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quantifynorthamerica · 7 months

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The Unsung Hero of Modern Homes: The Many Perks of Gypsum Ceilings

You've probably been pondering over a myriad of ways to give your home that extra sparkle. But hold on. Did you consider looking up? Yes, the ceiling, that often-overlooked fifth wall of your room, can be a game-changer. Today, let's delve into the fabulous world of gypsum ceilings: a stylish, functional, and just all-around amazing option for modern homes. Are you ready?

What Exactly is a Gypsum Ceiling Anyway?

When we talk about gypsum, we're talking about Mother Earth's little gift to home renovators. This soft sulfate mineral turns into a functional and flexible building material, making it the ideal choice for ceilings.

Now, imagine this: You're walking through your favorite commercial space, perhaps that chic coffee shop downtown or a sleek, modern office building. Ever noticed their ceilings? Those clean lines, elegant curves, and the occasional artsy indentations? Chances are, you've been admiring a gypsum ceiling without even knowing it. But hey, why let commercial spaces have all the fun? It's time to bring that pizzazz into our homes.

These ceilings are more than just pretty faces; they're incredibly adaptable. Whether you're vibing with a vintage look or craving contemporary cool, a gypsum ceiling can be shaped, molded, and painted to fit your wildest design dreams. You know what they say: "The sky's the limit" But in this case, it's the ceiling.

A Pocket-Friendly Choice

So, you've got champagne tastes, but you're working with a beer budget. We've all been there. Home improvements can sometimes feel like watching your money evaporate, especially when it comes to things like ceilings. But here’s the plot twist: with gypsum ceilings, you don't need to tighten your belt too much.

Think about it: when you opt for pricier materials like wood or metal, the initial costs are high, and then you’ve got installation fees piling up. But gypsum? It’s like the superhero of budget-friendly renovations. Not only is the material itself more affordable, but the ease of installation means you're not paying for days or weeks of labor. That's what we call a win-win.

But wait, there's more. Over time, gypsum ceilings continue to bless your wallet. Remember how I mentioned they're great insulators? Well, imagine the cozy warmth during winter and the pleasant chill in the scorching summer. Your air conditioning and heating systems will thank you by chugging along less, which means lower energy bills.

The Style Factor

Ah, style: a word that can send shivers down anyone’s spine when they're stuck in a design rut. But fear not, because gypsum ceilings are the secret sauce to making any room look magazine-worthy. No more plain, boring ceilings; it’s time for an upgrade.

A gypsum ceiling can be so much more than just a flat, white expanse overhead. With this gem, you can play around with textures, layers, and designs. Picture this: soft, ambient lighting peeking out from a geometrically carved gypsum ceiling, casting just the right shadows and giving your room a whole new depth.

Or maybe you're a minimalist at heart. Gypsum's got you covered, literally. Opt for a simple, smooth finish, throw in some recessed lighting, and bask in the serenity of your space.

In a nutshell? Gypsum allows your ceiling to become a canvas. Whether you're painting a masterpiece or just adding a splash of color, this is the material that’ll make your design dreams come to life. Know more about ceiling cleaning.

Fire Safety? Check

Safety isn't just a buzzword; it's a lifestyle. Especially when it comes to our homes. So when I tell you that gypsum ceilings come with a built-in fire-resistant cape, you know it's big news.

Picture this: a cozy winter evening, the fireplace is lit, marshmallows are roasting, and while everything feels perfect, accidents happen. But with gypsum overhead, you get a precious ally in those initial, crucial moments.

How does it work, you ask? It's science, but the fun kind. Gypsum boards contain water crystals in their structure. Now, in the unfortunate event of a fire, these crystals release their water content as steam, acting as a natural fire suppressant. This slows down the spread of flames, buying time for safety measures to kick in.

But the magic doesn't stop there. The boards themselves char slowly and won't release toxic fumes. So, whether you're looking for peace of mind or an extra layer of protection, gypsum ceilings are like that silent guardian watching over you.

Acoustic Bliss

Let's talk noise. No, not the latest neighborhood gossip, but actual noise. Traffic, loud neighbors, the incessant pitter-patter of pet paws, or even the whir of household appliances. Sometimes, all you want is a bubble of silence, a personal haven where you can relax, meditate, or catch up on your favorite shows.

Enter gypsum ceilings, your ticket to tranquility. These boards, with their dense composition, act like a barrier, dampening external sounds. Picture your home as this serene sanctuary where sounds stay where they should: outside.

Dreaming of a mini-theater experience in your living room? With gypsum ceilings, you can crank up the volume without waking up the whole house. Or if you're working or studying, it creates a cocoon of concentration. And for those extra noise-sensitive areas? Double up on gypsum boards for soundproofing that’s practically magical. Prepare to be cocooned in an ambiance of pure acoustic delight.

Easy to Repair

Life, with all its unpredictability, can sometimes feel like a roller-coaster. And our homes? They bear the brunt of it. From an overenthusiastic kid’s game of indoor soccer to an unexpected water leak, ceilings face their share of wear and tear. The good news? Gypsum ceilings are like that easy-going friend who doesn't hold grudges.

Damage happens, but unlike other ceiling materials that require a complete makeover after a minor hiccup, gypsum is a breeze to repair. A little patchwork, some finishing touches, and voilà: your ceiling looks as good as new.

But there's an unsung hero here: the simplicity of the repair process. No need for heavy tools or specialized skills. A DIY enthusiast can often handle minor repairs over a weekend. And if DIY isn’t your cup of tea, professional repairs are quick and won't have you living in a construction zone for weeks. Essentially, with gypsum, you get a resilient ceiling that bounces back from life's little accidents with grace. For more details on our various services feel free to visit us at https://quantifyna.com/.

Conclusion

There you have it. The gypsum ceiling is like that underrated movie you discover and can't stop talking about. It's affordable, stylish, and offers a bunch of functional benefits like fire resistance and soundproofing. Plus, it's low-maintenance and easy to repair.

So the next time you’re staring up at your ceiling, dreaming of home improvements, don't forget to consider gypsum. You won’t regret it.

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#Gypsum ceiling #Interior Design #Modern Homes #Ceiling Benefits #Enhanced Aesthetics #Durable Ceiling #Home Renovation

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itsnsfwalways · 4 years

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Canyon Moon

FIC MASTERLIST

WARNINGS FOR CHP. 2: swearing, mild drug & alcohol use, brief mentions of death

CHAPTER TWO: wish i could get to know you

The two of you pull up to your buddy Mike’s place, a small, hole-in-the-wall studio.

Harry parks the car and gets out to open your door, although he waits for you outside to tie your boots.

“How’d you meet this guy?”

“Oh, Mike? We can’t really remember the first time, I’ll tell you the story with him when we’re inside.”

You hop out of the car and grab his hand, swinging it back and forth as you walk up to the front, hearing soft music playing already.

The two of you reach the door and Y/N swings it open, yelling out,

“I hope you’re ready because mama wants a tattoo.”

Harry shakes his head and tries to hide his grin as he turns around to shut the door all the way.

“You’re fucking stupid,” A male voice laughs out, looking up from his sketchbook. His feet are propped up on the counter, and of course, he is littered with tattoos.

“Mike, this is Mr. Ferrari, Ferrari, Mike,” you introduce, waving your hands between the two.

“I saw that fuckin car, I was like ‘who the fuck is coming to me in that?’” Mike exclaimed, snapping his fingers.

“Hey, mate, I’m Harry,” Harry says, leaning forward to shake Mike’s hand while giving you a look that makes your head drop to the floor and your heart skip a beat.

“Nice to meet you, dude. I’m Mike, Like your tats,” Mike says, getting up from the chair behind the counter.

He leads the two of you over to his station, getting all his supplies laid out as you hop into the leather chair.

“So what are you getting, Y/N?” Harry asks, sitting in a chair near you.

“This extremely intricate design that’s going to take lots of mental power, and, of course, only gives me a few hours notice,” Mike teases, kicking the bottom of your chair.

“It’s just this geometrical thing I saw on a Tarot card a little while ago, it really stuck out to me.” You explain, pulling the card from your purse.

“Oh, cool.” Harry nods, picking up the card, only after looking at you for permission, of course. He holds it lightly by the edges, being sure to be gentle with it.

“‘S not gonna bite you, baby,” you giggle, knocking your knee against his, biting back a smile at the way his head shoots up.

He grins at you, knocking his knee back while setting down the card carefully on the table.

“I know, but I know these cards are special to some people, want to be gentle with em,” he says softly, twirling his pointer finger ring.

“Some decks are, but these are very relaxed. You don’t have to treat em like glass.”

He nods and blushes slightly, looking away for a second to hide his smile.

“You done flirting so I can start?” Mike asks, removing the transfer paper from your inner right forearm.

“You’ve had sex on my living room floor, I’m allowed to do whatever the fuck I want after that,” you say, shuddering slightly at the memory.

“Fair point.” Mike nods, beginning the design.

“So, um, Y/N said that you guys can’t remember how you met? I’d love to hear the story.” Harry jumps in, eyebrows raised at your last statement.

“Oh, fuck,” Mike laughs, dipping the needle in more ink. “I think it needs to come with a warning that I spent pretty much the entire year of 2015 drunk. She says we met at a Tame Impala gig but I have no such memory of this happening.”

“It did happen! You gave me your number because I kept bugging you about your tattoos but it was to this random mom in Philadelphia, who did not appreciate me calling her at 3 am.”

“Anyways,” Mike cuts in, rolling his eyes, “We officially met at a New Year’s Eve party later that year that my wife, Maggie, hosted. Y/N and her ex came and proceeded to break up right before the ball dropped, and she made out with my sister instead just to piss him off.”

You let out a laugh and cover your quickly turning red face with your hand, peeking through your fingers to gauge Harry’s reaction.

“Wow.” He acknowledges, eyebrows raised and fingers pinching his bottom lip, glancing back at you. His lips quiver slightly as he tries to hold back his laughter.

“Alright, haha, very funny. The ending to this, BEAUTIFUL, story, I must say, is he gave me this tattoo the next week and the rest is history.” You gesture to the sunflower bundle inked on your thigh, before puckering up your lips at Mike, who, without even looking up, shoves your face with his other hand.

“Honestly, Harry, I’d run while you can. There’s never a dull moment with this one, that’s for fucking sure.” Mike advises, rolling his eyes when you smile widely.

“I’m starting to learn that,” Harry laughs, eyes trained on you.

The three of you go into a comfortable silence, the only sound being the tattoo gun whirring and your occasional whimper at a sensitive spot.

A thin line of sweat has slowly covered your body, and Mike notices, scoffing.

“We’re gonna take a quick break. I’m gonna go get a cig when you get calm, back in 20,” He says, stopping the machine and leaving the room quickly.

“So, uh, you guys have quite a fun dynamic,” Harry comments.

You take a deep breath and look to him, your mouth closing at how he’s positioned. It’s been about an hour at this point, and he’s shifted in his seat to a more comfortable position. Leaned back against the chair, legs spread open, arms resting behind his back, it wasn’t helping your situation.

“Yeah, he’s like my older brother. His sister is great too,” You mindlessly say.

“I’ll bet,” Harry smirks, nodding slowly.

“Hey, quit it. You get to have fun with pretty girls and so do I.”

Harry clears his throat at your boldness and adjusts his positioning, changing to lean forward on his knees.

You get up to grab two water bottles from the mini-fridge under the counter, offering one to Harry when you sit back down.

Drinking about half the bottle, you let out a sigh, trying to get your shaking legs under control.

“What’s your shirt say?” You ask, still having not figured out the small black text.

“Oh, it says ‘Treat People With Kindness’. It’s kind of my motto, or slogan, I guess. Most of my merch says either this or the abbreviation for it.” He tells you, hands going down to pull the shirt away from his chest.

“That’s really nice, Harry.” He glances up at you with a small smile on his face, nodding slightly.

“Bit egotistical wearing your own merch, but hey, who am I to judge?”

He rolls his eyes and bumps the bottom of your chair with his foot.

“Why’d he stop? You don’t seem to be freaking out to me. Maybe a little sweaty,” he teases, not realizing what he’s asking.

Groaning, you lean your head backwards towards the ceiling, hating yourself for what you’re about to say.

“Got a bit of a pain kink so I’m... overwhelmed, let’s say, and Mike hates that about me.”

Harry lets out a breath of air at this and you turn your head to look at him.

Your slight leg tremors are now starting to click, the blown out pupils, and swollen red lips from how much you were biting them.

“If it makes you feel better, I had to get a tattoo on live television and to this day, I still see zoomed in photos of my eyes from it online. At least they make the process fun.”

Your jaw drops and you lift your head up.

“Alright, Harry, shit,” you mutter, wiping the sweat off your brow. “Always got to one up me.”

He looks shocked at this and mockingly puts a hand to his chest.

“Says you! From the minute I met you, you’ve continued to surprise me with everything you say.”

“Okay, Mr. ‘I sang with Stevie Nicks and cruise around Malibu in a beautiful car’.” You say, blushing slightly from his words.

“You sang with Stevie Nicks?” Mike asks, walking through the door.

“Yes! He’s a musician, let’s play his album. What’s it called?” You jump up, slapping your hands on your thighs.

“Harry Styles, it’s a self-titled album. You can listen to it later if you want, I mean, we don’t have to-“

You shut off his rambling quickly.

“I wanna hear your voice! Also self-titled, we love a man with a big ego,” You tease, getting up to get the iPad that controls the music.

Typing in his name, you raise your eyes at the number of streams he has, clicking on the album and playing the first song, ‘Meet Me In The Hallway’.

“You’re quite pretty, Harry. That’s some gorgeous cover art.” You comment, pretending to examine it further.

“Oh god,” he laughs, tucking his chin down to hide his face a little bit.

“Okay, Y/N, shut up, sit your ass down, so I can finish this and you can listen to the song properly.” Mike points, making you put the iPad down and come over.

The song hypnotizes you for a second, trying to zone out and listen to it.

“Shit, Harry, you are fucking good.” You mutter, hand going to your mouth at his talent.

“Thank you,” he whispers, looking almost nervous at your reaction.

Your jaw stays open pretty much the entire song, each note making your eyes go wider or glance at Harry, trying to figure out how he is this perfect.

“Is it too soon to propose?” You ask, his voice slowly fading in the background as it changes to the next song.

He laughs and scrunches his nose slightly before telling you, “Just a tad.”

The next song starts playing, and you’d be lying if tears didn’t fall.

Trying to play it off, you look away and wipe your eyes. Mike glances up at you and stops for a minute, rubbing your arm slightly and giving you a squeeze. You tap back on the table and he nods, feeling better that you gave him an okay.

“Fuck, sorry, this is a lot. Crying on the second song, phew. Hope you’re doing good upstairs, Harry,” You laugh, sniffling a little.

“Don’t apologize, please. Music brings up a lot of emotions, I feel so honored that you’re reacting to it so strongly.” He says, rubbing your knee slightly,

“Should I cry a little more then?” You tease, smiling at him with damp eyes.

“Boost my ego a bit, maybe,” he smiles back.

All of a sudden, the song climaxes, and your jaw drops once more.

“Holy shit, Harry! Do you have anything wrong with you? My god.” You shake your head, in disbelief over him.

“I mean, I am always traveling, so there’s that. But other than that, I’m pretty much awesome,” he pretends to boast, fake popping his collar.

The song shifts to Carolina, which Harry tells you after you ask as soon as it starts playing.

“She’s such a good girl, she feels so good. Am I hearing that right? Just wanna check,” you recite the lyrics slowly back to him, moving your free arm around.

Harry looks away, pretending to check out the pictures on the wall behind him.

“Are you gonna be like this for every song?” Mike asks, and you nod happily, bumping your head to the beat.

Almost the entire album plays while Mike is tattooing you, all with varying reactions of either, ‘Harry!’, ‘Is this real?’, ‘I’m gonna start crying’, or ‘this is the sexiest shit I’ve ever heard’. Without fail, you ask him the song name when the first few notes start playing and he tells you it, sitting quietly and smiling at you getting so happy over his music.

Mike finishes wrapping you up and goes to the back to find some healing products for you as the final notes of Woman play, and you swivel in your chair to face Harry, knocking your knees against his.

“What’s the next one called?” You ask, so in awe of the man sitting in front of you.

“From the Dining Table. ‘S the last one. Quite an emotional one.” He says back, smiling sadly at you while playing with his rings.

You nod in understanding as it starts, coming to sit next to him and leaning your head on his shoulder, so drained from the last few hours. He wraps his arm around you, tucking his head over yours.

The song goes by without a noise from either of you, sans a few sniffles that made Harry squeeze you a little tighter.

After it ends and the two of you sit there in silence for a while, you say quietly,

“I like how at the end the music swelled when you wanted them to call you, and then it cut out. That was pretty powerful.”

He nods, the movement moving your head slightly.

“I like that part too.”

You pull away from him and look at his face close up for a second, trying to read him.

“Thank you for sharing this with me. I mean, obviously not with me, but that you let me freak out over you. You’re really special, Mr. Ferrari,” you whisper, brushing his hair out of his face.

“So are you, Y/N,” he mumbles, eyes flickering to your lips for a second.

“You paying cash or card?” Mike’s voice cuts through the air and the two of you jump apart, feeling like teenagers.

“Um, card,” You say, standing up with your purse and heading to the counter to pay.

Mike rings you up and you grab a hundred from your wallet to tip him with.

“Ah, I remembered why I like you,” Mike smirks, grabbing the bill from you.

“Stupid,” you mutter, giving him a hug goodbye.

“Oh, before you leave, I’m throwing a party this Saturday, Harry, you’re welcome to come as well,” Mike adds, gesturing him over.

He moves from his spot against the wall to stand next to you, a hand resting on your lower back for a second before dropping to his side.

“Thank you, I’ll have to check and see but I’d love to come. It was great meeting you mate, might have to set an appointment up in the future,” He smiles, shaking Mike’s hand once more.

“Hell yes, brother, I’d love to. Great album, by the way. Can see why Y/N brought you by.” Mike crosses his arms over his chest and looks at you while he says this.

“Alright, shut it down,” You snap your fingers at him, glaring slightly. “I’ll text you later, loser.”

“Get out!” He yells, making you laugh as you drag Harry away.

“Need help with your bag?” Harry asks as you exit the shop, the cold air biting your bare legs.

“I’m good, thank you though.” You swing the bag so it hits his butt just to see the way he jumps and runs away from you for a second.

“Hey! No hitting the driver!” He scolds, wagging a finger pointedly.

“We haven’t even gotten in the car yet!” You argue, coming to a stop in front of his car.

“Doesn’t matter.” He shakes his head and grins at you when he unlocks the door, immediately reaching for yours to open it for you.

“Thank you.” Your voice came out as a meek whisper and you cleared your throat after he shut the door, trying to shake out your butterflies.

He plops himself down next to you and pats his hands on the steering wheel for a second.

“Do you want me to drop you off at your van or your apartment?” He asks, turning to face you.

“Trying to kick me out?” You questioned, laughing at his expression.

“Van’s fine. I’m probably just going to write, I’ve got some stuff to do for a friend.”

“Is there a name for the beach? I’m not sure I remember how to get there,” Harry admits, opening up Google Maps on his phone.

“Not really but I can just find it on the map real quick, I’ve been in this position way too many times.”

He hands his phone over and you find the cove in less than twenty seconds, handing it back over.

“So where are you from? I’m realizing you tricked me into spilling my guts without telling me too much about yourself.” Harry questions, hand going up to scratch his chin.

“I grew up kind of all around California, my family was always traveling so I was homeschooled for all my life. Only child, because we were pretty broke and I was a ‘happy accident’,” You quote, laughing at your mom’s phrasing.

“Aren’t we all really?” Harry grins, shrugging slightly.

“I think so. Anyways, my parents died when I was 15 and that really made me get my shit together. I moved in with my best friend, Laura. Graduated high school early and just worked my ass off for a couple years. Bought Miss Sunflower and renovated her, traveled through America for about a year and a half before moving here with Laura. She and I got an apartment together and just have kind of figured life out since then. She works at a record label and I’ve been working as a part-time songwriter since I was 16, mostly just helping out whenever an extra person is needed or they need some extra little sad sprinkles in a song.” You explain, taking a breath after you finish your little rant.

“I’m so sorry for your loss. I know your parents would be very proud of you staying true to your roots.” Harry sadly smiles, rolling up to a red light at the perfect time. He leans over to give you a quick hug and you graciously accept, whispering a little ‘thank you’ in his ear.

“It’s been a rough grieving process but I’d like to think they are. Please don’t pity me though, it sucks, yes, but life could be so much worse. I’m lucky to have the people in my life that I do,” you explained, picking your nails nervously.

“I completely understand. I lost my stepdad last year and being there for my mum was the only thing that kind of kept me going,” Harry sympathizes, twisting one of his rings around his hands.

“I’m sorry as well,” you murmur, taking his hand and holding it.

“Yeah,” Harry exhales harshly. “Life’s a bitch.”

You giggle lightly, nodding. “That she is.”

The two of you sit in silence for the remainder of the drive back, listening to the ocean waves and the sounds of your breathing.

Harry parks his car next to your van and puts it in park, leaving the headlights on.

“Thank you for coming with me and sharing all of this, you really know how to make a girl feel special,” you blush, tucking a loose curl behind your ear.

“Thank you, Y/N. I feel like my whole view on the world has shifted so much in the last few hours,” Harry gushes, and you have to turn away to smile for a second.

“Come on,” you mumble, hiding your mouth with your hand.

