#scan from analog print

[ultralowoxygen]

La foto che credeva di essere in bianco e nero. by Michele Nicoletti Via Flickr: Avere corpi analogici senza finestrella per inserire il cartoncino del rullo può portare a certe conseguenze, quando si dimentica la macchina carica per un po' di tempo :-) ... Ero convinto fosse caricata a fomapan 400, vedendo impostati gli iso a 200 con rimanenza una decina di scatti (perchè la fomapan 400 la espongo sempre a 200 iso). Invece al termine del rullo...sorpresa...:-) Analogica eseguita con Canon EF, obiettivo Canon FD 50mm f1.8, pellicola kodak Gold. Scansione con reflex digitale canon eos 60D, sviluppo del raw e inversione con negative lab pro.

[fadingdaggerr]

creatus sanguine (18+, mdni)

pairing: agatha harkness x gn!witch!reader

summary: part two of effuso sanguine | 5.3k

includes: blood magick reader, (not even) borderline obsession tbh

warnings: blood, description of injury, smut, afab reader (no chest description), oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), thigh riding (a receiving)

note: blood magick differs from the show’s definition of a “blood witch.” rather than coming from a magical family line, blood mages are more aligned with the physical body and use of what billy would call “analog magick” (sacrifice, blood letting, etc), as well as incantation/spells

April 1749

Your back aches as you rise from your leaf-made mattress, thin blankets falling off like the thin rags they’d become. Heading pounding, you move to pour the last of your water into the small pot over the fire. It had been nearly three weeks since you’d been able to stop to get more food. You’d managed to forage wild flowers for more tea and tree sap to chew on, but the traps you’d set hadn’t proved fruitful.

As the tea steeps, you roll your blankets and shove them into your bag. Transferring the drink to your cup, you throw the pot into the bag as well. Smothering the fire under your boots, you head southeast.

Morning gusts caress your skin as you pass through the forest. The birds chirped through the trees, flying from branch to branch above your head. Rolling up your sleeves, you embrace the warm air. Raised and faded scars litter your skin, some healed cleaner from your growing experience. You made sure none would be as jarring as the one painted across your ribs. It’s taken years for you to be unbothered by their appearance, though the same cannot be said by those you meet.

Removing your attention from your skin, you look to the ground instead. Scanning the grass and leaves, you see impressions of foot prints. Recent enough that the ground still held their mark. Someone has to be close.

Slowing your pace, you try to focus on the sounds around you. Closing your eyes, you hear the birds, squirrels, your own breathing, and the faintest sound of multiple heartbeats. The sound grows, clearer by the moment. Five heartbeats, resting rates sounding human. They are so close, you immediately speed up your pace.

Within minutes, you hear the faint sound of feminine voices. A sigh of relief passes your lips, feeling immediate safety. The crunch of your steps makes all five turn and face you, defensive in stance and expression.

“Good day,” you speak up.

The oldest of the group steps forward, and you match her step. Her hand rises, stopping you from getting closer. Amber eyes scan over you, “only we may enter this space.”

“I meant no offense,” you take a step back, “I only hoped you may know the way to the closest settlement.” Your eyes shift from the woman to the meat on the cutting board behind her. Seeing your stare, the one with an orange skirt moves to stand in front of it.

“And you found us how?” The amber-eyed woman refuses to lose your attention, keeping you from the group. At your silence she speaks again, stressing each word, “how did you find us?”

“I was heading this way before I saw you. I promise I would not harm you, nor your sisters,” you affirm, trying to maintain a calm demeanor. Her brow furrows in disbelief, and you know you cannot pretend with her. You know what she is, she knows what you are. “I am alone, covenless, and entirely out of food. All I require are directions, then I will leave you and yours alone.”

She nods with a hum, eyes moving to partially look behind her. The woman with a soft pink overcoat reaches out, hand grasping your wrist lightly, and tugging you into the protection circle. Forcing you to sit, you watch as they carry on how they were before you arrived. A small plate of turkey and apple slices is placed in your lap.

“This is all we have to spare,” the pink witch says. “I’m Marjorie.”

You give her a soft smile in thanks and your name in return. Listening to their idle conversation, you eat slowly to avoid stomach pains. The ease of their conversation, the way they lean on each other, it’s simply lovely. They speak so surely about their lives and their abilities, even as young as most of them are. With them distracted by one another, you finally take in the space around you.

The protection circle, as even as it was, did little in stopping you. Your fingers twitch with the knowledge that it would never have worked. Despite their efforts, you heard them without their voices. Only the leader knew this, that much was apparent by her apprehension, never trusting the glow of the stones.

You feel the hairs on your neck stand up, eyes going to the source. Eudora, you now know, stares you down with a ferocity. You glance to the stones, then back to her. She nods slowly, warning held within. Nodding back, you eat the last apple slice, standing quickly.

“I thank you kindly for this meal and your generosity,” you never take your eyes off the head witch. “I wish you safety, and may our paths cross again.”

“Perhaps they shouldn’t,” Eudora says strictly. From beside her, Marjorie goes to protest but is silenced by a raised hand, “misery follows one who searches.”

Your brow furrows, confusion and anger twirling on your tongue. Keeping quiet, you back out past their barrier. Nodding one again, thankful to the other members of the coven, you turn away. The hard, angry heartbeat fades as you walk away. Their fates with their leader are nothing, desperation for a coven gave them false security. Misery follows, you think to yourself, amused.

Their green witch, Abigail, had told you of the Plymouth settlement, the best option if you found yourself needing to nab something to eat. If any of them survive that imbecile, you hope it’s her and Marjorie. Following the path given, you hope to get there before sunset.

—⛤—

The sun becomes golden as you finally break the trees to a road. Tracks lead south, and now you do too. Promise of a real bed was so close, perhaps if you had enough, even a drink. Food feels futile now, rest is the real virtue. The entire trek back from the settlements in Rhode Island had been on beds of moss, tree bark, and leaves. A thin pad and blanket without tears will likely make you cry with joy.

Closing in, you finally see the town. Houses, market stalls, and various other buildings cover the area. You rush on sore feet towards what you pray is an inn, the largest structure in the center. 

Almost falling in the door, you’re greeted by an elderly woman at the counter.

“Hello, sweetheart. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” she chirps.

You smile, “I’m just here for a few days, hopefully. Is there a chance you’ve got a vacancy?”

“Do you have a way to pay?” She retorts with a cocked brow. You smile at her, digging into the bottom of your satchel. A secret pocket holds coins you’d found in a tavern weeks ago. Offering up most, you look at her with pleading eyes. The woman counts visually, peeking back at you, then counting again. She clears her throat, “this here, this is barely a night. But, I know downtrodden when I see it, so I’ll give you three. But no food, that’s on you. I don’t care how you do it, but no guests here.”

You blink at her incredulously at the insinuation, but thank her anyways. The last room at the end of the hall, tiny with a small bed. A bed. Tears spring to your eyes as you drop onto it, the padded plank feeling like a cloud. Hunger creeps in, but is wholly ignored as you fall into a deep slumber.

When your eyes open, the room is still dark. Sore muscles ache less than the day before as you rise from the bed. Grabbing your things, you step into the hall and go into town. The sunlight nearly blinds your sensitive eyes, glare becoming tolerable as you navigate the space. If careful, you could stretch your money to last these few days. If you are even more careful, you could find something without pinching pennies.

Slumping against a tree, you slice an apple from your bag. Of the many they had, you surely took the only good ones. If the kids hadn’t run back home, you would’ve given them some as a thanks for their distracting of the vendor.

Walking back into the center of town, you hear different speakers going on long rants. Preachers about sin, mothers about sin, a hog farmer about sin, it’s all quite repetitive. Everything sounds like one long drone, it always has. Nearly sixty years and all they had taken out was the focus on witches. Being closer to home than you have been in years felt sickening.

The speeches of hellish sins to be avoided becomes nothing but a monotonous hum behind the rest of the world. The air through the trees, the carts moving over dirt roads, the animals chittering in the pens, it all falls away. Behind it all, a beating. Strong, steady, and there. Your heart starts to beat in time with it, eyes beginning to scan the streets.

Walking quickly, you try to follow the sound. The closer you get, the clearer it becomes. The more familiar it becomes. Moving as fast as you can without drawing attention to yourself, all you can hear is the rhythmic beating. Passing a tavern, you immediately reverse yourself, looking in the open door.

At the counter, a deep purple cloak around her shoulders, sits a woman. Finger resting on her chin, she waits for whatever she ordered. She scans the room, and you feel your face drop, all warmth draining from you.

Angelite eyes land on you, squinting as she feels your stare, but her confident demeanor drops. Scrambling from her seat, she runs from the tavern and crashes into your stiff body. Wordlessly, you stand with your arms at your side, stuck in shock. Leaning back, she looks at you confused.

Prying yourself from her, you grab her arm and drag her towards the inn. Rounding the outside, you find the windows to your room, pushing open the shutters. Climbing over the ledge, you motion for her to follow.

Straightening in front of you, she smiles. It drops at your words, “you are alive.”

“So are you,” she scans you quickly, “and as you were. How?”

“I imagine similarly to your reason,” you answer. “I have spent a near lifetime looking for you. Do not tell me you’ve been here this whole time?”

“Of course not, I only arrived this morning,” she says. Careful hands grab yours, “had I known you were still out here, I would have looked for you.”

You grip her hands tightly, “I was where I told you I would be. Home.”

“Yet you knew I was gone?” She asks, almost knowing.

You pause. It is not the time. “You never showed, it was worrisome. But you were gone, and there they were. I knew what they had done,” you tell her. “I had to find you.”

“And so you did,” she smiles, leaning into you. Her forehead comes to rest on yours, eyes closing. She whispers into the small space between you, “I should never have ran. I should’ve come home to you, my love.”

“Agatha…” you sigh, nose rubbing against hers, “my heart.”

Lips brush against yours softly, testing if she’s still allowed. Pushing into her harder, you press a bruising kiss to her lips. Warm hands side to grasp her face, keeping her as close as possible. Greedily, you run your tongue over her bottom lip, and she quickly lets you in. The moment she does, her hands tighten around your waist, shoving you back into the wall.

Your nails dig into the skin of her neck, letting her take control of the kiss. Fifty-six years of searching, of not knowing, of longing, done with each pass of a masterful tongue. Moaning into you, Agatha’s teeth bare down on your lip. A groan mixed with slight pain and arousal topples into her mouth, body desperate for more of her than you’ll ever get.

Running out of breath, she moves to press wet kisses against the expanse of your throat. The thrumming of your pulse beneath her lips matches her own, each beat falling in tandem.

A shaky breath passes your lips, “Ag-Agatha we can’t, not here at least.”

“I missed you,” she attempts to reason, soundly awfully close to her excuse all those years ago. Then, she spoke for the future, that much is clear now. At this moment, she means it for the present, for the accumulation of time apart.

You gently pull her from her place in your neck, “and I you, more than I’ll ever be able to verbalize. But we are not safe here, you know this.”

