#what is Conceptual Light and how is it different from. light.

[problematicraccoon]

when people say "ignore the 3D" i always noticed how they just didn't elaborate, and for a long time that frustrated me to the point where i would avoid practicing loa because i didn't understand it and not one person would explain it in a way that made sense to me. im the type of person that needs things spelled out in a more detailed, realistic way, while most posts talkng about loa and manifestation are more abstract and conceptual. im not saying this is a bad thing, its just a different way to explain the law that makes sense to some but not to others.

so, now that i finally understand loa, im gonna explain it in a way that i wish someone would have done for me lmao

ignoring the 3D doesnt mean to stop living in your cr, to stop functioning and shut down, ignoring all responsibilities. it means to look at the outer world and accept it as the reality your PAST thoughts created. your PAST assumptions. reality has a bit of a delay for a lot of people (not all, but i've seen a great majority of people talk about how they struggle with it), in the sense that when affirming that they have their dream life or they've shifted, its not instantaneous like a lot of posts say it should be.

this delay reminds me of how light takes time to reach the earth. there are stars that are so far away from us, that when we look at them, we're seeing them YEARS in the past, probably centuries. the light of our own sun takes 8 minutes to reach us. when we see the sun, we're seeing what it looked like 8 minutes ago. there is a delay in what you see, but that doesn't mean that what you WANT to see isnt coming.

ignoring the 3D simply means that you see the reality around you, and you calmly accept that it's what your PREVIOUS assumptions created, and you continue to focus on affirming. intrusive thoughts going "but where is it? why isnt it here yet????" IGNORE THEM. shake your head like an etch a sketch and persist in affirming. live in the end, as in assume you already have it, and act as such.

ignore the 3D as in realizing that reality is created by you and your dominant subconscious thoughts, and is waaaaayyyyyyy more malleable than you first thought. nothing is set in stone, reality is fluid and ever changing.

[blasphemousclaw]

why Divine Beast Dancing Lion has the best soundtrack in the entire game

When I watched the first DLC trailer 6 months ago, I was so focused on Messmer that I never gave the lion dancers a second thought. But in a shocking turn of events, Divine Beast Dancing Lion is now my favorite boss in the whole game. To me, what makes this fight truly exceptional is its soundtrack, so I want to go through the music and outline all the things that make it so great!

What makes the music stand out is that it feels SO different from the rest of the OST… the majority of the boss tracks have a pretty similar style and instrumentation, but Divine Beast stands out in my opinion because of how it emphasizes its rhythm and texture.

Conceptually, this boss fight is first and foremost a dance — you are fighting two Hornsent warriors operating a lion costume based on the traditional Chinese lion dance in an arena that’s actually a giant stage.

The Chinese lion dance is typically accompanied only by percussion (drums, gongs, and cymbals). So naturally, Divine Beast’s soundtrack has much more pronounced percussion in comparison to the rest of the soundtrack, featuring heavy drum beats and cymbals, plus shouts and chants from the choir. The music is in a steady 6/8, with 2 beats per measure divided into three pulses (think 1 2 3, 1 2 3) giving it a lilting, dancelike quality (this type of meter is often used in folk and traditional dances!). And, in the boss’s second phase, the dancing lion’s lightning, wind, and frost phases each have their own music and are timed to transition as the music transitions. The whole boss fight is programmed like a dance, so when you fight the boss it feels like you’re dancing with it too!

The choir has a range of vocalizations that goes beyond singing melodies and harmonies; as I touched on before, they’re also shouting and chanting. The shouts are used percussively and help accent the rhythm of the dance, and the low chanting also brings to mind a sort of religious ritual? Which is exactly what this boss fight is… in Hornsent culture, the lion dance is a ritual for invoking divinity:

“A charm depicting the crazed, cavorting dance of the divine beast conducted at the tower festival. Raises potency of storms. Divine beasts are messengers of the heavens, and their rage mirrors the tumult of the skies, of which storms are the pinnacle.” (Enraged Divine Beast talisman)

The lion dancers, or “sculpted keepers,” are those amongst the divine beast warriors (themselves the chosen amongst the tower’s horned warriors) who truly excelled at divine invocation, and were “granted the honor of the lion dance” (Divine Beast Warrior Armor). In the boss cutscene, the Hornsent Grandam calls upon the divine beast to possess the bodies of the sculpted keepers, and rise again to defend the tower… so the lion dance, performed by warriors skilled in divine invocation, is essentially a ritual for invoking the presence of the divine beast within the dancers in order to commune with the heavens.

The sculpted keepers, having invoked the rage of the divine beast, are able to channel the forces of the stormy skies — lightning, wind, and frost. The force of the storm is represented in the music by quick runs in the high woodwinds and strings that come and go like gusts of wind. The music almost never lets up or loses momentum; it goes at a powerful, furious pace until the end, embodying the divine beast’s fury.

But the Divine Beast that we fight has an extra layer of emotion that goes beyond divine ritual:

“When the Impaler's army assailed the tower, the ritual of the lion dance was turned toward martial ends—its divinity, its fury, its light-footed beauty.” (Remembrance of the Dancing Lion)

What was once a beautiful ritual dance conducted at the tower festival was forced to become a weapon of war in order to fight against their people’s annihilation at the hands of Messmer’s crusade. And even this was not enough…

The Dancing Lion that we fight was slain, lying in a pool of dried blood, when it is miraculously awoken again with a fervent prayer. This is the last lion dance that may ever take place, giving us a mere glimpse of this ruined city’s long-vanished splendor.

Listening to the soundtrack, there is not only pride in the music, but also an urgent, visceral, warlike rage, a multitude of voices joining in a desperate fight for their civilization’s very survival.

[zoe-oneesama]

Now that it’s been brought back to the forefront of my mind in regards to yesterday’s SL asks, it really is genuinely kinda nuts how the potions were revealed in Season 2 and have only physically appeared (i.e. not just been mentioned or shown in a one-off picture or alternate timeline) in 13 out of what’s now 92 episodes (not counting specials) since their closest-to-chronological debut. Even more wild is the fact that, like you pointed out, only 3 out of 7 potion powers are canonically known to date. Apparently That Guy tweeted a few years back that one of the remaining ones is supposed to be a Fire potion (which, if true, may be the one Marinette was trying to figure out the “spicy little rock” ingredient for in Mr. Pigeon 72?) that gives the user the ability to walk on lava and/or a resistance to scorching heat, but they haven’t been able to use it since “Fire is something very difficult to use in shows watched by kids, because we have to pay extra-care that they won't see fire as a cool thing and play with it afterwards. Broadcasters tend to prefer not showing it at all.” To which I’m like?? A) You guys STAY hopping between whether you want your target demographic to be little kids or early teens in actual practice. B) There have to be a million ways that you can blatantly write the idea that fire is dangerous which is why the Fire potion would be NEEDED (or, y’know, have more faith in your audience’s ability to intuitively understand that from the get-go). C) If you already understood that a fire power up was genuinely likely to be a hard no-go with your broadcasters, maybe change your plans to only conceptualizing 6 instead of 7 potions before putting them in the actual show???

Right? And like, he said Lava as well. So do something WITH LAVA if you can't use fire! (I bet it would be easier to animate too!) Or, or! Invent a kind of goo or acid that burns LIKE Lava so they have to use the suit! That could be the debut episode, where it's impossible to get close because of the heat and burn of it until BAM! Fire Suit.

It's not like you have to use the suits OFTEN, they've only used the Ice one like two times I think, just do a debut episode and then use it for Ordinary Heroing, like actually running into a burning building and saving people. Pretty sure even kids don't think house fires are cool, so you don't HAVE to associate fire with a "cool" akuma.

A long time ago when I was ranting about this I was informed by a Anon that the others were "revealed" at some convention or expo and they were things like Air and Space (space hadn't been shown at the time), Sun and Moon, and like...Soul? So, what's the difference between Air and Space? Are Sun and Moon supposed to be Light and Dark, how is that following the Environmental Costume Change of the three we know? Wtf is Soul? Maybe it's a lack of cohesion that's making this difficult for them.

The more I hear about them, the more I think this idea was never fully fleshed out and will never BE fleshed out.

[flawseer]

#18 - "Fire"

Smaugust 2024

The last few submissions have been mostly visual, but today I want to do something more text-based. I'm always looking for opportunities to ramble ad nauseam about my headcanons and thoughts, but am usually hesitant if I don't think I can make a subject interesting or particularly insightful.

A few months back I was playing with the thought of publishing a speculative analysis on Pyrrhian dragon breath weapons, and how they might differ between tribes. I got up to the conceptualization stage, but then @sidyashchiy-na-plakhe came out with a better and more put-together version of what I was thinking about and touched on some similar points, so I filed those plans away to not step on any toes. If you're enjoying this type of deliberation, I recommend that you check out his take, as it is very thoughtfully put together with some cool visuals.

But, seeing as I have no other ideas for this prompt, and since it's been a while since then, I'm going to air out my scrapped draft here. I guess this is a mixture between canon information and headcanons, with a bias toward the latter.

General Information

Each of the seven Pyrrhian tribes is capable of using a kind of orally-discharged means of attack. For the purpose of this deliberation, I am going to refer to all of these as "breath weapons", even though not all of them are activated via exhalation. It will make things easier to talk about.

There are three general factors to each type of breath weapon, those being potency, range, and start-up time. In the case of fire breath--the most ubiquitous type of breath weapon on the continent--these would roughly correlate to the temperature of the flames, how far they can travel from the source while maintaining their shape and intensity, and for how long the fire must be stoked inside of the user before it can be expelled.

How developed these factors are differs for every dragon, but the two biggest determining modifiers are constitution and age. Being physically fit will make your breath weapon more efficient--and thus stronger--because you have better control over your breathing after exertion. As a dragon advances in age, the three factors all increase proportionally. A Mudwing hatchling can produce a puff of flame very quickly, but it will barely heat up the surrounding air. An elder meanwhile might take several minutes to get their fire going, but when they do, the result will be fearsome and devastating.

Fire is the most common element on the continent, with four of the seven tribes being able to command it. I will go through those first and then follow up with the other variants .

Nightwing fire is a dark purple in color, due to a slight variation in the gas component that fuels the flames.

The flames have no particularly outstanding properties strength-wise, but they emit comparatively little light, meaning they don't stand out as much against the night sky. This makes them ideal for low-profile ambushing, but very unsuitable as signal flares.

If a Nightwing ignites an object, the flames will gradually lose this characteristic as they will begin to consume the air around them and turn into ordinary, orange fire.

Nightwing flames are sometimes colloquially referred to as "Moonfire".

Sandwing fire is, on average, the least powerful among all the fire-breathing dragons. In terms of potency and range, flames emitted by a Sandwing of 20 years will be roughly equivalent to those of a twelve-year-old from the other fire-breathing tribes.

