#I’ll definitely workshop them more later AND I want to explore more on their backgrounds and what species of IRL squid/octopus they are!

[rejectclone]

I’ve been on a huge Splatoon kick for MONTHS at this point, so I’ve finally decided to make a Coroika-like OC team! Because since they’re kinda Coroika themed, they have two names, so they’re either named after their gear OR have a codename they use while battling! 🎨🔫

🦑💙🌀 Low-Vis AKA Reject 🌀💙🦑

* Female inkling, she/her

* Natural ink color is is a bright turquoise, which is almost blinding when it’s caught in bright sunlight

* Hairstyle is the iconic Hippie cut, and she’s never changed it in her entire life

* Noticeable facial feature is some near-constant dark circles under her eye mask, even though she does get a full night’s worth of sleep every day. Additionally, the shaping of her eye mask is quite odd, as it’s almost shaped like a pair of sunglasses and is ‘flat’ on top, akin to a straight line

* Sloshing Machine main, secondaries Octobrush (biased towards Sloshers and Brushes + Rollers in general, and they absolutely LOATHE Splatlings and Blasters)

* Hails from Inkopolis, born and raised there for their entire childhood and young adult years

* They’re a indie sofubi artist who moved into Splatsville to sell her original (ancient human culture inspired) sofubi figures to some solid success so far. She does make ends meet by working at Grizz Co., but she has been making good money with her tendency to win small Anarchy tournaments at a good rate

* S+ ranker, pretty big Splat Zones and Tower Control fan, but does enjoy playing Turf incredibly causally

* Leader of the team and is a excellent all-rounder type player, but tends to be a bad sore loser though when suffering from multiple losses in one day, ESPECIALLY after getting a real bad pull from the Shell-Out Machine *cough* pulling a meal ticket *cough*

🐙💗🎛 Aux Box AKA Spare 🎛💗🐙

* Male Octoling, he/him

* Natural ink color is a soft light pink, almost cotton candy-like

* Hairstyle is the Afro cut, but he does have a small X shaped scar on the back of it

* Noticeable facial feature is that due to years of using his favorite main weapon, there is a noticeable ‘dent’ below his right eye socket, on top of his eye mask. Additionally, there are faint scars on top of his knuckles, due to how often his fingers would hit the backside of the trigger guard….. plus getting into occasional fist fights with other competitors

* ONE-TRICK E-Liter 4K Scope main, as he refuses to secondary anything (you’d have to literally kill him to make him just TOUCH any other non-special weapon)

* Hails from Splatville, as he was born and raised there his entire life, amongst other incredibly lucky Octolings whose families dodged being forced to fight in the Great Turf War. Hence, his appearance and demeanor is radically different when compared to Octolings who were in Octavio’s army and defected, and he also seems to be totally disinterested in learning more about his culture’s history

* Once projected to be the next breakout Turf War star in the world, he had suddenly became spiteful in playing that mode and began to dominate Anarchy instead. He seems to be very closed off when being asked why he changed his initial goal in life, and becomes easily agitated when pressed even further on it

* X-Ranker, VERY BIG Rainmaker + Clam Blitz fan and he still absolutely crushes it in Splat Zones and Tower Control

* Second member to join the team, as he was impressed by Low-Vis’ prowess in a random Splatfest match, and was shockingly open to making a causal team, although he does overtake the leadership role every one in awhile (and he does rule with a iron fist, either to incredibly positive success or devastating failure)

🐙💜🌫 Yamagiri AKA Haze 🌫💜🐙

* Female Octoling, she/her

* Natural ink color is a bright lavender, but she can also turn it into a deeper red, essentially on-command

* Hair style is a mixture between the ‘traditional’ Octarian hair cut, and the Pony cut

* Noticeable facial feature is that oddly enough, her eye’s sclera are still tinted green. Additionally, she wears black eyeliner on top of her naturally purple eye mask, to try to fit in more amongst other Inkfish

* Mains Splatana Stamper, secondaries Octo Shot (the LEGITIMATE REAL thing, not at all the replica version)

* Hails from Inkopolis square, but she initially came from Octo Valley and moved into Splatsville for a fresher start in rebuilding up her life

* A former Octarian Army member, she has become disillusioned by the actions of her past and now deeply craves normalcy, once she heard the Calamari Inkantation

* Diehard Tableturf player, as she has a near-complete collection of every card that’s in active play and is a very tough competitor to beat. She makes a living off of the thrill of buying card packs and selling off the rares and secret rares she pulls, and does box set unboxing streams (although she only shows her hands when opening up the card packs, and even wears gloves when she does it to help obscure the shape of her fingertips)

* Third player to join the team, as she genuinely dislikes playing Turf or Anarchy, but does do it for the extra money and tickets at least, as she’s also addicted to the Shell-Out Machine, just like Low-Vis

🦑💛🎣 Paintball AKA Delta 🎣💛🦑

* Male inkling, he/they

* Natural ink color is a muddy yellow, but it can clear up to a more bolder yellow when they’re submerged in other Inkfishes’ ‘cleaner’ yellow ink.

* Hair style is the Spiky-Haired cut, but sometimes he does change it to the Buzz-Cut by just shaving off the spikes on top

* Noticeable facial feature is that the fangs on their beak are so long, that they peek through their lips, essentially causing them to have their mouth always agape so it doesn’t hurt as much. Additionally, their upper arms/upper legs/shoulders/back has some odd looking birthmarks, almost as if his natural biological ink is bleeding through his skin, and is dripping down their entire backside?……

* Krak-On Roller main, secondaries Explosher but on incredibly rare occasions

* Hails from Inkopolis Square?….. not even he himself is sure.

* Supposedly suffers from retrograde amnesia, as they lurk around Splatville at ‘dead’ hours, seemingly just ‘observing’ what’s going on in the area, with a almost dazed expression. It’s unknown where he even lives, as he’s almost always found at the Grizz Co building

* Profreshional Overfisher, as they’re UTTERLY OBSESSED with working at Grizz Co, as he works well over his usual full-time shifts to the point where the company had to tell him to literally go on vacation due to legal reasons. It is said that when out on the job, his normally dazed and meek behavior is RADICALLY changed to a more strict and intimidating aura, almost as if they’re a whole other person?…..

* Last member to join the team, as they are horrifically shy amongst others and is seemingly too scared to use his Kraken special for some odd reason?….. It is a miracle how Yamagiri managed to coax him into joining the team, as she does see potential in having a high ranking Salmon Runner who is INCREDIBLY acutely aware of his surroundings, when in the heat of battle

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

A Family of Five- Part 6: Ready

Calum and Harlowe’s marriage hasn’t always been easy, but it has always been filled with love. This is a collaborative experience with In Sorrow and In Joy. Dad!Calum. Black OC.

CW: Over the course of this series, there are mentions of pregnancy, therapy, and postpartum depression. There is also 18+ Content (Smut)

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No one has my permission to repost my work of fiction. This includes translations as well. 

_____________________________________________

Luke finishes the last of the dishes. Noor’s at the bar, reading over her lines before the bus. Zahara dangles the keys to her car on her finger, waiting for Zeek to grab the charger for his tablet from his room. The house is quiet. He finds himself wondering how long that it will last. The question is answered a minute later when a shout rings out, “Babe!”

“There goes the silence,” he chuckles, wiping hands on the dish rag. “Yeah?” he calls out, taking the stairs two at a time to the bedroom. 

You turn around, dressed in black jeans and your pajama shirt. “Where’s that heart button up shirt?”

“That’s actually Calum’s shirt,” he grins leaning up against the frame of the door. 

A groan falls over your lips. Out of habit, you reach up and fix the bun of your curly hair and mutter to yourself. Of course, your favorite shirt to steal wasn’t actually Luke’s. He probably took it from Calum’s case on their last tour, last year, and only just recently realized that it didn’t belong in your closet. You could go without the shirt. But it annoys the crap out of you, that you couldn’t finish the outfit that you had been planning for days now for the first day back to school. 

“Now that I think about it. That’s definitely his t-shirt too. Forgot to give it back,” Luke states. 

You look down at the gray t-shirt covering your body. “So, you’re telling me, Harlowe’s gonna call asking for this shirt eventually.”

He shrugs. “Only if she knows the shirt is gone.”

You roll your eyes, peeling off the shirt and stealing inside the blue button up of Luke’s. “Honesty, one of these days y’all need to go through your closets and figure this shit out.” You’ll call Harlowe. She’ll know where that heart button up is. And more importantly, she’ll be willing to trade. 

“You and Harlowe end up stealing stuff from us!” he laughs. “It’s not all our fault.”

“Shush, I said that you two need to figure out what belongs to who and then she and I can figure out what’s up for trading and what has to stay. You didn’t let me finish.” Tossing the shirt at Luke, you laugh a little at his flail, startled by the action. “Start a load of laundry please. Use the kid’s detergent. Harlowe’s skin is sensitive.”

“For one shirt?” he jokes, his high pitched shout cracking a little on the the word ‘one’. “I’ll at least wash some of the kids stuff too.”

“That’s the idea!” you shout to his retreating figure. With the last of the shirt buttoned, you pick up your phone. As you open to your recent messages, Harlowe’s name is right at the top. 

The phone rings twice before you can hear her shouting in the background. “Esha, it doesn’t even take me this long to put a face on in the morning, c’mon. You’re beautiful and I will fight anyone that says otherwise.”

Calum’s laughter filters in from the background before his voice fills the line. “You’ve reached Harlowe’s phone. She’s currently helping Esha figure out mascara. Can I take a message?”

“She’s really letting Esha wear makeup to school, huh?” you ask. The debate on whether Esha could wear makeup to school was definitely a long one. You remembered just a couple months ago when it first started, during the summer. Harlowe and Calum feared she’d go off the deep in, but didn’t want her to feel like she couldn’t explore in the world of make up or self expression. You just had no idea that they had agreed on anything yet. Granted, you all kept up well, some things inevitably would fall through the cracks. Between getting syllabi together and raising kids, some news unfortunately fell to the waste side. 

“It was a long battle. We agreed to mascara and lipstick. Nude lipstick though. Specifically a nude lipstick.”

You nod. “Sounds like a smart choice.” 

More laughter floats in from the background. “Keep looking up, you’re not going to poke yourself I promise,” Harlowe chuckles.

“But I could!” Esha retorts. “This is scary.”

“So,” Calum says, “I know you called for a reason.”

“I was trying to see if a certain item of clothing could be up for trades. It appears that I, really Luke, but by extension me as well, have a certain t-shirt that belongs to you. And a certain heart button up shirt was not Luke’s, which is disheartening.”

“The gray one with Conway studios on it?”

“That’s the one.”

“She was looking for that last night. Hold on second.” There’s muffled talking in the background. “So, while Harlowe’s sad about losing the heart button up, she’s willing to trade.”

“It’s your shirt, technically.”

Calum laughs. “She has taken my closet. Nothing is mine anymore except my shoes. If she could wear those, she’d probably take them too. Like right now, she’s in my green plaid pants. It’s a great outfit, but I was the one that pulled the pants down this morning.”

“You’re going to the studio! You know you would’ve opted for jeans anyway,” Harlowe bellows.

“I would’ve at least like the option, baby. At least give me the option.” There’s a shuffling sound and Harlowe finally speaks.

“Ignore him, girl. He’s just pissy this morning.”

“So tonight we’ll trade shirts. I had this whole first day look planned, but of course, the shirt I wanted, wasn’t Luke’s shirt.

“Okay, normal table. I’ll see you then.”

__

Even before opening the door, you know what the place smells like, sounds like. You and Harlowe have been coming here every Wednesday before the twins were born. It’s ritual to walk in, hearing the clack of pool balls on the smooth red velvet and a white buzz of voices. It’s ritual to smell beer, but also the famous cheese fries cooking in the back. The place is old, but it somehow feels right. No, this wasn’t always your cup of tea. But Harlowe fell in love with the place, her second collection of poetry was birthed here. So on Wednesdays, this is where you two sat, chatting about the week previous, the week ahead. Talking about husbands, and kids. Talking about students and universities. You two worked at different schools. You do this for cheese fries, the laughs, the gossip. But more importantly, you do this for her, because she needed something to look forward to after the post partum depression from Esha. 

