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alirhi · 3 years

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I don't know why I'm even still posting these here...

Title: Winter's Frost Chapter: 23/? Fandom: MCU Rating: R to be on the safe side Pairing: Loki/Bucky Summary: Loki never told anyone the real reason he became so obsessed with Midgard. Much better to let them think he wanted to hurt his brother than draw their attention to the one thing in the universe that makes the God of Mischief truly vulnerable.

The best thing the Avengers did was not force Loki and Bucky to sit through yet another 'are you sure? No, like, really, totally sure?' debate when they brought Fury up to speed. At Thor's request, Loki pinned Fury in place and dug through his mind. Once he was satisfied that the squawking, agitated spy really had nothing to do with HYDRA, he nodded to the others and walked away.

"Okay, what did I miss? I don't remember approving the addition of a mass murderer to the Avengers."

"I'm definitely not on Team Loki, but just for the sake of accuracy – I'm pretty sure at least half the members of this team you did put together have racked up a higher body count. Each."

Loki smiled to himself, but didn't pause to listen to the rest of the argument he knew was starting. The Avengers didn't trust him, not yet, but Thor and Bucky did, and Rogers trusted Bucky while the others more or less trusted Thor. The truce among them was tenuous at best, but at least they were willing to try. Disinterested in their politics, he returned to the suite Stark had somewhat grudgingly provided him and his beloved with until things could be sorted out.

"Can he be trusted?"

"No," Loki answered simply as he sank into Bucky's lap and kissed him. "But he didn't know about HYDRA, and he's willing to stand against them."

Bucky smiled, combing his fingers through the other man's long hair. "Good start, I guess. 'The enemy of my enemy' and all that..."

"So much debate and bureaucracy," he lamented, rolling his eyes. "I wonder if it wouldn't be better if I just tracked the things down myself and brought them back."

"It would certainly be faster," Bucky admitted with a shrug, "but I dunno about better. I know they're all 'just humans' but I still don't love the idea of you poofing into enemy territory with no backup."

Loki grinned, trying not to laugh. "'Poofing'?"

"'Teleporting' has twice as many syllables and I'm lazy. Deal with it." His ageless soldier grinned as well, but it was short-lived. "They're bound to have those things under heavy guard, aren't they? I'd really rather you have a team at your back if you're gonna go after them."

Opting not to tell his mostly-heterosexual love what a 'pouf' was, Loki let the joke die and shook his head, focusing on the matter at hand. "Do you really think they'll bring either of us along when they finally reach something akin to consensus on what to do?"

A playful grin that reminded him so much of their time together in the 40s lit up Bucky's pretty face. "I think watching them try to stop us will be funny as hell."

Loki chuckled and the two settled into a companionable silence for a while, each lost in his own private thoughts. He just barely felt Bucky tracing little invisible patterns up and down his arm and, with a smile, changed from the suit he'd been wearing into a tee shirt. Something about just being able to feel Bucky's skin brushing against his own was so comforting. They'd had so little time since Siberia to simply be together like this; to reconnect and get to know one another again. They weren't the same men who had fallen into an unexpected, all-consuming whirlwind romance nearly seventy years earlier. When the dust settled, would the connection they'd formed before all this upheaval still be there?

"Do you feel trapped?"

The soldier's voice was so soft and timid, Loki almost thought he'd imagined it, but the briefest glance at his handsome face dispelled that notion. He smirked, shaking his head. "No, Stark can't keep me here. I'm sure by now he knows that. Why, do you?"

Bucky shook his head, still looking troubled. "That's not what I meant. It just occurred to me... I just remembered when you told me you could shapeshift; turn into a woman, if you wanted, among other things. I guess I thought I was being romantic, or whatever... I definitely thought I was being kind..."

"I sometimes did, then," he explained softly as he caught on to what his love was having so much trouble putting into words. "But it wasn't because of you. It was kind of you to say what you did-" With a half-hearted smile, he nudged him, pleased to receive a slightly less strained smile in return. "-And quite romantic. With all that you were struggling with, to have you brush off the offer of something akin to normalcy and say you loved me regardless very nearly brought me to tears."

"Why did you feel trapped, if that wasn't it?"

Sighing, Loki dropped his head onto Bucky's shoulder and cuddled a bit closer. "Because of Odin, and Thor, and... everyone but Mother and Sigyn, really. What little respect I ever managed to pry from them vanished like smoke in the wind as soon as one of them saw my female form. Then I was back to being a joke; the pitiful clown who would never be a 'real man.' Certainly never a warrior."

"So Sigyn has seen that side of you?" He could hear the teasing smile in Bucky's voice, and relief eased the tension in his muscles that he hadn't until then been aware of.

Answering his tone rather than his words, Loki drawled, "Yes, you juvenile pervert, we've made love while I was in my female form, as well."

"I thought you swore you'd never read my mind."

He laughed and kissed Bucky's neck, loving the way it made the man beneath him shiver. "I didn't have to. I 'read' your tone."

Snorting, Bucky kissed his jaw. "Alright, fair enough. So... do you still feel trapped now?"

Loki shook his head. "Once I learned of my true heritage – well, once I had a moment to think and grasp what it meant – it sort of brought things into sharper focus for me. I stopped caring about earning the respect of a man who'd lied to me for my entire life, and it occurred to me, at last... I don't think it ever had anything to do with whether I'm a man or a woman, not for Odin, at least. I'm Jotun; he decided long before I was born that my entire race is the enemy. Nothing I do will ever be good enough for him."

"Then why did he adopt you in the first place?"

"To one day have a Jotun King with Asgardian values." He sat up to look Bucky in the eye, and melted a little at the horror and empathetic pain he saw there. "He drove the Jotuns back, kept them trapped in their own realm, but he couldn't make Laufey bow to him. Even defeated, my father refused to submit to Asgardian rule. Odin claimed he planned to use me to 'forge a lasting peace,' which really only means to raise me to hate everything about my own people and see the nine realms through Aesir eyes, and then place me on the throne. A pawn wearing a worthless crown."

With a tired, wry grin, Loki added, "The problem is, of course, I'm still not Aesir. I don't see things the way Odin does and never have; not overall, at least. I don't...really know what to think or how to feel about Jotunheim now."

"Let's start with keeping Thanos from destroying it, so you can take some time to figure that out." Tears in those breathtaking blue eyes, Bucky threw his arms around him and hugged him tight enough that had Loki been human, he'd likely have broken several ribs. Being one of the few living things on the planet stronger than his lover, Loki took great care not to hurt him as he squeezed back, smiling.

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Masterlist

#fanfiction #archive #loki #bucky barnes #winter's frost #mcu #avengers #thor #captain america #winter soldier #m/m #loki/bucky #sebastian stan #tom hiddleston

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wafflesrock16 · 4 years

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Ink and Blooms

So, the amazingly talented @autodiscothings updated her fantastic fic Acts Of Repetition recently, and the latest chapter featured an incredibly lovely turian tattoo artist. Smitten, I asked Auto if I could write a lil thing with her boy and she agreed.

So! Here’s my ode to @autodiscothings sweet turian bae, Nous. Naturally I have a human lady falling for him because I am predictable trash.

Zenellia D’kafi, the asari matriarch who ran Thessian Impressions floral boutique was a force of nature when it came to cultivating new clients.

“Everyone is a potential client,” she informed Faustine from behind a large mug of tea. “A random hanar apostle might wish to leave flowers as an offering to the Enkindlers. The elcor business man, away from home too frequently, would like a bouquet to send to his wife as a reminder he’s thinking of her.”

Faustine glanced up from where she was meticulously measuring out gold silk ribbon. “And Adamius Studios?” She glanced out the shop window to the studio across the street. It used to be a mattress store, though little of the building’s past life remained on the exterior.

Zenellia smiled, the light sparkling in her cornflower eyes. “Nous Adamius,” she said, drawing out the surname. “Now there’s an artist who’s in demand. The tattooist of the elite.” She followed Fautine’s gaze. “Hmm. In his case, he’s hosting an art exhibition for select clientele next week. The who’s-who of wealth and influence will be there--they always show up for art exhibits.”

“And our supplying the floral arrangements might garner other high-end customers in addition to Nous,” Faustine surmised.

“Smart girl,” Zenellia said, taking a prim sip of tea. “You know, I have a mind to let you finalize the arrangements with Mr. Adamius.”

“Really?” Faustine clasped her hands to her mouth with excitement. “A solo consult?”

Zenellia chuckled, leaning against the glass counter. “I’ve already discussed the arrangements with him, so this will just be hemming in the finer details. Where he wants the vases placed and so on. You’ve been with me on enough consultations and set-ups, you can do this on your own.”

“Thank you Miss Zenellia!” Faustine reigned herself in. “I can handle this,” she said, straightening her posture. “When do I meet with him?”

“Tomorrow morning, before his studio opens.”

**********

Faustine enjoyed fashion. And art and flowers and color. Her wardrobe was a blend of bright color and textures. Her grandmother used to say that she would have loved Earth back in the 1980’s and based on pictures she’d seen, Faustine was inclined to agree.

But today was professional. Her mentor was trusting her to make a good impression and Faustine needed to represent Thessian Impressions while also simultaneously reassuring Nous--Mr. Adamius--that he’d made a wise choice in ordering floral arrangements for his event and should consider doing so again.

Faustine chose a slate pant-suit with a violet camisole from the back of her closet. It was from an elite fashion line, but had been on clearance since it was from the year before. Still, as she slipped on black high heels, Faustine felt a sense of empowerment.

She hesitated over her hair. Did turians even notice human hair? Should she take the extra effort to curl it? Deciding it couldn’t hurt, Faustine brushed, curled, and styled her auburn locks until they gleamed under the artificial bathroom lights. Some mascara and bright red lipstick completed the look and before she could second guess herself, she was hailing a skycar and then stepping out in front of Adamius Studios.

She normally walked to work, but doing so in heels was out of the question. These were shoes for show, not practicality. Pulling up her omni-tool, she contacted Mr. Adamius to let him know she was from Thessian Impressions and here to speak to him.

The windows to the studio were opaque, but in a slow parade of light starting from the back of the building, the room lit up. The door opened as Faustine leaned closer to peer inside.

“Hello.”

“Hi! Mr. Adamius?”

He nodded, opening the door wider for her to enter. She’d seen him before, of course--he worked across the street. She’d never seen him up close, though. He was a good deal taller than her but held himself tightly like a curled fern frond. The effect gave him a shorter, hunched appearance.

He had pale plates, not quite white, but a light tan. His hide was a deep molten red with eyes that reminded her of orange, autumn leaves.

His most notable feature wasn't his eyes or plates or posture. He had bold, purple colony markings which ran in thick lines toward his eye sockets like a roadmap.The plating on his arms bore similar lines of the same color. Faustine wondered if colony markings extended all over the body. She’d never considered it before, but as she admired the bold, black, geometric patterns that spiraled away from his neck plating in a decorative collar, she decided that this was art, unrelated to the colony markings turians were so famous for.

Mr. Adamius cleared his throat loudly and Faustine realized with racing horror that she’d been staring at him with wide eyes and an open mouth like he were an exhibit on show.

“Oh!” It was her turn to clear her throat. “Your tattoos are beautiful,” she murmured, looking at the floor.

“Thank you.” His voice was soft. Not at all loud and bold like his art. “You work for Matriarch Zenellia?”

Faustine released a small sigh that they were moving on. “Yes, I’m her protege, as it were. She wanted me to finalize the details with you for next week.”

She smiled, tilting her head in a friendly manner. Mr. Adamius flicked out a mandible in what she associated as a turian smile, though he avoided looking her in the eyes. She wondered if that was a personality thing or something… maybe he doesn’t like me?

“I was thinking of an arrangement on the reception desk and a few smaller vases along the wall,” Mr. Adamius said, pointing to where several bed posts were mounted and functioning as coat racks. A large, framed canvas sat beneath the racks. On it was what looked like an abstract shoal of fish with luminous, foreign script weaving through it. Faustine didn’t recognize the writing but felt it safe to assume it was turian.“I discussed using a mix of thessian, earth, and palaveni flowers,” Mr. Admius continued. “I want the color scheme to stay cobalt, gold, and white, but I’m open to flower types. Nothing too lavish, the art is the focal point.”

“Zenellia mentioned that,” Faustine said, wiping away any concerns about her likability for the moment. Pulling up her omni-tool, she moved closer to Mr. Adamius to show him the samples of different arrangements in the colors he’d requested. This close, she could smell a slightly acrid scent of what she assumed was ink. But overpowering that was a woody smell that reminded her of pine trees. Mr. Adamius smells like Christmas, she thought.

She glanced up at him from where he was admiring a proposed arrangement. He was wearing loose fitted clothes that placed his heavily inked hide on full display. Zenella had mentioned he was younger, but the asari considered everyone younger since she herself was 876 years old.

Nous seems like he’s my age. Maybe a little older. Early to mid thirties?

“I like this one best,” he said, oblivious to her internal musings. Faustine looked at the arrangement he’d chosen. It was the one she’d put together. Not the four Zenella had proposed, but the one she had done.

“I did that one,” she told him proudly.

“It’s beautiful,” he said in a softer voice, looking not at her eyes, but seemingly her hair. “It’ll work perfectly for what I have planned.”

Instead of replying Faustine responded by grinning at him like an idiot. She was high on accomplishment, she’d convince herself later. But it was thanks to this that Mr. Adamius nervously glanced away, toward a small, unassuming painting partially concealed by the reception desk.

“Is that an anchor?” She pointed at the familiar shape which was the main subject of the painting.

“Yes. I’m fond of the nautical themes found in all cultures. The convergence of design between them, be they human, asari, or turian. We’re all interconnected by the oceans of our worlds.” He let out a quiet hum, unfurling from his tightly held hunch. “It reminds me of my childhood, too, I suppose.”

