#randomly found them deep in my gallery

[rozeliyawashereyall]

Liya rant let's fucking go

Again! Little reminder Liya is a separate character from me, Roze! I've just been using her a pfp because I didn't have one for ME y'know?— also, there's lot of Greek mythology references but I don't care let me make my OCs in peace goddamit

Basics first—

Her full name is Liya "Minthe" Noor! Hehe

Birthday is on the 29th of October

She/They pronouns

A genderfluid lad :3

She isn't human per se... but a nymph! An underworld water one ^_^ (a Naiad basically–)

Ethnicity is greek-egyptian! Can speak Arabic, English, and Demotic Greek :3 (and just a lil bit of Armenian)

Just a silly gal looking for a home after being cast out by her father

Mbti is INFP-T

Now, Liya Noor.. I have so much lore on them i might need to make a separate post!

Let's get straight to the point~

Minthe can exist anywhere she wants. Whether it be in a different universe, an audio RP (hehe), or in a game. With just a ring of her bell, she'll be teleported there to lurk from the shadows.

The underworld is surrounded by a series of rivers: The Acheron, river of woe. The Cocytus, river of lamentation. The Phlegethon, river of fire. The Styx, river of unbreakable oath. and The Lethe, river of forgetfulness. <- Liya was created by Cocytus, along with her sisters.

Year is 1683

After being assigned to go collect a human soul for the first time, she accidentally fell in love with the mortal land, getting distracted by it. So instead of collecting the soul of the dead human so they could properly pass, they instead started touring around, watching the markets, stage shows, etc. completely forgetting about her mission.

Unfortunately for Minthe, her forgetting to collect the soul caused a..slight troublesome event for the mortals. Since the soul wasn't harvested, the body was still alive despite the heart no longer beating, causing quite a freakout in the city, which led to a lot of crazy theorists rioting and semi still sane people leaving the land.

After her father found out about Minthe's terrible mistake, he cast her out of their home, with a quest on her hands.

"prove you're still worthy to call yourself a child of mine, and you shall return. Fail, and you'll be drowned in the river of Lethe, forever to forget."

The problem was...he never told her what her quest was. He basically just told her to "fuck around, find out, and pray I agree."

A year later. Minthe was travelling along the mortal land in the late 16th century of Scotland, searching for a clue to what her quest was, when she met a woman in her early 20s, her name was Liya.

They befriended each other quite fast! Uh, before Liya was hanged and then burned at the stake for the accusation of being a witch. Yeah, that messed up Minthe up quite a bit.

After that sad event, she named herself Liya, as a little momentum to her friend, and an almost rebellious act towards her father.

Year is 1832

After almost 200 years of pointless searching, Liya finally relented and went back down to the underworld to ask what her quest even was

On her way to the underworld. Liya meets a kitten! A cute, slightly injured one. She takes the feline under her wing, planning to soak the cat in the river of Styx so it'll live an immortal life with her! Just like how Thetis did to her son, Achilles.

Now, walking from the mortal realm to the underworld is a long, long way, taking almost 5 years by just walking. So instead Liya decides to find a shrine of Hermes, to ask him to guide her into the realm of the undead. But after searching and searching, she found all the shrines...but the ones dedicated to Hermes.

In a fit of frustration, she destroyed a shrine dedicated to the goddess of Spring, angering her badly.

In punishment, she cursed them. Killing her feline companion, and making a mint plant grow inside of her stomach. Forcing Liya to endure a century of suffocation from the plant, but never dying of it.

Ah- that's all for now, I'll probably make a part 2 of this one day.

But for now you get this!!

[lets-talk-spirituality]

Will you do tpwk analysis it's the most controversial one lol

Cleaning out some of my drafts because that’s the mood I’m in esta mañana! Is it controversial? Doesn’t feel that way to me!

Maybe we can, Find a place to feel good

And we can treat people with kindness, Find a place to feel good

This line always reminds me “there’s a place for us, somewhere a place for us” (someday from west side story). Maybe we can means he’s not sure if we can but he’s hopeful, wanting to find a place to feel good is important to him, implying he hasn’t found a place where he feels good and where people are treated with kindness

I got a good feeling, I'm just takin' it all in, Floating up and dreamin', Droppin' into the deep end

Got a good feeling implies some level of intuition or instinct, and that he’s just riding the waves as they come, dreaming (a big theme always) “she lives in day dreams with me” floating as in moving up towards the sky where sunflower is “hung up high in the gallery”

And if we're here long enough, They'll sing a song for us (ah-ah-ah-ah)

To me this is him saying to his person to stay here long enough, to hold on, to wait. There have been continual references to Harry and someone he’s connected to feeling immense pain and he’s saying if we hold on, things will improve, always encouraging them to hold on and things will get better “you can see the world, following the seasons everywhere you go”

And we'll belong

What he wants for himself and for his person, we’ll belong “we belong to light, we belong to each other” (we belong, pat benatar). Harry doesn’t feel like he and someone else belong, he doesn’t feel like he and a lot of people belong, but the use of the word will implies he thinks in the future that can change

Giving second chances, I don't need all the answers

He’s admitting that there are things he doesn’t know “there’s things we’ll never know” (fine line) but that he doesn’t need to know everything to feel good, he’s no longer “worried about where you are, or who you will go home to”

Feeling good in my skin, I just keep on dancin'

He’s saying he’s gonna just keep having as good a time as he can, “kids in the kitchen listen to dance hall” I think dancing represents freedom of play to him, I think he gets in touch with his inner child when he dances

And if we're here long enough, We'll see it's all for us

To me he’s saying to his person, look at it all, this world, this music, this story, the world is our oyster, this is all for us, all for you, if you hold out you’ll see things differently, maturing is a beautiful thing in the way your understanding grows and changes

And it's just another day (and it's just another day)

Even magical people have ordinary days

And if our friends all pass away (ah-ah, ah-ah)

This is morbid randomly out of the blue, but Harry has lost people to suicide in his life. Some maybe to drugs. He lost his stepdad. I think he’s dealt with a lot of loss and he’s had to just keep going.

It's okay (it's okay, it's okay, it's okay)

But it’s okay because we can just make it through this rough time

All we ever want is automatic all the time. All we ever want is auto all of the time

Harry has this theme of feeling robotic (satellite music video) but also “tea with cyborgs” a real disconnect from our own humanity, but he’s saying he recognizes how things take time sometimes. We aren’t robots, we’re humans and part of being human is not having all the answers and being patient, and hoping things get better, he’s letting go of a lot of his need for control

Ultimately I feel like this is a song trying to encourage people that it gets better and we can create the spaces, the homes we longed to have. I think this is a sentiment he has expressed in a few different songs.

[moonlightheretic]

WIP Wednesday: The Heretic Chapter 24

Still pretty rough but here we goooooo~

I ascended the curved spine carefully; the teetering stone stairs that clutched onto the rounded tower precariously-- for it connected level to level and body to head. That was just the edifice I needed to enter; Solas’s mind. Perhaps, there was more to discover in those sketches than just my face.

My head swiveled constantly, on the lookout for agents or others who might try and stop me. So far there was no one. My body may be adorned in his robes, embroidered with his ideology but my mind still felt wrong here, like a thief in the night or a trespasser. I pressed my ear to the door, I couldn’t be too careful. With the reassurance of silence I pulled the door open, but held my dagger behind my back at the ready. Silence could only comfort me so much.

There was nothing and no one, only stale air and the smell of fresco paint served as reminders of who spent their time here. My eyes searched from one end to the next of this misguided gallery. All I saw were his portraits of myself, his haunting obsession staring back at me, the faces so life-like sometimes I swore they blinked back at me. Gone were the others, the portraits I had admonished him for the last time. What had he done with them? Celine? Leliana? The Champion? Perhaps, he had already made quick work of them. 

An irritating itch deep inside of me propelled me forward, I wanted to rip them all down, how dare he still care? After pursuing the Titan, after corrupting himself, after killing Mythal, after condemning my ancestors to guard his sanctuary, how dare he still fucking care? How dare he hold my hand in the Deep Roads with only tenderness and compassion? How dare he still be so gentle! He deserved to remain as the monster I made him into, that the world had made him into! My hands tugged at a drawing of Dal’nim, her person drawn with fluid sketches, I wanted to ball it up and throw it in his red face. 

Tears wiggled down my cheeks and I squinted in frustration. Even if he considered my words, even if he freed his empathy, he still deserved to die. I bit into my lip and shook my head. The drawings meant nothing, they should mean nothing to me. There was so many, stacked upon one another, as if he was building these people out of paper and charcoal, or rather-- building me. I felt like I was drowning in it, a sea of faces that all resembled me. Caricatures of happier times, a mockery of what could have been. I wanted to scream--

No.

I composed myself, he couldn’t know I was here. I smoothed it back onto the wall. I was here for the journal, not sentimental compulsions.

I tore myself from this emotional shipwreck and placed my hands on the wall, I slid my palms as I walked, feeling for its shape, knocking randomly and listening for any indicators of hollowness.

Unfortunately, they sounded most solid and felt most flat.

There were no bookshelves and the walls offered no dips for hiding the only hope I currently had.

I eyed the eluvian with caution, maybe what I sought was contained somewhere beyond the lucid reflection. I designated it as my last resort and dismissed it to scour the desk. The smell of fresco grew stronger, odd for there no jars on the surface before me and I had not smelled it the last time I was here.

I carefully picked over the grand stone desk situated to the right of the eluvian. In the very center sat more portraits, stacked neatly in a pile, the parchment still crisp and un-yellowed. So this was the newest batch, perhaps he had not found room on the walls just yet.

My fingers took great care not to leave an impression on the impeccable pages as I gathered them and went to set them aside. My eyes caught something on the pristine page, and I brought them closer to my face to clarify if I had seen it correctly.

Discoloration speckled the portrait, staining portions of charcoal deeper, splotches that marred my portrait imperfect. These were…tear drops? I laughed out loud despite my misery. He was capable of tears? Even with his empathy under lock and key? I wasn’t sure if I should rejoice or despair.

I studied it closer, the line work varied severely from the older portrait of Dal’nim plastered on the wall, instead of lose strokes, these more closely resembled tightly knit scribbles and chaotic slashes. Solas was distraught when he created this.

For a man that hid his emotions under a clever tongue and strategic stoicism with unrivaled skill; he was no match for simple paper and instrument. Here he was laid bare for all to see; a prestigious man plagued by ambition and fraying at the edges, and who was I, but his shattered mirror?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading!

Tagging- @kita-lavellan | @silvanils | @noire-pandora | @5lazarus| @inquisitoracorn| @drag-on-age | @dreadfutures |

[anniesarthistoryblog]

A Review of three works from the ‘Shape and Form’ Exhibition at @heartofthetribe Gallery, Glastonbury

As our final assignment for our Art History module for @strodefad​ we were required to write an essay discussing eithere an art history movement or a recent exhibition visited. Always up for a challenge i chose to write about the brief opportunity I got to see an art gallery between lockdowns in the new gallery that i am fortunate to have just a few minutes walk from my home here in Glastonbury.

What made it a really special experience was that i managed to contact two of the three artist I chose to include in the essay and they very generously answered my questions about their exhibit pieces to give me some context and process insights as first-hand accounts and it was wonderful to be able to ask the creators quesitons about their work and how they made it. The exhibition had high quality contributions from over 30 Somerset artists, so it was hard to select just 3 works, but  I managed and got the essay completed in time.

This is an analysis of three selected works from the ‘Shape and Form’ exhibition at the Heart of the Tribe Gallery in Glastonbury. The gallery only opened in September 2020 and despite the restrictions caused by the COVID pandemic, this was the third exhibition that the gallery has managed to stage since then.

Following a core artist group launch exhibition ‘Diversity’, and solo exhibition ‘Beauty and Truth’ by John Minshull, this exhibition was a collation of works submitted by 30 Somerset artists following an open call for contributions from the gallery core artists and online directory members.

Curated by gallery manager Kim von Coels (aka artist ‘The Krumble Empire’), the aim of the exhibition was ‘to explore the fundamental building blocks of visual art, both geometric and organic’. The exhibition was open from 3rd December -26th January and I managed to see it twice before lockdown restrictions came into force. A virtual tour (1) is also available here

1. Millie Gleeson: ‘All We’ll Know’

The Painting was displayed in a prominent position on the last wall as you exit the exhibition, directly opposite a canvas featuring an abstract female form in greyscale graphite, and the scale of this canvas (60 x 48 inches) made it really stand out.

I saw Millie’s solo show also entitled ‘All We’ll Know’ at the Red Brick Building in June 2019. She uses reference photographs to help with composition and is heavily influenced by her time in Berlin and Mexico.

Many of her works feature masks painted on the (mostly nude) female subjects, so what I found fascinating about this piece was that the face was illuminated and prominent and she is swathed in billowing robes.

I contacted the artist for more information on the context and process of the painting.

She told me this is a self-portrait, painted from a 'still' of the artist performing in a music video her friends (the Hics) produced, also called "All We'll Know"( 2 )

Gleeson started began painting this in 2014, but it was put into storage until she revisited to complete it in 2019.

She commented ‘it was a huge time of transformation and the end of an era and perhaps I had to return to the painting when I felt I'd fully transformed.’

The Painting has lots of movement, which is representative of the video it is sourced from, the performers are in an industrial setting and are either submerged under water, or as captured in this image, rising up and breaking free. The robes are flowing and there is a sense of movement in the arms and legs. Her website (3) describes how the work was developed as part of a series developed during an Artist Residency at Arquetopia in Mexico.“The residency applied Levanasian ethics to the artistic process, teaching to respect the integrity of differences and question the desire for totalisation. Questioning whether you can truly know the other and if you only know the self, how can you respect the space between?” “Any creative project I have embarked on at the core has revolved around the topic of identity or identification. Following the residency lectures my project became entirely introspective, leading me on a journey of self-discovery. I began to look at my own shadow, distortions, fractions, mirror images, deep and dark aspects of myself. Using the vibrant colours that surrounded me I began to explore my own conflicts and duality through a series of self-portraits, in an exploration to “All we’ll know.”I really resonated with this piece as it reminded me of the Salvador Dali painting ' Christ of St John of the Cross’ I saw at the Glasgow Kelvingrove museum. Light comes from above and the arms are widely placed. The pale blue colour palette and rich drapery in the dress against the dark background is similar to that shown in ‘The Countess of Southampton’ ( 4) (Anthony Van Dyck 1599-1641), seen at the Cambridge Fitzwilliam museum.

