#for ever in awe of its rendering skills

[stellaspectral]

Could I request headcannons on how the rise! and 2012turtles would react to artist reader, who draws them for fun, is embarassed to admit it though but they catch a glimps of a drawing of them which they made? :)

A/N: Sure! 💖

Rise & 2012 Turts React to Artist!Reader

💚 ROTTMNT & 2012 Turtles/Gender Neutral Reader 💚

CWs: None. All characters are aged-up.

Rise!Leo

He’d spot your art with a smirk. “Well, well, well, what artistic endeavor are we hiding here?”

Once he realizes the artwork is of them, and especially him (hopefully in a dynamic, cool pose): “Oh ho ho! You’ve captured my good side! And my other good side!”

Finds it immediately hilarious and endearing. Like, “Aw, you’ve been drawing my perfect face this whole time?” 100% teases you about it but never in a mean way.

He’d absolutely lap up the attention, even if it’s accidental. He’d tease you good-naturedly about your “secret fan art.”

“Don’t be embarrassed! Clearly, you have excellent taste in subjects. Especially this handsome devil.” *finger guns*

Might start posing more dramatically around you “just in case” you want to draw him again. “You know, I am your muse now. That’s canon.”

Like he’ll dramatically fling himself onto the couch, “Oh, woe is me, struck by the sudden urge to be artistically rendered in a moment of heroic contemplation!” He’ll then wink.

Lowkey keeps checking your sketchbook when you’re not looking. Not to snoop—just in case you drew him again.

Rise!Raph

At first, upon seeing your art, he’d be like, “Huh? Whatcha got there?”

Once he sees it, especially if it’s a cool action shot of him looking heroic: “WHOA! Is that ME?! That looks SO COOL!”

He’d be genuinely impressed and flattered, not really understanding why you’re embarrassed. “Why hide this? It’s awesome!”

Raph will pretend he’s not paying attention, but he’ll definitely be flexing a bit more or holding his “cool big brother” stance a little longer if he thinks you might be drawing him.

Raph wouldn’t request, but if you drew a really good action sequence of him protecting his brothers, he’d stare at it for a long time with a big smile.

Gets all flustered but proud. Keeps sneaking peeks at your sketchbook like he doesn’t want to be caught doing it.

Sometimes acts nonchalant, but if you show him a drawing you’re proud of, he gets super shy.

If you ever draw him looking soft or happy, he’ll stare at it longer than he means to. Those are the ones he secretly likes most.

Rise!Donnie

He’d approach your art with scientific curiosity. “An unauthorized artistic rendering? Intriguing.”

He’d analyze the style, the accuracy of his tech and the anatomical proportions. “Hmm, the depiction of my battle shell’s articulation is surprisingly accurate. Did you have reference material, or is this from memory?”

He’d be genuinely impressed by the skill, even if his compliments sound a bit clinical. He might subtly suggest improvements for “technical accuracy” next time.

Probably starts asking technical questions about your process before realizing you’re blushing like mad. “Wait, you’re embarrassed? But you … nailed my jaw structure.”

Donnie might “casually” start working on a particularly intricate piece of tech nearby, angling it so you get a “good view of its complex inner workings, should you choose to document it.”

Donnie might offer to 3D print little maquettes of them for you to use as reference. “It would improve anatomical accuracy by at least 15%, though your current observational skills are, frankly, quite impressive.” He’d also be fascinated if you drew their mystic powers, analyzing how you interpret non-physical energy.

Starts leaving small upgrades for your drawing supplies—new pens, sketchpads, even a custom-built stylus if you’re digital.

Might ask if he can scan your sketches into his files for “data preservation.” (It’s 100% just because he wants to look at them.)

Rise!Mikey

Pure, unadulterated excitement upon seeing your art. “O! M! G! Is that US?! You DREW us?!”

He’d be bouncing off the walls, absolutely thrilled. “This is the COOLEST THING EVER! Look at me, I look so dynamic! And the colors!”

He’d be the most understanding of your shyness but also the most enthusiastic about getting you to share. “Aww, don’t hide it! This is amazing!”

Would probably hug you and the drawing (if you let him).

Mikey is your hype-man. He’d also try to “collaborate” by adding his own doodles or stickers to your sketchbook page if you let him (and sometimes if you don’t).

Wants to see every single page. Will not drop it even if you’re begging him not to look.

Might tape one of the sketches to the wall in the lair, claiming it’s “museum-worthy.”

Starts calling himself your “muse supreme” or “artspiration.”

2012!Leo

Sees the sketch accidentally while helping you pick up something. His leader instincts would kick in. “What’s this?”

Once he sees it’s them: a moment of surprise, then a small, almost imperceptible smile. “You … you drew us?”

He’d be quite touched. “This is … very good. You’re very talented.”

He’d be gentle about your embarrassment. “There’s no need to be ashamed. It’s clear you put a lot of effort into this.”

He’d appreciate the gesture deeply, seeing it as a sign of your trust and friendship, but might subtly ask if you’ve shown anyone else.

Leo might “coincidentally” practice his katana forms where you have a good vantage point, holding poses slightly longer. If you look up and catch his eye, he’d offer a small, encouraging nod before resuming.

“You drew me … with my swords out. That’s … really cool. And kinda flattering.” He’s a little shy about it but tells you he likes it. Probably doesn’t mention it again unless you bring it up, but will treasure the mental image. Secretly hopes there’s more.

Also secretly keeps a folded version of your sketch in a book or drawer. Doesn’t talk about it much, but it clearly means a lot. He’ll defend your art fiercely if anyone downplays it.

2012!Raph

“Hey, what are you hidin’?” Gruff as usual when he spots your art, but still curious.

Sees the drawing. Eyebrow ridge raises. A beat of silence. “… Is that supposed to be me?”

At first, he might joke a little to hide how touched he is. “Could’ve made me buffer, but okay.” Gets a little red in the ears. “Thanks … for drawin’ me, I guess.”

If you made him look tough and cool, a tiny, almost invisible smirk might appear. He’d scoff at your embarrassment. “What, you think it’s bad or somethin’? It’s … not terrible.” (Which is high praise from him).

Might try to act like it’s not a big deal, but he keeps checking if you’ve drawn him again.

If you catch him staring at a drawing for too long, he’ll grumble, “It’s not like I asked you to draw me lookin’ cool …”

You notice he starts sticking around longer when you sketch, trying to act casual. And he might leave little “suggestions” like: “If you’re gonna draw me again, maybe this pose would be cool. Just sayin’.”

Once, after a hard mission, you gave him a sketch of him looking strong and protective. He kept that one.

2012!Donnie

His initial reaction is genuine curiosity. “Oh, what have you got there?”

His eyes would widen slightly upon seeing the drawing. “Fascinating! Is that … us? Your grasp of our unique physiology is quite impressive! Did you use references? This foreshortening is impressive.”

He’d be technically complimentary. But then he looks up and sees you looking like you’re about to evaporate and realizes—oh. You were keeping that private.

He’d be understanding of your embarrassment. “Oh, please don’t feel self-conscious! It’s a wonderful piece of art. Perhaps you could even help me design some new tech interfaces with your artistic eye?”

He’d probably ask if he could scan it to “analyze the artistic rendering techniques for his database.”

Donnie might start explaining the mechanics of his latest invention to you in more detail, “hoping you can visualize it.” A subtle hint for you to draw it.

Donnie would scan them at high resolution and keep them in a password-protected folder on his T-Phone, possibly analyzing your evolving style over time.

He’d love a drawing of you and him working on tech together. He might even frame it in his lab.

2012!Mikey

Upon seeing your art: “What’s that?! Ooh, a drawing!” Then his jaw would drop. “NO WAY! YOU DREW US?! THAT’S AWESOME-SAUCE!”

He’d be incredibly hyped, grabbing the drawing (gently!) to get a closer look.

You’re dying inside but he’s already flipping through your sketchbook. “Why didn’t you show me sooner?! We could’ve been an artist team! I model, you draw—BOOM.”

He’d be completely oblivious to why you’re embarrassed, or rather, he’d try to overwhelm your embarrassment with pure enthusiasm.

Would immediately start posing and asking you to draw him right now.

Mikey would have a “super-secret awesome art stash” hidden somewhere only he (and maybe Ice Cream Kitty) knows about.

Wants to hang the art in his room. Constantly asks when the next “issue” of “Mikey Art” is coming out.

If you ever get insecure about your art, he’ll hug you tight. “Dude. You made me look awesome. That’s, like, peak talent.”

[cellophaine]

Chapter VIII: FOOT FAULT

Masterlist

Pairing: Art Donaldson x F!Reader

Warnings: Major angst.

Author's Note: Strap in and enjoy the ride 🫡 there will be even more turbulence from now on

GIF Source

Ever since that day, your contact with Art had been far and few between. Every time you texted him, he would respond much later and in brief sentences. The conversations would always start and end with your message, and often about Art trying to balance school, practice, and Tashi. You weren't on that list, even though he apologized for not being able to see you as much. Disappointment wasn't at the forefront of your mind whenever you reread the recent messages. Still, it had smouldered into something hard to ignore.

