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wunderlass · 5 years ago

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Time of Your Life

For Candy & Milkshakes, though angstier than this event was meant to be. Hastily betaed by @queenrikki - my haste, not hers.

It’s a good day in a long string of good days. Truth be told, Max Evans doesn’t have bad days.

The afternoon sun has burned the fog away from San Francisco Bay, so when he sits out on his apartment balcony with his notepad and mug of tea there’s a blue sky overhead and a distant view of the hills rising up behind Sausalito. One day they might be able to afford a better view—actual water, or the San Francisco shoreline—but then Liz always teases that they need to move to Poet’s Corner, where the houses are low and trees obscure the view.

She knows Max’s dream is to live in a Victorian, and they’ll probably have to leave Berkeley to get it. It’s another thing she teases him about: like him writing by hand instead of on a laptop. She calls him her old-fashioned gentlemen, but he’s learned how to ballroom dance with her so it seems to be old-fashioned in a way she likes.

He can take her teasing with ease. Anything to bring a smile to her face, to coax sparkling laughter from her like champagne.

This balcony has turned out to be a productive area for him. He’s written two novels on it since they moved in, and sold one of them. He’s not setting the bestseller’s list alight but it’s a steady income to supplement Liz’s paycheck, especially with how simply they live. It goes a long way at the farmer’s market, where he heads in the morning to pick up produce for dinner. Liz likes to refer to him as her house husband, with the way he does all the cooking and taking care of the apartment, though she glows with pride whenever she reads the reviews for his books.

He’s not capturing the feeling of home in his writing he’s been striving to since he was a teenager. But he’s working on it. The day he can say he’s been able to suspend how he feels about Liz in ink is the day he’ll have succeeded. For now, he keeps trying, pushing his characters through tests and troubles he’s never really faced in his life, leaving them chasing the home he managed to secure for himself so long ago.

His mug is empty, so he heads inside to set the kettle boiling for a refill. A pot of chili simmers away on the stove—his father-in-law’s recipe, solemnly handed over on their wedding day. Arturo had been worried that with them being so young when they married, they weren’t capable of taking care of themselves or each other. This was his way of making sure Liz didn’t starve while they tried to live on student grants, barista wages, and the occasional sale of a poem. Max had gradually persuaded Arturo to hand over many recipes in the decade since, but this remains a staple.

Even if it’s far smaller than what they could afford back in Roswell, Max likes their apartment. Sure, it’s a 1950’s box, but the balcony makes up for the lack of indoor charm. Liz is all the charm he needs. He’s lined the walls in cheap IKEA bookcases, all of them filled to the brim and overflowing, and it feels all the cozier for it. They don’t need more than they have, and he’d rather spend their money on the things that count. Things like traveling: where books haven’t swallowed wall space, Liz has insisted on photo frames of their adventures, right back to that original road trip after senior year. Six weeks across the US, cataloged through Polaroids and an old disposable film camera, followed by other journeys: Canada, Mexico, Europe.

Liz’s face smiles at him from one the of Polaroid images, right next to his own, her arms curled around him with the Grand Canyon in the background. It was when he’d first started trying to grow out facial hair, abandoning his razor when they left Roswell behind, and the fuzzy results made him cringe when he looked back at them, but Liz loves this photo. It had been the first one taken after he told her the truth: who he really was.

She’d accepted him, no questions. Well…there had been many questions, but that was Liz, rattling them off a million miles an hour trying to understand his physiology. None of his answers changed how she felt about him. Nor did they stop her accepting his spur-of-the-moment proposal on their way back to Roswell at the end of summer.

Nobody had approved—Rosa was the most vocal opponent, but even she’d come to the wedding in the end. Approval didn’t matter. Max had loved Liz his entire life and would love her forever. And because of that time he’d got a little carried away and accidentally forged a handprint bond with her when they were first becoming intimate, he knew she felt the same way.

Their wedding photo takes pride of place over the fireplace. Maria Deluca took it, by way of a gift. Rosa found Liz a vintage beaded gown in a thrift store, an ivory that goes so well with her skin tone. She doesn’t wear a veil and her hair is in a simple twist, curls escaping from it to frame her face and neck. Next to her, Max is in a borrowed grey suit, his hair much shorter than he wears it nowadays, slicked back with gel and hope. His facial hair had grown in enough by that point that it didn’t look like the desperate attempts of a teenage boy, though to his own eyes now he looks drowned in the suit. Doesn’t matter. What’s clear from the photo is how happy they both were. That hasn’t diminished at all; not through three degrees, six half-drafted novels, and eighteen countries.

The kettle comes to a rolling boil and clicks off. Max goes through the motions of brewing his tea. This break has really been to allow his mind to work through a sticky plot point, one that wouldn’t be solved staring at a blank page.

A comment by a reviewer in a prestigious newspaper column recently suggested that Max’s writing is callow because he gives his character happy endings. He doesn’t see the problem—why take readers on a journey alongside characters, have them grow to love them like friends, and reward them with nothing at the end of it? Liz told him to pay the review no mind and to write what he wants. But this time, he’s been contemplating ending on a tragic note. What if there is no happy ending to be found? If he wants to be one of the greats, maybe he needs to consider showing that sometimes struggles are futile.

The break has cleared his mind. That’s not the right path at all. He writes to give people hope. He writes, however unsuccessfully, to provide a lifeline to people who need it, a shining beacon of everything that life, love and happiness can be.

On that note, he hears the turn of the key in the door. His own shining beacon is home.

The morning birds wake him, their timing ever cruel. The moment before he’d see Liz again.

In truth, Max doesn’t know what Liz Ortecho looks like anymore. He carries the memory of her face in crystal clarity within his minds’ eye, but that’s the face of a teenage girl who left Roswell ten years ago and never looked back. What changes time has brought to her, Max doesn’t know. Social media has its temptations but he’s resisted them, in the knowledge that he doesn’t have the right to seek her out.

Not when the memory of her face is tangled up in the blank face of her sister, twisted together by his own guilt.

Despite this, in his dreams he’s begun seeing a Liz that doesn’t exist, living a life with a version of himself that doesn’t exist either. A simple, happy life, the kind of life Max hoped for as a foolish teenager. Where his dreams have always been vague jumbles of shapes and sound, fleeting with the morning, over the last few weeks they’ve become sharp and clear.

He sees Liz, in the kind of detail he never thought himself capable of imagining. He watches them share a life: he’s been able to do more than look at her at night, sharing casual, affectionate touches, kisses and caresses. Tumble into bed with her with all the accrued intimacy of a decade together, knowing her body as well as his own.

Other details linger from his dreams, making them feel as tangible as the real world. He knows how the pot of chili is going to taste. He’s never been to California, or seen the ocean, but somehow he’s able to construct an entire cityscape from nothing, the memory of salt and fog on his skin and in his lungs. If he was still writing his imagination’s sudden uptick in activity would be a boon, but he hasn’t felt the urge to put pen to paper for months.

He should be asking the question why now?, but he knows why. This is a fresh form of his guilt, tormenting him with what might have been. A decade ago they’d been making plans to leave Roswell together and go on that roadtrip. This is his imagination throwing in his face all that might have been, with barely over a month to go until the anniversary of that night.

He wants to return to sleep, hoping that even if time has moved on in that other world, he’ll still be mid-kiss with Liz. It’s another way his imagination is excelling itself in fleshing out the details of how she feels, tastes, of the noises she makes. And because he wants it so badly, he’s locked out, condemned to wakefulness.

Instead he gives up, getting up and going through the motions of another day.