Their unique advantage is that Sandwings can produce these flames extremely quickly, usually within seconds. If readying fire takes a dragon 30 seconds, an equivalent Sandwing can do it in 5.

While for most other dragons the use of their breath weapon is a deliberate and calculated affair, the severely reduced start-up time allows Sandwings to "shoot from the hip" without having to commit to the action, making them less predictable in combat.

A popular Sandwing combat technique is to open a fight by blowing a quick plume of weak fire into an opponent's face and then using the resulting distraction to strike with their venomous tails.

Skywings command the strongest and purest variation of fire among all tribes. Their flames come out very straight and can maintain their shape over vast distances.

They can "cook" their fire by holding it inside themselves for longer than necessary. While this becomes unpleasant or even painful if done for long, it will increase the temperature and purity of the resulting flames far beyond what any of the other tribes are capable of.

Flames emitted after doing this for long enough will come out with an intense blue color that can cut through stone.

For dragons afflicted with firescales, all of the fire they breathe will be like this, as their bodies are already channeling flames at all times to fuel the burning scales.

Because Skywing fire is so intense, it is at times difficult to control. Skywings who become emotional will often start smoking from their nostrils involuntarily.

Mudwing fire, sometimes referred to as "moody fire", is very temperamental. Its strength will vary widely based on a number of different factors, not all of them fully understood, making it appear random at times.

The most commonly understood factor that influences a Mudwing's fire is the ambient temperature. Mudwings will struggle to produce flames in environments that are too cold (close to freezing weather, very cold water, etc.). This can be partially mitigated by ingesting hot stews, soups, or beverages before fire usage.

A factor that isn't as well documented is that the Mudwing's fire breath and their uncanny healing factor are fueled by the same source. This means a Mudwing's fire will be strongest when they are healthy, and begin to diminish if they become injured, as their body will divert resources away from the breath weapon to prioritize keeping itself alive, functioning, and mobile.

Mudwings hatched from blood eggs have a tendency to develop poor breath weapons, as their super-charged healing factor--while potent enough to outpace most damage sustained from fire--is even more resource-hungry than that of a regular Mudwing.

Icewings don't breathe fire. Instead, they are able to exhale a stream of frost magic. There is nothing I can think of to scientifically explain all the properties of frostbreath as they are presented in canon, especially with regards to Queen Battlewinner. Ice that makes you lava-proof? Nah, this is straight-up magic. All Icewings are born with a small piece of magic and this is how it expresses itself.

Contrary to popular belief, frostbreath is not stronger than firebreath. In terms of general characteristics, Icewings and Nightwings are actually roughly equivalent.

What makes frostbreath more overtly lethal than fire breath is the magical component. When frostbreath comes in contact with living tissue, it will form ice crystals on and inside the surface. All flesh in contact with these crystals will gradually turn necrotic. This process is very painful.

The crystals are very persistent and it requires sustained exposure to intense heat to melt them. The best way to accomplish this is via prolonged bath in warm water (close to boiling). This method, if applied quickly after the injury, will usually result in recovery after a few hours of bathing.

Getting hit while in a situation with no access to warm water is very dangerous and potentially lethal. If treatment does not begin soon after, the crystals will begin to spread, killing more tissue and making recovery increasingly less likely, especially once the injury spreads to internal organs.

It is not uncommon for soldiers who get hit by frost breath and are caught out in the open with no treatment options to cut off the afflicted body part to minimize tissue loss.

Icewings are more resistant to frostbreath than other dragons, but not fully immune. They can succumb to the same injuries.

If an Icewing suffers an intense burn, particularly in and around the face, they become completely unable to exhale frost until the burn begins to heal.

Rainwings do not have a breath weapon. Instead, they produce an acidic venom within their bodies, which can be administered through biting, or launched at targets through a pair of collapsible, hollow fangs.

The gland that produces this venom needs sunlight to develop properly. Once the Rainwing has been exposed to sufficient sunlight, venom production will begin, and may even continue without further exposure, but it is recommended to sunbathe for at least 5 hours a week to keep the gland healthy and the venom potent.

The venom is strongly corrosive and able to dissolve most organic materials like wood, plant matter, and flesh. It is potent enough that, if it enters another creature's blood stream directly (via bite, an open wound, or the eyes), that creature will die within seconds.

The venom's lethality will rapidly decrease once it separates from the user. If it hits surface tissue and has to burn through layers flesh, it will usually lose too much of its toxicity before it reaches the blood stream (though it will still function as acid and be excruciatingly painful).

Rainwings are immune to their own venom, but not the venom of other Rainwings. Mixing a sample of venom with the venom of a close blood relative will cancel out the destructive properties of both.

Seawings are amphibious dragons who prefer to live in water, but can also go on land and exist there in relative comfort for a decent while. Their body contains an organ that stores water, from which it periodically draws to keep the Seawing's skin from drying out.

When under duress, a Seawing can forcefully expel the contents of this organ through their mouth as a pressurized jet of water. While this is not very destructive, it can momentarily stun aggressors and allow the Seawing to retreat to the safety of a nearby lake or river.

If the blast is held inside and charged up similar to the fire breath of other tribes, the Seawing is able to draw from their body heat to increase the water's temperature to scalding degrees.

[daisywords]

some misc worldbuilding questions to get your gears turning:

Do they have germ theory or some equivalent? How do they conceptualize the spread of disease and infection?

Is the everyday economy based more on trade/barter or currency? Is the currency valuable in its own right, or is it just something agreed upon to have value (eg. salt or gold vs. paper money)

What is their main method of lighting? What resources does this use?

Primary mode of transportation? How much does this vary based on things like purpose of travel, social class, etc.?

How much of a knowledge/education gap is there between social classes? Is there a baseline of education that everyone gets/is expected to have?

What are the most popular modes of storytelling? Is everyone telling campfire stories? Are they going to plays? puppet shows? are they going to the cinema? are they reading novels or epic poetry? Are there any folk characters or pop culture things that most people are familiar with?

Where does most people's moral framework primarily come from? Religion? Philosophy? Are there different schools of thought? How much do they vary?

Is there anything considered scandalous/improper/taboo that's normal in your own culture? and vice versa

Do most people live and die where they are born, or is it common to relocate and travel widely? how much does this vary by class/profession/region?

What do they do with criminals? Do they have an extensive prison system? If so, who funds/runs it? If not, how is crime discouraged/managed? Are there specific punishments for specific crimes?

How rigid are their class boundaries? How possible/common is it for someone to change social classes?

Is there anything that people get dangerously addicted to in your world? How accessible is it?

How easy is it for someone to do research/look up information they don't know? What is the primary method of doing this?

What holidays do they have? Any weird traditions? Fun traditions? Are they universally celebrated, or only by specific groups of people?

How do they dispose of their dead? How do they honor their dead?

How much exchange is there between cultures? Do people of different groups intermingle, or do they mostly stick with their own people?

How common is it to speak more than one language, and who is most likely to be multilingual?

How much do regional dialects/accents vary within the same language? Are there any dialects/accents that are stigmatized? Do different accents have different associated stereotypes?

This isn't meant to be taken as a checklist that you have to completely fill out btw. Just things that might help add flavor to your world and characters. (Also mostly things I end up thinking about logistically anyway as they become relevant to the plot or a character's frame of reference.) Enjoy!

[eclecticmiasma]

Yandere DunMeshi MBTI: Laios Touden

No one in the world requested this, I just think this man needs to be studied under a microscope and I can't quit rolling him around in my brain. Headcanons based on the Yandere MBTI indicator conceptualized by the lovely ddarker-dreams! Please send them love and feel free to request me for any characters. [Warnings: general yandere scariness]

CRUEL Vs. REVERENT Darling captures Laios's attention primarily because they are kind. They smile at his stories even if he's told them a hundred times before, they ask him questions about monsters and don't shy away when he pulls out a tome's worth of notes detailing each one. Darling always has a terrible look on their face when Laios is injured and has never once made him feel less than. To Laios, darling is the sun.

If darling is part of his party, they can expect to be doted on, fussed over, and guarded to a point where the only time they are truly alone is when bathing. Even then, Chilchuck has to constantly assure Laios that darling is absolutely fine, much to his chagrin. If they are injured or die, Laios almost becomes a different person for hours after they're revived. He's anxious, snappy, even hostile until darling can bring him back down with their calm nature.

If darling isn't in the party, they can still expect to see Laios nearly all of the time. Sometimes it doesn't quite make sense how Laios can go on so many trips to the dungeon and yet still have time to consistently be in darling's personal space on the surface. Darling can expect to receive souvenirs from the dungeon (mostly monster parts, always frightening) and letters about adventures that Laios will simply tell them again in person anyway. He'll insist on walking them home and greeting them in the morning before he leaves to the dungeons again.

AWARE VS. DELUSIONAL

All Laios knows is that the emotion he feels when the object of his affection is around seems measurably different than his love for his sister or love for his friends. Truth be told, there has always been a nagging worry at the back of his mind that he might never be able to feel for a human the way he loves adventuring or studying monsters. That he's doomed to a life of solitude surrounded by nothing that understands him. When darling comes along, they're like a beacon of light that tells Laios he's capable of being normal for once. After all, he finally feels the kind of love he's been lectured time and time again that he should be feeling at his age. A chivalrous need to protect, to treasure, to study and bring gifts and share meals and troubles and maybe, just maybe even taste and touch and devour- It's just what loving someone means.

MANIPULATIVE VS. HONEST

There is no need to manipulate darling because Laios himself doesn't feel that any of his behavior is wrong. He doesn't know how to be anything but himself, and any hint darling or others try to give him that maybe his interactions are bordering on unhealthy and obsessive don't reach him at all. If darling says they'd better get going, Laios is there to walk them home. If Marcille tries to tell Laios that darling is perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, he marvels at how talented darling is and then does nothing to change his behavior. If Namari outright tells him that he needs to give darling space, he'll nod seriously and then decide that sitting across from darling and not next to darling is sufficient. In Laios's mind, everything is perfect.

STRICT VS. LENIENT

As long as darling is safe, or what Laios deems to be safe, everything is fine. Darling can do what they want on the surface, talk to whom they want on the surface, go dungeoneering if darling is part of the party. Problems begin to arise when that sense of security wanes. The look of that gnome chatting with darling isn't one that Laios likes. As a tall-man, it's very easy to keep him from speaking to darling ever again. Darling wants to go on a trip to Kahka Brud, Laios is quick to insist that he come along. After a particularly nasty event in the dungeon, Laios might make it his mission that darling never venture beneath the surface again. Laios is harmless until threatened- that's when his brand of love becomes suffocation.

*do not post elsewhere without explicit permission. please consider reblogging, as Tumblr tends to hide darker content!

