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minijenn · 4 years

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Home Away From Homeworld Preview

I’ll give ya’ll a long one cause I’ve been starving the fam for UF content lately. Have some early Ford wandering around Homeworld and generally being incompetent shenanigans:

***

It was an alien planet, about as alien as any other dimension Ford had found himself in over the past 30 years. The atmosphere was breathable, painted an almost mystical shade of starry lavender filling in the sparse space between the dense cityscape this dimension seemed to largely be composed of. Every structure seemed to be almost crystalline, angular in design as they towered into the air in an intentionally uniform, orderly sort of way. Ford had emerged into one of the narrow alleyways between two of these windowless buildings, immediately on guard, just as he always was whenever he found himself venturing out into a new, unfamiliar setting. Just beyond that alleyway lay what seemed to be a street that was bustling with noise and activity, though the kind of creatures that inhabited it took the author completely by surprise.

By many accounts, they seemed to be humanoid, most of them strangely femenine in appearance as they wandered about the roadway, each of them intent on performing certain tasks or heading to specific destinations. A group of sturdy, muscular orange women marched by in a clean formation, a flock of tiny, teal, aquatic-winged girls flittered past a patrol of green, single-eyed women rushing for what seemed to be a nearby airfield. And yet, for as colorful and contrasting as the residents of this world seemed to be, one pair among them in particular instantly caught Ford’s eye, even from afar.

Both of them were small in stature, around the same height as one dutifully led the way in front of the other. And yet, what shocked the author the most was the mere sight of them; one red, one blue, but so incredibly familiar that it had to be them, it had to be. Even if it made no sense for them to be in a place like this, Ford would know that iconic couple anywhere, whether they were together or apart like they were now. Which was why he largely,if not foolishly, threw all sense of stealth right out the window in favor of reuniting with, at the very least, who he hoped actually were two of his former friends this time around.

“Ruby! Sapphire!” Ford called, rushing out from the alley. The moment he did, the rush of activity in the street he heedlessly ran straight out into came to a complete standstill, with everyone in the immediate vicinity practically freezing in place as soon as they spotted or heard the author. Clearly, none of them knew what to make of him or what to do as he merely ran past them all, not regarding any of them as he instead kept his sights on the Gems he believed to be Ruby and Sapphire on the other side of the thoroughfare. Said pair of Gems spun around as he approached them, one of them startled while the other seemed to be expecting his arrival. Still that didn’t stop “Ruby” from rushing to leap in front of “Sapphire”, aggressively standing her ground against the much taller human before her.

“You there!” she shouted, glaring up at Ford furiously, though her expression also betrayed her clear bewilderment as well. “Uh… you... w-whatever you are!”

“That is a human.” “Sapphire” noted calmly.

“Oh! Uh… o-ok!” “Ruby” nodded, taking her word for it. “Human! I order you to stand down and, uh… leave my Sapphire in peace! Or else!”

“...What?” Ford raised a confused eyebrow as he looked down at the pair. “Ruby, what in the multiverse are you talking about? You know me! Both of you do!”

“We don’t know any human!” Suddenly, from just behind “Sapphire” another Ruby entirely emerged, with another one following her right after to flank the blue Gem protectively.

“Y-yeah!” the other Ruby exclaimed, feigning toughness before she muttered obliviously to her companions. “Uh… what’s a human?”

Ford started at this, completely dumbfounded by the trio of Rubies and the single Sapphire before him. And yet, as he took another look at the group before him, he quickly realized exactly what made them all stand apart from the Gems he knew. Namely, the fact that the Sapphire’s gemstone rested on her chest, while the Rubies had theirs on their cheek, shoulder, and forehead respectively. Each an obvious difference from the palm placements of the Ruby and Sapphire he was familiar with. “W-wait…” he faltered, taking a stumbling step away from the group. “Y-you… you’re not-”

“You must have us confused with someone else,” the Sapphire noted evenly, her stoic expression unchanged. “Also, you might want to run.”

It didn’t take long for Ford to understand the reason for this advice as a sudden clamor arose on the far side of the roadway. While most of the other women, or rather, likely Gems, the author inferred, could really only stare at him in baffled shock, one faction among them had rallied themselves into action. They were all strongly-built, soldier types, and Ford briefly thought a few of them might have even looked like Amethyst if not for their larger bodies and longer hair. All the same, the entire crowd of them had their curious, yet confounded sights set solely on the author as they erupted into a rowdy ruckus amongst themselves.

“Hey! What is that thing?”

“It’s not some kinda new Gem is it?”

“Of course, it’s not a Gem, stupid!”

“Who you calling stupid, stupid!”

“Enough!” A loud, impatient shout broke through the argument, stalling the group as they made their heated approach toward Ford. The crowd of Gems quickly parted ways for their superior, each of them greeting her with respectful cross-armed salutes as she regarded them bitterly. As for that superior herself, she was every bit as intimidating as the Amethysts both in stature and in pallor given her dark orange coloration and severe, yet stately manner. “What in the name of the Diamonds are you Amethysts causing such a fuss about?!”

“F-forgive us, Fire Agate!” one of the Amethysts stammered nervously. “B-but we think we might have just found an Off Color and we-”

“Wait...” Fire Agate swiftly silenced her as she finally spared a glance over at Ford. For his part, the author was far too startled by the unfolding situation to really try to make too much sense of it, much less react to it like he should have. Even so, he couldn’t help but feel rather anxious under the incredibly scrutinizing gaze Fire Agate was sending his way. “You complete and utter clods!” she snapped suddenly, smacking the pair of Amethyst’s closest to her upside their heads harshly. “That’s not an Off Color! It’s something far worse; that’s human!”

