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snakes-and-fluff · 2 months ago

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Contemplating when blood is explictly shown in Milgram MVs and for what purpose. (Plenty of shots of blood and bloodied people below the cut)

Both of Muu's songs show a pretty clear-cut image of the murder, blood and all.

But it's interesting to note that, while Muu does show realistic blood in both MVs, in After Pain it's only for a single shot: most of the shots of Rei's body have her covered in a neon green liquid instead - the same liquid inside the hourglass. But in It's Not My Fault, while the hourglass does return, it's not used as a stand-in for blood this time, only showing realistic shots of blood at the scene.

Realistic blood is again shown in The Purge March and although this whole scene is metaphorical, it is highly likely that this is what the state of the actual weapon would have been.

Some of the blood in MeMe appears to be representative of real events (though the circumstances around the murder are still so vague I can't say for sure), but some of it is clearly over-exaggerated for dramatic effect and not a representation what literally happened.

Sometimes blood is purely symbolic, like in Cat (in addition it is coloured pitch-black, even on Hinako's face when the lighting should make it appear brighter).

Similar to the above, the blood in Bring It On is symbolic of Fuuta's guilt, but is portrayed with more realistic colouration.

Then you have Haruka's weird midground, where he has blood in both his MVs, and both are heavily stylized (albeit in different ways). If the shot at the end of All-Knowing and All-Agony is any indication, he strangled his victim which should have been a bloodless death, but he has engaged in literal bloody activity before (killing pets), so his blood appears to be both metaphorical and literal.

At the end of Deep Cover, Kotoko stands covered in neon pink blood, chess pieces representing the other prisoners scattered about her feet. But the only pieces that are shown are those voted Innocent in T1 - those she has not yet attacked. So the blood here is not representative of any particular event, but rather her intentions.

But if that's the case, what does that say for Double, which portrays John standing in a train, dripping with blood the wrong colour as he attacks mannequins? Is this merely a mental block he has because he cannot clearly remember the events? Or, like Kotoko's similar theming above, is it purely metaphorical, indicating his emotions rather than his actions?

Then we get to Milgram Enigma Number 1, Mahiru. I Love You undoubtedly shows realistic blood, but whether it is literal or not is left very unclear. If the only bloodstain present was the one on his torso I'd be more inclined to believe it was truly all a metaphor; a betrayed or bleeding heart. But that doesn't explain the stain on the sleeve. And of course, it begs the question: if it is metaphorical, what is it representing? Fuuta showed guilt by recoiling at the blood on his hands, and Kazui showed remorse and how he feels like a monster by tearing a dove apart. But we don't see Mahiru cause this wound, nor does she react to it. As of right now I don't understand enough about Mahiru to form a concrete conclusion but if the trend in the other MVs is anything to go by, I'm afraid that these bloodstains might be more literal than I want to believe.

Interesting to note that Fuuta is the only character to show blood in his T1 MV but not the second, and both Yuno and Shidou show no blood in either MV (ironically enough for Shidou, as things like rotting fruit have to take the place of organs and blood instead)

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sleepsspamsalot · 5 months ago

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bloodless → bloodstained : ritual of the night .

#bloodstained ritual of the night #ROTN #bloodless #bloodstained #gif #Miriam bloodstained

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serickswrites · 10 months ago

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Between the Sheets

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, blood, mcd, hurt/no comfort

Whumpee giggled beneath the white sheet. Caretaker couldn't help but delight in the sound. "Shhhhh, you're going to ruin the surprise," Caretaker whispered.

Whumpee tried to suppress their mirth. "Are they coming?" Their eyes were shiny with laughter.

"Any moment. And you are going to ruin Teammate One's surprise if you don't shut up." Caretaker froze at the sound of approaching footsteps. "Scoot over," they whisper shouted at Whumpee as they tried to slide beneath the sheet with Whumpee.

"If you two are trying to surprise me, you could be a little less obvious," Teammate One's voice came loudly. "You know I hate surprises."

