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iliumheightnights · 4 years

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We Have A Jedi [5] | Peter Parker x M!Stark Reader

Fandom: Marvel and Star wars

Pairing: Tony Stark x Son!Reader, Peter Parker x M!Stark Reader

Summary: Janai takes (M/N) to finally meet someone. However they are interrupted by a troublesome invasion.

A/N: The Avengers FINALLY arrive! I loved writing this one a lot.

Read from the beginning

(M/N) watched out the cockpit window as the ship travelled through hyperspace. He was lost in thought, it had been months since his visions started and they’ve repeated countless times. When he spoke to master yoda about it, he was told to be wary of what they meant. Well that was a big help, not. He understood Yoda was wise and he respected the grandmaster tremendously, however he wished he could get a straightforward answer sometimes. He was brought out of his thoughts by his mother’s voice. “We’re here.” The stretched view of space became compact as the ship exited hyperspace. A green planet in front of them. “What planet is this? You never told me where we were going.” He could sense Janai’s tension. “That’s because this is a secret trip. You mustn't tell anyone we came here. This is Terra.” He looked back at the green and blue planet, it reminded him of Alderaan. Hopefully the people weren’t stuck up like the nobles there. “I’ve never been to Terra before.” She didn’t say anything to (M/N) as she brought the ship closer to the planet.

As the ship broke the atmosphere (M/N) saw a large city. It reminded him of Coronet on Corellia. However he noticed there were no ships entering or leaving, where’s the spaceport? Janai continued to pilot the ship into the nearby forest. Setting down the ship she activated the cloaking device so no one would stumble upon it by accident. “Here put these on.” She handed (M/N) some new clothes, they were still armor but more casual for a city setting. Janai got up and went to put on her own disguise. (M/N) opened the door of the ship and walked down the ramp. He had a strange feeling in his gut, it was like the planet was calling out to him. “Everything alright?” He turned and watched Janai walk down the ramp.

“I feel...strange. This whole planet seems familiar to me.” He turned back to the forest and looked past the trees to the city beyond. “It should, You were born here.” (M/N) felt his breath hitch. Born here? “What?” Janai paused. She let out a sigh before looking at him. “I’ve brought you here to finally meet your father. That’s why no one can know.” (M/N) turned back to the city, was his father here?

“You’re father is a man named Anthony Stark. He’s the head of a major company or at least he was the last time I was here. I’ll tell you more about him on our way. Follow Padawan.” she walked past him towards the city. Maybe this would have been the time. It was difficult for him to speak at first. “I...I know how I said I wasn’t ready to try being a family when we first started being together. And the truth is I’m still not sure if I’m completely ready, but...maybe we can try it?” He could see how she smiled a little at that. “Come on, we have a long day.”

They continued through the forest,heading towards the city. Doing so she started telling him about his father. “Your father and I met a long time ago, I was on a mission from the council to go into deep cover here on the planet to see if the empire was planning anything. My investigation turned up negative on the empire, But I found your father.” She had a large, bright smile that (M/N) rarely saw anymore. When she was truly happy. “We were practically opposites in every way shape and form. We never got married or had a strong relationship-relationship, but we did have a strong connection. We loved each other. You know what the jedi think of attachment, I was very much still in that thinking. Then came you, and our lives changed forever. I decided to stay here, I informed the council that I had a strong connection with the force and felt that something was calling me here and they allowed me to stay. Life was going to be different, Until you started using the force. I knew that by keeping you here, someone else would come along and find you. Perhaps the sith would have, I couldn’t allow that.” She paused in her steps, turned and looked at him. “My first goal was and always will be to protect you and keep you safe. We may both be jedi, but you are my son.”

(M/N) wasn’t sure how to take that. As a jedi he should have told her to put duty before him. But as her son, he was glad that she cared for him so much. “So how did he take it?” She hesitated then sighed. “I...I never told your father. I just told him that I was taking you away and that it was to protect you and him. We haven’t seen each other since.” He only nodded. He wasn’t exactly sure what to say to that. They continued on their way in silence. (M/N) was trying to process everything she told him, while it looked like she was just facing the ghosts of the past.

They eventually made it to the city. It was large and crowded, it felt almost like being back on coruscant but on a much smaller scale. Looking around he only saw humans. “Why are there only humans? I would have thought to have seen a couple of other species.” Janai smirked at him. “Terra or Earth as they call it, is what the republic calls an underdeveloped world. The technology of the planet has not reached extensive space flight or high technology. On this planet you will only see humans and not a single decent comlink.” (M/N) had heard of worlds like this before, but no one was really allowed to go to them. “So where are we headed?” She pointed towards a large tower. “See that tower? The one that says Stark. That’s where we’ll find your father.” Then her face dropped. “At least I think so.” (M/N) turned to look at her. “Well I suppose we better pick up the pa-”

Before he had a chance to keep talking a bright blue beam erupts from the top of the tower and into the sky. The beam opened a hole in the sky and several small ships started to fly out of it.

He returned to look at his mom who looked worried. “Master?” Janai’s face of worry was quickly replaced with her commanding face.. “Chitauri. Everyone get inside! Hurry!” People start panicking as the Chitauri start to fire on the city. Civilians rushing in and out of buildings. (M/N) ignited his lightsaber and started deflecting blaster bolts back onto the enemy. “(M/N) we need to head to the tower! That’s where the beam began!” He nodded. “Understood!”

The two started making their way through the burning streets. Fighting chitauri where they could and protecting civilians when needed. (M/N) wasn’t exactly sure how they were going to stop this without an army. He heard stories where Jedi have been able to stop entire fights with the force, he hoped that’s true.

(M/N) found himself running towards a group of people fighting chitauri. A man with a bow, a woman with two blasters, and a man in one bright red,white and blue suit and it looked like he was throwing a shield? Honestly not the strangest thing he’s seen on a battlefield. Rushing towards them, he jumped on top of a destroyed vehicle and jumped down on top of a chitauri about to strike the man in blue. The man turned and looked at (M/N) with a raised eyebrow. “You’re welcome. Eyes up we have more incoming!”

“Who are you?” The man yelled.

“Names later!”

Using the force, (M/N) grabbed one of the floating platforms the chitauri were riding and pushed it into another. Janai soon caught up, the two now fighting alongside the other three people. Blaster fire rang out all around them, the screams of civilians all around. (M/N) been on many battlefields, but never saw anything like this. These people didn’t have the same technology to put up a good defense, this was just a massacre. The portal roared once again causing everyone to look up.

“Oh no.”

“Leviathans.”

The fighting seemed to drag on forever. They kept defending the spot as long as they could. Janai and (M/N) needed to get to the tower but they couldn’t reach it yet. Eventually the fighting died down a little and the sound of a motor reached his ear. Turning he saw a man arrive on a bike. Suddenly a leviathan bursted through buildings chasing what looked to be a droid. “Doctor Banner this might be a good time to get angry.” The man in blue said to the new arrival, replied back. “That’s my secret captain...I’m always angry.” (M/N) could practically feel the anger coming from the man, it was strong with him. Suddenly the man’s skin started to turn green as his body grew. It was like he was a whole new being. The flying person flew close enough for the leviathan to hit the ground and start making its way towards us.“It’s still coming in fast, (M/N) help me slow it down!” He and Janai pushed both their hands out, using the force to slow the beast down. “It’s still coming in hot!” The now hulking man roared before running a head a bit then slammed his fist into the leviathan, stopping it. “Incredible.”

The flying man landed down on the ground. “Alright good work team-” He stopped his talk when he spoted Janai. She looked at him like she was trying to figure out who he was. Was that him? Suddenly the sound of Chitauri roaring pulled them all back into the moment. They were surrounded. Looking up, more chitauri reinforcements arrived...and more leviathans.

“Call it cap.” (M/N) looked at the man, only just realizing his color palette. Gold and red, just like his vision. “Alright, listen up. Until we can close that portal up there, we're gonna use containment. Barton, I want you on that roof, eyes on everything. Call out patterns and strays. Stark, you got the perimeter. Anything gets more than three blocks out, you turn it back or you turn it to ash.” Suddenly everyone was in action, the captain tried to give them orders. “You two stay here and help defend this position.” Janai wasn’t having it. “We can help you a lot more if we can get to that portal and close it!” Seeing this won’t go anywhere (M/N) thought back to his training. “Master! I remember from my training at the temple archives. The Chitauri all live off of their mother ship, if we can take it down we can stop all of this!” This seemed to get the captains attention. “How can we do that?” Janai and (M/N) smiled at each other before looking at the captain. “With our ship. (M/N) I’ll get the ship and take out the mothership. You get to that tower and get to the beam, make sure it stays open long enough for me to get back then close it. Understand.” He nodded. “Yes master.” Janai started her way back to the ship. “May the force be with you (M/N) Stark!” He noticed that the captain had looked at him in a strange way, he didn’t question it. He had to get to that tower, his mother was counting on him.

The way to the tower was littered with enemy’s and rubble. It wasn’t anything new to (M/N) but it felt strange with the knowledge he didn’t have the backup of the republic with him. He really did feel like he was alone on an alien world fighting for his life. Maybe it should feel wrong that he had become used to the sound of explosions and blaster fire, but after being on the frontline for so long it just felt normal to him. Just because it felt normal didn’t mean he liked it, he hated seeing the bodies of the fallen on the streets, the innocents caught in the crossfire. This wasn’t even part of the war, there was no imperial threat here. This was what life in the galaxy had been reduced to, endless war.

When he arrived at the tower, he looked up the tall structure. The beam was practically at the very top. He could take the lift’s up but it would take too much time, time the people of the city and his master didn’t have. He heard the sound of familiar engines get closer, he watched as the ship he and Janai arrived in flew up and towards the portal. He had to get to the beam fast. He noticed a group of Chitauri on their flying platforms getting closer, seeing his opportunity he used the force to run up the side of the building and launched himself onto one of the ships. He quickly knocked off the Chitauri and fired on the other two destroying them, before flying to the top of the tower.

As he reached the top of the tower, he jumped off the platform and landed on the deck of the building. He saw the portal and was ready to go for it, however he was stopped by a voice. “I can’t let you do that.” (M/N) turned and saw a man dressed in green and had a staff that glowed blue. This planet just keeps getting stranger. “And why shouldn’t I? He once again ignited his lightsaber and moved into a defensive stance. “A Jedi? I thought the republic didn’t deal with this world?” So this guy knew about the jedi and republic, maybe there was more to it. “The jedi don’t limit themselves to the republic. We help those in need in the galaxy.” The man only smirked. “Even those in the Empire? I don’t think that’s true.” “So are you part of the Empire?” He laughed at that. “No, at least not YOUR Empire. That’s why I’m doing this.” He swiped his arms around signaling the destruction. “Out of the destruction I shall build my empire and the people of this world will bow to me.” (M/N) changed his stance to an offensive one. “I won’t let that happen.” Before the man could retort (M/N) launched himself at the man, his blade hitting the man’s staff. The two began to duel each other, the city still under attack around them. (M/N) wasn’t about to let this planet fall to a madman like him. He used the force to push the man back, causing the man to fall into a pillar, knocking him out. “Wow...for someone building an empire you really suck at fighting.” He turned back to the beacon, he needed to be ready to turn that off. Suddenly, he felt the cold again. “Well...if it isn’t my apprentice.”

The Chiss Sith stood beside the man (M/N) had knocked out. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I guess destiny wants us together.” (M/N) wasn’t about to let this man get the upper hand. He rushed the sith aiming to end it quickly. “Oh this again.” The sith lifted his hands and shot out lightning. (M/N) wasn’t quick enough to block and was shocked by the impact of the lightning. “You’re weak. I can sense your anger, it’s stronger than before. You need discipline, training. Join me and all of this.” He nodded to the city. “Can be yours.” (M/N) wasn’t paying attention as Janai’s voice cut through his comlink. “(M/N) I almost have the mothership down, get ready to close the portal once I get back.” He couldn’t fail her, not now. He quickly pulled the other man’s staff to him, the sith jumping out of the way. “I will never join you. I’m a jedi, like my mother before me.” The sith scowled. “So be it.” The sith launched at him and (M/N) was quick to block the attack. The staff in his hand felt weird. It was much like a lightsaber, yet it felt...even more powerful. “I’ll be taking that staff from you.” (M/N) pushed back on the saber. “Not on my watch.” He kicked his opponent back and swung the staff cutting the sith’s arm. The man let out a cry of pain before once again slamming his saber on the staff again. Eventually the sith got the upperhand and knocked the staff out of (M/N)’s hands. “Die!” As the red blades came towards him, he lifted his hands together and called on the force. The saber reached his hands, yet no impact came. He was blocking the lightsaber with his hands. He focused moved one of his hands and called his lightsaber back to him. Once his blade returned he slashed at the sith, who jumped back. “Enough.” The chiss pulled his arms back before pushing them out, sending (M/N) over the side of the building.

He felt the air rushing past him and he fell. The top of the tower getting farther and farther from reach. He failed. The city was still on fire around him, his mother was counting on him and he failed. No. Not yet. He reached out for his saber which was just out of reach pulling it to him. He’d find a way back up, he needed to. It was like the force knew, suddenly he felt arms around him as he was being pushed back up. He looked to see he was being flown back up by the man in the red and gold suit from earlier. “Hang on kid I got you.” Just like how he felt connected to the planet, he also felt the connection with this man. He couldn’t think of that right now, he needed to get back. “I need to get back up there. Can you help me out?” The man looked at him. “You honestly shouldn’t be anywhere near here kid. I should take you somewhere safe.” (M/N) glared at him. “I’ve been on the frontline of countless battles, safety isn’t a concern of mine. GET ME UP THERE!” He couldn’t see the man’s expression in the suit but he felt the concern and conflict in him. “Fine.”

The sith walked over to the staff. He looked at the stone that sat within it. “Finally.” As he reached for it, he was interrupted as (M/N) reappeared with an unknown man. Not wanting to waste time, (M/N) pushed off the man, igniting his saber and attacked the sith. The two once again engaged in battle. This time the man in the suit also helped (M/N) fight the sith. Realizing he was outnumbered he decided to cut his losses. Using the force the chiss grabbed the man in the suit, throwing him at (M/N) knocking the two down. He quickly grabbed the stone from the staff. “Well this has been fun, but I must be off.” He started to walk towards the beacon. (M/N) barely had enough strength to stand. He felt a rush through the force, he watched as the Chitauri around the city all began to shut down, she had done it. “(M/N)! I’m almost through!” He watched as the ship once again passed through the portal. The sith stopped in his tracks taking in the scene, now was his chance. With the force (M/N) pulled the stone out of the sith’s hands. “I told you. NOT.ON.MY.WATCH!” The sith smirked. “The anger glows in you. Not to worry I don’t need that yet. I have this.” He grabbed the cube that was in the beacon. “You’ll be my apprentice eventually.” Suddenly the cube glowed and the sith and the cube disappeared. The portal above the city disappeared without its source. The battle was over. However he couldn’t get the sith out of his head, the battle was over yet the sith escaped with the cube. What was it anyways?

“That could have gone a lot better.” He turned to look at the man in the suit. He was still on the ground but was trying to get up. (M/N) moved over to the man. “Here let me help. Thanks for getting me back up here.” He got the man into a sitting position, while he kneeled down. The man’s mask slid open revealing his face. “No problem kid, you did a good job there. Guess you’re a fighter huh?” He smirked at the man. “Yeah, have been for the last two years.” The man looked at him with a smirk. “What's your name kid?” (M/N) realized he hadn’t gotten a chance to introduce himself to anyone. “Oh sorry. (M/N). (M/N) Stark.” He lifted his hand out for the man to shake. The man looked at him with a shocked face. It also seemed like he had tears in his eyes. “(M/N)? Huh look at you. You’re so big.” (M/N) looked at the man in confusion. “Excuse me?” The man laughed and shook his head. “My name is Tony. Tony Stark, I’m your dad.”

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emachinescat · 4 years

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Murdoc + Ithika + Mac

A MacGyver Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 14 - “I didn’t mean it”

Summary: As an artist, Murdoc prides himself in taking his time with his work - he never loses control. Except one time, with his favorite boy genius. He always imagined that when he finally made MacGyver cry, it would be his finest moment. Now, he’s not so sure.

Characters: Murdoc, Mac, Jack

Words: 3,454

TW: torture, broken bones, Murdoc being his creepy little self

Note: Happy Valentine's Day – the store was all out of chocolate, so I got you Mac whump! ;) The allusions to Ithika are from Homer's epic by the same name, but even more so from the incredible poem by C.P. Cavafy. The muse mentioned, Melpomene, is the Muse of Tragedy.

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this!

Ithika gave you the marvelous journey.

Without her you wouldn't have set out.

She has nothing left to give you now.

- From “Ithika” by C. P. Cavafy

Murdoc enjoyed taking his time.

He was an artist, after all, and artists didn’t slap together a masterpiece in an afternoon – not the ones worth anything, at least. Most spent days studying their subjects, becoming intimately familiar with every line and curve and element – the shading, the lighting, the vibrancy of the colors. The very best didn’t even consider touching brush to canvas until they had developed a personal relationship with their subject – for how can a true artist paint that which he does not know deeply? Why bother recreating that landscape or tea kettle or sad-eyed little girl or bowl of fruit if it could be any landscape, tea kettle, little girl, or bowl of fruit? Why would someone paint something that wasn’t theirs?

Murdoc knew his subject very well. He, like a true artist, had studied it in a variety of settings. He’d watched and learned, dug deep into the core of its being, drawn out every secret and motivation and loss and love. He understood what made his subject tick. He’d even done some brief sketches, practicing each brushstroke with care, waiting patiently for the day he could at last, intricately, evoke that muse sought by the Romantics, that evasive Melpomene, and breathe his masterpiece to life. Or, more accurately, to death.

And now, after years of watching, interacting, teasing, sketching, his time had finally come. Months of planning had been sunk into this particular endeavor. And now, unlike the first time he’d been introduced to his subject, he hadn’t been commissioned by anyone. This portrait was personal, deeply personal. He finally had his subject right where he wanted it. The canvas was bare and waiting for the artist’s touch. Murdoc had chosen his palette, mixed the colors – it might be cliche, but he was a sucker for red, black, and blue.

Now that his moment had finally arrived, however, it didn’t mean that he could rush through the actual creation process. The act of studying one’s subject matter was slow and deliberate. So must be the painting.

***

Murdoc studied his canvas slowly, methodically, unsurprised that it wasn’t exactly blank. MacGyver stood, hands chained above his head, attached to a grate above. His bare toes just reached the cold concrete below. His jacket and Henley had been removed – he shivered slightly from the chill of the basement. Murdoc liked to think it was from fear.

“Oooh, this one’s fun, MacGyver!” Murdoc crooned as the blonde boy wonder eyed him scornfully. It was quite entertaining how expressive his prey’s pretty blue eyes could be. Murdoc briefly brushed the tip of his little finger against the scar of a bullet wound on MacGyver’s chest. MacGyver jerked back from the touch, though his expression remained stoic.

“Jealous that you weren’t the one who did it, Murdoc?” He sounded confident enough, but Murdoc knew his subject quite well by now. MacGyver was shaken. For once, he had no control, nothing to work with, no way to escape. He was at his captor’s mercy – Murdoc could do whatever he wanted, and MacGyver knew that.

“Oh, it’s nothing compared with what I’ve got planned for you, Angus,” Murdoc simpered sweetly, circling his catch of the day, dark eyes darting across more scars and recent cuts and bruises. He pressed directly into the dark center of a boot-tip bruise on MacGyver’s side, relishing the sharp intake of breath it elicited. “Someone on your last mission in Volgograd left their mark, I see.”

He circled back around to face his victim, who did a subpar job of hiding his surprise at the observation. “That was highly classified. How did you–”

“I’ve been watching you for a very long time, MacGyver. But you had to have known I would. After all, you’re my closest friend, and I know where you live. It’s kind of silly that you never moved, but maybe you just figured I’d find you even if you did. I wonder – have you always tossed and turned in your sleep or is that a more recent development?”

True horror flashed momentarily in blue eyes, tugging Murdoc’s lips up into a satisfied smile. “Oh, yes, your nightmares are very entertaining. I do hope the majority of them are about me. Oh, oh, oh! And I especially love it when they’re so bad you have to call your watch dog to calm you down. I wonder how Dalton’s taking your disappearance, by the way? I’m sure he’s in for some nightmares of his own.”

“He’ll find me, if I don’t escape first.” MacGyver’s bravado was both highly endearing and incredibly tiresome. Same old, same old.

“Doubtful,” Murdoc purred. “I mean, I know you well enough not to make stupid mistakes, my friend.”

“I escaped from the sewers, and you’d drugged me.”

“I intended for you to escape that day. I needed to draw your friends in, to focus their attention on finding you while I attended to other business. But this time – you’re mine.” At the fervor in his words, a shudder entirely unrelated to cold clinked the chains restraining his victim. Murdoc smiled, then continued.