Inside, you spot her afro at the bar, “the normal table.” “If that’s a virgin rum and ginger ale, today was fine. But it’s a virgin Caribbean Rum Punch, someone’s trying to fuck themselves up,” you laugh, sliding into the bar stool next to Harlowe. 

She laughs, slinging an arm across your shoulders, resting her head for a moment onto your shoulder. “Yo got me. Just ginger ale. How were your classes?” She straightens, pulling her arm away. 

“There’s a freshman in my 300 level class. The fear was real in there eyes, looking at the syllabus.”

“How did they get into that class?”

You shrug. “No one asked for an override into class. My assumption is that they thought they were hot shit and signed up.”

“Didn’t even check RateMyProfessor, I bet,” Harlowe grins, flagging down a bartender.

The man walks over with an easy grin, closing his eyes and taking a deep breathe. “Let me guess.You’re going to order a plate of cheese fries. Ranch dipping on the side.”

“It’s like we’re regulars or something,” Harlow laughs. 

“Or something,” he chuckles, then turns to put the order in. 

“Well not all of us teach poetry and fiction. Some of us have to have reading lists a mile long,” you counter. 

Her laugh fills the room practically. “You make the syllabus. It does not have to be a mile long. You clearly just like suffering and taking your students down with you.”

Feigning shock, you gasps, turning around. “I don’t need this kind of negativity in my life.”

She chuckles, watching you. “Go ahead then. Run from the truth. But who’s the one that complains everything you have to reread those sections--you.”

“I cannot believe you’d read me like that in this here fine establishment.” This causes both of you to laugh, Harlowe falling into you a little, her laughter bouncing around in your eardrum. “How were your classes?”

With a smile resting on her face, she leans onto her elbows, toying at the glass. “Good. One girl came up to me after class and said she had signed up specifically for my section of poetry workshop because I was the only Black professor. Like I know this isn’t Kansas, to use a really dated expression, anymore. Like I know this isn’t the States, but it still means a lot be there for someone that needs it.”

“When’s your Fiction workshop?”

“Tomorrow. I’m teaching that in the morning and then the second section of intro to creative writing in the afternoon.”

“Must be nice,” you tease. 

Harlowe barks a laugh. “I’m not the one that spent years getting their Ph.D. in History, only to bitch about being the exact thing they wanted to be. So yeah, it is nice to enjoy my job.” Both woman laugh and the steaming bucket of fries is placed between them. Two glasses of water also thuds against the worn wooden counter. 

“How are my babies though?” There’s something in the way she asks that. You watch her face as she rummages into the depths of her bag. You catch nothing on her face. She pulls out the black button up and hands it over to you. You wipe your hands on a napkin and find the soft gray cotton in your backpack. You guys trade shirts.

“My babies are good.”

Harlowe huffs, biting hard into the fried potato. “Oh hush, I’m their aunt. They are effectively my children too.”

“What do you know that I don’t know?”

Harlowe shakes her head, reaching for her drink. “If I tell you, I break code.”

“It’s irksome that you know things before me,” you sigh. But you respect it. Your kids and Harlowe have a code. Though you desperately wish you weren’t always the last one to know about things, you understood. Sometimes the kids wanted to handle stuff by themselves, they didn’t want to always come to you or Luke. They maybe felt embarrassed having to go to their parents about everything. 

“They know they can talk to you, girl. They know.”

“I’m just the last to know. I feel so left out.”

“If you think Te Koha, Esha or even Nikau even tell me everything, you’re wrong.” Harlowe downs the her glass. “Children will not tell parents everything. Did you tell your mom everything?”

“Hell no.”

“Exactly my point.”

The first plate of fries is just about empty. Harlowe’s ordered a second drink when a presence slides up to the left of you. The cologne is familiar. As you giggle at Harlowe’s story about the disaster at the printer today before her class, you feel Luke’s hand resting gently on your lower back. You wondered when they would come up. When you walked in, you made a beeline for Harlow at the bar. Luke went to the table Calum had on the floor somewhere. You guys always do this. Split up, just for a little bit to have a little time away from each other. To talk all the junk you couldn’t do when your spouse was right there. It was always nice to have these moments away, to yourself, to be quiet and listen to Harlowe dramatically retell her adventures of the day or week. 

Her story finishes, an exasperated sigh falling over her lips before he speaks. “Can I get a pretty girl like you a drink?”

With an eye roll, you gently press into his chest for a quick hug. “Buy us another round of fries, and then we’ll talk.”

He laughs, palm brushing up and down your satin covered back. “Sounds reasonable.” 

“Ranch on the side for my friend here,” you add on, gently tapping his chest. 

“Please,” Harlowe adds, batting her eyelashes. 

“I’m right here,” Calum laughs, settling down next to her. 

“Are you buying me french fries?” she shoots back, resting her head into his chest. 

His arm wraps around her, almost protectively. “I’m the one you go home with.”

She reaches up, tapping the end of his nose with her finger. They’ve always been way more affectionate. You pretend to gag, before burying your face into your glass of water. She just buries herself deeper into him before raising her middle finger to you. “That’s rude!” Luke interjects, voice turning up into a laugh. 

As the second and third, due to Calum’s ordering, basket of fries comes out. It feels like old times, like being twenty three again during the summer before your second year for your Master’s program. When you forced Harlowe to get up on that dinky stage and read her poems. When Calum and Luke approached the two of you at the end of the night. It feels like you’ve got nothing but time, nothing by belly laughs and Harlowe and Calum’s antic, the lovingly nagging, the teases, you and Luke’s quiet moments, whispers. It’s nothing but being twenty three again. 

Until a phone chimes. The time of youth is over. You finish off the last few fries, cleaning off your fingers. Luke’s hand slides into yours. It’s Harlowe’s phone and she sighs. “Gotta get back to relieve Te Koha of babysitting duties,” she mutters. 

Calum leans in close to her, “Can I come home with you?” He’s only a few beers in this evening. Nowhere near as far as he can go.

“Hmm,” Harlowe chuckles, nails dragging under his chin, “Depends on how well you handle three kid.”

“Some might say I’m an expert,” he laughs. 

“An expert in making them,” Luke jokes, with a whistle. 

“That’s all you,” Calum teases. “Some of us made the choice a lot time ago to shoot blanks.”

“We are not having this discussion right here,” you interject. 

Harlowe pushes on Calum’s shoulder, to get him walking towards the door. She digs into his jacket pocket, retrieving the kids. “I’ll talk to you probably in an hour,” she laughs. “Good luck, getting your drunk giant home.”

“Do not remind me,” you call before adding, “Love you.”

She shouts over her shoulder. “Love you too. I covered half the bill.”

“I covered half,” Calum corrects loudly. 

“Will you be quiet and walk you drunk piece of man. Let’s go. Kids. Kids. We gotta get to our kids.”

You drive the two of you back. Luke hums quietly along to the radio for a while. His leg bounce. You watch him at a red light. “What’s up?” you ask, pressing your palm into his denim-cladded thigh. 

“Do you know what’s up with Ra?”

You had noticed she was way more quiet than usual. This is whatever Harlowe knew but you did. Luke continues, his voice panicked. “I tried asking her what was up, but she wouldn’t budge. I’m not sure if you know.”

“I don’t know either.”

His sigh is heavy. You can imagine his fingers carding through his hair as the stress settles onto his forehead. “Is it college stress? Boy trouble? If it’s boy trouble, I’m kicking someone’s ass,” he murmurs. 

“Call Harlowe too.”

Luke chuckles, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Yeah, I can’t forget her. What do you think it is?”

You don’t even want to try and think about that, what darkness is potentially overcoming your baby girl. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens. You’d go through hell and back for your kids. Sure you weren’t always the most affectionate person, but you’d be damned if your kids were going through some shit and didn’t at least know you were in their corner for them. The rest of the drive you and Luke try not to envision all the terrible scenarios. Had someone hurt her? Touched her the wrong way? Was she failing a class? Did something happen to a friend? Did she think that you and Luke weren’t there for her anymore?

With the car parked in the driveway, you two climb out of the car and share a concerned glance before walking inside. Ra’s chilling on the couch, Noor passed out in her lap, the TV’s on. It’s not barely nine. “You’re free of being pretend mom,” Luke says softly. 

Ra looks up with a small smile. “How were drinks?”

“Good. Anything happen here?” you asks.

“If it had, trust I would’ve called. After you guys left after dinner, we all finished up some homework. Or rather they finished up, and then Zeek showered and start drawing. Noor and I watched some TV. She had those physical fitness test today, so she’s pretty exhausted I guess.”

Luke nod, kissing both their foreheads. “We’ve got her. Finish up that work, yeah?”

Ra nods. “How many pints, Dad?” she laughs. 

He shakes his head. “Hush. Only a few more months and then I’ll take you out.”

“Oh, God, please spare me that embarrassment.”

“Okay, so Auntie Harlowe can take you out on my dime, how about that?”

She grins. “Now you’re talking.”

Luke pulls her in for one last hug, kissing her hair. “Go finish your work, missy.”

As Ra ascends the stairs, you wait until she reaches the first landing before stopping her, a gentle hand on her back. “Hey,” you start, looking into her eyes. The twinkle is gone. She looks tired. “You know I’m here right, for you. Both your dad and I are. You can tell us anything.”

She nods, lips pursing close. “I know. Thanks, Mum. Got a paper to finish though.” She lifts her thumb over her shoulder to the stairs, to her room, to her escape. You nod. She turns and takes them two at a time. She’s not ready. You can’t force her. 

It’s another two weeks. Zahra walks in through the door behind Noor and Zeek, closing the door behind her. “Hey guys,” you call out, tending over the pot of pasta. 

Zeek kisses your cheek and Noor buries herself in a giant hug. Ra doesn’t round the corner. You peek around and see her leaning against the glass, hands covering her face. Her shoulders shake once, twice. She’s crying. Before you can set yourself in motion towards her, she throws herself into you, tears staining her cheek, streaking her make-up. “Fuck,” she whimpers, shaking against you. 

Your heart thunders in your chest. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay.” Part of you is frozen. What the hell is happening? But the other part is ready to fix whatever it is. Whatever is heavy in her soul. “Talk--talk to me, baby. I’m right here,” you attempt to soothe. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know,” she hiccups. “I know emotions are totally not our thing. But god, I’m so tired of holding this in anymore.”

The two of you stand there, you rubbing at her back and she sobs into your skin, her tears feeling like fire. What else could you have done to get her to open up sooner? What else could you have said? “You’re ready now,” you whisper. “It’s okay.”

It takes a few minutes for Zahra to collect herself. Her cheeks are streak a little. But she takes a deep breathe. “Did my mascara run?”

You shake your head, a smile cracking through the fear. “No. Told you that shit would hold.”

She laughs. The two of you head into the kitchen, you hand her some tissues. She’s much taller than you, taking her height from Luke. You have to look up at her a little. Rubbing her arms, you find yourself at lost for words. Wait until she’s ready, you think to yourself. Wait until she’s ready. Zeek hands her a glass of water. “Your face didn’t melt too bad.”

“Thanks,” Ra mutters, taking a sip. “And you’re still a pain in my butt.”

“I’m the best pain,” he smiles, hugging her. 

“Can I talk to you and Dad, when he gets here?” Ra says quietly behind her glass. 

You nod. “Of course.”

Luke arrives home about an hour later. Just as dinner is finished. He immediately notes the pink to Zahra’s face and flashes you a look. You respond with a gesture of your hand, telling him to wait, to not jump the gun. But Zahra knows when her hug is a few seconds longer than usual. Dinner goes by nicely, though Zeek does make one comment, “So we’re not going to discuss the emotional breakdown or?”

“Shove your mouth with pasta or there’s gonna be another breakdown and not from me,” Ra smiles. 

Zeek huffs, “No need to take my head off, okay?”

Noor reaches over, holding Ra’s hand, while shoveling more food onto her fork. “Some of us know our manners,” she quips. 

Luke and you try to swallow the snickers. Your children did learn from the best. Zeek and Noor get excused from the table. You know the kitchen’s a mess but that can wait. Zahra looks up from her empty plate. “So, like, what if I said I wasn’t sure I was straight?” she asks all in one breathe. 

You blink for a second, all the air rushing out of your lungs, before you smile. “I would say I’m very happy you told me.”

