#absolutely tiny or like...a printed image in a container

[twodeluxe]

I wanna see the necklace omg! That’s so cool of y’all

THANK YOU FOR ENABLING ME you are my favorite

we used to have a silver otherkin star that we wore daily, but the top fixture snapped. rather than replace it, we figured the plural rings were a little more accurate for us now, anyway.

a friend ended up doing the model (albeit while we sat behind and gave feedback), we paid shapeways for the printing, for speed & just to save us the trouble of actually producing something to "daily wear" standards. would recommend.

[entomolog-t]

The Shadow We Cast - 2

My last G/t July Prompt that will actually be done in July; Melancholy!

- - - -

Previous Chapter: Chapter 1

Next Chapter: Chapter 3

Word count: 2460

CW: Adult language, mild gore (butchering food, mentions of blood), substances (beer)

My kitchen, thankfully, didn’t look as bad as I had expected in the aftermath of Sal’s butchering. Don’t get me wrong, it still looked like a scaled down horror scene, complete with the bowl filled with various innards and traces of little bloodied hand and foot prints smeared about, but Sal had done a remarkable job keeping the carnage to a minimum. The three or four beers I’d downed while waiting also seemed to have helped mitigate my queasiness. If you squint it's just chicken... just … don’t think too hard.

Instead, I turned my gaze down to the little man on my counter. He was absolutely beaming. With one hand perched on his hip and the other wielding the ridiculously oversized knife, he smiled up at me, clearly proud of his handiwork. He’d shed a layer or two of clothing in the process of butchering and I tried not to dwell on questioning if that was more, or less sanitary. What I did dwell on however, was him. Man, he was a burly little thing… while the sheer difference in size between us made it near impossible to pick up on the finer details of his features without being intimately close, I didn't have to be uncomfortably close to notice he, in spite of his stature, was a sizable man. Lean, and wildly muscular, boasting a broad chest and narrow waist… he could have told me he was an action figure brought to life and I wouldn't have hesitated to believe him.

“I cut, you cook?” The question sounds less like a true question and more akin to instruction. He shifted awkwardly under my gaze.

“Oh- uh, yeah man, sure thing.” While his proficiency in butchering more than surpassed my expectations, I was not about to trust a questionably feral miniature man with any sort of cooking appliances. I eyed the meat cautiously, two main thoughts becoming prominent in my mind; I was not about to cook hawk on any of my pans, and I was most certainly not about to eat it plain.

The weight of his eyes on me was somehow heavier than he himself. I felt him watch as I rummaged through the fridge, pulling out a mishmash of ingredients to make a half-assed gochujang sauce. With a quick wipe down of a section of the counter I took out a second cutting board, dishes be damned, and began to mince some garlic. He took a step back, wrinkling his nose at the smell. He eyed the garlic, among the other ingredients, warily. I smiled to myself. Oh sure, I’m the bad guy for questioning hawk, but garlic is gross? Though, to his credit, he kept his thoughts to himself.

He busied himself with inspecting the various ingredients I’d brought out, padding around each container curiously. He paid particularly close attention as I emptied a sizeable amount of maple syrup into the bowl, lingering just close enough to peer down into the mix.

“Do you want to try some?” I ask, holding up the spoon to him. His eyes bounce between me and the contents of the spoon before he gives in and dips a finger into the mix. The sight of his tiny hand gripping the edge of the spoon was jarring. Ignoring his surroundings he looked so… normal. So human… but seeing him directly contrasted against such a mundane object almost felt like an optical illusion. He examines the sauce for a moment, brow furrowed and nose wrinkled, seemingly unsure of what to make of it. With a small shrug, his curiosity wins over, and he gives the sauce a taste. His face is immediately alight with shock, and he turns to look at me with an expression of awe.

“Uh… you like it?” Instead of a verbal response, he reaches his hand back onto the spoon, taking a near fistful of sauce. I turn my head to avoid him catching sight of the face I pull at the stomach churning image of a full grown man mowing down on sauce as if it's Michelin-Starred decadence. I ignore the soft yelp he makes in protest as I pull the spoon away, and quickly interject before he can voice his disgruntlement .

“So, I’m thinking we cook these up on the barbecue outside.” I say, averting my gaze from the little monstrosity and the plethora of grotesque slurping sounds coming from his general direction as he licks his fingers clean. Sal makes a sort of hum in agreement. Had he washed his hands after butchering the hawk? I suppress a gag. I needed another drink. Stuffing a few beers under one arm, I haphazardly gathered up the sauce, tongs and meat with my free hand. With my arms more than a little full, I cast my gaze down to Sal,

“Uh, I’ll just set this up outside and then come ba-”

He jumped.

Had my reaction time been any better I’m sure I would have flinched out of the way of the tiny man throwing himself off the counter towards me, but instead all I managed was a yelp in surprise. He caught two handfuls of my shirt fabric and climbed up my midsection with an uncanny speed that could put a seasoned rockclimber to shame. The feeling of such a small and fast moving being freely skittering up my body made my skin crawl. He situated himself near the crook of my arm, a little too suspiciously close to the sauce for my liking, and patted my arm as if I were a horse he was kicking into gear.

---

What a way to travel! I couldn’t help but stare in absolute wonder as the ground flew by, with Mark seemingly moving slow yet covering such boggling distances with each step. This was exhilarating! My heart raced in my chest, and as I leaned back against Mark, I noticed with a bit of a chuckle, so did his.

He made his way out to the porch towards some large metal contraption he had referred to as a bar-bah-kyou? I hopped off onto what seemed like a sort of counter top jutting out from the barbah-thingy’s side as he emptied his arms. As I approached the vaguely tank-like structure, Mark fiddled with something beneath the machine. Upon examination, the barbah-thingy had a handle on the front as well as an assortment of dials lining its base. As I made my way closer, Mark’s hand tentatively blocked my path. I shot him a glare as he pushed me back, and he returned an apologetic smile.

“Uh, just… stand back a little.” He pressed a button. An almost insectoid clicking sound emanated from the machine. There was a whoosh, followed by a sudden increase in heat as the machine was somehow brought to life. Grinning, Mark opened up the tank-thing to show off the flames roaring up inside.

Well, that was certainly easier than rubbing sticks together.

Before I could get a closer look, he closed the lid.

“It's gotta heat up a bit before we're good.” I snorted. It seemed plenty hot to me, but he was in charge of cooking, so I wasn’t about to be fussy. He offered his hand, and I swung myself on, only to immediately be set down on a table between two wooden chairs, with Marking dropping himself into the chair to my left. He stared down at me for a moment before reaching for another one of the metallic cans.

The can made an odd hissing sound as Mark pried open the lid. As he took a swig from the can, I inspected the collection of its unopened brethren beside me. The cans were cool to the touch, with little beads of moisture forming along their surface. The muggy summer air loomed around me, tempting me to lean against the chilled metal surface of the can, but I decided against the potential social faux pas. There were mountains decorating the can, along with bright red letters. It had been a while since I'd seen human writing, especially the squiggly kind, and I wracked my brain trying to place the sounds to the letters. C…ow… ers? C-oo..wers? I felt my brow furrow in frustration. A contented sigh from Mark interrupted my attempts to decode his drink.

“What’re you drinking?” Mark looked a little caught off guard. He chuckled.

“It’s beer.” Beer? Man I was way off on my human spelling. Yikes. “Do you, uh... want some?”

The thought of the cool condensation made that an easy and enthusiastic yes from me. He reached for his can and hesitated. A wide smile formed on his face as he stood. I suppressed the urge to take a step back at his sudden movement. Fuck was he ever big.

“Sick. Lemme go get you a glass.”

Mark returned with a glass that was somehow comically small pinched between his massive fingers, yet within my own hands seemed more like a hefty bucket. Although the bucket-glass would undoubtedly be a bit of a challenge to drink from, I wasn't about to complain about getting more than my fair share of a cool drink.

As he filled my glass he cast me a wary gaze,

“Um, Sal? Have you … had alcohol before?”

“I thought this was beer.” He snorted. I had no idea why his mistake was so funny.

“I guess that's a no?” I shrugged. How could I know if I’d had it if I didn’t know what it tasted like. He laughed again and I smiled, albeit a bit nervously. What was so funny to him?

“Um.. it makes you feel good. Um, almost tingly? But if you have a lot it makes you feel a bit slow and your thoughts feel a bit…um, weird. It lowers inhibitions and-” he prattled on about how this “special drink” would make you feel, but all I could think of was how cool the glass felt against the palms of my hand. The liquid was a warm amber colour filled with bubbles that collected into a soft layer of foam at the top. It hissed quietly as the bubbles rose to the surface. A cool drink that made you feel good? Fine by me. With a bit more effort than would be desirable I lifted the drink to my lips and took a long chug. The size of the glass paired with its awkward weight made trying to control the flow of the liquid a borderline impossible task. As I tilted the glass I got a cool shock as the beer splashed against the entirety of my face, and given the heat, I really had no complaints. The bubbles were strange and stung at my throat but the strangely crisp taste was invigorating. I gulped greedily, not bothered that beer was running down my neck. The change in temperature from the spill was a welcome one.

“Woah, dude” Mark chuckled, placing the tip of his finger on the edge of my glass to guide it away from my face, “Pace yourself.” I shot him a glare, but couldn’t help letting a smirk escape. I held up my glass, making a show of comparing it to his own,

“I think if I’m pacing myself with you I’m still a ways behind.” He shook his head, laughing, and took a long sip from his drink. I did the same. This was nice. The summer heat felt almost enjoyable with his company, especially with the beer included in the equation.

“So… Have you been here long?” I cocked my head, unsure of what he meant, “Um…you know, in the area.” He clarified as he gestured to the expanse of his yard. I stared ahead, feeling as though if I stared hard enough I’d be able to look back through the years I’d been here.

“Yeah, it's been a while.” I took another sip.

“Do you like it here?” That question, casual as it may be, caught me off-guard. Did I like it here? This area was familiar. I’d been in the same spot far longer than I could remember. From the perspective of the porch I felt I could look out at the yard and see the memories that littered what had become my "home range"… The tree I’d climbed when a particularly bad storm had flooded the yard… the spot right below where a squirrel had chased me from their cache… the lattice work right beneath the window where I used to climb to - I shook the memories away.

“It’s home.”

I felt a strange yet familiar feeling claw at the edges of my mind. An emptiness… A total lack of… something. I took another sip, hoping to drown the thoughts, and with any luck, maybe find what I was missing at the bottom of my glass. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mark smile, though it didn’t quite reach the rest of his face. He heaved a weary sigh before speaking, a sound that conveyed far more to me than whatever words would follow.

“I hope it’ll start to feel like home for me soon.” He stood, making his way to the fire-tank-thing. The sun had come close to setting, leaving the sky ablaze with warm hues- a stunning display of pinks and golds igniting the horizon. Mark stood out against the backdrop, shrouded in shadow, more like a part of the treeline than a living being… he was fucking massive- no... It wasn’t him that was massive…something deep within the recesses of my brain resented seeing him like that… I took another deep sip from the glass, flushing the thought from my mind. I closed my eyes and leaned back, listening to the sounds of birds in the air, and breathing in the smell of meat roasting above a flame. Though the summer heat was waning, it was as if an ember was being stoked from within my core. A persistent warmth seemed to be rising up from within, as if the very essence of the season had somehow been ignited in my soul. I felt… good.

With my eyes closed I could picture what it would be like… just sitting in the chair to my right, cold can of beer in hand… looking out across a yard I could clear in a handful of strides… Mark sitting down in the chair to my left, not looking down, but instead looking at me. I didn’t care so much for the specifics of the imagery my brain has conjured up… but more so what it seemed to represent in my mind. The image felt close… comfortable, whereas I … when I opened my eyes I felt so far away.

I took another drink.

[the-enzyme]

I modified my 3D artist OG-RE4 Leon S. Kennedy head sculpt. I also repainted him, for the gazillionth time, if that wasn't obvious. I have to say, modifying a tiny eyelid was pretty easy to do with the Vallejo Plastic Putty, the only issue is, it doesn't seem to sand all that well. It started to crumble when I tried to sand it. I let it cure for longer than 4-hours, when is supposed to take only one to two hours, according to Vallejo's own website. I had read mixed reviews about it sanding well, or not. I guess it doesn't? Kind of weird, considering it is meant to be filler for models, and then it goes without saying, meant to be sanded afterward for a perfectly smooth finish...?

