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catchmewiddershins · 4 years ago

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What it’s like to be loved by them

Ah yes I am throwing out some scraps of content because I finally was able to free up some time to write! And then had no ideas! So we’re doing something cliché lol - Also I used a random character wheel to pick who to write for- (I CAN’T SPELL HINATA’S FIRST NAME IT ALL LOOKS WRONG)

Includes: Miya Osamu, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Hinata Shoyou, Yaku Morisuke, Akaashi Keiji, Oikawa Tooru and Shouhei Fukunaga

Miya Osamu:

Osamu is silver-blue piano and soft chords, the sunlight that slips so softly through the slats on blinds that are slightly broken, the slightly sticky feeling of wet rice in your hands as it fits into the lines that weave across your palms. He is white, cotton blankets and fluffed pillows, cloudy lemonade and losing sight of your toes in a thick carpet. He’s the feeling of calloused fingers on yours, fluffy socks and the taste of warm soups in winter as it breathes its hot steam down your throat and heats your stomach. He is cold cheeks and noses, tea-stained pages and the golden scent of fresh bread that signifies the best feelings of life. Osamu is hand-knitted tea cosies and watercolour paintings blu-tacked to the wall, warm, buttered popcorn and the feeling of the highstreet at night. He is the lights that glimmer on the midnight motorway and moon when it's risen in a blue afternoon sky. Being loved by Osamu is to bob on the ocean, the sun at your back and baking your legs, with salt crusting your skin and the taste of the sea on your lips while his fingers lock with yours, the perfect puzzle pieces to finish you both as the crowing laughs of seagulls echo above you.

Ushijima Wakatoshi:

Ushijima is solid wood and tall forests, the green sound of a breeze ruffling grass like a father’s hand on the head of his child. He is apples and ice cubes and soft, plaid blankets laid on the dirt. He is the sight of a small ladybird, crouched on the tip of a finger, wings spread to fly into the great expanse of sky that stretches before it. He is red sunrises and purple evenings, the hazy, grey brightness that slows the day, the syrupy sluggish afternoons of drizzled rain and icing on lemon cakes, eaten with hot tea in a library. He is muffled laughter in the corridors and coats and hands that swamp and cover and protect, and the feeling of always looking up, up, up. He is the dusty, old clock you found in the attic and the wooden slats of old houses, he is peeling plaster and new paint, and the squeak and shine of polished floors. He is secret passages through the walls and flights of stairs that extend to infinity, and the deep, throbbing, beetroot purple of the tightest hugs that root themselves down into your chest. Being loved by Ushijima is being loved by the bass line of life, it’s his hand on your head and the other hovering at your waist, slow dancing to songs that weren’t meant for such smooth delight, him spinning you out as the air sparkles and being close to the beat of his heart and mind as you glide and dip and swerve to the thrum of his voice.

Hinata Shoyou:

Hinata is the tightness in your thighs they day after exercise and the sweet tang of mangoes in summer. He's August days when the ground wavers and the grass becomes caramel. He is hot red bricks under bare feet and the dizzying height of the walls of your garden. He is water fights and sprinklers in the baking sun, the squinting eyes and glaring lights, the shortest shorts you own. He is the smokey scent of sausage that stings and waters your tongue, the barbequed weekends and idle chatter of friends and the chink of ice that melts too quickly in glasses of juice that have been kept in the fridge. He's the soft comfort of pyjamas and burning hot skin on a cold day, marshmallows and fire and smouldering logs. He is the dance of heated air and the warmth that fogs the bathroom mirror. He is sand in your toes at one moment and the top of a cliff the next. Being loved by Hinata is the kites that float over the hilltops and the whipped foam of waves and the splattered paint of blankets, the mismatch of deckchairs and parasols at the beach, a sandcastle and the flagpole on top, and the horizon that stretches so far into the distance.

Yaku Morisuke:

Yaku is beaming, sunshine laughter and the ruffled hair of little kids. He is the background chatter in a café and the music playing in your favourite shops, the rushing of places and people as you're dragged down the street on your way to somewhere special. He's the thud, thud, thud of sprinting down a massive hill as the air is ripped from your lungs and your joyful screams are lost to the spiraling sky. He's the blur of green and blue and the smell of grass as you roll half of the way. He is the juice of melting ice lollies and the teasing winks of wind chimes by the sea, he's the sticky residue of broken stems that leaves itself on your fingers after the construction of a daisy chain. He's the light of a phone screen in the dark and the print of an old book where the s and f look irritatingly similar. He is the warmth of your own bed and the scent of your own home, the feeling of old clothes and attachment. Being loved by Yaku is to call to the birds that circle overhead and to feed fresh strawberries to one another, to play fight with sticks and paint your legs with grass stains and to trundle home with the exhaustion that comes from euphoria, sharing a hand, high on life.

Akaashi Keiji:

Akaashi is a lake, clear as glass and just as cold, although not the biting cold, but the cold that invites hot chocolate and a log fire. He is the lakes that teem with fish that nudge your numbing fingers and make you wonder at the world, he is the sunlight that glints off of slick rocks and your glimmering skin. He's the royal blue of day and the navy of night, the colour of the ocean, and of flowers, and of the quiet hum of a cello played delicately. He is the fingers of trees that reach to the sun, and the crunching silence of wet autumn leaves, the scent of old books and ink and the eternal echo of time in a museum. He is the sculpted face of statue and the warmth of a flushed face, the fragility of butterfly wings and flower petals and the strength of the trunk of an oak. He is hummingbirds and kingfishers and the simmering yellow of a springtime kiss. He is the sun at your neck and the shade of a tree above you, the splash of a diving duck and the tickle of grass on your bare feet. Being loved by Akaashi is staring up at him from where you sit, serene tranquility, the faint thrum of a river beneath you as your hand disturbs it, the creak of an aging wooden boat and the dappled sunlight that streams through the trees as he rows you to love.

Oikawa Tooru:

Oikawa is the tinkling of bells and the birdsong that flies in the early morning. He is the banded sunrise and all of its colours, the yellow songs on the radio that you sing along to, the orange-gold warmth of early evening, the pink of a blush on his cheeks, the purple light of the night that casts his face into shadow and the navy blue of his wallpaper. He is doodles on desks and using highlighter ink for nail varnish, he is cute stationery and over-curled handwriting and the giggles that come from sharing a secret. He is the creak of benches that have been sat on too many times and the blinding colours of tropical fish in an aquarium. He’s the blasting sound of loud radio, the rush of windows wide open at seventy miles an hour, the pressure against an arm thrown out of the window and the crescendo of voices singing at the top of their lungs until your voices crack and your throats are deserts. Being loved by Oikawa is whipped cream on your nose and joyful laughter, pancakes on the ceiling and sprinkles scattered over the floor, it’s playing children’s games while waiting for a cake to cook, and snuggling up with popcorn in a fairy-light bedecked fort, with foundations of cotton and walls of blankets as the white glare of television shines in your eyes.

Shouhei Fukunaga:

Fukunaga is uncontrollable giggling and whispered jokes, he is the fire-engine red of plastic buckets and spades, the sweetness of sugary treats and the fizz of sherbert on your tongue. He is brightly coloured doors and hanging baskets of flowers, the unevenness of cobbled streets and pastel houses. He’s the soft song of a springtime breeze when it brushes your cheek with a tender hand and blows your eyes open, dusting your face and head, the exhilarating rush of staring into the wind, the drop in your stomach as you lean backwards into its support. He is the chime of a shop door and the crinkle of packets that have been piled into your arms, the warmth of a kitchen and the taste of joy. He’s puns and playful nudges and blinding grins, crinkling eyes and soft cheeks stretched wide, he’s homemade food and the sparkling expression of the one who made it, he’s the warmth of a borrowed jumper, the mould of a side that you fit to so easily, the clicking of a keyboard when online games are played together. He is the snacks that have melted slightly in his bag, odd socks with garish patterns, googly eyes stuck all over his books, doodles in the margins and fluffy pencil toppers, dancing with no rhythm to old songs in the kitchen and letting yourselves go wild. Being loved by Fukunaga is to lie under the coffee table, your eyes falling into his as he stares you down, deft fingers nimbly shuffling cards, it’s to laugh in disbelief as he pulls your card from the deck, eyebrows wiggling their way off of his face, a playful beam poking through his lips, your legs are tangled together and one of your arms is going numb but it doesn’t matter, you are his and he is yours.

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hcneymilkks · 5 years ago

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SHINee/ Super M Taemin ‘Hot Chocolate’

Requested on WATTPAD

Request your own oneshot here!

prompt numbers:

5. Spilling hot chocolate/coffee/a hot-fucking-beverage on the other and insisting on paying for a new drink and new clothes for them, unaware that they're rich and very capable of buying themselves another coffee. Besides, they don't know that this jacket is Louis Vuitton and cost more than the knock-off Gucci belt that had caught their eye in the first place (probably looking a little lower than the belt, but we digress). "So you wanna... hot chocolate and chill?" "If you ask me that one more time, I will dump my hot chocolate on you."

7. Being gifted tickets to see a family member overseas, but having to leave their S/O at home for Christmas, not expecting them to turn up on their doorstep on Christmas morning with a bouquet of roses.

Pairing: Taemin x Reader

Genre: fluff with some angst

Word count: 3.1k

Flecks of snow landed on your eyelashes, propping your hood up higher to cover your face from the cold.

The drastic change from fall to winter had you feeling under the weather, walking to the nearest convenience store to buy some medicine, not wanting to bother Taemin.

You entered your shared apartment to smell chicken noodle soup boiling on the stove, your stomach growling like an animal. Taemin was humming a tune while stirring the soup, not realizing you entered until you wedged yourself in between the stove and him.

"Goodness Y/N! You scared me!" He quickly moved you away from the stove, not wanting you to get burned because you wanted attention.

"Sorry." A coughing fit came and went, reminding yourself to take the medicine.

He sighed and engulfed you in a hug, patting your back and then placing his warm hand on your forehead.

"You're burning up, let's eat and then you need to rest." You nodded, feeling the effects of the medicine you took just a moment earlier.

The rest of the day went by in a blur, Taemin forcing you to rest and kissing your forehead as you whined for his embrace, your eyes feeling drowsy and your mind filled with what to do on Christmas day.

_______________

"Hey, remember the time when we first met?" The Christmas holidays were coming up, and you felt better, your body finally getting used to the winter weather.

The pretend fire you had on the Television gave the living space a more home-like effect, the both of you lazing around on the couch drinking hot chocolate.

Taemin choked, as the hot liquid went down quicker than expected. "I do. Why so out of the blue?"

You shrugged. "I don't know, I just find it really embarrassing for me. I mean, you are so rich and handsome but also so kind. If you had made me go get your shirt dry cleaned I think I would have been broke forever."

He chuckled. "But you were cute so I let it off the hook." He winked at you and you cringed, feeling a blush creeping up...or was that from the hot chocolate. "Besides, I didn't really like that shirt and I couldn't do anything about it. My parents would disapprove of me giving the shirt away so I guess you became a blessing to my curse."

It was a bright fall day, the orange leaves crunching under your shoes. Coming from a stressful class you knew you needed a pick-me-up. What better way to go and get your favourite drink at the local coffee shop at Campus? Quick, affordable, aesthetic, a great study place too.

The bells chimed as you walked in, the fresh smell of ground coffee beans hitting your nose with the sound of milk being foamed, it was a heavenly place for the coffee lover.

"Can I get one hot chocolate please?" But for you, you couldn't let go of one specific drink.

"One hot chocolate for Y/N."

Your hands clasped the open drink tightly, keeping your eyes focused on the ethereal leaf design made with the extra milk, adding a small dollop of whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles on top. One second the drink was beautifully made, photogenic. And the next?

It was all over a man.

"Oh my goodness I'm so sorry!" You rushed to grab napkins from the drink counter, trying to wipe off the mess.

You accidentally touched the man's jacket and gasped. It was soft to the touch and a beautiful light grey colour, the amount of puff perfect to protect the owner from a cold. But yet, there was a stain not only on the white shirt the man wore but on the jacket as well. A brown ugly colour which stood out a hundred times more.

Trying to wipe it off, but instead smearing the stain, even more, panicking inside.

A hand clasped over yours, rough but smooth feeling at the same time.

"Hey, it's alright." You look up and into the eyes of Lee Taemin, the top student in your Chemistry department.

Shaking your head, you took another sip of the hot chocolate. "But Taemin really, just what happened with that shirt and jacket?"

"Well the shirt is gone, thank goodness for that. And the jacket, well...."

That was three years ago, never would you have imagined that your life would revolve around his. That the both of you knew, that you were soulmates, shared over a cup of hot chocolate.

A few dates here and there, never without a cup of hot chocolate and one of his awful pick-up lines.

"So you wanna... hot chocolate and chill?"

"Lee Taemin If you ask me that one more time, I will dump my hot chocolate on you."

Getting closer to him meant that you saw more than just his appearance. Although he is rich and finding out later on that the jacket and shirt you spilled your drink on was Louis Vuitton branded. Panicking aside, you didn't care about the money or the looks. His personality is what hit you the most. Gentle, kind, reassuring, always willing to listen to your problems, on and on.

He was the one.

______________

"Yo sis when are you coming home for Christmas?"

Two weeks before Christmas day and work had become more tiring than ever. Everyone wanted to get results out before the holidays, but that puts you into working overtime. Taemin was the same, the business booming with less paperwork and more physical work needed.

You sighed while washing the dishes, your neck cramping up as your younger brother Mark complained about how he and the rest of your family could only see you once or twice a year. It wasn't your fault that the company wouldn't give time off longer than six weeks total.

"Um, I'm not sure I'll be able to come this year. Work is getting busier and they need all the help they can get."

Mark sighed on the other side of the phone while opening a bag of chips and stuffing a handful into his mouth. "hy dun yu qut he job?"

"What?"

"I said why don't you quit the job?"

"Mark I already told you, I worked there for an internship and they liked me so I just stayed. Plus it's way easier than having to search for one." You washed the last plate and moved to the couch, your feet sore from standing.

"Doesn't your fiance have his own business? Can't he just hire you as his secretary or something?"

"Fiance? Mark we aren't engaged."

"Huh? But Taemin was texting me what kind of a ring to get you?"

"WHAT!?" Standing up as fast as lightning resulted in a stubbed toe. "Oops, I said too much. BYE SIS I LOVE YOU TEXT ME IF YOU'RE COMING HOME."

"MARK YOU LITTLE SH-" and the line went dead.

Massaging your baby toe, you grumbled. "What the hell was that?"

The lock jingled as Taemin opened the door, his cheeks a soft shade of pink wrapped up in a plaid scarf and a gray puffer jacket....yes, the same one you spilled the drink on.

"Baby I'm home, give me hugs." You laughed and ran to hug him, complaining at how cold he was.

"I was just outside!"

"I know but still!"

Christmas Music was softly played as you both were in the kitchen cooking a delicious dinner. Having too much wine even before the meal resulted in yet another spill, thankfully not on anyone's clothing.

Chatter about work became the main topic for tonight's conversations, Taemin complaining about Lucas and Chenle.

"I swear those two will be the death of me, especially Lucas. He's so tall and annoying sometimes, and too loud."

"But Taemin you let them work with you."

"...It was a mistake."

More wine and cuddles, picking a good Christmas movie on Netflix. You snuggled up against Taemin's side, working the remote while he drank his wine from his free hand. After deciding on Elf, you decided to finally ask what was on your mind the whole day.

"Taemin.....what was Mark talking about that you were trying to buy me a ring?"

Taemin choked again on his wine, spitting it back into the cup and cringing in disgust. "W-whatever do you mean darling? A ring? What ring? I see no ring?" he awkwardly chuckles as you eye him weirdly, pressing your hand on his forehead.

"Baby, is something wrong?" He shakes his head. You, on the other hand, don't buy it.

"Taemin you can tell me anything it's okay."

He takes a deep breath and stands up.

You, in your sweats and one of his oversized shirts and him, also wearing sweats and an oversized shirt. Elf playing in the background, the Christmas tree lit up. He figures there was no better opportunity than to do it here. Slowly, Taemin gets down on one knee and reaches in his pocket. A velvet box perched on his hand. Your reflexes immediately bring your own hands to your mouth, gasping when he opens the box to reveal a beautiful ring. Simple yet elegant, the light hitting all the perfect points of the diamond perched on top of the gold band, showing colours of pastel pink and purple.