“Then we leave. We will find where we may be at peace,” she says, forehead back against yours, “we will make it so, if we must.”

You press your lips against hers, a promise to go with her. All the time you spent, the first ten years, was pure ache. All of it melts away, feeling her with you once again. She feels different, stronger in a way, but time has done the same for you. You’re almost strangers like the day you’d first met in the woods.

—⛤—

December 1749

The candles on the windowsill flicker wildly as you reshelf the books in hand. Sighing, you put the stack back on the table, going to the window to see what the flames do. Out the window, you see the grass parting, a figure racing through. A torch illuminates her face, grinning wide with satisfaction.

Moving to the door, to open it to lean against the frame. Cupping your hands around your mouth, you shout, “Agatha Harkness, it is too cold for this! Hurry it up!”

Shooting through the door, she doubles over in panting breaths, shaking dustings of snow from her hair. Hands on her hips, she stands back up, mouth open to the ceiling as she recovers.

“You best not have anyone behind you,” you say, shutting the door and barring it.

She chuckles, “you know me better than that, my sweet.”

You hum, looking her over. The back of your hand brushes her cheeks, shifting to cup her neck. Shutting your eyes, you feel her heartbeat, quick from her running, but what catches your attention is another sensation.

Eyes shooting open, you rip the thick cloak from her shoulders, tugging the torn material of her dress to the side to expose her shoulder. A long cut across her skin, stretching from the point of her shoulder to just above her breast. Running your finger over the edge, you assess how bad it really is.

“Not too deep,” you murmur, “uneven. Serrated blade?”

Agatha hums, eyes having never left your face since you first touched her, “I hadn’t planned for them to come with weapons over their powers.”

“Perhaps you are too conspicuous, lover.”

She gives you a faux-shocked expression, “why I never! I am nothing if not reserved.”

You try to keep a straight face, but a smile breaks as you break away from her to get a cloth. Knowing the routine by now, she settles on a stool to await your attention. Appearing in front of her, you stand between her legs. Warm water soaks the cloth in your hand, touching it carefully to her wound.

Agatha’s hands creep up your legs, gripping here and there. Trailing up, a hand finds the strings of your shirt, tugging them loose. Your gaze shifts from her shoulder to her face, looking at her through your lashes. Shaking your head, you continue to clean the cut, ever gentle.

Wandering, her other hand slides underneath your loose shirt. Ever so gently, she grazes her fingertips across your skin, feeling every raised mark that you’d healed on your own. It always bothered her how you refused to heal them properly, poultice and bandage, but by your hand. Each mark prominent instead of completely vanished.

Blunt nails pass over your ribs, tracing the harsh, jagged mark there. She pried many times about where it had come from, but you always gave the same answer. They all just blur together.

Agatha is pulled from her mind when you press a kiss to the junction of her neck. Lingering, slow kisses spread, crawling up towards her lips. Finger under your chin, she pulls you into her kiss, short and heavy.

“Never come home hurt again. Do you hear me?” You ask, forehead pressing against hers.

She huffs, “a fluke.”

“Agatha,” you stress, hand curling in her hair, gripping. Pulling her back, you look her in the eye, “I do not make light of harm coming to you. Promise me. I will not allow you to endanger yourself, my heart.”

The hand in her hair holds tighter, forcing her to keep her eyes on you, as if they’d ever looked away. Intensity flickers like fire in your eyes, and Agatha feels frozen in place. A tingling sensation spreads from her shoulder, feeling like hands holding her down.

A heated gleam crosses her eyes, tilting towards you again, “understood, my love.”

“Good,” you whisper, lips falling to hers with intensity. The weight on her shoulders fell, dissipating into a warmth wrapping around her. Free to move again, Agatha stands, tugging you back with her to the bed. Following her, you allow her to take control, sated in your wish to be heard.

Hurried hands work to undress you, lips coming back to yours in bursts as layers fall. Shoving you down on the bed, Agatha tries to straddle your hips, but is stopped by your sitting up. Grabbing her hips, you tug her between your legs, unlacing the front of her dress. Fingers skim over each inch of freshly exposed skin, no matter the rush they are in to take everything off. Before her garments even hit the floor, you’re pulling her on top of you.

Energy twinged every one of her nerves, power absorbed mixing with the molten adoration radiating from you. Your hands drift over her back, attempting to feel every inch of you. Lips drag from your mouth down your chin, nipping as Agatha takes purchase at your neck. Wet, open-mouthed kisses turn to suckling of your skin, teeth grazing over every mark.

Hearing your breaths deepen, she continues down your body. Strong hands take hold of your legs, settling between them. Her pupils dilate at the sight, you glistening before her. A hand buries itself in her hair, scratching her scalp gently. Pressing a kiss to your thigh, Agatha looks up at you through her lashes.

“You don’t know how I adore you,” she says quietly. There’s no second to respond before her mouth descends on you, flat tongue licking up your folds. Small gasps encourage her, stroking more strongly, taking in your taste. Her skillful tongue slides in your entrance, moaning into you as her fingers dig into your thighs. Your free hand goes to your clit, but she smacks you away.

Her tongue slips from you, wrapping her mouth around your bundle of nerves. Moans fall from your mouth, the hand in her hair tugs, the other claws into the blankets. Bucking into her mouth, you try to ride her face, but she anchors you down. Her tongue alternates between suckling and making hard circles against your clit. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer, wetter and wetter.

Unclasping a hand from your thigh, it comes to take the place of her tongue on your pearl, harsh, tight circles making you squirm. Her mouth drags down to your slit, tongue making figure-eights through your folds, burying back inside you. With the slightest freedom of only one hand holding you down, you grind against her tongue, desperate for as much of her as possible.

“A… Agatha,” you moan out, gripping tighter in her curls, “please.”

The pressure against your clit grows, tight circles wind the coil in your core more and more. Her tongue greedily takes you in, suckling and stroking, unrelenting in pace. Your hips rut against her, feeling her deeper, feeling her moan. Her own thighs press together, wetness decorating her thighs as she brings you closer to the edge.

Releasing the blanket, your hand grasps her shoulder, keeping her against you. The forceful grip burns, reopening her wound, but it does nothing to deter Agatha. If anything, it makes her work harder, devouring you with a new sense of purpose. More and more, the tightness in your core builds, a single thread still tethering you.

“C’mon, my sweet,” she murmurs, smiling against you, “give me a taste.”

Her words are your undoing, your back arches, warmth spreading through your body as Agatha eagerly licks up your essence. The grip on her hair and shoulder loosen, still holding on to ground yourself. Relaxing back down, you whimper as her tongue still dances against you.

“Lover,” you breathe out, “come here.” Climbing up your body, Agatha’s lips press against your skin. Bringing your hand to her neck, you pull her into your kiss. Wandering, you feel something against your hand, warm, wet. Pulling back from her lips, you see red painting your palm.

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself. You look to blue eyes, barely visible from dilated pupils, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorr-”

“Don’t be,” she says, pressing her lips against yours shortly. Then again. And again, longer, more sound. Her thighs straddle you, hands pressing down on your chest, holding you in place. You can’t help yourself, clinging to her, hand grasping her face. Blood smears across her skin, soaking into yours, hearts beating in time with one another.

Agatha’s hips grind against you, desperate for friction that she can’t find. Shifting slightly, you press your thigh into her, feeling her arousal coating your skin. Whining into your mouth, she grinds more steadily. Your hands slide down to guide her, pushing her harder against the muscle of your thigh. Moans fall from her mouth, kisses growing sloppy and desperate.

You press her harder against you, wanting to feel her, needing to see her fall apart. Husky moans come from her, eyes screwed shut as she grinds needily against you. One hand slides to her back, pulling her closer to lavish her chest. Your lips wrap around her nipple, tongue swirling around the pebbly peak. Every sound she makes is heaven to your ears, the beat of her heart under your touch an addictive sensation.

Her wet cunt against you makes your own arousal pool again, wanting more of her. Always so irresistible. Hauling her closer, you feel her knee press against your heat, moaning against her chest. The hands gripping your shoulders pull you from her breasts, bringing your lips to her own. Her knee moves away, making your whimper, but is replaced by her fingers, toying with your entrance.

One finger, then two, pump into you, matching the tempo of her riding your thigh. A pitchy whine falls from your lips, walls gripping her fingers, the hand on her waist digging in. Teeth bare against your lip as Agatha feels the shockwaves rolling through her, a metallic taste coating her tongue. Pulling back, droplets of blood appear on your bottom lip. The grinding of her hips slows, thumb brushing over, eyes utterly entranced.

You tug her back to your mouth, hand on her waist guiding her faster, chest rattling with both your moans. The fingers inside you curl, thumb pressing to your clit. The pleasure becomes too much, stealing the air from your lungs with every pump of Agatha’s long fingers. Pulling from her lips, you tuck your face into her neck, licking and biting at the expanse of skin.

Agatha’s head lulls back, songs of pleasure falling into open air. Every sound from her, every motion of her fingers, her arousal on your skin– the tight cord snaps. A strangled groan passes your lips as you cum, fingers inside you slowly, but not leaving. Your head rises from her neck, taking in view above you.

Chest heaving, hair stuck to her forehead, brows knitted together in pleasure, Agatha Harkness is a sight to behold. The slice on her shoulder catches your eye, red and aggravated, drops of ichor gliding down pale skin. Leaning forward, you let your tongue drag up, collecting red, until you meet her tender wound. Lapping over it, you feel Agatha grind harder, husky moans turning whiny.

All you can think of is adoring her. Every inch of you, body, mind, and soul, exists for her. She is your life, your purpose. A tingle spreads down from her shoulder to her core, feeling her skin prickle. The sensation isn’t entirely new, but it has never felt like this before. All-consuming, electric, and hot, but underneath it all, it seems to pulse.

The movement of her hips begins to grow sloppy, almost entirely your own effort than hers now. Her breath stutters as your tongue swipes over raw skin, soft lips passing over tenderly. Unadulterated affection mixes with the pleasure that you can’t help but give her, and she crumbles against you. Lazy motions of her hips continue as she comes down, face buried in your neck.

Panting, she pulls back, retracting her fingers from you. Hand splaying over your thigh, she finally looks at you. Your appearances are one in the same. Sweaty, breathless, and littered in marks and your shared blood. A smile stretches across her face, settling in your lap.

“You are everything, my love,” she says quietly, thumb wiping a rogue red drop from your chin.

Your forehead presses to hers, “you, my heart, are the very reason I live.”

Lips press to yours, soft and loving, silent words passing through her actions. Agatha has never been one for her words, always hiding in her riddles. But here, with you, it’s impossible to pretend. You know her, her heartbeat, her mind. Her power never sparks fear in you, unlike every other in her path. They blast her, try to kill her, to deceive her– but not you. Nothing but devotion has ever come from you. Pure and strong, like there was so much love for her inside of you, that it was always moments away from bubbling over.

