#noticed how it’s juxtaposed with this really really intense white light?

[recallingrealities]

Aligned, Chapter 6 (Zelda x Reader - NSFW)

For Chapter 1, click (here)

Chapter 6:  Of Juniper

(Warning: NSFW)

You could feel the rise and fall of her breath as you steadied yourself in her arms. Suddenly you became all too aware you were blushing profusely. Was this really such an inappropriate reaction, considering all that had happened? You felt yourself beginning to regain, before shifting your weight forward. Moving Zelda, you pressed her, shifting  to lean unexpectedly into your neighboring bookshelf. Beneath her, it aligned with the sill of your office's window. The view overlooked the thicket of forest, and at times the moon seemed to sit so perfectly between the brush and branches, that it’d act as its frame. Perfect and accented in entrancing fullness, it hung more perfectly behind Zelda’s silhouette than ever, haloing her curved form. The other two shelves stood towering beside it, like ancient steeples. The swirling wood lined with charted memories of sermon, entwined whispers of wisdoms forbidden. The case Zelda now leaned against sat just low enough to skirt beneath her rear. She hadn't been expecting you - to be guiding her with quiet, gentle force. It was so different than her own, but far more enticing than she’d imagined. Especially with the contrast of having just watched you unravel beneath her twining touches. She couldn't help but let fear of time distract her eyes to the clock on the wall. She realized the second hand was completely still. ‘Has it broken?’,  It was after a minute she realized, it had not ceased but slowed. Somehow time had inched around you both, not fleeting like its usual pace. Zelda clenched her jaw, so not to bawk - you had only spent a fourth of the allotted time slot in your meeting and with her.

It only took a moment and several subtle movements, for Zelda to feel herself regain to a calmed awe. She didn't understand how it was so, for time to stop. In that she knew you had not enchanted the time, in her keen watching of you. She dared not to say anything aloud. She didn't want this to stop, she didn't want any of this to shift. As much as Zelda wouldn't have cared to admit it out loud, she dreaded the resuming of normalcy to professional time. She gave a soft sigh, before returning her eyes to rest on your face. Her expression was softened with admiration and lust. She could hardly believe you were real, or that she had allowed herself to feel so gorgeously vulnerable between the touch of your fingers and adoring glances. Like a thousand expanding stars, revealed from a prior distance, she was drawn far closer than what could have been witnessed before now, in proximity. You were fashioned a close breath away, between her legs, as your low tender voice sung in her ear,

“That was quite the slight of hand, just then”.

Your eyes gestured to her little stunt at your desk. Zelda then was able to process how you now had  pinned her ever so gently against the window, her body juxtaposed between the gentle firmness of your touch, and the paned antique glass. Her breathing’s pace increased as her silent gaze fell upon you: your soft ringlets, unraveled from the bun she had tangled herself in. Your hips were held directly against hers, firm and direct. You had shimmied your skirt to fall back into place, allowing the fabric to collapse as you moved teasingly against her. Your fingers traveled along the top layer of fabric draping Zelda’s lap, letting your hands wander lower as you traced skirting circlets down the paleness of her thighs. The peaking skin was gorgeous, like that of fresh breath beneath your touch. The intimacy of your movements embodied compassion, as if shaping sigils of loving trust that you both would embody in truth, releasing fear and any thoughts in humanness. This would have been where Zelda would take great action to maintain composure. Stricken, insisting they would need to continue this another time, perhaps when she felt she had orchestrated the moment more - if only for her own mental sanity. However, there had been more than half of the amount of time she had allotted you and there would be no valuable excuse to rush off anywhere, even if only to save face under the guise of schedule. A means of control, she preferred the effects of leaving her lovers to be thinking of how they had unraveled beneath her - not the other way around by any means. She was fine with receiving pleasure, she surely had been aroused by you, wouldn't that have been enough? She thought. She was intimidated how with each passing moment, she was becoming more comfortable beneath your touch. Her chest panged with a newness in feeling herself draw slack in the efforts of controlling composure. From the easing of her tightened muscles, to the state of her posture, you had  noticed her falter only in subtleties. The twist of her lip as her mouth opened ever-slightly, her tightening fingers, and glances at the ashtray  - which you had fixed at your desk for her visits. Of course she would be craving a smoke right about now. You had been more-so surprised she hadn't just begun doing what she wanted, now that the roles were switched. 

“Are you distracted, my High Priestess?” 

You cooed, her spine stiffened beneath your accusation. She was about to retort defensively, scolding you like the meek prey she knew you could become if she so willed it - when you lifted her chin, moving to whisper huskily in her ear. 

“You’ve had me plenty distracted as of lately…”

You hum, not allowing her protest, silencing her with your soft smile and the shifting of your eyes.  Their focus moved alongside one of your trailing hands, across her collarbone, before brushing a lock of her hair softly from temple to cheek. Revealing more of her entrancing face, her stern brow had now relaxed. Her perfect skin, ripened with times of kindness and only a soft crease beside her now comforted stare.

“You always seem to haunt me Zelda…bewitching and winsome in every aspect of essence… “ 

Your quiet voice paused in your throat, adoration had overtaken you quietly with misting eyes as you completely surrendered your will to admire her.

“-especially here in the moonlight. It's as if you owned it.... It was meant for you; to bathe here in your beauty”

Zelda quickly fell silent, not even able to remember the words she willed to combat you with, your honesty quaking the silence that held her. The hand that had placed the curl, now touching softly beside her ear, trailed across her cheekbone, barely touching her skin. You leaned forward sealing your sentiment with caressing lips. Her stiffened muscles eased beneath you. You had pinned her to avoid the loveliness of her hands becoming accessible; yet holding back a sigh, she managed to wriggle them free from behind and beneath her. She was needing, in desperation to affirm you and clasp the nape of your neck. Pulling you towards her with want, with necessity, she felt her own eyes mist with tears, in the safety of them closed. Her soft lips now tenderly kissing yours, you both confess to a moment in honest, amplified surrender.

 Zelda’s other hand moved to cradle your cheek as you held hers with adoring directness. With the silence of the moment, each kiss struck like lightning in an empty field - sudden and illuminating. Of hot crackling white light you took ablaze all at once in astonishing transcendence. 

You had not expected her taut hands to have pulled you closer, against her. For the intimacy of the moment, you had realized splayed romanticism between your actions and words - the blatancy of shared truth in each caress. This was not something you expected Zelda to respond to. You now felt your heart racing with fear and vulnerable excitement. Of course she had just ravished you over your desk, minutes before in gratitude, and lustful ecstasy. You had not taken the time to consider how far off the mark words of such compassion could break that, or even drive her away from you - especially in the intentions of a lust driven fling. Had it in-fact done the opposite, magnetic in resonance?

 In a moment of breathless separation, her eyes caught yours for half of a second, before you were drawn back to her moonlit skin, kissing her neck with thriving heat. Your fingertips that had rested upon her lap, now gripped her thigh, your lips touching every inch with relishing disposition. Zelda let a soft moan erupt from her breast, as her touch clung to your nape. 

‘What on Earth is this woman doing to me..?’ 

Zelda thought, the devotion to your words having swayed a reaction from her she was surprised she had not suppressed. Her subconscious subsided, embracing the gasping thought in ceasing question.  She began to submit, sinking into the growing, wild hunger - the wildfire that was enveloping her from the inside out. 

‘Yes, as complex as that’, she thought. As your right hand moved to unzip the back of her dress. The shoulder of it fell, exposing more of her ivory flesh. You greeted it with doting, warming kisses, which felt as though they blossomed against her. You could practically note the electricity that crackled from the impact of each soft kiss and touch. You had no idea why her skin had felt so cool upon touching yours, the traces of impacting responses like kindling to a flame, in sparking ardor. She was feeling so much. Zelda felt as though her body was more alive than ever, the way this energy burned her with electrifying intensity. She felt as though a universe was erupting inside of her, birthing something prophetic or foretold - and she couldn’t quite identify it. It felt like something beyond lust or even love, perhaps supernatural.

She leaned back, her bare shoulders pressed to the firmness of the glass as you leaned over her, unraveling in kisses like twining thread that bound her. Soon, her dress fell further, revealing her breast, which rose and fell with laboring intensity. She opened her eyes again to gaze upon you. Your hand had cupped one side, your lips finding the other in tender sucks, and supple massaging circlets. You felt your own moan reverberate through you. How unbelievable it felt to be with her this way. Her body, finer than anything you had ever experienced in any pleasure of flesh. Her breathing hitched, and she fought to keep her own moans quiet and breathless. She felt it was becoming nearly impossible to hide her silenced sounds from you. The way your tongue and lips held and played with her pale, pink nipples sent shivers through both of you. As your mouth trailed towards the other, you admired not one freckle less than another. Her body beginning to dew with warming sweat. 

Zelda felt as though the amount of time you were spending adoring her, was making breathing unbearably difficult. Her abdomen contracted in slight convulsions. Though, her forced silence upon herself certainly couldn't have helped. She moved to prop herself up by her arms, shimmying to fling off the bottom of her dress. You moved your hips for just a moment, to allow it to flutter towards the stone floor, not daring to pull your lips  from her form. You felt magnetically sewn, the connection far too strong to break in this moment. Her cheeks flustered scarlet, as your lips made their way slowly down her abdomen, just so in a way as to not miss an inch of her. You counted two freckles, and a small mole on her right side. Every facet of her figure felt so purposefully crafted by the Goddess, divine and as untouched as wilderness. You had clearly hungered for her as much as she found herself aching for you, feeling the heat glow beneath you with each willful pulse, placed in deliberation. She trembled beneath as you grew closer to her mound, her wicked center. You felt as though a holiness spread through you, remembering what you had learned early on in your teachings - that the desires of the flesh were aligned with that of the Goddess. You couldn’t help but shiver in thought that your every action was in alignment - and was that in honor of your Goddess. As you made your way to the line of black lace, your teeth met her panties with teasing speed, now locking eyes with her as you pulled them down the stretching side of her thigh. Your right hand assisted in placement as you inhaled a deep breathe of her stirring scent. Aromatic, you felt as though your longing for more of her could only grow everfold. A deep hungering drive, pulled intending beauty - paralleling the resonance of a cellos strings vibrating against the cellists touch. Quietly removing her panties, your hand swept across the dampness of the fabric. A shiver passed over you before you dropped them atop her skirt. ‘Ruined..’ Zelda thought to herself, her face flushed beyond hiding as another waxing shiver coursed her body, flinging away any shyness that had remained beneath the touch of Y/N. 

“Great Goddess Almighty”

She labored, her fingers barely able to continue touching your neck. You could feel her weakened grasp tremble with arousal before you drew your face towards her shaking thighs. You savored every moment of teasing her with each inductive kiss. Her skin was sweet and supple beneath her, and you felt as though you could kiss it for hours. You of course, would not tease her so. You smiled to yourself knowing what you were doing was far more than enough to tip any woman past her sanity; drawing your lips towards the soft red curls before you. You moved your mouth just to her core, before kissing it directly. Your sweeping tongue kissing her with the same tenderness and intent of your contact before. Zelda then released a relieved whimper, her moan twisting from aching to pleasure as you tasted her grown craving for you. A sigh escaped from your own breast, echoing into her, as your pace quickened to match her beating pulses. You felt her cries slip from her bountifully, her fingertips catching at the crown of your hair, bucking her hips against your synchronistic movements. She felt as if she had headrush, hardly comprehending how you’d known exactly how to touch her. You must have done this before, she rationalized… or perhaps it was the clairvoyance, her analytics were quickly finding themselves unable to function. With each sweep of your tongue, she  blurred, as you moved from inside of her, upward, across her throbbing clit. 

“Y/N…~”

Her voice was melodic and desperate. You felt as if she were praising you, the nails of her free hand desperately attempting to grip the table before finding themselves like the rest of her, clinging desperately to you. You felt as though you were enjoying this far too much. As if you had belonged here between her legs. You were completely content with lapping away at the waves of pleasure that clenched before you. You dared not stop as her thighs tightened, squeezing your temples with voraciousness - a smile embodying your jovial motions. Using your hands to hold her thighs, your thumbs eased in massaging circles as you felt her growing to another orgasm. 

“Y/N, fuck..!” 

She cried out again, unwitholding in the safety of the barrier having been set by her prior magics. You felt your own satisfaction embrace you in radiance, knowing if there had been no spell, the entire academy no doubt would have heard her calls for you. You wondered if even the ever stretching chambers would have engorged her echoed moans. As you thrusted your jaw, undeviating in the motions of your dexterous tongue, you felt her clench around you again, her body beginning to shake violently as she rode out the waves of yet another collection of indistinguishable climaxes. You had no idea how many times she had come before you slowed, drunk off of the pleasure you had given her. As you rose to meet her, you returned her shaking legs together. Your arms drew upwards around her waist, supporting her new distance from the steaming mark she’d left the frosting window. 

“Y/N…”

She found herself hardly able to speak. She felt as though she was a complete wreck, having just survived the embrace of a storm throughout her. You steadied her posture, eyeing her over to make sure she was okay, as her struggling breaths began to regain themselves. You whispered a quick cast before touching your index finger to her lip. A small amount of water slipped into her mouth, allowing her to take gentle gulps as her heaving breath willed it. In a moment of clarity, she was again in awe of you. Your consideration, your kindness. In not only the way you had looked at her but cared for her. In bed, or… bookshelf. It had been astounding to her how concerned your caring eyes sought her, admiring the shapes of her beating form, as the pang in her chest grew. One she had not felt for many, many moons. After swallowing the drink of water, she raised a tired hand to your cheek; stroking it gently as she connected her yes with your again. Neither of you said a word, but it was not needed, as she drew to kiss you tenderly. Tasting herself on your lips and tongue, she was warm and beloved, belonging.

You stayed that way, for a long time, the slowed clock allotting you all that you needed to equal what must have been hours of time together in total. She eventually regained herself, you insisting on teleporting her to your quarters next door. She shifted, now sitting naked at the edge of your bed, as you quickly fingered through the underwear drawer beside your armoir. 

“Here” you gestured kindly “I’d hate for you to wear something so ruined”

 You both couldn't help but chuckle at the gesture.

 “I was planning to simply go without any”

She teased, but Zelda was not about to pass up wearing your lingerie beneath her gown for the rest of the evening. It was a trophy even she couldn’t resist, envisioning their placement on both yours and her body - the idea of walking down the halls in such an intimate affect irresistible to her. You did a mending spell, to clean any wrinkles or creases from her garment before you insisted upon dressing her tired body, lifting each leg to place a foot through the hold, with admiring tenderness.

“Are you sure you are well enough to return to work..?”  

You let a small smile slip past your lips, honest concern alleviated by the coyness of your ogling. She shot you a dirty look, accompanied by a withheld chuckle.

 “Oh I’m sure I can manage if you are still able to stand”. 

It was a fair comment to make, still being able to feel the tenderness of the romping she had given you. It was a martyr you had had enough energy to please her, convinced you had been fueled by the purity of desire... and perhaps the will of the Goddess. 

She fixed her hair in your boudoir’s mirror, seeming lost in thought. You had not wished to impede on her meditation, no temptation to read her mind's intimate thoughts after the closeness you’d shared. You instead allowed yourself to enjoy the comfort of her presence in your space. You had become so attuned to experiencing energy, that at this moment you felt all the more pleasurable - witnessing the mix of her vibrance in your private quarters - where your most vulnerable energy lived in abundance -  what you felt to be your divine self. You began to uncork a jar of fine grounds before scooping the mixture into a damp filter, humming an enchantment of contentment and stability.

Zelda found herself eyeing your private quarters in the mirrors reflection, then felt her gaze fall on you in weighted temperance. The last time she had been treated so affectionately, it had been long before Faustus ever felt important to her. She was reminded of a fleeting memory; a blossoming love in her youth. She could hardly believe her own thoughts, comparing you to a love lost she had experienced so long ago. It seemed like she had completely forgotten it before now, not nearly tending to it with as much attention and longing as she had to Blackwood. How had she forgotten that deeper tenderness, forged not so long before him - and only come to remember it now? She questioned her own desires, knowing full well another fire had been started between you in her breast. This felt beyond the explanations of her own physical desires, which additionally arose a curiousness in her. She tried not to pay too much mind to the forming embers she felt burning, at this moment. Distracted, her eyes met your form again, pressing her a fresh batch of coffee for her at the opposite end of the quarters. You poured the hot water to steep, tracing fine sigils in the grounds with the thin, fine stream of steaming water. What astonished her most about you was your magnanimity - your preciseness in tending to pleasure with such genuineness. Not just in sex, but in wholeness. Aftercare was a pleasure Zelda herself adored - but you had gone unprompted, without needing instruction. No frame of reference or alluding to that beyond the sturdiness of Zelda’s independence. It was the way you cared for her that kept her from refusing your kindness. You were considerate, but did not act as if she required it. Only that you were thinking of her, in dedicated affection.

“I can hardly believe seminar will be in two sessions” 

You drew to her with a delicate hand steadying the saucer and china.

