#posts that will not bode well in court

[mythid-cryptid]

I hate [redacted for privacy] so fucking much that it literally makes my ears ring and stomach hurt to think about.

[paleprincessturtle]

Heyy! I love your writing and was wondering if you could write a piece where Mike thinks Harvey is a loner so he goes and asks Donna, but Donna tells him he’s been in a super serious relationship for a while. Mike doesn’t believe her so she tells him to go see for himself. Mike goes to Harvey’s place and sees him being super domestic and fluffy with reader.

Aww thanks! And also thanks a bunch for the request. I'm sorry it took so long. But here we go and enjoy!

Note: I'm really sorry for others who already sent me other requests, it might take me some times to post again since I'm in the middle of writing my thesis. Thanks!

Sunny Disposition

Pairing: Harvey x Reader

Mike walked with spring in his steps. It's been approximately 10 hours since Harvey snapped in his face and gave him a direct order to not leave the building unless he found anything they needed for the hearing next Monday. Mike was bummed that he had to cancel tonight's dinner with Rachel. They made an agreement to always have dinner somewhere new every Friday. But here he was. Stuck with piles upon piles upon piles of documents. Nevertheless, he found it. This could be a breakthrough in court. They could win easily with this. But as he got closer to Harvey's office, he slowed down. Frown graced his face. The door to Harvey's office is closed, lights off. Donna was the only sign of life near Harvey's office. Even Donna was getting ready to leave. He walked faster to Donna's desk before she got the chance to leave. "Where's Harvey?" Mike asked, confusion apparent in his voice. "He left at 6," Donna said nonchalantly as if the information wasn't odd at all. It was odd to Mike. Harvey left at 6? Was his place on fire?

"He left at 6? Why did he leave at 6? I have a girlfriend at home, who had dinner alone because Harvey told me not to leave this building. He had a cactus you left him, just that." Mike said in disbelief. Donna chuckled and got back to gathering her things, ready to leave. "Why has Harvey never been in a serious relationship?" Mike asked, all curious. "Last was with Scottie, right? But it wasn't that serious. Though Harvey snapped at me over a pencil after the breakup. But it wasn't that serious from what I see." Donna watched the younger guy rambling. "I can't imagine being Harvey, get home only to a cactus." Mike closed his eyes and shook his head, imagining his home without Rachel. "Harvey is in a serious relationship, Mike." Mike opened his eyes so fast, his hand covering his mouth. "Get out," Mike said in disbelief. "He's been in this relationship for over a year. In fact, he just proposed to her last month, on her birthday, in Florence." Mike's brows knitted together as he tried to remember if there was anything different from Harvey last month. He did take a week vacation, and he dodged questions about his holiday. When he got back he brought with him a beautifully hand-carved pen for Mike. It did creep Mike out. Harvey and souvenirs just don't bode well. He shook his head. "Lies. You said that just to make me feel bad for getting pissed at Harvey because he went home early." Donna rolled his eyes, "If you don't believe me, why don't you give him a visit, and see it for yourself." Donna said as she left her desk.

Mike knocked after he tried the door and failed. He was ready to face Harvey with a glass of whisky in his hand. What he didn't expect was a woman opened the door for him. She dressed in Harvey's dress shirt, black leggings, and an apron. The smell of deliciousness came out as she opened the door. She smiled brightly at Mike. "I'm sorry, can I help you?" she said in all friendliness. Mike snapped out of it and offered his hand, "I'm sorry, I'm Mike Ross. I work with Harvey, I'm here to drop some important documents." Mike explained, confusion still thick in his head. Was Donna telling the truth? Before none of them could say anything, he heard Harvey call from inside. "Sweetheart, who is it?" Mike looked at her in surprise. Sweetheart? Now, sweetheart and Harvey Specter doesn't bode well even more. The woman in front of her ignored Harvey and instead of shaking his hand, she hugged him. "I've heard so much about you! Harvey won't shut up. It's great to finally put a face to a name, and please come in. We are just cooking dinner. Harvey must've confined you in the office. Come in, please," she moved aside to let Mike in. "Harvaroooo" she called out as they entered the kitchen. Harvey turned from the stove and locked eyes with Mike. Harvey frowned and seemed caught off guard. Mike almost laughed at the sight of Harvey standing over a stove, bare feet, holding a spatula. "Harvey baby, look who showed up on our doorstep!" she walked past Harvey as Harvey stood there in confusion. She retrieved a wine glass. "Harvey, why don't you sit down with Mike while I finish up dinner? He mentioned important documents," Harvey nodded, "Mike, you fine with red?" she brought the bottle over her head for Mike to see. "Yes, of course," Mike said slowly, eyes still locked on Harvey's. She brought the glass over to Harvey. "Here, go sit down with Mike," she said, and again, Harvey nodded. This woman can order Harvey around and she's not Jessica, Mike thought. "You sure you don't need help? I can help you finish dinner. Mike can wait. Right, Mike?" Harvey called out. "Yes," Mike answered shortly, still in a daze. "No, baby. You and Mike go out sit on the balcony, and talk about..." she trailed off then smiled, "Talk about whatever you need to talk about while I finish dinner. It shouldn't be long anyway." Mike saw Harvey look down at her. He whispered sweet nothings in her ears as she giggled. He pecked her lips before turning to Mike, he handed him the glass of red and gestured outside with his head. "Wow," Mike said in amazement as he leaned on the railing of the balcony. "Perks of being successful, I can afford this view," Harvey said, leaning on the railing beside him. They both have the view of the kitchen, with the mysterious woman taking an extra plate for Mike. "When are you going to tell me that you're actually engaged?" Mike asked, turning his head to look at Harvey. "I don't mix her with work. When I pissed people off and they found out about her, they will use her against me. I won't let that happen on my watch," Harvey said solemnly. A small smile crossed Harvey's lips as he looked inside at his girl. Mike didn't miss it. "She's beautiful," Mike said, patting Harvey on the back. "Congratulations," Mike said as he pulled him into a hug. Before Harvey could say anything, she opened the sliding door to tell both men that dinner was ready.

Harvey put his hand on his lower back as they walked to the dining table. "You should've told me to help you set the table," Harvey said and she waved him off. "It's fine, Harvey." Harvey pulled the chair for her and kissed the top of her head as she sat down. Mike smiled at the interaction. No matter how much Mike denied it, Harvey is his friend. Mike cared a lot about him and to know that Harvey found her, put Mike's mind at ease. "Oh, I hope we knew you'd come. I hope you're fine with ravioli?" she asked and Mike shook his head. "Please, if anything I'm the one ruining your night with Harvey." Mike gave her a reassuring smile. "It's not like Harvey is an angel and didn't keep you in the office away from your girlfriend," she looked at Harvey and swatted his shoulder, "You should stop doing that, Harvey!" Harvey laughed as he caught her hand and gave it a kiss on the inside of her wrist before letting it go. "Harvey never told me about you," Mike started as he took a bite of the ravioli, "Damn, this is the best ravioli I've ever put in my mouth." Mike closed his eyes as he savored the flavors. "My girl here is the best cook," Harvey said proudly and smiled at her and she laughed. "Harvey never told you about me because I'm a mere mistress," she shrugged as Mike laughed. Mike glanced at her ring finger, adorned with a huge diamond ring. Harvey must've spent a fortune on that. "Sunny, can you pass me the pepper?" Harvey asked her as she passed him the pepper. "Sunny?" Mike asked, eyebrow raised. "Sunny is his silly nickname for me," she waved him off. "Just like Harvaroo?" Mike joked and Harvey choked on his food. The two of them laughed at the even sillier nickname. "It's not a silly nickname," Harvey said after he regained his composure. "Harvaroo?" Mike asked, amusement glinting in his eyes. "That's a silly nickname," Harvey scoffed. "Sunny is not a silly nickname," Mike looked at Harvey, asked him to continue. "She's the ray of sun amidst my storm. I wouldn't know simple happiness without her." Harvey said as he leaned forward to kiss her. Mike watched the two of them and smiled. Relieved washed over him, knowing Harvey, the loner he thought, was actually very much in love.

MASTERLIST

[matan4il]

Update post:

Yesterday, there were no less than two terrorist attacks against Israeli civilians, one in the morning, and one in the evening.

The first one happened in Beersheba, where the terrorist stabbed and injured two people before being neutralized. The terrorist was an Israeli Bedouin, who had been convicted of drug-related criminal charges. The prosecution asked for his arrest, but the court decided to be lenient, to aid in his rehabilitation, and instead only sentenced him to community service. He was due to start in two weeks, but instead he chose yesterday to attack innocent civilians.

The second terrorist attack took place in Gan Yavne. A Palestinian man, who used to have a work permit in Israel, but lost it and remained here illegally, carried out the attack. The Palestinian terrorist started stabbing people at a gym and then at a nearby cafe, wounding 3 people, all of them originally determined to be in serious condition, one is a teenager, the other two are reported to have life threatening head injuries. The terrorist was 19 years old, and he was neutralized at the scene. In investigating how he managed to stay inside Israel illegally after his work permit had expired, the police has arrested two people so far.

Israel has wrapped up its second operation at the Shifa hospital in Gaza City, with another soldier pronounced dead (20 years old Nada Cohen), bringing the IDF fatalities in the Gaza ground operation so far to 256, and the total number of killed Israeli soldiers in this war, including during the Hamas massacre (reminder that some of those soldiers were girls serving in non-combative posts, without combat training or even a weapon, and were slain while still in their pajamas) to 600.

The end of one operation in a Gaza hospital doesn't mean that's the end of Hamas abusing medical and humanitarian facilities, so there are and will be more such operations. That's why I'm also sharing this reminder that nothing is sacred or even just... off limits to Hamas, who moved kidnapped civilians in ambulances, as one of the released hostages testified.

I mentioned in a post expressing my frustration over foreigners' ignorance over the conflict, which doesn't stop them from acting like they know better than the people actually living it, the Hamas-Fatah "civil war," which erupted in 2007, when Hamas killed Fatah members in Gaza and took over the place. The two Palestinian factions have tried reconciliation several times over the years, but it never lasted long. Israel's war in Gaza against Hamas and its fellow terrorists organizations is not over yet, but already there's signs of that tension. This def bodes well for Palestinians if Hamas survives this war.

A city council meeting in California, which dealt with Holocaust remembrance, ended up being the scene of some despicable displays of antisemitism in its anti-Zionist form. IDK what was most distressing to hear about, the way they screamed "Lies! Lies!"' at a Holocaust survivor, or that they took and threw to the ground the phone of a Jewish man who came to speak about his grandma who had survived the Holocaust, or that they mocked a mother speaking of her child being harassed at school to the point he doesn't wanna be a Jew, because he doesn't want to be hated... Maybe that they made my friend, who attended the meeting, cry on what was supposed to be a very special day. I saw coverage on Israeli TV of the city council, which both told me how bad it was, if of all things, that's what they're talking about, and at the same time, it was nothing like hearing about it from her. So I'm glad that she shared some of her own impressions about this ugly demonstration of hatred (I'm also scheduling her post for a reblog). I just hope Jews all over the world know that we here in Israel care about you, we love you, we are standing by your side, and we wish we could do more for you. <3

Speaking of antisemitism, and an inability to recognize it as such, to call it out and condemn it, here's some recent examples from around the world. In Spain, the locals went out for an Easter drink, a tradition called, "to kill the Jews," but insisted it's not racist. Attacking and even killing Jews actually was customary in Europe on Christian holidays such as Christmas and Easter. In fact, this specific nickname is derived from those old attacks.

