#arcane freeze frames

[arcane-aesthetics]

[a-big-apple]

im sorry can i just—

she covered up the portraits of her family, of her mother, with her jinx murderboard

literally losing sight of everything but revenge, even the reason she wants revenge in the first place T^T

[heliosunny]

Yandere!Anaxa x Mage!Reader

The first time he saw you, you were undoing his chains.

His wrists were raw, skin torn from years of iron biting into flesh. His once-proud posture was nothing more than a hunched, broken frame, his long, pale green hair tangled and dull. He had no strength left to fight, only hatred simmering behind the eyes that still refused to yield.

You tended to him with hands far too gentle for someone with your power. You fed him, clothed him, healed him. And when his body recovered, you honed his mind.

"You’re free now" you had told him, but it wasn’t freedom you gave, it was discipline, strength, purpose. You sharpened his survival instincts, refined his combat abilities, ensuring he could stand on his own before releasing him into the world.

At first, he thought you were no different from his past captors, just another powerful figure toying with him under the guise of mercy. But as time passed, your kindness never faltered. You spoke to him, not as a master, not as an owner, but as an equal.

And then, one day, you left.

No farewell, no explanation. You had done your duty, and that was all he was to you. A responsibility. A passing moment in your grand, untouchable life.

He should have forgotten you. But he couldn’t. So he searched.

He followed whispers, traced the echoes of your name through the cities and villages, piecing together the legend that surrounded you. Y/n L/n, the Kingdom’s Respected Mage. Revered, beloved, unmatched in power. People spoke of you in awe, their eyes filled with admiration, their voices dripping with devotion.

It infuriated him. They didn’t deserve you. They hadn’t seen you the way he had.

And yet, you had left him behind to return to them.

His fingers curled into fists, trembling with rage and something far darker. If he wanted you, if he wanted you to be his, he needed to become more.

More than the people who adored you. More than the kingdom that praised you. More than even you yourself.

The roar of the crowd was deafening. The Kingdom’s Grand Arcane Tournament, a competition where only the strongest mages, warriors, and scholars gathered to prove their worth. Victory meant recognition, power, and most importantly… a chance to stand before you.

Anaxa’s lips curled slightly as he adjusted his gloves, ignoring the eyes around him. He wasn’t here for glory. He wasn’t here for the approval of nobles or the admiration of the masses. No, he was here for one reason alone.

To surpass you. And he was close.

The trials had been brutal, designed to eliminate the weak and unworthy. Fire rained from the sky, ice storms threatened to freeze bones solid, illusion magic twisted reality into nightmares. Yet, he endured. He thrived.

Every challenge was a step closer to you.

And then, fate finally brought you before him.

He had been walking through the grand halls of the castle, led by a guard toward the final test, when he saw you.

You moved with effortless grace, your robes flowing like liquid magic, the insignia of the Royal Mage embroidered upon your chest. Power radiated from you, but it was your presence that struck him the hardest.

The way nobles bowed their heads in respect. The way knights stepped aside in silent reverence. The way the very air seemed to hum in response to your existence.

You had grown even more magnificent. More untouchable.

His breath caught as he stepped forward, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him.

"Y/n!"

For a fleeting moment, your eyes flickered toward him. And then...nothing. No recognition. No reaction. You walked past him as if he was no more than a stranger, your focus already on your destination.

Anaxa froze.

Something inside him twisted, snapped, burned.

You ignored him? No.... No, no, no. This wasn’t right.

After everything. After all this time.

His fists clenched, his breathing shallow, but before he could move, the guards pushed him forward.

"The final test awaits" one of them grunted, leading him toward the towering gates of the Arcane Trial Grounds.

Anaxa didn’t resist. He let them guide him, but his thoughts never left you. It didn’t matter. Soon, it wouldn’t matter. Because when he won, when he stood above everyone else, you would have to look at him.

The moment Anaxa stepped inside the Tower, the air grew heavier, thick with enchantments woven over centuries. The last trial wasn’t a simple battle...it was a test of mind, body, and soul.

Whispers curled through the halls, illusions flickered at the edges of his vision, phantoms of his past trying to drag him into despair.

He saw chains. Rusted. Bloodied. Binding his wrists once more.

"You will never be free."

A voice sneered from the shadows. His very own voice. The voice of the boy who had once been weak. The boy you had left behind.

Anaxa exhaled slowly, his pink-violet eyes sharpening with cold resolve.

With a flick of his wrist, magic surged through him, and the illusions shattered like glass.

He wasn’t that boy anymore.

And he would prove it.

One step at a time, he climbed. The Tower challenged him with spell after spell, enemy after enemy, but he never faltered. His body ached, his magic burned in his veins, but he kept going.

Until, at last, he reached the highest chamber, the domain of the Royal Mage.

Your domain.

His breath was ragged, his clothes tattered, but a smirk played at his lips as he pushed the grand doors open.

And there you were.

Standing at the center of the grand hall, surrounded by books, scrolls, and floating runes. You turned at the sound of the door creaking open, your eyes meeting his once more.

This time, you didn’t ignore him.

"You pass."

That was all you had said when Anaxa stood before you in the Tower's highest chamber, battle-worn yet victorious. No praise, no warmth, just a simple statement before you handed him his new assignment. He would now serve directly under you, a mage of the Tower, tasked with studying arcane knowledge, assisting with research, and maintaining magical defenses for the kingdom.

But despite his new status, you kept your distance.

You never looked at him for long. You never spoke beyond what was necessary. You never acknowledged the years he had spent chasing after you.

Still, he obeyed. He played the role of the devoted mage, following your every instruction without complaint. If keeping his head down, working tirelessly, and proving his worth was the only way to break through your walls, then so be it. But he pushed himself too far.

It happened late one night. The Tower was quiet, most scholars having retired to their quarters, but Anaxa remained. He sat hunched over an ancient text, his normally immaculate pale green hair disheveled, dark circles forming beneath his eyes.

His fingers trembled as he traced sigils onto parchment. His mind swam, exhaustion clawing at the edges of his consciousness, but he refused to stop.

Just a little more. Just a little longer.