"Y/N, I know we both probably don't look the best right now but I know for sure this is how I want to spend the rest of my life....with you. Will you marry me?"

_______________

"HOLY SHIT! I knew it!" You chuckled as you packed your luggage. Mark was cheering on the other side of the phone and you knew it would last ages.

"Alright alright, Mark I get it! He proposed the wedding won't be until a while okay?

Mark laughed. "Okay okay, sis I get it. By the way, are you coming? Mom and dad have been nagging me to ask you almost every day."

"...yeah I'm coming. Taemin got me a ticket to see you guys so pick me up from the airport at 3:00 pm tomorrow okay?"

The call ended shortly after that, packing all of the essentials needed for the one week trip. You admired the engagement ring, smiling. It was perfect.

But not everyone agreed.

Later that evening you and Taemin reached his parents' condominium, him ringing the doorbell as you held the still steaming fruit cake in your hands, nervous as ever.

The door swung open and Taemin's mother engulfed him in a hug, giving kisses to both of his cheeks.

"Hello, mother nice to see you again."

"Oh come in, you must be hungry." His mother moved her eyes to you, as you tried to bow but almost dropping the cake. She discreetly rolled her eyes and gestured her son to come in, leaving you to fend for yourself.

_________________

The clinking of glasses surrounded the home, small talk developing. What you thought was a small family dinner turned out to be a whole relative get-together for the holidays. You felt out of place in your dress not tailored to your style, standing beside Taemin for most of the night while you felt the chilling stares of disapproval.

Taemin gently placed his hand in yours, guiding you to the middle of the dining room table. With a clink of his glass, the room became silent.

"I have an announcement to make." he began. "As you all know my girlfriend Y/N, two days ago we have entered into a new chapter of our lives. We're engaged."

The silence, the moving eyes, you felt your stomach drop. Everyone goes back to their small talk and you looked at Taemin, showing a small smile. He bends closer towards you, his breath tickling your ears, "they will warm up to the news, it's still a little shocking to them."

After excusing yourself to use the washroom, you accidentally bump into Taemin's mother, who scoffs under her breath.

"Still clumsy as ever I see? You never learn."

You turn around. "Pardon me?"

"I see you forced my son to marry you? Why? What is your reason with him? Surely you're in it for the money?" Her eyes going cold.

"No! I would never do such a thing, Madam. He was the one that proposed to me. I love him."

Her eyes judge you up and down, taking sight of your second hand "fancy" dress. "Never will I let my son marry a commoner like you." With that, she walked away, your thoughts and tears clouding your vision, second-guessing everything.

___________________

The ride home was silent, your fingers fiddling with the ring on your left hand. Taemin humming to a song on the local radio.

His hand finds yours and you hold it like there's no tomorrow, fearing for what you will do next.

Your mind is split into two, your persona leaning more into option two. For even though it will hurt, it's better than to live your life in agony.

Once back at home you quickly remove your shoes and run to your shared bedroom, slamming the door. Taemin places down the keys at the entrance table and slanders over to the door, knocking it ever so lightly that if you weren't so close to the doors, you would have missed it.

"Love, are you alright? I know the silence at the party was unexpected but I promise you, every-" "Do you really love me?"

Taemin was taken aback, you had never asked him such a thing.

"I'm sorry?"

You opened the door and he saw you tear-faced. "Do you really love me Lee Taemin?"

"Oh Y/N, of course, I love you, why did you think I would ask you to marry me?"

You shrug. "Oh I don't know, maybe because you feel bad about me being poor and a commoner and you think that a handsome rich man like you would make all my troubles disappear." venom like words followed after that. Maybe it was because you had a little bit too much to drink or you couldn't take it anymore. But whatever it was, the last few words and the actions that followed made Taemin's heart break.

"Let's call off the engagement." and the ring was placed into his hand.

__________________

Mark had picked you up from the airport and didn't question your puffy eyes or tiredness. He simply drove you home and warned your parents beforehand not to ask anything about the engagement, hearing the news from Taemin.

You slept most of the time, while awake your mind wandered to the conversation from yesterday night with his mother, feeling disgusted at yourself.

Mark had knocked on your door to let you know he was running some late-night errands and that dinner was ready but you didn't have the energy to get out of bed.

That was Christmas eve.

Christmas day was a different story.

Trying not to make the mood so down, you acted cheery in front of your parents, like nothing happened. Throughout the day that act became real, with you cracking some jokes with your father like old times, and helping your mother cook.

Mark hadn't been at home for most of the day until the three of you sat down and waited. The doorbell rang not too long after. "Y/N honey please get the door."

Grumbling, you hoped it was Mark as you were starving. But you slammed the door right away.

The man you didn't want to see, was at your front door, in your home country. Carrying a bouquet of roses. What scared you though was how similar he looked to you. Red puffy eyes as if he had been recently crying (you covered yours up with lots of concealer), and a tired expression.

"Y/N honey who was that?"

"N-no one mom." You opened the door a tiny crack and Mark fully pushed the door open, dragging Taemin inside as well.

"Mom we have a guest over."

The roses were placed in an empty pot filled with water, the silence unbearable for you.

"So Taemin, how is the business doing?" Your father tried to make small talk with the man who he had only seen a handful of times.

"It's going well sir.....I'm preparing for the next big sales for New Year's."

Your father nodded and it was silent yet again.

"Anyone up for dessert?"

_______________

Hot chocolate was given to drink in the living room, but Mark intercepted and stopped at two, signalling his parents to watch the two people who haven't spoken in a day to each other.

A day to a one-person may seem like a normal thing to others, but for these two, their new chapter had been shattered and it was only a matter of time before it was lost.

You drank your hot chocolate with questions floating all over the place.

Clearing your throat, you decided to eliminate the elephant in the room.

"Why did you co-" "I'm sorry."

Silence.

"Y/N I'm so sorry for everything. After you left, I confronted my parents and my mother told me what she said to you." That hit a nerve, as you visibly winced at the fresh memory.

Taemin continued. "For years they wanted me to have an arranged marriage with someone they liked and who was in our social circle. I was willing to agree with it until I met you. Remember when I said you were the blessing to my curse? You didn't only save me from wearing that awful shirt."

You tried to stifle a laugh and he smiled. "But you also saved me from conforming to my social norms, to be the odd one out, to follow my dreams, to know what it's like to really fall in love. And I never, ever want to lose that."

Taemin placed his hot chocolate on the table, took a deep breath and slowly went down on one knee. He took out the velvet box from his pocket and opened up to reveal the same engagement ring. Although in a different country, the lighting hits the diamond perfectly.

"Again, I know you and I don't look the best right now, but I know for sure I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I will make sure nothing gets in our way and I will love you unconditionally. L/N Y/N, would you do the honours of becoming my wife?"

Placing your hot chocolate down, you wiped stray tears that came out of your eyes, hugging Taemin and mumbling yes. He smiles and hugs you back, pulling away to place the ring back on your finger, where it belongs.

The both of you share a kiss, accidentally pushing the table and spilling both hot chocolates, laughing.

For a sweet romance that started with a cup of spilled hot chocolate.

#SHINee #Super M #Lee Taemin #Mark Lee #Lucas #christmas writing prompts #request 1....complete!#trash writing lol

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thesinglesjukebox · 5 years ago

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HAIM - SUMMER GIRL

[7.92]

We think it’s fly when these girls stop by for the summer...

Nellie Gayle: I'm not exactly the least biased observer when it comes to Haim's music. I owe a good portion of my close friendships and my longterm relationship to the Twitter fandom they cultivated around the time of their first release, when I was a tiny baby in college. But, still, I think my respect and affection for them doesn't disqualify me from having a valuable opinion on them. In this case, I can especially appreciate "Summer Girl" as the rare Haim song celebrating longevity and long distance in all of its pangs and nuanced happy moments. Written for Danielle Haim's partner during a serious illness, Summer Girl is a painfully sweet momento of that moment when we realize exactly what we are to other people and walk toward that version of ourselves. There's an easy breezy quality to the song that's underpinned by the fear and trauma that can visit a relationship. To be a summer girl, here, is less about wilding out for yourself in global warming record highs (still an admirable pastime), and more about how we can find strength by viewing our own selves -- malleable, fragile, messy -- as the strength and release someone else needs. This shift in perspective creates love for both ourselves, and the vessels of care and affection in our lives *collective 'awwwww'* [10]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Lou Reed knew how to make these sparse, simple songs that felt content with life despite knowing its many shortcomings. "Summer Girl" feels imbued with that same gritty hope, not least because its "Walk on the Wild Side" influence is patently obvious. The backstory of this song -- that it was written for Danielle Haim's partner Ariel Rechtshaid after he was diagnosed with testicular cancer -- makes this feel all the more heartfelt. But really, it's there in the music itself. This is the sort of song that feels like the product of a jam session between friends, where repetition and marginal changes in dynamics are a reflection of lazy summer days and a desire to just do something with the people you care about. Danielle Haim grounds the song with her vocals, but it's the music -- ever-loping and easy-going -- that signals the message here that everything will be all right. I'm reminded of Pavement's "Gold Soundz," specifically the notion of a mutual emptiness. What Malkmus spoke of was a romanticized ennui, but any emptiness I sense here is of a different sort: a willingness to empty oneself completely, to be filled with nothing but the love of another. [7]

Katie Gill: Thankfully, the four minute long showcase for a saxophone riff features a REALLY GOOD saxophone riff. [6]

Michael Hong: Haim may have described "Summer Girl" as an attempt to emulate "Walk on the Wild Side" by Lou Reed, but its aesthetics also seemed to be partially informed by Danielle's recent stints across Vampire Weekend's Father of the Bride, especially, the jazzy-vibes of "Sunflower" and "Flower Moon." And similar to Vampire Weekend, Haim have a strength for distilling decades of influences to make their music sound simply like the present. On the surface, "Summer Girl" sounds exactly like a summer breeze, but it's deceptively chill. The burden of forced positivity leads to a sadness and the feeling that the group is holding back that creep into the track's breezy atmosphere. That sadness and restraint should be worrying; however, Danielle's reassuring vocals flip any anxiety into peace, and everything else disappears in the meditative way she repeats the line "I'm your summer girl." [7]

Ashley Bardhan: I love how soft Danielle's vocals are and how the saxophone peeks out from behind it, like the twinkling of an ice cream truck on a sticky July night. I feel the heavy summer breeze passing when she says "You walk beside me, not behind me/Feel my unconditional love." It's a whispered command breaking into love and heat, opening the grey clouds to see the "angels coming now." As the song ends, amidst steely drums and saxophone swelling, you reached the beach in your favorite town. [8]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: Songs about summer love take place at the beach, on bright sunny days, end at parties; they are flirtatious, playful, even dangerous; they sound like the rush of falling in love at an irresponsible pace, but being too young and dumb to give a care about the eventual season's change. To be sure, these songs are great, but "Summer Girl" is so arresting and gorgeous precisely because of its subversion of this formula. It begins after the thrill of the chase has already subsided, and focuses instead on the emotional intimacy and complexity that percolates afterwards. When Haim whisper, "I can see it in your face/I'm relief/I'm your summer girl," it's the portrait of romance so intoxicating that pillow talk doesn't require talking at all in order to understand connection -- no matter how brief. The meandering saxophone soundtracks this all sublimely, tinged with bittersweetness as if to ruminate on the nature of love that, by definition, has an expiration date. I know I'm young and supposed to be at some club hooking up to whatever song of the summer dominates the airwaves, but this year, all I want to do is lay in an open field gazing at stars, surrounded by nothing but the sound of crickets chirping, the crackle of bonfire, and this song playing in the background as I fall asleep in a stranger's arms. [9]

Josh Buck: An unexpected and disarmingly smooth four minute swerve that makes a compelling case for Haim's longevity. [8]

Alfred Soto: A minute before the "doo-doo" hook I knew the drum pattern and sax were drenched in "Walk on the Wild Side," and it fits: Danielle Haim on a casual stroll across Hamptons dunes, cheering herself up with the musical memories competing in her head. [7]

Kayla Beardslee: An absolutely perfect summer song, "Summer Girl" would work best when played on a lazy August weekend, sitting on a screened-in porch or sprawling on a wooden dock, watching the sun slowly dip below the horizon and turn the sky pink and orange -- but I'm listening to it at a dining table on a Tuesday afternoon, and it still sounds wonderful. Danielle Haim is restrained, voice gliding smoothly over the bass with a contentment that matches the lyrics, but her emotions break through on the stellar bridge, where she describes her memories of earthquake drills and tears behind dark sunglasses. These images, which in a vacuum would seem sinister, are instead imbued with a surprising nostalgia, and the best lines in the song follow moments later. Danielle sings, "Walk beside me/Not behind me/Feel my unconditional love," and you can feel a lifetime's worth of emotions -- infatuation, frustration, longing, respect, happiness -- wrapped up in those ten seconds. And behind it all are the joyful bursts of saxophone, echoing like they're coming from just around the next street corner: the instrument, like the song as a whole, blissful, content, and yet always in motion. [8]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Summer in Southern California is, perhaps counter-intuitively, a dreary time. As a kid in the vast suburbs below Los Angeles, summer was mainly characterized by the absence of things -- of the structure of the school day, of the friends you picked up (gone away to various sleepaway camps), of the will to do anything that would risk your leaving the cool darkness of your room. The weather the rest of the year was good enough to be summer, and so the season itself became a sort of filler period, a tone-setter lost in the tone. "Summer Girl" is a song that captures the feeling of an endless Southern Californian summer perfectly, its lazy backbeat and drifting saxophones rattling around in my ears until the track's disparate parts melt together. For a band that's tended towards studio perfection even in their jammiest moments (c.f. "Little of Your Love"), the move towards chill is almost disconcerting. But afternoons spent waiting out the sun deserve soundtracks as much as any of the more kinetic times of summer, and "Summer Girl" fits that bill better than anything I've heard in a while. [8]

Kylo Nocom: "Summer Girl" hearkens back to weird memories of hazy 6th grade school buses playing Kendrick Lamar on the radio and 9th grade memories of looping Radiohead by myself thinking about all of the memories I was going to make in high school. It obviously doesn't resemble the former two artists at all past any invented superficial resemblances (well, the outro does resemble "Separator" a little...) but it captures something specific that I haven't felt in a long, long time. Much of this is like one long blur of looped familiarity, but the bridge is a sweet moment of lucidity quickly whipped into yet another river of pure daydreaming music. Summer's been rough on me; it's my last summer before graduating and I'm still so confused by what I want to do. This, in all of its reassuring and affirming glory, is a pleasant reminder that I've got all the time I need. [9]

Vikram Joseph: "Summer Girl" derives much of its power from the pull and tension between the crisis of health and love that inspired the song (hinted at when they sing about "the tears behind your dark sunglasses") and their determination to present the season as an airy, carefree thing nonetheless. The minimal, pastel tones of the production are impossibly classy -- there are shades of Broken Social Scene at their most light-handed here, and a saxophone part that suspends the song a few feet off the ground, like a balloon perpetually on the verge of carrying the whole thing off into the stratosphere. [8]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

#Haim #pop #music #music review #writing

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eorzeasntm · 6 years ago

Photo

ENTM Tumblr Cycle 11

Round 8: Spring Fever

Hi folks! Our last round for this cycle - and on this platform - was a celebration of the warm weather and beautiful spring flowers. I asked our models to go out and take a pastel shot with some pretty spring plants. Our models all showed off their joy for the season, but the most joyous this round was:

Kota Tumet

Congratulations! The judges all loved how serene this shot was - truly the embodiment of a warm spring day.

Our guest judge this week was Twilight Dove of ENTM, the runner up of YouTube Cycle 2. Thanks Twilight!

The winner of ENTM Tumblr Cycle 11 will be announced in the NEXT POST.

In the meantime, for all our models, we have critiques and parting comments from our judges below the fold.

Judge Twilight

Adam Evershot: This shot feels a bit like I'm having a romantic spring stroll through a glade with a Prince Charming. I really enjoy the depth of the shot with you (or us?) walking toward the forest, but I wish that there was a clearer destination in those trees. The hint of the building just off to the side is a nice touch, but I wish it were a little less obscured by the foliage near the camera. I do think you've done a good job giving us a gentle action shot, and the overall feel of it makes your choice to be facing away from the camera work in your favor.