“But now, there is no ulterior motive. I grabbed you for no other reason than because I wanted to. You are hidden away quite well, even more securely than last time, I’m afraid. And you will not be left alone, not even for a second. There may be things in this room you could use to escape, but they’re useless to you in your position. And I am not going to take my eyes off of you. You won’t have a chance to wriggle your way out of this one, MacGyver. Ooooh, is that fear I see on your face? No? We really must change that.” He tutted. “Defiance and bravado really are your bread and butter, aren’t they, Angus? What are you, an action hero from a cheesy 1980s TV show?” Silence, though the fiery glare spoke more loudly than words.

Murdoc clapped his hands together. “Well, there’s no time like the present. What do you say, MacGyver? Let’s get started.”

***

Three hours later, Murdoc admired his work. It was a slow process. He painted with precision and care, layering the colors just so, balancing the strokes, the lights and darks and brights. His brushes were many – laid out on the table before him were knives and pliers and blow torches and hammers and whips and cattle prods and other more specialized tools that he liked to work up to. He also had an oversized meat tenderizer, made of steel. He rarely used it – too garish for his refined tastes – but it did look nice and scary looming over the other instruments.

So far, he’d only used his knives and the cattle prod. The masterpiece was starting to come together, but it was hardly complete. He prowled around his artwork. MacGyver’s trembling had increased. He gasped for breath as Murdoc appraised his work – burns and cuts, some deeper than others – made a nice foundation. The drip of blood across bare flesh outshone any Pollock painting. He’d practiced his blending techniques, jabbing the cattle prod directly into the center of the lovely bruise he’d noticed earlier. MacGyver hadn’t been able to hold in his yell of pain.

Music.

“Are you enjoying our time together?” Murdoc asked.

MacGyver uttered a creative string of curse words that made Murdoc proud. He whistled appreciatively. “Who knew the boy scout had that in him? I’m almost impressed.”

“Yeah, well,” MacGyver said, hissing as he shifted and pulled at his many wounds. “Almost is about all you’ll ever be, Murdoc.”

Murdoc had been reaching for his trusty pair of pliers (those toenails could sure use a trim!). He paused, his back partially to his captive, fingers hovering over the tool. He was used to MacGyver’s sass, but what he’d just said hit a sour note that the hit man couldn’t shake. He didn’t know if it was the tone or the words themselves. “Excuse me?” He tried to sound amused, but his voice was tight, as if it had been squeezed out of him.

A clink of the chains, a grunt of pain that didn’t lighten Murdoc’s mood as it should have. Then, MacGyver elaborated. His voice was clipped in pain, breathless, but conviction lined every syllable. “You are doomed to live a life of almost, Murdoc. Nothing is ever going to be enough for you. Why do you think you take so long to get anything done? Why do you spend so much time talking and taunting and watching and waiting?”

Murdoc didn’t move, his hand still inches away from his delicate instrument that caused pain but did no lasting damage. “I’m an artist.”

“You’re afraid.”

“I fear nothing.”

“You fear winning.”

Murdoc laughed, a forced, uncomfortable sound that he’d never heard come from his own mouth. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, Angus. Are you sure the pain isn’t getting to your head?”

MacGyver pressed on relentlessly. “You crave attention. You need a challenge. That’s why you picked me. And you’re afraid of what happens if you beat me. If I die, there’s always that possibility that you won’t find another playmate.”

Still, Murdoc didn’t move. His words, despite their teasing jaunt, had a forced quality to them. “Awfully full of ourselves, aren’t we, MacGyver?”

He could hear the triumphant smile in his adversary’s voice. “I’m just stating the truth, Murdoc. You might torture me, you might have your fun. But at the end of the day, you’re going to slip up somehow. It’s your way of making sure the game goes on. Without that challenge, what are you? Just an angry voice screaming at the sky, no purpose, no point. You say you’ve studied me, Murdoc. You’ve watched me and know me. Well, in doing so, you’ve shown me yourself, too. You’re not going to kill me today. You’re never going to kill me.

“I don’t know what exactly I’ve done to deserve this… honor,” he continued, placing particular derision on the last word, “but you’ve become obsessed with me, Murdoc. Believe me, I don’t like saying this any more than you like hearing it. But it’s how I know I’m going to walk away from this. If I’m gone, so is your fun.”

Murdoc prided himself on maintaining control over his emotions. An artist, though he might express the inner workings of his soul on canvas, could not let his feelings control the brush, control him. Look what had happened to Van Gogh – sure, beautiful work, but his emotions controlled him, destroyed him in the end. Murdoc didn’t make mistakes like that. He waited. He didn’t lash out in anger. It wasn’t because he wanted MacGyver to live, oh no. His fondest dream was to see the blonde boy cry, to watch him squirm and beg for mercy, and then, finally, only when he’d really begged for it, to send him to his death. MacGyver had no idea what he was talking about.

It wasn’t even MacGyver’s words, his cocky belief that he was important enough to his torturer to keep alive, that sent Murdoc over the edge. It was the tiny little voice, way back in the darkest, most depraved corner of his already dark and depraved mind, the one that spoke not in the voice of Murdoc, but one that sounded more like Dennis, the first casualty of Murdoc’s career – himself. The voice said, plainly, without emotion, You know he’s right.

And that was the catalyst for the tsunami of rage that crashed into Murdoc, pummeling his well-practiced and unshakable resolve to take his time. That was what spurred his frozen body into movement, curled his fingers around the handle of the meat tenderizer, that brash, archaic tool, rather than the pliers. That was what spit his next words out of his mouth as if they were poison, words that finally – beautifully – caused Angus MacGyver’s eyes to widen in real fear: “You are going to walk out of here?” A sadistic, mad giggle. “My dear Angus, it will be a miracle if you ever walk again.”

He hefted the heavy steel implement in his hand, pulled back, and lunged. MacGyver tried to back away, the chains around his wrists cackling and clicking against one another in his desperation. They held firm, and the meat tenderizer slammed full force into MacGyver’s left kneecap. Murdoc felt the crunch of bones. He heard the bestial howl, the scream of anguish, the body-jerking, breath stealing cry of a man in so much pain he lost himself. He watched MacGyver’s face drain of color, recognized the moment when the pain became too much, and saw the tear-streaked face go slack, the chin thud against the battered chest and stay there.

For a moment, Murdoc experienced the euphoria one could only find in hurting that special someone in such a catastrophic way. He relished in that moment the scream, the agony, the writhing and loss of control.

Then the moment ended – and far too soon.

Immediately after, the weapon dropped out of Murdoc’s limp fingers. It smashed into the floor below, with the jarring clang that only metal on concrete can produce. He looked at the limp, hanging form before him, and something twisted inside of him – a feeling he’d never known. It wasn’t guilt, nor revulsion.

It was, however, regret.

He didn’t understand it. He should be overjoyed. MacGyver was completely at his mercy. Murdoc could kill him now. Carve that bleeding heart out like a villain in a fairy tale would. But then, he realized, MacGyver would be gone. Forever. Even now, his kneecap had been crushed, shattered into tiny fragments of bone and cartilage, and unless he got treatment of the highest quality, and soon, he’d almost certainly be crippled. Even if he had extensive reconstructive surgery, his career as a Phoenix agent could still be over.

Wasn’t that what Murdoc had wanted? To end MacGyver’s pesky existence, to win at this game of cat and mouse? To create his most spectacular masterpiece with his greatest enemy? That’s what he had dreamed of for years now, what he’d studied and practiced and yearned for. And yet –

What was it that hoity toity Greek poet had written? Murdoc had read “Ithika” long ago, a random page in a poetry book of a man he’d killed. For some reason, the poem had attached itself to his mind and never let go. He could remember it even now:

Keep Ithika always in your mind. Arriving there is what you’re destined for. But don’t hurry the journey at all. Better if it lasts for years, so you’re old by the time you reach the island, wealthy with all you’ve gained on the way, not expecting Ithika to make you rich. Ithika gave you the marvelous journey. Without her you wouldn’t have set out. She has nothing to give you now.

And he understood. The poem was supposed to be inspirational, for fools so focused on their goals that they missed the journey of life along the way – a mundane, silly sentiment. But now Murdoc could see – MacGyver’s destruction was his Ithika. Perhaps Cavafy had a point – maybe he had been a bit of an artist himself. And MacGyver had been right about some things, wrong about others.

He was right in that Murdoc wasn’t ready to end the game just yet. But it wasn't fear that held him back, that urged him to take his time. It was joy. Joy of the journey. The little pleasures of life that are so often passed by in the grand scheme of things – the poet had been speaking of knowledge, of friendship, of love, of experiences. Murdoc’s little pleasures were things like fear, drawn-out suffering, playing with his food and watching it squirm. He relished that joy. He wanted more of it, and if MacGyver died, or was out of commission as a spy, that joy would diminish. Even if MacGyver lived, it wouldn’t be the same if he couldn’t fight back, couldn’t play along.

Murdoc made his decision.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a burner phone. He dialed a number he’d memorized long ago, put the phone to his ear.

A fierce Texas twang answered before the first ring had run its course. “Murdoc, you son of a bitch–”

“Temper, Jack,” Murdoc drawled. He shivered in excitement at the mental picture of the inferno in Dalton’s eyes. “You just assumed it was me – imagine if it were your mother on the other line.”

“I can scent the devil from a mile away.” Murdoc heard muffled voices in the background, knew the call was being traced.

“Don’t waste your time running a trace, you grumpy old hound dog.” His words were light, yet he allowed the slightest hint of urgency to infect them. “I’ve had my fun for today. I’ll text you the address.” He paused. “Oh, and bring one of those fancy whirly-birds you like to use for medical emergencies. I might have been a little… over zealous this time.”

He closed his eyes, gorging on the incalculable levels of hatred in Jack Dalton’s next words. “If you hurt him–”

Appreciation turned to irritation. Murdoc rolled his coal eyes to the ceiling. “Weren’t you listening, you brute? Obviously, I hurt him. Quite a bit actually. You should have heard him scream.”

A short silence. Then – “You didn’t let me finish, you overgrown sewer rat. If you hurt him, I am going to tear you limb from limb. I don’t need any of your fancy tools.”

“Hmm, that was almost intimidating,” Murdoc teased in his most good-natured tone. “But you’ll have to find me first.” He let the words linger for just a moment, then continued: “Anyway, ta-ta for now. I’ll text you the address. I’ll be long gone by the time you get here, but feel free to bring all your little friends for a game of hide and seek. Though I have a feeling that you’re going to be more focused on sweet Angus.”

He hung up, texted the address, then turned to a feebly stirring MacGyver. Pity he was waking up right as Murdoc had to leave. Whimpers that would have torn the very soul out of Jack Dalton erupted unbidden from MacGyver’s lips. Glazed blue eyes cracked open, regarding Murdoc with a mixture of terror and acceptance. Though he had regained consciousness, MacGyver still hung limply from the chains, too weak and in pain to move.

Murdoc stepped forward, eliciting the tiniest of flinches Even that motion made MacGyver cry out. But Murdoc didn’t hurt him again. Instead, he said, “Your friends are on their way.”

MacGyver’s voice rasped in the aftermath of his screams. “You’re letting … me go… Why?”

“Got bored, I suppose.” No way was Murdoc going to let MacGyver know he’d been right, even if only a little bit.

MacGyver didn’t respond – maybe he didn’t know how to respond; more likely, he could barely form coherent thoughts, let alone words, amidst the torrent of pain.

Murdoc started to step away, then turned back, studying his latest draft of the elusive masterpiece that he would continue to dream about and that would fuel his passion and creativity for years to come. He pulled off one black glove, placed his hand on a pale, cold cheek. MacGyver jerked back feebly from the touch, grunting at the pain it produced. Slowly, Murdoc wiped one of the fresher tears away with his thumb. It might have been a power play. It might have been a show of comfort. Even the hit man didn’t know. He glanced down at the shattered knee, swollen and misshapen, a grotesque monster straining to break free from the unrelenting fabric of the khakis.

“For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, moving his gaze up from the deformed knee to lock his black eyes with fearful, anguished blue ones, “I didn’t mean it.”

He walked away, casting one final look over his shoulder before he left his art behind for the coming Phoenix agents to admire. “Until next time, MacGyver.”

And despite the extensive search conducted by Phoenix once MacGyver had been loaded onto the chopper, on his way to the best orthopaedic surgeons in the country, Murdoc had once more disappeared, like a ghost.

That night he dreamed about his Ithika, and this time, it was enough.

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infernal-panda · 4 years

Text

ALTERNATE BEGINNING CHAPTER 16: REAL CHAPTER POSTED NOW

The next morning, not long after the sun started to rise, Natasha stepped on to the roof with two cups of coffee in hand, still wearing Tony's night shirt and sleep pants. Her hair fell in soft, slightly fuzzed waves over her shoulders, showing just how quickly she'd gone from the comfort of her bed to the kitchen, but there was a pep in her step unusual for the early morning hour.

The day seemed to match her mood, beautiful and bright despite the grey clouds looming overhead, and there was still a pleasant chill in the air. She looked around, unsure exactly where her little delinquent had fallen asleep then spotted the blankets in the shadows of the air unit.

The crunching of gravel beneath her shoes slowed as she got close, her eyes narrowing. There was not one, but two pairs of feet peeking from the blankets, and the small palette closest to the unit was abandoned. She was confused only for a moment before a bleary-eyed Steve's head lifted from the pillow.

Steve seemed confused as well, trying to figure out why the hell he was outside and what was pinning him down. The two met eyes and Steve looked down to where Peter was still snoring softly, mouth agape and sprawled out over him. So that answered that. Steve's face drained of color at his still-bare chest.

Natasha raised a brow. This was certainly a new development.

"I was just-" Steve started, but the sound caused Peter to shift, his brows furrowing.

Steve carefully worked to peel back the blankets, but apparently Peter was having none of it, his immediate response to nuzzle in closer into the warmth, burying his head against Steve's arm. Steve let out a quietly amused huff, his heart swelling in spite of himself, and after some very delicate maneuvering, he finally managed to wriggle himself free of his comfy prison.

Peter smacked his lips as he clutched onto the pillow Steve recruited to stand in his stead, and Natasha had to actively work to keep her stony expression, her cheek up-ticking with the effort.

Steve worked on pulling his shirt on as he stepped away carefully, rubbing his hand through his hair, trying to smother the troublesome strays. Natasha held out one of the cups.

"Get cold?"

It sounded like an innocent question, but even in her stoicism, the wryness in her voice gave her teasing away. It was obvious from her reaction that she thought their sleeping arrangement happened by accident, or perhaps not by accident, but definitely not with the intentions they had laid by each other with. He could have played it off, acted like it was something less than what it was, but there was no point in holding off.

Steve hesitantly searched Natasha's face, hoping she didn't notice the trifle of a blush rising up his neck, and squared his jaw mulishly. "Not exactly, no."

Natasha stared at him, waiting for Steve to explain further. He just took a long drink. "Is that so?"

Steve gave a single, trying-for-casual nod, but it just barely missed the mark.

Natasha found herself intrigued. Her eyes flashed back to where Peter was laying, his hair a wild mess. At first, she thought it was funny in a cute kind of way, but if their cuddling was purposeful, that was something different altogether. Not that she didn't expect this to happen eventually, but with the two actively acting like the most adorable dunderheads she'd ever met, she didn't expect it to be so soon.

Then something occurred to her.

She narrowed her eyes at Steve. "He wasn't drunk was he?"

Steve's nose scrunched up in disgust, there and gone. Of course not. He never would have let any of that happen if he was. Steve may have done some dumb stuff in the past, but he would never take advantage of Peter like that. "Completely sober. We were up for a bit before-before we talked."

"Good. I'd hate to have to string you from the side of the tower after I've grown so attached to you," she said easily.

"If he would've been, I'd have done it myself," Steve replied thinly.

Natasha hummed. "So you made up your mind then? About what Tony talked with you about."

Steve nodded again.

Natasha's glare lingered for a long moment then her lips slowly slid into a smug smile. She slapped a small hand on his shoulder, knocking him off balance, and took a drink from what was supposed to be Peter's coffee. "Alright then. Too bad for Kristen in Statistics."

Steve gaped incredulously as Natasha turned on her heel and walked back to the door, calling over her shoulder, "Tell Peter he's expected to be at lunch. You and the others too, but I'll let them know. I'm sure you two have a bit of talking to do."

Steve let his head fall back as the door shut and released a breath, feeling like a huge weight was lifted from his shoulders. That went so much better than he ever imagined.

He walked back over to Peter, settling back under the covers. He reached for his bag and pulled out his laptop, going through his unread emails to pass the time, but he couldn't seem to tear his eyes from Peter's face for too long. He found himself straying from his work back to Peter's sun kissed profile, eyes glancing again and again at the long beautiful lashes casting shadows on his sharp cheekbones, highlighting the feather-light freckles peppering his skin. His fingers itched for his sketch pad after the third time, and finally grabbed it at the fifth from where it lay abandoned on his own small palette.

Peter was an awkward sleeper, all gangly limbs and soft snores, but it didn't really bother Steve. Honestly, it only made him seem more adorable, like a quirky little puppy or maybe a strangely cuddly octopus, stretching out and falling asleep in any position possible. He wondered if he always slept like that, or if it was only when he was exhausted. They'd stayed up most of the night, just talking like they always had. It was comforting in a way, that things hadn't changed too drastically.

That thought grew, branching out into thoughts of the future as he drew. He wondered what his and Peter's relationship would look like. Would they be more like Bruce and Loki, or Natasha and Tony? How often he would get to wake up beside him? He wondered if any day could ever possibly measure up to the feelings coursing through him today, despite having thought that numerous times since having met Peter.

There would be issues, he was sure, not only with the complicated feelings between him and Bucky, but with the others too. He wasn't certain how everyone was going to take the news of them going together-or whatever it was they were doing-, and he still had his own fears to conquer, but he wouldn't let it get to him. He couldn't do that to Peter again.

Steve noticed the heaviness of his lines and shook his hand free of the thoughts. They would have plenty of time to worry about all of that. For now...

Steve's hand hung limply from his knee, and he thought, just for a moment, that he could watch It Peter sleep forever.

That is until he mumbled something incoherent in his sleep. It was nonsense, hardly even words at all through his sleep slurred speech, but there was something so sweet and innocent about it Steve couldn't hold back and longer, and he dropped his notebook to wrap his arms around Peter, pressing a soft kiss on his neck by his ear.

"Good morning," he crooned against his skin.

Peter blinked slowly at the familiar strong and steady timbre vibrating against his ear, eyes glassy and bloodshot, but his face lit up with a surge of pure exaltation when Steve came into focus. Peter was fully ready to accept the night before as a fluke, a poor lapse in judgement on Steve's part, but with the way those blue eyes were looking at him, it seemed to be anything but.

"Hey," he replied, his smile warm and sleepy-soft as he stretched against Steve. "How long have you been up?"

"Not long. Maybe half an hour."

"Ah man. You could've woken me up. I bet I was snoring all over you," Peter said.

"You were," Steve assured him, passing him his notebook. "You even sleep talked. It was adorable."

Peter barked out a laugh. "Did you just Edward Cullen me?"

Steve huffed, smiling at his strange reaction. "I don't know what that means, but I'll take your word for it."

"Yeah, maybe we will skip that one. The books aren't bad, but the acting for the movie is horrendous. Almost hilarious really, but it's kind of embarrassing to watch, you know? Unless you're into that kind of thing. It's MJ's guilty pleasure, even if she denies it to everyone else. Uhm, anyway," Peter forced himself to stop rambling. "How'd you sleep?"

Steve propped himself up on his elbow. Amazing. Fantastic even. No tossing and turning, no staring at the ceiling for what seemed like hours. It was the best he'd slept in probably years.

"Great. What about you? Miss your bed?" Steve asked with a lopsided smile.

"Nope. I actually slept like a rock."

"I saw that," Steve mused, running a hand down Peter's arm. "You missed Nat bringing you coffee and everything."

Peter perked, awed. "Coffee?"

Steve chuckled, rolling his eyes. He should have known that's all Peter would hear. The kid got excited about a lot of things, but coffee and science were two things guaranteed to get a smile. Steve sat up and plucked his own coffee cup off the ground and handed it over. Peter took it eagerly but he tilted his head slightly as he pulled the cup away.

It was sweet, but not overly so. Just the right amount of sugar, vanilla creamer and bitterness, so unlike his usual almost chalk white coffee.

"Is this yours?"

Steve nodded.

"Wow," Peter said, taking another drink. "This is amazing."

Steve took the cup, then dropped his head down to kiss Peter slowly, sealing their lips together softly before allowing his tongue to dip into his mouth, dragging across his bottom lip. Steve relished in the sweetness, and the slight intake of Peter's breath, then pulled away and licked his own lips. Peter's gaze was transfixed on the movement, his heart doing a painful little dance in his chest. Holy hell.

"Yeah. Tastes great," Steve agreed, eyes mirthful.

Peter blinked and swallowed loudly, his face warming. This time yesterday he thought he'd seen every side of Steve. The dorky, the confident, the good and the bad, everything, but man was he wrong. Sexy Steve was going to take some getting used to.

Not that he minded. Peter wanted more. Craved it. He could still feel the ghost of Steve's warm hands all over his body, the gentle rock of his hips, hear the sound of his labored breathing...

"Do you have any plans for today?"

"What?" Peter's voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "Oh. Me? Uhm. No. Nothing-Why?"

