#man i sure did have a lot of sun haven art that i forgot to post to tumblr LMAO

[tiredender]

donovan’s also a doggo, you know?

[padfootagain]

Girl Crush (XVII)

Chapter 17 : Before The Water Lilies

Here we go again for a new chapter!!! We stay in the very cute Christmas spirit in London for these two idiots pinning for each other like crazy... Warning for extreme fluffiness, side effects might include a lot of 'awwww' and some hearts melting, you've been warned!!!

I hope you like this chapter, tell me what you thought about it!

Word Count: 2603

Trafalgar Square exceeded your expectations.

There was someone dressed as Pikachu dancing to Staying Alive in front of the majestic National Gallery, people hurried to avoid the sharp cold moving around the tall column and the fountain. Many tourists took pictures in front of the black statues of lions. A little crowd had gathered around a man playing guitar. Traffic was loud and dense, red buses and dark cabs and random cars driving around the square and passing under the Admiralty Arch. A woman was drawing mountains on the pavement with chalks.

Your eyes glimmered with joy and awe and excitement, and Harry was grinning from ear to ear at the sight.

You were going to the National Gallery that morning, and you couldn't wait.

The sky was grey and seemed low above your heads, sign of imminent snow or rain. But a moody weather was far from enough to stop you from exploring the city.

"Are you ready?" Harry asked, guiding you across the square and towards the large museum.

You nodded, clapping your hands together in excitement, jumping a couple of times instead of walking, making him laugh.

"They have some of Monet's water lilies, you know?"

"I know. I've been there before."

"And some De Vinci…"

"They do."

"And Van Gogh!"

"Indeed."

"And Turner, and Cézanne!"

"Are we attempting to name all of the painters that have their paintings exposed in there or…?"

You swatted his arm playfully, rolling your eyes.

"Sorry, I'm just rambling," you mumbled, but he nudged you, making you look up at him.

"I was just teasing you. I like it when you ramble."

"You like it?"

"Yeah, it's cute."

"Cute?"

He shrugged, suddenly realizing the meaning of the words he was speaking out loud, and he thanked the cold for giving him a perfect excuse for his flushed cheeks.

"I mean… yeah…" he stuttered. "Come on, hurry up! I'm freezing out here, and I need a wee!"

You laughed at him, but let him escape for this time around, and hurried with him to seek shelter from the winter wind that seemed to be cutting through your cheekbones.

The entrance was set in a more modern hall that the famous columns overhanging the square, with a wall made of glass and a large boutique to buy souvenirs. You studied the map of the museum while waiting for Harry as he went to the bathroom, and when he came back, you had a plan for the visit, to which Harry didn't complain. As long as it kept this grin on your face, he was up for anything.

The halls themselves were as majestic as you could have imagined, large stairs of stone and pillars and high ceilings and cracking wooden floors. You made your way through the halls, travelling through time from De Vinci's and Michelangelo's sketches to the grave figures pictured on Flemish paintings to the stormy oceans painted by Turner and the weird shapes of Picasso's works.

Every hall offered surprises, little gems that you liked more than the rest. You walked with Harry never leaving your side, whispering to each other either to make stupid jokes and shushed giggles, or to comment on the paintings you admired.

You walked around and spend time revisiting your favourite paintings, and you settled on a bench in front of your absolute favourite: Monet's water lilies.

Harry was resting his head on your shoulder while you both stared at the paintings, studying the touches of paint and movements of the brush that seemed to have scared the colours across the canvas. People passed around you, sometimes blocking the view, but you didn't care. There was something peaceful in sitting in the art gallery, surrounded by these paintings that had taken so many hours to make, for sure; in the rhythm of the crowd moving all around you and the shushed voices speaking in many languages, most of them that you couldn’t understand and sometimes not even recognize. Life felt slower in there. People's movements were not rushed, they took only little steps to move through the room, stopping before each painting, taking pictures of their favourites.

And Monet's painting in itself was soothing as well. Green and blue and touches of white and pink and purple to paint the bridge crossing the little river covered with waterlilies, their tiny white shapes lost in their large leaves. It felt like you were there, almost. It felt peaceful, tender. A little haven in your busy and fast life. Crazy how the painting of a place you had never visited could echo through your chest, make your heart slow down, shush your thoughts, make your limb a little numb and your lips curve into a smile as you studied its beauty.

And there was also the fact that Harry was by your side. You had taken off some of your warm clothes and opened your coats. He held both your scarves in his hands, resting on his laps. His brown curls tickled your neck, his head heavy on your shoulder, the pressure reassuring, a welcomed weight to carry as if it had felt empty without it, as if his head was meant to rest there, fitting perfectly into the shape of your shoulder and neck. Your knee rested lightly against his bruised one, after the fall of the previous night while ice skating. Your two arms were pressed together, and you had to admit that you were eager for the contact, welcoming every new inch of his body touching yours. It felt reassuring, natural. Almost meant to be. You felt safe with him so close to you.