In London, a policeman insisted that swastikas being displayed at an anti-Israel protest were not antisemitic, and should be taken "in context," despite admitting that a symbol that's abusive or would cause public distress would fall under his jurisdiction to act against.

In the Netherlands, a single mom of a Jewish girl was attacked for the daughter's choices (she decided to move to Israel and has served in the Israeli army) both at home and at her workplace, a hospital. The mother was so rattled after the attack at her home, that she wouldn't stay there. A Jewish hotel owner offered her a free stay at his hotel. In an interview with an Israeli reporter, the mom said she's considering moving to Israel, too (source in Hebrew).

This is 32 years old Celine ben David Nagar.

She worked as an office manager at a law firm, was married to Iddo, and they had a 6 months old baby together. On Oct 7, Celine was on her way with a friend to the Nova music festival, but they never made it there. The Hamas rocket attack started first. For 10 days, she was considered missing, and it took a while, but eventually they found her body. While her fate was still unknown, two days after the massacre, Iddo went on TV and talked about the fact that Celine was still breastfeeding. Following the interview, hundreds of Israel women volunteered to donate their mother's milk to the little baby girl. At Celine's funeral, Iddo asked said goodbye to his wife, and asked hr to watch over him and little Eli from above.

May her memory be a blessing.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[queercontrarian]

Azris Week 2024: Contact

Azriel and Eris are not quite as overt in showing their affection as Azriel's family is. You might not even know it's there... unless you know where to look.

this summary is shit also let's all just pretend i posted this on the right day okay? thank you

@azrisweek

“I’m getting old,” Cassian groans, letting his heavy body drop onto the bench with a crack that doesn’t bode well for the structure of the piece. After all, the birchin is almost as old as Cassian is now. 

“Must be the constant losing because I feel great,” Azriel lies through his teeth as he sits, much more careful than his brother to not damage the old furniture more. He does feel great; winning always feels good, especially when it’s their traditional snowball fight and even more so when it’s his fourth year in a row. Still, he too can feel the years bearing on his bones and joints, especially now that he doesn’t spend nearly as much time training his body as he used to when he was still Spymaster of the Night Court.

“The only reason you can keep up your winning streak is because you don’t have any children to run after,” Rhys complains, stretching his leg out in front of him to gently massage his knee. ”You have no idea what real tiredness is until you’ve chased a nearly eighteen year old across all seven Courts trying to keep him from causing the whole continent to blow up.”

Azriel snorts. “Actually, I do know a thing or two about how that feels.”

“Oh fuck you, I was never that bad,” Rhys replies, but it has no real bite. He leans back and closes his eyes. Azriel shrugs, which Rhys can’t see now but might just feel through some brotherly intuition or simply the fact that they’ve known each other for nearly their entire lives.

“And anyways, it can’t be that hard,” Azriel adds, “You love your children, that’s why you had them. That’s why you continue to have them.” He shoots a pointed look at Cassian. He and Nesta just welcomed another two children into their home: twins, no more than ten years old, both from the far islands which crown the north of Illyria. That makes for five kids that his friends have adopted so far. Luckily, the House of Wind has enough room for all the youths they invite to join their family, and Nyx and Jasmin both go nearly green with envy since Noura is the only cousin with siblings. That is, until Elain gives birth again, which won’t be for a couple months now.

“True that,” Cassian mumbles, eloquent as ever as he too leans back against the wall. “Why don’t you have children anyway?” 

Azriel just stares at him, trying to decipher what it is his brother is really asking. It's not exactly like having a child is something that could just happen to him and Eris like it did for Rhys and Feyre. He knows of course that Eris will be expected to produce an heir some day, but it’s been barely fifteen years since he became High Lord. They still have time, time to figure out how they will construct this future family of theirs, time to be a family of just two. Azriel isn’t ready to share his husband with another soul yet when he already shares him with an entire Court, but that feels like too earnest of a thing to say here and now. It’s not that he thinks his brothers wouldn’t understand, he just doesn’t want to bring it up yet.

“It’s not like we don’t try,” he says finally with a sideways grin on his face, waiting for Cassian to look at him again. “We try so hard, you know, every night, but it just doesn't seem to be happening for us.” Cassian cackles and then coughs as he breathes in the hot air of the birchin, enriched with a thousand healing herbs - at least that’s what it smells like. 

“I’m sure you do,” he rasps through coughing and Rhysand smirks too, though Azriel doesn’t know if it is at the joke he made or Cassian’s face, which has taken on the color of pickled beetroot. 

“You’d never know,” he says, and Azriel just gives a noncommittal hum.

“Right?” Cassian agrees, his voice still rough though he’s stopped coughing for now. “I mean, you’d never know if you just saw you guys.” 

Azriel frowns. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“Just, you know. You don't really act like a couple. I mean, compare that to me and Nesta or Rhys and Feyre; they’re all over each other.” 

Azriel has half the mind to turn his back to them to show them the clear proof that Eris, too, is all over him more often than not, and likes to leave his mark, thank you very much, but that feels childish. The truth is they don’t act like the other couples in the Inner Circle. That doesn’t mean they love each other any less.

“What, just because we don’t fondle each other in the presence of others?” Azriel responds, unable to suppress the slight defensiveness, his inner walls shutting down almost automatically. He knows his brothers mean no harm, but it still feels like a challenge. Eris and him are just much more private people than his brothers and their partners.

“Yeah but there’s private and then there’s whatever you guys have,” Rhys voices his opinion from the bench across the room. Azriel barely has time to admonish him for reading his mind without asking - which is something he promised he wouldn’t do anymore when Azriel became Lord Consort of Autumn, but old habits seem to be hard to break - when Cassian adds, “It’s not like it’s bad or anything. It’s just different from what we’re used to.”

“I suppose,” Azriel says. He’s not trying to spend the limited time he and his brothers have nowadays bickering - even though they are of course dead wrong…

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

▪︎

There is no way they will be able to talk to all these people tonight but Eris seems to be hellbent on trying, and if the High Lord is convinced of something it is harder to change his mind than to go along with it. Azriel has always been the type to choose the path of least resistance. Eris's hand is firm on his back as he leads him through the crowd of fae gathered in the throne room. He can feel Eris’s heartbeat, reverberating through their bond. It rarely feels stronger than when they are next to each other.

He’s been standing on the balcony for a while when Eris finally joins him. His wings are practically being baked in the hot sun of the Day Court but it’s still bearable. Better than being inside anyways.

“Taking a break, are we?” Eris says with a smile. Azriel just rolls his eyes.

“Didn’t really want to stick around to watch my family stick their tongues down their partners’ throats,” he grunts, and Eris laughs.

“The topics of conversations have changed quite drastically since this morning,” he admits, and that’s putting it lightly. The official visit that had been scheduled for diplomacy reasons has been derailed entirely. Now it seems more like they were only moments away from an orgy taking over the room.

“Just… stay with me for a little while,” Azriel asks, with more vulnerability in his voice than he would usually allow himself. It’s hot, he’s tired, he feels a little overwhelmed. He shifts slightly to his left so Eris can lean against the railing next to him. Their arms brush against each other and Eris reaches for his hand, locks their fingers together. 

They watch from the sidelines as the courtiers inside bicker and flirt and debate and disappear off into their own little corners away from prying eyes until Helion finally calls them to order (“So unlike him,” Azriel mutters and Eris grins). 

Minutes turn into an hour and the afternoon sun sinks further into a beautiful sunset. Finally Eris separates himself from the railing and makes a step back towards the hall. He turns to look at Azriel, their hands still joined between them.

“Ready to go back in there, Shadowsinger?” 

Azriel raises their hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of Eris’s hand.

“Yes.”

▪︎

Azriel never thought listening to two brothers argue could be calming, but with Sasha and Bas bickering on the couch opposite him he feels like he could fall asleep at any moment. Then again maybe it’s not the heated discussion about grain import but the friendly fire that the Lady Vanserra had lit in the family’s private drawing room, the dog snoring at his feet, the sound of the wind outside the stained glass windows. Maybe it’s Eris’s hand, curled at the back of his neck, playing absentmindedly with his hair.

Azriel sighs and leans in closer, Eris’s low chuckle a familiar and comforting melody in his ear.

▪︎

People have slowly been filing out of the great ballroom for the past two hours. Personally, Azriel is elated. He does not mind balls, in fact there are two very good arguments why he should enjoy them a lot more than he does - those arguments being that usually, he gets to see his half of the family, and he gets to see Eris even more dressed up than he is on the day to day. Still, he likely won’t ever get used to being the host, and he is very glad that at least for now it is over. There is only one more breakfast to get through tomorrow before the last of their guests leave and he will only have to share his husband with one Court instead of all seven of them. 

“There you are.” Speak of the devil. “Ready for this to end?” Eris’s smile is slightly lopsided, and the way he holds his shoulders betrays his exhaustion, but he looks happy and it instantly lifts Azriel’s mood as well. When he turns to fully face his husband he can’t help but reach out to smooth down the spangles on his coat, which still looks practically impeccable. He knows it would bother Eris though, if he noticed it. 

The male places his hand over Azriel’s own and pulls him closer by his arm until they are standing only a few inches apart. 

“Dance with me,” Eris says, the look in his eyes so earnest that it feels impossible to deny him anything.

“Here?” Azriel asks weakly, his resolve already crumbling before he can even try to say no.

“Yes. Here, now.” 

“Alright.” 

There’s barely anyone in the hall now anyway, and even if there were a thousand guests still around them it wouldn’t matter; all Azriel can see is Eris.

▪︎

Azriel feels like they've been sitting here for hours, listening to Helion drone on and on about regulations in the creation of new subsections of the principal disciplines of magic. Eris at least manages to pretend to show interest, but Azriel is pretty sure that it's very evident on his face that he wants nothing more than to take another break from this meeting, or better yet, leave it be for today and return back to their room. 

He is distracted again when Eris moves his hand to rest between them on the narrow wooden armrest of his throne. He watches, mesmerized by the way his husband's many rings glint in the sunlight as he begins tapping his fingers against the armrest.

Tap tap tap. A signal?

Azriel glances up at Eris, who is still following the debate that has now started between Helion and Kallias, but his expression is a bit too fixed to be natural.

Tap tap, Eris's pointer finger sounds softly against the wood. Slowly, Azriel places his own hand next to Eris's, eyes tracking every movement his husband makes, watching as his mate extends his pinky finger until it rests against Azriel's own scarred hands. Slowly, so slowly, their fingers entwine, Eris’s rings scraping against his skin. When Azriel looks up, Eris is still staring straight ahead, a slight smile on his lips.

▪︎

The House of Wind is as crowded as ever on Starfall, but Azriel can barely hear his family cheering for the spirits as they travel across the sky, nor can he hear the music or the noise of the party. He’s too wrapped up in his mate, standing as close to him as he possibly can to take in his warmth, his scent, his quiet words even as the world around them seems to get only louder.

Under the light of a thousand stars, of spirits and candles and magic sparks Azriel leans in closer to wrap his arms around his mate just as Eris turns to kiss him.

Eris doesn’t say a word when Azriel slumps onto the couch next to him. He only moves his leg a little so he can fit comfortably, shifting his book from one hand to the other. Azriel sighs, his head rolling back as his muscles slowly relax from the long day. Eris’s thigh is leaned against his, with no pressure but a warm, comforting presence that makes him melt deeper into the couch. 

