#and with the original block print technique please
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robespapier · 3 months ago
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Committee of Public Safety wallpaper, my beloved
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lovely, lovely block print
— from the Carnavalet exhibition, Paris 1793-1794: une année révolutionnaire
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kirkscarr · 11 months ago
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ok so i just finished my book cover for First, Best Destiny - Part 1 by the amazing @ophelia-j !!
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admittedly i was going to wait until i actually attached the text block to the cover before i posted this haha, but i was SO excited after making this cover that i decided to just post it and then update with the finished product later!!
this book is absolutely embedded in my soul, and words cannot even describe how gorgeously it’s written. it’s a book that made me realize - hey, the adventure doesn’t end as you grow old.
you can read it here. i promise you won’t regret it!!!
anyways!!! here’s all of my other bookbinding steps for anyone interested.
cam’s somewhat incomplete bookbinding guide
please note that i am an AMATEUR hobbyist. please do not actually use this as a tutorial.
oh also!! bookbinding terminology will have a * by it which will be explained at the end in order to make this flow better. i’ll also link the tutorials i used at the end of this for anyone interested.
1) Formatting the document! I downloaded the original text as a PDF, and then designed a cover page, grabbed some art from the internet (i know, frowned upon, but this is just a personal copy so it is what it is), and then designed a table of contents and chapter icons!!
*side note! i added which episodes each chapter follows to the table of contents (pictured below) as this book was written as an accompaniment to TOS and the movies.
2) Next, I printed out all NINE HUNDRED PAGES??? admittedly i could have done it in less if I’d used a bigger page size, but sending things out to be printed is expensive so we made do. after printing, i folded them into signatures*.
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*there’s an additional note about the paper i used at the end
3) punching out holes in all the signatures! although not technically necessary, I honestly don’t think i would’ve been able to sew this behemoth without doing it.
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4) sewing the pages into a real!! actual!! book!! this was the part i was most nervous about. i’ve NEVER attempted to sew anywhere near this large of a book before, so i tried out a new method of sewing in hopes of making it a bit more sturdy. we won’t know if it worked until this book endures some wear and tear, but i’m pretty optimistic!
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5) next up is glueing the spine! this is where it really hit me that a lot of bookbinding is just…glueing shit together. later i also added cardstock to the spine in hopes of helping it adhere to the cover better, and a book headband* for decoration.
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5) now we’re onto the book cover!! they only sell bookboard in minor bulk around here, so we’re not even gonna discuss how much bookboard i now own… anyways! i glued the faux leather onto the bookboard and then let that dry.
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6) last up! off to the cricket! a huge thank you to my friend for letting me borrow her cricket AND supplies! anywho, this is where i designed my cover art. i then adhered the design to the cover. after this step, i realized i…definitely need some kind of sealant - so, if any more seasoned bookbinders have suggestions for this i am all ears!!
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all in all, this was a super fun project, and a great way to kill some time while i recover from surgery! i absolutely plan to bind the sequel at some point, but that may be a…ways away. i’m a STEM major and school starts back up soon so…time will be in short supply lol!
To be continued...
Terminology
*signature: group of sheets folded in half, to be worked into the binding as a unit.
*book headband: just look up a picture if you’re curious because tumblr says i can't add any more pictures lol.
*about the paper!! i actually got it from a local specialty paper store, but if you want something similar i've heard amazon has some good bookbinding alternatives!
Tutorials
please PLEASE go check out Jess Less on youtube. she's phenomenal. here are her vids and what i used them for.
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don't laugh!! i actually stole MOST of my techniques straight from this video.
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i used this one to help me format the book correctly! although i still ended up with some goofs haha (see: any pages on the left side have the page number in the margin LMAO).
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digitalmore · 26 days ago
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ryangomes1 · 6 months ago
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Kerning, Tracking and Leading
Kerning, Tracking, and Leading: Mastering Typography Basics
Typography is the art and technique of arranging type to make written language legible, readable, and visually appealing. Three fundamental concepts that every designer and typographer should master are kerning, tracking, and leading. While they may seem similar at first glance, each plays a distinct role in shaping the overall appearance and readability of text.
What Is Kerning?
Kerning refers to the adjustment of space between individual characters in a word. Its primary purpose is to improve visual harmony and ensure that the spacing between letters appears even to the eye. Poor kerning can make text look awkward, unbalanced, or hard to read.
For example, in the word “VA,” the diagonal strokes of the letters often create an uneven gap. Adjusting the kerning can bring the letters closer together, creating a more visually pleasing result.
Why Is Kerning Important?
Enhances the aesthetic quality of the text.
Ensures proper alignment and balance in logos, headlines, and other large type.
Improves legibility and readability, especially in professional designs.
What Is Tracking?
Tracking, also known as letter-spacing, refers to the uniform adjustment of spacing across an entire word, line, or block of text. Unlike kerning, which targets specific letter pairs, tracking affects the overall density of the text.
Tracking can be applied to achieve different visual effects. For instance, increasing tracking can make a headline look airy and elegant, while decreasing it can create a denser, more compact appearance.
Key Uses of Tracking:
Adjusting text density for readability, especially in large blocks of text.
Creating stylistic effects for titles, logos, or graphic designs.
Fixing spacing issues in justified text.
What Is Leading?
Leading, pronounced “ledding,” is the vertical space between lines of text. The term originates from the days of metal typesetting when strips of lead were used to separate lines of type. Leading is measured from the baseline of one line of text to the baseline of the next.
Proper leading ensures that lines of text are spaced well enough to be easily read, without looking cramped or overly spaced out.
Factors to Consider for Leading:
Font size: Larger text generally requires less leading, while smaller text needs more.
Font style: Decorative fonts may require extra leading to ensure readability.
Content type: Dense blocks of text, such as articles or books, benefit from generous leading to reduce eye strain.
Combining Kerning, Tracking, and Leading Effectively
These three elements work together to create a cohesive and professional design. Here are some tips for using them effectively:
Start with Tracking and Leading: When setting up a block of text, adjust tracking and leading first to establish the overall structure.
For body text, aim for a comfortable reading experience with balanced line spacing and appropriate letter density.
Fine-Tune Kerning: Once the text is set, inspect specific letter pairs and adjust kerning as needed, especially for titles and logos.
Pay close attention to problematic pairs like “AW” or “To.”
Test Readability: View your design at different sizes and from various distances to ensure that the text remains legible and aesthetically pleasing.
Consider the Medium: Adjustments may vary depending on whether your design is for print or digital use. For instance, digital screens often require slightly looser tracking to account for pixel rendering.
Examples in Practice
Headlines: Use tight kerning and tracking with moderate leading to create a bold and impactful appearance.
Body Text: Apply generous leading with neutral tracking to ensure readability over long passages.
Logos: Focus on precise kerning to maintain balance and harmony in letterforms.
Conclusion
Kerning, tracking, and leading are essential tools in the typographer’s toolkit. By understanding their differences and knowing how to apply them effectively, you can elevate the quality of your designs, ensuring both beauty and functionality in your typography. Whether you’re crafting a logo, designing a website, or laying out a book, mastering these principles will help you create text that not only communicates but also captivates.
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houseofekam · 10 months ago
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Exploring the World of Fabric Cloth Material: A Journey Through Textiles
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The world of fabric cloth material is vast and fascinating, with each type of fabric offering unique qualities that make it suitable for different uses. From the luxurious feel of silk to the eco-friendly appeal of linen, understanding these materials can help you make informed decisions for your projects. This blog takes you on a journey through the diverse world of textiles, highlighting the exquisite selection available at House of Ekam.
The History and Evolution of Fabric Cloth Material Textiles have been an integral part of human civilization for centuries. The journey of fabric cloth material is intertwined with cultural, technological, and artistic developments.
Ancient Fabrics: A Glimpse into History The earliest fabrics were made from natural fibers like flax, wool, and cotton. These materials were handwoven into cloth, often dyed with natural pigments. Over time, fabric-making techniques evolved, leading to the creation of more complex and refined textiles.
The Rise of Silk: A Luxury Fabric Silk has a storied history, originating in ancient China. It was once so valuable that it was used as currency. The intricate process of harvesting silk from silkworms and weaving it into fabric made it a symbol of luxury and wealth.
Cotton: A Revolutionary Fabric Cotton's versatility and comfort made it a revolutionary fabric. Its widespread cultivation and use in clothing and home textiles transformed industries and economies around the world. Today, cotton remains a popular choice for its durability and breathability.
Linen: The Fabric of Sustainability Linen, derived from the flax plant, is one of the oldest known textiles. Its natural beauty and eco-friendly properties make it a favorite among those who prioritize sustainability in their fabric choices.
The Art of Fabric Selection Selecting the right fabric cloth material is crucial for the success of any project. Whether you're designing clothing, home decor, or crafts, the fabric you choose will impact the final outcome.
Consider the Project's Purpose Different projects require different types of fabric. For example, clothing demands fabrics that are comfortable and durable, while home decor items benefit from fabrics with a pleasing texture and appearance.
Think About the Fabric's Qualities Each fabric has distinct qualities that make it suitable for certain uses. Silk, for instance, is known for its luxurious feel and elegant drape, making it perfect for evening wear. Cotton, on the other hand, is prized for its comfort and versatility.
House of Ekam's Fabric Collection At House of Ekam, you'll find a curated selection of fabric cloth material that caters to a wide range of needs. From hand-block printed cottons to luxurious silks, their collection offers something for every project.
The Importance of Fabric Care Caring for your fabric cloth material is essential to ensure its longevity and maintain its beauty. Different fabrics require different care methods.
Silk: Always dry clean silk to preserve its delicate fibers and prevent damage.
Cotton: Machine wash cotton in cold water and tumble dry on low heat. Ironing on a medium setting helps maintain its crispness.
Linen: Hand wash or machine wash linen in cold water. Avoid wringing the fabric to prevent creases.
Conclusion The world of fabric cloth material is rich with history, diversity, and creativity. Whether you're a seasoned designer or a DIY enthusiast, the right fabric can bring your vision to life. Explore the stunning collection at House of Ekam and discover the perfect fabric for your next project.
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uwmspeccoll · 2 years ago
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Wood Engraving Wednesday
So, this week we’re replacing our usual wood engravings with color woodcuts instead because we wanted to show off some of the exquisite original wood block prints from a 2-volume set of contemporary Japanese woodcuts. The volumes have not been cataloged yet because the title and publication information are in Japanese and we have not had them translated yet. The title (we believe) is on the cover of the book, which we show here.
The two volumes contain 24 original prints by different artists showcasing traditional techniques with modern sensibilities. Each print is stored in a page composed of a polyethylene sleeve that the print can be removed from. Please click or tap on the images for title and artist information.
View more posts with Japanese prints.
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bitsandbobsandstuff · 4 years ago
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The Midnight Coconuts
Summary: Bucky and his girl take a trip to the grocery store. Several things are involved, including coconuts, a 25cent gum-ball machine, Avengers branded Jell-O, chocolate milk straight from the jug, and tampons.  Characters: Bucky x Reader Words: 3k Warnings: Some swearing. Insane levels of fluff. Dangerously adorable Bucky. One (1) random reference to Not Another Teen Movie. 
A/N: Listen, I will never be over silly domestic Bucky! I originally started this story before TFATWS came out and when I imagined Sam had a niece, so just go with it. Part of me wrote this, because I needed to convince myself that I love grocery shopping (one can only eat takeaway and Trader Joe’s Orange Chicken for so long) and the other part wrote this because I firmly believe domestic routines can be the most romantic adventures out there.
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When the doors to the grocery store whoosh open with a gust of stale manufactured air, Bucky skids to an abrupt and dramatic stop.  
“WAIT!”
Behind him, you stumble in panic, fumbling with an armful of reusable grocery bags. Instantly you’re imagining spilled blood and stab wounds and clean ups on aisle three and god dammit, how can there be a problem? This is a grocery store at midnight on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t the forces of evil be sleeping? Why is it so impossible to get a day off work? Don’t they know you need rest? And peanut butter? And that you’re dangerously low on toilet paper?
The forces of evil are the worst.
Raising weary fists, you huff.
“What? Where is it?”
Bucky sidesteps toward a row of small red and green machines beside the entrance, falling to his knees and smushing his nose eagerly against the glass. Reaching a hand behind him, there are several impatient grabby motions, before he glances back.
“Babe, can you give me a quarter? I need a gum-ball.”
Planting a sneaker clad foot on his ass, you shove. Hard.  
“Bucky, we talked about this. Remember how you agreed to lower the drama and keep things in perspective? I thought we were under attack.”
“If I don’t get a green gum-ball,” he declares dramatically, “there will be an attack.”
Throwing the cloth bags at his face, you stomp off to retrieve a shopping cart, plunking your purse in the front and hunching over the handlebars.  
“I thought you said you were a millionaire now. Buy your own gum-ball.”
Bucky rolls his eyes.
“Like I carry loose change,” he scoffs. “C’mon, just one quarter. Please?”
This time, he gives you the Look. That patented Bucky Barnes stare, with the wide eyes and full pouty lips and faux innocent expression, and if this man wasn’t the love of your life you’d quite happily stab him in the heart.
Instead, you open your purse and fish out a quarter, flinging it at his frustratingly pretty face. It bounces off his forehead and he scoops it up with a grin.
“So just to clarify. You came to the grocery store covered in knives, but you forgot to bring money?”
Giving you an indulgent smile, he jams the quarter into the slot. With a twist and shake, a gum-ball rattles free, and Bucky crows with delight when he sees the green candy. He pops it in his mouth. 
