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rosellacwrites · 2 years ago

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Part 6: Someday

Claire wanders through the alleys, kicking moodily at stones. Milo’s disappeared off to the shipbuilder’s dock again, and their friend Milena is busy at her parents’ market stall today, and no one else their age seems to be hanging around. Boredom doesn’t suit her and never has, but she and Milo are under strict orders not to return to the ship before sunset unless one of them is bleeding: or I’ll change that for you, Carmen had joked, but there was a hint of desperation behind it that Claire didn’t find necessary to examine too closely.

Unconsciously, she drifts toward the blacksmith’s shop. She’s told Milo she likes to look at the swords, and it’s true. She can lose herself for hours in debating the elegance of a rapier over the practicality of a cutlass, admiring the brilliant polish and the musical ring of the blades, or simply watching in fascination as the smith transforms throwaway scraps into something new and deadly beautiful. But somewhere deep down, she’s beginning to question whether the swords are the only attraction.

“Back so soon?” The smith’s son leans against the counter, grinning at her. His curly hair is pulled back today, and for the first time, Claire notices a faint shadow beginning to define his jaw. “We don’t have any new ones since you came in to order the cannon shot yesterday.”

“Just looking,” she says airily, trailing her fingers along the flat of a blade. “You never know when you might need a sword.” She glances up at him, and his hazel eyes are full of a warmth she doesn’t remember seeing there before. He’s always been pleasant and kind when she visits on her errands, but something about the way he’s gazing at her now feels… new. She quickly turns away to examine a different piece, its mirror-like finish reflecting her reddened face.

“Well, that’s what we’re here for.” He sounds like he’s trying to suppress a laugh, but when she looks up again, his back is turned to her and he’s busy arranging odds and ends on a high shelf, so she’s free to look at him if she wants. Not that she wants to. That would be silly. She knows perfectly well what he looks like already.

“Ey, Joaquin!”

She looks away just in time as he turns to greet his new customer. “Diego, my friend,” he says cheerfully. “We’ve got those nails ready for you, just let me see where my dad’s put them…”

“Just in time. Mamá wants a new chicken coop yesterday. Damned fox keeps getting in and we lost our best layer this week. Poor Yoli.” Diego lounges against the doorframe, shaking his head. His eyes aren’t as sleepy as they look; he doesn’t miss Claire hovering by the sword rack, and he grins knowingly at her. “Well, what are you doing over there? Wishing for a handsome man with a big sword to come steal you away?”

Oh, he’s one of those. Claire knows how to handle them; she widens her eyes and parts her lips, docile and demure. “Oh, no! I’m deciding what kind of sword I want.”

Diego chokes, Joaquin laughs out loud, and Claire privately congratulates herself. Confusing boys is just the best fun.

“Now, what would a little thing like you want with a sword?” There’s amusement in Diego’s voice, the condescension of an older boy humoring a child, and Claire begins to bristle. They don’t often recover so quickly from the faux-innocent act; perhaps she’ll need a different approach.

“She’s a pirate,” Joaquin interjects. “So she’ll need one, someday.” He smiles at her, with an apology in it, and she’s not sure exactly what it’s for.

“Oh, a pirate!” Diego looks less sleepy, suddenly, but still amused. “Didn’t know they were so hard up for crew these days they were taking kids.”

“We have plenty of crew, thank you very much,” Claire huffs, drawing herself up to her full height, still a head shorter than Diego’s. “It’s my parents’ ship. And we have the best crew on the sea. My Má wouldn’t settle for anything less.”

“She wouldn’t,” Joaquin confirms. “Señora Castaño is a tough one, all right.”

Claire darts a look at him. He’s going out of his way to defend her, it seems, and she doesn’t need it. She can handle this. Diego’s just a dumb farm boy who thinks he’s better than she is just because he’s a boy, as if the extra flesh between his legs means anything when it comes down to a fight. They’ll always underestimate you, Carmen tells her all the time. Use it to your advantage.

“We’ve taken five ships this year already,” Claire boasts. “The last one was nothing but spices, though. Boring.” She can’t help turning away to admire her favorite sword again, imagining the sunlight flash of the blade in her hand as she lifts it high. “When I’m captain, we’ll only raid the ones with real treasure.”

Diego scoffs. “You? A captain? You’re a girl, and red-headed besides. You’re bad luck for a ship, everyone knows.”

Joaquin shifts from foot to foot. His mouth opens, then closes abruptly as Claire stalks toward the door.

“Say that again,” she invites, dangerously sweet; Diego backs up a step, not missing her tone, but he’s not too daunted.

“You’re. Bad. Luck.” Grinning, he bobs a finger closer to her with each word until it lands playfully on the tip of her nose.

Her eyes widen, and she draws back in disbelief. How dare he? She feels the heat begin to rise in her cheeks, and her hands curl into fists. She hadn’t meant to let him get to her, but… “I will have a ship of my own, just like my Má! I’ll be the queen of the pirates and beat all the men in battle and wear nothing but gold. Just watch me!”

“You’re going to have to grow up a little before you can beat a man in battle,” Diego remarks, and the sting of it is even sharper because she knows he’s right, damn him, but she tosses her head anyway like it doesn’t matter.

“I’ll fight you right now and you’ll see if I’m bad luck for you, hey?”

“I don’t fight little girls,” Diego says with his nose in the air.

“Why not? Are you afraid of us?” Claire looks him up and down, an exaggerated once-over from his messy hair to lanky arms to dusty bare feet. “I can see why. You sure don’t look very strong.”

Joaquin, nervously watching them circle each other like stray dogs, sucks in a breath at that, but Claire ignores it. They’ve gathered a small crowd by now, drawn by the mysterious telepathy of children that spreads the word of an impending fight, and she’s not about to let anything distract her.

“It’s wrong,” Diego insists. “And I’m *plenty* strong. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“I bet you can’t even tie a proper knot,” Claire jeers. “You’d never make a pirate. My Má would toss you to the sharks in a second.”

“Your Má should know her place,” Diego growls, and that’s the very last straw for Claire.

“Well, your Má sucks the devil’s cock in hell!” Diego lets out a startled oof as Claire rockets into his midsection, propelling him backward into the water barrel; Diego’s donkey brays in startled terror as the water splashes over its legs, and jerks its lead rope loose from the iron ring to which it had been tied. It bucks and rears, its hooves narrowly missing Claire and Diego as they tumble to the ground.

