#(It’s definitely one of my favorite settings for art because of the sunlight and opportunities for the people on board to catch a break)

[fangirl-of-the-end]

Lazy afternoons on the Sunny

#trafalgar law #trafalgar d. water law #roronoa zoro #op zoro #tony tony chopper #op chopper #one piece #op law #thousand sunny #dressrosa #op fanart #(been super busy lately studying for exams but I really felt like drawing some wholesome relaxing on the Sunny deck) #(It’s definitely one of my favorite settings for art because of the sunlight and opportunities for the people on board to catch a break) #And I’m weak for Law and Zoro with Chopper #my art #digital art #fan art

[foreverfallingforthestars]

Shining in the Darkness

I've had to rework this plot about 3 times because I started this earlier this year and then restarted it a few weeks ago and then re-restarted it yesterday lmao I hope you guys like it

Word Count: 1699

Read on AO3

Rowaelin Month Masterlist

Day 13 of Rowaelin Month Prompt: Florist/Tattoo shop AU

~~~~~~~~

“Ugh,” Aelin groaned, “look at them pretending to be all high and mighty with their all-black, emo, punk tattoo shop.” She turned away from them in annoyance, instead taking in the bright and beautiful flowers around her.

“I mean, I hope you didn’t expect a tattoo shop to be all sunshine and rainbows,” Elide laughed as she wiped down the counter where bouquets were made.

Aelin sent her a withering glance. “You’re only saying that because you’ve been staring at Mr. Tall-and-Dark ever since they started moving in.”

Elide sent her a sweet smile in response. “As if you haven’t been staring at Mr. Tall-and-Blond? Plus, this is the perfect opportunity to go get that tattoo you’ve been talking about for ages.” Elide gasped and suddenly pointed the rag at her, “You should go by and give them a welcome present! It’ll brighten that dreary place up too!”

Aelin glared at her, “Don’t you have some work to do?”

“Uh-huh, sure, kick your favorite cousin out for having such a brilliant idea.”

Aelin rolled her eyes at her, “Aedion’s going to take offense to that. Technically, you aren’t even my cousin.”

“I don’t care, and Aedion can suck it,” Elide cackled. “Go get them one of the potted plants. Probably a succulent or two, since it doesn’t look like they can keep anything else alive,” she said as she walked into the storeroom to take inventory.

Aelin sighed as she turned back around to watch the two men wipe down the clear glass panels and windows of the store. Her floral shop, Kingsflame Florals, was right across from The Cadre, a tattoo shop that was apparently opening tomorrow, and she was understandably frustrated at how everytime she looked out her own shop’s glass panels, she saw the dark and gloomy exterior of The Cadre. There was enough darkness in her own brain over the last few years after her parents had passed away that she didn’t exactly need to see it constantly as soon as she looked out of her shop, but Aelin also knew that it was strictly her problem and that she really couldn’t take it out on the shop owners.

Elide was right, though. The only decent thing about the entire place was the fact that there was a Mr. Tall-and-Blond, except his hair glinted so brightly under the sunlight that it looked almost like platinum silver. Even from across the street, she could see his muscles rippling under his black shirt as he wiped down the windows, (this man did not care about the burning sunlight, and she had no idea how he could bear it), and Aelin could see the vague swirls of a tattoo down his arm and on the back of his neck. If she was being honest, she wanted to go see the design up close, maybe get some inspiration for what she wanted, but did she really want to deal with all that doom and gloom?

As she chewed on her lip, she decided that maybe her parents were worth facing that - and she would never admit it, but Elide was onto something with giving them succulents -, and so she turned back around and picked up one of their potted succulents that was there especially for the store. Aelin grabbed their water sprayer, gave it a few spritzes, fluffed her open hair, smoothed down her blouse, and walked out the store.

“Hey, neighbor,” she called out as she crossed the road. Aelin was definitely feeling slightly intimidated by how black everything was, but she could deal. She was out of her emo-depressed phase after her parents had died, and a black tattoo shop couldn’t change that.

The dark-haired man wasn't there, but the man with the silver hair turned around, and she was weirdly excited to realize that he had bright green eyes. It was like a surprise of sorts - the man who seems to prefer black had silver hair and green eyes, exactly the opposite of his personality. He was incredibly attractive, though. Gorgeous eyes, pretty hair, sharp jawline, and the tattoo swirling up his neck, almost creeping up his jaw.

“Hello,” he responded, a slight tilt to his words thanks to an accent. Aelin blinked at first, trying to remember how to breathe again because holy crap, the man was suddenly even more attractive, and this was so not fair.

She put on her best, charming smile as she responded, “Welcome to the street. Your shop looked a bit too doom-and-gloom so I decided to bring over some flowers from my shop!”

He raised an eyebrow as he looked at the plant in her hands. “Doom and gloom?”

“Well, yeah, your entire shop is black, which is quite an achievement honestly. How do you make something so dark when the front part of the shop is entirely glass which lets all this sunlight in?” she joked, but from the way his lips turned down into a scowl, she figured he didn’t exactly share the same sentiments.

“It’s a tattoo shop,” he stated in a manner-of-fact tone, “so yes, it’s a lot of black.”

“Um, right,” she awkwardly responded, her bravado effectively gone, “I just wanted to come by and give you a succulent to keep at the desk. I’m Aelin, by the way, I own Kingsflame Florals.”

He looked down at the plant again before looking back up at her. “I figured you owned the shop, but I’m Rowan. You can come in, if you want, and show me the prime location for that so it doesn’t look all doom-and-gloom.”

“You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

“Not at all,” he responded with a wry smirk on his face. He opened the door to the shop, and she followed him inside, immediately blasted with the cold air from the air conditioner.

She took the chance to look around the shop, and she was taken aback by the variety of designs posted around the walls. There were the simple designs like flowers, birds, dreamcatchers, and butterflies, while there were also insanely intricate designs of swirls and lines that created abstract art and distinct images, and all of it was just pure talent.

"These designs are beautiful," she breathed, setting the succulent down near the computer.

"Thanks," he replied, leaning an arm against the desk. "Interesting?" he asked, and Aelin could tell from his expression that he expected her to say no.

"Yes, actually," she replied with satisfaction as she watched Rowan's eyes widen slightly. "My cousin says that your shop opening up here is a prime opportunity for me to get the tattoo I've been talking about for ages."

"What’s stopping you from becoming our first customer then?" Rowan asked. Aelin shrugged.

"Lack of inspiration, I suppose?"

"Any ideas about what you want it to be?” Aelin shook her head, to which Rowan continued, “A reason behind getting the tattoo might help with the overall design.”

"We're not that close for me to share that part of my life with you."

"Really? I'd say these past five minutes makes us best friends," he spoke, leaning into her, mischief shining in his eyes.

Stifling a snort, Aelin rolled her eyes. “You should already know my tragic backstory then.”

“Same for you, Ms. Flowers,” he responded.

“No, but you see, I never claimed to be your best friend.”

“Ouch, that hurt,” he responded, a hand covering his heart with fake pain. Aelin’s lips quirked upwards at that with the realization that they had been leaning into each other during that entire conversation, and she was flirting with this man. She hadn’t even noticed how dark everything around her was because within that darkness was this man with bright green eyes that reminded her of pine trees from back home and silver hair that glowed like the moon,

“Fair enough,” she laughed lightly. “It’s for my parents. The shop was actually my mom’s idea for something to keep them busy after they retired, but they, uh, died in a car accident a few years ago. They never got to open it, so I did,” she said, looking out the clear panels to her own shop. It was years of hard work and pain, but she’d gotten through it. “I always wanted to get a tattoo, but now it’s more for them.”

She looked back at Rowan and was surprised to see that there wasn’t any pity shining in his eyes. No, it was understanding and compassion. He understood her decision, and it wasn’t something a lot of people were able to relate to. They would simply pass it off as a nice gesture she wanted to do, but it went deeper than that. It was a way to ensure she would never be separated from her parents, and from the way Rowan had let himself smile genuinely in front of her, she knew he understood.

“The tattoo you were staring at earlier,” he started, pointing a finger at his neck, and Aelin flushed realizing that she hadn’t been as subtle as she thought she was, “is about my wife and daughter that had passed away, also in a car accident. I understand your need to connect to them, so how about I draw something for you? You can take a look at it and make any adjustments as needed, but I can help you start off with something.”

Aelin looked at him, and she slowly exhaled a breath because maybe this was exactly what she needed. “Okay. I wanted it on my ribcage, if that works?”

“Yeah, of course, just be aware that you will have to at least take your shirt off,” he teased, and Aelin was so shocked that she barked out a laugh.

“Wow, Rowan, at least buy my dinner first.”

“Happily,” he replied.

Aelin sent him a bright smile, and she knew that she was never going to live it down from Elide that she had gone to the tattoo shop with the intentions of giving the grumpy men a succulent and had instead left with the man’s phone number and a beautiful tattoo design amazingly created with Old Language letters and a Kingsflame flower.

#rowaelin month #day 13 #rowaelin #aelin x rowan #aelin galythinius #rowan whitethorn #floral/tattoo shop au #romance #comedy

[songsformonkeys]

A Tiny Piece of the World Called Home - (Ezra x reader) chapter 2

pairing: Ezra x reader

summary: "Just like the first of the Terras, Icarus had precisely one moon. It was a desolate and barren place, gray rocks and dust as far as the eye could see. It was cold and unwelcoming and you felt a certain kinship to it. It wasn't a hostile place but it gave you nothing for free. For as long as you could remember, you had wanted to go there."

Reader and Ezra end up as partners on a mining job and are forced to live together in close proximity on a small moon base.

rating: explicit

warnings: smut

notes: trying to post all my ao3 stories to tumblr as well so this isn’t a new story and some of you might have already read it. Chapter 1 is here

Chapter 2

While Ezra had been watching you from the very start, it was only now that you had started to actually watch him back. And the more you watched, the more details you discovered about your roommate and work partner. For example, he walked around barefoot in the base a disconcerting amount of time, he was ambidextrous, liked to take long showers, that sometimes left you without any hot water but with a strong urge to strangle him, and he snored when he slept on his stomach. That last bit you knew partly because Ezra liked to take a nap after lunch and partly because the small base offered very little in the way of privacy. You shared every living space and the only way to get away from each other was to hide in the bathroom. In the beginning, Ezra must have thought you suffered from terrible gastrointestinal problems considering how much time you'd spent in there.

Ezra had definitely noticed you watching, you had been able to tell by the way his mouth always curved into a smug smile when he caught your eyes lingering, but he hadn't said anything about it and so neither had you. Instead, the two of you danced around each other while Ezra kept up his usual out loud stream of consciousness.

“Do you enjoy art? I went to a museum once. Sculptures, paintings, VRs, soundscapes, and what have you. They had everything! Of course, I'd never been before so I had no idea. Anyway, I had just landed after a job and was looking for a way to spend my well-earned freedom. So I went. And let me tell you, Birdie, I came out of that establishment a changed man. Now, you know I'm a man of emotion, I ain't ashamed to admit that, but I wept like a small child in there. Did you ever get so moved by something that it consumes your whole being? It's part of the reason why I travel. I have the privilege of seeing the most wondrous of places. The majority of them try their very damned hardest to kill me but you have got to admit that there's a certain poetic beauty in that too. Something so beautiful doing their very best to keep people from seeing it...”

You had been tinkering with the temperature-settings on the water-boiler and had only half paid attention to what Ezra was saying. Something about arts and planets and wanting to kill him. You looked up when he went quiet. That was usually your cue to say something or hum or nod before he would continue but this time Ezra was watching you intently with the faintest of smiles on his lips. The scrutiny made you a little nervous and you wished you had listened more closely.

“...yes?” you guessed, hoping that it would be an appropriate response to what he'd just said. Ezra's smile widened and clearly seizing the opportunity of having your attention, he went on.

“Where's your favorite place in the world, Birdie?”

“Here,” you stated simply and returned your focus to the water boiler. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw Ezra turn and look out through the window of your small base. He wouldn't get it. No one else had.

“It is quite a marvelous place to behold, isn't it? The planes and the ridges over on that horizon. Never the same, no matter where you turn your eye to. And I know you prefer the sunsets and they are grand indeed but for me, it's the sunrises that does it. Those first rays of sunlight make the whole planet look like it's covered in silver. Takes my breath away every morning.”

You had stopped again to just look at Ezra as he described the planet he was watching outside the window. There was a fondness to his face when he spoke and it tugged on your heartstrings like it was part of you that he was complimenting. As the light from outside hit his face you found yourself thinking that Ezra was quite a wondrous sight to behold too. Rough and rugged, sure, but there was a certain beauty to him. In profile, the curve of his nose and the uneven spikes of his hair reminded you of those very same ridges he'd mentioned just a moment ago. Sharp and jagged. And yet other parts of him seemed way too soft, in comparison. His eyes which, once he'd gotten over the initial apprehension of you, held a sort of kindness that you had not often seen. The scars on his back and torso, that almost glowed like white lines when he undressed in the evening, and told a story of a vulnerability that his usual larger-than-life persona did its best to cover up.

Ezra caught you looking at him and you quickly looked away.

If you happened to wake up an hour earlier the next morning, it was pure coincidence. And when Ezra handed you a cup of coffee and opened his mouth to, no doubt, claim otherwise you glared at him so hard that he raised his hands in surrender before closing his mouth again and pouring himself some coffee.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Mining Ander was hard work. Much harder than what most people assumed. They only saw the finished product and figured that the delicate ore must be mined in an equally delicate manner. What they always failed to take into consideration was the several feet of stone and rock that you had to drill through to even get close to the Ander.

The big mechanic drill helped but it was still a grueling work, and you loved it. You loved feeling the strain in your muscles and the way they ached after a long day of work. The smell of sweat in an air-tight suit was something you definitely could have done without, although it did make the fresh air back at the base seem all the sweeter.