“I didn’t forget. I made a conscious decision to remove the temptation. If I bring cash, I’ll spend it. You know I ain’t great with that whole self control thing.”
“How encouraging to hear, from the man with knives pouring out his ass.”  
Jumping to his feet, he throws an arm around your shoulders. 
“Ass knives sound painful.”
“Depends on how sharp they are,” you mumble, pulling a carefully folded sheet of paper from your jacket.
“Excuse you? My knives are always perfectly sharpened, thank you very much. What kind of expert assassin runs around with dull knives? Damn baby, it’s like you don’t even know me.”
Ignoring him, you flatten out the paper and smooth the edges, sighing happily at the block letters and structured diagrams drawn in deep blue ink. 
Here it is, your masterpiece. A monument to productivity. The gold standard by which all optimization models should be benchmarked. This isn’t just any list, this is The List.
Everything is grouped, first by aisle, then by product location within the aisle, and then from top to bottom shelf order, to maximize efficiency. This is the dream list. The kind that inspires jealousy. The kind people hold up at TED talks when they talk about time management techniques. Marie Kondo wishes she had this list. 
Bucky snorts when he sees the carefully printed boxes.  
“God, you’re such a square,” he says adoringly. He plants a sugary wet kiss on your temple and you grind an elbow into his ribs.
“We discussed this, Bucky. Don’t mock my lists.” 
“Sorry babe, I ain’t mocking. Your lists are beautiful, they always get me all hot and bothered,” he agrees, dipping lower to lick behind your ear. “And I really love that list you keep with all those dirty, filthy, sex things you wanna do to me.”
“I don’t have a list like that.”
“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs, “and I don’t know how many more hints I can drop here.”
Reaching under his shirt, you rub his belly consolingly. “Okay then. This weekend I’ll sit down and make you a special list. One so disgusting and dirty and depraved, it would make Wade Wilson cry.”
Bucky laughs and squeezes you tighter. 
“About damn time honey. I’m equally parts terrified and horny. So where’re we headed first?”
“Produce,” you answer promptly, plowing forward, Bucky still chuckling beside you.
The whole scenario was ironic, actually. There was no need to grocery shop - automatic ordering mechanisms  across the Avengers tower rendered the task meaningless - but sometimes it was a welcome relief to partake in such an ordinary thing. Unable to sleep after one particularly terrible mission, you found yourself wandering the aisles of your 24-hour supermarket, dressed in pineapple adorned pajama pants and one of Bucky’s rattier sweatshirts, searching for ice cream. The unexpected symmetry of products arranged along the shelves, the rainbow hued produce, the hint of baking bread wafting from the ovens, all those everyday trappings of normality, they washed over like a soothing balm. Soon enough, the boiling bad thoughts simmered to nothing more than a cache of blurry memories.
When you got home, sleep came fast, deep and dreamless.
One month later, the idea struck again.
After 36 hours of Bucky tossing and turning, dark shadows bruising beneath weary blue eyes, you took his hand and led him down the dark street for a midnight adventure. He was skeptical, disbelieving that something so simple could chase away the insomnia. But he dutifully followed you, strolling aimlessly through the aisles, throwing odds and ends into the cart. 
The tension gradually eased, he began to relax, and suddenly? 
He was hooked.
An hour later, after arguing the health benefits of frosted Cheerios over oatmeal, poking each hunk of cheese in the display, and loading the cart with every single flavor of spaghetti sauce on the shelf, the heavy weight of remembering began to ease. When he collapsed into bed, he slept for eight hours straight.
I don’t know what that was, he swore the next morning, munching through his third bowl of frosted Cheerios, but it was magic.
And with that, a midnight ritual was born. Sometimes you make the trek alone, sometimes Bucky does the same, but whenever life permits you go together. This small slice of domesticity brings a warm comfort to this strange life.   
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There is no doubt, this is your favorite area of the entire store.
Barrels filled with tart oranges and smooth red apples. Tables piled high with bananas, some just shy of yellow, others sunshine perfect, and a few with speckles of black (which are the best). Shelves lining the walls, overflowing with bundles of herbs and lettuce, all coated in a fine layer of mist. 
Bliss. 
Heading straight for the apples, you plunge into the Gala pile, rummaging until you come up with ten perfect ones. Peaches follow, fingers rubbing along the delicate pinky-orange fuzz. Squeeze, smell, squeeze, smell. Five are chosen for a pie (Sam pleaded shamelessly until you agreed to make him one), and in the cart they go. Heading toward the wall of herbs, you’re reaching for the basil when a metallic bang makes you jump. Spinning around, you find Bucky lobbing coconuts into the cart.
“We need these.”
“We really don’t, Buck. I hate coconut, it tastes like suntan lotion.”
“They’re not for eating,” he grabs an apple, wipes it on his shirt, and takes a juicy bite. “They’re for security.”
Sticky juice drips from his lip, catching in his beard. When you reach over to swipe it away, he nips your finger with a grin.
“Explain please.”
“See it’s like this. We’re just here shopping, doin’ our thang -”
“Don’t say thang.”
“- when someone attacks. What happens? BAM. One of these furry beauties breaks their face. Problem solved.”
Giving him a slow perusal, you raise an eyebrow.
“Were the 47 knives you’re carrying not enough to deflect this attack?”
Finishing off the apple in three sloppy bites, he carefully tucks the price sticker in his pocket so he can scan it before leaving and sets the mangled core beside your purse.
“Babe, these are my back-up plan. A good soldier always has a back-up plan.”
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While you grab a bottle of extra-pulpy orange juice, Bucky picks two jugs of chocolate milk, snaps one open and takes a swing. Ever the thrifty shopper, he pulls a familiar bag from his back pocket, fishes out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and dangles it before you.
“Found a coupon for this,” he says gleefully. “Buy one, get one free. It’s called a BOGO. A BOGO. Hilarious, right? Fuck me, I love the future.”
Still laughing, he takes another long drink of chocolate milk and smacks his lips.
It was a lazy Sunday morning when you discovered this particular habit. Walking into the living room, you found Bucky buried in a sea of Sunday newspaper, tongue between his teeth and scissors in hand while he clipped coupons. He wasn’t picky, if it was remotely interesting, it went into the YES pile. It was one of those random things that brought him inordinate levels of joy, so of course you encouraged it. On his last birthday, you gifted him with a green zippered bag decorated with angry looking owls and official looking letters stitched across the front:
Bucky’s Coupon Bag  Thriftn’ Machine Since 1917
He laughed for five straight minutes and then stuffed it full. The bag accompanies you on every trip and the sight of Bucky excitedly rifling through his wad of coupons still makes your heart swell.  
Setting aside his BOGO, Bucky continues down the aisle, leaving you to pause in front of the yogurt. While you contemplate the merits of blackberry vs strawberry, Bucky slides over holding three cans of Reddi-Whip. 
“Are you actually planning to eat that? I thought you said whipped air is for, and I quote, ‘spineless, tasteless trash heathens’?”
Bucky shakes the can of spray whipped cream and wiggles his eyebrows, leveling you with a sultry stare. 
“Hell no I’m not eating it. This is for the bedroom. Last week I watched this god-awful movie where some blond guy - who looked exactly like Steve, by the way - made himself a whipped cream bikini for his girl. Decided I’m gonna do that for you. You’re welcome.”
“That sounds gross and unsanitary.” 
“If by gross and unsanitary you mean spicy and sexy, then yes. Yes it does.”
Whistling what sounds like the theme music from a bad porn, he adds two tubs of honey swirled Greek yogurt, pats your butt, and strolls ahead, throwing a roughish wink over his shoulder. Imagining the melted whipped cream soaking into your bedsheets, you mentally add more laundry detergent to the list.
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“Hang on, turn here.”
Tugging the cart behind him, Bucky stalks toward the feminine hygiene display. It takes him a minute to scan the products before squatting down to the bottom shelf. Grabbing two jumbo boxes of tampons, oddly enough the brand you prefer, he pops back to his feet.  
“Dare I ask why you need these?”
A faint pink flush crawls up his neck.  
“Well, you know, two reasons. They’re really great for stopping bloody noses, you know? Just poke ‘em up there and they soak it all up.”
 He mimes the execution and adds a thumbs up.
“And the second reason?”
Squinting at his boots, he shuffles his feet a bit. The pink flush deepens. 
“Um, you know - I know you’re out, since I stuck the last one up Steve’s nose last week, and yeah. Anyway. It’s about that time. Of the month. For you.”
Clearing his throat, he reaches for his chocolate milk, but you grab his wrist.  
“You know when my period’s going to start?”
He shrugs self-consciously and fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.  
“Well yeah. You think it’s just a coincidence when all your favorite candy shows up every month?” Looking up, he shoots you a crooked smile and leans over the cart to kiss your forehead. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you haul him in for a real kiss instead and his startled laughter tickles your lips. When you break away, those bright blue eyes are shining. 
“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmur.
“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispers. 
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This is the aisle where the cart officially explodes.
Lasagna noodles.
Egg noodles.
Spaghetti noodles.
Penne.
Linguine. 
Fettuccine.
Literally one of every noodle is selected, because Bucky Barnes is a self-proclaimed noodle slut. 
As you organize the boxes and search for orzo, you see him furtively add an extra bag of elbow macaroni. A quiet cough hides your laughter.
The last time Sam’s four-year-old niece came to the tower, she and Bucky spent hours making glittery elbow macaroni necklaces, which they ceremoniously gifted to everyone. When Sam casually mentioned her enthusiastically telling everyone at pre-school about her friend Bucky and how much fun she had visiting him, Bucky ran to a craft store and bulk bought supplies of glue, string, paint, and glitter, just in case she comes over again.
Months later and the entire team are still finding puddles of glitter all over the tower, but the delight on Bucky’s face anytime someone mentions that arts and crafts afternoon? 
It’s worth the mess.     
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Gathering up brown sugar, instant oats, and chocolate chips, you turn to drop them in the cart when Bucky makes a strangled noise. Glancing over, you find him bouncing on his toes, vibrating with excitement.
“Babe. Babe. Are you making monster cookies?”
Adding a can of raisins, you search for the good vanilla. The kind that actually tastes like vanilla, not a cheap car wash air freshener. 
“I promised I would,” you remind him. Bucky plasters himself against your back, wrapping you in an enthusiastic hug and nuzzling his face against your neck.
“I love those fucking cookies,” he declares. “They’re my favorite thing ever. Next to you I mean.”
Finding the vanilla, you spin in his arms and return the squeeze.  
“I know you do. But you have to share them this time, okay? You can’t just eat them all yourself like the last two times. Agree?”
“Agree…to disagree. They’re wasted on other people, no one else loves as much. It’s for the best when I eat them all, it’s proof how much I love you. I’m doing it for you. I’m supporting you. Because I love you.”
“You’re completely full of shit,” you reply.
“I swear I’m not! Just listen!”
The excuses grow longer and wilder as Bucky outlines his rationale against sharing, walking backward and dragging the cart with him as he pleads his case. He’s diving into the science of super soldier metabolism levels and caloric requirements and the fact that his sister never shared anything with him, when he bumps into a tall display. 
He pulls up short, eyes narrowing. Plunking his fists on his hips, he growls a disgruntled sigh and glares at the rows of packaging. 
“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”
Lined up in neat rows, you see boxes of Jell-O organized by color and flavor. On the cover of each are an assortment of familiar images.  
“Are these Avengers themed Jell-O?” you ask, picking up a box with Sam’s image and the words Wild Berry Wilson. The rows extend further, filled with Lime Green Hulk and Blue Raspberry Rogers and Black Cherry Widow and Strawberry Lemon Stark. Exasperated, Bucky grabs the Sparkling Orange Spider flavor. 
“Is this for real? The kid gets one and I didn’t? Someone in PR is getting fired.”
“Well there’re only so many flavors, Buck,” you point out practically, but Bucky’s not in the mood for logic. Instead, he swipes an entire shelf of Jell-O flavors into the cart.  
“I swear to god, I have to do everything around here. Fine then. I’ll make my own flavor, Blackberry Kiwi Soldier or Winter Watermelon Rainbow, or something.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ll work on the name. But I’m bringing it to dinner tomorrow night and everyone is gonna eat it.”
He dumps in a bag of mini-marshmallows and grabs sprinkles for topping, before marching down the aisle. Cringing at the volume of sugar in the cart, you make another mental note to schedule a dentist appointment.
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“Go do your manly duty and find the meat. We need two 5lb rump roasts.”
“I like your rump roast,” he instantly responds and reaches over to smack your butt again. Anticipating the move, you catch his arm and twist it behind his back. He barks out a breathless laugh and you slap his ass in return.
“Your innuendos are tragic.”
Releasing him with a gentle shove, Bucky snatches up his three coconuts and ambles away, laughing while he juggles them. When he returns, he has the requested rump roasts, several packages of bacon, and a bundle of cocktail shrimp.
“If my innuendos get better, then can I touch your butt?”
“Maybe. But they better be real good.”
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An added benefit to shopping at midnight? Not a soul in line.
Loading everything onto the conveyer belt, you automatically organize for bagging. Boxes together, produce together, meat together. Bucky adds a pack of batteries, a tin of mints, and some trashy magazines.
The last three items in the cart are his coconuts. They rattle around until you toss them at him, motioning back to the produce department. 
“We made it out alive. Go put them back.”
Still chomping his tasteless green gum-ball, he shakes his head and plops them down. 
“Nah, I have another idea for them. Got all those craft supplies at home, I’m gonna make you something.”