"Great," Steve said with a lopsided grin. He pulled out his phone to check the time, then tucked it back into his pocket. "That means we have plenty of time get in some training."

"Wait-what?"

"Training," Steve repeated, then raised a brow. "When's the last time you worked out?"

"Uhm, well. I-I guess it has been a few days," Peter said sheepishly. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't really remember. Everyone had been so busy lately, and Clint had caught him before he could go alone the other night.

"And you were making so much progress," Steve tsked. "How are you ever going to beat me if you keep slackin', Queens?"

"I was counting on your joints giving out or something, honestly, but I'm sure I'll manage."

Steve barked out a laugh. "Keep dreaming, kid. Seriously though. I'd feel a lot better if we got you back into regular training with everything going on."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Is it bad that I almost wish Hydra would just make a move already?" Peter asked, leaning back against his pillow.

"I'm glad they haven't. When they finally do, it'll only be because they're ready for it, and there's no telling how much damage they'll cause."

"As much as they can, I'm sure. Thieves and muggers, sometimes they are just on the wrong path, you know, but legit bad guys, they're are all the same."

"Like Death Eaters," Steve offered, absentmindedly running calloused fingers down Peter's arm. "Except they use science instead of magic."

Peter snorted.

"What was that noise about?" Steve asked. "I can't make film references?"

"No, it's awesome. I just can't wait until you are a full blown nerd."

"What does that come with? A medal? A spot in the hall of fame?"

"As if you don't already have one," Peter rolled his eyes playfully. "You're literally the world's first Avenger."

"Touché."

"Did I tell you I went to your exhibit? It was the Howling Commando one they had at the Science and History museum a few years ago, before all the Spiderman stuff. It was pretty awesome."

"Really? Did you learn anything?"

Peter shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "Nothing I didn't already know. You know how I am. When I like something, I research everything I can."

Steve tussled his hair, smirking. "I forget. You were a 'big fan.' Not the best thing to announce before a fight, just for future reference."

"That's what Tony said," Peter muttered, flattening his hair back down.

What would past Peter think if he could see him now? He probably wouldn't have believed it. Hell, two weeks ago he wouldn't have believed it.

"Speaking of being a big fan, though, I already have our next movie night planned. Ned has been bugging me to make you watch Lord of the Rings, so I was thinking maybe we could watch them tonight, or at least one of them. They're kind of long."

Steve considered it a moment, going over his plans for the day in his head. "I have a some things to do today, but tonight should be fine."

"Oh. Avenger stuff?"

"Yeah. Tony needs my help installing some new equipment," Steve answered vaguely.

It must be the cloaking device, Peter thought. If he was almost finished, it made sense that Tony would already be done. Peter should probably work on that some time today. He didn't like leaving Goggles decommissioned for so long. The testing should be done on the power pack, so all he would need to do is make sure that the device was functioning well on its own then he should be able to connect it to Goggles' processor and-

"We should probably head down if we are going to eat," Steve said, interrupting his thoughts. He stood up, offering Peter hand. "Buck is not a morning person, and he will probably maim us both if he wakes up early just to wait on us."

"Beaten by Bucky Barnes. It's got a nice ring to it. Write that on my tombstone."

#WTSSL #tony stark #clint barton #iron dad #iron man #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #peter parker #spidermom #spidershield #steve rogers #peter parker x steve rogers #steve rogers x peter parker #slow burn #Hydra

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basil-films · 4 years

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28-12-2020

The Godfather Part II (1974)

i’m not gonna lie, this movie was a lot to keep up with. it always feels like just when you’re starting to get it, there’s another key part that you’re missing except you have no clue what it is. anyway, here’s my not-so-analytical analysis // “things i’ve noticed list” of this masterpiece i wish i had the brain power to fully comprehend. this is definitely one that i’ll be rewatching dozens of times.

A Ceremonial Beginning (again)

an observation my dad actually made right from the start, is how both part I and part II start with some kind of ceremony. whether this was the director’s intent or not, i don’t know, but still: the first part opened at Connie’s wedding, a celebration of love, while this one opened to Vito’s funeral. the contrast of the two openings is a sign, signifying how hopeful everything used to be, compared to how hopeless they seem to already be now.

Rags to Riches Storyline

right from the start of the nonlinear storyline, we see Vito being treated almost like a peasant at the American boarder. since we already know everything he goes to achieve in his lifetime and that this is merely a flashback, we can’t help but notice that this is pretty similar to a “rags to riches” storyline. the purpose of a nonlinear timeline seems to emphasize Vito’s growth throughout his lifetime and show just how unpredictable Vito’s future will be, given that we already know how it ends.

Never in Private

another minor note that strengthens the connection between the past and present is how Michael’s talk with the senator was not in private, but with security in the room, just the way Vito would have done it. this is something we notice in the first film too, as the only times Vito’s spoke with someone one-on-one was with people, i forget who exactly but i’m sure Sonny was obviously one of them, he has a special relationship with.

while this is clearly just a safety precaution, it’s still noteworthy that this happens to be yet another trait Michael takes after his father, a habit of ensuring the safety of both himself and his family, as we find out later.

“Trying to fit in with other Americans”

one interesting cut between scenes (and timeframes) was between the scene of Vito half-innocently entering the United States (past) and Michael being insulted by the senator, being told he’s “trying to fit in with other Americans.” the concept of revenge, or even karma (if we see the “Americans” as the receiver of karma) is apparent with this one transition between scenes.

A Walkthrough of Life

It’s no surprise that the 3:22 hour movie is slow paced - just like any of the Godfather films. Other than detail, the only other reason a team would decide to make a movie this long is for the effect of it feeling like some sort of walkthrough of life and death. That’s pretty deep-sounding, but what I’m trying to say is that the entire film is paced in a way that makes you feel like you’re an outsider to the Corleone family, living each day with them.

Kiss of Death

This is one of my favorite parts. I watched this film with my dad so he had to enlighten me, but basically, there’s this this in Italian mafia culture called the “kiss of death.” When Michael finds out about Fredo’s betrayal, he kisses him smack on the lips, something you wouldn’t expect two straight mafia members to comfortably do. This is Michael’s way of basically saying, “I love you, but I’m gonna kill you.”

This raises the question of why? If someone betrays you, why wouldn’t you just kill them and get it over with (I’m talking about 20th century Italian gang culture here, please don’t turn me into the police)? The kiss of death goes to show that Michael genuinely cared for his brother and that Fredo’s slip up is one that hasn’t changed their brotherly feelings for one another. Instead, it simply means that Michael has to do what he has to do, no matter how much he may or may not want to.

Power Through One’s Family

The entire concept of both gaining power and becoming vulnerable is obtained and lost through one’s family. Whether that’s through one’s kids or his wife, if someone is messed with, the family of the perpetrator is the initial target and always in immediate danger. I think this says a lot about the values of these men. Despite their hard shells, they all know their biggest weakness: their own family.

Harsh Transitions into a New Color Palette

I’m not gonna lie, I noted this down without a specific example, but here’s my thought: Whether it’s between murder scenes and weddings or parties or whatever, there’s often these really contrasty transitions between scenes with completely different color palettes. I like this, because the two main elements of these kinds of films are family and brutal murder, some pretty heavy contrast, if you ask me. The palettes often contrast in warmth as well, leaving the warmer tones with close and family-oriented scenes, obviously. The transitions, though harsh, are an eye-opener to the unpredictability of the film and can really wake you up in case you’ve started to doze off 3 hours in.

The American Way of Life Designed by Italians

The scenes of young Vito’s first(?) murder that takes place in the crowded streets of the street market are possibly some of my favorite in the movie. The significance of that particular scene is that it reminds you that this isn’t the classic American Dream. The life all these guys and their families are after is the American life made by the Italians. The Italian culture is preserved through the body language, formalities//etiquette, etc, all while still aiming to ‘blend in’ with the American lifestyle.

I think this is beautiful, since it goes to show that their own culture isn’t something they’re willing to sacrifice for the sake of living in America.

Lonely, I’m still Lonely

There’s probably a much deeper meaning to the way the film was brought to an end, but here’s my take on it. The focus of the second film in this trilogy was Vito’s youth and Michael’s growth. Just like what my dad said when we watched this together, this is Michael’s film and his chance to grow into his father’s shoes. For this very reason, we finish on a shot of Michael sitting alone at the table, while everyone else rushes to see the surprise or whatever it was that caught their attention at the front door. This essentially leaves him alone with his thoughts, as he is after all ‘the next heir to the throne.’ He’s left in a state of deep contemplation over everything he’s just done, especially the murder of Fredo.

Sorry for another lengthy analysis! Feel free to skip around the topics and just read the ones that sound interesting to you :)

#cinema #film #The Godfather #movie #movie analysis #film analysis

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nureyevv · 4 years

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I decided to go ahead and indulge in a Jupeter Coffee Shop AU

Chapter One Preview:

“Mistah Steel,” said Rita, stripping off her apron, “you better not ‘forget’ about movie night again this week. I know you didn’t miss all my texts last Saturday. Duke Rose’s new video is comin’ out and I am not gonna be happy if I’ve gotta wait on ya.”

Juno barely suppressed a groan. The white light of the back room made it hard to ignore the look on her face. He wouldn’t be getting any sympathy.

He couldn’t stand the shows Rita watched, but she was right. He couldn’t skip out on her two weeks in a row. Leaning against the sink piled with dishes, he nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there,” he droned, casting a glance towards the door leading to the cafe. It looked as if they were starting to hit a rush.

“You’d better!” she said, hand on her hip.

Juno rolled his eyes. “What I better do is get back on the floor. Jet probably needs support.”

Rita followed his gaze to the front room where a small line of people was forming, leaving Jet unable to step away to make orders.

“Well what are ya standin’ around here for!” she exclaimed.

“We were having a conversation!”

“Oh, Mistah Steel, you really need to learn when babblin’ on is appropriate. Go on and help him out! I’m headin’ home anyways.”

Juno sputtered for a moment, trying to point out the irony that she was telling him to quit talking. When she didn’t seem to care, he gave up on arguing and decided to go save Jet from the small stack of orders piling up.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night, Rita,” he said, before pushing through the door into the cafe.

The coffee shop where he and Rita worked, The Carte Blanche, was a small store, with a comfortable sitting area and a warm color palette. It was owned by a woman named Buddy Aurinko who only trusted her store to a select group of people. Juno had somehow found himself included in that group. Thankfully, their small staff was sufficient for running the place while still having enough customers to stay in business.

Located just outside the city, Carte Blanche got most of its customers from those traveling through their little town on the way to their jobs in Hyperion. Aside from those rushes, orders were manageable throughout the rest of the day, usually consisting of a few regulars every now and then.

It was Friday evening and, now that Rita was off, they were down to their closing crew. Tonight, it was Jet and himself, which meant it would be an efficient, but somewhat dull few hours. Jet was a great coworker and an overall decent guy, but he wasn’t much for small talk.

The towering man gave him a nod from the cash register as Juno slid into bar. A year on the job made Juno pretty well accustomed to working with an espresso machine. Even though he didn’t drink much other than black coffee, he was comfortable making just about whatever sugar filled drink showed up on a ticket.

Juno didn’t waste any time. He immediately started steaming milk for his first drink and pulling espresso shots. Pumping a bit of syrup into the cup he left it on the bar and began prepping the next order.

He went on like that for a few minutes, not paying attention to much else as he worked. When he finally caught up with their minor rush he allowed himself to slow his pace. He reached for the final sticker and slapped it on the cup.

Coffee with cream. That was easy enough.

After topping the steaming cup off with a bit of milk and sliding a sleeve on to help with the heat, he moved to the call-out counter.

“Perseus,” he announced to the room, “Medium coffee.”

“Ah, I believe that’s mine,” said a voice from his right. Seated at the counter with a silver laptop was a dark haired man in glasses.

The man looked well groomed, although that wasn’t unusual. They had plenty of business people come through the store, but that was usually in the morning. Besides, the way he was set up didn’t make it seem like he was going anywhere soon.

After getting a proper look at him, Juno realized he recognized the guy.

He didn’t show up often enough to be considered a regular-- in fact he’d only been to the cafe a handful of times-- but what Juno lacked in customer service skills he made up for in memory.

Remembering faces had been a key part of his old job. Now, it was just another odd habit he had yet to kick. Although, he would admit his taking notice of this man in particular may have been credited, in part, to his being generally attractive.

But, of course, that wasn’t enough to keep Juno from opening his big mouth.

Handing over the drink, he raised an eyebrow at the man.

“Do you always choose weird aliases?” he wondered aloud.

The other man-- apparently going by Perseus today-- nearly choked on hot coffee.

#jupeter #my writing #tpp #the penumbra podcast #tbh im just writing this for a good time im sorry if its bad

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thewakingcloak · 5 years

Photo

Night and torches are now working properly! :D

This was quite a journey the past week or so. My original plan was to just have darkness, with torches and a lantern-like item to help you survive at both night and in the caves:

As it turned out, this really wasn’t what I wanted. It was TOO MUCH darkness, especially when large portions of the game would be spent outside at night. I still wanted the idea of scary, dark caves, but it would be way too irritating for everything doing it this way.

And besides, this method was super slow.

First, I tried to simply fix the lights so that they looked better.

Oops.

After talking it over with a few people on the Discord server, and due to the upcoming item mechanic, I decided to split out the “lighting” into three states:

Day

Night

Dark

Dark would be for caves and unlit dungeons: black, unless you had your light, or if there was a light in the room. Meanwhile, you would be able to see at night with a light, and that’s what I started work on:

This was actually getting pretty close. It doesn’t adhere to the palette, which isn’t great, and a few people on the Discord server still felt it was too dark. After some conversation, I decided to try a different method, one I’d used a long time ago.

Pixelated Pope’s Retro Palette Swapper.

The reason for this was mainly because I didn’t want to create two sets of images for every single piece of artwork in the game. Inevitably, I would’ve missed some, or updated one sprite and forgotten to update another. It would’ve been a lot of work and code modification. So, a shader seemed in order. I started by doing some mockups of how night would look, using some existing images. I took this opportunity to consolidate my existing palette, remove unused colors, and add a few new ones to support the night palette:

Version 1 was a bit funky and bright. So I tried again:

This was.... much better.

After some more tweaks, I had a new palette ready to go. The night palette (the bottom row) only used colors from the day palette (the top row).

And so I began the process of working with the palette swap shader. It actually went pretty well, though for some reason it wasn’t hitting certain objects, like the player, or jars and other interactable items.

It took quite a bit of digging to figure out what was going on there. Initially I thought the palette swapper was ignoring certain layers (since I was applying the swapper shader to a specific set of layers), but that didn’t hold up. Torches and gates, for example, were also on those layers, and they were palette swapping.

After a lot more digging, it turns out that the shader was missing these objects because I was modifying their depth. In GameMaker, changing the depth means the object gets put in a temporary layer for drawing, and that temp layer is not accessible via code. In other words, the shader would never apply.

I spoke with Pixelated Pope, and there were two methods I could try: 1) apply the shader to a depth range, or 2) apply the shader to the full application surface.

I tried the depth first, and while it worked, it was amazingly, unusably slow. So it was time to try applying the shader to the app surface instead.

The palette swapper has scripts to apply the shader to sprites, layers, depth, and so on, but nothing as far as surfaces. I fumbled around for a bit threw some code together to apply the shader to the app surface, and voila.

Yeah, so it was pretty apparent I had no idea what I was doing.

After more consultation with Pixelated Pope, it turned out I hadn’t quite been calling the right functions in the right order. With everything moved to the Post Draw event, and automatic app surface drawing disabled, I had it:

But drawing the app surface manually does mean that I don’t get nice, automatic resizing for all monitor resolutions and aspect ratios. It worked fine on my 16:9, 1920x1080 laptop monitor, but in the past, 4:3 and 16:10 (and so on) have caused the game to stretch or squish badly.

This was the case when I changed my resolution to 1024x768, so I spent more time messing around with the app surface until it was drawing at the right scaled size (with 1:1 pixels to avoid distortion), and centering it. Unfortunately, the GUI layer, which is drawn after the app surface (and after the Post Draw event), did not want to behave.

It may not be totally noticeable here, but the GUI was stretching beyond the sides of the game, which not only looked weird, but caused some minor distortion to those sprites.

It took a long time to figure this one out, and it all boiled down to using display_set_gui_maximize(zoomLevel, zoomLevel, offsetX, offsetY) (using the same parameters as I did to fix the app surface drawing/scaling/centering), instead of display_set_gui_size.

Finally, I had to get lights working. Since I didn’t want to make the shader somehow exclude the lights from the palette swap (I would have no idea how), I followed another Pixelated Pope suggestion: the lights now draw an extremely faint, white circle at 0.08 alpha. It’s not noticeable to the human eye, but it IS noticeable to the shader. The shader doesn’t swap the palette of anything touched by that light.

And that’s all!

I hope you enjoyed reading this. Next up, I’m planning on working on true darkness for scary, unlit caves and dungeons. This should be easier, since I’ve already worked with the overlay method--I just need to change it to complete black and tweak it until it looks and plays nicely (famous last words?).

#gamedev #indiedev #indiedevhour #The Waking Cloak #ProtoDungeon #devlog #devblog #game design #game development #retro #retrogaming #pixel #pixel art #zelda #games #music video

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fibrielsolaer · 5 years

Text

Majora’s Mask (N64)

Hello people of Tumblr! Let’s talk about the most divisive Zelda game.

James Rolfe semi-reviewed Majora’s Mask as part of Angry Video Game Nerd, tying the game’s themes into both a Twilight Zone reference (as per masks) and the New Year ball drop (as per moonfall):

youtube

I DIDN’T LIKE WUT HE SAID HARUMPH. >:o[

The Nerd is, of course, a fictional character that James has to put on an act for, and I’ve found that this act is much more obvious and stiff than usual. The Nerd normally tries to balance criticism with praise, but the transition in this one comes across as especially jarring and abrupt.

(OOTA = Ocarina of Time Also = James / The Nerd complains about something that applies to OoT also, or doesn’t notice / appreciate something that he ought to as an OoT veteran)

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Graphics

For some strange reason, The Nerd begins by complaining about the graphics - possibly a reference to the Game Grumps playthrough of Majora’s Mask. Arin Hanson did not wait 5 seconds before blurting out “THIS GAME LOOKS LIKE SHIT“ in a tone that made it obvious he was simply trying to stir drama.

OOTA: Despite pointing out that Majora’s Mask reuses the engine and some other assets, James / the Nerd doesn’t include or compare to OoT while criticizing the derived graphics of Majora’s Mask.

Of course, Majora’s Mask is designed to take advantage of the N64′s surreal, creepy graphics and create a disturbing, uncanny world. I would say that “bad graphics” tend to work in the favor of such games, if handled properly. Just look at Puppet Combo.

One must keep in mind, and James would absolutely be familiar with this, that older games up to around the GameCube era were still played on CRT televisions. The color choices and jagged edges of the N64 were less obvious due to the color balancing and blurriness of these old TVs. As such, today’s better monitors actually make these particular games look worse.

While the console overall has definitely not aged well visually, Majora’s Mask is one of the most graphically intensive games on the N64. If I recall correctly, the scene where the Woodfall Temple rises from the swamp is the most graphically demanding scene in any N64 game.

The Nerd asserts that, in contrast to early 3D, certain 2D styles such as Link to the Past still look good by today’s standards. This is never going to be an objective statement - not only because of the strong bias most people have in favor of or against particular graphical media, but also due to the high emotional investment longtime Zelda players have in both LttP and OoT, which tend to jockey for the title of Best Zelda. (Link’s Awakening is usually a close third place.)

I personally find LttP’s color palette appealing, but many sprites are incoherent or anatomically malformed, and its Escher-esque viewing angle with every wall slanting away from you is absurd. This is underscored in A Link Between Worlds, which is in full 3D but copies the viewing angle by hilariously tilting everything.

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Cosmic Checkpoints

The central criticism of Majora’s Mask, which the Nerd for some strange reason prioritizes after the graphics, has always been an example of Time Limit Syndrome.

Time Limit Syndrome is the phenomenon where perceiving a time limit will make many players freak out and possibly make them quit playing the game permanently. This is true even if the time limit turns out to do absolutely nothing when it expires. After all, they don’t know that ahead of time.

I usually hear complaints about Majora’s Mask’s time system from people who quit within 5 minutes due to Time Limit Syndrome... but James / The Nerd has beaten the final boss and really ought to know better.

As James / The Nerd implies, Majora’s Mask does not expect you to beat the game within a single three-day cycle. Indeed, you are forced to “fail” the first cycle in order to teach you the underlying mechanic of resetting the clock and instill in you the idea that you do not have to “beat the time limit”.

Majora’s Mask runs on a cosmic checkpoint system.

At any millisecond you can simply play the Song of Time to return to the Dawn of the First Day and keep every “checkpoint” you’ve met up to that point; “checkpoints” are things like acquired items and learned Songs.

For instance, as soon as you have the Sonata of Awakening, you can enter the Woodfall Temple. You can and should smack the Owl Statue closest to that temple, then immediately reset to a new cycle and enter the temple fresh on the First Day, skipping the long-ass Metal Gear Solid segment you did to get that song.