Those motions bring him to the Crashdown at lunchtime, nursing a coffee he won’t drink. Arturo is too busy to talk to, but Max won’t ask about Liz this time. The words feel too heavy when it’s so close to that day.

He doesn’t order any food but he swears he can taste chili as he leaves. He wonders if Arturo would have been the amenable father-in-law he seems to be during the night.

All Max wants is to make it through the day until he is tired enough to go home and sleep. He doesn’t want to have to wear the mask that helps him pretend he is fine. And yet, here Isobel is outside the Crashdown, making a beeline for him.

The mask goes on. He wonders if she will ever notice.

“That’s weird,” Isobel says as she approaches. “I haven’t been here in ages, but today of all days…” She drifts off, shakes her head.

“What do you want, Isobel?” He sounds as tired as he feels, even to his own ears.

“Lovely to see you too. Maybe I just wanted to say hello to my brother in passing since he never seems to go anywhere or do anything these days?”

Max flinches. He’s been going out less and less, turning down the invitations he’s always accepted out of obligation, out of the need to pretend that his world hasn’t shrunk to a little patch of gray disinterest. “I’ve been busy.”

“No you haven’t. And I need your help as a volunteer to decorate the school reunion.”

Now Max really regrets getting out of bed. “I don’t remember volunteering.”

“I’m organizing it, of course you’re helping me.�� But she’s distracted, her gaze flicking back to the Crashdown behind him. She absently plays with the wedding band on her finger. He’s never seen her do that before. “Do you remember Liz Ortecho?”

Max stiffens. He hasn’t mentioned her name in years. Isobel definitely hasn’t. “Of course I do,” he says between gritted teeth.

“I had the weirdest dream a few nights ago. She was in it.” Max doesn’t ask for more details, but Isobel volunteers them anyway. “I wasn’t married, but you were. To her.”

Max holds his breath.

“It was so vivid,” she continues. “Like, you weren’t even here in Roswell anymore, but I was. Alone. I didn’t like it.” She shakes her head, as if shaking the feeling away. “As if you’d ever abandon me like that.” She smiles at him and it’s all he can do to force a smile in return.

She’s right. He wouldn’t. Even if it meant giving up Liz.

When he continues on his way, climbing into his cruiser for an uneventful tour of the city, he isn’t unduly concerned about the similarity of his dream to Isobel’s. If it was anyone else, sure, but they have the twin connection. They’ve never spoken about their dreams before, but is it so strange for their dreams to blend together at night?

This new dimension should make him feel guilty. In this dream reality he is forcing Isobel to be lonely, abandoned in Roswell—though why his imagination doesn’t have her finding Noah, he doesn’t know. But these are only dreams. In the daylight, she has Noah. She has Max and Michael, and she is loved. Max doesn’t have that.

If he has to chase it at twilight, he will, Isobel be damned.

There are no bookshelves in the bedroom. Liz’s rule, although it doesn’t stop Max’s nightstand being stacked with a precarious pile of them, each bisected by receipts and ticket stubs and whatever else was to hand when he needed a bookmark. Liz’s nightstand is neater, even if it’s not exactly neat: she has her own disheveled collection of papers; the case for her mouthguard; baby wipes; lube.

He’s propped up against the headboard reading while she brushes her teeth in the en-suite. He gets glimpses of her as she paces: hair tied up in a loose bun, a camisole and pajama pants that speak more to comfort than enticing him. Not that it takes much to entice him, and knowing Liz is comfortable around him only adds to that effect.

He waits for her to finish spitting and rinsing, flicking off the overhead light so she’s lit only by the glow of the bedside lamp. She clambers into the bed beside him, burrows into his side. He can read like this, with her head resting on his shoulder, as they first discovered on the senior year road trip. Something about him being awake and reading helps soothe her to sleep. They’ve never figured out why, but it’s the same for Max, who struggles to sleep any other way these days. The times she’s gone off to conferences to present her research, he’s had to return to Roswell to spend time with Isobel, because being alone in their home without Liz’s presence is the opposite of soothing. They have a rhythm and being without her throws it off.

“Max,” Liz murmurs into his chest.

Evidently tonight she doesn’t intend on going straight to sleep.

“Hmmm?” He closes his book, marking his place with a fridge magnet they bought in Mexico City, and places it on the nightstand.

“Do you ever wonder about starting a family?”

She must be able to hear his heart pounding. He’s wondered. Of course he’s wondered.

“We don’t know if that’s possible,” he says gently. It’s why he’s never dared raise the subject before.

“I think it’ll work,” she replies, raising her head so she’s looking at him. Big brown eyes, glowing in the lamplight. “I’ve looked at our DNA and there’s no reason to think it won’t.”

He chuckles. He can’t help it; of course Liz has done the research before coming to him. “Is that so?”

“I think if we can conceive, then the pregnancy should be viable. Conceiving may be the hardest part.” Her expression turns playful. “But also the most fun.”

He can’t argue with that.

Max’s mood is more sour than usual. He’s felt fragile since he woke up, like he’s on the verge of a meltdown: he doesn’t know if he wants to cry, or throw things, but being around his brother isn’t the best way to find out which it will be.

If only he’d not been taking the first step towards creating a family with Liz when he woke up.

Michael hasn’t been arrested for a few weeks and it’s making Max concerned. Even Isobel has commented that he seems to be preoccupied, going to the Pony less (because it turns out Isobel keeps tabs on Michael too).

When he emerges, it’s not as bad as it could be. He’s not in the drunk tank. He isn’t being ticketed. No, he seeks Max out, something that hasn’t happened in years.

His voluntary presence in the sheriff’s office draws stares from everyone when he saunters past the front desk.

“You don’t have any outstanding warrants,” Max tells him when Michael reaches his desk.

“I know. If I did, I wouldn’t be here,” Michael replies, like he’s talking to an idiot.

“Then why are you here?”

Cam’s out patrolling and the Sheriff is in her personal office so they actually have privacy. Nevertheless, Michael lowers his voice to barely above a whisper.

“You wouldn’t happen to have been having weird dreams?”

The pencil in Max’s hand snaps in two.

“What have you done?”

Liz is sleeping in this morning. It’s the weekend and without an alarm set, she will doze for hours. It’s always tempting to stay curled up with her, but Max gets restless too easily, so he’s up making pancakes. Hopefully the smell will entice Liz to emerge from her cocoon.

He plates up and sits himself down at their tiny dining table. It’s next to the kitchen wall, right below a set of photos from their youths: Liz and Rosa’s quinceaneras, Max and Isobel with the family dog, Max and Isobel and Michael out in the desert the year before they graduated high school. Michael has a guitar in his hand and a smile on his face. It’s a rare photo of him, and a rare example of him smiling. Possibly the last time Max ever saw him this way.

All Max knows is that something happened to Michael at the end of high school, something that left his hand mangled and his hope in tatters. He turned his back on humanity, preaching to his siblings that there was nothing good to be found on Earth, and sought comfort at the bottom of bottles of whiskey and acetone. The two only seemed to curdle his bitterness and there was nothing Max could do or say to reach him. No, Michael had taken Max’s happiness with Liz as a personal affront and walked away from him.

Max hasn’t seen Michael for a few years: not since he was arrested for credit card fraud. The charges were shaky but Michael had nobody to bail him out or pay for a decent lawyer, so off to the state penitentiary he went. Isobel visits him in there sometimes, but Max isn’t welcome. Michael’s sentence keeps getting extended because he can’t stay out of fights, though he’s managed to evade suspicion of being an alien. Probably because people don’t know he’s from Roswell and don’t associate him with the legend.