Laying down, you bring Agatha with you, letting her curl around you. Tracing up and down your ribs, her nails glide over your scars. Circling the prominent one between your ribs, she props her chin on your chest.

Peering down at her, you brush her hair off to one side. Once angry, red, and bloody, the cut down her shoulder was now a fading scar, as if it had been there for years. A small smile crosses your face, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. Blue eyes watch your expression, almost reading your mind.

“One scar will not kill me,” she says, a coy grin playing on her lips, “hasn’t killed you.”

Your brows jump, averting your gaze shortly, “I will heal regardless of what I do, I am simply impatient.” Your hand cups her cheek, “any injury to you is an insult. The memory of it is mockery.”

“Dramatic,” she chuckles, pressing a kiss to your chest before laying her head down.

Your arms wrap around her, keeping her snug to your body, “you do not understand how I love you. I would dismantle every natural law in order to keep you safe, to give you everything.”

There’s a sureness in your tone, something that tells Agatha you meant this. That you will do this, have done this. Her nose bumps against your jaw, “more with you is all I require, my love.”

—⛤—

January 1750

A cool breeze passes over the river, making a chill creep up your spine. Wiping off red hands in the snow, you stand from the riverside. For the first time in a week, your traps worked. Fortunate for you, however unfortunate for the deer that crossed your path.

Home is so close, you can feel it, but the weight on your shoulders makes time slow.  You can see the candles in the window, calling you home to her. The stiffness of your joints means nothing as you finally reach the packed down path. Releasing the ropes of the sled, you abandon your game in preference of the fire inside.

Head resting in her hands, Agatha sits with a blanket wrapped around her. Her head falls back at the sound of the door opening, eyes watching you. Toeing off your boots and shrugging your coat, you make your way behind the chair. Leaning over her, you take in her appearance.

Dark circles under her eyes worry you, sleep has been avoiding her for weeks. The weak smile on her face does nothing to soothe the worry in your chest.

Rounding the chair, you kneel before her. Your hands go to her thighs, squeezing gently, “how are you feeling?”

“Better than this morning,” she murmurs, “the tea helps.”

A little smile crosses your lips, “that’s good. I’ll make more.”

Pressing a kiss to her knee, you try to stand, but she holds you down, “not now. I just want you.”

Sitting up, you press yourself into her. Arms wrap around her hips, head settling against her stomach. Her own hands come to rest on your back, body practically folding over you. Her heartbeat is strong, breathing steady, she feels healthy. You don’t understand what is wrong, why you can’t see, why you can’t fix it. Burying yourself against her, you just breathe her in, comforted by her presence alone.

Your heart beats in time with hers, always the same. Each beat is a reminder of why you live. Relaxing against her, you close your eyes, just wanting to take her in.

As you stay there, you feel your pulse quicken. You stiffen, listening to Agatha, but hers hasn’t changed. Feeling the tension beneath her hands, she squeezes you in silent question, but is ignored.

“My lo-” she attempts to speak, but you shush her, ear pressing more intently against her abdomen. “What are you doi-” Your hand rises to cover her mouth.

Beneath the familiar beat of your lover’s heart, is a second. Quiet, rapid, but there. Your brows scrunch, listening closer. Your own heart matches the beat, almost aching with its speed. Head rising, you look at Agatha, tears welling. Blue eyes dart between yours, mouth open in disbelief at your reaction.

“My sweet, what is it?”

Blinking rapidly, you just stare at her, “two.”

“Two?” She says confused, brows furrowing, “my love, what is wrong? You are worrying me.”

A watery smile grows across your face, “you have two heartbeats.”

Agatha’s eyes rapidly blink, taking in your words. Staring into you, she silently asks you to help her understand. You move one hand to her stomach, the other going to cup her face. Closing your eyes, you focus on the little heartbeat, letting her hear it too.

A shaky smile appears on her face, lashing fluttering as she pushes back tears. Her hand covers yours on her cheek, “how?”

“If only I knew,” you breath out, “I’ve never known a spell or incantation that allows this.”

Leaning down, Agatha’s lips press to yours, slow, hungry. All the love that bubbled within you pours into her, the feeling overwhelming as you listen to two hearts. Tugging you up, she places you on her lap, knees on either side of her hips. Hands bury themselves in her hair, gently scratching her scalp.

Pulling back, you look into her eyes. All you are, all you have been, has amounted to this. Your love for one another becoming personified, beyond order and law. A second piece of your soul, born from love.

title translation: creatus sanguine, latin - the blood made

as always, feedback is soooo appreciated <3 this is very different from what i’ve written previously and would love to hear from you about continuing this. love u my babies

[juniperdugong]

Be my first? - Wonwoo

WC: 824 || Genre: Fluff || CW: Some swears, despite the title, there is only a smidgen of suggestiveness || Wonwoo x fem!reader (established relationship)

A/N: This is a quick little thang that could be (very much insinuated to be) a pt.2 to this lovely fic that's gotten so much love

"How do you like it, baby?"

Wonwoo wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you onto his lap. Resting his chin on your shoulder as he watched you in amusement.

"How do I like it? I don't just like it, I fucking love it, Nonu!" You quickly turned around to meet him face to face. The goofy smile adorning your lips makes him sit tall and proud knowing that he's the one who's made you like this.

You pepper his face in light kisses as you fumble with the box. You've long discarded the gift bag at this point and Wonwoo sighs knowing that he's gonna have to pick it up later because you'll inevitably forget to clean your mess. He just enjoys being showered in your physical praise for the moment, pushing all other thoughts to the side.

Finally, you get it open. Your face gleaming with joy as you hold your new treasure. Excitedly you dart between your present and Wonwoo's face, like a puppy asking for permission from its owner to run around the park full speed. He nodded gently and you were off to the races!

The Instax mini evo instant film - a beauty of a modern film camera that you've eyed since its release.

To be honest you weren't as into film and photography as Wonwoo but you always admired the look of some of the older analog film cameras he had. You expressed a slight desire to get into the hobby but only if you could do it digitally... the only thing stopping you? You absolutely hated the way modern cameras looked. Of course, the aesthetic shouldn't matter when it comes to equipment but it mattered to you just enough to not commit to photography, although you'd never admit it.

But with the Instax mini, you could basically say FujiFilm read your mind and came out with the perfect product for you to fulfill your oh-so-selfish desire of looking like someone who knows their way around a camera. All of this of course to impress your handsome nerd of a boyfriend, Jeon Wonwoo.

"Be my first?" He looked at you quizzically before scanning his own body with his eyes, "Baby, we've already-"

"No, you ass. I meant let's take the first picture together..." You hit him on the chest lightly before skimming over the manual for a gist of how everything worked. He gave a small chuckle and a light peck to your cheek, relaxing into your shoulder once again. "Sure, pretty girl. I'd love to be the first."

Once you're sure you've got down the basics you raise the camera above your heads, making sure your angle is perfect. "You better smile very prettily for this, Jeon Wonwoo." you say through gritted teeth as you hold "the perfect poised smile".

"Of course, I won't dissapoint, angel." He tucks your hair behind your ears on the side that he's resting against, puts on his best smile, and reaches up to meet the hand you're using to hold up the camera.

"What are you do-" Before you can get your question out Wonwoo uses his other hand to push your head towards him, catching you in a kiss. His timing is perfect because just as you're about to push him away he snaps the photo.

Immediately he takes the camera from your hands and prints the picture. You stare at him in complete shock at his audacity. "Wonwoo~" You whine as he holds an iron grip on the device you're so desperately trying to get back from him.

"Just a second... and... Got it!" He all but tosses the camera onto your lap as he hastily grabs at the photo once it's printed. The content laugh that comes out of him as he sees the result has you fuming.

"Let me see!" You snatch it from him and cringe at what you see next.

Wonwoo with his perfectly sculpted face, eyes closed gently, leaning in ever so gracefully and meeting you. You who had your eyes wide open in shock and lips pursed out of habit, but they more so resemble duck lips than anything else.

"You should put that in your phone case, baby." With a look of complete and utter dissatisfaction and disgust, you look at your boyfriend, who is thoroughly enjoying your reaction with the biggest smile on his face. You punch his chest, he pretends to be hurt for a second before returning to his state of euphoria.

"Yeah? Since you seem like it so much maybe you should put it in your phonecase." You hold the picture up to his face, a chuckle coming from him as he beholds his masterpiece once more.

"I'm good, I've already got the perfect photo in mine." He flips his phone over and thumbs at the cutout frame of a photo strip, your first kiss. "Plus, it's your first picture with your new camera, cherish it, baby."

A/N: Not proofread!! A little something something because I was in the writing mood~ A question to any fanfic authors who read this, what's your word count per day? Me personally, whether it's a part of a longer fic or not, I average about 1000. This fic was actually written with like an hour and a half. Anyways lovelies, let me know what you think!!!

Please Reblog and Comment (They act as power-ups for me)

Taglist (OPEN): @bemybabiibish @bath1lda @porridgesblog

[artsicfox]

Made a fan animation of Spot from the Spider-verse movie

I made this animation by doing the camera and key poses in Blender, sketching the base out in CSP, printing that out and using analog materials to draw every frame and scanning those back into the computer

[sirfrogsworth]

When I got to this photo in Katrina's collection of vintage family imagery, I was pretty stumped as to how to approach it.

There is a major problem when you zoom in to 100%.

The paper it was developed on has little micro bumps. When it was scanned, the light from the scanner caused a highlight on one side of the bump and a shadow on the other. This causes a pattern which is nearly impossible to eliminate using traditional techniques.

The easiest way to fix this is actually quite clever. You scan it once, then turn it upside down and scan it again. The second pass reverses the side the highlight and shadow appear on, so you can combine the images in Photoshop and blend them together, essentially canceling out the bumps. It's weirdly analogous to noise canceling headphones.

But I don't have access to the physical copy of this image.

So... now what?

Enter Fast Fourier Transform or FFT.

This is a filter that uses extra fancy math to recognize patterns in the image and eliminate them. There is a pretty good filter for Photoshop, but it does not work easily with newer Macs with Apple Silicon. I really did not want to figure that out, and I also was too tired to go downstairs to my PC. However, I learned that a Photoshop competitor, Affinity Photo, has this filter built in. So, I downloaded a trial copy and started the process of trying to figure out how to fix this image.

It was amazingly simple. It brings up these star patterns and you just paint black circles over every one but the center. It literally felt like magic. (Full screen with sound recommended)

So once I did this process I ended up with this...

The paper still had a rough texture but it was much easier to work with using traditional techniques. I started with a black and white conversion and meticulously went through the photo zapping scratches and flaws and balancing tones and sharpening facial features. All of my photo restoration tricks were needed.

I eventually landed here...

I then thought maybe I should match the sepia tone of the original print, so I got to here...

I think the black and white looks nicer in this instance, but I always like having options and this is the most faithful representation of how the photo originally looked.