He had to be stronger. Smarter. Worthy.

The ink blurred. His vision swayed.

And then.. his body crumpled forward, knocking over a stack of scrolls as he collapsed onto the cold stone floor.

When he woke, the world was softer.

The unbearable ache in his body remained, but something warm pressed against his forehead- a damp cloth, cooling his fevered skin. His mind was sluggish, his limbs weak, but as he slowly blinked his way back to consciousness, a familiar presence filled his senses.

You. You were there.

His head rested on something—no, someone. Your lap.

Your hands, ones he had longed for, ones that had once freed him now hovered over his chest, weaving delicate healing sigils into the air.

His breath hitched.

“...You’re awake.”

Your voice was as calm as ever, but there was something different this time. A softness, a quiet concern you hadn’t shown him before. Anaxa swallowed hard, unsure if this was reality or some cruel dream.

"You overworked yourself" you said simply, as if scolding a stubborn child. "You need to rest."

He should have answered. Should have thanked you, should have reassured you that he was fine. But his mind was drowning in you. Your scent, your warmth, the way your fingers had just barely brushed against his hair. For the first time in so long, he felt something other than burning obsession. He felt peace.

His lips parted, his voice hoarse. "Stay."

You paused, your fingers stiffening for just a fraction of a second. Then, with the same unreadable expression, you withdrew your hand.

"You need sleep" you repeated, carefully shifting his head off your lap and onto a pillow instead. "I’ll check on you in the morning."

And just like that, the warmth vanished. The door clicked shut behind you. Anaxa stared at the ceiling, his heart pounding, his fists clenching the sheets beneath him.

For a moment, he had hoped.

For a moment, you had been his.

And now, more than ever, he knew he had to make you stay.

Anaxa was always watching. Always waiting.

For your approval. For your attention. For you.

But no matter how much he proved himself, no matter how hard he worked, you remained just out of reach. Close enough to torment him with your presence, but distant enough to remind him that he was still beneath you.

So when whispers of forbidden magic reached his ears, whispers of power that could surpass even yours- he listened.

It started with a single spell. A curse laced into his fingertips, shadowed energy that crackled at his touch. The rush of it, the sheer force, was intoxicating. For the first time, he felt as though he could close the gap between you. But you found out.

The moment you saw the dark magic coiling around his form, your expression darkened, your voice sharper than he had ever heard.

"Are you insane?" You demanded, eyes burning with disappointment. "You know what dark magic does to the mind of people, to the soul. Were you really willing to throw everything away for this?"

He had expected punishment. Maybe even expulsion.

But instead, you chose supervision. From then on, you kept him under your watch, ensuring he didn’t step out of line.

It should have felt like a leash.

But to him? It felt like being caged in your presence. And he loved it.

Under your watchful eye, Anaxa returned to his duties, but the hunger in his heart never faded.

Late at night, when the Tower was silent, he poured over ancient scrolls, searching for something he had never dared to seek before- his past.

And he found it.

His people. His homeland. The ones who had sold him into chains. The weight of it settled in his chest like stone. The hatred, the pain boiled beneath his skin. He couldn’t stay here. Not when the past still breathed. So he did the only thing he could. He ran.

Slipping past the Tower’s wards was difficult, but not impossible. He had memorized every security spell, every blind spot. He knew how to disappear.

But he also knew you would never let him go so easily.

He should have known you were following him.

Every time the road grew dangerous, every time the enemy’s traps were one step ahead of him, something interfered. A spell dissolving a barrier. A blade missing its mark. A shadow moving just out of sight.

By the time he reached his enemies- the cowards who had once controlled his fate, he knew. You had been there the entire time. But it didn’t matter. Not when he stood before the people who had once sold him into slavery. Not when he saw the fear in their eyes. And suddenly… revenge felt meaningless.

They weren’t gods. They weren’t demons. They were just pathetic.

Killing them wouldn’t erase the past. It wouldn’t change anything.

So he turned his back on them.

And when he walked away, he knew you were waiting.

The journey back to the Tower was silent.

You never scolded him. Never demanded answers.

But when you finally reached your chambers, he fell apart.

"Erase it" he whispered, his voice trembling. "Erase everything."

You stiffened. "Anaxa..."

"Please." His eyes were wild, desperate. "If it’s you...if it’s your magic, master...I won’t fight it."

You frowned. "Memories shape the mind. If I remove them, it will change you."

"It’ll be fine if it’s you controlling me."

The words slipped from his lips before he could stop them.

For a long moment, there was silence.

"You need rest" you said softly.

You turned away.

And for the first time, he wished you would just take him. The silence after his plea was unbearable. You didn’t answer him. You didn’t cast the spell he begged for. You simply turned away, as if his pain, his very existence, was just another fleeting moment in your long, untouchable life. And that broke something inside him. Days passed. Then weeks. Anaxa returned to his duties, but he was different now.

He still watched you. Still obeyed you. Still craved you.

But now, there was nothing else left inside him.

The hatred, the grief, the fire that once burned in his veins- gone.

All that remained was you.

You, who had refused to erase him. You, who had refused to free him from his torment. You, who had chosen to let him suffer.

And if you would not take away his pain, then there was only one other path left.

It happened deep in the Tower, beneath layers of wards and forgotten corridors, where only the most forbidden spells were kept.

Anaxa stood before an ancient circle, his fingers tracing over runes that pulsed with dark magic.

If you would not erase his past… If you would not take control of his mind…

Then he would give everything to you himself.

A spell older than time. A binding more powerful than any chains.

A curse that would tie his very soul to yours.

By the time you found him, the ritual was nearly complete.

"Anaxa!" Your voice cut through the chamber, furious and sharp. "Stop this!"

He turned, smiling softly. Finally, finally, you were looking at him.

"I can’t" he murmured. "I don't want to exist without you anymore."

The runes flared to life. Magic crackled around him, the binding beginning to weave itself into his flesh. You moved. Faster than he had ever seen before, you raised your hands, and in an instant, his spell was shattered.

The backlash sent him to his knees, gasping as raw magic burned through his veins. His vision blurred, his breath ragged, but none of it mattered. Because you were standing over him now, your face unreadable, your fingers curling into tight fists.