Liz pads into the living room wearing one of Max’s t-shirts, which hits her at mid-thigh. “Those smell amazing.”

She hasn’t brushed her teeth yet so kisses his forehead rather than his mouth, not that Max cares. She grabs her plate and sits opposite him, digging in with relish.

“I’ve been thinking,” he ventures. “We could get a dog. You know, if the baby thing doesn’t work out. I know it’s not the same, but a dog would be nice.”

Max likes dogs, and they always like him. He thinks he wants a dog even if the baby thing does work out.

Liz smiles sympathetically and covers her hand with her own. “It’s going to work out. One way or the other.”

“What do you mean ‘alternate universe’?”

Michael sighs. “It’s complicated if you aren’t already into multiverse theory and—”

“I don’t need the physics explaining to me,” Max cuts in. “I need you to explain why you think I’m experiencing one when I sleep.”

Michael holds his hands up sheepishly. “So I may have been collecting spaceship pieces in my trailer, and I may have recently been experimenting a little with quantum mechanics using subpar equipment.”

“In your airstream.”

“Yeah.”

“And you started having these dreams yourself?”

Michael shoves his hands into his pockets. “Can’t say they were much fun.”

“No. You’re in prison there.”

“Anyway, I’m working on untangling it all so it’ll go back to normal real soon.”

That’s the last thing Max wants. “No,” he says, too sharply and too quickly. Michael’s puzzled frown demands more of a response. “No more experimenting. If this is bad as it gets, I can live with it. I don’t want you making it worse.”

Nor does he want his nights with Liz snatched away from him. Not now he knows how real they are. It’s not his reality, but it’s one he’ll willingly disappear into for as long as he can.

“I know what I’m doing,” Michael protests.

“Clearly you don’t. Leave it alone.”

All Max needs is time. Time with Liz. Time in the life he should have had.

Max hasn’t felt the twin connection to Isobel for years. Somewhere along the way they’d stopped using it, long before Max left Roswell.

It comes screaming back at the most inconvenient time. Liz is unwrapping a trio of pregnancy tests, ready to find out if their first month of baby-making was successful or not.

And Max is on his knees, groaning with the surge of pain that runs through his head.

Liz is in front of him immediately. “Max! Max, are you okay?”

“Isobel,” he pants out, and Liz scrambles for the phone, dialing his parents.

It doesn’t take long to get an answer. Isobel has been hospitalized. It’s unclear why: his mother is hysterical, in a way he’s never heard her become. But Max is booking flights back to Roswell, ready to find out what’s going on.

Liz can’t come with him. She has to stay and work—her project is at a delicate stage.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he tells her.

“I won’t use the tests until you return,” she promises.

Isobel is waiting for him outside the Crashdown. There are dark circles under her eyes and she holds her left hand like it’s heavy, rubbing at her wedding ring.

“Did you see it?” she asks. “When you were dreaming?”

“What happened?” When he woke up, he was still on his way to Roswell, having only just said goodbye to Liz.

“I couldn’t bear it,” she says. “No Noah, no Michael, no you. What a horrible reality.”

Max can’t agree. “So the other Isobel—”

“It wasn’t the other Isobel. It was me. She put a mask on her loneliness and went on like it wasn’t killing her, so I made her do something about it. To bring you back.”

He staggers back, as if she’s actually punched him rather than done it verbally. “What?” He shakes his head. “We can’t influence—”

Isobel squares her shoulder. “I can. My powers are mental. I found a way.”

How does Max even begin to explain what Isobel is interrupting? “That’s not our world, Isobel. We have different lives—we can’t interfere in them. You have a good life here. You should focus on that.”

“What good does that do me if the other one haunts me when I’m awake?”

“How can you say that? We aren’t killers in that reality. Isn’t that better?”

He’s never been able to figure out why, what the little differences were that made all the difference. No camping trip when they were fourteen meant Isobel didn’t have blackouts, and for some reason that meant Rosa Ortecho never died. Isobel’s loneliness seems like a small price to pay for that, compared to a universe where Max is a killer and still has to bear his guilt alone.

“No,” Isobel insists. “I hate it. If I have to keep going back there, I’m going to do everything I can to keep you in Roswell with me. Even if I have to get inside your head and make you stay. I can’t cope alone, Max. Not when I know what I could have had.”

“Isobel’s okay,” Max says to Liz down the phone. “Sedated. She didn’t mean to harm herself, they think it was accidental.”

“That’s good. Though she can’t have been doing all that well—”

“No, I know. Mom and dad haven’t noticed anything, but…” It’s Isobel, and it’s his mother. Neither are very emotionally available people.

“Stay as long as she needs you,” Liz urges.

“I need you.”

“I need you too. But you’ve always been good about me running off to help Rosa. It’s your turn.”

Max knows what he needs to do, for the sake of the other Max. But even hearing her voice over the phone is like a hit of opium. As much as the other Max relishes any form of contact with his Liz, it’s nothing to what Max feels in this reality. He’s been denied her for years and every morsel, every scrap she throws his way, is a slow drip of what he needs through his veins.

How can he give her up?

Isobel isn’t responsive in the hospital. He sits with her a while, holds her hand, strokes her hair, but she doesn’t wake up.

Does she dream of her life in the other Roswell, where she has a husband and her family around her?

Seeing Isobel persuades him. In both realities she’s not in a good way, and only one person seems to know how to fix it.

Michael is hard to pin down, even if he supposedly lives and works in the same place, so Max leaves him a voicemail.

“Do what you need to do to make the dreams stop, Michael. For Isobel’s sake.”

“Max?” Liz’s voice is soft, happy. “I know I said I wouldn’t use the tests—and I haven’t!—but you should know I’ve been feeling kind of nauseated today. And yesterday. And the day before that.”

“And you’re excited about that?” he teases, but he can feel a bubble of happiness rising within his own chest. “Isn’t it a little early—”

“Not necessarily.”

He pauses. “Take the test, Liz. There’s no point waiting until I come home.”

“Okay. I’ll call you back when I know.”

It feels wrong, sitting outside Isobel’s room, almost vibrating with happiness, but he can’t help it. He has a good feeling about this.

He’s wrenched awake. It’s the middle of the night and there’s no reason for him to be awake, but he is, and he feels adrift, like he’s been cut off from something.

His phone blinks on the nightstand. A message from Michael.

Fixed it.

Liz is gone. The other universe is lost to him.

He hadn’t thought it possible for this universe to feel more barren to him until this morning. The desert dust is ash under his boots, the rolling emptiness around his home a valid reflection of what he feels inside.

He’s on a later shift, doing traffic stops on the highway, and he knows despite the Sheriff’s best efforts they’ll probably have unwelcome company park up with them. First, he has to go to the warehouse the school reunion is being held in and lug boxes and tables around for Isobel.

Her dark circles are gone. The spring in her step has returned.

He made the right choice.

Later, on the dark highway armed with a torch and his weariness, he indicates for a car with Colorado plates and a broken light to pull over. Gets hit with a mouthful of fire.

And then there she is.

“Liz.”

