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livlepretre · 3 years

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Are there any real life moments or feelings that have made their way or informed scenes in any of your fics? Not asking about anything very deep or personal (unless you want to go there). For example, something as small as knowing specific places or sensations and using that to inform scenes better.

Oh tons and tons!

I did get lucky in two respects with writing tvd fic specifically--

I'm actually a painter in real life, so all of those details about using oil paints are from long years of personal experience, as well as all of the parts about drawing. The show is dreadfully wrong about the technicalities of how paint works, like, in just about every scenario, so it does grant me some satisfaction to write about it for real. (and to pretend that Klaus isn't an awful painter) (Writing about Elena as a writer is so much the same, though-- it's special as a writer to get to access a character who also writes, because there's that immediate connection to the process and the feelings that go with it)

The other is that the Originals happens to be set in Nola (for some reason), which I know better than any other place on earth. When I write about that, I'm really writing a love letter.

In general, I try to write about the places I really know well-- Nola and NYC are both pretty drawn out as portraits of those places just because I've spent so much time there (but, ummm, notice that all they seem to do in NY is drink and look at art, which is basically how I spent my 20s there ha) I picked Barcelona for SWBS in particular because I've actually been there, so I could write about my impressions of it (which get heightened in memory... and maybe that's a good thing for fiction) so much better than if I had picked, say, Marseilles where I've never been. That also extends to writing about the feelings certain places evoke-- the descriptions from the Met and the Frick, the air of nostalgia about them, the descriptions of the hall of broken Greek statuary, are all taken from a journal I was working in back when I was spending the winter in New York City and having a bizarrely melancholy time spending all day by myself at the Met.

Experience in the landscape is part of that. Every rural place feels different, and drawing on the physicality of the locations I've spent a lot of time hiking in like New Hampshire for example has really grounded the work. Also, paying attention to the things that are interesting-- I paint landscapes, mostly, so the shape of the land, the color and quality of the lighting, the kinds of flowers and trees and rocks, even the weight or lightness of the air itself, are all things which draw my attention anyway, so it's very natural for me to want to add them to fic-- and they all evoke really powerful sense memory for me, so I try to overlay that with any writing about emotions or introspection.

A lot of the details that fill the story in are just taken from personal interests-- like the books Elena reads in the library are almost all books I've read and loved, and which are influences one way or another on that story. Same for the hapless cooking experiments.

There's obviously also a ton in FE that I've gotten from talking to other people-- I personally have a knack for killing all plants I touch, but my mentor loves to garden, and invites me to paint in his garden all the time, so that's taken from him; I'm far too impatient for yoga or meditation, but again, that's the sort of thing my sister really benefits from, so I've talked to her about the experience of it a lot.

I think the creeping around old houses and snooping through shut in antique curiosities is like a very prime memory from my childhood. My grandfather had this ancient enormous ramshackle house from the 1860s that definitely used to be lots of different smaller buildings but were at some point seamed together; now, my grandmother was a legitimate hoarder (I'm being completely literal, like she makes the hoarders on TLC look like jokes), and there were lots of rooms that were shut off from the main part of the house because they were so full of dusty old interesting things, as well as a few outbuildings like that. My grandfather was very old, in his 90s, when I was a child, too old for him to really keep the house up, so my cousins and siblings and I used to run wild all through this house playing hide and go seek in those shut off rooms and corridors and finding lots of weird and inexplicable objects my grandmother had bought at auction back in the 50s and 60s and piled up high at the house. There were six hundred year old vases mixed in with old record players from the 60s, sewing kits from the 30s and boxes full of letters my great-grandfather had written and little statuettes from India and China and Vietnam sitting atop little two hundred year old painted tables. Just the wildest mix of mundane artifacts from my grandparents' actual lives mixed in with all of these beautiful old objects my grandmother used to collect. I think a lot of Elena's creeping around and hunting through drawers and going down corridors to peer into secret rooms probably stems from that childhood immersed in my grandfather's house, and then all of the time I spent as a teenager helping my mom go through it all and try to make sense of it after he died-- there's probably a weird level of specificity to the names and mechanics of different antique objects and furnitures in FE because I had to learn all about it to help my mom categorize and sell all of those things.

And that kind of takes me to one of the main things I really wanted to write about in this fic-- a detailed and empathetic dive into depression. It's never sat well with me that depression is so often so poorly depicted in media, especially on tv, and that it gets treated like a story arc (tvd season 4 is one of the worst offenders in this regard-- Elena's depression and grief from her brother dying is like a 4 episode arc and it's offensive). I had very severe depression as a teenager, compounded with a lot of grief, and I will probably always be melancholy because some things are just indelible. As a teenager, I was very much so hemmed in by death, and I was very frightened all the time; I was really broken by that experience, and I used to think the loneliness had sunk so deep inside of me that I couldn't even feel lonely anymore, or wish for anyone else. I was probably about 26 before I finally healed from this. These feelings are all probably major reasons why I'm drawn to Elena Gilbert as a protagonist, and why I read her as I do-- I know there are a lot of people who disagree with my interpretation of her, and it's possible that I am so convinced of my character reading of her because I was 20 and still battling in the heart of all of that trauma from my teen years and I felt a resonance with her. So, in writing FE in particularly, and SWBS to a lesser extent, I wanted to write about depression as honestly, openly, and lovingly toward the depressed as I could. I also wanted to write about loneliness, and grief, and what it's like to emerge from those things-- slowly, painfully, with lots of stumbles and hard, hard days. I can recognize that the depictions of depression in FE are ultimately just a reflection of my own personal experience wrestling with it-- but I'm trying to tell an ultimately hopeful story, capable of staring down into the deepest darkness and still clawing its way up into the light. Learning to write honestly about these feelings was hard-- I was so used to protecting myself and pretending that I wasn't something that had once been smashed to pieces that I found myself downplaying the emotions in my writing, being less honest. There came a point there where I realized this story was only ever going to be what I wanted it to be if I did get really honest, as much as possible. I often think of this story as being especially dedicated to the readers who recognize that experience-- and I hope it does, ultimately, read as a story about healing, as dark as it is.

#sevensistersofsussex #asks #on writing #fairytale ending #swbs #personal

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lieutenantcharleslorem · 4 years

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Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: Star Trek: The Next Generation Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Data/Geordi La Forge Summary:

The Corsair ship Enterprise is not exactly a pirate ship, but they do what they have to to get by on the high seas. Without someone knowledgeable in steam mechanics that becomes even harder. Data is a gear filled robot who can be wound like a watch, and Geordi is merman who cannot see above water. But perhaps this odd friendship could solve some of their problems. (Chapter 1) (Chapter 2)

Chapter 3

The Enterprise didn’t leave the shore right away. They spent several days attempting repairs, but it was clear that they would be limping back to human territory. Data hadn’t known, but that was why they had stopped there once again. The firefight had left the ship lacking, and still in want of an engineer.

Data didn’t mind terribly. Not after Dr. Crusher had helped him clean and oil his gears, and he seemed to be working normally again. The extra time on shore gave him and his new merfolk friend hours to sit by the water and trade stories. Data explained the repairs they were doing to the ship and Geordi seemed to understand without ever having seen the engine. Even offering some ideas to make the ship run more smoothly.

Data considered everyone on the Enterprise his friends of sorts, but it was nothing like this. This felt very human to him, to have his own secret friend.

It became increasingly obvious that Geordi felt things Data couldn’t feel, and wanted things Data couldn’t want, and at times, Data struggled with the fact that he may be being selfish. He wanted to experience all that he could, and he very much liked to be cared about and touched, so he allowed Geordi to further their relationship by way of soft touches and gentle kisses despite believing that as neither a human, nor a mermaid he couldn’t give Geordi the things he deserved.

During some repairs he asked Picard, “Captain, would you say that I have desirable qualities to offer a mate?”

The captain stopped what he was doing and turned to Data, “I’m sorry?”

“Do you believe that I have things that are appealing to potential mates?”

Just then Worf and Riker were walking by carrying a heavy object together. Worf looked at Data and said, “Well, you never tire.”

Riker tried to stifle a laugh without taking his hands off his end of the object.

“What I mean is,” continued Data, “Do I have qualities that are suitable to engage in romantic—”

“I understood, Data,” said the captain. “I think that… if that’s something you want, then you are… certainly capable. And… And just as deserving of such things as anyone else.”

Data didn’t exactly come away from the conversation more confident, but he did start to think perhaps there was no harm in it. After all, Geordi was intelligent and obviously aware of their limitations.

Gerodi put less effort into hoisting himself onto land than he used to. He’d merely look like he was going to hoist himself, and then wait for Data to lift him. He wasn’t one to pawn off work on others, but Data never complained and claimed he had no muscles to tire.

Once he was on land and they were sitting close to one another he said, “Data I have to talk to you about something…”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, but I know you are going to leave this shore soon.”

“We’ll see each other again. Won’t we?”

“Perhaps, but I can’t follow you forever.”

“Of course not. I can’t expect you to.”

“I know this is sudden, and abrupt, but...” Geordi sighed, and fumbled around to find Data’s hand which he took in his. “You’ve probably heard about mer-people dragging land people into the sea…”

“I did hear that. But I assumed it was a misunderstanding.”

“It is… sort of. You see, mer-people can be very passionate, very emotional beings. A bit more so than most land species. But sometimes— Well sometimes someone from the surface is just as passionate… just as impulsive, and then, magic happens. I’ve heard about it, but I thought I had a scientific mind, I never thought that it would happen to me.”

“What’s happening to you?”

“I know we haven’t known each other that long, but, Data, I don’t want to be separated from you.”

“You… you must forgive me. I can’t feel any of these emotions. I cannot feel your passion.”

“But you have desires.”

That depends on what you mean by desire. I am capable of many things but—”

“You have wants. You told me you wanted to see me again.”

“I did. I do.”

“You want things. You want...” Geordi was almost too shy to say it, “me?”

But it didn’t have all the connotations for Data it did for Geordi. “I suppose,” he replied. “In a sense. And I want... I want my crew to have more latinum, so we do not have to take as many government jobs. I want people to treat me with respect.”

“Of course. I understand. But you could leave all that behind. It wouldn’t matter anymore in the ocean.”

“... You want to kill me. You want to kill me and me to tell you that it is okay to do so.”

“No! No. You’ve misunderstood!”

“I cannot go in water, Geordi.”

“Why would I have saved you if I wanted you to die?”

“That is true...”

“Data, there’s a magic among my people. I can’t begin to explain it, because I don’t understand it myself. My father says there is some sort of science to it, but I don’t know. What I do know, is the people who have been dragged into the sea, didn’t die. They were turned into mer-people. They became one of us.”

“Are you saying you could turn me?”

“I believe so.”

“Would I be a mechanical merman?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“So, I would be real.”

“Data... you’re real now.”

“But I would be able to feel. I would have emotions, I would feel your passion.”

Geordi nodded, glad that Data seemed excited, but he couldn’t help think that if Data truly felt nothing, how could he be excited about feeling something?

“I can change you, and we can be together.” It didn’t need saying, but it just came out as he mused. He didn’t know why he said such a nonspecific line. He knew Data would probably say they were together now, and Geordi would have to explain. But he was shocked when no verbal response came and he was simply pulled close to Data and kissed. Kissed until he couldn’t breathe.

Data’s grip in his hair was just a little too tight, and it was perfect.

The ship was abuzz with gossip after Data informed a few crew members of his plans.

“Did you hear the rob’ut is leaving?”

“But we just got it back!”

“I heard he’s fallen in love.”

“I heard it’s under an evil mermaid spell after the captain told all of us not to go near the mermaids.”

“What? I heard he’d fallen in love with a goblin and was gonna go back with them.”

“Where the hell did you hear that?”

“Jerry.”

“Jerry’s an idiot.”

“Data,” said Picard sternly, “Why am I the last to hear you’re planning on leaving this ship?”

“I told people in no particular order, sir. I was going to come to you.”

“Hm, care to tell me what’s going on? Does this have something to do with a mermaid?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t want to lose you. Your work here is invaluable. But if you want to leave the ship, you have every right. I just want to make sure you’re not in some kind of danger.”

“I don’t believe I am, Captain.”

“I don’t want to spoil your fantasy, Data, but you have no proof that you should trust this person.”

“…Would you like to meet him?”

“Him? I— … Sure. Sure I’ll meet him.”

Picard smirked the whole way through the foliage. His navigator had always been an enigma. He had only had the chance to meet his creator once, and that had shed little light on the mystery.

When they came to the estuary there was already a young man wading in the water. He looked up, but not exactly at them.

“You are already here,” said Data.

“You’ve brought someone with you.”

“Yes, this is Captain Picard. Captain of the corsair ship Enterprise.”

“Oh,” Geordi said awkwardly, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

The Captain nodded.

“Say hello,” said Data lowly, “He cannot see you. It is polite to make a lot of noise.”

Geordi chuckled softly at Data’s concern.

“Hello,” said the captain. “You know my name, but I’m afraid I don’t know yours.”

“Geordi.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Geordi. I should like to sit down by the water to have a closer conversation with you, would that be alright?”

“Mhm.”