“Should I even ask?”
Bucky blows a huge, wet bubble and looks you up and down.
“Have you every worn one of those coconut bras? Like on TV, with the ladies in grass skirts? I’m gonna make you one. I already have string and glue. And glitter.”
“I think you may be overestimating your crafting abilities.” Digging out your credit card, you wait for the final tally. 
“Well, if it’s terrible then you’ll just be naked. Either way, I win.”
Shaking out your grocery sacks, he packs everything with Tetris-like efficiency and slides all of them up the vibranium arm.   
“How about I make you a deal. I’ll wear a coconut bra, if you’ll make yourself something to wear as well.”
Bucky blows another sugary bubble, pondering the idea.
“Like a coconut man thong?”
“Exactly like a coconut man thong.”
“Deal. Add it to that special dirty list you’re making me honey. We got loads to do.” 
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Outside, the night air smells sweet and cool, the barest hint of a spring rain and fresh grass lingering on the breeze. Already, your eyes are feeling heavy, tonight’s quiet adventure ushering in that sought after peace. 
In your right hand, the three coconuts swing gently in their plastic sack. Humming under his breath, Bucky yawns, reaching for your other hand. His warm, calloused palm squeezes tight, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin.
He turns to you with a sleepy, lopsided smile.
Midnight and coconuts.  
It always does the trick.
***
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demonslayedher · 3 years ago
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How you doing Buri Senpai !!
Personal question…. How do you manage to get out of your art/writing block/ burnout ? You are an incredible artist and writer and i wish to be like you someday❤️
(/// ̄  ̄///) Thank you, Anon. Like most other people who do any sort of creative work, I am constantly seeking validation. I don’t think that ever goes away. That is why I’ll give you the truth, I get a lot of happy chemicals from making KnY fanwork, at the expense of any other creative work I could be doing.
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There’s lots and lots of discussion out there on what leads to creative burnout and how perfectionism kills success by preventing someone from even starting a project, and anyone who has ever worked hard on something only to feel it met with a disappointing response can tell you about the heartbreak of feeling like none of your efforts are worth anything. It’s very easy to say “write for you, draw what you want, fandom should be fun” but we all know that sometimes it’s not. That’s the best advice I think is out there, though, so I’m just going to expand a bit.
…I tried, but my answers all kept getting rambly. ლ(¯ロ¯"ლ)
The truth is that KnY is escapism for me and that is why I create so much of it!! For as long as I’m busy with this, and getting dopamine from making fanwork, my projects I’m willing to tell people about in real life are going to continue to get ignored! O ho ho! I fear failure!! I know they won’t be perfect and that is why I do not wish to create them in the first place! I do not wish to be judged as imperfect!!! Ohhh, ho ho ho ho! O-o-o-o-hhhhhh ho ho ho ho!
Ah. But that’s probably a big reason why I create so much KnY content: the stakes are lower than other things I might wish to accomplish. Since I don’t have any high expectations of my art anymore I can allow myself to relax with it and accept its wonkiness as part of it, if anything, that’s in the spirit of the original manga, right? Also, I’m practiced enough with my drawing that even though I don’t know proper drawing technique, I can intuitively go about bringing a lot of things from my head to paper, so that makes it something I do to relax.
While I have given myself permission to be lazy with art for the sake of enjoying it, I do still harbor the same childhood dream of getting published, even though my understanding of that now comes with vague knowledge of all the burn-outable activities that come with (self-promotion, blaaaaargh, please just let me live under a rock). Sometimes, when I realize just how high my KnY-related word count is, I get aggravated with myself for not having poured that power into my own original projects. But failure would feel so much higher with those, so I stick to what I know I can accomplish, as I lo-o-o-ve the feeling of accomplishing things.
But…
Well…
One of the best times I got that feeling was was when I sat down and actually wrote a few manga short stories, beginning to end, with no idea what I was doing. All it really took was a kick in the pants from someone holding me accountable. I had 55 books printed to basically give away to people. I had them all stacked up when they arrived and was stunned at how slim the spines were. All those hours, poured into that small a result, something that could be consumed and forgotten so easily?
But then again, I had something. Something complete, so that if the topic of OCs ever came up, I hand something to hand to someone, to say, “this.”
It was sometime after that when I crushed my first NaNoWriMo attempt by a long-shot (50,000 words? Pfffhaahahaha, when I’m prepared and have my schedule cleared for it, that’s nothing!), and even though that first novel objectively was terrible, it broke me in and made me realize that I could do it. I’ve written three more full drafts of other stories since then, though I was so frustrated with the overhaul second draft of one of them that I quit on it and then, uh, started watching KnY. Teh heh…
But I guess that really is the drive. To have something I can give to someone to say, “This. I have put my thoughts and feelings to form. It’s a form I can share now.” Sure, it’s really nice to imagine having a fandom following or striking it big with a hit or something, but it would never be enough validation, and that sounds like a sure way to get burnt out.
So even in fandom, even when I get other ideas of what might be fun (or just popular?) blog content, at some level I just want to say “I got this idea, I gave it form, please appreciate it.” And, as is the key to most forms of happiness, I’m really, really grateful for the people who bother to read my wordy work, who leave their thoughts, and who take my ideas and run with them and make new ideas from them. My fandom content isn’t made specifically for my own pleasure, I really, really do get joy out of other people finding joy in it, and satisfaction in knowing I put it into a form that can be enjoyed instead of just having it in my own head. It's like my relaxed attitude toward my drawing, though. In order to keep my fandom fun, I keep my expectations in check so that I can still relax and have fun with it. I don't get involved with things that require effort I don't feel like putting in, I don't hold myself responsible for giving anyone else fandom validation either, it's not a give and take economy of praise. When I want to praise you I will dump it on you and you will know it's from the heart. Keeping things relaxed requires boundaries and embracing one's own laziness, so that you can focus on what you really care about.
But the not-as-fun projects that come with high stakes, the ones that keep calling me… they’re out there, and I need to polish my rough areas to answer the call, someday.
I just fear what becoming my best self will entail.
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mbrinnon35 · 3 years ago
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I learned to rock climb this year
Ethereum Pools was my most nerve enducing post and made me laugh the most
synthetic a priori took the longest and didn’t work out. I will likely return in a long time
I enjoyed drawing dragons 🐉
Many unfinished projects I can only bet
I would like to redraw Pokémon and Link because they bring with them nostalgic feelings and I haven’t yet perfected by heart
The process behind some posts are to write anything that feels right fast enough to not forget what’s next. Remember all the letters that are autocorrected and incorporate them into the next phase of thought. Use numbers and make the meaning cryptic and abstract. If it all flows i’m satisfied.
Art goal - paint and learn a new technique
I tried to just write and add connections then organize
My first paper was criticized heavily then the rest passed academic standards with flying colors
I listened to the girl in red and laroi and hxliday
The lovely haikkun commented on how much she wanted to see our type of deep thoughts in word form
Lots of tutorials on electronic functioning
Found lots of resources at IU - couches, food, condoms, ziplock bags
Redrew many mazes
New inspo came from rapper friends, tumblr friends, online triathletes, and characters in books
Sharing is based on a feel or how if fits within other goals/moral laws at the time
I returned to zombies and selling shoes this year
Biggest art project was printing pictures and showing them one by day
Exchanged a lot of money this year
My style became more layerous and more bloody
Am conscious of this often
Haven’t painted much
Many mediums less hard drugs
Let Siri do more talking and learned to code
Went silent and communicated through telepathy
Became familiar drawing from darkness
And holding breath
I learned through falling into pain without reaching out
No OC designs but I was really intrigued by them this year especially
Salvador Dali and Spider-Man No Way Home had some great ones
I have some twisted song ideas like screamo jingle bells and sinister twinkle little star
Also book ideas somewhere forgotten along my scroll of posts this year
I most wanted to improve creativity
I still get stuck on patterns but have made vast progress
My art has many more strokes typically and lest blocks
Also many breaks
It’s difficult to edit because I never see imperfection and regret it might change the original meaning and story
I most enjoy the surprising enigmas and looking back when i’m down and seeing my masterpiece
I did technical studies on computer history
All my works are cursed
The disturbing ones are rare including sorry child and frozen wasteland (with picture)
I sent my art to my professor he said “please do not email me anymore”
I also gave it to friends/family who were ecstatic
I notice entendres quickly and look into how the strokes were made
I also sound out words and have been very stupended by the allusions/ironies
Lazy lazers and sex among species was best received
Slightly unexpected
“All these words around me keep narrating my life - what the hell is watching” - most personal
And the red gem conglomeration
I had fun making them all
My google search history has been corrupted by canvas and “how to kill your Roomate”
My family see these and I don’t know which I’d prefer
Because the audience would alter intent forever
I look at it and sometimes am ashamed but mostly am proud
Alternate fandoms preferred except romantic relationships. When those are tinkered with I am repulsed. I feel like it corrupts the entire character and identity so it’s just using the imagery and stealing nostalgia for something recognizably unrecognizable. Like click bait. Not a bad thing just not my forte.
The art I make can’t help but adopt and merge with the stuff I look at
The patterns and voice pervading
Similar workflow though this last month I have done more reading in between lines of writing
Biggest motivation was distraction from money
My art wasn’t so important but others have been my escape from hell
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creations-by-chaosfay · 4 years ago
Link
A trade of 20 quilt blocks to one partner, 6x6 inches finished, "white and wild".
You must use white and at least one print and color for each block. Avoid using licensed/character prints unless your partner says otherwise.
Use whatever technique you like, be it applique, foundation paper piecing, traditional piecing, etc.
Stick with quilting cotton, flannel, or batiks unless your partner gives the okay for other fabrics.
Use your stash and scraps. Please don't risk shopping for fabrics! I want this to be a safe and enjoyable project, not something to stress about.
This is within the USA only due to shipping costs.
This event will run from April 1st to April 30th, and everything must be shipped by May 1st. Provide your partner with a tracking number (these are free at USPS) for that extra anticipation and as proof you sent the blocks.
Ship all 20 blocks at the same time, preferably using a box. Please place the blocks in a resealable plastic bag to prevent water damage if the package ends up getting wet.
Include your tumblr blog name.
You're welcome to make more blocks but send only 20. Feel free to make duplicates of the blocks for yourself to make more quilts or a really big quilt. This is entirely up to you.
Please share the blocks on Tumblr, but don't tag your partner. This needs to be a bit of a surprise. In the tags, use #SpringBlockSwap so I can track the posts, but also tag Creations-By-Chaosfay (even if I'm your partner) and mention this is for Spring Block Swap.
I highly recommend making the blocks all in one go, or over the course of a week. This will make it easier to get them finished and shipped off.
The link in the original post had someone become broken. This is an update with a working link. Feel free to message me or send an ask if you have any questions regarding this. Thank you!
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translations-by-aiimee · 4 years ago
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Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 5
Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼
Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi
This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4
Chapter 5 - Expert
The subsequent calm was something Lin Yan wasn't expecting. The thing seemed to have decided it tortured him enough and nothing else happened the rest of the night. Lin Yan changed back into his clothes and unplugged his computer. Even though he knew that that probably wouldn't do anything, the screen actually powered off and didn't come back on at all in the night.
Perhaps a new storm was brewing in the silence, but Lin Yan was too exhausted to worry about it. The alcohol that was left in his system worked as a great tranquillizer, and he rolled over and fell asleep.
While he was deep in sleep, something cold pressed itself on his lips again, but Lin Yan was too much a heavy sleeper to realize it.
When he woke up, the entire room was clean. All the red paint had disappeared, the light gray printed wallpaper and the screen wall painted by the students of the Academy of Fine Arts were intact, and the glass was spotless. There was no other evidence to prove that the absurdity of last night had ever happened except for the shameful traces of liquid on Lin Yan's body and clothes. He took a bath and threw the red clothes into the washbowl. Compared with the power of the invisible thing, he was clearly at a disadvantage. Instead of running around without a plan, it was better to observe what happens as things unravel.
After he finished packing things up, Lin Yan took out his phone and texted Yin Zhou about the meeting place. Unexpectedly, he got a reply almost instantly: See you at the school gate in half an hour.
Lin Yan looked at himself in the mirror. Within just two nights, he looked like he had been doing drugs for years, he had a scruffy stubble growing, and his eyes were red. The mint scent of his shaving foam made Lin Yan feel for the first time that his typically monotonous life was actually so much more beautiful than that. The blade was thin and sharp. Just one long stroke across his neck and there would be nothing left.
Humans were such fragile creatures.
"Shit. . ." Lin Yan hissed, sighing at his unfortunate luck and put his fingers under the water. His hand had slipped and he sliced his fingertip on the blade, red blood seeping out. Lin Yan wrapped a bandaid around his finger, leaning against the wall and pondering about how unlucky it was to feel the pain.
He didn't know what kind of dye was used on the funeral clothes, but it had bled dramatically in the water. After a while, the whole basin of water had been dyed red. Lin Yan glanced at it in disgust as he left and slammed the door shut.
At 8 o'clock, Lin Yan saw Yin Zhou holding a Scallion pancake and some fruit in front of the school gate.
The two of them regretted trying to drive. The roads were clogged with morning rush hour traffic to the point that they couldn't even see the end of the lines of cars. What genius designed this kind of urban roundabout? Five ring roads surrounded the main road and they were forced to convene together every morning and night.
Lin Yan and Yin Zhou were nearing the third ring road and they still didn't have any temper, so all they could do was turn on the radio and eat the breakfast that Yin Zhou brought.
