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lucifers-horror-harem · 3 years

Note

Can I request headcanons for a poly relationship with Brahms and Vincent Sinclair?

Oh my gODDDDD ANON UR MIND!!! Legit I went OFF with this headcanon post and honesty I’m obsessed with this pairing now. I might even write a smutty one shot regarding this but like fuckkkkkk I hope y’all enjoy this cause i had SO MUCH FUN writing it!

Brahms/Vincent/Reader Poly:

Since Brahms and Vincent are two killers that are based in a specific location and would probably never leave their homes, here are a few specific headcanons for each killer in the other’s home.

Vincent in the Heelshire Manor wouldn't affect him too greatly, other than the nagging feeling of being homesick. Though if he has you by his side, it makes the ache less harsh. For the most part as long as Vincent has a room he can call his workshop he really won't mind. And because the Heelshire mansion is so huge there would be more than enough room for such.

Brahms would be very against having Vincent in the walls, feeling threatened by his presence, but once he is more used to the three of you being together he might not mind it as much. Actually, Vincent enjoys Brahms' space. He finds the room quite relaxing, though a bit too cramped for his liking.

Ultimately, both are fine as long as they are given their privacy to work and relax on their own time.

Brahms in Ambrose would cause the most upheaval. He would glue himself to your side, following you wherever you went as you were the only comfort he had in this strange place. Brahms isn't used to not only being out of the walls but essentially having a whole town to himself to explore. It would be a lot at first, but with yours and Vincent's gentle urging, Brahms would slowly embrace this new change.

He would love the tunnels under Ambrose, allowing him to move to different places in town without needing to walk down the street just in case there were visitors in town. He prefers to slip in and out of places largely unnoticed so less attention is brought to him.

While he does not actively participate in the slaying of visitors in Ambrose for the wax collection, he has been known to attack anyone he deems a threat to you or the Sinclairs. This is his home now and anything that is a threat to that home must be dealt with accordingly (and brutally). Vincent often complains that Brahms ruins the bodies, but understands that Brahms can't control himself when he reaches that point.

Speaking of the other Sinclair brothers, Bo unsurprisingly hates Brahms. When Brahms first arrived, he was very shy and nervous around Bo, actively afraid of the loud and easily angered brother. Once he realized that Bo was no threat to him, he actively enjoyed "playing" with him. Bo hates it when he uses his childlike voice, but Brahms continues to do it anyways to put Bo on edge. Brahms might also use his stealthy abilities to purposefully scare Bo, appearing out of nowhere and giving him a heart attack and running off before Bo can retaliate. Bo would never admit it openly but Brahms intimidates him simply from his stature and the inability to read him.

Lester was intimidated by Brahms when he first arrived, the man much taller and more muscular than he was. But when Brahms learned about the road kill Lester collects and disposes of, he simply asked if he could take care of the rats as well. Lester did, and the two have no issues with each other, though Lester still feels a slight unease when around the other man.

Now, for the personality dynamics of the boys.

Brahms and Vincent get along much better than one might initially suspect. The two are utterly territorial men, often with you in the middle of their affections, however they eventually grow to understand each other and how it would be easier to protect you if they were both there. You’re the common denominator that keeps them from fighting each other, and the fact that you dispense love equally between them is an important factor.

The two will eventually grow to respect each other as well, with Brahms eventually being comforted by Vincent's company if you are unavailable. He will often sit quietly with Jonesy as he watches Vincent work on his sculptures, very rarely interrupting him. Vincent isn't bothered by this presence, and is often comforted if either you, Brahms, or the both of you are in the room with him doing whatever as he sculpts.

Vincent grows fond of Brahms, feeling protective of him when he becomes distressed and overwhelmed. Growing up with Bo, he has learned how to help diffuse highly volatile situations. Even if he can't speak very well, his gentle reassurances help while he deescalates Brahms’ tantrums. A plus for you, really.

As the two of them both wear masks to hide their faces, they might reveal themselves sooner rather than later simply because they're in the presence of another person that truly understands what their going through, as well as someone who loves them unconditionally (you, of course). Expect them to take of their masks one night while the three of you are together, the two of them slowly revealing themselves to each other and you. Brahms’ burn scars, and Vincent's scars each on one side of their face, cause them to be moved when they first see each other. They'll have their masks off around you more often after that.

Now,,, the somft dating headcanons,,,

Brahms and Vincent are both touch starved individuals so just expect to be giving lots of love to these boys. Just you cuddling with them makes them melt, and if they see you giving attention to one you know the other will grow jealous until you give them some love as well. Brahms is much more clingy than Vincent however, and you'll have to be a bit more firm with him about your space even if he ignores it most of the time. Vincent is a lot more shy so when you give him hugs and kisses he is more likely to freeze up instead of latch onto you like Brahms the Leech Boy would.

Both spoil you as much as humanly possible, mostly with love and physical affection though they have their own little ways of treating you. Vincent makes you small wax sculptures all the time, enjoying the smile on your face as you look the figure over with adoration. Brahms gets a bit annoyed over this, as he doesn't have much of an artistic hand. But Vincent is happy to give him some wax and either let him mess around with it or teach him some techniques to properly use it. Brahms is so proud once he is able to make you something small, probably a bowl, and he absolutely melts when you squeal in delight at his thoughtful gift. Vincent can't help but feel happy himself too.

Lots of snuggle piles with the three of you, often with you in the middle. While they don't tend to have a favorite position as long as they get to hold you, they do have a few regular positions. When you read out loud to them, Vincent tends to sit behind you, your back up against his chest, as Brahms is tangled amongst both of your legs as he rests his head on your lap, his arms draped around your middle. Vincent holds the book open for you so both of your hands are free to pet and play with Brahms’ hair, which he thoroughly enjoys. Sometimes Vincent and Brahms will swap places, or one of them will rest their head against your chest as you act as the big spoon. Also expect many blankets and pillows to further complete your nest as well.

Luckily for Bo, Brahms’ need for structure in the form of the daily chore list will keep you busy cleaning up the living space and making enough food to feed all the men you were caring for now. If Bo has been particularly good, Brahms might tag along with you to the gas station to deliver him lunch after you bring Vincent his. Vincent is usually busy with his art so you give him a kiss on top of his head and leave his food on his work bench, knowing he will get to it once he is hungry. Bo won't dare to lash out too much when he is being fed, especially not when Brahms stands behind you like an imposing bodyguard whenever Bo is nearby.

Date nights with the two of them are rather unconventional. Most of the time whenever the three of you are together it is considered a date whether or not it is super romantic. Just coexisting in the same space is often enough for the three of you. Vincent is happy enough to show you and Brahms around Ambrose, obviously knowing the best places to relax and get away from the stress the town can bring. He knows exactly where you can see the best sunrises and sunsets too. And Brahms is more than happy to tag along, though if he was in his manor than he would probably have a hard time leaving even with the two of you by his side.

Expect lots of quiet nights reading, softly talking amongst yourselves, watching old vhs tapes found around town on the small TV, and listening to music. Sometimes Jonesy will keep you all company and get lots of snuggles and belly rubs as well.

Now onto the headcanons you filthy animals were waiting for. You know. The naughty stuff ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Being the needy man he is, Brahms is probably the first to initiate sexual touching. He is certainly not shy about his desire for you, not even being embarrassed about growing hard around you. Vincent, on the other hand, is too ashamed to initiate contact in the beginning, even if he feels the same way. Most likely he will let Brahms take the lead with you first, enjoying the act of watching you both. You can't get enough of the sight of Vincent sitting in his chair, hand squeezed tightly around his member as he edges himself while watching Brahms grab and explore your body. And with Brahms’ jealous streak he doesn't mind having you first either.

Slowly, Vincent will find his way into bed with the two of you, probably at your urging. If Brahms is feeling particularly generous, he might be the one to say something. "They’re so soft Vinny, you have to touch them." With some gentle persuasion, Vincent will touch you the way Brahms touches you, making your toes curl and your breath hitch. Brahms watches eagerly, touching you as well and grabbing your hand and holding it over his cock as you pump him until his seed spills over you.

Vincent isn't shy about body worship once he realizes how much you want him. He will kiss and caress every inch of you, pulling out all sorts of noises that you never thought were possible. Brahms looks on in awe, his mouth often following behind Vincent's as he mimics the actions, much to your delight.

Brahms has a hard time holding himself back around you while Vincent can take an entire night with you, so together they tend to even out. They'll go until you're too exhausted, but usually Brahms will finish first, leaving Vincent all the time in the world with you. That is, until Brahms’ gets hard again and finds his way back into the fray.

They are both comfortable being switches, not minding if they are on top but if you want to top they will gladly let you spoil them. They both love being ridden, holding you in their arms as you bounce on their cock, until you leave them a shaking mess beneath you. They also enjoy receiving oral from you, and you tend to include both of them in the activity. Sometimes you will jerk the two of them off with your hands, give oral to one and use your hand on the other, or on at least one occasion, have attempted to at the very least lick both of them at the same time.

As the three of you grow more open and experienced with each other's bodies, you can expect to try taking them both on at least a few occasions. Sometimes one of them will be performing oral or fucking you as you take the other in your mouth. If you happen to be AFAB, expect double penetration to be attempted at least once, though Brahms is a bit too impatient to go through the whole ordeal so it isn't an activity you often engage in.

Now, Brahms and Vincent both grew up in very strict and sheltered homes, so the thought of being naked in the same room as another man, or sharing the same person with another man in the same bed might cause them trepidation in the beginning of your sexual relationship. Eventually, however, they grow to love each other as much as they love you, though they might show it to each other in a different way. While they might not initiate sex with each other if you aren't around, they will slowly begin to experiment with you in the bedroom. Touching you turns into touching each other as well, and they find that while each other's touch is much different than yours, they enjoy this new feeling.

In fact, they might have been known to, on occasion, jerk each other off if their needs grow too intense and you aren’t around to provide for them. When you caught them, they were facing each other, pumping each other’s member as Brahms buried his face into Vincent's shoulder. Initially they were wildly embarrassed and thought you would be mad, but you assured them you weren't, your words of encouragement helping them finish.

Time for kinks!

They both share voyeurism kink, and while Brahms can be a bit annoyed and bratty if he has to sit on the sidelines, both are content to watch the other have their way with you, getting off on just watching. Hell, both of them spy on you on the regular, watching you get dressed or shower before you either notice them in the doorway or they allow themselves in.

If Vincent is able to get a hold of a camera you know he will be taking pictures of you constantly, with or without you knowing. While it partially adds to his voyeur kink, he enjoys being able to take artistic nudes of you, as well as less artistic ones where you are simply being wrecked by one or the both of them.

Wax play is a big kink of Vincent's as he enjoys watching your expression as he tips the candle over your skin and watches how the hot wax makes you jolt for a moment before it begins to solidify on your skin. Brahms, however, is not a fan, simply because he finds it tedious as well as being unable to enjoy it himself. Putting hot wax on a hairy man is not a fun time.

They both enjoy bondage, though Brahms doesn't really know how to properly execute it until meeting Vincent. All three of you have been tied up at one point or another, allowing the other two access to their body. Vincent enjoys the more eloquent knots and ties, creating intricate designs on both you and Brahms. Brahms is a good candidate for being tied up as he gets worked up so easily and this is one of the few ways to help him take his time. The ties that you and Brahms execute on Vincent aren't as beautiful but they do the trick, and he often has a hard time edging himself with the two of you giving him attention.

Any kinks that you have are eagerly accepted by Vincent and Brahms, as they are always happy to bend over backwards to satiate your needs. Even if it is a little embarrassing, they're willing to try anything at least once with you.

Ultimately, the open communication and understanding between the three of you help immensely when it comes to taking care of each other's needs. You would all drop everything to satisfy your partners, and they would do the same for you.

#slasher x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #vincent x brahms x reader #vincent sinclair #brahms heelshire #house of wax #the boy 2016

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xiaomoxu · 3 years

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Lucien - Interlaced Date

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

A date from CN server which hasn’t been released on EN server yet. Might contains some spoiler.

🦋 Also from this date: Call

Story under the cuts~

At the beginning of the evening, the lights were on, and the stars were looming in the clouds.

I am standing at the door of a newly opened mall. Under the floating dome, there are many stacked square buildings, which makes people suddenly think that they have come to the art museum.

MC: It should be right here.

Not long ago, I saw a shopping mall integrated with art on the Internet. It cooperated with different artists to create various themed activities.

The theme this time is "interlacing".

I am very interested in this topic, so I decided to see it for myself

Following the signs, I walked into a dark rectangular room.

The center of the room was divided into two spaces by a matte glass. People who entered moved forward in a line, but they could not see the scene on the other side clearly.

Tourist A: The person on the other side can't see clearly, what does this room mean?

Tourist B: I can't understand, this may be art.

I followed their words and couldn't help but look across the glass...

The line of sight was full of fuzzy outlines, and I could only vaguely tell that the flow of people on the opposite side was passing in the opposite direction to us. I can't help but fall into thinking.

Is this design to highlight the "interlaced feeling"?

Until, a familiar figure on the other side suddenly pulled my thoughts back.

The vague outlines, however, stand out in a crowd of indistinct crowds.

It seems to be Lucien... why is he here?

Countless doubts poured into my heart, I couldn't help speeding up and approaching that figure.

Even though there is a crowd on the opposite side, his gestures are familiar.

He walked forward in the group methodically, but revealed a state of being free from the crowd.

It seems that only Lucien can give people this feeling.

With a faint answer in my heart, I raised my hand and waved at him.

He seemed to have noticed something too, he stopped and glanced in my direction.

Even through the glass, I can feel the indifferent gaze, as if I'm just an inconspicuous stranger.

I stopped, and my smile stiffened. Only that back figure continued to move forward, farther and farther away from me.

MC: ....Didn't he recognize me?

Tourist: Don't stop, keep going.

Some dissatisfied voices came from behind, and I nodded apologetically and walked forward.

The images that had just been interlaced kept playing repeatedly in my mind. I looked back a little unwillingly.

Even though the crowds were bustling, I found the back figure just now again.

Suddenly he stopped, turned and looked in my direction.

The glass reflected his fuzzy face, and I couldn't help but squint to see him more closely.

In the dimness, I seemed to see a soft arc rising from the indifferent face.

Is he... smiling at me?

I opened my lips slightly to say something, but was squeezed out of the room again by the person behind me.

My sight suddenly became bright, but I was a little dumbfounded.

??: What a coincidence, I can meet you here.

A familiar voice rang behind me, making me startled.

Lucien walked up to me and smiled lightly at me.

Lucien: You look surprised.

Lucien: Do you think I will not be here?

Looking at Lucien in front of me, I suddenly realized something was wrong.

The space just now was two reverse one-way streets, it was impossible for him to suddenly appear in front of me from the opposite exit.

MC: It's not that you won't show up. Because just now in that room, I saw a figure that looked like you.

MC: But if it is really you, it is impossible to appear here from the other exit so quickly.

Lucien looked at the exit behind me, as if lost in thought and lowered his eyes.

After a while, he raised his head with a smile in his eyes.

Lucien: I think you didn’t mistaken me as the other person.

Lucien: It is indeed me in that room, but what you see is not who I am now.

Listening to some circumstantial words, I couldn't help but frown.

MC: ... Not who you are now?

Lucien: Well, it was me fifteen minutes ago.

MC: You mean we were not in the same time and space just now. Could it be the influence of Evol?

I couldn't help straightening my back instinctively and quickly sweeping around.

The next second, a shadow was covered in the afterglow, Lucien leaned down and looked at me.

Lucien: Are you tired recently, Miss Nox?

Lucien: This is just an ordinary shopping mall, there is no work that Miss Nox has to deal with.

Seeing Lucien pretending to be serious, I smiled awkwardly.

MC: .... What does "you who were fifteen minutes ago" mean?

Lucien pointed to the stand that was less than two meters away from me at the exit.

Lucien: The room you just passed by is actually an artistic design

Lucien: The room is full of holographic projections, and the other side of the glass you see is a picture fifteen minutes ago.

Listening to Lucien's explanation, I looked at the art brief on the stand.

MC: So what we see is actually not what is actually happening right now.

MC: Let us mistakenly think that the barriers of glass cannot be overlapped, but in fact...

MC: Not only are we unable to intersect, we are not even in the same space and time.

Lucien: Probably this room wants to create a sense of interlacing time and space for us.

Lucien nodded in agreement, but different emotions flashed in his eyes.

Lucien: However, MC could recognize me through the matte glass, which made me feel very happy.