Regardless, I feel it works well enough for me, for tiny modding projects. I am definitely going to use it again for my Leon, whom I feel happier about right now, but I still know that he's not accurate enough. He'll never be, because he wasn't sculpted accurately enough, and that's pretty sad. However, the only thing I can do is try to make mine as accurate as I can without having to pay someone else to 3D sculpt another one for me. I could try myself, but I live in the middle of nowhere and I don't want to have an adventure trying to figure out how to create a 3D sculp/mesh/file to then have it 3D printed somewhere. I haven't (3D) modeled anything in more than a decade. I feel like my old dusty 3D Max and Maya, are probably not it, for 3D printing and that's all I know. Since those were the programs, we were allowed to use in college, back in the dark ages. When I learned how to 3D model. I believe blender is the popular choice for 3D printing nowadays, but that wasn't allowed so I didn't even bother trying it. Of course, I am not going to be 3D modeling a head at this stage. I much rather mod this boulder of a 1:6 head sculpt. It's a huge head for what it is, and not accurate, but it's all I got! DX

I am happy that I found something that is less wasteful than a tiny .25 oz container of Aves Apoxie, and less expensive as well. I am probably going to try modding my Myou Bettina next, since I wanted to give him smaller eyes, but still don't want to waste money on Aves' clay, when I know I won't get even halfway through the tiny container. Now, I can actually try, without fear of wasting clay, money and possibly sanity. Modifying (relatively) tiny heads is a huge pain in the gut, but I still want my Leon to be more accurate, but not enough to pay anyone again for another failed likeness. I also want my Bettina to have much smaller eyes. He looks too baby faced for my taste. I do love my Leon so far, I feel he makes a gorgeous looking figure. However, I want my OG-RE4 Leon to be accurate and this is not it. I sanded his upper lid a lot, the 3D sculptor gave him te droopiest lids ever, I also sanded his jaw quite a bit -- Leon has a very roundish head. Not sure what the artist was thinking. I added an actual upper eyelid with the Vallejo putty, because the 3D-sculptor didn't give him any. Certainly not even close of an eye-shape as Leons, but I feel like I'm doing good progress. I wanted to see what the putty was like, before doing heavier eye mods. Now I kind of know, so I am comfortable moving on. I will try first on m Bettina, however, because that is an even larger head, with huger eyes to try plenty of times, without worrying too much about heavy damage (I hope!).

The 1st image and the last two were taken with my older than dust cellphone. I like the way those look, the "newer" phone adds a lot of noise/grain, for absolutely no reason, and also the colors are kind of gross, but they are all samsung phones, so I have no clue why the "newer" ones suck so badly -- I suck at taking photos as well, but I need all the help I can get. The "newer" phone, doesn't do me any favors. Sadly.

[hyperionferrison]

1983 Incoarte Kit de Fiesta Super Friends Party Cups

As you might expect, I get to poking around the interwebs and find all sorts of interesting stuff, generally with absolutely NO INFORMATION attached to them, so they sit idle in my brain. Other times, someone will post something to another group and I get just enough info from them to carry on. Occasionally, someone will message me directly with something they think I might enjoy and that’s the case with today’s item- a boxed party kit from Brazil (Or Argentina. Still not having any luck finding out anything about the company itself. All my searches come back with various footballers (That’s soccer for us North Americans.). ) featuring the Super Friends circa 1983, including a small sleeve of party cups still sealed.

The Body- The cups are still sealed in their clear plastic sleeve, which I like. They are extremely light and thin-walled, which actually surprises me because I’ve held paper cups from the same time-frame or earlier that feel sturdier to me. Nor are they very large, with each one capable of holding only around 4 fl ozs (about 118-120ml), maybe more but I couldn’t test them like I normally would without opening the sleeve.

The Lid- These didn’t come with a lid, so I’m going to talk about the box. The box actually arrived in pretty good shape, with a couple of rips in the front folds of the top (Something similar to a Happy Meal box now that I think about it.) that I put some tape behind to try and keep them from tearing any more.

The box looks like it’s pretty much a company standard item featuring all the various licensed properties they made party decor for. Popular themes in Brazil appear to have included He-Man, Thundercats, Strawberry Shortcake(I THINK. It’s a similar look, but not the Shortcake I remember.), Spider-Man, our Super Friends, and Bozo the Clown. There are a number of other panels I cannot identify, which I presume are South American characters/properties I’m just not as familiar with.

It is interesting to note that one photo looks like it includes representative pieces from various kits and the cups shown have a Curt Swan Superman image, rather than the Super Friends. I’ve included this in the database as a probable additional set option. More on that in the summary.

Art- The picture on the cup appears to be a fairly common bit of Alex Toth (I THINK? I could be wrong here.) Super Friends art featuring the four main heroes (Say it with me now- “Superman! Batman and Robin! Wonder Woman!”) before Aquaman made it the top 5. The colors are good, if a tiny bit faded, but what can you expect from a 40-ish piece of plastic that was expected to be thrown out. Printing is a BIT hazy, but overall not bad.

Summation-

So here’s the thing- I like that I’ve got this stuff. On the whole, they will make a very interesting display group. I’m a bit disappointed that the napkins are plain white, but that does appear to be consistent throughout all the images on the box and the very very few I’ve found on the net. I’m also fairly certain that I do not have a complete kit. The checklist on the side of the box (Written in Portuguese I believe.) contains many more line items than what I have pieces for.

I’m also fairly certain that I’ve got parts of two separate themes here- some pieces have a definite Super Friends feel to them and feature one or more of the four main characters. Other items are solidly Superman, giving me further evidence of at least that separate kit theme as well.

I’m giving this a 7 out of 10- mostly because it still exists, with points off to the incompleteness of the kit and the really flimsy material of the cups themselves. If you can find them, try and pick them up!

[noaltbruh]

I hope this follows the rules! But is it okay if I request a scenario where Giorno has a nightmare of turning into Diavolo and S/O comforts him when he wakes up?

My first request in so long, what an honor!

You're surely a fan of this scenario, I've seen you requesting it quite a lot of times.

Either way, let's get into it!

Esci dalla mia testa

06/04/2004

Midnight had just struck, it had already been three years.

Three years since Giovanna had become the new Don of Passione, and since the former had been punished for his actions.

But in reality, time had lost meaning to the young boy years ago. Everything he did, it felt so...Mechanic, so frivolous, simply keeping track of the days in order not to forget an important reunion.

He buried himself under thousands of piles of work, which only seemed to grow bigger and bigger with every day that passed. This was supposed to be his dream, his greatest goal, and he had reached it at such a young age.

But then...Why did he feel so empty?

He was supposed to be happy, after all the sacrifices that had been made to arrive so far, he had to be grateful for everything that's been given to him.

But he couldn't be, because those sacrifices were not his own, because innocent lives had been taken away, because he had come.

He truly was no different than the man whom he had condemned to suffer for all eternity. But he had to clinch his teeth, and keep on going with his head high, for the few people that were still by his side. Most importantly, for his partner.

As everyone around him had found a significant other, pressured by his best friend, he had decided to reluctantly indulge in this so called 'romance'.

And when you two finally met, he felt like a tiny fickle of faith had risen inside of his heart again.

You listened to him, to his struggles, to his doubts, to each one of his complaints like the were the only worries in the world. He failed to express how much you meant to him, after those...'Accidents', he had become even more close-up about his feelings.

You were very well aware of his workaholic tendencies, as most nights, you were the one to ask him to put down all the documents and get some rest

And this...Was one of those.

As you rapidly fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from your own day, you felt a soft hand gently caressing your forehead. You were so warm and comforting, like a puppy, the only one able to give him hope in this twisted world.

But sadly, your presence could not magically make all his guilt and insecurities go away, and he had accepted that.

After contemplating your dreaming figure for a minute, he slowly closed his eyes, wishing to escape, just for a short while, from all those crushing responsibilities and expectations.

His consciousness started to slip away, he felt ready to conclude another day. Until, he heard whispering. Weak, confused, peculiar sounds, he could not understand a word of what those voices were trying to tell him, they were too far from the boy.

But they wouldn't stop. Delicate, constant and unbearable like the sound of a drip of water falling into a sink. They were playing with the Don's patience, a sleeping lion that should not disturbed, unless you wanted to be torn to pieces.

His mind immediately connected the situation to a possible Stand attack, nothing out of his normality, per se, but he was not concerned for himself. You were still peacefully resting, clinging to your sheets, it was a quite cold night. He wouldn't have let a single soul cause any harm to his darling, she was his only true happiness, his sunshine.

In the moment he stepped outside of the bedroom, what he was faced with sent a frozen shiver down his spine, as he brought his hand to his chest, to control his heartbeat.

There were four doors, floating in absolute darkness. A weak stream of light, that seemed to be originated from nothingness, illuminated each one of them singularly.

The whispering got louder and louder, faint giggles could occasionally be heard. The young one turned around to look at the entrance of this cursed place, the one he had just walked through.

But there was nothing there.

And so, like a captured prey that had nothing left to lose, he ventured himself into the first door, only to be met with a monochromatic version of Fugo. He was breathing heavily, desperately sobbing and all curled up on himself, on the shore of the same place where the rest of the gang had decided to betray Passione.

Giorno was standing on top of the water, unable to move a single inch of his body.

"Look at what you did"

A deep voice murmured in his ear. One he hadn't heard in a long time, one he wished he could have erased from his memories, that infected his mind and was more deadly than the sobbing boy's stand.

Diavolo.

"Me? Fugo chose not to leave, it was his own fault if-"

"If he was abandoned by everyone he loved? Do you have any idea of how selfish it sounds?"

The boy hesitated for a brief moment, staring at those warm tears falling into the canal.

"It was just...A temporary matter, he rejoined Passione, he's doing better now"

"My, it must have surely been fun to prove your loyalty to someone who caused the death of half of the people you cared about, after refusing to participate in his little suicide mission"

The blond's legs started to tremble, mantainig his composure was starting to look impossible.

"They...They didn't die because of me, they sacrificed themselves for a noble cause, for making Italy a better place, they wished it as much as I did"

The man contained his laughter, then he continued.

"Is that so? Why don't say that in their faces then?"

The image of the lonely boy disappeared, together with everything in the room. Giorno was back to that black space, but the door was now missing.

And the next one...Had nothing better reserved for him.

He found himself in the island of Sardegna, the only sound that could be heard were the small waves that met with the coast.

He knew perfectly why he was here. He took a closer look at the seaside, there were some footsteps printed on it. He felt a knot in his stomach at the thought of where they would have brought him.

Abbacchio's lifeless body was laying on top of a rock, surrounded by dead flowers. His entire torso had been torn apart, and yet... His corpse was smiling. A tiny, melancholic smile on his purple lips.

"Do you still have the courage to repeat what you said?"

Diavolo began, in a mocking tone.

"When he became part of the Organization, he was at his lowest, he had nowhere else to go, every path he took brought him nothing but sorrow and disappointment. The only thing that gave him comfort was following Bucciarati...And so, with that excuse, I transformed him in one of minions"

The thought of calling out Gold Experience hit Giorno's mind, but he knew that there was no point of lying to himself. The albino was gone, his soul had left his body long ago.

"I don't need you to tell me just how disgusting you are"

He said, his voice was filled with a suffocated rage, as he knelt over to look closer at his former companion.

"Abbacchio couldn't have cared less about killing me, he came with you because Bucciarati did, because he so desperately wanted to follow him, he felt like scum at the thought of no longer having him in his life"

The boy with emerald eyes felt an hand touching him on his shoulder, but there was no one there, except for himself.

"You exploited his dependence from the man, and used at your advantage, just as I did"

He stopped for a brief moment, enjoying the desperation in the other's eyes.

"But at least, he didn't die under my guidance

And with that, the second room disappeared as well. The boy contemplated whether to remain in that hellish void or to move forward, the image of what was waiting on the other side hurt way too much, his juvenile soul was starting to crush.

But he couldn't remain there, it would have meant giving up to Diavolo's twisted games, seeing him break down was exactly what he was waiting for.

He turned the doorknob, when he felt something humid staining his clothes: there was fresh blood streaming from his lady bug pins. The trail that it formed on the ground invited him to follow its path. He knew he couldn't decline, none of what he wanted seemed to matter in this place.

A metallic railing stood in front of him, his entire pins bled so much to the point of consuming themselves. An horrific scream coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time echoed through the room, as he directed his gaze to the top of the grey construction.

"What a shame...Oh well, he was the most disposable member of the team anyway"

Narancia's corpse was resting among dozens of spikes, his faded orange bandage slipped from his dark hair, landing right next to Giorno's feet.

"Oh Narancia...So young, so naive, just another victim of this unfair world. That's what you're thinking, isn't that right, Giovanna?"

"This is why people like him should not be involved in this business..."

"Mh? And why is that? Childish minds are the easiest to manipulate"

Ignoring his last statement, the other leaned down to pick up the bandage, but his hand went through it. His body was starting to feel dizzy, like it belonged to somebody else.

"Not answering won't make me go away, the damage has already been done, after all"

"Narancia should have NEVER joined Passione in the first place. He could have gone to school...Have a normal life, but-"

"But he died for your cause before he could. What he said before I activated King Crimson melted my heart a little, how cute...He really trusted you that much to the point of thinking that he would have come out of it alive"

The railing emanated a cracking sound. For a second, he was afraid it would have fallen off, causing him to get impaled as well.

