#and also makes a more deliberate contrast with orange than white does
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So between the fact that Winter has a white aura/blue eyes/blue flames while Cinder has an orange aura/gold eyes/orange flames, my final conclusion on the question of maiden flame colors is that they’re based on Vibes
#rwby#proof: orange eye flames evoke more fire imagery#blue eye flames signify more Schnee freedom than white would#and also makes a more deliberate contrast with orange than white does#ergo#Vibes#also related is the fact that fria’s eyes go from a very dark blue to paler than Winter’s with flames to match when she’s using her powers#so like#she apparently vibed as blue but not blue like her eyes
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towards a tomorrow
[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #28 - bow ]
[ illya & kirishimi ] ★ [ 2,062 words ] ★ [ period drama au ]
for matchi’s period drama au. briefly mentions illyanaud, laurelis and kaye.
bow- to bend your head or body forward, especially as a way of showing someone respect or expressing thanks
kirishimi didn’t care for frilly dresses or etiquette unless it was to make a statement - so she gets lessons from the most ladylike friend she knows
“Gods, shite! How do people breath in this stupid thing?!”
Amongst the light breeze of the midafternoon wind, the melodic chirping of the songbirds and the sound of water splashing freely from the white marble fountain, Kirishimi’s less than ladylike words pierce through the air as she puffs her chest in with a low grumble and is followed by the soft and gentle bell-like chimes of a younger girl’s giggles a few feet next to her.
“I’m sorry. I don’t think the corset can be loosened any further, I made it as loose as I could for you already.”
“Can I just take it off then?” Kirishimi asks, hopeful even as the shorter lalafellin girl shakes her head calmly with am apologetic frown, her vibrant violent eyes swirling with sympathy.
“I wish you could but... Laurelis designed the dress with your corset in mind.. It just wouldn’t fit if you didn’t-”
“Shite.”
Yet another swear tumbles carelessly out of Kirishimi’s lips, and Illya lets out a soft, barely audible sigh before flashing her taller friend yet another gentle smile.
“How about a short break then? I think you’ll feel a little better if you take a breather.”
“Yes please!”
Without even a seconds’ hesitation, Kirishimi grabs the frame of the hoop skirt beneath her bright orange dress with her hands and marches to the gazebo before slumping down onto the white garden chair and kicking her matching pair of high heels off. She leans down to massage the soles of her feet with a grimace, feeling light indents where the rim of the heels had dug into her feet and wondering if there was going to be blisters forming under her hosiery by the end of the day.
In contrast to the almost unruly way she’d retreated under the shade of the white and purple gazebo, Illya in comparison was the very picture of elegance. With only the tips of her thumb and index finger, the young lady lifts the hem of her frilly lavender dress before climbing the steps up to the gazebo. Despite wearing lacey embroidered heels that seemed like they were even more of a pain to wear than her own, Illya’s balance was perfect, each footstep graceful and deliberate so much that Kirishimi could barely even hear the little tap of her heels against the floor.
Even the way she sat upon the chair, taking her time to tuck her dress beneath her thighs before sitting herself down and folding her hands neatly upon her lap - it wouldn’t have made Kirishimi felt self-conscious any other time before today. But it was exactly because she was here now, for the exact same reason she’d even agreed to commission an over the top ball gown from Laurelis that she swear to never wear outside of it’s intended use, that she quickly decided to correct her posture.
The taller woman feels out of place - as she typically does, but especially next to her considerably more demure, ladylike friend. Surrounded by the jewel toned walls of the Skawi mansion, the flawless marble tile paths that circled the garden and practically shined in the sunlight and the bed of delicate spring flowers that filled the air with a light floral fragrance, it would be hard for her not to feel even a tiny bit like a fish out of water.
“Thanks again, Illya. For agreeing to teach me.” Kirishimi opts to speak, breaking the long hanging silence as if in sheepish apology. She knows she isn’t the best student, and so the least she could do was be cooperative and nice to the girl who is graciously lending her her time and efforts.
“You’re very welcome, Kiri.” With a radiant smile, Illya nods her head, her innocent expression bright and at home with her subtle movements of grace. The birds that sat upon the mansard roofs sing in tandem with the sweetness of Illya’s voice. “I’m honored that you would come to me for lessons about etiquette. Even if it is to...um... break the social construct.”
Mismatched eyes widen in a panic, and the older woman leans forward over the table and raises her voice a tad.
“Hey, I hope you don’t misunderstand me! There’s nothin’ wrong with being prim and proper! I’m not tryin’ to do anythin’ to disrespect you! I just-”
“I know.” Illya speaks, her brilliantly pure white hair fluttering gently in the breeze like a wavy silken veil over her head. “You’re just trying to be you. You have the courage and strength to stand up to people who would try to tell you do otherwise. I like that about you.” With yet another euphonious, soft giggle, Illya raises a hand up to press against her chest. “Besides, you wouldn’t have come to me for a favor if you truly did have malicious intent, would you? The fact that you called Laurelis and I for help means that you trust us.”
A soft blush rises up to Kiri’s face where speckles of white snow glowed lightly from the heat from her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Her gloved hand moves up to rub the side of her neck sheepishly, and she cannot help the toothy grin that adorns her face.
“I guess you’re right.” the woman murmurs. “I also... admire you a lot, you know? You’re so sweet, and nice... a bit too nice, honestly. You don’t even get angry when idiots spout lies about you...”
Kirishimi would be lying if she said she didn’t feel an immense amount of admiration for Illya’s ability to stay as calm and collected as she does - even above the seemingly effortless way she’d conduct herself like the society’s perfect definition of a ‘lady’.
But there wasn’t envy... it wouldn’t be warranted, especially since Kirishimi knew that behind the perfectly immaculate way Illya would hold herself as the young mistress and future heiress of her family name, came a set of troubles and insecurities that she too was struggling with.
It’s evident by the flicker of melancholy in Illya’s eyes, like a field of delphiniums and hydrangeas that were drooping in the midst of a drizzle of rain and grey storm clouds, even with a forced, stepford smile gracing her delicate and fair features. They were lovely, beautiful even in their imperfect sadness.. but Kiri could not bring herself to feel anything but sorry at the sight of them.
“And I wish I were even half as strong as you. You’re able to stand up for what you want, for who you are... If I had a fraction of the courage that you possessed then perhaps... I could have...” The girl looks down, the silver band that she’d refused to wear hidden deep in the depths of her dress pocket weighing far more heavily than it ever did before. “I could have stopped my uncle from calling for the engagement...”
The Skawi family had well deserved respect from the capital, and with it came a reputation and image they had to uphold. And with their fame, came the inevitable greed from the current head of the family - the man Illya could barely even bring herself to think of as family, the younger brother of the long deceased patriarch, Lachlan Skawi.
Selling himself and the name of the Skawis wouldn’t be enough for the man - and so he’d sold the dignity of his niece as well by calling for an arranged marriage.. something that Kirishimi knew would not be solved with a few simple social statements and protests. It involved the name of the Skawi family, and worse still, it involved the capital.
Internally, Kirishimi wonders what Young Master Alphinaud intends to do. Word about mistress Skawi’s engagement to one of the members of the royal bloodlines has spread far and wide by now, and he would undoubtedly be working tirelessly for a way to stop the marriage.
But if the combined efforts of Laurelis’ family, the Leveilleur household, Hien’s influence as a well respected foreign emissary wasn’t enough to convince Illya’s uncle to call off the engagement, what else could they hope to do?
“You’re stronger than you think you are, Illya.” Kiri reassures, her tone gentler than is usual for her, as is the light, reassuring smile upon her face. “You took the first steps to realize your own dreams, didn’t ya?”
Kiri gestures to the carnation earring she wore that dangled lightly with gleaming white pearls, and Illya raises a hand up to brush against her ear lightly. The earring was a gift from Master Alphinaud, the man she owes much to... Her mentor, her dearest friend and...
A dust of red rises up to Illya’s cheeks and spreads to the tips of her pointed ears as she nods.
“It’s... It’s thanks to everyone... and especially Master Alphinaud that.. that I finally started to learn medicine. If it weren’t for everyone’s support, I wouldn’t have-...”
Illya holds her tongue, pressing her lips into her fine line as Kiri allows the silence to fester, until she grins at the look of renewed determination upon the young maiden’s face.
No, Kirishimi is right. She certainly may owe much to her friends and loved ones, and she wouldn’t have taken that first steps towards realizing her dream to become a doctor had she not met Alphinaud... but it took great strides of her own too, a strength and new found courage to stand up to the ones who doubted her - one that she felt determined in full to carry on for as long as she needed until her dreams are fulfilled and she can be free from her own social constructs that are weighing her down.
“Once all this is over.. could you teach me how to fence, Kiri?” Illya asks, eliciting a surprised hum from her taller friend.
“You wanna learn how to fence?” The woman asks... not in dissuation, of course... but in mild disbelief that a girl as sweet and gentle as Illya would be interested in the sport. She’d say yes, of course, regardless of Illya’s reasons. She’d teach Illya whatever she wanted to learn especially since the girl had been kind enough to be teaching her etiquette. But she still cannot help but to be a bit curious.
“I admit I’m not the strongest or physically well built... I’ll probably be a really bad student but-”
With a wave of her hand, Kiri dismisses Illya’s words with a hearty, loud laugh that echoes throughout the garden, warm and bright in the midafternoon sun.
“You’ll be great, I guarantee it. You’re quick on your feet and I think you’re a lot more fit than you give yourself credit for.” If Illya’s ability to function without fault all way in tight corsets and high heels are anything to go by, at least.
With a bright smile of gratitude, Illya thanks her friend warmly with a bow of her head before standing herself up from the chair, circling around the table and gesturing to the haphazardly abandoned orange heels that laid on their sides next to Kirishimi.
“Let’s continue, Kiri. We still have much to practice for the day!” Illya shrugs her shoulders when Kiri groans, slipping her feet back into her heels before reluctantly standing herself back up. “You remember what I said about the proper way to curtsy is, right?”
To demonstrate, Illya holds the sides of her dress, barely pulling the hem up from the ground and crossing her legs before dipping herself down gracefully like a ballerina... and Kiri could only let out a lazy grumble in protest.
“Can’t we rest for a little while longer? I hate this curtsying shite.”
“The faster we get this part of the lesson done, the faster we can move on to table manners.” Illya’s innocent smile is bright and radiant, belying the little hint of mischief laced under the tone of her knowing voice. “I’ve already asked for the pastries and sweet tea to be prepared, you know? Kaye should be arriving with them any second now.”
“Curtsy? Got it. Left foot behind right???” Mismatched blue and red eyes fly open, and the woman does a full curtsy that elicits yet another light and airy giggle from Illya.
“It’s the right foot behind your left. Not too quickly, now. Let’s try that again.”
#ffxiv#ffxivwrite#ffxivwrite2021#kiwisffxivwrite2021#illya skawi#kirishimi#period drama au#fanfic#mine#YET ANOTHER AU I'VE NEVER WRITTEN FOR GOD#I quite like this even if I feel like it's missing a lot of context that i had to explain with just a few#expository sentences#but that's just the nature of writing for aus you've never established before hah
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Intrulogical (platonic or romantic) : Forest!God Remus (moss, decay, insects, underbrush darkness, mold, slime ect) meeting Sky!God Logan (Stars, constellations, clean rain, thunderstorm fury, knowledge divined from clouds) and having a complementary relationship with his foil. (It shouldn’t surprise Logan as much as it does. The forest needs rain to grow and flourish- just as the heavens needs the earth to shine. The sky needs the trees to breathe. The plants need the air to live. As is nature)
(Okay, so, this prompt is fucking amazing. I spent much longer working on it that I usually do with prompts and I would absolutely LOVE to write more things in this au (whether it’s intrulogical or another ship). Therefore I’m gonna tag this as ‘clouds and moss au’ which i’ll tag anything else i write in this au as. Also, i only just remembered i have a taglist so i’ll start adding it to my short prompt things from now on. Also this mentions all the other sides once.)
General Taglist - @quillfics42 @ajdraws0430 @phantomofthesanderssides @creativity-killed-thekitten @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game
Intrulogical - Clouds and Moss
Masterpost
Clouds and Moss AU Masterpost
Remus and Logan never really had a first meeting. None of the gods did.
At first, they didn’t exist, and then, one day, they did.
And when they did, they knew their purposes immediately. They knew of the other gods, and they knew, well, everything.
They didn’t need to meet, they interacted with each other through the interactions of their creations.
Humans cooked and danced with fire, and, through them, Patton felt Roman’s warmth.
Janus collected the numerous souls of the drowned, and, through them, he felt Virgil’s waves in his own lungs.
Plants flourished and grew as every drop of rain gave them life. Through them, Remus felt Logan’s gentle touch, like fingertips brushing against his skin. He never knew how much they paled in comparison to the real thing.
“I didn’t know you ever left the clouds.”
Logan glanced up from the tree he was studying, startled. He looked over Remus: the forest god leaning against a mossy tree trunk. It was hard to tell where the moss ended and Remus begun. There wasn’t a difference, really.
The sky god bowed, respectful, before straightening up and adjusting his glasses. Remus wondered why he needed them.
“Good morning, Remus,” He greeted. “I trust you’re having a pleasant day?”
Remus shrugged, wriggling his toes as a beetle crawled over his foot. He watched a butterfly land on a nearby branch. It didn’t know it was in the presence of two gods, and there was something nice about that.
Logan watched it, too. He didn’t seem to mind the silence.
“There will be a thunderstorm in exactly thirty-seven minutes and twenty-three seconds. I hope it doesn’t disturb any of your plans,” Logan said eventually, and that was that.
He disappeared, and a sillouette-shaped cloud lingered for a moment or two, before it, too, disappeared.
Remus sunk into the mud, until he became the mud, and took a nap.
He didn’t know how long it took until he saw Logan again. Gods lived longer than mortals, so most had a rather crooked sense of time. Some moments lasted years; some years lasted moments.
Logan seemed to be an exception to that rule.
“Good morning, Remus.”
Remus sat up. He hit the side of his head a few times, and a few bugs fell out the opposite ear. They hit the ground and scattered. Remus watched them run, and wondered how long it would take for something bigger to come along and squash them.
He didn’t speak for almost a minute, before he finally glanced up at his guest.
Logan was sitting cross-legged, floating a few feet above the ground. He, too, was watching the insects, with an odd look of fascination on his face.
“Why are you floating?” Remus asked, after a minute of watching the other god. “Afraid of a little mud?”
Logan looked up from the ground, meeting Remus’s eyes.
Blue. Logan’s eyes were blue.
Fitting.
“I do not want to get dirty.”
Remus stared at him for a few moments, and then slowly and deliberately - without losing eye contact - picked up a handful of mud. He then threw it at Logan, hitting him in the centre of the chest.
If he was honest, he’d expected the sky god to leave after that - maybe reciting the exact time of the next storm, beforehand, if he wasn’t too irritated at the forest god, but leaving nonetheless.
Instead, the corners of his lips twitched upwards, and he slowly lowered himself onto the ground, until he was sitting in the mud opposite Remus. He placed his hand close to the forest god’s, feeling the mud ooze between his fingers, and gave him a small nod.
Remus, a little perplexed, nodded back.
They sat there in silence for some time, until there was a rumble of thunder overhead, and Logan disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared.
It wouldn’t be accurate to say that Remus began counting the days after that. He had no interest in keeping track of the time. However, he had been watching the sky more, unintentionally keeping track of the days and nights through that.
It took fifty-seven days for Logan to come visit after that.
“Hey, Logan, how are the clouds?”
Logan gave him an amused look, adjusting the glasses that he absolutely didn’t need.
“They are adequate. There shall be some light precipitation in four hours, twelve minutes and three seconds.”
“Cool, cool, cool,” Remus waved his hand. “Why do you wear glasses? You don’t need them.”
Logan blinked a few times, before glancing away, a light blush dusting his cheeks. The red was a stark contrast to the cool blue colours that decorated the rest of his body.
Remus tilted his head, and decided that that colour suited him.
“I, uh… I just like them.”
He said that as if it was a crime, something to be ashamed of, and Remus paused for a moment, watching the flustered sky god, before reaching out and plucking the glasses right off his nose. He then placed them on his own face.
Remus looked around at their surroundings. They looked the same; the glasses altered nothing.
“Hmm,” Remus blinked owlishly at Logan. “I don’t get it.”
The corners of Logan’s lips twitched upwards, and he leant forwards, his face impossibly close to Remus’s. He carefully took his glasses back.
“They’re upside down.” He righted them, and then slid them back onto the forest god’s face. “Here.”
Logan’s fingertips brushed against Remus’s cheeks. They were soft, so soft, as gentle as the raindrops that landed on leaves and stayed there for hours. But Logan’s touch didn’t stay there for hours, no, it was gone within moments, and Remus found himself desperate for more, more, as the sky god pulled away and looked at him expectantly.
“It’s, uh… it’s the same,” Remus said awkwardly. “You really don’t need these, do you?”
Logan shook his head. Little droplets of water fell from his hair and landed on the ground. Remus felt them as if they’d landed on his own skin.
And his hair, oh, his hair. It was as black as night and looked as soft as clouds and Remus wanted desperately to hold him close and run his fingers through it.
Remus took off the glasses, and then carefully - more carefully than he did anything else - pushed them back onto Logan’s face. He let his touch linger, before pulling away.
There was mud on the sky god’s face now, and his glasses were lopsided.
Logan took a moment to correct them, but he made no move to get rid of the mud. The two stared at each other for an unknown amount of time, before Logan’s eyes drifted elsewhere, landing somewhere behind Remus.
The forest god didn’t even need to turn around. He had eyes everywhere, so he knew Logan was admiring a patch of flowers beside a tree.
Remus’s moustache twitched, and the prettiest blue flower appeared in his hand. He reached out and tucked it behind Logan’s ear. His fingertips brushed against a lock of hair; it was exactly as soft as it looked.
Logan’s lips parted slightly in surprise, and he reached up to touch the flower, his hand coming in contact with Remus’s, sending a shiver up his arm and down his spine.
There were a few moments of silence, before Logan suddenly disappeared, and then the rain began. Had it really already been four hours?
Remus turned his face to the sky, feeling the rain hit his skin and run down his body. If he closed his eyes, it wasn’t difficult to imagine that it was Logan’s hands on him instead.
The next time he saw Logan was much sooner than the last.
“Good evening, Remus,” Logan said, appearing behind the other god and peering curiously over his shoulder. “What are you working on?”
“This tree is dying,” He answered, laying his hand on the mossy trunk, feeling the life drain out of it like blood dripping from an open wound.
“Oh.”
Logan placed his hand on Remus’s shoulder. The forest god turned around, opening his mouth to speak again, but the words slipped back down his throat when he saw the other god’s face.
Oh, what a fool he’d been, when he’d called Logan’s eyes blue.
Logan’s eyes were the sky.
They weren’t just like the sky, they were the sky.
They were soft blue during the daytime, sure, but a harsh grey during storms. At night, the irises were dark blue - barely distinguishable from the black of his pupils - speckled with numerous bright white stars. Remus was sure that if you were close enough, you would be able to make out the constellations in his eyes.
And, right now, as the sun began to set over the horizon, his eyes were filled with the soft pinks and oranges of sunset.
Consciously or subconsciously - neither could tell - Remus began to lean closer to Logan, their faces only inches apart.
And then, Logan crossed the gap, and kissed him.
As soon as their lips met, rain began to pour from the clouds. The sky met the forest and it was impossible to tell where they ended and the gods began, but the duo didn’t seem to care.
