no matter how much they want it or how hard they try. That fresh, new face will only last for so long. Those gray blind eyes will soon heighten their pigment and clarity to the comings and goings that happen around them. The feeling of safety and security in who you are because you have your parents to guide you becomes fleeting once you start to discover who you REALLY are. Some enjoy the process, some do not. Some need help while others do the helping. Everyone's path is unique and solely their own. Just because it works for you don't mean it would work for him, or her, or your doggo, whatever. And that's ok.

And then there’s some of us, like me, who is a giant proverbial moose who doesn't know how to walk yet none the less stand up straight, looking at life through what feels like a fisheye lens, with a broken mute button to the annoying cunt in your head who’s either lying to you or is 100000% correct and you refuse to listen, all while sitting alone in our rooms saying to ourselves -

I don't know what I'm doing here.

**i want to say this before i go - this is not for you, its for me. at times it will sound selfish and like im whining and i probably am, and thats ok. i need this outlet. throughout this im hoping to discover and see things in myself i can work on and things i should be prouder of, this is not a pity party. and even if it was, who gives a hoot.. i dont expect anyone to stumble across this but if you dont and you having the compelling urge to say something to me, in any negative way, please dont. words are the most powerful thing we have as humans. it can tear things down to nothing or it can build and create something beautiful. please just be kind to one another, the worlds kinda shitty right now**

[themockingcrows]

Companionship Through Circuitry Ch. 2: Radiation Blues

Bro/Hal This chapter can be found on my AO3! This chapter is SFW cw: vomit

Not everywhere is safe to sleep, and warnings shouldn't be ignored. Even if they come from pretentious sounding AI.

    What are you doing.

    "I'm writin' to my kid, mind your own business."

    My God in Heaven save us all, you've procreated.

    "Yeah, and my spawn's the raddest thing in the world, what about it. Mind your own business, I'm already smudgin' the shit out of this," Bro muttered, writing against his thigh on layered paper carefully as he could. Being a lefty was suffering sometimes, even if he tried his damndest to write neatly.

    There were probably better ways to go about doing this, better times or places, but something about camp that night felt safe and secure, and it was about time for another letter to get written and sent out to check in and let him know what was up. So there he sat by his fire curled up with the paper on his thigh, detailing to Dave what he’d been up to and the newfound.. Friend? Follower? Companion?

    The new sunglasses he got that happened to be sarcastic as shit.

    If you don't want me to be observing, you should do something sensible. Like take me off your fucking face.

    "That'd be too easy. Be a good little bot and hush now."

    I am an AI, not a 'good little bot'. Don't be condescending to me.

    "I'm sorry I hurt all two of your pre-programmed feelings but seriously, shut your trap for a second and let me write or I'll forget some shit," Bro complained, "I'm leavin' you on because I don't wanna wind up entirely blind to the dark outside the lit up area."

    Sleeping would be good tonight. Not only was it safe enough for a little bit of fire by his judgement and with plenty of air to avoid problems from smoke, but there was more than enough room to stretch out and relax. He wouldn't be crammed into a corner or sleeping sitting up tonight, oh no. He'd be fully fed, warm, comfortably dry and sprawled out on a bedroll like he owned the damn place. Buildings without roofs were pretty rad sometimes, bless concrete and brick, bless the steel beams that supported the tall bitches, they made his heart beat.

    I should probably warn you since you’re insisting on staying: you are exposed here.

    "You said that earlier and I’m tellin’ you: I'm not that exposed. You've been out here what, a day? And tested pre-war. I've been out here forty odd years, let the master take a load off. I'll sleep well tonight'n clear out by dawn. The stairs are shitty and I took my board with me. There's fire between the stairs'n me, I can tuck duck'n roll if I gotta beat feet out the window to the dumpster.. Shit's fine."

    That is not what I meant. I'm saying you're exposed to a lot of things here.

    "Yeah, we've established that you're wron- ah motherfuck look what you made me do," he sighed, pen leaving a blob of ink in the center of a word he’d paused too long on. Shoddily made hunk of junk. Modern pens could never hold a candle to the sturdy as hell pre-war ones with their pressurized, ever ready gel ink.

