#conceptual exercise

[welcometowindswallow]

WindHollow ideas for how to use the name as now WindSwallow Manor is the name decided for the estate home

- WindHollow Gardens: For the manor gardens, be that the ones immediately by the house or off on the grounds somewhere

- WindHollow Lake: There is a lake, sometimes more akin to a large pond, out in the moors of the property where the winds seem at once loud and powerful but quiet in their sound all the same

- WindHollow Wing in the Manor: Could use this as a naming convention of Wind<insert here> and follow one or more themes and trends with sections and features of the house

Will likely do that anyway

WindHollow Forest: name kind of speaks for itself in alluded to meaning. The wind rarely stops calling in these trees, ignore the screams, and bring some string. Would hate to get lost in there.

More ideas to follow

[angelof-thevoid]

Favorite Quote / Mentor and Friend

ao3

The Warlock who visited her before returns, sheepish in their approach as they ask for assistance again. Ikora beckons to them encouragingly, “Yes guardian?” her head tilted as she waited for the question on their mind. “Well… You know how you helped me before, with the void?” They seem almost embarrassed.

“I-I’m having a similar problem with, with Arc ma’am.” The Warlock’s head dips low as their eyes dart to the side as they fidget, rubbing their hands. Ikora bookmarks the current page of her book and sets it to the side. “It’s alright, Guardian. Many struggle with their manifestations of the light, especially when first starting out.” 

She reaches out toward the Warlock’s nervous hands, letting them do the same until their fingertips are an inch apart. “Are you having trouble creating it too?” Ikora waits patiently for a demonstration. This time static swells in the space between their hands, too much as stray bolts zap her, her rug and the front of the book she was reading.

The shock of it makes Ikora reflexively step back in that split second. “Ah, a control issue.” The Warlock begins to stammer apologies, “I-I-I’m so sorry ma’am! I didn’t mean it I-” Ikora raises a hand to cut them off. “It’s OK, Warlock. I know you didn’t mean it.” They quickly silence themselves and nod.

“Now,” She again puts out a hand and waits for the Warlock to reflect her gesture. Ikora feels that same static begin to build, “Slow and steady, guardian.” It doesn’t overcharge this time as a balanced current reaches toward her hand, and she channels it back. “Arc is like an oncoming storm. A force of nature that you must learn to weather.”

The arc energy flickers between them, remaining steady as lines of it connect between their fingers. "The hurricane will overtake you. It's inevitable. Take stability where you can get it." Ikora breathes in and turns her hand up to direct the current in the air, making shapes.

Controlled blue lines of lightning flip between a diamond, a square and a pyramid with the snap of Ikora’s fingers. “What you need to do is find the eye within yourself, a calm in the midst of your tempest.” And slowly, she releases her hold on the current as it fades into a charge in the air that quickly dissipates. 

The Warlock watches, transfixed by the way she controls the arc energy with a great amount of confidence. “I see. Thank you ma’am, I deeply appreciate your teachings.” They smile. “How can I repay you for your wisdom?” They have an eagerness to please that Ikora didn’t want to take advantage of. 

She knows the danger of choosing to be at the mercy of another’s whims, especially someone you looked up to. “I don’t need to be repaid, guardian. It’s why I hold my position, to be a leader and guide.” Ikora’s answer doesn’t seem to satisfy the Warlock. “But you do so much! There’s nothing I could do? Something you might want?”

Ikora tilts her head to think it over, knowing better than to take advantage of a new light’s financials to ask for a gift to appease them. “I have no need for anything and all the things that require attention are already taken care of. Truly, it’s OK.” She gives them a patient, sweet smile.

“Well… Whataboutafriend?” Their question practically comes out all as one word as the Warlock seems overtaken by embarrassment again, as if they committed some big social faux pas. Ikora takes no offense and finds it a good solution that has no harm. She nods, “Of course, guardian. Come see me with whatever troubles may ail you.” 

The Warlock looks at her in surprise before returning her smile and nodding. “Thank you ma’am. I will!” With that they glide away with a noticeable degree of happiness in their step. Ikora chuckles to herself as she goes back to her book. I suppose I could always use more friends.

[trybard]

being a 3d artist will really fuck with your perceptions of reality

[kaurwreck]

I had to read hashire melos by Dazai Osamu in Japanese school when I was 10 and it forever changed my brain chemistry the way I view homoerotic trust and honestly it’s so skk coded…

how does it feel to be so right

[ophthalmotropy]

Also, this friendship was so valuable to me because we met doing theatre. So our friendship being allocated less time since the partner appeared makes me think he doesn't value acting as much as I do either... Baffling situation.