#roswell new mexico #fic #echo #candymilkshakes2019 #liz x max #tw implied self harm #very non specific

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denissemvera · 5 years ago

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Cleo’s journey. From Mother Nature and back. . As soon as my eyes took in all the beauty of this shot by @brandonscottphoto, I was instantly transported to the moment I received the inspiration for our dear Cleo top . It was our first night in the Andes mountain ranges, the night before my fiancé and I embarked on our hike to Aconcagua base camp. We were surrounded by Raw and textured terrain... dazzling mountainous landscapes, a crisp and heavenly breeze. . I woke up at 3am with Cleo on my mind... the lines, the cut... it was all there in my mind waiting to be born. I sketched fast and sent instructions to my primary knotter at the time so she could get started. If felt urgent so I challenged her to knot and to follow my sketch up to the point that she felt confident. . On return to Australia I felt creatively blocked and not ready to complete Cleo until one Full moon night. I draped and knotted and un-knotted and re-knotted until I knew she was ready. I knew from that very moment that she was special. . How is it that Cleo found her way into my mind in the Andes mountains and now she has found her way back to the mountains?... this time in Tulum, Mexico. Why is it that when I look at this photo I feel that Cleo is home? . Why? . ...because the mountains were her birthplace and she has found her way home. . Now you see her before you, magically captured by a gifted creative soul. Our divine, Cleo top... born of Mother Nature... interpreted by my hands... presented to you on a goddess @ankuanku_ 🌬. . Thank you for taking the time to read her story and I hope you like her xx. . Team 🙌🏾🙌🏾🙌🏾 Photo by @brandonscottphoto Model @ankuanku_ Florals @monijunco MUA @beautyonwheelsriviera Location @habitastulum Styling by @jess_scott Dress and briefs by #denissemvera Accessories @begoldish @nazarenaagarcia #macrame #modernmacrame #denissemvera #bride #wedding #elopement #weddingdress #florist #tulummexico #tulumwedding (at Tulum, Mexico) https://www.instagram.com/p/CAGcQwlHvG_/?igshid=zuogzs226cyn

#denissemvera #macrame #modernmacrame #bride #wedding #elopement #weddingdress #florist #tulummexico #tulumwedding

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possiblyderangedpenguinstuff · 6 years ago

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(baby I) love the boom

Maria Stark was a photographer.

It's a rare known fact, but that doesn't change anything.

It doesn't change how there are boxes and boxes and boxes of photos, in storage facilities and the attic of Stark Manor and framed all around the world, sold or given to friends and acquaintances, business partners, board members.

It doesn't change how Tony remembers his mother not as the sparkling debutante trophy-wife, but as his mama speaking Italian and telling him to pose for the camera.

It doesn't change how she always, always carried a camera, in her purse or around her neck, or in her hand. Howard saw the beauty in machines, Tony in lines of code, Maria, through a lens.

She grew up in Italy, surrounded by the sea, by vineyards and orchards and growth, a warm house bustling with life and people and food. Her early photos reflect that, dinner tables filled with people, the wild, grey sea crashing against cliffs, the symmetrical, perfect lines of a vineyard running straight down the scalp of the earth like braided hair.

She decided to leave her corner of Italy, where everyone knew everyone and the most adventure you could get is venturing into the already well-explored woods to the north of the village. There’s a few scattered pictures of her trip to Milan, where the big airport was, but they’re too excited to be any good.

There are more pictures of the plane than almost anything else, it was a long flight with not much entertainment, and she was bored. The stewardesses, laughing, tipping their hats at the lens, the fabric seats and their inhabitants, most laughing, smiling, waving, excited for their new lives in America; but a few staring glumly or caught eating, Maria once said that she took a picture of every person on that plane. He thinks he might be right. As he gets older, he likes to flick through them, see all of the faces, all of the people with their own stories. He wonders where they are now.

Once in America, she found herself chasing the coattails of white, pretty pale girls, blue eyes and blonde hair, big skirts and milkshakes. The perfect Americano life; far different than her dark hair and dark eyes, the immigrant Italian girl with a camera around her neck.

When she landed, she found herself a home in New York, some little place in Queens, Howard happened to be passing by, when she was taking pictures of the pigeons and people and cracks in the sidewalk and god knows what else.

The rest is history. There aren't many photos from her dating Howard, most are just pictures of him, smiling, happy, mellow, machine grease on his forehead, in work stained clothes. Some are taken by surprise, in the middle of him laughing, or chowing down on noodles. There are a few of her, young and beautiful, not yet the mother he knew and far from the simple girl who left Italy.

There are plenty of pictures from their wedding, all white and money and Maria’s happy face, There are more pictures of the guests with their hats and dresses than of the bride and groom. Tony wonders what went wrong. They seemed happy.

Then after, as a high society woman, glittering with pearls and gowns, sneakily taken photos of rich extravagance that only the 1% will ever experience. People forgot, once she ascended to society, how they had whispered about the brown girl, the gold digger, the filthy Italian thief who stole one of their people. People forgot, but she didn’t. There’s enough dirt inside those pages to fill a landfill.

Then Tony's childhood, a few pictures of a smiling boy, curly-haired and red-cheeked. He was a quiet boy, but shone with a curious light. She used to tell him he was going to change the world, and he believed her.

The Maria Stark foundation, pictures of meetings, of galas, then of the people they help, some with Maria, some photographed by.

Peggy and Howard and Obie and Angie and Maria and Ana and Jarvis, all smiling and happy and maybe a bit drunk, two years after the war or twenty.

She used to lie down with him on his race-car bed, tuck the cartoon-patterned sheets around them and flick through the picture book with him, until it was dark and he had every single one memorized, every page carved into memory. He still remembers the sound of fingers flipping through the pages with a certain magnitude, a certain meaning that he was in awe of. Some were in color, some were grainy, some from film and some in black and white, but all were beautiful. She had a gift for it.

Tony’s favourites, though, were the explosions. He’d hide his face in her hair, inhale her perfume; that ungraspable scent that always floated around her. He could never figure out what it was. He never did.

She knew Howard when he was in Los Alamos, when he was working on the atomic bomb.

First, there are the pictures of them in a workshop or in the hot New Mexico sun, a few of a bar with dim lighting and blurry faces, and it’s just unplaceable enough not to immediately place, and then there Howard is, there Maria is, sitting with Oppenheimer. Edward Teller’s fiddling with something out-of-frame, Leslie Groves next to him.

They’re surrounded with history, with the thing that will kill 381,000 hundred thousand Japs, but for now, forever, in this moment caught in sap, petrified in time, it’s just a few scraps of metal and an idea.

After that, the focus diverges from Howard and group scenes, and onto Maria’s artistic side. Generals with their hats and uniforms lined up like toy soldiers forgotten outside in the sweaty Alamogordo sun. Their noses are shiny, faces flushed and ruddy. They look like plastic, about to melt.

A dusky, smooth desert sunset, with the yellow half-disc of the sun sinking down the horizon like melting butter. Gold, yellow, red, the colors of Iron-Man. Of night. Of a few scientists in the desert, trying to help their countries. Of life in death, maybe.

Later though, past the conventionally beautiful, almost hidden at the back of the book are the explosions, and the aftermath.

They're big and bulging, filling up the sky, mushroom clouds the color of dirt. Some of them, you can practically hear the sound wave through the paper.

They should be monstrous, should be horrible, disgusting things, the lowest of humanity, but how can something that can soar 60,000 feet into the sky in a matter of minutes be so bad?

There were seven major tests, and it looks like Maria has every single one of them captured on film.

Tony sees it not as death, but as mankind, beautiful in it’s destruction, beautiful like nothing else can be beautiful, because only it can kill like it does.

Maria had told Tony once, whispered in his ear, that she’d never seen such a thing before, that she never would, that watching it hurt in her chest, because there it was, billowing up from earth, about to disappear in between heartbeats.

And then, taking up two pages, commandeered, surrendered to their power, their brilliance: Little Boy and Fat Man.

Fat Man, in his roundness, his laden belly full with poison, with radiation, with death. Tony always imagined a smiling, jolly face on the head of his snub nose.