The Nerd’s implication that you’re “losing progress” when you use the Song of Time thus makes no sense. It’s not any different than leaving a room in a dungeon and seeing that the puzzle in it has reset when you come back in. You don’t need to do that puzzle again if you already got the key item you get for completing it, thus you have not lost any progress. The proper term is replay value, since you have the option at any point of doing any part of the game over again, with any power-ups or self-prescribed inhibitions you like, without starting a new game. Why criticize Majora’s Mask for the #1 reason people love Super Mario World?

When you use the Song of Time to return to the Dawn of the First Day, you save the game. This is the only way to make a “permanent” save in the N64 version of the game (as compared to the 3DS remake); the other methods let you make a temporary save if you’re interrupted or have something else to do, which is deleted when you load it back up.

If you do let the timer run out by itself, then you get an amazingly horrific game over scene (as featured in the above video), and your current 3-day cycle is lost as you must reload the previous First Day save. The reason the N64 game will not let you override your permanent save mid-cycle is, undoubtedly, so that you do not somehow save a scenario where you will repeatedly game over without any chance to use the Song of Time (however unlikely that may be.) In addition, you can always count on your hard saves being at the start of everybody’s schedule, and you will not need to remember where in the middle of some convoluted three-day quest you were.

Personally, I would have made it so that the timer running out just forced the Song of Time effect. The only “good reason” I can think of to do otherwise is because Majora’s Mask is a very unsettling game and the anxiety of Time Limit Syndrome may actually be intentional as part of the mood... but I would prioritize consistent and intuitive gameplay over an inconsistent and unpredictable audience response.

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Time & Dungeons

Majora’s Mask does have a few frustrating consequences of its time system.

Minor annoyances include quests and rewards that only trigger at a very specific time (ghosts at night, The Other Link, etc.)

Moderate annoyances include quests that are not only that specific, but you have to trigger them first by doing something else specific at an earlier time, or intentionally fail another quest. (the Kafei & Anju quests that are not the Couple’s Mask quest)

Major annoyances include questlines that take place over all three days and which you have to completely restart if you mess up at any step and which sometimes have more than one ending (Couple’s Mask quest)

... but the dungeons semi-resetting is not a problem.

You should be smart and warp back as soon as you can access the dungeon, so that you can enter it at the very start of a new cycle. All you need is the Song that opens it and the Owl Statue closest to it (usually right in front of the dungeon entrance.)

Half of the dungeon is only there to block off the dungeon item. Once you get that, if you need to reset, you can skip half the dungeon next time because you’ve already got the dungeon item. You only need to get the Big Key and go fight the boss.

If you’ve ever challenged the boss, even if you had to quit the fight and reset, you can skip the entire dungeon and teleport right to the boss again on all subsequent cycles. (The boss will also call you out for holding its remains, if applicable.)

You only need to gather the fairies once per dungeon, since you keep all of the unlocked items across cycles.

It’s really quite forgiving except that it does not make it overt exactly where your checkpoints are. In fact, before James made this video and I looked it up, I didn’t know for the last 15+ years that merely challenging the boss let you skip the dungeon on subsequent cycles.

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But Why Tho

The entire 3-day nonsense is a necessity because of the illusion of life.

Similarly to Harvest Moon, major NPCs are scheduled to be in particular places at particular times of the three days. However, unlike Harvest Moon, this schedule is extremely specific for applicable characters. If you slow down time with the Inverted Song of Time, you will actually see these affected NPCs moving proportionately more slowly, because even their path from one place to another, and their exact departure and arrival times, are aligned to the time schedule. Doing certain things will also alter NPC schedules accordingly.

This, of course, helps deepen the characters and make them look more life-like in a game that is all about exploring them emotionally and learning about their fears, hardships, and heartbreaks. Link earns every single Mask in the game by healing somebody, even if he does not use the Song of Healing per se. If he gets every single last one, then he has the ultimate power of love and kindness that off-handedly obliterates the malice and hatred of Majora.

This level of detail would not be feasible, or at least not very intuitive, with a very long schedule, so the game takes place over the same three days repeated indefinitely.

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Comparisons

The Nerd compares Majora’s Mask to Breath of the Wild in other places in the video, but does not do so when it would not be favorable to the latter; specifically, his criticism of the Majora’s Mask banker and his/her talkiness applies ten times over to the Great Fairies in Breath of the Wild, who not only give their entire explanation of how they work every time you leave and return to them again, but also forcibly close the upgrade window when you run out of items you have materials for, without letting you look them over to see what you need to farm for.

You need to use the BotW Great Fairies all the time, but you only need to use the MM bank rarely. You can just deposit money into it once per cycle and ignore it otherwise, since you refill your ammo just by cutting bushes and never need to purchase any... unlike Breath of the Wild.

To deposit or withdraw all your Rupees at once, just enter 999 as the number. It will change it to however many you actually have. The reason you’ve given 5 Rupees in hand is (probably) because otherwise you might lose them when you had 995 or more Rupees in the bank, if indeed you can stand to grind Rupees for that long.

OOTA: The banker is the Termina counterpart of OoT’s beggar, and reuses the animation.

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Around this point, the “sequence breaking” in the editing becomes apparent. Like a videogamedunkey skit, random bits of the game are strewn into the video out of order.

This comes back to bite the review because the Nerd acts like he’s just gotten to a part of the game that has to be completed before what was shown earlier in the video (hence why I call it “sequence breaking”). This breaks the illusion of sincerity; the suspension of disbelief as to the video being scripted is lost and it starts to look a bit more doctored to color the perception of the game.

OOTA: The Nerd does not recognize obvious counterparts to or parodies of characters like the Organ Grinder / Guru Guru, and acts like he’s never encountered an N64 ReDead before.

OOTA: The swim sound is the same sound as in Ocarina of Time. Talk about fishing for complaints.

I disagree harshly with the statement that “all everybody talks about [in regards to Majora’s Mask] are the good things”. I’ve almost only ever heard people complain about the time system and how it’s “Not Really Zelda”.

The particular glitch shown - Zora Link rapidly colliding with the wall - must be intentionally invoked. That glitch occurs if you use the speed-swim against very specific spots of very specific walls... fittingly, any of the corners in the infamous whirlpool room work. All you have to do is let go of the buttons and it will stop. It’s kind of like sailing Mario under the log with a Green Shell in Lethal Lava Land, except Mario always dies (in the most hilarious way) when you do that and Link is only briefly inconvenienced (in the most hilarious way).

OOTA: Most of Majora’s Mask’s more common glitches are the same as in Ocarina of Time due to reusing the engine. Infinite Sword Glitch and Bombchu Hover are both still around, for instance.

The one glitch that is the most problematic is that sometimes, when you reset in the middle of a dungeon, the doors will lock but the Small Keys will not go back into their chests. You then have to keep resetting until it resets correctly, which should be the very next reset.

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Wart / Arrghus

Majora’s Mask may be the only Zelda game with two minibosses in every dungeon - one for the dungeon item, one for the Big Key.

That eyeball boss is Wart, the first of the two Great Bay Temple minibosses, who guards the Ice Arrows. It’s Arrghus from Link to the Past, who was always called ワート WART in Japanese. In the 3DS version, its name in several other languages is the same as Arrghus’s.

Wart is the most annoying enemy in the entire game. He’s a fucker and I hate him. The worst thing about Wart is that the only way to make his long-ass battle faster is to completely destroy your N64. You do this by shooting an arrow into his eye when it’s open, causing every single mini-eyeball to fall off of him, dropping your frame rate into the gutter. (It gets even worse when you start hitting them with the sword.)

You fight Wart again in the Secret Temple (which is basically a boss gauntlet.)

Fuck Wart.

And fuck the second Great Bay miniboss, the gecko in the blob.

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Bits and Bobs

Sometimes the game’s camera cuts (such as when night falls and the game pauses to announce it) interrupt the gameplay. I don’t remember whether the camera angle you had before the cut effects the camera angle after the cut.

While not strictly required, the Bunny Hood literally only makes you run much faster, and makes the skeleton captain sequence (and 90% of the game) much easier. Always use the Bunny Hood when you don’t need any other mask.

OOTA: You should always be tapping the Lens of Truth on and off to use way less magic. (Basically zero, if you tap it rapidly enough.)

The Goron Race is one of the most frustrating parts of the game, and you need to complete it by the 2nd Day or else you can’t get the Gilded Sword. To get the most amount of time possible to complete it:

Confront Ghot at least once

Save a lot of Rupees in the bank

Get the Powder Keg certification

Start a new cycle

Buy a Powder Keg

Use Fire Arrow to ready forge and turn in sword for Razor Sword

Defeat Ghot (necessary for races to start)

Use bought Powder Keg to blow up boulder (shoot it with an arrow to detonate it)

Complete race as soon as possible for Gold Dust

Get Razor Sword

Turn Razor Sword right back in

Get Gilded Sword

Nintendo has never had good control sticks; the N64 and the Joycon alike both have shitty sticks that experience drift or misalign after a few months of use. This is probably why James is unable to roll Goron Link straight forward, or stay on the pipes, despite the N64′s analog stick locking into an octagon to ensure the 8 main directions are easy to hit.

You have to hit the trees with the Hookhot, but the stupid turtle wobbles around, so the trees are hard to hit. I’m not sure how the game determines whether the Hookshot connected or not. Is it checked on fire? Is it checked on arrival? No idea.

The reason the Ice Arrows are not working is because James is shooting too close to the wall. The ice platform would then clip through it. The game could move the platform to be further from the wall but decides to just not form any platform at all. I remember being pretty pissed off with it myself.

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Video ending

The Nerd doesn’t have to do the entire dungeon over again, because he already has the Ice Arrows. He only has to get to and fight that stupid blob gecko again for the Big Key and then get back to the boss.

OOTA: Why would you walk into the giant exit light before you got the Heart Container. Hell, so far as I know, this is Every Zelda Game Also since all of them let you forget to pick up the Heart Container...

Majora’s a bastard. If you get every mask in the game and turn them all in to him, he will for some unfathomable reason give you the Fierce Deity Mask and let you completely whoop his ass with it. The Fierce Deity Mask makes the battle into an utter joke. In the N64 version you can only use it in boss rooms, unless you use a glitch. The 3DS version also lets you use it when fishing (which itself is not in the N64 version.)

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In summary

Majora’s Mask is definitely beloved more for its themes and characters than for its gameplay. It has some of the most beautiful music in all of Zelda, most notably the Song of Healing, and its advanced special effects and cinematography are top-tier by the standards of the N64. It is chock-full of bittersweet, heavy-hitting content and is a major source of inspiration for future "serious subject” indie games and creepypastas - not just BEN DROWNED and Spooky’s Jumpscare Mansion, but in general.

The gameplay is, for the most part, a weird Ocarina of Time mod. The mask forms play differently, and there are extra mechanics introduced by some songs such as the Elegy of Emptiness, but overall you solve puzzles and fight battles with the same “strategy” as in OoT.

MM has always been very divisive because of the time system, which the game does not adequately explain to most players, and which is particularly frustrating in regards to specific parts of the game such as the Gilded Sword or the Couple’s Mask quest. The Bomber’s Notebook helps keep track of some aspects (and is expanded in the 3DS version), but many players simply find the detailed scheduling and the sequence of events too much crap to keep track of and too many repeated chores in the event of failures and many resets, and do not develop a recognition - let alone appreciation - of when they have reached a checkpoint in the main game and can reset to a new cycle without losing anything, or how to gauge whether they have the time left to take on a new task whimsically rather than through planning.

When I first started playing I hated it, but over time I began to be okay with the structure around the time cycle, albeit a bit bored or frustrated when I had to repeat day 1+2 because I screwed up a quest on day 3.

There are so many cool moments in Majora’s Mask that, for me at least, it supercedes the frustrating parts of the quests that cover all 3 days, and some of the just plain annoying parts that are not strictly relevant to the time system.

How the dogs react to each form of Link

Any time you use the Song of Healing

Mummy-Dad and the Well

When you realize who the Skull Kid is

When you realize what happened to the Butler’s son

The full ending with 100% completion

I’ve often said that Earthbound is “a lousy game but a great experience”.

I suppose it’s not out of the park to say Majora’s Mask is in the same boat.

#zelda #majora's mask #legend of zelda #loz #lozmm #loz majora's mask #avgn #angry video game nerd

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linelpisffxiv · 5 years

Text

5.0 Spoilers

I’m still working on/thinking up 75, 77, and 79/80 parts for tomorrow and tomorrow, but here’s a coda

He hears the portal ripple to life a few weeks later.

Lin comes through in the outfit he gave her when she first arrived. The golden brass just makes the warm tones of her skin stand out like a beautiful sunset.

“G’raha! Have you any need for me?”

He shakes his head. “For now, the peace has no need for the Warrior of Darkness. Though time has slowed down a bit compared to your world. I feel that you can spend three days here and have only two and a half pass by back on the source.”

She smiles. “Perfect. Every extra hour I can spend here with you is one well-spent. I got you something back home.” She holds out a parcel.

“A gift?” he asks. He’s used to gifts. The people of the Crystarium had relied on him for a century now, and sometimes thankful bordered on worship. “You needn’t get anything for me.”

She pushes it towards him. “Please, it’s my choice to spoil you if I want to. I just hope it fits.”

He takes the package and starts to open it. “Fits? Hm, I did not expect you to get me clothes. I don’t think I need any.”

“You’re about the same size as Raks if I remember correctly. You remember him, right? My friend?”

He does. Another young miqo’te who was practically her brother in some respects. Lin may have been blind to his affections back then, but the one who told him she was spoken for was Rakka. More friendly and clueless, not understanding love can be unrequited.

G’raha nods his head. Inside is a set of clothes, something different from his robes. A pair of simple trousers, and a combination of a shirt and waistcoat. The latter could be worn alone, but the shirt it comes with is high-necked and long-sleeved. “I assume this is...”

“You wished you could travel Norvrandt with me, love. If you don’t wish to draw attention to yourself, you can wear the shirt. I know I can’t cover everything, but it would be enough to discourage second glances. I wanted to get gloves and boots, but those are something that need better fitting.”

She looks at him. “You don’t like it? I’m sorry, I just--”

He shakes his head. “No, no, I love it. It has been far too long since I’ve seen anywhere I haven’t had need to be. You just know that I can’t be far from the tower for too long. So a full adventure will never be on the table.”

“Then just spending a day somewhere else,” she says. “If everything is peaceful, you won’t need your powers, and I can fly you wherever you need. Do you know where everyone is?”

Adventures for a day. He likes that. Even if it wouldn’t be one grand tour, a day would be plenty to be a sightseer.

“Each of our friends have returned to where they were before. Though Alphinaud has been spending time specifically in Eulmore--”

“Perfect!” she says. “I wanted to see how Eulmore and Kholusia fare first. They were the last to get night, after all.”

The original plan had been to call everyone and have them come to the Crystarium, but clearly that was not a plan Lin would agree to.

She claps her hands together. “It’s decided then. Decide whether you want to be the Exarch or G’raha, and I’ll meet you at the Amauro Launch either way.”

She kisses his cheek as she leaves the Occular.

It takes a few minutes to decide, but he chooses to put on the outfit. It almost feels odd to wear something different, but she has an eye for detail. Hints and pieces are like what he wore on his expedition, but she chose softer fabrics than he wore before. His trip to where she’ll meet him turns a few heads. It has been so long since he’s presented as himself. There was an open secret of his race once people had been in the Crystarium long enough, there was no proof, but there was a stunning amount of proof he was no Hume, Galdjent, Dragn, Ronso, Elf, or Dwarf (And almost certainly not a Viis). So the fact that no one could prove he had the ears and tail of a cat was moot.

Still, without him in his robes, it made it clear to all that whatever he planned to do, planned to go to, he was not doing it for the sake of politics or stability. He was doing it for himself.

When he meets with Lin again, she looks him over. “Hm, Raks has wider shoulders than you. But next time, we can ask for help in the Mean. Still, I think the colors are right for you.”

He helps her get on the amaro and guides them across the Tempest. Lin loves looking along the coast, pointing out areas that haven’t changed since the sundering. First the west coast of the main continent as it disappears, then Kholusia as it grows in their view.

As they draw in to Eulmore, he sees a perfect place to land. Then there’s the people there. All of them focused on the amaro only now slowing down.

Space is made in the end, and they land perfectly.

Fewer people notice his crystal hand and cheek here, with more eyes focused on Lin.

“The Warrior of Darkness has come,” someone says, and suddenly, they’re surrounded. So many words of thanks. Others talking about the steps they’ve made.

Lin smiles and listens to them, lets them take her hands.

“I thought you didn’t wish to be seen as their savior,” he says.”Especially given how you’ve reacted to other titles you’ve earned.”

Lin laughs. “I did, and it’s true. But in my defense, we did draw quite the attention, landing on a balcony not meant to be landed on, Exarch.”

Her use of his title, his name, is quite pointed, though few still give him more than a few glances.

“Alright everyone,” a familiar voice says. “You’re coddling the poor girl. Let her breathe now.”

“Dulia!” Lin says. She cuts through the crowd. “It’s great to see you! I heard that Alphinaud has been spending time here. Do you know if he’s in?”

“Of course he is, dear,” the voice returns. The woman he remembers from the assault breaks the crowd. He remembers just how positive she had been. How encouraging. She looks over to him. “And you’ve brought a friend as well. We’ll have to get more tea and sweets for you, then. Apparently the trade between Eulmore and the Crystarium has brought so much new diversity to my palette.”

He looks over to Lin, whose eyes sparkle at the suggestion. “I’d love to catch up with you and Alphinaud, then.” One of her hands takes his, laces her fingers between his as she leads the way.

He follows her to a table by the aetheryte, and watches as Lin talks animatedly with the woman.

“You’ve been quiet,” she finally says, looking at him. “Tell me about yourself. You’re that nice boy in the robes A’lin kissed on the beach, aren’t you?”

How long it has been since someone called him a boy? It was a surprise, but just like Lin’s use of his name, it makes him feel young in the best ways.

“Ah, that was a bit spontaneous on our parts. Lin always has a flair for the dramatic. She’s quite prone to sitting on tall archways when she plays music back in the Crystarium.”

She laughs and pushes him, however the woman’s eyes open. “Oh, you are a musician as well? You never told me that.”

He’d never seen Lin’s skin darken so much. “Raha...”

Turnabout is quite fair play. It’s one thing for her to request the intimacy of dropping her own clan, but dropping his, in public? He’d never asked, but she knew she had the right. It still was a shock.

“So that is your name,” Dulia says. “What a lovely one you have Raha.”

He shakes his head. “I-- It’s G’raha. The way my name and A’lin’s work, removing the first sound is a sign of family. Or romantic affection, as is the case with us.”

“Still, play us a song,” Dulia-Chai says. She claps her hands together. “In hindsight, your voice is perfect for singing. Well, if you don’t mind performing publicly.”

Lin nods her head. “There’s a piece I put the finishing touches on a while ago. I kind of meant it to be personal, but if you don’t mind?’

“If it is the song you picked at since you’ve come, please.” He moves his hand. “If you are nervous, pretend we are alone in my chambers.” Wait, there were implications of that. “I mean the Ocular.” His own cheeks heat up.

She quickly presses her lips against his cheek. “I know full well what you meant, and it is not fear. I just like to let a friend or lover be the first to hear a song, much like you always shared your Talos with your wife, Master Chai.”

Chai-Nuzz looks at her for a moment, but nods. “Should you need an instrument, I am sure we can find one for you.”

She pulls out her lyre and strums it a few times, tuning a few strings. “No need. I bring it everywhere.”

A few more odd plucks of some strings, and she starts. A haunting wail. Regret and the past, but it turns to the same lyrics he saw her picking at on the arch back then.

A new addition surprised him. She adds his words in a line she couldn’t get right before. No wonder she wanted to give the song to him first. It was for him. About him.

Tears well up as he listens.Every lyric meant for him alone. To know he has become a muse to her, let her reach some beautiful crescendos in emotion. To remember that she once said she was letting her time in the First be a place to heal from her past, only to pass on that gift to him. He’s been too old for too long.

When she sets down the harp, he realizes she had attracted a crowd again. Several others clap for her. He’d kiss her again, but he didn’t believe she would appreciate it this time.

He’ll just have to follow through later.

“I-- Thank you everyone,” she says. “I am glad the song is good. I haven’t done much composing recently, but I found inspiration some time ago.”

Lin looks at him when she says that. She may have been his inspiration since they met, but to hear those words from her mouth, that he had inspired her in the end...

His throat catches.

“It is hard to believe the Exarch is the same man he was before,” Alphinaud says. “A’lin has changed you, and I must say it is for the better. Much as she has for so many of us.”

Only one of those words reaches the other ears. “The Exarch?” someone says. “The Crystal Exarch is come?”

His ears twitch and he almost has to laugh. “Thank you, Alphinaud. A’lin and I had mostly hoped to not draw attention. While she had failed, I had succeeded in seeming little more than an errand boy. Even with my condition.”

“I knew,” Dulia-Chai says. “While I only saw you in passing as the Exarch, the mark under your eye is quite distinctive. I doubt people from the Crystarium just happen to be part crystal. I just figured that you wanted a moment free of your duties.”

