#for backgrounds I think I just need the looseness of paint and the texture of brush on paper

[sharpbutsoft]

So I know you do digital art, but The Hanged fireMan looks like a watercolor. Do you work with watercolors as well, or is it the program you use?

(please brag about your art process, basically)

Yeah! So I do all my (fan)art in everyone’s favourite innuendo of an art program, Procreate. (Specifically on a 2019 ipad pro with a 1st gen Apple Pencil, both of which I would tentatively recommend if you can get them 2nd hand for less than 200euro like I did)

I did a lot of painting as a teenager, and still paint often to this day. Though I mostly worked in acrylics, I have been known to use watercolours (like, when I was in college I bought a little 3euro paint set and would use the inside of cardboard cereal boxes as diy watercolour paper and paint wild little Irish landscapes… and Winter Soldier fan art, sometimes. 2017 was a different world)

So in summary - I ‘paint’ digitally using some very traditional techniques I picked up over the years, and I kinda prefer digital art now, which I will elaborate on below the cut as I detail how I created The Hanged fireMan…

I’ll start with my favourite digital art ‘cheat’ which is that I use So Many Layers. Like seriously, pretty much every new colour goes on its own layer because I am a control freak and love being able to tweak them all as needed. So for this relatively simplistic piece, I’ve still got something like 20 layers all together.

I’m also usually better at grouping layers but in this one I gave up at some point and it felt dishonest to group them nicely before showing you guys lol

So yeah layers is my biggest hack, but the other is using specific texture brushes

I spent a while playing around with various brushes before finding this Tarraleah one which has just the most delicious watercolour-y texture and a really fun edge to it (and it’s got pressure sensitivity, so I can really control the amount of colour I want to put down on the page)

This background was painted entirely with the 1 brush & colour, and I think it turned out pretty cool. For this particular piece I did have a reference on screen to work off for the most part, but those clouded were just painted with my heart

Next (or maybe before, it’s a while sinceI drew this and sometimes I mix it up) is the lines, which are always done with my best friend, the Procreate Pencil!! I love her, she’s so fuzzy and textured and also if you tilt the tip on the pencil you get a broader line (like with a real pencil) which is just the coolest thing!

When it comes to lines I just sort of go for bigger shapes 1st and details later, and basically always with some kind of reference. I also use a very old & well known trick of putting the most detail into the object of most importance, and leaving the background more loose and vibey

Artists will tell you that this is to draw focus with details. Artists are lying. It’s cause we got lazy after drawing he fun part & phoned the rest of it in lol (I know this because I am an artist)

Also I love this pencil because I don’t have very steady hands and I actually cannot draw straight/smooth lines to save my life! If you’ve ever seen anything resembling a smooth line in something I’ve drawn, it is almost certainly a whole bunch of lines over each other and then erased at the edges to make it look neater

But who needs straight lines when sketchy sketch lines are so fun!

Next is flat colours (the 3layers in the middle with check marks beside them)

I used the same colours as the background, which you can tell from where they completely blend together right down the bottom, and what I genuinely do is use the Tarraleah brush to generally block out he shape, and then go back in with an eraser and smooth out the lines

Why do I do this? …good question

Next is one of my favourite parts, which is adding the lights! Procreate has some really fun -glowy- layer effects - my favourite is probably Add (A) though Colour Burn (CB) is great too for its vibrancy.

Also those 2 layer 11s are there because I duplicated one and then used the ‘Gaussian Blur’ feature to ‘fuzzify’ it (yes, that’s the technical term) It’s a pretty quick and easy way to add a more diffused light effect around something. (I did the same for the yellow reflective strips on the turnouts too!)

Last step now! So full disclosure - I absolutely traced that writing from a photo of a tarot card lol. I actually always trace writing, as, much like drawing straight lines, I’m bad at handwriting on a screen

I also stumbled upon the Exclusion (E) effect by accident - Originally it was going to be a plain cream boarder like a traditional tarot card had, but I wasn’t fully happy with it, so I just flipped through a few layer effects and as soon as I got to this one, I knew it was the right choice

I love the dreamy contrast of the pinks and purples to the dark navy and grey & how it makes everything looks kinda unreal and outer-spacey

And yeah that’s about it! Everything else comes from my 15+ years of Practical Art Knowledge but these are the specifics of how I utilise it digitally!

This was a lot of fun to write out, and I hope that if you’ve made it all the way here, it was fun to read too!

[sneez]

more of my oc tervis (any pronouns), the creepiest most miserable little weirdo in town. which is saying something [id under cut]

/ ID: four digital drawings.

The first image is a series of drawings of Tervis on a paper-textured background. A heading at the top reads 'Tervis (Humble)'. One is a coloured headshot of Tervis looking to the left; they have a gaunt face, short receding hair, a scar bisecting their lip and right eyebrow, greyish skin, and are wearing a red shawl around their neck. An arrow pointing at their right eye reads 'one blue eye (mostly blind)'; another arrow pointing at their left eye reads 'one brown eye'. They have a serious, hostile expression. The second drawing is an uncoloured full-body sketch of Tervis. Next to this is the same drawing but coloured and with more polished lineart. Tervis is a thin, hunched figure wearing a long, dark brown robe, a greyish bag on their back, and a red shawl around their head and neck. They are barefoot, and are leaning on a walking staff with both hands. An arrow pointing to the walking staff reads 'needed for walking, useful for hitting'. Tied to the belt around their waist are several long scrolls of paper with writing on them. An arrow pointing to the scrolls reads ''blessings' they paste on infected houses'. Tervis is looking warily out at the viewer from beneath their eyebrows. An arrow pointing to their head reads 'scar from getting hit in the face with a brick (also knocked out a tooth)'. Alongside these drawings are a series of bullet points giving information about Tervis. These read:

   indeterminate age, indeterminate gender

   religious fanatic (unclear which religion)

   lives alone somewhere in the steppe

   dislikes everyone but is nicer to children than anyone else

   has every disease

The second image is a fake screenshot from the video game Pathologic. Tervis is looking out at the viewer; the background shows scenery from the steppe. The text on screen reads:

CHANGELING: I still don’t see what you could have done that would make you personally responsible for this plague. TERVIS: Responsible… no, not merely responsible! This is my plague, cast upon my head alone. I am the originator; my sin is at the root of all. I have ventured into the town. I have seen the canker there. No matter how many houses I bless, my sickness sinks deeper. The rotted limb is the death of the body… Surely you understand me. You are a healer, are you not? CHANGELING: What is it that you are asking me to do? TERVIS: Let me be the lamb, worker of miracles! My blood shall wet the earth, and bright flowers shall grow… My putrefaction will provide the soil within which new life will burgeon, pure and free of sin and decay. Let it be done. I am ready. My failing flesh is but little sacrifice; in death my weakness will be my strength. Soon these torments will be at an end.

Below are two dialogue options:

You’re insane!

What makes you so sure your death would solve anything?

The third image is a fake screenshot from the video game Pathologic 2. Tervis is looking out at the viewer, and has been painted in semi-realistic style. The text on screen reads:

Tervis: Why do you force me to live? Damn you! Your cure is poison to me. Now I shall never be blessed. You should have left me to bleed.

Below are three dialogue options:

Don’t be absurd. I wasn’t going to watch you die.

What makes you think you deserve suffering?

I wish I had.

At the bottom of the image is a line of dialogue which Tervis has just spoken:

The air is foul. There is rot in this place. The stench of corruption shall be – what was it? What was it? The stench of corruption shall be… swept aside…

The fourth image is a coloured scene depicting Tervis and Clara. They are central in the composition; around them is the steppe, which has been rendered in a loose, painterly style. Tervis is kneeling, their walking staff cast aside, and are reaching out their hands to Clara in a desperate, pleading gesture. They are crying, their face contorted in an expression of agonised ecstasy. Clara stands beside them, one hand reaching out, the other held above Tervis’s head as though about to touch their brow. She has a solemn, pained expression. Behind her head, a break in the dark clouds gives the impression that she is haloed by sunlight; rays of the same light fall onto Tervis, illuminating their face and red robe. End ID. /

[hauntedtotem]

Do you have any drawing tips?

•When it comes to digital art, if you struggle making lines clean or sharp enough, using a textured brush erases that struggle because the whole point is not being clean or sharp.

^left is obvious where mistakes were made and had to be erased, looks choppy and needs cleaned up. right does not need cleaned up much. saves time and energy!

•if a drawing looks a little too bland or unfinished, but you don't know what else to do about it, adding a texture overlay does a lot, especially for solid backgrounds

•For both traditional and digital artists, do👏art👏studies👏. No, this doesn't mean sign up for expensive art classes, it means spend a page in a sketchbook just practicing one thing. So instead of drawing say, a character portrait like usual, have a page that's just full of hands in different poses (use references! Very important for studies!)

2016 example, but you can tell which ones had references (hint: only 3 of them did,but they're way better than the rest)

the only recent example I had was an unfinished page of bird skulls :/

Which brings me toooo

Learning to draw realistic skeletons can also really help with anatomy, if your character looks wonky, think "could a skeleton fit in there?"

Thinking abt how their skeleton looks can help notice things like the eyes being too high up or the mouth being too low, or having no room for a brain

*this is not a dig at people with this style! It's okay to have more exaggerated features and you don't need to draw realism! The skeleton rule does not apply to cartoony characters obviously. Just some advice from someone that used to put the mouth too low all the time

•if you get stuck where you feel like you aren't improving, try different art styles out.

•If you have art block and don't know what to draw, try the 'dtiys' or 'draw this in your style' tags and pick something there, or do screenshot redraws from games or shows

•If you usually listen to music when you draw but it's just not doing it atm, switch to something like long YouTube commentary videos or documentaries, and vise versa. Sometimes the brain wants music, sometimes it wants information or gossip. When you get burned out from one go to the other

•this applies to traditional and digital art too! If you have art block on one medium, switch to another! If digital isn't working, grab a pencil or paintbrush, or play with some clay! Sometimes the brain isn't bored of art, it's just bored of the medium.

•If you're trying realism and struggling, break it down to simple rules.

And I don't mean the shape thing everyone suggests, I mean things like "the inner corner of the eye lines up with the mouth, the outer corner of the eyes lines up with the ears, your nose bridge leans into your eyebrows, feet are the same length as your elbow to your wrist, use the collar bone to guide the shoulder position, the armpit curves into the breast, etc.

*this doesn't apply to everyone or every expression! Remember the mouth moves around and comes in all shapes, it's a very loose "rule", and people's eyes aren't always the same distance or angle, just keep the ear around that general eye area

Glasses test: can your character wear glasses?

carlos passes glasses test- a better rule for mouths is to imagine smile lines, even if whoever youre drawing doesnt have wrinkles, theyre a good guide for mouth placement

•doing color palette challenges can help practice composition and shading with abnormal colors, and helps understand color theory

•for digital, you can overlay colors over a drawing to make the palette more uniform. Don't be shy abt messing around with it

•Watch speedpaints! Watch pencil animation clips! It helps

•don't be afraid to use your art supplies. Ik the struggle of "but I don't wanna waste it", but that paint will go bad if you keep it on a shelf for years! Use it already! Doodle in the "fancy" sketchbook! Yolo!!

•use cyan and magenta for mixing paint, not blue and red. The "primary colors" rule doesn't always apply to all mediums.

•keep your old art! Do not tear it up or throw it out just because you're not proud of it, it's cool to reflect or even redraw it years down the line (backup your digital art somewhere, even the ones not posted online because your computer could just die one day for no reason and take everything with it. It sucks)

•IF you sketch on paper and then digitalize it later, you can draw the pieces seperately and photoshop them together. So dont worry if you drew a really good hand but it's at the slightly wrong angle, or too far away from the body. You can put it where it needs to be without having to erase and redraw it

[flame-shadow]

hi! sorry if you've already answered this somewhere, but what program do you use and do you have any favourite brushes, particularly for colouring/shading? i use krita and have been meaning to experiment with new brushes, but it's just hard to know where to start, and i love the way your art looks so i figured this might be a good starting point. thank you!

I don't think I've answered that here, but I don't mind repeating myself if I have XD

I use Clip Studio Paint for my digital art, and I only use a few brushes for most of what I make. I don't know if they'll be compatible with Krita, but I'll share the sources anyway. All of these are free to download (though the deviantArt ones might require an account to log in? i got these brushes years ago so i don't remember for sure).

For sketching and lineart stuff, I use either Loose Inker Smooth or a brush I modified to be blocky. The cel brush is originally from this pack, but what I use looks pretty different now. While these are mostly for sketching/lining, I also use them for other parts of drawings too, such as giving a little texture to the edges of cell shading or for hatching.

For coloring/shading, I most often use Perfect Oil Paint 2 or Flat Brush from this pack. They both have nice texture to them and blend in different, fun ways.

I'm not sure how compatible brushes like these are with Krita, so some general tips I have for finding brushes are:

find brushes that you enjoy using

find at least two with textures that appeal to you. smooth lines and shadows are nice and all, but textures give bonus visual interest for minimal effort. good for backgrounds and accents if nothing else

if you like a brush in general but it's not quite satisfying, then make a duplicate of it and mess with the settings. poke around at enough things, and you might find your new fave! (this is what I did for my Cel blocky brush)

Good luck!

Bonus silly sketch because why not:

often when I want to shade a sketch, I'll block in the colors with a hard brush first [left side] then grab one of my textured brushes [this one was perfect oil paint 2] to blend some of the edges softer. bonus hue shift along the edge of the shadows because I felt like it. Drawing on a background that isn't pure white (eg. grey or a muted color) can add visual interest and allow for quick highlights to be added without needing to fully color the sketch.