The surgery was over a week ago, and you hadn't seen Art since. You told yourself that he was being a good friend to Tashi like he was to you, but a part of you couldn't help but think there was more to it. Your mind had started to accumulate the evidence that had always been there: the lingering look at Tashi, the tempestuous shout at Patrick, and the lack of dialogue between the two of you. The underpainting had taken shape on the canvas, and the finer details began to fill in with your overthinking. You forced yourself to look away from the easel despite being the one holding the brush. To acknowledge it was to admit that Art was only using you, to accept the fact that you weren't enough to be a worthy person in someone else's life, only to be a temporary placeholder, was too much to bear. Your heart fractured, morsel by morsel, when you thought about how his affection wasn't even for you.

The very possibility of it occupied so much of your mind that you were consumed by the thought. Ravenous was its nature; it feasted on the fact that Art hadn't tried to stay in touch with you as much as you had. It revelled in the insecurities that had resurfaced in such a short time. The neverending cycle ran you haggard, and despite your conscious effort to take yourself out of it, it went on.

You barely left your room these days. When your roommates asked you to hang out with them, you would come up with excuses not to. Without Art, you felt like you didn't have anything to do or anywhere to be besides classes and work. And when you weren't at either place, you would be at the library, obsessively watching Art and Patrick's old tennis matches. There was undeniable chemistry between them, and they complimented each other, highlighting the best part about their respective skill set. Patrick was an extension of Art, and vice versa. A bond like that was hard to break, and from the exchanges you'd seen, one on the polar opposite of the other, you wondered if there was anything else underneath all of this.

/

On an unexpected night, while you perused the reading material for the following week's class, your phone vibrated with Art's name lit up the screen. A rush of excitement, tinged with a touch of nervousness, ran under your skin. You put the book down and let the phone ring three more times before picking up.

"Hey."

"Hey stranger."

You cheekily added. At that, Art chuckled softly. The low vibrato of his voice reminded you of just how much you'd missed him.

"Uhm– so, how are you?"

At your eager question, Art sighed. A muffled sound came from his end, the sound of him running a hand through his hair.

"I'm … alright. I'm sorry I haven't called much. Midterm was awful, and practices have been a lot, and, uh …"

He trailed off. You completed the sentence for him.

"… Tashi."

"Yeah."

His answer settled low in the air between you. It stalled the usual effortless flow of your conversations, rendered you speechless, and he, too. You prodded the fragile silence, and it gave away under the push of your careful voice like a shaky sigh.

"It's okay. I haven't had much free time either. Are you doing okay though?"

"I'm fine … for the most part."

The hesitation in his wording piqued your curiosity. Art wouldn't have said that if nothing was wrong.

"What's with the other part?"

A moment of silence stretched over the thinning air. You added.

"Art. You can tell me anything. I'm here to listen."

Another sigh slithered from the other end to the speaker.

"I don't know how to say it, but at the same time, I feel like it's so obvious. I … miss Patrick. But I'm also mad at him for what he's … done."

His incertitude on the latter part made you feel like he wanted to withhold the information itself.

"Hm, I see. From the sound of your shouting it must be something serious."

Art had gone so quiet that you couldn't even hear his breathing. Your voice was barely a whisper when you called out to him.

"Art?"

"Did you catch all of that?"

"Yes, I did."

You toyed with the hem of your shirt between your fingers before continuing with uncertainty. Unsure if you should pursue this.

"I've never heard you shout like that. You must've been really mad."

"Yeah, I was."

"What happened? Did they get into a fight?"

"Yeah, right before the match."

"What did they fight about?"

The nervous twists of your fingers had left fleeting creases on the fabric as you released it from your grasp.

"Tashi didn't say much, … except for the fact that Patrick might be seeing other girls while on tour."

"You're his friend, did he tell you anything about seeing other girls?"

From suspicion born uneasiness in the pit of your stomach as Art prolonged the silence. You tried again, your voice laced with resolution, unwavering.

"Art. How did Tashi come to that conclusion?

"… I don't know."

"Did you say something to her? To both of them?"

"I might have mentioned Patrick's… tendency to have multiple options at the same time."

"Well, it doesn't mean he's not serious about Tashi."

"But he's my friend. I know him. He's always been a player. And he's… you never know with him. Whether he's genuine or not."

"He's your friend. Don't you think he deserves more grace than what you give him? What if it was different with Tashi?"

"I was just trying to look out for her!"

"That's not looking out for your friends. That's meddling and you know it."

"If my meddling could make them fight so easily then they'd never been good for each other in the first place!"

"That's not up to you to decide!"

You couldn't believe that you yelled at him. You exhaled sharply, trying to regain some control and wishing you hadn't said anything at all. But it was too late. It was like putting back a broken vase, but it was splintered in so many tiny fragments that the more you tried, the worse you hurt yourself.

"Look, it's late, and I'm tired. Can we pick this up another time?"

There was an edge to his voice, and somehow, you knew that this conversation would never be brought up again.

"Sure."

You swallowed your fighting words, knowing if you persisted, it wouldn't end well, even though it was too little too late. After saying goodbye, you hung up with a heavy heart. The heavy fog of your argument closed in on you, turning the air you breathed into suffocation.

For days after, your contact was reduced to none. You abandoned the ongoing draft in the notebook Art gifted you and directed your attention to something else. The inspiration you'd drawn had become a withering reflection of the past, of everything good in your relationship. Nothing could revive it; the only thing left was the dwindling hope that things would be alright between the two of you again. You buried yourself in all the other aspects of your life, hoping you could, at the very least, not think about Art so often. But it was impossible. His imprints on you were branded marks, a thing of permanence on your mind and skin.

/

In the quiet hour of the afternoon, the rhythmic sound of a pen hitting paper sounded louder than the whispered small talk from the only two customers in the cafe. The sentence was left like an unfinished thought, and you were searching for the words to wrap it up. The literary competition at Stanford was announced two days ago, and you immediately got to work. For the prized money and a feature in the school's newspaper, you weren't going to pass it up.

The bell above the door rang. You pulled your eyes away from the half-written page to settle on the new customer with a smile on your face.

"Welcome …"

Art stood there, holding the door open for Tashi. She walked in with a pair of crutches, thanking him. His eyes trained on you for a moment before tearing away. His brief gaze was enough to draw heat to your skin. Tashi slowly and carefully made her way to the counter with Art's arms hovered around her. She smiled at you.

"So, this is the place. My friends have been raving about the drinks here. Him, too."

She inclined her head at Art. He only smiled and said nothing in return. You realized then he wasn't going to introduce the two of you. You maintained a polite smile and what you hoped to be a friendly manner.

"Do you want any recommendations?"

"Yes, please. I love anything with berries in it."

"Then I have the drink for you."

You explained what went in it, and Tashi approved with a nod. Only then did you turn to Art.

"Do you want your usual, Art?"

You looked at him pointedly. His face warmed as he pretended to consider the options, even though, up until two weeks ago, he knew the menu inside and out. Tashi's gaze travelled back and forth between you and Art.

"Do you guys know each other?"

You fixed him with a look, daring him to own up to it. He finally conceded and introduced the two of you.

"I think Art mentioned you once or twice."

"Did he?"

"Yeah, you're his friend. Were you the one who came to check on me after …"

She trailed off.

"I did."

Tashi gave you a rueful smile.

"Thank you for that."

"Don't mention it. How are you doing now?"

She looked down at her knee brace briefly.

"Slowly but surely recovering."

"Take care of yourself. You'll be back to playing again in no time."

"I hope so."

Tashi gave a sad smile, and you mirrored with more assurance. You wanted to dislike her, but you felt nothing but sympathy for her. Art watched the whole exchange wordlessly. You broke eye contact with Tashi to address Art.

"Do you want your usual, Art?"

He nodded, and you told them the total. You watched as Art paid for Tashi despite her refusal. Jealousy flared hot and heavy in your chest, yearning to take back Tashi's place that used to belong to you. But who were you to him to feel this way?

You dropped the change into his hand and pulled away quickly as if you were burned by the thought of your skin touching. You didn't make eye contact and walked away quickly, and though you knew it was rude, you couldn't help it. Your bottled-up feeling was barely contained now; it bubbled and wanted to break free of its confinement. The sound of their soft-spoken exchange churned your inside, making you sick with envy. You made the drinks, and like a habit, you grabbed a marker to put a heart on Art's. But you caught yourself and set the marker down.

You pushed the drinks towards them. The smile on your face felt strained now, and you weren't sure how much longer you could keep this up. You settled for a small wave as opposed to a verbal goodbye, but Tashi interrupted your thought.

"It's very nice to meet you."

You reciprocated her smile.

"You, too."

You looked at Art briefly before wordlessly turning away, making yourself busy with an inane task. With their backs to you, you discreetly stared at their closeness. Despite knowing your problem wasn't with Tashi, you couldn't help but feel envious. You wished you could be her. Beautiful, talented, and doused in Art's attention. With a conscious effort, you tore your teary eyes away from them and set your sight on the open notebook on the counter. If you lingered for a moment longer, you would have caught Art's eyes looking back at you with a longing that you were all too familiar with. Only this time, unbeknownst to you, you were on the receiving end.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! I'd love to read your thoughts on the story!

For updates, please follow @cellophaine-archives

[keeperofthecrystals]

Promised a Bio!

Delphizuhri the Wandering Oracle.

**Palemecia, Kingdom of Splendor, and Demons.**

In the past shrouded in both glory and despair, the world teetered on the precipice of annihilation, a precarious balance tipped by the malevolent ambitions of a mad Emperor. He had summoned forth nightmarish beings from the fiery depths of Hell, and they wreaked havoc upon the land, leaving ruin in their wake. It was only through the extraordinary courage and power of four brave youths, born from the ashes of their obliterated homes, that the tide was turned and the Emperor's tyranny was finally vanquished.