She looks to Luke. He takes her hand between his palms. “I would say that I love you no matter what. Straight or not, you’re still my daughter and I love you dearly. And it’s mighty brave of you to admit that.”

Zahra blinks rapidly, eyes welling up again. “It’s--” her voice is thick, she takes a moment. “It’s strange. To always have known something was different with me. Not just skin color or religion. But like something different. I don’t have a label for it. And I tried to push it down, ya know? Not think about it amongst all the college application deadlines, and dances, and school work mixed in with my job. I just….it’s been too long for me not to say something.”

You hand her a napkin. She dabs under her eyes. “You don’t need a label, sweetie. You don’t have to be afraid of us. We will always love you.”

“Always?” she questions. 

“Of course,” you and Luke chorus. 

“So, on top of that, I also don’t think artsy is my thing, Dad. I like the idea of Med school.”

Luke grins, placing one hand over his heart, faking a groan of pain. “I still got two more shoots at one of my kids turning to the arts.”

Zahra laughs looking over to you. “Every Brown parent’s dream, isn’t it?”

You nod, laughter bursting out of you. “Maybe just a little bit. I don’t care what you do, just as long as you love it, sweetheart.”

“That’s really a one two punch,” Luke jokes, later as the three of you clean the kitchen. “Really breaking your old man’s heart.”

You slap his bicep. “Now’s not the time.”

Zahra hugs him though from behind, cheek squished by his back. “I figured if you guys could handle me being a giant question mark in the sexuality department then maybe changing from arts to sciences would be easier to swallow.”

Luke turns in her embrace, wrapping her up tightly. “Yeah, a good way to deliver the news.” You let your cheeks lift, watching Zahra happily rests in her father’s arms for a beat or two longer before going back to putting the dishes up. It’s no longer heaviness in her shoulders, she no longer drags. That makes you happy.

Not even two hours later though, there’s a knock at the door. Luke answers it, his laughter erupting from him. You watch as Harlowe comes barreling down the entryway, a rainbow flag in her hands. She wraps Ra up in as she hugs her, rocking them both side to side. “Welcome to the club!” Harlowe laughs. 

Calum, Te Koha, Esha and Nikau follow in slowly behind her. If you had to equate the two of you to weather, Harlowe is a hurricane and your just the run of the mill thunderstorms. But you wouldn’t have her any other way. Esha walks over, prying her mother away from her life long friend. “So, we’re going to pride together or what?” Esha jokes, giving Zahra a hug. Esha has been out as pan for a year now. Calum and Harlowe took her to a few pride events since then. 

Ra laughs, “Yeah, yeah I guess we can.”

Te Koha steps dish out a hug too. “That’s very brave and you. I’m proud,” he says quietly. Zahra and him are in the same boat, not straight, not gay, just questions, just queer. Te Koha has not said anything. She hopes this pushes him. You watch their silent conversation before Nikau hugs her too and it ends. 

“Momma brought you cake,” Nik informs to Ra. 

She laughs. “Of course, you did Auntie Harlowe. Only you.”

“I’ve been quiet for weeks! Weeks, I told you i would not say anything until you came out. But I hope you’re ready because now, I’m not holding back!” Harlowe laughs, walking into the kitchen. That’s when it comes evident that her rainbow clips are holding back her two-strand twists from her face. You laugh at the detail, but happily take the slice of cake she hands you. 

“Thank you,” you say to Harlowe as the kids chat in the background. Ra’s still wearing the flag. “Thank you for being there for her.”

“It’s what I’m here for. I do not take the title aunt loosely.”

“Clearly,” you mutter, motion to the cake and the flag. “You make that abundantly clear.”

[horrushaddok]

|| Get to know HORRUS HADDOK who’s TWENTY-SEVEN years old and works as a CRAFTSMAN in town. He is from SCOTLAND and is often times mistaken for FRANCISCO LACHOWSKI while others say he reminds them of HICCUP from HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON. ||

BACKGROUND ;;

Your life was planned for you before you were even born. Son of Stoick Haddok, the most influential political leader your city has seen in a long time. Not only does he lead with strength, not only does he inspire people - but he’s incorruptible, good hearted and steady to the very end. Everyone expects the same of his son - that Horrus Haddok will grow up as a great leader just like his father.

There are a few precious years where you’re too young to know what those expectant looks mean. Where you’re just a son growing up with a father who loves him, who does his best to pass on his strength and wisdom, to make sure his son knows he’s loved. You idolise your father before you even know what it means to idolise anyone.

But as you grow, you learn - people expect you to be your father. To grow with the same strength and courage as him, to follow in his footsteps and do everyone in your home proud. You’re expected to measure up to Stoick. And you try - god knows you try, you try to inspire, you try to be a leader. You’re innovative, you’re smart as a whip and you try to use that to make people believe in you.

But pressure is a terrible thing, and your fear of failure, of letting down the man you’ve looked up to your whole life, it makes you a little awkward and unsure. Every sentence, every time you try to speak, to inspire, you remember those expectant faces, the way people have been looking at you since you were an infant, and you choke. Whatever you intend to say is gone, usually replaced by something flat and disjointed. You stutter and stammer, earning you the nickname ‘Hiccup’ early on. You hate it.

Those looks change. Harsher, more judgemental. Whispers and rumours float around that, maybe, Stoick’s son isn’t up to the task. That this amazing leadership will end with him. You’re six when you run away into a nearby forrest, seeking refuge for a little while. You hide with the animals, they’re cautious of you at first, a little defensive and some downright vicious, but your non-threatening, caring nature is enough to win them over and you find friends you never expected.

The forest is where you find Toothless, years and years later, when you’re fourteen and ready to run away from it all for good. An injured wildcat, crying out for help, his broken leg making him a liability to his pack who have left him behind and you know you have to help him. You take him home, you nurse him back to health, you name him - and as he gets better, he takes care of you too. Even once he’s healed, Toothless refuses to leave, choosing to stay with the boy who helped him rather than return to a pack that abandoned him. From then onwards, one is rarely seen without the other.

You try, you keep trying, keep doing your best to live up to everyone’s expectations, but - part of you retreats. In hopes of finding something you’re not good at, you latch onto those innovations, inventions and ideas and creations with which you feel most at home. You begin to craft - only small things at first, but eventually you can create almost anything given time and decent materials. So many nights you can be found in your little workshop, Toothless sleeping peacefully on your desk as you work on a new design of some kind.

You’re fifteen when you sit down with your father and tell him you want to follow a different path. He’s disappointed, of course he is - Stoick always hoped you would follow him, that you would be the next great leader, but the harder you try the further away that dream seems to be. It takes a little time, but your father loves you, and beyond anything else wants you to be happy. Even if that means following your own path, as uncertain as that might be.

You never really escape that expectation though - it’s shifted, more of an air of disappointment once it becomes clear you have no intention of following your father. It’s not until you receive the opportunity to move to Corona that you feel you’ll really have a chance to be free of that.

And so you pack up, nervous about leaving your home behind but supported by your father’s blessing, and you and Toothless. relocate to Corona. And finally, finally, you’re free to be you.

PERSONALITY ;;

Horrus is generally just a nice guy ! He’s kind and a little sassy from time to time but generally just good at heart and wants to try and do the right thing. He doesn’t really realise it because he’s never had the right opportunity to find out, but he is in fact a good leader, strongly influenced by his father, but he’s never pushes that kind of direction in his life.

He’s going to be much more relaxed and at ease in Corona - sure, adjusting to a new place has been hard but it’s been such a good opportunity for him to just be himself that he wants very much to just make the most of it and be the best he can be. He’s even opened his own craftsmanship store and he’s absolutely thriving.

He’s not the kind of man who will stand back if someone’s doing the wrong thing - he will always stand up for the little guy, especially considering he was a little guy for so long himself.

Toothless is his best friend - in this verse, he’s a scottish wildcat! They’re an endangered species and generally reclusive but thanks to spending so many years with Horrus he’s adjusted to being around people. He’s now very playful and generally receptive to meeting new people, but will always be with Horrus. You will often see him draped around Horrus’ neck or perched on his shoulders - no small feat, considering scottish wildcats aren’t small, but the two of them are used to it bu now.

WANTED CONNECTIONS ;;

The underdogs - kids he can mentor and take care of, kids who have been bullied or left our or pressured throughout their lives. Horrus knows how this feels first hand and now that he’s older and more settled in who he is, he definitely wants to help these kids find their passions and come out of their shells. This can basically be anyone younger than him ! ( 0/? )

Regular Clients - people who come to Horrus for his crafts and his inventions! Who like to push the limits and see what he can create, who like to challenge him ! ( 0/? )

Thrill-seekers - Horrus has an adventurous streak, he doesn’t like sitting still and being stagnant, he wants to try new things, wants to explore and god knows he’d love some friends - natives to Corona or otherwise - who will help him find the most exciting parts of Corona to explore. ( 1/3 ) ( Merida Dunbroach )

People from his past - maybe not necessarily people who knew him before he moved to Corona, but people who’ve heard of his family and his father, who still hold that little bit of judgement for him not following Stoick’s path. ( 0/2 )

Ok that’s all I’ve got for now but i’ll add more as i think of them !! 

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Over-protective Avengers, with Rhodey in first line, are blocking Bucky when he want to stay alone with Tony. Ofc Tony isn't aware, and Bucky doesn''t know if he should kill them or be thankful that they care for Tony. Brownie points if Steve is in Rhodey's team.

How to get away with (murder) Tony - Chapter 1 of 2

“Ithought you had that briefing with General Whatshisname like…five minutes ago?”Tony squints at Rhodey from the other side of the dining table.

“Hecan wait,” the Iron Patriot shrugs, sending a meaningful look Bucky’s way.

IfBucky wasn’t so hungry, he would gladly give up his PB&J sandwiches andsmear them all over the Colonel’s smug face.

“Soyou can finish your breakfast? Wow, Rhodey, you’re going all kinds of rebellately. I’m proud,” Tony chuckles, completely unaware of what is reallyhappening here – as usual.

Atfirst, Bucky thought it was just a coincidence. He would come into the roomwith only Tony in it and within seconds someone else would materialize out ofthin air. He’d go down to the workshop for his scheduled arm maintenance andhalf of the team would already be there, even though they rarely venture downthere. He’d read a book instead of watching the movie the team’s picked up towatch and even two hours after the credits roll, Rhodes and Banner wouldn’t movean inch from their spot on the couch where the engineer fell asleep.

Itreally didn’t take a genius to figure out this particular pattern.

TheAvengers refuse to leave him alone with Tony Stark. Banner, Natasha andespecially Rhodes always keep hanging around whenever he could possibly end upalone with the engineer. Not that he necessarily wanted to be left alone withhim – or anyone, at first – but it’s been months since he’s wrestled controlover the Winter Soldier and had been officially declared an Avenger himself.

It’sclearly not enough to warrant him any alone time with Tony.

Dothey really think he would hurt the man?! Why would he? Tony’s been nothing butnice to him since the beginning. He’s helped him a lot throughout his recovery,not just with his arm that’s now more Stark-made than HYDRA, but in general.He’s been a good friend to him. The joking, the laughter, the nonsensicalscience babbling…everything Tony related makes Bucky feel all kinds of funnylately. Hell, even the Winter Soldier likes him. His normally imposing presencewithin his mind gets all…soft when Tony’s around.

AndBucky would love nothing more than to explore all that a little bit further…butfirst, he needs to figure out why is he on the Avengers’ Alone-with-Tony blacklistor he’s getting nowhere.

(read-more ahead) 

“Well,time to go to work,” Tony announces, refilling his coffee cup. “The new WidowBites are coming along nicely. I’m almost afraid to give them to Natasha…she’sscary enough as is.”

“Agreed,”he mumbles, earning a grin from Tony.

“Idon’t think you need to worry. Your arm versus the Widow Bites? My bet’s on thearm.”

Rhodeysnorts. “Widow Bites ain’t what he should be scared of,” he smirks, wigglinghis eyebrows at Bucky.

Yeah,the Widow Bites are nothing compared to Natasha’s savage combat techniques. Shestrikes hard and…aims low. Of all the Avengers – Hulk included – Bucky tries tosteer clear of her the most.

Tonyfrowns at his best friend. “Scared? What do you mean scared? He’s the WinterSoldier, he ain’t scared of nothing.”