[simonwimon]

idk if someone already asked but what program do u use to draw??? also i really love the way you do the lines!! what brush do u use??

no worries! i haven't answered this question in at Leeeaast a few years anyways :P nowadays i use clip studio paint, and almost all of the brushes i use are stuff i've grabbed off the asset store! (with edits, naturally). i'd put this under a readmore but every time i did tumblr broke the formatting orz

my absolute Favorite brush - something i'd recommend to Anyone regardless of what they're using it for - is this highlighter brush! i've been using it for almost 2 years now! whether it's sketches, outlines, or paintings - it adds a nice Chunky feeling with the square brush shape & a texture that i adore on top of that.

anything i post that has a Cleaner outline than normal is probably a result of this brush! i Love the sketchier feel of my other brushes, but when i need something well-defined and solid, this is my go-to brush. the weight & feel of it reminds me of the old bic pens i would doodle with in the margins of my homework back in highschool :P

the first brush from this set is one i use to compliment the brush i just listed - it's made by the same creator, so it has the same feel, but it's a LOT better at Suggesting things rather than Defining them, if that makes sense! i use it a lot when i'm drawing wrinkles, folds in clothing, blush lines, crosshatching - really, anything that should Be There, but isn't meant to be the center of attention. also good for loose sketches!

this brush is very new to me! total disclosure, you have to pay for this now, but i downloaded it when it was free. i mostly use this brush for sketching, but i think it also works REALLY well for painting! my usual approach to blending colors is to lay down a base, slap another color on top of it, and eyedrop the blend between them to go over the transition point with - and i think this brush lends Really well to that. reminds me of working with chalk pastels irl :P

then there's this one specific brush i've been OBSESSED with lately. you can see it in a good bit of my recent art, if you know how to look for it, and i think it's something i'm going to be using for a long time! it has a specific weight and Oomph to it that i just Loooove so much

when it comes to post-painting, i-need-to-add-more-Crunch-to-this-drawing, this noise set is where i go first! this isn't a situation where i can just say "yeah slap one of these down on overlay at 30%" or whatever - you have to experiment! every time i use one of these i end up spending 30 minutes going through The Whole List of blending modes to see which one works best & then spend Another 30 minutes fiddling with the opacity. and then spend Another 30 minutes fiddling with the luminosity & saturation of the layer. there's so many colors available that i can just drag & drop & delete until i find what color scheme works best!

honorable mention - this set also costs money, but it's one of my favorite ways to make a plain color background have More Flavor. LOVE that it has a clean version of the shape and then a second version where it's got a Chunky border! plus making this post made me realize the creator added more shapes since the last time i downloaded it yaaAAAYY

[two-fu]

my art process

it still amazes me how a blank canvas can turn into a concept from your head like woah there hands and brain thank you for cooperating during this crucial time in my life /hj

if anyone's curious about my art process, i'm gonna put it down below (otherwise, just scroll past pls i'm mostly just rambling) this is not a guide. i repeat, this is not a guide (￢з￢)

ok, first let me let you this. sometimes my last few braincells work and i actually sketch out a concept straight from my head, but most of the time i just get inspired by a random editorial pic i find on pinterest or a movie scene that i find interesting and then just start with that. be warned that my process is pretty messy and probably only makes sense to me [lmao] but this is how i usually do it so...

i'm gonna use my most recent art for ref which was inspired by a ghost in the shell movie scene. first i sketch the character placement into the scene, then i move on to the bg. i loosely paint the background in one layer first, then paint the additional background details on a separate layer (in this case, the ceiling...holes?? yeah those holes with the light coming in)

i keep going and add in the rest of the background details as much as possible before i draw in the characters: glass panels, lights, wires. once i'm kinda satisfied with the background, i start to add the characters. i usually just paint them in a single layer, except for when some additional elements that need to be in the front/back of the character come into play.

in the case with kdj, i drew him in one layer, the wings on a separate layer, and the wires on another, so it would be easier for me to modify them as needed without messing up the kdj layer. for yjh, i just painted him in a single layer since it's only just him sulking lol

[also, whenever i feel like the character placement/scaling is off, i'm not afraid to resize the necessary layers because i know i can just correct the bad resolution by painting over it]

then i add a bit of lighting/shadow elements on the characters (don't come to me for this bc i don't have a solid grasp on that either. i swear i'll diligently study it someday but for now i just put in whatever feels "right" lmaoooo)

when i'm satisfied with how the characters look, i add in more small details that i hope could make the piece a bit more interesting and not too flat: glass reflections, floor texture, yjh's shadow, and some light reflecting off the cement floor

another thing i added was the bloom effect on a duplicate layer of the copy-pasted canvas. then i lowered the opacity for the bloom layer so it wouldn't look too severe, just the right kind of ambient glow from the lights and kdj's coat. ok that's about it. i could stop there BUT...

personally, i like to do a bit of post-processing after. this part takes a lot of experimenting and this is really the part i enjoy the most, especially when playing around with the colors to really set the mood for the illustration. for this one i...

added a layer for grainy texture and set it to soft light at 9% opacity

copy-pasted the entire canvas then duplicated it before adding a gradient map for the dupe layer then setting it to color dodge at 24% op (just to give it a bit of color and not make it look to desaturated like it originally did)

added an additional color dodge layer to brighten up the lower part of the canvas a bit

and that's how i usually make my art ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

sometimes it takes me only a couple of hours, sometimes times it takes days when i'm procrastinating a piece, and sometimes i just completely give up and trash an entire concept lol yeah it's fun and can be frustrating but i like that it shuts my brain up for a while and keeps me from thinking about awful stuff. idk maybe that's just me idk idk

if you've made it this far in my post, wow, i really appreciate you for sticking around through my yapping /srs ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

[unit3-fmp]

Appliqué Portrait of Walter Spencer Stanhope

For this piece I wanted to experiment further with appliqué and I wanted to try and create a portrait and see if I was able to do so effectively as I felt it could be a cool edition to my design, on the corset for example. Here I created an appliqué portrait of Walter Spencer Stanhope. Walter Spencer Stanhope is John Spencer's nephew and I wanted to create this portrait of him inspired by the image below to add a prominent link to Cannon Hall.

'Portrait of Walter Spencer Stanhope' by John Hoppner

Instructions:

Cut out all the relevant pieces for the applique as shown below

2. Paint some buttons in your desired colour

3. Start by sewing the background of the design

4. Sew the jacket and trousers into place with a simple loose stitch as this will be unpicked later due to other aspects needing to be layered underneath it.

5. Sew the shirt into place under the jacket as well as the colour of the jacket.

6. Sew the face into place using white thread

7. using long strips of mesh create these swirls for the hair and sew them into place

8. Cut out a large piece of wadding and white cotton

9. Pin these into place behind the portrait

10. Using a zigzag stitch and black thread sew an outline around the edge of the jacket to create a puffy/ 3D feel

11. Using black thread outline around the eyes nose and mouth to enhance the face

12. For the background using red thread apply in a random motion / pattern embroider to flatten the fabric and add some texture

13. Sew the bow into place by hand using white thread

14. Sew the buttons into place using white embroidery thread

I'm not overly happy with the outcome of this piece as its not how I imagined it to be and I just think it looks a bit chaotic and messy meaning I will most likely not bring this forward through to my final design as it doesn't match the aesthetic I want the dress to have or the clean finish.

Sketchbook Page:

[spirits-world-webcomic]

Hello! To give an update to Spirit’s World, production is currently on extended hiatus. Of course, episode 2 is done, and slowly being uploaded to buy myself some time, but episode 3 has unfortunately been on halt in the mean time. This is primarily because I’ve developed #brainrot for submas, or those funky train guys from pokemon. See my main blog (which is my art blog at this point), and yeah. You know how it is.

Additionally, I’m trying to make spirit’s world better, so the break will hopefully give me fresh eyes to make it better. I’m very critical of how the pages look now, and honestly, I think they look kind of like hot crap. Story wise, the episodes out right now are okay, but this one is too lengthy, especially when it comes to weekly updates, and also is very burdensome on me when I do work on it. So some learning experiences.

Episode 3 is still in stuck in storyboard, and I haven’t touched it in months. But I have been thinking about it, and letting the plot marinate, so I can make the episode a bit more refreshing. I did flub up by starting Spirit’s World before some key elements were established, but if I kept waiting, I personally would have never started, so some things in the future may be retconned though I don’t believe I need to do that because enough information is vague enough, or tracks enough for me to actually just roll with it. Expect minicomics, the key ones being between episodes.

Some things I’m thinking about changing: style - style will still roughly be the same, but there’s going to be more lineart used, and perhaps I’ll let some sketch layer peep through for more texture. Currently I find it too light, and flat, but I can’t paint all the pages because that’ll absolutely kill me. So I’m hoping to make episode 3 more visually interesting. Which, that’s what a lot of webcomics do, so terribly new. | backgrounds - they will probably go some level of style change yet again because these are sooo time consuming, and are a big factor as to why i spend so long making pages. I want them detailed, but I’ll probably utilize some level of loose lineart to give some depth while saving my hands.

Anyways, apologizes for the strangeness that comes with this fic. Trying my best, and hey, I’m learning some things, and hopefully each episode comes out a little bit better.

[sofuckingdarling-blog-blog]

Erwin, Levi and tea. Part one of two.

This headcanon drabble hybrid is related to the one I posted earlier regarding Erwin getting joy from teaching/showing Levi new things. it's a long one guys, so i decided to split into two parts!

Erwin is a frugal man by habit. It's not that he has any real convictions against indulging in luxuries it's more that he has no real urge to indulge himself. Erwin tells himself that his frugality is just part of the straight laced stiff postured mask he finds himself wearing all to often, it has nothing to do with an inability to indulge in pleasure without guilt. He doesn't want to analyze the reasons for that and so he very pointedly doesn't.

Anyway the years spent working with/on/around the Survey Corps budget have affected the way he looks at money. He's often had to watch the Corp struggle to afford critical items like morphine and warm winter clothing. Meanwhile the rich own enough gaudy, frivolous trinkets worth enough to keep the Survey Corp warm 10 times over. Yet he finds himself part of an almost constant battle to secure donations.

So when one day he looks over his budget and sees a pretty hefty sum dedicated to tea, he feels a little sheepish, but any discomfort he feels in relation to his new spending habits are quickly replaced with a sense of pleased accomplishment. The feeling is enough to make him flush on the spot, his cheeks and neck burn red as he thinks of his budget ledger as evidence of winning over his sour faced comrade. It feels almost illicit and Erwin loves it.

From the first moment Erwin saw Levi fly over rooftops with a grace that he was certain was unearned but totally natural, he wanted to know the man. It was a challenge at first, said man wanted little to do with him. Other then wanting him dead, but Erwin refused to accept that, he knew he still had a bounty on him and that Levi and his friends had not given up hope on collecting the reward. But Erwin loved a challenge.

So he watched Levi, whenever he could get away with it, which was sometimes hard to do as Levi had also taken to watching him as well, although for entirely less charitable reasons. Erwin felt that his study of Levi was necessary, for the benefit of humanity he needed to find an in. Or at least that's the reason he gave himself for his continued interest, his almost grating desire to know more about his small statured comrade.

It didn't take long for Erwin to notice that Levi appreciated tea, he had it with every meal and lingered over every cup as though the sub par tea they served in the Corps mess hall was something to be savored. That and the tea stores were somehow declining at a faster rate then they should be...it wasn't hard for Erwin to put two and two together.

His plan was simple really, he would let the expensive samples of tea do most of the convincing for him, because he honestly doubted that Levi would accept his offer for tea any other way. So the day after he had purchased and expensive tin containing a mixture of fine black tea leaves he approached Levi and tried his best to ignore the way his heart was pounding in his throat. He told Levi that he had recently gotten his hands on some of the finest black tea from Sina, that apparently the tea was well circulated among the nobles and as soon as he saw Levi's eye's switch from barely concealed disdain to subtle interest Erwin knew that he had him. Still he was relieved when Levi grit out a begrudging yes.

It was a little tense at first, Erwin tried to make conversation and Levi scoffed. But when Erwin brought the tea up to his office Levi finally manage to throw out "You brew tea like shit. This tastes like shit Smith." Erwin snorted somehow charmed by the disrespect, had anyone else spoke to him like that he wasn't sure his reaction would be half as accommodating. He suggested that maybe Levi could teach him how. Levi rolled his eyes, shrugged and took small sips of the offensive tea. Erwin told him he didn't have to finish it, but Levi said the tea was to fine to waste and despite Erwin's incredible talent in destroying high quality tea it still tasted better then some of the shit he had in the underground. For some reason even this small acknowledgment that Erwin had given Levi something that was any bit better then what he had underground made his neck feel hot. So they sat across from one another and Erwin filled the time with idle chatter about formations he was working on for the Corp, Levi did little else but grunt and sometimes give a curt nod but Erwin felt this to be a huge victory, a monumental first step to something he wasn't ready to give a name to.

Erwin loved these occasions with Levi, he paid detailed attention to the way Levi appreciated tea with each one of his senses. The way his eyes scanned over each new package of tea, taking in the colors, the painted pictures of flowers and plants, the curling letters prettily declaring the strains and flavors. Erwin was enthralled with the way Levi felt each package with fingers that were almost reverent in the way they would poke, prod and stroke at the fine tins and papers, how delicately they would grasp a few loose leaves feeling the dry delicate texture on his fingertips. Levi's head would make the slightest tilt when he listened for the soft crush of tea leaves against fancy tins or the crinkle of paper and cellophane. He would linger over the steam from his cup nostrils flared, inhaling each rich herbal scent, his throat worked the taste of each sip of tea down into his stomach a pool of warmth that could be anything from soothing to invigorating and Erwin felt incredibly privileged to witness Levi's enjoyment of each cup of overly expensive tea.

It made it to easy to shell out the coin, he didn't think twice about it, there was nothing more addicting then watching Levi indulge and Erwin was more then happy to make that happen. He felt fortunate that he was the one who was able to introduce Levi to each new blend and was made even more content when Levi discovered a favorite and would make requests for the ones he loved the most. Levi had asked him once why he was so willing to indulge in luxury tea, why he had such a large collection and Erwin a smooth liar at the worst of times told him plainly that he had loved tea since he was a child. Levi replied "If you've liked it so long then why do you brew it like shit?" but didn't pry any further and Erwin was immensely grateful because he wasn't ready to say the real reasons out loud and he knew for a fact that Levi was in no place to want to hear them.

For a while it was always Erwin who had to approach Levi with offers of tea so that he could enjoy his company and make small steps towards the inside of the younger mans incredibly fortified walls. Levi never sought out Erwin on his own, he was still obviously torn between his original plan of taking up the bounty on Erwin's head and begrudging respect for the man. Erwin didn't want to push to hard so allowed Levi to mostly come to terms with Erwin on his own, Erwin was nothing if not confident and he knew he would win Levi over. It wasn't just because of vanity that he thought that way. It was because he could see so much in Levi, beyond the blatant strength and talent was a heart that was incredibly pure and loving despite the man's harsh demeaner and even harsher background.