***

Whumpee smiled up at them as they lay between the sheets. The early morning sunlight passed through the thin sheet, giving Whumpee's hair a golden halo. Caretaker loved these moments above all other moments. The soft, gentle morning kisses. The sweet embraces and whispered declarations of love. Caretaker loved this. They couldn't get enough of it.

"I love you, Caretaker," Whumpee said softly.

Caretaker took Whumpee's face in their hands and kissed Whumpee gently. "I love you, Whumpee."

Whumpee kissed them back fiercely. "I want it to always be like this." They lay their head against Caretaker's chest. "I want to always be with you."

"I will always be with you, Whumpee. I won't let anything happen to you ever. I love you more than anything."

***

Whumpee took a shuddering breath in their sleep. They huddled under the thin sheet as they slept on the couch in Caretaker's office. Caretaker had never seen Whumpee work themself into such bone weary exhaustion as they had during their pursuit of Whumper. Dark circles, dark as bruises, beneath Whumpee's eye stood out in sharp contrast with their skin. Their brow was pinched in sleep, as though even as they tried to rest, they couldn't stop thinking, couldn't stop working.

Whumper had threatened Caretaker. Threatened to hunt and destroy Caretaker. Whumpee, as had the rest of the team, taken the threat seriously. None of the team had stopped working. They wouldn't, not until Whumper had been neutralized.

"Caretaker, I think--" Teammate Two's loud voice had Caretaker rounding on them.

"Shhhh, you'll wake them. I only just got them to fall asleep." Caretaker stood up from behind their desk. "Let's talk in the hallway."

Teammate Two nodded silently and stepped out with Caretaker. Neither of them noticed Whumpee's pale eyes open. Neither of them noticed Whumpee rise and check the phone on the coffee table. Just as neither of them noticed Whumpee slip out and into the dark night.

***

Caretaker didn't want to look beneath the sheet in front of them. They didn't want to see what was lying there. Who was lying there. Because then it would be real. And Caretaker couldn't have this be real.

Teammate One and Teammate Two had carefully, painstakingly, cleared the scene in Whumper's compound. The two teammates had gone ahead of Caretaker when Caretaker's resolve had failed them.

Getting the call from Whumper had been the beginning of the end for Caretaker. Walking through Whumper's compound and seeing the implements of torture that Whumper had used had nearly brought Caretaker to their knees.

But now staring down at the bloodstained sheet before them, Caretaker knew that this would undo them. That they would never recover from lifting the sheet. From knowing.

But they had to know. They couldn't exist in the limbo of wondering. They had to know. Even if it broke them.

And so Caretaker carefully, slowly pulled back the sheet and exposed what lay beneath. Who lay beneath. Caretaker let out an unearthly cry as they collapsed to their knees at what they saw. At who they saw.

Whumpee's bloodless face was almost as pale as the sheet they lay beneath. Their pale eyes suddenly a dark contrast with their skin. Whumpee's sightless eyes stared up at Caretaker. "You weren't supposed to get hurt," Caretaker sobbed. "They wanted to hurt me. They were supposed to hurt me. You weren't supposed to get hurt. Oh God! Whumpee! Please!"

But Whumpee didn't reply. Didn't giggle from under the sheet. Didn't smile up at them and offer sweet kisses. Didn't jump out and shout "Surprise!" Whumpee merely lay there, cold and dead. Lay there in the pool of their cool, tacky blood. Lay there in the position Whumper had left them in after days of torture. All to hurt Caretaker. Whumper took Whumpee to hurt Caretaker. This was all Caretaker's fault. Caretaker knew that this was their end. Whumper had broken them so completely that they would never recover and come back from this.

And Caretaker was perfectly fine with that. They couldn't, they wouldn't live in a world without Whumpee.

#serickswrites #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #tw captivity #tw torture #tw restraints #tw blood #tw mcd #hurt/no comfort #queue #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhump day 13 #prompt: “you weren't supposed to get hurt”

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spellsparkler · 2 months ago

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the guide...

- the guide : inheritance, correction.

The early-morning sun is soft and pale; it dapples the earth, the muddy ground beneath the trees studded with patches of grass and fallen leaves, and it sets the river glittering. It’s pretty, in a tender, toothless way; Elias, cross-legged on the miry bank trying with little success to strip the blood from her arms, is probably rather ruining that picture.