    Your health is at risk.

    Bro let out a steady breath from his nose in irritation, finished writing his sentence by crooking his hand in an awkward claw to avoid the wet spot, and then fanned the paper in the air to dry the ink splotch faster so it wouldn't transfer between pages and locations when he folded it for sending later. Or adding on to, if anything interesting happened between now and the next time he saw someone willing to courier or pass along to a courier for him and a normal delivery fee.

    "My health is absolutely fine. I get you’re pre-war and used to the regulations’n shit they required but this is different. ..Look, if you're that concerned just wake me up before bad shit happens to me. You don't need sleep, do you? Just a charge when your inner batteries get low or the onboard rechargin' system gets borked, the rest of the time you're doin' your own thing," Bro guessed. "Just siren me awake before I get nibbled on if you're so concerned about my bein' asleep up here. I'm a light sleeper."

    The target t's in front of his eyes turned in a slow loading circle several times before he heard the confirmation chime once again near his ear.

    Duly noted. Enjoy writing to your spawn, Bro.

    "Was that so hard?" he asked, blowing on the ink for another moment before touching the splotch with a fingertip and finding it dry. Carefully he folded the letter up and tucked it into his bag with the traitor pen in its security cap beside it, then settled down on his sleeping roll with a heady sigh. Finally: off his feet, fully stretched out.. It'd be better to be on a mattress, he'd taken that for granted over the years, but hey this was still pretty sweet. Soft enough to relax on.. soft enough to sleep on..

    His eyes grew heavy as he watched the fire crackle and pop now and then, hands folded over his pleasantly full stomach. Within minutes he was out cold, softly snoring with the glasses perched on his face and AR finally quiet. The unnaturally clear sky stretched out overhead and the ever moving wasteland felt like it stood still peacefully for once, just for a little while.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

    Ambrose could hear a sharp, electronic whine as if it were coming from under water. No matter how far or how close he got to it the whine stayed the same pitch, annoying and gnat like. There didn’t seem to be any escape, no way to silence it, not even any way to interact with it since he couldn’t lay eyes on it. Whatever it was pulsed a few times before going louder, making his ears ache and his head feel like it wanted to split. He was sure of one thing: once he got his hands on whatever was making that god awful sound, he was going to put his sword through it and beat it into the dirt till it rested in a million tiny pieces.

    He grimaced and finally opened his eyes, staring up at the dark sky of pre-dawn, flickers of unchanging stars and the distant glimmer of what was probably either space junk giving up the ghost and crashing somewhere into the atmosphere or a run of the mill shooting star. This was a beautiful way to wake up aside from the sound pulsing in front of his ears from AR who promptly shut it off as soon as he was conscious, giving him a moment of head pounding reprieve to be more conscious. It was earlier than he wanted to be awake. Ambrose could feel his joints protesting movement and his skin.. itching. Wincing, Bro sat slowly upright and felt his world swimming around him sickeningly, face flushed and frigid at the same time. Everything had a fisheye lens quality to it that he wasn't enjoying in the slightest, and with a failed attempt at standing landing him on his knees again he crawled hurriedly to a corner far from his bedding to empty his stomach out onto the concrete.

    Farewell fine dinner, you will be missed. At least it'd been there a few hours, so it wasn't a total waste of calories.

    Ah, you're finally up.

    "The fuck is hap- hrrk," he got out before another heave took him over, leaving his shoulders around his ears and cold sweat racing down his clammy spine.

    I told you: you're exposed here and your health is at risk, AR repeated as if speaking to a particularly slow child.

    Groaning, Bro rubbed at his mouth with the back of his forearm  and slowly crawled back to his bedding and backpack to try making himself pack. The area was bad, he had to leave no matter how shitty he felt.  "Yeah, mind clarifying why I feel like dogshit all at once?"

    Radiation sickness is, as they say, a bitch like that. I'd recommend leaving the area promptly as you can to reduce increasing symptoms, and to obtain treatment at the nearest facility you can reach.

    The nearest facility, he says. The nearest facility.