[RULES] [MASTERLISTS] [AO3] [KO-FI]

[ninjasmudge]

YOOOOO CULT OF ELYSIUM LETS GOOO!!!

very pretty art style, drama is real, flock is neat and makes me wonder what other facets are different from the human can opener. Crown being horrible necktie turned up to 11 on violence and bound to the lamb is funny even if only for interskill arguments. Narinder looks so cute! shivers would be insane and whatever cult based espirit de corps exists will probably be so done.

sorry to everyone who doesnt want to read all that, but to everyone else: my chart 🥰

i didnt redo all of the skills on the first post, cause it took me several days to work all this out lmao. a lot of the skills are similar, but i think thered have to be some differences.

flock, that you mentioned is their version of esprit de corps, which i think is extra funny that it talks about narinder because it implies to me that lamb thinks of nari as a work friend for the start

shivers is replaced by the lurking beast, in the og game its connection to the city, but to lamb its more like listening to their animal instincts about the lands that belong to them.

visual calculus isnt really something i think lamb would have, so instead they have grimoire which functions similarly but enables them to pick up, understand, and work out magic.

text under cut

YOU - "Crown, what are they thinking about me. Narinder said you have to tell me."

THE RED CROWN - THAT IS NOT HOW THIS WORKS.

LOGIC - Okay so… we read their minds ourselves. We might have to be close to someone to do it.

VOLITION - We probably shouldn't just grab someone and stare at them until we learn how to get into their head though. It will scare them.

GOD COMPLEX - We can do that if we want. We can do anything, we're god!

GRIMOIRE - If this power is like the others, it should come pretty easily. It's unlikely we need eye contact.

FINE TOUCH - So we hide around the corner of something, read someone's mind from behind all sneaky-like.

GOD COMPLEX - And then we kill them if we dont like what we hear!

LOGIC - Killing someone in broad daylight? We'd definitely lose faith from that.

SHOWMANSHIP - But god, what a message!

OG SKILLS

LOGIC

ENCYCLOPEDIA

RHETORIC

DRAMA

CONCEPTUALIZATION

VISUAL CALCULUS

VOLITION

INLAND EMPIRE

EMPATHY

AUTHORITY

ESPRIT DE CORPS

SUGGESTION

ENDURANCE

PAIN THRESHOLD

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT

ELECTRO­CHEMISTRY

SHIVERS

HALF LIGHT

HAND/EYE COORDINATION

PERCEPTION

REACTION SPEED

SAVOIR FAIRE

INTERFACING

COMPOSURE

LAMBS SKILLS

LOGIC

ALMANAC

RHETORIC

SHOWMANSHIP

THE TEMPLE

GRIMOIRE

VOLITION

GUTS

EMPATHY

GOD COMPLEX

FLOCK

PUPPETMASTER

ENDURANCE

PAIN THRESHOLD

VESSEL

ELECTROCHEMISTRY

THE LURKING BEAST

BLOOD THUD

JUGGLER

PERCEPTION

REACTION SPEED

RETRIBUTIONIS

FINE TOUCH

COMPOSURE

THE RED CROWN

[it-was-summer]

Video Killed the Radio Star - Tape #3 (Spencer Reid x Fem!reader)

A/N: I am exhausted this weekend so if at some point you feel like the writing shows that DON'T BE ALARMED. It is simply just me fighting back the urge to go to bed. The chapter does contain a good amount of sexual assault and violence so please, please, please be mindful of that while reading. I love all the comments here and Ao3, they make my day! I have also been noticing a lot of love towards the original of this series and I appreciate everyone for taking their time to read the remake! Please know that as of right now this thing IS NOT PROOFREAD I JUST NEED TO GET IT OUT! Stay safe, healthy, and happy! -Love, Em.

Video Killed the Radio Star Remake Masterlist

Link to the Ao3: Video Killed the Radio Star

Previous Chapter: Tape #2 > Next Chapter: Tape #4

WARNING: Cancer mentioned, sexual assault, blood, knife, cutting, mentions of death, death threats. Remember that you are not alone.

Tape Contents: Spencer and Derek are sent to discuss your abduction with Adeline. You fight back a sexual and physical attack from Heather. Heather reveals her plans for what will happen if anyone finds you.

Word Count: 4,029

March 5, 20XX

Spencer wasn’t too fond of hospitals, but he was fond of children. He interacted with them, loving that he could see how they processed information–new and old—every day. He loved Henry to bits, the way the kid was so willing to listen to Spencer’s ramblings or the way he was so amazed at a magic trick Spencer was doing. 

Sick kids were a tragically different story, not that he didn’t like them. He always felt like… well, he was having a hard time conceptualizing it as he weaved through the crowded lobby. The pediatrics oncology unit was too packed for his liking. Statistically, he knew that one in two hundred eighty-five children could be diagnosed with some form of cancer before they hit twenty. That didn’t mean he had to like weaving through a small crowd of parents, doctors, and nurses on the way to room two hundred thirty with Morgan. There it was –the words for that feeling– watching someone younger than himself not being able to experience life at thirty. 

After finding the friendship keychain, Hotch decided that Reid and Morgan should find your alleged ride-or-die, Adeline Smith. Meanwhile, Hotch and Prentiss would drive to Norfolk to talk to your mother. Rossi and JJ were handling some information with the police, so they were all paired away. 

Derek and he slipped into the hospital room that housed Adeline and her daughter, Nicole. His chest tightened involuntarily at the sight of a mother stroking her daughter’s head, a smile on both of their faces. Derek was quick to speak, “Excuse me,” The mother and daughter jumped at the noise, and their eyes snapped to the hospital room door. “I’m Special Agent Derek Morgan, and this is Doctor Spencer Reid. We just have some questions.” His hands dug into his jacket pocket to pull out the badge, muscle memory for both.

Adeline’s hand fell from her daughter's hairless head to her shoulder, her fingers giving it a light squeeze. “Questions regarding?” She asked with a curious expression as she stood up, a skeptical look in her eyes. 

Spencer’s eyes met Nicole’s for a second, a small smile rising to his lips, and she gave him a nervous smile right back. He moved his gaze over to Adeline, who was now standing with her arms folded across her chest as she waited for the two men to answer her question. Derek looked over his shoulder at Spencer, then back at Adeline. He gently motioned for her to follow him to a slightly more private area to talk to her, the two moving to a corner of the room near the bathroom.

“Were you aware that Y/N L/N was being stalked?” Derek’s voice was calm as Spencer approached Nicole’s bedside chair and sat in it awkwardly. 

Spencer motioned towards the girl’s stuffed animal, a bright orange cat that sat in between her legs. “I love cats,” he said in a soft voice. 

Nicole beamed at him, grabbed the stuffed cat, and happily petted the top of its head: “Me too! This is Bee.” 

“Bee? Do you like Bees?” 

Adeline’s eyes strayed to Spencer's conversation with her daughter, and she nodded a little at Derek’s question: “We talked about it. She went to the police.” She said, a little numbly, before her head suddenly snapped towards him. “Why?” 

“She was taken from her apartment on March third. She recorded videos for the police to send to us, the Behavioral Analysis Unit, to help find her.” Derek explained gently as he watched Adeline’s face go pale. 

Adeline grabbed her clothed chest and searched for a breath, her eyes wild as she looked at Derek’s face. Her eyes began searching for some hint in his face that he was lying, but she found none. She couldn’t stop the tears that were filling her waterline, and she turned her body away from her daughter and Spencer in a desperate attempt to hide her tears from her daughter. Her knees felt weak as she tried to breathe. 

Spencer glanced back at Adeline and Derek, scooting a little to obstruct Nicole’s field of vision. He didn’t want the young girl to see her mother cry. Nicole shook her head slightly at his question, “No, not really. Auntie Y/N got her for me, and she loves bees.” She laughed softly, her words making Spencer’s heart melt a little. 

“Is Bee your favorite?” 

The girl covered the cat’s plush ears and smiled like she had a secret. “No, but she is my second favorite.” Her fingers scratched the stuffed animal’s ears gently. “Mr. Business is my first,” she whispered to him. 

“Ah, and where is Mr. Business?” His eyes searched her hospital bed, and then he spotted a stuffed cat, a tuxedo cat. He grinned a little, and he motioned to the stuffed animal with his eyes, “Mr. Business is a very fitting name, I think,” 

Adeline held out a hand for some space from Derek, and the hand clutching her chest came up to her mouth as she tried to keep from vomiting all over him. She had been stuck in this hospital when you had called her that first night. Having always loved talking to you, she answered enthusiastically. Still, the more she listened to the situation, the more she realized she didn’t have the emotional strength to comfort you the way you needed. And she said that to you. She said that to you. She couldn’t help you then, and she couldn’t help you now. She couldn’t even help her own daughter. 

A sob rose in her throat, and she shook her head rapidly. “No, no, no, we talked on that day. Th-That night,” She recounted softly to Derek through her tears. 

“What did you talk about?” Derek whispered the question softly as his eyes searched the room for some tissues, but his search was futile. He places a gentle hand on Adeline’s shoulder instead. 

“We talked about college; she wanted her mind off of things, so we talked about our apartment when we were in grad school. It’s been two days! What have you been doing for two days while my best friend went missing?” Her cheeks were red, her fingers pointing accusingly at him before she sobbed softly, and her hand was moving back up to wrap around her mouth to muffle the sound. 

“She didn’t show up to work on March fifth. That's when she was reported missing. We’re doing everything we can. What time did the two of you talk?” 

“W-we talked around nine, maybe nine-thirty?” She whispered back softly before she started to breathe heavily again. “Why didn’t I call? I should have called again. It was getting so late, and she had locked all the doors, and I thought she was just being anxious. I should have called her again. I should have left the hospital to visit her.” Her mind was spiraling, the neverending rabbit hole that showed her all the ways she could have saved her best friend, unhinged its proverbial jaw and swallowed her whole, ready to digest.  

Morgan wasn’t necessarily new to the information, as Penelope had already told him about your call logs from that evening, but he always liked to hear it be confirmed. It also helped him place an estimate of the time of your abduction. “Could you tell me about anyone, anyone at all, that might have been a little too into Y/N? Any ex-boyfriends that refused to leave her alone? Did she break up with anyone around Christmas?” 

“No, she hasn’t dated anyone for almost a year.” Adeline sighed thickly and shook her head as she tried to calm down. “No, all her ex-boyfriends, they were always so mousy. ” She sighed, “And they always look alike,” she paused and gave a soft, sad chuckle, motioning over to where Spencer was as he continued to entertain her daughter. “Well, they all look like your Doctor friend, if I’m being honest. She’s always been too nice for her own good, even in college.”

Spencer tried to talk over the sobs that could be heard from the corner of the hospital room, clearing his throat or laughing as Nicole stumbled through a story. “She’s a loud crier,” Nicole whispered with a gentle pat on Bee’s head. 

Spencer frowned as his efforts failed him, and he looked over his shoulder at Morgan, who was looking at him with a similarly sympathetic look on his face. He was about to say something when Nicole shoved Bee toward him, “You should give this to Auntie Y/N. Mommy said she was sad the other day. Bee always helps.” 