The captain walked closer and sat down slowly, yet with little grace, trying to make every movement tromp and scrape, wanting Geordi to hear where he was after Data’s comment.

“I apologize for bringing someone unannounced,” said Data.

“That’s okay,” said Geordi. “It is… a pleasant surprise. I’ve heard a lot of stories about your escapades. I wish I could have such adventures.”

“Oh, I’ll bet a merman could tell some pretty exciting stories,” said Picard.

Geordi shook his head. “Just about the most interesting thing about me is that I’m a merman.”

“And a mechanical genius,” said Data.

“You exaggerate.”

“Data doesn’t tend to exaggerate,” the captain cut in.

“Well… lot of good it does me under the sea.”

There was a moment of silence, and the captain sighed. “Might I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Are all mermaids, eh, merfolk, sight… impaired?”

“Oh, um, well yes. Uh, our eyes are very specifically equipped for underwater. So it’s not that I’m entirely sightless, it’s that my eyes and brain’s relationship to light above water doesn’t send the right signals. You probably can’t see much really deep underwater without help either. The further from the surface the less light, so…”

“And will Data be able to see well underwater?”

“I… well, each species transforms kinda differently, and he…”

“What? You mean you don’t know what a robot turned mermaid would be like?” Picard said facetiously.

Despite the playfulness in the captain’s voice, Geordi looked ashamed.

“It is my choice,” Data said suddenly. “And I wish to have new experiences with you.”

“Right…” Geordi whispered. “Well, I brought it.”

Data wasn’t sure what it was but waited for Geordi to explain. He raised a band from under the water. It was made of shells and turquoise, and it was unclear where or how it was put together.

“You can wear this on your wrist, or just hold it… And then we, um.” Geordi seemed embarrassed by Picard’s presence.

“We do some sort of ritual,” said Data, taking the bracelet and putting it on.

“You tell me that you want to follow me, and then we do… a gesture of love.”

“A kiss?”

“My father said that would work.”

“Okay,” said Data, taking Geordi’s hand, and leaning in close to kiss him. Geordi wasn’t expecting Data to want to do it immediately, but he wasn’t going to argue.

He put his other hand around Data’s wrist so that it was touching the band and whispered, “Come with me.”

“I want to follow you,” replied Data. They kissed, and Picard wasn’t sure whether he should look away or not.

They waited.

Geordi waited. Data waited. Picard waited.

Nothing happened.

“Is it supposed to work immediately?” asked Data.

“Yes,” replied Geordi.

“And there is no more to the ritual than that?”

“No. Touch the band, say you want to come, act of love. That’s it.”

Data’s face fell. “It is not metaphorical… It is literal.”

“What?”

“It did not work because I cannot do an act of love. I do not love you.”

“Data, that’s not true…”

“Please do not take offence. I think you are exceptional, and this is the most extraordinary relationship I have ever had. I am simply incapable of love.”

Picard, seeing a face on Data that didn’t exactly convey a person who couldn’t feel emotions, patted him on the back. “It might not be that,” said the captain. “It’s possible it only works on biological beings.”

“Then either way it is because I am a robot.”

“I’m sorry, Data,” said Geordi.

“No, I am sorry. I am sorry I cannot be what you want me to be.”

“No, Data, I’m sorry. This obviously meant something to you in a different way than it did me. I just want to be with you. It’s not your fault it didn’t work.”

Data stayed quiet for a few moments. “…I do not want you to think I only had my own agenda. I am disappointed that I cannot become an emotional mermaid, but I am more disappointed that we cannot properly be together. I cannot feel the way that you feel, but I care for you, and I want you. I understand if that is not enough. I suppose it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Data, it’s enough. It’s always been enough. …And there might be another way.”

“Another way?” said Data.

“Might be?” repeated Picard.

“Well, there is. There is another way… I can… well. When a mer-person dries completely… They are capable of walking on land.”

After a moment Data said, “That seems like fairly important information that you chose not to tell me.”

“It never came up.”

“Over the course of our discussions about turning me into a mer-person, there were plenty of appropriate moments.”

“It’s sort of private, Data.”

“I agree that we have a right to our privacy, however, in the situation in which I was going to give up my entire life for you and put myself into an completely unknown situation, I think that it would have been respectful to share all related information.”

Picard had never seen Data chastise anyone before, and it made him a little uncomfortable.

“And have you pressure me into going on land?”

“You pressured me into choosing the water.”

“I wasn’t trying to pressure you—”

“Well, I would never pressure you—”

“It’s just vulnerable, okay? If you do it enough, you can’t go back. But I still wouldn’t be able to see. It’s not the same. I’d be a fish out of water.”

“I understand.”

“But I think it’s worth it.”

“What?”

“I don’t know how your captain would feel about it. I know I wouldn’t be a very helpful crewmember. I would hate to have to ask you to look out for me. To take care of me. But if I came with you on your ship, I could have the best of both. I could have you, and adventure.”

Picard waited for Data to reply before sharing his opinion. He didn’t want to make any assumptions.

“I don’t mind anything you would need. I would like you to come with us very much. Of course, it is ultimately up to the captain.”

The captain smiled. “You’re welcome on the Enterprise.”

“I have to at least say goodbye to my father,” said Geordi. “I will meet you back here tomorrow evening?”

“Yes, I will bring you some pants.”

Data and the captain decided not to discuss this development with the greater crew. Those not in the captain’s inner circle let the rumors die down as they saw the robot getting back to work. The comings and goings of their maritime vessel were so odd normally that no one batted an eye when they saw Data leading a man onto the ship who must not have been able to lead himself.

Data took Geordi straight to the office afforded to Dr. Crusher, as he had promised the captain, but she was not there. They looked for her from the deck to quarters, Geordi gripping Data’s hand and sliding along carefully behind. Finally they found her on her back in the engine room. She was dressed for labor and covered in soot, working under some mechanisms of the ship.

“Doctor? I would like to introduce you to someone,” Data said tentatively.

“Oh!” she said looking up and then hitting her head on something. “Ow.”

She pulled herself out and up onto her feet, reaching out a hand to shake Geordi’s.

“Sorry about my appearance, I- ...am talking to someone who cannot see me.”

“That’s okay,” he replied. “I’m Geordi. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Data said you’re a doctor?”

“Yes, but we all have to pitch in where we can,” she said, wiping off her hands on a rag.

She pointed to the door out of habit, but then added, “Let’s go up to my office,” for Geordi’s benefit.

As Data guided Geordi up the steps he told him, “Dr. Crusher used to work for Clockwork Prosthetics, so she’s familiar with some mechanics and other things outside her field.”

“Not that familiar. Honestly while I did what I needed to get by, most of what I know is from working with you, Data.”

“On the contrary,” replied Data as Dr. Crusher unlocked the door to her office and ushered them inside. “I have always found your knowledge about biomechanics to be intriguing and extensive compared with my own.”

“You mean, you don’t know everything, Data?” Geordi asked with a smile. He was only half joking.

“I retain everything I experience, see, hear, read. Therefore I learn quickly and exponentially. Unfortunately, I am limited to the knowledge that is accessible to me. We rarely spend much time around a great wealth of knowledge, such as a library.”

“Well,” said Crusher, “Maybe after we get paid we can stop and visit O’Brien and use the library. Now, Geordi, sit down and let me have a look at you.”

According to Dr. Crusher, Geordi was completely human as far as she could tell. Of course Crusher didn’t specialize in magic, so if there were any remnants showing he had been a merman, she couldn’t find them. Except, of course, for his eyes, which were nothing like anything she had seen before.

After he was given a clean bill of health, he was given quarters. Most crew members had roommates to save space, but the captain thought that might be jarring for Geordi. Besides, he had a hunch Data would be spending a lot time in Geordi’s quarters. The Captain smiled when he realized the drawer in his office containing Data’s things had been inevitably emptied. The crew tried to make Geordi feel welcome, even if they were a little wary of him. It had talking them quite a bit of time to trust Data when he had first come aboard, but by now they had learned that strange things were just part of sailing the high seas on the Enterprise. When Geordi and Data weren’t in their quarters, doing what, no one wanted to know, they spent most of their time in the engine room with Dr. Crusher, Geordi trying to help out the best he could.

They had finally left the shore, as the winds had pick up enough to take some of the slack from the hobbling engines.

One day, sitting in the corner of the engine room, Geordie was trying not to get frustrated as Data explained something to him about mechanics that he had already explained twice. He wasn’t frustrated with Data, he was frustrated that they were having trouble communicating. Geordi having never worked with anything like this, understood it on a very limited level, but he still had some smart ideas. But Data trying to help him learn more about it was difficult, and Geordi trying to explain the things he thought were sometimes unintelligible.

Geordi sighed. “If I could just— Well… never mind.”

“If you could just…” Data repeated, “see the engine?”

“Yes…”

Dr. Crusher cleared her throat. “Data and I’ve been working on something together, Geordi…”

“Hm?”

“Well, Data doesn’t see the way we do—”

“I’m aware.”

“Right, well he has a mechanism to interpret temperature and light refraction but that doesn’t mean that he… actually sees. Well, it depends on your definition of sight.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Well, obviously you were born in an aquatic environment so your eyes don’t interpret light correctly on land, partly because it’s too bright, and partly because it seems merfolk’s eyes depend more on heat than light. You aren’t actually blind, the necessary connections are there. So, we’ve been working on a device that mimics Data’s eyes. But where his connect to interpretive gears and wires, we may be able to connect this device to your brain.”

“Would that be painful?”

“We think it would be tolerable.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

Dr. Crusher paused. “… Biomechanics is always painful.”

Geordi let out a breath.

“It’s available only if you want it, Geordi,” said Data, sitting down on the floor with him, letting their shoulders touch.

“… I would be able to see the engines. I could actually learn them.”

“Yes,” said Crusher.

“However there is one other caveat,” said Data.

“What’s that?”

“According to you, you have not been out of the water long enough that you wouldn’t be able to go back. And if you wanted to, you have every right to go back.”

“This is what we agreed to.”

“I know, but you also told me that if you ever got homesick, you could at least go for a swim, take a look around under water…”

“Yes.”

“While you will be able to take the device off, the parts that connect the device to your brain would need to be inserted.”

“You mean made permanent? In my head.”

“Yes… and these pieces… being similar to my design, but even more delicate…”

Geordi gave a small inhale, almost like it was an accident and said, “They can’t get wet.”

“No, they cannot.”

“You’d be able to wash your face, and things like that,” said Crusher abruptly, “But being fully submerged…”

“Yeah,” said Geordi, “I get it. But I’d be able to function on my own?”

“Your only dependency would be to the device and any maintenance it may require,” Crusher said.

“It would be nice,” said Data, “However, I am aware that it is possible that the negatives out way the positives. I would understand if you wished to return to the sea.”

“I wasn’t even entertaining the possibility.”

“Geordi giving up your life—”

“You were willing to do it for me.”

“That doesn’t mean you are required to reciprocate.”

“Data, I already made the decision. I’m not going back on it now. Besides, it’s not just you. I mean… I love you. But I also want this. I’ve always wanted more than the life I was living. And I’m attached to it now… being on a ship. Being a part of the crew. The possibility of adventure. But I’ll never be a part of things if I can’t see what I’m doing…” Geordi looked up in the general direction of Crusher. “Whatever you can do, Doc. I trust you.”

“It may not be perfect,” said Dr. Crusher.

“I know that I won’t see like humans.”

“No,” said Data, “You will see what I see.”

“That seems fitting,” said Geordi, and they sealed the decision with a kiss.

The End

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clarissaartap · 4 years

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Jeepneys by Manansala 1951 Enamel on fiberboard 51 cm x 59 cm

Born on January 22, 1910 in Macabebe, Pampanga, Vincente Silva Manansala is an acclaimed Filipino painter and artist. In his youth, he considered his hobbies, kite-making and creating charcoal sketches on paper, as fun, temporary escapes from his labor-intensive jobs of being a newsboy and shoe shiner in Intramuros. At the age of 15, he found that his inclination to the arts brought him under the mentorship of Ramon Peralta to learn the fundamentals of painting at a sign and poster shop. A year after, he enrolled at the University of the Philippines School of Fine Arts. When he graduated in 1930, not only was he able to master the basics of oil-painting, but he was also able to merit a great deal of financial aid, scholarships, and grants from art establishments around the world due to the artistic prowess and prodigious creativity he displayed during his stay in the institution. Later in his career, he received multiple awards and held positions in esteemed local and international art establishments.

The education and training he took up in countries like France, Canada, the United States of America, and Germany, was reflected in his approach to his artworks, which were obviously products of international influence. It was refreshing in the local art scene at that time, which drew in a massive audience for his exhibits. Rapidly gaining popularity, Vicente’s eccentric aesthetic made him a pioneer of modernism of the arts in the Philippines. His style could be referred to as “transparent cubism,” which involves scattered facets of varying hues across the painting. His paintings created lasting impact to their audience, as his technique seamlessly blended geometry with expressionism, calculation with spontaneity. His genius as an artist transcends beyond his technical innovation, as the subject matter in his paintings, centered on the post-war urban experience, spoke to a new Filipino audience. The end of World War II sparked a type of social awareness that Vicente tastefully incorporated into his artistry. As he took inspiration from his immediate surroundings, Vicente’s paintings revolved around the life of the commoner. He took everyday scenes, objects, and places, like family gatherings, cockfights, native delicacies, the slums in the urbanized areas of the country, religious figures, and painted them in his slightly more westernized fashion that somehow made them iconically Filipino (Paras-Perez, 1980).