Little Boy like a submarine, diving from the sky, swimming down to land, his square propeller spinning behind him. Tony imagined his own face on this one, serious like he only practices in the mirror. It’s important work. He has to be important.

They would spend what seemed like hours staring at these killers, these killers with one of the highest kill counts of the war. 155,000 on impact, and 226,000 from radiation. Maria would hold him, hide her face in his hair, and it almost seemed like she knew who he would become, what his own kill count would grow to. He wonders what she thought then, what she would think now. She always told him he was going to change the world, is this what she meant?

He guesses he knows why he didn’t argue when SI was shoved into his hands. He’s always loved demolition. Whether it be his own or the world’s. That’s why he is who he is, why he does what he does. Why he fucks and drinks and makes jokes when he shouldn’t. It’s why when people say his name, they know who he is. Tony Stark. Right?

There are pictures of the testing site after. He likes these just as much. Maybe more, even. There’s a finality there that’s missing in the moment. A certainty.

Green, glassy Trinite suspended in the air, maybe thrown, maybe permanently suspended by the arms of the atomic bomb, Tony doesn't know. He suspects the former.

There's a crater, 5′ deep and 30′ wide, left in the dusty, rocky ground, the parallel of that cloud, the reverse of creation, destruction.

Howard and a few other figures, clad in rubbery radiation gear, faces obscured. Tony knows it’s Howard because he’s holding a cigarette and a flask of scotch, and trying to persuade the others to have a light and a drink with him, Tony can hear him telling them to celebrate their legacy.

It sure is a big one.

He’s 21, and it’s been many years since his mother last held him and flicked through picture books and he doesn't even really remember the smell of her perfume, anymore.

He’s 21, and they’re dead.

He’s 21, and he’s alone.

He’s 21, and he finally knows what it feels like to be one of those explosions, to be so destructive that everyone around either left on after a night or was never there to begin with.

He’s 21, and now he really does understand those bombs. The urge to destroy, to burn, stronger than anything else.

He’s 21, and...tired.

He’s tired of the parties and the girls and the taste of blood on his tongue from where he’s bitten it to stop himself from screaming at all of it.

He’s tired of the company asking him tony tony we need those designs tony tony are you done with those specs tony tony remember you have responsibilities tony tony your dad would be proud tony tony do you have any ideas?

He’s tired of Ty pushing pills into his hand and giving him a drink to down them with.

He’s tired to having to call Rhodey in the middle of the night because he’s off on deployment.

He’s tired of Obie, Obie and his shark grins and big hands and deals.

He’s tired of the press and the journalists and the gossip.

He’s tired of Tony Stark. Who he is, what he stands for, what he does. He likes the shattering, sure, but it’s getting harder and harder to pick up the broken pieces.

He thinks back to Anthony, to that little boy who didn't have any of that, just his mama and a photobook and silence in a big house.

But, Maria Stark and Maria Carbonell are both dead now. That photobook is dust and that big house is gone, he had it demolished as soon as possible.

Anthony is buried next to his mama.

Later, someone asks him, he’s not sure if it's at a party or an interview or at a press conference, because, frankly, it’s all a blur and sometimes it seems like he leaves a club and steps into a bright-lit conference room.

“Why do you do it?” they ask, “why do you kill and explode and make bombs?”

And he can only grin, a little lopsidedly, lean forward, try not to trip, and laugh.

“Baby, I love the boom,” he says, and he feels it in his chest, the mushroom cloud expanding and flying into the sky, perfectly, Arizona, Nevada, New Mexico blue.

He’s not sure if anyone ever even asked, and suddenly he’s sitting in his workshop, looking at the clean, white lines of the walls only interrupted by half of a dismantled gun or a car engine, and there are pictures on his lap, papery and thin, his mother’s face staring up at him, judgement in her eyes. He wonders for who.

“I like the boom,” he says again, and not even JARVIS answers.

#my fic #fanfiction #fanfic #project manhatten #los alamos #howard stark #maria stark #tony stark

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blackphoenixalchemylab · 6 years ago

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New Perfume Blends: Fatherhood 2018

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Ahead of our kid's tenth birthday, the Lab released this collection of scents inspired by memories from the past year. As is customary, Lilith's dad (and Black Phoenix Trading Post proprietor) Ted Barrial has followed up with a tribute of his own: FATHERHOOD 2018, a batch of fifteen perfume oil blends.

You'll find those descriptions and links below!

++ FATHERHOOD 2018

This September 2nd, my heart, my joy, my baby turned double digits. It feels like yesterday that I first held her in my arms at the hospital. I have watched her grow into a wise, polite, adventurous, funny, smart, fierce little woman, and I couldn’t be prouder of her. These images capture the moments that defined fatherhood for me in the last year. Every moment that I spend with her is special; I hope she feels the same, and that she looks back on this part of her life with all the love and happiness that she brings to me.

THREE-FINGERED DAD

Sometimes I wonder how Lilith views me.

Am I the authority figure?

Her goofy playmate?

Am I the father that drives her all over Los Angeles?

It appears that I am the skinny three-fingered man. I believe that she captured me perfectly. Don’t you?

Red and white musks, orange blossom, neroli, and sweet vanilla amber.

ZIPLINE PART II

We all love to go to Ren Faire, and they have a zip line there. If I remember correctly, it is one ride for $5, $20 for 5 rides, and $40 for unlimited rides for all day.

Lilith gave me her best, “Dad, I love you and I would like to do the $40 all day” face – big eyes and all - and how could I say no? Long story short (too late!), we rode the zip line so many times that the operators knew our names.

This photo is one of my favorite photos from the last year. She looks so confident, tough, and sure of herself here, while I look like I just survived twenty zip line rides. She makes me so proud to be her father.

Pirate’y rum cookies, hay bales, leftover bits of funnel cake, and Renaissance Faire patchouli.

FAMILY RESEMBLANCE

A quiet moment between a father and his daughter. We might be related.

A splash of Tombstone, red velvet musk, and a red licorice whip.

LILITH POUNDCAKE

Lilith loves RuPaul’s Drag Race, and she thought it would be fun to dress up for Drag Con 2018 as Lil Poundcake. I made a promise to her when she was tiny that I would carry her on my shoulders for as long as she wanted me to, and I am pretty positive that I will carry her down the aisle for her wedding. As I carried her around Drag Con, and I would hear people whisper, “oh my god, it’s Lil poundcake.” Some people would yell “Lil Poundcake!” and she would happily flip them off in character. When people would stop us and ask to take a photo, I would set Lilith down, give her the boa, and she would pose for the photo. Then she’d hop back on my shoulders and we’d continue on our way. Ah, the life of a dad. I wouldn’t give it up for anything.

Dorian smushed into a cherry lollipop.

SPORTSMANSHIP

If there is one thing that my loving daughter has learned from me, it is to always be humble in victory.

The scent of shameless gloating: sparkling honey and a hint of salty biscuit.

PUPPET KITTY

One of the hardest parts of being a father is when your child loses something important to them.

Puppet Kitty is the most treasured of all of Lilith’s plushies, and earlier this year Puppet Kitty went missing. The panic of losing her consumed Lilith, and we all searched and searched for PK. It broke my heart when we finally stopped looking and had to just hope that she would show up sometime soon.

I cried when I found Puppet Kitty, and my heart melted when I saw look on Lilith’s face when I handed it Puppet Kitty back to her.

Every night, Lilith sprays lavender mist onto Puppet Kitty before going to sleep. This is the scent of that kitty: old, well-loved cotton, wool blankets, and gentle lavender skin-warmed by a sleeping child.