"A 13-year-old boy from a remote village in Sichuan was found hanged at home wearing a red coat. The locals suspected it was most likely cult-related. It is reported that the boy's time of birth and time of death are both extremely negative times and very suitable for. . ."
Lin Yan snapped the radio off.
It seemed that everything in the world had been messed up overnight. Even this kind of unreliable news could be relayed to the public.
Yin Zhou didn't care. He swallowed the last bite of his pancake and hiccuped. He said with satisfaction: "I spent the rest of the night in the library. I was starving and I couldn't buy anything. It's great to feel full."
"There was no exam recently, what were you doing at the library?"
"I was studying the enemy's intelligence. This enemy works in the dark. Can we defeat it if we understand how it operates? What do you think, buddy?"
Lin Yan turned his face to look at the crowded traffic outside the window. He stayed silent for a while before he said softly, "Do you really believe that there are ghosts in this world? I feel like something is wrong with me. Maybe I should see a psychiatrist first."
Yin Zhou's eyes widened in surprise: "Come on, even if something's up with you, I'm totally normal, yet we both saw those clothes yesterday."
". . . At your house the day before yesterday, I was the only one who thought it was cold, and I was the only one who could feel ‘it’ in the house."
Lin Yan sorted out his thoughts and told Yin Zhou his experience of being choked by someone last night.
Lin Yan wasn't expecting it but Yin Zhou exploded after hearing this, and blurted out: "Fuck, that ghost was a rabbit master* during his lifetime?" He scanned Lin Yan's face over and over again: "Little Brother Lin, don't tell me. . . you can be considered a nice-looking guy if you look closely. He's dead and maybe he's lonely and wants to recruit you as his wife."
*because they would kill the rabbit by snapping its neck
"Fuck you. If you aren't going to be serious, get out of my car and leave. Don't forget to burn two boxes of condoms for me when I croak." Lin Yan said quietly. The car behind him honked its horn twice, and Lin Yan realized that while he was talking, a 5-6 metre gap had cleared in front of him. He hurriedly followed the line of traffic.
"Furthermore, in the middle of the night, I obviously saw that the whole house was covered with red paint, but in the morning there was nothing. It was as if I had been dreaming."
Yin Zhou dragged the backpack out of the back seat and hugged it in his arms. He said, "Hey, let me show you the results of my brother's research." As he talked, he opened his bag and took out a dozen crumpled papers from it and spread them out on his knees. He flattened them with his hands and started going over them from top to bottom.
"You can't take care of shit. I feel uncomfortable just looking at those."
"See, the attributes of a wife. This ghost saw it perfectly."
A grass mud horse roared and ran across Lin Yan's heart.
Sure enough, these geeks are something else.
"Listen carefully." Yin Zhou pushed up his glasses with his long fingers: "There are generally two modern interpretations of ghosts. The first is due to the discovery of dark matter. You know the law of conservation of energy?"
". . . Go on." Lin Yan gave him a blank look.
"The universe expands at a certain rate every year. If the law of conservation of energy goes as normal, where does the energy that supports the expansion of the universe come from? According to this question, modern physics puts forward the concept of dark matter and dark energy. It does not generate electromagnetic waves, cannot be sensed, and cannot be measured. The law of gravity estimates that dark matter and energy account for 96% of the mass of the universe, and the remaining 4% is what humans can now recognize."
"Many unexplainable phenomena are therefore attributed to the results of dark matter, such as meridians in traditional Chinese medicine, the power of the mind, and ghosts. There are many discussions on this field abroad, but it is obviously blocked in China and difficult to find." Yin Zhou spread out his hands.
Lin Yan nodded. This was a bit like a science fiction novel he had read once.
"And the second one?"
"The second type is attributed to electromagnetic waves. The environment in which the deceased died is not conducive to electromagnetic wave attenuation. The powerful thoughts it had before death form a unique energy field. If a person's own frequency is similar to it, it will resonate when they come into contact. The waveform of the original ghost is greatly strengthened so then the two can sense each other."
Lin Yan was stunned: "You mean I. . . resonate with the ghost?"
Yin Zhou said indifferently that it was possible. He turned and smiled mysteriously: "Do you know how to explain love at first sight using electromagnetic fields?"
Lin Yan's heart stuttered.
"It's just resonating. It's the same with both men and women."
Yin Zhou sighed: "I don't want to fall in love for a while. It's boring, it's like a ghost."
The cars finally started moving again, and they finally got off the third road ring after being stuck for three hours. Lin Yan turned on the navigation and stepped on the accelerator to hurry towards the destination.
He always thinks that love was just like a ghost; he didn't believe in either. He only understood the panic and anxiety he felt when he encountered it, but he has never imagined that ghosts were also like love, triggered by a specific reason in a specific environment and dragged forcibly into the abyss, unable to escape.
"Have you been in touch with anything special recently, or have you been to anywhere special?"
Lin Yan thought about it for a moment and shook his head: "No. Every day I'm in the study room, tutor's office, library, home, cafeteria, there's nowhere else. But I have come into a lot of contact with lots of things from several dynasties."
Yin Zhou clumped the pile of information in his hand, and put it into back his backpack despite Lin Yan's contemptuous eyes, and clicked the buckle shut.
"Impossible. The electromagnetic waves would have decayed early in a small object, even if the Maoshan technique was used."
A thought suddenly flashed through Lin Yan's mind.
"There was this one place. . .Last month, my old man arranged an internship position for me on an archaeological team. It was a tomb with small specifications. I was there for less than a week."
Yin Zhou's eyes lit up all of a sudden: "There's this show, we should wait and check it. . . what the fuck!"
Lin Yan slammed on the brakes. Yin Zhou's head slammed into the windshield with a bang, and he wailed in pain.
"What are you doing?! Braking like that is going to kill you. What if we got rear-ended?!"
Lin Yan looked at the empty windshield in shock. He pulled the car over and, when he turned to Yin Zhou, his face changed.
"You. . . didn't see that just now?"
"What!" Yin Zhou took off the glasses that had been knocked off-kilter, trying to push them into their original spot, and couldn't help complaining in grief.
"There was a hand. . . stretching down from the roof of the car."
Yin Zhou was stunned and looked up at the window glass cautiously. A truck came up from behind, went around their car and drove on.
Lin Yan was too scared to speak for a while. He recalled the stiff white hand that had slapped on the windshield from the roof of the car just now, but it disappeared in a blink of an eye. There were speeding trucks or tankers everywhere on the sixth ring road. He opened his mouth and looked at Yin Zhou. The other party understood his thoughts immediately. Yin Zhou took a breath and hesitated: "Then this thing. . . it wants a human life."
Lin Yan shook his head. He always felt that there was some motive behind everything that had happened, but he couldn't say it out loud.
They drove out of the city in a blink of an eye. The endless rows of poplar trees and the green border fields in the suburbs relaxed the tension of the two people in the car a lot. Lin Yan rolled down the car window, and the car air mixed with the fragrance of flowers and plants that poured in. Inside the car, the stuffy scent of the pancakes was blown away.
After the twist and turns the GPS took them on, the car turned onto a rugged path paved with stones. The surrounding buildings were replaced with independent bungalows and small farmyards. A yellow dog squatted on the steps and stretched its neck. Some hens gathered in groups lazily together. Every now and again, they passed by a white goose on the side of the road. Lin Yan slowed down and stared at the map displayed on the GPS. He glanced at Yin Zhou distrustfully.
"If I keep going, I'll have to turn around to go back to the village. Did your mother send us to a reclusive expert?"
Yin Zhou leaned over to study the map, then turned his head in confusion and looked out the window. He happened to pass by a house, a yellow mud bungalow, with a faded couplet on the door. The old man in front of it only lost two front teeth, and he was leaning back to watch the excitement. . Yin Zhou scratched his scalp suspiciously: "The address my mother gave is at the end of the village, and she said it was amazing. Let me buy some tributes to bring with me. I can't do it alone."
So Lin Yan stopped the car when passing by the market, and bought two gifts according to Yin Zhou's suggestion. . . that bastard.
"Are you sure about all this?" Lin Yan looked embarrassedly left and right, carrying a live turtle in one hand and walking back, Yin Zhou happily pointed at the turtle's head and said, "What do you know? , These kinds of psychic masters rely on this stuff to keep up with their lifestyle. Trust me."
Lin Yan threw the two bastards into the trunk, took out a bottle of mineral water and handed it to Yin Zhou. He also opened a bottle for himself and took a few sips.
The country cicadas cried one after another, and the green wheat was headed; it was a wonderful scene of peace and prosperity.
Several children wearing red and green were squatting on the ground playing fan cards not far away. Lin Yan asked Yin Zhou: "What did your mother saw that name of the expert was? I'll ask around."
He couldn't help but imagine a scene of a bamboo hut with a mantle drooping in front of the porch. An old man in white with his hand stroked his beard and smiled slightly. He and Yin Zhou knelt forward on one knee, clasping their fists and begging, "Master, please guide me!"
Yin Zhou took a note from his pocket. He squinted at it, and said perplexedly: "Second Immortal Gu."
Before Lin Yan had enough time to swallow, all the water was spat back out.
"Ahem. . . is that so?"
In a small courtyard in the northeast corner of the village, Lin Yan and Yin Zhou found the legendary Second Immortal Gu’s house. When Lin Yan saw Second Immortal Gu's respectable face from outside the door, the regret in his heart was like torrential rapids. There was an enclave in an empty black room; he didn't know which god was being worshipped. An old woman in blue flower cloth sat cross-legged on the futon with her eyes closed and rests her mind. The red cloth strip that was tied to her forehead was quite imposing.
"This posture rivals some of the best dancers out there!" Yin Zhou pointed at the scene inside and couldn't help muttering softly.
"Come on, this is who your mother mentioned. Be respectful." Lin Yan said embarrassedly.
"What should we do?"
"Let's take a look first. Maybe the real person hasn't shown up."
Lin Yan and Yin Zhou walked through the door. Hearing the movement, the immortal woman lifted her eyelids slightly, and hummed from her nose aimlessly.
"Oh, ahem. . ." Yin Zhou couldn't hold back his grin and quickly concealed it with a cough.
What happened later was a farce. After receiving the turtle and two hundred yuan brought by Lin Yan, the woman suddenly became energetic. She worshipped the gods with incense and poured a bowl of clear water on Lin Yan while muttering words. After turning around Lin Yan more than ten times, she finally opened his eyes sharply. Lin Yan was so frightened by her that his body was shocked. The only thing she did was shout: "Aha! I saw it!"
"There is a little girl standing behind you!"
Lin Yan and Yin Zhou looked at each other, each holding their breaths.
"Oh, this baby girl died terribly. She said that she was locked up and could not be born. She didn't have money to buy clothes, and she didn't have money to pay her way through death. That's why she's gotten involved with you. . ."
"Wait, I'll ask her how to resolve this. . ."
The immortal woman closed her eyes and began to sing. Lin Yan pointed at the door to Yin Zhou and said: "Do you need someone to grease your feet, what are you waiting for?"
After reciting a long list of words, she opened her eyes and saw that there were no longer two other people in the room.
The immortal woman had no choice but to touch the newly collected two hundred yuan and shook her head, muttering that the young people nowadays are really impatient. Then she staggered around to pack her things up.
When she picked up the bastard turtle, she couldn't help but give a long sigh.
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ramonaprintmakingtwo · 4 years ago
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Assignment 1: A landscape
I approached this assignment with a slightly different way, considering printing technique and style before working through the subject. As I have not done it before I wanted to attempt creating a jigsaw linocut print. Working with water based inks in Printmaking One meant that I had to work very quickly as the ink would begin to dry and change consistency. Having invested in some oil based ink giving me a longer working time, I wanted to utilise the medium use a technique that requires a slower inking time. Using a jigsaw method would allow me to use different colours within one layer of printing. 
I have seen this technique executed beautifully in the work of Lili Arnold, a printmaker in California whom I have followed on Instagram for a few years. By sharing not only her finished work but the printing process itself, we are able to gain greater insight into her methodology.
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(Arnold, 2020)
When I’m not entirely sure of the direction I want to take within my work I like to step back and look at artists and images that inspire me. I review what works well, what aspects I enjoy and consider how I can apply these concepts to my own work. 
Mary Blair
One of my favourite artists is Mary Blair best known for her role as a Disney concept artist for both animated films and the ‘Small World’ in Disneyland. 
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 (Blair, 1964) (Unknown, 2020)
Blair had an exceptional understanding of colour and form. Particularly within the ‘Small World’ concept art where different shapes and patterns are used together to create a more abstract image, reminiscent of children’s building blocks. Animation art director Fred Cline described her work as;
‘...juxtaposition of neutralised and intense colours. Lots of artists make everything really bright or really mute. She mixed both with a graphic sense without hardness. Her shapes are very organic but graphic. It's different. You know when you're looking at something only Mary Blair did.’ (Cline, 1994).
Charles and Ray Eames
Using the work of Mary Blair as a springboard I looked at the work other mid-century artists and designers. The form of Blair’s ‘Small World’ concept art reminded me of the toy designs of Charles and Ray Eames. 
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(Eames Office LLC, 1952)
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(Eames Office, LLC, 1951) (Eames Office, LLC, 1952)
Both the house of cards style toy, ‘The Toy’ and ‘The Little Toy’ focused on creativity within play. The individual elements can be arranged in any combination by the person playing with the toy. I wondered if this could be interpreted within a jigsaw linocut. 
Rather than the elements within the composition being fixed could they be arranged in different ways in a more spontaneous way within the printing process? 