"Did you know that when Monet grew older, he couldn't see well anymore," you let out in a whisper. "He was sick, and he couldn't see clearly shapes and all the shades of blue and green."

"Really?" he asked, lifting his head just a little to tell you he was listening, but not enough to disconnect your two bodies in any way.

"Yeah. I don't remember the name of the disease but… he spent years and years and years going back to that same spot to paint this bridge. And as his vision deteriorated and yet he kept on painting, the shapes became less and less clear in his paintings, and all the shades of blue and green he painted red or purple instead."

"I didn't know that. It must be terrible though… You've spent your whole life painting, and then you get sick, and your vision falters. And you can't do the only thing you're good at anymore. What can you do then, if you can't do the only thing you have talent for?"

His voice grew quieter as he went on, and you wondered if he was still talking about Monet when he was done.

You shrugged.

"You find other things to live for. You find another purpose. You still have everything else: your family, your friends, the people who love you, other hobbies and places you've never explored to go to. You still have sunrises upon frozen rooftops and strawberry ice creams in June and ducks to feed at the park. So I guess… even if it's hard, you just keep on going, only, you bend your own path to fit your new life instead."

He slowly nodded, and the worry that had made him frown seemed to have melted and turned into a soft smile.

And perhaps it was because he was so relaxed looking at these paintings, or perhaps it was because all he could smell was your perfume to a point where he forgot any other scent he had ever breathed in, or maybe it was because of how his head rose and fell just the tiniest bit every time you breathed, or maybe it was because of how close the two of you were in general and he was too tired to stop it from blurring his mind… he wasn't sure why, but before he could think them, he had uttered words he might have wanted to keep for himself. Sometimes, the most earnest words were the hardest to keep quiet though.

"I hope you'll still be there when I'm old and can't sing anymore."

You rested your cheek on the top of his head, slowly nodding.

"I'll always be here, Harry. Don't you know that by now?"

He smiled, just like you did.

"You know what? I think I do."

You were sitting on a bench watching ducks paddle off down the pond.

It was cold, and the clouds were still white above your heads, and the more time passed, the more you were certain that they were about to break.

Saint James's Park was a cute little park. With trees and patches of grass and ponds and ducks, even though at this time of the year most trees had lost their foliage, and most flowers were still unborn. The grass wore white glitter made by the frost under the shade of bushes and trees, hidden places that the sun couldn't reach to make the ice melt. You watched a few sparrows flying around while you rubbed your bare hands together, punishment for forgetting your gloves at Harry's. And you felt sorry for the little birds, they must have been so cold without shelter…

"If I were a bird, I think I would like to be a swallow," you blurted out, making Harry turn his attention to you again instead of the ducks in the brownish water.

"Hmm?"

He had taken off his beanie, and the tip of his ears were made crimson by the biting cold. The tip of his nose had the same shade too, and you found him absolutely adorable this way.

"I mean, it's nice!" you went on in a dreamy tone. "You leave for the South when it becomes too cold around here, and then you come back when it's warm and sunny again. Plus, your return means that spring is coming, you carry lovely meanings in your flight."

Harry's lips curved in a tender smile, and he slowly nodded.

"You're right, it's nice."

"What bird would you like to be?"

"I don't want to be a bird," he shook his head, a playful glint alit in his eyes. "I'd rather be a fish."

"A fish?"

"You have the entire ocean as a playground, so many adventures ahead. Wouldn’t that be nice?"

You laughed, but nodded anyway.

"It would be nice indeed."

"So you can be a swallow, and I'll be a fish."

"What kind of fish?"

He shrugged.

"The kind that lives near swallows."

You couldn't refrain a barely noticeable gasp, before smiling at him in the softest of ways.

"Well then, let's do that for our next lives then. Harry the fish and Y/N the swallow."

"Sounds good to me."

Harry noticed how your kept on rubbing your palms together and moving your fingers, blowing puffs of air against them to warm your skin. He remembered then that you had forgotten your gloves at his place that morning.

So he took his own pair off, and took your hands one by one, putting his large gloves on you.

They were so warm after he had worn them for some time, it was reassuring, and your painful skin almost instantly felt like it was burning instead of freezing.

"You're gonna be cold," you protested, although you didn't stop him from taking your other hand in his, his long fingers oozing warmth through your skin. He wasn't wearing any of his rings today and his skin was gentle and soft against yours, just like his movements.

"We can share. For now, you're the one who's freezing. Better warm your hands up before your fingers start falling off."

"Ha ha ha! Very funny!" you crinkled your nose and rolled your eyes, making him laugh.