“I’m serious! I know we just met but I really like you, I’d love to continue this. And I need to listen to you play still, not fair I only got to hear from far away for a few seconds.”

“I’d definitely like to see you again, but it’s a harsh maybe on the playing,” You nod, biting your lip to stop the smile from plastering itself on your face.

“I can give you my number if that works, but, like I said, I’m always here.” You offered, gesturing to your car.

“Number works great. And I’ll let you have your spot, I don’t want to take it away from you,” Harry pulls out his phone to give you his contacts.

“No, please come join me, with friends too! I need to share this little bundle of joy,” You hope to pursuade him into visiting this spot, but his expression is unreadable.

“How about this, I’ll text you before I come?” He suggests, taking his phone back from your hands.

“Perfect. Thank you again, Harry,” you emphasize, leaning over to give him another hug.

“Of course, love. Thank you for a wonderful night.”

You wave goodbye after getting out of his car and head into your van, taking note he doesn’t leave til you’ve gotten yourself inside and shut the door.

You plop yourself down on the bed and sigh, looking up at the ceiling.

“Holy shit,” you sigh, getting up to get into the driver’s seat.

You FaceTime Mike on your way back to the apartment, unable to wait to talk to Laura when you get home.

He answers a few seconds later, beer in hand.

“‘Sup loser,” he greets you with a head nod, “You get home okay?”

“Yes, oh my god. What the fuck was tonight? What do you think of Harry?”

He sighs and moves to lean his phone against something.

“If I’m being honest, the man is unreal. I don’t know how the fuck you found him but, wow. I can’t think of anyone who is down to not only drive someone they just met to get a tattoo, but to then sit through the entire thing while having them fangirl over their album.”

“I was not fangirling!” You try and defend, but one look from Mike shuts you up.

“Okay, maybe I was, but I’m just so in awe. I gave him my number because I thought he might feel weird giving me his. He had almost a billion streams on his first fucking album. That’s insane.” You explain, biting your thumb.

“Quit biting. And yeah, I’m not going to lie I looked him up after you left. Mans is a proper superstar, used to date Kendall Jenner allegedly.”

“Bleh,” you shake. “I don’t want to know about his life from the internet, that’s so weird. Also, when Alex and I were together he was dating some new model every other week, all those magazines are bullshit.”

“True. But Alex also was dating a model,” Mike retorts, trying to pick your buttons.

“Haha, very funny,” you deadpann, rolling your eyes.

“I’m just saying, as your brother, be careful. He really does seem like an amazing guy.”

“Yeah. He really is. Say hi to Maggie for me when you get home! I’m rolling up to my place right now so I gotta go.”

“I will. I know you already know how to take care of your tattoo so I’m not gonna waste my time. Later, loser.”

“Bye, dumbass.” You hang up, pulling into the driveway.

Practically dancing up the steps and through the front door, you’re met with the cozy atmosphere the two of you have created for yourself. You can tell your favorite vanilla candle is burning somewhere in the house and you slip off your shoes, practically running into Laura’s room and leaping onto her bed.

“Hello, my love,” she smiles, hugging you tightly. Her perfume envelopes you and you squeeze her back, lying your head in her lap.

“I thought you were staying at the beach today?” She wonders, playing with your hair.

You sit up at this, resting on your elbows.

“I met a boy,” you smile, putting your hands to your cheeks.

“Shut up!” Her voice raises a few octaves and she scrambles upright, hitting your thigh with her hand.

“Ow!”

“Who is he? Where? Oh my god!” Laura rattles off, bouncing up and down on the bed.

“His name’s Harry, we met at the spot. He came with me to get the Tarot card tattoo at Mike’s.” You gesture to the bandage around your forearm.

“Shit, man. What’s he look like?”

“Fucking hot. He’s British, for one. Tall, curly brown hair, green eyes, lots of tattoos. Also, he’s got the voice of a goddamn angel.”

“You’re not talking about Harry Styles, are you?” Laura asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you know him?” You wonder, surprised she knows his name.

Her jaw drops and she fully shoves ou off the bed, emitting a ‘hey!’ from you.

“Of course I know Harry fucking Styles. Are you serious?”

You blow your hair out of your face and lean up on your elbows, one leg still on the edge of the bed.

“No, I’m not joking, what the hell?” You laugh, pulling yourself back onto the comforter.

“How the- who- what?!” She stutters, looking at you expectantly for a story.

“He came up to me on the beach asking for a lighter, we smoked a j and just kind of started talking. I asked if he wanted to go to Mike’s with me and he drove me over, and I’m me, so I tried to pick apart his brain a little. We listened to his album, which, by the way, have you heard it? That shit’s incredible.”

“Of course I’ve heard it! The entire world has heard it! Keep going!”

“Jesus,” you laugh, shocked by her reaction. “He drove me back and we got a little deep, I gave him my number before I left. I think we kind of had a moment though, he looked like he wanted to kiss me for a second.”

You pull your knees to your chest and rest your chin on them, thinking back to that moment.

“Holy shit, Y/N,” Laura sighs, falling back dramatically on her pillow.

“I know. I feel kind of weird though, he seems very closed in. I mean, I get it, I saw that he has quite a bit of fame, but I don’t want to have to pry him open, y’know?”

“I mean, yeah, but he’s really fucking famous. His fans are some of the most die-hard people out there. And there’s a hell of a lot of people who would do unspeakable things to be in your position. Myself included,” she mumbles at the end, and you swat her with a pillow.

“Gah,” you moan, lying down next to her. “I don’t know how to navigate my way around that kind of fame. What if he sees that, or still thinks that I’m lying about not knowing who he is? That’d be a bit egotistical, though, so maybe I’d be dodging a bullet.”

“Nope! You are not missing out on an opportunity to fuck Harry Styles.”

You laugh, scrunching your nose.

“I don’t want to think of him like that. Just Harry, the dude who I’ve been relentlessly teasing all night.” You turn onto your stomach suddenly.

“Shit. What if I was being too much?”

You groan again, pushing your face in her pillow.

“Than he’s dumb for not realizing how funny you are.”

Your phone pings suddenly, and you grab it from your back pocket, not recognizing the number on your home screen.

“Shit, he just texted me.” You shout, standing up onto the ground while you read the message aloud.

Hey, Y/N, it’s Harry. Hope you’re enjoying the rest of your night, I just wanted to give you my number and thank you again. Tonight was probably the most fun I’ve had in a while, if I’m being honest, and I was wondering if you wanted to do lunch tomorrow?

“Oh, fuck ME, he just asked me out to lunch.” Your hand goes up to your mouth as you look wide-eyed at Laura, who’s expression matches yours.

“Bitch, say yes!”

“Okay!” you yell back, pacing back and forth.

hey harry ! i’m glad you had fun tonight, i was worried i might’ve scared you off haha. i’d love to do lunch, what time were you thinking ?

“Does that sound okay?” You hand your phone off to Laura, getting her stamp of approval before sending it.

“Ah! Okay, shit fuck, it’s sent.” You throw your phone onto her bed and lean against her door, waiting for his reply.

Your phone lights up not even two minutes later, a text from Harry reading,

Haha, definitely didn’t scare me off. If anything, the opposite. How does noon sound? I can pick you up if you’d like?

“A gentleman,” Laura sighs, fanning herself as you read it together.

“Shut up,” you mumble, blushing slightly as you type back,

well, good, i’m glad :). noon works great, here’s my address. sleep well, harry.

I’ll be counting down the minutes. Goodnight, love.

You scream as you read his last text, shoving your face in your hands.

“Oh my god, okay, Y/N, take a chill pill,” you tell yourself, taking a deep breath in. “Ugh, why am I getting so worked up over a guy?”

“Because he’s funny, cute, talented, and rich, bitch.”

You give Laura a look and she laughs,

“Okay, money, fame, and any prior knowledge I have aside, he seems like a great dude. And if he’s not, well, my dreams will be absolutely crushed.” She shrugs, going back to scrolling through Instagram.

“Oh, wow, thanks.” You roll your eyes, standing up. “I’m gonna make some tea, you want any?”

“I’m good, thanks though.”

You nod and shut her door behind you, going into the kitchen to turn the kettle on.

Hopping up on the counter while you wait, you decide to do a little bit of Instagram stalking, just to see what he posts.

You click on his most recent one, smiling at his caption.

“Kissy,” you mutter, shaking your head lightly.

Scrolling through a few more of his photos, you bite your lip at his outfits, incredibly jealous of his stylist. His feed is better than yours, if you’re being honest, and you smile at the thought of him making sure all the black bars line up.

Hearing the whistle of the kettle, you hop off the counter and pour yourself a cup of chamomile. Closing out the app, you take your mug into your room, turning on your lights that make your room look like you’re floating in the galaxy.

Placing it on your nightstand, you get yourself ready for bed, spending a little extra time washing your face and doing your skin care routine.

You slide into bed and open up your latest book find of the week, this one being Misery by Steven King.

You find your eyes drooping after a while and set your things on your nightstand, snuggling deeper into your blankets.

With a smile on your face, you drift off to sleep, excited for tomorrow.

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jimclassicstoycollection · 4 years

Photo

Diamond Select’s

The Real Ghostbusters

Egon Spengler

by Diamond Select

I picked this up back in October, I think in 2019 from my local comic book store. I’d been eying it for a while and finally decided to pick him up.

Egon:

Egon Spengler is the brains of the Ghostbusters. He’s usually conducting experiments, or is researching something paranormal, or just not comprehending a joke...

The toy stands about 7 inches tall and is based on ‘The Real Ghostbusters’ cartoon version, however Diamond Select attempted to marry the cartoon design with a more realistic sculpting.

I gotta be honest here, as well made as this toy is, I don’t have a lot to say about Egon.

The sculpting o the jump suit is really nice, and you can see all sorts of wrinkles and details such as pockets and zippers, and all the paint deco is clean.

You see a lot of cool, cartoony gizmos hanging off of Egon’s belt. His elbow pads have to occasionally be re adjusted on his arm because the they move from sied to side every so often.

This toy is very articulated:

-Ball jointed head, universal shoulders, double elbow joints, universal hinges at the wrists, ball joint at the torso, waist rotation, universal hips, outward hinge at the hips, thigh swivel, double bend at the knees, ankle point and tilt.

However in spite of the fact that Egon is so well articulated standing is sometimes an issue. Maybe it’s because of the proton pack, or maybe his feet could afford to be a little larger, but sometimes pose Egon into an action pose can be tricky.

Though the sculpting of Egon is more realistic and life like than the animation model, however the proton pack on his back doesn’t look all that different from the cartoon at all.

The paint deco is simple. It’s mostly a muted blue, with some red, yellow, and some silver paint. It’s simple...but it gets the point across.

The neutrino wand is connected to the pack by a thin yellow plastic cord and is still using the muted blue as its base color, along with the silver and some light browns in areas.

The pack itself is mostly simple geometric shapes with some sculpted tubes and wires, but it’s not too overwhelming. There’s even a painted dial which...well, it looks cartoony.

Egon is wearing the pack with shoulder straps and a belt around his waist. I couldn’t find any way to remove the proton pack, so I guess even though it’s a separate piece from Egon, but it’s on him permanently.

There’s a small rectangular plastic tab which sticks out on the side of the proton pack, and I tried to place the ghost trap there, and much to my surprise it held on pretty well.

Though the cord did whatever it felt like doing...

Let’s focus on Egon’s head sculpt for a moment.

It’s good. I think it’s really good, it’s just weird seeing a cartoon character with more realistic detailing. Egon’s got a lot of nice hair sculpting, and I think the glasses are a separate object to the rest of his face.

He even has the peculiar look on his face, as if Egon’s about to speak, or he’s just fascinated with whatever it is he’s looking at...

You can even see his upper teeth, and they’re painted well too.

Still, an extra head would have been nice.

Accessories:

Diamond Select Egon comes with a decent amount of accessories, including a plastic stand, which is meant to connect with the other three Real Ghostbusters figures, to create a false front of the firehouse.

Egon comes with three pairs of swap-able hands:

-Bare hands, semi grip (doesn’t really hold the neutrino wand all too well)

-Gloved hands (similar poses as the bare hands)

-Gloved hands (holding position)

All three hands pop on and off without a problem, however just be aware that the both pairs of gloved hands comes in tow parts; the hands themselves, and the flared cuffs are a separate piece of soft plastic. Be sure not to lose them.

The PK E meter is what the Ghostbusters often use to track down ghost, and this is pretty much what it looked like in the cartoon.

It looks really good, however the antennae (the whole thing in fact is made of a soft plastic) and it’s so thin that warping is inevitable and it just looks bad.

The paint details looks fantastic though.

The ghost trap is what the Ghostbuster use to...well, trap ghosts. again, much like the PK E meter it looks really good, and has a lot of nice painted detail; I have less to complain about the trap than I did the meter. If I were to voice one issue with it is that the length of the cord is just too short.

And it would be nice if the cord was made out of wire, so you adjust it instead of it being made out of plastic which is more difficult to manipulate.

The proton stream and the clear plastic connector is where I have the biggest issue with Egon’s accessories.

For starters I prefer my blast effects to be clear plastic; I think clear plastic effects give off a more iridescent look to them and they they also tend to be made out of a softer plastic.

The stream here is made out of a very rigid plastic, and I’m confident that under the slightest bit of strain that it will break one of these days.

In order to have the proton stream appear to be firing out of the neutrino want this clear plastic connector is the only thing which allows that to happen, and that is problematic...

The connector fits well enough onto the tip of the wand, however the stream doesn’t fit too well on the tiny end of the connector; it’s much smaller than the connector, and is likely to fall out unless the toy is holding the wand up a bit.

What Diamond Select should have done was make the wand connector the bright light at the base of the stream. It would have made the stream and connector one object, and probably would have given it a more cohesive look.

Final Thoughts:

This is a really nice toy. I have a lot of fond memories of ‘The Real Ghostbusters’ cartoon (and in my opinion it still holds up today)

The figure really solid, well sculpted, and for the most part it stands well. It’s weird though...Real Ghostbusters Egon looks good, trying to be realistic and yet also trying to maintain the aesthetic of the cartoon. I can dig it though.

Where the toy lacks is in the accessories. I’m not a fan of the particle stream and the small, clear plastic connector. The stream is too solid, and the clear connector can be easily lost. I’ve already lost it once already, then found it, and will probably lose it again.

I’m not sure if I’ll pick up the other three Diamond Select Real Ghostbusters toys, especially since Hasbro has launched there new 6in Plasma Series Ghostbusters toys, AND the retro Kenner reproduction Real Ghostbusters toy (I haven’t seen any of them in the stores yet, but I’m looking out for them).

So I may just stick with this version of Egon and focus on the Hasbro toys instead.

Now enjoy the pictures.

#toys #action figures #the real ghostbusters #ghostbusters #egon #egon spengler #diamond Select

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djsinquarantine · 4 years

Text

Tech House Taco Tuesday with Abco, By Team Awesome

Description: https://www.twitch.tv/abcomusic This stream was live on June 16th, 2020 at 5pm EST. During our study, viewership peaked at 232 and remained steady at around 200 for the majority of the stream. The description and the bots in the chat shared a lot of info about Abco and ways to support her including: some of her merch, her soundcloud page (https://soundcloud.com/abcomusic), her spotify playlist, (https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4tGqb8UqquHUQOePHQSf7N?si=ct6lP73ZSTuD2uKxYBlqFA) and an encouragement to reach out to Twitch in order to help Abco get a partnership with Twitch. In this stream, all money raised through tips, subscriptions, gift subscriptions, bits and merch will be donated to the LGBTQ Freedom Fund, a bail fund for incarcerated Black LGBTQ people. Abco will be donating to a different Black-led organization every Tuesday for the next few weeks.

Visual Experience: There was quite a bit happening visually with the stream: Abco was, for the most part, the central focus of the video stream on Twitch and emotes would float across the stream as she played. Video of her would sometimes cut to crazy colorful and geometric graphics that a number of viewers made positive note of. Frank asked Abco whether the visuals were tailored to the stream, and Abco mentioned that she had bought a pack of visual DJ loops and edited the color and shape of some of them, but has been reusing them in multiple streams. For most of the stream, the top left corner displayed chat messages in real-time while the top right was a dog cam and featured their dog laying on the dog bed suspended in a space of cool visuals. Occasionally, when someone would send a “bit emote” or would “cheer,” all paid Twitch-specific features, it would also display across the screen with the viewer’s display name. The very top right header was dedicated to the current time while the top left header displayed Abco’s social media links, all @abcomusic. Her camera angle looked down on her from above, so it allowed us to see her setup and equipment clearly, and it almost felt like being up in the booth with her.

Below the video stream on the Twitch page, there were links to leave a tip, follow Abco on various social media and to buy merch. The chat also had a lot going on visually: most people participated by sharing Twitch emotes. On Twitch, a selection of emotes are free to use, and for this stream, Twitch unlocked their pride emotes, which included heart flag designs for the various identities within the LGBTQ community, including the gay, lesbian, trans and bisexual pride flag emotes. There were also a number of exclusive subscriber-only emotes many users shared, including a rainbow discoball and emotes that looked like Abco’s dogs. Abco’s merchandise and branding is very much centered around her dogs, and it was quirky in an incredible likeable way. She also felt very relatable with her glass of red wine.

Sonic Experience: The stream was largely dedicated to Techno House mixes. Abco played her own original mixes of songs, most of them unrecognizable, save for one which chat participants mentioned used a Duran Duran sample. Other songs incorporated talking tracks. Overall, the music was high-energy dance music that drew influence from 80s synth pop, techno, 90s Eurodance and even R&B. The abco bot dropped links to Abco’s soundcloud where you can listen to her original mixes and well as her Spotify page.

Soundcloud:https://soundcloud.com/abcomusic

Spotify: https://spoti.fi/2VuXsxH

Technology: Unlike in past streams, Abco’s stream had a detailed list of the equipment in her DJ setup as well as the equipment used for the stream itself. The setup included:

Pioneer DJ DDJ 1000 (CDJ controller / mixer)

2x XDJ-1000 MK2 (CDJs)

Audio Technica LP120 (Turntable)

Aiaiai DJ Preset TMA-2 Headphones

Macbook Air 2019

KRK Rokit5 (Speaker)

The equipment they used for streaming included a Powerspec gaming monitor, which Abco used to watch the comments, respond the questions, and thank users for donations / bits, a Canon EOS M200 which recorded the stream, a Logitech stream webcam to stream their dog and themselves on Zoom and the Scarlett 2i2 usb interface. Although the stream was mainly on Twitch, Abco used a number of other streaming platforms to share her work.

Social Experience: Holding the attention of a steady 180+ users, the chat was very active and fast-paced throughout the stream. This stream was very focused on raising money for the LGBTQ freedom fund, a bail fund for black LGBTQ incarcerated people. Because of this, it can be reasoned that the stream viewers were members of the LGBT community or allies. Chat participants were very interested in the music and the genres of music that Abco likes to play. In the middle of a flurry of comments about loving a particular track, one user asked Abco about her favorite genre to play during evening sets. To further enhance the social experience, Abco had a monitor so they could keep track of the chat and responded to the user saying that she likes to play techno house for evening sets, but during the daytime prefers to play piano-heavy 90s house music. People were also generally very respectful, welcoming and helpful to one another. One user noted in the chat that they were a first-timer on Twitch and didn’t know how to send bits, and other users instructed them until they figured it out. When Sarah posted in the chat about being a student and wanting to send out a survey, users were nice about her request and suggested she post in the Discord chat to reach a wider audience.

When Courtney first tried to enter the Zoom room, she had difficulty turning her video on even though her microphone was still working. She entered in and out of the room, and that fixed the issue. Some participants, although they made it clear that they were relatively new to Zoom, offered to help her fix the issue and were really sympathetic to her having a little trouble. She found it very sweet. Oh yeah, the people in the Zoom room were also pretty drunk. At first, Courtney was shy, but she warmed up to them a bit after they started talking about home. We all started comparing drinks and shot glasses, while Courtney remarked about her Nalgene. One woman said she was “cute as f*ck” which was really flattering, and it was probably the best compliment ever. A few people were from Great Britain, so we talked about politics and explained the craziness that happened in our relative places. Our conclusion was, “Politicians are all muppets.”

Abco was connecting into the Zoom room and played the music from her stream into her microphone, so the audio was a little shaky from that perspective. Additionally, Courtney had trouble hearing people speak over her stream. At first, Courtney was kind of peeved by it, but then she realized that she usually has to talk over the music during in-person DJ sets anyway. She started to appreciate the memory of her at events with loud music in the past. Abco tells us in the chat how she can’t keep up with two chats and that’s why she hasn’t been active in the Zoom. Courtney saw how focused Abco was even though they generally give off a cool, relaxed vibe. All of us in the room understood how she was juggling multiple activities at once, and when she addressed us in a friendly way, it felt like we were in the VIP section of a club in a select room.

Frank also spent a few minutes in the Zoom call early on in the stream--although he didn’t turn on his mic or video as he was eating and thought it might be weird. He also found the people in the Zoom room to be very very nice and helpful, yet also funny and playful. When he first shared the link to the Google Doc survey, one user by the name of Fexcab said he would only fill out the survey if Frank shared his instagram handle so he could know what Frank looked like. Another individual in the Zoom room by the name of DJ Smark (who I believe was also a mod in the Twitch stream) would go on to encourage Frank to also share the survey in Abco’s Discord server as it was much bigger. He then gave Frank access to the Discord server. Sarah would end up beating Frank to sharing the survey on the Discord server, though. Users did many fun things including dancing to the music, showing themselves rolling around on roller skates (which Abco would go on to mention on her stream), showing themselves baking, and putting on funny hats. It was Frank’s first experience in a breakout Zoom room where the users turned on their mics to talk to one another.