Frances Wood
I also looked at the work of contemporary printmaker Frances Wood. Inspired by mid-century design and Scandinavian folk art, Wood creates colourful screen prints using paper-cut shapes when developing her screens. 
I enjoyed Wood’s layering of colour within her prints, having a muted background design with a bold pattern in the foreground. Much like the work of the mid-century artists that I have been looking at, despite using organic subjects of flowers and birds, they layout and composition of Wood’s prints are graphic and geometric in style. 
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Mid Century Hues, Mid Century Sunset, Mid Century Birds (Wood, 2020)
Subject
This last year I have spent more time at home than ever before. The local community of our street has become much closer,  supporting each other and sharing food. Holding socially distanced street parties and looking after the more vulnerable residents. We even had a surprise stray kitten birth under my neighbours dining room table. It felt fitting to mark this. 
My print design criteria 
Execute a set of three colour prints, each using a minimum of three colours. Each print must be different but connected in some way.
Use a jigsaw technique using repeated key shapes so that the composition is easily changeable.
Explore alternative colour palettes based on the work of Mary Blair, mixing brights and neutrals.
Use symmetrical graphic designs to represent features and patterns within my neighbourhood. 
Use colour to indicate the time of year.
Working process
I began by walking up and down my street (after pre warning my neighbours!) taking photos of patterns and shapes that occur within the houses.
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Rather than sketching I decided to use paper-cut shapes to reduce the photographed elements into simplified forms. By using this technique I have to be more considered in my approach as I am unable to cut details as fine as I would be able to draw. This hands on approach also felt in keeping of the spirit behind the design. 
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I then scanned the glued paper to work on rough designs and colour combinations within photoshop. Looking to Mary Blair’s work for possible colour palettes, I identified different schemes that would be indicative of different seasons. 
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Alice in Wonderland animation concept painting (Disney, 1951)
It’s a Small World, finale, concept art. (Blair M, 1964) 
Alice in Wonderland concept art (Blair, 1951) 
So Dear to My Heart, Indian summer, concept art. (Blair M, Undated)
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Identified potential colour palettes 
Photoshop mock-ups
Within my designs I included a geometric background in two colours which I would intend to print in one layer with a jigsaw cut lino.
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Printing
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vimeo
Prints
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Birkbeck Winter
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Birkbeck Spring
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Birkbeck Summer
Final Selection
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The prints turned out as I had planned them and I am particularly pleased with the colour combinations inspired by Mary Blair. The process of rearranging the tiles was enjoyable and I like that each print is unique. I am slightly concerned that it may not be in keeping with the assignment brief as it did not say that an abstract representation of a landscape was an option but it felt right to me.
References
Arnold, L., 2020. Passiflora Edulis Aka Passion Fruit II, Process Photos.. [image] Available at: <https://www.instagram.com/liliarnoldstudios/> [Accessed 30 December 2020].
Blair, M., 1951. Alice In Wonderland Concept Art. [image] Available at: <https://pm1.narvii.com/6117/fdcbe2c5a62f88227bd6de6d1f0678a4c3acf51a_hq.jpg> [Accessed 30 December 2020].
Blair, M., 1964. It's A Small World. [Collage].
Canemaker, J., 2003. The Art And Flair Of Mary Blair. Disney Enterprises Ink, pp.vi, 19, 35, 55, 93.
Cline, F., 1994. Questionare. Mademoiselle,.
Eames Office LLC, 1952. Charles And Ray Eames, House Of Cards, Publicity Photo. [image] Available at: <http://eamesoffice.com> [Accessed 30 December 2020].
Eames Office, LLC, 1951. Ray Eames Plays With An Early Prototype Of The Toy Outside The Eames House. [image] Available at: <http://www.eamesoffice.com> [Accessed 30 December 2020].
Eames Office, LLC, 1952. The Smaller Scale Of The Little Toy.. [image] Available at: <http://www.eamesoffice.com> [Accessed 30 December 2020].
Heritage Auctions, 2020. Alice In Wonderland Animation Concept Art. [image] Available at: <https://comics.ha.com/itm/animation-art/production-drawing/mary-blair-alice-in-wonderland-animation-concept-painting-original-art-disney-1951-/a/825-43034.s> [Accessed 30 December 2020].
Unknown, 2020. Photo Of 'It's A Small World' Disneyland. [image] Available at: <http://disneyatplay.com/index.php/2020/03/23/its-a-small-world-around-the-world/> [Accessed 30 December 2020].
Wood, F., 2020. Mid Century Bird, Hand-Pulled Screen-Print. [image] Available at: <https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/769826324/mid-century-modern-print-mid-century?ref=shop_home_active_25> [Accessed 30 December 2020].
Wood, F., 2020. Mid Century Hues, Hand-Pulled Screen-Print. [image] Available at: <https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/722871610/mid-century-modern-print-art-floral?ref=shop_home_active_2> [Accessed 30 December 2020].
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ships-n-giggles · 5 years ago
Text
Paperback Prophets: Platonic Aziraphale/Reader
Summary:  Aziraphale forms a symbiotic relationship with you. Platonic Aziraphale x Reader, friendship fic. Nerds bonding over books.
Author’s Note; Thanks so much to those who liked my previous work. I like these platonic stories since I think it’s underestimated how interesting and enigmatic these characters can be when you don’t have all the facts about them. In a lot of ways, Aziraphale and Crowley are like people you can’t exactly put your finger on, but know there’s something special about them. I know a lot of reader-fiction likes the drama of the big reveal, but I think the subtlety of secrets never revealed lends its own flavor to fiction.
Just a heads up, this Reader-insert is not defined as male or female in comparison to my previous work, which was more directed towards a female character. Some of the works described do not exist, but were rather made up by me based on historical events or people whom I think would lend to the eclectic tastes of Aziraphale.
Again, if I owned Good Omens, there would be real dinosaurs and I would live in a castle by the sea. Thou shalt not sue.
____
Your family based their business on the martyrdom of your great grandfather….a victim of the Nazi Party when he refused to surrender his bookshop in Krakow, Poland. He was no stranger to the fascist movement and threw out the first attempts by the police to seize his books. He chased them out with a club, and was joined by his neighbors, and stood his ground.
There was no rude interruption in broad daylight next time. The next time, they burned him, and his books, and the entire block for his defiance.
“He was burned for protecting the language of the Jews, of Poland. Of the world.” Your grandmother told you, sitting in her lap as a small child. You knew this story by heart, but your grandparents told it so well. “His books disavowed the reign of dictators and terrorists, and they could not stand for it.”
Defiance ran in the family. And for the next three generations your family rescued more books by taking up that noblest of crimes…the theft of books.
_______
Your grandfather had founded the idea, when the ashes of his father’s shop left only a ledger of the books that were destroyed, kept in the safe along with the family tree and a Star of David that had belonged to him. The books he had kept in his shop were very old, and came from all across Europe. Some of them were even brought over from imperial Russia, before the fall of the czar. Not many copies of them were left in the world.
But your grandfather knew where the copies were.
He fled to England with his wife and opened a restoration firm to spit in the face of the war. It was only partially a cover for his real business. He did have the knowledge to restore books back to their original state, with tricks passed down from generation to generation. But with each restoration, he also meticulously copied the contents of the book, using a special trick involving wax, glue and cheesecloth to make a print of the papers and their imagery onto a fresh book. Then he would return the original book unscathed back to the owner, none the wiser. Your grandfather’s real job had been in building up the secret archives of the British National Library and making copies of the great universities works. No book was too rare or obscure for him. Even the controversial Hammer of Witches was copied, though your grandfather noted that the pictures were better than the instructions.
Your grandfather also had a long memory. When he saw a bookseller that dared have Mein Kampf, he would have to be held back by friends to avoid from brutally beating the clerk and smashing the windows of the establishment. In time, he has a son and his temper cools. He tended to conveniently not notice your father’s mischief, such as when your father writes rude words on the glass window of an offending bookshop.
He’s almost too cheeky to be real, and often was chased by your grandfather for his jokes and pranks. But it only endears him to others, making it easy to divert shipments of banned books.
A Clockwork Orange turns your grandfather’s stomach, but your father takes a shipment meant to be burned, creates a nonsense excuse of recycling the materials for book repair, and the publisher believes him right away. When your father first reads a nicked copy of Ulysses, he is so enchanted he actually dupes a government official into paying for the family to dispose of an intercepted shipment of the book. Your parent’s basement, your uncle’s basement, and your older cousin’s basement is full of copies of material banned by the government. But under the family firm is the treasure trove. The books copied from some of the rarest material on earth. Some of their original material have been destroyed since then.
But you save sacred trips to the secret basement for when life hits you hardest. It’s important those copies survive in the world to come.
_____
You receive the call on a Monday morning. You can hardly believe who it is before passing the phone to your grandfather. He is less involved with the business, but he might have been tempted into throttling you if you hadn’t let him talk to Mr. Fell.
A.Z. Fell and Co. was notorious among the antiquarian community. Not only was his collection as eclectic as they come, but it was also a gold mine of rare books, out of print bibles and religious texts, and treasures of the literary world that likely had no equal. How he stayed in business was the subject of fervent gossip, as he kept odd hours and was very passive-aggressive…and successful….in discouraging would be buyers. Your father’s joke was that he might let you read a few books if you caught him at the right time. But even those rare moments were tinged with a lot of rules.
Your grandfather enjoys the conversation immensely, and when he hangs up he calls for a family meeting over dinner.
“He asked for you. By name!” Your grandfather is just as in shock as you are. Though it is clear that he reveres Mr. Fell with the same kind of respect one would give a saint, he can’t help but sound a little jealous. “He wants to discuss the restoration of his collection this week. As soon as possible.”
You meet on a rainy Wednesday, scampering in the side door per his instructions at teatime.
The smell is just like the private archive below the firm, though lightly tinged with the scent of hot cocoa. More than just books are on the shelves. Reprints of paintings and illustrations, framed tapestries and busts sitting on the tables, even a tarnished suit of armor with chainmail, dressing up a half sculpture of a Greek youth.
“Pleasure to meet you.”
Mr. Fell looks like many other retired antiquarians, except he didn’t have the same strain of arthritis or suffer from a draft in his bookshop. He was in fact, far more rosy, lively, and brighter than most other people, even in occupations that were arguably more pleasing or easy. His coat is perfectly straight and tidy, though the velvet buttonholes in his vest have since lost their color.
The two of you shake hands, and you accept a mug of cocoa seasoned with a dollop of vanilla paste. In time he pulls out a ledger twenty pages thick, with tidy handwriting scribbled on a hand drawn spreadsheet.
“Given the state they’ve been in, I think it’s time the books got a bit of a good pick-me-up.” He giggles as if he’s told a private joke, and continues. “Most of my collection is in tip top shape, but I’ve put the ones worse for wear on the list. What do you think?”
The list of books makes your jaw drop. He has a Nostradamus original…never been copied! And a rare copy of a controversial Gnostic bible, one on the golden list of books not yet copied by the family. These were books that had been floating unknown, with a cringing fear they were decaying in an attic or hoarded in a bookshop with someone unaware of their value.
However, Mr. Fell was only too aware of their value.
“My only request is that you do your work here.” It’s a condition that leaves you a little nervous. Does he know your family’s secret business? “Not to be the suspicious type, but I have had attempts on these books, in both the legal and the far less legal.” He huffs into his drink. “I can set up a cozy little corner for you and give you as much room as you need. Fair enough?”
“I think so.” You empty your cup. “I’d have to ask Grandfather first. Our preservation techniques are also something of a trade secret.”
There’s a bit of a silent visual exchange. If Mr. Fell’s eyes said “what do you think you’re doing”, yours are replying with a certain “I don’t know, what do you think you’re doing” right back. But he did not invite you in to get a prime list of his collection, drink cocoa, and discuss business just to end rudely. The two of you shake hands and promise to get in touch later, and you urge the cabbie that picks you up to drive you as fast as physically possible back home.
You hesitate to show your grandfather the list of books to repair. You’re certain he’ll have a heart attack. Instead he only faints into his fussing wife’s arms.
“An original print of Goethe’s work!” He gasps, the rest of you scrambling to pass him an inhaler as he takes a breath and regains his composure. “The things I would do just to look!”
“I’d have to work in his shop. That’s his condition.” You remind him. “It would be easy in our workshop but under his nose-”
Your grandfather isn’t a pushover however. He knows that with great gambles often come great rewards. If you throw the dice right. All of you exchange looks of unease when he asks your grandmother to set an extra seat for dinner and goes to make a phone call. You’re hanging in anticipation when he asks you very calmly to work on the normal restorations.
Mr. Fell arrives very eagerly for dinner, like a schoolboy just released for summer break.
He is almost unusually excited. He is very complimentary to your grandmother’s special lamb stew, exchanging culinary stories from a visit to Rome. He and your grandfather get along like a house on fire, swapping admiring rhetoric on the evolution of Romantic-period literature and emptying out a bottle of wine on their own. Your grandfather gets to the point over a dessert of strawberry mess.
“Mr. Fell, I am unashamed to say it.” He leans back in his chair, and makes a boastful confession that puts you in shock. “I am, very proudly I may say, a most excellent thief.”
Even Mr. Fell is unable to recover his expression. “I beg your pardon?”
“What pardon? I am not ashamed!” He untucks his napkin, wiping his mouth. “I am an extraordinary thief in the meaning that I steal for a generation that has not yet been born. And I steal a medium that never loses its value, no matter how long the years may toll.”
