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simlit · 2 years

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a visual guide | requested by @izayoichan

Iza asked me for some tips to get started with fantasy setup and scenery, and I've been asked before in the past, so I figured I'd just write up a post to better explain my personal process. This is by no means a tutorial and if you like your builds to be playable and seamless this is not the post for you. But if you're interested in how I go about things or just have a morbid interest in long rambling posts, enjoy!

decide what you want to see in your pictures

I approach all my pics the same way, because I generally have a specific look I want to achieve, the same way I have a type when I make sims, I like all my pictures to have a consistent aesthetic throughout. I think it's common that a lot of simblrs have a signature, even if they don't think they do. I'm just aware of mine and actively work towards it. But I haven't always had "my thing" and honestly the only way to find what is yours, is to try different things and find what stands out to you as being visually pleasing.

When I make photos I incorporate the same few elements; namely transparent curtains or "flowy draped things", leaves and florals which I use to frame my pictures to give some semblance of foreground and depth to my photos. Plus a lot of hazy soft white light... and sometimes sparkles.

One way I can recommend to find what your style is without taking heaps of pics, is to go through your favorite kinds of artwork and see what elements pop up repeatedly. What sort of things do you like about those pictures and how can you try to mimic or incorporate them in yours?

building with the final product in mind

A lot of people have asked for my builds over the years not realizing that while some of my sets are expansive, they are only made for the explicit purpose of taking pics, and that I intentionally angle photos to give the impression that there's more to it than there is. Most of my sets are very small and don't make much sense in practice:

Think of the sort of picture you want to make, and consider your formatting. For edits I do "pinterest/lock screen" style vertical format, which means I will have a very narrow, very tall lens, so I only need to decorate in a condensed space. For story shots I have to build more extensively because they are wide shots. Building for a specific picture or set of photos can reduce the amount of work you put into setup.

planning your set

Depending on the sort of theme you're going for, find some pieces of cc that illicit that vibe of the aesthetic you want. Here are a few of my go-to’s when I do anything elven:

Take lot space into account. I almost always build on 64x64 lots unless I am doing a single room. When I build small sets I usually focus on details up front, then get less detailed for the background because I know they will be blurred. This applies to lived in spaces like homes or community lots where you would clutter surfaces, or in wooded areas, use more of your flower and stone clutter in places you know will end up in the photos.

Larger sets are much trickier, because you have to have a sense of scale to make things seem realistic, but since ts4 gives us limited space to work on, it can be very challenging. For my castle and other large scale builds I usually only build one particular area on a lot, then other pieces of it on separate lots. [For example, in this CotS scene, the bridge entrance into the banquet hall was on one lot, while the interior was on another]. This is one way I make things seem larger than what they really are. But this is not recommended for someone who wants full builds with all locations seamlessly together.

When I start building, I generally begin at the middle and expand outwards. I’m not one of those smart people that pre-plans where everything will go on a lot, I just go in swinging and hope things fall into place lmao. Please reference this ask for more evidence of my failure and disorganization amazing city-building skills.

Use flowers, rocks and bushes to hide sharp edges or corners, especially to cover the bottom of walls or foundation. A little terrain painting underneath to add naturalness, and some fallen leave clutter to give the appearance of the passage of time.

Scale is really important in high fantasy. As scenery elements in fantasy concept art, movies or video games are often depicted as massive, and impose themselves on the surrounding setting. Here’s a great video that explains scale in art. How can we achieve this in sims? Easy! We have the power of resize button ;) Add some interesting angles and voila!

Make the lot seem bigger, more "mystical" with the use of fog and light objects for exteriors, or mirrors when doing interior/corridors.

Downloads: [fog rugs] [light + darkness objects]

As a purely alpha simmer, I also use heavy foliage, cliff rocks, backdrops and fog to obscure the maxis match game world.

Use TOOL mod and OMSPs like your life depends on it.

If you want more technical and visual guides on how to build in ts4, or do big city builds, I know kateEmerald and SatiSims both have time lapse and how-to videos on their youtube channels.

When building fantasy sets I don't usually have reference photos. The fun part is creating my own personal world, so I don't want to mimic something inch by inch. Instead I try to recreate a feeling for myself. I've always loved fantasy, LOTR in my favorite movie, and WoW was my first major MMO. Their settings make me incredibly nostalgic, not only for the feel of the parallel history they represent, but for the time and place in my life in which I discovered them. When I'm building, I am specifically trying to recapture that feeling. Which is why I settle on a handful of sets and use them again and again, because they represent some portion of that memory.

It's hard to explain it in writing, but I recommend digging through your own personal experiences with your favorite fantasy game series, novel or maybe a place you visited that gave you a feeling of "magic" and try to weave that into your build. One such place for me is Yehl/Vaia's bedroom, which reminds me a lot of the room in Rivendell where Frodo wakes up after Arwen's ride, or the inn from AoA which makes me nostalgic for the renaissance festival in my home state. Focusing on the feeling can be sometimes better than trying to recreate something, because often when using a fantasy concept ref you are going to run into some game limitation, especially if you can’t make your own cc, and that will discourage you from continuing. It may also be better than using other people's game photos as reference, because then you will likely end up too similar and that style wont feel like your own. But if you’re just starting out, I really recommend using pinterest to collect some images of things you like, photographs or artwork, anything. It’ll give you a starting point if you’re completely lost.

After sitting down and trying to write this up, I realized it’s much more difficult to explain via text how I make any of my sets LMAO. I know you primarily asked for my thought process and such, but I’ll be happy to try and answer any specific questions you might still have. All in all, the only way to improve is to practice. And try not to get discouraged and give up, because that only hinders progress. Find some part of it that you can love, cuz otherwise you’ll never be able to make yourself do it xD Anyways, this was just a long drawn out way of saying “throw things at the wall and hope they stick”, GL!

#jade babbles #text post #saviorhide

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carolyncaves · 4 years

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I’m cheating slightly and saying this is an entry for both Day 9: Shower and Day 10: Rainbow - my excuse is this scene is long enough to count double. From a chronological standpoint, this is the very beginning of the NHS/OC, JC&OC saga, which as I’ve said follows the same post-canon thread as my fic Senseless (on AO3), but the only important background is Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are Together (because of course they are).

2209 words, Wangxian, Nie Huaisang, OC, Jin Ling, Jiang Cheng. Post CQL, drama at parties, banter, Wangxian feels, Meet Zhang Meihua

The banquet – held in honor of Jin Ling’s accession to Sect Leader – was essentially a very lavish excuse to invite everyone in the cultivation world to Carp Tower to shower him with praise and gifts of goodwill. It was a very Lanling Jin thing to do, but at least they’d thrown a good party to entice and compensate the guests. Wei Wuxian was most of the way through his second bottle of baijiu and felt pleasantly warm from it, and the evening was still young.

He himself had been personally invited, which indicated Jiang Cheng had no control over the guest list. Not that a lack of an invitation would have kept him from his sister’s son’s celebration. Lan Zhan was invited to everything, because he was Chief Cultivator, and ever since they had become more one thing than two, he brought Wei Wuxian everywhere with him without fail and wore a version of his blank look that dared anyone to say anything about it. So far, no one had.

Lan Zhan had paid his respects to Jin Ling (as had Wei Wuxian himself, somewhat more jovially and obnoxiously and overbearingly, as a good uncle should), but with that duty fulfilled, Lan Zhan seemed more interested in doting on Wei Wuxian than in socializing with the other cultivators – or rather staring silently into the middle distance, which was how he usually behaved at parties. Wei Wuxian barely had time to breathe before he was being handed each next cup of baijiu or pilfered blossom or small delicacy Lan Zhan had acquired from a servant’s tray. This time, it was a tiny cherry cordial jelly, with a piece of sugared orange peel on top.

Lan Zhan had been increasingly free with gifts and indulgences now that Wei Wuxian was a permanent inhabitant of the jingshi, and for a while Wei Wuxian had often teased him about it, his own roundabout way of trying to tell him he didn’t have to, that Wei Wuxian was not so very needy, that Lan Zhan could relax because he would stay regardless. Then one time Lan Zhan had inclined his head, almost in shame, and said, “I like giving things to you,” very quietly. That admission, in addition to lighting Wei Wuxian’s insides up like a brand, had made him change course completely. Now he simply made sure to show he liked the things he was given. He tipped the cordial treat into his mouth, savoring the taste and smiling at his companion as he did it. In this case, he wondered if Lan Zhan’s particularly fervent behavior had something to do with the past. The last time they’d been here, Wei Wuxian had been wearing Mo Xuanyu’s mask, and once that had been removed, he’d been stabbed trying to exit.

The time before that, Wei Wuxian had drunk a cup of liquor on Lan Zhan’s behalf and left Lanling at odds with the entire cultivation world.

They were a very long way from that now, in time and in metaphorical distance. Still, Wei Wuxian knew Lan Zhan had suffered greatly when he was gone. Those memories had haunted Lan Zhan through the long absence in a way they never would for Wei Wuxian himself. He let Lan Zhan do whatever he wanted to do, hoping his pliance would soothe him.

“Wei-jiu!” Jin Ling’s voice pierced through all the crowded hall, and the words sent Wei Wuxian’s heart up to lodge in his throat. Jin Ling and Jiang Cheng – who had been carefully distant from Wei Wuxian all evening, this being the first time they’d seen each other since their previous conversation which had resolved some things but not others, and who now looked moments away from apoplexy at either Jin Ling’s active solicitation of Wei Wuxian’s attention, the term he used to do it, or both – were standing over Nie Huaisang, who – Wei Wuxian had been keeping track – was sitting in a well-behaved manner in the Nie delegation’s section of the hall and not seeking anyone out. Nie Huaisang was smiling placidly, but Wei Wuxian could still see he was a little alarmed at being the center of attention of now four of the people who had been present at Guanyin Temple that day. Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure whether that alarm was warranted or not.

Two jars of baijiu deep, he was more than curious to find out. He was halfway across the hall before it occurred to him to check with Lan Zhan, but he was following in Wei Wuxian’s wake, looking cool but placid. He would be all right.

“Venerable Sect Master Jin,” Wei Wuxian greeted, bowing exaggeratedly low to his nephew. He bowed to Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang as well, as courtesy required. It occurred to him that all three of them were Sect Leaders, of three of the main sects. With Lan Xichen in seclusion, Lan Zhan was not very dissimilar from being one himself, at least for now – in addition to being Chief Cultivator. Wei Wuxian considered himself standing among them and chuckled. He didn’t think being the former Yiling Partiarch, brief ruler of several radish fields, made him quite their equal.

“What’s so funny?” Jin Ling scolded. “I called you over here to settle something. I heard you punched my father in the face when you were all at Cloud Recesses together, and Jiu Jiu says you were being hotheaded and foolish, but Sect Leader Nie says my father deserved it.”

“Sect Leader Nie says many things,” Lan Zhan said, eyes narrowing in his direction.

Nie Huaisang fan kept fluttering gently against his chest and he kept his smile up, but Wei Wuxian could see his throat bob. Lan Zhan did indeed sound very threatening, and it would probably be bad luck to have blood spilled on the day of Jin Ling’s celebration, so Wei Wuxian took Lan Zhan’s hand and squeezed it and said, “They’re both right, Jin Ling. I behaved rashly in defense of my sister’s feelings, to be sure, but your father was a young man acting foolish himself. It’s like what I told you before, about getting in some fights while you had the chance.”

“You told him what?” Jiang Cheng seethed, and Wei Wuxian thought maybe in the end blood would be spilled after all, only it would be his own, when they were interrupted by the sound of a voice clearing its throat.

A woman was standing there, having approached their group. She was of their generation, if on the younger side of it, and her hair was worn in the arrangement of an unmarried woman. Her yellow and purple robes were a style that evoked Lanling, and she was smiling, with a similar attitude about her as the floral pattern on her dress – light and carefree. Wei Wuxian didn’t recognize her, so she had to belong to a minor sect or family. She carried no sword.

“Sect Leader Jin,” she began, bowing, “Your Excellency, Sect Leaders, Senior Wei. I apologize for interrupting your conversation, but I was about to depart, and I was hoping to get the chance to speak with Sect Leader Nie beforehand.”

Nie Huaisang sat up straighter, apparently surprised to be addressed. “Well, of course. You look somewhat familiar to me, guniang. Have we met before? Your name is …”

“Zhang Meihua. I believe my father invited you to stop for tea at our family’s manor when you were on your way here from Qinghe. I was out, but I’m often told I and my two elder sisters look very much alike.” She smiled in amusement. “So we ourselves have not met. But later that day, I found this in our hall.” She reached into her wide belt and withdrew a folded paper fan, the same sort Nie Huaisang himself carried. “I believed you may have left it inadvertently, and I thought I should return it to you.”

“Oh my, Zhang-guniang, you didn’t need to come all this way over a paper fan,” Nie Huaisang said jovially. He reached out, and seemed idly perplexed when she didn’t just hand it to him.

“It was no trouble, Sect Leader, I was already thinking I’d attend.” And then, despite her casual tone, she steeled herself just a little – imperceptibly WWX might not have even noticed – before opening the fan and holding it down for Nie Huaisang to inspect.

The painted side was facing out, and the art was obviously not Nie Huaisang’s, at least as far as Wei Wuxian’s eye could tell – it lacked his subtlety. But that didn’t seem to matter. The transverse side of the fan, the side Nie Huaisang often used to write poetry on his own, was angled so as to be visible to Nie Huaisang only. And Nie Huaisang – who was always playing with the fan in his hands, who was always animated with a whole rainbow of inane emotions he was happy to have you see – Nie Huaisang was frozen, his face a rictus of his disintegrating smile mixed with swift horror.

Something was written there, and Nie Huaisang was surprised and very unhappy to see it.

Wei Wuxian had just processed it, was reaching for Chenqing with one hand and Lan Zhan with the other, when Zhang Meihua snapped the fan shut.

“Ah, Sect Leader Nie, I think I’ve made a mistake,” she said, laughing a little, lightly. “I actually think this must be my oldest sister’s fan, which I don’t recognize because she never uses them. I will put this back where it belongs, where it will certainly never see the light of day again.”

Huaisang’s eyes lifted, then – from the fan to her face. His expression was melting toward bewilderment.