“Post unholy communion, correct”

 She nodded, before relieving you of it, the edge of her small finger touching yours. You felt another jolt of electricity, before she steadied it in her own palm, palm relieved she hadn’t noticed the way your heart had lept in your chest. She thought about mentioning that you hadn’t needed to fix her coffee, but her thoughts trailed, as the warm aroma of Italian Verona greeted her nostrils. You had served it black, guessing at her preference by what seemed in resonant energy. You would be more than ready to fetch her cream and sugar if she’d willed it, but she seemed most content as she let it cool between her hands. “You are going to be brilliant in Seminar, Y/N” she decided to mention instead 

“You have inspired me to take on a whole other level of communion with the Goddess - and I feel as though after reading your work, my preparations for the Order of Hecate’s foundation is finally solidifying”

She  paused letting her words hang in the warmth of your chambers. It smelled like rich Juniper, and hinting wafts of lavender this evening. At your silence she continued,

“I will be completely honest with you.. When you entered this Academy, it felt as an omen would in the wake of these strange times… - but your presence here has been a personal blessing to me as High Priestess. There is so much that I see in you - that you do that does not go unnoticed. But Y/N… I do not have the language to ask you. Your work: it entwines your practice with things I haven’t witnessed from anyone else in this Coven. I want to say in confidence - your readings and all they have done to inspire change thus far has been groundbreaking, and an honor to witness. I am certain this is a part of a powerful path you’ll walk on” 

She took a sip of her coffee, humming at its comfort on her palette. She didn’t know if this had been the time to talk about your career, post practically love-making - but she was hoping you hadn’t noticed the waves of affectionate admiration billowing from inside her. She was grateful to you as your High Priestess, but also far beyond that in what Zelda Spellman, witch and woman, knew how to communicate at this point in time.

[infiniteshawn]

Pierced

a/n: tattoo artist!Shawn AU. 2.1k. just a lil somethin’ i was thinking about. enjoy

You took a deep breath, calming your nerves as you eyed the dingy building. It wasn’t the best pocket of town and it definitely wasn’t the best decision you’d ever made in your life, but it was decided—you were getting another ear piercing.

“Ready?” your best friend, Shelby, asked. You’d done this a few times, yes, but it was always a good idea to have someone with you under circumstances like these.

“Yeah,” you nodded, trying to convince her just as much as you were yourself, “I need this, right? It’s time for change, all that?” you babbled, talking with your hands as the two of you crossed the street, your Blundstones clunking on the asphalt as Shelby’s high-heeled boots without a doubt looked and sounded better.

“You don’t have to do this,” she shook her head in disapproval, not too keen on your coping mechanisms. Not all of us could just fly to Paris for the weekend, Shelby.

“Yes, I do. I need to even them out anyw-“ you began, stopping dead in your tracks at the sight of the brunette behind the counter. His features were strong and chiseled as he scrolled on the mounted tablet, the light from the screen illuminating his face. It’s a good face, you thought to yourself.

But your thoughts were interrupted—no, de-fucking-railed--as Shelby smacked into your backside, clearly not noticing that you’d stopped and she kept going. Of course, pretty boy was looking right at you.

No turning back now. You silently cursed your bestie as the two of you sauntered over to the desk, exchanging a knowing glance. There was no denying it—he was fucking gorgeous.

Once you were standing in front of him, you could really take notice of the rest of him. He was gigantic, to start. Muscular and buff, filling out his thin white t-shirt perfectly. He fit the setting, too. Each arm was covered in ink, too much art adorning his skin to fathom in the short time you had. Your eyes raked up his body, finally settling on the face that initially took your breath away. Only this time, it was smiling right back at you.

“Can I help you?” he asked—and not in the rude way that people usually said it—a warm, kind version that had you ready to jump him on the spot. Your stomach twirled as you took notice of the thin silver hoop in his right nostril, matching the one in his left earlobe.

Shelby looked around the tattoo shop as you gently rested your forearm on the desk—Sweetcheeks taking obvious notice—and tousled your hair a bit. “I’m actually here to get a cartilage piercing, if that’s okay.”

“Of course that’s okay,” he chuckled, ejecting a wooden drawer with a clipboard in it. He handed it to you with a pen, “Just fill this out. M’ready when you are.”

You gulped, wondering if you should fill it out over in the seating area or right there at the desk. Does it make a fucking difference? Jesus, you’re acting like you’ve never done this before.

You opted for the latter, gripping the pen in your left hand as you started printing out your name, birthday, phone number, emergency contact information, all that. It was just a waiver, spewing terrifying garbage along the lines of liability issues in the case that you pass out or throw up or drop dead or explode because the guy piercing your ear was so fucking hot.

“That’s intense,” Shelby spoke over your shoulder, startling you to the point of gasping. Maybe this isn’t the best idea.

“And so it should be,” most-gorgeous-man-you’d-ever-seen-in-your-life piped up, “this is very serious business,” he was very obviously joking. His raised eyebrow and wide grin revealing his perfect fucking teeth made that clear, and you let out a nervous giggle. This was going to be a long twenty minutes.

You nodded at him, handing over the clipboard and pulling out your debit card.

You paid and took a deep breath, watching as he stood from his desk. Holy fuck, giant much? He must have been nine feet tall. Okay, maybe just over six. But damn.

“M’gonna wait out here,” Shelby winked in your direction, leaning over to gently smack your bum as receptionist-tattoo-man-piercer led to way to a little room at the back of the shop. You blushed, mouthing a “thank you” in her direction as you trailed after him like an expectant puppy.

You watched the way his muscles shifted beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, and then the tightness of the black denim clad to his gigantic legs, and then his pointy boots. Large pointy boots. You were swooning. This was bad.

“Sure you can handle it?” he turned his head and spoke teasingly, stopping to let you into the room first. You slowed down, turning to face him in passing.

Without a word, you tucked your hair behind your right ear, revealing six earrings. Three in your lobe, two in your cartilage, and one in your tragus. He nodded with a grin.

“Ah, a veteran,” the man quipped as you sat on the leather cot-like reclining chair. He stood at a table with drawers, rapidly opening and closing them in search of the right surgical steel bar for the job. “Alright, you know the drill. Where’d you say you wanted it?” he asked, parking himself right in front of you with a purple marker in-hand. You’d be kidding yourself if you weren’t thinking about taking him right here on this bench.

“Oh, um,” you stuttered, caught off guard by his expectant gaze. He looked rough, but his eyes were gentle. You wondered what his life was like outside the studio. “Left, just above this one,” you stated, pulling your hair to one side to show him what you meant.

“Oh, it’s different,” he wondered out loud, confusing you.

“What?”

“Oh, I just meant from the other one,” he muttered, pointing to your right ear. “They’re not in the same places. I like that.”

“O-oh,” you suppressed a grin, “thanks.”

And suddenly he was really fucking close and you were ready to explode. You wondered if this happened often and if any other lucky girls had spontaneously combusted in this very room, leaving him to clean up the bloody mess.

You felt his fingers resting on your cheekbone to steady your head as the marker inked a little dot on your ear, his breath tickling your neck and ready to make you fucking lose it. Again, this was bad.

“So,” you started as he leaned away, cocking his head to the side to assess the placement. “How long’ve you been doing this?”

“This for four years, tattooing for five,” he mumbled, biting his lip softly as he intensely eyed the shell of your ear. “No, I don’t like it,” he spoke, reaching for an alcohol wipe to rub the ink off your skin. You giggled, appreciating his dedication to the craft as he drew another dot. “Better. You can go have a look in the mirror.”

“I trust you,” you chuckled, only to be met with his questioning grin. “I mean, you’ve been doing this a while. And that took way longer than it should have, so,” he huffed out a laugh and you were pretty sure you were actually, physically, quite literally fucking melting. “And I already have so many, what’s one more? Even if it’s a little fucked up.”

He was laughing out loud, now.

“I’ll just leave you a bad Yelp review or something,” you added, picking at your cuticles out of nervousness.

“Can’t leave a juicy review if you don’t know my name,” he joked, almost as if he was prompting you to ask. You didn’t have to. “So if you must know, my name’s Shawn.”

“How do I know that’s not a premeditated pseudonym for when I leave that shitty Yelp review?” you smiled, watching him shake his head as he beamed from the little table, snapping some surgical gloves on his—holy fuck—gigantic hands.

“You’re a chatty one,” he quipped, clamp in hand, as he turned to face you again. His grin was ear-to-ear, and you hoped not all of his clients had him smiling this widely. Maybe he was going to be the one to combust. “Alright, lay back for me.”

Fuck. You could get used to hearing that.

You admired the view once you’d settled on the noisy leather, pulling your long hair to the right side of your head. Shawn��or so he said—stood over you, his sharp jaw clenched and his pink tongue poking out the corner of his perfect fucking mouth. His chocolate eyes were soft, juxtaposed to the rest of him. Huge. Pierced. Covered in tattoos. But somehow, a gigantic teddy bear? You’d kill to find out.

The pinch of the metal clamp tugged you from your thoughts. “Alright, you’ve got this,” he reassured, now having rolled up a chair beside your head-to-toe blushing body. You were pretty sure even your ankles were crimson. “Breathe in for me.”

You inhaled as he focused on your ear, a hot pinch flaring on the left side of your head while he pushed the thin needle through your skin.

“M’almost finished, don’t move hun,” he added. Hun. You weren’t complaining. “Stay there,” he spoke, standing from his stool to retrieve an earring backing from his chest of supplies. “Almost done,” he repeated apologetically as you winced, the pain from attaching the metal ball to the back of the bar burning the side of your head.

“Okay, good?” he asked, resting his arms on his knees as he met your gaze. You nodded. “You can sit up now,” he spoke gently, tapping your thigh and immediately looking apologetic. You couldn’t help the blush creeping back.

“Looks good,” he smiled, grabbing another alcohol wipe to clean up any residual ink from earlier. It hurt, but you were too focused on how close he was to your face to care.

You stood from your spot and made your way over to the mirror, Shawn following curiously. He stood behind you, and without thinking, reached out to tuck your hair behind your ear so you could get a better look.

“Shit, sorry,” he said, quickly looking bashful. “You definitely could’ve done that yourself.”

“S’okay,” you giggled, admiring his work. The placement was perfect and it complimented your other earrings, a classic “fuck you, dad!” echoing in the back of your brain. Piercings weren’t for everyone. “It looks really good.”

“Then I guess you’re good to go,” he gave a tight-lipped grin from his little station, carefully peeling the latex gloves from his hands so his rings didn’t come off with them.

“Okay, uh, thank you,” you smiled, lingering in the doorway as he opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but quickly shut it, opting to shoot you a wave instead.

So you left.

But it didn’t feel right. So you popped your head back in.

His eyes snapped up to yours, a little smile finding his lips again. He was the expectant puppy this time.

“Might have to come back soon to get my nipples done,” you stated flatly, turning his cheeks a bright crimson before tapping the door frame and heading on your way, Shelby joining you outside the tattoo parlour.

She started the car, waiting anxiously for you to fucking spill already. But the front door to the shop swung open and you grinned as the tattooed giant came barreling out, frantically looking up and down the street wondering which way you’d gone.

“Over here!” you called, hopping out of the vehicle as his shit-eating grin was visible from the other side of the street. He looked both ways and jogged across the road, his smile failing to falter as you leaned against the car.

“So, uhm, sorry, I didn’t really think this through,” he giggled, your grin just as wide as his. “Would you, uh, wanna, maybe, do you wanna go on a date with me?” he asked, shoving his huge hands inside his tiny pockets.

You didn’t think about it. Didn’t need to, really. You stepped forward, closing the space between the two of you as you met his lips, gently cupping his face as you kissed him. He kissed you back softly and sweetly, resting his forehead against yours to take a breath.

“That’s a yes?”

“My number’s on the waiver,” you smiled, stepping away and climbing back into Shelby’s car, leaving him beaming on the sidewalk.

[a-place-for-me-au]

A PLACE FOR ME : CHAPTER 1

Summary: September 2nd, 2019. First day of freshman year.

Trigger Warnings: Cursing, homophobic slur (as joke), bullying (mentioned), homophobia (mentioned), depression, deadnaming, violence, food

Characters: Deceit, Roman, Remus, Patton, Virgil, Logan, Remy

(mentioned) Corbin, Sloane

Words: 5770

AO3

CHAPTER 1 |

Notes: Big thanks to @missfay49 for being an amazing beta reader!

VIRGIL

Monday. The air was crisp, the leaves had started to turn, but still the grass was fresh and green. I set my eyes to the ground, but I still felt the heat of bodies moving around me. My eyes flitted across the faces of people I may have known years ago. My eyes returned to the ground and I saw the grass. Most of it was bright and green, but soon I found underwatered patches. The dew however, made the bright grass brighter. As I glanced back up, my heart was beating a little fast, I guess. Last time I was in school, I got beat up, and nearly sent to the hospital. Maybe now it would be a little different. I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and walked into the cold, uninviting school.

PATTON

September 2nd. The leaves were golden and the air was shiny and bright, with cold light making the colors morph into something else. The trees loomed overhead. It wasn’t quite cold enough for the sweater I was wearing, but the heavy, knitted sweater kept me safe and held. I had never been to school, and I didn’t know what to expect. I’ve seen a handful of movies about high school, but, to be honest, I never cared much about movies. The looming building seemed tall and intimidating in front of me. The people all seemed tall and intimidating. I stared at the ground and imagined that instead of hoards of hormonal teenagers, I was surrounded by animals of the forest. Deer, rabbits, frogs, birds...

DEE

The second of September, the first day of school. It was just another day, and yet, the gold in the leaves was all the more noticeable. A chilly breeze grazed my skin, and I put up a hand to the burned half of my face. I didn’t care about it, and no one else did, and yet, the idea someone might find it wrong never left my head. I stared up at the grey building, framed by a grey morning sky.

ROMAN

Monday, on the second of September, in the year 2019. The tall sweeping trees, dotted with browns and vivid oranges swayed in the light fall breeze. The green of the grass, while not as vibrant as in the intense summer months, was still vivid, especially when juxtaposed against the cold cement surrounding the school. The school, a grey, uninviting building with bars on the doors, felt grand and mysterious. The grey bricks made me think of great castles of villains. I sighed. I took a glance at my brother Remus, but quickly looked down at the ground. I’d barely slept last night. I’d finally gone to sleep at the foot of my brother’s bed somewhere around five in the morning, my face wet from tears. It had been a tough week so far, but at this moment, I felt nothing.

REMUS

It was Monday, September 2nd. The trees twisted over the concrete, and I gazed up at their colorful leaves that had just started to change. The grass was still bright and colorful, and full of vibrancy. Feelings dashed through the air like leaves falling from trees. I could feel excitement, fear, worry, boredom and dozens more emotions flitting through students minds. I could feel my brother Roman beside me. The school loomed over, highlighted against the bright grey sky. I imagined spikes coming from the top of the grey prison and skipped forward, putting a bright smile on my face. Time to make some impressions!

LOGAN

Mon. 02/09/2019. The trees lining the concrete pathway to the school were starting to turn brown. Some leaves had already fallen. However, the grass was still green. The school was simple and plain. It was blank and gray, with grates over the windows. A feeling of anticipation was welling up in my chest, and while I hesitated to call it excitement, the idea of learning new things was...inviting.

VIRGIL

I took a deep breath. It’s this or get dead named in front of your entire class. 

“Excuse me, is this 204? Mr. Johnson’s room?” I asked, hanging off the doorframe. A tall man with dark, wrinkled skin and a bright, grey beard looked at me and beckoned me to his desk. 

“I am Mr. Johnson. What can I help you with? Class doesn’t start for another twenty minutes.” His face had a quizzical expression, and he placed his head on his fist.

I pushed my hands deep into my pockets, reaching for some security. “Um, see...well, it’s about… my, um, like my name.” I took a deep breath. I could feel my hands shaking. Would you really rather be doing this in front of the entire class? “My name is Virgil.” I blurted. 

He gave me a strange look, then pulled out his roster sheet. “Um, let me see if you’re on here…”

“I’m not.” I swallowed. “I came because,” My head felt light. “My name is, um, Virgil Ancell.” I took a deep breath.

In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. 

“My legal name is, um,” It had been a while since I’d used it. “Amelia.” I said quietly.

“Well! Nice to meet you Virgil, I’ll be sure to make note of that, I wouldn’t want to use the wrong name for someone.” I smiled, I was still shaking, but I felt more grounded.

Now I just have to do that six more times.

I took a seat near the front and laid back, pulling a fidget cube out and fiddling with it. Mr. Johnson continued working on something. “Hey kid, Virgil.” I look up. “Do you think you could put a syllabus on each desk? There’s, one sec, uh, 27 students, so…” He counted out several sheets of paper. I placed my cube in my pocket and walked to the desk. He handed me the papers. “Just, yeah, put them on the desks, thanks kid.” I smiled, and did as asked.

Some time passed, after I’d put syllabi on all the desks, and kids started to filter in. I pulled my hood over my head and looked down. Mr. Johnson shot me a look. “No hoods.” He said, looking at me. I took it off, and immediately regretted it. I could feel the stares, I swore.

I heard people talking under their breath.

“Who’s the new kid?”

“I don’t know, but he seems emo as hell.”

“Seriously though, we haven’t had a new student in years, do you think they moved here?”