Claire’s head snaps back and a star explodes in her mouth. True to his word, Diego won’t hit a girl on purpose, but his elbow is less honorable, or more awkward, than his fists. Before her vision clears, she sees red, striking blindly upward toward the source of the hands pinning her down. A pained grunt tells her she’s landed a blow; she goes for a second, but Diego’s quicker to block this time, and some bony part of him glances hard off her cheek.

“Stop, for Christ’s sake, stop!” he groans, but his defense leaves him open; Claire braces her feet and kicks up, rolling to the side, as Diego’s supporting arm collapses under her impact. He comes up sputtering, but she’s already on his back, clinging stubbornly with one hand while she tries to force his face into the mud with the other. Someone’s shouting at her from far away, but her ears are still ringing, and she pays it no mind.

She’s blinded again, mud this time, as the panicked donkey lashes out again and Joaquin tears past, skidding for its rope. Then she’s down, Diego using her momentary distraction to shake her off his back. “Little bitch!” he pants. “What’s wrong with you?!”

She tries to scramble up, but Diego’s knee is planted firmly in her stomach and he has a fistful of her dress; she’s not going anywhere, unless… Diego howls and slumps sideways into the puddle, curling into a muddy ball. She’s never actually used that move before, and she stares, fascinated. Guess Má was right, she thinks.

“Noemí!” she hears Joaquin shout, faintly. “You know Milo, right? Go find him!” Small footsteps disappear at a gallop, and Claire springs back into action before Diego can recover. Her knuckles sting, but the righteous anger burning in her blood numbs them as she lashes out again and again. Someday, she thinks, someday I’ll show them all, but there’s a score to settle here and now and she doesn’t have time to think about the future any more.

A few streets away, Milo is so close. He’s about to do something he’s wanted to do for a very long time, and he’s feeling very good about it. No more being shy: he’s really going to go for it this time.

In a minute, anyway. When he gets the nerve.

“Milo! Milo!”

A little girl stands in front of him, hands on her hips, and he tries to bring his brain back on track to remember who she is. Dark curly hair, a sturdy cheerful demeanor — the name’s not cooperating, but he’s seen her hanging around the smithy before. Sister, he thinks, and just as the word crosses his mind it leaves her lips.

“Your sister’s fighting Diego Orozco over by the forge,” she informs him. “You might want to do something about it.” Not waiting for a reply, she turns and skips off, her mission complete.

Unusually for someone who’s spent the entirety of his fifteen years at sea, Milo doesn’t curse much.

Didn’t, anyway.

Joaquin sighs in relief as he sees Milo round the corner with grim determination in his stride. Milo doesn’t even pause to take in the scene before him, but wades right in, dodging Diego’s fists, and hauls a dripping Claire out the way his mother removes the ship’s cat from the galley when it dares to steal from her chopping block. She dangles for a moment, held firm by her torn collar, and glares, but she knows there’s no arguing with Milo when his face is set like this.

He can’t stop her mouth, though. “Go home and tell your Mami you got your arse whipped by a little girl,” she snarls at Diego. He rolls over and spits a bloody streak, and looks like he wants to reply, but Milo’s face is a thundercloud and it would take more recklessness than even Diego possesses to pick that fight.

Milo doesn’t let Claire go until Diego’s slouched off to lick his wounds in private. “You. Don’t move an inch,” he warns her with an expression that sends a chill up Joaquin’s spine, before disappearing around the back of the smithy to wash the mud off his hands.

Joaquin recognizes his chance, dazed as he still feels. He gathers all his courage and takes Claire by the hand, but when she turns to him, all the words he’d meant to say have scattered. All that’s left is the image her boasting had carved into his mind, so sharply he can see the seed of the queen’s promise in the girl. “You’d look right pretty in gold,” he says, a faint flush darkening his cheeks.

She looks up at him, narrow-eyed and bloody-lipped, and lifts her chin. “Make me one, then,” she challenges. “A gold necklace, and I’ll wear it. With all the others I’ll win.”

“I will,” he breathes, enchanted. “I promise!”

Before he can say anything else, Milo returns to lead Claire away, the set of his shoulders expressing that he’d prefer to be dragging her by the ear and should receive a great deal of credit for refraining. But she glances over her shoulder at Joaquin as she goes, her eyes dancing bright and lively in her mud-streaked face, and he’d be forgiven for skipping a heartbeat or two.

“Ah, le retour du soldat!” Placide’s laugh booms out from the rigging as he watches them ascend the gangplank. “As-tu gagné la bataille?”

Claire grins, and winces at the fresh trickle of blood from her split lip. “Oui,” she calls up to him. “J’ai donné une leçon.”

Milo just shakes his head. Placide spoils Claire, has done since he first joined their crew years ago after a briefer-than-intended stop in Saint-Domingue. He’d been so delighted to find another on board who spoke his language, and Gil and Carmen had been so happy to find a way to keep Claire’s last connection to her birth mother, that they all mutually agreed to overlook the fact that the garrison was on fire and Placide seemed eager to leave town in a hurry.

“Come on,” Milo urges. “Let’s get you cleaned up before Má sees —“ A shadow falls across his path, and he stops, knowing it’s already too late.

“Before Má sees what?” Gil asks pleasantly, but they’ve all heard that tone before. Claire looks up, and he hisses through his teeth at the state of her. “Let’s go take care of that,” he says, and they know better than to hesitate.

Down in the galley, Claire squirms on the stool as her parents patch her up. So much blood. Carmen shakes her head, frowning at Claire’s torn and stained dress.

“Only some of it’s mine,” she protests.

Gil dabs gently at her face, shaking his head. “You’re getting too old to be fighting with the boys like this, mija.”

“Diego doesn’t think women should be captains!” Claire shoots back furiously. “He said Má should ‘know her place.’ That’s when I hit him.”

Carmen’s eyebrows rise, and she stands back, studying Claire carefully. And did you change his mind for him?

“I kneed him in the balls.”

Gil groans in remembered agony, but Carmen smiles.

Good girl.

Side by side in their usual spot, elbows on the rail, Milo and Claire contemplate the sunset. A seagull glides down and perches a few feet from them, preening itself.

“Why’d you have to get in a fight today, of all days?” Milo grumbles. “I was having a very nice time with Javi.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Javi when we’re in port,” she observes, dodging the subject expertly.

“Yes, and I enjoy doing that, and I’d rather not have had to stop it to drag your scrawny arse out of another fight.” Milo’s sigh is far too world-weary for a teenager. “But here we are.”

“You didn’t hear what he said about Má. I had to!” Claire insists. “And what’s so special about Javi anyway? What were you doing that was so interesting?”

“We were… we wanted to be by ourselves.” Milo goes quiet for a moment, taking a few deep breaths to prepare for the confession he’s about to make. “Claire,” he says, nearly whispering. “I — I like him.”