So it would seem everyone thinks, at least. She’s tucked herself a ways away from their camping spot, around the stream’s bend and behind a dense-grown thicket, not because she’s suddenly grown prim about privacy when washing but because she’d gotten the sense that nobody wanted to see it. Some of her friends are shy. Most of them were still looking very upset and very accusatory about the blood and the corpse.

(Very upset; very accusatory. She isn’t sure who’s going to clean it up – she doubts they’ll let her. She’d meant, at first, to bring some of her blades and wash the blood from them as well as her hands, but Karlach objected strenuously. Elias knows about six things about herself, if she’s being generous, but one of the first is that she knows when not to push her luck.)

She is sitting, legs crossed, in the muck of the riverbank; her ugly, itchy trousers all dirt and filth on the back and ignoble blood on the front. It has stained dark and crumbly as ash; a thick crust all through the weave of the fabric. There is blood congealed, likewise, on her shirt; on her neck; probably on her face and in her hair – definitely in her mouth, from which she has not been able to bring herself to spit it out – definitely on her hands, viscous and clotted and thick as velvet, all up her arms like a dripping pair of gloves. They dried out some between the time she woke up and the time everyone else did.

She’s left it all too long to be removed with ease; it’s curdled into something not quite liquid, so she’s pulling it from her skin in long syrupy strings. It clings to her fingers with the desperation of a suckling infant. The soap might help, but then it would all mingle together, which wouldn’t work at all – she’s left the slippery bar of it in the dirt and is balancing the shiny-damp tin on her knee, streaked with gore. She scrapes the dripping into it from her fingers, lets it congeal against the harsh-cornered metal. Sometimes she drags the lip of the tin up her arms to gather it all more efficiently. None of it works. She’s sure there must be a better way to do this, but with the light of the rising sun the headache is tripping back into fiercer awareness, and it makes it so much harder to think. (A shame, such a shame – in the dead hours of the morning it hadn’t been gone, but it had lessened, drawing back like low tide. Very nearly a very welcome reprieve.)

Her mouth tastes of meat. Her fingernails are gummed up with old blood.

Behind her, footsteps; treading neatly over the muddled ground, over brittle twigs and drab leaves stained yellow with unvibrant death. Elias doesn’t look. She knows who it is. She issued the invitation.

“I have some excellent tips for getting bloodstains out of white fabric,” says Astarion brightly, close enough almost to peer over her shoulder, “but if you asked me here for anything else I’m not sure I’ll be much help.”

Elias looks down; plucks at her shirt, which was, at one point, a dreary off-white, and very hempy and unappealing besides. She wouldn’t mourn its loss if there were any other garments she could replace it with. “No. That’s not it.”

“Intriguing.” Astarion sinks down into a careful crouch, some small distance from her; Elias sets the soap tin, old blood collecting like stale jelly in its base, down on the ground. “What, then? It must be important, if you’re using our little friends –” he taps a sharp-nailed finger to his cheekbone, just below his eye, “– to call me over.”

Elias looks at him, his bloodless face; she knits her blood-gloved fingers; she says, “I didn’t mean to kill Alfira.”

A pause. The river laps at the mud; Astarion, crouched neatly on his toes, rolls his eyes so expressively she can’t miss it. “Darling, save your excuses for –”

“No-one listens,” Elias observes. She watches until his mouth closes. The sore on his lip has gone scabby. The blood under her nails feels sticky and foul. She says, “Astarion. We have killed things every day since the meat-ship crashed and never demanded we absolve ourselves for it – why would I become prudish about it now?”

(It’s a good question. Her point would be stronger, perhaps, if everyone else she knows hadn’t vacillated just that starkly; if she hadn’t waited for help, for explanations she knew that she in her state might not have, and met with only pursed mouths and offers of excuses she did not ask for and did not need.)

(It’s been a strange morning, and that’s by Elias’ already strange standards.)

Astarion looks at her. He says, “You agreed it was the tadpole.”