Damn straight, the Winter Soldier agrees.He seldom emerges like this; ever since Bucky has control over him, he usuallystays silent, brooding deep within his mind. But he’s taken a certain interestin their current predicament.

“Surething,” Rhodey nods, careful not to sound toosarcastic. “I’ll be sure to tell Natasha how fearless he is.”

Sonof a b –

Just kill him, the Soldier suggests,almost sounding bored.

Buckyrolls his eyes and wonders if the Avengers maybe still have a point. Should heever lose it and snap into the Soldier, he would likely massacre them all –just to get five damn minutes alone with Tony.

We’ve been over this, Soldier. Killingpeople doesn’t solve problems.

It would solve this problem, the Soldier retorts and Bucky’s all out of arguments.

“Youbetter pray I don’t tell her about you stealing her knife from the gym locker,”Tony smirks this time and it’s enough to make Rhodeswiden his eyes.

GoTony.

“Youwouldn’t.”

“Hellyeah I would. Now, are you going to that briefing or what?” he asksimpatiently.

Rhodes glares at Tony first, then at Bucky and finally, he moves to leave.“Wanna share the elevator on the way down?”

SONOF A B –

“Liketwo teenage gossip girls? Of course,” he nods but pauses, glancing at Buckywith a strange look. He clears his throat and follows the Colonel out of thekitchen. “Later, Bucky,” he calls over his shoulder in a hurry and disappearsdown the hallway.

Kill them all, problem solved.

Hegroans, wishing it would be that simple. Not that he’d expect the Soldier tounderstand that killing someone’s friends won’t solve any problems at all. In away, Bucky’s glad – glad that Tony has someone looking out for him. All the time. Now if he could only jointhe protective squad instead of being the one they’re protecting Tony from.

Fine. Don’t kill them. Evade them.

Buckyraises a surprised eyebrow at the suggestion.As in…

Treat it like a mission. Evade theenemies. Get to the target.

Despitehimself, Bucky smiles. And if enemiessurround the target?

Play by your rules, not theirs. Usedistraction. Confuse them.

Right.Yeah! He can actually do that. So maybe the Soldier is on the road to recoveryhimself.

Or just kill them.

“Spoketoo soon,” he whispers, shaking his head, but a battle plan is already beingdrawn in his mind.

4AM is the perfect time. Nobody’s awake at this hour – nobody but Tony, whenhe’s in some kinda inventing frenzy. Bucky spent the past week carefullyobserving the team’s schedule and decided 4 AM is where it’s at. His chance tosneak into the workshop and –

“Ohhey, Bucks!”

Seriously?!

“Whatare you up to?” Steve asks, standing next to him by the elevator in his jogginggear. He never runs before five! What the…

You should have killed this one atleast. I told you.

It’sfine. It’s just Steve. Out of everyone else, Bucky believes Steve’s presencewas coincidental at best at all times. He’s going for a run. There’s no way he’sgoing to Tony-block him.

“Thearm’s bothering me. Thought Tony could take a look at it if he’s workin’.”

Idiot, the Soldier sighs in the background.When did the Soldier expand his vocabulary?

Stevesuddenly looks like a supersoldier caught in headlights. “Tony? In theworkshop? Now?” he blurts out.

“Uh…yeah?He’s been working all sorta hours lately…figured I could try goin’ down thereand - ”

“Yeah!I mean, that’s a great idea!” Steve smiles, but he still looks awkward. “I’lljoin in! He wanted some feedback on my suit upgrade, so might as well scratchthat off my to-do list before breakfast.”

Buckyjust blinks at his supposed best friend and numbly follows him into theelevator. Et tu, Steve?!

Saturdayevening is the perfect time. Bucky observed that after every mission, eachAvenger has their ritual. Clint makes himself an obscenely large bowl ofoatmeal and watches cartoons on Netflix. Steve stays on his floor and doodles.Natasha sharpens her knives. And so on. Tony spends his post-mission time onthe rooftop. Sometimes he lazily munches on various take-out foods, other timeshe just lays sprawled on the sun beds watching clouds or stars. Nobody evergoes there, especially if they were to disturb him. But Bucky is armed with apot of coffee, snacks and hopes it’s enough to grant him passage. Saturdayevening’s where it’s at, because they’ve just returned from a mission and –

“Poptarts! Sweet!” Clint exclaims, stealing the pack of sweets from him and rushingpast him on the staircase to the rooftop…where the rest of the Avengers alreadyare.

“Roofparty time!” Sam yells, excited, also sprinting past him. “There should be apool here, Tony!”

Theengineer, currently setting up an impromptu bar, sends him a glare. “I’ll getyou an inflatable kiddie pool, birdbrain junior, how about that?”

“Greatidea! We can pour Thor’s booze in there!”

Theparty only escalates from there and nobody leaves the roof until early morninghours. So Bucky just drowns in that kiddie pool.

TheShawarma place is the best place to meet Tony alone. Everybody hates it. ButTony is always in a mood for shawarma after he pulls an all-nighter or finishesa project. So the Shawarma place is definitely where – never mind.

“METALHAND BROTHER!” Thor clasps his shoulder, falling in step with him – no, morelike pushing him along. “I too had a sudden longing for the glorious meal thatis shawarma! ONWARDS! A-HAH! BROTHER OF IRON IS HERE AS WELL! SPECTACULAR!”Thor booms.

Withinminutes, the whole team is having a shawarma breakfast platter there.

TheTower’s server room is the most perfect place to meet Tony alone. Throughcareful observation, he is now certain that nobody even knows this place existsand even if they do, the number of DO NOT ENTER and DO NOT TOUCH signs all overthat place is a great deterrent to uninvited guests. That and the forcefieldprotected, bulletproof entrance you need a code to bypass. Or a metal hand. TheTower’s server room is w –

“Pst!The code is 666, if you wanna sneak in,” Clint whispers, head hanging from thevent above the door. He winks and his head ascends back into the vent, themetal grid clinking back to place.

Thisis impossible. Humanly impossible. So what if Thor can maybe kinda teleport,the others most definitely can’t and yet wherever he goes, someone is there.Doesn’t matter if he’s following Tony, or going where he is or could be. Evenif he goes somewhere Tony is most certainly not at, there’s someone else theretoo! It’s like the entire Tower is working against him!

Still don’t want to kill them?

Holdon…now there’s a wild thought.

Finally. Can I do it?

Nowonder the team keeps on materializing wherever he goes. If the Tower isworking against him, then…

I see. But…how do we kill him?

Buckygrins, making even the Soldier retreat in the face of his wrath.

TBC

[cityofaangels]

All Would Be Well (WinterIron)

I have this... thing I began to write in a plane and finished to write totally jet-lagged and with a brain not fully online.

As life kinda sucks these last days with all these awful people, I thought that a bit of fluff, although very badly written, would maybe help some people feel better. Or maybe juste one, but that’s already great.

Anyway. There are Harry Potter spoils in there, so if you haven’t read the books or watched the movies, maybe avoid reading this?

Take care of yourself :)

Everything began when Bucky, shyly and kinda awkwardly, came to see him in his workshop on a sunny afternoon – well, at least he guessed it was sunny, he hadn't actually seen the sun in… a while – and asked:

‘You said I could come and see you if I had any question, right?’

Eyebrows raised, Tony shut down the experiment he was currently working on and turned his whole attention to Bucky, looking at him curiously.

‘Sure. What's up? Problem with the arm?’

‘Uh, no. The arm's fine. Great, actually. It's just that, well, it's kinda stupid, but I wanted to ask you if maybe… Do you have any book recommendation?’ he finally asked all in a rush, making it near incomprehensible.

With an encouraging smile, Tony clapped a hand on his shoulder.

‘Come on Bucky, you should know I'm not one to judge. Say that again?’ 

‘I like reading,’ the supersoldier mumbled. ‘Well, I liked reading, at least. Haven't had time to open a book for a while. And uh, I know you've got tons of them on your StarkPads, and there's probably a library in here somewhere, but it's just that I have absolutely no idea of where to begin. And I asked Steve to help me, but we don't exactly have the same kind of tastes, and I asked Barton but he likes these stupid romantic books and…’

‘Got it. Say no more, I'm pretty sure I have what you need. Come on, I have it in my room.’

‘No library in here, then?’ 

‘Oh yeah, there's one – use it whenever you want, by the way, Jarvis'll be happy to help you if you need it. I think there's even a bookshop somewhere on the public levels. But what I'm going to show you is special. You'll see.’

Curious, Bucky followed him to his room, looking around once they arrived. He hadn't actually set a foot in Tony's quarters yet, rather staying in the communal area or his own room, but he liked what he saw. Modern designs and different grays with the odd touch of color. He couldn't help a smile when he entered Tony's room and saw the huge bed, the dozen of pillows on it, and… He took a step closer, frowning and getting a better look at the drawings framed and hung right above the bed. One of them was obviously one of Steve's, light and dark grays showing Iron Man in the middle of a fight, so realistic it almost felt to Bucky as if he could feel cold metal under his fingers if he were to touch it. The other one was of Dora the Explorer, colors not exactly right where they should be, even if the whole thing looked as if it had been made with love; it was signed in pink in big letters, smaller letters stating 'thanks for the watch and for everything, Tony!'.

‘This one makes for a crazy midnight story,’ the engineer said softly, looking at the drawing, smile audible in his voice. ‘Remind me to tell you.’

‘Is it one of these stories where you almost die?’

‘Uh… Well, yeah. But this particular part is funny, I swear. Here, that's the book.’

Bucky turned around and looked at the slim, red book Tony was holding in his hands, almost solemnly. The title – Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone – vaguely reminded him of something. He took it carefully and looked at the picture of a young boy with round glasses standing in front of a train. When he opened it, he discovered a carefully crafted signature inside, of what looked to be the author herself.

‘She sold it a few years back to collect money for her charity. It's one of the first books that were edited, about twenty years back. It's got a typo somewhere, maybe you'll see it. I've got a cheaper version of it in the library, the American one, but this way you can have, you know… the whole experience, I guess.’

‘Are you sure, Tony? That looks more like it should be kept in a museum somewhere.’

‘You're not totally wrong,’ Tony admitted. ‘But you'll take care of it. I trust you,’ he added in a soft voice.

A few silent seconds passed, both of them determinedly looking at everything but each other, until Bucky awkwardly cleared his throat.

‘No offense, 'cause I can definitely see that you care about this book, but isn't it like a… book for children, maybe? I mean, I kinda remember seeing it before, and hearing about it, but was mostly, well, children, who read it.’

‘Oh, but it is. This one is probably the less adult-y one, but wait till you see the six others and-’

‘There are seven of them?’

‘Yeah. Far from enough, sadly,’ he sighed. ‘I tried bribing the author so she'd write more, but it didn't't work. Figure. Anyway, let's make a deal, okay? Trust me on this one book and try to read it. No pressure, take your time, but read it. You don't like it, no worries, lots of other books to read. But I think you'll like it. Deal?’

‘Well, it is pretty short, so I sure can try. Deal. I'll tell you about it in a few days.’

Instead of a few days later, it was actually a few hours later, in the middle of the night, when someone knocked at Tony's door, making it startle lightly. He closed the book he was currently reading – Stephen King, a classic – and stood up quickly, walking to the door. Bucky was waiting on the other side, sheepish smile on his face and book tucked safely under his arm.

‘I asked Jarvis if you were sleeping, but he told me I could come and see you. God, Tony, that was amazing! Are the other six as good as this one?’

Tony grinned at Bucky's sparkling eyes and opened the door, gesturing for him to come inside; he nodded and gently pushed him forward when the supersoldier hesitated slightly, looking at him.

‘Come on, that's a conversation that asks for comfortable armchairs and hot chocolate. Sit down, I'll be back in a sec.’

Slightly flabbergasted, Bucky obeyed and chose one of the two armchairs, sinking into it with a smile; Tony had a talent for choosing comfortable furniture to sit on and read, or watch television for hours. He listened to the reassuring silence for a while, enjoying the simple fact that he was safe, before Tony returned, holding a cup of steaming hot chocolate in each hand and a pack of marshmallows between his teeth. He put everything on the small table and settled on the other armchair, cradling the cup between his hands and looking at Bucky with a crooked smile.

‘To answer your question, yes, the other are as good as this one. I have a slight preference for the third and last one, but that's just me; everybody has a favorite one. Come on, I need to know more. Who did you like, who did you hate?’

