#abstract olive tree paintings

[aibidil]

Ray Bradbury, “Dusk in the Robot Museums: The Rebirth of the Imagination,” 1980

For some ten years now, I have been writing a long narrative poem about a small boy in the near future who runs into an audio-animatronic museum, veers away from the right portico marked Rome, passes a door marked Alexandria, and enters across a sill where a sign lettered Greece points in across a meadow.

The boy runs over the artificial grass and comes upon Plato, Socrates and perhaps Euripides seated at high noon under an olive tree sipping wine and eating bread and honey and speaking truths.

The boy hesitates and then addresses Plato:

"How goes it with the Republic?"

"Sit down, boy," says Plato, "and I'll tell you."

The boy sits. Plato tells. Socrates steps in from time to time. Euripides does a scene from one of his plays.

Along the way, the boy might well ask a question which hovered in all of our minds the past few decades:

"How come the United States, the country of Ideas on the March, for so long neglected fantasy and science fiction? Why is it that only during the past thirty years attention is being paid?"

Another question from the boy might well be:

"Who is responsible for the change?

"Who has taught the teachers and the librarians to pull up their socks, sit straight, and take notice?

"Simultaneously, which group in our country has backed off from abstraction and moved art back in the direction of pure illustration?"

Since I am neither dead nor a robot, and Plato-as-audioanimatronic lecturer might not be programmed to respond, let me answer as best I can.

The answer is: the students. The young people. The children.

They have led the revolution in reading and painting.

For the first time in the history of art and teaching, the children have become the teachers. Before our time, knowledge came down from the top of the pyramid to the broad base where the students survived as best they could. The gods spoke and the children listened.

But, lo! gravity reverses itself. The massive pyramid turns like a melting iceberg, until the boys and girls are on top. The base of the pyramid now teaches.

How did it happen? After all, back in the twenties and thirties, there were no science-fiction books in the curricula of schools anywhere. There were few in the libraries. Only once or twice a year did a responsible publisher dare to publish one or two books which could be designated as speculative fiction.

If you went into the average library as you motored across America in 1932, 1945, or 1953 you would have found:

No Edgar Rice Burroughs.

No L. Frank Baum and no Oz.

In 1958 or 1962 you would have found no Asimov, no Heinlein, no Van Vogt, and, er, no Bradbury.

Here and there, perhaps one book or two by the above. For the rest: a desert.

What were the reasons for this?

Among librarians and teachers there was then, and there still somewhat dimly persists, an idea, a notion, a concept that only Fact should be eaten with your Wheaties. Fantasy? That's for the Fire Birds. Fantasy, even when it takes science-fictional forms, which it often does, is dangerous. It is escapist. It is daydreaming. It has nothing to do with the world and the world's problems.

So said the snobs who did not know themselves as snobs.

So the shelves lay empty, the books untouched in publishers' bins, the subject untaught.

Comes the Evolution. The survival of that species called Child. The children, dying of starvation, hungry for ideas which lay all about in this fabulous land, locked into machines and architecture, struck out on their own. What did they do?

They walked into classrooms in Waukesha and Peoria and Neepawa and Cheyenne and Moose Jaw and Redwood City and placed a gentle bomb on teacher's desk. Instead of an apple it was Asimov.

"What's that?" the teacher asked, suspiciously.

"Try it. It's good for you," said the students.

"No thanks."

"Try it," said the students. "Read the first page. If you don't like it, stop." And the clever students turned and went away.

The teachers (and the librarians, later) put off reading, kept the book around the house for a few weeks and then, late one night, tried the first paragraph.

And the bomb exploded.

They not only read the first but the second paragraph, the second and third pages, the fourth and fifth chapters.

"My God!" they cried, almost in unison, "these damned books are about something!"

"Good Lord!" they cried, reading a second book, "there are Ideas here!"

"Holy Smoke!" they babbled, on their way through Clarke, heading into Heinlein, emerging from Sturgeon, "these books are-ugly word-relevant!"

"Yes!" shouted the chorus of kids starving in the yard. "Oh, my, yes!"

And the teachers began to teach, and discovered an amazing thing: Students who had never wanted to read before suddenly were galvanized, pulled up their socks, and began to read and quote Ursula Le Guin. Kids who had never read so much as one pirate's obituary in their lives were suddenly turning pages with their tongues, ravening for more.

Librarians were stunned to find that science-fiction books were not only being borrowed in the tens of thousands, but stolen and never returned!

"Where have we been?" the librarians and the teachers asked each other, as the Prince kissed them awake. "What's in these books that makes them as irresistible as Cracker Jack?"

The History of Ideas.

The children wouldn't have said it in so many words. They only sensed it and read it and loved it. The kids sensed, if they could not speak it, that the first science-fiction writers were cavemen who were trying to figure out the first sciences-which were what? How to capture fire. What to do about that lout of a mammoth hanging around outside the cave. How to play dentist to the sabre-tooth tiger and turn him into a house-cat.

Pondering those problems and possible sciences, the first cavemen and women drew science-fiction dreams on the cave walls. Scribbles in soot blueprinting possible strategies. Illustrations of mammoths, tigers, fires: how to solve? How to turn sciencefiction (problem solving) into science-fact (problem solved).

Some few brave ones ran out of the cave to be stomped by the mammoth, toothed by the tiger, scorched by the bestial fire that lived on trees and devoured wood. Some few finally returned to draw on the walls the triumph of the mammoth knocked like a hairy cathedral to earth, the tiger toothless, and the fire tamed and brought within the cave to light their nightmares and warm their souls.

The children sensed, if they could not speak, that the entire history of mankind is problem solving, or science fiction swallowing ideas, digesting them, and excreting formulas for survival. You can't have one without the other. No fantasy, no reality. No studies concerning loss, no gain. No imagination, no will. No impossible dreams: No possible solutions.

The children sensed, if they could not say, that fantasy, and its robot child science fiction, is not escape at all. But a circling round of reality to enchant it and make it behave. What is an airplane, after all, but a circling of reality, an approach to gravity which says: Look, with my magic machine, I defy you. Gravity be gone. Distance, stand aside. Time, stand still, or reverse, as I finally outrace the sun around the world in, by God! look! plane/jet/rocket—80 minutes!

The children guessed, if they did not whisper it, that all science fiction is an attempt to solve problems by pretending to look the other way.

In another place I have described this literary process as Perseus confronted by Medusa. Gazing at Medusa's image in his bronze shield, pretending to look one way, Perseus reaches back over his shoulder and severs Medusa's head. So science fiction pretends at futures in order to cure sick dogs lying in today's road. Indirection is everything. Metaphor is the medicine.

Children love cataphracts, though do not name them thusly. A cataphract is only a special Persian on a specially bred horse, the combination of which threw back the Roman legions some long while ago. Problem solving. Problem: massive Roman armies on foot. Science fiction dreams: cataphract/man-on-horseback. Romans dispersed. Problem solved. Science fiction becomes scientific fact.

Problem: botulism. Science fiction dreams: to someday produce a container which would preserve food, prevent death. Science-fictional dreamers: Napoleon and his technicians. Dream become fact: the invention of the Tin Can. Outcome: millions alive today who would have otherwise writhed and died.

So, it seems, we are all science-fictional children dreaming ourselves into new ways of survival. We are the reliquaries of all time. Instead of putting saints' bones by in crystal and gold jars, to be touched by the faithful in the following centuries, we put by voices and faces, dreams and impossible dreams on tape, on records, in books, on tv, in films. Man the problem solver is that only because he is the Idea Keeper. Only by finding technological ways to save time, keep time, learn from time, and grow into solutions, have we survived into and through this age toward even better ones. Are we polluted? We can unpollute ourselves. Are we crowded? We can de-mob ourselves. Are we alone? Are we sick? The hospitals of the world are better places since TV came to visit, hold hands, take away half the curse of illness and isolation.

Do we want the stars? We can have them. Can we borrow cups of fire from the sun? We can and must and light the world.

Everywhere we look: problems. Everywhere we further deeply look: solutions. The children of men, the children of time, how can they not be fascinated with these challenges? Thus: science fiction and its recent history.

On top of which, as mentioned earlier on, the young people have tossed bombs into your nearest corner art gallery, your downtown art museum.

They have walked through the halls and dozed off at the modern scene as represented by sixty-odd years of abstraction super-abstracting itself until it vanished up its own backside. Empty canvases. Empty minds. No concepts. Sometimes no color. No ideas that would interest a performing flea at a dog circus.

"Enough!" cried the children. "Let there be fantasy. Let there be science-fiction light." Let illustration be reborn.

Let the Pre-Raphaelites re-clone themselves and proliferate!

And it was so.

And because the children of the Space Age, and the sons and daughters of Tolkien wanted their fictional dreams sketched and painted in illustrative terms, the ancient art of story-telling, as acted out by your caveman or your Fra Angelico or your Dante Gabriel Rossetti was reinvented as yet the second giant pyramid turned end for end, and education ran from the base into the apex, and the old order was reversed.

Hence your Double Revolution in reading, in teaching Literature and pictorial Art.

Hence, by osmosis, the Industrial Revolution and the Electronic and Space Ages have finally seeped into the blood, bone, marrow, heart, flesh and mind of the young, who as teachers teach us what we should have known all along.

That Truth again: the History of Ideas, which is all that science fiction ever has been. Ideas birthing themselves into fact, dying, only to reinvent new dreams and ideas to be reborn in yet more fascinating shapes and forms, some of them permanent, all of them promising Survival.

I hope we will not get too serious here, for seriousness is the Red Death if we let it move too freely amongst us. Its freedom is our prison and our defeat and death. A good idea should worry us like a dog. We should not, in turn, worry it into the grave, smother it with intellect, pontificate it into snoozing, kill it with the death of a thousand analytical slices.

Let us remain childlike and not childish in our 20-20 vision, borrowing such telescopes, rockets, or magic carpets as may be needed to hurry us along to miracles of physics as well as dream.

The Double Revolution continues. And there are more, invisible, revolutions to come. There will always be problems. Thank God for that. And solutions. Thank God for that. And tomorrow mornings in which to seek them. Praise Allah and fill the libraries and art galleries of the world with Martians, elves, goblins, astronauts, and librarians and teachers on Alpha Centauri who are busy telling the kids not to read science fiction or fantasy: "It'll turn your brains to mush!"

