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16sydd16 · 7 months ago

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Hmmmm Cadina Hunger Games AU

For this ask game!!

omg this is SO shocking and totally not something I have ever thought about before👀 (big thanks to Gwen for combining my special interests!! 💖) (also I got going and couldn't stop so there's TEN tidbits about the au AND an alternate 10th fact/ending with and a snippet of dialogue because I couldn't help myself. It's a little dark and a lot long, so it's going under the cut.) Thanks so much for the ask!!

Regina is from District One, from a moderately-rich, power-hungry family that sees her as nothing but a pretty face they can eventually use as leverage in a business merger. The second she turns 18, she'll be bartered away to the disgusting son of a powerful diamond mine owner. Regina, ever determined to be in control of her own destiny, rebels when she finds out her family's plans, and enrolls herself in the academy. She hadn't planned on actually entering the Hunger Games, but here she is. With only a few months of academy training, she's whisked off to The Capitol at the age of seventeen.

Cady is from five. Very foxface. She's smart, quiet, and speaks in sentences people don't always understand. She's almost unnoticeable, the opposite of Regina. Regina can't decide which of them holds more power, but she hopes it's her.

Where Regina is taller than average and decently muscled, thanks to a life of being fed well and her stint in the academy, Cady is tiny. At least half a foot shorter than Regina, and seemingly much more vulnerable. Regina is sure it's an act, much like the one full of suggestive bravado she performs for the gullible Capitol audiences, who eat it up.

President Snow requests a private audience with Regina before the games. Nothing untoward happens, but the way he looks at her and speaks to her makes Regina's skin crawl. He doesn't say much, just that her life in the Capitol, should she survive the games, could be a very lucrative one. He assures her that she'll have a hefty bank of donations from eager capitol patrons to make her games experience as easy as possible. The way he smiles, lips too big and too red, makes her want to puke. She takes an unmarked elevator in the back of the district one tribute quarters as high as it will go, surprised when it opens on a rooftop garden. She's even more surprised when she sees Cady tending to the plants. Cady doesn't look up right away, but she does asks if Regina's alright. Regina is not. She allows herself this one moment of weakness, falling apart in an enemy tribute's arms. She comforts herself with the fact that no one has to know about this moment. She can kill Cady Heron tomorrow, and then there will be no living witnesses to her vulnerability.

Killing Cady Heron is not as easy as Regina had hoped. She catches Cady once, in the middle of the scuffle at the cornucopia, but she can't bring herself to finish the job. She'll never forget the hope in Cady's eyes when she lets her go.

Killing the rest of the career pack proves to be a far easier task. Regina has known many boys like the one from two, and it's all too easy to lure him in with kisses and compliments only to run a knife across his throat while he sleeps. It's messy, and stains her top an ugly ruddy brown color, but she gets over it. She takes out the boy from four and wounds the girl from two before she's forced to run, leaving only the trembling boy from seven entirely alive.

No moment has ever been more terrifying than the one where Regina feels fangs in her calf, razor sharp and down to the bone. She stifles her scream the best she can as she yanks the snake off her leg, purple venom still dripping from it's genetically engineered silver fangs. She runs a knife through it before the world starts to slip and slide around her. Before her eyes slip shut against her will, she swears she sees a flash of red-gold emerging from the nearby river.

She wakes warmer and cozier than she's been since she ran away from her parent's house last year. (She briefly wonders if her little sister is watching, if she cares whether Regina lives or dies. Regina hopes she does, but she also hopes she doesn't. It'll be easier for Kylie that way.) At first she thinks the warmth is from the blanket tucked around her, but then she realizes that there's something else (or more specifically, someone else) tucked around her as well. Regina kisses Cady's head to wake her up, because she's scared and she's lonely and because this might be her only chance to do it. Cady's eyes pop open and she stutters and her face flushes and Regina laughs, because she's just really cute.

Regina, for all her strength, is a heavy walker. She struts and stomps everywhere. Cady's surprisingly clumsy, but she's fast. She could take someone out, and they'd never even see her coming.

Regina can't work out whether she's more sad or more impressed when Cady slides a knife through her chest. Regina, just like everyone else, didn't even see Cady Heron coming, Much like the boy from two hadn't seen Regina coming. Arrogance is a hell of a drug. (But was it really so unbelievable that Cady would love her?) "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Cady whispers, holding Regina's head in her lap as she drifts off for the last time. "I'm so sorry, Reggie."

10. (Alternate ending) Regina is shocked when they pull her and Cady both out of the Arena. She thinks maybe they're banking on one of them dying on the hovercraft, both of them barely alive after their fight against the mountain lion muttations. She watches them work on Cady's bleeding body until someone slides a mask over her face and tells her to breathe. She briefly wonders if she'll ever wake up again.

She does. And so does Cady. They're kept apart, but Regina knows she's here somewhere, even sneaks off to see her a couple times. She never finds her. After her fourth venture from her room, she wakes up especially hungover. A cough draws her attention, her heart rate spiking when she sees the president sitting at the foot of her bed. "Miss George. You look as lovely as ever," he says, his tone light but his mouth fixed in a sneer. "I'm sure it's quite a relief for a... girl like you. Your beauty is your most valuable asset, after all."

Regina doesn't know what to say. It might be more hurtful to hear if it wasn't the very same thing her mother had told her all her life. "That wound from your right thigh up to your ribs was particularly nasty. You can't hardly notice it anymore. I've had my best doctors working on it around the clock."

Regina's stomach turns. She wasn't aware the president had such an intimate knowledge of her body. It's unsettling, to think of all the people who were around her while she's been forced to sleep. How was she supposed to protect herself like this?

"As difficult as your... injuries have been to manage, they've had a far harder task with piecing Miss Heron back together."

Regina's stomach drops, and she knows she must visibly flinch from the sick smile on Snow's face.

"Ah, yes, your little plaything. I've heard a rumour that you keep sneaking out of your quarters to look for her. Naughty, naughty, Miss George," Snow tuts, ticking his finger back and forth. It makes Regina's skin crawl to the point that she feels phantom fingers on her back, scratching over barely-healed skin. "Poor thing, she was in such a bad way. She would've bled out given a couple more minutes. These games would've been yours."

"Why save her, then?" Regina asks, her voice rough. She wonders how long it's been since she last spoke. How long have they been in recovery?