Kota Tumet: What a lovely screen shot! You look so serene, I can almost smell the flowers and feel the gentle breeze just looking at you! Great job, this shot really says "spring"!

Ni'ko Shae: I'm surprised you were the only one to take a photo in the rain! You're very on brand with your choice to take a photo with the purple flowers of the Sylphlands, I do feel like the background might be a bit too busy, and the lights behind you are a tiny bit distracting, but you placed yourself well in the frame and you lit yourself in a way that helps you stand out even though you're dressed nearly entirely in purple as well. Good job!

Peaceful Ursa: The softness of this photo helps make the bright, saturated colors feel more springy when they could have otherwise threatened to be a bit more on the summer side. I'm not sure how I feel about your choice to use the ripped paper border, it feels a bit distracting having such a jagged edge when everything in your picture is soft, it would be nice to have seen a version of this without the border or with a more pastel color filter to make the border a little less of a stark contrast. Your glamour is very pretty (My favorite glam of the round!) and fits in with your surroundings nicely without letting you fall into the background, nicely done!

Luma Lee: The colors in this picture are so nice, and I love the framing with the flowers and tree! My one gripe is that I feel that you're so far to the right that the left side of the screen feels a little empty. I really do like how this image feels though, like you're so happy to be looking at these flowers under a warm spring sky, good job this week!

Yojimbo Kasai: This photo is calm in a way that says spring to me, but the colors and the lack of any flowers or obviously green foliage make it feel a little cold. I'm torn between feeling like this image is early spring, or a warm summer's day, I really wish there was some more foliage around to really drive that spring vibe home for me. Your pose and the way you're framed in the picture are nice though, it makes me feel like pulling up a lawn chair and joining you in what I imagine is a very pleasant afternoon nap!

Yomu Kazul: Spring is the season of love, and that is what your picture looks to be all about! I love the concept of the botanist being seduced by the spring nymph, its a unique take on the theme and you did a good job with it. Your position is obviously front and center with your extra blending in with the scenery nicely without completely disappearing, the colors are nicely balanced, and you're both framed well in the shot. Nice job!

Haila Wetyios: The colors in this shot are very nice and vibrant, and your choice to use red was bold and sets you apart from most of the other contestants! When it comes to your pose and position in the frame, I like that it feels like you're welcoming the viewer to your spring garden, but I wish you'd positioned yourself in a more intentional looking way, right now you're inhabiting the space between center and 1/3d and it feels a little awkward to me. I like that you set up your garden for this shot and made sure it felt springy, and I feel like with a little bit of fiddling around with your surroundings and your position you'd have an even nicer image on your hands.

Judge Ona

Haila, my love! How beautiful you look in this image! Surrounded by such lush vegetation and greenery! You absolutely fit the role of Balmung’s flower lady! I absolutely love the variety of color and the outfit choice as well!

Things to consider: If you’re going to do a dead centered shot, make sure its exactly centered, otherwise it can just create just enough of a feeling of disquiet causing the image to appear weaker. Also, having the roses next to you with just a tiny bit of blurring, would have made you stand out much more.

Things I love: Your glamour is spot on for a spring scenic theme. I also love how you created a scene that highlights so many beautiful colors, and still allows you to be the focus of the image. The time spent to create the scene has helped to fit your own narrative, while also following the theme of the round.

Haila, it was wonderful to be able to be on this side of the table for this round of Tumblr and to be able to give you my critiques on your beautiful images.

Peaceful: You look absolutely adorable here Peaceful. I want to be sitting next to you smelling those wonderful flowers. I hate to say it, but you are the definition of Peaceful here.

Things to consider: When given the prompt of scenic, it is ok to include more of the background and have yourself be less of the focus. That being said, your use of the frame here, takes away from the overall image, and really the image would have been stronger without it. I would also caution you to use the sharpening tool wisely, as you are blurrier than the foreground flowers. This, unfortunately caused you to be less of the focus, putting the focus on the flowers and not you.

Things I love: I love how you dyed your clothes to match the color of the flowers. I also love your pose and expression. It really creates that calming feeling that I feel spring flowers deserve. Lastly, kneeling in front of the tree added an additional level of texture and dimension to the image.

Thank you for turning in such beautiful images this cycle and really taking a chance with your big Roe self. I have enjoyed following your progress and hope to compete against you in the future.

Yomu: When I first looked at your image, I was utterly confused. What is this 70’s show scene doing here and why is Yomu love drunk. Then I saw the girl in the background. I guess you’re taking after Bambi and are officially twitterpated.

Things to consider: Your extra blends in a lot. Because of this, I didn’t understand your emote. If the viewer isn’t analyzing the image, it may not be as strong as it could be. I would also try to keep all glam consistent, especially if you’re going for a theme in your image. Maybe try to put your extra in the same clothing style as your character next time.

Things I love: Your glam. You picked such a difficult theme to get right, but you pulled it off. And honestly, I have NEVER seen anyone use this hair style! The location is beautiful, and it definitely fits the overall Scenic Spring feel

Yomu, it has been so wonderful being able to see your images improve through the competition. I would love to see you try another cycle and continue to improve your images!

Ni’Ko: Another beautiful image Ni’ko, and finally a chance for you to use that signature color of yours. I would have expected nothing less of you then to find the most purple field and take the most purple picture you could get.

Things to consider: You have this very obvious purple theme, yet are wearing bright green pants. The blue butterfly seems a bit out of place as well. It blends too much, while also being this completely odd color that doesn’t quite match the rest of the image.

Things I love: Your pose is perfect for a cat who actually enjoys the rain. I also love that you chose rain showers for your image. Although we think of bright cheery flowers for the spring, we need to remember the importance of the rain through the spring and. I also love how you chose to do this image at night. It is definitely a different approach to Springtime then the other models. It was an excellent choice to say the least!

As you already know Ni’ko, it has been a pleasure to be your judge this cycle, and I cannot wait to compete against you in future rounds!

Judge Nadede

Adam Evershot: What wouldn’t be spring without a walk out in nature, taking in the fresh air of spring and seeing everything growing back anew. It is one of my favorite parts of spring actually. While a lovely shot, I feel that it is a bit on the overlit side, possibly due to a combination of outdoor lighting, filter and any extra lighting (if any) you used. You’ll just have to play around via trial and error to get the lighting to where it doesn’t look too washed out. That said, I do wish that there was some form of rim lighting used, especially around your head as it blends in with the tree and rock in the background. Nice job all-in-all and very glad to see you improving big time from last cycle to this.

Luma Lee: One thing that I enjoy about spring, all the pretty flowers that are in bloom. Not too bad of a job from you this week. The bottom half of your image, the lighting I feel is nicely done. The top half though is blown out from the sun being right over you, giving you that blinding flash of light in your image that is a bit distracting. From how your shot is set up, I feel as if though something should be in the foreground, like a minion or a bug that you’re trying to find in the flowers. Something like that would have given your image more of a story to tell. Just something to keep in mind, how can I tell a story within my image? Overall though, you’ve shown improvement throughout the cycle and feel that you’ve taken in from feedback given. Good job.

Yomu Kazul: Looking at your image, I was trying to figure out as to why you seem head over heels in love. Took quite a few times looking at your image and then I saw her, the forest nymph (?) in the background. It is an interesting play on the theme “Spring Fever” as it looks as if you are feverishly in love. Lighting around you I feel is pretty good. I do wish that your nymph had some lighting around her so that she didn’t blend in so well with grass. It took me a bit to even see her and wish I could’ve seen her sooner. Overall I think you did pretty well this week and throughout the cycle. You seemed pretty consistent in my book. Great work.

Kota Tumet: Such a lovely portrait of you this week. Your lighting, glamour, filter and pose compliments each other very well this week. Even the DoF (depth of field) is nicely done. This would be the epitome of what springtime means to me as it is something I try to do when possible (next to spring walks).Sitting outside, soaking in the sun with sketchbook, a good book in hand or have just music playing. I can say compared to your image from week 1 until now, all I can see is a vast improvement on your shots (I was blown away from last week’s image btw). Should be proud of yourself and keep up the great work.

Judge Terrini

Adam: This is a very pleasant stroll through the shroud and you have great framing here. I do have a couple of nitpicks here, one being the tower in the distance being a little hard to see, it would have a bit more impact if you could have had that a bit more prominent, the other thing being that your chosen filter seems to leave the shot's colors a bit uninspired. Something that made the colors pop more would have suited the warm colors in my opinion. It may have also brought out the yellow of your hair more instead of let your head fade a little into the background.

Haila: You seem to be all out into spring planting and I like that impression. The colors are really bright and bold but I would have liked to see you a bit more involved with the garden setting than simply being "welcome to my home." Also the choice of orange-red in your outfit makes the orange-red autumn trees in the background a bit more prominent and underwhelms the spring theme. A bolder red to match the roses or a more pastel or neutral color would have tied things together and downplayed the hint of autumn behind you.

Kota: Such a pastoral place to sit down and relax. I love the garden you found to take a seat in so much, but I think it might have been nice to have an outfit that was a slightly more pronounced pink or even a blue to tie in with the sky as you do fade a bit into the beautiful scenery. Besides that though, definitely a very strong shot overall. Lovely composition.

Yojimbo: I love this pose and the trees surrounding you are quite lovely, but the colors and contrasts do not leave me thinking spring. The abundance of white is more reminiscent of winter, the blue striped lounge is a hint of summer and the brown of your outfit seems more akin to fall. On top of this, your depth of field is focused on your torso when it would be best suited to be more focused on your face and arm in the forground. Individually I love all the elements here, but they do not come together well to fit the spring theme.

Judge Wulf

Well, you did it! You’ve reached the end of an ENTM cycle! I’m very happy and proud of all of you, and while I’m not fully able to give a personal message to each of you, I want you each to know how proud I am of you for following critiques, growing, and improving! You’ve made this another fun cycle for me to judge, and I can’t wait to see where you all go from here!

LUMA The first thing I really want to praise you for here how very in-focus the foreground is, and how much having those close-up plants really enhances the picture! The lighting is so bright here, and that’s a wonderful thing to communicate the feeling of spring. I feel warm and fuzzy all over just looking at this picture, and I’d say it’s one of your best so far! The up angle you have along with you crouching down makes me feel like I’m seeing this from the POV of a caterpillar or flower. I’m very happy with how far you’ve come throughout this cycle, and I want you to keep exploring new and creative ways to tell your story!

NI’KO You always have a knack for turning a theme on its head and showing me what I least expect, and this week is no exception! Yes, everything is dark and lacking the usual colors that one associates with spring, but in this picture? I am totally on board with it! The butterfly really stands out as a color contrast against everything else in the picture, including you! It’s a clash I can’t take my eyes off, and I’m willing to bet that’s the point! Also, after so much change, you’ve chosen to come to the final round in your signature Ni’ko look, which I certainly missed! Keep bringing your unique ideas to whatever you do I look forward to how you surprise us in the future!

PEACEFUL I love this frame – so much. It makes anything look like it was taken out of an old storybook. You do an excellent job with using this frame to create interesting edges to your photo. Your photo itself this week is also one of your strongest. You’ve clearly been listening when it comes to lighting, motion, and angles! One thing I super love about your photo this week is how you’ve made yourself compliment your surroundings – the purples and blues on you really serve to blend yourself in with the lavender around you! Peaceful, you’ve really improved over these past eight rounds, and I can’t wait to see you go further! Remember all you’ve learned this cycle, and make sure you keep trying new things!

YOJIMBO I can hear the soft piano and the breeze that accompanies this picture. I also think I hear the ocean, given a bit of your attire! Seriously, this picture is so relaxing! You very much take up most of the frame, but you’ve got a lot of little details on the edges that clue us into the full picture of what’s going on here. The blue sky, the corner of the umbrella, the tree branches, and the little bit of bench all come together and we fill the rest of it in with our mind. This is a good example of not needing to show everything, only what’s necessary. You’ve done an excellent job this cycle, and I hope you stick with us and keep showing us what you’ve got!

#ffxiv #ffxiv screenshots #entm #eorzea's neo talent management #entm tumblr cycle 11

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c-m-b-writes · 6 years ago

Text

Black and Blue (2018)

Joanna Wells leans her hips on the railing of the river ferry and looks out at the rosy gradient of the morning’s sky as a brush of crisp winter wind blows passed her face, sending a jolt of shivers from the top of her spine to the bottom of her toes. She hugs her coat closer to her chest and lingers at the railing a moment longer to watch as the ripples of the river water gently beat the sides of the ferry before she turns to take a seat.

She yawns, shakes the fresh memories of her warm bed out of her sleepy head and tries to focus her thoughts on the view of the gray cityscape gradually growing bigger as the ferry crawls closer. Joanna thinks the pastel colored sky hanging above the tall buildings of downtown New Orleans looks more like the painted dome of a Renaissance cathedral than a layer of untouchable atmosphere.

The buzz of her phone from her coat pocket cuts her trail of thought short. She pulls it out and quietly groans as she reads the message on the screen: “Happy Thursday, my dear! Much to do this morning. Please pick us up a couple hot teas on your way over. My usual will do…the winds are blowing in a strange direction today. – Ms. Margaret Anna.” Oh, Ms. Margaret Anna. Joanna thinks back to when she first started working as the art gallery owner’s assistant about a year ago, a time when she found her boss’s eccentricity endearing and also very fitting for a woman of her profession. Things were much different for Joanna a year ago, but she determinedly steers her thoughts from going down the sad road of what was. No more dredging up the past, her future is what matters now.

Joanna feels the ferry slow down before it taps the downtown dock. She gets up from her seat, stretches her rigid limbs, and strains to conjure up hopeful thoughts about the workday ahead as the air continues to sting her face.

The wide heels of Joanna’s boots rhythmically click on the pavement as she and two steaming cups of tea briskly weave through the light crowds of tourists in the French Quarter who she knows are either getting an early start on their day’s sites and activities or crawling back to their hotels after an unmemorable yet unforgettable night of drinking. She grits her teeth with each step as her stiff toes tightly squeeze together in the points of her shoes, but bears through the pain by admitting to herself that no one madeher wear these boots today.

Just when Joanna makes plans to plop down on the sticky and stained sidewalk to show her poor blistering toes some mercy, she looks up and sees the blue street sign with the curvy white lettering “Royal St.”, a sight that encourages her to trudge forward to her nearing destination. Before rounding the block’s corner, she stops in front of a dark store window to inspect her reflection so she can adjust the static mess of brown hair cozied under her knit hat to satisfy a nagging, irrational fear that her boss will detect her sloppy appearance from across the street inside her gallery and reprimand her for looking as she would say, ‘unprofessionally untidy in this very clean line of work!’ She sets down one of the hot teas in between her feet and carefully fixes her windblown hair. She picks the cup back up, huffs a tired sigh, and gives her reflection a half-hearted nod of approval before clicking her heels over to Gallery Jardin.

A bronze bell jingles when she opens the door. The warmth of the gallery and all its potted green inhabitants greet her like a sweet kiss on the cheek. Ms. Margaret Anna stands in between two tall Alocasia plants with her nose nearly touching a thirty-inch framed photo hanging on the wall. She takes a step back, and without turning around, chimes out, “Joanna, hello!”

“Good morning, Ms. Margaret Anna. I have your tea right here; sassafras with cinnamon and rose hips,” says Joanna as she walks over to her boss. Joanna holds out the cup for her to grab, but Ms. Margaret Anna keeps her focus on the photo. She lets out a stifled cough and holds the cup a bit closer to Ms. Margaret Anna’s right hand. The light touch of the paper cup on the back of her hand snaps Ms. Margaret Anna out of her analytical trance.

“Ah, yes, thank you, thank you. Hmm…” mutters Ms. Margaret Anna as she takes the cup from Joanna.

“New piece?” asks Joanna as she studies the black and white photo. The entire image is tinted in a shade of dark blue and frames a close-up of the silhouette of a woman’s face pointing upward, her mouth gaping wide as if to eat the full, glowing moon hanging above her in the sky.

Ms. Margaret Anna slowly turns to face Joanna. She squints her twinkling green eyes from above her reading glasses and takes a gulp of her tea. She lowers the cup from her mouth and with her steady stare says, “No. A new artist, Joanna.”

She turns and walks to the back of the gallery with her long, silk skirt trailing behind her like a ship’s open sail. Joanna watches as she disappears through a drape of English ivy for a moment before reemerging with a large stack of vibrant flyers clutched to her chest.