"I took away his chance of living an happy, standard life when he decided to work for me, and you did the same, allowing him to come along with the rest of your team"

The small boy suddenly faded away, together with the rest.

"But at least, he didn't die under my guidance"

At last, there it was: only one room left. Despite how deeply he cared about each one of his former team members, the premonition of what would have come next was more painful than everything he's seen so far altogether.

He sat down, staring at the door from a distance, his eyes emptier than the ones of his old allies. They say that eyes are the window of the soul, and nothing else could have been used to describe his inner turmoil. Nothing but a faded, dull green, testimony of all his battle scars and the survivor guilt that he tried so much to repress.

Perhaps his eternal punishment had arrived: having the chance to confront his inner demons, to move on, to show how fearless he was.

...But never truly grasping the idea of freedom, never facing and accepting what really happened, he was never given the time to. So much had oppressed him all at once, he couldn't keep up with it.

He was a child, a child that had to grow too fast.

But then, someone came out of the door. A bittersweet figment of his imagination, that made his heart stop beating for a second.

The one he hadn't seen in years, the one he had tried to subdue the most, the one that showed him for the first time in his life what love was, stood in front of him. There was no hole in his chest, no sign of blood or wounds, a reassuring smile accompanied his face, as he held out his hand to the grieving kid.

"What are you doing all alone in here? The others are worried for you. Let's not make them wait any longer, shall we?"

Giorno ignored his help, his gaze was stuck on that endless floor. He didn't have the courage to look at the other, his presence alone felt like a sadistic joke.

He didn't look sad, depressed, miserable... He was just...Tired.

He wanted to cry those tears that he had denied in the last three years, he wanted to yell at that illusion to leave him alone, that wasn't the real Bruno, it couldn't be.

But, as he impeded any of this from coming out, something he didn't think he would have felt in a thousand of years struck him.

Bucciarati hugged him.

A tight, comforting hug like one of a mother, that he was waiting for his child to reciprocate. The latter's breathing became heavier and heavier with every moment that passed, as weak laments rapidly turned into audible sobs.

"There's no reason to be sad now, I'm real, you can feel it, can't you?"

"Y-You...You're here...But h-how is it p-possible?"

The brunette chuckled, the sound of his laughter was more comforting than an angel's voice.

"It isn't"

Giovanna's stand penetrated the man's torso, but its arm...It was not Gold Experience's. It had a checkered red and white pattern that extended in its entirety, and it possessed an amount of physical strength which was out of any possible expectations for the creature able to give life.

"Foolish child, I thought you were better than this, I'd lie if I said I wasn't a bit disappointed"

The sound of Bruno's corpse falling to the ground resonated through that empty space, as the last door vanished. A puddle of blood originated from his horrible injury, it was big enough for the boy to see his reflection in.

"You are no better than me under any point of view. We took advantage of his kindness, we used him as a simple pawn for our own gain. The only difference between us, is that I was not manipulating enough to convince him to join my side voluntarily. He was a tool to the both of us, but you were the one who caused his demise"

The mirror that had been created showed two people, but the transparent figure of Diavolo immediately ceased to be visible. The only one left was Giorno, though his reflection seemed to mutate with every second that passed.

His blond curls started to change shape, turning into a fuchsia mess, with dirty green stains on it. His eyes had a killer, maniacal look inside of them, his pupils got smaller in horror. His entire body structure was different. He looked older, more muscular, his clothes, too, were no longer his own.

"Mista loved him, and you killed him"

"Fugo loved him, and you killed him"

"Trish loved him, and you killed him"

"Narancia loved him, and you killed him"

"Abbacchio loved him, and you killed him"

"You loved him, and you killed him"

...

"Giorno? Giorno please, wake up!"

You screamed, your sleep was interrupted by the sound of your boyfriend hyperventilating, as he desperately held you to himself, still trapped in that horrible dream.

You sighed in relief when he abruptly opened his eyes, so swollen and red from all the tears he's shed.

"Another nightmare, uh?"

You asked, gently caressing his back to try and calm him down, he was as vulnerable as a baby that runs to his parents after having a bad dream. Waking up in the middle of the night to comfort him is something you had grown accustomed to, but you had never seen him this shaken up.

He slightly nodded in response, grabbing the top of your pajamas. You put an hand behind his head, making him rest on your chest, and kissed him softly on his forehead.

You could hear him murmuring something, you couldn't tell wherever he was talking to you, or to himself.

"I-I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I'm s-so sorry..."

He repeated like a broken record, you could barely make out what he was trying to say.

"Tesoro, you've done nothing wrong, there's no one you owe your apologizes to"

The boy raised his head slightly, intertwining your fingers with his, he needed to feel sure that this was not another tremendous trick of his mind.

"See? I'm here, you don't have to be afraid. I know that you feel unworthy of my feelings, but there is no one out there that deserves love more than you do. Nobody is perfect, Giorno, you did everything that was in your power to help them"

"But I...I was the one w-who put them in danger in the first place"

"No, you were not. You all shared the same ideals, you saved them from the oppression they were put in"

As you swept those remaining drops away from his face, you could still feel his entire body shaking like a dried leaf in a windy day of autumn.

"N-None of this would have happened if I didn't come along..."

"Exactly, none of them would have known what it meant to be free. I...Understand that the sacrifices that were made are not easy to forget, but blaming yourself like this...Do you really think that's what they would have wanted?"

Not receiving an answer, you laid down once again, still holding him in your arms. You forced a tiny smile, kissing him delicately on his lips, and whispered in his ear that everything would have been okay.

But, in reality...You felt you were trying to reassure yourself as well. This was not something you could have solely resolved through staying by his side, healing from this would have taken a lot of time, but...At least, you could offer some temporary safety, and it seemed to be enough for the time being.

In fact, after some minutes, everything seemed to cease. The boy fell asleep once again, this time with the knowledge that you were there to protect him.

You sighed, praying for your darling to finally find some peace.

[eatdrinkandraisealittlehell]

The package arrived at Sam’s front door on Dean’s birthday.

It was unaddressed, unmarked at all except for the three letters of his name scrawled in black marker on the top. His wife brought it in to him in the kitchen, having almost tripped on it as she’d been leaving for work. She handed him the package, reminded him to eat something, kissed him with a look of sympathy when he mustered only a faint reassurance, and left him in peace for the day. 

In the ensuing silence of the little kitchen, Sam shook himself, determined not to wallow in grief no matter how easy it would be. He wasn’t really conscious of what he was doing, just desperate for some sort of distraction, as he used a small knife to cut through the packaging tape holding the cardboard secure. He mostly expected the box to contain something from work, some stack of papers some colleague had dropped off for him to go over; it was possible but less likely that it was something related to his other Job. Hunters still called for advice these days, letters and packages sometimes arrived full of case info or random objects for him to examine, but that was becoming less and less common as the months went on, as word travelled that the great Sam Winchester was officially retired. That part of his life was over now, had been since That Night. He tried not to think about it for too long, especially today when Dean would’ve been another year older.

A folded sheet of paper sat on top of the pile of foam peanuts. When Sam unfolded it, he sucked in a sharp breath through his nose and could only stare in frozen shock for a moment at the handwritten message.

Please don’t be afraid. I’m taking care of him until you’re together again. You can do this. I think these will help until it’s over. I still love you.

-Jack

Tears were already glinting in Sam’s eyes when he dropped the note and dug with shaking hands into the foam peanuts, flinging a few to the floor to join the little paper. His fingers grasped a rectangular object and he pulled it out, only to find himself staring dumbly in disbelief.

The single word printed dramatically across the front was a little unnerving, considering the near-tragedy Chuck’s writings had entailed. But this wasn’t a lame paperback book, and the figures on the cover weren’t crappy, cartoony renditions of him and Dean pasted on by a low-budget publishing company; they were real—photoshopped so that they were smoothed of all flaws and tinted an eerie cool blue, but real people nonetheless. 

It was his own face, from maybe fifteen or sixteen years ago, when his hair fell in unkempt bangs across his forehead and his eyes still held some innocence of youth. But it was the other face that had Sam staring, biting his tongue unconsciously and forgetting to breathe. 

Dean.

It was Dean’s face looking directly at him from this impossible DVD cover, his brows slightly furrowed in that familiar intense stare and his scruff-peppered jaw set strong like his shoulders. He was younger too in this image, so much younger, when he barely knew himself yet or what he was capable of, but still he was just like Sam remembered him. It was difficult even to look at the pictures he kept of Dean, shoved into a shoebox in the top of his closet, but somehow this picture held no pain for him to see. Maybe it was the shock of it all, but all Sam could feel was some strange sort of knee-buckling relief.

Across the top were the words, “THE COMPLETE SECOND SEASON,” with a “2” standing out for clarity. The background was tinted that same deathly blue-green color with a cross-shaped gravestone visible between their shoulders. The Impala—which was now tucked safely away in his garage, never used—was centered in the bottom of the picture, headlights cutting through the misty darkness.

Sam’s hands were trembling so much he could hardly even maintain his hold on the object as he flipped it over, eyes skimming frantically over a melodramatic description of what “Season 2” entailed, along with a brief outline of “Special Features,” before settling on the smaller print at the bottom. The names “Jensen Ackles” and “Jared Padalecki” screamed a memory at him of a weird parallel-universe misadventure from long ago, but it was the pictures here that caught his attention too. 

His own eyes were turned inky black in one image, an apparent ghost girl in glowing light in another, and Dean…oh, god, Dean, again. In one picture his nose was bleeding from a fight. In another he stood looking into the camera again, positioned in front of Sam, arms crossed over his chest.

Sam tossed the DVD onto the counter and dug around desperately in the box again, this time pulling out the ninth season, featuring a sky of falling angels and Cas in the background behind himself and Dean. Then he found season twelve, the cover image bordered in flames around them (and Cas and Crowley) looking far cooler than they really were in all-black with the silhouettes of trees behind them. He pulled out box set after box set, until finally he had a pile of fifteen in all on the counter and a floor full of foam peanuts at his feet.

He tried to fight it—he really did—but he was home alone where no one could see to question the intensity of his reaction. So as he gazed with overwhelming emotion at the gift Jack had given him on today of all days, he finally let the tears spill over and the first tiny sob broke the long silence. He had to grasp the counter for balance with one hand as his hair fell in his eyes, and the other hand splayed over all the DVD box sets he could touch at once, his fingertips tracing Dean’s face on the Season 4 cover.

He wasted no time stumbling to his living room, barely able to see through the tears as he shoved the first disk in the player, barely able to press the “Play” button on the remote. He watched with bated breath as the first few scenes danced over his TV screen, again in awe at how impossible this should be. His dad, his mom, himself as an infant, Dean as a small child, Jess, faces of friends he hadn’t even thought about in decades now—they were all here, all recorded permanently on this disk from another world Jack had apparently restored just for him.

Then Dean was there, the Dean he remembered, and the sight of him all young and brash and leather-clad and absolutely ridiculous was like seeing the sun for the first time in months.

“I must’ve stood outside your dorm for hours,” the words flitted across his memory from That Night, and he laughed and cried at the same time as the Dean on the screen drawled, “I was lookin’ for a beer.”

[aalissy]

Anniversary

Day 22 is doneee!! Sorry it’s pretty late but I’ve been swamped with work now that finals week is coming up D:. I’m not readyyyy. Anywho, I hope you guys like this chapter!! Lemme know what you think <3

AO3

Adrien flopped onto his bed with a loud groan. Slowly, he pulled out his phone to stare at his lockscreen with a fond smile. It was a picture of him and Marinette that he had taken a few months after they had revealed their identities. In it, she was kissing his cheek as he grinned at the camera rather dopily. With a quiet sigh, he checked the date. Yep, he was definitely screwed. With another pained moan, Adrien buried his head in his pillow.

He felt Plagg squirm out of his pocket before the small kwami floated above him. Adrien was absolutely certain that he was staring down at him rather judgmentally. With a soft exhale, Plagg spoke, “What’s got you so down in the dumps, kid?”

Adrien spoke into the pillow, his words coming out muffled and inaudible.

The kwami snickered at that. “You’re going to have to speak up, Adrien. I may be a God but I’m not all-knowing.”

He lifted his head up, staring blankly at his headboard before speaking rather monotonously, “I said that the anniversary of my first meeting with Marinette is tonight and I still don’t know what I’m getting her.”

“Just get her some camembert,” Plagg shrugged. “That’s the best gift that you can give anyone. Plus, you might not have a lot of time but you do have plenty of cheese.”

Adrien turned around to glare at his kwami. “I can’t just give her stinky cheese, Plagg! She’s worth more than that. Besides, I just know she’s going to make me something amazing while I still don’t know what to get her.”

“Well, why don’t you just make her another good luck charm then? She seemed to like the last one you gave her.”