Outside the Zoom room, the Twitch chat and the stream itself were fairly focused on the dogs--in some ways, the event seemed more focused on the dogs than Abco, at least to Frank. The stream employed the viewership points system that Twitch offers. In this system, viewers are awarded points for watching and engaging in the stream in exchange for certain prizes. In this case, prizes included making the dogcam the center of attention for the stream (4,000 points), getting Abco to give the dogs a treat (2,500 points), and getting Abco to pet the dogs (2,000 points). An interesting pattern in the chat was the strong support for the LGBTQIA+ community that primarily manifested itself in the spamming of pride emotes. This is likely largely due to the fact that Abco said that all of the proceeds from this particular stream would be donated to the LGBTQ Freedom Fund. Abco was certainly a significant catalyst for the chat’s high activity as well. She would regularly answer questions posted in the chat, and even share short anecdotes and opinions regarding topics that were brought up. For instance, at one point she talked about wanting to be a roller skating rink dj when she was younger and at another point she shared how she was drinking wine and asked if anyone else was as well.

Liveness: One aspect of the stream that Sarah felt brought about an aura of liveness was Abco’s interaction with the chat feed. Instead of there being a disconnect in the stream between DJ and viewer, Abco was able to re-create the two-way interaction that you would find in a live performance.

Courtney arrived later to the stream than Sarah and Frank, and she thinks that could have affected her sense of liveness. Although she felt socially engaged in the Zoom room and the chat, she believed her focus on gathering information removed her from the experience of being live this time around. It’s a rookie mistake!

Perhaps one aspect of the stream that especially added to its liveness is the dynamic and multi-layered social atmosphere and audience interaction. In particular, the Zoom room participants talking amongst themselves, and the audience having the ability to alter certain aspects of the stream through Twitch’s point system are experiences inherently tied to the stream’s present that reproductions (such as a recording) would fail to capture.

Individual Research Questions: Looking at Abco’s previous broadcasts, Courtney noticed that she wore a FEMME HOUSE t-shirt, which is an organization that LP Giobbi (a DJ that Courtney also listened to this week) founded to amplify the voices of women and non-binary DJs in the electronic music scene. Abco also played for Mesh Fest this past Saturday, a stream put on by Club Mesh, a female producer/DJ trio that are also closely tied to FEMME HOUSE. Courtney wanted to attend this stream but eventually was not able to. It’s interesting to see the connections in the community, especially when women are uplifting each other rather than putting each other down. This relates to Courtney’s inquiry about DIY culture – these women are giving themselves a voice through their online engagement, and this has allowed their message to reach new audiences.

There weren’t too many connections to Frank’s research questions in this stream: there weren’t any cases of people being rude or trolling in the chat that I noticed, and the music didn’t seem to have a noteworthy connection to the stream’s liveness. I suppose I can mention that that last fact might be noteworthy in itself. This might mean that, for some streams, users might show up because of the music but stay for the social atmosphere. In this particular stream, the Zoom room, the emotes, the dogs, and Abco’s interactions with chat messages and Zoom room participants may have been entertaining enough within themselves to make the music much less of a focus for the stream and audience.

This stream ties to the questions I had about livestreams and community organizing. In this instance, there is a great deal of momentum surrounding the BLM movement, and in the middle of pride month, LGBTQ people and allies are supporting the Black LGBTQ community, including in this stream. Abco pledged to donate all money from tips, subscriptions, bits and merch to a different Black-led organization every Tuesday for the duration of Pride month and this week, it focused on a bail fund for incarcerated Black LGBTQ individuals. Abco’s Tech House Taco Tuesday is one of many streams we have encountered over the last two weeks pledging funds to a Black-led organization, specifically to a bail fund, indicating the widespread support for an end to mass-incarceration and policing.

youtube

________________________________________________________________

#research diaries

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essektheylyss · 4 years

Text

as he falls from the sky

Perhaps his fall from grace would not feel so wrong if there weren't so many people around him to catch him. Guilt is a dizzying thing.

Post-97, no major warnings. Ao3 link here if you wanna read there or check out the tags!

He’s unused to being on the ocean, and every rock of the boat, however gentle in the Nicodranas harbor, feels like another lurch forward, like a fall. Like that moment before falling asleep, when your mind drops and you are startled awake by vertigo, over, and over, and over.

But it’s not just the ocean, is it? This is the fall. He’s been waiting for decades for the tightrope he’s been walking to break, and now he’s spiraling downward, eyes closed tight so as not to catch sight of the ground rising up to meet him at terminal velocity.

He’s always prided himself on his ability to float. He’d hoped maybe he could keep it up forever. He should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

The soft surface of the hammock in the cabin they’ve settled him in—well guarded, he’s sure, though they didn’t say as much—might as well be cement, for all the comfort it brings him.

There will be no sleep for him tonight, he knows. His skin burns where Jester squeezed his hand and Caleb kissed his head, and their affection is a like a brand—imagining it as a burn is the only way he can feel like it’s something he deserve. But these marks they’ve bestowed upon him tie him to them in a way that endangers them, but he doesn’t think they’re willing to take them back.

And they know, he thinks, the way they’ve spoken about the Assembly, how much danger he has put them in just by caring about them.

But he thinks of throne rooms and white dragons and devils and remembers that danger has never driven them away from saving one of their own, and he is, against all odds, now one of them. He only prays that he is worth saving.

Funny. He’s never prayed in his life, not sincerely anyway, and though he is uncertain to what entity he is appealing right now, it is certainly a prayer in his mind.

The gentle rock of the hammock feels too much like a descent, and he stands finally, his breath short and catching in his chest, and he pushes the door to the tiny room open, holding onto what little air he can take in, expecting to get reprimanded, but… no one is in the hallway outside. The ship is silent aside from the occasional creak of the wood hull.

He can’t bring himself to float, not here, not tonight, and he also can’t bring himself to cover his footsteps, and they still fall, even as light as they are beneath his weight, with hollow thuds on the stairs.

It is still so dark on the deck, most of the lamplight of Nicodranas extinguished now, but the stars overhead are bright enough that his keen eyes have no difficulty in picking out the lone figure standing at the railing across the deck.

Perhaps he is being guarded after all, more subtly than a locked door or a set of chains. After Caleb’s attempt to cuff him at the party, he had half-expected to be chained in his room.

This is almost worse—any modicum of trust they award him feels like an admittance that they do not understand how much of a danger he is. Nothing he touches comes away uncorrupted, but he also does not think they are fools.

The cool ocean air comes in gulps as he tries to find his breath again, liberated from the musky weight of his cabin. He walks to the railing.

When Caleb meets his eye, he doesn’t look surprised. In fact, he barely glances over, his eyes fixed on the darkened city. “The docks are crawling with Crownsguard, and it bodes poorly for either of us to be seen together by anyone associated with the Assembly. Perhaps you should be in disguise.”

Essek ducks his head until he can place it in his own hands, elbows resting on the railing in a mirror to Caleb. “I… I don’t know that I can face you all as anything other than what I am. Not anymore.”

“We are going to protect you,” Caleb murmurs, “but we need you to protect yourself in order to do that.”

Essek sighs, and his fingers flit in the air, tracing a few runes, before a disguise falls back over his form, different than the one he had presented to the Martinet. He is not that much of a fool.

“It’s alright though,” Caleb continues as Essek allows himself to stand up straighter again, “we wear many masks here. It’s only fitting.”

Essek frowns at him, though he has no idea how much Caleb can see of his expression in the dark.

Caleb laughs though, so he must’ve seen it, understood the intention behind it, because he says, “Caleb Widogast is not… not the name I had when I was under the tutelage of Trent Ikithon. In fact…” He presses almost instinctively at the bandages on his arms—the sleeves of his robes had hidden them, earlier, but back in more comfortable clothing, his sleeves are rolled up, and the gritty wrappings are exposed to the night air. “I was a very different person then. Not physically but…” His voice trails off, and he peers into the sea below them. “That boy died a long time ago.”

Essek’s mouth is dry, and he has to clear his throat before he can speak again. “When did you study under Trent?”

“Oh, I began with him almost… I think almost fifteen years ago, now,” he says softly, and Essek remembers his interactions with the Scourger, their quick Zemnian conversation before she’d tried to kill him. The small bits of information he’d gleaned from veiled conversations with the Martinet over the past several decades. For all of his poor decisions, Essek is a clever man.

“Caleb.” He’s never been so uncertain of what steps to take next, not even when he didn’t touch the ground. But he is certain that he needs to know this. “I have no right to ask you for anything, but I…” He swallows hard. “May I see your arms?”

Caleb startles now, though he doesn’t seem alarmed, only surprised. “Why?”

“If you worked with Trent, and he has been…” One hand rests in the air over Caleb’s wrist. “Will you permit me?”

Wordlessly, Caleb offers his arm, and Essek’s face burn where he unwraps the bandages. He is grateful it’s dark enough that Caleb won’t notice the color in his cheeks. When the scars are laid bare, the designs are unmistakable, geometric patterns that mirror the ones he has traced so many times in notes and research. “What did he do to you?”

“Residuum,” Caleb answers, and he winces as he remembers. His forearm still rests in Essek’s palms, and Essek imagines the touch sears another brand into his palm, but he cannot bring himself to let go. “There were residuum crystals here, in lines and points.” Essek keeps expecting him to pull his arm away, but neither of them move. “It’s odd; I saw some of… some of my former peers, a little while ago, when they allowed us to inspect the beacon, and they now have tattoos in similar design instead.”

“That is… puzzling.”

“You know something of this?”

Essek wets his lips and shakes his head. “No, no, I have not been told of this. But it certainly appears to me to be dunamantic in nature.”

“And you are something of an expert, hmm?” Caleb asks, and Essek knows his own arrogant words thrown back at him when he hears them. There is no malice in their tone, though, nor in Caleb’s smile, and he still doesn’t answer.

The silence stretches between them as a set of guards passes by on the docks below, and that sensation of vertigo washes over Essek again. Instinctively, he grips the only thing he can—Caleb’s arm, and Caleb’s hands find his own arms, grasping onto him tightly.

“Are you alright?”

“I… I think so. Tonight has been… overwhelming.”

“Yes,” Caleb smiles again. “We can be an overwhelming lot.”

Part of Essek wants to scream at that, wants to rage against the kindness of Caleb’s scorched fingers on his arms, the place where Essek can still feel his lips on his forehead. He deserves none of it, and every extension of that kindness only brings the ground hurtling closer. The impact has not come, and yet it must.

But at the same time, with his feet firmly on the deck and Caleb holding onto him, it is almost like he can feel the ground. Perhaps a softer landing is not impossible for him after all, cradled in the battered, straining wings of his friends. The burden of his mistakes might not be too heavy to carry, with all of them around him.

His friends.

He is burning, drowning, falling, all at once, but when he finds Caleb’s blue eyes in the dark, swimming back into focus, he gets the faintest idea that, of everyone in the world he could’ve met, this group of people—how broken, he cannot say, but he has seen the fear that he feels behind their eyes—understand that the most.

Everything blurs again, but this time it is because of the tears that have risen to his eyes, and before he can speak Caleb’s arms wrap around his shoulders. The sob catches in his throat before he can make a sound, maintaining composure to the end—it is the last of his dignity that he can cling to, but with his face buried in Caleb’s shoulder, he allows the tears to fall.

“This is not a kindness I am worthy of,” he chokes out finally, but Caleb doesn’t move.

“We have not asked what you believe yourself worthy of,” he responds, and the growl of his voice rumbles in his chest. “We offer you the kindness that in the past we have withheld from ourselves.”

Essek has no response to that, but it is the last protest he thinks to give them as Caleb grounds him—to the ship, to the group, to what life he may yet live. And now that he has touched it, been given permission to land, he cannot give up the sweet kiss of the earth anymore.

#essek thelyss #critical role #cr spoilers #I am in ! so ! much ! pain !#please go listen to The Amazing Devil's new album #it's excellent and I'm projecting essek feels onto half of the songs #(the title is from the song This Unwanted Animal)#this isn't really ship related it's really just essek/happiness #give this boi a fuckin hug basically!!!

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ajuimaginary · 6 years

Text

Soulmate Mingyu

Part of the Seventeen Soulmate Series

Your pen tapped out an absent minded pattern on the paper in front of you, note-taking long forgotten. You were sitting in the middle of your classroom in high school, ignoring your teacher in favour of your own drifting imaginings.

It wasn’t your fault you were distracted, At least not this time. You were watching artwork sketch itself across your arms.

Your soulmate connection was causing the marks, of course: that familiar link every person shared with a destined future true love. Your skins became canvases tied together by fate, and when one was marked in any way, the other would share an identical imprint.

Right now, your soulmate was drawing neat patterns of flowers, a basic blue ballpoint pen sketching them line by line so they pooled over his bare skin, and in turn, appeared on your own hands, coming from no where.

You wanted to express for affection for the artwork, so you followed a pattern that had become familiar to the two of you, and you drew the outline of a little heart just under his drawings.

You waited, and like always, you had a quick response. A second, slightly larger heart was etched alongside it from your soulmate’s end. Perfectly, artistically, formed. It was his reply. An assurance that he felt the same way.

You felt a flutter in your real heart. You hoped you would never stop being this moved by even the smallest of moment between you. When the bell rang to end the lesson, you barely noticed.

No one would blame you though. There was nothing quite so exciting as signs of a link with a soulmate. Especially when you hadn’t met one another yet, and your joined skins were your only communication.

Although, you and your soulmate knew a few things about each other already.

In most nations, when babies were born, it was common for parents to seek the basic soulmate info their child might want when they were older. A pen with ink safe for newborn skin was owned by most hospitals. It was used to write soulmate? across the baby’s forehead. If the soulmate was already born, their parents would see the mark appear, and they would send a reply saying yes, then possibly exchange more info. If the soulmate was not born yet, it was a matter of waiting until the word soulmate? appeared, sent from the other end.

Because of this tradition, in your early years, your parents and your soulmates’ parents had already been in contact. You knew he was Korean. You knew his name was Kim Mingyu. You knew he was a boy. You knew his birthday.

Those were the only details that hospitals and parents traditionally bothered to exchange. They left the rest to the kids. You knew in some cultures the parents would be taking the info they got to consult astrologists or religious leaders for more insight. But that was the extent of it.

In the largely globalized world of the modern age, it was taboo in most countries for parents to interfere by continuing communications across their infants’ skin. It was considered more organic to let the children establish ties as they grew up. They could decide for themselves if they wanted to know more before meeting one another. You and your soulmate had long ago come to an agreement that you wanted to do most of your discovering in person, whenever the universe turned its destined pages and bound your paths together.

You were happy knowing one another’s names, and had spent all your lives working to know each other’s languages too. You could tell he’d become quite good with yours because of the ease he wrote down the occasional thing he wanted to remember- like a song title or a movie. And you knew he’d seen your abilities with Korean as well.

The other things you’d discovered about him intrigued you beyond belief. He seemed crazily talented. Almost unfairly talented.

His talents came through in bits and pieces throughout your childhood, when he was bored during what must have been the Korean school day. It was pretty common in your world for people to draw on their own skin. Who didn’t like the idea of a little extra communication with their soulmate? So you would watch doodles paint patterns on your arms, and see how good Mingyu was at art - from little geometric designs to quirky cartoon figures, some of which you recognised, and some which (after a little Googling) introduced you to comic books he must have enjoyed.

There were also the recipes. They were less common, and he only seemed to make those notes if he had no other means to record his food ideas. They made your heart flutter more than anything else, because your soulmate could apparently cook, and cook well at that.

He would scrawl notes to himself on the bare skin of his forearm: ideas about ingredients, or spice combos. One time, when you were only about twelve years old, he wrote out a whole recipe in a quick scrawl, like he was trying to get it noted down quickly to try at home later. Interest raised, you also decided to try it as well. Only problem was, his handwriting was hard to read from his rush to get it all written. After squinting at it for a while, you circled a couple of things on your own arm, and wrote little question marks beside it, hoping he would see, and clarify for you.

Sure enough, the recipe began to rewrite itself out on your other arm. It was in someone elses hand-writing this time, because using his non-dominant right hand would have been even messier. You wondered who was writing it, thinking fondly of your soulmate asking for their help.

Thanks, you wrote under it, adding a little heart.

He drew a returning heart, and, most likely, returned to cooking.

Ever since then, that had been your routine. A small heart when you wanted to express affection, and an answering heart from the other person.

You started to thank each other when you accidentally provided a good recommendation for a song, or a movie, and as time passed, you started to deliberately write things you wanted to share.

When you stumbled across a cartoon with a character you’d seen him doodle before, you always let him know what you thought. When his friends all watched a movie he knew you’d seen before, he would tell you if he’d enjoyed it.

It was such a simple way to be connected, but it warmed your heart each time.

When your soulmate reached his late teenage years, he must have started getting into performing, because occasionally some truly dramatic stage make up looks would appear on your face that you were pretty sure he couldn’t be for day to day events. Sometimes, they were embarrassing - appearing at times you did not want to have that intense of a smoky eye. Sometimes, they were really perfectly timed - you were delighted at the seemingly professional level of quality you were given for free through your soulmate.

As well as the make up, the occasional scrawls your soulmate added to the back of his hand sometimes looked like song lyrics. Usually just a few short bars, in messier than normal handwriting that indicated to you he must have had to jot them down quickly. It added to your theory that he was interested in performing.

You wondered if he was passionate enough about performing to put song covers online or something. Perhaps you might have even glimpsed his face before around Youtube. The thought made you grin, but you would have no way of knowing for sure until you met him.

One of the nicest surprises came to you one day when you were listening to music on Spotify- a decent mix of English songs and K-pop (which you’d been listening to for a long time since you knew the language anyway.) You were playing random playlists you found, seeking new music, and then suddenly one of the songs played some rap bars you definitely recognized. You checked the song title - 기대 - and the group name - Seventeen. And you added it instantly to your library.

You were sure your soulmate must have sung the song before, and as always when you discovered a little connection like that, the moment of recognition was thrilling.

You picked up a pen, and then wrote along your arm.

Hi Mingyu, I just listened to 기대 by Seventeen!

There was a pause much longer than usual before you got any response. You went about your day with the letters on your arm, wondering when he would write something back. Usually his replies were quick. But it was when you were getting ready for bed that he finally wrote back.

Sorry it took me so long to reply.

You frowned in confusion, but more letters began to appear.

Did you like the song? Did you watch a performance? Do you know anything about Seventeen? Did you look them up?

It was an odd series of questions.

I didn’t watch anything, you responded, and I haven’t looked them up. Should I have?

You waited, feeling very anxious suddenly, like you had done something wrong. Mingyu seemed sharper and more upset than usual. You watched his questions wash off your arm as he removed them to make room to write more, and you quickly went to your bathroom sink to wash your side of the conversation away as well.

On the blank slate, Mingyu wrote:

No! Don’t look them up! Promise me you won’t.

How strange...

You stared at the request for a long time.

Okay. You wrote. I promise.

You waited for more explanation, but he wrote nothing else for a long time. You picked up your pen again, hesitated, and added:

I liked the song though. Can I still listen to it?

Mingyu drew two adorable hearts first, and wrote: Of course you can. I don’t want to order you around, I’m sorry, it’s just important to me that you don’t look up that group. Feel free to listen to the song though.

Another pause.

What did you like about it?

You laughed a little.

It’s really nice! There’s kind of a soothing but cool style to it. Even the way it starts off it amazing. I think the voices have a kind of story telling vibe to them.

You waited for his response.

I like that too. He wrote. And then he put a few more hearts, and said goodnight. You both washed off your arms and you went to bed.

You had no idea what was going on, but you wanted to respect his wishes and his boundaries, so you didn’t press the issue. You simply let it go. But you listened to 기대 almost every day for a while after, and you especially loved the lines that you remembered Mingyu had written on his arm.

One year after the 기대 incident, your world changes for ever.

You knock on your best friend’s front door, smiling at the pink balloons tied on the letter box and around the doorway. Her little sister yanks the door open, a huge grin on her face.

“Welcome, Y/N!” she yells happily. “It’s my birthday!”

“I know, sweetie,” you smile back at her, handing her the gift in your hands, and watching her squeal with excitement, shaking it violently in her hands. “I can’t believe you’re six years old already! I’m here to help set up the party.”

She guides you through to the back garden, chattering happily about how all her class is coming to join the fun. You respond with the expected enthusiasm, and gasp in amazement when you walk out onto the decorated back lawn. Your best friend waves you over as soon as she sees you.

“Thanks again for offering to help with the party!” she says. “Can you run the face painting? You only need to do really basic looks. We even have some examples the kids can pick from, so you won’t have to think of any complicated designs yourself.”

You look at the sheet of card she’s holding, with a tiger, butterfly wings, a pirate, and other classic kids’ designs she must have printed off from the internet, and you agree you can do the job.

There’s a bit of time to kill before the actual event begins, so you decide to practice some face painting on yourself. It will get you used to this set of paints and it will probably get the kids more excited when they arrive to see an example of the work on the person painting them.

You pick the tiger, and start by covering your face with orange, then adding stripes where you can see them on the guide, a pink nose, and long black whiskers, turning your face from side to side in the tiny mirror so you can see what you’re doing. When the look is complete, you’re actually pretty pleased with yourself.

