#not too flashy. practical but not cheap

[teatimebanter]

almost done, officer

#you (harry) walk into the precinct and see this wyd #the correct answer is get lipstick on your collar #all gender hcs welcome but here i am particularly thinking about butch kim and femme (nebulous) jeanne #kim always wears the same shade of lipstick #a versatile dark maroon #not too flashy. practical but not cheap #kim likes nice things #kim likes taking care of nice things (vicky) (kineema) (lt double yefreitor harrier du bois’ sanity) #jean vicquemare #kim kitsuragi #kimjean #jeankim #or is it #disco elysium #disco sapphics

[foone]

The rules are simple: Two wizards. Two pistols. No magic.

Now, don't misunderstand: "No magic" of course means "no magic now". The pistols are constructed using magic, of course. Wizards don't carry unenchanted firearms, that'd be silly. You don't spend years learning to bend all the rules of spacetime just to make a gun that shoots lead bullets using exploding powder. No magic just means you don't cast a shield spell while you're taking aim. But if you want to bring a gun you've designed to cast a shield itself when drawn? Go nuts.

So most wizards will have a dedicated dueling gun for these reasons. You want something that helps against the other wizard's enchantments, something that protects you from the effects of their bullets, and casts some protective magic on you. Shields, invisibility, illusions, healing... Your dueling pistol is usually a tricked out masterpiece of everything you know about magic and firearms.

Which is why this pistol in front of you is so worrying.

It's basically virgin. This is the product of a skilled gunsmith, not a wizard. There's no shields, no infinite ammunition, no enchantments on the bullets, which are mere lead and brass. There's some low level enchantments to strengthen the barrel from misfires, and the powder is enhanced to ensure it's always enough. That's the kind of magic you'd find on a pistol you buy from an average gun store, and it'd cost you only a few coins. This is the weapon of an unmagical security guard or a robber, not the dueling weapon of a world-class magician.

Veynor turned up his magic sense as far as he could without melting his eyes out of his head. Could it have an enchantment to hide other enchantments? No, unless they're being powered by half a city's worth of power. And even if they were, that much anti-magic would hide the low level enhancements on the barrel and the powder.

He asks if he can examine the bullets. "Bullet", says the nameless wizard, pulling out the empty magazine and showing it to Veynor. They pull back the slide and eject a single bullet, grabbing it in their other hand with practiced ease. They hand it over, and Veynor stares at it with the kind of intensity you only see when someone is looking not with their eyes. It's... Lead. Lead and powder and brass and a primer and the only magic here just makes sure the powder is sufficient to fire it. That's the kind of enchantment that you cast on a whole batch of bullets to ensure none will misfire, not the kind a wizard intricately carves into each bullet individually to give them a fighting chance in a magic battle.

Veynor hands back the bullet, and the nameless wizard loads it back in their pistol. It's a bluff, it has to be. They're trying to scare me, he thinks. Wizards know the inverse rule of subtlety and power. Your average wizard throwing fireballs and lightning is a student still in their first few years, while an old master will not need to do anything as flashy. They'll just wave a hand dismissively and your entire family line going back seven generations will retroactively be erased... So this has to be a trick. They know they're outclassed (Veynor has been at this for decades, after all), and are trying to psych him out. With a gun this cheap and unpowerful, they're betting that the more powerful wizard will call off the duel out of imagined danger.

Too bad. Veynor is not blinking at the bluff... "Let's do this".

They face away from each other, as if they could only see from their eyes. Veynor holds his pistol high, and the nameless wizard holsters it, their arrogance apparently extending to not needing to have it ready to fire. Another attempt at bluffing, as if Veynor could even call it off now. The rules are clear, and wizard rules aren't the kind you break without consequences.

They take their requisite ten paces, and Veynor flips around and takes aim, his pistol setting up shields and blurring his image as he takes aim at... Nothing? Where's the nameless wizard?! Did he flee? Veynor didn't feel any ripples from a teleport, he must have gone invisible. His gun continues casting spells on him, and he feels the enhanced vision kick in. The morning mist fades and the clouds in the distance come into view, but still no nameless wizard.

Veynor swears. The nameless wizard must have cheated. There's no way that gun could have done this. If it could, he would have seen the enchantment. Well, if they're cheating... He casts a review spell, rewinding time in his mind and watching the duel again. They face away, the take the steps. 1,2,3...

The cloud parts in the distance. There's a rumbling in the ground. Even with enhanced vision it's not obvious what happens. Veynor tries to dismiss the review magic but their magical control is going haywire. Something is very, very wrong. They start to feel like they're being pulled out to sea by an undertow, as the ambient mana field is suddenly becoming a raging river pulling past them.

In their vision, they see the nameless wizard stop at the end of their paces, and turn as they reach for their pistol. As the review ends, they see the holster glow with the colorless light of magic, as an enchantment activates. That's their trick, they placed magic on the holster! But what kind? And what's happening in the sky?

The clouds part to a black circle with a silver rim. The circle grows in size, seemingly, an Veynor casts a farsight spell now to see this from another angle. Casting his vision miles to the side, he sees the circle is a tube descending from the clouds at a shallow angle, pointed right at him... Oh sweet silent mother, that's the barrel of the pistol. It's now big enough to cross the inland sea, with a caliber better described in miles.

The sky goes dark as the barrel blots out the sun, the shadow stretching halfway to the way station at the edge of the wizarding wastes. With his senses stretched by the enchantments on his gun, he sees the events happening in slow motion. There's a click, and a hammer starts moving towards the back of the bullet.

Veynor tries to set up a teleport, an emergency one to anywhere, anyplace, any time but here. The flowing mana is making it difficult but he sees a destination: the abandoned fortress at the other end of the wastes. It'll be easier to get to than outside the wastes, and it'll give him time to set up another jump. The sky shatters as a sound starts coming his way.

With his slowed time sense, it'll be minutes before he can hear the gunshot, but already the shockwave is visible, even to the unaided eye. The bullet is supersonic, however, so no matter what happens he'll never hear that gunshot: either he teleports out of here or the bullet turns him and half the landscape into a fine paste.

He focuses his vision on the fortress, concentrating on finishing the teleport. The soundwave of the gunshot hits the fortress in his sight beyond sight, and it doesn't collapse, exactly, so much as cease being a structure and reverts back to a thousand small stones no longer sharing any association with each other.

With his destination destroyed, his teleport fizzles. The sky is still dark, but the mana flowing towards him has sped up to the point where he's having trouble staying upright, as his footing gets shakier and shakier. He looks up and sees the slug moving towards him at a bit more than the speed of sound, and he closes his eyes.

It doesn't help, his magical senses continue to show him the movement of objects around him, right up until the moment of impact.

The barrier around the wizard wastes goes white, and slowly fades back down through the colors until it returns to its normal semi-transparency.

The nameless wizard catches the hot brass in their right hand, before it hits the rapidly solidifying bedrock under their feet. The wizard wastes are self-healing (you'd be surprised how much even the average wizard duel destroys the landscape), but that's no reason to litter. They look at the deep crater they find themselves in, and start planning a route up the side. Most of it is still flowing, with the sand and rock intermixing in their white hot state, but there's spots here and there that are cooling quicker.

They could try a teleport, but it's a nice day for a bit of rock climbing. Besides, like they always say: half the trick of being a wizard is knowing when not to use magic. And right now the local mana field is a bit chaotic, having just gone through the equivalent of the Chicxulub impact.

They hike up their robes and begin to climb. Their feet may be heat proof, but they don't want to singe their robe again. It's a lot harder to enchant wool with heat protection spells, something to do with how the will of the former owner interferes. They make a note to do more research into the inherent magical abilities of sheep, once they climb out of this crater. Behind them, rocky ejecta finally crashes back into the crater. They wonder if the barrier has a roof, or if they just flung rocks onto the moons. They'll have to ask one of the lunar residents later, and make amends for any property damage.

They'll have to get lunch after this, all this climbing is working up an appetite. Maybe some mutton chops, since they were thinking about sheep? There's a good place on the bigger moon, they haven't been there in a while.

On the moon, there's a small impact, a puff of dust thrown up into the (lack of) air and slowly drifting back down. In the puddle-sized crater, a heavily enchanted pistol lies, still in perfect shape. The engraving on the side, readable in all languages, says "if found, return to Veynor". The dust lands on it, slowly burying it.

#One hundred and one magical pistols

[cordeliawhohung]

In Limbo [Chapter 1]

mafia!141 masterlist | In Limbo masterlist

| mafia!Simon x fem!Reader - mild unwanted touching |

it wasn't easy living on borrowed time

wc: 4.9k

Six years later.

Sometimes, if you squeezed your eyes shut tight enough, you could pretend you were somewhere else.

The gentle hum of the dryers around you could be confused with the electrical whirring of the tube, and you could convince yourself you were traveling outside of London. Or maybe it was a spaceship taking you to some far off planet with strange plants that glowed as you weaved between their stems and leaves. The swishing of the washers could be mistaken for the sound of roaring waves of an ocean, and you could almost feel the water lapping at your feet while a small flock of seagulls played alongside you. 

But your escapism was fleeting, and you were always brought back to the cruel reality that you were nothing but a silly girl playing with string in a laundromat. Cat’s cradle was what it was called. It was a game no one wanted to play with you as a kid, because there was always something more interesting to do than play with string. But that was fine. It taught you the most important lesson you ever learned: keep your hands moving. If your hands were still, the humming of the washer and dryers around you might get overwhelming, or the buzzing of the cheap laundromat lights could drive you insane. If your hands were still, you might have thought too much about the unmarked envelope that sat in your lap and who would be coming to pick it up. 

However, the thing was, no matter how often you moved from the soldiers bed formation to the candles formation, every now and then you would end up with a knot in the center of the design. It was supposed to be a simple move, a gentle weaving of your fingers between the strings to get to the next section, but you always ended up ruining it somehow. Hands well versed in mistakes, no amount of practicing could erase the fact that errors were intertwined with your DNA. 

The noise of London suddenly grew to a thundering roar as the laundromat door opened to allow entrance to another patron. Eyes locked onto the string in your hands, you tried not to pay attention to the fact that this man entered without any clothes to wash. Of course you could assume he was there to pick something up, but you knew better than that. His footsteps were loud and overdramatic on the tile floor as he sauntered over to you and made his home on the bench next to you despite the fact that there were plenty of open spots elsewhere. 

Oddly enough, it wasn’t this man's close proximity to you that made you uncomfortable, though it certainly wasn’t pleasant, but it was the scent of him. It only got worse as he reached his arm behind you on the bench as if the two of you were friends, and it washed over you in a suffocating wave. It was his cologne. While it smelled expensive, he used it as if it was as cheap as water, and it burned your nose so fiercely your eyes nearly began to water. 