But there is something else I have been playing around with lately. Photoshop has these experimental neural filters that use cloud processing to do various tricky enhancements. Most of them are in beta and they can be very quirky. But they have a colorizer that tries to detect people and things and adds color to them. Not every black and white photo is a good candidate. I have found these professional portrait photos work decently, but the filter is very hit-and-miss. And there are tools within the filter to help you make a miss more of a hit, but often I have to accept the photo isn't going to work.

But I decided to give it a shot with this one and surprisingly, the colorizer got me most of the way there.

I can work with that.

The one thing it does well is skin. Manually painting color onto skin is tricky and requires more skill and knowledge of traditional painting techniques than I have. But if a filter can do that part for me, I can do the rest.

So after my touchups, I got the image to here.

All I have left to do is my standard color enhancements to make them a little less ghostly and a little more human.

And I present to you where I started and the finished product. I encourage you to flip back and forth.

I'm not sure how, but I was able to go from an image I thought was impossible to edit to a beautiful colorized memory for my best friend's mom. I cannot wait to show her.

[novelmonger]

I am now (finally) embarking on the last of the LotR audio commentaries I never listened to before: the Production/Post-Production one, with Barrie Osborne (producer), Mark Ordesky (executive producer), Andrew Lesnie (director of photography), John Gilbert (editor), Rick Porras (co-producer), Howard Shore (composer), and Jim Rygiel (visual effects supervisor). A lot more Americans in this group than the previous ones have been. I feel much more out of my depth with this one in terms of figuring out who's talking, but let's see what new stuff they have to say for FotR!

The sound from when Sauron explodes comes from a bunch of sounds they recorded both inside and outside ships in the harbor, as well as the sounds of WWII airplane propellers.

The scenes with Gollum in the prologue were actually some of the last shots they filmed for FotR.

The farmers around the area where they filmed Hobbiton would warn them when people would turn up who weren't supposed to be there, with cameras and whatnot, as well as warning them when planes or choppers would be overhead, so they could prevent (as much as possible) from footage leaking before the movie was released. That warms my heart :)

They used the analogy of a "shell game" when talking about all the different techniques they used to keep the proportions of characters correct with their different sizes. Because they would switch up the techniques between shots, it helped sell the overall effect, because you're not just always looking at a scale double or a bluescreen or what-have-you.

In the scene with Bilbo and Gandalf in the kitchen, they used forced perspective, with the table cut in half so that everything is small for Gandalf and the right size for Bilbo. When Bilbo pours the tea into the teapot, Gandalf handles a small lid on his side, putting it on a little rod that holds it in the right position so it looks like it's sitting on the teapot. Meanwhile, the actual teapot is on Bilbo's side so he can pour the water into it. Also, when Gandalf is first sitting down at the table and turning to get his legs underneath it, if you look closely you can see that when he bumps up against it, the half of the table closer to the camera jiggles a little, but the other half doesn't because it was actually some 5-10 feet away.

In the shot at the party that pans down from the fireworks and the tree, the actual party with all the dancing and everything was shot in a set, so they had to go back to the Hobbiton location (which had already been cleared of the set at that point, I think) and match up that shot to get the tree, and then they composited it together.

The direction for that shot of Minas Tirith when Gandalf goes to research the Ring was to make it look like "Constantinople in the morning." This may be my favorite part of this commentary :)

They needed to scan actors' faces so they could have their digital doubles to work with for certain shots. When they brought in Ian McKellen to scan his face, they said, "We just need to scan your face in a neutral position." He said, "Neutral for me or neutral for Gandalf?" And he demonstrated his own neutral expression, and when he switched to neutral Gandalf, he looked completely different, pursing his lips and furrowing his eyebrows and sucking his cheeks in more. Truly the sign of a gifted actor who knows how to ply his craft.

In the scene where Frodo and Sam are trying to sleep on the road for the first time, originally they were going to end with some sort of animal sniffing around them. First it was a deer, and they also tried a rabbit and maybe some other animals (possible fox appearance???). But that part didn't even make it into the Extended Edition.

Something I never thought about that they had to pay attention to was, because Orthanc is made of shiny material, they had to consider the color and quality of the light reflecting off it. So when they filmed the real location, they would take the camera and pan around the location, then print out stills and put them up around the miniature when they filmed that part of the shot, so they could get the right colors to match each shot they would composite over it, so it would look like both were in the same place. Now that's what I call attention to detail!

On the night they shot the little chase sequence with the Nazgul in the forest, it was actually raining off and on, even though you can't really see it in the movie. That made the ground very muddy, so the Hobbits actually had to be carried back to their first position for each new take so they wouldn't get too much mud on their feet and clothes.

To get the sounds of the trees' "voices" when the orcs in Isengard tear them down, they actually used several animal sounds like whales, moreso than sounds recorded from actual trees.

Bob Anderson, the swordmaster for the films, said they needed to have five copies of every sword for every actor every day they were going to be fighting with them, because that's how likely it is for them to be broken (since the swords actors use for hitting each other are lighter and not made like a real sword). But Richard Taylor wanted to find a way to make the swords more durable, because there are a lot of swords in these movies. So Weta developed a technique to help the stunt swords redistribute the shock from hitting them against each other. They took polyurethane, which Mark Ordesky notes is the same material as skateboard wheels, and they made a sort of sheath of that under the surface of the hilt. None of the swords they made like that ever broke.

The tree that gets thrown down into the chasm in Isengard had to be a miniature so they could get it high enough to drop it as far as they wanted to (and so they wouldn't have to cut down a huge tree). But they had to add little springs and things to make the branches bounce and jiggle properly, rather than just break off, as they would if you just made a little model tree. Little details like that really sell the scale.

In the Nazgul horseback chase scene, they cleared a path for the horses to safely run through the forest. But then they would also get branches and put them on the car or whatever vehicle had the camera, so it would look like they were pushing through more dense foliage, while still keeping the actors and horses safe.

The Council of Elrond was the final piece of the sound mix they had to finish for FotR, and it was down to a matter of hours. One of the things they mentioned having difficulty figuring out what to do with was the moment when Frodo sets the Ring down on the plinth. Originally, there was going to be a murmur of the crowd watching, but it didn't seem to have the gravitas and stunned awe necessary for that moment, so they had to play around with a lot of things before Peter Jackson was satisfied with it.

When Gimli smashes the Ring with his axe, John Rhys-Davies was actually only holding an empty handle, and the axe head was added digitally later so it could shatter.

Barrie Osborne (I think?) commented on something at least Billy Boyd and Dominic Monaghan, especially Dom, started to do in order to make it more believable that the primary actors and the scale doubles are the same people. He noticed that their scale doubles tended to move and walk in a certain way (I assume partly because most of them were Little People, so their physique and proportions are a bit different), and so instead of leaving it up to them to mimic his movements, he started changing the way he moved to match them. That's just really cool.

Originally, they were going to do a bit of a flashback when Boromir asks Aragorn, "Have you ever seen the white tower..." etc. It would have been shot in the same place as the scene where Aragorn is visiting his mother's grave, and would feature Elrond talking to Aragorn about how he's the only one who can wield Anduril and how he needs to take his place as the king of Gondor.

For some of the close-up shots of Gimli in the scene where they first head into Moria, they actually had to use a double - not a scale double! an actual guy who was the same size as John Rhys-Davies! - because John had such a bad reaction to the facial prosthetics that he had to go a few days in between each time he put it on. But he'd had the prosthetics on the day before, and they didn't have time to wait until he could put them on again. So they had to find a double, put on the prosthetics and costume, and then John stood out of frame and spoke the lines, and the double mouthed the words along with him. I would never have guessed!

THANK YOU TO WHOEVER WAS TALKING AND I'M SORRY I COULDN'T RECOGNIZE YOUR VOICE FOR SURE, but someone was talking about "cinematic dark." In other words, how to light a scene so you can see everything that's happening even though you're in a place with hardly any light sources, like in Moria where the only light comes from the torch and Gandalf's staff most of the time. Instead of making it all really dark (*pointed stare at too many movies these days*), they shot it as if there is a source of light, but always very far away, like it's filtering through miles of rocky caverns or something. What that meant practically was that they would only light the characters in silhouette or from the side, never the front. So it would still give the impression that they're in darkness, but you don't have to strain at all to make out what's happening. They also desaturated the colors so everything looked muted, similar to how your vision kind of goes black-and-white in the dark.

One of the fundamental elements for the Moria goblin screeches was an opossum screech. There was some kind of opossum research facility in Wellington that they went to to record what became the foundation of the goblin sounds. Then they took them and re-recorded them in some WWII tunnels to get the right echoey reverb effect. And then for the sounds of them moving, they took sounds from insects like grasshoppers, as well as rattling seashells from the beach against the walls of the tunnels to get a scuttling sort of sound for when they come pouring out of holes in the ceiling.

You know that one shot where Legolas fires an arrow at a goblin archer and the camera follows the arrow all the way into his forehead? I always assumed that whole thing was all CG, but no! Even that had a practical element to it! They set up a camera on a sort of zip line with a bungee cord and sent it down as fast as it could go towards an actual stunt guy in costume! Now that's what I call above and beyond.

They shot a scene that didn't make it into even the Extended Edition of the Fellowship arguing about what they should do next after they leave Moria, with some members having misgivings about going to Lothlorien. I wish we could see that, even though I understand why they needed to keep things moving. They didn't mention if they actually shot this or if it was scrapped by the time they got that far, but there was also a mention of the entry to Lothlorien being much more frantic, as they're chased by orcs and then rescued by a sudden volley of Elven arrows.

There was also once a longer scene between Boromir and Frodo as they're waiting to see if Haldir will let them into Lothlorien. He tells Frodo a story of him getting over the death of one of his comrades. Um...I wanna see these extra scenes!!!

They wanted Lothlorien to feel ethereal and maybe almost slightly in a different universe, because of the Elves and especially Galadriel, who can see into hearts and minds. One of the ways they did that was by diffusing the light on the set so everything seems kind of dreamy. Another way they tweaked things was by bringing out the blues and edging them towards lavender. Yes, yes, Lothlorien is supposed to be golden, but after hearing the explanation about how lavender is actually one of the hardest colors to get to look right on film (the word used was "fragile") and to look good against skin tones, and therefore you don't see it very much in the movies, I can appreciate the subtle ways they tried to make Lothlorien feel distinct.

Originally, they were going to have a scene where the Fellowship goes through some rapids on the Anduin and get ambushed by orc archers. Ultimately, they decided they didn't need that as a story beat at that point, and it would have been very difficult to shoot anyway. Makes me wonder if that influenced the infamous barrel scene from the Hobbit movies, like they dug up some old plans for that....

Except for one wide shot where they used a scale double for Frodo, the entire confrontation between Boromir and Frodo was shot just with Sean Bean and Elijah Wood, no special effects, just strategic blocking and using the slope and different angles to their advantage to always make it look like Frodo is smaller than Boromir.