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The trip from Night to Autumn is an arduous one, even more taxing in the winter months when it's cold and wet and generally unpleasant to be flying in the Solar Courts. He wants nothing more now than to simply curl up here with Eris, not talking, not moving, just listening to the rain patter outside their window, the fire crackling and the sound of Eris’s breathing. He sighs, his shoulders slowly relaxing as he lets the day pass by again in memory, from the early morning snowball fight to Solstice dinner, which had dragged on forever. He loves and misses his family, even more so now that they live so far apart, but his longing for Eris, for home, always wins out. 

Azriel stretches his tired body out across the whole sofa with a sigh, feet hanging off one end as he reaches for one of the pillows to rest his head in Eris’s lap. Eris helps him maneuver his wings into a more comfortable position and Azriel can hardly hide his groan of relief when all the weight is finally taken off of his back and he can feel fully at ease. Eris’s fingers get tangled in his hair as he starts to gently massage the back of his neck and his head with one hand and Azriel can feel his mate’s pulse against his ear, on his lips, across the bond, like the steady beat of his own heart.

“How was your trip?” Eris asks finally, though he still doesn’t look up from his book. 

I’m getting old, Azriel thinks, I missed you. They are so wrong about us.

“I love you.”

Eris smiles.

[gabessquishytum]

Dream and Hob are princes of rival countries, betrothed to each other as part of a treaty between the two kingdoms. However, certain advisors and courtiers on both sides would love to have an excuse to go to war (possibly even including Hob and/or Dream’s respective parents), and they see this betrothal as an excellent opportunity to facilitate that; reportedly neither prince is particularly thrilled to be in an arranged marriage, and surely once they meet one or both of them will offend each other to the point that the treaty will be broken and war can be declared.

Except that when they do meet, it is love at first sight. They get to know each other with constant blushes and shy smiles, listen to each other speak with rapt attention, go on long walks happily clinging to each other, and gift each other flowers and books and jewelry that never fail to please and delight.

(They’re always chaperoned when together, but they do manage to sneak away a handful of times and find a quiet corner or room to hide in for a bit and do some further exploration of each other. They only manage to do so much exploring in that time, but what they do manage also bodes very well for their future marital bliss) 😁

The warmongers on both sides watch all this in astonishment and dismay. From everything they heard of each of the princes, they should have driven each other crazy by now, desperate for any excuse to break the engagement. Instead they’re practically glued together, staring besottedly at each other, and eagerly making plans for their future. Even worse, the subjects and members of the court not in favor of war in both kingdoms find the whole thing incredibly romantic and have given their full support to the match, basically ruining any other plans to sabotage the treaty and break them apart.

It’s debatable whether Hob or Dream were aware of the hopes for war from their respective courts, but certainly after they meet any and all thoughts of going along with those plans have been immediately tossed out the window. They’re going to enjoy their fairy tale romance and get married and live happily ever after, and anyone against that can die mad about it.

-🪽anon

Such an absolute badass political maneuver from these two. "Fuck you, we're in love" is kinda my new favourite thing!

The two princes are chalk and cheese, and it really should be a disaster. Dream is withdrawn and dutiful, Hob is boisterous and doesn't give a fuck. They're not physically compatible - Hob is too big, according to his kingdom's advisors, and Dream is too delicate. The war feels inevitable right up until the moment the two meet... and it goes really, really well. They fall in love over poetry and animals, they have a lively debate that doesn't turn into a row as certain people were hoping. The difference in size certainly doesn't seem to be a problem now they're close together.

And look - in the beginning, it's a little bit fake. Hob has had enough of war in his country, and Dream has seen his people suffer too. Neither of them want a fight, so they put up this show of being perfectly romantic. But it isn't fake or a show for long. Hob hears Dream laugh and is immediately smitten, and Dream is instantly besotted by Hob’s joy and determination to make the best of things.

They sneak into the gardens for a little alone time, giggling like teenagers. They were supposed to be having a private conversation about making sure that the war is completely off the table. But. They get distracted and Dream ends up straddling Hob’s lap, kissing him breathless. They're discovered and rumours quickly spread about how utterly adorable and in love the princes are!

Hob is concerned that Dream might be in danger what with the warmongers still around and looking for any opportunity to make trouble. So he posts himself as a guard outside Dream’s door... which also gives him the opportunity to sneak in around dawn. Neither of them are exactly virginal so they might as well start enjoying themselves already! Dream is already obsessed with Hob’s hairy, scarred body and how different it is from his own. He wants to kiss every inch. And Hob is quite keen to return the favour, with the added bonus of his beard burn turning Dream’s flesh a soft glowing pink.

The wedding ends up being a national holiday in both countries and goes down in history as a triumph of diplomacy. The only general complaint is that they fuck everywhere and at all hours but really. That's a small price to pay for peace, right?

[tm-trx]

currents.24[2024]

selections from my week in media [9-15 june 2024]

[anticipating]

Khemjira - paranormal BL - I need it to premiere yesterday. Yes, "never trust a Thai BL trailer" but my hopes are so up. That trailer is amazing.

The Rebound - sports BL - The lead pair's acting has improved by leaps and bounds since their first drama together, so I'm looking forward to seeing them in something new. Meen is apparently a very good basketball player so that bodes well for a more than usual amount of on-court action in the show.

Sunset x Vibes - workplace romance with a supernatural twist BL - I'm excited to see MosBank in a new drama together.

[listening]

"Fancy" / Twice

"FWB" / Great Sapol, Wandee Goodday OST

"Like It" / SHINee

"Next Level" / aespa

"Satellite" / SHINee

[reading]

How a Resurrection Really Feels by LiarsandThieves22 - Steve/Eddie Stranger Things canon-divergence fix-it fic - I loved this story so much: nice and long, Steve-centric, and chock-full of all the found family vibes.

Most Ardently by Gabe Cole Novoa {4 stars} - A queer YA Pride and Prejudice retelling - I enjoyed it a lot and thought the author did a great job reinterpreting the familiar story beats.

[watching]

House of Stars, ep 1-3 - I don't remember why I had this on my watchlist for the year, but I powered through the first three episodes and now I'm kinda hooked. Toey is the standout and I hope he gets his own little plot. I will never get tired of his reactions to Pitch's nonsense.

Lovely Runner, ep 1-4 - I am loving it so much, wow. The time travel mechanic is different than any I've seen before, so that is keeping me guessing. I'm curious to see how it evolves over the rest of the series now that the (seemingly) big reveal about how it works has happened. I didn't know that Kim Hye Yoon was the female lead or I would have started it sooner. I adored her in Extraordinary You and she's still a delight.

Wandee Goodday, ep 7 - Another great episode this week. The fake breakup for their fake relationship actually hurt quite a bit to watch. Yak taking his necklace back was physically painful. I loved it though. The less said about Ter, the better. ugh, Ter. But, I finally remembered to look up the theme song and discovered that Great sings it?! He sounds so good, I love it.

previous Currents posts

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[mathlann]

Thought Dump about YM and being heir, and some other stuff.

The circumstances in which YM got declared heir is a whole nother long-ass post in itself, but I do think the starting trouble of his heir-dom is both that he represents a Lot™ as far as the von Valancius dynasty goes and the choice to foist that on him was mostly a rash decision Casimira made before he was born and now they're both stuck with it because by the time she started to reconsider it was far too late.

Like, being a regular Rogue Trader's heir is a lot of pressure, but he is also the first von Valancius born in the Expanse for at least the last 3-400 years (Theodora being from Scarus and Casimira being Calixian), the first heir born after his dynasty became the most powerful one in the region, and (quietly) a living result of his mom's particular policies regarding Aeldari.

Which is a lot even without even without factoring in parental issues! And no doubt the above became a factor that contributed to Cas deciding not only to publicly make him heir presumptive but also go out of her way to have the "Royal Baby Legitimacy Experience" (with plenty of bribes and negotiations under the table) on Dargonus. Which, barring some quarrels about not having him be born in the capitol world, worked very well in signifying the continuation of the dynasty etc etc.

But at the same time being an only child and heir presumptive kinda did mess him up in a way that definitely isn't helpful to making him want to be heir. Because Cas is very disdainful of hereditary nobility without merit, and inasmuch as Cas' protective shield of exceptionalism extends to her son, YM does on some level recognize he is the very type of person his mom would usually be bitching about after a long day at court. And so, like both his parents, he tends to draw on his origins as a form of self-justification but unlike his parents he doesn't yet have any big deeds to back up that self-belief and therefore deepens his own anxiety around failure because if he's not careful he rationalizes himself into being the thing he's scared of being.

Another "not helping" thing is that Cas learned how to be Rogue Trader by trial and error but doesn't really want YM to have to do that yet. So she gets big on him having a formal Noble Education so that he'll have a good base to work with, despite that fact that he is her and Marazhai in all the ways most calibrated to frustrate her and so doesn't take to hardly any of them. Not because he's not smart enough to grasp the material, but because neither of his parents had to sit in school like this and they turned out fine, so why should he care about Administratum procedures when he could be out in the Heathen Stars adventuring or something? The underside of this is also avoidance, in that failing these things are also a reflection on him so to get out of being "the Heir who tried and failed Administratum Procedures 101" its best to blow it off entirely. Which irritates his mom, because while she understands his wanting to go out and learn the hard way, the tedious shit is important too and its not boding well that it doesn't seem that he sees that. And thus the eternal war of "Im too good for this" and "I'm failing" continues eternal.

Having parents with very different timescales also doesn't help, nor does the fact that his mom and direct comparison point is kind of a fluke. Like on the one hand his young adult years mean nothing to Aeldari in total lifespan so he has time, on the other hand his mother was ruling a large chunk of the Independent Expanse by her early-to-mid thirties, Realspace Time. So being in his twenties and still not even having command of his own ship stings.

Making Marazhai more explicitly a Corsair Prince in my canon does offer a lot more when it comes to "what could've been" for YM. Because by the mere fact of his existence he was never going to be a bastard with nothing. There is a potential future (and one he'd probably like more) where he was just Cas' bastard and was Marazhai's heir presumptive. He wouldn't have the same cushy future job security for sure but the role might have fit his temperament better. Or he would just inherit a different flavor of parental issues and long to be a Rogue Trader's heir. Who knows.

Heir blues aside, YM also does have a perfectly calibrated "fucking with my parents" gene and makes it his business to cultivate a circle of "not necessarily harmful but personally irritating" set of friends and acquaintances to be on hand for social occasions where annoying either parent is the goal.

One of his "learning how the Administratum works" lessons was absolutely getting Jae the renewal of her Mercatum Tabular Rasa. It was a success....ignoring suspicious blood stains and the disappearance of a particularly annoying clerk.

During his eventual Gap Decade with Marazhai he probably gets some training from a Void Dreamer, a type of Aeldari Corsair Psyker that helps ships navigate both Warp and Webway. This solves one of the bigger problems in his life, being that he can't totally atrophy his abilities to the same extent as a Drukhari but following a Path like an Asuryani would send Marazhai into a fit. Void Dreamers, being adept at Warp travel, would be able to help him manage his senses during longer Warp Jumps without necessarily having to resort to violence.

[acourtofthought]

Your latest post which includes sjm interviews made me noticed something...