Harry was about to tease you some more when he was interrupted by the sensation of something tiny yet very cold touching the bridge of his nose. He squinted quite ungracefully, trying to see what had touched him, before rising his bare fingers to his face. His skin was a little wet.

But then he spotted a white snowflake caught on your scarf, just as your eyes grew wider as you realized what was happening.

"Harry! It's snowing!" you gasped, a grin splitting your cheeks and digging cute creases at the corner of your eyes.

You looked up at the sky with eyes glimmering with excitement while Harry looked at you instead. You were so happy and beautiful…

It was starting to snow harder and harder with each second ticking by, and Harry mindlessly reached for his phone. He barely thought about what he was doing as he captured your picture in this moment: you were laughing, your arms and hands extended before you to catch the snowflakes. You examined the crystals with a curiosity and joy that could have belonged to a child. And it made his heart feel warm and big and growing even more as if it were filled with sunshine and couldn't keep the light in…

As he checked the picture again, he reckoned that he had found his new lockscreen.

You giggled in the most adorable way as a couple of snowflakes made their way between your scarf and your collar, making you shiver as they landed at the base of your neck.

"Ha! It's cold!" you squealed between your giggles, making Harry burst out in laughter.

"Do you think it'll snow enough to cover the ground?" you asked him, but your friend could only shrug.

"I don't know. It wasn't even supposed to snow today."

"Well, they got it wrong."

"It's nice that they were wrong on that one though, don't you think?"

You nodded.

"Yeah, it's nice."

Harry grew quiet again, grinning and turning his face to the sky to feel the frozen droplets against his skin, closing his eyes and reaching to hold the sleeve of your warm coat, as if to make sure that you would stay close even if he wasn't looking. As if he were afraid you weren't truly here, and that if he let his eyelids fall, you would disappear in thin air or be carried away with the snowflakes. But you had no intention to go anywhere.

You watched him as he threw his head back, face towards the sky, enjoying the stinging cold of the snowflakes delicately fall onto his cheeks. His hair was already stained with snow, white dots caught in the mess of his brown curls, and a few of the ice crystals had been caught on his eyelashes as well. He didn't seem to mind though. He was smiling, beaming even. Your heart seemed to be growing in size, and your whole body felt relaxed and warm. A smile formed on your lips, tender and gentle, and there was no way for you to refrain it. You wished you could run your fingers through his hair and keep them there just like these snowflakes hanging at his curls.

You noticed every detail of his face, every crack at the corner of his eyes that came with smiling, how his dimples grew deeper, every tiny mark on his skin, and every barely noticeable freckle, and the tiny crack on his lips caused by the cold…

It was overwhelming, sometimes, the situation you were in.

And you wondered then if you would ever feel that way with Gareth too, because deep down you knew that one day, you would have to. Perhaps it was time to try harder to do so…

*******************************************

Tag list :   @ponycake27​ @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet@notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky@snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity@i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi@jigsawlover10 @emyyjemyy​ @addictedtofictionalcharacters​​ @staringmoony​@madamrogers​​​​​ @cronias13​​​​​ @stylesfics-xx​​​​​ @mellamolayla​​ @mariaenchanted​

[theolddarkmachine]

Gather All Our Ghosts- Ch. 3

“We don’t welcome strangers here,” he growled through gritted teeth as he looked down the bridge of his nose. Catching the sharp line of his stare, Shiro held it within the pliable metallic of his own, careful to time his breathing just to make sure he kept it up. Moments passed as they held the contact, Keith challenging Shiro to say something.

To say anything.

And Shiro just trying to memorize the exact way the sun lit the strong curves of his face.

A sharp crack echoed through the cavity of his chest as the mark hidden by his clothing flared with a near searing pain.

“But we aren’t strangers, are we?” Shiro managed around his surprised gasp, catching Keith’s eyes going wide before he looked away. Carefully, he rubbed his fingers against the floral mark and the phantom sting that was already gone. “Don’t I know you?”

For @sheithreversebang

Partners: @dyedgreyillusion and @dudettemal

Part 3 of 10

AO3 (Artwork Included!)

Link to Art 

Tags: Inugami, Kitsune, Tengu oh my; Magic and Curses; Slow Burn; Mild Action and Gore

A/N: I highly suggest you read this chapter on AO3 because then you can see that amazing artwork! and cry with me about it omg the colors are to die for yall It will be linked here when Kai posts it, but until then, give her a follow so you don’t miss it when she posts it!

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Keith.

His name was Keith, and something deep within Shiro’s chest cracked with the sound of his name rolling off of the larger man’s tongue when he finally answered the one question he had. It was the only information he seemed willing to share about the smaller kitsune, but it was enough.

Because now Shiro knew his name.

Keith.