If I understood Howard Shore correctly, he was inspired to use a boy's choir for Boromir's death when he saw Boromir, after falling to his knees from the first arrow or two, looking up at Merry and Pippin. Boys singing at his death gives a sense of lost innocence, which is appropriate both to Boromir trying to take the Ring as well as to the lost innocence of losing the Hobbits. So it's not just a lament for Boromir, it's also his lament for (as he thinks in the moment, because he knows he's dying) failing the Hobbits.

The original mix for Boromir's death had all the sound effects at full volume, which made the moment even more brutal. Mark Ordesky was saying that he (and probably some others) was thinking it might be better if they pulled back on some of the sound and let the music be louder. Peter Jackson said, "Well, let's try it," and as soon as they turned down the volume, the entire room basically agreed immediately that's how they needed to do it. It's meant to sound and feel almost like you're sinking underwater as Boromir is dying, because that's how it would sound and feel for him.

Oh my goodness, further proof that studio execs shouldn't have a say in the story of a movie. New Line wanted the movie to end with Frodo and Sam paddling across the river, and then an Uruk bursts up from underwater and grabs Frodo, pulling him out of the boat. The Ring somehow comes off the chain, and the Uruk is so enamored with it that he ends up drowning while trying to grab it. Then Sam somehow gets Frodo (and the Ring) back into the boat. Thank goodness they came up with the much better ending we all know and love. Because the people actually involved with writing the movie and telling its story knew that the ending of FotR needs to be about the breaking of the Fellowship, about love and loyalty in the face of great evil. So that's why they went with the ending they did: Sam falls into the water and almost drowns, Frodo saves him, and that paves the way for the incredible emotional high of Frodo leaving the Fellowship, but Sam going with him. And just like Frodo is thinking about how Gandalf talked about how he was meant to find the Ring, Sam is thinking about how Gandalf told him not to leave Frodo. It all ties together so much better.

The last shot for the film was Boromir going over the waterfall. It was in the final cut of the movie just as a previs shot, and Barrie Osborne said he assumed it was going to be a CG effect or something. But finally, while Peter Jackson was in London working on scoring the film - so pretty late in the production - Barrie called him and asked when they were going to shoot that scene. Peter Jackson had forgotten about it! So Barrie had to shoot it, and since they didn't have the actors in New Zealand at that point, they had to get Weta to make a silicon dummy to shoot instead.

[gaoau]

i talked to God today

theory of the two demons warnings — none word count — 3.1k note — i usually call my stuff a character analysis disguised as a self insert fic, but tbh im not sure how confident i am in claiming this to be me psychoanalyzing dazai and co, but take it as you will. also, although im taking most of my character analysis from the light novels, if you havent read them, dont worry. the fic will be spoiler free, except for a couple names thrown around that you dont have to worry about. for those who have read the light novels, this will take place from a bit before storm bringer up to some time before dark era

next.

"what are you reading there?"

"it's a theory about times of war."

"what does it say?"

"it's called the theory of the two demons. it states that to combat a great evil, you need an even greater evil. say, for uprisings against the government, the government can infringe human rights for the sake of peace. persecution, forced disappearances, execution, among other examples. one is worse than the other, but both are bad, however, it's all for the greater good."

"that's interesting. how come the worst one wins?"

"however bad the method is, it produces good results. not everyone can be a greater demon, though. i read a book once with a similar concept, but it talked about ordinary and extraordinary people."

"really? what are we?"

"neither. ordinary people are your every day citizens. extraordinary are those like historical leaders who brought good with crime; heroes who didn't care about the bloodshed of ordinary people as long as it helped their good cause."

"two demons against each other, but one is more evil…"

"every crime comes with its punishment. sometimes the punishment is just a bigger crime."

"only a demon can kill a demon, huh?"

"yes, that's a good analogy, Dazai-san."

Dazai Osamu knows potential when he sees it. a bit of a demonstration, statistics printed on files, the look in someone's eyes—he can easily tell what will work and what won't. he dismisses the guards at Mori's door and enters the office with weightless steps. the first thing he notices is the kid sitting on a chair next to Mori; the second thing he notices is Mori's sly smirk; the third thing he notices is potential. the information pours into his brain with ease, processed as soon as it reaches him. this kid cannot be any older than him, nor can they be much younger. he knows this for a fact because he's read their basic information already.

this is [Surname] [Name]. Dazai recently fetched them from the ruins of an orphanage on Mori's order.

as he makes his way across the room and towards the desk, he tries his luck at eye contact with the new recruit. he meets their eyes, but there's nothing there. they blink, staring straight at him, and he can tell they're mistaking him for another shadow. a blank, silent, expressionless glare to contain and appease the sharp waves of ire contaminating the air. Dazai keeps his smile to himself so Mori won't pry.

[Name] sits quietly, hugging their knees to their chest, hiding the lower part of their face. they've trained themself to not take any space, pretend they aren't there at all, but their anger is spacious and selfish.

"Dazai-kun," Mori starts, tearing Dazai's attention away from the kid. his palm lands on [Name]'s head, but they don't budge an inch. Dazai wonders if it doesn't burn. "i trust you remember [Name]-kun. i'd like to ask you to train them." he removes his hand from [Name] to pick up a stack of files on his desk. as he slides them over to Dazai, who curiously starts scanning over the information, he continues, "their ability is good, but you know that's not enough here."

with a hum, Dazai marvels at the papers he's reading. it's not common for a person's ability to be as thoroughly documented as [Name]'s appears to be. its name, strength and weaknesses, utility, power, versatility—logs upon logs of valuable information on just one ability, dating all the way back to the moment [Name] was born. it's interesting, to say the least.

"i see why you wanted to recruit them," is all the input Dazai has to offer. the smile of an excited boy settles on his lips as he grins at Mori. he'll memorize all of these recorded experiments in a snap and then use them to the Port Mafia's advantage. that's what Mori is leaving them under his care for, after all. "alright, i'll handle them." his eye shifts to [Name] and their hollow stare. "i'll be waiting for you in the training rooms downstairs." he doesn't wait for a reply that won't come, instead leaving the office with a wave of his hand.

Mori smiles crookedly at the closed doors. he lets a chuckle fall off his tongue, turning on his seat to face [Name]. the black suit he provided looks big on them; they look big on themself. there's only so many of this type of child he can save.

from his desk drawer, he produces a cheap, stainless steel bracelet. the leaf charms jingle as he dangles it in front of [Name]. he notices the way their pupils come alive to try and focus on the jewelry. "do you recognize this, [Name]-kun?" he prompts, letting the bracelet fall on their knees.

for the first time since they sat down, Mori sees them take up space as they start moving. they're quick to plant their feet on the ground, hurrying to catch the steel chain before it slides to the floor. "no," [Name] replies quietly, their voice ringing with a calm and soothing lilt, unnervingly similar to a lullaby. "should i?" it's not much, but it's more than he thought them capable of.

speechless, Mori stares for a brief moment into the hollow eyes of a child. this kid feels awfully familiar, like they've been by his side for two years, like they've witnessed his crimes. he hopes this scheme of his will work out. he gives them an almost fatherly smile that doesn't fit him. "i suppose not. though you'll need it if you want to find your father."

[Name] inspects the bracelet with close attention. they'll need it if they want to find their father—which they do, it's one of the few reasons they are here in the first place. the metal is cold against their skin when they close their fist around it gently. it's a hint of what their life could have been like. it's dead. they don't consider wearing it, opting to pocket it to keep it safe.

"now, don't keep Dazai-kun waiting." there's a youthful bounce on the edge of Mori's words; a light chuckle to cover up the hell that awaits the new recruit. he lets it peek through mischievously when he closes his eyes and grins innocently. "he isn't very patient."

underground the Port Mafia headquarters, somewhere deep in the basement, there are training rooms properly designed to sustain destructive power from abilities strong enough to demolish buildings in a snap. this is where the mafia trains its ability users and turns them into the greatest pawns for the sake of the organization. relentlessly, mercilessly, children and adults alike undergo the same training once they fall into the mafia's clutches. [Name] will be no different, especially considering who will beat them into shape.

when they enter the room, Dazai is already waiting for them inside as he finishes reading the files from earlier. he glances up at [Name] with a bored eye, his right one covered by clean bandages. Mori said he isn't very patient. Mori must know what he's talking about. [Name]'s hairs stand on edge, suddenly wary of the young boy leaning against the wall like he's waiting for his parents to pick him up from school. they know they didn't take long enough for him to go through the hundreds of pages, but he quickly scans the last paragraph and then stands straight on his feet.

[Name] is worried. they take a step back on instinct.

Dazai lets the stack of papers fall from his hand and scatter on the ground. he won't need them anymore; he's got all the information he needs in his head now. "you're a force to be reckoned with, huh, kid?" his voice echoes in the room as he faces the new recruit fully. he ignores the caution in their every muscle.

there's something off here, [Name] realizes. they think it's funny for a moment, how this kid is addressing them like he's so much older and wiser. he cannot be any younger than them, nor can he be much older. he might just be a lot smarter than he's letting on; it shows in whatever that expression curling his lips up is.

with a seemingly exhausted sigh, Dazai walks closer to them, feet weightless. "attack me with all you've got."

a frown soils [Name]'s face for a brief second. they know how much power they have stocked up on from a few weeks ago. they know it's enough to kill a scrawny kid like Dazai in the blink of an eye. it wouldn't be wise to murder a coworker on their first day on the job.

"i don't think i should." they don't like the sound of their own voice echoing so loudly.

"i've read your files," Dazai hums.

"so?"

a bandaged hand reaches up to scratch the back of his head as he sighs again. he mutters some curses under his breath, exasperated. "listen," he starts, a sharp hiss stabbing alert into [Name]. "Mori-san left you under my care, so you should do what i say from now on."

[Name] gives it a second, before removing their black blazer and rolling up their sleeves. Dazai peers curiously at their arms. they think they don't like the Port Mafia. if this is how it operates and this is who it operates with, their time will drain before they can fulfill their goals. they can't guess what it is Mori will gain from this. it's a terrifying thought. it makes the blood boil in their veins.

they'll put up with it. they'll watch their own back. they'll let it simmer for a little longer. they'll burn.

for now.

an orange glow surrounds their body when their ability activates, sending surges of power from the tips of their fingers to their every nerve. it doesn't feel any different; gravity isn't any lighter, the air isn't any clearer, their vision isn't any sharper. the changes in their physique only show the moment they're attacked. with Dazai defenseless and idly standing, he won't get to see their ability in action before he's pummeled into the ground. they should hold back just for a demonstration, but he said all you've got. 

maybe he miscalculated. 

[Name] darts across the room towards their target, brows furrowed at Dazai's nonchalant stance. he raises his palm up and reaches towards their shoulder. they don't bother dodging, instead swinging their fist at his face. no matter if he touches them or not, nothing he hits them with will have an effect.

confidence suits Dazai more than miscalculations do.

the gap in the seconds is small, but it's enough; his palm lands on them before they can punch him. the glow from their ability vanishes instantly. their fist is absurdly weak as it smacks Dazai's cheek. he turns his head to the side while still keeping his eye on [Name]. their gaze is wide in confusion. blood pounds in their ears. Dazai makes a move and their heart sinks to their stomach.

they realize he isn't as scrawny as he looks. with one kick to their ribcage, [Name] flies towards the farthest wall to their right. the structure doesn't budge when they slam into it, bouncing off before dropping on the floor like a ragdoll. they taste blood. their body hurts—agonizingly so. they can't move.