Spencer turned the stuffed animal over in his hands, and he debated telling her the truth, but thankfully, his better judgment decided against it. “It’ll be the first thing I do when I see her,” Spencer promised softly as Nicole smiled wide at him. 

As Derek and he walked out of the hospital, Derek’s eyes stayed on the stuffed orange cat in Spencer’s hands. As they pushed past a small group of people, Spencer found himself almost slamming into a pretty nurse, a gorgeous nurse. Her blue eyes blinked as she shuffled to one side, only to be unintentionally blocked by Spencer once more. She sighed a little and gave him a once over with a frown. Her eyes lingered on the gun holstered against his hip before she gave him a polite smile and said, “Excuse me,” and slipped past the two men with a determined look in her eyes.  

Derek only said something when they got into the parking lot, the two of them walking to the black SUV, “Did you pick one up at the gift shop?” 

Spencer groaned softly, making Derek chuckle as he walked around the car’s front to the passenger seat. “Open the door,” He said bluntly. When they were both inside the car, Spencer carefully placed the stuffed animal in his bag, and Derek chuckled again at the sight, turning the key. 

“You didn’t even buy me one,” 

March 5, 20XX

You were assuming Heather was angry with you. The assumption wasn’t baseless as the hunger in your stomach growled. You were quick to find that the harmony between a full stomach and morphine did matter and that harmony had left you many hours prior. You also were basing the assumption as you had spent what must have been a whole day fighting off tears and nausea. 

The sick part was that you were beginning to get used to how your body got swarmed with heavy, hot, and benevolent warmth. The dull pain in your ankle was silenced under the warmth’s blanket of kindness. It reminded you of a heated blanket in a strange way. 

You had finished the sips of your water before falling asleep and regretting it. You had learned that the bucket off to the side of the dresser was the perfect distance from the bed. Your broken ankle was dragging against the carpet with every movement.  The chain around your good ankle didn’t snag as you sluggishly managed to hold your body up against the wall to pee into the bucket.

Once you were done, you hopped on your good leg and managed to pull your clothes back on. Your body fell face-first onto the bed, eliciting a soft groan from your lips as you found your body reluctant to move from its new home. 

You closed your eyes and fell into the position, letting the bed sink in deeper. Your eyes snapped open with a sense of alertness that you hadn’t felt in hours as you heard the first click of a lock. Your arms weakly managed to push yourself up into a sitting position, pushing yourself back to your former position against the headboard. Your head throbbed at the fast movement, and your vision blurred as you tried to focus on the door. 

When it slowly opened, you sucked in a small breath of air, watching as Heather slid into the room with a tray of food. “Hello, my Catherine.” She sighed as she shoved the keys into her scrub pocket with one balanced hand. “My, my, someone is looking pale today.” She asked as she sat down in the chair off the side of the bed with a gentle, pretty smile. 

You nodded a little. Your lips were numb as you licked them. “What day is it?” Your voice came out quiet and strangled. 

“Monday,” She stated simply as she twisted the top off a bottle of apple juice. She handed it over to your already waiting hands before she carefully lowered the morphine drip’s intake level. You greedily drank the juice without thinking twice, desperate to get something in your stomach. 

You panted lightly as you pulled the half-empty bottle away from your lips, “Th-the date, I mean,” 

“March fifth,” She rolled her eyes as she carefully rearranged a neatly made turkey sandwich on a paper plate, slowly placing the plate on the edge of the bed for you to take. “You moved in here early Saturday morning, don’t you remember?” she laughed out like it was the silliest thing she had ever heard. 

You felt your mouth start to move to correct her, to tell her that you didn’t move in; she had kidnapped you. But as you stared at the turkey sandwich on the edge of the bed, you realized that playing along would be better. Playing along meant more food and less nausea. Playing along meant living longer. “Right,” You said breathlessly as you pulled the paper plate to your lap. “How could I forget?” 

Heather smiled a little as she watched you bite into the sandwich, happy to see you adjusting. You were eating so fast that she was a little worried about your empty stomach. She didn’t want to make feeding you so sporadically a habit. But yesterday, when she came up with a food tray, she thought about your rudeness and how cruel you had been to her. It made her stomach twist into angry knots. She decided that not feeding you for a day would be a lesson.

“I’m so happy our first fight is over. I hate to be angry with you, Catherine.” Heather’s sweet tone wasn’t lost on you as she touched your arm gently. Your chewing slowed for a second before you swallowed, your eyes glued to her hand on your arm. 

“I picked out every gift just for you,” She sighed softly as she traced soft circles against your skin. You fought back the urge to pull your arm away. “You’re a hopeless romantic, you know? You remember in college when you and Adeline dressed up as Lizzie and Jane Bennet. No one got it but god,” She sighed, her eyes finding yours as you stayed frozen. 

The hand on your arm slowly reached for the paper plate on your lap. Your fingers twitched a little as you fought back the urge to grab the food as she placed the plate on the nightstand beside your bed. Everything was happening so fast and yet incredibly slow at the same time.

Then she stood up and crawled onto the bed, swinging one leg over your lap before stranding you with a white smile. Her hands came to cup your face and tilt it up. A soft sigh fell from her lips. “You’ve always been brilliant,” 

You shook your head in her hands lightly. The warmth of the morphine was slow to leave your body, but as your body filled with an intense feeling of dread, you could feel everything. Your ankle throbbed sharply, and you were starting to feel like you were about to be sick again. “I’m not,” 

Heather threw her head back and laughed as if it was the funniest thing she had ever heard. When she lowered her head to meet your gaze again, she leaned closer, one of her thumbs reaching up to trace your bottom lip. You cringed a little at the feeling, a sight that she ignored. “You’ve always been so humble, too. How did I get so lucky?” She whispered as she leaned in to kiss your lips softly. 

You felt your lips tighten and bile rise to your throat, and you swallowed it. You let her kiss you once, then twice, then a third time. Your lips stayed closed in a tight line as you tried to imagine yourself in a different position, but with every touch Heather placed on you, the more you stayed cemented in your reality. 

Heather pulled back with a look in her eyes that you could recognize as crazed lust. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to know what her hands felt like anymore. You bit your lip to silence a whimper. Her hands pulled roughly at your shirt as she grabbed the hem of it and pulled it over your head with a simple yank. 

You shook your head quickly now, “No, Heather, I-I’m not ready. I don’t-” 

She shushed you softly with a gentle smile as she traced the swell of your breast slowly, the touch eliciting your tears to pool over your waterline. “I know you’re worried, but I’m going to take care of you, I promise.” Her eyes lingered on the prominent bruise on the center of your chest. She frowned, leaning down carefully to kiss the blue and black patch of skin. 

“No,” You cried softly, your voice soft before you decided that you couldn’t take it anymore. “No!” You yelled, causing her back to straighten and sit up. 

“I’m sorry?” She asked with a soft scoff. 

“I-I can’t do it, I’m not ready. I don’t want to, Heather. Please don’t make me.” You begged softly as tears rolled down your face. “I’ll try next time, I promise. I just, please, please don’t make me.” 

Heather frowned a little before she let out a harsh laugh, her arms folding over her chest tightly. She looked down at you, “You know I saw your precious little Adeline today,” 

You felt your back tense at Adeline's mention, “What? I thought you worked in pediatrics, not pediatric oncology. W-why did you see Adeline?” 

Heather reached out a hand to press on your bruise roughly, the feeling making you wince. “I work in pediatric oncology. Sometimes, I help Nicole. I loved it when you visited her at the hospital. It was almost too easy to steal the copy of your apartment key from Adeline. She doesn’t love you as much as I love you, you know that, right?” 

You shook your head, and you cried harder as you realized that you had never even noticed her at the hospital. Your focus has always been so zoned in on Nicole or Adeline that you didn’t even register Heather’s presence. Would Adeline remember Heather? You doubted it. 

“She talked to some agents or something and was inconsolable. Fucking useless friend of yours. Anyway, I ran into them in the hallway. Scrawny kid with some buff guy, I’m sure Adeline called them.” 

You found your hands grabbing her hand on your chest and shook your head side-to-side. “No, Adeline doesn’t know. I didn’t tell her anything. I didn’t, I promise.” 

Heather’s eyes met yours briefly before they trailed down to your bare chest and your hands holding onto her wrist. “Say you love me more than her then,” 

“I-I, what?” 

“Say it.” 

You opened your mouth, but all that came out were gentle sobs as you tried to form the words, terrified that she was about to do something to Adeline. The thought of Heather hurting Adeline had you gasping softly for air. 

Her eyes were on yours again as you panted softly, “You don’t love me?” Her spit hit your cheek as she hissed the words in rageful disbelief. She was off your lap in seconds as she moved to the dresser and quickly pulled out a small pairing knife. 

“Wait,” You cried softly as you tried to hurry away from her, making a vain attempt to get up from the bed that was meant with a howl of pain from your ankle and your body slumping over the edge lamely. 

Her hands grabbed your ankles, good and injured, and pulled you roughly to the edge of the bed. A scream left your throat at the contact. “You think I’m going to let them find you?” She questioned in a suspiciously calm voice as she grazed the smooth side of the knife against your collarbone.

You stayed frozen as she leaned in closer, her lips at the shell of your ear, “If they ever found you, Emma. I would kill you and then myself. I’ve already decided. We have to be together,” Her voice in your ear had you breathing harder as she slowly pressed the tip of the knife into the area above your heart. 

The knife only stung at first before it felt like a ripping pain. Heather dragged the knife into your skin with a deliberate sense of control. Not too deep, not too superficial. Something she wouldn’t have to stitch up. She made a diagonal line before staring a few inches apart from the other cut. “We belong together, Jane.” 

You cried out again as she started dragging the knife into your skin once more, “Please,” 

“You just need to open your heart. If they ever found us, I need to mark where to shoot. Stay still.” 

As Heather got close to completing the ‘X’ mark on your chest, marking you as a possible target. You felt your body thrash under her weakly. The edge of one of the lines skewed to the left, and Heather let out an annoyed groan before she pulled the knife away from your chest and to your lips. “Stop fucking crying,” She growled as she slashed at your bottom lip. 

You hissed at the feeling as blood coated your chest and filled your mouth. You stared up at her as soft sobs kept leaving your mouth, “Fuck you.” You muttered before gathering as much spit as you could in your mouth and shooting it directly at her. 

You laughed as it made contact with her cheek, and she wiped the bloody spit away with the back of her hand. She laughed harshly as she nodded a little, “Okay, so you want to be a brat.” She laughed. 

She was sliding off the bed now, leaving you lying on your back, her chest rising and falling quickly as she gripped the pairing knife in her hand tighter. “Enjoy the rest of your meal. It’ll be your last one, Emma.” She snapped at you before stomping to the door and flying it open. 