"There she is," Snow says, a bright smile on his face. It looks rather garish, red lips against pale white skin. "Oh, Regina, you must know that I did it for you."

Regina's heart thumps a little faster, sensing an attack she can't yet see.

"It's no secret that I've got a certain... affection for you. And you clearly have an affection for little Cady. What kind of mentor would I be to take her from you, hmm?" He asks, tone more patronizing that Regina's own father could've ever dreamed of being, which is truly a feat. "Doesn't hurt that the Capitol loves the idea of the two of you together. In fact, we secured the largest donation in games history to ensure your... reunion. And you'll make it quite a reunion to show your gratitude, won't you my dear?"

Regina hates this feeling, this total lack of control. Nothing has ever felt worse than this—apart from watching Cady bleed out and not being able to stop it.

"I'll make sure everyone knows just how grateful I am," Regina says, her tone measured, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Good girl," Snow says, stroking her leg over the thin hospital blanket. "I knew you'd understand. Just like I know you'll understand what I'm about to say.

"A games with two winners is unprecedented. Some of my... former advisors believed it made me look weak, to let both you and Miss Heron live. I'm sure you can guess what happened to them."

Regina nods.

"Wonderful. I told them that you'd make the double-win worth my while, and you will, won't you?"

"Of course," Regina says, because what else can she say? "What do you need me to do?"

"Down to brass tacks already. Clever girl," Snow coos, a horrifying smile curling along his lips. "I'm not asking much. Just that you show your appreciation once you're in the presence of your beloved again. The people of the Capitol are expecting a madly-in-love young couple when you reunite, and I will not allow you to disappoint them."

Regina nods, thinking she understands. It's not a lot to ask, all things considered. "When I see Cady again on that stage, there will be no question how I feel about her."

"And after?"

"What?" Regina asks, her forehead crinkling just a tiny bit before she can stop it. "Like, when we go home?"

"I'm thinking more of the immediate aftermath, Miss George. The moment you two lock eyes in the... privacy of your Capitol suite."

A sick feeling settles in Regina's stomach. Surely he can't mean...

"The people of the Capitol won't know what we do in private," Regina says. She feels like crying when she sees the slow grin spread across Snow's face.

"I'm afraid privacy is not a luxury afforded to victors," he coos, looking all too thrilled about it.

"You can't expect much," Regina begs, trying to keep her voice even as it rolls over the lump in her throat. "We barely know one another."

"Now now, Miss George. Do those sound like the words of a love-drunk, exceedingly grateful victor?"

"I am grateful, President Snow. Very grateful. I just worry that Cady may not be ready. We've just—she's not—"

"Miss Heron's potential lack of experience did cross my mind. I do not expect that particular result tonight, Miss George. I'm not a monster," he says with a soft laugh, as if the very notion is ridiculous. As if blood isn't actively coating his lips due to his past sins. "I'm simply asking that you give the people something to root for. Give them a sign that all of their very generous donations were not in vain. Give them... a little taste of what's to come."

Bile rises in Regina's throat. She has the horrible thought that maybe, just maybe, a death in the arena would've been more merciful than this life outside. Worse, she wonders for the first time if she made the wrong decision, leaving her parent's charge all those months ago. Probable death was not enough to instill regret. This is.

"Just so you are aware, a fully body polish to your degree is not cheap. A lot of people made financial sacrifices so that your former beauty could be restored, and even enhanced. They are expecting to see dividends on their investment, and they're expecting to see them tonight. Are we clear, Miss George?"

"Yes sir," Regina replies. She wishes they weren't. She wishes she could go back to twenty minutes ago, when she was out cold and didn't realize the crushing weight of her "victory". Wishes she could go back to last year, even, when her beauty was her curse to bear alone. Now, she's doomed Cady too.

Cady.

"You said I'll get to see her tonight?" Regina asks, hoping she sounds appropriately wistful. It's important that she not sound too indifferent for Cady's sake, or too excited for her own.

"That's right, Miss George. Oh, I do enjoy young love," Snow says, patting Regina's leg once more before he rises. She notices the guard at the door, then. Sees his gun trained on her. "One last thing."

"Yes, Sir?" Regina asks, her heart hammering in her chest.

"Don't keep me waiting long, hmm? It would be a shame for something to happen to Miss Heron in her new home in District 5. I hear power surges are common so close to the dam."

"Yes, Sir," Regina says, unable to keep from trembling.

"Now that's a good girl," he says, grinning from ear to ear. With a final wave of the hand, he's gone.

Regina can't stop the sob that rips it's way out of her chest.

#cadina #cadina au #cadina hunger games!au #ask game #asked and answered #syd answers #this got so unbelievably out of hand and now I'm having mini-fic delusions #gwen i blame you (this is not gwen's fault at all but blaming her is more fun that blaming myself)

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eltanin0 · 10 months ago

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doubt I'm ever gonna get around to properly conveying my characters and their story so I think I'll just dump some text about them. keep in mind some of this may change, isn't thought out fully, or doesn't have a proper ingame explanation yet.

Unfathomable amounts of rambling below. nobody is forced to read it.

About Requiem of Silence (ROS) and general stuff on the campaign

They're a kind of iterator prototype, a simple proof of concept for the ancients before they began production of fully functional iterators. Far more limited than a normal iterator, they were designed with the purpose of testing artificial intelligence and their ability to be self sustaining. They are housed in a can far smaller than typical iterators, however it is still incredibly large compared to it's surroundings. it's location is in a large crater we'll say, and the low elevation makes it relatively closer to the surface of the void sea. this helps with the fact that they are largely powered by the void fluid, and the closer proximity aids with the collection and utilization. They have very basic functions that pale in comparison to the complexity of future iterators. They do not have the ability to manipulate gravity, not even in their chamber. They do not possess a large amount of neuron flies either, and thus have more limited mental abilities and intelligence than normal iterators. they were not designed with the ability to speak, instead they emit a high powered lazer from their fingers to write and communicate through text that they draw on the surfaces of their chamber. The puppet design is fairly simple. where modern iterators seem almost biological with their body, the seamless transitions between appendages and other stuff that I cant be bothered looking into, ROS' puppet is far more mechanical. arms and legs are separated at the joints, clearly distinct parts that are connected together. the metallic material making up it's body is largely unchanged, save for the markings on the head the body is a very metallic grey. the first marking, directly on the forehead, looks like a volume symbol directed downwards, it is colored golden similar to void fluid. the second marking is two lines, 1 coming from either eye, which travel downwards and across the face, intersecting, ending between the chin and somewhere along the jaw (it's also colored gold like void). the intersection point is right where the mouth would normally be placed and when coupled with the volume symbol at the top would combine into a mute symbol. this along with the inability to speak leads into it's name, Requiem of Silence. an important thing about ROS is their relationship with the ancients, or more so, lack thereof. story wise, after being built by the ancients and confirming their theories, they were neglected, tossed aside, and forgotten. left to live forever in their can with no purpose, ROS slowly became resentful of the ancients and bitter towards lifeforms in general. envious of their ability to travel, and later their ability to escape the cycle.