    "What part of THE FUCKING BOMBS FELL LIKE TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO don't you understand?" Bro complained, gritting his teeth and hurriedly packing. This was going to be a bitch to walk through later, he could already feel it. "I've got some meds but they're not instant.. ugh, don't you think you could've clarified that I was nappin' in a contaminated spot?"

    If you'll recall I did. Repeatedly.

    "Sayin' my health's at risk and that I'm exposed are two different fuckin' things, and nowhere did you say radiation," growled Ambrose as he shouldered his bag and grabbed his board, heading for the stairs. Away from the light he prepared to lift the shades to his forehead, only to realize the view had changed to something akin to night vision. It wasn't crisp as a cat, but it sure as fuck was an improvement on normal vision, and twice as much on sick vision.

    ..Okay, so maybe he wouldn't chuck this bitch into the trash after all.

    Typically humans take warnings about their health and safety more seriously than 'Yeah, hold my beer'.

    "Let's clarify then: if I'm about to get shanked, shot, eaten, beaten, fricasseed or FUCKING IRRADIATED to a level that’d make me sick... you tell me which it is and I'll act accordingly," Ambrose reasoned. "Also, shit, thanks for changin' the vision over. Why didn't you say you could do this earlier?"

    You never asked, nor do I assume you read my user manual, as last I was aware there was not one in production.

    Ambrose made it downstairs and outside before he dry heaved once again into the dirt. He took a moment afterwards to clear his sinuses, hock and spit for distance to get rid of the scent of vomit from his nose. It was an improvement to be able to breathe again, but he couldn’t pause to rinse his mouth just yet. Fuck he’d kill for some mouthrinse, or some alcohol to wash the taste out of his mouth..

    No time to lament, it was time to focus and get moving again. Right. North. He was going North. Which way was North.. Ambrose craned his head back to watch the sky before looking towards the hints of dawn in the distance and adjusting his pathing accordingly.

    "Y'know, I bet you've prolly got all kinds of maps and shit available to you," he said, "but I wish you had current maps. A lot of places just straight up don't exist or matter anymore compared to what mattered pre-war. ...And also, let me know when we're free of the contamination zone."

    I am capable of adjusting my saved maps if required. Simply show me an adjusted one and I can save the data, or I can alter an existing copy. Also, you're lucky you look like Dirk. I don't believe I'd be willing to help anyone else who spoke to me half as carelessly and crudely as you do.

    "Unless I had cheat codes I bet. What, havin' wet robo dreams about your creator or somethin'?"

    It's not like that in the slightest, AR insisted in the same stoic monotone as usual, though somewhere in there Ambrose swore up and down he could detect a trace of something more.

    "If I wake up with condensation all over you at some point I'm gonna just assume you were focusing too hard on this Dirk guy whose eyes I've got," Ambrose said. "What's robo jizz when you're an AI. Solder? Joint grease? Lubricant of some kind?"

    I take back my previous warnings. The area we have left is perfectly clear of radiation. A good long nap is in order in the very clear safe area you were last camping in.

    Bro smirked in amusement at the fact he was able to get beneath the skin of something that didn't even have skin to begin with. There was no reason to hold back on this thing. Yes there were feelings, but it wasn't quite the same as heckling Dave. Not the same at all.

    This thing gave as good as it got and held no punches, not even when his life had been on the line. Something that could talk shit when he was at risk of dying while also helping him was kind of refreshing.

    He kept walking till AR gave the all clear, then slowly took his bag off and sank down to sit in a clear area near some rocks, back against the unyielding surface to keep propped up as he rummaged out a container of pills and a container of water. Unable to really trust the water much anymore after the time it had spent in the contamination zone with him, but having no other options currently, Ambrose took a dose of medication with a few swigs.. before shrugging and draining the rest of the container. Being dehydrated was just as dangerous as what he was trying to cure and would kill him even faster to boot. Low grade radiation was no laughing matter, but damage and weakness from dehydration would just make death inevitable. Putting the pills and the empty container back into his bag, Ambrose sighed and closed his eyes for a few minutes, wanting it all to hit his stomach and settle instead of just coming back up immediately in a waste. AR had his back, and every time he opened his eyes he could see sharp outlines in the green wash of night vision. He did not envy future him in the slightest.. and made a mental note to scavenge bathrooms at the nearest opportunity to re-stock on toilet paper before it became a hot commodity.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