Remus wrapped his arms around Logan, pulling him closer, pressing their bodies together and deepening the kiss. Time either flew by or crawled at a snail’s pace, neither god felt the need to keep track.
When Logan eventually pulled away, Remus let out an involuntary whine, and the sky god’s eyes - his gorgeous, gorgeous eyes - were wide, his lips parted in surprise at his own actions.
Remus glanced up at the sky, at the passionate storm that raged above them, and then back at Logan.
“Was that planned?” He asked, soft and breathless, and even he didn’t know if he was referring to the storm or the kiss.
Logan looked up, too, as if he’d only just noticed the rain, and then laughed. It rang through the air like bells and Remus silently declared it his new favourite sound. He looked back at the forest god, looking happier than he’d ever seemed before.
“No, it wasn’t.”
The other gods soon learned of the lovers, of course; rumours spread like wildfire. They talked and they talked and they especially loved to say that every drop of rain that hit the forest was a kiss shared between Logan and Remus.
When asked, Logan called the idea prepostorous - basing something as constant as the weather cycle on something as fickle as kisses would be foolish.
But, privately, he knew that they weren’t that far off.
#me#ask#writing#clouds and moss au#intrulogical#sanders sides#remus sanders#sympathetic remus#logan sanders#gods au
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Tree Fucking
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Arbor/Ayano, implied Michael/Arbor
Tags: Penis in vagina sex, anal sex, butt plugs, multiple orgasms, tree fucking, pegging.
Read it on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29370810
Ayano giggles as she runs through the hallway, her goal similar to that she had had around a month ago. She was going to sneak into Arbor's room. A part of her knew this was a bad idea- she'd gotten off easy last time, and she had no clue when the man's patience would run thin- but she couldn't resist. There was so much about him she didn't know, and a certain event had gotten her so painfully curious.
It was no secret that Arbor had a holy bond with an angel- no, the angel. Ayano didn't quite know when it had happened, but one day Arbor had intricate roses in the shape of hands that touched upside-down cross tattoos going up his arm and around his shoulder, curling around his chest, where a mural of four hands gently cradled his heart. It was a stunning piece of work, and one that Arbor had no qualms about showing off- not that he'd ever had such a thing as qualms.
But that in itself is not what had her curious
Michael made periodic visits to the Devildom to visit his human, and during that time Arbor acted... strangely. For one thing, he actually woke up early and put effort into his clothes. Ayano, who was responsible for waking the man up every morning so they wouldn't be late, knew that Arbor was no fan of waking up. Unlike any normal person, who would be half awake and moan and groan until finally getting up, Arbor would stay asleep completely. She knew, from asking Lucifer and Solomon, that Arbor would need to be conscious on some level to be able to keep his protection spells from going off on her- an explanation as to why the tree incident had happened when it did and not any other morning Ayano went to wake him- so she also knew that the man just ignored her when she came to wake him.
That was incredibly frustrating.
So lately, Ayano had taken to trying to get a reaction out of him in different ways- some that would likely have people calling her a creep or whatever- but that she did anyway. In the past three weeks, she would slowly climb over him in his bed, lifting her skirt so she could sit right on his crotch with only the fabric of his pants and her thin panties keeping their skin separate. Ayano would then grind down on it, trying to slowly wake his cock up if the rest of the man wouldn't. She had heard about men and boys having morning wood, and was counting on that to aid her quest- but of course, even in his sleep(?) Arbor made her work for it.
Her cunt would be soaking through her panties and leaving a wet stain on his pants by the time she felt that telltale twitch- but by then, there was no point. She had been on the verge of cumming, the stimulation from her own movements and the amount of time- close to half an hour- that it took to get that small reaction doing her no favors. She was about to pull off and recuperate herself before trying again, intent on working Arbor with her hand until she felt less sensitive- but the man had, of course, been awake.
Broad hands firmly grasped her hips and began grinding her relentlessly on his half hard cock, Arbor grinning lazily up at her as she moaned and yelped at the sudden onslaught. Arbor was moving faster than she had, moving her wet, sensitive folds over his cock at a steady and quick pace until she was cumming around the half-an-inch he was grinding her on. He then proceeded to drag her down onto the bed, back to his chest, and humped her ass until he came. Then went right back to sleep.
So there she would lay, covered in her own cum and some of Arbor's, marinating in Arbor's iron grip as he cuddled close to her neck. The man was insufferable with just how unphased he always was. She was sure that nothing in the three realms could make him move against his whim- but then the day came when Michael visited. Ayano had walked into Arbor's room to find him braiding his hair in deft movements, red locks in contrast to his usual green that went down to his knees being braided into a tight four-plait. He was wearing something other than scruffy sweatpants and the open uniform jacket (without the shirt, of course) for the first time since Ayano had met him.
Instead, he wore a pink and white corset-vest, over his bare skin it seemed, a good amount of cleavage on top, and as her eyes naturally strayed down- was that lace? Arbor had a natural habit of wearing his pants low on the hips, and just above the waistline of- baby pink pants???- could be seen white lace. Usually, Ayano would expect to see the black band of his underwear there, but lace? She was very confused and very turned on- but she had a feeling that the lace wasn't for her. The pants were also tighter than what he usually wore, outlining his toned legs and leading down perfectly to his black heeled boots- wait, since when did Arbor own those- with rose detailing on the back.
He was stunning.
Arbor had, of course, noticed her.
"I'm truly sorry, little bird. I can't have some morning fun with you today." He said, sounding tired. Arbor looked tired too, now that Ayano was able to tear her eyes away from his ass and look at his face. He had deep eyebags, and an air of exhaustion around him that Ayano hadn't seen before. Arbor was usually a sleepy guy, but this.... Ayano didn't know how to describe it. Nevertheless, Arbor finished his braid, bent down to give Ayano a peck on the cheek, and left with a few parting words.
"Don't be too sad while I'm gone. Willow here can keep you company, just remember the safe word and you can stop it at any time. It’s marshmello."
And Ayano was left alone for the day. She couldn't stop thinking about Arbor's deep green eyes, pools of expensive gold in their depths, lined with eyeliner. Ayano didn't know she had a thing for Arbor in normally feminine clothing, but it did things to her like never before. The delicate pink of his pants and corset, the deep red of his heeled boots, the vibrancy of his golden eyeliner that made him so much more intense than he usually was. Ayano wished that she had been able to get down and at least suck his cock before he'd left.
She considered using the tree to get off for a little while, but shoved the thought out of her mind. Ayano still needed to go to class, after all- just because Arbor got a free pass and could defend himself against Lucifer's wrath doesn't mean Ayano could. Though even still, she does take a break during lunch to visit a certain professor who was always willing to entertain her.
But she couldn't stand it. In her mind's eye, Arbor's impeccable fashion and sharp eyeliner still burned underneath her lids, and she needed to see it. If he had this much, then there must be more. And she also had the dire need to confirm that Arbor owned lace. It was a primal need, almost. She also knew that she would see Arbor in that lace, no matter how that needed to happen.
Thus she found herself barefoot in Arbor's forest room once more, wandering around his bed looking for anything like a wardrobe.
It occurred to her, as she finally sat down on the petals that made up his bed- blue, this time- that she had no chance of finding it. Ayano remembered the first time she'd snuck into Arbor's room, how he'd opened the tree to reveal little alcoves. Who's to say he didn't do that with his clothing as well? The spellbook he'd given her had no information on how to open trees, so using magic of her own was out of the question.
She sighed, looking at the orange light of sunset as they illuminated the blue petals of the willow. It was getting late, and Ayano would need to go to dinner first. She flopped down on Arbor's mattress, intent to wait until someone went looking for her, and then fell asleep…
She awoke to nearly full darkness, only silver light filtering through the petals reminding her of where she was. Ayano blinked blearily for a few seconds, and then turned. The reason she'd been awoken was right there.
At some point, she'd been shifted to the furthest end of the bed, and the mattress of petals had dipped... due to Arbor being carefully laid down as Michael kissed him. Ayano withheld a gasp, not hard since she was still half conscious, and could only watch mesmerized as Arbor easily opened for the angel, submissive in a way Ayano had never seen him.
Michael was gently undressing the human as Arbor only smiled happily up at the angel, toned legs still clad in that baby pink lazily draped over the angel's shoulders. Michael was equally as tender, vibrant blue eyes raking over Arbor's form as more and more of his skin was revealed, until finally Arbor was naked under him. Ayano was slowly starting to wake up more, but kept her breathing even and slow as to not alert the two men.
She didn't know why they were just doing it right here in her presence- maybe a deliberate move on Michael's part to say that Arbor is taken, maybe they just didn't care. Either way, seeing how Arbor's hole was already stretched open so Michael could immediately fit his cock- he had to have prepared beforehand. Maybe even that morning, before Ayano had come... maybe he'd had a plug in his ass that for all of her staring she hadn't been able to see.
The thought was already sending zings of pleasure straight to her cunt.
Ayano fell asleep halfway through, and awoke just as they were finishing. Arbor's head was thrown back, hands gripping the sheets as he came, and Ayano could almost feel every shudder that went through his body. Michael caught the cum from Arbor's cock, lapping it up as Arbor watched with a fucked out face. Ayano had never seen him like that- nothing she'd done had made him look that way.
As Michael thrust a few more times and came inside Arbor, Ayano had a perfect view- that is, to watch Michael's cock pump semen into her fuck buddy and track the little bit that dripped out and down the cleft of Arbor's ass. Michael stilled, and gently stroked Arbor's face as he cooed sweet nothings in the humans ear, until the man fell asleep. Michael gently laid down on top of the man, careful not to crush the human under his weight, still firmly seated in Arbor's ass. Just as Ayano began to drift back to sleep, those blue eyes that were so vibrant it hurt to look at them snapped to her small form, and before Ayano knew it, it was morning and she was waking up in her bed.
Ayano was so incredibly horny as she made her daily trip to Arbor's room, intent on waking him up for real this time so they could fuck properly. Arbor was sleeping on his side when she walked in, clothed as he usually was when he slept- no Michael in sight. She breathed a sigh of relief and gently pushed Arbor into his back, noting in relief that trees didn't immediately grab her and fuck her cunt silly. At least she knew Arbor was awake now.
She carefully sat down on Arbor's crotch, jerking a little. Ayano had foregone panties today, wanting to feel Arbor's cock for real- and so she slowly slid Arbor's pants off as well, and ground her cunt over the underside of his cock.
It didn't give her an immediate reaction, but Ayano couldn't bring herself to care. She'd been tortured with dreams of being fucked ruthlessly all night, yet hadn't been able to cum once. Even when she'd woken up and tried to get st least one out, she hadn't been able to. With that memory in mind, Ayano lined up Arbor's cock to her hole, slamming down all the way with a lewd slap, whimpering loudly at the feeling.
Arbor's cock was perfect, really. Thicker at the base, as though made to rub against her sweet spot with every thrust. Wonderfully curved, a good length, and the feeling it was like nothing she'd felt before.
Ayano found herself perched over Arbor as though a dog, hands groping his chest as she fucked herself on his cock, moaning loudly and obscenely as it rubbed against her sweet spot so right that she felt she was going crazy for how much she needed to cum right then and there.
Ayano flopped down onto his chest, lining up her own ample breasts with Arbor's and began pinching their nipples together, moaning loudly and wiggling her but at the overwhelming pleasure, piercing her hole on Arbor's cock faster and faster. She needed to cum, needed to feel that sweet release only Arbor could give- and at this point she was begging for it.
And of course Arbor heard.
Before she knew it, Ayano was flipped nearly upside down as Arbor's cock drove deeper into her, nearly rearranging her insides and driving her mad with the pleasure as he grinned sadistically down at her. Ayano's legs were spread wide, on perfect display for Arbor- and the man didn't hesitate.
He slapped Ayano's clit, picking up the pace of his cock fucking her sloppy cunt and laughing as she cried out, tongue peaking through her lips lewdly and eyes rolling back in her head. Arbor slapped her sensitive nub again and again, teasing her all the while as she neared her orgasm.
"Does the little bird like watching private moments? I'm sure you enjoyed the little show last night, since your sloppy cunt is so needy for me. I was almost insulted, you know. No foreplay? Almost crass. But then again, I suppose I've been ignoring my little cockslut now have I?"
"Poor thing..." he whispered, bringing his hands down to cruelly twist her nipples. Ayano cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure that was driving her insane. With the final twist to her nipples she came around Arbor's cock, cunt spasming wildly around his girth. He didn't stop for one moment, no he thrust even faster into her wet cunt like a depraved animal. Or maybe Ayano was projecting- she was desperately moving her hips to meet his thrusts, after all.
"Look at you, so desperate. I can't believe I neglected this needy cunt for so long. There there, I've got you." Arbor cooed, harshly slapping Ayano's clit as the words left his lips. Ayano could only pant and moan lewdly each time the hand came down on her sensitive nub, feeling another orgasm mount quickly.
As one hand mercilessly slapped her cunt and another came down to roughly grope at her breast and pinch her nipples, Ayano came once more, squirting all over Arbor's chest and herself. She cried out and screamed in pleasured pain when Arbor didn't slow down or stop for a second, fucking her through until Ayano sobbed a moan as she felt his hot cum fill her up.
"There. Now since you were so naughty, you get a five minute break before I fuck you again. Hold your cunt open in the meanwhile, if you close it i make you cum until you pass out and then give you to the tree."
Ayano sobbed from the oversensitivity, nevertheless spreading her legs and holding the folds of her cunt open, moaning when Arbor's cum gushed out of her hole. She panted lewdly, trying to catch her breath while still in an exposed pose. She knew Arbor could just stuff his fat cock in her cunt at any time and she'd need to take it- she'd been a naughty little bird after all.
Ayano was so tired from the fucking that she didn't notice Arbor walk away- but she noticed when he came back.
Arbor was wearing a lace bralette, pure white in color, and it matched the lace panties he wore- that had a hole for his cock to go through. Ayano drooled at the sight, eyes going up to Arbor's face- and gasped as she saw those striking eyes lined with black markings. She was so shocked and turned on that she moved one hand from where it held her cunt open to rub at her clit- and Arbor pounced.
Ayano's legs were immediately bound by tree branches, lifting her almost completely off the bed save for her shoulders and head, her oversensitive cunt filled with that terribly familiar branch and it immediately began thrusting, no rhyme or reason to it, only using her for it's pleasure. Meanwhile, Arbor came around, and put his lace clad butt right over Ayano's face, cock prodding her lips. She had just taken it in her mouth, lips shaking with every animalistic thrust the branch did, and then screamed when Arbor's warm, wet mouth wrapped around her clit.
Arbor left her no time to recuperate, thrusting his cock deep into her throat as he lapped at her clit. Ayano could only watch, nearly going cross eyed as she hyperfocused on Arbor's firm ass bouncing right in front of her face as his fat cock used her throat for his pleasure. His hole was filled with a large buttplug, the jewel on it's tip lewdly bouncing around. Ayano came yet another time, screaming around Arbor's relentless cock and cunt clenching around the branch that was fucking her stupid. Arbor was also now sucking her clit, only taking her orgasm to new heights as she trashed.
Ayano could only lay there as her cunt was abused by the tree, throat filled to the brim with Arbor's cock, clit being sucked and licked, and eyes full of Arbor's pert, lace covered ass.
Ayano couldn't take it anymore. Her cunt had almost permanently stretched to the size of the branch, and her hips were involuntarily twitching to shove further into Arbor's mouth. Her own mouth was occupied with his cock, the taste of it all the way in the back of her throat, and she nearly choked when she moaned. Lewd sounds wouldn't stop falling from her lips, and her eyes were trained on the bejeweled butt plug, partially obscured by lace, buried deep in Arbor's ass and bouncing around as he shoved his cock into her mouth. Arbor stilled momentarily as he came down her throat, his balls pressing down on her face as he buried himself deep in her hot mouth. She acted quickly.
Luckily her hands were still free and the branch had stilled while Arbor ground his cock into her mouth, seemingly intent on filling her up with his cum from both ends. With a burst of strength she didn't know she had, she shoved Arbor's hips upward and before the other man could react, she tore the butt plug from his ass and forced her tongue in- deep satisfaction flowed through her when she hear Arbor give a surprised moan. It was short lived, however, as Ayano then came with a new force, seeing stars and moaning, all the while desperately lapping and licking into Arbor's hole. She could taste the residue of cum in his ass- Michael's, she presumed- and it only served to turn her on more.
Arbor grunted at the sudden intrusion, peering over his shoulder to watch Ayano. He had a closed off expression, and she worried he didn't like it, or worse. Just as she was about to tear herself from his hole- fuck she wanted to eat him out for days- Arbor's expression smoothed out and he grinned mischievously down at her.
"Does the little bird think she's entitled to such a thing when she's been so naughty? Shame on her..." He cooed, pulling his lace-clad ass away from her face. Ayano let out a desperate whine, reaching her hands up to keep him seated on her face, but a branch came around to wrap around her wrists and pinned them above her head, another winding around her neck. Ayano stilled immediately, and a sense of emptiness overcame her as the branch in her cunt pulled out. She whined again, looking up at Arbor with pleading eyes, but the man ignored her. He reached around to pick up the butt plug, and (unfortunately) pushed it back into his waiting hole- and that thing was practically sucked in. Ayano couldn't help but drool a bit, and she made a promise to herself to fuck this mans ass silly.
Arbor had other ideas.
Ayano was flipped completely upright off the bed by the branches Arbor sat on the bed facing her, green-gold eyes raking over her naked form. Ayano felt her own cum drip uncomfortably drip down her thighs, faster than usual since the branches were holding her spread eagle. Arbor tilted his head, and then turned around, getting on his hands and knees. Ayano's breath hitched, involuntarily bucking against the branches- to no avail, of course. She watched with growing anticipation as a branch lowered from the tree- and this one was different than the others. It was a deep pink, fleshy, and dripping with some sort of liquid. As it neared Arbor's lace-covered ass, the man pulled the butt plug out of his ass- and in one hard thrust, the branch went in 6 inches.
Ayano moaned along with Arbor, fucked out cunt twitching and clenching in interest as she watched Arbor's arms tremble, before completely giving way under him. His ass remained in the air, pierced on the fleshy branch, and his head was buried in the petals, hands gripping fistfuls as he groaned in pleasure. Ayano's heart was pounding a mile in a minute. She wanted to hear more of those deep, needy moans- but she couldn't watch the beautiful sight for long. Three identical branches were approaching her.
One thrust 7 inches into her stretched pussy, and Ayano felt like she'd been set on fire. She came immediately, sobbing as her cunt gave harsh spasms around the thick, tingly feeling of the branch. The second one came up to her mouth and shoved in so deep Ayano was sure it could release it's sap directly into her stomach. It wriggled around in her throat, the branch in her cunt doing the same, and Ayano nearly screamed from the intense pleasure. Her nipples were hard and aching, breasts craving attention. The final branch had disappeared from her view- and it was now prodding at her tight ass.
Ayano whined in a panic around the branch in her throat, but she could only stay still as it breached the tight rim. Just as it began pushing it’s impressive girth inside, more of the tree’s sap was released into her stomach- and she noticed a certain effect immediately. Colors became sharper, her senses went into overdrive, and more importantly, it seemed that all of her pain receptors had been turned off- and her pleasure receptors had been turned up to the max. With each inch of the branch that penetrated her ass, her cunt squeezed, wringing pleasured moan after pleasured moan from the exhausted woman. All three of her holes were being used by the tree, and she was being rocked back and forth in time to the limb thrusting into Arbor’s ass. She cried out as the branch ‘bottomed out’, cumming hard and fast. She had lost count of how many times it had been now, only that the pleasure seemed to intensify with each round, turning her into a desperate, needy cockslut.
