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bundleofyarrow · 3 years

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Chapter 10 of A Bundle of Yarrow is now up over on AO3! or you can read the latest chapter below the cut. thanks to all of you who follow me on here and let me know you’re still craving some Milo time, it helped motivate me to write some more. maybe it’s not obvious but, knowing there are people out there who appreciate my writing makes me want to write! either way, this is a shorter transition chapter, building up for some drama come Turffield. as always, i love all the feedback <3

Galar Mine

“I want this one!”

“And I get this one over here!”

Leon and Milo stood crossing their arms of their chests as you and Sonia hovered around shining crystals emerging from the cave walls. The mines glittered reflecting the light of lanterns, immediately mesmerizing you.

“Everything here is the property of Marco Cosmos.” Leon says stiffly, as if practiced. “Just one of those jewels costs my entire year of pay.”

“But look at this!” You point to a green one and aim puppy eyes at Milo while Sonia bats her eyelashes at Leon. “Wouldn’t this be beautiful on a ring?”

Milo looks strangely nervous. “We got little influence in this stuff! The League is just one part of Marco Cosmos, ‘n we’re employees of it. I’d be shocked if they even gave us a discount.”

The both of you pout and follow the boys and Charizard walking further into the cave. The air was dry and cool, every little sound echoing in the rocky tunnels. It was surprisingly well-lit for a cave, but as you all started to encounter miners at work, you had your answer as to why. Clangs of steel hitting rock and the low rumble of minecarts soon overtook the glistening sparkles of the crystals. Every once in a while you stop for Leon to take selfies with fans.

“Galar is a very industrial region.” You muse out loud, poking at a piece of coal at the top of a large stack. “You all are really into machines here.”

“Energy is our main business and export.” Leon’s eyes scan the various activities of the miners, as if he’s looking for something in particular. “The Chairman is trying to find a sustainable source of energy, because mining won’t last forever. And if our energy dwindles, so does the health of all Galar.”

You sit with this for a bit. Alola is a lot more laidback, and not as populated as here. While everyone adopts new technology as it comes out, there isn’t a rush towards anything in particular. One might say many parts are in decline, but you begin to miss the small villages among lush greenery.

“Champion Leon!”

Out from a side tunnel pops out a kid, probably a bit older than Gloria and Hop, in a full magenta coat and mop of platinum hair.

“There you are, you must be Bede.” Leon rests his sunglasses on his cap and he offers to shake hands.

The boy, Bede, ignores the gesture. “I hope you’re ready for me to beat you in the Champion Cup.” The arrogance on his face is insufferable as his eyes move over your group. “And that none of you plan on getting in my way.” Running a hand through his hair, he holds out a bag to Leon. “Here’s all the Wishing Stars I’ve found so far, make sure they get to Chairman Rose.”

And with a nonchalant gesture, he departs. Charizard lets out a brief but low growl. You couldn’t help but feel like Bede just saw you as bit extras in the play of his life.

“Charming.” Sonia rolls her eyes at his departing silhouette. “Make sure to beat him good, Milo.”

The curt nod from the usually soft Milo surprises you.

“Well folks, that’s it for me.” Leon stretches like he’s going on a run. “I have to get myself back to Hammerlocke to deliver these to the energy plant there. If I take too long I’m definitely going to have Oleana chaining me to a desk.” He turns to give a quick hug to Sonia, fist bump Milo, and then wraps his arms around your shoulders. “Keep in touch, okay?”

“Promise.”

With a final squeeze, Leon takes a few steps back and waves to you all before departing. Charizard leads him back the way you came, and soon the warm glow from his tail fades from sight.

“We should be on our way too.” Sonia looks to her phone. “Not only because there’s no service here, but Milo needs to open up the gym challenge. Turffield is going to be swamped.”

Milo begins walking in a different direction. “I know the mines pretty well, I can lead you through ‘em.”

The path through the mines are pretty uneventful, mostly winding tunnel after tunnel of miners and various extracted resources. Sonia and your conversation about when she did the gym challenge fills the air as Milo seems lost in his thoughts. The Pokemon in the mines are mostly peaceful and keep to themselves, doing their own digging or resting in dark corners. Every once in a while, Milo looks up to the cavern ceilings, searching for something.

“The exit should be gettin’ close.” He announces after checking the ceiling again.

You were about to ask him why he was doing that when you hear a fluttering from behind you, causing you to jump, scaring Sonia in the process. “S-sorry! I thought something was behind me-”

That’s when you notice something’s on your arm. And not just a little thing but a Pokemon.

You’re about to let out a scream when Milo makes a hushing noise as he walks over to you.

“It’s okay, fella ain’t gonna harm ya.” It was a ball of fur with wings, and what you think is its nose is suctioned to your arm. You’ve never seen such a Pokemon before, and if Milo wasn’t there you’d think it was trying to suck your blood. “It’s a Woobat, they are actually quite friendly, if a bit odd.” Milo lightly places his hands on the Pokemon, reminding you how he so easily calms creatures down. “Hey now, you have to ask permission before you give someone a kiss.”

Eventually you feel the snout of the Woobat peel off your skin, which thankfully isn’t painful just a little weird. But it left behind the impression of a heart on your arm. “A heart? That’s kind of cute.” You look to the Pokemon, who doesn’t have visible eyes but a cheerful smile with a single fang.

“That’s actually major good luck! Woobat don’t give that to just anyone.” When Milo lets go, the Pokemon hovered in the air next to you, and chirps happily.

You chance a look at the cave ceiling, and in the dim light you can see a bunch of heart-shaped impressions. “Were you looking up to see where the Woobat gathered?”

Milo’s gaze joins yours. “Sorta, I was checkin’ the time and how close we were to the exit. They tend to hang out near the entrances of caves, and that we don’t see Woobat means dusk hasn’t completely fallen yet.” His hand lightly touches your shoulder. “So we’re makin’ good time!”

Before the moment can sink in, he gives you a small smile and squeeze on the shoulder before moving back to the front of the group to continue leading. Not only do you and Sonia follow, but so does the Woobat. He hovers around you, sometimes visiting Sonia and Milo, but something about you has caught his interest. So you take out a few berries, and begin tossing them into the air, giggling as the Woobat swoops in skillfully to catch each in his mouth.

“Careful, you’re going to spoil him.” Sonia nudges you playfully. “But I’m glad to see you in good spirits. It’s been a wild few days for you, hasn’t it?”

You try not to think too much about it, but you nod. “I’m still trying to understand it all, but all I can do is move forward, right? To think I’m going to be battling Milo tomorrow is… strange.”

The peach-haired man in question turns to face you. “Just do it to have fun, that’s my perspective. If you’re having a good time, then win or lose, you’ve accomplished what you set out for!”

Woobat chirps in agreeance, and though you still find him a little strange, his presence is a positive one.

So you choose to believe them, that no matter what happens, it will be for the best. You’ve spent so much time in Galar worrying about your future. And as light from the outside begins to peek into view, you’re determined to better cherish the moment, for what was coming around the corner, you never would have guessed.

#a bundle of yarrow #milo x reader #pokemon milo #fanfiction

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sukiesoriginal · 3 years

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More plum blossom, exquisite at dusk. It was a very golden hour, lighting up the "back bush" last night. After dark, we lit one of the bonfire heaps to welcome in the spring and to gaze at the stars. Did you know that rocket has sweetly scented flowers? I didn't before yesterday! It's related to stocks, I think, which makes sense (and scents). Cyclamen are still blooming under the Photinia - such a fabulous colour! #plumtree #plumblosson #flowers #flowersoftheday #gardening #backyard #goldenhour #sundown #eveninglight #eucalypts #spring #bonfire #cleanup #cyclamen #magenta (at Moyston, Victoria, Australia) https://www.instagram.com/p/CTTxbOWL_pB/?utm_medium=tumblr

#plumtree #plumblosson #flowers #flowersoftheday #gardening #backyard #goldenhour #sundown #eveninglight #eucalypts #spring #bonfire #cleanup #cyclamen #magenta

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bibliocratic · 4 years

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Prompts? Don't know if it would be up your alley but jonmartin in a D&D or fantasy setting? Alternatively, jonmartin but patron switched? I always enjoy the many different ways writers do this.

Patron switched jonmartin

(Lonely!Jon and Beholding!Martin, no series 4 spoilers)

Martin is a hoarder. A habit ingrown with the knot of years; life never gave him much so he dug his clutching, wanting fingers into the grooves of any handout, willing it stay. It didn't warp him cruel or unkind; if anything, it wore down his nerves over-sensitive, too willing to understand, to empathise, to forgive. It does bend the boughs of him inward, makes him dragon-hearted and jealous for human connection, for ways he can make himself useful and wanted. Even before the Eye found him, he would ferret away knowledge, secrete it in the crags of himself; Marnie's birthday is Saturday the twenty-fifth, she likes magenta and video games and that one song by the Killers; Jim's just started physio on his shoulder, says he wants to get back into playing rugby; Mark isn't sleeping well, the baby's keeping him up, maybe I should get him more of that coffee next time I'm at the shops.

It's such an easy shortcut to make you feel needed by others, to shroud yourself in the palls of their lives until you can barely see the ill-kempt weave of your own.

Martin asks questions that never work out like questions; they are indirect, little prompts following on from what flows out naturally, a side-effect of actively listening, taking the deeper, closer wooded paths of seemingly sun-lit conversations. Martin likes to think he's just very good with people, that he just 'gets them' in a way they didn't believe they could be known, and this is partly true. They open up to him like grateful sunflowers, and it brings him such a sense of being of value that it takes him a long time to realise there's a little more to it.