Ezra was a hard worker too, which was something you appreciated about him. He never shied away from the strenuous work, despite his occasional verbal complaints about the working conditions, and a couple of hours into the workday his grunts over the comms became a familiar background noise.

You took turns manning the drill while the other person carried the discarded bits of rock away from the hole in the ground and over to the pile which had been growing steadily larger over the duration of your shift.

Most days you paused for lunch but there were days when neither of you wanted to pause what you were doing and you ended up working way too late. Those were the very few days when Ezra stayed mostly silent before it was time for bed. In the beginning, you had cherished those moments like nobody's business but as time went on you found yourself almost missing his steady stream of words and comments.

This particular day was shaping up to be one of those days. Lunch was supposed to have happened some time ago but just as you had been about to call for a break, Ezra had cheered and declared that he'd discovered something purple and gleaming. So instead of stopping, you doubled your efforts the get the ore out.

The eagerness to get to the Ander as quickly as possible might have been what did it. Ezra pushed the drill a little too hard into the ground and suddenly there was a loud snap and you started.

It felt like someone had cracked a whip against your lower leg and you yelped. The pain was followed almost immediately by a whooshing sound and you met Ezra's widening eyes before both of you looked down at the tear in your suit, where oxygen was rapidly leaking out.

“Fuck!” you cursed loudly and quickly crouched to press your hands against the hole on the fabric. Ezra hurriedly jumped down from the driver's seat of the drill and ran over to you.

“We need to get you inside,” he stated, unnecessarily, and you had half a mind to make a rude remark about him stating the obvious. But you held your tongue. Maybe the quick decrease in oxygen was making you soft.

Keeping both of your hands wrapped around your calf, to keep the pressure on the wound and the integrity of your suit, made it impossible to walk. Ezra realized this too and wasted no time picking you up and carrying you. You felt grateful for the decreased gravity since it allowed him to sprint back to the airlock in no time, despite carrying a fully grown person in his arms. Your helmets bumped together in an uneven rhythm as he ran. You listened to his sharp breaths as he ran. They were faster than usual and you didn't think it was from the effort of carrying you. He was worried, you realized and you felt a bit touched that he cared this much. It was a bit excessive, of course. This wasn't the first injury you'd suffered during your shifts on the moon. There was plenty enough oxygen in the suit to get you back to the base and plenty enough blood in your body so that even if he'd sliced your whole leg of you were pretty sure you would have been fine. And since you very much felt your leg still being attached, there wasn't really any cause for alarm. You told Ezra as much but he didn't slow down and you could tell that he didn't quite trust your abilities to medically assess yourself.

“Let me remind you that it took you almost a full day to confess that you'd cut yourself on the kitchen knife when we first got here,” Ezra reminded you, and fine, that was a somewhat fair point but you hadn't known him back then and in your defense, you probably would have been fine even if he hadn't discovered the cut and forced you to let him redress it. You said nothing more. If he wanted to run himself tired for no reason then he was, by all means, welcome to do so.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Once inside, he set you down and instructed you to strip. For once in your life, you did what you were told without arguing and as Ezra rummaged around in one of the cupboards for a medkit, you shrugged out of your spacesuit. Your lower leg and foot felt wet and as you pulled it out of the leg of the suit you winced with pain. There was more blood than you had anticipated and you suddenly felt a little light-headed. You weren't afraid of blood but you weren't exposed to bloody injuries all that often either and you preferred your own body parts without them.

You wiggled out of your pants as well and flopped down on a chair. Ezra had struck gold with his search and returned to your side a second later. You gripped his shoulder as he knelt in front of you. A warning for him not to set his knee down in the small puddle of blood that had formed on the floor in front of you. Ezra not only missed the warning but also interpreted your gesture in a completely different manner.

“Don't you worry, Little Bird,” he assured you, as if you were the one who needed comforting, “We'll have you patched up and in tip-top condition again in no time.” He began wiping the skin around the wound clean. You winced a little in anticipation of the pain that never really came. Ezra's hands were surprisingly gentle as he cleaned away the blood. Ezra always surprised you with that. For some reason you always expected him to be rough, but he never was. Whether he was preparing food, reading one your books that he'd stolen or helping you into your suit every morning, he always did everything with a gentleness like he was handling something precious.

His brow was furrowed as he worked, though more from concentration than from worry, you noted and was pleased that he seemed to have reached the same conclusion that you had on the way to the base; that there was no immediate danger to your life. Once he'd cleaned the blood away it turned out that the cut wasn't very deep at all. It was about three inches long but shallow enough that Ezra could simply tape it shut before sealing it with a big anti-bacterial bandaid. He wiped your blood from his hands as best he could and let out a slow breath.

“You gave me quite a fright there, Little Bird,” he confessed and looked up from where he was still sitting at your feet. One of his arms was resting against your bare leg.

“I told you I would be fine,” you reminded him.

“Well, you down-play things and therefore are not to be trusted on matters like this.”

“I do not!” you protested. Ezra cleared his throat and held up his index finger to begin counting.

“It's just a short walk from here, Ezra. Took us three hours. I just nicked my finger. I cleaned that wound too and I'm fairly certain I saw bone. The coffee is a little bit hot. I couldn't taste anything for two days afterwards. I'm not that cold. Your lips matched the Ander... do you wish for me to continue? Because I've got more examples if you need 'em, Birdie”

You were watching Ezra with indignation and coughed out a laugh. You could hardly be held responsible for him taking every comment you made quite so literally.

“Says the man who exaggerates just about everything,” you countered

Ezra raised his eyebrows in confusion, as if this was the most preposterous accusation he'd ever heard. You were pretty sure he was faking it but you still took the bite.

“You beg me to shoot you every afternoon when I wake you up from your nap. You almost cry every time we strike Ander and how many times have you had the finest meal of your life since you got here?”

Ezra shook his head but you could see the small smile he was trying to hide.

“I am an appreciative man, Birdie. What can I say...” he said with a shrug and yes, he was definitely trying to rile you up.

“Well, appreciate this,” you said and jokingly flipped him off.

“I would appreciate every last part of you if you weren't so damn stubborn.”

You opened your mouth to toss another semi-insult back at him before the words fully registered, making you blink and stutter out a “W-what?” instead.

“I believe you heard me perfectly well,” Ezra answered, holding his ground. You felt your cheeks flush from the boldness of his comment. Even if he didn't realize how unprofessional that joke was, you certainly did and you were at a loss for words. Your usually so sharp tongue had, for once and with the worst timing, failed you. Every witty retort you began to come up with were instantly interrupted by mental images of Ezra making good on the comment he'd made. So what if you had entertained the thought previously? You and he were two people stuck in a small space which allowed little or no room for any sort of release in that department. The mind was bound to go a little crazy after a while. It had happened with previous work partners too. And it was understood by everyone that it wasn't anything to act or even comment upon. Understood by everyone except Ezra that was.

“You have been watching me. There are many things about you which are subtle, but that has not been one of them,” he said. There was something curious in his eyes as he watched you. He was searching your face for any indication whether he was reading the situation right or not. You weren't sure at all what expression you face did show but you were quite certain it wasn't disgust or revulsion, partly because those weren't the emotions you were actually feeling right now but more importantly because you were 100% certain that Ezra would have backed off if he'd detected any aversion on your part. And Ezra remained firmly where he was, on his knees in front of you, looking up at your face with a look on his face that you vaguely recognized.

You had gotten quite good at reading Ezra during your time on the base. This look was something you'd only seen in fleeting glances when he thought you weren't looking and when you both undressed for bed in the evenings. It was a look you hadn't quite been able to read. But now he was looking you dead in the eye and it was clear as day; Ezra wanted you. The realization made heat pool low in your stomach and if truth were to be told, you wanted Ezra too. Had for a while, now that you allowed yourself to admit it.

“I have,” you admitted and Ezra let out a breath you hadn't noticed he was holding.

“And did all that watching reward you with any new insights, Little Bird?” he asked, sitting up a little straighter and placing his other hand on your thigh. Your skin felt like it was buzzing where his hand was resting. His thumb began rubbing small circles against the skin of the inside of your thigh, just above the knee. It felt wonderful but was nowhere near enough and if Ezra was gonna give another monologue right now, you were pretty sure you wouldn't be able to handle it.

“For Kevva's sake, Ezra, can we save this conversation for later and just... do something!” You weren't necessarily proud of the shrill note of desperation to your voice but a dangerous smile spread across Ezra's face and his grip on you tightened. In a torturously slow movement, he pushed your legs further apart and you had to grip the edge of your seat hard to keep yourself from yanking him forward. He moved closer, hands running up the outside of your thighs, and he leaned down to place a kiss halfway up your thigh. Then another one, slightly higher. Then, because he was Ezra and of course he just couldn't help himself, he stopped and looked up at you.

“I must confess that thoughts of this have crossed my mind more than once,” he said, voice rough like sandpaper and utterly delicious. But there were so many better things for that mouth to be doing right now, other than talking.

“Ezra, please,” you groaned, more out of frustration than arousal, but from the smile Ezra gave you he definitely interpreted it as the latter. You didn't care because it had the intended effect regardless and a moment later Ezra's mouth was back on your skin, kissing its way higher and higher up on your thigh.

When his lips finally brushed, feather-light, over the fabric of your underwear it almost had you shooting off your chair. Luckily Ezra had anticipated this and his hands were now firmly placed on your hips, holding you in place. Your first instinct had been to close your legs, the jolt of sensation almost being too much, but Ezra's broad shoulders made that impossible and as he pressed his lips against the fabric a second time at was all you could do to hold back the needy whimpers that threatened to spill out with every breath. Ezra glanced up at you and you could feel the bastard smiling against you.

He pulled back and you were ready to make loud complaints about this lousy decision before you realized that he'd only pulled back in order to get you out of your underwear. You let him slide the piece of clothing down your legs then yelped a little in surprise as he promptly lifted both your legs and hooked them over his shoulders. Any comments on the manhandling died in your throat a moment later when his mouth found its way back to the prize and he licked a broad stripe across your folds. It had been quite some time since anyone had touched you in this way. Maybe that was it, or maybe it was just that Ezra really knew what he was doing, but as his mouth continued to explore, alternating between licking and kissing and sucking, your entire body felt like it was shaking. Your knuckles were white from how hard you were gripping the chair and your breaths escaped you in ragged huffs of air, mingled with the occasional whimpers that you had given up on holding back. The vocal feedback only seemed to encourage Ezra and he doubled his efforts.

It was too much and not enough at the same time. You felt like you would slap him if he stopped but, at the same time, you weren't sure you could handle this much longer. All your higher brain functioning had gone out the window and flown off into space. Your whole world had narrowed down to the sensations of your body and, even more specifically, the place between your legs where Ezra's clever tongue had all your nerve-endings going off like fireworks. And Ezra showed no signs of stopping until he'd made you come apart completely. Something which was rapidly approaching.

You tried warning him, managed to grip his forearm and push a little while stuttering out his name, but he only held you tighter and flicked his tongue over your clit in a way that turned the last vowel of his name into a cry of pleasure as you came. Ezra continued his ministrations and his tongue carried you through the pulsating waves of your orgasm.

When he finally pulled back and met your gaze, you were speechless. Ezra, true to form, was the first to comment.

“You truly are a vision like this, Birdie,” he said with awe in his voice and you gave him a weak laugh. Vision, you suspected, was hardly the most fitting description for you right now. Mess, more likely. You could feel how flushed your cheeks were and your lips must be bitten raw by this point. But Ezra was watching you with a mix of lust and wonder and as his gaze wandered lower he looked like he was ready for another round. You suspected that you might actually die this time if he did.

So, on legs that felt like jelly, you slid off the chair and onto his lap. The taped wound on your calf smarted but Ezra caught you before your knees slammed against the floor. His breath hitched in his throat as your weight pressed against the hardness in his pants and his hips bucked slightly, seemingly out of their own accord.

You wrapped your arms around Ezra's neck and pulled him in for a kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue and lips and you greedily licked into his mouth, wanting to taste more, taste him. Rolling your hips against him earned you another stuttered breath and a moan from Ezra. He mumbled something against your lips and you had every intention of ignoring it in favor of continued kissing but Ezra pulled back and broke the kiss. You made a noise of complaint, which made him laugh.

“Sincerest apologies, Little Bird, but if I am to make good on my promise to appreciate every part of you we are going to have to pace ourselves, just a fraction...”

You were about to protest. To hell with pacing yourselves when you had Ezra's mouth only inches from yours! Perhaps sensing your usual stubbornness and unwillingness to cooperate returning, Ezra played dirty and reached down to press the tip of his finger gently against your opening.

“Fuck...” you shuddered, unsure if the next word was gonna be you, me or just fuck in general.

“That is what I am arguing for here, beautiful. But you and I are both still way too dressed for what I'm hoping comes next and, for the sake of your knees and my back, perhaps we could relocate ourselves to the relative comfort of my bed?”

As much as it pained you to admit, Ezra did have a point and, in a move that required more energy and coordination that it usually did, you climbed off him and stood up. Ezra got to his feet as well. He took your hand and kissed each of your fingers softly in a way that somehow felt more intimate than the place he'd been kissing a minute or two ago.

“Allow me to take you to bed?” he asked, even though you were under the impression that this had already been established as the next destination. You nodded impatiently and pushed him slowly backwards towards the bedroom.

“Take me to the bed or the kitchen table or back to the floor, Ezra. I don't care, I just... I just need you.”

Ezra's eyes darkened with lust and a moment later he was the one dragging you towards the beds. The two of you stopped just before you crashed onto Ezra's bunk, realizing that undressing might be a slightly easier endeavor before you were both tangled up on the small bed.

Ezra was quicker getting to your clothes than you were at getting to his and he pulled your shirt and then your sports bra over your head and tossed it to the side. You were fully naked now, while he was still fully dressed, if a little disheveled-looking. The contrast made you feel all the more undressed. Ezra watched you, with that same appreciation as before.

