The fadeout chair’s legs seem to gently
disappear, as though the chair stands in a pool of mist or fog. The chair’s
back and seat are wooden, and the clear acrylic legs are specially painted by
craftsmen so that the wood grain appears to gradually fade away. Usually, our
perception of furniture is strongly affected by the space around it. The
fade-out chair turns this relationship on its head: we can change the look and
feel of a space simply by placing the chair in it. This was our attempt to
design space itself through furniture.
Now the wood in early morning was utterly silent. She walked carefully through damp leaves, around tangles of bramble and vine, trying not to disturb the stillness. She could not see the sky, only green and shadow woven thickly above her, yielding not a scrap of blue. She breathed soundlessly. So did the wood around her, she felt; it seemed a live thing, alert and watching her, trees trailing wisps of morning mist, their faces hidden, their thoughts seeping into the air like scent. It was, she thought, like being surrounded by unspoken words.
- when they start living together, of course their cabin in the woods doesn’t have any electricity. the only thing to cook is a wood stove
- the wood stove is very, very similar to the one Celia had back in cottage
- Gabriel finds Nathan glaring at said wood stove. Since he looks so torn, Gabriel worries. Nathan doesn’t really know whether he likes the idea of cooking on it or not. On the one hand, it’s something Celia forced him to do. On the other hand, well, they do need to eat. And he can’t deny it’s a useful skill
- Gabriel offers to cook for the time being and Nathan agrees
- too bad Gabriel didn’t realize that wow, wood stoves are such little bitches and they’re completely different from electrical stoves and before he can say putain he’s burned 3 meals.
“No no I swear I can learn, I’ll do better next time you’ll see”
“FOR FUCK’S SAKE”
- Nathan commandeers the Lil Bitch (= new name of the wood stove) and ok, Gabriel expected him to be good at it, but not quite this good
- next thing they know Nathan is cooking all of the meals and then he discovers baking and there’s no turning back. Both Gabriel and Arran gain 5 pounds
- and that’s the story of how Nathan discovered he enjoys cooking for his loved ones, and also of how Arran gave him an apron as a present (only he could do that and not get murdered), and also of how Nathan became the most grudgingly awesome housewife of the country. And the one who swears the most too.
here’s the thing though; clarke griffin actually has no reason to fear lexa’s death. If lexa dies, she made certain to ensure that Clarke has a powerful ally in the coming Commander Aden. He swore fealty to her and jazz. And Titus? I don’t quite know where he stands, but he is totally in love with Lexa. Not like a romantic love but like… a Gustus kind of love, ya feel? If Lexa were to die, Titus would be there to further Lexa’s will and aid Skaikru in whatever war to come. AND Lexa made certain that Indra had an army waiting with Arkadia, ready to defend them. The Woods Clan stands with Skaikru, so obviously they’re not alone. So again, Clarke has no good reason to fear Lexa’s death, which just goes to show how much she cares about her.
You and I had a little cottage. It was an ordinary summer day. You’d been playing outside. So, you were tired and it was time for bed. You told me about the fort that you’d built. Out in the woods by the river. And so I asked if I could visit. And you said when the sun came up in the morning, and I said… Good night, Nadia. Sleep well. Your mother loves you.
No self-respecting gay man living in Mahattan, Eliot supposed, would be willingly spending his Friday night at a no-name straight bar; but then, there were a some problems with that supposition.
First was the fact that, despite looking remarkable for his age (and for all the coke and Jameson he habitually filtered through his body) , Eliot was dead in twink years. Thirty-two was a miserable, morbid number unless it your waste size, and gay bars would want nothing to do with him. Second, Eliot really didn’t want to be somewhere loud these days. Misery was best enjoyed in alone, bleak quiet (preferably with some Patsy Cline on the jukebox, but that was negotiable).
So alone Eliot sat, at the end of some knotted old wood counter, legs crossed, attention diverted evenly between his drink and the men who milled in. Generally broad-shouldered and thick-necked, as Eliot had liked them lately, they moved in dragging, grumbling packs, and barely opened their mouths wide enough to order their drinks. Sometimes, Eliot considered feeling sorry for them all, with their wrinkly, unbuttoned flannels and their five o’clock shadows and their glassy, distant alcoholic eyes, but that would require feeling sorry for himself first, and Eliot was at least better dressed. He was out of place in his slacks and dinner jacket, but just the subtlest of illusions meant no one would bother him unless he wanted; and he would only want if he found a lucky winner to take him home.
While Eliot eyed the crowd, his finger played around the rim of his glass in a slow, lazy circle and his drink followed, like a tide chasing its moon. Eliot was considering giving up, going home to his right hand and a box of chocolates, when his gaze caught against the sharp edge of a particular jaw. Like his drink, Eliot felt himself lean in to the pull.