“You’ll have to show me how to play that sometime,” he said, disregarding any formal greeting. 

As you unwound the string from your fingers, you ignored the way his hand brushed against your thighs as he grabbed the unmarked envelope out of your lap. He was always touchy like that, as if the two of you had known one another your whole lives, and though he made your skin itch, you knew better than to say anything about it. Marco, your unwanted friend, was not known for his patience. 

“Maybe some other time,” you replied, which only made him chuckle. 

While you shoved your string into the pocket of your pants, Marco got to work on opening the envelope. A small wad of cash was stashed inside, and he eagerly pulled it out before counting it by hand. You dared a glance at him while he was occupied, though you didn’t find anything new about him that you didn’t already know. His style was just as simple and flashy as usual with acid washed jeans and several unnecessary decorative chains hanging from the belt loops. There were a few new scrapes on his knuckles, but that wasn’t anything surprising either. Though you didn’t know exactly what he did in his free time, you had a pretty good idea. 

“Perfect, as usual,” he quipped as he finished counting the notes. 

Marco stood from the bench as he shoved the envelope into the pocket of his jumper, stowing away all the money you had given him. You wanted him to leave. Wanted him to walk out of there without making a fuss and leave you be with your stupid game of string, but he didn’t. He always had something more to say. 

“Hey,” he said as he stood in front of you. 

He gently kicked your foot, prompting you to look up at him, which you reluctantly complied with. Marco wasn’t a bad looking man, though you still hated making eye contact with him all the same. Really, with a sharp jawline like that and eyes the same shade of grass, he could have been a model. Instead, he got caught up in the darker side of London, and unfortunately, so had you. 

“You’ve been pretty good at making full payments,” he commented. His eyes glanced up and down at you as if he could caress you with his gaze alone, and once again you found your skin tingling. No amount of good looks could erase the fact he was filthy and slimy just like usual. “My offer is still on the table if you find yourself having trouble, though.” 

He did it on purpose. Of course he did. It was a poorly kept secret that you weren’t really good at conversing with people, and eye contact never came easy for you. So of course he made you look at him before saying that to you. Maybe he thought it was funny. Maybe he just liked the fear that blossomed in your eyes. 

“No thanks,” you said, voice small. 

Shrugging, he took a step away from you while patting his pocket. “Alright. You know where to find me when your luck runs out, babe.” 

When he turned to leave you were finally free to cast your gaze back to the tile floor, and you found the grime there significantly easier to look at than Marco. Yet it did nothing to comfort the anxiety rising in your chest. Most days that feeling gripped your heart so tightly you swore one day it wouldn’t be able to pump at all, and still, you endured. As if you had any other choice. There was no flourishing in your life. There was no moment where you were able to sit and enjoy a cup of tea without something raging in your chest or mind. Because even in your laughter, even in your good moments, all you ever did was survive. 

It wasn’t easy living on borrowed time. 

Just when you had calmed your nerves, just when you were ready to leave that wretched place, your phone began to buzz in your pocket. In the process of fishing it out of your pocket, the string you had used to play cat’s cradle tumbled out with it and plopped on the floor. It stared up at you as if to make fun of you. As if to remind you that your only comfort was a stupid piece of string. Sighing, you reached down to grab it as you looked at the caller ID on your screen. 

“Hello?” you answered as you pressed the phone to your ear. 

“Hey! I just wanted to check in to see if you still planned on coming tonight?” the chipper voice of your friend, Row, hummed through the line. 

Row was probably your closest and only friend, and even through the phone you could imagine her sweet smile and the slight tilt of her head as she spoke. You had known her since you were a kid, and she had grown to become more of your sister than anything else. She always doted on you like a sibling, called you weekly, insisted that she saw you at least monthly; sometimes it was as if she was more of your mother than anything else. 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you replied with a soft chuckle. 

“Good. Do you need a ride? John should be leaving work any minute if you want him to pick you up,” Row suggested. 

“No, that’s alright,” you insisted. “I’ve got a few things I need to finish up, so I’ll just take the bus over.” 

“Alright, but if you change your mind just let me know. I’ll make him turn around if you need,” she added humorously before pausing. “What’s that sound?” 

Confused, you glanced around the area until you remembered where you were at. The simple drone of the washers and dryers were just as loud as ever, and one of the various machines had just announced their finished cycle with a lovely little chime. 

“Oh, I’m at the laundromat,” you explained simply. 

“Well, alright. I’ll let you go so you can finish your chores,” Row said with a sigh. “I’ll see you in a bit, yeah?” 

The smallest of smiles overtook your lips at her tone, and you nodded your head despite the fact she couldn’t see you. “See you in a bit.” 

When the line died, all the tension in your body seemed to melt away, but the strain in your mind only grew. All your social energy had already been expended after dealing with Marco, and you still had a dinner to go to. Usually your dinners with Row and her husband, John, were fine, but she informed you some of John’s work associates would be tagging along which meant more people to meet. Maybe you should have said no, or made up some excuse. If it had been any other day except that day, it would have been easier, but you never wanted to draw suspicion. Row could sniff out a problem like it was a bad wound. 

So you stood from that uncomfortable metal bench and slid your phone back into your pocket. The glass doors of the laundromat showed the hoards of pedestrians mingling about outside, and you found yourself swallowing at the sight. With a final glance around the area, you swiftly exited the building empty handed. It felt odd leaving a laundromat without any clothes to take home, but you never did laundry on the 25th of the month anyway. 

After a short stop by your apartment for a change of clothes, you found yourself on an uncomfortably crowded bus during the busiest time of the day. It would take you the better part of half an hour to make it to Row’s house, but that was alright with you. Despite the mass of fleshy bodies around you, all you had to do was stick your earbuds in, listen to music, and watch the scenery pass you by. It was grounding being the observer. Stuck in some sort of in between, only being able to watch, unable to be touched. It was safer that way. Usually. 

Eventually the concrete and glass buildings softened into something more colorful and natural. Golden trees waved in the chilly October breeze and you watched their leaves fall like raindrops where they covered the ground in a saffron blanket. When the bus finally reached your stop, you exited where you were greeted by the soft scent of old rain and wet leaves. That aroma continued to follow you as you walked down the cracked pavement towards Row’s house. Her and her husband were very well off and lived in a neighborhood that represented that fact well. Perfectly manicured lawns, pristine paneling, and fresh paint were the trademark features on every home you passed, which was loads different than you were used to in the city with chipped brick and peeling wallpaper. 

By the time you reached the house the sun had just started to dip below the horizon, and you could clearly make out the warm glow of the kitchen lights bleed through the sheer curtains that covered the windows. Several unfamiliar vehicles parked in an odd pile in the driveway, which consisted of rather pricey looking cars and even a motorcycle. Belonged to John’s work partners, no doubt. Even though you had showed up ten minutes early, it looked like everyone else had already arrived. Perhaps you should have taken that ride from John after all because the thought of walking into a crowded home with all eyes on you had you grimacing. But you couldn’t face him while your anxiety was still high from dealing with Marco. You would just have to grit your teeth and bear it.

After steadying yourself with a deep breath, you approached the door with as much faux confidence as you could muster before knocking. Over the years, you had gotten quite good at concealing the anxiety that often wracked your brain, and even when your thoughts got the better of you, it rarely ever showed on your face. When living with an untamable beast for so long, you had at least gotten good at yanking back on the leash. 

Moments later the door opened with a click and you were greeted by Row’s beaming smile. Boisterous laughter boomed behind her as she reached her arms out to embrace you. You fell into her hug with a slight giggle before she pulled you inside the warmth of the house. 

“I’m so glad you could make it!” she exclaimed as she led you through the entrance. “I know you’ve been really busy with work and all.” 

“I traded shifts with one of the other hostesses, so it’s not a big deal,” you politely excused. 

“Of course. God forbid they give you a proper day off,” Row chuckled. “But you came just in time! John and I just finished cooking, and the boys are all already here if you wanna grab a seat in the dining room.” 

You had been over at Row’s house plenty of times that you didn’t exactly need to be coddled anymore, and yet she still insisted on leading you through the kitchen and to where the others waited. Several dishes of food adorned the rectangular table, and it looked like the only thing that was missing was the main course which could be noted by a large, empty spot toward the center. Plates, cutlery, and glasses of water awaited at all six spots, three of which were already occupied by unfamiliar faces. 

Row made introductions simple and quick as the two of you took your seats. First, there was a man named Johnny. You vaguely recognized his voice as one of the louder ones you first heard when you entered the house, and he was just as smiley as his laughter would have you believe. A messy, flattened mohawk sat on his head, and several piercings adorned his ears with a silver glint. Then there was Kyle, a handsome man with an easy smile, he greeted you with a kind nod of his head. You couldn’t help but think about what a good complexion he had, but you opted to keep that thought to yourself. 

Then there was Riley. He was easily the largest, and frankly the most intimidating out of all of John’s other guests. Slight hints of tattoos poked out underneath his sleeves by his wrists, and there were a few faint scars on his face that lined up with the unnatural curve of his nose. There was an aura about him that you couldn’t quite place, but all you knew for sure was that when he looked at you with eyes so piercing and dark, your stomach felt odd. 

“Boys, this is Chip,” Row introduced

The ceremonious use of your nickname nearly made you cringe, and yet you kept an even face despite it. Really, you should have been used to it by that point. That name followed you around everywhere, even the cooks at work called you that. But that could most likely be attributed to the fact that they probably forgot what your name actually was. Either way, none of the men got the chance to ask you about it before John entered the dining room, ready to serve the main course. 

Dinner went just as you expected it to go. Everyone conversed around you while you kept your eyes on the food in front of you. Your reasoning for staying so quiet wasn’t because you were bad at talking, or didn’t want to participate; it was because your mind was still restless over the day's events. You would speak when someone asked you a question, or maybe give your input when prompted, but otherwise your mind always wandered back to Marco and that stupid laundromat. You could still feel his hand graze against your thigh, feel his arm around your back, still smell him. If it wasn’t looked down upon, you would have taken the string out of your pocket to distract yourself. 

The conversation was entertaining, at least. There was friendly banter between the men, inside jokes you didn’t quite understand, and several Scottish expressions from Johnny that were quickly met by Riley jokingly telling him to speak English. Even Row chipped in with her own fiery humor that left the boys poking fun at one another. Yet your attention kept returning to the large figure on your right. Perhaps it was the scars on his face that had intrigued you so much, or the small hint of tattoos that played peek-a-boo by his wrists, but there was something about him that drew you to him. So much so that you stared at him, something that he quickly caught on to. His eyes met yours for only a split moment before you quickly glanced back to your empty plate, embarrassed. 