‘This Snape guy is a prick,’ Bucky mumbled. ‘You know, he makes me think of Howard in his worst days.’

He stood up, worried, when Tony coughed suddenly, something between a laugh and a gasp escaping him, but the engineer hold a hand up reassuringly, taking a few deep breaths.

‘Sorry. You surprised me, that's all. I actually think the same thing, you know, but I thought you and Steve were… pals with him? I mean, the way he talked about you-’

‘He helped us, yeah, but I always thought he was a prick, and an arrogant one with that. Anyway,’ he added rather hurriedly when he noticed the way Tony had tensed up, ‘I love Hermione. So smart – she's kinda like you actually, you know. You trust her with your life and you know you don't risk a thing.’

Tony blushed beautifully in front of him, taking a sip of chocolate to try and hide it, and Bucky smiled inwardly; he kept talking before Tony could even think of denying it.

‘Ron's funny, seems like the kinda guy you want to have as a friend. Harry's great too, of course. And Quidditch! My god, Quidditch. Any way we can play Quidditch with your tech?’

‘Well, I can tell you a secret if you swear never to repeat it…’

‘I swear. Come on Tony, out with it. Quidditch?’

‘My mind tends to, uh, create funny things when I'm not totally, one hundred percent sober,’ he winced. ‘So there might be a Quidditch simulator somewhere in the lab. I'll have to work on it for a while if you really wanna try it out but, yeah. It's a thing.’

‘Oh my god. Tony, you are the best.’

The following afternoon – Bucky had finally got back to his room late in the night (or early in the morning) with the promise that Tony would give him the second book if he caught some sleep – Clint almost got killed by the whole Avengers team. They were all lounging in the communal room, television playing a movie in the background even if most of them were reading or talking between themselves. Bucky was fully focused on his book – this one was signed specially for Tony, a birthday gift from himself to himself – when he absentmindedly mumbled.

‘God, I love Dobby. So funny.’

The team turned in his direction and Clint's eyes widened dramatically; he opened and closed his mouth a few times before stating:

‘Oh man, are you in for a surprise.’

After a second of silence, two very loud cracks – not totally unlike the noise an house elf made, actually – resounded, followed by a groan.

‘Aw, Nat, Tony!’

Hands still raised, they both glared at him, joined by all the other members of the team, except for Bucky, who was watching them with confusion.

‘What did he say?’ he asked with an eyebrow raised. 

‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing,’ answered Tony, crossing his arms. ‘Barton, I will remind you that we live in a spoiler-free house. One more remark like this one and you sleep on the roof for a week.’

Casting a quick look outside and seeing the rain falling, Clint nodded easily enough.

‘Sure. Got it. Enjoy your read, Bucky. I'll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I don't exist. Bye.’

No matter the time of day or night, when Bucky finished one of the books, he came to Tony and they discussed it for hours. 

That was how they discussed the very probable homosexuality or bisexuality of most of the Marauders. And how they both learned that the Marauders were not the only not-straight ones. 

That was how they discussed at length why Dobby was one of the coolest characters of the books – alongside with Neville, who strongly reminded them both of Steve pre-serum, and Luna. And that was the reason behind a Roomba called Dobby who roamed the Tower, always with one (or more) sock behind him. 

That was how they had a heated argument about shitty teachers and bullies… And how Tony finally explained the extent of Howard's disgust for his son and the psychological scars he left behind. 

That was how Tony found himself with an armful of a sobbing Bucky who moaned about the unfairness of loosing family members and the guilt of dealing with it. 

That was how they talked about PTSD, hot chocolates in hand, sharing soft looks and shy smiles despite the hard topics. 

That was how some of the guilt and nightmares slowly disappeared.

Ironically enough, Dobby's death – cute, funny, brave Dobby – was the reason behind their first kiss. Because what could Tony do with an angry, hurt and teary-eyed Bucky but kiss him? 

It was soft and hesitant, kinda awkward at the beginning, but so good, Bucky's metal hand fitting perfectly on his back, his flesh hand stroking his hair, his warmth and smile only making it better. So so much better.

And even if Tony knew that Bucky would probably cry at every death that followed, would probably be as devastated at turning the last page as Tony had been a few years back, he knew. 

He knew that he would be able to make it better by kissing him, by cuddling him, by teasing them. And he knew that in the end… All would be well.

[omerderdiyok-blog]

Evaluation on Reflection

“I became less and less interested in the ordering of parts and more concerned with horizontal scale, vastness.” 

This quote from sculptor Barry Le Va was the first post in my reflective journal. The word “vastness” resonated in my mind many times and I suddenly shared it. Because I was aware of my intentions on understanding and interpreting the world as a whole rather than spare parts. I was more interested in encapsulating ideas rather than well-framed subjects. I knew I wanted to talk about the human being and touch somewhere at very core but I didn’t know what it was, yet.

I started the course by exploring the relationship between objects and space. I thought daily objects can tell about human being and space would help me to expose the vastness. I thought they might bring something close to my concept even though I didn’t know what it was exactly at that time. I started to hunt everyday objects in bazaars and had research on space as a notion and its place in design and art. Circular shape was visible choice in objects I collected and there was a narrative of nostalgia in them. I did the plastic casting for the objects I collected, also played and distorted with their functionality. Also, I believe the broken bowl in this post: brokenbowl - was hiding a clue on what I’ll be doing on later on in terms of the concept: allowance of breakage. Besides at the end of spoon carving workshop in uni, I accidentally broke my piece but I was amazed by its uncompleted beauty. The word “absence” resonated in my mind many times but I still didn’t know where it was about to take me. 

After a while of experimenting on objects and space, ideas of absence and breakages pumped each other and within my personal experience and confessions; I have realized that the subject that I wanted to talk about was melancholy. I used the word confession because it was even too negating in my perception, but I was a man who was truly melancholic for my whole life and I knew that there is something in that internal conversation which might bring an enlightenment for the one and compassion and empathy for the others. After this realization on melancholy concept; I directly jumped into research; shared some notes on Mourning and Melancholia by Freud and realized that the main perception of melancholy is really negating. Then came across with Melanie Klein and she was the first writer was mentioning melancholy as a state that can be life-affirming. After all, I directed an angle to my research to find sources framing melancholy in terms of an enlightening experience. 

While I was researching the notion of melancholy and its perception in the modern world, I started to work in the ceramic studio. The reason that I did it was my intentions and beliefs on the tacit voice of the clay and its being earth’s most primal element. However, I’ve never touched clay before in my life and that’s why I was a bit sceptic at what I could to with it. But at the moment I discovered its versatility I directly started to push its physical limits and %100 intuitionally I started scratching. Here is a post from day 1 from ceramic studio.

Having a decision on the concept of melancholy and trying to depict it through clay became my whole journey afterward. I continued to try to push the physical limits of clay and constantly researched and collected texts and visuals for the idea of melancholy. While we were getting ready for the interim show I had experimentation on using broken pieces of ceramics and installing them with fixed bigger pieces. I also tried different materials such as paint pigments and crashed car window to see how they connect with ceramics. They were too bright.  But there was something out of that experience; the need for movement, aliveness, and performance. Yes I deliberately used black clay and it was perfect to bring the gloom and material itself was very tacit but at the end of this concept; my aim was bringing a suggestion on melancholy to make it reconsidered as a potential positive state. The idea of performance was the key to reach that aim. I had an experience of performing already but I didn’t know that I could marry it with ceramics. Then I also could understand why I wasn’t designing anything before making and I was just using my intuitions only. I was trying to bring performative aspect in the making. It was my approach as a maker. I could find some references on this conceptual thinking in making in the book “Thinking Through Craft” by Glenn Adamson and it was a great source to understand craft’s inferior place in design and art scene and its potential gaps in the contemporary scene in terms of conceptualization. Also, I was researching on how protest can be gentle and Craftivist Collective by Sarah Corbet and her book in Craftivism was a great source to build my tone of voice while I’m raising my thoughts to the public. In the meantime, I started to work on my research paper to expose melancholy in terms of subject and source in art. 

Summer Show 2018 had arrived and I made an installation of ceramic pieces with abstract forms and broken bits on it. Even though I was feeling ready to reflect all the gloom and messiness of melancholy into the work, surprisingly I made up something super contained and neat. After the show, I was so surprised how my internal state of minds was affecting my work; the reason that it was contained and not performative and let's say free as much as I expected was just my feeling at that time. My emotional state and fears were affecting my ability on performance and it was reductive for my work. This realization led me to be more aware of keeping the control on reaching my aims in my practice and the importance of work on site.  It was definitely teaching experience and I finished the 1st year with the full of questions. 

Before second year started, I collected autobiographical objects and images from family archive on summer break. I wasn’t seeing an autobiographical aspect as necessity in my practice but I thought it could help to make audience understand the background of my work and rationalize it in a better way. Because since the beginning, my challenge was making sense truthfully with this very poetic concept. So I was on the way to use these photos and objects from the family archive to make my work more well framed. I was exposing spiritual relationship between my aunt Leyla and me, replicating the caftan I was wearing at my circumcision ceremony as a symbolization of being a man in Turkey. However, within the time, these too exposed and very personal subject, even though they were making audience understand the rhythm I live on and my work, they were too loud for my work. No matter what I continued to test them had Research Sharing event just before the work in progress show. The event was called “Searching Melancholy” and prepared different performance works (link1 - link2) which I was engaging clay with my body and objects and in a way was searching the performative aspect in making; but more in the perspective of performance. I also presented a number of research references from whirling dervishes to volcanos; books on craft thinking and psychoanalysis of emotional states. I also presented works from summer show and made new works using my aunt’s photos, circumcision caftan and sculptural work made by foam pieces I tore in one night in my bedroom. Please view whole process of preparation and final outcomes of the Research Sharing event from here.

After all, before the degree show I started to speed up the preparations and came up with different ideas. One was about making a trilogy work to narrate melancholy and the other one was the conceptualizing the breakage. But within the feedbacks from tutorials and my evaluation, I realized that my work was working in the way that I want already and I realized I was testing extreme questions such as overly expressing and overly conceptualizing in my work. I gave up from all of them. The cycle in mind looped again and I dived into what I was doing already and started to make constantly. I made 3-4 pieces by each day with aiming a landscape of destruction. I tried to create variations on performative making from scratching to fingermark, free fall forms to breakages. After reaching a considerable amount of pieces, the installation process has started and I challenged myself with by building a balance between the composition and the randomness. I believe I reached to a point that a work talking within its material in such tacit way, its form in allowed destructive body and installed with intuitional movement to talk about melancholy within its all complexity and beauty. I believe it is a work that doesn’t force itself to show any greatness, is therefore truly great. Please view the whole making process from here. 

[cassidy-malta]

May 20: Croatia & Bosnia & Herzegovina, Oh My!

Raise your hand if you know where Croatia is!

(I didn’t a month ago)

Raise your hand if you know the difference between Bosnia and Herzegovina!

(I didn’t until a week ago)

Raise your hand if you can name 1+ city in either of those countries!

(I still cant- Slovenian is a tough language)

And I’m back! It was our second to last trip and to be completely honest, I had low expectations. What kind of fun would a country I’ve never even heard of be? Thank GOD Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina proved my incredibly ethnocentric self so so so wrong and blew me away.

Before I went, all I had heard about the entire region was:

“Oh my gosh, it’s so beautiful!”

To which I immediately thought:

“Oh my gosh, literally everywhere I’ve been is breathtaking- that’s nothing new.”

Furthermore, as if to add to my bad attitude in going to Croatia, Maddie and I got home from Greece on Thursday afternoon, and at 6:45am Friday morning we were in a death-defying taxi ride to the airport preparing for a FULL DAY of traveling. We didn’t finally touch down in Croatia until 4:30pm. It’s hard to be excited and positive at that point. The late emergence of my 12-year-molars and an overcast day took a bad mood to a downright nasty mood.

We stayed in Villa Antea, an apartment complex only a short bus ride away from the heart of Dubrovnik- not the capital of Croatia but a cultural hub. I did a bit of research on the country I was in: Croatia is a long skinny country bordering the Mediterranean sea. It was part of the former Republic of Yugoslavia and was occupied by the Axis powers in WWII. The people are known as “croats” and the entire region went through some very serious political and ethnic wars just a short while ago in the early 90′s (I’ll talk about that more later). Croatia has more than a thousand islands and a cliff-y coast line, which we were snuggled up against.