“Hey, big guy, aren’t you going to defend our honor or something?” Lance’s voice was loud as it snapped him back to the meeting room that he, his companions, and the apparent Marmora leader now sat in. The tengu shot a cutting glance towards Kolivan as he squinted in what Shiro could only guess was meant to be intimidation.

As it turned out, Hunk and Lance had not been met with the same hospitality that he had as they both found themselves thrown into a cell tucked beneath the main temple. That very fact seemed to have ruffled both of their feathers as they sat side-by-side waiting for Shiro to say something to the kitsune before them.

Though, as far as he could tell, their treatment couldn’t quite be classified as terrible either.

“We were trespassing, Lance,” was all he said as he nodded toward Kolivan to continue as the tengu pushed himself further down in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. Shiro didn’t miss the way Hunk gently pat him on the shoulder in a show of silent apology.

“We are sorry for the treatment, young tengu,” Kolivan said as he turned his yellow stare towards Lance. “The Blades have many enemies, and we cannot take the presence of strangers lightly on our land. You must understand that much?”

Lance’s mouth opened around a retort as Hunk cut him off with a quick squeeze of his shoulder as he leant forward.

“We understand,” he said before cutting his dark eyes towards his friend and smiling. “It isn’t the first time we’ve spent a night in a cell. Honestly, we’ve had worse.”

Hunk’s chuckle was light and eased the tension in the room as a collective sigh of relief deflated all members seated around the table. Shiro sent a silent thanks up to the heavens and all the gods that kept the situation from devolving into chaos.

They had come too far to fail now.

“Tell me, Shiro,” Kolivan started as he turned his attention back to him and folded his hands on top of the table before him. “What has brought you and your companions to our temple.”

Straightening his back, Shiro mirrored Kolivan’s posture, ignoring the way his eyes pulled down the the black skin pulled across the top of his hand.

“We’ve come to ask for your help,” he said lamely, noting the leader’s solemn nod at his words.

There were only ever two reasons anyone sought out the Blades, and if it wasn’t for help, it was for destruction.

“The priestess of the Northern Forest found me without memory and with this curse,” he continued, raising his arm unnecessarily as he drew Kolivan’s full attention back down to his hand. “She did what she could but even she is not powerful enough to push away the darkness of the spell.”

Both tengu sat silently as they watched the kitsune nod slowly once more, his cool gaze never leaving Shiro as he pushed his weight into his forearms.

“And you think we can purify the curse.”

It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes,” Shiro affirmed, shifting himself forward in his seat as he swallowed loudly. “I have nothing to give and I know that Blades keep to their own affairs—”

Raising his hand, Kolivan cut him off swiftly. A single line of foreboding made his shoulders tight as he prepared for the inevitable denial of the clan’s help.

“We will help you,” he said instead, his voice low with authority. Quiet confusion fell like a hush over the room as Shiro, Lance and Hunk exchanged quick glances.

“It will take time though,” he continued with warning. “I have my suspicions of who cursed you, and if they are true, you may already be too late. But we will try to help you, Shiro.”

Shiro’s name was wrapped in something soft, a lot like fondness that was much too familiar for having just met. Ears flicking back in curiosity, the inugami eyed Kolivan as he tilted his head to the side in silent question.

“Just like that?” Lance asked incredulously as his head snapped between his companions and the kitsune, eyes wide with bewilderment. Dragging his stare away from Kolivan, Shiro shot a warning glare to Lance who only mouthed a defensive what.

It earned them a chuckle as Kolivan pushed his chair back and slowly stood.

“Yes, young tengu. Just like that,” he said as he looked over the trio before offering an unnecessary explanation. “It is the right thing to do.”

Moving away from the table, the kitsune turned his back to his confused guests as he made his way to the door.

“Shiro, you may travel the grounds as you please. I will be showing your friends to their rooms.”

Hesitating slightly, both tengu turned to Shiro as Kolivan looked over his shoulder at the doorway.

“Unless you prefer the cells,” he said, lips turning up in a half grin. The joke warmed his features as Hunk and Lance balked, jumping up from their seats and falling in line behind him like ducklings.

Shiro listened to their steps fade as they followed Kolivan away from the room until they disappeared entirely, leaving him with the silence of solitude as he sighed. Rolling low into his chair, he turned his eyes upward toward the ceiling, tracing his gaze back and forth over the grain of the wood beams that stretched above him.

It all was just too easy.

Not that he had any right to complain. He knew that Hunk and Lance were tired after so many months of travel, and that they deserved to come upon some sort of luck. Yet all his nerves screamed out at him that something was wrong.

The entire time he had spent with Kolivan, he caught the edges of something the leader held within his knowledge that he did not.

It felt almost as if he knew Shiro already.