Ruary is an Edinburgh-born artist who has lived and worked all over the world and is a gallery core artist working in an attic studio above.

He is inspired by nature and psychedelic culture (6) and another of his works ‘Sacred Chaos’ was chosen as the exhibition feature image.

I interviewed the artist to learn more about the context and process behind these works. Ruary explained that ���Trap Dance was a process-oriented piece, created as an experiment using masking tape to create random abstract geometric forms”.

The piece depicts two females and a male dancing, with Cubist and Italian futurists-influenced segmentation and distortion of the figures. The artist noted that the title ‘Trap Dance’ is a pun, as the two female figures appear to be being pressed together by the male dancer (Allen quipped it should have been called ‘Tape Dance’). The experimental process with repeated randomly placed masking tape and paint until the forms emerged, resulted in an abstract image.

The artist saw the forms of the dancers appearing and added them at late stages of development. It is more narrative in comparison with the cover piece ‘Sacred Chaos’; which was another process oriented, straight-edged construction using platonic forms, mathematical constructions, intersecting circles and combining them to make a striking abstract image. The artist has a lifelong interest in Alchemy in art and alchemical symbolism, and this is evident in the works presented here (7).

The colour palette is cooler at top and has more vibrant and darker tones at bottom, with a spotlight in the top left corner, which the artist suggests is reminiscent of a stage or nightclub scene. There is lots of movement as the figures are interweaved amongst the abstract shapes.  

This painting is hung in a long narrow corridoor directly opposite the toilets (another ‘trap’ reference?) and adjacent to the exit door to the garden space. The works surrounding the piece are smaller in scale and have less visual impact, and I think that having to stand so close to it makes it more of an experience as the viewer is drawn into the movement and abstract forms on the canvas. There is no opportunity to stand back and see the work in a wider context so one is trapped like the dancers in the image.

3. ‘Lost Toys’ by Julie Ackerman .

This is an installation assemblage sculpture piece selected from a collection of 10 museum themed boxes. (8). The work is inspired by the ‘cabinets of curiosities’ or ‘Wunderkammer’ (as described by Anastasiya Gutnic from the Metropolitan museum of art here with an example from the German artist Nicolaus I Kolb) (9).

The cabinet is displayed with a second piece called and ‘Science Lab’ and both are relatively small in scale requiring the viewer to lean in close to see the details.

Key elements of a Wunderkammer are:

·��      Naturalia (natural, found objects),

·       Artificialia/Artifacta (mand-made, abstract objects), and

·       Scientifica (scientific instruments and technological items)

The cabinet contents are carefully considered to reflect the message that the artist is trying to express, and fits the categories described above.

I chose this piece as the lockdown period has made many of us question what is important to us and question our consumerism and its’ environmental impact.Using upcycled packaging and materials has been a theme of my own creative practice this year.

The artist states on her biography (8)

“I was compelled to take on the challenge of using unwanted objects and materials as an art medium. Raising awareness of a world in crisis through art is paramount in my work. By transforming waste into beautiful works of art, I hope to inspire and encourage the 'Art of Recycling' turning a negative situation into a positive one.”

The artist goes on to state “The impact of overpopulation means greater demand on natural resources and an escalating waste problem. We need nature to thrive by reducing our demand for new materials, leaving nature intact.”

In the ‘Lost Toys’ cabinet a collection of sticks and a pine-cone (Naturalia) are surrounded by a plastic ‘monster’ (Artificialia) and assorted toy animals. A green butterfly rests on a branch with a wooden ’tribal style’ peg and a ‘protective’ dragon flying overhead and a lurking toy hairbrush in the background.

The second cabinet has scientific paraphernalia (Scientifica) and a skull with glasses, references to the impact of sanitary waste and plastic pollution on marine life. There are also humorous touches, like the small creature and drawing pin on top of the skull.

This fits with the exhibition theme as it invites the viewer to examine how the items relate to each other and to our own experiences. Viewers will respond to the individual elements and interpret their relationships differently.

The placing of the cabinets in a transition space between two rooms containing large paintings is also an interesting variation in form and requires a different type of interaction by the viewer.

Summary

The aim of the exhibition was to explore the fundamental building blocks of visual art, both geometric and organic, and the curator has selected a broad range of 2D, and 3D exhibits to really allow this theme to be represented. I found it quite difficult to select only three works for this essay as there was such a high quality to choose from.

These three selected artists have interpreted the theme in quite different ways, but one gets a sense of shape and form from all of their works shown.

References  

1.       Shape and Form Exhibition Virtual tour: https://www.infohost360.com/heart12/

2.       Millie Gleeson – The Hics reference video "All We'll Know" https://youtu.be/RB2MweTwfQY.

3.       Millie Gleeson website: https://milliegleeson.co.uk/all-well-know

4.       Van Dyck Image reference found in Fitzwilliam Museum Cambridge guide, p37. 2016 ISBN: 978-0-9574434-9-5

5.       Image sourced from https://artuk.org/discover/artworks/rachel-de-ruvigny-countess-of-southampton-as-fortune-5613

6.       Ruary Allen Artist Bio:  https://heartofthetribe.com/portfolio_page/ruary-allan/

7.       Ruary Allen Artist website:  https://artalchemist.com/

8.       Julie Ackerman Artist Bio: https://heartofthetribe.com/artist-directory-view-by-artist/user/77/

9.       Cabinet of Curiosities reference video: https://youtu.be/j6q10euArks Nicolaus I Kolb (German, 1582–1621). Apothecary Cart, 1617–18. Veneer: ebonized pearwood (Pyrus communis), ebony, partially gilded silver; carcass: conifer; interior: protective quilted cushion covered in red silk, drawers and chest lined with red silk velvet; gold, trimming; mounts and fittings: brass, partially gilded; thirty-two (32) vessels and utensils: glass, partially gilded silver, low carbon steel, leather, 11 x 11 x 9 1/16 in. (28 x 28 x 23 cm). The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Purchase, Anna-Maria, and Stephen Kellen Acquisitions Fund, 2019 (2019.229.1a–c–.32a, b)

10.  Cabinet of Curiosities reference description: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cabinet_of_curiosities

11.   Dr. Beth Harris and Dr. Steven Zucker, "How to do visual (formal) analysis," in Smarthistory, September 18, 2017, accessed January 28, 2021, https://smarthistory.org/visual-analysis/.

[megsironthrone]

Choose Your Story Part 4

Here’s Part 4! You voted and it was...a tie! So, I did my best to include both the self-defense class scenario AND the reader taking care of a drunken Sandor scenario! *As always, familiar characters are not mine*

Prologue, part 2, part 3

Warnings: Modern AU, mentions of alcohol, drinking, and drunkenness, a little fluffy-ish, a couple of swears, and a few POV changes. 

Pairings/Characters: Eventual Sandor x reader, Renly, Tyrion

After that night, a sort of uneasy truce settled between you and The Arse, or Sandor as you finally learned his name was. You made an effort to be a little less annoying and he wasn't banging on your door every other day to tell you off about one thing or another. You greeted each other when you passed in the hallways and you were civil.

         For example, one evening, you were headed out at the same time. "Hello, Sandor," you greeted to which he gave a little nod. He took in your outfit. "Bit underdressed for a night out, aren't you?" You snorted out a laugh. You hadn't really been "out" since your breakup. Well, except for once when Renly insisted you go out and get rip-roaring drunk.

         "Nah. I've got a class tonight." Sandor nodded again and silence descended. "Well, I gotta go. See you around." You scurried away from him so you weren't late. It was your first night in your new self-defense class. After what happened with your ex and Sandor's comments about learning how to throw a proper punch, you decided to sign up for one. Your jaw dropped when your instructors walked in.

Sandor's POV

         Sandor's eyes scanned the room and nearly bugged out of his skull when he saw you were in his class. Part of the reason he agreed to teach it was to get some space between the two of you. It helped keep the fighting to a minimum. Still, you were here and had paid the fee. Now it was time to see what you, and everyone else in the class, could do.

         Sandor found his eyes inexplicably traveling to you every so often. You weren't the best in the class by any means, but you weren't the worst either. In fact, Sandor was impressed by the amount of stamina you had and the expression of fierce determination on your face was something he had a difficult time letting go of. It awakened a feeling in Sandor that he hadn't felt in a very long time and his thoughts began to wander.

         When had he started seeing you as attractive? Was it during the many arguments when you were screaming at each other? Or was it when you punched your ex, breaking their nose, when you had walked in on them cheating on you? Or was it just the other day when you had randomly decided to set up your easel next to the building and paint? Sandor remembered the line of paint you'd accidentally spread across your cheek. He didn't know what had started it, but he did know that he didn't like it. He felt vulnerable.

         As class continued, Sandor couldn't keep his mind clear. He managed to make it through to the end, but he knew if you were going to keep taking the class, he was going to need something a lot stronger than the feelings he was developing to cope. Part of him hoped he would be fortunate enough and you would drop the class.

         Of course, he wasn't lucky. Luck and Sandor Clegane did not go hand-in-hand. You stayed in the class for the entire twelve weeks. Three whole months of seeing you three nights a week as well as at home. During those three months, Sandor's feelings grew. He found himself staring at you more often than not. And when he wasn't staring, he was hoping you wouldn't get hurt in class. Or he was thinking about how attractive you'd looked that morning in your paint-covered smock.

         Sandor didn't know how to deal with these feelings of his, especially as he had no hope for any kind of future with you. Sure, you didn't seem to hate him now; you had gotten passed that. But after being told most of his life that he would never be loved, Sandor knew he could never have you. After all, who could love a ruined face like his?

         So Sandor turned to the only thing he knew could help. The bottle and even that would only help for a little while. He tried his best not to get drunk. If the little brat needed him, he had to be ready. But he wanted to forget you if only for a little while. If only he had known what was going on in the head of the person in the apartment next to his.

Normal POV

         You let out a sigh as you peeled the label off the bottle in your hands. You, Renly, and your mutual friend Tyrion were seated in your apartment, looking at your newest painting. "It's good, Y/N, really. I would put this in the gallery if you'd let me." You shook your head vehemently. "Absolutely not. He cannot know about this." Renly sighed as he glanced back at the finished work.

         "You got it bad." Your brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?" Renly gestured to the painting. "It's obvious you're in love with the guy. Or at least getting there. It's quite a change from the first ones you painted of him." You rolled your eyes. "I am not in love with Sandor." Renly's face lit up. "Oh, so it's 'Sandor' now, is it? A few months ago, he was 'The Arse'. Admit it, Y/N, you really like this guy…or is it like I said the first time I saw him and you just want to sleep with him."

         "Oh Y/N definitely wants to sleep with him." You glared at your other friend. "Et tu, Tyrion? I don't want to sleep with him and I don't love him. He's just…an interesting subject to paint is all," you defended weakly as you got up. You opened the fridge and glanced on the counter. "Damn. No booze." Renly and Tyrion were by your side in an instant. "If you need some liquid courage, you've come to the right place. I know a quaint little bar just around the corner." You didn't get a chance to protest before they dragged your from your apartment, allowing you barely enough time to snatch up your keys and wallet.

         You were grateful that the bar wasn't super crowded. You didn't think you could handle a lot of people in addition to Renly and Tyrion. What you didn't expect to see was Sandor at the bar. His eyes widened a fraction. If you hadn't been looking directly at him, you would have missed it. Then, he turned away from you and back to his drink. Realizing he wasn't interested in company that night, you turned your attention back to your friends.

         It wasn't but an hour or so later that you noticed Sandor get up. He swayed a bit too much for your liking. You didn't want him to hit his head or anything, so you decided to help him out. "Can you guys get a cab? Sandor needs a little help. I know our place is in walking distance, but I'd rather him not go alone." Renly and Tyrion, already showing the signs of drunkenness, waved you off.

         Sandor had taken two steps before you were by his side. After assuring the bartender that you'd see the giant of a man home, you gently took Sandor's arm and lead him from the bar. While Sandor seemed mostly steady on his feet, you didn't want him to fall on the sidewalk and crack his head open.

         You hadn't even closed the door of the bar behind you when Sandor started talking. He was so quiet most of the time, you didn't think he could speak this much in one sitting, but he talked the entire way back to the apartment building, all the way up the stairs and to his door.

         "Where are your keys?" you asked as he leaned against the wall. He patted his pockets. "Must have left 'em with Brienne. She didn't want me taking the bike." You forced yourself not to let out a groan. You did NOT want to go all the way back to the bar just for his keys. That left two options: Leave him in the hallway and risk him falling down the stairs, or let him into your apartment.

         "Come on," you guided gently. Once inside, you lead Sandor to your room. There was no way he would fit on the couch. Sandor was still babbling a little bit and you laughed as he flopped down on your mattress. "What has gotten into you?" you asked him.

         "Y/N," his muffled voiced answered, "Y/N is just so damned attractive. I think -*hic*-I think I love-*hic*-Y/N." You blinked in surprise. Clearly he didn't realize he was talking to you. He loved you? Since when? "Y-You do?" He nodded into the pillow. "Don't say anything-*hic*-or I'll run you-*hic*-over with my-*hic*-bike. Y/N can't know." You opened your mouth to say something, anything, more, but soft snores filled your ears. Smiling to yourself, you left the drunken man to his dreams.

         You leaned against the now closed door as your heart raced a mile a minute. Sandor loved you. Or thought he did anyway. You didn't understand it. How had that even become a thing? Then you thought on it. Maybe it was like you. Slowly When you met him, you hated him. Your art reflected that. Deep angry strokes of dark paints covered canvases. And now that you didn't hate him, your paintings were lighter, brighter, and happier.