He sighed, scrubbing his face with a hand before muttering, “I can’t get her the exact same present, either. That’s too unoriginal.”

Plagg rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Then just take her out somewhere. That’s easy and simple. Besides, I know she’d love that.”

A light flush lit up Adrien’s cheeks. Images of him taking Marinette out to a nice dinner filled his thoughts. He’d pull out her chair and could finally brush a kiss on her soft cheek. Marinette would giggle and turn pink and he would be able to give her a lovestruck smile. They’d finish the date and he’d walk her up to the front door of the bakery before he would, at long last, lean in to give her a kiss that they’d both be able to remember.

Snapping out of his daydreams, Adrien finally realized that Plagg was smirking directly at him. His blush turned a shade darker as he rubbed the back of his neck. Glancing back at the phone screen, he mumbled, “I can’t just ask her out, Plagg, as much as I might like to. Marinette’s important to me and I already know that she’s in love with another boy. Besides, we’ve already decided to meet at the top of the Eiffel Tower later tonight.”

“Right,” his kwami drawled sarcastically with a roll of his eyes, “Then I really don’t know how to help you, kid.”

Adrien pursed his lips, tapping his phone against his lips. Flipping his body around, he stared blankly up at his ceiling and tried to come up with more ideas. Heaving a sigh, he began scrolling through his camera roll, looking at the many pictures he had taken with Marinette for inspiration. Eventually, an idea sparked in his mind and his eyes lit up.

Sitting up straight on his bed, he grinned brightly. “Plagg, I can make her a photo album! That’s pretty easy to make and it shows her some of our best memories together!”

Plagg stuck out his tongue, making a face. “Blech, you may as well write her a heartfelt poem at that rate. I thought you were trying not to tell Marinette you were in love with her.”

Adrien turned a deep red even as he glared up at his kwami. His lips tightened as his eyes blazed angrily. “Shut up, Plagg! I know she’ll love it.”

Not waiting for his kwami’s answer, Adrien went over to his computer to begin printing some of the pictures he had already saved. Finding images of him and Marinette was easy, considering he took a picture with her every time they hung out. It was choosing which one of them would go in the album that was difficult. Marinette looked amazing in every one of them and Adrien couldn’t help but grin adoringly at his computer screen as he worked on his project.

After finally selecting and printing all of the pictures, he set to work on making the actual photo album. Scrambling through his desk drawer, he found an old scrapbook. With a satisfied smile, Adrien began carefully gluing the images onto the pages. So focused on the book, he barely noticed when Plagg hovered nearby to peer over his shoulder. Once he had filled every page, he took a few colored pencils and began doodling small images on the pages. Adrien’s tongue stuck out in concentration as he worked hard on making certain it looked good.

When he had finally finished, he held the book out in front of him with a beaming grin. He then quickly shoved the book into his backpack before shouting proudly. “I did it!”

Adrien then grabbed his phone and checked the time, feeling his eyes bulge out of his head. “And not a moment to lose either! Plagg, claws out!”

The kwami got sucked into the ring with a loud yelp. Chat Noir then leaped out from his bedroom window, making his way over to their meeting spot on the Eiffel Tower. When he finally got there, he saw Ladybug tapping her foot at him impatiently.

“You’re late,” she huffed at him, her arms crossing over her chest.

“By five minutes, m’lady,” Chat gave her a bow. “Plagg wanted a snack before he transformed.”

Immediately, her arms uncrossed as her sapphire eyes sparkled at him in amusement. A mischievous smile twitched at her lips as Ladybug giggled adorably, “You were still working on my gift, weren’t you?”

“What can I say?” Chat shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. “I’m a purrcatsinator.”

She scrunched her face up at his pun even as her smile grew fonder. Punching his shoulder lightly, Ladybug laughed. “That was terrible! Now, can we detransform so I don’t have to hear any more silly cat puns from you?”

He couldn’t stop the goofy smile from stretching across his face at her laugh. Chuckling along with her, he nodded his head. “Alright, but unfurtunately for you, m’lady, the puns may stay even when I’m Adrien. You’ve already told me that you pawsitively love my sense of humor.”

She flicked his bell with a roll of her eyes. “That was before I knew that after I made that comment you would make a cat pun every other sentence.”

Chat chuckled, his eyes fluttering closed before he called for his detransformation, “Plagg, claws in.”

“Tikki, spots off.”

Opening his eyes back up, he saw Marinette’s face grinning back at him sweetly. Instantly, he ran towards her and wrapped her up in a tight hug. Leaning in, he whispered in her ear quietly, “Joyeux anniversaire, Marinette.”

“Joyeux anniversaire, Adrien,” she murmured back before brushing a light kiss against his cheeks.

Adrien’s heart thumped painfully in his chest as he pulled back to stare into her bright, blue eyes. How was she this perfect? And, for that matter, how did he get so lucky?

Plagg’s cough broke their tender moment though. He then spoke up, even as Tikki gave him a harsh glare, “All this lovey-dovey stuff is giving me a headache. Can I get my camembert, now?”

“Plagg!” Tikki hissed, her lips pursing as she crossed her arms. “Be quiet!”

Marinette simply giggled before stepping out of his embrace. His arms felt empty without her there and he disappointedly dropped them before turning to his kwami. She stepped up first, though, pulling a macaron out of her purse as she held it out for the tiny creature. “It’s alright, Tikki. I know you’re hungry too.”

Her kwami’s glare immediately disappeared as she took the macaron with a grateful smile. Adrien then sighed before pulling out the piece of camembert he knew his kwami wanted. Plagg’s face instantly lit up before he gulped the cheese down in one bite.

When he then turned away from Plagg with a disgusted grimace to face Marinette, he saw her staring up at him with a rather nervous smile. In her hands was a black, wool sweater that contained a small, green pawprint next to a tiny ladybug. Instantly, he took it from her with a gasp of awe.

Rocking back on her heels, Marinette murmured, “I hope you like it.”

“Marinette, I absolutely adore it. It’s purrfect for me.” Adrien gave her a bright grin, already excited to go home so he could try it on. Realizing he had his own gift, he then dug through his backpack and thrust out the picture album. “I got you this! It’s nowhere near as amazing as yours but I still hope you like it.”

She blinked before slowly taking the book from him. Opening up the first few pages, her eyes immediately softened before she cooed happily. Looking up at him, Marinette threw her arms around him once again, murmuring, “Adrien, this is absolutely amazing! I love it so much! I hadn’t even realized you had this many pictures of us.”

She leaned back before giving him a quick kiss on the lips. Of course, almost as soon as he realized that Marinette was kissing him, she pulled back with a gasp of horror. Adrien’s lower lip jutted out slightly as he quietly groaned at the fact that he didn’t even get to kiss back before she began stammering, “I-I am so, so sorry, Adrien! I don’t know why I just did that. I know you don’t like me that way anymore!”

Immediately, he frowned an almost indignant feeling building up inside of him. Didn’t like her anymore?! Was she blind? He spent practically every waking moment with her and she didn’t think he liked her. Wait... did that mean?

Slowly, Adrien reached out and grasped onto her hands tightly. Marinette peered up at him with a quiet sniffle, looking anxious. He gave her a soft smile before murmuring, “Marinette, I’ve been in love with you for years. That still hasn’t changed. B-but I thought that you were in love with someone else.”

She looked shocked, her mouth was gaping open as she practically stared at him with disbelief. Slowly, she shook her head before gulping. “A-Adrien, the boy was you. I-it’s always been you for me too.”

“So, all this time?” He breathed out incredulously.

Marinette nodded her head before a large smile bloomed across her face. Cautiously, she lifted her hands to cup his face, her grin getting even bigger as he leaned into her palms. “D-do you think we can make up for lost time, then?” she whispered.

“Definitely.” Adrien nodded back before the two of them leaned in, connecting their lips together into a kiss they’d both remember. As his hands ran through her hair, tugging out her pigtails out, he made a promise to himself. He was never going to let her go again. Pulling back, he placed his forehead against hers with a light chuckle. “So, is this still going to be the anniversary of our first meeting or is it going to be our first anniversary.”

Marinette threw her head back to laugh loudly. Eventually, she leaned back in to flick at his nose playfully. “Both, my silly kitty.”

“Both it is,” he said before wrapping her up in another perfect kiss.

[r58manuel]

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Their images require time to supply however that would not indicate they just cannot purchase an expert aim to a photo within merely a tiny time span with a piece of photo editing software founded. Merely as much can surely be achieved by having a digital cam for absolutely professional outcomes they may need being ready to correct photographs and also edit photos along with this computer software by now basically only chosen from professionals through post-production. Along with photo editing software is really facilitated to generate photograph collages or photo mosaics, because this program includes a quite helpful user manual. My photo cropping methods like insert people into a photo. Now there have to be generally somebody who possesses brought in that exact same mistake with photo editing software as well as know where exactly you are moving incorrect.

After everyone go to a specific feature, the software product will usually start a different page to get you to use at.

[sing-in-me-oh-muse]

Cereal Killer by sagansjagger

Image credit.

Cereal Killer by sagansjagger

Summary:

In Marinette's opinion of all the things her new husband, Adrien, buys online, this is the most horrifying...

A massive box of selected sugary cereals.

And he's going to eat them all.

Main Tags:

Tooth-Rotting Fluff

Humor

Crack

Domestic Bliss

Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug Is So Done

Married Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Excerpt:

Of all the weird things Marinette’s new husband had bought, this was definitely the most horrifying.

First were the massive LEGO kits that Adrien left half-finished everywhere. Marinette had wanted to encourage his creative passions, and was fine with the LEGO sets initially. But then she started stepping on the pieces in the middle of the night. And after he’d left a half-completed Death Star resting on the dining room table for weeks, she’d told him to pack them up or lose them.

Second were the weird socks. She’d known since a young age that Adrien’s fashion sense… left something to be desired. Again, Star Wars made an appearance with the bromance C-3PO and R2D2 socks. And he ordered socks online constantly. Marinette decided she could live with that, until he paired them with a bathrobe with tacos printed on it.

Third was the metal ostrich planter for his plant children. Marinette loved Adrien’s garden, loved the way he’d bloomed himself in tending to the green and growing things. But the pots he chose were hideous. Marinette shook her head every time she passed them in the living room and kitchen.

But this new item, this huge box of random, sample-sized sugary cereals imported from America… was terror-inducing.

“Tell me you’re not really going to eat those,” Marinette said as she stood in the dining room, facepalming as Adrien held up a brown box with a stylized vampire on it labeled Count Chocula.

His beaming grin was too bright, too happy. She felt bad for questioning his judgment until she realized that each tiny box probably contained over fifty grams of sugar. “I’m gonna binge the whole--”

“No!” Marinette said, putting her foot down figuratively and literally. “You absolutely will not. You’ll make yourself sick if you do that.”

“But--”

“Adrien,” Marinette said, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Adrien deflated like a balloon. Then he brightened again. “Okay, Marinette. I’ll just eat them for breakfasts.”

Read more.

@miraculousfanworks​

[evstenroos]

Want to be featured on our new website?

From the archive: June 1st, 2020

COMING SOON: A NEW EVSTENROOS WEBSITE

We're in the midst of developing a new website to help make your shopping experience even better. But, we need your help. What updates would you like to see? What new features can we add? We would love to hear your feedback and recommendations!

We would also love if you could email us photos from your favourite special occasions, be it an engagement party, wedding, or family reunion, that features your EVStenroos jewellery. Be sure to include the name of the photographer for proper credit as these images may be added to EVStenroos' Client Lookbook Gallery on the new website!  

Last but not least, we want to thank our long-term friends, whom Ellinor met in university, for the amazing CGI renderings (catch the sneak-peek above) that will be part of our online update. Wooden Gun is a CGI and post production studio specializing in bespoke image creation, and they were very excited to work on a set of CGI images involving jewellery. We absolutely love the finished results, and can't wait to share more with you!

Wooden Gun can be found on Instagram at @bywoodengun and at www.wooden-gun.com

WORK WE LOVE: RINGS FOR HIM AND HER

After seeing a friend wearing a custom piece from EVStenroos, Suzanne Stewart knew Ellinor would be the one to design her engagement ring.

"I have really specific taste and didn't want a traditional wedding ring with a solitaire cut-diamond. Ellinor's work is modern and clean but timeless in a unique way."

This is why when Suzanne's husband, Shea Kerwood, Founder and Creative Director of Brandsmith—a strategic brand development company—popped the question, using a 3D printed ring from a previous EVStenroos collection.

"We were in Paris and had just spent the day cruising around, picking up wine, cheese, and baguettes. When we got back to the little apartment we were staying in, we started listening to a song we had heard before. Out of nowhere, we started dancing, and I thought wow this is how I want to propose, during a beautiful sweet moment with just the two of us. It really summed up how I wanted to spend every day with her. I used a 3D printed ring from Ellinor to propose and told Suzanne they would design her engagement ring together."