Lucien: It's a pity that I'm not so lucky, and I didn't see you on the other side of the glass.

Lucien spoke lightly, but knocked again and again in my heart.

The smile on his face inadvertently gradually overlaps with the memory of me just in the room.

When Lucien stood there, he seemed to smile like that.

What did he see fifteen minutes ago?

Doubts creeped into my heart, I couldn't help but speak.

MC: Lucien, I seemed to see you smiling in the room just now.

MC: Did you see something?

Lucien seemed to be taken aback, but soon returned to his expression.

Lucien: It's nothing.

Lucien: There are also many exhibit designs related to themes. Would you like to go to other areas with me?

Seeing that he didn't want to start the topic, I had no choice but to agree.

Lucien and I walked side by side in the shopping mall. Except for the rooms just now, the atriums on each floor of the building have different designs.

Paintings, photographs, sculptures, and installations of different carriers all unify the interplay of time and space, emotions, and life.

I looked at Lucien, who was quiet beside me, and couldn't help approaching him.

MC: By the way, why did you come here?

Lucien: I am here to be entrusted by a person to give some non-professional advice as a viewer.

Lucien: What about you?

MC: I'm very interested in this "interlaced" theme, so I came to have a look.

Lucien nodded thoughtfully, and none of us spoke for a while, just moved forward quietly.

The crowd passed by our side, heading in the same or opposite direction as us.

Probably because of the countless designs that express "missing" just now, I can't help feeling a little about such a simple and ordinary picture.

MC: Lucien, what are you trying to convey when designing such a theme?

Lucien's gaze was mixed with a bit of unsure emotion, and after my voice fell, he cast it slightly.

Lucien: I think it is probably "missing is inevitable."

Lucien: Whether in invisible or visible places, we will miss many people and many things.

Lucien: But people's lives will not stay for this reason, it will only continue to move forward.

Lucien's voice was so calm, it gently penetrated into my ears, and the memory of me just now confided again.

The fuzzy face reflected in the glass, the stagger of strangers, and Lucien after fifteen minutes of time and space.

He is clearly in front of me, but I am not in front of him.

And when I thought he was in front of me, he was actually that far away.

MC: But no one wants to miss out with those who are important to them.

MC: Even if there is only the slightest possibility, I would like to keep overlapping with this trajectory.

Countless images flashed in my eyes, and finally they all converged on Lucien's face in front of me. He didn't seem to expect me to say something like this, he looked at me deeply.

Lucien: In the room where space-time interlaced just now, when we "miss", did you think the same way?

MC: Of course!

I spoke subconsciously. After seeing his narrow vision, I suddenly realized what I had just said, and my ears instantly burned.

MC: No, no! I didn't know the installation in this room at the time.

MC: So when you passed by and didn't recognize me, made me feel a little weird.

Immediately afterwards, Lucien's smile became full again, and he moved closer to me.

Lucien: Oh? Is it weird because you think I won't recognize you?

Looking at the teasing smile in his eyes, I understood at once that he was secretly "teasing" again.

I lifted my chin slightly and fought back without a trace.

MC: Well, if it is just an ordinary room, and there is also a thick glass of glass between us...

MC: Will Professor Lucien recognize me like I recognize you?

Suddenly, Lucien couldn't even hide the smile at the corner of his mouth.

Lucien: I will not make judgments lightly on things that have not actually happened.

MC: ..... Professor Lucien has always been very rigorous.

We walked forward slowly, unknowingly, the two branch roads in front stopped us.

Lucien: However, this theme is relatively tender compared to others.

MC: Tender?

Lucien: "Interlacing" proves that there will be intersections, not "parallel".

Lucien: So that I can meet you here.

Lucien's faint words caused ripples in my heart.

Bits and pieces of the past between me and Lucien came to mind, indeed like what he said.

Although there have been misunderstandings or regrets between us, those moments that seem to be disappointing also represent...

We have intersections with each other.

I looked at a sign in the middle of the fork--

"It is recommended that people with more than two people walk separately and experience the interlaced theme for better experience."

After seeing the explanation on the sign, I couldn't help looking at Lucien beside me.

Lucien: It seems that "interlacing" is not over yet.

Lucien: What will you choose next, MC?

He looked calmly at the bifurcation, as if he had an idea in his mind.

MC: My answer...Professor Lucien should have known it earlier than me, right?

I looked at Lucien deeply, then we smiled at each other and walked in two directions respectively.

I did not look back, and walked firmly on the path I chose.

Because I believe that no matter which direction we go, we will meet eventually.

I can't remember how many turns or steps I took. It seems that this road is far longer than I thought.

I passed by countless strangers, but I never saw Lucien's figure.

Until I crossed a bend, my vision suddenly became clear.

Looking around, I seem to be standing in the middle of the outer courtyard of a shopping mall, and in front of me there is an open-air double escalator that looks nearly a hundred meters long.

The people standing on both sides of the escalator looked at each other, and different emotions flashed in each person's eyes.

Excitement, perseverance, indifference, and loss, all kinds of emotions bloom one after another on this long escalator.

Just as I looked down along the flow of people, a familiar figure made my heart tighten again.

Lucien stood at the bottom escalator entrance, seeming to be looking at me.

I waved my hand subconsciously, and he also raised his hand leisurely in response to me.

Looking at Lucien, who was 100 meters away from me, I suddenly understood that this escalator is also echoing the theme of "interlacing".

Once people choose a direction, they may have to watch the opposite person go against them.

But I don't want to continue staggering, I want to change.

So I immediately made a gesture to Lucien and told him not to move.

I waved my hands indiscriminately and walked quickly towards the descending escalator.

But when I just stepped up the stairs, Lucien also stepped up the elevator.

I put down my hands in a bit of astonishment, and watched us slowly approaching from a distance.

Suddenly, my phone rang--

It was Lucien's call, I quickly answered it.

MC: Didn't I tell you to stand still...

Lucien: Sorry.

Lucien: Because your gesture are really hard to guess, so I wanted to go up and find you first.

There was a soft voice on the phone, and my rushing voice gradually calmed down.

MC: Then you call...

Lucien: This elevator seems to take some time. Why don't you just chat with me for a bit?

Lucien: I don't want to miss this "blank" time with you.

The originally dull atmosphere became brisk in his slightly teasing tone.

I couldn't help laughing softly, and quickly fell into his new topic.

The billboards on both sides slowly passed behind me, and the distance between me and Lucien became closer and closer.

His face gradually became clear, and the smile in his eyes gradually bloomed.

The evening breeze gently brushed his hair, and the moonlight seemed to stay on his body and no longer walk away.

But I also realized that the moment we met each other also meant the beginning of separation.

Facing this encounter destined to be far away, I was helpless. Can only stand in place, watching us slowly arrive in front of each other.

Lucien didn't say anything, only the sound of his steady breathing was left in my ears.

At the moment when our figures were side by side, he just looked at me with a smile, and in this second, passed me by.

Lucien: MC, do you still want to know why I smiled in that room?

I turned my head and met Lucien's gaze in surprise, his eyes glowing with a soft stream.

MC: Wait, I thought you wouldn't tell me the answer.

Lucien: I thought it wasn't something important, but now I think about it, it seems I was wrong.

Lucien suddenly paused, took a deep look at me before continuing to speak.

Lucien: In that room, I didn't see anything special, only countless strange faces.

Lucien: But... I suddenly thought of you.

As soon as the voice fell, my heart couldn't help but miss a beat.

I looked at Lucien, who was already driving behind me, and my gaze was firmly locked on his gaze.

MC: Why....

Lucien: I think of such an interesting place, you should come too.

Lucien: Maybe I can see you here next time.

His figure is getting farther and farther away from me, and it seems that he will soon be overwhelmed by the flow of people behind him.

MC: Lucien, you said that if an encounter is destined to be parting, will the encounter still make sense?

Although it was only an experiment, my heart was dull, and I opened my mouth as I watched Lucien's figure gradually distancing.

Lucien: MC, do you know what will happen to us after we are interlaced?

In the blink of an eye, Lucien's figure was completely covered by the crowd, and only the faint voice of questions stayed beside his ears.

MC: I know.

I took a deep breath and hung up the phone. After a long few minutes, I finally got off the escalator.

I wandered at the elevator entrance, worried that once I got on the elevator, Lucien would choose to get off the elevator and let us miss it again.

I don't know what the answer this world will give to the question that Lucien just asked.

But I have my own answer.

I want to take the initiative to meet him again. No matter how many times we missed, I will want to meet him next time.

This idea suddenly came to my heart, but it gradually became firm.

I strode into the crowd, shuttled back and forth among countless strange figures.

I am not worried that I will miss Lucien, because I firmly believe that I can see him in the crowd.

As time passed by, the stars in the night sky seemed to become more and more brilliant.

Suddenly, at the end of the crowd, I saw the person I wanted to see most at the moment.

And he seemed to see me too and stopped.

My heart beats like a drum, and every beat prompts me to speed up my steps.

It seems that all the passersby around have become phantoms, but he is the only one who becomes clearer in my world.

MC: Lucien!

Lucien: MC, it seems that we have met again.

Lucien: This is my answer.

Suddenly Lucien smiled crookedly at the corner of his eyes. He looked at me and continued to speak.

Lucien: Separation will not be doomed, it is just a choice.

Lucien: I think, even after countless brushes, I will also choose to appear in front of you again.

The night wind gently blew his hair, revealing those deep eyes that reflected me alone.

Lucien: MC.

Lucien: I have always looked forward to every encounter with you.

Notes from me: To whoever's write Lucien’s date, I give all my respect to you. All of you. Thank you. Sincerely, Me.

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc lucien #lucien #mlqc spoilers #mlqc translation #LUCIEN I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

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cheri-translates · 3 years

Text

[CN] Victor’s Exhibition Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

NOTE: @redqueen-hypothesis did the translation for this! All I did was proofread and format! It’s on my blog because Red says so and I have to comply :<

[ This date was released in CN on 7 December 2020 ]

MC: According to the map, it should be… right ahead!

Victor: ...you don’t need to look at the map. Just watch where you’re going.

Victor: Turn at this corner and we’ll be there. There’s no need to keep looking at your phone.

A few days ago, when I was agonising over what television program to produce for the theme ‘Heart’s Whisper While Going into the New Year’, a notification about an exhibition popped up on my phone.

The exhibition hall next to New Light Mall was going to hold a ‘Speak Up’ exhibition. I saw a few recommendations for the exhibit, and thought that it was meaningful, and also felt that it was in line with the New Year atmosphere.

Since the opportunity presented itself, I quickly booked Victor’s Sunday afternoon.

MC: CEO Victor’s rare time off has been taken over by me to do overtime - do you have any complaints?

After hearing what I’ve said, Victor raises an eyebrow, a slight laugh escaping him.

Victor: What if I do?

MC: If that’s the case…

MC: Since I don’t think I could afford your overtime wages, how about I treat you to a cup of coffee later? I’ll look for the nearest cafe in the area…

When I lower my head to look at my phone, searching for a list of cafes in the vicinity, Victor lets out a sigh and grabs my hand, pulling me to turn a right at the corner.

MC: Ahh, the nearest cafe is located right outside the exhibition hall!

MC: Online reviews say that their croissants taste good. From the pictures they’ve posted… it seems to be true.

Victor: And here I was, thinking that you’d really come with the intention of figuring out the plan for your television program.

MC: I do intend to! But right now, I’m missing the… spark of inspiration.

MC: If the afternoon turns out to be fruitless, I’ll simply treat it as a day out! It’s not too bad.

MC: Besides, don’t you think the two of us have very few opportunities to look at these sorts of exhibitions together?

Victor: … yes, it’s my fault for being too busy.

MC: That’s not true. You already take out so much time to accompany me, and I always drag you to all sorts of noisy places.

MC: It’s time to let art nurture my soul, and help me attain a gentler disposition.

Victor’s hand, which had been holding mine earlier, slides down my palm, warm fingertips stroking the back of my hand gently, before lacing his fingers with mine.

Victor: Then, let’s go.

Cafe owner: So the both of you haven’t planned the overall route to view the exhibition?

The cafe is located right at the entrance. After securing the tickets to the exhibition, I pull Victor to the cafe first.

However, today’s exhibition hall seems a little deserted, and the cafe has very few customers.

The bespectacled middle-aged owner seems refined and gentle and is a good host. Before long, he’s already started a conversation with the two of us.

MC: Is the exhibition very big?

Cafe owner: There are three floors in total. If you browse every exhibit once, it should take quite a while.

Cafe owner: This is why many visitors choose a single floor to focus their attention on, and give less time to the other two.

When Victor takes his coffee, he nods politely at the cafe owner.

Victor: Do you have any recommendations?

Cafe owner: Haha, if you’re talking about recommendations, I’d suggest the second floor. It’s most popular with visitors, since the main theme of the floor is ‘Love’.

As the cafe owner says this, he places both hands on the bar counter and chuckles at the two of us.

Cafe owner: Stories on the second floor and those related to the exhibits are real. So instead of saying that you’re looking at the exhibits, it’s more of you looking at authentic stories.

I steal a glance at Victor.

Victor: It’s your choice.

MC: Then let’s go to the second floor first!

MC: Coincidentally, most of the exhibits I’m interested in happen to be on the second floor as well.

Happily, I pick up my latte and tuck the exhibition brochure into my bag, determined to explore the second floor.

Victor is one step ahead of me and pushes open the door of the cafe for both of us, giving the cafe owner a slight nod before we leave.

When I turn back to look behind me, he has already taken my hand, pulling me towards the second floor.

After stepping up the last flight of stairs, the large exhibition hall appears before my eyes.

It’s not at all like what I had expected. There aren’t any mundane objects put on display here such as handwritten letters or small gifts. Instead, these are real pieces of artwork.

All sorts of beautiful sculptures, paintings, and musical instruments have been set up. Even the lighting is so beautiful that if I were to use exquisite words to praise it, it would still sound modest.

MC: It really is an art exhibition…

Victor: There are a few works from some of the best artists of their time. You should be careful not to miss any of them.

Even though the silence in this large exhibition hall is only broken by the sound of our footsteps, one lighter and one heavier, the interior decor of the exhibit is very cozy, lacking the coldness that keeps one at bay.

Pure white stone pillars, warm yellow lights, the lack of the usual glass coverings separating exhibits, and every placard for each exhibit seems as though it’s been handwritten by the person who contributed it.

Walking between the exhibits, the feeling I get is one of warmth, and the volume that I had been suppressing since I walked into the exhibition hall steadily grows.

MC: Victor, look at this!

I take out my phone and snap a picture of the oil painting hanging on a wall.

MC: The placard says that the artist’s girlfriend is known as ‘Mouse’. So in every piece of artwork, there’s an adorable mouse subtly hidden somewhere.

After pressing down on the shutter, I look up once again to search the artwork for a little mouse.

MC: Wow, he’s really creative! The mouse in every piece looks completely different!

MC: This chubby little one looks really cute, this one seems really sharp and intelligent… they all suit the theme of each artwork. If you don’t look very carefully, it’s difficult to notice them, and they don’t ruin the art at all.

With a hand stuffed into his pocket, Victor lifts his eyes to stare at these paintings, a look of contemplation surfacing on his face.

Victor: This exhibit is called “Marks”.

MC: Yeah… it’s a title which lets others easily understand what it’s about.

Victor turns around to give me a low chuckle.

Victor: If that’s the case, tell me what you understand from it.

MC: Are you testing me again?

I think about this for a moment, then rush to stop him before he can tell me the answer, shaking my head.

MC: I’ll tell you my answer later! But first, come with me to see another exhibit!

I pull Victor along with me to the walkway, deeper into the exhibition, following my memory of the exhibition brochure I had looked at earlier, and come to a stop in front of several thick diaries.

MC: This exhibit is called ‘Today’s Weather’. It’s the exhibit I wanted to center my program around.

MC: These are the diaries of a woman who wrote down everything about her life for a full ten years. In these diaries, she often mentions “Mr A”, the person she likes very much.

Victor nods, flipping open one of the books silently.

Victor: From what I can see of her personality from her writings, she seems to be quite similar to you.

MC: Do you know what’s written on the last page of her diary? ...‘Congratulations on your marriage’.

MC: The “Mr A” she liked so much rejected her confessions several times, and he later moved overseas, causing them to lose contact with each other. The next time she heard of him, it was an announcement of his marriage, and that’s where her diary stopped.

Victor’s hand pauses in flipping a page, his expression slightly dumbfounded.