In the aftermath, Palamecia lay in smoldering ruins, its once-majestic landscapes reduced to desolation. The scant survivors, resilient yet bereft, gathered their meager possessions and ventured forth, forging a new life in a distant land far removed from the remains of their former kingdom.

Delphizuhri, alongside the youthful members of her tribe—roaming nomads without a permanent home—had been schooled in the tragic history of their people. They embodied the legacy of a lineage that, due to the folly of its ancestors, had unwittingly opened the gates to otherworldly horrors. The elders would impart a solemn truth: “We have no king nor kingdom because our forebears summoned unnatural forces into our realm. Thus, we pledge to live, taking only what is necessary. For what value is there in gaining the world if one loses their very soul in the process?”

Contrary to this grim history, the tribe thrived against the odds, their survival skills becoming legendary among the arid dunes. They could find hidden paths, secret oases, and the elusive sources of sustenance that seemed to escape outsiders. Those who found themselves weary and lost in the unforgiving desert could always seek out their guidance. Yet such knowledge came at a cost—nothing was rendered without due payment.

As Delphizuhri approached adolescence, she discovered her own abilities to contribute both to the tribe and to her personal pursuits of comfort, amassing the small fortunes of Gil. Ever since she had learned to speak, her uncanny knack for recounting historic events—whether they were centuries past or prophetic visions of the future—left others in awe and bewilderment.

So vivid were her narrations that they were often accompanied by a precise alignment of the sun and moon; each detail was brought to life like vibrant brushstrokes on a canvas.

Her reputation blossomed as a gifted fortune teller, drawing a faithful following in both the quaint oasis town of Kaipo and the more bustling desert capital of Damycyan. However, as she matured into her 20s, Delphizuhri began to experience foreboding visions of enigmatic figures descending from the moon, heralding a cataclysmic fate linked to an ominous entity known only as “The Giant.”

One fateful day, a chilling vision broke through the veil of her dreams—the Giant, colossal and menacing, towered above the Kingdom of Baron, surrounded by a haunting field of white roses that began to bloom with the crimson stain of human blood.

Unable to shake the gravity of this foretelling, and heed the words of warning from her grandmother, Delphizuhri penned a note to explain her hasty departure. Determined, she set off towards Mysidia, her heart set on warning them of the Kingdom of Baron, the first target of the impending threat.

[kiruliom]

coin fight 2023!

what is coin fight?

have you ever heard of art fight? it's like that, but for liom/mogai!

there is 2 teams (sun and moon for this year), and you 'attack' a member of the opposite team by coining things you think they'd like :D

this is made completely for fun, and has no rewards besides some "I was in the winning team" graphics (userboxes, blinkies, etc.)

the event will start on 9/20 and will last a week, with an exception being if it's still active after 1 week.

instructions:

make an entry here!

make a section on your pinned post (or an easily accessible rentry page) with your team and what you associate with your identity (make it as vague or specific as you need, doesnt need to be gender exclusive)

reblog the associated team post (sun) (moon) so people who check the reblogs of that post looking for people to attack can find you!

find a person to attack and coin things you think they will like! tag the person you're attacking and me (kiruliom), and tag #2023coinfight. also it would be really nice if you could tell us the approximation of your points (eg. it's a 5th link on a friendly fire revenge chain? please tell us its 7 points. ( 5 base, 2 points deducted for friendly fire, 5th link means 4th revenge, so +4)) this makes my job a lot easier.

rules:

if you fail to follow the instructions above you will be reached out to, or if you need help just tell me!

please check if you fit the DNI of the person you'd like to attack, or if THEY fit YOUR DNI. to avoid awkward situations.

all flags and terms made will have a 5 point base value. for every new 'link' on a revenge chain it will have 1 more point added to it. non-gender terms get 2 more points added to them, to encourage non-gender coinings

the terms coined dont need to be unique, just need to have unique flags. you can make an alternative bigender flag for example and it'd count as valid for points. however you cant submit flags made outside of the event time, this is more of a trust thing though as I cant tell for sure whether the flag was made before the event or not lol

there is a 3 attack per day rule, to avoid spamming. any more attacks submitted for the day will be rendered null, meaning no more points will be added for that day, this includes revenges. attacks are counted by amount of terms and not the amount of posts.

coining non-disordered paraphilia, MUD, oculoid or transid terms will render those attacks null, which means you wont earn points for them. transpecies is the exception to this as it's an alterhuman term and not a transid term.

friendly fire (attacking someone of the same team), is allowed. however 2 points will be deducted. this is to encourage a "team rivalry" more.

you can only attack 1 user at a time.

please dont take advantage of my awful memory and math skills and cheat, this is supposed to be for fun and you need to do your part for that, yeah?

re-elaborating the point system so it's in one place:

base term (say, a gender made for someone of the opposite team) = 5 pts

friendly fire (attacking someone of the same team) = -2 pts off total

revenge (attacking someone back)= +1 point per link on chain, starting from 2nd link/'first revenge'

non-gender terms = +2 points

sorry it's so messy, this is the first time Ive hosted an event that needs heavy moderation like this. I hope to figure this out via suggestions and trial-and-error.

[greenlyren2]

Heavy Rains

Aemond Targraryen x Reader

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Prince Aemond Targaryen had always preferred the dark veil the night offered. When somber hours hide one from prying eyes and boastful mouths. The only one who holds you accountable - the pale moon, rolling lazily in the mirky sky above the blackwater.

It did not start out as a preference for the little prince. When he was young, sleep seemed to be a doleful lady, ready to escape him at every cost. Aemond foolishly tried to catch her every night, but she was skilled in the mazes of the dark hours. When the prince realized rolling around in his silk sheets was futile, he started visiting the library, the gardens, later in his life – Vhagar.

He found serenity in it, the quietness of the night seemed to have a presence of its own which followed him everywhere. A hazy figure that tugs at one’s heartstrings and renders the mind wistful.

However, Aemond’s fondness of the witch’s hours had started to dissipate. He was a husband now, of a few moons admittedly, but he was a dutiful spouse. The Mother had blessed him with a beautiful wife, one which he felt he did not deserve. The prince had accepted his faith as a second son, ready to be betrothed to some disagreeable woman.

But that was not the case, the gods bestowed him with a beauty so great, he could hardly believe. She was strong-willed, intelligent and honorable. The lady granted him a kindness the prince had never felt before. She had no expectations of him, no malignant gossip had poisoned her mind, she wanted to get to know him for herself, her heart on her sleeve.

It was an arduous process for the prince, to show the true colors of his soul, but he persisted. The hours after sunset became a respite for the couple. A sanctuary for their blooming love, a place where to roam the depths of the other person. Aemond found himself anticipating their time together more every day. Where he would drown himself in his books and his lady wife would embroider or paint.

He would often marvel at her poise, follow her skillful fingers as they thread along with his good eye. Remember the patterns of her breathing, watch as her face would scrunch up ever so slightly in concentration. Where her eyebrows would meet in confusion when she wouldn’t get something right from the first time.

It was a haven, in which where few words were spoken at first. But as the moons grew warmer, their talks blossomed. It started with formalities, the continuation of the courting process. Family histories turned into objects of ire and desire. As Aemond would remember all the things his lady favorited – the blue hue of the Forget-me-nots in the Keep’s gardens, the melody of her favorite tune, the end of her favorite story.

As his lady started including dragons in her embroidery pieces, and listening to the afflictions of her husband. He was hard to open up at first, she admits. But with time, with gentle care, steadily the prince would tell her of his ancestors, of his colossal dragon, of his mother and sister.

Though, there was one thing he seemed unbent on, the gnawing insecurity which ruined his countenance, at least that’s how the prince thought of it. In his lady’s opinion it was a striking mystery which allured her to the depths of her being.

The center of many a story, where most of the time the prince is a cruel perpetrator of awful violence, the jewel set behind a wall of leather, the patch and the scar that painted the fair face of Aemond Targaryen. It was a forbidden subject, one guarded so well its mere existence seemed unreal at times. His lady wife understood, with time, he’d tell, she would often think.

It was now that Aemond would start to hate the fast feet of the dark lady of the night. How swiftly she would pull the strings of late hours, and steal his precious time with his lady. Buried in obligations and documents, the prince would wane away in his chancery. Locked away from the joy of being with his wife.

Unfortunately, now was one of those nights. Aemonds’s hopes of being with his lady faded away as he traversed the dark corridors of the Red Keep. The prince realized he was right as he opened the dark mahogany doors of their chamber. All candles put out, a soft blue hue painting the room. The white linen curtains dancing with the gentle summer breeze as their partner, the faint smell of lavender lingering in the air.

His heart sang and twisted as he saw her, sprawled out gently on the bed. Hair laid out as a maze of tree roots on the satin pillow, light sleeping gown alluding to the beauty of her body. An opened book next to her – a futile attempt to pass the time until Aemond would come back. She was the picture of sublimity in his eyes, the Maiden could only envy her. She made his blood run hot and mind turn blank.

The prince’s thoughts were harshly interrupted by a rumble of thunder from outside. Realizing he was still at the front door, he gently closed it and went to the terrace. A light rain had started washing away the stuffy summer air. The prince’s hands found purchase on the delicate marble parapet. Aemond’s eye scorched the planes of King’s Landing, seeming to be lost in thought. If it was day time, he could see Vhagar from here in the outskirts of the city.

