PSA for comrades intending on engaging in acts of Direct Action or are looking to protect themselves and others whilst protesting (please share this and spread it around) : How to make a cheap/disposable “Book Bloc” shield, (disclaimer, these types of shields are only good for blocking police batons, kicks and punches and pepper spray not less lethal rounds or live ammunition) Step 1. Find or buy some heavy duty tough cardboard sheets or sturdy lightweight wood hardboard, Step 2. Punch or drill 4 holes through the sheets or boards in the middle, Step 3. Find or buy 2 hooked bungee cords, one should be slightly longer than the other in order to provide enough slack so your arm can fit through, Step 4. loop the bungee cords through the holes and attach the hooks at either end together to create handles, Step 5. Paint or draw on a design or message of your choosing, people tend to paint on the title of a book and the name of the author hence the term “Book Bloc” shield.
Jacob Lawrence (American, 1917-2000), The Negroes who had been North for quite some time met their fellowmen with disgust and aloofness, 1940-41. From The Migration Series. Casein tempera on hardboard, 18 x 12 in.
Between Two Worlds (study for a recurring dream of ichor baptism fashioned as a portico fresco cartoon), 2016
I have experienced the vision twice so far: in my childhood (around 1984) and last autumn.
I enter a concealed pavilion and immediately hear a soft female voice speaking an unknown language. There is something about the timbrе that robs me of my will power and I gradually lose control over my body. The sermon brings me to my knees and pulls towards an imposing figure of a pitch black priestess - her features and details of her attire flattened by uniform blackness. I realize before long that the voice is no more and the scene is now drowned in a solemn silence. The lady tends to a peculiar suspended vessel and places it directly over my head. At her slightest touch it tilts and a warm, living substance pours down upon me. It covers me whole and eventually locks my body in this hard resin shell. Panic surge is quickly replaced by the most glorious sensation of myself imploding within the shell and falling endlessly through the soul’s looking glass into the unknown.
Acrylics on paper mounted on prepared hardboard, 23.7 x 22.5 cm
Prompt:“So Seamus, have you and Dean ever kissed?”
I had this sitting on my ask box since the last time I rped as Seamus aka since forever and I decided to give it a new use.
Notes: Unbeta’d. Messy as fuck.
This is a birthday gift for the adorable @bookwormravenclawgirl - Malu, I’m really sorry for doing this so late. Hope you enjoy it anyways ♥ I love you, sunshine.
“So Seamus, have you and Dean ever kissed?”
He could swear that everything around him froze and time just suddenly stopped working. He should have known. Why the bloody hell would Hermione, Ginny and Luna invite him to a butterbeer in first place? His eyes darted nerviously between the three girls in front of him, before falling down to the floor. It was a bloody set up. For Merlin’s sakes.
He slowly put down the cup, licking the foam that the drink left on his upper lip and making a point into avoiding any and all eye contact possible. Really? The three of them. Sitting in front of him. Shoulder on shoulder, expectant. How could he not notice how extremely odd that was? Because he was as dense and as fucking oblivious as his thick brain let him.
Now y'see, thinking wasn’t exactly his strong point, but he couldn’t avoid it at this point. Anxiety was creeping into him. Hands twisting under the table. The girls were going to be the death of him and not even in the good sense. Was he really that obvious with the way he managed his little crush? He felt like choking at that blalant lie. It wasn’t a bloody little crush. You call your crush little when it just started and took glances once or twice at them or have sudden butterflies on your tummy. He was having years of that shit, to the point of feeling utterly sick all the time Dean speant at Ginny’s side.
There wasn’t a point on avoiding it now, was it?
“Neh, we haven’t”
“I really hope you’re lying to me, you twat, or Merlin help you,” Ginny’s unmistakeble voice crushed the silence. I was probably her best gift. Crushing a man’s will with just the mere sound of her voice.