"You're a fool" you whispered. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

He let out a breathless laugh, his eyes filled with something between devotion and madness.

"I tried to give myself to you" he said. "But I was wrong, wasn't I?"

"You're the only one who can claim me. So do it, master." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Make me yours."

You stared at him.

At the man who had once loathed you. At the boy you had saved. At the monster you had created.

And for the first time, you hesitated.

Because despite everything… you felt it too, didn’t you?

The way he always sought you out. The way he belonged to you, in a way no one else ever had.

Maybe it would be easier if he was only yours. If he never left. If you never had to wonder if he'd disappear into the night, chasing ghosts of a past he could never change. Maybe it would be better if he belonged to you alone.

But in the end, you didn’t say those words.

You only sighed, kneeling beside him, your fingers brushing over his pale hair.

"You’re staying" you murmured. "That much is certain."

His breath hitched.

"But" you continued, your voice turning firm, "I will never take away your mind, your will, your soul."

You tilted his chin up, forcing him to look at you.

"You don’t get to run away from your pain, Anaxa. Not with dark magic, and not through me."

He trembled. He hated this. Hated the way you still held the power, the way you still refused to let him give himself up completely.

But deep down, he knew, he had already lost.

And yet, as he knelt there, drinking in the warmth of your touch, he decided.. that was fine. Because in the end, whether you wanted it or not. He was already yours.

[needanaccount2readarcaneposts]

I can't believe I made a new tumblr after all these years just so this damn site would let me read Arcane posts without reloading every five seconds, and I already feel the need to wade in with my two cents.

There comes a point where 'trusting your audience' simply becomes 'forcing your audience to do the work of making it make sense for you'.

If your show requires viewers to come up with elaborate red-string conspiracy boards explaining how a character was actually playing 5D chess the whole time, just to justify a choice or action that doesn't feel earned or organic? You are past that point.

If your show requires viewers to insert a bunch of personal 'okay, but what if...?' headcanons about how characters' relationships might have developed, or not developed, or fallen apart, or not fallen apart, or how their opinions might have changed over time, or maybe they never held those opinions after all, and maybe their motivations have changed, even though we never saw the thing that changed their motivations, because it happened during a timeskip, or like, idk they just kinda got over it, etc. etc. etc., just to connect the dots between a character's Point A and Point B in a way that makes sense? You are past that point.

If your show requires viewers to freeze-frame and zoom in on micro-expressions and write entire theses about them on social media, because your animators are god's strongest soldiers and are doing their level best to hard carry the season and provide the missing emotional connective tissue between characters and plot beats? You are past that point.

Arcane S2 is simply not very good. Stop doing the writers' work for them.

Thank you, and goodnight.

[noredemptionhere]

"you know i'll keep you in my locket-just come here, then we can settle down." ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ farmer!abby x fem!reader

this fic is only two chapters, and this is chapter two. click here for chapter one. this fic also has a sevika [arcane] version (the abby one was the original--i just postponed posting it.)

warnings: psychological horror, unsettling themes, hallucinations (?), emotional distress, mild body horror, paranoia-this has actual terrifying themes. do not ignore the warnings.

“i know what i saw,” you whisper.

abby exhales, slow and heavy, through her nose. her fingers flex slightly against your arms. “i know.”

you freeze.

a sharp, shuddering breath escapes you. “then—”

“i know,” she cuts in, softer this time, like she’s trying to soothe. like she’s trying to stop you from thinking too hard.

her hands slide up, fingers threading into your hair, pulling you in. a slow, careful motion. like she’s easing you into something.

she doesn’t let you go.

she just tucks you against her chest, resting her chin over your head.

her voice drops, a low murmur in your ear. “it’s okay, baby. i’m right here.”

you stay still.

her warmth presses against you, grounding, steady.

the weight of her hand in your hair, the slow rise and fall of her chest—it’s safe.

it’s safe.

your fingers curl slightly against her back.

“i don’t want to be here,” you whisper.

abby hums softly, fingers stroking through your hair.

“i know.”

her voice is low. gentle in a way that almost doesn’t fit her.

she shifts slightly, adjusting her hold, keeping you close.

“you don’t have to be scared,” she murmurs. “i’m right here.”

you exhale shakily, eyes slipping shut.

for the first time tonight, you let yourself believe her.

the air doesn’t move. the floor doesn’t creak. the house listens.

—

as the weight of exhaustion drags at your body, you lay in bed with her, her frame engulfing your trembling one.

her breaths are slow, deep—steady enough that you can’t tell if she’s still awake.

your eyes stay open, unfocused, fixed on the fabric of her tank top in front of you. the quiet hum of her breathing, the warmth of her skin against yours—it should be comforting. It should be enough.

but the air still doesn’t move, and the house is still listening. you don’t let yourself fall asleep—you just let exhaustion take you first.

August the fifth — 8:30 AM

you wake up slowly. the air is still. the bed is warm. the space beside you is empty.

for a moment, it almost feels like last night never happened.

the scent of something cooking drifts through the house—something simple, something comforting. distantly, you hear the soft clink of dishes, the low scrape of a chair against the floor.

your chest tightens… everything is too normal.

your fingers curl against the sheets. the weight of exhaustion drags at your limbs, thick and cloying, like you’ve been asleep for days instead of hours. your mind feels foggy, your breath uneven, but you push yourself up anyway.

the walls feel too close. the ceiling too low.

you need to move.

your bare feet hit the wooden floor, the coolness grounding for only a second. then you push the bedroom door open, stepping into the hall.

the kitchen is just ahead. the morning light spills through the window, casting long shadows across the floor.

abby stands at the stove, her back to you, moving with easy familiarity. like nothing is wrong. like she wasn’t holding you last night while the house listened.

your voice barely rises above a whisper.

“…abby?”

abby doesn’t startle. she just tilts her head slightly, like she knew you were there before you even spoke. like she’s been waiting for you.