“I assure you, Sect Leader, you have nothing to fear. I have no ambitions against your artful style. I suppose I was merely searching a little too eagerly for an excuse to introduce myself to you, because I appreciate the skill of your work.” Zhang Meihua bowed low and proper. “Sect Leader Jin, congratulations again and thank you for your hospitality.” She turned and walked toward the open doors at the far end of Glamour Hall.

Nie Huaisang watched her go like a man transfixed.

“What was that all about?” Jin Ling, characteristically demanding even when he had missed an important thread.

When Zhang Meihua reached the doorway, she looked over her shoulder to see if Nie Huaisang was still watching. She saw that he was, and she inclined her head at him, and then she held the fan out and dropped it into one of the braziers blazing next to the entrance to help heat the spacious hall. The orange light inside it flared briefly, as the flames consumed the paper and whatever secret of Huaisang’s had been inscribed on it. Then it was over, and she was gone.

“Ah, what indeed, Jin Ling,” Wei Wuxian laughed over Nie Huaisang’s still-dazed head. “That was a fellow appreciator of the painted fan, trying very skillfully to catch the esteemed Sect Leader Nie’s attention!”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said quietly, a gentle warning. Wei Wuxian ignored him.

“Why did she burn it then?” Jin Ling asked, still oblivious.

“She said it herself – she did not want Huaisang to feel she was threatening his supremacy in the fine art of carrying paper fans.” Wei Wuxian knew he was radiating far too much glee. He couldn’t help it.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan repeated, a little more firmly, and Wei Wuxian conceded. A deep rose blush had by that point painted Nie Huaisang’s cheeks, and if Wei Wuxian carried on more about it, Jin Ling would eventually catch the drift.

“Ah, well. An interesting person to have met, wouldn’t you agree, Esteemed Sect Leader Huaisang?”

“Aren’t you going to go after her?” Jiang Cheng scowled. Wei Wuxian couldn’t imagine Sandu Shengshou letting anyone leave the room after a dramatic revelation of a personal secret, assurances of that person’s good intentions to the contrary.

“She’s probably already gone,” Nie Huaisang said, almost absently. “She said she was leaving, didn’t she? It’s a long journey back to Zhang Manor.”

“But at the next cultivation conference …” Wei Wuxian raised his eyebrows, making an implicating face at Lan Zhan – who did not roll his eyes at him but clearly wanted to in spirit – and Jiang Cheng – who did.

“Oh, I’m not sure if she’ll make an appearance,” Nie Huaisang dissembled, his own fan once again beginning to flutter. “If she’s a maiden daughter of a minor sect without much to do with cultivation, she surely has better things to do than travel all the way to Qinghe to attend a cultivation conference.”

“I have a good feeling about it,” Wei Wuxian proclaimed. He truly did, too. Not just that Lady Zhang would absolutely make an appearance at the next public event Nie Huaisang attended. If Wei Wuxian could bet Lan Zhan’s money, he would wager that someday there would be a public event held in their honor.

To make her statement with such an audience, four powerful figures and Wei Wuxian as well … this Zhang Meihua seemed like a person who knew what she wanted, and who would take bold steps to see it through.

#untamed spring fest #the untamed #cql #mdzs #nie huaisang #zhang meihua is really just shooting her shot #very inane detail: i decided to just play fast and loose with the cherry cordial jelly #mixing what seemed whimsical and yummy with what google informed me is a traditional chinese dessert genre #since this is a fantasy setting #but i'm very white-american so if that's just obviously wrong i'm sorry #my fic #nhs #zmh #wangxian #jc #jl

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pervasivescariness · 5 years

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[ Mistletoe ]

A wee fluffy Starlight drabble :3c Under a cut so I’m not cluttering any dashes with words words words lol (and yes there is a doodle at the end) featuring; @ivaan-ffxiv

Starlight had come to the Moineaux Manor and with it, the annual Primrose Society Starlight Ball. The typically dreary halls of the manor were well lit, decked out in all the trappings of the holiday season. Strings of tiny glittering lights lit the rooms, twisted through the deep, vibrant greens of holiday garlands, each further decorated with large crimson bows and polished golden bells and baubles. A large banquet table full of all sorts of delicious holiday treats had been set up in the dining room alongside several smaller tables for guests to take a break from the revelries proceeding in the grand ballroom next to it. The sound of the small orchestra filled the manor, drifting from the ballroom to the parlor and the library, both which saw several small groups of guests involved in deep conversations. While the party was open to the public, it did have a considerable draw amongst the scholars and magic types and as such, much of the conversation leaned towards academics.

Far from the noise of the ballroom and standing apart from a smaller cluster of scholars which seemed to be locked in a fairly intense debate over the exact properties of aether in regards to the elements, stood Ivaan. Dressed in a fine doublet of deep green which matched that of the garlands strung about the room above him, he had taken up residence under a small archway far out of the way of the main traffic, busying himself with a small plate of tasty sweets he had spirited away from the banquet hall. Bee was nowhere to be seen and had been flitting in and out of his vision all night, busy with making the rounds on the social circuit it seemed. She had elbows to rub and impressions to make and despite her insistence upon dragging him along for the evening, the two were soon separated by the pull of the crowd and Bee's split attention. Not that Ivaan could complain much, as there had been plenty for him to enjoy himself, especially in the banquet hall.

That was, at least, until he realized that there was a small cluster of ladies just to his right that seemed to be taking turns glancing his way. Three Ishgardian women, high house ladies by the looks of their fine silks and furs, all clustered together and whispering back and forth. They continued to cast their eyes in his direction, giggling and smiling at him as he worked his way around the plate of pastries in front of him. This continued on for a few more moments before the tallest one of the three, a delicate looking brunette, straightened slightly, tilting her chin up at a confident angle and made to take a step in his direction--

--only to be immediately cut off by the sudden appearance of that familiar ginger miqo'te. Bee swept into the scene, stepping directly in front of the woman's path without a glance in her direction, her sight solely upon the man under the archway. The long, fluttering white sleeves of her dress shimmered as she crossed the room to take up the space directly beside him. Only then did she glance over her shoulder, throwing a smug look towards the disappointed women a few paces away. With a flick of her tail, Bee returned to Ivaan with a bright grin upon her face, taking a moment to take a small sip of dark liquid from the crystalline flute she held delicately between her fingers.

"I thought I might find you here." She teased, "How are you finding the night, Ivaan?"

He finished swallowing the bite of gingerbread he had been working on when she arrived, "I am having a wonderful time. Met some dragoons and learned a lot, and the food is incredible. Why are all these women staring at me?"

Bee rolled the stem of the near empty glass between her fingers idly, her smile holding both genuine happiness at his enjoyment of the eve and the coyness which comes from the fact that she was about to rattle his cage a bit. With a flourish, she motioned above them to the Starlight garland which stretched across the space over their heads. Hanging from the arch was one of the large red bows that decorated the rest of the garlands. At the center of the bow itself hung a healthy sprig of mistletoe in full view. Bee continued to point without saying a word, keeping her eyes on him so as to witness his reaction in full. Ivaan eyed her curiously before trailing his gaze upward.

Squinting, he identified the dark green leaves at the center of the arrangement. "Oh, that is..." A wave of color washed over his features as the ball finally dropped. "Oh."

"Were it not you, I'd have assumed your choice of location was intentional." Bee mused, watching the pink blossom on his cheeks as the realization set in with a satisfied smirk.

A matching pink flush lit her own cheeks, though whether it was from the prospect of kissing him under such romantic circumstances or in thanks to the wine she had imbibed, none could be sure. Reaching up with her free hand, she slipped a finger lightly under his chin, the tilt of her head causing a ringlet to fall free and dangle just over her collarbone. "However, it is Starlight and rules are rules."

"You know me better than that." Ivaan huffed defensively, cheeks reddening further as he looked down to meet her gaze. He was just in time to watch a curl fall from its place, a sight that always somehow made his heart skip a beat. "Traditions have to be respected, and observed..."

Bee grinned brighter at the deepening red of his cheeks, truly her favorite color. Her eyes glimmered as she held her gaze upon him, studying his face. An idle thought crossed her mind in that moment; how content she might be to spend the rest of the evening lost in those golden pools...But she couldn't afford to stare overlong, lest she appear to have faltered in her gamble. Bee gently pulled him forward with the finger which rest under the scruff of beard upon his chin, tilting her head to the side as she raised up on her tiptoes. Closing the distance between them, Bee placed a gentle kiss upon his scarred cheek, lingering slightly to enjoy the feeling of his warmth upon her lips. As she pulled away from that rather chaste kiss, she winked at him and added softly, "You'd do well to keep an eye out for more mistletoe...as I understand it, they've hung a great deal of it about the manor tonight."

#ffxiv #ff14 #writing #drabble #starlight celebration #starlight celebration 2019 #starlight drabble #Ivaan Arkwright #Bee Ohkabe #>:3c

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tsukishhhima · 7 years

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Home

Written for Tsukkikage Week! Days 3 and 5 Prompts: Fireworks and Plans (This honestly got way too long so hope you all don’t mind me combining prompts)

Rating: T

Words: 3.9k

"So then Hinata said we should play volleyball again but I told him I'd already played with you and he got so mad but he's so short so it was funny-"

"You sure become talkative when you're drunk don't you," Tsukishima smiled, turning off his camera and going up to Kageyama.

"I'm not-" Kageyama stuttered in the middle of his sentence when Tsukishima stepped closer. "You're... close."

"I'm aware," he murmured, reaching out to caress Kageyama's soft cheek.

This was one of the few limitations that came with photography, Tsukishima thought as he watched a wobbly smile cross Kageyama's face as he leaned against his hand.

There was no way you could actually reach through the photo and feel Kageyama's skin, warm in the quickly cooling night air. There was no way you would know how it felt when he turned his face to press soft lips against Tsukishima's fingers.

And there was definitely no way you could pull him closer, and hear him gasp in surprise before kissing the hell out of him.

"Please, Tsukishima-san!"

"Sorry, I can't do that," Tsukishima mumbled, trying to make it clear that he was very uninterested in the girl standing in front of him.

"Why not?!" said girl asked, pouting and looking up at him through her obviously fake eyelashes in a way that Tsukishima guessed was meant to be cute.

It just seemed utterly pathetic to him.

"Look, just because you're a model doesn't mean I'll immediately agree to do a shoot for you," Tsukishima sighed. He'd been doing that an awful lot this evening.

"But! But you agreed to do it for... for him," she frowned, looking off to a table near the edge of the banquet hall where a certain dark haired male was hovering over a row of expensive drinks. Hopefully he didn't drink too much... Tsukishima still had bad memories from last year's awards ceremony.

The blond turned his gaze back to the girl when she continued with a flip of her hair, "Like, he's probably not as famous as me," Tsukishima had to hide a smirk when she said that because he actually had no idea who she was, "and even if he is, he just looks... kind of boring and unattractive."

Tsukishima stood there in mild shock for a moment. Had she really just said that about his...

He blinked, having to remind himself that people often behaved idiotically when they were jealous. Well, actually people were stupid in general, but this one was proving to be a special case.

Tsukishima gave the girl a fake smile (still less fake than her eyelashes though).

"I'm fairly sure Kageyama is as famous as you are, considering the fact that he was one of the lead actors in BNHA," he stated, lips curving up when the girl's eyes widened in surprise.

"He's also been nominated for eleven awards tomorrow, and runs a very successful business aside from his acting career. Oh, and did I mention he's only 23?" Tsukishima was almost having fun at this point. Almost.

It felt great watching the girl's expression go from confident to sour, and it was a shame that Tsukishima decided to be a decent person and not take it too far.

Time to play his final card.

"You called him boring and unattractive right? Well.. you might need to get your eyes checked because I only take pictures of beautiful people."

And with that, Tsukishima walked away, not sparing her a second glance as he made his way through the crowd of celebrities towards the table he'd seen Kageyama at earlier.

He looked around when he got there, not finding him anywhere nearby. Now if he was a drunk Kageyama, where would he be...

Well, that would depend on how drunk he was, Tsukishima thought to himself with a chuckle as he left the table and wandered around, always keeping an eye out for a dark head of hair.

A level one drunk Kageyama was even more intimidating than he usually seemed. Though he'd told Tsukishima that he only looked like that because he'd rather have milk than vodka, but his costars would force him to take a shot to "lighten up."

Level two drunk Kageyama actually did "lighten up" a bit, as his glare would become more unfocused and he'd start smiling(?) more.

And level three was where he started to become... extremely clingy, Tsukishima smiled to himself as he thought back. Kageyama had pretty much sat himself in his lap and refused to let go the whole night. It would have been really endearing if the paparazzi hadn't been around to gawk at them the whole time.

But they weren't here today so who knew if level four drunk Kageyama would make an appearance...

Tsukishima finally wandered out on the balcony, where a few couples were quietly chatting away, silhouettes outlined faintly from the city lights outside. It was significantly less crowded out here, so it only took a minute before Tsukishima spotted a lone figure standing at the edge of the balcony.

As he made his way over, it hit him that Kageyama had been by himself for most of the night, and he couldn't help but feel a little bad for him. Popular as he was, Kageyama was more of a solitary king, admired by many, yet close to none.

At least that had been the case until Tsukishima had forced him to open up during their first photo shoot. Now he was close to one... or well two if you counted his annoying shrimp of a roommate but that was beside the point.

"Hey," he said, lightly patting Kageyama's back to announce his presence.

Kageyama turned to look at him and his face practically lit up when he noticed Tsukishima. His tie was crooked and his shirt was half undone under his blazer and... okay, he looked really good like that.

"Tsu- Tsukishima.. Where were you..." Kageyama whined and wrapped himself around the taller blond, nuzzling his neck.

This was definitely a level three drunk Kageyama and Tsukishima was so very grateful.

"I had to deal with a few bothersome people," he shrugged, absently stroking Kageyama's silky hair. "But I'm glad I got to you before you ended up drunk on your ass like last year."

Kageyama made a confused sound so Tsukishima sighed before elaborating, "You started shamelessly grinding on me while blabbing about all the things you wanted me to do to you later."

That had Kageyama blushing, his face turning even redder than it already had been from the alcohol. "Well... good thing you stopped me this time, right?" he muttered quietly.

