#i think i just enjoy drawing feet they are a funky shape | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daaziscoolbesties · 3 years ago

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i yearn for one(1) thing only, and that is to have a nice, simplistic, cartoonish artstyle. an artstyle that doesnt rely on anatomy, but the "movement" of the drawing, if you get what i mean.

i dont want realistic proportions and traditional colors and basic poses and gradient shading, i want funky lil dudes in funky poses with funky styles littering my sketchbook :( but alas i havent figured out how to develop that kind of style yet, my brain wants anatomy to look nice but also i dont want to draw eyes. i dont want to take time out of my day to learn how to draw lips i want to draw a line that extends past the characters face. i dont want all my characters to have pointy chins with curved cheeks i want their heads to be round and friend-like or full of sharp edges depending on their personalities and styles. i want to give them all not-quite human ears, blob feet, simple faces, but at the same time i want enough detail to convey the story or emotion im trying to tell.

ive spent so much time recently agonizing over how to use 3d model websites, using real-life references and tracing over them for practice, color-picking from real images to try and do realism and failing miserably, but you know whats easier than that? funky little dudes. little dudes who do not care if their legs are too long or their hair is too bouncy. i dont want my characters to look human.

ive spent enough time on the artfight website to realize that most people who classify their characters as "human" have the most basic ass designs (no offense to people who like basic human designs its just not my thing) or its like dnd-medieval style outfits which i cant draw for the life of me (ive tried). again no offense to people who actively enjoy and draw characters like that. i just need my dudes to have that certain,,, off-ness to them. tails are cool. wings are swag (especially if they arent even like,, fully attached,, ), elf ears are so wonderful to me no matter how much theyre overused, horns are so much fun to draw, and colors!! i have no knowledge in the color theory department so this works great for me!! the only thing i really know is dont shade with black, other than that i just colorpick from references usually but i dont want to do that!! i want the colors to hurt people's eyes but in a satisfying way. like the character's design is so nice to look at that you dont mind your eyes hurting a bit. like how im enjoying writing this post even though its 2 am and the brightness on my computer wont go any lower.

and then another thing ive noticed from being on the artfight website is that a lot of people classify their characters that are anthro/have anthro features under humanoids/monsters. like i made a google form to find some people to attack and someone sent me in a character with some sort of animal (wolf? idk) arms and legs. like dude!! peak character design i love her. but me personally? i cant draw that shit, its so hard for me. i tried a while back and its just Not my thing. nothing against furries i just. cant. and i dont want to either.

and i got another submission that i accidentally deleted that was like full anthro/wolf-like like my comrade,,, i cannot draw animals what makes you think i can draw an animal who acts like a human lmao. i can do like. very basic tails, and also animal ears but i cant do the arms and legs and such i just dont know the anatomy, and i know i was talking about how i dont want to care about anatomy but i feel like for anthros you really do need to know at least basic animal anatomy so you know how the limbs look and shit and i dont have that knowledge and dont feel like gaining it.

and then there were some submissions that i absolutely adored. there was one that like, was vaguely human shaped but definitely was not a human. they had a dark-ish lavender colored skin and horns and tusks and like goat ears and a sorta fluffy tail with spikes on it and they had wings and such and they were such a pleasure to draw i love them. and they had a fairly simple outfit too, nothing too complicated. and then i also enjoy object head characters, theyre so neato to me. i got one of those and i really wish i had the motivation to work on it cause it looks so fun.

i want to make funky characters but id have nothing to do with them because the only book i ever tried writing (key word tried - never got past planning it out) had strictly human characters in it, and most of the books i read are humans/humans with powers in situations specific to them so id have no idea what lore to make with the dudes. assuming i have the motivation to make lore and backstory because honestly i just really enjoy character designing its super duper fun.

(side note a song about trucks doing the deed came on just now and its interrupted my flow, apologies).

i only have three actual characters right now. one is an original roleplay oc whos design is literally athletic shorts, an oversized long sleeved grey sweatshirt, long purple hair, and demon horns. the second one is my persona whos design some sorta medival knight outfit kinda thing? but not ugly it looks really cool (idk one of my friends designed it bc i won some contest from him but the drawing was on a super small scale so idrk the details,,,) with a plague doctor mask and crown, and shoulder length wavy brown hair, dyed bright pink at the end. and then my last one im not too comfortable using other places because theyre a character my friend is using in the story hes writing, and thats really the only place theyve been used. but theyre easily my favorite and im already writing a ton so ill talk about them too.

they're a sorta elf species thing from another planet, with pale green skin and pointed ears. they also have a tail, its like,, super thin, but with a feathery bit at the end. probably not the texture of a feather but i dont know how else to describe it. they have short, curly, almost-draco-malfoy-blonde hair that when it gets too long they can put in a man bun. their eyesight is kinda shitty so when they got to earth, they were exploring some supply closets around the airship. drop off area. thing. like airport but for rocketships and also fancier. yeah. they were exploring that area and found a nice big pair of round glasses with grey frames. and they also found a cowboy-style hat and a sharpie so they wrote their name on the underside of the brim of the hat and stole the hat and glasses (but left the sharpie in the supply closet).

yeah theyre my favorite, my absolute beloved, my child, so cool. i want more characters like them but with maybe a bit more snazzier designs. theyre super cool and all but they could have more pizzazz if they werent in a story where its too late to give them more pizzazz. i just want to be able to give my characters thigh-high boots with a bunch of buckles and fluffy hair with tons of accessories crammed in and abnormally large and long ears that can harbor many piercings and horns that can hold rings on them and special little details on their outfits like who knows what but i dont have any characters to do that too, so i have to make them from scratch, which is always hard especially when you have artblock.

and i also have like 17 characters i need to fully draw, line, and maybe color for artfight before august 1st. so i dont know. i have many things to do and plenty of time to do it but instead i spend my time halfway watching repetitive youtube videos that get boring or sleeping all damn day because i stay up too late doing things like this or i just do nothing at all and its tiring and frustrating but i also feel nothing about it like theres no consequence if i dont do it besides you know. not doing it, not gaining that experience, not making something i enjoy.

so i should do it but i dont for whatever reason, i think its called executive dysfunction but im not sure. this post started out very differently than it ended and i said somewhere up there that i was writing this at 2 am but now its almost 3. this is so many words why couldnt i have put this energy into something productive

#long post #sorry its so messy but like i said its almost 3 am and i dont want to go back and format all this #i might come back and make it look nicer in the morning #maybe not who knows #i just checked and this is 1.5k words what the hell

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haddonfieldhalloween · 4 years ago

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some happy Myers family au headcanons

because I have a weak spot for this and I can’t draw atm my first time writing out my headcanons and working up the guts to post them, hooray me

Laurie is referred to as Cynthia in this since that is her given name in the sibling timeline

Judith' birth is more or less an accident and not at all planned, Peter and Edith Myers were married, sure but hadn't settled in a nice house of their own yet, and weren’t even close to thinking about children (they are in their early twenties after all and living in a small, cheap flat, too many problems of their own to take care of a baby)

they live there for a while after Judith’s birth, because money is hard to come by but they start to eye nice neighbourhoods for the future (Edith really wants to move into a place where everyone knows one another, houses in a row, calm and secure streets)

Judith is a loud baby, she wails when she wants to be picked up and she giggles and giggles when her father hides and reveals his face to her

Edith always feels she's happier with having a child than Peter is, which is not to say that he doesn’t love Judith, but he's gone a lot to work and when he comes home he's often too exhausted to spend time with his daughter

Judith grows up just a little lonely and for a while she wishes, desperately for a sibling

It takes 10 years until Peter and Edith have another child and now they are in their 30s, settled in their jobs and in all honesty, this is probably the time they should've had Judith

They move to Haddonfield before Michael is born and it's all bits the small community that Edith imagined when Judith was born

On the day of Michaels birth, Peter is late. Judith (10 years old with springing blond curls and terribly excited to meet her sibling) calls for him all over the house before she finds him in what is to be Michaels room, setting up a crib he build in the hours he has after his job (He never knew he was a crafty person, but they still have to buy a proper bed in the end, mainly because Michael grows incredibly fast)

Peter and Edith feared Michael to be just as loud as Judith had been so Edith worries terribly when Michael does not make a sound when he’s born He's a very quiet baby, the doctors reassure them that their child is perfectly healthy but Edith catches herself waiting for Michael to cry (he doesn't, not when he falls and scrapes his knees, not when he's refused a piece of candy after dinner, he remains oddly quiet)

Michael doesn't talk a lot, he can but he doesn't, something that does not change all through his life

When Michael is 4, Edith is pregnant again. He doesn't really understand what's going on but he observes carefully and when his Mother holds Laurie (Cynthia, tiny and cooing softly, not a worry in the world), he gets on his tiptoes to see her better

Michael loves his sister right from when she's born and Cynthia will always be the most important to him out of the family (much to Judith’s dismay later in life. she jokes about it and talks it away with the large age difference between her and the others, but she envies their odd but close bond)

Edith and Peter work quite a lot so until Judith is 16 they hire a nanny to take care of their children when they are gone. It happens a little less in Cynthia’s first year after being born but they start working normally again when she turns 2

Judith has a lot better things to do than watch over her 6 year old brother and her baby sister, she’s thinking about her boyfriend, her two best friends, the new film in the cinema and that one set of paint she saw in the store the other day that would be so nice to work with if only her allowance would be a little bigger It’s a lot lot so find more under the read more (because I do not want people to have to scroll past such a long post when they look through the tags)

she's the first to be annoyed by it and try to get something out of it but her parents won't have any of it, it's her duty as the eldest after all

Michael feels like she neglects them when she is on the phone with her boyfriend the entire evening rather than reading a story to Cynthia or watching over him

If she'd at least leave the living room he could watch TV, he’s seen snippets of a horror movie when his father was changing channels one Saturday and has been wanting to get more of that ever since

It doesn't change until one evening, it’s a Halloween night, Michael stands in front of her, in a costume, refusing to take the mask that came with it off, holding out the bag he's dug up from one of the kitchen cabinets, silent demand she go trick or treating with him Judith is ready to tell him off but her boyfriend is quicker and he makes fun of Michael, Judith's weird, crazy little brother. She doesn't let that stand, she's the only one allowed to be annoyed by her siblings, and no one's going to get away saying something like this Her boyfriend doesn't return after that night, only once attempting to pass her a note in class that she ripped apart right away A bit out of spite and in part to make Michael happy, she takes him out that night. With Cynthia in one arm (she debated leaving her at home, after all Halloween isn't the holiday for a baby, but she also can't leave a 2-year-old alone, what if a murderer gets into their house) and Michael trailing along at her side, they walk the neighbourhood. Much to Judith' surprise, Cynthia coos happily and points at all the funky costumes that people dressed up in, seemingly enjoying herself quite a bit. In one yard, Michael finds one of those fake skeletons and rips of its boney hand (Judith is torn between laughing at the sight of a small clown stealing a plastic hand and telling him not to, it's theft after all) She doesn't really understand why he did such a thing until he gives the hand to Cynthia, who plays with the fingers, childish glee and interest written over her face Their parents find them late that night on the couch, all asleep. Judith in the middle with Michael leaned at her side, candy wrapping on his lap and a full bag of sweets to his feet, and Cynthia on her chest, drooling on Judith' shirt, holding a skeleton hand by the middle finger.

as they grow up and Michael is in school longer, it becomes evident that he doesn't care to make friends, he rather spends his breaks alone than engage with the other children

he isn't stupid, quite the contrary, his teachers attest to the fact that if only he would raise his hand more and participate in class, his grades were to show how talented he truly was

his best subjects are biology and art and these are the classes for which he actually works

Cynthia on the other hand loves learning, she’s way ahead of her classmates and sometimes she peaks into Michaels school books and falls asleep over text that Michael most likely never had even looked at

he just can't be bothered with a lot of things

he likes art however and its one of the things he and Judith have in common, even if their subjects are different (she likes landscapes, impressionism and Michael well...he makes these inexplainable drawings, often dark looking. And he likes making Masks)

Masks are one of Michaels odd little fascinations, earlier in his life he would demand Halloween costumes that came with them but soon enough those masks weren't good enough anymore. They just looked too cheap, or too boring or just not scary enough. So he went to make his own. The first ones were crude, paper mâché and painted with colours stolen from Judith (she grew terribly mad when she saw he’d used her expensive paint for this). But over time they became more and more complex and well crafted Sometimes he would put some on (he has his favourites, particularly one painted white, almost humanly shaped face with dark hair) and simply lay in bed, looking at the ceiling through the eyeholes

Another one of Michaels favourite pastimes became walking the neighbourhood out at night. He never did anything in particular or went any special location. He'd just go outside after nightfall, when most everyone was inside already and wander the streets of Haddonfield. Sometimes he'd stop by a well-lit window and stand just a few seconds watching the people inside, having dinner or sitting on the couch together.

