#jian locs

[kyejiz]

⿻ ❒ 🎟️ #

[clevermird]

I decided to try out a new coloring style on this picture of Jian and Lord Aire, back when his attention was still unwanted and she felt like the bars of her cage were quite close indeed.

Not sure if I love the results of the style (Jian's skin turned out too light, IMO, and the harder cel-style shading sometimes makes it hard to differentiate objects when it's dark enough that the outlines don't stand out) but overall I'm very proud of the posing and linework.

Jian and Valthiel are characters in my Warhammer 40k fanfic "Silver, Ash, and Bone", an Asuryani Howling Banshee from Craftworld Yme-Loc and a Drukhari archon of the Kabal of the Ashen Rose

[kingambroseflycatcher]

So I've been watching A Shop for Killers with a friend, and I just wanted to talk about it for a sec. More accurately complain about it.

The show had a strong start I will say. Maybe just the first two episodes... I liked Jinman and Jian, they were giving us reasons to like the characters while keeping Jinmans full story secretive. Cool. Love Father/daughter relationships! I know Jinman is Jians uncle but still, you get the idea.

By episode 4 I still felt kinda lost. I started to realize that these flashbacks they've been showing is the memories Jian lost? I wish we were discovering her memories with her, rather than the show just. Telling us what the memories were. Around this time I found out that the show was only going to be 8 episodes and I was like?? I'm half way done and I still barely know anything because the show is 80% flashbacks???

Now. The real problems I started having was with the new episodes that released yesterday. ESPECIALLY with episode 6. Suddenly they decide to never show the main female lead, and they decide to make it completely military propaganda. They showed us this absolutely horrible person killing innocent southeast Asian civilians. Sure he's meant to be creepy, but he's also supposed to be seen as badass. Jinman is meant to look like the "hero" of it all which continues to push that copaganda shit.

It is completely insensitive to be releasing this show while the genocide in Gaza is happening right now. It was completely insensitive to show innocent civilians and children of oppressed groups in that country being brutally murdered. They didn't even humanize these people either, they were just there to be blown up and shot by some military guy. Literally what made them think this was a good idea. What.

Some cherry on tops is the fully Korean guy wearing locs and the Thai character not even being acted by a Thai actor. I know damn well there are MANY Thai men that can speak Korean that they could have hired instead. Oh but the Southeast Asian innocents being brutally killed? Yeah they're acted by real Southeast Asian people. Why? Because you wanted to see them be killed but the one that lives can't be acted by an actual Southeast Asian actor? Fucking stupid. This whole show has been ruined and I will not be watching it anymore.

[kcdoessl]

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[youngh00n]

          溫  지안  ( ｡>﹏<｡)೨  𝗯𝖺𝖻𝗶𝗲  ♥︎

          ⿻   ji. ﹟ .🌿 an ! っ ﹪♥︎

          j͟i͟a͟n.  ⩩  :    俺   ᐢ..ᐢ

                     ·•᷄‎ࡇ•᷅ ) jian bios!! ☄︎

[j-jolyne]

🪐 我跑得太遠了，有一天我會逃離這個世界嗎？

我在雨中跳舞，我覺得自己還活著，我不能抱怨。

[himi-ko]

★% jian layouts !!

[w0oya]

random ass layouts

[aki-meno]

jian bios 𓂃冬

冬    𓈈   ♥︎ : 𓂃   𝐣���𝐚𝐧 

▭▬    𝗝𝗜𝗔𝗡    ⧉ 🐢 𝗕𝗕𝗬

 𓂃   ⌗ 𝗂𝗅𝗒    : j͟i͟a͟n͟   જ ❍

like or reblog if you save/use

[yo--ngie]

✿ jian bios!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ▭⠀l𝘂𝗻ar⠀권⠀㇏⠀𓄹⠀𝗷𝗶an⠀␦⠀⠀⠀⠀

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⠀ ✿ like or reblog if u save ! ﹫kiminrjus on twt.

[agapaic]

tianshan top gun-AU drabble. 💞 on behalf of emma’s very generous donation to the ‘justice for jacob blake fund’ @plumb19. if you would like to donate to an organisation supporting black lives in return for a drabble, please see here for more information (closes monday evening). 🌸

///

‘No visual on Farmer! I repeat, no visual on Farmer!’