“I do too.” She shrugs. “He’s funny.”

Milo pinches the bridge of his nose and rubs in an exact duplicate of one of Gil’s mannerisms; somehow when he’d thought about this moment, he hadn’t imagined it being this difficult. “No. Ugh. I mean… I like him. Same way you like Joaquin.”

“I do not like Joaquin,” she huffs, folding her arms and completely ignoring what Milo’s actually trying to tell her.

Milo rolls his eyes. “No, of course you don’t. You just thrashed a boy right in front of him for general purposes. You know that’s not how normal people flirt, right?”

“I was not flirting!” she insists, but she’s bright red beneath the dark bruise that’s already blooming on one cheekbone.

“Whatever you say,” he sing-songs. “Too bad you weren’t flirting, then, because he looked like he was into it.”

Claire whips around to stare at him. “He did?” The gull hops closer, just in case they might have food to share, but neither one is paying attention.

“Claire,” Milo groans, his face in his hands. “I’m trying to tell you something here.”

“That you like boys? I’ve known that forever.” It’s her turn to roll her eyes this time, before jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow.

He chokes back a curse. “God, why are you so pointy? And you knew? How??”

“You’re my big brother, dummy. I love you.”

“You… don’t mind?”

“Why would I mind? I’m old enough to know people like all sorts of people.” She leans into his side, resting her head on his shoulder, and giggles. “I know what Má and Pá do with Rosa when we’re in port. They’re probably doing it right now.”

“Ugh. Don’t make me think about that,” Milo pleads, changing the subject quickly. “Do you…?”

“Don’t think so.” She shakes her head, and doesn’t quite manage to suppress a sound of pain. “Bad idea,” she mutters to herself. “No, I… I like boys too. Or I will, someday. When I find one who isn’t scared of me.”

“Not beating them up would be a good start, kid.”

Her elbow finds his ribs again and digs in, but not so hard, this time, and there’s nothing else that needs to be said, or so he thinks.

“Did you kiss him?”

Milo turns, slowly; how much more can he be expected to endure today? “What?”

“You heard me. Did you kiss him?” Claire repeats, a world of mischief in her voice.

Milo drops his face into his hands again, and his sigh seems to come from the depths of the ocean this time. “Was gonna,” he admits, muffled. “But I didn’t get the chance.”

Claire makes a sound of genuine regret as she leans harder into his side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“S’ok. I’ll go see him tomorrow.” Milo wraps his arm around her, relieved beyond words that she’s accepted him so easily. “But this time I’m getting Placide to babysit you.”

Her squawk of outrage sends the gull wheeling, terrified, into the air, and Milo laughs at last. “No need for that,” Claire says.

“Why? You gonna behave for once in your life?”

She doesn’t dignify that with an answer, merely waving at the approaching figure on the dock. “Javi!” she calls. “We’re up here!” Javi waves back, and she squirms out from under Milo’s arm. “Go get your boy,” she orders him. “I’ll give you ten minutes of good behavior from me.”

“Make it fifteen. You owe me.”

Claire watches from the rail as Milo hurries down the gangplank to meet Javi. He doesn’t even give Javi a chance to say anything before he takes his face in his hands and kisses him quickly but soundly, and Claire suppresses a squeak of pure delight.

Even from this distance, she can see the startled whites of Javi’s eyes as he pulls back, and Milo’s shoulders begin to hunch in on themselves. Stop it, she thinks fiercely at him, don’t pull this self-conscious shite, and somebody must be listening because Javi cups Milo’s cheek and winds his other arm around Milo’s back and kisses him like the world is ending, and this time she cheers aloud. Milo lifts a hand over his shoulder to flash her one of Carmen’s rudest signs, but it doesn’t stop him kissing Javi, and Claire’s split lip and bruised cheek are protesting from the width of her smile and she couldn’t care less.

Someday, she muses, looking past them to where the first stars are beginning to wink into view, and she feels a little more certain of the answer to her question now.

Milo, Carmen, and Gil: @seanettlles

Joaquin and Noemí: @dancingmantis

Milena: @goldieo-gilt

Diego: @redcookies-bestcookies

Javi: @sionnaach

Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Thank you for lending me your brainchildren to play with ❤️

#pirate au #nauti by nature #fiction writing #original characters #claire oc #creative collaboration #deaf character #cw: teenagers being idiots

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mckitterick · 2 years ago

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The Goncharov meme has exposed several really interesting things:

1) It highlights tumblr as actual social media based in community effort rather than status

2) It shows what tumblr as a whole values in media (in particular, queer representation, strong relationships between characters, emotional catharsis, and dichotomy of themes such as spending one's life building a legacy versus just living life)

3) Tumblr humor is based primarily in improv "yes and-ing" and commitment to the bit, and people will put 200% effort into pushing the bit even further if the bit keeps being fun

4) More than anything, people want to entertain each other, and being in a community that values entertaining others leads to incredible collaborative works of creativity that don't even feel like work to make

#tumblr games #community #creative collaboration #i love this hellsite #my edits #memes

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brandonjohnbarnard · 2 days ago

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Production history around: Broodiest Flunkey

Finally, I am getting to what I consider the ‘first’ film in my journey as an experimental filmmaker: ‘Broodiest Flunkey’.

This film is a bit rough — it was made as a university project, with a deadline and 3 minute time limit. It was also the first time I had played with many visual effects, and the first time I had shown my work to a live audience.

A lot of what I will be saying in this article will be recycled from my university essay, as my memory on a lot of the details has started to fade.

I created a timeline for this production, so I will try my best to be chronological in the retelling of the film’s creation. Some of the elements may seem tangential, though that is a lot of my practice in general.

I really like the above, because it shows that learning and developing a project (or even personal development), takes a mix of both consumption (books, media) and action (events, trial runs). It also shows how unexpectedly events morph into one another.

In addition to this timeline, I had also created a dated excel timeline of when each event happened (yes, I am thorough). While it shows how ‘Change Spaces’ and ‘Gacha’nce’ fit into the timeline, those won’t be covered here. Noteworthy is how many events overlap with one another, as opposed to being linear.

iDAT XXX

On the 18th of November 2024, I attended an event by Mike Philips, celebrating 30 years since the creation of their institution ‘iDAT’. As part of this event, they ran a ‘telematic performance’ — pretty much information is passed from one system to another, leading to a series of interesting corruptions. This, is then dressed up in a fun avant-garde coat of paint.

It would take a lot later for me to realise that this is a great use of chance as a form of creation. Collaboration, corruptions, improv, a digital exquisite corpse, etc.