Over time, the general neglect of their own can caused their structure (which was not as solidly built as normal iterators) to eventually collapse. the legs collapsed and walls deteriorated over time. it's overall appearance is quite similar to LTTMs' collapsed structure, minus it being submerged in water and the size difference. now seeing as ROS is meant to be a prototype, they were made long before the iterators we know today. so far back that the landscape around them has changed drastically from what it once was. after the collapse of their can, they slowly sunk under their own weight, and as nature took it's course, dirt and rubble piled over. the machinery inside would slowly clog with dirt and debris, restricting functionality and causing pain to ROS. eventually after a very long time, they were completely covered and submerged, and the life that grew atop it flourished, looking very much like the Outer Expanse. as the can continued to sink, the distance between itself and the surface grew, and the distance between itself and the void sea shrunk. during the time when the campaign would take place, the superstructure is so far below the surface that there's no sign of it's previous existence above. it's fallen so deep that it's even began to dip into the void sea itself, speeding up it's deterioration and in turn, causing immense pain for ROS.

now with the collapse and sinking into the void sea and disregard from ROS, the can and the puppet itself is in terrible shape. the puppet would be fairly broken, unable to walk, and upon first meeting, would be partially buried in dirt. gameplay wise they would function similarly to LTTM in their ability to maneuver, but of course they wouldn't be able to communicate with the player through words. they would have only one neuron fly remaining and they keep it physically inside the puppet. they would attempt to communicate with the player through writing words on the walls to no avail. eventually they would offer their last neuron to the player in an attempt to end their suffering. it's up to the player whether they accept the neuron or not, but eating the neuron would end the campaign. should the player not eat the neuron fly, during their next hibernation they would experience a dream sequence/custcene which would end with them deciding to help ROS. they would then travel deeper into the collapsed structure in search of the biggest problem within it. as they travel deeper, eventually the environment around them would begin taking on aspects of the void (the gold colors n such) and they would eventually reach the void sea. this void sea would function similarly to the saint void sea, the one that kills you when you touch it. it would be more focused around the platforming aspect and avoiding the fluid. eventually they'd reach some kind of goal or something to help ROS regain some functionality. i'm not fully certain of what the solution would be so i'll just ignore it. after fixing the issue, the player would travel all the way back up and reach ROS' chamber again. this would be the trigger for the ending and campaign over.

that's a fair amount that's in my brain, mind you I've barely talked about the slugcat and their story. some of the concepts and ideas were picked up and changed from other people, tho I don't remember which parts or how much. the only one I'm fairly certain was kinda yoinked was the can in the void sea. I think it was an ask response or something but someone asked about ascending iterators with the void sea, and I think the answer was to dunk the whole can. I thought that was a fun idea and mixed with the Rubicon void stuff, it could make some interesting platforming.

I think that's all I'll talk about for now, sorry for rambling so much. let me know if I fucked up anywhere

#:I #rambling #rambling :I #rw oc #iterator oc #sorry

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dream-in-fall · 6 months ago

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The theory of Gabriel's obsession.

In the S1, Gabriel is an unpleasant character - he is arrogant and sometimes really cruel. He has no empathy for people and his subordinates. When Gabriel loses his memory in the S2, he becomes completely different. Yes, he behaves like a child, but he is a kind child whose first motives are honesty and a desire to help people. When Aziraphale says that Gabriel was a terrible person, Gabriel asks him - And now? I assume that along with his memories, Gabriel extracted something else that controlled his behavior and influenced his personality. That's what I'm basing my guess on:

There are three scenes when Gabriel remembers something. I should immediately note that there are two types of these memories.

1.The first two memories do not belong to Gabriel, he was not present at these events. One memory from the past (for some reason it seems to me that it is addressed to Aziraphale), and the second memory from the future (for Crowley). When Gabriel speaks, his eyes change color, his consciousness turns off, he experiences physical pain and discomfort.

2.His own memories of events from the present. His eyes don't change color. It is obvious that Gabriel has kept pieces of his memory, his mind and the temperament of a gentle and sympathetic character.

Now learn more about the first and third memories.

1.Crowley asks - What is the very first thing you remember? Gabriel speaks the words of God that he spoke to Job. These lines were about the creation of the Earth. This cannot be Gabriel's first memory, but more on that later.

2.The most important thing is the third memory. Here is the scene and dialogue between Crowley and Gabriel. Crowley accuses Gabriel of involvement in Aziraphale's execution and cruel words. Gabriel replies that it couldn't have been him. After Gabriel's attempt to jump out of the window, Crowley says:

-"Well, if you're really not him, what are you?" (that is, Crowley is ready to believe that this is not the Gabriel he knew.)

-"I don't know, I feel… like, an empty house. A house someone lived for a very long time, but now they're gone (not "he" not "it", not "has gone" - "They") and the house can sort of tell where the things used to be. Like when I remembered how it all begin."

The "house" is Gabriel's brain. Some "they" lived in it. They left traces of memory there, so Gabriel was able to remember how it all begin. So "It" began for Gabriel right then, at the moment of God's conversation with Job. When the events with Job took place, God and Satan had an bet (and obviously had a personal conversation.)

Red rays descend on Job. Do you expect white or gold rays from God

I assume that at this moment something was implanted into Gabriel's personality, and his eyes turned violet. Gabriel is literally the only character with such eyes. Was it a joint work of God and Satan? The violet miracle is a powerful miracle that occurs when combining the miracles of the red and blue spectrum. (a violet pillar appeared above the bookshop after the joint miracle of azicro.) "This" suppressed Gabriel's personality, but when he fell in love, his personality became more mature and came into conflict with "this". Then Metatron was sent to depose Gabriel and take away "it" from him under the guise of taking away memory.