Aemond disliked weather like this, and in the deep belly of this point at night. It was bound to conjure up vexatious thoughts. As his good eye found the top of a building to lose his gaze in, his mind roared. In times like this, confusing the sound of rain droplets with the ones of blood was easy. He felt a mere boy of thirteen once again, grotesquely crouched down on the floor at Driftmark, clutching at his lost eye, eardrums burning with screams. Hearing the delicate drops of his blood hit the floor.

Thunder soared as Aemond gripped the parapet harder, hair slick with rain water and jerkin wet. His eye fell heavy as his scar felt it might open raw every moment. White hot rage ran through his veins as a furious thunderbolt. Vhagar’s infernal roar could be heard echoing in the mirky sky. This state of borderline frenzy was an endless loop of fury which he often found himself in.

Suddenly a pair of delicate arms disturbed the prince’s trance as they rested around his waist.

“It is only me, my prince.” A melodious voice echoed in his ears.

Aemond fought with everything not to tremble in his wife’s grasp, ferociously shutting his eye, not having the courage to face her.

“You will get cold out here, my lady. I couldn’t bear it If you were to fall sick on my behalf.” The prince tried to persuade her, not wanting to drag her into the depths of his ruinous mind.

Her grasp on him became harder, as the lady rest her forehead on the wet leather on Aemond’s back. A direct act of her strong volition, she knew the battles her husband fought alone – out in the open and in his head. She could be by his side in this one, she would never abandon him.

“As will you, Aemond.” She felt him tremble in her grip.

“I never liked storms as well, especially as a child. I would hide under my mother’s covers as the thunder would rage outside.” She gave out a slight huff, trying to put him at ease.

At moments like this he would always shut her off. Though she never persisted, it never irked her. His lady was more than content to sit in silence, be there for him as much as he allowed her.

Both stood as the wind blew and the sky wept over them for some time. Aemond carefully turned around as he gently grasped the forearms of his lady wife and witnessed her dejected countenance. The prince despised himself for making her feel this way. Her wet hair sticking to her forehead as her lashes glistened with rain drops.

“How do you think I lost my eye?” Aemond suddenly yelped out, her name falling with the preciseness of a prayer from his lips. It was time he thought, to be done with this nightmare and ask her. He knew how the commonfolk viewed him – a twisted monster from tales which mothers used to scare their children. He knew the ladies in the court were terrified of him. Most importantly, he knew all too well what he thought of himself.

“What me and the others think of you is of no substance, Aemond. What matters is what happened, and only you can tell me that.” She said sorrowfully, beyond pained to see her husband this way.  

She reached a delicate hand to caress his face, thumb following the path of the darkened scar. Her gaze falling from his eye, to his nose and finally his lips.

“What I think is that you’re beautiful, and I pay no attention to children’s tales. I know you for who you are. You are my valiant husband, with piercing evidence for the greatness of his dragon.”

Aemond trembled beneath the vigour of his wife’s words. His face calmed, as he went to remove his eye patch. Her lips fell with admiration as he revealed himself to her.

In the socket of his right eye lay a magnificent sapphire, worthy of a prince. The blue of the stone shines as a pearl would at the bottom of the blackwater. A star in the sky.

Her other hand clasped around his face and she utters as she holds him lovingly “You are as if carved from the Gods of Old Valyria, my love. You are astonishing.”

Aemond’s heart soared as he fully opened himself to her, every crevice and every part of his persona was bared out for her to witness.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

The prince moved to kiss his wife passionately, enveloping her in all his care. His lips met her with a feverishness that made the cold night light with warmth. Her hand moved to his silky moonlit locks and tugged there, as she gave all of herself to him. Aemond caressed her soft cheek as he poured all the love he held for her.

Breaking their embrace in a breathless mess, the prince rested his forehead on hers.

“I love you, my lady.” The prince whispered only for his wife and the rain to hear.

She gave him a chaste kiss in response.

“We could make you new memories. Fond ones.” The prince said hastily to his wife, eager to please her.

The rest of the night was spent on the back of Vhagar, traversing the night skies and the summer rain soaked their clothes, laughs echoing in the water beneath.

[bgsdraws]

another year woah, i need to start playing stardew valley again nice to see more of my ocs here. i want to draw thwm more and develop their stories next year Now, me being angsty and mentally unwell (vent) under the cut :

Honestly? Looking at this makes me feel a little bit sad and tired. It's just that I've always had this ''cycle'' I go through. I go from loving my art and being on the top of the world, the greatest artist who has ever lived, holy light comes out of my wacom drawing tablet, to hating and believing I've lost all the skill I once had and will never be able to do something like it again; I switch between these 2 mindsets every few months. And it's just so annoying. (I want to make it clear that I know these thoughts aren't true and I don't really think like this about myself. It's just how I feel when I'm in that part of the cycle.) I just feel like a failure who has never learned how to do anything good, even with years of practice, that I've stagnated, regressed, that anything good I ever did was just pure luck, and I will never be able to create something I like and that brings me joy ever again. It just hurts so much because I don't think I can do that; I don't think I can go back to being someone who just observes other people's art. I would honestly rather die; I probably would die. I need to be there, to create it; I need to feel happy and look at what I'm creating with pride. I want to feel good about the stuff I do. And I do When the other half of the cycle begins When that happens, it always feels like some of the best moments in my life, and I'm so happy with my art, and being happy with my art makes me even happier; it's euphoric. Why can't it always be like that? Because I do love my art, I recognize my skill, and I'm happy to create what I create. So why does my brain do this to me? Why does it decide to cast some sort of spell every other 3 months that makes me hate it and see no future in myself? There's no trigger, no inciting incident; it just happens, every time with no failure. Always the same ''routine.'' And noticing its coming doesn't make me able to stop it. I've tried, but I discovered I just need to ride it out. And even though I know what's happening, I know it's just another half of that damned cycle; it doesn't make all those thoughts and feelings feel less true or correct at that moment. Knowing better doesn't make me feel better. And after it is done, after I've finally started being able to feel and think ''normally,'' there's always this wave of shame and embarrassment for how much I overreacted to certain things. I feel guilty and embarrassed about being aware of what was happening and still believing those thoughts. ''You should know better; it's always like this, you know it.'' Right at the end of the most recent ''my art sucks and will always suck and I should die'' phase (that just ended, by the way; I've been feeling like that since October, I think), I sketched a thing for a friend. In the middle of drawing it, I was feeling horrible; I was so happy to start something that would make someone I love happy. But everything just looked awful, gross, the ugliest thing that has ever graced this earth. And I just kept thinking, "Where have all the years I've dedicated to learning anatomy and rendering gone?" Was I always this bad? Were all my good grades and compliments a lie? Was all of it in vain?'' I ended up just crying and going to bed. And then, the next day, I opened that file again, preparing myself to see that monstrosity on my screen again. And it was fine; the drawing was nice. I have no idea what my eyes were seeing that last night, how distorted they had to be seeing it to think that it looked ''awful and gross.'' It makes me feel so stupid, so overdramatic. All of that for this? Really? For something that really didn't have any problems at all I just wish I could always see my art as I can see it now. I love it; why can't I love it all the time? It's just not fair.

[ihavenomoralsss]

rereading Private Opinion so its time for another hate post.

You know when you meet a man and they just ooze small dick energy? Like the sheer volume of simultaneous detrimental insecurity and overinflated ego somehow combines to this god-awful aura of slime? He’s like one of those prehistoric slugs that left trails we have evidence of literally 2.5 million years later. This fucker is so goddamn self-righteous that it puts every fucking business major I've ever met to SHAME. Holy fucking shit. Bro somehow did two entire bachelors degrees in psychology and psychiatry and didnt gain so much as a grain of critical thinking skills. for a man who was apparently trained as a fucking spy, he sure does seem prepared to roll over and expose his stomach at the first dollar bill waved his way. He turns into one of those cartoon characters floating at the smell of a pie or something, but the pie is a paycheck. Hes got a tramp stamp that says ‘follow the money.’ Incredible! ive met MIDDLE SCHOOLERS with stronger morals. Hes spent his life running from common sense. I’m surprised he’s able to stand with that phenomenal lack of a spine. RIP blanca, you would've loved Henry Kissinger. i hope hell is filled with an unending stream of regimes you can endlessly suck up to and off. may you be rendered violently infertile and be perpetually embarrassed by the women you sleep with complaining about how whiny you are in bed. die a slow death bitch. im so glad you can't procreate irl.

[litrpgburrito]

⚠️Spoilers: This blog post contains spoilers for the "Solo Leveling" series. If you haven't caught up with the series, please proceed with caution.

The Ascension of Sung Jinwoo: From the World's Weakest to the Unrivaled Monarch

In the enthralling universe of "Solo Leveling," Sung Jinwoo stands as a testament to the limitless potential that lies within the seemingly ordinary. Once dubbed the weakest hunter, Jinwoo's journey is a riveting tale of growth, power, and the indomitable human spirit. Here, we delve into the myriad of skills, powers, talents, and abilities that mark Jinwoo's evolution into the Shadow Monarch.

The System: A Hunter's Best Ally

Jinwoo's rise begins with the mysterious "System," which grants him the unique ability to level up—a privilege unheard of in the hunter community. This system acts as a personal RPG interface, allowing Jinwoo to gain experience, improve his stats, and learn new skills through combat and completing quests⁴.