MA Experience Design — Design Lab 2

In Design Lab 1, I made a short animation going over the concepts of DADA. Therefore, making video work was heavily on my mind.

The Design Lab 2 brief made me think about what I could do to help the local community. When looking at ‘don’t assume you know your audience’, ‘experiment with materials’, ’leave something beautiful behind’, and ‘make a difference’, it led me down the path of considering making a documentary where I interview people with autism to allow them to be heard and understood.

Autism Documentary

So, I started to plan a documentary about autism, taking the brief into mind. There were lots of worries about it, and I could lie and say they were mostly about GDPR, but it was more so social anxiety of needing to work with so many people!

The in-class activity about making iterative comics was really interesting to me. I wanted to take this idea but apply it to a documentary format. I wanted something similar to the longitudinal study method that ‘Seven Up!’ (1964) engaged in, but also have myself and my beliefs examined as well. This would potentially happen by having a new director for the second film, where they critically look at the first film, and this process is continued indefinitely.

[Accidentally making an exquisite corpse before knowing what that really was!]

Allister Gall Email

The module brief included: ‘collaboration with multidisciplinary partners’. As I was working with film as a medium, I decided to reach out to Allister Gall, the BA Filmmaking programme leader at the University of Plymouth on the 23rd of January 2024. I asked if he was able to send me down the right path, or potentially let me attend a filmmaking lesson.

He let me know about Imperfect Cinema, and that an event was coming up called Cinaesthesia 1. I was very lucky with the timing, as the event was only four days after I sent my email.

[It is funny, I consider this single email an extremely important pivot in my life. If I had not written this email, I likely would not be doing my current PhD, and would not be making experimental art videos. I wouldn’t have heard of Cinaesthesia, and Allister wouldn’t have become one of my PhD supervisors… This email took a minute or two to write, all it takes sometimes.]

The Reason I Jump

During my initial look into autism for the documentary, I read ‘The Reason I Jump’ (2007). The book was written by a 13-year-old mute autistic child living in Japan, and each chapter is them explaining why they do certain actions.

When reading, I realised that there were many areas in which I related to this child, especially thinking back to when I was the same age. While I did not relate to everything, I did more than I normally would with someone. With each example, I started to feel less embarrassed about some moments from my childhood. Moments that I used to fixate on, thinking ‘why did I do that?’ suddenly had an answer that didn’t make me feel as alone or weird.

This feeling of seeing yourself in a book, and this resulting in you being less critical of yourself, I decided to be the message I wanted from my film.

Cinaesthesia 1

This event was run by Patrycja Loranc in collaboration with Imperfect Cinema, and took place at Café Momus on Stonehouse. Patrycja is a PhD student focussing on psychepoetic filmmaking, and the event shared some of this energy.

(Jess Scott, Dutch Loveridge, and Patrycja Loranc at Cinaesthesia 1’s Q&A)

Imperfect Cinema is a Plymouth-based film project created by Allister Gall and Dan Paolantonio, which has the goal of encouraging local artists to create films, as well as to help facilitate events these artists can participate in.

[Side tangent — At this point (8 months since hearing about them), I have heard the two of them go over their intro so many times. It makes me think about what it means to be an academic at university — the need to tear up old ground constantly to explain who you are and what you do. It sounds kind of hellish. I’d struggle to not just make an intro video lol]

As a note for this event, and the ones I talk about later, the networking elements of these screenings are incredible. You get to ask questions directly, sample a lot of local talent, and see the effort of people coming forward. It takes bravery to put yourself out there, and most people there seem to appreciate that.

I was worried that the event would be too ‘heavy’, but it was very casual.

An element of the screening that really resonated with me was the diverse ‘quality’ and styles of work present. There were films presented that I thought ‘I could do that’, and that made me feel like less of an outsider at the event.

At this event, I learnt that a Cinaesthesia 2 and 3 were going to happen in the future, and that they had an open reel for submissions. I pivoted from ‘documentary about autism’ to ‘experimental art film that looked into my own personal experiences reading into autism’.

Getting into Cinaesthesia 2

In order to get a film accepted into Cinaesthesia there were guidelines that needed to be adhered to.

The brief was: “How can the sensory perception/subjective experience be communicated and challenged by filmmaking? How does film allow us to connect to others and the world by exchanging subjective realities?”

It also included that the film must be 3 minutes or less, and submitted by 9pm 21/03/2024.

Experimental Film Production Start

I started my pivot by looking into what made someone’s perception ’unique’, thought about there being so many variables with each person, that everyone’s perception was unique.

In addition to this, I started to consider that my own perception was likely the perception I could best put across to an audience.

I wanted to, somehow, make the audience experience a sense of uneasiness by seeing the world through someone who processes stimuli differently.

Rosemary’s Baby

On the 26th of January 2024, my wife and I watched Rosemary’s Baby (1968) for the first time. It is a great film. In it there is a scene where the main character is trying to work out an anagram by moving around scrabble pieces. I had no plans with this at all. It was just a theme dancing around in my head.

Experience Design’s Telematic Performance

For one of the Design Lab 2 session, Mike Philips wanted us to do a ‘telematic performance’. Since I had seen one prior via his iDAT XXX event, I feel that I had a step ahead of others in the class. This was due to me already knowing what it was meant to look like, and understanding that anything could be used as a step (as long as it caused transformation down the line).

As such, I pushed forward with using Scrabble pieces early on in the sequence, and planned out what the rest of the performance would be.

I would take scrabble pieces out of a bag randomly. Person 2 would make words out of these random letters. Person 3 would then do charades of Person 2’s word. Person 4, who was wearing headphones, had to guess what Person 3 was miming, Person 5, then drew this answer on a post-it note, and added it to a scene on the board.

This whole process was fun, and made me really like the idea of using Scrabble pieces to tell a story.

Scrabble Pieces

Mixing the themes of anagrams and chance, I decided to have one phrase dictate different elements of my film’s story.

I wanted the overall message of the film to be in-line with my takeaway from ‘The Reason I Jump’, so I chose the phrase ‘Be Kind to Yourself’.

Using an online anagram maker, I went through the list of 10,000 combinations, and picked phrases that I thought I could use to string together a narrative that told a story I was happy with.

I wanted to use stop-motion as the technique for these scenes, as it added an eerie feeling that the pieces had a mind of their own, especially since they were what decided the course of the story. Originally, I wanted to film the pieces, and cut out appropriate frames. This did not work due to the camera changing focus, as such I landed on taking still photos after each movement instead.