Striking eyes, even in the dim light; blond hair; arms that could throw him bodily into a wall. Eliot could work with that. He downed his whiskey in one gulp, and let the man order a drink before he sauntered over and leaned on the bar next to him, cigarette held aloft between two willowy fingers.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a light, would you, Handsome?” he asked in greeting. “Original, I know, but I left mine at home and I’m dying.”
Playing helpless was an easy old habit, as natural as magic, as simple as breathing. And for good measure, he threw on a sly little smile.
Sara had been skeptical when Dunn had been the first to volunteer the moment she had asked the few hanging out in the common room if they wanted to join her in a little hunting trip… what had frightened her just a touch was that once Dunn volunteered, everyone else shied away.
She shook her head - she had no problems giving the guy a chance. And so she had teleported them further North, close to her Estate, in the wooded area between Hillsbrad and the Plaguelands. But the air was still chilled quite a bit, and she was beginning to doubt they’d catch sight of anything worth hunting when the sun began going down several hours later.
She turned to look at Dunn, who was about fifteen paces away scanning the area as well, and placed a hand on her ear- “I think we either missed them, or it’s still too early because of the cold. Perhaps–” but she stopped short, hearing a rustling noise somewhere over by a pair of trees. She said nothing more, taking a few light steps toward where she heard the noise. Her ear twitched when she heard Dunn cock his gun. ‘Oh good, he heard it too,’ she thought briefly. A few moments later, a second rustling, coming from a tree a bit further back, was heard. Sara’s fingers wiggled a little, her crystal bow materializing in her grasp.
Sara swore she saw something dart further back into the trees, and just as she heard - a moment too late - Dunn pull the trigger on his gun, she blinked forward, catching his bullet by mistake. She stood there for several moments, frozen as her body began to register the pain. She finally whimpered and tried to gasp, but the bullet had caught the artery in her lung. The pressure on her chest was slowly building as she felt like she was slowly choking. She could hear steps rushing toward her, but couldn’t make out what Dunn’s voice was muttering. She finally crumpled to the ground after coughing once, the taste of blood making her woozy. It was a good thing he was quick, because her head was saved from landing on a rock by Dunn’s hand as he caught her and went to his knees.
“Shit, I am so sorry… I wasn’t expecting you to blink towards it.” But Sara shook her head, coughing again, more blood filling her mouth. She managed a ragged gasp through the pain - she felt like she was slowly choking. And as she drowned slowly in her own blood, she managed to give Dunn a serious look, her words coming out with great effort:
“Ja… zi…. you… marry… her…” she coughed again, her eyes watering from the pain, “Don’t… l-let her-r… go…” She turned her head away from him, coughing again. Blood poured out of her mouth, her skin going deathly pale. She looked back up at Dunn, but her vision was getting blurry, and there was a strange buzzing in her ears that drowned out everything. But she welcomed death, willing herself to simply let go, and her final breath left her lips in a rush, leaving her body laying in Dunn’s grasp in the middle of the woods. Her free hand went limp near his, her fingers opening slightly to reveal her last parting gift to him: a portal stone back to Stormwind.
To add on to the thing about reworking plot, do you have any advice to offer me? I know how my characters are going to start and how they'll end, but I have a rather saggy middle. I think the 10 box method is a good thing to try, but I don't really know what else I can do. Most of my story has the characters wandering around in the woods so I can't throw in other characters to create tension. Do you have any suggestions for me in regards to reworking plot? Thanks so much <3
What you need are some obstacles, some complications as the 10-point model calls them. Those obstacles can either be related to your overall plot or not, I mean, if this is a novel, there’s nothing wrong with adding in a good ol’ subplot. Maybe it’s a character-related problem; or maybe they find something in the woods (or something finds them) that leads them on another track that eventually winds up being related to the main plot. Tension doesn’t always have to come from a new person being introduced. It can come from situations that are created by your characters or that come from outside sources. Try to open up your imagination to possibilities. Right now you have a line–it’s time to put a bend in it. Reworking your plot isn’t always as easy as adding a bit here or there. Sometimes it can really challenge what you originally conceived for how your plot would go. Look at your world for clues about what else you could have your characters doing. Look at your characters and any subplots you have already going and see if there’s anything there that can be exploited, lengthened, twisted into a more complex knot. Be willing to make big changes and add spectacular bends to what you have. You might find yourself resisting that change (”But they can’t go there! They have to go here first!”) but a sagging middle’s no good. I know you know that–I can tell you’ve recognized it and that’s the first step. Be ready to take the second. Sometimes it’s bigger than you’re comfortable with.
Without knowing exactly what you’re dealing with, I’m afraid I can’t be more specific, but I’m always up for a nice chat about plots at the blog’s gmail if you ever feel the need, Anon. It’s just theticklishpear [at] gmail [dot] com. Good luck! -Pear