"Yeah,but barely," Tsukishima said, pulling Kageyama off of him so he could adjust his tie. "A famous actor like you can't go ruining his image by looking unprofessional, so try and sober up."

Once he was satisfied with the tie, Tsukishima buttoned up the top half of Kageyama's shirt as he complained, "But I liked it like that..."

"Save the sexy look for tomorrow night when I can have you to myself," Tsukishima murmured in his ear, and that immediately put an end to Kageyama's whining.

A cool breeze blew across the balcony, ruffling Kageyama's hair as they looked out at the city lights in the darkening sky. Or well, Kageyama was looking; Tsukishima was too busy appreciating a much better view.

It infuriated him to no end that people would claim Kageyama looked boring. If only they bothered to look a little closer, then they'd see how his dark blue eyes would sparkle when he talked about acting or volleyball, how his soft lips would curve into a small smile when he was really happy...

Or how absolutely stunning he was when his cheeks were flushed a light pink color and his hair was swaying in the wind like it was right now.

Beautiful, was the only word Tsukishima's mind provided him with.

Suddenly a loud noise shook him out of his thoughts and pulled his attention to the explosion of color in the sky. Streaks of blue, green, and every other color imaginable lit up the balcony and reflected off of Kageyama's eyes as he gazed up at the fireworks, amazed in his inebriated state.

And the whole scene was just too irresistible for Tsukishima to not try and capture in a picture.

He quickly grabbed his camera that was almost always slung around his neck, adjusting the exposure settings before pointing it at Kageyama to take a test shot.

"Hey, I wasn't ready," Kageyama said when he heard the click, trying to fix his posture and only succeeding at looking extremely awkward.

"I keep telling you, you don't need to be ready," Tsukishima retorted, looking at the picture shaking his head.

The exposure was still too dark, and he hadn't held his camera steady so it was a bit blurry and yet... the way Kageyama was leaning casually against the railing, staring off into the distance still managed to make the picture look amazing.

And not to mention, the picture quality was shit, considering Tsukishima's very high standards he always held himself to.

So he had no idea how people could be so stupidly, blissfully ignorant of the hot mess currently standing in front of him.

"Tsukishima.." Kageyama started, and Tsukishima looked up from the picture to see him smiling up at the sky. "Did you know I used to be scared of fireworks?"

"No... Why would anyone be afraid of fireworks?" He replied, only half concentrating on the conversation so he could adjust the settings on his camera.

"I was a little kid!" Kageyama pouted adorably for a moment before continuing, "But it was cause I used to think those things would fall down and set everything on fire."

"Oh that's... actually kind of cute," Tsukishima replied with a small smile, snapping two pictures in succession.

"No one thought it was cute back then," Kageyama grumbled, and Tsukishima let him ramble, changing positions every so often to capture Kageyama's perfection from different angles as the background colors kept changing with each wave of fireworks.

Taking pictures of Kageyama was honestly something he didn't think he'd ever tire of. There was just so much to him... so much he desperately wanted to portray in a picture.

There had been multiple occasions when his camera had run out of battery with only photos of Kageyama on the SD card.

Okay, maybe he was a bit obsessed, but it wasn't as if he posted these anywhere so no one else would find out.

And his stupid boyfriend would never believe that all the pictures meant anything other than him being used as a subject for Tsukishima to practice on, so it was fine, really.

Kageyama was talking about their cat now, laughing about how she'd woken them up this morning yowling because she'd gotten herself tangled up in one of Tsukishima's scarves.

Tsukishima used that chance to capture a rare Kageyama in mid laugh, the fireworks behind him making it look like he was glowing a very soft blue.

That one.

That was the one, Tsukishima knew it.

Every so often, he'd take a picture that would come out absolutely, unbelievably perfect.

And it would always, always happen at the spur of the moment. Tsukishima could plan for ages and try to coax Kageyama into smiling properly for a shot, but nothing could compare to this one picture.

It was raw, unedited, natural beauty.

Tsukishima took a slow, deep breath, and then double checked to make sure that photo was saved before looking away from his screen and up to the real Kageyama.

"So then Hinata said we should play volleyball again but I told him I'd already played with you and he got so mad but he's so short so it was funny-"

"You sure become talkative when you're drunk don't you," Tsukishima smiled, turning off his camera and going up to Kageyama.

"I'm not-" Kageyama stuttered in the middle of his sentence when Tsukishima stepped closer. "You're... close."

"I'm aware," he murmured, reaching out to caress Kageyama's soft cheek.

This was one of the few limitations that came with photography, Tsukishima thought as he watched a wobbly smile cross Kageyama's face as he leaned against his hand.

And there was definitely no way you could pull him closer, and hear him gasp in surprise before kissing the hell out of him.

Not that Tsukishima would let anyone else experience those things anyway; Kageyama was his and his alone.

That possessive thought had him biting on Kageyama's bottom lip a little, getting a low moan from him in return.

Tsukishima wasn't normally a fan of PDA (Kageyama was just a bit oblivious to the awkwardness that came with it). But since it was dark and there weren't that many people around, he let the kiss continue.

This was easily one of the best things the world had to offer, Tsukishima thought as he tilted his head and encouraged the actor to open his mouth and deepen the kiss.

Making out with Kageyama just felt so... right.

It felt as good as the weight of a camera in Tsukishima's steady hands, or the satisfying sound of the shutter going off when he took a picture he knew would turn out amazing.

They parted for a mere second, only to draw in a breath of much needed air before diving back in, Kageyama pressing his whole body against him now.

Fuck, Tsukishima could honestly kiss him forever-

"Oh so that's why you think he's so beautiful."

A familiar voice spoke up near them and Tsukishima groaned, pulling away from Kageyama and discreetly wiping his mouth before frowning at the source of the unwanted third party.

It was the girl from earlier, back and even more annoying this time.

"Some professional photographer you are, if you'll only take photos of your boyfriend," she sneered.

Tsukishima sighed, about to reply but Kageyama beat him to it.

"Tsukishima doesn't take pictures for people he doesn't like," he said defensively, still wobbling a little but sounding much more sober than before.

"And he especially won't do it for rude and stuck up people... are these fake?" Kageyama sounded amazed as he reached out to try and touch her eyelashes and Tsukishima bit back a laugh as he pulled his hand away.

"What are you- what's wrong with you?!" She said, sounding disgusted and weirded out as she stepped back to put more space between them.

"He's drunk," Tsukishima shrugged, but didn't say anything else. Normally he'd apologize but... Kageyama hadn't been wrong.

"Still, a so called famous actor like him can't go around insulting people like that! If his fans found out..."

"Did you forget you started this whole thing by coming here and insulting me?" Tsukishima was honestly getting really fed up with her.

But now that she was threatening Kageyama's public image and reputation, he knew the smartest move would be to back down.

So instead of continuing to argue, he first shushed Kageyama who'd started to say something. Then he took out his phone and pulled up a website.

"Here, this is my roommate. His photography style is similar to mine and I'm sure he'd be willing to do a shoot for you sometime," Tsukishima said, hoping she'd just accept it and leave.

Surprisingly, the second she got the offer, she smiled brightly, almost bouncing on her feet.

"Ooh! Okay I'll contact him right now!" She said, literally dialing the numbers right in front of him. Tsukishima wondered if she'd suddenly become possessed by an entirely different person.

But at least she was off of his tail now and he could get some peace.

"Well, hope it works out," Tsukishima muttered and then started pulling Kageyama away from her and back into the main hall where people had started to dance.

"Did you shove her off to Hinata?" Kageyama asked, leaning heavily against Tsukishima.

"Yeah. I don't even feel bad about it."

Kageyama laughed, a pleasant sound in his ears as he dragged him to a round table and made him sit down.

Tsukishima nudged a glass of water in his hand before taking a seat next to him.

"Drink up, you'll thank me for it tomorrow," he said, watching the actor pout at the water.

"I want milk," he mumbled, and Tsukishima had to promise to buy his favorite milk tomorrow before Kageyama finally downed the glass.

Twenty three years old and he still acted like a child sometimes.

And Tsukishima though it was ridiculous that he found all of Kageyama's little quirks cute.

It was an interesting concept too, how Kageyama himself was somewhat naive and awkward in social situations. Yet when he was given a script, he could nail almost any kind of character.

Take his last movie for example. Everyone had thought he'd get the role of Todoroki Shoto, a somewhat calm character that didn't have many friends at first due to issues from his past.

But then when the final decisions were made, all of Japan had been shocked when Kageyama had gotten the role of the main villain instead, Shigaraki Tomura, who didn't hesitate to kill anyone to achieve his goal.

Tsukishima himself had been a bit skeptical at first, but then any doubt had been washed away when he'd seen Kageyama practice his lines in their bedroom.

He really was something, Tsukishima thought as he watched Kageyama staring intensely at the flowers placed at the center of the table.

"Tobio-chan! What are you doing?!"

Tsukishima looked up to see one of Kageyama's costars rushing up to him and drunkenly trying to pull him out of his chair.

"Hey-!" He quickly stood up as the other guy dragged Kageyama away towards the group of people dancing.

"Tobio-chan's boyfriend can come too! You both need to stop being boring and have some fun!"

Tsukishima rolled his eyes but followed the two of them anyway. He obviously couldn't let Kageyama go anywhere by himself when he was drunk, knowing him he'd probably mistake someone else for Tsukishima and start trying to kiss them.

Yes, it had happened before.

Once he found his way back to Kageyama, the actor looked at him with poorly disguised puppy eyes and Tsukishima frowned at him.

"I'm not dancing."

"Tsukishimaaaa," Kageyama whined, trying to grab his hands as he deftly evaded him. "You don't even have to do a lot!"

"Uh, that definitely looks like a lot," he retorted, pointing at a couple that was doing a complicated routine that seemed more like it was for professional dancers than a simple party dance. Oh wait, they probably were actual dancers.

Kageyama grumbled something under his breath and Tsukishima put his hands on his cheeks, making him meet his eyes.

"Kageyama. You don't dance either. You only want to now because you're drunk as hell," he explained carefully.

"But that's the point..." Kageyama trailed off suddenly, and Tsukishima let go off his face when the music started to change.

This melody was a lot slower, a soft voice joining in with the sound of piano, singing in a language he didn't understand.

Before he could process anything, Kageyama was guiding Tsukishima's arms around his waist.

"You can do this dance for sure," he said, his own hands finding their way to Tsukishima's shoulders.

"What..." Tsukishima tried to pull away but Kageyama only clung to him more and then started swaying their bodies in time to the music.

"See?! It's super easy," Kageyama said, leaning his head forward on Tsukishima's chest.

Okay so maybe this wasn't so bad...

Tsukishima reluctantly started moving along with him, eventually taking the lead as Kageyama just rested his weight against him.

"I'm surprised you know how to do this," he murmured into the actor's ear.

"I'm not that stupid," Kageyama mumbled, and Tsukishima huffed a small laugh. "But it's cause I had to do it for a movie a while back."

"I figured."

They stopped talking for a while after that, just enjoying the other's presence and warmth as they slowly rocked back and forth.

And then Kageyama looked up at him, eyes still somewhat unfocused, but serious.

"Tsukishima... are you coming with me next month?" He asked quietly.

Next month... Kageyama would be leaving to shoot a movie in America. The shooting itself would only take about three months, and they had been apart for longer than that. But this time, Kageyama had other events to go to concerning the company he was working to build, along with plans for a second movie that would also be shot there.

And there was no set date for his return to Japan.

"I... don't know," Tsukishima answered honestly, leaning his head down on Kageyama's shoulder.

Tsukishima could go with him, probably. As a successful photographer, it wasn't as if he didn't have the money.

In fact there were only two problems. The first was that he probably wouldn't make much money there, since his fame was, for the most part, limited to Japan unlike Kageyama who had fans all over the world.

And the second was... he couldn't just follow his boyfriend around forever, could he? Tsukishima hated when the media sometimes just referred to him as Kageyama Tobio's boyfriend instead of the hard working photographer he was.

That last one was mainly a pride thing, but still...

"It's going to suck being away from you for that long," Kageyama sighed into his shirt. "I can never sleep properly without you next to me now."

Tsukishima felt the same, even though he always complained that the actor would take up way too much space and hog the blankets.

Nights without Kageyama were always lonely and left him feeling like he hadn't drank coffee in a week.

Not to mention the fact that phone/Skype sex was literally nothing compared to actually having Kageyama writhing under him in bed.

"Yeah, and I'll definitely miss fucking you," Tsukishima said with a smirk, earning him a small shove from a blushing Kageyama.

"Okay but seriously," he continued, "I'll maybe come visit you sometime so it won't be that bad. You said you were going to New York right?"

Kageyama nodded. "New York, and then from there I think I'm going to LA."

"Well, I've always wanted to take pictures in Central Park," Tsukishima said thoughtfully. He could already imagine the gorgeous pictures he'd be able to get of Kageyama in the snow. "And then LA has that place where famous people live, Beverly Hills I think."

"It has Disneyland too," Kageyama added, and Tsukishima smiled.

"You don't even go on roller coasters," he pointed out.

"Roller coasters aren't the only things there! There are other rides, and stuff to do..."

Tsukishima couldn't help it, he leaned down and kissed Kageyama's cheek as quickly as he could. Seeing him get excited about their plans was just too cute.

At that moment, the music they'd been swaying to morphed into another upbeat song. Tsukishima almost felt disappointed when Kageyama moved away from him, grabbing his hand and heading back to their little table.

"So... you promise you're going to visit me then right?" Kageyama asked once they sat down, blue eyes staring intently into Tsukishima's.

Well, it wasn't as if he could refuse now. Even if he said no, it would probably only take a few months until Tsukishima himself would say fuck it and give in.

"Yeah. Promise," he replied.

Kageyama smiled then, and scooted his chair close enough to Tsukishima's so he could rest his head against him, nuzzling into his side.

"Hey, if you fall asleep I'm not carrying you back to the limo," Tsukishima said, lifting an arm to put it around Kageyama's shoulders.

"Alcohol makes me sleepy... but I know you'll bring me back," the actor mumbled, his eyes drifting shut.

"We'll see about that," Tsukishima scoffed, but even he knew in this case, Kageyama was 100% right.

No matter the distance, no matter the situation, even if they had to wait a year or even more....

He'd always bring Kageyama home.