“Price,” Johnny said just as everyone had finished their meal, “I heard you got a new pool table.” 

John wiped his mouth off on his napkin before he haphazardly tossed it onto his plate. “This your way of askin’ to play a round?” 

“Might be,” Johnny grinned. 

Chuckling, John stood from his seat and began to gather everyone’s plate, balancing them as best as he could on his forearm. “Alright. But I don’t want any of you muppets scratching up the felt, yeah?”

“Tell that to Garrick,” Johnny quipped as he nodded to the man sitting next to him. 

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you,” Kyle mumbled. 

“What about you, Chip?” Johnny then asked. 

Surprised to hear your name, your ears perked up at the sound as you glanced at the men at the table. Clearing your throat, you offered them a sheepish smile. “Oh, I’ve never really played before.” 

“That’s alright. Riley’s a good teacher,” he insisted as he nodded to the man next to you. 

It was impossible to say no with so many eyes on you, looking at you so expectantly, hoping you would say yes. Even Row seemed a little interested in your answer, and you knew that if you denied their request she would just find some way to rope you into it anyways. You spared a glance towards Riley, who busied himself by taking a sip of his water, yet you were certain you saw his gaze flicker to you as he set his glass back on the table. 

Bashfully, you agreed, and you found yourself in the dim lighting of the garage with a pool stick in your hand. While Row and John cleaned up the mess left from dinner, Kyle set up the table where he racked all of the balls in a perfect triangle. Riley, who apparently was the master at pool, was the one invited to make the first shot. The crisp sound of the cue ball whacking against the others echoed off the dull garage walls, and the tight triangle had dispersed like buckshot across the table. 

One by one the boys took turns making their shots. Just like Johnny had teased previously, you learned Kyle really wasn’t all that great at pool, and you had to do your best to stifle your giggles at their teasing, because you knew that you would do significantly worse when your turn came around. In order to prepare yourself, you watched the others like a hawk as they took their turns. You noted hand placement, how they leaned across the table, how they eyed up their shots; all of it. 

Yet when your turn came, you didn’t feel any more confident than you had previously. You were on Riley’s team, which meant you were stripes, and your only saving grace was that the cue ball seemed perfectly lined up with one for easy pocketing. But when you attempted to position yourself everything fell out of place. The stick position felt awkward, and you couldn’t get it stable enough to make a clean shot. You were about to make a fool of yourself, you were sure of it. 

“Here,” Riley said as he leaned his cue stick against the table. 

His warmth suddenly engulfed you as he stood behind you, chest brushing against your back. It took everything in you not to boil alive under his touch as he guided your hands into position so that you could strike efficiently. Your guiding hand rested firmly against the table, and your grip on the stick was significantly more secure. Eventually everything felt more stable; everything except your mind. Riley’s close proximity had your diaphragm freezing, and you tried your best to ignore the way his breath fanned across your ear as he spoke. 

“Steady, yeah? Strike right here in the center, angle a little bit to the left,” he guided. 

Eventually his hands slid off of you and his chest was no longer at your back, but his scent still lingered. It was pleasant. There was a hint of some sort of cologne, but it wasn’t overwhelming, unlike Marco’s. There was the scent of tobacco mixed with the earthiness, though it was stale, and you noticed a slight hint of what you thought was leather. But you didn’t have the time to think about how pleasant it was, or how you could still feel the ghost of his hand on yours. Staying as steady as you could manage, you made your shot, and though it was wonky you still managed to pocket it. A series of celebratory whoops escaped the boys at your shot, and you found yourself smiling half with relief, half with triumph. Riley went for a more tame reaction, and he rested his hand on your shoulder to give it a tight squeeze. 

“Nice shot,” he murmured. 

Heat rose in your face at his touch, and you tried to swallow the warmth back into your stomach as you tapped your cue against the tip of your shoe. "All thanks to you, Riley."

For a moment, he was silent as he leaned over the table for his turn where thick fingers guided his cue along the table. Pudgy skin and muscles forced his shirt to tighten along his shoulders, and you stood there speechless as he hit his shot. He easily pocketed yet another ball before he straightened back up and turned his attention to you. His dark eyes, the ones that had caught you sneaking glances at him all night long, gave you a quick once over before he tilted his head slightly. 

"It's just Simon to you, sweetheart."

The rest of the evening went just as well as it could have. You and Simon ended up winning the game, no thanks to you, and it wasn’t long after that everyone began to pack up to leave for the night. It was strange. That buzzing heat that ignited underneath your skin after Simon helped you with your technique didn’t seem to waver at all. It was still just as strong when he left as it was when it first began to burn. Kind. Maybe that’s what it was. His touch was gentle and kind, unlike the insidiousness Marco usually tainted you with when the two of you saw one another for your monthly meetings. 

“You feeling alright?” Row asked.

The gentle hum of the car had nearly lulled you to sleep in the passenger's seat, and you found yourself humming in confusion at your friend’s question. It didn’t take long for the words to eventually register in your mind, and you nodded as you leaned back against the seat as you looked at the passing view. It had gotten well past dark by the time you were ready to go home, and Row refused to let you take the bus back to your apartment, especially with how cold it got during autumn nights. 

“Yeah, sorry. Meeting new people just gets a little exhausting for me,” you explained, though it was only half the truth. 

“I know, my sweet little introvert,” she teased. “But you seemed to get along with them alright. I don’t see much of Kyle, but he’s sweet enough. And Johnny, well, he can be a bit much most of the time, but Riley’s a good man. He’s been working for John for about six years now.” 

“Yeah, they were all very friendly,” you concurred. “Though Kyle is a bit better at pool than Johnny tried to convince me he was.” 

Your comment got Row to laugh and you found it quite contagious. Though the two of you were close, it felt like it had been eons since the two of you really got any sort of alone time together, and that realization seemed to hang heavy in the air between the two of you. After a small stretch of silence, she leaned her head to the side but still kept her eyes on the road as the car came to a stoplight. 

“What are you doing Saturday night?” she then asked. 

“Working,” you replied simply.

“Per usual,” she muttered. “What time do you get off?”

“Midnight, if I’m lucky.”

“Wanna come to the Halloween party they’re putting on at John’s club?” 

Every cell in your body screamed at the very thought of stepping foot into that place. You had been there a few times before, and each time it was because Row had practically begged you to go with her, and you learned that clubs weren’t for you before you even entered one. Even then in that car you could smell the sour alcohol and sweat, along with the blistering heat of bodies much too close to your own. 

“I don’t know…” you started, unsure of what excuse to give her. 

“Awe, come on Chip,” Row whined. “It’s been forever since we’ve had a girls night with just the two of us. Really, it’s been forever since I’ve really gotten to see you at all. You’re worrying me a little with how much you’ve been working.” 

Worry. Of course she was worried, you had given her every right to be over the last few months. Work had all but consumed your life, and it wasn’t all that rare for you to pull all-nighters in the name of getting a few extra hours on your paycheck. The last time the two of you had seen one another you had mentioned wanting to get a part time job on top of your other job, and you swore you nearly gave her a heart attack. You hadn’t exactly done anything to ease her mind since, either. 

Sighing, you looked away from the window and over to your friend just as the light turned green and she sped off through the intersection. “Can you promise me we’ll be home by one?” 

“How about one thirty?” she countered. 

You dropped your head with a sigh but hid the slight smile on your face as you glanced out at the street. “Do you promise?” 

“You have my word,” she assured. “We can even sit in the VIP section where there’s less people and better booze.”

Even though her words weren’t particularly funny, the two of you still chuckled together as if it were some inside joke. And yet, despite the laughter, some sort of odd pit formed in your stomach that not even a deep breath could vanquish. Whatever warmth you had felt tingling under your skin minutes ago vanished the very moment Row admitted she was worried about you. 

Of course she had every right to be worried about you. She was your friend, your sister, and it only made sense that she noticed the odd changes in your habits and nature. But worry often brought a second feeling with it; the want to help. Perhaps her dragging you out to her husbands club was her own weird way of helping you, but you knew there were greater lengths she was willing to go if it meant ensuring your safety and happiness. Maybe you should have embraced it. Any real friend or family member would, but the last thing you needed was someone trying to help you again. 

You knew all too well what that brought.

taglist: @datlilwrench @xxkay15xx @cutelibrariangf @talooolaaloolla @stargirl411

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #mafia!simon #mafia!ghost #mafia!141 #f!reader

[ryin-silverfish]

Heart and Mind: An Analysis of Tripitaka

I've been wanting to write this since…since I came across some good ol' Tripitaka discourse in the LMK fandom ages ago. Couldn't remember the specifics, but as y'all probably know, it falls under the "Is him an abusive master" and people's strongly worded retort to that question.

On one hand, I dislike the "abusive" take because so often, it is an excuse to reduce a character to an 2D caricature for cheap angst purposes, and both JTTW and its historical context deserve more nuances than that.

On the other hand, I don't agree with some of the defenses either——that Tripitaka is Kind and Wise and The Virtuous Monk, Actually, and people who said otherwise just had their views colored by adaptations, or were ignorant westerners misreading the book.

Because trust me, Chinese readers absolutely have gripes with Tripitaka too, and sass him mercilessly.

We may have a better idea of the historical context, namely, the common usage and acceptance of corporal punishments, but quite a few of us don't think he's a good Buddhist either.

Instead, I'd like to focus on his allegorical role, and how it ultimately forms the basis for my interpretation of his character.

It is commonly acknowledged that each pilgrim represent an aspect of the enlightenment seeker: Monkey is the Mind, Dragon Horse the Will, Pigsy the Desire, Sandy the Determination/Ideation.

Tripitaka is either the enlightenment seeker as a human, or the Heart, the Compassion.

But how can someone represent Compassion when his behaviors don't look all that compassionate, when he seems to care more about what a good Buddhist looks like on paper than in spirit?

How can a compassionate man punish his disciple with a migraine spell and disown him twice, be okay with some violence but not others?

Well, to answer that question, I feel like you have to look at Tripitaka in conjunction with SWK, and what the monkey represents. He is literally the Mind Monkey, the boundless potential of human intellect, and that, by itself, is neutral.

In the word of one of the best poems in JTTW:

"He could be good; he could be bad; present good and evil he could do at will. He'd be an immortal, a Buddha, if he's good; wickedness would cloak him with hair and horn."

To put it simply, SWK is one's wits, one's problem-solving skills, the ability to discern good and evil on a cognitive level.

Whenever Tripitaka, the Compassion, is deceived, it falls to the Mind to see the opponents as they are, and take action to protect the human from harm.

But just as blind compassion without judgement can be exploited by evil, the reverse is true for a mind without compassion, driven solely by their own ambition and whims and practical knowledge.