A Necromancer's Might: Shadow Extraction and Command

As Jinwoo's prowess grows, he unlocks the necromantic ability of **Shadow Extraction**. This power enables him to raise the shadows of the fallen, creating an ever-growing, loyal army that fights at his command. Each shadow retains the strength and skills of its former life, making Jinwoo's army a formidable force on any battlefield⁴.

The Shadow Monarch: A Legacy of Power

Inheriting the mantle of the Shadow Monarch, Jinwoo gains control over the realm of death itself. His powers reach god-like levels, allowing him to summon and command legions of shadows, including powerful lieutenants like Igris and Tank. This vast army can be used for combat, healing, and even transportation, making Jinwoo a master tactician⁶.

Beyond Physical Limits: Strength, Speed, and Stealth

Jinwoo's physical abilities are nothing short of superhuman. His **strength** and **speed** are unparalleled, allowing him to dispatch enemies with ease. Additionally, his **Stealth** ability renders him invisible to both physical and magical detection, making him an unstoppable force in both assassination and escape⁴.

The Monarch's Domain: A Realm of Shadows

One of Jinwoo's most awe-inspiring abilities is the **Monarch's Domain**. This skill transforms the battlefield into a realm of shadows, enhancing the power of his shadow army and overwhelming his adversaries with the sheer force of his dominion⁶.

Kandiaru's Blessing and Armor Creation: The Shields of the Monarch

For defense, Jinwoo has **Kandiaru's Blessing** for vitality and **Armor Creation** for protection. These abilities not only shield him from harm but also ensure his continued reign as the Shadow Monarch⁶.

The Sprint and the Dagger: The Tools of the Assassin

Jinwoo's arsenal includes skills like **Sprint**, which boosts his already impressive speed, and **Dagger Toss**, a ranged attack that strikes with deadly precision. These abilities, combined with his stealth, make him a lethal assassin⁵.

The Shadow Monarch's Legacy

Sung Jinwoo's tale is one of metamorphosis, from the weakest of hunters to the sovereign of shadows. His abilities, both innate and acquired, paint the picture of a character who defies the odds and rewrites the rules of power. As the Shadow Monarch, Jinwoo stands as a beacon of strength, strategy, and the unyielding will to ascend.

Jinwoo's journey is a captivating saga that resonates with the timeless allure of growth and the pursuit of greatness. His skills, powers, talents, and abilities are a testament to the transformative power of perseverance and the boundless potential that awaits those who dare to level up.

(1) Solo Leveling: Sung Jin Woo's Best Abilities - Game Rant. https://gamerant.com/solo-leveling-sung-jin-woo-best-abilities/.

(2) All Of Jinwoo's Abilities And Powers In Solo Leveling Explained. https://screenrant.com/solo-leveling-jinwoo-all-abilities-shadow-monarch-powers-explained/.

(3) Best Sung Jinwoo build in Solo Leveling Arise: Skills, Arifacts, Stats .... https://www.pcinvasion.com/best-sung-jinwoo-build-in-solo-leveling-arise-skills-arifacts-stats-weapons/.

(4) All of Sung Jinwoo's Powers and Abilities Explained(Solo Leveling). https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yitZZjWWEyM.

(5) Every Time Sung Jin Woo's Power Leveled Up - Level 1 to Level 146 | Solo Leveling Explained. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0uZEbxvDh9I.

(6) Sung Jinwoo's ENTIRE 10 Million Shadow Army Explained - All The Strongest Powers! | Solo Leveling. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bfCsuBoM9hM.

(7) All Of Jinwoo's Abilities And Powers In Solo Leveling Explained. https://mangaxpro.com/all-of-jinwoos-abilities-and-powers-in-solo-leveling-explained.

[weaselandfriends]

Web Original, Recently Witnessed

In a previous post, I mentioned some web fiction I'd recently read. This time, I'll highlight some web original content outside of the literary sphere. While I have some experience with literature, I'm completely untalented in other mediums, so my assessment of this content is no better than a layman's. However, I still thought it worth highlighting.

1. Journey to EPCOT Center: A Symphonic History by Kevin Perjurer (Defunctland)

Perjurer has been putting out excellent documentary-style content on theme parks and their rides for years now, but while his production quality is consistently high, his videos often live or die based on the core level of interest his subject engenders. For instance, his video on notoriously awful ride Superstar Limo (with a general focus on notoriously awful theme park California Adventure) is an incredible watch, while his video on a random assortment of small, local Santa Claus theme parks across America isn't quite so compelling. He's no Jon Bois (of 17776 fame), a documentarian capable of rendering extraordinary seemingly the most banal of subjects.

Journey to EPCOT Center, however, is unlike anything Perjurer has ever put out before. It completely eschews Perjurer's typical voiceover narration style of documentary, instead stitching together music, audio of news reports and press releases, and dramatizations of Disney boardroom meetings to create a seamless narrative. Beyond the unique style and presentation of the piece, however, is the incredible artistry on display in several of the segments. Some of the biggest highlights:

12:00 to 16:14: A neon light animation detailing the vision and plan of EPCOT, which gradually transforms into a 3D map that the camera travels through

16:52 to 21:03: An impressively animated series of newspaper articles detailing Disney's struggles finding signatories for its world showcase; the video comments indicate some shots of the moving newspapers were created practically, with Lego conveyer belts

38:46 to 44:27: A puppet show dramatizing Disney's efforts to seek international sponsors

There are numerous other impressive, inventive, and creative segments as well, with unique animation and visual styles. The video rarely repeats the same trick twice.

The funniest part is that all of this is in service to a topic I would personally consider quite boring. EPCOT is such a Disney-buffs-only type of subject, neither Disney's greatest success nor its greatest failure. The incredible skill on display is all aimed toward depicting a fairly corporate, backroom-style story about men in suits trying to secure handshakes. There's an almost propagandistic feel to it, an extolling of capitalist bigwigs that feels completely at odds with Perjurer's visionary style.

In a way, it's reminiscent of United Passions, a FIFA propaganda film meant to make its executives look good in the wake of real-life controversy. On the other hand, though, Perjurer's exceedingly loving depiction is appropriate for Walt Disney's final passion project, Disney himself being a man who, for better or for worse, was as much of a dreamer and visionary as he was a cutthroat businessman. EPCOT, as the video tells you, was designed as an optimistic reaffirmation of the American free enterprise project, and as a complement to that vision Perjurer's video could not be more accurate. Unlike United Passions, this video was also made independently, not financed by Disney to make itself look good in the eyes of the public. Metatextually, it poses a fascinating question: Is there value to corporate art? Can a corporation create something of true beauty? Perjurer's video suggests it can.

2. The Mind Electric Animation - Lonely-Man's Lazarus by Daisy

Perjurer is probably familiar to many of my readers, so this next entry is more obscure, something I stumbled on almost by chance.

A friend of mine is big into animatics, which as far as YouTube is concerned is about setting music (usually Broadway or Disney musical numbers) to sketchy, storyboard-style art. I'm not a major Broadway fan in general, so these have never appealed to me much, although I've been shown several.

This one, though, rather generically titled "The Mind Electric Animation" (after the song it features), caught me entirely off guard. The first notable element is that the animation is monstrously more fluid than a typical animatic, though it retains the sketchy/storyboard art style and traditional animatic sensibilities toward character design (very "Tumblr," if I had to put a word on it). Secondly, the music, rather than being from Hamilton or Heathers or some other popular musical, is from the itself rather arcane album Hawaii: Part II by Joe Hawley (under the name ミラクルミュージカル). Hawaii: Part II is, as far as I can tell, a concept album detailing the story of a man who goes insane after his girlfriend is murdered (possibly by himself), with a strange secondary subtext of possibly being metaphorical for the 9/11 terrorist attacks. The lyrics are certainly open to interpretation.

The animatic combines these elements with heavy inspiration from a different concept album, potentially the most famous one ever made: Pink Floyd's The Wall, with specific nods to the film adaptation's animations for The Trial and Empty Spaces. There is no skimping on detail, with some sequences absolutely bursting with bizarre visuals. The ultimate result is absolutely trippy, abstract, and surreal, which are some of my favorite things for something to be.

Regardless, it's an impressive work of animation for a single person to make; the video description states it took 15 months, which is more time than I've spent on any one of even my longest works. The creator themselves is somewhat enigmatic from what I could tell, despite having a whole host of social media platforms. They seem to be working on a web comic, but trying to find any concrete information on what it is actually about was difficult. Nonetheless, whoever made this certainly has an abundance of creative vision and talent. Though I've seen skilled artists sit down to create something narrative before and flub it utterly (an example that comes to mind is Ava's Demon), so who knows if what is on display in this animation will make it into that web comic. Even if it doesn't, the animation by itself is incredible, so check it out.

3. The Skibidi Toilet podcast guys are for real by Mikhail Klimentov / Built By Gamers in general

Built By Gamers has been on my radar for some time (ever since seeing this video) as an absolute masterclass of performance art. The voice, the emphasis, the little oddities here and there, the way the two hosts so often ignore direct questions posed by one another, it creates something inimitably uncanny. This interview by Mikhail Klimentov, who I am familiar with primarily through his esports journalism, only adds new layers to what was already a convoluted question of irony and sincerity.