All at once, another branch wound around her hips and began forming a mound just above her clit - and then a dildo began growing out of it. Sensing what was to come, Ayano whined and moaned desperately, jerking her hips against the branches hold in an attempt to speed along the process. Finally, finally, she was lined up to Arbor’s hole and the branch that had been occupying it slithered out, and Ayano was thrust in. She cried out along with Arbor, and the two branches in her sopping wet pussy and ass began a brutal pace, using the force and speed of their thrusts alone to force Ayano into Arbor’s ass again and again. His pleasured moans were like music to her ears, and she found herself cumming again and again, nearly screaming as her tits were played with by more branches, driving her insane. She could only babble mindless pleading and praise around the thick limb in her mouth, quieting immediately when more sap was released into her by all three limbs, nearly distending her stomach with how much there was.
Ayano’s cunt gave one more valiant squirt and Arbor came along with her, their moans filling the otherwise quiet air of his room. Ayano whimpered when the branches finally pulled out, leaving her achingly empty and clenching weakly around air. Arbor sighed in contentment and flicked his wrist, causing Ayano to be slowly lowered next to him on the bed.
“Rest. Then aftercare.” He mumbled, and Ayano couldn’t agree more, even if she was leaking all over his bed. She used the last of the strength that hadn’t been duly fucked out of her to reach around and grab Arbor’s ass, squeezing it like a stress ball. The sorcerer only chuckled, and it was that sound that lulled Ayano to sleep.
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Having made a lady WoL collection, I decided to do a dude one too. As before I have more, but not all are leveled and I have some I’m more attached to than others.
I do want to push for more range honestly--I’m not sure how I wound up with three midlander dudes and a highlander lol. I should really follow through with a male au ra, hrothgar, and lalafell. I did an odd green/brown hair hybrid that I suppose could qualify for brunette, but otherwise my tendencies toward black and blonde hair came through real strong. Mysteriously absent are redheads. I may also want to experiment more with color palettes and cultural influences a bit.
For the guys, there are spots where I played into job expectations and spots where I defied them. I wanted to try designing some characters in ways I hadn’t seen so much in-game, as well as designing characters who would immediately evoke a specific tone! There are also definitely jobs where I deliberately tried to show some traditional masculinity where it’s less expected, which was fun.
Cenric/Black Mage Midlander: People have criticized hyurs before by calling them “too vanilla”, since they’re the human stand-ins. I figure though, they’re hyurs. Hyurs are imaginary and don’t need to follow real world biology. Play with color palettes and features so you get a more definite fantasy look if you want to. With Cenric, I specifically tried to go super dark and de-saturated to evoke a walking silhouette (sort of like drow) and gave him the palest eyes possible with strategic face paint so they’d look like they glow. This was all in the name of making a character who evoked Final Fantasy’s classic black mage, just going in a more adult and extra spooky-goth direction.
Maerec/Dark Knight Midlander: Maerec, I designed specifically to both be a step off of the default midlander from commercials and to embody the Dark Knight questline as best I could. Giving him some edge visually while still feeling reasonably natural was fun to balance! To this end, I knew dark eyes would be important to helping the black hair fit in. Going with a very dark red I figure it almost seems like he could have brown eyes until you look closely. Making him feel very Ishgardian was also fun, with the horned helmet and Fray-esque glamour. I also designed him to both parallel and contrast with Lahabrea given their stories are intertwined. If there’s scattered angel/demon imagery between them that works even more.
Sublime Tiger/Samurai Hellsguard: I know that my natural inclinations go toward bishonens lmao, so figuring out the angle I wanted to work with the SUPER BEEFY male roegadyns was wild! One thing that gave me inspiration at the time was realizing that, with their black noses, Hellsguard roegadyns can 100% evoke big cats--among other animals. I usually prefer designing Sea Wolves for lacking the black noses because my impulse is for it either to be visually unified with the rest of the face/body or go without--so I often feel a bit more limited with what kind of designs I’ll do for Hellsguard. With Sublime Tiger, originally he had both orange and black striped hair (one of the styles available works it) as well as the black face paint evoking tiger stripes. I found the hair more limiting with helms though so made it pure black instead. Deciding what glamour would look good and play well with proportions was also a process--wanted him to feel like he’s from Othard since there is a big Hellsguard population there, so samurai made some sense to me in building that. After experimenting though, I wound up going with a look that took a bit of inspiration from One Thousand And One Nights. I have additional ideas for what I might try going forward though.
J’mor/Red Mage Miqo’te: This was a combination of a lot of ideas! One was wanting to embrace the physicality of red mage as a job, and explore it as a worldly kind of caster who works well with ease of movement and does a lot of darting around the battlefield. Mages in-general are often seen as kind of ivory tower sorts, and by shedding the usual frills I wanted to show that it’s possible to have a caster’s knowledge while being very connected to the world at large. Also give a strong sense of SWASHBUCKLER where the magic kind of slaps you in the face with additional power. I also noticed I hadn’t seen as many black male miqo’te in-general, along with fandom stereotypes about catboys as soft. So I decided to design J’mor with that in mind--playing him as a very shonen kind of hero while the beard brings an extra bit of hardness to his features.
Asah’zi/White Mage Miqo’te: Asah’zi is another case where I wanted to challenge the idea of male miqo’te as soft, and I added to that challenge by making him a white mage when that is often filled by lady characters. I was also interested, lore-wise, in the tension between Keeper of the Moon tribes and Gridania (where white magic has very strong ties). That Keepers of the Moon are also very matriarchal gave added interest for me making a more rough and traditionally masculine-feeling white mage sort, especially since Keepers often build a lot of their lives around hunting through the Twelveswood. I also wanted to bring some sense of druid into white mage as a job, given the nature ties. With Asah’zi, using skydruid skins, claws, a wooden cane, and on all contributed toward the vibe I wanted to build for him. Using emotes that show off his fangs helps bring a bit of cockiness to him too, which is fun. And stealing Thancred’s hair lets him have a bit of a roguish vibe lol.
Amir/Dancer Highlander: Like I said, I tend to go for bishonen-sorts in designs a lot. HOWEVER! I do love this highlander face type specifically a ton, and think guy highlander proportions are well-balanced overall while being beefy. I knew for a while that I had a specific design I liked a lot for male highlander with Amir, and I definitely wanted to do something with him. The choice to make him a dancer specifically came from a conversation I saw just after the job’s release. An IRL male hip hop dancer mentioned feeling a bit bummed out because a lot of the animations felt like they played more to softness/grace and traditional femininity, and he’d been hoping for the option of a little edge with battle dancing because that’s what he does. Some players said he should just play monk, others were kind of mean to him and acted like what he wanted was somehow shitty. I felt for the dude to be honest since he was coming from a place of feeling frustrated by stereotyping, so I decided to look at the animations and see how much they could be integrated into a design that felt more traditionally masculine. I saw a lot of bright greens (especially with the peacock feathers) so I tried to unify that with a green glamour. The mask reminds me of rave aesthetics a bit, and I’ve seen dudes wear shorts similar to the Nezha ones before. I’m a big fan of the idea that fashion can be a way to create what you want tonally, and I tried to explore that in this design.
Navarre/Paladin Midlander: At some point it hit me that I have been avoiding traditional knight-in-shining-armor looks like the plagues in my tanks lol. This made me think a fair bit. What struck me was that if the only thing a glamour has to say for itself is “this is a knight”, that doesn’t feel so interesting to me. If it’s supposed to be a knight in shining armor specifically though, bringing an almost angelic, elemental feeling to the look is something I’m 500% there for. And weirdly, people don’t seem to do this as much. I’m less used to paladins compared to dark knights, warriors, or even gunbreakers--and since paladins are so associated with that holy knight-vibe I figured it made sense to go that direction. While I was looking into glamours, one thing I found was that a lot of them dyed with unchanging patches of black, had edgy red woven in, or otherwise came across as having been designed with dark knight or warrior in-mind. I decided part of what I’d do in this instance was really make a Warrior of Light who immediately screamed “yes I am the Warrior of Light” when you looked at him, and took inspiration from Cecil Harvey from Final Fantasy IV toward that end too. Every piece in this glamour was carefully picked not just for whether it worked as a silhouette, but also how it would dye.
Cesaire/Dragoon Elezen: Cesaire has gone through a lot of design phases. Initially he was a red elezen, because it’s a direction I don’t see used a lot but has a very doable fantasy feel I think is fun. Then he was a champagne/cream color all over as inspired by a particular breed of horses. Now, having put a lot of thought in, he is deep gold with blue eyes. The underlying concept for him was that I wanted to make a golden dragoon who looks like he should be terribly heroic, but then in practice he’s a kind of blood knight WoL who is about as close to Zenos as a Warrior can get without going outright evil. I played into gold and more general adventuring gear for the reason that I think Cesaire has absolutely left Ishgard behind him, and strongly prefers to be someone defined by what they do rather than where they’re from. Given elezens’ wide shoulders I also had to think about what combinations would work for balancing proportions, and I wanted Cesaire to visually hold his own visual niche within my overall Famfrit lineup so a lot was chosen with that in mind.
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*bursts through ur front door* nEWT RESCUING MERMAN!GRAVES FROM POACHERS
Newt is five the first time he goes to the circus. He trots behind Theseus, his hand securely held by his older brother to stop him slipping away and getting lost in the crowd. Not that Newt would intentionally wander off, but there was so much to see, so many sights and sounds and colours - over there, giant kites hovered in mid air, the one a flame-coloured goldfish with trailing red-yellow-orange ribbons, the other a glittering butterfly with reflective silver spots sewn over blue-green wings. There a man on stilts picks his precarious way through the thronged people below, his twelve foot trouser legs patterned in contrasting neon stripes. There, a lady selling candy floss, great sugar clouds of pink and blue on sticks and hanging in bags from the edge of her cart.
And there, ahead, rising above the mayhem like a gleaming castle, the big top.
Newt pulls Theseus ahead. “C’mon,” he says impatiently, tugging at Theseus’ hand. “C’mon, we’re going to miss it!”
“Calm down,” Theseus laughs, leaning back and moving at a deliberately slow meander. “It’s not going anywhere.”
“Theseus,” Newt whines. “What if all the good spots are gone and we can’t see?”
Theseus stoops down and picks Newt up, lifting him in one smooth movement to sit on his shoulders. Newt squeaks, his muddy shoes leaving black marks on Theseus’ coat and his fingers tangling in his brother’s hair for balance.
“There,” Theseus says, holding Newt’s feet in place. “Now you can see everything. Right?”
“You can’t pick me up,” Newt retorts. “I’m too old to be picked up.”
“Well, if you don’t want to be able to see…”
“No! I’m fine. I’ll let you carry me. Can we get sweets?”
Theseus changes course and heads for the candy floss lady. “And here I thought you were worrying about being late,” he says teasingly.
“Yes,” Newt explains with all the patience of a child having to state the obvious, “but that was when I was short and now you’re carrying me so I’m not. So, sweets.”
Honestly, big brothers were useful things, but they weren’t half slow sometimes.
In the tent itself Newt’s attention is torn between keeping himself and his oversized pink monstrosity of a candy floss stick balanced and laughing in delight at the show. He tries, he honestly does try to keep Theseus sugar free, but there’s distinct wisps of pastel in his dark hair by the time the first act finishes (not to mention the ones in Newt’s eyebrows, behind his ears, inching up his shirt sleeves and lodged under his collar). Theseus manfully ignores it and focuses on making sure Newt isn’t blocking the view for anyone behind them. The circus itself isn’t quite his cup of tea - the performers are brightly coloured, but their acrobatics are nothing special, really. He’s seen Newt do better trying to reach the cake jar on the top shelf.
It’s not the acrobatics though that are the star of this particular circus and the crowd falls into a hushed silence when the ringmaster comes out to announce, with great aplomb, the “Moment you’ve all been waiting for, the mystery and the magic, the magnificent and the magical; ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for MACUSA’s Marvellous Menagerie!”
The heavy velvet curtain behind him draws back and Newt gasps in anticipation, leaning forwards with wide eyed delight.
“A many gerry, Theseus,” he breathes. “Do you think they’ll have a tiger?”
Theseus ducks left to give Newt a better view. “They might,” he says. “You’ll have to wait and see.”
Newt’s protest about wanting to know now is drowned out by the roar from the crowd as the first creature, a long-necked camel bedecked with a gold and red tasselled head dress, is led out and paraded in front of the crowd. It walks with a strange, rolling gate and has two humps on its back, one of which stands straight and one of which flops over, and there’s bells tied to its feet that jingle with every step. It’s everything Newt could ask for, everything that should have delighted and amazed him -
But his attention is caught by something else. There, just there behind the edge of the curtain, he can see the narrow end of a glass tank. It isn’t very big; the end that Newt can see is maybe a metre square, the bottom resting on a dark wood trolley with a great hook at the front for a harness to attach to and top covered by an ornate gold lid. The light from the tent glints off the surface, playing tricks with Newt’s vision, but inside he sees - that is, he thinks he sees -
The camel is replaced by a lady with very little in the way of clothes, draped in the coils and folds of an enormous green snake, its scales dotted with small white flecks and its eyes staring unblinking at the crowd. The lady dips, holding out her arms to force the snake out of its tightly balled shape; it raises its head and hisses, much to the crowd’s delight.
She’s blocking his view and Newt cranes his neck to look past her.
“You see alright up there?” Theseus asks, shifting to the left to give him a better angle. Newt makes a distracted sound in answer, still straining to see the tank. The snake holder dances and twirls off the stage and Newt’s breath catches in his throat.
There’s someone in the tank.
There’s someone in the tank, and they’re looking at him.
Dark eyes set in a pale face, a halo of drifting hair around them; they catch Newt’s gaze and the rest of the tent seems to fade away. They twist, their face drifting upside down and right side up, and their hands come forwards to press against the glass. They come closer - he, perhaps, they’re a man, or something that looks like one. He comes closer, and mouths something, some words Newt can’t hear and doesn’t understand. At his blank stare the man repeats them, slower, mouth opening wide to exaggerate the movements and are those his teeth -
Theseus jostles him, shaking him out of the strange moment and Newt looks down automatically.
“So?” Theseus asks. “What did you think? You were awfully quiet up there.”
“I was looking,” Newt protests. He glances back up but the ringmaster’s back on the stage, his voice booming out something about a private showing and exclusive, never before seen creatures for those willing to pay the trifling price and step backstage.
The man in his glass tank is gone, blocked from view behind the curtain.
“Yeah?” Theseus asks. “Which one was your favourite then? I think I liked the parrots best. Weren’t they bright and colourful?”
Newt gives an irritated huff. He doesn’t want parrots, he wants to know about the man in the tank. Theseus is already turning though, moving with the flow of people back to the stalls outside.
“The camel,” he says, picking the first animal because it’s the only one he really remembers seeing. “But Theseus, we have to go back. There’s someone trapped there, he needs our help.”
“Trapped? Newt, you can’t go rescuing all the animals because you think they’re unhappy. They belong to the circus - that’s stealing.”
Newt tugs on Theseus’ hair in frustration. “Not the animals, the person. He was underwater. What if he drowns?”
There’s a steady stream of people curving round the back of the stage, going to where the ringmaster is waiting to welcome them to the private exhibition, and Newt’s mind whirrs.
“I don’t think -” Theseus starts hesitantly, but Newt has a better plan.
“Let me down,” he says. “I’m all numb, and I don’t need to see anymore.”
Theseus makes a dubious noise, but lifts Newt over his head and down to the floor all the same. “Ok little brother, whatever you say. But stick close and - Newt! Newt!”
Newt squirms out of his brother’s grip, ducking between people’s legs and scrambling under the raised seating areas at the back. Theseus curses as he chases but Newt slides under the striped canvas of the tent wall and makes a mad dash through the mud for the back. The back entrance is marked exit only and guarded by a bored looking girl in a faded circus uniform; she frowns as Newt careens into her.
“Hey, kid,” she starts, but Newt cuts her off.
“My brother’s in there, I got lost but he’ll be mad if I don’t go in,” he babbles. She tries to take his hand but Newt’s more mud than person by this stage and he slips free while she’s trying to find something to hold onto that won’t leave stains on her uniform.
“Kid, wait!”
Newt ignores her. The inside of the tent is dimly lit and smells of a heavy, foreign smoke. It’s hung with low coloured-glass lamps and swathes of brightly patterned silk, and decorated with assorted urns and jewel encrusted masks chosen more for their cost than any cohesive design..
Newt hurries past the lavish opulence with barely a glance. Real or fake, the effect is lost on him and the perfumed smoke only serves to irritate his lungs. He fights the urge to cough and creeps past a china pot that claims to hold a faerie inside - in any other circumstance he’d’ve stopped to look inside, but he’s too focused on his goal to stop. If he’s worked things out right, then the tank should be just to one side of the stage curtains which would put it… There.
In the low light, he can only make out the outline of the tank, straight sided glass walls and an overly decorated iron lid. It’s not until he’s standing right by it that he can see the man inside and he barely manages to stifle a gasp because the man isn’t a man at all.
No, that’s not quite right; he has a head, two arms, broad shoulders and a muscled torso - those things look like a man. But he also has a ridged fin running down his back, trails of dark, glittering scales wrapping down over his ribs, and in place of his legs there’s a sinuous, curving tail.
“You’re a mermaid,” Newt breathes. He hears a quiet rap and jerks his gaze up; the mermaid is frowning at him, one fist raised where he’d knocked on the glass. Newt flushes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare,” he says.
The mermaid lifts an eyebrow and studies him for a moment before his frown morphs into a satisfied smile. With an encouraging trill he lifts his arms and stretches out as much as he can, turning slowly in the water. He twists his head round as he does so to keep his eyes on Newt and make sure his audience appreciates him showing off.
“Wow,” is all Newt can say, and amends his earlier statement: “You’re a beautiful mermaid.”. He comes closer, both hands pressing against the glass. Now that the mermaid is moving he can see that the tank’s too small; his tail is coiling back on itself just to fit in and the sharp-edged fins at the end of it are crushed awkwardly against the sides.
The mermaid knocks again, and when he has Newt’s attention he gestures pointedly to his bare chest.
“I don’t understand,” Newt says, confused. The mermaid rolls his eyes and makes a vaguely obscene curving gesture over his front, then shakes his head and goes back to running his hands down his chest again.
Newt’s face burns as he gets it. “Oh,” he says, and trips into apologies again. “Sorry, sorry, I don’t know - what do you call a boy mermaid?”
The mermaid who isn’t a mermaid mouths something, lips twitching up in humour but Newt still can’t make out the words. He hears a noise behind him - the ringmaster, leading his private tour. He squeaks in panic and drops to the floor; the tank sits on iron feet, like a fancy bathtub, and with some frantic crawling and squirming Newt just manages to get underneath. There’s barely enough space to fit; he tilts his head to the side and squeezes his eyes shut and tries to take shallow breaths.
The mermaid knocks on the glass above him.
“They can’t see me,” Newt whispers back as loudly as he dares. If he believes it hard enough, then it’ll be true; like keeping the nightmares away at night, like Theseus taught. He hears footsteps and the low murmur of the approaching crowd and repeats it to himself: they can’t see me, they can’t see me, until he feels it settle over him like a safety blanket.
“And here,” the ringmaster announces, pride and glee threading through his oily tone, “here we have it ladies and gentlemen, the mighty monster from the deep: MACUSA’s own mermaid, the only real one to be found in any circus, anywhere. A genuine treasure, ladies, genuine treasure.”