"Go, children. Run and read. Read and run. Show and tell. Spin another pyramid on its nose. Turn another world upsidedown. Knock the soot off my brain. Repaint the Sistine Chapel inside my skull. Laugh and think. Dream and learn and build."

"Run, boys! Run, girls! Run!"

And with such good advice, the kids will run.

And the Republic will be saved.

[grisonnante]

Of this world

29/12 

The Sahara blows overhead, and the dome is as beige as these dust coloured buildings with peeling paint. The jagged pavement is a pathway that leads to where the crust of the world meets the blanketing sky. Dust to dust. My eyes water, the horizon sizzles. I breathe from my nose. I hear birds and cars, but the sea is hidden from all the senses. Yet vastness catches me at every corner I turn. I am besieged by forces greater than I. I think it was all fate, nothing in my control; nothing brought me here, but myself, I know. A seagull yaps. In which language do I answer back? My tongue does not bend, I am lost for words. Still, I am of this world. A few coincidences have become facts of my life. These coordinates are etched in the palm of my hand. I find myself on this land where oranges, ripe and heavy, drop from the branch and become pulp on the asphalt. I, too, am baked by the panoptical sun that is veiled by gusts of sand. As omniscient and paternal as the Mediterranean is maternal. Once upon a time, Aphrodite was birthed in foam from its jagged rocks. Molluscous, I am a snail who has slithered into this vacant shell. I am home.

30/12

I am besieged by forces greater than I. I sprawl from the world of ideas —of which I am but a terrestrial incarnation as little and large abstractions combine— and the genetic materials of two persons. We tessellate out from the depths of human time. I stumble, as we all do, into a present configuration of existence and my memory is reawakened to the tangerine smell of my mother’s neck, the sting of a clandestine bee, the one of a kind taste of turmeric, the pang of denial’s heartache, the rescue of a cup of coffee, the silvery salute of olive trees, and a myriad of things, many still in the world of recollection, sleeping. Everyday surprises me as I witness my own emergence. I can see the nanogrowth of plants. I am a garden. I tend to it in many ways– my technologies of the self are abundant. Routines contour what would otherwise be life-force dispersed: a hurricane. Tamed, I am still a blowing force and the sails are set for the open sea. My past leaves residues like ground-coffee. From the patterns, I prophesize. I am an amateur fortuneteller and I am often caught in surprise. I had not anticipated, until I found myself here, to be on this island where Egyptian winds blow and waves that bounce off the shores of Lebanon flow. Pen in hand, I find myself wholly of this world on this rocky land on this second to last day of the old year.

[wallpaperpainter]

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[sorcerersofnyc]

The Last Thing Left (Zemo x F!Reader) 7/9

If it wasn’t so painfully ironic (and hilarious to watch,) Helmut would find the relationship between Sam and James a little sad.

Ghosts weren’t enough to hold two people together.

While they wait for Torres to locate Donya Madani, Zemo brings Sam and Bucky to the home he once shared with you.

You reunite and he reflects upon his relationship with you (his wife's friend and his friend's wife) and your journey from being people with mutual friends to partners.

Part Seven: Zemo keeps his promise

Angst, various mentions of death & mourning, Zemo's wife's name is Heike because of comics.  I use Serbian Cyrillic as a stand-in for Sokovian. The reader likes waffles (this is a non-negotiable fact).

Note: Main Character is neutral in most regards, but the story was written with my own cultural background in mind. (In other words, I won't say what she looks like but I envision her as being black.)

First Chapter | Previous

***

You looked beautiful that night, beautiful in a way he never quite noticed before.

As Helmut held your hand to guide you from the seat of the car, feelings of guilt, and fear, and hope, and longing all swirled around his abdomen. And when you smiled at him, your eyes deep and pooling with emotions he wasn’t really ready to confront yet, electricity sizzled in the air.

You stepped inside with a word.

“That was really fun,” you said, breaking the silence as you toed off your shoes. “We’ll have to go again next time.”

“I’d rather not return there,” He replied, pulling his dark coat from his shoulders. "I much prefer the classics.”

Helmut knew those were fighting words, words that would keep you in his company for just a moment longer.

“You need to be more open-minded,” You scolded him, a playful challenge in your voice. He accepted it with ease.

“I’m open to plenty of new possibilities, I assure you.”

“Are you?”

“Indeed.”

There was something more to your banter that evening, something that spoke of many new possibilities.

*

He received a message from Oeznik one day, a reminder to check on one of the other estates.

He didn't really want to go — he finally narrowed down the identity of the Winter Soldier's handler and it would only be a matter of time before he found his hiding place — but he needed to investigate some financial discrepancies and make an effort to preserve his family's legacy.

So he invited you to accompany him and together you traveled to Italy, to a massive building miles away from any city. The building itself was ugly, a horrific mix of Romanesque and Rococo architecture, but the surrounding land was a lovely stretch of woodland and soft plains.

“How many estates do you own, exactly?” You asked, gazing out the window of the car as it entered through the gates.

“Only a few,” he shrugged. “You know about the 1908 Revolution, don’t you? When Sokovia’s nobility was forced to give up their land claims? My family lost claim to our Barony but my third Great Grandfather invested assets outside of Sokovia as a safeguard to his wealth." It’s a story he was told many times. It was meant to be a point of pride for the Zemo family, but all he came to realize was how paranoia drove a wedge between his family and the nation they claimed to serve.

For generations, his family held influential government positions and made the rules for others to follow while placing their money, and their trust, elsewhere. "Though this particular estate was passed down through my Mother's side of the family. As you can see they had a...interesting sense of design, much like you."

When the car stopped in front of the estate, a lovely older woman with a long nose and round face escorted you to the Sun Room.

The large windows offered an impressive view of the gardens and expanse of the woods beyond them.

“Hey,” you turned, calling for his attention as he dipped his fingers in a basin of soapy water. “What’s that over there?” Beyond the trees were tall lights, LED panels stuck to the side.

“A racetrack,” he answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh. Doesn’t it get loud?”

“No, why would it?”

“Because of all the people? And the cars?"

“No, no, you misunderstand, my friend. The track is mine.”

"Huh?" You snapped your head back at him.

“I like cars,” Helmut shrugged, “remind me again to show you the collection in Berlin.”

“The collection in Berlin?” You raised both your brows. It wasn’t your first time hearing about it, but you must have forgotten. “Is there anything you don’t have?”

“Beach-side property?” He suggested, a sly smile on his face.

“Oh, no! Whatever will you do without one, Baron?” You rolled your eyes exaggeratedly.

“I suppose I’ll have to buy one quickly. Where would you like to visit next?”

A maid wheeled in a cart before you had the chance to reply. She nodded toward him politely but looked at you as though she were confused. She had the skittish look of someone who had something to say, but remained silent as she began to set the table.

"Leave it," Helmut told her with a raised hand. She paused again.

“Baron?”

“Leave it,” He repeated, much lower this time. The maid lowered her head before retreating, leaving the room with a puzzled look on her face.

You shot him a concerned glance.

“You ok?”

“Of course,” he told you, “have a seat.” He

set the table instead.

Helmut wasn’t particularly angry. Rather, he felt annoyed. He didn’t appreciate the look the maid gave you, as if you didn’t belong there.

He could certainly understand the confusion.

News of Heike and Carl’s demise spread throughout his network of employees, even the ones he himself never checked in on (he counted on Oeznik to do that for him.) So when he arrived with you as his company, they must have assumed he already moved on.

You took a seat at his request and allowed him to pile food upon your plate.

“If you’d like to go for a ride,” He began, returning to your prior conversation, “I can have someone prepare the track for us. I have a collection here as well, though it isn't large.”

"I thought you said you had to work." You met his gaze.

"I can spare time." He said, because at that moment, as the sun poured into the windows and framed your face like a halo, he’d do anything for you.

*

The delectable smell of sun-dried tomatoes, garlic, olives, and warm buttered bread wafted through the air as Helmut told of the time he spent here as a child. He had many stories of running through the gilded halls, playing with decorative swords, and badgering Oeznik with questions about his supposed history as a soldier and spy.

You spent a long time talking. He eyed the bottles that lined the shelf on the wall but ignored them for the sake of keeping sharp senses.

And when your lunch settled, he escorted you outside.

A car needed to be called to reach the garage through the thick patch of trees that surrounded it.

The garage was another monstrosity, a wide cement structure that resembled a bunker, but it served its purpose well. It was warm, and the fluorescent lights gleamed off the paint of his sports cars, vintage and modern alike.

Someone, his mother, he believes, had a viewing lounge built behind a thick glass wall. Sheets covered the couches and chairs, but he knew it to be a comfortable place.

“Take your pick,” he offered you, gesturing to the cars all parked in a line.

After a few moments of wide-eyed gaping, you settled on a Bugatti in electric blue. Helmut approved of your good taste.

Like a gentleman, he opened the passenger door for you. He grabbed a pair of gloves from the glove compartment as you marveled at the soft leather and strapped yourself inside.

He smiled and, unlike a gentleman, lied when he told you, ‘I won't go too fast.’

He sped up quickly.

"Slow down!" You demanded, bracing yourself as he neared the car's top speed.

“Don’t worry,” he assured you, arrogance heavy in his voice, “I’m an excellent driver.”

The track wasn't perfectly symmetrical, in fact, it was quite abstract with its curved roads and the long lanes flanked by trees.

You eased up little by little and by the time of your third go around the racetrack, your eyes were wide with unfettered joy.

“See? What did I say?” He offered you a smug smile when he turned into the garage once again. You might have laughed at the look of disappointment on your face when he didn’t go around a fourth time. "Would you like to go around again?" He adjusted the fit of his gloves nonchalantly.

"Yeah, let’s do it again!" You nodded.

"The same car or a different one?"

"Do you have one that's faster?"

"Do you truly have to ask, Драга? Of course I have one faster."

Your excitement was infectious. He nearly forgot what it was like to truly let go and lose himself in the fun of the day. Instead of working or plotting or even thinking of those things, he showed off each of his favorite cars—the red Porsche, the orange McLaren, the silver Lamborghini—and took you for a ride in each of them.

And then, you asked about his darling—perhaps not his; it was produced and acquired nearly a decade before his birth, but he adored it all the same— the silvery-blue Jaguar E-Type Roadster.

There was no particular reason why he adored it, (‘aside from the fact that it was beautiful, he thought. Like any man of his means and interest, Helmut admired beautiful things.

He watched you admire the sleek, rounded design.