Dubrovnik is very close to the southern border of the country and is a UNESCO World Heritage Site as it has a long history as a maritime trading port. We focused our energy in the Old City portion of the city- constructed in the 13th century. The Old City had narrow brick-laid streets, surrounded by massive walls and sprinkled with clock towers and churches. Maddie and I ventured into the Old City with no particular plan and were engulfed by history. 

(I’ve become a big fan of architecture since coming to Europe- it’s rather hard to not)

(We stumbled across a workshop where coral jewellery is made and the craftsman even gave us a little presentation and helped us understand how pieces are priced)

(the cute paved streets were lined with old buildings and artisan storefronts)

(A staircase leading to nowhere)

(One of the shops we went into was an artist trying to sell these adorable minnow paintings. They reminded me so much of snorkeling and the little fish that live along every coastline I’ve been to. It was my *splurge* of the trip)

(most churches are open to the public so long as you remain respectful. We went inside two or three of the churches because Maddie loves looking at the European staples and found this adorable little grotto)

Before long, we had accidentally discovered the harbor and took a glass bottomed boat out for a cruise. It offered some really amazing views of the old city, as well as a really neat perspective of the seafloor and coral reefs. Considering I had just been snorkeling in crystal clear waters just a few days ago, I was underwhelmed by the glass-bottom part of the experience, but the Captain of our little boat let me sit up by him where I got to feel the wind in my face and get splashed by the cool waters. 

(all smiles from this gal!)

(just a neat experience!)

(we got up close to the caves that are carved into the coastline)

So as if that wasn’t enough for the day, we still had two things we wanted to try: take a cable car to the top of the mountain over the city, and climb the city walls (certainly not experiences for those who are afraid of heights). The cable car was a pleasant experience that offered panoramic views of the entire city. Maddie and I enjoyed a pre-dinner snack of draft beer and ice cream at the edge of the mountain before heading down to climb fifteen million steps to summit the old city walls. 

(a *candid* edgy pic of me at the very top, in front of the Old City)

(a foggy day gave us a 10% discount at the restaurant, but every now and then the fog would clear and we got spectacular views. You can clearly see the outline of the Old City in this picture)

(Cutie roomies- there is nobody I’d rather spend this time with!)

(the ride down the mountain- sped up for your viewing pleasure!)

(it blows my mind that people are writing on a UNESCO World Heritage site. Unfortunately, graffiti like this has been peppered on much of the historical sites I’ve viewed)

(the walls offered panoramic views of both the city and the sea. I could get used to this!)

(on the left is the church where we found the little grotto. On the right is the mountain we took a cable car up!)

(sharing a view with the seagulls!)

(Dubrovnik is definitely a foodie’s paradise- especially if you’re into eating in unique and interesting locations!)

(I do feel a little bad for the residents who live near the city walls. Privacy is clearly scarce)

The next morning, Maddie and I got up early to venture to Cavtat, a small fishing village with crystal blue waters and a much smaller tourist presence before going back into the Old City with our pal Kalinda for drinks and some stray-cat snuggles. It was a shorter and more relaxed day than the first day because we were both worn out AND we were going to a new country the next day!

(I wished that I had brought my swimsuit so I could’ve spent more time in the water!)

(Kalinda is such a sweetie! Kalinda, Maddie, and I went in on a “Dubrovnik Classic XXL” cocktail and had no regrets and lots of giggles)

(enjoying a beer with dinner- wearing my favorite shirt in honor of Mother’s Day!)

(sufficiently buzzed, Maddie caught this pic of a smug Cass with watermelon gelato in hand, playing with stray cats)

So for our final day of this particular trip, we got up and got in a van destined for Bosnia and Herzegovina. A small country, Bosnia and Herzegovina is usually just called Bosnia for ease, but Bosnia is the northern region whereas Herzegovina is the southern region. Bosnians and Herzegovinians are the same ethnic group, same language, and essentially the same people. To my understanding, it’s the same situation as Southerners and Northerners in the United States. Bosnia and Herzegovinian was recently tangled up in a civil war and experienced an intense genocide. I’ll be the first to admit that I do not know the motivations behind the war and genocide, nor do I really understand the conflict, but I was excited to go into the country. With a start, I realised that this was the closest I had ever been to a war zone, with the exception of the 9/11 memorial in New York City. Its a humbling experience to walk among buildings that were reconstructions of the originals- the original historical sites having been bombed. Even more humbling is seeing the old and young in their shops and restaurants and knowing that many of them have a working memory of the war and atrocities. 

(there are many abandoned buildings and our tour guide informed us that unemployment is around 40% all throughout the country)

(wild lavender plants outside the city)

To my professor’s dismay, I slept almost the entire way to Mostar from Dubrovnik and missed out on a large portion of the tour guide’s spiel (sorry Kim!). However, I did learn that Mostar was established by the Ottoman Empire in the 16th century and has a strong liberal muslim culture to this day. To my delight, the Imam’s call to prayer welcomed me into the city- a sound I learned to love in Morocco. We were given the opportunity to explore an area of Mostar that had been completely destroyed in the recent war but has been reconstructed with historical accuracy in the following years. 

(gnocchi and cream sauce)

(frigid waters cut this city in half)

(mosque towers are intermixed with church steeples. SO COOL)

(the view from lunch really captures the essence of Mostar. The most famous sight in the city is the UNESCO certified bridge which young men and boys jump off of to prove their masculinity as a rite of passage. Up on the hill is a cross to represent the Catholics in the area, and to the right is a store selling copper plates. The light ‘tink tink tink’ of hammers against copper provided the background for our lunch)

Then began the trek back home again, and once again I slept almost the entire ride. I did wake up when we pulled over to look at some waterfalls. Being from the midwest (aka the flattest place in the world), waterfalls to me have always been trickling streams and an overrated phenomenon to me. I still can’t believe what I saw that afternoon. Thousands of gallons of water cascaded over lush cliff walls. It seemed like a scene from the Amazon, not Europe. The water was cool and refreshing, and I’m pretty sure this view was in my top five for the entire semester.

(of course it was heavily raining so we were damp and cold when we hiked to the falls but Maddi and I were both re-energized by the beauty)

(it’s hard to not believe in God when you see something like this.)

(even boosted colors don’t quite capture how spectacular this sight was)

(a full panorama of the falls)

(a video of the falls & the car ride through the countryside)

So that was Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina! All I can really say about those countries is that they really are beautiful- a step above the rest! Now, as much as I would LOVE to continue writing about how amazing this last weekend was, I’m unfortunately using this blog post to procrastinate on a paper and I ought to get back to that (if anyone is super interested in Saint Paul’s Shipwreck and how it effected Christianity and Maltese Identity- I’m your girl). Send prayers as I move into my final two weeks here, take a weekend trip to Sicily (the same time Trump will be there- of freakin’ course), and prepare to go home.

[mredwinsmith]

How to Draw Birds: Draw Realistic Animals

Nuthatch I by David Kitler

Wherever you live, you likely don’t live alone. Not when you consider the birds in your backyard or the pigeons on the sidewalk or seagulls cawing at you if you live along the coast. Birds are a constant companion for many of us and yet we can forget to explore them in our art. Take birds as your subject matter and you discover the fun of color and texture … and attitude!

Here David Kitler shows us how to draw a bird with a ton of attitude in just ten steps. And when you are done with that, you’ll be ready to add luscious paint, which is where the Essentials of Painting Birds comes in. You’ll learn how to create beautiful paintings of realistic birds in impressionist natural settings that are full of color and void of complications. It’ll be easy and it’ll be fun. Enjoy!

Draw Realistic Animals

Nature artist David N. Kitler shares easy techniques and expert tips on how to draw birds.

Red-Breasted Nuthatch (graphite and acrylic, 12×9)

  I’ve always been intrigued by nature’s intricate details. It’s this complexity — combined with the subtleties of mood and environment — that I attempt to capture in my drawings and paintings.

I tend to travel to where my subjects live so I can observe their behaviors and interactions within their natural habitats. While on location, I also gather as much reference as possible, from photographs to actual specimens — fallen feathers, fur, grasses and the like. Back in the studio, I’ll look through all the reference I’ve gathered to decide which of my experiences I want to depict at that particular moment.

I then prepare my initial idea on a separate piece of paper and transfer it to a board so I can preserve my original experience and enjoy developing it once again. These drawings that I make for my paintings I call preliminary sketches, and they have by definition an unfinished look — no background, parts of the subject that fade off and undefined edges.

I’ll show you the techniques I used to create one of my preliminary sketches enhanced with acrylic washes in the following demonstration. My choice of subject — a red-breasted nuthatch — wasn’t dictated by the bird’s pose or an interesting light source.

I simply chose it because it reminds me of the experience of being in the woods on a cold winter’s day (the shortest day of the year), when the birds and I were the only creatures around. I should also mention that the nuthatch is a tiny bird (4 inches from beak to tail), but I decided to draw it larger than life to better showcase the species and its beautiful markings.

1. Draw the basic shapes

I view my world as a series of shapes and forms — mainly circles, squares, triangles and cylinders. As an initial exercise (on the lower right of the sheet), I drew the bird in its most basic shapes to show you how I see it.

Tip: If you start to look at things in terms of basic shapes, whether your reference is three-dimensional (an object) or two-dimensional (a photo) or simply in your imagination, you’ll notice that replicating those simple shapes in either a larger or smaller size is an efficient way to begin a drawing.

I develop those basic shapes a little further, as I’ve done with the drawing in the center of this photo. For a painting, this is as far as I’d take the drawing before transferring it to a board, where I’d continue “drawing” with a paintbrush. For this exercise, I’ve finished my piece as a drawing.

2. Focus on the eye

In this instance, I’ve decided to start the drawing with the nuthatch’s eye. This area is usually the most important element in my pieces. It’s the place I aim to have the most detail, contrast and crispness, in an effort to help the viewer connect to the animal in the drawing or painting. After drawing the eye’s basic shape, I blocked in the surrounding areas to ensure proper placement and proportions, using an HB lead in a mechanical pencil.

Keeping in mind that viewers will be drawn to the area with the most contrast, I used a 9B pencil to fill the pupil’s bottom half, which will be the darkest part of the bird. Next, in order to incorporate the reflection of the surrounding trees, I used HB lead in a technical pencil to push some of the graphite from the pupil area in order to suggest tree shapes. Finally, using 4H and HB leads, I pulled out radiating lines to fill in the iris.

3. Complete the eye

Working with a mask — in this case, the holes at the edge of an old computer printout — I used a white eraser to remove the top half of the guideline I’d used for the pupil. I then used a wood dowel, sharpened to a point, to burnish the different grades of graphite.

Next I proceeded to fill in the rest of the iris and reflections by using very sharp pencils in a mixture of pencil grades, applied in tiny circular motions and burnished again with the pointed dowel.

Remember that, in order to get a better feel for what the finished eye might look like, you’ll need to have an approximate value established around the eye. Therefore I started to add the fine lines surrounding the eye to represent the bird’s eye ring and adjacent feathers.

4. Lightly render the body

I started working on the areas around the eye by drawing short lines made with mechanical, technical and wood-cased pencils and using pencil grades in the middle range (3H–3B). I then added an overall coat to the bird’s body using 4H marks — without applying a lot of pressure — to indicate things like feather barbs, markings, toe scales and beak texture.

Tip: At this stage, you should focus on the direction and length of each mark, and you should use curved strokes for the beak, toes and other features to suggest their form. For feathers — and fur and scales — always work from the tail toward the head so these elements appear to overlap as they do in nature.

5. Add a darker layer

Next I switched to a medium-grade pencil (HB) and added a second, darker layer of graphite.

Tip: Drawing over some areas, such as a branch, is less difficult than trying to avoid them or preserve them intact. By doing this, you’ll maintain continuity from one side of an obstacle to the other. As I don’t apply a lot of pressure when drawing, these unnecessary marks can easily be erased later.

6. Complete the finishing touches

Finally I used an eraser to re-establish the branch’s edges and then added more tone to finish the branch, as well as the bird’s toes and claws. Tip: It’s easier to draw the feet first and then to draw a branch that fits your drawing.