It follows from all this, if Aziraphale is hired to replace Gabriel, then he will receive this control and obsession. Maybe that's what happens to him in the elevator.

For the sake of objectivity, I will note. This theory is contradicted by the fact that Gabriel's eyes remained violet after gaining memory. Aziraphale's eyes did not turn violet. Although in that case, the solution would be too obvious.

#good omens #good omens theories #good omens fandom #good omens analysis #good omens gabriel #good omens meta #good omens god

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lastconcourse · 1 year ago

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Seventh Kinematic Epistle:

Separate this sheet and hold it up in the sky to make it a beacon, then bend it so it flexes like an elbow and so it waves like a flag:

Mentally make a mnemonic collage. Weave the water spraying out of a fountain in a plaza downtown, through the red old red sideboards of a barn-style house up north: To open up hallways of: Windows of frozen mulch in a hard fluid, above where carpets and soffits coalesce from brown mist blowing light, in from northern portals, out hallways unlocked and shown foaming: Toward your two eyes.

Kinematic Epistle #8

You, hold this sheet, and hold it in the air to make it a beacon, and bend it so it flexes and waves like a flag. Combine leather from an office chair with cold wind out of a winter storm. Open tunnels of overcast drapes upholstered to the ceiling's frame, and sleet-colored duos of elevator doors.

#lastconcourse #writing #prose poetry #ink drawing #illustration

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bellahomes1050 · 7 months ago

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House accessories stores near me

Discover Unique House Accessories at Bella Homes Interiors

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Feel free to adjust the details as needed for your website.

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#home decor #home renovation #home design #interior design #homedecor #decor #furniture #homeimprovement #interiors

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jlouisewinter · 7 months ago

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Mastering the Art of Layering Necklaces for Effortless Elegance

Layering necklaces has become a quintessential fashion trend, adding depth and personality to any outfit. Whether you’re aiming for a casual look or something more sophisticated, mastering the art of layering can transform your style game. Here’s how you can achieve that effortlessly chic layered look.

1. Start with a Statement Piece

Begin your layering journey with a statement piece. This could be a chunky chain, a pendant necklace, or anything that stands out. The statement piece serves as the anchor of your ensemble, setting the tone for the rest of your layered look.

Tip: Choose a statement piece that reflects your personal style – bold and edgy, or delicate and intricate.

2. Mix Different Lengths

The key to a perfect necklace layering is variety in lengths. Start with a choker or a short necklace, add a mid-length piece, and finish with a longer chain. This creates a cascading effect that is both visually appealing and balanced.

Tip: Use necklaces with adjustable lengths to tailor the look to different necklines and outfits.

3. Play with Textures and Styles

Don’t shy away from mixing different textures and styles. Combine delicate chains with chunkier pieces, mix metals, or integrate beaded necklaces with sleek, metallic ones. This contrast adds an interesting dimension to your look.

Tip: Ensure that there’s a common theme or element, such as a matching metal tone or a complementary color scheme, to keep the layers cohesive.

4. Incorporate Personalized Pieces

Personalized jewelry, such as nameplates, initial pendants, or birthstone necklaces, add a sentimental touch to your layers. These pieces make your layered look uniquely yours and can be great conversation starters.

Tip: Position personalized pieces at eye-catching spots within your layers to draw attention to their special significance.

5. Mind the Spacing

Proper spacing is crucial to avoid a tangled mess. Each necklace should have its own space to shine. If your necklaces are getting tangled, consider using necklace separators or clasps designed for layering.

Tip: When arranging your necklaces, lay them out on a flat surface to see how they fall and adjust as needed before putting them on.

6. Match with Your Outfit

While layered necklaces can elevate any outfit, it’s important to consider the neckline and overall style of your clothing. V-necks and scoop necks are particularly flattering for showing off layered necklaces, as they provide ample space for your pieces to shine.

Tip: For high-necked tops, opt for longer necklaces that create a vertical line, adding length and elegance to your look.

7. Keep It Comfortable

Above all, comfort is key. Ensure that your layered necklaces are not too heavy or cumbersome. You should be able to move freely and comfortably without constantly adjusting your jewelry.

Tip: Test your layered look by wearing it around the house before debuting it at an event to ensure everything stays in place and feels comfortable.

Layering necklaces is an art that combines creativity with a keen sense of style. By experimenting with different pieces, lengths, and textures, you can create a look that is uniquely yours. There are no rules—so, open your jewelry box, unleash your creativity, and start layering!

#fashion #fashion details #fashion inspiration #style #accessories #style goals #gold jewelry #jewelry #fashion moodboard #style moodboard #aesthetic #parisian girl aesthetic #parisian style #soft aesthetic #fashion magazine

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rockislandadultreads · 10 months ago

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April Showers Bring May Flowers!

Check out these recommendations as we enjoy the beautiful May blooms brought to life by our April showers!

The Gardener's Palette by Jo Thompson

Everyone wants color in their garden, but each gardener’s preferred palette is unique. How do you choose the right one for your garden, and how do you find the plants that will help you fulfill your vision? Award-winning garden designer Jo Thompson offers 100 evocative and fresh palettes, pairs them with beautiful images of professionally designed gardens, and breaks them down with charts showing the exact plants used.

On Flowers by Amy Merrick

Amy Merrick is a rare and special kind of artist who uses flowers to help us see the familiar in a completely new way. Her gift is to revel in the unexpected - like a sunny spring arrangement housed in a paper coffee cup - and to overturn preconceptions, whether she’s transforming a bouquet of supermarket carnations into a breathtaking centerpiece or elevating wild and weedy blooms foraged from city sidewalks. This volume is a primer containing all her hard-won secrets on the art of flower arranging, as well as an anthology of floral inspiration.

Floriography by Jessica Roux

This volume is a full-color guide to the historical uses and secret meanings behind an impressive array of flowers and herbs and explores the coded significances associated with various blooms, from flowers for a lover to flowers for an enemy. The language of flowers was historically used as a means of secret communication. Mysterious and playful, the language of flowers has roots in everything from the characteristics of the plant to its presence in folklore and history.