The Mind knows that robbery is a crime, so these robbers deserve death, but has no idea how disturbing it is for a regular guy to witness six people being brutally murdered in front of him.

The Mind knows that abandoning your wife and family to become a bandit is shameful and unfilial, but cannot comprehend why the bandit's father may not want his son killed for these offenses.

The Mind knows right and wrong, but has trouble seeing the human behind those acts, and why one should care in the first place.

And to see what the Mind looks like without any of Compassion's restraint, one needs to look no further than SWK's "Second Mind", the Six-eared Macaque.

Just like how "Heart" sounds like a lame power for a character, Compassion isn't flashy, nor as useful in a strictly ultilitarian sense. In fact, having compassion makes you vulnerable. It hurts. And unscrupulous people will absolutely use it against you.

So why hold onto your weakness and wallow in it? The world doesn't need another sanctimonious wuss, it needs strong, clever people making hard sacrifices, ruthless, logical decisions! Tough up! Stop caring, and you'll never be hurt again!

Much like a certain crowd who think basic human decency is somehow political propaganda, perhaps, when SEM struck Tripitaka, he was trying to do the same thing.

Kill the embodiment of compassion, the sniveling, useless, fragile human that keeps holding SWK back. Replace him as the true Mind, the one strong enough to break all bonds and seize glory with his own two hands.

But without compassion, without humanity, one is no longer a whole person, and cannot reach enlightenment. In fact, just like how Buddha would only give the True Scripture to Tripitaka, if you are not brave enough to make yourself vulnerable, to suffer and feel other's suffering, you will never transcend it.

At best, you can have some pale imitations of the parts you have willingly shut out from yourself.

And that's what SEM does. He thought he could do it on his own, singlehandedly replace SWK and reap the benefits of enlightenment, but he is no Monkey Awakened to Emptiness.

He is just empty; cut off desires because it is base, cut off determined ideation because it is foolish, cut off compassion because it is weak, cut off the altruism and curiosity and creativity from the mind, and you are left with a grand total of NOTHING.

A shadow of a self, desperately clinging onto external validation and stolen stories, reading the pilgrim's travel paperwork out loud as if that would actually make the journey his.

Tripitaka needs to trust SWK and learn from him, because compassion, much like good intention, doesn't solve problems on its own, and mercy is not the same as enabling harm.

SWK needs his master's guidance, because even at his most selfish and impulsive, he cares, and only by extending that care to others and accepting the vulnerability that comes with it can he truly mature and become awakened to the ultimate truth.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

One last bit of ramble: I feel like there is something to be said about Tripitaka's tendency to trust Pigsy, and how the pursuit of enlightenment is often derailed by worldly desires.

Unlike the demons they encountered, however, Pigsy is not the personification of mental obstacles that must be destroyed, because you cannot destroy bodily needs, nor the very human tendencies to slack off and avoid trouble.

You should stop listening to its advice, sure. Poke fun at it, absolutely. But what Pigsy represents is part of the human condition, just like every other pilgrim, and also something one must make peace with.

#journey to the west #xiyouji #jttw #tripitaka #tang sanzang #sun wukong #six eared macaque #pigsy #zhu bajie #character analysis #lego monkie kid

[rosepinksky]

Pay For My Time (pt. 5)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female reader

In which Ghost's neighbour drags him in for dinner, and then ruins his life.

Warnings: alcohol & nicotine use

word count: 1.9k

ao3 link

part 1 (smutty!)

masterlist

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

I was antsy that night at the club, constantly checking over my shoulder for a figure that never showed. I did my best to plaster a bright smile on my face as another girl clinked her glass against mine, waving off her questioning face with a half-hearted reassurance that no, I’m good, just tired.

The hot pink lace felt too tight against my chest, the cheap fabric scratching against my glitter-dusted skin. I adjusted the straps over my collarbone, gulping down the cheap vodka in one breath as I turned my attention towards an older man in a charcoal suit at the bar. I sidled up to him, running a hand down his arm as I introduced myself with a practiced, sultry tone. He smirked as his gaze roamed greedily across my body, and I set my drink down next to his on the bartop.

I had never been one for feeling self-conscious. Since my first underwired bra at 14, since my first time fooling around with a boy in someone else’s bedroom at a house party at 16, since I’d spent my first year of university giggling sweetly at some trust fund Eton kid at a sports society mixer- I was a self-assured, confident, attractive young girl. Bright, too. Never one to say the wrong thing, to embarrass myself. Always pretty, always smart, always charming.

I remembered the day I sat down in my professor’s office to tell her I was dropping out. The confused frown tinged with concern as I babbled happily about my alternative plans, about him, about moving to London and summer weddings in Cornwall. A flashy diamond ring that didn’t quite suit my tastes but blinded me anyway glittering on my left hand.

God, it was strange how the thing I resented most was how damn good my dissertation would’ve been if I had stayed.

Leading the businessman- Michael, I think he said?- up to the private booths by then hand, I was struck by another wave of bitterness by the way Ghost had denied me that morning. Didn’t he know? Didn’t he know how good I was, how many men tonight were willing to empty their pockets just to have me in their lap?

Ungrateful prick, to deny me his cock when I offered myself up so freely for him. I made a silent vow as I bent at the waist to put on a slow song to cut him off, to ignore the needy little voice in my core that ached for him to fuck me like a goddamn ragdoll once more. I swore that vow again as I began to sway in front of this other man, dragging my nails up the sides of my thighs, feeling his eyes burning holes into the soft flesh of my ass.

I hated men, I decided in that moment. I hated how they made me feel, how they used me, how desperate I somehow still was for their fucking approval.

I left the man in that booth the second he tossed me a few notes, not bothering to send a parting smile his way. I shouldered my way back down the stairs, not stopping until I collapsed back into my chair in the dressing rooms.

“Fuck!” I whispered to myself as I gulped down a mouthful of water, closing my eyes as I exhaled sharply, cheeks burning with emotions that had no place coming to the surface right now.

I was grateful for the emptiness of the room in that moment, away from prying eyes and well-intentioned questions from the other dancers. I stared at my own reflection in the vanity mirror as I puffed away at my vape until my throat burned. I took in the slight imperfections of my face under the heavy makeup, the way the mascara clumped my bottom lashes together, the way my lipstick had smeared just at the corner of my lips. I frowned, swiping away the trace of red that escaped its confines, glancing up at the clock on the wall and resigning myself to the fact that I couldn’t really leave for a good few more hours.

There were a few things that struck Ghost as interesting about Lucy’s flat. On the surface, it was entirely what one would’ve expected from a girl like her. Doused in far too much pink, and enough candles to be considered a fire hazard to the entire building. But he’d spent too much of his life on high alert, eyes trained to take in and analyse every single detail presented to him, to be able to ignore those little ins she’d inadvertently given him.

Way too many open bottles on that bar cart, of course, though he wouldn’t have needed his SAS training to pick up on that particular vice of hers. He’d meant it in more ways than one when he’d told her he didn’t fuck drunk girls; his younger self tensing up on instinct when he saw the slight gloss in her eyes, reminiscent of his father’s blank gaze after yet another 12-pack of cheap corner store lager.

But he’d looked closer, in those fleeting hours spent in her home. Noticed the lack of pictures adorning the walls, the lingering feeling that this was a place only ever inhabited by one. No visitors. No family coming to stay for the weekend, no friends crashing after a late night dancing, no Friday afternoon coffees with that one cousin you always promised to keep in touch with but only ever saw thrice in a decade.

That struck him as odd, especially after she’d been so comfortable, so practiced as she invited him in and cooked for him. That meal was not the cooking of a lonely stripper in her early twenties, he knew that much. But still, he couldn’t picture Lucy coming from a childhood of a stay-at-home mother who patiently taught her to cook over some overpriced Aga, all warmth and softness. No, this was a woman who’d seen reality, had fought tooth and nail to perfect that seemingly effortless exterior- Lucy, Violet, whoever she may be.

He found himself inexplicably drawn to this woman. She was beautiful, no doubt about it. But there was more than that; her easy confidence drew him in, made him both want her and want to be her. He wondered, in the dim light of his lonely living room, what it would be like to exude that kind of quick social intellect. There had to be more, he mused, some reason why she got to possess that effortless, uncomplicated manner instead of him. Was it just a symptom of her beauty? Had she swanned through life unbridled with the worry of other’s judgement, simply gliding by on her looks?

The thought left a sour taste in his mouth, and he chased it away with a swig of his now lukewarm tea.

He was a fucking Lieutenant. A decorated, elite operative, a goddamn prized credit to his government. She was a stripper! No bachelors certificate framed on her walls, nothing to show for her career except some fancy coffeemaker on her countertop. She was nothing, as far as he should be concerned. And still-

And still, his throat got tighter every time he went to text her. He stumbled over his words when she ran her dainty, those stupidly dainty little hands over him.

He’d told her to call him that morning. Left her there in her bedroom feeling all smug, like he’d gotten the upper hand, and he had. Like he always did. Every girl he picked up, every pretty little barracks bunny that fell for the mystery of the mask, he always had the upper hand in the morning- if he waited that long to leave. Never cruel, never neglectful, but never sweet, either.

 And yet, despite his brain pushing forward the vivid memories of her on her knees in front of him, or of her wrapped around that pole looking like an entire fucking meal- the thing he couldn’t get out of his head was the vision of her nibbling on that corner of toast as they sat on the fire escape together in the late morning sun.

His fingers were pulling up her contact page before his brain could catch up and think better of it.

“…Hello?”

Noisy. The club, obviously.

“Hey.”

He could hear the way her breath was coming a little heavier than it should be, so in tune with her mannerisms after less than a fortnight of knowing her.

“Ghost! God, the one man I didn’t want to fucking hear from tonight.”

He pulled the phone away from his ear at that, frowning at the screen. A laugh crackled through from the other end.

“Sorry, I’m not supposed to say stuff like that. Hi, handsome, how are you?”

“I’m…fine. You’re working late for a Monday.”

A light sigh from her, and the flicker of a lighter.

“You’d be surprised. These 9-5 workers, they get fussy on a Monday. It’s one of our best days.”

He huffed out a dry laugh, using his free hand to open a window and grabbing his own cigarette.

“Why didn’t you want to hear from me?”

Silence. He stayed quiet, listening to the way her breath hitched, praying that her lowered inhibitions would give way to some sliver of the truth. He really had believed her when she’d told him she wasn’t a liar, after all.

“…Because I’m mad, at the way you left me this morning.”

He smirked. “That was the point of it. Still, I don’t think that’s the entire reason, princess.”

She scoffed, taking in a long drag of her cigarette before replying.

“God, what do you want me to say? That my ego was bruised?”