As this is a preliminary sketch, I concentrated only on the most important areas and deliberately faded off parts of the image in my design. I left the tail, which is pointing away from the viewer, lighter and unfinished.

Usually the final thing I do to my preliminary sketch is to add a few washes of acrylic paint to places I feel are important focal areas. These sketches with acrylic washes are a popular way for beginner collectors to upgrade from reproductions to originals. Here’s what you can do.

7. Lighten the eye

One thing I needed to do in preparation for adding color is to lighten the eye. I took a piece of tracing paper, cut out an eye-shaped hole and used a white eraser (you can also use a kneadable one) to remove some of the graphite by dabbing, not rubbing.

8. Apply washes to the pupil

The eye is where I want the main focus, so I started with the pupil. First I mixed a small amount of color — in this case, black. I took some paint with the brush and then touched the brush to a piece of paper towel to wick off most of the paint. This left me with a dryer brush and a small amount of pigment.

Tip: The key here is not to wet the paper excessively, which might warp it. I used this technique throughout, applying thin washes of transparent colors, allowing each layer to dry before applying the next. As the paint in the jars isn’t diluted enough, I thinned it with water to increase its transparency.

I completed the iris by adding thin brown washes, mixed from my primary colors, to the bottom half of the iris, and a bluish purple color to represent the reflected sky. I left the white of the paper showing through to evoke clouds.

9. Apply washes to the body

After adding some color around the eye to frame it, I turned my attention to the rest of the body. I added an overall “coat” using browns, oranges and blues to indicate feathers and markings.

Tip: At this stage, you should focus on the direction and length of each mark and use transparent/diluted layers, allowing a lot of the paper to show through.

10. Decide how far to develop the piece

Part of the fun at this point is deciding how “unfinished” you want the final piece to be. I chose to block in some areas further, while leaving others—the tail, branch and lower foot—without any paint. In a few areas, I also applied more pencil over the paint.

Sign the “finished” work

Many artists have trouble recognizing when a piece is completed and hesitate to carry out the final step: signing the piece. The signature is the only thing that marks the completion of this type of work, so this exercise is a good one for experimenting with different stopping points. When I had accomplished my desired end — what I thought was an interesting look with this sketch — I went ahead and signed it.

In conclusion

I hope that this article prompts you to look at your experiences and sketches in a new light. These tips and techniques are useful whenever you’re drawing any type of wildlife. Maybe you’ll share my two primary objectives: to bring the wild within reach of those who haven’t had the opportunity to experience it for themselves, and to provide a permanent reminder to those who have.

Naturalist and artist David N. Kitler’s work has received many awards, including first place in the Animal Art category for The Artist’s Magazine 2007 Annual Competition. He has taught classes and workshops throughout North America for more than 15 years. To view his online gallery, read more art tips and learn about his DVDs, visit www.davidkitler.com.

This article appeared in Artists Magazine. Click here to subscribe to The Artist’s Magazine today!

  The post How to Draw Birds: Draw Realistic Animals appeared first on Artist's Network.

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[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

In Sorrow and In Joy- Part 9: Ready

Luke learns the hard way what it means to be a dad and how to keep his family safe and together. Dad!Luke with a South Asian Reader. This is a collaborative experience with A Family of Five.

CW: Over the course of this series, themes of racism and prejudice on the basis of religion are present. Please read or skip as necessary.

Enjoy my masterlist | Series Masterlist

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No one has my permission to repost my work of fiction. This includes translations as well. 

_______________________

Luke finishes the last of the dishes. Noor’s at the bar, reading over her lines before the bus. Zahra dangles the keys to her car on her finger, waiting for Zeek to grab the charger for his tablet from his room. The house is quiet. He finds himself wondering how long that it will last. The question is answered a minute later when a shout rings out, “Babe!”

“There goes the silence,” he chuckles, wiping hands on the dish rag. “Yeah?” he calls out, taking the stairs two at a time to the bedroom. 

You turn around, dressed in black jeans and your pajama shirt. “Where’s that heart button up shirt?”

“That’s actually Calum’s shirt,” he grins leaning up against the frame of the door. 

A groan falls over your lips. Out of habit, you reach up and fix the bun of your curly hair and mutter to yourself. Of course, your favorite shirt to steal wasn’t actually Luke’s. He probably took it from Calum’s case on their last tour, last year, and only just recently realized that it didn’t belong in your closet. You could go without the shirt. But it annoys the crap out of you, that you couldn’t finish the outfit that you had been planning for days now for the first day back to school. 

“Now that I think about it. That’s definitely his t-shirt too. Forgot to give it back,” Luke states. 

You look down at the gray t-shirt covering your body. “So, you’re telling me, Harlowe’s gonna call asking for this shirt eventually.”

He shrugs. “Only if she knows the shirt is gone.”

You roll your eyes, peeling off the shirt and stealing inside the blue button up of Luke’s. “Honesty, one of these days y’all need to go through your closets and figure this shit out.” You’ll call Harlowe. She’ll know where that heart button up is. And more importantly, she’ll be willing to trade. 

“You and Harlowe end up stealing stuff from us!” he laughs. “It’s not all our fault.”

“Shush, I said that you two need to figure out what belongs to who and then she and I can figure out what’s up for trading and what has to stay. You didn’t let me finish.” Tossing the shirt at Luke, you laugh a little at his flail, startled by the action. “Start a load of laundry please. Use the kid’s detergent. Harlowe’s skin is sensitive.”

“For one shirt?” he jokes, his high pitched shout cracking a little on the the word ‘one’. “I’ll at least wash some of the kids stuff too.”

“That’s the idea!” you shout to his retreating figure. With the last of the shirt buttoned, you pick up your phone. As you open to your recent messages, Harlowe’s name is right at the top. 

The phone rings twice before you can hear her shouting in the background. “Esha, it doesn’t even take me this long to put a face on in the morning, c’mon. You’re beautiful and I will fight anyone that says otherwise.”

Calum’s laughter filters in from the background before his voice fills the line. “You’ve reached Harlowe’s phone. She’s currently helping Esha figure out mascara. Can I take a message?”

“She’s really letting Esha wear makeup to school, huh?” you ask. The debate on whether Esha could wear makeup to school was definitely a long one. You remembered just a couple months ago when it first started, during the summer. Harlowe and Calum feared she’d go off the deep in, but didn’t want her to feel like she couldn’t explore in the world of make up or self expression. You just had no idea that they had agreed on anything yet. Granted, you all kept up well, some things inevitably would fall through the cracks. Between getting syllabi together and raising kids, some news unfortunately fell to the waste side. 

“It was a long battle. We agreed to mascara and lipstick. Nude lipstick though. Specifically a nude lipstick.”

You nod. “Sounds like a smart choice.” 

More laughter floats in from the background. “Keep looking up, you’re not going to poke yourself I promise,” Harlowe chuckles.

“But I could!” Esha retorts. “This is scary.”

“So,” Calum says, “I know you called for a reason.”

“I was trying to see if a certain item of clothing could be up for trades. It appears that I, really Luke, but by extension me as well, have a certain t-shirt that belongs to you. And a certain heart button up shirt was not Luke’s, which is disheartening.”

“The gray one with Conway studios on it?”

“That’s the one.”

“She was looking for that last night. Hold on second.” There’s muffled talking in the background. “So, while Harlowe’s sad about losing the heart button up, she’s willing to trade.”

“It’s your shirt, technically.”

Calum laughs. “She has taken my closet. Nothing is mine anymore except my shoes. If she could wear those, she’d probably take them too. Like right now, she’s in my green plaid pants. It’s a great outfit, but I was the one that pulled the pants down this morning.”

“You’re going to the studio! You know you would’ve opted for jeans anyway,” Harlowe bellows.

“I would’ve at least like the option, baby. At least give me the option.” There’s a shuffling sound and Harlowe finally speaks.

“Ignore him, girl. He’s just pissy this morning.”

“So tonight we’ll trade shirts. I had this whole first day look planned, but of course, the shirt I wanted, wasn’t Luke’s shirt.

“Okay, normal table. I’ll see you then.”

__

Even before opening the door, you know what the place smells like, sounds like. You and Harlowe have been coming here every Wednesday before the twins were born. It’s ritual to walk in, hearing the clack of pool balls on the smooth red velvet and a white buzz of voices. It’s ritual to smell beer, but also the famous cheese fries cooking in the back. The place is old, but it somehow feels right. No, this wasn’t always your cup of tea. But Harlowe fell in love with the place, her second collection of poetry was birthed here. So on Wednesdays, this is where you two sat, chatting about the week previous, the week ahead. Talking about husbands, and kids. Talking about students and universities. You two worked at different schools. You do this for cheese fries, the laughs, the gossip. But more importantly, you do this for her, because she needed something to look forward to after the post partum depression from Esha. 

Inside, you spot her afro at the bar, “the normal table.” “If that’s a virgin rum and ginger ale, today was fine. But it’s a virgin Caribbean Rum Punch, someone’s trying to fuck themselves up,” you laugh, sliding into the bar stool next to Harlowe. 

She laughs, slinging an arm across your shoulders, resting her head for a moment onto your shoulder. “Yo got me. Just ginger ale. How were your classes?” She straightens, pulling her arm away. 

“There’s a freshman in my 300 level class. The fear was real in there eyes, looking at the syllabus.”

“How did they get into that class?”

You shrug. “No one asked for an override into class. My assumption is that they thought they were hot shit and signed up.”

“Didn’t even check RateMyProfessor, I bet,” Harlowe grins, flagging down a bartender.

The man walks over with an easy grin, closing his eyes and taking a deep breathe. “Let me guess.You’re going to order a plate of cheese fries. Ranch dipping on the side.”

“It’s like we’re regulars or something,” Harlow laughs. 

“Or something,” he chuckles, then turns to put the order in. 

“Well not all of us teach poetry and fiction. Some of us have to have reading lists a mile long,” you counter. 

Her laugh fills the room practically. “You make the syllabus. It does not have to be a mile long. You clearly just like suffering and taking your students down with you.”

Feigning shock, you gasps, turning around. “I don’t need this kind of negativity in my life.”

She chuckles, watching you. “Go ahead then. Run from the truth. But who’s the one that complains everything you have to reread those sections--you.”

“I cannot believe you’d read me like that in this here fine establishment.” This causes both of you to laugh, Harlowe falling into you a little, her laughter bouncing around in your eardrum. “How were your classes?”

With a smile resting on her face, she leans onto her elbows, toying at the glass. “Good. One girl came up to me after class and said she had signed up specifically for my section of poetry workshop because I was the only Black professor. Like I know this isn’t Kansas, to use a really dated expression, anymore. Like I know this isn’t the States, but it still means a lot be there for someone that needs it.”

“When’s your Fiction workshop?”

“Tomorrow. I’m teaching that in the morning and then the second section of intro to creative writing in the afternoon.”

“Must be nice,” you tease. 

Harlowe barks a laugh. “I’m not the one that spent years getting their Ph.D. in History, only to bitch about being the exact thing they wanted to be. So yeah, it is nice to enjoy my job.” Both woman laugh and the steaming bucket of fries is placed between them. Two glasses of water also thuds against the worn wooden counter. 

“How are my babies though?” There’s something in the way she asks that. You watch her face as she rummages into the depths of her bag. You catch nothing on her face. She pulls out the black button up and hands it over to you. You wipe your hands on a napkin and find the soft gray cotton in your backpack. You guys trade shirts.

“My babies are good.”

Harlowe huffs, biting hard into the fried potato. “Oh hush, I’m their aunt. They are effectively my children too.”

“What do you know that I don’t know?”

Harlowe shakes her head, reaching for her drink. “If I tell you, I break code.”

“It’s irksome that you know things before me,” you sigh. But you respect it. Your kids and Harlowe have a code. Though you desperately wish you weren’t always the last one to know about things, you understood. Sometimes the kids wanted to handle stuff by themselves, they didn’t want to always come to you or Luke. They maybe felt embarrassed having to go to their parents about everything. 

“They know they can talk to you, girl. They know.”

“I’m just the last to know. I feel so left out.”

“If you think Te Koha, Esha or even Nikau even tell me everything, you’re wrong.” Harlowe downs the her glass. “Children will not tell parents everything. Did you tell your mom everything?”

“Hell no.”

“Exactly my point.”