         You lied on the couch and closed your eyes, your mind thinking about the sleeping man who had inadvertently become your muse. Was Renly right and you loved him? You didn't even think it was possible to fall in love with someone and not know it. But maybe it was. Maybe you were falling in love with Sandor and your art was trying to tell you that. All it took was a drunk confession from him to make you really think about it. Now you just had to decide whether or not you were going to confront him. 

(a/n: How’d i do combining the scenarios? I finished this at 6 this morning so hopefully it makes sense. I hope you enjoyed this part! Voting for part 5 will be up tomorrow!)

Choose Your Story Tags: @fallatyourfeet​ @songoficecreamandfireworks​ @emmice9​ @silversprings98​ @thatcutewerewolf​ (Tags for this are still open!)

[alecmagnuslwb]

Support the Only Way We Can

Part of my Immortal Inquisitor and High Warlock of Alicante Series

Read on AO3

Magnus moves the edge of the large painting, straightening it on the wall. He steps back admiring the work and its placement in the loft lining the wall that greets them as soon as they enter their home. The cascading colors flow down the canvas, a mix of golds and blues with fractals of red and purple behind them. It’s the perfect addition to their home, the first real change to décor that they’ve made since moving the loft to Alicante nearly a month ago.

“That’s pretty,” Alec says rounding the corner, tablet in hand as he attempts to roll up his sleeves to the elbow one-handed.

“It is,” Magnus says with a soft smile still admiring the work before him.

“Where’d you get it?”

“A little gallery in New York that I found by chance when I dropped by yesterday to help Aline with her and Helen’s wedding bands. It houses some student work, it stood out to me.”

Alec hums clearly listening, but a little distracted as he reads something on his tablet, “Who’s the artist?”

“Clary,” Magnus says simply with a soft smile turning his head to Alec who looks up at the painting with more than a passing interest now. He walks over to Magnus sliding the tablet onto the small table by the door.

“So, you didn’t find the gallery by chance at all,” Alec says with a smile as he wraps his hands around Magnus’ waist securely from behind resting his chin on his shoulder. Magnus shrugs, no it hadn’t been by chance, he’d been subtly keeping track of Clary, just to be certain she was okay, from a far distance for months tracking her work down to a small gallery. He made sure she wasn’t there when he walked in, anonymously purchasing the art to support her silently in the only way they can now; reaching out without reaching out, because he may be a powerful man but even he can’t change the will of the angels.

“I bought six,” Magnus explains. “Gave one to Isabelle last night for her office and sent another small one to Maia that she says she’s certain will fit perfectly at the restaurant once she’s the official owner. I was going to send Simon and Luke each one to do with as they please tomorrow.”

Alec kisses his shoulder gently, “That’s only five.”

Magnus exhales leaning back into his husband lifting a hand back to gently card through his hair.

“The last ones for Jace, when he’s ready.”

Each painting he’d chosen with the receiver in mind, the one for Jace having a strange distant resemblance to the outside of Pandemonium where he first met Clary. He knows Jace isn’t ready for the painting to hang on his wall, by far the one still struggling the most to move ahead the way Clary wanted them all too, but when he is, he’s confident his brother-in-law will appreciate it.

Alec tips his forehead to rest on Magnus’ temple and sighs contently before turning back to the painting and quietly admiring it for a few minutes.

“It reminds me of our wedding,” Alec whispers quietly after a while.

Magnus smiles as he traces the line of Alec’s wedding ring. He would have bought them no matter what, simply for the fact of who the artist was, but this one had stood out to him specifically for the exact resemblance Alec is now seeing.

He doesn’t think it means anything, her memories of them are long gone. A sadly confirmed fact when Isabelle had run into her randomly one evening as she headed to Simon’s apartment and there hadn’t been the slightest wave of recognition from Clary. But the paintings all had an air about them that said somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind she still saw the waves of color left behind from the memories long gone. The flow of the blue and gold cascade down like the flowers that surrounded them as they vowed themselves together as husbands; the fractals of red and purple like the light beaming through the stained glass of the New York Institute, like the memory may be gone but the imagery of the surroundings still remains.

It’s a little sad, but it’s mostly beautiful.

[lilaswordsandthings]

That’s What Friends Are For Ch. 3

  Tagging all the usual suspects (if you want to join that list just reply and tell me so) @illegalcerebral @dontshootmespence @stunudo@reid-effect  

Chapter 3: Becca’s Daughter

 A few hours later, when they finally landed in Las Vegas and got to their hotel, the first thing they did was call Garcia from Reid’s room.

 “Hey Pen, you’re on speaker. Did you find anything that might give us a clue about what happened to Rebecca Thompson?” JJ asked.

 “Unfortunately, my pretties, what I found leads us to few answers and more questions. First of all, she did, in fact, teach part-time at the same Fine Arts school she attended in the early 2000s, but here’s where things get weird. Eight months ago she moved to a different apartment, in a different building, in another part of the city. Her most recent address was much further away from both the university and her parents’ restaurant. Then all of a sudden about six months ago she left the university, stopped working at the restaurant, and started living off her savings. It looks like she basically became a hermit, but she did some paintings of hers from an online gallery she created but she put all of that money in a savings account that seems to have been set up for that express purpose. Once the payments were deposited she never touched them.”

 “Why would she move away and quit the job she loved?” Reid asked.

 “I have no idea, unfortunately after that six-month mark, she doesn’t exactly leave a much of a paper trail. She made regular cash withdrawals roughly once a week, all from different ATMs. Most of those were two-hundred and fifty dollars each time but there were a few that were closer to three or four hundred. If you ask me, she started using cash to intentionally hide her tracks.”

 “Well, we know she didn’t want anyone to know who the father of her child was, maybe she was afraid of him and went into hiding to protect herself just like…” JJ caught herself before she finished that sentence.

 “Ok, something tells me that JJ might be on the right track, so I’m gonna go ahead and see if Rebecca filed a restraining order against anyone in the past year,” Garcia asked.

 “Please do,” Reid asked.

 “Thanks, Penn.”

 “But of course, my loves,” Garcia replied before hanging up.

 JJ watched as Reid paced around the room. “Spence…we will find out what happened to her. We’ll go to social services first and see what you have to do to take custody of Rebecca’s daughter, then we’ll see if the ME has finished the autopsy yet and if not we can go talk to her co-workers at the university. I promise you, we’ll dig as much as we have to, as deep as you want to take this. It won’t bring her back but it’s better than not knowing.”

 “I know. JJ, I meant what I said on the plane. If you weren’t here I don’t know what I’d do right now. I’ve known Becca since we were little kids and even when I left Las Vegas we never lost contact, not even after all these years. I used to visit her every time I came home to see my mom. Becca was the type of person who always had a plan. Sometimes what she did only made sense to her but she never did anything randomly; it was like she had everything planned out and you were a step behind her trying to figure out what was going on in her head as you went along.”

 “Sounds like that could get pretty frustrating.”

 “It could be, but I learned a long time ago to just trust that she knew what she was doing. The difference here is this time she’s not around to fill me in, about her death, about the baby, about any of this.”

 “Well, then let’s start with the breadcrumbs she left behind. We won’t learn anything pacing around a hotel room will we?”

                                                     ***

At Social Services Ms. Frankfort was there waiting for them. As soon as she saw them arrive, she took Reid and JJ into her office. She sat down at her desk, Reid and JJ took their seats in the two chairs opposite her.

 “This is my friend JJ.”

 “It’s nice to meet you,” JJ added.

 “Likewise.”

 “So what’s my next move?” Reid asked impatiently.

 “Ok, while I was waiting for you I did some research since the crossing of state lines means we have to account for the laws governing this process in two different states. Now, as I understand it, your ultimate goal is to formally adopt her, is that correct?” She asked.

 “Yes,” Reid answered. “As soon as possible, I don’t want her to be in foster care any longer than necessary.”

 “Well, in order to bring her home as quickly as possible, your best bet is to wait on formal adoption and instead focus on becoming her legal guardian right now. That’s a usually a quicker and less complicated process. Plus, it would give us a reason to transfer her case to CPS in DC, which would smooth the road to formal adoption quite a bit because the inter-state business and differing sets of laws would no longer be an issue.”

 “And how long does that usually take?” JJ asked.

 “Once the hearing actually takes place, not long at all, but there’s usually a two to three month waiting period between the initial filing of a petition for guardianship and that hearing taking place.”

 “Three months?” Reid asked.

 “However,” She continued, “there might be a way to expedite that.”

 “How?”

 “If it were an open and shut case, the judge might be persuaded to have the hearing sooner out of the best interests of the child. The letter than Miss Thompson left with her daughter goes a long way in that direction but it’s not the same thing as a legal document. The letter says that she was aware that she was dying. If she knew she didn’t have a lot of time left, she might have made those arrangements in a more binding form.”

 “You mean like a will?” Reid asked.

 “That’s exactly what I mean. If she had one and it says the same thing that letter does, then the hearing becomes all but a formality as long as you pass the background check, which considering the FBI has higher standards for that than we do, there shouldn’t be any doubt about that going smoothly. Once you become her guardian, at that point you would be allowed to bring her home.”

 “What’s her name?”

 “She doesn’t have one yet. For babies who are found under circumstances like these, we file what’s called a foundling certificate. It’s like a birth certificate except the baby isn’t given a name. Then we go back once a legal guardian is established and amend their certificate with whatever name their adoptive guardians give them. That might be something to start thinking about. In the meantime, would you like to meet her?”

 “C-can I?” He asked. “Is she here?”

 Ms. Frankfort nodded. “Excuse me, I’ll just be a moment.” She replied before leaving the room.

 Reid knew she couldn’t have been gone for long but to him, it felt like hours.

 “This is it, Spence, you ready?” JJ asked.

 He nodded.

 When Ms. Frankfort came back in, she was cradling an infant wrapped in a pink, black, and white plaid fleece blanket. “Here she is.” She said, bringing her over to Reid and placing her gently in his arms.

 He looked down at her and noticed that she already had a mop of thick, silky, black hair, then, after a few seconds, as though she was aware of his gaze, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. Her eyes were a bluish gray, more muted in color than her mother’s had been, but they were bright and alert. She smiled, and after freeing her arm, reached up. Reid met her halfway and gave her a finger to hand on to. “Hi, little one… my name’s Spencer, and I was friends with your mommy. You’re safe now, I’m gonna take good care of you.”

 “She’s a sweetheart,” Ms. Frankfort commented, “Since it was pretty obvious in her case who her guardian was going to be, I’ve been taking care of her, my own daughter was holding her just now. We estimate she’s about eight or nine days old, that blanket is the same one she was wrapped in when she was found. I tried to get her a new one, but she just cried non-stop.”

 “But wouldn’t she be too little to recognize that specific blanket?” JJ asked.

 “I don’t think it is the blanket itself, if this is the blanket Becca wrapped her in, then it might still have her scent on it as well as her own,” Reid explained. “That familiarity would make her feel secure.”

 When he looked back down at the little girl, she was fast asleep.

 “Awe” JJ exclaimed in a whisper.

 “I’ve never seen her fall asleep like that in the arms of someone she just met, even as little as she is, it’s never happened. Looks like Miss Thompson made the right choice.”

[exalok]

Prince!Daud AU, part 6 (repost)

Three days later Corvo returned from the baths to the bedroom to find a tall, dark, splendidly-dressed woman glaring Daud down at his desk. She turned at the sound of the adjoining door opening. Her eyes, when she laid them on Corvo, were that same feral gray he saw every day in the Prince's – but her smile, though feline, was warm.

“Hm,” she said, sweeping forward, the trailing end of her shawl flicking up like a cat's tail with the movement, “You're Corvo, aren't you?” Her voice was deep and resonant. “Daud's told me absolutely nothing about you,” she added with a dry twist to her mouth. “I'm afraid we'll have to catch up.” Then she strode from the room, and as she turned with a twist of the heel to close the double doors behind her, she shot Daud a parting look. The message was clear even to Corvo: We'll be having words.

The doors clicked shut. Corvo hitched his bath towel up higher on his hips.

“... Who was that,” he asked, still a little disoriented.

“My mother,” Daud answered, jaw tight and mouth puckered like he'd sucked on a lemon. Corvo cocked an eyebrow at him. His mouth opened and closed without sound for a moment.

“– Your mother,” he choked out, clearing his throat when the words caught there.

Daud glanced at him from where he'd gone back to the same long parchment he'd been inspecting since before Corvo had gone to the baths – or, it was probably the same one. Corvo hadn't payed it much attention. “Yes.”

“She was ogling my legs,” Corvo mumbled, staring at a point just left of the Prince's head. Daud smirked.

“She does like a man with strong calves,” he said nonchalantly, and though Corvo had never known his face to show the blush he could feel stinging his cheeks something must have shown on him because Daud made an indecipherable expression and added, reassuring: “My mother won't make moves on you. Stop looking like a trapped hare.”

Corvo took a few seconds longer to get a hold of himself while Daud focused on his neatly partitioned paperwork, then went to the wardrobe and, for once, tried to consider the many vests, coats, and pants, and the terrifying number of neckties Jess had foisted off on him when he'd left. This marriage might be a sham, but Void damn him if he wasn't going to make an effort for the mother of his fake husband. (Just enough to show respect. He didn't want to encourage the ogling.)

There were frock coats, and puffed sleeves and top hats, Jess, no. He ended up picking a slightly fancier waistcoat than usual. That and a deep purple cravat. For the rest, his usual dark pants and open coat would have to do.

After five minutes spent struggling to wrap the cravat in a way that wouldn't leave him feeling short of breath, Daud sighed heavily at his desk.

“Would you like some help with that,” he said, his tone hardly making it a question. Corvo grunted something that might have been a 'yes', or might have been a 'fuck off', but Daud seemed to interpret it as positive since he pushed back his chair and walked over, immediately flicking Corvo's hands away from his own neck. A nervous prickling started up at Corvo's nape.