“Your morning task!” says Ms. Margaret Anna through a wide smile. Joanna responds by popping up a thick, brown eyebrow in confusion.

“I’ll be featuring Marcus Gratsby’s photographs this month from his newest series “Black and Blue.” It lights a mysterious flame within me…it’s dark and carnal and I know my clients will love it.” Ms. Margaret Anna turns the stack of fliers towards Joanna for her to see. “As you can see here on these fliers, I’m holding a little party at the gallery tomorrow night to showcase the series’ premiere.” Joanna tilts her head to read the flier on top and nods slowly to express her understanding.

“I want you to post these all around the French Quarter and the CBD. I expect you to be done by lunch. I’ll be here making calls and responding to emails, etcetera, etcetera,” says Ms. Margaret Anna with a waving gesture of her hand. Joanna musters up enough forced enthusiasm to flash her boss a gapped-tooth grin.

Ms. Margaret Anna returns a smile, “I’ll go get you some masking tape from the back!” She hands over the nauseatingly bright stack of paper to Joanna before sauntering off to her office. Joanna looks out the gallery window to the cold winter air waiting for her and feels a phantom chill cover her body like soft pricks from a thousand tiny needles.

Joanna sits on a stone window ledge of a building on Gravier St. with about fifteen fliers left in her arms and ten screaming, squashed little piggies in her boots. She checks the time on her phone: 11:23 AM. She curses the clock. She has another hour left before her break for lunch, but absolutely no will to carry on.

A black iron trashcan sitting about twenty feet away on the sidewalk catches the corner of her weary eye. Joanna looks to either side of her, casually walks over to the trashcan, and slips the remaining fliers inside. Her mouth spreads into a sly smile when she hears the small stack hit the bottom of the bin with a faint slap.

She turns away from the scene of her crime and, in a matter of several steps, becomes nose deep in an invisible stream of an alluring mix of pine and chicory scents. She follows the seasonal smells to the entrance door of a hotel close by and enters the lobby in a trance and finds herself face to face with an enormous, glimmering Fraser Fir. Her nose then leads her to the right of the tree through a gilded archway into the hotel bar, a grand room clad with darkly stained wood furniture lusciously dressed in velvet upholstery. Joanna gravitates towards a particularly inviting chair next to the softly popping fire that burns within the large brick hearth opposite the bar. She collapses into the plush seat and silently thanks the stars above for leading her to the perfect place to kill the rest of the hour.

She plucks a drink menu from the table beside her chair and crosses her fingers that the bar offers an alcoholic hot cocoa of some kind while her eyes zigzag down the list of ridiculously named cocktails.

“Ah ha!” she quietly exclaims once she reaches the “Seasonal” section at the bottom of the menu.

She walks over to the bar with her order on her lips. She props her elbows on the back of a stool while she waits for the bartender to finish flirting with an attractive guest. Her gaze wonders to the massive mirror mounted over a long row of bottles behind the bar. She stares at herself for a moment before a gut-wrenchingly familiar face glides into the background of the mirror’s reflection. Joanna feels her heart crawl to her throat as she watches her ex boyfriend Keith settle into a couch by the fire with a beautiful woman tucked under his arm. She stares at the sides of their heads in a daze and watches as they closely converse, their noses nearly touching, their eyes locked and unwavering; the perfect picture of a lovely couple. He throws his head back in laughter at something the woman says. Joanna used to make him laugh like that; she used to make him happy too.

“What can I get for you, ma’am?” the bartender’s words pierce through Joanna’s ears like shards of glass through a sheet of mesh. She looks at him with teary eyes before turning to make a discreet exit from the hotel bar.

Joanna keeps her head down when she enters the gallery. She hears the muffled sound of Ms. Margaret Anna sternly talking to someone on the phone in her office over the classical music playing at a low volume through the speakers hidden in several of the gallery’s potted plants.

The photograph on the wall of the woman and the moon beckons Joanna over. She places herself directly in front of the piece and blankly stares at it until the image becomes a blur of black and blue, until the pain in her feet subsides into numbness. The only thing Joanna can make out is the reflection in that bar mirror and the only thing she can feel is the pressure of some invisible chain wrapping its cold links tightly around her heart.

“Joanna! Good thing you’re early. I’ve ordered us some lunch! Thai, I hope you’re in the mood for Thai food,” bellows Ms. Margaret Anna from her office.

Joanna only processes the last two words and replies with a hollow, “Sure.” She wipes a fallen tear from her cheek.

Ms. Margaret Anna pokes her head out from the doorway of her office, “Joanna, I’ve made a list of things the gallery will need for tomorrow evening that I’d like you to go out and get after we eat. Supplies and such. Tomorrow we’ll be cleaning and setting up the space for our guests.” Joanna walks over to her and takes a list of items from her outstretched hand.

She peruses the list, but doesn’t register what’s written, “I’m on it.”

Ms. Margaret Anna looks at her with edging concern and says, “I’ve invited many, many people tomorrow night. This could be a good chance for you to meet individuals within the art community here, to expand your horizon so to speak. I know you don’t want to be my assistant forever, dear. Once you’ve gathered everything on the list, I want you to buy yourself something nice to wear to this soirée of sorts. My treat.”

Joanna looks up at her in surprise, the corners of her lips lifting into a shy half-grin. “Oh, wow…thank you.”

Joanna wiggles her numb toes under the two plastic bags full of ice on top of her feet. She eats a handful of blueberries from the ceramic bowl resting on her belly and stares up at the ceiling of her living room. She mashes the berries slowly between her teeth and savors the peculiar faintness of their flavor as fresh memories of her day dance haunting circles in her head. A tear trickles down from the outer corner of her right eye, leaving a warm, wet path on her temple.

Joanna checks her phone: 8:09 PM. No new messages. She clicks her phone screen off and stares back up at the rough surface of her apartment ceiling. Her mind can’t help but flash fuzzy images of Keith’s face overhead like a projector skipping through a slideshow of old photographs. Joanna covers her eyes with her forearm and groans in frustration at her inability to control her own damn thoughts.

She sets the bowl of blueberries down on the floor and blindly feels for the wooden box she keeps stashed behind the underskirt of her couch. She pulls it out and opens the lid with a knowing satisfaction. The sweet scent of its potent content hits her in the face like the familiar breath of a lover. She takes out a lighter and a firmly packed joint before sliding the box back under the couch.

Her ruby red headphones cry out to her like a wailing baby from atop the coffee table. She carefully places them on her head and drowns out the rest of the world with complete silence. She indecisively scrolls through the music on her phone until she rediscovers a playlist full of lo-fi beats she made in the dead of last winter.She presses play with blaring certainty and settles comfortably back into the couch.

Joanna sparks the tip of the paper and takes a deep drag. She exhales and lets the sweet smoke roll out her berry stained mouth in a slow curling wave. The cloud it forms gently hugs her body before dispersing throughout the room in a hazy wisp. Silver streaks of moonlight peak in from behind her window’s curtain and Joanna watches for a moment as the smoke swirls in the light before closing her eyes and turning up the volume on her headphones. Behind the blackness of her lids, the smoke dances in its moonlit beam to the soft beats of the lo-fi mix. Keith loved this mix. The music sends a shivering sensation down her spine as if last year’s winter is running its frosty finger down her back.

A hurtfully vivid image of Keith’s face appears behind her eyes. It’s a memory of the cool expression he wore the day he left her last winter. He told Joanna that she stunted his growth, that he’d become something different than what he was when they first started dating. She told Keith that she could be what he wanted if he was patient, that her chances to become something more were on the horizon for her to see but not yet close enough to grab. He told her he didn’t want to wait, that he wanted to get more out of life than what he had.

She takes another deep drag and changes tracks. A warm heaviness spreads down through her body like an overturned barrel of honey. The dancing memories in her head stand still and Joanna breathes a sweet sigh of relief.

A series of loud dings erupt from Joanna’s phone somewhere under the sheets of her bed. She wakes with a start, wipes the drool from the side of her mouth, and feels for her phone under a layer of sky blue cotton. She brings the screen close to her face and reads, “Happy Friday, my dear! A coffee today; extra strong. Please stop by the grocer on your way in and pick me up a potato…my arthritis is acting up again. – Ms. Margaret Anna.” Joanna groans and rolls out of bed like a tumbling log.

The jingle of the gallery doorbell is lost in the erratic symphony of jazz loudly playing from the gallery’s speakers. Ms. Margaret Anna’s collection of plants is gathered in one corner of the open room as if huddled in fright from the cacophonous tune. Joanna expectantly nods at the state of the gallery in preparation for the night’s event and walks back to her boss’s office to set down her duffle bag, two coffees, and one potato. Right as she steps out of the office, a tall cardboard box stuffed with black frames emerges from beneath the sheet of ivy hanging above the storage room. Joanna watches as her boss’s leg protrudes from the green curtain to give the base of the box a strong kick, which slides it out further onto the gallery floor.

“Need a hand?” asks Joanna from the doorway of the office. Ms. Margaret Anna flinches in fright at the sound of her voice then gestures Joanna with a commanding curl of her finger to follow her into the storage room where the two retrieve three more boxes of framed photographs. Before giving further instruction, Ms. Margaret Anna walks into her office and stuffs the potato into a large pocket on her brown cargo pants. She twiddles her fingers in front of her face and sighs deeply. “My mama taught me about the power of potatoes on achy joints,” says Ms. Margaret Anna with a satisfied grin.

She sits down in her desk chair and swivels around to face Joanna. “We need to prop up each photograph on the floor against a place on the wall that matches the numbers written on a sticky note on the back of each frame. Marcus’s series needs to be in chronological order starting in the first spot to the left of the door. There are 23 photographs total. Get started with that. Then you will clean the glass and hang them, followed by a good sweeping and moping of the floors. Then together we will arrange the plants around the room.”

Joanna takes a gulp of her coffee and nods.

The caterers for the party arrive at 5:30 PM to begin setting up the food and beverage areas in two adjacent corners of the gallery. Joanna helps decorate the tables with some of the satin materials and silver rimmed utensils Ms. Margaret Anna sent her out for yesterday afternoon.

Joanna pops her head into her boss’s office and meekly says, “I’m heading out now if that’s ok…I’m going over to my friend’s place to shower and change. She lives nearby in a loft on Dauphine. I’ll of course be back in time for the party.”

Ms. Margaret Anna stands up and hugs Joanna, “Yes, go, go! Thank you for the help, Joanna.” Joanna lugs her duffle over her shoulder and nods.

“Are you bringing a date?” inquires Ms. Margaret Anna. “I do hope not. A date would really interfere with your opportunities to mingle.”

A short, bitter laugh escapes from Joanna’s mouth, “No date. I’ll come ready to talk small and chat big with whoever will listen.”

Ms. Margaret Anna smiles at Joanna and turns her chair around to resume her slumped position over her cluttered desk.

Joanna walks through the gallery, careful to dodge the bustling workers busy setting up. She steps out the front door and immediately collides shoulders with a man in a tattered jean jacket smoking a cigarette.

She weakly mumbles, “Oh, I’m sorry, sir.”

He turns to look at Joanna from behind a pair of darkly tinted rectangular shades. He takes a deep drag of his cigarette, forms his thin lips into an O, and blows the smoke into Joanna’s face.

“Watch it next time,” he says, his voice crunching like gravel.

She looks at him with a blend of disgust and surprise, but holds her tongue in case he’s there to conduct some sort of business with her boss and instead swiftly turns on her heels to walk away. He may as well have spat in her face.

Joanna feels the pressure of his gaze on the middle of her back like a jabbing finger she can’t shake off as she continues down the block. She contorts her face into a mask of dignified anger and turns around to shoot the guy two middle fingers, but the only thing outside the gallery is a taunting cloud of smoke he left behind like an afterthought. Joanna sighs and turns again to continue her journey toward Dauphine.

Warm light spills through the gallery’s windows and spreads through the street like puddles of melted caramel. Joanna walks into the rays of light and steps through the gallery door into a sophisticated scene of professional artists and wealthy locals, a crowd that manages to make her feel both invisible and miniscule. She hangs her coat on a hook near the door and nervously straightens one of the skinny straps on her black slip dress while she quickly surveys the party.

A musician plucks away at the thick strings of a double bass, filling the air with deep, mellow notes as individual clumps of guests chatter over their clinking glasses of wine or fizzing flutes of champagne. The gallery’s signature array of plants adds a homey pop of green color to the many shades of blues and blacks worn by the attendees, a palette that makes Joanna think of marsh water slowly wadding between moss-covered stumps.

As if tugged by a strong magnetic force, Joanna zips straight to the bar. She always hated attending events or parties alone; she was never well suited for casual conversation with people she doesn’t already know and cringes at the idea of awkward introductions. The power of first impressions isn’t lost on Joanna.

When she gets to the bar, she asks for a glass of white wine and makes her way over to the first photograph hanging by the door. She plans to take her time studying the series in attempt to appear more like an occupied, thoughtful adult and less like an idle, thoughtless child. Her ears perk at the sound of her boss’s high pitch laugh coming from across the room like a dissonant wave of wind chimes. She turns and sees Ms. Margaret Anna wearing a radiant blue dress with long sleeves standing beside the awful man with the jean jacket she ran into earlier. Joanna observes the two from behind the crowd of bobbing heads, watching as her boss enthusiastically talks to an older man, who she assumes must be a prospective buyer, about the expressionless jean jacketed man beside her, who Joanna also assumes must be the photographer Marcus. She decides to greet Ms. Margaret Anna and her gruff new photographer later in the night. That interaction would only drag her mood down.

Joanna walks to the right and stands before the next picture, one of her favorites in the series. This monochrome photo captures the naked back of a model kneeling in front of a large canvas that she’s adding a streak of electric blue paint to with her bare hand.

“Out of all 23 pictures that asshole chose, this one is my favorite,” says a crystalline voice from beside Joanna.

Joanna turns to look at the familiar profile of the woman standing next to her and then again at the photograph.

“The model?” Joanna internally scolds herself for not having a better grasp on simple vocabulary for her first interaction of the night.

“Adela Simon,” she says as she extends her freshly manicured, delicately smooth hand.

“Joanna Wells,” she shakes it thinks how Adela’s long nails make her hand look like a cat’s polished paw.

“You’re the only woman here besides me who doesn’t seem to be attached to a date. You a buyer?” asks Adela with a curious look in her eyes. Joanna stares into their glassy mix of green and yellow hues, transfixed by their otherworldly glow.

“Oh, God, no. I work for the woman who owns the gallery,” Joanna takes a heavy sip of her wine in hopes to drown the nerves floating in the pit of her stomach. Something about Adela makes her anxious, but in an electrifying kind of way.

“Really? That sounds like a cool job.”

“Just trying to pay off my debts,” sighs Joanna. “But, I guess I do like my job. It can sometimes be monotonous work.”

“Are you from here?” asks Adela before she slowly makes her way to the next photograph. Joanna follows and watches as the long, blue pleats on Adela’s jumpsuit move with her flowing strides like the fins of a tropical fish.

“No, I’m from a small town about an hour away from here. I moved to New Orleans for college and stayed here for a guy, but as of about a year ago, I was done with college and the guy was done with me. Now I’m just trying to figure out my next move, I guess.” Joanna faces the photo as she speaks so Adela can’t see her drooping expression. “What about you?”

Adela nudges Joanna with her elbow. Joanna looks up into her face and can’t help but raise her eyebrows in awe of Adela’s striking features. She looks like Egyptian royalty, a powerful divinity maybe.

“Fuck that guy. You’re better off without him,” says Adela with intensity. Her attitude makes Joanna smile. No one has told her that with such conviction before, let alone a stranger she just met.

Adela leads the way to the next photograph like a lioness sneaking up to her prey. “I’m from here,” Adela continues. “Born and raised on the West Bank. Just trying to figure out my next move too, sister.” She turns her body to face Joanna. “You wanna get out of this party? I can’t handle any more pointless conversation with people I don’t care about. My mouth is starting to hurt from the smile I keep plastered on my face. I just came for the free booze.”

Joanna bites her lip and looks over toward her boss on the other side of the room. “I really should say hello to my boss…”

Adela follows her gaze to Ms. Margaret Anna, “She’s ten feet up that buyer’s butt, honey. You came, you saw, now you’re leaving. You look too good not to go out on the town anyway.”