He Tian’s laugh comes through his headgear. ‘You don’t need a visual on me, sweetheart! This is a race not an op—there’s no bandit here but me!’

Guan Shan grits his teeth. He goes full throttle, flies blind. The finish line is in sight, ten miles out at his twelve o’clock. He can feel his face pulling backwards with the speed, the G-force making him lightheaded. He can’t g-LOC now—he’d die from the shame of acting out the funky chicken before his plane even hit the ground. He Tian will know what happened—he’ll see the Firebird jet tail out, the vape from the tail end stretching skywards.

Faster—fucking faster.

Guan Shan’s eyes dart to his mirrors. All clear. Where the fuck is He Tian? He can’t be ahead of him—there’s no way Guan Shan could go any faster. He’s got the jet firewalled, his head mashed backwards against the headrest. His bones are shaking; his teeth are aching.

He Tian again: ‘Right above you, sweetheart.’

Guan Shan’s head jerks up. He doesn’t know why he bothers looking. There’s nothing there but the roof of the jet: no window. He Tian’s a ghost on his radar.

‘The fuck do you think you are?’ Guan Shan spits, eye locked back on the finish line. The engine roars in his ears. ‘Fuckin’ God?’

He Tian laughs again. Guan Shan doesn’t hate that He Tian’s enjoying this—he hates that he’s enjoying it too. Why shouldn’t he? It’s a game, not a dogfight, and the winner chooses the reward. There’s no bogey or bandit on their trail, no spike on the radar. When’s the last time he got to go full throttle without the fear of a strike?

‘Come on, Guan Shan,’ He TIan croons through the headset. ‘We’re nose for nose.’

‘Are you even tryin’?’ Guan Shan barks back.

‘You should see my hand,’ says He Tian. ‘It’s never wrapped tighter around a stick before.’

Guan Shan swears under his breath. He Tian must hear it: he laughs.

Two miles.

‘Just—get off my back, would’ya?’ he grouches out. ‘Wanna see your face when I beat you over the finish line.’

‘Oh, Ah-Shan. You know I like to finish on top.’

Guan Shan veers.

There’s a damning thud, an awful shriek of metal. He Tian swears over the comms. Everything shakes and the engine judders as the underbelly of each jet scrapes against each other. The sky swings above him, pendulum-like, and an alarm blares somewhere.

Out the corner of Guan Shan’s eye, he sees He Tian’s jet wrench itself away. The Shenyang J-6 sidles up beside his own, evening out. He Tian’s face is shielded by his helmet and the high-alt oxygen mask, but Guan Shan imagines his mouth split open in a wide, white-toothed smile.

Fucker.

‘Daring,’ He Tian comments over the radio, his voice crackling. ‘Nearly took me out with that move. Yourself included.’

Guan Shan breathes shallowly. His heart is beating fast, and he wrestles it under 110. If it goes too high or flatlines Zhan Zhengxi will call in the cavalry from the base.

‘I’m not above playin’ dirty,’ Guan Shan mutters.

‘Oh, I know. You’re not a grape, Mo Guan Shan. Bigger balls than anyone gives you credit for.’

You’d like to think so.

‘At least,’ says He Tian, ‘I’d like to think so.’

700 yards. They’re at break-neck now. A final bend through airspace, and Guan Shan will be over the finish line. His face has started to go numb. He’s conscious only of the pressure in his ears, behind his eyes. Feels like bruising in his eye sockets. His knuckles must be bone-white beneath the gloves.

500 yards from the turn. Guan Shan bites down hard on his lower lip. The jet rattles around him like an earthquake in flight. If he leaves it too late he’ll veer off path and lose seconds he knows he wouldn’t recover. Too early and he might force the jet straight into He Tian’s and they could both go down.

‘You gonna tell me your action plan?’ asks Guan Shan, teeth gritted.

‘Oh, no. I’m leaving this all to you.’

Guan Shan swears, eyes on the blue-skied horizon. 200 yards. ‘Even if I kill us both.’

‘I think you know how to punch out if it gets too much.’