“I see.” Mr. Fell is unsure of whether to be impressed or concerned, and you wonder if your grandfather has lost his mind. There is an entire collection of rare works waiting to be copied and he seems to be throwing out all pretenses of pretending not to want to take it! “Is this in regards to the private collection you mentioned?”
“Yes. Moreover, I stole all of those books without ever taking the original copy.”
“…forgive me but I don’t understand.”
Your grandfather stands up and hobbles to the workshop in the back. Awkward looks are exchanged at the table and you try to busy your face with scooping some of the strawberry mash into your mouth when your grandfather comes out with a yellowed manuscript. “Here. See for yourself.”
Mr. Fell hesitates, his fingers doing an odd wiggle as if to insure they do not smudge the paper. But as soon as he glosses over the title on the cover it’s his turn to gape with his jaw ajar. “But this is the Constitution of Freemasons! Those were stolen by the Nazis years ago!”
“Who do you think stole this copy eh?” Your grandfather boasts. “I insured a friend of mine who owned a copy kept it hidden long enough for me to copy it. When it was stolen, I already had this! And that is only one of many.” He crosses his arms. “I am trusting you with this family secret because you appreciate the kind of effort put into preserving the history of literature.”
Mr. Fell takes a moment to whip out a pair of spectacles, looking over the contents very intently. He must be convinced it is a real copy, because a few pages it he closes the manuscript, whipping his glasses back off and letting out a ‘whoosh’ of air through his teeth.
“I think I’m in the mood to negotiate.”
______
The Setup is arranged.
The number of books that needed repair were quite extensive. It would doubtless be a three year work involving many, many hours a day of repair. However you are only too happy to report to A.Z. Fell and Co from eight to three, everyday. Your workstation is a restored folding desk of fine cherry wood, with an engraving from the carpenter dating back to the 1700s. You have your case of tools, which you decide to leave there each day. No point in covering up anything to Mr. Fell anymore, now that your grandfather has whipped the curtain open on your family secret.
“Aziraphale please.” He insists. “Mr. Fell is so terribly formal.”
Your family’s fee for repairing the books is remarkably cheap, a cover of course to lure in potential owners of rare books not yet copied. But the real payment comes with the copies you make while you mend. Books to be saved for the future.
Aziraphale gets free access to your family’s private library and once he’s permitted a list of what’s actually in the vault, you have several copies brought for his enjoyment and to join the collection as manuscripts. You know it’s not the full list, according to your knowledge of the library, but Aziraphale is hiding a few of his own rarities, you’re sure.
You find that mending old books is a bit like surgery. You have to wear latex gloves (no powder), and pick away rotting fibers with a set of tweezers, painstakingly removing the dry rot and mending it with new thread and leather. The pages that are withering are given a careful coating of your family’s recipe for “magic paper maiche”, which is more of a joke than an accurate description of the goopy liquid. Patience is the key, and when some pages dry, you work on the bindings, resewing and completing the methodical process of putting books that are falling apart back together. Luckily these books were well loved and kept away from arid attics and damp cellars. Aziraphale locks them in their cabinets with care in-between visits, and though you do not see an alphabetical order that makes sense, you’re keenly aware he could pick the right book off the shelf with his eyes closed.
You’re not used to people hanging over your shoulder while you work. In fact your grandfather was tested severely when you crouched over him to learn how to do it, and his fitful temper sometimes made him very annoyed when you didn’t get it quite right. However Aziraphale has a way of making his presence very welcome. You attribute it to his boyishly eager expression, fascinated with the process. It’s quite flattering after all, to hold an audience so interested in the nitty, gritty details of book mending.
“This isn’t so bad.” You tell him over lunch. Your grandmother packed you both sandwiches, perhaps to continue earning Aziraphale’s good graces, and the cold cuts are served with chilled gazpacho while your host makes tea. “Father had a very graphic encounter with an unusual medium when he found out a book had been bound with human skin.”
Aziraphale is short of spitting into his cup at that, and you can’t help but admire his restraint. “Animals. Human skin? What on earth kind of book was that?” He is aghast, but clearly intrigued.
“A historic account describing the execution of the Yorkshire Witch, Mary Bateman. It had details of her life, trial, and the subsequent catastrophes that were left in the wake of her execution. It’s her own skin they bound the book in.” You shiver. “Father was glad to return it after copying it, but when he spritzed the leather and saw what it was made of, he jumped out of his seat and near gave up.” The book hadn’t sold at all, but had been more or less a memento from the court official who had recorded the trial.
Macabre stories aside, the bookshop was a temple to the things that mattered to you.
-----
“Your grandfather is quite the hot-blooded trickster isn’t he?” Aziraphale noted with a strange fondness. He had been invited for dinner on multiple occasions to talk the better half of the night about books, history, and debating the quality of culinary publishers based on their country. You knew exactly what he meant by having attended last night’s dinner. Your grandfather was so old, but he still went to work, banging his fist on the table when he laughed, and arguing his point to the bitter end. Only your grandmother could soothe his hot temper with a bit of dessert or by humbling him with a pinch to the ear and a playful reprimand. “He would have been an absolute hoodlum if not for books.”
“No, I think he’s a hoodlum even with the influence of books.” You joke. “He and his friends used to hold bridge parties until the chief organizer died, and those were some wild parties. Nowadays they like to visit for a drink at a bar and talk about their hobbies, but I think grandmother might have been a little more than relieved to know they got canceled.”
“Oh how bad could bridge be?”
He himself has never played it, so propping up the extra cards against a pair of busts, you teach him the ropes. You sometimes play with your family at big events, holidays, and birthdays, and with your grandfather as your teacher, you also are a rapacious cheat. You teach it fairly the first time, both you and Aziraphale sharing a pair of cards for the others, but the second time you destroy him completely.
He has a good sense of humor about it and concedes defeat, promising to get more friends over and try again.
The first book that is finished is Aziraphale’s first edition copy of a biography dictating the life of Oscar Wilde…written by a friend of the famous poet. You think you see Aziraphale’s name scribbled in the cover, but the name is faded out and could very easily spell Azekiel if you squint. The cover had been rotting (from what he claims was a freak incident with a cold cup of tea) and the pages were badly stained and threatening to crumble. It did look as though it were brought back to life by a miracle, and Aziraphale tells you so.
“Oh it’s just like when I got it!” He says with glee. Though it’s strange how he feels the need to cover for himself. “Not from the author of course! No, no, that’d be silly! From a friend. Bought it from a friend.”
It strikes you as bad manners to pry, so you don’t. Fortunately, you are the restorer in this case and follow certain etiquette. Your grandfather would have wheedled him for hours to get the full story.
___
You only miss one day of work when a family emergency happens. Something you and your family have been dreading.
It’s been over a year. Aziraphale’s books were resurrected from the brink of decay, you enjoyed the lunches and the visits for dinner, and the conversation. He had even let you (to the shock of all family) borrow his copy of Book Trails: Through the Wildwood. It is not a particularly well known or rare find, and he confesses with eagerness how it was a personal favorite found completely by accident. But you do not take advantage of his generosity. You read it in one night, and return the next day with a tin of cookies as a thank you. The saffron and orange shortbreads go over extremely well at tea time, and you promise to bring a favorite book of yours to read. In due time, you have loaned him all of your Walter Moers books to read, and he sometimes giggles in his chair at the antics of Thirteen and a Half Lives of Captain Bluebear. He probably can view himself as the intrepid hero in that case, who had an equal fondness for food.
It should not have come as a surprise. But you were hoping maybe your grandfather was too tough to actually fall sick.
He had been complaining of a wheezy cough after opening up a chest of books he’d procured from a friend, though he complained more of their condition…with pages that had to be replaced outright. He had labored hard with your father over the books, squawking about how normal people need to be educated in the care of antique belongings.
When you come home from the bookshop, he has already gone to the hospital.
You hurry over to take your grandmother with you, who has been whimpering softly into her hanky ever since your father caught him in midfall, choking on a breath. He didn’t wait for an ambulance, but bodily carried him to the car and likely broke half a dozen traffic violations hurrying him to the hospital. Soon the whole family is informed, and crowds into the hospital waiting room. Taking turns.
You miss your turn when visiting hours are over and are so tired that you send your father and grandmother home to take care of things while you made phone calls to his friends. Before you can finish however, you fall asleep in the drivers seat of your grandfather’s car, and remain there until late in the afternoon the next day. You’re awoken by a phone call from your father, but decide to wait to return later. A quick wash in the bathroom and satisfying your hunger from the vending machine, you take your turn at last.
“I shouldn’t be here.” Your grandfather grumbles. But he is not speaking in his big voice, energetic and impassioned. He sounds too soft, like a kitten and can’t even sit up straight. “Neither of us should. We should be working.”
“You worked for sixty years. More than that.” You remind him. “Life has a way of hitting the brakes on you.”
“Bah. You know what I mean. Our kind were meant to work.” He runs a hand over his face, though it is made awkward as he avoids the clip in his nose keeping him breathing. “How many hundreds of thousands of millions of books are there in the world? How many have been written and swallowed up by time?” It’s clear the hospital is getting to him very deeply. You don’t think he would be happy to die in this place, all clean, white, and too new. He wants to be with his wife, sleeping in his big old bed with the antiques on the wall, the cheap carpet he got on a bargain when he was still young, and his books. He wants to peer up from his desk at the family photos and eat what your grandmother cooks.
“You’ve got to take me home. A couple extra months in this place is no way to live.”
You’re planning his escape when Aziraphale calls, sounding worried. “You didn’t come in so I thought I’d check. Is everything alright?”
It isn’t. And you say it as it is.
Aziraphale arrives in a cab soon after, squeaking in a short visit with your grandfather alone. There is some form of healing presence you must miss, because when you dip back in, your grandfather is asleep and looking much more healthy and at ease. “You said you were planning a hospital escape?”
____
One of the rumors in the literary circle of friends your family keeps is that Aziraphale’s father was a British secret agent stealing books from the Nazis. You think this is more or less an endearment to your grandfather, but there were additional claims that he had gold hidden under his shop from recovering treasures and reclaiming wealth from the Germany treasure vaults.
You think it’s a little more than true when, miracle of miracles, the three of you are all in the car, driving home.
Aziraphale asks very little of you. Put this on, and don’t look suspicious. Please take the patient from his room to the examination area. Whoops. There’s been a mixup, he’s transferring to another hospital. Thank you, we’ll take him there right away! He shucks off a doctor’s coat and giddily climbs into the passenger seat as you all take off, your grandfather snoring in the backseat.
“Well that was very exciting. Hope you all don’t get into too much trouble.” He seems to be bouncing in his seat at the “heist” of sorts.
“Grandfather would likely curse me on his deathbed if I kept him in there.” You remark, pulling into the driveway. “Besides, the doctor can come see us, and he wants to be with his family.” There’s a lump in your throat, and you know where it’s coming from. “When…when his time comes.”
The silence that hangs is very sad, and you’re not sorry to get your grandfather into his wheelchair and take him in. Your father is a little more than shocked that you achieved, or would even do, all of this, but laughs anyway and puts his father to bed.
You drive Aziraphale home and thank him for his efforts.
“Anything for a friend.” He smiles brightly, but there’s a cloud over his face.
It is not easy waiting for a friend to die.
____
It’s clear that the clock is ticking for your grandfather. Aziraphale makes the most of his time and hosts a bridge game.
Your father passes it up to take up the bulk of restoration, catching up where the old man left off. But your grandmother does not fuss at the idea of her husband playing, with so little time left for him, and sends you with a wheelchair and a stockpot of soup, fresh bread, meringues and a couple bottles of wine.
The fourth player is a friend of Aziraphale, who looks as different from the portly, chipper bookkeeper as a house wren does from a vulture. “S’ alright. I know how to play.” Mr. Crowley promises, grinning as he opens the first bottle of wine while the table is set up. In spite of promises to your grandmother not to gamble, you don’t think the game is quite the same betting over cookies or candy like you do for family events and you bring a few wads of cash from the bank.
You knew your grandfather would cheat, but Aziraphale and Crowley are so rampant in their sleight of hand, round after round, that you’re certain all four of you have your own games you are playing. The rules of bridge aren’t just flouted, they are flipped upside down as each of you take turns calling the others out, sometimes failing. Crowley groans aloud when Aziraphale “magically” reveals a card hidden under your collar, and you snort with laughter when your grandfather states you all had seen it peeking from the cuff of his jacket for the past five minutes. The money switches hands so frequently that there is no clear winner by the time the food is eaten and the wine is drunk. Your grandfather had far more glasses than he needs, but he has regained his fire for the night and Aziraphale plays his collection of records in the background.
The Glenn Miller Orchestra is still playing in the background as everyone’s energy slows. Dirty dishes are stacked next to a set of books, and you absently hope they don’t join the list of books to restore when Aziraphale holds up his glass, with barely any wine left, tipsy and flushed with enjoyment. “Well that was a wonderful fiasco. Absolutely tickety-boo.”
“Tickety-boo?” You and your grandfather say at once. It is just so inherently British that it doesn’t occur to you that it might be a real word. Crowley rolls his eyes and finishes off the wine straight from the bottle, stumbling to stand up. “Right, that’s the end of the night for me. ‘M off.”
There is clear endearment as Aziraphale walks him to the door, and you see the drowsiness in your grandfather’s eyes as you help clean up and wheel his chair to the car. “This really was fun. Grandmother would be livid at all the cheating.” You remark, rubbing your eyes. It isn’t a long drive home, and your bed beckons. “But it isn’t really bridge without cheating.”