Joanna’s eyes flicker to her boss one more time. “Fuck it.” She gulps down the rest of her wine and smiles.

Adela takes Joanna’s wine glass from her hand and effortlessly moves through the crowd to the bar. She sets their empty glasses down and leans on the wall behind the bartender. He looks over his shoulder at her and she gives him a playful grin framed in a curtain of shining black curls. He relaxes his posture and opens his mouth to no doubt deliver a corny line to the beautiful woman, but is tragically pulled back to duty by two thirsty men waving their empty cups in the air at the front of the bar. Once he turns away Adela bends down, swipes two bottles of wine from the ice chest on the floor, and looks up at Joanna with a wicked smile before hurrying to the door. Joanna looks around to see if anyone witnessed this thievery, but quickly concludes no one noticed. She laughs on the way to grab her coat from its hook then bolts outside to meet up with Adela to congratulate her on the successful heist.

Joanna finds her leaning on the wall of the shop next door. “Well, well, well, you’re one sneaky minx,” says Joanna.

Adela takes a bow and hands her one of the bottles. She pulls out a wine key form her clutch and uncorks Joanna’s bottle before uncorking her own.

Adela flashes a vibrantly white smile, “Cheers to new friends.” They clink the neck of the bottles and take a swig.

“You steal bottles of wine often enough to always have that opener on hand, huh?” laughs Joanna.

“I wish that were the case. I work in fine dining when I’m not posing for pictures.” Adela shrugs. “It’s a surer way to pay the bills.” She takes a deep gulp of wine. “Alright, where to? The night is young and last time I fuckin’ checked, so are we.”

Joanna looks at the model, at this shining gem of a woman, and says, “I want to go somewhere I never been before, do something totally new that I never even thought of doing. I just want to feel like I’m getting something more out of life than just the regular shit, you know?” She walks over to a shop window, takes a seat on its concrete ledge, and dejectedly rests her chin in her hand. “Maybe I should just go on a road trip to shake this feeling.”

Adela flashes a smile, her amber eyes wickedly glinting in the light of the moon. “I can take you where you want to go.”

She grabs Joanna’s hand and leads her down the street toward the delicious sounds of life erupting from the center of the French Quarter.

Joanna keeps a desperate grip on Adela’s hand as she steers them through the rampant crowds of the Quarter. She feels like a little girl out running errands with a rushing mother as she struggles to match Adela’s long, rapid strides, afraid that her failure to keep up would result in her abandonment in this sea of odd strangers.

“Are we almost there?” shouts Joanna to the back of Adela’s bouncing curls.

“Hang in there, babe.”

Joanna uses her free hand to take a quick swig of wine. She swallows the cold liquid and feels the wine pour into her head, adding to the flash flood of alcohol slowly drowning her senses.

Adela abruptly stops and turns to Joanna to say, “We made it.”

“Thank shit,” says Johanna between desperate breaths of air.

“Let’s finish these up, we won’t be able to take the bottles in.”

Adela puts the bottle to her lips and raises its bottom to the sky. Joanna watches her with wide eyes as she drains the drink in three gulps then throws the bottle, which meets a brick wall with a loud shatter. Adela laughs as the glass pieces sprinkle onto the pavement then looks at Joanna with eager expectancy. Joanna looks around to see if any passerby took offense to Adela’s broken bottle, but no one seemed to notice, or if they did, no one cared. She raises her own bottle and tries to mimic Adela’s graceful gulps, but instead finishes her wine with a series of awkward guzzles. At first she hesitates to throw the empty bottle, but in an effort to keep the spirit of the night in swing, she clumsily tosses it to the wall and watches it break on top of the jagged shards of Adela’s bottle. The sound rings satisfaction to Joanna’s ears. Adela gleefully claps and once again takes Joanna’s hand, leading her into the dingy dive bar.

Adela darts to the back of the bar too fast for Joanna to take in her gradually blurring surroundings. They walk down a narrow hallway and arrive at a black door lined with tarnished deadbolt locks.

Adela leans close to Joanna, gently brushes her hair behind her ear, and whispers, “The password is ‘turquoise turnips.’” The words slither off her hot breath and tickle Joanna’s ear.

She holds her breath as Adela rhythmically knocks on the door. The locks begin sharply clicking until the door cracks open.

“Password?” a voice asks from behind the crack.

Adela elbows Joanna in the side, cuing their response. “Turquoise tulip-, turnips,” stutters Joanna under Adela’s simultaneous and confident delivery of ‘turquoise turnips.’

The voice doesn’t seem to notice Joanna’s mistake and opens the door wide for them to pass through. Adela squeezes Joanna’s hand and the two enter the void.

Joanna’s senses regain some clarity as they walk down a set of stairs dimly lit by a scarce amount of sconces on the wall. Muddled yells become more distinct with every step taken and her innocent curiosity begins morphing into anxious regret. The unsettling fact that she’s descending into unknown, possibly dangerous territory with a woman she met only an hour ago digs into her brain like a steel hook. What the fuck am I doing?

As if reading her thoughts, Adela turns to Joanna and softly says, “You have nothing to be scared of.” The yelling gets louder as they step closer to the light shining from the basement.

They finally reach the bottom of the stairs and the source of the commotion comes into Joanna’s view: a ring of dozens of women ferociously shouting at something happening in the center of their crowd.

Joanna looks around with planet-sized eyes at the room as she trails close behind Adela. The space looks five times bigger than the Gallery Jardin. The majority of the room is bare besides a few support beams scattered around the place like a small troop of stone soldiers. The surface of grey concrete peaks out from under a myriad of old, tattered Persian rugs placed sporadically over the floor. Large drapes and thick sheets are pinned up to cover every inch of the walls. They hang like silent spectators. A couple of dirty ice chests are stationed against the back left wall. Four elevated floodlights surround the women, one planted outside each corner of the crowd’s perimeter. Joanna feels the heat of the lights’ collective beams grow warmer as they draw closer to the chaos. Sweat begins to build in every nook of her body.

“Sounds like they’ve got a good fight going on,” slurs Adela calmly.

Joanna responds with a look of utter terror and pure confusion at which Adela can’t help but laugh. She stops walking and pulls Joanna over by one of the stone pillars.

“Seriously, you have nothin’ to be worried about. It turns out a lot of women in this city have a taste for engaging in violence as a sort of…therapy for their woes.”

Joanna’s confused expression remains locked on her features.

“Look, I was brought here a couple months ago by a, um, colleague of mine. This lot of women won’t cause you any problems at all as long as you keep your fuckin’ trap shut about the whole operation.”

Joanna rubs her throbbing head with two fingers. “Ok, but what exactly is this whole operation, Adela?”

Adela pops her head to the side to think for a moment and then says, “It’s nothing formal…I guess it’s best described as a casual social group of violently frustrated women who come together once a month to beat the living fuck out of each other.”

Joanna feels the weight of this statement slam into her core, rattling her bones. She tries to read Adela’s expression to see if she’s lying. She won’t know for certain until they join the crowd and get a good look at the interior of the circle.

A rumbling ‘ooo!’ erupts from the group followed by more excited screams of encouragement.

Adela turns to look over at the sweaty, screaming women. “Isn’t it incredible? I would love to have a go myself, but I can’t risk splitting my face open right now.” She sloppily jabs her fists at the air in front of her.

Joanna walks towards the crowd, her inhibitions weak and her fascination at its peak. When she gets to the very edge, she strains her neck to see over the heads into the commotion happening in the middle. A sweat soaked woman of about forty wearing a bloodstained sports bra and a pair of gym shorts is holding up a younger woman by her ponytail at knee level. The younger opponent is slacked on the floor like a helpless worm wiggling on a hook as the other pummels her the face with the hard shell of her kneecap. After a few strong blows, the worm weakly taps her hand on the floor to signal her surrender. Her challenger unravels her ponytail from her hand and lets her collapse onto the floor where her nose hits the concrete with a definite crack. Two others break from the crowd and heave the loser by her arms and legs beyond the wall of wailing women. The victor soaks in the cheers and staggers to the ice chests to tend to the fresh slices on her face. Joanna is paralyzed with shock and, if she’s being honest, amazement.

As the crowd around her settles down, she realizes she’s forgotten to breathe while watching the cadence of the violent ordeal unfold. She takes a deep breath of the basement’s thick air and contemplates the possibility that she’s simply been stuck in a bizarre dream since she left the gallery. The reverberations of the fight’s energy coarse through her veins like a flux of static electricity. If she looked down at her chest, she might be able to see her heart pounding through her skin.

“What a fight,” says Adela from beside Joanna. Her glazed eyes glisten with unfettered animosity.

Joanna turns and stares at her with a wide, unblinking stare. “That was…wow.” She clenches her fists then flexes her fingers. “I feel like I’m on speed or something.”

She looks over to the direction where the losing fighter disappeared. “Is that woman going to be ok? They both looked pretty banged up.”

Adela laughs and gives Joanna’s back a reassuring pat. “The ones who took her out of the ring are nurses. She’ll be fine. Nothing a whole lot of concealer won’t be able to cover anyway. If anything, she’ll just have to play sick from work for a couple days.” She jumps on the balls of her feet and bounces up and down like a wiry spring. “The minute my modeling days are over, I’m stepping into that fucking ring.” She rapidly punches the air. “Just let it all out, lay down all the punches I never could.”

An older woman dressed in a stiff, beige trench coat walks up from behind Joanna. Her right hand lazily droops from the opening of a black arm sling. She smiles at Adela and extends her left arm to offer her a hug.

“Adela! Happy to see that you’ve made it out here again,” she says as she walks into Adela’s embrace. “I see you’ve brought a friend this time.” The woman looks at with feign interest, her dark brown eyes hard as opal stones.

“Grace, this is Joanna. She’s cool. When I met her, I knew this is just what she needed,” Adela shoots Joanna a sly wink from beside Grace.

Joanna awkwardly extends her left hand for Grace to shake.

Grace laughs and holds up her palm in rejection. “No need for any of that here, Joanna.” She steps closer and looks deeply into Joanna’s eyes. “This is not a very personal club. If you stay, you’re welcome to partake in the fighting directly or else stand aside as a spectator. If you leave, you’re to never speak a word about what you’ve seen down here. We have ways of knowing. Understand?”

Joanna frantically nods her head, “Yes, ma’am.”

Grace stretches her mouth into a smile, but keeps her eyes hostile. “Good.” She turns to Adela. “There’s another fight starting soon. I hope you stay to see this one from start to finish. If not, have a good evening, ladies.” She slowly turns her head to Joanna and gives her one last threatening stare before walking off to join another group of women.

“I’m not going to be killed am I?” asks Joanna from the corner of her mouth.

“Not if you don’t say anything. Snitches get more than just stiches here,” replies Adela.

“We have a challenger looking for a fight!” yells a woman with an eye patch into a red megaphone.

The jabbering crowd quiets down and looks over to her with hungry eyes.

“Who wants to step in and take on Flea?”

She gestures to a jittery woman in her late twenties wearing an old college sweatshirt and a snug pair of gym shorts. Flea is busily wrapping her hands in white tape and doesn’t bother to look up into the eager faces of the crowd.

Joanna looks her up and down. She seems nervous and so small, her fists the size of baseballs. Joanna’s been hit by a baseball before once when she was young, it wasn’t so bad. She used to enjoy wrestling with her cousins too, she always held her own against the boys until her mother would step in and stop the fighting before any bones could break. The matches always made her feel powerful.

“I will!” shouts Joanna to the one-eyed woman. The crowd turns to look at her, completely ravenous for violent contact.

Adela squeals in delight as Joanna takes off her shoes, coat, and earrings.

“Here take my rings,” says Adela with excitement as she begins sliding off a multitude of metal rings from her fingers. “And I think I have a pony-tail holder in here!” She digs through her purse and pulls out a small rubber band for Joanna to tie up her hair.

Joanna puts Adela’s heavy rings on each of her fingers and gathers her hair in a tightly wrapped bun on the back of her head. She shimmies off her black dress, leaving her to sport only a set of lacey underwear and netted tights. She uses the sharp back of one of her earrings to puncture her stockings at both ankles then rips the foot off each leg to allow her bandaged feet to better grip the ground.

She walks over like a warrior approaching battle to where the ref and her small opponent stand waiting. The crowd exudes ardent anticipation for the metallic smell of freshly spilled blood as they enclose the three women in a large circle.

The warmth of the lights overhead caresses Joanna’s bare skin, the heat’s energy fueling her surging adrenaline.

“Alright, ladies. Anything goes. Tap the ground to surrender. Dirty blows after tap-outs are not tolerated. Got it?”

Joanna and Flea nod. She’s even tinier up close, no taller than 5’1.

“Step to each line of tape, please.”

The two fighters step to opposite sides of the circle and find their place atop the red tape while the ref safely settles herself into the crowd.

“On my mark!”

Joanna raises her arms in front of her chest and clenches her fists. A bead of sweat shoots down her spine. No holding back, these are all the blows I never had the chance to land.

With the push of a button, the ref triggers her megaphone to blare a howling siren. The crowd begins screeching and shouting in every direction around the two women, no, the two gladiators.

Flea sprints towards Joanna and swoops below her to deliver a kick to the back of her legs. Joanna drops to her knees and grits her teeth in pain while Flea circles back around her. She swings one of her little fists toward Joanna’s head, but Joanna blocks it with her arm and clocks her in the center of her stomach. Flea falls back, giving Joanna enough time to get back on her feet. She squares up with Flea.

“Get her, Joanna! That’s my girl!” cries Adela.

Joanna looks into the two chocolate brown eyes on Flea’s small, round face and struggles to find a reason to cause her more pain. She shakes her head and digs into her imagination for violent inspiration. Flea’s face begins gradually transforming into the smug expression of the jean-jacketed shithead from earlier.

Oh, you’re gonna get it...

Joanna rushes forward like a bull and lands a hard punch on the woman’s right cheek, busting the skin open with one of Adela’s rings. Flea quickly bounces back and kicks Joanna in the stomach. Joanna bends forward in pain, putting her head at the perfect height for Flea to kick. The blow sends Joanna sideways and exposes her stomach to suffer more punches. She swipes her fist up and clocks Flea hard in the bottom of the jaw. The punches stop and the Flea staggers backward, but quickly regains her footing. A string of bloody drool escapes from her mouth. She wipes it on a sleeve of her sweatshirt and zigzags towards Joanna. She dips down at the last second and kicks Joanna’s left foot from under her, sending Joanna to one knee. Joanna quickly reacts and jabs an elbow into her opponent’s face. Flea responds with a forceful kick to Joanna’s ribs, which sends searing pain to spread through her body like blue fire. Joanna grinds her teeth in rage and looks up at Flea, this time imagining a mask of Keith’s face.

Flea plants herself in front of Joanna and winds up a new kick, but Joanna launches herself from her place on the floor and tackles her to the ground. She pins her tiny body under her legs and bashes her nose with a quick punch, splattering blood all over her tights. Flea flails her arms and claws at Joanna’s exposed torso, tearing the bare skin with her nails. Joanna lands a powerful punch on the side of her face and feels a bone crunch under her knuckles. Flea stops clawing her sides and taps the ground with both hands.

Joanna relaxes. She slowly stands up on her wobbling knees and begins panting for air, each inhale sending sharp pains to her side as if being stabbed by the sharp points of a dozen syringes. The two nurses part from the crowd and help Flea stand up.

Joanna gives her a weak, but genuine smile in return.

Adela comes flying from the crowd with Joanna’s clothes in hand. “Holy fuck! My new friend Joanna is a fucking badass!”

Joanna swings her arm around Adela’s shoulders for support.

“I came. I saw. I fought.” Joanna flinches in pain. “Please take me home now.”

Adela smiles down at her friend. “As you wish, gladiator girl.”

Joanna limps into her apartment and plops down on her couch without bothering to shed her coat. Adela walks in behind her and takes a seat in a nearby rocking chair.

“How you feelin’, champ?”

“I feel…pretty great actually,” says Joanna with a tired smile. “Could you grab me a bag of ice from my freezer?”

Adela walks over to the kitchen and flips on the light. She opens the freezer, snatches a couple packs of ice, and returns to place them on Joanna’s knees and feet. Joanna closes her eyes and pretends she’s sinking into a well-deserved ice bath.

“So…that pizza you have in the freezer…” Adela innocently inquires.

“Cook it. I’m hungry too.”

Adela happily skips off to the kitchen.