Elias looks at him expectantly, with a patient gaze, when he makes him Head Archivist, and Martin doesn't like the acquisitive magpie gleam of it.

Martin is good at noticing things. He is neither sceptic, nor has the manner in him to be overly proud (though he can be, deceptively so, though it shames him to acknowledge, proud of what he has hoarded so greedily, what he has parsed from others, their idiosyncrasies, dark hollows, covert terrors, little stolen knowledges. No, upon Martin has been bestowed the awful capacity for empathy, able to translate the whys and whats of a person with such a smiling open-faced ease.

It makes him more dangerous that Gertrude, in many ways.

–

It is a surprise to no one that upon taking over the Institute, Peter Lukas turns his hand at trying to steer Jonathan Sims to the Lonely.

Ill-suited to personability and gregariousness, Sims is sharp-worded, quick-tempered, irascible and standoffish (and how proud, how abundantly and how obviously, so so isolatingly proud). Hedgehog-backed, taking what life has taught him and turning it outwards as armour, unwilling to easily make friends, it was often a source of amusement that Jon, like a grumpy and unbiddable office wraith, was counted as a member of their small team.

(And he so fiercely counted them as kin in return; the teasing, awkwardly-returned jokes batted back to Tim when they were lobbed over, Tim who knew when his growls and grumbles were toothless, when his spines were up for defense rather than spite, Tim who defended him against those less patient, Tim who grew angry and spitting, who left Jon's corner and lost himself to the Circus. Sasha, who was lost entirely – she invited Jon to pub quizzes and nights out and film afternoons and sometimes he would even come, shoulders hunched with self-consciousness, something budding like a smile on his stony face; Sasha, whose birthday Jon carefully wrote down on his calendar at home, buying her a card and a tastefully chosen gift every year without fail, until suddenly her birthday wasn't what he'd remembered, and then she wasn't who he'd remembered.

Martin, who he shared lunches with, words as gentle as he was able to make them, whiled away dusk-scratched evenings with low light and slow trickling words and a sense of being seen, of someone wanting to see him, for the first time in a long time. With whom he butted heads and argued and challenged with all the tenacity that those outside might not be able to see as a hard-won, professional respect. A private, burgeoning something else that was obvious to those looking.)

It is only a surprise that, standing empty-handed, empty-hearted and sentinel over Martin's bedside, the last of their fractured band disbanded, Jon doesn't succumb to Forsaken faster.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #honestly #writing this could have been a hundred page essay on how Martin would have made a better Archivist than Jon #or at least he would have cottoned on to some of the crazier institute shenanigans faster #'hey tim food goes missing here quite a lot do you think we should install cctv or something?'#jurgen leitner proceeds to get evicted with all the force of an angry goth #'hey tim there's a bunch of crazy stuff in the statements that seems to work together like some sort of overarching mythos'#'think we should investigate?'#'tim 'born ready for this' stoker: i'll get the pinboard and string boss'

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saccharine-arts · 4 years

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@daxarve‘s AMAZING divination wizard Watchful for their birthday!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROWAN!! I love her association with twilight, just before the sun dissapears and the clouds are lit pink, purple, and magenta, and you get the first sprinkling of stars. She’s so mysterious. Watchful’s girlfriend Adeline is associated with dusk too, but the warm golds and oranges of early sunset. I wanted to draw her on their skyship looking down at the world.

#Teifling #dnd character #divination wizard #digital art #dnd 5e #Friend's OC: Watchful