I sunk into my seat and gazed lazily at the door when a short, round person walked in the room. They held their head low, keeping their eyes on the ground. They had short, curly, golden hair, and large, round glasses. Their cheeks were rosy and covered in freckles. They were wearing a white tank top and a knee-length blue skirt. 

Heads turned. They shone like the sun, their footsteps soft, eyes sparkling. Just seeing them was like breathing in a bouquet of sweet-smelling roses. The room got physically brighter as they sat in the front row, right in front of me. Their presence was like an angel come to sit on Earth.

Suddenly, a tall guy with dark hair and sunglasses sat on the desk next to me. He was wearing a white shirt, a leather jacket, and some short jean-shorts.

“Hey.” He said, a nonchalant look on his face.

I looked down. I was scared. No way around it. I was in a new environment, and I was scared. “Hi.” I said meekly.

“I don’t know you. What’s your name? And you too, pretty boy.” He looked at the soft boy in a skirt. The boy looked at him, and then at me.

“I’m… Virgil.” He gave me a look like he’d seen a ghost.

“Oop. Welp, what’s up, kid. Name’s Remy. You might remember me.”

Remy.

My heart beat fast. Looking now, I recognized him. Those eyes, the eyes that stared me down every day of my life. That voice that would tease and ridicule me. Memories of being called a dyke, a faggot, of my head being dunked in the toilet of the boy’s bathroom. 

‘Go back to the girl’s room, Amelia. Amelia. You were such a pretty girl.’

“I should let you know I’ve changed a lot.” He was awkwardly rubbing his neck. “After you left, I got put in my place.” There was a moment. I didn’t know what to say--I couldn’t say anything.

“Well hon, “ he said, breaking the silence, “That’s too much to unpack.” He took a deep breath and turned to the boy at the front.

“Now you, pretty boy.”

I looked down. This was… Remy? But he was so… awful. I looked at him, refusing to believe someone could change like that. But maybe. Maybe they can.

I moved my seat a few inches away from him.

PATTON

The first few minutes went great! People are already starting to talk to me! I think they’re being genuine. I don’t know.

The boy… Remy. I didn’t know what to do. Should I tell him my name? Why is he calling me pretty boy? Is that normal? I was confused.

“You there, kid?” He waved his hand in front of my face. “I’ve never seen you before.” 

“I’m… Patton.” I said shyly. He reached out his hand to shake mine, but then the bell rang, and class started.

Class passed by quickly. I wasn’t sure of everything, I’d never been to public school, but it was somehow a lot easier than I expected. 

Finding the rooms wasn’t that difficult. There were five floors, and the room number corresponded to the floor. 501, for example, was in the northeast of the fifth floor.

That didn’t make switching classes any easier. I was tossed around like a bouncing ball at the beach by the waves of students making their way to each class. In the forest, everything is calm and peaceful. There’s more than enough space for everyone. In the hallways between classes? It’s a thundering storm, paired with a flood.

The day went on uneventfully. Mostly, teachers were giving out syllabi and setting rules. We got a bit of homework for English, but that was just to check on all of our reading levels.

English had been quite nice actually. The teacher, Ms. Green, passed out the syllabi for the class, as well as a few pages of a story. It was just a simple exercise, to see how long it took us as a class to get a reading activity. It was an excerpt from one of my favorite books: The Secret Garden. I’d read it a thousand times over. Well, I’d read a lot of books a thousand times over.

I was walking through the halls towards the cafeteria, reflecting on the day when I was suddenly I was thrown from my thoughts when I found myself tripping and falling into someone. I could feel their hands grip my arms, and they pulled me up. I looked up into deep, dark brown eyes. He had reddish brown hair and a cocky smile. 

Well I knew I wasn’t straight, but in the name of all that is good, gosh darn it. Am. I. Gay.

I could feel my face getting red. It’s my first day and I’ve already tripped and fallen right into the arms of a frickin’ prince.

I tried to right myself, and force out an apology. “My goodn--oh my--geez--I am--so sorry. Are, I, uh, hurt? Are you, um, hurt did I--”

“It’s cool.” He gave me a smile like the goddamn sun was shining in my face. 

“I’m am so I am sorry.”

He chuckled, then he looked at me closer. “You’re new. Did you just move to Marshfield?”

“I was-- um, homeschooled. I’ve always lived here, well, near, I technically don’t live in the, uh city, I--uh--town limits. I live just outside. Near the, uh the forest. I live, um, across the river.” I realized I had been staring a hole into his face and I quickly looked down, blushing. I noticed he was wearing a white and red letterman jacket and jeans.

“Then I can see why you’re so nervous. I shouldn’t keep you waiting for your next class.”

“I um, it’s cool, I, uh, it’s my lunch.”

“Oh yeah?” He said.

I smiled, trying to seem a little stable. He was tall. Really tall. At least a head taller than me. “Hey, want to come join my and my table? To be honest I don’t know if there will be a seat but, if there is, you can chill with us.”

Should I accept this? Will I be rude if I don’t? Is there some sort of unspoken conversation going on?

“Well, I, um I wouldn’t want to,” I paused. “Impose on your, uh, friend group.” Will this work? 

“It’s cool, I’ll just see if there’s any extra seats?” The guy said. I nodded, I mean, I didn’t know how else to respond.

“By the way, what’s your name?” He said, walking towards the cafeteria.

“Patton.” I said shyly. 

“Alright, come on Patton, I’m Roman.” As Roman walked, another boy came out of the crowd. He had the same face as Roman, but he was thin. He had a light mustache and heavy eye bags. However, probably the most noticeable thing about him was his bright green, embroidered, floral patterned shirt with ruffles on his shoulders. 

“I’m Remus, the sexiest man you’ll ever meet.” He wiggled his eyebrows and Roman turned around to playfully slap him. He turned back to me. 

“He’s my twin.”

When we got to the cafeteria, I could see the tables were small, and could each fit eight people. I followed him to a table near the back of the room where someone was waving. Once we got closer, I saw it was Remy, from my first period. 

“Hey, pretty boy.” Said Remy with a wink.

“Shut up Remy, he’s new. Besides, you wouldn’t want Dee to hear you.” Roman said.

“Someone say my name?” A tall kid turned towards Roman. A scar, which seemed like an old burn, covered half his face, and stretched down his neck. He was wearing a black button down shirt, and, to my surprise, a black cape that went halfway down his back, trimmed with yellow. He also wore a black bowler.

“Yo, Ro, I don’t think we have enough seats, ‘cause I’m pretty sure Corbin has this lunch period too.” Said Remus as he looked around the table.

“Ah, shit. Well, I hope you find an empty table, you’re always welcome here if one of us doesn’t show up.” Roman gave a sympathetic smile.

Great, first day, and I’ve already embarrassed myself in front of the hottest guy in the school.

I scanned the cafeteria, searching for an empty table. I saw one in the corner near the kitchen, with only two people at it. Upon approaching, I saw it was one of the kids from my first period class. What was his name? V-- I couldn’t remember.

“Can I sit here?”

The boy from first period--Virgil!-- looked up, and then to the other person. The boy, who had well groomed, dark hair, and thick square glasses, looked at me and shrugged. He was wearing a black button down shirt, and a blue tie. I took a seat so that we were of equal distance from each other. I was unsure if I was supposed to talk to them in this situation, so I looked down at my food and decided to let them do the initiating. 

DEE

“Dee!” A body crashed into me as I was walking down the hall, and a pair of arms latched onto my torso. I feel a light peck on my neck, then I hear the ice of a Starbucks cup.

“Hey, Remy.” I turned around as soon as Remy released me.

“Oh hon, you look fine. That’s one hell of a cape.” I looked down at my questionable clothing choice.

“The extreme tends to make an impression.”

“Ooh, he’s hot, fearless, and a Heathers fan? I might be in love.”

“Oh, shut up, Remy. Do you know what table we’re sitting at?”

“Not yet,” he linked arms with me and started to walk, “but Roman said to meet him and Remus in the cafeteria during breakfast to coordinate. You know, lunch periods and all that jazz.”

I nod. “The cafeteria is on the top floor?”

“Sure is, hon.”

We made our way to the top floor, Remy saying hi to about five dozen people as we walked past.

“Do you know everyone in the school?”

“Hon, I know everyone in this town.”

Remy might not get all As, (in fact, one A was an accomplishment) and he didn’t always know how to read emotions, and he wasn’t great at solving problems, but if there was one thing he was smart in, was names. He knew every name he’d ever been told, he claims. And it wasn’t just people he’d met; actors, singers, bands, he was a genius. He knew everyone in the school, even if they weren’t friends.

“Hey Jack, honey, looking gay!” He said, knocking his voice up an octave. 

“You too!” He winked.

Another thing Remy was? Gay. Some people are gay, but Remy was not satisfied with that, no. Every had to know. He was up and out and proud.

It’s kind of funny, he use to bully all the gay kids, or the trans kids. His parents were never accepting, and I guess he used to bottle up a lot of internalized homophobia…

“Ooh hon, stop doing your head monologue and say hi to Roman!”  He said when we got into the cafeteria.

Roman, hot as ever, and at least a few inches taller.

“What it do, faggots and Roman.” Remy said.

“Uh, rude much.” Remy released my arm and ran up to squeeze Roman. Not letting go of him, Remy leaned back. “Man, you are a hunk.” 

“Well, I spent the last three months working out everyday. I guess puberty finally set in.”

“Oh, and you got a little fuzz! You are a man, hon.” He gasped, and let go of Roman. 

“Remus! You got a mustache, and you are rocking that top. Dee, get over here.” I walked around Roman. Remus was wearing a frilly shirt, green with a floral pattern embroidered on.

“Hoo, I feel underdressed.” I smirked, fiddling with my cape.

Soon I felt Remus’s arms wrap around me. “Hey noodle.”

I giggled. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

“Aww, my little angry noodle.”

I rolled my eyes, but I felt warm inside.

“Come on, guys, I’m going to show you the table.” Roman said, walking through the lunchroom. Remus let go of me. There was a table in the back corner, complete with Corbin, Sloane, Kai, and Elliot already sitting there. “Everyone, time to compare rosters.”

I found out I didn’t share many classes with the gang, but I was in the same lunch period as the rest of the table. After we were all satisfied, we caught up until the bell rang, and we were off to classes.

***

The classes passed uneventfully, and soon it was lunchtime.

When Roman walked in, there was a short boy in tow.

He had round glasses, but they didn’t distract from his glittering blue eyes. His steps were dainty and small, and still somehow graceful and sweeping. His head was held low, and he couldn't have been more than five foot, but when he walked in, the entire room was at his fingertips.

I could feel light and warmth filling the room. I looked around and found half the cafeteria with their jaws to the floor staring. I could swear a melody was playing in my head as the boy followed Roman to our table.

“Shut up Remy, he’s new. Besides, you wouldn’t want Dee to hear you.” Roman said.

“Someone say my name?” I said, breaking my stare to look at Roman.

“Yo, Ro, I don’t think we have enough seats, ‘cause I’m pretty sure Corbin has this lunch period too.” Said Remus as he looked around the table. My head processed the situation, and then my heart sank a little. The Literal Angel would not be sitting with us, he would have to find some other seat. 

“Ah, shit. Well, I hope you find an empty table, you’re always welcome here if one of us doesn’t show up.” Roman gave a sympathetic smile.

I wanted to offer up my seat, but before I could form the words, the boy had shuffled off to another table.

ROMAN

“We’re meeting everyone in the cafeteria because apparently I’m the leader of this friend group and I have to decide where we sit.”

Me and my brother Remus we’re walking into the school building. Not five minutes in I was bombarded with hordes of joyous teenagers.

“Yo, Ro!”

“What it do, kid?”

“It’s the little guy on the football team!”

“Not so little anymore, hey kiddo!”

I forced a smile and slapped the hands of the people walking by. 

“Hey!”

“Was your summer good?”

“Hey, watch it, you almost bumped into me!”

“You good?” Remus leaned over to me. The rush of people around me faded away as I felt my brother lean into me. I threw my arm around his shoulder. 

“Yeah.” I lied.

He could tell. He always could. I gulped, and straightened my spine. 

Feeling his warmth so close to me was a comfort. Like having a too big dog in your lap, like curling up to your mother on a cold night. Like your brother that’s always there for you in your time of need.

We travelled through the waves of people, eventually cutting through the crowd to the top floor, where the cafeteria was. I put on a smile and went through the motions. I greeted my acquaintances. 

Then it was time for classes.

***

Remus was talking, but I wasn’t really paying much attention to his words. We had the same roster this year, so a lot of what he was saying was just repeating the events of the day before. I was in a trance, the words going in one ear, out the other. I could barely register the way my feet were hitting the ground.

I was suddenly yeeted from my daydream when a body was thrown in my direction. On instinct, I grabbed the arms of said body, gripping them tightly. I put on a cocky smile, and then the head of the body turned up at me.

He had eyes that sparkled like diamonds, they were a pale baby blue. His touch seemed to ooze happiness. I could feel something spreading from his hands, coursing through my blood. I felt happy, for the first time in a while.

It was as if sunlight was streaming through the tiny windows along the wall as he tried to apologize.

“My goodn--oh my--geez--I am--so sorry. Are, I, uh, hurt? Are you, um, hurt did I--”

“It’s cool.” I said, giving a genuine smile for the first time that day.

“I’m am so I am sorry.”

His nervous demeanor only made him more adorable. I wanted to grab his hand right then and run away from this school forever. As I looked at him, I wondered why I’d never noticed him before.

“You’re new? Did you just move to Marshfield?”

He stammered out a string of words, which I managed to connect to “I was homeschooled.” As he spoke, though, his face took a pink tint and he looked at the ground.

Suddenly the thoughts were racing through my mind. I tried to think of all the possible ways I screwed this up, or could screw it up more.

I spat something about being nervous, but I wasn’t really sure of the words coming from my mouth anymore.

“I um, it’s cool, I, uh, it’s my lunch.”

Then I invited him to my table. I could feel my heart beating. Stupid stupid. That’s weird. He’s going to think your weird. What will the others think. I don’t have enough seats.

Indeed there weren’t enough seats, as pointed out by Remus. I stared at him. Sorry. I thought, giving him a smile. He returned it and walked off to another table. I gazed as he went.

I expected my heart to return to it’s grey, melancholy state. And yet? The warmth stayed, even as I turned away from him.

“He’s cute.” Remus said.

I rolled my eyes and took a seat, a touch of pink on my cheeks.

REMUS

Today was a bad day. I’d woken up to Roman curled at the bottom of my bed for the third time since last Monday. His hair was messy, and his face. His light makeup had been skewed by tears. Now, as we were walking down the hallways, he was masking his mood with a smile. 

People greeted him in the halls left and right. I leaned over “You good?” It was a silly question. I knew he wasn’t. He laid his arm on my shoulder.

“Yeah.” He lied.

We walked into the lunchroom and were soon confronted by a sunglass-wearing gay.

“Ooh hon, stop doing your head monologue and say hi to Roman! What it do, faggots and Roman.” Remy said.

“Uh, rude much.” Roman said. 

“Man, you are a hunk.” I heard Remy say. I refrained from mentioning I was the one who got him to work out every morning. I zoned out for a minute until I heard Remy say my name.

“You got a mustache, and you are rocking that top. Dee, get over here.”

I noticed Dee for the first time and smiled. 

“Hoo, I feel underdressed.” I heard him say before I leapt forward and pulled him into a hug.

“Hey noodle.”

He giggled, adorably. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

“Aww, my little angry noodle.”

He rolled his eyes, but I could feel his heart warm up. 

“Come on, guys, I’m going to show you the table.” Roman said, walking through the lunchroom. I let go of him with a smile on my face.

***

Pretty soon I was walking to Biology side by side with Roman. I managed to slip into the room just before the bell rang. I gave a cocky smile to the teacher and picked a seat in the back row. I looked around the room at the students. When my eyes landed on Logan, I smiled, and a memory came to mind.

People were gathered in the classroom, we’d just been told that Amelia… uh, Virgil, the trans kid, had left the school. I was looking around the room at the students reactions. Many were snickering, but quite a few also seemed to be seething.

I heard several remarks, but didn’t catch any. I guess I was sad that a student left, but we hadn’t been friends, so. Well. I guess s--he didn’t have any friends. I started to feel bad for him when suddenly an angry kid stood up. The teacher was standing just outside the classroom talking to someone as the kid--Logan-- walked up to everyone’s favorite bully, Remy.

Remy had been a jerk to Am--Virgil for years. Before he came out, and after. He bullied him for being a lesbian, for being trans, and other made-up and fictional “problems”. Remy bullied everyone, I guess, but Virgil… it was bad for he--him.

My eyes followed Logan as he walked right up to Remy. Remy looked nonchalant at the approach, and didn’t even look at Logan. “Hey.” Said Logan, looking straight on at Remy.

“What do you want, nerd?” Remy said, standing up. As I examined Logan, I could see his eyes were glassy with the threat of tears.

“It’s your fault. If you weren’t such a goddamn jerk to him all the time, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Oh what, you’re defending that girl, she’s not worth it.”

“Shut up Remy, he’s a boy, and I am here to punch you.”