As stop-motion is a time-intensive process, there were moments where I lost track of what pieces should go where. A colour coded guide was made to make the movement and locations easier to follow.

Pre-Storyboard

Before storyboarding, I thought about elements I wanted to film and why.

I felt that if I went into storyboarding, some fun techniques may have been squeezed out of the production for the sake of narrative.

So instead, I thought about these elements first and how I could use them in the narrative.

Storyboard

Storyboarding your film is useful, however, I did not want to limit myself by structure. For example, knowing how much time was left, or being fixated on scene order. The scenes were drawn in ‘chunks’ and then moved around in order to fit the narrative.

After doing my rough outline of the story, I wanted to make sure I could include the entire narrative in the 3-minute window required by the submission guidelines. As such, I experimented with scene intervals.

‘Yolk Unfit Bedsore’, I thought it was perfect as an opening introduction for a character. ‘Bedsore’ and ‘Yolk’ can both be seen as elements attached to starting the day. Additionally, ‘Unfit’ matched the negative self-image I wanted the main character to have, so the ‘Be Kind to Yourself’ later in the film made sense. Embarrassment seems to be a common issue for some autistic people, so I felt building this into the character was important.

Using this way of thinking, I was able to pace out the Scrabble pieces in a way that completed a cohesive narrative.

With the phrase ‘Befriend — Too Sulky’, I thought I could illustrate that autistic people often want to make social-emotional connections with people, but are unsure how to do so, and the pain this can cause.

I decided on having three second intervals for the storyboard, as I felt this fit best. Any shorter would have been too jarring. Originally, I inserted the Hero’s Journey as a vague guideline for pacing. While this was useful as a rough guide, I did not adhere to it much, as I felt it got in the way of what I believed was a better narrative; perhaps because it made the pacing feel like it was made on a production line.

Once I had my storyboard fully created additional details such as sound effects present, whether it needed chromakeying, and what editing decisions I thought would be needed were added.

In retrospect, I feel that I over-relied on the storyboard. I feel the piece could have been transformed into something more artful by applying wardrobe, doing more area scouting, reframing, and creating some concept art.

Prop Creation

After drawing up the storyboard, I realised that I did not know how I was going to have the other characters in the film be acted. This caused stress as the deadline loomed closer, and I wondered how I would fill these roles.

In order to solve this issue, I decided to use cardboard painted with acrylic for the additional characters instead. I felt that having the main character be the only real-life human added a sense of surrealism, as well as the idea that the plot is ‘from their point of view’. In addition to this, people with autism often feel ‘disconnected’ from other people, and I feel this separate ‘plane of existence’ with 2D vs 3D illustrates this idea in an interesting way.

The character at 0:47 having a sudden expression change was important as it shows the main character trying to grabble with a complex emotional encounter, which is considered a struggle for some with autism.

With the characters being made out of cardboard, I had the worry that this would come across as too jarring to the viewer. To solve this, and to make the overall film feel like it had a cohesive style, I decided to make more elements out of cardboard.

Items like the phone, egg, toothbrush, etc. were made out of cardboard as well. I believed it would be funny to have these mundane elements, that would be way easier to have the real-world items, be recreated. The prop creation was the most time intensive part of the project, but I think it was worth it. When the screening of the film happened, the props were the most complimented aspect by the audience in attendance.

In the film, early on, I have a moment where I flip an egg, purposely showing the cardboard underside. This is to reveal to the audience that I am not hiding the fact that these elements are cardboard — this works as a way to let them in on the silliness.

To help with cohesion for scenes where no props were present, the backgrounds are also acrylic on cardboard. These were added by using chromakeying. The painted areas are purposely small and zoomed in, to make the fact that they have texture and are cardboard more apparent.

Book

The book in the film had two versions, one which was a ‘prop book’, and one that I bound.

The prop book was a cover and back, with painted cardboard sides to resemble paper, and three DVD cases in the middle.

Because the bound book contains pages that were filmed, including the book, this needed to be created after the prop book scenes took place.

In order to match the Scrabble description of the book being ‘finely rusted’, I followed a tutorial by Treasure Books (2023) using cinnamon to create faux rust. This, on top of the book also being obviously cardboard I believed was a fine compromise.

My Wedding

In the middle of this production, with a deadline looming over, was my wedding. I am so happy that the whole process was easy.

[Only while writing this piece had it dawned on me that my filmmaking and married life have been so overlapped.]

Filming

The film was shot on a Sony Alpha 6400 with a SELP1650 lens, and a fisheye shot was done with a 7 Artisans 7.5mm 1:2:8 ED lens. A Sony GP-VPT2BT grip was also used in many scenes to allow for filming while a light was being held.

Two ‘EMART 60 LED’ lights were used to light up the scenes, and a ‘Neewer 5’x7' Greenscreen’ was used for chromakeying.

Some elements of the storyboard needed to be adapted to make the filming process easier. Firstly, a printed breakdown was made of each scene with what happens in terms of editing, effects, sounds, and props present, etc.

For the scenes that were included within the book, a chronological edit of the storyboard was made.

There were moments when parts of the production didn’t go to plan, and as such improvisation had to happen. For example, When the book was put into shrubbery at 2:20 in the film, originally it was meant to be pulled out by string. However, during filming, the string kept snapping. As such, we made the book float behind the main character instead.

Editing

The editing process was turbulent for a few reasons. Primarily, due to Vegas Pro 18 crashing every few hours, however this is unfortunately an aspect to be expected.

The editing process was useful, because it really allowed me to consider which moments were important to the narrative, which I don’t think I would have realised if I handed the work off to another person to edit.

The original cut of ‘Broodiest Flunkey’ was 4 minutes long, and as such 25% of the footage needed to be trimmed down in order to be within the 3-minute window required for submission.

The music at the start of the film is ‘Toc de matinades’ by Rafael Caro (2016), and is Catalonian folk music which is played in the streets early in the morning to wake up people so they can get ready for celebrations. Since this was the day that the main character learnt to be kind to themselves, and that it starts with them waking up, I thought it was appropriate. Also, the tone shift from positive music to more eerie and atmospheric music I felt made the transition feel more contrasted, and as such have more impact.

The sounds of the Scrabble pieces moving was made by moving a container filled with Lego.

With this, the film was finished and rendered. I decided to keep the film internal until Cinaesthesia 2, as associating its premier with the event felt special. This process of keeping videos unavailable until an in-person premier is a practice I feel makes attending an event feel more worthwhile.

Behind the Scenes

Due to the large amount of footage available, I decided to make a behind the scenes video to both commemorate the experience, and as an excuse to remove all the footage from my PC without feeling too bad about it being harder to access.

