#this style was very experimental for me but i wanted it to mimic the feeling of a tapestry hence me referring to it that way

[rendevok]

Act I ~ The Prince

A tapestry for Let No One Sleep by @azalawa-scroggs on ao3

[mumms-the-word]

The Shadow Curse Events

If you haven’t already, please enjoy my unnecessarily long totally not me avoiding writing an actual dissertation irl thorough deep dives into Ketheric Thorm and the Shadow Curse!

They are…well, very long, but I wanted to incorporate in-game texts and conversations to give an overall “lore-finding” feel to each post as I was working my way through theories and ideas about how these events unfolded in more or less chronological order.

Each post is written with an attempt to combine elements of in-game books, letters, and conversations with my reasonable(?) conjectures about how things might have happened and an occasional foray into stylistic nonfiction-style writing (which, you know, is interesting when you’re writing about things that didn't actually happen in real life). Basically this started as something I thought was cool and ended with me having, perhaps, a bit too much fun in the nerdiest possible way.

Maybe you’re into that and maybe not. But if you are, then welcome! Please enjoy these deep dives, all of which are linked below c:

Shadow Curse Events Part 1

Ketheric, Selûne, Shar, and Aylin

This first part covers Ketheric's descent from Selûnite devotee to Sharran general following the death of his daughter Isobel. Not only does it touch on him building and training a Sharran army, it also goes over the Selûnite resistance building against him, including one desperate mason named Morfred who makes a deal with a certain devil.

---

Shadow Curse Events Part 2

Harpers, druids, and the battle against Ketheric

The second post is all about the Harper/Druid war waged against Ketheric and the days involved in the battle itself. I present this idea that the Harpers and druids sieged Reithwin for several days without attacking and then launched a three-day battle against Ketheric. But a lot of this is conjecture since I'm trying to piece together a bunch of differing accounts about the actual days devoted to fighting and surviving the brief war between the two armies.

---

Shadow Curse Events Part 3

The first 40 days

The final post is a kind of walkthrough of the first 40 days of the shadow curse from the moment Ketheric dies to about 40 days later. I chose 40 only because it's vaguely symbolic in various cultures, but also because one diary I used to construct the timeline here ends on day 35, and that felt like a weird number to end on too, so...I added a few days. Anyway, this might be the most experimental of the posts, but it was fun(?) to try and place myself in these past events to imagine how the landscape changed into what we see 100+ years later walking into this area with our Tavs and companions.

---

In the end, these posts were just for fun and are not meant to try and convince anybody that my theories are absolutely 100% the way things happened. What I find interesting about this little deep dive journey is that it mimics trying to piece together actual history too. Everyone will have a different account or perspective on historical events, so trying to stitch together a narrative 100+ years later becomes an exercise in drawing sensible conclusions and admitting you can't fill all the gaps.

I could very well be wrong in my theories, and someone else could come up with a way better logical conclusion than I did. That's awesome! Maybe these posts will help others come up with cool theories too.

But anyway. Enjoy my long-winded ramblings about fictional events in a video game that I have put way too many hours into :)

[penvisions]

of beskar and kyber {chapter 3}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: You begin to understand the dynamic between you and your new captor. But things aren’t always what they appear to be, and maybe that’s for the best. 

Word Count: 7.8K

Warnings: talk of sexual favors, narcotics, reader was drugged previously, withdrawel, symptoms of withdrawel, light violence toward reader (very minimal and not detailed), nightmares, trauma, ptsd triggers, reader is in a survival headspace, readers hands are still bound, semi-nudity, moral dilemmas, morally confused din djarin

A/N: hello, hello! i initially planned to update twice a month, but this chapter flowed so easily once i began to flesh out the scenes i had outlined for this installment. it helps to set the dynamic between the reader and our dear mandalorian. i also am aware that my writing style allows for glimpses of his feelings and what he’s thinking, it’s still strictly set in the ‘reader knows x and acts that way’ and then some passages give way to how he’s experiencing the events as well (though reader isn’t privy to them). i like giving insight to him so he doesn’t seem so flat. please let me know what y’all think!  ♡ 

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist 

It was early morning, the sun just barely showing signs of peaking over distant mountain ridges. You hadn’t slept much, the chill of the desert and the close, heavy presence of your captor making the task difficult.

The familiar sound of your saber handle had you sitting up quickly, a warning on your tongue as the bright white of the blade formed with the push of a button by a gloved hand.

“Be careful!”

Glowing light cast from the blade illuminated the helmet of the Mandalorian, facing where you had shot up from your resting position. The fabric of your tunic swung as you reached a hand out, not thinking about the sudden movement inciting the man’s instincts. He leaned away from you, his legs pushing him up from his own seated position on a fluid movement, the blade coming in front of him in as a defensive shield. Your face was cautious, your outburst making you worried in the wake of the warning from the night before.

“Please be careful, jatne vod.” You spoke in a softer tone, not wanting the man to accidentally burn himself as he quelled his curiosity surround your weapon. Or wield it at you in defense, you were too weak to put up much of a fight, despite adrenaline that would pump through your system should the threat feel real enough.  While it may not be particularly yours anymore, you wanted it to be cared for and handled with caution. “The crystal is very sensitive.”

“Crystal?” The man’s curiosity seemed to get the better of him. He experimentally twisted the handle in a mimic of how one would a blade to get the feel of the weight and balance. The handle moving from one hand to the other, the humming of the blade reacting to each minute swing and twist. It shouldn’t have but the vision of this strong, capable Mandalorian bounty hunter wielding your weapon so easily stirred something in your chest. You ignored the feeling, willing it to fade away and forcefully snapped your focus back.

“The energy of the crystal is harnessed by the handle, resulting in the blade. I mined the crystal myself, long ago.”

“A kyber crystal. Heard of it before, in passing.”

“Yes, jatne vod. A Kyber crystal, they are very important to jedi culture. Much like beskar to your people. It’s a living crystal, it’s bonded to me. It may not operate for everyone who attempts to.”

You didn’t mention that it meant a great deal that it had operated for him.

The Mandalorian didn’t respond, seeming to have the information he wanted regarding the weapon. His need to understand the weapon temporarily overriding the requisite of you being silent. The press of a button dimmed the blade, powering it down completely. A gloved hand reached up with a small flashlight in its grip and he flicked the beam on to point into the handle. The crystal reflected faceted light onto the front of his helmet, bathing his form in a mesmerizing display. The angle of the light hitting the bottom of his helmet giving you a faint glimpse of the shape of the man’s face. No features had been discernable, the darkness within the helmet keeping them hidden from you.

Your eyes traced the faint outline, searching for any hint of the man beneath the helmet even as your mind reprimanded you that it was an invasion of privacy. This man had sworn a creed, much like yourself, though his was different from yours. While yours forbade earthly attachments, his forbade revealing his face to those he was not bonded to. There was just something about him that you seemed instinctually react to…The reverent air that possessed him as he inspected the weapon, respect seeping into his gentle ministrations as he looked it over and got a feel for the way it moved and glided through the air.

You knew that Mandalorians put great worth on weaponry and armor. It was a part of their culture, of their way of life. For this man to take great time and care to figure out the logistics of your own weapon that was now in his possession, it felt like something. However misplaced it may be. The more sensible part of your brain was trying to argue that it didn’t mean anything, that the man probably collected every weapon from every quarry he’s ever captured. Inspected them, deemed them important enough to integrate into his own personal cache of weapons or store them upon the ship for when he may need them, if ever.

The sun was beginning to cast pastel orange rays that were bleeding into the dark navy of the fading night over the vast expanse of the open sky, painting the desert in a wash of golden light. Eclipsing the man standing before you, his back to the beauty of the day’s new beginnings.

Suddenly the silver helmet morphed into one that was all black, the visor disappearing. The quiet air of the early morning was filled with the sound of deep breaths being helped by a compressor, the figure of the Mandalorian shifting into that of one you’ve spent your entire life running from. A red blade sprang to life as the standing figure twisted the lightsaber and aimed it at you, stepping over you to hold it close to your throat.

The hum of it was loud in your ears, the heat of it setting your skin on fire even if it hadn’t touched you yet. Your name fell from the figure’s mouth, modulator making it low and it settled heavy in the air. It wasn’t the voice of the Mandalorian you had grown to recognize over the past day. A hand was raised and you felt yourself being lifted to hover few feet above the ground, your body hanging limply as the Force was worked against you. Chills rained down your arms and back despite the beads of sweat that were beginning to form along your skin, body freaking out even as your mind was utterly blank with panic.

The hand fell from its raised position, your body collapsing to the ground with a thump. Fear had you rooted in your spot, unable to do anything as the blade began to cut a line into your neck…

You shot up from where you had been laying, hand flying to your neck as a choking sound warbled from your mouth. You took a deep breath, blinking furiously to dispel the image of a dark cloaked figure with a black helmet as the light of day revealed to you that it had all been a dream. A dream of a memory that had morphed into a nightmare. The shade encompassing you had you stilling as you tried to mentally reign yourself in.

You whipped your head around, trying to get a bearing on your surroundings. You were down on the ground, a thick piece of tattered fabric separating your body from the coarse sand. The sound of metal on metal filled the air as you turned to see the Mandalorian and the Ugnaught working together to fit a final piece of siding back into place on the Razor Crest. The sun was setting but you had a feeling it wasn’t the same day as when you had fallen unconscious. The fuzzy feeling of your tongue in your dry mouth and the aching of your muscles were an indication of the time that had passed.

You watched silently, moving to sit more comfortably atop the fabric, as the two made sure the metal panel was securely in place. When the figure of the Mandalorian emerged from the shadows of the ship, you realized he was free of the mud that had covered him the last time you had been conscious, and he had fastened his cuirass back into place despite the large dents that still marred the metal. He was missing his cloak. Your middle dropped from you to disappear into the sand as you realized he had removed it and given it to you in your unconscious state to lay atop. That he had taken the time to clean it of the mud that had caked on it before doing so.

With frantic still bound hands, you brushed as much of the sand that had gathered onto it off, hoping he wouldn’t notice how careless you were treating something of his. Halfway through your ministrations, you realized you still had a layer of mud covering your own form, though it was dried and nearly baked into the fabric of your tunic and along your hair. Small bits of it crumpled off to land on the fabric. Your face had been wiped clean, though whoever had done had made sure to stop there.

“He told me of the powers you used to defeat the mudhorn, I’ve heard of them in passing.”

Your head shot up at the voice, suddenly realizing that the Ugnaught had approached you. You hoped he had been the one to wipe your face clean, unsure of how you felt about the Mandalorian taking the time to ensure you had something to lay on so you weren’t on the ground and to clean you. He had schooled his expression to one of slight curiosity, though you couldn’t read much else in his expression.

“Whispers of such powers have faded, but they still linger in the wind and minds of the galaxy.”

You just nodded, bringing your hands to rest atop your bent knees. Your eyes moved to the pod beside you, it was open to reveal the unconscious form of the Child inside. Worry stirred in your heart for him, he was so small and the Force took a lot of energy and concentration to direct, to harness. His moves to save the Mandalorian will have definitely hit him harder than yours had done to you. Memories of a similar figure in species and stature wove through your racing mind, though the one you were thinking of had been alive for millennia. He had been skilled beyond comprehension, his age allowing him the time to become one of the strongest people you had ever encountered. The Child had a long way to go and you’d surely be long dead by the time he was even ready to begin training himself.  

“You must be stronger than the Child, he is still unconscious.”

You nodded again, not wanting to give anything away. The fleeting worry that the Mandalorian has recounted the events with the mudhorn grew in your chest and made it hurt as you fought your instincts to incapacitate the figure in front of you. That he had told the Ugnaught what you had shared with him in his native tongue, still so cautious about who you were.

No one could know what you were, what you possessed, you already had such a large target on your back. But this man had been nothing but kind to you in his own way, allowing you to share his farmed water, offer you transportation, and aid with repairing your captor’s ship. Surely he wasn’t a threat in any way, whether personally or by the sharing of information he’s gathered from the interactions of the past few days.

“You may speak with him, if you wish. Though I have not repeated what you told me,” The deep timbre of the Mandalorian’s modulated voice sounded as he approached as well. He pressed something along his left cuff and the pod beside you moved toward the repaired ship and up the ramp. Something stirred in you, quelling the panic and worry that had begun to consume your mind. But it was quashed just as quickly as it had begun to form at the next words to leave his modulator. “Word of what you told me would make it even more of a task to complete the job of returning you.”

You hoped none of the emotions that had washed over you had shown on your features, not wanting to be so easily read. You nodded again, the repeated motion beginning to cause nausea in the pit of your stomach now that you were conscious. You spied the handle of your saber secured in a spot on the Mandalorian’s utility belt. Hidden from anyone who didn’t know what to look for.

