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tsukikento · 4 years

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Kind

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Summary: You were always so kind to Bakugou, constantly doing favors for him, and everyone felt sorry that he never reciprocated your feelings. You didn’t mind though, especially not after tonight.

Words: 4533

Warning/Genre: Some angst, mostly fluff though. Slight swearing.

A/N: This took so long, what a mess! I know I should be writing for my series, but I got this idea and could not let go of it. It is pretty different to my usual style so I hope you guys like it! Also posted on my ao3 @ allie_win

The crisp Friday morning started similarly to how it always does. You woke up, went on your morning run, and got ready for class. Once finally done pampering yourself, you made your way to the kitchen. Although your class, class 2-A, would eat dinner together, people’s eating habits for breakfast were varied, and so everyone was on their own.

After your run, your body craved protein and carbs, so you always made yourself something you could easily eat on the way to class. Today, your plan was to make a hearty breakfast burrito.

Out of habit, you also made a breakfast burrito for Bakugou Katsuki to take to class, making sure to add extra spices and hot sauce to his.

You had noted quite some time ago that the boy went to bed early and got up late, typically getting 11 hours of sleep, which was ridiculous in your opinion. However, you also noted that he never had time to eat anything during the bright and crisp mornings.

You had sat next to Bakugou since your first year at U.A. and had heard his hollow stomach grumble enough times to know he needed food. He just did not have the time to make anything.

Just as you finished wrapping the warm tortilla of Bakugou’s burrito, the blond boy came rushing through the hallway, his gray backpack in hand. This day was typical to all the others, meaning it was only you and Bakugou left in the big dorms at this point.

“Good morning,” You greeted, smiling at the not-completely awake boy.

He looked up and you while still rushing to put on his shoes and leave. He didn’t bother to respond to you.

“Made you breakfast,” You offered, showing off the two burritos. You grabbed your bag, two waters, and both burritos and now made your way to the door where Bakugou was currently lingering.

“I don’t need you to make me breakfast every morning,” Bakugou scolded, at first not taking the burrito.

“I just made too much,” You reasoned, shrugging your shoulders. “I struggle with making small enough proportions for only one person.”

Bakugou’s red eyes pierced through you as if trying to figure out whether or not you were lying. It was a story he had heard time and time again. He thought you should have learned by now considering it was nearing the end of your 2nd year at U.A.

“No one else is here to take it anyways,” You continued. “Come on, just take it before we are even later for class than we already are.”

Bakugou grumbled and snatched the burrito and water from your hands, mumbling a small “Thanks.”

You smiled brightly at his response and slipped on your shoes. “Ready?” You asked, noticing that Bakugou was waiting for you by the door.

Once again, Bakugou only hummed in response. However, this time it was because he was currently digging into the burrito. A smile creeped its way onto your face, the satisfaction and joy from helping Bakugou evident on your face.

You didn’t know what it was, but you just felt the need to take care of the short-tempered boy.

You and Bakugou walked to class silently, both of you finishing your burritos before entering the main building and making it to your classroom seconds before the bell rang.

The day continued on smoothly, but just before lunch, Bakugou dropped his pencil on the ground. No one noticed as the pencil quietly rolled under your desk.

Before Bakugou had a chance to grab it, you bent over and picked up the mechanical pencil.

When Bakugou looked at you to grab the pencil, he immediately noticed your bright, almost blinding smile, and shining, vibrant eyes. Your hair was styled perfectly, no hair out of place despite having just bent over and your school uniform was crisp and hugged your body in all the right ways. Before he could make a fool of himself, he snatched the pencil from your hand similarly to the burrito.

He grumbled and turned back to Aizawa-sensei, not bothering to say thank you.

He was, however, blushing and you knew that he appreciated your help. You smiled, satisfied with the interaction, as you turned your focus back to the notes you were taking.

On your way back from class, you, Momo, and Jirou took the long route, making your way through the flower fields that were just beginning to sprout.

As you passed by, you grabbed flower after flower, creating a colorful and fragrant bouquet. You didn’t know the names of all the flowers currently in your hand, but the deep oranges, greens, and blacks immediately reminded you of Bakugou and his hero costume.

By the time you got back to the dorms, Bakugou was heading out with Midoriya and Todoroki to go to Endeavor’s agency.

When you crossed paths with him, you stopped him by placing a hand on his chest. You took a moment to feel just how hard his chest was against your hand before focusing back on Bakugou’s face.

“I picked these for you,” You gushed while looking down at the blooming flowers.

In response, Bakugou scoffed and pushed past you to get out the door. “I don’t need flowers that are just going to die,” He snapped while following Midoriya and Todoroki through the door.

After he left, Momo came to your side, apologizing for Bakugou’s rude behavior.

You laughed and brushed Momo off, “Don’t apologize for him, it’s not your fault.” You smiled at your kind friend to show her it didn’t bother you. Although you were sure she didn’t notice, you definitely did see the small blush on Bakugou’s face that formed when you offered him the flowers.

Obviously Bakugou wouldn’t have accepted the flowers, you didn’t expect him to. That, however, didn’t prevent you from placing the flowers into a vase with water and placing it in front of his closed bedroom door.

It never bothered you when Bakugou didn’t accept your kindness. It was enough to see his blushing face and red eyes looking at you.

That night was the end of the year party; every student would be getting together in the gym to celebrate a long year.

Last year, all of you were too young and nervous to ask anyone to accompant\y you. However, with hormones on the rise this year, a lot of the boys in the class were rushing around to find a date whether in your class or not. For example, Kaminari had gotten up the nerve to ask Ibara Shiozaki to attend the party with him. The beautiful girl with vines for hair politely declined, saying that she could not decide on one boy. Apparently twelve had already asked her to the party before Kaminari.

Currently, you as your female classmates were gathered in Ashido’s room. Everyone had brought over their dresses and makeup to get ready. As expected, most of the conversation revolved around dates.

“Ahh,” Ashido sighed, her black eyes glossing over at the prospect of love, “I can’t believe Uraraka and Midoriya are going together. So cute!”

The girl in question blushed, distracting herself from the task at hand and resultantly began floating away. “It’s just as friends!” She exclaimed as her face began to get a little too red.

Ashido then moved on to Momo, who was sitting on the pink desk, applying her final touches of makeup. “And Yaomomo,” She exclaimed, “I can’t believe Todoroki asked you, It’s like a royalty story of a prince and princess!”

Momo, who had grown all the more confident in herself over this last year, waved off Ashido. “We are going as friends, my dear. Don’t read too much into it.” Jirou grinned at her elegant friend, who blushed in return. Even if it was as friends, it was obvious Momo hoped for more than just the company of Shouto. She even told you and Jirou that she was hoping to get a few dances out of the rather oblivious boy.

“Ashido-kun,” Tsu chimed in, “Why are you so concerned with other’s love lives when you could be getting ready for Kirishima to take you.” The comment was innocent, although it could have easily been mistaken as rude.

Ashido pouted and sat down on the floor by her makeup. “Kiri just asked me because I’m like the only girl he talks to.”

“You don’t know that,” You replied, turning your head to look at your pink friend, “Maybe you’re the only girl he talks to because he likes you.”

That silenced your friend, the comment making her debate her relationship with Kirishima.

“You’re one to talk,” Hagakure commented, making all the girls around you giggle.

You looked at the girls around you quizzically, unsure of what they meant.

“She’s talking about Bakugou,” Jirou added as she fiddled with her dress, pulling it down as if it would suddenly become longer.

“What do you mean?” You asked before you sprayed your face with a moisturizing setting spray.

“We mean,” Uraraka began, “That you are attached to Bakugou at the hip, always doing him favors.”

“So what?” You snapped back, “I like helping people.” You shrugged your shoulders.

Every other girl in the room looked at you, their eyes practically rolling simultaneously.

“Yes,” Momo began, “You do help us. However, you help Bakugou more than anyone. You make him breakfast every day! And you literally sparred against him hours every day for this past week to prepare for our final. Do you not remember how tired you were? Do you not remember that you still insisted to help him out even though he told you to take a break?”

You looked at the girls around you, getting slightly lost in your thoughts. Eventually, you replied, “So? I just like helping people.” You turned back to your mirror to inspect your makeup, “It’s not like he asked me to the party today anyways.”

You felt a small tinge in your heart at the idea of your emotions not being reciprocated. You weren’t an idiot, you knew you had a soft spot for the blond boy, but you promised yourself to never act on them. You were happy with the small times you got to be with him, satisfied enough to let your relationship with him continue without a ‘next step.’

You looked to your side to see Jirou giving you a pitying smile. She sat down next to you and wrapped her arm around your shoulder. You knew she was in the same situation as you. You gave her a small smile and she leaned in to whisper to you as Ashido and Hagakure continued to talk about boys.

“We can go together,” She mumbled, “Show everyone.”

Your smile grew, happy to have such a good friend.

Suddenly, small explosions rang through your ears. Everyone knew who caused it.

“Y/L/N,” You heard Bakugou’s voice yell over the sound of his annoyed explosions.

The girls in the room looked at you with suggestive eyes and smirks. You rolled your eyes at them and got up from your spot on the floor to open the door that Bakugou was now banging on. When you swung it open, you were met with the face of a rather upset Bakugou. His cheeks were puffed out from his pout and his hand was still up, positioned to bang on the door once more.

He was wearing a black button-up shirt, the top two buttons were undone and he had a gray vest on with red stitching and embroidery on it. His black slacks were hung slightly too low on his hips and in his hands was a maroon tie that matched the red stitching on his vest. It was smashed into a ball and you already knew what he was going to ask.

You smiled and reached out for the tie, flattening it in your hand to get rid of the wrinkles Bakugou had made.

As you did this, Bakugou took a moment to eye your outfit. It was lucky that you had just finished your makeup.

You had on a red dress, the color almost matching his tie. The sweetheart neckline flowed down and hugged your waist, making your curves evermore prominent. The dress poofed out just slightly after your waist, a black lace lining was over the fabric and it had images of roses on them; Bakugou noted how well it matched the red on his vest.

Bakugou looked up at your face as you continued to smooth out the fabric of the tie. Your eye makeup mixed red and black colors together perfectly and when you looked up at him with a small smile and glossed over eyes, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

He looked down and wiped his sweaty hands off on his pants before looking up once again. Over your shoulder were six other girls, all staring at the interaction.

He made eye contact with Ashido, who was grinning wildly and it made him upset that anyone could watch as he fell for you.

“Let’s take this into the hallway,” He mumbled as he gently held onto your elbow and led you into the empty hall. He closed the door behind him, staring daggers at Ashido just before it closed.

When he turned around to face you, you were holding the tie up, waiting for him to make the next move. Bakugou bent down and moved forward so the tie was lying on the back of his neck. He popped up his collar as he made note of how goddamn close you were.

For you, the proximity was also something quite jarring, even though you had been tying Bakugou’s ties for him since the first year. He only wore them for very special occasions because he hated the feeling of them around his neck. You were the only person able to tie it loose enough that it didn’t bother him. Or so he claimed.

You slowly and carefully moved the fabric, making sure that it would work with Bakugou’s immaculate suit perfectly. “So,” You spoke, practically whispering. You looked into the boy’s red eyes, your gaze holding him in that position, “Soon we’ll be third years.”

“Yeah,” Bakugou replied, trying his best not to sound like a total fool.

You caught the way heat rose from his neck to face, a pale pink following it closely.

“It’s crazy,” Bakugou sighed, averting his gaze away from you and to the ceiling.

You hummed in response as you tightened the tie just slightly to rest perfectly aligned with the collar of his outfit. You stepped back and smiled at your work before reaching up and putting his popped collar back into the appropriate place.

Your heart fluttered at the feeling of having Bakugou alone like this. Although you could not kiss or hug the blond boy, you were satisfied with what you were able to have.

It was all worth it if you were able to have moments like this.

“Do you like the flowers?” You asked, noticing they were no longer in front of his door.

Bakugou scoffed, “I just took those shitty flowers in because Kirishima made me. Not like I want the dead petals falling all over my room.”

Your heart hurt slightly at his response, but pursued your questions. “They match well with your hero costume. It’s cute.”

You threw that word out there to see how he would react. You weren’t calling him cute, but you were calling something related to him cute. Bakugou pushed himself back and shoved his hands into his pockets, looking down at his feet.

“Whatever,” He mumbled before pulling out his hand to pick at his tie. “Thanks,” He mumbled.

“No problem,” You reassured, feeling rather confident in yourself.

“See you at the dance,” Bakugou spoke before turning around and making a beeline towards Kirishima’s room.

You smiled and made your way back to Ashido’s room.

The gym had been decked out by the third year students. Colorful lights were hung up all around the gym and they were reflecting against glass to make colorful rainbow lights reflect against the floor and wall.

You were currently standing with Jirou at the punch table, watching Todoroki and Momo awkwardly dance. Even though Momo was trained in Ballet and Waltz, the pop beat that was currently playing did not match well with her elegance. At least Todoroki was equally as awkward.

Your eyes wandered over the crowd, finding all of your friends. Uraraka was dancing in a group with Midoriya, Iida, and Shinsou. It seemed the green haired boy was too nervous to dance with her alone, even though they were technically going as a date.

At least it wasn’t just you who was having a disappointing night. You sighed, trying to pull yourself out of your slump. Just because you weren’t going as a date, didn’t mean you couldn’t have fun.

You pulled Jirou over to a table with Kaminari and Sero sitting at it. To your knowledge, they hadn’t danced with any girls yet and were probably itching to show they weren’t the awkward guys they actually were.

“Do you guys want to dance?” You asked as Jirou fixed her dress. “Let’s go, Sero!” You added to make sure Kaminari would end up dancing with Jirou.

The black-haired boy nodded, smiled, and stood up while gently taking your hand in his.

Although your dress was long, it was trimmed just above your ankles and relatively light, making it easy enough to keep up with Sero. By the end of the song, you had worked up a sweat from trying to keep up with the two energetic boys. Your sides hurt from laughing so hard at their ridiculous dance moves.

“Oh my goodness!” You laughed as the next song began. “I need to catch my breath.”

“Same,” Jirou breathlessly agreed. She grabbed your hand and followed you to the table you left your drinks at.

You looked behind you to see Sero and Kaminari continuing to dance with just each other. They waved at you and you looked back towards the table. When you sat down, you immediately chugged your punch down and sighed at the comfort of the soft chairs.

You and Jirou chatted lightly before Sero and Kaminari finally joined you again, grabbing their own drinks to sip on.

“I’m gonna get more punch,” You excused yourself before making your way to the snack table.

You looked around the dance room as you lingered by the table and grabbed something to drink and eat. Subconsciously, you knew you were looking for Bakugou. You hadn’t seen him at all in the gigantic gym and were beginning to wonder if he even showed up.

Although his blond, spiky hair helped him stand out, his red haired friend was even easier to find. However, he was currently on the dance floor with Ashido and Bakugou was nowhere near him. You sighed and let your eyes wander to the back of the gym, hoping to see Bakugou grumbling in the corner.

As your eyes traced over the barely lit back wall, you finally saw the spiky-haired boy. He was standing next to Tokoyami. However, Tokoyami was currently being asked by Tsu to dance.

You confidently made your way to Bakugou now that he was all alone. You had two glasses of punch in your hands and were making sure not to spill any. The boy in front of you had a grumpy face that didn’t disappear when he noticed you approaching him.

A coy smile graced your lips, the lipgloss you had on shining perfectly with the lights. “Hey, loser,” You greeted while extending your arm to hand him the drink.

Bakugou scoffed, but easily accepted the cup of red liquid. He sipped it and immediately groaned at how sweet it was. “Ugh, have you been drinking this all night?”

“No,” You lied.

“Your teeth are red,” Bakugou replied.

You immediately closed your mouth and pouted. You didn’t expect him to be such a dick so quickly.

Bakugou chuckled, “So sensitive.” His crimson eyes looked directly into yours, the smile on his face mirroring itself in his eyes. The teasing kindness behind them was enough for you to feel better.

“I’m not sensitive,” You countered, “You’re just an ass.”

Bakugou laughed much louder this time, his chuckle not very audible over the sound of the music, but you could still hear the roughness behind his voice that once again made your insides spin. After his laughter died down, you were both silent, letting the sound of music and people talking fill the air.

You were tempted, oh so tempted to ask him to dance.

You were imagining the feeling of his warm hands on your waist or the goofy dance moves he would display that would make you laugh. You looked down into the cup of bright red punch and you were sure your face looked just as red. There was no way he would dance with you.

“Come on,” Bakugou finally spoke up. You looked up at him just in time to see him snatch your drink and place it on the table nearby. He then grabbed your hand and pulled you through the gym.

You were right. His hand was warm.

You relished in the comforting feeling of his hand fitting perfectly with yours instead of being concerned about where he was taking you. He opened a small closet door in the corner of the gym. It was filled with random sports equipment, but also had a metal ladder attached to the wall.

Bakugou let go of your hand, and gave you a look that wasn’t quite readable before he began climbing up it. You stood still and stared at his backside, trying to decipher the mischievous glint in his eyes.

After getting about halfway up, he looked down at you and hissed, “Come on, dumbass!”

Although nervous, you followed him, being careful not to mess up your dress. You heard the sound of Bakugou’s unlatching something and you were then greeted with the light of the full moon. Bakugou then disappeared before reappearing only a moment later, his hand extended to grab yours and help you up.

You gratefully grabbed his hand and he effortlessly pulled you up to the roof. You immediately fiddled with your dress, making sure it looked okay.