Erwin saw so much in Levi, to him the steel eyed gaze held so much depth of character, such a strong over flow of strength and a depth of humanity that would sometimes catch Erwin's breath in his throat and throw his words into a useless limbo. After each cup of tea they shared Erwin's heart would be left feeling swollen and stuck in the wrong place. Even when very little was said, or when they spoke of incredibly mundane things. It was confusing at first that he could feel so passionately, but be so unwilling to name the feelings. It scared him that his feelings could scare the man away from him, Erwin could see the distrust in the way Levi examined him and he didn't want to give him a single reason to feel vindicated in that distrust.

[bunny-wk-fanfic]

This Is Brought To You By

The door opened to a rustic cabin, the natural wood glowing amber thanks to a roaring fire. Worn dark leather seating seemed hazy thanks to said fire light, each piled with plush pillows and draped with cozy throws or blankets. A low table had been laid out with candles, a bottle of wine was being kept chilled in a classy and slightly modern ice bucket with two glasses just off to the side. The only splash of color amongst the glow of the fire, the natural wood and stone textures were a small handful of red roses, loose petals just lightly scattered about. With the help of the slow jazz playing softly in the background, it made for a very romantic atmosphere.

"Well, hello there." the male voice was a slightly low purring drawl, drawing attention to the male figure sprawled across an almost stereotypical bear rug. "Deadpool here. Hopefully, while reading this, you're hearing the voice of a certain sexy male Canadian. I'm sure you know the one. And I don't mean the short, hairy one with anger issues and kitty claws and a fondness for cigars. Unless of course said angry man is being represented by a beautiful, beautiful wild Australian man. Because if then, well, lather me in hot sauce and spank my Chimichanga. But I'm getting off track here."

Fingers drummed against a knee, drawing the attention to the missing and familiar red and black outfit, and more importantly, to the lack of proper attire.

"Yes, my current outfit has to do with the reason we are here today. It's come to my attention, that it's been some time since we last met, or that our beloved writer has written anything involving our favorite woman. And more importantly, our favorite woman when involved with me." a single white rose was plucked from behind, waved about as if a magic wand, and dragged across a scarcely clad male thigh that was pocked with fresh wounds that were instantly scaring. "As such, I decided to… encourage our beloved writer into bringing us all together once again."

With a dramatic wave of limbs, he moved from reclining on his side, that screamed 'Paint my like your French women', to leaning back on his elbows. The pale pink satin nighty, the atmosphere, and the pose would have been more than alluring were the one in said pose a woman. With the male, the nighty was rather comically stretched across his frame, though covering everything important, the sheer robe with fluffy cuffs only adding to the oddity of the entire situation. It clashed with the fact that he still wore his iconic red and black full head cowl.

"Now, our lovely writer might say otherwise about my encouragement, calling it nagging, whining or say I simply began to annoy her until she finally relented. Ignore those words and continue to read mine with the amazing drawl of a voice provided by the Canadian sex symbol; my pal, my bosom buddy, Ryan Reynolds." the white rose bobbed to the beat of the low music, tapping against a hip every so often.

"Now, back unto the reason why we're here. Honestly? I was lonely and wanted some cuddles with my lovely, lovely Kagome." noticing that it was just the male lounging in the open living space, he was quick to wave a hand. "Don't worry, don't worry! My girl is currently enjoying a much-needed hot bubble bath. One, I wish I was taking part of, but felt this little conversation was, at the time, more prudent. How could I feel that? Simple. I had the desire that everyone read this in Reynolds voice, nothing more and nothing less. Though if we are asking for more, and I know what you all want, I on the other hand, wouldn't mind lathering my girl in rich and real Canadian maple syrup and eating my midnight pancake snacks off of her, but maybe later. So while Kagome is taking this time to prepare for a very adventurous night right here on this vegan friendly-faux-bear fur rug, I'll fill that time with hanging out with you lovely little readers. Because without you, though more so my unannounced arrival and delayed departure, we wouldn't be here right now."

Happy humming could now be heard from behind a closed door just off to the side, the male giving a little jiggle in his spot in excitement. The rose momentarily used to fan himself, though just how useful it was as such, needed to be questioned at a later time.

"Now I'm sure there are a few things you all wish to talk about; my last movie with the fridge trope, which I myself can only say thanks to the writers for that one. Thanks guys, I've always wanted more trauma and torture to sprinkled in my life." a finger was wagged, tongue tisking against his teeth, though the sound was slightly muffled due to his mask.

"Or when my next film will come out, and if so, will it be part of the Marvel Universe. This is where you show your true love and devotion. I ask you, lovely readers, to go out and use the internet, haul out the trolls if need be, and ask, beg, and cry for me to be part of Marvel. Not that I want to, not really, it's just principle. What with their large budgets, CGI teams, writers, directors and a full cast. Honestly, a whole school of mutants gone save for three at a single extended time? For what purpose, 'cause I doubt they all went on some sort of field trip or vacation, but what do I know, I failed out of 5th grade. But, not really." his head tipped to the side, possibly staring in the direction of where the bathroom was, it was hard to tell with his face actually covered to know for sure.

"I mean, who wants to be part of that depressing team? All that self-sacrificing for the greater good?" he gave a few bobs of the rose in his hand as his head tipped back, almost as if in contemplation. "Though let's be honest, we all know I would survive an alien with a California Raisin on steroids for a chin, snapping their fingers. And then I'd introduce said alien to my Desert Eagles Mark XIX while recruiting Ant-Man to tickle where the sun never shines before becoming… Anti-Ant-Man? I honestly don't know what to call him in his Ultraman form, wait, does that make him a magical-boy or a science-boy? Right, Ant-Man shrinking to tickle where sun don't shine for hurting my favorite Web-Head super bro." the rose now tapped where his mouth was, though again, it was hidden by his mask. "And it would be super hot to watch Kagome kick his ass. I wonder what she would wear… Something skin tight? Revealing? Her old school uniform?"

A door opening, even though quiet, drowned out his muttering, the candles flickered as steam billowed out of the bathroom before quickly dissipating the further it billowed into the open space. "Are you talking to White and Yellow again?" a female figure left the dark bathroom, her form covered with a short semi sheer dark pink bathrobe of her own. Her hands were raised just enough to free her hair from beneath the robe, though she paused when she really took a look at the sprawled out male. "...I thought that was supposed to be a gift for me?"

Snickering, he trailed the rose down from his mouth, his neck, down his chest stopping just above his stomach. "Don't you think I look sexy in this?" it was always so amusing to tease and rile her when he wore risqué outfits, namely hers.

Finishing in freeing her hair, she eyed his form. Yes, his skin was pocked and disfigured from him constantly getting open sores and his abilities nearly immediately healing them. But beyond that, his form was all carved muscle, no doubt from years of being a mercenary. While yes, he was larger with the shoulders strong, he had a slight swimmer's build. It didn't lack-

"Ah, sorry for the intermission. Our writer took a few days to… deal with life I guess. How boring." shoulders shrugged, waving off the confused expression from his fairer companion. "Of course, it would happen when describing my awesome and amazingly sexy self." an actual pout could be seen through his mask.

"I will admit, you are sexy." the purring drawl from Kagome drew his attention again, her words and tone revealing she either decided she was going to ignore him going off tangent or just that she was used to it at this point, body freezing when her hands began with removing the sash that kept her own coverings secure. "I'm just not sure that shade of pink is quite your color. Maybe you should stick to your usual colors?"

The moment, the robe dropped and pooled around her feet, revealed a feminine figure dripping in curves with subtle musculature that showed she kept up with her own training, he froze. She wore a set of red and black satin and lace that covered pale skin. It covered a little more than what most would normally deem sexy lingerie, with slightly wider straps, but they accentuated her curves, drawing attention to them. And the thin ribbons that accompanied and mimicked, as well as help the lace that helped cover stiffening peeks, made her look more like a present just waiting to be unwrapped.

"Well, what do you think of my gift to you?" legs crossed slightly as hands once again rose to lift her hair to both reveal her neck and shoulders as well as lift her chest, she stood posed before him, basking in the golden glow of the fireplace behind him.

The white rose that had been resting near his hip instantly perked up, a white petal flying off at the somewhat harsh and sudden movement. Despite it being a mask, the white 'eyes' widened as the mask shifted to show that his jaw dropped.

"I'll take your silence as a, 'I likey'?" she giggled as she dropped her hands, they followed the curves of her body, no doubt drawing his gaze from behind the mask to follow with. Slowly, with a slight predator grace, she lowered to her knees and began to crawl up his form, leaving a trail of kisses behind her that glittered from both the fire light as well as her own abilities to help heal him.

Tossing the rose without a care, he reached forward to trace her curves for himself, not stopping as her own hands reached forward to lift and remove his mask. Lips curved up when she reached forward to kiss him. It was sweet, a simple press of her lips against his own. His smile grew when he quickly ended the sweetness by reaching for that delightful curve of her ass that shook playfully in his grasp.

The gasp that was let out was easily and eagerly swallowed, tongue dipping between lush lips to tangle with her own. With where his grip was, he pulled her closer to settle in his lap. Trailing lips away from her own to nip down her jaw and neck, he smirked against her warm skin.

Pausing, brown eyes narrowed as he turned away from the purring woman in his lap. "Oi, what are you still doing here? This ain't no peep-show! Go away. Read a book, play a game, watch a movie. I hear that new one about a guy named Guy wanting to be free or something, is worth the watch. And if my pal Ryan is in it, ya know it's good. Now," a hand reluctantly left the span of leg it had been caressing with a waving motion. "Shoo."

Turning away, leaving behind the couple and the sounds of giggles and kissing echoed loudly over the crackles and pops from the fireplace. A quick squeal that turned into laughter that was followed by a masculine whine at the sound of fabric tearing just set the pace of what was to come. And who was in charge of this nights shenanigans. A door closing muffled the sounds as the cool evening draped across the forest, leaving only the crickets in the distance and even further off cries of wolves the only sounds to echo.

Message delivered, though the exacts of what the message actually was seemed to have been lost. But it had been shared, and that seemed to be all that had been important. It did leave questions of what the future held, and if there would be any further important messages that would need to be shared. Who knows. Guess the game of 'wait and see' was going to have to be played.

AN: Don't ask. Please don't. I will say this, I was at work when I literally/figuratively heard Deadpool/Ryan Reynold's voice pop out from no where and bug me until I started writing this down. And when I lost the flow for a few days, it came back until I managed to finish it. So now I'm posting it here and cleaning my hands of it. I hope you can find some enjoyment in, I know I'm going to enjoy the peace and quiet.

As always; read, enjoy, and please review! - BunnyWK

[fransportfolio]

'the space in between' zine

Lockdown has often felt heavy and dark, but for me, it was also a time for reflection and nostalgia for more exciting times. I also had lots of time to watch movies, I watched one in particular about two people who meet on a train and get off in Vienna. One character says, “I believe if there's any kind of God it wouldn't be in any of us, not you or me but just this little space in between. If there's any kind of magic in this world it must be in the attempt of understanding someone sharing something.” It stood out to me and I took it with me the rest of Lockdown. I began to think about how we share things, and how we love when we aren’t able to see one another—hence the title of the zine, ‘the space in between’.

I’ve tried to explore love and our minds in a few ways. We cleaned our house during isolation and I came across a bag of love letters that belong to my mother. For the first page, I scanned in all the postage stamps that were still attached to the envelopes. I then created a simple watercolour painting of hands not quite being able to reach each other, and layered this over the background of stamps. I turned down the transparency to evoke a feeling of wistfulness, as we read some of the letters and found that most contained the feeling of yearning for another. Moreover, one of my mother’s friend’s had doodled all over the back before sending it to her. He created a small cartoon of a funny-looking man whom he called the ‘Potty Panty Man’, I thought it was sweet and wanted to expand on the character. I created a story that he was yearning for love, as my mother friend may have been, and was in search of his ‘Panty Woman’. I scanned in parts of the letter and drew the character digitally into a photo that I had taken of a draped white sheet. I tweaked the hue of the picture to better fit the colour scheme of the character and the zine, and copied in my mother’s friend’s writing (as seen in the third page).

The fourth page is a scan of a painting I had done for the GCSE art course in acrylic. It was a copy of an edited photo of Frida Kahlo, with her head and arm cut out and removed. I wanted to improve my abilities to notice tone, and felt that using an achromatic colour scheme would be useful. I also like the message of ‘loosing your head’, although it may be a bit blatant, it seemed to relate to the darker feelings that Lockdown has brought and perhaps also the much tougher side of missing someone. Page 5-7 focuses on this. However, I interspersed the two black-and-white pages with a short animation I created. I thought about where my mind goes when I think about love, and what my ‘dreamscape’ might look like. I’ve included my original notes on this at the end. I think if I were to do this page again, I might have wanted to create an actual landscape using clay and other sculptural mediums as to emphasise this. Furthermore, I wanted these three pages to be relatively coherent, so for page 7, I edited a photo using Procreate. Since my painting of Frida had no head, the photo is only of a head.

I laced song lyrics throughout as I spent lots of time listening to my favourite albums. I pulled ones that felt relevant to the photos I had taken. For example, pages 8-9, I used cut outs of eyes and mouths with magazine style text that read the lyrics of Frank Ocean’s ‘Thinkin Bout You’. The song reminisces on a past love, and the lyrics explore the need to rekindle that love, and if it is even possible for the speaker. Personally, I think that our eyes and mouths are the most emotive areas of our face, and it is widely known that ‘eyes are the window to the soul’. I wanted to create a simple two page spread with this as the focus. I took photos of myself making faces I thought correlated to that of feeling in love, then edited them into black and white to fit with the other photographs I had included in the zine.

For page 10, I found an artist named Sophie Bryant-Funnell, who uploaded a series of her sketchbook pages to an online archive. For each page she chose a collection of items that reminded me of being a child, Blackberry phones, old perfume and rollerskates. I really enjoyed her use of sweet, bright colours and wanted to replicate that same feeling of child-like excitement. Over 2020, I kept in contact with friends by sending small gifts and letters. I was sent many things also, I arranged them on a piece of paper and painted them in watercolour. The last page again, features lyrics and a photo also from my original GCSE portfolio. It was apart of an exploration of Henry Moore’s work, however I think it didn’t really suit his style—which is much more morose.