Newt holds still. His heart is too loud - why is his heart beating so loud?
“How can you prove,” someone drawls, “that this one is real? It could be one of your stage hands in a costume for all we know.”
“Monsieur, you are wiser than your years! Come, come -” the feet obligingly step closer and Newt shrinks smaller in terror - “See, there’s no air in this tank. See there? Ah, my friend, don’t turn away - it’s shy, forgive me - those, those marks on its neck? Those are gills. Could a man spend all his life underwater without drowning, I ask?”
There’s an impressed rumble of agreement, but the same voice points out, “You could have a pipe hidden in the corner. That lid’s certainly large enough to hide one, and all your man would need to do is breathe from the pipe when no one’s looking.”
“Truly, an observant gentleman!” the ringleader praises with faked delight. “I see then you won’t be satisfied with anything but the truth, so watch, watch.” There’s a metallic groan as the lid is lifted open followed by an angry, distorted shriek that seems to sink into Newt’s bones and shake them apart. He presses back further under the tank and clamps his eyes closed, one step away from sobbing. The thud of the lid falling back into place cuts off the mermaid’s shrieking but Newt still can’t stop himself crying, muffling the sound in his sleeve.
“You see,” the ringleader says proudly. “You see now, do you see? Are you satisfied, my doubting friend?”
“I’m satisfied,” the other man agrees quietly. There’s something covetous in his harsh almost-whisper that the ringleader boldly ignores. They exchange more words, more boasting and more nodding at the right places and more making the right sounds of appreciation, but Newt stays pressed against the ground with his eyes closed until after they’ve shuffled off to marvel over the next thing in the tent.
The mermaid knocks on the glass.
“Go away,” Newt says. “I want my brother.”
He knocks again, more urgently this time.
“Go away!”
“Newt!”
Newt scrambles out, scraping his knee on the ground and banging his elbow against the tank but he doesn’t care because that’s Theseus.
“I’m sorry,” he says, stumbling over his feet as he flings himself at his brother. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“It’s ok,” Theseus soothes him, dropping to his knees to hug his brother. “It’s ok, I’m here now. You’re alright? You’re not hurt?”
Newt shakes his head. “I’m not but - but Theseus, we have to help him.” He turns to point urgently at the mermaid in his tank and falters in shock.
There’s a cut across the mermaid’s tail, just below where his hip would be if he were a man. It’s not a deep cut, but the water draws the blood out in a dark cloud and every movement of his tail makes the wound glisten an angry black.
“They hurt him,” Newt says in horror, pulling against Theseus to go to the glass.
“Newt,” Theseus says, stunned and still trying to get over it. “Newt, that’s a mermaid.”
Newt tugs sharply, annoyed by the delay. “He’s not,” he says crossly. “He’s a merboy and we need to help him.”
“Of course we do,” Theseus says faintly. The mermaid - merboy - scrapes his fingers against the lid, the clawed tips making a harsh scratching sound against the metal.
Newt darts in and pulls himself up on the tank’s feet, pushing futilely against the lid. “Theseus!” he says, jolting his brother into action.
“What do we do when we get the lid open?” Theseus asks, but he comes forward to help all the same. “He can’t swim out and we’ll get caught if we carry him - Newt, move - and mercy Lewis I’m asking a five year old for plans what am I doing with my life.”
“He’ll figure something out,” Newt says confidently. “He’s smart.”
In the tank, the mermaid darts a quick smirk in Newt’s direction.
The lid is heavy, heavier than it should be for how it looks and Theseus strains against it. It’s not until Newt joins in again and stubbornly puts his shoulder against the rim to help that it creaks its way open. They freeze, both of them darting nervous glances behind them to check that no one heard, but now that the lid is open a crack the mermaid gets impatient.
He slides a hand under the edge of the lid and, in one smooth movement, flings the whole thing off the tank to fall with a loud crash down the other side.
“Oh gods above,” Theseus moans. He makes a grab for Newt but Newt twists aside, hooking his fingers over the glass to watch as the mermaid lifts his torso out of the water. This close, Newt can see how very human his top half looks, but at the same time all the little things that so clearly mark him as different. His ears extend into points, long and low and dusted with dark blue scales. His eyes blink twice, the second, clear set of eyelids making them seem to glow in the dimly lit tent, and the eyes behind the eyelids are so dark they look like they lack a pupil. His teeth, showing in his open mouth as he pants for air, are curved down to sharp points. His gills flare with every shallow breath.
He mouths something, the words coming out as a soft croon.
“I don’t understand,” Newt says.
“Newt, we have to go,” Theseus urges.
The mermaid points at Newt, then at himself, then gestures at his legs, then finally back at Newt. He mouths the same word again but Newt shakes his head, frustration making him shout, “I don’t know what you want!”
There’s footsteps approaching, the sound of people coming to investigate the crash.
“Time’s up,” Theseus says, scooping a protesting Newt up in his arms and throwing the mermaid an apologetic look. With a growl the mermaid swipes his hand out, claws catching on Newt’s outstretched arm and leaving three bloody scratches in their wake.
Newt yelps and Theseus swears as he pulls out a handkerchief to wrap around the scratches. The mermaid ignores them in favour of licking the blood off each claw. He closes his eyes as though savouring the taste then takes a deep breath and hauls himself out of the tank, the glistening length of his tail unfolding behind him as he collapses over the side and falls to the floor -
And lands, rolls into a crouch, and stands up in one fluid movement.
“What the hell,” Theseus says, staring at him. His gills are gone, as are the long fins down his back and his tail, replaced by legs that are bare, muscled, and completely human. Theseus averts his eyes and covers Newt’s. Completely male human. The cut from his tail is now a wide gash over his left thigh, red blood clotting sluggishly around the edges.
“We need to go,” the man rasps, grabbing for Newt. Theseus backs away, keeping his brother out of reach.
“You think they’ll be lenient because he’s a child?” the man growls. “Come.” He stalks towards the curtain separating the back of the tent from the stage and disappears through it.
“Hey!” someone shouts behind them, and Theseus slings Newt into a piggyback and hurries out after the mermaid-turned-man. He pushes aside the heavy curtain and runs across the stage, praying that none of the staff were in there preparing for the next performance. The man is hovering by one of the side flaps, lifting it aside to peer out with an angry scowl.
He looks up when Theseus skids to a halt next to him.
“They won’t be far behind us,” Theseus pants. “What’s the plan?”
“The plan?” The man raises an eyebrow. “I go back to the sea. He comes with me.” He reaches for Newt again to lift him off Theseus’ back and Theseus spins to put himself between them.
“No.”
The man glowers. “I didn’t ask you.”
“He’s five,” Theseus spits, and grips Newt’s legs tight in warning when he makes a noise of protest. He doesn’t know what he’s doing - Theseus isn’t small by any means, but he hasn’t forgotten how the other man - mermaid - hell, whichever, how the other man casually threw the heavy metal lid it took both Theseus and Newt just to budge. If it comes to a fight then Theseus can’t hope to win, but Newt is his brother; Theseus can’t not defend him.
The sound of angry voices behind the curtain breaks their standstill.
“Fine,” the man snaps. “While he’s a child he’s yours. When he’s a man, bring him to the sea. I’ll find him.” He lifts the tent flap to go through and Theseus holds his tongue on pointing out his nakedness. Just before he goes he looks back over his shoulder and makes eye contact with Newt. “Oh, and before I forget,” he says, lips twitching into an amused smile. “My name is Graves, and I’m a merman if you don’t mind.”
“Yessir,” Newt squeaks, and Graves is gone.
“Do I have to go to the sea?” Newt asks in a small voice, gripping Theseus tighter.
Theseus glares at the empty space where the merman stood. “Not if you don’t want to,” he promises. “For now though, we have to go home before anyone sees us, so sit tight and keep quiet.” He pushes aside the tent flap with a foot, checks for passing naked mermen-given-legs, then slips out to join the crowd and hopes no one stops them to ask why Newt is quite so covered in mud, or why he has a makeshift bandage around his forearm.
He’s not yet sure how he’s going to keep his promise, but he will. If Newt doesn’t want to go to the sea then Theseus will make sure he doesn’t have to. He has thirteen years; he’ll find a way.
In the meantime, maybe he should look for a job further inland.
#gramander#newt scamander#theseus scamander#percival graves#mermaid!graves#according to the timestamp it took me three years to answer this#so uh#better late than never?#my writing#paintingraves
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RP With @honourablebravery (Please LIKE THIS POST if you want to read more!)
captaincoffee07/23/2020
--Scene Shift-- Tracking down Davos was something Thor had clearly been over-thinking. Indeed, Thor has been considering it here and there for quite a long time, before he accidentally comes across Davos mid-way through leaving Stark Tower just as the Asgardian is on his way in. He is surprised-and delighted, clutching a large iced coffee in one hand and a grocery bag in the other, his faded blue jeans, work boots and dark red v-neck a stark contrast to the outfits he'd wear otherwise. His face lighting up with deliberate interest and joy at the other. "Davos!! How fortunate! I've been wondering of you for months now, how have you been?" His booming voice a little bit more frantic than he intended, clearly more excited than he'd taken into account originally.
Hopeful07/23/2020
The Kung Fu master stills, stiffens, and turns. He's still unaccustomed to being a welcome sight in New York City. In fact, nobody has ever been excited to see Davos; usually Davos brings up the rear, or escorts, the Person of Importance at any given hour, while quietly perfecting his own craft and waiting for his own moment . . . a moment which never came. Or didn't it?
" . . . you are Thor. The Asgardian royal." He bows at the waist, then straightens. Even his casual movements carry a precision and a grace that speak of his lifelong training. "I have to admit, our last encounter, I wasn't. Very gracious, forgive me. I was also ill of mind and soul. I have read every file of every colleague who frequents this building. You're a formidable warrior."
A small smirk. "But can you take Carol Danvers?"
captaincoffee07/23/2020
He laughs, not really taking the social cue Davos is sending too well-Loki had always been better at reading people. Which was what made him so good at stealth attacks once upon a time. Well, one of what Thor likes to think are many things, truly. "There is nothing to be sorry for, to repent for' Thor says, with ease. "Truly, I was not bothered at all. And well, if you ever wished to spar on friendly terms, I am never one to say no." The smile only widening. "Your skill set is impressive, and your moves enticing" He is fond to see Davos mentioning others, and the grin, seemingly impossible to widen, does regardless, "Carol Danvers would oh so easily best me, but if she's feeling generous she may allow me a moment of victory before doing so."
Hopeful07/23/2020
Davos's eyebrows shoot high and he studies Thor up and down, but then before he can display more gregarious body language, he folds his hands in front of himself. It's clearly a conscious reminder to himself that he doesn't have the "luxury" of casual schmoozing, but must always set a sterling example. Slowly, slowly, he's going to unlearn this. But it's still all brand-new.
Still, there's a small unguarded smile on his lips, and that's sa wonderfully promising sign. "I didn't make much of a dent, but you are gracious. Perhaps I should brush up on my technique. They say the well aimed blow can bring down even a boulder, but I do not know if my masters in K'un-Lun ever fought an actual god."
At word of Carol--unquestionably Davos's favorite person to meet in months or even years--that smile grows teeth. "She is gifted."
captaincoffee07/23/2020
"I am not at such liberty to say whether they did nor not" Thor says, his tone seemingly retrospective, or was it introspective, perhaps? "For your K'un-Lun Master's, they are a people I know tragically little of, and I would not claim to know their secrets-nor yours." He's gracious, and Thor, try as he might to keep to himself, is always such an open and honest presence. His heart, emotions, his state of being always out for the world to see, to know. No matter how much he may desire otherwise at times. He's unbothered for it now, but sometimes.. Well, nothing to worry about there currently. "Carol is very gifted, as are you, I find that it is an honour to know, to see people, and to have come across your path, especially. I think there is much we could learn from one another, Davos"
Hopeful07/23/2020
Davos tries to take Thor's kind praises in stride, but looks very much like a lethally intelligent guard dog reduced to walking around lopsidedly in doggie snow boots. That is, he looks pleasantly puzzled. "You think so, do you." He glances at Thor's parcel. "Would you like help with that . . . ?" Look at the man, what a stupid thing to offer, he could probably lift a car with one hand, but sometimes making himself useful is preferable, in Davos's estimation, to standing there stupefied by praise.
captaincoffee07/23/2020
Thor is momentarily perplexed, then he laughs. "Oh! This?" Lifting the grocery bag, "Nothing much in here, some candy bars, coffee in various flavours..would you like some? I have lots" He seems tragically oblivious to Davos' awkwardness, merely eager to share in whatever friendship he clearly, desperately wishes to form.
Hopeful07/23/2020
Davos's features tighten primly. "I don't drink coffee. It's poison to the body." A pause. "I. I drink tea."
captaincoffee07/23/2020
"I have tea upstairs" He chimes, utterly undeterred, 'Green? White? Orange Pekoe..Oolong?"
Hopeful07/23/2020
"I am. I am very fond of Oolong, yes." His errands can wait. He pivots on his heel subtly, in the same direction as the Thunder God.
captaincoffee07/23/2020
Thor steps through the glass doors with Davos, giving Jarvis instructions at the elevator for his floor. "Jarvis is very kind'' He says, "Yet I've not been able to adapt to him entirely."
HopefulYesterday at 11:41 AM
Davos steps into the elevator and scowls at the omnipresent voice of the A.I. "Sentient life in the walls. Yes, I still grow accustomed to such feats of technology."
captaincoffeeYesterday at 8:40 PM
"It is quite bizarre, is it not? What has been accomplished with technology? How the world can seem so dependant upon it. Functionality based through electricity..it's very interesting, to me." The elevator dinged, Thor getting off first-not to be rude-but to give Davos some space, "You said you like oolong right?"
HopefulYesterday at 8:49 PM
The small compact man follows the beefcake of a god, contemplating his words and drawing his eyes around the room. "Yes, I've...had to chase quite the learning curve after leaving my homeland.....my people are certainly familiar with contemporary technologies, but not quite so reliant upon....them....you. Have quite the elite clearance, don't you?" Tony's given Davos a lot of freedom considering he was a convicted felon not so long ago. But his modest quarters several floors down from the Avengers' lodgings don't compare remotely to this.
captaincoffeeYesterday at 8:53 PM
"I am afraid to tell you that I currently do not have a proper tea brewer, and will be using the electric kettle" His face pulling just so, showing legitimate discontent with not being able to make the tea with the leaves and fire-boiled water. He also realized he's only got normal furniture, with nothing that makes for good kneeling. "I may put in some more rugs, perhaps? Pillows?" He seems to be speaking almost to himself now, withdrawing an oak worn tea box from a grey cupboard, setting it aside and filling a red electric kettle at the side. "Learning curves are quite..intense, or can be'
HopefulYesterday at 8:59 PM
Davos's sternly serious face pulls in response, into a small but tickled smile. "My reputation as a picky eater precedes me, does it? I promise I won't shame you. And I'm quite accustomed to Western seating arrangements. May I?" He gestures at the couch.
captaincoffeeYesterday at 9:01 PM
Thor laughs, "I must admit, some of it was standard speculation" Gesturing behind himself, "Yes, of course, make yourself at home. I try to go for comfort, so the couch is very well stuffed."
HopefulYesterday at 9:06 PM
Davos's smile spreads just slightly and he eases to a seat. "Comfort, now that is something that's never been part of my repertoire." He sinks deeper into the couch, not of his own volition, blinking slightly at its squishiness. "Ehm, and." He turns and looks at it, and realizes there's not much to be done, and surrenders to his undignified fate. "And, anyway. That's mostly due to the expectations of my youth. Tell me, are you familiar with crushing familial expectations?" He tries to sound whimsical.
captaincoffeeYesterday at 9:09 PM
Thor chuckled, "Often" He turns his head, leaning against the counter, his gaze only trailing Davos. "I was very arrogant in youth, it led to my banishment.. Loki, my sibling, we have not always seen eye-to-eye, and the one whom banished me, my father..was not as I had assumed.. "
HopefulYesterday at 9:12 PM
Davos's features freeze. "You have a brother...and you quarreled?" It sounds more like a statement than a question. His eyes are locked on Thor now, and they're afraid, but not of Thor. Afraid to not have answers. To have unexpectedly found someone who gets a particular and deep pain, and can talk about it.
captaincoffeeYesterday at 9:22 PM
Thor's gaze darkens, slightly glassy. "We did..often.." The kettle screams, making him turn to give it attention. "We had to learn, much, and sometimes, no, often, I still worry."
HopefulYesterday at 9:25 PM
"....but you learned." Davos's whole form, his posture, is now stiff and rigid. A vein appears dead center of his shaven forehead. "You were willing to listen. How did you do it?"
captaincoffeeYesterday at 9:31 PM
"Being banished was the start. That taught me much of myself. How I was fool-hardy..arrogant, brash. And yet, it took battle, it took-" Loki's face as he fell from the bifrost's rainbow bridge, scalding his vision, haunting him. "Other things..many..hiccups" The tea prepared, he moves to offer Davos the cup, a small white and gold piece of china, sitting upon a saucer. "Here you are"
HopefulToday at 12:27 PM
Davos takes the cup, and places it down without touching it. He's focused like a laser. "I have a brother. Not of my blood, but in spirit. The chasm that lies between us is borne of his . . . . he neglected his duties. Duties I was willing to uphold, but was not chosen for. He ran away. He lives in this city, and in truth I am only here because I came to find him and bring him home. He would not come and." He catches himself sharply. "I'm sorry, this is unseemly. I scarcely know you."
captaincoffeeToday at 4:57 PM
Thor, never the best at 'reading a room', is not foolish enough to be entirely oblivious. Good at this? Nah, probably not. Oblivious? Not so. The slight crease in his brow furrows further and further inward, before he moves to seat himself beside Davos-keeping a good forearm of space between them so Davos doesn't feel crowded in. "Well, you scarcely know me now, generally I have learned that speaking with someone on friendly terms can change that." They clearly have some sort of shared ground, and Davos seems to burn with the need to speak. Perhaps as Loki, he's forever been unheard Thor thinks, a pin-prick of bitterness touching his heart. "Is it something that you would wish to discuss? I am no wordsmith, but I have a gentle ear, and the ability for pragmatism."
HopefulToday at 7:16 PM
"It's . . .. . " Davos ducks his head. He's been working on this: hard. But revelations of his personal struggles remain shameful terrain he was trained for 28 solid years to keep to himself. "It's. Not." He sighs, and looks up. "It's not seemly. For someone like me. I am. I am still learning that I have the right to be." He blinks. "Well. Human."
He gives Thor a long look. " . . . the person I put all my faith and trust in was my brother. When we turned 28, we were the two final contestants, out of all the monks in our temple, to go to trial for the most prestigious title--and responsibility--of my homeland. I was winning. Winning, but I couldn't kill him, even though that was the custom, so I begged him to yield. He was losing badly, but he still wouldn't listen to me, he kept fighting. And I kept winning. And then the light passed over the windows of the temple, and blinded me for but a moment. And Danny . . . his name is Danny, Danny Rand . . . .you've surely heard of him, he is as rich and at least half as famous as Mr. Stark . . . . he took the advantage and disarmed me, and won."
"In that one moment everything I had ever wanted, everything I had ever dreamt of becoming, was gone." He grinds his jaw. "But I was still willing to stand by his side as he took the Iron Fist . . . .the title and the duty of which I spoke. And he thanked me by abandoning us. Abandoning me."