Cinaesthesia 2

Cinaesthesia 2 took place on 23rd March 2024, and was a lot of fun. Members of my cohort attended which was greatly appreciated.

I would say that the reaction to the screening was extremely positive.

I worried that the subject of autism may have been a bit out of place, or that I would have felt ‘othered’, but then again punk environments have always embraced those that were seen as on the ‘rim’ of society.

Q&A

I was part of a Q&A after the screening, and this was my first time I would talk about my work in a public forum like this. There was something really special about this I felt, and it made me want to talk about my work with others more in the future.

Meeting cool people

It overall was a great night, which made me excited for the future. I met so many cool and talented people, who have stuck around in the peripheries of my life for several months now.

Also, Abi Ali, one of the filmmakers present, stopped me after the show to say my work was her favourite, and guess what, her work was my favourite too.

SO YEAH! This is where it all began. Or rather, where I arbitrarily decided it began. Has it even started yet? Find out next time, on Dragon Ball Z!!

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awfullybest · 2 months ago

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My Recent Collaboration: A Fusion of Fashion, Beauty, and Art

I’m so excited to share the details of a recent collaboration that was an absolute joy to be part of. This project brought together the beauty of hand-woven fabrics, timeless jewelry, flawless makeup, and some incredible talents. I had the pleasure of working with Aurum.couture.collections, Kripa collections, braidandblush, Neeta, and Supraja. For this shoot, I used both my Canon camera and my…

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thisisgraeme · 2 months ago

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The AI-Powered Creative Workflow: How the Creative TechnoStack is Shaping the Future of Creativity

Discover how an AI-Powered Creative Workflow is transforming the way creators work! Learn how the Creative TechnoStack blends AI and traditional tools to shape the future of creativity. Ready to unlock your full potential? Dive in now!

Unlocking the AI-Powered Creative Workflow: The Rise of the Creative Technomancer Creativity is entering a bold new era—one where human ingenuity is supercharged by artificial intelligence, and the boundaries between artistic disciplines blur into seamless, multimedia experiences. Just as software developers pioneered the concept of full-stack to describe those who could manage both front-end…

#11Labs #Adobe Creative Suite #AI tools for creators #AI-powered workflows #Automation in creative projects #ChatGPT #Creative collaboration #Creative innovation #Creative TechnoStack #Digital creativity #Full-stack creator #Future of creativity #Graeme Smith #MidJourney #Multimedia production #thisisgraeme #Udio

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auressea · 2 years ago

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OK- but the way they incorporated materials from their environments?! The fake eyelashes, and the sewing thread! The dirt, and the bits of metal and the human hair!

and then folks are so excited he invites them to use himself as a canvas.

Creating art

song: 手扶拖拉机斯基 (Tractor-Sky) - 张蔷 (Zhang Qiang)

English added by me :)

#creative collaboration #community art #performance art

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sandcobangevent · 7 months ago

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Silence Your Phone and Open Your Heart

By @littleoceanbabe and @starfruitsomething

Ping!

“Watson, your ph-” Sherlock moved to grab John’s phone from the table, but it was snatched up lightning quick.

“Thanks, Sherlock!” John beamed, almost hugging his phone to his chest. Sherlock saw his cheeks redden slightly. Incredibly odd behavior, from his flatmate.

“...Are you feeling alright, W-”

“FINE! Sorry. I’m fine, Sherlock! Just. Erm,” John’s eyes darted as he tried and failed to come up with some excuse, “Just expecting something, is all.”

Odd, again. But Sherlock didn’t feel the need to pry, even if his friend was acting completely abnormal, “Alright, then.” Sherlock settled back into his seat to look down his microscope again, and saw John shuffle away awkwardly out of his peripheral.

Ping!

Sherlock only paused in his reading at the noise, blinked once, then sunk back into his book.

Ping! a few moments later, and Sherlock startled, in the midst of a rather fascinating paragraph. His nose wrinkled in slight annoyance, but resumed his reading.

Ping!

This time Sherlock fully lifted his head, glaring at the offender, which was nestled in John’s hands. John was seemingly unaware of the turmoil Sherlock was currently dealing with, tapping away at his phone. Sherlock huffed quietly, but went back to his book.

Ping! “Watson, you are aware of a wonderful feature on your phone that silences your notifications?”

“Hm?” John inclined his head towards Sherlock, but still staring down at his phone screen. Sherlock frowned, even if John wasn’t looking.

“Your constant influx of text messages is making it very difficult to concentrate,” Sherlock stated flatly, “Silence your phone or go to another room to text.” He blinked, “Please,” he added.

“Uhh, oh. Oh! Oh yeah, so sorry about that, m-uh, mate,” John now divulged his full attention on Sherlock, “It’s just my mum. You know how Carol can be.”

“As well as I do know,” Sherlock started, “Can you finish your conversation elsewhere?”

John flushed, “Yes, ‘course. Sorry, Sherls.” He stood and moved out of the sitting room, and Sherlock resumed his reading in peace.

Ping!

“Your phone, Watson.”

Ping!

“Watson. Your phone.”

Ping!

“Your phone, Watson!”

Ping!

“For god's sake!” Sherlock dramatically threw himself off the sofa, snatching John’s phone off the coffee table, tapping the screen.

From: Mum From: Mum From: Mum From: Mum

The messages were private, unable to be seen from the locked phone screen. Sherlock huffed, and stomped through the flat, up to John’s bedroom. He flung the door open without decorum, startling a sleeping John and Archie, who barked out of instinct before he saw it was only Sherlock intruding. John was much less dignified, yelping and flailing before slamming a palm on his chest.

“Christ, Sherlock!” He wheezed, “Ever heard of knocking??”

“Your mother is texting. Incessantly,” Sherlock grumbled, tossing John’s phone onto the bed, “Make her stop, Watson.”

John grabbed his phone and squinted at the bright screen, and Sherlock watched as he read through the messages. John groaned, putting his phone face down on the bedding without replying to anything.

“This couldn’t have waited until I woke up? How long’s it been?”

“An hour.”

“An hour- Sherlock! I said I wanted two hours, at least!”

“Your mother’s texts were annoying me.”

“So turn off the bloody phone! Jesus…” John fell back against his pillow, one hand on Archie’s back, who was already falling back asleep, “Unless she’s calling me incessantly, it’s not an emergency, Sherlock. Just turn off my phone next time, yeah?”

“...Or don’t forget your phone on the coffee table.”

“Sherlock. Let me take a nap.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Yes, Watson.”

“Saw that,” John yawned, “Close the door, will ya?”