Now. Guan Shan yanks down hard on the controller, the skyline swerves around him; nausea wells in his throat. There’s no collision; he has no visual on He Tian’s jet and no time to wonder why that might be. He makes the turn, levels out, throttles forward to the finish line.

The base comes into view below him, and a green light blinks up at him from ATC like a traffic light.

He’s done it.

Guan Shan throws his head back against the headrest, breathes out shallowly.

A voice comes over the comms. ‘This is Mother to Firebird. Mother to Firebird. How do you hear me?’

‘I hear you,’ Guan Shan says thickly. He starts to drop, pulls back the throttle. He’ll have to do a loop of the base to line up with the runway. He doesn’t mind the victory lap.

There’s a smile in Zhan Zhengxi’s voice. ‘Cleared to land at your leisure. How does first place feel?’

Guan Shan swallows a grin. ‘Affirmative,’ he says. ‘Feels pretty fuckin’ good.’ He checks his mirrors. ‘Where the fuck is Farmer?’

‘Uh, he hasn’t crossed yet. Looks like he pulled back at the finish. Problem with his radar, I think? Jian Yi’s working him through it.’

Guan Shan’s mouth falls open. ‘Bullshit,’ he gasps. ‘Bull. Shit.’

‘Don’t shoot the messenger. Take it up with him.’

Guan Shan glares. He can feel his vision narrowing. He has half a mind to turn the jet around and shoot He Tian down for the sheer fucking hell of it—a fox two, maybe a three if he’s lucky. Guan Shan’s fingers go to the triggers. How fucking dare he?

‘Firebird, did you copy?’

Guan Shan sets his jaw. ‘Affirmative,’ he says flatly.

Take it up with him? He’d better fucking bet.

///

There’s a view of the runway from the changing rooms, a long strip of glass that means Guan Shan knows the exact moment He Tian’s Shenyang J-6 touches down on tarmac and pulls into the hangar. It means, also, he knows exactly how long it will take He Tian—second-place DNF loser—to walk through the base to the changing rooms.

It takes He Tian twenty minutes to land the jet and make his way to the changing room. Twenty minutes for Guan Shan to simmer and get himself close to boiling. The second He Tian walks through the door, he tips over. Guan Shan’s helmet smashes against the floor in fragments of plastic, metal, and glass.

The helmet nearly strikes He Tian in the face, but his reflexes are good. He dodges, swears, looks back to Guan Shan with wide, incredulous eyes. Glass crunches beneath his boot as he moves over to the ceiling-to-floor lockers.

‘Those are expensive, you know?’ He Tian says.

Guan Shan doesn’t care about a fucking helmet. He Tian’s father can foot the bill, mark it off as an extraneous expense. Being the commander of the base has its perks.

‘You fuckin’ fixed it.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ says He Tian, stripping off his gloves. ‘There was a malfunction. Probably after you rammed into me, I suspect.’

‘You let me win,’ Guan Shan growls.

He Tian shrugs. ‘Check the black box if you like. It’s all there.’

‘Who’d you pay to wire it?’

He Tian begins to unbuckle his suit. The black leather sticks to his body like a second skin, suggesting at lean muscle and broad shoulders that bare themselves as He Tian peels back its layers. Nothing about it is standard-issue. It’s been made to fit like a glove. Guan Shan hates it.

‘I didn’t pay anyone, Mo Guan Shan.’

‘Right. You didn’t have to. People will suck your dick around here for a look.’

He Tian looks at him.

Guan Shan snarls. ‘What the fuck do you even get by losing? Are you that fuckin’ desperate to disappoint him?’ He shoves a thumb upwards. Not God, but He Tian’s father, and doesn’t everyone act like he’s the same thing? ‘Fuck me over and bring shame on the family name? Two birds and one stone?’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ He Tian sighs.

‘Fuck, I wanna kill you right now.’

‘Go on, then. Try.’

‘What’s the point?’ Guan Shan sneers. ‘You’ll punch out at the last second. Blame the faulty mechanics.’

A thought strikes him: he could punch him. A realisation: he’s going to.

Five concentrated footsteps, the swing back of his right arm.

His knuckles bruise on He Tian’s cheekbone.