"Coming back here. To play white Kung Fu hero to a city full of reprobates.”
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4, 5, 6 for the ask meme!
4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)
hmmmm... i’m gonna go with the stir-fry scene from wreck my days:
Eliot watched him work for a minute: the tension of his fingers holding a carrot in place, the motion of his wrist as he cut through it at an angle. “Can I help?”
Quentin looked up. There was a carefulness in his face that made the hesitation seem heavy and Eliot felt a sudden lurch of despair. But when he answered his tone was neutral. “I think there’s another cutting board in the cabinet above the stove.”
Eliot retrieved the cutting board and poured into his mug the coffee Quentin had mercifully brewed and held up the pot in a silent question. “Thanks,” Quentin said, indicating his mug half-empty beside him. Eliot poured until it was nearly full and fetched from the refrigerator the soy milk to give Quentin just a splash. Then he grabbed a knife from the wooden block by the coffeemaker and set his board beside Quentin’s.
They stood next to each other, working. Outside occasionally the swell of a passing car reached them and if Eliot listened for it he could hear birdsong in the trees. Through the window Quentin must have opened drifted clean air and sometimes a gentle breeze. And Eliot thought: this. Just this. The creaking of a blade slicing through a carrot, the soft slide through mushroom flesh. The plastic bag in the steel trash can which Quentin had moved to place between them rustling when they swept in discarded ends. Just this: the green of the trees in the window under the sun and the butter-yellow of the kitchen walls and Quentin beside him in his socks with sleeves rolled to his elbows and the muscles of his forearm shifting as he worked and his hands as they lifted the cutting board to scrape broccoli into the big blue mixing bowl. The smooth bright skin of a bell pepper. Its textured innards and the clean lines of Eliot’s cuts across them. The dry seeds bunched at its core rough against Eliot’s palm as he threw it out. Thin red slices added to the pile. Just this, only this: the thunk of their knives against the boards in unmatched rhythms. Quentin pausing to sip his coffee and start the water heating for the rice. The crack of the pilot light catching and the blue-orange circle of flame and the steel pot. Skin of an onion crinkling. The weight of his wrist bearing down through the purple-white layers and the aroma drifting out, released. Prickling at the backs of his eyes but even that, if. If this. If he could just. Just this and even the sting blurring his vision as he tried to blink through the tears. He set down the knife and wiped at his eye with the back of his hand.
the reason i’m proud of this one is because i feel like it does a lot under the surface. the style and tone of this fic for the most part is very dense and heavy and kind of lyrical, if that’s a word i’m allowed to apply to myself, lol. there’s a lot of meandering introspection and unfurling strands of memory and thought, a lot of imagery and metaphor. this is largely because i was in the mood to write like that, but also because it’s a story where everything is haunted, where eliot can’t see anything as just itself: everything carries some kind of symbolism that connects it to his regrets. i am a show-offy writer and my instinct is often that the most important scenes must be the Most in every possible way, but that’s not really effective in a story where everything has been written to be the Most! so i think this scene works because it uses contrast to mark a turning point: the significance of it comes through in the ways the writing works less, instead of more. eliot and quentin have this dialogue that is extremely normal-sounding on the face of it, but which feels new because they have not had a normal conversation all story and as of last night they both felt like they might never have a normal conversation again, so having this very mundane exchange about the cutting board is actually about acknowledging that they’ve reached a new equilibrium even if they can’t name it yet (and of course like, by asking if he can help eliot is really asking “is there still a place for me in your life” and by telling him to get the cutting board quentin is saying yes). and then we get another giant descriptive paragraph, but the syntax calms down a lot compared to most of the others, and even more than that this one is deliberately very, very concrete, grounded in these sensory details with no weird similes or dark reminiscences. it’s all the present moment, things as they are here and now. and i like that eliot can’t even name what it means to him, because one of my goals for this story was to resist my usual impulse to explain everything to death and just trust the writing to make it feel coherent to the reader even if they’re not mentally articulating it in the granular way i thought it through.
5. What character that you’re writing do you most identify with?
is it a cop-out to say, whoever’s POV i’m currently writing from? i feel like if you had asked me right when i finished the show i would have easily said quentin, since my identification with him is very visceral and immediate and untranslated, but like, once i started writing an eliot POV i was surprised to find out how much of a “click” there was... i think i’m just like always looking for things in my head that feel like they have a similar psychological/emotional structure to things in a character’s head, even if the actual events were very different, and that winds up making me feel very attached to these points of identification.
6. What character do you have the most fun writing?
see above, kind of! i had soooo much fun writing a very melodramatic and moody and agonized and baroque voice for eliot that i was almost sorry for that project to end, but now i am writing a breezy, anti-introspective, gremlin quentin and having a lot of fun there, so. variety is the spice of life!
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Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Directed by Quentin Tarantino
Doomsy’s Rating: 91/100 (on my Great Films list!)
First impressions often have lasting impacts. This is especially true of directors with their debuts. When you look at all the iconic debut films, whether it be Citizen Kane, or Night of the Living Dead, or Clerks, they all have something in common, which is that they were more than just a director's first films, they were game changers. With Reservoir Dogs, Quentin Tarantino changed both the crime genre and the independent film landscape forever. Before this, the last critically lauded independent film to break into the mainstream film was Soderbergh's debut Sex Lies and Videotape, which was a huge success story winning the Palme D'or at Cannes and becoming an unexpected smash for a low-budget film about three things. Funny thing is that Reservoir Dogs is also about three things that I want to touch upon equally in this review because of how Quentin takes these three things and plays with them in a way hadn't quite been done before, and rarely as brilliantly since.
The first thing is, like many crime films, it's about masculinity. The film exudes bravado, machismo, and posturing from its characters. In a way, every character in the film has a front they rely on to ooze confidence as career criminals. Mr. White relies on his seniority and his coolness, Mr. Pink relies on his obsession with professionalism over loyalty. Mr. Blonde relies on his dominance and imposition, and so on. But the important thing to watch in Reservoir Dogs in its character building is how the characters reveal themselves through consequences of action. For instance, in the opening scene, the characters all seem to get along, as their fronts are up, and they carry on being casually chauvinist and racist, and homophobic in a way that men that think they are in control act. Mr. Pink's tipping conversation, is not really about pragmatism or about money. It's about women shattering his ego. To him, why should they be tipped at the same profession when he is not? And even Mr. White, who claims to be sympathetic to the cause of waitresses, has no more than two minutes ago said some deplorable things about Asians. So even he, in that moment, is shut down in the debate, because he cannot challenge Mr. Pink's chauvinism with his own brand of too-cool-for-the-room machismo.
There's many moments like this throughout, but the characters all start to crack the minute they are not in control anymore. This is exactly how the real world works with criminals, as well. It's exactly why at the center of the film, Mr. Orange's handicap breaks him down. He loses what he refers to as his ""composure"", when in reality it's about the masculinity he had built up before this. He goes into an almost infantile state with Mr. White. Some critics have noted the queerness that is on display with Mr. White and Mr. Orange, and while this is definitely very apparent (Quentin's legendary rant about Top Gun no doubt served as inspiration for a lot of the homoeroticism on display in Reservoir Dogs), it's much more so about the father and son dynamic that develops between them. In a sense, Mr. Orange is relying on the masculinity of Mr. White for survival here (and his own seems to become more fractured with each second he shows compassion for Mr. Orange).
More than that, we see a lot of the second theme present from the fracturing their egos. That theme is fear of failure. Each of the men have had a multitude of past failures that haunt them. Mr. Blonde has prison time that drives his desire for violence and revenge, and although he justifies it very similarly to Mr. Pink and Mr. White's rationalization for murder a few scenes earlier, we are made to fear Mr. Blonde because of what we know about him. It's his first scene that reveals so much about his nature. No emotion, no remorse, he is a parable for the link between toxic masculinity and psychopathy. And in a way, Mr. Blonde's fear of failure never shows despite its presence. This is in direct contrast to Mr. White and Mr. Pink, who's fears of failure are rooted in their past actions. Mr. Pink angrily laments his past fuck-ups on the job, as does Mr. White. But in the world of Reservoir Dogs, it's not the fear of getting caught that drives each of the characters, it's the fear of not getting what they want.
Now, this is a spoiler alert, but everyone and their sister has seen Reservoir Dogs, so if you haven't seen it just keep scrolling. But we must look at Quentin's style and direction and the choices that he uses for certain scenes. Much has been written about the film's style as being ""hip"" or ""cool"" but if you look at the scenes he uses his ""style"" as opposed to scenes that much more coldly shot, a trend becomes clear. The film is more stylized in scenes where the characters' facades are up. When they are bullshitting around, laughing and joking, or ""on the job"" Quentin will use all manner of cool editing tricks, visual flair, or camera movements. There's one exception to this rule, and it's the torture scene.
The way Quentin films this scene is nothing short of extraordinary, and still holds up all these years later. First is Mike Madsen's legendary performance, who I still hold as one of cinema's greatest screen villains despite minimal screentime compared to the other characters. Despite the large number of influences he cites on this scene, from Corbucci to Deodato, the one director he doesn't seem to mention is De Palma, who this scene is the most reminiscent of. But it's the deliberate lack of color that sets this scene apart from a De Palma film. The long take used, one of my favorites in film, that follows Mr. Blonde out of the warehouse and back into it, is spine chilling for one simple reason. Claustrophobia. Even the facade of the entire movie is being broken here. To some extent, this is leaning on the fourth wall, teasing us that there's a world beyond the interiors the film almost entirely takes place in. This brings me to the third theme of the film: The deconstruction of narrative.
Quentin's been very upfront about his love for Godard's film Band of Outsiders, which inspired his production company A Band Apart, and while I hate Godard with every fiber of my being, I will concede to being a fan of Band of Outsiders. In many ways Reservoir Dogs is exploring the same themes about the destruction cinematic language that Godard so fervently abhorred. In the years since Dogs was released, so many films have done the nonlinear storyline, but without much purpose (The Usual Suspects is one of the more egregious offenders of this), and a lot has been written about his use of it, but I want to talk about how it's not just about the story, but it's about the fragmented nature of the egos being crushed, that the narrative is presented this way.
If you watch carefully, the opening scene (as many critics point out) reveals much about the characters and their relationships with each other, but it also does more than that. There's a reason to juxtapose that opening with the next scene of absolute hopelessness. It's almost as if every scene alternates between showing the characters in their natural state versus their chaotic states. It's not merely about showing consequences of action (as opposed to actions have consequences), but also about showing this dichotomy. That's at least what jumped out to me, beyond the surface of everything.
It's hard to believe this was Quentin's debut. It features almost none of the more indulgent parts of his directorial persona that he would become reliant on in the wake of Jackie Brown's box-office failure (which I still hold as his greatest and most mature achievement). It's amazing how such a tight budget forced the best out of him, the most discipline he had displayed outside of Jackie Brown. The story never shows more than it needs to, and even his trademark lengthy dialogue set pieces, such as The Commode Story (which is a very clear further deconstruction of narrative in its inherent composition, not unlike certain segments of Band of Outsiders) still feel compact and urgent. So much is revealed economically, letting characters actions do as much for their development as dialogue, which he would discontinue in favor of more dialogue-heavy revelations later in his career.
The reason it works is because unlike so many of his later films, there's more than just cinematic kinetic energy, there's real humanity in the characters, real believability as criminals, and their fractured psyches allowing their emotional cores to shine through. One of the most powerful moments in the film is when Mr. Orange screams at the top of his lungs to Marvin about how immediate his death is. The cold silence afterwards is a very revealing moment of clarity for both men. Even the ending, which some people question, makes perfect sense in the context of the story. Mr. Orange might have made it. But at that moment, he knew the only thing he could do was tell the truth, in that one moment, he died with his dignity restored. And in many ways, that's what so much of the crime genre needs so badly, some simple humanity.
#film#filmreview#reservoir dogs#quentin tarantino#harvey keitel#tim roth#michael madsen#chris penn#steve buscemi#gay gay gay#gay#lgbt film#queer film#crime film#independent film#classic film#movies#filmblr#cinema#90s movies#tarantino#debut#great movie#seriously gayest film ever
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If You Know Where to Look - Part 10 (2/2)
Summary: in which culture shock is more like culture pleasant surprise. You return something, eat something you shouldn’t, and put on a grand show
Part 1 / Previous
Read on Ao3
Word Count: 2,821
Rating: T (for now)
Pairing: Loki/Reader
*
Chapter 10: The Whole World Blind (cont.)
His eyes flick between it and your face, no small amount of surprise on his own, and maybe he’s even a bit impressed. He takes it, fingers wrapping around it like the gesture brings him comfort, and he nods once and steps between you and the approaching figure, who you now can see is a small, frazzle-haired man with pieces of glass fixed over his eyes and a beard longer than the Allfather’s.
“You can’t just eat those without paying! I don’t know why you kids these days think you can just- Hey, easy! There’s no need to be waving that things around, mister!”
He stops, hands on his hips as he glares up at Prince Loki’s face, brashly unintimidated by the dagger held out toward his middle.
The dumbfounded look on Loki’s face would have been comical any other time, but you’re just as confounded. The man is laughably unthreatening, old and short and mortal as his is, yet still undaunted, and he’s certainly not attacking. Loki lets the arm holding the knife drop, then he puts it away entirely and grimaces apologetically.
“I’m sorry, sir. I ask you forgive my impudence. It’s just, my friend and I,” he indicates you with a flick of his hand — and you’ve really got to commend his acting skills, because his bashful contrition and entreating tone are flawless, only given away as insincere by the stark contrast to anything else you’ve seen from him — “We seem to be lost, and perhaps unduly suspicious.” He licks his lips, projecting a mien of anxiety that melts the indignant hardness from the man’s face. “We were attacked,” he admits, and the mingling of truth in the tale lends credence and the old man’s sympathy is tangible. “We had not meant to steal from you.”
“You’re not from around here, are you?” he asks softly, and for once, you’re actually grateful for your unkempt appearance, because he takes it in as a reason to be kind to you. And maybe you should feel guilty for taking advantage of that, but... well, strictly speaking, Loki had not lied.
“We... we aren’t entirely sure where here is, truth be told, sir,” you say, following Loki’s lead with a wide-eyed, frightened expression, coming forward to stand beside the prince. “Is there anything we can do to repay you for taking what belongs to you?”
The man swats the air as if batting away the question.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s just a couple of apples. You kids have obviously been through a lot, by the looks of you. Come with me, and I’ll fix you up a couple of hot ciders and you can tell me about it,” he offers, indicating with a tilt of his head that you should follow as he begins picking his way through the patches of flat, sandy ground between the rows of trees. You do follow, Prince Loki right behind, and the man continues. “We’re in northeastern Connecticut, by the way.”
“Ah,” you say, even though that means nothing to you.
“Name’s Charlie. Rude of me not to introduce myself to begin with,” he tells you, and after exchanging a brief glance, you and Loki do the same. “Where are you from, then?” he asks, and it occurs to you that your name and accent are likely just as unusual to his ear as his are to yours.
“Asgard,” Loki replies.
“‘Fraid I’ve never heard of it,” Charlie says, seeming chipper now that he’s not held at knifepoint. “Scandinavian?”
“...Yes,” says Loki haltingly, and you let him. You’ve no idea what or where Scandinavia is, but Loki at least knows enough about this realm to recognize it.
“Thought as much.”
Charlie leads you to a small cabin of unvarnished wood, flanked by round orange gourds in crates and on rows of hay bales and pots of yellow flowers scattered about. There’s a sign that says Apple Shack on the slanted roof, and as you walk through the door, you’re greeted by warmth that swells in your bones, a sweetly spicy scent, and baskets of apples in every shade imaginable set out on display. Shelves of goods line the walls, full of jars of jams and relishes, bottles of syrups, sauces, and honeys, and jugs of all sorts of apple themed beverages. Up front, where Charlie directs you, is a glass case of pastries, some domed and studded with dried fruits and nuts, others ring shaped and dusted with sugar, and some swirled golden and brown and sliced like bread.
Charlie hands you each a very strange soft white cup that squeaks as you sip from it, filled with warm amber liquid that is simply divine. He also offers you one of the ring shaped pastries, a doughnut, he calls it, because there’s “nothin’ finer to enjoy with cider.” He’s right, of course, and can’t seem to help his pleased smile as both you and Loki eat with gusto.
As you savor the apple nectar, letting its heat soak into you and chase away the chill from within, you tell him what happened, as best you can, omitting details here and there that probably are best left unsaid. Your humble charade would be dashed if Loki were to proclaim himself prince, after all. And while you and Loki relate a mostly veracious story of being in the woods, getting kidnapped and tied up — you had, after all. The exact timing of it wasn’t pertinent, was it? — and a momentary blackness that you pass off as unconsciousness — because if you don’t truly know what it was, then this mortal man must not have the words either — before waking up in the field near the Shack, Charlie procures a cloth and a bag filled with ice for Loki’s black eye and some gauze bandages for your ankles.
My friend, you contemplate as you watch Loki dab the blood from his temple. It was certainly an interesting choice of pretext. For as well as you collaborate your story, weaving little pieces together seamlessly, without the fumbling you’d expect from a fabrication being spun, he has not once looked your way through the duration of the it, in a manner that feels deliberate and far from friendly, his back rigid as he stands beside you, stiff and uncomfortable and telling of the travesty.
You notice, with a jolt, that Charlie is also paying attention to Loki with what can only be described as a knowing look on his face. You hold your breath, waiting for him to call you out, to withdraw his hospitality. But... he doesn’t seem angry. A bit frustrated, perhaps, but not unkindly so. Almost as if he thinks Loki is being ridiculous about something. You have a second to be very perplexed by that — and isn’t that a first — before Charlie sighs.
“Where does it hurt?” he asks Loki, eyes going stern as he folds his arms over his chest.
You turn your head at that, nonplussed, and Loki’s shoulders rise the slightest bit more before he assumes a confused expression, forehead bunching in the center.
“I... what?” Loki raises the ice to his head meaningfully, a rather polite way of pointing out the obvious.
Charlie, unswayed, looks at you and rolls his eyes in solidarity that goes over your head.
“Men,” he says, shaking his head in exasperation and giving you a wink that makes you crack a smile, regardless of your bewilderment. “Always with the ego.” To Loki he adds, “The lady isn't gonna think less of you for being in pain. So what is it? Back? Ribs? Side? Where does it hurt?”
Loki manages to look both indignant and sheepish, opening his mouth as if to argue before relenting with a huff. For your part, you frown at him and hope the expression comes off as concerned and disapproving. Truly, you had no idea that he was hurt beyond what you had seen. But it does distract from the fact that if it weren’t for the whole escape attempt turned realm traveling escapade, you and the prince wouldn’t even be on speaking terms with each other.
“I have some bruising on my ribs. It’s nothing major and there’s not much to be done about it.”
Tetchy, you think as you raise your eyebrows. And just to solidify the illusory friendship, you decide to pick at it. No other reason, of course.
“Nothing major, Loki?” And don't you just lay it on thick with the I can’t believe you were hiding this from me eyes and the cut the bullshit tone. “Last time you said that, you had three broken fingers.” He scowls, ostensibly sullen at not getting away with the attempt to negate the severity of his injuries, but his eyes are dark in a way that tells you he’s wise to your scheme and won’t thank you for it. “Well?” you prompt, not for a second letting your gaze fall from the prince’s as you stoke the flames a bit more. “Show me.” And oh, if looks could kill...