“Ooooh, a human,” one of the Amethysts nodded, feigning understanding before she whispered to her companion. “What’s a human?”

“It’s one of those things from Earth, dummy.”

“I’m not a dummy, dummy!”

“Quiet!” Fire Agate shouted at them before she turned back to Ford. “And as for you--I don’t know how you managed to get here from that disgusting mudball of a planet you call home, but here on Homeworld we do not take kindly to you lowly organic lifeforms.”

#jen writes #universe falls #uf preview #home away from homeworld #adventures in the multiverse

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c-atm · 4 years

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A Gems Djinn One-shot.

The 18-year old chest burned as he continued to run further into the temple. They were invaded by monsters, not gems..Monsters of earth...He didn't know what type but they were humanoid and they were able to match his mother; Onyx, and the gems. The face she gave him, when she was tossed into the sand on her back. The enemy blade meeting and struggling against her midnight octagon barrier.

"Steven! Get the cobalt chest in the temple flame, now!"

Never did he see such a look of reluctant defeat on his mother's face. The mighty Onyx. Leader of the Crescent gems. Nor did he ever see the gems look so shocked and fearful.

He was a hybrid bearing a gem imprint instead of a true gem, and only exhibited gem physicality. He knew he couldn't help against these...demons...Not against their magical prowess. Not without whatever was in that chest.

So he ran fast, following his mother's order. Deep down the stairs, through corridors, round corners after corners. Why did this place have so many corners?

"WHERE ARE YOU LITTLE HYBRID! LET SEE YOU POOF POOF POOF. LIKE THAT OF YOUR MOMMA."

His eyes widened as he heard one of the invaders' voices. He didn't have time to think about how the invaders got in or the status of his family, though. He could feel the energies of the flame close by, urging him to run towards it.

He soon found himself in large a circular ruin, with a blue flame both rising and falling within its center through two openings on the floor and ceiling, it's only light. Rune and glyph covered the area completely. Six sections lined up against walls, four on each side, in each was a stone body part. At the very back on a stone bench..

"The chest!"

[[MORE]]

He ran towards it with a smile, the chest shined the same color as the flame, outlined with black and gold glyph. He stopped to stare at the box, His heart pounding into his chest as he did. It had no latch, no keyhole. He laid a single fingertip on it,

“”Huuuuu-haaahahahaha!”

Brown femenine kissable lips flashed within his mind; a seductive gasping laugh resounded within him causing him to back up in caution… Whatever was in there..Was not to be trifled with..and yet he can feel his cheeks heat up.

“COME ON YOU SKINNY COWARD! IT'S TIME TO POOF POOF POOF!"

He looked towards the entrance before turning back to the chest. He held the top of the chest and tried to force it open.

"Fuck!" It was a no go, probably magically sealed. How the hell was he supposed to open this box. He gripped the box and squeezed trying to shatter it...

Nope.

"WELL WELL WELL..LOOK AT THIS PLACE."

Steven, froze at the horrendously gravel voice, before turning towards the entrance.

a questionably hunan of snow white skin and lips, gray hair straggly hair, tall bone thin body, red eyes, inhumanly large hands and feet with yellowish rotten nails sharpened to claws and talons, and crooked, fanged, diseased teeth.

Dressed in a tattered red and black body suit, with a long crooked tie. Bangles on their wrist and ankles, made of bone gold and skull.

“THIS IS SUCH A COOL PLACE. CLASSIC MYSTICAL RUINS. YOU WOULDN'T KNOW SUCH A PLACE EXISTED IN THIS DAY IN AGE…

It scratched the top of it's head, making a sound like stone scratching a chalkboard, as it yawned revealing a large, green, viper like tongue. Its breath smelled of rotten flesh.

"WELL, GUESS YOU WOULD KNOW, BEING A GEM AND ALL. THOUGH, FROM WHAT I HEARD YOU GUYS ARE FROM THE STARS, RIGHT?"

Steven gulped as the creature took a step towards him, a look of aggression on its face.

"YOU'RE QUITE RUDE, LITTLE SHARD..I'M TRYING TO HOLD A CONVERSATION AND YOU'RE NOT ENGAGING! HAVE YOUR MOTHER TAUGHT YOU NO ETIQUETTE!"

Steven watched in horror as the demon's stomach swelled, it's abdominal muscles pressed tightly against its skin. The monster reached and plunged one its entire hand inside its swollen midsection, before ripping out a thin malleable bone half as tall as Steven, dripping with cream colored blood. With a flick of the wrist the bone hardened, and glistened in the flames light it swung it against the rune wall, cutting through as if it was flesh.

"....NOW THEN. LITTLE SHARD. SINCE YOU DON'T WISH TO TALK, HOW ABOUT YOU GIVE ME THE CHEST, YEAH? WE KANARAKAS, LIVE UP TO OUR VOCATION; AND AS SUCH I, ANTIQUARIAN MUST COLLECT THAT CHEST...AND YOUR HEAD"

Steven gripped the chest harder at the claim, glaring in defiance. He had no false hope of actually beating this 'Antiquarian'..but he wasn't gonna make it easy for them. Though he really had no idea what to do.. Watching as the monster crouched low before dashing forward ready to run Steven through.

Instinct took over as Steven intercepted the stab with the chest. The energies of chest and bone created a small implosion, slamming the boy back to the eastern wall and his opponent to the opposite wall.

"Ow!" Steven winced as he stood feeling a bit of stone fall off his back. He didn't have time to survey the damage as Antiquarian was already striking down towards his skull, attempting to split him in half.