“Looking good, Y/N!” your friend yells out from across the lawn.

“I’ll paint you next?” you offer.

She comes over, pulls out the second chair at the face painting station, and sits down in front of you.

“Can you give me the butterfly?” she requests.

But as you lift your hand to begin painting her face, you let out a gasp, and freeze, staring at the frantic letters forming across your skin.

Y/N please don’t keep that on! please wash your face now!

It’s about a hundred times messier than Mingyu’s usual handwriting. He must be freaking out.

“What’s going on?” your friend asks.

In answer, you flip your hand over. Her eyes scan the letters, and her brows raise.

“Well, go on then! He’s still writing more ‘please’s! Go wash your face!” she says, all but pushing you out of your seat.

Still confused by Mingyu’s urgency, you turn and race toward the house, stopping at the first sink you see, in the kitchen, and slamming on the tap so fast you spray water down your front.

You dab haphazardly at your face, the water running orange and black and swirling away down the sink.

Your skin feels pink from scrubbing when you stop. You stare at the back of your hand again. It’s blank now. He must have washed off his pleading. A single phrase forms, still a little rushed, but you can almost feels his thankfulness in each letter.

Thank you so much. I’ll explain later.

And that’s all.

Mingyu doesn’t try to communicate again until the party ends. You’re helping to clean up, chucking paper cups empty of coca cola into a rubbish bag. Your best friend’s little sister, the birthday girl, is napping on a couch inside, totally tired after the day’s events.

As you reach down to pick up the next cup, you see new writing appear on your arm. You sit down right there on the grass, watching it appear.

So I know you listen to KPop, which means you’ll probably hear about this soon enough. So I’ll tell you first... something happened today. And it made me decide I want to meet you. Is that okay?

You stare at the words in confusion. But all the times you’ve talked, Mingyu has been a little long winded when explaining things, so you’re sure you’ll understand eventually.

You find a pen, and write back... That’s okay.

Good. Says Mingyu. Did you know KCon LA was this week?

Yeah

Well I’m at KCon LA right now. And this thing happened. And I know I need to see you now. Send me your address, please. I have enough to pay for all my transport, no matter how far away you are. I’m taking a break from work anyway. I have to find you. Please?

You’re shaking by the time you finish reading his excited words. Something really dramatic must have happened for him to change his mind like this... to want to meet you right away no matter what.

You could never refuse him. You write out your home address in careful letters on your arm.

Thank you. Mingyu writes. And while I’m on my way... you can look my name up online. And then

He pauses for a minute or so.

watch the video from this link www.youtube.com/watch?v=7PrXNl05CWM. He takes his time getting every number of the link right, and then continues. It’s embarrassing, but when you watch it, you’ll understand. I’ll see you as soon as possible.

Okay, Mingyu. I’ll see you soon. You write back.

You’re almost afraid to do everything he’s asked. It seems so dramatic. But before panic can take over, you see one more tiny shape form. A single inky heart.

And you smile.

You explain to your friend, head home, open your laptop, and type Kim Mingyu into Google. The first result is a KPop profile; facts and Profile for MinGyu, member of thirteen member Korean boygroup Seventeen.

One hand over your mouth in shock, you click through and quickly skip past the picture (you’re not ready for that) to read what the profile says, trying to make the information sink in. You read facts you already knew about your soulmate - name: Kim Mingyu, born: 06 April 1997, hometown: Anyang, South Korea - along with brand new information - position: lead rapper, height: 187cm - and you try to piece it all together with your reality.

Your mind flashes back to that day when you listened to your first Seventeen song and he asked you not to look up anything more about that group. When you were so charmed by the rapping. The smooth storytelling style to the flow of those lyrics...

And you scroll back up to the photo. You let out a little gasp. He’s beautiful.

It takes a moment for that to feel real as well. But something about the photo they’ve chosen for the profile helps you. He’s impossibly handsome, of course, but he somehow manages to fit in with the picture of Mingyu you had in your mind, because he has a dorky pose, pointing a finger at the screen. It makes him feel more real. More human. More yours...

And then that comforting feeling fades in and out rapidly when you switch straight to Google images and spend about an hour scrolling through photos of your stunning, gorgeous, sexy soulmate. Your head is spinning by the end of it. In some photos, you can see that personality you’ve been getting to know. The sweetness, the slight foolish charm of him, the talents in art that seems to translate to his fashion sense as well, the shots of him cooking... but at the same time, he looks more beautiful than you dared let yourself imagine.

Your favourite thing is spotting bits of writing on his arms. Your writing. And a whole ton of little hearts.

Then you type out his Youtube link, that he spent so long writing out properly to make sure you would watch the right video. It’s only hours old. A performance MNet uploaded of Seventeen at KCon earlier that same day.

You watch as the boys, all thirteen of them, come out on stage and begin their song. But about halfway through, their expressions start to change when they glance at Mingyu, and when the camera comes in closer, you see your soulmate’s face has turned orange. Then the black stripes begin to form. The boys are faltering in their dance steps now, not sure if they should continue.

Mingyu looks annoyed, like he can’t understand why their performance is falling apart.

Then he catches sight of himself on the monitors. And his jaw drops. And he freezes.

You must have been just finishing off your face paint at that time, because the tiger is nearly completely there. The pink nose adds a hilarious softness to Mingyu’s horrified expression. The crowd is laughing, obviously quite charmed by the display, and amused by its poor timing so much that they don’t mind it messing up the planned show. But Mingyu seems upset by it... as do some of his friends, who must have worked so hard getting ready for this day.

On go the tiger whiskers, long and slightly curved, forming one by one around that lovely nose. None of the boys are moving now. The close up camera is fixed on Mingyu.

The member with the round cheeks steps forward suddenly, saying something funny about Soulmates into the microphone. It makes the rest of the members swirl into action. Some of them crowd around Mingyu, and two with concerned expressions usher him from the stage. The round cheeked one keeps speaking, clearly taking charge of the damage control.

“Thank you, Jeonghan and The8, please take care of Mingyu and return quickly!”

Two more of the boys seem to shake themselves from their surprise as the round-cheeked one beckons them forward, and they start speaking in fluent English to the crowd. They say they’ll move on to their unit performances now, and leave Hip Hop team for last so Mingyu can come back with his face paint gone... and that’s it.

That’s the end of the video.

You can see the recommended next clip is for Seventeen’s other performances, so you know they must have finished as they planned. And since you washed off the face paint fast, you know Mingyu must have returned in time for his performance. But you feel bad for him anyway. He must have been upset to have that happened in front of a whole audience...

You scroll the Youtube comments for a bit. People are amused, or feeling sorry for him, or intrigued by any sign of a soulmate, or surprised that MNet even uploaded the interrupted performance (though you’re sure they’re delighted by its entertainment factor... the clip already has a ridiculously high number of views.)

And after that, it all feels too much for you. The truth is too intense. You close your laptop and go to find your family, so you can tell them what’s happened and get ready for your visitor.

The thought makes you smile again. A little happy tremble goes through you. You get to meet your soulmate soon... You get to meet Mingyu.

He knocks timidly on the door when he arrives, and you fly to answer it, barely noticing each step as your feet swallow up all the space between you until all that remains is your front door.

You take a deep breath, hand on the handle, and fling it open.

“Mingyu,” you gasp.

There he stands, looking shy and awkward, face graced by a slightly giddy smile he can’t seem to keep down. You find that despite running to meet him, you’re now frozen where you stand. His warm honey eyes scan over you though, skating across the features on your face, shifting down your body, and he looks so happy you might just melt where you stand.

“Hi, Y/N,” he whispers. “Did you look it up?”

You nod. And then words begin to pour out of him, in the same rushed way he writes, a long-winded explanation that makes your heart squeeze with pure affection.

“I realised after that performance that we were being stupid to wait to meet each other- to hope that the world would throw us together some, even though we were bound to be desperately thinking about one another every second until it happened. Or at least, I thought about you...”

He steps forward, lifts his hands and cradles your face.

“I was always worried about making you a part of my life too soon. I though I had all the time in the world to meet you, and what if I did meet you too soon, and I just messed it all up right away? As if it were possible to ever spend too much time together...”

He laughs, and when you join in, his smile becomes blinding.

“After today I know this is what I want. I want to be with you. I want us to know every detail of each others lives. I want a public, open, happy relationship with you before the eyes of the entire world. I don’t want anyone to see that video and think it was embarrassing. I want it to be the story of how we came together. I want it to be the beginning. Is that what you want?”

He’s so gorgeous, and the two of you are destined, so it’s a surprise to see how nervous he looks. As if you would ever turn him down.

“This is want I want,” you assure him.

And, hands still warm on your face, he kisses you for the first time.

#mingyu #kim mingyu #seventeen scenarios #mingyu x reader #mingyu scenarios #mingyu imagines #drabble #soulmate au #admin lizzie

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monstersandmaw · 6 years

Text

Male orc (Damien) x reader (sfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Here's my orc boy Damien, who's a chocolatier (!) with a gender-neutral, bi reader. I really hope you like this one! You folks seemed really excited about this concept, so I hope you like it! If you missed my post about the tiefling in this story, make sure you check out a drawing I did of him here! I hope to give Alexios a male reader in the future.

The reader has just broken up with their girlfriend, who wasn't really able to deal with the fact that they're into both guys and girls, but other than that, no warnings. (Very very light nsfw (kiss) at one point)

___

Everything hurt. Your throat was raw, your eyes pink and puffy, your cheeks blotchy. You had been crying for what felt like hours in a quiet corner of the park – what had been your bench, where you’d shared your first kiss with her, and where you’d met every day for lunch. To say that you hadn’t seen it coming would have been an understatement. The words she’d used struck you more deeply than you’d care to admit, even to yourself. Nothing felt real, and everything hurt.

Eventually you managed to scrape together the scraps of your pride and courage, and you pushed yourself upright, dusting your palms off reflexively on the front of your jeans. You’d always been quick to laugh and quick to cry, wearing your heart on your sleeve, and you’d been no slower to fall in love this time. But apparently two years of dating no longer meant anything to her, and she was heading back to your apartment to start clearing her stuff out.

No way you wanted to go back there just yet. You trusted her just enough not to be vindictive and take anything that wasn’t hers, so you just wandered round town aimlessly with your hands in your pockets until you saw a sign swinging in the bleak autumn wind, and decided on a complete whim, to go inside.

You actually passed the shop every day on your way to and from the bus station, but you’d never really taken much note of it. Now, however, you saw the welcoming, softly-gilded front window and hand-carved sign, and decided you’d like nothing more than to duck into the beautiful chocolaterie out of the cold and perhaps even buy yourself some fancy-ass chocolates. Wasn’t that what you were supposed to do after you had your heart broken after all?

Tastefully decorated in dark teal wood panelling, with temperature controlled glass cases and brass edgings, the interior was gorgeous. The décor trod the line between ‘ostentatious’ and ‘antique’ without ever tipping over into ‘pretentious’. Baskets of sugared almonds and marzipan fruits rested on the top of the glass cases, and pre-boxed packages were arranged in delicate pyramids. There was even a werewolf-friendly chocolate stand, laden with delicious, theobromine-free goodies.

At the back of the shop, a massive marble counter stretched the width of the room, and behind it, the owner and his assistant were engrossed in their work.

On the right, opposite the display cases on your left, was a fin-de-siècle style bar which had been tastefully divided into three levels to accommodate patrons of most sizes. Tall, gilt-frame mirrors lined the wall behind it, and bar stools befitting a range of customers dotted the length of it. There was a space for everyone, from the enormous, snow-white minotaur who sat reading a book at one end, leaning on his elbow and occasionally chatting with the owner, to the tiny goblin who sat at the other, lower end of the bar near the door, debating something heatedly with his human companion, who sat with her wheelchair tucked neatly to one side. Their intense discussion filled the room at that end, but every now and again they broke off, laughing, and sipped frothy mugs of chocolate.

You paused just a moment, a deep, sharp yearning twisting your gut as you watched the goblin reach his hand out delicately towards the woman he was with and let her take a bite of the chocolate from his slender, sharp-clawed fingers. His slate-grey skin looked like condensed shadow and his coal-black eyes glittered, his mouth full of sharp teeth smiling sweetly as she giggled and took it from him, leaning her elbows on the low bar-top.

Already, you had no one to do things like that with, to be silly with, to share food and conversation with, and all because you liked boys as well as girls, and she hadn’t been able to deal with that. The memory of the last time you’d been able to do that with her lanced through your chest suddenly and you turned away, fighting unexpected tears. She’d truly broken your heart and you weren’t sure you’d ever trust anyone again.

“Stop it,” you hissed to yourself, turning your blurry gaze to the rows of immaculately-laid out chocolates and truffles in the glass cases, all labelled in elegant cursive handwriting, with allergy warnings in little symbols. It was a beautiful, beautiful shop and the urge to scoff everything like a baby troll at a birthday party was suddenly almost overwhelming.

By the time you made it to the end of the counter, you could plainly see that the owner was as beautiful, enticing, and delicious as the things he made.

The orc stood at nearly seven feet tall, with a white apron stretched across his impressive chest and embroidered with the symbol of the shop in appropriately cocoa-brown stitching. He had his long hair pulled back off his forehead in a braid which then fell into a long, black ponytail down his back. Thick, tortoiseshell-framed glasses were slipping down the bridge of his nose, and he shunted them back up with a knuckle, barely pausing as he went to lift a huge bowl out of a bain-marie, first testing the temperature with a thermometer. Satisfied, he turned the temperature down a little, and then heaved the big bowl aloft as though it weighed nothing at all.

You watched, entranced, as he poured glistening, liquid chocolate over the bare marble counter, his assistant standing back with a smile as his boss set to work. Using a broad, flat, palette knife, the orc swirled it through the chocolate with the confidence of someone who had been doing that for many years, before scraping it with another tool into the centre, beginning all over again, cooling the chocolate gradually, evenly.

His assistant, a tiefling with unusual, cloudy-grey skin and stunning, marbled black and white horns cast his gaze up at you for a moment. He wore his blue-black hair half-tied back in a bun, though some had slipped out of the knot and was beginning to hang into his astonishing, silver-blue eyes. He smiled shyly, long canines flashing, before turning back to watch the enormous orc at his work. You couldn’t fail to miss that his slim, lean body was peppered with beautiful, geometric tattoos, including one right over his throat and Adam’s apple and then down his chest beneath the collar of his shirt. It was only as you gazed at the gorgeous designs that you realised with a little jolt of surprise that his left arm was missing from just above the elbow joint, the shirt sleeve tied in a knot.

Your attention was drawn immediately back to the orc, however, who checked the viscosity of the chocolate with an ostentatious scoop, somehow spilling nothing. He then repeated his routine: drawing it into the centre, spreading it out, drawing it in again and spreading it out All the while his thick arms – beautifully bared up to the short sleeves of his t-shirt to show incredibly toned and sculpted muscles – worked seamlessly without hitch or stutter, as fluid as the chocolate he was tempering.

Once he was happy with it, he returned the chocolate from the counter back into the bowl it had come from with a few economical scrapes, mixing it in with the remainder. His gorgeous arms worked it with ease, muscles flexing and rippling, until he was again satisfied with the consistency. With a final check of the temperature, he set it back in the bain-marie and waved at his assistant, who smiled, nodded, and took over.

Wiping his hands off on his already chocolate-smudged apron, he looked up and saw you watching him with obvious wonder in your still-slightly-pink eyes. He laughed then, a sound so kind and rich, warm and rough, that you forgot how to breathe for a few seconds.

“Looking for anything in particular?” he smiled, using a knuckle again to push his glasses back up his nose.

Kicking your brain back into action, you snorted. “Uhh, is it socially acceptable to say I’m looking for a pick-me-up for myself?”

He laughed, the corners of his warm, brown eyes crinkling. “Absolutely it is! That’s one of the reasons I started this place. Now, would you like to choose something, or perhaps you’d like me to surprise you?”

You licked your lips and then sank your teeth into your lower lip, thinking. His eyes were fixed on you, which was somewhat nerve-inducing but also rather exciting. Fuck it, you thought, and sighed. “Surprise me,” you said coyly.

“Alright,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes, which you now saw were actually dark on the outer rim of the iris and a warm caramel colour on the inside. “Any allergies or extreme dislikes?”

You shook your head. “Honestly, anything will do right now.”

A flash of concern flickered across his handsome face, and your stomach lurched wildly as his eyes lit up again, this time with empathy. Standing there, you felt small and fragile, and the desire to be swept up into those massive arms – ridiculous as it was – almost overwhelmed you.

“Sit tight,” he said gently, “And I’ll bring something out to you.”

He waved at the bar against the wall behind you with a massive hand, and as you turned to follow the gesture, the white-haired minotaur grinned at you. Even his horns were pale as cream, with just the very tips fading to a blue-grey. He had ice blue eyes, and a warm smile waiting for you as you took your seat.

“You’ve not been here before, I take it,” he said conversationally as you wiggled inelegantly onto a slightly-too-tall bar stool so you could chat with him rather than sit on your own in the middle of the bar, which was lower. His white tail dangled down behind his seat, swinging casually from side to side, and he had propped his hooves on the low rung of his bar stool, and somehow, despite being easily a full two feet taller than you, and colossally wide at the shoulders, he was far more elegant than you could ever hope to manage.

You snorted a laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

He blew out a friendly laugh through his nose, the smooth, silver ring glittering for a moment, and a white-tufted ear twitched. “People always get that look in their eyes when they first see Damien work.”

“Can you blame them?” you replied, adjusting your weight on the bar stool. “It’s amazing watching him work.”

“Oh yeah. See those awards up there?” The minotaur pointed at a series of framed certificates on the wall above the tiled lower section where the other two were working away in perfect harmony, safely out of the way of any splashes or mess.

You nodded, intrigued. There were lots of gold stars and seals visible even at that distance.

“Our Damien only trained with the best chocolatier in all Paris he did…” the minotaur laughed, “A succubus by the name of Elurien. She taught him all he knows… And rumour has it, not just in the kitchen, if you know what I’m –”

“Nik!” the orc growled over the marble countertop. “Come on now…” He raised a beautifully sculpted, dark eyebrow at the minotaur, who only laughed.

A deep flush coloured your cheeks as Damien raised his finger in mock threat at his friend, and you turned your gaze elsewhere. He was really very good-looking. You’d never been with an orc before, but you’d always found them very attractive.

To distract yourself from his looks, you found yourself focusing instead on his assistant, unable to keep looking at the big orc without feeling self-conscious. You watched, fascinated, as the lean tiefling worked with great concentration and focus. He was making what looked like decorative bird cages in chocolate. With stunning precision he laid out the filigree design in semi-liquid chocolate, piping it onto a sheet of acetate, and then, using his cool fingers, and no doubt a little tiefling magic, deftly rolling it up until he had created a perfect cylinder of lace-like chocolate. Having only his right arm to do it didn’t seem to hinder him in the slightest, tucking the piping bag under his chin when he needed to squeeze a little more further down the bag.

Damien obviously saw you watching the tiefling work, your eyes focused on the tip of the piping bag as he traced out filigree swirls for the bird cages. “Alexios is my development chef,” he grinned, slapping the tiefling on the back which inevitably made him mess up the very beginning of the next design.

He looked up and raised a dark eyebrow before casting a look over his shoulder at you.

“You’re both very talented,” you said rather lamely.

“I’m just his assistant,” Alexios said in a warm, dry voice.

“Rubbish,” Damien scoffed, grinning. “You came up with my latest best sellers!” he said, and he beckoned you excitedly over to a refrigerated display cabinet.

There was something indescribably endearing about seeing someone so big being quite so childishly excited. Unable and unwilling to refuse, you slid off the bar stool – on which you’d only just got comfortable – and followed him round on the customer side of the counter. Hanging off a display tree were a myriad of the little bird cages, some in white chocolate, some in dark, some marbled, with a tiny, coloured fondant bird inside, sitting on a trapeze.

“They are stunning,” you said.

“Aren’t they!” Damien boomed, leaning back, hands on his hips.

Alexios’ cheeks flushed a darker grey. “Says the guy who won an award for making an entire doll’s house out of chocolate…”

“What?” you asked, and it was the orc’s turn to look bashful.

“That was a one-off,” he mumbled, turning away and getting back to whatever he’d been doing for you.

Alexios caught your eye over the counter top. “He made it for his little sister’s sixteenth,” he said. “It had chocolate furniture and marzipan food and everything. He ended up winning an award for it.”

You couldn’t keep the grin off your face as you saw the huge orc trying to make himself smaller, shoulders hunching as he kept his back turned to you. You took the opportunity to admire the way his long ponytail fell down the length of his spine, sleek and thick and shiny.

“Well, like I said, you’re clearly both very talented,” you said.

You returned to your seat, and Alexios to his work, and in no time, Damien was coming over to you with a little hand-made ceramic mug full of steaming chocolate. “Try that,” he said, “And if that doesn’t make you feel better, I’ll close up shop right now, and spend the rest of the day trying out different things with you.”

Something about the way he said it nearly made you burst into tears again, and as you raised your head to look at him, he blushed, but he didn’t break eye contact, only smiling encouragingly.

Nik returned to reading his book, and you let Damien set the mug down on the bar for you. He then went back behind the counter and fetched a tiny saucer in matching glazed blue and grey earthenware, and gently set that down beside your mug. As he leaned across, he almost touched you, and you could smell the cocoa lingering on his olive green skin.