The finished result is a set of three, stackable rings. Suzanne's engagement ring is a brushed gold eternity band with channel set baguette diamonds. Her wedding ring is polished gold with brilliant round diamonds spaced & scattered evenly around the ring. Shea gifted her with the third ring on their wedding day. It is the most traditional, a polished gold eternity band encased with tiny square diamonds.

Ellinor also designed Shea's wedding ring—a simple gold band with a single asymmetrical baguette diamond notched into one of the edges.

"Working with Ellinor is so easy, in the sense that you can talk to her about your vision and she'll guide you through all of your options and recommend things you hadn't even thought of before," concludes Shea.

OTHER THINGS WE'VE BEEN LOVING: COMMUNITY INITIATIVES, ONLINE CONTENT AND MORE...

LET'S TALK ABOUT MONEY WITH ANIA B

Ania Boniecka is a content creator living and working in Calgary, Alberta. During quarantine, she's launched a new IGTV series called Let's Talk About Money where she discusses finances with small business owners, creative professionals, and local entrepreneurs. Not only is it highly entertaining but it's a great and timely educational resource for anyone trying to get their bank account in order.

Watch Here

ADESSO'S CHARITY COLLABORATION

Local menswear brand, Adesso Man has launched a survival kit in responses to the Covid-19 pandemic. It contains one face masks and a bottle of their hand sanitizer, developed and made right here in Calgary. But the best part is that 20% of sales will be donated to The Mustard Seed in Calgary, to help support our most vulnerable communities who are at high-risk of contracting the virus.

Learn More

CURBSIDE CONCERTS

Two Calgary musicians, Matt Masters and Amanda Burgener, have launched a traveling concert series throughout Western Canada. If you are looking for a special birthday or anniversary surprise, you can book a six or ten-song concert to be performed in your front yard! Plus, it's a great way to support local musicians while practicing social distancing.

Learn More

[etherealwaifgoddess]

More Time - Chpt.4

Summary: The holiday season comes for the guys as they continue to adapt to their lives together. Steve discovers a (not so little) problem. Master list is HERE.

Warnings/ Content: There are some slight body image issues mentioned but I don’t feel it’s disordered or too upsetting. Still, you know yourself best and if any body image discussions upset you, you can easily skip down to after the first set of xxXxx ‘s. 

Word Count: 1.4k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! So this chapter has two of my absolute favorite head cannons for tiny!Steve and post Winter Solider Bucky. I’ll just let ya’ll wonder what they are... Anyhoo, enjoy more of our boys settling in to their lives together! XOXO - Ash

Chapter Four

“Buck…” Steve called from the bedroom, “I think we have a problem.” 

Bucky dropped the mug he was washing in the sink and raced to the bedroom afraid of what health issue Steve could be having. He had just taken his blood pressure meds after breakfast and he wasn’t due to use his inhaler again until the afternoon. He tried to remember if Steve had taken his arthritis medication yet. “What’s wrong?” He asked frantically from the doorway. 

“Oh, no.” Steve said quickly realizing he’d scared Bucky, “No, I’m fine. Shit, sorry. I was being dramatic. I… um… I just can’t get my pants to button.” Steve blushed hard at the admission. 

“Jesus God.” Bucky breathed a sigh of relief. “You scared me to death. I thought something was really wrong”

“Well, if I can’t get my pants on right we can’t go to Sam’s for dinner so that is technically a problem.” Steve shrugged and motioned at the waist of his khakis where the two tabs of fabric were nowhere close to joining. 

Bucky laughed and ran a hand through his hair, “It’s a damn medical marvel is what it is. I think this is the first time I’ve seen you outgrow a pair of pants since you were eleven.” 

“Ha, ha.” Steve’s voice was dripping with sarcasm, “You’re the one that let me get fat.” 

“What?!” Bucky sputtered in protest, “This is not on me, Rogers. This is just what happens when you finally have access to good medical care and decent food.” 

“Says the one who’s always going on about ‘let’s try the new Indian place that opened’ and ‘oh my god you have to get one of these cheeseburgers, Steve’. You still go running and spar with Sam while I’m just here sitting on my ass. Maybe I need to start running again. But not around Sam, I don’t think I could handle his gloating.” 

Bucky cracked up but quickly stopped at the glowering look Steve gave him. “I’m sorry.” He said, barely containing himself, “But which do you think will flare up first when you start running: your asthma, your arthritis, or your arrhythmia?” And with that Bucky dissolved back into laughter as Steve ran over and tried to tackle him. Bucky scooped up Steve easily and tossed him onto the mountain of blankets on their bed. 

Small or not, Steve still remembered his training and he locked a knee around Bucky’s, destabilizing him enough to bring him down next to Steve where he was able to swing a leg over Bucky’s hips and sit on top of him. Having no qualms with playing dirty, Steve started tickling Bucky mercilessly, knowing every single spot on Bucky’s body to have him screaming and laughing beneath him. 

Bucky let Steve get a few good tickles in before he flipped them easily using his weight to his advantage. He pinned Steve’s wrists above his head using his metal hand and felt an unmistakable hardness growing against his thigh. Ignoring it for the time being, Bucky used his other hand to pull up the hem of Steve’s blue polo, exposing his soft tummy. “Let’s see this fat.” He teased pressing kisses across Steve’s mostly flat stomach. “Jeez, Rogers, I think you might actually be over a hundred pounds now without even needing rocks in your pockets.” 

“Oh shut up, ya jerk.” Steve grumbled, leaning his face to the side, slightly embarrassed as Bucky continued to kiss and nip at his softer middle.

“This is not fat, this is healthy. This is you not looking like you’re on death’s door every time you get a cold. And it’s kinda nice having something soft to hold on to.” 

“You’ll have a whole ball of fluff to hold if I keep up like this.” 

“And I’ll love my little Stevie fluff ball all the same.” Bucky teased as he slid up Steve’s body to silence him with a kiss. “Seriously though,” he said pulling back, “You look healthy for once. But it’s your body and if it bothers you we can talk to Helen at your next appointment. Maybe start cooking more and ordering take out less.” 

Steve looked down at himself thoughtfully. He knew he was being dramatic but it had been a little unsettling when he realized his pants no longer fit. He’d bought them a little under two months ago and they’d been perfect at the time. His stomach which had been concaved was flat and soft with just the smallest pooch at his waistband where the fabric of his boxer briefs pinched slightly. Steve mused it was better than the winter of 1937 when the doctor had told them he was so underweight that his body had started eating itself to keep him alive after months of battling influenza. He was so thin that year that Bucky had spent his whole savings account to turn on the heat and keep Steve’s fingertips from turning blue. “It’s not so bad.” Steve said finally, “But we’re going to start cooking more often. I don’t have a super soldier metabolism to fall back on anymore.” 

“Whatever you want to do. Now, let’s get you into some sweatpants and we can stop on the way to Sam’s and replace your khakis.” 

Thanksgiving dinner at Sam’s house was a sight to behold. Steve had met some of Sam’s siblings and his parents before but seeing the entire Wilson family gathered in Sam’s small townhouse in DC was a little overwhelming. There were a dozen kids running round in ages ranging from teenagers to toddlers and it felt like someone was hugging Steve at all times. Sam’s mother doted on him endlessly making sure he was comfortable and had something to eat. Sam’s aunties took turns pumping him for information on how he and Bucky were doing and regaling him with stories from Sam’s childhood, happy to provide a lifetime supply of blackmail material. It was easy to get lost in the sea of people and Steve loved every minute of it. Growing up holidays had been just him and his ma or he joined Bucky’s family if she was working. Watching Sam’s seemingly enormous family celebrate together made Steve thankful he was a part of it. 

xxXxx

The winter wore on and Steve and Bucky chose to celebrate Christmas quietly together despite invitations from Sam, Pepper, Bruce, and one of Bucky’s friends from the VA hospital. They spent the day in soft, flannel pajamas and exchanged gifts sitting next to the fake tree Bucky had bought last minute when they discovered Steve was allergic to pine trees. The hives had cleared up by Christmas Day but Bucky still felt terribly guilty. Steve loved the art supplies and the annual memberships to the MET and a few other museums around the city Bucky had given him, as well as the other small gifts he’d managed to stuff into Steve’s stocking. Bucky wiggled happily in place when he unwrapped the books on space Steve gave him and hugged the obnoxious fluffy rainbow print robe tightly as soon as he pulled it free from its sparkly silver bag. It was so garish that he couldn't help but love it. 

A few weeks after thawing out from Cryo in Wakanda, Bucky had developed a fondness for wearing soft, fuzzy clothing around the house; the more outrageous the better. Anything that helped to remind him he was allowed to feel safe and warm and wasn’t a weapon anymore, he’d said, and it broke Steve’s heart a little to hear it. Steve ensured from that point on that no holiday was complete without adding something new to Bucky’s collection. 

As the day wore on they watched “It’s a Wonderful Life” and “A Charlie Brown Christmas”; drinking eggnog and eating snickerdoodles, both from recipes Sam’s mom had given them. It was a quiet, perfect Christmas. Exactly what they both needed after too many years of fighting and struggling. 

“I love you, Bucky Barnes.” Steve mumbled against Bucky’s chest as they curled up under their mountain of blankets late that night. He was warm, sleepy, and more than a little buzzed from the eggnog. It was the best Christmas he could remember having since his ma died and he fell asleep feeling truly thankful for the series of events that lead to him having a new lease on life.

Tag list lovelies: @godofplumsandthunder​ @remilupin22​ @supraveng​ @hiddles-rose​

If anyone wants added or removed please lmk!

[d0gdaze]

8.

The body swap au a surprising amount of people asked for, actually.

Read on AO3 / Summary

Pairings: Eddie Kaspbrak / Richie Tozier

Warnings: swearing, sexual references, drug references

Chapter 8/?

Prev | Next

Word Count: 4121

Eddie’s playlist

Eddie was sure he was doing a substantial job of appearing calm and collected as Mike's car made an unexpected detour on their way to school the next morning, at least considering the circumstances.

They turned down a street, and then a couple more, until they were driving past a stretch of storefronts. Mostly small businesses, a few 'for lease' signs, minimal parking space. God, they were probably going to make him play hooky. Sit in a dirty, empty lot all day and smoke a bong, or whatever you call it.

He hadn't been paying much attention to what the two in the front seats were talking about, only catching fragments about homework and some guy Beverly was into and other trivial things that seemed stupidly unimportant. Eddie almost felt offended, how dare people worry about such things while he was going through the most traumatic and hellish experience that had ever happened to anyone.

The car rolled to a stop in front of an outdated looking diner he had never been to, though he vaguely recognised. Sadie's, as the unlit neon sign above the door told him, Open 24 hours. The one trashcan he could see was overflowing onto the sidewalk with burger wrappers and plastic cups and there was graffiti littering the outside walls of the establishment and oh jesus was that a rat what the fu-

Beverly jumped out of the car quickly, Mike driving off before the door was even completely closed. Eddie watched her, twisting his head around to look out the rear window until she was inside, then whipped back around and straightened himself in his seat. Mike was now singing along to the song that was playing, drumming on the steering wheel as he circled the block. As they drove Eddie couldn't help but keep frantically glancing at the clock on the small radio display. If it was accurate – which maybe it was and maybe it wasn't, he hadn't gotten a good grip on Mike's time-keeping habits yet, – then they were absolutely going to be late if they didn't get a move on.

“Something eatin' you Rich?” Mike asked, peering back at him through the rearview mirror. The thought ran through Eddie's mind that there very well might be, considering the itchiness of the sweatshirt he had picked up off the floor of Richie's wardrobe. He was bombarded, suddenly, with the mental image of hundreds of bugs crawling up and down his arms. He pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and forced the idea down.

“No, I don't think so,” Eddie replied, starting to pick at a bit of peeling skin around his thumb. He had already chewed up his other one to the point he had to wrap a bandaid around it. Mike's expression shifted.

“You've been acting weird lately,” he said, his voice somehow sounding genuinely concerned and casual at the same time, “ain't been seeming like yourself. Quiet.”

You should be thanking me for that, Eddie thought, because surely even these people, that willingly spent time with and around Richie five days a week and sometimes weekends, would be relieved that he suddenly changed his entire demeanour. Surely.

But Mike didn't look relieved, glad, or unbothered. He had the same look on his face that Ben often wore, when Eddie came to him ranting about grades or track or medication or whatever new thing was plaguing his brain this week. It was the expression Bill showed him when he had broken his arm a few years back, and when someone had taken to writing the word 'faggot' in permanent marker on his locker. It was a look his mother faked a lot and one he hadn't gotten the hang of yet.

Basically, Mike looked the way a person does when they actually gave a crap.

It might have sparked some sort of meaningful realisation if Eddie hadn't been distracted by a pigeon pecking at a half eaten hot dog someone had dropped on the sidewalk.