“I have imagined this. What you would look like... so gorgeous. Even in that spacesuit, you managed to drive me up the walls crazy. Can barely keep my hands off you,” he mumbled.

“So how about you don't,” you suggested. You were more than ready for this, it was just Ezra that needed to get with the program. He didn't need to compliment and woo you. He just needed to touch you.

You reached for his shirt, made quick work of getting rid of it before you made equally quick work of his pants and underwear. Now you were both naked and you took a moment to appreciate the newly revealed areas of skin. Ezra twitched as if it had been your hands and not your eyes which were caressing his body. You took a step closer.

“I want you to fuck me, Ezra,” you stated, perhaps a tad too matter-of-factly but Ezra made a noise that could only be described as a growl and crashed your mouths together again. Without the layers of clothes between you, your hands were free to roam and you tried touching every bit of skin that you could reach, slowly circling lower and lower, towards where you knew he wanted your touch the most. Ezra was giving as good as he was getting and when it was his impatience's turn to take hold, he grabbed your ass and pulled you fully against himself with a moan. You pushed him back and finally onto the bed. He laid down and watched, with almost pitch-black eyes, as you crawled on top of him and straddled his thighs.

He began talking again, nothing coherent this time, and you leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips, effectively silencing him. Ezra seized the opportunity to grab your hips and pull you a little higher. You both moaned into each other's mouths as your folds dragged along his length.

“In me,” you whispered and Ezra reached down to position himself against your opening. In the slowest pace you could bring yourself to, you began lowering yourself onto him. Ezra's eyes looked like they were about to roll back in their sockets and he said your name, followed by a whole string of curses, some of which you had never heard before.

You stilled for a moment once he was fully inside you, letting yourself adjust slightly to the sensation, then you rose up to let him slide almost all the way out before lowering yourself again. The pace was much slower than what either of you wanted but if he was feeling anywhere near as needy for more as you did, then it would be worth it.

It seemed that he was because the very next thing out of Ezra's mouth was a begging plea.

“Please, Birdie,” he said and he sounded wrecked. You took pity on him, both for his sake and for your own. You couldn't handle this slow pace for a second longer either. Speeding up, you heard the relief in Ezra's breathing and he placed his hands on your hips again to help guide you into a quicker pace.

The sensation wasn't quite as overwhelming when you were the one in control but you could still feel your pleasure building every time Ezra slid back into you. His moans were becoming more and more ragged and you weren't sure how much longer he was gonna last. Just as you were about to ask, he wrapped his arms around your torso and pulled you down for a kiss. The move gave him a little more leverage to move his hips and you gasped as he snapped his hips up, making him hit a whole new spot inside you. He did it again. And again. And you had to take back the thought you'd just had about the sensation not being overwhelming. You met his thrusts as best you could, your rhythm becoming more and more sloppy the closer the two of you got to climax.

In the end, you cracked first. Pushed over the edge by the surprise of Ezra latching onto the skin of your neck and sucking, hard enough to leave a mark. As your second orgasm rushed through you, you felt Ezra follow and he moaned loudly as he came, still inside you. He continued thrusting a few more times before he slowed down to a stop.

The stillness that followed, as you had untangled slightly before pulling each other close again, was interrupted only by your panting breaths...and of course...

“If I were to die now, I'd die a happy and content man,” Ezra mumbled, his hand drawing patterns against your back.

“Dying now would be a breach of contract,” you informed him, with a small smile, “We still have a fifth of our rotation left before we're heading back for Icarus.”

“Only a fifth?” Ezra asked and you watched his brow furrow as he did the math.

“'fraid so.”

Ezra turned and gave you a devilish grin

“Then I propose we attempt to make the very most of that fifth, or what do say, Birdie?”

As his hand trailed lower, you couldn't help but nod.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @yespolkadotkitty​ @agirllovespancakes​ @beccaplaying @pedropascalito​ @ohpedromypedro​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @knittingqueen13​ @pedropascallion​ @scarlettvonsass @heatherbel​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @larakasser​ @fromthedeskoftheraven​ @seawhisperer​ @mourningbirds1​ @alwaysbethewest​ @thegreenkid​ @pajamasecrets

#ezra x reader #ezra/reader #ezra prospect #prospect fanfic #prospect #prospect fic #my fanfiction

[bubble-tea-bunny]

a painted lady 

[carol danvers x reader]

author’s note: i started watching iasip and it’s so funnyyy i love it so much. anyway, here’s something short and sweet for my girl carol. hope you enjoy  <3

word count: 2,737

Spring announces its arrival with the melting of the snow and the crisp mornings which give way to a sunny afternoon and a gentle breeze not nearly as harsh as the winter gusts that makes cheeks flush and stings the sensitive skin. Warmer weather begins popping up on the forecast. The days grow longer. The flowers bloom. There are many telltale signs to the changing of the season, but this year, they’re joined by a rare spectacle that has become the main topic for news stations and strangers making small talk in the coffee shops or at bus stops.

Channel 2 is on mute, but Carol hasn’t bothered un-muting it or even looking at the screen, since the view outside the bedroom window is exactly the same. Butterflies flutter past the glass in great numbers, taking their time with the plants on the front lawn. The neighbors’ houses aren’t bound to be any different, nor would anywhere else in town really. Seeing butterflies isn’t out of the ordinary when spring is approaching, but what is out of the ordinary is just how many there are. They’re everywhere.

Carol catches the sight of orange wings with black bands on them, and speculates aloud. “Monarchs?” To an outside observer, it might appear as though she’s asking this to thin air.

“No. Painted ladies,” you respond from the ensuite bathroom. After you’ve combed the tangles out of your hair, you set the brush down and walk back into the bedroom. “A little smaller than monarchs.”

Carol hums in acknowledgment, and takes a few more seconds to study the bright swarm before she lets her hand drop and the curtain shifts back into place. She turns around and grins when she sees you across the room putting on your watch. You’re wearing your usual lip color today: a bold red shade that brings out your eyes. “You’re a painted lady.”

That color hadn’t always been a staple in your makeup routine, and Carol has the sneaking suspicion it had found its way there after she had mentioned how much she liked it on you the first time she saw you in it. You’d been so unsure of it then, but she genuinely liked it. While she had told you as much, she’s sure you also could tell by the sincerity in her voice and the earnestness on her face. Not that it’d be difficult for you pick up on what she is thinking. You read people like books and she’s your favorite novel, one you know from front cover to back.

Even at this distance, you notice her gaze lowering to your lips and you roll your eyes but you’re smiling too. “I guess I am.”

Carol had closed the gap between you as you made your comment, and she leans in close. You’re about to take a step back and tell her At least give it a minute! but it’s too late. She steals a kiss and laughs at your expression of playful incredulity.

“It hasn’t even dried down!” You reach up to wipe the bit of lipstick that had transferred to her mouth, then grab the compact on the dresser to check if you would have to re-apply any on yourself.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”  

“That’s what you say every day.”

“Well, it’s true.” She shrugs matter-of-factly.

And you can never even fake being irritated for too long. Once you’ve confirmed that your lipstick is finally completely dry and transfer-proof, you kiss her. This one lasts a little longer, and she meets you with equal enthusiasm. She smells the lavender perfume you wear—every morning, two small spritz, in the soft spots behind your ears. By now, she has your routine memorized, but that’s no surprise because you’re her favorite book too.

The butterflies are immortalized in a small piece you create for your art class. You wave it off as nothing special, but just as with every other instance Carol has had the opportunity to see your finished art sitting on the easel, oils still setting and your familiar signature with its trademark loops and elaborate flourishes (“My signature is not that fancy!”) tucked away in a corner, she shakes her head and says, “It’s amazing.”

You stand side by side, surveying the canvas like you’re in a museum studying a painting on the wall. You’re mulling it over, considering her compliment and staring at the butterflies and she’s right, you think. It’s not so bad at all. You can’t help smiling because of how supportive she is, has been, and would continue to be, for it’s in her nature to pick you up when you’re down, and a warmth bubbles in your chest.

“Thanks.”

Carol’s watched your artistic endeavors from the sidelines, which she has been happy to do. She doesn’t have much to complain about when she has the front row. As such, when you come home one day and ask if she’d help you with your newest project, her brows raise at the unexpected request.

“I don’t know how much help I can be, but sure. What is it?”

“I need a model.”

Her eyes light up and her grin is big. “How should I pose? Maybe something dramatic?” She rests her wait on one foot and juts out her hip, setting her hand on it and angling her head slightly downward so as to look up at you in mock seduction. “Or maybe something fancier?” She stands back up straight and reaches over to grab an apple from the fruit bowl, then holds it up as if scrutinizing it closely, her other arm folded neatly behind her back.

You laugh at the various poses she strikes, and she breaks character quickly, laughing as well. “No, nothing like that, although that would be pretty fun.” You take a deep breath as you calm down. “I’ll have to get back to you on pose ideas. I’m not really sure what mood I’m trying to go for here. The prompt was really vague.”

“But that’s good right? More open avenues.” Carol sets the apple back down and leans back against the counter with crossed arms.

“It is, but it can be overwhelming too… The key is just to let the inspiration come to me. If I try too hard to come up with ideas, I might just get more frustrated than anything else…”

While waiting for this inspiration, you fill your time with sketches, thumbnail drawings of people in motion and positioned this way and that. You also draw Carol quite a bit. It’s your warmup for when you move onto the real piece, and if she hadn’t noticed whenever you stared before, she definitely does now, catching your eyes as you look up at her then back down at your sketchbook.

You draw her over and over again, pages of your sketchbook filled with her face at different angles and wearing various expressions. Even if the drawings are hasty, the care behind each is apparent. You ache to understand every detail, the natural sway of her hair as she turns her head whenever you call her name; the crinkle of the corners of her eyes when she flashes you a wide smile; the high points of her cheeks that catch the sunlight just right. And Carol peers over your shoulder at these pictures and she knows exactly what you are trying to do and she understands that you don’t just see with your eyes. You see with your hands.

One slow morning you’re doing it again, sketchbook in your lap and pencil in hand. Carol’s still laying down, drifting in and out, her body trying to cling to the last bits of sleep but she can’t tune out the scribbling and scrawling and the erasing. She’s not mad about it though; she probably shouldn’t be trying to sleep this late into the day anyway. So she rolls onto her side and props herself up on her elbow to look at you better—you’re sitting cross-legged facing her, which means she can’t see the page.

“How many times is this now?” she asks to break the silence.

You glance up at her but don’t answer immediately, your eyes tracing the line of her jaw, which you then replicate on the paper. “I dunno. Haven’t been keeping count. But I need to make sure I get everything… perfect…” You trail off, enamored with your task.

The fact is, you don’t draw many people. Portraits aren’t your forte, and that’s the main reason you’ve had to draw Carol as many times as you have before you take out your paints. Still, she can’t resist teasing. “You’ve never drawn me before this, have you?”

“No…” More scribbling.

“This isn’t quite playing out like those romance movies where the artist draws their partner all the time.” She tries to sound disappointed, but it falls apart the moment you look at her with a raised brow, and she cracks a grin.

“Since when have you wanted one of those storybook romances?” you shoot back, playing along.

“Hm…” She purses her lips pretends to be deep in thought. “Ever since you started drawing me I guess. I have to admit, it’s flattering, and you make me look good.”

You chuckle. “While by this point I’m confident I could draw you from memory, drawing from reference is always better.” You grow quiet again, presumably putting the finishing touches on your newest study, then set it off to the side as you turn your attention back to Carol. “And for the record, I only draw what I observe, so if anything, you make you look good, not me.”

Carol’s not one for bashfulness, but there’s something about your tone and how you look at her that prompts her to avert her gaze as she suddenly finds the white bedsheets very interesting. She only ever reacts like this to compliments when they come from you because you’re the artist and you can find the beauty in everything so when you say that you found it in her, well, that’s the highest honor, isn’t it?

Her eyes slide back up and you’re grinning because you know what your words can do to her. You want her to love herself like she loves you. Plus, you won’t lie: you like having this power. Shy Carol is a rare sight (and a sight, she would tell you, is reserved solely for you).

Deciding the space between you is too great, you crawl forward into Carol’s bubble to kiss her and she welcomes you because really, her bubble’s got enough space for two.

When you paint, you tie your hair into a bun and use paintbrushes to hold it in place. Carol won’t admit it but she really likes when you do that. You also change into clothes you don’t care about getting dirty, like a ragged and flimsy shirt with loose threads and a pair of sweatpants with holes. They’re well-used and paint-stained, much like the plastic storage cabinets in your art room.

The designated art room of the house is organized chaos, but there’s a certain charm to it. It’s the physical manifestation of all the ideas you have in your head, and Carol feels privileged that she’s able to take a peek into your mind via the drawings taped to the walls and the sketchbooks stacked on the desk. It’s the room with the largest windows and she’s not surprised you’d created more butterfly paintings since the first one; you can see them all the time.

She’s seeing them right now from the glass sliding door leading to the backyard. It’s dark out, but a few painted ladies remain exploring, not yet ready to turn in for the night. Her cup of coffee has been empty for a few minutes now, and her attention only shifts when she hears your footsteps padding through the hallway.

“You okay?”

It’s late and the darkness always seems to warrant lowered voices. Your enquiry is gentle and fatigued, and Carol turns to look at you rubbing your eyes, an attempt to fight off sleep but that’s a losing battle.

“Yeah,” she replies, speaking quietly in turn. You join her in staring outside. “There’s been so many of those butterflies.” While the painted ladies have been around for a few weeks now, she, as well as many others in town, still like to reiterate the peculiarity of the occasion. The subject hasn’t gotten old, and it might not anytime soon. It’s too special to gloss over that easily.