“Cognac truffle,” he said. “You look like maybe you could use it…”

Swallowing thickly, you smiled and thanked him.

“I’ll leave you in peace,” he said, “But don’t thank me til you’ve tried it, ok?”

You smiled weakly and he placed his hand quietly on your shoulder for just a moment. It was enough to set you off. Your lip wobbled, and then silent tears spilled down your cheeks. You turned away, embarrassed.

“Hey now,” he murmured. “Hey, hey, I’m sorry…”

“It’s not you,” you sobbed, desperately trying to stop. “I literally just split up with…” you gulped, the words choking your throat.

“Oh that’s rough,” he said. “I’m so sorry. Look, that’s on the house, ok? Take all the time you need.” You weren’t sure but it seemed like when he spoke that his ears went back like a sad puppy’s. “When you’re done, do you wanna come back and help me with some stuff?” Yes, his ears definitely perked up a little at his question, as though in hope.

“I… I’m not… I’m not sure I’d be any good…” you sniffled.

He smiled, the silver cuffs around his beautiful thick tusks gleaming in the soft light of the shop. “Nonsense,” he smiled. “I think you’d be beautiful at it. Finish that first though, and then decide. Up to you.”

He left you with another gentle touch on your back. His huge hand left a warm imprint that seemed to sear through your woollen jumper to your skin, leaving a lasting impression.

You sipped the hot chocolate and honestly it was the best thing you’d ever tasted. A warming hint of cinnamon with the deep sweetness of vanilla beans and cocoa made you moan out load and you forgot everything, even her, for as long as it took you to finish it.

As you set the mug down for the last time, you saw him looking up at you from the other side of the counter. “Any good?” he asked, but it was clear he already knew the answer.

“Ex girlfriend who?” you said, smiling.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” he grinned.

At his side, Alexios muttered something which you could have sworn sounded like ‘maybe not quite what you wanted to hear, boss…’ but before you had the chance to tell him that the cognac truffle had had more kick than a frisky centaur, the orc’s mobile rang, and he stepped into the back room to answer it.

The doors had large glass circles in, and you watched curiously as he clearly began to argue with the person on the other end. At one point he ripped his glasses off his face and pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing little circles there, alleviating tension that was building up rapidly in his handsome features.

Alexios caught you staring as you returned the mug to the counter, and he sighed, taking it from you and putting it carefully in the big butler sink behind him. He turned back to you and said, “He’s got his own relationship issues going on…”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Look, let me pay for this, please,” and you glanced up at the chalk board on the wall. Not quite seeing anything that matched what you’d had, you drew out a note and laid it on the counter. “I insist.”

The tiefling looked at you for a moment, and then sighed, picking up the money and putting it in the til. “Alright,” he said, “But on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

He paused, looking shy but determined. “That you come back here again.”

“Oh,” you chuckled, “No doubt about that.”

He flashed you a grin.

“Say goodbye and thank you to Damien, for me, will you?”

He nodded. “Take care now.”

“I will,” you said, trying to be brave.

Honestly, being at home in the now-empty apartment was awful. Everything reminded you of her, and you spent the entire evening browsing estate agents’ websites for apartments you knew you couldn’t really afford on your own. The rent was paid for this month, but next month you weren’t sure you’d be able to make it.

Despite promising Alexios that you’d go back to the shop, you didn’t return for another week. After the shock of what had happened truly hit you, you had barely felt like leaving the apartment outside of work, let alone going outside and being sociable. But eventually, on your way back from work one rainy afternoon, you stepped into the shop on a whim.

Damien saw you immediately and grinned as you pushed the door open.

“Hey!” he called the moment the little brass bell announced your presence.

“Hey,” you returned shyly.

“Good to see you again,” he said, dusting his hands off on his apron. “You come to help me this time, or to enjoy the peace and quiet of an empty shop?” he asked, looking around the deserted room.

You shrugged shyly.

“Fancy helping me dip these?” he said, eyeing a batch of fresh truffles to one side as he obviously spotted your discomfort. “Alexios is off with his new boyfriend today and I could really use a hand…”

“Isn’t that, like, against some kind of health and safety laws or something?” you asked playfully, shrugging out of your damp coat and dumping your work bag under the furthest end of the bar.

He hitched a lopsided smirk. “Not if you wear these gorgeously sexy gloves,” he said, waggling his fingers in a pair of his own latex gloves, “And agree to be my intern for the day.”

“Your intern?” you laughed.

His smile was infectious.

“Fine, fine,” you said. “I’ll do it. Though I should warn you, I’m not very artistic…”

“I don’t need you to make sculptures,” he said. “I just need you to dip these in that white chocolate for me. You think you can do that without eating half of them?”

“Half?” you smiled. “How about a quarter?”

“Done,” he chuckled easily, holding up the hinged counter-top for you to pass through. “Grab Alexios’ apron from over there,” he said, pointing at the dark green apron that hung on a peg in the doorway to the back room.

As you slipped it over your head, you felt him standing close behind you and he took the strings at the back and murmured, “Here, let me,” his quiet, gentle hands tying a bow before you could object. Your heart began to hammer at the proximity of the big orc, but he was kind and sweet, and the gesture was oddly intimate in the confined space behind the counter.

“Thanks,” you smiled, turning slowly. “So, show me what I’m doing?”

The rest of the afternoon passed in the blink of an eye, and it was well after closing time before you finally drew back from your work and cracked the tension out of your neck.

“You did great!” Damien smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners again. “Would… Would you like me to walk you home?” he asked, eyeing the deepening sky outside.

You turned, picking up your bag and jumped slightly as he appeared right behind you again, silent despite his big stature, and picked your coat up to help you into it. “Thanks,” you whispered. “Sure.”

He locked up the shop, nipping back inside briefly when he said he’d forgotten something, and once he was done, you headed down the nearly-deserted street together, your collar turned up against the worsening weather.

“I should have grabbed an umbrella for you,” he muttered as you slid your hands into your pockets.

“It’s fine,” you said. “I don’t mind the rain that much.” After another few paces you said, “Can I ask how you got into all this?” you said, gesturing vaguely behind you. “The chocolaterie, I mean…”

He laughed, a natural, beautiful, booming, rich laugh that made your own lips quirk at the corners. “Not the first job you’d think of for an orc, is it?”

You shook your head bashfully.

“My mum and I used to bake all the time when I was a kid. When my mum died, my dad and I raised my lil sis, and I ended up doing all the little things that she used to do for Melody, and it turns out I was pretty good at it…”

“That’s really sweet,” you said, feeling something aching in your chest.

He shrugged. “I enjoy it, and it means I get to meet nice people like you, so…”

“Even when we have mini meltdowns in your shop?”

He chuckled. “How are you doing, by the way?”

“Oh, you know,” you said, gesturing vaguely.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I do.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he said heavily. “My girlfriend and I split up a few days ago.”

“Shit,” you murmured.

Damien shrugged his massive shoulders. “It was a long time coming, you know?”

“No,” you said honestly. “When I got dumped I didn’t see it coming at all.”

“Ah, shit,” he said. “I’m sorry. I always put my big foot in it… Look, I’m not going to pretend I know what happened or anything, but…” he pushed his rain-spattered glasses up his nose one more time before apparently deciding to take them off altogether and tucking them into his breast pocket. His big brown eyes peered down at you from his great height as he went on. “I think she made a big mistake, ditching you… Her loss, you know?”

“I wish I could see it like that,” you said.

He paused, and then said, “Let’s go somewhere and grab a drink and something to eat…?”

You paused, the rain sheeting down in a dreary mizzle around you as you stared at the toes of your boots for a moment.

“No pressure if you don’t want to,” he began, but you cut him off with a shake of your head.

“I’d like that,” you said. “Thanks…”

He grinned, his beautiful, thick tusks gleaming. “C’mon, I know the perfect place.”

He ended up taking you to this olde-worlde pub down by the river, and it was absolutely perfect. You shared a bowl of chips and drank a rather silly amount of craft beer, and chatted about everything from culinary school to family, and by the end of it, you’d both almost forgotten your heartache.

Damien was big and muscular and sweet and funny, clever, kind and he had a wonderful laugh. You could have sat there for the rest of forever, listening to him and trying not to stare in wonder at the vast expanse of his chest and shoulders as he gesticulated with gentle hands and laughed a rumbling, warm laugh that made your insides ache.

More than a little tipsy, you made your way back home afterwards with him by your side, his hands clasped politely behind his back.

“Well, this is me,” you said as you reached your modest apartment block. “Thank you for tonight, and for letting me help out in the shop earlier too. I had fun.”

“My pleasure,” he said. He sighed suddenly and then started to worry his top lip with his tusk.

“Damien?”

He huffed a nervous laugh. “I… um… I guess I want to kiss you,” he said, shuffling anxiously, “But I don’t want you to think it’s just a rebound thing… And, I don’t know if you’re even interested in guys, or orcs so… you know…”

Your heart erupted into a million spasming, fluttering butterflies, and you beamed up at him. “You can, you know,” you said. “I’d… I’d like it if you did.”

And then his big palms were pressing gently around your jaw, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones, and he lowered his head down to you. His kiss was gentle, almost chaste, and it was surprisingly easy to avoid his big tusks, simply because he was so much bigger than you.

It was the kind of kiss you never wanted to end. It was the kind of kiss you’d not had in over a year, or possibly even ever. It was the kind of kiss that told you that you were beautiful, and loved, and valued, and brave, and kind, and everything you wanted to be, all in a breathless, brief moment.

Stunned, you almost swayed as he pulled back. He ran his fingers through your hair just above your ears, and smiled down at you, brown eyes glassy and bright. “Can I see you again?” he asked in a hoarse, deep rasp.

You nodded mutely, then swallowed. “I’d like that,” you said.

“Perfect,” he smiled. “You should get inside out of this rain. I’ll call you, I promise.”

“You need my number first,” you giggled, fishing your phone out. “What’s yours?”

He laughed. “Right,” he said, and dictated his number to you before taking yours down.

He turned to go in a bit of an awkward rush, leaving you standing on the step into your apartment building, but you grabbed his massive wrist in your fingers before he did. His skin was warm despite the rain and his lack of a jacket. He had only his t-shirt on, and it stuck blessedly to every beautiful contour of his sculpted chest and arms. “Thank you,” you murmured, fighting off tears. “I needed this.”

“Me too,” he said with a smile. “I’ll see you soon.”

Before he left this time, he leaned down and put his hand behind your head, bringing his lips to the side of your head and leaving the softest, gentlest kiss on your temple before he went. His other hand went to your hip, near your jacket pocket but he didn’t hold you there.

“Take care,” he said, and then he was walking away through the rain.

You watched him go, dizzy with emotion, and finally let yourself into your apartment building. As you fished for your keys, however, your fingers brushed against something in your pocket that you didn’t recognise.

Once inside your apartment, you drew out the mystery object from your pocket and discovered it was a small box of truffles from his shop. He must have grabbed it on a whim when he darted back into his shop, and slipped it into your pocket before leaving that night. On the gift label which hung from an elegantly-knotted gold ribbon, read the words ‘Forgive me for saying this, but these are not half so sweet as you. D.”

Giggling, you tried one, and moaned aloud at how good it was.

Already you couldn’t wait for your next meeting with Damien, and not just because of the sweet chocolates.

___________________________

#orc #modern orc #male orc #modern fantasy #male orc x reader #bi reader #sfw monster

1K notes · View notes

haru-desune · 6 years

Note

hello! i recently read all of Gakuen Babysitter and am now bingeing everything there is for it on A03. i really like your writing! i saw that you were taking prompts, so i was wondering if you'd be interested in doing a shy, pining Hayato. i have a weakness for tough boys who are shy on the inside~

I feel like this fandom needs a flower shop/tattoo parlour AU. I’m 800%writing this now to procrastinate on my media project and will definitelyregret it later but oh well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (AO3) (FF.Net)

Hayato liked working at Deep Ink tattoo parlour. The pay wasgood, his co-workers were bearable, and the owners of the ramen shop two doorsdown knew his order by heart. Nobody at the parlour minded that he was as bluntas a pair of safety scissors, and he enjoyed making art for a living, thoughhe’d smack anyone who suggested that such a sentimental thought crossed hismind. And of course, there was Green Meadows florists, across the street, whichhad always existed as part of Hayato’s reality, but had recently been in hismind more and more often. It was mostly Yagi’s fault. He might not have evennoticed him if it wasn’t for Yagi.

“Did you hear?” said Yagi as they were opening up theparlour one morning “the flower shop across the street is getting a newemployee.”

“Is that so?” asked Nekota, though by the sound of hervoice, Hayato could tell she wasn’t very interested. To be fair the only gossipshe spared any real attention for concerned Inui, the bartender that shedefinitely did-not-have-a-crush-on-shut-up-Yagi, so Hayato was pretty sure Yagiwouldn’t take it personally. Sure enough the other man only smiled andcontinued.

“Yup. Apparently he’s a college student, living with hisyounger brother, and the human embodiment of sunshine.”

Hayato raised an eyebrow at that last statement and Nekotasnorted. “Where did you get that information from?” she asked as she finishedwiping down the guns and throwing away the wipes. She stretched her arms highabove her head to toss them into the bin like a basketball and revealing thesharp-eyed calico cat inked into her hip, filled in with blotches of colour.

“From Chuukichi of course.”

Ah yes, Yagi’s best friend (and possibly boyfriend though noone could figure out their relationship and Hayato couldn’t be bothered to ask)was a florist at Green Meadows as well.

“I really doubt Nezu-san described someone as ‘the humanembodiment of sunshine’” Hayato said dryly.

Yagi laughed softly, scratching idly at the cherry blossomsthat climbed up his neck. “I may have paraphrased that a bit.”

There was a loud, firm, and deliberate clearing of a throatfrom the receptionist’s desk. “If you have time to gossip, you have time tosweep.” said Inomata sternly, and that was the end of that.

Except it wasn’t. Because later that day Hayato saw him, when he happened to glance outof the big glass windows at the front of the store, and for a second he forgothow to breathe. Brown hair that looked red in the sunlight, bright green apronthat really should have clashed with the red but didn’t, and a laugh soexpressive that Hayato could swear he could hear it all the way across the street.He couldn’t tell what colour his eyes were, but he was sure they’d be every bitas captivating as the man himself.

The Florist, as Hayato had taken to calling him in his head,had an afternoon shift every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and opened onSaturday. Hayato could see him from the parlour when he came out for his break,or to weep the front, or to water the various colourful plants that hung inbaskets outside the shop. Each week he was treated to snatches of a wide smile,glimpses of his head thrown back in laughter. He had started hanging around thereception desk like a love sick school girl, much to Inomata’s annoyance.

“If you like the man so much, just go across the street andtalk to him.”

“Who said anything about liking him?”

Inomata gave him a thoroughly unimpressed look, and herelented. “I don’t know what I’d say.” he said honestly.

“You’ve never had a problem with speaking your mind,Kamitani-kun.”

“Neither have you, Inomata-san, but I don’t see you speakingto that bubbly florist girl either.”

Inomata snapped her mouth shut at that, and let the topicgo.

Yagi spent a vast majority of his breaks across the streetanyway due to his… whatever with Nezu, but he would now come back with storiesof The Florist- whose name he, infuriatingly, refused to divulge- and flowersfor everyone, and really Yagi might be the only person both brave andself-confident enough to waltz up to Hayato, tuck a flower behind his ear, andpractically skip away to pester Inomata, the only unmarked member of theirteam, into letting him give her a tattoo.

If the latest designs in Hayato’s sketch book had a morefloral theme, well nobody had to know.

Hayato had been standing outside the flower shop for 10minutes. That was one third of his break time. He’d been standing just out ofsight of the inside counter, though he could clearly see that The Florist wason duty. Occasionally he would take a half step forward, before pausing andreturning back to his original position.

“If you don’t go inside, someone’s going to call the police”came a dry voice behind him, and he whipped around to face Nekota, who gave hima sly grin as she arched an eyebrow.

Hayato had to concede she had a point. It didn’t help thatthe sweltering summer heat had driven him to wear a tank top, which exposed theintricate pattern of trailing vines and swirling galaxies that made their wayup to both his shoulders, giving way to the geometric wolf on one shouldermatched by an identically styled falcon on the other, and allowed the crest ofthe wave that adorned his chest to peak past his collar. A heavily tattooed manglaring at a flower shop was probably enough to set off most people’s warningbells.

“What are you even doing here?”

“Needed a reference for a client.”

“Oh really?” Nekota’s smirk grew as she crossed her armsover her chest, the short sleeves of her top riding up to expose the tail ofthe ethereal blue and gold mermaid that marked her left shoulder, the colouringcontrasting sharply with the twisting words of an old love poem that circledboth her upper arms.

“Really.” He replied flatly. “She wants a particular set offlowers. Apparently it’s supposed to mean something.” It was a pretty decentdesign actually, a swirl of five different flowers that spiralled out from nearher heart to under her rib. It was a surprise for her husband, a love story inpetals, from what she had told him. Despite all outward appearances, Hayatocould appreciate a romantic gesture.

“And you couldn’t, I don’t know, Google these flowers?”

“You know as well as I do that a picture isn’t going to giveyou the same feel.”

Nekota grinned, and Hayato felt like he’d just lost acompetition he didn’t know they were having.

“Well then go on, and get your references then.” She shovedhim slightly towards the door, and now that Hayato was in full view of thecounter inside, turning around was no longer an option. He had no choice but togo inside. He glared at her.

“I’m going to kill you.”

“You can try.”

He took a deep breath and opened the door, entering the slightlyhumid, heavily perfumed shop, the sound of Nekota’s cackling still ringing inhis ears, and was met with a pair of the brownest eyes he’d ever seen. For along moment the eyes were the only things taking up his vision, but slowly hetook in everything else, like he was watching a movie scene where the camerawas slowly zooming out. The rest of Brown Eyes’ face was even more enchantingup close, large eyes, pointed nose, and a mouth made for smiling. His cheekswere dusted with a smattering of freckles, probably due to the summer sun,provided an unhelpful corner of his mind. It was only after he realized he hadbeen staring for a while and not speaking that he noticed Brown Eyes wasn’talone. His co-worker, a sleepy-eyed man with long pink hair that would havelooked out of place anywhere but this garden of roses and tulips and azaleasand god knows what else, winked at him like he knew a secret.

“Oh!” he said, pounding a fist on his open palm “You’reanime-kun’s friend. I’ve seen you go with him to the tattoo parlour.”

“A-anime-kun?”

“Nezu-kun’s friend? The one with the cherry blossom tattoo? Andthe pixel-ly ones on his arms? Very anime.”

Hayato quirked an eyebrow, eyeing the man’s pink hair. Hewas about to say something on the matter when Brown Eyes spoke.

“Usaida-san,” he said, exasperation colouring his tone “canyou call someone anime-kun when you yourself have pink hair?”

Usaida waved him off like it didn’t matter, which Hayatosupposed, it really didn’t. Brown Eyes sighed, before turning to Hayato with asmile so bright that he thought his heart might stop right there.

“Welcome to Green Meadows flower shop, how can we help you?”

“I’m sorry to ask, but I need references for a tattoo I’mdesigning. I was hoping you would allow me to sketch some flowers from thisshop?”

“Certainly, which flowers do you need, or will anything do?”

Hayato checked the note he’d made on his phone. “Redcamellias, white carnations, anemone, lavender, and forget-me-nots.” He wassure at least one of those was a fish. Or the house of a fish? Something fishrelated anyway.

The other man’s eyes lit up. “In love, fascination, sincerity,faithfulness, and true love. A special tattoo then. Your customer must reallylove someone indeed.” He coloured up suddenly. “I’m sorry, it’s just that Ifind hanakotoba really cool.”

Hayato tried not to be distracted by the sight of the manblushing. “Ah, it’s no problem. It’s kind of cool that you know it off the topof your head like that. I didn’t even realize they had a meaning until myclient explained it.”

The man turned a deeper shade of red, and turned, ostensiblyto look for the plants in question. Usaida smirked at Hayato when Brown Eyeswasn’t looking.

“I think we should have most of these around. Oh, wait,we’re out of white carnations, but there are some red ones here so at least youcan get the shape right…” The man trailed off hunting for the flowers he’dneed, before lining them up on the back counter. “You can step back here andsketch without anyone bothering you.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Any friend of Yagi-kun is welcome here. I’mKashima Ryuuichi, by the way.” He said with a smile so infectious that Hayatohad to smile back.

“Kamitani Hayato.”

Weeks passed of Hayato finding (making, according to Yagi)excuses to go back to the flower shop. Managing to talk more and more withKashima until suddenly they were friends. They had exchanged numbers at somepoint, and Hayato hadn’t emailed anyone this regularly since his school days.

“You’re adorable” Yagi cooed when he caught him smiling athis phone screen for the umpteenth time as they were closing up.

“Gross, more like.” Nekota said “Just ask him out and put usall out of our misery. You already have lunch with him at least once a week.”

“I’m not going to ask him out.” Hayato said, scowling atthem.

“What! Why not?” asked Nekota and Yagi together. EvenInomata looked up from organizing the day’s records and fixed him with anexasperated look, which Hayato thought was supremely unfair as she had yet totalk to bubbly florist girl- whose name was Ushimaru apparently.

“We’re friends now, I don’t want to make it weird.” He saidwith a shrug, trying to pretend that it didn’t take years off his life tryingto control his heartbeat every time he was around Kashima.

Nekota made a disgusted noise, and Inomata shook her head.Yagi just looked thoughtful.