“Thank you for the kindness you have shown us while on your planet, sir. It is greatly appreciated. I don’t have anything to offer you in return.” Your attention snapped back to the man directly in front of you. His eyes meeting your own as he looked you over. It seemed as if he had more to say but had settled on holding the words back in favor of addressing your immediate response.

“I am in your service; you are my guests. There is no need to supplement me. I have spoken.”

The ship lifted into the air, and you gripped an arm of your seat tightly, both hands curling around it as you fought the rolling nausea in your stomach. You couldn’t tell if it was because of withdrawal or nerves at flying again. It had been so long since you’d been aboard a ship, and apparently the last time you hadn’t even been conscious enough to realize you were being transported. But this time you were, and you grounded yourself with that small notion. You were aware of what was happening at this moment, and it was all you could think of to comfort yourself even if you were being taken back to a place you never wanted to return.

Once the ship lurched into hyperspace, the mesmerizing colors wafting around the ship and displaying through the glass of the cockpit, you felt your nerves ease a little. The colors were beautiful, the light of them calming despite what they meant. Though the brightness of them could be felt behind your eyes as your head throbbed.

You climbed down into the hold once the course through hyperspace had evened out, taking in the space. It was small but enough room to allow the Mandalorian his sleeping quarters, space to store a good number of crates secured along the walls of the hull with thick netting and fabric straps with metal clasps, the small room that held the refresher that the ladder up to the cockpit lined, the cabinets that he used to hold his weaponry, and settled into the hull of the ship itself was the chamber he must’ve used to contain his quarries. You inspected the door, a slight confusion settling over you as you took in the control panel. With a start, you realized it was a carbon freezing chamber.

Backing quickly away from the doors that opened into the small chamber, you felt your back collide with something strong and solid, sending faint jolts of discomfort down your sore shoulders. Shifting on your feet with more energy than you thought you possessed, you came face to face with the Mandalorian himself.

You began to shake your head, fear growing hot in your body as you realized that your fate was to be frozen in this moment and roused once you were back in the hands of your cruel mother. No chance to put up a fight, no chance to scramble for freedom once in a place with more opportunities. You felt like a fool, thinking the armored man would allow you to occupy his space as he returned his other quarry, the one he had initially set out to capture. The job he had intended to fulfill when he happened upon you on the same planet. He said you had to be returned unharmed and the best way to do that would be to turn you into carbonate for travel.

But he didn’t activate the doors to open, he didn’t push you into the chamber. He didn’t move at all except to nod his helmet toward the other side of the hold space. There was a crate that had been taken from the netting and placed against the paneling that you knew opened up to reveal a condensed kitchen space. There was a small cooling supply unit and a hot plate. The cabinets around the immediate area housed a caf maker he had been adamant about retrieving from the Jawas and various boxes of nonperishable foods you weren’t too keen on. You preferred freshly prepared food, a product of your upbringing on a planet whose culture was rich with fishing and farming.

Two smaller crates had been set up next to it in a mimicry of a dining table and chairs. You looked to him before moving across the space and settling yourself atop one of the ‘seats’, him doing the same, sitting diagonal to you. His back was to the wall of the hull, while yours was open and exposed as you faced him and the paneling. It was quiet, the space filled with a weird tension you couldn’t explain when he moved to lean forward with something in his hand that you hadn’t noticed in your panic.

The ration pack placed in front of you atop the ‘table’ made you blink, the change of clothes that weren’t your own underneath it even more so. You glanced over to wall of armor that hide away the man who offered them to you. You stared at the pile of items in front of you, taking note that they were for a reason, one that you weren’t daft enough to ignore. When he reached forward again, this time to remove the binders still around your wrists, you stared at the visor, trying to gauge the situation to get a read on what he would prefer. Taking a breath, you stood and moved to face the man, your skin humming in hesitant anticipation like it always did before you were given instructions, no matter how silent.

You didn’t say anything as you stood from your seat and kneeled before him, hands reaching out to rest on his thighs. You couldn’t help the shiver that ran through you at the idea of touching the cold-looking armor decorating his form, but you would deal with it. You could deal with a lot if it meant you could eat and have clean clothes. You had thought that being taken by him only meant an exchange of who was handling your shackles, and you were correct. It didn’t matter if he claimed to be transporting you back to your home planet and mother, you were under his control in the meantime and you didn’t want to upset him. Didn’t want to run the risk of turning down his offer to trade and then ending up with nothing in exchange and him taking what he wanted anyway.  

The harsh truth of the situation was that you needed the food. You needed something in your system to combat the waning drugs and the sensations they were leaving in their continued absence. Withdrawal had fully set it in, if your spells of nausea and dizziness were any indication. The sensitivity to light you were developing spoke of it even more so, accompanied by interwoven chills and hot flashes that had nothing to do with the planet’s environment. If you were to make it through, you needed something in your system to help counteract the energy it was taking from your already spent body.

The clothes looked soft, something that sounded like a blessing against your irritated skin. You needed those items. The fact of the matter was that you needed to trade for them with the man before you, nothing came for free. Not in this life, not in yours. Because underneath all that armor and the creed, he was just another man. Steeling yourself you began to reach out for him, to begin with something relatively tame. Hopefully it would be enough for the items…

You didn’t even get to lay your hands completely down on the armored plates over his thighs before there was a sharp sting on your cheek and you felt yourself crumble to the floor from the force of a hit.

You had been so focused on keeping your eyes on his lap that you hadn’t seen the twitch of his hand before it moved swiftly toward you. You didn’t move an inch from where you were on your backside on the floor, submitting completely to the man now standing. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides, the crinkling of leather giving away his irritation at the situation. You didn’t do anything, you didn’t look dare look at him, not wanting to upset him further. You waited for him to speak, to give you directions.

“What are you doing?” His voice was low and harsh, the same one he used when you had heard him talking to Jawas. It held no respect. It reverberated through your entire body, bringing you shame you hadn’t felt in a long time, having shut down feeling bad over the things you’ve had to endure. Shame at things you had to do to survive while being held captive for so long and on different occasions. “Answer me. Why would you think that’s appropriate?”

“Th-the food….and the clothes. Pay-payment, jatne vod.” You wanted to bring a hand up to your stinging cheek, the feeling of a cut underneath your eye bringing tears to your lash line as swelling began. You allowed your hair to shield your face from view, no one had ever struck your face before, and it had taken you off guard. It had hurt.

No one had dared touch your face, to leave marks on it, no matter who the captor had been or who had been watching over you. Your mother had wanted you to maintain the soft skin of your face in order to gain a husband someday, but as you got older the idea seemed to disappear from her mind. It became a silent way to hide the things they did to you. The same went for your captors, they wanted to keep anything they did to you covered. Easily hide the awful things they did to you should you need to be transported, avoiding as much unwanted attention as possible.

“Payment?” The Mandalorian took a step back, feeling his entire body go cold. He took in the way you were trying not to cower, your hands shaking where they held you up from being on the floor completely, your legs splayed out where you landed from the force of his panicked movement. He hadn’t meant to hit you, his mind urging him to push you away before you touched him had turned into a frantic swipe of his hand. You were a quarry, there was no need for touching unless he was fighting you.

You didn’t say anything further. He glanced at the items on the table for a second, his mind reeling at the idea of you having to pay for them when he had obviously placed them there for you to have. To make yourself somewhat comfortable aboard the ship. He may not have the best record of social interaction and had trouble accepting things offered to him without seeing the strings attached, but this? He hadn’t meant for you to take the items as something you had to earn, your puck instructed to bring you in alive and unharmed, he had just been trying to be accommodating to some degree.

You were covered in mud and dirt from the desert and your captivity. Even more so from saving him, taking out that second, raging mudhorn that had quite literally come out of nowhere. He had wiped your face free of mud, but hadn’t dared do anything further. It felt like too much, just what little he had already done. He’s intent on ignoring his betraying mind telling him he wouldn’t have done as much for anyone else.

The talk of the Jawas and the favors they had referred to when discussing wanting to trade his parts back for time with you echoed in his head. They had been talking about the way the guards of the compound had refused to give you anything lest you trade for them, but with no possessions to trade there was only one thing that could mean…

“I-if that’s not what you wanted, then do whatever you think is f-fair in exchange.” You turned to face him, though your eyes didn’t dare rise past his cuirass. You were kneeling once again, though instead of reaching out to him, your hands went up to untie the wrap keeping your tattered tunic closed and loosened the knot there. The fabric fell from your form onto the floor and puddled around you, leaving you in just your underthings. The fading bruises and cuts on your skin from your captivity on full display.

You rested your hands atop your thighs and waited for his instructions. You could feel your skin prickle in the cold air of the ship, your chest displaying the sensation through the fabric. “I h-have an implant, if that interests you, jatne vod.”

“It doesn’t interest me. Put your clothes back on and collect yourself. This isn’t a game.” Disgust at the insinuation dripped from his modulated voice. He looked at the wall just beyond your face, not looking at you but looking over your head. He could see the red line the plate of armor on the back of his hand had made underneath your eye, the trickle of blood that blossomed from the end of it. He hadn’t meant to strike you so hard, he hadn’t even meant to strike you in the first place. “I gave you those things, they’re yours.”

“But-“ You cut yourself off, as if realizing you were arguing with him. He didn’t see having a conversation as arguing, but he guessed you weren’t used to having a simple conversation. He realized that days ago he had snapped at you to remain silent, that he preferred if you didn’t talk. The sentiment carved into your every interaction with him since then as you spoke only when spoken to. Outside of when you had explained the diagnostics of your weapon. You had been missing for so long, no doubt having been captured for most of it. Obeying despite not wanting to instilled in your mind for survival. You remained unmoving, as if waiting for another strike to fall on you. “Apologies.”

He was quiet, taking in the way you sat before him. When he raised his hand to point at the items on the table, he took in the way you began to flinch. He had tried to abort the movement at the realization you were worried he would strike you again. Unfamiliar guilt stuttered through his chest, prompting a heavy sigh to sound through the modulator.

“Eat, then wash off. The refresher is through that door. The soap and towels in there are for you to use, do so. I’ll be overlooking the course.” He walked away from you, leaving you kneeled on the floor. His footsteps could barely be heard as he crossed the space and disappeared up the ladder.

The Mandalorian was overwhelmed with not knowing how to interact with someone who seemed conditioned to wait for commands but could take down an assailant and a raging mudhorn with ease. It made him uncomfortable; you made him uncomfortable. Strength and ability hidden away in favor of submitting; he didn’t understand. Even if it was a survival tactic. He’d just rather fight his way through threats than submit and bid his time. Shaking his head roughly to dispel his thoughts, he reached out for the last rung on the ladder and pulled himself up to the level of the ship that held the cockpit.

The sooner he could return the Child to Nevarro, the sooner he could get you where you needed to be and off his ship.

Your stomach protested the heartiness of the ration pack. It was too heavy, even if all you had taken was two bites before realizing. The waning of the drugs in your system paired with no other food or nutrients made it hard to swallow what you did dare to intake. You didn’t want the Mandalorian to think you were ungrateful, especially after giving you the ration pack. You just stood there, staring at the opened foil of it and frowned.

You had used the refresher, taking your time washing the caked-on mud and sand from the past few days journey. You were donning the rather large, long sleeve shirt and pants that had been given to you as well. You tugged the belt from your dirty clothes and cleaned it quickly to help hold up the waist. A sigh fell unbidden from you and you pushed up the long sleeves and began to handwash the rest of your stuff in the refresher sink, leaving the unfinished pack on the table. You had carefully folded the foil to conceal what you had not been able to eat.

You were about to hang your tunic and cloak on the top of the shower stall door when you heard faint footsteps in the hold. They seemed to pause before they redirected and a knock on the refresher door sounded. Jumping slightly at the loud sound, the fabric in your hand fell to make a wet smack on the tile of the shower floor.

You abandoned in to open the door, the broad figure of armor taking up the entire open space. His visor was turned down to look at you directly, though you hadn’t the faintest clue what expression was truly on his features.

“You didn’t finish your ration pack.”

“I am grateful for your generosity, jatne vod. I…may I speak plainly?”

The visor continued to stare at you, no confirmation or denial leaving the face behind it. You felt your face heat as you were aware of how close he was, that you were in his own clothing, that the steam from your shower was still wafting through the air. Embarrassment made you heat up even more so, hating the way that it affected you so. But you were beginning to realize how pathetic you must have appeared to the man before you and continued to so do the longer you were in his presence.

“It’s… too dense on my stomach. Food wasn’t a priority for me, at the compound. And the…stuff they used to keep me contained may have worked out of my system but it’s still affecting me.”

“They kept you drugged so you wouldn’t fight.”

“Yes, jatne vod.”