“Stop messing with it,” Bakugou mumbled as he pushed your hand away. “You look great anyways.”

You didn’t comment on the compliment, knowing that teasing him would make Bakugou freeze up and put up a wall. Instead, you let the blush on your face speak for yourself.

When he noticed your reaction, a small pink flush fell upon his cheeks as well. He looked down at his feet for a moment to hide his face before looking back at you. At this point, you had stepped onto a small concrete step and were admiring the night sky. The lack of lights and forested areas in U.A. made the stars brighter than ever.

“Why did you bring me here?” You finally asked after the silence settled. Your comment fell from your lips, once again creating waves in the merciless, restless ocean that was your relationship with Bakugou. You looked away from the stars to face Bakugou, who had been staring at you. From this angle, you were looking down on him, easily able to admire the way the stars and moonlight framed his sharp features.

Shocked, Bakugou took a step back and scratched his forearm, a nervous habit he picked up over a year ago. “To escape,” He replied simply, “To show you this.”

The faint sound of music filled the air because of your lack of response.

Bakugou was driving you insane. For so long, he barely showed any care for you and now he was taking you here. He took you here to escape from people. However, by bringing you, he was insinuating that he didn’t need to escape from you, but also wanted you to be with him during his escape from the world.

You looked back up at the night sky, trying to find an answer to your problems in the stars. “They’re beautiful,” You sighed.

Bakugou hummed in agreeance, but his eyes were more focused on the concentration on your face and the way it contrasted with your soft eyes and bright smile.

The pop music playing in the background slowed down dramatically, but was still clear. You noted how well the angelic music matched the peaceful and serene environment around you. Although Bakugou made your heart race rapidly, he also was a source of calm for you. He had been with you since year 1 and you both went through so much together and separately.

Reflecting back on these two years, it made you all the more sure that you and Bakugou had something special even if it was unspoken. You were never going to stop helping him because it seemed natural, as if the universe was guiding you in that direction.

Bakugou cleared his throat to grab your attention.

You looked back at your friend who was shyly looking at the ground. When he looked up at you, his brilliant, vermillion eyes were practically sparkling under the moonlight. He pulled his calloused hands out of his pockets and wiped them on his pants.

The air was thick with anxiety; your and Bakugou’s nerves were practically palpable under the brittle and cold night sky.

Bakugou lifted his hand in a cupping position. “Dance with me?” He stammered.

You couldn’t remember a time where Bakugou was so nervous before.

With the utmost care, you cautiously took Bakugou’s hand, immediately noticing how his powerful hands were surprisingly soft. Just like he would with an explosion, Bakugou easily and carefully guided you off your perch and pulled your close. The simple, instrumental music continued to flow through the gym and to your ears, providing a slow beat to dance to.

Bakugou’s hand continued to grasp yours as his other moved to your waist. You placed your hand upon his sharp shoulder and moved gracefully with the blond. He was surprisingly poised with his moves.

You felt Bakugou’s body heat as he pulled you closer. Your chest was now pressed against his and you bent your head down to avoid his gaze. Bakugou let go of your hand and placed his hand on your waist which led you to wrap your arms around his neck.

When the song ended, Bakugou pushed himself back while still holding onto your hands. He looked down at you, a faint, but satisfied grin graced his lips and his eyes sparkled with pride and happiness.

You couldn’t help but smile back, and you knew a blush had creeped its way onto your cheeks. Your heart was practically beating out of your chest. Never had you expected Bakugou to do something like this.

However, as Bakugou moved his hand to push your hair behind your ear and glide his thumb against your cheek, you wondered if maybe you should begin to expect things like this.

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thecagedsong · 3 years

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Forgotten Light: Chatper 8: Boundaries

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

Chapter 8: Boundaries

Ronodin hadn’t returned, and said that he wouldn’t until tonight. Kendra had another day to whittle away. She read more in her book on the Fair Folk over breakfast, then sat in front of her crafting materials again.

Kendra had no idea if her medallion even worked, but at least it dried nicely. The wooden texture came through the paint, but that made it look functional. Like, hey, this is a wooden medallion meant to weaken my enemies, not be a high school shop class project.

Did she take woodshop class? Did she ever go to high school? From Ronodin’s story, Kendra probably had tutors. Why did she feel like she knew more about the American public school system than she did about monster hunting? Or even tutoring schedules?

Trying to figure out her past by evaluating what bodies of knowledge she possessed and what she didn’t left her with a headache.

Kendra refocused on the fabrics in front of her. She did okay with the medallion, maybe her body had remembered something her brain didn’t. Hopefully that subconscious knowledge would help her do what she wanted to make next: create a jacket.

Ronodin assured her that the clothes in her wardrobe were all hers, taken and given to Ronodin from her own closet for exactly this time. Pieces her family didn’t approve of and wouldn’t know to find missing. But old Kendra’s clothes…left a bit more exposed than she liked. Aside from also being mostly black and red, and she was really growing tired of those colors, the dresses were low cut at the top, and high cut around the thighs.

She looked sexy in them, but with Ronodin continuing to ‘forget’ that she had only met him two days ago, sexy wasn’t the look she wanted to wear. She’d start with a simple cardigan, covering up her shoulders and back, then see what she could do about altering hemlines.

Looking over the fabrics, she wished she had pink. She thought she liked the color. Pink wasn’t among the fabric options. There was more red and black, and white, silver, dark blue, green, orange, and dark purple.

Because it would clash horribly with the red and the black, she selected the pumpkin orange fabric. If she was enough of an eyesore, maybe she could convince Ronodin that they needed to pop into a shopping mall for a real wardrobe. Something she was comfortable with now. The orange fabric was a wool/giant hair blend, dyed with pigment from the Fala plant, that produced its own distractor spell to convince people that it was dead until they forgot what they were looking for.

Sewing was a lot harder than she thought, especially without a sewing machine. Did she do this by hand the first time? The needle felt so awkward, her stitches were uneven, she was approximating the designs in the book, but some of them had her folding fabric before cutting? What did it mean by grain? She tried to incorporate ‘make me look hideous!’ magic intentions as she sewed, imaging Ronodin cringing away from her, refusing to look at her in it, but it was a little hard when most of her focus went to not pricking herself.

Still, she wasn’t a quitter. Kendra had to undo a seam, because apparently clothes were assembled inside out, but by referencing the book every few minutes, and working through hand cramps, she managed to at least make the pieces stick together.

It was early afternoon when Kendra finished her uneven hems. Some of the tools in the basket might have helped her, but her books didn’t reference any of them, so she left them alone.

Holding up the final product, Kendra giggled. She’d done everything on larger estimates, figuring that her goal was to be covered and folds in fabric were easier to have than one side not fitting, and cutting down was easier than adding. The result could generously be described as an orange tent. Kendra had to see herself in the monstrosity. She rushed to the bathroom, passing Mendigo in the hall, and positioned herself in front of the mirror.

She slung on the cardigan over the black lace dress, and cracked up.

“Hi Ronodin!” Kendra waved to the mirror with both hands, one sleeve reaching halfway up her palm the other so wide it fell back against her elbow at the motion. The ruby necklace looked like it was suffering, trying to hide from her attempts at sewing.

“Oh, er Kendra, I see you tried sewing,” Kendra mocked in the mirror with a low voice.

Kendra twirled, then did an impression of herself with a higher pitch than normal, “I did, do you like it? I love it! I put soo much effort into it! I love the pumpkin look, don’t you?”

She imagined Ronodin’s face, the horror, the strain not to insult his girlfriend, and burst out laughing. Kendra couldn’t wait to see his face for real. She would insist on wearing this until he took her to the mall.

Kendra stopped laughing and frowned at her reflection. That really didn’t seem right. Even if she had arranged all of this herself, why would she arrange a hideout she couldn’t ever leave? If old Kendra had wanted to live a free life with Ronodin, why didn’t she pick a hide away that let her go outside? Her family couldn’t be powerful enough to search the whole world. If she had been able to pick anywhere, a remote island seemed like a much better hiding place than where she was.

Maybe she and Ronodin had had a disagreement over how long she should stay underground. He might be capitalizing on her memory loss to keep her extra safe; it’s possible Kendra had never intended for herself to remain sealed away. That seemed like something Ronodin would do. Slip in a little lie amongst the truths to save himself battles.

Well, wherever they were, Kendra wanted out. Now that she wasn’t dressed for a cocktail party, she would find her way to a window at least. She went back to her room, and decided to arm herself with the bow she had brought with her through the barrel, even though she didn’t have any arrows. She hadn’t had anything else on her, so she slipped on her shoes and went to the door that Ronodin usually walked out of.

She turned the heavy knob, but the door wouldn’t budge. Jiggled it some more, but didn’t move. She searched everywhere for a key, but couldn’t find on. What kind of front door could be locked from the outside?

“Mendigo?” Kendra called, and her puppet came forward. “Open this door.”

Kendra stepped to the side as Mendigo started straining his wooden hands at the door. He turned back to her and shrugged, showing his wooden fingers. Duh, no way could he get the grip he needed that way.

Should she order him to break down the door? These rooms were rented to them by their mysterious ‘host’, who apparently had Ronodin working like a slave. He probably wouldn’t appreciate her busting his door down. She decided against it until things looked more dire.

The last hasty, destructive action she had ordered had almost killed her fiancé. She would demand a key from Ronodin when he got back before resorting to property damage.

“Thank you Mendigo,” Kendra said, “Let’s see what else there is in this place.” Putting her hand on the wall to the left of the door, Kendra started walking, never lifting it. She discovered three different storage closets: one for cleaning supplies, one empty, one for linens. Kitchen, Ronodin’s bedroom (extremely frugal, disappointingly empty) (he had a couple of robes Kendra considered using to augment her own wardrobe, but decided that would send the wrong message), Library, bathroom, craft room, Kendra’s room, Kendra’s bathroom, Kendra’s closet, sitting room/front room, and back to the main door.

That was it. The entirety of her existence, done up in blacks, reds, and gray stone and drenched in blue firelight. Some of the carpets had cream accents, but that was it.

Kendra knew what kind of front door locked from the outside.

She wandered back to her craft room and picked up a canvas to draw. This was about passing time. Next time she wouldn’t let Ronodin leave without her. Kendra just needed to stay sane until he got back. Even if practicing her magic with nicer emotions would create a less effective item, she wanted something nice to look at. Something peaceful. An outdoor scene, and she’d try to work peace into it. It was for herself anyway, and she’d do it in blue and green and white, and it would look beautiful.

Unfortunately, Kendra couldn’t visualize what ‘outside’ looked like. She knew the sky was blue, it had a sun, and grass was green and flowers came in all colors, but the pieces wouldn’t put themselves together. Kendra had never seen ‘outside’, she had nothing but rote facts. She put her pencil to canvas anyway, figuring that if she drew the pieces, it would all come together eventually.

Her hand refused to move. It had no direction on what to draw. Were horizons bumpy or straight? What color blue was the sky? What did sun look like on plant leaves?

Glaring, Kendra started sketching her craft table, in front of her, with the wall behind it turning into prison bars. She’d seen those in her mad-dash self-kidnapping.

Sketching came easier than sewing or carving. Maybe because more art principals were known by the public, the curse wasn’t able to remove them as personal memories. It was nice to have something come together, even if it was only a picture of her cell.

When she got to painting, she ignored the descriptions of materials and focused on colors. Easier than before, she took threads of magic, threads of the flame from the candle inside her, into her hand and turned them to her own emotions, mixing with the paint materials. She wanted people to look at the painting and know that she was trapped. She wanted them to know the suffocation, and the feeling of crafting little trinkets while sun and stars roved the heavens unseen. Not being able to draw the sun or the sky. Not knowing what those looked like. Not knowing what anything looked like outside of six people, a puppet, and her prison. It was a nice prison, possibly one of the nicest in the world.

Kendra painted black beyond the bars. Even gilded cages birthed insanity.

#Forgotten Light #Fablehaven #Dragonwatch #Kendra Sorenson #I...may have been dealing with the initial pandemic claustrophobia when I wrote this #I'm just being dramatic #I'm at it again like an addict with pen

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lovemesomesurveys · 4 years

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1. What was the last thing you ate, and why? Wingstop because that’s what I wanted for dinner.

2. What was the last thing you drank, and why? Water because I have to get my water intake in.

3. How many tabs do you have open? What are they? I have 7 tabs open currently: my Tumblr dash, my Tumblr likes, Pinterest, 2 different LiveJournal survey blog pages, Facebook, and Google.

4. What browser do you prefer to use? I just use Chrome.

5. What are five random things on your desk besides any computer related items? My “desk” is my bed, but anyway I have Bible study book, a notebook, a pencil case, and 2 cases of colored pencils.

6. What room are you in right now? I’m in my room.

7. What color are the walls and floor in that room? The walls are white and the carpet is tan.

8. Name the item closest to you that is...: -red: A shirt. -orange: Pumpkins on one of my throw pillows. -yellow: The little hat on my Dumbo plushie. -green: My Baby Yoda/Grogu plushie. -blue: The label on my water bottle. -purple: The background of a Reptar bookmark I have hung up on my bulletin board. -pink: One of my notebooks. -white: The letters on my keyboard. -gray: My Dumbo plushie. -brown: The jacket thing on my Baby Yoda/Grogu plushie. -black: Another one of my notebooks. -silver: My laptop. -gold: My giraffe necklace I have hung up nearby.

9. Out of all the things you listed above, which is your favorite? My Baby Yoda Plushie and my laptop. 10. What kind of chair are you sitting in? My wheelchair. 11. Where would you prefer to be right now? I’m good here right now.

12. Do you have any plans this weekend? Nope.

13. Are you excited for anything this month? No.

14. What is the date today? Saturday, January 23, 2021.

15. Is there anything special about today? Nope.

16. How are you physically feeling right now? Tired and kinda hungry.

17. How are you emotionally feeling right now? Blah.

18. Have you ever traveled outside of your home country? Just once. I’d love to do more traveling aboard.

19. Can you speak/read/write in another language besides English? Yeah, some Spanish.

20. What language course did you take in school, if any? I took Spanish all 4 years in high school and one semester in college.

21. What language would you most like to learn? I’d like to be fluent in Spanish.

22. What grade are you in right now? I’m done with school.

23. What would you like to get a degree in? I got my BA in psych.

24. What was your dream job when you were a little kid? I wanted to be a teacher.

25. What happened to that dream? When I was around like 13 I started realizing I wanted to help people. Like seriously, back in those days of AOL there were teen message boards that you could go on and chat about various topics and there was like an advice thread or something and there I was at that age trying to give advice to people. I don’t know how I knew about some of the stuff I knew. I mean, I watched Dr. Phil all the time with my mom haha so maybe I picked up on some stuff. I also read up on stuff online. I was also the friend my friends came to when they needed advice or just someone to talk to. I just liked helping people in any way I could. Then, my freshman year in high school I took a health and psychology class and learned about psychology. I was really interested in it and from then on I decided I wanted to pursue that and learn more.

26. Speaking of dreams, when was the last time you had a sleeping dream and what was it about? I dreamt last night, but I don’t remember what it was about. I typically don’t remember my dreams, they just vanish after I wake up.

27. Do you have more nightmares or good dreams? I generally have random, weird dreams.

28. Do you wake up a lot in the middle of the night? I don’t even go to bed until like 7 or 8AM... :/

29. Can you sleep comfortably in another bed besides your own? Yeah, usually. 30. What book are you reading? What genre is it? Do you like it so far? I’m reading “Autumn’s Game” by Mary Stone. It’s a mystery and thriller. I am enjoying it, I’m actually almost done. It’s 1 of 3 in a series, so I’ll go on to the next one right after.

31. What genre of books do you like to read? Fiction, Mystery, Thriller, YA, NA.

32. Do you prefer physical books or a Kindle/Nook/other e-reader? I’ve been doing my reading on the Kindle app for the past few years now. I have Kindle Unlimited, so for a small monthly fee I have access to a TON of books. I have read numerous books these past few years alone. I had a list going on my personal Tumblr, I should try and update that but I’d have to add a lot.

33. Did you ever sometimes flip through your text books, even when you didn't need to? Sometimes.

34. What types of magazines do you read? I haven’t read a magazine in years.

35. Have you ever ordered anything through a catalog? Yeah, back when I was a kid they had those Scholastic book catalogs and those catalogs we had got like twice a year that had stuff like nuts, chocolate, and various items you tried to sell to people to raise money for school related stuff.

36. Would you prefer to read a book, watch a movie/TV show, or play a video game? Depends what I’m in the mood for.

37. What are five of your favorite TV shows? I have a lot of favorites, but 5 of them are: The Mandalorian, Wandavision, Riverdale, Servant, and American Horror Story.

38. How often would you say you watch TV? It’s on a lot of the time for background noise and I’ll tune in and out, but I do have my shows that I actually watch and keep up with as well. So, it really just varies.

39. Do you prefer to watch movies at home or to go out to the theater? Movies I really want to see and am excited about I have to experience in theaters for the first time, it just adds to the experience. Then there are movies that I think look kinda good and I might want to check it out, but I can wait until it’s available to rent or watch on a streaming service.

40. What was the last movie you watched at home? What about at the theater? 27 Dresses the other day. The last movie I saw in theaters was The Invisible Man almost a year ago now. I miss going to the movie theater, my family and I used to go pretty regularly before the pandemic.

41. Do you usually get popcorn or soda at the movie theater? I always get popcorn, it’s a must.

42. What genre of films do you like the best? Horror, thriller, superhero, action, adventure, fantasy/sci-fi, and romantic comedies. A variety of films.