Jeepneys is the title given by Vincente to his work. Based on the title, and the painting itself, the image he intended to create was the daily traffic congestion in the metropolis. Given that the jeepney is one of the most affordable means of transportation readily available to the masses, Vicente probably wanted to cement the theme of daily Filipino encounters as the core of his collection. This work was made in 1951, just six years after the war ended. It is known that jeepneys quickly surfaced as a makeshift, creative way in an effort to re-establish inexpensive public transportation, much of which had been destroyed during World War II. This was done by repurposing and decorating the surplus jeeps from American troops in order for it to be suitable to accommodate several passengers and look visually appealing, colorful, and eye-catching as it traveled on the road (Platino, 2014). The popularity and the history of the jeepney during that time may have also prompted Manansala to create this artwork. The painting is currently displayed in the Ateneo Art Gallery as a gift from Fernando Zobel.

Jeepneys is a painting done on a fiberboard using enamel. A wash of white and bright yellow was laid down first, before hasty, daubs of other colors in varying saturations, like orange, red, and brown were applied. The use of enamel on fiberboard allowed for the different-colored strokes to be semi-translucent and glassy without the need for tedious modification of the paint, permitting the yellow hue to penetrate through the secondary layer of pigments. This mimicked a filter of warmth throughout the piece and brought about a more cohesive color palette. The presence of the different colors also distinguish one entity in the painting from another, allowing for clarity of scenery despite the expressive style employed by Manansala. This clarity is also achieved through the use of actual, irregular, black lines that serve as outlines of the subjects in the painting. The inconsistency and coarseness of these lines give a sense of spontaneity to the piece. On top of these outlines, smudges of warm blues were added as accent colors to impart variety against the otherwise unified, chromatic value scale of only varying shades of red and yellow; this makes the painting more interesting and more captivating of the attention of its viewers. Slivers of white highlights also creep through the painting.

With the guidance of the chromatic value and the black outlines in the painting, I can identify many jeepneys and people as subjects, which makes me infer that the setting is an urbanized area, like Metro Manila. In the upper portion of the painting, I can see even more people, lined up, probably waiting for a ride to get where they want to be. I deduce that these are common Filipinos, patiently queuing for transportation to get home from work. The reds and yellows make me believe that it is sunset, or time for people to return to their homes after a day at their jobs. The primary colors of the painting may also signify the colors of the Philippine flag, in order to place emphasis on the Filipino origins of the jeepney, and on just how routine the scenario depicted in the painting is in the country.

Unlike the vast majority of Manansala’s works, this particular painting of his makes use of more organic shapes than geometric ones, a hallmark of his signature “transparent cubism” style. Similar to his other paintings, this painting is composed of superfluous shapes of different colors that contribute to an overall puzzle-like look. The distribution of these shapes and visual weight is more or less uniform across the entire work, which makes the painting balanced. The irregularity of the shapes, formed by both colors and lines, also evoke a touch of movement and life to the whole piece to be perceived by the viewer. There is also very minimal negative space in the painting; the fiberboard is saturated with different objects and characters. This gives the piece an disorganized rhythm which almost makes the conveyed scene feel chaotic to the viewer. The seemingly rough texture of the painting, probably achieved through the use of a fiberboard with grooves and indentations as its canvas, gives the painting a rustic, undone edge. There is also an absence of a defined vanishing point in the painting, which makes the elements appear very packed and arranged in a collage-like manner.

In my opinion, all of these elements reinforce the mayhem and frenzy of the traffic scene in the painting. Manila is known for its notorious traffic; streets are rarely peaceful in the midst of the relentless honking of vehicles, the reckless attempts of drivers to beat a red light, and the rowdy crowds of people on the street desperately trying to find a good deal or any sort of transportation to get where they need to be. The dynamism and movement in this painting, that I was able to immerse myself in, was successful in transporting me into the legendary Manila traffic. Given that this painting was made just a few years after the end of World War II, the Philippines was eager to rebuild its economy that had suffered tremendously during the war. This could have led to more Filipinos joining the workforce, and the subsequent increase in the number of people that had to be on the road to earn a living. The work of Manansala, Jeepneys, through its elements and composition, has successfully communicated the essence of a bustling city, brimming with vitality just as it is with madness.

I have utmost respect for Filipino artists like Vincente Manansala, who use their acquired techniques from other parts of the world to help in the progress and development of their own country. Jeepneys, along with Manansala’s other paintings and illustrations, is a carving etched on the history of art in the Philippines, as he spearheaded the rise of modernism in the local field of art. Other artists like Mauro Malang Santos, Antonio Austria, Angelito Antonio, and Mario Parial have been inspired to experiment with their own distinct, unconventional styles in painting because of the contributions of Manansala. His artistry birthed a new generation of artists that embraced their personal aesthetics. Beyond his mastery of art, I commend him for the common thread of daily, purportedly hackneyed conventions in the lives of everyday Filipinos that is firmly woven throughout his series of paintings. He shows that the average Filipino is worth creating art for. An image of the traffic-bombarded roads of the city are just as enthralling as extravagant portraits of doñas and dons, paintings of picturesque views that only the upper class can afford to see in a lifetime, and illustrations of glamorous novelties. I believe that in a way, Manansala’s work was able to open the once inclusive, intimidating realm of art to other people who resonate with his work that captures the unfeigned, honest heart of the Filipino.

To me, this painting does not necessarily pass the classic standards of rhythm, harmony, balance, and proportion, as it does in fact look disarrayed at first glance, especially when I consider that Manansala did in fact intend for this painting to represent a scene of jeepneys. It might even be difficult for some to make sense of the painting at first. In spite of this, I cannot help but be in awe when I look at this painting, maybe because a sight that I am so familiar with, has been transformed into a expressive impasto of color, with details that take my gaze from one impressive fragment to another. The more I look at the painting, the more things I am able to find that make the work even more fascinating. I do find significant cultural value in this painting as well. The use of primary colors keeps the painting grounded in its Filipino roots, and it also allows for a more graphic projection that the jeepney is a mode of transportation unique to the Philippines. Its history of it being a product of Filipinos’ resourcefulness and resilience after the war makes it a cultural staple in the country. There is a deep heritage and origin to something deceivingly simple like a humble jeepney, like there is a hidden complexity and masked grandeur and to the everyday, seemingly mundane, themes of Manansala’s works.

References:

Paras-Perez, R. (1980). Manansala. PLC Publications.

Platino, M. (2014). Philippine jeepney: World War II surplus vehicle that became a cultural icon. Retrieved from https://globalvoices.org/2014/04/20/philippine-jeepney-world-war-ii-surplus-vehicle-that-became-a-cultural-icon/

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amanda-keay · 4 years

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Next Level Painting Skills To Improve Portrait Painting Techniques in Oil

This year I’ve taken a step back to explore some of the techniques that I learned when I first started taking lessons. I noticed that I started to pick up some bad habits in the last few years when I was rushing a lot of the paintings and getting ready for exhibitions etc. So this year I got in touch with my art teacher and I’m trying to focus on quality rather than quantity. One major change in how I’m painting now is that I’m using a physica reference photo so I can color match and prove my colors. I find this a lot better to improve my color mixing abilities compared to looking at a monitor for reference. A screen monitor always makes a photo look more vibrant than it really is and it’s hard to understand the true colors of the picture, and you can’t put paint on your screen to color watch. So here I’m actually holding the photo in my hand (I’m displaying the model in the video so you can follow along with what I’m painting).

Shapes and planes

I love the photo that I’m working with because I can see so many different shapes and planes on the model’s face. And that gives me more to work with. I have to keep in mind that no matter what part of the face I’m painting, everything is three dimensional. Nothing is flat like a piece of paper, and this is a real person. It’s more intuitive if you imagine that you are painting a ball, the shape is obviously a circle, but the planes curve in all directions. Each latitude and longitude is different in color which makes it look three dimensional.

Similarly to portraits, every part of the face, essentially anything that has a round surface gets cooler as it recedes away from the camera, and that it’s not just cut off like a piece of paper, this is really important in painting anything that has a curved shape. In this painting, the colors become more cool as it’s further away from the light source. So the plane change on the forehead is not only going from left to right, but it’s also curving up and back. This means that whatever color you use for the forehead, it doesn’t just meet the hairline all of a sudden, there’s actually another color there, a cooler tone that makes it look like it’s receding back before it reaches the hair.

Color Strings

Knowing how the planes change on your subject will help you understand the colors that you should be looking for. Sometimes we have to know the subject first before we mix the color. I won’t be showing the color mixing palette in this video because I want the focus to be on brush handling, and this particular technique that I’m demonstrating is applying color strings. Imagine a curved surface with light shining on it from one side. The color on the surface changes as the planse changes, and each plane is a different color string. Going back to painting a ball; imagine a globe, we all know that it has latitudes and longitudes. If you were to paint the globe, each row of latitude is a color string, and so is every vertical line of longitude. Each one of those is a color string, and I am mixing and applying each string individually.

Choosing the right reference photo and model

So it’s kinda like sculpting with oil paint. Instead of doing what I usually do, which is applying paint on the whole area and then mixing additional paint on it while it’s wet, here I’m treating each plane change as a different color. Now this works particularly well under the circumstance that the lighting and angle of the model creates very dynamic colors. You don’t want to choose a photo that’s over exposed, like with a flash cam, which flattens out a lot of colors and you lose the beautiful natural facial structures and features. You want the model’s pose to be anything put straight up front facing, like a passport photo. It can even just be a slightly tiled face. This will create a dominant side of the model's face and the photo to have one dominant light source. You also want to be able to see everything in the photo without it being over exposed, or too dark that you can’t see what's going on in the shadows. That way you will be able to see the model's face like a 3D structure with different colors on each plane.

Edges

The way that each area of the face fuses with each one another creates edges. These are the boundaries between two areas. This can be the area where a shadow meets light or when an object meets a different object. I want to focus on areas where dark meets light because this is easily missed, usually there’s a warm color string in between the dark and the light. Shadows never just go from dark to light, there’s always a warm and more neutral color there. It’s very small, and ignored by a lot of people because you can usually get away with leaving it out. But if you try to paint it in, your subject will look that much more three dimensional. That’s the difference between a face that just looks like a face and a face that is really coming alive. You can see this example where I painted the hair that’s casting a shadow on the side of the cheek. there’s a warm shadow before the flesh tone begins. Same thing with the crease on the cheek beside the mouth, there’s a warm tone beside the crease before it transitions into a highlight color on the face. And this happens in creases and wrinkles in all sizes. Now I know this can be a challenging addition to what you’re used to painting, but what you can do is start looking for those colors. Train your eyes to start seeing them first then it’ll be more intuitive to paint.

Order of operation:

Another technique that I’m demonstrating here is how I’m painting outside in. Meaning I’m painting around the face and working my way into the focal point of the painting. Sometimes I do like to start on other areas like the eyes or whatever pops out at me the most. But for this particular technique, one of the reasons for painting around the focal point is because of the emphasis on edges. The area around the edge that you’re painting needs to be wet in order to blend and fuse together. You should never lay wet paint on a dried surface of a different color. So for the first part of the painting, I am working on the hair, the hairline, and the edge of the cheek together. Another reason why I’m working outside, going from big to small is because typically the closer to the center of the painting, the more fine details there are. Because that’s where the focal point usually is. And therefore you waste less time if you have to change or redo something along the way that has less detail, than to render a lot of fine details for a long time and then having to change it after.

Brush Handing:

You’ll notice I’m applying paint with a very small brush, essentially painting each plane, and then softening the edges with a dry nylon brush. You’ll notice I Labeled Dry Brushing in all the areas where I’m doing this blending technique. The most important thing about this is always keeping the nylon brush dry. After every softening touch, wipe the brush on a paper towel to make sure there’s no paint on it, and then keep blending and softening the painting. When it’s over softened, you come back to apply more paint, to make certain parts stand out more. Dry brushing is not only to blend but you can also move the paint around to change the shapes on your painting. This technique is amazing, and it’s basically my get out of jail free card that I picked up on since I started painting. Because sometimes the brush that I’m painting with is hard to get it right from get go. And having a dry brush will allow me to move the paint around, or blend without adding more paint or making it more messy. This dry brush will allow you to carve your subjects with more precision especially when you’re painting small and detailed areas of the face like the eyes and the mouth.

In summary these are the main techniques that I’m demonstrating throughout this painting. Always analyze the subject you are painting whether it’s a face, fruit, landscape, or florals. Think about how the subject bends and how all the planes are changing, and work in sections so you can really understand the structure of that area. Whenever a dark and light color converge, look closely and apply the warm mid tone that’s in between the light and shadow. Working outside in, apply each color string separately and then soften the whole area with a dry nylon brush. And last but not least, keep practicing. Because that’s how you will continuously evolve and rediscover yourself as an artist.