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” he hedges. He takes a step back and he looks distressed, enough so that you feel just the slightest twinge of guilt. But, now that you’re really paying it attention, his breathing is shallower than it should be, and his free hand is flexing like he wants to reach up and clutch at his middle. He turns to Charlie, probably imploring him to let the issue drop, but if anything, Charlie just seems more persistent.
“You heard the lady. If it’s as fine as you say it is, it shouldn’t be an issue, and if it’s worse...” He lets the rest hang.
“But,” he protests, flicking his eyes to the windows of the shop and wetting his lips, “couldn’t anyone come in?”
And yeah, there is that. You’d pretty much demanded he take off his shirt, and you can see why he might be reluctant to have just anyone walk in on that, even if you hadn’t pegged him as a particularly shy type. Clearly, he’s not even comfortable with just you and Charlie, which, also, is fair.
“One moment,” Charlie says and walks to the door, flipping around a hanging sign so it declares the place closed to the outside, and then he makes his rounds of the windows, pulling on cords that make some very clever sort of curtains made of suspended, flat rungs that obscure the view but still let light in drop over the panes of glass. “Not anymore.” He returns and offers Loki a shrug that’s understanding, but inflexible, because he knows he’s just trampled Loki’s last excuse.
If there is a way to undo buttons resentfully, Loki does it, keeping his eyes on the floor and pressing his lips together as he works to open the front of his tunic. He slides his arm out of his left sleeve, letting that half of the tunic fall behind his body, but he keeps the other side as is on the uninjured part of his chest, retaining a sliver of modesty.
As it turns out, you were right to question the sincerity of “nothing major,” because Loki’s ribs are patchy pink and red, with two very dark parallel lines of bruising at the base of his rib cage on either side of a raised stripe of swollen, yellowy flesh. Your eyes widen in realization. Those bastards had actually hit him with the staff, and pretty damn hard by the looks of it. It’s enough to make you grimace in sympathy.
“Are they broken?” Charlie asks, sounding strained.
“Yes,” you say at the same time Loki says “No.”
He glares at you, and you glare back, unapologetic.
“What makes you think I’ve never seen broken ribs before? I’ve had broken ribs before.”
“I don’t believe the bones are fractured. Just the surrounding tissue is damaged,” he grits out. “I’ve broken ribs before as well.”
You frown in thought at that, considering the injury again to try to determine the extent of the damage. But, it seems, just a quick glance isn’t enough evidence. Nothing for it.
You step up to Loki and raise a hand to give an experimental tap to one of the less busted up looking areas. He jerks away with a staggered breath that ends in painful sounding cough. For a second, he looks furious, and you wonder if he’d actually lash out at you.
“That hurts?” you ask. If even that slight a touch was so painful...
“Of course it does! What do you expect?”
You gently press on another spot instead of answering. You ignore the tiny flinches and contractions of muscle under your fingertips as you repeat the process across his chest, although you give a wide berth around the welt.
“Do you feel any grinding, anything like the bones are moving in a way they shouldn’t be?” you ask.
“I do actually know how to do this myself,” Loki snaps.
You sigh, about to repeat the question and ensure you get a definite answer, but Charlie is quicker.
“Then why haven’t you?” he challenges, and Loki stares hard at the floor again.
“It may be worse than I first thought,” he admits, and really, he makes it seem more painful than the bruising.
‘It may be’, you think sarcastically, but charitably don’t voice aloud. You sigh again and snatch the ice pack from the counter where Loki had set it aside to undress and hold it against the strike mark.
“Do you have any more of those gauze bandages?” you ask Charlie without turning toward him.
“Actually, I’ve got something better,” he says and he goes to retrieve whatever it is, footsteps fading into the room in the back of the building.
Once he’s gone, you level Loki a look with as much patience as you can manage, which isn’t a lot, since frustration may as well be running through your veins, but you suspect half of the prince’s crabbiness is due to pain, which you know from experience is no small amount.
“Are they broken?” Your tone warns him not to lie.
He hesitates, nostrils flaring and still sour-faced as ever. But he does say, eventually, more quietly than you’d expect, “I don’t think so.”
You nod, believing him, and keep the ice pack pressed against him as Charlie returns and hands you a roll of a long, elastic band of material.
“Lift your arms,” you instruct, waiting for him to comply before removing the ice to focus on unrolling the wrap. “Deep breath in, and hold it.”
Loki tries, really, but it’s clear that it causes him a lot of pain, and each time after he draws in a bit of air, he keeps coughing it back out involuntarily.
“A little at a time. Work your way up,” Charlie advises, and he tries that, arms shaking as he holds them out.
As soon as Loki manages to fill his lungs all the way, or nearly so, you set to work wrapping his chest, passing the stretchy bandage around his back and under the hanging, still damp tunic, around and around, feeling awkward as you work, and keeping your attention steadily on the bandage, and not on the surprisingly warm skin your hands brush against from time to time. Eventually, you fix the end of the wrap with the little claw-like hooks it came with to part of the strip, and step back in relief.
Loki lets out the breath he was holding, followed by prolonged coughing, which he tries to stifle.
“Don’t. Coughing is good. It keeps your lungs clear.”
“Hurts,” Loki manages through his truly awful sounding hacking.
“Which is why I brought these,” Charlie tosses a bottle at him that rattles when he catches it. “Take two.”
Loki puzzles out the cap and eventually tips two of the tablets from the bottle into his palm and swallows them dry.
You pick the ice back up and hand it to Loki once he’s done setting his tunic back to rights.
“Thank you, Charlie, for the generosity you’ve bestowed on us and the aid you’ve given. We will not impose on your goodwill any further, but if you could point us in the direction of the nearest inn, we’d be much obliged.” Loki dip his head deeply to the old man and his impeccable manners and respect are far less simulate than they had been at first.
You, too, bow lightly to Charlie and thank him, and he returns your warm smile.
“No need for all that, you two. I’m just glad I can help. There’s an inn just up the road, in fact, within walking distance, even for you,” he nods at Loki.
He points you in the right direction, and slips you each an apple “for the road” and with a last farewell, you head out toward the inn.
Part 11
#loki fic#loki fanfic#loki/reader#loki/you#loki x reader#loki x you#loki odinson x reader#loki odinson x you#loki laufeyson x reader#loki laufeyson x you#loki imagine#loki fandom#if you know where to look#bifrostgiant writes
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[FanFic: Shizaya] In Lieu of the Planned
Summary: Shinra asks Izaya to help him with his marriage proposal to Celty, but it winds up helping Izaya out more.
Pairing: Shizaya, Shincelty
AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12722313
Chapters: 1 / 2 (Can be read as a oneshot; adding a short follow up chapter later.)
They sat at an empty dining room table mid-afternoon. Nothing was prepared to set the mood, no details were tended to, and no one of importance was invited to witness. Their surroundings lacked any form of intimacy, but then again the situation didn’t necessarily call for it to be, at least not this time.
An over-practiced performance was repeated with choppy movements of an amateur actor reading from cue cards, his sterile white coat tail billowed out behind him while it caught the draft from an exaggerated bow. Softened eyes peeked above the frame of oversized glasses while he gazed up from a respectful tip of his head. The man was brimming with hope for the answer he desired; after all, the proposal was long overdue. He grabbed the other’s hand from the one that sat before him and delicately lifted it to rest in his palm, hesitating before laying a kiss on its surface. Air was sharply let into his lungs to prepare himself to speak.
"I have loved you ever since I set my eyes on you. Will you do me the honor of marrying me?"
Clicks of fingernails swiftly tapped across a glass surface and spoke in place of a verbal response. The message was short and took only a few seconds before a cellphone screen was revealed with a deliberate shove in the man's face to read.
/No./
Shinra's expression fell flat, "Come on Izaya! Take this seriously!"
Mildly perturbed, the doctor removed himself from the floor and collapsed into a dining room chair that had been left angled outward. His hips slumped dramatically forward an inch away from the edge of the seat. He exhaled his held breath.
The informant sat comfortably across from his nerve ridden friend, an easy smile reflected determination to pester him. He idly spun his cellphone between his thumb and forefinger.
"It's difficult for me to put on a convincing act of your headless girlfriend, Shinra."
The aforementioned peeled off the chair’s support to meet Izaya with a rebuttal. "Oh come on. In all the years you have been observing and psychoanalyzing humans, you can't muster up some kind of believable response?"
"Hmm, that's the problem, she's not human. She is unreadable and impossible to predict." His arms extended to either side of his body in a natural shrug.
"As if you don't have any experience with monsters. Going by your normal definition, don't you and Shizuo fall into that category?" Shinra innocently jabbed at Izaya's weakness with a smile.
"That's different. I'm closer to a god than anything, and of course Shizu-chan is a monster," he disconnected his gaze, a wrinkle to his eye accentuated his smile, "but he deviated from being human, as opposed to Celty who strove to act more human. One I can respect over the other, at least in this specific case."
Shinra adjusted his glasses to sit higher on the bridge of his nose. "Oh ok, that makes sense now, thank you for clarifying."
"You are aware that your mocking doesn't have any effect on me, right?"
He hummed, "I'm sure it does on occasion."
The dark haired brunet switched his crossed legs as an indication of back-tracking the conversation. He cleared his throat.
“Back on point: you can't just repeat the same declaration of love you've been burdening her with since middle school and proceed directly into asking for her hand in marriage. That's underwhelming, even for you."
"Hm, you think she would turn that down then?" His eyebrows sunk with disappointment.
An illuminated phone screen tilted back up in presentation, "I mean she already did."
Shinra dismissively brushed his hand, "In that case, Casanova, what would you suggest I do?"
"You're actually willing to listen to me instead of us cycling through your multiple failures?"
Shinra nodded with enthusiasm.
Izaya stood, resting his hand on the back of his chair he stretched out his muscles in teasing preparation of his performance.
"I suppose it would be easy to assume the role of an obnoxious doctor. I would like to think I understand his character well enough given the time I've had to deal with his selfish shenanigans."
"Of course, of course. And in that case, I'll take on my beautiful angel's persona, waiting to be wooed by the love of her multiple lifetimes.” He clasped his hands together while he batted his eyes. “Oh Shinra~ whisk me away to paradise with your declaration of love!"
"...don't make this more unpleasant than it already is. I don’t think I can wash my hand enough to forget the feeling of your lips on it, thank you." Izaya's eyes turned deadpan in immediate regret. He shook his hand in emphasis.
"Also I’d like to point out how I roleplayed your 'angel' better than you with only one word, where as you had a sentence and already messed it up. Stop talking." He drew a finger across his throat to represent her missing head.
The doctor let his words go mute while attentive doe eyes met Izaya's.
It was off-putting having to pseudo propose to his long-term friend while speaking in a fluid, Shinra-esque, soliloquy. He already committed himself to the task, though, and he didn't wish to disappoint himself by backing down to a challenge.
Izaya knew his natural suggestion would revolve around snarky jokes and bad advice. As amusing the thought of sabotaging the other was, Izaya moved onto a better strategy. He caught a glance at Shinra as he passed time by swaying to either side of his chair impatiently. His mind seemed too lost on the multiple outcomes of his proposal to notice Izaya's uneasy hesitation, which was just as well.
The informant only saw Celty as his courier, so writing her a love ballad, let alone seeing Shinra’s replacement reactions to it, made this task unnecessarily complicated. Perhaps it was more fitting to remove the awkward interactions by turning away, closing his eyes, or maybe picturing someone else entirely. The latter seemed most optimal to help stir his creativity.
Imagination helped cater the scene to be more in line with Izaya's interests. Chocolate locks turned golden blond and excited fidgets were canceled out by a lackadaisical recline, a cigarette rested between lazy digits. His sleeves were rolled to the crook of his elbows while an undone bow tie hung around his neck resembling his after work habit of dressing down. A faint scent of tobacco was summoned from his memory that Izaya could swear he could almost breathe in. The vision he created calmed his disjointed thoughts and brought him to a coherent mindset.
There was a loving turn of his lips at the thought of performing for his partner rather than the alternative. Inspired by the illusion of his love accidentally had Izaya dip into the well of his own planned poetry instead of creating a clumsy idea for his friend’s use.
"We were introduced at an influential time of our teenage years. I was instantaneously entranced by your deviance from normalcy that contrasted your beauty against a sea of grey. My immediate attraction killed my ability to see my life with anyone else and your preemptive rejection to my interest failed to sway me. My unconscious made a decision despite my knowledge to sequester myself from intimacy with others to allow for a doubtful potential of us."
A padded shuffle tamped a circle upon previously plush carpet in front of the table he had deserted. Izaya blocked out his vision with closed lids. The imagined living room centered on his ex-bartender whose careless smirk accompanied a drag of smoke from his cigarette. The harsh overhead lighting was softened by a golden gaze that beckoned him to continue.
"I fought the notion of ‘love at first sight’ to stave off the obvious gravity between us. It became foolish to deny that the unique waltz we danced around our feelings was drawing us closer together instead of further apart. Our presentation of love was unconventional, but it spoke of a deeper connection than just simple infatuation."
Concentration drew the blond's attention away from the burning orange stub that now reached his fingers. The sharp alert to his senses had him shake his hand and curse under his breath. Izaya chuckled, remembering the endearing consequence his partner often met when he paid attention to him.
"Our relationship gradually turned away from our repetitious tirade. I began to understand why I created a farce of equilateral love instead of affection for one; I had already given my heart to my enemy and I needed to protect myself from harsh rejection. Even though I resisted at first I realized that you enriched my life in more ways than just a rival that gave me a challenge, but you riled passion in my soul and piqued my heart's interest. You became the peace to my chaos."
His partner's expression was stuck with a generic pleasant smile plastered to his face. Izaya was unsure of the reaction he would receive at this point, but he needed to proceed forward rather than ruminate over frivolous details of a figment's body language. The conflict was hastily settled by the formation of tears that created thin streams down reddened cheeks, despite how cliché it was.
"You're the human anomaly I stumbled upon and the monster I never asked for, but I found the only stalemate I could accept eternally being unresolved.”
"Chase me to the altar, will you, Shizuo?"
Izaya’s fluid pace stopped in front of Shinra; his vision came back to reality and put him in view of the wistful smile his friend gave him from his propped head in hand.
Dark brows furrowed. He assumed Shinra would supply him with a snarky comment about how he didn't know him to be that romantic, or at least gush over how it would work perfectly for his bride to be. His arms crossed in wait of Shinra’s assessment.
"It's amazing how similar both of our obsessions became. I guess we rubbed off on each other."
Shinra's epiphany seemed out of place for Izaya's offered assistance. But when a lanky figure adorned in a two toned uniform stumbled into his peripheral he realized he had slipped the wrong context and name into his monologue. He grimaced; he accidentally proposed to Shinra in place of Shizuo.
Shizuo’s typical bartender's apparel was dressed up with a flustered red accent for the occasion, his shoulders caving in while he uncomfortably stood in front of Izaya. Behind them, Celty slunk out from a wall’s cover; her dark smoke billowed out in dense bashful clouds. It appeared that the serendipitous arrival of the monster duo placed them in the perfect situation for eavesdropping. Shizuo had been shoved into the room at the end against his volition, looking appropriately out of sorts.
The couple tried their best to look at one another without an awkward undertone, which failed each time they adverted bashful eyes from the other.
"Yes." Shizuo looked down to the floor for a fifth time while he rubbed the back of his head.
"’Yes’ to what now?" Izaya raised a brow.
Shizuo responded silently with a raised left hand and pointed to an empty ring finger.
"You can't just spy on my and Shinra's conversation, barge into the room, and answer a question I never asked of you, Shizu-chan.”
Shizuo jolted his attention back to Izaya with a perturbed frown wrinkling his forehead. Off to the sidelines, Shinra mimed a chuckle with a raised hand to his mouth in a learned behavior from the panicked woman whom he wrapped an arm around.
The room filled with loud reverb. "Are you saying all of that was a lie then, Izaya?"
"I didn't say that. I was just here to offer up advice for Shinra and his proposal. Oops," he shrugged at Shinra with a tongue protruding a smile and was met with an exasperated sigh and an accentuated puff of smoke.
Izaya addressed Shizuo again. "Perhaps that was all it was, Shizu-chan."
Shizuo's annoyance turned less hostile, "Oh really?"
"Mmhm."
"You don't want to marry me."
"I also didn't say that."
"Prove it then."
Izaya sighed halfheartedly, "what exactly am I proving?"
"Prove to me that you want to spend the rest of your life with me."
Shizuo rummaged through his upper vest pocket to unearth a petite velvet bag that he emptied into his hand. He eased into a crouch on a single knee, a ring held up high in offer. He was focused, but his hand trembled with unprepared fear.
"I, uh, have had this idea for months now and carried the ring with me looking for the right moment. I guess I should have just planned it."
A flush rose to Izaya's cheeks as his left hand was taken into Shizuo's. He knew what was coming, but his nerves caused his heart to beat heavy as he failed to wait calmly. His unconscious happiness pulled at his lips, but he tried to coolly battle it causing his mouth to hold back a cheesy smile. Just moments earlier he was calm while reciting a proposal and now he was a blubbering mess unable to control his emotions.
"Izaya, you are obnoxious, difficult as hell, and you piss me off more than anyone ever could. But without you I would lose my purpose..." he coughed uncomfortably, "um...you know what the question is."
Izaya's answer should have been on the tip of his tongue, but he was overwhelmed by the notion that they had simultaneously been on the same page without talking to each other about it. He desperately tried to prepare an overly verbose response worthy of his standards and reputation, but only one word seemed fitting.
"Yes."
Shizuo beamed while glancing up to meet his partner's eyes before he focused on slipping the ring on his finger with shaky precision.
"I know it's not much, but I saved up to buy it back in February or something."
"...you started saving for an engagement ring the month we got together."
"Yeah?"
"You're unbelievable. And here I thought I had the idea first. I guess I will have to one up you with your ring--"
Izaya was silenced with a merger of their lips. Light glinted off bright platinum as Izaya guided his palms to rest on Shizuo's dampened cheeks. Tears were wiped away with his thumbs.
Shinra, and a reluctant Celty, offered applause that was indeterminately sardonic.
"Alright, now that you have successfully spoiled my proposal AND stole the spotlight, I'm kicking you out, Izaya."
Roused from their kiss, Izaya turned his head in response with a sly pout; he kept his connection with Shizuo, if not drew him in more. "You want the happy couple to leave before we get to celebrate?"
"Of course not! Shizuo can stay. It’s only you that needs to leave." An extended finger pointed towards the exit as he tilted his head adorned with a smile Izaya could only read as annoyed.
"Ha. I suppose we'll /both/ be taking our leave then." Izaya's arm hooked around Shizuo who struggled to shake off his elated haze from a moment earlier.
"Hmm, that's a shame. I was going to ask my lovely fiancé to cook a fabulous engagement dinner for us." He jubilantly clasped Celty's hand in his.
The dullahan’s shoulders jolted in surprise. She swiftly took up her cellphone, almost dropping it in a flurry of emotions. A desperate dance of fingers tapped across the screen typed a message that only Shinra could see. He responded so quickly that it was debatable if Shinra already knew her message through some form of telepathy he had developed for her.
"Ah!! I was so wrapped up in my disappointment that I almost missed my opportunity to ask!" Shinra whined.
When the doctor proceeded to take a knee, Izaya rolled his eyes and began a trek to the front door with Shizuo in tow who was struggling to watch.
"I have loved you ever since I set my eyes on you. Celty, will you do the honor of marrying me?"
Izaya snorted, "he added her name at least. Shizu-chan, get the door for me on the way out." A dry tone flavored his request.
Shizuo silently nodded as he witnessed his two friends exchange an embrace making him ignorant of Izaya's intent for him to unhinge the door in haste. The informant's played up annoyance was sated by slight splintering of wood in the aftermath.