43. Do you like movies based off of books? Yeah.

44. Do you like video games based off of movies? I haven’t really played any video games based off movies. I do remember having a Harry Potter Playstation game back in the day haha but that’s it. I’m not a big gamer though, so.

45. What was the last video game that you played? Animal Crossing: New Horizons.

46. What genre of video games do you enjoy the most? Mario Bros games, which apparently fall under the “platform” genre. I like adventure, episodic, life simulation (like Animal Crossing and The Sims), and racing games as well.

47. Which is your preferred video game system? I’ve enjoyed my Nintendo Switch a lot. The PS4 is nice, too, I played the Life is Strange games on there.

48. Do you like playing online with other people? No.

49. How often would you say you play video games? I’ve played Animal Crossing quite regularly for the past year and before that I played a few other Switch games. So, the past couple years I’ve played a few but generally I’m not a big gamer.

50. Now that this survey is done, what are you going to do? Find another one to do.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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inkdrinkershadowsinger · 5 years

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Thoughts/Background on Chamber of Secrets

There simply cannot be neighborhoods like this, where there are miles upon miles of cookie cutter homes that stretch out into the horizon. Does anyone know if this is a real shot? Or did they multiply the houses like they do to extras in a battle scene?

I never noticed that this photo album is this detailed. There is a little J and L on either side of James and Lily’s photo here. Hagrid is an artist.

It’s on every page? Was this supposed to be something that Hagrid found from Godric’s Hollow? How did he get something so specific? Or is that rumor true that Hagrid owled Lily and James friend’s and Remus, who had been left things like this when there was no one else left to claim them, got it off his bookshelf and sent it to his best friends’ son?

I like how Harry’s room progressively becomes more his own. Look at it in this movie, the walls are bare, everything is relatively tame and plain verses in Order of The Phoenix, when Harry’s room has distinctly more decoration.

Those pink candlesticks are ghastly.

Harry, my darling, you have been getting letters it is merely a well meaning house elf who has stopped them. I wonder what everyone else thought about Harry’s silence? Especially Hermione. Did she think for even a moment that Harry and Ron had decided that they didn’t want to be her friend at all? Ron isn’t much of a writer, and Harry wasn’t responding. I don’t want to know what kind of a mind fuck that must have been to 12 year old Hermione who had just got home from “magic school”, and none of her new “friends” were responding to her letters.

We have heard that theory that James is Harry and Sirius is Ron, etc. But Dudley is Petunia. Dudley and Harry were raised in the same house, closer than cousins because of location alone. But whereas Petunia never got over the resentment that she felt towards Harry in book seven Dudley was more concerned for Harry’s well-being when they were leaving for the safe house then I think Petunia ever was if Lily ever mentioned how hard and dangerous things were getting during the First Wizarding World. Dudley received some characterization and growth where Petunia never bothered.

Harry sounds so sarcastic when he says that.

Dang! Every time Harry leaves his room he has to see a pencil drawing of Dudley’s face? The Dursley’s cruelty knows no bounds.

All of this decoration, and the shelf are missing from the first scene with Harry in this movie.

Harry is just like, “Fuck it all.”

But he’s got manners galore.

At this point, Harry has never seen a house elf. He has no idea what a house elf does. He has no idea why one would be in his bedroom. He has no idea that this even is a house elf? Why is he so calm? This could be a blood thirsty toga wearing creature that they only study in seventh year, and yet, Harry is all but like, “Can I take your coat, sir?”

And now he’s crying, (those could have been lethal gas releasing nerve agents), and now he’s hitting himself (gearing up for attack.) Oh, Harry, number one at defense my arse.

And their champagne flutes are pink? You can’t buy taste.

Those people look so offended like, “You have a cat? How common.”

I know that the fanon is that wizarding children all heard bedtime stories about Harry Potter, but Dobby is proof that other beings also heard about Harry’s triumph over the Dark Lord.

Who painted that picture on Harry’s wardrobe? Dean Thomas, fanon artist. Or does Harry Potter have latent creative talent? Or can you buy these out of the Hogwart’s catalog? Lol

Dobby is like, “Oh, shit, I should not have said that.”

This is where Harry’s Gryffindor really shows because he could just lie to Dobby, but he doesn’t. It’s that Gryffindor honesty.

The man is just like, “Oh, look, cake. Neither of them even looks angry.

Vernon bowered Niall Horan’s hat for this scene.

Harry sleeps with the scrapbook right by his bed. Someone shoot me.

I love that to Ron, Fred, and George that this is a completely normal thing for them to be doing. None of them look nervous about flying a car in a Muggle neighborhood. Destruction of property? Who gives a fuck? They are just like, we have to do what we have to do for our bud. Just a regular drive around.

Hedwig is very annoyed at being called a pigeon.

Ron knows to appreciate the simple things. Tell you mate Happy Birthday, no werid shows of masculinity here.

I love the Burrow. I love the position of the Burrow. I love that they are surrounded by land and a little pond. I love that it is secluded, and that it looks pieced together.

The inside of the Burrow is stunning. You have the Farm House sink. The detailed windows. The hardwood surfaces. The eclectic but perfectly fitting furniture. It would be considered chic to many a Muggle. And that DOOR, that opens up, and then also opens out. The extra space above that little cubbie. Fireplace. Hand, or magic, knitted blankets.

There is a wooden orange cat, a la, Crookshanks on the fireplace there.

Ginny is me.

He says, “Morning Weasleys.” Like they are a clan. He could totally use that tone and call them all to action.

I feel like Mrs. Weasley could sound more disappointed here. I feel like she is kind of annoyed, but also kind of interested in their little stunts as well.

The stainglass windows, the open placement for the dishes, like this house is amazing!

“Dumbledore must know that you’re here.” So, the headmaster is the one who can keep track of the placement of certain students and their whereabouts, or is this simply a case where Mrs. Figg informed Dumbledore that Harry had taken off. Can you imagine that letter? Like, “Super sorry, Professor Dumbledore, but it seems as if Number Four Pivet Drive has been attacked by three red haired boys in a flying car. The red haired youngsters seemed to be on quite friendly terms with Mr. Potter however, as they helped them into the flying vehicle. Just thought that I should mention it.

Sincerely,

Arabella Figg

So, does Appartition take a lot out of a witch or wizard? Why don’t Mr. and Mrs. Weasley just apparate all the kids to the Diagon Alley? Is there such a thing as flooing by twos or threes? Because that would also be useful. Are there many fireplaces lining Diagon Alley like the tones that are shown in seven part one in the Ministry? Where to they floo into? Just one of the thousands of questions that need answers, Mrs. Rowling.

There is a gilded head of an elephant behind Harry’s head before Harry examines closely a cabinet that seems to follow a very tight skull aesthetic for maximum creep.

On the top shelf, there seems to be a lamp? A magical one?

More skulls. The hand of glory, that is mentioned in the books. And then a vase full of eye balls. This place is a health hazard. I know the wizarding world lacks mental health professionals, but you’re telling me they don’t have health inspectors?

Harry looks like he has been covered in spiderwebs. When was the last time that Floo was used?

Who are these random people just immediately accosting a twelve year old boy?

They pass a book seller. Knowledge is the root of all power.

The sign in front says from top to bottom: Quality. Value. Ease. Style. Then I think, Variety.

Hermione is internally shrugging because of course her ride or die new friend is covered in ash and has broken glasses. Of course, he is.

The girl behind them as they walk away looks back at them like, “Oh, Harry Potter.”

The fashion and lighting in this movie went from drab and seventeen hundreds to really flamboyant and really stylish with bright colors. I love that the dashes of color really followed them into the other films. Even Prisoner of Azkaban with its more muted color scheme is still vibrant.

The front page that reads: Gilderoy Lockhart gives Wizarding Wolrd Hero Hygiene Tips. Ash free for the cameras, always.

They are literally crammed into the bottom floor of this shop, and Draco Malfoy has an excellent view from above?

Ginny’s got some balls. Love her. All the boys are silent, and she just ain’t taking no shit.

Like Lucius, it is not okay to fondle people’s foreheads, you creepy mother f-er.

Hermione is a bad bitch. Like she knows how dangerous magic can be know, and yet, she doesn’t back down from this grown wizard.

They are all dirty. What happened to scourgify? Or were they scouring grate after grate trying to find Harry, and just didn’t have time after the relief of finding him? Literally, no one else is dirty.

Ginny’s trunk has a Hogwart’s emblem. And we all know the Weasley’s use hand me down items. Whose trunk does she have?

Like Ronald, this is not logical. Dang! I know y’all aint in Ravenclaw, but you are twelve years old. This is basic.

“Your hands all sweaty.” This is no time to be a snob, Harry.

So, did the car fail because they hit Hogwart’s wards? That would seem logical for its sudden failure.

It could also be why the Womping Willow attacked the car so viscously. It may have sensed that this car doesn’t belong to the grounds, and thus, could potentially be a threat. So, it tried to dislodge and pulverize the threat.

Pete, you rat bastard.

This car knows its way around Hogwarts? Or did some of the sentient magic that is in Hogwarts take over the car, and that is why it saved Harry and Ron when they were in the forest with the acromantulas.

To make things more environmentally friendly. The Daily Prophet should have a self updating paper, that changes with each news day. People can still buy the others, if they want to keep them for posterity, but I mean, come on, save the planet.

I feel like this is just a flashback for Snape. James getting away with everything and now Harry.

And Ron, is just so used to getting caught out by Mrs. Weasley, that he just instantly thinks that he is going home.

The look on Snape’s face is so sad here. Will no one ever take this man’s side?

I like this overhead view of the greenhouses. I like the idea too, that there are several levels of greenhouses. The ones that we see in this movie are close to the castle and are set for first and second years, but then the Greenhouses that we see in Half Blood Prince are set away a bit from the castle for the upper years. And some are just for Professor Sprout.

There are little dragon statues on top of the greenhouses. That’s a bit ironic.

Do you think that those large pot like things hanging from the ceiling are

Like, how common is getting petrified, that this would be in second year school book. Also, why were they being grown in the first place if there uses were so rare.

Headcanon that Neville truly developed an interest in Herbology when he fainted that year. He went back to see what work he missed, and Professor Sprout was just straight battling some giant carnivorous plant, and just kicking the fertilizer out of it, and Neville helps her. Then she shows him something else, and something else, and talks about all the things that plants can do, and what they are capable of achieving. “But that’s normally a lesson I reserve for the older years.” But Neville doesn’t want to wait, he wants to do it now. He goes back to the common room with several borrowed books from Professor Sprout, and he is never the same again.

We are legit just going to leave a student lying on the ground. Are we? The wizarding world is really survival of the fittest.

There is a studious Ravenclaw behind them there, reading away.

Neville still has flashbacks to be honest.

When the wizarding world doesn’t have cell phones to yell at or embarrass your children with, you hit them with a howler. Respect.

This DADA room is surrounded with pictures of Lockhart. All the frames along the side of the room are pictures of Lockhart. Bless this man.

This painting of Lockhart is painting a picture of Lockhart.

He bought those Cornish Pixies on the Wizarding Web.

Is that a skeleton of a hippogriff handing above them there?

Even the pixies have had it with Lockhart’s shit books.

The painting Lockhart runs out of the way as well.

Hermione is a baddie.

Hogwarts is so beautiful.

Flint, Wood is tired of your shit.

Hermione and Ron smell trouble, and are like, “I’m going to get me some of that.” Because Gryffindors.

Clap back Hermione.

I love that in the book everyone reacts to what Draco calls Hermione. I wish they would have included that a bit more in the movie.

Ron must have learned that from somewhere, but instead of someone helping him, they just laugh.

This interaction here with Hagrid and Hermione always melts my heart. I like to think that Hagrid is one of the reasons that Hermione worked so hard later in life for the protection and promotion of creature rights. Hagrid being a half giant.

Hagrid is number one. Let’s be real.

Where can I get this level of staged photograph when I go to the Wizarding World in May?

Lockhart is like, “Dang, the fame is already getting to this one. What a shame.”

Harry hears someone threatening to murder people, and of course, he runs right to them.

If Tom Riddle had a giant, most likely extremely hard to kill snake, why didn’t he just try to ride it on out of Hogwarts, take over Diagon and flatten everything? Why didn’t he come back for it during the first wizarding world?

Ron is not down with spiders, and neither am I.

Look, this may be a controversial opinion, but I love Mrs. Norris, and I think that her and Filch are cute and are not to be messed with.

Let’s be real, Filch has been hearing for a solid year from Snape about how Harry Potter is such a little shit. That rage has got to come from somewhere.

Ron, Hermione, and Harry thinking that they were just about to sneak off. Dumbledore is like, “Bitch, please.”

Hermione, Harry, and Ron: “Is Snape taking up for us….actu….oh, wait, of course not.”

I feel so bad for Filch here. That cat is probably the only thing in the whole world that he actually loves.

McGonagall has a large number of zoo like cages in her classroom as well. Her classroom is also very symmetrical, from the two blackboards, to the candles in the front of the room.

Draco and Goyle are reluctantly impressed.

That is the beautiful thing about libraries. There is an unlimited amount of information available at any point in time.

I’m glad that there is at least one adult in the common space for the students. Is that supposed to be Madam Pince? Or a helpful teaching assistant? We all know that the teachers at Hogwarts have an intense work load.

Why is there a spider depicted on the woman’s head in this book?

I just imagine that every time that Harry is in the air that Ron and Hermione experience quite a lot of anxiety.

I can just hear Lucius in the stands saying, “We do not show off for such people.” When the snitch is right beside Draco’s head.

I feel that Lucius grew into being a good father when the threat of his family became a reality. I think before he judged Draco by too harsh means because things were always rather simple in his mind. He thought he was the best, and Draco should be too. But he was humbled, and became a better father because of it.

Dobby strictly uses the word, “Enslavement” here. That word makes what Hermione does with Spew seem less radical.

The table is decorated with the phases of the moon.

Snape rises from the crowd like a ghost.

How on Earth did Lockhart get Snape to agree to do this? He had to have accosted him in the staffroom or during a meeting when Snape couldn’t get away.

“Severus, I really think it would be a great idea. We could really give the kids something exciting, riveting, and imaginative.” It is only when McGonagall tells him that he could probably get Lockhart on his perfectly pictured arse a few times that Snape considers it, and eventually concedes.

The most iconic Drarry line ever. “Scared, Potter?” “You wish.”

Can conjured things kill people? Or are they just charms? Is the pain temporary, or a real solid thing that can seriously damage?

Is this study hall?

Harry Potter has the crappiest luck ever.

Some of the headmasters and headmistresses seem to be still. I like the idea that all of the professors that get promoted to that level get to be immortalized whether they would like to put apart of them inside of a portrait or not.

I really like the idea of Dumbledore as a scholar and an academic, so I really like that they show all of his scrolls and books.

I feel like Fawkes dying and then being rebirthed among the flames is a really poignant thing for Harry to experience at this stage in his life. This image of the phoenix dying, but still having life probably stuck with Harry and it might have been something that he thought about when he was preparing to walk into the forest in book seven.

Hagrid has got Harry’s back, and I love it. He is a really good friend.

This image of the Black Lake frozen over, and the students being pulled across it’s icy surface is stunning.

Hermione was training to join MI6 before she got her Hogwarts letter, and no one can tell me differently.

Are flying treats that common that Crabbe and Goyle are just like, “Dead on.” It must have been a cute thing that there house elves did for them when they were children, levitating treats or toys in the air for them to grab. Or their parents showing them magic and giving them treats at the same time. Otherwise, how would they have ever thought, “You know what? Excellent and safe idea to eat these random treats.”

Harry literally doesn’t know here which one is Crabbe and which one is Goyle.

The Slytherin common room looks way more lush then the Gryffindor common room. I feel like you can see really clearly into the Black Lake there, and since it is frozen over, the light that you see is light blue instead of green. I mean, look at how big there common room is. It looks like they have a designated study area and everything.

Draco, don’t be the stereotype of rich boys who steal. Just don’t.

Myrtle is not to be fucked with, bro.

A young Tom Riddle for sure got this one year for Christmas at Wool’s orphanage before the war started, and things got so tight that they couldn’t even afford three meals a day. Then, like everything in his past, he transferred these basic Muggles things to something more extraordinary, like him.

Tom Riddle in this movie is a hottie. Like, y’all can’t even fight me because there is no denying his killer beauty….get it?

Okay, so are we thinking that during this flashback that Tom’s soul piece is not only aware that Harry is watching a scene from his life, but is also, acting out the part of himself? He is the director and the lead, so to say.

I like this sequence because it shows more insight into who Tom Riddle is, and where the fear of death started to come from. I wish that Rowling would have made this connection more thoroughly for the viewers of the movies. A single mention of there being too many bombs, or a lot of fighting by Tom here when he is talking with Dumbledore would have provided some more insight into this character.

Ginny knows how to do some damage. I think it would have been easier for them to figure out. Girls can get up boy’s dorms, but boys cannot get up to girl’s dorms. It would have had to have been a Gyrffindor. The common room couldn’t have been completely empty. Hermioen could have fact checked this, and figured out who had wrecked their dorm.

Look at those game plans back there. I just envision, Oliver Wood drawing frantically on the blackboard wild circles that simulate flying motions, but he goes too quickly for everyone else to understand what he’s saying, and thus, the only one who knows the plan is Wood, himself.

Did they show Colin’s friends his frozen body? Or Penelope and Justin’s? Not one person in this school thinks of the potentially traumatizing circumstances that they are putting these kids through.