Logan did not disappoint. I saw the teacher turning around out of the corner of my eye, but quickly gave my full attention to the two boys. Logan raised his fist and--

BAM!!

His fist collided with Remy’s face, sending him backwards, tripping over the chair. My heart beat faster. Logan’s face turned cold and unmerciful. He wiped a tear from his face and looked down upon the body. 

(The teacher gazed apathetically before giving a thumbs up and turning back to the door.)

Well, I don’t know how I’m supposed to believe I’m straight.

Butterflies fly through my stomach, and my heart turned over in my chest. He was beautiful, and his fist could do magic.

That was the moment I fell in love with Logan Lowell.

I was pulled back to the present as the class started, and began to take notes on the teacher and the like. My eyes never strayed far from Logan, though. I got lost in daydreams, as I often did. Many of them involved confessing my love to Logan in extreme and extravagant ways. I also created a few vivid descriptions of how exactly I would go about physically torturing him, but I put those aside.

***

The next two periods passed uneventfully, and pretty soon me and Roman were walking down the halls to lunch.

“And let me tell you about his eyes.” I’d been gushing about Logan since this morning, and was not slowing down. “He just has the most--” I was interrupted when I noticed a small body making his way down the hall--straight towards Roman. Neither of them were paying attention. I reached a hand out to pull Roman to the side, but before I could even touch him, the two collided.

As the two apologized, I stared at the boy. He was short, and yet, you didn’t feel like he was. He seemed to be glowing, but I blinked, and the aura disappeared. He had pale, shiny blue eyes, and luscious golden hair. He was beautiful. 

Roman invited him to his table. I might have protested, but the boy seemed so sweet that I didn’t dare.

“Patton.” His name was Patton. I felt it was necessary to step in,

“I’m Remus, the sexiest man you’ll ever meet.”

Roman, I noticed, didn’t take his eyes off of Patton, which, I mean, who could blame him? As we walked into the lunch room, I counted the people at our table. After a moment of thought, I realized we didn’t have an extra seat. 

“Yo, Ro, I don’t think we have enough seats, ‘cause I’m pretty sure Corbin has this lunch period too.” I saw Roman shoot a sympathetic look, and the boy, Patton, walked away. 

“He’s cute.” I said. Roman blushed and took a seat.

LOGAN

I stepped into the building, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose, and glanced around the hall.

Hordes of teenagers rushed across the shining floors, racing to their next class. I stepped through the crowds, swerving around, hitting no one, and yet moving swiftly past. Years of ballet had trained me to move quickly, efficiently, and gracefully.

I stepped into my first period classroom and look around the room. The teacher, a well dressed woman, gave me a smile, and I took a seat in the front row, by the window. I pulled out a notebook and wrote “AP Physics” and my name, “Logan Lowell” on the front. I opened it to the first page and began copying down information from the board about the teacher.

‘Daphne Moon

dmoon@rendsd.org

Graduated from…’

Slowly other students filed in, some familiar, some not. I never paid any attention to the students, I never much needed to. I spent the time waiting for class to begin, staring out the window at the leaves of a large oak tree. 

The class went fairly smoothly, the teacher introduced herself, talked about the syllabus.

Then we were off to our next class. English.

***

“Hello class, I’m Ms. Green. It’s a pleasure to meet each of you. I have my contact information up on the board if you want to read that and…”

She gave a nod and began counting papers on her desk. She looked up, apparently counting the students, and soon began placing papers on desks. I took a look at them. One was titled “About Me”, and it had a variety of questions on it. The second one was the syllabus, and I began to skim through it.

“Please fill out your about me papers, there are markers if you want to color it.”

It was like being back in kindergarten.

I began to fill out the paper. 

What is/are your favorite subject/s?

Physics, astronomy

What do you like to do outside of school?

Ballet, research

How can I best help you?

Challenging the students more than you think they can handle, offering resources to learn more for students who are interested

I finished the paper quickly, and spent the rest of the period relaxing and gazing out the window.

***

Third period came and went, and soon I made my way to lunch. I had brought a sandwich, and apple, and a bottle of water, which I promptly laid out once I’d found an empty table in the cafeteria. Soon, a boy in a hoodie took a seat across the table from me. I nodded out of politeness, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge him.

I began my lunch, taking in the scene

Then he walked in.

I don’t quite believe he was a boy, more a celestial being. I scoffed silently. An angel? Logan you’re really going mad.

I wasn’t quite sure why I was gazing at him like there were stars in his eyes, but I followed him as he walked with the football player, Roman? to his table. He was meek, and short, and yet he commanded the attention of the room. I blushed and forced my eyes down to my food. I felt silly for admiring him, but I ignored it.

I stared intensely at my food as I ate. I heard footsteps approaching my table and looked up It was him. I tried to ignore him.

“Can I sit here?”

I shrugged. My odds of avoiding human attraction have severely declined. This is going to be a nice school year.

[saint-patrice]

Tbh I would like to have the 34 *other* Bergy pics on your shortlist, complete with commentary lolol. And then (if you’re still waiting that is) any other Marchy pics with commentary? xD xD

oh my godddd you are my favourite person anon - ask and ye shall receive 😎 i should maybe warn that while this doesn’t have actual nsfw content you probably wouldn’t want to read this to your kids as a bedtime story. anyway, here we go: 

this was very close to making the original list. i like the soft lighting and the kind of floofy hair, yet he still looks like he could absolutely fuck me up (both like in a fight and various other ways). this photo gets me thinking some thoughts ™ if i am being honest

a literal saint and god amongst men right here. his brown eyes are so soft and his little smile puts me at ease. this is a man who would treat me right (fact). this photo is also from quite deep into the playoffs so the beard is going a little wild, and whilst i’m glad it isn’t like this all of the time, i very much appreciate it when it’s around.

O CAP’N MY CAP’N (sorry zee). nah for real this exudes some real sexy alternate energy. if i were on the opposing team and i saw this formidable man just skating around looking like that i think i’d just go back down the tunnel and hide in the locker room. this man will fucking kneecap you for the sake of a goal if that’s what it takes. and then i remember that it’s patrice and he’s the nicest man alive and he would literally never, but that’s still the energy this image has. and i ain’t saying i don’t like it.

okay this is just cute. they look like 2 dads who aren’t entirely sure how to take a selfie but are willing to try. the outfits lend this a slightly chaotic energy - i can’t commend zee’s colour combo if i’m honest, and when juxtaposed with the plaid shirt it kind of hurts my head. but it adds to the dad energy so i still love it. also this is from chara’s ig and the caption is super sweet.

DADS WITH THEIR KIDS ALWAYS GETS ME. i don’t even want kids, nor do i particularly like them, but seeing a man with his child is the cutest thing in the world and this, predictably, is no exception. patrice’s son 100% has his eyes which is really cute. speaking of patrice’s eyes, he may be smiling here but if you look into his eyes all you will see is fear - that child does not appear too bothered about remaining upright on the ice, and i suspect thay bergy is concerned about this. it would be criminal for me to not comment on the jeans. bergy has some exceptional thighs as these jeans do an excellent job of highlighting that.

this is Hot, and i’m not accepting criticism on that opinion. the crisp white shirt w no jacket or tie, and the top buttons undone???? i need a lie down. the hands are also making a nice appearance which i can always appreciate. basically what i’m saying is that i’m jealous of that snake this is an excellent photo and i owe the bruins instagram person a drink for posting it.

do you remember when i said bergy had marvellous thighs? well take a fucking sip babes - they’re like tree trunks carved out of carrara marble. if i have to die i want it to be because they crushed my skull. this is also one of the clearest photos i’ve seen of his tattoo, so it has that going for it too ( sidenote if anyone has an image with literally a pixel of his tattoo pls send it my way, i’m getting desperate at this point). i also think men in jewellery is a good look so i’m digging his beaded bracelets and silver chain. fantastic picture all round.

yeah okay there’s no escaping that the main reason this one made the list is 🍑. it’s exquisite. those pants also do a great job on the thighs too. the hair, socked feet (no i dont have a fetish i just think ppl in their socks with no shoes is kind of funny), and hands get an honourable mention

is this the only picture that has ever mattered? i’d believe it. patrice just lovingly gazing down at his son giving his hockey husband a handshake? you just can’t beat it. i have also been emotionally ruined by that tiny #37 jersey oh my

in the interest of being polite, i will describe this look as rugged. he has probably objectively looked better but i just like this photo and awful lot.

i don’t think i can give any commentary on this without saying something genuinely not suitable for public eyes. the 2 things i will say are: the only thing keeping me going completely feral horny looking at this is those pants,, if they were black or navy i’d be dead; and patrice i am begging you to do up a few more buttons on your shirt or remove it completely or i’m not going to live much longer.

oh man i just love this??? i can’t even explain why. the lack of much beard and the expression in his eyes just makes him look massively soft - i would give him a kiss on the nose and a cuddle in this photo

(gif via @gaudreau) i am slightly loathe to admit this bc it sounds weird but cuts and bruises can sometimes be a real look so this checks that box for me. his smile when he talks truly is one of the finer things in life too. also the lil shrug. i love you mr pikachu

a** fantastic **angle. this is just prime beautiful bergy.  excellent level of beard imo, the lighting shows off his v nice bone structure, and the nose is looking fab as always. weird observation of the day is that his neck looks nice in this

i mean obviously this had to go in - lord knows it’s fucking iconic. i have so many questions about how this situation came to be (aside from the fact that alcohol was involved. did brad initiate it? or patrice? why are they spinning? what the fuck? how the fuck? why was i not invited?) but anyway, this photo increased my thirst for a shirtless bergy photo at least two-hundredfold. at this point it’s a need not a want. i don’t think i can continue to comment on this without straying into nsfw territory so we’ll leave it at that. oh the things i would do

classic humble patrice making an appearance here, reminding us that he is not only the most handsome bastard to ever walk planet earth, but he’s a great guy too. just can’t hate him. and boy is he handsome in this gif. excellent stubble (im really invested in his facial hair if you hadn’t noticed), and the smile that could melt even my cold heart on display here. also bonus points for the previously mentioned thing about cuts/bruises. (sorry). i love this one 

in contrast to some of the prior ones, this picture is so cute that i can make nothing but pg comments about it. this is exactly the same face we all make when someone points a camera at us and says “cheese!” and i love that. the man looks good in white. good, wholesome content right here.

(gif via @weekendatbergysblog) okay the baby is cute but the fucking headband is what gets me in this. i’m able to make no further comment because this short circuits my brain.

(gif via @davidpastrnut)when i first saw this gif i had to go find the source video because i didn’t believe he actually said that but i’m here to tell you: he did. i love these hockey husbands so much. also i saw this tagged as “# hot waiter” one time and i still haven’t got over how accurate that is. someone more talented than me, i’m begging you for that fucking au 

(gif via @gaudreau) can patrice please stop looking up ??? it’s unfair that someone can look so good just looking in a direction what the fucK. he’s so stunning.

i love this one. brad pulling his hoodie down like that looks like he’s... soliciting and honestly who could blame him. bergy looks very cute, if a bit edgy in the all black. the hand is a treat in this one hooooooooooooooooo yes

this one show’s off patrice’s dark features very well. it’s amazing how he has such dark hair, dark eyes, big dark eyebrows, and dark facial hair, yet it doesn’t overcrowd or shadow his face ( except occasionally in awful lighting) ??? does anyone actually know how that works?? he’s looking very pensive here, and that hoodie looks oh-so-cosy. absolutely would cuddle.

**how cute is this y’all. **in case you thought you were just missing something, no, patrice is not sitting on a chair. he’s just maintaining that deep squat like a champ. maybe that’s the secret to his sublime thighs... the navy/deep red is an excellent look on him, and we get a rare glimpse of bergy with his wedding ring, which i find to be oddly cute. bonus points for him being beside a very cute kid too :)

(gif via @jakedebrask) this, i, ummmmm. i- uhh. just. um. yeah. so like. uhhhh... swiftly moving on

(gif via @davidpastrnut) this motherfucker and his handsome fucking face even looks good in that god-awful wooly patriots hat. honestly it looks like he’s about to go out and have a snowball fight (presumably with brad). decidedly rather domestic and i love it

(gif via @davidpastrnut) intense media patrice is intense. this is such a classic bergy face though, i love it. every time some media person asks him some big long question he puts on this exact very-invested-and-slightly-concerned face, its iconic. looking cosy in a hoodie once again. stop it. 

nice polo, dude

(gif via @davidpastrnut) that tshirt looks like its fighting for its life to contain those biceps. a dark, brooding patrice that has some sort of slow burn au stirring deep in my mind. from other angles in this interview the tattoo is fairly visible also.

this has such a strong energy it almost knocked me off my feet. again, i can see this being some sort of business or maybe criminal masterminds au. but fuck me, does that man looking something beautiful in a suit. the one hand in the pocket is quite frankly BDE too. i’m glad i’m not into dadkes or esle i think this whole picture would be too much for me.

he is literally the kind of man you’d want to bring home to your parents. i’m glad he seems to have cashed in on the navy/deep red combo because it really does suit him. he looks so fucking dapper here i may be very much in love

another excellent on-ice shot of him, albeit his slightly concerned expression. the beard is looking fucking crisp here hello sir. not much else to say on this, just a handsome, handsome boy.

(gif via @jeffsamardzija) another one that gives me Thoughts. he’s literally so beautiful. hair is cut a little shorter than usual on the sides and on anyone else it would scream fuckboy but i’m kind of digging it on bergy, at least on this one occasion. if i say anything else we’ll go down the rabbit hole

oof this is_ intense. _bergy aside, this is just an incredible shot tbh. rare that we get to see mr perfect not completely level-headed and playing it cool so it feels like a treat when we do. lowkey hot ngl

last but very certainly not least, mr patrice bergeron, four-time bergeron award winner, holding the award itself. this photo honestly just makes my heart swell a little with pride - it’s what he deserves!!!! just absolutely dapper in a beautiful suit as always, and a smile that could topple a nation to round it all off.

thank you so much for this anon!!! it was rather self-indulgent but i hope you like it :) also i will absolutely do another one with marchy, although my nails have been dry for about 2 hours now so i’ll probably do it tomorrow or friday, but it’s on its way :)

[topazslut]

all the things I can never feel the same way [choni one shot]

This is my first fanfiction for this ship I love them a lot. This is kinda weird but I kinda like it.. idk? let me know what you think everything is appreciated. It will be on ao3 soon I lost my account and had to apply for a new one anyways. sorry if theres any grammar mistakes its about 3000 words and I'm kinda new to writing

[Summary]

Looking back on events in Toni’s life when she felt the presence of her mother and the moments she realises she can never experience life peacefully 

or;

In which Toni spirals over the years and Cheryl just can’t pick up the pieces

//

Toni is nine years old when she receives her first serious injury.

Two broken fingers and a hairline fracture upon her wrist. She doesn't cry.

Instead, she remains staring, empty, at the new arrivals adorning her body. There's a thick, white cast cradling her appendages and Toni hate's it. It's much too tight, juxtaposing her very loose clothing donated to her by neighbours of Sunnyside.

"Awesome! Is it really broken?" A young Fangs says in awe as he and Sweetpea approach her. He continues his gaze as Sweetpea rests his bicycle against a tree by her uncles trailer.

"Yup. I can't even get the cast wet or anything" Toni replies, trying to reciprocate the energy her best friends were radiating.

"I still can't believe you punched that guy, it was so cool!" Sweetpea perks up, his mouth forming into a bright smile, albeit full of gaps.

Toni looks up at him hastily. They're proud of her. She's confused as all she can feel is an overwhelming guilt.

Guilt for lashing out, guilt for hurting someone, guilt for burdening her uncle with a hospital bill due to lack of insurance. She looks upon her injury and feels nothing -except- a hatred for herself. She tunes out as the boys start rambling on about all the activities they plan to do tomorrow after school.

All Toni can think about is how this would have been if her parents had been here. She clenches and unclenches the remaining fingers not encased in a weakened cement, they shake and the process is strenuous.

The more she does it, the more she swears she can feel the last time her mother ever held her hand. The last time she felt her father's grip as she held onto him whilst sitting upon his shoulders.

In this moment, Toni wants nothing more than to have her mom kiss her forehead and tell her that everything will be ok. But that can't happen anymore. And it never will.

She's brought out of her thoughts by Sweetpea.

"-and then my mom said we could all sleep over at mine, how about it, Toni?"

"Uh, I have to ask my uncle" She mumbles, picking herself off the ground and trudging lazily into her trailer.

"Oh, okay. Still gonna ride to school tomorrow with us?" Fangs retorts, noticing Toni's glum exterior.

"Can't." She replies and holds up her cast wearily. Before either of the boys can reply she slams the trailer door shut and makes her way to the couch.

"What did I say about slamming that damn door!" She hears her uncle bellow from the next room. Toni hangs her head down, as if to shut the rest of the world out. Finally she begins to let the tears fall that she had locked inside her for months. She wept for her parents, wept for the life that would no longer be hers. This was her reality now. This was how it was.

//

She's fourteen when she becomes a serpent.

She's surrounded by so many faces, so many eyes, so many smiles. She's overwhelmed as she looks upon a group of dirty old men smirking hungrily at her. She still feels guilty. Toni looks upon her hands, glances upon the new scars that cover the old. They don't look like -feel- like her hands anymore. They haven't for a while.