His smiled widened. Bingo.

“Now why would you say that, Lucy? Was your pretty little ego bruised, when I refused to fuck you, not once but twice?”

He could hear her grumbling under her breath, and it only served to build up his cracked self-esteem further. So she wasn’t infallible, after all.

“You know you only had to ask me, right, sweet girl? Properly. Without any of that cheap wine clouding your judgement.” He dropped his voice down to a rich, weighty tone, the cigarette dangling idly from his fingers.

“Whatever.” She snapped. “Luckily for you, sir, there’s plenty of men who’ve managed to drag the stick out of their ass for long enough to see what’s in front of them.”

His smile dropped into a frown, sitting up a little straighter. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

There was another pause, and he could practically hear her smug smile. “I’m sorry if the noise disturbs your sleep tonight, Ghosty. I really would try to keep it down, but you know what I’m like when I get properly fucked.”

He wanted nothing more than to wipe that little smirk off of her face, his fists clenching until the cherry of his cigarette burned his knuckles. “Don’t you dare, Lucy.”

She giggled. She fucking giggled.

“Sorry, sir. Should’ve tried to mess with an easier girl.”

The line clicked dead, and he was left staring at the black screen of his phone.

It was less than a minute before he was on his feet, pulling on his jacket and shoving his feet into his boots, grabbing his keys before slamming his front door shut.

#ghost x reader #ghost x reader smut #ghost smut #simon riley x ofc #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader smut #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader

[soclonely]

Hope you feel better soon! If you're still doing The Clones As prompts, maybe The Clones as People You'd See at a Roller-Skating Rink?

Oh ABSOLUTELY. I missed these so much. Lets seeeeeee... Rex-"Wait, i thought you said we were going ice skating! I can't rollerskate!"

Echo- spends entire time in the arcade area wearing skates but not touching the wood ONCE

Fives- middle school boys who skate around and play tag

Jesse- *deathgrips the wall while legs go in about 80 different directions at once*

Kix- the group of girls who think its okay to link arms and skate in a line

Tup- messy bun girl who has to fix her hair at every turn because it keeps falling out but shes too nervous to stop because she JUST got the hang of it and if she stops she wont get to the pace shes at again

Dogma- the jackass who brings inline skates

Hardcase- kid constantly running up to the counter slamming cokes and pixie sticks

Coric- the dj all the middle schoolers are bugging to play Yeah by usher 8 more times

Bly- the couple who rented skates to take a couple quick instagram photos at the entrance of the rink, before quickly removing them and leaving lmao.

99- The oldtimer. amazing skate skills. probably did a lot of light drugs at that same rink in the 70s. Dresses up for disco night in his flashy 70s outfit

Cody- the dweeb who skates backwards around like he's hot stuff. Dude you are 26, at a roller rink on a saturday night by yourself because your DnD session got cancelled. calm down

Waxer/Boil- picture it, 2005-2006. its students night for your elementary/middle school at the local rink! You are in 5th grade. Your mom drops you off with money for rentals and an extra $15 for a slice of pizza, some popcorn, and a jones soda. You and your friends spend a majority of the time sitting in a booth in the concession area, giggling and running your skates casually under the table while you gossip about 6th grade and what its going to be like in real middle school next year, one of your friends looks around, jerks her head back around real quick, and squeals because your crush jacob has just come over to the concession area to but some nachos and made eye contact with the same cashier you had made eye contact with 5 minutes previous so it was practically him looking into your eyes on a beach sunset. You all giggle and chatter, staring at him until he awkwardly waves while shoving his change into his pocket as he shuffles back to his group of friends. it didn't matter that in 4 years he would be coming out of the closet to your whole school and taking the lead singing spot in the show choir. All that mattered was that small concession area. Life was good.

Wolffe- moms with annoying toddlers running around in shitty cheap plastic skates that clip onto their shoes

Boost/Sinker- asshat who doesn't watch surroundings and crosses over, bumps into everyone, and doesn't apologize

Hunter- Rockabilly dressed ladies witht heir hot pink skates. god i wish that were me.

Wrecker- the beefy dad guy there for his kids party. The dude can't skate, but you bet your sweet ass he strapped on this badboys and skated right out the rink and flat on his ass because his little princess BEGGED him to. He terrible at it but he's got spirit!

Tech- parent that sanitizes EVERYTHING

Crosshair- the person who cant skate, or is a newer skater who decides they are too cool to go around the edge and try to skate in the middle and inner lanes instead. GET TF OVER

Omega- the parent who is WALKING in the main rink holding their little kids hands. Usually they have the tiny corner one for them TAKE THEM OVER THERE SO I CAN GO NYOOM

Howzer- The obnoxious skaters who are def advanced, but try to show off in ways that can get people hurt

Fox- the poor skate rental counter guy in his 30s who looks like he just hates his life because his manager is a 16 year old girl.

Gregor-LIGHT UP WHEEL GUY

#khai come get ya juice #star wars #the clone wars #the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #captain rex #commander cody #arc trooper echo

[secretgamergirl]

Console Design- Can I have my cake and eat it too?

Recently I spilled the beans that I have a little hobby project slowly brewing away where I am designing a new game console. I'm still not ready to really properly pitch the whole thing, but between sharing that, explaining computer architecture, and seeing people's feedback, it keeps pushing itself towards the front burners over more practical projects I SHOULD be giving my focus to, and while people are paying attention, I might as well try to crowdsource answers to some questions I'm getting hung up on.

So... a lot of what I'm doing here is, I'll be honest, rooted in nostalgia for 16-bit consoles. There's a certain retro appeal to the look, speed, and general immediacy of 8-bit games, and more than plenty of support for making games that evoke that feel, and even recently made free dev tools for people to just make new games for older systems, and as I'm writing this, there is this massive renaissance going on with indie devs restricting them to the constraints of early polygonal-graphics-focused consoles, but we mostly skipped right past that 16-bit period, and all its hallmarks:

2D graphics with more color-depth than people really knew what to do with. All sorts of hardware-level flashy effects like transparency, resolution changes, neat little raster effects. A soundscape of crunchy FM synth and sparingly used sampling with distortion effects. Just a little taste of support for polygonal graphics. Not enough to go all-in, but enough to make a nice spice here and there. A general push to show off with fancy jointed paper doll sprites, 3D effects from sprite-scaling, just... clear ambitions all over to make low res 2D eye candy. Plus everything was cartridge based, allowing people to add extra custom chips for things they really wanted that they didn't quite have the power for.

So that's basically what I want to deliver here. A platform where you have more toys and tricks than you know what to do with if you're coming from 8-bit style stuff, but a real tricky set of restrictions to work around from a more modern approach, hopefully with its own look and sound. To that end I've been doing a ton of research into how some of those work... and a lot of it involves fun little tricks between scanlines. In particular, if you look at that mode 7 video above, right around 7:50, we've got this real eye-popping barrel distortion background. What's going on here, on a hardware level, is we have the ability to, essentially, apply one single image as a texture to a single parallelogram, which in this case is just taking a rectangular background and squishing it in towards the center then out towards its regular dimensions... but where doing that squishing and stretching between individual scan lines as we send the video out to the screen. Several changes to the shape before we've even finished rendering out one frame of the video, and tada, weird barrel.

Being able to support tricks like THAT, specifically, is a must-have feature for what I'm working on, and I'm pretty confident I can design the hardware with that exact capability... but the original hardware doing that was, to my understanding, very much working with the peculiarities of how a CRT worked and the exact number of operations it could get done while the beam was swiping back to the left to draw the next line, and I legitimately have no idea if tricks like this are even really possible if I slap together a similar chipset and send video out an HDMI cord to a modern display.

Like, I know I can fake that. I've got a Retron 5 hooked to a cheap flat panel TV with Castlevania 4 plugged in, but my understanding is that's actually emulating an SNES in software on some very-much-overkill for this sort of thing modern processor. What I would LIKE to do is build this with a chipset you really can push to its limits, hooked to modern display, and get this sort of effect. Because while I realize a big chunk of the audience for this sort of thing totally have nice well-maintained CRTs, I don't want to be married to hardware people no longer manufacture. And I'd rather not have some way more capable sub-processor wedged in here just to get the video output of whatever cheap fast legit 16-bit chipset I use otherwise to play nice with HDMI standards.

I'm still sort of in the dark about HDMI and modern display options, to be clear. And you know in a perfect world I'd like to have support built into this if you want to hook it to a CRT, but at the end of the day I need to pick an aspect ratio, and it's probably gonna be 16:9.

A similar fork in the road I may need to pick a lane for before I can really get going is looking at ASIC chips. What I'd really love is to be able to just point people at a design files for the casing and PCBs, and a warehouse of old mass-produced chips that sell for pennies, make the whole thing a neat little home electronics kit where the total price of everything is like, maybe $10 or $20 or something, you get out a soldering iron, and assemble it all yourself. But, I might need to custom design a chip or two in the end, and there's a chance it ends up being cheaper to just build literally the whole system on one chip. Simpler, easier to make a portable version of the whole thing, but it loses that DIY feel.

And of course there's also the risk that the overall architecture and chipset I'm looking at isn't going to have the oomph to do what I want it to do at a nice steady 60 FPS (maybe 120?) I'm just kind of assuming once I commit to a path I'll be able to find a dirt cheap chipset covering all the bases I need it to that'll hold up at a faster clock speed than consoles really ran at in the mid-90s. I want people to be able to do things smoothly that historically really had some slowdown, and you know, I AM planning to have a higher base resolution than the systems I'm taking inspiration from (maybe the same height but clearly more width).

And of course the real pain is going to be prototyping all this since none of it's going to work without hooking display AND something popped into a cartridge slot. I'm at least saving myself some headache starting with a controller I can at least test in other things, but wow there's gonna be so many different potential failure points to worry about at one step in here.

#hardware design #diy projects #video signals #Youtube

[silvermarmoset]

curious what you disliked about good omens? i will not take offense regardless of what you say lol so no need to be tactful. i enjoyed the show but i don't care if other people didn't. but i would like to hear your thoughts.

sure! i do want to say before i start though that i don't want to offend anybody in the fandom—because I love the fandom, just not the show. The art and fics and analysis good omens fans make are next level. and it's the difference between the works surrounding the show and the actual show that kind of sums up my issues.

i have one issue that is kinda three issues—a three pronged problem—which can kinda be summed up like this:

budget (lack of or misuse)

production design (related to budget)

writing (impacting production design)

first off, budget. there was clearly some money put into good omens. but it was either not enough or it was badly used: the costume design is often limping along on cheap, showy pieces, while there is CGI (so much CGI! so much bad CGI) all over the place. And I don't mean to be on a grumpy anti-CGI bender—but sometimes it isn't necessary, especially if you put the time and money into good practical effects or clever staging, and often I felt there was CGI added to good omens not to enhance the story but just to razzle-dazzle. to show us things. (we will get back to the Showing of Things.)

meanwhile, the costume design limps along—and I think that limping is kinda seen throughout the production, in ways I don't have the terminology to describe. Costume design is my thing, so I notice when that's struggling—the designer clearly didn't have the time or money to really hit more than the most obvious notes; or perhaps they were told not to hit more subtle notes—but in lots of shots, I just kept thinking, is it me or is this cheap? in the lighting, the shots, the design choices? some parts look fresh out of a Lifetime movie—just chintz, flashy, empty lighting, special effects amping up everything to the nth level, all the time. Which loops into my third and final prong.

Neil Gaiman cannot seem to write for TV without leaning directly into a loud, over-the-top style that buries his actors. Scenes move fast. We are constantly cutting from one thing to the next, sometimes looping off into directions that feel entirely pointless, the goal apparently being not to tell us a focused subtle story but to show us THINGS: krakens and duck aliens and tibetan tunnels, never mind the story, the nunnery has blown up and here we are having a shoot out in the middle east! (the first time we spend any time with any non-white people in good omens they are all killing each other.) in particular, the fast food in des moines bit stands out to me as an exercise in Why Is This Here?: why do we need an entire belabored sequence on the evils of plastic food? is there a big message here beyond Fast Food Bad? or did you just think the plastic joke was funny and so it takes up a big chunk of the episode?

many of the sequences are so busy blowing you over with effects and things! happening! that there is never time to actually make a sensitive, cohesive point. sometimes, we're not even shown things—we are told things, long monologues given by God, just to have Gaiman's writing showcased more obviously than it already is. God's endless monologues are hysterical in written form. I can picture them in written form. But spoken aloud by Frances McDormand, in a format they were clearly not meant for, they are merely endless.

the issues in the writing loop back into the production design too, which is also in the Gaiman wheelhouse because of his role as a producer. I like certain things I spotted—the wings on Aziraphale's armor, the demonic nun design—but often the emphasis is on obvious bang instead of painterly layers, like every department was trying to convey This Is Magical without having the time to actually make the magic.

On an unrelated note, but still within the writing, Gaiman falls hard for sexist tropes while clearly trying not to. Anathema Device is a Strong Female Character, in that she takes no nonsense from anyone until she has immediate, wild sex with a nerdy, fumbling computer boy character who she shows no previous attraction towards in the ten minutes she knows him. (It was foretold by her ancestor, I know, but I don't care; it’s a gross pivot for this character that’s set up as a smart, inward-looking person. she takes more time to consider hooking her bike on the back of crowley's car, for pete's sake.) Pepper is the same way—her personality got lost in a chance to make a Strong Female Character. Even Madame Tracy feels one-dimensional to me, waiting to have a point until Aziraphale takes her over. It is hard for me to look at the plotlines of Adam and Newton Pulsifer, the way their desires are lined up with domination and complete power and both given outlet, and wonder if they're a little wish fulfillment for nerdy white boys who never felt seen.

What makes these failings hurt so bad is not just the flash and wow factor constantly being prioritized over the heart—it's that the heart is clearly already there, in Michael Sheen and David Tennant's performances. Whenever good omens gets out of its own way and stops trying to wow you, it's marvelous: Sheen so uptight trying to maintain a sense of order he hasn't really thought through, Tennant playing ten different levels as a rock 'n' roll romanticist who loves the world—and maybe loved heaven, too, once. Their acting is joyous, gorgeous, their relationship working through all the depth the rest of the production is missing. But even those performances aren't trusted to stand on their own, with special effects and gags and other stories always being added in, cluttering up the frame. (I will not forgive them for modulating David Tennant's voice mid-monologue in the book shop. He doesn't need a digital nonsense to dip into hell. Let your actors act.)

At its core it seems like Gaiman just cannot trust his works to transition from books laden with his voice to full series that have actors and designers and other voices crafting the story. If the witty narrator and flashy effects and pretentious monologues could take a back seat, and good omens could slow down enough to look at Aziraphale and Crowley the way the fandom does—gentle and focused and layered—i would adore this show. but instead, I just get the sense that Gaiman loves writing elaborate stage directions that ask for the moon—when we don't need the moon, because two great actors are giving us heaven and hell right here.

Will I be watching good omens series 2? yeah, probably, it is The Year of Tennant after all. if I'm lucky, maybe the flashiness of series 1 has dialed back a bit to let them breathe. and if it hasn't, well—I always have fanfic :)

#good omens #the weird thing about my cheap rant is i LOVE doctor who. but i feel like doctor who does #clever creative beautiful things with their lack of budget. whereas good omens is trying to have a big budget on 0 dollars #and just looks.....cheap? what is that?????? #anyway i love you tennant and sheen please perform good omens in a bathroom recorded on an iphone

[idrewacow]

i could reread space shanty for the second time in three weeks but it might be faster to just ask- what kinda clothes do miku and luka wear normally? not that either of them have had much "normal" time in the story but- yeah. i wanna draw them :>

First off, I'm sorry it took me so long to reply to this! I wanted to give it a good answer so it took a while. :) You're right I don't really describe what they wear. Only in chapter 8 is Miku's newest outfit properly outlined: otherwise, she's wearing mostly oversized clothes that belong to Luka, which they later tailor to her size.

So that begs the question: what does Luka wear? Shirts and pants, no skirts or dresses for the scavenger. If it's cool, she'll wear zip-up jackets with collars that are a bit too big for her. If it's really warm she'll sometimes wear a shirt without sleeves. I always imagined her with intense dark and very bright shades, very little in between. Black and white, really. She's not very colorful. Her clothes are often highlighted with strips of light, technology, which Ruko uses to monitor her health and such. Those strips are usually close to the lungs, heart, spine. Depending on how annoyed she is with the AI, she'll change clothes so that they can't watch her health so closely. This is bonus info that doesn't come up in the story at all. :D Shoes vary depending on what she's doing. Since you're asking about 'normal' wear, it's just the 'sneakers' of the time: lightweight flexible shoes with some technology tucked away in them. The colors she's pick would match her clothes. So Miku, for a large part of the story, wears similar clothes, just with the sleeves shortened and maybe the hem brought up a bit, perhaps the shoulders narrowed slightly, but it's the same clothes really. She only has the shoes that she picks up in chapter 8. Otherwise, she's barefoot. It's worth noting that they're both fair tailors: Luka had to tailor much of her clothes because she's so short compared to her contemporary peers, so she's had a lot of practice. Miku can learn things with superhuman speed, so she picks it up quickly. So even if it's all hand-tailored, the work isn't shabby. Accessories? Luka doesn't wear her hair up often, but she'll do the occasional ponytail. She does have an implant in one ear (which ear isn't specified), a cheap one, so it's not flashy or anything, but it might be betrayed by a light next to where the earlobe attaches to the skull, right under her temple. She saves pins and scarves and such for her stays at the Sapphire Shores and other similar markets; otherwise, she's almost plain. Miku has her hair ties for a large part of the story, similar to her canon V2 art. She'd like necklaces, rings, and bracelets I think, with bright colors, to remember people by, but she simply doesn't have any yet. I hope that answers your question! I'll gladly answer any other questions if needed. :D

#vocaloid #megurine luka #hatsune miku #fanfiction #space shanty

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

I liked the Eclipse idea and had Thoughts so like the previous person I’ll do a little writing since I probably should get back into practice anyways– Apologies for any weirdness, I have never-ever written Y/N stuff, or fanfics, mostly just stuff for me about my characters. So this may come-off as a bit inexperienced, and that’s because it’s true

You stood in the entrance of the pizzaplex before it’s officially opened, a building you honestly never thought you’d see the interior of. Almost everyone nearby knew the franchise of course, with it’s bright, flashy and distracting appearance and their undeniably incredible marketing team. Maybe also a few rumors. But the issue with you being here was… Well, money. You had enough money to buy yourself something new on a good day, and barely had enough to eat on the bad ones.

But this job is going to change that, you remind yourself. The pay was honestly incredible, if a little suspicious. Okay, maybe a lot suspicious considering they hired you over the phone right away but you weren’t going to question it. You’d probably be fine, right? They’d talked to you about what the job would entail (sort of) and they’d sent you some papers to sign but it didn’t quite look like you signed your soul away just yet.

You blink and shake yourself out of your thoughts, seeing one of the robots wheeling by. You assumed that this one was more akin to an employee than a main attraction since you’d never seen one before and it looked rather unassuming. Curiosity itched something in your brain- but you needed to focus! You were here to work. Maybe you’d get to investigate those staff bots later.

Slowly walking through the empty entrance hall it feels massive. You realize you don’t know where exactly you’re supposed to be when one of those staff bots rolls up to you and… Stares? You stare back, and the silence is deafening. As you begin to speak to apologize it suddenly shoves something into your face, which flaps around like cheap paper. It takes a moment for you to realize it’s speaking now. “PLEASE, TAKE A MAP. TAKE A MAP. FREE MAP.” It was almost scary if not for your overwhelming bewilderment at this first introduction. You take the paper from it gently and it quickly pulls away, borderline shouting a “THANK YOU.” before simply leaving you. You reach to call for it but pause when you look at the paper in your hands, and sure enough, it’s a map! …A very confusing one, albeit.

Despite getting lost a few times, running into a few staff bots, and almost smashing your nose against the floor when you tripped on what appeared to be nothing, you made it! The person who had gone through the hiring process with you on the phone spoke too quickly at times for you to understand, but you knew you were here to help with an animatronic in the daycare. Apparently there was two of them, but something happened, and now you’re supposed to fix whatever it was or build upon it. Whichever ended up easiest. But first-things-first, you had to clock in! You remember something about the daycare having a security desk you should go to, so that’s what your new mission is.

Walking inside the door creak loudly behind you, making you inwardly flinch a little. You think about snooping in some maintenance closets later for something to ease those hinges, as you remember your map had them marked, for some reason. Once inside you look upon the sanctuary created for children. As a kid you would’ve catapulted yourself right into everything in this room, and a part of you still feels the obscene urge to climb up the biggest slide in sight as of now.

Failing to calm your inner child, you shuffle to the desk. But just before you can touch anything you feel a looming presence behind you. You turn slowly, hairs nervously prickling on the back of your neck from just how silent this assumed entity was. You look up to see a much much much larger animatronic in front of you. It looked like a number of things, off the top of your head, but you didn’t remember it from any of the advertisements you’ve seen. You decide in your head that it sort of looks like a star, or something planetary and a huge smile erupts from your face in child-like glee and amazement, causing the animatronic to tense and even stumble backward slightly.