Victor: So what was the point of her writing this diary?

I look at the yellowing pages of the diary, and think back to what the brochure had mentioned about it.

MC: There was no reason.

MC: She later said that this was her true life story - a simple and calm one. During these ten years, she studied hard and moved to the city, becoming a person in charge, a manager, and then a director… and never once gave up on herself.

MC: Although the entrance test she took back then was exceptionally difficult, she persevered with the thought that the school was rather close to the high school Mr A had once studied at.

MC: She felt that by attending a school near to his, she could bring their lives closer together.

MC: There were no waves of joy or anguish - only trivial sentiments.

Even though there were some incidents which made her feel sad, from the cute and excitable way she described everything in her diary, she lived rather well despite feeling some regret.

However, after saying so much, Victor doesn’t respond. I walk to his side and tug on his sleeve.

MC: We’ve finished looking at this exhibit. Do you want to leave?

Victor: Since this is the exhibit you wanted to use for your program, shouldn’t you take a few more photos before leaving?

MC: I planned to, but I thought you might find it pointless.

Under his questioning gaze, I answer honestly.

MC: I’m sure in CEO Victor’s mind, there are many more important things going on every day… you wouldn’t be interested in trivial things such as romantic sentiments. And even then, you’d be able to understand them easily.

Victor gives a small laugh.

Victor: If I weren’t interested in such things, why would I be accompanying you here over the weekend?

He glances back at the diaries, his expression one of deep contemplation.

Victor: In truth, the same emotions can be felt by different people. I can understand her feelings.

I never thought Victor would answer in such a manner.

MC: Do you think that it was a waste of her time to write these diaries?

Victor: No.

Victor’s gaze rests on a page.

Victor: The writer wrote it down herself - “The time I spent loving someone, not a single second of it was wasted.”

I rarely hear such words leave Victor’s mouth, and it makes me feel a little surreal. In my memory, we very rarely talk about the topic of ‘love’. Maybe it’s because he rarely says what’s in his heart. Maybe it’s because I’m used to being thick-skinned. We never have the opportunity to seriously understand the meaning in these words.

When he looks at these exhibits, do we feel the same emotions?

I contemplate this for a moment, before looking at him once more.

Victor: What do you want to say?

MC: I was thinking about what you asked me earlier.

I take two steps towards him. Even though the distance between us is small, he doesn’t step backwards. Instead, he simply turns towards me.

MC: I think a love like this is very interesting. You meet a person and feel such emotions.

MC: From that day onwards, you’re never the same person again, and are completely changed. Like some sort of… mark.

MC: It’s a sort of mark that can be left in literature or in a photograph… and I can feel it.

Victor’s eyes are lowered. In his clear and tranquil eyes, there are ripples of light and shadows.

Victor: Such as?

The smile tugging at the corner of his mouth is clear, and I ponder this seriously.

MC: For example, the way I write proposals has changed.

MC: The format of my proposals has changed. The indent of the first line, font size 15, 1.5 spacing between lines... it’s the format you find most pleasing to the eye!

Victor’s eyebrow quirks.

Victor: That’s all?

MC: There’s more! I’ve become so much more picky with food. I never used to complain that food tastes bad, but eating at Souvenir has cultivated my palate. Now, when I eat even Michelin meals, I feel as if something’s lacking…

Victor smiles slightly and shakes his head, taking my hand.

Victor: Come with me.

In the innermost room of the exhibition floor on the second floor is a display board. On it depicts the entire process of how the exhibition first began and how it expanded.

Above all the pictures of the people who’ve helped to plan this exhibition…

MC: It’s the cafe owner from earlier!

Victor: You made preparations before coming here, yet couldn’t recognise him?

MC: I was saying that he seemed very familiar!

MC: If that’s the case… the story of this exhibition - it should be his, isn’t it?

He fell in love with a girl’s literature and art secretly in his youth, yet didn’t know how to confess, and much time passed without progress. When he finally mustered up his courage to confess, the girl passed away from cancer.

Those are all the words written on a whiteboard, and they seem a little simple and stereotypical. But when I think about how a person experienced this, my heart can’t help but feel sad for him.

Victor: That’s why the name of this exhibition is ‘Speak Up’. The existence of these marks is how these feelings are being conveyed.

MC: No matter whether it’s from a tiny mouse hidden in each artwork, the longing written down in a diary, or a sculpture carved in the image of their lover - all of them bear their own longing in some way. Even this exhibition is a voice for the cafe owner to speak up about his past regrets.

All these fragments come together in my mind, moving my heart.

MC: Victor, even though this is a little old-fashioned… if I want to make a program about entering the New Year and about this ‘Speak Up’ exhibition, will you reject my proposal?

Victor’s gaze sweeps over me, his brows smoothening.

Victor: I’ll decide after I see the quality of the proposal.

After we finish viewing the exhibition, cold rain and freezing wind come the moment we step out of the exhibition hall. It was so sunny earlier… Why is it raining all of a sudden?

Victor: I’ll get Goldman to pick us up.

MC: Huh? That’s not needed-

I pull out the tickets for the exhibition in my bag.

MC: I remember that the complimentary gift with this exhibition is an umbrella! All we need to do is exchange the tickets at the counter.

Victor casually takes the tickets from my hand.

Victor: Wait here for me.

MC: Alright.

While waiting, I glance over at the cafe and happen to see the cafe owner closing up his cafe for the day. He turns the sign from OPEN to CLOSE, before locking the door and dropping the key into his pocket.

This seems to be his usual, everyday life.

He notices my gaze on him and gives me a quick wave in greeting, before heading into the exhibition hall.

This world has many people who can’t say what is most important to them… but I’m different.

When I snap out of my thoughts, Victor is already heading back to me, umbrella in hand. In the dark and gloomy night, the lights of the street lamps flicker, silhouetting him in light and shadow as he walks slowly towards me.

I see tiny droplets of water clinging to his hair, the hazy light shining in his eyes.

The marks that I have must be conveyed in the most direct way.

MC: Victor, do you hear the music being played in the exhibition hall?

Victor doesn’t catch the underlying meaning in my tone, and instead begins to explain it to me.

Victor: It’s to alert the people in the exhibition hall that it’s about to close.

I can’t help but give him another hint.

MC: That’s all you thought about? You don’t find the music somewhat familiar?

Victor falls silent, his brow furrowed, as if he’s really thinking hard about this.

Not giving him a second more to think, I run ahead of him with small steps, wearing a smile as I turn back to extend my hand to him.

MC: Would this gentleman honour me with a dance?

Victor’s eyes widen slightly.

MC: The first time you taught me dancing was to this song.

The world around us is silent, and all I can hear is the wild beating of my own heart, pounding with anticipation.

MC: This is how you’ve given me marks of my own… and changed me.

Warm fingers brush my palm. Before I can register what’s happening, he’s already pulled me into his embrace. Along with the violin’s melody, I move my feet to dance with Victor, and the two of us turn in a circle fluidly. Even though night is quickly falling, everything before me is filled with shining light.

Joy blooms in my heart with a thump, like a resplendent firework soaring into the night sky, exchanging greetings with the sky full of starlight.

There are no words to describe the happiness I feel in this moment.

MC: What about you?

Victor: Me?

MC: Don’t you have anything to say to me? After this afternoon of visiting the exhibition, I thought it would have left some sort of impression on you.

Victor pauses in his footsteps, holding me a little tighter. The light and hurried rain droplets are blown over by the gentle wind. He tilts the umbrella, blocking the drizzle completely.

Victor: Dummy.

Raindrops patter down on the umbrella, paired with the sound of his low voice; it’s as if all surrounding noises have faded away to nothing, and he’s the only one who exists in the world.

Victor: Because a certain greedy cat always says she wants to eat something sweet after dinner, I made pudding before leaving the house.

Victor: Do you think this is a mark of how I’ve been changed?

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc victor

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the-art-of-animated-gifs · 3 years

Photo

Interview with my friend A.L. Crego

I have not met A.L. Crego. I have not spoken with him on the phone, in fact I do not even know what he looks like. But I can confidently call him my friend. Three years ago when I started this blog he immediately disagreed with me in the comments about things I was writing and I loved it. As a person putting ideas out there, you treasure things like that....because you know someone cares. We have had many back and forth discussions over the years....if we had lived in Paris in 1911 we would be having arguments at La Rotonde (not to compare either of us to Picasso).

A.L. Crego is a motion artist who does a wide variety of things. He has now become a very visible and active figure in the NFT Movement. He recently completed a large and very successful project in which he animated the work of a number of well know street artists on the building themselves, something he has done for years. His Tumblr page is a good place to start to see his work, which is largely surrealist in nature -- another Spanish artist following in the footsteps of other great Spanish surrealist artists.

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How long have you been creating gif art?

In a conscious and intentional way since 2014. Previously I haven't pay too much attention on one hand for its common use that was mostly ads and funny little videos, and on the other hand because it was a 'standard' format we accepted as something part of the web so I never stopped to analyze its potential. The key point for me was about 2010-2011 when the concept of 'Cinemagraph' was brought to life just giving it a name. It's format is .gif but its characteristics are different so I saw there the midpoint between photography and video, which gave born another format of art.

Art mutates when a new format appears. I was using and studying this format since then but it wasn't until 2014 that I decided to publish some of them.

What is your background?

In general terms, bachelor, 2 years of stone sculpting and two attempts of photography and audiovisual mediums. I say attempts because I gave up both of them as I was feeling that I was looking for something else more than studying all the previous history, style and isms, which is nice to understand where everything comes from and to be aware what are the key points on the history to use as reference, as a map. But in some way I felt limited as I was using digital tools since I had my first computer with 14 years, and I was being taught things I learnt by then. Even more in this times we are living where we are 21 century people, been taught by teachers from the 20 with 19 century methods.

A constant line that feeds my background is literature and music overall and later Street Art, next to more temporal interests as everything related with mythology, alchemy, history, psychology, neurology, biology, human condition in general... I don't have studies buy I'm a studying guy!

I always like to highlight that all these years that internet got strong and social networks appeared, I decided voluntary to be out of them. First reason was to keep my privacy safe in a growing world where it seemed that some "curtain" felt and everybody accepted that intimacy was now 'ex-timacy' and correct to show their private life, (this shocked me). Another reason was about the psychological effect that social networks were having on people I had around and everywhere in general. I started to notice patterns and "waves" about series, aesthetics, styles, and I was seeing clearly that if I go there, I will become permeable to all this "Amniotic Culture" I was trying to avoid.

This fact of being far (but study them closely) helped me a lot about researching and developing my own ideas and style, for the mere fact that I was using all this time and attention Social Networks require, on drinking from another sources. The B-side of this is that I was 'out of the radar' of mass people as this social networks are designed to live inside them. My idea of internet and spreading ideas is not in this way.

Where do you live and work?

In the north west of Spain, Galicia. Now due to Covid I travel less but before it, I was working and traveling many places as I only need a camera and a computer. This allows me move to work anywhere.

Do you think that animated gifs are a new art form?

I think so, despite the fact that the format existed since 1987. But as every new format of art it takes its time to be considered as art. The first photographs were not considered art until many years later. Same happened with film, same with CGI. Is nice to have in mind that gif format is the last strictly digital format of the three main ones on the web: picture, video and gif. Photography has about 200 years of history, video about 130, CGI about 60. Finally gif has 33, and used as art itself no more than 10-15. In the same way anybody takes a picture of anything does not convert it into art, is the same with gifs. One thing is the format, another is the 'art'. Everybody can take a picture, record a video or do a gif. The difference is on the how, the why, and from my point of view overall, the what.

Do you think that there is a difference between pure .gif files and the .mp4 files that people post on Instagram?

The first, big and obvious difference is the format. Is not the same a painting as a picture of a painting. Here happens the same. For example, if you treat a gif with Cinemagraph technique, you are converting in picture some parts of the image, so they still remain and with the texture and totally stillness of a picture. If you convert this gif into a mp4 this still parts, despite not having motion, will convert into a video texture (noise, subtle motion in pixels, etc) so the main characteristic, among the perfect loop, is lost. Another point is that you must play a video, a gif is always running. Waterfalls are always running and this characteristic is something that is inside our human nature, we react nice to "bucle" motions as waterfalls, fire, etc. We find pleasure on this. Of course if it's a video the perfect loop is lost and the visual mantra disappear. And another key point here is the soundtrack. In a video you can use sound to enhance or give another meaning to the piece that you can't with gifs. For me this is another characteristic that give meaning to gif. For me gif is silence, the sound is generated by the motion, the melody are the details and the beat the perfect loop. You can "hear" almost every gif.

The difference between a gif and a video is the same that between a waterfall and a hose (if this works).

What do you think are the characteristics of good gif art?

For me first and overall the perfect loop. Not using it is not using the only format that has this characteristics. Of course there can be gif art that is not perfect loop, but from my point of view and in my work is a must. It's a new way not only of creating but also of thinking. Imagine an still scene is easy, imagine an A-B point action is easy. For me the challenge is about thinking an idea that is perfect looped where all the elements interact and eventually come back to its initial point. Succeed doing this is where the perfect loop appears and you are not able to find where is the start point of the action. Like a visual mantra, that it's repetition leads you inside the piece. Gif art is nice to use the power of the hypnotic movements. Another point to have in mind for me is the flow of it, the frame rate I mean. Depending on the idea and the kind of animation this should vary; is not the same fps to achieve something with flow than if you want to achieve a more 'retro' old style. Another thing is about dithering and color palette. This second one is essential to understand as it affects the final file. When we work with photo and video we are using millions of colors but when rendered as gifs all the gradients, lights and even colors will change if there is a previous understood of this point.

As summary: If motion doesn't add, change of enhance the meaning of the piece, is expendable.

I'd would like to add that I'm not really supporter of this kind of gifs generated automatically that just move a still image itself. I understand that this 'technique' is used as a tool for certain motion (I use it) but not to move a whole image. I feel the same as if somebody hold a painting in front of me and moves it randomly. If the work was born still, it must remain still. A good example of 'inner motion', this means that the motion is implicit on the image despite not being in motion, are the photographs of Cartier Bresson for example. Giving motion to this pictures for example, will kill it because it will break the concept of 'perfect instant' .

'Instant' differs etymologically from 'moment' in the motion. So, still image (painting, photo, sculpture, etc) is an instant, videos are stories with a-b point, and gifs are moments, the mid point.

How would you describe your gif art?

I usually condense it as "Visual Mantras", as the technique and the aesthetic vary depending on the idea , but in all of them the perfect loop and the intention of hypnotizing is always present.

In another terms about aesthetics and themes I think ‘Industrial Nature’ can fit nice. I use a lot of industrial elements but I like to mix their mechanics with the biological natural ones.

How long have you been creating and selling NFTs?

I am selling NFTs since mid 2019, but it wasn't until October 2020 that I focused more on it and dug into the ecosystem to find new paths to focus my work.

Do you think that NFTs are a positive for gif artists?

For me, and the main reason I jumped into cryptoart and NFT, is that now I can certify my digital work as original. Even more to gif works as they were always understood as something banal and minor for the context of its born. Gif art was born prostituted, used mostly for ads and to claim our attention on the internet, next to the highest glamour of painting and traditional art, and 3d, photography and video these last decades. Even worst if we realize that gif format was the only visual format born by and for the internet.

NFTs are totally positive for gif artists because despite being a digital/online native format it never had its own ecosystem to live in. I feel that I was creating creatures for an ecosystem I was waiting to drop them there. Now with the blockchain, NFTs and cryptoart, I found the place where they can live, being watched by everybody and have the certify that is my work. Until some months ago my work was "free" on the web and I had no control over it at all. This was a huge problem I was suffering since my first month into gif art as people use it indiscriminately with no credit at all. It's ok, and I always defend that my work is to be seen, to be shared, but I was looking for the way to be able to have this link with my work without losing the option of being available for everybody. NFT totally changes this.

What do you think will happen in the future as NFTs get even more popular?

In general terms I think it will happen the same as when print got more popular. People will use it more, a lot of crazy and useless things will appear, tons more of different uses and useful purposes, (not only on art). This opens a new door a lot of people was waiting so the future is unpredictable but we can feel where things are going. NFT arrived to stay and the concept of decentralization is something that was always present on the internet since first days but born inside a centralized system. NFTs are being a way for people to understand the 'peer to peer' philosophy and this makes people think in different codes, so we can expect a lot of new horizons, in art, music, design...

What do you think of the environmental impact of NFTs?