“morning, pretty.” she says, low and easy, turning off the stove. she plates something—eggs, maybe. toast. she sets it down on the table like it’s any other day. “you slept late.”

you swallow. your throat feels tight.

everything looks normal. feels normal. but your skin won’t stop crawling.

she gestures to the plate. “eat.”

you don’t move.

your fingers twitch at your sides, nails pressing into your palms. you’re not sure why, but sitting down feels wrong. like you’re playing into something.

like you’re agreeing with it.

“…where did you go?” you ask instead.

abby finally looks at you. her gaze is unreadable, heavy with something you can’t place.

“just outside,” she says simply. “finishing the fence.”

you sit down slowly. the chair creaks beneath you, too loud in the quiet kitchen.

abby doesn’t say anything, just leans against the counter, arms crossed.

the plate looks fine. normal. the eggs are fluffy, the toast golden and crisp, the coffee creamy and beige.

but the second you take a bite, bile rises in your throat.

the eggs are slimy, wet. rotten.

the toast crumbles like ash on your tongue, the taste burned and bitter.

the coffee—God. it coats your mouth with something thick and murky, something that tastes like sewage, like dirt, like decay.

you freeze.

your hands shake around the fork. your stomach lurches, twisting violently.

but when you glance at the plate—

everything looks the same.

perfect.

pristine.

you take another bite.

the eggs squelch in your mouth, wet and putrid. the toast turns to bitter dust. the coffee is thick—wrong, coating your tongue like tar.

your stomach lurches.

you drop the fork. It clatters against the plate, too loud, too sharp.

abby’s eyes flick to you.

“what’s wrong?”

you shake your head. your breath shudders.

nothing. nothing is wrong.

except it is.

everything is wrong.

you press your hands to your lap, gripping the fabric of your nightgown, trying to steady yourself, but your shoulders tremble.

“i—i can’t—” your voice breaks. your throat tightens.

the tears come before you can stop them.

hot. heavy.

you squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head harder. “i don’t— i don’t know what’s happening.”

the chair scrapes. heavy boots move across the floor. a second later, abby crouches in front of you.

her hands are warm when they find your knees, grounding, steady.

“hey.” her voice is softer now. “look at me.”

you don’t. you can’t. if you look at her, you’ll break even more.

but then her hands slide up, firm and careful, cupping your face.

her thumbs brush away the tears before they can fall too far.

“shh, baby,” she murmurs. “It’s okay.”

it’s not.

nothing is okay.

your breath shudders. your chest feels tight, too full, too empty, like you might just collapse into yourself.

“i don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you whisper, voice cracking.

abby hums softly. her thumbs stroke slow, steady circles against your cheeks.

“it’s just the nerves,” she soothes, leaning in, pressing her forehead against yours. “you’ve been stressed.”

you shake your head, but she hushes you.

her hands slide down, pulling you forward, wrapping you in her arms.

“you’re safe,” she breathes, pressing her lips to your temple. “i’ve got you, sweetheart. i’ve got you.”

you clutch onto her.

trembling.

breaking.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

days pass. slowly.

or maybe not at all.

the sun rises and sets, but time feels stretched too thin, pulling at the edges of something fragile. you move through the farmhouse like a ghost, your body going through the motions, but your mind lags behind. abby keeps you close, always within arm’s reach, her presence a constant weight against your senses. she touches you often—soft brushes of her fingers against yours, steady hands at your waist when she guides you away from the windows, absentminded strokes through your hair when you sit curled up on the couch. she makes your meals, fixes the blankets when you shiver, presses lazy kisses all over your face like nothing is wrong, like you’re not going crazy.

like nothing has ever been wrong.

but it is.

something lingers beneath the surface, a wrongness you can’t touch, can’t name, but feel in every breath you take. the air never moves right. the nights stretch too long. you wake up gasping sometimes, tangled in sheets damp with sweat, heart hammering, but with no memory of why. and when you turn, when you reach, she’s always there. pulling you close. telling you it’s fine. that she’s here. that she’ll always be here.

you start to believe her.

because you have to.

because the alternative is too much.

you stop asking about the fields. you stop questioning why your phone won’t turn on, why the radio never picks up a signal, why the road past the cornfield looks different every time you try to stare too long. you let her tuck you in. you let her pull you onto her lap when you cry. you let her wipe away your tears and press her lips to your knuckles and murmur sweet things in your ear until your body betrays you and relaxes in her hold.

the days pass.

slowly.

until.

the sheets stick to your skin when you wake up.

the air is thick, unmoving. your chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven breaths.

it’s still dark. not quite morning, not quite night—just that strange, dead space in between, where everything feels stretched too thin. the kind of silence that makes your ears ring.

something isn’t right.

you don’t know what pulls your eyes open, what forces your body to move, but you shift, peeling yourself away from the damp sheets. Your hands tremble as you push up on your elbows.

and that’s when you see it.

the shape at the edge of the bed.

a figure. unmoving. watching.

your body locks up.

the sheets bunch in your fists, breath caught somewhere in your throat. you try to focus, try to make sense of what you’re seeing, but the dark warps around it, like it doesn’t belong here. like it isn’t meant to be seen.

your lungs burn. you realize, distantly, that you aren’t breathing.

then— you blink.

and suddenly, it’s on top of you.

a hand—cold, wrong—presses to your chest. the weight is suffocating, crushing, but when you open your mouth to scream, nothing comes out. your body is frozen, locked in place, like it’s holding you there.

its mouth moves.

a whisper.

low. twisting. raspy. crawling into your skin like something living.

“non sum periculum.”

the words slither into your skull, digging deep. you don’t understand them. don’t know what they mean. but you hold onto them like a lifeline, desperate, memorizing the sounds, the way they fall.

and then—

it’s gone.

the air moves. your lungs drag in a breath, ragged and shallow. your body jerks upright, sweat slicking your back, your hands shaking violently where they grip the sheets.

a sound. footsteps.

abby steps inside, a mug of coffee in her hand, eyes flicking over you.

her expression doesn’t change. she’s calm. normal. like nothing happened.