Dazai's footsteps echo when he approaches them. he stares down at them like they're a scrap of paper littering the ground. "lesson number one: don't rely on your ability alone," he states, bored, and it sounds like he's underwater. with trembling limbs, [Name] tries to get up. their hands are blurry. Dazai stands in front of them. his shoes are blurry. "let's get to work. you've got a lot of training to do."

[Name] staggers to their feet instantly. Dazai isn't very patient.

frantic gasps for air echo through the room, bouncing off every corner to pierce back into [Name]'s ears. they hear the desperate panting, wondering why it sounds so muffled or when the cotton got into their ears. although their vision is blurry, they can make out the lights in the ceiling—only the one that is blinking, the other ones all look like blobs of brightness. when they gulp thickly and the gasps stop briefly, they realize they are the one struggling to breathe.

for a scrawny kid, Dazai can sure pack a punch—and then some. he didn't even break a sweat. he stands there, looking down at his new mentee lying on a puddle of their own blood, bored. their shirt used to be white, he notices. it's like they're nothing but a stain on the wall. (a wall which, albeit built to last, he managed to chip some debris off of while kicking [Name] around.)

slowly, as [Name]'s watery eyes focus and Dazai becomes more than a moving smudge, the pain starts settling in their body. their spine, their arms, their legs, their every muscle. something must be broken. with every breath they take, the bruises and open wounds Dazai so kindly gifted them ache as if they were being set on fire. the taste of blood overflowing in their mouth is nauseating.

"get cleaned up," Dazai's voice cuts through their choked breathing. he says it so casually, like he isn't watching them suffering and bleeding out on the ground. it stings in their ears. "we'll continue tomorrow. i'll use a gun, so be ready."

it sounds so weightless and calm that [Name] thinks it should be soothing. it isn't, though, it's alarming, and they continue to struggle to catch their breath as Dazai stares. there's not a chance they can move and get cleaned up like this. it's familiar. they've been here before—not here, but somewhere awfully similar, somewhere they'd abandoned, somewhere that had been done and over with not too long ago. it's here again. [Name] realizes it's here again. they don't want to be here.

ah, so that's how it is.

not that it matters anymore. all they need is time.

as their breathing regulates, their consciousness starts to fade. Dazai curiously scans them up and down while waiting for them to mutter out at least a strained yes. there's so much rage in their gaze, but it amounts to nothing in the state they're in. when no reply comes and their head lolls to the side, he forces out an aggravated sigh from between his teeth.

he leans over [Name] to be in their full view, an empty smile adorning his face. "about those scars on your arms…" he starts, trailing off, giving them enough time to react. they struggle to keep their eyes open. "you might want to cover them up." it's earnest advice—or as earnest as Dazai can get—he speaks from experience. his kindness goes as far as to unwrap the bandages around his head, the cleanest ones he has on him right now.

the cloth flutters and falls on [Name]'s chest. they try to catch a glimpse of Dazai's face, but all they see is the blinding lights on the ceiling as their mentor walks away. his footsteps echo, fading until he's out the door. the bandages soak up their blood.

if they were to die here, [Name] figures it wouldn't be too bad. (if they were to die here, it has a name, [Name] figures, it's dissonant.) given, they haven't finished yet, but they've known all along just how easy it is. something that they can take and something that can be taken from them. something they don't want anymore and something they have to protect. something excruciatingly painful that makes them want to sob, purely and innocently. something excruciatingly painful that makes Dazai want to sob, too.

something they hate. someone they hate. someone they want to hate. unreasonably so.

[Name] hears the lock click shut and promptly passes out.

it comes in waves. first it's the same blinking lights on the ceiling, then it's darkness again. once more, the puddle of blood underneath them, then darkness again. the echoes of their own breaths, the darkness. it repeats, over and over. [Name] doesn't know how long it's been since Dazai left them here.

when they pry their eyes open again, there are no lights on the ceiling—at least, none they can see through hazy eyes. the ceiling is so high up and so obnoxiously white that it's almost sickening. everything in this room is too sterile, too clean, too sickening. the bed, the tiles on the floor, the uniform, the straps, the mirror, even the cameras, especially the needles.

the only dirty, unclean thing occupying space is [Name]. they squint up to try and make out where the white walls end and their freedom starts. they find their freedom is underneath them, on the growing puddle of blood pouring from their arms. somewhere among all the cotton stuffed in their ears, they can hear alarms blaring.

usually, they're loud and annoying, but right now… right now, they can barely process a single sound that isn't their own heart beating in their brain. [Name] hears the lock click open and promptly passes out; darkness again.

it's hard to tell how much time has gone by. is it midnight? maybe even morning? they don't know how many times it's been. all they see is the mocking, flickering light above them—clearly this time. they've long stopped bleeding, coagulated blood settled on their wounds. the door is still closed, just as Dazai left it. they figure no one is coming for them here.

they're not that valuable anymore.

with an agonizing ache shooting through their nerves, [Name] rolls over on their own blood. it's disgustingly tacky when they sink their palm firmly into it to push themself off the floor. the bandages Dazai had left on their chest, now soaked in darkening stains, form a filthy pile on the ground. they stumble, limbs numb, nearly crashing back down. their vision darkens and blurs briefly once they stand on their feet. with gritted teeth—is it in excruciating pain or restrained anger?—they really hope there's an infirmary of some sort in this building.

note — the title of this fic is based off a rhetorical theory regarding times of civil war and military dictatorship in argentina. i never particularly cared about this theory in the context it is actually used in, so i decided to twist it to my liking. if youre interested in the actual theory, heres a link to the wikipedia page explaining the idea. although they both stem from the same concept, my take on it doesnt quite fit the real thing, so theyre meant to be separate. honestly im unsure if this is copyright infringement in any way, but i doubt some argentine philosopher is gonna come for me on a similar note, the "ordinary and extraordinary people" talk in the cold open is paraphrasing from rodyas dialogue about his article on crime in dostoevskys "crime and punishment". i love dostoevskys works and i think its really funny to use concepts written in his novels on bsd dazai when knowing he goes up against bsd fyodor as his best match thank you for reading drink water bye

[thedawner]

your art is amazing! i have to aks - what kind of paper do you use? :0

Thank you! For traditional media, I use a mix, but right now I work in a sketchbook with pages that feel like cotton paper. It looks kind of like this:

For bigger works I use this one:

And my favorite ever sketchbook is the Khadi fat book:

I also like these!

For digital media, I use these:

And some of my own scanned stuff!

[tildeathiwillwrite]

The Thief has Now Committed Arson

The Watcher and the Thief, Chapter 2 Scene 2

June of Doom Day 14: "What were you thinking?" / Surrender / Human Shield / Outmatched

Prompts List | Masterpost

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

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Fandom: Original Work

Words: 1800

Tag List: @juneofdoom @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion

@scaewolf

CW: deception, thievery, being watched, monster, scratches, claw wounds, stress position, explosion, fire, book burning, arson, swearing

A/N: You read that correctly.

----------

The Draigo archives was a majestic building, second only to the Council chambers with its detailed stone pillars and intricately carved architecture composed of both wood and stone. Rift mentally calculated the cost of the construction as he entered through the massive double doors made of thick, dark wood inlaid with reliefs. 

This building alone was worth almost as much as the entire city of Valdove, by his estimation. The Draigo could certainly afford to miss one of their fancy little gemstones. Even if it was supposedly rarer than a kind-hearted magician.

Rift chuckled to himself at the analogy as he surveyed the archives. Shelves upon shelves packed near to bursting with books and tomes and scrolls sprawled before him, a nearly endless maze of knowledge. Artifacts rested on open display on wood and stone pedestals scattered throughout the archives, not even a barrier of glass between them and potential onlookers.

It was almost too easy.

Almost.

He had to find the damned gem first.

His employer had given him a detailed description of the specific gemstone he wanted stolen. Notably, it didn’t even appear to be a gemstone at all, but rather a pretty shard of opaque sea glass, yellowish orange in color. Of course, his mysterious employer had refused to clarify, so Rift was left to wonder why in the depths it was so valuable.

Rift was unlikely to find out even after he delivered the cargo, so he put the thought out of his mind and entered the archives proper, casually strolling through the standing bookcases and pretending to read the titles printed neatly on some of the spines. He subtly scanned each artifact display that he passed, seeking a gemstone that matched the description.

He was so engrossed in his search that he nearly ran into the Draigo woman before noticing her. “Oh!” he exclaimed, grabbing her arm to stabilize her as she stumbled back in shock and nearly fell into one of the nearby bookcases, “my deepest apologies, madam! I was so captivated browsing the tomes that I didn’t see you there.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, tucking a lock of curly red hair behind her ear, “I must apologize as well. I assumed we wouldn’t have any visitors until after the meeting ended and Miss Sorro returned.”

“Of course,” Rift agreed, chuckling softly, “I would be at the meeting as well, except I have only  just arrived from a long journey.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “If I may be completely honest, the last thing I want after my journey is to sit in a crowded meeting hall listening to a bunch of stuffy officials talk in circles.”

The woman smiled at that. “The only reason I’m not there myself is because Miss Sorro—Skylyn, the head archivist—is attending on behalf of the archives and there always has to be an archivist here.” She shrugged. “Everyone volunteered, but she chose me.”

“If she’s the one in charge of this wonderful place, I certainly trust her judgment.” Rift gave a slight bow. “My name’s Theodoric Graves, and I am an agent from the far east stronghold.”

“From across the ocean?”

“The very same. I’d always heard wonderful things about this archive, so I decided to visit while waiting for the meeting to end. And you are…?”

“Oh!” The woman blushed. “My apologies. I’m Amari Kieran, acting head archivist. What sort of business brings you from so far away?”

Rift shook his head. “Unfortunately, that information is classified.”

“Oh… of course, that is to be expected. Apologies for prying, my curiosity got the better of me.”

He shifted from one foot to the other, nervousness curling in his stomach. How much longer was the Council meeting going to last? “Say… I’ve heard many things about the artifacts displayed here, and I’m very curious about some of them. Why don’t you show me around the archives for a little while, until the meeting ends?”

“Oh!” Amari brightened. “I don’t think the meeting will last for much longer, so how about I start with my personal favorites and we go from there?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Okay!” She spun around and started walking, not even checking to make sure he was following behind her. Rift almost had to run to keep up, her pace was brutal.

The first artifact display they stopped at was a stone mask, carved with intricate symbols that Rift recognized to be runes. “This one here,” Amari began, “belonged to one of the Cardinal Points, the magician of the south herself. The runes are incredibly complex, and….”