Daud deftly twisted the cloth, tightened it just enough to pull it snug against the apple of Corvo's throat, and popped open the first few buttons of his vest to tuck in the ends. Then he closed everything up again. He looked at Corvo – looked up, Corvo realized, the Prince wasn't wearing his shoes – with the tips of his fingers still lightly touching the bottom edge of the cravat.

“Interesting choice of color,” he said, and though he didn't laugh, didn't even smirk, Corvo got the distinct impression there was amusement in the sharp lines of his face. A pity the joke was lost on him.

He ended up saying nothing, and probably looking somewhat confused; despite that, Daud didn't grant him the mocking sneer Corvo had seen him freely dispense on more official occasions. It felt, strangely enough, like a privilege.

Dinner that day was served in the third floor sitting room that gave onto the western terrace, the one overlooking the gallery. The room had already been furnished with a long, low table and a set of lounging couches, though those attending – a small gathering, for now only the Prince, his mother, Corvo, Thomas and the as-yet nameless bodyguard (Morlish, crag-faced with blunt and damaged hands) – had all elected to sit on the cushions spread out on the floor.

The Prince's mother was entirely focused on the servant-boy who'd helped the senior maid bring in the dishes, asking him questions about how he liked it in the palace with a studiously serious look on her face. He looked thirteen at most, and unfamiliar: a new hire? Corvo watched, bemused, as the woman peeled an apple with a meat-carving knife and handed the boy the quartered sections. Meanwhile, the maid was piling plates with portions from a number of the dishes, apparently randomly handing out different combinations, though when she reached Corvo she asked him what he'd prefer. Had she memorized the preferences of everyone at the table? The Prince, and even his mother, would be understandable – but the bodyguards? Daud had never invited them to his and Corvo's dinner table. Maybe they would have been there, if Corvo hadn't been.

Daud's mother ruffled the boy's hair and sent him packing with an extra slice of pale, sweet bread. At that moment, Lee and Dodge joined them, coming in from the little rooftop garden separating the sitting room and the Prince's personal quarters, and Daud's mother leaned over as though to look behind them.

“Is Rulfio coming by later?” she asked, turning to her son.

Corvo perked up. Another one? In the two weeks he'd spent here, he'd only ever seen the four from the boat trip hanging around the Prince. Daud dug into his plate, avoiding her eye.

“No,” he said. “He's on leave.”

His mother narrowed her eyes. “About time you gave him a vacation,” she said, and swept a long, searching look across the four bodyguards, all of which made their best impressions of being completely disinterested in the conversation.

“He's visiting his parents,” Daud added. “In Cullero.”

Daud's mother hummed. Sipped at her wine. Flattened her palm against the back of Daud's shoulder. “He's having a wonderful time, then,” she said, gaze stopping on Thomas. He met her look steadily. Then his eyes slid sideways, to where Corvo was watching them all with a keen sharpness to his face, and silently stared him down.

There was something happening here he couldn't understand, and it was just as clear that none of the people in the room wanted him to know whatever it was. The maid might not be in on it – she kept darting glances around the table like she could sense the something-or-other happening, too, though she was too professional to let it affect her – but the bodyguards' faces were all maintaining that blank look from before with varying levels of success, and while Daud's mother was poised, her knifing interest quickly diverted to other things, her calm was belied by Daud practically exuding an aura of thorny pricklishness.

This was something Corvo would have to figure out on his own.

The Prince's mother turned to him. There was a wicked, playful gleam in her eye.

“Well then, Corvo,” she said, leaning back against the padded couch, “How is the suddenly married life treating you?”

Corvo, for a moment, could only think on how her accent was one he couldn't place.

Was she playing him? Did she really not know the real reason behind his marriage to her son? She didn't seem the kind of woman to be taken in by a lie, never mind one having to do with someone she must know very well. Maybe she was joking, hamming up the story. (Who for? The maid had left by now.) Maybe she was just curious how he was taking the cover-up. Maybe he should say something.

Daud jumped into the silence:

“I'm sorry you weren't informed,” he said with a long-suffering sigh, fingers kneading at the bridge of his nose. “I told you the letter must have gotten lost, I would have sent another when I didn't get your answer –”

“Not my question, boy,” his mother cut in, and though her tone brooked no argument the name was only affectionately chiding. “And not to you.” She turned to Corvo again, her pale eyes piercing. He wondered whether she could see through him, to his centermost thoughts; to his beating heart, steady only from years of learning control.

The memory returned to him, a flash, from when he'd been a boy brawling in the streets of Karnaca: the old Prince's wife and son, found again, and the torrent of hearsay that followed his death two years later. The only name they'd called her then had been witch. It lasted until her son – until Daud – took the throne. If any kernel of the stories people told on the royal family were true, Corvo thought as he faced her cat-fine eyes, that part was the most likely.

“It's great,” he blurted out, and immediately felt the flush of heat in his face as his jaw clamped shut.

Daud lay a look on him weighted with a deep and abiding exasperation. Luckily, his mother was still observing Corvo, her mouth half-covered with her long brown fingers only emphasizing the amused sparkle of her eyes.

“He's shy,” Daud said, flat and grating, and Corvo fixed him with a scathing glare the Prince blithely ignored. “Stop teasing.”

“I'm only curious, Daud,” his mother said, placating, and finally switched her focus to the food on her plate. “I want to know – how you're doing. When you met.” She shot Corvo a curling smile. “I've never even heard him speak your name before.”

Corvo squirmed as far back along the section of floor he'd claimed as he could and stuffed his mouth with food. It might serve as an excuse if she tried asking him more questions. This felt worse than his debut in Jessamine's court; at least then he hadn't had a plate and fork in his hands. At least he hadn't been... married.

“Do we need to discuss this now?” Daud griped, the look on his face distinctly reminiscent of teenage resentment.

“We're all friends here,” his mother replied. Corvo looked around at the four bodyguards, all of whom had made some headway into their plates and were carefully not looking either at their employer or his mother. Dodge shot Corvo a glance and promptly dipped his face to his food when Corvo met his eye. Daud's mother, as for her, seemed to be impishly delighted by the fact she was embarrassing all the men in the room.

“It was at the Blade Verbena.”

Everyone turned to Daud, including Corvo. The Prince sipped at his goblet of wine. “When we met,” he clarified. “1814. Corvo won the trophy.” Here the Prince smirked, though it was softened by something, a loosening of the lines in his face perhaps. “He bested the man I'd sponsored. I fumed about it for weeks.”

Corvo looked Daud in the eye and found only truth.

“... And Duke Theodanis hired me, after,” Corvo added, tentative. “So I left for Saggunto.” The Prince's smile ticked with approval.

“I didn't hear about him again until the Empress made him Royal Protector two years later,” Daud finished. His mother, when Corvo glanced at her again, was looking from one of them to the other with a little crinkle at the corner of her eye, her smile tender with a hint of teeth, like she was only just holding it back. She didn't do so for long: a grin spilled across her face, and she reached over to pinch the high point of Daud's cheekbone like he was a precious child.

“That's so sweet I'm going to be sick,” she said with finality, and settled back with her own goblet of wine. “I'll demand more later, don't think I won't.”

The rest of dinner went quietly, Corvo finally free to enjoy the food, and at the end Daud's mother retired to her own rooms, as did the bodyguards to whatever quarters they'd been attributed, while Daud and Corvo remained in the Prince's third floor bedroom.

Corvo extricated himself from the coat, the vest and cravat, and sank into the armchair by the dresser. These kinds of days always left him feeling more exhausted than any where he'd been called upon to prove his skill or physical prowess. His hand strayed to Jessamine's letter, still on the little table near the windowsill. It'd be another week and a half before he could hope for a response; messages travelled faster than people, but the trip could be cut no shorter than a week, and he'd sent his reply only a few days ago.

Daud seemed preoccupied, fiddling with the buttons of his undercoat. Head lolling on the back of the chair, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, Corvo idly watched him cross from one side of the room to the other, apparently aimless.

“... You didn't even tell your mother,” Corvo said eventually. The Prince stiffened to a standstill. It took Corvo a few moments, but one memory connected with another, and a small frown of realization crinkled his brow. “Is that what you were so jumped up about a few days ago?”

In a whirl of movement the Prince stormed towards him, the legs of his pants snapping against his ankles. There was a look in his eye like the Overseers' hounds sometimes got: something hungry, or rabid, or simply expectant, at the sight of skin. Like the words had been a weakness. Or a sign. Maybe he'd just been waiting for an excuse to bite.

“Why did you even tell her yes,” Daud snarled, looming over him. Corvo made no effort to straighten from his boneless sprawl.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Your Empress. Jessamine.” He turned, his broad back outlined in candlelight. The sun had set hours ago. “Why did you ever accept? The deal, the marriage. Did she order you, and you tucked tail and followed orders like an obedient dog? Don't tell me you wanted to climb higher than your station.” The sneer on his face looked tight, almost self-conscious. “You looked far from overjoyed.”

Corvo almost laughed at obedient dog, so close to what he'd been imagining of the Prince moments ago, but still felt the sting of the insult. He remained defiantly lax in the face of an unexpected assault. “No. And she wouldn't have ordered me to do this. Jessamine is a good ruler.”

Daud snorted, a short huff of breath. “What, then?”

“She told me what you wanted. What you'd offered in exchange. And I decided I'd do it. For Dunwall.” The paper of the letter was soft between his fingers, like velvet. “For her.”

“You miss her.” It was stated as fact. “You love her.” Corvo didn't try to deny it.

“She needed the help,” Corvo answered simply, eyes drawing closed. “Dunwall must be on the edge as it is. I can't imagine what it'd turn out like, if she hadn't made this deal.”

“You could have negotiated,” Daud said, and his voice sounded further away. He must have moved to the bed. Corvo almost wanted to tell him to stop arguing this point, a month after the fact, when he'd been the winning party.

“Could we have?” he asked, and silence answered.

From the darkness behind his eyelids, Corvo listened to the sound of the sheets as Daud settled in the ancient canopied bed, then the sound of his breathing, a low susurrus in the quiet. This high up, and with the window closed, he couldn't hear whatever insects were still singing the evening away this late in the autumn – but he could imagine the sound of cicadas from when he'd been a boy, the tenement window open to the night, drunkards fighting to be heard over the winds howling down from the Peak.

[mind-reader1]

Queen of Hearts (Ch.15)

Drake x MC (Emma Barnes)

TRR AU: What would happen if Emma loved Drake but had to marry Liam?

Catch up here

Warnings: NSFW

Note: I almost didn’t post this after @ooo-barff-ooo ‘s amazing chapter of Girl Crush, but I knew I wouldn’t have time tomorrow. Enjoy! Let me know if you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list!

Word Count: 2872

Summary: The court has arrived at Kiara’s duchy, but things for the art festival don’t go as planned. Kiara throws herself at Drake causing some tension between Drake and Emma before their R-rated movie date. Doubts start to creep into Drake’s head just before they find Liam waiting for them.

Chapter 15: A Thousand Years - Christina Perri

The day we met, Frozen I held my breath Right from the start I knew that I'd found a home for my heart Beats fast Colors and promises How to be brave? How can I love when I'm afraid to fall But watching you stand alone? All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow

One step closer I have died everyday waiting for you

Darling don't be afraid I have loved you For a thousand years I'll love you for a thousand more

Time stands still Beauty in all she is I will be brave I will not let anything take away What's standing in front of me Every breath Every hour has come to this

Emma was up early the next morning, she wandered down to find Hakim and Francesco in a panic. The gallery had flooded in the night, it was supposed to open this morning. Emma texted her friends 911 and they all came down to the sitting room.

“What happened?” Liam was the first to arrive. Francesco explained again, he was sure that it was sabotage. It was the same attackers from the homecoming ball, they were sure of it. Hakin and Francesco began planning to cancel the festival, they wouldn't be able to clear out the water in time, that would devastate all the work they had just done in Applewood to rally the people.

“No. What if we didn't have to cancel. No art was damaged, spin it as an art installation! It can be to raise awareness about the flooding in Portavira. Show that we're united and support the other duchies.”

“It would strengthen morale among the people!” Liam chimed in. Hakim stopped and considered their words.

“How would we pull it off?”

“I'll put it all over social media! An exclusive exhibit available today and here only!” Emma nodded at Maxwell, he began firing away on his phone.

“I'll direct clean up. I'm probably the only person here who knows how to use a bucket and mop.” Drake said.

“We get the worst of the water out and it won't look too messy.”

“If we pass out color coordinated rain boots at the door, we can add to the experience!” Hana had taken color theory lessons and so she was the perfect person for the job.

“This is a great plan but why are you doing this for us?” Emma smiled.

“It's the right thing to do. You're a citizen of Cordonia, we do everything we can do our citizens.”

“Let's get started then!” Hakim hired a cleanup crew, and everyone got to work. A few hours later, Madeleine had Emma meet her at a local boutique. Madeleine was on Emma's case about recruiting Hakim and Joelle even though she was sure they would come since she had just saved their gallery. Madeleine just rolled her eyes and held up an off the shoulder dress with different shades of purple, pink, blue and white that all complemented each other. The dress looked like an abstract canvas. She wore a small, rhinestone necklace to complement the dress, Drake's ring tucked safely away. By the time Emma arrived at the gallery, guests had already begun arriving and Hana had given them a pair of rainboots that matched their outfits better than expected. She joined her friends in the center of the gallery and Drake ran his eyes up and down her body hungrily.

“I… uh...wow.” Drake mumbled unable to form a coherent sentence.

“So, you like the dress?” He nodded.

“It's lovely Emma. Are you ready to address the crowd?” Liam and Emma addressed the crowd and told them that the water installation was an anonymous artist. They wandered through the exhibit themselves, stopping to discuss various paintings. They stopped at an abstract piece and everyone struggled to make sense of it, Drake and Emma, having had no training on the subject. As the others wandered through the gallery, Emma stopped next to Drake and followed his gaze to an “EXIT” sign with glowing green letters.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out the idea of modern art. Take this for example, it's just a sign that says exit, but what does it mean? Is it saying we all exit life eventually? Is it meant to be a warning?”

