Every single person in this painting wants the second quarter to hurry up and end because they actually only came to watch the halftime show. And the guacamole, but that ran out an hour ago.
painting: Cosimo Rosselli, Virgin and Child in Glory,
c. 1470, tempera with gold leaf and gesso on panel. Arabella D.
Huntington Memorial Art Collection. The Huntington Library, Art
Collections, and Botanical Gardens.
i. The galaxy is bigger than they both can comprehend. Even though the both of them have seen most of the Inner and Outer Rim planets. Even though they have both traveled its vast reaches, all the way to the outskirts of Wild Space. They’ve been to these places, seen different colored waters but they’ve never really looked. It’s different when you’re sent somewhere for a mission, different when you can’t take the time to run your fingers across a green leaf and let yourself appreciate it.
ii. Sometimes at night Finn thinks of red. Red reminds him of the First Order, it reminds him of the blood on his helmet. How the fingers smeared the blood across the white, a striking contrast. He remembers taking off the helmet and looking at it, how it looked like the number three. He figures this is his unlucky number. He doesn’t say that his hands shake when he thinks of this, that he feels beads of sweat go down his brow, that he wakes up with a pounding heart. He hears the word traitor, over and over and over.
iii. He has nightmares because he couldn’t save them all.
iv. Poe tells him about a fruit that he had on Jakku, a Taunulberry and how it stained his fingers blue and gray. When he talks he uses his hands, his fingers create a world of their own with flicks of his wrist. Finn can see it clearly and imagines his fingers dyed as well. He imagines himself sitting close, shoulders touching, knees pulled close to their chest as they sit in one of the small huts. He imagines a time where they found each other sooner, that after the ship had crashed into the sand, grains moving against their skin, that they were both there. That they found Rey together and things were very different for them both. When Poe laughs and asks Finn if he was listening, Finn nods his head eagerly. He was listening too closely.
v. Eventually he tells Poe about red. He tells him of how he associates it with control, with malintent. He tells him it reminds him of Kylo’s lightsaber and how nothing good can be associated with the color. He remembers his rage, his rage, his rage. He thinks of fire, he thinks of how those in the Hosnian system saw red as the last color before they were destroyed.
Poe smiles, a small genuine thing, he tells Finn about different planets sunsets, how the sun crescents on the horizon basking lands in rays of red and orange. He tells him about how red isn’t always hurtful, it doesn’t always speak of vengeful things.
“Our jacket has a patch of red on it, it doesn’t seem to bother you when you wear it?”
“I don’t want it to bother me.”
Poe doesn’t tell him that he’s seen the way he holds the jacket sometimes, how his fingers caress the fabric of the red patch before he puts it on.
Finn holds onto the word our.
vi. Finn makes comparisons in his head, builds lists. He compares the organized chaos of the resistance to the militant cleanliness of the First Order.
“It’s not that messy.” Poe states as Finn points out empty mugs, helmets strewn about in their small conference room on base.
Finn laughs, he doesn’t mind that it’s messy. It feels comfortable.
vii. “Do you think Rey likes it, wherever she went to find Luke?” Finn has his hands behind his head as he looks up at the ceiling, imagining that it is gone and instead he’s looking out at Wild Space, millions of uncharted starts.
“Where ever it is, I hope that it is somewhere green.” Poe’s voice is quieter as he makes this confession.
“I think that she would like that.” Finn feels that she is braver than them all. He hopes that there is water, that there are waves, that she can see them crash against cliff sides. He hopes that she sees every color the galaxy has to offer.
vii. Finn wakes up to screams, wakes up to realize that this time they are not his own. BB-8 is at his heels, beeping and urging him along. It takes less than a minute to get to Poe’s room, less than a minute to have his hands on his shoulders as he tries to wake him. BB-8 tells him of his worry, that Poe has had many quiet nightmares since being taken by the First Order. Finn doesn’t understand everything the droid says but when he has Poe in his arms, he suddenly realizes that they are both fighting something bigger than them both.
Poe breathes heavily, his face buried in the crook of Finn’s neck. It’s warm and causes goose-flesh on Finn’s arms. His fingers cling to Finn until his bones ache, until his breathing evens out. Finn runs his hands down Poe’s back, lets them play with the string at the end of Poe’s shirt, the one that is coming unraveled. In the dark he notices that the string is red, the shirt is red. For the first time he doesn’t feel his chest swell in panic of it. For the first time he feels like red can have a new meaning for him.
“It’s going to be ok,” Finn says and they both believe it.
The background was painted black like that of the sky that held the stars
Brushes that glided onto the paper, smearing blues and greens together to create a colour reminiscent to the sea after a storm. The flow of his wrist guiding his paintbrush. Tones and lines creating something new. His secrets lived inside of his paintbrush and told their story on canvas.
“We’re surprised he wasn’t born with a watercolour palette in his hand!” His parents often laughed to their friends as if it was an original joke he hadn’t heard 50 times before.
But they were right, he guessed. Yoongi looked at the world in a different perspective to others. He painted the paths as he walked and every leaf that hung from limp branches were painted in acrylic the colour of jade. Nothing was as beautiful to him as the drift of ink as it was marked on his paper.
Statues and empires are all at your hands, Water to wine and the finest of sands. When all that you have’s turnin’ stale and it’s cold, Oh you’ll no longer fear when your heart’s turned to gold.
Who can you trust, When everything, everything, everything you touch turns to gold, gold, gold.
Imagine Dragons - Gold
I get the strangest ideas at 5am (and 4am the following day /sweats)
Let me say thank you to @thefreakyfashionistawriter for being amazing and basically going through this whole blog and leaving so many nice comments along the way ;A; seriously thank you so much, Denny!! (You can find a lot of iwaoi (writing) on Denny’s blog /eye emoji)
(I got an ask about my materials and I’ll gladly answer that, I just have to.. gather the stuff and everything. It’s still a bit scattered after moving /sweats a lot But I’ll get back to you <3!!)
1 flax egg,
1 large dill pickle,
2 pitted kalamata olives,
1 large clove of garlic,
6 tablespoons nutritional yeast,
1 tablespoon mustard,
the juice of 1 lime,
1 tablespoon olive oil,
2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar,
¾ cups plant based milk,
1 tablespoon dried parsley (optional),
½ teaspoon cayenne pepper,
½ teaspoon ground black pepper,
1 tablespoon (or more) sea-salt,
put all of your ingredients into a blender or food processor until smooth, pour over your salad & enjoy! my go to caesar salad recipe is beyond meat chicken, large slices of sweet onion, cucumber pieces, sliced kalamata olives, sunflower seeds & whole wheat croutons over mixed greens, romain & red leaf lettuce.