She gets down from the tattered stage and is greeted by an intense force that takes her by surprise.

"You're one of us now, Tiny. How does it feel?" Sweetpea questions, releasing her from his grasp.

It's then that Toni finally takes everything in. This dirty bar that's been essentially her home for the last years, her many friends, now her family that she's grown up with. Every stain that laced the windows, every torn up, battered floorboard, every memory that she could conjure up in the moment. Toni inhales. She looks up at Sweetpea, still smiling lazily at her. Then at her hands once more and back to Sweetpea.

"Good. I feel.. good." She starts to smile, maybe to make him happy, maybe for herself. She can't really tell. She hasn't been able to for a while.

"Atta girl!" He practically yells and she feels herself become trapped in the atmosphere. Taken over by the many faces within the bar as the night presses forward. Drinks are passed and sloppy conversations are made. Toni feels loved, she knows she's loved, yet doesn't know why she feels so sequestered.

//

Deja vu.

That's what she feels as she enters her girlfriends house. She's lost in her own mind again. It happens a lot more frequently now. She sits down and feels calmed by the constant ticking of the grandfather clock. Nana Rose is positioned in front of the TV and Toni is comforted by the little red light emitted from it.

She feels someone take her hand. It stiffens, something that doesn't happen often. She can't understand why she's feeling like this. She wants to believe she has everything she could have ever desired, yet she doesn't feel them the way she once used to. Toni wants the world for herself but only if she can have it the way she once felt it.

"TT, you were gone a while, are you ok?" Cheryl inquires, her thumb circling over Toni's bruised knuckles. She sighs at how detached her girlfriend has been recently. Cheryl tucks a strand of Toni's pink hair behind her ear. The gesture is so gentle, so full of love, Toni feels herself become grounded. She has to physically fight the tears threatening to spill. She loves this girl so much. She want's to give her everything, she just can't understand the things people have done to her. Toni believes she see's things differently to others. Maybe that's why she feels so isolated.

"I love you" Toni says, very lackluster but her eyes screaming novels.

Cheryl's taken aback slightly. This isn't her Toni. She complies nonetheless. "I love you too, Toni". She takes her fingers gently under Toni's chin and cranes her forward as she places her lips upon hers. She feels Toni start to increase her pace, her hands coming to cup Cheryl's face. Eventually though, Cheryl finds herself breaking the kiss. She looks into Toni's eyes, reeling in the shared moment. Everything feels frozen and the girl in front of her is almost unrecognisable. The fuzziness of the TV is prominent and the white noise in the room is deafening. Cheryl wants to cry for her girl, nothing and everything is the same. There's an uncomfortable nostalgia in the room and Cheryl feels overwhelmed by the melancholy. She's confused yet everything still makes sense.

"I'm sorry" Toni breaks the silence. She looks down at the floor, refusing to meet Cheryls gaze. Once again she finds herself feeling guilty, feeling like she's let the ones she loves the most down. Cheryl, Sweetpea, fangs. Her parents.

"What for, baby?" Cheryl asks, kissing her forehead and taking hold of her hand.

Deja vu.

Toni feels everything right now. She clenches her eyes tight as she feels the sensations take over her hand.

"I can't tell you right now.. I don't have the words" She whispers.

The two girls stare into each other's eyes, a soft serenity tainting the atmosphere, everything is lukewarm.

//

Cheryl's in class.

Everyone's talking and laughing and being teenagers. She watches as Veronica and Archie give each other wistful glances accompanied by half smiles, as if they're thinking about the same thing and talking through looks. Betty and Jughead are sat next to Cheryl. They're casually chatting among each other, almost everyone in the room is. Cheryl can't wait for the lesson to be over.

After an eternity, the bell rings. Cheryl finds Veronica making her way over to her.

"Hey Cher, I haven't seen much of you recently, how’ve you been?" She asks, making light conversation.

"You see me at cheer practice almost everyday, Veronica. Or is your memory already failing you" She keeps the undertones of her attitude. Business as usual.

"You know what I mean" Veronica gives her a smirk. "Come have lunch with us, I promise we won't bore you to death"

"That's a heavy promise, especially considering these lunch plans involve cousin Betty, I assume?"

"Hey!" She hears Betty drawl

Veronica smiles and takes her arm, linking it with her own. They gang make their way over to the cafeteria and find themselves a table. The scene is what to be expected. All the different cliques gathered in their own areas. Cheryl smiles at the fact she has more than one she can fit into. These guys, and the serpents. She relishes in her family, Northside and South. She finds herself glancing at the serpents table. They all seem to be absorbed in a hearty laughter. It makes her heart swell. Sweetpea and Fangs seem to be in a heated discussion, worry plastering both their faces. Toni being know where to be seen.

Her attention is sparked by Betty asking her something.

"How is Toni, Cheryl. She's been a bit MIA" The whole table unanimously agrees.

"What?" Cheryl replies, a bit lost in the conversation she hasn't been listening to these last five minutes.

"I'm just saying we haven't really seen much of Toni, has she even been to school recently" Betty responds.

"Even at the trailer park she's kinda distant, meetings too" Jughead adds.

"TT is TT. She's fine, she's just doing her own thing. She has a lot on her plate right now." Cheryl says, fully knowing what she has just said was a lie. Toni wasn't fine, not by a long stretch. But she wasn't about to tell the scooby gang all this, not even when she didn't really know herself.

The gang look at her for a second, sort of taking it in but not really satisfied with the answer they were provided. Jughead looks back down at his food and resumes chomping. All of a sudden the sound of screaming deters the whole cafeteria from their previous doings.

"Fuck you, dumbass!" A voice screeches. There's a blunt noise accompanying it followed by the sounds of punches ricocheting off the lockers. The gang rush to see what's happening. Cheryl's eyes widen upon the scene. Before her stands her tiny girlfriend beating the shit out of some guy. He's stood with his back to a locker, a seeping crimson pouring from his nose and other bruises beginning to litter his face. Cheryl stands frozen at the scene, Archie eventually running in to break it up.

"Get off me, you asshole!" Toni screams, almost completely unaware of the gathering of students around her. She locks eyes with Cheryl, and it's then that she feels herself come back to reality. Toni runs -sprints- to the front doors of the school. Unsure of what to do Cheryl stands there confused once more.

"Fucking crazy ass bitch. Dumb serpent slut, I didn't even do nothing, bitch just went crazy" She hears the boy say.

Cheryl looks around the room, some of the students laughing, others stood with their phones out, trying to capture any remaining aftermath.

"Cheryl" Veronica quietly breaks her from her thoughts. "Go" She follows up with. Cheryl, understanding what she has to do feels her feet move, before she knows it she's outside, searching for her pinkhaired, five foot three girlfriend. Cheryl sees her sat on a bench by the football field. She silently makes her way over to her, unsure of what to say she just places herself next to Toni, offering a shared, understood support. They sit like that for a while. It isn't until Cheryl looks upon Toni's hands that she breaks the silence.

"You're bleeding, TT" Toni looks at her hands, one shaking significantly more than the other. She reaches out for Cheryl who quickly obliges. They both stand up and start to walk, aimlessly.

"Why, Toni? What is going on with you?" Cheryl asks bleakly, she wants nothing more than to help the girl she loves oh so much.

Toni clears her throat, her voice still comes out hoarse and broken. "I- I don't know. It's just easy"

"What's easy?" Cheryl responds

"That.. this" Toni holds up her bloody, broken hand, as if it were to explain everything to Cheryl.

Cheryl sighs once more, Toni taking her over to a tree. She begins to kiss her, peppering them generously around her neck and back to her lips. It's hollow, deposed. It's missing something and Cheryl can feel it. No longer once full of the passion it once harboured, yet Toni showed no signs of stopping. Cheryl finds herself having to break yet another kiss.

"-Toni, Toni s-stop, I-." Cheryl tries to gently position her girlfriend off of her.

"You what, Cheryl? Don't you want me? Don't you love me!?" It comes out demanding and angry. Cheryl has never seen this side of her girlfriend before

"What!? I- of course I do Toni, it's just.. let- let me take you to the hospital" Cheryl offers before she feels Toni slide away from her and begin to walk off, regardless of direction.

"My hand is fine!" She hears Toni yell as she walks further and further away.

"It's your mind I'm worried about" Cheryl mumbles to herself as she watches Toni fade away into the distance.

//

She doesn't know how she's managed to find herself here, but she has.

Some crappy Southside club that she's been able to sneak into. The walls are etched in mold and are wearing away with age. There's little light. It's encompassed by an overall gloomy atmosphere and Toni hates it. She hates everyone here. Currently she’s in the process of flirting with a middle-aged man who was incessant on calling her "sweetheart" to see if she could get him to buy her a drink. After various successful attempts she was growing tired and was in search of more, needed more.

"What are you looking for, Sweetheart" A Ghoulie approaches her, she recognises him (barely) and she informs him on her situation.

"Yeah? Well I got just what you need" He presents a handful of little sticks that Toni knows oh too well.

"Jingle-Jangle?" She looks hesitant.

"I promise ya" He gives her an eager smile.

Toni doesn't need much more convincing. She doesn't care at this point and will try anything. She hands him the money and makes her way over to a corner. She anxiously looks around at everyone at the club. They're sloppily dancing and there's horrific music blaring throughout the place. Toni pops it into her mouth and downs her drink she was milling with for the last ten minutes.

She starts to feel the effects quickly.

As the night goes on she continuously takes JJ whilst simultaneously drinking. Not good, she knows, but she feels alive. Like everything that she usually experiences starts to have layers. And each layer she understands as well as the last, all adding up to the overall thing. Everything's much more intense but because of this new understanding that the drugs have given her, Toni feels like a genius. She understands everything so very well. All the words that have lingered in her head, she finally has them. If she could give someone this feeling, they would understand everything. Everything she has felt over these last years. Everything.

If Cheryl were here right now, Toni would be able to explain her head, her mind. Toni can't stop smiling. She's dancing and she's feeling and she's living her life. The way she assumes it was intended to be felt. Toni looks down at her hands, both as scarred as each other and she clenches them. As she releases, she feels the absence of her mothers grip. Toni panics. She feels herself come undone, starting to hyperventilate and look wildly at this horribly crowded bar filled with sleazy drug addicts and people she promised herself she'd never associate with. She clambers around, holding one hand to her chest, the other she's clenching and unclenching furiously, trying to feel her mother on her, trying to feel anything as she feels herself slipping.

She finds herself on the bathroom floor. She doesn't care that she's most likely kneeling in piss and needles, anything is better than that nightmare. Suddenly, it all becomes too much, too overwhelming as Toni feels the toll of the alcohol and drugs. She's still tripping but it's mixing with her come down and she's in an awkward in between stage that's messing too much with her body and mind. She's leaning over the toilet and violently vomiting into it, tears begin staining her cheeks and her hands tremble as she clutches the toilet. She's completely debilitated and she'd give anything to not be alive.

She hears the door open but can't bring herself to look up.

"Who do you need me to call?" A gruff woman’s voice sounds and bounces off the tiles in the stalls. Toni barely turns herself but recognises that it's the bartender who had given her sorrowful looks for most of the night. Toni can't speak.

She's not sure how but she's now sitting on an uncomfortable seat that's just beside the entrance of the club. She can't move and she realises this is her come down.

The door opens and Toni hears a familiar "Jesus Christ, Toni". Her head tilts ever so slightly in the direction and she see's her girlfriend, face flushed and slightly out of breath, her red hair tousled and her eyes sad. All Toni can do is swallow and try to move her hands.

Cheryl looks down at the girl sat on the bench. She looks at her gaunt features and the black, hollow bags under her eyes. Was Toni always this skinny? Cheryl thought to herself. She analyses the rest of her face and all Cheryl can think is tired. Toni looks so tired.

//

They're asleep in Cheryl's too large canopy bed.

There's three more weeks left until the end of the semester and Toni isn't sure how she feels. She can't sleep. She looks at Cheryl and thinks to herself that she has never seen anyone this beautiful. She loves her. And she would do anything for.

"-mm TT, go to sleep" She hears Cheryl mumble.

"I can't" Toni's voice barely sounds out.

"Where's your head, baby" Cheryl starts to sit up and Toni feels guilty that she's pulled her from sleep.

"Everyone's left for a place I'm not fond of. I think I'm the only person who realises it"

Cheryl pulls Toni closer, both of them feeling each others breath. She kisses her forehead and says "Everything is going to be ok"

Toni feels herself break.

"Mommy" She sobs.  

[vankoya]

Saviour of the Good Days.

➢ A Christmas drabble series based on this list!

Genre | Sense8 AU.

Pairing | Jung Hoseok / Feminine Reader.

Conspectus | Even the worst days can have some good in them. That good, always, arrives as the same person. The one that your entire body and soul is inexplicably entwined with.

It has been a very, very bad day.

Indeed, it has been one of those days where you wake up and have an overwhelming feeling that you should most definitely not leave your bed, because nothing good will come from it. And although you eventually roll yourself to the edge of your mattress and lethargically drag your limbs into an upward position; although you think it can’t be that bad, just get on with it; the whole world unforgivingly crumbles to shit around you, and you get caught in the rockslide.

It was a case of one bad thing after another. A pile of small inconveniences that built and built, slowly becoming more unstable with every new weight added to the mountain. First, there was realising that you forgot to buy a new jar of coffee granules yesterday afternoon, and so you could not make yourself a cup of liquid adrenaline the instant you awoke. Then, there was knocking a half-full glass of water over important documents during your nine-to-five at the office. Later, there was your card declining when you tried to purchase a Christmas gift for your best friend, and the sudden flash of remembrance that rent money came out at midday and, to make it worse, you still do not get paid for another three days.

Now, your car has broken down on the side of the road in the middle of a small snowstorm, which is terribly classic because you abso-fucking-lutely despise snow in general. This right here is the breaking point; the collapse; the crush of your body beneath the weight of all the shitty things that have occurred today. This right here is the cherry on top of the shit cake of shitty shit things, and like a flooding riverbed, your barriers break down and you sob the frustrations out.

“What the hell,” you furiously whisper through a sniffle, forehead resting against the steering wheel of your car as snow pelts down on the town outside. “What’s up the world’s ass today? Is it ‘poke fun at ___’ day?”

“Want me to fight the world for you?”

The voice, while more familiar than the back of your own hand, nonetheless makes you jolt in your seat with a short squeal. Some sensates say that you never get used to it. Having a group of people in your head who share all of your senses, your skills, and can mentally materialise right beside you, although their real bodies remain to be separated from you by thousands of miles. Others express that it takes time. Rather than living as individual people, you learn to be a cluster of minds that coexist all at once, and the intermingling of your lives becomes as natural as before you became connected by the souls.

You are at the midway point of the spectrum.

“Depends,” you say, voice still a little choked with your emotional outburst. “Will fighting the world revive the documents I spent hours working on, only to ruin them completely with my damn elbow colliding with an misfortunately placed glass of water?”

He makes a contemplative sound. “Maybe not. But watching the world get punched in the face by my fists might make you smile, at least.”

At that, there is a watery curl of your lips, and you lean against the headrest of your seat, tilting to the side to face him. Jung Hoseok, who you have mentally, physically, and emotionally been connected with for little beyond a year now, is already watching you with an adoring smile. A South Korean mechanic from a city called Gwangju, who towers over you in height with messily styled hair the colour of the night sky at its darkest; juxtaposed by his bright, sunshine-like features; doused in gold. Even the dreary weather cannot suck the honey from his skin. He remains to attain a soft, pleasant glow that you swear brightens every time his mouth shapes itself into a waning moon, shimmering like sunlight on a calm ocean.

Perhaps, the visible radiance is just your imagination. Then again, you cannot necessarily trust anything you see in your head, these days.

“There it is,” he coos. The thick, fur-lined leather jacket that he wears gives a muffled squeak when he reaches over the gear stick to pat your thigh. Although he is all in your mind, the touch feels as real as ever; sets warmth aflame in your cheeks. “Now that seeing your pretty smile has been ticked off my to-do list, what’s happened here? The car has broken down?”

You wipe at the silvery tracks on your face with your mittens, inwardly hoping you do not look as much of a wreck as you feel. “Something like that. There was a bang, and by the time I pulled it off the road, it had completely stopped.” Hoseok goes to open his mouth, but you swiftly cut him off, already able to see the question he is going to ask by the playful twinkle of his eye. “And no, I haven’t run out of gas. I still have half a tank left, smart ass.”

Hoseok chuckles, directing his gaze out the windshield where the road is being painted white. “Well, my next best guess is that you’ve popped a tyre.” He twists so he can face the backseat, eyeing your spare black parka. “I’ll need your help. Can we use that to keep ourselves shielded in this mini storm? Wait, do you even have a spare tyre?”

“Yes, and yes,” you confirm, already pulling the parka into your lap. “The jack should be in the trunk, too…” Your voice trails off when you take in Hoseok’s attire of the leather jacket, combat boots, blue jeans, and a thin sweater. Most certainly not suited for snow, nonetheless a snowstorm. “Are you sure you won’t be cold?”