You hum and smile sightly, and Carol spots it in the reflection on the glass. Then you tell her you’re going to clean up and go to bed. You sound faraway, evidence of sleep finally taking over, and she grins as she nods okay. She kisses you quickly and says good night.

As for her, she lingers for a short while before following your lead, taking her time washing her mug and setting it on the drying rack where it would be ready for the next day. One of your sketchbooks is on the dining table, so she picks it up and walks to your art room to return it. The only light on in the house is that in the bedroom, visible through the crack at the bottom of the door, but she needs none to find her way to her destination.

The moonlight pouring in from the windows is enough to illuminate the canvas sitting on the easel. After Carol sets the sketchbook down with the others, she walks over to inspect your current work in progress. It’s not finished, but you’ve completed enough of it that she recognizes herself staring back, and she understands that you don’t make paintings; you make mirrors.

This is your final draft, she realizes. It’s the culmination of all your studies, in which you’ve enshrined the planes of her face on paper and on canvas and in your mind because your soul will live forever and you carry the thought of her like a rabbit’s foot tucked into your pocket.

One of your sketchbooks is open on the desk next to the easel, and she picks it up so she can see the page more clearly. It’s from the morning you’d drawn her while in bed, the picture she hadn’t seen at the time. This is the reference you’re using. She’d been wondering why you hadn’t yet gotten back to her about pose ideas, or announced that you’d be starting the final piece so she’d better clear her Saturday to be your model. She just assumed you wanted more time to practice and to settle upon the perfect pose for the mood you wanted.

And the perfect pose, it would seem, was no pose at all. Carol’s posture in the drawing and the painting is relaxed, half her body concealed by the bedsheets she’d struggled to untangle herself from that morning (they’d just been so comfortable). She’s propping herself up on her elbow and the hand of her other arm rests atop the blankets. Her eyes stare directly ahead, like she’s watching the viewer, and even she’s unable to deny the sense of intimacy this affords. It makes the viewer an active participant rather than a mere observer, which appears to be your goal—you want the viewer in your shoes. You want them to feel what you feel.

Carol’s eyes switch back and forth from the sketchbook to the canvas, comparing the details. The painting is still missing a date and signature, but they’re present in the drawing, at the bottom and off to the side so as to be non-invasive. There’s a title too, in quotation marks: My Favorite Place. Her chest blooms with warmth and her lips curve in a fond smile. You want the viewer to feel at home.

There’s a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach, an inexplicable mix of heaviness like there’s something there and an airiness like she’s about to sprout wings and lift off from the ground. Her heart wrenches hard enough she swears it might shatter—for you, always for you. She loves you with every bone in her body and perhaps the town’s influx of extraordinary visitors these last few weeks has been her doing because every time she thinks of you, she gets butterflies.

#captain marvel x reader #captain marvel imagine #carol danvers x reader #carol danvers imagine #captain marvel #carol danvers #marvel imagine #bubble-tea-bunny

[doomedandstoned]

Closer to the End

Depression is my nemesis. Eventually it will kill me.

...if I let it.

By Billy Goate

Art by RusoTsig (@rusotsig)

Life's falling away from me. The visual evidence is all about. Unopened mail builds up at random spots around the room like mini Towers of Babel. Even things that normally give me great delight -- a recently delivered set of vinyl records -- lie undisturbed in their brown cardboard packages. Meanwhile, my email continues to multiply exponentially: 200 unanswered today, 400 tomorrow, 800 on the day after that (for the curious, the tally stands at 2,359 today). The very thought of opening my inbox makes it equivalent to walking out into open traffic, so I avoid it like the plague.

Meals have become simplified these days -- if it can't be eaten out of a package, forget about it. And all those empty wrappers? They, too, join the general disorder, decorating the landscape of my solitary hovel. Eventually, messages from friends and family go unread. Bills go unpaid (even when there are sufficient funds). The yard turns into a veritable jungle of tall grass, weeds, and sprawling bushes. Clothes go unwashed and hygiene is neglected for days at a time. Weekends are spent pouring over regrets about what might have been, brooding about the end of days.

As any doctor will confirm, these are classic symptoms of depression. What they can't tell you is how hopeless hopelessness can feel.

Karl Briullov - The Last Days of Pompeii (detail)

Black Sabbath’s final show in the Pacific Northwest. Usnea's album release party. Saint Vitus reunited with their first singer, Scott Reagers. The return of Sasquatch. Once in a lifetime small venue appearances by international bands, such as Cult of Occult. A rare hometown gig by Yob. Visits from Goya, Primitive Man, and countless others. Ceremony of Sludge. Even events with the Doomed & Stoned's own name stamped on them. All of these are things I've missed out on in the past year or two because of depression.

It's not that I was too down to even consider going. On the contrary, I was actively planning to go. I RSVP'd, bought tickets, and even checked out the camera equipment to film the shows. In most cases, I'd gotten dressed and readied, even told people to expect me, but for one reason or another I fell under the unyielding grip of depression and came up with an excuse for why I couldn't go. Then one day I just got tired of making excuses and stopped going out altogether.

In one case, I was halfway down the road on a two-hour trip to see Saint Vitus and Witch Mountain perform at Star Theater, when suddenly a wave of grief washed over me from head to spine. As soon as I spotted the nearest overpass, I exited, turned around, and returned home. Even shows I knew would be cathartic (Bell Witch playing their titular Mirror Reaper at a local watering hole) just couldn't cause me to drive a couple miles down the road. The few times I managed to go out, it was because I absolutely forced myself. I practically fought with my inner man all the way there, too -- teeth clenched, hands tightly gripping the wheel, rehearsing in my mind a myriad of reasons why I should just turn back and stay home.

For me, Alice in Chains captures the frustration perfectly in "Excuses":

Everyday it's something Hits me all so cold

Find me sittin' by myself No excuses, then I know

Depression has robbed me of so much. I've missed opportunities to collaborate with musicians and artists because of it. I've pushed away friends and family, until contact between us has become more and more scarce. I've even stopped celebrating my birthday. I have become a shadow of a man.

What's worse, there's been a new development: anhedonia. I remember only casually looking up the meaning of that word when reviewing Undersmile's album by the same name. Anhedonia basically means that you stop finding pleasure in life. As I browse through my friend's timelines, I find it difficult to relate to their happiness. I think quite often of the emptiness of it all, of being alone and growing older, and the ultimate futility of human pursuits. I often feel more of an observer than an actor in the great drama of life.

As you read all of this, bear in mind that I've managed to hold down a steady, full-time job for decades, right up to the present day. You see, some cope by drinking, others by eating, and others still chase the fleeting high of romantic love, but I found my copacetic in work (as absurd as that might sound). I’ve damn near worked myself to death over the past couple years, too, taking precious few "mental health days" or vacation. At one point, I stopped accruing paid time off, because I'd reached my limit and my boss had no choice but to mandate that I take two days off per month. Can you imagine? I’d been known to come into work on the weekend, rather than spend it alone with my thoughts. At least at work, I can stay distracted with something I feel makes some kind of difference.

I can't feel my life Makes me want to cry How bad i feel inside Like I wanna die

Destination unknown Wreckage in tow Depression grows I have no home

Lately, all I've wanted to do on the weekends is sleep. When I'm at work, I'm fine. I'm in the zone. I have purpose. Things make sense. I'm needed. When I'm home, I always have a list of to-dos, but no matter how busy I try to make myself, I find myself suffering with a lonely, aching feeling. It hurts to be alive. That's the only way I can describe it. So I go to sleep early -- and sleep and sleep and sleep -- without so much as the aid of melatonin. All I want to do is go to sleep and forget and wake up the next day and start fresh, hoping all of the oppressive feelings of darkness have left me. I'll sleep 9 hours, 10 hours, 12 hours is not unheard of, then curse when the alarm wakes me up to face the day. I haven't slept so much since I was a teenager.

At least some of my depression seems linked with sunlight. While the sun is out, I'm mostly okay. When I'm taking my meds, I feel possessed with purpose and I'm busy chipping away at a dozen assorted projects, networking with bands, record labels, and PR reps around the globe, auditing new records, editing submissions from my team, and occasionally summoning enough nerve to write an album review of my own. But when the sun sets and darkness takes hold, bathing the landscape in its sinister shadows, everything changes.

In the heart of winter, there is an existential dread that overtakes me when the sun sets. It's almost primitive. There seems to be no rational basis for feeling this way, unless we factor in some kind of code passed along in the evolutionary programming of the reptilian brain over the millennia. You know, that thing responsible for our fight or flight response -- the urge to either take a swing or get the hell out of Dodge.

Loneliness is not a phase Field of pain is where I graze

Saw my reflection and cried So little hope that I died

That cryptic note of horror hints at what happens when our coping mechanisms stop working for us. For me, it was burnout. I worked and worked and worked, and then I came home and did Doomed & Stoned in the evenings and weekends until I inevitably reached a point of absolute and total system overload.

We've seen a spate of deaths in recent years in the heavy music world stemming from depression. It seems to be the creative person's curse. Chris Cornell of Soundgarden. Linda Nygren of the Wounded Kings. Dozens more artist deaths are listed as "N/A" in Metal Archives, but you always wonder. Even an accidental drug overdose can owe its underlying cause to depression. Often it's hard to untangle addiction from the need to escape acute emotional pain.

Though it is tempting to buy into conspiracy theories linking suicide to pharmaceuticals, chemtrails, fluoride in the water, gangstalking, and covert government ops, it's important to recognize that suicide is nothing unique to our life and times. Narrowing the focus more specifically to musicians and other artistic types, we've had many historic instances of depression. Think Beethoven, Franz Liszt, and Tchaikovsky -- three people who pioneered much of the musical language that doom metal utilizes for expression. Each experienced prolonged periods of melancholia for various reasons, from physical malady and loss-fueled grief to unrequited love and the utter rejection of society. Arguably, Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky died at his own hand.

Perhaps it won't surprise you that many of us who have an affinity for doom metal (though certainly not all) are also at risk for suicide. A recently published study by the University of Manchester found a correlation, though not a causal link, between members of "alternative subcultures" and "the risk of self-harm and suicide." There was no definite conclusion drawn from the piece, other than to point out that a problem exists (no kidding) and that more long-term studies are needed.

I've got a notion as to why heavy music draws the heavy-laden: misery loves company. We're drawn to the mysteriously compelling ability that doom has to commiserate with our feelings, from lyrics that deal so honestly with sadness to the solace of sharing a joint with those who are on a similar path.

But sometimes depression is so severe that you don't want to go out on the weekends at all, not even for your favorite band. Before I get too deep into my own story and how I'm treating my depression, some of you may wonder why I am writing this piece and have decided to share it publicly. I can assure you, I have nothing to gain from this. I'm not crying out for help (I'm too stubborn to ask for it when needed, anyway) and I'm certainly not trying to sell you on anything.

To be truthful, I've been chipping away at this piece (currently standing at 53,726 characters) for two years. I revisit it when the depression hurts the most. It acts as a kind of release valve for me and since that's at least providing some relief, I'll keep scribbling words upon this page. So before you leave thinking this was all just a self-indulgent slab of depression porn, stay tuned. There really is more to the story, including some valuable insights I'm learning about dealing constructively with my depression and its underlying causes -- physical and psychological.

To be continued...