Overall, I tried to be conscious of the textures I wanted to use throughout the zine also, much like the transparency of the easier watercolour. I used mostly fluffy and soft fabrics, which also feature of the front and back covers and avoided too many harsh lines which is why I opted for watercolour for most of the drawings I did.

[eve-context-log]

essay on yve’s tang and rene magritte (W.I.P draft)

The artist I have chosen that really does inspire my work is the French born artist Yves Tanguy who was a surrealist painter who was and is well known for his abstract landscape pieces that just make me happy looking at? He has a very unique style of painting which was unusual for the time and was completely different from other surrealist art at the time. Yves didn’t start off wanting to do art, like most of us he kind of floated around in life not knowing what to do, he joined the navy in 1918 and afterword’s into he took up jobs until he came by a painting by the artist Giorgio de Chirico and was deeply inspired by It and was inspired to become an artist due to it. He got right away to painting, fully being absorbed right into it like it was his calling he was waiting for. He would only work on one piece at a time which could probably be due to how small of a studio he had at a time which would only have enough room to work on one piece. He was introduced to the surrealism style by his friend prevert showing him the work of many surrealism artists who revolved around André Breton.

 His style is very unique and distinct, a far departure for what other surrealist artists were doing at the time, his pieces show off mostly empty vast landscapes that are mostly occupied by nonsensical objects that maybe act as a metaphor for the brain. The brain is normally shown to be a calm desert so maybe these objects represent thoughts? He uses a very limited colour palette in his pieces, mostly consisting of normal colours for the sky and sand but more unnatural colours are used for the abstract objects so they stand out way more than the desert its self. Due to these colours, they stand out way more which is good as the abstract shapes tend to be either small in the background or super close in your face with the angels he paints. He either paints his objects as very loose, fabric like making them look like draped cloth and in contrast he paints a lot of objects also that are ridged with very strong looking structures that make them appear almost like concrete or clay. What he does with these shapes is very unusual, with his cloth like shapes he tends to make them either bend in the non-wind almost like they’re stretching to the heavens and with the ridged shapes he tends to leave them as is most of the time which helps contrast form between the both of them.

 The colour in his pieces is also placed oddly too, most of the time there’s one colour almost bleeding into another, for example: in the piece Through Birds, Through Fire, But Not Through Glass 1943 he tends to make the orange red in the highest top object slowly shift into a bright yellow which is just subtle enough that you don’t notice on first glance but really start picking it up when you look closely. He tends to go for very heavy shadows, not adding much in the ways of transitioning into the darker parts of the shadows, he literally just tends to block in a thick layer of black to empathise his shadows which allows them to appear almost like a second object in itself. He paints a lot of sky’s in his backgrounds, I’ve noticed he really tends to like painting in fluffy light clouds or either a very slight fog which you also might miss on first glance but they help create both a calm relaxing atmosphere for his pieces but also a mysterious type of ambiance like anything could be hidden in that fog. I’ve just noticed he goes with the three main colours way of kind of selecting a colour palette, for example in one piece he will use faint blues, yellows and reds are his three main colours which has been a common reoccurring element in his pieces. Some of the objects he paints will sometimes not follow the laws of gravity and just float, this really helps further the dream motive of his pieces, almost like these objects are floating off into the white abyss above almost like a passing memory. Another thing that also helps with the motive of these objects trying to reach the great above are the objects that are the objects that seem to have a ton of blob like webs that almost look like they’re climbing up the structures and assembling into their own version of that object.

 Another surrealism artist that I like is Belgian born artist rene Magritte. Rene was a surrealist artist who was mostly known for his lighter more humorous pieces but also his more down to earth pieces which helped people think on issues and often depicted regular objects in strange areas. Rene has had a harsh life, when he was 14 his mother committed suicide by drowning herself in the river, this wasn’t the first time she attempted suicide. His early paintings which where around 1915 where in an impressionistic style, a style which was characterised by thin, small yet visible brushstrokes which often showed off a normal subject matter which is of course a huge polar opposite for what surrealism is and is what surrealism is agents. He moved from movement to movement a lot, going for more abstract movements with each change like, impressionism to futurism to cubism to then finally settling on surrealism which was the most abstract of them all. He starts surrealism painting when in 1922 he saw the reproduction of the painting “the song of love 1914) which brought rene to tears, he stated this was “one of the most moving moments of my life: my eyes saw for the first time”.

 He paints a lot of surrealistic stuff, he’s mostly well known for the portraits he would do with the objects covering a person’s face; however, he also created a lot of lesser-known abstract landscapes which often depict a lot of nature. He uses a lot of blue greens and browns to create a very earth like piece, he uses a lot of earth like imagery in his work which creates a much more intense dream like feel with his use of the vivid blue sky and soft fluffy clouds. He tends to focus on one main subject when he’s painting his surrealistic pieces, for example his most famous piece a man’s face being covered with an apple or a Boquete of flowers that’s ends are actually a bunch of old-fashioned pipes. With his pieces of people with they’re faces covered it might be referring to the fact that the brain cannot make up peoples faces when dreaming, we always have to see someone even for a second to see them in a dream so these pieces could maybe represent the unconscious brain trying to make up a face on its own. He uses a lot of clouds in his pieces to further the dream motive, they help his pieces also look a lot calmer despite all of the abstract pieces in his paintings.

 He tends not to add a lot of visible brushstrokes to his pieces, he opts to make pieces with thick well blended paint to go for a more realistic feel to contrast the abstract with the more realistic style of painting he goes for. The brushstrokes that he makes visible is to add texture to objects like rougher brushstrokes for bricks and lighter drier brushstrokes to help empathise the fluffy clouds he’s going for and even drier brushstrokes to help empathise the dry dirt and sand he paints. He’s very hyper detailed with how he paints, even for most realism artists he really pushes himself, for example he adds the tiniest of bumps and cracks in order to make a huge rock painting and the tiniest pieces of disturbed sand in one of his landscape pieces to add just that little more life to his work.

Comparing both yve’s and Rene’s work, Rene is the more realistic painter of them both, Rene opts for more minor details like details in the sand he paints where yve goes for a smoother look to his piece which makes his shapes more abstract but sacrifice detail. Rene also has a more verity to what he paints as he doesn’t just paint one thing like yve does, however, yve doesn’t really need much verity to his work as his unique trait really is that he paints mostly the same subject over and over again. There’s a lot more visible brushstrokes in yve’s work, he uses it a lot in the sand to add contrasting colours in it and he also uses it in his more fabric-based shapes to add a fabric like texture to them. Rene’s use of brushstrokes is a lot looser in application to Yves, but he makes them count, only adding them to the objects that could use the extra layer of detail like his use of sand and fabric. They both go for I believe the representation of the subconscious mind, yve’s with the thoughts in our mind and the passing emotions and Rene with representations of dreams and showing how bizarre they really can be.

 In conclusion, I very much prefer yve’s more simplistic surrealism, I just find it a bit more unusual where I feel like Rene’s just makes a bit too much sense for my liking, I prefer work when its at its weirdest and yve hits that spot. I also very much prefer the palette Yve uses as it’s much more muted palette which despite being very muted makes the strange objects he paint all blend into one giant mess of abstractness that just makes my eyes happy to look at.

[englass]

Threadbare

Pairing(s): John Seed x F! Reader/Deputy

Warning(s): A little bit of Possessive Behaviour near the end (when isn’t there in my fics haha)

Word Count: 9,101

A/N: Gonna use this opportunity to apologise to @starsandskies @softseeds and @seedlingsinner for not getting back to you on your ‘Last Line Meme’ tags, I’ve been working on this and didn’t want to risk spoiling anymore of it than I have 😅 Apologies again, lovelies! ❤️ Now, I hope you all enjoy this inconsistent mess;  I’m just glad that it’s finally over!

Also, side note: this is the final/original version of ‘A Moment In Time’ that I never thought that I’d finish, so... yeah, I actually finished it; oops? 😅

- - -

The room is quiet, save for the gentle rustle of fabric and your calm breathing, only ever holding when your concentration tightens or a loud sound catches your ear. It’s a risky move you’re making, being here of all places. All it would take is one slip up and any patrolling Peggies would come running. In your current position, rifle resting just out of comfortable reach against a nearby night stand and hand gun securely holstered to your thigh, the potential outcome could be precarious.

Still, such thoughts are far out of mind. If anything, for once, your mind is not plagued by the worries, fears and demands of the people. It is quiet, tranquil, filled with an occupied motion that lulls and eases. It is the most peace you have had since this whole debacle began; and secretly, unknowingly even to yourself, you take your sweet time and milk it for all it’s worth. An unconscious action deeply needed.

Every so often you take stock, pausing to look, only to end up staring at nothing in particular, around the room you hold court in. It’s a surprisingly large room and it is as gorgeous and telling as the man it belongs to: all high-class with expensive taste, yet subtly simple – modest in design and openly exquisite in every minute detail. Almost everything, save for the immaculate wooden furniture and feather-soft carpet, falls within the spectrum of blue. It creates an oceanic space filled with a deep and enriching sense of stillness and liberation, emulating the ebb and rise of a tempered wave.

It’s an absent wonder why sloth is visualised as the coercing colour.

You shift slightly, readjusting your position as you turn back to the article of clothing in your lap, eyes layered with an embedded fatigue not aimed at anything in particular. The glaze is misleading, your movements speaking not of a tired body. Instead, they are easily measured with a humble confidence, working at a steady pace with a precise and focused concentration, all benign.

There is an edge of paranoia, sharp and teetering like the point of a knife. It fuels the anvil-heavy weight on your shoulders, makes it hard to breathe even the shallowest of breaths. Worry gnaws at your edges alongside its cutting twin. ‘What ifs’ are a dangerous line of thought, yet even with an empty mind it turns in the background, twisting and coiling like a viper as worry and paranoia feed and pamper it.

The stress of the situation – the position you’ve been made to hold, a final bastion in a red-dyed field – has left a very real and scarring impression upon you. A bitter taste you can’t wash out.

It’s why you draw out your time with a self-imposed task that could be over within a matter of seconds. You drown yourself in an old action and memory, away from the war you have been made charge of.

It actually makes for quite an interesting scene.

Away from the tragedy of a civil war and the reluctant role you play in it, in the confines of a grand modern home, one would see the image of domesticity. A young woman sat on a satin quilted bed, expression relaxed and eyes tinged with oblivion as they lose themselves in a rhythmic motion, effortlessly mending a piece of male attire with a needle and thread in hand. A simple kit that the young lady wields with a conviction that rivals that of a knight and his sword.

Yes, quite a scene it makes.

Admittedly breaking into the infamous Seed Ranch wasn’t the best place to host such an image, despite how well you fit into the frame (obscenely so), but it wasn’t your idea to come here in the first place. No, the Resistance has a way of... puppeteering you. Not that you would ever openly admit to such a thing.

Thankfully you have it on good authority – ‘it better be on good authority’, you had snarled, before stalking out of the door of the outpost you had been visiting – that the youngest Seed would be away for the day. Overseeing another load of confessions and such, you had no doubt. It would be the perfect opportunity to take the ranch for the Resistance; loot the cave while the dragon is away, so to speak. Perhaps that’s why, along with the decrease in guard numbers, you had somewhat made yourself at home, taking your time to slowly wander the grand ranch and really take it all in; all in its full and undisturbed splendour.

Arguably you could do so once it was under the Resistance’s control, it would be a lot easier and less stressful to do so then, but you are not naive enough to believe that they won’t change anything once it’s theirs. No, it’s better to see it as it’s intended to be, before that travesty occurs.

Yet, despite your initial wanderings into the many, many rooms around the ranch, it was John Seed’s bedroom – of all places – that had caught your eye. It is why you are currently perched contently on the man’s king sized bed as you tend absently to one of his shirts.

It’s truly silly when you think about it, it’s just a shirt after all, but it turns out that sewing your younger sibling’s toys and clothing growing up has ultimately left a very lasting impression upon you. You had found solace in the action growing up and you still felt it now, more so than ever with the violent turn your life has taken, and you wanted nothing more than a brief moment to try and capture that same tranquility once again.

Although, in all honesty, even you know that you’re not potentially endangering yourself like this for a reason so small and seemingly petty.

With your modest sewing kit on the night-table next to you, and the faintest whisper of the birds songs outside, you pause to look over your work. It’s not turned out too bad, it won’t be the worst you’ve ever done, but not the best either. Not that you believe for a second that John would actually appreciate the gesture, no matter how perfect it turned out.

John Seed, though mainly known for his slippery lawyer ways and role within the infamous Eden’s Gate, was a very rich man. His life before Eden’s Gate, before being reunited with his lost siblings, had him as a rather successful property attorney from what you’ve heard, and it’s from that life and accumulated wealth that’s allowed the project to get as large and domineering as it has done.

It’s also allowed him to lavish himself in some of the most luxurious, and most audaciously expensive, brands that you’ve never heard off. Not only was he good looking, tall and slim with a lean frame painted with tattoos and gifted with a pretty face home to a devilish smile, but he dressed impeccably well.

It was near impossible to not initially swoon at such a charming character, but sadly he was a bit of an open book. The exterior may be exquisite, utterly unique and persuasive in how it draws you in, but it’s too easy to read and you find it’s pages to be littered with an underlying venom and rage; a bitterness that may be understandable, but hardly justifiable.

It was actually quite sad when you chose to sit down and actually think about the man and his siblings, to sit down and try to read them as best as you could. Each of them were broken in their own ways, left in disrepair, from the lives they had lived. You had even gone so far as to read Joseph’s physical book, the bible by which Eden’s Gate knelt before, to see if it could tell you more. The question of how they became – how you know them to be – a guiding hand as you flicked through the yellowing pages and over painful words.

Theirs was truly a sad story.

Still, you know it is no excuse for what they have done, or what they continue to do; and yet there is a part of you that, secretly, knows that you do this simple gesture for more of a reason than out of habit or past influence. It’s a simple but nice gesture and, although you don’t feel like it’ll be appreciated, you’re sure it’s something that they – John in-particular and especially so – have never been given before. At least not willingly.

If anything, with how rich John is, you wouldn’t be surprised if he just brought a new shirt from an equally fancy, if not tear-inducingly expensive, brand without even batting an eye. That’s if he didn’t get it custom made. You’re pretty sure your average store doesn’t sell plane printed jackets and Eden’s Gate belt buckles after all.