There are a few concrete insights, most shockingly to me that the creators of Built By Gamers (Todd Searle and Peter Armendariz) got their start in esports. But despite the title that seems to clearly suggest their videos are sincere, the actual interview is far less conclusive. For instance, this exchange:

It's evident to me that you guys take this very seriously. You feel as though there's a lot of craft behind these videos. Tell me about the stuff that a viewer won't see: the behind-the-scenes stuff that you're thinking about as you're working on these videos. Armendariz: A lot of people think it's ChatGPT. That's a big thing that people think that we do. But a lot of it is actually well crafted, through hours — like we'll spend hours on one script and really thinking about how we can get someone to react. It doesn't matter if it's them laughing, if it's them feeling sad, or them hating on one of us, our main goal in our videos is to get someone to feel something. The hard truth is that people don't realize how many hours we spend on one video to get that one line. I think that's what people don't really understand. We’ll spend like two hours on one line. Searle: Our tone, like how we talk — it’s on purpose. I have to get into character for it. Armendariz: Todd has a voice, bro! He didn't think he'd be good at telling stories, and I have him tell every single story because he has this campfire story voice. And sometimes he'll hit a line and I'm like, “No, no, you’ve got to hit it harder.” And we'll spend like 30 minutes trying to hit the line, or hitting the hook just the right way.

Followed immediately by:

People really don't know what to make of you guys. They don't have a sense of whether you're serious, whether you're in on the joke, whether there's a joke at all. I'm curious if you can clear that up. Searle: We want it to be everything you just said. We want people to think we're serious. We want camps of people who don't think we're serious. People who think that we're A.I. We kind of want to keep it, I guess, vague in that regard. Like we want you to believe… what we are — and that's OK. Armendariz: I think sometimes we'll play into different communities. So, like, some people will say, ‘You guys sound like you got brain surgery.’ So then we’ll make the most cringey video that's like super brain-rot, you know? We just kind of mess around and have fun.

So are they just messing around and having fun, or are they spending hours trying to nail specific lines just right? Are they sincerely trying to tell a story that gets an emotional reaction or are they just trolling, which also gets an emotional reaction? The biggest troll of the interview, targeted specifically at me, was this response:

Can you tell me what those writing principles are? Armendariz: I think a big writing principle that everyone should follow is, it's really important to show, don't tell.

People who have talked to me elsewhere know I am a massive enthusiast of the ubiquitous Mr. Beast, not necessarily because I like his content (though I do think he puts together some strong game show/Wipeout-style videos), but because of the story behind him: That he is an extreme, almost insufferable perfectionist, who analyzes video success and failure to a scientific degree, doing experiments with thumbnails, video lengths, et cetera, all to take detailed assessments of the results and perfectly calibrate his videos in mathematical fashion. It's a type of rigor that flies in the face of the casual, wastefully generous persona he cultivates in his videos proper.

I think many people have this innate idea that a work of art's quality is somehow tied to the effort expended to produce it. (Even I have it. Notice how for both of the first two entries in this post I mention the effort or time or craftsmanship of the work in question.) This is the kind of sensibility that causes a layman, who knows nothing about painting, to prefer a Caravaggio to a Rothko. But this sensibility is both conceptually and often practically wrong; Rothko, for instance, engineered his own paints, creating custom blends of materials (including non-paint material, like egg) to form paints of a perfectly specific color or gloss or sheen, a process often completely unseen by a casual glance at the finished work.

Subsequently, there's a reason they're called writer's workshops, that writing is so often described as a craft: It's an attempt to imbue writing with a sense of effort that makes it more palatable. The stereotype extends to the artist who sneers at quote-unquote "low" art, thinking "If I was willing to lower myself, I could create that slop and make millions too." In my experience, though, the people creating this "low" art are often expending absurd amounts of effort and exhibiting incredible skill to create something perfectly engineered for success. I, certainly, have found zero success in attempting to broaden my own audience, even when I make attempts at it; it's not something that's easier to do if you're just willing to try.

I also increasingly fail to believe in the stereotype of the miserable cynic artist who creates something they think is garbage because they know that'll be most popular. Those people don't last long; those who succeed in the popular sphere are people who are genuinely passionate about what they create, even if it looks like dreck to everyone else (including the millions who consume it).

I've been kicking around an idea for a story about Mr. Beast for some time now, exploring these concepts in even greater depth. That won't happen in the immediate future, but it's something to look out for.

[as-the-stars-foretold]

deep vein thrombosis

The first thing Will felt as he came out of his daze was pain. Sharp, exacting pain stabbing away at his calf, like searing hot needles being pumped in and out. The second thing he felt was the cold infirmary floor coming up to meet his hands as he fell, knees buckling. This was a familiar sight for the med staff of Camp Half-Blood: one of them falling to the floor, dazed and confused and aching. The manipulation of human flesh took its toll, no matter how skilled you were.

Will, especially, was more than used to this. It was almost comforting, in some strange measure. The shake in his legs as he pushed himself up, the pallor of his sun-kissed skin as he squinted at his hands, willing the glow to die down— it was all a sign of a job well done. Of a job he could be proud of. Of course, many-a-patient would argue that he could be proud of any job, and he would just nod along happily. Of course William Solace could be proud of his work, it was in his name after all.

Solace.

The dizzying rush of being in the infirmary, the ever-changing tide of medicine, the blood rushing in their ears— he knew, acutely, how much of a comfort it all was. He knew how much they relished being taken care of down to the marrow, down to the cell, because the infirmary was never empty. He would not venture to say that campers got injured on purpose, because he knew the bitterness that would seep into his work, crawling up their arms and legs like streaking lymphangitis, like rabies working its way through neuron after neuron.

Besides, he considered as Kayla whisked away the nameless patient–Will would remember their name eventually, when he remembered that he cared enough to bother–, no one actually enjoyed getting rendered apart limb by limb. And they certainly knew better than getting injured for the sake of a day off. Everyone knew the aftereffects of Will’s healing.

It begins like this: emptiness. Blood absent where it should be present, the gaping hole left by a horn or tusk patched with no warning to the nerves, absolute and perfect reconstruction. Too perfect, Will would deign to argue, but that was his father’s jurisdiction. Will just enacted his will.

Then came the second struggle: remembrance. There was a moment after every trip to the infirmary, with blood pooling on Will’s scrubs, where the patient’s nervous system remembered. Then the screaming began, the misfiring of neurons trying to alert a response to something that had been removed. For one, he had gotten used to filtering out the weeping and begging, focusing on mitigating the wrongful inflammation that threatened to undo all of his hard work.

And, finally, like a decrescendo to the awful opera that is Apollonian healing: pressure. It was like the desperate, franting beating of the heart under tamponade; the stinging of a broken leg holding up your body weight; the bruising pressure of water on the brain. It was a task for both the med staff and the patient, really. Will and Kayla and Austin could not do much to release the pressure–there was no blister to drain, no bubble to pop, and certainly no surgery to be done–, so they just gave the not-so-happy camper a dose of ibuprofen and took a hit themselves.

Then, in the end, solace. Their nerves would realize there was nothing–at least, nothing that would kill–amiss, the pressure would dissipate, and the med staff would be able to release another patient.

It was a perfect progression. Perfect enough that Will could impose a diagram of bone stitching itself back together naturally and be none the wiser. Only he was wiser, and, swaying where he stood, he dimly wondered why that wasn’t his healing progression.

Why didn’t William get the easy, predictable healing process that he bestowed upon everyone else? Why did the pressure never dissipate, why did he never wean off of fumes? Why did the hurt never disappear, why did his nerves never stop firing, why did he have to fight through the shaking in his hands to clean up splotches of blood on his brand new scrubs? Why did he have to learn to embroider ceremonial shrouds? Why did he have to return to an empty cabin after days in an overflowing infirmary? Why did he have to stand still for hours upon hours, craning his neck during surgery and deliveries and healing incantations? Why didn’t he have compression stockings, at least?

He treated deep vein thrombosis; he didn’t want to develop it.

Will could alleviate it in a matter of seconds, of course–it was just a quick anabolic hymn, or maybe a lysosome hymn–, but that didn’t erase the hurt. The pressure. The cardiac tamponade, the lurching of his stomach, the phantom limb pain that wasn’t really there for a limb, but it might as well have been.

Gods help him, William Solace may have just passed out right then and there, feeling as if a blood clot had just shot up to his brain. Lodged in his heart. A step forward. Then another. Get the blood pumping, pumping, pumping— there it is, clarity. The ash-grey of his skin, the faint golden glow of his hands. Clarity, sunlit and burnt.

“Camper from Hypnos’s cabin!” someone called, stumbling over the rickety gurney’s uneven roll. “Hit their head pretty hard during rock climbing, but there’s no obvious signs of damage. Conscious, alert, and oriented.”

He sighed, snapping on a new sterile pair of gloves.

The first thing he felt was dazed pain.

[jacklemon77]

What medium did you use to make the color wheel challenge (it looks amazing by the way)? I’m in awe of the level of technical skill and personality, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sculpture that has that sort of style

Thanks a lot, I'm happy to hear so much positive feedback :) The stuff is all done in 3D, the Clay-Doh shader is what does most of the job carrying the visuals.

I'm lucky that the rough feeling of clay marries well with my own weird style. I do most of the preparatory sketches on either MS Paint / Photoshop with a mouse. It's freeing, idk why. I then went onto blender for each one and "traced" in 3D and tweak the design a bit to make it work better. Here's a random assortment of the sketches:

As you can see, sometime bringing an official reference can help me with some 3D shapes. Most of the stuff is just for a render... so it works for the camera. If you go around some models... well. Bald rika.