#tsukkikageweek #Tsukkikage #haikyuu!!#kageyama tobio #tsukishima kei #omg this took ages lmao #also theres like no plot just fluff and then #the ending is SO cheesy agshdjfk but couldnt find any other way to end it oops #My writing #Tsukikage

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hufflepuff-dreams-blog1 · 8 years

Text

Continuing..

@because-poseidon Hrothgar hosts a great banquet in honor of Beowulf. He bestows upon him weapons, armor, treasure, and eight of his finest horses. He then presents Beowulf’s men with rewards and compensates the Geats with gold for the Geatish warrior that Grendel killed. After the gifts have been distributed, the king’s scop comes forward to sing the saga of Finn, which begins with the Danes losing a bloody battle to Finn, the king of the Frisians, a neighbor tribe to the Danes. The Danish leader, Hnaef, is killed in the combat. Recognizing their defeat, the Danes strike a truce with the Frisians and agree to live with them separately but under common rule and equal treatment. Hildeburh, a Danish princess who is married to Finn, is doubly grieved by the outcome of the battle: she orders that the corpses of her brother, the Danish leader Hnaef, and her son, a Frisian warrior, be burned on the same bier. The Danes, homesick and bitter, pass a long winter with the Frisians. When spring comes, they rise against their enemies. Finn is then defeated and slain, and his widow, Hildeburh, is returned to Denmark. When the scop finishes recounting the saga, Wealhtheow enters, wearing a gold crown, and praises her children, Hrethric and Hrothmund. She says that when Hrothgar dies, she is certain that the children will be treated well by their older cousin, Hrothulf, until they come of age. She expresses her hope that Beowulf too will act as a friend to them and offer them protection and guidance. She presents Beowulf with a torque (a collar or necklace) of gold and a suit of mail armor, asking again that he guide her sons and treat them kindly. That night, the warriors sleep in Heorot, unaware that a angry mother is after them. As the warriors sleep in the mead-hall, Grendel’s mother, a horrible monster in her own right, descends on Heorot in a frenzy of grief and rage, seeking vengeance for her son’s death. When she falls upon and seizes a sleeping man, the noise wakes the others. The warriors seize their swords and rush toward her. The monster panics and flees, still carrying her victim, Hrothgar’s trusted adviser, Aeschere, in her grasp. Beowulf, having been given other sleeping quarters, is away from Heorot when Grendel’s mother makes her attack. By the time he arrives at the hall, she is gone. The warriors discover that she has stolen Grendel’s arm as well. Devastated with grief over the loss of his friend and counselor, Hrothgar summons Beowulf and explains what has occurred. He entreats Beowulf to seek out and kill Grendel’s mother, describing the horrible, swampy wood where she keeps her lair. The place has a magical quality. The water burns and the bottom of the mere, or lake, has never been reached. Even the animals seem to be afraid of the water there. Hrothgar tells Beowulf that he must depend on him a second time to rid Heorot of a demon. He says that he will give him chests of gold if he rises to the challenge. Beowulf agrees to the fight, reassuring Hrothgar that Grendel’s mother won’t get away. The warriors mount up and ride into the fens, following the tracks of their enemy. When they reach a cliff’s edge, they discover Aeschere’s head lying on the ground. The scene below is horrifying: in the murky water, serpents and sea-dragons writhe and roil. Beowulf slays one beast with an arrow. Beowulf, “indifferent to death,” prepares himself for combat by donning his armor and girding himself with weapons. Unferth loans him the great and seasoned sword Hrunting, which has never failed in any battle. Beowulf speaks, asking Hrothgar to take care of the Geats and return his property to Hygelac if he, Beowulf, should be killed. He also bequeaths his own sword to Unferth. Beowulf swims downward for the better part of a day before he sees the bottom. As he nears the murky lake floor, Grendel’s mother senses his approach. She lunges at him and clutches him in her grip, but his armor, as predicted, prevents her from crushing him. She drags Beowulf to her court, while a mass of sea-monsters claws and bites at him. Beowulf wields Hrunting, the sword lent to him by Unferth, and lashes at Grendel’s mother’s head, but even the celebrated blade of Hrunting is unable to pierce the monster’s skin. Beowulf tries to fight the sea-witch using only his bare hands, but she matches him blow for blow. At last, he notices a sword hanging on the wall, an enormous weapon forged for giants. Beowulf seizes the huge sword and swings it in a powerful arc. The blade slices cleanly through the Grendel’s mother’s neck, and she falls dead to the floor, gushing blood. The hero is very happy when a light appears, and Beowulf looks around, his sword held high in readiness. He spies Grendel’s corpse lying in a corner. Furious at the sight of the fiend, he decapitates Grendel as a final repayment for all of the lives that Grendel took. On land, the Danes lose hope when they see blood well up from the depths. Sure that their champion is lost, they return to Heorot in sorrow. Only the small band of Geats, Beowulf’s kinsmen, waits on. Back in the monster’s court, the blade of the giant’s sword begins to melt, burned by Grendel’s fiery blood. Beowulf seizes its hilt, which remains solid and, grasping Grendel’s head in his other hand, swims for the surface. He finds that the waters he passes through are no longer infested now that the demon has been destroyed. When he breaks the surface, the Geats are overjoyed as they advance to meet him and unfasten his armor. The group returns to Heorot in triumph. Four men impale the heavy head of Grendel on a spear and lug it between them. When they arrive at the hall, the Danes gawk at the head in horror and amazement. Beowulf presents the head and the sword hilt to Hrothgar, assuring him of his future security. Hrothgar praises Beowulf’s goodness, evenness, and loyalty, contrasts him with the evil King Heremod, and predicts a great future for him. He delivers a long speech about how to be a good and wise ruler by choosing eternal rather than earthly rewards. Hrothgar then promises to shower Beowulf with treasure the following morning. Another banquet ensues, with great feasting and revelry. After, Beowulf retires to get some much-needed rest. In the morning, he has Hrunting returned to Unferth and tells Hrothgar that he and his men long to return home to Geatland. Hrothgar praises Beowulf again, saying that he has united the Geats and the Danes in ties of friendship and loyalty. He presents Beowulf with twelve treasures. Despite his urgings that Beowulf return to Denmark soon, Hrothgar knows that he will never see Beowulf again. The Geats return to the coast, where they grant a reward to the watchman who has guarded their ship. They then sail back to Geatland and return to the hall of Hygelac. Beowulf and his men return to the magnificent hall of King Hygelac and to Queen Hygd, who is beautiful and wise, though very young. The teller of this story tells the story of the legendary Queen Modthryth, who “perpetrated terrible wrongs” against her subjects, torturing and even killing many innocent people who she imagined were offending her. Modthryth’s behavior improved, we are told, once she was married to the great king of the Angles, Offa. Beowulf and his men approach the hall, where the Geats, who have heard that their hero has returned, are preparing for his arrival. Hygelac extends a formal greeting while Hygd pours mead for the warriors. Hygelac asks Beowulf how he fared in the land of Hrothgar, recalling that he had known that Beowulf’s task would be a fearsome one and that he had advised Beowulf not to face such a dangerous foe. Beowulf begins his tale by describing the courteous treatment that he received from Hrothgar and Wealhtheow. He then prophesies an unhappy outcome to the peace-weaving engagement of Freawaru, Hrothgar’s daughter, to Ingeld the Heathobard. He predicts that the sight of the ancestral possessions of each worn by the kin of the other (the result of many years of warring and plundering) will cause memories of the deep and super long feud between the Danes and the Heathobards to surface, so that they will not be able to keep themselves from continuing to fight. Beowulf then tells the story of his encounter with Grendel. He particularly emphasizes the monster’s ferocity and the rewards that he received from Hrothgar. He relates the battle with Grendel’s mother as well. He then presents his king with a large part of the treasure given to him by Hrothgar, including suits of armor and four of the great horses. He gives Hygd a priceless necklace– the torque given him by Wealhtheow – and three horses. Beowulf is praised throughout Geatland for his valorous deeds and courteousness. Hygelac gives him a great deal of treasure and land of his own to rule. In time, Hygelac is killed in battle with the Shylfings, and the kingdom falls to Beowulf. For fifty years he rules the Geats, becoming a great and wise king. Soon it is Geatland’s turn to face terror. A great dragon lurks beneath the earth, jealously guarding its treasure, until one day a thief manages to infiltrate the barrow, or mound, where the treasure lies. The thief steals a gem-covered goblet, arousing the wrath of the dragon. The intruder, a slave on the run from a hard-handed master, intends no harm by his theft and flees in a panic with the goblet. The poet relates that many centuries earlier, the last survivor of an ancient race buried the treasure in the barrow when he realized that the treasure would be of no use to him because he, like his ancestors, was destined to die. He carefully buried the precious objects, lamenting all the while his lonely state. The defeat of his people had left the treasures to deteriorate. The dragon chanced upon the hoard and has been guarding it for the past three hundred years. Waking up to find the goblet stolen, the dragon bursts forth from the barrow to hunt the thief, scorching the earth as it travels. Not finding the offender, the dragon goes on a rampage, breathing fire and incinerating homes and villages. It begins to emerge nightly from its barrow to torment the countryside, still seething with rage at the theft. Soon, Beowulf’s own throne-hall becomes the target of the dragon’s fiery breath, and it is burned to the ground. Now an old king, Beowulf grieves and wonders what he might have done to deserve such punishment from God. He begins to plot his revenge. He commissions a mighty shield from the iron-smith, one that he hopes will stand up against the breath of flame. He is too proud to assemble a huge army for the fight, and, remembering how he defeated Grendel single-handedly in his youth, feels no fear of the dragon. The poet recounts the death of King Hygelac in combat in Friesland. Hygelac fell while Beowulf survived thanks to his great strength and swimming ability. Upon returning home, Beowulf was offered the throne by the widowed Hygd, who knew that her own son was too young and inexperienced to be an effective ruler. Beowulf declined, however, not wanting to disturb the order of succession. Instead, he acted as protector and guardian to the prince and supported his rule. Only when Hygelac’s son met his end in a skirmish against the Swedes did Beowulf ascend the throne. Under Beowulf’s reign, the feuding with Sweden eventually ceased when Beowulf avenged Hygelac’s death. Now, ready to face one last adversary, Beowulf gathers eleven men to investigate the area. They discover the thief who stole the dragon’s goblet and press him to take them to the barrow. They wish each other luck in the fight that will follow, and Beowulf has a premonition of his own death. On the cliff outside the barrow, Beowulf speaks to his men, recounting his youth as a ward in King Hrethel’s court. He tells of the accidental killing of one of Hrethel’s sons by another and attempts to characterize the king’s great grief. He describes the wars between the Geats and the Swedes after Hrethel’s death, recalling his proud days as a warrior in the service of Hygelac. He then makes his final boast: he vows to fight the dragon, if only it will abandon its barrow and face him on open ground. Beowulf bids farewell to his men and sets off wearing a mail-shirt and a helmet to fight the dragon. He shouts a challenge to his opponent, who emerges from the earth. Man and dragon grapple and wrestle amid sheets of fire. Beowulf hacks with his sword against the dragon’s thick scales, but his strength is clearly not what it once was. As the flames billow, Beowulf’s companions run in terror. Only one, Wiglaf, feels enough loyalty to come to the aid of his king. Wiglaf chides the other warriors, reminding them of their oaths of loyal service to Beowulf. Now the time has come when their loyalty will be tested, Wiglaf declares, and he goes by himself to assist his lord. Beowulf strikes the dragon in the head with his great sword Naegling, but the sword snaps and breaks. The dragon lands a bite on Beowulf’s neck, and blood begins to flow. Wiglaf rushes to Beowulf’s aid, stabbing the dragon in the belly, and the dragon scorches Wiglaf’s hand. In desperation Beowulf pulls a knife from his belt and stabs it deep into the dragon’s flank. The blow is fatal, and the writhing serpent withers. But no sooner has Beowulf triumphed than the wound on his neck begins to burn and swell. He realizes that the dragon bite is venomous and that he is dying. He sends Wiglaf to inspect the dragon’s treasure and bring him a portion of it, saying that death will be easier if he sees the hoard that he has liberated. Wiglaf descends into the barrow and quickly returns to Beowulf with an armload of treasure. The old king, dying, thanks God for the treasure that he has won for his people. He tells Wiglaf that he must now look after the Geats and order his troop to build him a barrow that people will call “Beowulf’s Barrow.” After giving Wiglaf the collar from his own neck, Beowulf dies. Beowulf lies dead, and Wiglaf is bowed down with grief at the loss of his lord. The dragon, too, lies slain on the ground. The poet briefly commemorates the beast’s end. Slowly, the Geatish warriors who had fled from the battle straggle back to the barrow to find Wiglaf still vainly trying to revive their fallen leader. The men are ashamed, and Wiglaf rebukes them bitterly, declaring that all of Beowulf’s generosity has been wasted on them. The cost of their cowardice, he predicts, will be greater than just the life of a great ruler. He suggests that foreign warlords will be sure to attack the Geats now that Beowulf can no longer protect them. Wiglaf sends a messenger with tidings to the Geats, who wait nervously for news of the outcome of the battle. The messenger tells them of Beowulf’s death and warns them that the hostile Franks and the Frisians will most certainly attack them. He expresses concern about the Swedes as well, who have a long-held grudge against the Geats; he relates the history of their feud and tells how the Geats secured the last victory. Without Beowulf to protect them, the messenger predicts, the Geats risk invasion by Swedes. The poet confirms that many of the messenger’s predictions will prove true. The Geats then rise and go to Beowulf’s body. They discover also the fearsome, fifty-foot-long corpse of the dragon. It is revealed that the hoard had been under a spell, so that no person could open it except by the will of God. Wiglaf recounts Beowulf’s last requests and readies the people to build his funeral pyre. With seven of the greatest Geatish thanes, Wiglaf returns to the dragon’s bier to collect the treasure that Beowulf bought with his life. They hurl the dragon’s body into the water. The pyre is built high and decked with armor, according to Beowulf’s wishes. The body is laid in and the fire is lit,the roar fights with the sound of weeping and crying. A Geatish woman laments Beowulf’s death and grieves about the war-torn future that she foresees for her people. The Geats place Beowulf’s remains on a cliff high above the sea in a barrow that will be visible to all passing ships. Sorrowfully, they recount that their king was kind and generous to his people, fair-minded, and eager to earn praise.