"Face Up!" Steven complied, intercepting the bone again with the face of the chest. A different result occurred this time, as Steven was unharmed and Antiquarian was electrocuted by a stream of supernatural lighting running through the bone blade to the demon. The monster pain of agony was silenced after a few seconds as its body crumpled over.

Steven stumbled back on to the floor, the smell of burned flesh getting to him. He sighed as he turned towards the chest in his hands. He breathed deeply as he turned towards his opponent, seeing that it hadn't made any movement but was clearly breathing.

"I don't know how I feel about that?" Steven groaned as he relaxed, looking up and zone out a bit. He took a shocking deep breath as the scent of jasmine, chai and bluebell hit his nose...and a gentle weight hit his left shoulder. He turned his head towards the weight and for a split second, saw an azure blue silhouette of a girl his age leaning upon his shoulder.

"Who are…?"

She was about to turn towards him when they heard the growl of Antiquarian as he stirred and sat up in pain.

Steven gulped as he reached for her hand only to meet ground. He turned to her to realize she was gone.

"What the fu.."

Antiquarian roared as, turning towards Steven, hate in its eyes. Steven stood his ground chest in his hands, his determination meeting Antiquarian's hate and wounded pride as the monster stalked forward swinging a clawed hand at the young man's skull.

Steven stepped under the attack and moved in close. He slammed the chest, hard into the stomach of Antiquarian.

Antiquarian loomed over Steven, as he bent forward in pain.

"JUST A BOX."

Steven's eyes grew in fear before he was snatched and skipped along the floor by Antiquarian into the southwestern wall, hitting his chest and landing on his side withering in pain. He struggled to breathe let alone move, as he clenched the chest closer. Struggled but did so.

He felt the box glow one last time as speckles of magical energy flowed towards him healing his damage, leaving the chest dull in color. He still couldn't open it though.

"Oh come on!" That was the only lamentation Steven was allowed as Antiquarian was already mid punch.He was able to narrowly dodge the hook, watching it crack the stone wall where his head was.

"Ok..Now what!"Steven thought about running for the exit, only to realize he would literally go over, under or through the monster. All seemed impossible. It was hopeless.

"GIVE ME THE BOX!" Antiquarian roared as he took another swing at Steven, this time at the boy's ribs. Steven leapt back, but the blow glancingly connected. It was enough to get the point of cross as he felt a bruise forming. He winced but held his ground as he lifted the box up over his head, a threatening look in his eye. He was poised to slam the boxed towards the floor.

"You want the box!"

He watched as Antiquarian froze in it's movements, eyes trained on the box.

"The flame. Burn me, emblaze me, RELEASE ME!"

His eyes widened as he heard the voice of the chest again. He turned his eyes towards the flame and breath deep.

"Go get it!"

"NO!!!"

Time seemingly slowed as Steven tossed the chest into the flame.They watched as the flames encased the chest in an orb that crushed and burned the box. It wasn't long until the chest broke and burned away, the flames kept moving as it was.

Steven didn't get a moment to feel defeated before he was slammed to the stone floor unconscious.

"BASTARD!" Antiquarian snapped at the hybrid, its hands ready to shatter Steven windpipe for costing it its treasure.

Just as Antiquarian hands enclosed around Steven's neck and lifted him from the ground, a sound coming from the flame stole their attention, it was that of a giggling girl.

Antiquarian snarled as it didn't see anyone, but heard the giggling resound all over the ruin.

"Well, what do we have here, a Kanaraka? I thought you single minded fools were all destroyed. What do you call yourself, what's your purpose?"

""I AM ANTIQUARIAN! SHOW YOURSELF!, I KNOW IT WAS YOU WHO WAS DEFENDING THE BOY... COME SO I CAN COLLECT YOUR HEAD AS WELL."

"If you know that..You must know that I'm already here."

"SHOW YOURSELF!"

"OR WHAT!?"

The force that came from the yell, knocked the Kanaraka away from Steven and onto the wall, pinning it there. Unable to move, the monster could only watch as the flames began to swirl and twist around themselves, as a microscopic, dim azure wisp like orb enlarged itself in the center of the flammes, second by second.

Steven groaned feeling the heat of the area, fluttering his eyes he looked towards the flame and fell in awe at what he was witnessing.

As it grew, the orb seemed to take basic human shape, floating within the flame. First, of an infant, a toddler then a child. After that the shape became identifiably feminine as it ‘aged’ to that of an older teen. A swell of breast, the curves of hips, the softness of the shape, the lack of anything phallic.

Soon, the stone body parts began to hover from their pedestals and fly towards the flame attaching themselves to ‘her'. First her arms and legs, followed by her torso, and finally the head. The pieces melted and melded together in a nice skin of magma in the form of 'her' as the flames continued toward dance around 'her',caressing her in a gentle embrace.

It was at this moment that the flames no longer swirled around ‘her’ but flew within her; illuminating her form, energizing it and giving her body heat...Giving her life as 'She’ began to move within the flame.

"huuuhaaaa." Her chest began to rise gently as 'she' took her first breath. Her fingers began to twitch, her toe curled, her lips quivered and finally her eyes slowly opened.

She moved her head up looking straight, ignoring the flames that found their place within her as they restitched her existence to the living.

Steven's heart skipped multiple beats as he gazed into her very human eyes. Powerful...Alluring...Charismatic.. The most illuminating pearls of black he ever saw, locked with his own brown eyes.