  ★ Read Part II

  ☆ Read Part III

Here I sit writing on the paper Trying to think of words you can't ignore

See the cycle I've waited for It ain't like that anymore

#Closer To The End #Depression #Suicide #Doom #Metal #Alice in Chains #Jerry Cantrell #Doomed & Stoned

[a-h-arts]

Master Studies in Composition and Gesture Edgar Payne is a great inspirational painter, creating amazing compositions (he wrote a book containing many thumbnail compositions). I enjoy his paintings of the American west (mountains and seascapes). But a fantastic and unexpected treasure in the book as presented by Scott Shields, were the photographs and paintings by Payne in northern France of boats I have lived in France for a year, observed much of the country, and examined many paintings, but in my opinion, no harbour or channel image matches the ability of Payne. Payne's ability to capture boats navigating the water is as skillful as Monet's paintings of train stations and locomotives. In Shield's book, he presents photographs and how Payne translates these images into paintings. I found this fascinating to examine. Before Payne, J.M.W.Tunrer was considered a master of boats and waves. And am sure there are many more that I am not aware of, because of my limited and amateur knowledge. But having sketched boats in Angers, France, boats along the Loire River, and along the coast near St. Malo, I can appreciate the challenge of composition and the difficulty of capturing waves and boats in motion. One time in China, along the Li River in Guangxi Province, I started to draw a bamboo boat, as I drew, the owner walked on board, started the motor, and drove away. I finished the sketch as best as I could. Another day, I took a bamboo boat down the Li River, drawing other boats and riverscapes as I went. These were fantastic instructional experiences. It is clear to see that wherever Edgar Payne travelled he could find opportunities to learn, explore, and express. In art school, much of the time drawing in the studio is spent upon gesture and motion. Payne's ability to depict boats on water may be due partially to his ability to capture the gesture of objects in motion, illustrated by his American west paintings of riders and pack horses and seascapes of ocean waves. Painting horses and riders is not easy, as beginners often find that their living subjects seem more like stone and statues and their compositions simplistic. At sea moving boats, or on hills with moving animals, they are often not exactly in the same perspective, and it is easy to present them in a way where even the public can sense something is not correct about the image. However, Edgar Payne seems to handle this easily. With water in France, he conveys the waves without getting obsessed with the intricate details concerning the reflections and waves in the water (as he did along the American west coast). So while the book features much of Payne's images of the American west, his studies, photographs, and paintings in northern France, are exceptional. I enjoyed Scott Shields' presentation concerning the breadth of Payne's efforts. I encourage enthusiasts to sketch and paint at zoos and along lakes and rivers, making interesting compositions and capturing the gesture of movement. The goal is not always to be successful at creating a masterpiece, but rather to observe, learn, and try. Edgar Payne sets the inspiration and example. I believe that studying Edgar Payne through Scott Shields' book can be very instructive. If one is a linear thinker, Payne's work may still be a mystery. But if one is intuitive and can connect the dots, Payne's work presents the possibilities. This book is much more than a coffee table book filled with pages of great paintings. This book is about how to see, what to feature, and how to express the subject. This book is a treasure. I found the book to be much more helpful than many books about how to draw and paint. I now show this book to anyone interested in painting and drawing who will tolerate listening to me and enduring my long explanations. Go to Amazon

Great book from a historical perspective This book has the best full color plates from which the fledgling artist can see the expression and brushstrokes that made Payne such a prolific and successful painter. The historical perspective was well defined and gives a glimpse of the pioneer spirit of this early western artist and his wife, who was also an extremely talented artist in her own right. Payne's California Sierra landscapes are particularly poignant in that they give a glimpse to the reason why so many people have been drawn to the spectacular variety of scenery of California. I bought this book as a compliment to Payne's 'Composition of Outdoor Painting,' which is the definitive book for outdoor painters. Go to Amazon

The SuperBookDeals & Amazon Companies: The Book arrived July5,2013 via regular postal service. It's in great shape(new) well packed & Shirk Wrap. Go to Amazon

Almost like being there! Edgar Payne captured the grandeur of the West, the sunlight and shadow, the size of the place and the smallness of man in the landscape. He also did it so simply that it looks easy....but it isn't. As a landscape painter, this book is one of my favorites and also most helpful in terms of brush technique, composition, and color choice. The book doesn't tell you how he did his magic, but a magnifying glass is all you need. This book will transport you to a wonderful place and another time. Go to Amazon

Great if you want pictures! I love this book... But I haven't read it. I'm a landscape painter, so this rating is not for the text. Its not an instuctional book, its a biography (I think...ive only scanned it)This book is great because its filled with large, full color, good quality images. You can see the brushwork in the paintings. It's a thick book too. It doesn't have the close up detail images, but you can see so much in the other ones I didn't miss those. Go to Amazon

A beautiful classic A beautiful classic from which any plein air artist will benefit. His draftsmanship and reduction of forms is inspiring. Go to Amazon

praise for Edgar Payne catalog Thiss book is a must for fans of Edgar Payne. One of the few museum catalogs where the color and values are remarkably true to the art, the scholarship, and the printing quality throughout, are a joy. Of course, the best is to catch the show in one of its museum venues, but, this wonderful book will sustain long after the paintings have returned to their (lucky) respective owners. Go to Amazon

Everything Payne I purchased this book before attending the Edgar Payne show in Tulsa. What an amazing, inspiring artist. It's great to refer back to the artwork in this beautiful book. Go to Amazon

Definitely recommended. Wonderfulm Collectible book but a great book. Beautiful Art Book Five Stars Five Stars Five Stars Five Stars Poor printing

#Historical #art #book

[stowawayproductions-blog]

American Honey

Written 11/4/16

I was given an assignment once in college: to read a book and write about it. Pretty straightforward. It was for sociology 101 and the book had to do with personality types. I hated every minute of reading that book. I thought the author was an idiot because according to her assessment, someone with my personality type was essentially a terrible person. I waited until the very last minute to write the paper, naturally, and ended up trying to pound out five pages at two in the morning. As I was writing and citing paragraphs and such, a realization came to me. Who knows if this notion would have swept over me had I not been cramming so late at night, but it occurred to me that maybe I hated this author so viciously because she was actually entirely right. Maybe all my faults could be chalked up to her little assessment and the only reason that I was so opposed to her ideas was because they were negatively affecting my opinion of myself. I added all this into the paper and was highly amused when the teacher gave it an A+ and applauded me on my hard work...

This moment in my late teens has come across my mind because of my experience with American Honey. I was completely drawn into the trailer the minute I saw it. I thought the cuts were smart, the music was perfect, everything was spot on. I expected the world from this film as I sat eagerly in my favorite indie theater hogging the popcorn from my boyfriend. As the film progressed I became increasingly agitated and disappointed. It was long, meandering, and inaccessible. The lead had no growth and the story as a whole had no drive.  I actually broke down in tears after getting to my car because my high hopes for this film had been destroyed. I watched this almost a week ago, and I waited a week to write this because every time I sat down to do so I felt like something was missing, like I still had to process. That was the first thing that made me question my opinion: why did I still need to process a film that I had written off as a failure? Throughout my very boring days of boxing dentures and crowns at the lab, I really really contemplated this film. I went through every beautiful moment of sunlight bouncing off Sasha Lane's face, every lyric sung along with iconic trap music, every candid example of a trashy midwestern life, and finally it dawned on me that this film scares the shit out of me.

I rejected it just like I did my sociology book because I saw a version of myself that I'm terrified of. Star is almost emotionless, listless, immature, and above all unhappy. She has no idea how to make the most of her life and by the end of the film I do not have confidence that she will ever figure that out. I have been so blessed with the people around me my whole life and the opportunities that I've been offered. This life that Andrea Arnold is portraying is a life that I wish was fantasy, but it's not, it's real for so many people my age who don't have the things that I have, and I could so easily have been so lost. I could still become so lost.

I've always had a goal. Since I was four years old I've known exactly what I wanted to be. That goal changed a hundred times as I was growing up, but it was never nothing; I just jumped from one goal to another. I can't imagine what it would be like to not know what you want from life, and watching a film that is entirely about people who don't know what they want from life leaves me more tense than the craziest suspense film.

I'm used to films challenging "people", in the broad sense. Films about discrimination or poverty or death are stories that I'm used to, and I understand why they're difficult to watch. Growing up in my little liberal bubble makes it so that I can watch films about discrimination and not bat an eye because I'm decently confident that I'm not a discriminatory person, but watching a film so rooted in my own fears without being overtly about anything...it's hard to explain. My main point is that I pushed back from the message of this film because letting myself sink into it was too difficult.

On a less confessional note, my realizations in no way made me see this film as perfect. It was entirely too long. I understand why it was so long, that this repetitive, wandering feel requires time to gestate, but I was incredibly distracted by the end.

This is completely a personal preference, but I'm not a fan of most sex scenes. I think they're generally unnecessary and overused. These sex scenes were no exception. I think the same points could have been made in pre and post scenes. I know that Arnold was going for realism and sex is a real part of life, but I would have been happier if that precious screen time was used to further Star's view of the world or flesh out some of the Mag Crew characters; I didn't get very much from two minutes of Shia LaBeouf grunting.

What was always amazing to me, pre and post epiphany, was the cinematography. I've only seen one other thing that Robbie Ryan has done (and I honestly can't remember the cinematography in Philomena) but my god has he created a work of art here. He definitely knows how to play with light for one thing. Lane's skin glowed like warm honey under the midwestern sun and every shot appeared to be captured on the most beautiful day of the year. Every image was interesting even though most of them were set in a cramped, unforgiving van. I would kill to become this accomplished with my camera.

Another thing that I appreciated was the screenplay. Every conversation was completely real. Even LeBeouf, who of course I've seen in many things, didn't take me out of the story. I usually find myself thinking of characters as actors when I watch movies, but this one kept me fooled. The dialogue was so good that I never imagined the words on paper, just in these characters' minds. The depiction of youth culture was visceral and memorable. I was brought back to my life at eighteen and nineteen, when all of my friends were a little grungy and we wanted nothing more than to pile into a car, blast music, and cuddle in large groups - both utterly terrified and completely content.

Of course we have to talk about Andrea Arnold. I recently listened to an interview with her and now I'm sold. She's British!!! What?!? How could someone who's not from any part of the U.S., let alone a southern trailer park, possibly know how to tell this story? I love that she took it on! What balls this woman has! I would feel so insecure tackling a setting piece all about a culture that I have little to no experience in. I'm going to steal an observation from by boyfriend here, that the whole film did feel a little like an anthropological study, but it's nice and hidden because you don't expect anyone to do an anthropological study on foul-mouthed young adults selling magazines. If I were queen of the Oscars (as I fantasize about more than is probably healthy) I would consider Andrea Arnold for best director. She plucked all these actors (excepting LeBeouf and Riley Keough) from obscurity and managed to push their performances to a professional level of realism. I love that she forced the Mag Crew to become a true crew by shooting chronologically, road-tripping the entire way, and embracing their input on performance and music choice. This kind of organic filmmaking is underrated and I would like to see more of it. So, Academy, if you are for some insane reason perusing my reviews, please consider nominating Robbie Ryan for cinematography and Andrea Arnold for directing. If this happens I will take full credit.

#film #film review #critique #movies #cinema #cinematography #american honey #shia labeouf #sasha lane #riley keough #andrea arnold #robbie ryan #a24 #a24 films #road trip #mag crew #indie film #coming of age #drama

[twelvesignsrp]

congratulations q, aquarius is now nolitha “nola” foxcroft with the faceclaim amandla stenberg

APPLICATION

Character Sign: Aquarius

Character Name: Nolitha “Nola” Foxcroft

NOLITHA: “beam of light” | A name of Xhosa origin, the meaning behind their name is clearly different from those of their twin older brothers: Ezekiel meaning “God will strengthen” and Omari meaning “God the highest.” Nola presumed this shift in naming scheme was by divine intervention. Zeke and Omari were more straightforward than Nola; their brothers’ dreams were tangible, their feet ever-pinned to the ground. Stable, solid, zealous but strategic. God was their compass and their futures were mapped. Meanwhile, Nola was a mistral wind, strong but cold, quick but aimless. A spark led by no one and headed nowhere; an uncontrollable beam of light

↳  Note: I chose a Xhosa name because Amandla’s name has Xhosa and Zulu roots. Although I could not find any sources ethnically linking Amandla to South Africa, I find it reasonable that a black mother would choose an African name with a meaning like Amandla’s or Nolitha’s for the significance of it. Furthermore, I went against choosing Xhosa or Zulu names for Nola’s brothers to mitigate any insinuation that their family is of South African descent.

FOXCROFT: “residing beside an enclosure or croft” | This Anglo-Saxon surname is a topographic/habitation name. The reclusive implication of this name is representative of Nola’s reserved (and even enigmatic) nature. Moreover, the connection to a fox is fitting because of their cleverness and independence.

Birthday: 10/02/1997 (x)

Sexuality: Demiromantic Asexual

Gender: Non-binary (they/them)

Moon Sign: Gemini (x)

Faceclaim: Amandla Stenberg

Power: Illusion Projection

↳  Capabilities: “User can create illusions, causing targets to see, hear, touch, smell and/or taste things which do not actually exist or cause them to perceive things differently from what they truly are.”

↳  Use: Believing can be seeing. Nola’s power is about as erratic and enigmatic as they are. They’re highly imaginative and many illusions are created unwittingly from their tangled strings of thought. Until recently, they’d chalked up the strange occurrences and friends’ fabrications to luck and circumstance (maybe even lack of sleep). They’re still getting the hang of consciously creating illusions, but even then, they’re typically smaller things like the scent of expensive perfume or the sight of clear complexion even when they’re at their most stressed. I can envision Nola using this to win people over or have a bit of fun as they already have been.

What do they study? Law. It’s tough enough to challenge them intellectually, while still offering them an ambiguous future career path. (They like to keep their options open.)

Biography:

Nolitha Foxcroft was sunlight through a storm cloud, some sort of miracle so untouchable they could slip through your fingers as subtly as the seasons change. That is to say, their summer heat arrived long before most winters even began to melt into dewy spring. Perhaps that’s precisely why their mother named them Nolitha. A beam of light. A child who’d treat Eden like a playground, but belong there just the same. It was a shame they weren’t born in Eden—or anywhere close to it. Manchester wasn’t so picturesque with empty pockets. Their family knew this well enough for long enough. They were somewhere between lower and lower-middle class, content but never quite comfortable.

Nonetheless, the Foxcrofts were torchbearers of heart as much as they were exemplars of resilience. Dad was a math teacher for at-risk kids, while Mum was a proud community organizer. They found their wealth in giving to others, true humanitarians that made do with what they had. For every flood of job cuts, every frigid winter, every new body the streets sputtered out, Nola’s family was the first to stand up. Rallies, protests, marches, and fundraisers—the Foxcrofts were ever-present and loud with purpose. They were a staple in their community, which may be why they weren’t so determined to up and leave. Here, there was a rhythm they knew they could follow. Here, in tattered Manchester, they would always have a name and a purpose.

Beam of light that they were, that their family was, Nola was never destined to become just another warning tale of inner city youth. A slanted mirror image of their family’s steady strength and spirit, Nola better mimicked the anatomy of a revolution: the spark, flicker, blaze, an untamable wildfire child who lit up their luckless streets with the the kind of breezy, blooming magic no dealer could press or package. They were notoriously too smart or too unsound; too quirky or too reserved; too bubbly or too temperamental. A walking paradox with a glittering smile, they were never too concerned about the opinions of others that it mattered. Nola was perpetually misunderstood, yet somehow universally loved.

The last born after twin older brothers, Ezekiel and Omari, Nola was the prototype of happy-go-lucky, giggles-and-glee youngest children. They were lightning foreshadowing thunder, while their brothers were the roaring thunderclaps reverberating beneath your feet. The twins were grounded and concrete. Nola existed between millisecond-long blinks. Though Nola was the brightest of the three, Zeke and Omari were the ones with drive. Predictably, they set aside university to follow in Mum’s footsteps as activists. Nola had almost done the same. Almost—until they earned a hefty scholarship to Durham University. The opportunity to attend university, and to be able to afford it, no doubt, was one that they couldn’t justifiably pass up.