Judith has moved out at age 22, to the city, she's never been too much of a small-town kind of girl, but she comes over almost every weekend It's not like their parents are up to anything special, they don't spend too much time with their children really but Judith likes to sit with Cynthia as she paints her nails and tells her about whatever it is she's learned last in school She can handle Michael better now that she's older, she feels like she understands him better now, even though she feels no one really understand Michael, not even Michael himself They don't do a lot of talking, most of the time she brings a painting she' working on and they sit in Michaels room in silence, both doing art

Michael is just as blond as his sisters when he is young, just as his mother once was, but he's the first one to go brown (Judith follows very slowly, her hair darkens more and more the older she gets)

He's also the tallest in the family, easily (his father claims it because Michaels grandfather was very tall as well). Early on in puberty he simply started growing more and more until at age 15 he had outgrown even his father

Michael doesn't explain himself, it’s a big part of who is: He never feels like other people have to understand why he acts a certain way. He does what he feels is right, what he wants to do and others are presented with his choices, to take them or leave them but never to understand, not by his explanation at least. After years of that, his family has gotten used to it, and accepted it for the most part.

his parents used to take him to therapists, they always felt his behaviour was a little off, but they had given up on it after a while, because Michael had refused to speak to the doctors, often not even allowing to be taken to see them For the most part they meet him once and suggest more sessions to Edith (she takes him every time, Peter has given up after the 3rd therapist), but nothing comes of it Even if Michael is dragged to another session, they cannot get anything out of him. It's hardly any use if your child does not want to be treated, Edith would hear a lot She thinks these people are all idiots but she is overwhelmed by exhaustion and worry until her husbands’ words get to her and she stops making new appointments

that is until Dr. Samuel Loomis comes into the picture Until this day everyone is convinced it's been Cynthia who finally convinced Michael to go by his own will. It's a rocky relationship for sure, Michael is 16 when they first meet and his parents had no knowledge of Michaels visit to the man, Cynthia dragging his hand Loomis is confused alright, at the sight of it but he can't well refuse to see Michael when his sister continuously shakes her head at him telling her he has to talk to their parents first (later, later, she says and when he calls the Myers house after the session, Edith is surprised to hear about what happened. It's a back and forth between Peter and her on whether they should pay for another therapist. Peter is sure Michael will blow it up again but Edith convinces him in the end. They do want the best for their child after all)

It's a hard task, for both Michael and Loomis, and there are hours of Loomis talking with Michael sitting in silence but it seems Loomis has Michaels interest enough for the teen to come in again (true to himself he never explains why, but Cynthia grows more and more certain it’s because in some way Loomis understands Michael in a way nobody does. And while it infuriates Michael it also is oddly calming to him. The world is hard to control and it’s even harder to interact with people that refuse to understand the way he works.)

When Michael is almost 17, his father attempts to teach him how to drive, but like with most things in his life it feels like Michael doesn't really care so Peter feels it's lost on his son It is only a few months later that he asks Cynthia if he should pick her up from a school trip, when she tells him Michael has already offered to drive her home, that he learns his son has a driver's license

Michael is very particular when it comes to contact with others. He doesn't like being close with people, there's something about it that's both uncomfortable and unnecessary to him. He knows he has desires, he knows he feels attractions sometimes, but he doesn't act on it for the most part. It's just too much most of the time.

Michael spends a lot of energy on controlling his emotions (he gets better at it the longer he is in therapy with Loomis, but it'll always remain hard, a challenge in itself that most people cannot understand). It is why he can't bother to indulge in anything like this, it’s not a priority Most people are just, too annoying, too much, they ask so many questions, he can't stand it (relating to other doesn’t come to him very easily)

He knows he's gay, not that he cares much for a word to describe himself (he doesn’t like to be pinned like that, in any way). He never feels the need to come out, tell anyone about it (like all things he doesn't explain any part of him), unlike Cynthia, who tells him she's bisexual one day (behind strong stance and steady voice he notices her fingers shaking, nervous)

Michael shows no intentions of moving out, even past age 18 and one evening when they lay in bed, Edith tells Peter that Michael should get the house. He tells her she's crazy, where are they supposed to go Somewhere warm and nice, Edith says, they are older now after all and Peter has gotten quite a few transferal offers. It's not supposed to happen immediately after all, but think about it, she asks of her husband. He turns around, not fathoming how his wife could suggest something like this (In the end they will move. When Laurie has moved out and they've found a nice new place, they leave Haddonfield and Michael stays in the old house in Lumpkin Lane. He never moves away. It's a constant he needs in his life. One of those things that he can't have change)

Cynthia is the only one allowed to poke fun at Michael. Really, she's the only one that can get away with about anything when it comes to Michael. Neither of them recall how they started but at one point they begin fighting one another. Michael is physically stronger than Cynthia but she is quicker and they both are excellent at reading what the other plans to do so most if not all their fights end up with them equal Cynthia likes the exercise of it, growing stronger as she gets older, and she believes there is some part of Michael that needs this, in a way that she can't understand Once Michael came to a fight wearing one of his masks and only that one time there is something frightening about him, and only this once she walks away with her shirt torn apart and one cut made by a knife he carried (its against the rules and he never brings one again but Cynthia doesn’t forget this moment ever again)

Michael eats whatever he can find first, he hardly has any preferences and often he doesn't care enough to cook himself anything (why put the effort into all of that when some toast and sausage works just as well, or that plate of spaghetti Cynthia has prepared herself). He likes sweet things though, a fact that both Judith and Cynthia know how to use to their advantages (it’s so hard to get Michael to do anything he doesn’t already want to do himself)

As always: Art and Writing/Headcanon requests are open!

#Michael Myers #Halloween #laurie strode #halloween movie #slasher #slashers #slasher movies #slasher headcanons #slasher imagines #michael myers headcanons #michael myers imagine #judith myers #michael myers au #halloween au #The Shape #dbd michael myers #myers family #halloween 1978 #haddonfieldhalloween.txt

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harringtonheartache · 5 years ago

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Daybreak | Part Three

Part Four

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Lab Escapee! Reader?

Summary: Part three of this fic. Steve and 009 go to the store.

Word Count: 2,800+

Warning(s): Cussing

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my inability to chose a gif for the fic introduction in a reasonable amount of time.

Mrs. Harrington was now the only being in the way of the two and their trip to the store. “I’ll go downstairs first and see where my mom is. When I wave you downstairs, we’ll make our exit.” Steve presented her with her second escape plan. She gave him an “okay”, assurance that she understood. He walked to his bedroom door, almost tiptoeing as if it were necessary. Opening the door, he looked into the hallway before swinging it open completely. A signal for her to follow, and she stepped outside of his bedroom for the first time that day. He had given her a pair of sneakers from his personal wardrobe, and because their large size was sure to cause her steps to be loud as her feet clunked around in them, she held the two shoes in her right hand; to be put on when they were safely outside. Still taking up the lead, Steve declined down the stairs as Nine waited at the top. She stood behind the wall, stealing peaks down below with her hands placed carefully on the wood of the staircase railing.

“Mom?” Steve called out, and Nine watched as he did. “Yes?” the faceless voice stayed faceless. She was in her bedroom, a room that thankfully resided downstairs, away from Steve’s. “I am going to run to the store for some things for my project. I’ll be back in a bit,” he said to her. She granted her permission (as if he really needed it) without even leaving her room. A conversation between two, conducted without one instance of eye-contact. Turning away from where the sound of his mother’s voice had faded, he motioned to the girl waiting at the top of the stairs. She walked carefully, tip-toeing as Steve had done earlier, and met him in the living room. He thought of offering her a hand to lead her from his house, but decided against pushing his luck with physical touch. Getting thrown against the wall was forgivable, but only with no one else in the house to draw to the scene. Instead he lead her with his own actions, and they made a swift breakout through the front door.

Back in his car, the seats had dried since the previous night. She sat in the passenger's seat like she had before, and he let out a laugh as he took his spot in the driver’s. The sound caused a smile to spread to her own face. “Are you ready to see Hawkins?” he asked. Hawkins, Indiana. A place she had lived her whole life but never seen. A laugh, a grin, and a nod. His hand dug into the cup holder before he even went for the steering wheel. He offered her the sunglasses he had previously promised would be a part of her two-piece disguise. “Here,” he told her. Taking them from his hold, she opened the pair of glasses and placed them on her face. A pair of black sunglasses: another simple item with a grand task. The windows were rolled down a bit as he drove, and the wind that hit her face felt different than the wind she felt while she was running. This one came with a sense of calm, not one of increasing distress.

He turned on music as they drove through town, a funky song belonging to one of the bands she had read on his stack of tapes earlier now playing, audible but not too loud through the speakers. From the passenger’s seat, her eyes that hid behind black frames drifted to the driver. He seemed at ease (greatly different from this morning), one of his hands resting on the steering wheel and the other on his leg. They were not driving that fast, but his hair still wavered in the wind that entered the car through the half-way-down window. “So?” he asked her. He turned his head, his eyes leaving the road to steal a look at her for a moment. “What?” she responded. “What do you think of Hawkins? Is it everything you dreamed?” he spoke with a lighthearted tone. She paused before speaking, unsure of how to answer his question. “It’s nice,” she said. He chuckled a little at her response, looking at her with eyebrows raised. A pink blush spread over her face, slight embarrassment felt in her chest. “I don’t know, I don’t really have anything to compare it to,” she told him with a shy smile. “Well I’m glad you can appreciate its simplicity,” he said in response, the two grinning at one another.

Steve pulled the car into the parking lot of a quiet storefront. He had chosen a small shopping location, as not to bring undesired attention or create an overwhelming environment for Nine. The car stopped and the windows rolled up. “Are you ready?” he said to her, looking over at her disguise as he removed the car keys from the ignition. “Yes,” she said, her tone confident. “Okay,” he smiled at her, “let’s go”. They exited his car and he locked it. Walking up to the store’s entrance, the doors opened automatically. This lightly startling the girl, but she tried not to let it show. A cheery bell rang, announcing their entrance, and she did not appreciate this feature either. She almost forgot about it once she was inside, however. The store’s body was filled with isles of colorful products, and the walls were lined with neon signs spelling out what was on display in a particular section. A few people walked the establishment - she counted five so far - but zero of them bothered themselves to look at her or Steve. At some point during her observation, she had removed the sunglasses he had given her so that she could see better. She couldn’t help it.

“You okay?” a voice broke her from her momentary trance. Her eyes redirected themselves to Steve. He worried that he had thrown her into something she wasn't ready for yet. “Yeah,” she said, a close-mouthed smile from her calming his concern. “Come on, let’s buy you whatever you want,” he said through his own grin. He took a shopping cart from the slightly disheveled corral, pushing it in front of himself while he lead her in an uncalculated direction. “I’m thinking we start with snacks,” he said.

“Snacks?”

“Yeah, if you’re going to be hanging out in my room all day I’d think you would want some other food to eat besides my peanut butter sandwiches. I mean, not to belittle my cooking,” he said, turning to her from his forward-facing stride down an isle. He had a charm about him, no matter how ridiculous whatever he spoke was.

Finding the food rather easily despite his lack of experience in shopping, Steve began picking items off the shelf. Packages like Keebler Magic Middles and Mister Salty Pretzel Twists landing on top of one another at the bottom of the cart. Nine simply watched as he chose his own favorites for her, unfamiliar snacks he told her she had to try plucked from the shelves as he pushed the cart down the isle. He grabbed some water bottles too, the first true necessity chosen.