“I’m not literally here,” he reminds you with a smirk, unlocking the passenger door. “As long as you’re warm, I’m warm too. I’m feeling what your senses are feeling, right now.”

At that, your feeble heart stutters, and you avidly attempt to not focus on the thought of him feeling something a lot less innocent than the cold weather. “R-Right. Okay. Let’s get to it, then.”

The pair of you stumble into the already calming storm, heading straight for the trunk. Hoseok pulls out the spare tyre and the jack, while you remain huddled close to him with the parka pulled around your bodies in a feeble defence against the assaulting white. It is rather fascinating to observe him changing the tyre; the concentrated, determined frown of his features; the deft movements of his bare hands as they skilfully work. Under his breath, he mutters to himself, as if vocally making his way through the steps. His tousled fringe falls in his eyes, and he keeps having to blow it back with short, slightly irritated huffs. You know that you are ogling like an idiot, but you cannot help it when everything he does is just so… insanely attractive.

Hoseok seems to catch onto this by the time he has completed the job, and you are darting your eyes away from his face where they had been embarrassingly burning holes for the past ten minutes. He notices how closely you are crouched beside him; the parka-shield surrounding the two of you in a cosy cocoon only serving to force your body-warmth to share the space. Around your huddled figures, the storm has completely relaxed into peaceful snowing. Out the corner of your eye, you can see the way his expression softens, melting like butter.

“T-Thanks. For this. I really appreciate it, Hoseok,” you mumble in a pathetic attempt to cover up your ridiculously intense staring. When you go to drop the parka away, no longer a necessity, he softly catches your elbow, halting the action. You pray to every deity that he believes your watery gaze is due to the icy weather.

“No need to thank me, I’m happy to help,” Hoseok says gently, squeezing your elbow. The warmth of your face ignites into that of a pot reaching boiling point. His own cheeks light up in a rosy flush, and you wonder if that is your own senses reacting with his own, or if they are solely his, making him blush completely by themselves. “If it makes you happy, I’m happy.”

There, you realise how near his face is to your own. There, you think that you could move forwards three inches, and you would be able to kiss him. There, Hoseok seems to understand the same idea that is running its dangerous course through your mind, because he slowly, incrementally, leans, and leans, and leans–

A car door slamming shocks you out of your intoxicated daze. You physically fall backwards from your crouch, collapsing into the snow with a surprised shriek. Almost immediately afterward, a flustered, middle-aged women wearing a pink beanie with a giant pompom on top is offering her hand to you.

Hoseok is nowhere to be seen.

“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry for frightening you, darling!” She says in a high voice as she helps you back to your feet. “I saw you all by your lonesome on the side of the road, and couldn’t help but worry. Did you pop a tyre? Oh- Wow! You changed that all by yourself? How impressive of...” 

The woman continues to ramble on, but your attention has been snagged elsewhere. Still stunned from the almost that was finally about to occur; that was yanked away from you at the last second, like teasing a dog with a bone. And then, suddenly, all you can focus on is a familiar hand gingerly curling around your wrist.

A pair of silky, warm lips pressing to your cheek.

“Merry Christmas, ___,” Hoseok murmurs into your ear, planting another soft peck on the lobe, drawing fire in its wake. “I hope your day gets better.”

“... Gee, I remember when my husband nearly drove us into oncoming traffic when I– Honey, are you okay? You look like you’ve just seen Big Foot!”

Note | Sensates are a ‘cluster’ of human beings who are mentally and emotionally linked, able to sense and communicate with each other, as well as share their knowledge, language and skills. Please watch the show. It is phenomenal.

All Rights Reserved © Vankoya. No translations, reposting and/or modifying of the material is allowed without my direct permission.

[chloefraserphotography]

Lost and Found Photographer Research

Joel Robinson

Joel is a fine art photographer from Canada. He has been hosting creative workshops all over the world for students to build both a creative portfolio, set up a photography business and gain social media presence. He has also worked with many well-known companies such as Coca Cola and FIFA and it is clear to see why he’s been able to have this opportunity. 

I think this image consists of 3 or more images, 1 background image which is the location as well as the man, an image of the jar, and a few images of the butterflies. I chose this image because I really like the neutral tones within it, from the sky to the ground. I also really like how the butterflies fit into the jar, it looks so realistic even though butterflies aren’t that big. I also really like the distorted effect around the edges of the glass, it looks really similar to the background image. I feel that the jar may have been shot in the same location because the light quality and direction. is really similar on it. Whilst looking through Joel’s images, I noticed a dream-like quality within all of his images which I really like. To me, the key success of this image would be how realistic it looks.

 Tommy Ingberg

Tommy is a self-taught photographer and visual artist, born 1980 in Sweden. He describes his work as being very personal and though provoking. More recently, he has been recognised for his amazing work and has won awards. He also has a series called “ The Reality Rearranged” in which he uses surrealism to describe reality.

He creates a lot of minimalistic and self-reflecting surreal photo montages. When I was looking through his images, I realised they’re all in black and white which stops the eye from being distracted from colours and makes you focus on the shapes and the storytelling instead. I feel that the image below is made from 3 separate images, the man, the background and the rock This image stood out to me the most because of how I interpreted it, I feel that the rock represents a burden and if it were to be removed it would be a massive weight off of the persons shoulders. Upon analysing it further, I feel it could also represent a dark rain cloud which could be related to mental health and feeling down. The image itself is really simple but the intense contrast make the concept more complicated than it may seem at first glance. I feel that this simplicity is one of the key successes of the image.

Oleg Oprisco

Oleg Oprisco is a fine art photographer born in the town of Lviv, Ukraine. During his teen years he worked in a photo lab and after completing his studies, he was an assistant in Kiev to a well-known photographer that worked in advertising.  Oleg is also known for putting a shoot in place from beginning to end by himself (make-up, wardrobe, props). His work is also said to be dream-like.

I think the image below is made up from 3-4 images. The background image, the person and maybe a separate image for the thread. Also another image for the needle. I find this image rather confusing as it makes me wonder what this person is doing. This could never be real because it’s an electricity line. I think this image is effective because it’s thought provoking, it makes you wonder what’s actually going on. I like the neutral tones contrasted with the complete black outfit of the person and thread. I think that the key success of this image would be the colour grading and murky atmosphere which makes the image feel quite strange and uncomfortable.

Dariusz Klimczak

Dariusz Klimczak is a Polish photographer, born in 1967. He graduated from the Zdunska Wola school, he is a painter, photographer and a journalist. He has been a photographer for over 30 years but in more recent years he started to get more creative with his images. Dariusz Klimczak's photographic work was awarded by several prizes and grants, like the photo of the year by the American online media Pixoto.

I think the image below has been made from between 4-6 images, an image for each giraffe as they are all from a different angle or perspective and one for the background including the tree. I chose this image because it’s less serious than some of the others. I think the black and white makes the image seem intimidating and I think the straight profile of the giraffe at the front helps to add to this. I feel like the way the trees branches are sitting, the front giraffe would seem like the alpha out of the 4 of them. I think the contrast between the textured sky and the giraffes is really interesting and helps bring out the main elements. I also think the shape of the branches helps to lead the eye through the image. I think the key success of this image would be intensity of it compared to the average picture of a giraffe.

James Popsys

James is a London-based conceptual photographer who creates interesting composites and landscape images. James’ images often contain contradictions and irony as a way of juxtaposing objects. James often runs his own YouTube channel where he regularly makes video tutorials.

I think this image is made up of a minimum of 3 images. The volcano as one image and I feel like the balloons have been 2 separate images because there’s a size difference which begins from the line in the middle. I was drawn to this image because of the range of colours, it’s very eye catching. I think this image is a nice and simple way to start analysing composite images as it’s not too complicated. The balloons remind me of the film “Up” which gives it a child-like appeal. Overall, I really like the contrast between the balloons and the black and white of the volcano and the snow. I also feel that this image could maybe bring some humour to a rather serious event. I think that one of the key successes of this image would be the simplicity of it.

[aimeeleighgillphotography]

Creative Manipulation

Rosie Hardy

Rosie is a 27-year-old freelance art photographer, based within Manchester, United Kingdom. She later joined flicker which she started around the age of seventenn. Rosie then started a 365-day project, this was called 'One self-portrait every day for a year', this was where she improve on her photography and posting her processing skills. Rosie is popular for doing manipulation image and taking self-portraits in a dreamy setting. She sometimes focuses on doing some sort of theme within ll of her images such as social media, loneliness and inspirational. Rosie is an expert of creating the realistic world, makes unusual props look real within all of her images. i like this image as it looks unusual and the surreal nature catches the eye. i was drawn into Rosie work because of the dreamy sets and an effect from all of her image within the posing. In his image i like how Rosie has put her-self witihn the image and made it look like she was going through the phone to look for what been said on social media as this image look like it based on Instagram. I also like the name of this image, 'Searching for validation' and this could mean she looking to take actions and make offcial acceptable. As i was lookig through Rosie's blog, i notice a photo that she was making the Instagram props her-self and I find this very inspiring as you would think she could of maybe of got them off a website. This image could be seen as a girl trying to escape from the harsh reality of social media-praise is fuelled from her internet status. I also like how this image is based away from civilization. The background of this image is amazing as it makes you think of a summer night and when it just hit the golden hour of the sub starting to set.

Nicholas Scarpinato

Nicholas is a 19-year-old fine art photography, based in Los Angeles, California. he alters all of his images to create a familiar, yet a surreal scene. Nocholas sometime take images of himself, other people and object within a surreal location, his photos of manipulation are often feature within an unusual colourhs and compositions. Almost all of Nicholas work is sketched out, unless he ends up seeing something that is just so intriguing that he just cannot help himself but just take the image. The reason i like this image as it unusual and surreal nature that catches the eye a little different from the first photographer i have look at. I like this because of the sizing of the manipulation. Another reason i like this image is that the colours all blend together but in all different ways as the tones of all the colours are different, it also make you think of a sunset because of all the different colours. I like how there is leading line within this image, as all of the burgers are led you in to the image. I like how he has achieved a shallow depth of field within this image as he burger at the bottom left and middle of the image is mainly out of focus. Nicholas creative skills are amazing as her has created such an increadible image. i think Nicholas is very success with this kind of photography as it seems like he knows a lot about it and knows how to edit them to look good.

Marcus Moller Bitsch

Marcus is a 27-year-old autodidact danish photography from Aarhus, Demark, but now Marcus currently based in Paris, France. He did not long start photography after been told he could never do water sports again, he then started a project called 'The 365-day project'. This was the way he practice his newly discovered passion. Once Marcus finished his last year in school, he then move to Demark the other side of the world to dart a big neew photo-project. Marcus work is very unusual image, the surreal nature also really catches your ete as i was scolling through his work on Instagram. I like this image as it something you could be imagine within a dream and walikng through the doors to something you have been wishing to happen. The composition of this image is done really well. I also like this image as it makes you wonder what is behind the door as all you can see is the light shining through it, but also you want to know what going through the boy mind at this moment and time. I like how the light that is coming through the open doors are really nice as it brighten up the grass and the boy's face as you are able to see the glow at the side of his face. Marcus creative Manipulation within this image is amazing as he done so well editing all of his image abd making you feel like it really happen.

Brooke Shaden

Brooke is a fine art photographer, who often take photographs of herself. Her manipulation within the images is another world, Brooke describes all of her work as a look at the juxtaposition of the light and dark of people, all of her image are often look like they could be from a fantasy storybook, even off all of the art museums walls. Brooke is an author and speaker. As she is a self-portrait artist, all of her photographs of herself have become the character of a dream that has been inspired by her childhood of intense imagination and fear. As she is also a creator and actor, Brooke has control all of her darkness and confronts those who are in fear. She often works from a place that has a theme, that she often gravities towards death and rebirth, beauty and decay, all of her images come from a personal place of exploration and her goal is to create not only to satisfy herself but her greatest wish is to show other the part of themselves and that art is a mirror of the creator and the observes. I like this image as it is so surreal nature that catches your eye a little bit more different from the others and it really unusual. The surreal part to this image is not that easy to see as i never notice it when I first look at this image, but this imahe is also very creative at the same time and this is like they are trying to stop her from see what going on. I like how strong the colours in this image it incredible, as the orange coming from the sunrise and this give the image a nice light to ut and the blue within the water looks colder. i like the reflection within the water of the sunrise it is bold within its colours.

Charlie Davoli

Charlie was born in 1976 in singapore, but now livves and work in Puglia, Italy. Charlie is a surrealist photographer, who often uses manipulation to juxtapose two different ideas. His photography was inspired by his former work, which was a musician, as he was part of a band up to 2006. All of his photo manipulation work includes flip-flopping the ground and the sky, he blends the opposite place into the same scene, or he brings the sky down to earth. Charlie was inspired by the surrealist and metaphysical ascendent of Avant-grade painting. I like how this image as it feels very magical and i also think that Charlie's idea pf creative manipulation is amazing, he knows what he is doing anfd creates interesting images, and all of his editing skills are incredible as this image feel so magical and make you want to be on the Ferris wheel and be able to have a little time to yourself. I love the colours within this image as the sky is darker but the colour pop from the seat on the Ferries wheel and this stands out a lot as it is sitting on top of the white clouds. I also really like the stars that have been add at the top and this kind of feels like he is trying to go along with the theme as there is a star on the Ferris wheel.

[britneyreviewed-blog]

"Gimme More”

Dignity, Dirty Dancing, and Defending Britney Spears (Also, Conspiracy Theories)

Released 10/5/2007 Directed by Jake Safarty Rating: 3.75/5

Previous posts: “Toxic” “Womanizer” “From The Bottom Of My Broken Heart”

This blog has turned out to be darker than I expected. I guess I just didn’t pay attention when I was younger, but Britney got so much hate. I watched the infamous Chris Crocker “Leave Britney alone!” video, and honestly, it isn’t that funny in 2018. “I know it’s hard to see Britney as a human being, but trust me, she is,” he says at one point, and like, he’s not wrong. Yes, the tears are overwhelming and excessive, but when reading an article like the one by Alec Hanley Bemis I discussed last week, the vitriol is overwhelming and excessive as well; it was an absolute avalanche of derision that spanned at least a decade. I’m not sure if we are necessarily any kinder to pop stars today, but I’d like to think that we wouldn’t do that again.

I chose “Gimme More” this week because it seemed like an obvious next choice in terms of the direction of the blog. To start with, Chris Crocker made that video following Britney’s performance of Gimme More at the 2007 VMAs as a response to the huuuge backlash she received for a supposedly lackluster performance. Rewatching it as I write this blog, I honestly don’t think it’s that bad. Definitely not so bad to warrant the amount of notoriety it has and had. Critics called her listless, dazed, lumbering. Part of me wonders if they hated it so much because she wasn’t rail thin and still dared to put on a bikini. Anyway, you can watch it here if you’d like to refresh your memory.

“Gimme More” also pairs nicely with last week’s discussion surrounding “From The Bottom Of My Broken Heart.” As I previously wrote, back in 2000 Bemis was horrified that Britney had worked with a director who had formally made adult films; he predicted that she would turn into a porn star herself. Now, roughly seven years later, she was starring in a music video as a stripper! I wonder what he’d have to say about that? (Just kidding, I’d rather not know--the thought of how smug and righteous he’d be makes me gag.) 

The thing is, I think Britney is being ironic in her choice to play that role. And it was her idea! Like other music videos, the concept for “Gimme More” was Britney’s. According to the on-set makeup artist Mikal Sky, Britney “sabotaged the director by refusing to perform and follow the script,” which I find a bit strange if she came up with or at least significantly contributed to the script, and additionally according to Wikipedia Britney handpicked director Jake Sarfaty, but whatever. The point is, it seems safe to assume that Britney had some control over playing a stripper in this video, and I think it’s actually subversive. But I guess I can get more into that when I go over the video itself.

One last thing before we get started: there’s at least three different versions of this video floating around: two or three “official” versions with varying levels of censorship in terms of how much skin is shown, and a director’s cut from 2011. There’s also this really weird Internet rumor/borderline conspiracy theory about an unreleased version, which sounds interesting and something closer to what Britney herself would come up with for a video than what was released publicly. It’s something like, Britney goes to a funeral except it turns out she’s in the coffin and she’s burying her old self and starting anew, predating Taylor Swift’s zombie “The old Taylor can’t come to the phone right now” thing for “Look What You Made Me Do.” It’s believable but I found no credible sources supporting it. However, I’ll link to a YouTube video at the bottom which has leaked stills and such and builds a somewhat convincing case, although it’s poorly made and if anything just serves as an example of how intense the rumors were about the video. I’ll also link to the comparison of four different “Gimme More” videos, which features three “official” versions and the director’s cut. The "official” versions are all so similar that I didn’t have the patience to watch all the way through.

The director’s cut is similar enough, but there are some key differences: the club goers (which I will talk about below) have been edited out and replaced with shots of Britney lounging on a bed and walking down a sidewalk in black and white. It’s often referred to as the “funeral version” because these new shots were filmed for the alleged “original” version of the video. With all the rumors swirling around the filming of the video, I can see why there would be a new version released four years later, but I find these shots to be boring. They don’t contribute anything, and overall this version seems to focus on being titillating more than the official version. This is an important difference because I argue that in both the song and the video Britney is not trying to simply arouse but also to draw attention to you as a voyeur. OK, let’s just roll the video!