Five interesting facts about your character:

TW FACT #3 (BUBBLEGUM) FOR MENTIONS OF ANXIETY, MEDICATION, AND SELF-HARM

MIRROR, MIRROR | They take after their mum’s side of the family in their outrageous dedication to superstition. As a child, Nola loved tagging along whenever their mum sought out spirits in her spare time. Dowsing rods, thermometers, candles, magnets and the like were always ready to be put to use, lumped into a tattered cardboard box at the bottom of the kitchen cabinet. The belief in senseless traditions and good luck charms have followed Nola into adulthood. They still make the effort to catch falling leaves in autumn and keep an eye on the salt shaker at the dinner table. Although they don’t have as much faith in it all as they did in their younger years, it certainly makes life more fun.

LITTLE THINGS | Nola loves the feeling of starting something new, and perhaps this is why one of their favorite hobbies is collecting. Not anything in particular; simply, collecting as an activity in itself. They’re quite fleeting about it, non-committal and prone to giving up soon after they’ve begun. It would take more than two hands to count how many half-hearted collections have come and gone, hurtled through Nola’s room like a midnight train bound nowhere. The only collections that have survived Nola’s volatility, and of which they are most proud of, are their weathered jazz and blues vinyls (via thrift shops and flea markets) and sociopolitical buttons (largely via activist older brothers).

BUBBLEGUM | Nola has had generalized anxiety disorder (GAD) since they were a child. Before they were the glittering human embodiment of a shooting star, they were Saturn entrapped by rings of chaos, circling, circling, circling without end. They’ve always been more restless than truly active, but after years of rattling pill bottles and steady coping lessons, the fidgeting is a lot subtler now. Pacing and scratching have become bad habits of the past; these days, Nola’s almost always chewing gum to keep their tensions low. Unless someone is especially perceptive, Nola’s high-functioning anxiety has nearly everyone fooled. Even as a tiny ball of worry, baby Nola was still as seemingly happy-go-lucky as they are today. Bright, bouncy, and bubbly; the perfect extrovert.

IDLE GENIUS | Despite their natural gift of intelligence, Nola has no want for power or money; all they want is heedless autonomy and sheer knowledge and social change. They follow a path laid by optimism and Lady Luck. They are that kid: the one who constantly skips class but still aces every assignment; the one that can speed-write a stellar research paper the night it’s due; the one carefree and confident enough to go out and get hammered the night before the final exam. Nola is a pixie-dusted honeybee, blessed and blithe, and their entire world is neatly lined with freshly-blossomed flowers. All that glitters skims their unburdened fingertips like high tide kissing the coastline; theirs, if only they’d reach out to claim it.

AVANT-GARDE | Imagination and creativity are central components to their personality. Penniless parents led Nola to music and art as their main sources of entertainment. Double-dutch songs on the sidewalks as a child, performing in the metro stations for tips, belting gospel hymns at church, and melting into the jazzy swing of crackling vinyl after school. As a kid, Nola’s older brothers didn’t have to do much convincing to get them to switch from crayons on scrap paper to joining their amateur graffiti brigade. Weekend nights turned into graffiti activism and sneakers pounding across cracked pavement. The Foxcrofts’ murals and protest statements decorated Manchester’s worn trains and warehouses and walls. Nola got quite good at it, and still sketches designs in their notebooks from time to time.

Character Quote: “I’ll slip into heaven through a crack in the wall.”

↳  Theme song at the moment is definitely DNA. by Kendrick: “I got power, poison, pain and joy inside my DNA / I got hustle though, ambition, flow, inside my DNA / I was born like this, since one like this / Immaculate conception.”

If your character had a patronus what would it be? and why?

HUMMINGBIRD: “the sweetest nectar is within” | In nature, hummingbirds are swift and vivacious, always darting from place to place. Hummingbirds represent serendipity, nature’s reminder to seek out the good in life and the grandeur in each day. Despite their small size, they possess a lot of potential and power. Their independence and persistence thrives in the beauty of the present moment. Similarly, Nola seeks to do everything and to do it on a grand scale. When they come up with an idea, they feel compelled to follow it, unconcerned with whether or not it is reasonable. They are constantly thinking, constantly doing, and are fueled by their idealism and self-confidence. Sometimes this can get Nola into trouble because they often leap before they look; however, pure luck is usually on their side.

↳  Symbolizes energy, vitality, adaptability, joy, flexibility, renewal, healing, peace, infinity, agility, and playfulness.

WRITING SAMPLE

“Bullshit! You fuckin’ cheated!” Nola cried out through a fit of dulcet giggles. A million dollar grin was stretched across their face. Their chest felt heavy from laughing too hard. “Best out of three,” they countered. Mischief danced through the cool air. They readjusted their beanie to better blanket their ears, chilled fingers wrapped tight around their can of spray paint. Despite the blustering nighttime wind, Nola was still starving for a taste of victory. But, then again, when were they not?

“All cards on the table this time. Let’s go, hotshot,” they playfully taunted.

Nola’s eldest brother, Ezekiel, leaned against the graffitied wall of the long-abandoned corner store. His breathing was staggered through baritone laughter as his lungs raced to catch up with him. The destitute building was their traditional checkpoint, the final flag at the end of their speed-graffiti competitions. It was a pawn shop at one point in time, before Nola was even old enough to grasp that the world was larger than their family’s two-bedroom flat. Like most local shops in their shadowed part of Manchester, transience was a default setting; nothing lasted and nobody stayed if the choice was offered.

Ezekiel cocked an eyebrow. “Mum didn’t raise you a sore loser, did she?” he teased. Broad shoulders shrugged back, his smirk begging for a challenge as per usual. Though Nola reckoned they picked up many of their self-assured mannerisms from their brothers, where they matched in demeanor, they differed in personality. It went without asking that Nola was the youngest of the three. The baby. The twins channeled their energy into the things that mattered most to them; Nola’s fervor was blind, aimless, and unhindered. They all thrived on victory, but Nola was significantly less concerned with prizes or titles. Winning was their lifestyle.

Nola made a face at Ezekiel’s comment. The can rattled in their left hand as they shook it in preparation for the next round. “Find it hard to believe Mum taught you to be a dirty cheat,” they fired back. Banter was instinctual between the siblings. They wouldn’t want it any other way.

Ezekiel chuckled and began to peel himself off of the shop’s exterior. “Ready, set?” he proposed, body poised to run.

Already bounding into the dark, Nola shouted over their shoulder, “And they’re off!”

#aquarius #accepted

[solarpunks]

#003 “Use biological solutions before technological” — Interview with Jesse Grimes — Pt2

Part 2 of our interview with Jesse Grimes, who’s one of our favourite Youtubers. He is currently running a gofundme to take him to the The Ecological Landscaper Immersion program (details below).

In Part 1 we talked Permaculture, Ant Village at Wheaton Labs and Standing Rock.

In Part 2 we talk Technology, bikes and the future! 

This post is mirrored on our medium here if you prefer. (it looks nicer)

Bikes

SPS! From your videos it seems that bikes and BMX played a big role in your life growing up. When did you start riding and how has it influenced you as a person?

I’ve been riding BMX since I was 5 years old. I lived right next to the first ABA race track in the country in Chandler, Arizona, and my dad started bringing me there. My bike was stolen, so I stopped riding for a while, but I got back into it in a big way when I was 12 and moved to Southern California. All through high school I rode BMX, and pretty much all my friends came from riding. I really think it kept me away from drugs and alcohol during my teen years. I had a social group that was organized around doing something active and positive, instead of around partying, we got our thrills through learning new tricks and discovering new spots to ride. To this day, riding BMX has given me a community that I can connect right into no matter where I go. I can just roll up to the skatepark or a set of jumps and instantly make friends with other riders.

BMX Road Trip, the #IdahoSkateparkTour, and Building a Better Bike Park

SPS! I’m not into BMX / trials biking myself, but I have a bunch of friends who are. They’re the sort of people that love spending their spare time digging up dirt in the woods not minding the rain is there a little bit of that in you?

Most definitely, I have been doing that since I was a kid. Creating dirt jumps is one of my favorite art forms. It’s like large scale, interactive, ceramic sculpture. Of course, the main motivation is the experience of doing the jumps once they are finished, but anyone who has a passion for creating jumps or trails will put their own artistic touch into the way the lips are shaped, or how the line twists through the woods. There’s also a community aspect to it, getting together with a group of friends and working long hours to create something that you all can enjoy.

SPS! You’ve talked passionately about the idea of combining permaculture with bike parks and really want to make it happen. Could you tell us a bit more about your vision for the Permaculture Bike Park?

Once I started learning more about water harvesting earthworks through permaculture, it changed the way I looked at building dirt jumps. Anyone who is an experienced trail builder thinks about drainage, but through permaculture eyes I started thinking about how all that water could be directed towards growing plants, to help mitigate the environmental damage that is caused by all that digging. Having trees around the jumps also happens to make the riding more enjoyable. Public bike parks are becoming more and more common, and I think that is a very good thing, given all the positive impacts that riding BMX can have a on a child’s life.

The sport of BMX is a gateway to a lifelong love of cycling. Talk to anyone who is riding a road or mountain bike in their 30s, and most of the time you find out that they started on a BMX bike as a kid. So, I think building more bike parks and providing the youth with a welcoming invitation to the sport of BMX is a great way to ensure that more people will be riding bikes in the future. I’ve been to a lot of public bike parks in my travels, and unfortunately, most of them are quite poorly built, and nearly all of them just look like bare dirt lots. Knowing what I do about building jumps, along with my knowledge in permaculture, I see a huge opportunity to create a much better bike park. To start with, permaculture design can be used to organize the cycling community around getting the parks built, to help make those connections and create those positive relationships that are necessary when working with public agencies to even get the idea of a bike park off the ground. When it finally gets to the point of designing and building the park, permaculture design can be utilized to take a more holistic view of how the visitors will interact with the park, and how the park itself will interact with the community around it. Another very important aspect, is making connections in the local cycling community and providing resources to trusted individuals to ensure that the jumps and riding surfaces continue to be well maintained. I’ve seen too many bike parks that are damaged to the point of being unsafe, because there was never any maintenance program set in place. By using permaculture design, we can better ensure that the park will actually be useful, fun, and safe for the riders, as well as a benefit for the neighborhoods around it. Instead of some forgotten mounds in a dirt lot, we could build a beautiful forest garden that is a draw for both cyclists and the general public. On top of the parks being a great place for children to gain a love of cycling, it would also be an incredible opportunity to educate the public about how permaculture can be used to create abundance out of damaged landscapes. I think that well beyond the possibilities of the permaculture bike park, there is a huge potential to improve the design and operation of public parks and public space as a whole.

The Future

SPS! Permaculture is a big part of Solarpunk and is certainly a real world origin point for it’s aesthetic. In your experience, what do people in the permaculture community think about new technologies?

I think there is quite a wide range of opinions on the subject. There is certainly an element that is trying to move away from technology as much as possible, but there are also those who fully embrace it, and everything in between. One of the principles of permaculture is to use biological solutions before technological. So for example, you would use a constructed wetland to treat and clean your grey water instead of some mechanical means of filtration. The biological solutions are almost always easier, cheaper, and more effective, plus by adding another biological element into a system, you are increasing the diversity, and therefore the resiliency of that system. However, that doesn’t mean technology is out of the question. There is a tremendous amount of work to be done to reverse the damage that our technological society has caused, and ironically some of that same technology is the best and quickest way to start doing that work. An excavator can be used to mine the tar sands, but it can also be used to create water harvesting earthworks that will improve the hydrology of a site for thousands of years. So, I think it is important when considering a new technology to look at the problem it is trying to solve, and strongly consider whether nature has already come up with a solution to that problem. Also, what are the inputs required to create that technology, and what are the outputs of using it? Can we partner with biology to find a solution to that same problem that requires a much lower input of energy and materials, while providing a number of beneficial outputs that might not be produced by a purely technological solution? There are certainly situations in which the best solution in technological, but I also feel that on a planet with finite resources, there is a real danger to the idea that all of our problems will eventually be solved through technological innovation. Technological systems almost always require outside inputs to continue functioning, and inevitably have a finite life span, while biological systems become more resilient with time, utilize the inexhaustible resource of sunlight as their primary input, and have existed on this planet for billions of years.

SPS! In his essay ‘Political Dimensions of Solarpunk’ Andrew Dana Hudson proposed the slogan “Move quietly and plant things” as a counterpoint to silicon valley’s “move fast and break things”. What do you think technology’s role will be in the abundant future we are all hoping for and what does it need to do differently from today?

An early vision of the solarpunk aesthetic, by Imperial Boy. Via MissOlivaLouise

I think technology has a huge role to play in helping us understand the problems we are faced with, as well as in helping us do the work necessary to transform our world in preparation for that abundant future. However, once we have built a world where all the necessities of life are provided by an abundant biological system right outside our front door, I think that many of the technologies we see as indispensable today will simply fade into obscurity. Why would everyone want their own electric car when they don’t have a need to drive every day? Would we need complicated medical equipment when everybody’s food is so nutritious and of such high quality that hardly anyone gets sick anymore? Technology is incredible when it comes to helping us communicate and gather information, and because of this I think it will continue to play a huge role in our social and intellectual lives. The problems come about when we try to use technology to deal with the biological problems of being an animal living within an ecological system. Nature has long ago perfected ways in which to feed us, clothe us, shelter us, and give us clean water and clean air. Somewhere along the line we decided that it was better to use technology to do these things, and so we started ignoring the importance of the ecological systems that were supporting us. We can’t continue to do this and hope to have a positive future.

SPS! Our Tumblr’s tagline is “At once a vision of the future, a thoughtful provocation, and an achievable lifestyle. In progress…” Do you think if everything humanity need to do, gets done, is there reason to be optimistic about the future?