This question can goes really deep but in general terms I think that is something that is being oversized due to the hype and the boiling point we are, and it's understandable because is not false that it has an environmental impact, as everything does. But on the other hand I have two main areas in mind. The first and the obvious from my point of view is that when something is new and developing is less efficient, in the way that it requires more effort to achieve the result. But at the same time, the more this technology is used the more is developed and all this issues are part of it. The first car was not electric.

The second point that usually reverberates in my mind and that it seems that 'hard critics' omit is that they are not having in mind that this NFTs we mint, give us a profit that can be used offline to do another things that can be useful to solve this problem, for example, investing part of this money on living on our own in a minimal and clean way (not working for huge multinational that their environmental impact is tons times more than NFTs and then being part of an ONG to feel clean) and on using part of this money on looking and researching new ways to mint and to keep this digital ecosystem more efficient and clean. Every development needs time.

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If you have found this content valuable considering getting me a cup of coffee

#gif aesthetic #street art #surrealism

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lightthewaybackhome · 3 years

Text

Sorry this is so long. Probably should have done a 2 parter.

"My darling girl, when are you going to realize that being normal is not necessarily a virtue? It rather denotes a lack of courage!" - Aunt Frances, Practical Magic

My whole life, as far back as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be artistic. I’ve wanted to create. I love beauty. I love artistry. I love creation. I love the artsy look: jewelry, tattoos, flowing clothing, and funky hair. It is a personal aesthetic I keep returning to, especially as I get older. As a child, I tried so many different forms of art—painting, photography, drawing— but none of them seemed quite right. None of them got what was in my head out. All of them fell short until I started writing. Writing was a flame, a fire, a drug. Writing allowed me to express what was in my imagination. This is the first thing to understand.

Everyone is artistic and art is everywhere. I’ve believed this as long as I can remember. There are amazing artistic feats in our world: books, movies, video games, paintings, sculptures, and magnificent pieces of music. Yes, art can be very high and very special. But, art can also be found in charcuterie boards, homemade quilts, sourdough bread, cocktails, soup, and all ordinary things if we but look and see. Art can be high magic and art can be ordinary. This is the second thing to understand.

As I’ve embraced being a homemaker, a HearthKeeper, a woman where she’s meant to be, I came across the term domestic artist. As much as I didn’t like the book Eve in Exile by Rebekah Merkle, it gave me this. It gave me the term domestic artist. That stuck with me. It spoke to me because it captured both the first and the second thing. It captured the never-ceasing call to create which haunts me at all times, and it elevated and honored the ordinary in a sprinkling of fairy dust. It said, “Yes, you have to cook today. Three meals plus snacks and drinks. It’s your job, but, but, what if, what if instead of looking at it as some drudgery, some Cinderella enslavement, what if you looked at it as an opportunity to create beauty?”

Not every meal, every outfit, every moment of your day can be a work of art. Some days you just have to do what you have to do. Some days get upended in the opening credits with a broken washer or a sleepless child. Some days plans change. Life changes. One minute life looks like this, and then the next it’s on to something completely different. But, the beauty of being a domestic artist is that you can create art in any of these moments and in any setting. You can find art in any moment and in any setting.

See, the world tells us that homemaking, HearthKeeping, is boring. It tells us it’s pointless. A waste. You could be changing the world. Only dumb useless women keep their homes. And that’s because they’re either tied down by a dictator of a husband or the demands of children or the cultural trappings of their religion. Courage, dear heart. Courage! Homemaking is magic. Homemaking is flexible. Homemaking changes with the seasons and the woman. I, I am a bit bohemian, a bit rustic, a mixture of rugged and romantic. I grew up a tomboy, but have embraced being a woman in her home since I was a child. I love leather and lace. I love cottage-witch aesthetics. I love boots and long flowing things. I like deer heads, linen, skulls, and ruffles. I like feathers and dreamcatchers, but I also love to decorate with open space. I love pies and feeding my husband. But, look at this, one of my best friends is a classic. She loves clean lines, traditional and timeless pieces. She loves modern accents. She loves beachy highlights and hammocks. She’s not into farmhouse, rustic modern, or raw-edged wood. On any given Sunday, she’s in a pencil skirt, simple top, simple heels with her three daughters in matching dresses while I’m in distressed boyfriend jeans, a mullet-tucked top, and wearing my crow skull. We’re very different, but we’re both homemakers who love making our homes.

I have a woman in my life who quilts and that flows out into their decorating. So many of her things are beautifully hand sewn. If she wants it, she makes it. Another friend grew up in Africa and her home is filled with her love of that culture. One dear friend loves plants and grows amazing flowers that she uses to create Instagram-worth bouquets. Another woman isn’t super fluffy-feminine but she has an eye for remodeling and so is constantly making improvements on her home: flooring, painting, and more. My sisters, like me, both enjoy a minimalist approach to decorating and all three of us have a special place for coffee. Both my sisters’ homes are welcoming and peaceful even with kids running around like crazy.

That’s the point, the world tells women to band together, that we’re a sisterhood, that we should go out and change the world, abandoning our homes before we’re relegated to only kitchen and nursery work, but reality tells me that the most amazing women I know are busy in their homes. This is sisterhood. This is where we bloom. It is here that we have flexibility. For over five years, I’ve struggled with chronic health issues. Homemaking lets me decide each day what I can do and how I’m going to do it. Homemaking lets you change what you do for each season of life. Lots of littles? Keep it simple. Empty nest? Explore. Somewhere in between? Keep growing. Lots of energy? So many things you can expand into if you just refuse to believe the lie that homemaking is beneath you. Don’t be normal. Don’t believe that homemaking is a waste of time. Don’t buy into the lie that you are somehow being less than everyone else when you raise your children, love your husband, and create beauty. Have the courage to be strange. We were made for this! It suits us. This is an environment women thrive in.

When I got over my grammar inhibitions and started writing, I felt like my soul came alive. I felt like I’d finally found what I’d been searching for since I came into this world. It doesn’t matter whether I’m writing an epic story or writing about HearthKeeping or just word doodling, writing, words, stories just flow from me. Wonderfully, homemaking is like that for me, too. I want to read books, I want to learn, I want to talk about it, I want to do it. It’s not perfect. I don’t always feel glorious, but I do feel ‘right’ when I’m doing this. I feel like I’m where I belong. I feel like this is a place I can both rest in and grow in. I feel safe when I’m having a fatigue flare up and I feel excited when I think about all that I can do.

A real-life example: Sundays are long hard days. They’re days that generally spike my fatigue and my husband is worn out. They’re both the best and hardest day of the week. When we get home I make a cocktail and we crash. Inevitably, the minute I sit down my man asks for a snack and what we’re having for dinner. For several years, this drove me up a wall. It is Sunday. The day of REST, why is it my responsibility to always make food? Epic sigh. Epic whiny sigh. I would meal plan for the whole week and then wing it on Sunday and Monday, always with poor results and grumpiness on my part. Then, one week as I meal-planned, I realized that I could also prepare for the weekend. Lightbulb. Facepalm. Really? Why had it taken me into my 40th year of life to realize that if I want a quiet, restful, happy weekend, I should just plan snacks, drinks, and meals ahead of time? I’m going to blame it on my chronic health, brain fog addled mind. I’m going to blame it on laziness. I’m going to blame it on being a young homemaker. Some are understandable, some are inexcusable.

Sundays now involve way less stress because I can immediately prepare snacks and know what we’re eating the minute we get home. No more attitude issue. No more stress. Easy and nice.

Did this change the world? Does this matter to anyone but myself? Did my husband even notice? Maybe not, but this is homemaking. This is HearthKeeping. It is my job and my calling. Even without notice or world-shattering consequences, I’m pleased with the outcome. More than pleased, I’m really happy about it. It brings me joy and delight to find a better way to take care of my family. It allows me to sprinkle my Sunday afternoon with just a little bit of artistry. I make drinks, snacks, dinner. I feed my family.

See, one of the lies that the feminists preach is that we’re wasted in our homes. And yet, the majority of the women I know who work outside the home aren’t doing glamorous jobs. They’re not travel bloggers or world-renowned chiefs or CEOs. They’re cosmetologists, retail workers, bank tellers, nurses, teachers, and such. Now, none of those are bad. Working outside the home isn’t bad. (I think each family has to decide what family looks like to them.) Please, please, don’t read that as degrading. I worked retail and I think retail is important. These are all God-honoring employment in which you can strive and serve. I’m not bashing any of those jobs. I have many many dear friends who work outside the home. What I am saying is that I think we as women need to ask ourselves if leaving our homes en masse was worth it. Has it given us all the joy, delight, and fulfillment the feminists promised us?

I’ve done both. I’ve been a co-owner of a business that I helped grow from nothing to something amazing. I’ve worked as an everyday retail worker. I write and am the main editor for a small neighborhood magazine. And I’m a HearthKeeper. I will tell you right now, no qualifications, that HearthKeeping is the most satisfying job I’ve ever had. It not only challenges me every day but it also works with me. The boundaries are what I set in place and so I grow as I can. The work never ends, yes, but it also never ends. There is always something else to explore.

I think being a homemaker is largely attitude. You can buck against what you do, and most women do. Just spend two minutes on Pinterest looking at doing laundry or dishes and the bitter hatred comes pouring out. Look at the complaints women make against their churches: we’re relegated to doing nursery work and kitchen duty. What if, just for a moment, we decided to be Domestic Artists? What if, for just a moment, we tried loving our jobs instead of complaining? What if we thought that dishes meant food and good times and healing of the souls around us? What if we saw laundry as a way to keep beauty and cleanliness around us? What if we saw it as our privilege and delight to take care of the food, children, clothing, cleaning, cooking, gardening, growing of the next generation, and the men of the world? What if we embraced the domestic arts and saw them as truly magnificent, glorious, unique arts? How many of us would be able to say with a straight face that working retail is more fulfilling than managing a small world? Is it more fulfilling to go work in an office than it is to orchestrate a place of welcome, rest, and renewal for your husband and yourself? It might be more visible, but is it truly more long-lasting?

I can say that it isn’t. I can say that I think being a homemaker is uniquely suited for women and that we should have the courage to go against the grain of our world and say no. No, I’m not going to give all of myself to work outside the home when the home is far more challenging and interesting. No, I’m not going to believe the lie that homemaking is oppression and boredom. I will find beauty in the ordinary and I will embrace art in the everyday. This is one of those amazing jobs where it is what you make it. It is what you pour into it. If you think it’s boring or demeaning you won’t get anything out of it. If you think it is challenging and rewarding, you will get the world out of it. You will grow yourself and those around you. Think about what a wonderful thing it would be if we made our homes our careers! If we women really took on the label Domestic Artist in our own individual ways.

#homemaking #hearthkeeper #housewife #prose #trad wives #traditional femininity #domestic artist #writing #artists on tumblr #art

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threecrowsinatrenchcoat · 3 years

Text

Paint My Spirit Gold

Dukeceit Week Day 2: Green/Yellow

Fans of the YouTubers "Deceit" and Remus "The Duke" Sanders start to suspect that maybe, just maybe, the two of them are more than simple internet pals.

AO3 Link: [here]

Word Count: 2187

Warnings: n/a

@dukeceitweek <3

[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a watercolor-style painting of a snake. The snake appears to be made of melting chocolate, and there is a large bite taken out of its tail. Cherries and jam are leaking out of the snake at the bite wound. The snake's expression of horror is overly-exaggerated to the point of comedy. The caption reads: "liked your snake boi, @SerpenThyme. thanks for the inspo." /end ID]

A notification ding cut Janus off mid-sentence.

“Wow, someone left their cell phone on, so professional,” he said, giving the camera a dramatic eye roll. That someone was him, of course, because he was the only one in the apartment- just him and the running livestream- but that was no excuse not to be a drama queen about it. He finished wiping flour off his hands and grabbed his phone to silence it; but the notification made him pause. He flicked his eyes up toward the camera and gave a slight smirk.

“My goodness, I’m famous,” he drawled. “The Duke himself has graced little old me with some fan art.”

Most of the comments in the chat wanted him to show it, so Janus opened up Twitter to see the full post he’d been tagged in. It was a watercolor painting of the coiled-snake chocolate sculpture- lovingly named Jake by his viewers- he’d made for his YouTube video last week; it was wearing an expression of such comedic horror that Janus had to stifle a laugh. He flicked his phone screen toward the close-up camera on his counter so his viewers could see.

“How kind of you, Remus,” he said. “All of you should go scold him for what he’s done to poor Jake here.”

Most of his viewers would know he was joking- after all, they were the ones to nickname him Deceit when he provided neither a real or fake name for his online persona. They knew full well what he was like by now.

The oven timer dinged. Janus silenced his phone and set it aside.

“And our first batch of cookies is done. You know, why don’t we show the Duke some appreciation?”

[ID: An Instagram post by user @SerpenThyme. The photo is an artistically-framed shot of a stack of sugar cookies with green, yellow, and pink icing. Propped up against the stack is another cookie, with an intricate icing-drawing of an octopus. The photo appears to have been color corrected to have high contrast, low saturation, and a dark vignette at the edges. The Instagram user @OctoDukie is tagged. No caption. /end ID]

“You know, I have often been accused of actually being a little old lady, what with my fondness for knitted jumpers, rocking chairs, and incredibly fucked up murder mystery books. Today I am doing nothing to dispel this accusation, by making soup.”

The studio was dark and empty aside from Remus' workspace. Everyone else had left long ago, even his own brother, which meant that it was officially ass-o'clock in the morning (or, as most people called it, somewhere between 1 and 2 a.m.) But Remus was stuck in hyperfocus, honed in on putting the last touches on a commission that he'd been putting off for weeks. It's not that it was a tough painting- once he'd gotten started, it was actually a very creatively satisfying piece- but man, executive dysfunction could go suck a dick

“French onion soup, specifically. Because while I do like to pretend I am a classy bitch, I am also, regrettably, a lazy bitch with a distaste for anything that takes longer than one bottle of wine to make.”

Remus hated working in silence. It was stifling, almost suffocating. His brain needed noise like his lungs needed air. So when the studio had grown still and silent, Remus had flipped open his laptop and queued up some YouTube videos.

“So we have here three pounds of onions that we need to slice up, pole to pole. You’re going to cry no matter what, so if you have any memories you’ve been repressing since middle school, now is an excellent time to dredge those up.”

And if it happened to be 90% SerpenThyme videos, well. Sue him.

“Now the first rule of caramelizing onions: fast and sloppy is always better than slow and thorough… at least, that’s what every man I’ve ever slept with tells me.”

Remus choked and glanced over to his laptop screen just in time to catch Deceit's trademark smirk directed at the audience just for a moment. It was the deadpan delivery that always got him. Remus could barely hold onto a joke long enough to get through it without cackling mid-punchline, but this fucker could say the funniest shit like an off-hand comment.

He wiped his hands off on his jeans (what use were clothes if you couldn't use them as paint rags?) and pulled his laptop across the table. He typed out a quick comment, citing the timestamp of the joke, and after it was posted, he shut his laptop.

'Cause ass-o'clock was short for "get-your-ass-home-or-I’ll-kick-it" o'clock.

[ID: A screenshot of a YouTube comments section. The first comment is by user TheDuke, and reads: "10:42 wow, rude." The second comment is a reply by user SerpenThyme, and simply reads ";)" /end ID]

Janus plopped down on the couch with a slight groan. He didn’t need to stream today, but he really hated missing days. Besides… he was fine. Really.

He adjusted the camera until he was happy with the framing, and then checked the settings on his streaming software. Satisfied, he started the stream, and watched as his usual viewers rolled in.

“What do you mean I’m not in my kitchen?” Janus drawled, addressing the chat. He glanced around with an expression of faux-shock on his face. “My goodness, when did that happen?”

He chuckled, and then gestured to his surroundings. “Yes, we are in my living room today. If you must know, my closest and most trusted friend tried to murder me today- yes, Virgil, it was attempted murder and nothing less- and I survived with nary a scratch… and a broken foot, but that is beside the point. Anyway, I’m not allowed to stand for long periods of time, and I may or may not be somewhat inebriated by pain pills and couldn’t stand even if I wanted to. So we are cooking from my couch today.”

Janus paused for a few moments to read the chat messages as they popped up. A few get well soon’s, a few theories about the “attempted murder,” Virgil- who moderated his chat for him- vehemently denying the “attempted murder” but otherwise refusing to clarify the event, and a large volume of wtf why are you streaming today, take care of yourself comments, which made him smile. But one particular comment caught his eye, almost lost amid the torrent of an active chat: wait this kinda looks like the Duke’s living room?