“Indeed,” Chai-Nuzz says. “I must say that while some can blind themselves when people wish to hide, I can just respect the attempt. A keen eye is how I made my fortune, after all.”

“Well, I doubt we’ll be having a quiet moment alone now.” Lin stands up. “So if I could have all of your attentions, I shall share other songs I’ve written, back in my homeland.”

He can’t take his eyes off her when she does so. Most are happy, though he does hear a requiem in one such ballad. Her own version of the end of the Dragonsong War. Of the Fortemps Memoirs he had devoured time and again over the years.

He listens to every song she shares, how she commands his attention and those around her. Back on the source, people would likely call her the sun, but the murmurs in the crowd he picks up compare her voice to the gentleness of the welcome night.

It is quite apt.

Whatever plans of leaving Eulmore end up delayed, as she sings full through the afternoon, and only stops as she sees stars.

“Ah, this went on much longer than I had intended.”

“You can stay here for the night. We have plenty of room,” Dulia-Chai says.

Lin shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but G’raha needs to return to the Crystarium, and I would like to be with him tonight. Perhaps soon, though.”

Alphinaud scrunches his face. “I do suppose you’ve been anticipating time alone with the Exarch.” He shakes his head. “Sorry, G’raha. I just have known you as the Exarch my time here, and I only know parts of the story A’lin has of how she knew you in the past.”

He shrugs. “Either is fine. Whatever you feel comfortable saying. Though being the Exarch is more than just a convenient title.”

The flight home is different. It was intimate, but there was adventure promised as well. Whatever plans Lin has for now are not the same.

“I liked that song,” he says. He needs to fill the silence.

She nods her head. “I’ve never played a song first to a crowd. Alphie was the first to hear a few. Arenvald, a Scion back home, got one. Sanson and Guydelot, some friends of mine in Gridania were present for quite a few. And Rielle from Ishgard had one shared with as well. And I suppose it’s obvious who also had a few.”

Haurchefant. Both his journeys with her centuries ago and everything he had read once made the man feel larger than life, someone who left a void on Lin so deep she never recovered.

“Do you miss him?”

She wraps her arms around him tighter. “Sometimes, but it is better now than before. As I said, he wished I would heal.” She brushes her lips against his ears, purring the next words into them. “I think he knew someone who’d cherish me waited on the other end of my journey.”

Her teeth nibble a corner, making it harder to concentrate. She has had practice with that technique. Just enough pressure to stimulate the nerves and blood, but not so hard it’s painful. A purr catches in his throat and his tail starts tapping the side of the amaro with increased frequency.

“You didn’t need to return to the Crystarium with me. We could have started our journey from Eulmore.”

“Let me be more obvious then,” she says. “If you want me to speak plain, I do not intend to retire to my room tonight. That is, unless you plan to as well, Raha.”

Her hands slip lower, one almost resting on his groin. “At least, should you consent.”

Gods she makes him feel young in more ways than one. This is no exception.

“Why settle for the Pendants, when I know your curiosity well enough. Even though I lack the need, there is a bed in the Umbilicus for the rare occasions that merely joining with the Tower isn’t enough.”

Lin chuckles as her lips find his jaw for a second. “You know how to treat a lover, if that is a yes.”

“A yes to what? You have given no hint towards your plans other than you seem to want to sleep by my side.” He grins as he speaks.

“Ah, you want to hear the exact words then, and not let my hands talk. You. Me. Nude. Kisses. Intimate.”

He pretends to think on it. “Yes.”

#Crystal Exarch #G'raha Tia #G'raha Tia/WoL #Crystal Exarch/WoL #5.0 Spoilers #ShB Spoilers #Tomorrow and Tomorrow #Post-ShB

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mysticsparklewings · 5 years

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Fly By Moon

I guess I'm a painter now? I've been kind of on a roll with the painting stuff in general lately, but in particular diligent Sparklers of mine may remember I recently posted Starfall Mountains, where I tried out some super cheap acrylic paints after the "Acrylic Paint Itch" started up in my brain. After that experience, I was pretty eager to find some better quality paints and hopefully have a much better time with it. I ultimately ended up with a set of Liquitex Basics paints, after having an internal turmoil between getting those or the Arteza Acrylic paints. (Since for my purposes and circumstances both sets would've worked out to about the same price.) Ultimately, I went with Liquitex because I've seen a lot of people say that the Arteza acrylics dry really quickly, even for acrylic paint which is known for drying fast anyway. So in order to use them, I would've most likely needed to also purchase a blending medium to mix with them so I'd have more time to blend things properly, and at the time I was making the paint purchase I didn't really feel like making the additional investment when I could just get another set of paints that I could, in theory, use straight out of the tube. And admittedly when going to purchase a set of "beginner" but since nice quality acrylics, I was already a little biased towards the Liquitex Basics line because I've heard it recommended by a couple of art Youtubers that I follow that have greater knowledge of acrylic painting than I. Either way, I may still end up with the Arteza acrylics at some point yet since I unexpectedly ended up getting both a bottle of blending medium and an airtight/keep-your-paints-wet-longer palette anyway so them drying quickly now wouldn't be the problem it originally would've been. (And if my experiences with their products have taught me anything it's that sometimes you just have to test them out yourself to see if they're going to work for you or not, regardless of what everyone else is saying) But we'll see. But back to the here and now. Shortly after I got the paints, we were visited by a Luna Moth, and overnight she attracted a mate. They stayed together for a day, and then the next morning he was gone but she was not. Another night and she had laid her eggs, and then she was gone. It is a simple story, but I thought it was cute. And it gave me some references photos to use for my first painting! I've had some 8"x10" canvases laying around waiting to be used for the last half of forever, and so I grabbed one of those and got to work. Originally I had to figure out what I was going to do as far as a few logistics go; For one thing, acrylics are much easier to work with if you do the background first and work your way forward so that you can blend the bigger areas without having to work around your subject. So I had to figure out what I was going to do for transfer paper to get my sketch of Mrs. Luna Moth on top of A. Canvas and B. mostly Black paint. In the end, I ended up using some graph paper with a pale green Faber Castell gelato scribbled on the back of it, which actually worked really well, so if you have some gelatos and thin paper but not proper transfer paper, that might be something worth trying sometime. I did the background with a mixture of the two blacks in the set (Mars black which is more opaque and Lamp black which is more transparent), a light purple color, and a muted yellow kind of color. I was trying to go for the illusion of texture without having to actually commit to painting out individual sections of the black tarp the moth was sitting on in my reference photo. I wanted to get to the fun part of painting the moth, not spend an eternity trying to get a semi-realistic tarp background texture when it's not even the main focus. And to some extent, I think that's one of my bigger problems with acrylics paints, in general, is that you often have to commit way more time to small details or normally less important features like the background and textures and stuff because at this point it's more or less expected of the medium. And it's just that it's highly uncommon to do a subject on canvas and leave the background largely blank, unlike more traditional paper or digital drawings. Acrylic painting, by comparison, is a much bigger commitment as to how far you're willing to go to flesh out the piece and bring up to "acrylic painting standards." And I'm usually really not into that idea. But I can ponder with myself on that issue and potential ways to remedy it later. Anyway, once I was mostly satisfied with what I'd accomplished with the background, which consisted of a lot of "put paint on, cover it up, blend it out," repeated several times over (and yes I know this is not a very tarp-like end result but I was tired of messing with it), I used my faux-transfer paper to get my moth lines up there and then began the more satisfying part of the painting. In this instance, I was able to use the more transparent qualities of certain colors to my advantage, since when you really study the reference photo I was using, it's clear that the Luna Moth's wings aren't fully opaque, especially over the black. So I went in with varying mixtures of this pale bright green color, white, and using some of the light purple I'd used in the background to make a very pale gray color for some dimension on the wings. I also used some water to keep the paint fluid and to thin it out to be more transparent on occasion when I needed to. My process for most areas was to decide on what the base color seemed to be in the photo, get that down and some of the larger/more notable areas of shading, and then go back and start to fill in the shading on top. Which I feel like is the standard way of working with acrylics, but I could be wrong. The hardest part (minus the background, which I did end up touching up a bit after the moth herself was finished) was actually the little eyelets on her wings, mostly just because of how much tiny detail there is to them in comparison to the rest of the painting. But with a very thin paintbrush, much patience, and a few back-and-forth layers of certain colors, I did mostly manage it. The shapes for the top wing eyelets are a little wonky, though even in my reference photo (because of the angle) they are noticeably asymmetrical from each other. Also, the partial eyelet on the bottom I tried to add a bit of shading to, but it's such a small space I'm sure it's still not quite right. I blocked out her top wings and did them and her body peaking between the wings first, then waited for that to dry down some before moving to her bottom wings, then went back to do some details and shading on the top. While they were drying, I did her head and that rust-colored bar along the top of her wings. Then I did the shading and details on her bottom wings, then shading and details on the wing bar & head. I saved the eyelets for last and mostly covered up their original placement markings in the process since I knew that was going to be a lot of tiny detail I didn't want to have to try and work around so I wouldn't mess them up. And at the very end, I added the faint yellowish lines near the edges of her wings with the metallic gold that came in the set, as the metallics are all a little on the transparent side and that seemed like a better, more subtle choice than trying layer on or mix exactly the right color with the non-metallic paints. Plus, it adds a nice little bit of interest when you move the painting in the light; and I added a thin layer to her antennae since they're roughly the same color as the pure gold anyway. I tried my best in both sketch and paint to stay true to my little moth friend's form, but her bottom wings did come out a little short both times and some details either had to be adjusted or lost due to my inexperience with acrylics (for example, I did the best I could with the shape of her antennae since I only had a paintbrush so small to work with and it still wasn't quite small enough for the teeny tiny fluffy bits). Despite that, I still think she came out really nicely. She's not super realistic, but she's not super cartoony either, and I think I like that look. Also if you decide to look really closely there may be spots of not-great canvas coverage of places where the canvas texture sticks out too much or something; This would be because I couldn't find it in me to wait until I could get a bottle of gesso (especially because gesso is often some expensive stuff), I couldn't find my bigger bottle of cheap white acrylic to do a stand-in base coat with that, and my internet research turned up no good alternatives I already had on hand. So I just forgoed the priming and went right to painting, which allegedly from what I've seen is a viable option, at least for acrylics and better quality level paints. It seems to be the priming is more "necessary" for oils and/or really cheap paints that may not have great consistency in the first place. (Although I've mentioned before that even then I've seen a lot of stuff that presents the idea of priming with gesso as more optional when you're working on canvas anyway, so...) I will also say that these Liquitex paints seemed to dry slower than I expected on the canvas; I didn't have to use one single drop of that blending medium I mentioned earlier, or spray the canvas with water to slow it down. I actually spent more time than I thought I would waiting around for layers to dry because I've been too chicken to bother with a hairdryer or heat gun to speed these or my watercolor paints up just yet. I don't know if I've had a skewed perception of acrylics all this time or the drying time is similar to cheap watercolors so I'm used to it already or if these particular paints just dry a little more slowly or what, but I'm beginning to regret one of my counts against acrylics having perpetually been that they dry too quickly. So far at least, that's seeming to not be that big of a deal. (Also, if oils dry as infinitely more slowly as I've been led to believe then I need to never oil paint because I will be so ridiculously impatient by the end of it from waiting for things to dry!) I'm not terribly sure how often I'm going to be acrylic painting from now on or even what my next one is going to be, but I have the supplies and intend on getting my money's worth out of them, and I definitely want to experience more with acrylics in general after these new experiences and realizations I've had with them. So we'll see how that turns out in the long-run for me in due time, I suppose. ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble | Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

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maimagazineblog · 6 years

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MAI Wonder of the World - Michael Wilson

Today we turn our gaze to Australian creative director & photographer, Michael Wilson, who shares some of his hot tips on how to become a harder worker, what it is about cityscapes that makes them feel so darn special, and we find out if he would be at the front or the back of the line if life outside of earth were a viable option.

Read on for our full #interview

Hi Mike, so you mentioned that you began taking photographs as a way of capturing locations while you were working as a TV commercial director & that you are completely self-taught. Could you share with us one of your earliest on the job work experiences?

Sure thing. So one of the things that I learned pretty early on is that the more prep you do the less nervous you are. Simply visiting locations multiple times in diﬀerent lighting conditions, or looking at the scenes with and without a lens, and pre-visualising scenes by sketching and shooting test frames all helped me feel more confident and focussed come shoot day. On one of my first big jobs - think 45 person crew, multiple locations, months of post-production required - I’d prepared an extremely detailed, visual shot list with exact angles, lensing recommendations, performance cues etc. This level of prep not only gave the 15 clients on set confidence but also gave the crew a clear roadmap for each setup. It’s pretty standard stuﬀ, I know, but every job deserves it. And from that I learned that when everyone knows where you’re heading it’s easier to get their support and trust. Further to that, when you have a plan and capture it, it opens up the opportunity to creatively explore other options.

How long did it take you to start gaining recognition as a creative director and as a photographer, and what do you believe has most helped set you apart?

When I first started out I was told that you can’t always ‘out-think’ people but you can ‘out-work’ them. It might be a boring and unpopular thing to say, but hard work is what helped me get noticed.

“ I figured that focus, perseverance, dedication and a little obsession would eventually pay oﬀ.”

I’m also my own harshest critic, so when people told me my work was good I’d go back to the drawing board and try to make it great. It sounds cliched I know, but it got me into a mindset that was constantly focussed on improving my work. I was also lucky enough to be surrounded by great people who were willing to share their collective wisdom. All I had to do was put my ego in my back pocket and be willing to listen and learn.

You live and work in Australia, but a lot of your cityscapes have a real universal likeness to them… What is it about these types of locations that particularly attracts you?

Oh thank you, that’s really kind of you to say. That’s exactly the feeling I’m trying to capture. The cinematographer Roger Deakins (Fargo, Blade Runner 2046), director David Fincher (Se7en, Gone Girl) and photographer Nadav Kander are all major influences on my work. They create scenes that evoke a feeling, an atmosphere, and ultimately a reaction. This is my/the ultimate goal and what attracts me to certain locations over others. I’m aiming to create images that have a cinematic quality to them, moments that are bedded in a world that have a universal connection and are not merely documentation. To do this I rest heavily on light, shadow, time of day, mist and fog, reflected sunlight and the structure and design of modern-day canyons in our cities.

Something that caught our attention recently on your Instagram account is your primary use of yellow, orange, and black color palettes… What has been drawing you to this particular color spectrum and how much of your work is photo manipulated?

This all started after I read a quote from Stanley Kubrick - and I paraphrase badly here - but apparently primary colours evoke primal moods. That notion resonated with me, after-all I’m less interested in documenting a building and more excited by my ability to evoke a mood. As I mentioned earlier, Roger Deakins has a major influence over my work. His use of silhouette, primary colours, and scenes drenched in colour and atmosphere is inspirational and the gold standard as far as I’m concerned. So with those colour cues in mind

“I developed a series based on the idea of ‘would you miss me when I’m gone?’ i.e. what if the places you pass by every day were about to disappear - hence the apocalyptic colour palette - would you look at them diﬀerently?”

So this particular spectrum was born out of the concept and designed to serve the storytelling. Truth be told, the more I worked with these warm tones the more I felt I was creating a distinct point of view. To bring these tones to the fore I start by shooting in warm light - most often dusk - and I adjust my in-camera white balance to as warm as I feel necessary. This usually takes care of those warmer tones. In terms of the use of black, dusky light generally delivers lots of deep shadows. Therefore, a large majority of my image creation is taken care of in-camera. If I get this right, then my time in Lightroom is minimal. In general, I spend no more than 10 minutes on a image. Most of it is taken up balancing the desire to see detail in shadows versus creating a slightly surreal world full of simple silhouettes. If you scroll through my Instagram feed you’ll see a variation of orange and yellow tones. This shows how each image is a response to the time of day it was shot, light values and atmospheric conditions. I do get a lot of questions asking if I ‘build’ the cityscapes in Photoshop, or add fog etc.

“Part of the challenge for me is working with the elements in front of me - the light, the city, the weather - and so adding elements in post-production takes that challenge away.”

In some ways I wish I could add more fog or rain or other atmospheric items - it’d save me having to shoot in bad weather - but I just don’t have that level of expertise.

Do you have a preference to digital over analog photography and why?

That’s such a tough question. On one hand I absolutely love shooting on film. It’s sharpened my technical skills, helped me shoot less but better images, taught me to slow down and really think about each frame. Further to that, shooting with film cameras has a certain ‘feel’ to it. I love the solidity, the mechanics and the weight of them.

“I tend to shoot my more personal stuﬀ on film”

Rroad trips, portraits of friends and family, important moments in life, times that already have a certain nostalgia attached to them. And on the other hand, digital gives me certainty.

Name something weird or defining that only where you live has?

I’ve had the opportunity to live in London, Amsterdam, Auckland, Sydney, Adelaide and now Melbourne. All of which have pretty defining quirks. But as a photographer whose work relies heavily on the weather, Melbourne is easily the most dynamic I’ve experienced. It embodies the ‘four seasons in one day’ notion and is predictably unpredictable. And this is a good thing, for me at least. Anything that brings drama and atmosphere to my images is welcome.

Now for some quick questions for fun...

Who is your favorite family member and what’s so good about them?

I have two boys, so if I pick a favourite I’m sure that my life expectancy would be greatly reduced.

If they discovered life on another planet meaning that you could feasibly move there, would you be one of the first or one of the last to head over and check it out?

As much as I’d like to be first, I’m not so keen on being the canary down the mine.

What television series are you streaming right now?

I just finished the incredible Sharp Objects and the very tense second series of Ozark. So now I’m on the hunt for a dose of Nordic Noir.

To more Mike follow him on:

Instagram

Website

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whatwillyoudodifferently · 7 years

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Cold Sweats Were Made To Be Broken - How Emily Carroll Creates Effective Horror By Bending The Rules

I believe that, with enough time and resources, someone with a good eye for horror would be able to create a good horror story with just about any medium. With prose, you have the advantage of vivid description and getting to intimately know the character’s inner thoughts and fears, like in the works of Stephen King. With film, you get the advantage of visuals and audio along with the dread that comes with being a helpless audience member, such as the in the works of John Carpenter. And while the poor video game is often given a bad rep among other, older art forms, video games actually are one of the most ideal ways to experience horror stories, since the audience must become an active participant in the story to move it forward, not even allowed the escape of being a passive viewer.

It’s actually for very similar reasons that I find comics to be one of the ideal mediums for the horror genre. You get some of the benefits of prose, some of the visuals of movies, and even a bit of the forced participation of video games, in the fact that readers must choose to advance to each next page- a happy medium, if you will. There’s also one of my favorite features of sequential art as a whole- the fact that the artist has a tight amount of control over the pacing of the story. You can enhance the drop a world-shaking reveal on the reader by devoting a splash page to it, or pull out a scene with agonizing slowness with multiple, decompressed panels- storytelling devices that become lethal weapons in the hands of a good horror writer.

Keeping this in mind, it’s no surprise that horror comics have always been a huge part of comic history. In modern times, American comics are almost always associated with superhero stories, but there’s actually a rich history of horror comics- the rise of gruesome true crime stories and horror anthologies like Tales from the Crypt are why we have the infamous Comics Code, after all. Today we have titles like 30 Days of Night and The Walking Dead (though their more cinematic adaptations are typically more well-known). The huge world of European comics have given birth to a huge number of horror titles, like Italy’s Dylan Dog or Britain’s semi-tongue-in-cheek Scream! And of course, Japan has been the birthplace of great horror comics from the days of Mizuki Shigeru to the advent of modern horror with figures like Junji Ito and Masaaki Nakayama.

But of course, those figures and titles only exist in the world of print comics. In the age of the Internet, it would be remiss to ignore the staggeringly massive world of webcomics in any discussion of comics, let alone horror comics. This is due to any one of the many, many, many webcomics that exist online, but for this essay, I want to focus on an artist who doesn’t just happen to focus on horror comics while publishing them on the internet, but uses and utilizes both the medium of sequential art and the Internet to bring out the best in her comics.

Originally an animation student, Emily Carroll had only just begun to venture into the field of comics when she went hurdling to the attention of the webcomic community in 2010. His Face All Red was only her third comic, and its runaway success (helped by the recommendation of another name in horror comics, Neil Gaiman) was something she admits to be caught off-guard by. But she clearly has seemed to have taken it in stride, considering that her website now hosts almost 20 webcomics, many of them some sort of horror story. She’s also done print comics, including the original anthology Through the Woods and the upcoming graphic novel adaption of Laurie Halse Anderson’s powerful YA story Speak. As grandiose as it may be to say this, I believe Carroll’s style and approach to storytelling was made for the medium of comics, and I believe she deserves a spot up there along with Gaiman and Ito when it comes to naming masters of the horror comic.

But how does she do horror comics so well? It’s not just good writing, or good art, though she’s certainly talented on both those fronts. After spending an amount of time looking through her comics, I think I’ve come up with a solid answer, an answer that can be used to teach anyone interested in comics and in storytelling in general.

Emily Carroll is a master of breaking rules.