Shaking the thoughts from his head quickly, Shiro pushed away from the table. He couldn’t dwell on the things he didn’t know. As it was, the Blades would help them if they could.

If it wasn’t already too late.

All he had to do was wait for that verdict. Sighing again he made his way back to the hallway, following the hall he’d been in earlier until he reached the exit out into the courtyard.

Rolling his neck, he felt the sharp pops of his bones realigning as he rubbed a palm against his nape. The fresh air filled his lungs and cleared his head a bit as he took in the area around him.

Where they were had been the sleeping quarters for the clan, with the main temple off in the distance, and both were surrounded by a thick forest.

Admiring them closely, he began to follow the path that skirted the line of the woods and led away from the secondary house.

There was something calming about the trees that stood guard around the temple, protecting it from the outside world with its strong bark and wide reaching limbs. It brought him a sense of ease and belonging as he continued to follow the slightly worn path, tracking his gaze across the various tree types that stood around him. Shiro and his companions had traveled across the land and seen many forests, but none brought him the same sense of belonging as this one did.

Somehow, it felt like home, which was ridiculous given Shiro didn’t remember enough about a home to feel like he even had one.

But it felt that way all the same.

He painted the tree line with the molten silver of his stare as he tried to etch each strong limb into the impression of his memory.

Kolivan said that the Blades would help him, but he never agreed to let them stay for long, and he wanted to make sure he never forgot the sense of ease that the temple seemed to pull from deep within his bones. It was as if he’d finally found what he had been looking for, trapped within the shadows of the trees.

“You don’t want to go in there alone,” a voice called out, snapping his concentration as he pulled his attention back from the forest. He had strayed quite far from the smaller home that served as the clan’s sleeping quarters and out towards the larger temple meant for prayer and purifications. It stood tall and proud atop a rising hill that sat it overlooking the forest. With its exterior set in contrasting reds and dark wood, it was beautiful and powerful, a true symbol of a safe haven.

And before that, standing like a silent guardian just before the temple’s steps, was a tall, crimson torii gate.

And on top of it, was Keith.

With his knee pulled up into his chest and arms wrapped around his shin, the kitsune rested his chin atop his bent leg as he stared down at him. The earlier heat from his stare had faded into something a bit more tepid, more weary, as he swathed the long line of Shiro’s body in its warmth.

“Is that something you know from experience?” He asked, biting down on the hard syllable of Keith’s name. Everything within him screamed out to the kitsune, wanting to hear his name from the man himself.

The pause from its absence left the question almost open ended as he waited for Keith’s reply.

“You could say something like that,” he finally replied, a barely there grin flicked the corner of his mouth upward. It was a momentary thing, lost almost as quickly as it appeared, but Shiro held onto it as he just took him in.

Find me, he had said.

Now he had, but he still felt impossibly far away.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Keith continued, filling each space between his words with a double meaning that eluded Shiro.

It sounded almost like the sadness of something lost.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Shiro breathed before he could stop the question. Keith’s eyes hardened at it as he pushed himself upward from his seated position, keeping his hands fisted at his sides in defiance as he stood.

“We don’t welcome strangers here,” he growled through gritted teeth as he looked down the bridge of his nose. Catching the sharp line of his stare, Shiro held it within the pliable metallic of his own, careful to time his breathing just to make sure he kept it up. Moments passed as they held the contact, Keith challenging Shiro to say something.

To say anything.

And Shiro just trying to memorize the exact way the sun lit the strong curves of his face.

A sharp crack echoed through the cavity of his chest as the mark hidden by his clothing flared with a near searing pain.

“But we aren’t strangers, are we?” Shiro managed around his surprised gasp, catching Keith’s eyes going wide before he looked away. Carefully, he rubbed his fingers against the floral mark and the phantom sting that was already gone. “Don’t I know you?”

Amethyst flared as Keith’s fists tightened further at his sides as he sized Shiro up. Mouth opening around silent words, the kitsune’s brows furrowed with indecision before they finally smoothed out with his resolution. Squaring his shoulders, he swallowed what he was going to say.

“No, you don’t,” he said instead, his voice hard as he turned away, not bothering to turn back towards him as he continued to speak. “You must have me confused with someone else.”

A spasm rocked over Shiro’s sternum as he took an involuntary step forward, raising his arm as if he could grab Keith and stop him.

“Wait!” He yelled, the soft ache of fear cracking the word as Keith threw a questioning look over his shoulder. “I want to know you then.”

Color brushed itself over the high of Keith’s cheek, turning it a soft shade of pink as he went rigid much like he had earlier when Shiro had made himself known. Turning slowly, he openly stared down at him with curiosity and a strange light that brightened his gaze.

The pause was insignificant in its length. Nothing more than the space of a breath but it was enough. Shiro took another step forward as he dropped his hand back to his side.