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brynne-lagaao · 8 years

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(Fanfic) All That We Are - Chapter Four

Title: All That We Are

Chapter: 4/12

Rating: M

Mirrors: AO3 | FF.NET | Website

Summary: There wasn’t any real need to find out whether or not they were soulmates if they were both sure of the answer. But Yata’s answer was different from Fushimi’s, and that was just another of the dividing points they couldn’t reconcile.

Note: Once again, thank you to my wonderful betas, @dropletons and @candylit for their hard work and for not giving up on me over the course of writing this fic! You guys rock!

A large part of this fic takes place behind the scenes of certain canon events. Whenever it’s material outside of the anime (season one, Missing Kings, and Return of Kings), I’ll try to provide notes stating which materials are referenced. The fic should still stand decently without reading those things, but certain parts will make more sense in context.

One of the things Fushimi learned shortly after taking over the position of commander of the Special Operations Squad was that Scepter 4 had bi-annual conferences with the prime minister's office. It wasn't terribly surprising; despite the fact that the Gold King – and by extension Scepter 4 – maintained autonomy over the country's actual elected leader, the meetings helped to maintain the illusion of unity.

As if the Captain won't just do whatever he pleases anyway...

Well, it was no concern to him in the end, but as third in the line of direct command at Scepter 4, he was apparently expected to attend the conferences when not otherwise engaged, and he hadn't been able to come up with a good enough excuse to satisfy Munakata, so there he was.

I swear that man is a sadist. Fushimi clicked his tongue, moving at a slow pace around the large banquet hall. So far, the combination of the motion and keeping his focus on what work he could manage from his PDA seemed to give the others in the room the impression that he was busy with something important, because he hadn't been approached for any inane small talk since they'd dissolved the conference for this "social break". He hadn't bothered to even make a pass at the food trays that had been set out. There were servers making rounds with fancy-looking drinks, but he'd avoided them as well, wanting to keep the impression that he was engaged with business of some sort and not looking for idle conversation.

Idle was the right word for just about everything here, too. The room was not as opulent as most of Scepter 4's main headquarters, but the walls were lined with the moving wallpapers that were currently in style: in this case, garish red stars circling on sparkling gold background with thin white lines sliding down the frames behind them. The ceiling was vaulted, and the lights appeared to be imitation chandelier - tiny mountings lined with digital "crystals" to give them the appearance of grandeur.

That was Fushimi's impression of the prime minister's office in general: a fake fancy exterior to mask the lack of substance within. These so-called "conferences" really were just a waste of time.

On one side of the room, he could see Munakata talking with the prime minister and several attendants. On another, Awashima seemed to be giving instructions to Akiyama and Benzai, who had been the "escort" for this event – which in Fushimi's opinion was a waste of their time and talent.

As his eyes fell in that direction, he noticed the two of them glancing towards each other; Akiyama gave a small nod and Benzai's lip twitched, as if he wanted to smile but was still in control of his professional appearance.

Something anxious stirred in the pit of his stomach. Don't be stupid. Fushimi clicked his tongue and turned his gaze sharply back to his PDA, deliberately repressing any discomfort. He was still not used to the idea of a soulmate bonding that actually seemed to function, despite all of the hype suggesting that this was closer to the usual experience. But he'd spent enough time around those two to have his doubts squashed, at least as far as their match was concerned. Their partnership was efficient, they seemed to be on unreasonably good terms personally, and there was an air of contentment about them that was almost impossible to ignore. It was unnerving.

Well, not everyone can be on that guy's level, can they? The image of black and white dice over a wicked smirk flickered at the back of his mind.

Whatever mood that hadn't been soured before definitely was now. Fushimi deepened his frown, glancing furtively around the room for anything that would allow for an acceptable exit plan. Despite the airy, temperature-controlled atmosphere, the place felt suddenly stifling and he needed a break of some sort.

There was a small balcony near the back of the room that overlooked the grounds; after a few second's thought, he made his way in that direction. Technically, I won't be leaving the area, so it's not like anyone can complain. It wouldn't be difficult to find him if he was needed for something, anyway.

It was actually warmer outside than it was inside, which was a bit jarring but not too uncomfortable. Summer was just starting to bleed into fall at that point, so there was a hint of crisp chill that lingered despite the warmth from the sun.

The seasonal crossover was always annoying. Fushimi clicked his tongue, moving away from the door and eyeing his surroundings without much real interest. The balcony was large and had an ornate gating around it – solid wood painted white and carved to look like marble. It matched the interior in that sense, though the color scheme was markedly different.

On the corners of the gate's ledge, someone had secured flower pots, and when he caught sight of those, Fushimi momentarily paused, struck by a sudden and vivid memory.

Tiny blue and white blossoms, each contained in a separate bundle.

The sense of seasonal crossover in the air, warm and cool mingling uncomfortably.

Misaki's eyes, bright and sparkling, above a vivid careless grin. "Thanks, Saruhiko!"

How useless. Despite the thought, he moved towards one of the pots, reaching out to idly brush one of the tiny white blossoms with a finger. When mingled with the near purple of the blue flowers, somehow they seemed less of a pure shade than before – more of an off-white.

Then again, maybe it was his own blindness that had made them seem so pure before. Fushimi felt a sudden, irrational surge of something like bitterness and longing rise up within him. Trusting any kind of emotion hadn't ever led to anything worthwhile. Even now, he was still clinging to the memory of Misaki's impossibly wide smile and the way his eyes had shone... It was disgusting. He could summon a rage from Misaki easily. That alone could light a fire in his soul and give him all the gratification he needed.

But still, he felt dissatisfied, somehow – even hollow. If that made any sense.

"You're fond of flowers, Fushimi-kun?" Munakata's voice interjected itself into his silent musing.

Fushimi withdrew his finger immediately, turning to give his boss an irritated look. "I'm not really fond of having people sneak up on me," he responded, ignoring the question.

"My apologies. It was not my intent." Munakata smiled back, unperturbed. He stepped forward, gaze sliding from Fushimi to the flower pot. "This is an attractive combination. Forget-me-not and lily-of-the-valley, if I'm not mistaken."

What does it matter? "I wouldn't know."

"Is that so?" He got another sidelong gaze. "Gardening can be an enriching area for study. You might consider it sometime if you ever feel the urge to expand your field of knowledge." Munakata's eyes returned to the arrangement, a thoughtful sort of look in them. "These two flowers are quite interesting if you consider the meaning behind them, for instance."

There was a pause, as if he were waiting for a response. Fushimi didn't bother to give him one, despite the faint edge of curiosity. Knowing the meaning of a flower was pretty much useless when you got down to it; if it wasn't explained, he didn't lose anything.

Well, if I really wanted to know, I could look it up.

Munakata's smile widened just a tiny bit – Fushimi got the sense he'd just been seen through. After years at Scepter 4, he was starting to get used to the feeling, but it was still kind of irritating. "The forget-me-not is said to be associated with the concept of undying love. A connection that endures over time, and remembrance through parting." Once again, Munakata turned his gaze, this time inclining his head slightly as well. "Given that, I would say it's been aptly named – wouldn't you agree?"

Fushimi clicked his tongue, a little unnerved at the way that casual description seemed to strike home. He deliberately pushed the feeling down. "It would be stupid if they hadn't bothered to match them."

"Indeed." Munakata made a small, amused sound, turning back to the flowers once more. "Lily of the valley, on the other hand, takes its root in the meanings associated with all manner of lilies: purity, chastity, and humility, for instance. But there is one that I find rather intriguing." When he turned again, there was a knowing edge in his gaze. "'The return of happiness'."

That simple pronouncement had Fushimi's skin prickling beneath his work coat. He clicked his tongue again, turning from his boss's keen eyes. "That's pretty arbitrary."

"Perhaps. But then, it is not the flowers themselves that hold meaning." Munakata unexpectedly leaned in, bending forward as if to take in the scent from the bouquet. "It is the humans who encounter them that find and take meaning from such things."

That doesn't make it less arbitrary. Fushimi frowned, intending to say as much, and was brought up short when he turned his gaze back to his boss. With his body bent forward and his head tilted at that angle, it was possible to see the back of Munakata's neck, normally obscured by the high collar of his uniform. There was a bright, flawlessly crafted image imprinted in that stretch of skin: a sleek, burnished red sword. Not like the Sword of Damocles that appeared when he activated his sanctum, but a standard broadsword with an elaborate hilt that was encrusted with dark blue gems.

That kind of unnaturally precise image could only be a soulmate mark.

For a long moment, Fushimi was silent, pinpricks of shock spreading along his skin. Seriously...?

"Is something the matter, Fushimi-kun?" Munakata straightened, and the image of the sword was once again concealed. Their gazes locked, and there was a short beat before he smiled again, shutting his eyes. "Ah. You noticed that... irregularity, did you?"

Fushimi quickly recovered his equilibrium, clicking his tongue in response. "You didn't take a lot of pains to hide it just now."

"No. I did not." Munakata once again opened his eyes, calmly returning Fushimi’s stare. "Though, to be clear, it was not my intention that this should remain hidden, necessarily. More to the point, it is not of significant importance." He reached up to press his glasses higher on his nose, momentarily blocking his eyes from sight. "Merely a distraction."

So you say. It wasn’t difficult to put the pieces together from that much information – and the fact that there was no sign of a regular lover on the side. Not that Fushimi took particular pains to keep tabs on his boss, but Munakata could generally be found at headquarters during all hours of the day unless there was an emergency situation to be dealt with. If he did have a lover, they would have to be incredibly patient – or one of his clansmen.

Somehow, that prospect seemed unlikely. Rather, based on the nature of the mark, Fushimi had a feeling…

He clicked his tongue, pushing that stray suspicion aside, and muttered, “Soulmates really are useless, aren’t they?”

It was meant to be an offhand observation, but Munakata seemed to take it as a conversational opening. “Oh?” His tone was one of keen interest, but surprisingly, the next words out of his mouth were, “As a matter of fact, I agree. However, I must confess to being curious.” His gaze was speculative when Fushimi bothered to meet it again. “What reason do you have for making such a contrary statement, Fushimi-kun?”

He could still see the black and white dice clearly in his head, a memory that had etched itself onto his brain for life, apparently. How depressing. Fushimi deliberately set that aside, crossing his arms and keeping his tone neutral despite the discomfort building in the pit of his stomach. “Nothing that special. There are too many flaws.” Once he’d started on the subject, it was easier to carry it forward, listing the things that came to mind immediately. “The matching system can’t be proved to be anything but completely arbitrary, it blatantly excludes anyone who can’t physically participate, and there’s no way to remove a mark if you find out later that your so-called partner isn’t who you thought they were when you made your hasty decision.” Another little shiver of unpleasant nostalgia wormed its way through his body at that; he deliberately ignored it. “You could end up wearing the brand of someone you loathe until the day one of you dies, all because you couldn’t resist the prospect of fifteen minutes swapping bodily fluids with them in a seedy motel room.”

He paused there just long enough to recover his breath and to confirm that Munakata was still patiently waiting for the rest of his response, and then continued. “Good luck finding someone else if you don’t want whoever you’re stuck with in that case. More than likely, people just stay in unpleasant situations out of fear of being alone.” He clicked his tongue. “It’s a system that might as well be designed for abuse. Those who want to take advantage will, and those who aren’t bright enough to see through it will become victims.”

“I see.” Munakata spoke again once he’d confirmed that Fushimi had finished. “So your objections lie with the way in which the system is utilized by those who are subject to it.” His gaze had a thoughtful edge to it. “Of course, there is no argument to make against the potential of such matches occurring. Indeed, there is evidence to show that your concerns are, in fact, founded in certain cases.” There was a brief pause, and then he smiled again. “However, my objections lie with the interpretation of the term ‘soulmate’.”

It was always difficult to know what to expect with him, but Fushimi still found the edge of confusion that came with those kinds of statements to be slightly disorienting. He frowned in response. “How do you mean?”

“In my observations, it appears that the common practice is to equate the term with ‘life partner’,” Munakata explained, turning to regard the flowers again with calm, thoughtful eyes. “I am not of the opinion that the two are related – at least, not under the terms that seem to result in the so-titled ‘soulmate’ matches.” He reached up again to push his glasses on his nose. “There seems to be a base level of compatibility required for a match to be formed, but no consideration made for the situation, feelings, or personal choice of the participants.” At that he shut his eyes, making a small, amused noise. “Rather a short-sighted system for lifetime partnerships, if one takes into account the varying complications resulting from human thought and emotion.”

Fushimi hadn’t considered that angle – not that he gave soulmates a lot of his time and energy these days other than where they related to his complicated relationship with Misaki. He narrowed his eyes. “You hate this ridiculous system as much as I do, then.”

“No.” Munakata turned again to regard him, with perfect calm. “By my estimation, the system itself is neutral. It is the interpretation of the terms that will lead one astray.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue. “Are you being cryptic for the sake of it?”

“My apologies. Allow me to explain in greater detail.” Munakata shut his eyes again. “Upon being presented with a soulmate match, one is being granted information. The choice of how best to apply the knowledge lies in the hands of the participants.” When he opened his eyes again, the depth of emotion in them was difficult to place. “Regardless of the social narrative, in many cases the wisest course of action may simply be to abandon the match.”

Somehow, the words resonated. Fushimi stared back, feeling like his soul shivered lightly within his body. He couldn’t seem to muster a proper response.

“However, such is not always the case.” The mood seemed to lift; Munakata smiled beatifically, tilting his chin and directing his gaze back to the glass doors leading inside.

When Fushimi followed the gaze, his eyes caught on Akiyama and Benzai engaged in a polite but clearly intent conversation inside the room. Neither was smiling openly, but there was a subtle lean in their posture, as if they were drawn in towards each other. It was simply and casually intimate, without breaking professional conduct in the slightest.

The shiver within him intensified.

“It is not a pair of soulmate marks which results in a functional match,” Munakata continued, a hint of gentle fondness in his tone. “Regardless of how any relationship is formed, it requires constant maintenance and open communication from the participants.” When Fushimi turned to face him again, he offered another cryptic smile. “The rewards, however, are many.”