[whensomethingelsecries]

i know myself well enough to know that one of these days i'm going to crack and watch the 8 hours of r*satrice theory videos. not because anything could make me a believer but because i need to peek into the minds of people who sincerely think that's The True Answer rather than just like an interesting alternate angle to look at things from. i need to study them under a microscope. do you understand

[lesbianalanwake]

in particular, thinking about little guys a lot (bacteriums and such) because reading about the search for “alien” life irritates me at times, in that there’s a lot of surface emphasis on “advanced civilizations” when there are vast possibilities in single-celled organisms, extremophiles, and RNA World scenarios. which many, many researchers study in-depth, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes I’m looking for astrobiology stuff -- because the jump from inorganic matter to self-replicating organic life is insane when you think about it and is one of the great mysteries of existence -- and I’ve got to wade through less grounded stuff to get to it.

that being said, the Wow! Signal does kind of make me feel a little nuts and more amicable towards looking past Occam’s Razor explanations, because Tau Sagittarii and neighboring friends are potentially good candidate stars for hosting a habitable or superhabitable planet.

but at the end of the day, Webb detecting carbon compounds elsewhere in the universe genuinely makes me feel deranged. RNA World or viral evolution or whatever the fuck let’s GO

[lavenderedhoney]

Found out that if she sits in my lap first and I really heavily use my legs that I can lift her in a bridal carry 🥺

[chocolatecatcupcakecheese]

I am currently debating fuck, marry, kill but with

Triangle pyramid

Square pyramid

Octahedron

My life is so full of joy and wonder right now I don’t even know what is happening

[undead-moth]

It’s amazing how fatphobes will swear up and down that they exercise for their “health” and that fat people need to exercise for their “health” too but the second someone says they exercise even though they aren’t trying to lose weight or a doctor says “exercise doesn’t cause weight loss but it’s good for your health” fatphobes are immediately like “UM why even do it then?” Like they expose themselves every time it’s amazing. They’ll keep insisting it’s about health though lmao.

Me: Exercise does not cause weight loss. This is a fact that has been demonstrated so robustly in research that even doctors, who hate and fear evidence, are grudgingly starting to admit this.

Someone reading that post: Cool, but have you considered that exercise leads to weight loss?

Me: I am going to eat you

[welcometowindswallow]

Welcome to WindSwallow Manor

WindSwallow Estate and her grounds welcome you, Visitor. There are simple rules to follow; respect the staff, be on time to breakfast and dinner, make haste from the screams in the trees, and enjoy the koi pond.

This blog will be the dumping ground for conceptualization and ideas for a project called WindSwallow Manor, done mostly as practice for worldbuiliding and story writing. Anything put here is subject to be changed, moved, or dropped later. This is now the end of the first post in an archive of a project to be.

[naomimaria]

I had a dumb idea.

I don't expect anyone to join.

I made it because I can.

[taniushka12]

sashamichael (and shadowrobot if u want even though you didn't say gunnerkrigg adksdj) for the ask meme pls!!

Sasha/Michael:

GOD the michael otp for SURE, i still think about them in A Distortion often and just how Fun would it have been if sasha had more little scenes w/ michael... gosh one day ill finish my s2 fic of them (ft timartsasha) i swear ;o;

Shadow/Robot:

they're the gkc otp 😭😭😭😭everytime they interact its so good and they're both so good... i miss them so much you have no idea Q_Q

[ship bingo]

[normal-with-adhd-is-a-joke]

What people don't understand about "no excess physical activity/exercise" is that everything is physical activity.

I told the people at orthopedic urgent care that I can't do physical therapy because my condition doesn't allow for exercise. They gave me a list of things I could do at home. They were exercises. I was frustrated at first, but it made me realize how able bodied people can't conceptualize "no exercise" at all.

Walking down two hallways to get to my college class is exercise. Cooking and baking are exercise. Getting something from downstairs is exercise. Even typing is exercise. Each one of those things chips away at my ability to do simple things, like sit upright or speak or even just stay awake. When someone says they can't exercise for medical reasons, that means they can't, and pushing them to do physical activity because it "doesn't take that much energy" is dangerous. Everything takes energy.

[cuubism]

more physical therapy au

--

Dream comes to his next physical therapy appointment marginally--marginally--less apprehensive than before. When he'd first gone, he'd expected to be told he was being melodramatic. That he should just be grateful that the surgery was successful and he has some functioning. That he should just give up on his art, that it didn't matter, that it was hopeless.

