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tickle-minion · 3 years ago

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Cardassian Interrogation Techniques (A DS9 Tickling Story)

Starring Doctor Bashir (Ticklee) and Garak (Tickler)

“You expect me to believe that he confessed to everything… simply because you wouldn’t stop staring at him?”

Garak took a sip of his red leaf tea. “My dear doctor, whatever it is you think about interrogation… I can guarantee it is wrong. A well run interrogation is a work of art. I was the artist, and nothing but the truth was my medium.”

Doctor Bashir let a coy smile creep across his boyish face. “The artist working to create the truth? What could you possibly know about the truth when only things that come out of your mouth are lies?”

“Just because I do not use the truth very often, dear Doctor, does not mean that I do not know it when I see it.”

“Or hear it, during an interrogation, I suppose?”

Garak smiled, “Precisely.”

“I still don’t understand how anything less than physical pain or torture could compel a man to speak. Just staring at him? Garak, either it’s getting easier to spot your lies or you are becoming far more transparent.”

It was hard for Bashir to tell by the look on Garak’s face whether he was insulted or amused.

“I’ll make you a wager then, Doctor. I believe I can get you to tell me anything I like… or even get you to confess to anything I can imagine. All without using what your Federation training has taught you is ‘torture’.”

Bashir’s brow furrowed slightly, “And what, exactly, are we wagering here?”

Garak’s smile brightened, “Why, next week’s lunch of course. Unless you’d rather make the stakes more… interesting?” Bashir did not like the tone of the Cardiassian’s voice.

Bashir leaned back in his chair, his suspicious eyes scanning Garak’s face for any sort of deception. “Alright, you’ve piqued my interest. I’ll take that wager. For lunch, only. Just two rules though; I don’t want to be hurt, and I don’t want it to interfere with or compromise my duties.”

Garak seemed almost surprised, “I do believe I can operate within those guidelines. You do understand that once we start though, I do plan on seeing the… interrogation… all the way to the end?”

Doctor Bashir grinned and took a forkful of his salad to his mouth. “Garak, believe me, I think my Starfleet training prepared me enough for you to stare at me for several hours. I fully expect to be enjoying a free lunch by this time next week.”

“We’ll see, Doctor,” Garak smiled politely and took a bite of his lunch, “We’ll see”.

-----

Everything was too bright when Doctor Bashir’s eyes finally fluttered open. His head was sore… he rolled his neck from side to side and tried to bring a hand to his forehead. There was resistance. He… couldn’t move his hand.

“Wha… what…”

Through the fuzz in his head, Bashir could hear Garak’s sing-song voice, “Now Now, doctor, please don’t try and move around too much. I think you’ll find that you’re quite immobile at the moment.”

The doctor tried to raise his head to look at his surroundings but the weight of his own head was too much to lift. He tried to speak again. Only a few mumbled sounds escaped his lips.

“I do suggest you relax, Doctor, it will take some time for that hypo-spray to wear off. I’m afraid I may have given you a little too much. Cardiassian physiology is hardier than human physiology, and I failed to take that into account. I do apologize for the disorientation you’re experiencing right now… though I must say, it makes what I’m about to do much easier.”

Bashir could hear everything Garak was saying and was starting to regain enough strength that he could lift his head to see his Cardassian lunch partner. His vision still swam in a swirling drug induced blur.

Doctor Bashir could hear the soft whirring of a tool, like one of Garak’s tailoring tools, and could feel his clothes loosening. He raised his head and managed to get his eyes to focus enough to witness the jacket and shirt of his uniform being cut right up the middle. His eyes rolled to the sides and he could see that he was on a table in Garak’s quarters, wrists firmly tied together at the top of the table. He tried to kick his feet but found they were much the same: his ankles appeared to be tied together and bound at the end of the table.

“Garak… my uniform!” Doctor Bashir’s words slurred embarrassingly from his lips.

Garak ignored the outburst and continued cutting Doctor Bashir’s uniform from the base of his shirt all the way up to his neck.

“That’s good, Doctor, that’s very good. Keep trying to talk and I’m sure that your ability to speak will return in no time.”

Doctor Bashir could do nothing as Garak peeled aside his uniform to expose his bare chest. The Doctor was smooth and hairless across his chest and stomach, but a dark trail of hair led from under his belly button and into his pants. With his arms stretched well above his head the Doctor looked slimmer than his already slim build. Garak ran a cool hand over the exposed skin. Bashir flinched under his touch.

“There we go, Doctor. I do hope you’re not shy being as exposed as you are. But don’t worry, as soon as we’re done I’ll either stitch up your uniform or just replicate you a new one.”

“Is this the best you can do, Garak? Tie me down and ruin my clothes? How will I ever resist you?”

“Believe me, doctor, when I start the interrogation process, you’ll know it. Speaking of which, I have something to show you.”

Garak reached over to a table and pulled out a deck of playing cards.

“I’m told these are old Earth toys used to play games. It seems a little too simple to me, but I read about a trick human’s used to do with them.”

Garak shuffled the cards in his hands and held one up. It was the 3 of clubs.

“Now Doctor, before this is all over you’re going to tell me what card I just showed you, and then you’ll owe me lunch.”

Doctor Bashir rolled his eyes.

“If the rest of the interrogation is anything like we’ve witnessed so far, I think I’ll be the one enjoying the free lunch.”

“I admire your confidence, Doctor, but we haven’t even gotten started. On that note, why don’t we get started?”

Garak slowly moved to stand near Bashir’s exposed chest. Leaning down he put both of his hands flat on the doctor’s stomach. With firm and careful hands he started kneading and massaging Bashir’s stomach.

“There now, Doctor, how does that feel?”

Uncomfortable and a little embarrassed to be this exposed, Doctor Bashir wiggled on the table to see how much he could move. He was disappointed to see that he was stuck firmly in place.

“Maybe on Cardassia this is considered some form of torture? Either that or you’re really lost your touch, Garak.”

Garak smiled pleasantly.

“Did you say ‘touch’, my dear doctor? Let’s try a different kind of touch.”

Garak pulled one hand away from the doctor’s stomach, but very slowly brought one finger to Bashir’s belly button. Garak slowly circled the pad of one finger all around the outside of the belly button before slipping his finger in. He started wiggling his finger slowly, getting a few more squirms from the tied down doctor. Then the Cardassian picked up speed. Then he did it again. Then again. Then again.

Just as Garak was picking up speed, so too were the squirms of Doctor Bashir. The doctor snorted once and tried to wipe away the smile that was breaking out on his face.

“G-Garak… wh-what are you doing?”

“Hmm?” Garak said, looking up to Doctor Bashir’s face. “Oh, just a little test. One that you are passing, I assure you.”

Despite his best efforts, a slight chuckle escaped the doctor’s lips.

“Oh, what’s that I hear, doctor? Is someone… ticklish?”

Bashir stopped squirming and lay as still as he could.

“Ticklish? N-no, not at all… why do you ask?”

Garak pressed firmly into that belly button and wiggled his finger viciously.

“Now now, doctor. I thought I was supposed to be the one that tells lies.”

The Doctor was now smiling ear to ear, unable to stop the odd chuckle or two from escaping. He sucked in his gut to try and escape the finger that was tormenting him.

“Alright, it’s true. I’ve been… I’ve been… hee hee… I’ve been ticklish since I was a b-boy.”

“Is that so? Well, let’s see how far we can push you, then.”

Without warning, Garak pulled his finger free from the belly button he was teasing. Using both hands Garak reached down and grabbed Doctor Bashir by his bare hips. Squeezing tightly he dug his fingers in.

“NO Garak! NOOOO!”

Doctor Bashir’s back arched and threw his head back, cackling. Garak’s hands, which just minutes ago had been so calming and soothing, were now shooting lightning through Bashir’s entire body. He felt like his nervous system was being overloaded with sensations that were ripping him apart. Unable to say anything at all, he just whipped his head back and forth, barking with laughter.

“Ah, there we go, doctor… There we go. Seems we are a little bit ticklish, aren’t we?”

“G-G-Garak! STOP!”

Leaning down further, till his head was almost laying flat on the doctor’s chest, Garak simply picked up speed.

“I will stop anytime you want. All you have to do is tell me what card I showed you earlier.”

“WH-WHAT!?”

Garak paused for a moment, smiling down at the now sweating doctor.

“Oh yes, I’m afraid so. I’m going to tickle you until you tell me the card I showed you.”

Doctor Bashir breathed in sharp gasping breaths. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead and his chest was starting to have a glistening shine.

“This is your plan, Garak? You’re going to tickle me until I give up and give in? This is nonsense. Untie me, this is over.”

Garak shook his head, smiling as he did.

“Oh no no no, dear doctor. As I said, once we started we’re seeing this interrogation through. Besides, you’re a trained Starfleet officer. Surely you can handle a little… tickling.”

Garak pounced for the attack again. This time, instead of going for the hips, Garak started running his fingers up and down the doctor’s bare sides. It didn’t have the same electric reaction that his hips had, but the feeling of Garak’s fingers dancing across his ribs was maddening. The doctor started thrashing side to side.

“STOP! I.. I… haa haa… I SAID ST-OP!”

Garak ignored the doctor. In fact, the same pleasant smile was still on Garak’s face. He showed no emotion as he tickled the doctor’s sides, no cracks in his expression as his friend and lunch companion yelled.

Pulling his hands back for a split of a second, Garak let the doctor get a breath in before the hands returned to the doctors sides. This time, instead of the soft pads of fingers that were skittering across his ribs, the Cardassian was raking his firm nails. The doctor’s body arched in the restraints. His mouth gaped open without making a sound for several seconds. When the doctor did regain enough sense, he started to scream.

“NOOO! NOOOOO H-H-HELP! HAA HAA HEEEELP!”

“My quarters are completely soundproof. Don’t worry, doctor, we won't be interrupted.” Garak spoke with a calm and polite tone.

The hands moved further up the doctor’s sides, just inches away from the armpits. Bashir, meeting Garak’s eyes, shook his head and mouthed the word ‘please’. He knew exactly what was coming next.

Garak’s 10 tickling fingers dive right into Bashir’s sweaty armpits. They dug in, circling into the quivering flesh. The doctor barked out a laugh.

“Have I hit a spot, doctor? Here, let me see…”

The fingers that were digging into his pits pulled back, only to be replaced by a different sensation. Garrack was running just the tips of his fingers over the sensitive skin. The fingers moved like spider’s legs, gliding and moving, stopping now and then to swirl in the wisps of dark hair.

The loud barking laughs subsided, replaced with a calmer, but consistent, laughter.

“P-Please Garak. Stop. S-top. Please s-s-stop…”

“As I said, doctor, this can end at any moment. Any moment at all. All you need to do is tell me what card you saw.”

Bashir started thrashing, wiggling about on the table to try and escape the fingers dancing in his armpits.

“Oh Garak, this is worse. Th-this is so much, hee hee, soo much worse! STOP, PLEASE”

“Tell me your card, doctor, and this can all end. Only you have the power to make this stop.”

Garak’s nimble fingers skittered around in the damp armpits. Doctor Bashir, red in the face and sweating bullets on the table, tried to pull his arms free to protect himself. He had no such luck, no matter how heavily he pulled on his bonds he wasn’t able to even make them budge.

Garak continued to tickle the exposed armpits for several minutes before he pulled his hands away. The doctor’s body went slack on the table while his chest heaved.

“What do you say, doctor, are you ready to tell me which card was yours?”

Through deep ragged breaths, Doctor Bashir shook his head.

“N-never. I won’t give you the satisfaction.”

“I admire a man who stands by his convictions, however misguided they are. Here, let me show you a little something I picked up from a traveling merchant this week.”

Garak crossed the room and pulled something out of a long thin box he had resting on his bed. He opened one end of it and pulled out a very long, very full, and very fluffy feather.

“It’s a tail feather from an Andorian peacock. Beautiful creatures. Their feathers are very hard to come by, but look extremely smart when used in women’s fashion.”

Twirling the feather in hand, Garak walked back towards the tied down doctor.

“Garak… what are you going to do with that?”

“You’re about to find out.”

Standing beside the doctor with his calm and even smile, Garak brought the tip of the feather down to Bashir’s exposed armpits.

“Cootchie-coo, dear doctor.”

Garak waved the tip of the fluffy tail feather all across the still tingling pits. The very tips of the feathers brushed along the sensitized skin. Doctor Bashir was seeing stars.

“OH OH OH NO NO! ST-OOOOOP! PLEA-HE-HE-HES!”

“Seems my previous excursion into your armpits left them a little sensitive, doesn’t it? I imagine then, doctor, that this must be absolute agony for you. Care to tell me what your card was?”

Garak was right, his armpits he had just been tickling were still sensitive. The light touche of the feathers would have already been intense on their own, but sore as he was from the previous assault, this was beginning to feel like torture. The doctor knew he couldn’t back down. He couldn’t give in to Garak. He was here to prove that his Starfleet training could outlast whatever the Cardassian was throwing at him.

“N-NEVER”

“Have it your way, doctor.”

Garak hopped the feather from one armpit to the next. If anything, this felt even worse. Doctor Bashir continued to laugh, trying desperately to roll back and forth and squirm his sweaty under arms away from the tickling feather.

Garak continued to tickle both armpits, back and forth, for about 10 minutes. The entire time Doctor Bashir was in hysterics, barely able to mumble anything other than the occasional plea for mercy. Garak paid it no mind and continued his assault, smiling plainly the entire time.

Finally, mercifully, the tickling stopped. Doctor Bashir, by now a sweaty mess on the table, felt his entire body relax as the tickling ended. He huffed great big deep breaths, his glistening chest rising and falling.

“I will admit, doctor, you’ve lasted far longer than I expected you would. I believe some congratulations are in order.”

“So… so you’ll… let me go? I win?”

“Oh no, not at all. I told you, doctor, that I was going to see this through till the end. I still have one place to try.”