Once she was gone, you stayed there, staring up at the ceiling wordlessly. You licked at the cut on your lip gently as blood flowed freely into your mouth. You swallowed the copper-tasting liquid as you let the consequences sink in. She was going to kill you if they found you, and you had already called for a team of highly trained professionals to come to find you. 

You almost laughed at the irony. You didn’t want them to find you. You did want them to find you. It was almost hilarious. You tried to smile with your cut lip but found the action too painful to manage. 

You didn’t want to die at twenty-eight. You wanted to see your mom again, Adeline, Nicole, hell, you wanted to go to work one more time. You rolled onto your stomach and cringed the way the fluffy comforter grazed the bleeding “X” on your chest. You reached for the morphine drip and rolled it closer as you slowly turned a knob and upped the intake. Your shaking hands then moved to the sandwich on the nightstand with a sigh. 

She could kill you when they found you, but if she thought you weren’t going to try and manipulate the situation, she was dead wrong. You weakly bit into the sandwich while trying to think of a plan. 

You refused to die without leaving a mark.

TAG LIST: @babyspiderling @cocobean16 @kodzukenie333 @mmmunson

[silverzoomies]

Cunning Linguist

pietro maximoff x reader smut

warnings: cunnilingus, porn with (slight) plot, blow jobs, dissociative identity disorder, dissociation, existential crisis, smut, shameless smut, halloween, canon divergence

word count: 3,990

a/n: i meant to finish this ages ago. but i always overthink shit. i rewrote this several times, and it still doesn't feel worth posting. oh well !! just meaningless filth - same old story, different clothing. i wanted to play with the concept of pietro as an alter in ralph's head. again. lol

he's a little ooc here. but i'm blaming the brain fog. i'm running on three hours of sleep every night. fuck it, we ball. also, not including a tag list because tumblr's system kinda sucks for it. sorry !!

Pietro recalled the moment his consciousness came to light.

Agnes waved her spooky hands in his face, as though she were taunting him. She muttered incantations under her breath. The words of which Pietro didn’t recognize as English. After implanting sentimental memories in his mind - based on stories of Wanda’s childhood - she sent him off on his own. Like letting a dog loose, free to roam. 

Pietro’s mission? Find Wanda, have a gabfest or two, extract information. Or something along those lines. Pietro hadn’t paid much attention while Agnes yapped about it. Why focus on that, when the mystery of his own sentience piqued his interest instead?

He was given an easy enough job to do. No problem-o. Pietro had a talent for pestering people til’ they cracked. That’s what Agnes told him, anyway. He wasn’t too sure why she wanted him to play undercover rat. It had something to do with magic. Pietro knew that much. There was some kinda witch-on-witch rivalry in the works. But unfortunately for Agnes - and maybe fortunately for Wanda - she might have to take a raincheck on her duel of the sorceresses.  

Pietro could be a bit of a dipshit. Was he stupid? Not so much. He had brains where it counted. He could be crafty. Even sneaky. But his expert level slyness didn’t make him any less of an idiot. Pietro couldn’t refute that factoid about himself. Around Wanda, he forgot how to function like a normal person. Which he blamed on the fact that he wasn’t a normal person. Being brutally honest with himself; Pietro technically wasn’t even a person at all.

More like a conceptual incarnation of human sentience, really. Simple enough.

No ifs, ands, or buts about it, though - Pietro carried the irksome flaws of a human. Often, he acted thoughtless when he didn’t mean to. Without filtering himself first, Pietro unapologetically spoke his mind. He’d drop fourth-wall breaking quips here or there. Sometimes, his careless habits made for entertaining slip ups. Perfect for sitcom shenanigans. Other times, his blunders resulted in pain. Lotsa pain.

Halloween night, Pietro found himself whisked away by a forceful wave. Conjured by Wanda’s potent magic. The same power Agnes wanted her wiggly witch fingers on. After going aerial in a wild whoosh, Pietro got up close and friendly with some Halloween decorations. But, hey, what’re a few broken bones between pseudo siblings, eh?

Wanda sure had a helluva temper. She quickly banished Pietro from ever setting foot in her house again. Talk about a major bummer. Pietro suffered a huge loss on that front. One part because he’d have no choice but to crash with Agnes again. Ninety nine parts because he’d miss his troublemaking nephews. Those fun, lil scamps.

Tough luck, Quickie. Try and do better next time.

Honestly, he’d prefer if there wasn’t a next time.  If Agnes wanted to make small talk so bad, she could do it on her own. Calling it quits for the night, Pietro wandered off to a Westview bar. To his surprise, he found the place still in operation. And despite Pietro’s memories - vague imagery of Busch beer cans crushed under his fist - he hadn’t had a beer since his consciousness manifested. Shit. Did he even like beer? Whether he cared for it or not, a subconscious instinct drew him to it.

He assumed that instinct was none other than Ralph himself. The poor dude wanted to drown his terror in alcohol. And after all the twisted shit Agnes put Ralph through; who was Pietro to deny him one of life's simplest pleasures?

The mellow atmosphere of the bar oozed Halloween spirit. Kinda unnecessary, in retrospect. Considering Wanda never stopped by for a drink. Why bother sprucing the place up with her wispy magic, if it never saw any use?

The bartender’s clever quips reminded Pietro of Cheers. Another totally bonkers concept. Pietro had memories of watching Cheers, sure. But he couldn’t decipher if they were Ralph’s or not. For all Pietro knew, they might be a part of the ‘dead brother’ package deal. False memories, meant to give Wanda someone to relate to. Making him liable to tear down her defenses when she least expected it. 

But why did Pietro get the sense he was more of a Frasier guy anyway?

Sitting at the bar on a rickety stool, Pietro spun around to satiate his boredom. He cradled a beer, inhaling all of it in a single beat. Superspeed really did have its ups and downs. Consider quick consumption a positive. As far as negatives go…well…inebriation was completely unattainable. Sucks for Ralph. As Pietro flagged down the bartender for another beer, he tuned his ears to a radio broadcast. On a shelf amidst dollar store Halloween decor; a radio droned old fashioned tales of wicked witches. Subtle.

Outside interference interrupted the broadcast. Voices intermingled between buzzes of static. Whispering soft, but panicked mantras of 'Wanda? Wanda, are you there?' Pietro narrowed his beady eyes. His ignorance of the world outside Westview should’ve stayed intact. But whatever the reason, he knew exactly where those voices came from. Why he carried such knowledge was anyone’s guess. Maybe Agnes let too much her own insight slip into his psyche. Whoopsies. Oh well. Shrugging, Pietro flagged down the bartender for another beer. Deja vu.

Bored outta his mind, his thoughts explored elsewhere.

Pietro dreamt of something a little more down to earth. He remembered a cutie-pie neighbor new to Westview. A ‘next door’ kinda type, with a quirky sorta charm. They had no idea why they were in the city to begin with. Pietro knew these details, only because he gathered the what’s what on just about every person in town. It took him all of two seconds to do so. Zip around. Observe. Make mental notes. Report back to Agnes. Spill the deets.

Anyway, about you…

Call it a crush, loneliness, or even instinctive lust; whatever the case, Pietro thought you were cute as could be. You didn’t remember how you got to Westview, or where you even came from. One day, you woke up in town, and found yourself wearing unfamiliar clothes. Threads evocative of decades long past. But hey, it happens to the best of us. Pietro was well-acquainted with feelings of confusion and alienation. That mingled sense of being both lost, and born anew.

For crying out loud, he was the very materialization of sapient awareness itself. Agnes forbade him from that knowledge as well. But again, Pietro credited his oopsies and ding-dongs to her shoddy miracle work.

Whenever you questioned the reality around you, the world only stifled you into silence. The everyday citizens of Westview seemed so content with life as it was. Acting as if you had nothing to worry about. Wanda’s sitcom setup was nothing beyond sunshine, rainbows, and television tropes. But Pietro could see the unspoken terror hidden deep in their eyes. The truth Wanda kept hush hush.

Just thinking about it was enough to give Pietro the heebie jeebies. And if his intuition was anything to go by - it never proved him wrong yet - you had a bad feeling about Westview too. Way to go! You caught on even quicker than he did. Which was kinda nuts, if he thought about it. Wasn’t he supposed to be the fastest at everything? ‘Cuz speed was his middle name or something. Or…well, it wasn’t. But it could be. Who’s to stop him from seizing his own destiny at this point?

Pietro Speed Maximoff.

Eh, maybe not.

In Westview, you had no friends or family. And much like Pietro, on Halloween night; you found yourself at the bar. He caught your curious gaze from down the counter. You were dolled up in a scanty, witch's dress, leaving Pietro to wonder why witches were such a recurring theme in his life. Looking too much like a manchild goober, he spun around a few more times in his seat. His sneakers kicked against the stool’s railing. No matter what, he couldn’t sit still. He thought he might be embarrassing himself. But his antics appeared to make you smile even brighter.

Tilting your head, you shot him a look of familiarity.

You weren’t familiar with him, though. But there was a chance you saw him appearing and disappearing around town. During his impromptu stake outs, more than likely.

Bringing your drink to the seam of your lips, you stifled a playful giggle. It was obvious you were gawking at his costume. Arching a brow, Pietro grinned into the rim of his beer bottle. To be fair, he looked supremely ridiculous. The blue tights under his cut-off jean shorts rode up in the crotch a little too much. He dipped his head, staring at the frayed edges of his shorts. Yeah. It was clear he did the job cutting them himself. A hasty one too. Since he was too eager to pull pranks with his nephews.

Damn. Pietro missed those kids like hell already.

The dirty blond hair/ear-things atop his head bounced every time he knocked his neck back. As Pietro downed yet another beer, he lost track of how many he drank. A dribble of it plummeted into silver. Creating a sheen against the lightning bolt duct taped diagonally down his shirt. Pietro sighed and pursed his lips. 

His outfit was an all blue ensemble. Garnished with a spritz of silver here or there. Quicksilver. His hero name, apparently. Pietro knew he’d never live up to it.

A bit of friendly conversation later, and the air between the two of you shifted. Your playful look morphed into something a little wanton, the more Pietro acted in silly ways. Holy shit. Seriously? He hoped he wasn't misreading your signals. Because really, your attraction was too good to be true. If you honestly wanted him, where should he proceed from here? How much freedom had Agnes even allowed him? And furthermore - if Wanda’s happy, dream town ran on a curated schedule; what if credits rolled just as the two of you finally got handsy?

Maybe sitcom rules didn’t apply to conscious manifestations of witch hocus pocus? Wishful thinking on his part.

Outside the bar - in an alleyway too uncannily clean, like a set straight out of Hollywood - Pietro beckoned you in with kisses. Technically, he played the role of Agnes’s deadbeat husband. And if that were the case, did kissing you count as cheating? Shit…was Pietro committing adultery right now?? In the midst of macking on your sweet lips, he pressed a palm to the wall next to your head. Pietro pretended to do so for balance, as he devoured you with his mouth and tongue. 