“What about this one?” He imagined, for a moment, sitting with you inside the convertible, your legs stretched before you, your hair pushed back by the wind, your form, and your laughter the only thing in focus as the world blurred by.

“This one isn’t for driving.” He decided quickly, because the road might not have held his focus and driving wouldn’t have been what he wanted to do. “And the clouds are coming through.”

It was meant to rain that evening and, true to his words, clouds gathered and grayed the sky.

When it got dark, he turned on the bright lights that framed the road and took you out one last time.

"I'd let you drive one if you wanted," he told you, before adding, "on the straight road," rather quickly.

"We can do it again tomorrow? You won't be too busy?"

Your smile was free of worry, free of doubt or hesitation; it was beautiful. He's glad he didn't take you out in the Jaguar.

"We can do whatever you want, Драга."

"I just want to spend more time with you, it doesn't matter what we're doing."

*

After dinner, Helmut escorted you to your bedroom.

You bid him goodnight and disappeared behind the ornate door.

Helmut retired to the library, not quite ready for bed. It was a large room with tall shelves stuffed with books of many shapes and sizes. He spent nearly an hour perusing the shelves until stumbling across a worn copy of Il Principe, The Prince. He was well familiar with the text. He was tempted to pick it up, to slide into a chair near the window, and read to the soothing sound of rain outside the window. He flipped through the pages with idle interest and wondered what you thought of Machiavelli. ‘You certainly wouldn’t agree with his philosophies,’ he thought. He considered bringing you the book, anyway.

But then he sighed. He spent the entire day ignoring his responsibilities in favor of spending time with you.

But just as he moved to slide the book into place, he heard soft footsteps moving toward him. The person approaching was used to going unnoticed.

“Oeznik,” Helmut greeted when the man reached the edge of his periphery

“Good evening, Sir.” Oeznik greeted, bowing his head respectfully. “Did you enjoy your day out on the tracks?”

“I did,” Helmut answered truthfully, the book still in hand. “Were you able to speak with the staff today?”

“Yes, I believe I’ve found the source of the discrepancy.”

“Thank you, Old Friend. I’ll take care of the rest.” He slid the book back in place and planned to leave, but Oeznik watched him carefully as if he was considering something.

“Was there anything else?”

“Forgive me Sir; I was just thinking. The rain will clear soon, so you should enjoy the new day.”

Helmut raised a brow. Helmut’s known Oeznik for far too long to think that his seemingly innocuous comment had anything to do with the weather.

“You think I should spend another day without working?” Spend another day with you.

“Time off is good for your health, Sir. I’ll handle what needs to be done.” Oeznik stood with his back straight, his eyes focused and clear. He trusted Oeznik with many things, but he wouldn’t leave his mission to anyone else.

“Regarding the staff?” Helmut asked, leading him toward the conversation he wanted to have. But Oeznik was old and stubborn. He’s known Helmut since he was a child and knew each of his games.

“Whatever else needs to be done.” Was his stern reply.

“I appreciate your offer but I’m fine.” Oeznik didn’t answer, he simply hummed. And that hum, that simple sound of dismissal, annoyed him. “You think I’m not?”

“You are. And it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you this way, sir.” It was Helmut’s turn to hum now, to demise what he knew Oeznik wanted to say.

It’s been a long time since he’s seen him happy.

“Perhaps you should take a stroll out in the garden,” He says suddenly, turning to leave as he does. “It’s still nice for this time of year. Goodnight, Sir.”

“Goodnight.” Oeznik exits the library and disappears from view. Helmut presses his lips into a thin line and returns to his room and go to sleep—but not before taking Machiavelli down from the shelf and calling for a glass of whiskey.

*

“Would you like a tour of the estate?” Helmut offered after breakfast—he needed to inspect everything anyway. You agreed.

So he offered you his arm and took you through the gilded halls, recounting the building's long but turbulent history.

"I'm surprised you don't have a horse or something," you joked, looking over the southern balcony and into the grounds below.

"Would you like a horse?"

"Find me a unicorn and I’ll buy it myself.”

After the tour, you put on your jackets, and Helmut took you through the garden path. The warm weather plants weren't thriving, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

"This is nice," you sighed as you sat together on a bench. "I'm glad you invited me here, it's like a vacation."

"As am I," he answered, and the truth in his words surprised him.

Helmut was happy you were there, sitting beside him on a bench on a wild winter day in Italy. It was simple, but Helmut something inside him stirred and his heart swelled with affection for you.

You stayed like that for a while, relaxing beneath the shelter of winter flowers.

But then a chilly wind blew., you pressed a little closer, and he turned your way.

Your eyes met briefly.

“Are you cold?” He covered your hand with his own, warming them between the soft leather of his gloves. You met his gaze again and then your eyes fell lower, over his nose, his mouth, his neck, down his chest, and to the place where his hand held yours.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

You released a shuddering sigh and then, with newfound confidence, gazed into his eyes again.

"Helmut," you said, voice just above a whisper.

"Hm?"

“Is this ok?” It was an open-ended question, one that could have meant anything and everything all at once. But somehow he knew exactly what you wanted to say.

“Maybe,” was his honest reply.

And then, as if pulled by some magnetic force, you both leaned forward as if the answer could be found in the space between your lips.

Neither of you made it very far before and he pulled away, turning his gaze toward the garden path.

You both looked away, the silence that settled between you louder than any words either of you could say.

"I just wanted to thank you…” You said softly. “I know you were supposed to be working today. It must be hard to have so much to manage. With...Dominik,” You said his name with some measure of difficulty, “There’s just money in the bank he left, a few stocks that manage themselves but you...it must be hard to be a Baron." You rambled nervously.

"... I'm glad to spend this time with you." He confessed.

There was little else he'd rather do.

*

Neither of you acknowledged what happened—or rather what failed to happen—and how it left you wanting, aching for something that couldn’t be said.

So instead you smiled politely, exchanged the usual pleasantries, and went about the rest of the day.

You were right; he had work to take care of. There were contracts to renew, work orders to approve, and papers to file.

So while you got cozy with a lovely charcuterie, he acquired an entire bottle of whiskey and set to work.

*

That night he thought about what happened in the garden, what might have happened had he not pulled away.

He let himself imagine the sweet press of your lips against his own, the hesitant glance you might have shared before taking the plunge and moving into deeper kisses and maybe something more.

The very thought made him yearn for you—and he certainly wouldn’t find an answer to that in a decanter.

Helmut sat up in his bed and glanced at the wall. You were there, just on the other side, and he wondered if you felt the same, if you felt the same need for him as he felt for you. But before he had the chance to rise, to knock upon your door and take you in his arms, he received a message on his phone.

Oeznik, true to his word, had done some work. He uncovered a piece of important information, something about the UN meeting setting a date for late March.

There was to be a vote on legislation meant to limit the power of the Avengers.

He was out of time, he realized, dread bubbling up to the pit of his stomach.

He had to leave.

*

You ate breakfast together the next morning and once again went your separate ways.

“Come find me when you’re done working, ok?” You said, looking as though you had something important to say. He ignored your expression and nodded, taking the last bite of food on his plate.

Helmut took his time to survey each of the rooms, talk to the staff, and confirm that everything was in its proper place.

Next came the troublesome part, the part where he needed to plan for you. He needed to make arrangements to ensure your wellbeing and prepare you for a future he couldn’t be a part of, no matter how much he longed to be.

The work was tedious, and though he cursed himself for failing to have done so months prior, Helmut persisted. He spent the entire day tucked away in his office, talking to various lawyers and financial advisors.

Unfortunately, their ‘advice’ was all but useless.

He poured a drink.

Within a few hours, Helmut learned it wouldn't be wise to give you his entire estate under the contingency of his death, imprisonment, or other incapacitation. There was very little that obligated you to uphold the ‘Zemo Legacy.’ Though Helmut knew they only cared about lining their own pockets.

At first, he didn’t care. But then he realized how the act of giving you his fortune would place you under public scrutiny.

The last thing he wanted was to cause you trouble, for rumors about mistresses or infidelity to fly. Marriage was completely out of the question, but a partnership... a partnership would work.

He had the paperwork faxed to him right away and had someone draw up an addition, something stating that you, by right, would inherit his assets and estate. Later he'd assemble a team of trustworthy people to assist you and ask Oeznik to guide you through everything.

He paid a fortune in expedition fees, but it was worth it in the end.

The only thing you had to do was sign.

*

By the time he found you, it was dusk. You were in one of the sitting rooms, a mug in hand as you caught up on some American show he never quite saw the appeal of. The main character was charming and savvy but the romantic subplots were repetitive and tiring.

“I’ve concluded all my business here,” Helmut told you, lingering near the door. “We can return home as soon as you like... unless you’d prefer to stay.” Helmut didn’t mind the idea of leaving you in there, in that estate.

It was large, remote, and fully staffed. You'd want for nothing living there.

“It’s been fun, but I should get back to my work soon.” You gave him a noncommittal shrug, placing down your mug down on a coster.

“I can have your supplies sent here,” He offered.

“Vacations have to end sometimes, Helmut,” you teased. “At least they do for us normal people, maybe not so much for Barons.”

He pressed his lips together in a tight smile.

“It doesn’t have to,” he insisted.

“Do you want to move?” You paused the show you were watching and sent him a wary gaze.

“Would you?”

“Well... I never thought about it. I mean...it’s been fun but I don’t think I’d want to live here. We’re miles away from... everything.” You gestured toward the window, out to vast stretches of land that seemed to go on forever. “It’s been nice to have people wait on me hand and foot but if we moved, I’d miss my friends—And I’d rather live somewhere less... remote.” You decided.

We.

Your choice of words wasn’t lost on him—your plan for the future included him. You expected him to be in your life. ‘As a friend?’ He wondered, ‘Or something different?’ Helmut opened his mouth to speak but shut it again just as quickly. He couldn’t bring himself to ask.

“I see then. I'll return you home whenever you’re ready.”

“Return me home? Is there something going on?” You ask, shifting out of the blanket you were wrapped in. You looked confused, afraid of what he might say and what it would mean for the future you hoped to have together.

“Something came up, Драга, I’ll be leaving again.” He confessed, falling back to half-truths.

“Oh.” Though your voice was a soft whisper, your disappointment hardened that simple phrase, turned it into something piercing.

“I hoped you’d consider staying here while I was away,” He continued, “but if not I’ll hire a housekeeper, someone to keep you company—”

“Where are you going?” You pressed.