That she had never intended to do 3 sister x 3 brothers!! Bc this is the biggest argument E/riels drop when they want to defend their ship. "Nesta and Feyre ended up being mates with 2 brothers so it's only acceptable and predictable that Elain is going to end up with Az." The next one is probably Elain's friendship with the twins which they say Rhysand x Feyre/ Amren/ Mor, Cassian x Nesta/ Gwyn/ Emerie and Azriel x Elain/ twins. They say "this has been 💫pLaNeD💫 form the BEGINNING. how could any other ships be acceptable?" And the third would be the 4 books build up between them which it always makes me laugh bc sjm has also build up a future for Elucien. Lucien being Day court heir and Elain love for gardening and sunshine and so many other reasons. And i don't think that's for nothing so...

Anyways the interviews just proves that sjm never had this idea to begin with and right now she just want to mess with fans lol like what she said about Tamlin and Feyre (and even then some ppl noticed how toxic their relationship was cuz there was little red flag in some scenes that makes you think twice about him.)

Which is working because we can see how E/riels will die to defend it. And I think this was intentional...

Again this just points out that she goes with what it feels right to the story and characters and from what we see and have in the books Elain and Az won't happen and I think that bonus chapter was their end...

Bc I don't think sjm is going to do an actual love triangle. Specially if it's going to be between 2 women (Gwyn and Elain) and it will never bode well with the audience...

(Unless Azriel miraculously stop acting like Elain is this poor girl who needs defending and keep her in the dark which I doubt that will happen.)

Also I don't see in sjm female characters to beg for a man specially Gwyn.

And Elain showing some backbone in acosf makes be believe that she won't sit down and let some man to defend her and protect her from danger...

I think Elucien and Nessian both prove that SJM never intended 3 brothers with 3 sisters. Not only did SJM intend for Nesta to be with Lucien until she realized they would be a poor match.....but that means she NEVER initially thought of someone being with Cassian. We have never been given any indication that Cassian was meant to have a mate UNTIL he and Nesta sat down at the table for one another and she realized that was it for the both of them so from both directions, 3 brothers with 3 sisters was never a thing. And back to Lucien....if SJM wanted Lucien to have a failed bond then she would have just kept him with Nesta and had those two break their bond. It really doesn't make sense to say, "Nesta and Lucien would cause one another pain and suffering so I'm not going to put them together.......so instead I'll pair him with Elain so SHE can cause him pain and suffering when she leaves him for someone else and rejects their bond."

[vacantgodling]

ALIZATH -> MAJOR COURTS

the political climate of Alizath is comprised of 4 major families; each faction representing a different court. The Iron Spring, under the rule of the Atherton's currently has the most power in Alizath, by way of banishing their main political rivals the Sunniva's from Alizath 30 years ago, and sending The Brass Autumn court into a tailspin. Recently, a family has finally rose to take the Sunniva's place in this court and has been quickly rising to noterity: the St. Jora's. While not directly involved in the main vys for power, The Steel Winter is a strong and formidable family, with the most military firepower of the other three courts combined. Its ruled by the Flykrost's. Finally, the more divided Titanium Summer court has been falling into decline, and many suspect that it won't be long before the Dinesh's are disposed from their position.

Each court has one court witch; only allowed to live due to their life debt to the families that they serve. Full witches in Alizath are powerful, though they only have one main form of magic innate to them. That innate magic comes with the cost of one fatal setback that hinders their ability.

THE SUNNIVA'S -> returning to Alizath in order to seek revenge on The Atherton family, and to regain their rightful place among the courts.

KIRSI SUNNIVA (she/her) & our main character — the (adoptive; Kirsi is unaware of this fact) daughter of Lord Sunniva, she has come to enter Alizath’s social scene and restore prominence and the good will of the Sunniva family name. She was brought up under the watchful eye of her aunt Lady Jeanna Sunniva, who is currently posing as her governness, so as to not draw too much attention to their goals. Curious, charming, and steadfast.

LADY JEANNA SUNNIVA / MISS ANNAJE IVANNUS (she/her) — the younger sister of Lord Sunniva, she has taken on the role of caretaker to Kirsi and the key to their return to Alizath, for her brother would be killed if he even steps foot on the continent. She keeps herself put together and stern, believing wholly in the good will of her brother, though there is something about her that seems forlorn.

LORD BIAND SUNNIVA (he/him) — the banished and disgraced former lord of the Autumn Court, seeking revenge and return to grace against the Athertons who disposed him of his position. After seeking counsel from a witch post banishment and with the advice of the mysterious Lord St. Jora, he adopts Kirsi to begin their return to prominence. He and Kirsi have never met face to face, though he contacts Lady Jeanna regularly to check on her progress.

THE ATHERTON'S -> rulers of The Iron Spring

LORD DOMINIQ EKBER ATHERTON (he/him) — commanding and domineering he rules over the Iron Spring and currently the most powerful court in Alizath. He has stopped at nothing to achieve his goals and to secure power for himself and future generations after him, however with a sudden decline in his health, it is rumored that he has begun to train his young nephew of his late sister, Zepheryos, to take over their growing empire in his stead. 

VISCOUNT ZEPHERYOS ATHERTON (he/him) — growing up with a sense of hero worship towards his Uncle has not helped this young man in the slightest to be prepared to rule. He craves power like a dog craves bones; relentlessly and hungrily.

MISS GREYE ATHERTON (she/her) — growing up in the shadow of her father’s ambition and earning nothing but his ire had left Greye bitter and resentful. She resents that she doesn’t know who her mother was, and that by simply existing she has been scorned and cast aside. Despite the stigma of magic, her frequent visits to their court mage, Adisa, could bode ill in the future.

MISS MERIKE ATHERTON (she/her) — the younger and more spoiled daughter of the Atherton’s. Despite being born with a silver spoon, Merike is naive and dense to the political climate that they live in. She is cheerful and well mannered and it’s hard to hate her, however her ignorance could be more of a threat than her father thinks it can be. She seeks love like in her fairy tale novels and despite her charming clumsiness in the Alizath social scene, no one will approach her for fear of her father’s wrath. 

COURT WITCH ADISA (she/her) — the witch of the Atherton’s. She has premonitions in the form of visions, however she can only draw one image from the vision before her memory is wiped of it completely. Over the many years that she has been indebted to the Iron Spring, she has developed a complex system to ascertain as much meaning from her predictions as possible with her utilization of colors, line strokes, etc.

THE ST. JORA'S -> new rulers of The Brass Autumn

LORD GAVRIEL EUGRAPHIOS ST. JORA (he/him) — sly, cunning, and mysterious, Lord St. Jora has been absent from Alizath on business for almost twenty years now; leaving the sole responsibility of the prominence and safety of the family in his son Juven’s hands. He has been helping the Sunniva’s integrate back into Alizath but for what reasons… who can say. 

VISCOUNT JUVEN ST. JORA (he/him) & Kirsi’s main love interest. — There is more than what meets the eye to this seemingly charming and laid back playboy. He is both a hunter, a politician, a brother, and a financial opportunist. He has been steering his family’s destiny so many years after his father’s absence and he does greatly and deeply resent him for it. He wishes for an Alizath free from all this petty squabbling but that requires more work that he’s not sure he’s willing to put in. He has a close relationship with Amarette Dinesh and there are many rumors surrounding the relationship between himself and their family witch, Mistral. 

MR JAVAN ST. JORA (he/him) — The twin of Juven, though no one knows which of them is older. Unlike his brother Javan is more interested in the studious side of things versus the social and it’s thanks to Juven that he has been able to pursue his own interests. While it’s true neither of them is older or younger, Javan begrudgingly does feel like Juven is the elder brother for how he takes the responsibilities that could’ve been for either of them onto himself. 

MISS NITHYA ST. JORA (she/her) — The youngest child of the St. Jora family and lacking in all desire for social cohesion.

COURT WITCH MISTRAL — the St. Jora’s witch and has a close relationship with Juven, to the point of slight possessiveness despite the rumors of him being a playboy. She can hear other’s thoughts but cannot speak her own, however the St. Jora’s have long developed a sign language system for communication with Mistral. 

THE FLYKROST'S -> rulers of The Steel Winter

LORD OTTAR CALAROOK FLYKROST (he/him) — Laid back, yet deadly, the Flykrosts are known for their prowess in battle and Lord Ottar is no exception. The mind games of the other prominent noble families are something he finds tedious, however he isn’t one to jump the gun without a sure reason to. He wants what’s best for his family and values their health, safety, and happiness over any power he could have in Alizath.

LADY LOVE FLYKROST (she/her) — A warrior settled down to become a mother, still that has not sharpened her ferocity. She is a force to be reckoned with and some find her more terrifying to deal with than her husband. She dotes on her children and values her family—created or forged above all else. 

MR CHERRY FLYKROST (he/him) — The eldest son who spurns the viscount title; he prefers to drink and relax and be entertained. He is a well spoken poet but tends to dislike alienating himself from others yet he hates when things are too serious. 

MR HOLLIS FLYKROST (he/him — trans) — the younger son who seeks to be a great warrior like his parents. He is socially awkward and a bit brash and stern but he does mean well. 

MISS GILLI FLYKROST (she/her) — Lady Love’s younger cousin brought into the family (as many suspect) to take the role of viscountess. She’s a brilliant strategist but prefers to be at leisure. She can be cutthroat and ruthless when pushed. 

COURT WITCH RAGHNALL (he/him) — Witch of the Flykrost’s; he always knows if someone is lying or telling the truth however he can never tell a lie himself. 

THE DINESH'S -> rulers of The Titanium Summer

LADY ELZBIA DINESH (she/her) — The matriarch of the Dinesh family after Lord Dinesh’s untimely death. Quite bitter over her current circumstances, she is desperate for a shift in power and pressures her eldest son to not only get married but take over the family so she can retire. She is very strict and cold towards her children and is not very nurturing.

VISCOUNT ARTEMI DINESH (he/him) — The elder of the Dinesh sons. He carries the viscount title by his mother’s pressure but he has no interest in leading the family. Despite the argument that his titles affords him the leisure he so enjoys, he constantly sneaks away from his duties to spend time with those of lower classes. 

MR AMARETTE DINESH (he/him — gay) — His sexuality and lack of desire to produce heirs has soured his relationship with his mother to the point that they barely speak to one another. He has sought solace in hunting and is very close friends with Juven.

MISS RUZEN DINESH (she/her) — The bastard daughter of the late Lord Dinesh and the object of Elzbia’s bitter hatred, the end result of the affair that tore their marriage apart. As part of Lord Dinesh’s will and conditions for keeping The Titanium Summer it is required that Ruzen be provided for. She is meek yet she holds a quiet anger within her. She fears Lady Dinesh and she is distrusting of others. 

COURT WITCH DAMEK (he/him) — the Dinesh witch with a fondness for Ruzen. He can strengthen others physically at the cost of his own health. 

*there is going to be more characters than this but they'll come about as i actually start plotting. so there'll probably be a part 2 to this lol.

[strings0fcontrol]

Hannigram – Post-Fall (17)

Will seemed to be the narrative's favored character, although that typically didn't bode well for him. Instead of being endowed with plot armor, he found himself burdened with plot trauma. His personal chamber of mental torment, and Miu was his executioner. Wonderful. Attempting to regain his composure, he scanned the surroundings, squinting at the images. Some appeared crisp and clear, while others seemed distorted, fragmented, and a few even appeared to vibrate before his eyes.

What is it that Miu is attempting to convey to him? His gaze roamed the room, and his thoughts labored to unearth an answer. Introspection hung in the air. The answer resided somewhere within these images, but what answer was it? And to what question did it pertain?