“What’s your name?”

Deja vu turned his stomach as he stared up at the kitsune, watching closely as something a lot like pain twitched at the edges of his expression. The blush across his cheeks darkened further as he looked off to the side.

“I’m Keith.”

His answer was low and soft, but Shiro heard it all the same. Electricity zinged through his veins as his lips turned upward into a bright smile that reflected the light of the sun above.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Keith.” Keith’s eyes flicked back towards him as he raised his unmarked hand up to his chest.

“I’m Shiro.”

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[hobbylobby23]

Source: Kingdom Gravity Ministries

DREAM IN LIFE There’s a young and innocent girl who is full of dreams and passion in life. She didn’t felt tired in anything she does especially if things she did make her happy. She express herself in hobbies, on arts to be specific. Every time she handed paint brush made her smile wide. She also inspired other people who wanted to learn the things she knew by just telling “You can do it, I am once a beginner, I learn everything from other people too so all you have to do is believe in yourself first and draw from heart”. She was once a dreamer; the beautiful soul of art keeping her safe, she believes that her ability, her passion gave light to the people. One day there’s an announcement regarding the arts competition and she is the one who will represent their section. She is very determined to join; she even prepared the materials early just in case she forgot something on the day of competition. Every competition or event she joins is like a special day for her, because that would be the only time she showcases her talent and she feels valuable every time she do it. Her friends and classmates are the only person who believes on her that’s why she is very lucky to have them around. She loves to stay at school every single day like it’s her own home. One day when the sun shines so bright and while walking on the street she saw a man sitting beside the wall of a store holding a spray of paints and a few cardboards. From a far she stopped for a while and looks the man steadily. Little by little small curves draw on her face and widen as she saw a lot of paintings on the floor. She found herself walking towards the man, upon arriving where the man station, her jaw dropped as she stare the artworks, it is mesmerizing to see and what made her amazed is that the man has only one hand, his right foot used as holder of the card while her right hand is for drawing and painting, despite of the disability of a man have she still able to pursue his passion and not afraid to show to other people about what he can do. She ask a man what made him continue to do things he love, the man answered that it is his only way to express her thoughts because some people are afraid to talk to him because he looks like a beggar or a homeless person but because of his artworks and talent people like her come and talk to him without any hesitations or having a second thoughts. Before deciding to go to school she left a paint brush and note, the man stared for a seconds and smile to her. Days passed, it is now the competition, any minute it will now start, and that’s why she prepared the art materials needed. While waiting for the time of event, her minds bring him to her haven and couple of minutes she remember the man on the street and thought how lucky she is to have friends and good people around her that supports her except her family. After the competition she decided to go there again. And as expected she did it again, she won the competition, hearing the congratulatory greetings, the applaud of people makes her wanted to cry thinking that her family especially her parents is there and can do it also and witness how happy she is. After the awarding ceremony and the usual thing like taking picture, she went to the man on the street. She found him and sits beside the man and tells how the competition happened. Her eyes are sparkling while telling how it goes; the man is also paying attention on her story, she even ask if he experience joining in any competition the man looked away and remain silent like composing his self and thinking of sharing his story. She remains silent waiting for a man to respond. “I’m well known artist before, but now I’m like this as if no one knew me.” She was froze for a minute trying to absorb what he says. She composed herself once again and asked, so you’re not really alone?, man answered yes and there he tell his story, he is like her, he likes to showcase his talent before and joining many contest and win, he was happy and contented that time but there’s one situation that change his whole life,