“To take care of business.” Had he met your gaze then, Helmut might have broken completely.

“When will you be back?” You pressed again, a deep scowl coming across your face.

“I don’t know.” He replied softly, and silence enveloped the room.“I thought we moved past this, Helmut. Why are you keeping secrets from me?” He didn’t have an answer.

“I have no intention of receding my promise to you. You’ll be taken care of-”

“Are you coming back?” You cut him off.

Helmut could feel your gaze burning through him. And when enough time passed, he turned to face you with a heavy heart.

“I don’t know,” he finally replied. He hated himself at that moment, more than he had in a long time. Because you didn’t look angry, you didn’t even look sad, you looked as though you’d just been betrayed.

“I’m sorry,” he offered, but you weren’t interested in apologies.

The breath you released was ragged as you struggled to hold back your confusion and outrage.

“Is...is this about what happened in the garden?”

“No,” He said quickly, closing the distance between you. Helmut stood an arm's length from the couch, hoping you would understand. But you turned your gaze away.

Kneeling, Helmut cupped your face between your hands, forcing you to turn his way once again. “This isn’t about you. This is about my work. I have enemies-”

“Helmut,” you cut him off, placing your hand upon his chest, your tone softer now, pleading. “Please don’t run off again. Please don’t leave me. I'm sorry about what happened, I’m sorry I tried to kiss you-”

"Don't apologize." You offered him far more than he deserved: happiness, stability, love—a good life. But as he stared at you, gazed up into your beautiful eyes, he knew that a happy future would never come to be.

Because if he kissed you, he would never want to stop. He would stay, and he would be happy by your side. But happiness in a world without Carl, without Heike, without his Father or his friend...it was far too much to bear. He wasn’t strong enough to bear it. He would always be a broken man. And you deserved something better, something more than the shattered heart he could provide.

“I hope one day you can forgive me.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But I must fulfill my promise.”

And he left.

He didn’t answer your calls or your texts—he didn’t even open them. There was no need. When he used his phone, it was to listen to his voicemail, to hear Heike's voice.

Because what he needed was conviction, an anchor to his grief. He needed to remember what he lost, not what he chose to leave behind.

***

Helmut rises from bed and prepares for the day ahead; He cleans, shaves, and dresses before heading to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee.

There’s a subtle connection between love and cooking, one that Helmut feels as he sets about quartering one cup of strawberries and combining them with sugar and water over heat. After all, he wouldn’t make syrup for just anybody (Sam and James will have to accept whatever bottled variety of syrup you kept in the pantry.)

He then rolls up the sleeves and sets to work, mixing flour, eggs, milk, and sugar into the base of a waffle batter and pours it into the heated cask of your beloved waffle iron.

He pours a cup of coffee into a mug and takes a drink.

As the delicate aromas fill the air, he hears a quiet conversation between Sam and James grow louder as the two approach the kitchen.

“Gentleman,” Helmut greets, not bothering to turn around and meet their collective gaze. He opens the waffle iron and shuts it once more because they weren’t finished yet. He decided to give the test batch to James.

“Zemo,” Sam says first, “They found Madani—dead. She died in Riga, a city near the Baltic Sea. We have to get moving.”

Helmut quieted for just a moment. He underestimated the severity of Madani's condition, overestimated the time he had to share with you.

“I see,” he speaks, finally turning toward the two.

Sam appears to be well-rested, but James... James looks about the same as always, tired and tense. “Riga, you say? I have a place we can go.”

“Any more surprises we should know about?” Sam asks, nodding his head toward the stairs, to the room where you still slept.

“Nothing of the sort. I’ll have the plane prepared and we can be off by noon.”

Helmut wanted to spend more time with you, but it seems he was out of time once again.

[ashenlights]

From planning to posting, share your process for making creative content (part 2!)

RULES: When your work is tagged, show the process of its creation from planning to posting, then tag 5 people with a specific link to one of their creative works you’d like to see the process of. Use the tag #showyourprocess so we can find yours!

Thanks for tagging me @vishcount! :D Here’s the process of my Liu Sang art which I drew for your birthday (and which is technically named “Waterfalls of the Sun” in my files ^^) This drawing wasn’t as neat as the process of my LWJ art that I showed in the last post -  I didn’t have a super clear idea of where I wanted to go with it at first, so it really evolved a lot as I drew!

1. Planning

Step 1 of planning was to brainstorm and try to find a quote/lyric that captured his whole character in a nutshell. I had 2 other ideas at first - one was to take inspiration from his character song The Man in the Rain (雨人) (with the lines “Maybe if I listen to the sound of rain, I will then be able to face the inevitable separation”) and draw him in the rain with an umbrella. The second idea was to take that quote from Liu Sang to Wu Xie: “One good ear is enough for me in everyday life. Consider the damaged one as my present to you”. But in the end, I couldn’t find a solid translation of his song and I found both of these ideas a little too depressing/tragic to draw and wanted something a little more positive for your birthday present ^^; So I went with the excerpt from Dogfish by Mary Oliver which you used in your edit x instead! (”You don’t want to hear the story of my life, and anyway I don’t want to tell it, I want to listen to the enormous waterfalls of the sun”). I have to mention here that your edit was a huge inspiration for this art and I purposely referenced its aesthetic a lot, as you’ll see later on in my process! (You can see it in the colours, the forest/water aesthetic and the flowers).

2. Sketch/ Basic colour plan

A messy sketch as usual! The plan was to have him use his hearing abilities - him drawing out the map of some tomb while listening and working out its structure. I knew I wanted the sun/circle as the major focal point of the composition. It’s probably impossible to tell from my scribbles, but originally I was thinking of going a bit more abstract with the background. Along the edges (in dark teal), I was going to draw those bronze pieces from that giant bell structure in s2 and have those illuminated by the golden light of the sun. But it ended up looking too busy and geometric, so I scrapped that idea.

3. Some painting and thinking about the background

Here, I slowly started to paint and shade things. Not sure if you can tell from the scribbles, but I was thinking about having a more organic nature-y background- those scribbles are flowers and trees XD This is also where Mary Oliver’s quote came in and helped a lot! As you can see on the left, I was going to have more abstract tear drop shapes as the “waterfalls of the sun” and then some reflections of the golden sun on the lake waters. But the composition really didn’t work and got too busy, so then I thought - wouldn’t it be cool if the sun was dripping like an actual waterfall? Which is where the right picture came in! This is also when I did some flower research to try to figure out which flowers to draw. I wanted something that would fit into the colour scheme and also had suitable meanings for this present and for Liu Sang - I ended up going with hydrangea for gratitude and daisies for innocence. I was also going to have a border at first! I wanted it to be like the maps Liu Sang drew in his notebook, but that also ended up looking too geometric/busy so I took that out.

4. More painting! And considering borders again

Mostly more painting and detailing of the face and the flowers here! And I was considering no border vs border and going slightly crazy trying to decide XD

5. Final painting steps and overlays

I ended up going halfway - I got rid of the fancy border and stuck with a plain rectangular one. And I placed the daisies into the scene, floating on the water! I also finally figured out the dripping sun! I had so much trouble with it in step 4 (where it looked really thick and plasticy?) But here, I discovered the perfect solution - I erased bits of the “drips” with my brush, and then blended them into the empty layer, which produced a really nice wispy fade effect ^^ And the final step was adding a few overlays - some highlights to make the sun and its waterfalls really glow, and some extra shadows here and there to clean things up. And that’s it!

6. Posting

This time I didn’t end up posting it right away because I had to wait until it was your birthday in your timezone haha. But I didn’t have to wait long - I actually only ended up finishing it the day before ^^

Bonus speedpaint!

And a speedpaint because my iPad actually recorded some of the process! I wasn’t expecting to share any of it when I was drawing, so it’s not the best and not totally representative of my whole drawing process  ^^;  Some parts are cut out because I turned off recording to check references and forgot to turn the recording back on again haha. But maybe you’ll find it interesting to see anyway? At least you can see my million other border ideas that I briefly considered but scrapped XD

[danielbranney1]

Fauvism/Cubism/Futurism/Vorticism

The first modern artists were Eduard Manet, Pablo Picasso, and Kandinsky. The first is debated among historians.

The Fauvist painters were the first to break Impressionism as well as traditional older methods of perception. Features of Fauvism included using paint straight from tube, and unnaturalistic and intense colours. Paintings were primarily landscapes. Key artists of fauvism include Henri Matisse, Andre Derain, Maurice De Vlaminck, Georges Rouault, and Raoul Dufy.

Fauvism was a short lived era, a transitional period in a lot of artist's careers. Many went on to favour cubism (except Matisse, he continued pioneering and developing fauvism)

Matisse- one of the main pioneers of Fauvism. His painting Open Window Collioure was the first real fauvist style painting. It featured unnatural colours, very vibrant and mostly complimentary. There are rectangular shapes, the walls on either side frame the view from the open window. He also makes no attempt to create an illusion of depth. Promenade among olive trees (another painting of Matisses) features broken colour, colour confidence, and blocks of colour. There’s a sense of pattern, as well as the canvas seeping through.

Andre Derain- worked closely with Matisse, short broken brushstrokes directly link with some of the post-impressionists artists. Very controlled.

Cubism rejected the idea that paintings should depict a single viewpoint. Form and space are broken down into geometric shapes. The subject matter includes still life, human figure, and interior spaces. It rejected the idea that art should come from nature and traditional perspective techniques. Key artists of cubism were Picasso and Braque.

There were two phases: analytical cubism (1907-12) and synthetic cubism (1913-21). Analytical cubism was fragmented, had multiple viewpoints, geometric forms, and a restricted palette. Synthetic cubism was more vibrant and colourful. Collage was introduced; fragments of newspaper, monoprint, tiles, texture, stencilling, more interesting shapes, interlocking of geometric shapes.

Futurism embraced the machine age and all things modern. It rejected the past and embraced the future. An important aspect of Futurism was the need to show movement in paintings creating abstract and rhythmic qualities. Futuristic art brings to mind the city, noise, heat and movement. It uses urban subject matter. It rejects cubism as it was perceived to be too intellectual and static. They were interested in creating new art which created shock value. It influenced art movements such as art deco surrealism, dada, vorticism and more.

Vorticism was all about the transformation of the world by the increasing use of technology and machinery. Verging on pure abstraction, architectural shapes coming through. Kind of anti-human in terms of style, still see a representation of context like boats, shapes of buildings etc. After the war many returned to figurative painting.