Miu surged forward, its graceful and silent steps bringing it closer to the next memory. It stood beside the imagery and turned its gaze toward Will, who trailed after the creature. He cast a cautious glance at it before reaching out to touch the memory, allowing it to play. He heard a brisk, commanding knock at the door, followed by the abrupt intrusion of light into an otherwise dimly lit room. At its radiant epicenter stood Hannibal, his presence commanding attention. The good doctor's lips traced a slow, deliberate path with his tongue upon laying eyes on Graham.

"Good morning, Will. May I come in?" Hannibal's presence at the door left Will in a state of disorientation. Looking back on the moment, it felt as if a vampire had sought permission to cross the threshold into his home.

"Where’s Crawford?" His shadowy image inquired, its searching blue eyes darting about as if seeking a lifeline.

"Deposed in court. The adventure will be yours and mine today," Hannibal responded, a subtle trace of amusement lingering in his countenance. Subsequently, his gaze drifted past Will, seemingly ensnared by an imperceptible barrier, only to snap back to the profiler with expectant intensity. "… May I come in?" Hannibal inquired again. Will, against his better judgment, had granted him wordless entry, ushering him into the intimate realms of his life. Within the next moment, they had transitioned to the table, settling into their seats as Hannibal unveiled his home-cooked meal, a dish that, upon reflection, undoubtedly concealed the sinister secret of human flesh as one of its ingredients.

"I’m very careful about what I put into my body, which means I end up preparing most meals myself. A little protein scramble to start the day. … Some eggs, some sausage."

Sausage, in all likelihood crafted from the remains of Cassie Boyle. Will speared a piece of meat with his fork with less than graceful finesse. He then snapped it between his teeth, his gaze flitting uneasily through the narrow gap between his curtains. As he chewed, his attention appeared to abruptly sharpen.

"Mm, it’s delicious. Thank you." He had anticipated his gag reflex to surge at the recollection of consuming human flesh, yet it remained surprisingly dormant. Now, that piqued his interest. Miu leaned in from behind, prompting Graham to cast a cautious and assessing glance upward. Despite feeling his heart momentarily skip a beat, he managed to maintain his composure and concealed his reaction. He continued to watch as the cat displayed a curiously keen interest in the imaginary meal set upon the plate of his memories. Fascinating, indeed. His inner self, the facet free from the constraints of societal norms, appeared entirely unperturbed by the concept of cannibalism. It regarded it with nonchalance, an absolutely intriguing revelation.

"My pleasure," Hannibal's voice echoed in the background, but Will's focus remained locked on the massive feline, whose eyes seemed to practically salivate at the sight of the meal. At least now, he was certain of the creature's diet: humans.

Though, once more, his countenance remained a steadfast fortress concealing his thoughts and emotions, a curious question lingered in his mind: what if it had seized him at the house? How excruciatingly painful would that divergent fate have been, had destiny charted a different course?

"I would apologize for my analytical ambush, but I know I will soon be apologizing again, and you’ll tire of that eventually, so–I have to consider using apologies sparingly." Hannibal pressed on, effortlessly recapturing everyone's attention.

"Just keep it professional." Will deflected, causing Hannibal's gaze to snap toward his own meal. The fork idly toyed with a morsel of egg. The maneuver had evidently struck a nerve. 

"Or we could socialize, like adults," Lecter’s tone quickened, its edges becoming noticeably sharper, albeit with a subtle undercurrent of agitation. Just as swiftly as his irritation had surfaced, he imposed a deliberate pause by placing a forkful of egg into his mouth, his tone subsequently regaining its composure and steadiness. "God forbid we become friendly." ‘God forbid we become friendly.’ Will thought, and another cold realization sent a shiver down his spine. It became abundantly clear that Hannibal had harbored the intention of forging a ‘friendship’ right from the very beginning.

How desperate and yearning Hannibal could become, Will mused inwardly. It vaguely amused him, and he found himself struggling to suppress a sly, knowing smirk that threatened to tug at his lips. Oh, these memories promised to be  highly   enlightening. Miu was acting as his instructor, imparting the art of deciphering Hannibal's thoughts and actions, effectively arming him with potent ammunition. "I don’t find you that interesting," Will nearly choked, hastily swallowing to speak, his gaze fixed upon the steaming contents of his cup. With his cup positioned as a physical barrier, he sought to ward off Lecter on every conceivable level.

“You will,” Hannibal spoke in soft tones, though in retrospect, his words bore an unsettling semblance to a veiled threat. 

Indeed, Hannibal had managed to pique Will's interest in a way he couldn't deny. Congratulations, Dr. Lecter. Will found himself torn between the urge to burst into laughter or succumb to tears, his body trembling as the scene continued. Hannibal lingered for a moment before taking his next forkful of eggs, his gaze fixed firmly on Will, evidently studying him intently.

"Agent Crawford tells me you have a knack for the monsters," Hannibal remarked. As he spoke, Miu shot a nearly judgmental glance in Will's direction. Will met the creature's gaze, his brow furrowing, before he simply shrugged, his lips forming a tight line.

Meanwhile, Graham's shadowy figure set the fork aside and gently slid the plate away, creating space for his arms to cross in another protective barrier. His hands cradled his elbows, employing a self-soothing gesture. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his interest in the conversation now unmistakable.

"I don’t think the Shrike killed that girl in the field," As Will spoke, Hannibal's immediate reaction was to raise his gaze, his curiosity and interest palpably evident. He was undeniably correct about that, an irony in how no one seemed to believe him. Now, Hannibal was thoroughly intrigued. He folded his arms onto the table, drawing closer to Will, mirroring his posture but leaning in much further. His level of interest eclipsed that of Will's.

"The devil is in the details," Lecter spoke, his right index finger ascended, pointing, as his voice gained a subtle but commanding volume and presence. "What didn’t your copycat do to the girl in the field?" His index finger descended, and his tone quickened, tinged with curiosity, as though he were ravenous for a revelation. "What gave it away?"

The devil resided within the details, yes, and those very details lay before him. Hannibal was consumed by curiosity, eager to ascertain if Will could discern his presence concealed within those little subtleties. He yearned to be noticed, to be seen by Will. Graham could sense his breath growing slightly louder, a chorus of emotions swirling within him. Amidst the tumult, one emotion emerged prominently: heat, a simmering fervor that coiled within his lower abdomen. He was undeniably excited. It wasn't a pristine emotion; there was a sinister shadow clinging to it, but he could roughly categorize it as excitement.

See?

"Everything." Will swept his right hand through the air, the gesture emphasizing the scale of his point, but then he anxiously bit his lip and retreated his hand to cover his mouth, absentmindedly stroking his beard—a manifestation of self-soothing behavior. What traversed his mind, clearly unsettled him. Redirecting his hand once more, it suddenly adopted a vivacious and animated demeanor, becoming quite the conversationalist in its own right. "It’s like he had to show me a negative so that I could  see  the positive." He paused, both hands retreating to rub his face, his demeanor clearly unsettled, profoundly so. It felt as though an unrelenting fire was searing its way through his mind. "That crime scene was practically gift-wrapped." With a gesture reminiscent of someone offering a gift, Will's hands stretched out toward Lecter, who listened with rapt attention.

It was a gift presented to Will, quite literally bestowed upon him by Hannibal. In all fairness, Hannibal had indeed aided Will in obtaining a crystal-clear image of the killer. Simultaneously, this moment was bestowed, as if gift-wrapped by Miu for Will, a deliberate offering intended to unveil something profound. Hannibal recoiled, momentarily appearing as though he had been taken aback, swiftly retracting his left arm from the table. It was as if he had been genuinely unsettled or surprised by the precision with which Will had discerned the image. Awe and caution danced in his eyes. He harbored no fear, yet it was evident that he had registered Will as a conceivable threat.

"The mathematics of human behavior, all those ugly variables." Hannibal paused, smoothed his jacket, then slowly extended his hand back toward the table, his fingers reaching for his fork with cautious grace. "Some bad math with this Shrike fellow, huh?" Will busied himself by pouring another cup, briefly allowing his gaze to flicker toward Lecter. "Are you reconstructing his fantasies?" Hannibal interjected, a subtle note of amusement in the final part of his utterance, one that, upon reflection, bore a more nuanced and possibly suggestive undertone than he had initially realized.

"Heh." An involuntary smirk graced Will's lips, as though the emotion had surged forth with irresistible force. ‘Reconstructing his fantasies,’ indeed. He felt a newfound determination to reconstruct them now, sensing an internal shift. It was gradually dawning on him what Miu intended to convey. The creature was laying out all the puzzle pieces, extending to him a workshop, a sort of playground where he could assemble the mosaic of his thoughts. In an ironic twist, it was granting him precisely what he needed. Will had once declared his disdain for uncertainty, and now, it was offering him the tools to craft clarity. Within the fortress lay a forge, and Miu, with a generous spirit, provided him the iron needed to craft his own sword. "What kind of problems does he have?" Hannibal asked. Graham squinted at the shadow, inhaling sharply. It was evident that Hannibal was probing, attempting to discern what Will perceived within him.

"Uh, he has a few," Will replied with a subtle tilt of his head, the wide-eyed, slightly startled look in his eyes suggesting that he might have been wary of delving too deeply into the implications of that statement. Will took a measured sip from his cup, and Hannibal's gaze, in response, retreated, snapping back to the eggs as if he were nursing some internal disappointment or frustration over the statement. It hinted at a vulnerability, and perhaps even a trace of insult, lurking beneath the surface. Did Hannibal genuinely possess the audacity to expect a compliment when posing such a question? Without a doubt, yes.

"You ever have any problems, Will?" Hannibal retorted, and only then did he permit his gaze to reconnect, leaning ever so slightly forward. Graham squinted once more, his head tilting as he contemplated the scene. The shift in tone and the transition from a straightforward question left him wondering if he had wounded Hannibal in some way. Of course, he had. He couldn't help but acknowledge the pettiness; naturally, Hannibal felt a surge of anger for not receiving what he desired. Hannibal Lecter had a multitude of issues, but there was one undeniable trait everyone could concur on: he was a petty and horny little whore. And that's precisely what led to his apprehension. In the background, the cup that Will had been holding met the table with a gentle thud.

"No," Will retorted with a sardonic smile, lifting the cup back to his lips.

"Of course you don’t," Hannibal's voice started in a low register before gradually adopting a louder, more authoritative tone once more. Yet, it carried a mocking undercurrent, concealed beneath the surface layers. "You and I are just alike, … problem-free ," he emphasized that particular part with precision, almost leaning in as he delivered it, before abruptly retracting his gaze and his proximity from Will and redirecting his focus to his meal. "Nothing about us to feel horrible about." Lecter paused, observing as Will took another forkful of the meal, a glint of satisfaction dancing in his eyes, as if he relished knowing the truth of what Will was consuming. It was evident he was contemplating how best to respond to the stinging gesture in kind. "You know, Will?" He paused again, then leaned in, "I think Uncle Jack sees you as a fragile little teacup. The finest China, used for only special guests." Ah, there he was, pressing Will's buttons, his actions almost akin to a seductive dance, asserting control over the situation. He provoked Graham. The imagery Hannibal had planted in his mind painted a picture of Jack treating him like a delicate, fragile teacup, requiring special care. This notion brewed a storm of emotions within Will—disgust, anger, and an inexplicable urge to choke Hannibal, right before his eyes. It was an impulse that surfaced suddenly, leaving him bewildered. Before he could make sense of it all, the haunting echoes of his own tormented laughter filled the room, and his eyes shifted to his own shadow. Will had reclined in his seat, gently stroking his beard, all the while Hannibal wore a smug smirk aimed squarely at him.