“Are you saying you want to get as far away from possible as me?” Emma teased, and Drake playfully rolled his eyes.

“As deep and profound as that was Drake, I think this is just an exit sign.” He frowned, and then sighed as a patron walked out the door just beneath it.

“Whatever.”

“Don't worry, I won't tell anyone.”

“Tell anyone what?” Maxwell appeared behind them silently making them both jump.

“Uuuh how great that painting is!” Emma pointed randomly at a painting. Maxwell smiled and delved into a story known as the Great Ketchup Incident of ‘96. Bertrand approached seemingly out of nowhere, the first time they had seen him in days, handling Beaumont house affairs. He was there only briefly, mentioned that Maxwell was helping with the affairs and then he was gone. Emma and Maxwell were concerned, on top of all his stress, he was trying to mend his relationship with Savannah and Bartie. Emma approached Joelle next, admiring the piece she had completed yesterday when they first met. They had a discussion about what her art meant and how it translated to what she and Hakim wanted for Cordonia. After they all regrouped, they left the art exhibit for the food, needless to say, Drake and Maxwell were quite excited.

All kinds of various smells wafted through the air, spicy, sweet, even sour, it was glorious. Instead of trying everything like Maxwell suggested, they wandered around to try everyone's favorites. Hana got everyone some ash-e reshteh, a Persian dish. It was a savory soup with beans and parsley, the flavors blending together well. Even Drake was impressed. Liam led everyone over to a colorful booth that smelled of various spices, getting everyone some chicken tagine. As everyone ate, Liam and Drake shared the story of how thanks to Leo, it became one of Liam's favorite dishes, sibling rivalry at its finest which escalated into a full blown prank war. Drake was eager to pick the next dish, feijoda. It was similar to chili, a mixture of beans and meat garnished with an orange slice. It was rich and salty with the pork and beef, very clearly a Drake dish. Instead of picking a food, Maxwell ran off, following the sounds of a live band. He wanted everyone to dance. Emma longed to dance with Drake, but with too many prying eyes she danced with Liam and watched as Kiara approached Drake and asked him to dance. Emma tensed up and watched as she wrapped her arms around his neck and swayed in time to the music, slowly getting closer to him. When the music stopped, Drake unhooked Kiara from him and walked over to his friends. Emma could feel her blood boiling, but she forced herself to smile and walk over to Olivia and Penelope on the edge of the crowd, Kiara rejoining them. They left to go get some cotton candy and the rest of the group began to leave until Drake pulled Emma back.

“I'm sorry.” He whispered. Emma nodded, she knew he couldn't have turned Kiara down without looking incredibly rude.

“Come here, there's one more thing I want to show you.” He led Emma to a freezer stand with an Italian flag. Gelato, it was Emma's favorite dessert, she had studied abroad in Florence for a semester in college and she became very familiar with the ice cream like treat. Drake ordered a chocolate gelato while Emma settled for a fruity raspberry. It was the perfect mixture of creamy and sweet, melting on their tongues.

“How is it?” Emma giggled as she got a brain freeze.

“The only thing that would make this better would be if I could kiss you right now.” Drake grinned mischievously and looked at Emma.

“I wish we weren't in public right now, the things I want to do to you.” He leaned in to whisper. Emma felt herself blushing as he stepped back. She seductively took a bite of ice cream, exaggerating how good it tasted, moaning.

“Keep it going until tonight Mr. Walker.” She winked just before they left the festival to catch up with their friends. On their way out, they ran into Hakim and Joelle. They were so impressed by Emma's willingness to step up that in return they agreed to attend her wedding. As they return to the estate, she couldn't stop thinking about how in love Hakim and Joelle still were after so many years together.

“What are you thinking about?” Emma looked at Drake unsure of how long he had been staring at her.

“Nothing.”

“Barnes I've been trying to get your attention for the last five minutes, you've got that look on your face, the one you get when you're lost in your own head.”

“I was thinking about Hakim and Joelle. Look how in love they still are with each other. Do you think you'll still love me that much, years from now?” Drake chuckled and carefully checked their surroundings before pulling Emma close to him.

“Barnes, I love you more and more every day. I think we're going to love each other even more than they do when we're their age.” Emma pulled Drake in for a tender kiss as he pulled her body flush against his dipping her down. When they stood up and he released her, she was light headed, her heart swelled.

“The real question is will you still love me that much.” She cupped his cheek and smiled.

“You're the only one for me Drake Walker.” Once back at the estate, Emma left to go find Liam to discuss what food from the festival they would serve at the wedding and Drake mentioned something about looking up movie times. She found Drake in the sitting room, lounging on a couch, he looked exhausted.

“Drake?” He didn't seem to hear her.

“Knock knock, anyone home?” She waved her hand in front of Drake's face and he blinked his eyes back into focus.

“Oh, hey Barnes. Sorry.”

“Everything okay?” he sighed.

“All this courtly stuff is suffocating. I thought it would be nice to get out, see a movie tonight, like normal people. Try to stay sane.”

“I feel like there's a ‘but’ coming.” Drake dragged his hand over his face and Emma knew it wasn't good.

“But Kiara cornered me, again.” Emma rolled her eyes, she was ready to kick Kiara out of court, tell her to stay home.

“What happened Drake?” Emma's tone was flat, and Drake flinched at the thought of having to tell her.

“I mentioned I was going to the movies and she invited herself.” Emma groaned before suddenly jumping off the couch.

“You did WHAT?!” Emma was furious, she wanted some alone time with Drake and Kiara kept getting in the way.

“She invited herself Barnes. It's not like I could say, actually I'm taking my best friend's fiancé out on a date.”

“Call a cab, I'll meet you outside in five minutes. We're leaving right now before she can crash.” Emma didn't give him a chance to answer, she dashed off to her room to change into a little black dress, casual enough for the movies.Even if he did have time to answer, he wasn’t going to protest, he thought Emma might kill him. Once they arrived, they settled on a spy thriller full of romance, it was that or a horror movie which wasn't exactly romantic when you couldn't cuddle in public. Drake bought the tickets and a large bucket of buttery popcorn.

“This is nice Barnes.” He scooped up some popcorn, ready to eat it but Emma snatched it out if his hands with her mouth playfully. Drake pretended to pout as he watched her eat his popcorn, but the corner of his lips twitched up into a grin.

“That's how you want to play it Barnes?” She giggled and scooped up some popcorn of her own, throwing it at Drake who tried to catch it, before she finished it. They laughed walking into the theatre together, unaware they had been spotted. Emma dragged him to the very back corner of the theatre and Drake frowned.

“What are we doing back here Barnes?”

“Getting the full movie experience. You'll see.” More people shuffled into the theatre, spread out across the seats. Finally, the lights dimmed, and the movie began playing. Drake was into the movie, but Emma had other things in mind. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about Drake kissing her on the way back from the festival, her imagination running wild. She placed her hand on Drake's thigh and slowly moved her hand up until she reached Drake's crotch. He gasped as she grabbed him, looking over at her surprised, she met him with a heated kiss. Drake fell into it and tangled his hands in her hair as Emma continued to rub over his jeans, feeling him grow hard. He moaned against her lips as she quietly undid his jeans and freed his hard length.

“Barnes what are you doing?” He hissed as her lips surrounded him. She began sucking, running her tongue up and down his shaft, teasing the tip with her tongue. Drake moaned a little too loudly and someone glanced back, Drake pretended to be watching the movie while Emma remained hidden behind the seats in front of her.

“You have to be quiet Drake.” She whispered before going back down on him, bobbing her head until he came, gripping the arm rests as he tried to stay quiet. Emma smiled, licking her lips as Drake tried to compose himself, tucking his dick back into his pants.

“What was that for?” Emma smiled mischievously and leaned in to whisper in his ear again.

“The full movie experience. What do you think the back row is for?” Drake shook his head grinning.

“We're not done Drake.” He turned to look at her surprised.

“What do you mean?”

“I want to feel your fingers inside of me Drake.”

“Barnes.” Drake wanted nothing more than to please Emma but he had never done something like that in a room full of people before.

“Drake, if you want to sneak into my room tonight and make it out of this duchy alive, you'll do as I ask.” Her tone was threatening and his stare even.

"I took you on a real date, we almost got caught a couple seconds ago. Do we really need to do this Barnes?" He didn't need lots of light to see the look on her face. He wasn't going to make it out of the theatre alive if he protested, besides everyday he looked forward to sneaking into her room. He wasn't ready to give that up, and he had to admit that almost getting caught was kind of hot, the thrill of it. Emma surprised him again when she leaned back against the wall and put her legs up, grabbing Drake's hand and rubbing it between her legs. He stifled a gasp when he realized she wasn't wearing any underwear. Drake started slow, rubbing circles on her clit and then dragging his fingers between her lips to see if she was wet. Drake teased her entrance as she pushed her hips towards him, but he pulled away and began rubbing her clit again. He was going to have some fun with it, payback for almost getting them busted. Again, he teased her entrance which was dripping wet at this point.

“Drake.” She begged. He loved hearing her say his name. Finally, he slipped one finger inside her, she whispered, it wasn't enough, so he slipped another and began pumping, hitting her g-spot perfectly. He felt her hips buck forward and he knew she was close, so he pulled out and waited for a few seconds before teasing her clit, bringing her right to the edge again. She was breathing hard, trying not to be heard by anyone else. She met Drake's eyes with a pleading gaze. He slipped his fingers inside her and pumped until he felt her cum on him, her muscles spasming around his fingers. She watched, satisfied and worn out as he grabbed some popcorn and ate it before sucking her cum off his fingers. Emma pulled her skirt down and was scooting over to kiss Drake when the lights came on. She jumped back and looked around as everyone began leaving. The people in front of them, turned around to see who had been sitting behind them, to see if they could figure out why it sounded like Drake was moaning but they didn't look disheveled, so the people left.

“So how was your real movie experience?” Emma asked as they walked out, dumping the popcorn bucket on the way.

“I'd definitely do that again. What got into you though?”

“Kiara’s been all over you since we got here. I needed to know that you were still mine and I was still yours.” Drake felt a pang of guilt, he wanted nothing more than to push Kiara away, and kiss Emma in front of everyone like no one was watching, but he knew that could never happen. Dark thoughts about how this was going to work long term began to slip into his mind, of course he wanted it to work, he loved Emma, he would never love anyone again that much, but there would always be another Kiara.

“I told you earlier Em, you've got nothing to worry about.” They held hands in the taxi back to the estate, running into Liam on their way to her room. He didn't look pleased.

Tag List: @notoriouscs @brightpinkpeppercorn @ooo-barff-ooo @leelee10898 @princesstopgun @choicesyouplayandmore @sleepwalkingelite @roonarific   @indigo39 @skyila @speedyoperarascalparty @andy-loves-corgis @furiousherringoperatortoad @blackwidow2721 @drakewalkerfics @findingdrake @sue9659 @smritysriv @tmarie82 @larryssunflower @likethetailofacomet @zaffrenotes

[ra3lynn3]

Blind Date

Chapter 13

A/N: Hey, Blind Daters! Here’s the latest chapter for your reading pleasure :) Here’s Chapter 12 in case you need to catch up. Thanks for taking the time to read, like, review, and reblog. I super appreciate it! Special thanks to my trusty beta @pip117. You rock!!

“You did what!?” Johanna’s voice went off like a bomb in the meditative quiet of the yoga studio.  

Katniss shot her a warning look.

“Let’s remember this is a place to recenter our focus and quiet our minds.” The yoga instructor passively chastised as she walked between Johanna and Katniss’ mats.

The two women glanced at each other, faces flush from holding their downward facing dog position, both suppressing a chuckle. Johanna was not quite so  successful.

“It was totally innocent.” Katniss whispered to Johanna once she was sure the instructor was out of earshot.  Her friend gave her a look. “Ok. Mostly innocent.” Katniss corrected, knowing that the other woman knew her well enough to know she was withholding the truth.

“I don’t believe you! Weren’t you just telling me what a jerk that guy is?” Johanna asked as the two folded into their next pose.

“Maybe I was wrong.” Katniss offered with a shrug. “I mean, I’m not saying he’s perfect, but the more I get to know him, the less of a jerk he is.”

“I’d be careful if I were you. It’s always the unassuming ones that are like snakes in the grass. Maybe he’s just trying to seduce you so he can earn your trust and snatch your account out from under you!” Johanna offered as the other yogis shot her annoyed looks.

“You’ve been watching Soap Operas again, haven’t you?” Katniss whispered with a smirk as they all moved in to their next pose.

“Irrelevant.” Johanna replied flippantly. “I’m just seeing the bigger picture here. I'm trying to protect my best friend. You’re welcome!” She said with a huff and closed her eyes, pretending to focus.

Katniss rolled her eyes, wondering if Johanna was right about any of it.  She rationalized that since Peeta had been the one to give the Crane account over to her there didn’t seem to be anything backhanded or conspiratorial going on at all, even though her response at the time had been less than gratuitous.

“Is he a good kisser at least?” Johanna asked after a long moment of silence.

Katniss turned her head, opening an eye to peak at Johanna. Johanna turned her head and peaked at Katniss just the same. A bashful smile coaxed it's way onto Katniss’ face. Johanna closed her eye and turned back to her pose looking smug.

“He asked me out again this Wednesday.” Katniss admitted as the women rolled their mats and walked out at the end of class.

“And?”

“And I told him yes.” Katniss admitted as they saddled up to the nearby drink counter. Johanna shot her a look before ordering some green concoction off the menu for the two of them.

“You’re falling for him, aren’t you?” She asked finally.

“Why would you say that? Because I agreed to see him again? I’m giving him a chance. We’re working on being friends.” Katniss protested defensively.

“Friends?” Johanna chortled. “You are no good at being friends.”

“That’s what I said! And then he said he wasn’t either, and then we started making out right there in my dark room!” Katniss recounted breathlessly.