But unbeknownst to you, he cracked an eye open. Just to double check for a wedding band.

Nothing there to prove he ever got hitched. Go figure.

You giggled coyly into his lips, letting a soft moan ease through your teeth. Bringing your hands up to the hair/ear-things on his head, you toyed with them. Your pretty voice teased him, as you played with his hair in gentle strokes of your thumbs.

“Ooooh…such a good boy, huh? Fast too.” You cooed, the same way one might praise a puppy.

Oh. Fuck yeah. To hell with sitcom tropes and bogus wives. Agnes scared the ever-loving shit out of Pietro anyway. He had no semblance of a domestic connection to her. Not that she gave much of a damn herself. With how often she threw insults his way. Agnes always used Ralph as her little punching bag, before hijacking his body for her own gain.

No wonder your simple praises got his proverbial tail wagging.

A chuckle hummed in the back of his throat, as Pietro purred into your lips, “Speed’s kinda my middle name, y’know?”

You snorted one of the dorkiest laughs he’d heard since cognisant birth. And with a sudden spark of primal urgency; Pietro felt something else spring into transcendence down below. 

Sifting through Ralph’s sidelined psyche, Pietro came to realize how much of a recluse he was. The guy never seemed to get out much. In fact, Agnes might’ve even been his first partner. If one could classify her as such. So, really, Pietro was doing him a major favor. If Ralph knew he planned on using their body for some frisky fun - on an otherwise lonely Hallow’s eve - surely, he’d give his brain roomie some thanks.

Pietro’s hands were vascular like a wired-up machine, clad in arm-warmer paws. Grabbing hard onto your curvy hips with them, he pulled you in closer. He sought the friction of your crotch against his. And after some seriously sloppy making out, Pietro dropped you an invite to his place.

Or…Agnes’s place.

Uh…or…was it technically Ralph’s? Shit, this sitcom roleplay sure gave way to some mental gymnastics.

You didn’t expect Pietro to zip you off at superspeed. Moving abruptly fast, he brought you straight to his disaster of a man cave. Laying you back on the futon, he gave you little time to adjust over the blankets. The wrinkled fabrics reeked of pot, in desperate need of a wash. You got as comfy as you could on the skunky sheets. Blinking your needy gaze up at him, you tugged his white belt, pulling the band undone. Pietro grinned lazily, colliding his swollen lips into yours. His primal instincts left him wreckless with want. 

Burying his tongue in the cavern of your mouth, he brought with him the flavor of cheap booze. As you tasted him, you moaned, shucking his dumb jorts down his hips. A sizable swelling twitched in his tights, squirming under muted blue. Your eyes bulged in their sockets, cartoonishly wide. The way you whirled your tongue across your lip gave off a vibe of animalistic hunger. As though you were eager for an all dick dinner. With Pietro as the appetizer.

And the main course. And the dessert. He hoped you'd rate him five stars.

Restaurant metaphors aside; this was the very first test of his capabilities as a lover, after all. If he couldn’t live up to his superhero name, maybe he could make a name for himself in other ways.

Pietro Speed Maximoff. Quicksilver. Cunning Linguist.

But first…he really should satiate your hunger.

One, generous tug downward, and Pietro’s - or Ralph’s - slightly above average length sprang out. Bouncing in your face in mesmerizing oscillation, his cock appeared pulsating and roused. Thick veins weaved like threads through his shaft, akin to his vascular hands. His balls bulged in his tights, his jorts hanging halfway down his thighs. Pietro took his blistering cock in hand. Aching for the kind of stimulation Ralph never got, his desire painted him so flush and ruby red. 

Since you looked so delighted at the sight before you; Pietro gave his cock a few strokes. He played with himself for your viewing pleasure. And as his firm grip tugged his shaft, the world pulled suddenly back. It was as though Pietro viewed life through a third person perspective. Metaphorical cameras fixed their lenses on the two of you, in an all too human position of closeness. 

The weight of a cock in Pietro’s hand felt both familiar, yet weirdly foreign. Combine that with the sight of another living, breathing body below him; and his nerves buzzed uncomfortably. Frenzied in such a way that matched the quick pulsing of his heart. Focusing instead on your fluttering eyes, Pietro weaned himself out of dissociation. Your hands braced his hips, thumbs circling the fabric of his tights. The gentle gesture brought chills throughout his body. Inching forward, you teased his bobbing cock with a flick of your tongue.

Wet heat grounded him in reality. Upon racing to the forefront of his own mind; Pietro’s breath hitched with a husky groan. He held your head, massaging his fingers in your soft hair. Cute mewls spilled from your lips as you flitted your eyes shut. Swirling your tongue over his cock’s puffy head, you lapped any tearful pearls of precum. His thickness sank between your plush lips, and Pietro’s own lips parted for breath.

Of all things to happen on Halloween night, getting his dick sucked wasn’t on the docket.

Not that Pietro had any reason to complain. This? Wicked awesome. Ralph was really missing out.

You drew lazily back just to lap his balls over his tights, staining fabric with slick saliva. Rolling the tip of your tongue up the underside of his dick, you giggled in that dorkish way again. Pietro’s teeth pulled his lip as he tilted his head back. His dick twitched, throbbing while the heat of your mouth embraced him fully. He moaned, smiling wide enough to show off his dimples. You pumped his cock at the base, teasing his veins with your tongue.

Pietro’s brows turned inward. You suckled his head like you longed to guzzle anything he could give. He sank his fingers deeper through your hair, holding on tightly as he rutted his hips. With each slam of his weeping tip into your throat; he hoarsely grunted. You really did try your best, just for him. Even as tears spilled down your cheeks and your lips began to swell. Plush and puffy, circling his slick length. Pietro kicked up the speed at which he rutted.

Fighting his instincts, he was cautious enough not to choke you. Or, he wanted to be cautious. He braced his hands on both sides of your tear stained face, his arm warmer paws soft against your cheeks. Sinking his dick even deeper between your lips, he accidentally went balls deep. The wet fabric of his tights smothered your chin. You sputtered on his cock, which made your throat wring him so tight. As your tongue curled, sliding under the thrum of his veins; Pietro cursed. Playful chuckles and shameful apologies fell from his lips.

Bitter heat coated your tongue in sweltering jets, thick and explosive down your throat. Pietro’s groin twisted in a blossoming surge of pleasure. And as he ruptured your esophagus with his sticky load, he found himself that much more grounded. As if such a bombastic nut somehow tethered him to reality - securing Pietro from any further derealization. 

Righteous. His first big O since Agnes blessed him with the gift of consciousness. Significantly more electrifying than any sad, jerk sesh Ralph had in the past. And since you so humbly took him like a champ - giving Pietro a most euphoric experience; he saw it fit to return the favor ASAP.

Neither Pietro - nor Ralph, it seemed - had any experience toying around with partners. But he did have a vague knowledge of how to do so. Thanks to the backlog of not-so-safe-for-work memories deep in his subconscious. Raunchy porn, mostly. Magazines. Tapes. Jesus, Ralph…why’s there so much dirty stuff in there, huh? Lots and lots of it. Pietro would have to do his own research later.

He gave you no time to prep for his oncoming nose dive. Perched on your knees, coughing and clearing your throat - you found yourself abruptly resting on your elbows. Your upper back pressed into the futon. Pietro lifted your hips, using his strength to hike your thighs over his broad shoulders. As you parted your swollen lips to protest, blinking your reddened eyes; Pietro pulled your panties to the side. He kept the soaked lace pinned under a thick thumb. Burying his lips in your cunt, he lapped up your honeyed heat.

A sudden addiction, triggered by something carnal, overtook him instantly. Pietro became hooked on your fragrant flavor, swirling your cute bud in high-speed circles. He worked your stiff clit like a microscopic joystick, flicking wet heat in a spastic whirlwind. Alternating between drawing patterns, and sucking your precious pearl hard. Pietro so easily made you squeal - even without any prior experience - until you scratched your fingernails deep into Ralph’s sheets. Kissing your cunt, he let his thirst take over, and dove deeper.

The tune of his name melting through your moans made him wish the night would last forever. A small fraction of him hoped Ralph would never take over again. If consciousness offered rewards this scrumptious, Pietro wanted to stay sentient into eternity. Not to be selfish or whatever, but he almost considered playing minion for Agnes again - if only to secure the lifespan of his psyche.

Your supple, pussy lips parted as he wormed his tongue through your slick walls. Smooth, bumpy heat squeezed the fuzzy ridges of his tongue. In milliseconds, your fluttery love gushed over his taste buds and leaked down his chin. Tears teased the edges of your eyes. You cried whines of sugary bliss. Pietro’s thumb kept your panties pinned, his other hand locked around your thigh.

He smirked into your pussy, deep chuckles burning hot on your mound. And since the position wasn’t exactly the most comfortable; he allowed you some reprieve. Pushing you past your breaking point at light speed, Pietro bashed the sopping slickness of his tongue into your clit. You trembled, shuddering through powerful waves of orgasmic intensity. White-hot flashes of light flooded your vision. Under Pietro’s zippy tongue, your sweet pussy quivered.

Totes mcgoats. If he learned anything tonight - aside from the obvious lessons in subtlety; Pietro now understood why the everyday man lost his doggone marbles over puss.

After your first release, he eased your tired body into the futon. Your back met cozy blankets, engulfed in that skunk weed scent. Before you relaxed, he edged you even longer, drawing out your pleasurable suffering. Pietro sank his fingers deep into your heat, pumping the length of them inside you. His digits curled perfectly, finding every spongy spot that made your core burst with a desire to cum again. His tongue teased your swollen nub until you grabbed at his hair. You mussed the funny looking ear things atop his head, pressing your palm into his forehead to try and push him back.

You begged him to stop. Pleading in disoriented whimpers, your noises went straight to his limp dick. A few more hot, wrathful waves of pleasure later - he finally stopped. Only after your cunt erupted in one more, wet burst. You leaked like a fountain into his lips, soaking his chin, even making a mess of his makeshift costume. More than worth it. Pietro sat up on the futon, admiring his handiwork. He wiped his mouth with one of his arm warmer paws. Your mouth fell agape as your lungs begged for air. More tears sparkled on your flushed cheeks, mirroring the twinkle of your pussy. Pretty as a rose in a rainshower.

With your sluggish arms, you gestured for Pietro to climb over you. And once he did, you pulled him into a lazy kiss without a single care. You paid no mind to the taste of your sweetness on his lips, or the scent of your musk on his chin. Sleepily blinking, you bravely asked if you could stay the night. Too tuckered out to even consider a long walk back home.

Pietro could just as easily speed you over to your place. But even at the risk of his not-wife catching him in bed with someone else - he felt too adverse to loneliness. Besides...your company brought him more delight than he ever expected of anyone. Settling into the futon, he popped on Ralph’s old TV set.