"Welcome to the joy of being unfairly kicked out by Shinra. Think of the transferred abuse as an early wedding gift for my fiancé." Izaya chuckled to himself.
Shizuo leaned in to rest his forehead on his partner's and absorbed the comfort of his arms engulfing him. The newly engaged couple stood in the hallway unaware of anything outside on each other’s presence as their thoughts drifted away from the uncertainty of their future and were replaced with calming reassurance. It was years of pent up exhaustion that had finally unraveled into peace of mind.
"His loss. My gain."
Izaya purred with content, "I'm glad you spied in on my fake proposal today."
"I'm glad you accepted mine."
Izaya sighed at the thought of planning a wedding. "Now we just have to say 'I do'."
"I do."
Izaya shoved Shizuo, "not now, you idiot."
"Fine. How about ‘I will’ then?" he huffed.
Izaya flushed and had to look away, "you're too matter of fact, you lovesick fool. I already know you will."
"And do you?"
"What is this, the actual ceremony? And do you, Izaya, take Shizuo to be your lawfully wedded husband?" He laughed.
"...well? What's your answer, Izaya?"
"I do…"
Shizuo’s broadened his smile more than it should be capable.
"...not need to answer that until we have an ordained minister. I'm guessing the suspense of my answer will kill you, but you need to work on your patience anyway."
Shizuo’s expression flipped to an annoyed frown. “Izaya...you have worked against my patience enough over the years. Humor me for once."
"Perhaps that's only the perception of an impatient person."
Izaya’s cocky retort hung in the air while Shizuo bounced an idea around in his head. Sudden action of the blond took the other off guard as he was whisked off his feet and slung over a shoulder. They ascended down the hallway with brisk pace.
"Hey, hey. You couldn't possibly be taking us to the courthouse just so you can get an answer now?" His pointer finger jabbed at Shizuo’s head multiple times.
"I do not know what you're talking about, flea!"
A sigh that could be read as humored or exasperated left his lips, "well, I suppose 'fiancé' never rolled off the tongue for me. Alas, our picture perfect wedding will never be."
"This… You and me, is perfect enough." The confidently sweet whisper was meant just for them despite it not being necessary in their deserted surroundings.
Izaya didn’t expect an emotional day. He thought he knew what would come of his visit, but was not prepared to deal with this, so he was thankful that he faced away from Shizuo's view of his honest tears that rolled down to meet his easy smile. Shizuo rubbed at his leg in comfort when he heard a few muffled sniffs and a silent hiccup. This was perfect enough for him too.
#Shizaya#izuo#shizuo x izaya#Izaya Orihara#Shizuo Heiwajima#durarara#drrr!!#fanfics#shizaya fanfic#Shinra Kishitani#Celty Sturluson#shincelty#fluff
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As part of my ten day vacation in the United States before heading to Korea for my new job – find out more here – I spent two nights in Washington D.C. Having never visited or stayed in the city, I was surprised to see just how much much the cheapest hotel options cost. Thankfully, because I’m a Genius member at Booking.com I received a whopping 28% off my stay at the River Inn in the Foggy Bottom district of the city. If you’d like to learn more about why I use Booking.com and how to use the website, you can read my guide here. For the purposes of this review I’ll be discussing pricing in terms of the numbers quoted for non-Genius members, as I’m aware not everybody is a part of the programme.
To see my other hotel reviews for cities in Asia, Europe and North America, click here. For a vlog on my time spent in the city and a more in-depth look at the room itself, you can subscribe to my YouTube channel here.
Cost
For two nights, one of them being a Saturday, I paid $250 for a studio apartment. Like most cities across the globe, prices for Fridays and Saturdays are slightly inflated, so if you’re staying midweek I suspect you’ll pay a little less than the $125 nightly fee I was quoted.
It’s also important to note that all Washington D.C hotels have a standard 14.95% tax on top of room rates, and many have what they call Resort Fees. The River Inn does not have such a fee, however others that I looked at ranged from $20 per night to $30 per night per guest.
Location
Nestled in a quiet residential street on 25th NW between I and J streets, the River Inn was just a 2 block walk from the Foggy Bottom metro station (blue, silver, orange lines) and 11 from the Lincoln Memorial.
The hotel itself had a highly recommended restaurant, but there were plenty nearby at all price points. There was a 7-Eleven a block over, and Union Station was a fifteen minute commute via Metro. Foggy Bottom is one of the most popular neighbourhoods in D.C and alongside neighbouring Georgetown are a hub for students and young professionals. Compared with other accommodations in a similar price range, the hotel had an outstanding location that was central and accessible without the chaos of a downtown location.
I will also add that you have to pay by card at the front desk and the cost of your stay plus a $50 security deposit will be charged as a pending fee to your card at check-in but the amount, minus the deposit if you haven’t damaged anything or charged food to your room, will be taken from the account when you check out.
Decor
The hotel was, for the most part, very modern and minimalist in ya decor. The front patio area had tables and chairs with trees covered in fairy lights, where you could go to work or use the restaurant services and eat outdoors. The small restaurant, the reception area and hallways to rooms were decorated in varying shades of browns and creams. This decor slightly juxtaposed the modernity of the actual room, but added a warmth and cosines to the building whilst leaving me with the feeling that the place I was sleeping was crisp and clean. The white walls, contrasting deep wooden floors and blue accents really reinforced a sense of modernity and freshness in the room.
Whilst typically I’m not a fan of varying interior designs and concepts within buildings, but I think this was done deliberately to evoke such a feeling in guests and was both a smart move and well executed.
Rooms
There are 4 room types within the 8 floors of this hotel, from Studio Queen to a Potomac King Suite and prices ranging from £119 to £214 per night. I opted for a Queen Studio, which included a king bed and sofa as well as a small kitchenette, bathroom, large desk space and a small getting ready area outside the bathroom. The room itself was huge, with plenty of space for 2 people plus an infinite amount of luggage.
The kitchen had a full sized fridge and freezer with a gas stove top, microwave and Keurig coffee machine supplied with pods. There were two sets of dishes, cutlery, mugs and glassware. From there was a large desk, which was also the only place in the room to eat at a table aside from the small side table at the sofa. There were windows that spanned the width of the room, allowing plenty of light in despite another tall building directly facing the hotel. There was a double fitted wardrobe with safe, iron and ironing board, plenty of hangers and space to stow away suitcases and bags.
Besides the kitchen, which was a little outdated, the fittings and fixtures in the room and bathroom really impressed me. Kohler bathroom fittings with a huge ring-lit mirror, bedsides lamps equipped with two sockets in each and plenty of sockets throughout the rest of the room. It was simple in its design, but an elevated simplicity.
Amenities
This is a section that sometimes I’m unable to fill out in these reviews, but thankfully the River Inn offered plenty of those, too. Like I mentioned earlier in this article, there is a restaurant attached to the hotel where room service can be ordered or you can opt to eat in the restaurant itself. On the fridge door there was also an option to order items to stock the fridge, so you can use the kitchen. In all honestly, unless you’re visiting on business and have a fully covered stay then I’d recommend shopping at the 7-Eleven instead because prices were pretty inflated. There was also a full laundry service that was collected daily, at a fee, whilst rooms were being turned over. Over the summer months the hotel also offers free bikes to explore the city, free attendance at a yoga class in Georgetown once a week and some discounts to other health and wellness activities in the surrounding area.
Cleanliness
Thankfully I was pleased with the cleanliness of this hotel, both inside and out. Each morning the fallen leaves were swept up from the sidewalk in front of the building and then it was hosed down, the reception area, corridors and restaurant were clean and the room immaculate.
Staff
Again, I’m glad to say I was delighted with the service. Any queries we had regarding directions and restaurant recommendations we were given an abundance of recommendations and help. Around fifteen minutes after check-in we received a courtesy call from the front desk making sure we were happy with the room, which is the first time this has happened for me and really added a nice touch to the stay. When we called on our first evening to ask for our air conditioning to be lowered, a porter was with us within five minutes and fixed it right away. Lovely, lovely staff and excellent service all round.
If you aren’t able to tell by this point in the review then I’m happy to tell you I was thoroughly delighted with this stay. If ever I make it back to D.C I will for sure stay here again and will recommend it to friends and family. For more content like this directly to your inbox, subscribe to my blog at http://www.caitlinjeanrussell/subscribe or click here.
The River Inn (Washington D.C) As part of my ten day vacation in the United States before heading to Korea for my new job - find out more here - I spent two nights in Washington D.C.
#america#backpacking#city#DC#Destination#Destinations#guide#holiday#hotel#Hotel review#Hotels#photo blog#photography#Review#reviews#travel#travelling#US#usa#vacation#Washington#writing
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Ok, this is one of the best gifs I’ve ever made. And can we appreciate how stylish Fire Force is. Those boxy overlarge darkened silhouettes with the glowing wide vertical stripes that just enhance that boxiness. Mirrored it that large shadowy rectangle buildig. Everything in a slight upwards angle narrowing at the top making the scene feel much taller than it is a single spot of highly contrasting washed out yellow to draw the eye and better define the outlines in one corner while the only movement comes from a streaking falling star in the other corner which looks much smaller than it is because of the perspective of the shot.
In that one image you get the sense of something serous and huge. A difficult obstacle that looms large above but a glimmer of hope well present. In other words, stylish af!
I also talked about the actual show and not just the pretty pictures over on Karandi’s blog. But here, we got some more picture talk ahead!
Let me guess, these guys are part of a shadowy organization! I appreciate the symbolism here but isn’t this a lab? How do you get any work done without light. Ad why does smiley here instantly look like a bad guy even without context? Is it the manic eyes?
I wonder what that HUGE floating heat is about. That heart is bigger that their entire torsos.
Aside from the brief flashback the opening scenes were quite optimistic. It feels sunny and fresh but that blue sky is a little darker than usual. Perhaps there’s a storm on the way?
One of the fun side effects of Fire Force’s premise, is the visual impact it has on fight scenes. As these are firefighters, naturally all the action is indoors, often in darkened broken down buildings. Combat often takes place in low light conditions. And since our main characters have powers that control fire they stand out clearly against the background. The animators have a built in excuse to put a marker on their character so that you can follow them no matter how fast they are going.
It’s a cliché used in almost all anime that have a super power component but I like how organic it is to the narrative in Fire Force.
I’m uncertain about our villain’s design or rather, I’m neutral. It’s actually a fairly good design it just doesn’t speak to me particularly in any way.
Here come the cavalry. Being a fire cat is very gimmicky and kind of silly. I’m not sure why they put that in. Well I have a pretty good idea but it looked pretty ridiculous.
Am I the only one who is delighted by Arthur’s high fringe pony. I love the practicality of it. Maybe it’s just because I do something similar when I work out. It adds a touch of whimsy to his design that is nevertheless perfectly rational.
In that first sky picture (1st column, 4th row), the clouds are arranged in an arch, as if filmed through a wide angle lens. It makes it look boundless and huge, adding a sense of depth to the image that isn’t there in the other scenes. This was when they first started falling and Shinra is desperate to save everyone. As they calm down and the scene gets lighter and funnier, the image flattens out.
The skies in Fire Force are really very cloudy, Considering that we found out this week that this is a post apocalyptic story, this may be indicative of the destruction in the rest of the world. In any case, it makes for real pretty sunsets!
Fire Force usually peppers a few imaginative perspective shots in every episode and so far, they have always been foreshadowing some pretty bad situations. This puddle reflection shot seems to be heralding some grim days ahead.
If you remember my gallery for episode 2 it was essentially stifling. Going from bright, to warm to blistering! Bright white light gave way to yellow which bled into orange that darkened to ochre with flashes of crimson and died down on a purply orange sunset.
This week was quite different. Starting out in shadows it gave us brief glimpses of a blue skied summer day but kept us mostly in stuffy dark rooms ending up on what could almost pass for a cool night. I know the colours were edited after the Kyoto Animation tragedy so that may actually explain the shift but I’ve decided it works and that it was deliberate.
The palette wasn’t exactly cold, this show still skews more to warm tones but it used slightly warmer blues and greys, the flashes of fire and sunset skewed more to red than yellow. It visually plays with the idea that Shinra is in the dark about may things as are we in the audience.
Well, that quite enough talk about pictures! I hope you enjoyed this gallery!
unlike in the gif, there are no stars in the sky and no warmly lit buildings in the background, we haven’t summoned up the hope yet, still in shock! Instead, the burned remains of the building or lit. It grim and depressing but in a second, it’s going to change… This show is so stylish.
Fire Force Episode 3 – Embers of Doubt – Gallery Ok, this is one of the best gifs I've ever made. And can we appreciate how stylish Fire Force is.
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Top 10 web design tips to get the ideal website
Let’s be clear: web design is an involved discipline that can take a lifetime to master. As if that weren’t hard enough, it’s also a field that’s evolving every second as technology keeps advancing—imagine da Vinci’s frustration if people complained the Mona Lisa “looked old” after just five years.
Web design is something that pretty much everyone on the managerial end of a business has to deal with, but only design professionals truly understand. If you want a great web design, you have to learn the basics, so you can communicate want you want. Even if you’re hiring a professional to design your page for you, you still need some background information to discern a talented web designer from a mediocre one and explain what you need them to do.
We know how hard it is for non-designers to get the hang of this whole web design thing, so we created this handy guide to walk you through the basics. Here are the top ten web design tips you need to know about (plus some useful dos and don’ts), divided into three categories: Composition, Aesthetics and Functionality. Whether you’re hiring a designer or DIY-ing, check your final web design for these ten fundamentals.
Composition
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1. Clear out the clutter.
First, let’s address one of the most common beginner mistakes in web design: a cluttered screen. Most people have a list of everything they want on their website, and without knowing any better, they just throw it all on screen—and on the same page.
Web design by Slaviana
Basically, every element you add to your web design waters down all the others. If you include too many distracting elements, your user doesn’t know where to look and you lose a coherent experience. By contrast, if you only include the necessary elements, those elements are more potent since they don’t have to share center stage.
More white space means less clutter and that’s what really matters in a minimalist, clean web design.
– Slaviana
See how the home screen in the Intenz example by Top Level designer Slaviana features nothing but the essentials: navigation menu, logo, tagline, main call-to-action (CTA) and some sparse imagery for atmosphere and to show off the product. They feature other information of course, but present it later so their screens are never too crowded. It’s the visual equivalent of pacing.
For a web design to be effective, it needs to be streamlined—there must be a clear path or paths for the user to follow. There are many different ways to achieve this (some explained below), but the first step is always to create space for high-priority elements by removing low-priority ones.
Do:
Trim the fat. Audit your designs for the essentials. If an element doesn’t add to or improve the overall experience, remove it. If an element can live on another screen, move it there.
Limit pull-out menus. Pull-out menus (drop-downs, fold-outs, etc.) are a good way to reduce clutter, but don’t just sweep your problems “under the rug.” If possible, try to limit these hidden menus to seven items.
Don’t:
Use sidebars. New visitors probably won’t use them. Plus, if all the options don’t fit in your main navigation menu, you need to simplify your navigation structure anyway (see below).
Use sliders. The motion and new images in a slider are distracting and they weaken your control over what your users see. It’s better to showcase only your best images, all of the time.
2. Use ample white space.
How are you going to fill all that space you created after clearing out the clutter? Might we suggest filling it with nothing?
Web design by Hitron
Negative space (a.k.a. white space) is the technical term in visual arts for areas in an image that do not attract attention. Typically, these are empty or blank, like a cloudless sky or a monochrome wall. Although boring on its own, when used artistically, negative space can complement and enhance the main subject, improve legibility and make the image easier to “take in.”
My mantra is: simple is always better. It draws attention to what’s important for the user almost instantly. Also, simple is attractive.
– Hitron
In the Streamflow example by Top Level designer Hitron, the tagline and CTA take the main focus, not because they’re flashy or garish, but because of all the negative space around them. This landing screen makes it easier for the user to understand what the company does and where on the site to go next. They include gorgeous imagery of the clouds, too, but in a beautiful, minimalistic way—a clever composition with plenty of strategic negative space.
Do:
Surround your most important elements with negative space. The more negative space around something, the more attention it receives.
Avoid boring layouts with secondary visuals. Other aesthetic elements like color or typography (see below) can pick up the slack visually when there’s a lot of negative space.
Don’t:
Emphasize the wrong element. Surround only top-priority elements with negative space. For example, if your goal is conversions, surround your email or sales CTA with negative space—not your logo or sales pitch.
Use busy backgrounds. By definition, backgrounds are supposed to go largely unnoticed. If your background doesn’t have enough negative space, it will steal attention from your main elements.
3. Guide your user’s eyes with visual hierarchy.
If using a technical term like “negative space” didn’t phase you, what do you think of “visual hierarchy”? It refers to using different visual elements like size or placement to influence which elements your user sees first, second or last. Featuring a big, bold title at the top of the webpage and tiny legal information at the bottom is a good example of using visual hierarchy to prioritize certain elements over others.
Web design by Canvas Creation
Web design isn’t just about what you add to your website, but how you add it. Take CTA buttons; it’s not enough that they’re simply there; skilled designers place them deliberately and give them bold colors to stand out and suggestive text to encourage clicks. Elements like size, color, placement and negative space can all increase engagement—or decrease it.
The Shearline homepage example above prioritizes three elements: the title, the image of the product and the call to action. Everything else—the navigation menu, the logo, the explanatory text—all seem secondary. This was a conscious choice from the designer, enacted through a smart use of size, color and placement.
Chart explaining the basics of visual hierarchy. Via Orbit Media Studios.
Review this chart from Orbit Media Studios to learn how to attract or repel attention. It’s an oversimplification of a complex topic, but it works well for understanding the bare basics.
Do:
Design for scannability. Most users don’t read every word of a page. They don’t even see everything on a page. Design for this behavior by making your top priorities hard to ignore.
Test multiple alternatives. Because visual hierarchy can get complicated, sometimes trial-and-error works best. Create a few different versions (“mockups”) and show them to a new set of eyes for different opinions.
Don’t:
Use competing elements. Visual hierarchy is about order: first this, then that. Stagger how much attention each one of your essential elements receives so your users’ eyes easily follow a clear path.
Go overboard. Making elements too big or featuring too much color contrast can have the opposite effect. Use only as many attention-grabbing tactics as you need—and no more.
Aesthetics
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4. Choose your colors strategically.
Now that you’re familiar with the concepts of good composition, let’s talk about the specifics of that composition. We’ll start with color, a powerful tool for any designer.
Web design by Desinly
For one thing, every color has a different emotional connotation. If your brand identity is passionate and energetic, an exhilarating red would fit better than a tranquil blue. Aside from choosing the best colors to represent your brand, you also need to use them well, like contrasting colors off each other to establish visual hierarchy.
To use color effectively in web design you have to understand how colors are formed and how they relate to each other. Harmony and balance are the keys to success.
– Desinly
Just look at how Top Level designer Desinly uses orange in the web design for Oil Sands Masterclass above. First, orange is a smart choice because it’s often associated with the heavy operation equipment the company deals with. On top of that, they pair the orange beautifully with a black background to make it stand out more. They also use the same color consistently as a highlight for keywords and buttons, plus they even integrate it into the background photography.
Do:
Establish a color hierarchy. Use a single color each for your main elements (primary), highlights (secondary) and other less-important elements (background).
Stick with consistent themes. Once you have an established color palette, stick with it. Keep your primary, secondary, and background colors consistent throughout your entire site.