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minnochu · 6 years

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Lustrous (pt.8)

Hybrid!Kook x Reader AU

Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt 3 | Pt 4 | Pt 5 | Pt 6 | Pt 7 | Pt 8 | Pt 9 | Pt 10 | Pt 11 | Pt 12 | Pt 13 | Pt 14 | Pt 15 | Pt 16 | Pt 17 | Pt 18 | Pt 19

(A/N): Tbh I was gonna wait till later today to post this but fuck it I’ma feed y’all. Sorry for any misspellings or errors I might have missed when I quickly proofread this.

Soooo I finally finished this part after much dryness and finally a spark of idea lmao. Also I know I posted a quick psa, but in case you didn’t read it, I didn’t reply to the asks about tagging for this fic so I could keep track of them (Except two ‘cause your users wouldn’t show up when I tried tagging lol). But thank you for the support!

Yahiko’s disapproval of Jungkook being around you is super effective in getting him to avoid and ignore you more than he already had before your attack. You can’t understand why she’d believe that just because his eyes labeled him as a murderer he couldn’t have any good inside him. For gods sakes the guy has saved you countless of times when he could’ve just let you die and get eaten. Much less he could have murdered you at your weakest when the wendigos targeted you.

That night, you share one last look between you and the wolf boy before Seokjin gives you a comforting hug and Yoongi briefly pats your head awkwardly. The boys leave and you spare Yahiko barely a glance, not when she just forbid you from someone you considered a really good friend other than Hyejin.

As you both grow distant, the more often you get the dreams. They shouldn’t even be classified as dreams. They were nightmares. They were so vivid and almost as if you were there but no one was aware of it. These dreams were way too nostalgic to be ignored, and they pit a feeling of danger within your stomach. It was all too tangible, they always ended with you shooting up in bed sweating and in tears. Why did you feel so sad?

“That wretch, a menace that child is. It seems she is reaching her peaking age, we have to dispose of her as soon as possible.”

All the dreams always took place in that place. Like your first dream, it was a dark building with many rooms, all dreary and emitting some kind of miasma even you can sense within your dream state.

“You can’t! You promised to leave her alone once the vampire erased her memories!”

Your heart hurt. It squeezed and yet you didn’t have the answer as to why it did such a thing.

“Minerva, the vampire has been exterminated, we can’t risk her uprising and being a danger to us all.”

Minerva was a distinct woman within your dreams. From the first time you’d seen her trying to persuade the others to spare her child, to now, she was always very noticeable. This time, she appeared older and weary as she pleaded with the others.

“The fact that you’re defending that defect brings great shame to the Blackwell coven, what would Colhen say of this trouble you’ve already caused him and Sister Eris?”

Sister Eris. Colhen. After multiple dreams you connected the dots between each dream to figure out that “Sister Eris” is the leader of some sort. Colhen was the husband of Eris and Minerva was supposedly a lover of his — you had one particular dream of his affair with her before growing distant and disapproving of her after the birth of the “mutant” they constantly referred the child as.

You weren’t sure what they were or why you were having dreams about them, but it always creeped you out. It felt way too real and vivid to be something your brain just created out of the blue.

Coven they said. Witches? Why were you dreaming about witches?

“Would you not feel any sense of guilt or despair for your child to be the target of execution for being different?” Minerva cried, her (e/c) irises blazing with both sadness and ferocity, “It could’ve been any of yours!” She was on her knees at this point, forlorn and ready to give up as her sisters glared down at her pitifully.

“Minerva! Enough of this nonsense!”

The image of the weeping woman dissolved and in place was the same person but she faced directly towards you. Your body visibly shivered in your slumber at the chilling recognition, feeling as though her presence was there in your very room. The trails of dried up tears stained her cheeks as her eyes looked directly at you. It made you heart twist sadly despite the anxiety that gripped your throat at her recognition of your presence within the dream.

“My child,” she began in a quivering voice as she looks around fervently but only appears to be alone in a dimly lit room with you. What was she afraid of? Who is she looking out for?

“Please be strong, they’ll be coming for you very quickly,” her voice hushes as she bites her lip and squeezes her eyes shut in fear. There’s a faint reverberation of feet clamping on wood, causing her body to tense. “You must be strong and remember everything!” She whispers quickly now and moves to grab the only source of light in the room, an oil lamp, “I never meant to abandon you, I don’t expect you to forgive me but you were never a mistake! Stay close with the wolves. Just know that mother loves you so much!”

“Don’t let them get to you.”

Footsteps grow louder and a door opens, light penetrating the dark as she casts you one last fleeting glance as she whispers incantations you can’t decipher. Her hand swipes to the left across from you and her image dissolves just as you witness her body being impaled by an unknown object as it’s too fuzzy to decipher the remnants of the image.

You wake with a jolt, chest heaving as you look around the small attic you call your room. Empty. And yet you can’t help wondering why it felt like Minerva was in here with you. Was she talking to you? Were you in her child’s body while she was talking to them? The more you thought about it, the more confused you became.

Stay close to the wolves. Jungkook comes to mind immediately but why? She wasn’t talking directly to you right?

“(Y/n)! Are you alright?” Yahiko enters from the hatch that leads to down to the house, “I felt a burst of aura from up here, did someone come here? Was it that wolf?”

The words enter one ear and go out the other as you think more deeply about Minerva’s words that seemed aimed at you.

“Yahiko…” you start, gaining her attention as she takes a seat at your bedside and takes your hands in hers, “What is the Blackwell Coven?”

She blinks, but you catch a hint of recognition in her eyes.

“They’re a well-known family of witches and warlocks that perform the dark arts, very strong, and very notorious for sacrifice and knowledge of dark and murderous powers,” she starts out with a sigh, “They live quite a ways from Seoul, no less from here as they opposed harmonizing the mortals and the supernatural.”

“Why might you be asking this now-?”

Her question is cut short as the doorbell from downstairs alert the both of you of a visitor. You both glance at each other. It had to be three in the morning, who would be here? The trek down to the first floor is tense as you both open the door to find a package lying on the doorstep. “Did you order something?” Yahiko asks as she glances around.

As she does so you inspect the package suspiciously. Why do you get such a bad feeling from it? Why did it emit a revolting sensation that tells you to be cautious of it?

“They’ll be coming for you.”

You suck in a breath as you notice the package depressing into itself. “Yahiko, the package.”

Yahiko whips around and is quick to thrust a hand towards you. Your body is forced back into the house as her eyes appear golden with the silhouette of ears and a tail glowing at their respective spots. Foxfire ignite from her palms as they appear one by one around the package, a net of runes surround it just in time to catch the black thorns that grow abruptly from the now torn package. The runes pull and tighten over the force and speed of the spikes but do well to keep them at bay. You notice the dark miasma rolling off the surface of the thorns like waves. It makes you shiver as Yahiko works to purify and diminish them.

“This has to be them…” You choke out as the remains of the thorns dissolve and Yahiko releases the barrier and her transformation. All that’s left is the tattered up box. You crouch down and pick up the cardboard but sigh when it's obviously been singed by the foxfire.

“They’re coming for me, Yahiko,” You start shakily, glancing up at the confused elder with glossy eyes shimmering with fear, “I’ve been having recurring dreams about them. The Blackwell Coven. My most recent dream, a woman spoke to me - like actually me - and said they’ll be coming for me..”

“It’s a warning,” The woman deduces with a frown, realizing what you were referring to, “They must have found your location, it’s not safe here.”

“The wolves, she told me to stay close to the wolves,” You blurt out, hoping she set her dislike for Jungkook aside for your safety.

“Are you trying to tell me to leave you at the hands of that killer, (Y/n)?” She leered, brows scrunching at the idea, “I know it’s unsafe for you to stay here now, but I can’t allow you--”

“Would you rather I die, because it sure sounded like they were coming to execute me!” You retort back as you stalk back up to your room until Yahiko catches up.

She sneers at your anger, standing behind you with her arms crossed, “Stupid girl, you don’t think I didn’t know that? I knew this whole time you couldn’t have been just a normal mortal girl. I didn’t give you that stone for no reason my child.”

You turn at this, attention piqued at the mention of the mysterious amulet she gifted you the first day of school. Her expression softens as she takes you within her arms in a brief hug.

“The Blackwells have just confirmed my suspicions about you,” she surrendered with an endearing smile, “You’re very special (Y/n).”

She lifted one finger to press to the amber jewel within your amulet, “Minerva had personally sent this to me as soon as you settled into my attic.” At once, her finger resonates with a soft fiery glow that slowly absorbs into the amulet. “The Blackwells despise siphoners. They call them mistakes and a shame to the family. You’re a siphoner my dear, but far from a wretched mutant.”

She pulls her finger away and the amulet is still glowing. You touch the jewel cautiously and gasp audibly at the power resonating from within it.

Minerva, you recall her mentioning. That woman must have actually been speaking to you. The realization makes your heart squeeze in sadness, shock, and even betrayal. She’d referred to you as her child and she as mother. The terms finally connecting as you stare at the jewel in amazement.

Minerva was your mother.

“A siphoner stone,” she answers your look, “Simply put, a siphoner must find other sources of magic to cast spells and such as they are not innately born with their own. That’s really all I know... That warlock might be able to tell you more, and help you learn to protect yourself… and as much as I hate to say it, hide yourself within those wolves. But please be wary of the blue eyed one.”

And that’s how you find yourself now calling Jimin as you and Yahiko walk to their cabin. She suggested asking Hyejin out of doubt for your safety staying with a tainted beta, but you knew that they would definitely find you there and you didn’t want to put your friend in that kind of danger. Staying in a cabin with vampires, werewolves, and a warlock was your safest bet to mask yourself.

“Welcome back (Y/n)!”

The brunette welcomes you with a bone crushing hug as soon as the front door is swung open, to which Yahiko’s eyes flare orange with a loud clearing of her throat. The wolf simmered and let you go while scratching his neck nervously.

“You stay safe (Y/n) and drop by as much as you can!” Yahiko says as she hands Jimin your luggage and offers a goodbye hug to you. You’re pretty sure if you didn’t she’d show up at the pack’s cabin within seconds.

“Please keep her safe, and no hands,” she shoots the wolf a sharp look, causing the boy to smile nervously.

“Right, she’ll be safe with us,” he ensures cheerily as Yahiko takes her reluctant leave.

“Yikes, I can’t believe you got attacked this early in the morning,” he sighs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to give you a comforting side hug, “It’s good your safe now, the brat has been pacing around all night worried about you.”

“Jungkook?” You asked confused as he turned on the lights to the living room, “He knew I was in danger?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t he? After all he’s-”

Jimin felt the hair on his neck stand tall as shivers ran up his back. Turning his head slowly, he coughed awkwardly when he spots Jungkook glaring daggers at him from the hallway, his eyes glowering a dangerous marine. Irked and slightly nervous as the younger cracks a knuckle, he laughs dryly.

“Jungkook!”

He flinches, not expecting you to acknowledge him, biting his bottom lip when he feels his inner wolf jump excitedly at the mention of his name. Moving to retreat back into his room when Seokjin presses a firm palm to his shoulder and pushes the youth into the living room.

“(Y/n)!” The warlock grins, passing by Jungkook to hug you. His smile remains solid even as the wolf glares at the back of his head heatedly. “I heard from Jimin what happened,” he said, voice slightly lower from before as his eyes gave off a more sharper appeal than their usually softer brown. You’re taken by surprise and he notices this, eyes softening as he beckons you further into the room, “You must be shaken up and overwhelmed, we’re all just glad you and Yahiko are safe.”

He offers you a seat on the couch as he hurries Jimin to prepare chamomile tea.

“How are you feeling?” Seokjin asks tentatively, silently urging Jungkook to take a seat but he stubbornly remains glued to the spot far away leaning against the wall. “The dark arts are truly a force to be reckoned with after all…”

“Did you guys know I was a siphoner?” You ask hesitantly, fingering your amulet as you say so, “Why does that have to do with me being targeted by some sicko witch group?”

Seokjin sighs, pursing his lips as he figures out where to start, knowing you’d want as much answers he could provide about who you were.

“Mm… where to start…” He hums, “Yes and… no. We figured you were human at first, there was no indication or spiritual power coming from you that told us otherwise. However, that day you ingested muting herbs and nearly absorbed most of mine and Kook’s energy when you came to were very strong indications that you couldn’t just be a normal girl.

“I’m sure your caretaker explained the gist of what you are… a siphoner. And Blackwells absolutely despise any connections to what they deemed a burden or a mistake. Mutant witches that didn’t have their own natural power was deemed a mistake that had to be eradicated.

“You’re no mistake (Y/n), don’t get me wrong, you are and can be so much more powerful than others let on, despite being only mortal. I presume that the fact that you’re still alive and that vampire is dead, they feel pressured and endangered.”

Pausing, he gauges your blank expression and chuckles, “Was that too much information for you? I know you only just found out today.”

Shaking your head, you manage a slight smile, “It’s nothing I guess… all I can do is take it in you know…”

“You’re a strong one (Y/n),” He smiles, placing a hand on your shoulder, “If you need anything just ask!”

“Just one… my mother, Minerva, a member of the Blackwell family gifted me this stone. Please teach me how to use it.”