there are people who wanted nothing but worst for him, his has a friend who support him all throughout his career they are happy for each other’s success, they both love to do arts and all that’s why they are good together but his friend became his enemy, he is more famous than his friend and because of jealousy his friend forget their friendship and ask him for a bet and the life they have is the price. He was confused that time and asking where all those things come from, why he thinks of ending their friendship like that, he refused and turn his back first to the man he thought his friend. He continues his life like nothing happened but he was really sure that everything is different now. His friend published an article that ruins his life, because of that issue no one are wanted to have a commission art with him, he tried his best to stand again but his friend did everything too not him to get back on track, until he gave up, he let his friend win. Her mother died because of cancer he has no money to bring his mother to the hospital, his father leave them when he was a child that’s why all he have is his mother but it’s gone and he can’t do anything from it. She faced the man and saw water falls down on his cheeks. It’s indeed a painful life. She thanked the man for telling his story and it’s pass time before the dinner and she needs to get back home early she bid her goodbye and tell that she will come back tomorrow, the man nodded as an answer, before she left the man told her something that makes her stop for a while. After that, she smiled and makes her way home. The birds chirping around and she is on the kitchen preparing her breakfast, she was anxious about something and it is what the man told her yesterday. Minutes had passed she heard her parents yelling at each other’s face, they arguing about her life, her passion in arts to be specific, her mother doesn’t want her to pursue it, because she believes there’s no money in art, they will be wasting another money again if they let her continue her passion and dreams to be an artist. She paved her way to school, she didn’t talk to someone, there’s an announcement of upcoming competition about arts but for the first time in her life, she doesn’t want to join, she found no reason to join at all. Days passed her friends didn’t stop on encouraging her to join but still her answer is the same. She stopped also in visiting the man on the street, after school she goes straight home. Every time she stepped on the floor of their house, her mother always warn he not to hold any single paint brush or even a pencil. Her house is like a prison to her with no door to escape. Her father as the only hope for her stop talking her after the argument happened days before, and she felt alone her entire life. Her mother monitored all her doings in and out of the school. She lose hope for herself, she lose interest in doing things she likes before. Her mother wants her to become a doctor like her, and not to be an artist like his father. She can’t do anything but to accept the fact that she will no longer holding a paint brush on her hand, not anymore. Many are asking why she stopped joining in any competition like what she always did before. She answered no one of them, she remain silent until she’s going to college and pursue medicine that one that he mother wants for her. She stops making any artwork and put all her attention to the things that mother told her to. She felt like walking on a dark room finding one single light or color that will connects to her passion before but find no one but the high wall that separate her to it and a chain that her mother put to her and every time she tried to break it only hurts it. She kept on crying and crying but they are blind to their actions. And there she stops, ‘cause she is tired of proving that she is brave to endure it all, and the innocent and once a dreamer young girl gave up. And let her mother win the game. 3 years had passed she can still smell the fresh paint of yesterday that she used to be. She is known for

passionate in joining and competing in any art activity. She’s doing good and improving in sketching, realism drawing and painting. She is also good in public speaking and talking to other people for the betterment of a specific matter. She remember how she always raised her hands in terms of speaking in front of many people, their applaud, their smiles, nod, and the way how their eyes are sparkling just hearing her talking are completing her as a person who loves to do things like that, it motivates her, and all of that are her valid basis that she’s once doing good on that matters. But what happen now? Every time there’s a chance to tell her life story she didn’t keep the part of herself that she used to be like that, because that is the only thing she can do for now. And she doesn’t want to take that opportunity to herself, the opportunity to know her story, telling her story to other people. And now what was happen to the girl who’s once a dreamer, she is gone. She is lost in the dark and found no light or even color. She tried everything to get back on track but the road is kept on switching like no ending. She tried reaching for help but found her only. Every time she saw people who are doing well on the things she was before make her smile, because she remembers her young self who was once a beginner and dreamer. Now, she can’t back to her old self but she is not hopeless, she knows that days will come and she will find herself and make her younger self proud again. She still can remember what a man sitting on the street, a once well-known artist of his time told him “People are afraid to see you succeeding on your life, especially if you enjoys what you are doing, don’t let them eats you, always choose your passion and your desire first” The man was right but she let other people control her and win. She blames herself and regrets on what she have done. But it happens only if she can go back the time she used to be a lively young girl. She is now a doctor and until now she never hold any art materials like the day her mother told her not to hold any single paint brush like she forgot the smell of paint and the touch of brush on her hands. The advice she could give to people who are having an art block? Take all the time they need, don’t rush things, because everything will come to its place. Don’t lose hope; their time will come, because they have their own timeline. Just view things differently and learn from the things they have now.

#dreamoflife #hobby #JM

[cloakedmonk]

What has Theater taught me? Ego indulgence and humility. Confidence and neurosis. Teamwork and competition. Empathy and retreat. Deception and honesty. The story of humanity in a microcosm. My story.

When I was a little kid, I learned that I could entertain and amuse my parents and my older sisters and get positive attention. As the youngest of four daughters, I was eager to exercise this talent to my advantage whenever my ego felt bereft. This helped me compensate for having fewer general skills and powers than my seniors. I couldn’t win at games or read or figure or run better than the rest, but I could sing and mime and look cute. I also was the only blonde, which helped.

When I was in second grade, I was very good at reading aloud “with expression”. I remember (and still have a written report about) my behavior when the class did a Reader’s Theater story about a snake. I told the teacher that I had a toy snake the class could use…provided that I got to read the lead role. Mrs. Richie declined my offer.

When I was in third grade, Miss White selected me to play Captain Hook in the musical Peter Pan. I was stunned. “I’m not a boy!” I protested. She told me privately that she thought I’d do a better job than any of the boys in the class. She could tell that I was a ham and would take risks to win attention and applause. And I did. In the final week of rehearsal, she gave me a monologue, a poem in rhyme that she would put into a particular scene if I could memorize it. I worked on it very hard. In the final performance, though, I skipped it altogether because I forgot where it was supposed to be inserted. To this day, I can rattle it off by heart. “Methinks I hear a spark, a gleam, a glimmer of a plan….”