Elias picks a scrap of blood from the webbing between finger and thumb and says calmly, “I lied.”

(She isn’t in a position to understand much of what’s happening to her, she knows – so when she blinked back into being with blood in her teeth, on her hands, slathered down her throat, she had sat, and she had waited. The sky had choked the glitter from the stars, and morning came, and then instead of helping everyone acted as if they’d never seen a corpse before. They’d given Elias and her body and the blood gloving her hands a wide berth, after they’d stopped threatening to leap to mirroring violence. It was baffling. They acted as if they hadn’t all met with blades whetted – as if Wyll hadn’t cut a worg open with a butcher’s grace, as if the first favour Karlach asked wasn’t neutralising bounty hunters with the aid of spell and steel. They’ve never blamed any of it on the tadpole before.)

(But they’d been so very set on believing it the worm’s fault. Elias knew it wasn’t. But she knew – she knows, though she doesn’t know how she knows – that it’s not worth carrying the point.)

She tells Astarion, “I don’t know why I did it. I didn’t know I was doing it until it was done. Do you understand?”

“Not particularly,” says Astarion. He picks, careless, at a nail. His eyes are easy to track in the shallow parchment of his face; Elias peels another viscid strip of gore from her wrist, just to watch them latch unsubtly on to the motion.

“I went to bed,” she says with great patience, “and then there I was, and there she was, and I don’t know why. Do you understand? Do you understand why I find this concerning?” If this brand of extensively homicidal somnambulism is something she might be prone to, she thinks they need to know – they need to understand – they need to take it seriously. If it were the parasite it wouldn’t have just been her. If it were the parasite, she’d know. But it wasn’t.

She knows it wasn’t.

Astarion does something interesting with the shape of his mouth and replies derisively, “I’m not totally clueless, thank you. What I don’t understand is why you’re making this case to me alone.”

The bloody gunk dripping now from the end of Elias’ fingers is wiped inelegantly against the lip of the soap tin. Her mouth tastes rancid. She can feel blood, dried and clotted, in her hair. It will all take such an age to wash.

She says, “If we don’t understand why it happened, we don’t understand how it could be prevented. It will happen again.”

She says, “When it happens again, I will wake you up, and you will help me hide the body.”

Her headache throbs lowly, the faint sweet hum of pain pressing its distant way through her body. The river glitters so sharply. It feels so busy in her head – so strange and layered – as if this moment has happened before; she presses a filthy thumb to her eyelid, feeling the soft firm gel of it behind the fine skin. If she popped it clean out of the socket it might relieve some of the pressure. She knows she could – she knows she could – she saw what she had done to the young bard’s eyes.

The river glitters. She closes her eyes.

“Will I,” says the voice she was talking to next to her, sounding positively delighted. “What an interesting conclusion you’ve come to, Elias – now, why would I do that?”

It’s Astarion; she remembers it’s Astarion; with the paper-thin skin and the scabbed sore on his lip and the pretty embroidery all along the cuffs of his sleeves. Elias opens her eyes, head tipped away from the glare, and she takes the soap tin from where it wobbles on her knee to set it down in the dirt between them, gore sluggishly rusting its base. She takes a moment to find her tongue again, to secure the wriggling, rancid meat in her mouth.

“Will that do,” she asks, with careful courtesy, “or will you need it fresh?”

A pause. When she looks up she finds him very stark and very still against the dribble-dying mess of the trees; a leaf brushes his hair as it flutters to the ground. She wonders if he realises he’s stopped breathing. Keep at that for another thirty seconds and he’d be risking brain damage, if he relied on circulation for anything more than show.

Elias isn’t exactly the picture of an undamaged brain, of course, but it’s such a silly slip.

Voice thin, Astarion says, “I beg your pardon?”

And that, after this morning, is simply not to be borne.

“So coy,” Elias says, exhausted. “So kittenish. Shall we dance around it? Shall I pretend you were subtle? You know I’m no good at these games.” She’s walking a tightrope inside her own head and she knows she’s going to wobble; she knows the line will go slack; she’s holding on with knuckles so tight they threaten to burst clean through the skin just to get through this conversation and there isn’t time for turn-arounds. Astarion is staring at her with a prey animal’s stillness; a red-eyed rabbit, quivering in place, soft head pulled back with such a rapid snap that no blood need stain the pale pelt.