Tags: @twilight-loveer @reinyrei @mistytail @mygukandonlyficrecs @xanny91 @unpocodesoledadywisky @xxqueenwxtchxx @lildemonangele @zamirayinyue13 @lana12361

(ok oof I’m shook cuz the last two I was having trouble tagging and the results weren’t dropping down so I’m just gonna have to answers y’alls asks to let you know that your handles aren’t showing up when I try tagging.

Also if you want to be included for updates~ reply to this post or shoot me a dm or whatever ~)

#lustrous #a big yikes #jungkook x reader #reader insert #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfic #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #werewolf jungkook #jeongguk scenarios #jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook scenarios #kpop scenarios

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elbiotipo · 5 years

Note

Ok so elecciones time en Argentina, and I have a the feeling you know more than I. I was considering the FernándezX2 formula, but I honestly can't take out of my mind the fact that they supported Maduro and probably still do, what proof can we have that they won't go down that route? what do you think of the other candidates?(if you're not comfortable answering its ok just ignore this!!! It's just I heavily distrust like, every single candidate)

(Sorry for the long post, I just REALLY like to talk about politics)

I understand. Elections are a wild time, especially here on Argentina. (I will answer in english because the ask is in English).

I don’t support Maduro either, despite (in fact BECAUSE of) my leftist leanings. I know Cristina and many Kirchnerists supported him, and I think that supporting him based on the legacy of Chávez, while the Venezuelan people suffers and cries for freedom is wrong. However, I also believe that any solution for Venezuela MUST start with dialogue, by the simple and pragmatic fact that Maduro still holds power there, despite the opposition.

Also, Alberto Fernández has took a more pragmatic stance on this. You can read his opinions here: https://www.infobae.com/politica/2019/07/05/tras-las-criticas-de-macri-alberto-fernandez-reconocio-que-en-el-regimen-de-maduro-hay-abusos-y-arbitrariedades-del-estado/

He isn’t alone on this. Uruguay and México have also called for dialogue, as well as many other countries. Now, I think even with this, he is too soft in this, but I also think the current strategy of the Lima Group of cutting all dialogue with Maduro has evidently failed, and another approach is needed.

…

However I will be very clear and strong on this: the Argentine right-wing is using the real suffering of the Venezuelan people as political manipulation and it’s disgusting. The fear of “Becoming Venezuela” is being preached 24/7 in an attempt to spread fear and division. It’s unfounded, stupid, and uses an actual humanitarian crisis to manipulate public opinion. It humilliates the Venezuelan people and does not help towards a solution. They don’t really care about Maduro or Venezuela; only the political points they can extract from it.

We cannot “Become Venezuela” because we are, well, Argentina… Venezuela is the classical example of a single-export nation, in this case oil, that has little local industries and mostly imports all other things, from food to consumer goods. Argentina, meanwhile, has a midly diversified economy; while our main production and exports are indeed agricultural products and food such as soybean, we also have (for now…) a consumer industry, and we produce all of our own food.

Compare and contrast; these are Venezuela’s exports by renueve in 2016:

And these are Argentina’s:

Brown is oil and fossil fuels, yellow is foodstuffs and associated products. The rest are various industries: services, consumer goods, automotives, construction, industrial parts, and so on.

Now, exports don’t mean everything a country produces, but they give us a pretty good idea of the complexity and nature of a national economy. Argentina is a net food producer with a relatively good national industry (again, for now…). Venezuela is a oil-exporting nation that is sensitive to changes on the trade of that commodity. Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem: Oil-exporting economies can grow and work very well, but Maduro’s incompetence and corruption has ruined the nation to an unprecedented state in history, and that’s why the crisis has become so deep.

But no nation is inmune to political mismanagment, and certainly not Argentina. Even with that, could we come to a point like Venezuela with the return of Kirchnerism?

From me, the answer is a confident no.

Why? Simply because the Kirchnerist era was a lot more moderate than what media sells us.

Neoliberals and “economists” tells us the catastrophic tale of rampant spending, national intervention, closing of trade, lack of employment, and other disasters encompassed under the scary word “populism”. If you believed them, you would think Argentina was a Soviet-bloc country that needed to liberalize and privatize everything to refloat again (and go ask them how it worked there…)

In fact, while there were many economical missteps like the “cepo” and the INDEC manipulation (that Alberto has already recognized and will not repeat), Argentina… had a quite moderate and coherent economical system? Tariffs were high, sure, but it’s normal to have high tariffs in key exports to have higher income (and the rich agricultural owners can certainly pay it). Protectionism in key industrial and high-tech industries is necessary for a relatively mid-level economy like us, and is, in fact, one of the reasons economies like South Korea and Japan had their amazing successes once they developed critical size for those industries. The so feared by the economists mass nationalization didn’t happen either, except for YPF, some trains, and Aerolíneas, and I believe there is little argument against our oil resources being back in hand of the state (and Macri is certainly enjoying it thanks to Vaca Muerta, one of the few industries currently growing). Taxes were high and yes, some social plans were mismanaged, but Argentina has an important public education, healthcare, science, social, cultural, and public works sector (not to mention the salaries of the massive police/gendarmerie forces, which nobody wants to talk about apparently…), so obviously relatively high taxes are needed. While I admit some things might be better, I don’t know about you, but I (well, my family) have gotten my taxes back through education, health, roads, and I am proud that my country has, despite all, such a strong scientific and cultural tradition. And of course, labor rights are *strict* (depending where you look…) thanks to a long legacy of worker’s struggles, but are we really gonna lower them just to bring foreign megacorporations to take advantage of us? I think not, thanks.

In fact, besides somewhat high taxes and tariffs, and of course corruption (but that’s a whole other deal…), Argentina during the Kirchnerist years wasn’t the insanity they say. Maybe not an investors paradise, but wasn’t the socialist (lol, another scary word) mismanagement disaster the media sold us, and still sells us. And even in those years we had investments from all over the world. 4 years of Macri and economic “liberalization” and there have been no promised “lluvia de inversiones” for all the destruction of our own economy.

I believe you could compare your own quality of life in those years with right now, but that depends on the particular case. I KNOW my quality of life has descended since Macri took power.

Now, with the current inflation, desindustrialization (there has been a record THREE YEARS of industrial decay on Argentina, and the few factories still open operate at less than 50%), primarization of the economy (the main winners of this economic model are big agribusiness and financial enterprises), historical debts (some to be paid A CENTURY from now) and a nation dependent from the IMF and thus the whims of USA politics, which economic model has brought us closer to collapse, in even less years?

Tarea para la casa.

…

As for the other candidates:

I believed I explained plenty why I never voted for Macri and I won’t vote for him this time either.

I think Lavagna is out of touch, and couldn’t even keep his coalition together, so I doubt his leadership skills; his “centrism” offers little to me. The other progressive parties have no managed to make a coherent option either.

I sympathize with Del Caño and the Left, but they don’t have the leadership and support to make their promises come true, their parties are always fighting between themselves, and I can’t afford to vote for them, not in this crucial election.

Espert is a neoliberal flirting with anarchocapitalism, defending the worst of the Menemist era, his response to our problems would be accelerating privatization, “liberalization” and the destruction of the economy. He’s also a misogynist pervert, and inmature like his followers. I have a strong dislike for the guy.

I would also take this opportunity to say RIP Unión Cívica Radical (1891-2015). While they were the greatest rivals to Peronism and I never voted for them, I have the outmost respect for those radicals who fought for democracy and civil rights. Unfortunately, the UCR joined the right instead of keeping to its social-democratic ideals (did you know the UCR is an official member of the Socialist International? no, no es joda), and the PRO has chewed and spit them. A sad ending for such a party.

The other far-right and far-left parties are irrelevant, but I hope bazofias such as the Frente Patriota get as few votes as possible.

And of course, there’s Romero Feris, a corrupt, nearly feudal character who those from Corrientes know well, who has used necromancy to revive the Partido Autonomista Nacional, the party of Julio A. Roca. No only it’s corrupt, regressive and racist, it’s also probably haunted and I don’t want ghosts running around my goverment.

I’ve always been a zurdoperoncho, but as it stands now, FernándezX2 is the best option. Alberto is a coherent, disciplined and skilled man, who has proven himself during the Néstor presidency as a good leader, he’s even a little too moderate for my tastes, but the rest of his coalition balances that. Regardless of what you might think of Cristina, she’s the most important political figure of Argentina, and her prescence and leadership is needed for a sucessful progressive political project. The rest of their coalition (except for Massa, who I hate) also have the support and ideas to make their goverment sucessful.

Like with all politicians, I have my objections to some of their positions, and I don’t think they are saints. But I think they are not only the least worst, but indeed the best option we have. I will vote for them with conviction.

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joongie-smiles · 6 years

Text

The Trinket Theif

Eckers St. was known as the "buy on for the price of two" street for its infamously overpriced items. Charlie's pet store sold expensive dog food, Bloom's sold expensive vases, and so on. The stores were owned by rich families who didn't need the extra money they made by setting ridiculously high prices for mundane objects one could buy at different stores for more than half the price. Because of its proximity to the "sketchier" parts of the neighborhood, all the stores were protected with the most advanced, high-tech security. No one had been able to successfully robbed any of the stores before. Until now.

"Talk to me, G-man. What have we got?" a man in black asked. He was sitting on the roof of Bloom's bouquet looking at the store across of it through a pair of night vision goggles.

"Alright, we've got some guards and gates behind a steel, locked door blocking every entrance. Inside there are lasers everywhere and the floor is touch sensitive, so if you trigger them then the operation is over, police will be here in 5 maybe 10 minutes," G-man replied. He was in a black truck that was parked two blocks away from Eckers St. He stood in front of a computer displaying the interior of Bobby's convenience store. Repair Boy had hacked into the security cameras, so the team could see exactly what the cameras could.

"We can handle the doors," a woman dressed in a smart business suit said. She was walking down the street opposite the store. To passerbyers it looked like she was coming back from a hard day at the office; she looked harmless.

"But what about the floors? What are we going to do fly in there?" the man on the roof said. His sea-green eyes scanned the ground below, looking for any possible conflicts they had not planned for. The team had triple checked that the area was clear, but it didn't hurt to be cautious.

"Not fly, but climb." This came from a man next to a nearby phone line pole. He was searching through the toolbox next to him, seemingly in search of the right tool to fix the phone pole. "Luckily for you I asked Ghost King about any surprises we might have, and I came prepared. "

"Everyone in position?" G-man asked.

There was a chorus of conformation that rang through the comms.

"Alright, the cameras are going to be down for 20 minutes. You guys know what to do.," G-man said as he typed away on the computer. He typed a few more codes and clicked the enter key.

"It's showtime."

The operation went smoothly. Beauty Queen crossed the street and approached the guards posted at Bobby's. Her ruse was simple but effective. She'd asked for a phone and they'd gladly searched for one. While they were distracted she stole one of their key cards and slid it to her right, where Repair Boy was waiting with his toolbox. Opening the gate was simple enough, Repair Boy used a simple lock picking kit and it was opened in seconds. Unfortunately for the guards, the gate went up too roughly and made a loud sound when it hit the ceiling, so Beauty Queen had to knock them out.

The steel door was a little more tricky. It required ID, a password, and handprint. They used the ID Beauty Queen was able to get, and used an original Valdez Gadget to get the 6 digit password. The handprint required to open the door was the manager's, who obviously was not present. Because of Ghost King, they knew this beforehand, so Beauty Queen was able to get the manager's fingerprints. Repair Boy had transferred them to a glove, so whoever wore it had the manager's fingerprints at his disposal.

After the doors were opened, Trinket Thief was sent in to retrieve the targets. He quickly got off the roof and meet the other two members of his team at the door. Repair Boy gave him gloves and boots that stuck to the wall, another Valdez Gadget. He was able to climb to the electrical panel that controlled all the security, and plug in the virus Repair Boy had made earlier that shuts off security without alarming the police. It was a walk in the park after that.

The team did this 5 different times at 5 different stores. The amount of work depended on the level of security each store had, but in the end they cleared the stores of chewing gum. There wasn't a single one left in the stores. At the end of the night they tipped the police and drove back to their base.

Now, they wait for the manhunt.

"I'm back!" Piper shouted as she walked into their base, the Argo II, carrying 3 boxes of pizza.

She set the box down on the dining table and walked to the hall where their rooms were located. She knocked on the first door to her right. It was a simple brown, wooden door with vines and flowers carved around the edges. The door opened, and she came face to face with Grover Underwood, aka G-man. He was their "man in the chair" and the best tracker she ever met. He was on the phone and looked at her with raised eyebrows.

"I brought pizza," she answered his unasked question in a soft voice, not wanting to interrupt him more than she already did.

He only nodded and closed the door

Piper moved on to the door to her left. This one, unlike Grover's, was more decorated. It was painted blue and had seashells painted on it. When she knocked, a loud "come in" was her answer. She opened the door to find Percy Jackson sitting at his desk on his laptop.

"What's up, Pipes?" the infamous Trinket Thief asked without looking up from the screen.

"I brought some pizza for lunch," she said.

"Cool. Did you-"

"Bring enough for Nico and Will? Of course, I did who do you think I am?" she asked with a smirk.