Whyndham Lewis- work has a sense of pessimism inspired by war, shows a time period of destruction. All his figures are dehumanised, turned into little abstract shapes. Very prophetic and timeless.

Vorticism Homework

What is the relevance of Vorticism? Vorticism is relevant due to the industrial developments at the time coupled with the culture of violence. It provides important insight into the time period.

What major event took place while it was developing? WW1 was the major event of the time.

What makes Vorticism unique? Vorticism is unique as it’s a sort of blend between Futurism and Cubism. The style had harsh lines and featured industrial objects and a fascination with machinery. It also reflected the violence of the times and the devastation of the war.

[phoenixmakeswords]

Broken Wings And Dragon Dreams Ch. 1

Trigger Warnings: Domestic violence, child abuse mention

The shattering of glass stirs me from my sleep. The stench of smoke fills the air, saturating the warm afternoon air. So much for my nap. Panic fills my lungs. The hospital is on fire. I can’t stay here or I’ll die, even though my mom told me to stay inside here unless I was hunting.

I hear the flames crackling downstairs. I don’t know if I can use the back stairs on the west side of the old sanitarium. So, I crash through a window.

My good wing beats against the air for a heartbeat. My bad one tries to, instinctively, but it does no good. I crash painfully into the hard ground. The impact drives the breath from my lungs.

I clamber to my feet, breathing heavily. I have to get out of here. I don’t know where to go.

My feet pound the pavement as I run away.

“Let’s get us a dragon, boys!” a male voice shouts behind me. He has a strident voice that grates on my nerves.

I run harder. I’m far from quiet. I’m big and clunky. It makes me too easy to be found. I can’t take to the sky. Not since a storm knocked me from a tree and broke my wing.

I stick to the main road south out of Robinson. Maybe someone will see me and take mercy on me.

They’re getting closer, the revving of their truck’s engine sending spikes of an adrenaline through my veins.

There’s a small brick house up ahead with a light blue square body truck parked in the driveway. The driver is still in it. The truck itself looks familiar; it looks like the one my boyfriend had when we were in high school…before I turned into a dragon.

I skid to a stop a foot away from the truck. I don’t know how to get the driver’s attention other than screeching loudly.

The driver’s door opens slowly, followed by the driver slowly climbing out. I’d know this face anywhere. The boy I loved has turned into a man. He still looks very much the same. I’ve missed Aaron more than I thought possible.

“Easy, bud. Easy. You’re okay. Does your wing hurt? Is that the problem?” he murmurs soothingly in the baby talk voice people use for animals.

Rasping, I jerk my head towards my pursuers. They’re very nearly on us.

I flinch when a car door slams behind me. I haven’t been around people in the time I’ve been a dragon. This has me terrified. I don’t want to die.

“Can’t get away from me, can you?” Strident Voice taunts.

“I’m not dealing with you, Bryce. Get off my property or I call the cops.” Aaron’s low voice hasn’t changed since I heard it last. I could be wrong, but he sounds scared. I don’t know what Bryce has done to him but I think I like the man even less now.

“You know they won’t do anything. After all, who cares about a dead Mexican?”

I launch myself at Bryce with a screech.

How dare you threaten him! Who do you think you are? What’s wrong with you? My mind whirls with anger.

I don’t know what exactly I plan on doing to Bryce. I don’t want to kill him. I’m not a monster. I’m not a murderer. I don’t want him to hurt Aaron. That’s all I care about.

Bryce gets in his shiny red truck before I can catch him. I slide to a stop near his door and glare.

“Get your dragon or I shoot it,” Bryce threatens, pulling out a handgun.

“Bud, come on. Let him go,” Aaron says quietly.

I obey him easily. I’d do anything for him. Even now.

He has to bring me inside the house using the French back doors; my wings make me too wide to fit through the front door, especially with the awkward angle my broken wing hangs at.

Navigating his tiny kitchen isn’t easy, considering I’m roughly horse-sized. He tries to stay out of the way.

I make my way into the living room. So far I haven’t toppled any furniture.

“I’ll feed you in a minute, okay? You eat meat, right?” he says quietly, settling into a battered blue couch.

His living room is large enough I can comfortably lie down, so I do. It doesn’t hold any clues about him or what his life is currently like. The pale yellow walls are nearly empty of decoration, except for two abstract paintings that Aaron probably made. There’s a few books, movies, and video games on a shelf by the door. His home doesn’t seem warm.

I croak softly and move to rest my head on his knee. He rubs my forehead shakily.

“I just left Bryce last month. We’d been living together. And he—I didn’t fix his lunch. I forgot. I’m under a lot of stress at work sometimes. So I forgot. I didn’t mean to. I apologized. He knocked me down the stairs,” he whispers hoarsely. “That was after he beat me. Our neighbor saw; she called the cops. They didn’t do anything. Wouldn’t do anything.”

He’s a domestic violence survivor. It floors me. I don’t want to think about someone putting him through what my mom and I went through.

“I was afraid he would kill me. I deserved being hit. And screamed at. I should’ve been a better boyfriend. He was within his rights to hit me. He has a gun. He knows where I live now.” He makes a soft sound in the back of his throat.

I know what it looks like when he has an anxiety attack. I know how quiet he gets. The way he rubs at his wrists in tiny circles. The look in his eyes like he’s watching the world end. He has that look now.

It takes me back to the night he came out to me as ace. We’d been dating for a couple weeks when I saw him have one of his worst anxiety attacks.

“You’re okay. You’re safe,” I murmur gently, rubbing his back as he throws up. “I still love you. I still want you.”

I keep assuring him that he’s okay and cherished until he calms down. I’ve seen him have anxiety attacks before and helped him through them, but I’ve never seen him have one this bad. It takes forever for him to calm down.

“Did you mean that?” he asks quietly. “You still love me?”

“Yeah, I did. I’m not going anywhere.” I wipe his face tenderly.

“I thought it would be a dealbreaker.” He toys with the black ring on the middle finger of his right hand.

What kind of person would I be if I left him because he’s asexual? He mentioned he would like to try having sex at some point. Even if he hadn’t, even if that wasn’t on the table, I’m still head over heels, crazy stupid in love with him. Besides, I have a good imagination.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I repeat, resting my forehead against his.

I don’t know how to help now. I don’t have thumbs. I can’t rub his back.

I lick his face. It’s the best I can do.

He flinches and pushes me away. Cocking my head inquisitively, I chirp softly. I hadn’t meant to upset him. I wanted to help.

He looks bad, I realize, taking a step back.

If the circles under his brown eye are any indication, he hasn’t been sleeping. There’s a hollowness to his cheeks. His olive skin has taken on an ashy tint I don’t particularly care for. A fading bruise marks his right eye, and there’s another along his jaw. I don’t like this.

It feels like forever before he’s okay again. I preen my feathers while I wait.

“Thank you for being a good baby,” he tells me as he clambers off the couch.

I butt him in the back lightly before padding after him through the doorway to my right.

It’s his bedroom. His room looks even emptier of his personality than the living room. A battered leather jacket hangs on the wall. His bed is made neatly with a teal comforter. He never made his bed before; the one exception was if I was coming over because he didn’t want me to think he was a slob. It doesn’t look like he lives here.

“Dude. You are not following me to the bathroom,” he tells me.

I pause in the bedroom doorway. Fitting in his room will be tough anyway.

He’s texting someone when he comes back.

“Letting my friends know about Bryce,” he explains. “Can I get through please?”

I step back so he can move past me.

A heartbeat later, he stops in front of me. I nearly walk into his back.

“Why did I explain to you who I was texting and why? You’re a dragon. You’re not Bryce. It’s not like you’re gonna rip into me and accuse me of cheating. Or break my phone. Or my face. It’s not like I didn’t deserve it.” He opens the fridge and pulls out a soda.

I hate hearing him make excuses for Bryce. It reminds me of my mom defending my dad. Of how I defended him. Aaron was the one who made me doubt that. It isn’t right for that to have changed.

He hums softly as he cooks ramen noodles in the microwave. I don’t recognize the song, but that doesn’t mean anything. I haven’t been human for a long time. Not since that night.

The memories I had been suppressing since Aaron rescued me rush to the forefront of my mind and I can’t escape this time.

Aaron kisses me hungrily as he pushes me into the bed. My hands splay against the warm skin of his bare back. I have my sexy boyfriend on top of me and all is right in the world.

My bedroom door flies open with a bang, startling both of us. He wasn’t supposed to be home. That’s why I had Aaron over. Why we were making out in my bed. It was supposed to be safe. We were supposed to be safe.

“What’s this?” he demands, dragging Aaron off me.

“Please, it was my idea! Not his. I…seduced him,” Aaron replies, moving to get between us. He sounds frantic. Anxious. I feel the same way.

It hurts that he’s covering for me. That he’s putting himself in danger for me. I’m not worth that, no matter how much we love each other.

“Please don’t hurt him. It was my fault,” Aaron pleads.

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do to my son!” The sound of his fist connecting with Aaron’s nose is too loud in my small room.

“Go. I’ll be okay,” I murmur, squeezing Aaron’s hand gently. I’m lying. I know Aaron knows I’m lying. I don’t want to lie to him. I hate it. But I don’t want to see him hurt. I love him too much for that.

He gazes at me with teary, pain-filled brown eyes and my heart breaks.

“Aaron. Go.”

He leaves with a choked sob.

I’m gonna die. And I don’t want him to see that.

“You okay, buddy?” Aaron asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

I stare at him blankly.

“What do dragons even think about?” he muses quietly, scratching my forehead.

I can’t speak for actual dragons, but all I’m thinking about right now is how badly I want to be human again.

[newyorkarttours]

Etel Adnan at Galerie Lelong

Etel Adnan’s ‘Danse Nocturne’ is a standout in her current show of painting and tapestry at Chelsea’s Galerie Lelong, its bold lines and saturated color communicating a vibrant energy that reaches right across the gallery space. Abstracted landscapes, starting with an image of an olive tree at the gallery’s entrance, suggest a joyful experience of nature rendered in a rich material - wool tapestry. Adnan has explained that that an artist’s materials are like a co-author, conveying meaning in a unique way; here, tapestry mediates the work’s expressionistic immediacy and conveying a considered appreciation of natural beauty. (On view through Dec 19th. Masks and social distancing are required). Etel Adnan, Danse Nocturne, wool tapestry, 67.5 x 99.8 inches, 2019.