She blinks. The bard’s blood hasn’t even left her skin, hasn’t even been stripped from her tangling hair.

Astarion is white against the forest trees. He hasn’t yet put on his plush little pourpoint, so there’s nothing to lend him any colour. She watches him swallow, painstakingly manual; he says, voice chalk-pale and toothless, “What tipped you off? Did I smile too much? No-one ever noticed the teeth before.”

Elias taps the edge of the soap tin and then lets her fingers knot loosely in her lap. “The sore on your lip,” she tells him, directing her eyes to what’s left of its mark; bottom lip, in the meat of it, tucked away under the top, right where the canines would rest if they were longer than hers. He must have bitten it through on the nautiloid. She’d chewed her own lips to hell. “You don’t always remember to turn up your collar. You’re too good at standing still, and you look at people like they’re made of meat.” She doesn’t know how to phrase that one better – after all, they are – but it stood out enough, among the rest of them, to make note of. She tips her head to the side, the ache sloshing with the movement like water. “But mostly it was the boar… the intentionality of it. And you didn’t have a pulse. That one is hard to get past.”

Astarion starts. At least this seems to remind him to start moving air through his lungs, again. “When did you take my pulse?”

“After we found the boar,” Elias says, polite. They’d dealt with some gnolls, that day, loud and brutal; Astarion had fallen, and she’d unbuckled a glove and laid a sweat-damp hand on his forehead. Then she’d taken his hand to pull him up. It had been perfectly natural to press a steady thumb to the soft skin of his inner wrist as she did it.

She’d already known, by then. He really hadn’t been subtle. The only reason, she thinks, that she didn’t realise sooner, is that once she would have known immediately, without even looking. Before she broke whatever it is she now holds broken.

“Clever,” says Astarion, with some reluctance, and then nothing else.

Elias looks down at the tin. Repeats patiently, “Do you want it, or do you need it fresh?”

Astarion also looks at the tin. He worries at the scab on his lip. “…Is fresh an option?”

The blood in the tin, cold and coagulated and so long dead, doesn’t look enormously appealing. Elias licks her teeth and says, “Arrangements can be made.” Her hair is crusted to her temple. She twists the twitching shape of her tangled fingers; adds, “I think that we are in the lucky positions to be able to help each other a great deal.”

Her headache is shivering down into the mandible, the joints in front of her ears pinching. Light skips unevenly across the water to rest at her feet. Astarion looks at her for a long time.

Then he smiles, wide and sudden and beaming sharp, bevelled fangs on full display; Elias, too learned in the ways of propriety to try to touch them, memorises their shapes by sight. “Wonderful,” he says, with emphasis, and then, with a conspiratorial bent to his looks, “I wouldn’t have expected you to be so scheming… You seemed so very nearly harmless.” (Elias wonders, briefly, at his definition of harmless; even before last night, and Alfira’s extravaganza of a corpse, she had done violence enough in front of him. Perhaps, she thinks, he means harmless to him.) He smiles wider; his cheek creases lopsidedly with the force of it, crumpling like old vellum. He says, “Good job.”

Elias looks back at him; the paper-pale skin, the delicate points of the teeth. She takes up the pockmarked soap-tin. “I get the sense I’m good at seeming,” she says thoughtfully, and she tips its contents dribblingly into the river, gory dark.

#figuring out her voice. it's normal. it's a normal time #one of the early scenes I thought of... astarion hadn't had his scene. elias has a medicine proficiency. she clocked his bullshit and she i #in a precarious position #i think she learns after a while that almost everyone else also clocked his bullshit right away. but she doesn't tell him that #you help me cover up my weird shit I'll help you cover up your weird shit :) and so a beautiful and very mercenary friendship is born #yippee.#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #my writing #elias tag #dark urge

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aemiron-main · 2 years ago

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THE BIG ANALYSIS OF HENRY'S JUMPSUIT BLOODSTAINS DURING THE MASSACRE: what the hell is up with the blood stains on henry during the 1979 massacre? why do they keep moving and changing and vanishing? there’s multiple henries.