Joanna’s phone rings from her coat pocket. She pulls it out and holds it over her head so she can see the caller. Keith?She brings the screen closer to her face to make sure she’s correctly read the caller ID...Keith.The phone continues to loudly ring in her grip as she stares hard into the bright screen.

“You gonna answer that?” shouts Adela from the kitchen.

Joanna looks at the name for a moment longer and assuredly replies, “No.”

She silences the phone and stares up at the rough surface of her ceiling as her mind clicks through prismatic memories of her night’s violent victory.

#fiction #new orleans #black and blue #short story

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donvex · 7 years ago

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A PLAYLIST OF RICHIE TOZIER APPEARANCES

Fandom: IT (2017)

Pairing: Reddie ( Richie Tozier / Eddie Kaspbrak )

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary:

Eddie is, by all means, a popular vlogger. He’s worked hard to get himself where he is, and the fans love him for that, appreciate him for that.

But they’re also somewhat obsessed with Richie Tozier, and trying to decide if Eddie is, in fact, dating him.

So sue them.

AO3 Link

For @odeto-tozier, based off of their Vlogger!Eddie post.

Tag List: @killerxqueer @richietozierlitaf @princely-dots

I. 101 WAYS TO DITCH YOUR FRIENDS - 932k VIEWS

One of the most popular videos on Eddie’s entire channel, at least for a while, this is where Eddie introduces them. The Losers Club. He’s mentioned them, sure. Talked about having them on for a video, showed off their makeup or their art and directed his fan base to their social medias, but this is where he finally introduces them.

Big Bill is first. Eddie’s best friend, the sweetest guy there is, always there for Eddie. One of the only people to not have made fun of him in middle school for having asthma, Bill knew stuff to do. Places to go. Things to see. And the thing is, Eddie may not have needed an inhaler anymore, but he still never breathed as well as he did when he was with Bill. They’d run all night and never need to catch their breath, that was the kind of bond they had.

And then there’s Mike, and okay, maybe Bill isn’t the sweetest guy in the world. He’s up there, sure, but he doesn’t compare to Mike Hanlon. From the moment Mike is on screen, he’s smiling. Then he realizes he’s being filmed, and he smiles even more. He wants to show the camera a thousand things, from the soft sheep on his farm, to the flowers he’s pressed in his free time, to the pages of history he has organized on his book shelves. Mike is smiles and safety, strong and soft all at once.

Ben is quiet most of the time he’s on camera. While Eddie promises Ben’s all laughs when they’re hanging out, he’s just too shy to do anything for what could possibly (and definitely would) be thousands of people. He’s better at writing words than saying them, and Eddie shamelessly uses that as an opportunity to plug Ben’s up and coming poetry book that he’s been setting up a kickstarter for.

Beverly, Stan, and Richie come as a tangled group. It’s a whirlwind, really, the four of them pushing through the walmart doors at almost 2am. There’s a lot of swift laughter and fumbling of the phone, unwillingly passing the camera from set of hands to set of hands. At some point Richie refuses to give the phone back, holding it high above his head, camera angled down towards a clearly angry Eddie.

There’s a lot of banter, and even Bev and Stan can be heard “oo-ing” in the background and yelling out to “just kiss already!” It’s clearly a joke (maybe?) between a close group of friends, but all of Eddie’s fans instantly latch onto this. It’s perfect, an equal amount of fond push and shove on each end, and it’s addictive.

The walmart group each get their own sections later, and some more group videos are thrown in towards the end, but all of the gif sets made seem to revolve around Richie. His sections is mostly Richie taking the phone and talking about himself, making bad jokes that Eddie swears he’s going to cut out, but it all stays in the video anyway, gasoline on the fire.

II. FUCK THE CHALLENGE SYSTEM - 458k VIEWS

Eddie hates challenges. All of his fans know this, just as they know that any challenge they want Eddie to do - they send to Richie.

Because Richie gets Eddie to do anything.

And that, right there, is what holds every single fan up. If they weren’t dating, why was Eddie putty in Richie’s hands? Best friends, sure, but none of Eddie’s other friends convinced him to do challenges.

(They don’t mention that maybe, just maybe, it’s because Richie is a little shit that loves pushing Eddie’s buttons, and all of his other friends respect him when he declines.

Yeah, they just don’t mention it.)

Except this time, there is no actual challenge. Eddie is going off about how wrong they make him feel, how perverse it is to not only force an uncomfortable situation onto him, but to then expect him to force another youtuber into doing the same. It’s unfair, and unclean, and while he respects any fellow vloggers who enjoy the challenges, he’s officially cancelling any challenge videos on his page ever again.

Richie, who just seems to always be around when challenges are mentioned (who seems to just always be around) immediately flies into the frame.

“You heard it! Eds spagehds is officially moving all challenge videos to my page, so if you want to catch them, you’re gonna have to follow this mother fucker right here.” Eddie’s protests and profanities go ignored, shouts of, “Rich, no! Fuck no!” and then the video cuts to an unfamiliar room, with Eddie moping dejectedly in his chair.

It’s thirty seconds exactly (00:30) of Eddie looking sadly into the camera, dead silence around him. In the empty space next to him, a chair that presumably expects to host one Richie Tozier, is a hyperlink to Richie’s channel, and their first Challenge Compilation video.

( Eddie Finally Does All the Challenges He’s Been Refusing, All At Once - 212k Views )

And now the subs know that Richie can make Eddie do anything, any fucking thing.

And they know what the inside of Richie’s room looks like, too.

III. WHY GAYS RELY ON PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION - 644k VIEWS

This video is literally the most fucking blurry, conspiracy theory, I-Have-Proof-Of-The-Lochness-Monster shit that Eddie’s fandom has ever seen. It is, by all accounts, a normal ass vlog. Eddie’s there at his counter, bright sunlight from the large windows in his kitchen filtering into the space, a cup of (presumably) black tea immediately to Eddie’s right. Not that he’ll ever drink it in the video, because he never does, but he does use it to keep his hands warm when they aren’t busy flying all over the place while he angrily vents about why public transportation is the worst, but actually driving makes him too fucking anxious to function.

Because, come on, fuck turnpikes.

The video is approximately two minutes and thirteen seconds (2:13) long, and yet this video has triple the amount of views as every past two minute long vlog for the past four months.

(Four months ago Eddie released a two minute vlog that was nothing but Eddie’s friends petting his hair, and Eddie making soft happy faces in return. The fandom continues to keep that video alive, if only by desperately comparing the length of Richie petting Eddie to the length of every other loser doing so in hopes that the numbers will add up and mean something. So far, it doesn’t.)

There’s really nothing about this vlog that stands out, not even the mug Eddie uses or the clothes he wears. The outfit is one that they’ve seen before, between fashion vlogs and #ootd instagram posts.

No, the reason this particular video skyrockets in popularity is not because of anything Eddie does, but because, around 1:43, from a very distant shot, you can see a figure lazily walking into the kitchen, grabbing a bowl and some cereal, and leaving. That figure, almost 100% wearing nothing but boxers, looks a hell of a lot like one Richie Tozier.

You know, disregarding the distance. And the pixelation. And Eddie’s face cutting off the figure most of the time anyway, because it is his vlog.

But that almost-naked figure in the background is definitely an almost-naked Richie Tozier, the fandom swears it.

IV. PRETTY BOY TRANSFORMATION - 722k VIEWS

The entire fan base already knew Eddie was a pretty boy. That was half of the appeal of his channel in the first place, that you knew exactly what you were going to get. A safe place for any identity. Eddie had been sent plenty of soft shirts and flower crowns already, and half of what he opened on his unboxing streams was pastel. The fans didn’t need to make edits or gifs or icons - Eddie was perfectly happy to wear all of it on his own.

But Eddie with make up, that was an entirely new type of pretty boy.

The video starts with Bev and Eddie bickering, and quickly devolves into not-so-subtly shoving each other’s shoulders while trying to get in front of the camera. They’re both laughing, wide smiles and warm eyes, until finally Bev pushes Eddie’s head down and sticks her whole face into the camera to let all 1.2 million subscribers know that she is, in fact, going to do Eddie’s makeup - but only after letting Eddie pick his own outfit, first.

The dusty blue eyeshadow is a safe choice, and matches the large sweater Eddie’s wearing. Then Bev is drawing large wings onto Eddie’s tan skin with white liquid, and lining his bottom lid with decorative dots. Eddie tries to sass Bev the entire time she’s trying to put on white lipstick that she had found from god knows where, but Eddie refuses to stop talking until finally she admits defeat and let’s Eddie put on a soft matte pink instead. The last touch is silver glitter, thickly painted from the corner of Eddie’s eyes and down his cheeks.

The orange light of the sun skips across Eddie, shimmering like dust. Eddie makes a pouty kissy face, lips puckered and eyelashes fluttering, head just barely resting on his hand while his large sleeve slides down his thin wrist. And that’s when it happens.

The first actual conclusive clue.

(So the fans say. Because really, an audio clip that is exactly .02 seconds long is hardly more conclusive than any of their video evidence, but the file still spreads like wildfire.)

“Cute, cute, cute!”

The voice comes from off screen, and Eddie snaps his teeth in the direction of Richie’s voice before the video hard cuts to Eddie posing for the camera.

V. TRANSPORTATION STRIKES AGAIN - 834k VIEWS

It’s another shitty phone video, and this time the quality is even worse because of the trembling car. A quarter of the video is blurred, and again, this is another two minute vlog. Two minutes and thirty one seconds (2:31) to be exact. A quarter of that leaves, well, not much actual time to have actual footage.

Once again, Eddie’s transportation life is crumbling. The buses are all shut down, too many workers on strike, and there’s no other quick way to be mobile. He’s stuck in Richie’s run down truck, and maybe he’s a little fond of it, but he doesn’t have time for Richie to make seven ridiculous pit stops.

The fans are a little disappointed that they don’t get to see Richie and Eddie’s gas station excursions, but they notice when the video cuts from an empty truck to one filled with drinks and snacks, and that only means one thing - Eddie gave in and let Richie get whatever he wanted. Again.

One point for the shippers.

It’s a short glance into Eddie’s life, just something quick to keep his subs satisfied until he can finish editing his full length video, which he promises will be out by the end of the next day.

“Aw, Eds, it’s like you care.” Then Richie’s ruffling Eddie’s wind swept hair, and Eddie is trying to keep his stern expression on despite the laughter that starts bubbling up from his chest. He swats at Richie’s hand, yelling at him to watch where he’s fucking driving, but even behind the wheel Richie manages to be a menace.

Then they’re there, wherever there is, (and yet again the fans wish they knew, because Eddie casually keeps skipping over it, but they can at least realize there’s a line of privacy there somewhere that they shouldn’t overstep). Then Richie is taking the phone from Eddie, mock saluting it, and kissing Eddie’s head before pushing him out the door.

Yeah, the all of the fans double take, too. Rewind the video, and then rewind it again. Throw on captions for good measure. That’s definitely there, they aren’t searching pixels this time.

Richie just kissed Eddie on the forehead. If he isn’t whipped, which he should be, all of Eddie’s fans will be whipped for him.

+I. THE REAL MTV: CRIB TOUR!! - 1.1M VIEWS

Eddie’s not in his normal spot. The lighting is different, and the camera is close to his face - utilizing an above angle that Eddie doesn’t use often.

But Eddie’s smiling, his face expression tired and content. Most of his greeting comes out mumbled, and he tries his best to address his fans, but he can’t. He’s too comfortable, he tells them. He recently invested in a good pillow, and boy, has it made all the difference. He’s not a sell out, he just doesn’t see anything wrong with product placement. If a quality brand is willing to offer him merchandise for free, he’s gonna take it.

Except then he’s pushed, and the feed goes hazy for a moment, until the phone is back up in place - and zoomed out this time, too.

Eddie is on his couch, curled up in between Richie’s legs. “I’m not a pillow, Eds. I’m not sponsoring you.”

“Of course you are, shut the fuck up.”

Then Eddie’s rambling about how comfortable the cushions are, how warm the sunlight is, how he doesn’t think he’ll ever walk again if it means he has to get up. He goes on like this for a long while, and Richie just watches him, his own hair wild with sleep and a smile taking up over half his face. When Eddie realizes he’s talking to himself, he turns in Richie’s arms to look up at his face, and Richie jolts.

“Hey there, princess.”

“Are we going to show them our new apartment or not?”

“Mmmmm…. or not, if that means I get to stay here with you.” Eddie sighs in defeat, but he doesn’t look disappointed in the slightest as he leans back to lay his head against Richie’s chest. Richie dips down to kiss his forehead before taking the phone, leading his own rambling.

Twelve minutes in, (12:46 exactly), Eddie blinks awake. He looks up and wordlessly cuts Richie off, pressing their lips together gently. There’s a few seconds of silence where the two pull back to stare at each other with soft smiles curling their lips, sunlight filtering between them.

The fandom cries.

“Come on, loser, let’s show them our new home already.”

The fandom cries harder.

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it 2017 #my writing #youtuber au

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collage-portfolio-time · 4 years ago

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Interview Preparation

Career Choice : Illustrator

Company Choice : FolioArt

1. Tell me about yourself. I am a 16 year old artist who has been working with portraiture, both realistic and cartoonish, since I was very small. I have won 2 consecutive awards for the international government-run ‘Manga Jiman’ competition, both in 2019 and 2020, winning the youths prize in 2019 and both the youths prize and 7th place in 2020, ‘making history’ as I won the youths prize two years running. The music I listen to inspires me a lot as what I draw can sometimes entirely depend on what I am listening to at the time. I have had a major interest in manga and anime since I was young and that has also influenced my style of work and the fandoms I go around to spread my collection of work to different places of the internet.

2. Why do you want to work for us? I love the fact your company will represent a range of illustrators, both well-known and up and coming. That makes you seem much more open to different styles of work and experimentation to me which I find myself drawn to.

3. What can you bring to our company? Why should we hire you? I can bring a range of styles. Like Ive said before, I work in both realism and cartoonish styles of work, which I feel could bring more people in from completely different sides of the art world. I can also work with a wide range of mediums, from digital work to watercolors, although I find myself preferring digital for the clarity you can get in an image.

4. What do you know about our company? You were established in central London in the 1970’s and are now working worldwide. You cover all sides of the art world from traditional works to GIF’s. You say you have a personal relationship with your illustrators. You have also represented artists that have worked with well-known bands for album art which include Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd and The Rolling Stones, and have also had artists under your wing work with film studios like when Joe Petagna created the concept for the Facehugger in Alien.

5. Where do you see yourself in 5 years? What are your career goals? I hope to see myself with enough of a following to simply be able to create for myself and be able to make a living, as selfish as that sounds. I don’t enjoy working for others unless I like their concepts and ideas as I will just simply be uninterested in what I create and end up producing something boring as a result. I want to work to the best of my ability, and as much as the art world is ran on what others want to see, I want to dictate what I do in the process while also getting approval from the people who will consume it.

6. Why did you choose this field/career path? I chose this career path as it’s the only thing I know. As I child I would never let myself do anything but draw, I was obsessed with the gratification I got when I saw that I was improving. That was probably a detriment in the long run as now I feel obligated to work in the art industry because if I don’t what have I been doing this whole time. I feel like I owe it to myself and to the people who have funded my interests and hobby.

7. Can you tell me about your role in your current place of work? Right now I am a college student, so my role is to learn. I will create, be criticized and create again. My job is to learn from the criticism and improve upon myself to represent the collage in a good light as well as myself, and hopefully gain recognition so the collage can say that they taught me for better reputation.

8. What are your strengths/weaknesses? My biggest weakness is my pride. I will become quite offended by the slightest bit of criticism that I think isn't warranted, and yet I am so self-critical that I will rip a piece to shreds if I go a touch out of my lines while painting. It hurts to have my fears confirmed that I won't be the gifted child forever and that I will blur into the crowd of other talented artists in my classroom. It's not only that but also the thought that I spent so long on a piece to be told that it didn’t match up to an idea someone else wanted or there wasn’t enough color, and I find myself unconsciously lashing out, but I am trying to work past that and take the criticism thankfully. Despite that, what could be considered one of my greatest strengths from time to time will be my stubbornness, as I will stick to a plan I like no matter what others tell me might go wrong, which sometimes works in my favor. Technically, I am more skilled with watercolors and digital mediums than I thought I was, as the amount of people I hear struggle with them is astonishing to me as I find I work with them with relative ease, but to counter that I now struggle with mediums such as acrylics and colored pencils as Ive laid off them for so long. I hope to get better with those mediums in the future as I practice more with them again.