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kariachi · 3 years

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Who finally- finally- wants some fakemon starters?! Which one will you choose?

~~~

Cerb: The Fawn Pokemon, grass type, first stage, a small brown fawn with a simple vine necklace, large red eyes, and leaves for spotting, “Most active at dawn and dusk, Cerb use their large eyes to see in the dim light. This pokemon often rests by ponds in household gardens.” “Beloved for their cute appearance, this pokemon is often ‘rescued’ from the wild by well-meaning people. This often ends poorly, as Cerb feed only off the sap of trees.”, starter, evolves at lvl 18

Lumeer: The Horned Pokemon, grass type, second stage, a small brown deer with fangs and branchlike-yearling antlers, vine necklace has become braided and gained a flower bud pendant, leaf-spots have disappeared, “Where Lumeer gather, plants often begin to wither. As this pokemon dislikes running water, people put up fountains to keep them from their gardens.” “An affectionate and social pokemon, they can often be found wandering towns and villages. Those who are cruel to Lumeer often fall ill soon after.”, evolves at lvl 36

Hydralces: The Horned Pokemon, grass/water, final stage, a large golden-brown moose-like pokemon with fangs and palmated driftwood antlers, flower bud has bloomed, back is covered with a cape of aquatic vegetation, “Disguising themselves as driftwood and pondweeds, this pokemon feeds off the life force of creatures that wander too close. Despite this, trainers of Hydralces describe them as friendly and charming.” “Very protective of their territories and young, Hydralces are considered by many to be guardian spirits of the forest ponds and lakes in which they live. They’ll chase intruders up to five miles, but refuse to cross running water.”

Poolec: The Tadpole Pokemon, water type, first stage, a tadpole pokemon, blue in color, with a large, vertically flat tail that tapers off from it’s main body, small mouth, big green eyes, large hind legs and small forelegs, “When threatened, Poolec let out a loud shriek to startle their attacker. Still, this pokemon is very popular for children due to their gentle dispositions.” “Far stronger than they look, this pokemon can often be found pulling drowning or injured people and pokemon out of the water. Their swarms can number into the hundreds of individuals.”, starter, evolves at lvl 18

Froghorn: The Bellowing Pokemon, water type, second stage, a large frog pokemon, bowlegged, horns forming from the eyebrows, main color is a deep violet-blue, throat is magenta, maintains large green eyes, “Residents of large lakes, rivers, and coastlines, Froghorn communicate the boundaries of their territory with loud calls. A popular online video shows one getting into a yelling match with a concert.” “Fond of working with humans, this pokemon will actively seek out groups of people. Froghorn are popular among sailors and fishermen, who use the pokemon’s loud calls to keep track of each other on dark nights.”, evolves at lvl 32

Zaboat: The Hauling Pokemon, water/fire, final stage, a big-ass frog, main color purple, like 40% throat-sac which glows red, red stripe starts at bottom lip and wraps around the length of the body, eyes are larger and greener and glow, horns have become smokestacks, has visible eardrums colored like life preservers, “Though cumbersome on land, there are few pokemon as fast or as powerful in the water. Zaboat have even been seen hauling massive tankers safely to shore.” “Years of loud calling have lit a flame in the throat of Zaboat, and now it communicates by loosing pillars of fire from it’s horns. Their calls are as loud as the engine of a jet.”

Ignist: The Bivalve Pokemon, fire type, first stage, a mussel-shaped pokemon, one shell orange and the other grey, with a black orb for a main inner body, possesses a singular blue eye, “By knocking it’s shells together in just the right way, Ignist can start fires. It’s a very curious pokemon.” “Normally seen in caves, Ignist have recently begun investigating areas farther out in the open. They strike their shells together to spark fires.”, starter, evolves at lvl 16

Musling: The Sprout Pokemon, fire type, second stage, a mussel-shaped pokemon, one shell orange and the other grey, with a black orb for a main inner body, possesses a singular blue eye, inner body has sprouted many long green hairs that grow straight up, “Musling have been known to follow passersby for up to a mile, disguising themselves as a patch of grass if noticed. There have been no reports of attacks, as locals’ signs remind trainers.” “Their curious nature brings Musling in regular contact with people. Their grassy beards are popular for weaving.”, evolves at lvl 36

Solafaya: The Gathering Pokemon, fire/grass, final stage, six Musling arranged in an even circle, each facing outward with their ‘beards’ all at the center, said beards have grown and since caught fire, “When several Musling become entangled, a Solafaya comes into being. They light their waxy fruit on fire and fling it at threats to their young.” “A cluster of Musling came together and became one. The smoke of Solafaya’s fire has a sweet scent and the pokemon themselves are social, making them very popular among campers.”

#achi's fakedex #and lo we have starters

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kathyprior4200 · 3 years

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Krampus (Hazbin Hotel)

T’was the night before Christmas when all throughout Hell

Many creatures were stirring and celebrating as well

Wearing wooden masks and lighting bonfires all around

Demons laughed and ate slabs of meat abound

Soon after dusk, the city grew still

Denizens wandered home, leaving many a great spill

Many demon children felt twinges of fear

For they knew, on this night, Sir Krampus would be near

On the other side of town lay the Hazbin Hotel

A not too shabby place and a unique dwelling in Hell

Stockings were hung by the fireplace with care

A tree lit up the room, ornaments here and there

Razzle and Dazzle slept soundly in the lobby

Dreaming of eating donuts, their enjoyable hobby

Upstairs in the rooms, clients sleep in their beds

While visions of musicals played in their heads

And I stood on the balcony, watching the red sky

Wind blew through my hair as clouds rolled by

From the Pentagram moon came a flash and a blur

Could it be an Exterminator? I wasn’t sure

The figure flew closer, my eyes going wide

But as the princess of Hell, I don’t easily hide

I stood my ground and saw a stellar sight

That would give mortals quite a fright

In a gush of flames, riding a sleigh of black

I saw a horned figure and was taken aback

A hunched goat-like man held the reins tight

His eyes burning red in the dim winter light

I grinned widely and let out a brief cheer

There was no doubt that Krampus was here

With bellowing roars, black rams all came

And Krampus waved his whip and called them by name:

“Now, Lasher! Now, Crusher! Now, Ripper and Maul! On, Brimstone! On, Balam! On, Paimon and Paul!

Land down on the building, do not stumble and fall! Dash away, dash away, dash away, all!”

The thumps of hooves and the loud commotion

Was enough to stir the sleeping demons into motion

Waking up, they all wandered from their rooms

Chatting excitedly like a bunch of loons

Vaggie, Alastor, Baxter and Husk

Niffty, Mimzy, Crymini and Angel Dust

They arrived in the lobby, then stepped out the door

And grumpy Husk growled, “Fuck! What for?!”

“Krampus is here, guys!” I said with a squee

“He’s got gifts for you and for me.”

Krampus got out of his sleigh with no slip

He placed the whip back to his hip

Krampus was shaggy and covered with black hair

Long curved horns with bloodstains here and there

In a sack were captured demon kids, sacred

With chains and birches, he always came prepared

Krampus wore a robe with Satanic symbols engraved

The designs depicting naughty imps enslaved

His sharp fangs glinted among his black maw

Hs fingers bent with many a sharp claw

A bow tie and dark powers were his extra features

To spread annual joy and suffering to creatures

A shaggy dark beard hung down from his face

He looked around and grinned, “Neat place.”

Inside we all went, Krampus leading the way

“What a strange fellow,” I heard Vaggie say.

Then Alastor: “Why that’s an alternate St. Nick!”

Then Angel snickered, “Sure I can’t suck your dick?”

As Niffty darted and dusted the halls

Krampus put treats in our stockings by the walls

Spicy candy, slabs of meat at that

And a bottle of cheap booze for Husk the cat

Porn mags for Crymini and mangas for Niffty

For an imposing figure, Krampus worked swiftly

A magenta dress for Mimzy and vials for Baxter

And for Angel, handcuffs with pink fur

A new set of daggers for Vaggie to use

A radio and top hat left Alastor amused

Razzle and Dazzle enjoyed themselves too

Consuming devil’s food cake and goat’s blood too

Krampus guzzled down the schnapps with joy

Then he began to punish the captured girl and boy

He whipped at their skin and nibbled at their toes

And roared at them until in fright, they froze

“That’s a little bit harsh,” I say, feeling amiss

He answered back, “This is my job, miss!”

As everyone enjoyed their gifts with glee

I soon asked him, “What about me?”

Krampus just grinned and headed for the door

But soon dropped a scroll by my feet on the floor

I picked and up and asked, “What’s this for?”

But he soon vanished, I was confused once more

I unraveled the scroll and to my surprise

A list of my clients was in front of my eyes

Their sins and their goals all written down

But there was more to it, I soon found

I looked on the back and a message read

“Don’t give up hope, potential’s in your head.”

And hidden in the folds I did see

Into my hands landed the black Sinner’s Key

I clutched the object and had to smile

I felt like I could go another mile

With my hotel, I had a long way to go

But if I didn’t try, I’d surely never know

All of waved as Krampus hopped into his sleigh

“Ha ha ha!” he cackled and was soon soaring away

He then bellowed back as he sped through the night:

“Scary Krampus for all and to all a good fright!”

Gruss von Krampus!

#krampus #hazbinhotel #krampushazbinhotel

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nitewrighter · 5 years

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OP of the daphne post! for the 50th scooby doo year, i beseech you to write a thing, please

Well it is October, and I do like being beseeched, and I have been reading “Your Favorite Band Cannot Save You” and watching Dario Argento movies…

Obviously this means it’s Hex Girl time.

—-

The five of them were bunched up in the back of the Mystery machine. Daphne was touching up her makeup (and Shaggy’s) in Fred’s rearview mirror. She had given herself a combination of runny mascara and fake blood running down from her eyes, while Shaggy had a “slashed open” cheekbone and exposed teeth prosthetic on his cheek.

“Like… it’s totally cool if you want to bail,” said Shaggy.

“No judgment,” said Daphne.

“I’ll even drive you home,” said Fred, wearing a Led Zeppelin shirt (Why was it always Dad bands with him?).

Scooby slumped his weight against Velma in solidarity.

“Guys, I’m not made of glass–and the more you keep saying that, the more psyched out I get,” said Velma.

“I know, but it’s baby’s first rock concert!” said Daphne.

“What did we establish, D?” said Velma.

“…That we would stop calling it ‘baby’s first rock concert,’” said Daphne.

“But the way you and Shaggy talk about it, it sounds like a religious experience,” said Velma.

“It is,” Daphne and Shaggy said at the same time with a near sigh in their voices.

“Like, it’s a religious experience for the church of Kensington Gore,” said Shaggy.

“Cheesy horror movie stuff?” said Velma.

“Cheesy horror movie stuff,” said Shaggy.

“So I want to see it,” said Velma, sitting up with some determination, “If I can handle that skunk ape case last week, I can handle crowds.”