"The greatest Beauty Queen the world has ever seen," he replied. He looked up at her, sea-green eyes glinting with amusement.

Piper shook her head and laughed. "Stop stalking your little detective and come down to eat."

Percy's face flushed. "I'm not stalking I'm . . . researching," he protested.

"Is that what they call it these days?" Piper asked mockingly. Before he could answer she closed the door and continued on to the next door. The next door on her right looked out of place in the cheerful hall. It was made out of [reinforced] steel and required 2 keys, a 6-digit password, an eye scan, a handprint, voice recognition, and a knocking pattern to open it. Or, in moments of an emergency, one could simply turn the door knob 3 times to the left, once to the right, twist up, and right again. If one failed to do so, the door was set to trigger an explosion that would destroy the room and everything inside it. There had been 3 occasions early in the early years as a team when the room had actually exploded. Thankfully nothing and nobody important had died in there. The explosion would only affect that particular room, and the fire could not be put out, It wouldn't fade till it destroyed what it had to. Instead of red flames, the special fire had unique green flames. It's creator had named it Greek Fire.

Piper knocked on the door and smiled up at the little eye hole where the inhabitant of the room was no doubt peering down at her. With some clicks and squeaks, the door opened to reveal a smiling Leo Valdez, the team's Repair Boy. His cheek had a smudge of oil, and he was wiping his hands on a handkerchief, so she had to guess that he had been working on another one of his projects; another original Valdez Gadget.

"Hey, Beauty Queen, whatcha need?" he asked, stepping aside to let her come in.

She shook her head lightly to show him that she didn't want to come in. "I just came to tell you that I brought pizza for lunch."

"I thought I was making lunch," he said.

"You know we love your food, but Nico and Will are coming over in a bit, so we needed quick and easy food," she said. "Plus, it's from Johnny's."

He humphed indignantly and shook his head. "Fine. But only because I love Johnny's." He pointed a warning finger at her. "But I'm cooking for Taco Tuesday."

"'Course you are," Piper laughed. "Wash all the dirt on you and come down to eat.

"Yeah, yeah," he said as he closed the door.

Now that knocks were done, Piper headed back down to the dining room to double check that it was clean enough for their guests. Nico and Will didn't mind a few scattered papers or pencils laying around the Argo II, but Piper didn't like them thinking that they lived in a pig pen. They were professional thieves, they could stay organized if they wanted to.

"Are Nico and Will here yet?" Percy asked as he walked down the stairs.

Piper shook her head. "Not yet. Hey, could you double check that there aren't any plans laying around?"

Percy nodded and left the living room.

Nico di Angelo, otherwise known as the Ghost King, wasn't technically part of their ragtag group, but he was their informant. He knew anything and everything that happened in the Underworld, the darker and sketchier part of the city. He was never on the feild, and the team wanted to keep it that way. He was a great asset, but they wanted him to enjoy his life, graduate from college, spend time with his boyfriend, get a career. They didn't want him to get stuck in misery and misfortune that came with their job.

The ringing of the doorbell drew Piper from the dining room to the door. She checked the peep hole and smiled when she recognized the two college students outside. She quickly unlocked the door and opened it, the smile never leaving her face.

"Welcome to our humble abode!" she exclaimed.

The two looked like complete opposites. One was dressed in black and had a moody and dangerous aura. His hands were stuffed in his pockets with only the band of a bracelet peeking out from around his wrist. His black hair was tied back in an updo to keep it away from his eyes while the rest curling around his jaw. His dark eyes were void of emotion and he kept his expression neutral. Nico di Angelo, the Ghost King of the Underworld, was infamous for his Poker Face.

The young man next to him, on the other hand, wore blue hospital scrubs and, like his nickname suggested, radiated happiness and joy. On of his hands was at his side, and the other rested lightly on his boyfriend's elbow, a bracelet similar to Nico's hung from said arm. His curly hair lay on his head like a fluffy, blond cloud, the only sign of an attempt to keep it tamed was the slight glint of water on his curls. His blue eyes were bright with happiness, and he made no attempt to hide it. There was need to hide emotions around his friends. William Solace, <Nico's> their Sunshine, provided a nice dose of normalcy in the criminals' lives. But one need not confuse his kindness with weakness. He was skilled with medicine and could just as easily prolong one's suffering instead of relieving it.

"Piper!" Will greated. He moved forward to hug her. "It's good to see you. Sorry about calling in so last minute."

"Don't worry," she reassured. "We're all glad you came."

"Nico! Will!" a voice exclaimed from behind Piper. They turned to see the green-eyed thief walking towards them with a grin. He quickly engulfed Nico in a hug before he could protest and did the same to Will. "How's college? You keeping your grade up?" He asked the two young men.

"Of course we are," Will replied. "Though Nico did get in a fight last week."

Piper's eyes widened. "You what?!"

Nico shrugged it off nonchalantly. "It was just some jerk who was making fun of this kid in my english class. I got annoyed and," his lips curled up into a sly smirk, "my hand slipped."

"Did you at least win?" Leo asked from the doorway of the dining room. He was holding a Pepsi can in left hand while he fiddled with a wire in the other.

"What do you think?" Nico asked. "It took a couple of punches and /bam!/ he was out cold."

"It wasn't that glamorous," Will said from beside him. "He walked into the school's infirmary with a bloody nose and a busted lip."

"You should've seen the other guy," Nico told them slyly.

"Nico, you’re supposed to be staying out of trouble not causing it,” Grover scolded him. He was walking out of the kitchen with plates in his hands and set them down on the table next to the pizza boxes. “We wouldn’t want you catching the wrong kind of attention from dangerous people. Your dad has more enemies than friends.”

“Yeah, yeah I know,” Nico said, waving away Grover’s concern. “Now stop worrying, Will does enough of it already.”

“With the things you do sometimes, who wouldn’t,” Will teased.

Nico scowled at him playfully. He walked over to the dining table and opened the first pizza box. “Just for that, I’m taking the first piece.”

Will and the rest of the team joined him at the table and started eating. Soon, stories were being told as they ate and laughter was being shared. They talked about anything they could think of: Leo’s newest invention, Will’s job at the hospital, Nico’s annoying speech teacher. Anything but the team’s latest job or upcoming plans. They had made it a rule to never discuss the team's job when they were hanging out. Talking about mass-stealing bubblegum does wonders to kill the good mood.

Leo got up and walked over to the TV in the living room, pizza slice in one hand and soda can in the other. He put the soda can down on the TV stand and used his free hand to turn it on. The blank screen was soon replaced with the image of a dark haired reporter who was at a crime scene. The words ‘The Trinket Thief Strikes Again’ glared back at them at the bottom of the screen.

“--is one of the stores the infamous Trinket Thief visited last night,” the reporter was saying. “This store, like 5 others, was wiped clean of chewing gum; there isn’t a single on in stock. As always, there seemed to be no signs of violence, and there are 0 wounded and 0 casualties. The only thing they took was chewing gum, everything else was untouched.”

“Here with me is the detective in charge of the Trinket Thief’s cases.” She turned her head to greet someone off-camera with a smile. The camera soon followed her gaze and moved to show the detective. Her blonde hair was held back in a ponytail, and she was dressed smartly in a grey suit. Her posture was proud and authoritative; Detective Annabeth Chase was certainly a force to be reckoned with.

“Detective Chase, what can you tell us about the case so far?” the reporter asked.

“I am not at liberty to discuss all the details, but they struck late last night, and fortunately no one was harmed in the heist, which is their signature,” Detective Chase replied. Her voice, like her expression, was calm and collected. She seemed to have doubts on the OPD’s competence, and every word she said was carefully chosen as to not let any information slip to the media that would cause more harm to to their investigation than good. A skill that was expected from the Olympus PD’s best detective.

The reporter frowned, obviously not please with the lack of new information, but a tight smile was back on her face in a second. “By ‘they’ do you mean the Trinket Thief's team, the Half-Bloods?”

This time it was the Detective’s turn to frown, but unlike the reporter, she allowed it to stay there. “Yes, but we usually don’t condone the use of nicknames or titles when talking about criminals. It encourages them and can lead to groups of admirers forming.”

As if on cue, the camera turned away from the two woman momentarily to show the crowd gathered around the enclosed perimeter Olympus PD had set up. There were a couple curious passerbyers here and there, but a majority of the group was made up of the Half-Bloods’ “admirers”, as the Detective had put it. There were various flashes of cameras and even a couple of signs expressing the people’s love and gratitude for the Half-Bloods.

“I guess their fan base is as hard to stop as the Half-Bloods themselves,” the reporter said with a small smirk. Detective Chase scowled slightly and looked like she was about to say something else when someone else came up to the two women.

“Detective Chase, I need your highly valued, expert opinion on something,” the new arrival said. He was tall and towered over both Detective Chase and the reporter. His blond hair was cut short, and he was cleanly shaven. His lips were upturned in a sly smile and his blue eyes held the same mischievous glint. He was handsome and, if the small horde of people not so discreetly swooning over him was anything to go by, he must’ve also been quite charming. Even the scar running from his cheekbone to his jaw did nothing to affect his “golden boy” appearance.

Detective Chse excused herself and left with her partner, Detective Luke Castellan, looking relieved for the excuse to get away from the pesky reporter. Before the reporter could speak again, the screen went black with a soft click! The enthralled group turned to Piper, who had the control in her hand, with equal expressions of disdain.

“Nothing job related, remember?” she said with a scowl. “Which includes the news.”

“Aw, come one, Pipes. It was just getting good,” Leo wined.

“Let Jackson watch his little detective girlfriend on TV,” Nico teased with a smirk. “Look at him, he was practically drooling.”

Percy glared at the younger male. “No I wasn’t. And she isn’t my girlfriend.” Though he denied all accounts of drooling, he subtly wiped the corners of his mouth. Just in case.

Nico chuckled lowly and shook his head. He turned back to look at the blank TV screen, and his expression turned serious. “You guys should be more careful. There’s been talk around the Underworld that Olympus PD is bringing in the FBI.”

Silence fell over the apartments like a heavy blanket. They had stopped eating and everyone took a moment to contemplate Nico’s words. The team had been toying with Olympus PD for months now, and honestly it had been easy to evade capture. It hadn’t been till Detective Chase and Detective Castellan had been put on the case that the team really had a challenge running from the police. But if they brought in the big guns . . .

“We’ll be fine, Nico. Don’t worry about. A couple of feds won’t be able to stop us,” Percy reassured. The cocky smile he donned convinced no one. No matter how hard he tried to, the leader of the Half-Bloods couldn’t hide the uneasiness in his green eyes. Maybe Percy was right and they would be fine, or he was wrong and the arrival of the feds would pose a big threat. Either way, one thing was certain-- everything was about to change.

Hello all my lovely readers! So The Trinket Thief is going to be a multi-chapter fic and (obviously) this is the first chapter. This is kind of a spin-off from a fic I wrote a looong time ago called You’ve Stolen My Heart. It’s not really a prequel or direct continuation of it, it’s just in the same world/the same idea. There are a whole bunch of ships (pretty much all canon), not just Percabeth. This is my take on a cop AU. I hope you like it!

Masterlist

#percy jackson #annabeth chase #nico robin #will solace #leo valdez #piper mclean #jason grace #reyna arellano #luke castellan #pjo #hoo #theif au #cop au

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shroud-of-roses · 7 years

Text

How to Set Up Shrines/Altars for Spirit Work

Everyone has their own way of doing things when it comes to spirit work. This is my method and a few of my tips, but feel free to take it all with a grain of salt. Hopefully this will inspire you to make your own altar or shrine!

Shrines

A shrine is a particular space made to honor a spirit or deity. I am focusing on the spirit shrine, because every religion does things a bit differently depending on their deities, and I can’t speak for them. This is a super loose construct, and you can really personalize this based on your spirit companion’s wants and needs.

To make a shrine, all you need to do is have a vessel of some sort, if the spirit has one, and a plate, bowl, or cup to give offerings at. Other than that, pretty much anything can go on it. Obviously, things like garbage, or your keys/phone don’t really belong on a shrine. Keep this space as neat and ‘sacred’ (for lack of a better term) for the spirit as possible. Respect their space basically. Here are a few ideas for different types of shrines (feel free to mix these ideas together, ex: put crystals or other energy bringing things in an ancestral shrine if it is fitting, etc):

Specific things that can go on a shrine for Non-Human entities include:

Crystals

Blessed water

Vessel of the Spirit

Charged objects

Imagery of the spirit

Things related to the spirit (ex: sea shells for water spirits)

Bones (particularly good for death spirits, or for the animal owner of the bone. Always ask the bone’s inhabitant if it is okay to use it)

Trinkets you think they would like

Candles

Flowers/herbs/plants

Photographs you think they would enjoy

Poems and written pieces you find or create

Specific things that can go on a shrine for ancestors include:

Images of them

Objects they owned

Things they liked (ex: certain perfumes, makeup, etc)

Objects from their era

Their ashes/urn if you have it

Their hair (some people collect hair of their loved ones when they pass. Always ask before they die if this is okay)

Images of their headstone if they have one

Poems, pamphlets, and prayers from their funeral/wake/visitation

Candles

Historical information about them

Newspaper articles from their era

Honestly, if the spirit and you decide it is a good fit, go with it. Be considerate, though, and don’t take things that don’t belong to you from the woods if you haven’t asked and it isn’t legal to possess.