He watched her descend to the ground as if led by the very flames entering her, appearing as a goddess of molten earth and azure light. ‘She’ landed in a kneel, still as the stone she was encased, the flames finally dying out as she began to stand.

Her movements were slow and steady, as if she was afraid she would break otherwise, She turned fullt toward Steven and slowly stepped forward, leaving melted footprints on the stone floor. She watches as his eyes widen towards her….

“Watch out!!”

She felt the fist connect with her skull, the air as she sailed across the room, and the destruction of her body as it broke through and was buried by the western stone wall.

Steven's bottom lip quivered in shock before he felt the sparks of rage flicker within him. Ignoring the pain of his body, he stood glaring at the Kanaraka, who stared readily at the crumbled wall.

“Bas-”

“Bastard, don’t you Kanaraka have any basic manners.”

Steven froze at the sound of ‘her’ voice, before turning towards the whole in the wall.

“Holy..”Steven was left breathless as she stepped out into the dim lighted ruin, completely bare, and without shame.

A slim, curvy and tone build,with long legs. Skin of dark mahogany, small yet full lips, prominent nose, thick umber eyebrows with mid-back length hair of the same color, and those black eyes. On her wrist were azure color markings, in a language he couldn’t make out.

If Steven hadn't seen her release, he would have thought of her as a slightly taller nineteen year-old human girl, with an exotic air about her. Watching her as she cracked her neck and stretched her back, sides and legs, with a fire engine face.

“YOU..NO NO YOU D-.” Antiquarian growled objectionably, it’s eyes narrow as it clenched it’s fist tightly, drawing a bit of its own blood due to the pressure.

“Djinn..I’m a Djinn, Kanaraka.” She retorted in the same fashion, before chuckling. “You said your name was Antiquarian, right?” She shook her head mockingly “That’s too good of a name for something like you. How about ‘Collector, or ‘Scavenger’ those seem more your taste.”

The Kanaraka charged with a screech ready to run the girl through, It shot it’s long clawed hand forward a direct course for the girl windpipe,

“GRRROOAAAAGHH!”

The loud crack of bones breaking resounded in the ruin, as the girl’s fist met with the palm of Antiquarian, breaking it’s thin hand; tearing the bone through its pale flesh.

“What was that you said about taking our head?” The mocking question was followed by the slamming of her left knee into the chin of the demon, making it stumble and fall to its back; it’s jaw loosened by the blow. She looked down at the monster before turning her gaze to Steven, her eyes softening at his red face, despite him not looking towards her ,

“I’ll be right with you, keematee” Cheerfulness in her voice as she gave him a small smirk, it quickly changed to annoyance when she skipped over a sweeping kick from the demon, She watched the demon somersaulted back to its feet, near Steven.

Antiquarian glanced at the hybrid for a quick second,contemplating taking him hostage, only to be forced to duck and move away as the Djinn girl attempted to strike with her fist; landing in front of Steven and giving the Kanaraka a cool deadly glare.

“MAHESWARAN! DEVIL OF FIRE AND BRIMSTONE!” Antiquarian snarled, anger and dread vibrating in its throat. Picking up its bone sword ready to defend itself

"Huh? Oh My! How informed you are." Her smile and voice was gentle and almost admiring...It never reached her eyes, they remained unchanged.She placed the tips of her index and middle finger on her chin as she walked forward, causing the monster to step back.

"But..I think you’re missing some vital information. Let’s start with the “Fire and Brimstone-”

“GET BACK!”

“I understand how one such as yourself could come up with such a conclusion..Seeing how i was brought back..But I must correct you, I am not an elemental of earth or fire. I am not an elemental at all, though I have dabbled in using those two..”

“STAY AWAY!” Antiquarian swung the blade towards the girl's torso, ready to slice her in half, Both human and Kanaraka was stunned as she halted the weapons path right before it landed with a palm size vortex from her left hand. The bone weapon shook against the wind. .

“But truly, I admire that of wind.” She enclosed her hand around the blade. “And lightning.”

Antiquarian was quick to release the weapon, seeing the streaks of blue magic based electricity run up the blade like a crackling livewire. It watched with unease as the girl twisted the all too large blade around like a baton before resting it on her shoulder, before returning to her stroll towards it

“Second, the ‘Devil” comment. I take offense to such a thing. I’m a Djinn. I bear no imp tail, or horns. I serve no, nor have I ever served, a fallen angel in hell...Though.” She glanced at Steven from the corner of her eye. “I can be devilishly delightful, depending on the mood.” She teased the boy.

The Kanaraka crouched low, its talon scratching the stone floor, Its mouth tight in rage, baring its teeth. Ready to strike her down at any given moment.. Until, she turned her sight back toward the kanaraka and showed it her eyes...Those eyes warped in wickedness … and felt the strangulation of reality...She would be Antiquarian final visage.

”Three, and this is very important.��Her voice held an aura of pure sugar, as her smile began to hild the same wickedness as her eyes. She was just a half foot away, looking up at the lengthy monster who looked like he wanted to beg for forgiveness.”Who gave you instruction, allowance to speak of my blood? Do you understand the affornt of your actions?”

She didn’t give the monster a chance to respond before,heating the bone sword up until it glowed azure and using it to stab it's right shoulder, watching the arm drop off and simultaneously cauterize the wound.

Antiquarian screamed in pain as it dropped to its knees, it reached for the dropped limb.

"Well?" She asked as she sliced the fallen limb a couple of times, scorching it before Antiquarian could reach it.

The light of the blue flames gave the Djinn visage, a horrifying light. The Kanaraka could only look at those eyes..Those deep black, half-lid eyes illuminate in hellish blue looking down on it. Too afraid to speak.