‘Fuck!’ He Tian shouts. He spits blood onto the floor, doubles over at the waist. Guan Shan steps back and his eyes go to the sharp nodules of He Tian’s spine as he bends over, curved out like a penitent. Guan Shan looks at him with disgust.

‘You didn’t even fight back,’ he mutters. ‘Who the fuck has you whipped?’

There’s blood coming from He Tian’s nose; some of it has spattered onto the toe of Guan Shan’s boot. He Tian, Guan Shan realises, is laughing.

‘You’d think—oh, fuck me—you’d think it would be fucking obvious, wouldn’t you?’

Guan Shan stares at him. ‘This ain’t fuckin’ funny—’

‘But it is.’ He Tian winces, straightens, dabs two fingertips against his bloodied nose. ‘You’re a good fucking pilot, Mo Guan Shan, but you are awful with analytics. Never go into the Intelligence sector, okay?

Riddles and disguise. Guan Shan hates it. There’s some truth to He Tian’s words, but he’s glad for it: he’s glad he doesn’t get it. Glad he can’t deal with conundrum and complexity. In the ten years they’ve been at this—flight school, their junior years, coming close to leading, wingmen by virtue of their shared skills—he’s never stopped hating the enigma He Tian enjoys wrapping himself around like a coat keeping him warm through the winter.

‘I don’t have time for this.’

He turns to his locker; he’ll take his clothes back to his room, save changing for somewhere that rHe Tian can see him. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. He clicks in the combination, tugs the door open with a metallic clank. A hand falls to the locker beside him, just brushing the side of his head, and Guan Shan can feel the heat of He Tian’s bare chest through the fabric over his back.

Guan Shan swallows. ‘Move.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘I’ll hit you again.’

‘I might put up a fight this time—even if it’s you.’

Guan Shan stills. ‘The fuck is that supposed to mean?’

‘What do you think?’

Guan Shan squeezes his eyes shut. ‘Tell me. Please, just fuckin’ tell me.’ Put me outta my misery.

He Tian’s mouth is level with his ear, and Guan Shan shudders as hot air moves across his neck. He Tian is too close. Guan Shan’s body still aches from the G-force, a strain that will last through the night, but he can’t distinguish it from anything else that might be bruising its way through his narrow veins like swallowing a tablet dry. Guan Shan puts his forehead on the frame of his open locker; the metal is cool to his skin.

‘Why do you think,’ He Tian murmurs, silken, ‘I would make sure you won?’

‘I don’t—’

‘Why do you think,’ he says, ‘I’d let you hit me if that’s what you wanted?’

If that’s what you wanted.

Guan Shan’s voice is tight. ‘I never wanted to win if you made yourself lose.’

There’s a pause. He Tian says, ‘You said you’d quit if you lost. Before the race. You said you’d move somewhere else if you couldn’t be number one here.’

Guan Shan frowns. ‘I was—that was a joke. I was just settin’ the stakes.’

He Tian moves. He’s a few paces back when Guan Shan turns to face him. His expression is unreadable, and Guan Shan’s head is working on overdrive trying to keep track of the conversation and all its hidden nuance.

‘Are you sayin’—you did that to keep me from leavin’? You seriously thought I’d quit over some stupid race?’

‘It wasn’t a stupid race. It was you and me—’

‘I’m never gonna be as fast as you,’ says Guan Shan slowly. ‘You’re never gonna be as good a shot as me. I know where we’re strong and I know where we’re not. I’m not gonna quit ‘cause of some stupid competition with you.’

‘But I didn’t know that.’

Guan Shan swallows. There’s a heat to He Tian’s words that blisters. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s conscious that He Tian is half-dressed before him and that there’s blood drying on his chin.

‘I’m not leavin’,’ Guan Shan tells him, feeling oddly inclined to reassure him. He Tian. The stalwart bastard who never gives him a break. Guan Shan can’t stop himself: ‘I’m—we’re a good team. General Qiu said we’re one of the best this fuckin’ base has seen in twenty years.’

‘You hate being my wingman,’ He Tian says flatly.

Guan Shan’s eyebrow quirks. ‘I get first seat watchin’ you fuck up and take none of the damage.’

He Tian drags a hand over his face. ‘God, he’s good,’ he mutters to himself. Louder, he says, ‘So if you weren't quitting if you lost, what did you want if you won?’