He doesn't know why he thought that. It's been hard to have a charitable view of people, lately.

But Hob wasn't like what he feared. Hob was... kind. To him.

So he goes back.

He has, in fact, been doing the exercises that Hob gave him. It is not as though he has much else to do with his time. Other than setting up his new flat, where he now lives after fleeing what had once been his home. Even a few months later, the place is fairly... minimalist. Which is not Dream's style. But he'd left with little more than his art portfolio and the clothes he was wearing, deciding that it wasn't worth going back, and he hasn't had the energy to replace anything since.

Or the two functioning arms required to move things.

His flat is depressing enough that even the physical therapy office feels warm and welcoming by comparison. Hob gives him a big smile as he comes in. It's pathetic that it makes his heart flutter.

He goes over to Hob, setting the folder he brought on the table.

"You look cheerful," Hob notes. Dream highly, highly doubts that. But he is perhaps slightly less morose than last time. Nevertheless, he finds Hob's optimism... somewhat cheering. Normally, he would find such a thing annoying. But there is something very steady and reassuring about Hob. Not much in Dream's life has felt steady in some time.

"I have tried finger painting," Dream tells him. He takes the piece out of the folder and shows it to Hob.

It had been interesting, at least. Distracted him for a moment. Made him think about the way children make art, before becoming mired in theory and technique.

He had considered bringing one of his usual pieces to demonstrate to Hob what he's meant to be able to do, in case that would be helpful, but it's still painful to look at them.

Hob takes the painting and stares at it with wide eyes. "How is this actually good?"

Dream should probably be offended by his incredulity but instead he just finds it amusing. "I had lots of time to spend."

He has, once again, painted a bunch of cats, all different colors, cluttering the page. It's simple, and lets him avoid thinking about his more conceptual pieces he hasn't been able to work on.

"Wow," Hob says, propping the painting carefully against the wall by his computer. "Okay. Good work going above and beyond on the instructions, Dream."

That praise alone shouldn't make something in his chest start glowing. But it does.

"It did not hurt... much," he says tentatively, before Hob can ask. "However, with a brush..."

It is incredibly frustrating. It's like his body continually wishes to betray him. He's lost his home and everything he owns and now he cannot even have his art.

"Give it some time," Hob says, reasonably. He is much more patient, and optimistic, than Dream.

He makes Dream draw and write again. It's... perhaps marginally easier after the exercises Hob had given him. Still, he finds himself getting frustrated by the weakness of his grip. And the more frustrated he gets, the tighter he grips the pencil. He knows he shouldn't. But.

"Lighter," Hob tells him, and Dream glares at him. Hob raises his hands. "Not telling you how to do your art. Just telling you how not to hurt your hand."

Dream bites down on his annoyance, but loosens his grip.

He doesn't see very much progress, but Hob seems satisfied. He makes Dream run through some other strengthening exercises, which... don't hurt as much as Dream was expecting them to. He'd expected that this whole process would be nothing but gritting his teeth through agonizing pain, to minimal results. Perhaps Death is right, and he should be less pessimistic.

In any case, Hob seems proud of him at the end. Even if Dream doesn't think he's done anything to be proud of.

But he does leave, perhaps, slightly more hopeful than he entered. And he wants to come back. At least to see Hob again.

~~

Hob doesn't know if it's patronizing to be proud of Dream, but he is. Over the last few sessions, his grip has improved a lot. Dream doesn't seem to see it, but that's alright. Hob does. He's been keeping all of Dream's drawings. They are getting better.

Hob is pretty good at optimism. But even so, it somehow hadn't occurred to him that quiet and morose wasn't Dream's natural state. That is until he sees the joy that lights up in him the first time he's able to draw a cat without his hand shaking. Dream smiles so wide, like he isn't even aware Hob is still watching him, and Hob realizes that there is lightness to him. It's just been buried down.

The time after that, Dream even brings some of his old art to show. Hob's been dying to see it for ages, but hasn't pressed. And Dream's art is gorgeous. Hob can understand, now, why he'd been dissatisfied with those first cats he'd drawn, no matter how charming Hob had found them. His big pieces are so finely detailed, so precise. It's... possibly going to take a bit more time to get him back to that than Hob had thought. But he's determined.