"How do you see me?" Will inquired, and an abrupt silence pervaded the space, with Hannibal's countenance taking on a significantly more intense expression. Light and shadow played upon his countenance, with nearly equal distribution gracing only one side of his face—a visage akin to a devil kissed by the touch of light.

"The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by." Hannibal spoke with a composed tone, but his enchanting eyes revealed a subtle vulnerability—a slight twitch of his lids, a determined effort to maintain his composure. That little flicker of black, a blur of motion against the captivating interplay of browns, grays, and greens swirling within his irises. He fought to resist blinking, to maintain a steadfast gaze directly ahead, and in doing so, he unwittingly revealed the truth. The snakes, a reference to the FBI.

Will's smile quivered, teetering on the brink of being maintained, only to ultimately fade away, replaced by a crease between his brows. With his reclined posture and limbs resting on the armrests, Graham appeared as though he had been utterly defeated, akin to a man sitting in a chair awaiting execution. In stark contrast, Hannibal sat ramrod straight, a fork clutched in his right hand, his left hand carefully guarding his meal, and a radiant smile gracing his lips. Lecter had taken firm control of the situation, and Will had just been served his metaphorical Henkersmahlzeit.

"Finish your breakfast," Hannibal commanded, his demeanor almost cheerfully focused on his meal. It felt like a command given to a dog, and Will sensed his anger simmering just beneath the surface. His breath became slow and heavy, and as the scene paused, it started to transition to the moment they were seated in the car. Graham stood outside in the parking space, patiently awaiting the arrival of the car. The window on his side was rolled down, affording him a clear view of the unfolding conversation.

"What are you smiling at?" Will asked as he caught Hannibal’s amusement. Lecter appeared subtly taken aback by Will's astute observation, as if he had momentarily faltered—a rarity considering his usual penchant for toying with other FBI agents. Yet, in a swift pivot, he recognized the depth of Will's observation and regretted his lapse in caution. He was selecting his words with utmost care and precision.

"Peeking behind the curtain. I’m just curious how the FBI goes about its business when it’s not kicking in doors." Hannibal responded with satisfaction evident in his demeanor. Of course, he was pleased, for he was truly peering behind the curtains, gaining valuable insights on how to evade capture. In essence, he held a backstage pass to the unfolding drama.

"You’re lucky we’re not doing house-to-house interviews," Will seized the opportunity to inject a bit of sass, although his tone quickly settled into a more serious demeanor. "We found a little piece of metal in Elise Nichols’ clothes, a shred from a pipe threader." Hannibal found himself both intrigued and cautious in equal measure.

"There must be hundreds of construction sites all over Minnesota." And now he was probing for specifics. Details on how they narrowed down their search.

"A certain kind of metal, certain kind of pipe, certain kind of pipe coating, so we’re checking all the construction sites that use that kind of pipe." Will, thoroughly exasperated by Lecter's presence and desperately wanting him to be silent, effectively handed over that information on a silver platter.

"What are we looking for?" Hannibal leaned in with a cheeky demeanor, posing yet another probing question in his quest for additional information.

"At this stage, anything, really. But mostly, anything peculiar," Will spoke, adamantly avoiding eye contact with Lecter until the very last moment. He practically bolted from the car, eager to escape both the onslaught of further questions and the company of the persistently sociable creature beside him.

Hannibal appeared genuinely amused by the situation. This piqued Will's interest; after all, he had exited the car, making it impossible for him to have caught a glimpse of Hannibal's expression. How, precisely, had these events been etched into his memories, and how could they retain such an extraordinarily vivid level of detail? So thoroughly engrossed in observing and mentally dissecting the scene, Will had remained oblivious to Miu's whereabouts and actions. He scanned his surroundings, searching for the demon, but at some indiscernible moment, it had simply vanished, leaving him completely clueless as to when it had slipped away. It was a puzzle without a readily apparent solution. Intrigued, he resolved to shadow Hannibal's every move.

As they entered, delving into the files, Will couldn't help but feel increasingly exasperated. The more he observed, the stronger the urge grew to facepalm and yank out his own hair in frustration. He had been right there, beside him the entire time, peering over his shoulder.

Hannibal had keenly observed as Will singled out Garret Jacob Hobbs by analyzing the resignation letters. Will had gone so far as to inquire about the existence of a daughter, offering an uncannily precise description that would later match Abigail. Moreover, he had openly shared his observations about what he found peculiar in the letter, unwittingly furnishing Hannibal with even more valuable information.  And even before Will grasped it, Hannibal possessed all the necessary tools to make that fateful call. He had unwittingly handed him the metaphorical axe to execute Abigail with. Had he found himself in the company of anyone other than Hannibal, had it just been Jack that day, Abigail might still have stood a chance of being alive. Hannibal had placed unwavering faith in Will's deduction, believing him without a shadow of doubt. This belief weighed on Will's conscience, causing an overwhelming desire to vanish into a void where nothing could touch him.

The incident with the files slipping and falling was no accident either; it was precisely when Hannibal had placed that accursed call—the call that had left Abigail orphaned. If only Will had instructed Hannibal to descend and deal with his wretched mess instead of obediently plunging into the mire himself, perhaps there wouldn't have been enough time for that ill-fated call to be made.

If just one of his choices had diverged on that fateful day—had he not allowed Hannibal in, not permitted his company, not responded to his inquiries, not granted him that solitary moment with the phone—Abigail might have been spared. This realization churned within his stomach like a corrosive, seething acid.

His throat seared with a burning sensation, and his internal turmoil vibrated within him, as the surrounding sounds dissolved into an indistinct cacophony, akin to a painting of blurred colors collapsing in on themselves. Will had to withdraw, his composure crumbling beneath the weight of the memories. The scene came to a halt, and he had to regain control of his breath. Overwhelmed didn't begin to describe it. It felt as though he were not only reliving those moments but also observing himself as a detached spectator, and he found it nearly unbearable.

He found himself unable to speak, resorting instead to the physical release of his mounting frustration through vigorous rubbing and clawing at his own skin. He searched for an outlet—something to kick or hurl in a fit of anger.

Will found himself powerless to alter the situation. The emotions felt like fragments displaced in time, remnants of unprocessed feelings he had never allowed to surface. His gaze shifted to the creature. Mirroring the way he had denied Miu the space to truly exist.

However, amid his observations of the entity, one intriguing detail seized his attention, momentarily arresting his thoughts and redirecting them onto an entirely different course: a subtle inner glow emanating from its belly, as if it had consumed flames. Will's mouth fell agape, his scrutiny intensifying, his head tilting slightly. One eye narrowed, while the opposite eyebrow arched. The thought was barely taking shape, but it lingered there, just within his grasp. Could Miu be consuming emotions? As it drew nearer, Will's instinctual urge to retreat surged, but he found himself immobilized by fear as it reached out and leaned over him. Paralyzed, he acquiesced as it seized both of his upper arms with a grip as unyielding as stone cuffs. He could do nothing but watch as its colossal jaw opened, seemingly splitting its visage horizontally, revealing the true extent of its vast mouth, threatening to sever his head from his shoulders. However, this was not the creature's intention. The grip was formidable, and he sensed himself rendered immobile by the sheer presence of it, yet it did not inflict pain or constrict him; rather, it held him in a firm but gentle embrace.

He peered down its cavernous throat, witnessing muscular seals parting and a screeching suction that seemed poised to pull him inside. It was absorbing his emotions, voraciously devouring them, extracting the feelings directly from his mouth without ever making contact with his lips. It was as if it was feasting on his very soul, drawing the anger out of his chest and providing him with emotional relief. He observed the petite wisps of energy, painted in hues of orange and red, a sight akin to magic, yet searing like molten magma. They vanished down its throat, as though it were spewing fire in reverse. He sensed the scorching heat, tasted the corrosiveness, and experienced the biting sting of the emotion on his tongue, like the sensation of acid. He fixed his gaze upon the teeth, reminiscent of an anglerfish's but neatly arrayed in two rows, evoking the precision of a shark's dental layout. What struck him most was their remarkable mobility. Each tooth was tethered to a sinewy muscle strand that vanished beneath the sharp tongue. It gradually dawned on Will that these teeth possessed the ability to rotate, akin to the serrated blade of a chainsaw. They could vibrate and twist like hooks, displaying the capacity to employ them individually, with conscious intent, and a degree of creativity. Shit. Fuck. Help. Inching closer, far too close, he could smell blood. His widened eyes mirrored Death's gaping maw poised directly overhead. A mere few millimeters separated him from laying his head to rest within that ominous abyss. A mere sneeze or cough from it, and he'd be gone in an instant.

Yet, Miu's sole focus appeared to be the extraction of emotion. Its teeth remained stationary, and Will might have succumbed to fainting if not for the burning curiosity about what those teeth looked like and what they were capable of when set in motion. He yearned to understand, and it was this inquisitiveness that maintained the steady rhythm of his beating heart.

Despite the nightmarish spectacle unfolding before him, Graham felt an eerie sense of calm gradually enveloping him as it continued to draw from his emotions. The more it extracted, the more his internal landscape seemed to stabilize. It was as if it had patiently waited until his emotions were ripe for harvesting, tending to them like a vintner cultivating grapes for a fine wine—nurturing, feeding, provoking, and cultivating in its own unique way.

That.

He took a deep breath, attempting to wrestle the realization into a coherent thought.

That was the motive. Its motive wasn't sexual; it was far more sinister, calculated, and grotesque in design. It drew sustenance from emotions, particularly negative ones—anger, fear, disgust. That was what kept it going.

Not a psychopath. Something even more chilling. As Miu retreated, Will's mind went blank. He fixated on the ground, eyes widened, attempting to assemble the fragments of what he had just experienced. He felt revitalized, his thoughts astonishingly clear, but that newfound clarity was equally unsettling. It was as if it had surgically extracted the burning energy within him, leaving him to contemplate the depths of its own capacity for malevolence. It was undeniably attempting to convey something, yet simultaneously reaping its own benefits from the exchange. That level of calculation had blindsided him, taking him entirely by surprise. Will was not easily caught off guard; he usually had an innate ability to sense danger, even if he couldn't precisely identify its nature. But this, he hadn't anticipated in the slightest. His gaze lifted, fixating on the creature, and he observed the smug curl of its lips as its hands slowly ascended, gripping the collar and exerting force. The metal began to creak, even deform, but its strength hadn't yet reached the point of snapping it. This wasn't ordinary metal; it was far denser and heavier, capable of supporting several tons of weight, based on his observations. That single piece alone could be likened to an anchor capable of dragging an entire ship to the ocean's depths. The fact that the creature could deform it only heightened his unease. It was steadily gaining strength by absorbing his negative emotions. Will's mind grasped onto this realization and expanded upon it. If he continued to feed it, the collar would eventually give way, and the creature would likely manifest even more terrifying abilities. He couldn't tear his eyes away; they remained fixed on the restraint. Did he want to keep feeding it? Did he want to witness the consequences of that collar coming off? Could it spell his demise? Most likely. Yet, curiosity gnawed at him, urging him to discover what would transpire.