“Ugh,” Daphne shuddered, “Don’t remind me of the skunk ape case. I can still almost smell it sometimes.”

“Like, glad to hear it though,” said Shaggy, holding out an open palm to her. Velma glanced down to see two foam earplugs in his hand, “Trust me. You’re gonna need them.”

Velma kept the earplugs balled up in her fist as they all clambered out of the back of the Mystery Machine and locked it behind them. It was a brisk first-cold-snap-of-Fall evening in Colesville’s derelict metropolitan district. There was a robust shopping center with a decent-enough couple of apartment buildings, and some “We’re totally not gentrifying your town” boutiques and gastropubs, but for blocks out from there was a smattering of half-aborted real estate developments and boarded up buildings. The gang headed toward the theater and Velma stuck to the interior of the group as punks and goths, leathermen, horror geeks, and even a handful of steampunkers trickled across the streets toward the theater.

“Abandoned theater…” said Velma, “No huge fire or collapse risk there.”

“The Hex Girls are upcyclers,” said Daphne with a shrug.

“And Thorn is a hardcore stickler about how her gigs turn out–makes sure the building is totally safe for all of her lighting, makes sure the exits are clearly marked with a well-organized evac plan, has top-of-the-line bouncers, and all the available refreshments are exclusively vegan.”

“The little fried tofu brains are really good,” said Shaggy, “Did you know the human brain has the same consistency as tofu?”

“Silken or firm?” said Velma.

“…I don’t know,” said Shaggy.

“But don’t worry, the Hex Girls know what they’re about,” said Daphne as they showed their tickets at the door. The doors opened and the gang stuck close to each other as they entered a buzzing, throbbing crowd of fans that collectively referred to themselves as “The Hexed.”

The bar area was fenced off from concert-goers below 21, and was so densely packed Velma hardly understood the appeal anyway, and the gang took their place in the crowd a ways from the stage. The theater itself was ornate–pretty well cleaned-up for the concert with a garish peacock green and magenta geometric color scheme decorating the walls that was probably considered very glamorous back in 1978. It was dimly lit and all the seats had been taken out to accommodate the more rough-and-tumble concert venue. The velvet curtain was down, moth-eaten as it was and Velma watched as Shaggy fit some mutt muffs on Scooby before resuming his hold on Scooby’s harness. Scooby sat on his haunches, his tail thumping on the floor. if they weren’t covered by the muffs, Velma would have guessed his ears were pricked.

“He’s been to these too?” said Velma.

“Oh he loves them,” said Shaggy, scratching Scooby under the chin.

“The dog’s been to more concerts than me,” muttered Velma, not really audible over the murmurs of the crowd. The lights at the front of the stage dimmed and sent the theater into complete blackness and a sudden silence swept over everyone almost unsettlingly. There were a few nervous giggles and a handful of scattered “Whoo’s” from around the theater but mostly an almost electric silence. Then the speakers hummed and Velma put in her ear plugs in anticipation. The curtain lifted to a black stage, then the backlights lit up red reveal a group of about twelve girls, only a little older than they were, dressed in red shift dresses standing on bleachers behind a mass of black-cloaked mannequins still in shadow. The girls’ heads were bowed. There was a brief ripple of applause but the silence from the stage prompted more silence from the crowd. For a moment Velma thought the twelve girls on the bleachers were blindfolded, but they slowly raised their heads and opened their eyes. A thick horizontal stripe of black was painted across all of their eyes.

“Are those the Hex girls?” Velma whispered.

Daphne said, “Ssh!” on instinct then caught herself, looked at Velma and whispered “no” before jerking her head back toward the stage, terrified of missing anything. Then the twelve girls started singing, completely unaccompanied by any instruments or beat. It was high and choral and perfectly harmonized, fit for a cathedral.

“Mater Suspiriorum, Tenebrarum, Lacrimarum

Dominae, Dominae Dominarum–”

The choir was apparently micd up so that Sopranos, mezzo sopranos, and altos were coming form different speakers. The result was the music folding around them like water sloshing around the room.

“Oh classic,” said Shaggy

“Am I missing something?” said Velma, “Are the Hex girls… catholic?”

Shaggy snorted. “Nah. Nah, they’re not.”

“Ignis,” the chorus kept singing, “Vestis, Amissio Amictia—”

“For the record, I know Latin and none of this makes any sens–” Velma started.

“Vacuus VACUUUS!” The choir’s volume suddenly peaked and there came a thunderous drum beat that hit Velma like a kick in the ribs.

“DUSK!” One audience member hollered, “DUUUUUUSK! The crowd swelled with cheers as a white spotlight stabbed through the dense red light shining on the chorus to reveal a cloaked drummer hidden amidst the mass of mannequins on the stage. The drummer kicked off a heavy beat that throbbed through the whole crowd.

“Hex girl?” said Velma but Daphne was already bouncing up and down, pounding her shoes into the cement floor with the beat as she headbanged with the beat. Velma took that as yes.

The chorus kept up their latin nonsense as the drumming picked up even more and suddenly a ripple of stained-glass-shattering organ cut through and the crowd went wild as a second white spotlight shined down on a keyboardist in a cloak among the mannequins. A wail went up from the crowd and suddenly the bodies around Velma started shifting and dancing as Dusk intensified her drumbeat to match the manic organ music of the keyboardist.

“I LOVE YOU, LUNA!” one girl shrieked from the wings and the keyboardist made a quick finger gun out to the crowd, without missing a single key as she played, prompting even more screams. The keyboardist and drummer hammered away, their sounds crashing against each other as the choir kept up its vocalizing, then with another thunderous drumbeat the sound suddenly cut, and the crowd stilled, a few cheers and yells rising up in anticipation as a deep, rippling woman’s voice came over the speakers.

“You think this is magic?” Her voice seemed to engulf the room like smoke and Velma looked to Shaggy who mouthed along with the voice’s words of, “I am not a magician.”

The choir let out a single long note of vocalization, an “Ahhhhh” of ecstasy that climbed in volume as all the mannequins on the stage were lifted off by thin, near-invisible cables like puppets or corpses on gallows, now hoisted out of sight and revealing one cloaked woman at the center of the stage, holding an electric guitar. The choir fell silent then, leaving Velma feeling as if she was leaning over a cliff, suspended back from falling like the mannequins now swaying out of sight and not knowing what would make her fall over the edge.

“Thorn! Thorn! Thorn! Thorn! Thorn!” the word pulsed up from the crowd like a terrified heartbeat.

“We have three names, but you know us by one,” said woman with the guitar.

“Hex! Girls! Hex! Girls! Hex! Girls!” the chant was half manic, half call-and-response rippling around the theater. Velma looked to Fred, who she assumed was just as clueless as her in this manner and he just gave her a smile.

A white spotlight shined down on her. The woman cast back the hood of her cloak and flipped her hair out, long and black, and grinned. Velma wasn’t sure if it was the spotlight that bleached her or if she was wearing makeup or if she just woke up looking like a beautiful moon-white victorian woman that was probably dying of consumption, but she didn’t care.

“THOOOOOORN!” a wail came up from another section of the crowd.

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” she murmured dreamily into the microphone.

The crowd went absolutely apeshit as the choir exited the stage and Thorn just grinned.

“Let’s give another hand to the Colesville Choir, they’re going to hell for this,” said Thorn with a smile. A ripple of laughs and applause rose up from the audience.

“Oh, I like this group, don’t you like this group, Luna?” said Thorn, looking to the keyboardist.

“I like this group,” said Luna, still playing.

“Dusk?” said Thorn.

The drummer looked up to give a sly grin. “On the fence,” said Dusk, still hammering away at her drumset. Another ripple of chuckles went though the audience again.

“I think we should give them something nice, what do you think, Hex Girls?” said Thorn, casting off her cloak to reveal a dress that was halfway between Elvira and Stevie Nicks, slinging her guitar over herself.

“I guess,” said Dusk, pausing to take off her own cloak for a more punkish outfit. Luna shrugged off her own cloak to reveal a gauzy number and prompt another shriek of “LUNA, I LOVE YOU!” from that same girl up in the wings. Dusk clacked her drumsticks together three times before changing the beat.

The crowd cheered and Thorn struck down on her guitar as the next song kicked off and Velma felt the world get blasted away from around her. Thorn started singing and Velma’s legs turned to jelly beneath her. It was a deep, buoyant voice that creaked and pitched in all the right places. There were a few brief flailing seconds where Velma tried to rationalize the effect of the music–faster music was known to increase heart rates and breathing, so the buzz in her head was normal. Totally normal.

The crowd shifted then, faster than Velma could really anticipate, and suddenly an area had cleared out slightly to accommodate bodies now flying at each other as the beat picked up, catching and flinging each other against the walls of the crowd, and clotheslining each other. Velma looked desperately around for Shaggy, Fred, even Scooby, but couldn’t make them out from the crowd that now walled her in to the mosh pit. Thorn was singing, and even with the plugs in her ears dampening the sound Velma could feel her voice snaking around her insides–she could feel Dusk’s drumbeat rattling her bones–or maybe that was the skinny punk who just slammed into her before continuing on his reeling way.

“GUYS?!” Velma shouted. Another body slammed into her and her glasses got knocked off.

“My glasses!” Velma shouted on reflex and nearly moved to bend and feel around for them before she was slammed again, stumbling.

Thorn was now rendered from a beautiful vampy songstress to a sexy black and white blur, not that Velma could appreciate it now caught between thrashing bodies.

“Velm!” before Velma was really sure what was going on, Daphne’s arm was hooked in hers (She was about 60% sure it was Daphne–again, it was dark and now blurry—it smelled like Daphne, at least.) Velma was yanked down briefly, than yanked back upright, then pulled into what she could only assume was a dizzing spin around the mosh pit, still hooked in Daphne’s arm, before being flung into the wall of the crowd and caught by several strong arms. She thrashed instinctively before she heard Shaggy say, “Velm! Velm! It’s us!” She looked up, saw Shaggy’s face half bloodied and shrieked before Daphne put her hands on her shoulders.

“It’s okay! It’s okay!” said Daphne.

“My glasses!” said Velma, “I need my–”

Daphne put Velma’s glasses back on her face. Velma blinked a few times.

“I saved them, don’t worry,” said Daphne.

Velma furrowed her brow at the large crack running through one of the lenses.

“Mostly saved them,” said Daphne.

“You okay?” said Fred.

“Yeah–yeah just a little—Shaggy! Your face!” she looked over at Shaggy.

“Prosthetic,” said Shaggy, peeling the bloody bit off his face, “Remember?”

“Shaggy!” said Daphne.

“I’ll put it back on in the bathroom,” said Shaggy, shrugging, “We really did try to grab you before the pit broke out. We were calling for you but…”

“Earplugs,” said Velma.

“You survived baby’s first mosh pit!” said Daphne, clapping and hugging Velma.

“Daph!” said Velma, half muffled into Daphne’s Hex Girls tee.