It is popular fanon that McGonagall and Riddle went to school together. From this perspective, it would be doubly as traumatizing for her to hear that the school could be closing again.

Ron is me. I ain’t messing with no mother flipping spiders.

Ron is no help in this scenario. Absolutley none.

Harry replacing Hermoine’s flowers, and thus subtly telling the viewers how much time has elapsed.

Harry is wickedly smart. He is also very logical which I think attributes a lot to that sarcastic personality that he has.

McGonagall has some Slytherin in her for sure. She went from worried to blasting Lockhart in 2.5.

Lockhart packed up really quickly. It was almost like he….. had….experience…leaving…quickly.

I wonder if Lockhart’s victims ever got any retribution after he wound up in St. Mungos. It’s almost certain that his sales went up when he got admitted to the hospital just because of the public’s sheer curiosity and gossip mongering.

Salazar Slytherin was one slick mother f-er. “I’m going to hide my chamber in the bathroom.”

I can just imagine Riddle not having a lot of time in between OWLS and what not, and taking the easy way out and opening the Chamber whenever he could just to chuck down dead rabbits and chickens. Forays into the Forbidden Forest were many for Tom’s minions back then.

Honestly, Lockhart, Harry probably wouldn’t mind if you took a few of his less than pleasurable memories.

Tom Riddle also has that innate need to be polite even though he’s about to stab someone just like Harry does. Or is this a British thing?

I love how the villains in these movies say, “Potter.”

That does not look like the hole that they came down? It looks like Fawkes took them up another exit.

Why is Dumbledore trusting Hagrid’s release papers from the wizarding world’s worst prisons to a twelve year old? To a twelve year old Ron Weasley at that.

It looks like Dumbledore has a crystal ball by his desk. Trying his hand at divination? Or is that how he keeps track of all the students? I need to know what headmaster powers enable him to do all of these things.

Jason Isaacs is super fine. I can even deal with the wig. In fact, the wig makes it better.

It looks like Dumbledore’s office is located outside of the courtyard which makes the scene in Order of the Phoenix when Fred and George are comforting that boy all the more poignant.

#Harry Potter #Chamber of secrets #Harry Potter thoughts #Harry Potter movie thoughts

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mysticsparklewings · 5 years

Photo

Together Furever

This artwork is now available as a free Coloring Page! ____ Today we have another Valentine-themed kitty art. This one is modeled after two pet kitties I lost over the past year, Presto (boy) and Flame (girl). Both were very dear to me, and they seemed very appropriate for a lovey kitty piece, as they were one of the sweetest kitty couples I've known. Flame, such a loving and sweet darling, had her choice of the boy kitties, but when mating season came around Presto was her first and only choice, and likewise the father of her only litter of Magic, a little girl who looked just like him, and Sparky, the wild dark tabby mama's boy. And Presto, bless him, he wasn't much of a cuddle bug but he was a gentleman and, God, beautiful. He also certainly has his choice of lady kitties, but it was clear to me once they found each other that they were basically married. Don't get me wrong; Flame was beautiful in her own right. She was mostly tabby, but she had flecks of orange through, making her look almost calico. And, I think my favorite part, when she looked at you, you could see her mouth was half the normal pink kitty flesh color, and half the darker flesh color usually reserved for black kitties. It was odd, but also really cute. And she always looked so happy, almost like she was smiling. And her fur was so soft! They both had the same warm, green eyes. That same far-away, wistful look in them. I love them both so much, and I know they really are "Together Furever" in the beyond, even if I can't be there with them. And by this time, they're with their children too. (Magic, unfortunately, passed away at only a few months old. Sparky only recently met with a fatal car encounter.) It's bittersweet. I miss them all, but I am glad they can at least be reunited as a family. I did my best to capture Presto and Flame's likenesses here, though neither of them are quite right. Flame's unique tabby pattern doesn't translate super well into my drawing style, and I didn't have a good reference photo for what Presto's face and chest would look like at this angle. Still, I hope I've done them at least a little justice. My initial sketch was based on two kitties standing in a doorway, so to adjust for the odd paw positioning, I quite put them on this little stair pedestal, and then I put the heart behind them to fill space, symbolize their love, and fit with this month's lovey themes. The initial sketch was also pretty small, so I stuck with my habit of doing the lines digitally, printing them, and then tracing them onto whatever paper best suits the project. Thanks to my current set up, I did have to fight for a little longer than normal to get lines I was happy with, but I eventually got it. I think. Once my lines were all ready to go on a piece of mixed media paper, I did a few tests to figure out how I wanted to go about coloring both kitties and (to a much lesser extent_ the background elements. Flame went first since my only other tabby-cat attempts have been gray and orange, which are much simpler compared to the normal tabby coloring, let alone her orange-spotted tabby coat. In the end, I decided my best option was to start with (in alcohol marker) the orange spots and most of the tabby stripes, then go over that with a grayish-brown base, shade and touch up as needed, and then go over the whole thing with my "Tiger" Koh-i-Noor tri-tone pencil to enhance the "tabby texture," then final color touch-ups with a few normal colored pencils. Originally, I thought I'd be coloring in the black parts of Presto's fur with some watercolor. My practice run with that told me that wasn't a very good idea. So I tried some color options with my markers before opting for a process similar to Flame. Alcohol marker base, preliminary shading, then final shading with pencils. The white parts of his fur I just shaded with markers and otherwise left it alone. Though there is the tiniest bit of pink on his nose and mouth since he had that in real life, especially when he was a fluffy little kitten. Once they were taken care of, I moved on to the background. (Because apparently I work backward; I really need to get in the habit of doing the background first. ) I knew from pretty much the beginning that I wanted the steps to be a pretty pale, almost white color. I tried this pale purple look on a test page, and I really liked it, especially juxtaposed to the colors of the kitties, so I went with it on the final. Though I did add a little slightly darker shadow on the final just to make the color pop a little more. And then I started on the heart. I tried to fill the heart in with watercolor, as I had on a test page, but I wasn’t careful enough and the color came out too red and very patchy in an unattractive way. I tried to fix it with pastels, but instead of lightening the red it started to turn grayish in some spots. So finally I did one of only two other things I knew to do. I pulled out my gouache, mixed up a color closer to what I wanted, and I painted over it. (The other option would’ve been acrylic paint. The gouache just felt like the better choice of the two.) I do miss some of the color variations the watercolor on my test page had, but I like the overall color so much better than the reddish-gray mess hiding underneath. Moral of the story? Never underestimate the usefulness of gouache! And that worked out a little better than I had anticipated too, as I thought Flame's whiskers came out a little long when I did the lines initially, but the gouache covered up the ones on the right, so I could re-do them. And I ironically got Presto's a little too long when I went back over them in white gel pen, and the gouache allowed me to pretty easily fix them too. At some point, I thought maybe I'd go around the two of them with the white gel pen, but once I fixed the heart and their whiskers, I looked at it for a while and decided they didn't need it. The contrast is right. They stand out perfectly well on their own. And so, it was done. Honestly, this piece took more out of me emotionally than I expected. I love Presto and Flame so much, and I miss them dearly, but I've tried not to think about it too much since each of their respective deaths. And so I had to work through a lot of that while I was looking at photos of them and try to get their likenesses right. But I'm glad I went through with it. I needed it, and they more than deserve it, this labor of love. So, as this Valentine's Day approaches, I hope they know how much I still love them and their kids, bless all their souls. I know they're all together now, as a loving, happy family. And I hope all of you, my Sparklers, can know love as pure and sweet as theirs, whether it be with a significant other, your family, or your found family/friends. ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble | Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

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ievenranthisfar · 5 years

Text

72 Needles In Millions of Haystacks // My First 24-Hour Orienteering Race

It’s somewhere around 3:00 in the morning. I’ve been up somewhere around 24 hours. And I’m… somewhere. I just don’t know where.

My partner Sean and I have just descended hundreds feet down a sheer rock face that’s dumped us into a pitch-black forest. Above us, a canopy of ancient pines blocks out the full moon. Below, the trunks of their fallen compatriots and an army of younger ones eager to take their place make our travel directionless and nearly impossible. And amid all this, we’re looking for a small, orange and white triangular flag with nothing more than a dot on the map, a compass, and the vague clue that it was located at a “reentrant.”

Suddenly, there at the bottom of that cliff, swallowed up by the forest, I felt very, very small. And very, very far away from anything. Forget finding the control, I think to myself. What if we can’t ever find our way out of this canyon?

Are we going to die down here?

A Little Compass Context

This was my first ever 24-hour rogaine orienteering race. I’d been introduced to orienteering a year and a half ago when my good running buddy Guillaume Calmettes invited me to a local event. He was using to sharpen his navigational skill in prep for his first run at the infamous Barkley Marathons. And he convinced me it was super fun and easy to pick up. He was correct.

In orienteering there are two basic formats. This first one I did was Classic, meaning you get handed a map of the area you’re in with little numbered dots on it. Then, you have to use your compass to find your way as you run from control to control in a pre-determined order as fast as possible. Beginner’s luck. I got second place. Guillaume got first.

The next event we went to the following month, I won.

Our compass skills were admittedly only okay. (Actually, Guillaume’s were fine. Mine, less so.) But having experience and fitness as a runner, helped us immensely. Still, we made plenty of mistakes. This year, I made some huge errors in races. It’s really humbling when it takes you 3:34 to finish a course, and the winner did it in 0:57. The beginner’s luck had run out.

Most orienteering events are relatively short, usually one or two hours long. But it’s incredibly intense. When you’re trying to find 15 different controls as fast as you can, you have your head buried in your map as you’re sprinting through parks, up and down hillsides and rooting through streams to find your controls.

Then Guillaume told me about rogaining. It’s the same thing, except it lasts for 24 hours. 🤯 I’ve run plenty of ultras that last longer than 24 hours, and I’ve done some orienteering races for a few hours, but I didn’t know you could combine the two. It sounded bonkers.

(For the record, the name rogaine comes from a portmanteau of the sport’s founding members’ names. It has zero to do with a fix for male pattern baldness.)

Guillaume and I talked wistfully about one day competing in the World Championship. Then, two months ago, I got a text. The North American Championship was taking place at the Nav-X Challenge in a month, in the Sierra National Forest. The top two teams would go to World. So we signed up.

Lake Shaver, near the course

A few days later, Sean Ranney reached out to Guillaume to see if he could join the fun. If you don’t know who Sean is, he’s an incredibly accomplished runner who holds the Tahoe Rim Trail unsupported FKT. He’s also the creator of a Barkley-style race called Euchre Bar Massacre every October. He’s legit.

Then, with just two weeks to go before Nav-X, Guillaume ran into some problems with his visa and had to return to France the day of the race. Sean and I were incredibly bummed to lose G, but we decided to go on and do the race. “Do it for Guillaume!” we said. “Or to rub it in his face!” We hadn’t decided which.

___

What To Expect When You’re Expecting

So, this is how I find myself waking up in a tent in the middle of the Sierra, waiting to be handed a map that would send me out into the forest on a very wild goose chase.

Camp/a Jeep commercial

Sunset the night before

Full moon over camp

Waiting for Sean to show...

Nine o’clock rolls around. Time to receive our maps. Sean is nowhere to be seen. Nine-thirty. Ten. I look around as other teams scurry to plot their movements and prep their gear for the next 24 hours. Time is running out. Instead of feeling stressed, I’m a little relieved. Maybe I won’t have to do this after all…

Ten-thirty. Sean’s red truck rolls into the dusty campground. I guess we’re doing this.

In a supremely ironic twist of fate, Sean had gotten lost for hours while driving to the starting area. This does not bode well for our future prospects. We exchange quick pleasantries and immediately get down to the business of plotting our moves. The High Sierra sun already beats down on us as we squat over a stump, with our highlighters and sharpies clenched in our hands. It feels oppressive already.

The second type of orienteering is called Score-O. All rogaine races are Score-O. The premise is that there are flagged controls laid out across the course, each assigned a point value based on difficulty to travel to it or find. Rather than racing for the fastest time, everyone has the same amount of time to nab as many controls/points as they can. If you’re skilled enough to get every single control, you’ve “cleared.” It’s a game of strategy. Do you go after more of the easy controls that are closer to the start but are lower value? Or do you try to go out farther and burn time to get higher-value controls further afield?

Looking at our map, we have 72 controls. The possibilities are pretty much endless as to how we can design our run. Hell, the map itself is huge. It’s over two feet tall. I’m just wondering how I’m going to carry this thing in front of me for 24 hours.

Being novices to this whole thing, Sean and I both frantically googled rogaine strategies in the week leading up to the race. Interestingly, it involves office supplies. So on drive way up the previous day, I had found myself in a Staples somewhere in the Valley buying various brightly color writing utensils.

First, we highlight all the high-value controls on the map in yellow. The locations of water drops we highlight in pink. It quickly becomes apparently that the northeast corner of the map has the highest concentration of 60, 70, 80, and 90-point controls, but they’re spread further apart, and the terrain seems to be more forested, meaning navigation and travel will be more difficult. Also, there’s more water. The southern portion of the course has the next highest concentration of points. It seems to be more exposed rock which will be faster nav and travel. No water to speak of though. The northwest sector is denser in the number of controls but they’re lower value.

The correct plan seems fairly obvious (I think). We decide we’ll make a big loop of the northwestern segment first while we’re fresh, it’s hot, and we still have sunlight. Then, we’ll loop back to the hash house (the start/finish area), resupply and head out on our second loop. This loop will take us to the south overnight, where it should theoretically be easiest to navigate and we won’t need much water. Then, we’ll head back to the hash house for another resupply and go out on our third loop to pick off as many easier, lower-point controls as we can before noon tomorrow.

(One thing to factor into strategy is the penalty for finishing late. In this case, we’d lose 10 points for every minute past 24 hours that we’re out of the course. So you also want to plan the end of your race to have points where you can call audibles towards the end.)

Marking up the map

With our basic game plan laid out, we quickly start penciling in lines of travel from control to control. Again, more strategy. This time we’re trying to make each move the shortest possible while also hitting every control and simultaneously avoiding any overly difficult moves due to a giant mountain between them, dense forest, whatever.

We check our watches. It’s just a few minutes before the noon start. We quickly draw over our lines in sharpie, shrugging to each other occasionally. “I guess this seems good, right?” “Yeah. It all feels easy right now at least.”

Slipshod plan formatted, we hurriedly stuff all our gear, clothes and food into our packs. Because, oh yeah, since you’re going to be out in the wilderness on your own pretty much the whole race, you need to carry everything with you too.

Ready to roll

Still cramming stuff in our vests, we amble up to the starting area. We are, as usual, the outliers. Like any sport, orienteering has its own mores, particularly when it comes to fashion. Pants to protect the legs while crashing through underbrush. Long-sleeved shirts to deal with fluctuating temperatures. Protective hats to block hours of sun exposure. Calf-high gaiters to keep shoes free from any debris. Big packs to carry a day’s worth of supplies. Hiking-style shoes to cover the harsh terrain. We have none of this.

No, Sean and I stand there in our bright, little running shorts. Thin, polyester shirts. Tiny packs. We have so much skin exposed, I’m sure the other races are wondering if we’ll die of exposure or blood loss first.

It’s also worth noting that Sean and I are on the young end of the age spectrum. By a lot. Looking around, the average age seems to be hovering around 55. Orienteering, for whatever reason, tends to attract a much older crowd. I suppose it’s because it’s a thinkers’ sport. As I’ve learned time and time again, a great navigator who can move slowly but efficiently can crush a fast runner who’s shitty at navigation. Skill and experience levels the playing field immensely.

It’s 11:59. Our big adventure begins soon. The race directors herd us into the starting corral and offer a few final tidbits of intel and advice. And then, it’s, “OK… go!”

“Here goes nothing…” I mutter to Sean.

___

Noob Troop Loop

Orienteering starts are funny. Because each team has chosen a different one of the millions of possible permutations of routes, everyone scatters off in totally different directions immediately.

Sean and I bound out of the campground and down the main dirt road to the first bend, where we stop and consult our maps. We line up our compasses and shoot a bearing to the east-southeast, where our first control, 307, will supposedly be. Flipping over the map, I read the description of 307 off the chart. It simply says, “Broad saddle.” We peel off and quickly find ourselves climbing up a steep hill, dodging underbrush as best as we can. Soon enough, we top out. The saddle. But where is the control? We run a few hundred feet to the right, nothing. So we backtrack and try the left. Soon, “There it is!” We see the orange and white dangling from a tree branch. We quickly insert our e-sticks (basically USB sticks attached to our hands) to record our presence and then immediately consult the map again.

Moving from the hash house (pink) to 307 to 405

Control 405. To the east-northeast, maybe half a mile away. Rather than shoot straight there, we see that there’s a road between it and us. The road connects to another road that travels within about a tenth of a mile to it. And near there, there’s a junction with a trail. So, we can travel expeditiously via road, then shoot our bearing off the trail junction so we know exactly where we are and the exact angle we have to travel to reach 405, labeled “Marsh, S end.” Or at least that’s the idea.

We make our way to the road, turn on the second road, and fairly quickly find the junction. From there, we shoot the bearing and sprint off, back into the woods. Soon enough, we find a marsh and start scanning the area. Nothing. We move along the edge, trying to stay on the south side. But as the control continues to remain elusive, we begin just running around aimlessly hoping to bump into it. Ten minutes go by. “Where the hell is this thing?” “We’re definitely at the south end of the marsh… right?”