She and Johanna each took a sip of their drink, “This is terrible!” Katniss managed to choke out.

Johanna pulled a disgusted face, swallowing hard. “This is terrible,” she agreed. “Let’s go get a burger. I feel like we earned it ” She suggested, getting down from her perch.

Katniss gave her a nod and followed her to a nearby diner.

“Ok, now back up. You let this guy in your dark room?” Johanna mentioned suggestively as the two sat down.

“Why does everything you say have to sound so...dirty?”

“It’s a gift.” Johanna replied with a shrug.

“Well, we randomly ran into each other at Cinna’s. He asked to see my work and I agreed. I mean, it was actually really nice to spend the afternoon together. I showed him how to develop pictures. He was pretty horrible at it, but I think we got one good one after about an hour.”

“First of all, you are so boring.” Johanna accused. Katniss gave her a tired look in return. “You have a hot guy alone with you in the dark and all you do is develop pictures? You’re sure he wants to see you again?”

Katniss felt a blush filling her cheeks as the two ordered. “I never said he was hot.” Katniss replied petulantly.

Johanna gave her a knowing look.

“Ok, he’s totally hot.” Katniss agreed. “What was I supposed to do, jump his bones?”

Johanna maintained her look, doing little more than quirking her eyebrow. Katniss huffed at her in response. “You are so totally falling for this guy!”  

“I am not! We’re working on being-“

“Friends.” Johanna finished her sentence with a roll of her eyes. “Right.”

Katniss quickly changed the subject after that, not wanting to deal with any further scrutiny. Although now she found her mind wandering into dangerous territory about a man she was still desperately trying to figure out.   

__________

To: k.everdeen@heavensinc.com

From: p.mellark@heavensinc.com

Subject: Wednesday

Hey,

So there’s this exhibit I’ve been wanting to check out. Would you be willing to meet me at the art museum this Wednesday?

Peeta

__________

To: p.mellark@heavensinc.com

From: k.everdeen@heavensinc.com

Subject: Re: Wednesday

Hi,

Sounds great. Why are you emailing me? You’re literally two cubicles away.

Katniss

P.S. Muffins in the staff lounge = divine. Get one before they’re gone!

__________

To: k.everdeen@heavensinc.com

From: p.mellark@heavensinc.com

Subject: Re: re: Wednesday

Thanks! I was trying a new recipe… Wasn’t sure if anyone would like them. Glad you’re a fan.

Peeta

P.S. Let’s meet at 7 on Wednesday

__________

To: p.mellark@heavensinc.com

From: k.everdeen@heavensinc.com

Subject: Re: re: re: Wednesday

You, sir, are my new best friend ;)

Katniss

P.S. Sounds good!

__________

To: k.everdeen@heavensinc.com

From: p.mellark@heavensinc.com

Subject: Re: re: re: re: Wednesday

Is that all it took?!

Peeta

P.S. Looking forward to it!

__________

Katniss fiddled with the fabric of her skirt as she and Peeta walked around the gallery slowly, taking in the different pieces. Suddenly, her conversation with Johanna from earlier in the week came flooding back to her mind.

“Can I tell you something weird?” She asked, finally breaking the silence.

“I told you about polar bears being left handed, I definitely think it’s your turn.” Peeta mused as he turned to glance at her.

“Ok, promise not to think I’m totally insane?” She asked. Peeta folded his arms over his chest, waiting. “So I have this running list in my head of things that I want to do in my life,” Katniss began, looking bashful. “And one of those things is to touch a famous piece of art.” She pressed her fingertips to her lips giving Peeta an uncertain look.

He chuckled. “So, do it!” He pressed her.

“I can’t! What if I get in trouble?” She said, a nervous excitement taking over her body. She gripped Peeta’s wrists quickly, looking at him wide-eyed. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest at the idea.

“Hey, this is your list. I’m just here to support you in the uprising.” Peeta said nonchalantly, a smile playing at his lips while turning to look at the artwork nearby.

“Ok, pick one. I’m going to do it.” Katniss said finally in a low whisper, looking around cautiously. She was determined to prove to herself (and Johanna) that she was not so boring after all.

Peeta gazed around the room for a moment, considering her proposition. “That one.” He said, nodding in the direction of a large oil painting hanging on the other side of the gallery.

“Alright.” Katniss replied taking a deep breath. “Be ready to run.” She warned.

Peeta chuckled, “Katniss, they’re not going to chase you out of her. Just be cool, and no one will notice.” He coached her.

It felt like every nerve in her body was tingling on high alert. She enjoyed the feeling of rebellion that had sparked within her. She normally liked to live quietly and not rock the boat, but something about being around Peeta made her feel alive and adventurous. Even if that meant doing something as silly as touching a little part of a painting.

“Here I go.” She whispered to herself, and began casually walking toward the art in question. She stood near it for a moment to consider the beauty of its brush strokes and technique. As she leaned in for a closer look, she reached out her finger making quick contact with the canvas in an inconspicuous corner.

“What are you doing?” A voice whispered harshly behind her causing her to jump.

She turned around suddenly, ready to make a run for it. Instead she found herself slamming into something soft and sturdy. Realizing quickly who it was, she buried her face in her hands; embarrassed. Katniss pressed herself into Peeta’s chest as she felt his strong arms wrap around her protectively, feeling his body shake with a quiet breathy chuckle.

“You scared the crap out of me!” She chastised, giving him a playful shove feeling her pulse slowly return to normal.

“I couldn’t help it!” Peeta defended, trying to suppress his laughter. “You looked so cute trying to be defiant.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, “Well I did it, didn’t I?” She remarked stubbornly.

“Yes, you did!” Peeta replied, coming alongside her. He threw his arm casually over her shoulder, ushering them out of the room. “I think that kind of bravery deserves some dinner.”

Katniss turned to glance up at him, slipping her arm around his middle. He smiled down at her and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

“Maybe you can tell me some of the other things that made your list.” He remarked, as they made their way out to the bustling city street.

[breakingasia-blog]

Innovative Artists Find Ways to Dance Around China's Censorship

But artists like the scene's writer-director Wang Chong operate in what might be considered China's version of "off-off-Broadway", small, often impromptu, avant-garde performances in which independent show-runners walk a razor-thin line between censorship and artistic freedom. "A rebellious spirit is very dangerous. If an artist is in trouble in China everybody will cut connections, cooperation and conversation with them," Wang said of the risks. Wang spoke to AFP on the sidelines of the recent 7th annual Wuzhen Theatre Festival in the eponymous ancient canal town near Shanghai. Artists from the Ikarus troupe perform at the Wuzhen Theatre Festival Wuzhen's government promotes the town as an arts center, which affords directors a sliver more creative leeway than elsewhere. But even in Wuzhen, Wang, a tall and lanky 37-year-old, employs what he calls "tricks" to avoid trouble from a government that is pushing "red" theater extolling the one-party Communist state. Independent directors today often perform pop-up style, in art galleries, museums, or coffee shops, avoiding proper theater venues, which require pre-approval of scripts and are frequented by government officials monitoring for sensitive content. "If you stick to giving a voice to deep social issues, you will finally figure out a way around the rules," Wang added. Artists dressed as fairies perform along a street in Wuzhen where the government promotes the town as an arts center Glass Ceiling Many theaters in China host modern Western-style dramas, but much stage fare still consists of Communist paeons or re-tellings of ancient tales.  But Wang and his peers push the envelope with avant-garde productions that skirt the censor's red line. His latest -- a thinly veiled swipe at China's surveillance state -- was performed outdoors in Wuzhen by four randomly selected audience members who received their lines and prompts via headphones. The founder of 11-year-old Beijing-based performance group Theatre du Reve Experimental, Wang has had plays shut down before. "Mr. Big", a production centering on early 20th-century dissident writer Lu Xun that touched on sensitive issues, opened in theaters in 2016, but was later abruptly closed.  Wang likened it to the death of a child and indicative of what he calls a "glass ceiling" for sensitive content.  Another innovative playwright, Wang Boxin, the 34-year-old founder of a Shanghai-based theater troupe, uses satire and dark humor in productions that shine a light on what he considers contemporary China's declining moral values.  His latest, which debuted on Wuzhen's centuries-old plazas, was inspired by the police detention this year of a young Chinese cartoonist on vague accusations of "insulting Chinese people" with satirical cartoons depicting them as pig-headed gluttons. Wang's darkly comic piece was performed by actors wearing animal heads. "As long as you don't sell tickets, you won't be asked for qualifications and can keep your artistic freedom," said Wang, who formed his self-funded troupe this year. Artists perform during the 7th annual Wuzhen Theatre Festival in Wuzhen in Zhejiang province, two hours from Shanghai Guerrilla Style Self-taught theater director Huang Baosheng also stages his plays, which revolve around the pressures faced by Chinese young people, in what he calls "guerrilla" style - in friends' homes, coffee shops, even an underground parking lot. But that's due more to financing than politics. "Money is my biggest trouble, a drag on my creativity," said Huang, 25, who co-founded a troupe three years ago in the nearby city of Hangzhou, supporting it with his earnings as a copy writer at an internet company. His lack of formal theater training makes government or private funding elusive, while others say edgy content also repels sponsors.  Still, growing numbers of Chinese independent impresarios are emerging to find increasing interest from young Chinese, Huang said. But censorship hovers overhead, said Wang Chong. "(Chinese authorities) want theater to become an industry like Broadway, to make money like movies do and contribute to national GDP," he said, but they also want it "pure and strictly controllable". Wang, who regularly stages his edgier performances overseas, will perform a new one-man play in Australia next year starring himself. The theme: censorship. "It's my long-term dream that China's theater censorship system will collapse one day. If so, the (forthcoming) play will have accomplished its mission." Read the full article

[tillymint7]

Peter Appleton and Adam Carr 🤩

The next lecture I want to share with you all was a shared lecture from Peter and Adam whom are our university lecturers. Peter is also an internationally renowned artist and Adam is an internationally renowned curator and art writer who started out as an artist.

Peters work concentrates on the development of sound. Peter said he played guitar which was his true love so he wanted to see if he could get away with putting music into his art work. I love the idea that he wanted to get away with sharing something he loved in his artwork, which to me shows how fun the life of an artist is, always doing the thing you love and getting paid for it. We are so lucky 💞

Sharing something that speaks to you deeply is something that artist should always do, finding ways of sharing something that really speaks to you through an artistic medium. By doing this we are sharing part of ourselves, we are baring our souls, laying the deepest parts of our creative mind bare for all to see. That’s one of the things that makes being an artist both exciting and scary or brave and crazy all at the same time. 😜

The sounds Peter initially created used a broken drain pipe, which he found by chance on his way out walking one morning, he realised he could make a sound using random everyday objects combined with the elements. He then started experimenting with amplifiers and movement. The outcomes are truly transcending, some sounds are deep, eerie almost alien like sounds, some where delicate and haunting and others comforting and familiar. Some even remind me of whale sounds. To me it feels like the elements are communicating with you through Peters sculptures. Truly magical!

To Peter the look of the sculptures/object comes secondary to the sound they create. Peter often tested and create his sculptures on the beach where he had space and the elements to work with. The sculptures used wind and solar panels which at the time were very expense and very hard to come by as they were new technology. Because of this also of Peters work was situated outside amoungst nature causing that stark contrast between the industrial man made object and nature. It’s not trying to be something it’s not, it is what it is, unapologetically standing out proudly on the landscape.

Some of structures themselves Peter quite honestly discribed them as ugly, especially he said when he thinks back to his first few crude creations, but I completely disagree. I actually thought many of them were honest, beautiful, organic in form and industrial all at the same time. Peter was definitely an artist born way before his time. His works to me is fascinating and has definitely not dated one bit! I know I’ve seen recent works by other artist trying to create similar work, whom have quite obviously been influenced by Peters ground breaking art works.

Unfortunately a lot of the sculptures themselves no longer exist. Like Neil Morris said to us making large works is like owning a horse. You need places to store them. If that’s not possible unfortunately they have to be dismantled or sometimes even disposed of. The only evidence left of most of Peters works are the cracking dated videos. I do find this rather romantic...they are lost but not forgotten, all that remains is a naustalgic form like a portal through time transporting the viewer back to where they once existed.

Most of the videos have been uploaded to YouTube. I would definitely recommend for anyone who is interested, to hunt down the videos to hear them first hand. They are so clever combining scientific, invention and art in such a unique and unforgettable way. I wished we had more time to go over Peters work but unfortunately we had half the usual time we would not allowed due to it being a shared lecture.

While Peter was talkig. I also thought about my own work. Quite a few of my artworks involve movement and sounds it’s something I seem drawn to creating. I can definitely see myself looking further into Peters work for my research. In fact I have started collecting videos of the elements myself over the last few years and I even took a video of me spraying water over plant pots creating sounds in the beams of sunlight. We are so lucky having so many talented artist at our disposal everyday!🤘

Peter has also created a CD, which is still available to listen to and buy online. He said he is also in the process of creating another CD but it’s been a long labour of love. I hope we get the chance to hear it someday soon.

The second lecture we had was with Adam Carr whom is also our head of year. Adam started off his fine art degree creating and showing his own work, but by the second year he was organising and curatoring exhibitions showing his fellow students works. In the end he stopped showing his own work altogether and just showed other students work.

Adam is also a published art writer and writes for many art magazines. He said he doesn’t see his writing as a separate entity, to Adam it’s all part of his practice each one thrives off the other.

The exhibition that propelled Adam into the limelight was his Post-it exhibition. Where artist did artworks on Post-it Notes and they were randomly stuck all over the exhibition space even around the desks and monitors like a immersive invasion art piece. This kind of presention of work is something that really interesting and as a artist. I have produced immersive installations before and definitely plan on creating more in the very near future.