Bashir watched as Garak moved to the foot of the table and laid his hands down on the doctor’s uniform boots.

“Garak…”

Garak started sliding one of the boots off of the doctor’s feet.

“Hmm? Yes, doctor?”

“W-what are you doing?”

The boot slipped off, exposing Bashir’s black socked foot.

“Stripping you of your boots and socks. I thought that much was obvious.”

Garak grabbed the other boot and slipped it free, letting it fall to the floor.

Feeling the cool air on his sweaty socks, Doctor Bashir fully flexed his toes. His toes then curled up, hoping to grip the socks tightly enough that Garak would have trouble taking them off. It didn’t help.

Garak grabbed the toes of both socks and started slowly pulling them off. First the doctor’s smooth heel was exposed, then the socks started making their way up his sole and instep. Finally, the black socks slipped over the doctor’s grasping toes, exposing both of his bare feet. Garak let the socks fall to the floor.

“From what I’ve read, the feet are supposedly one of the most ticklish parts of a human’s body. Is this true, doctor?”

“Th-there are plenty of sensitive nerd endings, it’s true…”

The doctor looked down at his own feet. The tops and toes had wisps of curly dark hair and his nails were pink and nearly trimmed. What stood out the most about the doctor’s feet were that they were built much like him: long, slim, and lanky.

“There we go, doctor. I hope you’re more comfortable.”

“I would be more comfortable if you would untie me from this table.”

Garak reached down and started scratching a single finger up and down Bashir’s right sole. The touch was soft and light, little more than a tease of things to come. With his nerves already frayed, the doctor instantly started curling his feet defensively and started giggling behind firmly closed lips. Doctor Bashir closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to ignore the tickling finger.

“Oh doctor, this ends as soon as you say it ends. Just tell me what your card was.”

Doctor Bashir didn’t say a word. He opened his eyes to glare at his Cardiassian friend and firmly shook his head ‘no’.

“Alright, but remember, this is all by your choice.”

Garak removed his one tickling finger and brought back the long fluffy feather.

“I watched some Earth media to get ready for this little session. Everything I saw told me that feathers on the soles of the feet are supposed to tickle. Is this true, doctor?”

Again, Bashir said nothing and shot daggers with his eyes.

“Very well, let’s find out together, shall we?”

Garak lowered the feather down to Bashir’s right foot and started to waggle the feather over the exposed soft and sweaty sole. Doctor Bashir closed his eyes even tighter and rolled his head back and forth.

“No no no no no,” he chanted over and over again, trying to ignore the ticklish sensation that was radiating up from his foot.

“I’m sorry doctor, I’m afraid I can’t hear you.”

Garak picked up the speed and force with which he was tickling the lean, long, foot. The doctor gasped, a few giggles leaking out when he did so, but he kept his eyes firmly shut.

“Hee hee…. No no no…”

“No? It doesn’t tickle? Then I suppose I need to try a little bit harder.”

The feather started bouncing from foot to foot, tickling from the tips of Bashir’s squirming toes down to his heels. The feather would stop on the insteps, tickling the strong arches of each foot.

Squeals and giggles continued to escape from the Doctor’s shut lips. Still, he remained defiant and kept his eyes firmly closed and tried to keep his lips tight so that no laughter escaped.

“Let’s try a different approach, then.”

Garak brought the feather up to Bashir’s toes. Instead of tickling all ten toes together, he laced the feather between the big and second toe on the doctor’s right foot. Without missing a beat the Cardassian tailor began flossing the feather back and forth between both toes.

The doctor wasn’t able to keep it in this time. His head tilted back and he started to laugh as the feather tickled between his sensitive toes. No one had ever touched him like this before. He tried to grab the feather with his long toes, trying to keep it from sliding so effortlessly between them, but it didn’t work. The more he tried to clench the more Garak sawed back and forth with the long exotic feather.

The feather moved down the line of toes, flossing and tickling between each and every single one of them. The doctor, bursting with laughter the entire time, had his head swimming in ticklish over-stimulation. By the time Garak was done with one foot, Doctor Bashir had tears rolling down his cheeks again.

“Please… have mercy…”

“Oh doctor, mercy is something I’ve never had much use for. Are you ready to tell me your card?”

Doctor Bashir was shocked to find that he almost gave Garak what he wanted right there and then. Despite all of his Starfleet training, he was ready to give up.

“Garak… no. I… I can’t.”

“No? You’ve honestly lasted longer than I thought you would, doctor. But I do have one more trick up my sleeve…”

Garak pulled something out of his pocket. It was small and metallic, fitting easily in the Cardassian’s hand. It looked like a larger, thicker laser pointer.

“I use this for hemming women’s dresses, but I recently learned a different use for this stitcher. Here, let me show you.”

Bringing the tip of the stitcher about 6 inches away from the doctor’s bare foot, Garak turned a knob and the machine whirled to life. It started slowly. At first a small warm spot developed in the centre of Bashir’s sole. That warm spot began to expand and grow hotter.

“Garak… what are you doing…?”

“Just wait, Doctor, We’re not there yet.”

The spot got warmer and bigger. It didn’t feel like it would burn, but it was getting uncomfortably hot. The spot was now almost as big as Bashir’s entire foot. The feeling began to intensify and it began to… tickle.

“Oh Garak, no no… hee hee… no please!”

The doctor was giggling again, and it was only getting worse. The feeling was spreading across his entire foot. It felt like there were dozens, no… hundreds, of tiny hot fingers scratching up and down his teased sole. Full belly laughter was starting to break free from the restrained doctor… and the sensation was only getting stronger.

“St-o-o-p! W-WAIT!”

“You know when this stops, doctor.”

The feeling was so intense now that it was all that the doctor could think or feel. It was the most insane and mind wracking thing the doctor had ever felt in his entire life. He screamed, he kicked, he tried to curl his toes, but nothing helped. His foot was on ticklish fire and he was completely helpless. The heat radiated through his foot, up his leg, and into the rest of his body. It made the skin on his entire body feel like it was being tickled.

“G-G-GAR-RAK!”

Doctor Bashir was now cackling. Ticklish vibrations were bouncing around inside his body, all coming from the hot spot on the bottom of his foot. He thrashed in his bonds, big heavy drops of sweat splashing off of his tormented body. His face and chest were now flushed red from all of the laughter.

Something broke inside Bashir’s mind. He needed this sensation to stop. He needed his body back.

“THREE OF CLUBS!”

Garak turned the machine off. Like flicking a lightswitch, all of the sensations came to a stop. The doctor’s body went limp and he simply lay on the sweat drenched table. His slick skin was quickly cooling, making his shiver.

“What was that, Doctor?”

“My card…,” the Doctor panted, “... it was the three of clubs.”

Garak smiled down at the broken doctor.

“I’m gratified to hear that, doctor. I was worried I was running out of ways to tickle you. Still, have you broadened your understanding of what an interrogation is?”

“Garak… just untie me. I’m never going to look at a feather the same way again.”

Garak began carefully untying Doctor Bashir from the table,stopping to massage his wrists and ankles. The Cardassian’s strong, cool, hands felt amazing on the doctor’s wrists as they massaged where the ropes had been tied. However, when those hands started massaging the doctor’s ankles, the giggles returned. Garak continued the massage, ignoring the stray residual giggles from the exhausted doctor. Once Garak was finished with the gentle massage, he helped Doctor Bashir get dressed again. Sliding the socks and boots over the doctor’s feet was almost impossible… they were still that sensitive.

“I do hope this gives you a new appreciation for a well-run interrogation. Without leaving a single mark on your body, wrists and ankles aside, I, a plain and simple tailor, managed to break one of Starfleet’s youngest and brightest officers.”

“Yes.. yes,” Bashir managed from his hoarse throat, “You won our little bet. I didn’t think I was that ticklish…”

“Lucky for me, you are. Now, doctor, why don’t you make your way home and I’ll see you next week,” Garak gave the sore doctor a wink, “for my free lunch.”

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harringtonstudios · 5 years ago

Text

dusky pink.

plot: you’re called in for an emergency photoshoot, not really knowing what to expect, things can surprise you. part 2!

A/N: holy moly this is the most i’ve written! glad i got back in a mood. this is for the anon that asked about a model!au earlier, i hope you like it.

taglist: @iamdorka @no-shxt-sherl @bakerkells @findingmyth @rosegoldrichie

When you had gotten an emergency casting call from Galore Magazine, you hadn’t expected all this. YBeing an established model, you were known for your unique photoshoots and uprising through runway walks. You had been in the industry for almost a full year now, feeling like a veteran when you were constantly being booked by different agencies.

Galore Magazine was one of your first employers. They had allowed you to explore your creative side while posing for the camera, launching what the industry called your “brand.” You had developed a strong, personal relationship with the executive assistant of the magazine, and she would always offer you jobs when you felt like you needed something to do in order to keep busy.

The phone call came in at 3am, disrupting a night out. You had immediately picked up, walking to the outside of a club after seeing her name flash on the screen. Within minutes, in a slightly tipsy haze, you had agreed to a two-day long shoot, confirming that you would be able to fly out in a few hours.

The alcohol had settled into your bloodstream when you rushed to your apartment, throwing clothes into a duffel bag. The flight you were supposed to be on was scheduled to leave soon, and you knew that check-ins were going to be a bitch, so you grabbed a bagel from the 24/7 corner deli before setting off to get to the airport.

It was only after you had settled into the airplane seat that you realized you weren’t exactly sure what you had said yes to. The alcohol from last night had drained out, leaving you with a pounding headache and you grimaced as the plane started lifting off. Pulling out your phone, you texted the editor of Galore, shamelessly asking what you had signed up for the night before.

There were a few emojis exchanged and then finally, you got the creative plan for the shoot. It was supposed to be a Romeo-and-Juliet aesthetic, inspired by the 90s Leonardo DiCaprio version. You grinned, remembering how fully obsessed you were with that movie in your teenage years. The vibes had always seemed so beautiful, popping shadows and gold chains, it was something you were eager to emulate.

As you read through the notes, you realized that they had a rapper coming in to play as Romeo. This threw you off, there was a certain way you modeled and when collaborating with others, you liked to be prepared beforehand. It wasn’t anything bad necessarily, you just liked to know your partners so that you could tweak your methods to their needs better. You took a breath before opening up Google to search up “Machine Gun Kelly.”

There were a shit-ton of articles to sort through, mostly relating to his new album release, “bloom.” Scrolling through the different new posts, you bit your lip. He seemed nice enough,a few things catching your eye straight off the bat. The tattoos that lined his skin were amazing, creating a tinge of jealousy as you looked at all of them. Tattoos were your weakness, having about ten smaller ones yourself. This was going to be interesting.

Landing at the airport, you caught a Lyft straight to the set. Since this was an emergency fill-in, you didn’t have time to do much else, sighing as the Galore studio came into view. You loved being in California, the sun shining down on you, cobbled streets, lazing living and you really wanted to enjoy all of it.

Right away, the front desk assistant shuffled you off to the hair and make-up room. The team had a very specific vision to execute and you smiled as their creation came to life. Putting on a natural, dewy look, you sat up straight, trying to make this process as easy as possible for everyone.

Picking up tweezers, they aligned gems under your eyes, making the color pop. Lightly dusting some shimmery powder on your cheek, they moved on to your hair. Straightening it, they applied some sleeking oils before tying it back a little. All of a sudden, one of the top makeup executives came rushing in, holding a swatch of eyeshadow.

“Put this on her! And make sure her lip color matches. Let’s go, hurry it up,” he clapped, throwing the palate to the artist working on you. You shut your eyes, letting fingers run over your eyelids. The color was a dusky pink and as you looked at yourself in the mirror, you felt good.

Applying some Vaseline on your lips before the pink gloss, you pursed your mouth together, blowing a kiss at the mirror. Glancing up, you caught the eye of someone standing behind you.

Turning around, you looked up to see none other than Machine Gun Kelly, leaning against the doorway. His makeup seemed to be already done, matching the glow of yours. His hair was done up, looking soft and sharp at the same time. There was a scar on his cheek, cut open and you saw the eyeshadow shade splotched around it, creating dusky pink on top of his cheekbone. He was smiling at you and you felt a blush start to rise on your cheeks.

“Promise I’m not that cocky. Ever,” you muttered, trying to avoid his warm gaze.

“Cockiness is sexy,” he laughed, leaning over to reach out a hand, “I’m Kells.”

“Y/N,” you responded, giving him a loose handshake.

“Oh c’mon, I know you can shake harder than that,” he grinned, gripping the tips of your fingers in his hand.

“I mean, I could. But why would I want to?” you responded cheekily. Raising his eyebrows, he smirked, dropping your hand.

“HEY YOU TWO! GET INTO COSTUME,” the executive assistant shouted as she passed by. Walking behind you, she leaned in to whisper, “Looks like someone’s getting along,” before going on her way. Feeling the blush climb just a little higher, you got up off the chair.

“Costumes that way,” you murmured, pointing down the hall as Kells followed behind you.

“So, you know a lot about Galore?” he asked and you smiled thinking of all the memories you had in these very rooms.

“Yeah, they gave me my first big break yanno? I’ve been eternally indebted to them since,” you explained, letting your fingers trail over the walls covered in autographs.

“Wow, big ups to you. Most people forget where they come from, glad to see you sticking to your roots,” he spoke as you turned into the room.

“Mhm,” you whispered, immediately getting distracted by the racks that hung around the room. Colors popped out from every corner, complementing the golden shades on your faces. Reaching out to touch one of the satin shirts, you felt Kells nudge your elbow from behind.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to touch those,” he murmured, nodding to the sign that the costume designer had hung up.

“They’re beautiful, I have to. Fuck the rules,” you muttered, picking up one of the hangers off the rack.

He gave you a look before mumbling, “That’s what I like to hear,” and then both of you were grabbing hangers, pulling clothes off of the racks.