Don’t:
Choose your own personal favorite colors. The effects of colors have a proven effect on marketing. Research color theory and don’t waste a critical branding opportunity.
Clash colors. Choosing colors logically isn’t enough; they also need to go well with each other. Purple and red may both represent your brand well, but the effect is lost if they clash and make an ugly final design.
5. Don’t skimp on photography.
Web design by JPSDesign
Although optional, if you do choose to use real-life photography in your web design, make sure you do it right. Effective, meaningful photography can further your business goals, but poor-quality photos hold you back.
With photography there has to be a connection between branding and concept. Photography can create contrast, attract attention or even draw your eyes to the next section of the page.
– JPSDesign
Using photography in web design follows many of the same guidelines for good photography in general. A stunning photo hung in an art gallery can be just as stunning on a website, but the mood, style and topics have to coincide. Just look at the tantalizing photograph in Top Level designer JPSDesign’s web design above. Those blueberries would look delicious anywhere, but it’s particularly effective on a grocer’s website.
Do:
Use real people. Images of people tend to engage users more—especially pictures of your actual staff or actual customers.
Set the right atmosphere. Photography comes in almost infinite styles, so use the ones that best reflect what your website is going for. If you want a cheerful website, use pictures of people smiling.
Don’t:
Use obvious stock photography. The operative word there is “obvious.” Stock imagery can be beneficial, but only if the user doesn’t realize it’s stock.
Use low resolutions. This is the era of high definition, so low-resolution photography makes a brand seem old or unsuccessful. Bonus tip: use a compressor to reduce large file sizes so you can have your cake and eat it too.
6. Optimize typography to build your brand.
While the words you or your copywriter choose are extremely influential, you can also enhance their effectiveness by giving them the right look.
Web design by Studio Ubique
Typography encompasses all the visuals of text, particularly fonts, but also other elements like size, text color, style (italics, bold, etc.) and the spacing between letters, words and lines. All of these impact the visual hierarchy and how your brand is perceived.
Typography can be visually appealing, but if you use distracting fonts, your reader won’t be able to focus on what you’re trying to say and can become irritated with your website. Combining bold typography with a minimalist twist is your winning ticket.
– Studio Ubique
Like colors and photography, typography comes in a diverse array of styles, so pick the one that complements your brand most. To add a little sophistication to the Her Habesha web design above, Top Level designer Studio Ubique uses a striking yet classy typography for the titles. But notice how the typography changes to subtle, modern sans-serifs for the product titles below the pictures to achieve a balance.
Do:
Use web fonts. For all the variety in fonts, remember to stick with verified “web safe fonts” that can be displayed on most devices and computer monitors. You can learn how to identify them here.
Study the different types. Do you know what a serif is? Typography is extremely nuanced, so bone up on the five types of fonts to give yourself some context.
Don’t:
Overuse flashy fonts. Flamboyant, attention-grabbing fonts can work well for titles or standalone words, but are too distracting when used excessively.
Use the same typography for everything. As in the Her Habesha example, typography works best when it’s balanced. Use different sets for headers, subheaders and body text—and stay consistent with these sets throughout the site.
Functionality
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7. Streamline navigation.
Finally, we move on to functionality: what your site can do. The conversation about functionality should always start with navigation, the backbone of any website.
Web design by martinthehorrible
Everyone has their own methods for finding their way around a website. A good web design caters its navigation to its target users so that it feels intuitive—the less users have to think about it, the better.
But that’s no easy feat. It starts with how the entire site is organized: what gets its own page, what gets shunted to a subpage, what is and is not featured in the main menu. Each of these questions need to be answered before the actual web design really takes off.
From there, you have to design your navigation in a way that’s easy for visitors to use, just like in the example above.
Do:
Find a balance for the amount of options. You want to give users plenty of options, but you don’t want to overwhelm them. Organize your page categories in a way that satisfies these conflicting goals.
Build navigation around real user data. When shopping for shoes online, some users would search under “clothing” and some under “accessories.” Different user groups have different preferences; build your navigation architecture around how your users think, according to actual data. You can conduct some user tests if you’re in the dark.
Don’t:
Experiment with unusual formats. While experimentation in healthy doses can elicit some new and great ideas, it’s not recommended for something as vital as navigation. To avoid making your user think too hard, stick to the conventions that users already understand: top header navigation menu, logo linked to the homepage, search bar with magnifying glass icon, etc.
8. Prioritize mobile.
Web design by Ink’d
Older (but not old!) people tend to think of web design in terms of desktop screens, but the truth is nowadays people do most of their browsing on mobile devices. That’s why you need to make sure your mobile site is in peak condition. Not just for your user’s sake, but for Google’s as well—the Google algorithm factors in mobile responsiveness to their search rankings.
“Mobile responsiveness” refers to how well your site appears on small-screen devices. If your website is cut off on mobile devices or the images appear in the wrong places, your visitors won’t have a pleasant experience using your website. In addition to smaller screens, mobile devices also have a whole new set of design guidelines, including controls like “swipes,” so don’t assume your desktop version will translate seamlessly.
These days it’s really important to consider a mobile first approach. People tend to use mobile layouts differently than desktop versions, so how the website will perform on mobile is integral to an effective design. Focus on minimal, clean design and eliminate clutter to make it easier for users to focus on the content.
– Ink’d
Your mobile version should be a top consideration, right from the start. But that doesn’t mean you can neglect your desktop version. Your website needs to look good no matter what device people use to look at it. Take a look at the web design above to see how Top Level designer Ink’d created variations of a design and—with some slight tweaking—makes it look good on both large and small screens.
Do:
Design the mobile version first. When designing the mobile version, you work with only the essentials because of the limited screen space. It’s easier to tackle the mobile version first and then add elements to the desktop version rather than designing the desktop version first and then removing elements.
Prioritize devices based on user data. “Mobile” devices is an umbrella term, but different phone and tablet types have different screen sizes and technical considerations. Refer to user data to see which devices your visitors use most, then prioritize them in the design.
Don’t:
Use m.dot sites. Those mobile sites that have “m.” in their URL were an early solution to mobile responsive designs before designers knew mobile would overtake desktop. Today, they’re slower to load and damaging to SEO—the best option is to design a single site that works on all relevant devices.
9. Make text easy to read.
Web design by akorn.creative
Designing a site specifically around visuals could harm its legibility. If you’re using a font that looks good but no one can read, you’re throwing the baby out with the bathwater.
When we say a website should be easy to read, we’re talking about three different meanings:
Well-written. The copy text is written to suit your business goals and in a voice that appeals to your audience.
Aesthetically laid out. The copy text is displayed well, preferably with plenty of space and in digestible blocks that don’t overwhelm the reader.
Legible. The font and size are both conducive to reading, without strain or double-backing.
While legibility stems mostly from typography, you also must consider composition and structure, as well as how the text interacts with other elements—not to mention the quality of the actual writing.
Having an amazing web design won’t matter if no one can read your text. Top Level designer akorn.creative takes this to heart—see how in the web design above they faded the background photograph to black to create more contrast with the text and make it readable.
Do:
Pay attention to color pairings. How the text color interacts with the background greatly affects legibility, especially with people who have reading or sight disabilities. Try to stick with contrasting pairs (light and dark tones), and if all else fails, you can always fall back on the classic black-and-white.
Test designs on different readers. What’s legible to you may not be legible to everyone. Test your designs with various readers to cover all your bases.
Don’t:
Use cursive or showy fonts for body text. Extravagant fonts work well in making headers and titles more visible, but when the user has to read line-after-line of text, it’s best to stick with a simple font that’s easy on the eyes.
Include large blocks of text. Large blocks of text intimidate readers, even outside of web design. It’s best to break them up using proactive page formatting or even forced paragraph breaks.
10. Communicate what you want to your designer.
Web design by akdcreative
Let’s say you have a grand idea for a feature of your website. The better you’re able to explain it to a designer, the more likely the final version will turn out like you envision.
Because it’s a team effort, web design doesn’t just involve technical skills, but also communication skills. Communicating what you want for your site, in detail, is the direct path to getting a satisfactory design. Web designers aren’t mind readers, after all.
In the AUSMAIDS example by Top Level designer akdcreative above, it seems as if the client knew they wanted a widget that allowed the user to input the numbers of rooms and the frequency of the visits. The designer took that idea and made it look good. That’s the ideal collaboration between client and designer, and the stellar final product shows it.
Do:
Plan out what you want beforehand. Either write what you want on paper or create a wireframe. Both help you remember everything and they give your designer a solid jumping off point.
Keep an open mind. It’s your designer’s job to make your website as great as possible, so keep an open mind to their suggestions, even if it’s different than what you anticipated. Chances are, they know something you don’t.
Don’t:
Be vague or generic. Using vague and generic terms like “colorful” or “interactive” don’t really say much. Which colors? How do users interact? Be as specific as possible—or agree to leave it up to the designer.
You’ve got this! (Or at least your designer does.)
It’s one thing to read these 10 web design tips, but it’s another thing entirely to apply them to your own site. Fields like color theory, typography, composition and mobile responsiveness are all pretty in-depth, so don’t be discouraged if you’re not getting it all in one sitting. Only professional designers can truly appreciate the nuances of these areas. Hiring someone who understands these web design principles instinctively is usually the safest route to great design.
If you’re looking for a web designer, our designer search tool lets your browse our community of 1.4 million designer from all over the world. You can filter your searches by designer skill level, specialization, or even the types of industries in which they specialize.
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The post Top 10 web design tips to get the ideal website appeared first on 99designs.
via https://99designs.co.uk/blog/
Top 10 web design tips to get the ideal website syndicated from https://www.lilpackaging.com/
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Bob Woodward’s new book, Fear: Trump in the White House, doesn’t come out until Tuesday, September 11. But the Washington Post and CNN have both obtained the book and written up its most attention-grabbing parts, which make it sound very dramatic indeed.
The book is said to claim:
One month after Trump became president, he asked Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Gen. Joseph Dunford for plans for a preemptive strike on North Korea.
After a chemical attack in April 2017 was tied to the Syrian regime and President Bashar al-Assad, Trump told Defense Secretary James Mattis that he wanted Assad assassinated, saying, “Let’s fucking kill him! Let’s go in.”
During Trump’s practice session with his lawyers for a potential interview with special counsel Robert Mueller, he disastrously melted down — which led his then-attorney John Dowd to tell him, “Don’t testify. It’s either that or an orange jumpsuit.”
Much like Michael Wolff’s book Fire and Fury, the book portrays President Trump as detested and scorned by many of his top advisers, who are said to see themselves as working to protect the country from someone they see as ignorant and irresponsible.
White House Chief of Staff John Kelly purportedly called Trump an “idiot” and “off the rails,” and said “we’re in Crazytown.”
Mattis is described as telling associates that Trump acted like, and had the understanding of, “a fifth- or sixth-grader.”
Former National Economic Council director Gary Cohn purportedly took trade-related documents off Trump’s desk to prevent him from signing them and causing crises.
Dowd is described as believing Trump to be a “fucking liar.”
Trump himself, meanwhile, is described insulting current or former aides such as Reince Priebus (“like a little rat”), H.R. McMaster (“like a beer salesman”), Jeff Sessions (“mentally retarded, he’s this dumb Southerner”), Wilbur Ross (“past your prime”), and Rudy Giuliani (“you’re like a little baby”).
After rising to prominence as one half of the legendary duo whose reporting of the Watergate scandal helped eventually bring down President Richard Nixon, Woodward has in recent decades written several deeply reported books chronicling internal deliberations of the Clinton, George W. Bush, and Obama administrations.
For all these books, including the new one on Trump, Woodward conducts hundreds of hours of interviews with sources from the administration (or who are close to people in the administration). But his sourcing is what’s known as “deep background,” meaning he’ll often use the information he was provided but not say where it’s coming from, even vaguely. As for why people talk to him in the first place — he’s very famous, he’s really tenacious, and (perhaps most importantly) people assume everyone else is talking to him, so they should give him their own version of events.
Naturally, any new Woodward White House book sets off a Washington guessing game about who his sources are. The general thinking is that if someone is a prominent part of the book, and their interactions (and especially, their thoughts and opinions) are often described, they — or at least someone close to them — likely talked a lot.
In the early write-ups of the book, a few names — Kelly, Mattis, Cohn, Dowd, and former White House staff secretary Rob Porter — come up conspicuously often. Whether or not they spoke directly, it seems clear that Woodward is providing these aides’ versions of key events from Trump’s presidency.
The basic gist of the various anecdotes involving these aides seems to be similar: that Trump often says or does ignorant and outrageous things and they try their best to prevent him from screwing things up.
There are two main possible motivations for these leaks. One would be to honestly get the word out about what working with Trump is like. The second would be for these aides to try to rehabilitate their own reputations, positioning themselves as heroes. As Woodward would be the first to admit, sources’ motivations are often complex and self-interested.
But in contrast to Wolff’s loose and gossipy tome, Woodward’s book is expected to provide a great deal of specificity — facts, dates, reconstructions of meetings, and documents. He’s also more interested in policy, and the book will reportedly delve into how North Korea, Syria, and trade policy were made.
Still, anonymous sources may of course try to get away with spinning or misleading Woodward. That’s harder to do for, say, meetings with multiple people in the room — Woodward is a master of reconstructing internal meetings by cross-referencing what various attendees have given him. But when one particular person’s thoughts or motivations are described in detail, you should probably read it as what this person is telling Woodward rather than, necessarily, the honest truth.
One person who did not talk to Woodward is President Trump. In a bizarre phone discussion posted by the Washington Post Tuesday, Trump repeatedly insisted to Woodward in August — after the book manuscript was finished — that his aides never told him that Woodward wanted to interview him. (Woodward says he made that request repeatedly, to several Trump aides and associates of Trump.)
“It’s going to be accurate, I promise,” Woodward assured the president of the book.
“Yeah, okay. Well, accurate is that nobody’s ever done a better job than I’m doing as president. That I can tell you,” Trump responded.
Original Source -> Bob Woodward’s new book: President Trump’s top advisers think he’s “an idiot” and “a fucking liar”
via The Conservative Brief
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Evaluation-How effective is the combination of your main product and ancillary tasks?
For my A2 Level coursework, I created a 4-5 minute short film, and for my ancillary tasks I created an A4 film poster and a double-page feature from a (fictional) magazine.
In order for these three products to be effective, they needed synergy. Synergy is the cooperation of organisations or, in this case, products, to work together to create something greater than the sum of their parts. There are several ways in which this can be achieved, for example, brand identity. Having a strong brand identity means that the audience can easily identify/recognise the brand just from the logo, or a certain image associating to the brand, for example, the ‘Swoosh’ on the Nike logo.
A more multimedia example would be ‘The Kite Runner’, a novel by Khaled Hosseini that has been adapted as both a 2007 film and a stage play. Each of these have similar themes in their design for advertisement purposes, for example the subject of the images for each of these being a boy with a kite facing away from the camera, and the use of the colour blue alongside an ‘earthy’ colour such as orange or brown; these similar themes give each version of the product synergy with each other, and allow the audience to easily recognise the different adaptations of ‘The Kite Runner’ easily as a result. The target audience can easily ascertain, without the title, that the book and the film are linked, due to their aforementioned synergy. While the typography is different, they are similar enough (and also the exact same title) which allows little room for confusion as the target audience will most likely already know that the film is based on the book for the aforementioned reasons.
The film poster uses a bright red background, as this connotes blood and danger-two large aspects of the horror genre. The background image itself, a seemingly harmless path, is made to appear more dangerous this way; the warning sign depiction a stick figure being eaten by another stick figure is a nonverbal key signifier that there are zombies present in the film. This sign being placed on this path suggests that there is a danger of zombies in the area, so the typical tranquility of the path is made to be more sinister as there could be a zombie around the corner waiting to attack.
The typography of the title is designed to look ‘odd’ and ‘militant’, the bright yellow-which signifies the use of chemicals which are typically brightly coloured-contrasts greatly with the black-that suggests death-and makes the text stand out on the poster. It also fits in with the theme of the warning sign, as the phrase ‘biohazard’ is also used typically on warning signs in areas with dangerous chemicals. The font type gives the title a militant feel, and makes it apparent to the audience that this is a disaster on a large scale if the military has to be involved. The title itself, ‘Biohazard’, also connotes danger and chemicals as a biohazard can be a chemical spill. This creates an enigma code for the audience, as they will want to know what this ‘biohazard’ was, and how it has led to the creation of zombies.
For my magazine feature, I wanted to contrast heavily with the film poster. My main method of doing this was simply inverting the main colours, so that there is much more white with small amounts of red in comparison to my film poster which has large amounts of red with small amounts of white. This was an easy and natural contrast to make, as magazine pages are almost always white, which worked well in my favour. I used red for headings within the pages, so that they would draw attention to those parts of the pages-which would encourage the audience to interact with the magazine outside of just reading it as social media links are advertised.
Unlike the film poster, the presence of zombies is clearly stated and shown through the main text of the review and also in the main image that the text is overlaid on top of. This allows the target audience to cross-reference with the film poster and fill in the blanks; the enigma codes present in the film poster are answered as the biohazard’s creation and the appearance of zombies is made clear in the magazine feature. I chose to do this deliberately, as not everybody reads magazine features, and although unlikely, not everybody pays attention to film posters. This way, people can learn as much as they want to about the film by simply interacting with only one of the ancillary tasks, as the target audience being (young) adults means that they can easily interpret what either ancillary task is suggesting about the film as they are an active audience.
My ancillary tasks have synergy with my main media product-the short film-in several ways. The first and most obvious is the colour scheme, as the short film takes place in a clinical, sterile environment that is primarily the colour white. This is a colour prevalent in both ancillary tasks, and suggests that the real danger was not in the bright ‘red’ of the earth but was rather in the ‘white’ which was supposed to be a safe and clean colour, the scientists are also all wearing white lab coats which further suggests that things associated with the colour white are the issue-in this case, the scientists and the lab are at fault for the ‘biohazard’. The colour red is used for the earth in the film poster to suggest the perversion of nature and the natural order that is revealed in the short film, and that it is humanity’s own fault for bringing about this crisis.
I also used chemical imagery, such as the microscope and bubbling liquids, to link the main product to the title of ‘Biohazard’; the liquids bubbling and frothing suggests that the boiling point before the disaster is near, which ties into the narrative clues the magazine feature gives about the disaster. As one of the opening scenes shows, it is too late for the only remaining scientist to fix the mistake, and so he can only warn others about what’s happened. This ties into the film poster, as it suggests heavily that he fails, and that zombies become loose in public areas. This creates a sense of poignant synergy among the three products, as the film poster technically reveals the ending before it’s ever shown.
By using an image of the main zombie in the magazine feature, the audience will want to see the zombie in action. This creates suspenseful synergy between the tasks, the film poster hints at zombies, the magazine feature shows an image of one, and so the target audience will want to see the film to see how the zombie is utilised. I decided not to to show the zombie in full-only part of the transformation and the jumpscare right at the end-so that there suspenseful atmosphere is sustained, and so the target audience will not know what to expect.
I also decided to keep the zombie in the lab coat as not only does this tie it into the magazine feature and create synergy, but also because it shows that humans can be monsters like anything else; while this is a clichéd and typical message it is a message that works and makes the audience an active one as they will have something to think about once the film has ended. This also creates synergy with the film poster, as the tagline ‘man is on the menu’ also suggests that humanity can become prey for a more powerful apex predator-such as themselves.
Overall, I feel I have created strong synergy between my main product and ancillary tasks through strong links to do with colour scheme, connotations, message and imagery, that allow each of them to stand out on their own but work better with each other.
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