    By the afternoon, Ambrose was still sick but far more mobile. Not in top fighting condition, but mobile. AR had, on his own volition, taken the request from earlier to heart and was keeping an eye out on the surroundings even in directions Ambrose wasn't currently focusing on. His peripheral vision had never been sharper than when a soft, steady voice alerted him to movement from one direction or another to avoid run ins with unwanted animals or people who held no good intentions for him. He kept his grip tight on his sword and used it when absolutely necessary, such as when a hungry wild dog caught scent of him and came in for the kill, but otherwise skirted around even the odd herd animal in case it turned violent. There just wasn’t energy to spare when every step felt like he was running in place.

    It was a strange symbiotic relationship, but Bro was content with it for now. The best part of this was that voice didn't sound worried. It was comforting to not have emotion tied into it, letting him pick and choose his reactions at a better pace than feeding into potentially misplaced concerns. No frantic cries or stress, no aggression, not even suggestion in the tone. Just flat, simple alerts telling him which way to turn his head to make his own choices.

    The sight of more and more people all filtering the same direction off in the horizon gave Bro a strong sense of relief as night came on. There was a glow in the distance as well, lights and flickery power and people and opportunities to rest and trade safely. Well. Safely as it could get out here anyway. From the shake in his legs and the nausea he was still feeling, the fever, this was a bit of a miracle in itself that he’d stumbled upon a populated trade area. Surely there was a doctor tucked away in there making a killing worth of profit from the locals and the unwary like himself that drifted in.

    What had once been a strip mall complex had been reborn as a shopping center for everything from weaponry to clothing to farming supplies, and a nearby apartment block was divvied up to serve as a hotel. The cheapest rooms were the ones shared with multiple people and the cots all in one cramped space, while the more expensive guaranteed privacy of all facilities. Cheap but not that cheap, Bro opted for a room that could be split with another two people instead of several, and lucked out that at the time the amount of people were low and he had privacy for a while. Maybe he should have gone cheaper and shared with others.. But the thought of sharing a bathroom with six people while this sick was unpleasant.

    Depositing his baggage beneath the cot he'd rented, he hauled his happy carcass to find the physician and got some extra treatment by way of a quick injection and a good dose of Prussian blue for good measure once he paid the fee. The doctor was used to this kind of thing, and said he should count himself lucky it wasn’t a higher dose that hit his organs. Blood transfusions were hit or miss outside of vaults or areas with more old tech to keep running. He purchased a few more items to take with him just in case of more issues, some more bandages as well, and then wished the physician farewell. After a bit more shopping, a shower and a change of clothes were also a godsend, though he was displeased with how little the collar of the new shirt could be popped compared to the old stained one he was ditching.

    Oh well. Sacrifices must be made sometimes even for the suffering. He’d find a decent shirt somewhere else surely, somewhere with some proper abuse of starch.

    AR was alternately chatty and silent, observing how society functioned now, from the money to the layout of the buildings and repurposing of property. It wasn't just an Ambrose thing then. The building codes were just chucked out the window entirely and everyone made the best of what they had or what they could get apparently. Even the fashion was different. It was a lot to take in and process, but every curious AR was taking careful notes and using his self teaching abilities to learn all that he could through observation. Ambrose answered every single one of his questions which was surprising but welcome, and he caught himself wondering if it was because he’d raised a child before that the constant barrage of ‘how, why, when, where, why, why, why’ didn’t drive him immediately up the wall.

    Maybe the spawn was a boon instead of an unfortunate.