‘Probably the same as you,’ says Guan Shan carefully.

‘Ha!’ He Tian crows. His eyes darken. ‘Oh, I doubt it sweetheart.’

‘Wanna bet?’

He Tian’s brows lift. A smirk spreads slowly across his face, arrogance coming into steady effect. He swaggers forward.

‘My request,’ he murmurs, ‘would’ve been you.’

Guan Shan closes off his expression, puts his walls up. The news comes as no surprise: He Tian’s been clear with his intentions since they were in flight school, tugging at heartstrings like pigtails. Guan Shan doesn’t mind anymore. He’s used to it. He knows, with He Tian, the offer of intimacy is only sex and doesn’t go further. The walls Guan Shan has built are thick with cement.

Behind them, another jet comes into land. The windows rattle.

Guan Shan breathes out slowly, waits for the engine sound to fade. ‘Like I said,’ he starts, lifting his gaze from the floor. ‘Probably the same as you.’

It takes He Tian a few seconds. Guan Shan takes it as a win—a real one.

‘You—’ He Tian swallows. ‘So, all this time—all of our fighting. You could have just said so.’

‘Could’ve,’ Guan Shan admits. ‘But I never wanted sex, He Tian. I mean—I never just wanted it. Not like you.’

He Tian blinks at him. ‘Maybe I wasn’t clear. When I said I wanted to give you what you wanted: I meant it. Every word.’

‘You’re gonna regret that.’

He Tian nods slowly. ‘Very possibly,’ he says.

They’re close enough that when Guan Shan reaches out a hand and loops his fingers around He Tian’s wrist, He Tian comes forward with ease. His smile is indulgent.

He Tian continues: ‘But I’m willing to take a fox three for it.’

Guan Shan rolls his eyes. His fingers knot themselves in He Tian’s hair, and his mouth comes down to meet his willingly.

‘Shut the fuck up, He Tian.’

[luxstylestylesl]

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[markyhora]

styling | @jeroldominguez photo | miko abellera, shin abellera make up | @jdwillbe hair | jiane fermo suit | andrew visaya wardrobe | keziah clothing loc | @g1lodge january is the coolest month here in PH, get your ‘winter’ essentials now from @styledbyjerolddominguez and @keziahclothingshop :) https://www.instagram.com/p/CJ7h2prHGki/?igshid=c3taisn0vs4d

[youngh00n]

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[j-jolyne]

🍶 19 DAYS LAYOUTS !

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[rudyroth79]

Aplicația pentru mobil JuratEnescu – un test personal de ascultare critică

Începând de astăzi, 5 septembrie 2018, aplicația pentru mobil JuratEnescu este la îndemâna celor care doresc să își testeze abilitatea de a aprecia o interpretare artistică. Prin intermediul aplicației fie din sală, fie urmărind online, iubitorii de muzică au ocazia să noteze participanții la Concursul Internațional ”George Enescu” și pot vedea în ce măsură opțiunile lor se potrivesc cu cele ale juriului.

Aplicația, organizată pe cele trei secțiuni de interpretare pian, vioară, violoncel, conține profilurile tuturor candidaților calificați și propune o serie de criterii de apreciere în baza cărora jurații amatori să își ordoneze opțiunile.

Aplicația compară selecția făcută de fiecare utilizator cu cea făcută de juriu. Utilizatorii primesc puncte pentru numărul de candidați aleși pentru etapa următoare, care corespund cu cei din lista juriului. Pentru finală, este punctată și ordinea corectă a premiaților. Utilizatorii care primesc cele mai multe puncte vor fi primi diplome de Jurat Ucenic, o invitație la un cocktail cu membrii juriului și bilete în Festivalul ”George Enescu” de anul viitor.

“Ne dorim să încurajăm ascultarea critică, urmărirea concurenților în mai multe etape, nu numai în finală, să împărtășim bucuria descoperirii talentelor. Sperăm ca astfel să contribuim și la înțelegerea mai profundă a demersului artiștilor și la creșterea respectului pentru efortul lor. Performanța nu vine numai dintr-un recital reușit, ci din anduranță în concurs, disciplină, tehnică, expresivitate. Prin abordarea aceasta, la limita jocului, sperăm să facilităm aprecierea muzicii și apropierea de arta interpretării”, spune Mihai Constantinescu, directorul Festivalului și Concursului Internațional ”George Enescu”.