This song is the origin of “It’s Britney, bitch.” And honestly, while spoken word stuff in pop song usually makes me cringe, here it’s pretty badass. As the song opens, we see Britney in a blonde wig (having shaved her head just eight months prior to the release of this video) laughing with some friends at the bar. We get a quick get to Stripper Britney in a bowler hat and fishnets sitting on a couch, who says, “I see you,” and causes Blonde Britney to look over in curiosity.

I find this exchange between the two Britneys interesting. While the song can is very much about media scrutiny, she cuts out the media (and the male gaze) in the video by making it a performance dedicated to herself, from herself. I think this is one of the most subversive things about it. Blonde Britney is fascinated by and attracted to Stripper Britney--a bit heavy-handed but given the context of 2007 a poignant metaphor for loving yourself.

The video kicks off, and for the most part it’s Stripper Britney swinging around on the pole. A lot of people complained about how unsexy or unskilled her pole-dancing was, which to me is the epitome of how Britney Can’t Win, because you can bet your butts that if she’d put on a “proper” routing on the pole, everyone would be clutching their pearls over how Britney was still on the road to destruction. This was the first single that had come out since her breakdown, and so all eyes were on her.

I don’t really analyze the lyrics on this blog, because it’s more about the videos, but I think they’re really important in this case. “Feels like the crowd is saying, ‘gimme gimme more, gimme more,’” is so spot-on. While some of the lyrics point to this being a hot-and-heavy love song, to me it’s a song to the media. “Every time they turn the lights down, just want to go that extra mile for you,” sounds a bit sarcastic when the “you” is more literal--YOU, the person watching this video, the person watching this woman who just had a very humiliating year and is now performing a strip tease for you. “They keep on watching.” Her lack of enthusiasm or skill or sexiness or whatever you want to call it just draws further attention to the viewer’s voyeurstic position, and what your expectations are. More, more, more.

The first 45 seconds of the video are just Britney dancing on the pole, but the cuts are really fast and the colors change a lot, so it’s visually interesting enough.

At a certain point, she starts dancing against the nearby wall mirror, which I think only further underscores the dual concept of self-love and voyeurism. Then the bowler hat comes off for certain shots.

With her hair down, her dancing does get noticeably more suggestive, with more shots of her body, especially her butt and legs. 

It was hard to get any flattering or even clear screenshots of this video, because the cuts are so fast and both Britney the camera moves around a lot.

I think Britney with the bowler hat is an interesting choice for a couple reasons; first, on its own, it gives her a masculine appearance with clashes with the stripper aesthetic, and second, it is then juxtaposed with her long black hair flowing, which is much more feminine. It’s like she’s playing around with her appearance since she shaved her head. It gives her more flexibility and again it toys with the viewer’s curiosity--since she shaved her head, what’s under that hat? Overall, though, the video is shot in a gritty style, even in black and white at times, including her feminine shots, which further subverts your expectations of what Britney as a stripper would be. The blur effect that is frequently used obscures her body, once again making the viewer self-aware as you are frustrated by your attempts to visually consume her body.

Blonde Britney returns to the screen, still watching from the bar.

I think it’s interesting that Blonde Britney appears to gossip about the performance with her friends, laugh, and makes a face, but she’s still watching.

Then out of nowhere, this guy appears on screen!

There’s no explanation given about him--they just show his face and go back to Stripper Britney. Obviously he’s like a bar patron or something, but he serves no purpose other than I guess to hetero the place up a little bit. Can’t have Britney love herself too much without a man showing up!!

Back to the pole, where Stripper Britney is joined by other dancers.

Then the song shifts to the middle spoken word part, where Britney says, “They want more? I’ll give them more,” and she takes her top off!

Then the rest of the video cuts together all the different shots: her dancing alone with her top on, dancing alone with her top off, and dancing together with all the other dancers. The last minute of the video is pretty unremarkable, just a repeat of what we’ve seen before. Britney seems to be having fun, and there’s a couple nice shots of her smiling, particularly when Danja says in the outro, “The legendary Miss Britney Spears.”

The random man from before shows back up, again just for a few seconds, this time not even seeming to be watching Britney at all. I think these shots build the strongest case for that alternate unreleased version, because they seem so out of place. 

The final shot is of Blonde Britney, still laughing, but still watching.

This is a great song. I remember finding the chorus a bit annoying when it came out, but now I think it’s quite good. On top of that though, the verse melody is a jam. The synth production is dark but still poppy. And I like the video, too. I can understand some criticism of it, but I think the layered meaning intended or not really saves it. However, it’s still really repetitive and the visuals get old fast, and regardless of what the truth is about the funeral version or not, there’s something off about the way the crowd is shown in relation to Britney. Because of that, I give this video a 3.75 out of 5.

After all that, I want to do something a little more light-hearted. The more I research for these videos, the darker this stuff gets, so I could use a week off. Stay tuned next week for “Criminal.”

Resources “Gimme More” official music video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=elueA2rofoo Comparison of four different versions of “Gimme More”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CjTrfPVGsZs “Gimme More: The Story of the Unreleased Video”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dTKtgqfm3Sc

[spaghettiintherain]

painted hands on painted hearts

Summary : In a world of numerous colors and countless words, Dan and Phil meet.

Words : 3,182

Warning : mention of sex

Somehow, in this vast ocean, Phil’s eyes were trained at one spot. Oaky grey and bright cerulean entranced him, a rough current dotted with bright white swirls. The painting surrounded him, waves rang in his ears and he could swear he smelt the tang of salt water and he stood there, motionless yet feeling the watery sway. Looking close enough, Phil could see brushstrokes, soft and gentle, juxtaposed to the harsh crash of the sea. Phil’s fingers scurried across his notebook, writing without looking, a skill he had positioned himself to carry out often. He wrote of the painting, what feelings it spawned, the brushstrokes and colors buried in between corners.

Phil was too bright compared to the dark venue. He was ebony skin and lemon yellow socks and ocean eyes that took in it all. He was a deep red jumper and pale denim jeans with beautiful peach patches. He was a smile brighter than the sun, brighter than neon lights and vibrant sips. To some, he was zany, but he was secretly the perfect amount of dazzling color, vivid in tones that lacked in all other places.

“You don’t look like a critic,”

Phil flinched as he turned around, meeting the eyes of the man behind him, ones that remind him of the color coffee was at midnight.

“You’re staring awfully intently and writing things in a notebook. I can’t help but assume.”

The lights illuminating him were an out of place vibrant orange that gave his face, and sly smile, a beautiful bronze glow.

“Oh um no-”

Phil stammered and the stranger cocked his head, dark brown curls falling across his forehead.

“I’m Daniel Howell. And you, the non-art critic are?”

“Phil Lester.”

“What’s Phil short for?”

“Phillip.”

“Phil-lip.”

Phil was fascinated by the way Daniels lips moved as he said his name, and the way his voiced sounded like cream and sugar.

“Daniel Howell…the artist? Of this exhibit?”

Dan smiled with an aura of bright honeysuckle and modest shadows. He nodded, still smiling with the same dimple highlighting it.

“You know, Phil Lester, you’re awfully beautiful.”

Phil watched as Dan looked at him with intent, looking at his every nook and cranny; how his eyelashes shadowed his eyes and how vermillion cheeks were dotted with constellations of freckles.

He took notice of the diversity of colors and bit his bubblegum pink lips, not that Phil was looking at his lips.

“Can I see your notebook?”

Phil handed it to him without a second thought. He was caught up in the alluring person that Dan was, he was strong and confident but something so gentle flowed underneath.

Phil looked down and realized his pencil was a sweet mint green, and felt embarrass at how much color he showed. The pencil moved with such intensity that Phil feared the page would rip, and some graceful masterpiece would be gone forever. His chestnut eyes glanced back up at Phil a few times, but remained with all focus of the paper.

“So, what are you? If not a critic.��

“I’m a-well I’m writing a novel.”

Dan’s chewed pink lips made their way into a smile. He looked back at Phil and handed him the now closed notebook. Phil fought the urge to tear it open and look at whatever beauty this artist had created.

“Ah, so you’re an author,”

Phil shrugged, he called himself that leniantly,

“What are you writing about? With art?”

“Well I’m writing a book about an artist who falls in love with a different person every chapter but the last chapters are him falling in love with himself and it’s got a lot to do with color and I’m looking at art because obviously he’s an artist and I’m rambling I’m sorry.”

Dan smiled like sweet honey and bright stars, and Phil melted under his gaze.

“Don’t be, it sounds very interesting. Now, I must be going, but I’ll see you around.”

With that, the enigma that Daniel Howell was, was gone. Phil opened his book up to where the page was held out by a light green pencil. A drawing sat there, inanimate and beautiful, drawing Phil in with alluring eyes and a far away stare. It was unmistakably Phil, with dotted cheeks and nearly dark eyelashes and a permanant slight smile. Next to it sat a message in gracefully curly writing.

Phillip, you are in every color. Vibrant flamingo, 8 o'clock. Wear something colorful. -Daniel

With wide eyes and a shocked blush, Phil looked at his watch, and seeing that it already 5, he scurried through the rest of the exhibit. Now that he had met the paradox that was Dan Howell, he could see him in every color, every brushstroke and every speckle of paint. Phil could practically picture Dans hands as they signed the small flick in each picture. In a out of place and almost ethereal painting of a sunflower, Phil could feel Dans smile and the sweet sunshine yellow glints in his ridiculously pretty brown eyes.

8 pm rolled around, and Phil was standing outside Vibrant Flamingo, shocked at what he had found. It’s not that he didn’t know his town, this was a end of town he had only once managed to go to, and that required about 4 shots of whipped cream vodka. He was interestingly entranced in the sign, sporting a non-shocking bright pink flamingo taking a sip out of a neon green martini glass. It showed no words, and that made the sign so much better, reminding him of pool floaties and the far away glow of the city at 3 am.

Phil felt a soft touch on his shoulder, and turned around to see Dan in all his grandeur and glory. His smile was soft and dimples excavated themselves into his cheeks. There was a more present wave in his hair than hours before, and everything about him seemed to be soft and sweet.

“You came!”

He sounded ecstatic, but an underlying question ran through the simple remark like a river.

“Of course I came.”

Dan grabbed Phil’s hand as they walked in, bypassing the line with a small nod of his head. Phil was in flustered awe, and couldn’t help but staring at Dans face at the purple light reflected against it, highlighting his cheekbones and giving his eyes an indigo glow.

Phil had never needed to wonder why Dan had chosen this sparkling underground club, he had simply known that it was everything Dan was and yet none at all. Dan was simply a riddle that Phil wanted nothing more than to solve. What he had helplessly wondered was why he was here, in a place with confusingly neon drinks tasting like sweet honeysuckle and sour grapes. He pondered why the angelic man like Dan Howell had taken notice of him and was currently saddled across from him, watching as his face worked and his eyes wandered around the bar, watching as people danced with alcohol on their lips and wandering hands on their hips.

“I like to go here to observe.”

Phil looked back at Dan, who, even in the sparkle of the disco ball and the glow on the neon lights that buzzed above him, looked utterly gorgeous.

“People are so vulnerable with the toxic combination here. Alcohol, music, life and love. It’s all here and it’s all thriving and it’s everything that people want.”

Phil couldn’t think of a word to describe how he felt in that moment, with this man in front of him telling him his thoughts and each one was as precious as rubies.

“Let’s dance.”

Phil almost didn’t know who he was, but Daniel Howell the young artist made him want to live, for all the good and the bad of it. He made Phil want to dance with cute boys and take vicious sips from electric drinks. But here and there Phil could see bits of Dan that weren’t the reflected bar lights or the smirk that rarely seemed to leave his lips. He was more than that; Phil could his love and passion for art in the paint spattered across his hands. He could see his adoration for life and people and the way his eyes watched and his heart soared. Somehow, he thought he could see bits of Dan that were innocent and childlike; passionate and truly caring.

He couldn’t imagine anything better than dancing with Dan at this moment. It was never awkward, their hips and hands moved in perfect sync to the music and each other.

“I don’t think I ever really been dancing!”

Phil had to yell to get Dan to even remotely hear him, but it was part of the experience. The lights had faded down to an ebbing blue, and pulsed of their faces in sync. Dan opted to lean in close to Phil, placing his hand on Phil chest, rendering him breathless.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been dancing with someone I like so much.”

He looked up at Phil, with elegant eyelashes and chocolate eyes like nutty zircon crystals. He realized now that Dan was several inches short than him; not enough for tiptoes, but enough that when he looked up at him that way his heart melted.

It was in the span of only a few seconds when Dan kissed Phil, and when he did Phils stomach filled with ceramic blue butterflies and his lungs filled with the paint that covered Dans hands and everything was Dan and everything was color. Dans lips were smooth as he glided when over Phil’s, with red hot intent but the ferocity of Eskimo kisses. Phil’s hands wrapped around Dans waist and settled there, fitting in like a puzzle price while Dans finger ran blazingly across Phil’s neck and into his hair. And for that simple, perfect moment, there was no one but them. The rough music and neon lights and bodies thumping around them were gone, and it was only them in a world all their own.

Phil was in a childlike glee as they entered Dans apartment, hands wrapped around each other and a sheepish smile on Dans face. Phil pecked Dan on the cheek hastily, and Dan turned to look at him in surprise.

“I just wanted to kiss you.”

A blush fled through his cheeks and he pulled Phil in for yet another kiss with rousing beauty. They were walking backwards as they were wrapped in each other, arms around hips and necks and dancing fingers in hair. They didn’t think it was a bad idea until Dans ankles his an abandoned mattress and they were sent tumbling down.

In Phil’s shock, Dan peppered him with chaste kisses, swollen lips pressed into his neck and jawline. Phil laughed at the surprise and his fingers tickled Dans sides. Dans laughter sounded like sweet peachy pink and the satisfying juxtaposition of crimson on ivory. When Phil stopped, Dans hands went to take off his shirt, tracing invisible orange lines with chipped orange peel nails. Phil sat up, pushing hips into hips and seeing with Ocean Eyes as Dan bit his pretty little lips. Phil pulled off the subdued strawberry jumper off Dans chest, drawing a line down his chest with fairy touches.

Phil’s lips danced across Dan; twirling across his lips and leaping down his jaw and chest. Unknowingly, Dans fingers drew themselves through a patch of semi-dry paint, and when he brought his hands back up to Phil’s face, drawing his fingers across the curve of his jaw. Soon enough there was a stark line of sunshine yellow across Phil’s face, and in the shock of cool touches, Phil stopped and looked down at Dans now buttercup fingers. For a moment, they didn’t say anything, just stared at the paint spread across his fingers, and then Dan laughed. It was childish snort, and Phil’s eyes snapped up to his when he did it. Dan noticed a malicious green glisten in that part of Phil’s eyes and knew nothing good could come of it.

Phil drew one long, agonizing finger through another blotch of paint on the floor, his ivory skin stark white against the forest green. Dan scrambled away, giggling like a child playing hide and seek. He quickly disappeared from Phil’s sight, and as Phil got up to look for him he admired the art around his apartment. It was all quintessentially Dan. Each piece showed parts of who Dan was; the smile of a laughing woman with crinkles in her eyes, a sunset over a playground that simply felt like home. He wandered into a room that had to be Dans art studio, with paint speckled over eggshell walls and canvases forgotten in corners. Buckets of pant and brushes lay in piles around the room, and he was admiring a half painted koi pond when he heard Dan come in almost noiselessly.

“Painting is an escape from it all. The world is too much sometime, making art allows me to detach from that for a while.”

Dan spoke in a whisper, and Phil ran a clean finger over the smooth brushes of dried paint.

“It’s beautiful.”

Phil couldn’t help but whisper as well; scared of shattering the porcelain atmosphere and threatening the air with harsh vermilion words. Dan moved around him, wrapping bare arms onto a bare torso, and spread dusty rose over Phils abdomen, laughing loud and full as he ran to the other side of the room. Phil looked down in absolute shock at the paint dripping down his stomach. When he finally reacted, it was quickly, practically skipping over to Dan and smearing ivy over his collarbones. Dan squatted down and reached into a pail of the sky, and before being able to spatter it over Phils chest, Phil pushed his hand onto his own chest, creating a wonderful hand print. As Phil was busy laughing, Dan shook the leftover blue onto his cheeks, creating effortlessly colorful constellations across his cheeks.

Phils thumb ran over Dans upper lip with intoxicating crimson, and Dan’s fingers made zigzag scratches across Phils shoulders with marigold intent. Though they still played with the paint that colored them like living canvases, they were lost in each other. In mocha eyes and sharp cheekbones and large laughs and everything that they were to themselves and the sinful strangers they were to each other.

They kissed again, this time with colorful want, with red smeared on lips and ivy on collarbones. With indigo on fingertips and sky blue freckles. Dan ran reminiscent fingers over orange scratches and pink drips as they were together, twisted together with spearmint green pride and lavender confusion. They made love with neon yellow attraction and sour white innocence.