"Not going to answer, such bad etiquette." She grabbed Antiquarian by its jaw and squeezed. 'Ok answer this..Those gems, do you have them?"

The Kanaraka shook its head the best it could.

"You were bragging about my mother being poof..Dissipated." Steven chimed in, his back towards the scene.

"That's true...So were you lying?"

The Kanaraka sneered in response.

"Oh ho! You did lie. I figured they might still be fighting correct."

As if to answer her answer, a tremor from outside was heard.

"Sounds like they're about to end their bout. So how about it, Kanaraka? Why come here, huh?"

"I WOULDN'T HAVE COME IF I KNEW YOU WERE HOUSED, MONSTER!"

"But you did know and you did come."

"ALL I KNEW OF WAS THE BOX AND THE HYBRID.."

"You threatened to take my head."

"I WAS UNAWARE OF WHAT THE BOX HELD.." The pleading sorrow in Antiquarian's voice, fell on deaf ears.

"You threatened to take his head."

She received a growl in response.

'She' sighed dully, tapping the blade on her shoulder as she spoke in its ear. "Antiquarian..That's your name and vocation. To collect ancient treasures...Treasure as he maybe, he's only on the cusp of adulthood. Seventeen-"

"Eighteen."

"Eighteen years, so far. Not what you would call an antique...You went against your vocation...What's the punishment for that again?"

"DEATH."

She nodded as she released its jaw. "You wanna tell me who sent you?"

The Antiquarian said nothing waiting for the blow.

"I commend your loyalty."

It was a simple strike of her hand that ended the demons' existence. It didn't scream, howl or roar. It just let it be. It didn't groan when she grabbed it's heart, didn't wince when her nails punctured it, didn't give any type of negative emotion when it felt itself being added to her existence. All it felt was a gentle, welcoming, warmth of blue.

"BETTER DEATH THAN MOST, I SUPPOSE."

'She' left no burn, no ash, no smoke. There was no trace of Antiquarian, except for it's bone blade, which she made vanish in a streak of azure.

"It's done, you can turn around now. There's no body."

Steven clenched his fist at the statement, she said it so indifferently. "Right"

He turned his head and quickly turned back around.. He forgot she was still nude.

She saw the red on his ears and smirked an impish smirk before gliding silently towards him. She leaned forward so her head was on his shoulders before giving him a warm held peck on his cheek.

"Gah! What!" Steven yelped before turning towards the girl, getting an eye full. He quickly turned away before taking off his jacket and handing it to her.

"Wear this."

"Hmm?" 'She' blinked as she looked at the jacket, holding her head to the side. "Why?"

"Because, you're nude!"

"And. I think I have a very attractive body."

"That's not the point!"

"I feel nice too, wanna see."

Before he could answer, she pulled him into a hug, placing his head just above her left breast and squeezing him, almost adoringly.

"'What. What are you doing!?"

Thump-thump...Thump-thump

His eyes widened at the sound. A heartbeat, a very strong human heartbeat. From there his body started to acknowledge other aspects. Such as the human warmth of her body, the supple softness and comforting firmness of her flesh. He held her back around the small of her back..just in curiosity.

She smiled as she tussled the slightly smaller man's hair. "Feels nice, right? Just like a human."

He hummed in content unaware of his hands.

She shivered as she felt herself palmed. "Hey hey. You're a little low!"

"Wait, no! I didn't mean to!"

'She' laughed as the apple red hybrid tried to struggle out of her grasp. "You're so precious! Such a gentleman, my bonded is."

"Bonded?!"

"Well..not yet, I suppose."

Steven was going to retort, when she caressed his face and placed her lips upon his. Steven was stunned at first, his muns telling him to try to break it..but his subconscious..His instinct and heart drove him to do the opposite and so he did…And returned the kiss.

In doing so he felt a heat rise in him, a power and knowledge he didn't have flowing within him, a connection he didn't want to lose.

She broke it gently before stepping back, waiting patiently. Her legs crossed as she bent forward looking up at him.

Steven blushed before taking in her image, feeling his stomach and heart heat up, and not because she was still in the buff. Though he'd doubt he would ever get used to it. The giggling lips, the shillolute, the voice… All had a face, form and figure. More so than that..

"Connie, get dressed."

It had a name and identity.

"You see the modern derivative." Connie chuckled before giving him an adorable smile. "Well, if my bonded requests it."

Connie stood straight before looking around the room glyphs with a smirk. With a wave of her hand, the glyphs peeled off the walls like sickles before hovering around her in an illuminating cocoon. A few moments was all that passed, before the cocoon dispersed, revealing Connie.

A blue short jacket with dark green trim, Light blue low-rise short pants, brown cross lace sandals. golden anklets, green elbow length, mid finger gloves, black choker with charms of the sun and moon, one glyph earring in her left ear and a royal azure, cross front bodysuit. Her hair was still out but it now had a star clip in the middle of it. All the 'cloths' were printed with glyphs, though it was nearly impossible to tell.

She watched his stunned look and felt her cheeks burned a blueish brown, feeling a bit shy at his sight. "I..I try to match the knowledge of cultural modernity I received from our bonding, with my own preference… Am I acceptable?"

Steven shook his head before walking up to the djinn, rubbing the top of her head. " More than acceptable...You're extraordinary."

"Hehehe...Thank you, Keematee." She gave him an appreciative smile. Before she clapped her hands in slight excitement. "Oh..can you lift up your shirt for me?"

"What?!"

"I wanna see your imprint. Please?"