Sherlock complied, and he didn’t hear any more pings for the afternoon.

Ping!

Sherlock sighed, loudly.

Ping!

“Your mother again?” Sherlock asked, looking up briefly from the map he was currently drawing out.

“Mm,” John replied distractedly, a forkful of eggs halfway up to his mouth, looking at his phone like it personally offended him.

It made Sherlock pause, tilting his head slightly, “Are you alright, Watson?”

John blinked, looking up at Sherlock. His cheeks flushed. That keeps happening… Sherlock thought absently.

“‘M fine, Sherlock. My mum keeps… She keeps bothering me. About something. I’m just-just getting a bit sick of it, is all.” He turned his phone screen off and placed it face-down on the table, taking the neglected fork to his mouth, “What’re you working on?” His voice was muffled from the eggs.

“Only a map of London. From memory,” Sherlock said, “I always forget something whenever I attempt it, a road or two, perhaps. It’s more of a personal challenge to recreate it perfectly without reference.”

“Wow,” John said, he swallowed his food, then looked at Sherlock with soft eyes, “You are incredible.”

It was so sincere, and seemingly so out of nowhere, Sherlock squirmed in his seat a bit, “Stop it now, Watson,” he muttered, feeling his face warm, “Really. It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? Sherlock, you’re making a map of an entire city from memory, just ‘cause you’re a bit bored! You are… spectacular.”

Sherlock suddenly felt it a bit difficult to breathe. John was smiling at him, so fondly and warmly, while eating his breakfast. It felt terribly domestic and cliché.

Ping!

John’s warmth dropped instantly and he glared at his phone, placing his fork down on his plate and grabbing it.

Sherlock could only keep staring, still reeling from John’s compliment, while John was fighting with the facial recognition feature, “C’mon, you piece of- Ugh.” John typed in his code, and Sherlock saw the placement of his fingers on the screen.

0601

Sherlock watched John’s face pinch in annoyance, huff through his nose, type a short reply, and set his phone back down.

“...Is everything alright with your mother?”

John wasn’t looking at him anymore, and Sherlock felt unreasonably upset about that.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. She’s just. Juuuust being Carol, y’know? Can’t sway her any other way.” John picked up his fork and stabbed at his eggs again, shoving another bite in his mouth and still not looking at Sherlock.

“Ah. Right.” Sherlock looked back down at his half-finished map, and suddenly realized he missed an alleyway in the south.

Ping!

John was in the shower, his phone face up on the kitchen counter.

From: Mum

Sherlock blinked at it, mug of tea in hand.

Ping! From: Mum

Sherlock looked in the direction of the lavatory, just barely hearing John sing above the spray of the shower. He had about ten minutes.

Chewing his lower lip, Sherlock looked back at John’s phone, then back at the shower again.

It wouldn’t be right, he thought, It would be a violation of trust and privacy. It wouldn’t be right.

He knew he shouldn’t. But he couldn’t help himself. Something was going on with John’s mother, and despite her… rather outward personality, John loved her, and Sherlock cared for her, too.

He tapped the screen and swiped up with one hand, mug of tea still in the other.

0601

He picked up the phone and read the text.

From: Mum It’s been going on too long, love! You need to tell him!

Sherlock stopped breathing, staring at the two short sentences for a long while.

Tell who what?

He let out a shaky exhale, looking back in the direction of the loo. John was still singing, completely oblivious.

Sherlock opened the messaging app, reading from the most recent text.

From: Mum It’s been going on too long, love! You need to tell him.

From: Mum I’m worried about you, sweetie. You two deserve each other.

From: Mum Oi. Don’t talk about that like my son, either.

From: Me I just feel like he deserves more than me…

Sherlock’s heart dropped into his stomach. He's interested in someone, he thought, Someone whom he thinks he doesn’t deserve…

He scrolled up a little more, trying to gather more information.

From: Mum Morning, love! Is today the day?? Will you tell him??

Sherlock scrolled back down to the next message.

From: Me Mum…

From: Mum Only a question! You should be sweeping him off his feet by now, Johnny!

From: Me Why are you so obsessed over this?

From: Mum He makes you happy, darling.

Sherlock’s head snapped up at the sound of the shower being turned off, and he quickly exited the messages app, shutting the screen off and placing it exactly where John had left it, give or take a few centimeters. Hopefully John wouldn’t notice.

John comes out a few moments later, his hair messy and wet, wearing sweatpants and an old tee. He smiles casually at Sherlock, who feels his heart thump harshly in his chest as he nods in acknowledgement. Sherlock watches John pick up his phone, anxiety trickling down his spine and taking a sip of now lukewarm tea to try and expunge it.

No such luck, as John was now opening up his phone.

About ten seconds of silence passed, Sherlock willing his hands not to tremble around his mug. It was a tremendous effort.

“I’m feeling takeaway tonight,” John broke the silence, tapping away on the screen, “What say you?”

The anxiety was relieved so quickly Sherlock almost went into shock, “Hm? Oh, yes. Takeaway. Sounds wonderful.”

John’s phone didn’t go off for the rest of the night.

Ping!

Sherlock had been rather jumpy over John’s text notifications since his recent discovery.

Every ping! from Watson’s phone made his heart skip a beat and his breath come in pants, lungs constricting and stomach twisting.

This particular notification startled him so bad he slammed the back of his head on the kitchen cabinet he was rooting around for a specific mug in.

“Ooh, y’alright, mate?” John winced and hissed, witnessing the whole thing. Sherlock felt his face burn in embarrassment, and he refused to look back at John, rubbing the back of his skull gingerly.

“I’m fine, Watson,” He grumbled, grabbing the first mug he could reach. It was the wrong one for tea, but he couldn’t be bothered to find the right one now.

Ping!

The mug slipped and Sherlock scrambled to catch it mid-air. A few nearly fumbled, rapid-succession attempts, and the mug was saved from collateral damage.

“...You sure you’re alright, Sherlock?” John asked, once again witnessing the entire humiliating event.

“I said I was fine, Watson,” Sherlock slammed the mug down on the table with much more force than necessary and slowly moved about the kitchen to prepare his tea, taking great lengths to ensure anything in his hands was not being held for any lengthy period.

Sure enough, after 36 seconds of silence;

Ping!

“Ugh, I’m sorry. It’s my mum. She wants to call me,” John pushing himself up from his seat at the dining table, “I’ll just take it in my room. Be right back.” He wasn’t even halfway down the hall before his phone started ringing, and he picked up with a resigned “Hi, mum…” John closed the door behind him with a soft click, and Sherlock was left alone in the kitchen, save for Archie snoozing soundly under the table.