-

WELL NOW I WANNA EITHER WRITE THIS OR READ IT STOP THIS I CANT HANDLE MORE THAN ONE FIC AT A TIMEEEEE

also! for a first time, this is really good???? stop being more talented than me (im kidding pls continue)

#submission

[maschotch]

No one asked for my opinion but on the questions you asked about hotch:

I feel like he's mostly a pen guy and doesn't use pencils a whole lot unless he's worried about making mistakes, in which case he'll use pencil. I think he has one of those electric pencil sharpeners but avoids using them at all costs bc they're loud and he's got PTSD³

Definitely a pen guy but will not use mechanical pencils unless he absolutely has to. Definitely a fan of those fancy ballpoint pens and I feel like Rossi has definitely given him a really fancy set of gold and black fountain pens. Garcia has Definitely given him those fuzzy pens with the pom poms on the end that he keeps in his drawer and doesn't really use but likes to look at.

I feel like he probably uses whatever the bureau provides him lol but I could definitely see him at staples just looking over the stationary. 100% just gets wooden pencils, pens, and a stapler that he'd probably never use but just wants to be on the safe side. I doubt he'd get anything fun or something he wasn't decently sure he would use.

As for the gifts... hotch in Canon keeps his birthday a secret so people kind of ignore it but for holidays they Def get him a variety of weird office supplies and ties (and a world's best dad mug for secret Santa no I will not elaborate)

Honestly think he got those books in his office to fill up space odjjssj I really doubt he reads them. I mean he's reading one in demonology but I think that's more for personal curiosity that anything, especially since the internet is now a widespread thing. Definetly could've gotten them in law school and just doesn't have the heart to throw them out now.

His inbox is definitely clean. Checks it constantly and sometimes will get emails from the team in the bullpen just because they don't want to walk up (or just Rossi being a little shit). I also think he keeps pics and videos of Jack on there and some team photos from bars and karaoke and stuff for whenever he's feeling low

Unpopular opinion maybe but I hc that he ends up preferring going digital and ends up kind of disliking handwriting for a couple of reasons. First, we see him scrolling through things on the tablet on the jet a lot, so I feel like he's comfortable using it. I also think he tries to be more tech-y because of Jack? He's also left handed and I know lefties have the curse of smudging everything they write, especially bc I firmly believe he uses pen as much as he can. On a more sad note I think it's a lot harder for him to hand write because I hc that his hands hurt a lot and bother him after he beats foyet

i agree about using pens more than pencils.. it just feels more Professional and it's fucking annoying when he tries to go back to read old writings written in pencil and it's faded or worn down. probably exclusively uses black pens, but he has a hoard of multi-colored glitter gel pens from penelope that he uses one at a time to write personal notes for himself like on sticky notes for little reminders or something. (i like to think he has his own version of morgan's "secret fun zone"--it's just a drawer with all the gifts he's gotten from the team that are too flashy for the vibes of his office but he still wants to look at now and then to cheer himself up.) that being said, i think he likes the classic feel of a wood pencil on paper. that's how i think he feels about technology in the office as well: the efficiency and practicality of technology/pens are nice and he's proficient enough to be adept at using both without much error, but he also likes the traditional/old-school feel of pencils, paperback books, "rickety projectors," etc.

i think when he's buying stuff for himself/the office, he shops economically. if it's something he needs, if it works, if it's on sale, and if it's in bulk, he's likely to buy it: it's how he is with everything, from office supplies to t shirts. he's not stingy: he buys a suit because it fits well, not because it's cheap. every once and a while he'll get something nice for himself if something catches his eye, but i doubt there's much that inspires him to make any extravagant purchases. i know gucci tie hotch is real aljkhsg but i really think those are gifts from rossi... the watches... whew that would be next level sugar daddy rossi so maybe he bought those for himself kasjhfgl

that being said, i don't think he ever puts a price limit on gifts for others, but will maintain dedication to practicality: it has to be something they'll love (flowers for penelope) or something they'll use a lot (headphones for morgan). he's not exactly the kinda guy to go all out for every gift giving holiday and get something perfect for every one every time, but every once and a while there may be a little anonymous present on their desk. it's always something that suits them or makes them smile, even on their worst days, and they all pretend they don't know it's from hotch. but when they have to get him gifts... for some reason it's so awkward for them. like. what do you get the guy who's ur boss but also kinda ur dad but also kinda ur friend but also kinda scary but also a loser??? their gifts tend to (unintentionally) reflect their own state of mind since it's kinda hard to think of stuff he would actually like. hotch appreciates the gesture regardless and never throws a single thing away. including the wrapping paper

i think it'd be cute if it was old books from law school. he's not necessarily a hoarder, but we know he's pretty sentimental, and those things are NOT cheap akjshdlg so he just kept them. ik theyre in the fBi so a lotta people he deals with tend to be bureaucrats or politicians... i bet they all notice that his office kinda looks more like a lawyer's office than anything else. unrelated but i'd like to yet again call attention to the bike rack

i agree that his inbox is probably extremely well organized. i don't think it's something he's anal about or anything? he just... has always been on top of his emails. he's never gone longer than 24hrs without clearing out his inbox, so it's never really had the chance to stack up and overwhelm him. it's not something he enjoys, it's not something he despises, it's just a part of his routine. something that needs to be done in a day. like brushing his teeth.

i love the emo hotch headcanon. tbh i think a lot of shit got fucked up after that. he was able to go back to work and be physically fit and whatever, but nothing was quite the same. between his injuries and not bothering to take care of himself as much as he should, he probably gets a lotta chronic conditions that set in earlier than they normally would. so he slowly accumulates things that make his life a little easier: painkillers in the bottom drawer of his desk, setting an alarm reminding him to take his meds, handwarmers in the desk and a heating pad tucked away close to the sofa when things get really bad, etc. the switch to technology makes "paperwork" go a little easier (he still gets stiff typing after a while and needs to do some hand exercises) but he's kinda used to the comfortable press of a pen in his hand, so he still uses pen and paper for certain things. i'm a 1000% sure penelope has gotten him one of those little aromatherapy pouches (likely handmade) which he smells from time to time. he's uncertain of the science behind it, but it still helps him feel better. he's not sure if it's actually working, if it's a placebo effect, or if just the reminder of penelope is what's doing the trick, but he's absolutely not going to ask reid and risk ruining it.

#thank youuuuu for all these akjshdlkgj this was absolutely wonderful and gave me an excuse to think ab this stuff #i KNOW its stupid little mundane things but thats what makes it so human yk? #asks #aaron hotchner #i want to see him in an office depot #i want to see him shopping w penelope for stuff for the office and realizing far too late that it was a huge fucking mistake #but he has to admit he's having fun looking at different stationary and other stuff jskhdaljkdf

[81scorp]

Some thoughts on AI in art

Here are some thoughts on AI genertade images in art.

Some of these are mine, one of them is from Richard Williams book "The animator`s survival kit" and two of them are comments to a youtube video that talks about AI in art. (I have given credits to the original authors of those comments.)

A.I. is good and all but do we need A.I. art? Wasnt the point of A.I. that it would take over jobs that were too boring, difficult or dangerous for humans? Is doodling on a piece of paper too difficult now? A.I. art is for the consumer who wants their product delivered right NOW. A.I. art can be used as trainingwheels for artists but it shouldnt be the finished product. Are we artists or are we consumers?

AI image generators is great for lazy, impatient people who have no intention to learn how make their own art and are too cheap to hire an artist to draw for them.

AI is a tool, a double-edged sword. It can be used for a lot of fun things it can also work as a shortcut for lazy people. To be good at art takes time and effort and people are not very likely to want to learn how to create a painting if it is just the push of a few buttons away. The journey of learning is also an important part of becoming an artist.

Calling yourself an artist when you upload fully AI generated pictures is like calling yourself a chef because you heated some leftovers in the microwave oven.

When you tell an AI to generate some pics youre not the artist, youre the one who commissions the artwork, youre the employer. Now dont misunderstand what Im trying to say, this doesnt makes you bad, it just doesn`t make you the artist.

"You were so preoccupied with whether or not you could that you didn't stop to think if you should." ―Dr. Ian Malcolm

One thing that bugs me is when people say that AI "democratizes" art. It does not. I have seen sites on the internet, channels on youtube (Istebrak, Winged Canvas) and profiles on deviantart (Ethertingtonbrothers) filled with tutorials that teaches people how to draw. (How to draw perspective, buildings, wrinkles in clothes and more.) Heck, even before the internet there were short tutorials in Disney comic magazines (just to name one example) on how to draw Disney characters (like Donald Duck, Goofy, Mickey Mouse and others). Art was democratized long before AI. Just like everyone else I started from zero and am slowly learning more. Just because you know nothing in the beginning doesnt mean that you cant learn and just because youre not good at something doesnt mean that you cant get better at it. "But it takes time." Some will say. Thats right, art takes time. Art. Takes. Time. Sure, AI is faster, but it`s also like taking piano lessons on a self playing piano.

AI generated images are like the photorealistic remake of the Lion King: Sure, the technology is impressive but still… why?

"But we can learn to draw. There's the myth that you are either born draftsman or not. Wrong! Obviously, natural talent is a great help and the desire is essential, but drawing can be taught and drawing can be learnt. It's best to have done a ton of it at art school to get the foundation in early. But it can be done at any time. Just do it."

―Richard Williams, The Animator's Survival Kit

A lot of what I've been seeing about the "wonders" of AI art, it's never really impressed me because it plays off of the novelty of this being able to replicate styles without an artist's hand. I'm more impressed with its application to speed up certain production processes by being a supplement to the artist's vision. I feel people get so enamored by the flashiness of some new technology and go all in on that for the news outlets when its practical application is more subtle and boring. -Yensid951927 (youtube)

The reason people don't mess around with the music industry is because they have conglomerates and lawyers in place to punish those who don't respect their property. It may be cynical but I think the only thing that will keep artists safe from these bro personalities are legitimate financial threat and follow through. I think a limited version of AI, as a tool, can help actual artists do their work better but never replace it. That said, it needs to be seriously regulated in a way that prevents art theft, first and foremost. -viqverglas (youtube)

#81scorp #editorial #no to ai art #Why have AI in art?

[goldstampe31]

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#wedding photographers

[astrosweet]

🔱✨Makeup in astrology✨🔱

                                                         Part 1

.⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆. Neptune through the houses  .⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆

☆Neptune represents your flashy or showier side its the planet of illusions and rules over makeup, glamour, fashion, theatre, films, T.V. ( Neptune is like Venus minus relationships and romance). ☆Your Neptune placements/aspects can tell you about your makeup style and what will suit you best.