“Oh, VampSuga,” he said, addressing that commenter in particular with a slight smirk. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. Anyway, since I can’t reach my oven from here, I thought some no-bake cookies were in order. For these you will need-”

[ID: A screenshot of a Discord conversation. The text reads:

“VampSuga: Ok ok hear me out. Dukeceit.

Starstruck96: who?

IneffableSnek: lmao

FeralBeauYasha: lol

VampSuga: Deceit and Remus Sanders! They’re totally dating. I will die on this hill.

FeralBeauYasha: Isn’t the duke w/ PatPat?

IneffableSnek: no thats his brothers bf

FeralBeauYasha: ohh

VampSuga: Did anyone see Deceit’s stream today? I swear that’s the Duke’s livingroom.

StarStruck96: idk that seems like a stretch

IneffableSnek: no wait i kno what u mean

IneffableSnek: im watching the duke’s old videos and that one where he shows off all his old weapons he’s in a living room kinda like deceit’s

FeralBeauYasha: They were acting all cute on twitter too

VampSuga: DUKECEIT” /end ID]

"Hey guys, been a while since you've seen my face and not just whatever my hands are busy with, when it's within YouTube's terms and conditions I mean. They used to be way more lenient…" Remus trailed off for a moment, then shook his head sharply and plastered on a grin.

"Anyway! In June me and a few other creators did a fundraiser for the Trevor Project, and y'all smashed the goal, so I let you decide what video I'd make this month." He paused, and gestured to the mountain of clothes piled behind him on the bed. "And you had so many juicy ideas to choose from, but you decided to dress me up like a Barbie instead."

Remus paused to scroll through his phone for a few moments. "Ah, ok, here we go. Twitter user YoonIsMyCat- oh, BTS, nice- sent in this first outfit. Uh… future Remus, put up the post here somewhere." He gestured vaguely to his right. "Y'all went with either a fuckton more clothes or a fuckton less clothes, which I respect. Apparently this outfit is called…” He squinted at his phone. “Amish chic? I take it back, no respect at all.”

Remus cycled through the outfits his viewers sent in, which ranged from the aforementioned “Amish chic” to “2008 rave attire” to “ok now you guys are just fucking with me” (which consisted of one of those big puffy snow coats, lime green in color; booty shorts with the shrug text emoji across the ass; fuzzy pink boots; and a yellow cowboy hat to top off the whole thing. It was awful. Remus loved it.) The mountain of clothes on the bed gradually became a mess of clothes spread across the floor instead, until there was just one outfit left.

“Ok so Twitter user VampSuga sent me this outfit that I’m gonna call ‘sexy librarian.’ I couldn’t find this exact sweater online, but-” he paused for dramatic effect, before brandishing a sweater toward the camera like a bullfighter. “My boyfriend had something that was close enough.”

Remus hopped up from the bed and switched off the camera so he could change.

“They’re going to lose their minds,” a voice drawled from the doorway. Remus threw his shirt at him.

“Shoo, I’m getting naked.”

[ID: A Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a selfie of YouTuber Remus “The Duke” Sanders, a Hispanic man with his hair dyed green and styled into a spiked mohawk. He is wearing a yellow knitted cardigan over a black button-up shirt. He is grinning widely at the camera. The caption reads: “my viewers pick my outfits! now live on youtube. go see what i look like as a sexy librarian!” /end ID]

DukeceitStan

first and only dukeceit shipper ig

DukeceitStan

wow there’s so many of you now! Hi!!

DukeceitStan

i want this to be canon so bad omg

DukeceitStan

i mean just look

[image]

how

[image]

cute

[image]

[ID: A series of three gifs featuring Youtubers SerpenThyme, aka Deceit, and TheDuke, aka Remus Sanders. Deceit is a black man with long, dreadlocked hair, and vitiligo patches along the left side of his face. Remus is a Hispanic man with green-dyed hair styled into a mohawk, many ear and facial piercings, and tattoos covering both arms. Each gif is edited so that the highlights are tinged yellow when Deceit is seen, and tinged green when Remus is seen.

The first gif depicts a close-up shot of Deceit’s hands as he carefully decorates a cookie with green and yellow icing. The cookie art he is working on appears to be a half-finished octopus. The gif then fades into a mid-shot of Remus, with his back to the camera, facing a canvas. The canvas is blank, and Remus appears to be laying out paints on a table to his left.

The second gif depicts Deceit seated at his couch, facing the camera. He has many ingredients spread across his coffee table (including oats, cocoa powder, and butter) and appears to be in the process of laying out several more. The gif fades to show Remus seated at a similar couch with a similar coffee table in front of him. The camera is angled slightly downward to better show the myriad of knives spread out across the table. Remus is gesturing wildly with a morning star held in his hand.

The third gif depicts Deceit in his kitchen. He is pulling on a bright, yellow knitted cardigan, and smirking toward the camera. The gif fades to show Remus in his bedroom, seated on his bed. He is holding up a similar-looking cardigan toward the camera and grinning. /end ID]

“Remus, it’s almost two in the morning. Come to bed.”

“I’m coming, sorry. Twitter distracted me.”

“Mm. I can’t believe the bird app is more distracting than I am.”

“You should try harder.”

“Come to bed and maybe I will.”

“Ok, ok, I’m coming. Hang on though, is it cool if I post this?”

“Sure. They figured it out anyway.”

“Sweet. Ok, Jannie, I’m coming.”

[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It reads: “Dukeceit is canon.” /end ID]

#dukeceit #dukeceitweek #remus sanders #janus sanders #sanders sides fic #kye writes

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raibebe · 4 years

Text

Puppy love

Genre: Fluff Words: 2k Prompt: Dog Dad Xiaojun Warnings: You might get diabetes or severe second hand embarrassment...

A/N: Something self-indulgent again who would have expected that from me?? Basically Xiaojun is Bella’s favorite Dad and they have been way too cute in the WayV lives we’ve been getting. This is kind of a little present for @burtonized who always encourages me and tells me my writing doesn’t suck. This isn’t much but I hope you like it.

“Pepper! Pepper come here!” You called out to your puppy. Well he wasn’t really a puppy anymore. The Labrador-mix had grown up quite a bit since you first got him about half a year ago but to you he would always stay the little puppy that used to be afraid of squeaky toys. But right now he was growing up the be a dog with a lot of pent up energy which was why you had decided to take him to a nearby dog park for the first time a couple of weeks ago and it had been the best decision you had ever made. Pepper could not only let out all his energy that had pent up during the week but you also hoped that he could make some friends. So far he seemed to play with a bunch of different dogs but he was still a little intimidated by the bigger dogs and the smaller ones couldn’t really keep up with him and his long legs. But today he was zooming around all over the place and you had lost track of where he had went, his chocolate brown fur nowhere to be seen.

You quickly grabbed your bag and Pepper’s leash to go and search for your little boy. What if he had gotten into any trouble with some of the bigger dogs? Or ha picked a fight with some of the feisty Schnauzers? “Pepper!” You called out his name again as you walked around the perimeter when you heard a familiar bark and you little ball of sunshine came running for you, almost tackling you to the ground when you kneeled down to embrace him. “There you are my little boy. Where have you been?” You laughed, trying to get his face angled away from you. As much as he liked to give you kisses, you didn’t know where he had his face today. “Yes I missed you too, baby.” You giggled when you finally managed to detangle yourself from the hyper dog to stand back up again. “You wanna go home?” You asked him but instead of coming back to you, the Labrador-mix ran back over to the edge of the park where a bunch of big trees were providing shade from the afternoon sun. Sighing you followed your dog to see what he was up to. What you didn’t expect was for him to be playing with what seemed to be a beagle that was just a little smaller than he was, energetically jumping around before running over to you, bringing his new friend with you to show them off. “Well hello there pretty,” you smiled, carefully extending your hand so the other dog could smell it first before you petted their head. “Is this your new friend, Pepper?” You asked your dog who was bumping your other arm with his snout, also demanding cuddles now. “Let me see your tag, baby,” you cooed at the little beagle. In pretty cursive lettering it said ‘Bella’ on the tag of her pink collar. “What a pretty name for a pretty girl,” you cooed at her, scratching the fur beneath her chin which she seemed to like.

“Bella!” A deep voice called over, making you turn your head to who you assumed to be Bella’s owner. You didn’t know what kind of person you had expected it to be but it wasn’t this. The man didn’t look like he was not from this world. You wouldn’t be surprised if you found a sculpture that had his exact face. His cheekbones seemed to be carved by the most talented sculptor there had ever been, his lips must have been drawn by the most delicate hands and his eyes had to be made from fallen stars. He was absolutely gorgeous. His face was framed by silver strands that fell a little into his eyes, hiding a pair of strong eyebrows. With how stunned you were by the handsome stranger, you forgot that Pepper was still very much hyper and eager to play, so the dog easily tackled you and attacked your face with wet kisses. “Oh god, Pepper, get off,” you laughed, rolling away from the sloppy display of affection. “Bad puppy,” you grinned, ruffling the fur on your dog’s head.

“So Pepper is your dog?” The deep voice of the stranger asked. He had also kneeled down and was currently petting Bella who had rolled onto her back, asking for belly rubs. “Yes, I’ve lost him for a second there. He has gotten so fast when he has the zoomies. I was worried he had picked a fight again.” “Oh no, he was making friends with Bella. She is a little shy when it comes to other dogs but he approached her very calmly,” he smiled. “Calm? That must have been another dog,” you laughed, tilting your head out of reach for Pepper to kiss. “He is really cute,” the stranger said, “They played together really nicely.” “That’s great. He hasn’t really made any other friends here and we’ve been coming here quite often,” you smiled, getting up to pat the dirt off your clothes. “I am Dejun,” the stranger introduced himself, holding out a hand for you to shake. Smiling, you introduced yourself as well, quickly shaking his outstretched hand. “I’ve never met anyone with that name,” you blurted out when the silence began to stretch between you two and you immediately just wanted to slap yourself for such a statement. “Oh, yeah. I’m originally from China,” Dejun explained, running a hand through his fluffy looking hair. You briefly wondered how fluffy it really was when it was bleached to such a light color. “I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable,” you quickly apologized. “Oh no, it’s fine. I get that a lot,” he assured you. “So what brought you here?” You asked to fill the silence between you while your dogs were playing between both of your legs. “I’m here on an exchange program for university,” he explained, “You want to go sit down and let them play for a bit?” Looking at your dogs playing, you couldn’t help but smile at the two puppies. “Sure, I have some time left,” you answered, picking up your bag and following the Chinese man to where he had his own bag on a bench. But it wasn’t a normal bag, it was a guitar case.

“You’re playing the guitar?” “Yeah,” Dejun replied, flushing slightly when he picked up the instrument, sending some pages of notes flying that he quickly grabbed. “I was just practicing and debating if I should rearrange some parts of the song.” “So you’re studying something music related?” “Yeah, I’m mostly focused on singing though.” “Are you comfortable with singing a little for me?” You shyly asked. “Sure, I can show you what I’ve been working on but it’s a Chinese song.” “That’s fine, I probably can’t tell you much about the quality of the song though. I’m not really artistic,” you smiled. “It’s fine. I don’t know too many people here yet outside of my program. Even less people who would volunteer to listen to my singing,” he replied, carefully plucking the strings of his guitar. “I’m sure your singing is great.”

“You haven’t even heard me yet,” Dejun mumbled, his face turning red. He quickly cleared his throat and strummed his guitar a couple of times before he gently started to hum a melody. Shortly after he took another deep breath and played his first cords before he began to sing. You were immediately captivated by the smoothness of his voice and even though you couldn’t understand a single word he was singing, you could feel the emotion and desperation dripping from his lips. Every other sound despite the softness of Dejun’s voice and the clear sounds of his guitar seemed to become quiet around you. You couldn’t hear any of the dogs barking or cars honking in the distance. The world seemed to have shrunken down to the little bench the both of you sat on. When Dejun sang the last note and looked up at you again, you couldn’t stop the tear that escaped your eyes. His eyes grew twice the size when he saw the little drop roll down your cheek before you could quickly wipe it. “I’m sorry, that was just so beautiful,” you choked out, rubbing your eyes. “Thank you,” Dejun whispered with a small voice, fiddling with his fingers before putting down his guitar and pulling out a packet of handkerchiefs that you accepted gratefully, pulling one out to dab your eyes dry. “I have never had someone cry because of my singing,” he mumbled, not really meeting your eyes. “It was just so emotional,” you choked out.

“Look at the dogs,” Dejun suddenly whispered, pointing to the ground. There, right between yours and Dejun’s feet, your two dogs laid, all curled up against each other, looking up at the two of you with their big dark eyes. “Oh god,” you choked out. There was no way you could hold back your tears anymore. “I’m sorry,” you sobbed, hiding your face behind your hands. Dejun was clearly overwhelmed with your reaction, helplessly looking down at the dogs where Pepper had gotten up to rub his face against your leg, quickly followed by Bella who sat down at your feet as well. “Do you... Do you want a hug or something?” He slowly asked, awkwardly shuffling in his seat. “I don’t want to make you feel even more uncomfortable than I already am.” “It’s fine,” he assured you, scooting a little closer and opening his arms, “I was the one who caused it after all.” “Really?” After he nodded, you closed the distance between your bodies, gently wrapping your arms around his waist when he circled his arms around you, somewhat awkwardly patting your back.

“This is so awkward,” you laughed when you managed to stop sobbing, hiding your face in his surprisingly strong chest with how lean he had looked. “Yeah,” Dejun laughed with you, making your head shake on his chest. “I’m so sorry,” you chuckled before you detangled yourself from him and wiped your eyes from happy tears this time. “You still look really pretty,” he blurted out, seemingly shocked at the words that had just left his mouth, his face turning bright red. “Thank you,” you stuttered, blood creeping to your face as well. “Wow,” Dejun cleared his voice awkwardly and picked up Bella who had been pawing at his legs, hiding his face in her fur. “Can I... Can I invite you for lunch or something to make up for crying into your shirt?” You stuttered, not daring to look at Dejun and instead petting Pepper who had been pawing at your legs to be picked up ever since he had picked up Bella. But sadly Pepper was getting too big to be picked up by you anymore but he hadn’t caught onto that yet. “You don’t have to, it’s fine,” Dejun politely declined, still hiding behind his dog that he was now holding like a baby, cradling her in his arms. You just barely held in the urge to coo at the pair, Bella really seemed to love him. “But I want to,” you said, “We could bring our dogs, they seemed to enjoy playing with each other.” “I... I guess that would be nice,” he stuttered. “You don’t have to.” “I would... I would like to get to know you better,” Dejun admitted, his face still tinted red, “And it’s good for the puppies as well I guess.” “Then it’s settled,” you beamed, petting an excited Bella when she jumped from his arms before she chased after Pepper who had gone running again. “Are you going to sing more while they’re playing?” You asked, motioning to his guitar. “Only if you promise to not cry again,” Dejun chuckled, picking up his instrument again.

#xiaojun #wayv #xiao dejun #kafenetwork #xiaojun fluff #xiaojun imagines #xiaojun scenarios #wayv imagines #wayv scenarios #wayv fluff

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malphiguswrites · 4 years

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ANALYSIS of The School of Athens

Denada Permatasari. 6 November 2017.

Fig 1.0 Fresco of Raphael's Scuola di Atene (The School of Athens), 1509-11 (courtesy of the Musei Vaticani).

The School of Athens by Raphael Sanzio, or more accurately, Raphael and his studio. This elaborate wall mural is a fresco in the Stanza della Segnatura, Vatican. Measuring 584 cm in length, this artwork was made in 1509 and finished in 1511.

I think that this artwork is a phenomenal masterpiece. From a technical standpoint, it is no debate that the scale and the mastery of human figures are impressive. Every single aspect is carefully planned, apparent from the detail of the backdrop to the individually distinctive figures present in the artwork. The symbolism in this work represent the core of Philosophy through subtle means of the wall division, the composition, down to the character’s body language, where they are situated, and even from the clothes they wear. In this essay, I discuss what all of the previously-stated elements mean and how they come together to give this artwork its meaning, and its significance.

Before delving into analysis of the artwork’s components, it is important to discuss why this artwork was made. This wall mural is part of Pope Julius II’s commission to decorate his private library (Zucker and Harris). The room has four sides, with each side representing the four branches of human knowledge at the time of High Renaissance: Philosophy, Divinity, Poetry, and Justice. The School of Athens, located on the east wall, represents Philosophy and is directly facing Disputa, representing Divinity (Zucker and Harris).