For a moment, Sherlock didn’t move a muscle, fingers wrapped loosely around the mug still sitting on the table, kettle boiling away behind him on the stove.

The kettle whistles. Sherlock stands and starts to prepare his tea. He watches it steep for 23 seconds, impatiently tapping his fingers rapidly on the countertop, resisting the urge to glance back at John’s room. He stared at his mug for another 18 seconds.

And swiftly left the kitchen, silently creeping up to John’s room.

He really shouldn’t do this. It’s yet again another complete invasion of privacy.

He pressed his ear to the door.

There was a short beat of silence before John’s muffled voice filtered through the door, “Muuum, come on, can I please convince you to just leave me alone…”

She was questioning him about something. Sherlock silently hoped (and feared, if he were being honest) that John was talking about this mystery man John was infatuated with.

“No! I told you, mum. It’s not happening,” John sounded frustrated.

Sherlock pressed his ear to the door hard enough to hurt, and lifted a hand to lay his palm flat against it as well, as if it would help him hear better.

“Stop trying to get involved!” John groaned, “...No, no god, mum, please do not come over. That wouldn’t- …Because you getting involved in my love life would be the world’s biggest disaster. No. Do not just show up. Please.”

“...Sorry, mum.”

“...I know, mum, I know. I’m not- I’m not trying to worry you…”

“I just- I can’t tell him, mum. I can’t.”

Sherlock’s heart sank, hearing the resignation and melancholy in John’s voice.

“...Can we please talk about something else now?” John sniffed, and his voice sounded a bit thick. Sherlock wanted nothing more than to fling open the door, pull John into his arms, and tell him that he should have nothing to worry about. Anybody would be the luckiest person on earth to have John Watson as their own.

But it would be rude to interrupt a phone call.

Sherlock pulled away from the door, letting his palm slide down and off as well. He silently crept back to the kitchen, sitting at the table, and taking a sip of his tea.

It was far too oversteeped.

Since the phone call, John had been oddly... Tense.

For one, Sherlock noted immediately, his phone had been silenced. He would pick it up so frequently to check for anything new, and tap away constantly at the screen, and Sherlock wouldn't hear any clicking sounds emitting from it.

The silence should have been a blessing.

It was eerie, really.

He felt as though he had to walk on eggshells around his own flat; as John's unusually flat demeanor was getting more and more worrisome, like bending a pencil, ready to snap at any point. Sherlock felt as if he could see the splinters. John would hardly talk to him, speaking in short, clipped sentences, and avoiding eye contact and touch at nearly any cost. Sherlock would normally have been grateful if it were anyone else. But this was John. He missed his voice. He missed his eyes. He missed his touch.

They were in the sitting room together when the pencil finally snapped. Sherlock was curled up on his armchair, fingers steepled together under his chin, deep in thought over their current predicament. He was aware of John's presence (it was much too difficult to ignore, through both the tension and the cologne John had put on that morning), but only peripherally. Sherlock was attempting to convince himself to assist John in this romantic fiasco he found himself in, at great detriment to himself (it wasn't ideal; John... with someone else. But if it would make John less... upset, then Sherlock would have done anything).

Ping!

Sherlock's pocket buzzed congruently to the sound. His eyes fluttered open, avoiding John entirely as he reached for his phone. The notification he was greeted with was rather confusing.

From: John Are you ever going to say anything?

Sherlock blinked at the text, frowned in confusion, and unlocked his phone. Then, he stared at the text more, looking away briefly to open his mouth to speak to John - who was still sitting on the loveseat in the same room, tunnel-visioned on his own phone - but found he couldn't come up with anything to say out loud. He looked back down at the screen.

From: Me Say anything about what?

John's phone didn't make a sound, but Sherlock saw his fingers start to move, and the typing bubble pop up on his own phone.

Ping!

Sherlock startled, and quickly silenced his phone.

From: John About this. You. Me. Us.

From: Me I don't know what you're referring to.

From: John Come on, Sherlock. I'm not stupid. I know you know.

From: Me I do not.

John sighed from his seat, and Sherlock's stomach flipped.

From: John I know you looked through my phone. I know you eavesdropped on the call with my Mum. I know you know.

The air felt thinner. Sherlock couldn't breathe. His vision darkened at the edges. I know.

"John, I'm so-"

John interrupted him by clearing his throat, waggling his phone without taking his eyes off it.

No talking, then.

From: John So. You haven't said anything.

From: Me It wasn't my place.

From: John I would sure think so. What do you mean it's not your place??

From: Me Meaning that it isn't my place to interfere with your romantic entanglements.

Another minute had passed before Sherlock received another text.

From: John ...Okay I'm confused.

From: Me It's hardly my concern, knowing who you're dating.

"Ohhhh..." John lifted his head and finally, finally, turned to look at Sherlock, "You mean... You don't know?"

Sherlock stared at John, who had an interesting mixture of relief and anxiety on his face, and frowned in annoyance, "That is what I've been trying to tell you, Watson."

"Ah. Shit, um... Well, Sherlock. Gah, this is awkward. The thing is... You-you, erm. I'm... Fuck."

"John."

"You're the one I'm... hoping for a 'romantic entanglement' with."

Oh.

"...Oh." Sherlock whispered, his phone hung loosely in his grip, not daring to blink now as John stood up from the sofa and made his way over. Sherlock's pulse quickened, sounding thunderous in his ears.

John knelt down by the armchair, closer to eye-level with Sherlock, "Is that... okay?" He was apprehensive, cautious, as if he were approaching a frightened animal. Maybe he was, as Sherlock felt the overwhelming urge to run away and hide, even if this was very good news.

He swallowed it down with tremendous effort, "Yes," He choked out, "Yes, it's okay."

"Okay, good," John slowly moved his hand, taking Sherlock's phone away. He clicked off the screen, and placed it facedown on the coffee table, "Very good." He pushed himself up, and suddenly his face was only centimeters away from Sherlock's own, "Is this okay as well?"

The ability to speak was gone, now. Sherlock only nodded dumbly, and John smiled softly. Sherlock couldn't hear his next words, but then John's lips were upon his own, kissing him softly and sweetly. The world melted away, and the tension flooded out of his body, even as his heart rate maintained its jackrabbit pace.

John pulled away first, and pressed their foreheads together.

"Don't think you got away from snooping in my phone, though," John mumbled.

Sherlock heard the grin in his voice, and laughed.

#submission #sherlock & co #sherlock and co #event #fanart #fanfiction #creative collaboration #john watson #sherlock holmes #carol watson

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