The first plate of fries is just about empty. Harlowe’s ordered a second drink when a presence slides up to the left of you. The cologne is familiar. As you giggle at Harlowe’s story about the disaster at the printer today before her class, you feel Luke’s hand resting gently on your lower back. You wondered when they would come up. When you walked in, you made a beeline for Harlow at the bar. Luke went to the table Calum had on the floor somewhere. You guys always do this. Split up, just for a little bit to have a little time away from each other. To talk all the junk you couldn’t do when your spouse was right there. It was always nice to have these moments away, to yourself, to be quiet and listen to Harlowe dramatically retell her adventures of the day or week. 

Her story finishes, an exasperated sigh falling over her lips before he speaks. “Can I get a pretty girl like you a drink?”

With an eye roll, you gently press into his chest for a quick hug. “Buy us another round of fries, and then we’ll talk.”

He laughs, palm brushing up and down your satin covered back. “Sounds reasonable.” 

“Ranch on the side for my friend here,” you add on, gently tapping his chest. 

“Please,” Harlowe adds, batting her eyelashes. 

“I’m right here,” Calum laughs, settling down next to her. 

“Are you buying me french fries?” she shoots back, resting her head into his chest. 

His arm wraps around her, almost protectively. “I’m the one you go home with.”

She reaches up, tapping the end of his nose with her finger. They’ve always been way more affectionate. You pretend to gag, before burying your face into your glass of water. She just buries herself deeper into him before raising her middle finger to you. “That’s rude!” Luke interjects, voice turning up into a laugh. 

As the second and third, due to Calum’s ordering, basket of fries comes out. It feels like old times, like being twenty three again during the summer before your second year for your Master’s program. When you forced Harlowe to get up on that dinky stage and read her poems. When Calum and Luke approached the two of you at the end of the night. It feels like you’ve got nothing but time, nothing by belly laughs and Harlowe and Calum’s antic, the lovingly nagging, the teases, you and Luke’s quiet moments, whispers. It’s nothing but being twenty three again. 

Until a phone chimes. The time of youth is over. You finish off the last few fries, cleaning off your fingers. Luke’s hand slides into yours. It’s Harlowe’s phone and she sighs. “Gotta get back to relieve Te Koha of babysitting duties,” she mutters. 

Calum leans in close to her, “Can I come home with you?” He’s only a few beers in this evening. Nowhere near as far as he can go.

“Hmm,” Harlowe chuckles, nails dragging under his chin, “Depends on how well you handle three kid.”

“Some might say I’m an expert,” he laughs. 

“An expert in making them,” Luke jokes, with a whistle. 

“That’s all you,” Calum teases. “Some of us made the choice a lot time ago to shoot blanks.”

“We are not having this discussion right here,” you interject. 

Harlowe pushes on Calum’s shoulder, to get him walking towards the door. She digs into his jacket pocket, retrieving the kids. “I’ll talk to you probably in an hour,” she laughs. “Good luck, getting your drunk giant home.”

“Do not remind me,” you call before adding, “Love you.”

She shouts over her shoulder. “Love you too. I covered half the bill.”

“I covered half,” Calum corrects loudly. 

“Will you be quiet and walk you drunk piece of man. Let’s go. Kids. Kids. We gotta get to our kids.”

You drive the two of you back. Luke hums quietly along to the radio for a while. His leg bounce. You watch him at a red light. “What’s up?” you ask, pressing your palm into his denim-cladded thigh. 

“Do you know what’s up with Ra?”

You had noticed she was way more quiet than usual. This is whatever Harlowe knew but you did. Luke continues, his voice panicked. “I tried asking her what was up, but she wouldn’t budge. I’m not sure if you know.”

“I don’t know either.”

His sigh is heavy. You can imagine his fingers carding through his hair as the stress settles onto his forehead. “Is it college stress? Boy trouble? If it’s boy trouble, I’m kicking someone’s ass,” he murmurs. 

“Call Harlowe too.”

Luke chuckles, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Yeah, I can’t forget her. What do you think it is?”

You don’t even want to try and think about that, what darkness is potentially overcoming your baby girl. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens. You’d go through hell and back for your kids. Sure you weren’t always the most affectionate person, but you’d be damned if your kids were going through some shit and didn’t at least know you were in their corner for them. The rest of the drive you and Luke try not to envision all the terrible scenarios. Had someone hurt her? Touched her the wrong way? Was she failing a class? Did something happen to a friend? Did she think that you and Luke weren’t there for her anymore?

With the car parked in the driveway, you two climb out of the car and share a concerned glance before walking inside. Ra’s chilling on the couch, Noor passed out in her lap, the TV’s on. It’s not barely nine. “You’re free of being pretend mom,” Luke says softly. 

Ra looks up with a small smile. “How were drinks?”

“Good. Anything happen here?” you asks.

“If it had, trust I would’ve called. After you guys left after dinner, we all finished up some homework. Or rather they finished up, and then Zeek showered and start drawing. Noor and I watched some TV. She had those physical fitness test today, so she’s pretty exhausted I guess.”

Luke nod, kissing both their foreheads. “We’ve got her. Finish up that work, yeah?”

Ra nods. “How many pints, Dad?” she laughs. 

He shakes his head. “Hush. Only a few more months and then I’ll take you out.”

“Oh, God, please spare me that embarrassment.”

“Okay, so Auntie Harlowe can take you out on my dime, how about that?”

She grins. “Now you’re talking.”

Luke pulls her in for one last hug, kissing her hair. “Go finish your work, missy.”

As Ra ascends the stairs, you wait until she reaches the first landing before stopping her, a gentle hand on her back. “Hey,” you start, looking into her eyes. The twinkle is gone. She looks tired. “You know I’m here right, for you. Both your dad and I are. You can tell us anything.”

She nods, lips pursing close. “I know. Thanks, Mum. Got a paper to finish though.” She lifts her thumb over her shoulder to the stairs, to her room, to her escape. You nod. She turns and takes them two at a time. She’s not ready. You can’t force her. 

It’s another two weeks. Zahra walks in through the door behind Noor and Zeek, closing the door behind her. “Hey guys,” you call out, tending over the pot of pasta. 

Zeek kisses your cheek and Noor buries herself in a giant hug. Ra doesn’t round the corner. You peek around and see her leaning against the glass, hands covering her face. Her shoulders shake once, twice. She’s crying. Before you can set yourself in motion towards her, she throws herself into you, tears staining her cheek, streaking her make-up. “Fuck,” she whimpers, shaking against you. 

Your heart thunders in your chest. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay.” Part of you is frozen. What the hell is happening? But the other part is ready to fix whatever it is. Whatever is heavy in her soul. “Talk--talk to me, baby. I’m right here,” you attempt to soothe. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know,” she hiccups. “I know emotions are totally not our thing. But god, I’m so tired of holding this in anymore.”

The two of you stand there, you rubbing at her back and she sobs into your skin, her tears feeling like fire. What else could you have done to get her to open up sooner? What else could you have said? “You’re ready now,” you whisper. “It’s okay.”

It takes a few minutes for Zahra to collect herself. Her cheeks are streak a little. But she takes a deep breathe. “Did my mascara run?”

You shake your head, a smile cracking through the fear. “No. Told you that shit would hold.”

She laughs. The two of you head into the kitchen, you hand her some tissues. She’s much taller than you, taking her height from Luke. You have to look up at her a little. Rubbing her arms, you find yourself at lost for words. Wait until she’s ready, you think to yourself. Wait until she’s ready. Zeek hands her a glass of water. “Your face didn’t melt too bad.”

“Thanks,” Ra mutters, taking a sip. “And you’re still a pain in my butt.”

“I’m the best pain,” he smiles, hugging her. 

“Can I talk to you and Dad, when he gets here?” Ra says quietly behind her glass. 

You nod. “Of course.”

Luke arrives home about an hour later. Just as dinner is finished. He immediately notes the pink to Zahra’s face and flashes you a look. You respond with a gesture of your hand, telling him to wait, to not jump the gun. But Zahra knows when her hug is a few seconds longer than usual. Dinner goes by nicely, though Zeek does make one comment, “So we’re not going to discuss the emotional breakdown or?”

“Shove your mouth with pasta or there’s gonna be another breakdown and not from me,” Ra smiles. 

Zeek huffs, “No need to take my head off, okay?”

Noor reaches over, holding Ra’s hand, while shoveling more food onto her fork. “Some of us know our manners,” she quips. 

Luke and you try to swallow the snickers. Your children did learn from the best. Zeek and Noor get excused from the table. You know the kitchen’s a mess but that can wait. Zahra looks up from her empty plate. “So, like, what if I said I wasn’t sure I was straight?” she asks all in one breathe. 

You blink for a second, all the air rushing out of your lungs, before you smile. “I would say I’m very happy you told me.”

She looks to Luke. He takes her hand between his palms. “I would say that I love you no matter what. Straight or not, you’re still my daughter and I love you dearly. And it’s mighty brave of you to admit that.”

Zahra blinks rapidly, eyes welling up again. “It’s--” her voice is thick, she takes a moment. “It’s strange. To always have known something was different with me. Not just skin color or religion. But like something different. I don’t have a label for it. And I tried to push it down, ya know? Not think about it amongst all the college application deadlines, and dances, and school work mixed in with my job. I just….it’s been too long for me not to say something.”

You hand her a napkin. She dabs under her eyes. “You don’t need a label, sweetie. You don’t have to be afraid of us. We will always love you.”

“Always?” she questions. 

“Of course,” you and Luke chorus. 

“So, on top of that, I also don’t think artsy is my thing, Dad. I like the idea of Med school.”

Luke grins, placing one hand over his heart, faking a groan of pain. “I still got two more shoots at one of my kids turning to the arts.”

Zahra laughs looking over to you. “Every Brown parent’s dream, isn’t it?”

You nod, laughter bursting out of you. “Maybe just a little bit. I don’t care what you do, just as long as you love it, sweetheart.”

“That’s really a one two punch,” Luke jokes, later as the three of you clean the kitchen. “Really breaking your old man’s heart.”

You slap his bicep. “Now’s not the time.”

Zahra hugs him though from behind, cheek squished by his back. “I figured if you guys could handle me being a giant question mark in the sexuality department then maybe changing from arts to sciences would be easier to swallow.”

Luke turns in her embrace, wrapping her up tightly. “Yeah, a good way to deliver the news.” You let your cheeks lift, watching Zahra happily rests in her father’s arms for a beat or two longer before going back to putting the dishes up. It’s no longer heaviness in her shoulders, she no longer drags. That makes you happy.

Not even two hours later though, there’s a knock at the door. Luke answers it, his laughter erupting from him. You watch as Harlowe comes barreling down the entryway, a rainbow flag in her hands. She wraps Ra up in as she hugs her, rocking them both side to side. “Welcome to the club!” Harlowe laughs. 

Calum, Te Koha, Esha and Nikau follow in slowly behind her. If you had to equate the two of you to weather, Harlowe is a hurricane and your just the run of the mill thunderstorms. But you wouldn’t have her any other way. Esha walks over, prying her mother away from her life long friend. “So, we’re going to pride together or what?” Esha jokes, giving Zahra a hug. Esha has been out as pan for a year now. Calum and Harlowe took her to a few pride events since then. 

Ra laughs, “Yeah, yeah I guess we can.”

Te Koha steps dish out a hug too. “That’s very brave and you. I’m proud,” he says quietly. Zahra and him are in the same boat, not straight, not gay, just questions, just queer. Te Koha has not said anything. She hopes this pushes him. You watch their silent conversation before Nikau hugs her too and it ends. 

“Momma brought you cake,” Nik informs to Ra. 

She laughs. “Of course, you did Auntie Harlowe. Only you.”

“I’ve been quiet for weeks! Weeks, I told you i would not say anything until you came out. But I hope you’re ready because now, I’m not holding back!” Harlowe laughs, walking into the kitchen. That’s when it comes evident that her rainbow clips are holding back her two-strand twists from her face. You laugh at the detail, but happily take the slice of cake she hands you. 

“Thank you,” you say to Harlowe as the kids chat in the background. Ra’s still wearing the flag. “Thank you for being there for her.”

“It’s what I’m here for. I do not take the title aunt loosely.”

“Clearly,” you mutter, motion to the cake and the flag. “You make that abundantly clear.”