Rift tuned out most of her words, pretending to nod and listen while keeping an eye out for the gem. He’d already clocked most of the items he saw as objects of immense power or historical significance, sometimes both, setting them at hundreds of millions worth of gold each for the right buyer. Shame he was only here for one item….

Amari finished whatever she was saying about the mask and moved on, walking just as quickly to the next artifact, this one several rows of bookcases deep into the archives. “This gauntlet is composed of a metal rumored to grant its wielder strength equal to that of ten sang.”

Rift blinked in shock that wasn’t completely feigned. “I… what? Ten sang? From a glove?!”

Amari nodded earnestly, smiling at his surprise. “Indeed! No other artifact has been found across all four strongholds that matches its worth. Of course, we can’t have something like that out in the world to be used for evil purposes. Its first documented appearance was in the year….”

His stomach churned as his eyes darted around the archive. Why was he so nervous all of a sudden? No one else was around but Amari, and she had no intention of harming him, no knowledge of what he planned to do.

So why did he feel like he was being watched by unfriendly eyes?

Amari moved on again so suddenly he almost didn’t notice her departure, swiftly vanishing ever deeper among the maze of knowledge and danger. When he reached the display she stopped at, his mouth almost dropped.

There, draped on a smooth chunk of stone, was the gemstone he sought. It truly did appear to be made of sea glass, yellowish orange in hue. The gem was attached to a thin chain of dark metal and didn’t look anything more than a pretty necklace. But Rift’s employer wanted it, so that was what Rift was going to steal.

“What’s this?” He finally said, shoving down his excitement.

“It doesn’t appear like much, does it?” Amari asked, noting the look on his face. What she thought of it, he couldn’t guess, her expression of excitement remained unchanged.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Then why do you want it so badly?”

Rift blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

Amari’s expression was now cold as ice. “You came here searching for something. Something to steal from the archives, while everyone else is busy at the Council meeting. You deceived everyone you came across, and you attempted to deceive me. Explain yourself, and perhaps I may let you live.”

Rift forced out a laugh. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Amari. This is ridiculous.”

“You’re right. It is ridiculous.” Her eyes narrowed. “Ridiculous how a common thief such as yourself thinks he can just waltz into the archives and take what he wants!”

“A common thief!” Rift exclaimed, heart pounding in his ears. “Quite the accusation.”

Amari’s eyes darkened, and this time when she spoke, a lick of flame darted from her lips. It winked out immediately. “You continue to lie to me. You had your chance.”

Before Rift could ask what she was talking about, she snapped her fingers. The sound echoed eerily throughout the archive, bouncing off the stone walls and floor. For a long moment, nothing happened. He wondered if she was bluffing.

And then he was tackled from behind.

Rift cried out as sharp talons dug into his left shoulder, slicing through skin and muscle and sinew and scraping against bone. Pain coursed across his nervous system as his arm went numb and the claws that wounded him began to lift him off his feet and into the air. 

White light streaked across his vision as he screamed, fire flowing through his veins, burning in his shoulder and at his right side.

Wait. His side? That was where… where….

Rift slowly reached into his pocket, his fingers closing around the strange object given to him by his employer. It was hot to the touch, like it had been left in a flame for too long. Why was it burning…?

Oh.

Oh!

Rift slowly, the movement sending more pain through his shoulder, more white light through his vision, ever so slowly, withdrew the object from his pocket and, before he could second-guess himself, flicked it behind him, at whatever creature was holding him in place.

No sooner had the object left his hand before an explosion rocked the archive. Rift was flung out of the grasp of the creature and slammed bodily into the stone pedestal, ears ringing, the scent of singed something filling his nose.

He groaned, shoulder throbbing, head pounding, the taste of heat and ash in his mouth as he opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by fire. Starving, ravenous fire that surged towards the bookcases, hungrily devouring the tomes and scrolls that rested on their shelves. Amari was nowhere in sight.

Rift quickly got to his feet, gritting his teeth as his head spun, and frantically searched for the gemstone. His eyes finally found it, lying on the ground a few feet away. He scooped it up and shoved it into his pocket before immediately taking off at a sprint despite how his body screamed at him to stop, to bandage his wounds, to do something other than run.

But if he didn’t get out now, he would never leave.

Either the fire got him, or the Draigo did.

He passed by the gauntlet on his way out and snatched it from its pedestal. “What were you thinking?” He cursed himself as he altered his course and grabbed the mask as well. “You’re just asking to get yourself hunted down!”

He was dead either way.

Disguise or no, he didn’t believe Amari wouldn’t track him down with whatever abomination from the depths she’d used to catch him. Which was why he needed to get as far away as possible with his prizes before the Draigo regrouped.

He’d blown up the Draigo stronghold.

Celestials.

He was so fucked.

[badbatchenthusiast]

how to do well at school

(work smarter not harder)

i’m trying to compile a list of what’s been working for me academically especially with all the fun side effects of being autistic in the education system (and the variable motivation/executive functioning that comes with it). queuing this forever so i remember to apply these, but if they help you feel free to let me know how it goes!!

1.) Print out notes.

To be fair, this only really works if you have access to a reliable printer, but I imagine a sizeable percentage of people do. For me it was definitely worth investing in one. This is enormously helpful for several reasons:

no need to make notes in class - it’s all there, in front of you, like subtitles to the lesson. makes it so much easier to follow the class and if you miss a day because you’re ill/not coping/have zoned out for 30 mins, you’re not missing valuable content you’re going to need to read up on later

annotating pre-printed notes with little details the teacher is saying adds valuable context and information, and allows you to write in analogies/mnemonics/key evidence/links to other parts of the course in a really different style to the main notes so it doesn’t get confusing to read (annotating hand-written notes can get messy)

having a physically printed copy makes it feel more real, and therefore less likely to disappear in your mind, than just electronic notes. handling actual paper is also less tiring than sitting with a laptop/tablet in a lesson and typing (especially for me)

having that day/week’s notes pre-printed over the weekend makes you feel much more organised and is hours less work than doing pre-learning by handwriting notes

if you type up the notes yourself into a table on word with key word/subtitle/question on one side and definition/answer/explanation on the other, you’re transforming the textbook information into new information, which is very valuable revision and will help with keeping it in your mind; it’s like flashcards, but in note form, and helps chunk content into more manageable pieces

i struggle with processing speed. listening to information *and* comprehending it *and* taking notes at the same time is too much, especially when people talk much faster than i can write. having it all pre-written means i can focus on just understanding and consolidating, and by the time we’re set homework i don’t have note-completion and content-learning to do on top of it

it helps with understanding of the course, in terms of what you need to cover in which topics and what’s coming up next

the best thing about this is it allows for a lot of flexibility in terms of how much time/effort you put into it. on days where i have the energy to sit and learn, i’ll make detailed notes on an upcoming topic with bulletpoints from the textbook and added links to our wider reading, or google context to anything i don’t get. on days where it’s not happening, i’ll copy paste from a reliable revision source/scan a page of the book and be done.

2.) Copy out answers before attempting questions yourself.

definitely one of the least motivating things when doing questions is not knowing how to start, or how to get the answer. a quick way to fix that and get more confidence is to copy out/annotate pre-written example answers or solutions from the textbook or mark scheme. this gives you a sort of blueprint to follow, and makes your time less wasteful if you’re often going straight into questions only to get half of them wrong.

youtube videos with example problems are also really great for this. pause the video before the solution starts and try to work through as far as you can, and when you get stuck unpause and finish copying out the working. doing this before starting homework gets you a higher grade on them and means you’re not wasting time getting things wrong, learning it incorrectly, and only finding out when you get it back.

for essay-based subjects, asking for exemplary answers to annotate is also very helpful. note down use of structure, sentence starts used, anything that you find is good about it and helps it meet the criteria. then, try and write a response to a different question in the same or similar style. get that marked, get feedback, try again.

3.) Practice questions are worth more than anything.

don’t waste time making hundreds of versions of your notes or exclusively rereading flashcards/the textbook. this might be helpful for content learning early on, but long-term retention and exam technique only come with practice. it’s annoying, sure, but works like a charm. so:

test yourself regularly - identify gaps in your knowledge and work to patch them, then test yourself again

get a feel for what kind of questions are usually asked in exams and write your own, then answer them - this, with time, will make exams predictable, or at the very least make you better at understanding what questions want from you

if your teacher lets you have extra practice questions marked, use them as an incredibly helpful source of feedback for improvement so there’s not such a steep learning curve with the first few assignments. if they don’t, use assignments intelligently to see what gets you marks and what doesn’t, then use the feedback on that to revise your technique and improve. if you do badly and don’t learn from it, this is a waste.

for the most part, teachers are on your side and want you to learn. if you’re stuck and don’t know how to answer questions/get correct answers, chances are there’s someone you can go to.

4.) Interesting information is your friend.

draw diagrams. make mindmaps. add pictures to your notes. colour code by topic. highlight things. annotate little fun facts. anything to prevent notes from becoming walls of off-grey text that you can’t be bothered to read. this also has the added benefit of being more interesting to do. so if you have a process to learn, make a flow chart with funky shapes. if it’s context you’re adding, make a timeline or spider diagram. type in memorable little comments or jokes that will help you understand things. copy out graphs and models and doodle important people’s faces. this sticks.

and if you’re feeling really outlandish, make some memes! even if they’re really bad. but for information you absolutely need to know and simply have to memorise, a bad rhyme or punchline will make it much easier to keep in your head, especially when it’s associated with something you enjoy and already think about a lot. finding creative ways to transform information helps the learning process tremendously, even if you just end up writing fanfiction of your favourite characters learning it too.

5.) Have a routine.

set out clear and consistent times to do work, where it’s hard to get distracted. any time spend working (if you’re working smart) stacks up, so that 20 minute train ride where you’d otherwise be scrolling? do some reading. organise your notes. do a problem or two.

consistency is key with learning. our brains aren’t made for storing irrelevant information, so keep everything relevant. to be fair, sometimes this does require an interest in learning not everyone has, but if you can engage with your subject critically and start thinking about it in your day-to-day life, getting into the habit of noticing things and going “oh, this key thinker would’ve hated this magazine” or “woah, i know the equation for the motion of this pen i just chucked” i think makes a real difference between doing well and excelling.

using spaces where you won’t be tempted to other things is also useful. if you have responsibilities when you get home, spend an hour at the library. meet your friends after 5, until then you’ve got homework. keep mealtimes, sleep and work schedules consistent and it’ll be harder for you to forget or have other things come in your way. this doesn’t need to be hours and hours, either; an hour a day that you can sit and reread your notes when you have a spare moment, bullet point an answer to an exam question to test yourself, annotate information you missed, do some wider reading, watch a youtube video on a topic you didn’t get — this all stacks up, and quickly. working smart is using the time you have as usefully as possible, and that starts with finding time you’re currently not doing much with.

[rachaelmayo]

This is a color variant for Opal Sun which I completed in 2014.

Linework and pencilwork are below the text block, for those who are curious about different "phases" of a project.