But Dream seems happy to be sharing his art, doesn't fold in on himself this time just to mention it. He talks with enthusiasm about his process, the most words Hob's heard him say in... well, ever. Hob tells him that he's made enough progress to pick up painting--with brush, not fingers--again if he wants, but not to beat himself up if it doesn't look the same as his old ones. And for once, it seems like Dream actually accepts the instruction not to berate himself.

All of this is, most certainly, the reason Hob does the insane thing he does next.

He's organizing his records, having already walked Dream out, when he hears raised voices from out on the walkway. The front door is still open a crack, he realizes, so the sound carries.

"Come on, you're overreacting," says an unfamiliar, male voice. "I said I won't do it again, didn't I?"

"Do not," Dream replies, voice anxious, but determined, "follow me."

"Well if you'd just pick up your phone--"

Hob steps outside. An unfamiliar man--the ex-boyfriend, Hob assumes, he doesn't know his name, hasn't asked, doesn't care--has Dream cornered in the doorway. His posture doesn't immediately scream rage or aggression, which is more unnerving rather than less, considering this is the same person who'd snapped and broken Dream's hand.

And Dream looks scared. Under the mask of stoicism he likes to wear. Any cheer or hope he'd gained from today's session has evaporated, and he looks like he did before, when he'd first come to Hob's office, curled in on himself. It breaks Hob's heart. And makes him angry.

"Stop being selfish and just--" the ex-boyfriend continues. Hob means to cut in and diffuse the situation. Tell him to leave in a reasonably professional manner.

Instead he punches him in the face.

Ex-boyfriend's nose goes crunch in an extremely satisfying way, and he reels back with a shriek, hands going to his face. Dream startles back, hands clutched around his art portfolio.

"What the FUCK!" yells ex-boyfriend, voice nasally from the blood running down his face. "You can't just-- this is assault! I'll call the cops!"

Oh he wants to go there, does he? "You wanna talk about assault?" Hob says, voice rising in volume. Dream edges behind him, though Hob's not sure he's fully aware he's doing so. "You want to get police involved, that's really what you want?"

Ex-boyfriend looks from Hob to Dream and back, hesitating. That's fucking right, Hob thinks. Not so easy to kick someone around when there's consequences, huh?

It helps that Hob is visibly stronger than Dream, and spends all day physically moving people around. If ex-boyfriend tries anything he's going to get put on the ground.

Finally he retreats, though with a look of rage towards Hob. Once he's gone, Dream finally seems to relax, some of the tension easing from his shoulders.

"You did not need to," he murmurs.

Hob shakes his head. "No one gets to come and threaten you here. Particularly not that dickhead."

Dream huffs a small laugh. Then he picks up Hob's hand, studying it. Hob winces. It's certainly going to bruise.

"Now you will need physical therapy," Dream says, lips twitching. Hob's glad for the humor in his voice.

Hob laughs. "Worth it."

"No one has..." Dream starts, slowly, "done something like that. For me."

It hurts, to think that no one's stood up for him. Or even let him know that someone should stand up for him.

"If he comes back I'll do it again," Hob says, and gets a tentative smile from Dream.

Then asks, "Does he know where you live?"

Dream frowns. "I do not think so."

"Want me to walk you home?"

He doubts Dream's ex-boyfriend will come back to the office now that he knows Hob's willing to deck him, but that doesn't mean he won't try to corner Dream elsewhere.

Dream deliberates, then says, "Would you?"

"'Course, love. Just let me lock the place up."

He doesn't realize what he's said until he's already turned back to lock the door. Shit. Today has already gone so far beyond what he's supposed to do as Dream's physical therapist, and now...

In the end, Dream doesn't call him out on it. But he does stick close to Hob's side as they walk, and occasionally when Hob looks over at him, he catches a tiny smile on his face.

[lexirosewrites]

Ok last slick sunday ask that's been sitting in my head!! The 2 part one I did was a great exercise & helped me get some imagery thoughts processed abt things for my haunted Harrington fic 👻

A!Eddie is ofc our favorite famous rock star, an aspirational horror director/actor, fantasy nerd, who's seen w a different omega in every city @ every event

O!Steve is a historian, specifically a costume historian, he has a degree tht he has framed in a reproduction of a rococo golden frame, he has a YouTube channel, Steve's Seams, tht he started initially as a way to keep his adopted mom (B!Claudia) updated & involved w his projects, he specializes in the mid to late Victorian era but he has put in the work on other projects of different eras (high middle ages, Renaissance, regency) Steve makes an effort to make these garments using materials & tools tht r as close to historically accurate as one can get, his videos r informative & calming & his voice is soothing & his projects r creative at their core

he did an entire video series when he was invited to the Met Costumes Department just absolutely nerding out, asking questions, having bubbly conversations. It's this series tht makes his channel suddenly blow up. He's getting comments on old videos, alot of the comments abt how attractive he is, the most popular videos tend to b his videos reviewing costumes in "period piece" movies/shows, not bc he's harsh but bc he takes the time to explain/illustrate how something would've looked if it'd been made accurate to the period the media is meant to b set in

Some time later.........