Finally, I pull my head out of the moment. “Stop. Let’s look at the map.” That’s when I notice that the marsh isn’t just one big strip; it has a bend into it, breaking the marsh into two distinct sections. “What if we’re in this part of the marsh, not over here?” Lightbulb. We’d overshot the bearing just enough that we’d landed ourselves in the smaller, adjacent part of the marsh. We turn 180 degrees and crashed through more underbrush until, there it was. The other part of the marsh. We sprint down its south face, and sure enough, the control comes into view. Ah, I’m starting to see how this is going to go…

We dip our e-sticks and I look down at my watch. 12:40. Two controls in 40 minutes. “Spot on pace!” I announce naively but also fully aware that it’s it’s naive. With 72 controls, to clear the course, we’ll need to find a control every 20 minutes for 24 hours straight. Two things: 1) That is an insane pace, and 2) it means we can make zero mistakes, like, ever.

So, time to get going. We consult the map again. Our next objective is 706, labeled “Reentrant.” We check our compasses and take off.

For the next hour or so, we’re cranking along nicely. Our control-every-20-minutes pace holds up. At 300 (“Broad terrace, N end”), I pull my head out of the map for a moment. It’s been two hours since we’ve started. “Holy shit. I feel like I’ve been out here with you all day,” I tell Sean.

There is no down-time in orienteering. No time to turn your brain off. No time even to eat or drink really. Your head’s always buried in your map, staring off the end of your compass, or scanning your surroundings, hoping to catch a glimmer of orange out of the corner of your eye. And as soon as you do and you’ve tag the control, your heads right back at it again. Oh, and you’re also running or hiking fully cross-country, hopping over logs, running down bare rock faces, hopping over talus fields, or breaking through underbrush, trying not to fall on your face.

Remember that thing you tried to do when you were little where you’d try to pat your head and rub your belly. It’s sort of like that except you’re also juggling a soccer ball, reciting pi to the 100th decimal, cooking an omelet, and doing your taxes.

___

Needle In A Haystack

The afternoon goes off relatively without much of a hitch. We trudge up hillsides, take shortcuts on logging roads that are nowhere to be seen on the map, skip across waterlogged marshes, cross long talus fields, and refill our bottles in cold, mountain-fed streams. Most importantly, we’re picking off controls here and there with only occasional difficulty. I actually can’t believe how well we’re moving. Honestly, I came into the race feeling only OK about my compass skills. But with the repetition of doing it over and over and over, hour after hour after hour, I’m starting feel cautiously confident.

Additionally, Sean and I have a very complementary partnership emerging. Ying and yang. He seems to be better with the compass and traveling over large distances to the general area of a control. Once there, I tend to be better at reading the immediate terrain and spotting the controls at a distance. (“LASIK!” I tell him. “The best money I’ve ever spent!”) And when one of us falters in his unspoken area of expertise, the other picks up the slack and the roles reverse. I’m really liking our chances.

Our entire northern loop

Eventually, we reach the very far northwestern corner of the map. 830, “Bare rock, W foot.” We sight ourselves off a massive wall of bare rock rising almost a thousand feet to our right. We’re almost surrounded by it in fact. I suddenly start to feel a quiet terror. It’s a cross between claustrophobia and helplessness. I realize just how far away we are from everyone and everything. Civilization. Safety. And any sense of origin. It’s like riding in an airplane and suddenly thinking about the fact that you’re 30,000 feet above the Earth in a metal tube. We round a giant grouping of boulders and thankfully spot the control. Mercifully, the feeling washes away in our excitement.

We make a few more moves. We shoot a bearing from 631 (“Stream”) to 821 (“Marsh, partially treed, SW part”). The move feels fairly complicated on the map. In practice, it’s even worse. But after 25 minutes or so, we find ourselves in the general area where we think we’re supposed to be. Except, we have no idea where we actually are. Or where the marsh is. Instead, we’re on a steep, loose hillside, chockful of deadfall and chaparral. This looks nothing like a marsh. This looks like the opposite of a marsh. Sean, sure he knows where we are, shoots off up the hillside. I follow him but only half-heartedly, feeling like he’s going the wrong way. My head starts to spin. The airplane feeling comes on again.

Five minutes later. “Stop! Let’s look at the map and see where we think we are,” I implore. “I think we’re here,” Sean points with the corner of his compass. I’m not sure how he arrived at that conclusion. But, scanning the dense canopy of trees enveloping us, I have no better counter. “I think we need to go back up here,” he points. I’m at a loss so I shrug and say sure.

We fumble around for another 15-20 minutes. Then I hear Sean shout, “Found the marsh!” “You glorious son of a bitch!” I exclaim and sprint towards the sound of his voice. Sure enough, he’s located a marsh perched on a shelf on the hillside. In my excitement, I try to hop over a huge trunk, but my shoe catches a piece of bark and I ragdoll. Flipping forward, I slam into the marsh, bent at a 90-degree angle the wrong way. “Shit! Shitshitshitshitshiiiit.” I follow up with, “I’m OK!” I look down at my knee, and it’s bright red. Blood oozes down, soaking my sock below. I pop up, more embarrassed than hurt. “You alright, man?” Sean asks. I look down at my leg, wet with blood. “Yeah, the flies are just going to have a little feast,” I grin.

After all this, we can’t even find the control. We flail a bit more until we realize there are in fact several marshes on this hillside. None seem to actually be on the map. We make our way from one to another, until we finally find our “treed marsh” and the control. Finally.

After spending the last four hours totally off-trail in the middle of the wilderness, our next line of travel bisects a trail and then turns into a logging road. We make it there, and it feels surprisingly wonderful to be swaddled in civilization again. And good thing too, because night is falling fast.

We have a half dozen more controls to get us back to the hash house, but most all are near roads or trails so we cruise through them without incident. The only snafu comes on the very final control, a quarter mile from the campground. 201 (“Stream junction”). At 20 points, it should be uber easy. But somehow we find ourselves going up and down a dry stream bed, back and forth, looking for a non-existent control. Something is clearly wrong, but we can’t work it out. We both get frustrated. I rise the idea of just cutting bait—it’s only 20 points after all—and heading home. But Sean’s stubbornness is quickly joined by my own, and we refuse to give up. I know this is a poor use of our time, but I know how angry I’ll be with myself tomorrow if we don’t get every control we try for. The moment of frustration forces us to pause and regroup. Sean looks at the map and, in his amazing wisdom that I still don’t understand, decides that we must be in the wrong stream. Looking at the map, I’m not sure that we could be in any other stream. But absent a better idea, I go with it. Five minutes later and back on the road, we spot our correct stream. We instantly feel foolish. Five minutes more of fighting vegetation along the stream bed and we find the control. A short jog later and we’re back at the hash house.

It feels good to be back amongst people and lights and manmade objects. The timing tent is playing some Zeppelin, and the RD offers me soup. I greedily accept. I see a full bottle of Mrs. Butterworth syrup sitting on a table and say, “Oh. Are you guys making pancakes later?” The RD stares at me and just says, “No.” “Uh… OK.”

It’s 9:30. We tell the few people lounging around where we’ve been, and they seem impressed. It feels good; we must be doing something right. We’re a third of our way through the course, which is great. But it also means clearing the course is out of the question. No mind.

I jog back to my Jeep, grab a fresh battery pack for my headlight and shove more gels, turkey sandwiches and formerly-frozen burritos into my pack. Ready to roll. We know night will be trying, but we just don’t know how much.

___

Descent Into Darkness

Time to begin our southern loop. Drier, opener, faster (supposedly). We pop out on the road and look for the second path junction to the left. According to the map, it should come very quickly. But it doesn’t. Or it does. We can’t tell. There are so many Jeep trails and turn-offs, it’s hard for us to know which is the correct one. We choose one that seems right. But the trail isn’t bearing in the direction it is on the map. Still we follow it. Dumb. We’re going uphill now. This seems very wrong. It’s supposed to be flat. Still we follow it. Finally we both agree it’s wrong. Duh. We head back down to the road. For some reason we think the trail must be farther away from camp so we head out. We take other side trails momentarily before deciding they’re wrong. We probably run at least a mile from camp. At some point, a pickup comes rumbling down the dirt road keeping up dust in our headlamps. “Oh hey guys! Is that Andy and Sean?” Through the floating dust and the stupor in my head, I can’t really make out who it is. After a few moments, I dawns on me that it’s one of the RDs. Sean explains to him what we are—or aren’t—doing. “These roads are all fucked up, man. Just get to a control and shoot straight lines from there,” he offers as advice. As the pickup chugs off, I say to Sean, “Well no shit. That’s what we’re trying to do.” But he’s right. The area is so heavily used we can’t trust the map or anything we see. So what do we do?

We fumble around for another 20 minutes or so before we finally identify a set of cliffs off to our right. On the map, we see a symbol for cliffs. We’ve finally located ourselves. PHEW. And we’re right by a control. We shoot a bearing and head off towards 202 (“Marsh, just N of N tip”). And we find it! We curse, we laugh, we howl. But we’ve found it. And we burned 70 minutes doing it. For 20 points. Just a quarter mile from the starting line. Woof.

With a new understanding of where we are, we shoot a bearing and head off into the wilderness once more.

Earlier that afternoon I had said, “How the hell are we supposed to do this in the dark?” Now that it was dark… yeah. “Flying blind” does not begin to accurately describe what we’re doing. We just take a bearing, point ourselves in a direction and pray that we end up there. And our “easier, rockier” loop is nowhere to be seen. It’s all dense forests with zero visibility. (Fun fact! Almost all 24-hour rogaines are held as close to full moons as possible!) The one advantage the night provides is that the controls have pieces of reflective tape on them. So, if you’re scanning your surroundings, your headlight might at least catch a glimmer coming off the tape. This proved appreciably helpful in spotting controls at a great distance, ones that we probably wouldn’t have caught in daylight.

But still, it’s just really fucking hard.

After we grab a few controls, we head towards a big section of cliffs. It looks cool on the map. It looks cooler in person. We claw our way up a sheer rock face onto what turns out to be a massive, smooth granite ridge, rising hundreds of feet above the surrounding valley. We find 902 (“Spur/bare rock, access from N or S”) rather easily. There’s nothing else up there besides the control attached to a lone tree clinging stubbornly to the rock. We register our e-sticks and then sit down for a minute.

“Wow. It’s really beautiful out here.” In the full moon, we can finally see the world around us. It’s a symphony of rock and wood and water lit by the pale glow of a giant rock floating in the sky reflecting sunlight from millions of miles away. For a minute, inside all the madness, the world is perfect.

“Dude. I’m going to eat my fucking burrito,” I exclaim. I throw my pack off and dig in, finding the now-nearly-warm bean and cheese burrito that had been sitting in the bottom for 12 hours now. I bite into it and immediately start moaning. “I can feel the endorphins firing in my brain,” I gush to Sean. He laughs politely. I’m in heaven.

A few minutes later, we say goodbye to the view, take our bearings and head down off the cliffs. Rather than change back to forest, the ground beneath our feet stays sandy and open. “Finally!” I shout. “The rocky loop we were promised.” Feeling in high spirits, we cruise downhill towards 506 (“Reetrant”). At only 50 points, this one should be no problem… Right?

Forty-five minutes later, Sean and I are just flabbergasted. I’ve run out of curse words. I’m empty. I’m fully defeated. We’ve run up and down this damn stream so long looking for a junction to shoot a bearing from that I don’t even know what my name is anymore. We’re flailing. Several times, I fully lose the thread. I look down at my map, and it’s gibberish. I forget which control we’re looking for. I start trying telling Sean he’s wrong, as I’m looking at a totally different part of the map. I don’t know what we’re doing anymore.

We sweep the forest back and forth, a few dozen feet from the stream and a few dozen feet apart from each other, hoping to catch the glint of reflective tape in our headlamps. But the battery on my light is dying and has automatically dimmed itself. Even if the control is out here, I probably won’t see it. If was more coherent I’d be upset. Instead I’m just apathetic.

Somehow, we decide to sweep in the opposite direction, way downstream, which feel very wrong to us, but at this point, it’s the only thing we haven’t done. Running—mostly out of desperation—we drop into a deep forest and begin thrashing around in the undergrowth when suddenly, “Holy shit! I’ve got it!” We find it. I have no idea how that control relates to what we were looking for, but I don’t care. Desperation gives way to a rush of relief.

Here’s what it looked like on Strava. Woof.

Later, as we’re following our next bearing, Sean and I both admit to each other that we thought about suggesting we just bail on the control. But then we both realized we couldn’t.

And here’s the true challenge of rogaine. Ninety percent of the time you can’t just skip a control that’s hard to find. Because if you don’t know where the control is, then you don’t know here you are either. And if you don’t know where you are, you don’t where we’re you’re going next. So, you’re forced to find the control, even if it feels impossible, because it’s your own way out alive.

The rest of the night continues on, eventfully and uneventfully. Ironically, we seem to have the most difficulty finding the lowest-point controls while the high-value controls are relatively easy to locate. We joke about it. It’s funny. I think.

Features like “clearing” and “reentrant” continue to be the bane of my existence. What constitutes one clearing over another clearing? What the actual fuck is a reentrant anyway?

We flail in the dark some more.

We drop down a rock face to a deep dark forest where I think we’re going to die. Somehow, by sheer miracle, I get the sense that the control is much farther north than we think it is, and we sweep the edge of the forest. Four minutes later, I catch the gleam of reflective tape in my headlamp.

Another time, Sean and I are a bajillion miles away from anywhere we think we know. We’ve been running across a series of gullies towards 907 (another fucking “reentrant”). We’ve run ourselves down deep into the folds of a hillside. We’re surrounded by rocks and more rocks. We have no idea where in the world we possibly are. And then all of a sudden Sean shouts, “I see it!” There it is, two hundred feet above us. Another miracle.

The night goes on, until dawn slowly yawns on the horizon. I realize I feel better than I’ve ever felt in ant 100-miler at this point. We’ve covering a lot of ground, and it’s more full-body, but I’m not gutting myself to do it. And the necessity of focus actually makes me feel sharp. Then I realize I’ve only eaten a few hundred calories all night. I check my water bottles. Oh yeah. I’ve only drank about 20 oz of water in the last 12 hours too.

No mind. The sun comes up and navigation becomes easier again. Weirdly, I miss the reflective tape. You can’t have it all.

The next control is 623. I read the description: “Pool at base of 8m water (no access from NW).” “Oooh! That sounds delightful,” I say. We find it. It is delightful. Just as the sun has risen, we find ourselves in the midst of a smooth, rocky gully with a gently roaring waterfall surrounded by glimmering pools of cool water. “I’m really glad we did this one,” I say out loud, instantly feeling like we’re an old, married couple.

Five minutes later, I’m blowing my ass out behind a bush.

Three controls away from finishing our second loop, we hit another snafu. We burn what feels like an hour wandering aimlessly through the forest. It’s 503 (another fucking “reentrant”). It should be easy. It’s not. I shout at Sean to stop and let’s think this thing out. We orient ourselves off a giant wall to the north of us and try to think our way out of this thing. Ten minutes later, I start shouting “Hallelujah!” as the world around us is finally matching up with the world on our maps. We split up and two minutes later I shout, “Holy shit I found it!” Seriously, what is a reentrant anyway??

An hour later, we’re back at the hash house. It’s around 9:00 in the morning. The first loop took us 9.5 hours. The second one took 11.5. Clearing the map is waaaay out of the question. But as we’re milling around the food tent, we still feel plenty good. Sean and I both make a beeline for the industrial-sized can of cocktail fruit and spoon the syrup and processed pineapple into our cups and guzzle it whole. It’s heavenly.

Also, fruitcake FTW.

___

Victory Lap?

We’re closing in on two hours left. It’s getting hot again. I know Sean wants to quit. He knows I want to quit. I know he knows that I want to quit. He knows that I know that he wants to quit. But instead, we make plans to head out on our final, truncated loop. We’ll pick off a few controls that are nearby with enough time to return before noon. (Good rogaine strategy! I feel proud.)

Sean looks a little rough. I didn’t eat many calories overnight, but he ran out. Nonetheless, all night, he’d pushed the pace on hills, leaving me in the dust. I’ve been perkier on the roads and had to pull him a bit. Basically, we’re both beat. We don’t want to admit it to the other person. It’s funny that we only met about 24 hours ago.

“We leave by 22,” we agree. Translation: 10:00am. We’ll have two hours to complete our mini-loop of four controls. It’ll only be 130 points total, but it’s more to prove to ourselves that we refuse to quit. At 10:00am precisely, we meet by the port-a-potties.

In my mind, this mini-loop is a victory lap. We find the first control with ease. The second with ease. The third with ease. The fourth one pretends to be difficult but soon we wrangle it in. With most of the course under our belts and 45 minutes left, we head back home.

At the hash house, we jam our e-sticks in the control labeled “FINISH” and give each other a series of handshakes, fist-bumps and hugs. We did it.

___

“That’s A Good Thing”

When we put our e-sticks into the download terminal—basically the thing that receives all those timestamps when we punched the different controls—the printer immediately spit out a long receipt-looking thing. “Wow. That’s long. That’s a good thing,” says the volunteer working the computer.

I look at my receipt. It says we have 2,900 points. I look over at the timekeeper’s screen, and the top number of points I see from other teams is 2,630. Whoa. We might have won.

We did all that. Sheesh.

There’s still twenty minutes left—it’s 11:40am—so there’s a good chance another team could still come in and kick our asses.

Fifty minutes later we’re standing at the awards ceremony. I’m cracked out my mind. I’m dirty. Sticky. Tired. Blood-shot-eyes-y. But eventually the RD announces, “Male team, open… with 2,900 points… wow, that’s almost the whole map… Pacific Mountain Runners, Andy Pearson and Sean Ranney!”