“hey,” she says. “you okay?”

you don’t answer.

you can’t.

the words are still there, lingering in your mind. unfamiliar. unknown. but you won’t let them go.

you swallow hard, fingers curling around the sheets. you don’t want to forget.

you’re too shaken, too uncertain, and—most of all—you don’t want to risk losing the words. if you say them out loud, if you try to explain, you might get them wrong. they might slip away, like a fading dream.

so you swallow hard, grip the sheets tighter, and shake your head.

“i’m fine,” you lie.

abby watches you.

she doesn’t move right away. just stands there, coffee in hand, eyes unreadable.

then, finally, she nods. “alright.”

she sets the mug down on the nightstand, the quiet clink of ceramic against wood making your stomach twist. “drink this,” she murmurs, and then she leans down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. “i’ll be outside.”

and then she’s gone.

the door shuts softly behind her.

you wait.

count the seconds. the minutes. until you’re sure she won’t come back.

then—quickly, quietly—you reach for your phone.

your fingers shake as you open the browser, pulling up the search bar.

you hesitate.

one last second to convince yourself this is nothing. Just a nightmare. just your nerves.

then you type:

“non sum periculum translation.”

no results.

nothing.

not in english. not in any language.

your stomach drops.

your fingers tremble against the screen as you stare at the empty search bar, your breath coming too fast, too sharp. that— that doesn’t make sense. you must’ve spelled it wrong. you must’ve—

you delete the words. re-type them. slower this time. letter by letter.

non sum periculum translation.

you hit search. the page reloads.

no results.

a shiver crawls up your spine. your mouth feels dry. you swallow hard, thumb hovering over the screen, willing something—anything—to show up.

and then—

at the very bottom of the page, small, almost easy to miss:

{Did you mean: ‘I AM NOT THE DANGER’ ?}

the blood drains from your face.

your ears ring.

your breath is stuck, caught somewhere between your ribs, between your heart hammering too fast and your hands gripping the phone too tight.

something is wrong.

something is so, so wrong.

you have to decide what to do with this.

do you tell abby? keep it to yourself? try searching again, digging deeper, hoping something else comes up?

you stare at the words on the screen, heart pounding, brain scrambling for an answer—

footsteps. again. behind you. slow. heavy.

you turn.

abby is standing in the doorway. watching you.

her voice is low. calm.

“what are you looking at?”

your pulse pounds in your ears.

the words echo, twisting in your head, rearranging themselves until they finally make sense.

‘i am not the danger.’

your breath stutters.

you look at abby—tall, broad, unmoving. watching you.

the realization slams into you, cold and suffocating.

not the danger.

your fingers tremble around your dead phone. the room feels smaller. the air heavier.

abby takes a slow step forward. “baby?”

soft. gentle. warm. like she always is. like she always has been.

your stomach turns.

you don’t know why—but you feel uneasy, too uneasy.

abby’s gaze flickers to the bed.

the faint crease in her brows, the almost imperceptible tension in her shoulders. she looks concerned.

your skin still crawls from the earlier connection, from the weight of something other pressing against you. from the words—low, guttural, whispered straight into your skull. unholy. unknowable.

you force your breath to steady, force yourself to move, force yourself to be normal

“i’ll follow you,” you murmur, voice tight. “just need a shower first.”

abby studies you for a beat longer, then nods. no questions. no hesitation.

she turns and leaves.

the door clicks shut behind her.

you don’t move.

your gaze drifts back—slowly, unwillingly—to where she had been looking.

the bed.

right where it sat. right where he sat.

you keep telling yourself that it means nothing. maybe it was just a glance. maybe she was just thinking, lost in thought, looking through the bed rather than at it.

but you saw the way her eyes lingered. how her brow twitched, just barely. the way she shifted her weight ever so slightly, like she had noticed something she didn’t want to acknowledge.

like she didn’t want you to notice.

you feel it still, the wrongness clinging to you like a second skin, that horrible weight lingering in the air. the demon had been right there. sitting. watching. you had felt its presence with every nerve in your body, felt its voice slither into your bones, into the cracks of your mind, whispering something you still don’t understand.

and then abby had looked at the bed.

you told her you needed a shower. that you’d be down in a minute. she nodded without question, didn’t press, didn’t insist on staying. she just left.

and the second the door shut behind her, you let out a breath so sharp that it stung.

but somehow, being alone felt worse.

————————

you try to move on. you try to pretend. you have to—because the alternative is worse.

abby doesn’t mention that night.

she doesn’t ask why you’ve been so quiet, why you hesitate before stepping into rooms, why you jolt at nothing. she doesn’t ask why you barely eat or why you stare into space for too long.

but she watches.

you catch it in the little moments. how her gaze flickers—just slightly—to empty corners. how she tenses when she catches you looking back. how she knows before you even speak, how her answers come too quickly, like she’s anticipating your words before you’ve even thought them.

she always knows exactly when you’re about to ask something.

one night, when she’s lying next to you in bed, you test it.

you reach for her wrist, fingers curling around it a little too tight, a little too sudden—just to see.

abby stills.

not the way someone in pain does.

the way someone does when they know they’ve been caught.

you don’t say anything. the next morning, she places a cup of coffee in front of you.

you don’t drink it. you just stare. abby doesn’t say a word.

August ??? — 12:06 AM

the house feels wrong.

it isn’t silent, but it might as well be. the air is heavy, thick, pressing down on your lungs like an invisible weight, suffocating in a way that warmth shouldn’t be. your nightshirt clings to your skin, damp, the sweat cool against your back.

you woke up feeling off. that same, familiar dread curling into your bones, wrapping itself around your chest.

you don’t think about it. you don’t do anything except get up, grab an apple, grab a knife. your hands move without thought, the soft, rhythmic sound of the blade slicing into the fruit grounding you, anchoring you to the moment. you need the air.

when you push the door open, the night greets you with a crisp breeze, the coolness brushing against your damp skin like a fleeting touch. the cornfield sways, gentle and slow, endless stalks whispering softly against each other. It’s the only thing that feels real.

you take a step forward, just to the edge of the doorway, your fingers tightening around the apple.

you heard the same damn footsteps.

soft, deliberate, measured.

your grip on the knife tightens.

slowly, too slowly, you turn.

abby stands just inside the doorway, watching you.

her presence shifts the air. It’s not sudden, not sharp, not obvious. just heavier.

her voice is calm, quiet. too quiet. almost cooing at you.