Even so there’s no need to waste money, even if he can burn it and still be well off, when you can just as easily fix it. Besides, it’s actually a really nice shirt. Even with its predictable colouring.

Despite all the terrible things the man has done, and will no doubt continue to do, you can’t help the small smile that blooms across your lips. The knowledge that the Baptist, the dreaded Reaper, of Eden’s Gate has a favourite colour and is so shameless in embracing it is strangely humanising to you; and also surprisingly sobering.

At a leisurely pace, mind now hollow with an echoing sorrow, you pierce the fabric and loop the needle through the gap between the strand of thread and pull, creating a knot. You do this a second time, creating another knot to make sure it stays, before you reach for the small scissors in the kit beside you, cutting the remaining thread loose.

With a soft touch you run your finger over the fabric, silently marvelling at its heavenly texture as you thoughtfully look over your finished work. The thread you’ve used isn’t as high quality as the shirt itself is made out of, a fact that actually irritates you, but it’s the best that you own and you find yourself sighing in resignation; leaving it be.

Yes, it’ll have to do.

With a lingering gaze you start to slowly turn the shirt back to being inside-in, taking your time to enjoy the quiet that’s fallen over you. It’s only as you go to straighten the shirt, holding it out in front of you and giving it a final, critical look-over, that the silence breaks and you’re startled out of your revere.

Looking toward the bedroom’s door with wide doe-eyes you are shocked to see none other than the Baptist, John Seed, himself standing at the threshold. Eyes equally as wide, but much more bemused than your own, staring at you as you internally curse your luck with a tensing jaw.

He isn’t supposed to be here...

“You know, I must admit, Deputy,” he drawls with an intriguing lilt, ocean eyes dragging over you as he leans his lithe form against the door frame with crossed arms, completely at ease despite the situation, “I never pegged you for a housewife. It makes for quite an... interesting image. Did you also happen to cook me a meal and do the laundry by chance, darling?”

His smile is mocking, sharp and cruelly delighted, and it has you flushing in a mixture of shame and restrained anger. The fact that you’ve been caught in such a position puts a nasty dent in your pride. You know how this looks: the fearsome Deputy, poster child and head of the rising Resistance, sewing; and not just sewing, but sewing the damned enemy’s – a man on your given blacklist – shirt of all things.

It’s a colossal embarrassment.

You’re also aware of what this could do to your reputation if this got out and you don’t need John Seed, the smuggest bastard around, to gloat over that. Nor do you want him making smart quips that you know he’s more than likely going to constantly torment you with now over the radio for everyone else to hear.

Life’s a living hell at the moment as it, and you don’t need something like that being added to the proverbial pile. The humiliation would kill you quicker than a piece of shrapnel from a plane crash.

“Oh shut up,” you snip, “like I’d do you the honour; and if anyone makes for an interesting image around here it’s you, unexpected as you are,” you sass lowly. “Honestly, when are you going to do us all a favour and just fuck off. Maybe you should go and play with that little toy collection of yours like a good little brother instead of harassing all of us, now that would be an interesting image.”

It’s hardly even a half-baked comeback you give him, your bite a mere brush of teeth, yet it’s still enough for his expression to turn into something testing. A tick in his jaw as his icy eyes pierce you like a needle, pinching and uncomfortable; attention grabbing in the worst way possible.

The look is near enough water off a duck’s back. If you’ve come to learn anything from your few, but nonetheless taxing interactions with the man, it's that he won’t take the risk of action unless he’s a hundred percent certain that he has you right where he wants you; where you can’t or won’t fight back.

He wants things, people and confessions alike, handed to him on a gem encrusted platter. Given to him so he can play his twisted little games and break all his new and precious little toys. Always pushing past limits and breaking you down until you can do anything else, but give him exactly what he wants. Spoiled brat.

Perhaps John isn’t as absolved of his sin, carved into his chest like a fatal warning, as he thinks he is.

Closing his eyes John kisses his teeth with a restrained annoyance that is difficult to miss. For all his talk of wrath, and how well you embody it, he puts you to shame in how well it suits him, wearing it like a second skin and parading it like a model wrapped in Prada.

“As much as I’d love to spend my free time doing things that don’t concern you or your petty Resistance, it’s a bit too late for that now, isn’t it dearest,” he hits back with a chilled, but airy quality. “After all, you’ve made yourself quite a fixture in my life as it is, and I don’t believe for a second that you’d actually want out of that.” There’s a hint of something knowing in his words that doesn’t sit right with you. “And in case you haven’t noticed, but this is my home that you’re trespassing in. I’m pretty sure you’re breaking the law actually; you hardly have a warrant after all, Deputy,” he bites, cruel and vile and so self-satisfied.

For a brief moment the twins of worry and paranoia raise their heads with salivating jaws, itching like an infection to tear into you as you suddenly start to fret over John’s motives for this back and forth; along with the simmering anger that lurks beneath the water.

The anticipation of what his next rage fuelled actions could be is rattling. You can’t tell if he’s going to laugh this all off like some sort of bad joke or straight up lunge at you with the likes of a wild animal by the end of this. He can be rather unpredictable, and it’s that unpredictability that makes him so feared throughout the Valley. It’s what makes him so dangerous.

Yet it seems you can do nothing but poke the bear lately, your own frustrations and stresses giving you a false and reckless bravado. Albeit with a soft and unthreatening tone.

“And do I look like I care? We’re at war John, I’m pretty sure anything goes; your methods have already proven that. Now, are there any other normal past-times that you want to mock me for while I’m here, or am I free to go?”

Internally you wince. That came out a lot more defeated than you intended it to be. Still, you hope he at least concedes on this petty back and forth of yours and actually lets you leave–

“I’d hardly call your level of wanton wrath ‘normal’, Deputy. Tell me, what is your total body count at the moment? How many innocent lives have you gorged yourself on in order to fuel that gluttonous soul of yours, until it’s satisfied with the carnage you leave in your wake? Don’t worry though, you’re in safe hands. I’ll be sure to give your soul a good scrubbing once I get you in my chair. Starve it out of you until you bleed across my floor...”

You don’t say anything, merely roll your eyes and gently shake your head at the flip in attitude, continuing to look and touch up the shirt in your tender hold. He’s likely lost in his own warped thoughts if the way he stares through you for moment is any consolation. However, even lost in thought, you’ve found that John is not one to keep quiet for long, and he quickly proves that notion right.

“You know,” he says suddenly, conversationally; tip of his tongue wetting his lips as he looks for all the world like he just discovered the weight of gold, “if you wanted to confess to me you could of just called. Really, you needn’t go through all this trouble just to make my life easier, darling. I could have set up a welcome party and everything for you. Pulled out the red carpet, set it all up and made it all nice and perfect, for you... just for you, Deputy.”

It doesn’t make sense to you how he can warp what strangely sounds like the most sweetest and innocent of words into something so filthy, sinful and ultimately twisted; as if whispered around a forked tongue made of false promises and sugared venom. He’s an expert at his craft, you’d give him that. Sadly though you can’t help but skim over your absent companions playful jabs and blasé observations with a newfound air of caution.

The beast of worry looks at you with a telling, razored grin.

“... Flattered,” you drawl warily.

For such a simple and plain response you don’t feel that his boyish grin – filled with an emotion that is so foreign on the sadistic and calculating man that you feel the lazy shift of fear beside the intent prickle of paranoia and worry; something self satisfying and grateful and speckled with awe – is justified.

Like the flippancy of the wind John’s expression shifts, fluidly, into an emotion akin to a played up indignation. He sharply huffs through his nose.

“You should be. I make so many exceptions for you my dear and you do nothing but repay my kindness with more bloodshed. It’s rather rude of you in fact.”

“To be fair,” you cut in with a tired glower, careful with were you step in this game of twister, “your kindness leaves much to be desired. It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen, so forgive me for misconstruing your intentions.” It’s said with the most blatant sarcasm, dripping thickly like molten tar, and yet John lights up like a town on the eve of Christmas. The remains of his coiled agitation shifting into an unwarranted giddiness.

Good Lord, you’ve not even spent five minutes with this man and already you’ve got a killer headache.

“Oh? Should I learn by your example then, my dear Deputy? From this... quaint little gesture of yours, hmm?” He’s eyes hungrily roam over your lap, no doubt acutely aware of the way your thumb has comfortingly been brushing over the silken fabric of his shirt. “Not to say I don’t appreciate it mind you.”

You can’t stop the roll of your eyes nor  the huff that accompanies it. “Trust me, John, there’s no gesture here.”

He makes a sound in his throat, chimed with a badly contained mirth. Slightly, barely visible from your perch on his bed, he leans forward with something almost predatory in those sea-deep eyes of his. “Then what’s that in your lap?��

You turn to hold his gaze, icy and sharp with a smugness that screams of a known victory. He’s got you there. Your teeth grind into each other as you will for a retort to come to mind, but nothing does. With a heavy exhale through your nose you turn to the ceiling and pray for the strength to survive this ordeal.

Not that you’re completely confident that you will. With a swift flare of frustration one of your hands shoots up, palm facing skyward, in a half-arsed admission. “I don’t know. I don’t know, okay, I was just trying to be nice I guess.”

“Nice? You?” John barks mockingly, “Oh don’t make me laugh, Deputy. You’re a killer; there’s not an ounce of mercy in that tainted soul of yours. After all,” There’s a humourless chuckle, a glint of something vicious in his sea-deep eyes, “what ever happened to serve and protect?”

The look you throw him is completely disbelieving, practically aghast from insult, but there’s also a familiar rage resting within the glaring pools of your eyes that John knows rather well. Truthfully, it’s not something he’s ever seen in you before, more a muted irritation than straight up fury, and it thrills him something fierce to see it threatening to come into full bloom.

Conflict has never been in your veins. You came from a quiet and career driven family, to the point where your parents were hardly ever around. Arguments were rare, and if they did happen they never lasted long. You didn’t have the courage, nor stomach, for such things; and despite how much this County has twisted your placid instincts into something sharper, more aggressive and impatient, some things will just never change.

Lips in a tight line, brow furrowed and eyes ablaze in a dirty glare, you look away from him; down to your lap then across to your resting rifle. He’s not wrong, and ultimately that hurts worse than anything physical that he could very well do to you. The battle of your morals – your conscious – against your duty, against the pedestal that everyone has hoisted you up onto like some sort of savour – another Joseph almost – , is a constant one.

“Then what does that make you?” You ask quietly, something cruel lurking beneath the surface of your own waters. “What makes what you do so good, so much better and different than everyone else? Because you believe your brother, because he believes he talks to God?” There’s a huff of a laugh, a mocking condescension hissing with fangs bared, “don’t make me laugh, Inquisitor.”

John’s away from the door frame before you can even blink, a warning shift that tells you that this is no longer a strained, but casual banter between enemies. There’s a familiar glare in his eyes, dark and treacherous like the deepest waters and daring you to get a little closer, to swim a little deeper; to say another word against his brother.

Despite your writhing worry at the sudden tension in the air, twisting and flailing and coiling, you take a deep breath, let it suffocate you a moment too long, and then let it go. Tracing the lines and scratches on your rifle as your shaking anger lessens into a quiet ache. You’ve never been able to maintain it for long; you’re just glad that it no longer makes you break down crying anymore.

John on the other hand...

“Joseph,” he starts, voice so tight that it trembles, “wants to save people.”

“And you don’t?”

There’s a pause; a subtle shift.

You watch as John’s jaw gets tight, his head tilting the slightest amount to look down his nose at you; arms crossing over his chest in a defensive gesture as he leans back against the door frame again; a faux display of casualness.

It’s all the answer you need.

Slowly you nod your head, an acknowledgment even though you needn’t give one. A murmured ‘right’ scoffed under your breath. In all honesty you didn’t expect him to be so (indirectly) honest with you. In a way you can very much respect that, appreciate it even, but in another it only has the beast of worry grinning hauntingly at you; a new dread crawling up from the deep. It’s twin sewn from paranoia slinking up beside it with an equally telling flash of teeth.

Surely he can’t be doing this just for Joseph, just for the Project; there has to be something more that he’s gaining out of this. There has to be.

“Atonement,” the word is drawn out, a slow and delicate dissection, “is the absolution of sin… without it we are left to fester in the disease of our past transgressions. If we are not absolved of sin then we can never even begin to hope to be allowed entrance into Eden. However,” the baptist gives you a pointed look, head ducked and eyes alight but shaded, a stray strand of hair falling loose, “that decision must be genuine. They must want to atone, otherwise what would be the point?”

There’s a bitten laugh that scraps between his teeth; bared in a feral frustration that speaks of long talks and discussions that lead to nowhere but dead-ended roads. A hand claws through his hair, putting that stray strand back in place as he looks to bite at the inside of his mouth; eyes briefly cast to the side.

The afternoon sun, gradually turning richer as time goes on, catches against the satin blue of his vest, making it shimmer like the clearest of Caribbean seas. With his gaze turned away from you for the moment you can see the way the light glazes them, can see the hellfire for all it’s worth beneath those choppy waters; the rage given a flare of new life with the setting sun as the shadows stretch and consume, turning the once clear and shallow waters of his eyes deep and foreboding.

You think you may actually be starting to see some of the truths that lie within the Book of Joseph.

There’s a hesitant inhale; a steadying breath.

“But, it is the will of The Father to save everyone, regardless of if they are worthy of it or not.”

Looking away from the shirt still in your lap you turn to John, many questions on the brain, but only one that gets voiced.

“So you don’t think I’m worthy?”

John blinks. A moment of consideration before he meets your curious gaze; stars glinting against a multitude of emotions, all buried and unspoken, but telling all the same.

“I don’t think you believe yourself to be worthy.”

The bluntness of his response catches you off guard, eyebrows jumping high in surprise. It’s straight to the point in a way that you never imagined him to be, and you can’t help the interested ‘oh’ that melts on your tongue in response, lilts in newfound curiosity as your head tips to the side ever so slightly. “What makes you say that?”

You half expect a smile and some sort of jab, another dig to attempt to provoke you and prove a point that only he is fighting to prove. Yet, he does nothing of the sort. He’s quiet, simply watching you, and it’s with a strange type of realisation that you realise that, not only is he back to looking relaxed and at ease, but so are you; the tension lost and in its place lies a peculiar air, a feeling of contented melancholy almost; an accepting moment of reprieve within the wheel of fate.