One of the things that helps a lot selling the Clay feel i think it's the scale of it all. Adding some real props and making sure that the finger impressions were scaled to a believable size helps a lot. The lighting also does its job. I'm not very good at lighting, but I'm pretty proud of how it came out. Here's a screen without any characters and just the props.

There's also some stuff like pieces of characters being modelled separately as you would with clay itself etc etc. For anyone who just came across this post: check out the full render here!

[fistsoflightning]

message with a bottle

ffxivwrite2023 01: ENVOY a messenger or representative.

how’d i end up with a letter fic?? erenville & alle. 748 wc.

His payment for services rendered found him not long after he’d checked the last requisition off his list and stored it in his pack at the hands of an adventurer.

“Begging your pardon, sir, but I believe I’ve a delivery for you!” The adventurer—looking rather ruffled, perhaps from the long trek between here and the closest town—pulled out a letter with no envelope sealed by unstamped wax and a small bottle no larger than his palm from her pack. Though he didn’t recognize the bottle, other than it being a common piece of glassware sold back in Sharlayan, he caught sight of the ink stamp on the letter’s back and smiled.

“Thank you,” he said, taking both the letter and the bottle from their hands. “I’m afraid I’ve little to reward you with, at the moment.”

“Oh, no need, sir,” she said, waving her hands. “I was paid by the lady beforehand—quite generously! I was almost afraid I’d have to find you knee-deep in monsters.”

With that, the adventurer left, ready to trek back out into the humid jungle haphazardly before he could warn her about the bugs being more active and irritable at this hour thanks to the floral bloom. Usual adventurer bravado, hopefully with the skill to back it up.

He’d give it a good half a bell before trying to leave, himself—with little else to do or plan, he pried open the wax seal on the letter and sat down to read.

TO E;

Here’s your proof of life.

I found her. The “ears” made it rather easy, thankfully. ^-^

At first she didn’t seem to trust me, but I suppose Archon marks can serve more than one purpose—never expected to get interrogated about my thesis so far from home. It was refreshing to be allowed to thoroughly explain myself, for once.

She left in a rush to respond to a call from the Scions—turns out the rumors of their downfall were exaggerated—and the Warriors of Light. Plural, as in possibly more than a dozen. A very curious bunch. They were quick to accept me into the fold upon seeing me at her side, and seem to be searching for a number of their members, as if there weren’t enough of them. Soon enough I suspect I’ll find myself in extreme excess of company where before I was lacking.

The prospect is… frightening? Perhaps that’s not the word for it. But—not to sound like some sap—even though I’m glad to be away, I miss our table overlooking the harbor, often.

At least the food here is comparable. Some of my fellow scholars at the Studium had nearly convinced me that food was meant to taste offensive, and that the Last Stand was the anomaly.

Very intriguing to see the once-New-Sharlayan for myself now that I’m old enough to remember. Lots of goblins and adventurers here now, if you haven’t been. They’ve certainly renovated the place—though they’ve kept a nice plaza free from “gobbie brainthoughts, pshkohh”. (Does the Studium offer lessons on gobbiespeak? You’d think I’d know, but I don’t. If not, they should think about it.)

I hate that it’s true that exercise and fresh air make you feel better. Utterly awful. Why can’t my body simply adapt to a more sedentary lifestyle? Stop laughing, that’s rude.

It’s likely unsafe for me to keep in touch—did you know that the Bibliothecs have no qualms about sending assassins overseas should it best suit their interests—but if you ever want for an ear (or pair of eyes, I suppose) to receive another scathing critique of the gleaner’s life, direct your letters to a Tataru Taru in Aldenard through a postmoogle. She is the Scions’ secretary, if I’ve understood correctly.

Don’t let that oversized plant you’re after get you with its sap—if it’s the seedkin I believe it to be, it’ll do something awful to your aetheric balance should even a few droplets get on your skin and you’ll be ill for weeks. Better not to question how I know, just that I do from a look at your current list of assignments. I’ve sent along some medicine should the worst come to fruition, if my warning is a touch too late.

Travel safe. By Thaliak’s grace may the waters you sail over be smooth.

Oh, and—thank you. Truly. The world would sooner end ere I forget the good you’ve done me.

ALLE.

[harinikhb30]

Cloud Aspirations: The Optimal AWS Certification for Fresh Entrants

Introduction: Setting Sail into the Cloud Horizon

In the ever-expansive world of cloud computing, AWS emerges as a guiding force, beckoning individuals with a myriad of opportunities to carve their niche in this burgeoning industry. For newcomers eager to embark on a cloud-centric journey, the choice of the right AWS certification serves as a pivotal decision. One certification, often hailed for its adaptability and foundational wisdom, is the AWS Certified Solutions Architect - Associate. With the aid of AWS Training in Pune, professionals can acquire the expertise needed to harness AWS capabilities across diverse applications and industries.

Exploring the Preferred Starting Point: AWS Certified Solutions Architect - Associate

Dive into why this certification is deemed the ideal launchpad for newcomers aspiring to secure a foothold in the domain of cloud computing.

1. Establishing the Bedrock with AWS Certified Solutions Architect - Associate:

Functioning as an entry point, the certification lays a robust foundation in AWS services and architectural best practices. It equips individuals with the indispensable skills necessary to conceive scalable, secure, and cost-effective solutions on the AWS platform.

2. Meeting Industry Demands:

Employers actively seek professionals adept at designing and implementing AWS solutions. The Solutions Architect certification, finely tuned to job roles, aligns seamlessly with industry demands, rendering certified individuals highly coveted in the job market.

3. Application-Oriented Learning for Real-world Challenges:

This certification places emphasis on practical application, ensuring certified individuals not only comprehend theoretical concepts but also wield the ability to apply this knowledge to real-world scenarios. The practical approach hones problem-solving skills, preparing candidates for the challenges encountered in professional landscapes.

4. Versatility Across Industry Spectrums:

Skills acquired through the AWS Certified Solutions Architect - Associate certification are versatile and applicable across diverse industries—be it finance, healthcare, or technology. The imbibed principles are invaluable, empowering newcomers to explore varied career trajectories within AWS. To delve deeper into AWS intricacies and unlock its full potential, individuals can find enrichment through enrolling in the Finest AWS Online Training.

5. Accessible Entry for Novice Professionals:

In contrast to some advanced certifications demanding extensive experience, the Solutions Architect - Associate certification is accessible for entry-level professionals. While a basic grasp of cloud concepts proves beneficial, the certification is thoughtfully crafted to provide foundational knowledge to individuals taking their initial steps into AWS.

Charting a Path for Career Advancements:

A certified AWS Solutions Architect - Associate not only gains a competitive edge in the job market but also lays the groundwork for future career advancements within the AWS ecosystem. Serving as a stepping stone, this certification swings open doors to more specialized and advanced certifications as individuals accumulate hands-on experience.

Conclusion: Gateway to a Cloud-Centric Odyssey:

In conclusion, for aspiring individuals poised to launch a career in cloud computing, the AWS Certified Solutions Architect - Associate certification emerges as a strategic choice. It bestows a holistic understanding of AWS services, architectural best practices, and practical wisdom. As the ever-evolving cloud computing landscape continues its metamorphosis, possessing this certification on your resume positions you as a prized asset in the dynamic and growing field of AWS.

Embark on your cloud journey, absorb the foundational knowledge bestowed by the Solutions Architect - Associate certification, and unlatch the doors to a fulfilling career in the expansive world of Amazon Web Services.

[dankusner]

The Inauguration of Trump’s Oligarchy

In modern terms, a Presidential Inauguration is an open-air branding opportunity.

John F. Kennedy, a hatless Cold Warrior, placed his Administration at the vanguard of a new generation “born in this century,” and delivered an internationalist vow to “pay any price, bear any burden.”

On January 20, 2017, Donald Trump set a distinctly different inaugural tone, delivering a sunless stem-winder of populist fury in which he vowed to heal the hellscape of “American carnage.”

No longer would the country bow to self-serving élites and rapacious foreigners:

“America will start winning again, winning like never before.”

Upon leaving the reviewing stand, George W. Bush was heard to say, “That was some weird shit.”

Trump was apoplectic about the coverage of his first hours in office, and he dispatched his spokesman, Sean Spicer, to the White House briefing room to declare that the press had “intentionally framed” images of the crowd to make it seem paltry, when, in fact, Trump had drawn, Spicer huffed incredibly, the “largest audience ever to witness an Inauguration, period.”

Spicer then shifted registers to one of unmistakable threat.

“And I’m here to tell you that it goes two ways,” he said.

“We’re gonna hold the press accountable.”

With that, the Era of Trump was truly inaugurated.

Joe Biden, whose Presidency is now grinding to its conclusion, had hoped to render Trump’s Administration a historical fluke—a fleeting, if ugly, interregnum.

And, as Biden leaves office, he can reasonably argue that jobs are up, inflation is down; violent crime has declined; and, for the first time in a generation, there are no American soldiers engaged in foreign battle.

Nevertheless, Biden’s obdurate unwillingness to step aside for younger, more plausible Democratic candidates resulted in the reëmergence of his nemesis.

Once more, the music of apocalypse is in the air:

“Our Country is a disaster, a laughing stock all over the World!” Trump declared recently.