This placement, and the fact that this artwork is no less impressive than Disputa, can be seen as one of the defining attitudes of the High Renaissance: secularization. Here, the religiosity and philosophy are seen as equals, alongside poetry and justice. This is a big step from pre-Renaissance times when religion tended to dominate and rule above all aspects of life (qtd. in Toman iii).

Fig 1.1 Imagined horizontal and vertical lines of The School of Athens.

Moving on to the aspects of form of the artwork itself, I will first talk about its composition. In Fig 1.1, it is shown from the horizontal blue line that “… below the vaulted architecture and celestial backdrop, [Raphael] set the assembly of philosophers in the lower half field, on earth” (Rosand). This means that Raphael deliberately separated man, who is concrete and earthly, from the abstract.

Fig 1.2 Areas of interest in The School of Athens, as labeled with numbers.

Next, the vertical red line between the two figures in the center of the artwork (Area 1 in Fig 1.2). This imagined line serves as a divider for the opposing school of thoughts in Philosophy: Plato, the older man on the left, represents the ethereal and the abstract. He represents the belief that “… there is a realm that is based on mathematics, on pure idea that is truer than the everyday world that we see” (Zucker and Harris). Whereas Aristotle, the younger man on his right, represents the belief “… on the observable, the actual, [and] the physical” (Zucker and Harris).

This divide can be seen from the other characters’ placement in the artwork. In Area 2 (Fig 1.2), which is Plato’s side, are a cluster of people who are also concerned who explains the world from an abstract, cosmic lens (Rosand). This is contrasted by the group of people (Area 3) in Aristotle’s side, who explains the world through factual and concrete means (Rosand). I shall explain how I know the aforementioned observations through analyzing the elements, aspects of form, and the identity of each figure that makes up The School of Athens.

Fig 1.3 Zoom in of Plato and Aristotle.

First, the two main figures (Fig 1.3) in the center of the fresco (Area 1). They are separated from the others by the arc frame of the background. I have said before that the older man on the left is Plato, and the younger man is Aristotle, Plato’s pupil. They are also holding their own books, Plato with his Timaeus, and Aristotle with his Ethics. This section of the essay will highlight how the subject matter and design elements reflect the meaning of the divide in schools of Philosophy.

Plato, representing the ideal and the abstract, wears purple and red. “… The purple, referring to the ether, what we would call the air, [and] the red to fire, neither of which have weight” (Zucker and Harris). Whereas “Aristotle wears blue and brown, that is colors of earth and water, which have gravity [and] weight” (Zucker and Harris). This contrast between the abstract versus the concrete is further compounded by their body language: Plato, pointing up to the heavens, to the realm of high thinking, his bare feet just merely planted on the ground. Aristotle, his hand splayed downwards to the ground, wearing gilded sandals, feet firm on the tiles (Rosand).

Second, the homage to ancient antiquity, apparent in the pagan sculptures of Apollo on the top left and Athena on the right (Rosand). The design of the architecture, with coffered barrel vaults, pilasters, et cetera, is ancient Roman design as well. The god and goddess of the ancient times only reinforce the conceptual divide of the artwork, with Apollo, the god of music and poetry, things that are appropriately platonic (Rosand). Then there is Athena, the goddess of war and wisdom, who is more involved in the practical affairs of man (Zucker and Harris).

The architecture design, which is equal throughout the artwork, represents the unifier in this artwork full of divides. They serve as a reminder that even though there is a fundamental divide in perspective, all of them are still under the same branch, Philosophy (Rosand).

Fig 1.4 The labeling of figures in Plato’s side using capital alphabets from A to F.

Third, the groups of people on Plato’s lower side in Area 2 (Fig 1.2). These figures are labeled with letters (Fig 1.4). Though the identities of many of the figures here is much debated, since Raphael did not leave any notes or annotations, let’s agree for the sake of discussion that:

A: Pythagoras, a Greek philosopher and mathematician who is arguably in the center of this group gathering. He sought to discover the mathematical principles of reality through musical harmony and geometry (Rosand).

B: Boethius, a Greek philosopher who wrote The Consolation of Philosophy (Lahanas).

C: Anaxagoras, a Greek philosopher that correctly explains solar eclipses and the presence of small particles (atoms) in all objects (Agutie).

D: Parmenides, a Greek philosopher who founded the method of reasoned proof for assertions (Agutie).

E: Hypatia, an Alexandrian philosopher, mathematician, and astronomer. She is considered to be the most famous student in the School of Athens (Lahanas).

F: Ibn Rushd (Latin: Averroes), a Spanish-Arab philosopher who wrote commentaries on almost all of Aristotle’s writings and major works of Plato (Agutie).

All of the figures in this cluster are concerned with the cosmic, bigger-picture truths, echoing Plato’s ideals. Moreover, two figures in this cluster deserve special attention: Hypatia and Ibn Rushd. Hypatia’s placement in Plato’s side is reminiscent of Plato’s principle of women’s equality (Fakhry), in fact she is the only woman in the whole artwork. On the other hand, Ibn Rushd’s placement in Plato’s side is curious, since he is more associated with Aristotle’s works more so than that of Plato’s (Fakhry). Even so, Raphael must be commended for including a woman as an equal with men and a Muslim figure, which was seen as radical and out of line in his era.

Fig 1.5 The labeling of figures in Aristotle’s side using capital alphabets from G to J.

Fourth, the group that represents Aristotle’s way of thought in Area 3 (Fig 1.2), concerned with the physical and the concrete. They are labeled with letters (Fig 1.5), with identities as follows:

G: Euclid, a Greek mathematician. He is the father of geometry and is seen bent down, applying geometry with a compass to a tablet, flat on the ground (Rosand).

H: Zoroaster, a Greek astronomer, founder of Zoroastrianism, holding a celestial orb (Agutie).

I: Ptolemy, the royal astronomer, who was the first to believe that all heavenly bodies revolve around the earth (Agutie).

J: Raphael, the artist himself in black, and his mentor in art, Sodoma, in white (Lahanas).

The figures in Aristotle’s side are arguably more interesting than Plato’s, as there is more diversity in terms of the principles that the figures represent. Of course, they are all still united in their more earthly and human-centric concerns, but the inclusion of the artist’s self-portrait is the main highlight of this area of interest. For Raphael to include himself is a historical statement, as stated by Dr. Beth Harris, “… here, the artist is considered an intellectual, on par with some [of] the greatest thinkers in history” (Zucker and Harris).

Fig 1.6 Zoom in detail of Heraclitus.

Last, but certainly not least, is the lone figure of Heraclitus (Fig 1.6), an ancient philosopher that sits and thinks alone, separated from the others (Area 4 in Fig 1.2). What makes this figure stand out is the fact that he is a deviation from the orthogonal perspective of the whole artwork. Apart from Diogenes, who is sprawled on the steps, also by himself, Heraclitus feels out of place in the artwork. This is because Heraclitus was actually added after the fresco was finished (Rosand).

At this point, I will discuss the personal aspect that Raphael weaved throughout this commission; Heraclitus’ figure is one of them. The model for this ancient philosopher is actually based off of Michelangelo, and this insertion, this acknowledgment of the older artist is very curious in of itself. The personal antipathy between them is well known; Raphael, the sociable and cultured artist was intensely disliked by Michelangelo, the brooding and melancholic artist, who accused him of stealing his ideas from the Sistine ceiling (Hale 274). For Raphael to include him in his impressive fresco can be said as an homage or a tribute to Michelangelo (Rosand). This speaks of Raphael’s respect and regard for the other artist despite their differences.

Heraclitus is not the only figure who is modeled after someone else –in fact, most of the major figures in this artwork are modeled after someone else- take, for instance, Plato who is actually modeled after Leonardo da Vinci (Toman 336), an artist that highly inspired Raphael. For him to model Plato, the central figure of his fresco and one of the greatest thinkers of all time after Leonardo is a significant honor to his person. Another instance is Euclid. The geometer is actually modeled after Bramante the architect, Raphael’s friend and professional companion (Toman 336). His tribute for Bramante doesn’t end there; the architectural design of the background is actually inspired by Bramante’s architectural design and vision (Martindale 83).

All of the analysis of the components, and how even the smallest things contribute to a greater meaning, is the main reason why I think this artwork is phenomenal. If anything is to be obvious from my essay, is the amount of planning, effort, and thoughtfulness that Raphael did for this fresco. For me, personally, there is nothing more impressive than a successful execution with an underlying concept that is well thought of in every step of the way. In this, I am very pleased with Raphael’s technical skill to make something so legible on an intimidating scale, yet still retaining a degree of thoughtfulness that is apparent in every single dot of his fresco.

To further compound this, I am not the only one who thinks that this artwork is extraordinary. The School of Athens has received high regard from the moment of its completion, even until the present day. The Stanza della Segnatura has been a famous tourist attraction because of the wall frescoes that Raphael made, and The School of Athens is arguably the main attraction in the Vatican Palace.

Most importantly, however, is Raphael’s own influence on the High Renaissance, and what follows after. As Johan Huizinga, a Dutch art historian has stated:

The Renaissance marks the rise of the individual, the awakening of a desire for beauty, a triumphal procession of joyful life, the intellectual conquest of physical realities, … a dawning of consciousness of the relationship of the individual to the natural world around him (qtd. in Toman i).

To attribute all of those values of the Renaissance to just The School of Athens is optimistic at best and naïve at worst, but it is worth acknowledging that The School of Athens is one of the main highlights of the High Renaissance, and certainly sums up the entirety of the High Renaissance. In this light, Raphael deserves much acclaim, as written by Luitpold Dussler in his book Raphael:

Raphael has left an indelible mark on art. He revolutionized portrait painting … and epitomized the style which has come to be known as High Renaissance. … Perhaps Raphael’s greatest achievement is that he appeals on all levels and makes something profoundly deep and complex appear simple and comprehensible (qtd. in Hale 275).

In conclusion, the value of Raphael’s The School of Athens is that it is invaluable. It was significant by the time it was completed, and is still significant even today, more than five hundred years later. More than just a room decoration, it speaks of the general perspective of Philosophy during the early 16th century. Raphael’s ability to condense such a difficult, multi-faceted discipline into a thoughtful work of art that can be appreciated by anyone, at any level, is a testament to his remarkable technical skill and conceptual knowledge.

I will end my essay with one conviction: that The School of Athens is one of the definitive artworks of the High Renaissance, and I hope that the significance of attributing an entire period to one single artwork is realized and acknowledged.

Works Cited

Zucker, Steven and Beth Harris. “Raphael, School of Athens.” Smarthistory. 27 Jul. 2014. 3 Nov 2017.

Toman, Rolf. Introduction. The Art of the Italian Renaissance. Germany: Könemann, 1995. Print. i, iii, 336.

Rosand, David. “Raphael’s Fresco of The School of Athens in the Stanza della Segnatura of the Vatican Palace.” Columbia University. New York. N.d. 3 Nov 2017.

Lahanas, Michael. “The School of Athens, ‘Who is Who?’ Puzzle.” Hellenica World. N. d. 3 Nov 2017 <http://www.hellenicaworld.com/Greece/Science/en/ SchoolAthens.html>.

Agutie. “Raphael (1483-1520): The School of Athens, 1509. Interactive Map.” Geometry from the Land of the Incas. 13 Jul 2014. 3 Nov 2017 <http://agutie.homestead.com/files/school_athens_map.html>.

Fakhry, Majid. Averroes (Ibn Rushd) His Life, Works and Influence. London: Oneworld Publications, 2001. N. p.

“Raphael.” Encyclopaedia of the Italian Renaissance. Ed. J. R. Hale. Lindon: Thames and Hudson,1981. Print. 274-275.

Martindale, Andrew. Man and the Renaissance. London: Paul Hamlyn Limited. 1966. Print. 83.

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quickspinner · 4 years

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Shifting Tides

A little offering for MerMay! @mangoes-n-cream threw out the idea some time ago of a merman Luka based on a betta fish, and we tossed ideas around and this is what I came up with. Betta fish have an extremely strong bite force for their size, so I translated that to physical strength. I still enjoy lionfish mermaid Marinette, so we’re just going to ignore the fact that betta are freshwater fish and lionfish are saltwater fish. It’s magic, just go with it.

Marinette had known Luka, not forever, but for a long time. He’d been her confidant as a confused, frustrated youngster in the throws of first love and unexpected responsibility, and though she’d never been able to read him as well as he read her, she’d learned a lot over their years together. She knew his patterns and how they shifted with his moods, she knew his habits, and she knew when he was putting up a front.

So when he asked her in his gentle, unassuming way if she would spend the day with him, but wouldn’t tell her why or what they would be doing, she had known him well enough to see the thread of tension in his body, the faint suggestion of stripes along his face that weren’t normally visible, the slight tightness around his eyes, though their expression was as soft and admiring as ever.

It sent a thrill through her that she couldn’t entirely explain and didn’t want to examine too closely, she also knew how still looked at her, even all this time, when he thought she didn’t see, or wouldn’t mind. And lately, she was minding less and less. Marinette teased him for a bit in their usual way, and then agreed to meet him at morningtide.

When morningtide came, Luka still wouldn’t tell her what was going on, but when he asked her to follow him, she did so with only minimal complaint. Just enough to keep up appearances.

Really, she would have followed Luka anywhere he asked with even less information than he gave her, but he didn’t need to know that. Not yet, anyway.

She was close enough behind him that she almost crashed into him when he stopped and turned to face her. He flitted out of her way with an indulgent smile that became a grin when she made a face at him. A quick flip of his tail sent him circling around her.

“We’re almost there,” he said, possibly more excited than she’d ever seen him. “Will you close your eyes?”

Marinette gave him a suspicious look but he just shot a hopeful, excited one back to her. “Please?” he said softly, floating near. “You can trust me.”

It was more a question of him trusting her, actually. Luka was many times stronger than she was, but much less likely to accidentally injure her with his strength than she was to injure him with her venomous spines.

She did trust him, though, to know what he was doing, and he trusted her to mind her spines as best she could.

Tucking her spines close, Marinette closed her eyes. She felt Luka take her hands and place them around his neck, his back bumping into her chest. “Just hold on,” he told her. “It’ll only take a moment.” Marinette joined her hands and let him tow her, trying not to think too hard about the brush of his fins against hers or the rhythm of the current he sent against her as his tail drove them both through the water. His hands stayed on her forearms, strong and reassuring, thumbs rubbing lightly over her skin.

She could feel the sun through the water and knew they must be fairly shallow. The warmth felt good. Luka stopped and removed her arms from around his neck. “Wait here one moment, I just want to make sure no one’s here that shouldn’t be.”

Marinette suppressed a smile at this typical territorial caution, though she didn’t like being left behind like this, blind and vulnerable. Luka placed her hand on something—it felt like a rock formation. He’d placed her on its sheltered side so the current didn’t push her. “I’ll call to you when I come back,” he said, and Marinette took this as her cue to let her spines rise into a defensive position, which made her feel a little more comfortable. She set her senses to feeling the water about her, but it was calm and she felt no danger.

“I’m coming back,” Luka called from somewhere slightly above her, and she flattened her spines again. In moments she felt the press of water from above, and felt Luka’s hand cover hers again. “All clear.”

“I’m shocked,” she teased. It took a special type of brave, or a special type of stupid, to invade Luka’s territory. He was sweet and gentle and relaxed most of the time, but fierce when his family or his territory was threatened.

“I’m coming behind you,” he warned, and she flattened her spines a little further until she felt his warmth behind her and his hand settle on her waist, just above where her scales ended. HIs touch made her shiver and his hand shifted immediately a little higher, away from the sensitive spot. “Sorry,” he said, but his voice went a little deeper and Marinette didn’t completely believe him. Lips twisting in a slight smirk, Marinette let him guide her toward whatever it was he was so intent on showing her. He was a tactile person, but rarely as openly flirtatious as he had been today, and she was very much intrigued.

She felt the difference in the light and the change in the current as he lead her inside a shelter of some kind, though she didn’t brush up against any barriers.

They were in a sort of cavern, but the ceiling was broken in several places, sending shafts of light filtering down through the water. In the spots of sunlight dotted on the walls, the natural outcropping and shelves of the cavern were piled with sea glass, reflecting the light in many different shades of green and gold and white and blue and making shifting patterns of color against the rocks.

It was a sculpture of light and it was beautiful.