The Ultimate Flower Gardener's Guide by Jenny Rose Carey

The colors, shapes, and scents of flowers are as ravishing to the senses as to the soul. But it’s all too easy to get things wrong: colors that clash, flowers that bloom at the wrong time, plants that fail to thrive. In this guide, Jenny Rose Carey tells you exactly how to get started, how to combine plants for the most spectacular effects, and how to keep your garden going from year to year.

#gardening #may flowers #nonfiction #reading recommendations #reading recs #book recommendations #book recs #library books #tbr #tbr pile #to read #booklr #book tumblr #book blog #library blog #readers advisory

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denimbex1986 · 6 months ago

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'Almost 35 years ago, production designer David Gropman worked on a Merchant Ivory World War II-era drama called “Mr. & Mrs. Bridge,” in which the opening sequence was in black and white. He still remembers watching dailies to that sequence and hearing director James Ivory exclaim, “What have I been waiting for all these years? It works so much better in black and white!”

“He was right,” Gropman said, laughing. “And I have longed to do a black-and-white film since then.” He finally got his wish with “Ripley,” Steven Zaillian’s Netflix limited series based on the Patricia Highsmith novel “The Talented Mr. Ripley” — although Gropman estimates that the eight-episode, seven-hour series was really “about five films” in scale and complexity.

The action begins in New York in the early 1960s and then moves to Italy’s Amalfi Coast, where a petty criminal named Tom Ripley (Andrew Scott) has been tasked with persuading rich would-be artist Dickie Greenleaf (Johnny Flynn) to return home, though Tom really just wants to share in Dickie’s lifestyle. From there, it moves among lush Italian seaside towns, lavish hotels in Rome, Palermo and Venice and other outposts of magnificence, all shot in luxuriant monochrome by cinematographer Robert Elswit.

“I’ve always been taken with how powerful images are in black and white, how everything else is erased except for the subject matter,” Gropman said. “I’ve spent most of my career trying to erase the design in my work. For years and years, that meant being very careful with color — not necessarily monochrome, but really tightly controlled palettes. So the natural evolution was to do a black-and-white film.”

He and Zaillian began by trading black-and-white photographs so that the film’s visual language could be established before location scouting began. Gropman said finding a New York City street that could pass for 1960 was particularly difficult. “I had recently done a film in New York called ‘The Humans,’” he said. “It took place in one stage, basically, with a little bit of contemporary New York, Lower East Side. But going back to scout for ‘Ripley’ not even a year later, and trying to find period New York felt almost impossible, really.”

Once he found a street that would work for New York, he and Zaillian went to Italy to find locations that suited the idle rich who Ripley so desperately wanted to join. The Amalfi coast town of Atrani – augmented by Dickie’s house, which was actually filmed on Capri – had the right look and the right amount of stone stairs for Tom to climb as he tries to ascend to Dickie’s level. “The steps are so spectacular there,” Gropman said. “MC Escher spent time there and did any number of drawings and woodcuts of stairs, so it was perfect.”

But “Ripley” features many more steps than just the ones in Atrani. One entire episode takes place largely in a Rome apartment building where Ripley is living and where he has to dispose of a body by dragging it down several flights of stairs because an old, creaky elevator isn’t working.

“The Rome apartment was quite key,” Gropman said. “Not only did we need a great flight of stairs, we needed a period cage elevator. And finding that combination was very, very difficult. Many of these old apartments are converted palazzi, but of course, anything actually from the 16th, 17th, 18th centuries did not have elevators. So we had to find a palazzo that had an addition with that wonderful flight of stairs and cage elevator.”

Many of the interiors, including all of Tom’s apartment, were constructed on Stage 5 at Rome’s Cinecittà Studios, known as “The Fellini stage” because it was where the Italian icon made many of his films. “Everything from the hallway to the fantastic bathroom and his room looking out on the street was built at Cinecittà,” he said. “We had two stages that sat back to back with a green screen right down the center separating them.”

Train stations and ferry docks were another challenge, with CGI to get the correct period look. “The ferry docks were not real ferry docs, the train stations were not train stations,” he said. “So that relied a lot of CGI set extensions.”

Everything was built in color, including reproductions of Caravaggio and Picasso paintings. And while certain colors have long been thought to not work well when shot in black and white, Gropman said he ignored the conventional wisdom.

“There were rules in the time of black-and-white filmmaking for how to use green or orange to get more contrast or more of a gray tone,” he said. “I guess I should have paid attention to those, but I didn’t because we’re in a digital world and I could manipulate it and push it to give it the look we hoped to attain. I didn’t pay attention to any of those rules, but I think we did OK.”

And because of the level of detail in Zaillian’s work, Gropman said he never felt in over his head despite the scale of the project. “As I was doing the breakdown, of course I was a little bit overwhelmed,” he said. “In the old days, I might’ve had a panic attack. But there wasn’t a single set or a single moment in the scripts that I didn’t want to do. It was all joy.”'

#Ripley #Netflix #Robert Elswit #Steven Zaillian #David Gropman #The Talented Mr Ripley #Patricia Highsmith #Andrew Scott #Dickie Greenleaf #Johnny Flynn #Rome #Palermo #Venice #MC Escher #Atrani #Capri #Picasso #Caravaggio

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dlabken · 5 months ago

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Game of Thrones House Baratheon Ugly Christmas Sweater: A Must-Have for the Holidays

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chrome1234 · 9 months ago

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Elevate Your Look: The Ultimate Guide to Men's Street Style

Street style is more than a fashion trend; it's a dynamic form of self-expression that merge comfort, freedom and high style as a vital component of modern men's fashion, street style reflects both personal taste and current trends. This guide is judge to help you master the art of men's street style, cover key elements, necessary pieces, and stylish tips. Let's get on on this journey to promote your look and hold your special style.