“They starved you and kept you drugged.”

“They starved me in order to make food something desirable, something I would trade…companionship for.”

A knot formed in your throat, the words physically hurting you to speak aloud, keeping your head bowed enough to not make eye contact with the visor. Your cheek throbbed where the armor on his hand had sliced you. Your body was sore, your muscles exhausted from the events of the past few days on top of the particularly harsh reality you had been living for however long you had been captive. You must’ve been shaking, or your muscles twitched, or you made a face when stab of pain reverberated through your stomach as it tried to digest what little you had eaten. The flinch didn’t go unnoticed.

“Do you require medical attention?”

“No. I would not want to waste your supplies.” The immediate response flew from you before you even knew the words existed. But you had no way of paying to supplement what he would use. You didn’t even know what would help beyond bacta spray for your cheek.

“Not a waste if you’re injured. You are to be returned intact.”

“…I would appreciate it, if I would be allowed to just settle somewhere and rest for a bit. If that’s amenable, jatne vod.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“You’re my captor, I’m your quarry. What do you wish me to call you? Because I don’t think you’d like the term I’m using in my head.” Your eyes flared in annoyance at the man in front of you as you straightened to your full height and gazed directly into the visor. His own eyes caught the flash of emotion through the visor. You were trying to be respectful, despite the circumstances. If it had been anyone else, you would’ve pummeled them and taken off with your freedom. But he was a Mandalorian, a rather extraordinarily skilled one despite his propensity for aggravated outbursts over mundane things. And you knew when you were outmatched, especially in your prevailing weakened state.

“What were you doing in here for so long?” He peered over your head, toward the damp clothing that was hung up and then to the piece that had been left forgotten on the floor at his appearance.

“Tending to my clothes, I did not want to anger you by being in your own for too long should you need them. Mine should be dry by the time I’m done resting.”

It was silent as he entered the small space, you shifting to plaster yourself against the wall that faced the small mirror above the sink. You could only watch as he gathered the damp clothing in his hands and walked clear out of the refresher. He opened up a panel along the side of the hold space and dumped the clothing in the dark space. You didn’t protest as he did so, nor did you apologize for taking up space with them as you had tried to dry them.

“Once the Child is returned, we will find a stall for a new tunic.”

With that he moved to the concealed door that led to his own, small quarters. He opened it and disappeared inside, the door closing nearly completely behind him. The pod containing the Child had floated into the space along with him. You allowed yourself to relax just a bit, the tension pulling your shoulders taut waned and you sighed in relief. You moved to sit atop the ‘seat’ he had occupied before, with your back leaning against the siding of the space you closed your eyes and hoped your head would stop hurting soon.

You were awoken some time later by the sound of ceramic on metal. You jumped, your hair swinging with the sudden motion and your body protested the tensing of muscles. Your eyes immediately took in the form of the Mandalorian seated across from you in your previous spot. His hand was still curved around the mug he had set atop the ‘table’ in front of you. Steam wafted up from it and the faint smell of something delicious had your mouth watering. Your stomach gurgled in response to the smell, loud enough to be heard in the silence.

“Bone broth, should be easy on your stomach.”  

Eyes raked over the helmet, the dark shape of the visor in the low light of the hold space. He didn’t remove his hand from the mug, his gloved hand curled around it to display just how wide his palm was and how thick his fingers were. Your eyes snapped to the steaming mug and then back to him as he leaned forward slightly, his other arm coming to rest atop the ‘table’. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts, the silence getting heavy as you realized he was about to ask for something in exchange for the delicacy that had been placed between you.

“The Child. He’s still unconscious.”

Straightening your back, stifling a groan at the action you took in the way his own shoulders were tensed, the way his legs were firmly planted on the floor of the ship. He was carrying something he wasn’t accustomed to and it was a burden that could be read on him as if he had plainly told you. The Mandalorian was worried about the Child.

“He may be older than both of us, but he is still young for his species. The Force is…a complicated thing to wield and he may have hidden his powers in the time since we were first hunted. He will be okay, his mind is recovering and his body is allowing it to happen in the safety of unconsciousness.”

Your words seem to hold what he was looking for, as his large hand detangles from around the mug to leave it sitting in front of you in a clear display that it is now yours. You try to not greedily reach out for it, your stomach making more noises as the prospect of something that smells so enticing. You bring the mug to your lips slowly, the action of swallowing making you grimace slightly as you realize you may have been out for longer than you initially thought, once again. Your cheek throbbed at the movement though you visibly relaxed as the warm, smooth liquid flowed down your throat to settle in your stomach.

A somewhat comfortable silence hung in the air, until the man across from you reached into the box you hadn’t seen atop the ‘table’ in your distraction of the mug. He pulled out a small tube that looked too much like something that would house a needle.

The clatter of the mug on metal and your uncomfortable shuffling to make yourself smaller had the visor training back on you with a quick movement. Your eyes were wide, and your breathing shallowed as thoughts of him drugging you created a feeling of foolishness to swell in your chest. He didn’t say anything as he held the tube out to you in his wide palm for you to see the label on it.

‘Bacta’ in small, all capital letters spelled out in Basic.

“For your wrists,” He set it down slowly by the mug. “So they don’t scar.”

You had been rubbing unconsciously at your sore wrists, the angry red marring the tan skin around them irritating. You hadn’t noticed you had been doing so, had probably been doing so since your departure from the compound, even around the binders he had placed on you while in the desert. You watched with cautious eyes as he stood and took the box that must hold his medical supplies in it back toward his sleeping quarters. He returned to the ‘table’ and took the tube back in his hand, popping off the protective cap to reveal a squat spray nozzle. He held out his other hand in a silent request.

Hesitantly you held your arms out, palms turned up where the most damage had been caused. Dried, ugly looking scabs decorated your skin. The area around them irritated and painful looking. He hovered his free palm below your outstretched hands and proceeded to spray in small bursts over the circumference of them. Your heartbeat fast and painful in your chest throughout the whole ordeal. He pocketed the now empty tube before leaning back out of your space. You nodded your thanks as you moved to pick the half empty mug back up, your wrists tingling as the medicine began working to heal the damage to your skin. Quiet resumed.

Once you’ve finished the mug, the contents of it sitting comfortably in your stomach, you both move to the cockpit as he announced you would be leaving hyperspace soon.

Settling into the chair behind the pilot’s seat, off to his left, you spied the pod housing the Child resting in the one to both his and your right side. The Child was still unconscious, though his chest was rising and falling evenly. The ship lurched, pulling your attention from the small being toward the open windshield of the ship. A planet taking up the airspace directly in front of it as it exited hyperspace.

Turning, the Mandalorian reached out to grasp the open lip of the pod. He gently shook it, to gauge the figure inside. But it didn’t stir, not so much as a wiggle of adorable ears or the twitch of a small nose. He turned back to face the control panel, taking the handles of the power steering in his grip. The planet grew larger, the view of it expanding as you closed in on it.

Through the atmosphere you could make out the fluorescent reds and oranges that meant it was a volcanic planet. The realization striking panic to simmer low in your abdomen. The bases of most Imperials were hidden away on planets with volcanic environments, harnessing the energy and movement of the lava to create the weapons they had used during times of war. If the lack of response to your earlier question of the Imperials being the ones to contract the Child’s return was anything to go off of, then you were positive they were here on this planet.

Rustling drew your attention, you looked over to see the Child was awake, his head popping up over the lip of the pod as he peered curiously over the top of it. He clambered down from the pod, from the chair the pod was nestled in and walked over toward the side of the pilot seat. You couldn’t see him, but you did see when one of his small green hands reached for the handle of one of the controls. The shiny top of it commanding his attention. The Mandalorian was momentarily focused on a transmission he played as it dinged in.

When the transmission ended, his attention focused on the Child beside him. The small figure had climbed up atop the control panel, small hand gripping at the top of a lever in front of him. The shiny ball of metal atop it his goal. He removed it easily, bringing it to his mouth to chew on.

“It’s not a toy.” A gloved hand grasped the back of the Child’s clothing and lifted him up. A small noise left him as he was moved back to his pod and deposited back into the confines of it. They shared a look, a soft coo sounding before the Child looked over to you with his bright eyes. You smiled at him, wiggled your fingers at him in a motion that pulled a giggle from him in his cute voice.

“Remain on the ship. I’m going to lock it down and set access coding, attempting to mess with the panels or controls will send an alert directly to me.”

You watched as the armored man stood before his storage cabinet and donned what he deemed appropriate. The act of him fastening weapons and adjusting his armor and the underling padding over his clothing seemed an invasion of privacy almost, though he hadn’t told you to leave him be or leave the room. The intimacy of knowing where he had hidden blades and extra munitions seemed to be something you should not be privy to.

You hide away in the cockpit during his absence, spending the time watching the hustle and bustle of the city through the main archway that separated the open expanse from the landing area for ships.

The city was dirty, the streets full of people and trash. The buildings were crumbling in some places, blaster damage and dirt decorating the exterior of most of them. It was seedy and it was exactly the type of environment you had spent most of your life hiding in. You didn’t miss it, having been so young when you first took to a life on the run, forced to. You took in the way people didn’t linger their gazes on anything or anyone else for too long. As if they were afraid of inciting conflict. Too common a thing in places like this.

You watched the goings-on of the main street you could see that wound its way through the center of the small city. Losing track of time, it was growing dark as the day began to bleed into night. The time of twilight taking over the planet and bathing it in blue light. The light pollution from the city shields the stars and surrounding planets from view.

When the Mandalorian returned, you had tracked his path down the main street until he had gotten too close to the ship to do so. He was alone, the pod no longer trailing beside him. But that had been the end of this mission after all. It didn’t matter that he had asked after the Child’s wellbeing as it had laid unconscious for days. His task was predetermined.

His armor was different. The plates were still secured to the same places as his previous set, but this one was all comprised of the same silver metal as his helmet and his right pauldron. Of beskar. The spoils of his mission plainly on display for all to see.

It was beautiful, it was gorgeous. It made him look even stronger and more capable, if that was even possible. You wanted to skim your hands over the smooth expanse of the plates and feel the coolness of the metal underneath them. Even as you realized it was the very embodiment of the Child being no more.

Grief for another of your kind fallen was an old friend, one that was knocking to be let back into your world after such a long absence. It was not welcome. No words were exchanged, the air holding a sense of detachment as he entered the cockpit. He was holding tension in his entire body as he moved past you and settled into the pilot chair. He punched in the coding he had set and began to power up the ship for lift off.

When he reached over to pull the lever to begin take off, he paused. The ball that normally sat atop the lever had been placed on the control panel when he had removed it from the Child’s mouth hours ago upon arrival. He held the small piece of round metal in his gloved hand, and you could practically hear the gears turning in his head beneath the helmet. He slowly screwed the piece back onto the lever and he pushed it forward, his hand hovering over it after the fact.

He suddenly pulled the lever back, reached up and hit some switches. He was a flurry of quick, precise movements as he powered the ship back down just as efficiently as he had powered it on, making your heartbeat fast as you watched him do so.

He didn’t reset the access coding.

As he turned his seat around, the door to the cockpit opened. He stood beside you for the briefest of moments, offering you a curt nod that spoke volumes.

“As soon as you see me returning, ready the ship for take-off.”

“May the Force be with you, jatne vod.”

previous chapter || next chapter

taglist: @js-favnanadoongi

[reinerruby]

Well hello. I'm new to both Tumblr and Reichblr, so it will take some time to get used to... My name is Isa, it's an alias and not my real name. I'm also 19 years old. I became fascinated with the Reich when I was in 9th grade, but I never got a chance to (or I felt too embarrassed to, especially as a girl) seek out more knowledge on the subject. But I want to delve more into it now as my odd fascination with it hasn't fizzled out despite that. So I likely have much, much less knowledge than most of you here but I hope I can learn more and connect with others here as well. I have a lot of interest in A.H's inner circle, the occult elements and beliefs, overall culture and aesthetics, the military and strategies, military marches, human experimentation... Very obscure, but I'm sure you guys understand.

I would also like to mention that I'm likely autistic (not officially diagnosed), because it would be nice to meet others who are.

Oh and another side note... I hope my writing style isn't too off-putting, I like to write quite formally and while I can mimic it a bit, it's difficult for me to understand slang and some internet culture things... (Why am I even here?)

Yet another side note.. I'm quite bad at socializing and communicating, but feel free to interact with me and message me if you want to!

[thundercrack]

March book round-up! I ended up reading more than I anticipated - busy month!

The Last Taxi Driver by Lee Durkee

Random pick. Just wanted something easy and quick. Honestly, I hardly remember what happened in this book, so that isn't very high praise. His taxi was a real piece of garbage.