“Where do we change?” he asked, hands bunching up the expensive silky shirts. You knew the changing stations were next door, but you didn’t want to really walk over.

Looking up at Kells, you smirked before going, “Right here?”

“Oh? Don’t have to tell me twice,” he said, throwing the shirts on one of the chairs in the room. Reaching to pull over his white t-shirt, he laughed, seeing your gaze on his bare torso.

“Sorry, I um, haven’t seen so many tattoos on somebody,” you stuttered out, hands itching to reach across and touch.

“I think that’s what they all say,” he said, running his tongue against his teeth.

“Shut up, get naked,” you scoffed, turning around to hide the red of your cheeks.

Pulling off your top, you reached for the first shirt you had grabbed, a deep blue button down. It wasn’t meant for you, reaching down to the tops of your thighs as you closed one of the lower buttons. The shoot was going to be in lingerie anyway, and you knew Kells would see your body, so there wasn’t any reason to hide it right now. Turning around, you presented yourself, throwing up jazz hands.

He guffawed, palms reaching up to cover his mouth. Widening your eyes, you leaned over, putting your hands on top of his.

“Stop, are you trying to get caught?” you shushed him, looking at the door for the costume director to walk in at any minute.

“I’m sorry, you just look great, I. I can’t even come up with words,” he snickered as you moved your hands back.

Flipping him off, you took a step back, admiring his look. He was wearing a deep pink suit, jacket open to reveal all his tattoos, pants tailored to his exact body shape. Looking him up and down, you wet your lips, tongue reaching out involuntary.

He opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly a shout came through the door. “What is going ON? Y/N you know better,” came rushing out of the mouth of the director. Snapping at you, she pointed over to a rack filled with satin lingerie.

“Get the white one on now. Take this shit off,” she said, reaching for the blue shirt you’d done up. Huffing, you shrugged it off, before walking over to the clothes for you. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see her fussing over Colson’s fit, playing around with the buttons on his jacket.

Shrugging off your sweatpants, you pulled on the white outfit. It fell to the bottom of your legs, slits done meticulously to show off your legs. The lace on it was beautiful, and you hesitated before stepping back around, suddenly getting a little bundle of nerves in your belly.

“Perfect! Come here,” she muttered, reaching for something on the table. Picking up a set of angel wings, she turned you around, snapping them over your back.

You saw Kells staring at you from his spot by the door, and the heat in his eyes was unmistakable. The bundle turned into a flutter and you swallowed, trying to calm yourself down. This was just going to be another shoot, nothing special.

Oh how wrong you were. Right off the bat, the director asked you both to go across the street, in the mansion they had booked for the day. This was your first time exploring and you had quietly marveled in the grandeur of it all. There was a high wall, taller than you were, but coming to right around Colson’s chin. The director lifted you up, and then you were posing on top of the wall, bare legs soaking in the sun as Colson played with your hand, standing right below you.

For the first few shots, you looked out in the distance, trying not to catch his eyes. It had gotten intimidating to make eye contact, especially now that you were in the headspace of Juliet. After a couple of takes, you got pulled aside, softly told to “Act like you’re in love, dammit,” and then popped back up on the wall.

Taking a breath, you steadied yourself as Colson put your palm in his, and made eye contact, softly smiling as he looked up at you. The pose felt like forever, eyes boring into each other, and then the director shouted, “Amazing! Ok next,” and you were being pulled down into the next area.

A few solo photos later, they put you back on the wall. Colson stood in between your bare legs, leaning into you. His arms braced on either side of your hips. The close proximity made you nervous, and you let out a soft laugh as his hair brushed against your cheek.

“Shhh,” he whispered, barely moving his mouth.

“You shhh,” you whispered back, leaning your shoulder against his.

Instead of responding, he simply reached his hand over, putting it slightly over yours. Tapping his thumb against the back of your hand, he slowly moved it into a stroke and you pulled your legs together instinctively, forgetting he was in between them.

You saw the smirk build in his face and you let out a breath, trying to not let him get to you.

“What’s wrong,” he murmured, still moving his thumb agonizingly slow on your hand. Nudging him with your thigh, you tried to shut him up as the camera flashed.

“Done. Okay, both of you. Take a break, go change. We need to get a few more shots in before the sun goes down,” the photographer shot out and you pushed Kells back a little, throwing him a grin before sauntering back to the studio.

Switching into the green lingerie suit, you looked at yourself in the mirror. This one was a smaller one-piece and you glanced at your booty, making sure it looked good for the pictures. Pulling the suit up a little, you admired the way the lace cupped your boobs, perfectly covering your nipples. Picking up a towel from nearby, you wrapped it around before crossing back over to the mansion.

Kells was standing there in the blue shirt from earlier, and you let out a laugh, seeing the perfect way it hung off of him. You reached up, adjusting his collar, smiling as you saw him gulp.

“I think you look better in this,” you murmured, fingers delicately running right over his neck.

Stepping back before he could respond, you took off your towel, putting it on the desk nearby. Turning back around, you saw his face, eyes eagerly running up and down your exposed body.

“I think you’d look better in nothing,” he mumbled, hand rubbing at his chin. You felt yourself get warmer at his comment, and you threw a wink at him, before walking over to the director who was setting up a beautiful red car.

“Game plan?” you asked, clapping your hands together.

Ten minutes later, you were balancing on Kells’ thigh as he sat on the car’s hood. One leg hitched over him, the other extended as you stood straight. You pressed your torso against his, arching into him, throwing your head back so you could bare your neck.

Placing both hands on his chest, you laughed as the director yelled at Colson, placing him into position. He wrapped a hand around your back and you felt yourself naturally lean into the touch. His other hand came to rest on your bare thigh, pressing in slightly, fingers barely there. He looked straight at you, and you feel your heartbeat pulse as the camera started clicking.

“Y/N! Wrap your arms around his neck. Yes, now look right over at the camera,” came the shouts from the director. Colson pulled you closer, bringing the arm around your waist closer. He turned to face the camera too and you watched the director falter for a second before rushing over to take the picture.

“Holy fuck! That was incredible,” she yelled from behind the screen, and you giggled, letting your head fall on his shoulder.

“Y/n, you’re free to go for tonight,” the executive director said, pointing around the rest of the crew to pick up different set pieces. You nodded, grabbing your duffel bag as you turned to face her real quick, “Uh, what about Kells?”

He was across the room, getting more eyeshadow dusted onto his cut, typing away on his phone. The director looked over at him, before looking at you, eager to get away with him.

Rolling her eyes, she went, “Listen, I need him for a few more shots tonight, but he’ll be done in half an hour if you wanna hang around. I know Gina’s been dying to catch up with you.”

Grinning, you dropped your bag on the seat. Pulling your hair up into a ponytail, you walked past Colson to the hair station. Gina had been the first friend you’d made modeling and she was incredible at her job, a creative visionary when it came to not only styling hair, but keeping it protected when crazy things were happening too.

Leaving the room, you heard Colson go, “Hey, wait where’s Y/N going?” and you smiled, knowing that you weren’t the only one feeling the heat building between the two of you. As you got out of earshot, you could still hear the director yelling, “Don’t get your panties in a twist!” and you almost walked smack into Gina herself, snickering at his panic.

Half an hour later, you were clinging onto Gina’s words as she told you the latest horror story of a terrible famous client. She had broke out a bottle of rosé, sipping on bubbles while you picked at the platter of fruits you had stolen from the front desk. There was a knock on the door, and you hopped off of the counter, pulling it open. Kells stood there, back in his regular clothes, Converse knocking against each other as he stumbled a little.

“Hey,” he mumbled.

You lifted your cup up, taking another sip, raising your eyebrows, urging him to continue by nodding slightly.

“So, I’m kinda stuck in the area for the next two days for this terrible photoshoot I’m doing with this horrible girl -” he started, and you interrupted him, choking on the rosé as it hit the back of your throat, laughing.

“Sorry, uh, you were talking about this awful girl?” you continued, getting most of it out of your system.

“Right, yeah. Would you wanna get dinner with me?” he finished, making that eye contact again, creating a warm fuzz in your tummy.

“Yeah, yes. Yeah,” you blurted out, rosé and nerves rumbling within you.

“You said that already,” he grinned as you went over to pick up your bag.

“Shut up,” you grinned back, trying to hide your smile.

“Bye Gins, I’ll catch you tomorrow,” you said, leaning in for a hug. Kissing your cheek, she whispered in your ear, “Get some please. I need to know, for science,” and you let out a belly-laugh before following Colson out the door as he waved goodbye.

It was all in the name of science right? No harm, no foul.

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prettywordsyouleft · 5 years ago

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Down By The Lake - Part 1

Summary: It was only meant to be a stolen moment between you and your lover Daehyun and ended with him framed for murdering your best friend. With the assistance of your aloof friend Inspector Bang, could you find the real culprit called The Pauper, in time to clear Daehyun’s name?

Pairing: Jung Daehyun x reader ft. Bang Yongguk

Genre: murder mystery / periodic au / horror-ish

Warnings: murder / death / dark content given the nature of the storyline

Down By The Lake will be shared daily at 10am NZST.

Preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

The candled lighting flickered like a thousand stars in the grand hall, dancing across the faces and gleaming jewellery of the fine people within it. The annual jubilee ball was always a great success and tonight was like no other. Expensive fabrics of various shades and textures floated around the dance floor against men in elegant black suits, mixing together to make a collage of colours that any artist would relish to paint. In fact, there were several of the talented members of society doing so, sketching and painting remembrance of those that danced, laughed and dined the night in fashion. It was a season for celebration, although you had long gone forgotten what the rich were exactly rejoicing for. It was all the same for you, a never-ending cycle of who could buy the most expensive dress tailored to fit their loving daughters in hopes to marry them off to the young proprietors, dashing Earls, or any other eligible man within the room that had money.

Although you knew that was the way the upper-class society worked, you despised it immensely. It was worse for you as the daughter of Lord Brayer, since you were expected to marry the most eligible of all the men in the county. Your violet dress was by far the prettiest, draped over your body in a manner that had kept numerous eyes upon you all night. It irked you that you were beautiful, even though you were a vain person and could not imagine yourself any other way. However, it made you only more appealing to men of all ages and offers that one day your father could not turn down. You wished to be a normal young woman who could do as you pleased and not have to live by so many standards.

“Your dancing is by far the most gracious I have ever encountered,” Lord Wilsford complimented as he took you as his partner for another round. You smiled politely at the man, although you felt like stomping on his foot instead.

“I have been in lessons for most of my life, my Lord,” you replied matter-of-factly, smiling again as to keep him fooled to your real emotions. “If I could not dance well by now, I would certainly not gain the attention from as many as I have.”

“I do not believe that, my Lady. You would be able to dance this beautifully even without lessons. Your precision is by far the most natural I have met in a partner.”

“Thank you,” you replied flatly, your mood souring at his constant compliments. You had learned over the years that many came as thick and sickeningly sweet at times, and despite endeavouring to push them aside, it was not in your nature to do so. You were too independent for the crushing compliments of men who wanted to obtain you, and even with being taught that being submissive and courteous were the most desirable traits a woman could possess, you were too opinionated to follow the rules destined upon you by birth as a female.

You could feel the predatory gaze from the man who bestowed another smile upon you. “I believe I could not grow tired of dancing with you all night.”

“However, Lord Wilsford, how is that fair to any other man in this hall tonight?” you countered, watching the man frown and his grip tightened upon your waist. You were instantly displeased, having since a child disliked being handled forcefully without any reason.

You would not become one’s prey tonight.

“Surely the other men do not take your fancy like I do, Y/N. We have danced together on three occurrences this evening.”

Gritting your teeth, you then forcibly placed a smile upon your lips. “I believe all of those instances you speak of are from your constant need to dance with me. If you would excuse me now, I must make my rounds once again amongst all the guests. Until next time, my Lord.”

He was shocked by your confident dismissal and this worked to your advantage, slipping out of his loosened clutches and after dropping into a brief curtsy, you hastened to put distance between the man and yourself. Your skin felt as if it was being attacked by the freezing bite of the deepest winter’s snow and you shuddered. Your patience for the crowds, laughter and glitz had worn off a long time previous and you became determined to remove yourself from the party. Running through the large hallways of your home, only the sounds of your heels clattering upon the marble floors signalled that of your escape. An easy smile began to spread across your face as you went through the parlour’s large doors that led outside, pulling the digging claws of the pins within your long hair out so it fell to whip around your face as you continued to run away.

You were deep within the large maze of the garden when a hand shot out and grabbed you, the other stifling the shriek that left your mouth in surprise. Your bright eyes went wide momentarily until you caught glimpse of the man holding you captive. Daehyun lowered his hands and smiled at you tenderly. “You left me waiting far longer than I anticipated. It must be close to midnight, surely.”

“I am indeed sorry,” you honestly answered, closing your eyes and leaning into the hand that now cupped your cheek. You reopened your eyelids and smiled brightly up at him.

“Would you have had me wait here until a new sun rose for the day?” Daehyun continued, licking his plump lips and then smirked. “You look very ridiculous tonight.”

“This dress is so heavy, I feel as if I have a weight upon me that is dragging me towards the ground,” you complained and he chuckled. Leaning towards him, you smiled. “Perhaps you could be a gentleman and help remove it?”

“You are a positively wicked creature, Y/N.”

“Why? I am merely asking for your assistance.”

“Here?” Daehyun questioned and you nodded. “You surely wish to risk being found with your stable hand by others from the party and have me hanged?”

“So I can go for a swim in the lake under the moonlight,” you reiterated, slapping Daehyun’s arm as he chuckled, hands delving into the rich fabric, searching for the enclosures. You grinned at his willingness, stretching up to kiss him on the side of his face. His hands faltered and dark eyes turned to soak you up, making you feel as if the fabric upon you would suffocate you with how stifling hot it was becoming.