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#fashion #dress #usa

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thannwriting · 10 months ago

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Percy x Pyrrha

Their estate was colossal, befitting that of a Great House’s estate. Spanning multiple acres, it was more than large enough for the six of them who would be staying there, that being Qrow, a kid named Oscar Pinewood, Tai, Penny, Winter, and himself. Ironwood had informed him that Penny and Winter would stay in Mistral for the time being, unless something more urgent occurred back in Atlas. He surmised that they were staying because Ironwood wished to keep tabs on him, which was fair. Still, Nao had insisted on making an imperial palace suitable for an emperor. He could move Mercury and Neo in if they proved themselves trustworthy. Maybe, if Lionheart permitted it, he could move Teams WRBY and JNPR into the estate. He wanted to see his friends, and Pyrrha especially, but it had been a long day. That would have to wait for tomorrow.

Percy stopped after the guards and the gates, noting that he could see it—the massive to-be imperial palace—undergoing construction already. The gates closed with a solid clang behind him. It was on the highest plateau of Mistral, slightly elevated above the rest of the city. It was going to be a behemoth of a palace, larger than any Mistralian noble’s estate could ever dream of being. He shook his head in mild amusement, continuing into the courtyard, parts of which were shaded by plant-covered pergolas, others by great arch structures made of marble.

The courtyard had to stretch at least an acre by itself, housing a variety of lush trees, from cherry blossom trees to bonsai trees to sakura trees. There was an intricate water fountain designed at the center, where the liquid cascaded downward; its base was a mosaic of polished stones, which formed concentric rings, leading the eye of the viewer toward the heart of the fountain. Since it was such a large courtyard, he saw workers busy watering the plants and flowers; each cradled a watering can, its spout aimed at the thirsty roots of the vegetation. Apparently, this was the last round of caring for the verdure before they called in for the night.

Entering the main building, Percy made his way up to the quarters, which were on the third floor. He could either take the elevator or the stairs; tired, he chose the elevator. It was fast, and the doors soon opened; he stepped out. They had given him the master bedroom, and he didn’t know what he would do with all that space—perhaps buy some decorative furniture and lights? Speaking of which, the corridor was fairly dim, lit by only torches that flickered every dozen seconds or so. Moving toward his bedroom, he stopped in his tracks when he saw a familiar figure in the passageway, leaning on the wall beside the double doors leading to his room.

Pyrrha? Why was she here? It was late, almost midnight; wasn’t she supposed to be at the Haven Academy dorms? Even still, he was glad she was here. He took a moment to trace his eyes over her figure. Draped in traditional Mistralian robes that complimented her figure, she looked almost hauntingly beautiful in the low light of the passageway.

“It’s good to see you, Pyrrha. How have you been?”

“…I’ve been well. Let’s go inside.” At the end of her sentence, her voice wavered strangely; he dutifully followed her into his sleeping quarters. They were decorated in the main theme of aquamarine, black, and silver, consistent with his usual color scheme. The ceiling housed a combination of electric light bulbs and torches. A king-sized bed was set up along the center of one of the walls. There were couches on the sides of the room, on one of which Pyrrha sat. Whoever had set up his bedroom had done a very good job.

“Percy… I have something to tell you.” That trembling voice caused him to swivel his head from the furniture, examining her instead; seated on the black velvet settee, she would not meet his eyes, her gaze downcast on her lap, as if it were frozen. Her legs were drawn together.

“What is it?” he asked. When she did not respond, he moved to join her on the couch. When he did so, he sat precisely next to her; not so close that they were overlapping or crammed, but just touching, the lines of their legs melting into one, their shoulders connected by some static friction. He tilted his head back, resting it against the top of the upholstered banquette.

The combination of torches and overhead lamps made for a warm, yellow glow within the room. The only sounds were that of the flickering torches, and that of their breaths; somehow, he found himself breathing in sync with hers, their chests rising and falling together. Her hands were limp, devoid of movement; the backs of her hands were placed on her lap, her fingers facing upward; every now and then, the tips of her fingers trembled slightly. Finally, she spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“I killed someone.” She shifted in her seat so that she faced him, although their gazes still did not meet. “Back when you were in Atlas. Someone tried to assassinate me in my bedroom. I’m sorry, it caught me so off-guard, I just—”

She stopped when he placed a finger on her lips, silencing her; her lips were soft to the touch. She leaned backward onto the arm of the settee; he followed, closing the distance between their torsos, as he placed himself atop her lap, his legs on both sides of hers. His hands wandered around her torso, one settling on the dip in her shoulder blade, the other one resting on the small of her back. He felt her shiver when he gently drummed his fingers in the shallow curve, the line that ran down her back. He could feel her rapid heartbeat, just as he was sure she could feel his.

“Don’t worry. It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. No one would blame you, and I won’t either. You were in danger—you did what you could.”

“But—”

He drew her into his chest, silencing her protests. With one hand placed on the back of her head, the other on one of her shoulder blades, he reveled in the warmth they provided each other, and the allure of her scent. She tried to push him away, but he kept a firm hold on her. Eventually, she relented, allowing him to fully draw her into the embrace. Her breaths came in short gasps, and he felt hot tears touch his skin; they had soaked through the gossamer fabric of his robes.

Somehow, for a fraction of a second, Annabeth replaced Pyrrha. At first, the shift was negligible. He couldn’t help but gauge the similarities. They were almost the same height. But he could recall it vividly. That moment when he was comforting Annabeth about the prophecy in the Athena Cabin, at Camp Half-Blood. Scarlet hair turned blonde, and emerald green eyes turned stormy gray. Even her scent changed, from cherries to that lemon shampoo.

“Hey, Seaweed Brain! Missed me?” At those words, his breath caught in his throat, and he almost dared to move to look at her, some part of him hoping that it really was her in his arms. Once he did, it all changed back. Pyrrha Nikos was in his arms once more. It was a glimpse of what it was, what it could have been.

Still, his hold on her tightened, unrelenting, signifying that he wasn’t going to let go anytime soon. Their combined weight dipped the cushions of the banquette. The fingers on his right hand tangled themselves in her locks of hair—they were incredibly smooth and pleasant to the touch, like the velvet texture of the sofa. Leaning his head down somewhat, he pressed his lips to the crown of her head.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her tresses. “Cry all you want; I’ll be here for you. I’m just glad you’re fine.”

“…I’m right here, Percy.”

Sensing that she was alright now, he let himself go. He squeezed his eyes shut as he held her in a gentle embrace, enfolding her body into his. Trembling, he tried to process the words she had uttered; she had almost been killed by an assassin. He couldn’t believe he had almost lost her. He’d lost everyone he cared about already on Earth—including Annabeth. He still remembered her; even in Pyrrha’s embrace. Now, on Remnant, he wouldn’t let it happen to the friendships and bonds he’d built. Never again, he swore.