Steven arched an eyebrow before lifting up his shirt, revealing his birthmark.

Connie beamed at the mark.

"All right."

His mark as a hybrid; A tattoo shaped like a gem in deepest onyx ink with twelve facets with his naval acting as its face. Usually it was a simple design with an unusual hardness in that particular area...not anymore.

While everything was the same, there was a new addition. upon each facet and on the face was an azure glyphs. The same one on Connie's wrist. Evidence of their success in bonding.

"Interesting place for the bonding mark but.. I can't dictate where they go."

Steven's eyes widened in surprise at her comment. "What?! Hold on, what's gonna happen to me?"

Connie chuckled bashfully as she scratched the back of her head. " Nothing bad.. I think?"

"Huh?!"

"I mean..I've never bonded or... At least, I can't remember last time I've bonded..."

Steven groaned. "What the hell,Connie?!"

Connie scoffed in anger. "Hey hey, don't get mad at me for not knowing."

"You're a Djinn! This is a practice for you. Your people do this! How don't you know this?"

"Excuse me, I've been dead for awhile. Sorry if some information got lost during the whole returning to life thing!"

Steven rubbed his temples feeling his anger flare. While Connie turned her back on the hybrid, arms folded..

'Stars, I should've just ignored it when you called out to me.' They both thought silently.

"You called out to me!" They both yelled at each other. They both stopped, as realization hit.

'Holy, crap'

'Oh my'

'We can hear each other thoughts!',

The two remained silent as they waited for the other to speak or think…

'So..I called out to you..You say?' Connie thought as she played with her hair, glancing at Steven, who looked quizzically.

"You ok Connie? you look a bit blush in the face?"

Connie flushed as she growled. "I'm ok just answer the question!"

"What Question!? You didn't ask anything!"

Connie sighed as she placed her head in her hand.."This. We might have rushed into this."

"I would agree.."

The two looked towards the entrance and saw a large full figure woman walk in. Hair was long spiked curls down to her ankles, a gray halter top body dress. Her skin was a dark tan, her eyes were a deep black, as were her lips She was Onyx leader of the Crescent gems, Steven's mother..Black diamond..and one of the perpetrators of Connie's murder.

"Steven..Kahanni."

She gave the two a prideful yet knowingly sad smile. Especially when Steven instinctively grabbed Connie close by the waist and held her hand, while Connie took a protective step forward.

"It's Connie, now."

Onyx smiled a bit more at how in sync they were. "Of course."

"Why did you kill me?"

Onyx scratched her head "You're as blunt as ever…"

"I wanna know too, Black."

Onyx eyes widen at that. Before she settled into a snarky smirk.."Well..guess there's a lot that needs to be discussed. Come on up to the house when you're ready." With that, she turned on her heels and left the two teens on their own.

#connie maheswaran #steven universe #connverse #older steven #steven universe fanfiction #older connie #BlackdiamondSteven #Djinn Connie #Linkedlives #Action #battle #monsters

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inkandwilderness · 5 years

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Mother Nature for the lovely Ruby last week, thanks so much for trusting me to do this for you and travelling all the way up from Brighton for it 🖤 . . I’m apologising again for my sporadic posting! I’ve been under the weather again at the moment and am planning on catching up on showing you all the bits I’ve been doing over the last couple of weeks as I have some time off over Christmas! . . I’m booking for January time now and still have a few spaces available which I’ll be posting up over the next few days, if you’ve got a cool creepy idea you’d like to spend your Christmas money on 😘 drop me an email to [email protected] . . #darkcraft #blackwork #gothicdreamers #supportdarkartists #naturetattoo #inkandwilderness #occult #esoteric #darkstyle #spooky #nature #macabreart #darkart #folklore #onlythedarkest #darkartists #mystic #tattooapprentice #blackworkers #iblackwork #onlyblackart #tattooinspiration #tattoo #witchy #witchytattoo #botanical #creepytattoo #femenine #mothernature #devinefeminine (at Black Moon Tattoos Frome) https://www.instagram.com/p/BrgUrpBnISR/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1vpt6b5tocrh9

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mariposany-blog · 5 years

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Week 8/ Manteca

Afro Latinity is the central focus of this Anthology but the expression/realities presented are varied and diverse in all senses. Melissa Castillo-Garsow offers a repertoire of sensational poetry that unwraps the layers of complexities of being Afro Latinx which involves so much more than just Latinx or simply African. It is a blending of subcultures and realities that have created an everchanging, culture that continues to breed more complexities. Although I found some difficulty in sorting and identifying some of the poems and their original poets by title, the satisfaction I felt after reading these artistic expressions made it all worth it. Some of these poems were obvious and clear about the connection/purpose of its creation, while others were not as clear or captivating like Marianela Medrano’s “Jamon con queso” Perhaps it was my personal perception of Afro-Latinity that assisted in not identifying the connection.

Many poems/poets were able to captivate my attention as I read their poems aloud and somehow my words became rhythms that I never planned to use, and definitely did not know where the beats and rhythms came from. Particularly, Adrián Castro’s rhythmic prose was revealing and reminded me so much of Nicolás Guillén and the AFroCuban prose like Sensemayá...inclusive of African storytelling sounds and spiritual calling that gave way to movement of words and body. The title of the Castro poem itself, “Mokongo y ‘to esa gente”, allows for an interpretation and inclusion of colloquial Spanish language, which in turn gives way to a genuine retelling of the AfroLatino story (or better yet, reality)! I especially liked how he played with life and death in such suttle ways, an adoption/integration of the African way of looking at human life-best interpreted in religious affairs and ceremonies, for instance in religions like Santería and Vudú. Castro uses spirituality to bridge life and death, where life and the African existence is explained as a memory and sound:

“The hardest thing to remember is sounds from those wombs before Mokongo...”