[blessedrestlessness]

In Young Monks, his most luminous painting, Vu Thai Binh gives us a movingly numinous tree. The leaves twinkle like confetti, or breeze-blown potpourri. Their radiant violets and lilacs, immodest in their sublimity, are serene but by no means passive, skillfully but incompletely concealing the burgundy branches and trunk. Thus, the saffron robes of the monks, though stunning, don’t lure the eye like sirens but humbly hum a harmony to the melody the setting sings. The leaves shed some light, quiet but quite bright, on the contemplative abstract masterpiece Grove IV by Brice Marden; for Marden drew inspiration, Bridget Alsdorf writes, from “the shimmering shift in color from the dark tops to lighter bottoms of the windblown leaves of olive trees” on the Island of Hydra. To appreciate an artwork as minimal as Grove IV, all that is required is an education in 20th-century art. (Thus instructed, one will understand, and likely value, this contribution to the ongoing conversation abstraction ultimately is.) But to gratefully savor such seemingly “stark” art somehow seems far harder. And so the leaves in Young Monks could be said to be aesthetically pedagogical in their abstraction, their reduction to petal-like simplicity. For mightn’t the visual experience of the titular monks themselves, immersed in the purple, be much the same as that of Marden amid the olive trees? And can’t the content of Marden’s mindful attendance to the inexhaustible phenomenon of color be condensed and conveyed, a gift given to the viewer? To be capable of gazing at Grove IV, awake in its clemency, is not necessarily to be capable of gazing, as was Bodhidharma for many meditative years, at a wall. Yet it tends in this direction, does it not? Away from the unmindful thirst for thrills that a consumeristic culture encourages. The grass isn’t any greener on the other side. Just pluck a blade from your own lawn and take a look: a deeper greenness was here all along, beneath you’re feet. A dance will find its way into your stillness, as it has in Young Monks, as it has in Grove IV.

[poppycat-writes]

happy sts! what are some abstract things you associate with your characters? (i.e. colors, things like messy handwriting on a page, a cup of coffee, flowers, sounds, music)

Happy Storyteller Saturday!

I’m only going to do Counterparts because there’s so many characters.

I associate Vivian with the color red. When she’s in Vampire form, her eyes glow red. She also wears red (everyone says that’s her color). And red is the color of blood and like I said, she’s a Vampire. She also gets succulents. Lots of succulents.

I associate Winston with blue. It’s his favorite color and one of the only colors he can really see. Also a camera because he’s a photographer. Also dogs! He really likes dogs.

I associate both of them with California poppies.

I associate Garrett with Panic! At the Disco because he listens to them a lot. He also gets chocolate because he really likes chocolate. I also associate him with sketchbooks and colored pencils and drawings of people. Not too realistic but not completely cartoonish.

Silena is associated with the Disney movie Tangled because she’s a lot like Rapunzel— really, really nice but also incredibly sheltered. Also soccer and video games.

I associate Phoebe with skateboarding. That whole aesthetic, basically. Plaid prints and painted jeans and eyeliner.

Sebastian I associate with reptiles because he likes reptiles, but he also gets associated with really pretty dice.

Chance is associated with football but also that feeling of being awake at 3 in the morning and it’s just quiet (bonus points if you’re with a loved one).

Oliver is associated with glasses and smiling and hugs and the smell of chlorine (he plays water polo).

Franki is associated with books and journals and writing and existential quotes. And light. Like natural light. Shining through the trees in a forest.

Celeste is associated with galaxy-painted things and Italy. And bunnies. Also the color blue! Like a sky blue.

Thorn gets associated with skateboarding as well. He has some kind of academia vibe going on. Also like... angels. With golden wings.

Brb going to make some sick moodboards now

[artualdesign]

The broken olive branch - 12*8" oil on canvas, original available in my shop. https://www.artfinder.com/product/the-broken-olive-branch/

[theartworksinc]

Meet The Artists – Sarah McMenemy

London based Illustrator Sarah McMenemy has been with The Artworks for over 30 years! Joining the agency as one of our first ‘Startworks’ artists during her time at Brighton School of Art, Sarah is best known for her delicate use of ink and collage.

Sarah’s favourite project since joining The Artworks has been the series of mural illustration’s she created for Shadwell underground Station in London. Working with Transport for London, Sarah created a series of gorgeous Illustrations that reflect the surrounding area and explore the rich history of Shadwell.

We had a chance to chat to Sarah and find out more about her life as an artist…

Where do you live?  Where is your studio located?

I’ve always lived in London, and the architecture, the colours, the people and visual stimulation of the city has had a strong influence on my work. As a teenager I used to draw the beautiful Georgian terraced houses of Hampstead and Highgate on commission. I am often asked to create images of the city, some of my favourite and most successful projects have been based here. I have a broad client base from the London Underground network to City law firms, and Publishers and have depicted many London pubs, restaurants and city institutions. This type of work has lead to a wide travel portfolio and I enjoy capturing the atmosphere of different destinations worldwide.

My studio is in the mean streets of De Beauvoir Town in Hackney. I work in a Victorian artisan studio. There are eight of us including architects, graphic designers and illustrators. Plus, a rather chunky studio cat.

Can you describe your creative process?

I’ve got a thing about paper – its physicality, the sometimes-unpredictable way paint behaves on it. I like creating abstract, graphic elements and rich textures through collage, paint and ink; combining fine line details with loose brush strokes and abstract shapes. The enjoyment of the physical process of making images is central to my work. It has an intrinsic optimistic and uplifting character giving it wide appeal across many areas of the industry.

What does a typical working day look like?

I usually go for a walk or a run before I get in to the studio, and I like to make sure everyone knows about it before getting on with my jobs. At lunchtime we sit down together to eat our overpriced but convenient sandwiches from the local deli.

I work through to the end of the day, sometimes into the evening if the deadline is tight. If I’m on my own, I may play some dance music. Come to think of it I may do that even when I’m not on my own. If there is a music god I think his name is probably Nile Rogers.

Do you listen to music or the radio whilst you work? If so, what’s on your playlist?

I like it when it rains as it makes a loud noise on the roof and I feel like we’re camping in a tent (aka UK camping). We generally listen to NTS, the local Dalston radio station. I also like 6Music, a bit of Radio 4, and sometimes Pop-master – yes, Radio 2.

How long have you been with the Artworks for?  What drew you to Artworks?

I have been with the artworks since before I left college, only a few years ago now. Ok 33 years. I started in their Startworks group when they visited Brighton School of Art to give a talk, and we met when they looked around our studio in the lunch break. Actually, I missed their talk as I was shopping at Miss Selfridge but it doesn’t seem to have harmed my career much.

What books or programmes did you love as a child? Have they influenced your work in any way?

Books were a big influence on me as a child and there is certainly a flavour of them that comes through in my work now. Edward Ardizzone’s illustrations for Stig of the Dump and Jean and Gareth Adamson’s Topsy and Tim, Richard Scarry, Beatrix Potter, Shirley Hughes and Miroslav Sasek are a few that come to mind.

Loved all the Oliver Postgate children’s programmes Bagpuss, The Clangers, and Noggin the Nog. Mr Benn was endlessly fascinating. Trumpton, Camberwick Green and, of course, The Magic Roundabout.

If you weren’t an artist, what would you be instead?

If I wasn’t an illustrator I would be a Club DJ playing exclusively Funk and Disco.

What was the most important lesson your learned at Art School, if you went!

Art school taught me to interpret a brief in a way that I can enjoy and therefore do my best work. And that the fine art students are top of the pecking order, in their eyes (love them really)!

What inspires you the most to create?

I find inspiration in the big skies of the Norfolk coast, the gently rolling hills of Hertfordshire, as well as noticing beautiful colour and shape combinations in everyday life. The energy of cities, particularly Paris, New York, Tokyo, Venice, London. And of course a bit of studio cake helps.

Name three artists that you admire

I can’t name three. Here are eight.  Some favourite artists are John Piper, Raoul Dufy, Abram Games, David Gentleman, Toulouse L’Autrec, Humphrey Ocean, Saul Steinberg, Saul Bass.

What kind of commissions do you enjoy the most?

I really enjoy collaborating with clients and other creative professionals.  I enjoy seeing my work at large scale in public places. Writing and illustrating a variety of children’s and adult’s books. It is exciting to have my work animated. I also like working in branding, visualising architecture and interiors, book covers and editorial. I enjoy the thrill of working live, at conferences or events.  Short deadlines, long deadlines, they’re all good.

What would your dream commission be?

Dream Commission would be a set of stamps depicting beautiful skies around the or the grand international hotels like Claridges, The Savoy, The Ritz.

Do you have any pets? If so, what and what are they called?

We have a studio cat who walks along the roof light above our desks. It’s always nice to hear the soft thud of his paws on the polycarbonate. Purposeful, like he knows where he’s going, but sometimes he just stops and has an altercation with another cat, or soaks up some sunlight.

What 5 things could you not live without?

I cannot live without houmous, my mini, trees, tea and 6music.

What is your very favourite meal?

Fish Pie and peas.

What do you like to do in your spare time?

Singing in a choir, dancing, walking, running, exhibitions.

What is your current dream travel destination?

Quite fancy Barbados at the moment, but Copenhagen, Seville and Northumberland are on my list.

See more of Sarah’s work here.

[evodex]

51 Activities To Do With Pre-schoolers That Will Keep Them Creatively Engaged

51 Activities To Do With Pre-schoolers

51 Activities to do with pre-schoolers

Are you looking forward for some fun activities to do with pre-schoolers so that you can help them grow better,  smarter and keep them engaged?

Here we bring you some of the activities to organize:

51 Activities to do with pre-schoolers

Create a Bubble Painting: For this idea, make your kid paint a bubble sheet and then draw paintings on cardboard or a t – shirt.

Craft a Story Together: Help your child to craft a story through imaginations.

Create a Marble Painting: Help your preschooler to create paintings on a metal box or a shoe box with marbles and poster paint.

 Cook Together: Cooking offers many choices from baking to teaching how to butter a slice of bread and cut or peal a fruit without knife. Be ready for the mess but happy faces.

 Draw Pictures on the Walls: Give your kids some coloured but washable chalks and let them draw their imaginations on the wall. Kids love this one :)!

Family Tree: Help them making a family tree on a sheet of paper or on a computer using templates and let them go back to as many generations as possible.