“I almost lost you, Pyrrha. And I didn’t even know.” His tone alerted her of his weakness—she wasn’t meant to hear it, but she did anyway, in the shuddering words he spoke. He felt her move against him, offering him some warmth of her own.

“I’m sorry, Percy,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the fabric of his robes. “I’m sorry.”

They sat like that for a while, in that fragile silence, losing track of time—it was minutes, maybe even hours. And even though there had been an attempt on Pyrrha’s life by an assassin and a near-death experience during the Battle of Shion… In his mind’s eye, Pyrrha’s image flickered into Annabeth’s once more. Her cherry scent changed into that lemon shampoo that Annabeth used. He knew it was just a hallucination. He knew that it was wrong, but he couldn’t help it. And despite how desperately he wanted to move on, to forget his Wise Girl, he couldn’t. It wasn’t something he could push away. If he could only offer Pyrrha a part of his heart, what good was that? At how things stood, he was being unfair and selfish. That meant…

“You still love her. Annabeth. You haven’t moved on.” It wasn’t a question, only a statement. She could tell; somehow, she knew. Perhaps she had felt it in their embrace. He swallowed but didn’t reply. For her, the silence was answer enough. He felt her begin to move away, and he shifted himself off her lap, granting her space, as she faced him, finally meeting his gaze. One hand remained tangled in his raven-black tresses, the other falling to her lap. There were slight traces of red, in the corners of her eyes, indicating that she had been crying. Even now, her deep wells of emerald green were glistening with tears, perhaps even more.

They overflowed onto her cheeks, falling down and off her chin onto the fabric of the banquette. She did nothing to stop them. He wished more than anything that he could comfort her, but this had been caused entirely by him. He retracted his hands, resisting the overwhelming urge to touch her, to console her. She shut her eyes, cutting off the tears, though some remained on her lashes.

“…Am I a replacement?”

“No, Pyrrha, you’re not.”

But even now, he saw and felt Annabeth.

Ashamed, he averted his gaze to his lap. He found himself drawing a long breath, his chest involuntarily shuddering; he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her, but here he was, doing just that. He thought he was fine. That he had moved on. But even as he tried to fall for her warmth, her touch… Annabeth remained entrenched in his mind’s gaze. How she had said he drooled when he woke up that first day at Camp Half-Blood. How she always had his back when he needed it, when he was at his best or at his worst, how she was always level-headed. How they went to hell and back together. How he felt her lingering touch in the innermost parts of his chest. How she had saved him from the River Styx’s clutches in that crucial moment to gain the Curse of Achilles. How she called him Seaweed Brain. That bond was unbreakable.

He forcefully closed his eyes. But it wasn’t the bond between Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase; this was a bond between him and the memories of her, which continued to hold an unyielding grip on his heart. He was still thinking of the way that it was, that it had been. But Annabeth was gone. That part he understood perfectly well. He had to accept that when she had passed away, some part of him did, too.

A slender finger reached his chin, tilting it upward so that her viridescent eyes peered into his aquamarine ones, regarding him.

“Tell me, Percy, for our sake…” she began, her voice quivering, despite how she tried her best to hide it, “Do you love me?”

No, it wasn’t just the way he felt her warm breath tickling his cheeks, their lips so near that he began to hallucinate her very touch, or the way her carmine bangs flitted back and forth gently, then paused on her cheekbones, or the way he yearned to rest on her patient lips, to share his passion with her, or the way her long hair fit her perfectly but she could pull off short hair, or how loving her pink lips looked, or how ethereal her eyes looked. No, it wasn’t just that.

He admired her soul, too. That independence and strength, her unwavering resolve and pride to become a huntress, that same resolve that had rejected fate and destiny, just like he had wanted to do all those years ago. She was so gentle and kind that he genuinely believed that she was the type of person to gather up an injured butterfly and try to help it. She was logical-minded while considering the feelings of others and approached everything with caution and honesty. The way he felt like he was more whenever he was hers. She completed him in a way wholly distinct from Annabeth.

Yes, they had only shared a kiss, but that left no doubt in his heart. He wasn’t just going through the motions of loving her—he did love her.

“I do,” he conveyed firmly, gazing deep into those beautiful emerald orbs of hers, “I love you, Pyrrha.”

“And yet you still love her.” Her accusation—no, statement—struck deep. Stung, he glanced away again, unable to bear the weight of her gaze. That was right. He loved her, but the question remained if she did, too. He was jaded, a shell of his former self; even now, he was scattered. It was clear to both of them: Annabeth would forever hold a place in his heart. He knew that it was selfish of him to offer Pyrrha what remained of his love; he couldn’t be so conceited as to demand that she love him. It was unfair to her; she deserved better than that. Someone more dependable could probably come along and love her much better and make her much happier than he could. That was why, if she refused, he had no reason but to wholly accept it. Even if she was everything he wanted. Even if it hurt him, tore his heart in two.

Even if he loved her.

Having finally made up his mind, Percy raised his head, examining her. She was still, her own gaze fixed on her lap as if she were forming her thoughts, even now. In the lingering quietude, he became acutely aware of her, his mind fixing every detail of her: her smooth fingers absentmindedly tangled in his locks, her lashes shading her eyes, the warm light of the lamp illuminating half of her face in a dreamy orange, the other half shrouded in soft darkness. The pallor of her skin was stained with the moisture of tears. He wanted so badly to reach his hands out and wipe away those tears, but he refrained from doing so, for the fear of hurting her even more. How their breaths intermingled and mixed in the cool air of the room. The way her hair splayed across the banquette like it was floating. Like an angel.

But he knew what he had to do.

“Pyrrha, I’m sorry.” The next words caught in his throat. They wouldn’t come out, no matter how he tried.

“I won’t make you forget about her,” the words were whispered so quietly, so softly, that he almost didn’t catch them, even in the silence of the room, “Of course I’d rather have you to myself. But…” she drew a breath, mustering the strength to meet his eyes. His breath lulled.

“So long as a piece of your heart belongs to me…” a wry smile graced her lips, a bittersweet look in her eyes, “I’ll gift you with all of mine.”