“what are you doing?”

you glance down at the apple in your hand, the knife poised above it. the question feels meaningless, almost laughable.

you think about lying. you think about telling her it’s nothing. but the words don’t come.

you stare at the apple for too long before finally exhaling, voice flat.

“why did you do it?”

abby doesn’t move.

you don’t know what answer you were expecting. maybe denial. maybe anger. a scoff, a sharp breath, some kind of mock confusion, a dismissal.

she steps forward.

the weight of her gaze presses into you, deep and unshaken, as if she already knew this moment was coming. as if she’s been waiting. the space between you shrinks.

and then she stops, just a breath away.

her voice is calm. steady. final.

“you were never leaving—“

she reaches out, fingers brushing against the knife in your grip.

“you just misread it, baby.”

your chest tightens, but you don’t move. you don’t blink.

because you already knew.

you’ve known since the second she looked at the bed. abby did something.

something inhumane. something that’s too wrong. something that drove you mad so that you never leave.

and now, for the first time, abby isn’t even pretending.

a tear slips down your cheek. then another. then another. silently, you lift the apple to your lips, teeth sinking into its flesh with a slow, deliberate bite. the crunch is the only sound between you.

but your eyes drift past her, flickering toward the table—

it was right there. sitting on the table—like a third family member.

for the first time—it appeared at the same time, in the same place, as abby.

for the first time—it wasn’t smiling.

for the first time—it wasn’t looking at you.

but at her.

disgusted.

helpless.

and afraid.

[applebuttercringe]

Hidden Freeze Frames in the Arcane Intro

The intro changes slightly in the different episodes, mostly by adding hidden frames in the transitions between shots that reference the events of the episode. Here are all of them I found.

Source: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_O5L3As3oGw

Lol I meant to post this months ago but the images wouldn't load, found it in my drafts today.

[shanesevikasfuckdoll]

Watching arcane with my dad is so weird, everytime Sevika, or grayson, ambessa, vi are in frame, I'd just freeze up, and become all focused, and it's so weird, I think he knows I'm short circuiting everytime I see them 😭

[jelledrabies]

FINALLY watched season two Arcane with my friend who i didn’t even know was into Arcane like that. i’ll try to keep this non spoilery

first, it did not go at all how i thought it would. like at all.

second. GOD. IT WAS. BEAUTIFUL. BEAUTIFUL AND GORGEOUS. i could not believe my eyes. everything about this show was just breathtaking taking i could stare at freeze frames of this show for hours.

third. almost cried. might rewatch.

as i was watching, i was thinking “this is really good but i still like the first season better.” but after finishing it i just appreciated it so much more as a whole and IDK. first season still peak tho. second season can be peak as well.

[arcane-aesthetics]

[hextechwreck]

so ur telling me they had jayce just do that without any flashbacks or context as to what he experienced while he was trapped in the magic orb and the audience is given a WEEK to sit and stew in the immediate aftermath of the act itself rather than the emotional interiority of the decision? the writers set my boy UP 😭

[silli-strawz-3]

MORE MOUTHWASHING HCS!!

Curly is Scottish like he has the fuckin thickest Scottish accent you ever heard Jimmy has to translate for him to the control center back on earth

Daisuke eats French fries with chop sticks because "fuck you I can'

Curly is married with a son....but uh he's lying to himself he doesn't love his wife not like he loves Jimmy (someone else had this hc IDK who but I love it so it's my hc now too) he and his wife scream at each other a lot...like Stolas and Stella if Stella wasn't evil

Jimmy is Daisukes uncle he and Daisukes dad were brothers...Jimmy is adopted but still he only sees the family like once every 5 years if he wants money or needs a place to crash

Anya is the strongest crew member actually

Not really an hc but you know how in like movies there would be a freeze frame and the main character would narrate like "yeah that's me you're probably wondering how I got here" Daisuke can do that I can imagine him introducing us to like the rest of the crew mates and it's a freeze frame on everyone and little doodles appear as Daisuke talks about them like in Mitchells vs the machines or arcane or something like how little doodles would appear? That

Like it would be a freeze frame of Jimmy as devil horns and a tail get scribbled on him with the text "evil incarnate"

Does that make sense

Swansea's full name is Swansea Swansea

[neminomnom]

More details in arcane!

Im writing a headcanon thing for 12 characters so bare with me 🫶 ‼️ Season 1 and 2 spoilers‼️

—————————————————————————

- in episode 1-3 in season one, silco wears a clip on tie but when vander dies he wears a normal one

- The cup silco has in his office what gets sliced in episode 9, is the similar or same cup as the one in the bar scene with Felicia

-The song Powder is singing at the beginning of episode 1 season one is the same tune Vi is singing in episode 9 season 2.

-In the episode from season one where Jayce and Viktor are floating around, Viktor was probably boost because he couldn’t feel the weight of his leg.

-Isha won’t ever be a voice in jinxs head because she doesn’t talk

-Silco has a freeze fear response

-jinx’s ‘death’ parallels to the first episode when vi catches her from falling

-in the impact frame of when Maddie shoots Caitlyn, Maddie is smiling.

-singed received the happiest ending because he was willing to make the most munspeakable actions’

-Ekko was the last person to see jinx’s blue eyes

-When jinx bet on Vis pit fighter match, vi started to loose

-vi hallucinated vander telling her to keep fighting and that her sister still needs her, but when jinx hallucinated silco it was him telling jinx to quit fighting and leave vi to break the cycle.

-When Jinx was in jail, she didnt have her belt, the banadage thing on her shirt or her hair tied up, the enforcers probably had to take it all off her so she didn’t harm herself, and in the scene where silco appears again, his eye represents the hextech gemstone.

[avelera]

I will confess that I have started watching Arcane (knowing absolutely nothing about the source material whatsoever) after seeing all your flailing on my dash. I am currently about halfway through season 1; how braced should my body be?

I am SORRY it took me so long to reespond to this but I literally saw this message and froze because HOW do I even respond to this without spoilers??