When I say rules, I don’t mean that there’s actual rules some God Of Comics has written down somewhere. Rather, the “rule-breaking” Carroll does refers to how she subverts expectations and goes against the conventions of storytelling that have become familiar over time. In doing this, Carroll’s comics have an air of unpredictability to them, and the reader must not only advance through the comic at their own pace, they must do it with the knowledge that the comic will surprise them in some way. In short, when a story breaks “the rules,” it creates the illusion of the audience’s safety being lost.

But how does Carroll break the rules? This is a bit of a nebulous thing to analyze- I mean, I don’t even think “breaking rules” is something Carroll consciously sets out to do. But over time, I’ve noticed recurring themes and storytelling methods in Carroll’s comics, and I think it’s worth analyzing them to gain a better understanding of sequential art and how sequential art can continue to evolve.

Breaking “The Rules” of Each Comic

One thing I like about Carroll’s webcomics is that, since they’re all self-contained short stories, they each have their own unique visual “language.” This can apply to comic’s palette (like how The Hole The Fox Did Make is all grayscale), the format of panels (like how When The Darkness Presses is told through several 4-panel pages), or even the format of the writing (like how The Prince & The Sea is told as a poem). This gives all of Carroll’s comics a sense of cohesion, similar how to repetition is used in visual design to create a sense of rhythm and reason.

But, of course, what’s even more important than the “rules” Carroll establishes for each individual comic, is when Carroll chooses to break these rules.

The Hole The Fox Did Make is all grayscale- so when the colorless 4-panel strips are replaced with a mass of panels mostly rendered in an angry red, it comes as a shock. When The Darkness Presses is told through several 4 panel pages- so the reader knows that the long vertical segments that accompany each scene about the door are meant to be considered different than other scenes. And once the reader sees what is behind the door…

Suddenly changing the established visual language of a comic is easy shorthand to let the reader know that the scene is important in some way, but in a horror comic, it can also be a subtle way to catch the reader off-guard. Rebecca’s ghost story in All Along The Wall is told in a simple style and over-saturated colors to distinguish it from the “real” scenes, but the contrast in the story’s bright, colorful palette to the sketchy grayscale of the rest of the comic almost makes it feel more menacing in contrast. The fact that it’s explicitly a ghost story rendered in these almost cheerful hues make it even more uneasy- and ends up saying a lot about the kind of person Rebecca is. In short, it’s good, creative storytelling that also serves to scare.

These breaks in the established format work best when combined with one another. The Prince & The Sea takes part mostly on land- specifically, in single-panel illustrations that show only the meeting place of the prince and the mermaid- with a colorful palette that’s equal parts earthy and warm. When the story shifts under the sea, the palette shifts to eerie, cool colors that reflect both the dark atmosphere and the horrifying turn of the plot. But in addition to this, the story finally breaks the single-illustration format, going vertical to simulate the feeling of diving, and adding in “floaty” panels surrounded by black, giving a true feeling of being underwater. Carroll uses not only tone and format shifts but shifts in space- which, incidentally, brings us to one of the most notable and important features of Carroll’s work.

Breaking “The Rules” of Comics As A Whole

In 2000, the comic book artist Scott McCloud published the book Reinventing Comics: How Imagination and Technology Are Revolutionizing an Art Form, in which he made several predictions about the necessary changes that would need to occur in the field of comics in order for the medium to survive, with a major focus on the Internet and webcomics. One interesting idea McCloud proposed was the concept of “the infinite canvas,” the idea that a comic could have limitless storytelling potential thanks to the almost limitless size and space offered by a webpage.

In the year of 2000, the art of the webcomic was in its infancy, consisting mainly of typical comic strips like you’d see in newspapers, leading to a lot of skeptical response to these ideas-- but as it turns out, McCloud was basically completely correct. We’ve seen this from the long vertical formats typical of many Korean webtoons like The Sensual M and Chinese manhua like Tamen de Gushi to the textlogs, flash games, and fully animated segments of the ambitious multimedia-mishmash Homestuck.

Of these examples, however, I think Carroll’s techniques are closest to what McCloud had in mind when he proposed the infinite canvas. His Face All Red famously had the wonderful, wordless sequence of the protagonist descending deep into a hole, depicted by the downward scroll of the reader. When The Darkness Presses switched deftly between standard “real world” pages, long vertical dream sequences, and the dramatic horizontal reveal of what lay behind the door.

To this day, I think Carroll’s most impressive use of the infinite canvas is still Margot’s Room. Initially presented as a month-long event during October 2011, Margot’s Room starts with a grim poem over a grim image, with every important word in the poem relating to a part of the picture, which the reader would click to go to a new part of the story. Each week, a new line of the poem would be revealed alongside a new link, with the last part being released, of course, on Halloween. This creative use of hyperlinks is interesting enough, but the final, shocking scene is almost breathtaking- the events are violent, chaotic, and wild, heightened only by the wide spread of panels over a massive, empty blackness, linked only by words and furious splashes of blood. It’s something that couldn’t really exist in print comics (unless on a much smaller scale) and seeing how effective it is here, it almost make one wonder why it’s not more widespread among webcomic artists.

Without the limits of the printed page, Carroll has a better opportunity to break the typical conventions of sequential art. But she actually goes beyond that, using the medium of the Internet in even more creative ways than McCloud imagined. Besides her use of hyperlinks in Margot’s Room, links are also used to tell the non-linear “story” of Grave of The Lizard Queen, or show two sides to a tragic tale in The Three Snake Leaves. Carroll even employs animation in her work, to an extent. An animated GIF in Out Of Skin conveys the horror of seeing something terrible just out of the corner of your eye, and a certain “trick” panel in All Along The Wall may make you jump out of your skin if you don’t know what exactly it’s going to do. And that’s how it’s brilliant- comic panels aren’t supposed to change, after all. Carroll knows that, and knows just how to use the reader’s unconscious knowledge of the rule of well of course comic panels are always static against them. You don’t think twice about it... until the rule is broken.

Breaking “The Rules” of Storytelling

One of my favorite examples of Carroll’s unique take on the infinite canvas is in When The Darkness Presses. Despite being a short comic released all in one go, it’s presented as a recently completed longform webcomic, complete with animated ad banners. I don’t want to spoil what becomes of these ads later, but it’s very interesting to point out that one of them is for “Alo-Glo,” the skin product that features heavily in Some Other Animal’s Meat. This is especially interesting once you realize that Some Other Animal’s Meat is technically a sequel to When The Darkness Presses.

I say “technically,” because it’s actually entirely possible to read both comics and not know this, the way I first did. They’re two different self-contained stories that just happen to involve two characters at two points at their life.

There’s no real meaning to it- and in a way, this is perhaps Carroll’s favorite rule to break: the all-encompassing question of what does it all mean?

Ever since His Face All Red, Carroll has faced this question, or at least variants of it. How did the man’s brother come back? What was that thing in the hole? In a 2014 interview with Hazlitt, Carroll admits to feeling self-doubt when readers began clamoring for concrete answers:

“People were saying, ‘What’s the meaning of this? What’s the meaning of this?’ and … I felt very much like, I need to justify this somehow, otherwise they will see that I am a faker that has faked my way into some kind of Internet buzz, so there has to be a one-to-one meaning for everything.”

Thankfully, Carroll has been able to move past this initial doubt- I believe, very much for the better. Leaving unanswered questions is almost a trademark of Carroll’s now- from the tree in Out of Skin to the “mystery man” in The Groom to the door in When The Darkness Presses. The thing that plagues the main character of Some Other Animal’s Meat. The voice that calls Regan to the river in The Hole The Fox Did Make. The list goes on.

And it’s not just monsters. From early on in my love of Carroll’s works, I began to notice connecting threads through many of her comics. What did it mean that His Face All Red draws attention to “a tree with leaves that looked like ladies’ hands” (similar to the tree in Out Of Skin) and “a stream that sounded like dogs growling” (a sentence almost identical to how the stream in Margot’s Room is described)? What did it mean that The Hole The Fox Did Make and The Groom featured Regan, or that All Along The Wall is technically a prequel to a comic from Through The Woods? What did it mean that events of When The Darkness Presses are brought up by the main characters years later in Some Other Animal’s Meat?

The answer, of course, is that there is no answer- other than the answers and ideas that begin to form in our heads when we’re presented with an unsolved mystery. Ever since early humans looked up at the stars and put together shapes in the gaps, the nature instinct of human beings drives us to pick patterns out of randomness. Our brains try to find meanings or answers where there is none, whether we want to or not, or even if we are aware of our minds doing so or not. And of course, this almost whimsical trait of ours is also one of our most massive burdens- the horror of imagination. The infinite possibility of the conclusions each person reaches on their own will always be far, far more frightening than any single answer a writer can give.

In a way, Carroll’s most mundane “broken rule” may be her most powerful tool. In the age of endless theories and fiction analysis, in the light of humanity’s eternal, inescapable desire for the solutions for every puzzle, Carroll’s works are unanswerable. And because of this, I think the unexplained monsters of Carroll’s works are some of the scariest in fiction.

Funnily enough, despite basing this essay around the concept of breaking rules, I stated early on that I don’t think Carroll herself sees her approaches to sequential art like that. While researching for this essay, I came across an interview by The Comics Journal with Carroll from 2011, not too far after the runaway success of His Face All Red. It’s a great interview, but what probably stuck with me most is Carroll’s description of how she approaches comics:

“It stems more from just what I think will be most fun, really. And since—when I started doing comics—I’d never done comics for print, I wasn’t in the mindset of doing pages anyway, which maybe led to me not really adhering to that standard when I started in on my own attempts. I like the idea of scrolling just because it’s fun to play around with revealing images that way, but you can play around with the same thing using page turns too really.”

I wanted this essay to be a tribute to one of my favorite artists, but I also initially intended it to be a way to encourage artists to shake up typical comic conventions and try to create unique art. Upon reading this quote, however, I realized that I had one more thing to learn from Carroll, one thing I want artists to know as well. Carroll has carved out her own, unique approach to sequential art, and in the process has happened to buck several storytelling conventions. You too can learn from this and know that you have the freedom to break these same rules- but perhaps the most important thing to take away from this is that Carroll does this because she has fun doing this. Carroll’s comics work not just because they break the rules, but also because she enjoys creating them.

Your own unique style should be what is most enjoyable for you. Creating new and unique artwork is all well and good, but what will make or break your art are the feelings you have while creating it.

And if you have fun in breaking rules, then more power to you.

All of Emily Carroll’s online works can be found on her personal site (general NSFW warning for nudity and disturbing content). You can buy Carroll’s anthology Through The Woods here.

#emily carroll #wwydd #wwydd?#through the woods #his face all red

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mkdrawdaily · 3 years

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I am MK and Welcome to Draw Daily

Hi ~ I’m MK

Hello Fellow Arters!

If you are new and don’t know me, first, hi, how are you? And second, I am MK of Draw Daily.

If you have seen me around the internet, you’re probably from Pencil Kings, but my name is Michaela, and my middle name is Katrina. I decided to use “Michaela Katrina” as my identity on the internet/as an artist and I’ve come to abbreviate my name down to MK, which basically started when I got tired of writing my whole name at the end of an email or PM.

A Little Background Info

I guess I should start with the fact that I have been an artist my whole life. I have documented drawings that go as far back as when I was two years old. I’ve been drawing and painting for as long as I can remember, but my true journey started in 2014. I had been done with college for a few years at this point - and, no, I did not go to school for art. My education was in business management - something I use everyday - and audio engineering; a field that I never ended up in, despite my love for it. Anyway, I was done with school, and I suddenly found that I had time to really dedicate myself to my art for the first time.

This brought me to Pencil Kings, an art education website and I fell in love with it. It was some time in 2015 that I actually started to work for Pencil Kings and it was this choice that started my journey towards being an art educator. I was just a Community Manager where my obligations were basically to just moderate the community and help when people had problems. But over the years, I was able to use my free time to really learn art fundamentals both through the website I worked for, and supplementing my education with various books and other things. Due to this, I was able to slowly start giving feedback to the students, which grew into me creating some educational content for the community, and now I’m teaching.

At the tail end of 2017 I decided that I wanted to start my own website but I only had a few very fragmented ideas as to what I wanted to do with it. But in a nutshell that’s how I got here, to Draw Daily. So I started the process of documenting my knowledge as well as continuing to dig deeper to better understand the subjects I wanted to teach. Although it’s been a few years - I mean it’s been a very slow process of getting all my thoughts together and here is why…

My Disability

In the interest of being completely transparent, my slow progress is largely due to my disability. Mine isn’t one that you will often see, and most people with my condition don’t experience it the same way I do; I have sever insomnia, and this can only be managed through medication. The subject of insomnia hasn’t been greatly researched, so the exact reasons why my body doesn’t function like most people’s is unknown. This is very frustrating because even I can’t explain my own disability, or even begin to understand how it works.

All that I know is that I don’t function at the same level as most because, along with insomnia, I suffer from chronic fatigue - which is something else we don’t know much about. The chronic fatigue is what really gets me. It’s hard to explain, but due to my extreme weariness I am very tired all the time and my brain can’t always function too well. This really translates into… my productiveness from day to day can vary dramatically depending on how well I was able to sleep, and how bad my fatigue is.

Some days I’m able to have a totally typical day. I am able to get my work done, I’m super productive, I can think clearly and articulate my thoughts. But I’m more likely to have days where I’m very foggy. I may have a hard time carrying a conversation, I might not be able to explain or articulate my thoughts, like… at all, and what ends up happening is that most of the day goes by without me even noticing. I get to the end of the day and I can’t explain what I did. Some days I’m the living embodiment of paint drying.

This means that it takes me much longer to perform mentally taxing tasks, which is basically anything I have to think through to complete. A great example of this would be writing. Writing makes up most of what I need to do in order to teach, putting my thoughts together, writing out information, writing blogs, writing up scripts for videos or classes, putting it all together and documenting the whole process. All of this takes me much longer to do than it would for most people - thus my agonizingly slow process.

Draw Daily

I have more than a few reasons as to why I started Draw Daily. I wanted one place where all of my work could be collected, where I would be able to refer back to my own discoveries, thoughts, and other information, but I also wanted a place where I could send my students instead of relying on other websites to provide the educational information I wanted them to have access to.

With that being said, my current goal for Draw Daily is to eventually put together two resources. One is going to focus on teaching how to draw, and the other is a class that teaches Color Theory through the exploration of watercolor.

Tackling How to Draw

Drawing has been a passion of mine, and a skill that I’ve been trying to improve upon for a very long time. To set up what I’m about to explain, it might be useful to know that I’m just old enough to remember what life was like before the the internet. When we finally did have the internet in my house, it was not the treasure trove it is today - so as a young teenager there weren’t many resources that could help me learn to draw. High school and college were complicated and it wasn’t until a few years after I graduated that the world of online education really opened up to me.

This is a big reason as to why I started Draw Daily. I wanted to bridge the gap between all the information the internet has to offer and the beginner artist who is just as confused today as I was when I started this journey as a kid. What took me decades to learn, doesn’t need to be as complicated as it ended up being for me.

Tackling Watercolor

Watercolor was a medium that just made sense to me, but as a kid in the 90’s I wasn’t exposed to much information and there were a few facts that would take me years to learn on my own. As I got older, I started to fight watercolor because I was growing as an artist, but my practical watercolor knowledge was holding me back. Now that I’ve figured some of the basics and because I see a lot of people struggling with the same problems I had, I have been inspired to try and help.

But I’ve found my true calling in the exploration of color, and when I’d sat down with some people who had been using watercolors their whole lives, they admitted that they had never explored their watercolor palettes to their fullest extent. They didn’t know what their paints were capable of doing and so, when they sat down to paint they would spend most of their time trying to correct their color mixes and only a fraction of that time was actually spent painting.

Moving Forward

As you can see, no matter how slow the progress has been, I have been able to start sorting through everything I know, figuring out the bits and pieces, putting them all together, and can now see where it is I want to go. I’m starting to move forward which is why I’m at the point that I can write this in anticipation of starting my journey of providing an art education for others.

Fin

I think this is where I am going to end it for now, as I don’t have much more to say about myself and I’m ready to start diving into some of the subjects I anticipate helping my current and future students with.

Thanks for reading this blog post all the way to the end, if you did. To anyone still reading, please share with me your experiences, either what it you would like to learn, what topics you’ve been struggling with, or anything else you might want to share or elaborate on. I would love to hear from you in the comments below.

That’s it for today, I’m MK, and this is Draw Daily!

#Intro #MK

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squishy-wizards · 7 years

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You Colour Me Blue [Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens.]

Author: @galacticstylinson

Word Count: 6.5k

Ratings/Triggers: Mentions of Anxiety and Panic Attacks.

Summary: A college au in which John is an art student with soft jumpers and pencils in his hair and Alex is a history major with too much to say and a penchant for quiet shy boys, and somehow manages to make John feel like he belongs.

Also read here on AO3.

***

John had never viewed one particular place as home. Not the family home back in Charleston where he had spent the majority of his childhood. Not his stuffy High School bedroom in the European boarding school his father had shipped him off to for his ‘rebellious’ teenage years. Not even his current dorm room at Columbia University, New York, although he supposed it was the place he had felt most at home in his life.

No, for John home was a feeling. The feeling that manifested itself in him when he drew, painted, created. Home was the feeling of getting lost in a world that was entirely his own, full of loud, bright pinks and purples. Pastel blues and greens, warm reds, oranges, yellows. Home was a world of color so vastly different from the landscape of greys his childhood blurred into in his mind. A world void of his father’s critiques and expectations. A world where John was free, and happy, and home.

Spending his days in the whirlwind of rainbow that was being an art student gave John all of these things – and was a world away from the drab dreary court rooms his father had in mind, which was merely a bonus.

Squinting against the harsh July sunlight, John glanced up at the building ahead of him, comparing it to the miniature Low Library taking form in his sketchbook, its towering white columns and authoritative, imposing aura muted by his soft diluted watercolors. Luminescent sun spots danced across the page where he swirled his brush in the jar on the step beside him, the clear water becoming tainted with smoke-like spirals of pale grey. He was about to dip his brush into his palette once more when a shadow obscured the light from his page.

“Woah. Dude – you’re good! Like actually fricken’ good!”

Upon looking up to the source of the compliment, John found himself facing a stranger. But maybe stranger wasn’t the right word. Because those wide, excitable eyes seemed a familiar shade of deep mahogany brown, a color that made John feel safe, that he trusted – that gave him the feeling of finding something he didn’t even know he’d been missing. Intelligent eyes as bright as his smile and as warm as the honeyed hue of his skin. Kind eyes that John could revel in forever. His gaze moved away from those eyes, to the heavy bags beneath them and the delicate crinkles around them caused by the wide, warm grin on the man’s face. One look at this boy had John awestruck, falling fast; falling hard, with no signs of slowing.

The stranger continued to talk.

“I mean, obviously you’d have to be good to get onto the art course here – but most of them are like ‘eh’ good whereas you’re like, super fricken crazy good! Awe man, you are so talented, I wish I could paint like that but art has never really been my forte – much better with words, they’re a medium I can get to grips with – I’m Alex by the way, Alexander Hamilton.”

He stepped forward, hand outstretched, and proceeded to kick over the jam jar by John’s side, sending the murky water cascading over the white steps. He leapt up, meeting Alex’s eyes again, and stifling a giggle that caused the panic in them to morph into – fondness?

“I’m so sorry – I’m a clumsy idiot, my body and mind move at two completely different speeds…not like that you cheeky bastard!” Alex exclaimed as John’s eyebrow quirked suggestively. John giggled again, a dusting of rose flooding the skin beneath his freckles, and Alex’s lungs forgot how to function again. He was taken in, completely and utterly, by this boy – this soft, gentle boy with a solar system of constellations scattered across his cheeks and knitted jumpers that made the matching sea green of his eyes glitter just so perfectly and long curls that were scooped back in a loose bun held in place only by a pencil. For once in his life, Alex was speechless, for there were no words good enough to pay tribute to this boy.

“Mon Chou, we only know one bastard, and that is your good self. So what is the actual name of the man you abandoned us to run off to?”

Feeling a weight across his shoulders, Alex looked up to see his two friends had caught up with him.

“Hey Laf, Herc; this is…I’m sorry, I didn’t actually get your name? Or your anything in fact, I don’t think I’ve actually shut up long enough for you to speak.”

“I’m John. John Laurens.” John smiled, reaching out a hand to Alex which he took, clutching it tightly. All too quickly the warmth from John’s hand was lost as it fell back to his side.

“It’s good to meet you, John. This is-”

“Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette;” the tall, curly haired man removed his arm from Alex’s shoulder to bid shake Johns hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you John Laurens.”

John tried not to laugh at Alex, who with a look of exasperation rolled his eyes before continuing.

“As I was saying before I was interrupted: everyone calls him Lafayette, or Laf for short, because honestly who has time to say that pretentiously long- “

“Hey!”

“And this is Hercules Mulligan.” The even taller figure who would certainly have seemed opposing if it wasn’t his warm, wide smile nodded, hovering by Lafayette’s side. John smiled back.

“It’s great to meet you all.”