Dead Astronauts by Jeff Vandermeer

Vandermeer is more famous for his Southern Reach trilogy -- of which I literally own the first and haven't yet read it -- but I definitely see why he's considered...interesting. This book was...weird. But I liked it!!!!! Strange and shifting and at times deeply unclear, Vandermeer creates a like, weird collage of an apocalyptic corporate future mixed with ecological experimentation and connection. Very neat!

A Ballet of Lepers: A Novel and Stories by Leonard Cohen

Well, I can see why these didn't get published before. Prior to this, I hadn't actually read any of Leonard Cohen's published works, but I have read Matters of Vital Interest: A Forty-Year Friendship with Leonard Cohen by Eric Werner which I didn't think was very good or very interesting. I just grabbed this off the new books display though, so it was fun to run into. I found it pretty interesting though to see Cohen explore some of the same themes he does in his albums in these early writings. I liked the novel more than any of the short stories. At times he is a very compelling writer, but the characters often were quite flat. Kind of fun to read! If I run into Beautiful Losers, I'd probably read it. But I'll be sticking most closely to his 1967-74 run of albums.

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke

I read Clarke's books backwards -- I really liked Piranesi, so I tracked back and read this one, though I think it's the more famous of her two novels. It was also WAY longer than I expected (to its own detriment, I think). I'm not a huge fan of historical fiction, but I did really enjoy her sort-of mimic of 19th c. writing styles (and all the footnotes. I love a book with some fun footnotes). To some degree, I think I was missing some of the ideas she was playing off of, especially with regards to the North and South of England and what they represent. I did enjoy the system of magic she was playing with, but I thought, despite the heavy focus on past-and-plot, it kind of fell a little short for me at the end. I also thought it was unfortunate that in this book, which has a pretty heavy focus at times on the Napoleonic Wars in France, Britain as an Empire goes fairly unmentioned. Honestly, though I mostly enjoyed it and she's a good enough writer, I think I liked it less than Piranesi and I ended it vaguely dissatisfied. I didn't think about it at all after finishing.

The Tatami Galaxy by Tomohiko Morimi (trans. Emily Balistrieri)

There's an anime based off this book, but I haven't watched the anime (I don't have anything against it, I just hardly watch TV!). I just picked this up off the "New Books" rack at my library. Well, the book isn't new, but the translation is. I really enjoy these sort of parallel-universe stories, especially when they play with the idea of convergence rather than divergence. I really liked the more fantastical elements, such as the narrator finding himself in a labyrinth of 4-1/2 tatami mat rooms. The New York Times review ends with the line "There is no time loop quite like self-pity." Ha! I liked it, anyhow!

Salvage the Bones by Jesmyn Ward

If I liked the last book, I really liked this one! I think it's almost difficult to say why other than it was a very good, very well-written book. She really captures the setting and the family and just...everything. The main character, Esch, thinks about Medea a lot. I think I read Ward's memoir Men We Reaped several years ago, which I also liked. I feel like I should have more to say here, and maybe I do, but mostly I thought this was a great book and I was texting my friends telling them to read it, which is rare.

Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata (trans. Ginny Tapley Takemori)

We're on a roll here! I liked this one too; I read it for my book club. I found the main character, Keiko, who has worked in a convenience store since college and feels it is the only place, she fits in. She's almost one with the store! A lot of the reviews focused on how odd Keiko was, but I didn't really get that. In her attempt to get everyone off her back, she takes this horrible man as a lodger. They both are trying to escape society in different ways (but man is that guy awful). It's sort of interesting how the book -- and Keiko -- play with ideas of exploitation, of fitting in, of misogyny, and so on. I really liked this book and translation. There was a really seducing rhythm to it. I quite enjoyed this interview with the author as well.

The Death of Vivek Oji by Akwaeke Emezi

Another book I liked?? What has come over me! Set in southern Nigeria, Emezi weaves the story of the death of Vivek Oji in with all of the different ways he has been loved. How Vivek died only comes out at the end of the book, but it didn't particularly read like a traditional mystery or crime novel which is probably part of why I liked it. The book also deals with self-identity and the stigma of being gay/gender non-conforming in Nigeria. Just a very good, very interesting book!

The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco (trans. William Weaver)

Okay, back to being a hater. Read this for my book club. Did NOT enjoy. There are a few reasons here, mostly just related to my categorical taste (Don't like mystery/detective stories, don't like historical fiction...). There definitely was a LOT here....some of which probably went 1,000ft over my head. Some of the conversations and little theological debates were fun to read, and I did like the ending well-enough....but not enough to ever feel any urge to read another Eco book. I guess I'm glad I read it, at the very least so that I never feel the urge to read it again.

The Nickel Boys by Colson Whitehead

Wowwww this book was really good!! I more-recently (like, last week recently) read The Underground Railroad, which was also really good. I really liked the twist at the end. I don't know -- this book was interesting and brutal and very felt. The way it played back and forth between past-and-present was interesting, and the ideas the different boys represent....yeah. Based off a real story about a Florida state-run school for boys that only ended in 2011....the past is the present. Books that make me question how on earth Less by Andrew Sean Greer won a fiction Pulitzer. I thought it was good but not good like either of Whitehead's Pulitzer winning books are good.

Satantango by Lazlo Krasznahorkai (trans. George Szirtes)

You might be getting the sense that sometimes I just pick up books because I like the cover....and you would be correct. This one was cool and funky!!!!!!!!! I always think it's interesting when a book has no paragraph breaks, and it worked well here. I will say I sort of didn't know what was going on. It was set in an unclearly situated village in which all the residents give up...everything to follow (a possible con-man and/or religious leader?) Irmias. There were some very visceral moments like when this little girl kills her cat. It was pretty interesting, and also weird, and also a bit freaky at times.

[bestworstcase]

What gets me most about Thornmane is that, he's just Cinder? The apparent fire Semblance, the bow swords, it's just. So there without commentary. Like I can imagine a number of reasons this was how his boss fight was built, like there'd initially been a Cinder fight planned that they had to give up on for the story/timeline that had its assets reused, or they just felt like having a spiritual stand in for her would be the best final boss, but narratively...Narratively...

ooh hm while i can see the dots you’re connecting that’s not how i read him at all—if anything he strikes me as perpendicular to cinder. which i’ll come back to in a minute bc first i want to talk about his semblance.

for the amount of narrative weight given to thornmane’s semblance as like, the locus of all his grievances, it’s astoundingly unclear what it is—by my count he’s got five(!) moves in his boss fight that flag as a possible semblance: 1. charged-up forward dash/lunge with trailing afterimages (speed?); 2. ricocheting/homing arrows (telekinesis?); 3. huge AOE arrow barrage where he fires upward and dozens of arrows come down (duplication?), 4. disappearing platforms (telekinesis again if they’re mobile or vanishing stuff?), and 5. his knockoff dark souls boss transform at 50% where he rages out and then vanishes for a bit (invisibility? some sort of berserker second wind thing when his aura is critical?)

now some of these could be explained by throwing “dust” or “experimental tech” at the problem but it occurred to me about…halfway? through the second stage of the fight that there’s a really tidy way to explain all of these things as a semblance, which is that thornmane is sort of a mimic: he takes impressions of his opponent’s semblance and refracts them, makes them his own. so he’s got these afterimages of ruby’s speed, yang’s fire and second wind, blake’s vanishing act, weiss’s projectiles and summoning.

which of course 1. is perfect for a character whose whole MO is exploitative mirroring, 2. makes for a sort of fun potential reading of thornmane and bianca, who can borrow the semblances of her allies, as foils and mirror images of each other, and 3. assuming he has to be fighting someone to tap into their semblance (which again, tracks with how he treats his allies), also fits the bill for being a semblance that doesn’t fit with the ace-ops; a) they will primarily be seeing battle against grimm, not people, and b) you can’t build tactics based on “perfectly complementary powers” with a guy whose semblance is an ever-changing amalgamation of the people you’re fighting. it’s not a weak semblance by any means, but it’s not the right fit for the super-optimized ace-ops.

but back to cinder. nothing about thornmane’s moveset particularly read as cinder-esque to me? (and were her style translated into a platformer i’d envision something more along the lines of nightmare king grimm than… thornmane who can’t even turn around if you flank him half the time; cinder is fast, agile, and explosive far more prominently than she is an archer)—but on the other hand there is, like i said, an interesting perpendicularity in terms of their characters that i’ve been chewing on a bit, in that cinder is viciously power-hungry because she’s been starved for freedom her whole life and the only way she can now conceive of having agency is to take it with brutal and ruthless force, whereas thornmane is to all appearances a man so privileged that the very worst thing that has ever happened to him was being politely denied a job because he wasn’t the best candidate for it, which upset him so much that he, reading between the lines, had a massive falling out with the friend who did make the cut, left atlas to organize a network of “protectors” for the free cities so he could feel powerful, and nursed a grudge for years until he went full terrorist and attempted a coup, all while evidently feeling like the wronged party.

“i had it all! i was in the running for a position in the ace operatives, after years of tireless training… i could have been a hero to the people! i could have been respected and admired for that power! but no. instead he told me ‘i’m afraid there’s no fit for your semblance.’ feh!” vs “you atlas elites are all the same! you think that hoarding power means you’ll have it forever, but it just makes the rest of us hungrier! …and i refuse to starve.” like! in his own words thornmane had everything except the glory of being the best and he’s infuriated that ironwood, in his view, took that glory away from him—and then there’s cinder who had worse than nothing until she killed her abuser and learned that the world would condemn her even for that.

[c-mccormick-svad-2022-2025]

(ARTS345) Project #2 Progress: Experimenting with Typography Mood Boards and Democracy Research & SkillShare Video #3

Week Five

Project #2 Progress: Experimenting with Typography Mood Boards and Democracy Research

This past week was filled with research inspiration and experimentation. I received feedback from project #1, and Professor Valdes overall liked the outcome of my poster and believed it was a great representation of my design style. He also provided some advice on how to improve the balance of the visual elements by making the paragraph of text a bit smaller. I had used 14-15 pt text, and he suggested using 12 pt to achieve better balance. I realized I needed to take a step back and consider different design principles for designing physical printouts rather than just digital ones, and I'll keep this critique in mind when creating my voting poster for Project #2.

When it comes to Project #2, most of this week was dedicated to researching fun ways to experiment with typography for my voting poster. To start, I created my first mood board, which displayed a wide range of design ideas and options for experimenting with typography and texture. However, because there were so many ideas on the original mood board, I decided to take it a step further and break down the concepts into three separate mood boards. Mood board #1 focuses on experimenting with the style of letterpress typography and stamping. This involves playing with various typefaces and letterforms to mimic the vintage style of letterpress printing. The goal is to experiment with different widths and lengths of text to create an engaging poster design that encourages people to register to vote. Essentially, I'm combining techniques from the past and bringing them into the present.

In mood board #2, I wanted to experiment with creating letterforms using thin, colorful tissue paper. The idea was to layer the typography to produce an interesting and fun overlapping design. However, I ultimately decided to scrap this idea because the subject matter didn't seem to fit the medium. Voting is a serious matter and it wasn't being portrayed clearly using tissue paper. Nevertheless, I still love this concept and may use it in a future project, just not this one.

Mood board #3 involves cutting up different types of materials and physically pasting them together in a collage style. This mood board also involves experimenting with tape, for which I provide links to video tutorials from TikTok down below. The purpose of this mood board is to create a distressed look by pasting type in various unique ways. While I am excited about the idea of manipulating type, I do have some concerns about whether this approach may make my poster difficult to read and confusing. Nevertheless, I am open to giving it a try and seeing what I can come up with!

During the research stage, I spoke to Professor Valdes regarding these design directions. From our conversation, he emphasized that the choice of typography will significantly impact the design decision. Since the typography styles are very different, the words used will truly matter as they will influence the overall mood and feel of the poster. Following his advice to research and listen to as many speeches about democracy as possible, I found three quotes that stood out to me. All three quotes are from Sharon McMahon, an American podcast host, author, Instagram influencer, and law and government teacher. Her quotes from Instagram seemed perfect for a voting poster, so I decided to use them for this project. After choosing the three quotes, I selected the mediums from mood boards #1 and #3. I thought that experimenting with the letter press look and the grungy, cut-up style would create an interesting and fun layered look, drawing attention to the quotes and making people stop to look at the poster. Now that I have determined the quotes and mediums to use, I am excited to start working on my three poster drafts, which are due on Basecamp at the beginning of next week.