“Sorry! First mosh pit!!” said Daphne, holding Velma at arm’s length again. She looked worried for a second, “It’s–It’s totally fine if you don’t want to stay for the whole concert now. You don’t have to force yourself to–”

“No!” said Velma a bit too suddenly, looking back at Thorn, now dropped to her knees for a guitar solo, arching her back and craning her neck upward as the mosh pit continued thrashing. Velma cleared her throat, “I mean–The music’s really good.”

“Right?!” said Daphne, excited.

Velma looked at the mosh pit, “And I’ve tasted blood,” she said, adjusting her cracked glasses, “I’m staying.”

That slightly manic smile split across Daphne’s face and it prompted a nervous giggle out of Velma that wove itself neatly into the buzz of adrenaline now running through her body.

“Oh Dinkley,” said Daphne, ruffling Velma’s hair, “We’re in for a night.”

Scooby howled with the next wail of guitar.

#fightin’ daphne au #scooby doo #hex girls

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nadziejastar · 5 years

Text

How the Sun Loved the Moon

“Tell me the story of how the Sun loved the Moon so much, he died every night to let her breathe.”

Once, during a time when the earth was simple, the Sun shone brighter than anything. The people were grateful, and celebrated every time he lit up the sky. He brought them joy and hope, and was the source of all their warmth.

But he was lonely, all by himself in the vast skies. He would look down at the people dancing in his radiance and wonder if he was simply destined to a life of solitude. That was the price he paid for being the brightest, he reasoned.

Then, there was the Moon. As the Sun grew weary and began to disappear, she would rise into the sky, flanked by millions of stars. Her radiance was a sad kind of beauty- one that went unnoticed as people slept. The stars watched her with ambition, hoping to one day get close enough that she wouldn’t feel so empty, but they couldn’t. The Moon was untouchable, surrounding herself in a blanket of darkness through the cold nights.

One day, when the Sun was sliding out of the Heavens, he caught a glimpse of her. She was peeking up, a rare side of her being exposed to the light. And while the Sun could shine, he noticed the Moon could glow, and a faithful whisper trumped an arrogant shout any day.

So just as the stars were wandering into the night, the Sun fell in love like a snowball hurdling down a mountain. He desperately wished to see her more than the fleeting moments he shared with her at dusk and dawn, but the Moon was unapproachable. Unobtainable. Untouchable.

“Go,” she whispered to him one of those nights, her voice as sweet and sorrowful as the last light of morning. “Go, and let me breathe in the shadow. For you and I have decided fates. You illuminate the day, and I cast my glow on the night…” There was a regretful pause, and it seemed the Moon would shatter as she spoke. “We can never be… Our connection would go against what people believe, and all they know. So go.”

During the summer, the Sun would stay up a bit longer in hopes she would change her mind, but it was no use. “Don’t you dare abandon your blessing of light for my darkness” were the last words the Moon ever spoke.

The Sun could feel her peaceful soul and it soon became clear. He would die each and every night to let his true love breathe, for it would put an end to all her misery. To this day, they are lovers who rarely meet, always chase, and almost always miss one another. But once in a while, they are allowed to cross, and they kiss, and the world stares in awe of their eclipse.

Saix has two weapons that bear familiar symbols. The black one is Orbit, and the magenta one is Lunar Phase. They both refer to Solar phenomena. The Moon’s light and darkness work in relation to the Sun’s light, and the orbit of the Moon and Earth around the Sun.

Nanna was the Mesopotamian Moon god. He had two children: Shamash and his twin sister Ishtar. Nanna formed a triad of gods with his children, symbolizing the three great forces of nature: The Sun (truth and justice), the Moon (wisdom), and the Morning Star (love and fertility). The Moon god is represented by his symbol, the Crescent Moon.

Shamash was the god of the Sun. He was the twin brother of the goddess Ishtar, and was associated with justice, morality, truth, and healing. Just as the Sun disperses darkness, so Shamash brings injustices to light. He was the enforcer of divine justice and would aid those in distress. The people appealed to him as the god who could be depended upon to help those who are suffering unfairly. In this capacity he became known as the god of equity and was the judge of both gods and men.

At night, Shamash became judge of the underworld, and he was also regarded as a god who released sufferers from the grasp of demons. As the god of the Sun, he was the heroic conqueror of darkness and death. He bestowed light and life.

Ishtar was the goddess of life, sexual love, and fertility. Because she was associated with the planet Venus, her star is also known as the Star of Venus. She was the twin sister of the Sun god Shamash. Alongside her twin brother, she was the enforcer of divine justice. In both texts and art, Ishtar and Shamash are shown as extremely close. In fact, their relationship borders on incestuous and it is believed they were much more than just siblings.

The stories of her descent to the Underworld and the resurrection that followed are contained in the oldest writings that have ever been discovered.

To the ‘Land of No Return’

Ishtar daughter of Nanna was determined to go; The daughter of Nanna was determined to go To the dark house, dwelling of Erkalla’s god, To the house which those who enter cannot leave, On the road where travelling is one-way only, To the house where those who enter are deprived of light, Where dust is their food, clay their bread. They see no light, they dwell in darkness.

Fertility disappeared, until Ishtar was revived with the water of life. Upon her return, the earth returned to life. Annual celebrations of this “Day of Joy” were held each year around the time of the vernal equinox. These celebrations became the forerunners of the Ostara festivals that welcomed the goddess and the arrival of spring, as well as the Christian celebration of Easter.

Ishtar is also one of the candidates cited as the subject of the Burney Relief, better known as The Queen of the Night. It is a terracotta relief dating from the reign of Hammurabi of Babylon. This gives even more meaning to Saix’s two weapons, King of the Night and Queen of the Night.

#kh #kh meta #kh isa #kh lea #kh axel #kh saix #kingdom hearts #isalea #leaisa #akusai

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itspileofgoodthings · 5 years

Note

⭐️ 🌟 💫 ❤️❤️❤️❤️ (you are the soft glowing magenta of the sky at dusk ((I haven’t complimented you in forever SO)))

HI HALLIE (omg thank youuuuuu)

but the monsters turned out to be just treeswhen the sun came up you were looking at me

(Out of the Woods)

so ALL of Out of the Woods but these lines specifically!!! The monsters turned out to be just trees!! The bad things are actually good things- it was just a trick of the light. It’s about holding on through the night to reach the morning and about still loving people through that time of terror and fear. IT’s youuuuuu- what you do and who you are.

Bonus:

I still remember the look on your faceLit through the darkness at 1:58The words that you whisperedFor just us to knowYou told me you loved meSo why did you goAway

(Last Kiss)

#curiouschild #send me a star and I'll tell you what taylor lyrics fit your aesthetic

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allyjansky-blog · 7 years

Photo

I kicked off my ten-day vacation by spending five beautiful, cozy, rainy October days in Paris. With almost a week of Parisian streets and sights ahead of me, I decided to stay in an AirBnb rather than a youth hostel, and consequently was situated right along the Champs d'Elysses in a teensy studio apartment.

We hit the ground running on day one with a tour of the Catacombs beneath the streets of Paris. Equal parts creepy and fascinating, we slipped among towers of skulls and femur bones a hundred feet beneath the streets, reading about the epidemics that led to the millions of Parisian skeletons in need of new resting places. We emerged, sober-faced, and immediately stopped at the nearest crêperie for sustenance.

That evening I took advantage of the three hour window every week where the Louvre offers free admission to under-26’s. After the obligatory picture outside I.M. Pei’s glass pyramid, I switched on my audio guide and wandered the Denon wing of the Louvre. I’m no art historian, nor am I particularly well-versed in artistic nuances, but that didn’t stop me from crying real tears upon witnessing the classics I’ve read about so many times. Yes, the Mona Lisa is small, but she’s also so rich in history, and although the Winged Victory has neither arms nor a head, I still found the statue absolutely entrancing. After a long walk back home down the Champs d'Elysses past the Arc du Triomphe, I slept.

The next couple of days were dedicated to exploring the city. I ate many a macaron, stopping at Laduree, Paris’s original macaron confectioner, for champagne, ginger-rose, and chocolate flavored tarts. I shopped in and out of countless boutiques, perfecting my “bounjour” and “merci” with the elegant shopkeepers. I crossed massive stone bridges, tripped on cobblestoned sidewalks, and followed the hand painted street signs that led from one metro stop to the next.

I spent TWO storybook afternoons in cafes that both involved hot drinks and a good book. The first, a tea house, had a wall of herb jars where I sniffed and selected my tea preferences before sinking into a massive armchair with a full teapot and reading to the sound of rain pattering on the roof. The second was called “Les Deux Magots,” and I visited at the recommendation of a sorority sister. The 8€ “chocolat chaud” was daunting, but I ended up tucked inside a heated greenhouse, sipping the thick “drinking chocolate” for hours, once again, reading. I couldn’t have imagined more perfect days.

Towards the middle of the trip, we visited a historic bookstore called “Shakespeare and Co.” on our way to Notre Dame, and I bought a commemorate novel. Then, filled with French Onion soup and armed with my umbrella, I climbed to the top of the wind-whipped castle and got to look out over misty Paris. Seeing the Eiffel Tower from the top of Notre Dame Cathedral was something I’ll never forget. The interior of the church was very moving, and it was impossible not to feel spiritual as I listened to Sunday mass in French and lit candles for my family.

As for the Eiffel Tower itself, we didn’t climb it, but we sure spent an evening sitting in its shadow. I didn’t know that the tower was lit at night, and the first time it began to sparkle I was absolutely floored, and I stopped to watch the lights for five whole minutes. I then researched the tower a bit, and it’s history impressed me almost more than it’s structure.

Finally, I spent an entire day, dawn to dusk, at Versailles Palace. It’s indescribable. The palace itself is the absolute richest place I have ever been in my life. Rooms made of pure gold, entirely magenta bedchambers, ballrooms constructed only of gilded mirrors etc. Once I left the palace I was convinced I couldn’t be impressed further, and then the gardens proved me wrong. I spent two hours walking the hedges that opened up into epic fountains every 100 yards. The day I visited the grounds staff happened to be running a few of the fountains, a beautiful sight against a bright autumn sky. I then made the trek down the long, yellow-treed lane to Marie Antoinette’s petit Trianon - her home away from all the craziness (relatable).

One large cup of coffee and one long day later, and my trip to Paris was capped off with a bottle of red wine in my AirBnb. I adored the city, the people, the architecture, and the desserts, and I know that I will go back to walk amongst the fancy Parisians once again someday.