“Temptress,” he murmured before continuing with his aid, taking some time to figure the confusing nature of it before stripping off his plain shirt as well. Taking your hand, you both began darting down the pathway to the lake beyond the garden maze.

Just as you were about to enter the water, Daehyun pulled you back into the bushes rapidly, a hand covering your muffled confusion as best as it could. Staring up at him, you stilled when you heard the gurgled cry, the splashing of frantic water beyond your vision. You lurched forward only for Daehyun to hold you more tightly, shaking his head desperately. The noise from the lake soon ceased as your heart grew louder within your chest. Just as you went to pull away again, you heard footsteps enclosing on your hideaway, Daehyun quietly drawing you both back into the garden and out of complete sight. Clamping your eyes shut, you remained tucked into his side until he tapped you, giving you the silent instruction to wait where you were hidden.

Shaking your head in protest, you gripped at his hand and Daehyun swallowed heavily before nodding, stepping out onto the pathway again and checking both ways. You stumbled behind him onto the lakefront, gasping when you saw a body floating within the stained water.

“Stay here,” Daehyun instructed and you let go of his hand when you recognised the dress design, dashing into the water. Turning the woman over, you screamed and fell backwards, tears streaming from your eyes.

It was Lucy, your best friend.

And you had just listened to her death.

_________________

Part 2

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evalinkatrineberg · 5 years ago

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Practice Prompt 3

There was no break in the activity when we all finally arrived at the palace. The moment the limousine parked and we all stepped out, we were ushered inside by a group of palace staff. As they hurried us through the corridors, they pointed out some of the rooms, such as the Grand Ballroom, as places we would need to know in the future, but beyond that, there was little to no conversation until we arrived at a different ballroom, where we were told makeovers would be happening.

Ah, makeovers. I had almost forgotten about that.

It had been mentioned in the weeks leading up to my arrival here. There had been a tailor from the palace who had come to my house, and measured me for my new wardrobe. He hadn’t been unkind, but it was clear from the wince on his face when he first saw me as I opened the front door for him that he believed he had his work cut out for him. Though, maybe that was because I had been wearing only athletic shorts and a sports bra when he had arrived. Not exactly the wardrobe expected of a Three, but I hadn’t been planning on leaving the house that day, so I hadn’t gotten dressed up.

While he had measured me, Lydia had given him an exhaustive list of colors that looked good on me, and those that I absolutely could not pull off. Any shades of blue were good, along with dark shades of red, and pale pinks. Black was a classic, of course. No white or silver - they washed me out. Pale yellows and dark greens were okay, but not ideal. Absolutely no purple or orange - I just couldn’t look good in those colors, according to Lydia. The tailor had just nodded, continuing to take measurements without any further indication that he had heard what my sister was saying.

I wondered if he had actually taken her advice into consideration.

“And Lady Evalin can go to station seven!”

At the sound of my name, I perked up. A young woman with long brown hair, who appeared to be running the show, pointed towards a hair station in the back right corner of the ballroom. Before I could even acknowledge that I had heard her, some of the palace staff nudged me along, their chattering lost in the din of voices that filled the room, roaring like an ocean in my ears. Was this flurry of activity what I should expect of life from here on out?

I was used to low-level chaos, sure. Life was always busy when you had a big family. This, however, was on a whole different level. It was almost as if I now had thirty-four siblings instead of just four, and we were all getting ready for the same formal event. Except, we also had to compete against each other at this formal event.

Maybe Lukas had been right, all those weeks ago. Maybe I was in way over my head. Given what had occurred yesterday, though, I was tempted to argue that he wasn’t one to talk. He was certainly in way over his head, whether he knew it or not.

“Well, who do we have here?”

The stylist standing behind the chair was a man with the palest blonde hair I had ever seen, offering me a broad smile that stretched from ear to ear as I came closer. He looked to be in his mid-to-late twenties. There were no wrinkles on his face, and there was a hint of kindness in his brown eyes.

“Evalin,” I answered as the palace staff who had walked me over gestured for me to sit down in the chair.

The stylist place an apron around my shoulders before he began to give me his spiel. “Well, Lady Evalin, first things first, we’re going to need to get some before pictures for the special makeover program they’ll be doing on the Report on Wednesday.” With that, he motioned a photographer over to us.

The photographer immediately started snapping pictures of my hair, face, and nails. I could only imagine how worse for the wear I looked. It had been a long day of travel, and after losing sleep over my fights with Proctor and Lukas the night before I had left, I was positive that the bags under my eyes had to be huge.

And I couldn’t even joke that the bags under my eyes were designer yet.

My nails, at least, looked decent. I always did my best to keep them clean and trim, though I only ever used neutral polish shades. Accidentally smudging beige polish was a lot less noticeable than smudging brighter colors like red or purple, and I was certainly no artist.

My hair was another story. I could only imagine the havoc the humidity and wind had wreaked on my curls.

After a few more shots and some polite smiles, the stylists were off, moving over to their next victim. The moment they left, the stylist came to stand in front of me, placing his hands on his hips and asking, “So, what are you thinking for your makeover?”

I let out a nervous laugh, a tad unsure of how to respond. After a split second of internal debate, I decided that honesty was the best policy. “I’ve never really been into fashion or style, so I’m a bit out of my element here.” He frowned, but I continued. “You look like you really know what you’re doing, so if it’s okay, I’d like to hear what you’re thinking.”

Success. He smiled. “Well,” he began, moving over to a cart on my right, and beginning to rustle around through some of his supplies, “I have a few ideas of where this could go. First things first, though, we’ve got to ditch the glasses.”

I blinked, frowning. Was this a ploy of some sort? “But then I won’t be able to see.”

He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “We’ve already had contact lenses made to your prescription.” With that, he leaned over, removing my glasses from my face and placing them on the rolling cart to my right. There was a white box with two raised bumps in his hand, though it instantly became blurry when my glasses were gone. I already missed their weight on my face.

“Lean your head back,” he instructed, a slight popping sound ensuing from the box in his hand. “I need you to keep your eyes open. This is going to feel weird at first, but you’ll get used to it. Your maids should be able to help you with getting them in and out until you get the hang of it.”

Oh, that was right. I was going to have maids.

We had never really had maids at home. Not that we couldn’t afford one, which was a fact my father often pointed out, but rather because my mother point-blank refused to hire one. She’d always insisted that our house wasn’t that big that we needed another set of hands to help with chores. She was adamant that us kids should learn how to do basic tasks, like washing dishes and doing laundry, for ourselves, anyway. I had always kind of wondered if her strong opinions on the matter had to do with her growing up in a lower caste, but I had always been too afraid to ask. The only time she did relent on letting other people outside of our family help with household tasks were in the few weeks after her father had passed away, when she had listened to my father’s wishes, and allowed a crew of cleaning ladies in to handle the vacuuming and the sweeping. I had never seen our home as shiny and sparkling as it had been those few weeks, but as soon as my mother was feeling like herself again, the cleaning crew had stopped coming, and we had been given the task of cleaning up after ourselves once again.

It was hard not to flinch as the stylist poked at my eyeball with one of his fingers, pulling the skin around my eyes back with his other hand. As soon as he had removed his hands, he said, “Good. Now blink.” I did, and he repeated the process for my other eye.

My stomach rolled as I leaned my head forward again, blinking a few times at the room around me. Something about seeing without having heavy frames on my face felt fundamentally wrong. I had been wearing glasses for nearly a decade now. It almost felt like a part of me was missing.

Stop being dramatic, I reprimanded myself. Suck it up, and get used to it.

“Now,” the stylist began, jumping into my line of vision once again, “on to your hair!”

I winced, wondering how much of my hair was just a puff ball on the back of my head at this point.

To his credit, the stylist only laughed at my reaction. “I could see this going two ways. Your hair, while primarily blonde, definitely has some red highlights in it. We could play that up, make you more of a strawberry blonde. Or, we could make you a little blonder! We could add some blonde highlights, and make your hair a little more gold in color, that way it would catch the light nicely.”

I sucked on a tooth, considering the options for a split second before making my decision. “Go for the blonde. I don’t think I have enough spunk to pull off a full head of red hair.”

“Fair enough.” He adjusted the apron around my shoulders, and then added. “We will need to chop some of this off, though.”

I could feel the color drain from my face as I asked, “How much?”

I had never in my life had short hair. What if I look horrible with it? I mean, sure, it would grow back, but not before I met the prince.

“Not too much,” he replied. “Just like, maybe up to your collarbones?”

“Won’t my hair get curlier then? Without the extra hair weighing it down?” That had always been the main reason my mother had stopped me from having my hair cut short in the past.

The stylist seemed to consider it for a moment, and then said, “We’ll cut it to just below your collarbones then, to play it safe.”

With that, he got to work, first separating my hair into different sections, and then taking smaller sections of my hair, and rubbing a brush dipped in something that looked like paint over those sections. Once that was completed, he wrapped the section in a foil, and moved on to the next one. After doing that a few times, he waved some other people over to help him.

I winced once I realized what was happening. “Sorry, I have a lot of hair!”

“That’s not your fault,” he responded, laughing.

One of the stylists he had called over to him added, “I wish I had this much hair.”

Even with the additional sets of hands, the process seemed to drag on for ages. Once they were eventually done, the stylist wheeled over a machine that looked like something straight out of a sci-fi movie. “This will help the color set faster,” was all he said, before turning the machine on.

The machine was hands-down the worst part of the day so far. I couldn’t tell whether the odor I was smelling was simply coming from the chemicals in my hair, or if something was burning, but whatever it was, it did nothing to help my already uneasy stomach.

As I sat there, a group of women came over, apparently to get started on my nails. The woman who seemed to be at the head of the group, a brunette with a soft face and cold hands, examined both my fingernails and my toenails before asking, “What do you think about a pale blue?”

I shrugged as best as I could with the machine over my head. “Sounds good to me!” It was a little different from my usual beige, but I could handle it.

With a nod from the brunette, the nail techs got to work, first filing my nails, then trimming my cuticles, and then, finally, applying a base coat. They had shaped my nails into more of a square shape than I was used to. Usually, at home, I just left my nails in their natural shape, which was slightly rounded at the tips. Sure, I would file them, but the shape never really changed.

After the second coat of polish had been applied, the first stylist I had met came back, powering off the machine and unwrapping one of the foils on the top of my head. Pleased with what he saw, he rolled the machine away and began pulling out the rest of the foils. As he began to wash my hair, the nail techs finished up, instructing me not to let my fingers or toes rub up against anything, lest the polish smudge. I nodded, thanking them as they wandered off to the next girl. I liked the color they had chosen. It reminded me of the snow we sometimes got around Christmas time, when my paternal grandparents would come to visit. My father often joked that they must bring the snow with them, because without fail, the first snow of the season always occurred when they visited.

The stylist rubbed my wet hair with a towel quickly, and then set it down. I could hear the clattering of the scissors before he even asked, “Ready?”

“Yes.” My voice was little more than a breathless whisper as I closed my eyes, bracing for the snipping sound I knew I was about to hear. It came not a moment sooner than I had expected it to.

The first cut was the hardest. After that, the rest of his cuts were smaller, more precise - like he was just evening out what he had already done. My head felt a little lighter, a little less weighed down, but I wasn’t entirely sure how much of that sensation was real, and how much of it I was just making up in my own mind.

As he continued, another woman approached, carrying a box full of what I could only imagine was makeup. Besides clothes, makeup was the only thing I hadn’t received yet, that I could think of. “Hello,” she said in way of greeting, setting her box down on the very edge of the rolling cart to my right. “I’m here to do your makeup.” She didn’t even look at me until her box was opened, revealing more makeup than I had seen in one spot in my entire life.

I had thought that my mother had a lot of makeup. She had half a bathroom drawer dedicated to her beauty supplies.

I was, apparently, wrong.

I should be used to being wrong, at this point.

The woman came closer, looking at my face like she was looking through a microscope. She moved from one side to the other, tapping a finger against her cheek as she did so. Every now and then she would offer a comment along the lines of, “You have nice eyebrows,” or, “Clear skin, that’s good!” I felt like a lab rat or a zoo animal, trapped in a cage that was really of my own making.

When she stepped away, she began to offer her professional recommendation. “I say we play up the eyes - maybe eyelash extensions? Definitely a red lip. I’m going to lay off on the foundation, let your freckles shine through, but I do want to add a bit of contour and blush. We’ve got to play up the diva image a little.”

I frowned. “People think I’m a diva?” I was almost kind of surprised, and a bit disappointed in myself, at how sad my voice sounded. I really shouldn’t care what other people think. If the last twenty-four hours had proven anything, it was that. Yet, some core part of me didn’t want people to think that I was a diva. Was I a diva? I didn’t think so. At the very least, I sure hoped that I wasn’t.

The makeup artist laughed, pulling some powders and brushes out of her box. “I don’t think many people know what to think. The picture they showed on the Report - of you in the car - that screamed diva. It was like a glamour shot! Your background information, though, doesn’t scream diva. I, personally, wouldn’t go looking for divas in the bio department of any university.”

I nodded, attempting to process what she had just told me. People thought that the picture of me that flashed on the screen during the Report was a glamour shot? I hadn’t even really liked the picture! I didn’t think it really looked like many of the photos I had taken in the past. Regardless, if people were expecting me to be a diva, I was afraid they were going to be sorely disappointed.

After about half an hour of silence, save for comments such as, “Close your eyes,” and, “Open your lips,” she was done. Around that time, the stylist finished with my hair as well, fluffing it up a bit in his hands before pointing me in the direction of a rack of clothing. I thanked him and made my way over there, where I was greeted by another stylist, who asked me to pick a dress and shoes, and informed me that what I was seeing were only my day dresses, and that my evening gowns were already in my room.

I blanched at that. The wardrobe in front of me was already so extensive - I had never owned this many nice gowns in my life, even coming from a pretty well-off family. I walked along the rack slowly, running my fingers over the different materials of each of the dresses, waiting for one to hit me.