9. Tell me about a time when you worked in a team? Were you a leader/coordinator/etc.? I studied performing arts when I was at The Academy Grimsby secondary school. We were tasked to create a script or scenario based on a prompt that I can't quite place now, and we were a group of 4 actors as most people there were dancers. I ended up writing up the entire script that I put together, although the others did prompt some ideas, and almost directing practices. I felt I was forced into a leading position as the others weren't engaging as much as they probably should have, apart from one other person who seemed to take it as seriously as I did. I feel despite the fact I was practically shoved into the lead, and even though the script was probably shoddy as I had never really written besides from creative writing in English, I lead them well considering I was known to be quite antisocial and introverted. That situation made me realize that I was better at controlling situations and being assertive to others than I ever thought I would be, although I wasn’t too strict or bossy from what I remember.

10. Tell me about a time when you faced a challenge. What was your reaction? How did you solve it? I faced quite a big challenge when I created the first page of my 2020 Manga Jiman entry. In the first page you get quite a copious amount of building shots, and while it looked good how I imagined it, I realized when I had finished the sketch that I had never really drawn a building before. It took me two days of constant redoing, experimentation and almost scrapping the first page entirely before I finally felt happy with what I had produced. Nowadays I find it much easier to step out of my comfort zone and delve into architecture when drawing backgrounds, and I feel this experience helped me progress as an artist.

11. Tell me about an accomplishment you are most proud of. Ive mentioned this before a copious amount of times, but my Manga Jiman awards. As they are government run and judges by professional mangaka (manga creators) I think it gives my awards that extra flair of pride that makes me cling to them. The thing I will probably particularly cling to is the fact they said I was ‘making history’ with my consecutive youths prize wins, which I think is quite a good thing to be able to say on a resume. Not only that, but my winning submission for the 2020 competition was given a talk about on the award ceremony by a legendary mangaka Kiriko Kubo, who said my ‘line was neat, the layout was good and the main character was charming.’,’the work can be read smoothly’, and that ‘creating atmosphere is important, and being able to do it like this is an exellent talent’. It gives me pride that someone so prestigious in a world I had barely entered would praise my work so highly.

12. What motivates you? What can motivate me most are two things: approval from others and money. I am materialistic at heart but also sensitive to others comments on my work, so the both end up being great pushes in my art career. I feel if I am being paid for my work that it is worth something, because objectively it is, and being praised for what I do makes me feel validated beyond what I thought was possible, so the two can push me to keep going.

13. What was your biggest failure? What did you learn from it? My biggest failure is the many times Ive tried to work with soft pastels. I don’t know what it is with that medium that renders me unable to function with them but I cannot create a good piece with those sticks of chalk in my hands. I learnt that I am not the best with dry mediums and should probably keep to my paints and digital mediums for now, although I'm always open to trying them out again and again until I get used to them.

14. What was your biggest mistake? How did you fix it? My biggest mistake was thinking I was going to get placed in my first Manga Jiman entry in 2019. I was 15 at the time, so there wasn’t much of a chance I was going to be placed within the top 10 because of my age alone but I didn’t realize that at the time. I had gotten so apprehensive about results that should've been obvious from the moment I was shortlisted, but I was aiming for the top 5 in the placings. I still think that my work might've placed in top 5 had I been older, but the embarrassment and sadness about ‘only’ getting youths prize at the time was almost overwhelming. That experience taught me not to get my hopes up on stuff like that and set myself up for the worst when it comes to things like this in the future, which I did in the 2020 entry. I was simply aiming for 10th place as I wasn’t even aware the youths prize was being awarded that year because there was only 11 of us, and one of the prizes was the yonkoma award for people who were between 11 and 13 containing a single 4 panel page which one of the shortlisted entries mirrored. I ended up getting more that I thought I would've in the terms of awards and recognition which I was happy about.

15. Are you willing to relocate/travel? I am willing to relocate and travel, although i would prefer to do so with someone else I trust as I tend to get nervous in new situations should that be possible.

16. Do you have any hobbies? What are they? I don’t really do much other than draw for my social media’s and complete collage work. I do small things such as singing and watching twitch streamers, but those are few and far between or happening while I work so I don’t think they can be considered big hobbies of mine. I used to bake when I had to take a lot of time out of secondary school due to sickness but I had a lot of spare time back then so it was more possible for me to have hobbies other than art.

17. What are your computer skills/technical skills? I know how to work almost all Microsoft programs, office 365/outlook, and various digital art programmes such as medibang paint pro and the basics of photoshop/illustrator. I also know general video editing such as keyframing and audio manipulation in Wondershare Filmora.

18. How did you hear about this position? I chose to contact you for this position as I had found you take submissions for new artists to represent and thought I'd shoot my shot.

19. What are your salary requirements? Minimum wage and whatever you/the client feel I deserve on top of that, even if that’s nothing at all. As long as I get minimum wage for my work and supplies, I am fine with that.

20. Do you have any questions for me? How would you represent me? Would it be a situation where you would recommend me to people looking to commission and leave us to our devices or would you be there the whole process?

0 notes

taohs · 4 years ago

Note

✨

hi there lauren! thanks for sending one in!

Love Live! gfx - This is so colorful and gorgeous, I loved that the colors matched each girl respectively. The collab art is also stunning, I don't think I've seen much edits with these specific ones so I'm really happy that you made this! <3333

Kamado Tanjirou coloring - Tanjirou!!! I love these panels that you chose to color! Your coloring is so very soft and light, truly fitting for this boy Q _ Q I love the green background contrast as as well, makes this edit looks very unique and neat!

Azura gfx - Omg the pastel blues are just beautiful. You did a great job making use of those watercolor textures!!!! The font/text is also a very nice touch

KNY gfx - The pink and white gradients, the floral background, and these pictures of Nezuko and Tanjirou that you chose to edit??? A big yes to everything!! The way you blurred Nezuko (aside from her face) is so creative! I think all the effects combined gave this edit a very emotional feeling (and ofc it’s also very beautiful)

Favorite games gifset - Wowww I can see your dedication to this gifset! Beautiful gifs and colorings, and a bunch of these games that you mentioned are some of my favorites too! :D ♡ Great taste!

#llucinas #answered

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probablynotsam · 7 years ago

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OK KIDS IMA TEACH YOU HOW TO MAKE YOUR LINE-ART MESH WITH YOUR ART BETTER AND LOOK SOFT™

OK SO I PREPARED A QUICK DOODLE FOR THIS TUTORIAL SO I APOLOGIZE FOR ANY ANATOMICAL MISTAKES

I’m gonna show you how to turn your art from this, to this

The one on the right is much softer, right? Here’s how you do it.

For this I’m using MediBang, but you can use this technique on any art platform that allows layers, layer settings (especially overlay), gaussian blur (or just a general blur), and layer clipping.

Here we go.

We’re gonna start with good ol’ Pidge here. After you’ve finished all of your coloring and shading and linework and such, you’re going to want to

1) make sure all of your linework is on the same layer.

2) turn off the lineart layer so that you can only see the coloring you did. It can be pretty messy and horrifying, I know, but you won’t have to look at it for that long. once you’ve done that, make sure there is no background layer. Sometimes it’s just white and you forget it’s there but make sure you turn it off or this won’t work right.

3) export a transparent png of just the color part. It should look like this:

See, gross right? it looks so nakey without the lines.

3) now you need to import the nakey.png back into the original document, right under where the lineart layer is (which should still be turned off). The purpose of this is to get all the color layers together in an easy way so that it’s easy to modify.

4) This is where it starts to get fun. you’re gonna Gaussian blur the heckie out of the color layer that you just imported. the amount you blur it should be kinda proportionate to the thickness of your lineart. Don’t blur it at max if your lineart is 2 pixels thick, and don’t blur it so little that you can barely tell if you have 20 pixel thick lineart. You can always go back and blur it more if it doesn’t look right.

This is kinda what it should look like now.

5) ok so now, turn the lineart layer back on, and duplicate it. Then move one line layer below the color layer, so theres one on the bottom and one on top, like a lineart sandwich. like this:

6) now, clip the color layer to the lineart layer below.

7) This is the part where it actually starts to look COOL. Set the top lineart layer to overlay, in the layer settings. once that’s done, it should look like... this!

We’re getting somewhere! Doesn’t it mesh with the colors a lot better now? It’s not perfect yet tho. See how her mouth kinda disappeared? Well we’re gonna fix that up and any other parts that look a bit wonky.

8) Before you touch it up, make sure you play with the layer opacity of the top lineart and color layers. Some pieces may look better if you tone down the lineart layer, some look better if you bring the color layer down a bit. Play around until you find what works. For me here, it looked best to put the top lineart layer at 73%. Again, whatever looks best.

9) Now, to touch it up, you’re going to draw on the color layer in the center of the lineart sandwich. I suggest picking the color of the shaded part in whatever area you’re fixing (for the mouth I think I picked the color from her cheek, but for the top of the shirt I used the color from the shaded part. Whatever looks good). Just airbrush it around that general area until you’re satisfies with how it looks (remember, the color layer is clipped so it wont look like a mess when you’re coloring all over the place).

Once you’re done, it should look a little more clean. like this!

(oh yeah also I gave her glasses after, since I didn’t want them so be softened at all)

Nice! now if you’d like to complete the Soft™ look, give it a pastel background that matches your shading, (remember that background layer I yelled at you to get rid of earlier? He can come back now), slap on a filter, (here I just filled a layer with purple, put it on top, and put the layer setting at “screen”), add your watermark and voila!

Look at this Soft™ kid.

I hope that was helpful to those of you that asked, I’ve never done a tutorial before so if there is anything that’s unclear, feel free to message me or let me know and I’ll clarify it for you! And if you use my tutorial, tag me in it or send me a linky-dink! I’d love to see how you do.

#How to art #art tutorial #lineart tutorial #drawing tutorial #MediBang #pastel #soft #coloring tutorial #my art #pidge gunderson #pidge voltron #voltron #voltron legendary defender #vld #tutorial #my tutorial #sam teaches art #digital art tutorial

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greasygyeom · 7 years ago

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Title: Ocean Tides

By: GreasyGyeom

Summary: I feel it burning me, I feel it burning you. Youngjae x Reader. Fluff.

Note: I’m really scared of posting this because I really hope I did him justice. I love this beaming ray of sunshine so much. Feedback is very welcome. Thank you for reading!!

Playlist: 170923

He saw you by the ocean, lost in a world he felt the need to dive in. You were gazing, far and wide; like your horizon stretched beyond where one blue ended and another began — like it was the black hole and you were making acquaintance with another universe existing inside of it.

He had to know you.

He sat there at a distance and studied you — how your lips curled into a grin, how your eyes narrowed, how your hands moved, how with every gush of fresh air your hair swayed like the branches of a willow.

He had to talk to you.

But he lacked the confidence to walk up to a stranger, no matter how compelled he felt by their presence.

So he simply admired you, till the ocean engulfed the sun whole, till you packed up your belongings and left — till you became nothing more than a fragment existing in his memory.

He went back to his hotel room extremely confused, that evening. Perhaps he should have had more resolve. If he hadn't shrivelled up into his shell, maybe he could have spoken to you, heard your voice. He couldn't stop pondering over the sound of your voice. Whether it was soft and sticky like a caramel-filled chocolate toffee or layered and spongy like a tiramisu.

He hastily shrugged off his thoughts under the rug. It was pointless thinking such things, because now you were just a girl from his memories, who could be existing in her own world, anywhere on the small island.

"Youngjae?" His friend snapped him out of his daydreams. "You okay there? You look a little winded."

"Yeah, I'm okay, just....drifting."

In his mind he was already writing a ballad.

"Let's go get something to eat?"

"I'm not hungry though."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm okay, hyung, really."

He drew himself a bath when he was all by himself again. He needed to forget about you. But all he did instead was write lyrics conveying how much he wished he could have met you, even if for a few seconds. He carried his notebook out into the balcony. The ocean glistened in shades of blue, under the moonlight. It felt like an invisible string had gotten tangled around him and was pulling him towards something unknown.

He wrote until his eyes felt heavy and his throat felt dry, eventually drifting off to sleep, thinking about the song he'd conjured in those few hours.

But something was missing. Something was always missing.

He woke up, jumping out of his bed from a terrifying dream. It was that kind where he thought he was free falling onto the ground from a massive height. His heart was beating out of his chest. He hated dreams like these. They riled him up. He sat in bed shaken for a few seconds - until his phone rang out the silence and he jumped in surprise again.

“Aah. Seriously.” he scolded himself, half laughing. He always got jump scared so easily, all his friends took advantage of it in taking turns to scare him.

It was 9 am already? After almost 8 hours and he, somehow, still managed to feel tired.

He headed down for breakfast as fast as he could. He’d completely forgotten about the meetings he had to attend regarding his solo releases. Even though it was by and large a recreational trip, work never really left him anymore.

“Hyung, you want to go to the beach again?” one of his friends, who’d accompanied him on the trip, asked.

“Maybe, after I get free.” Youngjae replied, trying to focus on his ramen, as you sneaked your way back into his mind.

“Oh you should have really come out last night. It was great.” he continued. “We ate so much food. and there were no cucumbers in anything, so you would have really enjoyed yourself.”

Youngjae wheezed, trying not to be too loud. he really hated cucumbers.

“And there was this girl who was singing at the lounge. She was so good. You would have really liked it.” he said, stuffing his mouth with more kimbap.

And just like that a thought clicked in his mind. He needed a female lead for the song.

That’s what was missing.

He went about his mundane meetings, letting his manager talk for him on most occasions, so he could live in his head a little more.

Every now and then he’d laugh and smile and pretend to show interest in contracts. Then fall right back into the vast ocean of thoughts about you. He was in fact impatient to go to the beach again, hoping that maybe he’d be able to see you again. He was preparing himself either way.

“You worked hard today.” his manager patted him on his back after one particular, excruciatingly long discussion about his intellectual property rights.

“Yeah, you too. What would I do without you.”

“Probably give your skills away for free.”

He laughed out, making some strangers turn around. “No, hyung, I’m not that bad.”

“Listen why don’t you head down to the beach. I’ll take care of everything that is left. It’s not much anyway.”

“Really, are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah go on ahead. I’ll meet you later.”

He excused himself from the building and headed to where his friends were already wreaking a havoc. The beach was his escape from all the worldly things that exhausted him. It had seen all his shades and moods, from childhood to now. It always felt like home.

He walked into the small homely eatery, a few ways away from the main beach, to find his friends sitting around a giant pile of food, on the porch

“Wait… what happened to playing volleyball?” he asked, confused.

“We…. got lazy.” one of them said.

He sat around the edge of the table, on the floor, stuffing his mouth with the samgyupsal his friends had already barbecued. Even though he was fostering this hope that he’d find you again, he couldn’t help but dismiss this optimism at the same time.

Jeju was small, but not that small — or was it?

Somewhere in the distance you could hear a loud bunch of boys. You were agitated, but your mind kept singling out a particular sound. A roaring laugh that reverberated as loud as the thunder but felt as soft as a wind chime.

You looked around to find the source of that laughter, but there was no one in your vicinity who could match it. You went back to gazing at the clouds that passed you by. The sky tuned from a soft blue to a pastel pink with a blink of an eye. The wind played around with your hair and the sea hummed soft lullabies.

There were so many things you needed to forget, from a life that was no longer a part of you. Sitting with your feet buried in the sand and watching the ocean breathe seemed like the only way for you to exorcise your memories.

You’d often heard people express their gratitude towards their families, but never truly understood it. Where you came from, family had meant regular screaming matches and a passive disregard for the other persons feelings. You’d never felt unconditional love, because with your parents there were always some strings attached. That condescending tone, the constant bickering, it never left you.

But you needed it out of your system. You needed years of unhealthy patterns to disintegrate. You needed to move on from the so called blood relationships. So you sat by the shore and purged everything out, one day at a time.

"AH HYUNG HYUNG I AM SORRY!" Someone squealed in the background, in the midst of jovial banter.

“What did you say about Nora liking you more?” a different voice said.

And there it was again, that laugh. It was so loud, but it warmed your heart. You wanted to keep hearing it over and over again. Something about it drew you in, but it died down again after a few moments.