Other than that, some other general ideas include:

Altar cloths

Decor that fits

Your tools for spirit work

Basically, that’s my short and easy guide.

Altars

Altars, places where you work, are very personal and I honestly can’t tell you what you need to put on there. Because everyone’s practice is different and we all have different needs. These are some things I would keep on mine, depending on my needs for that particular time.

Candles

Bones, feathers, sea shells, and stones (basically, things that could connect me to the owner of the object. Sea shells and stones are more representative of bones of a different kind, but I enjoy having them nonetheless. These are not really permanent additions for me, more like things I can get out when I need them. I don’t currently have any bones, but those are something I could keep out more often)

Scrying Mirror

Pendulum

Spirit Vessels

Wand

Crystals for Spirit Communication

Herbs or Oils for Spirit Communication (mint is very important to my practice and so is lavender. Those are a part of my everyday altar setup)

Offering plates (I keep my shrines within my altar)

Roses or flowers as an offering to the forgotten dead

Those are my ideas! If you have any more, feel free to include them in your reblog!

#spirit work #spirit worker #altar #shrine #ancestor

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coolweddingring · 3 years

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Growing Up With Cards and Games

visit us At the point when I was a youngster, my family had a house on a little lake in Northern Minnesota. It needed both power and plumbing which approved of me; I enjoyed the sensation of outdoors yet at the same time having an agreeable bed to snooze around evening time. The solitary disadvantage was a latrine that was a large portion of a square from the cabin and not a great excursion around evening time. My mom addressed this by making a "nectar pot" that we as a whole utilized around evening time and one of us purged in the first part of the day (in spite of the fact that I speculate my mom wound up with the work regularly).

At night, our light came from lamp fuel lights and a huge block chimney. After my dad, mother, sibling and I rolled in from night fishing (or on a blustery day), we played games before the chimney; lamp oil lights draping overhead to light the little table in the center. We played gin rummy, 500 rummy and schmier, a game that I recall just like similar to connect. (In the event that anybody realizes how to play smear, kindly get in touch with me since I need an instructional exercise!) I particularly cherished gin rummy and won too much games yet I as a rule couldn't beat my dad. Thinking back, I'm not sure which was better; the games or the peaceful nights with family. Be that as it may, I grew up cherishing both.

Sooner or later, we added Monopoly to the rundown however I generally had an affection/disdain relationship with that game. In case you're winning, it's incredible. Your homes lined the load up and the heap of cash before you developed bigger each time somebody shook the dice and arrived on your property. Yet, in the event that you missed buying the best properties, each shake of the dice put you further constantly paying off debtors - maybe somewhat like reality! I was unable to deal with the slide into neediness and was normally extremely calmed when I lost all my cash and had the option to stop the game.

Obviously, Scrabble was consistently a top pick however, as the most youthful, I was somewhat crippled by my jargon. At that point, I didn't think about short words like Qi. Xu, Qua and Za that fit into little spaces and procured a ton of focuses. Today I play Scrabble each day online with companions and utilize these words consistently in spite of the fact that I need to concede that I actually have no clue about what they mean.

In school, I was acquainted with Bridge. I watched companions playing; tuning in to their offers and examining their plays. At the point when I met Barry, my significant other to-be, I had just played a couple of times. After we were locked in, he and I were welcome to supper and a scaffold game at one of his wedded companion's homes. I was anxious and felt like a child; these couples were four or five years more seasoned than me and really lived in houses, instead of quarters. Before the finish of the night, I was feeling more sure and felt my extension playing had been very acceptable. When we were in the vehicle, Barry went to me and said, "Never, never offer a three card suit!" He wedded me in any case and even showed me how to offer the correct way.

For quite a long while, we played gathering span with twelve companions who were, generally, at a similar level as us. Every last one of us pivoted around three tables and various accomplices. Be that as it may, there was one man in the gathering who paid attention to the game very. Being his accomplice implied opening yourself to four hands of boisterous attack. I didn't utter a word at the time yet this more seasoned and more astute variant of myself would not have kept her mouth shut!

Once (and just a single time) I played copy connect. We were living on a military base in Japan at that point and a companion requested that I substitute for her in a once seven days copy connect game while she halted to have a child. At this point, my extension game had immeasurably improved and I quickly said yes. In any case, I before long discovered that this game shared almost no for all intents and purpose with party connect. The room was lethal tranquil, intruded on just with the hints of calm offering at each table. The accentuation was on each hand and the score cards were kept fastidiously. Additionally, the hands were deliberately swapped for the following player.

After we had wrapped up playing every one of the hands, everybody accumulated to see where the person had arrived on the focuses list. I was second from last, with a couple of a bigger number of focuses than a ninety-year elderly person who had dementia. The game was just two hours yet it seemed like eight. When I returned home, I had a horrible migraine. At the point when Barry strolled in the entryway, I was lying on the sofa, an ice pack on my head and a glass of wine and jug of anti-inflamatory medicine on the table adjacent to me.

At the point when our youngsters tagged along, we both went through hours playing kids' games like Candy Land, Old Maid, Go Fish and Chutes and Ladders. Albeit those games vanished as our youngsters grew up, our game wardrobe is presently restocked with every one of them, hanging tight for our granddaughter's following visit. I'm thinking that its better time playing the games this time around than I did when our youngsters were youthful. I'm very certain the explanation behind this is on the grounds that we can appreciate playing with our grandkid without the tensions that went with bringing up our own youngsters. Grandkids are basically fun!

With the coming of PCs, we can likewise play a great deal of games on the web. As I referenced previously, I play at any rate ten rounds of Scrabble with loved ones however these move gradually with just one move by every major part in a day. Moreover, I am dependent on the Microsoft Solitaire Collection which remembers a day by day challenge for five diverse solitaire games. You gather focuses which develop every day until (ideally) you arrive at the gold ringer before the month's over when the scoring begins once again. On the off chance that you miss a couple of days, you get behind on your games. Making up for lost time can be fun on the off chance that you wouldn't fret a long distance race day (or two) of PC games. Also, this is the place where the dependence begins!

Since we have lived in Florida, we have been acquainted with two new games that we play with companions. The first is Rummikub, a tabletop game that is a ton like 500 rummy. Barry and I play with three companions several months and we typically lose. One companion has been playing this game for quite a long time with a gathering in her old neighborhood. They play for cash, a penny a point and she might want us to do this too. I'd be willing if either Barry or I won sometimes however at the rate we're going now, that won't occur at any point in the near future. visit us play rummy with friends

The other game we play with companions in our area is Mexican Train, a dominoes game. The procedure is fun yet the most amazing aspect of this game is pressing the catch in the plastic train which discharges a noisy, "Choo cho, choo cho." obviously, to be permitted to press the catch you need to initially dominate the match and, lamentably that doesn't occur to me all the time. So sometimes I cheat and press the catch for no particular reason.

As you would have speculated at this point, I don't appear to win frequently. In any case, I've concluded that, as far as I might be concerned, winning isn't the object of the game. Obviously I do favor winning to losing however since that isn't in "the cards", I center around different things, like technique, taking stunts, consolidating the right numbers and including every one of the focuses I'm left with that another person gets! I likewise reveal to myself that messing around should be useful for your brain. Be that as it may, the most amazing aspect of messing around is investing energy with old buddies, eating delightful food and building exquisite recollections in this period of my life.

#play rummy with friends

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claitynroberts · 6 years

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Chapter 1: How We First Met

About: This series is a retelling of the Persephone & Hades myth set in the present day southern United States. In an attempt to make her last days more bearable, 23 year old Magnolia makes a deal with the lord of the Underworld himself. Both the young mortal and the ruler of the dead learn new things about themselves.

Author’s Note: I have used several different versions of the Persephone myth to come up with this particular story. It will be broken down into several parts/chapters. if you like it please let me know! This is my first piece of writing I have ever posted on here so please bear with me, and send my any constructive criticisms. :)

Warnings: Nothing just yet, will update as I go!

Word Count: 2,666

Liam

This isn’t something I normally do, but something about this particular offer caught my attention. To be honest, I haven’t even made a deal in over one hundred fifty years. Usually I let one of my many underlings take care of that department while I oversee the day-to-day business that keeps our world running. But this day, this day was far from usual.

“Hey, Boss. We’ve got someone on the line wanting to make a transaction.”

“Morgan,” I said exasperatedly without looking up from the paperwork on my desk, “have you suddenly forgotten how to do the very simple task that is your job?”

“No, sir… It’s just that this young woman is asking for you…personally.”

“You know I don’t make deals, that is why you are in charge of your department. You have legions of crossroads demons under your authority, surely someone is capable of handling this girl.”

“But, sir, with all due res-.”

“NO,” I bellowed, looking up from the paperwork. “I have not made a deal since the War of Northern Aggression. That is why poor Honest Abe is currently in Tartarus being barbecued like a rack of ribs after church on Sunday. Handle this. If I have to go up there I will put you on the rack myself and barbecue your hide until it falls off what is left of your scrawny a-,”

“Why? Why did I do this? Magnolia Jane, your parents are going to be so disappointed…”

I looked up to the screen hanging on the far side of my office. On the TV stood a tall, curvy girl of twenty-something. She was dressed in what looked to be her pajamas, as scant as they were, and shivering beneath her thin robe. Her raven hair was shining in the full moonlight and it hung loose down to the middle of her back. She was pacing around in her house slippers talking to herself and waving her hands animatedly. When she turned around, I nearly forgot how to breathe she was so beautiful. Her eyes were balanced precariously on the edge of being the deep blue-grey of storm clouds before it rains and the dull silver of a favorite ring; and were set perfectly symmetrically to her slender nose and full lips.

“Sir,” Morgan tried gently, “do you think you may reconsider?”

I shot Morgan a scowl. “Fine. I’ll go.”

“Excellent,” he said with a glint in his eye, “She’s waiting.”

Magnolia

I don’t normally do things like this. I mean, I was raised in a God-fearing household in good ole Dixie. Summoning demons is not in my wheelhouse of skills. It is twelve-o-one a.m. and I am standing in the intersection of two county roads about a mile and a half from my family’s farmhouse.

I know you’re probably wondering how a barely twenty-three-year-old woman from south Alabama could possibly know how to summon a demon. Well living in the south comes with its own superstitions, however when you’re this close to the swamp you can get a little dose of black magic if you know where to look. Long story short, I know a guy who knows a guy.

I have been standing in the middle of this crossroads for an hour now and have gone from disappointed, to angry with myself, to double checking the ritual and drawings, all the way back full circle to disappointed. After deciding I did everything right, I was beginning to accept the fact that my last hope failed me; I turned around dejected and prepared myself for the hike back to my house. Hopefully, sneaking back in wouldn’t wake my parents up.

“Going somewhere dear?” The hair on the back of my neck stood on end and goose bumps covered my body. I slowly turned around to see a tall, gaunt man standing in the middle of my dust drawing. “You know it really is quite rude to invite a guest over and leave before they arrive.”

“I-I-I’m sorry sir, but…wh-who are you,” I stammered, my mouth opening and closing repeatedly, which I’m sure made me look like a fish.

“Well my dear, you may call me Morgan,” he replied coolly and sketched a stiff bow, “pardon my tardiness but my previous business arrangement ran a little longer than expected.” His eyes glinted hardly in the full-moonlight and his greasy combed back hair looked like an oil slick.

“Oh…well… I would like to make a deal.” I attempted to straighten up to my full height and inject a smidge of confidence into my voice.

The stranger smirked and raised his bushy gray eyebrow. “Yes, I assumed so. What will it be, eh? You want to be rich?” He began pacing his circle, eyeing me the whole time and reading my face with his near repulsive stare. “No, no, that’s not it. Too unoriginal. You want true love?” He looked me over again. “No, that’s not it either. Hmmm…” he pondered, his long bony finger tapping against his pointed chin. “What could a young, beautiful woman like you want? Please don’t say immortality because that one is out of the question. I could possibly do youth but it runs at a pretty high price. Anyway, whatever it is please make it an original request. You don’t know how many of these I have to handle; the monotony can really get to you.”

“A friend.” I blurted out. I’m not sure what made me answer so quickly, but I know I wanted to get this done and over with A-S-A-P.

Taken aback he looked at me for a moment. “A friend? That’s it?”

“Yes,” I said trying not to look as terrified as I felt.

“Why on earth would you want to make a deal for a friend?” He seemed to snarl the last word with disdain and mockery. “I figured a beautiful woman like you would have more friends than one can count.” There was definitely a mocking tone in his voice that time.

“No…I don’t.”

“What would you give me in return? Magic isn’t free you know.”

“What is the normal going rate,” I asked curious, my voice only barley wavering this time.

“Well it usually works like this. People summon me, or one of my associates, then we ask them what they want. Riches, love, cures for illnesses, etcetera,” rambling he paced the circumference of the devil’s trap. “Then they get a time limit to enjoy whatever it is they asked for. When time is up, good ole Cerberus collects you and brings you downstairs.”