There. A pale blue dress caught my eye. Within a few minutes, I found a pair of beige heels to go with it, and quickly changed out of my old clothes and in to the dress. As soon as that was done, I was ushered over to a couch, where I was informed I would be having after photos taken while I waited to be asked a few questions. The process moved fairly quickly, and within moments, it was my turn for the questions. The woman conducting the interview assured me that this was in no way the official interview we’d be doing on the Report in the near future, but rather for the makeover special they would be airing soon.

“So, Evalin Berg, yes?” There was a hint of ice in the interviewer’s voice, causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand up. The look she was fixing me with was almost identical to the one Proctor had given me throughout the majority of our conversation yesterday.

I did my best to ignore it. “Yes, that’s me!” A nervous laugh escaped my lips, and I fidgeted in my seat, wringing my hands in my lap.

“Tell us about your makeover!”

I smiled, trying to figure out where to begin. “Well, the stylist cut my hair a bit shorter, and added some blonde highlights. They also painted my nails the same color as my dress, though I wasn’t planning on that.” I laughed again, moving one hand and holding it forward a bit, so the camera could see.

“And what a lovely dress that is!” The interviewer’s smile was so forced it hurt my face just to look at it.

“Thank you!” I beamed. “It’s so much softer than I thought it would be!”

“How has the rest of your experience been so far?”

I forced myself to smile, even though the complete change in topic threw me for a little bit of a loop. “Exciting, for the most part. It’s been very cool to meet the other girls. They’re all so talented and accomplished. I can’t wait to finally get to meet the prince, though!”

“Of course,” she replied smoothly. “Speaking of the other girls, is there anyone in particular you’re worried about, competition-wise?”

I gave a close-lipped smile in return. “It’s hard to say, at the moment, because I haven’t gotten to meet everybody yet, and in the end, it really depends on what the prince is looking for, doesn’t it? We’re all so different - there’s bound to be any number of things that could make one of us stand out in his eyes.”

“That’s very true,” the interviewer responded with a wry laugh. “Well, that will be all. Thank you for your time.”

I stood up. “Thank you.”

With that, I walked over to another couch, where a few other girls were milling about. Apparently, I was one of the first girls done with the makeover process, and the palace staff wanted to wait for a few more girls to finish before leading us to our rooms. I had to wonder how that could be the case, considering my hair alone had to have taken a couple of hours to finish.

I was glad to be off my feet again, though. The last twenty-four hours had left me exhausted both mentally and physically. Maybe I’d be able to take a nap before dinner. That would be nice. At the very least, it might help reduce the bags beneath my eyes. I hoped they didn’t stand out too much in the pictures they had taken today.

I sighed quietly to myself. This was the first long day in a series of long days, and it was high time I get used to it. I was made of tougher stuff than this. If I could make it through four hour long organic chemistry labs, then I could make it through a simple makeover, for crying out loud! I just needed to get my head back in the game - back into the palace, not in Carolina.

This would be my home for the indefinite future, and I’d better get used to it.

#selectionoc

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mornington-the-crescent · 6 years ago

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D&D Stuff

I have some friend who have expressed an interest in playing D&D, but none of them have ever played before. Having played off and on for 20+ years, it therefore fell to me to be the DM for their first experience. But, none of them really know what they’re doing, so I took the liberty of rolling up and writing up some characters for them. I tried to keep things simple, but novel, with potential for interesting interactions. So, with no further ado...

(All art by @birdy-the-artist, whom you should follow and commission)

Darguz Blackfist

Half-Orc Monk (LN)

Life for a young half-orc can be difficult, even somewhere like Morgyr. It's not uncommon for lower-class children to turn to crime and gangs, and Darguz Blackfist was no exception to that rule. He fell in with a rough crowd at the tender young age of eight, running errands, acting as lookout, working to prove himself to the gang. As he got older, bigger, stronger, he rose through the ranks quickly; by the time he was 14, he had gained enough renown in the gang to be allowed on a highway mission, ambushing travelers headed through the Morgyr Pass. His first such mission had him once again more in a lookout role, but this was big-time stuff. So when he saw the lone human woman traveling on the road, with no arms or armor in sight, this was sure to be easy pickings. It proved to be anything but. This lone human easily dispatched of the other members of the gang in a flurry of fists and feet and elbows, knocking out four full-grown half-orcs, and one pureblood, without even breaking a sweat. As someone who had grown up thinking that strength was the only path to success and power and prestige, Darguz was mystified by this. What did this human know that the orcs did not? If he had that power, he would be in charge; nobody would ever question him again. He had to learn...

He followed her for two days, before finally approaching her in the market square. The human was wryly amused by him- she had taken care of his companions with little difficulty; what hope did he, a half-blood runt on his own have? Best to run along before he got hurt. But Darguz instead asked her to teach him. He had seen what she could do, and he wanted to learn to do what she did. She considered, then refused. Darguz was undeterred, asking again and again and again over several days, following where she went, finding her whenever he could. Finally, she confronted him. She would not teach him, she said; it was clear that he only wanted strength to control others, to have mastery over others, and that that would be an abuse of that strength. True strength, she said, is only used for self-control, and to achieve mastery over oneself. Darguz did not understand what this meant, but agreed to submit to her training, her definition of strength, regardless. He would learn her strength, and then use it however he wanted.

They say that when a man long wears a mask, his face will grow to fit it. And the more time Darguz spent among the monks of The Forward Path, the more he found himself understanding and internalizing their teachings. He used the strength he found to quiet the rage inside of him, to still the fire that burned hot in his Orcish blood, to find peace in a mind at war with itself. And he would have stayed in the monestary his whole life, had not a letter come for him, from his first master, the woman who saw the spark in him twelve long years ago. She wished to speak with him on a matter of great importance, and needed him to make a pilgrimage to the Forward Path monastery far in the south. Fortunately for him, there was a caravan passing nearby on its way to Kingsforge; he would have to travel on foot the rest of the way, but it would get him close to his destination...

Rosleigh Winterthistle

Halfling Ranger (NG)

Rosleigh Winterthistle is the fifth daughter, and ninth child, of the Barrich branch of the Winterthistle Clan. The Barriches, and therefore the Winterthistles, were nomads, always traveling from place to place, never setting down roots for too long; if opportunity called on the other side of the continent, then they needed to be ready to move as soon as possible. Rosleigh grew up with her brothers and sisters in the backs of ramshackle wagons and carts, living on the road for months at a time, never staying in one place for too long. Her Clan would arrive at their destination, work, take advantage of opportunity, and then move on when something new presented itself.

A life of travel like that means that one needs to have a certain set of skills, one which Rosleigh, as the smallest of the family, was expected to obtain. And this, she did. The Clan would need food; Rosleigh learned to track and hunt, and to identify every edible root, leaf, and berry in the forests and fields of the world. The Clan would need to keep safe; Rosleigh learned to watch for danger, to read people's faces and intentions, to read trail and spoor for any information it could give. The Clan needed safe passage from place to place; Rosleigh learned to read the roads and the forests, to find paths that the carts and wagons could traverse with only a minimum of difficulty. She was a valuable member of the Clan, helping with her various cousins and uncles and aunts and in-laws and who-knows-what-elses to keep everyone safe, fed, and happy.

But, being the youngest of your clan, not to mention small and quiet, tends to leave one feeling neglected. Rosleigh curious about the world, with no way to satisfy that hunger she felt. Sure, she traveled the world, but she never really saw anything in the places she went; her Clan was never in one place for long enough. So, one night, as the Clan rested outside of a small village, Rosleigh made her move. She snuck away under the cover of darkness, and found something better: It was another caravan, sure, but a different one than she had spent her whole life in, and she could pay her way as a guard and guide. She had seen plenty of small towns and villages and hamlets in her travels; she was eager to see what a proper city like Kingsforge would have to offer...

Monmouth Doyle

Human Wizard (CN)

Oracles and seers are often madmen. Is it the fact that those who are mad are more easily able to peer through the veil, unbound by the usual laws of reason, and see what is, was, and could be? Or is it that seeing so much at once puts undue strain on the mind, causing it to crack and come unraveled on the edges? Either way, seeing the wheel of time turning, visions of things yet to come, is not exactly good for ones mental health. And in no person is such a thing more obvious than one Monmouth Doyle of Daletown.

His family was unremarkable: his father was a tailor, his mother grew flowers in their back garden to sell at market. Monmouth himself was a relatively simple, happy child, with no truly great dreams and ambitions in the world, content to live his life in peace and quiet. That all changed shortly after his eleventh birthday, when he first Saw. He did not have the words to say what it was that he had glimpsed; it was as though he was now, and before, and later, all at once, and when he came back to now, he could not truly say that he had done so. He found himself haunted by visions of things that might yet come to pass, prophecies which unfolded in front of his eyes, jumbled words bubbling, falling, from his mouth and maddening scribbles written on scraps of paper that he could not remember writing, though the hand was his own and the ink still wet when he read them. And all the books on portents and signs and prophecy could not help him explain what was happening to him.

It was too loud in Daletown. Too many people, too much to see, too much to See, too much information pouring into his brain at all hours, causing his Sight to tell him things that he did not want to know, and which those he told did not want to know, though knowing would often save their lives, if only they would listen, and try to decipher the riddles which crowded his brain and threatened to burst it like an overfilled sack. They spoke about him in whispers, glancing at him askance when they thought he did not see, but he always Saw. He had to get away from here, to somewhere quiet, somewhere far away from Daletown and the world he knew. So, just shy of his twentieth birthday, he paid all he had to a caravan master, to head south, away from Daletown forever. The people of the caravan seemed decent enough, content to leave him to his books and his notes, to leave him be, to not talk to him and trigger another Vision. And though he liked them well enough, he knew he would leave eventually, when he found the right spot to hide away from the world; after all, if Daletown was too much for him, then surely a great city like Kingsforge would be far more than his Sight could bear...

Ireni Elohana

Elf Cleric (LN)

Even prior to coming to live among the Order of St. Eno, Ireni Elohana was a serious and stoic child. Elves are normally famous for being flighty, capricious beings, but Ireni was quiet, studious, and all around No Fun by Elven standards. She took interest in the martial disciplines that Elves often dabbled in over their long lives, but beyond her affinity for a bow and a sword, she barely seemed to act like an Elf at all.

The Orcs came when she was still young; over a hundred by human reckoning, but barely an adult to the Elves. She was hidden away as her village was laid to waste, the Orcs burning and razing almost everything. Had not several members of the Order of St. Eno come by when they had, the Orcs might have found and killed Ireni. But the Order intervened, smiting down the greenskins with savage, righteous fury. When they found Ireni, her family was dead or gone, her fellow Elves fled, scattered to the winds... What were they to do with such a child? They would take her to the Temple, until they decided what to do with her. And Ireni, stoic and serious Ireni, soon found life at the Temple to be quite comforting, and well-suited to her temperament. Awake in the morning, prayers and meditation. Breakfast, followed by study. Lunch, followed by training of the body. Dinner, and quiet contemplation, before nightly prayers and devotionals. Every day, a simple routine, training the body and mind, honing it into something in service of something greater than herself. Its intangibility did not make it any less real, and it seemed a far better thing to devote ones life to than the flights of fancy the Elves of her homeland were prone to.

With the long life of an Elf, Ireni was just into maturity when she achieved the honor of being named a Warpriest of St. Eno, something most human devotees of the Order trained for their whole lives. And as a test of her skills, and of her faith, she was given an important mission: A holy artifact had been on loan to a Temple in the great city of Kingsforge, and it was time for it to be returned to the Temple where she had trained. So, she would travel with this caravan, to recover the relic and bring it home, where it, and she, belonged...

Yonde Wolfe

Half-Elf Rogue (CG)

Yonde Wolfe was born into a life of ease and luxury. The son of an Elven courtier and a human diplomat, he was raised in the High Elven court in Hal Hassano. And being the child of a courtier and a diplomat, and watching court every day growing up, watching the subtle dance and interplay of this faction and that, this person and that cause, Yonde soon learned the value of words. The right words, spoken to the right person at the right time, could move mountains, and change the fate of whole nations. Words were power. Words could be used to get what you wanted, if you just knew what to say, and where to press...

When the Wasting Fire came to Hal Hassano, Yonde was only five. The disease confined him to bed for two years, and left him somewhat frail, but his mind was just as keen as ever. And when you're an intelligent child confined to bed, books become your best friends. And he read. And he read. He read everything he could get his hands on. He taught himself other languages by piecing together bits of what he could read in texts written in more than one tongue, to increase the range of books available to him. And the more he read, the more he grew in his confidence that words were the key to everything. It started small. A few white lies here and there, a little flattery and praise there, and before long, Yonde was learning just how to apply the right words to any situation, like a healer applying a salve to a wound, or the subtle and cunning acts of a poisoner. Watch your mark, turn on the charm, flash a brilliant smile, and you can turn anyone into putty in your hands.

He likely would have stayed at court and found a position there to ply his trade, if not for an attempted coup, in which his father was implicated as a conspirator. Though he was sure of his father’s innocence in the matter, Yonde decided that it would perhaps be best to disappear for a while, lest suspicion and guilt fall on his father's family, and he be branded a traitor by association. And on his own, his quick wit and silver tongue got him far, the young man quite adept at the art of the con, parting people from their money and property with ease, usually leaving them smiling and thanking him as he absconded with their belongings. Usually. Even the best thief can get caught, after all, and shipped back in irons to the city where he bilked a corrupt mayor out of his ill-gotten gains to stand trial. But Yonde wasn't too worried. He knew he could talk himself out of this mess, like he had so many messes in the past. After all, his tongue was still as silver as ever, and there were many, many miles to go before the caravan got to Kingsforge...