Phil felt at home there, covered in dried paint and Dans haunting touches, staring out a window into the misty morning with with tea with almost too much sugar and memories he could get drunk on. He had awoken that morning with an empty bed and a note that had at first scared him.

I had to leave, I’m sorry. I’ll be back at noon with bagels and coffee. My apartment is yours, please stay.

                                                             -Dan

There was a smear of lilac at the bottom corner, and Phil had to bite his lip raw to stop smiling. He had discovered Dan’s incredible record collection and had listened to the music, with soothing rain accompaniment instead of piano. Dan burst through the door, and if in some cliche romance novel, the record machine skipped, plunging them into utter silence, omitting Dans heavy breaths.

“I’m sorry but I think I fell in love with you last night.”

For a moment, they just stared at each other with deep breaths and too many questions to say.

“You are so much more than anyone I’ve ever met. You are every color and they are all you and you are brighter than the sun and every time I see you you take my breath away and fill my stomach with lead paint and I would rather not paint another day in my life than be without you.”

Dans face was flushed, and everything disappeared around them as they walked towards each other. For a moment, they were too close to be far. Dans hands touched Phils face shakily, as if he’d break and the color that lit up Dans new life could’ve been gone.

This time, it was Phil who closed the distance in between them, but this kiss was so much more than a kiss. It was a promise, it was hope and life and love and color.

------------------------------------------------------------------------- Phil watched as Dan spoke with ethereal words and an angelic voice coming from sweet cotton candy lips. His face was dazzling and opalescent under the shining lights, and a moonlight smile completed it.  

“Thank you all for coming, your support means the world to me, and this wouldn’t be possible without all of you. But, before unveiling my final work, I want to introduce you to my muse,”

Phil froze, his blood turning to icy cerulean and his lungs filling with lead paint.

“Phil?”

He crept out from behind the velvet curtain, squinting in the bright lights and fuchsia fear. His eyes adjusted and he found Dans hand, holding it as he stood onstage in a foreign land.

“This man here is the love of my life. He brought true color into my world and even from the day I met him, a year ago this day, I knew that I never wanted to let him go.”

Phil looked into Dans eyes, relishing in the little golden specks that glistened under the light.

He watched as Dan nodded off into some dark corner and the sheet came away, revealing the last painting. It was nothing Phil had ever seen, more than he had ever imagined. Two hands, vibrant in color and effortlessly real looking were set holding a heart. It was poetic, with burgundy tissue and sour red blood weaving through the fingers. To some, it could seem harmful or upsetting, but Phil knew. He felt the squeeze from Dans warm fingers and he knew; that the painting was him, that Phil had Dans heart wholeheartedly. All it took was a painting, a look, and a touch to convince him that Dan was no one elses, and Phil knew for sure in that moment that he was all Dans, for the good and the bad of it.

A swift movement brought him out of his stupor, and he looked back at Dan who smiled with fond eyes and a smile that took Phils breath away. Phil watched with sea blue eyes and constellations across his cheeks as Dan knelt down, as if to do something innocent, like tying a shoe, but Phil knew it was so much more than that. He pulled a soft yellow box out of his pocket and clicked it open. For a moment, Phil didn’t know what to do. He said nothing, and neither did Dan; they were pure unspoken words and a final nod that sealed the rest of their lives together.

[kat650]

Using colour in my art is a relatively new experience for me. Most of what I drew before this course was in black and white with an emphasis on realistic drawings. I often wondered why I was more confident using monochrome and feared using colour especially as I have always admired artists who used bold, bright colours in their art!

Other than just being aesthetically pleasing to the eye, colours are highly linked with energy and emotion. From ‘feeling blue’ to ‘seeing red’ and  ‘being green with envy’, some of the everyday idioms we use to express our emotions, colours have a daily impact on us. We feel happy and positive on a bright sunny day and low or drained when it’s dark and gloomy. We live in a colourful world, both in a literal and metaphorical sense and many of our everyday choices involve colour to a certain extent, from the clothes that we wear to the food that we eat.

Throughout history artists have been mixing and making their own colours, sometimes deriving pigments from unusual or even hazardous sources. Certain colour palettes have been favoured by each of the art movements; the Fauves were keen on outrageous, bold colours and believed that colours had a spiritual quality and because they were directly linked to emotions they wanted to use them at their highest possible pitch.

Artists have all along been choosing colours that they feel connected to, using them to express their emotions and hoping that their choices resonate with an audience.

Vincent Van Gogh 

When Van Gogh met the Impressionists he abandoned his use of dark tones in favour of pure primary and secondary colours and over time, his superb colour sense along with his decisive brushstrokes became his signature style that has stood the test of time.

His painting of Noon (after Millet) is one of my favourite ones; although he used a limited palette, I really love his bold, almost explosive use of the warm yellows and oranges against the deep blues. This painting makes me feel happy and serene at that same time.

There is a harmony and balance between the warm and cold colours and in my opinion, there is a serenity and mellowness that emanates from this painting. Firstly, because of the scenery and the fact that the two people are resting. Secondly, because of the colour hues that Van Gogh chose to create this tranquil feeling which would not have been achieved were he to use the exact same colours in their pure form. His clever use of mark making is suggestive of movement amongst the stillness and the passing of time while the two people are taking a nap.

Noon (after Millet) 1890

In  one of his letters to his brother Theo, while he writes to him about his painting of the Night Café, he describes his choice of colours with obsessive detail, referring to their intensity, hue and saturation as well as symbolism.

“I’ve tried to express the terrible passions of humanity with red and green. The room is blood red and dull yellow, with a green billiard table in the middle; there are four lemon yellow lamps casting an orange and green glow. Everywhere there’s a struggle and a clash between the very different greens and reds-in the small figures of the sleeping good-for-nothings, in the sad and empty room in violet and blue….”

It is evident that colour meant a lot to Van Gogh because he perceived it as a form of a visual language.

When his mental state became fragile towards the end of his life Van Gogh carried on painting his self-portraits in colour, many of them engulfed by blue as opposed to black or any other dark and ‘heavy’ colours. Blue is one of the so called ‘cold’ colours and

The intensity of his palette, however, had changed and reflected a change in his emotional state.

From a symbolic point of view, it is thought that the colour blue has religious significance and symbolises the divine and spiritual; so the blue in his portraits, whether used consciously or subconsciously, has psychological connotations and could be seen as his quest for God.

I have often looked at Van Gogh’s works while looking for inspiration. I find his work visually exciting and stimulating and will continue to do so in the future.

Gustav Klimt

I love Klimt’s work and the way he explores colour, shapes and patterns. The small geometrical shapes dotted around the painting form pools of patterns and remind me mosaics. The body appears to be supported and enveloped in a multi-coloured quilt. It’s as if Klimt couldn’t bear to leave any of the colours out of his paintings!

The gold within his portraits acts as a mirror and reflects light giving his portraits an opulent feel and makes me think as though I am looking at one of the most expensive paintings in the world! The golden hues also remind me of Greek Orthodox Iconography which I grew up with.

I love the richness of the warm golds, browns and reds and how he gathers and contains those small coloured shapes within bigger, flowing, almost moving shapes that seem to overlap with one another. Every here and there one can notice a few ‘cold’  colour accents’ of greens and blues that help create a dynamic equilibrium!

Adele Bloch-Bauer, 1907

Elizabeth Peyton

I wanted to revisit and re-examine the work of Elizabeth Peyton as her portraits are focused mainly on the face and see how she uses colour. I also like her free and expressive brushwork/pencilwork along with her choice of colour to portray her subjects; when I look at her work I get the feeling of  a spontaneous and intuitive way of working.

Portraits of Chloe, by Elizabeth Peyton.

Another reason I like Peyton’s work is because she does not seem pre-occupied with detailing the background and uses colour as pattern to create a sense of space. Similarly, I like to focus my energy and attention on the people’s facial features and expressions, leaving the background white or abstracting it.

On some of her portraits she seems to focus her efforts on injecting most of the colour on the model’s clothes and surrounding environment, leaving their face almost blank as an indication of them either lacking emotion or being bathed in light from within! This method provides harmony and balance within an artwork as there are not too many things to overstimulate the brain!

Some of her sitter’s features like the eyes or lips maybe accentuated with colour; she most probably wants to bring to our attention that the eyes are the windows of the soul and the lips, (often painted bright red on both male and female),  not only are they used for talking but are also a symbol of sexuality.

She uses colour both in a what I call ‘concentrated’, almost pure form that has been deposited quickly onto her support with only small hint of tonal variations. In sharp contrast to the large areas of colour she uses raw, emotive lines that are minimally blended and create the feeling of dynamism and movement as well as texture. Some of her portraits are bathed in rich, opulent colours, bursting with warmth whereas others have a cold and distant feel to them. Two examples are the portraits of Chloe which I find very warm and appealing and the portrait of Daniel that feels cold and eerie.

Daniel, by Elizabeth Peyton.

The emotions of her sitters are hard to translate because although their expressions are quite sombre and make me feel as though they maybe sad or contemplative, her use of bright colours would suggest the opposite. Although in her painting of Daniel the watercolour drips resemble tears and her muted palette is suggestive of his dampened spirits and sadness. It may be the case that Peyton wants to juxtapose her sitters’ perceived fame and glamour with the quietness and sadness of their inner worlds that are in fact the opposite, (none of her sitters are smiling).

    All Too Human Exhibition , visit at the Tate Britain Gallery, 14.05.1

During my late visit to Tate Britain I had the opportunity to see some of Francis Bacon’s artwork.

His paintings really stood out from the crowd for their unusual, abstract representation of the human form, minimalistic compositions and dull colours. At first glance his portraits seemed frightening, inspired by violence and nightmares.

Although black dominated some of his work, he did use subtle colours to suggest human flesh and the surrounding environment. His figures and portraits resemble apparitions,  raising questions as to whether Bacon was preoccupied with death or dealt with mental issues.

Sometimes a bright colour such as the yellow in the image on the left, creates a focal point and draws our attention towards the middle of the painting.

When I first looked at the yellow ring in this painting I thought of a halo or maybe a portal to another world. Although in most cultures the colour yellow symbolises brightness and happiness, in others it is synonymous with death. So it is possible that the three figures are encountering a transfiguration of some sort!

The juxtaposition of the yellow and grey in this painting create a simultaneous contrast and exploit our psychological capacity of colour to arouse intense emotions.

There is no doubt that Bacon’s dark, earthy, moody tones in combination with his aggressive mark making conveyed messages of anger, angst and emotional trauma to the viewer.

We all have a personal relationship with colours and there is unequivocal evidence that colours have emotional and psychological effects on all of us.

I would like to finish with one of Kandinsky’s quotes that sums it all up: “Colour is the keyboard, the eyes are the harmonies, the soul is the piano with many strings. The artist is the hand that plays, touching one key or another, to cause vibrations in the soul”.

  References:

Drawing now, eight propositions, Hoptman, Laura J. 2009. New York: Museum of Modern Art.

https://colormatters.com/color-and-design/basic-color-theory accessed 17.05.18

http://artyfactory.com/art_appreciation/art_movements/fauvism.html accessed17.05.18

http://www.theartstory.org/movement-fauvism.html accessed 17.05.18

http://www.psyartjournal.com/article/show/bekker-color_and_emotion_a_psychophysical_analy accessed 17.05.18

http://www.webexhibits.org/vangogh/letter/18/533.html accessed 17.05.18

http://www.webexhibits.org/pigments/intro/history.html accessed 17.05.18

http://www.webexhibits.org/colorart/contrast.html accessed 17.05.18

Assignment 5- Research: Colour and emotion. Using colour in my art is a relatively new experience for me. Most of what I drew before this course was in black and white with an emphasis on realistic drawings.

[akhan12storyboarding-blog]

Cinematic Storytelling-section 12-lighting-some movie examples

Apocalypse Now (1979)- the first thing I noticed about the movie was the contrast in lighting, while most of the colors are red hue based, they are low intensity and contrast greatly with the bright yellow light that silhouettes the figures. I think the music helps to supplement the tension, because although its rock music, it seems casual, and makes the scene seem just ‘off’ enough to be disturbing. Similarly, I really like how the murder scene is juxtaposed with the killing of the bull, it really heightens the impact. (”even the jungle wanted him dead”). The backlighting is suggestive of madness because it subverts the idea of holy lighting, while the high contrast lighting creates tension, suspense and drama. The deliberately slow pace of the scenes also creates suspense. 

Natural Born Killers (1994)- In the flashback scene of this movie, the lighting is flat. It almost looks like something that was shot in black and white and then colored afterwards. I think this scene is interesting because it uses a TV sit come style, but juxtaposes it with some very dark and disturbing realities of real life. Thus, it becomes ironic and makes the scenes even more cringe-y. I think this is clever, because sitcoms are generally supposed to romanticize family life. It is also easy to digest the content due to the simple set up. Similarly, the bright and colorful palette also contrasts with the dark themes. Irony seems to be very important in these scenes. 

American beauty (1999)- the dinner scene in american beauty is candle lit. This kind of lighting is usually used to ‘flatter the face, smooth the skin, and add warm tones’ to the scene. It usually has positive connotations, such as romance. In this scene, however, the conventions are turned over to reveal the shortcomings of a suburban family. The music is calm and pretty, and the table is set with roses. The set up really contrasts with the arguing and violence that ensues. Contrasting the calm lighting with a tumultuous scene emphasizes the ridiculous behavior of the adults, and also makes it more shocking. 

[whatiswildness]

Eclipse in the Wilderness

The first bite, crisp and geometrically precise, appeared top-right of the sun’s disk.

Three of us settled into camp chairs – having defended our acre of ‘wilderness’ successfully against the constant stream of opportunist campers over the preceding days.

The cameras were set, the shades were on.

As the moon gradually advanced past the half-way point, we began to feel noticeably cooler. The colours of the trees and the earth began to appear less vibrant. The birds continued to sing, however, and the grasshoppers performed their mating displays, clicking loudly as they threw themselves this way and that upon yellow wings.

As the golden crescent began to shrink, the temperature dropped further, as if we were sinking into the depths of the ocean. At 7000 ft., the thin air retains little heat or moisture and the radiated warmth of the sun (fast disappearing at this stage), plays lead role in how we perceive temperature.

As totality approached, I turned to watch the valley side behind us. I’d hoped to catch the very edge of the shadow as it enveloped us but my field of view was too narrow. A front of darkness, it is said, may be seen approaching across the landscape from a mountain peak during a total eclipse although the speed at which it approaches varies depending on the complex interplay of ellipses and the curvature of the Earth.

The corona of totality was one of the most impressive sights I have ever witnessed. No matter how many photos one flicks through in a book or online, one finds that they are far removed from the authentic experience. Even the best cameras struggle to cope with the complexities of exposure for an eclipse.

The real thing felt wild.

A poor photo of totality

Here is someone else’s (better but not perfect) representation

For two-and-a-half minutes at 11.33am, stars showed clearly. Just a few, but extraordinary nonetheless. Venus and Jupiter shone bright a few degrees from the fiery halo.

I removed my eclipse shades and marvelled at the sheer, untamed beauty of the corona – it was a vision of wilderness so rare and fantastic. Great tapering brushstrokes transmitted from the stark emptiness of the inner circle - solar prominences made up of jets of particles billions of miles long.  The moon became a profound blackness against the star, a contrast of absolutes. The sun and moon were juxtaposed, yet so wonderfully ‘together’; precise and mathematical.

As the sun breached the celestial parasol’s rim, it seemed to explode out of the dark side of the moon and the whole spectacle disappeared to the naked eye, just as suddenly as it had occurred.

For a few seconds before and after totality, the ground shimmered just as if one was peering through a clear pool of water. These are called shadow bands. This was something I hadn’t expected. NASA admits that there is no fully-accepted explanation for this phenomenon and invites its website visitors to come up with their own explanations.

Shadow bands are difficult to film - here’s and attempt from Australia in 2012. Skip to 0.20.

Here are three possibilities that crossed my mind (and probably other’s too).

…Were these parallel shimmering bands an effect of the moon’s thin aptmosphere? Could a few particles of helium, argon and ammonia produce a ‘ripple effect’ as weak convection currents in the moon’s aptmosphere are projected onto Earth?

…The aurora borealis also ‘shimmers’ when viewed from directly below; perhaps the Sun ‘pulses’ in such a way that individual energy peaks are visible only when the rays are narrow and ambient light is low.

…Perhaps – granted this is far out, although light is thought to be effected by gravity – the gravitational pull of the moon itself distorts the light as it passes on its journey to Earth. The narrow rays might reach us after passing through a ‘shimmering’ gravitational force.

One widely accepted theory is that the narrow rays during the moments of first and last light of a totality pass through turbulent air in the Earth’s upper aptmosphere. It is these varying densities which cause distortion in the light reaching the ground.

But why wouldn’t this happen on your average sunny day? Can the rays really be that ‘narrow’ during an eclipse, after diffraction around the moon, that they allow us to experience the Sun as a LASER? That is to say without the white noise which normally reaches us by the Sun’s sheer intensity and diffuse output; or the ambient reflections, refractions and diffractions here on Earth?

Perhaps this mystery is part of what makes the eclipse so wild for me. Not only did nature put on a magnificent display, there are still unknowns regarding the ‘how’, let alone the ‘why’.