“Alright. Well…how about this. You get me a friend and when I die you can have my soul.”

“No can-do doll face.” He pantomimed a frown before continuing on. “You see I can only give you a maximum of fifteen years. Twenty if you’re lucky and the boss signs off on it.”

“I won’t need that long.” I looked down at the ground, pushing back the feelings of dread.

“Oh? And why is that?” He asked with the most enthusiasm I had heard him speak with all night.

“Listen, that’s personal business that you do not need to know.” I hardened my voice and schooled my emotions. “You came here because I summoned you to carry out a transaction. If it’s not doable you can either leave or put me in touch with whoever is in charge of you.”

He eyed me with those steel hard eyes again, his lip curling into a mixture of a sneer and a half-grin. “Well. The little mortal has a temper...and a backbone. You’ll understand this is very unusual; I am going to need to clear this with the boss before we seal the contract, of course.”

“Fine. Bring him back with you, and I will offer the same deal to him as well.”

“As you wish,” he bowed and disappeared into a cloud of blue-black smoke.

I began to pace the width of the road I was standing on. All of a sudden, I began to think this wasn’t the best idea. Talk about belated guilt. Why on earth would I summon a demon? There is a whole genre of books, movies, and TV shows based on why that is such a bad idea. “Why? Why did I do this? Magnolia Jane, your parents are going to be so disappointed. When they find out what you did, you’re going to be in more trouble than you’ve been in your entire life,” I began to lecture myself.

“So, what seems to be the issue here,” a gruff voice interrupted my self-deprecation.

I turned around startled. Next to the greasy underling Morgan, stood a tall, dark haired boy. He didn’t look much older than me, but when I looked into his eyes, dark and mysterious and lit by a curious fire within, he looked tired, like he had seen several lifetimes pass him by while he remained a beautiful, ageless shell. Dark stubble covered his chiseled jaw, and a well-cut mop of black iridescent hair flopped over his forehead. He had a mischievous, half-smile plastered on his face, and I tried to ignore the way it made me feel. “You may want to answer my question or shut your mouth before your slack jaw lets in a June bug,” he said with a hint of amusement and a small smile.

Clearing my throat, I finally spoke up. “Morgan here said he needed to clear the deal with you before we could finalize things.”

“Is that so? Morgan, please fill me in on the details.”

Morgan cleared his throat as if he were going to announce the guests at a regal ball. “This young woman summoned me here to request, of all things, a friend,” he said without trying to hide the obvious objection and mockery that came from the perpetual sneer on his face.

“And you needed me because,” the stranger asked Morgan, obviously annoyed to be pulled from his duties for this.

“Because I need a friend but don’t need a time limit,” I spoke up, before Morgan could mock me again, making sure to inject every ounce of bravery I could muster into my matter-of-fact tone.

“And why should we give you a time exception? What makes you so…special, for lack of a better word.” He wasn’t cruel with the question per se, but he wasn’t nice about it either.

“Look, Mister….” I stopped, waiting for him to introduce himself so I could be annoyed with an actual person later.

He chuckled and looked me straight in the eyes, “Liam. You may call me Liam.”

“Okay, Liam. Here’s the deal. I need a friend. I don’t have time though, so a maximum twenty-year limit will be wasted on me. I proposed to Morgan here that we make the deal and y’all are guaranteed my soul when I die, no need for Cerberus to hunt me down.”

“And you’re okay with all this? You say you don’t have time. Do you realize that as soon as you die, you’ll forfeit your right to an afterlife somewhere better? You’ll be trapped in Tartarus for eternity.”

“Well…I’m already in hell,” I managed to squeeze out without my voice cracking. I blinked my tears away, and glanced at my feet.

He looked at me curiously, but didn’t push the subject. “Okay, I’ll accept your contract. Do you have anyone in mind to be your friend?”

“Do you think if I had someone in my life I wanted to be my friend I would be standing here making a deal with you,” I shot at him with venom.

“Fine. Here are the terms of the contract. One, I will be your “friend” all the way up until the moment you pass on.” He mimicked air quotes with his fingers when he got to the word friend. “Two, when you die, myself, or one of my employees will collect your soul and transport it to Tartarus. Three, Cerberus will not be involved, and you will effectively forfeit any chance you had at a better afterlife. And lastly, at any time I have the power and authority to change the terms of you contract should the need arise.” All of a sudden, out of thin air, a contract appeared in his hand. “If you agree to these terms, I will need you to prick your finger and sign on the dotted line.”

“Change the contract?! You can’t do that!” I replied indignantly.

“I believe you’ll find I actually can.” He smiled.

“Why on Earth would you need to change the contract? Don’t you even think about double crossing me.” I spat the words vehemently, shaking my finger in his face.

“I have no intention of double crossing you, sweetheart,” he drawled. “It is only for emergency precautions.”

“I don’t believe you.” I growled, crossing my arms and tapping my foot.

“I swear, on my mother’s soul and my own position, that I will not tamper with the contract if it’s not in your best interest.”

I breathed out the breath I was holding in frustration. “Fine. Do you have a pin,” I forced out, attempting to hide all other emotion from my voice.

“Morgan. Knife.”

He drew a gold blade with a jewel-encrusted hilt from his coat sleeve. I took it from him and sliced the pad of my index finger. As the blood began to pool up, I almost talked myself out of the deal. This was crazy…wasn’t it? Did I really need to sell my soul to make a friend? Was I really this stupid? I glanced into the distance toward the faint outline of my house, then, as if under a spell, signed the contract.

“Well, that’s that then. I will see you tomorrow…” He stopped his sentence in order to read my signature. “Magnolia Jane Devereaux. Wow…that name is a mouthful.”

I rolled my eyes at him and choked out through gritted teeth, “I’ll see you around.” I turned and began to walk back to my house.

“Magnolia, sweetheart! You forgot something.” He called toward my back in a sing-song voice.

I turned around and stared Liam down.

“You have to kiss me.” He grinned a full-on, up-to-no-good smile that showed his perfect white teeth and made his eyes crinkle and come alight with mischief.

“What,” I hollered, skeptical and outraged as I marched back to the edge of the devil’s trap. Reaching the edge, my breath puffing from my heightened emotions, I glared into his deep golden irises.

“Well, along with a blood signature we also require a kiss to seal the contract. Isn’t that right, Morgan?” He glanced at his henchman, the smug grin never leaving his deadly beautiful face.

“Yes, sir,” the greasy rat said with a sly smile.

“I cannot believe you! Shouldn’t that be in the contract?!”

“It actually is. Article 3, section 5, line 4.”

He showed me the contract again, but, before I could discern the line he was referring to from the rest of the legal jargon, it snapped shut and disappeared. “FINE.” I hissed.

I’d planted a quick, chaste kiss on his lips from where I stood just outside the dust markings on the ground which held him in place; but before I could get away from him, he had wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me closer, deepening the kiss. Part of me wanted to disappear into that kiss; to crawl inside the moment and revel in the feeling it sent through me. To memorize how he felt beneath my touch, hard and muscled and strong. Wanting him to touch me everywhere all at once. But after a few seconds the other half of my brain shut all those feelings up, forcing me out of my contented grogginess. I pushed him away while landing a solid slap across his face; then turned around and stomped my way back toward my house ignoring how my swollen lips felt after the most passionate kiss of my life.

#persephone #retelling #writing #amwriting #angst #some fluff #love #romance #demons #deals #underworld #will they wont they #hades and persephone #myths

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sussex-nature-lover · 4 years

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Wednesday 25th November 2020

Bodiam Wildlife and Memories. Part 1

♦ bold type hides links to outside sites not affiliated to this blog

I discovered that the filming at Bodiam Castle on Monday was for a music magazine promo. No idea how long that’ll take to surface then, but I did promise to share if I found out, so now you’re as wise as I am.

As always I took so many photos it’s hard to write a cohesive blog post that doesn’t turn into War and Peace, so wildlife and nature is going to be split into two parts.

I spotted this lovely illustration on the Facebook page. It’s by local artist

Claire Fletcher I love her style.

There are leaflets for children and signs around the grounds to engage them in nature activities, I do find the NT are pretty good at this kind of thing.

Now I mentioned Ducks in my piece yesterday because you just can’t miss them and I said that although they were a bit rattled by the film crew, they were still going about their business and standing their ground.

We stood and watched a few times as they left the Moat and followed each other either from our right or left, directly in front of the café, in a veritable parade to a particular spot

The object of the exercise was a quick bit of foraging under this Oak, until some unknown signal went and OFF they all went back to the water, causing quite a kerfuffle as they did.

Reflections of the Tea Room and sloping Vineyard behind

The Moat itself is alternately a source of calm and a scene of great activity.

With just one solitary Moorhen spotted

‘I’m Off’

The fish that you'll see in the moat below you as you cross the bridge to the castle are carp. In medieval England, carp were a regular food source and bred specifically for that purpose by monks. Ours are not descended from those fish but came instead from Richborough Power Station near Sandwich in Kent in 1996 when it closed down.

I can testify that the Moat is absolutely teeming with fish and yes, they’re not shy.

Note the improvement from my efforts to photograph fish at Scotney Castle!

The monks used to breed the carp so they had the least scales, which is where the descriptions, mirror carp and leather carp come from. By breeding the carp in this way, it helped to save time in the kitchens. Carp for eating wouldn’t have been kept in the moat originally because all the garderobes were emptied into it and so it is thought that they were kept in special ponds to the north west of the castle. You can still see the dips in the grounds where these ponds were likely to be sited. You'll notice that the moment you tread on the bridge the fish will come to the surface and gape at you. It is sometimes thought that they are doing this as they need air, but this isn't the case they’re begging, just like a dog might do at the table. There are plenty of nutrients in the muddy moat waters, even though it may not look like it, and so we ask visitors not to feed the fish.

‘Hungry mouth to feed. You won’t like me when I’m hangry’

That made me think, remember when bread to feed the fish and bread and milk for Hedgehogs were commonly held beliefs? I cringe now at the thought, but you do still see plenty of people throwing bread for ducks.

Do you recall as well that one the way to Bodiam I missed getting a picture of Seven (+) Swans (Geese, but close enough) A Swimming? Well I did manage a photo of Ring a Ring a Roses on the Moat. What do you think?

The grounds around the Castle are left pretty natural looking and two sides have trees and bushes providing food and shelter.

And the land surrounding is obviously very fertile too.

Vineyards surround Bodiam Castle grounds

For history buffs there are links at the end, which tell you about the area’s productivity for the viticulture and brewing trade.

There’s still a lot of work to manage such an ancient site even if it’s not formal gardening.

There’s no sign or information to tell you, but this guardian Knight looks like it’s a chainsaw sculpture. I think when we’ve been to a Medieval Fair at Bodiam in the past (and at Bateman’s Summer Craft Fair too) that they’ve held demonstrations. I wouldn’t say he looks all that ferocious though and I bet quite a lot of people miss him as he’s tucked into the hedge.

And because I just can’t resist, if, like me, you do enjoy social history as much as chronicles of great note, these links are quite fascinating. Beware it’s a bit of a rabbit warren, there are old newspaper articles, photographs and interesting facts about Hop production and the villages around the Bodiam area. There are snippets about Whist Drives and charity fund raising and lots of weather and motoring reports, some of them quite dramatic.

I know we still call Kent ‘The Garden of England’ but it’s quite hard to imagine the scale of invasion to the South East at busy times when the labour forces were much needed and appreciated.

Imagine if they’d had Loyalty points back then!

Bodiam Hops, Brewing and Tasting.

The Castle Inn

Interesting facts :

The Castle Inn was the only Guinness owned house in the country. I guess it made sense to have an outlet where they owned so many Hop fields at the time. To make a booking, potential guests had to send a telegram as there was no telephone.

And finally, as they say on the news, a little anecdote. Only this morning I was listening to a radio show where they were discussing the American designer, Tom Ford’s, fragrance for men, named Oud Wood. The conversation was about how strange a word Oud is and how they’d not come across it before. The fragrance itself has ‘woody notes’ - unsurprisingly when they looked it up they found that’s the exact meaning of Oud.

Known as the "five thousand dollar per pound scent," Oud or Oudh is by far one of the most expensive raw fragrance ingredients in the world. Also known as agarwood, this essential oil is extracted from the fungus-infected resinous heartwood of the agar tree, which is primarily found in the dense forests of Southeast Asia, India and Bangladesh

So it was a strange coincidence when I was posting the history links up above to read...

The former Guinness Farm talked about up above - the one with the 1950s’ slide show, is known as Udiam Farm. No longer a Hop Farm, they have some rather nice looking holiday cottages and I bet it’s far easier to book now (lockdown allowing) than it was at The Castle back in the day*

*Point of Order, I don’t know them and have never been there.

Funny how small a world it is eh.

Index for more history bits and bobs for those who like the rabbit warren.

For those of you who’re monitoring our diet - we feel like chicken tonight, herb roasted...with a big mixed salad. I know the weather forecast was dire for temperature but the fire’s lit and we’re cosy, so salad is good.

Poppy for Remembrance (not my photo)

#national trust nature photography hops farming ducks Sussex Bodiam Castle history

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