#d&d #dungeons and dragons

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threedservices · 3 years ago

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erinye · 8 years ago

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Greek Gods Personality Type!

Athena: INTJ --- The Scientist

INTJs live in the world of ideas and strategic planning. They value intelligence, knowledge, and competence, and typically have high standards in these regards, which they continuously strive to fulfill. To a somewhat lesser extent, they have similar expectations of others. The INTJ's interest in dealing with the world is to make decisions, express judgments and put everything that they encounter into an understandable and rational system. Consequently, they are quick to express judgments. Often they have very evolved intuitions, and are convinced that they are right about things.

Hermes: ENFJ --- The Giver

ENFJs have a special gift with people and are basically happy people when they can use that gift to help others. They get their best satisfaction from serving others. Their genuine interest in Humankind and their exceptional intuitive awareness of people makes them able to draw out even the most reserved individuals. Because ENFJ's people skills are so extraordinary, they have the ability to make people do exactly what they want them to do. They get under people's skins and get the reactions that they are seeking.

Aphrodite: ESFP --- The Performer

ESFPs live in the world of people possibilities. They love people and new experiences. They are lively and fun and enjoy being the center of attention. They live in the here-and-now and relish excitement and drama in their lives. ESFPs love people, and everybody loves an ESFP. One of their greatest gifts is their general acceptance of everyone. They are upbeat and enthusiastic and genuinely like almost everybody. However, once crossed, an ESFP is likely to make a very strong and stubborn judgment against the person who crossed them. They are capable of deep dislike in such a situation.

Artemis: ESTP --- The Doer

ESTPs are outgoing, straight-shooting types. Enthusiastic and excitable, ESTPs are "doers" who live in the world of action. Blunt, straight-forward risk-takers, they are willing to plunge right into things and get their hands dirty. They live in the here-and-now and place little importance on introspection or theory. They have an uncanny ability to perceive people's attitudes and motivations. ESTPs pick up on little cues which go completely unnoticed by most other types, such as facial expressions and stance.They're typically a couple of steps ahead of the person they're interacting with.

Apollo: ENTJ --- The Executive

The ENTJ has many gifts which make it possible for them to have a great deal of personal power, if they don't forget to remain balanced in their lives. They are assertive, innovative, long-range thinkers with an excellent ability to translate theories and possibilities into solid plans of action. They are usually tremendously forceful personalities, and have the tools to accomplish whatever goals they set out for.

Ares: ISTP --- The Mechanic

ISTPs have an adventuresome spirit. They thrive on action, and are usually fearless. ISTPs are fiercely independent, needing to have the space to make their own decisions about their next step. They do not believe in or follow rules and regulations, as this would prohibit their ability to "do their own thing". Their sense of adventure and desire for constant action makes ISTPs prone to becoming bored rather quickly. Although they do not respect the rules of the "System", they follow their own rules and guidelines for behavior faithfully. They will not take part in something which violates their personal laws.

Hephaestus: ISFP --- The Artist

ISFPs tend to be quiet and reserved, and difficult to get to know well. They hold back their ideas and opinions except from those who they are closest to. They are likely to be kind, gentle and sensitive in their dealings with others. The ISFP is likely to not give themself enough credit for the things which they do extremely well. Their strong value systems can lead them to be intensely perfectionist, and cause them to judge themselves with unnecessary harshness

Dionysus: ESFP --- The Performer

ESFP is definitely a spontaneous, optimistic individual. They love to have fun. If the ESFP has not developed their Thinking side by giving consideration to rational thought processing, they tend to become over-indulgent, and place more importance on immediate sensation and gratification than on their duties and obligations. They may also avoid looking at long-term consequences of their actions. They like to "go with the flow", trusting in their ability to improvise in any situation presented to them.

Persephone: INFJ --- The Protector

INFJs are caring, complex and highly intuitive individuals. Artistic and creative, they live in a world of hidden meanings and possibilities. INFJs are rarely at complete peace with themselves - there's always something else they should be doing to improve themselves and the world around them. They have strong value systems, and need to live their lives in accordance with what they feel is right. They don't believe in compromising their ideals.

Hades: ISTJ --- The Duty Fulfiller

ISTJs are quiet and reserved individuals who are interested in security and peaceful living. Because the ISTJ has such a strong sense of duty, they may have a difficult time saying "no" when they are given more work than they can reasonably handle. For this reason, the ISTJ often works long hours and may be unwittingly taken advantage of. The ISTJ is extremely faithful and loyal. Traditional and family-minded, they will put forth great amounts of effort at making their homes and families running smoothly.

Poseidon: ENTP --- The Visionary

This ability to intuitively understand people and situations puts the ENTP at a distinct advantage in their lives. They generally understand things quickly and with great depth. Accordingly, they are quite flexible and adapt well to a wide range of tasks. ENTPs are less interested in developing plans of actions or making decisions than they are in generating possibilities and ideas. Following through on the implementation of an idea is usually a chore to the ENTP. For some ENTPs, this results in the habit of never finishing what they start.

Zeus: ESTJ --- The Guardian

ESTJs are take-charge people. They have such a clear vision of the way that things should be, that they naturally step into leadership roles. They are self-confident and aggressive. They are extremely talented at devising systems and plans for action, and at being able to see what steps need to be taken to complete a specific task. ESTJs can be very boisterous and fun at social events, especially activities which are focused on the family, community, or work.

Hera: ENTJ --- The Executive

There is not much room for error in the world of the ENTJ. They dislike to see mistakes repeated, and have no patience with inefficiency. They may become quite harsh when their patience is tried in these respects, because they are not naturally tuned in to people's feelings, and more than likely don't believe that they should tailor their judgments in consideration for people's feelings. In their personal world, it can make some ENTJs overbearing as spouses or parents.

Demeter: INFJ --- The Protector

INFJs place great importance on havings things orderly and systematic in their outer world. They are very sensitive to conflict, and cannot tolerate it very well. Situations which are charged with conflict may drive the normally peaceful INFJ into a state of agitation or charged anger. INFJ is a natural nurturer; patient, devoted and protective. They make loving parents and usually have strong bonds with their offspring. They have high expectations of their children, and push them to be the best that they can be.

Hestia: INFP --- The Idealist

INFPs, more than other iNtuitive Feeling types, are focused on making the world a better place for people. Their primary goal is to find out their meaning in life. What is their purpose? How can they best serve humanity in their lives? Generally thoughtful and considerate, INFPs are good listeners and put people at ease. Although they may be reserved in expressing emotion, they have a very deep well of caring and are genuinely interested in understanding people. This sincerity is sensed by others, making the INFP a valued friend and confidante. An INFP can be quite warm with people he or she knows well.

Hecate: INTP --- The Thinker

INTPs value knowledge above all else. Their minds are constantly working to generate new theories, or to prove or disprove existing theories. They approach problems and theories with enthusiasm and skepticism, ignoring existing rules and opinions and defining their own approach to the resolution. They may seem "dreamy" and distant to others, because they spend a lot of time inside their minds musing over theories. If the INTP doesn't realize the value of attending to other people's feelings, he or she may become overly critical and sarcastic with others.

Eros: ENFP --- The Inspirer

ENFPs are warm, enthusiastic people, typically very bright and full of potential. They live in the world of possibilities, and can become very passionate and excited about things. Their enthusiasm lends them the ability to inspire and motivate others, more so than we see in other types. They can talk their way in or out of anything. They love life, seeing it as a special gift, and strive to make the most out of it. ENFPs have an unusually broad range of skills and talents. They are good at most things which interest them. Project-oriented, they may go through several different careers during their lifetime.

#greek mythology #here's smt i scribbled up months ago #some of them don't match that well tho #like Zeus' says 'model citizen'#but he's prob the farthest thing from a model citizen #don't grow up to be like him kids

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writingwhilecaffeinated · 5 years ago

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Chapter 2 of my Eurovision AU cause apparently this is who I am now...

“You’re staring, Joe.”

Joe was startled out of his reverie by Booker and Nile, both of whom were smirking at him.

“What? No, I wasn’t-”

“Staring at the very attractive Italian singer?” Booker teased.

Joe turned back to the stage where Nicky seemed to be adamantly refusing the addition of drably clothed acrobatic dancers to his act. Booker gave a low whistle when he saw the short haired woman at his side, leveling a glare at the stage manager.

“Andromache is his manager, huh?”

Nile and Joe raised inquisitive eyebrows in Booker’s direction.

“Andromache, well, Andy. She’s one of the best in the business, she’s extremely loyal to her artists. She managed in Greece before moving on up to Italy.”

Joe nodded vaguely before turning his full attention back to Nicky, who seemed to have won his battle, as Nicky held his microphone to his lips. The music started, a ballad, and Nicky opened his mouth and began to sing. His voice was unique, gruff but somehow...calm, and melancholy. He could see how Nicky was known primarily as a rock singer in his home country.

Nile nudged Joe’s ribs. Joe didn’t look at her but simply nodded. Nile was attuned to Joe enough to know she could speak.

“What’s up Joe? You look… puzzled.”

“Nicky’s song.”

“Oh, on nickname terms with him already, are you?”

Joe ignored her comment.

“He’s beautiful… I mean, his voice is beautiful...I mean, he and his voice are beautiful. But something is missing.”

Nile turned and also listened to Nicky sing. She couldn’t understand much since Nicky’s song was in Italian (she had been told that Italy always submitted songs in Italian instead of English like many of the other countries) but she knew what love songs sounded like. The song itself, she could tell, was quite good. But the more she listened the more she just wasn’t convinced.

“Hmmmm,” Nile pondered, glancing a sly look up at Joe as he stood transfixed. “Let’s hope the man can find what he’s missing before the Final, no?”

Nicky was breathing hard as he exited his rehearsal. It had been better than expected, once he had fought off the idea of having backup dancers of any kind. He didn’t want any distractions on stage, both for the audience but also for himself. It was hard enough singing the song as it was and it didn’t need to be harder. Plus, Nicky thought as he used his long legs to propel him backstage, he was hoping he could catch Joe before he left the stadium.

Nicky saw he was in luck, Joe was just outside the backstage area in the hallway where the dressing rooms were. Joe was talking to a young, beautiful black woman and a handsome, roguish middle aged man. He had the manager look about him, Nicky observed. He just had that vibe.

Nicky forced himself to speak before he lost his nerve.

“Joe!”

Joe looked up and his face broke into that wide, radiant smile that did funny things to Nicky’s stomach. Was it possible that you could die of happiness and embarrassment at the same time due to someone’s smile? To think you were filled to the brim with joy and the need to throw up at the same time? Nicky was anxiously thrilled with the thought of it.

“Nicky,” Joe said, breaking the ranks of his trio to meet Nicky in the middle of the hallway. “I hope you don’t mind. I heard your act. You have a wonderful voice.”

Nicky, for what felt like the millionth time that day, flushed.

“Oh. Oh no you don’t need to be kind. You were much better. Listen,” Nicky had to get this out before he lost his nerve. “I was thinking, would you...that is - uh…”

Joe was still smiling at him, encouragingly but it was only making Nicky lose all train of thought faster than ever before. Dear lord it was like he was a busker all over again, paralyzed by fear as he tried to get tips by passersby on the streets in Roma.

“What he’s trying to say is would you be willing to join us for a party tonight,” said a voice and suddenly Quynh was at his side, smiling and affable. “I’m Quynh,” she said, sticking out her pale hand, her long fingers wiggling in invitation. “Nicky’s makeup artist.”

Joe took Quynh’s hand in his own and shook it firmly.

“Oh, very nice,” Quynh remarked, studying Joe’s hand before letting it go. “You don’t shake like I’m gonna break. I quite like you!”

“Quynh, calm down, he hasn’t said he’ll accompany us yet,” Andy said, appearing out of thin air on Nicky’s other side. “Hey, I have a feeling you know who I am if Booker’s had any say in it.”

“Oh you know I did, Andy,” Booker said, saddling up with Nile to flank Joe. Booker walks forward and gives Andy a hug and both Joe and Nicky realize that the two must have a longer history together than either has let on. “Now what’s this about a party?”

“Oh you know, the usual schmooze and booze before the semi-finals start. Lots of countries will be there, particularly the Western bloc and the coastal countries. You should join, it’d be good for your boy, Joe, here.”

Nicky felt like the conversation had been ripped out from under him and taken on new life between the two managers. This was not how he had imagined this conversation going. At all.

“Well, we should definitely go then. Joe’s performing in the second round of Semi-Finals so if he gets smashed, won’t be too much of an issue.”

Suddenly Andy and Booker were walking off, talking about the other countries, what the odd-makers were predicting, and oddly the newest editions to their liquor cabinets at home. Quynh sighed, an exasperated grin gracing her face.

“Don’t mind them, those two go way back. And god when you get managers in the same room together,” at this she rolled her eyes. “It’s almost insufferable. Luckily Andy has me to keep things fun!”

With that Quynh proceeded to glide after them, playfully throwing sarcastic comments over Booker and Andy’s conversation like well-placed confetti.

“Um,” Nile said, turning her head towards Joe and Nicky. The two men had gone back to staring at each other. “Well, I would introduce myself but I don’t think you would even register the words I’m saying. Nicky, pick Joe up at 7pm. He’ll give you the hotel address. Make sure he gets back safely. I will be getting smashed with those three. Joe, don’t wait up. I have a feeling I won’t be coming back to the room tonight.”

With that Nile gave Nicky a wink and punched Joe playfully in his bicep before prancing off the same way the others had left.

“What… just happened?” Nicky asked, utterly bewildered by how that entire conversation went down.

“I’m not exactly sure, but I think you were in the middle of asking me out?” Joe wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Nicky couldn’t help but chortle.

“I mean-”

“Well, go ahead.”

“What?”

“Ask me out.”

Nicky met Joe’s eyes once again and, miraculously, saw Joe’s answer before he even asked him. Nicky’s heart swelled as his chest tightened, creating the most delightful bloom of pain in his chest.