They circled back around to where Beverly was now standing on the curb in front of the diner, balancing a cardboard tray with three large, white cups in one hand and a fourth in the other. She was also holding a white paper bag between her teeth. Something greasy had made semi-transparent patches at the bottom of the bag. The car rolled to a stop and she made a few attempts to open the door using her foot, swinging her leg up to try and lift the handle with the toe of her converse. It carried on for half a minute before Mike reached over and opened the door for her, biting back laughter as she got in. Beverly mumbled something that sounded vaguely like “you're a douchebag,” though it was completely muffled by the bag still hanging from her mouth. Once she was back in her seat she let it drop into her lap, exposing the spit-covered bite mark now embedded into it. Mike pulled away from the curb, grabbing one of the cups at the same time. Eddie would have yelled at him for not doing a head-check, but then there was a cup being thrusted in front of his face.

He blinked at it for a moment. Some of the thick, off-white liquid it contained was leaking out – he watched a line of it drip down the side and over Beverly's fingers. He could already feel his hands getting sticky just by looking at it, his stomach starting to churn at the thought of drinking it.

Eddie didn't often indulge in food that didn't have the nutritional value and ingredients printed on the back. He knew what was safe to eat – things that would give him enough energy through the day without leaving him restless, and he knew how to adjust his intake if he had PE or a track meet or if he was planning on staying up later than usual. He'd tell himself that it was necessary to be careful, that if he wanted to be on top of his game, he had to be on top of his diet, too. It wasn't the real reason, but it was the one he could live with.

Beverly cleared her throat.

“Earth to Richie,” she said, tipping the cup towards him again, “arm is getting tired.”

He took it tentatively, avoiding the side where the leak had run. It was heavy and cold and wet with condensation, and as he lifted the lid to further inspect the concoction, he was hit with a waft of sugar and vanilla and cream and it was so sweet he honestly felt dizzy. When he tilted the cup to one side the contents held firm, undisrupted, and moving the straw left a gap that took nearly ten seconds to fill back in. Eddie had made smoothies before, and on his last birthday he had bought a strawberry frappe from the ice-creamery in town, but this was a whole different level. Gluttony itself had risen up from the third layer of hell and was now on sale for a dollar seventy-five a pop.

It hit him, suddenly, how he recognised the logo. He'd seen Richie walking around with one of these things nearly every day! He ingested this muck on a regular basis – the boy's metabolism must be running like a bullet train on steroids.

In the front of the car, Beverly was throwing bits of hash brown at Mike as he tried to catch them in his mouth, most of the pieces falling into his lap or disappearing onto the floor. There was a spot of grease on his cheek that shone when he turned his head, and several stains from his collar down the front of his shirt. Her fingers were covered in a similar shine, crumbs collecting on her skirt as she tore more pieces off. Someone sounded their horn as they swerved onto the other side of the road, Mike swearing as he corrected himself but they were both still laughing, and as Eddie was screaming at them in his head for reckless driving and making a mess and playing with their food and a whole list of other things, he took a sip. Maybe it was just muscle memory, or his stomach taking control after he'd skipped breakfast twice now, or if it was just a new Thing about inhabiting a body that wasn't your own that he had to deal with now on top of all the other Things, but-

“Holy fuck.”

The words came out of nowhere, and for a second he wasn't even sure if it was him that said them. It was good. Like, really fucking good – he felt disgusting because it tasted like pure sugar and so many calories, but he was sure in that moment that he could have finished the entire thing three times and still go back for more. One taste and he knew he could drink that shit until he puked, and oh god, this was how addiction started. He had never understood it too much before, why people smoked, or jumped out of planes, or did crack, but hell, if crack was as good as this milkshake he'd probably be the biggest crackhead ever.

Beverly looked back at him over her shoulder.

“He speaks,” she spoke around the straw that she had between her teeth, “you good?”

Eddie nodded, and she grinned and winked at him before turning back around in her seat. He sucked at the straw again, taking a big gulp of the stuff, eyes falling closed in a tiny moment of peace. When they opened again they caught Mike's in the rearview. He was smiling, his eyes crinkled in the corners and bright. Eddie found himself smiling too, only a little, but genuinely. And while he did stop himself, because come on, these people are the enemy! Get it together, he couldn't rid his stomach of the warm fluttering that had manifested.

At least he could blame it on the sugar.

The pleasant feeling came and went, as they often do. Upon their arrival to the student car park, he was tuning back into the regularly scheduled anger, confusion, and hysteria that he was starting to become accustomed to. He scurried off before Mike had even locked the car, chucking his empty cup into a bin outside the school steps without actually looking to see if it went in.

He had barely taken five steps into the building before he was being shoulder-checked into the row of lockers, the barge nearly sending his knees out from under him, a shock of pain shooting up his elbow where it collided with a padlock. He winced, then groaned as a rough hand gripped his other shoulder, manhandling him so his back was fully pressed against the metal.

"Good morning, Hamlet,” Henry jabbed, leering at him while digging his chipped, dirt-filled fingernails into Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie blinked incredulously at him – harassment was nothing new to him, especially from Henry and his goons, and he had gotten his fair share of insults and injuries over the years but they were mostly in passing. Someone would knock his books out of his hands in the hallway or tape a 'kick me' sign to his back, but they didn't touch him, never cornered him. At least not after he had accidentally broken Bradley Donovan's nose when they were doing wrestling in PE. Or maybe they were scared of catching something off the kid with a backpack full of pills and ointment tubes. Either way, he wasn't complaining. He'd take the remarks and the rumours over this any day.

“You gonna say good morning back?” Henry's breath was hot and rotten, masked only slightly by the smell of juicy fruit gum, and he was leaning in so close that his glasses started to fog up. Belch Huggins, who Eddie now realised was also standing there, shuffled closer. He was grinning in much the same way Henry was, the pair of them doing an outstanding impersonation of every bully from every movie involving teenagers ever. “Say it, tall-ass!”

Henry slammed his fist into the locker next to Eddie's head. The sound made him jump, and caused a few passerby to look in their direction, but no one actually stopped what they were doing. He even caught someone roll their eyes – they've all seen this before, he realised. Of course they had. God, he was an idiot. He'd spent so much time hating Richie Tozier that it had never occurred that other's did too.

“L-l-lay off, Bowers,” an unmistakable voice appeared from behind Henry. Eddie lifted his head to peer over his shoulder, seeing both Bill and Ben standing in the corridor. The latter was holding a precarious stack of library books, which to Eddie seemed like a years worth of reading but for Ben would last two weeks, if that. Bill had a new blonde streak in his fringe that meant he had either been rejected again or had gotten into a fight with his parents – he assumed the second, because Bill was very bad at being low-key around girls and he hadn't picked up on any new crushes in the past couple of weeks.

“This doesn't concern you, Denbrough,” Henry warned, glancing back at them. His grip tightened in Eddie's shirt and he swore he heard a seam rip. “I'll get to you queers later.”

Bill stepped forward; if it was a spat with his parents that led to the late night bleach job, then Eddie knew the boy would be looking for a way to relieve some anger, and he wasn't about to stand there and watch him get his underwear pulled over his head.. again.

“Henry,” he coughed, drawing the bully's attention back with a sharp turn of his head. An audible crack emitted from his neck and Eddie cringed. Henry sucked his teeth, eyebrows lifting in an unspoken taunt.

Welp, he was going to regret this.

“If you're gonna make the choice to have an outdated haircut, you could at least use some fucking conditioner.”

The speed at which he was pulled forward and slammed back would surely have given him a killer case of whiplash, but luckily for him the back of his head was smashed against the locker hard enough to leave a dent, and the resulting headache would be agonising enough to distract him from the neck pain. He sunk to the ground, vision spinning violently. He felt someone reach down and take the glasses off his face, which only worsened the distortion.

More things happened that he barely registered – someone kicked his leg, another dropped a heavy glob of spit onto his sleeve. He heard something clatter to the ground next to him and when he felt around to pick it up, he came up with the two halves of Richie's spectacles, snapped right at the bridge.

Fucking christ.

Richie had only seen the end of the altercation, coming in through the west entrance to the sight of Mullet-head Bowers nearly knocking him out and breaking the glasses he had just replaced the month before and had been so careful with, because his parents had sworn it was the last pair they would pay for. But now it was back to tape and wonky lenses like when he was thirteen and couldn't keep them intact to save his life.

He'd caught the bus in and sat next to Ben Hanscom, whose name he was now aware of because it was written in blue glitter pen on a label on his walkman, and because the first thing that he noticed when he got on the bus was that This Kid Has An Actual Walkman! Ben also had a hoard of novels on his lap that he was going to return to the library after school in exchange for different novels. Ben also spent the bus ride giving Richie brief but enthusiastic reviews on each of the books he had brought with him, but Richie was too distracted by the portable CD player and the Backstreet Boys song he could hear faintly coming out of Ben's headphones that he didn't retain a single piece of information.

After getting off the bus, he had made a beeline for this one smoking spot behind the dumpsters. Not the best location, he tried not to make a habit out of going there, but it was close and secluded and there were never many people around. He'd nicked the emergency carton from under his bed before Eddie banished him to casa de Kaspbrak, and dragged two cigarettes down to the filters before heading inside, finishing them both in record time if you didn't count the minute he took in the middle to cough up a lung.

The first bell rang, and Henry and Belch fled the scene, falling in with the crowd of students bustling towards their morning classes, but not before Belch could slap the books out of Ben's hands with one downward swoop. They scattered to the ground with a clamour of thuds and flaps. The hallway gradually emptied. Richie stood back and watched as Bill tried to help Eddie to his feet, only for him to start swaying precariously and sit himself back down again.

“Oh, shit,” Mike appeared beside him, suddenly, walking in through the doors with both Beverly and Stan in tow. They had been laughing about something, he didn't know what but he felt jealous already, and Stan was drinking a shake and oh, man, he could use on of those right now. The three of them rushed over, Beverly shooting Richie a confused glance as she went past. Mike knelt down beside Eddie, inspecting his face for bruises, and Stan set down the cup, picked up the broken glasses in one hand and used the other to swing his backpack around to his chest.

“Bowers?” he asked, turning to Bill and reaching into a side pocket of his bag. He nodded and Stan sighed, pulling out a roll of masking tape.

“Y-y-you always carry that ar-r-around?” Bill tittered, taking the frames as they were passed to him and holding them together so Stan could start taping them up.

“It comes in handy,” he replied, “knowing this idiot.”

Beverly finished helping Ben gather his stuff, placing the last novel on top of the tower. He had to crane his neck to rest his chin on it, thanking her sweetly and failing to hide his flustered-ness.

The second bell rang, meaning class had started and they were all getting tardies at this point. Ben apologised to the lot of them and hurried off. Stan handed the glasses back and quickly followed suit.

“I'm fine,” Eddie insisted as he tried to stand for the third time, “lemme up. I'm good.”

“Dude,” Mike said, forcing him to sit back down for the third time, “you could have a concussion.”

“Concussion?” Eddie repeated, slumping back down and looking at Mike in horror, his eyes taking up half his face with how wide they were. Richie groaned, gaining the group's attention and receiving four different types of weird stare.

“E-Eddie,” Bill called over to him, and gee, that hairstyle was really something, “you know stuff a-a-about conc-c-concussions?”

He walked over, until he was standing over Eddie. No, he thought, but I'm getting a pretty good grasp on migraines.

“He'll be fine, probably,” he muttered, hooking a hand under his elbow and yanking him to his feet. Eddie paled, leaning all his weight on Richie and nearly toppling them both over.

“I don't feel so good,” he wheezed, his breathing suddenly shallowing. For a moment, Richie thought he might actually pass out.

“You're fine,” Richie said, sounding and feeling a lot less confident about it. He turned to the others. “I'll take him to the nurse.”

“I'll come with you,” Beverly offered, looking up at Eddie with alarm.

“No,” Richie interjected, too quickly and too loudly, and was met with even more confusion. “I mean, it's okay. I-” say something convincing “-have a punch card.”

He left then, rushing out before he or anyone could say something else, as fast as he could manage while trying to keep Mr. Drama Queen upright.

Bill, Mike, and Beverly exchanged looks as the two of them stumbled down the hall.

“That was weird, right?” Beverly asked, just as they turned the corner. Mike let out a nervous, breathy laugh. Bill ran a hand through his hair, and sighed.

“It's r-Richie and Eddie,” he said, “I'm starting to get used to it.”

“You're not having an asthma attack.”

Richie had dragged Eddie into the boys bathroom, and after checking it was vacant and locking the door, proceeded to finally start losing his shit on the outside as well as the inside. Eddie was sitting with his knees up to his chest on the floor, heaving in rasping breaths and mumbling unintelligibly about brain damage and asphyxiation.

“I am,” he insisted, for the umpteenth time, “I'm having a fucking- I can't breathe. I can't fucking breathe.”