“Do you like it?” he asked, his voice warm and low and not...hesitant exactly, but tense somehow.

“I do,” she said fimly, and then turned towards him, lifting her hands to his face. “It’s lovely, Luka.”

“Good,” he said, covering her hands with his own, and the relief in it was palpable.

“It must have taken you so much time to collect all this,” she said, looking around again.

“It did,” he admitted, holding her hand to his face, his fingers curling over his, and when Marinette met his eyes, she felt a wave of heat pass through her body as her heart began to beat faster. “You know I’m not an artist, not like you, but...I wanted to do this for you. You make so many beautiful things and I just...I wanted to make something beautiful for you.”

“For me?” she asked softly.

“Always for you,” he answered just as softly, taking both her hands in his and tugging her closer. “It’s always—”

He paused and looked around, expression suddenly wary. “Something’s wrong,” he murmured, letting her hands slip out of his. “Stay here.”

Marinette watched him in surprise for a moment as Luka swam to the entrance and stopped just inside of it, fins fanning out in a full threat display that made Marinette’s heart flutter for entirely different reasons than intended. He was stunning with his blue-black fins spread to their full extent, the muscles of his back and arms rippling with tension as he scanned for the threat.

Marinette shook herself and fluffed out her own fins, unfolding fans of black spots on red that contrasted the bright stripes of her tail, the bold pattern declaring a warning as her venomous spines lifted into a defensive position. Ignoring his instructions to stay put, she swam to Luka’s side, careful to stay far enough away not to risk ripping one of his beautiful fins with her spines. He motioned for her to stay back, but she ignored that too. Luka was strong and brave and beautiful but when it came down to practicalities, she was the best equipped to actually incapacitate an enemy.

After a few moments Luka sighed, and drifted back to her, though his fins remained flared. “I don’t see or sense anything. Perhaps I was mistaken.”

“You checked for danger already,” Marinette reminded him.

“Yes,” he agreed. “I’m jumpy, I guess. I’m sorry. This was important to me and I don’t want anything to ruin it.” He turned his attention back fully on her, and Marinette’s pulse, which had begun to slow, jumped back into overdrive again. Luka just smiled, amused, she supposed, by her sudden fluster. He knew her as well as she knew him, after all. Possibly better. He had certainly been watching her longer.

Marinette tried to find somewhere to look that wasn’t at the impressive display of fin and muscle before her. “Aren’t you going to put those away?” she asked, swatting playfully at a streak of blue trailing elegantly from his arms.

“Not if you like them,” Luka said with a slow smile. “Do you, Marinette?” He flicked his tail, sending a little wave across her own flukes and setting the lovely trailing fan of his tail fin dancing.

“I like yours,” he added, boldly reaching a finger to stroke along the edge of one fin.

She flicked it away from his finger and he drew back quickly.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, furling his own fins. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Luka,” Marinette said, flipping in the water and sending a pressure wave across his face. “Shut up.” She circled him once, and then again, close enough for her fins to trail across him, and then swam up to where the light poured in again, admiring his collection of treasures. She turned lazily on her back, and then upended to swim down again.

“Luka,” she asked, facing him upside down in the water, curving her tail over to block the sunlight from her face so that she could see him clearly. “Are you courting me?”

“Yes,” he said softly, and the simplicity of it set her heart racing. “Are you going to come down here so I can continue? Or would you rather I didn’t?”

He sounded perfectly calm but she could see the flutter in his gills, the slight differences in his coloration that let on he was not as comfortable as he wanted her to believe.

Slowly, deliberately, Marinette completed her loop and twisted, letting her momentum carry her against him. He caught her with the infinite gentleness that had always intrigued her, in such contrast with his strength, and his arms went around her as his forehead rested gently against hers. “By all means, continue,” she whispered, stroking slender fingers down his jaw and across his lips.

“Marinette,” he murmured, “You know I’ve been in love with you for years. There was a time when it hurt you to hear it—” Marinette tried not to wince visibly, though she knew the way she ducked her head betrayed her thoughts to Luka, who had always seen her so clearly, even when her own vision had been dazzled by blinding yellow fins and an even brighter smile. “ —But I was hoping, lately, that you were becoming...less opposed to the idea of me loving you?”

“Less opposed,” Marinette giggled. “That’s one way to put it.”

Luka grinned slowly. “Feel free to rephrase it for me.”

“Must I?” Marinette countered, and then, softer, feeling the crimson creeping up her face, she added, “You’ve never needed words to understand me before.”

“No,” he said, his voice lowering as he reached one hand up, brushing the backs of his fingers along her cheek before sliding them into her hair to draw her close.

Marinette let him pull her near and seal his mouth over hers in a kiss that started off soft but became bolder as she responded to him, pressing close and parting her lips for him. She didn’t dare tell him how long she had been hoping for this moment, when they were both finally in synch with each other and their own feelings, after all her foolishness.

Lost in his kiss, she began unconsciously to match the rhythm of his lightly swaying tail with hers, and Luka moaned softly into her mouth, his hands slipping down to that sensitive area at her waist. “Marinette,” he murmured, nipping at her lips and down her jaw as he pulled her gently closer, blowing a small stream of bubbles against her neck in a way that made her shiver and giggle all at once. “Would you—”

Something crashed suddenly through the ceiling of the cavern, and Luka threw his body recklessly into Marinette, driving her back and away from the disturbance even as she screamed and pushed him away, flattening her spines so she wouldn’t kill him by accident.

She surged away to get some distance from Luka where she could defend herself without risking him, and saw the source of the disturbance—a burly figure she knew well.

“Kim, what are you doing?” Marinette screeched, moving towards him. The brown and gold merman fixed his attention on her and made a feral sort of growl that brought her up short, even more so as she caught sight of his face.

Marinette had known Kim since they were tiny, and she had never seen the ugly purple pattern that was spread on his face before. Nor had she ever seen him look so...angry. Kim wasn’t the calmest of people but he had never looked like that before.

“Kim!” Marinette gasped, and then yelped as her old childhood friend snarled and leapt at her.

Marinette was more than capable of defending herself but the surprise and desire not to kill one of her oldest friends paralyzed her for a moment.

Kim was knocked aside as Luka crashed into him, fins on full display and rage in his face.

“Don’t hurt him,” Marinette screamed, as Luka drove Kim into the wall of the cavern. “Something’s wrong. He won’t talk to me!”

Luka gave her a quick look that said he would do his best and then he had all he could handle as Kim fought back. The water inside the cavern churned and seaglass leapt and skittered across the wall and sank as they thrashed and struggled, hitting the walls of the cavern. Marinette flitted about in a panic, wanting to help but not sure how.

Luka’s eyes met hers as he shot her a desperate look over Kim’s shoulder. Marinette understood his dilemma at once; he couldn’t hold Kim off for long without seriously hurting him. Marinette didn’t want either Kim or Luka hurt, but her own venom was deadly; if she intervened, she would kill Kim. For a moment she hung in the water paralyzed with indecision, not sure what to do as her eyes darted about looking for a solution.

Suddenly she spotted something dark on Kim’s neck, just behind his gills, a fluttering bit of darkness that looked attached to him like a remora. No, it was a remora, but it was pitch black, tinged purple when the sun hit it.

“Luka,” she called, propelling herself forward. “Luka, hold him still.” She bit her lip, watching for her opening. She was going to have to be quick.

After a tense struggle Luka managed to pin Kim down against a rock for a moment, tail working furiously to hold them there as he glanced back at Marinette with a now what expression.

Marinette darted in, skimming past them and slashing out with the spiny fins along her arms, far closer to Luka’s neck than she really felt comfortable with, but there was no time to think of it. She sliced the remora from Kim’s neck and flung it down onto one of the spines at her waist, pushing off from the wall of the cavern to get away from Kim and Luka before one of them flailed against her and hurt themselves.

It turned out to be a needless worry, because as soon as the remora was gone, Kim went limp, and Luka sagged with relief and exhaustion.

Marinette went to him immediately, spines folding down as Luka cautiously released Kim, who just hung limp in the water, the odd pattern fading from his face even as they watched. Luka turned him on his back and checked him over. “Is he all right? Are you all right?” Marinette asked, hesitating as she hovered around them. .

“He’s alive,” Luka said, leaning his hands back against a rock. “He doesn’t seem to be hurt, other than where that thing was attached. Doesn’t look like it even broke the skin, though, just...stuck there.” Satisfied that Kim was all right for the time being, Marinette moved toward Luka and he smiled as she fussed over him, cupping his face and running her hands over him. “I’m not injured.”

“Are you sure?” she fretted, looking up into his face, and the soft look he was giving her made her face heat. Luka’s widening grin told her he could see the red flooding her cheeks, bringing out the pale spots that were normally nearly invisible. His own pattern flashed at her in response, jagged blue stripes traveling up the angles of his face, and she wanted to pout that his own markings complimented him so nicely, but the world was just unfair to females. “Thank you for trusting me,” she said, dropping her gaze, idly tracing a finger over his collarbone. “I could have hurt you if you’d flinched.”

Luka chuckled, and kissed her softly. “You are dangerous and strong and beautiful and I adore you,” he told her. “And I would love to pick up where we left off, but…I think we’ll have to have that talk a bit later.” He looked at Kim, still unconscious. “I think we need to consult your father and the Guardian about...whatever this was.”

“Agreed,” Marinette said, shaking her head slightly as her brow furrowed in puzzlement. “This can’t be good, and people will get hurt if it happens again.”

Luka hummed ascent, caressing her waist gently and then letting her go as he went to pull Kim onto his back. “Let’s go.”

“Your nest,” Marinette fretted, looking at the scattered seaglass littering the bottom of the cavern.

“I’ll build another one,” Luka said, sending a comforting wave of current over her with a flick of his tail. “I wouldn’t feel safe here after this anyway. We’ll make it beautiful together.” He caught himself and the stripes flared a little brighter. “I mean...after we talk. If you want to.”

Marinette returned the smile he gave her over his shoulder, and followed him out of the cavern. “Yes, we will,” she murmured to herself, incandescently happy despite the odd and ominous turn the day had taken.

#quickspins #across all realms #mermay #lukanette #endgame lukanette #i am lukanette trash i admit it #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #mermaid au #fantasy au #ml fics

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fredfilmsblog · 3 years

Photo

An interview with Ron Haywood Jones.

Ron Haywood Jones is the fantastic artist who did the painting for this year’s New Year’s poster. We’ve known each other for many years, having first met at his pre-pandemic spot on Manhattan’s Prince Street, right off Broadway. But for all the years we’ve chatted I didn’t know all that much about his background, so I thought I use the poster painting as an excuse to dig in deeper. We conducted the interview over text, perfect of our times.

I started collecting some of Ron’s work (embedded below) and even commissioned him for the candy company I had for a quick minute. But, I cannot for the life of me figure out what took me so long to ask him to work on one of my posters. Ah well, stupid me.

Photo of Ron Haywood Jones by Gilly Youner via Flickr October 22, 2010

Born and raised in Michigan, Ron attended college at Parson’s School of Design. He graduated with his BFA and went on to start careers in ad agencies and textile design studios. The influence of textile design is apparent in his artwork through the bright colors, repeated symbols, and textures. He is presently working on a series of artworks that have “an ongoing theme of past individualization of people from Africa, and past social movements circa the 1960’s and current urban issues” Jones remarks “ my work is like some kind of urban Guernica.”

You can follow Ron at Instagram here.

.....

FS: Where'd you grow up?

RHJ: Hey Fred. I grew up in both Detroit (born) and Highland Park Michigan.We moved to the burbs in the fall of the 1968 after the riot in April.

FS: When did you know you were going to be an artist? Did you ever think of doing anything else?

RHJ: I split my time between playing sports and art. I was a creative kid. I was always drawing and making things like building go carts. My childhood friend’s father’s had a small storewhere we printed and sold comics of our own superheroes.I still have my sketch book from 1974(14 then) and the letter from Marvel Comics! I sent them work and they like it but said it needed time to develop. My folks were super supportive always so that was a big plus.

FS: Did your family think you were crazy to become a "fine artist?"

RHJ: They didn’t think I was going in the wrong direction because I showed some talent early.Very serious art boy! 😂

FS: I first ran into you on Prince Street selling your art about 20 years ago. How did that come about, how long have you been out there?

RHJ: I started selling in Soho around 1998 (full time). In 94 -95 I was laid off or canned!! from a textile design studio job.

That summer I freelanced a bit and started making African inspired sculptures out of found metals which I still make. At one point I had a display of all sculptures. I wanted to get more painting in so what I sold on the street changed. I started making more paintings and less sculptures. The sculptures are these hand made industrial urban creations and the paintings reflect the sculptures.

From Ron’s Instagram...

FS: Your work often has explicit signals that you're a Black American, it's one of the first things I noticed and liked. I particularly like following you Insta hashtag #afrostract.

RHJ: The paintings are about the black experience in America. They are in tune with what’s going on now with BLM. So , I was a bit early. What the heck!

From my collection...

FS: At a gallery site where you showed, they mentioned that your use of collage had something to do with your past work in textiles. Is that it?

RHJ: There was some collage thinking as a way for making art in my textile days and in my illustration work. Going forward I’m doing digital collages for ideas and inspiration for future paintings.

Exhibition at Detour Gallery, Red Bank, NJ, July 15 – August 12, 2017

FS: What's the difference between showing in a gallery and the work you sell in Soho on Prince Street?

RHJ: The paintings on the street are not as large as the gallery work also the gallery paintings are somewhat more developed and may have realistic elements.

FS: You seem very influenced by popular culture. What else? (We both love robots, I know that!)

RHJ: Pop culture yes! SciFi , black culture , futurism graphic design and the different schools of making paintings.

From my collection...

FS: Red and blue seem like key colors for you. Does that come from anywhere in particular?

RHJ: I think the 4-5 years working at the textile design studio influenced my since of color use somewhat. It was a kid driven studio as far as bright color schemes.

Photo and illustration from a “Black Lives To The Front” showing @ the US Open

FS: I've been noticing your use of self portraiture. What's that about?

RHJ: Yes , I use myself as a model sometimes.If I’m doing a painting where I don’t have to be specific I’ll use myself and alter the features a bit.

FS: Thanks Ron! And thanks for a great painting for our 2021 poster.

#Ron Haywood Jones #interview #New Year 2021 #New Year poster #poster #posters

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thedistantstorm · 4 years

Text

Project Compass 28

Read along on AO3 Here

<< Previous Chapter << >> Next Chapter >>

This time: Ivant and Thrawn seek out an old ally.

Next time: The enemy lies in wait.

Thrawn looked down at his left hand, clenching it as though he could still feel the phantom of Eli's calloused hand in his from days before. It had been warm, but humans ran warmer than Chiss. That was a biological fact. Chiss were able to sustain far cooler temperatures, though they were capable of handling intense heat as well, their bodies simply more adaptable to extremes.

Beside him in the cockpit of their transport, Ezra hummed, directing his question behind them. “So why, exactly, don’t you want me to come with you guys?” His tone indicated it was nice to speak Basic for a change.

“It’s for your best interest.” The left corner of Eli’s lips lifted in a half-smile, and there was something amused in the gaze he gave Thrawn. “I don’t think my contact would do anything, but,” Deep brown eyes met luminous red.

Thrawn said, “Krennic is dead.”

Eli nodded, and Ezra calmly steered their shuttle into the bay they’d been given by the control tower that overlooked the port. A moment later, Eli mused, “Yes, he knows.”

“And he doesn’t like the Emperor, therefore this should not even be a consideration.”

Ezra looked over his shoulder, seeking clarification. “How many ex-Imps do the Chiss employ, exactly?”

“The question you mean to ask is ‘How many Imps did Thrawn ship off to the Ascendancy,’ and the answer is two.” There was humor in his gaze and his voice as he added, “Be grateful you’re stuck with me."

Thrawn didn’t laugh, but his quiet huff was as good as. For Ezra’s benefit, he said, “I doubt Brierly Ronan would sell him out to the Empire.”

“I told you he still calls me ‘the traitor,’ right?”

Thrawn swiveled the co-pilot’s chair around to face Eli, who stood, leaning casually against the hatch. “Yes,” The Chiss said. “However, as I've said, he doesn’t like the Emperor which should make him an ally.”

“I think I also told you he’s attached to House Chaf?” The look on the human’s face was flat as he argued back. “As in, he's the very publicly recognized liaison to Formbi, who even more publicly despises your brother?”