“Joe, will you go with me to the party tonight? As my date?”

“Why Nicky,” Joe murmured, stepping closer so his lips were brushing the shell of Nicky’s ear. “I would be delighted.”

“Get a room already!

“Don’t ruin, the moment Nile!”

But the moment was made better as Joe and Nicky’s effervescent laughter filled the hall.

Nicky fidgeted with his earring as he knocked on Joe's hotel door. Should he have taken it out? Was it too much? Did it go with his black button down? Dear god, what was he doing? What was he wearing? He should go change… But before Nicky could run the door opened and Nicky was met with a vision.

Joe was in dress casual wear, what any pop singer might throw on to a party or a club. He was wearing the leather jacket of sin again, but this time coupled with a designer black t-shirt, a backward leopard print baseball cap, perfectly tailored, tight black trousers, designer sneakers, and an array of silver rings decorating his fingers.

“Fuck me,” Nicky breathed before realizing he said that out loud and frantically covered his mouth shut with a hand.

Joe threw back his head and laughed but it was not unkind. When he looked at Nicky again his shoulders were shaking, his tanned cheeks tinged pink from trying to hold the laughter in.

“I usually don’t get that until the end of the date,” Joe said, closing the door behind him and stepping forward. “But it can be arranged.”

———— Read the rest at Ao3

#immortal husbands #the old guard #joe x nicky #kaysonova #nicky x joe #tog

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glenmenlow · 5 years ago

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How Narratives Improve Ideas And Decisions

The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place. ~ George Bernard Shaw

How do Amazon’s leaders decide what to do and what not to do? How do they develop ideas and rationalize them? Much the same way they hire the best people. They use the narrative process to answer these questions and to capture and explain their ideas.

The Killer Feature: Clarity

Michael Porter, Harvard professor of strategy, has stated that “strategy is about making choices, trade-offs; it’s about deliberately choosing to be different.” By developing clarity and simplicity in what you are doing and not doing, you are improving the ideas, making deliberate decisions, and gaining shared understanding in the organization. The fundamental mistake leaders make in developing digital strategies is not seeking clarity, especially regarding the customer experience. What will delight the customer? What operational model supports this experience? What data and technology support the operational model? How will we measure?

Achieving clarity can be uncomfortable. It can disrupt. People tend to want to avoid conflict, be collaborative, and basically accept all the ideas and all the wording. This tactic does not demand the best thinking and avoids the sensitive topics in the spirit of “getting along.” A well-written narrative, on the other hand, demands rigor on exactly the right wording, compels getting to the heart of risks and sensitive topics that have to be addressed to achieve the goal, and requires straight and simple language to ensure that everyone understands the key points. A well-written narrative and the process of writing it will force teams to get beyond being polite and get to insights.

An Amazon leadership principle is to “Invent and Simplify.” Driving toward clarity of thought through a written narrative is a key operational approach to get both invention and simplification. “Almost every meeting which involves making a business decision is driven by a document,” says Llew Mason, an Amazon vice president. “One of the great things about a written document is that it drives a lot of clarity in the process.” Ah, clarity in thinking. Clarity on what you decide to do. Clarity on how the idea will affect users and the business. A longtime business partner of mine who worked with me both before and after Amazon has told me many times that what he sees me doing with my clients, which he has seen to be tremendously helpful, is that I’m always trying to simplify and clarify the communication. I learned this at Amazon.

What Is A Narrative?

At Amazon, leaders write narratives for all plans, proposals, services, and investments. PowerPoint is not used (insert applause). Much has been written about how PowerPoint dumbs down an organization or puts it at risk. In his 2017 letter to shareholders, Jeff Bezos wrote, “We don’t do PowerPoint (or any other slide-oriented) presentations at Amazon. We write narratively structured six-page memos,” Bezos continues. “We silently read one at the beginning of each meeting in a kind of ‘study hall.’ Not surprisingly, the quality of these memos varies widely. Some have the clarity of angels singing. They are brilliant and thoughtful and set up the meeting for high-quality discussion. Sometimes they come in at the other end of the spectrum.”

Narratives at Amazon are two-or six-page documents written in complete sentences. A narrative must be expressly tailored to the situation based on the topic, the timing in the initiative, and the audience. It must flow in a way that makes sense relative to the topic and audience. It is verboten to dump excessive bullet points or slides into the narrative. Data, charts, and diagrams can be included, but they must be explained in the narrative. Appendix material is also allowed. I believe that the discipline of writing out ideas is at the heart of Amazon’s innovation process and can be replicated to the same effect. As explained by Greg Satell:

At the heart of how Amazon innovates is its six-page memo, which kicks off everything the company does. Executives must write a press release, complete with hypothetical customer reactions to the product launch. That is followed by a series of FAQs, anticipating questions customers, as well as internal stakeholders, might have.

Executives at the company have stressed to me how the process forces you to think things through. You can’t gloss over problems or hide behind complexity. You actually have to work things out. All of this happens before the first meeting. It’s a level of rigor that few other organizations even attempt, much less are able to achieve.

The Process Of A Narrative

Why do programs and projects take too long, go over budget, become bloated, and fail to deliver according to expectations? Execution and project management technique can be reasons, but the biggest root cause is failing to accurately define the end state at the beginning. Teams want to launch quickly and start designing, building, and testing. Taking the time to write a narrative will dramatically improve the definition of what needs to be done, plus make it as small and concise as possible, so it can be done faster, cheaper, and with more agility. But writing narratives takes time, so they are done when they are done. It is difficult to predict how long it will take and how much effort will be required. It is completely reasonable to create a deadline. “You have one week to write a narrative” might be appropriate.

Narratives can be written by one person, but it is often a group effort because multiple people and teams contribute to the idea. Forcing people to own the narrative jointly has huge benefits in both getting the best ideas on paper and building shared understandings and relationships through authorship. Part of Amazon’s practice on narratives is not to include the author’s name or names on the narratives. This sends the signal that the narrative is a community activity.

When the narrative is done, think through the review meetings and decision-making process. Who needs to deeply understand and agree with the narrative before a decision is made? Who are the key decision makers? At Amazon, review meetings tend to be 60 minutes long. They start with 10 to 15 minutes of silence to deeply read or “grok” the proposal and vision. This is followed by a discussion debating the merits, options, appropriate next steps, and decisions.

The process of authoring, reviewing, and deciding must be carefully considered. It must be rigorous. It must take time and effort. It is done when it’s done. What do narrative writers do wrong? They don’t spend enough time on their writing. As Bezos wrote: “They mistakenly believe a high-standards, six-page memo can be written in one or two days or even a few hours, when really it might take a week or more! . . . The great memos are written and re-written, shared with colleagues who are asked to improve the work, set aside for a couple of days, and then edited again with a fresh mind. . . . The key point here is that you can improve results through the simple act of teaching scope—that a great memo probably should take a week or more.”

The Structure Of A Narrative

A narrative must be constructed of complete thoughts, complete paragraphs, complete sentences. You may include charts, numbers, and diagrams, but those items must be explained in the narrative. Other than that, there are no rules on structure, and the structure the authors choose will depend on the topic, the timing in the discussion cycle, and the audience.

The first sections of the narrative are typically customer focused. “Who are the customers? What benefits are we bringing them? What problems are we solving for them? Why would this idea delight them?” Sections after that might include what the customer experience would be, dependencies or requirements, metrics to measure success, business case, and key risks.

A Sample Narrative

By now you hopefully understand the importance of writing ideas out completely and clearly. For your projects, investments, strategies, and executive topics, ditch the PowerPoint presentations, and force teams to put their ideas and plans in writing. Meetings start with 10 to 15 minutes of silence to read the narrative. Phones and computers are left outside. Then debate the merits of the narrative. Don’t be afraid either to ask that the narrative be improved or to write a follow-up related narrative.

Make no mistake. Creating narratives takes skill, experience, commitment, and patience. You can’t rush great narratives because you can’t rush great thinking and communications. It takes practice. Writing is less an artistic exercise and more a practiced skill. It’s less of a spontaneous combustion and more of a methodical construction—like building and rebuilding the perfect birdhouse. Do you have the discipline and commitment to write in plain English your most important ideas and proposals?

Other executives and big companies are recognizing how writing as a forcing function to create clarity is key to innovation. JPMorgan Chase, whom I have had a chance to talk to about many of these ideas, is using narratives as one of the ways to try to be literary, more like Amazon. “Mr. Bezos notoriously banned slide presentations to keep Amazon in startup mode as it grew, instead asking employees to craft six-page documents complete with a press release and FAQs. Over roughly the past 18 months, JPMorgan has started a similar practice in its consumer businesses under Gordon Smith, the bank’s co-president and co-chief operating officer.” Are you able and willing to commit to hard habits like writing narratives to change culture, speed, tempo, and innovation?

Writing ideas and proposals in complete narratives results in better ideas, more clarity on the ideas, and better conversation on the ideas. You will make better decisions about what to do and how to do it. The initiatives will be smaller and less risky. Writing narratives is hard, takes a long time, and is an acquired skill for the organization. High standards and an appreciation for building this capability over time are required.

Questions To Consider

1. Do your ideas and plans suffer from incomplete thought? 2. Do your projects get bloated with size and unnecessary complexity? 3. Do your executives understand and influence the details of a proposal sufficiently to make a well-informed decision?

Contributed to Branding Strategy Insider by: John Rossman. Excerpted from his book, Think Like Amazon, 50 1/2 Ideas To Become A Digital Leader (McGraw-Hill)

At The Blake Project we are helping clients from around the world, in all stages of development, redefine and articulate what makes them competitive at critical moments of change through online strategy workshops. Please email us for more.

Branding Strategy Insider is a service of The Blake Project: A strategic brand consultancy specializing in Brand Research, Brand Strategy, Brand Growth and Brand Education

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joejstrickl · 5 years ago

Text

How Narratives Improve Ideas And Decisions

The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place. ~ George Bernard Shaw

The Killer Feature: Clarity

What Is A Narrative?

The Process Of A Narrative

The Structure Of A Narrative

A Sample Narrative

Questions To Consider

Contributed to Branding Strategy Insider by: John Rossman. Excerpted from his book, Think Like Amazon, 50 1/2 Ideas To Become A Digital Leader (McGraw-Hill)

Branding Strategy Insider is a service of The Blake Project: A strategic brand consultancy specializing in Brand Research, Brand Strategy, Brand Growth and Brand Education

FREE Publications And Resources For Marketers

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letsmassivebouquetpersonuni-blog · 8 years ago

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Young Males's Health and wellness Website Review.

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venturecompany · 8 years ago

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I hate Apple

New Post has been published on https://www.venturecompany.com/blog/2017/06/i-hate-apple/

I hate Apple

“I hate Apple” was the phrase uttered by a member of my household when a wiped Mac computer reconnected to iCloud could not seem to recall any of the playlists stored in Apple’s cloud, playlists that remained accessible by other devices with the same login. Yet of course, such a failure of trust in technology would never be anything Warren Buffet could detect, for I doubt he even uses a Mac. In the same way Warren Buffet’s investment in Dairy Queen reeks of financial engineering more lucrative and pleasing than actually digesting the chain’s food (save for the excellent soft-serve ice cream). You know exactly what I mean when you are brave, or poor enough, to have to enter a Dairy Queen establishment.

Apple without Steve Jobs is slowly sinking back into the morass of mediocrity the company deflated to before Steve’s return. Even as it continues to capitalize on Steve’s vision and execution, yet clearly lacking his attention to detail in the delivery of a cohesive technology ecosystem. Apple today is like an orchestra without a musical director, composer and conductor. A company where newly minted fashionista inmates are tasked to run the increasingly complex insane-asylum of make-believe “innovation”, and produce discombobulated sounds yielding an irritating technology cacophony.

Tim Cook is the captain of Apple’s now bigger and messier ship, with in the words of Gil Amelio, widening holes in the ships’ bottom. Holes that do not surface to financiers and “greater-fools” riding the waves of technology just yet, but nevertheless yield compounding problems forcing its engineers to pump proverbial buckets of water from its hull over the railing. Apple products today are a mess (as evidenced below), even in their mindless optimization of Steve’s central ideas, littered with problems Apple’s leader should have detected way before such products are considered for market entry. While technical glitches are common-place in technology, the gravity of the errors reveal the omission of a higher, simpler and better normalization of strategy. An omission not uncommon for a company that has evolved primarily downstream since Steve Jobs’ passing. Apple employs some of the most talented engineers (I know, I have friends working at Apple) in the industry, but their skills die on the vine if they are not guided by a strong top-level strategic intent, compass and mandate. Trust but verify, must become Tim’s modus operandi.

On the design-front Apple is losing its mark too. Jonathan Ive’s influence, as Apple’s master industrial designer, is losing luster by not having a strong counterpart acting as both his adversarial and pushing him to extreme excellence. Major unchecked design mistakes now compound like a cancer spreading downstream to subsequently erode the unique and easy-to-understand user-experience of Apple’s latest and upcoming products, previously worthy of a premium price-point. As a result, Apple is slowly but steadily becoming a dull price-competitor rather than a prized value-leader, even selling old products wherever it can to still make a buck, in the throws of Wall Street’s antediluvian expectations.

And for all this mess, shrouded by the false positivity promulgated by a naive press, we should all be in awe of Tim Cook. Like we are all supposed to be in awe of Marissa Mayer earning $900,000 per week(!) for running Yahoo! into the ground. Evidence of how the definition of a “greater-fool” so saliently applies to the geniuses who let them. I absolutely love the potential of societal impact induced by technology, but I hate how our operating-systems of humanity do not prevent the cunning technology pirates from leading innocent societies down an ominous path, just to make a buck.

Money really does not equal societal merit. A realization the world and our governments must keep in mind.