Cheers was on. Pietro snickered to himself, rolling his dark eyes.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, snuggled up against Pietro’s strong form. He’d changed clothes at some point in the night, finally foregoing the tights. Oh, and he lended you one of Ralph’s shirts too. A Grateful Dead t-shirt, of which you were very grateful. Hah, “You don’t like Cheers?”

Pietro shrugged, sipping a beer. A Busch beer. He scowled at the taste, curling his lip.

“Eh. More of a Frasier kinda guy.”

[chronicler-of-narrative]

So, On-Lyne, huh?

Let's be honest here, they're actually an incredibly cool system. If there's one thing I like about DE is how they spice up stale systems. Like how Poe and Fortuna paved the way for Deimos and Duviri, the technocyte Coda seem to be doing the same for the lich system (especially considering how they dont seem to have any weapons).

While lightly disappointing because they have set identities unlike the very oc-friendly randomness of liches and sisters, its still basically the most hype part of the 1999 update for me.

However, praise aside, I also wanted to do some light speculatuon on their story and personalities, and specifically, why I think they weren't always infested.

Now, look, ik they look weird conceptually, being likened to fortnite skins by some, but I think that is mostly just foreshadowing. To me, they look like digital avatars, which considering their name is quite literally On-Lyne and all of the internet imagery in the 1999 promotional videos and ads seems to support this. Now, this is actually really important because if they are digital avatars of real people (as I suspect), then that sets up the main theme of their story: Appearances.

This is why I think they're not some infested psyop but rather started out normally, before being overtaken. Because at the end of the day, Warframe's stories are deep in the most batshit way possible. DE aren't afraid to use the mighty Allegory for their stories, and I think this is what they're doing here. The infestation is On-Lyne's Monkey Paw, being either a wish-come-true or a punishment, or both.

This, imo, is most evident with Zeke. After all, we literally hear him talking about how "if management gives him one more passive aggressive comment, he's gonna snap", which to me tells me that Zeke probably isn't able to endure the price of being famous. This, combined with a transcription of the infested writing on their fanpage I received from a friend, tells us what the Infestation has done for Zeke. "Zeke hungers to unmake himself" and calling him "Fleshskin" to me sound like Zeke seeking to become acceptable to the band at the cost of himself. As in, to literally martyr himself, to become the band's skin and remove the part of himseld that can't stand the pressure, becoming in the proccess an empty shell, a skin-suit, if you will.

For the others, we know a little less, so imma just summarize my theories on them :

-Hardrive's the one who spreads the infestation, the infection mechanism. But by the...unflattering language the hivemind uses to describe him unlike the others, what i get is hes trying to escape the infestation, escape the life of fame, but in doing so is only falling deeper into the very thing he's trying to get away from.

-Packet's the tactician of the group. Different from Drillbit in the fact that hes directly responsible for unity within the group. I mean, "Soothes the dissident voices" doesnt get more explicit than that. Its weird how hes the most "fresh". To me it sounds like he may have had a hand in unleashing the infestation on the group in some attempt to keep them from having a falling out, and is now in charge of keeping the whole hivemind together after being the last one to be consumed.

-Drillbit is the guide of the group. Especially with the brain and larynx lines, sounds to me like he was the second-in-command to Zeke who always wanted to be the face of the band but couldn't with Zeke in the way.

-Dj RoM is a little hard to figure out, but to me he sounds like the group hedonist. He doesn't question whats going on, hes just there to have a good time and might even be the most accepting of the infestation. Especially considering how it directly mentions how his 'palpatations reverberate' while the band is 'digesting' which may imply hes actually enjoying it.

So yea, these basically it. If im wrong, feel more than free to share your ideas. After all, this is just speculation, but to me it seems very fitting from a narrative perspective.

[the-east-art]

Hi Thank you for coming to my TED Talk about how I dont like the Grid Method for drawing

I think most people in their life have seen the grid method for copying a piece of art - if you haven’t seen it you can probably at least get an idea of it pretty quick. The grid method for art requires you to break a piece into a series of equal squares, and then transfer those squares onto a blank piece of paper divided into the equal squares of the same ratio. Conceptually this idea is very sound - rather than biting off the entire picture, you focus on each section. Theoretically, if you can make square A1 look like square A”1, and so on and so forth, you should finish with an identical drawing to your picture. I, personally, have a strong distaste for this method. It teaches bad habits - especially to younger and newer artists. (If you are a big fan of this method please read all of my rant first or at least scroll to the end where I will reiterate some of the perceived positives of the method)

The best way to discuss this is to start with a general idea of how we go about drawing something - especially something from a reference! I will try not to riddle this rant with disclaimers, but not everyone will draw using the same or similar methods, but this is the way that I was taught and when discussing with other artists they usually follow similar ideas: When you draw you go from big to little - from general to specific. Getting too specific too early is detrimental. This is an art rant, so let’s chat about this with some pictures. 

Here I have a picture of a square and a circle. Next to it I have my blank piece of paper, and I want to draw it EXACTLY THE SAME on the paper. To do this - whether consciously or not - I will start taking mental ‘measurements’ of various aspects of this composition. How far are these objects from the edges? How much space do they take up? And I will compare these objects to each other - which object is bigger? Where do they connect - is their point of contact halfway up the square or a quarter ways up the square? In the previous questions I am specifically focused on circle in relationship to the square, so it’s worth noting that if my square isn’t placed correctly then everything else will be placed incorrectly as well. Early on in a piece you want to keep lines light, ready to be changed if need be. One of my professors used to say that you wanted to avoid falling in love and getting married to a line as long as possible, because once you fall in love with your lines you will be reluctant to change them. 

Here I have a square and a circle - although maybe these have a little more details going on in them than our previous square and circle. Now maybe this is overwhelming, but remember we want to start from general and then get specific - our process for drawing this should look much the same as our previous painting! Starting with the outline and general shape! This brooch technically isn’t a circle - it’s scalloped on the edges - but before we put that information in we want to make sure we have the placement of it correctly both on the paper and in reference to our other elements - the square. When we feel confident in those elements, we can start SLOWLY adding the other information. A lot of art is about training the eye - we’re looking between the picture and our drawing, trying to see visually what the difference is and correct it. 

Naturally, the more complicated the piece the more complicated this process becomes. If we, for instance, have a person, thats’ a lot more to deal with. We once again want to work outside first. My professor was very big on outlines and shadows first and details slowly after that - so I would likely want to work on the external form, and some lines, and then work in blocky shadows, and fine-tune it from there. Once again let’s ask ourselves what will happen if we just start with the eye - and we spend HOURS drawing the perfect eye - only to realize that it isn’t in the right place in reference to everything else. We’d either have to erase that eye and all our work, rework the entire rest of the drawing, or leave it to look offputting and wrong. When you start art you can get preoccupied with features, when in reality they should be one of the last elements you definitively put in. 

There’s one last part about this that is relevant to my dislike for the grid method, and it’s the idea that when we’re looking at a piece we find commonalities along lines to help guide our art. For instance here we can see that one eye lies horizontally on the same plane and the back of the dogs head matches with a place on the coat - these can help guide us in making sure things are looking right! The grids may help us to see these things, but not necessarily.

Okay, back to the grid method. As I’ve stated earlier the grid method can be used well and the principles behind it are good - our neat squares provide an easier visual way to do the exact same stuff we were doing earlier - how far is the object from the edges and from each other etc etc. However these squares actually can encourage the artist to focus too closely - again either a square at a time or a feature at a time. In addition they narrow the focus of the artist away from the whole - instead of seeing how everything lays on the entire page, you focus on how things are lying in that specific tiny box. Art is usually a dance of in and out - close and far. Taking a step back. The grid method discourages this. 

I say this again aware that many people are extremely successful using this method - young auteurs who draw a giant portrait hyperrealistic. Leyendecker would use a grid to make his smaller drawings bigger (although I would argue he first had an understanding of the previous methods for the intiial drawing, and used the grid more for enlargement of the previous piece). People do this method and do it well… just more people learn bad habits from it that they have to fight against to progress. 

The last thing I want to say is about how the flaw, always, with the grid method is that it has to be something that you can place a grid on - you become confined to the paper and ruler. While the earlier method was taught to be through still life drawings, measuring with a stick, it was clear that this eye training and method was versatile, and could be used for anything you placed in front of me, the grid method becomes a shackle. And I know I know I know, but other artists have found ways around such a block - the perspective frame for painting has been used by many artists over the years, including Vincent Van Gogh - places somewhere to make the process of copying the real world easier - but why let yourself be confined willingly? If you are a big grid believer I would beseech you to AT LEAST try and expand your studies in addition to the grid formula - a healthy diet of many different kind of studies and practices and eye trainings is what we do to hopefully, one day, be able to put the designs in our head down onto paper accurately. 

Additionally, using the grid method provides no room for your to be using your instincts to help. I’ve been reading through ot3’s personal philosophy of composition and I found the line in the introductions where they discuss the idea of following your instincts very important. Part of my philosophy firmly believes that people understand art ephemerally without the need of words first, and overtime the act of art is becoming more aware of the words and phrases of certain concepts, so that we gain the ability to use and manipulate them purposefully. 

Anyway there ya go! Let me know your thoughts!

[no-name-publishing]

Interim (and company) by starkraving

After what has literally been a year and a month, I can call this project finished. The highs and lows of American football. You understand. Very grateful to the author for having written it and letting me bind them a copy! More photos and process pics under the cut.

The bookcloth material is faux suede, and the title decoration is cut from a glossy transparent HTV. The effect is completely swoon worthy, and exactly as I'd imagined it. That said I had a difficult time conceptualizing a design for the case at all; my only working idea was the endband, ribbon bookmark, and head and tail decoration. For 6 months everything I was coming up with for the cover was clashing very hard against these elements. So instead I took steps backwards, and thought how I could make something simple still visually interesting. I decided the difference in physical texture and appearance between the faux suede cloth and a glossy transparent HTV could be just what I was looking for, and I think it worked incredibly well.

The endband is done with adapted renaissance endbands in opposing directions, with a simple wrap of red thread in the center. I don't think peek-a-boo is the right phrase but nonetheless. The head and tail are painted with spray paint, in a gradient pattern that fades as it nears the foredge. The light blue accent lines are also spray paint, applied with a stencil I drew and made myself.

Typesetting shots. I use Word to typeset, and everything is designed and arranged within the program. Body font is Cochineal, the decorative title font is Caesar, as well as Sheikah and Hylian script.

The tiny books are simple, using elements from the main bind to tie them together. These are the spin-off short stories starkraving recently released as part of the Interim series. A testament to exactly how long this bind took me to complete, otherwise I would have included these in the main book. Oh well, it means I got to make tiny books.

Little video showing off the pieces. Particularly proud of the title page.