“You grew up near the ocean?” Faustine asked curiously. “I thought turians weren’t the biggest fans of deep, open water. No offense!” she added, horrified she’d possibly insulted him.

His easy chuckle immediately set her at ease. “Overall, you’re right. Most turians avoid the open ocean. But my homeworld is different.” His mandibles flicked outward as he looked down at his hands. The three fingers of his left hand each bore a small fish tattoo on the knuckle. “Rocam has a huge fishing industry. I grew up around the sea and fishing boats. My childhood involved lots of fishing and playing in the surf. Eating charred salmo around a beach fire with my grandparents. Listening to fisherman swap stories on the wharf.”

Faustine watched the fish tattoos flex with his fingers. Remembering the other canvas leaning against the wall, she looked closer at the framed picture. The fish looked like they were formed from ink splats, honed with a pen to give them more definition and shape.

“You did that?” she asked pointing.

Turning, Mr. Adamius nodded. “I did all the nautical themed paintings in here,” he said. Faustine felt like the quiet, rolling subvocals under the spoken words were proud.

“You’re so talented,” she sighed, feeling mildly envious. “Do you have other paintings like that one?”

“Yes, but they’re in the back. I’ll put them out next week for the exhibit.”

“Oh.”

“I…” a soft whine escaped through his tightly clamped mandibles. “Would you, um. Like to come to the exhibit?”

“Your art exhibit next week? Of course I’d love to go!” Faustine forced herself to school her features into a more poised look. “I mean, if you’re inviting me, I’d absolutely love to see the rest of your work.”

Nous let out a huff of air. “It’s not just my work, all the artists in the studio are going to display something. But if you’d like to come, I’d love to see you. At the event.” He cleared his throat, stepping away from her personal space which at some point he’d entered.

“Thank you,” Faustine whispered, feeling a blush creep over her cheeks. “Um, I’ll let Zenella know which arrangement you selected and where and how many you wanted.” She made to head for the door, but forgetting her high heels, tripped and nearly collapsed face first into the deep blue and white rug.

A strong arm seized her around the waist and held her until she was steady on her feet again. “Damn shoes,” she muttered, more embarrassed then she’d been in years. “Nous, I--”

“Not a problem. Are you all right?”

“Fine, I’m fine. Only thing injured is my pride.” She gave him a sheepish smile, sure her face was beet red.

For the first time since she’d entered his studio, Nous looked her in the eye. “Wounded pride isn’t the worst injury,” he said in that soft, smokey voice.

She stared into the swirling amber of his irises. Turians had smaller eyes than humans, but their gaze was intense. She wondered what he thought about her own hazel eyes.

He bowed his head after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, I’ll see you at the exhibit?”

“Before that, actually,” she replied, blinking away whatever trance she’d fallen under. “I’ll bring the flowers by an hour before your exhibit starts.”

“I look forward to seeing you then.”

So do I, Faustine thought, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she headed out the door. So do I.

#mass effect #turians #turian #human/turian flirting #fan fic of a fan fic #Nous belongs to autodiscothings #he is a sweet and precious boi #Faustine would smooch #read acts of repitition #waffles writes #thank you auto!

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ghostbloggerghost · 3 years

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Through the woods

Ghosts?

01/12/2021

It’s Tuesday and we are back! I went out into the woods on my own, since Tim wouldn't come with me. I have a little extra time on my hands, because my boss told me to take some time off. Which is cool I guess? Everyone has been so weird. Anyway- that means I've had time to wander around in the woods and see if I could find signs of Bigfoot and whatever else. Unfortunately, there isn't much snow on the ground at the moment, so I haven't been too lucky with tracks. But I did seem to get lucky with my ghost hunting gear! So maybe we WILL find some ghosts this year!

So as I said, I went into the woods again. On my own- and while it was daylight. It was a little annoying to get to. Normally you can cut through a park by going down these old overgrown stairs, but it looks like they've been roped off recently. I didn't bring my bike and the area around the stairs is covered with raspberry bushes- so I was stuck walking the long way around. No way to cut through. I like a nice walk, so it wasn't too bad. I found the entrance to some of the paths through the forest and picked one at random. Sadly, I didn't really have anything to go off of for where in the woods Bigfoot or his associates might be. It was a pretty quiet walk, except I spooked someone's dogs coming around a corner. Their human seemed a little bewildered and was too busy to answer my wave. But everyone is a little off with how long this pandemic has been going. So I guess that wasn’t too strange. Overall, I didn't see anything other than some squirrels and some little footprints in some mud. Those were probably from a raccoon or fox or something.

Eventually I reached a little clearing and paused for a bit. I had the EMF reader with me, I felt the spirit box would possibly be a little too attention drawing. I looked around the clearing a bit before turning on the reader. Just outside the clearing I spotted what looked like a shed or lean-to. I crept a little closer, if it was someone's home I didn't want to bother them. It looked pretty deserted so after calling out a few times, and checking the area around it, I set my bag down and turned on the EMF reader.

It lit up right away.

I froze, looking around. The reading didn't seem to change any as I inched closer to the lean-to. It didn't change when I went to the clearing. I tried turning it on and off to see if it would change, but no luck. I couldn't see anything overly spooky or ghost-like. Though maybe it's just because it's daytime? After a bit of this, to no avail, I spent some time sitting under the lean-to, just kind of listening to the woods. It didn't feel spooky in the slightest. So, as exciting as it was to finally get some readings, it was still a bit uneventful. Maybe getting readings means I can convince Tim to come with me next time. I think he mentioned taking some time off soon too.

Glad to be back to your regularly scheduled Ghost Blogging! Stay safe! Help your community! And as always- Stay Haunted!

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ty-talks-comics · 5 years

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Best of Marvel: Week of October 9th, 2019

Best of this Week: Powers of X #6 - Jonathan Hickman, Pepe Larraz, R.B. Silva, Marte Gracia, David Curiel and Clayton Cowles

Moira MacTaggert just became far more powerful and dangerous than we could have imagined.

When I wrote the review for House of X #2 all those weeks back, I was under the impression that Moira MacTaggert had an overall purpose for her deaths and reincarnations in regards to making a mutant utopia that works and now I’m not so sure. I’m not saying that that isn’t the main goal, but there’s now a far more nefarious edge that’s been given to her intentions that aligns with my uneasy feeling about Charles throughout this story. I thought this was a story about mutants finally being able to flourish and slowly outnumber humanity.

But it’s about the first steps to utter annihilation.

The vision begins with him entering a secret entrance to a place called The Preserve, very reminiscent of Krakoa, at least in terms of how to enter it and the residents therein. He’s immediately attacked by a beast-like man who is then revealed to be Logan, still alive after a thousand or so years and he stops him. The Librarian makes it a point to tell Logan that he’ll never be fast enough to kill him as he can’t feel everything about to happen and stop it before Logan has a chance to react. They have a short conversation about how English is now a dead language, but the Librarian has learned it to have a conversation, not with Logan, but with Moira X.

The book begins with Moira’s 7th or 10th life (around Powers of X #1), I’m very unsure, and gives us the answer to what she showed Charles that set him on the path that we see him on now. Powers of X has been mainly focusing on a dystopian future where mutantkind has been nearly exterminated and both humanity and various forms of sentinels are flourishing. One of the main characters we’ve observed in this future is The Librarian, an evolved human acting as the receptacle of all knowledge of humanity.

That’s the first definitive answer to how powerful Moira is that we’ve gotten thus far. We know that no matter what, she will die and come back to life and something like this has been speculated, but actually just resetting the timeline, erasing EVERYTHING that came before and starting again with the wealth of a thousand plus years of knowledge is insane to me.

She emerges from the shadows and the Librarian laments that the time of the last Mutants is about to come to an end because of the Phalanx. He also muses that he will separate Moira from the rest to prevent her from dying as that will immediately reset the timeline, stopping the Phalanx and The Librarian from ever coming into existence and he doesn’t want anything to have that power over him if he’s to exit outside of reality.

The Librarian, however, also knows that he likes to observe and see the wonders of the world and asks Moira how she would prevent this future from happening if she could, taunting the pair with their “evolutionary inevitability.” He notes that Mutants have never been able to see their true enemy, always blaming the creation of machines as their ultimate downfall. The book turn everything on its head when it’s revealed that it has never been the machines, but humanity itself.

Mutants adapt traits to their environments, but that doesn’t hold a candle to genetic engineering. Think about heroes like Captain America, The Hulk, Luke Cage, all of them were just regular joe schmoes that gained insane abilities from accidents or experimentation and can rival any one mutant. If you add machines and nanotechnology to that mix, then things become even more insane as they’re constantly able to be upgraded, reprogrammed and will destroy any threat that humanity sees until eventually consuming their masters.

The Librarian turns his back to Logan and Moira and says that maybe since they have no alternative, then maybe it is also his destiny to become as a God...and then Wolverine kills him, quicker than he could have prevented. Armed with this new knowledge, Moira tells Logan to kill her and this scene is beautiful. I believe R.B. Silva draws this part of the book but the gravitas of the scene - Moira gently feeling Logan’s hand to reveal his adamantium claws, their silhouettes juxtaposed against the colors of morning light and the slight smile she gives are perfect. Marte Gracia and/or David Curiel’s colors as he impales her with his claws are immaculate as the lighting implies that life is leaving her body and sort of fits my motif of the bright morning shining on mutantkind.

Maybe there’s a reason Charles was so willing to give away the Krakoa drugs. Speculation gives way to the idea that Moira, in her infinite knowledge, found a way to imbue those drugs with DNA chemicals in them. (That is in no way supported by this story) But I would love the idea that Logan proposed, to stop post-humanism, you have to do it at the humanity part. It aligns with Charles’ overall goal of using The Five and Cerebro to bring back the 16 million mutants killed on Genosha and overpower the number of Humans in the world with far greater numbers.

With all of this, we find out that Moira’s been the one that’s had to break Charles Xavier of the notion of peaceful coexistence with humanity. It’s also revealed that because she’s gotten too close to everything, that she’s had to fake her death to operate in the shadows and let Xavier and Magneto act as figureheads to the movement when in reality, almost everything is according to her plan.

Everytime, in every scenario, humans and mutants clash and inevitably, mutants are defeated. Moira has set a rule that mutants with precognitive abilities are not allowed to come back to life because if they’re allowed to see the future and they destroy the very foundation that Krakoa is built on, then everything will have been for naught. This could also allude to the visions that Blindfold had before she killed herself in Matthew Rosenberg’s Uncanny X-Men.Charles and Erik promised Mystique that they’d bring Destiny back to life and Moira lambasts them for even promising that, but they explain that they’ve been putting her off as long as they can, but eventually they will tell the truth.

But of course, not everything is as good as we’d hope as Moira’s been hiding the biggest secret from everyone else on Krakoa aside from Charles and Erik - Mutants will always lose.

We see the celebration from House of X #6, but it’s been recontextualized. Under all of the celebration, the hope, is the feeling of dread. The feeling of utter hopelessness, knowing that it will all reach its end within a thousand years, all because of the idealism of men.

RB Silva and David Curiel have done a phenomenal job of giving this book life. From the cheery beginning of a lush and hopeful green to the ending of the dark night sky, lit by the explosions of fireworks, the flickers of hope with the true darkness behind it. Silva makes sure to draw Charles with an unearned smirk, the look of a man that’s very sure that his part of the plan will be perfect, at least after his initial spirit has been crushed. Moira has the look of determination, the kind of look only gained from centuries of experience and she maintains it even in the face of death.

House of X and Powers of X have been amazing reads thus far. I love how circular this story is, how referential it is to past history of the X-Men and paints a new ideal of the futility of mutant life as long as humanity is still around to destroy them. It separates the X-Men from the numerous other superheroes by pointing directly at the lengths humanity will go to make sure that they remain the dominant species on Earth.

Hickman has evolved these characters from just a Scottish doctor that used to care for the mutants on her island and hapless man that only wants to be peaceful - to the cold revolutionaries that want mutants to have one day in the sun before it’s ultimately ripped away again.

What does this ultimately mean for the X-Men? For Mutants in general? Hopefully we’ll see in the coming months as seven or eight new series will shine a light on what the rest of them are doing while Charles, Erik and Moira sip tea and wait for the apocalypse.

#marvel comics #marvel #comics #comic review #powers of x #house of x #moira mactaggert #moira x #charles xavier #magneto #jonathan hickman #rb silva #david curiel #pepe larraz #marte gracia

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dimespin · 6 years

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Why people like your doodles better than your finished works

Learn from your doodles rather than resent them

I frequently see artists complain that their finished works got less attention than mere sketches, doodles and other smaller or less serious work. Which is frustrating! But almost as often, I can see exactly why the doodle got more attention. I’m going to cover some of these reasons, so you can use that information so you can do more than fume about it.

The doodle is easy to read, the polished work is busy

The polished work is completely drenched in little details that the artist slaved over, but the details create a kind of overall noise that makes everything harder to understand, making the whole image less appealing.

Don’t get too lost in little details, work from larger shapes to small details, use things like a highly readable silhouette, contrast, variance in line width or negative space to keep the image understandable. Pay attention to the composition to guide the eye where you want it.

The doodle is high contrast, the polished work is low contrast

When you do lots of details all equally well lit and easy to see, overall you lose the strong lights and darks that make a work pop. You have to sacrifice some of those details, let them be in shadow or out of focus in the background, to create a more appealing image overall.

You might also be forgetting that without lineart you need to use strong lights and darks, since lineart creates it’s own natural high contrast.

Contrast draws the eye, use that to create focus where you want it.

The doodle is simple to understand, the polished work is highly ambiguous in meaning and message

Many doodles that outstrip the artist’s polished work are jokes. Jokes usually have a specific clear focus and message, the viewer can understand it immediately (if they couldn’t, it wouldn’t be funny). You don’t have to make everything funny, but like a joke, you need to get to the point and give the audience the information they need to “get it.” More details can be present, but the viewer should not be confused about what to look at from the outset. Remember: people will look at and interpret your art in milliseconds. They might give it a longer look but only AFTER that millisecond look.

The initial glance is like the first page of a book. If it wows them they keep looking to understand more, if they are lost and confused, no second chances, they’ve already scrolled away.

You can use things like composition, basic structures of shapes and simple shape symbolism to give viewers the initial information they need to stay interested. Don’t feel like you have to abandon more personal and difficult to parse symbolism, these things can work together to create intrigue.

The doodle is fluid and expressive, the polished work is stiff and dead

The sketch for your polished work needs to be done with spontaneity and fluidity. When you want to really flex your drawing skills and show the world your beautiful realistic human faces, your sublime anatomy, gorgeous textures - it’s easy to forget about the undersketch and jump to rendering as soon as you can, creating a stiff or boring sketch that isn’t worthy of all the time you’re sinking into the minute details.

Practice quick gestures, read up on line of action, and before you make a polished painting, make sure you have a sketch that’s fun to look at even without the detailed rendering. Thumbnailing helps. Studies too. Sometimes you have to do the bad boring sketch, but you can take a few stabs at it.

You can’t make a bad sketch good by painting more details on it, you need to work out the sketch first before moving to the details.

Remember, if you’re going to spend 20 hours painting the thing, you can afford another half hour sketching a few different takes on your idea before digging in.

Lots of doodles, very few polished works

If you mostly post one kind of thing, your audience will be people who like that. Also, you may not have much practice with the techniques you are using in the polished work, while you have become a pro at doodles. You become an expert at what you practice, do more of what you want to be known for, become an expert at it, make it the only thing your audience is there for.

The audience is familiar with the subject of the doodle, unfamiliar with the subject of the polished work

Many artists do doodles of fanart and get fed up that people like that more, but the truth is, they don’t like it “more” they just already know they like it. You can increase the chances of people appreciating your original works by making sure they can understand what’s going on in the illustration without prior knowledge of who these characters are, or simply sticking to it until you have garnered an audience. Just keep at it.

Remember, the creators of the property you made fanart of are themselves artists who were pushing an original idea at one time. You can follow in their footsteps.

The doodle is quirky and unusual, the polished work is stale and samey

This can happen when an artist has an image in their head of what a SERIOUS and PROFESSIONAL painting looks like, usually based on a very narrow subset of artwork, often itself based on the same cargo cult of seriousness.

Try studying works outside your usual stomping grounds. Look to artists that likely inspired your faves (if you’re talking about realistic artists who inspired your favorite concept artists, here’s some likely culprits to get you started on the google search: JC Leyendecker, Alphonse Mucha, Norman Rockwell, James Gurney, Rembrandt), look to artists outside your genre, and look at your doodles and ask yourself what “not serious, just for fun” source of inspiration is making them so fresh and vibrant that your audience is connecting to them so strongly. Study that, respect that fun and try to pull it into your serious work.

The polished work was hard to make and no one cares

Being an artist is hard, and that we keep at it is commendable, but struggling and taking more hours doesn’t make a piece better necessarily.

There are a few things to consider here. First, you need to realize looking to the vague faceless masses of the internet for a fatherly “I’m proud of you, son” moment is always going to be disappointing and painful and attempting to guilt strangers into fulfilling that role for you is awkward and inappropriate. You need artist friends who can recognize your hard work and cheer you on and you need to be your own cheerleader, value your own hard work and practice.

Second, you need to realize torturing yourself doesn’t in and of itself make art better. Hard work is something people love about art, the meaning of someone spending that time, but if I screamed for 8 hours, drew a single line, then posted that, the internet wouldn’t be wrong to be unexcited about it. Rather than blame the viewer, think about two things: how can you make the art itself more appealing while still doing the painting that you’re interested in doing, and how can you do that faster and with less pointless suffering?

It’s okay to be a masochist when it comes to art, many artists are, just make sure you’re spending your time and suffering wisely.

You’re complaining about someone else’s “doodle”

Sketches and cartoons are deceptively hard to make appealing, rather than fume that they are getting more attention, look to them for lessons. What could you learn from them? Could you do it? Maybe you should try. Would make a good exercise.

And never get mad that their drawings are more appealing to the internet than yours, even though they spent less time on their drawing than you did on yours. See above for why time is not important here, but also keep in mind they may have been practicing longer than you or may be more established than you.

Keep working on your art, keep posting, push to be seen, advertise your work, put yourself out there. These things take time but work.

#art advice #Dime talks art

35K notes · View notes

ashenious · 5 years

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Some Grand Affairs Amongst the Normality - Chapter 1 of ??? (Dante/Reader)

Overall Story Rating: Mature Overall Story Tags: Alcohol, Big Snake, (Like literally a big snake), Blood, Body Horror, Dead Body Mention, Fluff, Gore Mention, Depressive Thoughts, Drugging, IV Mention, Nausea, Nightmares, Reader is regular boring Human, Reader likes to clean, Reader is also a troublemaker, Slow Burn, Suicide Mention, There was only one bed,

For This Chapter: Rating: Teen and Up Warnings: Depressive Thoughts, Suicide Mention Additional: Blood and body mention Word Count: 5053 A/N: “Hey Ashe, didn’t you already post this?” So, this is a re-write of this story I guess. I wasn't happy with the direction I was taking it, so I went back and changed a few things to kind of help me feel better about it. A good chunk is the same as before, but there is also new stuff added.

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/Part 4/Part 5/Part 6/Part 7/Part 8/Part 9/ Part 10/Part 11/Part 12

AO3 Link: Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/Part 4/Part 5/Part 6/Part 7/Part 8/Part 9/Part 10/Part 11/Part 12

Books always held comfort in them for you, feeling the pages turn and reading the words on them was always something that was welcome. But today what was not welcome, however, were some of the quotes that were printed on the outside cover of some books.

You knew the saying of “Don’t judge a book by its cover”, a quote which you recently learned was originally “You can’t judge a book by its binding”, but sometimes the quotes and covers on the outsides of books made it hard to pick up a book without feeling judgement toward it when you were at work.

There were over 800 books that sat on the carts at the end of your shift, 800 books that someone could stumble upon the next day and pick up to read, and yet there they were, just sitting there waiting to be put back. It had already been a long day, you had been at work since noon, and then, at 8 p.m. you were about to head out and head home, only to repeat the day tomorrow when you also worked at noon.

But tomorrow could’ve been a busy day; you never knew when more people than normal would come in. You had the regulars who would come in everyday or sometimes on specific days of the week, but there were always people who’d come in you had never seen before; those were the people who you wanted to make sure you’d help them find what they needed as maybe they could be overwhelmed by the vast choices in the library.

Maybe that’s what motivated you to re-stock all the books after hours, the thought of maybe being able to help someone who came in and, since you always had to look at each book you put away, you’d know exactly where to find a book that that person was looking for.

You knew that wasn’t 100% the case though, as much as you enjoyed helping people who came into the library, the actual reason was that the library was all you had now-a-day, and all you were going to do when you got home was start the cycle of your day all over again.

Every few books that you put away, you’d read a quote on them that bothered you, the ones specifically saying things about excitement within the pages of the book they were on. You weren’t sure why, usually those were the quotes that would draw you to a book, but you couldn’t find the care you needed to write down the book title and author to read it later like you usually do.

You knew that at some point in the future, there was a good chance you’d have to re-shelf that book again, but today wasn’t a day where you wanted to start a new book, even if it did sound interesting, so you hoped that you’d come across the interesting sounding books in the near future.

Maybe it had been a week since you had lost interest in reading new things. A month maybe? It had been a long time, and you weren’t sure when it had started, but the feeling persisted. Normally, you’d be able to read a decent sized book every 2 days, a long list of them you had made while re-shelving waiting for you to pick up after you finished the one you were currently on. There was a lot of down time between helping people find books within the shelves, so you often spent your time reading something but you had been stuck on the same book for at least a week, its bookmark having not moved since the day you started it.

It was a persistent feeling, one that was terribly annoying as well, and one you wished would go away soon. But this wasn’t the first time you had felt like this, as this happened quite often actually. You had wondered what caused this feeling, what took your motivation away to do what you loved, but the thoughts that came to you about why you felt this way were less than pleasant.

They often circled back around on themselves, the thoughts focusing on how mundane everything was, how unhappy you were with what you were doing. The thoughts were as persistent and annoying as the feeling of no motivation and unhappiness, and as they stuck in your head, they often found their way to thinking about death.

It was horrible to think about death, you knew it, but sometimes your brain would find its own way there, it lingering on what you could do instead of doing the same thing over and over. You knew this wasn’t what you wanted, death or remaining in the same boring cycle, but still the cycle of horrible feelings continued, the months drawing on with no change in your routine and the horrible feeling coming and going with unpredictability.

When you had left at 3 a.m., all the books had been placed back in their homes, every single one now waiting for someone new to pick it up possibly the next day. You weren’t happy, but you were content with yourself, having wanted to quit shelving books when midnight came around, but still you persisted, wanting to change the day up a little to see what would happen.

Your thoughts still remained the same however, the circle of unhappiness and death still finding their way into your mind where they had been simmering the entire time you put books away and then as you walked home.

It was exhausting staying up so late, your body and mind exhausted from the events of the day. Nothing new had happened on your shift, and even though you stayed late to try to shake things up, you had just continued to do your same job for an extra 7 hours.

It was infuriating, knowing that nothing had changed even when you tried to make change happen, you sighing at the idea that this was going to be your routine forever as you walked your way home, the path you took being the same that you had taken every day since you started at the library.

You hoped that tomorrow would something different, the morning jobs already done ahead of schedule. There would be plenty of free time to do anything when you walked in tomorrow, a thought that gave you no hope in something new happening the next day as that free time only meant more time for you to sit and stare at the book you hadn’t touched in a week, the thoughts and feelings in your head halting you from opening it.

But, unbeknownst to you, the world wanted to take you seriously for once, your need for change something that the world felt like it could help with as it hadn’t taken you too seriously before because it never really needed to. You were only just one person amongst the rest, someone who you considered to be less than extraordinary, and yet, the world decided to grant you this one small wish for change this one time, it feeling like you were ready for the shakeup. But why in the hell was the change a completely new and bizarre looking creature staring you down just a short way from your home right now? Was the world really a world of sick humor and terrible games it wanted people to play? Apparently, it was and so as you froze in place in the middle of the alleyway, you wished you could forfeit your ticket to play whatever game you were in now.

Hesitantly flicking your eyes from the monster’s persistent eyes to different parts of its body, you slowly pieced together what you were looking at. At first you could only see its eyes staring, the darkness of night and the never lit up alley way had made it hard to see more. But as you stood frozen and in a stare down with the beast, your pupils grew and more of the monster became visible.

It was massive, probably the height of one of those enhanced trucks that speed down the road on their extra tall wheels, but length wise it was hard to see as its head lay on the ground while it stared and it’s body rounded off above it so that you were unable to see down the alley at all. You assumed it was pretty long but considering that the alley went on for quite a ways down, you were unsure just how long it could be.

But all it was doing was staring, no blinking, no moving, just…watching. And as you returned the gaze back to it, you could only hear your heart beat in your ears, your blood pressure higher than it’s probably ever been before and clouding any chance you had at catching someone before they snuck up on you. Which was absolutely the worst thought right now, but you’d definitely rather take on an alleyway thief than whatever it was you were staring at right now.

It was impossible to see any colour on the beast either, as the darkness wasn’t allowing your eyes the ability to see that detail. But once your eyes were able to see more detail, you noticed something odd sitting in the front of its mouth: a little foot sticking out.

Covering your mouth quickly, you couldn’t help but feel a small chuckle leave you at the sight. Reminding you of a cat that forgot it had its tongue out, you did your best to not laugh out more the more you stared at the creature. Maybe it was because you were so scared and disgusted, but as you failed to keep yourself from chuckling, you just let yourself laugh out loud.

It was as you were laughing that the creature retracted the foot into its mouth and gave you a new look, probably one of confusion as you couldn’t really tell from its lack of eyebrows. And as your laughing died down, you slowly wiped away a small tear in your eye as you looked over the monster again, with only a single thought coming to mind as you got another good look at it.

“Tsu…Tsuchinoko?”

“How DARE you! I’ll eat you for dessert for such disrespect!!”

“Fuck.”

It had been a long time since you had to run, probably since gym class your last year of high school when they wanted everyone to run a mile in under 10 minutes, but it was just as terrible feeling as you remembered. And as you threw your arm out to grab the pole on the corner to help you turn as you bolted out of the alley, you cursed yourself and your dumb knowledge of random cryptids. You swore that after today you would no longer read the random folklore books you found at work sometimes.

You knew the monster was behind you, you could hear it smash through the alley as it came after you, but you had already stared at the thing long enough, so there was no way you were going to turn around to look at it.

Rounding around the corner of the corner market, you began to follow your path to work for some reason, probably defaulting to it by habit. Running over the bridge where you saw no other people, you glanced over the guard rail lining the sides, momentarily wondering if the fat snake monster could swim.

Hearing a loud hiss from behind you, you threw your gaze forward again to watch the path you were on, deciding now wasn’t the time to find out if you could out swim a snake while in a deep river.

Throwing yourself over the railing of the bridge to gain more distance in front of the beast, you yelped as your bag caught on the decorative edge of the railing and slammed your back into the bridge.

Panic beginning to rise to levels you’ve never felt before, you threw your torso forward and slid yourself free from your bag, and as you took off again, you felt a bit sad at the idea of losing all your things. But when you looked back to where your bag hung and you saw the monster sliding over the railing toward you, that feeling quickly disappeared completely.

Thinking about where you could go, the thought of running to the other bridge that crosses the river and then trying to run back to the alleyway to go home to hide came to mind. Cursing loudly when you realized your keys were still in your bag, you tried to think of another place to go. Work? You’d definitely lose your job if you brought in a snake monster right now as it definitely not be gentle on the books. The police station? What the hell could they do, there was a 10 foot tall snake hot on your trail and they’re barely able to stop petty thieves on most days.

While deep in your thoughts, you began to feel the pain coursing through your body at all the running and jump you were doing, and cursing yourself for being lazy and never exercising, you tried to steady your breathe as you continued on, adrenaline probably the only thing keeping you going at this point.

It was as you entered the river side park did you finally enter an area full of lights, and as you landed on pavement that ran parallel to the water, you threw your head back to look at the very persistent creature.

Illuminated by the park lights, you saw the monster for all it’s glory, and it was absolutely putrid looking, with its dark brown coloration and it apparently being covered in moss behind its fat center.

Glancing for only a moment, you returned your eyes back to the park in front of you, quickly catching site of a person walking on the path toward you.

“Hey!!” you called out to the person, “Watch out, there’s a monster!!” Seeing the person unflinching at your warning, you continued on past them, your eyes falling to the side for only a second to catch sight and meet their bright blue eyes as your body moved passed them. Gulping as you kept going on the path, you considered covering your ears as you worried what was going to happen to the person

But only a few meters down from where that person was did you hear a noise you weren’t expecting, and at the sound metal sliding against metal, you tried to turn yourself around quickly to see what was happening behind you. As your head turned ahead of your body, you watched as the person who you passed slid a sword easily through the large snake monster’s face, stopping the beast in its tracks.

Stopping in place with your eyes wide and your breath continuing to come out quickly, you slowly slid your hand over to your other arm to grab some skin and pull, thinking about how you might be in a nightmare right now and it’d really be great if you could wake up. But feeling the pain from yourself, you knew this was reality.

The snake and the person stood still, supposedly in a stand off against the other. It was amazing that the snake was still alive with a sword sitting inside it’s face, but anything was possible at this point, hell, the thing could even be immortal, and you’d believe it at this point. Another terrible thought to have, but your mind was racing right now at what was happening. Pulling yourself to reality at the sound of hissing, you felt yourself step back a little from fear.

“Spaaaaaaaardaaaaaaaa…” you heard come from the snake in a low growl. Unsure of what exactly the creature was saying, you returned your foot back forward again, hoping to hear more of what may be said. Watching as a free hand from the stranger began to raise behind them, you watched as they held up one finger at you, causing you pause your movement.

“Just give me one second here.” The stranger said, their voice almost cheerful as they spoke. Completely confused, you complied and kept yourself in place.

It was only a moment later that the stranger moved, their sword being pulled freed from the monster and being thrown through its face again, this time horizontally. The snake monster hissed louder at the sudden assault, with its being retracting at the pain and its body pulling in on itself and its skin rolling as it shrunk in on itself.

“Oh man, you’re quite round, aren’t you?” The stranger said as they placed their sword over their shoulder. “And you’re bleeding quite a bit too! The park workers are going to have to clean all this up now.”

Glancing at the ground where the snake once was, you noticed the pavement was covered in a green liquid, assumingly blood. Trying to think of any animal that you’ve read about that could have green blood, you shook your head to bring yourself back to what was happening. And as your eyes went back to the back of the stranger, you heard the snake begin to move.

Expecting it to charge toward the stranger, you stumbled back a bit, surprised when the chunky creature took a sharp turn into the river, its body quickly being submerged in the water and disappearing completely. Seeing the bubbles slowly disperse within a couple of seconds, you kept your eyes on the spot where you last saw the beast.

“What a pain…” you heard suddenly from the direction of the stranger. Turning to face the person, you watched as they rubbed the back of their neck just before returning their sword to their sheath.

As the person turned around to face you, you looked over their full body under the park light. They were wearing a long red leather coat, something that looked way to heavy to be wearing this time of year, and they had white hair, something you found odd for the fact they looked not too much older than you. But when your eyes met their piercing eyes again, you froze as they stared you down. Trying to sputter out literally any words, the man interrupted you.

“What’d you do to piss off that thing?” he asked as he walked over to you. Stopping right in front of you, he glanced to the side and toward the area where the monster entered the water.

“I, uh…” you said finally after a few moments of silence. “I called it…tsuchinoko.”

“…What the hell is that?” The man asked, his eyebrow raised as he turned back to you.

“It’s uh…a really fat snake in Japanese folklore that likes to lie and drink too much.” You admitted, feeling embarrassed at having to explain the insult that landed you in this mess. Hearing a laugh rip out of the man’s throat, you couldn’t help but chuckle a bit.

“That’s amazing!” the man said between laughs, his hand resting on his chest as he continued to laugh. “No wonder it was so mad!”

“Yeah, it chased me down from over the river.” You said as you turned and pointed to the bridge you had crossed a bit ago. “I’m surprised it didn’t catch me, I’m not exactly the most fit person…”

“It must have been too fat to catch ya.” Responded the man as his laughs slowly died down. “Wish it hadn’t run away into the water, I was hoping to finish it here.” He said as he turned to face the river again.

Following his gaze to the water, you slowly stepped forward a bit, pausing suddenly as fear hit you at the idea of the monster being anywhere in the water. Hopping back 3 steps, you tried to relax yourself, your hand on your chest to try to help you breathe slower.

“You scared?” the man asked watching you jump back. Nodding at him, you kept your gaze on the river. “If it comes back, I’ll make sure to kill it. Where do you live?” he asked as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

“Over the river, not too far away from here.” You answered as you pointed at some faintly lit buildings just over the river. “It was sitting in an alleyway I walk through when I go home. Not exactly what I was expecting today to happen.”

“I bet.” The man chuckled. Watching as he motioned you to follow him with his hand, you paused for a moment before following him as he walked toward the bridge.

Reaching the remains of your bag near the start of the bridge, you gathered all that was left of the bag and what was inside, scooping everything into your arms and holding it all close. Relieved that everything you owned looked to be in okay shape, minus a bit of dirt on everything, you ran up the bridge to follow behind the man again.

Finally, having got your breathing under control after some walking, you raised your hand up to your neck to check your heart rate as you walked, slightly surprised it hadn’t given out from how fast it was going earlier.

After you finished counting, you looked up to the tall man in front of you, your eyes focusing on his hair and then the sword upon his back. Your mind wandered off slowly as you felt like you knew who this man was with how distinct his looks were.

“Which way now?” the man asked as he stepped off the bridge. Pointing to the alleyway that was visible from where you both stood, the man began to walk toward it, you hesitating for a second before you jogged up in front of him, you clutching your things to your chest a bit tighter.

“That… thing had a….er, it was eating…someone… in the alley when I found it,” you sputtered out to the man as he stopped at the sight of you halting right in front of him. “I’m not sure what else could be down there…”

“Oh, you didn’t mention that before,” he replied, his eyebrow raising a bit. “Don’t worry, I’m not squeamish or anything.” As the man laughed a bit, he placed his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly as he stepped around you and began to walk toward the alley. You gulped, not terribly worried about how squeamish the man was, but more so worried about yourself and how you didn’t really want to see the ‘leftovers’ the snake creature left behind. Even with worry filling you, and a lump sitting in your stomach, you followed the man again.

The red coated man stopped just before the alley with his back pressed against the wall nearby, you stopping just a few feet behind him as he did this, and as he leaned his head into the alleyway to peer down it, you wondered how anything that may be in the alley could not see him and his bright head of hair.

“It’s clear.” You heard from the person before you, him slowly making his way into the alley and you stepping quickly to catch up to him, not wanting to be alone for any amount of time. “Where is it you live again? You pass down here every day?” the man asked, his head glancing back at you as he spoke.

“It’s those apartments just ahead, you can see the entrance there,” You replied as you pointed forward to your apartment. Lowering your hand, you continued “And I do. I’d have to go all the way around the block to the next street if this wasn’t here. It saves a bit of time. But now that extra time doesn’t seem so great after…what I saw.” As you finished speaking, you watched as the man in front of you began to slow down to a stop, the sight of blood splattered on the wall now easier to see as you both neared it.

“So, this is where you saw big and ugly?” Nodding your head and humming a confirmation at the man, you brought your hand up to your nose, holding it closed as you quickly passed around the halted man, trying your best to not look at the blood. Even with your best efforts, the sides of your sight allowed you to see a bit of the wall, it being covered high up and practically painted completely in a splash of bright blood. You felt your stomach flip at the minimal sight, you gulping to try to help the feeling.

You didn’t stop moving until you were out of alley, you halting just as you stepped out just before you turned around, your hand slowly releasing your nose and allowing you to breathe normally again. The stranger was no longer looking at the horrid sight, instead he was just a few paces behind you, his eyes watching you as you waited in place for him. When he got closer to you, you gulped, quickly flicking your eyes to the spot of blood before looking back to the man.

“Should…I call someone about that?” you asked, your voice low so only the approaching person could see.

“I’ll take care of it,” he replied, a small smile on his face. “You should head inside. That’s your apartment, yeah?” as the man pointed to your apartment, you turned and looked at your home for a second, before turning back and nodding at him.

“Yeah, but…aren’t they going to want to talk to a witness…?” you asked softly, a bit confused as to how this man was going to handle this situation.

“Like I said, I’ve got this!” replied the man, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder before it pressed down to turn you around, his other hand joining after you turned around as to motion you toward your apartment. You complied with the movement, your head reeling with a thousand questions, one especially pertaining to who this man was, what he was even doing out this late at night, and why he seemed so vaguely familiar to you.

As you walked to your door, your mind began to go through all the regulars you saw at work, knowing very well that he wasn’t one of them, but you talked to so many people every day that it was possible he had come into the library before, even just one time. Having no recognition of ever seeing someone so young with such white hair, you thought about someone you were talking with earlier in the week who came into work asking to see your boss to make a delivery.

You had called your boss up over the phone, telling the person who was in front of you that he would be right out. You began to make small talk with them, them telling you things about their job, and you hearing quite a few odd things that had happened to them on previous deliveries they had made in the past.

And that’s when you remembered one crazy delivery story they told you about in the short time you talked with them, it not being the first time you had heard the story from a delivery person who came into to deliver something to your boss.

“Oh, I know!!” you said suddenly, causing the man behind you to jump in surprise as you halted yourself just before your apartment door. “You’re the pizza customer I hear about sometimes! The one who never pays and runs a shady business!” Turning from your front door and facing the man, the description you had been given by at least 3 delivery drivers matched as the man had such distinct hair and such a unique wardrobe, features that each of the delivery drivers were very specific about when they described him to you.

“…Er, I guess?” The man responded, his face contorting a bit which told you he was very confused.

“Sorry, my boss orders delivery a lot, so I talk to a lot of the delivery drivers in the area. I remember a few telling me about you.” You said, face slightly red at having to explain. Hearing a chuckle from the man, you smiled a little and reached for your keys. “But the shady business part explains why you fought that fat snake and what you’re going to do once I go inside though. So, I won’t ask too many questions then.”

“Sounds good to me.” The stranger said as he gave you a thumbs up.

“Well, maybe just one…” you said, watching as the man rolled his eyes. “What…WAS that thing? It wasn’t a regular snake I’m assuming?” you asked, shuffling through your keys for your front door key.

“Well, it was…” the man said before he paused, his hand coming up to rub his chin lightly. “Listen, if you see it again, just call me.” He said finally after some seconds of silence and pulling a small card out of his front pocket.

Taking and looking at the card, the only things on there were a phone number and an address that wasn’t very far away. Nodding and putting the card in your pocket, you placed your key into the lock and unlocked your door.

“Understood.” You said as you pulled open the door slowly and grinned. “Thanks for walking me home, shady business pizza guy!”

“Dante. My name’s Dante, not…that.” Dante said, sighing a little at the nickname, a cocked smile on his face. Chuckling a little, you introduced yourself before you stepped into your place, waving at him for a second before closing the door and making sure to lock the doorknob lock and place the dead bolt in its place.

Feeling the card inside your pocket, you slowly turned yourself around and walked all the way inside, mind racing at what all had just happened. Pulling the card out slowly and feeling it in your hand, you glanced down at it as you placed all your things down inside the kitchen, feeling a bit better knowing that that card was going to be staying on your person for a long time.

#devil may cry #dmc #dante #fanfic #reader #myfic #my story #text post #read more #dmc fanfic #dante/reader #slow burn #second person #mine #SGAAtN

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seenashwrite · 6 years

Text

Step Right Up (Part One)

Status: Part 1 of 4 Word Count: 4.5K Category: Mini-Series; Behind-the-scenes canon compliant; Mystery; On-the-case Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Sam, Dean, various circus folk, special guest star Warnings: None Author’s Note: Post-story Overall Summary: Sam is trapped in what’s left of a burnt-down circus while attempting to assist a tormented soul, when a mysterious ringmaster arrives.

* ~ * Series Master Post * ~ *

The fog had turned to smoke, the kind that filled every crack in a head, so thick that he was able to brush it away from his face in bulky clumps. No brushing away the thoughts it conjured, though; Sam never had been able to get the picture of his first hunter’s funeral out of his mind. Not the sight, not the smell, not the feel of the wood, not the sparks that would pop away and hit his skin. There was plenty of time to make the memory; it took a while to burn a body to dust.

The clouds cleared after he walked out of the trees and into the open field, much of the grass brittle black, then he saw the source: a quite large, still smoldering, partially collapsed tent.

"Dean!" he hissed, moving forward, but in a slight crouch, gun out and at the ready. He received no reply, instead being startled by the sound of a horse's gallop, prompting him to turn in a full circle, scanning his surroundings - there was nothing. No brother. No horses. No signs of life. Nor - interestingly - death.

But now, as he went on, that gray returned, not as thick, though it had morphed into an obstructive wall of ash in flight. It stung his eyes, and he stopped his progression, blinking, rubbing, and coughing as it turned tornado, oozed around him, then after a swirl or two, quickly flew away. And when he felt it leave and raised himself tall, he momentarily forgot to raise his gun because of what he saw.

Sam now found he was in a thoroughfare of sorts, standing in between rotted wooden wagons with cracked axles, their surfaces barely hanging on to ribbons of chipped paint. He walked on, in the direction of his intended target, the edges of the collapsed tent now just barely visible in the distance, despite the shabby passage being lined with precisely spaced poles, strings of small round bulbs connecting them, most of them lit, lazily swaying in a nonexistent breeze. The gray remained, though it was staying a polite distance ahead of him, and a peek over his shoulder revealed it was also keeping pace from behind. And his pace, understandably, was more creep than walk.

Broken popcorn stands rested on their sides, streamers from what must have been thousands of balloons littered the ground here and there, kept company by fallen bunting, yellowed, wrinkled tickets, and the glass from all the other quaint booths, all the customary fairground attractions. It crunched under his boots with every step, and that was another hair-raising thing: no footprints beyond his own. Not a trace, neither animal nor human, no indication this place - whatever or wherever this place was - had ever been inhabited, evidence to the contrary be damned.

Blocking his way was what was left of the strength test, the gauge stuck fast by the bell, and as he stepped over it, he mumbled, "Least there's no clowns."

And that was when he saw her.

She was perched on the unlatched tailgate of an ancient truck, the deflated tires allowing the rims to sink into the soft ground, her posture just as sunken, her head turned from him, looking in the direction of the tent. She wore a skirted costume, singed and smeared with black here and there, and Sam could imagine it was once a pristine white. The ruffled collar was ripped and pooled around her shoulders, and as he drew closer he saw that some of the smudges along the sheer sleeves torn at the elbows and the tights torn at the knees were actually part of a faded harlequin print. And even closer still, noted how one of her shoes dangled from her toes, the strap of the dainty ballet-like slipper nowhere to be found.

Sam couldn't say why he kept approaching, as he was feeling slightly drowsy and perhaps a touch nauseated, but nevertheless he was drawn, a definite pull, and was almost within reach when she spoke in a faintly accented voice.

"Are you are here for the job? I cannot think you would be an under-stander."

"Understand what?" he asked, brow furrowing, grip on the gun tightening.

Still turned from him, she replied, her tone flat but confident. "You are too big. The pyramid would be uneven. I would fall."

"I don't---"

"I could put in a word. You would be good for banquine. I love going high."

Her voice was easily one of the saddest Sam had ever heard, even here, speaking of something she loved. "Going high," he repeated. "Are you an acrobat?"

No answer.

"Are you hurt?" he tried.

Nothing.

"Where is everyone else? The ticket-takers? The animals? The cl... the other performers?"

That got a response - one of sorts, since she began to turn her head in his direction, into the light, slowly enough to where he could take in the streaky greasepaint, the smeared red on her lips and cheeks, the dark shadow around the entirety of her eyes, and before all that, the deep, concave wound surrounded by clotted, matted hair just behind her ear which the frayed bow around her once tightly-wound bun could not conceal.

"I am not sure," she said, eyes now focused directly in front of her, on a mostly-charred shack of a structure, the half-burnt banner stretched across what was left of the doorframe telling Sam it once read FORTUNE TELLER. Turning her head further, they were finally face to face. "Can you help me find them?"

Sam stared at the spirit for more than a few beats of silence before he lowered the gun and answered.

"I can try."

The big tent was still far off, but along the way familiarity struck her, and so into a smaller tent they went. It was stuffy, the air acrid, and Sam knew at least a few people had died in there - even if the smell hadn't told him, the human-shaped scorches on what was left of the tarp which covered the ground would have. But she didn't appear to notice; instead she meandered, taking in the space, and so he did the same. The fire had only done its work at one end; at the other, a rack of costumes remained mostly intact, excepting the soot. Clown gear, he knew that instinctively, and his lip curled out of reflex. They weren't the sort he was used to - they were more formal, somehow. He moved a few to get a better look, the metal of the hangers screeching across the bar and, suddenly, she was at his side.

"Grimaldi," she said softly. "It was Grimaldi's funeral."

"Is that... that a friend? Someone you worked with?" Sam asked.

"No. Grimaldi died long ago." She seemed to recall something, reaching for the garments, but her hand didn't quite land; didn't move through them, either, only succeeded in displacing the air, causing a sleeve or two to flutter. She dropped her arm, went completely still.

"I got it," Sam told her, reaching up.

"Move them all - something is behind here," she instructed, and he did so.

The rack had obstructed from view a modest vanity, not but one or two drawers on either side of the patchwork tuffet squeezed into the open space, the top covered with combs and pans of make-up. The mirror seemed too large, almost so disproportionate that it could've tipped the whole thing over, tall enough that taking a few steps back would've revealed the entirety of one's outfit. Well, most - Sam would've needed to back away for quite some time; had he been there on the night of, likely right into the flames.

The frame of the mirror held so many pictures Sam thought they must've accounted for a lifetime, and turned out he wasn't altogether wrong. They weren't accumulated over a lifetime; they held a lifetime - hers. Across the top she was young, a baby held tightly in the arms of a grinning couple, costumed in tights and cropped jumpsuits. Acrobats, Sam confirmed to himself. Then there was another tucked next to it, of her as a girl in a stiff, pleated skirt, a tiny ballerina caught mid-pirouette.

She'd immediately extended an arm, fingers out and ready to grab as they'd stepped through the rack, but just before contact, she remembered. She looked up at Sam with sad eyes, though they were dry and bloodshot, the tiny drawing on her cheek the only tear possible. He followed those eyes as they left his, down her arm, to the fingers that had turned to a singular point, at one area of the photographs, in the lower right corner.

"You want me to get those?" he asked, and she nodded.

He moved a portion of the objects on the dresser to the ground, spread out the photos so she could see them clearly. The couple from the first photo were nowhere to be seen, the girl now surrounded by, embraced by, riding the shoulders of, laughing with a small group of clowns - and, oddly, Sam was more solemn than scared. All he could see - feel - from the typically shudder-inducing was love. It wasn't faux cheer; the painted-on smiles could've been rubbed off, the whole gimmick stripped away, because it would've been obvious to anyone seeing these captured memories that it was far from an act. She had been loved, and dearly.

But he had a thought, and he asked the question before his mind had time to catch up with his mouth. "What happened to your parents?"

If she was offended by his nosiness, she didn't show it, answering, "They left me here. When I was a child." Once more, she pointed to the happy faces staring back at them. "This is my family."

Another photo caught Sam's eye, and he pulled it from the frame, laid it atop the others. "And who's this?"

She was the age she appeared to be at her death, or a least somewhere close - same costume, matter of fact - and was standing next to a man outfitted as ringmaster. He was older than her, Sam observed, but still young: he could see the lack of wrinkles despite the impressive handlebar mustache, and the head full of solid black hair, given that the hand not holding hers was occupied with a tall top hat. Sam glanced from the photograph to her - she was swaying slightly and her eyes had gone a little wide. She abruptly moved away, would've stumbled over the bottom bar of the rack except she sailed clean through it without realizing, kept up the retreat til Sam followed, held up both hands, gesturing for her to stop.

"Whoa, whoa - hang on. What is it? Who is he?"

"I think he did something bad," she whispered, trembling.

"What do you remem----"

"I think I did something bad!" she cried, then bolted from the tent.

When Sam chased after, he emerged from the tent to find nothing. Not her, not the light poles, not the ruined booths and wagons - everything was gone. Looking behind him, the dressing tent had disappeared. Looking to his right, there was no trace of the big top. Not even the fog had hung around; all that remained was that wide, open field in the middle of the woods in the middle of nowhere.

"Dean!" Sam called out, bringing his hands up to cup his mouth. "DEAN! CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

"He cannot, I'm afraid."

Sam whipped his gun from his waistband as he whipped himself around, finding a man in a modern-style suit walking in his direction. The steady pace didn't waver, despite being in the line of fire, and as the man approached, he removed a cap from his head, gave Sam a small, polite bow of acknowledgement when he came to a stop about twenty paces out. A trace of a smile floated under his modest - but impressive - mustache.

"It was good of you to come, Mr. Winchester. I appreciate your attendance more than I can say. Thank you for accepting the invitation."

"What invitation?" Sam asked. His eyes narrowed. There was something familiar about the man - the way he stood, the glint in his eye - then it hit him. "I know you. You're the ringmaster."

The man nodded. "Yes. And I believe if you check your pocket, you'll find the invitation to which I refer." A pause. "I also believe you're aware that pistol of yours won't be needed, true?"

The ragged flyer that was faded and worn, the one that had started Dean and Sam on the hunt, now emerged as intact as the day it was printed. What they'd known prior had been fairly sparse - the general area, the off-and-on reports over the decades of the smells of pretzels and peanuts, claims of hearing calliope music or an elephant’s trumpet or a crowd's cheers, seeing strings of lights in the woods, sometimes a girl who seemed to walk in mid-air, and all for one night only. One night, each year, stretching back to the early 1940s, somewhere on a spot of land in what was now a reserve. Good thing, too - it smacked of a trapped spirit caught in some sort of loop, and the brothers could only imagine what havoc such a thing would've brought upon excavators and construction crews.

"So let 'em have their circus til we have something better to go on," Dean had commented. "Nobody's gotten hurt, right? Sounds like a great party."

Sam had given him a *look*.

And Dean had chuckled. "Hey, if Bozo RSVPs this year? You can keep the car running, I can handle it."

But there were no RSVPs in that year, nor the next, so the lead was officially tucked away in Sam's TO BE MONITORED files, and it lived there for several more, largely forgotten in and amongst their other trials and tribulations. When things slowed down, though, Sam would dig through his files, refresh his memory, keep himself sharp for when he'd scan the news and the blogs, so any potential connections could be made. And in the fall of this year, as it so happened, the connection found them.

In their P.O. box, an ordinary envelope held the neatly folded relic - no accompanying note or return address, naturally - and it was enough to tell Sam that something was amiss. The occurrence wasn't due until the early summer. He'd immediately gotten a chill that had nothing to do with the October air.

Now as Sam looked it over, he said, "Then this was meant for us - not just any hunters?"

"Meant for you," the ringmaster clarified. "My former employer mentioned that between the fire and the clowns, you'd fit the bill nicely."

"Yeah. Nice."

"He was quite complimentary of you. Of your forbearance, your way with people, living or otherwise. He wasn't complimentary often."

Sam wasn't paying attention to the flattery, instead taking in the new details. There was the circus company's name in festive typography, tiny drawings of the wagons and the lion tamers and trapeze artists and sword-swallowers and the ringmaster, himself, skirted the edges, but the bulk of the paper was saved for illustrations of the company's clown contingent and the details of this clearly special event. Now the date and time - May 31st at eight o'clock sharp - as well as the location were specific, directing would-be attendants past commercial landmarks that no longer existed, then instructing them to continue on foot to the clearing, following the trail of lights. It was not open to the public - this was a celebration for clowns, and clowns alone, from harlequin to mime, traditional to modern, all to honor the anniversary of the death of Joseph Grimaldi.

"It was our responsibility to host - not everyone had escaped the Depression so well...." The man paused, let out a scant huff. "Not that we did, but we were better off than most. To tell truth, I wouldn't have done it, I come from a long line of misers, but she... she wanted it so badly. They - the clown troupe, that is - sent invitations to all four corners of the state, any fair or carnival or theater that may've held their brethren. It was to be a lovely night."

She was running. There was no thought to the how or the where, it was just GO. She hadn't cried like this for years, not since the day her parents abandoned her at the circus, a note pinned to her sweater saying she was talented, she could dance, earn her keep as long as they kept her in decent shoes, and nothing beyond this - no reason, no explanation, no Tell her we love her, no Tell her we're coming back. At least they were kind enough not to make promises they couldn't keep.

"Oh honey, you are so very nervous!"

"The show is starting soon, cheer up!"

"No need to cry, they will be on their feet screaming!"

"Here, now, let me fix your make-up!"

She'd run headlong into them, the last people on earth she’d have wanted to see her in such a state, and she let them go on assuming it was simply stage fright.

"Our Butterfly has the butterflies!"

"You will still be one of us, no matter how high you go, you know."

"Your parents would be so proud of you - *we* are so proud of you."

Then she let them fuss over her, let them pretty her up, let them lead her to the tent, and they waited with her behind the curtains just to the side of the ring, rubbing her shoulders, holding her hands, making her giggle with the same old silly gags they'd used to cheer her since the day she became theirs.

"Because what do we say, Butterfly?"

She forced a smile and joined in on the group chorus.

"The show must go on!"

Sam returned the flyer to his pocket, faced the ringmaster with a stony expression, gun still in hand, albeit at his side. "She's seven months to the day early - is that why you all of a sudden need help?"

"It has been cycling with more regularity, her walks through the past. I imagine fewer persons have noticed, as this area is largely unoccupied now."

“You mentioned a boss.”

"Yes. I am tasked with watching over her... I have been watching over her, looking for signs that she'll take her leave, or if.... if she'll lash out."

"Lash out?" Sam repeated.

"She can be quite emotional."

"Yeah, I believe it - she jumped like she'd been shot when she saw your picture. She said you did something bad, and that she did something bad - is she the one who lit the circus after she died? I saw her head----"

The ringmaster winced.

"----so I'm betting she didn't die in the fire, did she? Was she angry about it? Wanted to take the rest of you with her? Or was she already angry about whatever it is you did?"

"It was my fault. I should never have allowed her to even entertain the thought that she should take her dancing and tumbling to the high wire. I can only imagine the rage she felt toward me as she fell, when the safety net failed."

"What does ‘failed’ mean?"

"I told you - I'm not proud of how miserly I was. If I could turn back time, I'd feed them more, pay them more, have better equipment at their disposal." He hung his head now. "And I should have evacuated the moment the fire leapt from my trailer to others nearby. I was more concerned about loss of investment than loss of life."

"So you let all those people die----"

"Not all," he corrected. "There were enough to stamp out the worst of the flames. The smoke took some. But I'm well aware I ruined the few who lived. It wasn't a time to be unemployed. They were already hand-to-mouth. I wonder sometimes if the ones who perished actually drew the long straw."

"They didn't," Sam shot back, and coldly.

The ringmaster looked away for a few moments, squeezed the brim of the hat off-and-on, be it from agitation or simply fidgeting, Sam didn't know - that is, until their gazes met again, and all the charm the ringmaster had carefully cultivated over his lifetime had fallen away, tears rolling over his no longer rosy cheeks.

"I've been punished, you know. For my carelessness, my stupidity. It should be more, I'd think, but it has been difficult. Watching her suffer. To be tasked with reaping her soul, and being unable to communicate with her - I thought for many years, if only I were able, despite her anger toward me, I could remind her of the love we shared, convince her to leave the mortal coil."

"Reap.... you're a reaper!?" Sam asked, shocked. "It's in the job description to talk to the---- that's---- you have to convince her! The longer you wait, the harder it's going to be! I honestly can't believe she's stayed in one spot, that she hasn't burned this whole forest to the ground, or chased down the clowns who took her in, or----"

"They were among the ones who perished. I think somewhere, deep down, she knows they are no longer with her. So where else is she to go? Everything and everyone she ever loved met their end here."

The moon was bright, but Sam still took a several steps forward, to make certain the irritation all over his face was seen. "If you're so sure she knows, then it won't be as much of a shock! So talk to her, convince her there’s nothing left for her here!"

"I am trying to tell you: I am prevented from talking with her - that's our punishment for the fire. I cannot rest until she does, and she cannot rest unless I reap her soul."

"Call on another reaper! Hell, I could probably call for----"

"Listen to me, man!" the ringmaster shouted, closing the distance between them, snatching Sam's lapels and giving him a stronger shake than would have seemed probable. "She is my only assignment, and I am the only reaper assigned to her. There is no other option!"

Sam shoved him away, straightened his jacket, saying, "Except me, right? The psychotic clown whisperer?"

“As I said, my former employer spoke quite highly. And you are the only loophole to the rules, as it were. I am at my absolute most desperate, Mr. Winchester.”

Sam sighed, ran a hand through his hair. "I could use my brother's help, it'd make this go quicker, you know. Assuming I can figure out how to talk her into it. Which is gonna be hard, seeing as how she's not here anymore."

The ringmaster grinned, and it wasn't altogether comforting to Sam. "I can draw her back," he said. Returning his hat to his head, he clasped his hands behind himself and began to sing under his breath as he strolled away leisurely, a gentle serpentine pattern across the field.

“They asked me how I knew - My true love was true - I of course replied -Something here inside cannot be denied...”

The further he drifted from Sam, the softer the song, and the denser the air as the fog slowly began to accumulate once more, rolling in from all sides, the ringmaster's form gradually disappearing, the tiny, hazy points of light from the the bulbs beginning to fade in.

And this time when Sam approached her, she was sitting up straight, swinging her legs back and forth, humming the same tune, though it slipped away as she turned her head in his direction. She smiled. “Are you are here for the job? I cannot think you would be an under-stander.”

"I, uh.... no. Not here for a job."

“Just as well - you are too big! The pyramid would be uneven. I would fall. But I could put in a word. You would be good for banquine." She hopped off the tailgate, then paused for a contented sigh, closed her eyes as she added, "I love going high.”

“I do have a job to do, though,” Sam said carefully - and then even more carefully - “Your... the ringmaster asked me to talk with you.”

She opened her eyes slowly, and gone was the happy countenance - but she hadn’t reverted to the sadness from before. This time there was something frigid, unreadable about her, and it made Sam gulp, take a small step back. She lowered her gaze, began smoothing out the ruined costume.

“Have you come to ask me about the fire?” she asked in a low voice.

“Yes.”

She met his eye. “No.”

They stood in silence for some time, Sam didn’t know how long, but he knew he had to be the one to break it. “Then can you tell me about the celebration? Grimaldi’s funeral?”

Now the smile returned, her entire demeanor near-bubbly. “Oh, yes!” she exclaimed, turning and gesturing for him to follow her. “Come! This way!” She took off, launching into a near-sprint.

Sam found himself rushing to keep up, in spite of his longer strides. “Where are we going?”

“To the big top!” she called over her shoulder. “And I will introduce you to my family!”

Sam slowed momentarily, muttering to himself. “Dean, where the hell are you?”

Dean threw his phone into the car, where it crashed into the console, cracking the screen. His battery was officially dead. He’d called Sam countless times as he walked through the trees, even climbed one part way to get a better signal. He’d covered every inch of the field, the place where Sam was supposed to be, and Dean was furious that he’d wandered off; it was between furious and fearful, so the choice was obvious.

Dean slammed the door, flopped back against it, rubbed a hand over his face, trying to decide on his next move when a smooth voice came from the rear of the Impala.

“What’s shakin’?”

Dean jumped, whirled around. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded. Then he blanched. “Where’s Sam?”

Billie was the picture of calm as she walked around the car. “What’s got you all out of sorts, Dean? Sam’s a big boy.”

Dean gave her a look. “I dunno, we’re on a hunt, my brother’s missing, then Death shows up - gee, you’re right, nothing about that’s worth getting worried over, are you kidding me?!”

Billie chuckled. “No need to worry about Sam. He’s not on my schedule. Not yet, at least.”

Now Dean frowned. “What do you mean?”

Billie looked at Dean, studied his face for a moment to make sure she had his complete focus. “Sam’s gotten himself into a bit of a time shift. And he’s trapped.”

“So how do we----”

“The trapped he can handle, that’s not what you should be worried about.”

“Then I should be worried, great, that’s-----”

“It’s not that he’s trapped, Dean. It’s who he’s trapped with.”

Author’s Note: Part two tomorrow! It’s too long for one sitting, methinks, so I split ‘er up.

ETA: It hit me that today (the aforementioned “tomorrow”) is Thursday - show day! - so let’s put Pt. 2 off til Friday or Saturday, yeah? Kewl. 🤡

See Nash Write : Master / See Nash Write : Mobile

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atomsphotography · 6 years

Photo

Masha Sardari

I am originally from Moldova, a country in Eastern Europe. Currently, I live in Florida, USA. I am full time student at the University of North Florida and I create photos during my spare time in collaboration with my friends.

My style incorporates dramatic scenes, often darkly lit and focused on one or two subjects. The figures are often engaged in a surreal environment. The sense of a dream-like atmosphere is essential for my work. The use of a single, bright source of light that softly reveals the subject is characteristic of my photographs. Some of my wok is Bible-inspired in an abstract manner and draws on history to formulate the subject of the photo. The dominant colors are “Earth Colors” such as earthy browns, yellows, reds, and orange. Shades of deep green and almost black-brown are commonly seen throughout the work. Only a few photos include blue and violet hues. The photos are generally warm feeling due to the color selection. Additionally, I strive to select un-ideal models and settings. Although I use a good amount of post processing, I do not work with professional models and choose to select people I know to take on the role of the character in the photo. As far as realism, even though I tend to select surreal themes, I focus on using real objects in the photos and avoid “photoshopping” things in.

I love photographing my friends and creating self-portraits in natural settings. I have always been enamored by nature but never found landscape photography as something for me. Therefore, I incorporate the human form in the nature around me.

Much of my work is shot using a Canon 5D MKII with a 50mm F1.4 Nikkor manual lens. In the past year, I have switched over to a Sony A7II with a 28 mm F2.0 lens. Overall, I don’t think anyone needs to spend a lot of money on cameras and lenses, almost any photo device can allow you to create great work. It’s more about the vision.

In terms of my photography, I just want to create work that evokes emotion whether positive or negative and makes people think.

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foxclouds884 · 3 years

Text

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The next step involves the one-click sharpen tool that we had mentioned previously. Click on the “PRESETS” drop-down menu and click the “Sharpen!” box under App Presets. This will automatically fix the blurry photo (as shown below).

Step 4: SHARPNESS

If you’re unhappy with the automatic enhancement, then you can adjust it using the aforementioned sharpness sliders. You can find these tools under the “SHARPNESS” drop-down menu. There are two ways that you can adjust the enhancement:

Amount: The amount slider will adjust the overall vividity of the photograph.

Radius: The radius slider will adjust the size of the pixels.

Step 5: Save

Fix My Blurry Photo

Finally, the last step is to SAVE the file. https://foxclouds884.tumblr.com/post/653983378241191936/how-to-authorize-ableton-live-9-suite-crack. You can do this by clicking on the SAVE logo in the middle of the main toolbar (as shown in the image below).

Part 2. How to Fix Blurry Pictures in Photoshop

The second method that we will be introducing is Adobe Photoshop. You’ve no doubt heard about this one. It’s the graphics editor that many professional-level photographers have grown to love and learn - usually after years of taking classes. Mac how to edit info.plist for java 1.7. It’s not something that just anyone will be able to use, however, we managed to condense the steps to give you an idea of how to fix blurry pictures in photoshop.

How to Fix Blurry Photos with Photoshop

Step 1: Install and Launch

Much like the previous program, our demonstration begins by downloading and installing Adobe Photoshop. Be warned, this process might take a couple of hours, perhaps even an entire day - depending on the speed of your PC and your internet. Adobe offers a free 7-day trial after signing up for a Creative Cloud account through their official website.

Step 2: Import Image

The next step involves the importation of the image. You can do this by clicking “Open…” on the main screen and locating the blurry picture that you want to fix.

Step 3: Sharpen > Shake Reduction

In order to fix blurry photographs, you’re going to have to apply a filter. You can do this by clicking on the “Filter” tab on the top menu. If you look through the drop down menu you can find both Sharpen > Shake Reduction… (as shown in the image below). Wait for a few seconds. The program will automatically enhance your photograph, and lead you to another editor.

Step 4: Shake Reduction

As you can see from the preview, the image has been automatically enhanced. You can further fix blurry pictures with photoshop by using the sliders. When you’re happy with the enhance, click “OK.”

Step 5: Save

When you’re finished fixing your blurry photo, remember to save! You can do so by clicking on the “File” tab. The “Save…” option will be on the drop-down menu. Extra Tip: You can also use the short-key Ctrl + S to automatically save your photograph.

Part 3. How to Fix Blurry Photos on Mac

Now, if you’re looking for quick Mac solutions, then you don’t have to look very far. The Photos App in Mac is a pre-installed software that is able to provide automatic enhancement. Unlike the previous two, you won’t be able to make finicky adjustments on this one. It can only provide a preset enhancement.

How to Fix BLurry Photos on Mac

Step 1: Launch Blurity

First, you’re going to have to launch the Blurity software. In order to do this, you can download their demo version from their website, or pay the one-time payment for the full license.

Step 2: Import Image & Set up

In order to begin the process, you’re going to have to import the image. To do this, all you have to do is click the “Open Image…” button and wait for the image to process. Once that’s done, you can choose either a “Basic” or “Advanced” enhancement.

Blur Severity: Adjusting this slider will increase or decrease the sharpening effect of the end result.

Step 3:

Once you are happy with the enhancement, you can save the image by clicking the “Save Image as…” button.

Part 4. How to Fix Blurry Photos on Mobile

We’re going to cover how to fix blurry photos on Mobile. To do this, we’re going to use the Adobe Photoshop Express: Photo Editor as an example. This application is available in both IOS and Android devices, and is a simplistic version of it’s Adobe Photoshop for PC counterpart.

How to Fix BLurry Photos on Mobile

Step 1: Launch Adobe Photoshop Express

How To Fix Blurry Pictures online, free

In order to launch the app, you’re going to have to download it. You can do so by looking it up on your Google Play Store or App Store, or by clicking this link.

Step 2: Automatic Enhancement

In order to automatically fix blurry photos with this mobile app, you can click the magic wand tool (highlighted red in the image below).

Step 3: Adjust Enhancement

This enhancement is automatic, but not final. You can adjust the quality of the image further by playing around with the settings available.

Part 5. Is It Possible to Fix Blurry Photos Online

Although two methods might seem plenty already, we’re going to go even further by introducing you to an online method. So, how does one fix blurry pictures online? It’s actually a lot simpler than one would think. One example, is through the use of a website called Pinetools. They offer different types of editors - one of which is made specifically for fixing blurry photos.

How to Fix Blurry Photos Online

Step 1: Pinetools.com & Importing the Image

The Pinetools sharpen website doesn’t have a welcome page, so we’ll skip right to the first step. All you have to do to begin is click the “Choose File” button. Once you’ve located the file, you can move on to the next step.

Step 2: Sharpen

The file should be imported and automatically enhanced. Although, if you wanted to adjust the enhancement, you can do so by moving the slider on the bottom of the screen. When you’re done, click the green “SHARPEN!” button.

Step 3: Save

You can choose the type of image file to save the enhanced photo as. Just click on either PNG, JPG, or WEBP.

Conclusion:

Ultimately, there are many methods that you can use to fix blurry pictures. However, by far, the best one would have to be the Fotophire Focus. Not only will it allow you to enhance your image with a single click, but you can also adjust it with the other editing tools that it has to offer. In the end, its easy-to-use interface and the variety that it offers makes it the most helpful solution.

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emmybluefire · 6 years

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Technology in WoW

Alright. So for some of you: the title might set off a few red flags. But please bare with me. I promise I’m not angry this time XD

For those of you who don’t know: A few months back I made a post on my main Tumblr @fuzzywuzzms regarding my opinions on the subject. In it though, I was too swept up with the irritation brought on by my pet peeves, that I did not leave the topic open for discussion. That was very immature of me and I apologize sincerely to everyone who had the displeasure of reading it. Today though: I wish to rectify that mistake. WoW technology, how does it work? Where is it seen? How advanced is it? Lets have a discussion shall we? >:D

Overview

Technology in WoW is... weird. To say the least. Much of what we see in the game is sloppily done, and likely put in by Blizzard simply because: “It’s cool!” or “It’s fun!” , regardless of their lore. This has left many players confused on, well... what all is possible? What are it’s limits? Timewise, where does WoW stand as an advanced civilization? Are we stuck in the smoke and soot ridden times of the late Victorian era? Where industry, mass production, and machines were a very recent and brand new reality? Or are we more based in the late 1800′s to the early 1900′s? Where advances in medicine and science made HUGE strides towards a better life; and Electricity had only just been discovered.

Are we an early civilization? Where the sword, axe, and mace was prevalent on the battlefield; And wealthy families lorded over massive swaths of land. Or are we a hyper advanced SiFi civilization, where space, time, and interdimentional travel are commonplace?

Blizzard has Never been clear on where we stand as a society. When they introduce new bits of technology, they explain it away as being “Gnomish” or “Goblin” ... or something from a highly advanced culture thousands upon thousands of years ago, the Titans. Sloppy, undeniable, scapegoats. It’s rare that they ever explain anything like, why this technology was invented. How it works. What purpose does it serve... other than just- being cool?

If machine guns and flying machines exist: Then why does everyone still rely so heavily on avian creatures and mele weapons? What is even the point of the armor we wear? Because it’s definitely not going to protect you against ballistics. You know, other than just- being cool?

If electricity exists, then why isn’t it being utilized? Why is every household depicted in game still lit up by torches, candles, and fireplaces? Other than jus- fitting the fantasy vibe?

How is World of Warcraft even still a fantasy game? Well. The simple answer is, that’s just how it’s creators want it to be. They want it to be a fantasy game with steampunk and magitech elements just because, it’s cool. And in my opinion they succeed. It’s fiction. Suspend your disbelief.

But where has this left us? The Roleplayers? The Creators? Those who delve deeply into the game’s lore and fictional history, to create something based in this medium we all enjoy. Something that gives other WoW players FAR more content to enjoy. Content that -feels- like WoW. But most importantly. How far can we go before we start... killing the fantasy vibe with elements that are far too real? Things like refrigerators, hot showers, computers, televisions, phones?

Well, my friends. It seems like it’s time for a ramble.

Transportation

Most of WoW’s technology, at least to me, reminds me of the Industrial revolution. A point in time where machines were just starting to be developed. A time where Steam engines were prevalent, and the internal combustion engine was a very plausible and testable theory. Horses and other labor beasts were still used commonly at this time, but were beginning to fall in relevancy, as steam powered trains, boats, and outlandish carriages were taking over the scene. But, as of this time period... Electricity had not been discovered yet. And hence, people still widely used candles, lanterns, and other fire-containing objects to illuminate their homes.

Established: In WoW we see examples of this technology all over the place. Alliance gunships, Zeppelins, trams, the Northrend steamboats. All falling under one term: “Steampunk.” , a technological and musical theme centered all around steam powered engines and clockwork. For long distance transportation, these seem to be the go-to. But... this all comes with a conflicting caveat.

Conflicting: If WoW is indeed supposed to be within a steampunk era, then why does the more advanced gas-powered technology exist? Why hasn’t it replaced everything? Remember, gas powered engines were still in development during the industrial revolution. Planes, helicopters, motorcycles... everything. And what do we as Roleplayers consider when looking at all of this?

This is the confusing part.

Medicine

Established: Wow’s medical practices are also widely unexplained. For the most part, what I see NPC’s doing as far as medicine goes is well... alchemy. Healing potions, herbal remidies, magic, and the like. Something VERY medieval, VERY supernatural, and VERY fictional. And yet, for our characters, it works! Its real! It’s efficient! And if this is the case: why then, are modern IV bags, needles, and pills a thing?

Conflicting: If this stuff works, and is common... why then did us Azerothians find the need to develop modern medical technology? Obviously what we’ve known all along works better. So what was the point of spending resources on something less... well, efficient? It doesn’t make much sense.

Where should we lean more towards as Roleplayers? Clearly the modern medical technology in WoW doesn’t have much lore behind it. Unlike the supernatural cures we have.

Warfare

Established:There’s no denying gnomes are clever little fuckers. They’ve invented MANY of the “modern” weapons and machinery we see in the game. High caliber machine guns. Mechanized exosuits. Tanks, explosives, and flying machines. They are also the very first race to have discovered electricity lore wise. AND! They are part of the alliance. Humanity has SO much power at their fingertips now! They can improve their lives, decimate horde armies, power their cities... and just overall improve their quality of liveing! The alliance has the power to take over the world! And yet... do they?

Conflicting: No. For whatever reason, the Alliance seems content to outfit themselves in inferior attire, and leave their cities wrought with filth. Which... well. Doesn’t make, ANY sense! Are they jus- too stupid reverse engineer gnomish tech and mass produce it for themselves? Clearly they have the resources to do so! So why the heck don’t they? Do the gnomes hoard it all for themselves? If so, why hasn’t that sparked a civil war?

Where do we, as roleplayers, draw the line when it comes to Gnomish tech? It seems as though Blizzard purposefully keeps it gnomish to avoid dismantling the overall fantasy feel of the world, and prevent deus’ex machina filled writing. Making themselves out to be “Good” writers when in reality there’s some HUGE continuity errors. If you wanted a western fantasy themed game... why did you include such advanced technology? What should we, as roleplayers, and aspiring writers, respect? Fairness? Or consistency?

Conclusion

Blizzard’s biggest issue with it’s lore has ALWAYS been consistency. They’re more concerned with WoW as a game, then as a story. Which, at the end of the day... isn’t exactly a bad thing overall. Blizzard is a company who’s focus is on making fun -GAMES- not writing great stories. That’s their primary aim as a company. And while I -do- wish we could have both a great game AND a consistent story, I can’t exactly blame them for prioritizing one thing over the other. It just put’s roleplayers like us in very tight, and fickle positions when trying to determine what the best aim is for our character. At least if we want to try and abide by lore. Much is up to interpretation, and personal preference. What we want to be possible, and what we don’t want to be possible.

Every person is different, and interprets the game’s lore differently. So conflicts of rationals are bound to happen. At the end of the day... all I can say is respect each others opinions, and go with the flow. If someone doesn’t like the fact that you have a high caliber machine gun jus- on hand, then respect that. If someone would rather believe their fireplace keeps their hearth warm rather than some electric heating system, then respect that too. Agree to disagree, and walk away. Enough said.

After all, that’s what roleplay is all about... right?

Thank you everyone SO much for reading if you got this far :D , truly, gestures like this mean a lot to me. So please, have a good day or night, wherever you may be, and have fun :D

#wow #world of warcraft #discussion #lore #rp #roleplay #wrymrest accord #technology #wra

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alexanderessex3dstoryart · 3 years

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Character Design - Style Referencing and Silhouette Research - 30/12/20

For today’s research on character design, I thought I would look into the style referencing for my characters as I’m still not sure weather to go for a realistic art style or a cartoon based one. On top of that, I’m kinda not sure what kind of art style I would then go for either style I end up choosing which is something I plan for today to understand and find out for myself.

Starting off with looking at the realistic depictions, Cyberpunk 2077 is definitely one I’m already hooked with having already covered it previously in my blog posts. It’s dark, gritty, noir-style visuals give it a rough environment to be in but also an emotional one whether its trying to be sombre on your mood or trying to show the sadistic nature of the world that those characters live in. The visuals of the characters are very mute looking with their colour palette with the exceptions being gangs like the Maelstrom with these bright neon lights emitting from their faces standing themselves from the crowds. In fact, neon colours are the only ones that seem to stand out on any character from the universe other than a few colours being saturated highly. I think this is to go alongside the tone of the game as whilst it can be a chaotic game, there’s a real human element to it’s art style and narrative that you can see from looking at the characters which is most established in it’s launch trailer for the game. That goes for the environment too as it’s often muted in colour to help further emphasizes that realist tone to the story and the characters that live in it.

In addition to it’s use of colour, the way characters are made and rendered are very hyper-realistic as it looks like a natural progression of human life in the future with us adding cybernetic parts to ourselves. This also goes for the clothing of the characters too being very detailed and natural to the world created. I think this style of render is what i’m so far attached too from how these elements have come together especially for my kind of setting being in a Cyberpunk universe.

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Another source of render that I was influenced by and a bit of a comparisonment to Cyberpunk 2077 is another game called Final Fantasy VII Remake which contrasts Cyberpunk’s mute palette as whilst it’s set in a similar styled environment, there’s a lot more colour and freedom to be found as characters are distinguished from each other with colours popping out in their uniforms to many different and unnatural colours illuminating the city. Even somewhere like the slums that we see in the opening cinematic look busy, healthy and vibrant to look out from how brightly lit the city is. Character's like Aireth (the one in the red jacket) are really defined in the city by how she pops out of the dark city with her reds and pinks in her colour palette. The characters themselves have a much smoother render to the much more realistic style of Cyberpunk 2077 with the characters looking a bit plasticy in comparison. However for close up’s of the characters, details of them looking realistic are more present like close up of eye’s where we can see eyelashes and skin particles/textures evident. Unlike Cyberpunk 2077′s different usage of designs on the faces of their characters, FFVII Remake’s faces are a lot cleaner looking which whilst mostly looking the same-ish across all the characters from the game, the designs of their outfits really help the characters define who they are as people which makes them easy to identify. This also links into the silhouette design of these characters too as if you were to only create a black mask of their neutral poses, you would easily be able to identify who’s who from their body structure as well as key characteristics which is a lot more than Cyberpunk 2077′s visuals. Characters like Cloud are defined by his thin statuerette and his rectangular sword which is very identifiable in this space and somebody like Baracus who is known for his immense body and gatling gun arm. Details like these is something that’s going to be really important to me when I come back to making my characters again.

Final Fantasy VII Remake - Opening Movie | PS4

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Cloud Strife Pose

One of the last renders I looked at today was from the Skylanders Games for it’s cartoonish art style as well as looking a little bit into the characters as I’m still considering of going with a dynamic animalistic design for my characters. The style of these characters is similar to the plasticy nature from FFVII Remake’s design but works alongside the dynamic and exaggerated features of the characters like the bug eyed eyes of the characters as well as the specific details of each character that makes them unique. One of my favourite characters Wham-Shell helps bring this point across through not only his eyes but the exaggerated size of his weapon and his crustation on arms which you could also say for the body of the character too. Looking at him and the rest of the characters that are featured in the game’s universe, they all provide a very glossy finish to the characters like they’ve been made in a factory and are brand new looking. This gloss tends to evolve overtime with each new iteration for the game as the characters get a lot more glossier as they progress

Wham-Shell Character

Skylanders Spyro's Adventure Opening Scene

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[HD] Skylanders Swap Force Opening Cutscenes + First Area Tutorial !!!

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I think overall looking at the skylanders games as ideas for my render, I think I’ve come to the conclusion that I want to pursue a more realistic depiction of my characters both look wise as well as render. I think this decision mostly comes from the overall tone and setting for my characters as I imagine a darker but gritter environment for them to manifest in which I can’t see with the cartoony style of the skylanders games and think sources like Cyberpunk 2077 and Final Fantasy are tonelly more correct. However, there are some details I would like to carry over into the realistic art style such as looking into the big eye designs that a lot of the characters posses from the games into my characters.

After my research and conclusions with render research, I looked into silhouette designs after being inspired by both Final Fantasy VII Remake as well as one of the natural progressions I needed to take with my character in order to make an effective model/character for the project. I first started by looking into different websites for creating effective silhouette theory which I stumbled across this really nice set of pages of showing how you can use silhouettes effectively from developing your ideas. The pages show a complete page of developed silhouettes that have been used to express different ideas for a character which those designs have been inspired to create drawings from to eventually lead to a final character. I think combined with Jon’s suggestions as well as from these pages is where I would really succeed in developing my character for the project as this feels the most comfortable avenue for me to advance the designs of my characters as well as understanding the flow of the character too.

Looking into the term itself, silhouettes are used to help define a character by using shape language to suggest what a character may look like and act just by looking at them. This is usually done by using different types of shapes to help build up the character and what kind of emotion they’re suggesting in their pose which range from; organic, geometric and abstract shapes. ‘Concept Start’ was a really good website that highlighted this way of working as it uses the characters from Madagascar as examples to expressing emotion through silhouette. Below they detail that Alex (Lion) having such a wide expression to him makes him very inviting from his silhouette as its very inviting to us if we were to see his shadow. For Gloria (Hippo), she comes across as very round and smooth and very much like shes comes straight from a cartoon from the light bits of details suggested in her design. And then for Melvin (Giarffe) his body and and appendages are very jumbly and clumsy which perfectly describes the kind of movement and character he is. But going back to the term again, the best thing you can do with a silhouette is if the character is still recognisable if you block them in, then it makes the silhouette strong and readable.

Overall, I’m happy with my research as not only have I understood what kind of style I want to aim for my characters mainly Hyde, but as well looking into how I can create characters more effectively using silhouettes as well as having that extra bit of info from the tutorial notes I was given. I think looking forward, I plan to create my Hyde character through using silhouettes designs the same way as the image above as well as maybe trying it with my Jekyll character too.

The use of Silhouettes in Concept Design

http://characterdesignnotes.blogspot.com/2011/03/use-of-silhouettes-in-concept-design.html

SHAPE LANGUAGE & SILHOUETTE IN ART & DESIGN

https://www.conceptstart.net/art-tutorial/improve-shape-language-silhouette-in-concept-art-design-illustration

How to Design Characters with Bold Fashion and Strong Silhouettes

https://www.clipstudio.net/how-to-draw/archives/157653

#CharacterDesignBA2a

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ialwayscomewhenyoucall · 7 years

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10 Questions

Rules: Always post the rules, answer the questions given to you, then write 10 questions of your own, and tag 10 other people.

I was tagged twice! So I’m playing 20 questions, I guess.. :)

Tagged by: @starsinursa (great questions!)

Questions for me:

1. What song would you choose as the theme-song for your life? Accidentally in Love by Counting Crows.

2. What’s an embarrassing story about you as a child? I was a sleepwalker. When I was four and five years old I had a “lovely” habit of wandering into any room of the house (in my sleep) and being sure it was the bathroom. Once (only once, thank Chuck) my parents were too slow to stop me. :/

3. What’s a hobby or skill that you want to learn? I’d really like to be able to draw. I’ve been saying that for years, but I’ve recently decided to do something about it: I bought a small sketch pad and some good pencils/erasers and am learning to draw feathers (what? me? have an obsession with Cas’s wings??). It’s a frustrating but ultimately rewarding process.

4. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten? I’m not a very adventuresome eater. I think probably snails.

5. If you could pick your age, what age would you want to stay forever? That’s a hard one! Early thirties somewhere, I’d say. Overall my thirties have been oh so much better than my twenties (infertility is heartbreaking) but my body is starting to feel my age now, so I’d go back a tad. ;)

6. What’s your least favorite household chore? FOLDING SOCKS. I often threaten that we will become a sock-free home! If there are any house-elves out there looking for clothes, I have an entire basket of socks with no mates.....

7. Have you ever been told you look like someone famous, and if so, who? I don’t look anything like her now (at least I don’t think so), but back in college I had people tell me all the time that I looked like Mayim Bialik, aka Blossom, aka Amy Farrah Fowler.

8. If you wrote an autobiography, what would the title be? Reading through Childhood in 10,000 Books: “Mom, Do I Have to Go Outside?”

9. What’s the meaning of your name? Stacy is a form of Anastasia, which means “resurrection.”

10. What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received? Every single time one of my kids tells me I’m the Best Mom Ever. <3

Tagged by: @righteousdemondean (you’re in trouble with #7...!)

Questions for Me:

1. What’s the time now where you are? 6:33pm

2. What’s your timezone? Eastern, US

3. What’s your fondest childhood memory you’re willing to share? It’s not really one memory, more like an amalgamation of memories. We went camping a lot when I was a kid, and my favorite part of camping was always stargazing. Sometimes I’d climb onto my dad’s lap, sometimes my mom and I would lay in the grass, sometimes we’d all sprawl on the hood of the car (the horribly ugly station wagon sticks in my mind!), sometimes we’d walk down to the lake and sit on a bench. My parents told me the stories of the constellations, and I swear I saw bears and queens and hunters in the sky. My love of the stars started very young, and has only grown. My one tattoo is the constellation Orion.

4. What’s the music genre you love the most? That’s like asking me to choose one of my children above the others. I don’t think I can do that. (Right now I’m listening to more classic rock than anything else, but that’s just for the moment...and it’s my SPN playlist...)

5. What’s the music genre you just can’t stand? Country. It makes me want to stab my eyeballs with a fork.

6. What’s your favorite school subject? In high school: English/literature. In college: all my writing classes, with my poetry classes being at the top. Honorable mention: in college I took an AMAZING Arthurian lit class. We read so much awesome stuff and sat around talking about it, and then at the end of the semester the professor invited us all (there were only 12 of us) to his house to watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail. :)

7. What are your favorite ships, in any fandom? Ah, here we go. Like I said, you’re in trouble! But I’m limiting myself to top four (you’re welcome...!).

- Buffy/Spike, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Buffy and Spike have their problems, it’s true. But ultimately they make each other better. Spike gives Buffy strength when she doesn’t think she can go on. Spike wants to be better for Buffy, so much so that he goes out and gets his soul back so he can be good enough for her. Besides, Spike is so much better than Angel Buffy’s other love interests.

- Dean/Castiel, Supernatural. Duh. Do I even have to explain? Read my fanfic. ;)

- River/The Doctor, Doctor Who. My otp is River and the 12th Doctor (”The Husbands of River Song” is so beautiful, I shatter into pieces every time I watch it) but honestly I love River with every version of the Doctor, and I squee a bit when I think of the (albeit remote) possibility of River meeting the 13th Doctor (space wives!!).

- Ally/Nawat, Daughter of the Lioness books, Tamora Pierce. I know this is the one probably no one has ever heard of, but I ship these two so hard. (Plus I’ve read these books so many times...!) Ally is one of the strongest, smartest female characters I’ve ever read, and Pierce writes women VERY well. And Nawat is...a crow. He falls for Ally, so he decides to become a human (a thing that, apparently, all crows could do if they wanted. I want to live in Tortall!) so he can court her (and also help her with all the other stuff going on in the book; he is, first and foremost, her friend). I honestly want to be best friends with both Ally and Nawat.

8. What would you want to say to your elementary/high school teachers? Thank you for encouraging my writing. Also thank you for teaching me algebra and geometry: I really do use it all the time!

9. Fondest memory in your adult life you’re willing to share? It’s a six-way tie between the three days my kids were born and the first time each of them said “I love you.” <3

10. Favorite taste? Champagne and strawberries.

Whew! My turn to ask now...

Questions for you:

1. Would you rather spend a week in Oz, Narnia, or Wonderland?

2. Are you a morning person or a night person?

3. Cake, pie, or cookies?

4. What is your favorite place on the planet (someplace you’ve been)?

5. If there was an opportunity to colonize the moon, would you do it?

6. What is your favorite season of the year?

7. What was your first fandom?

8. What is your favorite smell?

9. When you are outside on a comfortable day, do you choose sun or shade?

10. Where is the most interesting place you’ve ever stood?

And I tag... @justrandomspnstuff, @juliette-warnette, @justsomebutter, @bold-sartorial-statement, @jdragon122, @calliopecookiejar, @bend-me-shape-me, @physco-killer-12, @rebelangel67, @golden-blades

As always, feel free to ignore me! :)

#Tumblr Games #about me #this was kind of fun #except i kind of wrote a novel!#oops

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mylivingwritemare · 5 years

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Lidia Yuknavitch Essay: My First Lineage Essay

So the point of the Lineage Essays was to gain insights about a living writer’s background, inspirations and motivations to provide insight into their writing and stylistic decisions within. Essentially asking what does the work do and how does it do it.

Because I’m really bad at time management and knowing what’s going on around me, apparently, I decided to write my first lineage essay on Lidia Yuknavitch and her book, The Book of Joan. The problem with this is that the essay was due in class the day we’d be done the book so I had to get to work on a paper about a book that I wasn’t yet finished. I finished the book early and my paper, surprisingly, on time and when I got to class it was the wildest thing. There, standing before my eyes, was Lidia Yuknavitch. I had used numerous interviews as research material and as sources in my paper and to see this woman who I had been seeing on my laptop screen for the better part of a few days was crazy to me.

The most interesting source I used had to be Lidia’s TED Talk, The Beauty of Being a Misfit. I appreciated it because Lidia’s personality and beliefs and what forged them really emerged and I found her so brave for exposing all of this personal information on such a big stage. The part about failure being the moment when people are most beautiful because it provides the opportunity for change and transformation really resonated with me and Lidia only became cooler when she spoke to the class and read allowed at the Washington College Lit House. Before I continue the story, here’s my Lidia Yuknavitch essay. It centers around the idea of being a misfit and the stylistic choices Yuknavitch makes in her writing.

Making Misfits in the Works of Lidia Yuknavitch

The word “misfit” is very straight forward. It’s meaning is easy to guess as it’s very literal and the roots of the word lead one to the conclusion that a misfit is something or someone that doesn’t fit in. Misfits, to many, are seen as freaks, outsiders or others as they don’t fit in with or adapt to societal norms and it’s not exactly a term that any one wants to own due to its negative connotation.

To Lidia Yuknavitch, a misfit is a person “who sorta missed fitting in or a person who fits in badly”, but the nature of misfits being that they don’t fit in or, rather, that they break the mold makes them intrinsically interesting and unique (Yuknavitch). Lidia believes that misfits, because of this, are the perfect protagonists, even saying that homeless people are some of the “most heroic misfits” because they began as normal people. Typically, people associate villains or antagonists or, simply, wrongdoers with misfits but heroes and, specifically, protagonists often also act in ways that are peculiar to or different than the people around them. Not everyone in a comic book dresses in a cape and a mask and fights bad guys. Lidia considers herself to be a misfit and lists the hardships she went through to become one in her TED Talk “The Beauty of Being a Misfit”, noting that the greatest reason is that her child died at birth which sent her into a spiraling state of grieving. What changed Lidia’s life was the advice she was given on the trip she won to New York City and that was to tell her story and to give voice to the story in a way that only she could because it might just save her life. She admits that telling her story really did save and change her life and as a misfit, Lidia advocates for and supports the voices of other misfits. Lidia frequently tells her stories through the voices of misfit characters and enhances the readers understanding of her works as well as their ability to think critically while connecting the specifics of her novels to modern issues.

While her autobiography, The Chronology of Water, helps to bring awareness to misfits through the telling of her life story and personal experiences as a high school swimmer/athlete, her other works like The Misfits Manifesto and The Book of Joan help invoke thoughts about misfits along with a slew of other pressing, contemporary issues. The Chronology of Water brings awareness to people suffering in abusive households and does so through Lidia’s descriptions of her feelings and overall mental state whereas The Misfit’s Manifesto, especially, focuses on misfits and the stigma surrounding them. She reminds readers, in The Misfit’s Manifesto, that “the feeling of not fitting in is universal” and that Misfits deserve to be in the conversation and still “belong in the room…even if their path to that room is bumpy and winding” and she does this in the hopes of creating a caring community for misfits where everyone has a place and belongs (Simon and Schuster). Then everyone’s voice can be heard, and every perspective recognized.

Lidia responds to a number of cultural and political issues in her most recent novel The Book of Joan, mining “literary and political history for impressive, timely heroines based on the iconic Joan of Arc and her contemporary Christine de Pizan” and “ grafts these findings onto layers of material drawn equally from contemporary critical theory” and the world’s current ecological and political status (Jamison). Christine, one of the protagonists of the novel, is a citizen of CIEL, meaning sky or heaven in Spanish, a sort of space refuge that the wealthy people of the world retreated to as their home, Earth, was ravaged by nuclear war. This raises questions about war, sustainable energy and the environment as the nuclear war happened due to fighting amongst the people of the world over its limited resources and like what’s happening to the environment today, the environment or the entire Earth suffered as a result of humanities selfishness. What also sticks out is that, naturally, only the wealthy elite of Earth are able to travel to CIEL to survive. The rest of humanity is left on Earth to deal with the chaos to come which sounds like a scarily accurate and likely outcome given the current climate surrounding wealth and class. Questions about feminism, gender and identity arise as both main protagonists, Christine, sexless, hairless citizen of CIEL, and Joan, resident of Earth, are both gendered female and oppose Jean de Men, CIEL’s charismatic yet egotistical and sadistic leader who’s gendered male.

As mentioned before, Lidia responds to a number of relevant discussions and issues today, including, but not limited to, sex, gender, identity, feminism, wealth, class, war and the environment, and she does this through the perspectives of her misfit protagonists. The beauty of Christine is that she can quickly be categorized as a misfit and Lidia does this in the world she generates around Christine. Christine is gendered female, yet she has no definitive female body parts, which to the reader is abnormal because a good number of readers conform to a specific gender due to the parts they possess. Her lack of genitalia is not only abnormal to the reader but also to the people of the novel living on Earth as they all have genitalia. Additionally, Christine opposes the order on CIEL as she refers to the inhabitants of CIEL, as “rats in a maze”, which makes her a misfit there as well (Yuknavitch, 6). When such a central protagonist refuses to conform in the way Christine does because the questions she poses toward her fictional society readers tend to draw questions about real society in the reader. As Lidia paints this post-apocalyptic world and setting around Christine and Joan, with specific plot points about sex, gender, war and the environment, she creates the misfit voices that question the world around them and, in turn, allows the reader to pose similar questions about their world and in doing so, not only raises awareness for misfits but also for modern issues and topics of discussion.

Works Cited

Jamison, Anne. “Retrofuturist Feminism: Lidia Yuknavitch's ‘The Book of Joan.’” Los Angeles Review of Books, Los Angeles Review of Books, 18 Apr. 2017, lareviewofbooks.org/article/retrofuturist-feminism-lidia-yuknavitchs-book-of-joan/#!

Yuknavitch, Lidia. “The Beauty of Being a Misfit.” TED, 3/18/19, https://www.ted.com/talks/lidia_yuknavitch_the_beauty_of_being_a_misfit/upnext?language=en#t-172790

Yuknavitch, Lidia. Book of Joan. Canongate Books LTD, 2019.

“The Misfit's Manifesto.” Book by Lidia Yuknavitch | Official Publisher Page | Simon & Schuster, Simon & Schuster/ TED, 2019, www.simonandschuster.com/books/The-Misfits-Manifesto/Lidia-Yuknavitch/TED-Books/9781501120060.

#lidia yuknavitch #ted #literature #writing

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