TRUTH WILL PREVAIL

Back in 2016, we had made plans, a bit premature as it turned out, to travel to Washington D.C. to see the first woman sworn in as president of the United States of America. It was not to be, but we Barrials are nothing if not flexible. Along with some our best friends, we decided to travel to the Capitol to protest the vile man that is ruining our great country.

A year later, she rode my shoulders again at the first anniversary of the Womens’ March in Los Angeles.

With my beautiful daughter on my shoulders, we marched, we shouted, we made our voices heard again.

Truth will prevail.

A scent of power and courage for my daughter: sweet milk and cardamom with vanilla pod and nutmeg.

THE CLOWN PRINCESS OF CRIME

Sometimes, I see a photo of Lilith and just want to add it to the Fatherhood update. I have tried and tried to write something about this photo but I have not found the right words.

Maybe I will just say that I love Lilith and I think she is beautiful here.

Lime hard candy, bubblegum lollipops and sugar plums.

GOOGLY EYE CHRISTMAS TREE

We love googly eyes almost as much as we love Christmas morning at Casa Barrial, and last year, we were able to merge both of them together.

I love watching Lilith’s face and she races downstairs to see what Krampus and Santa might have left under our pink Christmas tree and what kind of candy La Bafana left in our shoes.

The scent of a Googly Eye Christmas Tree: pink cotton candy, silver tinsel, cinnamon cookies, and white chocolate snow.

LILITH THE EXPLORER

Lilith has been flying since she was a little over a year old. Her first plane trip was to New Orleans, and since then, she has been all over the world. She has slept on the floor at the airport in Mexico City and Minneapolis, she has eaten airport junk in New York, Frankfurt, and Chicago. It feels like she knows LAX and Heathrow almost as well as she knows her own house. Sometimes I think she’s happier about flying itself than she is about exploring a city!

This photo was taken at the airport on one of our trips. I love this outfit… Rolling Stones concert tee, stripy tights, boots with fuzzy balls on it. Lilith might not think this photo is good because her hair is a bit messy, but I love looks of happiness that a hot dog and a giant pretzel bring to her face. It took a bit of persuasion to get her to share it, but dad has his ways.

The first time I saw her wear this tee, I told her that I went to that concert and I that I think that I had the same t-shirt back in ‘76.

She looked at me and asked, “1876?”

It’s probably not the best idea to make a hot dog scent, even though Beth keeps making jokes about hot dog water, so we made a Airport Garbage Snacks scent with coffee, airplane nuts, and squished Backpack Chocolate Residue.

NO DNA TEST REQUIRED

One of the biggest joys of my life is holding hands and walking with Lilith. My lovely wife is always walking behind us taking these photos, and I love how you can see Lilith growing up over the years.

Lilith, please never stop holding my hand.

Dorian holding hands with Slime Queen, with Snake Oil happily trailing behind.

SHOOT THE DUCK

Lilith did her first roller skating trick, and I was so proud.

Wild fig, tonka bean, bergamot, and hardwood.

SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL QUEENS

Lilith has loved drag for many years, and when she goes to drag shows, she’s a great tipper. She knows how hard drag queens work, and knows how important it is to support the drag community both locally and worldwide.

This is the scent of everyone else’s spilled drinks at drag brunch: blood peach bellinis, strawberry daquiris, and mimosas.

MY LITTLE POP STAR

Back in the good ol’ days, I was a singer in quite a few bands. Being up on stage was an amazing feeling, but it doesn’t hold a candle to watching my baby singing and seeing the way she lights up when she’s on stage.

I love to listen to her sing and I think she has a lovely voice, but nothing makes me prouder that having someone comment about how beautiful her voice is. This photo is just before she played with her band, and I love how she is so comfortable and happy to be in front of an audience.

A rockstar scent for a tween: leather, vanilla bean, honey sticks, and sugar.

SNOWFLAKES ARE DELICIOUS

I don’t have much to say about this photo except it was Lilith’s first time in Chicago, her first time to see it snow and her first time catching snowflakes.

I love her dearly.

#fatherhood #perfume #black phoenix trading post

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yourdreambeachweddingposts · 2 years ago

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Pensacola Beach Wedding Venues With The Best Photo Opportunities

Your wedding day is an occasion you'll cherish for a lifetime, and the location you select to exchange your vows plays a pivotal role in creating the perfect experience. If you've always dreamed of getting married on the beautiful beaches of Pensacola, you're in for a treat. Pensacola beach boasts of breathtaking white sand beaches and turquoise waters that provide a stunning backdrop for your special day. However, with numerous options to choose from, selecting the ideal wedding venues in Pensacola, FL can be a daunting task.

To help you plan your perfect beach wedding, we've put together a list of the best Pensacola beach wedding venues with the most breathtaking photo opportunities.

Portofino Island Resort:

Portofino Island Resort provides awe-inspiring views of the Gulf of Mexico with its pristine white sand beaches & crystal-clear emerald-green waters. The resort also boasts a charming pier that serves as a picture-perfect backdrop for capturing your most cherished moments.

Hemingway's Island Grill:

Nestled alongside the beach, this restaurant offers breathtaking vistas of the Gulf of Mexico and Pensacola Bay. The outdoor deck presents an ideal setting for your wedding ceremony, complete with a plethora of photo opportunities to capture your memories.

Gulfside Pavilion:

Nestled in the heart of Pensacola Beach, the Gulfside Pavilion presents mesmerizing panoramic vistas of the Gulf of Mexico. This open-air venue is an excellent choice for couples who desire a grand wedding celebration, as it offers ample space to accommodate large wedding parties. In addition, the Gulfside Pavilion also provides an exceptional photo opportunity, thanks to its spectacular surroundings.

Paradise Beach Homes:

These beachfront vacation homes offer a secluded and intimate wedding location with unparalleled photo opportunities. The white sand beaches and turquoise waters provide the perfect backdrop for your special day.

Beach Club Resort & Spa:

This resort offers a luxurious and intimate beachfront setting with plenty of photo opportunities. The resort's pristine white sand beach and crystal-clear waters make for stunning photo backdrops.

At Your Dream Beach Wedding, we are committed to making your search for the perfect wedding location in Gulf Shores a breeze. We recognize the importance of selecting a stunning and budget-friendly wedding venue to ensure a magical and unforgettable wedding experience. Our hand-picked selection features the most awe-inspiring wedding locations in Gulf Shores, ranging from captivating beaches to opulent beachfront estates. Count on us to help you plan an enchanting beach wedding that will be cherished for a lifetime.

#wedding location in gulf shores

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themarketinsights · 2 years ago

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Photo Booth Software Market – Major Technology Giants in Buzz Again | Spark Booth, Brezee System, Darkroom Software

Advance Market Analytics published a new research publication on “Global Photo Booth Software Market Insights, to 2027” with 232 pages and enriched with self-explained Tables and charts in presentable format. In the study, you will find new evolving Trends, Drivers, Restraints, Opportunities generated by targeting market-associated stakeholders. The growth of the Photo Booth Software market was mainly driven by the increasing R&D spending across the world.