The news about the unique exhibition travelled and so did the exhibition itself. The Post-it went to Columbia. The Post-it in Columbia initially only involved 10 artists Adam said he didn’t really know enough Columbian artist so he asked each artist to nominated 5 other artists to take part in the exhibition. This allowed Adam to learn even more about known and emerging Columbian artists. It was also brought to Adams attention that the exhibition itself was also environmentally friendly. It took up very little space and could be packed into one suite case, which was something Adam had not thought of in relation to the work before, but this became facinating to Adam as he realised there was another layer to the work that really spoke to people especially right now in our current environmental crisis.

Adam also decided to sell works at an art fair and asked known artits to create large volumes of printed works that could be given away for free. The stall itself obviously sold out very quickly and spent the rest of the show rather bare. Unfortunately Adams intention was misunderstood by the other artist at the art fair as they saw this idea as tactically taking potential customers from their stalls, they felt they were being upstaged and loosing business not realising it was an artistic statement. Apparently there was an unfortunate fall out that has since thankfully been resolved. 🤗

To me Adam definitely loves to look at things in completely new and unique ways. He likes to challenge the norm and seems quite mischievous in the exhibitions he creates, just like Rory, he has a cheeky mischievous approach to his work. He also likes to highlight under represented artists which is also something Dan Howard - Brit is drawn to. It’s so good to hear there are so many other people passionate about helping other artist achieve their dreams.

Adam has now became a partner in a gallery in Columbia but due to Columbia’s current state of political unrest Adam is currently struggling with what step to take next with the gallery. I can definitely see how that could be a difficult decision. The gallery itself looks gorgeous set back in the Columbian landscape. I feel for Adam because he seems to have quite obviously fallen for South America for its art and its people. I hope he finds a way forward.

Adam also announced an opportunity to send in a proposal for a photography exhibition he is organising. I will have to have a more in depth chat with him about this at some point. Photography for those of you who have seen my Instagram is definitely one of my loves. I’m very amiture, but we all have to start somewhere. 😜

Adam obviously has a photography obsession himself and apparently had to cut his images down for the lecture. Once again I think it was a shame for him to have to rush through his images because I really wanted to have the chance to see each image in more detail as well as having a chance to hear more about his work.

In the Q&A it was lovely to see Adam and Peter chatting so passionately about the work they do outside of the university. Adam just like Peter also likes to get away with bring his interests into his work. Adam is currently working on a works involving bike riding, due to his new found love of cycling.

This idea that works can be born of absolutely anything is so freeing, but sometimes I find that part quite hard. Not having any limits can often open up so many options that you don’t know which way to go next. Sometimes I find that this is the hardest thing.... to me it’s never hard to come up with the ideas, but its certainly hard to decide which of the multiple paths to choose to wonder down in the hopes of getting lost along the way and finding something truly transcending and thought provoking.

In relation to my own practice I’m definitely going to try and involve more writing as I do feel it adds to my practice. I seem to be drawn to documenting everything through photography, random notes and sketches. I not that great at it yet, but I’m sure with time an practice I’ll vastly improve. Writing this blog has certainly helped eradicate some of the fear I had in relation to people reading my thoughts and experiences. So thanks to my degree it’s onwards and upwards! 🤘💃

[mostshouldbeall]

JAB, Jelsa Art Bienal 2019 

   “JAB is the Jelsa Art Bienal from the Croatian island Hvar. This Biennial is a culmination of ongoing international residencies program, mixed with the invitations and open calls to international art community. It combines contemporary, experimental, participatory art works, based on artist reflection about territory and specific socio-cultural local themes from the region of Jelsa.

   The program is made of a pre-set show circuit, site-specific performances and installations in a parallel events map that show the region and acts with the tourism board in the scope of sustainable tourism and practices envisioned for Hvar Island. Being based on artist residences work, JAB will be extended overseas, by international cooperation’s with residence programs, artists and other cities.”[i]

Jelsa, Hvar

   “The island of Hvar is the queen of the Croatian Dalmatian islands. It has been famous since the antique because of its important strategic and nautical position, the rich of the various historical periods, the culture and natural monuments and the literature.

   The town Jelsa is located in the middle of the island of Hvar and is mild, clean and open hearted to the guests and travelers.

   The start of tourism on the island goes back deep into the past, to ancient times and the Middle Age. There are finds of the villae rusticate, throughout the field of Hvar, and also economic buildings and summer cottages. Many adventurers, ethnologists and archaeologists visited the island and researched the herbs, minerals and the antique monuments in the Middle Age.

  The organized tourism began with the founding of the Hygiene club Hvar under the leadership of the bishop Jurje Dubokovic. The hotel Jardan is the oldest hotel in Jelsa and it was opened in 1911.

   A strong development of tourism and the construction of hotels, pensions, apartments, restaurants, bars, discotheques and other tourist objects happened when the tourism became the most important economic branch on the island around 1970.

   The cultural and historical treasury of Jelsa and the island of Hvar consists of numerous monuments situated in: churches, parks, caves in the field, on squares etc.

   Discover Jelsa and the island Hvar as a sunny garden surrounded by clear sea and covered by a crystal blue sky!” [ii]

The project

   This project; MOST SHOULD BE ALL. Svi veliki projekti filloni me një prototip, non importa se è qui أو هناك. began with the invitation by Marija Kamber, one of the artists and organizers of this Biennial, asking me if I was interested in doing something for/with this particular event/island. She took advantage of the fact that I will be in Zagreb this summer, doing an artist residency on the Pop-up gallery Garage KAMBA, owned and co-headed by herself, to make me this invitation. The proposition was, as I like, non-official, giving me time and space to think about it.

   My research started in google maps, giving me a brief eye bird idea from this specific place, this specific island, this specific country and this specific sea. The fact that the place that will host this event is detached from the continent was what triggered me the most. My idea is to connect both places.

   The project aims to construct a bridge/pier from the city of Drvenik, in the southern Croatian coast, to the Hvar nearest tip, the city of Sućuraj. The gap has approximately five kilometers wide and these cities are separated by a small, calm and warm length of the Adriatic Sea. (fig.1)

Bridge

   A bridge, (Most, in croatian) – as a human made/appropriated object that creates the proper circumstances to move from one place to another, without facing the restrictions of the territory – remains as one the key factors for transitory progression. Without breaking the flux of the roads path, this structure presents itself as a democratic foundation for all. Paths create the possibility of movement. It is by creating the possibility of movement that we aim for distance, and it is by creating distance that we have the possibility to have an overall and conscience sense of the background. This connection will act as a tie from one separated road to another.

   Let’s tie all the roads in the world.

The proposition

   This project is an open proposition for the Jelsa Art Biennial, to the Island, to Croatia, to Europe, to Africa and to all humanity has a community.

   After months of research and studying cases that I could use for this particular project, I came across with the work made by the American Bulgarian born artist Christo Vladimirof Javacheff titled The Floating Piers. A work made in the Italian lake Iseo that consisted in connecting Peschiera Maraglio to San Paolo Island and San Paolo Island to Sensole on Monte Isola by a floating pier.

  ”This connection is made by100,000 square meters of yellow fabric, carried by a modular floating dock system of 220,000 high-density polyethylene cubes, undulated with the movement of the waves as The Floating Piers rose just above the surface of the water” [iii].

  By studying this particular project and examining is potential in theAdriatic Sea, the only reliableoption was to contact Christo and his team and invite them toreproduce The Floating Piers toconnect Hvar to the rest of the continent. This is the letter that I wrote to the artist and his team:

   Dear Christo and team,I start this email by thanking you, your beloved wife and all your team for all the inspiring work developed so far. It’s his open character without any kind of restrictions that delivers to the overall public the possibility to truly experience it that fascinates me the most.

  I came by this mean to ask you for some help. Even knowing –explicit in your website – that you don’t accept any kind of proposition for new works, it’s important for me to emphasize the humanitarian benefit that this project can have with your help. This is not just about the construction of a work of art, but the realization of a structurethat will connect humanity to itself. 

   This particular project that I’m presenting, sumps up – in the first instance – in connecting the southern coastal town from Croatia called Dvrenik, to the eastern city of Sućuraj situated in Hvar Island. The connection of both cities comes from the necessity to unify the European continent to the Jelsa Biennial that develops itself once in each two years in the center north of this island. This city can be visited by plane or boat and presents itself as one of the elected destinies in this region.  This connection – the bridge/pier – will give the possibility to all the community of this continent to be part of this event without needing any kind of financial conditions. This path will be a prototype for further ones. 

   The idea is that this bridge/pier – seizing the experience by you and your team gained in the The Floating Piers project – will be the beginning of a bigger one, with approximately 1500 km long, that will connect the south of Europe to the north of Africa. The construction of this pier will ease all the already existing flux between both of those continents that exist for centuries, and it will make this journey open to anyone willing to do it. By doing so, this pier will unify those two continents and its inhabitants.   

   This idea may look absurd or impossible, but no other team than yours to prove the contrary. All your experience is crucial to the concretization of this project.  

    Looking with regard, love and consideration for an answer from you.  Kevin Claro, May 2019 

From Drvenick to Tripoli

   The goal of the bigger project is to connect the city of Drvenik in Croatia to Tripoli in Libya (Fig.2), creating a physical link between Europe and Africa. This connection will go from Drvenik to Hvar, Hvar to Susac, Susac to Palagruza, Palagruza to Vieste, Vieste to Vlorë, Vlorë to Leuca, Leuca to Isola di Capo, Isola di Capo to Brancaleone-Marina, Brancaleone-Marina to Siracusa, Siracusa to Portopalo di Capo Passero, Portopalo di Capo Passero to Maltaand finishing by connecting Malta to Tripoli. This path wasn’t chosen randomly. The construction of this long bridge/pier will aim to highlight a track that has been traveled for several centuries by both those continents inhabitants. From the first colony created in 630 B.C. in Egypt by a Greek merchant [iv], to the more than 150,000 African travelers that cross this sea from January to December of 2017[v], this bridge/pier will finally bring a safe and open path to cross from one continent to another.

   This structure will act as an example for all the invisible path’s existing  in the rest of the world, presenting itself as a constant reminder for our need and urge to travel, learn and share, but also to remind ourselves that the world that we live is unique, and anyone who lives in it should be free to explore is totality.

   All the extra information for this project is presented and updated in this web page: https://mostshouldbeall.tumblr.com

[i] Text from the biennial catalogue

[ii] Text from hvar.info.com

[iii] Text from Christo and Jeanne-Claude website: christojeanneclaude.net

[iv] Information from www.ancient.eu

[v] Information from www.iom.int

More info about the event: https://www.facebook.com/jabiennial/

[chaletnz]

Alternative Berlin

This morning didn't go exactly to plan... I had set my alarm for 8am so I could get up early and go out to the Charlottenburg Palace, then come back and enjoy my fancy breakfast. But instead I turned off my alarm when it went off and slept in until 10. The castle could wait! I eventually dragged myself out of bed and down to the breakfast restaurant where I was seated and started off with a cappuccino. My first course was some hashbrowns, bacon and a muffin. I washed it down with a tall glass of pineapple juice and then ordered my next dish from the kitchen which was French toast with maple syrup and jam. It turned out to be very small so I still had room for some traditional German dessert - apple strudel, some pineapple and mango slices and a yoghurt. I waddled back up to my room to shower and say goodbye to the comfort. After checking out I rushed myself to the East Side Gallery to join an alternative walking tour which I just managed to arrive in time for. The guide was a lovely girl called Daphna from Herzliya in Israel, she broke the ice by doing a round of introductions and then we crossed the Oberbaunbrücke bridge from East to West Berlin to begin our tour. Halfway across the bridge we paused at one of the many balconies on the bridge (this one flooded with water and/or pee and littered with cigarette butts) where we could see our first street art piece. A small portrait of a man and a woman on the wall of the bridge painted by Alice Pasquini from Rome that had been scribbled over on the edges. Daphna also pointed out a statue in the distance of what appeared to be two robots fighting but was in fact two people hugging. On the other side of the bridge we saw a large portrait by an Italian street artist known as BLU, the wall was a commissioned piece and he spent some time in the area to get a vibe for what to paint and he noticed how public land was being privatized by corporations so he painted his mural as all these workers being identical brainwashed cogs in a machine. It is a well regarded piece as he painted it in its entirety in less than a week. We saw a street pole with 9 months worth of posters wrapped around its base and Daphna explained that it's because the city has no money to clean it up and the responsibilities lie with building owners - which is why graffiti is rampant in Berlin. Just down the road from here is where a large squat used to be, a commune of people who were homeless or between homes. There used to be two more large art pieces by BLU on the brick wall behind it but unfortunately the squat was burned down, evacuated, red taped and never investigated or reopened. In its place apartments are due to be built and have been sold with the promise of famous street art in view. But BLU asked his friends to paint over the works to ensure they cannot profit from them after forcing people from their squat. Their revenge was painting a giant middle finger and profanities instead. Down a quieter residential street Daphna pointed out some potato characters that are everywhere throughout Berlin and mushrooms which are rumored to be drawn on special paper so that if you lick them you get high. We walked into a small park/playground with a large deep puddle that looked like one of those sinkhole puddles and here we saw quite a special work. It was painted high up in what appeared to be a rough paint job (it had been done with a roller on a stick from the ground apparently!) but once we all squinted our eyes we saw the immense detail come alive! The shading on the faces and clothing of the three boys in the painting was really something quite amazing to see on a ragged wall above a dirty park bench laden with a trio of homeless men and their trolleys. This artwork was all about reclaiming their city and occupying public land, however if caught graffitiing the artists face fines of a minimum of €500 as it is a vandalism charge to start and repeat offenders can face jail time. Daphna's neighbour went to prison for graffiti and said to her one day; "hey I'm renting my room on Air BnB while I'm in prison, can you take care of it and we can split profits?" Around the corner at a convenience store we bought some beers and Fritz colas and sat outside for a little break to discuss Israeli politics and life in Berlin. Back out on the street and we were shown some zebra illustrations drawn on paper and then glued to walls, the reason for this style is that if you're caught gluing paper up it is only prosecuted with a charge of unlawful advertising with a fine of €15 so many artists prefer to take the small risk and with the other benefit being they can create their pieces in the comfort of a studio somewhere. On a busy intersection with streets below and the U Bahn tracks above we were shown where a favourite German burger restaurant was- a place called Burgermeister located in a refurbished public toilet. On one of the side streets opposite we took a moment to check out a large wall piece painted by a pair of Brazilian twin brothers. As the story goes they were commissioned to paint the wall so both went to feel the energy of the wall, fell asleep, and woke up to sketch the exact same man who would become the subject of the work. They also painted an airplane for a Brazilian football team that was so popular it is now a regular carrier. As we were standing looking at the U Bahn anyway, Daphna decided to point out how the trains are always so clean despite Berlin being a bit dirty overall. The trains were seen as difficult to graffiti without being caught - until the group 1-Up decided to target the trains and trams to leave their name on. They strike together pulling the emergency stop, knowing they have three minutes until police arrive they then spend two minutes spraying their work before running off down the tracks. One of our last stops was the Lux Club which originally had a huge mural with the general theme of love by an artist called Oliver. In the dead of night someone had painted over it with the words "Go Die". Friends, artists and members of the public banded together for Oliver throwing a party with blaring music and a confetti cannon to make a new masterpiece in its place. We parted ways with Daphna's final tale about a poster in a cafe that said "Linda I love you, I'm sorry. Please take me back, I'll be here next Saturday waiting for you." Then a week later was replaced with "Linda I love you, if you can forgive me I'll be here next Saturday and Sunday waiting for you." The messages to Linda gradually got more and more desperate and pleading, and people started to write notes on napkins and stick them on the posters telling Linda that he was crazy and that she was right to leave him. Other men said, "Linda you must be great here's my number." Eventually they all stopped and disappeared but the public wondered what had become of Linda and her ex boyfriend until one day on local radio a man went on air and said "hi I'm Linda's ex, I was writing my thesis on how the people of Berlin would interact personally with street art and I passed so thank you all!" After the tour I went for a quick coffee at a specialty shop called 19 grams then I walked down the street only to randomly discover the Urban Spree art gallery and flea market. Plus tons of graffiti and street art, quirky shops and stalls and even the Berlin Skateboarding Open being held in the skatehaus. I browsed for an hour or so then began walking back to the hotel via the East Side Gallery until it started to rain quite heavily so I caught a bus the rest of the way back. I checked in and chilled waiting for the rain to stop then headed back out to Curry 36 for the typical Berlin currywurst sausage and chips. I browsed a few souvenir shops to get my usual collectible fridge magnet and also found the Ampelmann store - the Germans are so weird they are obsessed with the little red and green men that tell you when to cross the street so they dedicated a whole store to selling merchandise of him. You can even buy your own traffic light for at home! The sun was still out so I took the train to the Berliner Dom to see it in the evening light, then visited Mio for a little tub of ice cream for dessert before darkness set in.