The spirit of the human being plays an essential role in bridging these concepts for even when he recalls moments of tragedy, there is a spark of hope and reincarnation:

“Even 2 miscarriages our mother had so they clipped a bit of ear from the stillborn to identify him indelibly upon return.”

Death is personified by utilizing the spirit to bring life back to the stillness and darkeness represented in a casket:

“...on that day carrying casket bailando la caja...like an incomplete thought of bone and spirit.”

It is interesting because despite many AfroLatinos professing a religious connection to Christianity, there exists this blending of beliefs that crosses over to the spiritual African in all of its mysticism that transcends and at times conflicts with Christian principles/teachings. And it is understood that in this religious context, there is a duality of spirituality that somehow blends into our being because we understand that as AFroLatinos, we carry a biconsciousness of the spiritual being. For example, the “azabache” use for “mal de ojo”, contrary to the Christian belief that these are mere objects that do not coincide with their teachings/foundations.

“Negritude” by Shaggy Flores is a bolder statement, after a bold statement of a complex explanation of the existence of Afro Latinity in all walks of life. It seems to be presenting the idea of not its invisibility in society, but in fact society’s blindness to it. The repetition of the words “We BE those Negroes” reaffirms the variety and diversity in its recreation of itself, and re-blending and encounters with others. The words “...resurrecting African Gods” is a continuous action, the “resurrecting” is not a one time effect and implies multiple Gods as it presents in its plurality. The diversity in its existence is carefully layed out as the poems refers to “We be those negroes”...intellectuals, “Schomburg Museums of Black Studies...”; spiritual, “resurrecting African Gods...children of Yoruba and Ibo”; musicians, “creating jazz with cats names Bird...Armstrong...Celia Cruz Azúcas!”; activists, “YoungLords, Black Panthers, Vieques activist...”; sports, “before Jackie giving Negro League...a place...to call home when no one else would have them.”

Finally, Peggy Robles Alvarado speaks of the nature of her persona, her traits that are embedded in her and her culture in her poem “Boca Grande”. The suppression of all that she is, the contradiction of all her mother is and what they try to mold her to be. This is evident when she reacts to her mother’s inability to hush her, “Cállate, baja la voz”. Affirmation of the femenine touch to nature and spirituality is extremely interesting, as she adds to the poem: “...and God reassured me she speaks my language.”

There were many other poems like “My Brooklyn” by Rachel Renzo that resembled a mirror for my image and reality that it was easy to feel the essence. I am curious to know or converse with someone who has not experienced Afro Latinity in the United States and get their feedback, reaction to these collection of poetry.

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nofomoartworld · 7 years

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Hyperallergic: After Years of Research, Minimalist Composer Julius Eastman Gets the Tribute He Deserves

Arcana New Music Ensemble performs “Femenine” by Julius Eastman (image via thatwhichisfundamental.com)

PHILADELPHIA — Tiona Nekkia McClodden gets up from the wide, white table in the back of the gallery. I follow her over to a framed newspaper clipping, and she’s already there pointing at it, ecstatic, “Like, he really says this shit: ‘I always thought I was great, and it really shouldn’t be so hard, but I was shocked at how the processes were so slow.’ I mean, [Julius] Eastman was like, ‘I’m bad, and I’m doing all this wild stuff, and I can talk about it.’” McClodden, a Philadelphia-based curator and artist, is not alone in her excitement for Julius Eastman, the late and much-mythologized minimalist composer who defied convention during his nearly three-decade career. “That’s what makes me really respect the wildest things that I’ve heard about him because I knew that if I had access to him he’d be able to tell why he did that,” McClodden said.

Recent years have brought a renewed interest in Eastman after he was mostly forgotten in the decade after his untimely death in 1990. However, this interest has been, at times, at the expense of historic and compositional inaccuracy, with performances or releases moving forward without permission or aid from the Julius Eastman Estate, which is headed by Julius’s brother, Gerry Eastman, an accomplished musician in his own right. The most conspicuous offender of late was the 2016 London Contemporary Music Festival, which staged a three-day series billed as “the world’s first major overview of Julius Eastman” this past December without approval or collaboration with Eastman’s estate.

Gerry Eastman has argued for the necessity for care and consideration of his brother and his work. What remains of it exists largely in precarity due to the nature of the work itself, which often featured loosely ascribed improvisation that he performed or directed himself, and the whims of Eastman who was categorically indifferent to materialism. A much repeated anecdote is that he lost a large portion of his work near the end of his life when he was thrown out of an apartment when he refused to pay the rent. This working philosophy of Eastman’s left much of his work in a fragile state, though it isn’t indicative that he wasn’t specific and deliberate. It often seems the thing that’s needed to complete his compositions is the presence of Eastman himself. The most successful interpretations of his music to date have been quick to recognize this, notably Jace Clayton’s ambient manipulations in “The Julius Eastman Memory Depot,” and is why a comprehensive orchestration has remained elusive until now.

Installation view of “A RECOLLECTION.” with Tiona Nekkia McClodden, curator. (photo by the author for Hyperallergic)

For the past three or so years, McClodden has been working alongside Dustin Hurt, executive director of Bowerbird, a nonprofit performing arts center in Philadelphia, and with the Julius Eastman Estate, to bring the most — perhaps only — authoritative production of Eastman’s music to fruition since his death. Bowerbird has found generous support in Philadelphia, with the Pew Center for Arts & Heritage issuing two separate grants in the last few years to aid in the research process and the production of Eastman’s music. Eastman also had ties to Philadelphia: He received his formal music education at the Curtis Institute of Music, though his time there was marked by institutional racism, as he was denied sponsorship and housing; he resided at a nearby YMCA from his first year until his graduation in 1966.