So, this post has been in my drafts for MONTHS, ever since I discovered that his bloodstains change, and now it's finally ready to post! I’m also going to make another post about how the bloodstains on the wall and floor change too, and how Brenner and El’s bloodstains change, but for now, let’s focus on Henry himself and the blood on him, because it constantly disappears and reappears and changes patterns.

So, take a look at Henry’s face when El first comes into the room/the first time we see him during the massacre:

There’s no blood on his face except for his nose. Even long after Two has hit the floor, his face is clean, so the blood definitely didn’t come from Two’s eyes exploding or something.

But now look at these shots:

The blood just. Shows up. On Henry’s face. He turns around and suddenly it’s there, with no explanation. His hair is also slightly different between the no blood vs blood shots- it’s similar in both shots, being pushed back in both, but the bloodless shots have it pushed back a bit more neatly and slightly more sideswept, whereas the shots with blood lack the extra bit of sidesweeping and his hair seems to be messier.

And after the blood shows up on Henry’s face? It disappears entirely in the next shot (the one where he’s behind El when she opens the door) Not just from his face, but his clothes, too:

Look at that shot of Henry behind the door vs the shot that happens immediately after that- there SHOULD be visible blood across the front of Henry’s shirt during the scene with the doors, but there isn’t. It’s just gone. This is the first time this happens, but it will not be the last.

And now, let’s take a look at the blood on Henry’s neck. Look at the splotch on the skin on Henry’s left side of his neck and how it disappears and reappears:

Looking at those two above images, those are the same side of Henry/Edward's body even though he's on two different sides of the screen (this is because the second image is meant to be in the "mirror world"/mirrored), and yet, that splotch of blood on his neck in the second image is NOT present in the first image. Much like the face blood mentioned earlier, it just shows up. And as shown in the infographic, it's not the side with soteria either. So, we have blood randomly showing up at the same time as we're in the "mirror world," which is very interesting considering that the movie "Mirrors," about peoples' violent reflection twins in the mirror world is on the S4 inspo board. (and that movie is something I'm going to talk about at length in another analysis because it has signficant Henry and Edward and Creel family implications).

Now, moving onto the jumpsuits, here’s all of the different jumpsuit blood patterns side by side:

Now, let’s take a look at each pattern individually and which shots it shows up in.

How Many Different Jumpsuits/Different Henries?

So, how many different Henries are there/different bloody jumpsuits/jumpsuits that appear during the massacre? Right now, I'm seeing five different jumpsuits in the rainbow room.

I’ve named them all with a combination of “j” (for jumpsuit) and another letter. Let’s take a look at how many jumpsuits there are, which jumpsuits are which, and when they appear. We have:

1.) JA

Here’s a closeup of JA’s pattern and all the shots where JA appears:

2.) JB

Here’s a closeup of JB’s pattern (JB is bloodless) and all the shots where JB appears:

3.) JC

Here’s a closeup of JC’s pattern and all the shots where JC appears:

4.) JD

Here’s a closeup of JD’s pattern and all of the shots where JD appears:

5.) JE

Here’s a closeup of JE’s pattern (JE is mirrored/supposed to be from the view "inside" of the mirror/in the mirror world) and all the shots that have JE in them:

Comparing Each Suit

And again, here’s all of the different jumpsuits together, except this time, I’m going through and pointing out the differences incase you didn’t see them!