The pirate theme lives on in my legacy.

When I was in seventh grade, I was double-cast as the lead in our pre-Bicentennial musical. I was the Spirit of ’75 for two performances (why the Music teacher and the Home Ec teacher chose this theme a year early is anyone’s guess). So was Kevin Bry. Yes, I played a man. Again. I vividly remember being in performance and feeling sort of bored with the dialogue the teachers had written to link together the songs the school chorus had rehearsed. So I decided to overact. “The sun still rises in the East….doesn’t it????!!” The audience roared. I think they were pretty bored, too.

When I was in High School, I took real Drama classes. I learned to dance, and I gained some confidence singing solos in the Concert Choir and the Jazz Choir. I became a lot more aware of my own vulnerability, too. I will never forget the Talent Show in my Junior year. I was in a leotard and character shoes, posed and ready to dance when the curtain went up. I was listening for our taped music to begin. And I heard nothing…until the audience started to howl and whistle. Suddenly, I felt naked and taunted. Then the music started, and I couldn’t concentrate on it. I was humiliated. My father and mother and boyfriend (who became my husband) were in the audience, hearing those students jeering at me. We all went out for ice cream afterward, and they tried to convince me that the performance wasn’t bad and the audience wasn’t being critical, but I just wanted to block the whole thing out of my memory forever. Obviously, I haven’t.

When I was in college, I was a Music major with Voice Performance as my Senior thesis. I auditioned for a part in a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta as a Junior. I hate auditions. I tend to choke when I know that someone is out there in those dark seats judging me. I am awesome in rehearsal – prepared, alert, willing and tireless. I was working hard, getting better at performance in my Master Classes and feeling more and more that my teachers and colleagues were actually rooting for me. But not at an audition. I was nervous, my mouth was dry, and my voice wavered. I could see my choir teacher in the house, talking with the casting director. I am sure that Prof. Lamkin was telling him that I was a very good soprano despite my weak scale runs in Mabel’s aria. I managed to land a part in the chorus.

That’s me, third lady on the left.

After graduating Phi Beta Kappa with my B.A. in Music, I auditioned for the Los Angeles Master Chorale. Worst audition EVER! Oh well. I found out that I was already pregnant. Got the role of Mother at age 22…and 24…and 26…and 28, and stayed off the stage for years. Meanwhile, my husband performed all over the country with a competitive Barbershop quartet and once at Carnegie Hall with the Robert Shaw Chorale Workshop. My children were on stage quite a bit, too. I was their coach. They were in all the school concerts and plays, took dance and music classes, and I watched and cheered and videotaped my heart out.

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Then some neighbors invited me to help them start a Community Theater. I was tired of being in the background. I stepped up, and brought my oldest daughter with me. The next summer, I brought three of my children, my husband, and my mother-in-law as rehearsal accompanist. The next summer, it was just me, and my husband told me that he wouldn’t be able to solo parent while I was at rehearsal after this. Meanwhile, he was performing with the Chicago Master Singers and rehearsing every week. A few years later, my youngest daughter started taking theater classes with a group called CYT. The next summer, they did a community theater production, and I auditioned again and got cast. My oldest daughter played in the pit band. One of the performances was on my birthday, and the director brought me out on stage for the audience to sing for me during intermission. * shucks, folks! *

Joseph CCT

Joseph CCT

Joseph CCT

Joseph CCT

Carousel Cary CT

Hello Dolly Cary CT

Godspell Cary CT

Beauty & the Beast CCT

I ended up working for CYT and becoming their Operations Supervisor full time. In addition, I taught Voice classes and Musical Theater classes and Show Choir classes to kids aged 8-18 after work. All of my children and my husband participated at some point in the seven years I was employed there. I watched kids grow up in the theater, auditioning three times a year, growing in confidence and artistry, and questioning their identity every time.

“Who am I, anyway? Am I my résumé? That is a picture of a person I don’t know.” A Chorus Line 

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Accessing emotions, improvising with another person’s energy – initiation, response, vulnerability, defense. Mime, mimicry, mannerisms, artifice and accents. Playing in the muck of human behavior. This is Theater. It can be devastating and edifying. You can lose yourself and find yourself or never know the difference.

I wonder if I should regret raising up a bunch of performers and encouraging them in this charade or if I should be proud to have modeled survival in the arena. I don’t know. It’s complex. We’re complex. And maybe that’s the entire lesson.

© 2017, words and photographs, Priscilla Galasso

Theater Lessons What has Theater taught me? Ego indulgence and humility. Confidence and neurosis. Teamwork and competition. Empathy and retreat.