Leaf Hunt: Pick an outdoor green area and collect leaves, fill them up in different containers and hand over to your kids and ask them to match the leaves they have with those which are growing on the plants.

Travel Alphabet: Play the game while you are travelling, especially long trips. Ask your kids to spot the letters that you give them and then the kid who spots the maximum of these wins. You can play several rounds of these.

Car Racing Track: Use a colored tape to make roads on the floor along with signals and stop signs and some special zones for the parking.

Hand made stuffs: Ask them to draw on a plain muslin cloth and colour with fabric pens and then you can bring their creation to life by cutting and making handmade stuffies of these.

Swimming games: Take them swimming and play find the coin by placing a coin in the bottom of the pool or just throw the ball game is fun too.

Room Cleaning Race: Get a timer for this activity, sit back and let your kid do the work. Give them small cleaning challenges Reward later for all the hard work.

Bowling Track: Use a wooden board on a flat surface. For bowling pins, use pencil erasers or fat crayon stubs and marble or a ping pong ball for the bowling ball. Keep scoring and have fun.

Hold a Car Wash: A perfect way to cool off on a hot day. Just park the car in the drive way and let your kids give it a good scrub with water and sponges.

Life Size Selfie: Making a life size portrait is a beautiful way to express. It helps kids to explore who they are and what they would like to become.                                                                                                                                   Activities to do with pre-schoolers

20 Indoor Activities For Kids On A Rainy Day

16. My Turn, My Task: Divide groups in tow or more teams and start a relay game by keeping things ready on a table and dividing them amongst the players.

17. Spinning Top: Take your kids down to 90’s and let them play with spinning tops which are popularly known as ‘Lattu’ then.

18. Picnic: Take your kids to a picnic and enjoy fun activities outdoor.

19. Play UNO: UNO is one of the most famous card game which is played by people of all ages. Help your kids with the rules and teach them how to play.

20. Fly a Kite: A traditional Indian game which is liked by all. Help your kids in learning how to fly a kite.

21. DIY Paper Bracelet: It is a 2 for 1 activity because it involves painting poppy abstract shapes with watercolours and then cut it into strips and fold them in to wearable bracelet.

22. DIY Tie – Dye Art: Transform the salad spinner in the carnival style spin art machine. Fill the squeeze bottles with washable paint.

23. Window Art: Give your kids some coloured transparent sheets and let them cut different shapes and stick them to the wall.

24. Foam Paint: The 3 ingredient recipe is both art and science. Use paintable foam which hardens overnight into puffed master pieces.

25. Musical Chair: The best game to play with a group. Do not forget to reward. Best game to improve the listening skill and discern between sound and silence.

26. Sock Puppets Show: Let your kids make hand puppets with socks and put up a show with other kids.

27. Information Game: Preschoolers must know few basic personal information when heading into preschool. Help them learn full names, address and contact numbers. Use small cards and ask your kid to arrange it.

28. Notice Seasons: Share details of the seasons with your kids as it is an important subject.

29.Sensory Toys: It is an important and a messy learning technique. Use Play Doh for the help.

30. Grocery Shopping: Take your kids out for grocery shopping and teach them about various names of fruits and vegetables.

31.  Funny Face Flip Book: DIY Funny Face Flip Book is not only fun to put together but it keeps kids creatively entertained for an entire afternoon. Use markers for sketching and clip the cards.

pic credit: Activities to do with pre-schoolers

32. Plan a treasure hunt: Go the old fashioned way. Hide goodies in different corners of the house. Give them clues when they reach a particular point to reach to the next.

33. Fireworks in a Glass: Use food colouring, olive oil and water mix to create a mesmerising result.

34. Gardening: Teach your kids about soil, water and plants and help them plant more trees and seeds.

35. Play Hide and Seek: In this idea, hide an object and give instructions to the kids to lead them to the hidden object.

36. Freeze Dance: Play the music, ask your kids to dance. Stop the music and let your kids freeze with funny faces and fun poses.

37. Indoor Obstacle Course: Push your furniture aside and practice motor skills like running, jumping and hopping without breaking anything.

38. Scavenger Hunt: Use patterns, colours and letters and hunt around the house.

39. Yoga for Kids: A perfect activity to increase their stamina, concentration and growth.

How To Introduce Principles Of Yoga To Kids: Yamas For Kids

40. Ice Cube Sorting and Pattern Making: Mix art, math and fine motor skills. Watch this  video to know more.

pic credit: Activities to do with pre-schoolers

41. Playdough: Playing with Playdough your preschooler will learn to use their imagination and have an open-ended playtime.

42. Collage: Provide few items and let your kid arrange and re arrange to make a collage.

43. Music: Fix a time of the day and play music to which you and your kids can dance to. It’s great exercise and bonding.

44. Build a House of Cups: Help kids in making a house with the help of paper cups.

45. Go on a Walking Tour of the City: Take a tour of the city and help your kid learn the names of the areas and also the famous places.

46. Do a Puzzle: Play puzzle games like jigsaw puzzles to enable your kids gain fine motor skills. Puzzle games teaches patience. Use puzzle games having pegs to make it easy for little hands to use.

47. Crunch Snack: A delicious snack which you can make with your kids and always leave it out in various occasions. For example, you can prepare a reindeer crunch snack for Christmas Eve’s.

48. Drive a Train: Enjoy a rail ride in your city’s park for an outing with your kid. You can also visit National Rail Museum in Chanakyapuri in Delhi where a train ride around the place will serve as a cherry on the cake.

49. Spark Creativity: Hang out with your little ones to see, touch and understand the wider world of handicrafts, our country prides in. You can visit The Handicrafts Museum in Delhi, Delhi Haat or Chaukidhani in Mumbai to see and experience the impressive culture, embroidery, weaving and pottery.

50. Learn Phonics Basics: It is one of the most wonderful gifts you can give to your kids. Getting informed about the basics of phonics will prepare your kids for reading readiness and spelling.

51. Try Science Experiments: You might get visions of a chemistry lab while talking about a science experiment and the explosions related to it but now you need not fear of it. Try the basic volcano experiment. Your preschoolers can enjoy simple science experiments that don’t require much of an effort yet are jam packed with fun learning opportunities.

DIY Decoupage Happiness Jar: A Perfect Gift For Christmas

Hope this list has given you many ideas to keep them busy. Use these ideas and watch your kids grow smart and sharp.

        The post 51 Activities To Do With Pre-schoolers That Will Keep Them Creatively Engaged appeared first on Maa of All Blogs.

51 Activities To Do With Pre-schoolers That Will Keep Them Creatively Engaged published first on https://bestbabyinc.tumblr.com

[killyourheroes-rp]

Good morning everyone! We know everyone’s excited about brainstorming their characters, so we wanted to give you a little treat and release our member groups early!

FREE MEMBER GROUPS

AUGUREY

disconcerting, farsighted, gloomy, hesitant, modest, oblivious, sensitive

gray skies / stories once untold / rain hitting the sidewalk / a pinch of floo powder / blackberry spread / cozy days indoors / the sound of tiny feet / historical movies / staring at the mirror while you cry / frost-covered windows / unexpected humming / a flock of birds overhead / being the little spoon

BILLYWIG

anticipative, heedless, insightful, preoccupied, silly, undemanding, vibrant

linked arms / more than what meets the eye / testing a new broomstick / a sliver of light / uncontrollable giggling / too much sunblock / frayed denim / butterflies in your stomach / dizzy stars / better under pressure / sitting on the roof / the life of the party / something about tall poppies

BOWTRUCKLE

active, capable, fair, narrow, obliging, passionate, steadfast

an olive branch / blending into a crowd / always the underdog / “i’m with you” / scattered eggshells / guarding a seat with your life / hands in back pockets / dinner at midnight / the swish of a wand / checking every direction / old memories / drumming all your courage / a cup of green tea

HIPPOGRIFF

adamant, fierce, independent, majestic, reactive, true, unhurried

resting bitch face / the roots of a big oak tree / never carrying your own bags / orange sunsets / long dark trench coats / talk shit, get hit / bowing before every duel / hard-won loyalty / waking up at 12 pm / staring contests / high gloss paint / wind in your hair / loves being alone, hates being lonely

NIFFLER

affectionate, crafty, destructive, energetic, flexible, gentle, obsessive

bottomless drinks / not knowing how you got a bruise / a pocket full of sickles / bare feet & fur carpets / “yeah, but you love me” / dancing in the fields / a little sleight of hand / tempered glass ceilings / starting a new collection / elaborate blanket forts / hiding in plain sight / x marks the spot / teeth on skin

PUFFSKEIN

amusing, guileless, hedonistic, loyal, mellow, practical, sociable

climbing on someone’s shoulders / abstract art / being the class clown / leaves as bookmarks / glitter in the bathtub / knitted potholders / eating things you shouldn’t / at-home haircuts / nightly walks to the kitchen / a handful of sand / filling empty spaces / a bit of drooble’s best / amusement park passes

SALAMANDER

abrupt, charming, experimental, fixed, lenient, physical, relaxed

a shower of red sparks / putting hot sauce on everything / shiny black buttons / getting home after a long day / extra tight hugs / the sizzle of a pan / citrus fruits / living in the moment / camping with friends / remember where you came from / sun-warmed skin / a little party trick / wide open windows

PREMIUM MEMBER GROUPS

GRAPHORN

aggressive, candid, earnest, freethinking, private, resourceful, tough

decorative tapestries / knowing your own mind / scalding black coffee / a better life / heavy footsteps in the distance / fine gold jewelry / people parting like the sea / torn cloaks / not much for authority / if only looks could kill / running your tongue over your teeth / lost mythologies / the immovable object

RUNESPOOR

clever, intense, opinionated, precise, reflective, self-critical, venomous

earning your stripes / colorful ink / wrought iron gates / trying to be the good guy / a sigh of relief / holding on too tightly / no time to crumble / lengthy lit debates / soft leather & velvet / rolled-out daydreams / fist clenched under the table / ignoring the worst of your pain / chocolate cauldrons

UNICORN

attentive, delicate, faithful, hasty, imaginative, shortsighted, vague

a sterling reputation / running through the woods / hot vanilla lattes / feeling a little invincible / homeric epithets / your back against the wall / wishing on dandelions / a secret that everyone knows / moonlit waters / braiding someone’s hair / a tabbed potions textbook / clean white linen / double-edged swords

[valentineheaven]

War Of Hearts (Harry Styles x Reader) / Part from “The Travellers” Series

I apologize for missing so long. I never forgot about you, roses. But the study was over, and with it problems left. So meet my new creation, after a long absence.