“You’re still here,” he answers simply, an airy awe cushioning his tone, “if you didn’t want to be convinced then you would have left a while ago. You wouldn’t be asking me in the first place.”

There’s a tightening anxiety in your chest, a truth struck too close. Are you really that easy to read? Is your dissatisfaction and growing suspicion of the Resistance –  coupled with your thirst to learn more about the local cult and its founders – really that obvious? You should hope not, such things will get you into trouble if you’re not careful. Satisfaction over discovering such things would certainly not bring you back if that were the case.

“Tell me, Deputy,” there’s a new glint in John’s eye, a new interest piqued, “what is it that you’re looking for exactly? Because whatever it is apparently can’t be found within your little Resistance, otherwise you wouldn’t be entertaining me like you are, nor would you be concerning yourself over such a touching gesture.” Surprisingly there’s a lack of sarcasm to his tone this time around as he loosely gestures toward your lap, where his shirt still lies under your gentle touch.

You suck on your tooth for second, petulantly glancing away with a quick, but weak rebuttal of, “It’s not a gesture.”

A familiar, if not slightly fonder and more teasing, lopsided smile lights up across John’s face. This strange companionship of yours back on steady waters. “If you say so, my dear.”

The warmth of the gradually setting sun is a welcome blanket at your back, the stillness between you both comfortable despite the different lines you draw and stand on in this war. Faintly you can hear the chatter and motions of the guards outside, the rumble of distant engines, but they quickly fade into the background as you genuinely consider John’s words.

Just what are you looking for?

You’re not too sure, and you don’t suppose John would appreciate such a response no matter how honest it may be. Really, if you were to be insanely honest with yourself, you would guess you are looking for a reason to stop; a reason to turn your back on those you are fighting for and not those who you are fighting against.

No matter how many times you humanise the Seeds, excuse their actions on past situations, you can’t justify what they’ve done. You may one day forgive them, when all is said and done and this whole sorry war is nothing more than a story for the grandchildren; but you could never forget the horrors they have put people through, the uncountable and unimaginable things they have done to get to where they are now; to both you and the residents of the County.

Yet, does that justify what the residents of the County have done? Does that excuse the crimes and damages conceived by the Resistance? No, no if things were even a sliver close to normal, if you were actually a proper deputy and not so damn green, then maybe everyone would of been locked behind bars by now; and you would be no exception, right beside them with blood covered hands.

The world has never looked so grey to you as it does now; and that honestly scares you worse than any cult.

“But please,” John continues after a beat, breaking the silence, “indulge me; what is it you’re after, my dear? What is it that you are really searching for?”

Absently your thumb brushes over the fabric in your lap, a heavy hesitancy causing you to take your lip between your teeth, biting at the skin there until the taste of copper hits your tongue. Eyes downcast as you debate with yourself over how honest you can be with John, how raw you’re willing to let yourself became in front of someone like him; as an enemy, as an ex-lawyer and – maybe, just maybe – as a friend.

You look up at him, see the interest and something else that you can’t quite name dancing like fireflies over a lake’s still surface. Watch as he patiently waits for you, for what you think and have to say… It’s a nice change, if not a little strange.

Without a thought you smile at him, a beam too tight that it doesn’t quite reach your eyes, a huffed laugh under your breath. “Nothing much,” you squeak, “although a decent meal would be a start.” The laugh lingers on your breath, eyebrow cocked and lips tilting into lopsided smile; an intended joke.

John looks wholly unimpressed at your bid at humour, his own eyebrow raising casually in a silent question. Surprisingly though he doesn’t say anything in response, doesn’t call you out or outright accuse you of lying, even though you both know that you just did.

Ultimately, it leaves you with a new type of uncertainty, anxiety rising once again as the smile slowly falls from your face. Still, you push past it as best you can, clearing your throat awkwardly as you decide to stand from your seat on the bed, looking and then making your way toward the set of draws on the left where you had found his discarded shirt.

You feel, but still try to ignore John’s eyes on you as you place the shirt back in (what you hope is) its original resting place, neatly folding and fitting it between others not unlike itself. Briefly you brush your fingers over the collar, savouring the uniquely expensive feel of the shirt before closing the open draw. No doubt you’ll never get an opportunity like this again. It’s a little sad in a way.

With a quiet hum you turn – back facing John – toward the bed, and with a casualness as if you own the place you start brushing down and straightening where you’d been perched on the edge of the bed, smoothing out the creases.

Admittedly, with the sudden lack of conversation, John’s silence is really starting to get to you, a familiar edge of paranoia creeping into the forefront of your mind like scavenging rodents. You listen with a keen interest as you finish your work, the rustling of fabric and your own soft breaths the only sounds that really catch your ear.

With your back facing the infamous Baptist you would have thought this would be a great opportunity for him, your more laidback and docile nature on full display for him to take advantage of if he so wished to. It really would be a perfect opportunity.

Yet, as you turn around, once more with a hum at your work, you find that John hasn’t moved from his spot in the doorway. If anything he still looks very much at ease there, completely comfortable and unconcerned as he rests his lean frame against the door, arms and legs casually crossed as he simply watches you with soft eyes; reflective pools that refuse to hide even the tiniest of emotions. Yet, strangely enough, you suddenly feel as if time is impervious to the both of you. As if there is no one else in the world, but you and John.

The sparkling sapphire of his eyes, deep and as unfathomable as the ocean, whisper in dulcet tones the promise of a loving caress within the safe haven of his gaze. An unexpected gentleness in the sorrow of a buried plea, a want for something never owned, but always craved. Such a display of tenderness, from a man that you know to be cruel and volatile at times, is so far removed from the usual turbulent seas in his eyes that it makes you feel breathless.

His face – strong defined jaw, coupled with an immaculately trimmed beard, and skin a naturally tanned hue that looks as smooth as the silk of his shirts – is not masked by barely contained snarls of rage like it often can be, nor the sharp displays of malicious mockery and petulant pleasantries that hiss between his fangs when bared. Instead he bears a freedom and fondness that has your heart racing, a strange vulnerability on his suddenly boyish features; an unfamiliar, yet not unpleasant, warmth stroking over something deep within your chest that you had feared you were starting to lose.

A thought skims across your mind, and is banished just as swiftly as it had appeared; but even so it leaves an impression that you can’t help but entertain. No matter how futile and unachievable it may be; a hopeless romantic forever at heart.

Lost in fanciful scenarios that will never come to be you don’t notice the way that John also takes you in, cataloguing every minuscule detail and committing it to memory with a keenness that rivals the amount of silver on his tongue.

With where you stand, still and serene in the heart of enemy territory, the large window of his bedroom holds proudly behind you. The fading afternoon sun casting a light pastel orange across the earth and room, beaming through the glass and haloing you in a warm and intimate glow, your form mesmerising and ethereal with how at peace you look when held within such a divinely born light.

Your eyes, typically brimming with a wrathful defiance and a gluttonous need for misguided justice, are a demure beacon that glitters like the limitless galaxies within the cosmos. A flare of hope and unconditional love, soft and reassuring, for all of those that catch a glimpse of your guiding starlight. And although he feels unworthy, tainted and irrefutably damaged as he is, John also feels unbelievably blessed to bare witness to such an otherworldly sight; to be gifted with the absolute vision that is you.

And, for a moment that never quite ends, John can’t help but question how you could be hell-incarnate when heaven touches you oh so sweetly.

There are many words John Seed would have used to describe you, none of them necessarily complimentary or flattering, yet in this shared time between the two of you – just the two of you – only one word comes to mind as he unknowingly, longingly gazes at you.

Angelic. Yes, angelic you truly are. Stunningly and perfectly angelic.

John can’t remember the last time he felt this way about anyone, if he has ever felt like this at all even, but suddenly he finds that nothing else matters to him. Not the Project, not his brothers, and not even the work that he should be doing but that he had slipped away early from, because – frankly put – he was tired. He was as fed-up with this war and the responsibilities placed upon him as he suspected his dear Deputy to be. Both falling foul to your shared sin of sloth in regards to the duties you uphold.

Yet, John at least holds direction and dedication to the work divinely placed upon him. Knows what the end game is and strives to achieve it to its fullest potential, but you? You’re wavering; you’re doubting. Straying away from the path you are on, looking into the distance for something else, all the while refusing to even acknowledge the right one. The one alongside him.

You may not say it, nor ever even admit it, but John knows exactly what it is you are looking for. Knows the evidence that you’re desperately trying to compile in order to build a strong case in favour of yourself and the choices that you’ve been making, wanting to justify yourself and the many actions that you’ve made until this point between you both in the name of your feeble Resistance. And John also knows that he and his siblings are partially to blame for that.

If it wasn’t for them, you wouldn’t have to try and stand alone for yourself in your own self made courtroom. Wouldn’t have to stand before your self-conscious as you pleaded your guiltlessness before your own guilt. But, really, that’s why you needed a lawyer; that’s why you needed him. John could help you with that, could show you a better path where you could be free of such shackles. He would stand and defend you where no one else would; he would protect you when no else could.

He just wished that you’d let him. Wished that you would just sign the contract laid out before you so he could aid you, so he could fight for you. Yet, you still refuse to bless him with the payment of his favoured word. You still refuse to acknowledge just how in debt this battle will leave you without his help. It’s a small ask, a tiny payment, for a lifetime of rightful assurance.

Yet, John wonders if maybe it’s not just the courtroom that he wants to defend you in.

In his previous life, before the Project and his reunion with Joseph, John likely wouldn’t have even paid you a second glance. You’re a bit of a Plain Jane, have a very girl-next-door sort of look about you. Yet, in the wake of this interaction, bathed in the golden hue of the setting sun, John can’t think of anyone more beautiful. So human and down to earth; lost and conflicted, yet certain and firm. You really are an oddity, and one that John finds himself genuinely wanting to learn more about.

True, he had always had an interest in you, especially when this war between you first began, but it had always been a professional interest (despite what many thought or claimed). You needed to join the Project, Joseph decreed it so, and although his interest had risen to a slightly more personal level it was still business; without you he wouldn’t be able to reach Eden. His fate was in your hands.

Yet, fate seems to want to play you both into each other’s arms, for if it didn’t then surely this sacred moment between you both wouldn’t be happening. Surely, if this wasn’t meant to happen, John wouldn’t be longing for the love that Joseph promised him – the love that only you could give him – like he suddenly and hopelessly is.

John knows where he stands in this war, it’s a fixed point that he can’t move away from even if he eventually decided that he wanted to, but really his dear Deputy is still undecided. You still have a choice to make in this divine plan; you still have time to choose. And, funnily enough, it looks as if you’ve already started to make that choice. That curiosity of yours, you being in his home – on his bed – looking so domestic, like a wife waiting for her husband… to John this is a sign, a hint, a mere taste of the future that he’s always secretly hoped and longed for. A prophecy in its own right.

Yet, as much as he wants to fight for you, to defend and cherish you, he regrettably knows that the time for such things isn’t quite here yet. It’s close, certainly within his reach, but you need to meet him the rest of the way. You need those final damning pieces of evidence before you’ll come to him. You’ll want every piece of evidence available before you’ll walk your chosen path; and although he shouldn’t interfere, John could very easily acquire such evidence for you. He could very easily make such evidence for you. A little more time, a few strings pulled and a couple of sins stripped, and he could give you everything you need and so, so much more.

The temptations of the promised future are a fruit too sweet not to savour.

Eden’s Baptist watches with a fresh interest as you sigh heavily, chest rising and falling with the action, as you start to walk towards him. John’s chest tightens, flutters under the way your sparkling eyes meet and hold his own, only a hint of uncertainty, a fleeting touch of something questioning – do you feel it too? Do you feel this like he does? – on your face before you look away, glance down like a bashful bride, and come to stand next to him.

He doesn’t move from where he’s been leaning against the door, doesn’t even dare to breathe in case this moment is blown away like ash on the wind. Yet, when nothing happens and all he can focus on is his and your own gentle breathing, he takes a gamble and swallows thickly, slowly turning his head so he can look down at you next to him, naturally pretty despite the odd scratch and speck of dried blood on your well worn clothes.

The tension is palpable between you both, not so tight that’s it choking you, but tight enough that you can certainly feel it; hear it moan like a bow dragging steadily over a cello’s strings. Although, not as ominous as one would first suspect, but more melancholy; a rich sadness. As though despite how much you might want and wish for something, it will never come to pass; a sad inevitability that you can do nothing but walk past, never to stop and consider. Or at least you shouldn’t, for only heartbreak lies down those withered and desolate roads.

Which is why you shouldn’t stop, why you shouldn’t be wanting to reach out with a tender touch, a reassurance to this greedy want of yours for something more out of this moment, for more out of this strange connection and unlikely companionship you have discovered between the two of you. You shouldn’t feel this safe when standing next to the man that wants to starve this Valley into submission. You shouldn’t feel so at ease around a man that derives a sick thrill out of torture and the power it gives him. You shouldn’t feel like you’ve finally found a home when you’re sitting on his bed with his shirt in your arms.

You can’t deny that you’re attracted to him, that there clearly is some sort of unexplainable connection between the both of you, but whatever this connection may be… it can never be explored. It can never happen. You will never side with Eden’s Gate, and even if you decide that you can no longer be with the Resistance, it’ll be for the same reason why you can’t join Joseph’s cult. Ultimately, your decision, whatever it may be, will change nothing. Just like nothing will change John’s decision.

Ruled by the cry of your heart and the attachments it’s quick to make you hesitantly lay your greedy hand upon him, turning slightly as your right hand crosses you in order to gently grip his toned arm; the familiar feel of uniquely expensive silk sliding pleasantly

against your skin.

You feel him tense under your hand, arms tightening from where they are still crossed across his chest, but you don’t blame him. Really you’re not even too sure what it is you’re doing, this will only hurt you more when you walk away from whatever this could’ve been if things were different, but you always have had a bit of a penchant for torturing yourself with things like this.

So no matter how much the ‘what if’s’ will wound you in the future you still immerse yourself in the feel of him, of the way he relaxes as your thumb brushes back and forth in a comforting gesture against his arm, the smell of his cologne naturally intermingling with his natural scent… it’s a bitter torture that already has the tears coming to your eyes, but still you stay a little longer; heart hopefully romantic even though you know better.