He sighed and took his eyes away from the really interesting hardboard floor of the pub. His legs bouncing without any rythm. The three sets of eyes burned into him like the worst punishment. Why was he being judged? He knit his eyebrows together, glaring at them. Thank Merlin his eyebrows didn’t get burned earlier today or he couldn’t pull this off. Neither moved a muscle. With or without eyebrows, it didn’t work. He was as defeaning as a kitten. Awesome blow at his ego.
“What was I supposed to do? Trow myself at Dean and kiss him? Just like that?,” he snorted feeling a bit pathetic at how his heart did a somersault in the middle of his chest at the idea, “Right now, a week after he broke up with ye’? Yeah, that’s one of yer best plans. How ‘bout no?”
The way Ginny squinted her eyes at him gave him goosebumps. She was definetely thinking about hexing his ass. There was fire in those eyes and he was gonna get burned alive. But that’s what he wanted. Get burned, get kicked, get hurt and avoid the comfrontation. Avoid showing how he really felt. It wasn’t his best idea, honestly, but it was working. And suddenly that was Luna’s hand on Ginny’s. And Luna’s lips on her shoulder and later neck. And the fire retreated to a candle flame. Oh. Okay. That was new.
A delicate touch on his hand brought him back to reality. The one outside the fact that Ginny and Luna were something, that is. Back to the pub. Full of people. Where he was getting interrogated on why he hadn’t kissed Dean yet. How big where the possibilities of a rogue dragon to come crashing down into the pub and set him on fire? He should ask Ron to tell his brother about that. Letting a dragon free once in a while could save someone’s life.
“’M not really understanding what does my crush on Dean have to do with anything here,” and that was probably the stupidiest thing he could have said to them. With hand motions and all the drill. He knew it. But sometimes playing dumb gave its rewards. This wasn’t one of those times. Their expressions rapidly growing from complete desbelief to what looked painfully like this poor soul is beyond repair. He pressed his lips into a thin line.
Ginny’s attention was back on him and he wasn’t really sure if it was a good or a bad thing. “It have to do with you both pining so hard into one another that it’s sickening,” he decided that no. Ginny paying attention to him again wasn’t someting good. It was catastrophic, “It’s so sickening actually that we decided to do something about it for you both. So here we are.”
“You know that Dean has been pining on you since second year, right?,” Hermione’s voice broke just before he could retort an answer to Ginny asking her to shove her quidditch broom where the sun don’t shine. His eyes roamed Hermione’s features for a while, trying to come with a twitch or something that could gave in the lie, but there was nothing. Maybe she wasn’t lying. Or he was too bad outing liars. Surely it was the last one. She squinted her eyes at him in response to his silence, “I know what you’re thinking, Seamus, and I’m not lying. He has been pining really hard on you since second year.”
Time seemed to stop again after those words. But it was different from before. There wasn’t fear nor the need to hide under the table. A warm feeling expanded on his chest. His stomach and heart swapped places.
Dean had a crush. On him. A crush on him. Since second year. Woah. His bouncing legs now seemed like if he was marching. His mind remembering every little moment that he thought was misunderstanding. Every little smile. Every time their eyes got swarmed into one another. Every small touch. And how he tried to convince himself that he was being stupid. How could Dean love him back? But Dean loved him back. And he was being stupid by not doing something.
Someone hitted the table with all their strenght, making him jump. Hello again, reality. Ginny was now crouched in front of him on the table. Brown eyes locked on his. A smile tugging at her lips, one that he knew too well. It was the same that she had before every match of quidditch. It shouted mischief to his face.
“What are you going to do, Finnigan? Are you going to stay here, sitting down and thinking, or are you–”
Whatever she kept saying, it was out of his ears reach. He bolted and started to run back to Hogwarts. To the dorms. He felt like exploding from inside out. He felt warmer every passing moment. His heart beating all over the place. Out of the blue, he was laughing at each new step like a crazy man. The weight on his shoulders for feeling unwanted disappearing, giving place to a new set of nerves that made him feel drugged in life. Happiness swirling down in his gut.