Masterlist

Summary: During a romantic journey, Harry broke up with his girlfriend; she left him at the moment when he wanted to propose to her. First he wants to get drunk, but changes his decision in favor of a long walk through the beautiful Athena. He asks you to show him the city. But where will you take this walk?

Song:Ruelle – War Of Hearts                                   Place: Athena, Greece

The fading sunlight gently filtered through the windows of a cozy cafe in the heart of the Greek capital. The tranquil life of Athens slowly flowed-minute by minute. In such an atmosphere, you don’t want to rush anywhere; you want to forget about everything and enjoy the present moment.

Harry sat alone behind a brightly lit table in a cafe. She left him alone, after he arranged for them this journey, with the goal to propose to her. Of course, she didn’t know about his plans, so she threw him in the most (for him) important moment in life.

He sat with his head down, examining the marble surface of the table and leading circular motions along a cup of coffee. He looked lost, devastated and offended at the same time.

You watched them: first they chatted cute, ordering coffee; then his face drooped, and the girl began to explain something quickly; then she slammed the door, leaving the guy alone, with all the thoughts that piled on him.

"Maybe something else?" - you asked gently, going up to him. He quickly raised his head at you, as if frightened by your unexpected appearance.

"Maybe ..." - he drawled, thinking about something. "I'm sure ... Do you have anything stronger?" - he smiled tightly.

«Have you decided to get drunk?» - you asked, he grinned. – «It seems to me that this is not the most reasonable way out of your situation».

«And what can you offer me instead of a week-long romantic binge?» - from his lips, finally, broke a satisfied smile.

"Oh God, you are in Greece," - you began. "I'm sure you're not local and first here. It's a great opportunity to just go somewhere. Go and consider the sights, interesting places. You see, in an hour you don’t remember her». - you with a smile took a cup from his hands and left. Harry looked you over.

"I don’t know anyone here" - a slightly raspy voice behind you began; you turned.

Opposite you stood Harry, blushing in a shy smile. He still seemed a little depressed and frustrated, but his face freshened and lit up with a smile.

«Where do I go, I don’t know. Trustfully, I’m hoped my ex will show me everything here, since it's local,» - there was a breakdown in his voice. "I really want to quickly forget her"

«So what's the problem?» - you asked with a smile. "Just get off the cafe and go. Go where you want»

"Make me company" - he looked at you intently.  «You are local, you know the whole city. And besides, now I need a person to whom I can pour out my soul» - Harry said with a shy smile.

"Ah ..." - surprised by his request, you stretched out with a smile. "Of course, I want to help you, but are you absolutely sure that you want to pour out your soul to the first one?" - you looked at him with a look, waiting for an answer. "It's just, it's very personal... And I, I think, don’t ... Shouldn’t ..." - you were embarrassed.

"I see," - Harry said, noticing your embarrassment. "I see that I'm distracting you. Farewell" - he walked slowly to the exit.

"Wait" - you shouted, he turned to you with a smirk.

You couldn’t refuse him, seeing how bad he felt. It is better to make him a company and show the beauties of Athens, rather than let him go into his "romantic" drinking-bout. Therefore, you quietly walk along the Greek streets, talking on abstract topics.

Above the capital rose a bright yellow and golden ball of the sun, flooded with its light the ancient buildings of the majestic city. From the high stone walls of the houses the scent of dampness, mixed with the pungent smell of olive oil, was blowing. Residents of the city quietly strolled through the streets, doing their ordinary affairs: someone bought food, someone was walking with children, someone read the book aloud. In all this environment it is impossible to think about something bad.

Harry asked you to take him to the place where tourists usually drive, because, he thought, these places are the most beautiful. He actively told you about his music, so he didn’t notice how you had a view of the most important tourist place in Greece.

An ancient city, the heart of ancient and modern Athens, where thousands of years ago a civilization arose that gave rise to the whole modern Western world. High columns and ensembles of temples from whitewashed stone, in some places were destroyed, but continued to stand. The sunlight shone through the powerful columns, the city seemed at the same time dead and alive.

«Αυτό Ακρόπολη / Acropolis» - in Greek you explained, Harry smiled when he heard your Greek. – «It is called the heart of Athens»

You walked slowly and steadily among the ancient buildings, enjoying the opened views. You stopped, looking at the city below, not noticing that Harry was standing nearby, watching you. He was simultaneously overwhelmed with a sense of sadness because of parting, but he was incredibly happy in your company.

"You know," - he began as you walked to another landmark. «I saw her there. There in Ακρόπολη / Acropolis» - he said, smiling imitating the Greek accent, from which you both laughed.

«So what? Passed by without paying attention,» - you said with a smile, not looking at him. «Is it really so painful to part with your partner?» - you quietly grinned.

"Have not you ever experienced a break up?" - Harry asked with a smirk. "If you say no, I won’t believe it"

«Why?» - you are indignant. "Don’t I look like a person who is able to survive break ups good?" - you raised your inquiring eyes to him.

"No, you're just not like a person you can quit" - he smiled, not looking at you.

Crowds of tourists, dozens of camera flashes have alerted you that you have come to the right place. The sun-celestial veil gently covered the cold whitewashed bodies of the Caryatid’s portico. Five sculptures-columns supported the roof of the temple of the Erechtheion.

"It's beautiful here" - Harry said, continuing to examine the sculptures.

"Yes, mostly because of the ionic style of the temple and the sculptures of the beautiful Καρυάτιδα / Caryatids" - he smiled again at your Greek words.

"You were born here, in Greece?" - he asked, making his way through the crowds of tourists.

«Yes, I was born in Kastoria, in a very cozy Greek town,» - you broke into a broad smile, remembering childhood. «Then we moved to Athens»

Both of you were surprised that there were more tourists in this temple than in the Acropolis. Although usually everything is quite the opposite. To get out of the temple, it is necessary to get through a crowd of tourists who didn’t want to give way. Harry gently took your hand, from the unexpectedness of his touch over your body ran a noticeable shiver. He smiled gently and led you through the crowd.

The light fabric of your dress gently touched your legs, gently slipped around your waist. You breathed deeply, why your breast was raised high; you gently looked away into the city, preparing for the evening. You stood leaning on a tall marble column, from which it was cool. A gentle Athenian wind played with your hair, slowly fingering your curls in his invisible fingers.

«Σύντομα όλα θα τελειώσουν. Θα φύγει και θα με αφήσει μόνο του / Soon all will end. He will leave and forget me» - you said with vexation.

Seeing him, upset and killed by the bitterness of break up, you sincerely felt sorry for him, so you volunteered to help him with his misfortune. "But perhaps," - you thought, "Perhaps something else has prompted me to help him ...? Pity? Sympathy?". You realized that you can’t fall in love with him, as the holiday romance have never lasted long and didn’t end happily.

It would seem in Greece, where for centuries an invisible feeling of love and bliss reigns enveloping the whole country; invisible, but so sensual and alive that it is impossible not to fall in love here with someone. It seems that the Aphrodite herself embraces the city with her love, instilling this tart feeling in everyone's heart.

The whole day you noticed how Harry looks at you. It was not just a friendly look, it was an affectionate and warm look that studied every your movement. You still felt the warmth of his hand on your palm, from this to your cheeks bristled with a slight blush.

"Hey, something's wrong," - Harry asked with concern, noticing your sad face. His unexpected voice made you start a little; you woke up from your thoughts and smiled. "It's almost evening, so take me please somewhere where it's quiet and good-looking" - he smiled.

Scarlet blood spilled over the innocent Athenian sky. In the windows of the city houses and restaurants the fine wine-red smoothness of the evening sky was reflected, whitewashed walls and columns of ancient Greek cultural monuments were painted in light red colors. All around was enveloped in the beauty and breathe of the approaching night.

You climbed the Muse Hill. Embraced by a small park with green trees, in its middle is a monument, a large monument, now lit by a peaceful scarlet color of evening. Harry sat down on one of the large stones and gestured for you to sit beside him.

"You really do know good looks," - Harry said with a smile, not taking his eyes off the evening city. "Everything you showed me today was incredibly beautiful. I left all my thoughts there, left all my thoughts in Ακρόπολη» - you again quietly laughed; he liked to say this word in Greek.

"You're welcome" - you smiled softly, and felt that there were already tears in your throat.

"I don’t want to leave all this, it's so easy for me here, I feel free" - he took a deep breath. "I don’t want to leave you, we have become good friends" - he looked at you with a smile, you trying to avoid his gaze.

Visitors continued to fill the cafe with their noise, the barista continued to fill the cafe with the magical aroma of coffee, and you continued to try to forget Harry, who in one day gave you unforgettable moments more than anyone in your entire life. It's been a month since he left, and since then you have not spoken. Even on the Internet.

You blamed him for not writing to you, although he promised to maintain communication with you on a periodic basis. The bright sun continued to flood the streets of Athens with its soft light, pleasing the inhabitants with warm weather. Today everyone goes somewhere - museums, picnics, meetings, walks - only you and your colleague Orion continue to load yourself with work. You try to forget Harry; Orion is trying to save money for a new guitar.

Taking a bottle of coffee with you (pouring a little red wine in this drink), you went to Muse Hill, the last place where you saw Harry. The sky was as if stained with wounds that filled the evening sky with scarlet colors. Conveniently sitting on one of the cold benches, you looked into the distance, letting the light wind blow all your thoughts.

"You'll freeze" - a voice said, wrapping your shoulders in the jacket.

It was Harry. You realized that it was him, so you were afraid to turn around and meet his gaze. He quietly sat next to you, gently turned your face to him and kissed you. From the surprise of this kiss, you shuddered a little, but felt Harry's warm hands, immediately calmed down. He's here. He's here for you.

"What do you say?" - he exhaled, a little detached to see your face. "Did I manage to surprise you?" - He smiled broadly, running his thumb along your cheek.

"Of course" - you timidly said.

"I love you, Y/N," - he began, leaning towards your ear. "And I never want to leave you for long" - your glances met, you smiled.

Harry pulled away from you and decided to drink your coffee a little. But he quickly felt the taste of wine, so he stopped.

"Y/N, God, what is this?"  - you both started to laugh. "Romantic booze?" - you laughed even louder.

"I love you," - you whispered.