He will return to the Oval Office with a résumé enhanced by two impeachments, one judgment of liability for sexual abuse, and a plump cluster of felony convictions.

He will take the oath of office next week at the scene of his gravest transgression, his incitement of an insurrection on Capitol Hill.

Still, Trump soldiers on, as if all the legal accusations against him are badges of merit, further proof of his anti-establishment street cred.

Since the election, he has proposed so many advisers of low character and dubious qualification that he has overwhelmed the circuitry of the confirmation process and the public sphere.

It’s almost as if the early proposition of Matt Gaetz to head the Justice Department were a way to divert attention from the unalloyed awfulness of so many others: Pete Hegseth, Kash Patel, Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., Tulsi Gabbard, Mehmet Oz, and Kristi Noem among them.

The dessert for this feast of misbegotten nominations was served when Trump appointed Kimberly Guilfoyle, the longtime fiancée of his eldest son, Don, Jr., as the new Ambassador to Greece—a move that accommodates the son’s fresher affections for a Palm Beach socialite.

Across the land, a willing suspension of disbelief has taken hold.

(Critical thinking is so 2017.)

Certain titans of Silicon Valley, Wall Street, and (God forgive us) the media have hustled off to Mar-a-Lago, a scene of such flagrant self-abnegation, ring-kissing, and genuflection that it would embarrass a medieval Pope.

Jeff Bezos, the founder of Amazon and the owner of the Washington Post, no longer seems determined to fight the darkness; instead, he kills an endorsement drafted by his editors, watches as some of his most skilled reporters head for the exits, and pays forty million dollars for a documentary on Melania Trump.

Mark Zuckerberg’s maga conversion is now so thorough that he has added Trump’s friend Dana White, the C.E.O. of Ultimate Fighting Championship, to the board of Meta.

One of Trump’s most effective political maneuvers might be called “whacking the beehive,” a propensity to unleash so much buzzing menace into the air that it’s impossible to maintain calm, much less focus.

Will he set up detention camps for undocumented immigrants?

Will he split with nato and cut off Ukraine?

Are we about to send the 82nd Airborne to descend on the good people of Nuuk?

For decades, Vladimir Putin’s greatest rhetorical gambit has been the charge of hypocrisy.

Since the collapse of the Soviet Union, American critics have rightly described Russia as an oligarchic state.

In the nineteen-nineties, a half-dozen or so hustlers emerged from the rubble of the old system to exploit their proximity to Boris Yeltsin and his family to snatch up invaluable state properties––oil fields, mines, television stations––at knockoff prices.

Putin came along, in 2000, and eventually deposed most of the first-generation oligarchs, replacing them with his own satraps.

He created a personalist system in which all power and all fortunes depended on his good graces.

Perhaps what is most striking about the ascendant Trump Administration, which takes pains to cast itself as the champion of a forgotten working class, is its own oligarchic features.

The influence of big money in American politics is hardly new.

To read Theodore Dreiser’s “The Financier” is to plunge headlong into the muck of Gilded Age deceit.

The essential modern text is Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission, the 2010 Supreme Court decision that equates money with speech, resulting in an ever more corrupt system of campaign finance.

Something ominous, if not entirely novel, is taking shape in Washington.

When Trump takes the oath of office, on January 20th, Elon Musk, the wealthiest man in the world, will not be far away.

Like so many other tech billionaires, Musk apparently thinks of himself as a self-reliant genius-of-the-future, a Nietzschean superman, and yet he well knows that everything from the rise of the Internet to the creation of many newer technologies profits from the support of the state.

What’s more, Musk’s influence, unlike that of his Gilded Age predecessors, is amplified by his gargantuan following on a social-media engine in his possession.

When Trump steps up to the lectern next week to recite the oath of office, he will stand beside his wife.

But he will have a great deal of other company—multibillionaires who have shamelessly dispensed with principle to seek an indulgent new President’s favor and enhance their fortunes.

[do-not-fold-spindle-or-mutilate]

It keeps showing up, this face none of them recognize. First it was chiseled onto ancient Roman statues, a crude likeness where Julius Caesar should be, worshipped by cultists who seem to know too much.

Then, it was the paintings in the attic of the blind prophet, the same half smile, over and over.

A little boy drew it in a picture of his house, a perfectly rendered face in the window of a crude stick figure world.

Each time they see it, they learn something new about this face, some part of it comes clearer.

When they caught the old priest doodling it, it was Christ's face on the cross. A masked performer wore it while controlling a marionette that looks like the party leader. A whole herd of cattle had it in monochrome on their flanks, the day before the slaughterhouse burned to the ground.

The party grows certain that this some evil god controlling the world. They track the face, and they learn more and more about it. It's not until they enter the inner sanctum that they find its owner, someone horribly familiar, not to the characters, but to the players.

It's with creeping horror that the party comes to understand what the players have just learnedb they aren't fighting a god, or a monster, or even fate itself. They are fighting the whole world, its laws and its people and even their own skills and powers. This is the face that has given them everything they are, this is the dharma as a villain, the nature of the universe playing a cruel prank.

You take away the character sheets. This face is behind all that. It decides what effect those statistics and facts will have. There is no combat. No one rolls for anything. There is only the horrible truth that even the people they thought they were are lies from the mouth of that ever-present face, your face, and the faces of the awful beings whose delusion they are. You could offer to talk about it, but the party never really existed.

Why talk to a fiction?

Wanna hear a really fucked up idea for something to put in a horror game?

To be clear, I'm not talking your standard vampires or zombies, I'm talking real awful shit. Like, "won't sleep for a week" nightmare fuel. Really mess up your players stuff.

I mean it. If you are of a nervous disposition, underage or pregnant, you should avoid reading this idea. This isn't your momma's world of darkness, it's really pushing the boundaries of fiction, ok?

Are you ready?

Are you sure?

Ok, last chance. If you think you're brave enough.

During your horror game, have the players encounter:

A photo of your face.

Haha, zoom!

[rhiajanta-cooper]

Natural Landscape Paintings: Capturing the Beauty of the Outdoors

Natural landscape paintings have long held a revered place in the world of art, captivating viewers with their ability to transport them to serene, majestic, and often awe-inspiring outdoor settings. These paintings, which depict the natural world in all its glory, celebrate the beauty of landscapes ranging from tranquil forests and rugged mountains to peaceful seashores and expansive deserts. Through the eyes and techniques of skilled artists, these natural vistas are immortalized on canvas, providing a window into nature's splendor and evoking deep emotional responses.

The Allure of Landscape Paintings

The appeal of natural landscape paintings lies in their capacity to evoke a sense of place and atmosphere. They offer a visual escape, allowing viewers to immerse themselves in scenes that might be far removed from their everyday lives. This connection to nature is deeply ingrained in human consciousness; we are drawn to the serenity, grandeur, and inherent beauty of the natural world.

These paintings often evoke a sense of tranquility and peace, providing a respite from the hustle and bustle of modern life. The depiction of natural light, the play of shadows, and the detailed rendering of flora and fauna create a realistic and immersive experience that can soothe the mind and soul.

Historical Significance

Natural landscape painting has a rich history, dating back to ancient times. However, it truly flourished during the Renaissance, when artists began to explore and celebrate the natural world in greater detail. The genre reached new heights in the 19th century with the Romantic movement, which emphasized emotional intensity and the sublime beauty of nature. Artists such as J.M.W. Turner and Caspar David Friedrich created masterpieces that highlighted the power and majesty of natural landscapes.

The Hudson River School in the United States, led by artists like Thomas Cole and Frederic Edwin Church, further elevated landscape painting by focusing on the untamed beauty of the American wilderness. Their works captured the vastness and diversity of the North American landscape, from lush valleys and towering peaks to dramatic skies and serene waters.

Techniques and Styles

Creating a compelling natural landscape painting requires mastery of various artistic techniques. Artists must skillfully manipulate color, light, and composition to bring their vision to life. The use of light and shadow is particularly important, as it can convey different times of day, weather conditions, and seasons, adding depth and realism to the painting.

Impressionism, with its emphasis on light and color, brought a new dimension to landscape painting in the late 19th century. Artists like Claude Monet and Pierre-Auguste Renoir captured fleeting moments and the ever-changing effects of light on the landscape, often painting en plein air (outdoors) to better observe and depict their subjects.

Contemporary landscape painters continue to innovate, experimenting with various styles and techniques to convey their unique perspectives. Some may choose a hyper-realistic approach, while others might lean towards abstraction, using bold colors and dynamic compositions to evoke the essence of a landscape rather than its precise details.

The Emotional and Environmental Impact

Natural landscape paintings do more than just depict beautiful scenes; they often carry deeper meanings and messages. They can reflect an artist's personal connection to nature, convey environmental concerns, or evoke a sense of nostalgia for untouched, pristine landscapes.

In an age where environmental issues are at the forefront of global discourse, landscape art paintings can serve as powerful reminders of the beauty and fragility of our planet. They encourage viewers to appreciate and protect the natural world, fostering a sense of stewardship and responsibility.

Conclusion

Natural landscape paintings are a testament to the enduring allure of the natural world. Through the skillful use of color, light, and composition, artists create works that not only capture the beauty of outdoor settings but also evoke deep emotional responses. As we continue to face environmental challenges, these paintings remind us of the importance of preserving the natural landscapes that inspire and sustain us. Through the timeless medium of paint on canvas, the splendor of nature is celebrated and preserved for future generations to admire and cherish.