In a chillingly explicit manner, it had demonstrated how he could liberate it and the extent to which they would become interdependent. The question that loomed was whether either side could be trusted. Was betrayal a viable option? It intended to employ and inflict harm upon him in pursuit of its own liberation, yet paradoxically, it appeared to be guiding and nurturing him in an uncanny fusion of motives. A peculiar amalgamation indeed, one that bore unsettling similarities to a certain psychiatrist. The smugness etched across its expression conveyed the message clearly to Will. It was, in a peculiar way, extending an offer, a deal of sorts. Graham narrowed his eyes, recognizing it as an undeniable pact with the devil. Yet, in this moment, the devil seemed to be his most pragmatic choice.

He couldn't predict its next move, couldn't discern its exact intentions. Even with a literal collar around its neck, it wielded absolute control over the situation. It had succeeded in dismantling his façade initially. He still harbored fear, indeed, but it no longer dominated him as it once had. Over time, he had become skilled at feigning fear to a greater extent than he genuinely experienced it, recognizing that this made people consistently underestimate him. In a similar vein, Miu seemed to share this trait, revealing only the information it chose to disclose, typically those details that served its best interests. However, it proved to be remarkably perceptive, concealing even more than he had initially anticipated.

He had prodded at Hell's gates, and the devil himself had emerged for a game.

This, he could only liken to The Morningstar.

So remarkably cunning, he found himself nearly in awe, unable to summon hatred for it. In its sinister manner, it had managed to impress him, instilling bone-deep terror, yet evoking a sense of admiration as well. It had never uttered a falsehood, yet it had expertly manipulated him. Deception through the truth, now that was a mastery.

He pondered whether he could glean something from it. If it continued to provide him with such valuable ammunition, what would be the eventual outcome? It had already seduced him with his own curiosity. Without uttering a single word, it had showcased intelligence surpassing anything he had encountered. Oh, how Hannibal would relish this creature. He now held a precise understanding of what Miu was. Certainty, typically a comforting notion, had morphed into something quite terrifying. Its lips parted gradually, revealing a grin reminiscent of the Cheshire cat, proudly displaying its numerous sharp teeth in all their horrifying glory. Will mirrored the smile, his lips curling to reveal his teeth in a sinister display of glee. At the very least, things were taking an interesting turn. Engaging in direct confrontation held far more excitement than languishing on a desolate island with just a thread of communication. He had discovered a counterpart in his own darkness, erasing the need to hide or feign innocence. Two predators now faced each other, mutually acknowledging the game they were about to play. This promised to be a compelling training exercise, indeed.

If he relinquished control over his emotions, it would feed off him. Feeding off him would replenish its strength. Consequently, the collar would be removed. If the collar came off, it would have no further use for him. Therefore, the imperative remained: don't feed the demon. But maintain the illusion that you will, thus dissuading it from turning your intestines into a salad. He had already assigned it a name, but he couldn't afford to become attached. After all, it was probably the very thing that kept him confined in this place. The situation couldn't be any less pressure-filled, he mused with a hint of sarcasm. How great that he had honed the skill of feeling emotionally dead inside while being sassy about it. A game of chess with the devil incarnate—how could he possibly decline such an irresistible proposition? The Morningstar, bored as ever, found no greater amusement than flamboyantly annoying someone with its wit.

And Will, acutely aware of the glaring red flag, lingered to witness just how intensely crimson it could become.

[charlotteswebbbbb]

What’s the vibe? #57

News:

Matchesfashion has gone into administration and they’ve also cut their workforce by half. So Farfetch sold, Net-A-Porter looking for a buyer, MyTheresa and SSense doing okay I assume?

What are the jobs of the future? Where is truly safe from risk? No where but here are some suggestions for jobs always needed: health/care, food, agriculture, public transportation, engineering, artists, craftspeople. Will expand upon this later on with more research but this is something to chew on.

Miu Miu is in my eyes, now, a brand for women of all ages, a brand that plays with the idea of youth and intellect and I guess customers really like it. From BOF this weekend….

“Prada Group released [its annual report] yesterday, with an eye-popping 82 percent uptick in Q4 sales at Miu Miu, the main driver of growth is ready-to-wear, up 24 percent year over year, and up 64 percent versus 2021, compared to 3 percent and 25 percent growth in leather goods, respectively.”

What was also great was the ideal Miu Miu customer walking the runway….Meet Dr Qin Huilan

The post continues on: "Therefore, I also want to encourage everyone who is confused at a certain point, never give up on your dreams! Before the age of 70, I only cared about my patients as a doctor. Who would have thought that at the age of 70, I would be standing here on the runway today? Come on! Look! This is Paris! Look! This is miumiu’s runway! Look! This is 70-year-old Qin. #miumiu"

Living the "brand values" as they say.

Thread of thought: Kate Middleton conspiracy theories > lack of trust in British society > interpersonal relationships - "do we even believe each other?" > I'll see it to believe it culture > low hope? during an election year. Feels like the slog but I also feel like this is why people are latching onto these theories so quickly. But the photoshop was terrible and honestly, the news agencies killing the photo does not bode well for the family regardless of outcome.

In the theatre:

Bluets @ Royal Theatre (Fri 17 May - Sat 29 Jun 2024)

Slave Play (29 June - 21 September 2024) - sort of controversial but will be hyped and seen.

Person of the Week:

Fromm Studio - 3D artists, Vince Ibay and Jessica Miller, located in London (Barcelona also). They also just had an exhibition at Mother (@downstairsatmother) which finished 3rd March.

Reading List:

Really interesting as the guy who ran it said he wanted to quit because of the "enshittification" of the internet?

from the ft article!!!

"But in case you want to be more precise, let’s examine how enshittification works. It’s a three-stage process: first, platforms are good to their users. Then they abuse their users to make things better for their business customers. Finally, they abuse those business customers to claw back all the value for themselves. Then, there is a fourth stage: they die."

also

[renzakiaoi]

What If your favorite historical figure is in Ikemen Vampire Universe

My Favorite Is:

Raden Saleh Syarif Boestaman

Potrait painting Saleh Syarif Boestaman by Carl Johann Baehr

Raden Saleh Syarif Bustaman

(1811 – 23 April 1880) was born in the village of Terboyo, near Semarang on the island of Java in the Dutch East Indies (present-day Indonesia).

He was born into a noble Hadhrami family; his father was Sayyid Husen bin Alwi bin Awal bin Yahya. He was the grandson of Sayyid Abdullah Bustam through his mother, Raden Ayu Sarif Husen bin Alwi bin Awal. Through his sister, Roqayah, Raden Saleh was uncle by marriage to the famous religious leader Habib Ali Kwitang.

He was considered to be the first "modern" artist from Indonesia (then the Dutch East Indies), and his paintings corresponded with nineteenth-century romanticism which was popular in Europe at the time. He also expressed his cultural roots and inventiveness in his work.

Potrait painting of Raden Saleh by Friedrich Carl Albert Schreuel in 1840.

Young Raden Saleh was first taught in Bogor by the Belgian artist A.J. Payen. Payen acknowledged the youth's talent, and persuaded the colonial government of the Netherlands to send Raden Saleh to the Netherlands to study art. He arrived in Europe in 1829 and began to study under Cornelius Kruseman and Andreas Schelfhout.

It was from Kruseman that Raden Saleh studied his skills in portraiture, and later was accepted at various European courts where he was assigned to do portraits. While in Europe, in 1836 Saleh became the first indigenous Indonesian to be initiated into Freemasonry. From 1839, he spent five years at the court of Ernest I, Duke of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, who became an important patron.

From Schelfhout, Raden Saleh furthered his skills as a landscape painter. Raden Saleh visited several European cities, as well as Algiers. In The Hague, a lion tamer allowed Raden Saleh to study his lion, and from that his most famous painting of animal fights was created, which subsequently brought fame to the artist. Many of his paintings were exhibited at the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam. Several of his paintings were destroyed when the Colonial Dutch pavilion in Paris was burnt in 1931.

Studio Potrait in 1872

23 April 1880, Saleh suddenly fell sick. He claimed that he was poisoned by one of his servants, and subsequently died; however post-mortem examination showed that his circulatory system was disrupted due to a clot near his heart. Saleh was buried two days later in Kampung Empang, Bogor. As reported in Javanese Bode newspaper, 28 April 1880, his funeral was "attended by various landheeren [landlords] and Dutch officials, and even by curious students from nearby school.

Raden Saleh Painting

During his stay in Paris, Saleh met Horace Vernet whose painting frequently took themes of African wildlife. Compared to Vernet, Saleh's painting seems to be more influenced by the romantic painter Eugène Delacroix. This could be seen in one of Saleh's work, Hunting Lion, 1840, which has similar composition to Delacroix's Liberty Leading the People. However, Werner Kraus, a researcher in the Southeast-Asian Art Center of Passau, Germany, said that Saleh "never mentioned Delacroix. Perhaps he saw Delacroix's, and possibly Vernet's, works during an exhibition.

And one of my favorite painting by Raden Saleh is:

The Arrest of Pangeran Diponegoro

Raden Saleh is particularly remembered for his historical painting, The Arrest of Pangeran Diponegoro,   which depicted the betrayal of the rebel leader Prince Diponegoro by the colonial government, thus ending the Java War in 1830. The Prince was tricked into entering Dutch custody near Magelang, believing he was there for negotiations of a possible cease-fire. He was captured through treachery and later deported.

The event had been previously painted by a Dutch painter Nicolaas Pieneman, commissioned by Lieutenant General Hendrik Merkus de Kock. It is thought that Saleh saw this painting during his stay in Europe. Saleh made significant changes in his version of the painting; Pieneman painted the scene from the right, Saleh from the left.

Pieneman depicts Diponegoro with resigned expression, while in Saleh's he appears to be outraged. Pieneman gave his painting the title Submission of Prince Diponegoro, while Saleh gave The Arrest of Pangeran Diponegoro. It is known that Saleh deliberately painted Diponegoro's Dutch captors with large heads to make them appear monstrous, as opposed to the more proportionally depicted Javanese.

De onderwerping van Diepo Negoro aan luitenant-generaal baron De Kock by Nicolaas Pieneman 1830–1835.

Raden Saleh’s work has been regarded as a sign of incipient nationalism in what was then the Dutch East Indies / Indonesia. This can also be seen it the depiction of Diponegoro's men. Pieneman had never been to the Indies, and so depicted Diponegoro's men in a more Arabic fashion. Saleh's version has a more accurate depiction of native Javanese clothing, with some figures wearing batik and blangkon.

Saleh finished this painting in 1857 and presented it to Willem III of Netherlands in The Hague. It was returned to Indonesia in 1978 as a realization of a cultural agreement between the two countries in 1969, regarding the return of cultural items which were taken, lent, or exchanged to the Dutch in the previous eras. Even though the painting did not fall under any of those categories, because Saleh presented it to the King of the Netherlands and it was never in the possession of Indonesia, it was nevertheless returned as a gift from the Royal Palace of Amsterdam, and is currently displayed at the Merdeka Palace Museum in Jakarta.

My sketch prototype

I'm still trying to improve my digital art skill. And i think i will try to write story au about him in Ikevamp universe. I'm sorry for my bad English 😭😭

[karo614]

Something wonderful is happening…

It’s my lovely elder sister’s graduation dayヾ(≧▽≦*)o

Happy Graduation 🎓

My elder sister actually completed her Diploma in Fine Arts in 2020. However, due to the Covid-19, the graduation ceremony has been postponed until now. Anyway, this graduation ceremony was wonderfully held in the Sunway Hotel after all of the obstacles.