Richie ran his hands down his face, then knelt down in front of him.

“Dude, again, you can't be having an asthma attack, because I do not have asthma,” his voice was brimming with frustration; everything was a mess and the only person he could find an ounce of solidarity in was an overdramatic asshole who wouldn't even play his part right.

“I think I'd know if I'm having a fu-” another gravelly inhale, and Eddie's hand came up to grip at the collar of his own shirt, pulling it away from his neck, “fuck, I need my inhaler.”

“You don't have it with you?” He was sure he couldn't have even pretended to sound sympathetic at this point.

“No, asshole,” Eddie snapped, and Richie had half a mind to just leave him there to deal with this shit himself, but he had too many things he needed to say to him that wouldn't be properly conveyed in a strongly-worded letter. “I can't get into my own room.”

“Well, that's not my fault, is it?”

“I haven't decided yet.”

“You really think you're funny, don't you,” he stood up, distancing himself so he wouldn't feel as much of an urge to punch him. He took a deep breath in, then exhaled slowly. “What's your locker combo?”

Eddie blinked up at him, eyebrows knitted together.

“What? Why?”

“Because I assume you have more than one fucking inhaler,” he replied, “and I also assume you keep at least three spares in your locker, correct?”

“Fuck you,” Eddie coughed, starting to realise that cooperation might have been a good plan and that he wasn't getting anywhere with the bickering route, but also feeling like he had already thrown the brakes out the window and was too far gone to stop now. He was starting to get dizzy again. He let his head roll back against the wall.

Richie let out a heavy sigh.

“Combination,” he said, “or you choke to death on the bathroom floor.” He moved towards the door, pulling his bag back onto his shoulder, “I couldn't give less of a shit which one you choose.”

Eddie hesitated, grinding his teeth. Choking to death wouldn't be the absolute worst way to go, but it still wasn't ideal. The door creaked as Richie began to push it open.

“Six eleven twenty-two,” he croaked. Richie walked out without so much as a nod of confirmation, and as the door swung shut behind him Eddie started to worry that he hadn't heard him at all.

So here he was, sitting in filth, stripped of dignity with a throbbing ache echoing around his skull, and feeling very much like a bad person. But despite the haziness and discombobulation, he was starting to come to terms with the fact that this whole thing was real. He hadn't before now – had felt disconnected, trapped in a limbo since the previous morning, somewhere outside of reality, and he truthfully had expected it to just end at some point. It had to, he thought. It was a dream state, and nothing he was going was actually happening and when it was over things would go back to the way they were. But now, god. He was in the midst of a lot of pain and panic, and it had shocked him to the point of realisation, and some clarity.

This was real. This was real. He really truly believed that now.

And because it was real, so were his actions, and therefore the consequences that they resulted in.

The pinhole got tighter. The door opened again. Wordlessly, Richie handed him his aspirator.

Tag list (bolded won’t tag):  @fanficisgoodforthesoul @i-is-gazebo@dandeliontozier@panicatbakerst@howellhxlic@musicalsaftermusicals@bernaynay@bust-a-move-bev@reddie-to-go@richietoaster@omgboiledcabbages@reddietofall@flowersiren@lousytrashmouth@get-fcking-reddie@finnwollfhards @bjrdies@steve-harringtwin@thecastlebyers@books-and-donuts@valenschmidt@grasshoppper@80s-trashmouth@beepbeeprichiellc@little-miss-hellraiser@okay-i-get-it-alreddie@finn-trashmouth@kaspbrakseggo @lolahood @sad-synth@turtleneckrichie@reddieforanything @vitomire @its-stranger-than-you-think@spooky-risley @ohheydatsme@hoteltozier@holystanlon@apatheticphotos@dewdropseddie @ill-float-too@peterparkerwithoutacause@sir-furry @ailecstuff @bird-uris@iamworried7@beepbeepbitchard@trashcanonlegs@11leggomyeggo11@bisexual80scliffjumper @reddieseggrolls @rediietoship @starryeyedstanley @beepbeep-losers @richiefuckfacetozier

[castielzine-blog]

Hello everyone! Huuuuuge update time, this will be an image heavy post, so we’ve decided to put it under a cut so we don’t overwhelm your dashboards. This update contains the following:

A peek of the zine! And the rest of the products.

Update on shipping concerns.

Shop re-opening and new products.

Frequently asked questions answered.

So if you’re interested in any of those things please step right up and click the cut! 🐝💙

ZINE PROOF & OTHER SNEAK PEEKS

After three subpar proofs (yes, we’re very picky - and wanted to pieces to look their very best) we finally received a beautiful mock up of what the zine will look like. Right now they’re working printing out the hundreds of copies we need, but we’ll be picking them up by boxes throughout the week. Here’s a tiny peak.

Additionally, if you don’t follow us on Twitter, we have received some other items as well.

The only product which we have not received is the Gold Foil Print stretch goal since we had some trouble with the foil placements, but we’re expected to have it in our hands by the time the zines are all done!

SHIPPING CONCERNS

We have ONLY started to send out PDF orders (which were paused for a bit after we had to fix some issues our contributors pointed out)!

No physical shipping has started, so anyone concerned about address changes and any related issues, do not fret! We guarantee that you will get your order.

Considering the rising concern we have decided to do the following: we will be emailing each and every one of our customers that have physical orders to confirm their address before we start printing out labels. If there is no answer within the five days we will assume the address is correct and proceed. 

*If you have moved from the United States to an international location you might be charged extra once you change your address.

SHOP RE-OPENING

By extremely popular demand, we have decided to do inventory on what we will be leftover with and open the shop for a second round of orders early. So if you missed out on the first round, we are currently opened!  

But please be aware of the following:

These will be completely separate from the first round of orders, we cannot add the products to your first order to save on shipping. Sorry!

The second round of orders will NOT include the stretch goals, our current inventory doesn’t allow that. If you wish to own one of the stretch goal prints you will have to purchase them separately.

The postcard bundle will not be available.

All profits will be added to the donation amount.

Also, we’ve added a secret little item that hasn’t been announced anywhere else, and profits made from the sales will also be added to the donation. We expect to get the actual enamel pins any day now as well, so expect photos!

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS

Where have you been?!

Sorry! It’s not our intention to go MIA, but we underestimated how long manufacturing would take (+ shipping to Puerto Rico) and all the free time the organizer planned to work on this was way back in February. Right now we’re balancing a job, school, cons, and trying to make the best possible zine for you all! But Castiel deserves the best, and we plan to deliver.

Will I get a third chance of purchasing the zine?

We have absolutely no idea, if there’s anything left once we have fulfilled all orders and are 100% sure everyone including international orders have received their copy - we will try and “get rid” of the rest. But that won’t be until summer!

Now that Supernatural is ending, will you be running a project to commemorate it?

As much as we’d love to, our organizer has a bar exam to pass right around that same time, so unfortunately no. But we hope to participate in whatever projects the fandom comes up with - and if anyone would like us to promote it, send us a message!

Will there be copies available at any convention?

The organizer will have a small handful of solo books at Puerto Rico Comic Con in May, as well as the enamel pins (all profit will be added to the zine’s donation) but apart from that we won’t be anywhere else!

(Strangest request so far). Can I have this account when you’re done?

No. 

FIN

We’ve answered as many messages and e-mails as we could tonight, but we’ll be taking a bit of a break to keep sending out PDF orders! If you feel like we’ve missed something here, please tell us.

Thank you everyone for your support always, have a wonderful day/night!

[alloaroworlds]

I’ve spent this weekend putting together a mockup zine layout to try and get a handle on what it is we’re looking to make and what our size limitations are. This isn’t a formal sign-up post; I just want to give folks a break-down of where I think this project is going and what we need to consider.

While I suspect that the most use and promotion of this will be digital, I think a good goal is to create something we can release under a Creative Commons license so anyone can freely print it off and hand it out at events/meetings. I can make PDF versions suitable for professional printing (you take it to a print shop and have them print and saddle stitch it) and at-home printing (print double-sided, fold pages together, staple outside edge unless you have a really long stapler) in addition to an interactive PDF, so that’s not a problem, but it does impact how long this will be.

(My intention is to have a landing page on my WordPress site telling people how to print and bind it, along with any credits and contributor information we can’t fit in the zine itself, and a link to said page in the zine.)

The easiest-but-still-readable size for a document that’s going to contain some amount of text, I think, is A5 - or an A4 page folded in half, more correctly. That means we can have four, eight, twelve or sixteen pages (one, two, three or four sheets of paper, folded, printed both sides). At sixteen pages, we’re really pushing it in terms of the whole “print at home or school and self-assemble” aspect, so I’d consider that the absolute maximum, and twelve is probably better. Anything more than that I think is better held over for a second issue.

So, if we go for twelve, by the time we take out the cover and a credits/contents/licensing/links page, we’ve ten pages left.

Now, using a not completely-tiny type size and leading in the following mockup, I get roughly 300 words per page or 240 per title/header page:

(Yes, I used my own stories. I dislike Lorem Ipsum because it’s harder to get a sense of true paragraphing. I also hate not keeping lines together at the start/end of paragraphs, but it wasted far too much space.)

A two-page spread, with header and author credit, gives us 540 words. A three-page article gives us 840 words. With ten pages, we’re looking at two three-page articles and two two-page articles, or one three-page, three-two page and a one-page article. Whatever we’re writing, it’s going to be short (hence my feeling that we’ll likely have to push it out to sixteen pages). If we insert images or add pull quotes to break up the text, that gives us even fewer words!

Now, given that this is meant to be an introduction to allosexual aromanticism, I think the content we’re looking at for the first issue includes:

How to make your a-spec community welcoming for allo-aros (@crimsonsquare and I are calling dibs)

Why allo-aros need aro information separate from asexuality (my thinking here is the Standard Allo-Aro Experience Narrative and a demonstration of how it impacts us: the I didn’t know that I’m aromantic because it’s so often regarded as an asexual experience story)

An article with terminology explanations and definitions (allo and allosexual, queerplatonic, etc)

An article on how to avoid allo-aro antagonism/microagressions/amatonormativity

An article or articles on allo-aro identity and the difficulty in finding our sense of identity?

Short 50-100 word pieces from allo-aros talking about what being allo-aro means to us (these are good for filling up half-used pages)

Anything else folks want to pitch, because if it doesn’t fit in here we’ll do as many issues as folks want to make things for

We could also consider doing a print edition that’s more compressed and a digital edition with longer articles and more pieces, if there’s a lot of interest. I know a few of the suggestions above could be covered from multiple angles by multiple allo-aro folks, so if this is the case, a longer/complete digital edition may be the best way to go. Or discarding the print version of this entirely and sticking with digital-only, perhaps?

We also need cover art (it’d be really cool to have something from an allo-aro artist) and a title. I have a few awful puns in mind (Hallowed Arrows? Alloyed Arrows? Allocating Arrows?) but suggestions are so welcome on this point.

I’d also like at least one other editor, if anyone’s interested in volunteering. If folks want to translate the zine content into the language of their choice, let me know because I’m happy to place the translated content into the zine layout and host the translations on my WordPress site.

I would clarify that this project will be run entirely on a volunteer basis: nobody is paid and all creators retain full copyright over their work and can publish it anywhere else they feel like at any time they feel like. (But please consider that by submitting, you’re giving me the the right to a) possibly have your work translated into another language and b) publish your work under a Creative Commons license for free and unrestricted non-commercial distribution offline and off.) Folks can be published under whatever name they like (real name, pseudonym, Tumblr username); the only real requirement is that you identify as, in part or in full, as allosexual-aromantic or a member of the allo-aro community.

I’m not yet at a point where I’m ready to take submissions; I’ll do a formal, fancy post when I am. What I’m doing now is just talking about the limitations, the process, what I think could work for a first issue, early expressions of interest, and then seeing what folks think.

So. What do folks think?

[spartanburger]

Improving the quality of your image renders from SFM

So I’ve seen a lot of SFM renders that are absolutely amazing, with great poses, shot composition, scene setup, and lighting.  However, so very many of them are also rendered at really low quality.  In order to try and inform other users of some simple steps to improve their render quality, I’ve created this post.

Much of what you see here you will likely already know.  However, I encourage you to give it a read over in case there’s something you’ve missed.  This is primarily aimed at rendering still images (posters or image sequences), not video.  

Progressive Refinement Settings

This is the FIRST stop anyone should take to improving their render settings as they are the quickest, easiest, and will often have the greatest impact.  

Depth of Field & Motion Blur

These settings affect Depth of Field (DOF) and Motion Blur, (duh).  These settings work on a sample basis.  The more samples, the better.  

What’s the issue?

By default, SFM uses “use camera settings” as the default number of samples.  The default camera settings are literally the lowest number of samples you can have without turning the effect off:  8x samples.  DOF goes up to 1024 samples and motion blur goes up to 256, which is 128 and 32 times more samples than the default settings.