NOTE: Here are some sources of inspiration that I found helpful when researching experimental typography:

Skillshare Video #3: Radical Typography: Using Hand-Drawn Branding for Expression & More

This week's video is an experimental typography tutorial by the talented graphic designer James Victore, who wrote the Manifesto that inspired Project #1! At the beginning of last semester, Professor Valdes showed us clips from James Victore's Skillshare video, which inspired me to create the logo for my music festival poster. I absolutely love James Victore's art style, and I enjoyed the video so much that I wanted to rewatch the entire thing. It's a real treat! I was looking for videos to help me experiment with my typography, and James Victore does just that in this video. I think it's a shame that this talented man doesn't have any other Skillshare videos or courses, but I plan to listen to his new podcast or watch some of his videos on YouTube. I may use one of his videos for next week's assignment, depending on whether it applies to what I'm working on.

In his course, James Victorie emphasizes the power and importance of individuality, authenticity, and creative expression in typography. While acknowledging the existence of rules and principles, he encourages breaking those rules, exploring new tools, and embracing imperfections in design. This philosophy resonates with me as I constantly challenge myself to do the same. The focus of this class is on using hand-drawn typography to convey one's voice and create impactful, authentic branding, particularly in the context of Project #2, which involves creating an impactful poster design. Typography, according to Victorie, is about more than just arranging letters; it's about visually conveying messages in a way that emotionally connects with an audience. Therefore, typography should not be clean and polished but reflect personal expression and individuality. This concept aligns with what I'm learning in my interaction design course with Professor Khalili, where typography is recognized as a crucial branding element that communicates the brand's personality. Hand-drawn typography allows designers to infuse personal voice and uniqueness into branding, resulting in a stronger emotional impact. Imperfections can make the work feel more human, raw, and relatable, which is the effect I am striving to achieve for this voting poster project.

In this video, the tools used include analog tools such as paint pens, duct tape, and Sumi brushes. Victorie customizes his tools to create unpredictable, organic lines. Firstly, he demonstrates the use of paint pens, altering the tips of paint pens to create more unique, “hairy” lines. The main idea behind this technique is that customizing tools allows for lines that are less controlled and more spontaneous. Another tool that he favors is the Sumi brush. This traditional Japanese calligraphy brush is a favorite of his because it creates varied line thicknesses depending on pressure and movement. This seems like a fun brush to test out! Overall, Victore advocates for experimenting with different tools to find surprising results. The goal is to embrace the unpredictability and let the tools dictate part of the design.

When it comes to radical typography, Victore encourages designers to embrace imperfection. He believes that typography should feel fast, free, and authentic rather than refined and polished. He prefers creating typography with rough edges and spontaneous strokes because it communicates energy and sincerity. One of his favorite exercises involves making quick, small sketches and enlarging them using a Xerox machine to see how imperfections scale. I think this could be a fun and unique way to experiment with some quotes for my democracy poster!

When it comes to creative prompts and exercises, Victore recommends starting with black-and-white designs before adding color. Working in black and white helps designers concentrate on form and composition. He suggests redrawing typography multiple times to see different results and advises working quickly to avoid overthinking. Designers shouldn't over-polish their work. Embracing imperfections such as stray marks and rough lines enhances the authenticity of the design. Victore also urges designers to play with line thickness, movement, and texture, letting each line have its own personality.

Key points from this course include the rejection of perfection, prioritizing authenticity over beauty, and the importance of constant customization and experimentation. Victore emphasizes that the pursuit of perfection often stifles creativity. In typography, the goal is not to create something flawless, but to convey a message with power and personality. It’s more important to communicate something meaningful and authentic than to create something aesthetically perfect. As Victore says, “Nobody cares what it looks like if what you say is dumb.” Every tool can be customized to create a distinct look, adding personality and unpredictability to the work. Victore’s personal method involves altering tools to introduce randomness and surprise in his designs.

In summary, typography is a form of personal expression and should not be restricted by traditional rules. By customizing tools and embracing imperfections, designers can create more authentic and memorable designs. Hand-drawn typography enables a deeper emotional connection and provides branding with a unique voice. Designers should prioritize expressing their ideas rather than pursuing aesthetic perfection.

[boricuacherry-blog]

Album review by: Mark Grondin

amplify a more organic analog foundation. And that's indicative of the larger question of the sound and structure of the album as a whole.

hook, or with Sweet Honey Buckiin sounding like three ideas Pharrell mashed together. The songs flow into each other well, but there's no consideration for momentum. Take 'Daughter,' the sort of sultry, dark country melodrama I was onboard with - but midway through the song she interpolates an Italian opera aria and while lyrically it makes sense in context, it feels like it's only there so Beyoncé could prove her ability to sing in that style.

And then she follows it with Linda Martell talking about the confines of genre on 'Spaghettii,' which is straight up country trap - and I get what the wild juxtapositions in sound are trying to imply about genre convention and who is allowed to expand and explore it - but it's a conversation Beyoncé wants to take by force, and the execution can feel really hamfisted.

Going back to Linda Martell, it's true that her career was derailed by racism from her label boss - the label was literally called Plantation Records - and him threatening to sue any other label she signed to, but also what struck me is how much of it mimics bad business in Nashville to this very day.

And for an album that wants to claim as being so genre-breaking, only magnifying Beyoncé's power, it leaves me asking why she bothers to give the CMAs and Music Row or even the Grammys the time of day, or worse still, very obvious label concessions - Post Malone should not be on this album, for God's sake.

Incidentally, the initial vinyl and CD releases exclude chunks of this album - with pretty much every moment where Linda Martell is actually mentioned - and while that might be just incidental, it does reveal what could be cut. What it also reveals is that Beyoncé are her team are still very much playing the game - I said this with Renaissance and if anything it's more true here, that while there's more structural experimentation, it's not a strong subversion of even Nashville power structures so much as reinforcing the structures in which she holds her own power.

What I find revealing in the direct descendant of Lemonade is how much pure venom Beyoncé has for that 'Becky with the Good Hair' that has persisted nearly a decade later. The vocal performance and arrangement of 'Jolene' is great, and if it was a pure cover, would be a highlight...but Beyoncé and her team rewrite the lyrics where desperate pleas become threats and any possibility of vulnerability or deeper humanity goes out the window. Honestly, it feels tacky.

The next track, Spaghettii features lines that are in direct reference to Kelis calling out Beyoncé for sampling without asking or credit - which Beyoncé and Pharrell absolutely did. And if she's supposedly so beneath you, why are you punching down? For an act that has been so successful, it's a human ugliness that feels very self-serving, and emblematic of a very specific hyper-rich brand of conservatism, those who have achieved every success but still aren't that happy.

And on the conversation of genre and the conflation of systemic racism and capitalism which entrenched them, you can tell exactly where this album stops short of taking that next step - because it would have to acknowledge how much Beyoncé and Jay-Z have benefited from compromising within it; it echoes a much heavier problem with Renaissance, where country has been more willing to play by the rules. But if Beyoncé wants to highlight how those rules were written, why not go all the way? And I'll be honest - that's kind of heartbreaking, because Beyoncé has the power and influence to reach out to women - both white and black - to speak at length about how Music Row has screwed them over.

Ask Yola, who is a black woman with a tremendous voice and acclaimed albums working in Nashville, but has never had radio crossover. Ask Neko Case, who is still blackballed from the Grand Ole Opry to this day. Ask Maren Morris - hell, ask any of the Highwomen, a supergroup Nashville couldn't promote worth shit. You think Beyoncé couldn't have found pathos working with Amanda Shires post-divorce from Jason Isbell after a project like Take It Like A Man? Ask Carly Pearce, who saw her ex-husband's flailing career get as much of a shot of life as hers in the wake of her divorce. Ask Kacey Musgraves - even beyond her own divorce, she's a woman from Texas who was blackballed from country radio and only got to #1 on the Hot 100 a decade after she broke through thanks to Zach Bryan and 'I Remember Everything,' where Nashville radio made the choice to lose money and deliberately not play the song...but she won album of the year at the Grammys, so that spoke for itself.

If you're reading this critique and thinking it's unfair, Beyoncé is not going to fix the system and shouldn't be expected to - there is truth in that. This is not a purity test for Beyoncé - although I'm of the belief that if you have this much power and resources, you face more critique, not less - because truth be told, if she had just made a pure country album with plenty of fiddle and pedal steel and stacked the harmonies as rich as she does here, I'd probably call it one of her best. And if she didn't frequently draw attention to how she's flaunting genre conventions and had let the songs speak for themselves.

[robynthomsonnapierfilm]

Moth! - all day meeting 1 (25th January 2023/ 10.30AM-5PM)

In the last couple of months leading up to our shoot dates, our producer Kate kept us all very organised – ensuring that we always checked in with weekly meetings. However, as time loomed on, our usual schedule of 1-2 hour long meetings just wasn’t cutting it anymore. I offered up my flat for us to have a day-long meeting from 10.30am-5pm so we could spend the whole day as a group finishing up any final decisions we could make as a team (such as casting choices, location choices, etc.).

Kate also scheduled time for each of us to share what we had been working on in our own department, so I was able to update everyone on my latest cinematography progress.

I explained my vision for the film using references to films and stills that had the same lighting or shot types as what I had envisioned for Moth!

Since Lilith had written the character Sophie to have an emotional arc across the film, I wanted to emulate this in the lighting choices. For example, in the opening scene where Sophia is alone in her bedroom and her monologue touches on her feelings of loneliness and sadness, it didn’t feel right to use any warm or overly staged lighting. I wanted to keep it as natural as possible and avoid any warm tones – using flags and bounce materials to shape the natural daylight coming through the large window in the bedroom location.

On the other hand, in later scenes where Sophia returns to her bedroom with Caitlin (whose character acts as a source of happiness in Sophia’s light), I wanted to then incorporate more warmth and include practical lights this time to match the idea that Caitlin is, in a way, a source of light in Sophia’s life.

I had written out a first draft of shot ideas for each scene that I talked through with the group. However, much to my disappointment (but also I understand why lol), Lilith requested that I change some of the shots that involve a lot of camera movement so that they are more static. This is because a lot of the films she had looked to for inspiration within the coming of age genre didn’t actually include much experimental camera movements. Therefore, I agreed to look back at films she mentioned (Lady Bird being a big one) to mimic their styles of cinematography and redo my shot plans. Having constructive criticism and having to change things I like is a natural part of working in a team and I found that being able to adapt my ideas to the director’s preferences has made me stronger in the pre-production parts of being a cinematographer.

I also had to decide which lenses I wanted to use in our shoot by this date so Paul could know which group was using what kit to avoid any crossovers. I did research by watching YouTube videos about each lens brand that was available to me so I could make a well-educated decision based on what would work best for our film. I went with the Zeiss Prime lenses because of their sharp clear images that I knew would be great for adapting to the various environments and differentiation in lighting through the film.

[blackbackedjackal]

hi! I love your illustrations, and i was wondering if you had some tips for making wolves/werewolves look more unsettling? I'm going for a more folklore-y vibe but everything i draw comes out looking very... hot furry. which is a good vibe but not the one i'm going for.

Thank you very much :D!!

June was a character I designed to solve the same dilemma! I wanted to make a werewolf that was scary/unsettling but had a more anthro design later in the story.

The first thing is to gather inspiration! Reference and research is incredibly important if you're looking to try a different art style. Look at various cultural art styles and folklore about wolves or lycans and so some style studies. That way you'll find ways to incorporate those styles into the way you draw.

I also looked at various werewolf designs and picked out all my favorites to make what I considered my ‘perfect’ werewolf. With June, I looked at Bad Moon, Van Helsing, Dog Soldiers, Royakan (Inuyasha), Foxx (Gargoyles), and The Beast Of Gevaudan for inspo. I like to tell people that if you can name at least 3 characters/references that influenced your character, congratulations, they're their own unique character! Use your inspirations and build off of them until you create something uniquely your own. And of course add your personal flare as well :>

For a while I tried to combine the two aesthetics which for me became very difficult. If I drew her too ‘scary’ as an anthro she came out with very little energy/personality. If I drew her too anthro, then she was too cartoony and not intimidating. That’s when I remembered We're Back: A Dinosaur's Story and how the dinosaurs had two separate designs. BUT even as a kid, I knew those were the same dinos, whether they were cartoony versions or the scary ones. So I realized, at least for me and for the sake of June’s design, that two designs were needed. One influenced by the more anthro work, and one by the more creepy/folklore look I was going for.

So after I decided on making two designs, I found more references. I followed a bunch of horror artists to see they conveyed unsettling energy in their work. I'm also just a big fan of both horror movies and horror anime, so I will watch a lot of that while drawing to see how to mimic that feeling in the media. June can't control her primal instincts for much of the plot, so I wanted to convey that feral nature and put most of the focus on her eyes, teeth, and claws. She has very few recognizable ‘human’ features and the features emphasized in her design related to various fears people have (scopophobia, dentophobia, and achluophobia).

So that’s my thought process when I do more stylized folklore/horror work! Research, reference, and experimentation. Some of my personal favorite things to go back to when making something unsettling but still animated are Primal and the demon designs in Inuyasha. They're both phenomenal!!!

[sunsoothed]

hair(care)

remember this post? yes i wrote the fic. with some angst and backstory as a treat! family bonding time and people learning to love. the ao3 summary is "Yohan first learns affection through money, then oil." which i think is really really funny.

word count: 1696

read on ao3

apologies for any errors, and enjoy!

-

The first time Yohan tries, it is before everything. He’s allowed to err here and there, require an entire braid to be unwound and redone. He’s allowed to experiment with the clips and the ribbons and decide when the act is complete and present his art to his niece and his family. Elijah is rightfully fawned over, cheeks bright and smiles brighter, holding onto her uncle and hiding her face in his shoulder with glee.

That was, of course, before everything.

-

If Yohan has touched a hair on Elijah’s head since, it is only to make a promise or only in her sleep.

The doctors will take care of you, don’t worry. Samcheon is here. I won’t let them hurt you any more than you already have been.

Midnight, in that agonising few months of hospital rooms and the claustrophobic rehabilitation centre. When Elijah is able to perceive nothing but her breath, Yohan, hands reverent; soothing his own fears through comforting his niece. Things will be okay. We’ll be fine. A few grounding breaths are never enough, not after he learns what those monsters took from his niece.

And when Elijah cries. When she first asks after her mother and father, why they aren’t by her side, why is it just samcheon everyday? When Yohan’s tears ring before hers, for the first and last time. I’m sorry, so is declared. I’ll fix this, so is promised. He holds her as close as he can permit himself to, and vows to burn down this world if she asks him to.

-

Elijah, once, four years since, on her tenth birthday, asks him, “Can you help me?”

Yohan will pretend like he hasn’t been starved of hearing those words. He follows her to her room, honoured of her trip halfway across the house.

“The girls at school,” Elijah fumbles about, wringing her hands together, “that… they wear their…”

He stands in her doorway, somewhat uninvited, waits for her to finish.

“They wear their hair, kind of… like this,” Elijah mimics some variation of a hairstyle best she can, two locks of her hair held in her hands, the parting off. “I was just…”

Yohan, unfortunately, understands little. “Do you need a haircut?”

Elijah’s hands fall, as does the thin hope upon her features. “It’s nothing,” she dismisses. “I only called you because ahjumma wasn’t in today. It’s fine.”

Yohan blinks. “I can help if —”

“It’s fine,” Elijah hisses. “I was mistaken.”

-

If there is any chance of that ever happening again, time will have to be reversed. Elijah turns twelve, and things change, and Yohan notes his laptop has been hacked.

He buys her a cake for her thirteenth birthday that finds itself smashed against a wall and a demand for no such recurrence.

Yohan will never disobey her. Not with things that she can control.

So he buys no cakes, but buys her a building and channels the affection he allows himself to feel once a month in an allowance that shocks Ms Ji despite the lifetime she’s spent in this family.

Once, there is a package of hair care products with their usual shipment of essentials, which Ms Ji makes a show of putting in Yohan’s way. When he relents, it only takes a tilt of head to the east of the house for her to get the hint. He never knows if Elijah uses them, but the list goes on to include some products out of the large batch he’d purchased, and Yohan considers buying another building.

-

On her sixteenth birthday, Yohan asks, “Do you want to have a birthday party?”

Elijah asks, “Who will we call?”

Yohan nods, for that is an apt answer.

-

When Kim Gaon comes, Elijah hates him more than usual. That, Yohan had expected. What he hadn’t was that this hatred would melt away faster than ice when met with fire.

The frist time Elijah sports a more delicate hairstyle than the usual ponytail, Yohan thinks it’s a trick of the light. But she turns her head when retrieving cereal, and her hair is still parted that way and a short braid runs from behind her ear into the clipped-back hair at the back of her head, and Yohan pauses to stare.

Instead of their noncommittal acknowledgement of each other each morning, he asks, “When did you…” and gestures to the back of his head.

Elijah shrugs, looking over at him impassively for a moment before pursuing her breakfast once again. Kim Gaon slides into view, grin perpetually etched into his face, asks, “Elijah, did it stay?”

To which Elijah smiles back, and now Yohan’s eyebrows remain shot up.

Kim Gaon continues to talk, “It’s experimental. We’ll try a different style tomorrow. Your hair’s long enough to make an intricate bun.”

Yohan ensures Elijah watches him conspicuously eye the both of them.

“Kim pansa,” he says, breaking the moment. “We need to go to work.”

-

The next day, and the day after that, Elijah wears her hair in different styles. Once it is a high bun with some small braids, once it is a different parting and a new set of clips. Yohan observes critically over breakfast as Elijah holds her head a certain way to ensure it doesn’t fall into her food, and thinks, how impractical.

She catches him looking, so she hoists a sour look, to which Yohan responds with an exaggerated tilt of his head, aiming to mimic her.

“Don’t make fun of her,” Kim Gaon’s imposing voice interrupts. “Elijah looks fantastic today.”

Elijah beams. Yohan is disarmed of a biting reply for he hasn’t seem her teeth take on anything but a stubborn baring of power in front of him. He spends the rest of the day replaying it.

-

When things so south and north again, when Elijah acknowledges, begrudgingly, that her uncle did not have it out for her father, Kim Gaon mediates harmoniously.

He spends an evening making them both chase the cat around the house.

It’s an inane idea, even Elijah hates it, but he tells them the reason Kkomi starts throwing things off their desks at four in the morning is because she’s understimulated, and that even a cat needs to exercise.

So it’s Elijah’s job to get her rilled up enough to run — in a cat’s terribly comic way — away from them, and Yohan’s to ensure she keeps running around.

He’s insane, is what Kim Gaon is. Elijah’s more than sure this borders on some ethical offense. Yohan sure seems to find some pleasure in making the cat scared for her life.

Gaon congratulates them both with a mid-evening coffee and snack break. Elijah actually, voluntarily, asks for Yohan to pass the plate of biscuits across, and thanks him — thanks him! — when he does.

Before they all retire to bed, after another shared meal, Elijah calls for him from down the hall.

“Yohan!”

He turns, maintaining what he thinks is a smile.

“Can you try and get some coconut oil?”

“What for?”

Elijah scrutinises him, gauging how he doesn’t understand something so obvious. “For my hair.”

Yohan nods, still not on the same page, but very much wanting to be. “I’ll get it,” he assures.

He doesn’t blink twice at the astronomical shipping price.

-

It’s a tall bottle, imported and primly packaged, that greets Elijah when she returns home from her weekly ice-cream run with Gaon.

She eyes it, suspicious, before their resident busybody stands in her doorway and says, “Oh, bujang-nim actually bought it for you.”

Elijah blinks at Gaon innocently. Yohan does listen to her sometimes.

“Material wealth,” Gaon seems to understand. “We’ll put it in your hair tomorrow, okay? Keep it in for a few hours.”

“A few hours?” Yohan voices, having just turned the corner, dressed as he usually is at home.

“What are you doing here,” Elijah mutters, shooting a scowl at Yohan as he stands in her doorway as well.

He scowls back, never one to back down from a challenge, as Gaon goes on about the benefits of oiling hair behind them.

-

“Don’t pull,” Elijah hisses.

“I’m not,” Yohan insists, but puts less force into his actions nonetheless.

Gaon and Ms Ji are monitoring them, mirroring each other with their arms crossed and leaning against opposite sides of the doorway.

Yohan sections Elijah’s hair into three parts after brushing through it, the fine-toothed comb surprisingly sparse of broken hair.

“Gaon has been helping me take care of it,” Elijah had explained, when he errantly asked. “What, did you think I’m some sort of wild animal?”

Yohan carefully collects some oil in his palms, completely foreign to this, eyes flickering up to Gaon for guidance. Gaon is absolutely no help.

So he trusts his instincts and starts at Elijah’s scalp, rubbing oil in, and ends with oil down his forearms and Elijah’s hair in a thick braid. She’s fast asleep.

“That means you did a good job,” Gaon whispers to him.

Yohan would smile, but such affection hardly suits his face. He pats Gaon’s face with an oily hand, leaves him spluttering, and grins to himself as he tries to wash the oil off.

-

It barely becomes a routine, because despite Gaon’s somewhat vast knowledge on hair care and what Elijah read online, washing oil out of your hair can be a nightmare. But Ms Ji and Gaon have observed their two sulking overlords interacting with an increasing frequency, even if it is sometimes just to disagree about an arrangement of clips or parting of hair.

Gaon had supposed, somewhat, that his bujang-nim had at least an understanding of style. In his discussions with his niece, though, when somehow colour schemes and draping becomes relevant, Gaon admits he’d underestimated Kang Yohan.

Later Elijah will decide she wants to dress for dinner as well, and Yohan will be the only one diligently obeying the formality. So much so that he will leave a guest in the company of the villainous home to attend to his niece’s requests. No one will ask about the pink bow in her hair, but it’s more than enough for Yohan to know that he tied it up.

[pastelpaperplanes]

Quick question about shading, I know to never shade with black, but does that mean that the shading color should not be darkened? Also, what lighting would cause a shadow to be saturated, and what lighting would cause a shadow to be more gray-ish? Thank you in advance (^_^)

I should have been more specific my bad! I didn’t mean NEVER shade with the color black, just it’s not visually appealing to shade every single color with it.

like here’s a few examples of with alternatives to just black that work well with the flat colors shown (yellow, purple, and pink)

of course this is just a visual and there’s nothing wrong with choosing pure black as your shade, it’s just other colors can work well with different palettes. You’re not just limited to one, experimenting is FANTASTIC practice to figuring out what works/looks good to you!

The color you choose to shade can absolutely be darkened! Again just be sure you look at what kind of mood you’re trying to put out if you do choose to go with darker toned colors instead of vibrant ones.

To answer your question about ‘What lighting could cause a shadow to look more saturated?’ I’m gonna refer to a lighting practice thingy that I did a while back to try and help explain! ((Ft. The Beloved German Boy 🙏✨))

looking at numbers 2 & 4, both settings use vibrant AND dark colors to put off more saturated shadows.

For 2, I was trying to mimick what would be a shadow cast of neon lights or colored spotlights, like ones you’d maybe find on a stage or a club! Here I chose both a completely saturated color (red and pink) and two solid but stark darker colors (blue and royal blue) to mimick this kind of vibe.

For 4, I mimicked the style of tfa’s ep1 lighting on the Nemesis. I chose a strong dark blue and purple to cast the main shadows, and a fully saturated almost neon violet for the highlights. This lighting puts off an eerie, but also classic cartoony evil villain lair kind of look.

In both of these cases, vibrant and fully saturated colors were used to cast shadows. While yes, I chose to explain the direct situation these kinds of shadows came about, the purpose of this practice was supposed to allow the viewer to imagine for themselves what kinds of senario Blitzwing was in, ALL BASED ON COLOR!

For you question on ‘What lighting would cause a shadow to be more gray-ish?’ I’m gonna focus on numbers 3 & 5

3 was supposed to mimic a dramatic situation, like maybe telling a spooky story with a flash light to the face, or having an interrogation spotlight cast down on Blitzwing. The gray-ish shadow was created with using black!! I REALLY wanted to let the viewer focus on the parts with the most color (where the highlight shines on the face) so black was my best choice in directing that attention to that place. The bleak shadowed areas allow for a strong scene, maybe something that is suspenseful or solemn, less saturated colors for shading helps to achieve those kinds of moods.

For 5, I was trying to create a night-lit scene. Here I did NOT use black to shade, only a very dark blue, and pure white for added highlights. Again, less color into your shadow -> starker lighting difference. This kind of lighting can be used for a more serious kind of scene, then again the shadows aren’t casted SUPER SUPER dark, so it can be used for other moods as well.

In summary: saturated colors are nice for spunky lighting, darker colors work well with more dramatic lighting!

haha full disclosure right here: I have not been taught/trained in color theory let alone professional art classes. All of these tips are regurgitated information from tutorials I’ve studied/my own experimentation with my work and mimicking others styles of art! I apologize if these tips are disagreeable, this ask was directed towards me and my own opinion/recommendation so I just went for it.