Something small and restless stirred to life in his stomach, an edge of longing for something that he couldn’t define. It was similar to the bitterness that clung to the back end of his encounters with Misaki – the dissatisfaction that lurked at the outskirts of his thoughts when they fell in that direction. Fushimi clicked his tongue, struggling against the ache in his chest.

He was fine without Misaki’s affection. It was a choice he still considered the best of his options, back then. But in his weaker moments, his thoughts were haunted by that warm smile and those fond, sparkling eyes. By the taste of Misaki’s cooking and the sound of his laughter.

The press of his lips, the warmth of his body, the tentative touch of his fingers on Fushimi’s skin…

Don’t be stupid. Forcibly pushing those thoughts back, Fushimi deepened his frown. “You know – ”

“Captain.” Awashima’s crisp, businesslike voice interrupted him. When he turned, she was standing at the door, her PDA held out in her hand. “I’ve received some intel regarding a Class 5 criminal strain engaged in a hostage situation at the outskirts of Shizume City. I’ll need your authorization before proceeding.”

“My, my.” Munakata turned to step towards her, his eyes going sharp with keen engagement as he did. “It appears that our visitation will have an abrupt end.” As she automatically shifted aside, he moved past her into the hall. “Please begin preparations as you see fit. I shall make our apologies to the prime minister.”

“Yes, sir.” She inclined her head with brusque respect, before looking up sternly. “You too, Fushimi.”

He clicked his tongue, without much feeling. “Got it.”

She tucked away her PDA while waiting for him to move through the doorway and then fell in step beside him. “I’ll need to inform Akiyama and Benzai as well – we’ll prepare the vehicle while waiting for the Captain.”

That was just logical – Fushimi responded with an automatic affirmative before giving her a sidelong glance. “Intel about a strain on the outskirts of Shizume, huh? Whose intel would that be?”

Her return gaze was cool and even, with only a raised eyebrow to mar it. “I won’t waste my breath answering questions you’ve already answered for yourself.” A short sigh came with that. “He and I agreed to trade information when it didn’t interfere with the interests of our clans. It’s been beneficial in a number of ways.”

Beneficial, is it? Fushimi clicked his tongue again, not bothering to reply. Not for the first time, he wondered if she and Kusanagi might have a matching set of marks in some easily hidden place. And like every other time, he immediately dismissed that line of thinking. Not like it matters to me.

It wasn’t like any of it mattered – not her, not Akiyama and Benzai, and not Munakata with his so-called “distraction”. He hadn’t joined Scepter 4 to make friends in the first place.

All the same, that sense of restless discontent continued to plague him.

The Homra bar was closed.

It was past two in the morning so that wasn’t unusual, but it was unusual for the lights to still be on and for there to still be people sitting inside in perfect silence. A fresh haze of cigarette smoke hung over the room, contributed to by the two adults who had gone through who knew how many without even speaking once. The atmosphere was thick and heavy.

Yata wasn’t sure when the others had left. It was just the three of them now – Kusanagi behind the counter, Mikoto on the couch, and he with his elbows resting on the bar, staring at its surface as he tried to make some sense of the emotions that raged stormlike in his head.

Totsuka-san… There was an ache in his chest. In his throat. All through his body. He trembled with it.

After the funeral, his grief had been nearly overpowered by fury, and it had been easy to retain his energy. He was going to find the bastard that had killed Totsuka and beat him to death with his own hands if he could. That rock-solid certainty had kept him going, his mind burning with thoughts of vengeance all through the trek back to Homra from Totsuka’s final resting place.

Now, with no viable actions to take and only the shared grief to keep him company, he couldn’t seem to muster it. Totsuka was gone, and Bar Homra felt unbearably cold, despite the stuffy atmosphere.

Yata swallowed hard. There was weakness settling in his body and soul, his helplessness from the previous night still lingering. For the first time in years, he had felt powerless – unable to save a precious friend even as he held that friend in his own arms. Unable to do anything as Totsuka’s breath left him, his body growing heavy and his eyes dark and sightless. The scent of blood was still sharp and overpowering in his memory, almost choking him even now.

I should’ve gone with him. I could’ve done something. Those thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone – the what-ifs that he couldn’t silence. In front of him, his hands clenched into fists, so tightly that his knuckled ached.

At least it dulled the pain inside of him just a little.

A heavy sigh from the couch cut into his thoughts; Yata lifted his head as Mikoto rose to his feet, putting out his cigarette on the ashtray sitting on the low table in front of him as he did. “I’m going up,” he said slowly.

Kusanagi nodded. “Check on Anna, will you?” he asked, voice subdued.

“Yeah.” As Mikoto turned, his gaze met Yata’s. He didn’t immediately say anything and it didn’t seem like his expression changed. His steps were heavy and measured as he detoured slightly by the bar. As he was about to pass, he reached out with one large hand and set it on Yata’s head over the beanie. Holding it there for a single, almost comforting beat, he said in an even lower tone, “Get some rest.”

It wasn’t often that Mikoto made gestures like that. Yata turned on his seat to stare after him, reaching up with one hand to tentatively touch the same place that his King just had. Mikoto’s retreating back was wide, his fur-collared jacket giving him a wild edge. He was still every inch the titan that Yata had placed all of his hopes and dreams on when he’d joined Homra.

Still, when their eyes had met just then, there had been something impossibly tired in his hero’s gaze.

In the midst of his grief, he couldn’t help but wonder… If Mikoto really did have a soulmate, where were they? Wouldn’t they rush to his side at a time like this? He’d never seen any trace of this person and their absence was a huge jarring disconnect, especially right then. He still wasn’t sure if they were really there or if it had just been teasing on Totsuka’s –

Ah.

Even just thinking about him in passing had Yata’s eyes stinging, the ache in his body throbbing in response. He swallowed again, lowering his hand and struggling to recover his equilibrium. Totsuka-san…

“We’ll get that bastard for sure, Mikoto-san!” he managed to choke out, drawing up a fervent determination from the very base of his soul. “I won’t stop until I find him, I swear it!”

Mikoto didn’t turn, but he did pause on the stairs – just long enough to rumble back, “Yeah,” before continuing on.

Yata clenched his hands into fists again in his lap. His eyes were burning now, unshed tears gathering around the edges of them and causing his vision to wobble. The anger churning in his belly was like the tiny flame of a match next to the raging inferno of his grief, but it helped to keep him grounded.

“You should do as he says,” Kusanagi told him. He sounded weary as well, but it didn’t seem as if he was planning to head out any time soon. When Yata turned back to face him, he was lighting another cigarette. After he’d finished, he added, “There won’t be much time for breaks from now on. Rest up while you can.” Their eyes met, and a hint of knowing sympathy crossed his features. “You can take the couch downstairs if you’d rather not leave, Yata-chan.”

For a moment, Yata blinked at him, not quite catching up, and then he managed a small nod, hands slackening again as the offer processed. “Ah… thanks.”

Honestly, he hadn’t been home – or slept – since… then. After they’d brought Totsuka’s body to the bar, Kusanagi had told him to wash up and go home, and he’d gone along with it but he hadn’t returned to his apartment at all. He didn’t remember much of the night, only that he’d skated for hours by himself, grief and fury and pain clouding his thoughts as he pushed his body to the limit. He could only recall the sting of the wind on his face, the tears that wouldn’t stop blurring his vision, and the comforting feel of the wheels beneath his feet grinding against the pavement.

The sun had come up and he’d been back at the bar within the hour, finding the doors open and Kusanagi at the counter already. Neither of them had bothered to ask if the other had slept.

“Don’t worry about it.” Kusanagi lifted the cigarette from his lips, one corner of his mouth tilting upward without much feeling. “Just go try and sleep, if you can. I’ll wake you when it’s time, all right?”

There wasn’t much point in asking ‘time for what?’ Yata nodded again, turning on his stool to hop to his feet. He wasn’t the only one focused on revenge right now. When he looked back again, Kusanagi had replaced his cigarette. There were shadows on his face, both ominous and weary all at once.

“Kusanagi-san…” His voice was foggy and hoarse. Yata cleared his throat and tried again. “Aren’t you gonna sleep?”

He got another small smile for that, this time with a hint of fond tolerance. “Don’t worry about me, Yata-chan – I’ve been around long enough to know my limits.” His eyes turned serious. “You should go lie down, at least.”

A million possible responses were fighting for the chance to jump up the back of Yata’s throat. ‘What if I can’t stop picturing it?’ ‘Maybe we could stay up together.’ ‘Are you thinking about what it was like as much as I am?’ ‘Can’t we just talk for a while?’

The one that nearly made it was, ‘I dunno if I wanna be alone.’

It would’ve been lame of him to say it. More than lame – he’d be a burden on Kusanagi. Yata clenched his hands into fists again, swallowing back all of that weakness. He was Yatagarasu, Homra’s vanguard, not some scared little kid. “Yeah, I got it.”

Tomorrow, they’d be turning Shizume City upside down and shaking it to flush out Totsuka’s killer. Homra was out for blood, and he wanted as much of a piece of that as he could get. Yata drew up his fury and determination with all of his remaining energy, letting them fill him and tempering his resolve. “I’ll find that guy, Kusanagi-san,” he declared fiercely. “I won’t let him get away with this!”

Kusanagi nodded in acknowledgement. “I’ll be counting on you.” He blew out a puff of smoke, face still shadowed. “Go sleep while you can.”

That was a clear enough dismissal. Yata trudged out of the room, leaving his skateboard at the bar and heading down the stairs leading into the basement.

This was where they’d set up the projector to play back Totsuka’s videos. The lights were off, but with moonlight filtering in through the window in that small brick room, he couldn’t help but see it as he turned at the bottom of the stairs to face the couch. The pale bluish-white light glinted off of the metal parts, causing it to stand out: a shadowed specter in the dark.

It felt as though his chest squeezed inward at the sight. Momentarily struggling for breath, Yata stepped forward, turning automatically when he reached the couch to face the wall where the videos would have been projected.

There weren’t going to be any new ones now. Not videos, or songs, or strange new recipes. No gently teasing smiles. No warm enthusiasm. No more joking around about silly things or talking cheerfully while they cooked together.

“Totsuka-san,” he mumbled under his breath, feeling his eyes sting again. His head was starting to throb now too, as if in counterpart with the ache in his body. Breathing hadn’t become any easier. “Sorry.”

As if that single word unlatched a floodgate within him, there were tears obscuring his vision yet again, fast overflowing and running down his face. Yata allowed his legs to give out, sitting heavily on the firm surface of the couch and letting his head drop, elbows braced on his knees and forehead on his clasped hands. He shut his eyes, tears squeezing out from behind the lids and sliding down his nose.

There was no shutting out the reality. Totsuka was gone.

In that empty, dark room with no one to either burden or confide in, Yata let himself cry openly.

It wasn’t the first time that Fushimi had worked alone after hours, but the melancholy atmosphere in that dark room was new.

Part of that may have been because he hadn’t bothered to turn the light on after returning to headquarters and setting to work. There was something ridiculously melodramatic about sitting alone in the dark with moonlight seeping in through the open window and the glow and hum of his laptop illuminating his immediate surroundings even further. But he could’ve turned the light on – could’ve got up from his seat and done it right then – and he hadn’t. Somehow, being alone in the dark stilled that restless uncertainty within him. The air felt stale, and the lack of presence in the room was calming.

It was ridiculous that he even needed to be calmed – that there were even feelings he needed to quiet in this way – but there was no denying it.

Right at that moment, it helped to focus on practical matters. There was a pile of paperwork that had been steadily growing as Scepter 4 focused on the hunt for Totsuka’s killer, and with the death of the Red King, those conditions were unlikely to improve any time soon.

The death of the Red King. Fushimi’s fingers stilled on the keys. He couldn’t seem to keep the weight of that reality from his thoughts for long.

It shouldn’t have affected him, one way or another. He had always been scared of Suoh Mikoto – even now, that feeling of being suffocated hadn’t vanished when they were near each other. He’d barely been able to look the man in the eye without flinching. And Totsuka Tatara had been a thorn in his side in many ways – always poking in with that unflinching curiosity and his uncanny habit of ferreting out the secrets Fushimi kept locked away from even himself. There was no reason to feel much for the passing of either one.

And yet, he couldn’t forget…

The deep, measured voice: What do you want to do?

The deceptively light tone: Why did you choose this path?

A surge of feelings that were either unfamiliar or simply too troublesome to classify rose up, and Fushimi shut his eyes to block it back. That was a mistake as well – behind his eyelids, he could see the memory of Misaki’s diminutive frame amongst his fellow clansmen, tears streaming openly down his face as he stomped his foot and shook his fist and chanted with all his might.

“Stupid Saru!”

He hadn’t been aware that Misaki had known he was watching until he’d shouted that out.

It was possible he’d just guessed. One of those rare moments of perception that Fushimi had classified with a points system – 100 points – years ago. All the same, his skin had prickled and his stomach had twisted uncomfortably. But he hadn’t looked away, even when Misaki turned and met his gaze with a furious, grief-stricken expression. That look had given him chills, and even if he had the kind of memory that let him forget things, he didn’t think he’d have ever forgotten that.

The restlessness within his body seemed to churn to the surface, but he still had no idea where to direct it. Restless and aimless – those were the words he could use to classify his feelings right then.

There was a gentle step behind him. “Working late, are you, Fushimi-kun?”

Fushimi opened his eyes, not bothering to turn as he made a small sound of acknowledgement. “I could ask you the same.”

“I suppose you could.” Munakata came to a stop next to his chair, falling silent at the same moment. The air was thick between them during that small break, as if all the words they wouldn’t or couldn’t speak were crammed into the empty space. Then he spoke again. “It would be remiss of me if I failed to remind you that there is no obligation to remain, regardless of the work load. Such things can wait, after all.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue half-heartedly, still without looking up from his screen. “It’s less of a pain if I do it now.”

“I see.” The pitch of Munakata’s voice had softened slightly. “Do as you see fit.”

Nothing in the silence that spread between them had cleared; it still stretched out heavily, as if carrying the burden of the things weighing on Fushimi’s mind that he didn’t particularly want to acknowledge. He stared resolutely forward for a moment, unable to properly focus on the words displayed on his screen.

Homra is really over now. He’d felt it coming with Totsuka’s murder – there was no way Mikoto would be able to continue as King without the tapering his presence provided. But this was the first time he’d thought it so clearly, and with such finality.