Friday, May 5, marked the start of Bowerbird’s production, “Julius Eastman: That Which Is Fundamental,” with a concert of two of Eastman’s most recognizable works, “Stay On It” (1973) and “Femenine” (1974), at the Rotunda in Philadelphia’s University City. Last Friday saw the second concert in the series, and there are two more scheduled this month at the Rotunda; meanwhile, the neighboring Slought Gallery is hosting a split exhibition centered on Eastman’s life and work, Predicated and A Recollection.

Installation view of A Recollection at Slought Gallery showing facsimiles of original Eastman scores. (photo by the author for Hyperallergic)

A Recollection gathers a mix of press clippings, concert posters, photographs found through friends and lovers, some archival recordings — a version of “Trumpet” (1970), newly sourced from a found reel-to-reel, played in the background while I was there — and six full scores readily available for viewing, including “Thruway” (1970) and “Colors” (1973). Predicated occupies an adjoining gallery and is a cross-disciplinary conversation with Eastman’s work, including new and existing video, painting, sculpture, music, and performance from Sondra Perry, Carolyn Lazard, Texas Isaiah, and Wayson R. Jones, among others. Though Eastman is known as a composer, he was virtuosic in other mediums as well. He was a choreographer, dancer, actor, painter, and occasional poet, and some of his musical compositions featured these components. They have proven to be the most ephemeral parts of his practice as an artist, and even less of this work survives. Predicated intimates these mediums of loss, standing in and drawing out work that might have been. As McClodden explained it, “[Predicated] is Eastman in my mind, my nightmares, my biggest dreams of what this cat looks like, feels like.”

Installation view of Carolyn Lazard, “Score for Convalescing 1, 2, and 3” (2017), dimensions variable, in Predicated (photo by the author for Hyperallergic)

It’s partly this idea of searching out a person who seems relatively mysterious that has drawn such vehement interest in Eastman, but the fervor over his work also stems from his identity: Eastman was an out, gay, black man composing classical music while his contemporaries, at least the ones associated with minimalism — Philip Glass, Steve Reich, La Monte Young, et al — were mostly straight, white men. Where his contemporaries have seen their work produced ad nauseam and entered into posterity, Eastman worked in contention with a system that favored those with privileged access. Aware of these dynamics when he was alive, he found profound meaning in impermanence. “There’s statements where he’s like, ‘I don’t give a fuck about [keeping a record of what I’ve done],” said McClodden. “I’ll do it again. The music is in my head.'” Eastman was also purposeful in composing provocative and, more to the point, transgressive work. He was a downtown, gay aesthete and transformative artist of color, crafting what he would eventually call “that thing which is fundamental.” The titles of his compositions, for instance “Evil Nigger” (1979) or “Gay Guerrilla” (1979), were an affront to straight and white sensibilities, and the music itself was transcendent and unabashedly spiritual.

The opening performance at the Rotunda presented two newly recompiled scores sourced from snippets of sheet music, historic recordings, and individual testimony. Though both compositions are notable, “Femenine” is of particular importance because of its length, roughly 73 minutes — a feat of utter endurance from the group of musicians, who were visibly exhausted and wrecked by the physical stress of the composition, which is an Eastman staple. This piece is also a metaphorical expression of gender; Eastman was known to transgress gender norms in his work, and though this was usually more overt, such as eschewing on occasion a men’s suit for a dress during piano performances, he was infinitely capable of subtlety as well: “Femenine” is composed around a whole-step measure, just E♭ to F played on a vibraphone, and the wild, layered instrumentation between those anchoring notes seems to expand the refrain itself as if it were illustrating something much more manifold and mystical.

Installation view of at Slought Gallery, Philadelphia (image courtesy Tiona Nekkia McClodden)

Much like the taxing work of performing his music, synthesizing the pieces of Eastman’s life is also exhausting. “I don’t know if he wants to be fully revealed,” McClodden said. “I mean, the more you read a little bit about the way he moved, he was very ephemeral. He didn’t really care.” Before I leave her, she’s back at the gallery table on a laptop, showing me some images that she couldn’t get permission to display, and sharing how when she started work on this project she had a naïve image in her head of Eastman just “lying in the flowers” and composing all day. She recognizes that even though she’s pulled together what she has of Eastman, he’s still so much farther beyond what she could ever know.

McClodden does have an actual image of Eastman making a painting surrounded by a field of flowers, though. She pulls it up, and we both laugh, and she says to me, “There’s a [companion piece to ‘Femenine’] called ‘Masculin’ that’s lost, and I just want to know: What did it sound like? There’s still hope.” She explains she’s in touch with someone in New York who performed with him and is willing to share an unknown recording. “This is what’s happening: You show and then the people, the oddest folks, are like, ‘I was there. I still have the sheet music.’ So, we’re going to meet with her, and I’m going to listen to this music and see if I can hear him. It’s really an exciting thing. He’s very alive. It’s not dead. It’s not finished.”

vimeo

Julius Eastman: That Which Is Fundamental continues through May 26. A Recollection and Predicated continue at Slought Gallery (4017 Walnut St, Philadelphia) through May 28.

The post After Years of Research, Minimalist Composer Julius Eastman Gets the Tribute He Deserves appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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