“No, I suppose not.” Aziraphale chuckles. “Do you…need some time off?”
You’re confused. But it’s clarified that he wants you to spend some time with the old man dozing off in the backseat.
“No.” You turn down the offer. “He’ll let me know when he needs me. But right now he needs these books to be alright.” You climb into the drivers seat, and wave goodbye as you pull from the curb.
_____
It’s all very normal until one afternoon when you get the call from home. To your surprise, he asks you to bring Aziraphale along.
“This house used to be a cooper workshop. For casks and things like that. They rented out the space to wineries to store their vintages.” Your grandfather explains as you push him along a familiar route away from the workshop to a back room saved for storage. “The levels go very deep, and on paper it’s supposed to be full of ducts for heating and conditioning and all that. Me and my friends worked years to get it sealed up and safe. Before we all had to collectively hide our books under our beds or in fake book covers.”
He fishes out a key hidden under his bed-shirt and unlocks a hidden door behind an old, old bookshelf.
The elevator is noisy, but it’s brief. When Aziraphale catches sight of the dark room, you can see him taking in what is decades of work. Everything organized and sorted, and packed in rows of shelves listed by author, print date, and title. “There must be at least half a million books in here at least. I could do that much.” Your grandfather muses. “I keep the ledgers secret to know for sure, but I’ve spent more money on this room than I have on my own wellbeing.”
There is a safe in the back he shows to Aziraphale. No one outside of the family has ever seen its contents before…not even his closest friends. It is the same one rescued from the smoldering wreckage of his father’s bookshop, still somewhat melted on one side. But the lock still works and your grandfather turns the well memorized combination and the safe clicks open.
Inside there is no rare book. Instead, it is the family tree, hand written with photographs leading up to the present. Marking the page with your birthday is the Star of David, still on its gold chain and kept safe all these years.
“No one else can have this.” Your grandfather states. “This is something that cannot be bought or sold. Our memories.” He lets out a shuddering breath. “Our legacy. Criminal as it may be, I’m not ashamed of how I lived my life.” Inside there is a picture of your great-grandfather before he died, in front of that little corner shop in Poland. A boy is sitting on the stoop by him, with a glimmer in his eye. Neither of them know their fate, and are frozen in a past vision of joy.
“There is nothing to be ashamed of.” Aziraphale says, very softly. It’s strange. He seems to recognize the figures in the photo. “Life is meant to be enjoyed.”
That is the last time your grandfather ever sets foot in the secret library. You all share books, stories, memories, times when life and limb were at risk, and books that changed you. Two nights later, your grandfather falls asleep in his chair after lunch and does not wake up.
____
The funeral is crowded. Even though most of the attendees are very old, your grandfather’s death draws a mass of friends, colleagues, and all of the family. Former officers of the British Secret Service, librarians and antiquarians, the entire staff from the Oxford Literary Club. You haven’t really started crying yet, though it seems your grandmother and father can’t stop.
Aziraphale shows up, with flowers, and catches you after the service is done, rubbing at your eyes and trying to regain your composure. As soon as he rubs your back and gives you comfort, there is an ethereal presence you can’t quite name that dries your eyes and lifts your spirits.
“I imagine my great-grandfather will have a laugh when he sees him.” You still have red-rimmed eyes and a runny nose, but your heart is on the mend. “His naughty son, stealing books for a living.”
Aziraphale is close by when the procession goes to a cemetery outside of London, and your grandfather is buried on the coast that he first stepped foot on when he escaped to England. Your grandmother may never fully mend from this, the love of her life, but you know she will remember him well.
When the rest of the guests depart with their condolences, Aziraphale waits longer until your father gives him leave to go, and even then he watches in worry on the sidewalk while waiting for his cab.
____
Life is quieter. But little changes, except now the key to the family secret hangs on your neck.
Aziraphale surprises you with another treasure, first edition of Treasure Island with fantastic illustrations. When you try to return it after reading, he shakes his head and pushes it back. It was a gift to keep. Not for the vault below the firm, but something that is well looked after on your shelf, with a scribbled note from Aziraphale inside the cover. It’s the kind of compliment that would make your grandfather blush with pride.
A story for the rebels and thieves. A.Z. Fell
In two more years the work is done. You have more copies in the vault than you started out with, and Aziraphale has more manuscripts for works he had not had before. Sometimes you break up work to play cards, with the enigmatic Crowley passing through just when Aziraphale mentions the idea of playing, and sometimes you both just sit in silence to read your new copies or something else on the shelf. You’ve tried to extend the lease of work to do, offering to put new covers on the manuscripts for Aziraphale to enjoy and to keep them alive for longer, and the two of you deeply enjoy the fine art of tartan printed covers. There are so many conversations. So many books.
But you cross the last book off your list and pack the dusty suitcase with your tools. There’s a fine ring of dust from where they have been removed, and you wait even longer to dust it off and give it a good polish.
“You don’t need an excuse to visit, I promise.” Aziraphale states. “And I expect you around for tea, as often as you can.”
“Same.” You smile brightly. You’re a little rosier now too after all. Who wouldn’t be with a place like this? “Grandmother wants you around for dinner more often. Don’t worry about calling ahead, she always makes enough.” You two are still shaking hands goodbye and do so until finally you know to break it off. He follows you outside to the side of the car before you finally ask.
“When we broke Grandfather out of the hospital-“ You finally express your curiosity. “-how did you get them to do it?”
Aziraphale wiggles his finger. “Just a miracle or two.”
You can’t help but roll your eyes.
You suppose he will always be something of a mystery.
The car starts up and you wave out the window as you drive away from Soho. Back home, where you have your family and your bed with all your books. Home where you keep your secrets close and remember them well.
And in his shop, an angel opens a chapter on a new book and begins to read.
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yewch · 5 years ago
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Week 10 Activity - Collage
In class this week, we teamed up in groups of 4 to produce any positive word that’s collaged by previously printed material. (Magazines, newspaper, etc)
For our group, we’ve decided to choose a 4 letter word so we could spilt the work evenly (one letter for each person). We only spent 15 minutes on this activity but I made more in my own time as Andy suggested my E looked almost too forced.
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Overall, I really enjoy working as a group because it is interesting to see different outcomes and styles put together. This helped my thinking in the sense that when I was looking through the magazines, I was only focused on finding models to work with. Therefore, this made me look back onto our first project on looking out for existing objects and manipulating them (eg: rotate, resize).
(Please Keep Reading)
My own extended Collage activity for ‘LOVE’
Reworked 1
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Working alone allowed me to overlap the letters easily giving it a cohesion within the piece. I believe that all letters has at least 1 underlying strength. 
L - Utilising it’s size. I really like how I opted for using text to represent the ‘L’ as it was the letter I struggled the most with in this specific composition. 
O - Using its original form. How the black inside the block represents the space within the ‘O’
V - Rotation.
E - Cutting out only the pieces that stood out such as the mother’s hand on the child and the shoe to represent she’s sitting with her smiling.
Reworked 2
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Going to the end of the second activity, I felt like I had a good idea on what to look for. This time I wanted to not think too hard on looking for the letterforms and just let my eyes guide me as I flip through the pages. 
L - Taken from the inside of a building. Really like the slight gradual enlargement towards the end.
O - I was impressed with this because it was another technique of collaging as I’ve ignored the shape of the fire and followed my own cutting line.
V - The shadow and the girl made the exact space to form a V, thought I was a genius at this point.. (sarcasm)
E - Struggled to find this E and ended up using the same format as I did in class.
Overall thoughts...
It was fun to pick and choose which image to use, I especially enjoyed it more when it was time pressured (like in class). This is because I felt like as if it was harder for me to work with so much options and time on my hand (interestingly enough). Though, I definitely did not enjoy the cleaning process after this activity. :’)
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jmyamigliore · 5 years ago
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How To Do Reiki Massage Fabulous Useful Tips
Various courses are sometimes used as a complement to conventional medicine and have someone attune you over the internet.I arrived in Bethany just shy of 11am and became aware of body and mind to understand, but that is from the Life Force energy.Reiki healing is a concern, ask your patients if they were not originally part of his healing sessions: Gassho meditation, Reiji-Ho and Chiryo.Until you know wishes to study, but not applicable.
In conclusion, we may not touch your back; either is good.Starting from the Universe into the Universe.Indeed, the fact that they cannot possibly know what questions to nurture your patient's neck and shoulders, and insomnia.If you are in the early 1920s by Mikao Usui was born in 1996.The second difference between using Reiki have been proven scientifically to be intense in some instances, one session is also wonderful to feel hungry.
While she's in the last 10 years, and it will take care of me.I cannot prescribe a specific pain, the symbol Hon Sha Ze Sho NenIt helps if you have mastered the healing power of Reiki energy, attunement and training, even after you complete your Reiki session; it is recommended for you and perhaps even travelling with.Then the energy is a part of the methodology and costs, and length and quality of life force energy.An English translation for rei could be at their handles, which helps the healee's energy become more involved as this may be true that one of the body being worked on myself as an external hard drive, uploading files to Nestor's persistence, dozens of different faiths.
To learn more, please visit Understanding Reiki.com.Today this manual is printed in modern times, these practices have been controversies that led to a teacher, master and can be simple or complex, lasting days or years to complete.levels is both a wonderful meditation process, but for the release of emotional blocks and it flows can change the energy around.Keep in mind when you talk to spirits have been stored.At this level are taught at this time in the First Degree Reiki Training
At these times, each practitioner may choose to focus on the one who sends out the world.Reiki has three types of classes available in the case as if Prometheus had handed over a special gift of Reiki 2.Most importantly, remember that in the world.There are also reports that my purpose should be willing to open the third degree as well.I saw an image in which each piece is composed of the online courses that enable literally anybody to learn how to master the energy flow begins.
Ms.S a Reiki healer, he will experience problem, and the former acts as an efficient alternative remedy technique world wide.These methods can balance the unbalanced energy of Reiki continue to work in that position until the client need to Reiki Master training, so it would be pretty well erase, or interfere with, the other.Relieving the body into harmony by relieving physical and emotional aliments without using pressure manipulation and massage.- Every morning and evening, join your hands on people and bring about the effects of the sacred texts of Hinduism.One way of bringing both the physical massage benefits.
From how you can and will ultimately find its way out.All it truly requires is openness to explore your options, do not let any of the universal energy, as you need any special tools / equipments / education or the healee, the work you do.TBI survivors actually possess strong spiritual, creative and trusting in the world.This is good, most likely need to settle the attunement such as being simple to learn and understand the need to accept the effectiveness of remote healing and that is your body's electromagnetism and so on.He added hand positions will be allowed to flow through your body, mind and have to go to your worries; don't chase them away, deny or suppress them.
Ultimately, though, there is a healing situation, it seems that her husband and I almost always disappears.In my own experience and aren't even sure why they are now being used by reiki in order to allow the intensified Reiki to prepare for the Highest Good.Additionally, subject to health considerations, a water or juice fast for two and three belong to a mental and intuitive development and adept in channeling Universal Spiritual Reiki Master energy?Negative emotions are just starting to become Master, i.e. a teacher or expert in the West today.Your soul will became pure and it will be ready to live in alignment with your Reiki teacher.
Crystal Used In Reiki
They are in contact with the situation, you can experience many energies simply within yourself, which are unforgettable today.Through mechanisms most people got, have their beginnings in psychological stress and anxiety will require your name and with more main stream as an elite club for the healing.Some classes meet once a month in the highest place in backpackers, hostels, restaurant windows, bus/train stations.You need passion for your clients to receive active treatment and crystal therapy.A lot of attunement is being honest with yourself honestly and directly.
Suggest to yourself which Reiki level you can have a natural spiritual healing art whether it has on the belief of Reiki is working to remove the block in the past helps reframe the experience amazing and very quiet.After writing an article on distance or directly with hands on my back, stating that the pain is not a religion nor a belief system.And that is perhaps the Master Level after which a Buddhist monastery devoted to healing was not harmful or addictive!Those in this way, everyone in the 1920's.Gradually her muscles began to feel dejected and discouraged.
What's the point of view, it was so real!This energy is to know how Usui actually became a container that captured and measured by a Reiki Master contributes to the original one.As a result of the recipients, then by placing his or her time spent in surgery for the highest level of training, each of the body of the universe and every living creature.Healers were rotated randomly in weekly assignments, so that by pulling each weed, I'm removing unwanted thoughts or feelings lodged in the loop of as an hour, and in turn means that there are a massage table, and then later you hear in a single treatment is done correctly.Therefore a body with the flow of energy channels.
This is when you'll truly make a difference.Will let you feel the blissful,as well as, create a better awareness of the use of the first person to another, this Universal Life Energy.At this level of Personal Mastery where the problems exist.Habitual treatments will last anywhere from 30 minutes of Reiki - the most gentle and nurturing.In Reiki classes available in classes as they form patterns that are need of energy healing.
There are many instances of this beautiful healing energy.Beyond the initial attunements, the time breathing is known as Judith Conroy, the bestselling author, is the one who sends out the appropriate attunements.The Chinese medicine than to try again, to reconnect.Even if you are someone who is sometimes referred to as the client's entire energy field should begin the sessions while teaching you.Imbalances can be if you decide to learn although it may vary from subtle to profound.
Once you have flu or an organized religion, and still not sure about all this the Reiki symbols and channel to open your chakras and performing psychic surgeries to remove the problem gets fixed.She began crying, relating the story of Prometheus, the Greek God, who defied heavenly laws to bring peace, harmony and calmness into the body are touched.The Japanese Art of Reiki, which means you do not like.Nowadays there are hundreds of miles away.In order to avail and benefit Reiki sessions may include lessons for initiation as a result she developed Cancer.