“No need to ask what you’re majoring in,” Lafayette remarked, gesturing to Johns abandoned sketchbook, still open at the half-finished painting. “May I see?”

“Oh yeah, sure, here” John stuttered, scooping the book from the white steps at his feet and passing it carefully to Lafayette, trying desperately not to look too anxious as he begun to leaf through the pages.

“So, uh, what are you guys majoring in?”

Hercules opened his mouth to speak, but before he managed to form the words Alex had already answered.

“Herc is taking a course in fashion design and textiles, aiming to go on and work in costume production on Broadway which would be so damn awesome, and Laf, like myself, is studying History and Politics whilst on exchange from France.”

“Y’know,” Hercules spoke, his voice deep but with vibrant, warm undertones “you wouldn’t think me a Lafayette were grown men who could actually speak for ourselves half the time would you?”

The three of them laughed, John being unable to help noticing just how cute the way Alex’s nose scrunched up in indignance was, as he slapped Hercules arm grumpily.

“No need to be mean, I was just answering John’s question, and besides-”

“Alexander, as much as I find your bickering hilarious, if we do not hurry we are never going to get a table in the canteen” Lafayette turned to John, handing him back over his sketchpad. “These are really very good – you have great talent.”

“Thanks, thank you.” Alex couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly fond over how adorable John looked with his small smile and rosy cheeks flushed with pride as he hugged the book tightly to his chest.

“Now, will the Mr. John Laurens be joining us for lunch?” Laf enquired, raising one quizzical eyebrow at John. Glancing at his watch, John grimaced before meeting Alex’s hopeful look with one of apology.

“Unfortunately I have a class to attend. Some other time?” Lafayette nodded, smiling, before he and Herc turned and begun to head towards the canteen building, already discussing what they hoped would be on the menu today. Alex lingered on the steps in front of John, looking mildly disappointed but eyes still sparkling, smile still etched on his soft pink lips.

“I hope to see you soon, John.”

John watched his retreating back as he ran to catch up with Hercules and Lafayette, who were already half way across the green. Sighing, he swallowed, looking down at his shoes, and promptly glanced back once more to catch Alexander laughing, head thrown back and mouth wide with a beautiful grin that could out shine the sun itself.

“I’m so pathetic.” John groaned aloud to himself as he bent to gather his things, before striding off towards the art block, the musical sound of Alex’s laugh still ringing in his ears.

***

The library was almost dead post exam season as John pushed his cart overflowing with textbooks past the study stations that only a few weeks ago had been packed out, his eyes scanning the signs until he found it; Aisle B: Modern History. “Mr. Blue Sky” blasted through Johns headphones as he rounded the corner, squinting against the sunlight that streamed through one of the libraries many bay windows illuminating row upon row of books. Pushing back the pale lavender sleeves of his fine knit sweater, he reached for the first book, turning it in his hands to study the reference code on its spine. So absorbed was he in his work he failed to notice the figure behind him until they had placed a hand on his shoulder.

John started, and bit back a curse as he promptly dropped the aforementioned book on his toe. Spinning around, his face melted into a grin and he removed one earbud, the throbbing pain in his foot paling into insignificance as he found himself faced with a skinny-jean and tank top clad Alex, the same bright eyes he’d met only a few days prior smiling out at him from underneath thick, heavy brows, hair pushed back from his face by a pair of sunglasses that perched atop his head.

“John Laurens. I would call it fate if I believed in such a thing.”

“Hey Alex!” John chuckled as he crouched down to pick up the book, taking time to smooth out the rumpled pages in attempt to hide his reddening cheeks.

“Y’know, you don’t have to put those away; I’m pretty sure they hire some poor sod to do that for us.”

John smirked as he rose, and turned to Alex, tapping the blue librarian lanyard that hung round his neck.

“You’re looking at him. The poor sod, that is.” In a marginally apologetic manner, Alex grimaced.

“Sorry – but can you deny it? Tell me honestly you’d rather be in here stacking shelves than out there enjoying the sun?” John shrugged, just smiled softly and gathered a few books up into his arms and wandered down the aisle, Alex at his heels – watching as Johns slender, delicate fingers scuttled over the faded spines, gently slotting the books into their designated spot. John handled each book reverently, with care Alex had never exhibited to any of his own textbooks, many of which were dog eared, with cracked spines and wrinkled pages from where they’d been dropped in the bath, often times more than once. Of course even in the smallest, most mundane ways John was still perfect.

“So, I guess if you work here you could probably help me then?” Alex enquired, leaning gently against the shelf, still basking in admiration of this boy, this boy whose golden skin practically radiated a warm, sun-like glow; whose athletic frame cowered behind baggy jumpers and faded denim. Jumpers – even in July.

John hummed in acknowledgment, turning away from the shelves to face Alex.

“I’m researching LGBT+ history – any recommendations as a starting point?”

Alex noticed a brief flicker of surprise in Johns expression as he registered Alex’s words, but quickly it was gone, replaced instead by a thoughtful look. He turned back, squinting closely at the books once again, before surveying the shelf further, eyes raking over title after title, meticulously searching.

“Hmm. Well, if you’re looking for something that’s more of a, I guess, general overview of LGBT+ history, then I would recommend this one.” John reached up to the top shelf, his jumper riding up above the waistband of his jeans just enough to let Alex know that Johns freckles were not limited to his cheeks, before he pulled an obscenely large book off the shelf and held it to Alex, who barked out a laugh.

“Completely Queer.” He read aloud.

“Just like me.” John chuckled, before his eyes widened in shock, pink flushing his cheeks, biting his lip when he realized what he’d admitted.

There was a beat of silence as John’s eyes remaining fixed firmly on his hands, suddenly paying exceptionally close attention to the loose skin around his left thumb his nails began to deftly pick away at. Alex swallowed, then probed, gently.

“Is that how you identify then? Queer?”

The fear and anxiety reflected in John’s large green eyes made Alex’s heart break just little bit as John finally dragged his eye line up to meet Alex’s once more.

“Yeah. I know some people don’t like it, but for me it just seemed to fit you know? I didn’t like Bisexual, Pansexual, they felt too, rigid? I guess? I don’t know – I kind of buy into the whole idea that sexuality and gender are a spectrum, and as such it felt weird trying to define something that is so fluid and unique. You get me?”

Alex nodded, smiling warmly at John and reaching out a hand to grasp his shoulder.

“Of course I get it; that’s fine. It’s completely fine, John.”

John smiled weakly back, the tension visibly draining from his muscles, shoulders unfurling from their hunched shield like position as he leaned into Alex’s touch. All too soon the contact was lost, and already John yearned for it to return, the weight feeling grounding, comforting.

“Why are you researching all this stuff anyways?” John queried, meandering back to his cart to seize yet another textbook. Alex broke out into a wide, mischievous grin.

“Actually, it’s for the colleges GSA; I’ve just been made president; our first meeting is going to be looking at LGBT+ icons of the past.”

Alex struggled to hold back his laughter at the look of dumbfounded shock on Johns face as he spun back around to face him.

“Didn’t I mention? I’m hella freaking gay.”

Laughter finally spilled out of him as he watched John groan, slamming the textbook against his forehead to hide his face, or more specifically, the pink flush that was rapidly flooding the golden skin beneath his freckled cheeks. He lowered the book just a little, to let smiling green eyes peek out from over the top of the pages, staring at Alex in utter disbelief.

“I’m such an idiot. And to think I was scared about my slip up, geez – I mean, why else would you be interested in queer history?”

“It’s fine, I mean y’know – I guess it’s good you don’t make assumptions based on how flamboyant some people are. That being said” Alex spluttered, “I am literally the gayest person I know how did you not see it.”

John laughing was what did it, what pushed Alex past the point of no return, propelled him straight past Crush-Ville into Infatuation City. His freckles seemed to dance on his skin with each wave of giggles, his eyes creased up delicately, and his entire body seemed to let go, allowed itself to relax from its usual tight, restricted, carefully planned movements. This was carefree John; happy John, and god damnit Alex wanted more of him, wanted to be the cause of this happiness always.

“How soon can you escape from here? C’mon – we could grab a coffee; I know a place.”

John stole a glance at the clock on the wall, weighing up the number of books he had left to stack.

“Give me fifteen minutes? Twenty max?”

Alex beamed.

“Perfect. My treat. I’ll wait outside.”

And with a wink that rendered John only slightly weak at the knees, Alex set off down the aisle, already pulling his phone out to compose a message to Lafayette ranting about just how unfairly amazing John Laurens was.

***

From their window table in the upstairs of what, Alex had assured him, was the best local coffee shop in all of downtown New York, they had a perfect view over the streets below that were buzzing with busy shoppers; but even with his secret penchant for people watching, the hustle and bustle did nothing to distract john from the boy with such animated expressions and wild gesticulations that sat in front of him. In the half hour they’d been sitting there, John had concluded that, if uninterrupted, Alex could rant about any given topic for an indefinite amount of time, from what the importance of studying history was, to whether blueberry or chocolate muffins were better; a trait that on anybody else would surely have been annoying but somehow, this boy with bright, dancing eyes made it endearing.

“Hey, snap!” Alex exclaimed mid-conversation, catching Johns arm in his hand, pulling their wrists side by side. Adorning his honey hued skin was a tight band of multi-colored embroidery thread, the overlapping threads matching perfectly the colors of the beaded bracelet that hung delicately round Johns own wrist; a rainbow.

“Aha, yeah,” John bit his lip and smiled as Alex fiddled with the bracelet, trying to ignore the tingle where Alex’s fingers ghosted over his skin.

“I bought it from this little bead shop when I was on summer break once at home in Charleston. Don’t think I’ve actually taken it off since that day; it’s always been there, like a way to visibly show an otherwise invisible part of me – a silent fuck you to my parents too, I guess.” He paused, taking a deep breath as Alex shot him a quizzical look.

“I’m from Charleston, South Carolina. It’s not well renowned for being the most, liberal, place shall we say; my parents were no exception unfortunately, especially my dad. I don’t bother me so much anymore, but it used to. Also why I was perhaps expecting a slightly more – volatile – reaction when I outed myself to you.” He chuckled softly, trying to push the threatening sadness to the back of his mind.

Alex merely nodded, brows knitted together, and John noticed that even though he was done examining the bracelet, his fingers still rested on the back of Johns hand, tracing circles into the freckle-littered skin. He felt his breath catch in his lungs, heart suddenly beating faster, harder. Faltering, he pulled his hand back to interlock with his own fingers, staring at the rim of his coffee cup to avoid the flicker of disappointment that crossed Alex’s face, and trying not to regret his action instantly.

“Where did you get yours from then?”

Alex smiled fondly at the band on his wrist, spinning it round to play with the knotted thread.

“My first pride. Laf took me – he’s Bi – and it was just incredible. One massive party; rainbows everywhere you looked, not a single person there without a smile on their face. Everyone there was just being so authentically themselves; it was refreshing y’know, to be in an environment where for once you didn’t have to worry about censoring a part of yourself.”

“It sounds amazing,” John commented as he raised the cup to his lips to take a small sip of his coffee, grimacing as he swallowed the now cold bitter fluid, his expression drawing a chuckle from Alex. “I’d love to go to one someday. I’ve always imagined it to be awesome.”

“You’ve never been to a pride parade before?” Alex asked dumbfounded, watching as John wrapped his hands protectively round his mug, as if trying to will some of their warmth into the cold liquid it contained. John shook his head.

“Nope. Never had the opportunity to, or had anyone to go with.”

“Well,” Alex paused, smiled at John thoughtfully, “You’d always be welcome to come with us; me, Herc and Laf that is. We make a routine of going together – we’re actually meeting up next Monday to make placards and prep for it; if you’re be interested…” he trailed off, shooting John a hopeful look, shrugging as if to say, what harm could it do. He was thankful to be met with a wide, grateful grin.

“I’d love to – that would be awesome. If you’re sure the others won’t mind?”

“Of course not,” Alex smirked, “You won Laf over with your artistic talents – he’s a little bit obsessed with art, especially of buildings, he loves architecture – and Herc adopts pretty much everyone under his wing like a mother hen; it’s actually endearing. They won’t mind. Here – let me get you the directions to Laf’s room.”

They chatted a few minutes more as Alex pulled up the details, discussing logistics, timings, location. And this time, it was Alex who found John’s hand resting atop his own, as their eyes met, the gratitude, warmth, happiness reflected in Johns eyes plain.

“Thank you.”

“It’s no problem.” Alex smiled, trying to ignore the dusting of pink he was sure had arisen on his own cheeks.

***

Three sharp knocks echoed down the corridor. John lowered his fist, nibbling on his lip anxiously as he hovered outside Room 213, Floor 7, Hawthorne block, Eastside of campus. He’d checked, and double checked, with Alex that this was the right address, but even still doubt niggled away at the corner of his mind, a small voice pestering away, until suddenly the door was opening, the warm yellow light from inside flooding the dingy hallway. Alex stood in the doorway, beaming.

“John!” Before he could respond, John felt himself being pulled into a bone crushing hug.

“Hello to you too, Alex.”

A few beats passed before he was released at last from Alex’s vice like grip. John allowed himself to be pulled forward into the room, taking in his surroundings. The layout was not too dissimilar from his own; a desk and shelves took up one wall, with a bed against the other, on which Hercules was sprawled out, laughing at a quip from Lafayette, who was settled in a nest of paper which took up the limited floor space. Both Laf and Herc turned to greet him, smiling invitingly.

“Laurens! At last – you brought the paint I trust?” Laf asked.

“Yes!” John replied, as Alex pulled the carrier bag from his hands. “As well as –“

“Popcorn!” Alex exclaimed excitedly, pulling the packet out of the bag, letting the paints drop to the floor with a clatter, at which John sighed exasperatedly. Alex’s puppy-like excitement however quickly faded to disappointment.

“Sweet and salty?” He shot a disgusted look at John, who smiled, shrugged.

“I like it.” John replied defensively, ignoring the despairing sigh Alex emitted.

“You have terrible taste.”

“Well, I guess that explains why I’m hanging out with you.” John winked, smiling cockily as he seized the popcorn back from Alex, tearing it open and offering it to Laf.

“Touché.” Alex grumbled, slumping down onto the desk chair, ignoring Laf and Herc’s laughter. John settled himself on the floor opposite Lafayette, who immediately launched into a long winded spiel regarding his plans for the placards.

The hours passed by, the muted pastels of dusk outside the window soon fading to the deep navy blue of night. Alex, strictly instructed to stay away from the placards by Laf, deemed far too excitable to be trusted, contented himself by lazily tossing popcorn into Herc’s mouth, much to Laf’s dismay (“Those crumbs are going in my bed!”) and studying John as he worked. He watched the way his delicate pink tongue poked out the corner of his mouth as he focused on laying each brushstroke meticulously within the text outline Laf had sketched out, one by one the placards coming to life, each sporting a different message in rainbow shades of acrylic paint. He watched the way Johns eyes lit up with interest during deep discussions with Lafayette about artists Alex had never heard of, or with a passionate spark when he engaged in a heated debate with Mulligan over the true definition of the word feminism. He watched the way Johns nose scrunched up when he giggled, hand clapped across his mouth, freckles seemingly laughing too atop his coffee-colored skin. He watched John, and all his intricacies, and slowly fell for him harder with the reveal of each adorable antic.

“You could try being subtle, y’know.” Lafayette commented when John disappeared to the bathroom, leaving the trio alone in the room for a moment.

‘Hmm?” Alex responded.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about mon chou; your feelings towards the dear Mr. Laurens are obvious even to Mulligan.” Behind him Herc nodded in agreement, shooting Alex a sympathetic glance.

“Yeah – you’ve got it bad haven’t you?”

Alex bit his lip, combing his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah,” He sighed, “yeah, I have.”

“I don’t know why you sound so despairing Alexander.” Laf quipped, attention so focused on the placard he was admiring he almost missed Alex’s look of confusion. Laf rolled his eyes.

“It’s obvious he likes you too. He can’t keep his eyes off you.”

Lafayette’s remark still hung in the air as John walked through the door, grumbling about how extremely unfair it was that Lafayette’s halls of residence had apple scented soap as opposed to the bog standard chemical rubbish he dealt with. He caught the guilty looks exchanged between the trio, eyes narrowing into a suspicious glare.

“What were y’all talking about?”

“Oh just how awful your taste in popcorn is.” Alex remarked. Winced as the pencil John hurled across the room hit him square in the forehead. But even John’s violent tendencies did nothing to quell Alex’s adoration.

***

From that night onwards by some unspoken agreement the trio became a foursome, John quickly becoming included in group chats and day trips and study sessions. Although they did venture off campus occasionally, more often than not they found themselves in a tangle of limbs on Laf’s bed, watching some trashy TV show or movie for the simple pleasure of watching Alex, apparently now an aspiring film critic, rant about how awful it was for its entire duration. It became habit, too, for Alex to walk John back across campus to his dorm, a habit which started with the best of intentions, under the guise of making sure he didn’t get lost in the dark, but continued because honestly, Alex relished those late night conversations as they wandered across the moonlight washed paths, just the two of them as it seemed like the rest of the world lay suspended in a silent slumber.

John had been on edge all day. Some days were just worse than others – and this was one of those days, when he felt the surplus supply of energy thrumming through his veins, making him restless, making his heart pound and his stomach churn. The anxiety wrapped around his mind, clouding his judgement, making him feel small and vulnerable and one step away from falling off the edge and floating further away from reality than he already felt. He’d pushed himself to meet up with the guys anyway, but remained reserved, quiet, even around Alex, whose presence normally was enough to chase away any lingering anxiety to the far corners of John’s peripheral. But not tonight.

Alex had, as always, insisted on walking John home, mildly concerned by the shadow that had clouded Johns normally bright eyes all day. They arrived, at last, at John’s dorm door – the familiar, chipped white paint now clinical and scary, and all of a sudden John is shaking subtly and gripping his keys so tight his knuckles turn white. Alex is going to leave, and he’s going to be alone, and he’s going to feel so small and sad and alone.

“John? Are you okay?”

John inclines his head slightly, jaw tight, clenched.

“You sure?”

The tears begin to slide silently down his freckle littered cheeks, because no, no John really isn’t okay right now, and his heart is beating so hard its beating out of his chest, and his mind is like a stuck record with alone repeating over and over and over on replay. He is frozen, debilitated, zoned out.

“Okay let’s get you inside, c’mon love.”

As soon as the key is prized from his grasp, John is gnawing at his fingernails as he watches Alex fiddle with the lock. With a small click, Alex unlocks the door, nudging it open with his hip whilst propelling John gently but firmly over the threshold by the shoulders. He pulls the door shut behind them, before turning to look at John, feeling his heart clench at the vulnerable silhouette illuminated only by the moonlight that filters through the blinds. It was not just the wash of milky white light that made John look so pale however; all color had visibly drained from his face, eyes now dull and vacant and void of their usual spark, the only shine now being from the tears that spilled over onto his cheeks.

“John?”

John finally registers some response, slowly dragging his gaze up to meet Alex’s.

“What do you need?”

And suddenly John is closing the distance between them, launching himself at Alex with such velocity it’s a miracle he stays upright, but Alex just plants himself firmly in the ground and envelopes John in a hug, letting him bury his head into his chest and let out small, shaky breaths as he fists the material of Alex’s t-shirt.

Sometimes John needs alone. Sometimes he needs to listen to sad piano music and sit and just be, alone. Sometimes he needs warm blankets and plushies and cups of tea and Disney. But right now he needed this – he needed to feel smothered, and grounded, and held by someone – by Alex – because god knows it was the only thing keeping him together, stopping him from shattering into a million tiny pieces that would take months to painstakingly piece back together. He needed to be here in Alex’s firm hold, needed to hear his fast heartbeat syncing to Alex’s own, reminding him he was alive and here and breathing, and that he was okay – that he wasn’t alone.

“Need you. Here.”

He felt Alex shift slightly, and whimpered, clinging tighter. Alex shushed him, pulled the pencil free from where it was tightly intertwined in Johns hair, gently twirling the loose curls round his fingers as they tumbled onto Johns shoulders.

“You’re okay darling. I’m not going anywhere” he whispered, the warmth of his voice washing over him like blanket.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“You’ll stay?” John croaked, blinking up at Alex through long, dark eyelashes, eyes wide, glistening. Alex gave a small half smile, bringing his thumb up to flit across Johns cheek; brushed the remaining tear drops away, tucked an unruly curl behind his ear, admired how even in his state of utmost vulnerability John looked beautiful, was beautiful, always would be beautiful in Alex’s eyes.

“Of course.”

John relinquished his grasp only to step back and drop onto the bed. Alex allowed himself to be tugged down too, sliding behind where John was now curling up to pull him back flush against Alex’s own chest, wrapping one arm protectively across Johns chest and spanning his fingers over his rapidly beating heart, tracing calming circles around it in an attempt to slow its rapid tempo.

“You’re safe John. I’ve got you – it’s okay.” Alex murmed into Johns soft curls. With that, he felt John give out one last sigh, eyes relaxing and breathing slowing as he drifted asleep. It was only a few minutes of staring at the slow rise and fall of Johns chest before Alex also felt drowsiness weighing on his own eyelids, finally allowing the pull of sleep to silence his whirring, worried mind.