“Surely Syndic Chaf’orm’bintrano would not appreciate such an indelicate statement, Captain,” Thrawn all but crooned. “Besides, my service to our military negates any benefits I would receive from my house.”

“Right,” Eli agreed, both sarcastic and reluctant, all at once. He was all too aware of a multitude of situations - not just Thrawn’s own - that might suggest otherwise. “Regardless, Ezra is staying in the ship for his safety, on the off chance, well,” He broke off, admitting, “I don’t think Ronan’s about to try and contact anyone, but consider it a favor to me and keep an eye on the ship, okay?”

Ezra scoffed as he activated the landing gear and methodically toggled the brake and shut down protocols to begin as necessary. Eli might have total control over the Navigators, but Ezra had one final card to play: Ezra was no Navigator, and he answered to Thrawn. He tried not to think about the vast number of close friends who would be very concerned for his mental state at the thought as he said, “No offense, but you’re not my boss.”

“Fine,” Eli said, turning away from them to toggle the door hatch. He didn’t lose that casual-confidence Thrawn now associated with him, even with their mission starting. “I’ll go alone.” He stepped out.

“You will not.” Thrawn looked at Ezra, who sulked with a shift of his lips. “Bridger will stay on the ship,” He called louder, addressing his fellow captain’s retreating back.

“If I didn’t know better,” Ezra murmured slyly, leaning back to cross his legs and prop them up on the dash, much to Thrawn’s displeasure, “I’d think Captain Ivant is just trying to get you alone.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“You are insufferable,” The Chiss hissed in reply. It seemed the prospect of being behind bothered him more than he realized.

“But I might be right.” Ezra sang in a buzzing hum.

“We are professionals, on a mission from our Admiral,” Thrawn insisted. “That is not what this is.”

“Riiiiight,” Ezra drawled, “And I’m a Sith Lord.” He met Thrawn’s glower with a dull expression. “Call it what you want, but you better catch up with him before he leaves you behind for real. I’ll keep the ship company like a good aide.”

Thrawn did lengthen his stride, noticing Eli waiting for him in the open doorway of the building that lay on the outskirts of the docking bay. It was newer in design, the architecture of an age after Thrawn had departed on his mission, though it was at least a decade old. The outside of the building had been smoothed by Csilla’s unforgiving climate.

It had been a long time since they’d naturally fallen into step beside each other on a mission without one or the other forced to stand a step behind and to one side or the other, following social etiquette. Something long forgotten, yet still familiar bloomed in Thrawn’s belly. Even at Royal Imperial, all those years ago, they hadn’t truly been on even ground, though it had been nearly impossible to notice. Now, though, he felt it. He had always wondered if a day like this would come.

He wasn’t disappointed.

Eli steered him to a longer ancillary corridor to the left with nothing but a subtle shift of his stance, only looking up at Thrawn at the last second. He smiled briefly. His eyes were clear and bright, like polished riverstone. When his wrist brushed Thrawn’s forearm as they stepped through the doorway, he didn’t react. Neither did Thrawn. But he didn’t step back, content to let their sleeves brush as they continued on their way.

Had this happened before, in the Empire? Thrawn wondered. He hadn’t been looking, hadn’t considered this a possibility for himself, much less for his then Commander. They’d been what he’d hoped were friends. And regardless of his valiant actions, Thrawn had come to realize that Eli had hoped for the same.

Thrawn wasn’t used to being so hopeful, but he found that he didn’t mind. The concept of discovery was exhilarating.

Eli’s lips thinned and twisted as they approached another door leading to what sounded like a far more busy place. “This is the main drag,” He informed Thrawn as the hydraulics did their job, and a beautiful mezzanine was revealed. “Usually I wouldn’t indulge Ronan by meeting in such a place, but I like the café.”

His fellow captain completely ignored the beautiful, whimsical art, suspended from the ceiling and done in expansive murals on almost every wall. In fact, Eli paid the art little mind until Thrawn had stopped several paces back, inspecting a crystalline sculpture that seemed to accept the rare glow from the sun that peeked through the skylights overhead and warmed to a kaleidoscope of color in the infrared, subtle and intricate in its execution.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen that look,” Eli said into Thrawn's analysis. He licked his lips, wetting them. “I can’t wait to hear you tell me the artist’s entire life story later.”

Thrawn glanced away from the tangle of elements that comprised the complex, suspended piece. “Oh?” He asked, surprised.

“I know who the artist is. We can test how well your art-sense is now that you’re back where you belong.” The words weren’t playful, more inquisitive, curious.

The Chiss turned back from the artwork and let Eli guide him. “You know the artist?”

“Oh, I do,” He said. “And I’m not telling you the story until you give me your analysis.”

“She came onto you,” Thrawn speculated immediately. His eyes flickered between the piece and Vanto, narrowing as he appraised the human.

“She?” Eli questioned. His eyebrows accentuated the question.

“He?”He frowned. “No. The artist identifies as female. You can tell-”

Eli’s head tipped back and he laughed, honest and unbidden, interrupting Thrawn’s absurdly accurate conclusions. Thrawn’s lips quirked upwards into a tiny, helpless smile.

“Was my speculation correct?” The Chiss couldn't help but ask.

“Hell," Vanto was still laughing. "You don't miss a trick, Mitth’raw’nuruodo. I missed that.” Before Thrawn could think on those words or their meaning, Eli clapped his arm. “C’mon,” He drawled, “I don’t want to listen to Ronan bitch because we’re late.”

The cafe was upscale and incredibly dim by human standards, playing up the Chiss side of superior sight. The mugs, Eli had been told, were a kind that lit up beautifully in the infrared, despite being made of some flimsi-like material so patrons could take their drinks to go. Considering the cautious look Thrawn gave a table’s beverages, that seemed to be about right.

Ronan, as expected, proceeded to scoff at the sight of Thrawn. “I’d heard you weren’t dead,” He said drolly in accented Cheunh as he stood to greet them. He shook Thrawn’s hand delicately when the Chiss said his name in greeting. Then, “Hello, Traitor.”

Rolling his eyes, Eli shook his fellow ex-Imperial’s hand in greeting. “Glad to see you haven’t lost your charm,” He said in Basic. “I think we can save your horrific attempt at that posh accent. I’d like to get through this without you needin’ to repeat yourself all the time.”

“I’ll have you know my accent is that of House Chaf. The population on Sarvchi speaks many different dialects of standard Cheunh. It isn’t my fault your military education didn’t properly culture you,” Ronan said primly, adjusting his yellow cape. Thrawn looked to Eli instead of speaking, and Ronan’s eyes lit up. “I thought he wasn’t on your good side?”

“Things change.” Eli said, foot nudging Thrawn’s before the Chiss realized the snarl threatening to break through his seemingly blank expression.

“Formbi won’t be thrilled,” Ronan snorted. “We do not want any part in your war.”

“Formbi is, as always, welcome to join us. I have yet to hear this sentiment to my face.”

“You know he has far more important things to do,” Ronan said with a self-important adjustment of his bright yellow cape. It drew Thrawn’s attention, and the syndic’s aide noticed that attention immediately. “It’s an upgrade from the drab one I wore during my time in the empire, don’t you think? Savit bit a hole through it during his little temper tantrum.”

Eli buried his face in his hands. Thrawn shrugged, not nearly as affected as Eli had thought. “It is… yellow,” The Chiss captain settled for commenting.

“That’s one word for it,” Eli muttered into his palm, then straightened and got down to business. “Did you get me the files I needed?”

“You could at least say please,” Ronan rebuked his lack of manners.

“I’ve got info, I don’t need to beg,” Vanto said, straightfaced.

“Of course,” Ronan said idly, producing a datacard. “The information you requested for your little project. There’s not much. The Empire was keen to make everyone forget what came before it.”

“Anything is something,” Eli commented mildly, pocketing the tiny chip within a hidden compartment in his tunic and producing another. He didn’t set it on the table between them, but held it between his fingertips, even when Ronan reached for it. He looked to Thrawn, calculatingly, then back to Ronan.

Ronan tapped the table twice, nonchalantly, then picked up his drink from the heavy coaster it rested on. It was a jamming device, the deep blue indicator blinking intermittently to show it was active. His gaze rose back to Eli as he set the drink back down.

Thrawn stroked his chin. “Were you followed?” He asked.

“There is a guard posted nearby. Two of them,” Ronan said. His expression gave away no indication of concern.

“Can you lose them?”

The pale human grinned. “With ease. Formbi is always disappointed when I don’t.”

Eli rolled his eyes, though he didn’t appear entirely irritated. Lower, he intoned, “I could give you this, or we could go to our ship and discuss things in detail.”

Eyes gleaming, Ronan asked, equally soft, “Is that where you’re hiding the Jedi? My sources say he doesn’t stray far from Thrawn.”

Thrawn eyed Ronan coolly, taking Eli’s earlier warning seriously. “Any actions you consider taking against my aide, I suggest you consider carefully.”

“Oh, please,” Ronan waved him off. “I wouldn’t.” He gestured to Eli. “This one’s just paranoid.”

“For good reason,” Eli said, stone-faced. His eyes remained hard, though his eyebrows rose. “What do you want to do?”

Smiling wanly, his aura shifting to become every bit the overworked Syndic’s assistant he was advertised to be, Ronan rose, ripping the datacard from Eli’s fingers with an over-dignified harrumph. Loudly, for effect, he said, “This conversation was incredibly pointless, per usual, with nothing of value for me.” Sliding his gaze between the two captains, ignoring Eli’s hiss of discomfort from the card scraping his fingernails. “You’re welcome for the information, Vanto.” He barely spared Thrawn a glance as he turned, drink and jammer in hand, letting his cape billow over his shoulder like an obnoxious victory flag.

Thrawn waited a few moments, watching as the yellow-clad human took his leave with all the air of pompous importance he remembered, then saw the two Chiss that were very clearly his escort follow at a calculated distance. They were subtle, Thrawn could give them that. “He will find our ship?”

Eli nodded. “Docking info is on the datacard he yanked out of my hand. He should be able to access a terminal somewhere to get what he needs after he dodges the two goons on his tail.”

“This was the plan all along,” Thrawn voiced, after a moment of comfortable silence.

“Why do you think I had Ezra stay with the ship?” Eli’s smile was knowing. He nudged Thrawn with an elbow. “At least this way it should give you enough time to check out the rest of the art on display in the mezzanine before we head back.”

Thrawn nodded, his eyes sharp and eager, though his mouth was held in that typical, serious line. “You should hope that Ezra won’t attack him,” He mused to his fellow captain.

This time, Eli’s grin was alight with amusement as he shrugged, “Well, we’ll find out how well he listened, now won’t we?”

Ronan was sitting at the small table in the shuttle’s living area when Eli and Thrawn made it back.

“I see you two took the scenic route,” He commented. He held up his wrists, which were in binders. Ezra leaned against the wall beside the hatch, at a good angle to see Ronan and also get the drop on any unwanted visitors. The room was entirely empty save for the table and chairs bolted to the floor of the cabin.

“Good work, Bridger. The binders were a nice touch,” Eli said, extending a hand for the tool that would unlock them.

“Thanks for the heads up, by the way,” Ezra commented dryly.

It was Thrawn who skirted around the rest of the humans and took a seat to Ronan’s left. “Plans change, Bridger. You must adapt.”

Ezra waved the multitool nonchalantly but gave it up to Vanto with a sigh. He gestured to Ronan. “He said this was always the plan.”

Rubbing his wrists as the thick cuffs were removed, Ronan motioned to his bag and Ezra retrieved it with an exasperated sigh. The jammer from before was produced, as well as a holorecorder. “You understand I will have to record this for Syndic Chaf’orm’bintrano.”

“Yeah, I know,” Eli said. He exchanged a glance with Thrawn, who did not look so at ease. “You really should have brought him. Recording is dicey, especially considering the subject matter.”

“I will not be galavanting off on a galactic tour. I am going directly to Formbi the second this meeting is adjourned. He is nearby.” Reorienting the conversation, Ronan said, “House Chaf wants nothing to do with militaristic enterprises. That I am even here is only because you promised me samples.”

“I did,” Eli said, pulling a small, well-concealed cylinder with a tiny vial from within his tunic. He laid it out on the table. “That’s enough to kill three Chiss,” He said. “If it’s used on one, cardiac arrest is more or less instant. If you spread it out, you’re just slow, but fatal torture.”

Ezra swore and turned away, disappearing into the cockpit. Ronan’s eyes tracked him Almost silently, he murmured, “And the antidote?”

Eli sighed. At this point, it was what it was. Ezra was bound to find out eventually. He spoke soft, but even, and didn’t plan to mince his words even when the Jedi returned. “That’s where house Chaf comes in. We cannot research it ourselves, and House Chaf has both the technology and the defenses to do it without our protection.”

“An interesting proposition.” He furrowed his brow. “Admiral Ar’alani would be willing to concede control like that?”

Thrawn looked between them briefly, then intervened. “It is a necessary concession,” He said. “There is a traitor within our midst.”

“Aboard your ship,” Ronan commented doubtfully. “Surely you can-”

“No,” Eli said. “Within the Aristocra.”

“Who?”

“We believe it is one of the ruling families,” Thrawn said. “We do not yet have-”

“It’s Inrokini,” Eli said.

“We suspect,” Thrawn interjected, looking at Vanto strangely. “We do not yet have-”

“Well,” The other captain leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Regardless, this is a Grysk poison that was not created by Chiss hands. The risks in accidental exposure are too great. We’re concerned about our science team even taking it out of vac-seal to put under a microscope.”

“Syndic Formbi will be pleased you at least consider our research teams above your own,” Ronan said smartly. He frowned, though. “Why do you suspect Inrokini?”

Thrawn said, “The most recent casualties were all supporters of House Inrokini.”

Eli looked at Ronan. “I think they’re going to frame House Chaf, use Formbi’s hate of Thrass as a motive. They’ve already tried to kill Thrawn once.”

Huffing, Ronan had to ask, “So how many bolts did you put into the idiot’s head, really?”

“Only one,” Eli commented. “I don’t miss.”

“Shame they denied the promotion.” He shrugged. “I figured it had to be worse, considering they had Kresh take your ship out from under you. That woman sure knows how to make a reward look like a punishment,” He said sharply.

“The promotion was a sham and you know it,” Vanto said, more to abate Thrawn’s curious look and Ezra’s head, peeking back into the unsealed doorway between cockpit and main cabin. “Back to the point: We need house Chaf’s help.”

Ronan nodded, his usual bluster melting away. “Look, I can take it to Formbi and plead your case. But it’s military. I don’t think he’ll go for it. He barely tolerates the CDF engaging the Grysks as it is.”

“The traitor situation may change his mind,” Thrawn said. “Whomever is getting this poison from the Grysks,” He indicated the innocent-seeming vial of fine, crystalline powder, “Is working with them directly. We believe it is a plot to subjugate one of the houses and take control of our people from the inside out.”

“You mean,” Ronan looked up in surprise. “That is - the Grysks are trying to make us a client species?” He looked between the two men. “Like those-” He shuddered, well aware of the Scratchlings. “Can they do that?”

Eli nodded. “Given enough time and the right access, I believe they can.” He shrugged. “Besides, it’s easier to get information and build power if two of the families are fighting to eliminate each other from power. If you were smart, you’d convince him to speak with Thrass and form an alliance.”

“You clearly do not understand the nuances of Chiss politics. That is impossible.”

“I think they could put aside their pride and turn their mutual disdain on a worthy target for a few cycles,” Thrawn interjected. “My brother is petty, that much is true, but he does not have a death wish.”

Ronan nodded, though he didn’t seem convinced, and contemplated. “Like I said, I’ll make your case. Suggest that he speak to Ar’alani, if not the two of you.” He indicated the vial. “Is there more? This is nowhere near enough for an in-depth study.”

“Yes,” Eli said. “I can have some folks run it to a place of your choosing if the syndic agrees.”

“Oh great,” Ronan said. “I do love receiving visits from Commodore Faro.”

“It’s Commander now,” Thrawn offered.

Ronan made a look that clearly said ‘of course it is.’ “How do you continuously convince these beings to give up everything and stay all the way out here?” He asked. “I didn’t think recruitment was part of your duties.” He wasn’t really expecting an answer.

He got one, anyway.

“Hey, he’s a likeable guy,” Ezra quipped from the doorway. “I mean, once you get over wanting to kill him a little.”

#thranto #eli vanto/thrawn #eli vanto #ezra bridger #mitth'raw'nuruodo #brierly ronan #my writing #sw fanfiction

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