Aplicația este al treilea pilon al proiectului ”Ce auzim când ascultăm muzică?”, dedicat celor interesați să se familiarizeze cu muzica clasică, un proiect suport pentru ediția 2018 a Concursului ”George Enescu”. Acesta a inclus: o Caravană în licee, unde muzicianul Paul Ilea și actorul Marius Manole au dialogat cu tinerii pe teme privind interpretarea muzicii clasice, o serie de dialoguri video care dezvoltă relaxat teme de educație muzicală și cele privind aprecierea interpretării (distribuită pe canalul YouTube al Festivalului ”Enescu” și aplicația Culturesc) și aplicația mobilă JuratEnescu. Cei interesați pot descărca JuratEnescu din Google Play sau din Apple Store.

Programul ”Ce auzim când ascultăm muzică?” a fost realizat cu sprijinul Raiffeisen Bank, Samsung și Wilo Foundation.

Despre Concursul Internațional ”George Enescu”

Ajuns la cea de-a XVI-a ediție, Concursul Internațional ”George Enescu” se desfășoară în perioada 1 – 23 septembrie 2018, la București. Este cea mai amplă competiție internațională de muzică clasică din România și atrage tineri muzicieni și compozitori din întreaga lume pentru a-și demonstra talentul în cadrul celor patru secțiuni ale concursului: pian, vioară, violoncel și compoziție. Prestația și compozițiile concurenților sunt evaluate de un juriu internațional din care fac parte personalități importante ale muzicii clasice internaționale, precum: Philippe Entremont, Pierre Amoyal, SalvatoreAccardo, Viktor Tretiakov, Peter Jablonski, David Geringas, ZygmuntKrauze, ArtoNoras, Myung-WhunChung, Raphael Wallfisch, Jian Wang, Marin Cazacu, Remus Azoiței, Dan Dediu, Silvia Marcovici și alții.

Toate etapele Concursului Enescu 2018 – Etapa I, Etapa a II-a și Etapa a III-a, Semifinală, pentru cele trei secțiuni de concurs (secțiunea Violoncel, secțiunea Vioară și secțiunea Pian) – sunt deschise pentru public, la fel și la Galele Finale cu orchestră (finala la Violoncel – 11 septembrie 2018, finala la Vioară – 17 septembrie 2018 și finala la Pian – 23 septembrie 2018) și au loc la Ateneul Român.

Ediția din 2018 a Concursului Internațional ”George Enescu” a înregistrat un număr record de tineri artiști. S-au înscris 400 de tineri muzicieni, din 46 de țări de pe cinci continente, în creștere cu 26% față de ediția anterioară, consemnându-se și cea mai ridicată participare românească din istoria Concursului.

Crezul sub care se va derula Concursul Internațional George Enescu 2018 este ”Descoperă talentul. Aplaudă efortul. Captează emoția”. Pornind de la considerațiile marelui compozitor român George Enescu, care spunea că în muzică este nevoie de 30% talent și de 70% muncă, Concursul Internațional ”George Enescu” 2018 își propune să fie o sărbătoare a darului unui artist și a muncii depuse, încununate în bucuria participativă a publicului: o invitație la a trăi împreună emoția.

Echipa de Comunicare a Concursului Internațional ”George Enescu”

Informații la zi, imagini, comentarii despre ediția 2018 a Concursului Internațional ”George Enescu” – în Revista Culturală Leviathan, partener media al evenimentului.

Arhiva rubricii Concursul Internațional George Enescu 2018

Arhiva rubricii Festivalul Internațional George Enescu 2017

Arhiva rubricii Musica

Concursul Internațional ”George Enescu” invită publicul să își exerseze calitatea de jurat Aplicația pentru mobil JuratEnescu – un test personal de ascultare critică Începând de astăzi, 5 septembrie 2018, aplicația pentru mobil JuratEnescu este la îndemâna celor care doresc să își testeze abilitatea de a aprecia o interpretare artistică.