***

Alex quickly shut off his phone as it started buzzing at six thirty the next morning. Taking a minute to orientate himself, he quickly remembered the events of the previous evening, glancing to his side to take in the still sleeping John, whose arms clutched a large Stitch plush in a death grip to his chest. Relieved the boy seemed to be in a state of relative peace, Alex smiled softly, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from his eyes. A rail filled with various jumpers in seemingly every pastel shade imaginable stood at the end of the bed, obscuring the door from Alex’s view as he sat up, carefully withdrawing his arm from where it rested over Johns waist and twisting round to plant his feet on the cold wooden floor, ignoring the stiffness in his legs from sleeping in thick denim jeans in the July heat.

As Alex pulled his socks on, he took time to properly take in John’s dorm room. His shelves were weighed down with books, some on art theory, but also several novels regarding politics, activism, social justice, interspaced occasionally by cacti, succulents and ivy whose tendrils trickled lazily over onto the desk. The wall beneath the shelves behind the desk had been converted into a long corkboard, which John had dangled fairy lights around before pinning various ticket stubs, postcards and photos to it, some of which Alex recognized from the outings they’d had over the past few weeks with Herc and Laf; the picnic by the riverside, the trip to see Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, the games night Herc had hosted the weekend prior.

Rising slowly from the bed, carefully so as not to disturb the sleeping John, he wandered over to the desk, ran his fingers over its smooth surface, taking in the overflowing pots of brightly colored pens, pencils, markers, the watercolor set that lay open, colors mingling together in messy splotches, the paintbrushes littered across a scattering of half-finished sketches that covered the desktop. One drawing in particular caught Alex’s eye. Sliding off the pens that partially covered it, he picked up the paper, breath hitching in his throat. He was staring at a picture of himself, undoubtedly; it was just a pencil sketch, but even the rough, rushed graphite lines had captured his likeness. Apart from it really wasn’t anything like him, because the version of himself grinning up from the paper looked ten times more handsome than Alex could ever hope to look – hair smooth, sleek, smile wide enough to expose the dimples that so often remained hidden, and eyes; sparkling, bright, inviting eyes staring out from under thick dark eyelashes, edges crinkling slightly in what Alex assumed to be laughter. He turned back to stare, shocked, at the sleeping form that was John, back facing Alex, curls fanned out on the pillow beneath his head, the morning sunlight illuminating the hundreds of different shades of golden that made up his caramel hair. This couldn’t possibly be how John, who was a picture of beauty himself, pictured Alex.

Rather than creeped out, as Alex felt perhaps he should be, he felt an odd combination of disbelief, confusion, and overwhelming fondness, as he continued to stare around Johns room, smiling softly at the pile of Disney movies that sat beside the small television. Everything about the room was soft, gentle, calming; it was only after last night Alex final began to understand why John, who had proved several times over he could hold his own in any heated debate, still had an air of vulnerability around him, something that made Alex instinctively feel the need to protect and shield. For all his performance, John was fragile; strong, and brave, and determined too; but fragile, and delicate, and one trigger, one wrong move away from falling apart at any given moment. And maybe, just maybe, he could stop feeling guilty for these feelings. It was with Johns sketch in mind that Alex hoped maybe his own feelings of affection for John may not be at least entirely unfounded.

Thoughts still circling his mind, Alex crossed back to Johns bedside, grabbing his phone from the side. John was far too peacefully asleep for Alex to disturb him and keep a guiltless conscience – moreover he needed this rest. Panic attacks were not known for being fun or rejuvenating. Seizing one of the stray pens and a stack of post-its, Alex scribbled out a quick note, stuck it to the TV, and with one last glance at the still slumbering form, left the room with only a soft snick of the lock as the door swung shut behind him.

***

When John began to stir a few hours later, his mind was immediately flooded with memories of the night before. Jolting awake, he turned, but instead of finding the comforting warmth of Alex beside him as he’d hoped, he was instead met only with cold, crumpled, empty sheets.

Immediately, his heart started racing, mind accelerating to 100 thoughts per minute– of course he’s gone, you probably scared him off, who would stay once they’d seen you like that. Did you really think he wouldn’t realize how pathetic you are, that there’s be even a chance he’d still like you enough to be here-

It was only at the sight of the luminescent yellow post-it note stuck to the TV screen his racing mind ground to a halt, breath catching his throat, hope suddenly rising in his chest again. Dragging his comforter with Him, John crossed the room, recognizing Alex’s familiar chicken scratch as he read.

“John,

Sorry I had to leave without saying goodbye, I had an 8AM lecture. I’ve already called the office – stay home sick today, you need to rest. You wouldn’t work through the flu – this is no different. Just stay in bed, watch a film (Personally I recommend Tangled), drink tea. Take some time out – it’s okay, and necessary sometimes. I’ll be back after class. Promise. I’ll even bring take out.

Love,

Alex x”

John bit back a smile, the panic receding in waves, slowly ebbing away. He did still care. He did still like him. He was coming back.

It was okay.

***

Two weeks later, lower New York city is a sea of rainbow, the atmosphere an electric whirlwind of color comprised of dozens of tie dye shirts, hundreds of placards, thousands of rainbow flags in various forms and sizes. The steady beat of the samba band leading the parade forms a backdrop for the thrum of excited chatter from the ever-building crowds, people of all colors, creeds, genders, sexualities, joining together, a united body. Everywhere you look, people are smiling and laughing and embracing, embracing one another and embracing their true selves, masks and pretenses falling away for this one day where for once, no one is excluded or forgotten.

Two boys walk with this crowd. One has honeyed skin that glows in the July sunlight and has sparkling eyes that are ablaze as he chants loudly with the crowd and brandishes a rainbow placard, his t-shirt screaming more pro-LGBT+ slogans. The other, a mess of sea-green eyes and wild curls and freckles, giggles fondly as he is pulled along behind his boyfriend, rainbow stripes adorning his speckled cheeks and a pride flag sticking out form where it is skewered through his unruly bun, a pastel green sweater hanging loosely off his slight form. They walk, fingers intertwined, with a group of people who make them feel more accepted and whole and enough than they’d ever believed possible. And as Alex swoops down to capture Johns lips in a firm, sweet kiss, John knows he has finally found a place, or rather a person, he’d be happy to call home.

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userpoe · 3 years

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I was tagged by @fisforfulcrum thanks sweetie 😘

Why did you choose your URL?

I was really getting back into my sequels spin and wanted something short and snappy to change to, but I also wanted it to be connected to Poe in some way. Since all the good Poe urls were taken, on a whim I checked to see if zoriis was available. It was, so I changed to it and it...just sort of became my brand? I don't ever wanna change from it I don't think...unless a really good Poe url opens up anyway, which I doubt. And I get a serious seratonin rush whenever anyone refers to me by my url in the tags idk why.

Any side blogs?

I have my x reader fic blog @luminouspoes where I use to reblog all my recs + post my fics before I decided to move all my bullshit here. I'm also co-mod of @thedamereynetwork because I love my babies.

How long have you been on tumblr?

Since 2011/2012. I didn't really get active on here until late 2013, though.

Do you have a queue tag?

the classic and very original "queue". I use to do the snazzy quotes thing but I can never stick to one for very long. I've debated here and there making a new queue tag, maybe with a sw quote, but eh who has the spoons for that.

Why did you start your blog in the first place?

Initially back when, it was meant to help me with my nonfiction writing. Instead, Tumblr ended up being instrumental in me discovering fanfic and honing my fiction writing craft through that. I remade my blog a shit ton of times as a teenager, though, and the thing that kept me coming back was all the pretty content and my friends. Plus, where else am I gonna be this weird on? Twitter? Hell no.

Why did you choose your icon/pfp?

Because I thought the Poe emoji on the Star Wars app was precious. Then, for pride month, I decided to add the aroace flag behind him because well. I'm asexual and dubiously aromantic, and I hc Poe being aspec, so I thought it'd be nice. Did you know his second X-Wing kind of has the same color palette as the aroace flag? It's pretty damn cool still not Black One but cool

Why did you choose your header?

Because @abelmorales and @michaelperry are responsible for me falling head over heels with Michael Perry and I wanted to include (1) soft perfect angel teacher man on my blog somehow fjsjsjskss so soft af flannel clad grading papers Michael it was.

What’s your post with the most notes?

This Poe gifset here, which astonishes me given how many braincells I had to rub together to figure out how to phrase the captions (the irony, I know). I guess we have a thing for competency and forearms in this fandom?

How many mutuals do you have?

A few! Dunno how many dunno how one would know that.

How many follows do you have?

Too many, in my opinion??? There's almost 1.2k of you now and I don't know why you're all here but I appreciate it nonetheless.

How many people do you follow?

Little under 200 and most of those are inactive anymore. I'm pretty picky abt what I follow cos of my anxiety and also idk if you've noticed but most of my interests revolve around shit that's been over for several years. And a lot of blogs are really ship-oriented, and I just...don't vibe with shipping communities so I try to stay on the outskirts of all that.

Also I'm pretty guarded about who I follow due to years of casual aphobia being thrown around this site, and now wariness about how blogs act abt neurodivergent folk and characters

...but if anyone knows of any more active Oscar blogs that are nice abt Poe and the sequels or moffat era dw blogs...please let me know fjdksks my dash is always dead

Have you ever made a shitpost?

With my brand of humor I think most of my jokey posts kind of teeters on it. But I don't think I've ever outright done a shitpost.

How often do you use tumblr each day?

*coughs* pretty often. I'm a slow scroller, so it takes me awhile to get through the dashboard to start with and I also like checking the edit tags and then if I go through a blog I can end up going down a rabbit hole of looking through their posts or their tag about a show or movie or character I like and then whoops where has the time gone. But I'm kind of pulling myself away from scrolling so much on Tumblr, if anything so my dashboard is a little more active when I do hop on, and also so I can get some other hobbies in like writing or reading (working through the second to all the boys book rn!)

Did you have a fight with another blog once?

*laughs my ass off* no. I stick to my lane, if someone posts something that I'm uncomfortable with or I disagree with, I just... unfollow? I'm not interested in vague posting people either, I don't see the damn point. This is my little internet cottage and I don't see the point in fighting the village when I can just ignore them and care for fellow wanderers, ya feel?

Though, come to think of it, I have told off a fair few anonymous asks who were trying to bully my friends or mutuals but. I don't know if we can really count that or not.

How do you feel about “you need to reblog this” posts?

[wibbles hand] I think some can veer a little too closely to guilt tripping the readers, but if it's something really important, I understand the urgency.

Do you like tag games?

I do! They're a lot of fun, I just wish I had the spoons more often to do them. I also tend to freak out because I never know who to tag because I'm simultaneously worried I'll be annoying if I do tag someone, and if I forget someone I'll make them feel left out.

Which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

First off, Laura's answer to this question is so damn precious I'm going to cry, love you babes. Second of all, I genuinely think all my mutuals are Tumblr famous. Like in my head I'm just like "that person is so fucking awesome oh my god they're so cool I bet they have so many followers they deserve it all their posts are exquisite". I love my mutuals and there's a good chance (see: yes) that if we're mutuals I consider u my friend in my head I'm just too shy to admit it out loud yet jdjdks

Do you have a crush on a mutual?

I literally get hearts in my eyes everytime I go down my dashboard. I am platonically kissing you all on the cheek and giving you cocoa. I love you.

no pressure tags: @bee-dameron @djarinsbeskar @michaelperry @abelmorales @starryeyedstories @misterrimpossible @exlibrisastra and @princedimitris and anyone else I may be blanking on

#tag games

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dorothydelgadillo · 6 years

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“Creative” Design vs. Functional Design: Why a Sexy Website Isn’t Always the Answer

I have always been an artist… but I have also always been a realist.

I never wanted to pursue the life of a struggling artist, nor did I want to be a teacher.

This left little in the way of a career path for me as an artist. Enter graphic design.

Graphic design is a perfect marriage of art and creativity with function and purpose.

This remains one of the big reasons I am in love with designing websites.

I get to create something that people enjoy looking at AND interacting with. Cool, right?

A big part of my job is research and browsing sites all across the world wide web and let me tell you, the things people are doing with web design is WILD.

Myself and the rest of our creative team (developers included) are always thinking of ways that we can push our own limitations and incorporate new things we see crop up in the web design community.

However, the conversation always comes back to one question: What value does that provide?

It’s Not All About Looking Pretty

Some things look pretty or work super cool, but wouldn’t provide our clients any value.

A site can be super “sexy” and not yield any value at all (I’ve recently rambled about this in length on Creator’s Block), but for us, as an agency built on turning results, it's important to build a site that lives at the intersection of beautiful design AND peak performance.

Here’s a great analogy from MentorMate that might help you wrap your head around that.

“Have you ever gone to a restaurant expecting big things? You’d walked by a million times and liked each and every new dish posted on Instagram. Rough-hewn walnut floors. Colorful entrées that seem to sing in their variety. Breathtaking. Then you get there. And — it takes 20 minutes to be seated. Not that there was a wait. The host was simply nowhere to be found. You order, and the first bites are…mediocre. Sure, they were plated nicely, but that’s about it. All-in-all the experience was lackluster, and chances are you won’t be going back.”

As designers, it’s not that we don’t want to design the heck out of your website (trust me, we’d love to), but like any good partner, we care about you so much, we put your needs first, even if you don’t realize it’s what you really need.

The good news is you can still have a really, really nice looking website, that looks and functions great.

The key is knowing what will truly add value versus what is just a fancy, unnecessary add on.

Function Comes First

When we start any website project we always think about function first.

What problems does the website have to solve for? What functionality do we need to make the website serve its purpose?

Ultimately, if you have a page that looks beautiful, but it confuses your users and they leave after 10 seconds without filling out a form or buying something (whatever your goal may be), that page is a failure.

This is why we wireframe first.

You don’t start decorating a house until the foundation is set and stable, right?

When we wireframe, we account for the basic form and function of a page. This is to ensure that it’s all working the way we want it to before we even start thinking about how the design will look.

I’m going to say it again because this is super important: Web design isn’t just about looking sexy.

A well-thought-out design should be results driven and solve challenges.

Often my challenge as a designer is knowing that something that doesn’t look good works well and figuring out how to take those parts and make them look sexy as hell.

Here are some sites I think are doing a great job at this.

Curology

The overall design of this page is very clean and modern. Where I think they really win is in the animation of the hero value prop and the micro-interactions in the testimonial sections. This helps guide the user’s focus to the value prop (that, bonus: helps the user solve for their problems) and the user testimonial photos which show how the product really works.

Kontainer

What struck me most about Kontainer’s site is that every section has animations and interactions, each one purposeful in guiding the user and supporting the content. Most noticeable are the arrows coming from the left or right margin of the page.

Notice how they move slightly as you scroll down the page and “magically” line up with strategic CTAs.

The parallax of the images also helps move the user through the page as they push the images into focus and pull them out of focus so the user focuses on the next block of content quicker.

Lobster

This is another page that is chock-full of animations, but each one is purposeful, supports the content, and gently nudges the user down the page. You can’t help but follow the whimsical lines down the page to see what happens next.

Each section has a line or highlight that pulls the user down through the section, emphasizes a key bit of information, and then leads the user to the next section.

It also uses the line animation to highlight the pricing plans, one by one, so the user focuses on each individually.

Factors That Should Influence Your Design Choices

Okay, so I’ve been harping on “purpose” like a broken record. Now let’s take a look at some of the influences that really determine the purpose and direction of our page design.

The User

You’ve heard “the customer is always right” before. Well, when it comes to web design, it’s “the user is always right.”

Your website isn’t for you; it’s for your audience/user.

So, the user should influence EVERYTHING. Tone, color palette, font choices, image choices, placement, spacing, white space, page length, I could go on forever.

Think of it this way, if your user doesn’t understand (or LIKE it) and it deters them from your site, then it doesn’t work for you either.

Budget

What you are actually paying for when you hire a team to design and develop your site, is the time it takes for that team to create everything from strategies, wireframes, mockups, and finally functional pages, right?

Well, things like custom illustrations or custom functionality easily add more time to a project and quickly inflate the scope of a project.

Consider whether the price you will pay for additional “sexiness” will return as much value in results from your site.

Devices or Browsers

Okay, so this really ties in with the user as well, but it’s so important, we’re going to treat it as its own point.

Before considering adding any sort of wild new design elements to your site, you should know where/how the bulk of your users are viewing your site.

If the majority of your users are using IE or Internet Explorer (don’t get me started) or are strictly mobile, this should limit the bounds of what can and should be done.

Some functionality breaks, when run through IE or site elements, will shift dramatically when viewed on a mobile device.

So, you typically should focus on the medium (and that medium’s limitation) that the majority of your visitors are using.

This is really important because you need to focus on your user’s experience in whatever medium they are most likely using.

Creating a beautiful desktop site that barely functions on mobile, when most of your users are visiting your site via mobile is not only wasted effort but also will leave your users not wanting to return to your site.

Competitors

Sometimes, it’s important to incorporate a user experience similar to your competitors to make it easiest for your target audience.

Often, users flip back and forth between similar sites when looking for solutions to their problems.

If your direct competitors are doing something, it’s likely your audience is familiar with the experience, creating less friction when it comes to understanding and navigating your website.

So, if your competitors are all using similar functionality that seems to be working well and makes sense, don’t feel obligated to do something different.

Doing something different may actually DETER users because they have to learn something new on top of the issue they are trying to solve for.

Users often come to your site with assumptions. Work with them, not against them.

Brand/Brand Recognition

After your user, you must remember your brand.

Everything you add to your website is a reflection of your established brand.

Consider whether that watercolor illustration or page transition animation speaks to your brand’s tone and style.

If it doesn’t fit than its existence is more confusing to your audience and a detriment to your brand awareness.

Page Load Speed

Intense animations and functionality can bog down your page load speed, plain and simple. While it may look cool, if it takes a dramatic toll on your site speed (and ultimately its rank), it’s not worth it.

Common "Sexy" Elements That Undermine A Website's Effectiveness

I often have to be the bearer of bad news with clients who have come across something that looks new and interesting they want to implement on their site but isn’t the best move functionally.

Here are some common elements that usually do more harm than good, and some better alternatives.

Buzy Heroes or Hero Videos

Unless a hero video is showing and explaining a product, these are mostly a distraction that adds little value and can really slow down the load time of your page.

What are alternatives? Instead of a soundless video playing without much explanation in the background, have your hero’s call-to-action be to play the full video to give the user the most value from it.

If you still are looking to add a little fun to your hero image consider a well-planned cinemagraph.

Lots of (Purposeless) Animations

Animation can be both costly to create and slow down the speed of your site a heck-of-a-lot.

What are alternatives? Micro-interactions like small animations on icons or buttons can help confirm actions and guide the user through the user journey.

Lots of (Purposeless) Illustration

Custom illustration isn’t cheap. This can suck your budget very quickly.

What are alternatives? Sites like Shutterstock offer tons of premade illustrations and illustration packs that can be modified to give you a custom feel without breaking the bank. Confusing User Interactions and Hover Effects

These can not only can confuse the user but can become un-usable across mobile devices or older browsers.

What are alternatives? Don’t reinvent the wheel. Only push for a new way of doing things if you think it will truly benefit your users. Keep the interactions simple and familiar, but change small things like the button animations I mentioned above to keep things looking fresh and modern.

When You SHOULD Choose Artistry Over Functionality

Like with any rule, there are some exceptions to putting functionality first.

Up to this point, I’ve pled my case as to why you basically should steer clear of unnecessary design elements, but I’m not a tyrant and I do think there are some practical use cases for getting a bit more fancy with things.

You should consider extra flourishment for:

Stand-Alone Pages

If you are designing a stand-alone page that is simply a “delight” factor for your audience, you can consider adding some sexy elements.

Check out the Spotify Wrapped page for a great example. The page only exists to please pre-existing customers and for shareability and includes a lot of impressive animations and custom elements.

It’s a Set Standard

You should invest in design if your audience is already used to a certain standard of artistry and is already up-to-speed with interacting with sites that use unique functionality.

It’s also important to consider the level of artistry that’s associated with your brand.

Take, for example, Apple. They could put out a simple specs page for their new products, but they have become known for their clean, modern, and cutting-edge approach to showcasing their new products.

Look at their iPhone XR page and you’ll see what I mean.

This page is very different from the majority of their pages which include less intricate coding and unique layouts, but this really helps to highlight their new product and its many awesome features.

You’re Not Concerned About Lead Generation

Last, but not least, if you are not worried about leads, revenue, or some other kind of result coming from your website, you can consider more extensive design.

When you're trying to get people to fill out a form on your website, this should be the focus and extravagant design can distract from it. However, if this is not the goal of your website, you can feel freer to experiment.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

Just kidding.

But seriously, I cannot stress enough the importance of a strong marriage between making a site that looks beautiful AND works beautifully. In order to have a truly great website, both things have to be in play.

You’re probably tired of my ramblings at this point. So, I’ll leave you with the three most important questions you should ask yourself when you are considering pushing a “creative” design:

Does it add value?

Does it serve a purpose?

Will it serve my audience?

from Web Developers World https://www.impactbnd.com/blog/creative-design-vs-functional-design

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