You went back to your clouds, even though you really wanted to find the source of that voice.

"It's going to rain today." You mumbled to yourself, when the sky turned a purplish-grey instead of an orangish-yellow, like it usually did.

Your mind kept returning to that echo that had lit up a fireplace by your heart. It had settled at the pit of your stomach like cocoa powder sedimenting in a cup of hot milk. It had put a smile on your face. You hadn't smiled this genuinely in months.

You got up and walked towards where you thought the vocals we're emanating from. Around 7 boys were sitting by the porch and your curiosity was getting the better of you. They seemed to be enjoying a hearty meal. You caught a glimpse of one of them, but your anxiety shot up when you met his eyes and a switch flipped in your mind. It made you take a sharp u-turn and speed out of his vicinity.

His mind froze. Could that really be her?

You vanished so fast.You didn't stop walking until you were out of the sandy ground and back in your room, all your words still caught up in your throat. The water on your 10th floor window blurred the city out of your vision.

That day it poured down like the skies had parted to let a river descend down on earth.

By the time the boys made it out of the beach, they were completely drenched. They walked leisurely in the rain, playing around in the puddles.

“Youngjae, why didn’t you talk to her?”

“Huh? who?” he squinted. He could barely see, and the cold wind was getting into his bones.

“That girl.”

So she was really there.

“She left so quickly.”

“She was staring at you for at least one minute before she bolted.”

“Aah, Jinyoung hyung don’t lie.”

“I’m not. Ask any of them.”

“She looked a lot like the singer from last night…no?” a very tall boy chimed in.

“Aah, seriously guys stop teasing me like this. I’m really cold. I’m going ahead.” Youngjae said, and sprinted through the blinding downpour.

It wasn’t like him to react this way, but he also wasn’t in the mood for jokes. You were so close and he did nothing to stop you.

The hotel floors were overflowing with janitors and a sudden influx of drenched guests dragging their muddy feet through the floors. Youngjae absent-mindedly made his way to his room. For the first time, in the thousands of trips they had taken together, he’d gotten a separate room for himself. He changed out of his rain-soaked attire, his mind once again heavily lost, in thoughts of you.

He felt a little foolish, for not following up on his own words. But he never thought he’d actually see you again. He’d walked through the whole beach, before meeting up with his friends, hoping he’d find you gazing at the lazy sky. He never expected you to walk up to him. He didn’t even get to know what you were looking for — because he knew you were looking for something.

Staring blankly at the piece of paper he'd been composing on, all of yesterday, he realised he'd let you just slip by twice. It didn’t please him, because cause he wasn't sure if he'd even get another chance.

But he did.

That evening he got dragged down to the lounge, by everyone.

"You came here with us to spend time with yourself?”

He couldn't really say no after that implied tone.

Youngjae tried his best to stay in the conversational loop, nodding and laughing, all the while trying to catch stray thoughts as they jumped in loops around his head.

"Oh oh! See I was right! It was her!"

The high pitch his friend spoke in startled him as he re-focussed his eyes on the dimly lit stage, now occupied by a small body. His eyes widened.

It felt like the day on the beach when he first saw you sitting in the sand. You still looked like you were in the deep sea, swimming with orcas.

The host announced your name but he couldn't quite catch it. His attention remained on you.

Your eyes flickered as the audience blurred into a black mass. Internally your mind and body were shaking, but externally you looked at peace.

"It's okay, sing." You told yourself, as your cue inched closer with every second. Everything became irrelevant the moment your voice left your throat.

Caramel. You sounded like the taste of a caramel on his tongue.

He forgot himself in you for those forty five minutes and unconsciously hummed along; mentally preparing himself to find some courage. Hearing you sing so beautifully somehow both intimidated and soothed him. When your set came to an end, he got up from his seat, clapping hysterically.

Maybe the third time was really the charm.

"Youngjae-ya she'll leave again. Go."

"Hyung, I can't do it."

"If you don't go I will take you with me to the haunted house tomorrow."

“No, no. I'm not doing either of these things, Mark hyung" he whined and sat back down.

"Haunted house, tomorrow."

"No."

"Then go talk to her."

"Maybe layer," he negotiated, not noticing a masked human creeping up right next to his face.

“Psst…Youngjae”, the man whispered in a deep rumble.

Unaware of the close proximity, Youngjae turned his head and yelped rather loudly at the view. He slipped from his chair and fell on Mark — half screaming, half laughing.

There it was again. That same ring in the air. That thunderous wind chime. Was it all in your head, because you seemed to be hearing it everywhere you went. you turned around while walking towards the back of the stage and hear more muffled laughs. When your eyes adjust to the darkness, you see group of people huddled near a boy dangling on another person. Was the laughter coming from there? It seemed unlikely. You dismissed your wavering thoughts and hurried off the stage, for the next singer to set up.

While Youngjae regained his breath after that jump-scare he’d been given, Jinyoung casually commented, “Oops, she’s gone.”

He sighed heavily, getting up from Mark’s lap. “It’s fine guys. I — wouldn’t know what to say to her anyway.”

“She’s still there hyung, just go tell her you like her voice. It’s not like it’s a lie.”

“I’ll really take you to the horror house, Youngjae.”

“Aah, no. Okay fine, I’m going.”

When you saw someone walk towards you, you wished the earth would open up and swallow you whole. A lot of people often came up to you and praised your singing, but you never once got comfortable with the idea of interacting with strangers. Not that you were a thankless ingrate… just a shy introvert.

You plastered that smile on your face — the one you had practiced for months now, to somewhat hide your insecurities.

Your heart skipped a tiny beat when he stood in close proximity to you. He didn’t make you the kind of nervous you were expecting. It was a different feeling altogether. Like you both were made from the same stardust and were only just meeting now. Your insides were fluttering.

"You have a beautiful voice." He said, nervously. He didn't say you were an excellent singer or that your range and hold was impeccable. It was a much deeper appreciation.

You fumbled through your words to thank him.

“I never found out what you were looking for though."

You looked at him, puzzled by the question, but then your cheeks flushed a bight red with embarrassment. Your memory rebooted itself. You remembered where you’d seen him before.

“I —

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked." He dismissed himself hastily, before adding, "I'm Youngjae.”

You semi-giggled because of the wide smile on his face.

"I'm Fawn and don't worry. I just... am like this"

There was something different about him. He felt like the sun that had been shining on you during your escape visits to the beach - soft and healing.

"Do you want to.... maybe go to the garden or something, if you have time?"

You nod, you had all the time in the world.

He laughed, shyly, tucking his brownish hair behind his ear.

It really was him.

You felt a warmth spread over your limbs. The laughs finally had a face. It felt unreal but you were relieved - at least it wasn't a figment of your imagination. You weren't that crazy, yet.

Every bench in the park was empty but you went and sat on the grass. It was easier to lay down and stare at the skies.

It was surprisingly easy to talk to him and he heard you out with utmost attention - about your music and career, your influences, your background; he wanted to know everything he could, in a single night.

"Are you here for a vacation?" You asked, looking into his eyes — they seemed to hold answers to the universe, answers you'd been seeking for so long. You got lost in them.

Several minutes passed and neither of you said anything.

You ran your fingers on his cheeks, like you were under a spell. There was a small mole under his eye, it made you smile again.

"What?" He gently questioned.

"Nothing."

He took your hand in his, his heart ready to jump out of his chest. "I'm here for business and vacation. I'll be gone soon."

"Hmm, me too."

"Will you sing with me?” he blurted, immediately regretting saying it.

"You want me to sing with you? You sing?"

“I’m….. yeah, kind of.”

He explained to you the nature of his work and waited expectantly for a positive response. You contemplated for a few seconds, just to cause him some agony. He looked like a lost puppy with his eyebrows furrowed in that manner.

You eventually said yes. His eyes lit up even brighter than they had been all this while. You couldn't quite explain it but he somehow made everything better.

"You still haven't told me though."

"What?"

"What did you come looking for? To the shed?"

You took in a deep breath. "You. I came looking for you."

He tilted his head at you, his eyes focused on your lips, and captured you in a deep, gentle, loving kiss.

The ocean tides wrapped you in a blanket of calm, as did he, with his arms now coiled around you.

“I’m glad you found me first.” he said, holding you tightly.

You smiled at the stars shining over you and gave him a peck on his cheek.

“I’m glad too.”

#aghase writer #youngjae #choi youngjae #got7 youngjae #youngjae fanfic #choi youngjae fanfic #Got7 fanfiction #got7 fanfic #got7 scenarios #choi youngjae scenarios #choi youngjae fanfiction #greasygyeom #got7 reactions #got7 fluff #youngjae fluff #choi youngjae fluff #fawny I hope you like it

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imagine-wannaone · 7 years ago

Text

Lim youngmin Soulmate au

Requested by Anon so let’s roll!

•Before I get into this y'all may be wondering how everyone knows their soulmate sign if they’re not obvious, • My answer is I don’t know either yET (maybe the parents get a certificate with the sign written on it when the stalk delivers the baby), • ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ • Okay so ever since you were able to understand soulmates your soulmate sign terrified you, • When you found your soulmate, you’d lose the ability to see colours, • And man were you terrified, • Yeah and curious because who is the mysterious human you’re supposed to spend the rest of your life with???? • More importantly, do they pour their milk before their cereal? • Because you’re not sure if you can live with someone like that, • And you always looked at colours as if it was the last time you were going to see them, • That turquoise? • Printing the exact shade to memory, • You weren’t exactly mad at your soulmate, they had the exact same problem as you, but you were a whole hearted believer that fate was a bitch, • Like a full bitch, one of the people that screenshot the ugly selfies on Snapchat, • Yeah, THAT bad, • smh fate did u dirty, • And you had a mini crisis when you were 8, • Would an orange still be an orange if you couldn’t see it’s colour? Would it be a grey? • And you hated black and white and grey with all of your little might when you were young, • And you had full matching outfits colour coded, • One day you where all bright orange, aka a traffic cone™ • The next day you where a pastel purple blur aka cute af, • But yeah, you probably spent more than the normal amount of time colouring and painting and drawing and creating art bursting with vibrant colours, • Because as a kid you got anxious about it, • And your parents where like HmmMMmmM, • So you started drawing and creating art so you could MAKE colour, • What a cOnCEpT, • You took to it like a duck to water, • And by the time you reach your teens you were low key very good? Mid teens? You were winning competitions, • Because you had a deep set passion for making sure beautiful pictures where captured on paper with the most delicate colours, • Because one day you’d loose the ability to do that, • So if you weren’t going to put everything into it now then stRiKe yoU DoWn, • You’d been working on a few pieces especially for a competition/exhibition you’d been invited to, • The countries top amateur artists, • Because you’re just THAT good, • And boy had you been threating over what to paint because this is big, • But you won’t let creative block beat you, • (Stronger than me, rip) • And you take up a damn challenge, • Sunset paintings aren’t exactly original but they’re extremely hard, • Because that sun sets quickly, like he’s running after the ice cream truck, • Or chasing the moon, • But you’re determined to capture it in a new light, in a way you’re confidant is uniquely yours, • And you work your butt off every night for over 2 months until you’re happy you’ve captured it, • The sun sinks into the bottom of the page in a lazy manner, the sky above it turning a darker blue while the patches around it are shaded with purples and pinks and reds, • The clouds’ bellies are painted a pastel pink, while the tops are still pure in the dusk you always watch from the fields behind your house, • But you’ve caught the colour and pinned it to the page, the colours accurate but magic, intense and blending and vibrant and unique, • But then you’re like damn I still have to find another thing to paint, • Because 2 pictures is the required amount for the competition because apparently one just isn’t good enough, • So you chose the humble crow as your subject, • Because those birds are incredibly and intelligent, • You paint it in blues, purples and the rare colour black edges into your usual colour obsessed painting, • Mid flight and totally free, the edges of the wings leak into a background of delicate greens, shamrock, emerald, seafoam and sky, lapis, azure, • An omniscient vibe mixes with the feeling of peace and freedom, making the two paintings your best yet, • And boy are you hype for the competition • So you arrive to the exhibition hall bright and early to hang your paintings and to check out the competition, • What an art nerd, honestly, • And when the public come in and the judges stalk the hall you wonder around as well, • As much as you’re threatened™ by the competition, you can’t help but love all the styles and variations of scenes, • A kid in a sweet shop really, you’re the ultimate hype man for all the artists, • As you circle back round to your little corner, you spot a boy stood in front of your paintings, • You are, once again, shook™, • Not only is this boy around the same age as you, which is already unusual in the sea of middle-aged people, he’s Hella handsome, • Like boy what a cutie damn, your heart skips a beat, • What an innocent looking pure bean, • And you smile widely because he’s staring at your crow and the soFtESt smile is spread across his face he looks at peace, • So you take your chance and slide along next to him, • Cus you brave af apparently, • “You don’t think it’s a little too bright?” • You often worry that your use of colours could seem a little too aggressive for someone who doesn’t cherish them like you, • So yanno, get some use out of this cutie while you can, • “I’ll lose my colours one day, and if I could only remember one paintings colours, it’d be this one,” • ShOoK™ • Like damn so many emotions, • First of all, highest compliment of all you got a huge mega blush right there, • Second of all, hoe god damn sweet, • Third, shit this dude understands your struggles, • “Ah, thank you. That’s why I paint so vividly, I-” • But to your absolute horror, • You watch as your paintings, some of the most vibrant in the hall, leak slowly of colour, the bright colours turning greyer as the whole thing changes into your nightmare, • Once everything has changed, your head snaps to the boy by your side, • “You painted it?” You can see from the look in his eyes that His world has also drained of colour, that he’s your soulmate, • His eyes turn and hover on yours, and while there’s a certain sadness, mourning, there’s also a small light, a soft smile painted on his cute face, a hope, • “Yeah, they’re mine,” • “They’re beautiful,” • While the compliment heats your cheeks, you turn your head to your new, dull painting with a sigh, • “Was beautiful,” • “Is beautiful. You know, the new shades give it a whole new meaning,” • The way the boy speaks, a way that warms your heart and makes everything, even the blacks, seem a little more colourful makes you realise, that you’ve found your soulmate, • And while your gut dropped just a minute ago, you can already feel it returning, and thinking it may not be so bad after all, • Because at least you have someone to help you along the way,

• Fate has not done you dirty, • So you spin to face him, and feel nothing but relief as you wrap your arms around him without warning, his warmth comforting you as he returns the gesture, everything comes naturally, like you’d always done it, • At least now you won’t be worrying the rest of your life about losing your colours, • And you win the competition, by a long shot, • And the connection you have to Youngmin is really quite beautiful, • Because you realise that the sacrifice of colour is nothing compared to what you’ve gained, • And it makes your relationship even more special because like??? • You sacrificed for eachother??? • And you go through a total art lull at first, • Because you started to paint to make colour and now what’s the point? • But Youngmin nags and persuades and nearly forces you to start again, • He literally refused to make any sort of contact until you started painting again, • (Because he knows you miss the paint), • And boy do u get a long ass snuggle when you start again, after staring blankly at your paints for hours, • And then your style changes, and you become low key famous for this dramatic style change, • Why you used to paint things to the exact detail of colour, • Now you have 2 modes, • You paint things exactly as you see them in black and white, to show the world how you see things, • Or you paint things in blind colour, no idea what shades you’re using and you’re told that your mix of abstract colour into ordinary things is eye-catching, • But no matter what you paint, Youngmin loves it, and you theorize for hours what colour that grey could be from wisps of memories you’ve held onto, • And dates to galleries or art classes (you’re shook by how well Youngmin is with clay like damn), • Or to beaches or parks or restaurants or theme parks because really why would you put a limit on it? • And skinship is key but like, soft, • Gently holding each others hands or lent against each other or quick pecks honestly whatever you feel comfortable doing, • And you spend hours and hours studying Youngmin’s delicate and slight features, • You manage to captures his gentleness and optimism and energy and kindness into his portraits, some of your most praised works, • But you keep every single one of them, because you want to keep everything about Youngmin, • And the two of you fumble through a black and white world together, • The two of you mainly dress in black and white and it’s honestly iconic™ • Fierce, • The cuddle couple honestly who is softer? • No one, that’s who.

#youngmin #lim youngmin #mxm #produce 101 #pd 101 #broduce 101 #imagines #scenario #oneshot #headcanon #soulmate #colours #fluff #og admin

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