Please feel free to comment/add on any tips you’d like so share :D

[metrixnos]

Do you have any drawing tips? I know this is super vague but like just in general do you have any tips for improving art styles your work is always so pretty and fluid

aaaaaa first off ty!1!1 <33

and drawing tips for improving art styles? uhh, well if you wanna find something that really vibes with you, i'd recommend to go into pieces from artists you really enjoy and just kinda try and mimic what you like from them. is it the color palette? the blending style? the shading? linework? kind of try and make it your own, see how it works in your own drawings. see if you like more painterly things or something very cartoonish and graphic—basically experimentation is what i'm saying. have fun with it!

another thing that really helped me personally is watching the drawing process of other artists. like speed-paints or going back to drawing fundamentals; like gesture drawings, figure studies, anatomy studies, color theory yada yada, and see what i can take from it to improve my own art. (some recommendations i can provide—granted these artist are very catered to me and what skillset im working for my own art—are wolfythewitch, emilyena, sinix design, and cosmic spectrum art. most accessible on youtube btw.)

hope this helps :DD (if you wanted something more specific, feel free to send another ask or dm me if you rlly needed to)

[sagemoderocklee]

2020 has been a weird fucking year, to put it mildly. There have been a lot of ups and downs, and with New Year’s Eve and the start of 2021 upon us, focusing on the ~positive~ seemed like a better way to end the year, and hopefully start 2021 feeling inspired and proud for overcoming this horrendous year.

For many people, it was difficult--even impossible--to get anything done this year (myself included), and that’s okay! But if you were able to make progress on writing projects, even if it was just one or even if it was just part of one, you should celebrate that! I wish I’d thought of this sooner and organized it better, but regardless I wanted to celebrate my own accomplishments with regards to my writing, and encourage others to do the same! I was going to tag people, but I’m not sure with it being 2 hours til midnight for me if that would feel like putting too much pressure on others, so if you want to do this too please do!

This wrap up is honestly just a self-indulgent look back on the works I’ve made and what I learned/gained from each, maybe what I don’t like about them, some totaling on what I did, and some resolutions for the next year. It’s silly, but I think it’s kinda fun and if you missed any of the things I have posted this year, you’ll find them here!

2020 Fic Wrap Up:

Kado: Parts II+III (COMPLETED)

Kado was started in September of 2019 for the @puregaalee​ summer event. This was a last minute thing that I started the day the prompt was due and managed to write the first part in about 6 hours while sitting in a cafe--remember that? Sitting in cafes? Man, I miss that. I hadn’t anticipated working on Kado, but I decided that I was going to finish it this year, and I’m honestly amazed that I did. This fic is sweet and fun, and surprisingly popular, though it isn’t my favorite of my works. However, it is a light, fluffy little romcom modern AU, and I learned a lot with it because despite my struggles with modern AUs and their horrible lack of political intrigue, this fic forced me to work within set parameters. I was only writing a 3 part story, and each part could only be 9 scenes long. For those unfamiliar, kado is another term for Ikebana, and in Ikebana there are specific elements to follow. Certain styles will only use three branches, some will use nine. So my goal was for the structural elements of the fic to mimic Ikebana. In doing this, I was able to do something I don’t usually do, which is keep this story more concise.

I’m still not sure how I personally feel about the ending, but I think endings are always a struggle, especially with something like this.

Gate of Dreaming (COMPLETED) 

This is a fic that I started last year, then left to sit untouched with only 2k words. Getting back into it was a bit difficult because I was writing something very different from my usual: stream of consciousness. This fic was very experimental for me not only because of the stream of consciousness, but also because of the changing tenses. This was another exercise--unexpected though it was--in brevity. With this particular story, it couldn’t be dragged on and on, because--despite the 100 year time span--the events take place within the Infinite Tsukuyomi. This was also the first time I’d worked from Lee’s PoV in quite some time, so that was fun because I do enjoy writing him, but usually write from Gaara’s PoV. This is definitely one of my favorites from this year, and since it had been sitting on the back burner for so long, I’m so excited that I could finally get it done.

Another one where the ending really wasn’t easy to achieve, but I did end up liking it more than I expected, and I think the best thing is that it’s open-ended which leaves room for others to guess at what the future holds.

It Eats Your Heart (WIP)

This was an unexpected fic for me in every way imaginable. Starting another fic? Making another modern AU? Tackling the horror genre? None of those were things I’d planned to do this year, but lo and behold, that’s just what I did. I really enjoy a good bit of horror, but it is NOT an easy genre to work within, and this fic has definitely been a push for me. But with it being such a push, the payoff is far more. Stepping out of my comfort zone is something I like doing, but I think this is the biggest step outside of that and I am so incredibly proud of how that first chapter turned out because of it. I was really able to surprise myself with this fic, and I am hoping to update the next chapter early on in the year.

Absolution (WIP)

This fic is probably the second oldest idea/longest unpublished fic I currently have up. Formerly a much longer title, the idea for this fic came to me in May of 2017 when a friend, @brianadoesotherjunk / @brianadoesart, posted a piece of GaaLee fanart that sparked inspiration. The fic took off, morphed into something much bigger than the one scene depicted by the art, and now 3 years later, the first part is up. Initially, this was meant to be a long shot, but after sitting with this for so long, I realized that I needed to split it up into 9 parts, which allowed me to use this for GaaLee bingo and finally publish it. Much of the first part was already written before this year, but I’d been quite stuck on it until now. This is actually probably one of my favorite GaaLee concepts to date. I remember back in the day, there weren’t a lot of different takes on getting Lee to Suna so he and Gaara could fall in love, so (at the risk of sounding cocky) I think that Lee as a nanny is rather inspired. I think with this fic, I pushed myself the hardest to get past the hurdle of writer’s block and accepted that publishing is probably the best way to motivate myself to keep going. The feedback for this fic has been really motivating, so I think I’m probably right about that.

I do think there are some parts in the middle or towards the end that could maybe use some tightening up, but I’m just happy to finally have this fic out in the world.

The Art of Love: Chapter 11 (WIP)

TAoL is such a ridiculous labor of love. The chapters for this fic are novellas in and of themselves, so each time I update it takes a lot of work to get them out. This fic is one of those like magnum opus type fics. I have put so much into it, and I’m honestly amazed that it’s only been up for 3 years because I’m approaching the halfway mark on it, and I don’t think I expected to be there by now. Despite being able to churn out 30k chapters, I have a hard time focusing on one thing and I often struggle with mental health related writer’s block, so big works are always sort of sporadic in their updates. 

This particular update of TAoL was definitely one of my favorites though. Initially, I didn’t plan to go the sort of dark fantasy rout that I did with Shikamaru, but I actually really love what I’ve done with him, though I worry others won’t be as into it or that the execution isn’t quite there. One thing I would like to work on with future chapters of TAoL, however, is maybe pairing things down a bit--though I’m not sure that’ll always be possible. The next chapter is a Naruto PoV chapter, though, so I expect that one to be a MUCH shorter chapter than the last three and should be able to get it out sometime next year.

Before I could publish this chapter, however, I did go through and make some big changes, which is something I often struggle with because of such long breaks in between working on certain projects. I will say, though, that TAoL continues to push me to greater heights as a writer, and I look forward to actually finishing this fic someday.

Thirteen Strokes: 1 + 2 (WIP)

Another unexpected fic this year, however, this one was actually an idea for about a year, unlike IEYH. This fic has really given me a lot of perspective on my own writing and world building, and has inspired me to sit down and really start committing the things I’ve developed to paper to create a cohesive view of Suna, Wind, and the shinobi world. This fic is meant to be a Romance. Like just full on Romance. I write a lot of tragedy and focus on a lot of darker themes in my writing, so while I don’t think of this as stepping outside of my comfort zone, it is very different from my usual, and a really nice change of pace. I think, in all honesty, it is one of my best works, and I do hope I can continue to deliver on the remaining 11 parts of this story.

if this were the last i felt you breathing (COMPLETED)

Ugh. This fic has been my enemy for 2 long years. I signed up for a Secret Santa exchange, and of course, I regretted doing it when I found that I was not motivated and, after the month of October where I was churning out fic after fic for GaaLee Bingo, that I was massively burned out. I wasn’t able to think past writer’s block, and so I ended up settling on dusting off an old, unfinished piece for my giftee, and I hope they can forgive me for not coming up with something brand new for them.

This fic was a struggle. Working so closely with the canon--following the Rescue Kazekage Arc as closely as I did for this fic--made this a much bigger challenge and this fic sat and sat and sat for two years, untouched and incomplete. I’m still not sure how I feel about it. I know it’s not my best work, but I am glad that this fic isn’t hanging over my head and that I was able to deliver something to my secret santa giftee.

My goal with this fic was to rewrite this particular arc from Lee’s PoV to give more depth to the arc and shift the emotional core of it away from Naruto. Naruto as a character has a lot of flaws that never get addressed, and one of the things that is consistently frustrating for me is the way the emotional core of the series rests on him in unrealistic and often superficial ways. Naruto hasn’t spoken to Gaara in three years, but I’m supposed to believe he’s this affected by Gaara’s kidnapping? Temari and Kankuro are right there! Lee is right there! I wanted to see that, so that’s what I set out to do, and ultimately I don’t think I fully succeeded, but I tried. I guess not everything can be a resounding success

---

This year I managed to do a lot more than I realized. New works, updates, and COMPLETED pieces?! I never would have thought, but staying home gave me more free time, and when I was too broke to work on costumes, writing fanfiction was something free I could do.

Total new works: 5 Total updates: 9 Total completed works: 3 Total words this year: 143,587

---

I have a lot of goals for the coming year, and I know I won’t make all of them, but that won’t stop me from trying.

2021 Writing Resolutions:

Reach 1million words (+238,073 words)

Finish IEYH

Finish Pearl-Filled Lungs

Update TAoL (Chapter 12 and 13)

Update Absolution

Update 13S

Update Find Me (Chapter 6)

Start the Ballad of the Dragon and the Phoenix

Start editing Alliance

Return to working on Honor Bound

Return to working on We Need Not Be Yellow Tulips

[sinceileftyoublog]

Mina Tindle Interview: A Natural Frame

Photo credit: ©rgm

BY JORDAN MAINZER

The release of Mina Tindle’s SISTER last October was supposed to be accompanied by an ambitious live show and an hour-long film made up of visuals for its nine captivating songs. After all, these sorts of artistic deep dives are what the project of Pauline de Lassus is all about. But when it became clear last summer--the summer of COVID-19--that neither could be easily achieved or achieved any time soon, de Lassus let go of her inhibitions. Recorded and filmed during a specific time last summer in France when the virus was more under control and travel/lockdown restrictions were somewhat lifted, The LFO/Blogothèque Sessions present stripped-back versions of some songs from SISTER as well as a track that didn’t make the cut. With help from Kate Stables (This Is The Kit), de Lassus’ husband Bryce Dessner (The National), and David Chalmin, and in collaboration with French production company La Blogothèque, de Lassus presents the songs in new ways. The percussive gallop of “Fire and Sun” presents itself more in Dessner’s guitar in the live version. Vocal harmonies and guitar take the place of beats and strings on “Belle Pénitence”. A cover of Sufjan Stevens’ “Give A Little Love”, whose album version features Stevens and his quintessentially Reichian arpeggios, is all about the harmonies between de Lassus and Stables. And “Indigo”, never recorded, is buoyed by Dessner’s spritely, finger-picked guitar.

As much as these sessions have the feel of a fleeting moment--that should the group have decided to play them on, say, a different day, that they would take another shape--they’re also very much a product of place. For one, it wouldn’t have happened had de Lassus been somewhere without access to a studio, let alone with lesser restrictions. The accompanying videos--just as much a part of the release as the audio--were shot from de Lassus and Dessner’s new home in the South of France, where they moved from Paris with their child. The almost mystical, beautiful quality of the surroundings makes me think of what de Lassus told me over the phone last month about “the fantasy of having a live show.” With a camera capturing moments where the group decided to just go for it, it’s got that live quality, but like the best “live albums,” make you hungry to experience the music in person for yourself.

The LFO/Blogothèque Sessions was released on Friday via 37d03d, the “people” label. (“They give their artists a lot of freedom and love,” de Lassus said. “They’re amazing...I don’t think I would have put the record out if it wasn’t with them.”) Read our conversation about adapting the songs to a new setting, edited for length and clarity.

Since I Left You: Did you always want to do stripped-down versions of these songs, or was the occasion of lockdown restrictions being lifted the inspiration?

Pauline de Lassus: Something I love doing is having nice visuals or working on videos. I had a big project for this record, a film the length of the 9 songs--I wanted to make a movie. But it was a totally different object, an homage to [Norman] McLaren. I wanted to do a one-hour long video. Everything was cancelled because of COVID, and I ended up doing all the videos myself. Do it yourself, like back in the days. I chose women I love dancing, and it was nice to work on. But it’s really nice when it’s professional. I knew there would not be any shows for this record--maybe in a few years. So I had the idea of trying to capture that. I did it with basically family--Kate Stables, Bryce is my husband, and David is a really close friend. Doing it in the safest environment possible. It was really nice.

SILY: Was it natural to strip down these songs? How did you adapt them to the setting?