Major players profiled in the study are:

Darkroom Software (United States), Lumasoft (United States), Social Booth (India), Simple Booth (United States), Spark Booth (United States), Brezee System (United Kingdom), The Wilkes Booth Co (Australia), Snappic (South Africa), Picpix Inc (India)

Get Exclusive PDF Sample Copy of This Research @ https://www.advancemarketanalytics.com/sample-report/91147-global-photo-booth-software-market#utm_source=DigitalJournalVinay

Scope of the Report of Photo Booth Software

Photo Booth Software is a software that enables the photo to easily customize images that include certain parameters such as borders, frames, logo as well as customized text and many more features. This ensures to provide the detailing regarding photos as per consumer preferences. Photo booths are one of the best software are helps in capturing the moment on various occasions namely wedding, parties and others. Nowadays, photo booth operators spend most of their time crafting spaces in some restaurants, corporate events. These operate using intricate backdrops, props, and kitschy decor to invite patrons in and unite accumulate them into an application so that it can be customized as per personal requirements. Thus enhancing the market demand in the forecasted period. For instance, Darkroom Booth Software launched its new version of the booth that enables us to take the photo booth experience to the next level. This includes new camera drivers, Booth Stats and Booth Control for iPhone or tablet and more.

The Global Photo Booth Software Market segments and Market Data Break Down are illuminated below:

by Type (On-premise, Cloud-Based), Application (Social Events, Corporate Events, Weddings, Parties, Restaurants, Others), End-Users (SMEs, Large Enterprises)

Market Opportunities:

Increasing Demand from the Wedding, Bachelorette Parties and Many More

Accumulative Need of this Software for Personal Entertainment

Growing Support from the IT Sector in Developing Software for the Photo Booth which is Merely to Set Up Growth Opportuni

Market Drivers:

Increasing Culture Demand of Instagram among the People

Rising Interest of People Towards Photographies

Market Trend:

Adoption of Photo Booth Software into a Powerful Marketing Tool is one of the Latest Trend in the Market

Cumulating Acceptance of Selfies on Social Platforms

Rising Trend of Using Props at the Time of Pictographic

What can be explored with the Photo Booth Software Market Study?

Gain Market Understanding

Identify Growth Opportunities

Analyze and Measure the Global Photo Booth Software Market by Identifying Investment across various Industry Verticals

Understand the Trends that will drive Future Changes in Photo Booth Software

Understand the Competitive Scenarios

Track Right Markets

Identify the Right Verticals

Region Included are: North America, Europe, Asia Pacific, Oceania, South America, Middle East & Africa

Country Level Break-Up: United States, Canada, Mexico, Brazil, Argentina, Colombia, Chile, South Africa, Nigeria, Tunisia, Morocco, Germany, United Kingdom (UK), the Netherlands, Spain, Italy, Belgium, Austria, Turkey, Russia, France, Poland, Israel, United Arab Emirates, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, China, Japan, Taiwan, South Korea, Singapore, India, Australia and New Zealand etc.

Have Any Questions Regarding Global Photo Booth Software Market Report, Ask Our Experts@ https://www.advancemarketanalytics.com/enquiry-before-buy/91147-global-photo-booth-software-market#utm_source=DigitalJournalVinay

Strategic Points Covered in Table of Content of Global Photo Booth Software Market:

Chapter 1: Introduction, market driving force product Objective of Study and Research Scope the Photo Booth Software market

Chapter 2: Exclusive Summary – the basic information of the Photo Booth Software Market.

Chapter 3: Displaying the Market Dynamics- Drivers, Trends and Challenges & Opportunities of the Photo Booth Software

Chapter 4: Presenting the Photo Booth Software Market Factor Analysis, Porters Five Forces, Supply/Value Chain, PESTEL analysis, Market Entropy, Patent/Trademark Analysis.

Chapter 5: Displaying the by Type, End User and Region/Country 2016-2021

Chapter 6: Evaluating the leading manufacturers of the Photo Booth Software market which consists of its Competitive Landscape, Peer Group Analysis, BCG Matrix & Company Profile

Chapter 7: To evaluate the market by segments, by countries and by Manufacturers/Company with revenue share and sales by key countries in these various regions (2022-2027)

Chapter 8 & 9: Displaying the Appendix, Methodology and Data Source

Finally, Photo Booth Software Market is a valuable source of guidance for individuals and companies.

Read Detailed Index of full Research Study at @ https://www.advancemarketanalytics.com/buy-now?format=1&report=91147#utm_source=DigitalJournalVinay

Craig Francis (PR & Marketing Manager)

AMA Research & Media LLP

Unit No. 429, Parsonage Road Edison, NJ

New Jersey USA – 08837

#Photo Booth Software market analysis #Photo Booth Software Market forecast #Photo Booth Software Market growth #Photo Booth Software Market Opportunity #Photo Booth Software Market share #Photo Booth Software Market trends

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astewartgraphics · 2 years ago

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Picture perfect moments captured forever 📸👰🤵❤️ Kendal and Jason's beach wedding at the stunning Hyatt Regency Clearwater Beach was a fairytale come to life! With the powdery sand between their toes and the clear waters of the Gulf of Mexico as their backdrop, these two exchanged vows and became one. It was a beautiful celebration of love and I was grateful to be a part of it. Congratulations Kendal and Jason! 💑❤️🥰 Swipe to see all the magical moments captured! 💕😍🥰 Follow us @astewartphotovideo for more beautiful photos and videos 🙏❤️ . . . . . Wedding Venue: @hyattregencyclearwater Photographer: @astewartphotovideo #wedding #beachwedding #sunsetlove #happyeverafter #weddingphotography #hyattregencyclearwaterbeach #justmarried #beach #foreverandalways #sunset #clearwaterbeach #bestofweddings #astewartphotovideo #tampaweddingphotographer #weddingwire #tampaweddingphotography #weddingphotographers #weddingphotographer #floridawedding #floridaweddingphotography #theknot #tampaweddingvideo #weddingphotography #clearwaterweddingphotographer #clearwaterphotographer #isaidyesfl #tampaweddingvendor #tampacinematographer #video #tampaweddingphotos (at Hyatt Regency Clearwater Beach Resort and Spa) https://www.instagram.com/p/CoffGDHOn6k/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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abweddingphotographermexico · 5 years ago

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Wedding special moment Speech time Wedding special moment Speech time Riviera Maya Cancun Mexico Photo by Alessandro Banchelli www.photostudioab.com Email:[email protected]

#cancun wedding photography #PhotostudioAB Mexico #Playa del carmen wedding photography #Riviera Cancun wedding photography #Riviera maya wedding photography #Wedding Capturing the moment Moment #Wedding photo and video Package Cancun #Wedding photo and video Package Playa del carmen #wedding photo and video package Riviera Cancun #Wedding photo and video Package Riviera Maya #Wedding photo and video Packages Mexico #wedding photo cancun #wedding photo playa del carmen #wedding photo Riviera cancun #Wedding photo Riviera Maya #wedding photography mexico #Wedding special moment Speech time