Beginner’s luck again. We’re the North American Champions.

The best part about orienteering is how quaint it is. (And I don’t use that word pejoratively.) This award ceremony is only a few dozen people huddled around an awning trying to stay out of the sun. The awards come in dozens of flavors, across every possible permutation of age and gender divisions imaginable. And the awards themselves? A certificate declaring “2019 North American Rogaine Champion” with the name section blank—RD: “You can write your own name in” —and your choice from a variety of chocolates. As far as I can tell chocolate is the belt buckle of orienteering. The adventure has been so epic, and the reward so unassuming, it feels perfect.

What winning feels like.

What winning tastes like.

___

The Venn Diagram

Reflecting back, I’m both proud of and humbled by what we did. The experience taught me more in 24 hours than I think I’ve ever learned. From geology to map-reading to problem-solving to ultrarunning to 500 other things, orienteering requires everything from you. But it’s a constant education too.

I love ultrarunning deeply. It speaks to a deep physical and spiritual part of human existence. But orienteering adds the mental aspect as well. You have to always be on.

We ended up moving more than 60 miles in 24 hours, with probably 90-95% of that being off-trail. (Full Strava details here.) During the race, I joked with Sean that the Venn diagram of people who would actually do this is so incredibly small. You have to possess the ability to run/hike at ultramarathon distances while also calling on a deep reservoir of navigational and outdoor experience. (Or in my case, just faking it.)

___

Not The End

If any of this sounds at least mildly interesting to you, I’d encourage you to look up orienteering clubs in your city. Almost all cities have one. In LA, ours is the LAOC. They have monthly events that are usually just an hour or two in length, and they’re a great way to try your hand at it. (Also, a fun family activity for kids!) Learning these kinds of map and compass skill is deeply rewarding and can add all kinds of new dimensions to your appreciation of the outdoors.

Basically, try it! And if you have questions or want some tips, let me know. I’m happy to help.

In the end, more than being proud of what we did, I’m proud of what we learned. And I can’t wait to hack our way through the Rogaine World Championship in Lake Tahoe next August. I just hope there won’t be any fucking reentrants.

#ultrarunning #orienteering #rogaine #compass

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armeniaitn · 3 years

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Artwork by Julia Couzens, Richard Hoblock, Farzad Kohan on Display at Tufenkian Fine Arts

New Post has been published on https://armenia.in-the.news/culture/artwork-by-julia-couzens-richard-hoblock-farzad-kohan-on-display-at-tufenkian-fine-arts-73672-18-05-2021/

Artwork by Julia Couzens, Richard Hoblock, Farzad Kohan on Display at Tufenkian Fine Arts

“A New Day” Exhibition at Tufenkian Fine Arts

LOS ANGELES—Tufenkian Fine Arts is honored to present “A New Day,” an exhibition featuring bright uplifting works by Julia Couzens, Richard Hoblock, and Farzad Kohan. The exhibition opening reception will take place on May 15, from 2 to 6 p.m. and will be on view through June 26.

It’s A New Day, with Thanks to Nina Simone BY CAROLE ANN KLONARIDES

Reconsideration, repurposing, recalibration, call it what you like, for artists Julia Couzens, Richard Hoblock, and Farzad Kohan, it is an ongoing process. Layering, marking, moving the paint (the eye never rests), weaving, wrapping, scraping (the hand keeps active), a cyclical loop of rediscovery. An inspiration, perhaps, is to reconstruct a new consciousness from the salvage of our yesterdays. Sometimes the old is reinvented yet the roots remain, and new growth appears, and as cliched as it sounds, a new day begins.

Birds flying high, you know how I feel Sun in the sky, you know how I feel Breeze driftin’ on by, you know how I feel

For Richard Hoblock, it began with writing screenplays commissioned as portraits; each portrait was an imagined cinematic scene, the patron as the protagonist with underpinnings of personal details they provided. As a skilled writer, he could have several subplots at variance with each other all happening at once. After a series of screenplay portraits, he began to make abstract drawings while looking at Baroque paintings, focusing on a gesture or detail. Referring obtusely to the act of writing, his leftover pencil stubs would be ground down using a Cuisinart into a fine carbon powder which was used as a ground and drawn into. When finished, they were photographed using an 8 x 10 camera, a digital file is created, and the original drawing was then destroyed (unintentionally so was the Cuisinart!) Each photographic print was unique as part of his “Baroque Series.” This practice of layering materials and procedures, several times removed from the original, began a cycle of deconstruction and improvement, a reauthoring with each transitional stage. Yet, it was not quite an appropriation as the original source of inspiration is not apparent. It is more a process of cite and re-citing.

Farzad Kohan’s “Blue Blossom,” Mixed media, 60×48

According to the artist, he started painting seriously after seeing the Willem deKooning painting “Excavation” at the Art Institute of Chicago. An obsession with the work inspired many revisits to view it. The painting has an intensive build-up of surface that has been scraped to reveal underlying layers of paint and gesture, hence the title of the work. Starting with a color or off-white ground of paint, Hoblock also would build up layers and then scrape the surface with a palette knife or kitchen utensils, leaving the residue of previous layers along the edges as a visage of the process. Not quite a revival of gestural abstract painting, Hoblock puts it, “I went from concrete as a language to abstract as a gesture.” With such a calligraphic gesture, perhaps a screenplay is hidden within. However, it is up to the viewer to project their own, as his is not revealed with the exception of an occasional hint hidden within the title.

The most recent incarnations are vertically oriented abstract paintings that have dramatic virtuoso paint strokes of discordant colors. These seemingly would not go together but with his deft precision are found to abide on the same canvas. Fleshy pinks, cranberry reds with lipstick orange, and dull browns. Acid Green! White cutout shapes are held in front of the canvas to help the artist’s eye create the blank space needed to find the relationships within and around the gestures and forms—there can be no signature image as there is always contingency in the shifting relationships. The trajectory of this thought process finds a way for intuition to play; the outcome is not set. The work “Champion” was painted listening to the Miles Davis’ recording “Bitches Brew,” which similarly gives dead air and timing to punctuate each note creating a jarring, yet magnificent composition of discordant sounds. Replace sound with color and form and the same can be said about these gnomic paintings–what shouldn’t work comes together in a harmonious celebration of defiance.

Blossom on the tree, you know how I feel It’s a new dawn It’s a new day It’s a new life for me

Farzad Kohan prides himself as a self-taught artist always in-flux. His signature process of building up bits of ripped paper collaged on board or canvas, then distressed by sanding the surface, exposes layers of the passage of time and history of application like the age rings of a fallen tree. Ghostly bits immerge; gestures of automatic drawing, cursive lines of Farsi or Persian, the edges of torn magazine pages come forward and recede, much like distant memories. Having left his family and country of Iran at the age of eighteen, escaping first to Pakistan, then migrating to Sweden and later, settling in California, he weaves all of his past into the layers that make up his paintings and drawings with gradual transformations that sometimes hide the stories or hint at untold truths. As an émigré, a desire to be part of something bigger than himself drew him to art making; his work is imbued with a desired sense of belonging and new beginnings. The use of repellent materials, such as oil and water, perhaps metaphorically reflect the difficulties of assimilation, and his labor intensive procedures, the process of migration.

An art instillation from the “A New Day” exhibition

Inspired by a homeless man who creatively repurposed found objects, Farzad found his own economy of artistic material by using everything in his studio and surroundings. He taught art to children and learned from them, made his own paper, repurposed regional maps, created drawings and then ripped them to shreds along with discarded magazines (most commonly the local Iranian magazine Javanan), and then adhered them with water and glue in layers. For an additional pièce de résistance, in which an occasional fragment of fabric would be woven.

Lately, a series of works has turned more recognizably figurative. In each, he has firmly rooted a blossoming tree in a pot, with branches appearing to reach out of the confines of the perimeter of the rectangle. The arrangement of the carefully orientated strips of paper and the use of color is driven by form and texture. Slowly, he stopped sanding the surface, letting the paper bits layer like the bark of a tree. Underneath is evidence of the artist’s personal history, tangled lines that appear like the roots of many years of drawing automatically from the subconscious. As we walked out of his studio, he pointed to a cypress tree so tall it looked like it touched the sky. “See that, it was here the whole time and I never noticed it until recently.” I immediately thought of Van Gogh’s painting of cypress trees reaching to the sun and moon, with signature swirls and whorls in the heavy impasto. Van Gogh painted many trees, and in retrospect, the trees influenced by Japanese woodcuts are the ones that Farzad’s trees most resemble, with their minimal canopy and heavy outlines, a mastery mix of many historical and cultural influences. Not rooted in the ground but in a vessel, they are ready for transport to a new home.

Dragonfly out in the sun, you know what I mean, don’t you know? Butterflies all havin’ fun, you know what I mean Sleep in peace when day is done, that’s what I mean And this old world is a new world And a bold world, for me

As she approached the Little Flower Café in Pasadena, Julia Couzens eyed and then scooped up a doggie toggle pull toy left behind, a tight bundle of many colored strings that actually resembled some of her own sculptures. “Oh, this is so perfect for what I am working on!”, she exclaimed to me as she quickly stuffed it into her bag, a catchall for similar urban detritus she finds as she walks about. Her sculptures, which she calls “bundles,” are obsessively wrapped asymmetrical masses of rope, wire, string, yarn, bungee cord, fabric, and plastic, that have a textural physicality that gives the expression “tightly wound” a whole new meaning. Gathering, twisting, weaving, sewing, tying, all make up the form. The resulting structure, in its solidity with an occasional sharp angle, seems architectural, but is actually derived from a long history of drawing from the model or nature. Each sculpture begins like a drawing, starting with a line and continues until the intuited end with an aim to visually and physically build up layer after layer of contained energy. Like the Japanese tsutsumi (“wrapping”), used as protection for precious temple objects, one wonders if something worth protecting is contained within the sculpture’s inner core, but the contents (if there are any) are safely secured and hidden.

In making the bundles, process and materiality is something Couzens privileges over the conceptual. Whether conscious or not, her work counters the historical patriarchy of monumental sculpture. Sculptors Eva Hesse and Jackie Winsor, process and materials artists a generation before, offered a more organic approach in comparison to the minimal and conceptual work of Donald Judd and Robert Morris, whereas Couzens’ work is closer aligned to the work of Michelle Segre and Shinique Smith. Replacing the chisel with a needle, and casting with weaving, each work has a sculptural monumentality that comes out of craft traditions. They are light of weight, and if I were to wax poetic, I could see them strapped on the body as one’s total belongings carried on a nomadic sojourn. The use of color is as a force, one different from contemporary sculpture primarily made of wood, stone, and metal, with a simultaneity of color combinations that express the ineffable.

Given a rotation of 360 degrees, each side of the sculpture provides a new vantage point with a new face. There is no totality or instant read, they operate in the space like alien forms whose origins one can’t quite define and are so self-contained that they seem natural on the floor, hung from the ceiling, or protruding from a wall. It is the bringing together of these repurposed and disparate materials tightly bound in all their brilliant splendor that sends off a charge like a bundle of electrical circuitry ready to combust.

To paraphrase Couzens from a recent online response to our times, “Art’s nature is exploratory, peripheral to linear progress and predetermined order. I think its meaning sprouts from the cracks in life.” A bundle titled, “Sweet,” has a long shoot of bright green yarn that escaped and at its end is hanging a smaller bundle as if to say from the entanglements we make, there is always the possibility of something new thriving from the mess.

It’s a new dawn It’s a new day It’s a new life for me And I’m feeling good

Read original article here.

#Culture

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julianthebeautifulunicorn · 4 years

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ID a digital drawing of many assorted objects all overlapping each other and each in a different color. end ID

apparently i can only draw out of spite now. this one is aimed at my art teacher because she hated it when i sketched like this, all overlapped and stuff, but it was fun and i never have to see her again hopefully so i can do what i want.

a sketch collection of cool stuff on and around my desk I drew while waiting for the thunder and lightning to stop. including, but not limited to (because there’s so much here, I can’t even tell anymore):

two drawings of one of my cats because he was asleep on my desk and laptop and at one point he attacked my hand, so i just kinda held his hand when he fell back asleep for like 20 minutes and it was really cute

a plastic margarita cup that I’m taking to college with me and I have three other matching ones

a tiny brick I keep sticky notes under such as the one with minecraft coordinates on it so i don’t get too lost

a World’s Best Cat Mom mug my sister sent me that’s really paint splattered and full of pens i didnt feel like drawing

the hilt of a bitchin letter opener that looks like a sabre but its misproportioned so it works as a letter opener but it actually bothers me a lot

a very small pink knife i bought online while getting some pants and found on the website by accident

one of a few small bells that I have already used two to make earrings one time at 11 pm because i got bored

a bottle of liquid glue i keep on my desk so i know when my cats are up there because they always knock it off

a small pink toy car that i kept in the pocket of my denim jacket for almost a year

a collection of blue glass pebble things i bought for a craft last year but only used one of them so now I just have this bag if pebbles, but the bag broke, so now i just have a lot of loose blue pebbles just kinda dispersed throughout my room

a small shovel that is actually a spoon that i Did spend too much money on but it was totally worth it

a cool button that originally i had on a book i made, but removed it

two of those keycard holder things that attach to your belt because in middle school we had to keep our ids on us and i broke the holder by running into stuff all the time so i collected a lot of the holders

a plastic broom handle cap from the time i stole all the broom handles (and Only the handles, which i still just kinda have all of them) from the auditorium, backstage, and the prop closet at my school

two fencing medals that i still have hanging up because fencing was a bigger part of my life than i like to admit

a foam bar tap, the first prop i ever made and keep displayed with playbills and cast/crew photos, one of which im not even in because i got a concussion cause a deer head fell on me on the first day if tech week and i was only allowed to leave the house on the day of the last performance, which wasnt even a regularly scheduled show, so im very glad i got to see some part of it and when i was at the show i made friends with someone because we were both wearing khakis

a clock i have on my desk because I moved the one that used to be there and is actually the only clock on my desk which is surprising considering the state of the rest of my room (covered in clocks)

a bottle of bright yellow nail polish that i made a beeline for once i saw it in a store so i could have a whole rainbow of nail polish

a plastic cup with a built in straw that i will also be taking to college because they look like the ones i used when i was a kid, but these specific ones i bought for my brother when he went to college because of the above reason

a single red 2x2 lego brick that i honestly dont know how it got in here

a small wooden box I keep quarters in that i want to paint but havent and probably wont

a small blue carabiner i took from my friends lunchbox a few years ago and is one of the three things I have stolen that I have actually kept (I keep track of them because I almost always give everything back and feel very guilty for these outliers, but i’ll probably never see those people again, so rip i guess) (the other two things are a black wooden pencil i took from a friend in 9th grade gym class and a blue and orange mechanical pencil i took from the same person as the carabiner) oh, i have two other things, i guess, but one i just kept taking and eventually i was allowed to keep it and the other is nearly identical and was given willingly to continue to joke i think and/or out of habit

…i may have actually gotten it all (plus a bunch of other stuff)

this is what happens when im tired and have internet access. i overshare. this is all youll ever need to know about me.

btw this is me substituting bringing someone into my room and telling them the stories behind all my tchotchkes because i Love to talk and tell stories but physically talking is hard

#aw beans thats a horrid id and i know it #i dont know how to describe this chaos #my keyboards kinda broken so typing is a little bit of hell #eye strain #tw eye strain #either this is gonna be obnoxiously long or im gonna learn how to make page breaks #haHA i have DONE IT..hopefully #the thunder and lightning have stopped. i can sleep.#jtbu art #all that really came from me drawing and listening to loud music to avoid having to sleep during a thunderstorm #if you read all that #i commend you #you now know very many things about me #i havent stayed up this late in a while #im so tired but im Vibing so #like #its fine #(its not. i need sleep)#oversharing

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dontbethatshank · 7 years

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Teach Me How To Listen (pt. 3)

Imagine: High School AU short-series - Newt pairing

A/N: I guess this is kind of a filler but I wanted Y/N to meet the other characters and like a friendship to be established with the two other chracters and yea sorry-

Saturday. 11.42 AM.

With a groan you rolled over onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. Your hair laid around you, creating a knotted, frizzy halo around your head - one that one that would take you a good ten minutes to detangle and rearrange. Sighing, you threw your arm over your eyes, your eyes finding solace in the dark corner of your elbow.

After you put it off long enough and once you were cold enough to actually get up to retrieve your thrown blanket from your floor, you finally woke up. With a swing on your legs you were standing on the floor, stretching and cracking your neck, back, arms, and ah - yes - your neck again, just for good measure. With a contented lazy smile, you walked out of your room and down the hallway, stumbling still a bit bleary eyed into the bathroom.

With just a faint and brief glance into the mirror, you knew you were a hot mess. Brush in hand you began to brush out your hair with one hand, the other turning on the shower. As you waited for the water to warm up you continued pulling at and detangling your rat’s nest you liked to call “hair”. After a minute’s wait, he shower was ready. With a few more tugs and rushed strokes of the brush, you got out the majority of the knots, only leaving some small ones in your wake. You stripped out of your sweatshirt, kicked off your shorts, and all but fell into the shower.

Now you were awake. And now, you had to clean yourself. High school sports games and events apparently meant that you had to obtain a layer of the grime and dirt - even if you weren’t the one playing said event. And so, that’s how you spent your late morning; scrubbing yourself red.

12:58 AM.

With a hum, you tossed your towel into a hamper. You showered, dried off, got dressed, and attempted once more to wring out your hair - though the dampness still stayed after another couple minutes of squeezing and pressing. And with said defeat, you found your way into the kitchen. You had 2 hours before you had to go and tutor Newt - and the thought had barely registered in your head.

Instead, you continued about your day. A box of cereal was in hand and so was a bowl. As you continued humming along, pouring yourself a very... considerate, portion of cereal, you turned back around, grabbing out the milk to top off said dish. And que you sitting on the counter, legs crossed, munching on your cereal as you looked out the window, the bright pink post-it on the fridge left by your mom forgotten as soon as it was noticed in your mind.

Probably another late night or she has to go another dinner, you thought, a small tug of sadness tugging at your heart but a shrug following directly after. Your mom worked a lot - she supported you in everything you did. She made time for you when she could - but you also acknowledged that she was busy with her job - and she was so close to her goal, too. So lonely Saturday mornings spent eating cereal by yourself were bearable enough whenever the thought of being able to see her more than three nights a week for dinner would be a possibility with this promotion came along with it.

By the time you had finished your bowl of cereal, you had barely realized it was gone. With a half frown you tipped your head side to side before hopping off the counter, deciding that yes, an orange goes perfectly with cereal and balances out the most important meal of your day. And so you grabbed an orange, peeling it before heading back upstairs to continue your journey for the day.

1:37 PM.

You had to leave the house by about 2:35-2:40 to get to Newt’s, at 3. But being raised by your mother who was a prude towards lateness, you knew you had to leave at about 2:20 in order to get there about 15 minutes early - just as you were taught to. So, glancing at the clock, you knew you had a good amount of time. “What do I need, what do I need, what oh what could I ever so need,” you mused to yourself, grabbing an empty satchel bag from behind your door. Glancing about, you rummaged in your closet for your old French 2 textbook, and with a few fruits and plenty of persistence, you found the sucker. Check one. Newt, you thought, you need the notebook Mr. Blackburn gave to you. And just as it should have been, it laid inside your book bag from a few days ago, nestled int he back behind your own personal notebooks. Check two. Finally, you would need the small stuff; high light, pen, pencil, and post-it notes. Check three.

Glancing into the small satchel you grinned to yourself. You knew you liked to be way too organised than you as a person truly were. Your notes were always color coded, organized, and sectioned off. But, well... the rest of you was lucky it wasn’t forgotten in a drawer somewhere. You were forgetful, clumsy, and very disorganized - but at least you had nice notes, right? With a small laugh at your own ironic self, you flopped back down onto your bed, looking up at the ceiling. You had pulled on your sweated, got on your shoes, packed your bag, you had eaten and you had showered - what else did you need to do besides go and teach this boy how to speak?

Glancing at the bright blue numbers on your alarm clock, the numbers 2:01 glared back at you silently. With a groan you knit your eyebrows together, weighing the pros and cons of leaving early. On one hand, it shows your punctuality and you could even be done sooner. On the other hand, he may be out doing errands or he might find it odd that you would just show up an hour before the agreed upon meeting time. With a couple more minutes of pondering, the words “fuck it” stuck out and stuck to you before you grabbed your bag and left out the front door, keys and phone in hand. Punctuality was a good quality to show off.

About 30 minutes later you pulled into Newt’s driveway, only one other car being parked in it. Once parked, you shut off the engine, double checking your bag to make sure that you did indeed have everything you deemed necessary for the occasion. With a final huff of air, you climbed out of your car, scuffling towards the front door, a small, excited smile resting on your lips as a buzzing feeling came to rest inside your stomach again. Pushing back said feeling, you knocked on the front door. Your knocks were hard, loud, and curt.

A mumbled line of words and some shuffling around could be heard. Soon, another boy opened the door. It was the boy from the game - Thomas. With a wicked grin, Thomas leaned against the door frame, grinning at you as he gave you a quick once over.

“Well, you aren’t pizza,” Thomas quipped, mockingly almost.

“And you aren’t a good sense of humor,” you replied dryly, a raise of the eyebrow added for flare. Thomas snorted, rolling his eyes, but the grin staying in place. It grew wider. Thomas studied you for a minute, quietly, deciding his next approach, but you only grew more impatient - it was cold and your hair was still damp and damp sweaters didn’t keep people very warm, okay?

“Hey! Tommy, what’s your dumb shank-self doing, letting all my warm air out, eh?” came a British accent, the teasing tone all too evident. “Company,” Thomas called back, grinning at you before straightening up, making room for you to enter. And at the same time, Newt came strolling up - his eyes widening as he saw you. A blush settled on his cheeks, his fingers carding through his hair quickly, flicking the stray strands from his face like a nervous habit he had picked up. His feet shuffled and he cleared his throat, throwing an eyebrow up as he greeted you.

“Y/N! I wasn’t expecting you for hours it’s onl- oh. It’s 2:34. Oh, well... I wasn’t expecting you for another 30 minutes at least then,” Newt offered, rubbing the back of his neck. You blushed lightly, though not too much from embarrassment, moreso from how stupid you felt - that was beside the point now. “Nah, no worries. I can come back lat-” you began, waving off the issue, about to retract your steps. But then a hand pulled you in, wrappings its long, firm fingers around your wrist and tugging you inside to the warmth of the house. Thomas grinned down at you, shaking his head as if to restate his disapproval of your statement

“Nah don’t even worry! Once pizza gets here and we all eat, we’ll all go back across the street to my place, but you - you don’t need to be out in the cold. So join us,” Thomas suggested, an arm throwing itself around your shoulders, leading you back into the living room. Your voice stuttered, rising up to give an excuse - to dismiss the idea. You didn't want to intrude and honestly you felt kind of out of place being in a house filled with only boys, you presumed. But soon, Thomas was sitting you down in a big, comfy chair, a glass and concrete table in front of you offering a small selection of drinks and snacks - mostly candies, but snacks nonetheless. Thomas flopped back down on one of the couches, a dark skinned boy next to him - a boy you had never met. They continued with their game, and Newt came back into the room directly after - a fourth boy following him.

“Uh, Y/N, well - you know Tommy, I suppose - and me, obviously. This is NIck, and then that there is Alby,” Newt awkwardly introduced, his thumb sticking out to the boy right behind him first then his hand flinging in the general area of where the other nameless boy sat. “Nice to meet all of y-” you began to reply, a shy smile playing on your lips before you were cut off b yet another voice.

“Excuse you! Don’t forget about me!” came a voice, and a short, chubby boy around the age of 11-12 popped up from around Newt, large chocolate curls framing his face and a roll of his eyes accompanying his statement. He looked at you and smiled, snagging a seat on the end of the couch directly next to you. “I’m Chuck, that dumb shank forgot to include my existence here,” the boy grinned, greeting you.

“Y/N. And the pleasure is all mine, Chuck,” you laughed, smiling at the boy. Newt threw you another apologetic smile before being dragged to the couch Chuck sat on, both sitting up at the top of the piece of furniture. But the apologetic look was gone, his eyes soon focused on the screen where he and Nick had joined in on the game once again. Upon closer inspection, you realized it was Mario Kart, and your eyes almost rolled out of your head.

Of course. 17 and 18 year old boys would of course be playing Mario Kart. With a small laugh to yourself, you looked at Chuck who decided to start a small side conversation, which you quickly decided to participate in. You supposed you could wait the extra hour or so to tutor Newt. This wasn’t too bad of a setup.

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allisenoble · 6 years

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Hello! Today I want to show you a fun beginner project you can do to practice blending colors with watercolor paints and markers. If you are a complete beginner to color mixing, it is easiest to stick to either all warm colors (red, yellow, pink, orange …) or all cool colors like I did (blue, green, violet …). Some colors when blended together turn into “mud”, making a neutral like brown or gray. This is where understanding the color wheel comes in handy! For more about the color wheel, visit my earlier post Colors Aren’t Scary :). For this project, we will try out both flat brushes and round brushes. Round brushes have a teardrop shaped bristle that comes to a point at the end, and flat brushes have rectangular shaped bristles that are, well, flat on the end. Pretty easy to remember! It’s good to have a variety of sizes of each. Your brush size depends on the size of the area you are filling in. If your brush is too big, you risk getting paint where you don’t want it but if your brush is too small, you will see all the little strokes and the paint won’t cover evenly.

I started first with an outline, drawing my design in pencil on watercolor paper and then tracing over it with a waterproof black fine-liner pen (Sharpie fine points will work – You do not necessarily need a fancy art pen, though my preference when I do watercolor and ink work are these bad boys by Staedler.). You can draw your design however you want, or if you want to practice this technique without the added pressure of drawing, feel free to print this outline out and use graphite paper to transfer it right onto a piece of watercolor paper (Don’t have graphite paper on hand? Just shade over the back of your printout with a pencil, lay it on top of your watercolor paper, and trace over the lines and it will work the same way, though a bit more labor intensive.).

With watercolor, you want to start with the background and move to the foreground, and you always want to work lightest to darkest. It’s all about layering and building up colors since the paints themselves are translucent. In this more simplified project, we will be focusing just on blending this time, not layering. Still, working with the background first ensures that if any background color does find its way into the waves, which it inevitably will, we can just work right over it later and you won’t even notice by the end. Starting with the background, you want to choose a couple of colors (I used a cornflower blue and a cerulean blue.) and water them down so that they are consisting of mainly water with a small amount of pigment. Then you want to use a larger round brush and start filling in the space using circular motions. This will give our background wash a bit of texture, so that it has a hazy, cloud-like appearance rather than just flat streaks. I applied the cornflower blue on the bottom half of my sky and the cerulean on the top. Because both colors are wet, they should bleed into each other and blend together in a pretty seamless gradation. Be sure to overlap the two colors slightly where they meet. If they aren’t blending enough, you may also rinse off your brush and using the same circular motion run over the line where they touch with your damp brush to work them together further.

Color blending is one of the foundation skills of painting with watercolors, but it takes a lot of practice. Good thing you are about to get a lot of it! We did a textured blend for the background, but within an individual space inside our waves, we are now going to practice some flat blending with the goal of getting our colors to merge into as smooth of a gradation as possible. Now we are going to use a medium sized flat brush. A flat brush will be perfect for the smooth effect we need and will also be easier to keep inside the edges of our geometric shapes. You can tilt the brush so you are only using the tip rather than the whole side for narrower areas. Pick 2 different colors, and start painting one color on one end until you’ve gotten to about halfway across. Rinse your brush, and paint in another color starting on the opposite end, overlapping in the middle. A unique quality watercolor has is that when one color touches another while it is still wet, they WILL bleed into each other. In this case, that is a good thing as using wet-on-wet color with watercolors makes for some pretty low-effort, seamless blending. Still, watercolor can be finicky and things don’t always go as planned. I purposely filled the shape in so that there are darker, patchy areas and a harsh transition between the two colors. This happens sometimes, but can be easily rectified by going back over the uneven area with a damp brush. Be sure to always paint in the same direction, following the length of your shape.

Blending with watercolor markers is a similar process, but you need to be a bit more controlled with your water application so that you don’t completely lose the effect of the ink. I love watercolor markers because you can get such bold contrast, but a little bit of ink goes a long way, and with too much water your separate colors will just swim all together into one mass. I cannot emphasize enough, quality also matters. If you get cheap markers, chances are they won’t blend nicely no matter how skillful the artist. They don’t need to be officially called “watercolor markers”, they just need to be water soluble so they will run when wet. I love using Tombow’s water soluble brush markers. You also need to think about the values of the markers you are using. Deeper colors will spread a lot farther than paler colors, and can overpower. I have started with a darker color, a royal blue, and a lighter more muted color, a sage green. Start by scribbling a bit of each color on opposite ends of your shape. You do NOT want to shade the entire area in. Again, a little bit of ink goes a long way when water is added. Then, still using a flat brush you want to dip your brush in some water, tapping off the extra on a nearby paper towel. Wet the ink on one side and work it into the middle of the shape. Rinse off your brush, and wet the ink on the other side, again working towards the middle where they will meet. The wet colors will again, flow together and seamlessly blend pretty much on their own once they meet, staying darkest where you first laid down the ink. You can see above that a gradation is apparent, but the blue has pretty much taken over as the main color you see.

Trying the process again using the same 2 colors, but shading in only a tiny bit of blue and more of the green, you can see we get a more balanced effect where the pure green color is still highly visible.

You can also create a gradation with only one color. The beauty of watercolor is the depth of value that can be captured from one single hue, simply by adjusting the amount of water added. To do this you would apply a bit of the same color on each end in a darker or medium value (mixing less water with your paint). Then, rinsing off your brush, add some water to the edge of the area of color on each side, again spreading towards the center from each end. The color will remain most saturated at the ends, and will be the lightest (most watered down) in the center.

If at any point you add too much water, your gradation is in danger of all just running together into one flat tone. If this happens, you can blot the area with a paper towel to lift the excess water (and some of the pigment), and then blend right over again. You don’t want to see any “puddles” pooling on your paper … that is a sign there is too much water being used. Also keep in mind damp is ok, but if you are filling in a new area next to an old one that is still very wet, the colors will bleed together over your lines. Sometimes it helps to use a blow-dryer to speed along the drying process. Or, you could just work on filling in areas that aren’t touching each other until each spot dries. The paint air dries pretty quick.

Here is a reminder of the final image! It is the same blending process for each section, which is what makes it good practice. I filled in some spaces using the markers, and some with paint. I kept lighter colors on the crests of the waves, and alternated medium and dark tones throughout the body of water, making sure not to fill in too many of the same colors right next to each other. It always feels good to still have some sort of finished product after practicing techniques, and I guarantee you will start to see a difference in the first couple spaces you fill in versus the last! Remember, it’s all about playing with color. Have fun!

Blending With Watercolors – Stained Glass Ocean Project Hello! Today I want to show you a fun beginner project you can do to practice blending colors with watercolor paints and markers.

#art #art education #art practice #color #color blending #color mixing #lesson #ocean #painting #project #seascape #simple art project #stained glass #step by step #tutorial #visual learning #watercolor #waves

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danchoujo · 6 years

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september 24th, 2018

woke up from:

an almost functioning narrative

the beginning is blurry as always but it's starts with the top few floors of an apartment building, which switches between having a few regular rooms on each floor to just one lavish room/department store on each floor. at one point I am at wu mei's apartment, which is crazy nice and goes in a circle that melds together with some sort of mall.

this goes away and I'm somewhere I don't remember. then I climb the stairs and enter a room with some kids that are supposedly my cousins, but I see unrelated people there. I help them move this heavy block that looks like a old tv. there are two of them and we put them into a small, shallow pool (10x15ft, about three feet deep but at some points it seems like four). one side of the pool has the ledges passed with pale pink pillow things. the other side is pushed against a wall with some squarish screens in it. this set up is for some weird video game (the back of my mind keeps insistent it's wii something) but instead of making the block things race within the pool jmomey and Jonathan (pearl's cousin from pshine2015) jump in and start swimming. I think that jmoney is going to win but he's several seconds behind Jonathan, who comes in at 7.1sec.

while this is happening I'm sitting to the bottom right of the pool with some girl (we are near the entrance). this girl is white but has a blue tinge to her skin sometimes. she's a bit chubby, with a wide, bulbous nose and light, wavy, greyish ash blonde hair that is falling out of a thick black silk ribbon at the back of her head. she is wearing a loose crewneck sweatshirt that is a bit frayed at the collar. her name is something like erina or alice? she seems to be around my age, maybe a little younger, and says, "I know I don't look like much, but I'm actually the god of attraction/attractiveness." I think about the people who must make fun of her looks and I feel a bit sorry for her.

it's raining hard outside and I think, in the back of my head, that I have to get back to somewhere (my grandma's place? I can't remember) downstairs. I go to the door (nearby) and see that's it's raining like crazy, so I take the umbrella that's hanging from the top off the doorway. it's light blue and ruffly with lace, so it may be a parasol, but I don't have much choice at this point.

I don't want to pull the umbrella open all the way so I attempt multiple times too walk to the stairs with the umbrella scrunched open slightly. it doesn't work. rain pours through the umbrella as if h it was full of holes (though there are none when I check). eventually I open it a bit wider and I'm fine.

the original goal was to go down one floor, but now it is to go up one floor. I have a hard time finding the stairs and one I make it up it looks somewhat like the food court area of the duty free store in thailand, but empty. I am positively dripping in rain by this point. as I walk along the circle that this is in, I remember that I still have the umbrella, which now is my grandmother's. I contemplate not returning it but decide that I have to, side it's my grandma.

I look around so see if there is anyone (at this point in mostly exploring) and wu mei pops up. apparently this mall like place is her apartment, and she's swiffering this one section of floors? I ask her to lead me out and she takes me the way I came.

but instead of getting back to the stairs, we end up entering this cramped mall like area that merges seamlessly into her home. during this short walk I have been following my wet footprints (which are not backwards like I'd think) and I become intrigued when the footprints walk closer to the stores. it walks past two or the stores and seems to enter one with red walls. when I enter, the lighting is weak; it has several rows of wooden pews pushed the same brick red color as the walls and at the other end of the store they're is a dance floor. many people are dancing, and behind them is a big screen of the music video of whatever they are dancing to. someone tells me that jungkook of bts is there and I think that I can see him, so of course I rush down between the pews to get a better look. indeed, he is there with his bright pinky red hair and a black outfit (from the lotte concert before the idol comeback, but the straps are less present). there are people dancing around him but they are giving him a wide berth, and I can see him quite clearly. I whip out my phone and take a snapchat where he syncs up with the man dancing in the music video. in the back of my head I am aware that this is too fantastical to be real and that is a dream, but I don't consciously think this. instead, I hope very hard that this snap posts properly.

it doesn't. a white guy from the right comes up next to me and shows me an app on his phone that nasa or the government or something uses. it shows a gps of the mall he zooms into the dance floor, which is outlined with orange. he says that means that this area has bad connection and that it's hard to upload things because of that. I understand this but I still feel a bit disappointed.

the music suddenly stops and. someone starts speaking into a microphone. they say to come towards the front of the pews and sit down. this isn't said in a threatening massacre way, but I get the feeling something bad is about to happen when I start moving forward. people are coming out of the pews and the walkway is getting cramped, but it is very easy for me to go forward. part of me wants to go to the very front in case this is a meet and greet with jungkook, but my wariness makes me hang back at the third row of pews, even though there are gaps between the people in front of me that would allow me to the front very easily. app nerd guy starts with me and i'm a bit wary of him because while he seems harmless he is a very obvious stranger to me and: taller and looks stronger than me. but I mostly ignore him. instead of sitting at the pews, everybody gets onto the ground in an earthquake safety position (on knees with torso hunched over and and on the ground or over head).

the person at the mic says that they (plural) will go around and greet everybody. this isn't like a meet and greet, instead it is more like a business workshop that teaches you how to greet people professionally. I get the feeling that they are testing us to see if we can do it properly, and that something horrible will happen to us if we mess up. since I'm scared, I crawl into between the second and third pews slightly. I am stopped by a black rooster. it's dark, so I can only see it's silhouette, but it's slender and sharp like the ones on weather vanes and I'm afraid that it's going to peck me so I don't go further into the pews.

I can hear the people around me get approached by the event people. from what I can hear you have to shake their hand and greet them. I have this bashing feeling that I'm going to misgender whoever I'm taking to and call them a lady, and I become more fearful and anxious as the event people get closer. I can hear app nerd guy do the greeting correctly, and then I'm next. the rooster under the pews is now a full black cat, so I crawl a bit back under to find some comfort. I make the kissing sounds I make for momo and the cat immediately shoves its face into mind. I think to myself that this cat is a lot more forward than momo, and then I must stand up to face the greeters.

I stand up (sit up?) and see a lady in a business suit and pencil skirt with jungkook, except instead of jungkook its this guy freddy from my freshman learning community two years ago. I greet the lady correctly but I reach out with my left hand when we go do the handshake. for some reason I thought that business people shook hands with their left because they had to hold stuff in their right, but obviously the lady held out her right hand and our hands bumped awkwardly.

people that did the greeting incorrectly started turning into various monsters like zombies and ghouls. I felt my own face start to twist and change. because I only messed up half of the greeting, only half of me changed. this is one of the rare dreams (only dream) where I am in first person instead of third, so I can't see my own face, but I can feel it twisting and tingling. I have the feeling that the skin " the top left side of my face is cooling and blueing.

naturally, I'm freaking out. I turn to app nerd guy since he did the greeting correctly and is still human. however, his skin has also blued and I can see his canines extending past his lips. his hair, which was dark brown and a bit curly, turns black and so does his beard (hugh jackman style). his clothes (red orange zip up hoodie) haven't changed. he looks just as terrified as I am, back against a pew and arms and legs pulled toward himself.

I'm confused because I thought he would stay human, but then I realized that everyone is turning into monsters; the people that did the greeting incorrectly just turned into monsters that had less autonomy of themselves while the people that did it correctly got turned into more model creatures like vampires, werewolves, (less decayed) zombies, etc. app nerd guy and I seem to reach this conclusion simultaneously, and I ask him what I've turned into. he balls his hands into fists and moves then near his face in the universal sign for cat. at this moment I catch a glimpse of myself. the upper left side of my face is a pale blue, and some small horns can be seen protruding from my forehead and temples where my hair is pulled back. my left ear is pointed, and I have vaguely pointed teeth. some of my hair is pulled back into a black ribbon, and my hands are boney and sharp clawed when I move them to touch my face. I guess I'm a cat demon or something? I conclude that this is partially a result of the cat I made contact with right before the greeting.

app nerd guy and I sit in panicked despair for a while, and then the lady and jungkook (who is jungkook again) walk by us. jungkook reaches out to run his hands through our hair, and im not sure why I'm compelled to but I push my head into his hand and then his hip.

as they walk away app nerd guy speaks, but the words don't seem to be coming from his mouth. "nobody can resist that guy, but that's not even his real form. apparently his real form is very plain, but he shifts into that appearance so he can attract people." (he also said something about thighs bursting out of pants but I'm not sure what the wording is. it was weird)

when he says this I am suddenly reminded of erina/alice, and I know in my heart that she is jungkook. she attracted everybody here and turned them into monsters to punish them for mocking her looks.

I wake up.

#dream log #when i recounted this dream to my friends it sounded like. almost comedic bc it's so fantastical #but during the dream it was bad :(#i went from panicked to confused to fanatical to terrified

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nofomoartworld · 8 years

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Hyperallergic: Robert Mangold’s Sense of Things

Installation view of “Robert Mangold: A Survey 1965-2003” (2017), Mnuchin Gallery, New York. Left: “Plane/Figure Series G (Double Panel)” (1994), acrylic and black pencil on canvas, 84 x 98 inches. Right: “Plane Figure Series A” (1993), acrylic and black pencil on canvas, 112 x 168 inches (all photos by Tom Powel Imaging and courtesy Mnuchin Gallery)

Robert Mangold makes you aware that a painting is a flat fragment mounted on a wall, with further tensions expressed through the relationship between interior line and container. He has alluded to architectural structures, such as a column, or used the open interior of a multi-panel painting to frame an empty rectangle on a wall, with a continuous oval line contributing an additional framing element. For Mangold, more than any other artist of his generation, painting is contingent, rather than self-sufficient. It is part of an active relationship.

Over the years, I have noticed that the dialogue between the work and the wall is often the first factor of Mangold’s work to hold my attention: it prompts me to look for other dialogues. At times, there is a feeling of lightness that is counterbalanced by a sense of weight. For instance, the bottom edge of many of his works is wider than the top. Gracefulness and awkwardness often become indistinguishable. In the best works — and there are many — the stress is exquisite.

The dialogue that Mangold initiates between painting and wall raises the issue of vulnerability, which is not a state we necessarily associate with large abstract works. In contrast to many similarly scaled paintings, his work never comes across as authoritarian. No matter how large they are, they don’t sit on the wall like “an 800 pound gorilla,” as Thomas Nozkowski characterized the monumental works he saw in the 1970s. There are too many tension points running through the work — from the line’s relationship to the painting (or container) to the painting’s relationship to the wall — for it to come across as self-satisfied or controlling.

Installation view of “Robert Mangold: A Survey 1965-2003” (2017), Mnuchin Gallery, New York

This sense of a painting as a portable fragment with pressure points along graphic and actual seams becomes readily apparent when we look at works the artist has done at various points in his career, which is the case with Robert Mangold: A Survey 1965 – 2003 at Mnuchin Gallery (February 14 – March 25, 2017).

In an early work, “½ W, V, X Series (Orange, Green, Blue)” (1968), three semicircles are at once complete and incomplete. The artist has cut and fitted four vertical pieces of masonite to create each semicircle, as well as used a black pencil to draw either four or six diagonal lines within the masonite sections. Each of the drawn lines intersects the cut edge of the masonite at one corner or the other. The logic feels intuitive, something discovered within the parameters the artist has set for himself.

Robert Mangold, “Pink Area” (1965), sprayed oil on Masonite on plywood, 96 7/16 x 96 7/16 inches

At a time when many considered drawing and painting to be separate and distinct activities, Mangold united them in a way that must be called Mangoldian. This means that he has united them while simultaneously giving each its own place, creating another site of tension.

In “Circle Painting # 4” (1973), Mangold draws a square in white pencil on the circle’s violet ground. The lines of the square, meet the circle’s circumference on the left, but do not do so on the right, extending instead beyond the outer edge. This simple fact is visually arresting. The square’s missing right corners introduce a note of instability into the circle’s otherwise stable form. Nothing, you might conclude, is secure or permanent. Although I do not think this was Mangold’s intention, his work seems to incorporate the quiet doubt running beneath everything we undertake, the sense that whatever we plan to do, we might very easily have miscalculated. For all of their coolness and classicism, this is what makes the work feel deeply human to me.

Robert Mangold, “Four Color Frame Painting #13” (1985), acrylic and black pencil on canvas, 94 3/4 x 72 inches (left) and “Red/Green X Within X #2” (1982), acrylic and black pencil on canvas, 67 x 75 inches (right)

In “Four Color Frame Painting # 13” (1985) — which is from one of my favorites series by this artist — Mangold brings together four narrow, monochromatic rectangles of different lengths and widths to frame a rectangular space on the wall. While the canvas on the top rests on those making up the sides, it does not fully span across the vertical on right. In fact, there is something misaligned about the whole structure. At the same time, Mangold has drawn an oval line that goes through each of the four rectangles. This line holds the canvases in place (literally instructing the installer where the sections should be aligned). The line touches the exterior edge of three rectangles, but not the pale green one on the right. By using the line to unite the four sections while avoiding the outer edge of the right panel, Mangold makes the viewer conscious of balance and imbalance. Meanwhile the oval — or head-like contour — adds another consideration into our experience. What are we to make of this absence palpably present before us?

In paintings made of two and three panels, the drawn ovals within them contract, expand, and intersect. In “Curved Plane/Figure VIII (study in three parts)” (1995), an oval on the right leans against a second, erect one situated between the painting’s middle and left sections, evoking a classical head resting against another. The ovals are abstract, and we are projecting this reading onto them. And yet Mangold invites this projection, with its suggestion of tenderness, without devolving into sentimentality. This is why Mangold is such an important and necessary artist: he always finds a way to inject feeling into his work.

Robert Mangold, “Plane Figure Series A” (1993), acrylic and black pencil on canvas, 112 x 168 inches (left) and “Circle Painting #4” (1973), acrylic and white pencil on canvas, diameter 48 inches (right)

It seems to me that Mangold has extended something he probably first saw in Barnett Newman, in paintings such as “Black Fire 1” (1961) and “Vir Heroicus Sublimis” (1951), which is the intuitive sectioning of the surface through line and colored planes. In Mangold’s work, the relationship between line and container reaches an even more acute pitch. By establishing a dialogue between the painting and the wall, he also reminds us that relationships are the basis of being, and that nothing achieves self-sufficiency, not even abstract art. At the heart of this is an awareness that everything is subject to change. Mangold is not a reductive artist, but one who found a way to work with basic elements (color, line, and shape) that could not be reduced any further. He infused these elements with an unmistakable sensibility that is open and humane. In this regard he stands on the opposite end of the spectrum from Frank Stella’s aggressive materialism.

Robert Mangold: A Survey 1965 – 2003 continues at Mnuchin Gallery (45 East 78th Street, Upper East Side, Manhattan) through March 25

The post Robert Mangold’s Sense of Things appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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mysticsparklewings · 5 years

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Velvety Birthday Cake

As a little thank you for all the birthday wishes; here's some art from me to you! :3 And oh boy, was this a wild time to make! I mentioned in my 2019 Art Summary! that I wanted to do another custom Shopkin drawing to celebrate my birthday as I did with Birthday Wishes last year, and I...half-way stuck to that idea I ended up going with a Num Nom instead of a Shopkin, as just like with that other Shopkin, until now I had only ever drawn 1-2 Num Noms on a dry erase board for fun, and also looking through the different Shopkins I was considering, none of the ones I picked out felt quite right. Then it occurred to me since the Num Nomes are more strictly food (more specifically sweets) oriented than Shopkins, that to be sure there was at least one red velvet option to choose from (since once again my birthday cake is to be of the velvety and red kind ). I was right! And in fact, I had a couple of different options to choose from. I ended up going with the series 4 Num, Velvety Cake, and "borrowing" the candle from the Birthday Polish-it Nom. (Although it occurs to me just now that I kinda didn't have to "choose" between the candle and Velvety's berries because the whole point of some of the series 4 Nums is that they have holes in the top for the Polish-it Nom tops to stick out of... Lesson learned for next time?) The main customizing I did here was, naturally, the berries from Velvety's design got taken out, partially for the sake of simplicity and I thought those and the candle would be too crowded, and also because, frankly, I don't think I'd want berries on a red velvet cake. Even raspberries, and I generally really like raspberries. I'm just not much of a mix-fruits-into-baked-goods person. The other custom thing was making the...I assume cream cheese frosting because that's was everyone else and their mother pairs with red velvet...into chocolate frosting because that's what I prefer. (And highly recommend if you've never tried it! Red velvet is a derivative/cousin of chocolate cake, so the flavor profiles go together very nicely!) The thing about this drawing from start to finish that held me up the most was figuring out the mediums/textures to get and use correctly. Originally, I thought I'd use much more of the Faber Castell gelatos for this, but 1. I didn't have nearly the color selection I needed, and 2. Even if I had, the tips of them are bit chunky and difficult to get in exact spaces. I learned the latter point first-hand at the end when I went back to darken up the lines/rough edges on the chocolate frosting with one. I managed in the end, but it was much trickier than I had even imagined it would be. Speaking of those "rough edges," they're honestly where a lot of the problems came from. In addition to not having great solutions for how to get just the right texture for them (crayons ended up being my main source on that after the gelatos didn't pan out so well), I also had a hard time getting the right colors. Like I side, I don't have a huge color selection for the gelatos, and the crayons...well, despite having the full Crayola 152 set, there actually wasn't a ton of variety over there either, mostly because a lot of the crayons color out more pastel than they look, so you get a lot that look pretty same-y and too light. So I did have to supplement slightly by using color pencils in the lines too. Ten years later once I had the lines figured out though, then it was time to move out to actually coloring the thing, and this went slightly smoother since I had better-ish ideas of how I wanted to go about it. I'd decided to use a watercolor base on the body (all the pinky-red you see), then use alcohol marker as a base everywhere else, and supplement any shading as necessary with colored pencils. When I went in with the watercolor I tried to get some shading in and get a little of a "cake" texture; dots/holes. However, whatever I managed to do for texture ended up getting lost under the pencil shading later because the watercolor shading needed some serious help. Fortunately, my colored pencils were able to mostly salvage that. For some reason, the two sections farthest to the left came out slightly more pinky/purple, but there wasn't much I could do to fix that. Other than that though, after I went in with the pencils I was pretty happy with how the body was looking, if a little pink for red velvet, but in my defense, the official artwork is too. So then I did marker bases and basic shading for the candle, flame, frosting, and her eyes and mouth. The candle and her face were pretty straight-forward, aside from the mouth being simple gradients. The frosting was a bit trickier, given the way the shading goes and how I had to blend it out. Still, even that ended up working out better and more quickly than I anticipated. I did have to go back over my thick lines for the face with one of my markers to get it back to the proper hue after my colored pencils and the surrounding watercolor paled out/wore off the original lines pretty noticeably. And I was so nervous the whole time because I was using the brush tip and concerned that at any moment I might apply just a little too much pressure and ruin everything. But fortunately, that's not what happened. Then I went back to add the shine on the frosting, which took more patience. I'd put pencil on, blend it out, and repeat several times over before the shine was exactly how I wanted it. Naturally, the white accents on her eyes and a teeny tiny bit on her nose were done with white gel pen...not much else to say about that. Then it was time to do some sort of background. After some thought, I wanted to go with my PanPastels. And while I really wanted to do pink and yellow, I went in telling myself no, that it had to only be yellow because I physically can't get my pink one separated from the little tower to use it. (All five colors I have screw together into one cylinder and you unscrew the little tower to get the one you want; at some point, the pink was twisted on way too tight and now I can't get it off to save my life.) But after I did just the yellow...It was missing something. Then I got an idea and went digging through my old makeup. I ended up using a little of an old pastel pink eyeshadow and a blush, neither of which I think I've used in the last 2-3 years (and probably shouldn't at this point because makeup does expire, usually within a year or so) and blended some pink into the yellow, mostly on the corners. Which created this nice glowing effect and a really pretty shade of peach/orange. It's an unconventional "mixed media" method, but I'm so glad I tried it; makes me want to get more cheap eyeshadow & blushes just to use them as pastels! (Although I'm pretty sure for fine art/art you're seeling the original copy of that's probably not the best thing to do since it's not made for that, but if you really wanted to...!) I couldn't decide where to sign it, so I added my signature, subtlely, in-post on the computer. Which was way more difficult than it should've been because my tablet is out of commission and I'm using a completely different set up that doesn't work anywhere near as well. But it's there and it's done. (However, once I get...some solution sorted out...I may update this piece so it's all a bit nicer, we'll see.) Unfortunately, I discovered that apparently, I hit some pink/purple/dark reddish-maroon colors that my scanner (or maybe computers in general?) can't pick up accurately, much like on I'm Not Dead. And you know what the kicker is? It was on the lines and rough edges where that happened! The parts I worked the hardest on! BOO!! >:( (And the shading on the frosting wasn't quite right, but that was slightly less concerning.) I think I managed to mostly fix it with the overlay trick I used last time, but it's still not quite right. :P But hey, it's still pretty cute, it's done, and I can move on with my life now. Thank you again to anyone that's sent me birthday wishes or been kind enough to help out with the tablet situation I’ve been dealing with; it really means a lot and I can't put into words just how much I appreciate it all! You all are bright lights in a sea of darkness. ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble | Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

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