You see, one aught not hand the reigns of human operating-systems and controls over to a company that demonstrates it cannot be trusted, and uses price-fixing to starve writers, artists and musicians from their livelihood, right under the veil of the company’s purported embrace. We better not be impressed by a company using modern-day slavery to feign a business-model otherwise incapable of persuading discerning buyers. One also better not make the mistake that a rat-race to please an incontinent Wall Street is demonstrably incompatible with a sincere compass of societal justice and evolutionary integrity. A reason why Steve Jobs was justifiably so aloof – if not ignorant – to the Street. But the Street has found a new friend in Tim, who in the slip-stream of Steve’s passing continues to give the Street growth short-term, and tailored his operational excellence to the needs of the Street, while under the surface has sucked the life out of the integrity, quality and longevity of product and societal value.

To wit, below is a list of problems I personally encountered using only Apple products for everything I do, collected over the course of a little over one (1) week. An indication not of the circumference of the proverbial holes in the bottom of Apple’s ship, but an indication of how quick and easy it is to get seriously stuck in one. Productivity and societal impact not helped, but increasingly harmed by technology.

Get it together Apple, stop releasing flash-in-the-pan products until the existing ones work as expected. Future-selling does not cultivate the brand that Apple once was.

Apple TV

Black screen of death when playing video on library shuffle. Bad implementation.

Hitting enter during play should reveal pre and post play. Not pause to yield both. Bad use case.

Can’t immediately recognize selected item on screen, so no quick indication of where to move to until you move position. Bad design.

A screensaver flyover video of a grey airport? Really? Bad choices.

A search for a certain type of content is still restricted by who provides it. The false promises of Siri.

Apple TV content access is clashing with cable TV content, not integrated. A user should not need to care or know about where content resides. Bad implementation.

Unique logins per cable TV providers to yield overlapping content makes no sense, use case is insufficiently resolved. Bad implementation.

Music doesn’t start up from main menu, black screen. Restart. Functionally incomplete.

Rent movie on Apple TV, says this content can’t be played on Apple TV. But on close observance the rental period has started and we can play the movie, so it has been activated. Bad implementation.

Can’t purchase iTunes music on Apple TV? Wtf? Forced into Apple Music. Technology indoctrination.

Why can’t a folder stored in Photos be selected as screensaver folder? Ie. Have own selection of photos appear on rotation? Who is paying attention here?

Apple Music can’t have disparate login from iCloud on family atv? Dumb use case

——————

MacBook

Trackpad too close to edge, gets touched by clothing etc. Dumb design.

No edge on keyboard, hard to pick up laptop in opened mode. Dumb design.

Charging cable turns yellow. Shoddy quality.

Out of memory warnings, really? Ever heard of disk-swapping innate to Unix? With 128Gb disk space available. Bad core implementation.

Frozen OS at times in dashboard, reboot only remedy. Recurring in many versions. Bad implementation.

Keyboard letters break apart after one year of use. Backlight shiny through. Sloppy implementation

——————

iPhone 6

Selling old models of iPhone is eroding the brand of Apple, a post-Jobs era in which market penetration at all cost dilutes the top quality of (and price-point) the brand Apple used to stand for.

Back and forward in the top menu bar, not designed for it. Shoving pertinent information aside. Afterthoughts of “innovation”?

iPhone7 Red released 8 months after first model, definition of new?

Horrible looking Apple cases, including ugly one with battery. Erosion of design brand.

Battery drains quickly and reboots at less than 15% at times, fix is a fakeout with wrong battery levels reporting. Dirty fix erodes Apple’s brand

Dumb use cases for name recognition in texts, 5,000 contacts make you have to correct the auto correct every word you spell. Bad decisions on usability

Autorotate while typing, really? Define me the use case.

Rotation of image after picture taken incorrect. Define me the use case.

Dumb position of on/off button, counter pressure changes volume. Bad design

Dumb placement of audio jack, unusable in docking situations. Bad design.

SMTP setup too cumbersome. Fails periodically requiring reconfiguration. Bad implementation.

Bad use of the cloud, internet accounts is a mess. Bad implementation

ICloud status should be in status bar, not hidden in file system somewhere. Bad design.

Weird updates happen when you clear notifications on a per day basis, new notifications flying in from who knows where? Bad implementation.

Keyboard shows up on home screen without search. No way to clear it, except to go into text edit app. Bad implementation

Preview image doesn’t show up after taking photo. For the longest time. Bad attention to detail.

Connection unsuccessful, please pair this device again. Which device is being referred to? Clicking doesn’t allude, only close notification works. And now what? Bad attention to detail.

Lots of hiccups on audio playback, time slicing of OS messed up. Bad implementation of core functionality.

Silencing alarm in notifications goes to wrong place in alarms, not where alarm is established. Hollow call to action. Bad implementation.

Music still does not sync playlists across all devices correctly, some folders empty. Bad implementation.

——————

Apple Watch

Sideway sliding works sometimes, most time not. Bad implementation.

Inconsistent delivery of notifications, takes a PhD to figure out why. Yet another device to manage notifications. Bad use case.

App strategy for Watch is wrong one, purpose-driven device would’ve been better. Bad strategic choices.

Custom apps are generally mediocre, little compliance in terms of consistency and accuracy. They mostly seem to be asleep. Bad use cases.

Automatically opening MacBook with Watch very inconsistent. Bad implementation.

Watch disconnects from phone for no apparent reason, reboot didn’t fix. Unpairing. Bad implementation.

Repairing watch makes no sense. No option to repair on watch? Or recognize watch from iPhone. Bluetooth option on watch offers no resolve. You can’t repair an Apple Watch without deleting contents? Idiotic. Bad implementation.

Not activating Activity on new watch leads to disaster, as there is no apparent way to reinstate its setup. Bad implementation.

Open goal walk shows the milli-seconds jumping and updating in spurts. WTF. Cumulative time appears accurate. Bad implementation.

——————

OSX

Use case of full screen without proper app switching. Bad use case.

Gesture recognition inconsistent, too many false positives and false negatives. Bad use case.

Trackpad shouldn’t detect motion during click, for un-click inaccuracy. Bad use case

Apple Streaming to Apple TV works inconsistently after video ends, no persistent state kept. Bad implementation.

Large address book slows down imessage to a grinding pace. Basically making the computer unusable during a week-long process with 100% CPU utilization. Bad implementation.

Can’t change volume in FaceTime occurrences, not over headphones, not on MacBook. Status bar greyed out, after screen sharing. Bad implementation.

FaceTime and iMessage startup takes forever, indexing 5000 contact names? Bad implementation.

Autocorrect keeps correcting plain English with any name it can find in address book, annoying corrections needed to spell simple words. Bad use case.

Autocorrect is a disaster, not understanding very common words or context. Stale implementation.

FaceTime doesn’t startup on call receive from linked iphone. Bad implementation.

Cope and paste in Pages inconsistent, works sometimes, sometimes not. Paste yields paste before sometimes paste after in some cases. Bad implementation of core functionality.

iTunes is a gargantuan mess, full of inconsistencies, bugs, usability errors, first 30 second errors massive: Delete from library should not equate to delete from store, where is my media? Download limit on your own media, download every song manually? iTunes ratings demoted, how about 5000 ratings? Bad overly complex implementation, redo from scratch.

Sign in through App Store doesn’t confirm I am logged in. Shows same Signon screen as if I did nothing. Shoddy implementation.

Autocorrect is flimsy, if not incorrect, outdated linguistically and unadjusted to fluency of languages (hire Noam Chomsky for direction). Bad implementation.

Application switcher Command Tab works sometimes, sometimes not. Bad implementation.

Alerts about adding internet accounts, requiring password via notifications goes nowhere. Bad implementation

Other mysterious behavior of Internet Accounts, adding and deleting mess-ups. Bad implementation, strategically flawed.

Use case for new accounts and passwords badly thought out, accounts should be added in cloud then disseminated across devices. Wrong implementation decisions.

Search in finder window works incorrectly, file not found when files are there. Inconsistent implementation, dependent on how search is performed.

Renaming bluetooth mouse does not work. Bad implementation

Magic Mouse on/off button slides on too easily in a soft bag, running out of power. Bad Design

Slide mouse on its side to charge? Bad design

Why does it take half an hour to check for application updates? Bad implementation

Sidebar in Safari, Impossible to figure out how to close. bad usability controls. Incompatible with youtube playback.

AirPlay stops transferring to Apple TV while video continues playing on Macbook. Bad implementation.

LinkedIn doesn’t connect to address book to sync all 4600 contacts, CoreDAVErrorDomain error 1. Bad implementation

Signatures in Mail unlinked from accounts upon reinstall. Not saved in cloud, while signatures themselves are. Half ass implementation.

38 seconds to startup FaceTime, really? Bad implementation

Autocorrect does not understand linguistics, dumb technology.

iCloud Drive resync to old device takes forever, no automatic sync (like Dropbox) is activated. How will that affect backups from this device. Data integrity alert. Need to manually re-activate top-level folder download. Unreliable implementation.

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gentlespaceman-blog · 8 years ago

Photo

Wedding Workshop | Communication, Planning, and Ecstatically Happy Clients Trailer

welcome to our first course in the wedding workshop series communication and planning for ecstatically happy clients now the mission mission is consistently incredible images our clients your clients they are hiring us as professional photographers to deliver incredible images but to do it consistently meaning regardless of the situation regardless of the limitations the weather the lighting conditions anything your job is to deliver the same quality of images that you are showing in your portfolio time in and time out that photographer that goes out and delivers consistently incredible images we're going to call the successful photographer and from our experience of running a studio with nearly 80 creatives from having tons of friends in the industry and learning from their experiences that we have found there are four primary skills to the successful photographer on the hard skill side we have basically the technical and the artistic components of being a photographer these are the things that we teach in photography 101 lighting 101 lighting to one incredible engagement photography natural light couples Robert newborn for dr. everything as well now has a whole host of Education these subjects and these are the subjects that help us to understand our camera to understand lighting posing all the technical and artistic components to help us to see the world through our camera and to create compelling images on the soft skill side well we have communication and understanding these components help us to understand a client's envision their expectations what type of product we're trying to deliver what they're looking for in our services what we have found is based on our experience and the experience of others in the industry that you can go out and deliver a perfect set of images to a client they could be technically how amazing they could have amazing lighting and posing in every piece that makes them a fantastic competition worthy image you deliver it and yet the clients still might not be satisfied the reason behind this is because the technical side of our skill set allows us to deliver an amazing product that's very important but the song skill side enables us to deliver an amazing experience when the clients go back and they look at the photographs that you deliver they're not going to think about how you lit it I'm not going to think about how you pose them the kind of thing about any of those technical things that we dwell on as photographers when we look at images what they're gonna think of is how you made them feel during the classes how easy was how was their experience that is what they're going to focus on if those feelings were not completely positive than when they look back on those images any negative feelings are gonna be attached and associated with those photographs hence they are satisfied this course communication and planning is an 9 our workshop that is our internal training program for every one of our near 80 creatives they have to complete this court before doing anything on the client service side because this course is going to walk you through every single step from the initial meeting in that communication how to understand their vision how to set up a mood board how to plan appropriately discuss wardrobe in locations and how to actually communicate on the shoot itself and deliver an experience along with the images that are going to exceed your clients expectations we're going to provide...

See more here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v9dRwRW7Gdk

What exactly are the Rewards of Seeking the services of a Competent Wedding Photographer?

This particular article explains about the advantages of working with a high quality Asian wedding photographer for your wedding. Easily the most exquisite day of anyone's life is absolutely their wedding. It is a time when two souls meet to commence a brand new life. The charisma of wedding day is that it can give exhilaration, enjoyment, affection, joy, smile and tear all feeling in your heart at the same time. The most reliable method to record all of these memories of a wedding ceremony is to enlist the services of a competent wedding photographer. The qualified professional wedding photographers assist you in immortalizing the cherished moments in an unique and also breathtaking manner. Asian wedding event, particularly Indian wedding is certainly not a one day occasion. There are many different rituals as well as ceremonies, that complete at minimum in a few days. Thus, there is not a wonder that the compilation of charming memories will certainly complete without an epic photo album. Tapping the services of a qualified wedding photographer is a wise move to make sure that each and every occasion of your wedding is grabbed in an unique a wonderful method. The majority of the people do not employ a professional photographer in order to save on their hard earned cash. Nonetheless, enlisting the services of a professional photographer may supply you benefits in a variety of ways. Immortalizing sensational and awesome images is definitely not something that anyone can possibly do completely without abilities and appropriate tools. Professionalism is one of the best features of selecting a professional Asian wedding photographer UK. The expert photographers provide a really good understanding about the important rules of photography. Aside from that, they are armed with all the equipment and accessories required for capturing all-natural looking and stunning photographs. The experts catch each and every picture manually in order to supply extraordinary reminders of valuable moments. The wedding event photographer will give conscientious attention to every ritual in order to immortalize every single moment of your wedding day. When hiring a specialist wedding photographer, you can feel confident that you will acquire only superior top quality photographs of your special day. They manage all the factors and identify the best ways to capture the subject in the most effective possible natural aspect. Another positive aspect of working with a skilled professional wedding photographer is valid practical experience. The competent photographers possess hands-on experience in various sorts of wedding photography. This allows them to help their customers in selecting the ideal theme, colour as well as style of their wedding event. The competent photographers deliver various packages in order to fulfil the various requirements of the customers throughout their spending plan. Moreover, they tailor the deal based on your need and criteria. The wedding photographer will definitely also enable their clients to secure their special day moments in wide ranges of configurations. A large number of professional photographers will provide a wide variety of photography solutions to choose from. The couple may select from photographs printed on a variety of brilliantly coloured papers, a comprehensive wedding album or in an electronic format like Compact discs as well as DVDs. Hence, whenever you enlist the services of a professional wedding photographer you will certainly get photographs that will help you remember your special day for several years.

#hindu wedding photographs #indian wedding ceremony

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