Optimism is the only option in my opinion. It is certainly important to take a critical look at our situation and identify challenges, but only so much that we are aware and understand them clearly. If we focus on the challenges we will be more reluctant to act, and action is desperately needed in our world right now. A phrase that has been repeating in my mind for quite some time now is, “Don’t let perfect be the enemy of good.” To me, it means that we could sit around all day and find flaws in our designs, or in our plans for improving our situation, but we can’t let that stop us from doing the work necessary to at least move us a little bit closer to our goals. Even if we do a lot of work for very little improvement, we are still better off than if we did nothing, and we are in a better position to start from the next time. The problems facing us are so numerous and so massive, that it is easy to get discouraged and start thinking that the abundant, equitable, and peaceful society we would like to live in is so far away that it becomes impossible to reach. We have to remain optimistic that we have the power to improve our society as a whole by making small improvements in our own lives. We all have to find some way in which we can contribute and just get to work, even if we make mistakes along the way. All of these small hopeful acts will build on top of one another until one day we look around and see that although the world is not perfect, it is much, much better off than it once was.

Send Jesse to the ELI

The first time I ever heard the word permaculture was back in 2011, during a short introductory workshop. That day, a whole new world of ideas opened up to me, an entirely different way of looking at the people and environments around me. I saw that permaculture held the tools to create a better future, the possibility to teach us how to live on this Earth in a way that benefits not only ourselves and our communities, but all the rest of the natural world as well, all of our relatives here on this planet that is our home. My life was changed forever by this moment, and since then I have dedicated my life to learning more about permaculture and sharing this knowledge with others, in the hopes that they might have a similar life changing moment and join in the work of creating a positive future for humanity and the planet.

In the time since then, I have taken two permaculture design courses and various other workshops, gained experience and skills through many hours of volunteer work at permaculture farms and natural building projects, and dove head first into the world of permaculture homesteading by joining the Ant Village community at Wheaton Labs in Montana. Throughout all of this I have pursued my mission of sharing permaculture with the world by talking with people and hosting small workshops, but primarily by creating videos about my experiences and sharing them on the One Heart Fire Youtube channel. I have also started to build a right livelihood by doing permaculture design projects and installations for friends and family, turning my knowledge and energy into real soil, water, and permanent food sources for my clients.

The Ecological Landscaper Immersion Course: http://www.permacultureskillscenter.org/copy-of-ecological-landscaper-immer

Jesse’s GoFundMe Campaign: https://www.gofundme.com/sendjessetotheeli

Jesse’s Youtube Channel: Search “Oneheartfire” or https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCpTOy6AFv_Qqr9J8n50f71Q

Jesse’s Patreon, which supports the youtube channel: https://www.patreon.com/jessegrimes

In Part 1 we talked Permaculture, Ant Village at Wheaton Labs and Standing Rock.

#solarpunk #zine #permaculture #jesse grimes #jesse #grimes #bikes #bmx #jumps #permaculture bike park #eli #technnology #scifi #future #webzine #interview #solarpunks #oneheartfire

[faustojanney618-blog]

Healthcare And Biotech Stocks.

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Liza - Urbex Pinup

There are essentially two kinds of shoots I do: run-and-gun and exploration.  The exploration style is always peaceful and wonderful because it means picking a location, getting out of the car and spending the entirety of the shoot walking around.  This is usually the case with hiking locations like the two magical shoots I had this week.  On Monday I had my first shoot with Nova in over a year.  I was split on where we should go because of the possibility of rain for the day but I had previously mentioned my recent trips Switzer Falls to Nova and so she suggested we do that.  There are certain places I'll never turn down and I'm glad we headed out there.  Because of the intense rain from the weekend the river that intertwines the path was raging.  Normally you can cross the river with various logs and rocks but the flow on Monday was so intense we just had to wade through it in places.  Fortunately Nova is a mountain woman and we both immensely enjoyed the adventure.

Wednesday I wasn't expecting to shoot but just have a coffee/tea meetup with Chelsea Hanes to discuss a potential upcoming shoot and some collabs.  Chelsea and I hit it off big-time and after about an hour talking and blazing we both decided since our schedules were free for the day that a full-fledged shoot was in order.  We stopped by her place, grabbed some gear, and headed in to another favorite woodsy spot of mine, Solstice Canyon.  Even though I've shot there several times it was exciting to see it so lush after all the rain and for the first time ever I got to shoot a model with the waterfall, which was raging.  Once again the Exploration Shoot was in full effect.  Though we implemented a few elements of the run-and-gun style as caught the sun setting by the coast in Malibu.

The run-and-gun method is something I picked up from shooting street art.  In shooting street art you often run in to situations where all you're looking to do is shoot that one piece and get out there for various reasons such as lack of parking, a tight schedule, etc.  This means pulling over, potentially leaving the car running for a minute, getting the shot, and going all in just a matter of minutes.  I find this is great for my model shoots because sometimes you just see a quick spot that requires no real exploration such as a piece of street art, a cool wall, a particular splash of light, etc.  These kind of shoots are my favorite on days with very little game plan.

The two shoot methods aren't exclusive to another as was the case during my first shoot with Liza when we ventured to yet another of my favorite spots: Rock-a-Hoola aka the abandoned waterpark out towards Las Vegas.  I first met Liza when my friend Jess invited me to a party for her hemp denim clothing brand: FadedLA (the same party where I did a mini shoot with Grey Garbo).  Jess and Liza have been friends for some largely bonding over there love of urban decay and graffiti.  Liza and I only briefly met at the party but I had a feeling we would wind up shooting together.  We wound up conversing on social media not long after that.  She told me how much she wanted to go check out Rock-a-Hoola so we planned a day to shoot and headed out.  Even though this would be my sixth time visiting Lake Dolores Waterpark I still consider it an Exploration kind of location because once you are there you pretty much set up shop and shoot.  We did exactly that for a while until, for the first time ever, I got kicked out.  Some guy in a truck pulled up and said, "You're not supposed to be here!".  I was a big taken back as I've spent many hours there and never even had an inkling that there was any kind of security.  But for some reason on this day there was.

We could have let this set back be the end of our shoot but these things happen with many kinds of locations and you just have to roll with.  We had already shot a ton in the park so I used the opportunity to change the shoot in to a little bit of run-and-gun shooting at some of the other abandoned spots in the area that I had never shot in because of the amazingness of the park.  As a big fan of abandoned spots and a great conversationalist Liza was having a blast either way and shooting a ton of her own photos for her Instagram.  After a few quick spots we wound up finding a sign that pointed to a nearby "Ghost Town".  With limited sunlight left we decided to take our chances.  The town was definitely a bit touristy but fun nonetheless and added for some great shots.  I wasn't sure what to expect with Liza as a model but she was wonderful and we've shot together since.  We are planning to head soon to San Diego to check out some new abandoned places and shoot more photos together so stay tuned for that.  In the meantime enjoy our first set with the girl known as Urbex Pinup.

Click the photo below and let's get lost with Liza!

[aion-rsa]

INTERVIEW: Marc Guggenheim Will Keep X-Men Gold ‘Light and Fun’

For the past several years, Marvel Comics’ X-Men have had their hands full combating large-scale threats to mutantkind’s very existence. When you’re battling those kinds of existential crises, it can be hard to focus on making the world a better place for the humans that fear and hate you. So the X-Men have frequently had to distance themselves from or temporarily set aside the dream of their founder Charles Xavier; proving that man and mutants can co-exist by using their powers to protect and defend the world.

That all changes this April with the launch of the “ResurrXion” line of books, including the new twice-monthly ongoing series “X-Men Gold,” by writer Marc Guggenheim — the executive producer of The CW’s “Arrow” and “DC’s Legends of Tomorrow,” and a comic book writer who made his Marvel debut back in 2006 with the “Civil War” arc of “Wolverine” — and artist Ardian Syaf, formerly of DC Comics titles including “Superman.” “X-Men Gold” finds Kitty Pryde returning to the team she grew up with, now as the group’s leader, as she works to mutantkind into an all-new age of high-profile superheroics.

CBR spoke with Guggenheim about the book’s direction and keeping things “relatively light and fun” (at least at first, Kitty’s leadership position, the initial threats his X-Men will face and how they’ll interact more with the larger Marvel Universe than they have in quite some time. Plus, CBR has the first look at the covers to May’s “X-Men Gold” #3 and #4, both by Syaf.

EXCLUSIVE: “X-Men Gold” #3 cover by Ardian Syaf.

CBR: Marc, looking at the line up for “X-Men Gold,” Kitty Pryde is on a team with her former best friend in Rachel Grey, an older version of a father figure from her youth in Old Man Logan, an ex-boyfriend in Colossus, and two close friends she pretty much grew up with in Nightcrawler and Storm. So at first glance it seems in terms of team dynamic this would be a nice homecoming for her, but is that necessarily the case?

Marc Guggenheim: It is. It’s certainly complicated particularly with respect to Peter, and some of my favorite moments from the first issue relate to their history together, but overall it’s a very empowering homecoming. Kitty is the “kid who made good.” She’s the apprentice who’s returning to become the master.

This relates to my goal of keeping the book — for the time being at least — relatively light and fun. The complexities that arise from the composition of the team aren’t dark and hand wringing-y. They’re meant to be really fun. If I can get you at least chuckling once an issue, that would be wonderful.

So, if you’ll pardon a bad joke, they’re the X-Men and not the Angst-Men?

Exactly. I think the X-Men have always had a certain amount of angst, but the thing that I’m trying to calibrate with “Gold” is not making the angst the driving force of the stories. I kind of feel like for the longest time — and I’m really using “E For Extinction” as the sort of jumping off point — that the X-Men have had a lot of angst, which was appropriate because ever since “E For Extinction,” the X-Men have been sort of fighting for their very existence, always facing some version of extinction.

I think one of the great things about ResurrXion — and one of the reasons it’s so aptly titled — is that the X-Men coming out of “IvX” have a new lease on life. The existential threats that they were facing have been tabled for the time being and that’s allowing the X-Men to look to the future in a way that they haven’t been able to in a very long time. We hit this point pretty hard in X-Men Prime.

Kitty Pryde is returning to the X-Men in a leadership role. What made you want to cast her in this position?

It started with a great love of Kitty. My first X-Men issue that I read was #139, which was the “Welcome to the X-Men, Kitty Pryde – Hope You Survive the Experience” issue. From the moment I was offered the gig, I knew I wanted to return Kitty to the team if the character was available. But then, the more I thought about it, the more I realized there was an opportunity to do more than scratch a nostalgic itch. I realized I had the chance to tell a very classic story: the story of the apprentice who becomes the master. To me, her becoming the leader of the team was the ultimate realization of that arc.

When I pitched it, I wasn’t so sure how people at Marvel would respond, and to my delight, that was the thing about my take that excited and energized everyone the most. It certainly energized me because it’s been a lot of fun to write Kitty as someone calling the shots. She’s really proving on the job that she’s learned a lot over her many years of being a member of the X-Men.

EXCLUSIVE: “X-Men Gold” #4 cover by Ardian Syaf

Is she going to feel some of the weight and darkness that some of the other prominent X-Men leaders have wrestled with like Cyclops and Storm?

Eventually I would love to get to that point. I’m intentionally avoiding that right now because, like I said, I tonally want to start the book off on a lighter and more hopeful note.

But you’re right: It is true that Storm and Cyclops have have met with very challenging moral ends. It’s something we’ll definitely be dealing a bit with when it comes to Storm, but it’s more on Storm’s side of the equation than on Kitty’s. It would be really nice to cast that particular shadow on Kitty eventually, but before I cast shadows, I want to get some sunlight in there.

Another interesting dynamic that occurred to while looking at your line up is you have two characters that hail from nightmarish possible futures in Old Man Logan and Rachel Grey. What’s it like bouncing those two characters off of each other?

I’ve got an idea for a really cool scene between Logan and Rachel, but the right moment to have that scene hasn’t happened yet. The scene I have in mind does speak directly to the fact they both come from futures that just happen to both be lousy. What is it about the future that in any iteration, it always looks crappy? I want to get a little meta (but not too meta) about it, but I haven’t had a chance to fit that in just yet.

Superheroics will be an essential part of “X-Men Gold,” but what about the training of the next generation of mutants? Will that be a part of your book as well?

Yeah, it happens in the background because the book is very much focused on the active X-Men. What I think is very critical about the X-Men’s new status quo is that the mansion is full with students, so the X-Men still have to be teachers as well as heroes. They have to continue to training the next generation of mutants.

So, yes, the younger X-Men will very much be a part of the book. In fact, the students have moments in each of the issues I’ve written so far. At the same time, it’s a little bit of a balancing act, because I want to maintain the focus on our core X-Men.

“X-Men Gold” #1 cover by Ardian Syaf

I think balancing between your core cast and all the fan-favorite supporting characters that are part of their world is sort of the main struggle for any X-Men writer. Because even the mutant characters that might be considered C-list by some are other readers’ favorites. So how has it been balancing all of those things?

I always try very hard to keep some space for non-action moments. I think when you’re able to spend time just with the characters it gives you opportunities to interact more with the students and more with the fan favorite characters.

At the same time, different stories are going to lend themselves to different kinds of characters. So while we’ll always have our core group, Kitty is smart: If she needs a particular power or skill set from other mutants she has no compunctions against bringing them into the field. For example, Rockslide and Armor will help the team in issue #3.

What’s your sense of the X-Men’s rogues’ gallery? Is “X-Men Gold” a book where we’ll see classic foes? New villains? Or both?

I would say both. The first arc features a new Brotherhood of Evil Mutants. One might think, “Jeez, another Brotherhood of Evil Mutants?” But hopefully I’ve come up with a twist that makes this Brotherhood different from all the other ones that came before it. That team will feature some familiar faces and some new characters.

There are a lot of different things I’m trying to balance in the book. One of them is having new characters and adding new toys to the toy box, while at the same time bringing back characters that people know and love. The Brotherhood is a good example of doing a mixture of those two things.

For me, one of the most interesting aspects about the Brotherhood is the word evil is in their name. A lot of villains see themselves as the heroes of their own story. So to have “evil” as part of their group moniker suggests you’re dealing with a group that wants to take ownership of that word and embrace it. Is that true with this group?

Yeah they really should be called, the Brotherhood of Self-Aware Mutants. No, the truth is in this particular instance the “evil” is very intentionally included. There’s a secret to the team that connects directly to the reason for the word “evil” being in the group’s name.