JA vs JB

JA vs JC

JA vs JD

JA vs JE (JE is mirrored in the show hence why it seems like a diff side)

JB vs JC

JB vs JD

JB vs JE (JE is mirrored in the show hence why it seems like a diff side)

JC vs JD

JC vs JE (JE is mirrored in the show hence why it seems like a diff side)

JD vs JE (JE is mirrored in the show hence why it seems like a diff side)

BTS and Deleted/Unreleased Footage Suits

Now, in addition to what we see in the show, let's look at some BTS and deleted/unreleased footage pictures and identify the different suits in the BTS and deleted/unreleased footage pictures. We've got JB/bloodless Henry in this "deleted"/unreleased footage:

We've got what seems to be JA having some blood splatters added to him with an eyedropper:

And we've got what seems to be JC with Jamie looking at a jar:

The Face Blood and The Hair

001/Henry/Edward's hair also changes, and, as mentioned in the beginning, the blood on his face also changes. Unfortunately, I've hit the image limit, so those are going to be a separate posts, and then I'm going to make a big post comparing the jumpsuit blood changes to the face blood changes to the hair changes.

It’s Not Just 001

But this all gets even weirder because 001 isn’t the only person with blood on his face and clothes that changes and vanishes between shots- Brenner has it too. I don’t have room for that in this post, but I’m going to make another full analysis of Brenner’s changing bloodstains and El’s changing bloodstains, and compare them to 001’s/find the pattern between them, and same with the changing bloodstains on the walls and floor of the rainbow room.

The Production Error Allegations So, I've already talked about the idea of production errors in the context of 001 during the massacre here, here, and here, however, let's go through it again.

As mentioned in this post, some of the jumpsuits even fit differently- look at how much bigger/looser. They're different jumpsuits. They aren't even tailored the same way. And we KNOW that the ST costuming team put bigger shirts on Will to make him seem smaller, so I don't doubt that they'd do the same for one of the Henries/Edwards.

And the focal length of the camera changes too (look at how different his face looks in each of the above shots- that's very very likely due to a focal length change which distorts his features, and caused by a focal length change or not, the change is THERE) And his hair changes (the first shot has his hair pushed backwards, more from the middle, the second shot has his hair pusehd backwards and to screen left). And the colour grading changes. (the first shot is much darker than the second shot AND than the shots before and after it, and there is a greenish colour grading present, and I've talked about HNL, NINA, and the green colour grading here.) All of these changes are happening at the same time. It's not just the blood, it's the blood AND the fit of the jumpsuit AND the hair AND the focal length AND the lighting and colour grading. And they gave us those two very similar shots (similar in the sense of him being in the same area of the rainbow room in the same sort of position doing the same sort of stare) so that we would contrast them and notice that things are different between them. Not only is the ST production team extremely meticulous about replicating stain patterns, they also don't just "accidentally" make multiple jumpsuits, and they don't just "accidentally" have multiple other aspects (hair, face blood, focal length, colour grading etc) change at the same time as the bloodstains and fit of the jumpsuit change.

They have specific guidelines for the age of the blood, and yet I'm supposed to believe that they can't replicate blood patterns properly?

They replicated El's milkshake stains PERFECTLY, and yet, supposedly they can't replicate Henry's bloodstains?

And to top it all off, El's bloodstains had to be PERSONALLY APPROVED BY THE DUFFERS, and they DRAGGED AMY PARRIS THROUGH PUDDLES OF BLOOD THE SAME WAY THAT 001 DRAGGED EL ACROSS THE RAINBOW ROOM SO THAT THE BLOODSTAINS WOULD BE PERFECT.

And, as mentioned earlier, this BTS pic has the costuming/makeup team adding blood to a jumpsuit with an eyedropper- why would they need to add extra blood to it if the jumpsuit was already made/bloodied? Oh, right, because they're intentionally adding multiple jumpsuits to the show. They did the same for the lab kids' gowns, too. It's all done extremely meticulously.

Honestly, the whole "it's a production error" argument makes zero sense and there's constant evidence to contradict it. Just because you don't think the show would do something doesn't mean they aren't doing it. It doesn't matter whether you or I thinks something would be good or bad in the show. What matters is the evidence we have. And there's no evidence to support the idea of these being production errors, but there's an absolute TON of evidence to support multiple Henries/Edwards during NINA.

So, yeah! There you go! The other blood analyses that I mentioned are incoming soon!

#stranger things #henry creel #st 1979 massacre #edward creel #st costuming #henry creel costuming #st multiple henries nina edition #st henry’s bloodstains #more than one 001

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