It is the most tightly written, masterful writing I've ever seen pretty much ever in television. BECAUSE the music AND animation is all controlled in-house, you as a viewer don't need to worry you're crazy for thinking that tiny micro-expression meant something. IT DOES. It took them a week to animate every 4 seconds so yeah, if you think your ship is exchanging a heartfelt look, it is actually happening, there's no accidental moments here and it's SO rewarding to close viewers.

Imma be honest, Arcane S1 was lovely the first time I watched it, but the moment I became a bonkers screaming evangelist for it was when I REWATCHED S1 and realized just how tightly written it is. Every single moment is written to build towards the final scene of S1 and it is so tightly done that you can pretty much freeze-frame anywhere and scream at the screen because if THIS MOMENT had gone differently, the final scene wouldn't have happened. And it's just. Incredible as a structure-focused writer like me to witness so as a brilliant writer yourself, I will say, S1 is worth a re-watch just from a Structure Writer's angle.

S2 has been even more nutty lately but until this Saturday I don't know what the complete work will look like so I'm swiftly losing my mind and chewing the dry wall while I wait. So far, it's incredibly epic and I have so much faith in these writers that even as I create crazy theories, I don't mind if they're wrong, because I trust them so implicitly that whatever they come up with will be BETTER than what I did. But, if I am right about my theory, I will probably be catatonic for a week because of Emotions.

So... tl;dr.... braced???

[exastriscass]

My prediction for the end of Arcane S2:

Piltover and Zaun came together to beat back a Noxus invasion before going back to being at odds with each other, but during that time Jinx had to work together with the Piltover crew and they all have a tentative peace and are getting along.

There is a big party. Everyone is there. Vi gets down on one knee to propose to Caitlin. She opens the box - blue powder explodes out of it and the ring is gone, Jinx stole it.

Jinx takes off laughing and running.

Caitlyn whips her gun out from where she was hiding it because even though they all said “no weapons” she wasn’t about to trust Jinx.

Jayce announces he and Viktor are getting divorced, no one even knew they had gotten married.

Chaos ensues, a close up on Vi’s face covered in powder. There is a single tear running down her cheek.

Record scratch, freeze frame. Ekko voice over saying “yeah, we learned a lot that summer. But me? I’m having the Time of My Life”

Black screen with white text: Ekko will be back on the big screen in Time of My Life. Summer 2028

Credits. Tears. End.

[cephalonserotonin]

Devstream 180 Notes

This is a long one, folks.

brought to you by creative lead Rebb Executive Producer Dick Wolf

New dojo contest to kick off a transition to cross-save dojo world… see forum post

Pride Campaign 2024

is active now until the end of June! a new glyph, display, and wings in lovely rainbows!

Jade Shadows update coming June 18!

features a new cinematic quest: Jade Shadows. It picks up after The New War (so it's got TNW as a prerequisite) where the storyline of the Stalker left off. Rebb and the crew request that folks not spoil the quest for others after playing it. Use spoiler tags if possible! Quest runtime ~ 25 min There's a teaser for the story quest, featuring the Stalker hanging upside down like a bat:

New Warframe: Jade!

Pablo describes her as a support frame. Her passive is two aura mod slots which is kind of crazy ngl

Her kit briefly summarized:

1: throws a little mote with an AOE effect of healing for allies and increasing damage taken to enemies

2: cycle through various squad buffs. The UI art for these is really gorgeous

3: a debuff: enemies in her sight are slowed and lose armor. You also revive any dead allies in your vision.

4: floating and a zappy exalted weapon. It's kind of like Hildryn's four but basically better in every way because you can actually set off large amounts of damage and fly higher and faster. The exalted weapon has synergy with her 1 and 2.

As Pablo mentioned, Jade's abilities provide a lot of combo potential, good for any "min maxers" in the audience.

Jade's three signature weapons: the Cantare throwing knives, the Harmony scythe, and the Evensong bow (a variant on the Dread).

The Ascension game mode: "what if Warframe but up?"

Non-endless There's a giant elevator you have to feed with energy. The team's video crashed so Rebb gave what I'd call an excited 12 year old's description of the game mode instead which I loved:

There's this giant elevator that needs energy to go up. So you have to keep feeding it ionic charges so you rise out of the depths. And as you're feeding, the Corpus are there! *excitable machine gun noises* And then you're like, oh god! And then you have to, like, jump around-- but if you fall out of the elevator, you better hope you're good at parkour, and that you can read the level to get back up! and back up! and back up! And then: you have to make it to the top. But that's not all. Once you get to the top of the elevator, you gotta escape. You gotta make a run for it before the Corpus hold you back! Aahhh! Aah! Ah! …and that's Ascension. :)

Once we finally watch the video preview of the game mode later I think it looks fun. The level looks really neat; I love the graphics of the inside of the elevator. There's a new Jade Light eximus enemy here but I can't really tell any details about it quite yet.

ORDIS IN LARUNDA RELAY!

He's hosting the clan operation Belly of the Beast (featuring above Ascension game mode). In his shop is the Asteria ephemera, which evolves with community participation. Also some arcanes… and a beautiful skin for the Hate.

"If you're a hater, this is for you." Hilariously the arcanes are capped at 42 each because apparently in Gargoyle's Cry certain players went crazy burning themselves out to stock up on arcanes, and the team is trying to prevent that (and players blaming them for their own bad choices, as always). Two full sets each is more than enough, frankly.

Status Rework!

Blast now does a secondary detonation, or if hitting 10 blast procs, creates an AOE explosion. This is exactly what I have been wanting for ages so I, personally, am thrilled.

Magnetic now scales with overguard and shields the same way, and also does a secondary punch of damage (and an electric proc!) once the shield is broken.

Cold should freeze enemies more often now… and came with a free Frost rework! Now Frost's abilities give proper cold procs, thus freezing enemies, which is now standardized across his abilities. His 1 has been buffed and his 3 snowglobe has been modified (to allow shooting from in to out but not out to in). He has a new passive: his armor scales with the number of cold procs enemies have (like the defensive version of Ember).

There's a lot of testing going on right now on the interaction between ragdolling and freezing enemies.