The Red King was dead, and the Red Clan would dissipate. It was inevitable.

For all that he’d let his resentment brew during his time in Homra, Fushimi didn’t find himself taking any particular pleasure in that notion. Rather, it seemed as though a cold lump had settled in his stomach.

What will you do now, Misaki?

Even just that bit of speculation brought the restlessness back, full force. He could barely breathe around the sudden longing that overtook his brain – a longing whose aim he still couldn’t seem to place.

More out of an attempt to distract himself from those burdensome thoughts than anything, he glanced at Munakata for the first time. His boss stood solemnly at his side, hands clasped behind his back and posture unbent. He was bathed in moonlight, face angled towards the window, and the light reflected from his glasses, making his expression difficult to place. There was no smile on his face.

His sword was notably absent from his belt.

In that moment, Fushimi found his own words from months before returning to him: “You could end up wearing the brand of someone you loathe until the day one of you dies”. Without thinking, he glanced up at the collar of Munakata’s uniform.

From that angle, of course, he couldn’t see whether or not the mark had vanished.

Lowering his gaze again, Fushimi let out a long breath, clicked his tongue, and tried to turn his attention back to the work in front of him.

#k project #sarumi #yata misaki #fushimi saruhiko #fanfic #fanfic:mine

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angrycollectordaze-me-blog · 5 years

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Assignment代写：The difference between Chinese and western painting

下面为大家整理一篇优秀的assignment代写范文- The difference between Chinese and western painting，供大家参考学习，这篇论文讨论了中西绘画的差异。中西方绘画在各自文化和思想的影响下，有着截然不同的绘画特点。中国绘画注重在体验生活的基础上表达自己对事物的感受和感悟，以写意为主，尤其是文人画中画家笔下的写意山水和花鸟追求意境和传神。西方人在表达方式上和中国人不同，他们注重写实而且会直接地把自己真实情感和意图显现出来，会利用素描和色彩等各种表现手段来描绘自己的所见所闻，西方的画家们将自己亲眼所见的世界真实地表现在画面上，是一种求真的作画态度。

There are various art forms in the world, among which Chinese painting and western painting are two art forms with distinct characteristics. Due to differences in culture, mode of thinking, thoughts and beliefs, and living habits, there are great differences in world outlook, outlook on life and values between China and the west. Therefore, there are two completely different painting styles in painting. Chinese painting USES ink to express humanistic feelings, emphasizes the harmonious relationship between man and nature, USES scatter perspective and pays special attention to freehand brushwork. Focus perspective painting is used in the west, especially focusing on realism. Under the guidance of rational thinking, there is a strict and programmed painting method. Although there are great differences between Chinese and western paintings, both of them are the achievements of human civilization.

Due to the differences in culture, mode of thinking, thoughts and beliefs, living habits, etc., there are great differences in world outlook, life outlook and values between China and the west. Is located in the Asian continent, China has experienced 2000 years of feudal society, mainly small-scale peasant economy in feudal society's way of life is the mainstream, coupled with the traffic developed so little in maritime activities in ancient China, so that the ancient Chinese culture and thinking on the structure more inclined to the pursuit of stability, oneness and unity. Therefore, the ancient Chinese people attached great importance to the harmonious relationship between themselves and others and with nature. The ancient Chinese people advocated "harmony is the most precious" instead of pursuing a sense of conquest. Unlike the west, they are located on the European continent and face the sea. Due to the large number of rivers and lakes, they have developed navigation, which makes them have frequent economic and cultural exchanges and more diversified. Westerners take "human" as the center to carry out practical activities in culture and thinking structure. In particular, those who take "individual" as the center and persistently pursue rationality tend to be bold and extroverted in action. They believe that human beings can conquer nature, so they attach importance to outward expansion and exploration.

Under the influence of their respective cultures and thoughts, Chinese and western paintings have distinct painting characteristics. Chinese paintings focus on expressing their feelings and feelings about things on the basis of experiencing life, and mainly focus on freehand brushwork, especially the freehand landscape, flowers and birds created by literati painters in pursuit of artistic conception and expressiveness. In addition, the ancient Chinese were rather reserved in expressing their thoughts and emotions, and they would not express them directly. Therefore, Chinese paintings often use such methods as "expressing emotions by borrowing things" and "expressing aspirations by using things". For example, li tang's "collecting wei tu" is based on the historical facts of the change of shang and zhou dynasties. It depicts the story of shu qi, bo yi and other nobles of Yin and shang dynasty who refused to surrender after the collapse of shang and fled to the mountains to collect wei and eat bark to survive and finally died of starvation. They would rather die of starvation than eat zhou millet. The painter used the method of painting to borrow ancient words and modern words, and used the method of metaphor to express his loyalty to the emperor, patriotism, integrity and firm position, which also implied that the social personages at that time should maintain their integrity and integrity, and should not defect to the enemy and treason. Chinese painting USES brush, ink and rice paper to draw. It advocates "the combination of poetry, calligraphy and painting". The picture tends to be diversified and comprehensive. Under the guidance of rational thinking, western paintings focus on realism and truth-seeking.

Westerners on the expression and the Chinese is different, they focus on themselves and the realistic true feelings and intentions, will use a variety of performance means such as sketch and color to paint himself had seen and heard, the western artists to saw the true surface picture, now is "positive and realistic painting of" attitude. The raft of medusa written by guillermo giglio is set against the background of a shipwreck at sea in France. The painter directly depicts the tragic scene of the shipwreck with realistic techniques, depicting the despair, suffering, pain and other scenes of the victims, and the picture is full of suffocating tragic atmosphere. Western painting on the tool is to use watercolor, acrylic paint to paint on the canvas, attaches great importance to the role of sketch, more has strict drawing procedure, strive for to achieve the performance effect of the real picture, and is compared to the Chinese "poem calligraphy and seal" the combination of rich images, images of the west is relatively single.

Chinese and western paintings are also very different in expression form and modeling language. On the way of expression law of western painting pays attention to reproduce, they are under the guidance of theory of "imitation" advocates objectively to restore the natural world and to achieve this goal, the research in many painters produced a lot of such as "perspective" "anatomy" painting theory, and under the guidance of rational thinking to explore a set of strict drawing procedure and formed its own unique modelling language. On modelling language using the color relations in western paintings and drawings and descriptive to modelling, have very strong geometric meaning, and the pursuit of images of the stereo feeling, sense of reality and sense of rhythm, using light to create light and shade between virtual space, then use colorific hue, lightness, purity, and changes in temperature change to enforce the authenticity of images, in many western oil painting can obviously feel these features. Western paintings pay special attention to perspective relationship, especially focus perspective in composition. They advocate painting perspective relationship generated from the same Angle, so that the picture has a visual center and obvious primary and secondary relationship and spatial relationship. Like rafael's works "the school of Athens" is the focal point perspective composition, according to the focus perspective to create the visual center of the picture, picture depicts many thinkers and philosophers gathered in a hall, with a strong academic atmosphere of the debate, the painting is Aristotle, Plato, Socrates, Pythagoras for visual center, the picture in focus perspective under the action of a clear hierarchy and strong depth, grand scene is very high.

Chinese painting is different from western painting in that it pays more attention to the law of expression. In terms of modeling language, Chinese painting USES line modeling and ink to draw. Chinese painting using the thickness, the thickness of line model, and then use shades of ink, depth, the change of JiaoRun to organization image, the pursuit of natural and true feelings, advocate depicting intuition experience under the colour of everything in the world, with a painting to express his thoughts and desires more pay attention to "stay white", in order to create unlimited space effect. The composition of Chinese paintings mostly use scatter perspective, the picture is not a focal point but multiple points of view. Chinese painting works can allow the existence of multiple angles, a variety of directions and angles of things can be accommodated in the same picture. Guo xi put forward the "three-yuan method" in his book "linquangaozhi", that is to say, there can be multiple perspective points in a painting, which can be roughly divided into three categories: "gaoyuan", "far-reaching" and "pingyuan". This is the unique language structure and special perspective principle of Chinese painting. Gu Hong "han xizai evening banquet" in the long form represents a listen to music, GuanWu, rest, purging, fujian 5 period of banquet scenes, the whole picture made up by multiple scene, but each character of each scene is dynamic and there are a variety of different angles, image using scatter perspective broke many scene organization in the same picture, the concept of time and space. And later as the qingming festival on the painting "is also used to depict the scatterplot perspective composition of capital capital of song dynasty northern song dynasty city social life, appearance of tomb-sweeping day, he will receive all sorts of scenes and things are unified to the extremely rich change picture, it generally describes the streets in the city, near the scene, on the outskirts of three parts, spring scenery character is numerous, numerous and not random, no fixed" horizontally "visual focus, truly show the north song dynasty prosperous scene.

Any art form can be traced back to the origin of thought. From the works of art, we can clearly feel the different aesthetic ways of China and the west. There are great differences between China and the west in cultural thoughts, thinking habits, world views and values, so there are obvious differences in aesthetic ways. Chinese painting is supported by traditional Chinese philosophy, especially influenced by Confucianism, Buddhism and Taoism. Therefore, Chinese painting pays special attention to the "human-centered relationship", emphasizes the harmonious coexistence between man and nature, and pursues the realm of "harmony between man and nature", "integration of form and spirit" and "integration of scenes". Chinese painters pay much attention to the real feelings and experiences in their paintings, and also want to pursue the realm of transcendent and open-minded thinking, and try their best to explore all things in the world based on people, especially in the literati paintings, to show these characteristics incisively and vividly. For example, the works of shi tao, the four monks in the early qing dynasty, are a good example. He worships nature, travels all over the mountains, rivers and seas all his life, takes root in nature for a long time, feels the charm of nature, and accumulates rich materials on the basis of in-depth observation and research. He USES "texturing method" to describe, the composition of the right density, false and real, let people feel that he knows all kinds of mountains and landforms, feel the surge of nature in his paintings, more can feel his thoughts and feelings in the spiritual world.

Since the middle ages, the west has been influenced by religion and theocracy for a long time. Therefore, western paintings have been trying their best to break through the shackles of religion and theocracy and pay attention to real life and pursue the reality of real life. For example, the painters of barbizon school like to go out to sketch and directly face the real nature, and use paintings to express the beautiful natural environment. Later impressionists were more obsessed with nature and painting from life, for example, monet, renoir and other painters painted the ordinary scenes in real life around them. In addition, westerners also advocate freedom and pursue individualism. Painting has a strong tendency of individuation and idealization. It can be seen from the works of romantic painters that they used realistic methods, passionate and unrestrained painting language, strong imagination and exaggeration to create paintings and express the idealized world they pursued in their hearts. Moreover, under the influence of their culture, westerners tend to be extroverted, good at expression, and dare to imagine. Most of them express themselves in a direct and intuitive way in their paintings, which have strong visual impact. Under the guidance of rational thinking, the works also show that westerners want to control and conquer nature.

The development of Chinese and western painting to today, no matter in the form of style or aesthetic way has undergone great changes. Overall process more quickly in the western painting, the extent of change is bigger, also in the artistic form, aesthetic style, spiritual pursuit on the state of the development of diversified, and attaches great importance to the relationship of their own, the world, and others, on this basis, to the pursuit of personality, in order to "new" is given priority to, and strive to create more possibilities on the painting. However, Chinese painting has also entered a state of rapid development after gradually getting rid of the shackles of various aspects. Currently, Chinese painting is in a period of integration and diversification of various painting types and styles, and is making efforts to integrate with The Times and the world with an open and receptive attitude. , of course, in the process of the combination and choice also appeared many problems, such as painting of tabloidization, bloody violence, commercialization, and many other issues, but in general is in rapid development, the contemporary Chinese painting tend to be more close to people's real life of the people, the present Chinese painters in painting the way performance life and mental outlook.

Painting is an important carrier to meet people's spiritual and cultural pursuit, as well as an important expression of people's thoughts and emotions. Painting can spread ideas and culture, expand people's horizon of knowledge and improve people's aesthetic level. Chinese and western in geographical conditions, there are large difference between ideology and culture, history, etc, so the painting's art, there are two completely different style from the paintings can see clearly in the Chinese and western painting expression method, the composition, the modelling language, aesthetic style, has a very different development extent, each has its own characteristics. Painting creation should be appropriate to the time and place to have vitality, Chinese and western painting was born in their respective civilization soil, shouldering their own historical mission, only to make their own contributions to the needs of their countries and people, can truly reflect their own value. Chinese and western paintings are the crystallization of human wisdom. Although they are quite different, they should learn from and exchange with each other, so as to promote their own development and growth.

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lewishamledger · 6 years

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The land of make believe

Marcus Halls Props has worked on all the major West End musicals from Hamilton and Tina to Bat Out of Hell and Kinky Boots. Chris Marcus and Jonathan Hall, who set up the company in 2006, show us behind the scenes at their new premises in Ladywell

Words Nikki Spencer; Photo by Paul Stafford

At the back of Supreme Animal Foods pet supplies in Ladywell lies a secret magical world of make believe, where cakes look delicious yet can’t be eaten, flowers bloom but have no smell and there’s an array of musical instruments that won’t play a single note.

Huge shelves are stacked to the rafters with chairs and coffee tables of every design and size, piles of empty suitcases, tea sets from all eras and a plentiful supply of trays.

“Nearly every show seems to need a butler’s tray so those get used again and again”, says Chris Marcus as he and Jonathan Hall embark on a guided tour of their veritable Aladdin’s Cave.

In the workshop area a team of props makers are busy making weird and wonderful creations for stages not just in the West End but for touring shows around the globe.

“We have an incredibly talented team who have previously worked at places such as Madame Tussaud’s and the Royal Opera House”, explains Chris as he picks up a cup of tea and turns it upside down with a smile.

“We create a lot of fake food and drink and tea is one of our specialities. A while ago we did all the cakes for the Calendar Girls Musical so we had trestle tables full of cakes. You knew they weren’t real but it did still make you hungry.”

By the large warehouse doors there are two huge piles of props all packaged up and ready to be shipped to Germany and the US for tours of Bat Out of Hell. “It’s an action-packed show and it’s been quite a challenge,” says Jonathan.