[richmegavideo]

These Photos Celebrate the Beauty of Panama's Afro-Latinx Community

VICE's #BlackLove series celebrates the bonds between Black people through intimate, powerful, and uplifting narratives of love in all its forms. Through these stories, we honor the art, activism, and beauty that grows from black love.

Black people are everywhere, my mother once told me. I was sharing my anxieties about studying abroad in Europe, of sticking out like a sore thumb. In my head, blackness was something that began and ended in America. My history classes only ever talked about the slaves stolen and taken to the Deep South. But my mother was right. The African diaspora reaches far and wide: the Afro-Caribbean communities of London, Black Canadians, Afro-Brazilians, and on and on. The problem is how rarely the wide, far-reaching spectrum of blackness is taught, shown, celebrated, and acknowledged.

Photographer Kayla Reefer grapples with the ramifications of this everyday. She is Afro-Latina, the daughter of Panamanian immigrants. Growing up in California, Reefer talks about feeling the need to prove her heritage and identity to her black and Latinx friends. To show them she is not simply one or the other, but an amalgamation of histories. “Eventually, I learned to embrace both worlds,” she says. “Because they’re both me.”

Sadly, not all Panamanians take ownership of their Afro roots, Reefer says. She once saw a Panama census stating only 9 percent of the country was Afro-Latinx. The small statistic does not match up to Reefer’s reality, the people she sees riding the bus during her visits to the Central-American country, of her family and friends. “That statistic is absolutely not true,” she argues, anger in her voice. “It just feeds into the lack of awareness and knowledge of what an Afro-Latinx person is. There’s this erasure happening.”

Last year, Reefer visited Panama for the first time in almost five years. While there, she devoted an entire day to photographing her extended family. The meditative portraits from that sunny, carefree day have resulted in her latest series, Identidad. Reefer strikes an interesting balance with this personal series, the images fit for a gallery and scrapbook. Reefer calls the series a gift to her family, a chance for them to see themselves. “I don’t know if they’ve ever had a their pictures formally taken,” she says. But these photos are also a gift for viewers. The series serves as a powerful example of pride; an attempt to combat the erasure of Afro-Latinx identities in Latin America. Looking at three generations of Reefer's family in one image, everyone grinning from ear to ear, you also have to ask yourself, only 9 percent?

Reefer talked to VICE about familial love, unearthing her family’s past, and the importance of archiving.

VICE: In your artist statement, you talk about wanting to photograph subjects with “profound sensitivity and sincerity.” Can you tell me a little bit more about this thoughtful approach? Kayla Reefer: For me, especially as a black photographer, seeing how blacks are photographed—it feels like we’re being photographed behind museum glass. It’s very impersonal. I always make it my mission, specifically with black and brown people, to approach my subjects in a way that’s engaging and real as possible. I want to capture their humanity in an all-encompassing way.

How did you decide to photograph your family for Identidad? I was going through history books and it was very hard for me to find, one, an Afro-Latinx photographer, and, two, photos of Afro-Latinx people. Of course the few photos I found, they were photos of us in the jungle. And the way they were edited made the subjects look extra dirty. There was no beauty to them. The photos felt like they were just probing at us.

So I really made these photos a moment for how my family wanted to be presented to the world. I don’t think a lot of my family members have ever formally had their photo taken. I reached out to all my cousins and aunt. We made a photoshoot of it basically. This was a way for me to connect with them in a way I hadn’t before. They’re in Panama, and I’m in LA. So it’s very hard for me to get out there. Before I went in 2018, when I took these photos, it had been almost five years since I’d last seen them.

Did you think about the future generations of your family that would see these photos? We were going through old photos and there were so many gaps. My mother had 12 brothers and sisters. Unfortunately, she passed away before I shot this. That was another reason for me to start the project—because I didn’t meet my grandparents and a lot of my aunts and uncles, because they passed away before I got to meet them. There were few things left of them. For example, one of my uncles had left his old ID card that we found randomly. Had it not been for that I would have never seen his face. I didn’t want anyone to wonder years from now what my family looked like.

What really sticks out is how much smiling there is in these photos. I was actually trying to do the photos in a more photojournalistic “don’t smile” kind of way. But then my cousins kept cracking jokes and having a good time. When I looked back on the photos, those were the ones that spoke to me. I loved that they’re happy and joyful. There’s rarely ever any joy or happiness presented in photos of Afro-Latinx people.

How has your understanding of black love expanded over the years? It’s changed drastically. Even just with understanding black love is not just with a man and woman. It can be a man and a man, a woman with a woman, non-gender conforming, etc.

I think black love is the strongest love that exists. Because we have to love ourselves, in spite of all the bullshit we have to go through everyday. It’s a journey everyday to wake up and live your life and still have a love for yourself that isn’t given to you or shown to you. It’s very hard to find. That’s why black love is the most beautiful thing there is.

Finally, if you had to create a syllabus featuring films, books, and other media that provide strong examples of black love, what would be on that list? I resonate most with music when I think about black love in its varying ways. These are a few of the songs that come to mind:

Musiq Soulchild - “Just Friends”

Brandy - “Sittin’ Up In My Room”

Lucy Pearl - “Dance Tonight”

Black Star - “Brown Skin Lady”

Pharrell ft. Kanye West - “Number One”

Talib Kweli - “Hot Thing”

Jill Scott - “Slowly Surely”

Anita Baker - “Same Ole Love”

Teddy Pendergrass - “You’re My Latest, My Greatest Inspiration”

Delegation - “Oh Honey”

GQ - “I Do Love You”

Lauryn Hill - “Ex-Factor”

Aaron Neville - “Tell It Like It Is”

Sam Cooke - “You Send Me”

Duke Ellington and John Coltrane - “In a Sentimental Mood”

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[richmeganews]

These Photos Celebrate the Beauty of Panama's Afro-Latinx Community

VICE's #BlackLove series celebrates the bonds between Black people through intimate, powerful, and uplifting narratives of love in all its forms. Through these stories, we honor the art, activism, and beauty that grows from black love.

Black people are everywhere, my mother once told me. I was sharing my anxieties about studying abroad in Europe, of sticking out like a sore thumb. In my head, blackness was something that began and ended in America. My history classes only ever talked about the slaves stolen and taken to the Deep South. But my mother was right. The African diaspora reaches far and wide: the Afro-Caribbean communities of London, Black Canadians, Afro-Brazilians, and on and on. The problem is how rarely the wide, far-reaching spectrum of blackness is taught, shown, celebrated, and acknowledged.

Photographer Kayla Reefer grapples with the ramifications of this everyday. She is Afro-Latina, the daughter of Panamanian immigrants. Growing up in California, Reefer talks about feeling the need to prove her heritage and identity to her black and Latinx friends. To show them she is not simply one or the other, but an amalgamation of histories. “Eventually, I learned to embrace both worlds,” she says. “Because they’re both me.”

Sadly, not all Panamanians take ownership of their Afro roots, Reefer says. She once saw a Panama census stating only 9 percent of the country was Afro-Latinx. The small statistic does not match up to Reefer’s reality, the people she sees riding the bus during her visits to the Central-American country, of her family and friends. “That statistic is absolutely not true,” she argues, anger in her voice. “It just feeds into the lack of awareness and knowledge of what an Afro-Latinx person is. There’s this erasure happening.”

Last year, Reefer visited Panama for the first time in almost five years. While there, she devoted an entire day to photographing her extended family. The meditative portraits from that sunny, carefree day have resulted in her latest series, Identidad. Reefer strikes an interesting balance with this personal series, the images fit for a gallery and scrapbook. Reefer calls the series a gift to her family, a chance for them to see themselves. “I don’t know if they’ve ever had a their pictures formally taken,” she says. But these photos are also a gift for viewers. The series serves as a powerful example of pride; an attempt to combat the erasure of Afro-Latinx identities in Latin America. Looking at three generations of Reefer's family in one image, everyone grinning from ear to ear, you also have to ask yourself, only 9 percent?

Reefer talked to VICE about familial love, unearthing her family’s past, and the importance of archiving.

VICE: In your artist statement, you talk about wanting to photograph subjects with “profound sensitivity and sincerity.” Can you tell me a little bit more about this thoughtful approach? Kayla Reefer: For me, especially as a black photographer, seeing how blacks are photographed—it feels like we’re being photographed behind museum glass. It’s very impersonal. I always make it my mission, specifically with black and brown people, to approach my subjects in a way that’s engaging and real as possible. I want to capture their humanity in an all-encompassing way.

How did you decide to photograph your family for Identidad? I was going through history books and it was very hard for me to find, one, an Afro-Latinx photographer, and, two, photos of Afro-Latinx people. Of course the few photos I found, they were photos of us in the jungle. And the way they were edited made the subjects look extra dirty. There was no beauty to them. The photos felt like they were just probing at us.

So I really made these photos a moment for how my family wanted to be presented to the world. I don’t think a lot of my family members have ever formally had their photo taken. I reached out to all my cousins and aunt. We made a photoshoot of it basically. This was a way for me to connect with them in a way I hadn’t before. They’re in Panama, and I’m in LA. So it’s very hard for me to get out there. Before I went in 2018, when I took these photos, it had been almost five years since I’d last seen them.

Did you think about the future generations of your family that would see these photos? We were going through old photos and there were so many gaps. My mother had 12 brothers and sisters. Unfortunately, she passed away before I shot this. That was another reason for me to start the project—because I didn’t meet my grandparents and a lot of my aunts and uncles, because they passed away before I got to meet them. There were few things left of them. For example, one of my uncles had left his old ID card that we found randomly. Had it not been for that I would have never seen his face. I didn’t want anyone to wonder years from now what my family looked like.

What really sticks out is how much smiling there is in these photos. I was actually trying to do the photos in a more photojournalistic “don’t smile” kind of way. But then my cousins kept cracking jokes and having a good time. When I looked back on the photos, those were the ones that spoke to me. I loved that they’re happy and joyful. There’s rarely ever any joy or happiness presented in photos of Afro-Latinx people.

How has your understanding of black love expanded over the years? It’s changed drastically. Even just with understanding black love is not just with a man and woman. It can be a man and a man, a woman with a woman, non-gender conforming, etc.

I think black love is the strongest love that exists. Because we have to love ourselves, in spite of all the bullshit we have to go through everyday. It’s a journey everyday to wake up and live your life and still have a love for yourself that isn’t given to you or shown to you. It’s very hard to find. That’s why black love is the most beautiful thing there is.

Finally, if you had to create a syllabus featuring films, books, and other media that provide strong examples of black love, what would be on that list? I resonate most with music when I think about black love in its varying ways. These are a few of the songs that come to mind:

Musiq Soulchild - “Just Friends”

Brandy - “Sittin’ Up In My Room”

Lucy Pearl - “Dance Tonight”

Black Star - “Brown Skin Lady”

Pharrell ft. Kanye West - “Number One”

Talib Kweli - “Hot Thing”

Jill Scott - “Slowly Surely”

Anita Baker - “Same Ole Love”

Teddy Pendergrass - “You’re My Latest, My Greatest Inspiration”

Delegation - “Oh Honey”

GQ - “I Do Love You”

Lauryn Hill - “Ex-Factor”

Aaron Neville - “Tell It Like It Is”

Sam Cooke - “You Send Me”

Duke Ellington and John Coltrane - “In a Sentimental Mood”

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