Looking forward to my second elder sister’s graduation ceremony at the end of this year (☆▽☆)

Last weekend, I joined my housemate to play badminton at the Sunsuria badminton court. It is owned by Chan Chong Ming, the former world No.1 Malaysian badminton player. We invited the Malay man who worked there as the front-desk staff to play with us. Surprisingly, he is not only a staff, but also a part-time coach on the badminton court. (⊙o⊙) After having conversations, we knew that he had just completed his diploma in sports and was waiting to participate in the upcoming Daikin Badminton Competition. I hope he will successfully achieve an excellent result in the competition!

A tiny success within this week: my group has completed the data collection via questionnaire for the Quantitative and Statistical Methods course. The target number of respondents for this questionnaire is 80 people, and we were lucky to get 85 people participate in our survey ♪(´▽｀) It took us one week to have 40 respondents for the pilot test, and we surprisingly achieved another 40 respondents within just one day! Hope this smooth start bodes well for the rest of the process to progress and finish.

Our Chinese Cultural Society’s Spring Festival Charity Gala (as mentioned in the previous post) had its last committee meeting on last Thursday. We will have two busy weeks starting from now until the event day, which is March 10. I can't wait to enjoy the delicious food and wonderful performances on the day!

See you on the next post ヽ(✿ﾟ▽ﾟ)ノ

[chrono4000]

Marc Elias

FIRM CHAIR

Marc Elias is the Firm Chair of Elias Law Group, a mission-driven firm committed to helping Democrats win, citizens vote, and progressives make change. Marc is a nationally recognized authority and expert in campaign finance, voting rights, redistricting law, and litigation.

As a litigator, Marc has handled hundreds of cases involving politics, voting rights, and redistricting. He has successfully argued and won four cases in the U.S. Supreme Court, as well as dozens of cases in state supreme courts and U.S. courts of appeal.

He has represented the Democratic Senatorial and Congressional Campaign Committees, several presidential campaigns, as well as dozens of U.S. senators, governors, representatives, campaigns, and other Democratic and progressive organizations.

When Trump contested the outcome of the 2020 election, Marc met every futile challenge at the courthouse, notching over 60 legal victories against the former president and his allies during the post-election period, alone. He has also successfully represented several House and Senate candidates in post-election litigation, recounts and challenges. In 2024, Marc was named to Forbes' inaugural list of America's top 200 lawyers.

Marc is also the founder of Democracy Docket, the leading digital news platform dedicated to information, analysis and opinion about voting rights and elections in the courts.

Marc is an alumnus of Hamilton College, Duke Law School and Duke Graduate School. He is a proud owner of a Portuguese Water Dog named Bode.

Contact our office in Washington, D.C. or Seattle, WA.

[mariacallous]

JAKARTA—“One round, one round, Alhamdulillah, one round, Prabowo, Prabowo, Prabowo,” a jubilant crowd chanted as the man set to be Indonesia’s next president, Prabowo Subianto, arrived to give his victory speech at a stadium in Jakarta. Some 200 million Indonesians were eligible to vote, and by a clear margin this electorate—52 percent of whom are under the age of 40—chose a 72-year-old former lieutenant general with deep links to the old dictatorship.

Some say he has changed. Others fear his arrival spells bad news for Indonesian democracy, which has already been strained by tacit state support for his campaign. Current President Joko Widodo, commonly referred to as Jokowi, not so tacitly backed the campaign of his former rival. “Jokowi has opened the door to make Indonesia going back to the New Order darkness [under former dictator Suharto],” said Andreas Harsono, a veteran member of Human Rights Watch in Indonesia.

The most obvious cause of worry is the fact that Prabowo’s running mate, Gibran Rakabuming Raka, is Jokowi’s son. The 36-year-old, who has just over two years of political experience as mayor of Surakarta, where his father started his political career, only became eligible after a last-minute Constitutional Court ruling made an exception to the previous restriction that candidates had to be at least 40.

The state has put its thumb on the scales in other parts of the campaign, too. Corruption investigations into party leaders appeared and then disappeared after they backed Prabowo. Opposition campaigns complained that the police harassed them and pressured people to back Prabowo. And spending on social aid for Indonesians not only boomed but in some cases was even reportedly handed out by people linked to the Prabowo campaign. “Many law professors and other academics stated that it is the dirtiest election that Indonesia has ever had in post-Suharto period,” Harsono said.

Both losing candidates are now also alleging mass fraud in the vote count. There is not yet credible evidence of anything remotely on the scale needed to tip the results. “I’m sure there’s stuff here and there,” said Seth Soderborg, an expert on Indonesian polling. “But tens of millions of fake votes would leave traces.”

Still, the electoral interference during the campaign is enough for many people to worry—especially when combined with Prabowo’s own past. He first came to prominence serving in Indonesia’s special forces during the bloody counterinsurgency campaign in East Timor. Prabowo was involved, as a soldier, in the killing of resistance leader Nicolau Lobato. He has been accused of responsibility for massacres in both East Timor and West Papua—something he has always strenuously denied.

His marriage to Suharto’s daughter brought him political prominence, with some seeing him as a potential heir. When pro-democracy protests brought down Suharto’s regime in 1998, Prabowo was implicated in the kidnapping of 23 democracy activists (13 of whom remain missing and presumed dead) and may have tried to seize power himself.

Briefly forced into exile by the new government, Prabowo soon returned to Indonesian politics. He sought to be nominated as a presidential candidate in 2004, ran as a vice presidential candidate in 2009, and then ran for the presidency itself in 2014 and 2019.

On both occasions, he was beaten by Jokowi. When he lost in 2019, he initially denied the results, alleging massive fraud, sparking a riot that left eight people dead. Jokowi stunned many when he defused the situation by bringing Prabowo into government as defense minister.

This set the scene for the final transformation of his career into Jokowi’s heir apparent and, for many younger voters, a cuddly old man. In the previous decade, Prabowo’s campaigns were marked by a fiery strongman nationalism, with him riding into stadiums on the backs of stallions to warn baying crowds about the forces of foreign subversion and communism. His alliance with extremist Islamist groups added to the menace, despite his obvious opportunism. (Prabowo’s mother is Christian, as is his brother.)

This time around, Prabowo ostentatiously and repeatedly declared his loyalty to and plans to continue the policies of Jokowi, a man his campaigns once smeared as a crypto-communist-Chinese-atheist-Christian. On the campaign trail, flashes of nationalism made themselves felt in warnings about foreigners bringing Indonesia down and stealing its wealth. But his most prominent campaign feature was the promotion of his image as gemoy, or cute. Social media was blanketed with videos of him dancing like a dad and cuddling cats and Pixarified cartoons of his face.

Young voters in particular flocked to him, liking his image and perhaps unaware of his past. In the crowd waiting for Prabowo to deliver his victory speech, Fauzan Dismas, an engineering student, declared that he liked Prabowo because he was “tough.” But when asked about past allegations of human rights abuses and links to Suharto, the student demurred that he didn’t know much about that. “I wasn’t born yet.”

So, what’s next?

Internationally, Indonesia’s stance will probably not greatly change. The United States and China are both courting it, but the country has long committed to the principle of neutrality and nonalignment in international affairs. Prabowo has emphasized his commitment to this stance, comparing Indonesia’s position to Switzerland or Finland during the Cold War.

Still, Prabowo’s bombastic nature and nationalistic streak could mean occasional surprises. Indonesia continues to contest China’s claims in the South China Sea, which overlap with what Indonesian pointedly calls the North Natuna Sea. Last August, Prabowo briefly seemed to take a harder line on this, issuing a joint statement with the U.S. Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin. But two months before, at the Shangri-La Dialogue in Singapore, he proposed a Ukraine peace plan that the United States and its allies frostily viewed as pro-Russian.

Domestically, beyond worries about democratic decline, the key question may be how long the Prabowo-Jokowi alliance will last. Detailed policy discussion was lacking during the campaign, but Prabowo loudly promised to follow Jokowi’s lead on infrastructure, “downstreaming” Indonesia’s natural resources, and building a new capital in Borneo. Yet Prabowo is known for his mercurial temper and has harbored ambitions to lead for decades. Will he really be content being in his predecessor’s shadow?

Should Prabowo buck at this, Jokowi might well find himself with limited influence. His son may be vice president, but the role, much as in the United States, comes with very little formal power beyond what the president is inclined to cede.

Jokowi also has no political vehicle of his own. He is still formally a member of the Indonesian Democratic Party of Struggle (PDI-P), but that bridge has been thoroughly burnt by his tacit backing of Prabowo over the candidate nominated by the PDI-P, former Central Java Gov. Ganjar Pranowo. Meanwhile, the tiny Indonesian Solidarity Party—which his other son, Kaesang Pangarep, took over in September—failed to get enough votes to enter the national legislature.

Prabowo is also 72 and rumored to be in poor health. Should the conceivable happen, the world’s third-largest democracy may find itself in the hands of a young man whose previous experience includes some relatively successful business ventures and two years as mayor of the city his dad used to run. Some veteran Indonesian technocrats are unsure about which thought is most worrying: President Prabowo or President Gibran?

[umichenginabroad]

Berlin - Lessons, Reflections, and Memories

As I sit in the gate for my flight home, I can’t help but reflect on my time in Berlin. I learned so much here. To begin, I learned about Berlin itself. It's a city which is very reflective of its own history, not to dwell, but to learn from. I thought that was particularly remarkable. It’s also very clean, and you can tell a lot of emphasis is placed on respecting others and the space around you. This was especially noticeable at the Futurium. I was expecting it to be largely focused on the technology of the future, but this was only a third of it. It also focused on the nature and human life of the future, how we are shaping it now, and how we can achieve a desirable future within those spheres.

An especially memorable day, the first time we toured the city. Here's some of us at the Berliner Dom!

I also learned how to travel more effectively. Submerging yourself in the culture of another place goes so much further than simply being there. A great way to do this is to simply be in the city. Rather than spending a ton of time on the touristy places, take the subway to a random stop, get off, and get lost wherever you are. This strategy led me to the post office, or Postfuhramt, which has a beautiful building front. Of course, it's still amazing to see the touristy things, but I found getting lost in the city allowed me to find so many beautiful things I otherwise wouldn’t have. This strategy works for souvenirs as well. I loved buying things to take home from flea markets and art fairs.

Here's the outside of the Postfuhramt! I loved the combination of the color and architecture.

Finally, I made memories that I’ll take with me for the rest of my life. From all the excursions we went on, to the trips I took over the weekends, to even just chilling in the park next to our apartment with friends. Perhaps my favorite memory is the last time we played sand volleyball at Beach61. I have never been in an area with so many courts at once, with everyone laughing and having fun. Playing volleyball was already one of my favorite ways to spend time with friends, and being in an environment like Beach61 made it all the more special.

I know I will look back on this experience fondly for the rest of my life. I’m so glad I’ve been able to tell you all about my travels! Thanks for sticking with me through it, and I hope this has encouraged you to travel if you’re able to. I promise it will change your life. I’ll leave you with one last photo dump of the city and one last Auf Wiedersehen!

From top to bottom, we have the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, a view of the Spree River along one of its walks, the Victory Column, and the Bode Museum. I'm really going to miss this city!

Signing off,

Marisa May

Mechanical Engineering

Engineering Laboratory Experience at TUB in Berlin, Germany