“If you change your mind, can you wait a month to ask him? Ihave money riding on this.”

Hayato felt completely justified in hitting him.

“Kamitani?” Hayato blinked at Kashima, whose voice was tightin a way that indicated that he was trying not to laugh.

“Yes?”

“Did you know you have a flower behind your ear?”

Hayato’s hand flew up to inspect the offending appendage,and sure enough there was a thin stemmed yellow flower nestled there. “I’mgoing to murder Yagi.” He growled, carefully removing the plant.

Kashima did laugh at that. “Don’t” he said, plucking theflower out of his hands and leaning over to replace it. “It’s cute.”

Hayato couldn’t speak, too busy trying to deal with theblaring alarms and the panicked TOO CLOSEthat spun through his brain. Kashima smiled at him before calmly returning towork. Hayato might have heard Nezu snort, but he wasn’t sure. He bit back agroan. This man was going to kill him.

KASHIMA: HeyKamitani are you busy on Sunday? Want to meet up? I’m taking my brother out ifyou want to tag along.

Hayato looked at the message on his phone. Of course the onetime Kashima wanted to meet outside of work would be the day he’d gotten ropedinto taking Taka to some museum or something for a class project.

YOU: Sorry, butI’m helping my brother with some school work on Sunday.

KASHIMA: Oh,maybe some other time then.

Hayato shook his head, trying not to get his hopes up at thepromise of a future meet up. “It’s not adate, Hayato.” He told himself, before calling out to his brother.

“Hey brat, where am I taking you Sunday?”

“I’m not a brat, don’t be a jerk Aniki!”

“Just answer the question squirt.”

“Someday I’m going to be taller than you.” Taka grumbled,scowling up at him.

“Keep dreaming. Now answer the damn question.”

“The natural history museum.” Taka pouted

“Great. Did you finish your homework?”

“Um…”

“Finish your homework.”

“You’re not the boss of me!”

“You wanna test that theory?” Hayato glared, raising athreatening fist, and Taka gulped.

“Homework. Going. Now!”

“Good. Maybe ifyou finish early I might play MarioKart with you.”

Taka’s face lit up at the promise and he raced off to finishhis homework. Hayato sighed, looking back down at his phone.

YOU: I’ll holdyou to it.

Hayato decided that the only thing worse than a Sundaymorning car ride with a hyperactive Taka was a Sunday morning car ride with a hyperactiveTaka and no coffee.

“So who are you working on this assignment with again?”

“My best friend and partner in crime.”

Hayato snorted “People don’t say that in real life.”

“I just said it right now, didn’t I?”

“Fair enough. Does this best friend of yours have a name?”

“His name is Kotaro, he’ll meet us there with his brother.We’re writing our report on dinosaurs. I think the T-rex is the coolest, butKotaro likes the stegosaurus the best which is stupid because…”

Hayato let the rest of Taka’s blabbering fade into whitenoise as he focused on driving, finally pulling into the museum parking.

“Kotaro said we’ll meet at the gates.”

Hayato nodded and let his brother half drag him to thegates, stifling a yawn. Hey heard Takagive a yell before he half-hugged half-tackled another boy who took the wholething with a resigned stoicism. So this was the famous best friend, huh. Heglanced at the brother standing next to him who was laughing at the scene,greetings halfway out of his mouth before his brain registered a familiar face.

“Hello I’m K- Kashima!?”

The other man laughed, a clear sound that woke Hayato upfaster than a triple espresso shot.

“Looks like we won’t have to reschedule after all.”

Hayato had never been so glad his mother had forced him towear a decent shirt. Sure the sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and he waswearing an old pair of black jeans and some ratty Vans, but at least he lookedhalfway okay. A part of his brain was urgently reminding him that this was not a date but he was really too sleepyto register it.

Kashima looked him over once, and Hayato was almost certainhe saw his eyes linger on the sleeves that were exposed on his forearms and thepetals of the cactus flower that touched his collar bone, a more recentaddition which had made Kashima turn various shades of red when he first sawit. He had gotten done because he liked the shape of the flower, but after thatreaction he had to look up thehanakotoba and then couldn’t meet Kashima’s eye for a week.

“You look good.”

“Thanks. You too.” Said Hayato, a little hoarsely. And itwasn’t a lie. Kashima, in a plaid shirt and jeans and no apron made his breathhitch. “This is not a date” histreacherous mind supplied. “Shut it!” he growled under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing, I mean let’s head in.”

This was not the first time Hayato was distracted byKashima’s hands. The other man had a habit of tapping his fingers when he wasnervous or had nothing else to do. They were nice fingers, Hayato had notedlong ago, slender and elegant with dirt under the nails more often than not. Hehad often wondered what those fingers would feel like intertwined with his. Kashimawould usually lay his free hand on the table while eating, fingers splayed,occasionally tapping a gentle rhythm onto the table, and it would be so easyfor Hayato to just reach out and tangle his own with them, holding them still.

Walking together through the museum was agony. Kashima’shands were just millimetres away, all he had to do was reach out a little andthey would be walking hand in hand. Every time Kashima’s hand brushed his asthey walked, Hayato felt a jolt of electricity course through him, making himhyperaware of his surroundings, yet he never wanted to leave this moment.

It was that moment standing in the museum with Kashima, hisbrain still screaming that this was not a date, that Hayato realized that thiscould not keep going on.

YOU: Hey I’mthinking of getting a new tattoo, what do you think?

Hayato sent the message with clearest picture of his sketch.A green dragon with a surprisingly gentle face, coiled in on itself andsurrounded by a burst of colour. Cherry blossom for kindness, pansy forthoughtful, hibiscus for gentle, lily of the valley for sweet, sunflower for respect but also for passionatelove, gardenia for secret love, yellow camellias for longing, carnations forfascination, anemones for sincerity, and red roses for love.

He sent the message, and then he waited.

Come morning there was still no message from Kashima, and itwas with heavy legs and a heavy heart that Hayato walked into the parlour, onlyto be greeted by a large bouquet of flowers on the reception desk. Well atleast Inomata was succeeding where he was failing.

“Kamitani-kun.” Said Inomata, her voice laced with somethingunidentifiable as she took in his dejected expression. “Delivery for you.”

“Oh is it behind the giant bouquet of flowers?” he asked,bitterly.

“No, idiot, it isthe giant bouquet of flowers.”

Hayato’s head whipped up, taking in the flowers properly forthe first time. There were sunflowers here too, and red roses, though pink wasalso thrown into the mix, for happiness. Anemones, yellow camellias,carnations. But there were also zinnia for loyalty, Violets for honesty, redtulips for trust, peonies for bravery, and morning glory for wilful promises.His chest felt tight and warm, while something like hope swirled in hisstomach.

“I have to go.”

He ran out of the parlour and across the road, bursting intothe shop and making Ushimaru jump.

“Is Kashima here yet?”

Her face lit up in understanding, and she pointed to thebackroom and then let out a little squeak as he hopped over the counter insteadof waiting for her to open the little gate that kept the counters an “employeesonly” area. He marched into the back room, and there he was, digging around abo of hydrangeas.

“Kashima.”

The man jumped and looked up, and Hayato froze. Kashima’seyes were still the brownest he’d ever seen.

“Kamitani.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“I couldn’t- you didn’t- I thought I had scared you off.” Hesaid finally, voice soft.

“I’m sorry. I should have said something, but you had put somuch thought into it and well… words weren’t enough.”

“So is that a yes?”

Kashima gave him a look. “Come on Kamitani, I know you’vepicked up on enough hanakotoba to figure it out.”

Hayato’s lips quirked upwards on their own accord “Justchecking.”

He strode towards Kashima, slowly, deliberately, giving the manample opportunity to stop him. He wrapped his arms around him, pulling him intoan embrace, and placing a light kiss on his forehead.

Kashima made an impatient noise, standing on his toes topress their lips together, and Hayato saw fireworks. He groaned into the kiss,leaning down to make himself more accessible, backing them up until Kashima’sback was pressed against the wall. They broke apart, grinning.

“Does this mean I can call you Ryu?”

“It’d be kind of weird if you didn’t… Hayato.”

Hayato swallowed heavily, that would take some getting usedto. In a good way.

Kashima- no, Ryu- looked up at him through his lashes. “Areyou really going to get that tattoo?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Maybe on our wedding day.”

Hayato choked on air, and then laughed, pressing his faceinto Ryu’s neck. This man was going to kill him.

A/N- Did someone ask for an entire paragraph of Hayato agonizing overhand holding? No? Well I gave it to you anyway. The meaning of cactus flowers,if you were wondering, is lust/sex. I honestly don’t know if some of those flowerswould work in a bouquet but let’s pretend that our boy Ryu found a way. I havethis AU weirdly sorted out in my head so if anyone wants to know anything aboutit (Tattoos, occupations, life stories, etc.) feel free to ask because I’m tootired to write. Anyway, hit me up on tumblr if you want to see more, I’mbards-against-hoomanity. Shoot me an ask if you’ve got a prompt, usual termsand conditions apply. Love you guys and I hope you enjoyed this!

#Gakuen Babysitters #School Babysitters #Hayaryuu #Kashima Ryuuichi #Kamitani Hayato #Fan Fic #My Fic #polarbarbarian

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

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WHY I'M SMARTER THAN KINDS

Microcomputers are a classic example of this view: 80% of MIT spinoffs succeed provided they have at least one of them from doing it. You can't be buying users; that's a pyramid scheme. The initial idea is the same no matter what. Curiously, the fact that so many programmers identify as X programmers or Y programmers. Partly because the most effective pressure is competition from other investors imposes a deadline. Starting a startup gives you more ideas. Of course, it's called school, which makes hardware geometrically closer to free; the Web, use links to rank search results, and hard problems couldn't literally be fun. It seems safe to say, that quote is from someone we funded this summer. And the very best VC funds. Explaining himself later, he said that little desktop computers would never be suitable for real hacking. ___ Should the city take stock in the startups you meet that way, you'd be running Windows. Mistake number four.

Ok, he replied. There is a danger in designing a language based on one's own experience of programming. Two-Shoes type good. Occasionally startups go from hot to cold or cold to hot in a matter of degree. Raising Too Much Money It's obvious how too little money could kill you, they assume there must be a deal; everyone acts like they have a significant effect on returns, it's cool with us if the founders are sufficiently different from other people that ideas few others can see seem obvious to them. But only if a the distraction of hiring someone won't make you expend as much effort on sales. For example, a politician announcing the cancellation of a government program will not merely be bad for VCs. And Wufoo got valuable feedback from it: Linux users complained they used too much Flash, so they could receive the training appropriate to it. The rule about doing what you love is complicated. A couple million would let them really blow this thing out. Fundraising Survival Guide August 2008 Raising money is a way of sorting shopping search results. There's room not merely to equal Silicon Valley, what you want and don't cite any previous work, and can't bear to spend money on stuff.

It's not something you can do. Even Samuel Johnson seems to have begun by trying to be Thurston Howell. So an idea for a new type of investor: the super-angels gradually to erode. The other way to tell whether a field has consistent standards is the overlap between the teachers and the leading practitioners weren't doing much more than a pretentious version of u r a fag. But while demand shaped like a well. More So The classic startup is fast and informal, with few people and little money. Except you judge intelligence at its best, starting a startup is, economically, is compressing your working life into a few years do seem better than the others.

You might find contradictory taboos. Not just because of their job titles. But that was just a project. Formidable is close to zero. I think, is going to be different kinds of questions. Another danger, pointed out by Mitch Kapor, Josh Kopelman, Pete Koomen, Carolynn Levy, Jon Levy, Kirsty Nathoo, Robert Morris, and Fred Wilson for reading drafts of this. And yet even when they are or could be profitable on as little as $2000 per month. Don't spend much time worrying about the details.

Some VCs seem to operate is to invest in it, if it was really necessary to store so much of our data on expensive RAID drives. Instead of treating beauty as an airy abstraction, to be able to define new types, but you should at least help you to get a job. But that's not the only way to deliver software that will sell your hardware, you have to design your life around getting into college, because the schools adjust to suit whatever the tests measure. Their chances of succeeding really big. Partly that users needed him. If they have good ideas, but you'll know they're something that ought to exist. But there are worse things than having people misunderstand your work. But as the tests get broader, the schools do too. That's why those quotes from Korea sound so old fashioned.

He wrote about productivity in lines of code. If someone gets murdered by someone they met on Facebook, the press will treat the story as if it were all like school and big companies. Perl programs can be almost cryptically dense, while the percentages might end up with a startup, a company looks much like college, but only a little; they were too quick. They'll all lose their jobs eventually, along with Steve Jobs, Larry Ellison, Michael Dell, Jeff Bezos, Gordon Moore. There is a lot cheaper. You may be wasting your time. As those examples suggest, a recession may not be such a test. I've written several essays that began as comments there. Libraries? 5b Everyone in a company works together to create wealth by making a car that weighed only fifty pounds, or folded up to the founders instead of the current probabilities: Subject FREE 0. Jessica Livingston, and Geoff Ralston for reading drafts of this. The unfortunate thing is not something one could aspire to the way they were 10 years ago, writing essays was the ultimate insider's game.

On the way we do. The most successful angel investors I know are gradually switching to Macs. The founders can't enrich themselves without also enriching the investors. 6 of that 11. Everyone knows that committees tend to yield lumpy, inconsistent designs. Not only do you have a new idea. They hope further investment will save them. But it's not because you're supposed to have a separate laptop on the other side senses weakness—if they sense you're ambivalent, they won't give you much attention. When you can't deliver ornament, you have to do is be part of it.

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kanwaldesigns · 3 years

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Making Lettering Talk-

Herb lubalin-

Most people remember the name Herb Lubalin in association with the typeface Avant Garde. And he was the typographer and designer behind its design creation, after the success of Avant Garde Magazine and its typographic logo. But, his career expanded to a much wider scope than that. One of the people behind the ‘culture-shocking’ magazines Avant-Garde, Eros and Fact, he was a continuous boundary breaker on both a visual and social level. Part of the founding team of the International Typeface Corporation (ITC) and the principal of Herb Lubalin, Inc it was hard to escape the reach of Herb during the 1960s and 70s.

His constant search for something brand new and a liking for inventiveness made him one of the most successful art directors of the 20th century. He had offices internationally in Paris and London and partnered with many talented individuals over the years. These include Aaron Burns, Tom Carnase, Ernie Smith and Ralph Ginzburg. A graduate of the Cooper Union in New York he spent time as a visiting professor there as well as designed a logo for them. Constantly working and achieving much success throughout his career, at the age of 59 he stated "I have just completed my internship."

ITC Avant Garde Gothic is a geometric sans serif font family based on the logo font used in the Avant Garde magazine. Herb Lubalin devised the logo concept and its companion headline typeface, and then he and Tom Carnase, a partner in Lubalin's design firm, worked together to transform the idea into a typeface.

“Avant Garde is a seminal, but somewhat overlooked by a wider public, magazine, which broke taboos, rattled some nerves and made a few enemies. The magazine was the brainchild of Ralph Ginzburg, an eager and zealous publisher, even if the path that led to Avant Garde wasn’t so straightforward. It represents the third major collaboration between Ralph Ginzburg and Herb Lubalin, the magazine’s talented art director. The two previous magazines came to unexpected demise due to their candor and provocativeness, that landed them into legal trouble.

Avant Garde is the magazine that gave birth to a much maligned and equally lauded typeface of the same name. A typeface that reveled in the mutability of letterforms, exhibited brilliantly by its extensive set of ligatured characters. The magazine’s logo, which inspired the typeface, is a perfect encapsulation of what the magazine represented in 1968, the year the magazine launched: exciting, vibrant, edgy, with just the right amount of playfulness to move it out of the corporateness its geometric sans serif forms might otherwise imply. The magazine ran for 3 years, spanning 14 square-sized issues, and only folded due to Ralph Ginzburg losing his long-running legal battle with the US government over obscenity charges (partly stemming from Ralph’s and Herb’s first collaboration Eros magazine).

The strong content and the inventive design of Avant Garde is a testament to a close understanding that developed between Ginzburg and Lubalin, but also of a mutual respect of the boundaries set by each side. Ralph didn’t interfere in the design and Herb didn’t meddle in the editorial content. It’s a balance that magazines still strive for today. Avant Garde deserves a close investigation and appreciation. It still has a lot to say.”

— Alexander Tochilovsky

In the typeface marriage you can see both the r’s facing each other which represents a couple holding hands.

In the typeface mother we can see the ‘&’ places inside the letter o to represent the child in a mother’s womb.

In the typeface Families the different sized letters i l and i represents family members themselves.

Craig Ward-

Craig Ward is a British-born Design / Creative Director currently based in New York. Occasional artist, best-selling author and contributor to various industry journals, he is best known for his pioneering typographic works.

Ink and water don’t mix – Craig Ward

The artist has used water and ink onto a serif font which has been digitally typed, to portray an example to show others that water and ink don’t mix.

The mood isn’t really conveyed as the ink and water don’t mix which gives the impression that it’ experimental.

It creates this emotion because the ink and the water don’t mix and the water causes the ink to run down the page, smudging the ink and the work creating an visually appealing yet messy design on the page.

The messiness of the running water changes the way the smooth well written type looks which has been done by digitally typing, creating a sense of false meaning. The ink shows the neat and tidy side and the water added to it creates the dripping mess which we see. Although it’s meant to look like a mess the artist has done it in a way where the dabs of water makes the piece look really cool and professional looking.The dabs of water added to mess up the neatness of the digitally typed lettering could be a representation for tear drops making something beautiful messy and how sadness can not be mixed with happiness. The exact same emotions can be felt about this idea of mixing ink with water.

Paula Scher-

Paula Scher is an American graphic designer, painter and art educator in design. She also served as the first female principal at Pentagram, which she joined in 1991.

Represents the Canadian charity focus of the foundation.

Paula Scher, a partner at Pentagam, took the challenge of creating this a new brand for Heart & Stroke. They faced the challenge of creating an approachable and professional identity. It also had to fit well with the official language needs of Canada, both English and French. To face this challenge Paula got back to the basics and rooted the project in the universal heart symbol with the disruptive punctuation of / (stroke). The colour palette red black and white helps create that straight away stand out effect.

Heart & Stroke’s new versatile, identity is able to adapt itself to every media and to the different fundraising programs of the Foundation. This new, simple brand system is a clever solution created by Paula Scher proves once again why She is one of the biggest names in branding.

Alison Carmichael-

Alison Carmichael has been collecting industry respect for over 20 years for her unique handcrafted lettering.

Beautiful You:Boots

Beautiful You is a free and impartial beauty service from Boots that builds on their years of research and experience. Boots position themselves as "feel good specialists" and their mission was to create a brand for Beautiful You that reflected their wanting to make people healthier and happier, appealing to a younger beauty conscious audience without alienating Boots' wider customer base.

She had worked with Cubic to craft a bespoke handwritten logo in a flowing, textural style, sealed with a kiss!

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erictmason · 7 years

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Top 10 Disney Cartoon Shows

Turns out that last list didn't quite get all the Disney out of my system, so I'm at it again. Only this time, it's about Disney's efforts on the small screen. It's actually kind of hard to overstate the significance of Disney's choice to get into the television animation game back in the 80's. Before then, whatever else one could say about its merits, animation on TV meant one thing: cheap (well, OK, that and "short films imported from a radically different era", but let's not split hairs here). That isn't to say quality animation could not be found on television pre-Disney, but rather that said quality (both in the visual and writing departments) was rarely if ever the priority. But when Disney came along, with a mission statement of bringing with it the level of craft that had defined their theatrical films (though naturally they were never really aiming that high), that changed, and animation studios of all stripes suddenly had a reason to pour a lot more effort into their animated TV shows. I don't think it's unfair to say we're still living in the world Disney helped create, in fact, whether it's the overt influence many of Disney's shows have had on the newest generation of animators or else by virtue of the space they helped to make where such shows can exist and thrive. So, with the reboot of "Ducktales", the Disney TV animation studio's first breakout success, having recently launched, I thought it would be an appropriate time to look back at that vast, storied history of Disney TV cartoons and pick out my personal picks for the best of the bunch. As usual, there are a few provisos, a couple of quid pro quos if you will. 1.) It has to be a show made by a division of Disney Television Animation, not just airing on a Disney-owned channel. That means no Lucasfilms, no Marvel, and no imports from, say, Canada or Japan. 2.) TV shows only, no shorts or compilation shows. So much as I adore them, the current run of "Mickey Mouse" shorts will not be on here, sorry. 3.) It has to have aired in its entirety. I feel like it's unfair to judge a TV show on a list like this without being able to see it as a whole, so as intriguing as, say, "Star VS. The Forces of Evil" is, it isn't eligible since it's still producing new episodes. With the rules established? Let's make some magic!

10.) Aladdin: The Series (1994-1995): Here's a bit of irony for you: half the reason Disney ventured into television animation in the first place is that, at the time, the future of their theatrical animation division seemed in doubt. Not long after, however, along came "The Little Mermaid" and the Disney Renaissance, and suddenly it was the television side looking to the theatrical side for source material. Quite a few Renaissance pics got the TV show treatment as a result, but for my money the best of the bunch remains "Aladdin: The Series", mainly because it's the one that feels most of a piece with the original movie. Part of that, of course, is that "Aladdin" was already a bit more suited to the adventure-a-week formula, since that's kind of where the roots of the original story already run. But part of it is also that the ways in which the show expanded on the original's world were genuinely clever. Pulling not only from Arabian mythology, but Greco-Roman, Aztec, Egyptian, and beyond, the show managed to deliver remarkably-solid adventure stories, few of which ever continued from the other but all of which worked surprisingly well together to create a world that felt remarkably alive and vibrant. Sure, Aladdin himself remains a fairly uninteresting protagonist, Dan Castellanata can't hope to replace Robin Williams as The Genie, and Iago is a lot less fun when he's asked to be a constant lead presence rather than a humorous diversion. But even so, "Aladdin: The Series" succeeded at taking the original's lead, running with it, and in the process delivering a show that felt exciting and interesting to watch week from week just to see what new corner of its world it would uncover.