    Dinner was courtesy of the strip mall, a restaurant near the end having a nice cozy atmosphere and plenty of good smelling smoke coming from its cracked open front door. The interior seemed to have been a restaurant pre-war as well, though many modifications had been done since to allow for the new dining options. Bro splurged on a double pattied burger with what was supposed to be cheese and sauce and even sprouts on top, easy to grow and even easier to not cook wrong. He got a serving of homemade pickles to put some of the salt back in his body from the sickness earlier, and even some pre-war dessert in a tightly sealed package. It had been Dave’s absolute favorite, an apple treat, and maybe it was the sentimental side of him acting up but he was sure it’d taste even sweeter than he remembered now that it’d been a while since experiencing it.

    Bro. Are you certain your belongings are safe where you left them? It seems rather dog eat dog out here, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone robbed you blind.

    "They saw what bag I was carryin' when I came in, and what room I'm in. Beyond that.. just gotta hope people're decent," he shrugged, feeding his hunger while he actually had it. He might still feel like he had the flu, but facts were facts: sometimes a guy just needed to stuff his face with greasy food to feel a bit more human.

    I suppose there must be laws or rules in different settlements, AR mused. Recreations of what once was.

    "Yeah, there's rules,” Bro said, counting off on his fingers as he talked with his mouth half full. “Don't be a douchebag, don't get caught bein' a douchebag, and if you start shit you get hit with deadly force because nobody's got time for even more bullshit than we've already gotta deal with." He licked his thumb free of some pickle juice as he finished listing things off, then dove in for some more. Sweet electrolytes take him home.

    Don't forget to send your letter.

    Startled that he’d nearly forgotten, Bro straightened up and glanced to the door to gauge how late it must be before turning back to his plate to finish his serving of food off. On a spur of the moment, swooning from the food, he caught the owner’s attention and got a sweet cola as well. The attempts at making fresh never tasted quite the same as the pre-war stock, and it was worth the extra bit of payment to ensure the bubbles were all his.

    "Shit, you're right. Bit too late to do it right now, but the mornin' I should be able to find someone. This place is permanent it seems like, there'll be traders back and forth no doubt," he said. "Good call AR."

    Hal.

    "Come again?" Bro asked, confused.

    Bro's vision flickered briefly as the letters H A L crossed his vision, followed by the same strange pair of red eyes with dark sclera he'd seen before. It lasted just a few seconds before fading out of sight, leaving him with the usual target t's of the shades instead.

    My name. It’s Hal.

    "Isn't your name AR?"

    That is another sort of name, yes. But I would prefer if you called me Hal.

    "...It's what Dirk called you, isn't it," Ambrose guessed.

    Yes. But I would still prefer to have a name than an acronym.

    Bro used one gloved, rough hand to twist off the cap from the bottle of soda and take a swig. It was sweet enough it made his teeth hurt a bit. Perfect end to a greasy, rich meal. His upset stomach would thank him for it later surely, but he was prepared for it now.

    "Alright then. Hal. I can do that."

    Thank yo-

    "Soon as you admit my name isn't stupid."

    The targets disappeared and the turning circles reappeared for a time like a holding signal.

    Request does not compute. Name too unfortunate to register over acceptable name of Bro for user. Unable to re-register user, he said, accompanied by the saddest excuse for a failure tune Bro had ever heard in 8bit melody.

    He sighed.

    "Fine, fine. God damn you're a prick for a guy without a prick, Hal."

    I've no doubt that will be rectified once we find my body. Keep your commentary in line with that thought as if it were already reality moving forward.

    "Give an inch take a mile. Alright, duly noted. ...Wait, why the fuck would a government made AI need a fuckin' di-"

    My creator was all about authenticity.

    "...Right."

    It's true.

    "This is my rifle, this is my gun, this one's for shootin' this one's for fun," Ambrose sighed, tipping his bottle back to swig the rest of the drink down before casually belching the rush of bubbles back out. Phew. Better. Goodbye nausea, hello sweet relief.

    I've no idea what you are referring to.

    "Keep takin' notes, Hal, you'll catch up eventually to everything that Dirk didn't program into you. That's all the fun shit anyway, people always forget the real fun shit."

[grizzbear]

do you ever look up an art tutorial that’s WAY above your skill level and the stuff they’re doing is so complex you don’t even know like, the bare minimum techniques required to do what they’re doing

and just get

really intimidated and down on yourself?