There's a change to damage vulnerability mechanics which I didn't quite follow; seems to be mostly a simplification of the system.

Armor damage attenuation scaling, as mentioned in the last devstream, now has a cap, meaning corrosive procs should be more effective.

Yareli Deluxe

...looks like eldritch coral?

Next round of TennoGen

…finally comes with a Lavos skin, which is plague doctor themed.

Some augments (Protea's is probably OP), decrees (list shown below is incomplete), and arcanes

UI improvements!

In the upgrade screen: duplicate mod config button, indicator for substats, increased mod polarity

Augment list viewer in the abilities screen

Community customization table where you can copy others' fashions. Great news for gamers too unoriginal to make their own fashions, I guess. Coming at first for just Excalibur, Mag, Volt, and Jade.

Quick Access (fast travel wheel) for more areas like the dormizone.

UI autoscaling with resolution (to prevent tiny UI bars for people with huge resolutions), also coming with ability to scale the UI back down.

"Donut numbers" for damage view that do not cover the enemy you are shooting (old way can still be switched back to, called "cloud.")

Awakening quest has a lil fashion preview now!

Loadout hot swaps conveniently directly from the starchart!

QOL!

Cap on adversaries (liches and sisters) at 150. For the sake of database health. The programmer in me is mildly concerned that there was no limit before this.

Semi auto becoming full auto (see last devstream for more detailed description).

Automatic selection of last relic during endless relic cracks.

Streamlining necramech acquisition.

Unifying melee finishers and mercy kills (both with mechanics and appearance).

The return of Heirloom skins: starting with community art this time

First major change (from last year's disastrous heirloom launch) is the heirloom collections will now be released one warframe at a time.

Ember Heirloom is also a purchased fanartist concept!

Two paths to acquire it: a temporary paid path (for money, comes with some plat) and a plat path that will be available until next heirloom launch (and you can purchase the cosmetics individually!)

This is much better than last year's Heirloom launch, which, as aforementioned, caused a lot of community strife.

molten booty

And finally, the TennoCon 2024 schedule:

[lunarzomb]

Ok, had to boot up my 'puter to write this ramble of mine.

So, to be completley honest, when the episode ended, I felt nothing. Like not one bit sad, angry or anything. Maybe it's still because I am in denial, but I have some criticism, some praise and a theory brewing up in my head.

As far as criticism goes, one thing that I didn't liked was how the writers hadled Isha's character. She felt like a simple character that we had to feel sorry for when she died. We don't know anything else about her, other than the fact that she liked to hang out with Jinx. Unlike Mylo, for example, she has no other characteristics nor meaning to be in the show, if not to make Jinx fall back into her pit of despair. In one of schnee1's videos, he mentions all of the little characterizations that make Mylo feel like a real human begin: he is insecure, it's clear that he makes noise only for the meaning to make himself known to others because without Powder, he's the weakest character in their friend group. Maybe in three years the writers had not enough time to fully flesh out all of the characters. To be honest, I would have gladly waited another two to three years if it meant the writers could take their time.

I probably have not noticed them to be honest, but Isha felt more of a blank character to me. I probably will start to feel worse for her when some hours pass and I'll understand what it means for the characters. 😭

Next, I absolutley love the use of colour and movment in this episodes, more than last season. Every emotion, every little movment feels like it has a purpouse, which is what I will base my next pharagrap on.

Maybe it's my denial talking, but I want to believe that Isha, Viktor and Vander haven't died yet. As of right now, we don't know what happened to Heimerdinger, Ekko and Jayce. We only see Jayce visibly traumatized, sort of 'summoned' by the wild rune when Salo comes inside the hextech core (also, haven't understood what her got from there). At the very end of episode six, we get a sort of 'time freeze'. We can interpret it in two ways: a time freexe for the audience or a time freeze for the characters. If it's the first option, it may simply be a visual for us to fully understand and take in all the shit that went down in the last fifteen minutes. If it's the second, then it may mean that it's Ekko's freeze/rewind time abilty. That would mean that there is a chance of our characters living after all.

Arcane has a way of telling us what is really happening without explictly showing us. For example, in episode five, we understand that there is something wrong with Mel's brother's scene when the droplet of water that's supposed to fall downwards from the prison's cieling, instead 'falls back up', from the ground upwards (minute 23:06) . Also the very subtle way of his lexis changing, the fact that they did held a funeral in both Noxus and Piltover but he can't explain why they did have it if he wasn't dead, and so on... Maybe the freeze frame is not just a visual aspect, but something that is actually happening in the show.

I think that my theory might be proven wrong by the time saturday comes, but I still want to believe that that freeze frame might mean something.

Lastly, this is just me lashing out, but why EVERYTIME JAYCE TOUCHES SOMETHING EVERYTHING FALLS APART?!

HI HELLOO !! Okay so first off, feeling nothing and being in shock in denial, so real... I was literally not expecting what happened at ALL and I was just saying to myself over and over "No no no no no". Secondly, I think the points you brought up when you talked about the criticisms you had about how they handled Isha are valid. To me personally, I think Isha was used to further Jinx's story line. Which I know, most people would say that is lazy story telling or something like that. But honestly in my opinion how they used Isha was realistic and while the end of her character made me unbelievably sad, I don't think it was bad storytelling. But ofc, that's just my opinion. Thirdly, I 100% agree with you that they're going all out with the artwork and colors and EVERYTHING like that and I LOVE IT !!! This show is genuinely a piece of art like I'm so grateful to be able to enjoy this show that is so filled with creativity and passion and people behind it who really care about it. Fourthy, I like your theory about how the deaths that happened in ep 6 could be reversed somehow with magic. I don't think that that theory is unreasonable. One, because they haven't shown us where Ekko and Heimerdinger are yet. And two, because I genuinely have no idea how they're going to end the show off with act 3. Like, I feel like they could do anything, I have no predictions at all. Lastly,, about Jayce, I WAS JUST IN SHOCK.. like no fucking Jayce are you for real right now.... like I know that he was doing as Viktor wished of him in season 1 (to destroy the hexcore) but oh my god what horrible timing you have Jayce.