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fionaharnett · 5 years

Text

Colour temperature

Using Colour Temperature Control and Aesthetics Controlling the colour of your final image starts in the shooting stages and is both a technical and an aesthetic/subjective exercise. Just as you might pre-visualise your final black & white print before you shoot in order to optimally expose the negative, you must now think about how the colour of the light in your scene affects its meaning and evokes mood. Colours are loaded with emotional connotations, red is warm, blue is cold etc and therefore a scene can be read relative to those connotations. A glowing orange face in isolation will look odd, next to a roaring fire or domestic lamp however it will look perfectly natural. Don’t become obsessive about correcting colour temperature; understanding and using the colour temperature of different light sources will give you control so that you can make choices to correct, alter or enhance the scene. What is Colour Temperature? The term colour temperature expresses the colour content of the light source and is defined by the proportion of short and long wavelengths produced when a solid metal body is heated until it becomes incandescent (glows with heat); these sources give out light of all wavelengths and are said to have a continuous spectrum. In short, different light sources will have different temperatures in this incandescent state and will therefore be recorded by photographic film as different colours. To a certain extent some of these colours can also be seen by the naked eye, which will also adapt to different colour temperatures with its own inbuilt white balance. Walking past a house lit up at dusk the light will often appear yellow or orange; your eye, which is tuned to the daylight outside, will immediately see this tungsten light as a different colour. Once you go inside your eye will quickly adapt to this yellow light and record it as white. These colours are recorded onto photographic film according to how the film is balanced. Colour negative film is generally found in a daylight balance only as it can be balanced at the printing stage to neutral. Colour transparency film is balanced to two different colour temperatures – daylight and tungsten. Using daylight film under tungsten lighting will give an orange or warm colour cast. Using tungsten film under daylight conditions will give a blue cast. To match the colour temperature of your light & film use correction filters Colour temperatures of common light sources 12000 Kelvin 6500 5400 - 6000 3200 2600 – 2900 2200 1900 Correcting Colour Temperature Colour Conversion Filters Light from a clear blue sky Fluorescent lamps (these do vary in temperature & therefore colour) Daylight (sun & clear sky) & Electronic flash Daylight film is balanced to give a neutral result at 5400k Studio photo lamps Tungsten film is balanced to give a neutral result at 3200k Domestic lamps Sunlight at sunset Wax candle Film type Tungsten Daylight Daylight Light conditions daylight/flash tungsten fluorescent* (different types) Cast blue orange/yellow green (varies) Filter needed Kodak Wratten 85B orange Kodak Wratten 80A blue eg. CC M various strengths 1 Redder Bluer Colour of light *Some fluorescent tubes and sodium lamps give out energy in bands as opposed to continuously, and cannot strictly be given a colour temperature. The colour conversion needed for these is generally a CC M (magenta). Many fluorescents are now colour matched; these can therefore be given an equivalent temperature as ascertained by a colour temperature meter Mixed Lighting Many shooting conditions will have a mixture of different ambient light sources. The supermarket will probably use fluorescent strip lighting which will give daylight film an overall greenish cast, similarly your lounge may have both daylight, giving a neutral look, and a domestic lamp giving an orange glow but with no overall colour cast on daylight balanced film. You may choose to filter different lighting elements of your scene selectively according to the effect you want to produce by using coloured acetate sheets. These may subtly alter (colour compensate – CC) or correct (colour conversion filters) the colour temperature of the light source. You can also filter your flash head to reduce or change that unnatural paparazzi style look, perhaps by using a straw/light amber acetate to give a more natural looking skin tone. Alternatively you may correct the whole scene with the appropriate filter over your lens. Mixed lighting situation example When shooting on colour neg in a mixed lighting situation and wanting to obtain a neutral colour cast you may find it easier to bring all your lights to the colour temperature of the available light and then filter it out in printing. Eg. Location: Power station, ceiling 100 foot high. Available/ambient lighting: Fluorescent Extra lighting: Flash Film stock: colour neg You decide to light your subject with flash and let available light take care of the rest. However the available light is fluorescent and will give a green cast on your daylight-balanced film. The art director insists on a final print that looks neutral. 1 Get a 100-foot ladder; climb up and put magenta gels on the 20 strip lights, if still alive start shooting. 2 Use flash for the subject/foreground and dial out the green ambient light in printing. Result: you will also dial out the green in the foreground leaving your subject looking magenta 3 Gauge the colour temperature either with meter or experience, and put the appropriate green gel over your flash head. Result: all lighting is brought up to the colour temperature of the available/ambient light ie. greenish. All green can then be dialed out at the printing stage leaving a neutral print. NB: See * overleaf 4 Shoot it as it is and do it in PhotoShop. Things to remember: metering for flash and continuous light • Putting filters on lights or your camera means you have to adjust exposure. • Filters on camera affect the whole scene; filters on lights affect selected areas of your scene. • Mixing flash and continuous light means you must do an ambient light reading and take your shutter speed into account as well as your aperture. • When using flash remember that you can use a shutter speed setting up to or slower than your camera’s synch speed, but not faster; otherwise you risk cutting off part of the flash illumination. • Slow shutter speeds mean any moving element in your scene will register as both frozen by the flash and with a trail or blur from the slow shutter speed. • Direction: you can use flash to either fill in the shadows caused by existing available light or enhance the effect of existing available light sources, remember colour temperature. • Diffuse/filter your flash to soften its effect and prevent bleaching out of skin tones for a more naturalistic look. Reference Advanced Photography, M.J. Langford: Louise Wheatley 11/01 2

#theconstructedphotograph #4IMAG003W

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hamilton4laurens · 7 years

Text

Mr. Jefferson

Pairing: Thomas Jefferson x Fem!Reader

AN: Day 3 of the Hamilton write-a-thon hosted by @hamwriters Mostly based on Jane Eyre in the beginning some dialogue improve. This is probably not the best, I improvised some scenes trying to make it all make sense without copying Jane Eyre word by word.

Summary: You meet a stranger on your way to town and soon finding out its your boss

Day 3: Lit Day

Words: 1581

Warning: Jane Eyre; hamiltime

_________________________

“Y/N would you be a dear and mail this out for me before Mr. Jefferson arrives today?” Ms. Fairfax asked you. Flattening the cloth on the table you walked over to her, taking the envelope from her.

“Of course, I will go now.” You told her. Ms. Fairfax grabbed your hands smiling at you.

“Thank you, you sweet girl.” You smiled at her before taking off with the letters in hand well not before putting something on to protect you from the cold.

It was nearly dusk, a fog loomed over the land as you walked along the dirt road to town. Your thoughts went over the stories and legends the maids talked about. You knew they were just silly stories but in a setting like this a person can get paranoid.

A howl in the distance made you tense as you clutched the envelopes in hand. Looking down at your hands you saw that shaking. You thought you heard twigs snapping. Your walk slowed down to a stop. Looking around at your surroundings were useless, you couldn’t see anything.

More twigs snapped and a rustle in the hedge made your head snap in that direction. In the distance you can hear the lightly trot of hooves. A horse was close but not close in view. You made sure you made sure you were on the side of road. Even though you knew a horse was nearby you had no idea who would be accompany it If anyone did.

The rustle in the hedge drew your attention back to it. Then in that moment something emerged from it.

It was a dog. The fur being black and white, it stuck out to you in the fog. The trotting of hooves grew louder as a tall dark steed came into view with a rider on its back. In a way you were calmed at the sight of another human being. You did not know why.

The both of you passed one another without a word nor a glance. You minded your own business until you heard a sliding sound and an exclamation of ‘What the hell’ and a loud thump. The man and the horse had slipped on a sheet of ice. The dog bounded to its master barking frantically.

On instinct you ran over to the man with insanely curly black hair. He struggled to get his horse to move.

“Sir are you all right?” You had asked him your eyes filling with concern for the stranger who wore an odd color of clothing…magenta. The man just muttered a string of swears as he got up to his knees. The dog was still barking.

“Down Pilot!” The man snapped causing the dog to whimper but it stopped barking.

“Is there anything I can do?” You asked wanting to be useful. He stood to his feet, Finally he looked at you and you were met by mesmerizing chocolate eyes.

“No I’m fine.” He told you.

“Are you sure? I can fetch someone from Monticello to come aid you.” The man laughed quietly to himself before looking at you, his eyes seemingly roamed up and down your body.

“I assure you I have no broken bones, thank you. Only a sprain.” He told you as he tried to walk but winced harshly. You looked at him bemused.

“I don’t think I will be able to leave you until you are able to mount your horse.” You told him. He chuckled.

“It’s getting dark, perhaps you should go back to your husband,”

“I have no husband, nor family. I come to go to town to send a letter before returning to Jefferson manor.” The stranger looked at you surprised.

“Who are you?” He asked.

“I don’t have to say sir.” Your voice turned slightly to sound annoyed. The man laughed causing you to look at him strangely.

“Who’s manor is that?” He asked pointing to the direction of Jefferson manor.

“Thomas Jefferson.” You told him.

“Do you know Mr. Jefferson.” He asked.

“No. I have never seen him.”

“So he is not a resident?”

“Not at the moment.” You tell him. The man looked around as it grew darker.

“You would not have an umbrella on you by any chance would you?”

“No sir.” The man sighed.

“I cannot ask you to fetch for help but you may help me a little yourself, if you will be so kind.”

“Yes of course sir, what do you need me to do?” You asked him.

“Try to get ahold of my horse’s bridle and lead him to me. You are not afraid?” Perhaps you should have been afraid to walk up to the large steed. But you calmly walked up to the horse who was still in a panic.

“Shh it’s all right.” You said to the horse as you reach for the bridle. It’s head swung away from you. Reaching out you grabbed hold of it. “Easy! Easy boy!” Your hand softly caressed the horse’s face. It seemingly calmed down afterwards. Softly you tugged the bridle, leading the horse to it’s master. The man looked impressed.