Pauline: We just played them. We kind of worked on it with Bryce a bit. He’s really good at that. When I got the chance to tour with The National, I saw they record an album and know all the songs, because they work on it for months. We did maybe four days of rehearsal in Paris to start the tour, and that was it, and after four days, they played the songs over and over. There were like 50 of them. By the end they went on stage and just played the music. I remember thinking, “Woah.” My way of doing it would be to overplay or overwork them to try to get the right version instead of just playing the music. It’s more the fact that they play it a lot that it turned into something they like. Because these songs were so minimal, we didn’t have to sing too much. 

SILY: It seems like certain qualities of the songs you kept but achieved them in a different way, like the forward gallop in the drum beat on the SISTER version of “Fire and Sun”, you get more in the guitar here, whereas for “Belle Pénitence”, the emphasis is more on the vocal harmonies and the guitar than on the strings and the beats like on SISTER. Did that, too, kind of come naturally from just playing them?

Pauline: I think we just played them. I love making records. It’s one of the things I love doing the most. I don’t mind if it takes 5 years, and I don’t mind a quick record, but working in the studio is a really different process. You can add all the things you want. It’s kind of magic. These days, it’s not on tape, so you can erase the minute after. It’s really an experimental place.

Playing them [live], I have one of the greatest musicians and guitar players in Bryce. He can get the essence of the song really easily. And the soul of Kate, we love singing together; every time, something happens. I think it was a way to sing with more space. We weren’t trying to mimic any existing version, which is great, because I’ve been touring with Mina Tindle for years where the expectation was I am trying to mimic the record. The up-tempo song had to be up-tempo. This time, it was extremely free. It was really nice, because what I needed was really little. Two instruments, two singers, that’s it. We wanted to play them acoustic, which is sometimes a challenge.

SILY: What you said about playing them with more space really stood out to me on the EP version of “Indian Summer”. You have this piano ballad as opposed to something that’s more all over the place.

Pauline: I love both! In the past, I’ve been slow at making records. Sometimes, I just have the demo, and it’s the first draft, and it’s good. That’s why I like the idea of having a live recording, because it has to be straight and honest right away. In a way, I feel like you interpret it differently, also, because it’s one shot. Maybe we had two shots, but there was no editing.

SILY: How did you get around not having Sufjan’s presence on “Give A Little Love”?

Pauline: When I sing that song, I always try to be at the level of his song. He’s the sweetest person, so he couldn’t care less--he’d give me freedom to adapt the song [even] metal or AC/DC style. He’s a free mind. It’s sweet because I’m more shy when it’s my songs, but I love covering songs that I love. [Feist and I] did this tribute to Lhasa de Sela, who is one of my favorite singers ever. She passed away when she was really young. We had a love for her music and ended up making a show that we played in London and France and Ireland and Berlin, where we were covering her songs. It was one of my favorite things to do. It’s an ode to my love to music, whereas when I sing my songs, I feel more shy or intimidated to open up. Sometimes, I really wonder why I open my heart. When it’s someone else, I feel happy they’re connecting.

SILY: What’s the story behind the new song on this release, “Indigo”?

Pauline: “Indigo” is the black sheep of the record. It was many people’s favorite song, but I had 5 versions of it I couldn’t choose from. When I ended up not putting it on SISTER, I was really happy. I felt relieved. I didn’t know where to put it. I tried to mix it with different people, but it was never right. Kate had sung that song with me many times, so she knew it, and this was the right way to do it. I felt totally fine presenting that version. This EP is a way to free up any vision. It is what it is. That’s why it was on that record, because we really wanted to sing that song together. It’s a story of a separation, if I remember correctly. Losing each other. I remember being obsessed with the idea of losing someone you really love. It was not my personal life; fortunately, I was doing pretty okay. But having a kid is a total volcano in your life, and I was looking at many people around me who seemed to not be okay, living through that experience, so it was a song about how you can tear apart when something’s supposed to make you closer.

SILY: You could have a whole rarities release of different versions of “Indigo” as your next release.

Pauline: Yeah. I don’t think anybody would like to listen to it. [laughs] The same song four times.

SILY: What’s the story behind the cover art of this release?

Pauline: It’s Kate and I dancing. We were really happy because we did [the recording] in two days. We had an extra day with her, so we did some stuff for her, and we were just dancing. There was a huge storm--the weather where we are is crazy. It can rain and be super shiny in twenty minutes. So we had this crazy summer storm and started dancing as if it was a mirror and improvising the dancing. We are not dancers. [laughs] But we had a lot of fun. This red window is the typical colors of the architecture in the region. It’s actually in my house. I’ve already taken so many pictures of people inside and outside that window, because the window reflects the landscape behind. It’s so beautiful. It’s like a natural frame, and whatever you put inside, it’s kind of logical.

SILY: Are you planning or able to do live shows or live streams?

Pauline: As I told you, I intended to do way bigger or ambitious thing at first, because I kind of hate videos for music--or I never watch them. For me, the music is not more important, but enough. So when you do videos, it’s nice when you have something unique. We couldn’t do that movie I was thinking about, so putting money into trying to make a beautiful live performance was it. I was happy with it.

A livestream, maybe under certain conditions, but it’s a really strange period where even more than before, while I’m happy to give and share what I’m creating, but privacy is more something I’m into these days.

SILY: Livestreams do have that bedroom aspect.

Pauline: It’s kind of an exhibitionist thing I’ve never had. I’ve always felt conflicted about it with social media. It’s like opening your house to people. I’m not judging people who do it--you can do it really healthily--but I don’t feel comfortable. So far, I’ve said no to a lot of stuff.

SILY: Some of the best ones I’ve seen have skirted the home recording feel because they’re recorded at an actual venue and professionally edited. It’s not really live, but it’s at least for the time being something a little bit in between.

Pauline: We should look forward to live shows coming back, not necessarily doing bad performances. Like with social media, we now see 30-second music extracts, like on TikTok. The quality is not getting better. We don’t have to share everything the universe is offering to us. Sometimes it’s better to hold back and wait. That’s totally my point, though. Of course, when you’re in your 20s, you should do whatever you want to do, but at this point in my life, I don’t feel the urge to constantly express myself. I’m just old, you know? [laughs]

SILY: What else have you been up to lately?

Pauline: I’m doing a lot of things not related to music. I’m illustrating a book that’s more for children. It’s around music. I’m busy spending my days painting and drawing, and I love it. It’s creative, but it’s nice to take a break from music. The final collection is gonna be really cool.

SILY: Anything you’ve been listening to, watching, or reading lately that’s caught your attention?

Pauline: Besides two children’s books a week. You can see there’s a big switch in illustrations for kids books. You can spend a whole day at the library in the kid’s section. It’s so impressive and beautiful.

My knowledge in feminism was really bad, so the last 6 months, I’ve been reading everything I can on the subject and listening to podcasts. It’s basically my routine. I thought I wasn’t feminist, but I am.

[my-darling-boy]

Goodmorning✨ For the past few years I’ve been dressing in a mix of contemporary and vintage fashion. However, the past few weeks I’ve been having trouble feeling comfortable in my Victorian clothing because I feel I don’t fit the “look”. Especially as a teenager with acne, I don’t look like the pictures of people I inspire to look like. It’s been really discouraging and while I know it doesn’t matter how I look, it’s difficult because vintage fashion is all about the appearance. 1/2

“I don’t want to change the way I look, but I don’t want to feel I can’t dress in my favorite outfits because I look different. I was wondering if you ever felt that way and if you’ve had any advice. Love your blog btw, it’s been a great inspiration to me! Thank you for your time and have a lovely day💕🍓”

Hello! This is actually a REALLY good discussion.

I did actually feel this way when I first started dressing in period clothing. My face and body were no strangers to horrible acne breakouts, my hair refused to do certain hairstyles, my height at 5ft/152cm was still quite short compared to the old fashioned average height of around 5’8”, and other little things of the sort made me frustrated about dressing up.

But here’s the thing I’ve learned about people throughout history: their bodies haven’t actually changed.

Unclear by what we might see in photographs or paintings, acne has actually been around FOREVER. Today, it is in the top 3 most common skin conditions a person will experience in their lifetime. Acne is not a new concept; though media might try to pin it up all on poor air quality, modern day chemicals, and unhealthy foods, the truth is, none of those things have invented acne as references to acne in ancient religious text could certainly not be blamed on Little Caesar’s pizza. In fact, we experience around the same rates of acne as people did hundreds of years ago, and that’s coming from eras where people were urged to put strips of meat on their face for a healthy glow and bathe in radioactive substances to achieve the (literal) toxic Aesthetic of being delicately diseased. Sure, while dirt and grease can help induce acne, this still doesn’t account for the causes of hormonal acne or the natural appearance of acne no matter how much water you drink or how often you wash your face.

The people in photographs you may have observed with flawless completions were achieved through incredibly dangerous means. Arsenic, ammonia, lead, mercury, carbonic acid, and other incredibly toxic materials and devices were used to bleach the skin, burn away freckles, practically seal pores shut, and even warp cartilage in the face to achieve the desired Look. In the Victorian era specifically, obviously (white) western euro-centric, the fragile, dreamlike aesthetic one receives in the early stages of dying from a disease running rampant at the time like tuberculosis was heavily romanticised and desired with the slightly pink cheeks and flawless, porcelain skin.

The quality of the photos during the Victorian era, and even in the following Edwardian era, play a part in how we perceive their skin. Cameras often acted as a complete blemish/rash eraser because of how the camera picks up light and shadow. And no matter their gender, people often looked soft and glowing in their portraits, and it’s largely owed to the camera quality itself. For instance, in this photo a photographer took of me and some guys last year with a genuine 1900s Kodak camera, you would never be able to tell of the various pimples, moles, freckles, fine wrinkles, large pores, and other “imperfections” we had on our faces at the time. In the photo, our skin appears completely flawless

People had wild hair that was unable to be tamed! Brushes had close bristles that made hair appear frizzy and hot irons to straighten hair would severely damage hair, even burn it straight off if you weren’t careful! Special (usually toxic or unavailable today) hair products and means were used to achieve the desired hair! There were short men as there were literal whole battalions in WWI for men under 5’3” called Bantam Battalions, and I reenact one myself, the 15th Sherwood Foresters! People, especially the wealthy, would pile so much stuff onto their faces and do themselves up in ways that were not usual for every day Victorian life and purely for the photo! And knowing these things alone, I started to feel much better about myself in period clothing. Like, oh! these people actually did look like me!

Even though we have an extensive library of low quality photos from the Victorian and Edwardian eras combined, think about the range of people and their unique skin, bodies, faces those capture in comparison to the TRILLIONS of images captured YEARLY in modern day with high definition cameras which, as we all know, point out things in our skin we can’t even see in the mirror with our own two eyes.

In history, if it’s not written or photographed, it can seem like it never existed. It’s perfectly normal, and expected, to be a Victorian teen with acne, even if Jane Austen didn’t write about the extensive skin conditions of each character or cameras weren’t getting up close and personal with a person’s face! The truth is, people were VERY diverse throughout history in body, skin, hair, teeth, you name it; the internet, photographers, cameras, and photo subjects themselves just like to paint a different (often staged and biased) picture!

I’ll add: on top of the various dangerous chemicals and restrictive, uncomfortable clothing to appear Flawless, apperances were also sometimes further altered after the photo was taken by the use of painting over plain backgrounds to tighten in waists and appear slimmer. Painters of paintings themselves would often “correct” certain facial and body features at the request of the subject, as well as paint in backgrounds that weren’t actually there. Basically, people were finding ways to photoshop hundreds of years ago before photoshop was even invented!

My advice to feel a little more Historical, as someone who gets told that they look period a lot, is that a lot of what can make you feel more Period Looking can be found in simple changes to clothing and hair, depending on your gender expression. Instead of using modern looking fabrics, switch them out to cotton, linen, wool, or knits. Use button braces instead of clip ones, make things more high waisted. Switch out plastic glasses frames for wire ones, change thick silk ties to thinner and lighter materials. Wear undergarments that make the chest and body mimic postures or looks particular to the era (I don’t mean “look thinner”: corsets weren’t just for cinching in waists but also for posture and other period features, such as Edwardian corsets arching the back and smoothing out the chest. The divided breasts look didn’t come around until about the invention of the bullet bra). Do some research into hairstyles that work with your hair type, and see if there are any hairstyling methods that can be used in a safer or more convenient modern way (i.e. Victorian ammonia hair wash and hot fireplace irons are a no-no. But people brushed their hair with close bristled brushes or toothpick combs, and those are safe!)

TLDR; you look the same as Victorian people! In fact, we all do! It’s how we style and trim our hair or the way we dress and what we dress in that demonstrates the era we’re from, and sometimes it takes a little experimentation in modern day to figure out ways to mimic these styles

Hope this helps love! x