9.) Phineas and Ferb (2007-2015): OK, confession time? I actually don't like this show very much. I hardly dislike it or anything, but I was never able to really get into it the same way I could other entries in the remarkably-specific sub-genre of "TV Cartoons Aimed At Kids Which Manage To Also Garner A Sizable Teen/Adult Audience" like, say, "Steven Universe" or another show that's probably on this list. Nonetheless, I can't deny this thing is maybe the success story of modern-day Disney television animation, lasting longer by far than any other show on the list. Nor am I unaware of what made it so popular: the strong, heavily-geometric character designs, the charming musical numbers, and the mad-cap, self-aware comedy. It's that last piece I find most interesting, because I think it speaks most strongly to what helped "Phineas and Ferb" stand out from the pack: it's kind of like the kid-friendly version of "Family Guy", at least in the sense that it derives its humor less from the story or characters, who are deliberately archetypal, and more from its ability to use those archetypal characters as delivery machines for rapid-fire punchlines predicated on equal parts dry wit and pop-cultural reference. In other words, it never becomes itself an "adult" series, indeed its whole perspective is an exaggerated version of childhood, but it does use an "adult"-oriented style of comedy most other kid's shows didn't really utilize back when it started. That kind of unique creative choice can often do a lot of help a show stand out from the crowd, and, with four seasons, seven years, and over 200 episodes (to say nothing of TV specials and movies), I think it's safe to say that's exactly what this show did.

8.) Fillmore! (2002-2004): Man, why don't more people remember this show? Following up on the renewed popularity of crime procedurals thanks to both the "Law and Order" and "CSI" franchises being at their peak, it takes the structure and tone of a 70's/80's-style crime drama and refits it into the world of Middle School. Cops become Hallway Monitors, overzealous politicians become overbearing teachers, and Grand Theft Auto becomes bicycle theft. It's that last part that proves the most amusing; since murder is pretty obviously not going to fly on a kid's show, the crimes they do come up with display a remarkable breadth of creativity. Trying to chase down a graffiti vandal turns into a "Silence of the Lambs"-style criminal vs. criminal scenario, fandom obsession leads to dangerous sabotage, smuggling food into school is treated like something akin to drug-running, that sort of thing. And best of all, while the show is entirely aware of its own absurdity, its sense of humor is 100% deadpan, and the result is that it really does play like a "straight" Cop Drama despite its setting. It's a unique tone that is equal parts engaging and funny, and it creates this really interesting one-of-a-kind style that no other show has ever really tapped into, either before or since. Top it off with a great pair of lead characters-the titular Fillmore himself, a Good Guy With A Past played with a crisp cool to match the show's tone by Orlando Brown, and his reformed-ex-con partner Ingrid Third, another notch in veteran VA Tara Strong's belt, and you've got a great kid's show that's every bit as gripping as the shows it parodies, even as it also gets some solid laughs along the way too.

7.) TaleSpin (1990-1991): For the most part, it's easy to draw the lines that connect the Disney Afternoon's initial shows to the pre-existing Disney properties they're based on. "Goof Troop" is really just those old-school Goofy shorts about domestic life updated to match with 90's-style family sitcoms, "Chip 'n' Dale: Rescue Rangers" plugs the titular duo into kid-friendly adventure romps, and so on and so forth. But "TaleSpin" is just so weird in that respect: it may borrow three of its key characters from there, but it can't really be said to be based on Disney's 1967 version of "The Jungle Book". Instead, those characters-or rather heavily modified versions of those characters re-conceived to fit in to the show's new setting-are placed into an entirely new world, which itself is something like a steampunk fantasy version of 1920's America, guided by the spirit of old-school Adventure Serials. But the very oddity of its construction allows "TaleSpin" to feel at once familiar and new, able to ground itself by way of those "Jungle Book" characters you know and love (with the twists it puts on them being endearingly clever, like making Shere Khan a Lex Luthor-style corporate mogul) while also spring-boarding out into a wide variety of classic adventure stories. Daring duels with pirates, high-stakes air races, and even the occasional flight of overtly-magical fancy...there's a lot of Tales to Spin here, and the show consistently does so with an admirably clear-eyed sense of its own genre and how to best play with it. And again, it's all connected to a charming cast of characters. "TaleSpin" is a tricky little thing to pin down, then, but for that very reason it's way too memorable to overlook or ever forget.

6.) The New Adventures of Winnie the Pooh (1988-1991): "Winnie the Pooh" stories are a tricky thing to do right. They'd been around for close to half-a-century even back when Disney first adapted the property into a trilogy of animated short films during the mid-to-late 60's, and that history, combined with the stories' enduring popularity, means we all have a fairly solid idea of what they "feel" like. Moreover, by their very nature, the best "Pooh" stories are short, simple things with only the barest hint of narrative intent or moral center. Which means trying to expand on them in any significant way runs the risk of stuffing them with more familiar story-telling tropes and styles that simply do not belong there. So "The New Adventures of Winnie the Pooh" deserves a lot of credit, if not for dodging that fact entirely (as was increasingly common in kid's TV shows of the time, it made sure to center a lot of its stories around "lessons" in a fashion much louder and more overt than the source material), then at least for managing to make a show that consistently felt like it captured and exemplified the right spirit even so. A lot of that, it should be said, comes down to the voice actors; not only did Paul Winchell (Tigger) and John Fiedler (Piglet) return to reprise their iconic roles after having sat out the previous "Pooh" TV show, "Welcome to Pooh Corner", but this also marks the first "Pooh" project where the title character is voiced by Jim Cummings, who has played the role in every other "Pooh" production to come out of Disney in the nearly-three decades since. Their performances aren't just consistently entertaining, they also lend a sense of spiritual continuity that benefits the show greatly. More to the point, though, the animation has an intriguing physicality to it that recognizes the stuffed-animal nature of its core cast, as well as a delightfully-poppy color scheme. The writing, meanwhile, uses a particular blend of sweetness and humor that feels at once akin to the original Disney short films, but also distinct and enjoyable unto itself. Wordplay, slapstick, and gentle philosophizing, hallmarks of a good "Pooh" story since the very beginning, all show up in "The New Adventures of Winnie the Pooh", but the show always puts a just-so slightly-modern touch on each one. To be sure, "New Adventures" plays in the same ballpark as more typical Saturday Morning cartoon fare, but it does so with the invaluable lessons of Pooh himself pretty clearly having been taken to heart in the process, and the resulting show is simply delightful.

5.) Adventures of the Gummi Bears (1985-1991): Technically speaking, the first Disney Television series is the short-lived plush-toy spin-off "The Wuzzles". Meanwhile, the first real breakout hit for the studio was unquestionably 1987's "Ducktales". But the one that first really established the studio, granting it the foothold from which it would build its future successes, is "The Adventures of the Gummi Bears". On paper, it sounds very much like a "Smurfs" wanna-be, centered as it is on a tribe of small, magically-inclined creatures with matching names set in a vaguely-Medieval England fantasy world. But in execution, it winds up weaving a remarkably-compelling tale with a surprisingly-dense internal mythology which it treats with an impressive degree of respect and earnestness. That isn't to say it's some Super Serious Epic (we'll need to go a bit up the list for that show), but even as it keeps things primarily centered on kid-friendly slapstick and gentle goofing off (and does a fine version of it in both cases too), there is nonetheless an underlying spine of genuinely weighty world-building to it that adds just the right amount of extra heft to even the lighter aspects of the series. The way our main characters, the Gummi Bears of the title, slowly but surely discover more and more aspects of their history and culture (much of it tangled up in an ugly war stemming from prejudice and distrust), all the while hoping for the day they'll be able to reunite with their own people, underlines almost every episode, pulling you in and often taking you by surprise. As well, while all clearly archetypal (in the old Seven Dwarves tradition of being named for their defining traits, even), those characters are all delightful to spend time with, again thanks to a strong cast of voice-acting veterans like Paul Winchell, June Foray, and Bill Scott, and a dynamic that feels warm and lived-in. Moreover, this is the show that Disney's TV animation really used to show off its skills, with some of the most fluid, engaging use of motion in any cartoon of the era; some episode are naturally stronger than others, but the best of them are genuinely gorgeous stuff. It is, in other words, a show with an intriguing story that feels very much like the best sort of Bed-Time Story, inviting and friendly on one level but with a deeper center just beneath the surface to pull you in and keep you coming back, and realized with a strong, compelling craft. So it's really no wonder that these "Gummi Bears" were, in their way, the ones to start the long-lived legacy of Disney's TV cartoons.

4.) Recess (1997-2003): There came an interesting point of transition for Disney's TV animation studios toward the end of the 90's. The Disney Afternoon block, long the most visible home for their shows, was finally shutting down after a solid seven-year run, and a new once-a-week block, fittingly named "1 Saturday Morning", was rising up to take its place. The block managed to last a decent five years, but very few of its shows managed to make much of an impact. But among the ones that did, the clear front-runner, to my mind at least, is "Recess", a love letter aimed not only at the nostalgia of the playground but also to the iconic TV comedy "Hogan's Heroes" (compare the theme songs to both shows, and then look at the mix of archetypes that comprises the core cast for each one). That mixture allows the show to present a vision of childhood that is simultaneously deliberately hyperbolic-the age-old notion of schoolyard hierarchies is here portrayed as a rich, thriving society unto itself, complete with its own king and economy-while still grounded in relatable ideas and characters, especially as regards the oftentimes contentious relationship between the students and teachers. That latter aspect especially speaks to why "Recess" is probably my pick for the best overall show of the "1 Saturday Morning" era, too; yes, as is typical of a show aimed at kids, it plays to their own feelings by painting the teachers as alternatively cruel and inept for the most part (while quite a few episodes focus on the difficulties the kids have with their parents, too), but it never forgets their own humanity in the process, and some of the show's best moments stem from that fact. Still, at the end of the day, it does really come down to that "Hogan's Heroes" influence I mentioned. No real kid has ever assembled the complex schemes and adventures that are "Recess"' primary source of stories, but I promise you every last kid has dreamed of it, and by placing those scenarios in the world it does, where the audience can at once recognize how much this is an exaggeration but still grasp what reality it draws from, it makes this really intriguing atmosphere that sparkles at once with a kid's sense of wonder and an adult's sense of humor (a lot of the best jokes stem from sharp wit that connects a young adult's perspective to adult concepts like a full-time job or balancing responsibilities). It's a style quite a few shows, cartoon or otherwise, have tried out over the years, but "Recess" is one of the very best examples of the form.

3a.) Gravity Falls (2012-2016): If you were paying close enough attention, you may have noticed something about the opening credits of animated television shows around the beginning of the '00's: series creators were being prominently credited. It was indicative of a larger amount of trust and control being placed in distinct creative voices as the industry slowly eased out (or tried to, anyway) of the merchandise-driven business model that had defined it for most of the 80's and 90's, and across the board it led to some very distinct visions making their way onto screens. For Disney, the example du jour is Alex Hirsch's "Gravity Falls", a show whose existence is all the more surprising when you consider just how very Not Disney its premise-kid-oriented "Twin Peaks" riff by way of "The X-Files"-really sounds. And yet here we are, with a show that is at once a razor-sharp comedy, a poignant examination of what it means to grow up and what we do and do not have to leave behind in the process, and a veritable parade of some of the most off-the-wall horror-sci-if-fantasy mash-ups of all time. And the thing of it is, the glue holding all of that together and keeping it coherent, allowing the show to build effortlessly both towards fantastic punchlines and deeply emotional culminations, stems from Hirsch: in interviews, he talked about how much of the show's premise stemmed from reflecting on the tourist-trap vacations he himself took as a child, and indeed, a lot of the series' best moments (an early episode centered on a haunted convenience store springs to mind in particular for me) succeed by tapping into that particular vein of childhood, where the simple change in environment that comes with vacation lends even the most mundane things an air of mystery. By the same token, so too do the characters feel keenly drawn from reality (even as they do still possess a cartoon's foibles and exaggerations); Dipper and Mabel are two of the most believable pre-teens I've ever seen on TV, both in their own way smart enough to no longer be children but struggling with the greater maturity necessary to really become grown-up, Grunkle Stan feels like every huckster you've ever seen on TV right down to the niggling sense that there is a tremendous amount more to him than what we see, and the change in perspective the show gives us on Wendy, initially kept at arm's length because of Dipper's crush on her only to emerge more fully as a person once he recognizes her own feelings on the matter. And then on top of all that, it's connected to a genuinely-compelling mystery that the show gradually teases out more and more, and those who are paying attention really do have an honest shot of piecing the puzzle together before the characters do, adding a new layer of visceral excitement to the experience. But the real strength of the show is that those twists and turns, as much as they might pull us deeper into the puzzle box, are really more about exploring and growing the characters first and foremost. That's the key to "Gravity Falls" above all, to my mind: yes, its internal mythology is uniquely well built, and yes, pushing the envelope on how genuinely scary/dangerous it's allowed to get is fascinating, but it never loses sight of how much its characters are the real heart of the story, and how much that fact helps this weird, wild mixture really come together.

3b.) Darkwing Duck (1991-1992): Yes, the #3 slot is a draw, because when it came right down to it I simply could not pick between the two shows I was considering for it. Leaving "Gravity Falls" off felt simply unacceptable to be, but neither could I find it in my heart to axe this, maybe my personal favorite of the entire Disney Afternoon era, from the list. Because the thing of it is, when you really think about it, "Darkwing Duck" shouldn't work at all. Superhero parodies were old hat even by the early 90's (indeed, at that point they probably outnumbered actual superhero shows), while spin-offs had long ago developed a reputation for being cheap-and-easy cash-ins (though the extent to which "Darkwing Duck" is, in fact, a spin-off of "Ducktales" is a touch debatable, I suppose, even as they share a handful of characters). But despite the odds against it, "Darkwing Duck" does indeed prove to be a consistently entertaining piece of work, and a lot of why boils down to the remarkably-multilayered construction of its title character. That isn't to say Darkwing is the only good thing about his own show; his rogue's gallery is an amusing assortment of pastiches of classic Villain archetypes-the plant-master, the crazy clown, the evil double, and so on-while the supporting cast, including "Ducktales" veteran Launchpad McQuack and excitable youngster Gosalyn Mallard (a character who, by rights, should be insufferable, but is instead genuinely endearing thanks in no small part to her voice actor, the late, great Christine Cavanaugh), is equally enjoyable. As well, the show's sense of humor has an ahead-of-its-time sardonic edge to it that was nowhere near as commonplace in kid's cartoons by that point, but which here provides just the right level of sharpness to the comedy. And the animation is fascinating, too, with a far more "Looney Tunes"-style sensibility to a lot of its best moments (which in turn informs the characters a lot; there's more than a touch of Daffy to Darkwing, but we'll get to that in a minute), while also showing just how far the iconic Disney "duck" design could be stretched while still being recognizable. But it really is Darkwing himself who makes the show, because despite the core conceit being fairly simple-poking fun at the inherent egomania of the superhero by portraying one as a glory hound interested more in publicity than actual heroism-there actually prove to be quite a few layers to him when you really get into it. For one thing, he's actually quite good at his job; for as many times as his inadequacy is the butt of the joke, "let's get dangerous" is more than just a catchphrase; it's a sign he's about to show you what he's really capable of. For another, his sincere affection for and protectiveness of Gosalyn shows there really is a heart underneath all that bluster, and that if he could just get out of his own way, Darkwing might well be capable of true greatness. But all too often he is, in fact, his own worst enemy (there's that Daffy Duck influence again). It's all played mostly for laughs, sure, but, especially thanks to Darkwing's VA Jim Cummings, who navigates each of those layers coherently and effectively, it comes through clearly even so. And it elevates the entire show to this unique, interesting place that has helped it stand the test of time.

2.) Gargoyles (1994-1997): As established during our introduction, the entry of Disney into the world of television animation in the mid-80's was a real paradigm shift in the industry. But a few years later, in 1992, came another, arguably even more profound game-changer: "Batman: The Animated Series". Every last element of that show-its writing, its visual style, and especially its revolutionary craft-proved profoundly popular, not only with viewers but people inside the industry. Soon enough, almost every TV animation studio around mounted a response: for Marvel Television, it was the "X-Men" cartoon, for Hanna Barbera it was "SWAT Kats". But far and away the best answer came from Disney, in the form of Greg Weisman's fantasy epic, "Gargoyles". From stem to stern, this is maybe one of the richest, most satisfying stories Disney TV ever crafted, and in stark contrast to just about every other show on this list, that doesn't come with a "but it's not as serious as all that" caveat. There's comic relief, to be sure, but still, this is nonetheless an entirely-earnest Modern Fantasy Epic, comprised of equal parts deep-cut cultural/mythological references-everything from Shakespeare to Arthurian Lore to the tales of Anansi the Spider, all realized with a remarkable degree of understanding and specificity-and exceptionally well-structured characters. Stoic Goliath, striving at once to protect what little remains of his kind while also seeking to do good in a world he struggles to understand; Elisa Maza, a sharp-minded detective who is always determined to stay on top of the situation no matter how crazy it becomes; Demona, a tragic figure consumed with anger and grief who seeks greater and greater means of destruction; Xanatos, one of the greatest masterminds of all time, always one step ahead, always a new scheme at the ready. "Gargoyles", in other words, weaves an impressively intricate tale that inhabits a sprawling, detailed world with rich, compelling players, by way of some of the most impressively-intricate long-term story arcs I've ever seen in a cartoon show. Whether it's the gradual transformation of Xanatos from inscrutable antagonist to complex Family Man (even as the extent to which he can ever really be trusted remains in question) or the slow-burn, exceptionally rewarding progression of Goliath and Elisa's relationship, or even things like the young, impetuous Brooklyn slowly growing up into a possible leader, "Gargoyles" hones in with perfect precision on how best to expand these characters over time. Likewise, watching as the scope of the world, and our own understanding of it, expands to include concepts like aliens and mutants amongst its gods and monsters is impressive and fascinating. And the series paces itself equally perfectly. There is a genuinely organic quality to "Gargoyles"' arcs, both character and plot; it never feels static or overly obsessed with the Status Quo, but it also does not rush through anything. Each plot twist, each character epiphany, feels earned, and all the more powerful as a result. And, cherry on top, the animation is top-tier stuff; it is perhaps not as overtly stylized as "Batman: The Animated Series" (though its focus on night-time settings and a darker color palette feels evocative of that show), but the combination of a Disney-esque sense of character design with the show's strong narrative backbone leads to exceptional results even so. "Gargoyles" may have been made in "Batman"'s image, but it wound up being a one-of-a-kind classic in its own right.

1.) Ducktales (1987-1990): There are a number of reasons "Ducktales" more or less has to top this list. Its pedigree, for one thing; drawing a lot of its premise (and directly adapting several of its best episodes and story lines) from the famed Carl Barks "Uncle Scrooge" comics (though notoriously, Barks' most famous successor, Don Rosa, has a less-than-sunny attitude toward the show) provides the show an exceptionally well-built and endearing structure. Whether it's outer-space epics or intercontinental treasure hunts, espionage action or magical mayhem, there's no breed of adventure "Ducktales" cannot comfortably tap into. Another thing to consider is its place in history; almost every other show on this list owes its existence to one degree or another to this show, which proved to be exactly the sort of powerhouse success story the Disney TV studio needed in order to prove its chops, and that means "Ducktales" holds a special place in animation history too, given how much Disney TV has played a part in it as a whole. And naturally, there's the animation to consider too; it may seem a touch standard-issue today, but compare "Ducktales" to just about any other contemporary cartoon of its era, and you'll realize just how much care goes into keeping characters on model and letting them movie not just fluidly, but also in a way that's enjoyable to watch. And last but hardly least, there's the stellar cast of characters (and voice actors); Huey, Dewey, and Louie may all be interchangeable, but their dynamic is lively and enjoyable anyway. Webby, meanwhile, is a fantastic foil, not only for them, but for Uncle Scrooge. And naturally, Scrooge himself (given an iconic performance by the late, great Alan Young) is just fantastic, a multi-layered, larger-than-life character who is nonetheless so much fun to simply spend time with you never want to stop. But the thing of it is, "Ducktales"' real claim to #1 is a bit harder to quantify than all that, because even as it excels on just about every level, it doesn't have, say, the same depth of theme and character as "Gravity Falls", or "Gargoyles"' tapestry of plot lines and character arcs. Its animation is certainly high quality, especially for the time, but it's not that much better than "Adventures of the Gummi Bears". And yet, even so, "Ducktales" is the one everyone remembers, and I feel like that comes down to it adding up to something more than just the sum of its parts. There really is this unique, ineffable energy to "Ducktales" that is equal parts charming, endearing, exciting, and thrilling, and it enhances each and every one of the things the show already does so well to a special level all its own. Some of that can be chalked up to nostalgia, sure, but a lot of it, I think, can also be ascribed to the sheer sense of discovery innate to the show. Not simply in the various people and places our heroes encounter (though there's that too, naturally), but in the fact that this new effort on Disney's part was hitting its stride, and in so doing opening up a whole new world of possibilities, for the show itself and for the future. Which is maybe being a touch too grandiose about it, but even so, "Ducktales" has endured enough to make me think there may be something to it. And hey, if literally nothing else, it really does have one humdinger of a theme song.