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tonkicold · 2 years ago

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Unico riviera maya wedding

I couldn’t have asked for anyone better to capture our wedding.Flights can be added to any package at time of booking. Emily was the best photographer and she was so sweet and attentive. Invest in a great photographer! These pictures are what you’ll have to look back on your special day. Also, something that was very important to me was photography. Also, remember the moment that you first see each other on your wedding day, and let loose at the reception! We made the best memories with our family and friends at the reception that we will be talking about for years. Don’t stress too much over stuff you can’t control. My best advice is to be calm and in the moment. When I walked down the aisle and saw Ryan my nerves disappeared. Once I made my way down to the beach, I was getting very nervous and anxious. The whole day getting ready for the wedding I was very calm. Q: What was your favorite memory from your big day?Ī:My favorite memory from our wedding day was finally getting to see Ryan. I only got one bite of it at the reception, but it was absolutely amazing. The decoration was very minimal, which I loved. It was a two-tier vanilla cake with fresh strawberries mixed in. I had her do white roses and eucalyptus since I knew that I would have eucalyptus and greenery for decoration at the gazebo we got married at.Ī: Our cake was also provided by the resort. I had them made my one of my friends’ mom in my hometown. My bridesmaid’s and the groomsmen’s flowers were artificial. It was a bouquet of white roses Ryan’s boutonniere was a single white rose. My flowers were actually provided for me by the resort. We had it customized to be strapless and it ended up being absolutely perfect. When I purchased it, it had a spaghetti strap style top. My gown was a Martin Thornburg Mon Cheri dress. I purchased my gown from Pomp and Pageantry in Oklahoma City. We have been together now for 4 years now. I had no idea that the first night I moved that I would meet him. Complete fate! When I moved to Oklahoma City from my small hometown, I had hoped I would meet my future husband someday. Ryan and I met on the very first night that I moved to Oklahoma City. I found a lot of my inspiration on Pinterest.Ī little bit of backstory from the bride: I wanted to keep the palette very clean and minimal. I didn’t want a lot of color since we were getting married next to the beach, and the gazebo ended up having a lot of greenery. My main and only color in the wedding was blue (Ryan and I both love the color blue). What was your color palette and style vision? Photography: Emily Nicole Photo | venue: Unico Hotel Riviera Maya | hair and makeup: Adney Artistry | wedding dress: Pomp and Pageantry | The Unico Hotel Riviera Maya in Mexico featured vendors: I could get used to this 😉 UNICO 2087 Hotel Riviera Maya I had so much fun with this crew, sweet friends & family that welcomed me in!! I flew out of OKC with the family & wedding party on Sunday, got to hangout and relax with them around the gorgeous UNICO 20º87º Hotel Riviera Maya till the wedding Wednesday. This wedding took place at the UNICO 2087 Hotel Riviera Maya in Mexico.

#Unico riviera maya wedding

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pettyappreciation · 6 years ago

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“Once In A Lifetime Gig With The Heartbreakers --

January 5, 2009 | By John Siebenthaler

(updated October 4, 2017) The day I met Tom Petty and his band, April 21, 1985, is a wink of an eye in terms of time passing. About the same age, I was a different person then. I don’t think he was. Unassuming, approachable, personable. Genuine comes to mind, 30-plus years later.

I was a student at the University of Florida when he was taking his first steps on a road that didn’t come with any guarantee. We had Gainesville in common.

There wasn’t any pretense, no vulgarity, no need to act out in order to compound who he was — celebrity aside, he was a good ol’ boy indeed. A life well lived. A life cut short.

(ST. PETE BEACH, FL) I wasn’t a huge Tom Petty fan in ’85, with the major exception of his trademark hit, ‘American Girl.’ I tapped my toes because of its track back to Gainesville and for me a connection to Dubs rock ’n roll go-go girl hangout on 441, out on the the outskirts of town, a spectacular backbeat, and of course that whacked out intro. Toss in the slightly out-of-synch harmonies and you’ve got a not-so-instant classic.

When I got a call to shoot a gig at the Don CeSar hotel in St. Pete Beach I thought, ‘Yeah, ok, no big deal.’ In all the years before and since, I’d only been there once — to shoot a friend’s wedding (his third but not last) just the month before.

Bulldozing The Don

I showed up at the Don on time, nonchalantly headed to the desk, pointed to my equipment, and asked where I could find The Band. Yeah, right. No, seriously. Uh, here’s my driver’s license? Okay then just call the room. Turns out, they did. And just like that I was in.

The deal was, Tom had broken his famous hand a few months before and this was the first time since his surgery anyone would have any idea of whether or not he’d still be able to play. Hard to believe now, but before round-the-clock cable blabbermouths hooked mostly on self-adoration and stupidity, it was possible to embargo news to either prevent or spur speculation.

So there I was to record the moment of truth, shooting stock on a referral from Tampa buddy and ace studio shooter Terry Drymon. (Terry had an infamous art collection of model’s other lips on the wall of his studio dressing room. First timers there couldn’t quite figure out how the lipstick impressions on cocktail napkins were created.)

Just me, and MTV in full music video production mode. Which obviously was a huge clue if you were wondering whether or not there was any doubt about whether or not Tom still had a career. I wasn’t that sharp.

The Way It Was, Then

In 1985, there weren’t any automated digital point and shoots, no desktop publishing, no built-in templates and, for purposes of this little tale, no Photoshop.

Neither were there personal computers, damn few cell phone bricks, and fax machines were a status symbol that weighed a ton and cost a fortune.

Photoshoots were covered the old-fashioned way: load up on film, make sure you had backup metering, check your automatic lenses to make sure they would, in fact, automatically stop down to the set aperture when the shutter banged across and then reopen, load everything up and haul the assorted luggage around, through, up and down whatever obstacles popped up.

What I remember is, as metering — first analog, then digital — became more precise, so too did the fanatic obsessive-compulsive behavior to constantly check the reflected light. Not like anything would be changing if, for instance, the assignment would take place on a penthouse patio underneath a brilliant and beautifully beachy Florida spring day.

Lets just say for the sake of discussion we’d be shooting Ektachrome 200, which in this instance would come out to something around f8-11 at 1/500th. More or less, with no bounce off the Astroturf, as it was then referred to, covering the patio.

You With the Band?

I met Wish, who starred as Alice in “Don’t Come Around Here No More,” in the elevator. I didn’t know. This being my first, and last, exclusive assignment shooting a genuine superstar rock group I was more than a little apprehensive. It was only when we both got off on the top floor, me rolling my case dolly, that I figured out she was with the band and proceeded to follow her to the room.

There wasn’t any pretense about the group. The atmosphere was relaxed, the mood laid back, and I was silently praying to the Kodak gods that my putting off overdue lens overhauls wouldn’t catch up with me today. Please, let me capture something worth smiling about.

We mostly waited while the video crew finished laying track and setting lights. When they were satisfied, the band and one way out-of-water photographer headed out onto the patio and in the next few moments I was introduced to the difference between top of their game professional musicians and club bands playing covers. Bang! Straight into ‘American Girl’ and immediately everyone was grinning like Santa came early and the tooth fairy left Travelers Cheques. One word describes the sound — tight. Yeah, these guys really are that good.

Like rock, don’t like rock, it was infectious. Here we were on a beautiful sunny spring day in Florida, on top of a four-star hotel looking out on the intercoastal in one direction and the Gulf of Mexico in the other. About three or four songs into a set that would last nearly two hours, the guests gathered around the pool were trying to figure out what the hell was going on. They knew the music was pouring down from the heavens, but how? Time passed and soon boaters who’d been chased down by their pals began rafting up on the beach and before long you could definitely say…it was a concert.

I kept shooting throughout, even though about the only thing that changed was when Orlando’s Channel 9 chopper dropped in out of the clouds, adding their whap-whap-whap to the band’s output. And then it was over. Hotel security finally decided they’d had enough of the complaints and called the show. Late that same afternoon I shoved however many rolls through the film drop at the lab over in Tampa.

A few weeks later I’d watch along with 60 or 70 million other close friends as the Heartbreakers kicked it in Philly for the American finale to the Live Aid session that started in London.

At the time I was riding a 92-inch Harley Shovel “Blue Pearl” chop, featuring full frontal Frazetta-style airbrushed nudity on the tanks with drag bars and pipes to match the attitude. Riding home from the bar that night all I could hear was a song about an American girl, out on 441. And I sorta’ understood what it was all about.” - http://siebenthalercreative.com/

#Tom Petty #Tom Petty and the Hearbreakers #photo by John Siebenthaler #1985 #John Siebenthaler #Mike Campbell #Benmont Tench #Stan Lynch #Howie Epstein #gonna queue you instead

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