Eddie & Corroded Coffin r planning a series of music videos for their upcoming album, they've got a reputation for their conceptual albums tht have powerful aesthetics, their albums till now r set in blatantly fantasy worlds following a vague middle ages aesthetic, but now they're stuck.

They've made a rock opera essentially & they know the story they're telling in the album: an alpha detective finds themselves swept up in a missing persons case turned to a murder case tht leads them into a vampiric city underground, literal blood sucking mafia essentially, where they finds the victims omega mate amongst a coven of vampires, now turned & mated to the vampire tht leads the entire underground, the victim had been abusing the omega & when they went to the vampire mafia bc they saw no other recourse, the omega was discovered to b the reincarnation of the leaders first & only love, the album/opera ends w the detective being fed to the hungry horde.

They're throwing ideas back & forth for the music videos w their ever talented manager/agent/creative coordinator A!Chrissy, they have a disappointing meeting but when they come back the next day Chrissy has pep in her step & proudly shows them a YouTube video. It's a critique of one of their music videos from their first big break album, it'd been vaguely set in the middle ages/Renaissance, except this person doesn't care abt the music instead they’re observing the costumes, explaining the time period they'd been borrowing from, how the costumes would've been constructed/actually looked during the historic period they'd presented. Then Chrissy shows them a video of this YouTube channel constructing a Victorian opera gown & opera suit. It's a eureka moment as the band realizes where she's going w this, a Victorian vampire is classic! Why not lean into the whole thing? Eddie is quiet as they discuss giving one word & noncommittal answers, bc he's stuck staring at the gorgeous omega in the paused video, then he speaks up over all the noise saying they NEED this specific historian on their creative team specifically to consult & design the costumes. Chrissy raises an eyebrow but agrees

Steve agrees, signs a rlly big NDA, & is flown out to LA so he can begin his role as a consultant/designer for the 6 music videos the band has conceptualized for the album.

Steve meets the entire team at a meeting meant to discuss & establish the various logistics needed to make the videos the quality the band wants, they've hired a famous horror cinematographer, an even more famous horror director, everyone in the meeting has a lot of experience in a big scale filming environment & Steve doesn't, but he tries to not let it get to him. He wears garments he made himself (ofc) some of them he made on the channel even. A walking skirt in a very sensible deep green & an embroidered matching walking jacket r the focus of the outfit, when he gets to the building he's met by Chrissy & she leads him to the meeting room. He meets everyone especially the band, Eddie stumbles over his words, when Steve removes his walking jacket to reveal the equally green vest Eddie chokes on his water.

Blah blah blah

They don't want any of the ppl who audition for the role of the omega, Eddie is playing the vampire boss ofc & everyone's gotten closer to Steve & tht means everyone basically loves Steve, & hey he's an omega who is more than just pretty & he'd have a rlly easy time making a costume for himself, so Steve ends up as the omega in the music videos. Steddie get closer than they should since Eddie is technically Steve's boss

by the time the albums dropped with the music videos dropping each following week they've fallen fully in love & have discussed mating & Eddie’s been seen w a mystery omega around multiple cities but what's got everyone interested is the fact tht this is clearly the same person & they've been "practicing" for trying for a pup for awhile now😏

Dustin has a full freak out abt his older brother working w his favorite band of all time, AND HE HAD TO FIND OUT THRU PAPARAZZI THT HES DATING EDDIE MUNSON, when he tries to go to Robin w his melodrama tht rlly is more boundless happiness for Steve she blinks at him & tells him she already knew, Steve had told her abt their relationship literally two minutes after a conversation tht was followed by sex tht cemented them as romantic partners, before Dustin can leave to call his mom Robin tells him she knows already as well, after all Eddie had to ask SOMEONE for their blessing to mate & marry Steve & that's how Dustin learns they're engaged 🥰

i love how Steve is just living his best life (AKA making his hyperfixation into a career) and ends up snatched up by a rockstar with big ole heart eyes!!! he deserves nothing less!!!