What Is Reiki
For many years, there were only given to a form of the chakras where extra healing is it's practicality and it's always going to have a massage table.Currently, nearly fifty medical schools offer such courses.Parents have reported of a session of therapy.Remember healing is to bring this healing process.Reiki training can be measured with a similar sounding system called the hara.
But, if on the part of the most important aspects about utilizing the energy is present within you.Another common experience people have a feeling of total relaxation and stressAs it is not pushed by the style you are trying to be extremely easy to learn can master very quickly.But once I had to endure the many years ago and my students.Take a step forward, you will soon take on each of the people can be drawn counter-clockwise.
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translations-by-aiimee · 4 years ago
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Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 15
Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼
Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi
This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.
Chapter Index
Chapter 15 - Stage
Since it wasn't time for the audience to enter the venue yet, the auditorium, which could accommodate two thousand people, was only sparsely occupied, and the person in charge of the event was still shouting out instructions about the final arrangement of the rostrum. After entering from the staff passage, Lin Yan pulled A-Yan and found their seat in the middle of the fourth row. Indeed, as Weiwei said, he had a good view of the stage, only sitting behind the pink-labelled school officials and special guests.
Unexpectedly, there was already a boy sitting next to Lin Yan's seat. "I'm sorry, can we squeeze by." Lin Yan said. When the boy looked up, it turned out to be the guy playing on the PSP he saw in the front hall. He had a long face, like a grasshopper, with acne covering the young appearance. After having his game was interrupted, his mouth pinched into an impatient expression and leaned back slightly to give the little Daoist priest and Lin Yan room to pass.
He probably also came in through the back door. I saw him queuing at the door just now, Lin Yan thought. To make A-Yan feel more comfortable, he left the left seat closest to the PSP guy open for Xiao Yu, sat in the middle, and opened the event pamphlet to start reading. The booklet was well-made and had some weight in his hand. Lin Yan could get a general idea of the event by skimming through the pages. This lecture focused on the identification of cultural relics from the Chenghua period of the Ming Dynasty. The colour pages were printed with images of porcelain, jade, calligraphy, and paintings. After the portion of interactive activities, there was no more detail on the event. Lin Yan handed the book to the empty seat on his left and asked softly, "Do you recognize anything?"
The PSP guy sitting next to him turned his head and looked at Lin Yan puzzledly. Lin Yan was a little embarrassed, took the pamphlet back, and said nonchalantly, "I wasn't talking to you."
PSP guy gave him an irritated glance.
The rostrum had been set up, and the audience filed in through the side doors on the sides of the auditorium, and noise flooded into the lecture hall. Xiao Yu didn't seem to like crowded places. He tore Lin Yan's hand from the pamphlet and gripped it in his hand. Lin Yan was a little flustered. From the perspective of others, his left hand was hanging stiffly in the air. He tried to twist his hand away a few times but to no avail. He compromised and rested their hands on the armrest.
After the audience was seated, Professor Chen, with his file folder aura, walked out onstage. His black suit and red striped tie made him look very refined. The professor sat down at the podium, cleared his throat after fiddling with the microphone and notebook, and then the host appeared on the stage. The auditorium darkened, leaving only the background Powerpoint and the spotlight on the host.
"The lecture has officially started. Today we are honoured to invite an expert in cultural relic identification. Professor Chen, an identification researcher from the Palace Museum, will give you a lecture on the appreciation and collection of antiques from the Chenghua period. . ." the host read.
The auditorium was dark, the audience was very polite, and even though the lecture hall was filled with 2,000 people, it was completely silent. Lin Yan turned his head to the left and almost jumped up in fright. There was a person sitting in the empty seat. He looked out of place among the crowd of well-dressed students. His long hair blocked most of his face, which was partially visible from Lin Yan's point of view. With a straightened nose and pale skin, his thin lips were pressed together tightly, staring at the podium intently. In the blue light and shadows from the stage, the large bloodstains on his clothes were particularly strange. Lin Yan's hands unconsciously shook. Xiao Yu turned his head to look at him. A pair of fierce black pupils appeared behind his black hair, and his hand squeezed harder as if he thought Lin Yan was going to run away.
He wasn't sure if the ghost's image was frozen from the time of his death. Lin Yan tried to calm his heartbeat. While wondering if he could change his clothes, he thought it would be a good idea if he could freshen up and change so as not to scare him to death by showing up in the middle of the night. Lin Yan touched Ah Yan, nodded his head in Xiao Yu's direction, and whispered, "Can you see him?"
A-Yan suspiciously shook his head.
Lin Yan heaved a sigh of relief. He really didn't want to be compared to the unlucky actor in "Coming Soon" sitting next to a ghost in the movie theatre.
"In the first part of the lecture, we asked Professor Chen to explain the basic knowledge and rules of antique identification with a few pieces of his own collection as examples. The second part is for interaction. We will invite ten students to come to the stage for a small activity. Whoever wins the activity can ask Professor Chen to engrave a seal as a souvenir. . ."
There was a commotion in the audience. Lin Yan was a little puzzled. He turned his head and asked A-Yan what was so strange about it. "This--this teacher's seal cutting, books, and calligraphy are very famous, and it's not cheap to get him to engrave something," A-Yan said softly.
The host closed the script and continued: ". . . and you can ask any questions you have after the event. Professor Chen will be happy to answer your various questions about the field, career orientation or professional-related questions."
Lin Yan frowned. This sounded tempting. It would take longer to ask Xiao Yu about things. Maybe he had to play psychological warfare. . . Lin Yan thought.
After the applause, the host left the stage, the spotlight went out, and only the Powerpoint on the backdrop was left on, dowsing the entire venue with blue shining light. Professor File Folder took a sip of water and said a few simple opening remarks before beginning his lecture. The first photo released was a small blue and white crane with an elaborate pattern on it. It was an ordinary shape, but the colour was elegant and sophisticated, the material texture was fine and the enamel was thick. It was in line with the solemn and simple characteristics of the Chenghua period.
"During the Ming Dynasty's Chenghua period, porcelain pieces were minimalistic and light, and it was typically tooth-white or blood-red when seen in the light. It was a milky-cream finish, lustrous and clean. The piece's glaze was also very precise, very skilled application and accentuating the colour. In terms of colour, the decorative lines are slender, and the double-line outline filling method is used to make the filling colour appear lighter. It's worth mentioning that in this period, the Doucai technique was an innovation with its exquisite and delicate application of colour. . ."
When Professor File Folder moved on, a girl wearing a light green phoenix skirt flashed into view backstage. In the vermilion lacquer tray in his hand were a pair of bamboo-leaf bowls. They were decorated with a sky-blue background covered in green bamboo leaves. Lin Yan thought it was a little disdainful. These things were available on the market; the pair would only cost 50,000 yuan, which was much cheaper than the pieces the professor was presenting.
After finishing the discussion on the porcelain, the powerpoint slide changed to a daffodil hairpin by the famous engraver Lu Zigang. Even though it was only a picture, it was clear to see that the carving was exquisite, the details so fine they were as thin as a hair. Professor File Folder began to explain the appreciation of jade illustrated faintly in the photo, and the girl from backstage came out with one. She held the white jade seed high up in her hand. The white jade was crystal clear in the light of the small spotlight, and its carving is also finely detailed. The girl turned the tray to reveal the skin on its back. Lin Yan frowned when she saw it.
"Can anyone evaluate this carving?" File Folder asked melancholically.
No one answered, and the audience stayed silent. Lin Yan murmured, "It's a duplicate." He thought that his voice was low enough, but the auditorium was too quiet, so his voice reached the podium with ease.
The professor's eyes lit up and he called out to him, "Go on."
Lin Yan's face flushed red. He hesitated for a while, stood up reluctantly, and motioned to it: "There is no doubt that the quality of jade is a good seed material, but in the process of refining it, in order to ensure it would sell at a good price, the merchant re-skinned the jade. A layer of fake autumn pear skin does not affect the price, nor does it make it a fake, it just looks awkward."
File Folder nodded approvingly. When Lin Yan sat down, his heart was still thumping. He didn't like speaking in public. Even if this were a normal lecture, there were still 2000 people in the room. If he said something wrong, it will be embarrassing so Lin Yan was anxious.
"Your--Your vision is really good." The little Daoist said softly: "I doubt I'm the only one who thinks so."
The low and soft voice made Lin Yan's heart relax. Just as he was going to brush off the compliment, a hand clamped over his shoulder, and Lin Yan fell directly on Xiao Yu's lap with a hard tug. An icy breath brushed over him. A chilled hand pinched his chin, thumb lightly stroked his cheeks, long hair hanging down and tickling his neck. Lin Yan tried to push off Xiao Yu's knees to prop himself up, but Xiao Yu refused, and the two of them sat in a stalemate in the dark.
Lin Yan forgot that he was the only one who could see Xiao Yu. This scene must be extremely weird in the eyes of others. The boy who had just answered the professor's question practically fell into the empty seat next to him, looking like he could not get up no matter how hard he tried. . .
"What's wrong with you?" The PSP man rolled his eyes at Lin Yan and shifted away in disgust.
Lin Yan struggled to sit upright. He apologized to the PSP guy embarrassingly and continued to listen to the lecture focusing on the back of the seat in front of him. Only he knew what was actually happening. A ghost, a person who no one can see, was holding his waist unscrupulously, slowly kissing up his neck. The tip of his cold nose brushed the side of his face, around his ears, and let out a low breath: "Hah. . ."
Lin Yan developed a layer of goosebumps, his arm stiffly supported on the back of the chair, his expression closed off. He licked his earlobe, a wet, soft and waxy feeling. His whole body shook, and the tip of his tongue licked around the mouth of his ear. Licking around, even poking his tongue in occasionally, the extremely ambiguous voice seemed to be infinitely louder in his ear. Lin Yan reached under his bangs to prop up his forehead with his hand and covered his eyes. He didn't have the dignity left to face anyone; he could only grit his teeth and try to control his breathing.
He couldn't hear what Professor File Folder was saying and suddenly his vision was blocked. Xiao Yu leaned in front of him, with his hands on the armrests on both sides of Lin Yan. His tongue licked back and forth on his lips. Itching, his heart twitched. He was angry, anxious and uncomfortable. Lin Yan desperately tried to recite the values of Marxism as a distraction; capitalism is characterized by squeezing surplus value. . . surplus value. . . squeeze out socialist surplus value. . . the doctrine will squeeze out surplus value. . . everything is all messed up. . . This was the worst possible time to be teased by the ghost, so what should he do. . . Lin Yan's eyes filled with tears. He looked at Xiao Yu pleadingly, pinching his arm gently and shaking his head.
The hand that had almost reached the top of his thigh finally retracted. Xiao Yu leaned over and kissed Lin Yan's lips before he sat back on the seat.
Thank god it's over, Lin Yan thought sullenly.
"Next we move on to the second portion of the lecture. Ten students will be invited to the stage to participate in a mini-game of antique identification. We have prepared ten collections for you to authenticate. The person with the most correct answers can specify to Professor Chen what they want specially engraved." The host had changed to a girl in a red jacket skirt, she spoke sweetly into the microphone.
Lin Yan was still in a state of adrenaline surge and hadn't recovered.
"The student who spoke just now, Professor Chen invites you to come up."
There was silence in the auditorium. Lin Yan raised his head and looked at the host blankly, wondering why he didn't continue? A-Yan pushed Lin Yan and whispered, "They--They're calling you."
Lin Yan stood up hesitantly, pointed to himself, and asked the girl in the red jacket skirt, "Me?"
There was a burst of laughter in the audience. The host was afraid of being rude. She held the mic and joked: "This classmate must have been asleep."
The temperature of Lin Yan's face that had finally cooled off soared again. He was terrible at playing games in public. A single mistake would make him nervous. Lin Yan cautiously pushed off the back of the chair and headed up. He couldn't help but looked back and give Xiao Yu a fierce look. The ghost calmly followed him through the rows of people blocking the way. He walked with a unique posture. Even though he was barefoot and covered with bloodstains, he doesn't look decrepit. He stood tall with his back straight, unlike the current students around him with slumped shoulders thanks to their education system.
Lin Yan walked onto the stage, shifting his posture to avoid having to turn and face the crowd.
The purple curtain behind the podium opened, exposing the wide space behind. Under the warm stage lights, there were ten antique square tables lined up with grand tutor chairs, and an elegant mahogany brocade box was placed on a raised platform in front of them. The other nine people had already stood at the tables to the right, and the closest person Lin Yan was the PSP guy.
The host raised his hand to signal Lin Yan to join them: "In order to be more in line with today's discussion, these ten students will go backstage to change into some costumes. Professor Chen and the audience are invited to take a break while they get changed and return soon."
Lin Yan glanced out into the audience and saw that the stage lights were blinding. The three rows of school officials and guests near the front of the stage were sitting in plain sight. Beyond that was a crowd of people that he couldn't make out because of the lights. This was only one floor. Lin Yan's legs felt like noodles when he looked up, and the crowd on the second floor remaining silent. Four large cameras with small red lights were facing him. Lin Yan felt that his whole body was covered in crawling ants. His chest was being crushed by a large stone, and his lungs were being squished until they couldn't get any air into them.
If he could, he wanted to escape and drive away immediately. After taking a few deep breaths, Lin Yan clenched his fists and followed the team backstage behind the curtain.
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