This – the two of you – could never work.

“Deputy…”

“You know,” you cut him off, the slightest fracture in your softened tone, “I didn’t mean what I said earlier, about your planes. They’re not toys; they’re really cool actually,” there’s a buried laugh under your breath, a small smile that speaks of a brief reminiscion, “the way you have them all set up, cataloged with their little name plates… it’s really cute. It would be super cool if you had them hanging down from the ceiling though; like, having them act out dog fights and things almost. Can you imagine it?”

You giggle there, head ducking as you get lost in thoughts and bitter imagines – helping to set them up, walking in and seeing them like that, being lifted and twirled under them like stars in the sky – that will never be.

This war has taken everything from you, has made you doubt and lose sight of who you were before. Even your dreams for the future, regardless of who they may be with, have been tarnished by the stains on your hands and the things you have been pushed into doing. How could you ever have a normal life after this? Who would want a life with you after all of this? It all seems so impossible and far too far out of reach for you now.

Although it may be cruel, your wandering thoughts and the reminder they bring is a good grounder, and in turn your smile sours; even as one blooms sweetly across John’s face, a light dusting of pink across his cheeks.

For the better, you don’t see it.

“Anyway, I better go; got a County to save and all that after all. I’ll see you around though, John,” you pause, hesitate, desperately cling to this fleeting moment that’s finally reached its end, “take care of yourself now, sweetheart. Lord knows we need to...”

With nothing else to say, that quiet piece of compassion laid out before him like a final offering, you leave; letting go of his arm with a parting squeeze and a faint caress as you pull away, walk past him and out the door until you’re eventually lost to him yet again. A weary ghost bound to forever wander the lonely battlefield.

John doesn’t follow you, doesn’t even reach out to stop you like a part of him begs him to do, and instead merely turns to watch you leave. Head down and arms wrapped comfortingly around your waist. He really should stop you, force this moment to last for as long as he can get it to, but he doesn’t; and that surprisingly hurts him, letting you go. Yet, the pain it brings only hardens him, makes his thoughts straighten and become resolute in the face of the same realisation that had dawned on him only moments before hand.

And as the sun sets over the horizon, the sky streaked in sunburnt northern lights, colours shifting like water with the flowing of time, John finally moves to sit in the same place you had been on his bed; alone and lost in thought. Reaching out to pick something up off his nightstand as he draws his elbows to rest on his spread knees. His hands cupped against his mouth and securely around your forgotten sewing kit, as he stares blankly at your abandoned rifle.

Another sign in and of itself.

Although you hadn’t been looking at him when you had left John had certainly been watching you. He had seen the way that your eyes had glistened like unsteady waters as the courtroom erupted into a debate that you felt that you couldn’t win; the choice taken from you as your morals and exploited loyalty raged and dictated the sentence you should face.

He knows you felt it, knows that there is something special between the two of you, and that it’s taken this moment between you – this one act of rebellion stemmed from your curiosity – for him to see it; for him to finally grasp the meaning behind his brother’s plea.

You were right when you had questioned him on his lack of care regarding the Atonement; how he doesn’t care to save those that don’t believe, how he doesn’t want to put in the effort for those that will only put it to waste. If their motives are not genuine then the process is entirely pointless. Although, John won’t deny that there is a certain gratification in having such control over someone. Forcing them to say yes, purely for their own survival, is not the intention, but it certainly works all the same. After all, Joseph hasn’t exactly scolded him for his methods; especially if he gets a little therapy and self management out of it.

But what of you? What do you have as an outlet, as a way to cope and make the prize all the more sweeter? Better yet, what is the prize that you’re working towards, because John certainly has his in mind, and it won’t just be the end of a cruel and uncaring society.

You’re a puppet, both in terms of your occupation and the leading role you’re now being made to fill, dancing on fraying strings. Strings that John could fully free you from, help to cut you loose, if only you would just say ‘yes’. He’d be able to properly protect and defend you then, reassure you in your choices and how the things you’ve done were never truly your own; your caring nature merely exploited by those that you were forced to associate with while under the influence of shock. The trauma brought on by that helicopter crash disorientating you and leaving you vulnerable toward their manipulative and pressurising ways.

At least if you were to say ‘yes’, John would be able to safely guard you and your surprisingly tentative character. He would be able to love and cherish you, hold you close like no other, and make it so that you would want for nothing while in his arms. He could actually keep you in his bed, smother you in the pleasure that he would gladly give you as his beloved; chain you there as he ravished you and the softness that you would offer him, that you allowed him a tantalising glimpse of.

If you said ‘yes’, then John would finally be able to secure you and your loose strings, worn and threadbare under the continued pressure of your wailing guilt, to his own tangled ones; knotting them together until they have been sewn into something new, becoming one and the same. And when that finally happens, you will be entwined around a silk too rich and blissful to be so easily frayed.

[u-jin]

IT’S ALL DARK

status: headcanon ft. @lockekatirci  situation: first meetings location: somewhere near market zero time: hour unknown, the streets are swept black, even the late crowds have quieted TRIGGER WARNINGS: death, blood, mutilation, gore

DEMON CAT OPENS, POURING TERROR ONTO THE STREETS:

It’s like an animal bent over prey, a darkened image of a not-quite man bent over a not-quite corpse, a carving knife in one hand, fingers stained red and face sprayed, blood dripping from the ends of his hair as he works in the back alley of an abandoned pub. This, he thinks, is art. He reels back and slices down again, a horrible tearing sound, a dull thud. He leaves his knife protruding for a moment, bare hands reaching into a gaping crevice, past bone, past the squishy, slippery texture of human insides, seemingly searching for something, a growl of frustration. He pulls back again, the cold air freezing the wet texture of his skin, and is stopped by a feeling like ice, a slow prickle running up his back, a sensation familiar to one thing -- someone is watching him.

Then he looks up, red up to his elbows as he draws the knife out of the body's ribcage, the air moving and transforming, a face somewhere in the darkness. He stands slowly, making the shadows writhe and shift around him, the light cascading into the dark, his own person being revealed like a feral dog, eyes wide and face beautiful in it’s stoicism, it’s in freedom from hunger in the one moment after hunting, covered in blood and chunks of flesh. He finds him, a being more wraith than man, appearing as if conjured. The knife hangs loosely in Ujin’s hand, curious and open, he takes several steps towards the shadowed figure, face cast like the undead in the way the darkness hangs over his eyes. He pushes light closer, plays with his own mind in the form of illusions, the slow, clandestine drip, drip, drip of scarlet falling past his arms to the concrete, a mutilated corpse lying motionless in the background.

He’s curious, treacherous, he creates the illusions and yet he isn’t sure if he conjured it himself, sanity sometimes slipping in his ache for blood, his draw to the macabre, then the light reveals a face and he realizes that it cannot be a creation of his own because he doesn’t make beautiful things. He draws closer, eyes narrowed, knife heavy in his fingertips, something in the back of his mind saying that he must take this one too, that he has to reap every last creature he sees, he has to devour, consume. He can’t stand the sight of something that appears so clean despite the way the blackness clings to him, something untouched despite the intensity in his stare, but there is no fear, not exactly, instead something that looks as starving as he is, and Ujin wants nothing more than to slice him open and chew on his bones.

The shadows are domain to the beasts and the butchers, and the man appears well at home, he steps closer, eyes molten gold and tinged velvet, narrowed and curious. Who are you? What can you do for me? How he loathes pretty things, hates those that mirror himself, delicate features and dark dispositions, is it possible to be this empty? This angry? He sears molten lava, mouth spitting ash, the ground rumbling with the tightening suture of an oncoming storm, a building intensity in the locked stare of two monsters, two unholy creatures, one caught feasting in his right and the other a watcher, an onlooker, an uninvited guest.

His head turns carefully to the side, his mouth opens his mouth as if to speak, reaches out as if to touch when behind him there’s a clatter, and he turns, paranoid and sharp. He sees a rat scurry from beneath a heap of trash and just as quickly he turns back, greeted with only the image of a brick wall and, for a moment, he appears thoughtful. Eventually his tongue clicks behind his teeth, as if this occurrence was nothing strange, as if performing for an audience of one. He still feels the presence nearby, but worse things have burdened him, far worse has happened, and he turns back around, head cocked and smile returning, wild and wrathful. Another monster in his midst, one he does not recognize, one he’s surely meant to hunt. The features linger, transparent, almost crystalline, not solid or definable but just as vivid.

He’ll be back, he decides, before drawing his knife up and returning to his art project.

AND SO RETURNS HELL HOUND ( @lockekatrici ) , WATCHING FROM THE SHADOWS:

Through static darkness; suspended in the shadows like an invisible fly on the wall; obscured by all living creatures, Locke almost becomes the dead in the way existence no longer stands tangible. Only the nearly inaudible breaths whisper his presence in amongst the night and he’s simply watching. It’s not clear how much time has passed, but in the veil, there’s a weightlessness that keeps time as an illusion; a figment of reality that no longer cares for such trivial cogs in a clock. Not even the metal hands under the steel of Katirci’s watch can attract his attention when such a display of vehemence captures his admiration. A sickening snap echoes; evidence of tendons tearing from tissue, an explosion of liquid bursts from the hacking of meat where silver carves deep, splits open the disfigured animation like a fountain and allows arteries to spurt red and paint the streets in colour. Like a mosquito that pierces with the same necessity to thrive; saps life; energy from a being, a strange obsession with needing to inch closer starts crawling under Locke’s skin. It’s as though that craving for a knife to cut open his own flesh overpowers reasoning; he wants to be in the place of the canvas currently being maimed to forge a new entity. It evokes a memory, the harsh sound of bones cracking a small boy’s shoulder blade in youth; a wail that’s fast silenced when another comes down and drives deep the venom that in elder years swarms the man’s veins like a parasite; a poison that builds him to something beyond becoming ruination.

He’s the god of the night and deities like to be seen; worshipped and offered sacrifices as favoured by most sentients; Lokman as a divinity is an image formed entirely of delusion, though, diluted by his own deep rooted belief he is greater than his own beasts.

Because he stares in awe at the one before him; sees everything in the hues of the man – if he could be called such a thing, the frenzied ghoul that appears to be the reaper of offerings; such a beautiful thing that Katirci’s own false illusion of playing silent spectator falters and he steps out to meet the other; as if only to see his face close up, marvel in the features that are blessed with the sangria that peppers warm skin, melts down perfected features; a jaw that even belonging to something with ferocity; untamed in the actions of the blade he holds can only belong to something of primal nature. Would you take my hand if I wiped red from your face, if only to see deeper? A madman’s misconception, because he already sees it all.

And above that, the stranger sees him. A kind of outlandish stare that’s a myriad of perplexion and the hunger behind the man’s eyes; matches Locke’s own if only by a single shade, so he believes. There’s no shift of eyes to the knife in the other’s hand, knowing that Locke’s own is sheathed in the rear of trousers; a personal measure, opposed to that of protection. For a moment, both men are still, admiring each other and any third eye could assume a standoff, but it’s nothing of the kind; there’s only a drawn need to the grisly and Lokman’s lip ticks in one corner, not as a taunt, but as an unorthodox manner of greeting. It might have been as prominent as firing a bullet, the only shift that begins the shift of the two that’s evident past the two heaving chests that indicate they’re alive.

An abrupt clatter of tin resonates, tears the other’s gaze away, offers Lokman opportunity to disappear; create a new diversion in the beams of black that shape inconsistent waves between the pub’s alleyway. He’s become a ghost again; once more opportunist, stealthy in becoming absent to the other who’s own speed is admirable. But it’s never quite fast enough, he can see the momentary flicker where lowlights project amber street lights over the features of the stranger. It could easily be a dream manifested from hauntings; memories that plague Locke’s head from years prior. But it’s far too real, he can sense it like a false sixth sense that is all in his mind, the need to still capture a streak of red on his own fingertips if only to become closer to the man; so Lokman can be seen by him as Katirci plays witness to his misdeeds.

Then, like it never happened, the brief encounter of two monsters in the dark, the other begins hacking at the mutilated mass, unhinged and ignorant perhaps to any ghosts gracing him. It seems so pitiful to be disheartened, that Locke’s not accustomed anymore to feeling forgotten so swiftly in situations with such merciless intentions. The stranger’s got something better in the dead in front of him. A demon in the rear of Locke’s head, coaxing lies; truths? Into him like sweet pumps of that delicious poisonous venom he’s drowned in.

The briefest emotion, unrecognised – entirely unfamiliar; so fast to fleet from his body like a powerful force uses him as a conduit to another world for just a split second. More so that it’s such an old feeling, he’s forgotten what it’s like; rejection; being unknown once more to the person he’s spent perhaps hours staring at in the mists for the other man to only see him for seconds.

Unlike the stranger who’s hijacked his thoughts; all rationality – if there ever was any, Lokman does not forget such a moment and there’s no denying the bloodied face that he’s memorised isn’t the last painted picture he’ll leave with; a promise. He’ll be the ghost that haunts the man.

[adevotedappraisal]

Sound of Rain by Solange from When I Get Home

There’s a moment that happens deep in the bedroom after a long, adventurous night of partying. After those type of nights you may fall asleep in your socks, or your bra, or in your jacket depending on how many shots you had. This moment, floats upon that tide of rest before it overcomes you, alone with the silence in the bed, or on your forehead as you roll over from the sex that capped the night, the sweat coming down across you in long drips, cooling as both your breathings go up and down in long breaths.  As you lay there in the judgeless bed, the sleep curling the edges of your day-thoughts like children’s notebook stickers, you think back on the night, the images fading in and out: the taste of the lips, the smell of the bathroom, the way the heat felt on your hand as it rose up between thighs. The moment made up of moments, is played incomplete in your mind, like a movie’s film reel projected onto rainfall.  And although this moment with the fading thoughts of the night might have a deep resonance and could go on to contribute to that moving history that is yourself, they are fleeting thoughts ultimately, lacking in a central density.  Solange’s fourth album When I Get Home is like this moment: songs with suggestions of images and warming half-memories shifting, glittering and thrown against each other; it’s just an album that is thick, changes shape and floats away from you slow like blunt smoke.