Having exhausted the food selection, their eyes searched the hanging signs until Steve read the word Women’s written out in a cursive font. “Here, follow me,” he said, taking up the lead again. They entered the desired isle, finding products painted with colors of pink, the color her face had been earlier. They landed in front of a display of deodorants specifically marketed towards women. “Which scent?” he asked her. She shrugged her shoulders, eyes traveling along the line of products labeled with floral and fruity smells. Steve picked a random one from the shelf. He took the lid from the top and inhaled. He then held it out for Nine to smell, giving her a questioning look. She inhaled too, following his actions. A look of displeasure displayed across her face and she shook her head. He smiled down at her, amused with her reaction. He put it back and took another, this one with an array of fruits pictured on the sticker. They both smelled it, gagging slightly when they took too sharp of an inhale. This evolved into laughter. It went on for a number of scents, and they laughed at one another’s expressive faces as they took turns offering the other a new stick. Perhaps laughing too loudly for a general store, but enjoying themselves thoroughly.

She would raise her eyebrows as she held out the fifth deodorant chosen from the shelf, and he would do the same before his exaggerated reaction would send her into a fit of giggles and he would join her. After going through almost all of the options, they settled on one that Steve had in hand. He turned to toss it with the rest of their groceries. “Back the cart up a little,” he told Nine before he did. She complied, giving him a puzzled look as she took the handle and pulled it backwards. His hands shot up above his head, and he threw the small stick of deodorant as one would a basketball. It landed perfectly in the cart. “One point!” he sang. She laughed, the look of bewilderment still strong on her face but not in an unhappy manner. “Here, you try,” he said, picking up a toothbrush and tossing it gently to her from his side of the isle. She caught it, smiling as she pushed the cart closer towards him with her foot and took a few steps back. She raised her hands, carefully letting go of the item and watching it land in the cart with a mild rattle. She chuckled as he cheered. “Whoo! One to one!” he exclaimed.

This game continued too. It turned into a competition, and soon they were throwing items they didn’t even need into the cart just to one-up the other. They both had missed once by now. “Okay, next point wins!” said Steve, grabbing a bar of soap and backing up a few more paces. “And you have to make it from outside the isle!” he declared. She grabbed a miscellaneous item similar in shape and backed up opposite of him. They now stood on either end of the isle, facing the cart in the middle. “One,” they readied their hands. “Two,” they looked up, smiling, to meet the other’s eye. “Three!” The items flew through the air, one landing with a small crash on the floor after bouncing off the side of the cart. “No!” Steve sang, his poor throw costing him the game. Nine watched him as he cried out, not cocky enough to boast in her own victory but enough so to laugh at his dramatic nature. “I guess you win,” he told her as he moved to pick up his bar of soap from the floor, giving her a smirk and an eye-roll that mimicked a false sulkiness.

---

After scanning the items they decided upon through self-checkout (paying for said items with Steve’s father’s credit card) they left as they had entered - through the automatic sliding doors. This time they did not startle her, and she didn’t bother returning the black shades to her face. He popped the trunk and she placed her handful of bags inside first. Looking up and turning around to face the storefront, she started counting people again. One, two, three, four large men.

She grabbed for Steve’s arm that placed the last bag in the car. Her grip caused him to turn, looking at her now with that same look of bewilderment she had expressed earlier; he hadn’t quite caught on that a serious matter was taking place. “Steve,” she started, her gaze dashing around the parking lot as she spoke to him. She was counting the number of threats. “Men from the lab,” she told him, finally letting herself look to Steve, and she watched his face shift and his eyes grow wide. One particularly sizable man who was walking with a quick stride towards the two from the right was only a few steps away from being able to grab Nine (or Steve if he wanted to, but she knew that she was their target). She released Steve’s arm and instead lifted her own to raise a hand out in front of her. At this point, Steve’s panic had risen to it’s pull potential, and he slammed the trunk of his car and looked to Nine. “Come on, let’s go!” he told her, wanting to avoid confrontation all together and make a speedy getaway in his car. He spoke in a low tone, as if his soft voice would keep the forthcoming danger from noticing them.

She threw the impending man as easily as she had tossed the toothbrush into the shopping cart earlier. She did such a thing without touching him too, which is why the lack of store-goers in the parking lot was a relief. He landed a few feet shy of a car, and Nine did not even lower her hand before turning to threat number two. He was too close for comfort, and it landed him a couple of feet away on the pavement, not too far from his friend who suffered the same fate at the hands of the powerful girl. Two grown men thrown like frisbees, and Steve was still in full panic. “N-Nine let’s go!” he told her again, his face stronger in emotion than his voice was in strength. It faltered as he spoke up this time. This being the second time he advised they make an exit, she looked to him and decided that he was right. There were two more men, but they stood still now, fearful. The two dashed from the back of the car to their reserved seats, but Steve only got so far as his hand on the handle of the door before a third man revealed himself by grabbing him by the shoulder.

Nine was given more time, and had even gotten her car door open before realizing the third threat than now preyed on Steve. One firm hand on his shoulder was all he was able to accomplish before her hand flew up in front of her again. This time she lifted him in the air, moving him further away from Steve before sending him backwards. His back was met forcibly with a car belonging to some unfortunate store customer. It was sure to leave a dent. Steve, who had turned to watch the man plummet through the air now turned back to look at Nine. “Holy shit!” he couldn’t keep himself from saying to her. She simply looked to him, slightly aghast herself, and continued her retreat to the car.

Steve backed the vehicle up with such haste, noting that although he probably should have taken a more thorough look out the rear-view window before doing so, there was no time. He violently exited the parking lot, his hands steering the wheel with sharp movements and tossing his passenger around in her seat. His car tires screeched during their departure, just as they had the night prior when he saved himself from hitting the girl who stood in the middle of the road. It was only when they were a good ways down the road and away from the lot when either one of them allowed themselves to breathe. Steve’s quick pants turned into laughter, and Nine looked at him with valid confusion. “Holy shit!” he repeated what he had said to her earlier. His eyes stole a glance at her, abandoning the road for a moment, and it was only when they made eye contact that his wide smile caused her to laugh too.

“That was terrifying, but you totally fucking saved us! It was amazing!” Praise for using her ability. It was something she was familiar with, but it tasted different this time. It didn’t feel sinister. It wasn’t greedy, it was pure praise. It made her laugh even more. A trail of blood, unnoticed by her, began it’s path from her nose. Still looking to her every few seconds, Steve did notice it. “You’re bleeding, are you okay? They- they didn’t even touch you why are you bleeding?” Almost feeling a ping of shame, she quickly wiped her nose with the backside of her hand. “It happens,” she said, “when I use my power”. Unphased, he smiled a dorky smile at her again. “That was so fucking amazing,” he said. Her expression mirrored his own, and they took a turn a little too sharply down a road of Hawkins. Her shoulder hit the car’s side from his excited driving, but she did not care as they laughed along with one another.

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Tags: @ggclarissa

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okietrish · 5 years ago

Text

House Party

Yall, I dreamt about this a few nights ago a decided to write it down. Please enjoy! Let me know what you think and all that! I haven't posted a fic in forever, but feel free to request. FEEDBACK PLEASE! (Boost my ego)

Word count: 2,919

Warnings: none it’s flufffffffff

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The party was going well. The boys had gotten to LA around a week ago but wanted to settle in before they threw, “totally the best party ever,” as Sammy referred to it. They were staying with you, which they have done for the past few years since you’ve all known each other. Your home was their home while they were in town, it was an unspoken rule at this point. Admittingly everyone seems to be having a blast. The house is filled, people are laughing, dancing, and getting piss drunk. You were thoroughly entertained, to say the least. You filled up your drink for the eighth time that night, or at least that’s what the sharpie tallies on your arm that Jake forced you to put there were telling you. You black out ONE time, strip on top of a bar and Jake has to pick you up and carry you home leading you to stick your fingers up his nose in protest and SUDDENLY you have to keep track of your drinks on your arm for all the Kiszka boys to see. They just don’t know how to have a good time. You giggle to yourself.

“Y/N!” Interrupted from your daydream, you turned towards the funky hobbit running your way.

“Josh, darling, how is your evening? What are you doing?!” You smile wide at the goof standing in front of you. His tanned cheeks were flushed bright pink and he was decently out of breath.

“GREAT, have your seen..” He was cut off by his two brothers jumping onto him, pushing him to the ground. You look around at the people surrounding you, making sure that others were witnessing what you were, that this wasn’t some drunken state of your imagination. You happened to catch eyes with Danny who was laughing hysterically at the situation and just shrugged his shoulders towards you, miming a simple ‘I don’t know’ gesture before going back to his conversation.

Looking down at the pile of Kiszka limbs you cough loudly, “Um hi boys. Can I help you?”

They all scrambled to your feet and straighten themselves out, still not saying anything to you, but just mumbling to each other. It wasn’t until you made eye contact with Sammy that he cued you in.

“Oh sorry, we were racing!” He said nonchalantly. You looked at them, confused.

“Racing?”

“Yeah!” Jake chimed in.

“I’m so confused, why?” You questioned while sipping your drink.

Josh laughed and explained, “Well we were playing a drinking game and we all tied and couldn’t decide who won. We would usually ask you, but none of us had seen you in a while, so I screamed ‘first one to Y/N wins.’ And here we are.” You looked at the other boys for confirmation and they just nodded their heads in agreement.

“You all are weird.” You laughed at them and continued to talk to them about random things. They were telling you about the tour and the chaos in it all. Their music got brought up and you gave your opinions and your best advice. Working in the music industry is what brought you to meet this chaotic crew 2 years ago. The conversation always came naturally between you all, it’s something you loved about them.

As the music got louder, not that you thought that was even possible, it became a little too chaotic for the group’s casual conversation so you promptly excused yourself and walked away, making your way out back to get some peace and quiet for a moment. Suddenly feeling very overwhelmed by everyone.

It was quiet back here since there wasn’t any speakers, booze, or drugs no one else was out there. Perfectly juxtaposing the inside atmosphere. Walking over to your fire pit in the very back of the yard you quickly struck a flame and created the perfect aesthetic for you to calm down. With the fire going you laid down on the large wooden swing and just looked out into the trees, losing yourself in the moment, laying there alone for about 15 minutes.

“Y/n.” You turned your head to see Josh gesturing towards where your feet laid on the swing, asking permission to sit, you nodded and went to move your legs when he placed his hand on your shin.

“Don’t move mama, I got it.” He lifted your legs and sat beneath them, placing them onto his lap. He immediately fell into tune with your serenity. It was quiet for a few minutes while you both just appreciated your surroundings.

You naturally fell out of your trance eventually and flicked Josh’s arm, breaking the silence.

“Hey.” He turned to look at you with a small smile.

“Oh hey! Didn’t see your there.” You rolled your eyes at him, causing him to playfully smack your thigh as he looked back to the fire. You got caught up into your thoughts again as you let your curiosity get the best of you.

“Josh, why did you come out here?” You questioned. Studying his strong profile. His jaw was relaxed, his breathing pattern now calm, tranquil even, in comparison to earlier. His cheeks, however, were still dusted with pink, probably due to the shots he was convincing everyone to take early on. He then took a deep breath.

“I wanted to make sure you were alright.” He began stroking your leg with his hands, absentmindedly drawing shapes on your shin.

“I am.” You cut short, not liking to get into it too much.

“I know, I just like to make sure.” He finally looked at you, smiling purposefully big to get a laugh out of you, a trick that always worked.

He knew that if you wanted to talk about anything you would bring it up to him. That was what your friendship was, it was close and open-minded. You bounced your existential crises off of each other. He often came to you for lyrical advice, knowing your mind drifted to creative depths that most people didn’t have the luxury of venturing to.

“You are something else, Joshua.” You began and suddenly got the drunken urge to touch his face. You quickly sat up, still with your legs over his lap, and lightly booped his nose.

He looked at you and giggled.

“Do you have a thing for noses when you’re drunk or what?” He laughed, recalling the memory of your wild night out. You looked at him in shock.

“Woah, the judgment I’m feeling right now. I don’t like it. And I was defending myself that night, thank you very much!” You crossed your arms over your chest in protest.

He was properly cackling now. “Defending yourself from Jake who saved you before you showed a crowded bar your tits!?” You leaned against his shoulder in defeat.

“Ehhh wouldn’t have been that bad, would have given them a good show. Give the crowd what they want and all that.” You giggled to yourself, Josh quickly joining in, but stopping after a moment.

“You intrigue me, darling.” He began rubbing one of his hands and down your spine, as you leaned back to look him in the eyes, you gave him a questioning look and he continued.

“I mean, I’ve known you for a while, we all have. Yet, I am still surprised by just about everything that comes out of your mouth.” He looked at you and smiled tightly. The toothless smile that pulls his dimples in deep, a smile that usually tells that he is holding something back.

“I am one for a stupid comment, that’s for sure” You replied back, looking out onto the fire again. He adjusted his seating, sitting a bit more straight-up before he continued.

“It’s more than that Y/N. The way you process things and develop your thoughts. It’s… It’s something I haven’t come across before. The boys and I talk about you all the time. We try to guess, sometimes, the reaction you’re going to have to stuff. None of us are ever right, you know.” He was rambling on as he kept moving his fingertips on your spine, goosebumps beginning to show across your body in reaction, it sends a chill down your spine. Josh notices and breaks his trance with the fire to look at you before continuing.

“I mean, two years and you’ve kept me on my toes. Whenever I get stuck with my writing, whether it be lyrics or whatever, you help me effortlessly. It’s as if you know my mind through and through and can direct my emotions into phrases. They are always so poetic too. You’re so poetic…” He trails off looking out into the trees once again. You don’t know what to say, so you just snuggle into his side, your head pressed neatly into his neck as his breaths become quicker than his before steady rhythm.

“Thank you,” you mutter out, sitting back up, placing your hands in your lap, fiddling with your fingers before you continue. “Josh you make it easy for me. You and Jake, Sam and Danny, you all just stumbled into my studio one day and everything changed, I believe you still had a rat tail at that point.” You laughed at the thought.

“Oh god,” he commented back smiling down at you, keeping eye contact as you went on, continuing to rub your back in comfort; he knew it was difficult for you to be this vulnerable. You had this way about you that let you navigate other people's minds easily, but when it came to your own you were often at a loss for words. He was always patient with you.

“Josh. You’re one of the kindest souls I’ve ever met. Growing up I was outcasted for the way I thought. I always felt so alone for thinking the way I do, for being so ‘poetic’ as you say. I felt deranged at points, I felt too odd to deserve a place in the world. Then you lot came along… Joshua Kiszka your crazy ass almost makes me feel normal.”

You were breathing heavily after your quick rant. Josh kept his eye contact with you, but something changed within it. It wasn’t familiar anymore, something more than that. It was intense. Chaotically taimed with fear. You both stared at each other for a few moments in silence before Josh spoke up, keeping eye contact.

“Y/N.” He said wearily quiet. His face fell into a look that could only be described as gentle.

“Josh.” You whispered back, afraid that if you spoke too loudly you would scare the moment away. You could see the flicker of the fire that was dwindling down in the reflection of his eyes, his kind eyes. The eyes that feel like the truth to the universe, coaxing you in, not allowing you to look away. His hand that was on your leg lifted to cup your cheek, his thumb immediately began moving back and forth as if this was the most natural moment in the world. You allowed your eyes to flutter closed as you leaned into the feeling.

“You’re beautiful, doll.” He spoke lowley with precision, sounding like he was in a haze, a haze that was caused by you. You opened your eyes to meet his once more, but he was looking at your lips that were pressed into a blissed out smile. Under his stare, you licked your lips causing him to flick his eyes back up to yours quickly, a slight second of shock shown on his features before he settled again.

Both of your breaths picked up again. You didn’t know what was coming over you. Whether it was the chaos of the night, the mixed drinks, or the serenity of it all that caused the blissed out feeling that was washing over your body. Whatever it was you didn’t care when you broke into the silence in a voice smaller than a whisper, so quiet you weren’t even sure you spoke at all, maybe this was all in your mind; those words echoed through the silence.

“I want to kiss you right now.” Your small-phrase carried the impact of a scream. Josh sighed to himself, screaming just as quietly as you did just before with his own confession.

“Oh thank god.”

He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. You were both gentle with each other at first, equally holding back the long awaited passion that viced you. It wasn’t until Josh pulled back with a low grunt that all filters where lost. Cravings took over as he pulled you to straddle his lap. His hands gripped you in any attempt to get you closer, one falling to the back of your neck, the other to the small of your back. Your hands fell into his hair, keeping is lips close, never wanting them to leave yours again.

You both were kissing as if it were a conversation. Allowing all the pent up, unknown frustration of your passion escape through your lips, only to be reciprocated with perfect understanding and authenticity. How long it lasted went unbeknownst to both of you. Time faded in the most delicate way, but eventually, you pulled back, out of breath.

You looked down at Josh who still had his eyes closed, a smile slowly coming to his cheeks as he opens his eyes and laughs out at you.

“What?” he pushed your hair off your shoulders as you continue to take in the sight before you.

You shake your head softly, “I just want to look at you.” You reached up to his face began tracing his features with your fingers, following your fingertips with your eyes.

“I love looking at you,” You confess. Josh takes your wrist in his hand and begins kissing your fingertips, one at a time.

“You’re exquisite.” He sighs as he begins to pull your body back into his so he can kiss you again. You fall into him easily, quickly becoming addicted to the feeling. You lips press into Josh’s once more before you hear the heavy pounding of feet racing towards you both. You don’t tune into it quickly untill you hear a bellowing voice.

“Y/N?!? Y/N are you out here?!” An out of breath Sammy comes to a halt right in front of the fire turning to look for you. Quickly making eye contact with you and smiling and looking back towards the house, only to quickly snap back to take in what he is actually looking at. You straddling Josh.

This caused Sam to stutter out, “Oh what.. Umm… uhhh…” Quickly interrupted by a pissed off, equally out of breath Jake running up to Sam unknowingly.

“Fuck you Samuel and your freaky lanky alien legs! You winning is just fucking cheating and I’m sick of it! Did you find Y/N?” He questions and turns to look at Sam’s line of sight and lets out a shocked gasp as you slowly sunk into Josh’s chest.

“Well, I’ll be damned… Josh finally made his move.” Jake smirked at his twin with a cocky stance, a face that held a lot of emotions, but primarily pride in his brother. Josh groaned at his brother, hiding his face in your neck while you giggled at the situation.

Sam came back to the conversation and huffed out a loud breath before saying, “About fucking time you both realized you were made for eachother! You are the same damn person, fucking weirdos. You both like nature and weird clothes and fucking odd music that no one else in the world listens to and you both, like, read eachother minds and shit,” he looks to Jake for confirmation.

Jake nods his head and continues, “It’s weird right? Like Josh could be in the middle of a sentence and Y/N just comes in and finishes it.” They were now talking to each other as if Josh and you weren’t even there at that point. Jake continued, completely turning his body to Sam.

“Dude no one ever knows what Josh is saying, I was born with the kid and I still feel like I have to carry around a fucking dictionary to fully comprehend the bullshit he spits out. But Y/N she just… She just knows!” Jake threw his hands up in disbelief.

“Okay that’s enough!” Josh barked out, obviously not as amused with the situation as you were. You were still giggling at it all.

Josh then abruptly stood up from the swing, wrapping your legs around his waist and walking past his two brothers who drunkenly looked at us with dopey smiles.

“Excuse us fuckers. Put out the fire would you?” Josh yelled as he walked both of you back towards the house. You nuzzle your face into his neck as you looked over his shoulder at Sam and Jake who were cracking up at their feisty brother.

“Use protection big man!” Jake yelled out to us, leaving Sam in stitches, collapsing onto the swing.

Josh tapped your butt slightly, getting your attention, “Y/N, flip them off for me would ya?”

You did just that, causing the two boys to blow you kisses in return, sending you into another fit of giggles.

“Thanks babe,” Josh replied as he set you down to open the sliding glass door.

“Babe huh?” You looked up at him, smiling at the cute moment before continuing, “I quite like that.”

Josh smiled down at you, pulling you into another passionate kiss causing whistling to come from the drunk and giddy Kiszka brothers by the fire pit.

Josh broke away from your kiss to flip them off, then promptly throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you inside.

“Joshua put me down!” You yelled through your laughter. He quickly patted your thigh and hiked you up even further onto his shoulder.

“Never again love, you’re mine now.”

#joshua michael kiszka #Josh gvf #josh kiszka #josh x reader #josh kiszka imagine #jake kiska #sam gvf #jake gvf #sam kiszka #danny wagner #GVF #Greta Van Fleet #personal Writing #This makes me smile omfg it's so cute

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mysticsparklewings · 5 years ago

Photo

Dancing Beads

I'll be honest with you guys, I've had a rough past couple of days. Heavy anxiety hanging over me like a thick fog, making it difficult to think straight, let alone work. That's why I submitted a WIP shot of this drawing earlier in the week. It was technically finished, but I just didn't have the stamina and focus to get it ready to post on Wednesday, and I pretty much knew that I wouldn't have it in me to make something else new to go up today. That said, I am feeling a little bit better and I hope that means I'm coming around the bend and will be truly back and ready to rock in another day or so. In the meantime, let's talk about the artwork, shall we? This is sort of an extended OOTD (Outfit Of The Day) drawing in a similar vein as this first OOTD drawing I ever did, OOTD: Witch Socks. I say extended and cut "OOTD" out of the title this time because of A. This drawing was done over 2-3 days and B. I obviously was no longer wearing the outfit by the time the drawing was finished. And also, secret reason C. I didn't actually wear this outfit out of the house; I just liked the way the colors worked together and thought it would make for a cute drawing. And honestly, even for someone like me who enjoys dressing eccentrically, I think this would've been a little too far over the edge to wear out and about anyway. (I promise it looks a lot more socially acceptable in the drawing than it did in person) It's funny though, my last OOTD drawing was heavily inspired by the socks I was wearing that day, which looked like witch boots (hence the title it had), and this time my funky socks are once again a key point, but this piece got named after the pose and a different accessory. ...And I just noticed that this OOTD also has a pose where my head is in-profile facing the left...huh... Anyway; the key player here is the little plastic shiny red bead necklaces. They aren't much here in the drawing, but they're what set this whole thing in motion. My mom was cleaning out her purse and found them, remembering that she'd meant to give them to me when she initially brought them home from something they did at work, and since I was right there I just slid them on until I could put them away properly. (I have something of a small collection of bead necklaces like this for reasons unbeknownst even to me.) And at some point I was just feeling really good and kind of cute/kooky that day, and that's more or less where the idea to draw my outfit was born. From there, I'm not really sure where the pose came from other than the very loose/swinging nature of the necklaces and I wanted something fun and dynamic. And I swear I've tried to draw or seen this pose somewhere before, but if I did it must've been something I never posted because I sure can't find it in my gallery. (Although it was at this point that I pretty much knew what the title for this was going to be ) And to be fair, I'm not sure the proportions/anatomy came out exactly right. At first, I thought the legs (or at least the calves) were too short, but then I re-evaluated and decided the arms were too long, so I shortened them and I feel like for the most part that fixed/evened things out. I just really didn't want to have to re-draw the feet because I felt like they (especially the one on the left) came out really good the first time. Weirdly enough, the hands didn't give me a ton of trouble the second time around, as I worried they might. And I also didn't have that much of a struggle getting the profile of the face right, which is unusual because of all the ways to draw a face, that's usually the one I have the most trouble with. Then again, I guess I shouldn't be that surprised since a while ago when I was last drawing people more consistently I did do more profile faces and hands than usual, but I don't know. It's just kinda weird to not have that much trouble with them when in the past they've been main problem areas for me, at least during the sketching phase. Either way, as far as the actual drawing part goes, I think the most difficult thing this time was the bodice area because I wanted to get the proportions pleasing to the eye, but the tank top to still have reasonable folds, and the overall flow to work with the rest of the piece. But even that still wasn't too bad. The beads also took a while, since I was indeed fully committed to drawing every individual bead, but that really wasn't difficult, it just required patience. Little did I know, the difficulties would come in transferring the sketch to where I wanted it. I think I've gotten my fill of alcohol markers, given three of my most recent drawings were little kitties done almost exclusively in those, and so that combined with just not having done much with colored pencils in general lately (other than as smaller detail things or using water-soluble ones more like paint than pencils), I decided to do a bit of a return-to-form and make use of an extra piece of toned gray paper I've had waiting around to be used since like March, and do some good ol' colored pencil work. The joke was on me because I was very quickly reminded why I haven't used the gray paper a ton, especially compared to the toned tan paper I have; for reasons I can't figure out, it's incredibly hard to see through the paper to transfer lines, even with my lightbox on the brightest setting! So after several minutes of disappointed pondering, I dug out a charcoal stick I've had sitting in a "junk" art supply box (of which I have two; they're just boxes where the random stuff I don't really use or reach for very often that I don't have a good way to organize ends up) for the last half of forever and scribbled on the back of where I'd already transferred the lines once onto a regular piece of white paper (having hoped the black ink lines would be easier to see through the gray paper, which they were, but it still wasn't enough) and then used a mechanical pencil with the point shoved in to transfer the lines onto the gray paper. It's a very round-about way to do it, but it worked. And I went with the charcoal this time instead of trying the gelato trick that I learned with my Fly By the Moon piece because I thought the gelatos might not work all that great with the colored pencils, and I also thought they might make more of a mess trying to transfer onto regular paper instead of onto canvas. This ended up being a good choice also because the charcoal I was able to mostly erase/lift after I touched up the transfer in a few places and then I went back in with proper ink lines to make sure I wouldn't lose them once I started coloring. The lines finally taken care of, I could finally get to the fun part: coloring. And after some behind-the-scenes swatching experiences made them seem better than I had previously remembered, I decided to use my Schpirerr Farben colored pencils. Though I did make the mistake of using my white Prismacolor as a base for the skin. Not that it was a mistake because a white base wasn't needed (it was, and for everything else I used the white from the Schpirerr Farben set as a base), but because the Prismacolor pencil being wax-based, where the Schpirerr Farbens are oil-based, there was a conflict of texture in the layering. Kind of luckily though, I went too dark with the shading on the skin originally and had to work in more layers to fix that, and in that process, I think I managed to get the texture thing mostly under control. I did purposely use that in the hair though, since hair normally has...well, you know, noticeable texture. Otherwise, coloring was a pretty basic colored pencil experience (for me, anyway). I'd put down a base, then the base color, then work on the shading, and as I did certain parts I'd go back and adjust others based on what felt right. I have to say, I think the main drawback to the Schpirerr Farben pencils is really that they only come in 72 colors. I was able to do some mixing and shading and things to get the colors to where I needed them to be (the purple-y blue and red-orange colors on the socks, in particular, I had to mix to get), but I was really missing the wider selection I get from Prismacolor (150) or the Faber Castell Polychromos (120). Which isn't a huge deal, but it is a point for having multiple sets of pencils (or if you're the brand and not the consumer, making larger sets/adding new colors), even if you're loyal to a particular set/brand. Especially if the pencils play well together; the more you have, the wider color range you have to pick from. Other than that, I can confirm they do still layer and blend really nicely without much fuss (as had been my impressions back when I first talked about them). They're just soft enough that it always surprises me when I go to add a layer and the color goes on better than I thought it would because I figured I'd reached my limit on layers already. Considering they've recently branched out and made a watercolor set recently, I'm not sure as to how much stock I should put in Schpirerr Farben possibly returning to their pencils and making more colors...Does the watercolor thing mean they've closed the book on the pencils and want to focus on other supplies now, or does that mean there's hope that they'll continue to innovate on their products, including potential upgrades to the pencils? I'm not sure. Either way, once I finished coloring the figure in, I went back over the ink lines where I'd gotten colored pencil over them and they'd faded/washed out as a result, and then did the white outline with my white gel pen. Then I left the drawing alone overnight because it was missing something, but I wasn't sure what and I couldn't think of anything that night. When I came back to it the next day, I ended up deciding on something slightly complicated; A soft purple PanPastel background with one triangle shape masked/blocked out, and one triangle done in washi tape. This would end up evolving from the second triangle just being bigger to it being a slightly different kind of triangle and going in the opposite direction. And also I changed my mind on which washi tape to use about three different times, finally settling on this metallic-printed on for a little more intrigue when you see the piece IRL. (Even though here on the scan it just looks dark and borderline out of place ) Then to "blend" the metallic into the drawing as a whole better, I added the little dots in the background around the head with a gold shadow gelly roll, since in-person the color looks really close to the metallic print on the tape and the dots kind of tie in the "beads" theme a little better. (Again, this doesn't translate as well into the scan, but I kinda knew that was a risk with both things when I put them down.) And I did go over a few of the beads on the necklaces with the same pen to tie everything all together. Then I signed it with my white gel pen, and I felt much better about calling it finished. And you know, it has its flaws and all, but I am pretty happy with how it turned out anyway. It's a little more simple and there's not a ton of deep meaning or impactful influence behind it or anything, it's not terribly experimental, but it's still a fleshed out, polished drawing. And I really enjoy that, as it gave me more room to just kind of hone in on and practice skills I'm already fairly comfortable with, and sometimes that's just what you need in art, you know? I'm not sure what I'll end up making to post next--I've got some ideas, of course, (never a shortage of those around here ) but I've been a little too muddled to settle on anything just yet, so we'll just have to wait and see. For now, I'm trying to focus more on being gentle with myself until I seem to be back up to snuff to really buckle down on stuff. ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble | Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

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zerogravityrelease-blog · 8 years ago

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Our current active headspace is 15 members! I [Bear] am incorporeal so I get to see what’s going on all over the place whenever I want with the exception of being invasive of someone’s privacy, you know.

Lilith, Luka, and Ember live in the bungalow near the shore of Skyy/Finn’s beach, where it is always summer. Visual above can give you an idea of what it looks like. The sky is clear blue with a few white puffy clouds rolling by, the air is hot but the breeze is lovely. You can hear gulls crying now and then and hear the soft crash of the water against the rocky part of the shore.

Ember is doing running leaps into the water for cannonballs off one of the small docks and playing, splashing, and swimming with Finn who is in nyms typical lemon shark merfolk form, they are both laughing, although Finn is nonverbal at all times. Luka is on the end of another one of the docks sunbathing in a white lounge chair with nyr face partially covered by a bright rainbow umbrella. Ne is wearing really cute brown sunglasses with little jewels on the temples and nyr two-piece swimsuit is cherry red and suits nyr perfectly. Lilith is sitting on the dock itself next to nyr with aer feet in the water eating an ice pop. Ae is wearing a white sun hat and has an open washed-out blue denim button up over a navy blue bikini top and jean shorts over the swimsuit bottoms. Aer white sandals are sitting underneath Luka’s chair. I can’t hear what they’re saying but Luka must have said something funny because Lilith is doubled over in laughter. Things are peaceful and everyone seems happy. Carol, Hannah, and Rook live in a really funky building thats too tall to be a reasonable single floored house but its not really separate apartments either. Its basically an apartment on the bottom with a double-loft on top, but its one collective place. It’s a bit hard to explain but here’s some visuals to help: exterior:

general interior aesthetics, colorful as fuck basically, both for the house in general and each of their bedrooms:

Rook has the lower half of the building and Hannah has the top left loft and Carol has the top right. I’d have to draw it for it to make any sense visually but essentially the upper floor is two halves of a circle pushed back from each other a bit with a hallway in between and a set of stairs that leads downstairs in the middle of the hallway like this: |)=‘’=(| the difference is that aside from the hallway and subsequent doors that lead out to it, the circle halves dont have walls, the open space is just covered by colorful curtains on both Hannah and Carol’s sides, so, essentially, they could open their doors and say hello to each other in the hallway, or they could just lean to one side and open their curtains and wave to each other with no barrier in between. There is also no floor between their rooms aside from the hallway so the only way to get to each others rooms is to either take the hallway or do a running leap LOL Hannah and Carol are both in Hannah’s loft right now laying on their stomachs kicking their feet gently doing crafts together. Carol has So Many Stickers in front of her and Hannah has a box of those funky-shape scissors that cut neat patterns with them next to her. Their heads are close and they’re pointing to a huge scrapbook in front of them, I can’t hear what they’re saying but they keep giggling so I think they’re having a good time. Some cute music is coming from Hannah’s phone, it sounds something like Anamanaguchi. Cherry comes to visit them sometimes and do fun stuff because sie and Carol are like sisters. Rook is in the lower level doing what looks like pilates in the middle of the kitchen while the stove and countertops are full of things both cooking and about to be cooked. It looks like pri’s making dinner and dessert at the same time, it smells amazing. Dinner smells sweet and spicy & all I know about dessert is that there is an alarming amount of fruit on the counter and a hunk of dough the size of an adult skull on a baking tray. Rook is also playing music from his phone, but he has headphones in, it’s also absurdly loud given that I can hear it from here. It sounds like really upbeat guitar-heavy rock, but I don’t recognize it. If you were looking to see a man do air guitar meanwhile one leg on the ground and the other pointing clean up to the ceiling, you came to the right place. He’s smiling and its obvious he’s having a good time. Teagan, KG, Nik, and Libra live in this sweet, huge, ritzy-ass house thats like black & white contemporary minimalist and would be expensive as all motherfuck in real life so god bless headspace lmfao. KG and Teagan have the ground floor and Nik and Libra have the lofts, which are completely separated as the second floor of houses usually are, unlike Carol & co.’s house. Living room aesthetic (like if you have that huge palette instead of the coffee table by the L couch in the first img, thats definitely there):

Kitchen aesthetic:

Okay let’s start anywhere, first up is KG, feyr room aesthetic is like this:

It’s always that clean too because that’s how fey is. Teagan’s room is like this:

It’s messy in the sense that it always definitely looks like it’s lived in but it’s just messy, not dirty. There is So Much Stuff on the walls and the tea lights are definitely a thing. Right now Teagan and KG are on the huge palette in the living room laying on their backs facing opposite directions, KG is reading a book and Teagan is reading a magazine. I can’t read the title of either but I know KG is legitimately interested in the book and Teagan is reading the magazine to live-comment kyr anger at magazine culture and beauty standards. Teagan goes off now and then and KG just laughs quietly like “why do you read that stuff if you know it’s going to make you angry” “we have to be critical of the media!” KG scooches up to bonk feyr head against Teagan’s like “whatever you say, dear”

Next up is Nik in the left loft, xyr room aesthetic is like this, minus the regular windows of image one and plus the giant windows in img 2:

It’s small and full of soft things and looks very warm all the time. Xe also has a lot of things on the walls. Xe sits on the alcove by the window and looks at the sky a lot at night. Xe is currently sitting there listening to music with large headphones & writing in a notebook. Possibly writing song lyrics? Xe seems to be okay aside from engaging in a bit of self-isolation for time to clear xyr head. Finally is Libra’s room on the right loft, the aesthetic:

All of the decor in Libra’s room is white with the exception of a few things here and there, that entire right wall is glass just like in the image, even though its on the second floor. Cae is currently taking a nap with caer 97 pillows. It seems like its starting to rain. Altair and RG live in a really large, airy house that’s more or less like a cottage. They have small bedrooms but most of the time they’re in the shared spaces with the windows open letting in light and fresh air. They both like to cook and there’s always fresh flowers around the house. There’s a small garden outside as well as a moderately sized lake. It’s very woodsy and smells like cedar and apples. Spring is definitely here. Aesthetic:

Right now RG is in the kitchen chopping vegetables and Altair is working in the garden. They’re both nonverbal a lot so they communicate a lot in nods and small smiles. They enjoy the general quiet, minus the array of birds chirping as its the beginning of spring, and each other’s generally silent company. Last but not least, Viria and Lamia live in Viria’s skinny, spooky house with two floors, Lamia having the top floor and Viria taking the bottom. It’s very old world in concept but is functionally modern, it’s just creepy as hell at night, which is how they like it. Most of the decor is gold, maroon, white, and brown. Entryway and kitchen aesthetic:

The livingroom double functions somewhat as a library to Lamia’s extreme delight, like this:

Viria’s room is absurdly gorgeous and looks something like this:

Presently they are both having coffee in the living-library, both quietly reading with soft music playing over what seems to be a kind of surround-sound setup. Everyone seems to be doing okay and leading happy, uneventful lives. It’s been really nice and fun to check in with everyone and really focus on what everything looks like. That was lovely, we’ll have to do it again soon. Thanks for reading!

#[roll call]

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trevorbailey61 · 8 years ago

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Tinariwen

The Glee Club, Birmingham Wednesday 8th March 2017

The striking image of three Saharan tribesmen in flowing robes line up across the front of the stage. One pulls up the white material that is covering his head so that only his brown eyes can be seen, the others heads are covered but their faces are open showing that each proudly wear a neatly trimmed moustache. Behind them others make their way onto the stage, like those at the front all are elaborately dressed with their faces covered so that only their eyes peer out at the audience. The drone begins, a solitary voice, words indistinct even if we could understand the language, a desert call to arms. Other voices join adding intricate harmonies or counter melodies with unexpected intervals. As the chanting gets louder, the vast desert landscapes that shaped this music opens up before us, it is almost possible to feel the punishing heat of the sun and see the vast expanses forged by the intensity of the elements. Then, suddenly, it stops, the ending as abrupt as the build up had been slow and deliberate. The vastness of the open desert has been reduced to a small room, the open skies have been closed in to a roof that is just a few feet above our heads and those next to us are brought so near that it is possible to feel their breath on the back of the neck. The exotic characters remain in front of us, smiling and acknowledging the enthusiasm of their reception, the show can begin.

It is difficult to think of a greater contrast between the music and the venue in which it is presented. The music of Tinariwen is founded in the expansive but harsh saharan landscape of the badland border regions between Mali and Algeria and much of what they do is built on a struggle for self determination of their Tuareg people. Their own success has transcended these roots but has occurred at a time when the outlook for their people looks increasingly dangerous. A country that for many years was open, tolerant and with amicable relations between its islamic majority and minority ethnic groups, has seen a growth in tensions that in 2012 led to a Tuareg rebellion in the northern region of the country and the declaration of independence for a home state of Azawad. Others, however, had different ideas and before the new state could form any roots, the militant islamic group, Ansar Dine, were able to impose sharia law which saw restrictions on popular music in the territory. As a band with an international following, Tinariwen were specifically targeted and most had to evade capture by fleeing the country; guitarist Abdallah Ag Lamida, however, was abducted while trying to save his guitars showing that the threats were far from empty. While the band toured and continued to record in other desert locations in North Africa and America, founder member, Ibrahim Ag Alhabib, decided to remain in Mali in support of his family and others caught up in the crisis. His absence allowed others, particularly singer Abdallah Ag Alhousseyni, to come to the fore and even though he is now touring again with the band, he no longer has the prominence he had when I previously saw them at the Town Hall about ten years ago. Rather than offering hope, however, his return is more an indication that the hostility in his homeland has increased to the point that, like his fellow band members, he no longer feels safe.

There is an inevitable sadness in this music that emanates from the context in which it has been created and a receding hope that, despite the years of struggle, makes the outlook increasingly grim. This is most apparent on their most recent album, “Elwan”, where there is a profound sense of loss, resulting from both from their own exile and the brutal despoiling of their homeland. In “Nizzagh Iqbal” (I Live in the Mountains) this is at its most raw with Ag Alhousseyni’s solo plaintive voice giving a lyrical description of the desert that is carried beyond the unfamiliarity of the language. The politically charged “Tenere Taqqal” combines wonderful poetry with a burning anger, all the more powerful for the restraint in which it is played. In the Tamasheq language in which they sing, “Elwan” means ‘the elephants”, here representing the rampaging enemy who; “fight each other; Crushing tender grass underfoot”. Women feature prominently on a number of the songs on “Elwan”, a reflection of the highly matriarchal Tuareg society; “Talyat” is a simple love song to a “Light skinned girl; with blossoming face”; whilst “Assawt” (The Voice of Tamasheq Women) is a celebration of feminism, “This is the voice of the Tamaschek women; Searching for their freedom”. With the region becoming increasingly dangerous for women, these are songs that carry a political as well as cultural message but it is pity that the female voices that have often featured in their line-up are absent for this tour.

This may start to sound as if the evening was a worthy but ultimately dull lament for a lost way of life but despite the terrible circumstances, a Tinariwen concert is both energising and uplifting. They know their message is stronger if they entertain and this they do, the exhilarating music is magnetic and, despite the language barriers, they are keen to interact with the audience, supplementing their limited English with French. “Ca Va?” we are asked between songs, “tres bien” the reply with the exuberance in both the question and the answer increasing during the concert, brexit voters clearly very much in the minority. There is a consistency in much of their music, the lead singer, Ag Alhabib, Ag Alhousseyni or Alhassane Ag Touhami will chant the lyrics, sung mostly in a minor key, with the line then being repeated by the other voices, occasionally in unison but mostly adding harmonies. The simple template, however, allows for astonishing creativity and variation, with the complex and changing rhythms formed from a combination of hand held percussion and drums, the extraordinarily inventive and fluid bass and the arpeggios and rhythm of the guitars. Each singer adds a different quality to the song, as the youngest of the three, Ag Alhousseyni’s voice is lighter, adding a little optimism and even tenderness, Ag Alhabib’s earthy vocals are filled with anger and the fragility of Ag Touhami’s voice brings out sadness and regret. The subdued singing of the latter is in stark contrast to his energetic dancing, his deliberate and sensitive movement in tune with the emotional content of the song. This becomes increasingly exuberant towards the end of the concert, drawing wry smile form the others as they retreat to the other side of the stage to allow him the space he needs.

When I first saw Tinariwen about ten years ago, Ag Alhabib was very much in charge with his bright robes and wild hair, he is the only one who performs with his head uncovered, making him a charismatic visual as well as musical focal point. His role following his absence, however, is more restricted and he leaves the stage for the songs on which he doesn’t take the lead. He adds much of the militancy to their recent album, as well as “Taqqal”, he also contributes the funky “Sastannaqqam”, the mournful “Imidiwan-n-Akal-In” which built around a single chord and the haunted “Nannuflay”. He also leads “Clegh Achel”, a song taken from the 2006 album “Aman Iman” that concludes the set. It provides a reminder that, whilst there is a consistency in the format of their music, they have absorbed influences from western music to develop and refine this so that they remain consistently interesting. Ag Alhabib’s jet black hair is now grey and whilst his tall figure can still command the stage, his hunched shoulders reflects the years of struggle. Despite his own diminishing influence, however, as a collective Tinariwen remain strong with others stepping forward to share the creative responsibilities and Ag Alhousseyni’s command of the early part of the set shows that their future is secure. Returning alone for the encore, his flamenco guitar is compellingly restrained during the first encore before the rest of the band return to finish with an energetic “Chaghaybone”. Despite a few problems, the sound levels were were a little unbalanced at times with the guitars being a bit loud compared to the vocals, this was a majestic show and easily the best of the three times I have seen them. At a time when other cultures are treated with suspicion, it is heartening to see that there are still many who are prepared to celebrate and enjoy great music wherever it comes from.

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anavoliselenu · 7 years ago

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anchor me chapter 2

“Someday we will,” Justin says as he slides his arm around my waist. “I certainly hope so.” Caroline smiles fondly at both of us. “You two would make beautiful babies.” “I can’t argue with that,” Justin adds, as he pulls me closer and presses a kiss to my temple. “Selena’s going to make an incredible mom.” I tense, my demeanor shifting from socially friendly to icily polite. This isn’t a conversation I want to have right now. Not with a stranger. Not with Caroline. Not even with Justin, and I’m frustrated that he so seamlessly slid into the role of eager father. We’ve talked about this over and over, and I’d thought we were on the same page. Someday, yes, I want to hold our child in my arms. But neither of us are ready for kids yet. There are too many barriers, too many challenges. And the fact that he’s now speaking so cavalierly about something so important makes my insides twist up. Especially since I can hardly call him out while we’re standing on a lawn in Dallas and I’m so goddamn vulnerable already. Fuck. I pull out of his embrace, and when I do, Justin catches my eyes. I see the apology on his face, but I’m not in the mood. I’m too off-kilter as it is, and so I just shove my hands in the pockets of my summer skirt. For a moment, I think he’s going to say something else, but then he turns his attention back to Misty and tells her that the car is unlocked. As they speak, I head toward the house with Caroline beside me. With each step, my feet feel heavier and my pulse quicker. It’s silly, I know—it’s not as if I’ll find my mother lying in wait—but I haven’t been back in this house in years, and now that I’m about to walk inside, I’m positively crackling with nerves. I want Justin beside me. I want his hand in mine. And I’m angry and hurt and pissed that just a few little words have dropped a wall between us. Angry at him. And, yes, angry at myself, too. Behind us, I hear Misty speaking to Justin. “I’ll wipe off his hands before he gets in the car. And feel free to look around as much as you want. It’s kind of a maze in there, though. We haven’t unpacked a thing.” Caroline and I pause, and I watch as Misty hurries off after Andy, who’s running as fast as his little legs will allow toward the Rolls Royce. Justin turns but hesitates before walking toward us, his expression unreadable. Then he cocks his head just slightly, and when his brows rise in inquiry, I see everything he’s not saying aloud. I’m sorry. Are we okay? The fist around my heart loosens, and I draw a breath, wait a beat, and then extend my hand. For an instant, relief flickers in his eyes. Then his expression clears, and he joins us, locking his hand with mine. Caroline looks between us, then smiles so brightly that I have to wonder if she’s picked up on the tension. Not that I’m about to ask. Instead, we continue to the house. “How many times did I walk you home when you and Ollie were little?” Caroline asks as we step onto the porch. “Or come over here to drag Ollie back home when you two spent the day in your pool?” “A lot,” I say, letting the memories distract me. The truth is that Ollie rarely came over here. When we were allowed to play together, we both preferred his house. Only in the dead of summer did we stay here to enjoy the pool, and then only after my mother had assured herself that I was covered head-to-toe with sunscreen. God forbid the beauty queen get a sunburn or freckles. “Go on, sweetie,” Caroline says. “I’ll wait for you two out here.” I nod, and when Justin squeezes my hand in silent support, I realize how clammy my palms have become. The door is already ajar, so I use my free hand to push it open. I swallow and then, before I can lose my nerve, I step over the threshold. I hesitate, not sure what I expected. Memory-shaped ghosts drifting down from the ceiling? My mother’s face looking back at me from the hall mirror? Her voice ordering me to go to my room and rest because it’s almost nine o’clock and I need my sleep before that weekend’s pageant? But there is nothing. It’s just walls. Just tile and hardwood, paint and wallpaper. I feel my body relax, and when I meet Justin’s eyes, the corner of his mouth curves up in a smile of understanding. “Where was your room?” he asks as we move through the foyer to the open-style living area. “That way.” I point to the long hallway that leads off to the right. “My mom was in the master bedroom, all the way on the other side of the house. But Ashley and I were both down here.” “Show me.” “I doubt it’s going to look anything like what it did when I was here,” I say, but I’m already heading that way. I’m right, of course. The walls are a plain, flat white where they had once been a pale pink. I’d wanted lime green. Something funky and fun and a little bit obnoxious. A counterpoint to the so-good-they’re-smarmy manners and perfectly proper clothes that had been foisted on me for my entire life. My mother, of course, had vetoed that plan, because little girls who win pageants are the kind of girls who love pink. Girls who follow the rules. Who don’t make a fuss or cause trouble. Girls who don’t have opinions of their own. At least that’s what every word out of my mother’s mouth seemed to imply. I’ve learned better since, and I know several women I respect who’ve done the pageant circuit. But back then, I had my mother in my head. And every time I won a pageant, I had to wonder what that said about me. Was I truly that boring and empty-headed? Was that really all I was good for? I remember going to Ashley, curling up among the pile of pillows on my big sister’s bed and whispering that I hated our mother. That I hated pink. That Mother was mean and I wanted my walls to be my walls and it wasn’t fair and why couldn’t I ever do anything I wanted, and on and on and on. “Do you know what she did?” I ask Justin, after I’ve told him all of that. “She came home from school the next day with a tiny jar of lime green paint she’d swiped from the high school art department.” I blink back the tears that have gathered with the memory. “She told me I needed some green, and so we painted a tiny green square right behind my bedside table, and then we took a pencil eraser and wrote our initials in the paint. It would have been right about here,” I say, leading him to the far side of the room and pointing to a pile of boxes. He bends, moves a couple of the boxes aside, and then crooks his finger for me to join him. I do, then suck in a breath when I see what he’s found. It’s been covered, but I can still clearly see the hint of a green square beneath the flat white. And in the middle—more texture than image—are the initials NF and AF. My knees go weak, and I let myself slump to the ground, Justin’s arms going around me to cushion my fall. “Thank goodness you’re here,” I murmur, my back to his chest.

“I’ll never be anywhere else.” I nod, acknowledging the simple truth that is the shining miracle of my life as I lean back against him, grateful for his warmth and strength. “I don’t want to remember,” I admit. “And yet just being here—it’s all coming back. Good. Bad. It’s crashing over me like waves. All these memories, and I don’t have the strength to stop them coming.” “Then don’t,” he says. “Let go, baby. Let the tide take you. I’ll be your tether. I’ll always pull you back home.” I squeeze my eyes shut, lost in the magic of his words. In the promise that he will always protect me. That he’ll always love me. A shiver cuts through me. Not from a chill. Not from fear. But from the simple realization that I should have known that kind of all-encompassing, unrelenting love from my mother. But I’d had to find it in my sister. In my friends. In Justin. “My mother didn’t have a clue,” I whisper. “Not even an inkling of how to be a mother.” The tears flow freely now as I recall the day I got the phone call that Ashley was dead. My mother’s flat voice that she’d killed herself. And not flat with regret or mourning, but with disapproval. As if Ashley hadn’t lived up to expectations. The irony, of course, was that it was expectations and insecurities that had killed my sister. Her deep-seated certainty that she had no clue how to be a wife. That when her husband left her for another woman, it was proof that she was a failure—just like my mother had always said. She’d killed herself because she’d believed she was nothing. But to me, Ashley had been everything. “We were sitting here when she told me she was going to get married. On the floor beside my bed. And she said she was going to have a good life and be a better mom than ours.” My words tumble out as fast as my tears. I love Ronnie and Jeffery, my niece and nephew, but Ashley’s child should have come first. I wanted so badly to be Aunt Selena. To be the very best aunt ever, just like Ashley had said. “She never got the chance.” Suddenly, the loss of my sister is like a physical pain in my chest. I turn in Justin’s arms, bury my face against his chest, and sob. I’d come to this house wanting to exorcise my demons, but now it seems like the ghosts are everywhere. I gulp in air, then try to force words out past my tear-clogged throat. “Please,” I beg. “Please, can we just get out of here?” “We’re already gone.” He kisses me gently, then takes my elbow to lead me out of the room. But I just stand there beside him for a moment, hating how weak and fragile I feel. I try to gather myself, determined to get out of this house without Caroline or Misty seeing any evidence of pain on my face. And yet I can’t manage. My knees are weak. My skin clammy. I start to take a step to the door, but the world seems to turn inside out, and me along with it. I have only enough time to look up at Justin—to see the worry etched on his face—before the grayness takes over, and I collapse into my husband’s arms. 3 “Selena!” Justin’s voice—tense, afraid—seems to wrap around me. Something tangible that, maybe, I can cling to. That I can use to pull myself back. “Sweetheart? Baby? Come on. That’s it. You can do it.” I feel the warmth of his body surrounding me. Cradling me. His words are soft with encouragement, but the gentleness only hides an undercurrent of fear. I imagine his face in front of me, coming in and out of shadows. Then I realize that it’s not my imagination. Instead, my eyelids are fluttering open, my body trying to return to normal even though my mind is still lost in this odd netherworld where time seems so painfully slow and Justin’s arms so deliciously warm. “That’s it, baby. You’re going to be fine.” I see the worry that tightens the lines around his mouth. That sharpens the amber of one eye and transforms the onyx depths of the other into a hopeless abyss. Then he turns to speak to someone else, his voice low and strained. “Where the hell is the damned ambulance?” “On its way. I think I can hear the siren.” Caroline stands behind him. Her brow is furrowed, and she’s twisting her hands. Farther back, Misty clings to her little boy, her expression pinched, and I wonder if she is concerned about me or about what her new neighbors will think. I hear the approach of sirens, too, and despite the summer heat, my skin prickles from the ice water that suddenly floods my veins, the chill pushing me all the way into consciousness. With a vague sense of wonder, I realize we’re back on the front lawn. But I have no idea how we got here. “What happened?” My voice is raspy, but it’s enough to send relief washing over the three faces around me. Carolyn steps forward, and though she puts her hand on Justin’s shoulder, her eyes are on me. “Selena, sweetie, it’s going to be okay. It’s probably just the heat. Nothing to worry about at all.” I try to push myself more upright. It’s harder than it should be—I’m light-headed and unsteady—and when I see fresh worry on Justin’s face, I stop trying and simply let him hold me. “I fainted?” Of course, I did, but the thought is so startling that I can’t help but state the obvious as a question. “You scared the crap out of me,” he says. “I’m okay now.” I speak firmly, as if saying the words will make them true. Then I try to shift to my knees so that I can push myself all the way up to standing, but Justin holds me down. “No, you don’t.” He holds me firmly in place. “Sit and rest until the ambulance gets here.” I grimace at the thought of being examined here on Misty’s landscaped front lawn. “Honestly, it’s not like I got bit by a rattlesnake or suddenly came down with Ebola. I just got light-headed. It’s no big deal.” “It is to me,” he says, and with those simple words, my argument dies on my tongue. I’m fine—I know that I’m fine—but Justin needs the reassurance, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to fully erase the fear from his eyes. Unfortunately, after being poked and prodded and monitored by two efficient paramedics, we don’t have a definitive explanation for my fainting spell, and worry still lines Justin’s face. The only upside is that they don’t insist that I go to the hospital, but they do want me to see my own doctor soon, as my blood pressure is low enough for concern. Justin thanks them, then starts to type something out on his phone as I watch them pack up and return to the ambulance. They pass Misty, who has moved to the driveway and is talking with three curious neighbors and, probably, cursing the moment Justin and I darkened her doorstep.

“Do you want some juice?” Caroline asks. “I bet Misty has a cooler of juice boxes. Or I can run to the market.” “No, really, it’s fine. But thank you. I think you’re right. I’m not used to the heat anymore.” This time when I start to get up, Justin helps me, his phone now back in his pocket. “I’ll go see my doctor when we get home just to be sure,” I add, certain that Justin just sent a text to his assistant, asking that she schedule that very appointment for the second we return to LA. “Actually, we’re going now,” Justin says. “There’s a walk-in clinic just a few miles from here.” I, however, am done being Invalid Selena. “The hell we are. I’m standing. I’m walking. See?” I circle him to prove my point as Caroline graciously moves toward Misty, obviously wanting to avoid getting caught up in a marital power struggle. “I probably just need food and air conditioning. So let’s go get some lunch and then head back to the hotel so I can work on tomorrow’s presentation.” “After the clinic. No—” he continues, cutting off my protest. “I want to make sure you’re okay.” “Dammit, I am. I was just light-headed. How many times do I have to say it?” “You were out cold for a full minute, baby. You didn’t even stir when I carried you out here.” “But I’m awake now.” I force myself to take a mental step back. To breathe. I don’t like doctors. I never have. My memories of doctors are tied up with my mother’s ploys to get me prescription appetite suppressants because “she’s such a pretty girl, but her hips and thighs have a tendency toward chubby,” or my own attempts to hide my self-inflicted scars, always fearing that some doctor would notice and insist I see a shrink. “How about a compromise?” I suggest. “Hotel now, but if I start to feel dizzy, we’ll go to the clinic.” For a moment, he says nothing, and I imagine the debate raging in his head. His desire to please me versus his concern and his need for answers. Finally, though, he nods. “All right, Ms. Fairchild,” he says, using my maiden name as a term of endearment. “It looks like we have a deal.” I return the smile, feeling smug. Then I take a step toward Caroline and Misty, intending to say goodbye. And that’s when my smugness vanishes. That’s when the nausea consumes me. That’s when I bend forward in a sudden, unexpected spasm and vomit all over Misty’s pristinely manicured lawn. 4 “Considering I’m not sick, I’m certainly being pampered.” We’re back from the clinic Justin dragged me to, and now I’m curled up on our hotel suite’s overstuffed sofa, my feet in his lap. It’s barely past noon, but the curtains are closed, and the lamps are dim, and the ambience is making me sleepy. He chuckles, then squeezes my big toe. “Are you saying I shouldn’t be pampering my wife?” “Actually, that was more of an ‘I told you so’ sort of comment.” I conjure a victorious grin. “The pampering is my reward for being right.” He presses his thumbs against the bottom of my foot in a way that has me arching back and moaning with pleasure. “I’m always happy to reward you,” he assures me. “But your prognosis is still an open question.” “I’m fine,” I insist because I refuse to believe that anything is wrong. “The doctor said what I said—everybody gets lightheaded sometimes.” “And I get worried sometimes.” He stands, shifting my feet onto the cushion as he does. Then he sits again on the edge of the sofa right beside me, his palm on my cheek. Slowly, he leans in, then brushes a gentle kiss over my lips. A soft tremor runs through me, and I curve my hand around the back of his neck, prepared to pull him down for a deeper, more enthusiastic kiss. “You don’t need to worry,” I whisper. “I promise I’ll stop when he calls with the results of the blood work.” I hesitate, my building desire warring with a lingering frustration, and I let my fingers fall away as I exhale sharply. Justin sits up, his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” I say automatically. But my pleasant mood has disintegrated, and I continue, “I don’t like being under a microscope. But you’re determined to keep pushing it.” I shift to sit up, and in the process, give him a small shove. He looks at me with concern, his brow furrowed, and that only sparks my growing foul mood. “I just want to sit up,” I snap. He stands. “By all means, sit however you like.” I know I’m being bitchy, so I open my mouth to apologize, but that’s not what comes out. “You’re annoyed because of how I’m sitting?” My stomach twists unpleasantly. We fight—we’re married, of course, we fight—but usually there’s a reason. This one is all on me. I’m a mess, and I know it. My emotions have been all over the place today, and now something hard and hot is rising inside me, and it seems that I can’t control my temper, much less my words. Justin drags his fingers through his hair, his expression a mix of both compassion and frustration. “Baby, I’m sorry. This town. Your mom. Getting sick. You have every right to feel off.” “I’m not sick—I mean, come on, Justin, are you even listening to me?” Now it’s my turn to stand. I tell myself I should leave, because everything inside me is churning. I’m touchy and emotional, and I know that no matter what he says, it’s going to be the wrong thing, and that’s never how I feelwith Justin. Which means he’s right, of course. This is because of my mom. Because of Dallas. And because I fainted and then vomited all over the lawn of a perfect stranger. Just the memory makes me want to curl up and hide. “You put me on display,” I accuse. “Calling an ambulance just for a fainting spell? The whole neighborhood came out to stare.” “Christ, Selena. You passed out. I was fucking terrified. I wasn’t concerned with being subtle.” “You weren’t subtle at all.” I choke a little, then blink furiously to hold back the tears. “What the hell happened to the Justin Stark who holds his private life close to the vest?” He cocks his head, his eyes narrowing as he studies me. I meet his gaze, but hug myself, readying for the onslaught of accusations. That I’m overly emotional. That I’m tired. That I’m stressed. That I’m a complete emotional wreck because of this town, and maybe I should think about only competing for contracts that send me to cities that aren’t Dallas. Better yet, that aren’t in Texas. He doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he moves closer. He doesn’t touch me, however, and as we stand there, only inches apart, I realize that I am longing for him to do just that. I want him to enfold me in his arms. I want to cling to him until the world turns right again. Until I turn right again. But all he does is watch me. Then he says, “This isn’t about fainting. It’s not about being sick.”

“It’s not? Well, then by all means, tell me what it is that’s upset me since you know me so much better than I know myself.” “It’s about what I said to Caroline. About having kids someday.” I take an involuntary step backward. Because he’s right. I hadn’t realized it until he said it, but he’s absolutely right. We’ve talked about kids a lot recently. We had the conversation before we got married, of course, and again more recently. And we’ve always been in agreement that we want to wait. That he’s too busy being a master of the universe and I’m working long hours to get my own business off the ground. And on top of all of that, neither of us have good role models for how to be a parent. We’d agreed that we needed time. For ourselves. To get our lives in order. To get my business rolling. But lately, I can’t help but wonder if the expression of joy I see on Justin’s face when he plays with our niece and nephew doesn’t also have an element of longing. If he regrets waiting and wants to start a family of our own, just like Sylvia and Jackson have. “Someday,” Justin repeats, apparently following the breadcrumbs of my thoughts. “That’s all I said to Caroline. Not today. Not next week. But someday.” He takes my hands. “That’s true, isn’t it?” I swallow, wishing I could read his mind as well as he always seems to be able to read mine. “Just because it’s true doesn’t mean it’s not private.” Something hard flashes in his eyes, and for an instant, I think that I’ve pissed him off. But then he curses softly and shakes his head, his expression as warm as I’ve ever seen it. “You’re right,” he says, and I realize it’s not me he’s angry with; it’s himself. “Goddammit, you’re absolutely right. Sweetheart, I’m sorry.” “It’s okay.” His apology is like a ladder by which I can climb out of my deep, black hole. “Really.” I draw a breath, realizing I’m no longer itching for a fight. That, somehow, he has smoothed my rough edges. “I just . . . I didn’t expect it. I mean, we don’t know Misty. And even though Ollie’s mom’s like family—” “I get it,” he says, leading me back to the couch. “You’re right. And I love you. And I’m sorry.” He sits again, then pulls me down next to him. I sigh, reveling in the easy way his arm goes around me. The comfortable rhythm of being curled up against him. “I’m sorry, too,” I whisper. “You’re right about my mom and all the rest. It put me in a really crappy mood.” “I’d be surprised if it didn’t. So here’s the question I have for you.” His voice is so serious, I shift in his arms so that I can see his face more clearly. “Comedy or drama, movie or television?” I shake my head, amused. “Don’t you have to review some spreadsheets before your call about that production facility?” Justin wasn’t planning to work this weekend, but the construction manager of one of his foreign plants called right before we left Los Angeles. There’s some sort of crisis that needs to be dealt with first thing Monday, local time. With the time difference, that means Sunday afternoon in Texas. “And aren’t I supposed to be prepping for my meeting tomorrow?” “My call’s not for another two hours,” he says. “And if you do any more prep work, your head’s going to explode.” I open my mouth to protest, but he continues on. “Take a break. Chill with your husband. We’ll have a late lunch, and you can spend all evening going over your notes. Sound like a plan?” “So long as I don’t have to pick what we watch.” I yawn as I snuggle close, certain he’ll choose something amazing because he always does. And, in fact, I enjoy the first hour or so of Audrey Hepburn’s and Cary Grant’s shenanigans in Charade. I can’t speak to the rest of the movie, though, because the next thing I know, I’m prone on the sofa, disoriented as I wake from an unexpected nap. Justin’s voice drifts back from the bedroom area, and the television is off. I reach for my phone to check the time and notice that Justin’s notes are no longer on the coffee table. Which explains why I hear him talking to someone—he must be on his conference call. I sit up and stretch, fighting both frustration and worry. It’s far too early for me to be this tired, and yet I’ve been dragging for over a week now. Even before we left LA, it was often all I could do to focus on my computer screen at work, and coding often felt like slogging through a pudding-filled swamp. I would load up on coffee, but I think I’ve finally OD’d on my favorite pick-me-up, because lately even the thought of downing a cup leaves me vaguely queasy. In other words, I’m off my game, and that’s both frustrating and a little nerve-wracking. I’m hardly ever sick, but what if this time there really is something wrong with me? I’d told Justin I was fine, but that was more because I wanted it to be true, not because I’m certain. A walk-in clinic wouldn’t make me hang around for something like cancer. They’d let me go home, call with the bad news, and tell me to make an immediate appointment with a doctor in LA. I stand, propelled off the couch by the warring forces within me. One side telling me to stop worrying, that everything I told Justin about me being fine is absolutely true. The other side arguing that I’ve felt off for weeks, and that, obviously, something is wrong, and I shouldn’t have been so snippy with Justin since he’s obviously right. I scowl at my phone, not sure if I want it to ring so that I get the bad news, or stay silent so that I can hold onto the fantasy that all is well for just a bit longer. Then again, maybe I should toss the thing off the hotel balcony, because clearly I’m turning into a raging hypochondriac, and that really can’t be good. Since none of the options sound appealing, I’m about to head into the kitchen to scope out the mini-bar. At home, I have an emergency stash of frozen Milky Ways, but I’d be happy for even the thawed kind at the moment. I don’t even get one step before my phone vibrates on the table, signaling an incoming call. I snatch it up, then sag onto the couch when I hear Dr. Cray’s voice asking for me. “This is Selena,” I say. “Am I—I mean, is there something wrong with me? Am I sick?” “Actually, Mrs. Stark, you’re quite healthy.” I draw a deep, grateful breath, then immediately frown. “Are you sure? The dizziness. And I’ve been so tired lately. Nauseous, too.” “Your dizziness was caused by the rapid drop in blood pressure, as I—” “Exactly,” I say. “But why’s my blood pressure off? Please. If something’s wrong, just tell me and get it over with.” “Slow down. All the symptoms you’ve reported are perfectly normal.”

I shake my head. “No. No, they’re not. Believe me, Dr. Cray, I know how I usually feel, and this isn’t right. I’m not someone who falls asleep in front of the television before nine o’clock, much less just after noon. And dizziness? That’s just weird. Trust me, this isn’t normal. I’ve never felt like this before.” “I imagine that’s because you haven’t been pregnant before.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Congratulations, Mrs. Stark. You’re going to have a baby.” 5 You’re going to have a baby. Dr. Cray’s words fill my head, random sounds that I can’t quite process and that leave me shaky and confused. I reach for the arm of the couch and hold on, trying to steady myself. “A baby?” The word feels thick on my tongue. Heavy and unfamiliar. “But that can’t be right. I can’t be pregnant. I’m on the pill.” I’ve been on birth control since I was fourteen and got slammed with debilitating cramps. “I’m sure you know that not every form of birth control is one hundred percent effective. You’re walking proof of that now, Mrs. Stark, because I assure you that pill or not, you are definitely pregnant.” “How far along am I?” “Nine, maybe ten weeks based on the level of HCG in your blood.” “HG—what?” “A hormone. After an ultrasound, your OB can give you a better idea of how far along you are. Since you gave permission, I spoke with your family doctor, and he’s set you up with an obstetricsappointment next Monday.” I blink and nod, trying to process that information. I’m pretty sure that’s not the way it usually works, and I can only assume that Justin’s clout is behind this elevated level of medical service. “Um. Okay. Who—” “His nurse is going to email you all the information. In the meantime . . .” He continues to talk, but it’s all just noise. Pregnant? How can I be pregnant? I try to think back to my last period, but the truth is, I’ve never paid much attention. I’ve always just dealt with it when it showed up. Now I wish I’d tracked the days religiously. Pregnant. That word rattles around in my head some more. I’m really going to have a baby? How can that be? I can’t be a mother. I mean, I don’t have the slightest clue how to be a mother. “Mrs. Stark?” Dr. Cray’s voice breaks through the chatter in my head. “I understand this is a surprise. Do you have any more questions for me?” “I—” I lick my suddenly dry lips. “No. No, thank you.” We end the call, and I toss my phone on the couch, then just stand there staring at the cushion as I take deep breaths and try to wrap my head around this unwieldy new reality. “Selena.” Justin’s voice is soft, barely audible, but it’s strong, and I cling to that as I lift my head and turn to face him. He’s standing in the doorway between the living area and the hall to the suite’s three bedrooms. There’s no expression on his face at all, and I have no idea how long he’s been there, or how much he heard. “What’s going on? Was that the clinic?” He takes a step toward me, and I see the worry break through the mask of control. “Are you okay?” Am I? I honestly don’t know. But all I say is, “I’m pregnant.” For a moment, he remains completely still, his eyes unreadable. Then a wild joy colors his face as he takes a step toward me. “A baby,” he says, his voice filled with awe and wonder. Another step, then another, until he is right in front of me. I expect him to pull me into a hug. To kiss my face, my mouth. To hold me so tightly in his embrace that there’s no room for fear or doubt. But he does none of that. Instead, he drops to his knees in front of me and presses a kiss to my belly. His shoulders rise and fall as he draws in deep breaths, obviously trying to control himself. For a moment, he simply clings to me. Then he tilts his head back to look at me. “A baby? Really?” His voice is so thick with emotion that it chips away at the numbness that has overwhelmed me. “We’re seriously having a baby?” I manipulate my lips up into a smile. “Looks that way.” I congratulate myself on sounding normal, because the truth is that I don’t feel normal at all. Instead, I’m nervous and stressed and twitchy, and I hate it. Because I should be basking. I should be lost in Justin’s arms, lost in this once-in-a-lifetime moment. Instead, I’m numb. Instead, I’m terrified. “Selena?” “It’s okay.” Hot tears pool in my eyes. “Really, I’m—” That’s as much as I get out before the sob escapes and fat tears trail down my cheeks. I’m not even tethered to the earth right now. I’m just a wash of jumbled emotions, twisting so fast I can’t even process them. Shock. Joy. Fear. Excitement. Surprise. Terror. Happiness. All battering against me, leaving me overwhelmed and numb and not at all certain that this can really be happening. “Sweetheart. Oh, Selena, sweetheart.” Justin is on his feet in an instant, and he pulls me close and strokes my hair. “Hey, hey, talk to me.” I want to—dear God, I want to—but my words are trapped behind a curtain of tears. I gasp, trying to relax as Justin rubs my back, making soothing noises. “I—I’m sorry,” I manage. “It’s just—I don’t know. Hormones, maybe. I’m a mess.” “Sweetheart.” The word is cut short by his kiss. So soft and gentle, I think I might melt. And when he finally pulls back, his expression is so tender it almost brings me to tears all over again. He takes a seat on the couch, then settles me on his lap. I snuggle close, craving his strength and the safety of his arms. I want him to hold me tight. I want him to strip me naked. To touch and to tease. I want him to make love to me. More than anything, I want to bury the quagmire of thoughts and fears dancing in my head under a blanket of passion. “I love you,” he says, and only when he uses the pad of his thumb to wipe away a tear do I realize that I’ve started crying again. “I’m okay,” I say, sniffling. “Damn hormones.” I’m still wearing the skirt I’d put on this morning, and he strokes his fingertips lightly over my bare leg, then brushes his lips over my shoulder. I shiver, craving a much more intimate touch and the oblivion that I know surrendering will bring. Except I don’t really want oblivion. I don’t want to hide. Not from Justin—never from Justin. And yet there is no denying that I’m doing exactly that. I’m closing off. Curling in on myself. It’s not a celebration I want, but escape, and I hate that my traitorous emotions are destroying what should be a moment of romance and joy. I swallow, then push off his lap. “Bathroom,” I say, then rush across the suite to the master bath. I close the door, sit on the edge of the Olympic-size tub, and just breathe. A moment later, Justin comes in. I lift my head, blinking as I look at him through tear-filled eyes. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

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