Process shots starting at my early test run of the my endband idea, to spraying the head and tail. Sewing the primary endband, and the completed bands on both books.

Very pleased altogether with how this came out. Also pleased to have it out of my WIP pile where I can take it off the shelf and fondle it whenever I want.

[amaryllis-sagitta]

I might be reading way too much into this, but after the first look at the new Chaos design I think there might be some kind of a dialectic going on within themself.

The original design is more amorphous and neutral in its presentation, sure. It emphasizes two things to me:

that Chaos is constantly churning on the inside, and

that they birthed the chtonic entities (or at least Nyx and Erebus, which is interesting since in Hades games, Nyx is personified and Erebus is a whole ass biome) and they constantly spawn new potential entities or incarnations of themself, as represented by fetuses and faces protruding from the different parts of their gnarly body.

The new design shows us a well put together androgynous figure in a sparkly suit (though leaning a little more towards femme presentation), holding a skull with a piece of a spine still attached.

As a matter of fact, I believe that the skull is one of the Hades 1 Chaos themself. It has the familiar Chaos sigil on its forehead, and there's a fetus coming out of its mouth. Which to me hints that between the events of Hades 1 and Hades 2, the Primordial Originator's avatar reached some breaking point and had to be reborn. Perhaps Kronos/ Chronos (???) breaking out sowed so much turmoil in the world that Primordial Chaos has inadvertently spread themself thin, and their own realm had to be reformed. In that condition, it would make sense for them to hold themself tighter whenever they need to speak to someone.

The new look feels so very... corporate and luminous, aside from being more anthropomorphic. The look reminds us of the Furies from the first game. To me, it represents form over substance, which would add an interesting dialectical beat to Chaos: even within themself, they can fluctuate between having more or less Form; the Form, too, is already anticipated to come out of Chaos. This new design is controversial because it brings Chaos closer to Form and Light, something that feels paradoxical. They have what looks like a pocket watch in their lapel - they are related to Time!

Which would push the understanding of Chaos towards the Aristotelian concept of change, making them something like Prime Potentiality - the domain where things "wait" for the right timing or the right circumstances to become. This interpretation seems to go well with how H1 Chaos could never be fully present in the world, could never visit their children; the world is where possibilities get actualized into, and Chaos is the conceptualized "point" where everything actualizes from.

And isn't this paradoxical feel about Chaos's new design consistent with their previous presentation as a force in flux that holds multiple internal voices and pairs of logical contradictions, and loves all that's unpredictable?

(Disclaimer: I'm not a classicist, I'm a philosopher, so I appreciate extra on insight on that. I love Chaos's design from H1 and I want to understand the new one.)

[galaxygolfergirl]

Hey there! Long time no see! Here’s some rough hypothetical Frozen III concept art of Helsa!

Now, I can’t predict what they’ll do for the next two movies, nor am I the best digital artist, but I wanted to try my hand at conceptualizing Hans and Elsa’s visual identities for this next chapter in the franchise.

With Elsa, I decided to evolve her travel outfit from the last movie and color her in some darker blues that don’t wash her out like her white dress. I incorporated some of the rosemaling from her coronation outfit and some Northuldra stylings as well into this coat and dress combo not only to honor her roots, but also to reflect her newfound wildness and freedom as protector of Arendelle and the Enchanted Forest. That even though she has these god-like powers bestowed upon her, she's still grounded and she's still human, with newfound determination in her skills.

Hans, on the other hand, has dropped all of his facades. No longer concerned with keeping up appearances, I decided to make him look more disheveled and intimidating than his younger, cleaned up self. I've always been a proponent of the bearded Hans concept, but here I think it fits as he has no incentive to perform anymore. His only motivation is vengeance, whether at Frohana or a different antagonist, an "enemy of my enemy is my friend" situation is anyone's guess. He's colored grey and his intentions are grey, no ornamentation, nothing, only the light blue of his shirt hints at any kind of sympathy or redemption.

I also wanted to show that these two share a lot in common, and I've stated this before: Hans and Elsa are two sides of the same coin. Both were isolated during their childhoods, resulting in years of loneliness, misery, and bitterness; both try to appear poised and reserved, hiding their inner self-loathing; both are intelligent and cunning, both have a definite aggressive streak, and both seem to be be on equal footing with interesting chemistry in their very few scenes together.

Here, they are now wild and unrestrained, the main difference being that one of them succumbed to their worst intentions and desires, while the other freed themselves and learned to embrace love and peace in their life.

I'm working on doing concepts for Anna and Kristoff as well, and I'll do Honeymaren and Ryder as well to round out the party, so stay tuned! Digital art takes a long time! Especially when you're still learning how to do it! 🙃😅

[beauty-and-passion]

In thisisnotawebsite.com, bills fears are stated as "venetial blinds, 3d glasses, TV statics" do you have any theories or hcs for any of this? I loved your analysis of billford and bill in general so I'm pretty curious!!

Oh, that's a great question and I would be more than happy to brainstorm a little about those fears! Of course, everything I write is the result of my personal interpretations, so you and everyone else are free to add more :D

But before talking about Bill's fears, I would like to point out two things:

1. The apparently weird and random nature of these fears

Blinds, glasses, and TV static? I doubt anyone would've ever imagined them as Bill's fears.

However, their seemingly innocuous nature works great for a being like him. Bill isn't a normal human being - or another generic 3D being: he comes from a completely different dimension and he has powers beyond our imagination. He sees and experiences the world in a totally different way compared to us. So having apparently random elements as his fears emphasizes how different and "detached" his nature is from us even more.

2. The conceptual weight of these fears

I doubt Bill fears these things for what they are. Like, if someone gives him a physical pair of 3D glasses, I doubt he would run away screaming.

It's not the object per se that scares him. It's what the object implies or represents that scares him. And, again, we should take into consideration that he's a 2D being and experiences reality differently. So maybe what for us is normal, for him is a much more powerful representation of something else.

_______________

Said that, let me explain what I think these fears represent for Bill and why he fears them:

Venetian blinds

Venetian blinds are thin, horizontal strips of wood/plastic that can be moved to change the amount of light coming through a window.

When they are down, they look like a thin, flat surface. They're so smooth, they don't let any light pass through. They almost look like one, single, uneven surface.

Maybe, to Bill's eye, this flat, thin surface reminds him of the flat, thin surface of his own world. Maybe Euclydia was as flat and smooth as a blind. And when the blinds are down, they remind him of the flat nature of his world.

But Venetian blinds can also be moved: they can be tilted, to let the light pass through the slits, or raised completely.

The act of tilting and/or raising the blinds might remind Bill of the destruction of his dimension. From his perspective, he sees a once smooth surface move, break and suddenly the light shines through - a light that could remind him of all the stars he always watched.

So every time he sees blinds being adjusted, he sees a tragedy being reenacted: a world that breaks/gets destroyed and the light of stars passing through its fragments.

3D glasses

As we know from the art therapy note on thisisnotawebsite.com, Bill draws red and blue triangles. And we all associated red and blue with his parents, thus guessing those were their colors.

3D glasses are made of a red lens and a blue lens. One lens filters out all the red in the 2D image we're watching, the other lens filters out all the blue: as a result, our brains put together the resulting two images processed through our eyes and we can see in 3D.

But if we consider this mechanism through Bill's point of view, the mechanism behind 3D glasses implies that only by filtering out blue and red (aka the color of his parents), you can see the third dimension. Only by removing red and blue, you can see in 3D. Only by removing his parents, he could see in 3D.

These glasses could be a dark confirmation, for him: your parents had to die, for you to finally see the third dimension. They had to die. And they died. And they constantly die, every time their colors are removed. Because only if they die, you can see further. It's a bit like killing them over and over.

And maybe, this is also cruel irony for him. Because 3D glasses need his parents' color to work. His parents, who never saw nor understood the third dimension, are a means to allow a 3D vision of 2D things. Only by using (and killing) them, others can see in 3D. Maybe that's too cruel, even for Bill.

TV static

Bill said that, every time he tries to talk about the destruction of Euclydia, he blacks out and doesn't remember anything. Every time he blacks out (like in TBOB), it is shown through static very similar to the TV static he's so scared about.

In the past, I supposed that the static and Bill's blackout were a way to hint that Bill actually died in the destruction of Euclydia - that's why he cannot remember exactly what happened and blacks out every time he tries to.

Therefore the TV static might be a reminder of his own death. Of what he experienced, right after his world died and everyone else along with it.

This would also reconnect TV static with all other fears, because being afraid of the first time he died, implies the destruction of his place, the death of his parents and his own terrible mistake that caused all of that. It could be a terrible reminder of his own mortality and his past sin - both things Bill isn't able to deal with (not after eons in therapy, at least).

[ckret2]

Hi! Love your bill fic<3

I'm sorry if you answered this already, but Would Bill be able to open gates, because I would think he could just think of them as 'pieces of fence that open', but again that's like loosely what doors are. So could Bill think normal doors(like doorknob swinging doors) as something like 'pieces of wall that open', 'gates of wood' or 'weird vertical roof lids', would that work or would trying to make a definition for the concept of doors not work?

Also I don't quite know if this is a spoiler, but does Bill's native language/text only require two different colours or do the colour change the meaning of the text?

Gates are definitely a kind of door, and—much like how the spell includes windows—gates clearly perform an identical enough function to doors that the spell probably internally specifies "and yes this category of object is obviously a door."

Yes, if Bill can convince himself that doors aren't [object in the internal mental category of what we perceive as doors], he could open one. Stating "a door isn't a door" is insufficient; it requires believing in your heart that this thing isn't conceptually a door. But looking at a door without mentally understanding it as a door is like trying to focus your attention on a written word without reading the word. Bill "lie until you can't remember what's a truth and what's a lie" Cipher has a bigger advantage at that than most humans, but even for him it's difficult. He's only able to use the "roof lids" trick when he's unconscious and can apply Dream Logic to the situation, doing something similar with door-doors would be even harder.

Here's my post about his native language! tl;dr the colors are irrelevant, there just have to be two, a "lighter" one and a "darker" one.

With the release of TBOB, I've decided his written language comes in two forms: a fancier "high" script and an easier "low" script. The color code used in TBOB is the "high" script, and it's fancier because you need to switch between at least* 26 different colors to write it, meaning it'd be a pain to write out by hand. The "low" script only needs two colors, Light and Dark, so it's a lot easier to write by hand.

(*"At least" because I'm assuming that Bill's language isn't actually literally English except it's written in colors, what we see in the book is just an approximation of how his language looks but his actual language would have its own words/letters/etc that don't match the Latin alphabet.)

The low script takes up a lot more space (since it could take 3 dots/dashes to write a letter that could've been represented by a single dot in high script), so it's only for handwriting; for printed documents (like books & newspapers), formal documents (like contracts), and digital documents (anything on a computer or typed & printed from a computer), the high script is used since it's easy to type out. The high script is probably hell for colorblind shapes.