“You are one of the only people who can calm him down.” You smiled weakly at the man.

“I grew up owning horses, it was quite simple.” You told him. The man grabbed the upper part of the saddle and mounted his horse. You saw him wince from the pain in his ankles.

“Now just hand me my whip, it lies under the hedge.” You sought and found it. Picking it up by the handle you handed it to the man.

“Well thank you darling. Now make haste with your letter to town and return as fast as you can.” He told you. A touch of a spurred heel made his horse first start and rear and then bound away with the dog Pilot following.

You continued your way to town to send out the letter.

Eventually you arrived back to the manor. Opening the door maids rushed passed you and what not. Suddenly you heard a bark looking down you saw the dog from earlier.

“Mable!” You got the attention of one of the maids. She turned her attention to you. “What dog is this?”

“He came with master.”

“With whom?”

“With master- Mr. Jefferson - he is just arrived!”

“Indeed! Thank you Mable.” She smiled sheepishly.

“You’re too kind miss L/N.” You shook your head.

“Please call me Y/N, Mable we are friends.” She looked up at you.

“But I am nothing but a slave.” You shook your head.

“You matter Mable.” Gently you grabbed her hands squeezing them like so. “To me you do.” Tears filled her eyes.

“Oh you are too kind.” You smiled lightly at her.

“Y/N!” Ms. Fairfax rushed over to you as you dropped Mable’s hands. “Mr. Jefferson as called for your audience go to his study quick, I will be back, I must fetch a doctor.” She rushed passed and out the door.

‘What has happened to Mr. Jefferson?” You asked Mable.

“He fell off his horse, before arriving the horse slipped on ice from the lane coming from town and he fell off!” She explained. You nodded.

“Well I must be off to see him.” You excused yourself before heading to Jefferson’s office.

You stood in front of the door. Raising your fist you brought it down on the door softly.

After the few moment of hearing noise of pain on the other end of the door you heard a muffled ‘Come in.’ So you went in.

The stranger from before…your master sat in a chair by the fire with his foot propped up on a ottoman.

“You had asked for me sir?” His eyes tore away from the fire to look over at you where you stood a few feet away with your hands clasped together. He gestured you to come forward so you obliged in doing so.

“You have been working here for 1 year correct?”

“That is correct sir.” You told him.

“Since my arrival back all I heard about aside about myself was about the little maid who is called Y/N L/N when they spoke of you I couldn’t help but picture of the beautiful woman who I had met on the lane and I am glad that it was you.”

“Thank you sir.” Your tone gave away you sounding confused.

“Why do you say that with uncertainty?” He asked as he narrowed his eyes at you.

“I am just not use to compliments sir.” You replied.

“Mm.” He hummed. It went quiet for a few minutes.

“Um sir?” You asked timidly. He perked up.

“Right you’re still here.” He said, though mainly to himself. “How do you feel about dinner?” Mr. Jefferson asked.

“By what, do you mean sir?”

“I mean how would you feel about accompanying me tomorrow night for dinner? Though I do blame you for my sprain you did manage to control the beast that I rode and helped me back on it, it is the least I can do.”

“I-I would be honored sir.” He waved away.

“Please stop calling me sir.”

“Right my apologies si- I mean Mr. Jefferson.” He smirked.

“I like the sound of that a lot better.” He commented. Though there was an underlying meaning to it, your naivety didn’t pick it up however.

Unknowingly to you that night was only the beginning to greater things in your life.

#thomas jefferson #thomas jefferson x reader #thomas jefferson fanfic #jane eyre #hamilton x reader #hamiltrash #Hamilton #hamilwriters

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titan-mom · 7 years

Text

Dust Never Settles

They could have all kept walking, but took a risk instead.

Destiny fic: Chapter 2. Part 1 here

Approx. 2800 words

More Destiny fics here.

Read it on Ao3 here

It was dusk when the other ships arrived. They thundered overhead, and from their bellies dropped two women.

One was clad in black and white, the other in shades of magenta and purple. Both were decked head to toe in armor, and carried weapons on their backs, their hips, and in loose, relaxed holds in their arms.

Their appearance caused a stir, and the crowd shrank back. With equal haste, Mack strode forward. The women looked so different from him in his rust red robes, but they still had a unity somehow, they all felt the same. Kamal approached as well, perhaps on an impulse of necessity, but even he drifted a few steps further away than Mack. Lorene could sense the relations forming. Mack was not a single odd man out anymore, he was connected with the two women in a way he was not connected with the refugees.

But at the same time, there was the polarity, beyond just the clothes. The warrior women stood shoulder to shoulder while exchanging words with Mack, as if he were speaking to one entity. There was a divide she could not place.

“Boy’s sick.” He was saying. “We are going to wait the night and see if his fever breaks. The travel may make him nauseous. Not to mention the trouble they’d have at intake, if Owl Sector’s people think he’s still contagious.”

Kamal found the courage to approach. “We can coordinate patrols for the night.” He began, offering conversation in one of the only subjects he knew, protecting people.

“Ve vil ‘andle patrol. Rest.” The woman in purple interrupted, with a voice that make Kamal blink in surprise. Her companion nodded beside her.

“You deserve it.” She soothed, in an accent loftier in tone but equally alien.

“But, certainly you’ll need to be relieved at some point.” He protested. “We are capable of guarding ourselves.

“Of course you are.” The woman in black and white dipped her head. “But this is our job. We are guardians. This is all we do.” She glanced at Mack. “You called for defenders, after all.”

Mack nodded and put a hand on Kamal’s arm. “They’ll handle it. And come tomorrow, you’ll never need to patrol again. The walls and the Traveler will keep you safe.”

Kamal looked around the group for a long moment before nodding, finally breaking off to return to the rest of the refugees and help with dinner. The knights exchanged a few further words with Mack before splitting off on separate paths into the forest.

There was a storm coming, thunder rolled in the distance. The refugees had gathered their things once more, moved further south to an open clearing at Mack’s direction. A chunky ship, a little greener than gunmetal, had flown overhead, sucked up Mack’s crates and supplies, and then alighted itself here, at the edge of the meadow. As the strange women moved off into the woods their ships landed as well, effectively filling the space.

Only the ramp to Mack’s was open, however. The interior was unsurprisingly littered with notebooks, papers, little leaves and bits of plants. It had taken him a few minutes to gather everything and stow it in crates, then pull them outside by the new fire to make space. The interior was small, but the refugees were quite used to huddling close together to sleep. They filled every inch of the floor, and many bedrolls had to be squeezed onto the lowered ramp outside, including Lorene’s. But in the end it was done -no one would be sleeping in rain and mud tonight.

“They look at you funny.” Lorene told Mack from her seat on one of the crates, still thinking about the warrior women. He belted out a short laugh. Surprisingly, the noise did not startle any of Lorene’s people, and only a few looked up curiously. They were growing used to him.

“Observant. Yes it’s because I’m the botanist.” He explained, perching beside her.

“They don’t like you because you study plants?” She was incredulous.

“Because I study plants and do not fight. I’ve got quite the reputation for it amongst the Guardians.”

“You are one of the city guard? All the way out here?”

Mack shook his head. “See, there is a city guard, a militia, of people like you, with families and homes and stake in the City. Then there are the Guardians, people like me, with almost none of that.”

Lorene narrowed her eyes. “You enjoy not making sense.”

“I do.” He affirmed with a wicked teasing smile. “But I will explain. The Guardians are blessed by the Traveler with powers of Light, abilities to help them in combat, among a host of other things. All Guardians are expected to join the war against the darkness, and all of the City’s enemies.

When one doesn’t, well, most think they’re somewhat selfish.”

“Aren’t they right?” She challenged. “It seems a waste.”

“Oh, most certainly. But I’ve found my life’s work, my calling. Traveler be damned I stop now after so much.” He leafed through the pages of the notebook on his lap, filled margin to margin with words, notes, drawings. There were close ups of the edges of leaves and studies of the texture of bark.

It still seemed selfish, but at the same time Mack did not seem bothered by that. She kept a disapproving eye on him.

Dinner was more filling than it had been in a long time. Rather than rationing the party took a risk and pooled all the provisions they had and set aside half, just in case. The rest they passed out amongst themselves. A feast of young and underripe nuts and berries, as well as dried fish and squirrel meats. Spring had so far been kind, but even this much food was more than usual. Lorene cradled her handful of tiny green berries. Left alone they would have become blueberries, but those who needed food did not have the luxury of waiting. She took them one at a time, her face screwing up at the intense papery sourness they brought to her mouth. It was when she was recovering between nibbles she noticed Mack had taken no food.

“Don’t you eat?” She challenged. He shrugged. “Don’t need to at the moment.” His voice was chipper, as though he knew something she didn’t. She squinted at him.

“And your Guardians out there?”

“Fine as well.”

Without glancing away from him, she popped another berry into her mouth, fighting the sourness that drove waves of heat to her face. He chuckled as he watched her.

“Focus on your own food. We’re all adults and can handle ourselves.” And that was the end of the conversation.

The dusk deepened after supper, and the group cautiously settled down to sleep. It felt odd, with none of their people out on patrol. A watch was still organized, two people at a time, posted beneath the wings and engines of Mack’s ship. Old habits did not break after one rather eventful day.

Three times in the night Lorene awoke. The first time Mack was sitting up, staring at the fire as the rain poured around them. Her muddled mind half wanted to know why but she drifted back to sleep before she could think of a way to ask.

The second time the fire was out, but from dim lights on the ship’s landing gear she could make out Mack standing, facing out into the forest. The two present guards were beside him, and when a crack of lightning lit the sky she could see they had weapons aimed out. Lorene rose, propping herself up on one elbow, suddenly semi-alert. She watched them stand stock-still for nearly a minute, until the little drone arrived from the dark and blinked once at Mack. The men relaxed, and Mack turned around. He caught sight of Lorene and gestured for her to lay down again. It felt like a breeze on her arm, even from this distance. A subtle pressure was enough to make her elbow give way and settle her back into a sleeping position. She was out again before she could protest.

The third time he was alone again, with a new fire, or perhaps it was the same and the last time she had seen him was a dream. He was settled beside the Anister boy, whose breath was raggedly audible. The boy had been laid to sleep at the bottom of the ramp, farthest from the rest of the people, and his mother had fallen asleep beside him.