Stunned by the sincerity of her words, Percy blinked a few times, processing them. “…You… mean that?”

“Yes.” Then, as if to confirm her statement, she leaned forward, briefly capturing his lips with her own soft ones. A tint of red appeared on his cheeks at the motion, and he glanced away briefly.

“It may be a bigger piece than you think, Pyrrha.” That seemed to please her, as she giggled, that beautiful, tinkling sound of laughter that poured forth from her lips.

“Over time, I’ll claim more and more of that heart of yours.” The strength of her words accurately conveyed her sentiment, and smiling, she leaned in to kiss him again. He parted his lips to grant her tasting tongue access, and their bodies enveloped each other, curves and contours fitting together once more, in that way that was right. And unlike before, it was Pyrrha Nikos instead of Annabeth Chase. It was her, that unique aroma and feel, rather than a phantom of the past. Their kiss deepened, a mingling of passion and tenderness as if they were trying to convey all the emotions they couldn't put into words. He lost himself in the moment—the pleasant weight of her body intertwined with his, the subtle swell of her chest, and the feeling of her arms wrapped around his shoulders. They separated momentarily to catch their breath, breaking the kiss. His right hand trailed across the diaphanous fabric of her robes. He saw nothing, nobody, except her.

“Thank you, Pyrrha.”

“You can thank me more in a different way.” Both of them knew what she was referring to as she began leaning in to meet his lips once again, but much to both of their chagrins, he interrupted her.

“We should discuss other things, too. About the assassin.” A somewhat hurtful look appeared in her eyes temporarily, but it was gone as quickly as it had come, and she nodded understandingly. Then, she pulled back. Her breaths were slower and more controlled, now; she had regained her composure. In front of him was a well-constructed facade, carried by Pyrrha Nikos, winner of numerous tournaments, a huntress, and Heir Apparent to the Nikos Family.

“I think they were a hybrid—a half-Grimm, half-human. He just snuck past the guards and broke in. Later, I trained in the forest and realized something: the Grimm,” she looked at him, the intentness in her stare conveying the importance of her next words. “They were grouping, an alpha directing them in basic battle formations.”

Battle formations? Even a group leader? Packs of intelligent, evolved Grimm would prove to be difficult for average huntsmen to take care of. Even more importantly, they didn’t have any freelancer huntsmen left in Mistral; all that remained were huntsmen from the military and students from Haven Academy.

“That’s… not good.”

Pyrrha let out an exhale of amusement. “Right.”

Salem was making her move. He was sure of it. If the information Neo and Mercury provided him wasn’t enough, this only further confirmed his suspicions: Salem was in Mistral. The Grimm wouldn’t behave this way if she wasn’t.

“I’ll see what I can do about it for classes at Haven Academy.” If he could get Lionheart to meet with his professors and begin implementing more tactics-based classes that stressed the importance of teamwork, then the students at Haven would be more prepared.

“There’s one more thing,” Pyrrha spoke solemnly, drawing his eyes back to her. “Salem is immortal. But not the kind that you’ve fought before. She possesses instant regeneration, and wields a magic unseen before, beyond the reach of semblances.”

“I… see.” An immortal magic user, with nigh-infinite regeneration. If the flesh was regenerated out of thin air, it would require him to incinerate her until no cells were left for her to regenerate from. However, if the flesh was regenerated from Grimm flesh, then he would need to cut the power off at the source—perhaps Erebus’ own, original source from which the Grimm rose. However…

“Then I have one thing, as well,” he swallowed, preparing for his next words and her subsequent reaction. “I’m becoming a god, Pyrrha.”

With bated breath, he waited for her response. Her eyes flitted down briefly, then back up.

“You mean…the type that you fought in the past, right? The Greco-Roman pantheon?”

“Something like that.”

She paused. “That’s good. You may be able to rival Salem, then.” She hesitated again. “Does that mean… you’ll become immortal?”

He didn’t know the answer to that question. On Earth, although the gods had offered to make him immortal, he didn’t know if this ascension contained the same concept. The root of his ascension was the worship and reverence that he received from Mistral as its sea and sky deity. But that didn’t necessarily mean that he would be immortal, although it was likely. With no other option other than to tell her the truth, he did so.

“I don’t know. It’s possible.”

Pyrrha frowned, and he resisted the urge to draw her into his embrace once again. “In any case, I don’t think it’s something we should worry about right now.”

He had to eliminate Salem and her influence from Mistral—erase her existence. By any means possible.

His mind became distracted as he swept his gaze over her right shoulder and collarbone. Was that a xiphos—his mark? What was it doing on her collarbone? As he leaned closer to inspect it, his warm breath dipped into the hollow of her clavicle, causing her to notice his look.

“The mark appeared to me in the middle of battle during the fight, during the most dire moment,” she offered. “It seared itself on my skin; I don’t think it’s removable. Do you know what it is?” She was awfully calm for someone who had just received what was essentially a small tattoo.

“I have an inkling. Do you know if it did anything?”

“I think it increased my maiden powers.” Curious, he moved closer, the couch once again dipping under their combined weight. It was a bloodred xiphos crossed against a golden shield. “May I?”

“Yes.” Gently, he pressed the pad of his index finger to her soft skin, sweeping his finger across the mark. It wasn’t engraved—the skin didn’t dip or raise; it seemed like it was a part of the skin. The mark seemed to hum at his touch, and she suppressed a shudder.

Was this his blessing? He was sure it was. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have appeared on her in the middle of battle. According to Pyrrha, it had been in the most dire moment. He hadn’t intentionally placed a blessing on her without his permission; it must have flared up when it sensed her in danger.

But there was more to it. It seemed more powerful than a blessing, more thorough, more fluid. That left no doubt in his mind; he could feel the connection. The way her skin seemed to vibrate at that spot when he brushed it, while his finger pad tingled, the way a string seemed to connect them, even more than before. It reminded him of the tethered rope that had saved him from the River Styx.

She was his Champion.

—From Chapter 45 of my PJO x RWBY fanfic, Never Change. The chapter itself isn't up yet, though, just this snippet here on Tumblr. Feel free to check the fanfic out!

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14077305/1/Never-Change

Never Change - Chapter 1 - Wattpad

#rwby #pjo #romance #percy jackson #pyrrha nikos #fanfic #never change fanfic

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