This dragon design was inspired by the architectural and ornamental art of Bali and parts of Indonesia. I love the architectural flourishes that look like flames, feathers, plants, and dragons (as well as the way dragons and serpents from these areas of the world are depicted).

The original Opal Sun was done without any inking, so I printed off the pencilwork and went over it with Micron pens. I scan each major stage of a project, as I like to keep records and also may make use of earlier phases, as I did here. I'm glad I did, as I've been able to repurpose the pencil drawings as lineart for my coloring books. The image above is a test-drive that makes use of the "analog" line drawing.

I wanted a different, but similar, range of colors for this version of the dragon. If I remember correctly, the wings were the first thing I colored, and I used them to determine the color range of the rest of the dragon's body parts. It wound up with more of the pinky-lavenders than is normally my wont, but I liked the effect of both the colors and the gradations, and so kept them.

I made this with ink, Prismacolor pencil, one "druzy" acrylic shiny bit, and some Photoshop tweaking. (The black background needed to be "smoothed", as the scanner seemed to pick up every stroke of the colored pencils.)

Below is the linework before coloring (but after I cleaned it up in Photoshop), and also the original pencil drawing that I used for both versions of Opal Sun.

[vintageslideshow]

dammit, look what fell into my cart today

It happened again: today's thrifted slide/neg/print scanner is a Kodak P461. With the Kodak name on it, you would expect high quality.

But no, not quite, it was made by Pandigital in 2010, and they produced many fine products in the "best try" category. (Eight years later I still can't find my Pandigital e-reader that uses Android 3.) But with a $6 pricetag I can't complain about whatever I get. So this beast can scan prints up to 4x6 at 300dpi or 600dpi and slides at 1200dpi. The only things missing from this box are the manual (this is what the Internet is for) and half of the included MicroSD card, plus they pried the SD card adaptor open. Uh, okay, that's some pent-up aggressions there, so I'll just use one of my stray SD cards, thank you. Also included for some reason was a Targus SD card reader, so maybe that's just a swap or peace offering for the destroyed storage. Happily included are the calibration sheet, the slide and film adaptors, and the three cleaner accessories, along with the power cord and USB cable -- this scans to the SD card and runs on four AA batteries, but can be plugged into the wall and connected to the computer to either use the card as a memory device in My Computer or (with Kodak's drivers, which were on the destroyed card) saved directly to the computer. Another one of those "no computer needed, just give me a photo and I'll scan it to the card" doohickies. The difference between this Kodak (and last time's VuPoint) and most other standalones is this thing actually does scan rather than just take a photo. So you'd think the pictures would come out better?

Using the same slides for demo as I have used in the past...

Same issue -- despite scanning at 1200dpi they come out a bit jaggy despite the original being an analog film photo. Okay, so now let's try the print from a previous test also:

I will grant them credit that the sensor calibrator sheet works. I will also tell you that no matter how many times and ways I have cleaned it (by the instructions: use the cleaner tool; by geek standards: use canned air) there's still dust on the result that isn't on the print, just a lot less streaking than in the previous three runs through; the right photo is a zoom so you can see the dust more clearly.

But like the VuPoint, it automatically senses the edges incorrectly. Side-by-side are the result of scanning the last Hippies slide and what the thing really looks like according to my Epson scanner:

The purpose of the purple across the bottom is padding I put so the two images would be the same length and centering... thus you note that the top is the top, the right side is the right side, the left side got cropped by about 40 pixels, and the bottom was cropped by 117 pixels. I have no complaints about the color this time, though. The grain, yes, and the fact that it cropped the tail for no reason, but not the Kodak's slightly 'cooler' take and better balance that reduced the sunny golden tone and clarified the people in blue in the background to make the photo more aesthetic.

So I rate this one a bit higher than the last one, but still a quick and dirty amateur solution rather than anything you should rely on.

[bonyfish]

The two hobbies of mine I am the most immersed in right now are analog photography and tinkering with Linux on this scratch-and-dent refurbished no-longer-a-chromebook that I bought, and I find that kind of funny. Juggling tech from 1974 and tech from 2021. That said, given the amount of scanning and 3D printing that's currently happening in my film hobby, the levels of technology are not all that dissimilar. They also overlap in that I've purchased two heavily discounted pieces of tech and am now very tenderly getting all up in their respective businesses.

[kolajmag]

FROM THE ARTIST DIRECTORY

Vibrant, Narratively Rich Scenes

Northampton, Massachusetts, USA. Lachlan Thompson creates works of art that blend analog and digital materials and techniques to create vibrant, narratively rich scenes. Much of their work begins as analog collages, assembled through photographs, magazine collections–particularly political and psychological publications, as well as hand-me-down writings from largely transgender and other marginalized authors. They then scan their analog work, and digitally layer and manipulate it. When sourcing digital materials, they are particularly focused on using publicly available imagery, such as stock images and materials from digital archives with an emphasis on materials sourced from marginalized creators. Some pieces interweave their own personal poetry within them, while others manipulate resonate words from those of shared identity. Read More

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Kolaj Magazine, a full color, print magazine, exists to show how the world of collage is rich, layered, and thick with complexity. By remixing history and culture, collage artists forge new thinking. To understand collage is to reshape one's thinking of art history and redefine the canon of visual culture that informs the present.

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[globosetechnologysolution01]

OCR Training Dataset: Powering AI-Driven Text Recognition with GTS

Introduction:

OCR Training Dataset: Powering AI-Driven Text Recognition with GTS

In this digital age, OCR technology has become a transformational tool for the complete digitization of documents and real-time text recognition on images and videos. Transformed since when all text information was analog text, the foundation of an effective OCR system is its training dataset. Globose Technology Solutions (GTS), a leader in AI data services, is focused on building robust OCR training datasets suitable for various industry requirements.

What Is an OCR Training Dataset?

An OCR training dataset is a collection of images, documents, or object containing text and their corresponding annotation. Such datasets are used to train AI models to read texts that come in various formats, fonts, and languages. The quality of the dataset is a major influential factor on the speed and accuracy of many OCR systems.

Main Features of a Quality OCR Training Dataset

Text format diversity: Handwritten texts, printed documents, and digital fonts. Language diversity, including complex scripts, Japanese, Arabic, and Devanagari.

Rich Annotations: The bounding boxes capturing small boxes along with which determine the text regions. Metadata about font styles, sizes, and orientation.

Variants of Sources: Scanned documents, photographs, and live image data. Examples of both high resolution and low resolution to act in reality.

Real-World Representation: The datasets should have noisy, warped, and distorted texts for more robustness concerning processing models.

Creating OCR Training Datasets: The Challenges

Creating a training dataset for OCR does involve its challenges as follows:

Data Diversity: Covering an entire dataset with multiple languages, styles and formats requires a long time along with good resources dedicated to it.

Annotation Quality: A precise application of labeling is imperative to provide the power behind the optical character recognition; however, it can be time-consuming and agitating to cope with.

Ethics: Maintaining the privacy of data and obtaining necessary permissions would keep things ethically in the dataset.

Scalability: Large-scale initiatives require robust infrastructure and skilled professionals capable of effectively managing data collection and annotation processes.

GTS’s Expertise in OCR Training Datasets

Globose Technology Solutions (GTS) is recognized as a reliable partner for businesses in need of top-notch OCR training datasets. Here are the key areas where GTS excels:

Comprehensive Data Solutions: GTS offers a full suite of services, starting from data collection and annotation to quality assurance, ensuring that all datasets adhere to the highest quality standards.

Global Reach: With an extensive global network, GTS gathers data across multiple languages and writing systems, allowing OCR systems to function effectively worldwide.

Advanced Annotation Tools: Utilizing cutting-edge tools and methodologies, GTS provides accurate annotations that improve model performance while decreasing training duration.

Custom Solutions: By recognizing the distinct requirements of each project, GTS supplies customized datasets catered specifically for various industries such as healthcare, finance, and logistics.

Ethical Practices: Committed to upholding stringent data privacy norms and compliance guidelines, GTS ensures ethical practices in data collection and processing activities.

Applications of OCR Training Datasets

High-quality training datasets empower OCR technology across numerous sectors:

Banking and Finance: Streamlining document verification processes, invoice management, and check recognition tasks.

Healthcare: Converting medical records, prescriptions, and insurance documentation into digital formats.

Retail and E-Commerce: Extracting information from receipts, product labels, and marketing materials.

Education: Facilitating the digitization of books, academic papers, and handwritten notes to enhance accessibility.

Government and Legal: Managing legal documents as well as ID cards along with archival materials efficiently.

Why Choose GTS for OCR Training Datasets?

Globose Technology Solutions (GTS) combines technical know-how, innovative creativity, commitment, and delivery of the highest quality OCR learning datasets. Here is why GTS is the best fit for you:

Proven Expertise: GTS has solid expertise in AI data services obtained over many years of operation and is thus well aware of the specific requirements for data needed, as well as the challenges in OCR datasets.

Scalable Services: Whether you need a small dataset for niche applications or large-scale data for enterprise solutions, GTS can scale its services.

Client-Centric Approach: GTS will closely work with the clients by seeking to understand their plans and ensuring that the datasets delivered fit the project thoughts.

Innovative Technologies: GTS ensures efficiency, accuracy, and quality in data collection and annotation using cutting-edge tools.

Recognition Globally: GTS has been trusted to be an AI data service pioneer by companies worldwide.

Conclusion

The OCR training datasets form the backbone of optimum text recognition systems, leading businesses to be able to automate their processes, enhance accessibility, and improve overall operational efficiency. Globose Technology Solutions(GTS) is in the frontline of supporting different organizations with quality custom datasets in imbuing accuracy and performance on AI systems.

Team up with GTS to transform your OCR initiatives. Kindly visit GTS.ai, and explore our services on how we can assist you in attaining your AI goals.

[the-firebird69]

Legendary Summertime Sadness Live - Lana Del Rey (High quality sound)

These guys are wrong they're fighting over the ships but they're part of the Juggernaut and they failed to tell people that and their massive it's still kind of like toothpicks but they're 10,000 mi long toothpicks and about a thousand mile wide and they go together and it makes your ship stronger and safer and more impregnable the 25 mile armor is waiting out there and the skin too they're making it and that's the Mac proper but there's some glitches that they're both going to face and one of them is that the army is waiting in the wings seem to be from both sides. They're talking about it they said no it's mine it's mine today over and over they know the code the proper language we have some to scan them and the same when it was like 3 months ago they started looking at each other and horror and I think that the kids and I think the computer might be there somewhere and they got on the horse and road anything logical like that finance centers and you got all that line and everybody can pull it out for pennies on the dollar poor people will get possessed but Batman goes through them like creamed corn through a clam yeah well that's what happens so we're going to post

Thor Freya

Olympus

Hahaha it's funny to us though we're Indians native American Indians and he said about Thor a big chief cannot stand stupid analogy and it's hilarious it's true too he has some print right away yeah we're helping with that just kind of goes on and on

Cherokee god and goddess from his side and from the other side Cherokee god and goddess