“There’s one scene where a large white table cloth is pulled away to reveal a car underneath. That was a headache to say the least. We had to find a way to disguise a four-metre car convincingly as a banquet table and then work out how to remove the cloth in an instant. In the end we suspended the cloth with electro magnets which could be released at the press of a button.”

And that wasn’t the only conundrum.

“There’s lots of furniture and quite a bit of it is in perspective. We had to have bedspreads specially made at some very funny angles, it almost sent the bedding company over the edge.”

At one workbench a retro mixing desk is being built for Motown the Musical, while most of the team are busy working on rather macabre assortment of props for A Very, Very, Very Dark Matter a new play at The Bridge Theatre about Hans Christian Anderson which is set in the attic of a Copenhagen townhouse.

The attic is stuffed full of puppets and Chris and Jonathan and the team have been making 120 of them from hummingbirds to skeletons to horses, alongside other rather unusual items including a large bible filled with dolls heads.

“Luckily we found someone in Spitalfields who was selling off a load of old dolls heads so we now have a plentiful supply is we ever need them for anything else”, says Chris.

So how did they get into this business?

Jonathan grew up in Derbyshire, left school at 16 and worked as a touring puppeteer and puppet maker before training in Stage Management at London’s Guildhall School of Music and Drama, while Chris, who was involved in amateur dramatics when he was growing up in Devon, studied Technical Theatre at Rose Bruford College in Sidcup.

“We met when we were both working as stage managers on the Lion King and became friends” explains Chris. “We went on holiday to New York and late one evening we got chatting about what we wanted to do in the future and we came up with the idea of setting up our own props company.”

Their services were immediately in demand and last year it became clear that they had outgrown their premises in Camberwell.

Both Jonathan and Chris live in Ladywell, and they came across their new building online, although it looked nothing like it does now.

“It used to be used by Acre Lifts and was the perfect size but when we saw it, it was just a large empty space and it was only after we moved in that we discovered there was only one plug socket in the corner, and a tap with a small dribble of water coming out,” recalls Chris.

“In January some friends came over from Spain for a week to help us sort it all out and they ended up staying until April!”

They got a mezzanine company to install an upper floor where they have their office. On the wall there’s a huge whiteboard with all their current projects mapped out. They never know what they will be asked to do next.

“We get requests for all sorts of random things. We had to make a body of Eva Peron for Evita and a whole lot of bodies wrapped in plastic for a show at the Donmar Warehouse”, recalls Chris.

“You just learn to just go along with it and do your best. They will want a table that is light enough that one person can lift on their finger but that 10 people can tap dance on,” Jonathan says wryly.

“Some set designers simply present us with a rough drawing while others give us beautiful intricately made 1:25 models of everything. We still have all the ones from Tina stored in a Quality Street tin.”

As well as making things in the workshop, they regularly trawl big antiques markets such as Ardingly, Newark, Lincoln and Kempton and closer to home, Greenwich Auctions, hunting for things that can be used as they are or adapted.

“We needed thousands of old books a while back and Greenwich was good for that”, says Chris adding that eBay is also a “ very valuable resource”.

Every show works differently but once everything has been made and sourced they then attend technical rehearsals at the theatre.

“Something that someone sat and wrote at a computer may not actually work on stage so things change all the time”, explains Jonathan.

“Strictly Ballroom Act 2 bears no resemblance to the original and Tina is the same. Bat Out of Hell on stage is poles apart from what it was at the beginning,” he says.

And with shows going all around the world that means they are often travelling.

“It’s been a crazy busy year, as on top of moving I have been and all over the place from Tokyo for Mary Poppins and Toronto and Germany for Bat out of Hell to Newcastle for Benidorm Live!

“Jonathan has been mainly on our shows in London but has been in some glamorous locations like Northampton for Kinky Boots and Leeds for Calendar Girls,” says Chris.

Every day there’s a constant steam of vans arriving with deliveries and collections. “We know our postman very well and all the delivery company drivers too,” says Jonathan.

With so much coming and going the large warehouse doors are often open so people can see in as they walk to and from the pet shop car park at the rear of the building.

“Ricky, who has run the pet shop for over 25 years, is lovely to have as a neighbour but there have been a few odd moments for his customers since we moved in”, says Jonathan.

“We recently had to make a load of cut-up animal carcasses, and butchered pig’s heads out of polystyrene for a play in the West End. You could see people doing a double take as they walked past!”

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backlogged · 7 years

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Letter of introduction Dear. mr. neuman I had a take and thought it could be done better. This is a letter introducing Adam Carpenter He is young, about 20 He is an absolute sweetheart and Very personable. He loves music, beer and can play a mean chord. He is well versed in his trade You know he will make a name for himself in whatever he does. I know it will be a pleasure for everyone concerned and hope you will enjoy hearing him play. affectionately Emily. Pizza: 8 Water:5 beer : one pack Pringles: if deal three Matzo ball soup: 1 Golden peanut snack: kosher: 1 Pizza kosher snack: 1 PBR: 1 JFK comes up a lot At work, where I work I work at the cinemas And we talk a lot about JFK People like to tell their favorite jfk quotes My favourite quote from JFK is as followed ich ein bin berliner It is the best quote ever The story is even funnier JFK went to germany He went to germany smoochez the germans and visit the berlin wall He went to germany show solidarity he told the german people ich ein bin berliner Which means I am a doughnut. Frames: 6 Baskets Hangers Socks Pants New shirts Laces Smaller belt More books More vinyl Wine glasses should be picked up By the stem rather than the bowl by the bowl Rather than the stem This helps keep the wine cool No one likes hot wine Unless you are an alcoholic In that case You just do not care Fruit or soup in cups Eggs or shellfish Fowl or meat {not a roast} Never a roast Please never serve a roast If you serve roast than you are bourgeoisie Salad dessert A Memory Banished Disturbance Gratitude and Suffering Deception Onward - As If To Breathe A Memory Promised Careless Whispers (Wham) The Re-Evaluation of Tina Silent Night (Gruber) Altitude The Doll in the Trees The Berlin Dog Stability My Best Friend's Girl (The Cars) Memorandum Dog Stroll Desire (A More Desperate Hell) His Threads Are Bare And The Winds Are Marrow Continence (From The Outside) Veal scallopini Roast turkey Mashed potatoes String beans with mushrooms Cranberry sauce, stuffing gravy How much would you pay? CITIZEN KANE CASABLANCA THE GODFATHER GONE WITH THE WIND LAWRENCE OF ARABIA THE WIZARD OF OZ THE GRADUATE ON THE WATERFRONT SCHINDLER'S LIST SINGIN' IN THE RAIN IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE SUNSET BLVD. THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI SOME LIKE IT HOT STAR WARS ALL ABOUT EVE THE AFRICAN QUEEN PSYCHO CHINATOWN ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST THE GRAPES OF WRATH 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY E.T. DR. STRANGELOVE BUTCH CASSIDY AND THE SUNDANCE KID Butter tolls Fresh fruit compote Cookies coffee How much would you pay? Moss Pebbles Clip on lamp Heat bulb Another vase This sandgrain day in the bent bay's grave He celebrates and spurns His driftwood thirty-fifth wind turned age; Herons spire and spear. Who tolls his birthday bell, And the rhymer in the long tongued room, Who tolls his birthday bell, Toesl towards the ambush of his wounds; Herons, stepple stemmed, bless. Who tolls his birthday bell, Through wynds and shells of drowned Ship towns to pastures of otters. He In his slant, racking house And the hewn coils of his trade perceives Herons walk in their shroud, Who tolls his birthday bell, More spanned with angles ride The man souled fiery islands! Oh, Holier than their eyes, And my shining men no more alone As I sail out to die Who tolls his birthday bell. Three of four varieties of cold cuts Such as Ham, turkey, no roast beef, lamb, or cold cuts. Never serve roast beef Scalloped potatoes Vegetable salad Buttered tolls Vanilla ice cream with green mint sauce Cookies Coffee He had one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced, or seemed to face, the whole external world for an instant and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself. Curried lamb or chicken Rice ring Chutney, raisins, ground nuts French bread, butter Raw spinach salad Ice cream and cake or cookies coffee The truth was that Jay Gatsby, of West Egg, Long Island, sprang from his Platonic conception of himself. He was a son of God—a phrase which, if it means anything, means just that—and he must be about His Father’s business, the service of a vast, vulgar, and meretricious beauty. So he invented just the sort of Jay Gatsby that a seventeen year old boy would be likely to invent, and to this conception he was faithful to the end.Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter – to-morrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther… And one fine morning – So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past. Alpha Desperation March palmcorder yajna Alpha Negative Transjordanian Blues Cry For Judas Golden boy Power in a union Quito Heel Turn 2 Lobster, shrimp newburg or beef stroganoff Rice Green olives Croissants Caesar salad Cheese and crackers Fresh fruit Coffee I am a big dylan fan I love most of what he put out My first album I got for my birthday My nana took me to get it It was hard rain I thought it was peter frampton on the cover I felt pretty ripped The recording of that was a mess The title of the album tells you all you need to know It was raining The band lost their steam from the rolling thunder revue But dylan just went out and blew everyone away It is one of my favorite live performances ever from him The lyrical changes are golden as well. Everything is intimate I still have it Seven years later For everyday use One complete set of four or six place settings of inexpensive china, pottery, or unbreakable plastic ware. Which now comes in the most attractive colours This set should include: Dinner plates Dessert plates {can be used for salad} Cereal dishes {can be used for soup, pudding canned fruit!} Cups Saucers Dinner plates Cups Cream pitchers 2 platters Dessert plates {can be used for salad} 2 vegetable dishes Which now comes in the most attractive colours so get this guess who’s the other j.lo? JON LOVITZ he’s the best j.lo also has the biggest bum no doubt WERQ IT 2ND J.LO 10 Beautiful Things That Can Kill You 10 ryan gosling 9 Sheep 8.Poppy 7 Sky Dancers 6 Moonlight’s Reflection 5 Beards 4 Blue Hole 3 Yarn 2 Art Sculpture 1 Hope Diamond A Great Big World, Christina Aguilera - The ending of most of Rick and Morty season 2 episodes Ghost Town (for some reason) The last scene in It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia Season 6: A Very Sunny Christmas The Notebook Brokeback Mountain The Fault in Our Stars movie and book thenicestplaceontheinter.net Sad Japanese Commercials R.E.M - Everybody Hurts Jeff Buckley - Hallelujah Avril Lavigne - Wish You Were Here It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia Season 6 Episode 10 I’ve read Goodnight Moon almost every night for the past two years. It’s a wonderful book which my son enjoys. Here are some of my issues with the bedroom depicted in it. 1. The Size of the Bedroom This bedroom is enormous. There is no one, I think, who has not noticed this. As someone who has lived in apartments only slightly larger than “a little toy house,” it’s mildly vexing that this bedroom is the size of a banquet hall in Downton Abbey. Nice bedroom and/or place to possibly hold the 2024 Olympics 2. The Little Toy house. The little toy house would rent out for $2500 a month in Manhattan (not including utilities) This is not that little of a toy house. Not only could the rabbit easily fit inside the “little toy house,” the little toy house also has working electricity. Why are these rabbits so civilized? Is this some f**ked up Watership Down sequel??? 3. The color scheme we’re going for is “exploded paint factory.” “So what color have we decided on for the upstairs child’s bedroom?” “Which child’s bedroom?” “The enormous one. The one with the expansive tomato-colored floor.” “I was thinking for that room maybe a dark green?” “Really? Dark green? You don’t think maybe dark green walls with a tomato-colored floor is a bit much?” “No, it’ll look amazing. We can break up the monotony of the color with some dark green and yellow striped curtains.” “That’s an amazing idea. On non-matching red and yellow spearhead curtain rods? Do you think a tiger skin rug would be overkill?” “For a young child’s room? No. Not at all. ” 5. The Bookshelf “For tonight would you rather read ‘Hop on Pop’ or the entire Encyclopedia Britanica?” Why are these books so thick? This is a child’s bedroom, not a law library. Unless this rabbit is defending a doctoral thesis, there’s no need for him to own every non-fiction hardcover from Farrar Straus and Giroux. 7. The Idea That Anyone Would Keep a Comb and a Brush and a Bowl Full of Mush on the Same Table 8. Continued… Meanwhile, back at the ranch… “So what color do you think for the child’s bed?” “I was thinking like a tomato-ish red color?” “You remember the floor’s a tomato-ish red color.” “Yeah.” “You don’t think that’s a lot of red for a child’s bedroom? We don’t want it to look like the Amityville Horror kill room or anything.” “You don’t trust me? I’ve been decorating children’s bedrooms for almost twenty years.” “No, I trust you, I trust you. So you want to do all the furniture in red?” “Are you out of your f**king mind? Of course not. For the rest of the furniture I was thinking something sophisticated, like a mustard yellow.” “For everything?? All the furniture?” “All the furniture.” “Even the little toy house?” “Are you seriously asking me this? No. Of course not. The little toy house should be red.” 10. The Dangerously Non-childproofed Fireplace Also, nothing says “child’s bedroom” like an expensive mantelpiece clock bordered by Cookie Monster-blue funeral urns. 11. The Totally Ignored Existential Mouse As casual about their infestations as they are exacting about their interior design. 12. The idea that a child this young (rabbit or human) would need a black office telephone by his bedside. “Goodnight, Technologically-out-of-date telephone” Who’s calling, his financial adviser? Why would someone this age need a telephone unless it’s to call the woman across the vast expanse of his bedroom to ask her to stop whispering, “Hush.” This Picture of Bears in a Couples Therapy Session "So you say your mother was protective. Tell me more..." “So you say your mother was…protective?” Husband Bear: We’ve started fighting more since our son was born. I feel like she resents me. I feel like every little thing turns into an argument.” Wife Bear: “How could I not resent you? We have a newborn and you’re off eating salmon in a PBS documentary while I’m stuck at home 24/7. Husband Bear: “Don’t start, Janet! That documentary was a once in a lifetime opportunity!” Therapist Bear: You sound angry. Husband Bear: Brilliant observation! It took you eight years of graduate school to figure that out? Therapist Bear: Let’s all take a deep breath. In, two three, out, two three… (They are all silent for several seconds) Wife Bear: Also, a tomato red floor seems like a really bold choice for a psychologist’s office, doesn’t it?

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