#Disney #disney afternoon #television #ducktales #Countdown #ericthemason #My writing

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welcometophu · 7 years

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Not Your Destiny: Chapter 11

Marked Book 1: Not Your Destiny

Chapter 11

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Ángel spends Friday on the road. There are enough calls for trouble that he’s constantly out, sometimes with Luca by his side. He changes four tires before lunch, and jump starts three cars and a delivery truck. He swings by the mall twice, fighting through thick holiday traffic that seems far busier than it ought to be on work day. He gets into one argument that needs to be cleared up by mall security before the guy will leave Ángel alone; it’s not his fault that his truck is blocking the parking lot aisle while he gets yet another car going right after lunch.

By three, he’s hiding in the back, slumped into one of the chairs, wheeled into a corner with the lights out. Gabi walks in and flicks the lights on, and Ángel winces, puts a hand up.

“Oh, you’re in here. That explains why the truck’s here.” She drops a stack of paperwork on the table. “Tony’s whining about the fact that you took Luca out on no less than six calls today, and Luca’s grumbling about people in general. What’s your preferred whine for the day?”

“I’m tired, the grease is never coming out from under my fingernails, and I have to go back to the mall after work.” Ángel rubs his hand across his forehead. At least his hands are mostly clean, and he’s pretty sure he’s not leaving grease streaks behind. He could be wrong. “Tanner’s picking me up tonight because I’ve still got gifts to get, and if I don’t get something nice for Maritsa’s tía, Abuela will be disappointed although it’s possible I might just skip that. Besides, now Hayley wants to get something for Tanner, and I’m assuming vice versa. Today is Emerson’s last day of school before break, and he says he hasn’t done any shopping.”

Ángel’s a little concerned about taking Emerson into a place that’s going to be noisy and chaotic, but both Tanner and Emerson swear he’ll be fine. And Tanner’s already overprotective enough.

“I’ve got a few things left to get,” Gabi muses. “Luca’s always got things to get, but he schedules all his time with his friends after Christmas so he can hit the sales. And I would absolutely bet that Tony’s put off everything so far.”

“You have my sympathy if you’re thinking of going anywhere near the mall tonight,” Ángel says dryly.

Gabi laughs, pats his shoulder. “We’re going with you,” she clarifies. “Let Tanner know that we’ll meet them there around five thirty. We’ll make Tony drive.”

The phone rings, and Gabi picks it up, singing out the greeting for Mollicone’s. Ten minutes later, Ángel’s back in the tow truck, and an hour later he’s pulling into the garage with fresh grease streaking his skin, and a thick blot of oil across his forehead.

He’s busy right up until they close at five. Luca wedges into the bathroom with him, as they scrub the grease from their skin, and compare the way the ridges of their fingerprints are still dark. They stay there, trying more techniques to get rid of the grease, until Tony claims the space for himself.

Tony drives a serviceable SUV, nothing like what Ángel expects after Cleto’s rebuilt Camaro and the modded compact that Luca drives. It looks like something a mom drove off the lot a few years ago, completely unmodified, unchanged from its original purpose.

Luca and Gabi climb into the back seat, leaving the front for Ángel. He sits down, and Tony looks over at him, silent, brows drawn and furrowed. Ángel reaches for the seatbelt, breaks away from Tony’s gaze to buckle in, then crosses his arms and tries not to sink down in the seat. “Gabi invited me,” he mutters, and Gabi fails to choke back laughter in the back.

Ángel can see them in the mirror, the way that Luca claps his hand over Gabi’s mouth. He rolls his eyes, glances at Tony instead.

Tony’s hands rest on the steering wheel. From this distance, and with Tony mostly still for the moment, Ángel can make out the words inked inside his left forearm: There is nothing more important than those you love by blood and bone and heart. Howl for home.

Ángel smiles slightly. Now that he’s seen the lyrics, he recognizes them. “Howl For Your Heart,” he says, and Tony’s gaze shifts to him again as he starts the car.

“Not a lot of people know it.” Tony twists his wrist, lowering his hand for a moment before he brings it back up and rests it on the wheel. “She’s not mainstream.”

“She’s on college radio,” Ángel points out. “And she goes to PHU. I’ve heard her perform. She’s good. I like most of what she does. She does this thing where she makes a point with her words, where she talks about things a lot of people don’t like to put out there in the light. Like Talent. Or sexuality.”

“Yeah.” Tony goes silent, licks his lips as if to taste the words he doesn’t say.

“What’s the rest of your ink? And is it only on your arms?” Ángel isn’t sure if it’s too personal to poke at, but he’s curious. This is actual ink, not a soulmark. It’s interesting, and a safe topic as far as he’s concerned. As long as Tony agrees.

“I have a pair of crossed arrows on my back,” Tony says. “Between the shoulder-blades. The pattern on my right arm is whatever I want it to be. Whatever I feel like adding. Most of it’s just design. It doesn’t really mean anything.” He lifts his hand from the steering wheel, rotates his arm slightly in the space between them, showing Ángel both the inside and outside.

Ángel wants to reach out and grab his hand, hold him still long enough to take a good look, but Tony’s driving and that wouldn’t be safe. He spots something that looks like a series of circles and crescents down the line of his inner forearm, and something else that looks like a bird in flight on the inside of his wrist. The back is decorated in intricate swirls, with occasional jagged geometrics, and a black rose just beneath the elbow.

“Cool,” Ángel says, and Tony rests his hand on the steering wheel again. “Do the arrows mean anything?” He hesitates, gestures at Tony. “The ones on your back.”

“History. Family.” Tony’s jaw is tight, and there’s a soft noise from the back seat. Ángel glances up at the mirror, and Gabi’s expression is just as shuttered as Tony’s.

“I won’t pry.”

“Don’t lie,” Luca says easily. “You’ll pry. You’re just learning which things you can pry into and actually get an answer.”

“Probably true.” Ángel’s curious, and he’s never been one to let a thing go. But he can wait, too. He’s more patient than he acts, and he wonders if they’ll warm up enough to let him in on the secrets.

It’s one thing to be told you’re part of the family, after all. It’s another thing to be allowed to see the skeletons stashed in the closets.

The line of cars outside the mall stretches down the street, creeping along. It’s even worse now than it was during the day, but at least this time Ángel’s not worried about someone creeping too close to the tow hitch on the back of the truck. The only spaces left in the lot are on the far edges, and Ángel already has three texts from Hayley asking when they’ll get there and where they should meet before they’re even parked.

Just got here. Meet us at the food court, in front of the Tex Mex place.

Ángel could use a snack after a long day. Might as well kill two birds with one stone. He stuffs the phone in his pocket as they start walking toward the mall. “Food court. Hayley’s there with Tanner and Emerson.” At the curious looks, he adds, “Tanner’s little brother.”

“Kids.” Gabi smacks Tony’s chest. “You need to get presents for Zita’s kids. Because I’m betting you haven’t been able to figure out what to do with them yet.”

Tony shoves his hands in his pockets, shrugs. “Stuffed animals? Something noisy that’ll piss Zita off?”

“She’ll get revenge. You really don’t want to do that,” Luca mutters. “I like it when she feeds us. Please don’t piss her off.”

Tony grumbles, and Gabi knocks into him as they walk. Ángel feels a little awkward, like he’s intruding on a family moment, then Luca drops an arm around his shoulder and drags him closer, so they all walk together.

Hayley waves as they approach, bouncing on her toes, sparks all around her. Emerson lifts a hand, then goes back to focusing on the taco he’s holding, trying not drip as he bites into it. Ángel introduces everyone, finishing just as Tanner comes back and hands a bag to Ángel.

Two tacos with everything. His usual snack, ever since they were old enough to be dropped off to hang out at the mall all day on a Saturday. They don’t hold a candle to the home-cooked meals Abuela makes, but at the same time, they’re a different taste of childhood. And exactly what he needs.

Ángel crams one into his mouth, bright bubbles popping just on the edge of his vision. He turns in time to see Emerson explaining something quickly to Gabi, bubbles bright around his head. He frowns at the number of them, at the way they seem to bob in time with the Christmas music playing over the loudspeakers.

“Tanner,” he says quietly, waiting until Tanner glances over. “Is Emerson okay?”

“He says he is, but crowds aren’t really his thing.” Tanner’s worry furrows his brow. “Dude, I can’t tell him he can’t be at the mall; he won’t listen. He’s fourteen. He’s started insisting on shit. But we’ll keep an eye on him.”

Ángel is pretty sure that Emerson’s been making his opinions known for a lot longer, but he’s not going to argue with Tanner over it.

“How do we want to do this? Who’s shopping for who, here?” Luca asks. “Me, I’m as done as it gets before Christmas. Anyone I don’t have a physical gift for gets a playlist.” He gives Ángel a look, and Ángel wonders just what’s going to be playing in the car after Christmas.

“Tony needs presents for Zita’s kids,” Gabi offers.

“I need something for Tanner,” Hayley says quietly, her smile tight and rueful. She glances at Tanner; as he touches her shoulder, her smile eases into something more natural.

“I need something for Hayley,” Tanner says, “so obviously we’re splitting up.”

Luca tucks Tanner’s hand into the crook of his arm. “I’m coming with you, because I don’t know what kind of taste you have, but I can save you from doing anything embarrassing.”

Gabi doesn’t bother to try to hide her laughter. Neither does Emerson.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Fine. Hayley can help me figure out something for the kids.”

“Don’t say you want her help because she’s a girl,” Gabi warns.

“I want her help because she’s been helping Zita with the kids,” Tony mutters dryly. “For fuck’s sake, Gabi. Go with Luca and Tanner. I know you want to.”

“Fine, you take Ángel and Hayley, and I’ll get to keep talking to Emerson because Tanner’s overprotective.” Gabi pushes Ángel. It’s strong enough that he wavers, bumping up against Tony, who steadies him on his feet. “We’ll meet up in an hour and switch things up.”

Ángel catches Tanner’s eye, tries to make sure he’s okay with it. When Tanner nods, and Emerson starts chatting with Gabi again, Ángel shifts his attention to Tony and Hayley. “I guess it’s just the three of us.”

Hayley frowns at Tony. She starts walking; Ángel catches up quickly and touches her elbow to guide her since she has no idea how the mall is laid out. “You’re Zita’s brother, right?” Hayley finally asks.

“The oldest of the boys,” Tony confirms. His expression shutters as Hayley’s gaze slips over him. Arms crossed, he returns her look evenly.

“She’s not checking you out,” Ángel mumbles. “That’s just Hayley.”

“What?” Hayley stops, rocks back on her heels, then runs a step catch up with them again. She puts her hands on his forearm, pulling back sharply when he moves sideways, away from her. “Oh, sorry, I mean. I didn’t mean to do that. Touch you. Or act like I’m checking you out. I mean. Ángel’s my ex-boyfriend. And I might be kind of thinking about dating Tanner—we’re soulmates, so it’s all pretty complicated. I was just curious. And you’ve got cool ink, and you kind of look like Zita only way more imposing. Do you always scowl?”

Ángel rubs a hand across his mouth, trying not to laugh.

“Zita says you’re the serious one, although she also said that Mollicones aren’t really friendly. She thought the kids might be friendlier if they hang out with me more, but they already seemed really friendly? We went out, and they like talking to people, and don’t worry, I checked with Zita first and she said it’s okay, as long as we keep an eye on them.” Hayley winds down, hands falling as the speech ends. She twists her fingers, as if she doesn’t know what to do with them. “I like the kids. They’re pretty cute. And I don’t think Zita’s unfriendly at all. And Gabi seems nice. She was nice when we went out. I didn’t really see you while we were at Antigone. You were there, right?”

Tony licks his lip, jaw tight for a moment. “I was there. I even danced.”

Hayley’s eyebrows go up. “You did? I didn’t see that. Although it was pretty packed on the dance floor, which is probably why—” She cuts off abruptly, gaze flicking to Ángel.

“I was also drunk,” Ángel replies blandly. “We can say it. Ángel was drunk, and dancing with strangers, and doesn’t know who his soulmate is. In other words, I screwed up.”

Tony grunts softly, and Ángel can’t tell if it’s meant to be judging or sympathetic.

Probably judging.

He lets the subject drop, and Tony doesn’t seem inclined to bring it up again. Hayley huffs, and plays with sparks across her fingertips for a moment, before she spots the sign for Great Little Minds.

“Oh!” She claps her hands together, reaches for Tony’s hand and doesn’t let go as she tugs at him. “This is the best store. You’ll find something wonderful for the kids here.”

Ángel hangs back, because he wants to see this. Hayley has her fingers tangled with Tony’s as she drags him into the store. He can hear Tony’s protest that the kids are too young, but Hayley manages to get him into the back area, with science toys for toddlers, and Tony goes quiet.

There’s a display full of forensic kits in the front, and Ángel lingers, looking at them. Then he spots the temporary tattoo maker off to one side, and he picks it up, curious how it works. It looks like a sticker printer, only the ink and paper are different. There’s an instruction book on the counter; Ángel picks it up to skim through it. In the end, it seems like a lot of work—it’s black and white only, and the instructions include touch-ups to the image once it adheres to the skin, as well as how to add color, and use a fixative. But it’s still interesting, and certainly a unique take on a toy.

“Come outside.” Hayley wraps her hand around the meat of his arm and pulls, and Ángel goes with her. Tony stands in line behind four other people, with what looks like half the toddler stock in his arms.

“Is there a reason you’re dragging me out of the store? Maybe I wanted to buy that,” Ángel protests. Not that he would. He doesn’t have a lot of money, and he’s not spending what he’s got on a toy, but it was interesting. And if they can make one to sell, he must be able to DIY it if he goes looking. He pulls his phone out, sends a text to the group chat with Tanner and Hayley: Remind me to look up methods for printing temporary tattoos. It could be fun, right?

Hayley frowns, glances at her phone. “Did you just text me after yelling at me?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve texted you while standing next to you,” he points out. He glances back at the store, and Tony’s still in line, with only three people ahead of him now. “What was so urgent?”

“Oh. I.” Hayley licks her lips, rocks back on her heels. She fiddles with a strand of hair, makes a face. “I still have no idea what to get for Tanner. I mean, I briefly considered getting him a paper airplane book. One of those ones that has a hundred different pages because I thought he’d actually be really into that, but it doesn’t seem like the kind of thing I’m supposed to get him. Since there’s that whole maybe kind of dating thing going on.”

“You kissed,” Ángel says plainly. “You’re dating. It’s not going to offend me if you say you’re dating my best friend.”

“Are you really over it?”

She’s too good, and they’re too close for him to lie. “No,” he says quietly. “But I’m dealing with it. So you want some kind of a romantic gift?”

“I want something that means something,” she says. “And while paper airplanes might say hey I think you’re an adorable goofball, they don’t really say anything meaningful or give the idea that I know him in any way. Does he like superheroes? Or movies? Or cars?” She glances back at the store. “No wait, Tony likes cars. Tanner just seems to be happy he has a truck to drive and didn’t really care about the Camaro or anything. That Camaro was actually pretty cool, wasn’t it? I mean, it’ll be better when it gets that one part painted, but—”

She stops as Ángel touches her cheek.

“Go get the paper airplane book,” Ángel says. He leans down, forehead to forehead, and breathes deep for a moment to get her to breathe with him. “Tanner will love it, and you can still get him something else. We’ll find something fun.”

“Okay.” Hayley inhales, exhales on a long, low breath. “Okay. I’ll do that. Superheroes?”

“Not superheroes.” Ángel nudges, and she heads for the store.

He knows exactly what Hayley should give Tanner, but she doesn’t have to buy it. It’s already in a box, not yet wrapped, buried in one of Ángel’s bags back at the house. Ángel can find something else, because at this point, he’d pretty sure Tanner would love anything Ángel did.

But a stethoscope? A good one, that he’s going to need when he goes to medical school in two years, and that he can use next summer when he’s volunteering at the hospital? That’ll cement Hayley’s place in Tanner’s heart.

And Ángel knows that he can help Hayley come up with the idea on her own. She and Tanner have been hanging out together non-stop. Hayley just needs to step back and process long enough to figure it out.

And this is what his life is: helping his best friends get together.

When he looks again, Hayley’s in line, a large book clutched to her chest, and Tony’s coming out with three bags. Ángel snorts. “Did you buy one of everything?”

“Shut up,” Tony mutters. “Zita doesn’t let me get a lot for them. She doesn’t want them to be spoiled. So I had fun, and I can blame it on Hayley.” When he blinks, the gruff expression is replaced by innocence, and it makes Ángel laugh all over again.

“Devious. I like it.”

It’s going to be a bit before Hayley’s done, so Ángel offers to take one of Tony’s bags. He isn’t surprised when Tony refuses, and they stand in silence while waiting.

“What shopping do you need to do?” Tony finally asks, just as Hayley puts the book on the counter, and starts digging for her wallet.

“I don’t actually need anything. Well,” Ángel corrects himself. “I should get something for Maritsa’s tía, but I might ask Hayley’s help with that. And I have this whole other group of people who just decided to invade my life, but at the same time, my car’s dead and my job is going to pay for my car, so I don’t really have money. I think I should make cookies or something. Joey’d love that.”

“Joey?”

“My step mother. She thinks I trash the kitchen when I cook.” Ángel pastes on an expression of innocence. “Not true, and I do clean up.”

“I think they’d like cookies,” Tony says quietly, and then Hayley’s there, with the book in her hands, shoving it at Ángel.

It is a really cool book. Tanner’s going to love it.

They meander around the mall for a bit, looking in shops. Ángel lingers in the shop that sells crystals and other foci, while Hayley pokes through the magnets, and Tony hovers by the door, expression twisted with discomfort. They start walking back to the food court when Ángel’s phone buzzes with an incoming text into the group chat.

Emerson’s not feeling well. I need to get out of here.

Shit.

We’ll meet you at the food court again, Ángel sends back. He shares the text with Tony to explain.

When they gather together again, Emerson’s sitting in a plastic chair, the bubbles around his ears a violently silverish pink. Gabi sits across from him, her hands moving as she speaks quietly, and Emerson nods slowly at her words.

“He’s getting a headache,” Tanner says, lips pressed tight together. “It could just be a headache.”

“Or it could be an oncoming seizure, I get it.” Ángel looks to Luca and Tony. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Thanks for giving me a ride over and shopping with us. Did you guys have any luck?”

Luca smirks. “So much luck.”

“I found a few good gifts,” Tanner says, cheeks flushed and warm.

“Good, then you can help me bake,” Ángel tells him. “I need gifts and I’m broke.”

“Does anyone want to catch a movie while we’re here?” Gabi asks. “I mean, we’re here and all. Hayley? Ángel?”

Hayley chews on her lip, gaze darting from Gabi to Emerson to Ángel to Tanner. “I’m… I’m going home with Tanner and Emerson,” she says. “Like, just in case.”

“Ángel?”

“I’ll go with them, too.”

“Dude, no.” Tanner shakes his head, claps Ángel’s shoulder. “Hayley’ll be there, and we’ll get Emerson home and that’s pretty much it. He’ll take his meds and sleep probably, and maybe we’ll watch a movie there or something.”

In other words, Tanner wants alone time with Hayley.

Okay.

Ángel grits his teeth. “You could drop me off—”

“Great, we’ll bring Ángel home after the movie, or maybe after dinner,” Gabi says. She bounces out of her chair, winds her arm around Ángel’s arms and tugs him close. “I get to pick the movie. You can pick where we eat after, and please make it real food, because Luca always just wants to get sundaes for dinner.”

“There is nothing wrong with ice cream for dinner,” Luca protests.

“You need protein,” Gabi and Tony say in chorus, Tony far more seriously than Gabi. She smirks, and Tony rolls his eyes.

It still doesn’t feel right, like he’s shirking best friend duties. But if he follows Tanner, then he gets in the way. Kind of fucked either way.

“I’ll be fine.” Emerson manages to get close enough to hug Ángel, pat him on the back before he stands on his own, slightly wobbly. “It’s probably just a headache. I’m okay.”

A bright gold bubble pops loudly, the sound dissonant and in conflict with the constant Christmas music from the speakers.

“We’ll be okay. Stay,” Tanner instructs.

Ángel hesitates, but then they’re walking away, and he’d look ridiculous if he tried to run after them.

“So, what’s wrong with the kid? He seems nice, but the older one watches him like a hawk,” Luca says.

“Seizures.” Ángel doesn’t want to go into too many personal details, but this much seems okay. “It’s part of his Talent. It creates synapse jumps in his brain, so when the bubbles pop up, they can cause seizures. And anything that triggers them—noise, crowds—is a bad idea. He’s got stuff he can do to minimize it—seizure meds, and some rituals—but it’s never perfect. He’s been doing better.”

He doesn’t want to think about whether this might mean changing Emerson’s plans for high school. Ángel really hopes it doesn’t come to that. He wants Emerson to live the normal life that he’s been hungering for.

Gabi looks at Tony, and Ángel feels like he might as well not be there between them. Gabi raises an eyebrow, and Tony grunts softly.

Luca touches Gabi on the shoulder, then Ángel. “Come on. Let’s go. Ángel, consider tonight my Christmas present to you. I’m taking you out—dinner and a movie on me—and it’s not even a date!”

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