In the dim light Lorene could just make out the gentle movements of Mack’s hand through the boy’s hair, then the motion of a cloth pulled from the forehead, dipped in a lidless canteen, and wrung before being replaced. Tirelessly the witch-man’s fingers drifted over the boy’s scalp, and she assumed or decided he was casting a spell. At the same time, she assumed or decided it was for the best after all, and her eyes closed again.

When morning woke her, Mack hadn’t moved from that general location -unless it had all been a dream after all. She blinked at him a few times, and when he didn’t notice, she attempted a whisper.

“Do you ever sleep?”

The two refugees on bedrolls closest to her took different toned breaths, their bodies beginning to wake. Mack did not seem to hear.

She shuffled herself up on one arm, watched him replace the cloth again, watched the boy’s eyelashes flutter as he tracked the man’s hand. Her movement woke Anie beside her, who wasted no time in rising and approaching, ignoring Mack’s presence to check on the boy.

“Not quite broken.” She murmured, a hand to his head to check for fever. A little louder Mack protested. “It’s improved.” She glowered back at him as more of the refugees stirred. People used to waking at the first signs of commotion.

“Dusty says the temperature has dropped from one hundred and two to ninety nine point five. Medically speaking that is a broken fever, though it’s still a degree higher than it ought to be.” He said to the glare.

“Dusty.” Anie echoed.

“My Ghost.” He replied, as though the words he spoke made sense.

“Ghost.” She spit his words back again, with increasing incredulousness.

He waved his hand and the drone appeared. “Meet Dusty, Dusty, meet....”

“Anie.” She said flatly, suspicious eyes on the floating cube, sitting back on her haunches in a thinly veiled attempt to remove herself from it’s presence.

“A pleasure.” The cube spoke, in a voice toneless and emotionless. Anie’s head reared back. Lorene herself could not help but stand, her momentum down the ramp carrying her a bit closer to them all. Mack smiled at her, lips pressed together. She learned that moment that he looked smug by default in early morning light. He gestured to her, palm out.

“And Dusty, meet-”

“Lorene.” She murmured out, gaze fixated on the cube. It turned to her, it’s metal certainly looked dusty. A matte brown with a more silvery center, and a blinking white light of an eye. It nodded to her in what was uncannily like a bow and then vanished in a shower of sparks.

It was too early for this madness.

Lorene set about breakfast, as the rest of the refugees awoke. There felt like more than usual, until she remembered the strange women who had taken over patrol the evening before. She squished some leftover berries from the night before into the bottom of a cup, filled it with boiling water from the fire. Sipped her sludge and watched Mack assuring the mother of the sickly child that there was improvement, “-and quite a lot too-” while Anie watched sourly.

“All will be well. I’ll stay with you through intake and assure the people in charge that he hasn’t been contagious in a long time.”

The boy’s mother nodded and responded without any hesitation, no distrust, and Lorene frowned. How long had this taken, for an odd man in the woods to become accepted and trusted? A matter of hours?

And he was odd. She ran through a mental list. Unarmed. Did not eat. Did not sleep. Alone, but for a drone that could talk and open boxes with no locks. An outsider to people like him and people like her.

And he was trusted. Mostly.

“Witch.” She muttered, taking another sip. He finished his conversation and turned himself around on the crate he was sitting on to address Lorene.

“It’s Warlock, actually, if you want to be technical.”

“I’m tired of asking you to explain.” She replied dryly.

“It’s a classification of Guardians. One fraught with unnecessary stereotypes and ridiculous elitist infighting amongst the lot, but a necessary classification nonetheless. It is generally accepted Warlocks do things with books, something not always true but certainly so in my case. The women on guard right now are Titans, who generally lean towards being protectors and warriors.”

“Uh-huh.” Lorene mumbled through her mug. “And you do not need to eat or sleep.” It was a sarcastic observation, an oversimplification of things she’d seen. Of course he’d eaten, slept, at some point.

“Correct.” He beamed, and she squinted at him. “You noticed yourself. Got it right.”

“You have to eat.” She sputtered. “And you’ll go mad without sleep.”

“Did you notice any provisions in these crates, on the ship? No, I have no need for it. And though many might say you’re onto something with that second half, in my case, it’s also not entirely accurate for Guardians.”

Darkness damned he was so smug. Lorene decided not to feed this superiority any further.

“When do we leave?” Anie asked, coming up from behind her daughter.

“When everyone is ready.” Mack replied, an innocent tone to contradict hers -full of it’s customary accusation. “We’ll separate into groups to fit on the ships and that will be that. I can carry five more comfortably, the others will have to split among the Titans’ ships.”

“Us.” Anie said decidedly. “And the Anisters.”

Mack nodded approvingly. “Very well. I’ll expect it. Ought to prepare.” He looked pleased, and nodded to Lorene. “Excuse me then. I’ll see you all in a little while.” Dodging other refugees still stretched out and enjoying a late morning, he headed up the ramp and disappeared into the belly of his ship.

Anie sat down with a little huff.

“You do not have to be so quarrelsome.” Lorene admonished her mother.

“I don’t like ‘im.” She grumbled, chewing some pine needles, leftover from her morning tea.

“Don’t have to. Soon we’ll be safe and never have to see him again.” Anie narrowed her eyes.

“He’ll stick with us anyway. I can feel it. Witch-man, their stench follows you.” So her mother had been having the same thoughts. Lorene wasn’t about to agree. It would only egg her on.

“He said it’s called Warlock, actually.” She replied haughtily, drawing a short glare.

“How eloquent.” The older woman sniffed, but her gaze flicked past her daughter. Lorene turned to follow it and saw the warrior women, the Titans, emerging again from the woods. The one in black and white had blood splattered across a gauntlet. Lorene remembered the second time she’d awoken in the night.

“What was out there?” She asked.

“Bear.” The purple clad woman replied. “Zad to be put down. Not much problem.” Lorene blinked, unsure if she believed it or not. Kamal stepped in before she had time to retort, taking over the conversation, confirming transport and dividing up the families under his care between the two women’s ships. The refugees were gathering their things, making small, temporary goodbyes. They always did, if there was ever a need for separation. A lack of finality meant a tether, a reason to believe you’d be rejoined.

Lorene returned to the ramp of Mack’s ship, set to work gathering her bedroll and tin cup. The man himself was carrying crates back into the hold from beside the ashes of the fire. They were being lined up more neatly than they’d been when he unloaded, and when he laid a blanket across two she realized why. A bed for the sick boy, who was doing better. He was sitting up, wrapped in his father’s coat, watching the activity around him and coughing every so often. The color was back in his face, though, a redness in his cheeks. Mack passed by and patted his head, and the boy smiled up at him unafraid. Lorene felt her lips tug up a little this time as she watched.

He was a witch-man, but maybe a good one.

#destiny fic #my fic #story time with jen #mack #LOOK GUYS IT'S NOT 1 AM #this time on jen likes when guardians confuse nonguardians #with their very strange existence

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netunleashed-blog · 6 years

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The A to Z of Photography: White Balance

http://www.internetunleashed.co.uk/?p=21655 The A to Z of Photography: White Balance - http://www.internetunleashed.co.uk/?p=21655 White balance is a camera setting that adjusts the color balance of light the you’re shooting in so that it appears a neutral white, and it’s used to counteract the orange/yellow color of artificial light, for example, or the cold light of deep shadow under a blue sky so that portrait shots taken in shade look more natural.All digital cameras have an auto white balance setting that analyses the colors in a scene and neutralises them automatically. Mostly it does a very good job, though there are occasions when you need to override the auto white balance setting and choose a setting yourself.One instance is where the color of the light is an intrinsic part of the picture, like the warm colors of a sunset, or the cool blue light of an early dawn. If you’re shooting in a dimly-lit bar or restaurant, you might want to preserve the color of the ambient light rather than correct it.Another is where you want a consistent color balance across a series of pictures, and you don’t want the camera to be making its own automatic white balance adjustments from one shot to the next. Manual white balance presets This is why cameras also offer manual white balance presets that you can choose to match the conditions, to maintain consistency of color between shots or to force the camera to give you a very specific color rendition. For example, if you leave the camera set to it’s ‘daylight’ white balance preset, it will faithfully capture the changing colors from dawn to dusk in landscape photography without trying to correct them.Alternatively, indoors or in a studio you might take a custom white balance setting from a grey card or some other neutral toned subject so that the color has a consistent neutral look across all the pictures you take in that setting. White balance preset are usually described according to the conditions you’re shooting in White balance preset are usually described according to the conditions you’re shooting in, so cameras will typically offer ‘daylight’, ‘cloudy’, ‘shade’, ‘incandescent’ and other presets. In professional studio photography, though, it’s more common to measure white balance in ‘color temperature’, which is measured in degrees Kelvin.For example, daylight is reckoned to have a color temperature of around 5200-5500 degrees Kelvin, artificial tungsten light is around 2400-2600 degrees Kelvin, while open shade under a blue sky can be as high as 7500-9500 degrees Kelvin. Studio lighting is generally calibrated in degrees Kelvin so that photographers can more easily match the camera’s white balance to the light source. Temperature and tint But while color temperature values are still used widely, today’s digital cameras work with not just a ‘temperature’ setting but a ‘tint’ setting too. Regular color temperature is measured on a red/yellow/white/blue spectrum, while tint is an added variation along a green/magenta spectrum. When you’re making white balance adjustments it’s now conventional to adjust both.You can choose the white balance setting on the camera, but if you shoot raw files rather than JPEGs, you can choose it later when you edit your images. With JPEG files, the white balance setting is ‘baked into’ the pictures as they are processed by the camera and any extra color data is discarded. With raw files, the full color data captured by the sensor is saved in the file, and while the camera’s white balance setting is recorded with the data it can be used or ignored later when you process the image.Even if you shoot raw files, selecting an appropriate white balance at the time of shooting is useful because it saves processing steps later on and the camera’s auto white balance system may offer a good compromise setting that’s difficult to improve on manually. The A to Z of Photography: Kelvin Source link

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