Here are some examples (effects or lighting exaggerated to show the effect):

No DOF:

Default DOF:

Max (1024) DOF:

No motion blur:

Default Motion blur:

Max motion blur:

You can see the effect is significant in both cases.

Why does this setting matter?

No matter whether you are rendering as a poster or as a image sequence, these settings will change the quality of your rendered image.  Rendering as a poster does not mean you can neglect these settings.  These settings also greatly impact the quality of the Ambient Occlusion (AO), volumetric lighting, and any lights with the radius that are using radius.  If you ever render an image and it’s really grainy, it’s 99.99% likely to be a sample issue.  Turn samples up and re-render.  

What’s the catch?

The only catch with rendering these is that it will significantly impact your render times.  To really show what I mean, here are the render times for the images above, rendered at 3840x2160:

No DOF:  0.368 seconds

8x DOF:  0.606 seconds

1024x DOF:  50.034 seconds

No Motion Blur:  0.299 seconds

8x Motion Blur:  0.500 seconds

256x Motion Blur:  8.356 seconds

In this example, going from default to max samples, DOF and motion blur caused an 82x and 17x, respectively, increase in render time per frame.  This is not additive - combining 128x DOF and 128x motion blur has a negligible increase in render time over 128x DOF with no motion blur.  Still, this is a significant increase.  

what do?

If you are rendering a still image (poster or only a few frames of an image sequence), always push these settings up to the absolute max.  Yes, it may take a little more time.  Your art deserves that little extra polish, and literally the only cost is time.  Be thankful it’s not blender, where single frames can take hours.

I should note that the number of samples that will be rendered will equal the highest number of the two settings.  So if you set motion blur to render at 256x, but DOF to render at 16x, you will get both DOF and motion blur at 256x.  The only way to completely disable rendering one of these effects while keeping the other is to untick the checkbox next to the setting in the progressive refinement settings window.

Subpixel Jitter AA

This setting applies a very light Anti-Alias to your image.  In short, it helps reduce jagged edges.  The effect is subtle, and often can only be seen when checking the image through a difference filter

This setting is ON by default.  There is basically no reason to ever have this turned off, so leave it on by default.  

Poster render vs Image Sequence

There are pros and cons to rendering as posters vs just rendering as a single frame image sequence.  

Why posters?

Poster rendering has three main benefits:

1. Resolution:  You can render at massive image resolutions, allowing you to get the pixels you might want for a professional print.  This is possible because poster rendering renders using a tiled approach.  This is gonna get a tiny bit technical:

SFM is running the Source Engine - a video game engine.  When you have SFM open, that engine is technically running in the background at a certain resolution.  I believe by default, the resolution is set to 1280x720.  When you render as a poster, that resolution is the maximum resolution that the engine can render, so in order to go above that, it splits the desired resolution up into “tiles” that are the same size as the engine’s resolution.  If you’re rendering at 4k without changing anything, that means that you will get 16 tiles:  four wide and four tall.  

Anyway, this means you basically can render at massive resolutions.  But it has drawbacks, as noted below.

2. Particles.  Particle systems, mainly those that change over time, will render exactly at the time of the playhead.  Image Sequences have an issue with this, requiring you to render from the start of the particle system life and render each and every frame forward until the frame you actually want.  

3. Depth of field.  Be it a bug or not, image sequences have an issue with the DOF plane not actually being where the image ends up focusing.  Posters do not have this issue.  More on this below.

Why not posters?

There are four main downsides to poster renders:

1.  Ambient Occlusion:  Ambient Occlusion renders on a per-tile basis.  As a result, rendering at very high resolutions can cause blocky AO to appear.  As an example here’s an image I rendered with the internal SFM engine running at default, rendered AO only at 15360 x 8640 resolution.  I’ve blown the contrast all to hell to really show what the effect is like

In some instances, the effect is minimal enough to be overlooked, but in many it might end up looking bleh.

2.  Bloom.  Poster renders do not render bloom.  At all.  There’s no way to fix it. rip.

3.  Render Time.  In my experience, poster renders take longer to render.  More time is spent in processing writing tiles to file, and stitching them together, so it takes more time for a single frame.  

4.  Annoying.  This may not affect everyone the same, but the fact that a .tga file must render for each poster, no matter what output file you choose is annoying.  Especially if you don’t intend on doing any post processing and just want to post the raw image.  

Why Image sequences?

1.  32 Bit Workflow.  Rendering as an image sequence allows you to render as a .PFM.  SFM is confusing so there’s technically two kinds of .pfm file:  A .pfm depth file, and a .pfm output format.  The depth file is essentially useless outside of incredibly nich uses where you want to create a sort of 3D vision thing where the image can be displayed with depth.  Never tick the ‘Write PFM depth file’ box.  It’s all but useless.

However, under the ‘format’ drop down, there’s another .PFM option.  This is Source Filmmaker’s 32bpc (bits per channel) output format.  All other output formats are at 8bpc.  If you’re not going to be doing any form of post-processing, this is meaningless to you.  However, if you do a lot of post-processing and can utilize all that 32bpc goodness, this is the file format for you.  

I’m still very new to 32bpc workflows, but the quick version of the difference is that 8bpc means that color data is very limited.  On the surface with no adjustments, the two images will look identical.  However, the 32bpc file contains a metric fuckload more color data in it per pixel.  This means that if you’re applying any kind of post processing (at least, post processing that supports 32bpc), you will see significant differences.  

For example, here’s 8bpc with some heavily reduced exposure in post:

And here’s the exact same adjustment made to a 32bpc .PFM file:

What about hue?  Hue change on 8bpc:

And here’s 32bpc

BIG difference.

The only downside is the file size.  As there’s lots more data, .pfm files are hueg.  The above images were rendered at 720p.  The 8bpc .png was 0.6MB.  The .PFM 10.5MB.  

2.  It does what Posters don’t.  Because image sequences don’t using tiling, you won’t ever get that tiled AO issue with posters.  Bloom renders, as well.  In my experience, it renders slightly faster than posters, too.  

Why not image sequences?

1.  Limited resolution.  As I mentioned in the poster section, SFM has an internal engine running in the background.  The resolution of this engine is the maximum resolution you can render an image sequence at.  By default, this is 1280x720.  Through launch commands (see separate section below), you can extend this all the way up to 3840x2160 (~4k) which is nice, but SFM does not support resolutions over this at the time.  4k is still great quality, so this isn’t much of a downside.  However, if you’re looking to get that >4k resolution needed for certain high quality prints, image sequences are no bueno.

2.  Particle Systems.  I touched on this in the Why Posters section, but image sequences have an issue with particle systems.  Particle systems that evolve over time have a start and stop time.  Usually, it takes a few fractions of a second for them to “enable” as the particles are emitted.  Like with a flamethrower.  At 0.00, a flamethrower particle hasn’t thrown any flames yet.  You need to move the timeline along a little bit for the particles to have fully emitted.  With posters, there’s no issue.  However, with an image sequence, SFM cannot deal with particles with a start time that is before the first frame of the render.  So a poster of a flamethrower may show you some nice and toasty bad guys, but the exact same under and image sequence will have barely even a sputter of flame.  In order to work around this, you have to set the desired render frame a few frames ahead in time, and render out each frame as if it were a movie until you get to the desired frame you want.  This takes much more time, and creates many junk image files.

3.  Flexes.  In a similar manner to the particle systems, I’ve noticed that face and body flexes can sometimes not be set properly for the first few frames of an image sequence, requiring you to render out 3-5 frames before they jump into place.  The flexes aren’t jumping from their default position, so it’s not super noticeable.  It’s hard to explain.  I have a video that shows this effect.  Notice how the mandibles jump around a bit.  This is because each change in skin is a change in skin is a new shot in SFM.  Like with particles, the work around is to render out 3-5 frames or so to ensure that the flexes move in place.  

4.  Inaccurate Depth of Field Target.  This mainly effects projects with a very high aperture in the DOF effect (basically, super exaggerated effect).  I do this a lot, and it can be annoying.  Here’s what it looks like:  

I’ve added a pole moving away to the camera to show distance a little better.  Here you can see the focal distance is set on the head of the main character.

You would expect that this would then make the head in focus, but no.  With image sequences, the focus target is a noticeable distance in front of the focal plane.

Posters, on the other hand, work just fine, less bloom.

In fact, to get an image sequence to work fine, you have to kinda guess and check in the viewport to ensure it’s set right.

This error shows up in the viewport no matter what, so if you’re rendering posters, trust that the focal plane is set properly.  For image sequences, you have to let the viewport render in the clip editor to see the DOF and make sure it’s set right.  You’ll have to set the render target to be a little further than your target.  

5.  Annoying.  Posters always render a .tga file?  Image sequences always render a .txt _mainframe file.  This is a log of your render settings and the time it takes to render each frame, which is really neat when checking or testing render settings for videos, but otherwise just another junk file to delete.

Personally, I always use image sequences.  I want that sweet sweet bloom effect, and I can work around the other issues.  Render time is not an issue for me, so I’m more than willing to render out a few frames for particles and flexes, and have gotten used to working around the DOF issue.  And although I’m a resolution nut, 4k is enough for what I want.  

Launch Options

Those of you who have tried to render videos at 1080p or 2160p will know that you have to set a launch option to enable this.  There are several other launch options that you can set to help improve quality.  The great thing about launch options is that they’re almost all ‘set and forget’ settings, which you can just ignore them once you’ve set them.  I’ll go over the ones I use here.

-sfm_resolution 2160

As mentioned above, this enables rendering at 4k as an image sequence.  If you’re rendering as a poster, this will also increase the size of each rendered tile.  This has its downsides though.  As I’ve mentioned, SFMs engine is always running in the background at the resolution you set it to.  So with this launch option set, placing objects, posing, lighting, and moving the work camera around can be noticeably slow, because despite the viewports being small, the game engine is still running at 4k in the background (it sure doesn’t look like it :/).  This can have a massive impact on older hardware.  Hell, I have a beefy computer and even it slows quite a bit just when moving the work camera around if I have this set to 2160, especially in complicated scenes with lighting and AO enabled.  

My advice is this:  Use different settings for this launch option when you’re editing the scene vs when you’re rendering.  I use -sfm_resolution 720 to force it to run at 720p in the background while setting up the shot.  Once I’m happy with it, I will save, close, change the 720 to 2160, relaunch, and then render.  

-sfm_shadowmapres 16384

This one can be more subtle.  Lighting in SFM isn’t “real” lighting.  This is a really simplistic explanation, but shadows from lights have a resolution to them.  You have to think of shadows as a “texture” that is projected out of the light and only shows when the light is blocked by a model.  If the light has a large field of view, to light a large scene for example, this resolution stays the same, but is stretched over a large area.

Imagine drawing in photoshop.  If your image resolution is high enough, drawing curves and detail is smooth and nice.  But if you’re drawing on a blank canvas that is only 300 x 300 pixels, you have fewer pixels to register changes in color, so it becomes blocky.  

By default, the shadowmapres for SFM is set to 2048.  I’ve created a quick scene here with a light with a massive FOV to show what I mean.  Notice how the shadows are horribly low resolution, and that this low resolution shadow is then projected onto everything behind it.  

This launch option forces this resolution higher.  Although it’s technically supposed to max out at 8192, in my experience, it goes up to 16384 without issue:

Much better.  And the best part?  In my experience, this has essentially zero impact on performance and render time.  There’s basically no reason to not have it on.  

NOTE:  If  this launch option doesn’t seem to be working, back it down to 8192 as that’s the officially supported maximum.  In 99.99% of cases, you shouldn’t need anything more than that.  

-r_novis 1

This is less of a quality enhancer and more of a bugfix.  Source engine uses a Potentially Visible Set (PVS) system, which uses the camera to see which parts of the map are visible at a time, and then doesn’t render the parts of the map outside of view.  If you’re having any kind of map visibility issue, this might fix it.  In general, I like to have this setting enabled.  Although PVS is supposed to help performance, in my experience, the effect is unnoticeable.

-nop4

Okay this is just another bug fix one, but if you’re ever encountering a “perforce error” in SFM, this launch option disables perforce.  I dunno what perforce is, and there’s literally no documentation on what it does for SFM.  Well, it does fuckin’ nothing in my books because nothing changes when you put this launch option in, other than getting rid of perforce errors.  

+mat_forceaniso 16

This forces anisotropic filtering.  The shortest explanation is that without anisotropic filtering, textures in the distant appear stretched out.  SFM by default has it set to only 1x pass of anisotropic filtering, which sucks:

SFM supports up to 16 passes.  You can see how the texture almost appears higher resolution with this turned up:

I haven’t noticed any significant performance impact on this effect, though I have noticed that SFM might take a second or two more to launch.  

Okay this was a long post.  Sorry.  rip your timeline.  But I hope these things have helped improve your renders.