🔱 Neptune in the 1st house will not leave the house/be seen without makeup. they are amazing at makeup. they are also the type to enhance their features, really overline their lips, or do their eye makeup so they look like a Tim Burton character. heavy contour. you guys are like shapeshifters with makeup its amazing bc it doesn't even look bad when you guys go real heavy people won't even know ur lips are overlined or your nose is contoured. you taught urself ur makeup skills. people will always try to copy ur makeup and it's just something people are jealous so you might get told you wear too much makeup but that's just because they envy the way you can wear 10 pounds of makeup yet still looks like you aren't wearing any.

(OMG!! I just looked at Kylie Jenner's birth chart and she has Neptune 1h)

🔱 Neptune in the 2nd house can be a makeup artist or make money through makeup. you will only use expensive makeup bc it might be the only kind that looks good .you think cheap makeup just doesn't look good on ur face like when you use drugstore/inexpensive makeup it looks cakey, creasy, or doesn't blend. though you also stress about buying makeup. simple makeup would look really good on you. 2nd house is ruled by Venus/Taurus it's a feminine house so try to avoid harsh contouring especially sharp jawlines( a masculine feature). a more feminine/supple look would suit your face best so embrace full checks. you guys have money karma with makeup (especially if it's aspected to ur Saturn!)

🔱 Neptune in the 3rd house the first thing I thought of is doing ur makeup in the car and using ur camera app as a mirror LOL. if you wanted to you could be a beauty guru or that's like the only YouTubers u watch. your sister(s) might have taught about makeup and you first discovered makeup at a young age. you don't like spending a lot of time on ur makeup. you definitely get mascara all over your eyelids. the best look for you is a doe eye look that makes ur eyes look big( like get fake lashes now). or an old Hollywood look like Marlyn Monroe/ Priscilla Presley look. that Gemini/mercury teasing style looks amazing on you. smooth skin, soft yet defined features, the symmetry and innocent look. (I swear to god my intuition is at %5000 today the only thing I was picturing when i was writing this was marlin Monroe, Pamela Anderson, and Lana del Rey, and guess the fuck what? my queen Lana has Neptune 3h(whole signs))

🔱 Neptune in the 4th house your mom or mother figure taught you abt makeup(u definitely steal hers /use the same products) or she always wore makeup, like makeup is her thing you would watch her doing her makeup as a kid, its one of the main things that come to mind when u think of ur mother even if she isn't super into makeup. you like clean simple makeup and do the same look every day... for years. you like the stability. if you do ur makeup, not in the comfort of ur home u think it looks terrible. the 4th house is literally the house of foundation lol not like makeup foundation but still, you guys might always wear foundation or use like 2 primers and 50 squirts of setting spray you will do anything for it to last all day. like 2nd house natural feminine looks suit you best.

🔱 Neptune in the 5th house makeup makes someone extremely creative the house of creativity with the planet of art. it speaks for itself. you guys are naturally talented with makeup. makeup just like any other form of art for you. you might do something different every day with makeup bc it's an opportunity to practice your artistic skills. if you guys aren't into makeup I highly recommend getting into it. the 5th house is abt finding pleasure in the things you do. bronzy looks would look really good on you, also cut crease or cat-eye looks. you can also really pull off bright blue eyeshadow or crazy fun makeup. like all the euphoria makeup looks come to mind.

#neptune #neptune in the 1st house #neptune in the 2nd house #neptune in the 3rd house #neptune in the 4th house #neptune in the 5th house #venus #neptune astrology #neptune aspects #pisces placements #astrology observations #astrology #astro observations #astro

[nuclearforest]

I present to you one very American read of what the Hellsing cast would drive as a practical daily car, a fun car, and an old classic. Also feel free to chip in and let me know where you agree or disagree.

Hellsing:

Integra:

Practical: Rolls Royce Silver Phantom (pretty much already canon, altho Walter's the one driving it most of the time)

Fun: Aston Martin DB11 (she'd pick a fancy British car while striking a break from family expectations. Her Father Arthur probably would've been a McLaren fan)

Old Classic: A little Triumph convertible (she would've learned stick shift on it if Walter ever taught her in a very dadly moment)

Seras:

Practical: Mini Cooper (listen if I didn't pick it I'd feel like a letdown. I know some of the EU car brands but not enough to be useful here lol)

Fun: BMW 3M (something not too flashy but with a bit if kick. Still more or less practical, just not in the winter. Also modern and similar to Alucard's classic!)

Classic: 1960s Volkwagen Beetle (cute car for a cute lady. Also good vibes for a beach trip with Pip. Seras deserves good things)

Alucard:

Practical: Mercedes C-Class (nothing about this man is practical, but this is pretty close. Based on my own experience with the brand the car would probably be in the shop as much as on the road and he'd revel in being a pain in the ass borrowing Integra's car)

Fun: Arthur's old Maclaren (he may or may not have modded it in all the ways Arthur would've hated)

Classic: Early 70s BMW M1 (listen he'd probably look good in a racing outfit next to an iconic, sharp mid engine car. Especially in a nice bright red. It narrowly beat the idea of giving him a Reliant Robin, if only so he could make it everybody else's problem.)

Walter:

Practical: Hyundai Sonata (when he's not driving Integra around, he probably uses old reliable.)

Fun: Camero SS (other than me trying to make a joke here, Walter would probably go for something slick and strong. Also a good target for old men in a midlife crisis, tied only by a Corvette)

Classic: C4 Corvette (another 80s car to compete with Alucard's M1! Also he'd lose and be salty over it, so it fits)

Pip:

Practical: Ford Raptor (he thinks the pickup makes him look cool, but it's one of the new ones that needs to play engine noises over the sound system to make it seem buffer than it actually is. He doesn't know this)

Fun: the Alpine (which is a little tiny French sports car; pretty niche and really only saw them at LeMans in France. How could I resist?)

Classic: 70s Pontiac Firebird (the aesthetic fits, I think. He'd like to take Seras cruising in it.)

Iscariot:

Maxwell:

Practical: Mercedes C-Class (surprisingly the same as Alucard. It's as practical as I can see him being, priest or not.)

Fun: Fiat Abarth (one of those sporty little fiats. He'd probably assume it was stronger than it is, and it isn't. Rest in Pieces.)

Classic: 60s Ferrari (yes, this is why I didn't make the Ferrari a fun car. Also related to my super old Hellsing at LeMans headcanons.)

Anderson:

Practical: Toyota Camry (cheap, efficient, and has a good safety record. A very priestly car, I guess.)

Fun: Mustang GT (something plentiful and relatively cheap. Also probably well known to and admired by the kids of the orphanage.)

Classic: Porsche 917 (a classic to compete with Alucard's M1. Head to head like true blue rivals. Or lovers. Really hard to say; that's up to you.)

Heinkel:

Practical: Subaru WRX (probably picked it because Yumiko would like it. It's also kinda sporty.)

Fun: Porsche 911 (It's spicy, fancy, and has enough power for you and your lover to flee the Catholic church if you ever really needed to. Looking at you, Yumiko.)

Classic: Tribute Mustang from the movie Bullitt (A mustang, like Anderson, and something she could have to do something with Yumiko.)

Yumiko/Yumie:

Practical: Toyota Camry (Similar to Anderson's car, she's got another one in what is sure to be a Vatican fleet.)

Fun: Toyota Supra (affordable and plentiful! Also probably got a deal in it and would be riding around with Heinkel anyway.)

Classic: Tribute Charger from the movie Bullitt (just to go with Heinkel lol.)

Millennium:

Major:

Practical: Porsche Cayenne (Hans would be stuck driving him around. Most importantly: himself, his chauffer, and Doc would fit without issue.)

Fun: Mercedes AMG GT (he might have difficulty fitting, but he'd probably find it a stunning piece of engineering.)

Classic: Ford GT 40 (something that would've competed with Alucard, Anderson, and Maxwell. Hans would have to squeeze his ass into it to drive, but Montana would be capable of throwing hands with anybody.)

Doc:

Practical: Tesla Model 3 (listen. This man is too anxious to drive, so give him a car with an autopilot. Also probably would be an Elon Bro.)

Fun: Cadillac CTS (the man doesn't really care for fun. It's luxurious, practical, and Montana would agree to ride in it.)

Classic: DeLorean (it would be a Back to the Future reference because he loves science and the idea of discovering time travel FAR more than he loves cars. Probably the person on the list who hates cars the most.)

The Captain:

Practical: Jeep Wrangler (cheap, heavy duty, a workhorse, and you can take the doors off. Kind of the low end version of a G-Wagon, which he'd look good with but that Montana would likely never pay for. Alternatively a Chevy Suburban might work, too)

Fun: Challenger Hellcat (listen it's the only fun car he'd probably even fit in, all things considered. It's also a car I hold near and dear to my heart so obviously I'll associate it with the character I simp most for. Would also give Alucard's and Anderson's picks a run for it's money long term, which i imagine would be the same situation in a battle of attrition)

Classic: A 1950s Ford F-100, beaten to hell (he's a simple man of simple joys. Belongs in the middle of the woods with good old reliable that somehow, much like him, isn't dead yet.)

Schrodinger:

Practical: one of those little battery powered car things--he's a child he can't drive.

Fun: Tesla model S insanity (ok so give the child a car and make it balls to the walls nuts and something Doc would sort of half trust him in. He never uses the autopilot.)

Classic: the nonexistant Ford Nucleon (or another Gord F-100 Hans helped him model to look like Ford's nuclear car concept in a very dadly montage of work.)

Zorin:

Practical: Subaru Forester (no I will not elaborate.)

Fun: Hummer H3 (it's been modded into a violent apocalypse survivalist's wet dream.)

Classic: Roadrunner Superbird (her scythe is ridiculous, and so is the spoiler on this beast. She's out to kick ass and take names and so is this car.)

Rip:

Practical: BMW 330i (it's practical and looks nice. Also rather high quality and likely suited to her finer tastes.)

Fun: Porsche 911 Convertible ("Get in loser, we're going to beat the defeatists." It may not be the best convertible but it's fun and she can feel the wind in her hair.)

Classic: 1979s Cadillac Convertible (listen, I associate her with convertibles. It also rides smooth as a dream and has a really sharp look. It fits somebody elegant!)

Finally, I'm sorry for leaving out Makube, Jan, Luke, and various other minor characters. This was long enough as it is. And the only real headcanon I have left in this group is that Jan drives a shitbox.

#hellsing headcanon #hellsing millennium #hellsing iscariot #sir integra #seras victoria #alucard #walter c. dornez #pip bernadotte #maxwell #alexander anderson #heinkel #yumiko #major montana max #hellsing captain #hans gunsche #hellsing doc #hellsing schrodinger #zorin blitz #rip van winkle