Ardian Syaf’s art has a feel and flavor that reminds me of some of the past heroic eras of the X-Men. So it seems like he’d be a good fit for what you want to do here. What’s it like working with him?

I’ve got to give all the credit in the world to [Marvel editor] Dan Ketchum. I said to him that putting Ardian on this book was the best bit of casting; of matching an artist to a book.

I think Ardian’s style tells you everything you need to know about what the book’s mission statement is. His art is new and fresh, but it also harkens back to John Byrne and Jim Lee. There’s even a bit of Arthur Adams in there. So his style is very modern, but it also speaks to an aesthetic that draws on the influence of the ’80s and the ’90s.

Ardian Syaf’s cover for March’s “X-Men” one-shot, written by Marc Guggenheim, illustrated by Ken Lashley and setting the stage for much of the “Resurrxion” status quo.

Any further hints and teases you can leave us with about the tone, scope, and scale of your initial stories?

Because we’re double-shipping I’m keeping the arcs pretty short. They’ll be about three to four issues long. I’m really excited about that actually, because it’s made the issues themselves very dense. We’re not really doing any sort of decompression here. We’re telling very tightly compacted and constructed stories, and I’m trying very hard to make sure that each issue has a handful of moments that make that issue really, really special. There’s no sort of filler issues. I want to make sure that with each issue everyone is getting a lot of bang for their buck; that in those 20 pages there’s a lot of great stuff going on.

That structure is also a lot of fun. We’re going to tell a Brotherhood of Evil Mutants story in the first arc and there’s going to be a brand new kind of threat in the second arc. You’re not going to have to wait six months to get a different story. You’ll be getting stories on a much more regular and consistent basis, which I think harkens back to the feel of reading these books back in the ’80s.

In recent years it tends to be very easy to have the X-Men exist in almost their own corner of the Marvel Universe. Will we see some of the larger outside MU trappings in “X-Men Gold?” Will groups like say, S.H.I.E.L.D. or the Avengers, pop up from time to time?

Yes. The whole raison d’etre of the book and the team is that throughout the X-Men’s history they’ve sort of segregated themselves. They were either up in Westchester, or they were on Utopia, or they were in Genosha, or Limbo. They were never in the middle of the action; they always segregated themselves from humankind. What’s so great about Kitty’s plan is that she wants to put the X-Men front and center. They’re going to have relationships and interactions with humans. That’s the only way they’re going to combat the prejudice against mutants. The only way you fight ignorance is with knowledge and interaction.

So, yes, the X-Men are going to be smack-dab in the middle of New York, and as we all know there’s a lot of superheroes and stuff going on in New York. We will be seeing S.H.I.E.L.D. As people who read my last comic know [Marvel’s “Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.” comic book], I have a great affection for S.H.I.E.L.D. We’ll also be seeing other superheroes as time goes on.

We’ll be crossing paths with some big things happening in the Marvel Universe, as well. That’s really important to what we’re trying to do with “X-Men Gold.” The big mission statement of the book and the team is that the X-Men are interacting with the rest of the Marvel Universe in a way that they really haven’t in a long time.

“X-Men Gold” #1 is scheduled for release on April 5, with “X-Men Gold” #2 following two weeks later.

The post INTERVIEW: Marc Guggenheim Will Keep X-Men Gold ‘Light and Fun’ appeared first on CBR.com.

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#Aion_Rsa

[a-h-arts]

OUTSTANDING BOOK! I have been an Edgar Payne enthusiast ever since art school and that was decades ago. This book defines what so many feel and think of his works. And for the purchase price, not only do you get a great biography of the man but also full color and full page illustrations. I own an Edgar Payne drawing and if I had the money available I'd also have an original Edgar Payne painting hanging in my home. This book is well worth the money and to me Payne defines what Southern California landscape painting is and should be! Go to Amazon

Master Studies in Composition and Gesture Edgar Payne is a great inspirational painter, creating amazing compositions (he wrote a book containing many thumbnail compositions). I enjoy his paintings of the American west (mountains and seascapes). But a fantastic and unexpected treasure in the book as presented by Scott Shields, were the photographs and paintings by Payne in northern France of boats I have lived in France for a year, observed much of the country, and examined many paintings, but in my opinion, no harbour or channel image matches the ability of Payne. Payne's ability to capture boats navigating the water is as skillful as Monet's paintings of train stations and locomotives. In Shield's book, he presents photographs and how Payne translates these images into paintings. I found this fascinating to examine. Before Payne, J.M.W.Tunrer was considered a master of boats and waves. And am sure there are many more that I am not aware of, because of my limited and amateur knowledge. But having sketched boats in Angers, France, boats along the Loire River, and along the coast near St. Malo, I can appreciate the challenge of composition and the difficulty of capturing waves and boats in motion. One time in China, along the Li River in Guangxi Province, I started to draw a bamboo boat, as I drew, the owner walked on board, started the motor, and drove away. I finished the sketch as best as I could. Another day, I took a bamboo boat down the Li River, drawing other boats and riverscapes as I went. These were fantastic instructional experiences. It is clear to see that wherever Edgar Payne travelled he could find opportunities to learn, explore, and express. In art school, much of the time drawing in the studio is spent upon gesture and motion. Payne's ability to depict boats on water may be due partially to his ability to capture the gesture of objects in motion, illustrated by his American west paintings of riders and pack horses and seascapes of ocean waves. Painting horses and riders is not easy, as beginners often find that their living subjects seem more like stone and statues and their compositions simplistic. At sea moving boats, or on hills with moving animals, they are often not exactly in the same perspective, and it is easy to present them in a way where even the public can sense something is not correct about the image. However, Edgar Payne seems to handle this easily. With water in France, he conveys the waves without getting obsessed with the intricate details concerning the reflections and waves in the water (as he did along the American west coast). So while the book features much of Payne's images of the American west, his studies, photographs, and paintings in northern France, are exceptional. I enjoyed Scott Shields' presentation concerning the breadth of Payne's efforts. I encourage enthusiasts to sketch and paint at zoos and along lakes and rivers, making interesting compositions and capturing the gesture of movement. The goal is not always to be successful at creating a masterpiece, but rather to observe, learn, and try. Edgar Payne sets the inspiration and example. I believe that studying Edgar Payne through Scott Shields' book can be very instructive. If one is a linear thinker, Payne's work may still be a mystery. But if one is intuitive and can connect the dots, Payne's work presents the possibilities. This book is much more than a coffee table book filled with pages of great paintings. This book is about how to see, what to feature, and how to express the subject. This book is a treasure. I found the book to be much more helpful than many books about how to draw and paint. I now show this book to anyone interested in painting and drawing who will tolerate listening to me and enduring my long explanations. Go to Amazon

Sailing the sea of "art" books... OK, so I have been burned by blindly ordering books on artists in the past...Because let's be honest, you don't buy a $50 book for the words. And many end up being mostly that. Go to Amazon

Great book from a historical perspective This book has the best full color plates from which the fledgling artist can see the expression and brushstrokes that made Payne such a prolific and successful painter. The historical perspective was well defined and gives a glimpse of the pioneer spirit of this early western artist and his wife, who was also an extremely talented artist in her own right. Payne's California Sierra landscapes are particularly poignant in that they give a glimpse to the reason why so many people have been drawn to the spectacular variety of scenery of California. I bought this book as a compliment to Payne's 'Composition of Outdoor Painting,' which is the definitive book for outdoor painters. Go to Amazon

A Master Painter teaches... Not just a wonderful classic (which it is), but also a book to teach those of us who paint landscapes, particularly landscapes of the west. Oh, and the biographical information is nice, too! Go to Amazon

Great if you want pictures! I love this book... But I haven't read it. I'm a landscape painter, so this rating is not for the text. Its not an instuctional book, its a biography (I think...ive only scanned it)This book is great because its filled with large, full color, good quality images. You can see the brushwork in the paintings. It's a thick book too. It doesn't have the close up detail images, but you can see so much in the other ones I didn't miss those. Go to Amazon

Five Stars Really nice book on Edgar Payne, glad to have found this edition so cheap. Go to Amazon

Almost like being there! Edgar Payne captured the grandeur of the West, the sunlight and shadow, the size of the place and the smallness of man in the landscape. He also did it so simply that it looks easy....but it isn't. As a landscape painter, this book is one of my favorites and also most helpful in terms of brush technique, composition, and color choice. The book doesn't tell you how he did his magic, but a magnifying glass is all you need. This book will transport you to a wonderful place and another time. Go to Amazon

An unequivocal prize excellent book! Five Stars Definitely recommended. Wonderfulm Collectible book A beautiful classic but a great book. Beautiful Art Book Five Stars

#Historical #art #book

[a-h-arts]

Master Studies in Composition and Gesture Edgar Payne is a great inspirational painter, creating amazing compositions (he wrote a book containing many thumbnail compositions). I enjoy his paintings of the American west (mountains and seascapes). But a fantastic and unexpected treasure in the book as presented by Scott Shields, were the photographs and paintings by Payne in northern France of boats I have lived in France for a year, observed much of the country, and examined many paintings, but in my opinion, no harbour or channel image matches the ability of Payne. Payne's ability to capture boats navigating the water is as skillful as Monet's paintings of train stations and locomotives. In Shield's book, he presents photographs and how Payne translates these images into paintings. I found this fascinating to examine. Before Payne, J.M.W.Tunrer was considered a master of boats and waves. And am sure there are many more that I am not aware of, because of my limited and amateur knowledge. But having sketched boats in Angers, France, boats along the Loire River, and along the coast near St. Malo, I can appreciate the challenge of composition and the difficulty of capturing waves and boats in motion. One time in China, along the Li River in Guangxi Province, I started to draw a bamboo boat, as I drew, the owner walked on board, started the motor, and drove away. I finished the sketch as best as I could. Another day, I took a bamboo boat down the Li River, drawing other boats and riverscapes as I went. These were fantastic instructional experiences. It is clear to see that wherever Edgar Payne travelled he could find opportunities to learn, explore, and express. In art school, much of the time drawing in the studio is spent upon gesture and motion. Payne's ability to depict boats on water may be due partially to his ability to capture the gesture of objects in motion, illustrated by his American west paintings of riders and pack horses and seascapes of ocean waves. Painting horses and riders is not easy, as beginners often find that their living subjects seem more like stone and statues and their compositions simplistic. At sea moving boats, or on hills with moving animals, they are often not exactly in the same perspective, and it is easy to present them in a way where even the public can sense something is not correct about the image. However, Edgar Payne seems to handle this easily. With water in France, he conveys the waves without getting obsessed with the intricate details concerning the reflections and waves in the water (as he did along the American west coast). So while the book features much of Payne's images of the American west, his studies, photographs, and paintings in northern France, are exceptional. I enjoyed Scott Shields' presentation concerning the breadth of Payne's efforts. I encourage enthusiasts to sketch and paint at zoos and along lakes and rivers, making interesting compositions and capturing the gesture of movement. The goal is not always to be successful at creating a masterpiece, but rather to observe, learn, and try. Edgar Payne sets the inspiration and example. I believe that studying Edgar Payne through Scott Shields' book can be very instructive. If one is a linear thinker, Payne's work may still be a mystery. But if one is intuitive and can connect the dots, Payne's work presents the possibilities. This book is much more than a coffee table book filled with pages of great paintings. This book is about how to see, what to feature, and how to express the subject. This book is a treasure. I found the book to be much more helpful than many books about how to draw and paint. I now show this book to anyone interested in painting and drawing who will tolerate listening to me and enduring my long explanations. Go to Amazon

Great book from a historical perspective This book has the best full color plates from which the fledgling artist can see the expression and brushstrokes that made Payne such a prolific and successful painter. The historical perspective was well defined and gives a glimpse of the pioneer spirit of this early western artist and his wife, who was also an extremely talented artist in her own right. Payne's California Sierra landscapes are particularly poignant in that they give a glimpse to the reason why so many people have been drawn to the spectacular variety of scenery of California. I bought this book as a compliment to Payne's 'Composition of Outdoor Painting,' which is the definitive book for outdoor painters. Go to Amazon

The SuperBookDeals & Amazon Companies: The Book arrived July5,2013 via regular postal service. It's in great shape(new) well packed & Shirk Wrap. Go to Amazon

Almost like being there! Edgar Payne captured the grandeur of the West, the sunlight and shadow, the size of the place and the smallness of man in the landscape. He also did it so simply that it looks easy....but it isn't. As a landscape painter, this book is one of my favorites and also most helpful in terms of brush technique, composition, and color choice. The book doesn't tell you how he did his magic, but a magnifying glass is all you need. This book will transport you to a wonderful place and another time. Go to Amazon

Great if you want pictures! I love this book... But I haven't read it. I'm a landscape painter, so this rating is not for the text. Its not an instuctional book, its a biography (I think...ive only scanned it)This book is great because its filled with large, full color, good quality images. You can see the brushwork in the paintings. It's a thick book too. It doesn't have the close up detail images, but you can see so much in the other ones I didn't miss those. Go to Amazon

A beautiful classic A beautiful classic from which any plein air artist will benefit. His draftsmanship and reduction of forms is inspiring. Go to Amazon

praise for Edgar Payne catalog Thiss book is a must for fans of Edgar Payne. One of the few museum catalogs where the color and values are remarkably true to the art, the scholarship, and the printing quality throughout, are a joy. Of course, the best is to catch the show in one of its museum venues, but, this wonderful book will sustain long after the paintings have returned to their (lucky) respective owners. Go to Amazon

Everything Payne I purchased this book before attending the Edgar Payne show in Tulsa. What an amazing, inspiring artist. It's great to refer back to the artwork in this beautiful book. Go to Amazon

Five Stars Definitely recommended. Wonderfulm Collectible book but a great book. Beautiful Art Book Five Stars Five Stars Five Stars Five Stars

#Historical #art #book