The key producers here are Knowles herself, along with John Key and John Caroll Kirby, who colour her melodies with snaking synths and dense moog in the tone of Music of My Mind-era Stevie Wonder. This core is helped out on some songs by past collaborator Dev Hynes, along with Metro Boomin and Pharrell. They expand on Solange’s thoughts, and fill out the sound with drums that can paint the album in Trap Soul largesse, skittering hi hats and all, or in a sloppy post-Dilla cool. The songs by themselves are great experiments and vamps, and they work really well in most playlists you can construct. In fact, on some points of When… it sounds like Solange is mimicking the chopped up voices you hear on Hip-Hop mixtapes themselves.  She sings in a lower tone when she repeats a line, or distorts her voice into a screwed texture, layered over the beat, deepening the vibe.  Her songwriting itself is simplistic to achieve this, none of the structure of the upbeat, polished Pop-Soul of 2008s Sol-Angel and the Hadley St. Dreams.  Instead, she would find a phrase or word and obsess on it until it’s rendered into all vibe here.

There’s “Stay Flo,” a twinkling lullaby loop anchored by its head-nodder beat, Solange at her best here, rapping in a tossed-off cool, then whipping up a wall of harmonies.  “Way to the Show” has two blocks of chants repeating into a mesmerizing, near-meditative groove, meanwhile “Almeda” has a great energy to it, with a trunk-rattling bass and the hi-hat proud and on display, Solange in a trance over a rambling piano and an undone synth, chanting “brown liquor, brown skin, brown face,” and “Binz” is this sparse, atavistic funk, Solange’s voice echoed and assured as she toasts over the skeletal banger like a 21st century Sister Nancy.

Any of those short, punchy, groove-based songs work individually, but it is when they are experienced as part of a whole that a lack of density in emotion emerges, because some of the songs are little more than riffs on a groove, with words composed in situ, than anything planned out.  There is no problem with a song being created after a session of loose improvisation –some of Marvin Gaye’s best songs came about that way –the problem is when that process is still seen there in the final product. “Dreams” is airy and undercooked, a cloud of soma passing over and away, “Beltway” is a soft nocturnal harmony that sinks into the background, while “Time(is)”  just drifts by on islands of breathy coos, her words barely there, almost blowing away over the snaking moog.  And although there is this raw immediacy to the song, Solange’s searching excursions for melody don’t always land.  That said, the song is saved by a wonder of a coda where the tempo changes, the piano gets more agile now, Solange gets more assured, this time obsessing over the line “you gotta know, you gotta know,” repeating it into an aural fabric. Some drums kick in, and Sampha then weaves his aching baritone around the mantra like a tree limb.

Whereas, “Sound of Rain” is when all these experiments and techniques coalesce in service of a crafted song, in a way that it all came together in “Losing You” from 2012s True, and “Cranes in the Sky” from her commanding A Seat at the Table(2016).  It is anchored by an echoed sample disappearing into ripples that bring to mind the famous water drop sample from Jeru da Damaja’s 1994 Hip-Hop classic “Come Clean,” except there the water drops were used to convey a menace, some mysterious, approaching doom. Here, it washes the song in a calming soundscape the way that rainfall itself does so effortlessly, while the bass moves underneath in heavy thumps.  It’s a seductive sound, made more so by Solange’s erotic come-ons.  Her voice, forever in the shadow of her sister’s in terms of power and range, is well suited to this quiet storm created.  She breathes the words in soft staccato impulses into your ear the way a lover does when they want to leave the party with you. The melodies are light and memorable, curling around the synth lines, and, at the end, when the beat becomes chopped and screwed into a dreamy space-time fabric, Solange uses her gift for riding the beat in scatting riffs and half-words, sending the song (and by extension the album) off in a beautifully self-assured and reflexively black fashion.

Solange is zoning out on the beat, questioning the need for movement forward in songs with her shamanic repetitions and heavy-bottomed grooves of these songs that eschew traditional soul structure of verse chorus verse, and instead boils the songs down to their elemental melody or idea, throwing these ideas at us one after the other, attempting to create a tessellated whole greater than the sum of its weed-tinged, burnt ochre parts. This results in a warm, adventurous yet inconsistent listen.  At its best times of weirdness it is reminiscent of the spacey, brutalised beats of 2006s Olesi: Fragments of an Earth by Georgia Ann Muldow, the chants and organs of Alice Coltrane’s Transcendence from 1977, or the more quiet, curious passages of Journey to the Secret Life of Plants by Stevie Wonder (1979), with snippets of conversations, political references and remembered lunch-time chants from childhood thrown in.  In the end though, the dearth of solidly structured songs to take these ideas to fruition with a big chorus or revealing lyric, creates a moment that is floating and restless, the way dreams are, all wrapped up in this artsy but tempered, black middle-class sophistication; it’s just a modern-times Madvilliany for Spelman girls.

[mysticsparklewings]

Ziggy Crossing

Still not quite sure I'm 100% back into the swing of things (posting regularly and being more present) yet, but time will tell. For now I'm testing the waters. Anyway. In the time I've been away, I ended up talking to some friends about (to the surprise of absolutely no one) Animal Crossing, and in that conversation, the idea of drawing my cat, Ziggy, as an Animal Crossing villager came up. I'd toyed with it before after seeing some other people draw their pets as villagers, and that conversation more or less sealed the deal for me to at least try it, even if my attempt didn't pan out and see the light of day. Obviously, things went pretty well because here I am posting this. The first step, as it is 90% of the time for me, was to come up with a sketch and go from there. I primarily used Olivia and Lolly [pre-existing Animal Crossing cat villagers] as my references--Olivia for the pose and eyes, Lolly for the stripes and some details regarding the ears and face--but I also checked certain things across the various cat villager models so that details could be consistent where they needed to be. I think if I missed the mark anywhere, it's probably in the proportions. Namely the size of the head and length of the body. But I think it's close enough that unless you compare it directly to Olivia's model that I referenced for the pose, the proportions aren't so off that it's distracting or off-putting. I did originally have trouble figuring out what pattern to put on her shirt though because the real Ziggy doesn't really have anything I could pull a pattern from. These days she does wear a white and silver collar, but that's not a whole lot to work with. So I left that alone while I pondered how I wanted to go about coloring the whole thing. My plan at the beginning was to use this sketch as a test piece for some acrylic paint markers I recently acquired (which you will be seeing me talk about in the future), but once the sketch was finished and I went back to check the colors I had (you know me; gotta have a swatch chart for everything), it was pretty obvious that if I want this to be my dear Ziggy and not just a random tabby cat, I needed to figure out a different coloring method. I could have just done regular acrylic paint, but that sounded like a chore and thus I was not interested. Same with gouache. Colored pencils were on the table, but the main problem I have with those is that they can be pretty slow and personally I think their texture really lends them better to replicating the 3DS/Animal Crossing: New Leaf style, as opposed to the look of New Horizons, and that's not what I was going for here. That left me with two main options: Watercolor, which was a hard pass for this kind of art (at least for Ziggy herself), and alcohol markers, which I did use quite a bit on the last Animal Crossing artwork I made, and they had worked out fairly well. Alcohol markers it was! Of course, even after that decision was made, there was the issue of how to handle the lines of the drawing. When I was planning on using the paint pens/acrylic markers/whatever, that seemed a lot simpler because, in theory, I could just use the same pen I wanted to color with to do the outlines and then fill them in. And because that would be using mostly opaque paint, if I needed to I could just cover up any overlap with relative ease. Alcohol markers don't play by the same rules though, so I had to re-think all that. In the end, I pulled out a pale warm gray Polychromos pencil close to the main color of alcohol marker that I had picked out that I figured would also be light enough to blend in everywhere else. That way I could have the defining lines that I needed without having to worry too much about them being visible in the final product. [For clarification: I picked a Polychromos because once sharpened they tend to hold a point longer and better than the other colored pencils at my disposal and I really needed to keep a sharp point as long as possible to do the lines here.] In retrospect, I do think it might have been to my benefit to pick out a pink for doing the inner ear lines, but the end result there isn't so awful that it single-handedly (paw-ed-ly?) ruins the drawing for me. It's just something to take note of for next time if there is a "next time." Once I had my lines (including doing the eyelashes and mouth with one of my usual black fineliners), the next challenge was the actual coloring. Mostly because I had to be very careful around the edges so that the marker ink didn't feather out too far (as alcohol markers do on any paper that isn't marketed as "bleed proof" because that's what bleed proof in paper actually means--not that it won't bleed through to the other side, though that is less common with that kind of paper, but that it won't "bleed" across the page), and I also had to be a little careful and choosy about how I did any blending or shading. Again, my blending and shading plan was going to be different had I used the acrylic markers. The main thing I ended up doing here was trying to find areas that needed to be layered so that the one-color shading could act as a line/barrier between sections. Best example: Where the ears meet the head, I shaded the bottom portion of the ears. You can also see this a little bit where Ziggy's tail meets her body and where the legs intersect at a few different points. By no means did this turn out perfectly, considering that I really wanted to stick to use as few colors as possible (which means pretty much all the shading is just layers of one color to darken it) which means there isn't as much distinction or variation as there could be. And I feel it necessary to note here that I was worried when I first finished the lines that the eyes looked wonky, but after coloring pretty much everything else in that concern dissolved because 1. It's harder to tell and 2. Even if they aren't exactly the same, it makes visual sense because it looks like her head is slightly turned, meaning the eyes wouldn't be identical anyway. Never underestimate the power of coloring your work in! Speaking of which, you might be wondering about her shirt by now. Well, after toying around with some ideas I got it in my head that a good way to tackle that problem might be with washi tape, as I've used it in this manner before and worked out pretty nicely. Even though it wasn't a lot to work with, I did like the idea of the base color for her top being white like the real Ziggy's collar, and that narrowed down my tape options considerably. Of the options I had that I thought would be suitable, I ended up having a choice between one with small rainbow-colored polka dots and the decidedly less vibrant small triangles that you see here. The polka dots seemed a little too peppy for Ziggy, so I went with the triangles. And this, I must say, is one of those artistic decisions that I feel even better about the longer that I see the end product.   The main issue I have with using washi tape, and thus why I don't use it in this way that often, is because cutting the washi tape to fit a specific shape is a process that doesn't get much easier even with practice.  And even if it did, that wouldn't eliminate the very real possibility of cutting or indenting the paper underneath while you're cutting the tape. Of which, I have not yet figured out how to totally avoid short of forming the washi tape on a separate piece of paper, cutting it there, and then moving it to the final piece. But that method comes with its own problems too, so... Still, I made the decision to go through with it here and just accept the rough edges/lack of precision and all that. Before I put the tape down though, I did do a little shading with some light gray markers that I was counting on showing through the tape to give it a little more dimension. Seeing it now, I do think I could've stood to go a little darker, but again this isn't something that totally ruins the end result for me. Just something worth noting. After all of the above, I was left with one lingering problem: The background. Which I've noticed seems to normally be a "problem" area for me in that I don't always have a solid idea for what to do with it. I did consider what exactly I wanted to do earlier on in the process, before I started on Ziggy on the final paper, even. Briefly, I thought I might cut her out and put her on a separate background as is sort of a go-to background method for me. Something just didn't feel right about doing that here though and it feels like I've done that a lot lately (you know, when I've not been drowning in mandalas for NaPoWriMo...). So it was at this early stage that I locked in the idea of adding in the background in later, probably doing something kind of loose to give a general idea that hopefully wouldn't take too much time or effort. We've already established that I wasn't super keen on the idea of using acrylic paints or gouache for this drawing, and that remained true for the background too. Although, I don't really like using alcohol markers for backgrounds either because it can be tricky to keep things smooth and consistent. That left me with colored pencils and watercolor. Colored pencils are usually hard pass for backgrounds for me for a number of reasons. So! Watercolor, hmm... I drew Ziggy here on my darling Strathmore 400 series mixed media paper because I love how it handles markers and it has enough weight and texture to it that it handles a lot of my other go-to options with little fuss. Watercolor is really the only thing I have trouble using on it, the main problem being that sometimes (not always) the paint doesn't like to blend out super smoothly and certain watercolor techniques don't work the same on it. This doesn't mean it's useless for watercolor (at least not for me), that just means I have to be more careful about how I choose to work with watercolor on it. In this case, the blending issues lined up with the idea I had of letting the background have more texture since Ziggy came out a lot smoother by the very nature of alcohol markers. Somewhere in all this, the idea struck me to use my Gelatos to leave behind some crayon-like texture. That idea seemed fitting to me since Animal Crossing is a fairly light-hearted and child-friendly game, themes that crayons go along with. The gelatos are water-soluble but not every color dissolves completely when activated with water. This should be pretty evident here because I didn't try to hide it. I wanted quick and easy, and without a doubt just letting the texture do whatever it wants is the quick n' easiest method to use with the gelatos. Once I'd done a bit of back and forth with two greens and two blues to give me the solid suggestions of a sky and ground, it still felt like it was missing something. Ultimately, it seemed like a good idea to me to try and mimic the triangle pattern/texture that New Horizons features. (In past games you could get squares or circles for a grass pattern at random.) And while I as per usual I had to think on how to go about this, in the end, the best solution I could come up with turned out to be drawing the triangles in with alcohol markers. Truly, I'm surprised to be reporting this because I fully expected the creamy nature of the gelatos to make using alcohol markers on top feel disguising and unproductive. But not so! At least not with the limited gelato use here. The creamier areas do soften the color of the marker, but I think that worked to my advantage. Although, I did end up using a little bit of my yellow Moonlight gel pen because I felt like I needed some yellow triangles for balance and I knew transparent yellow markers wouldn't do what I wanted. But that brings us to the final product. I'm happy with it. And I do really like how the grass ties in with Ziggy's green eyes. It's just a nice little touch of visual cohesion in my book. As I always say, I'm sure it's not perfect and there are some missteps here and there or things that could be improved. Nevertheless, it was a fun experiment and serves as good encouragement for me to continue playing with the lineless look, among other things. I do have to note though that it feels super weird to just leave the eyes like this with no indication of shine on them! I made the choice not to since it's not a common trait with the official character models (at least not for eyes in this same style) but part of me still feels like it's incomplete. As I've said before recently and I'll probably say again, I can't promise I'll be getting back to a regular upload schedule now, but it's on my mind. I want to get to that point soon. I do have the acrylic markers I mentioned to talk about and another supply in the mail, and some other art in my backlog. So if you can be patient with me a while longer, there will be more from me to look forward to. In the meantime, please be kind to yourself and others. ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram