natural history

rudolf bram luijk. twenty nine. i'm the head museum educator at the rijksmuseum. you're probably looking for my sister, hanna. i think she's around here somewhere.

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hannaluijk:

“ today i saw a dude doing a handstand in the middle of the crosswalk on the damrak. on one hand, i appreciate that kind of bullshit, but on the other hand — seriously ? one of the busiest streets in the city ? there’s a time and a place, and that sure was not it. i mean, how much would i have to pay YOU to pull that stunt ? keep in mind, you might die. ”

“the price of that is far out of your range, zus,” rudolf didn’t even look up from his book, resilient in his twenty-three year p l i g h t to not let his little sister win despite how amusing the imagery of her story was, “sorry to disappoint.”

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toloveistolie:

    despite l i v i n g here, haven acted like a tourist. she was hardly ever really in the city long enough to admire it’s beauty, and when she was she worked long hours and slept all day. so this morning she had made the decision to come to the museum, she wondered what she would f i n d. museums to her were like a game of ‘wheres wally’, they had hidden little secrets and interesting facts e v e r y w h e r e. what she hadn’t expected was to find a journal on one of the benches, nor had she thought it any good that she would actually get up and chase down the owner. she cleared her throat, her accent foreign in this place “sorry, is this yours? it’s just, you left it on a bench. i didn’t open it or anything,  there was a swarm of tourist, i just guessed that it was the best course of action rather than just l e a v i n g it there.”  

“it is, ja,” rudolf looked down at the w o r n journal and leafed through the pages, not really expecting anything to be wrong with it but feeling the compulsion to check, nonetheless, “i appreciate it. and thank you for not looking through. i’m sure there are others who would’ve done so.” he finally tucked the journal away, satisfied with its condition and safety--thankfully, she had returned it instead of leaving it for someone else to potentially take. not that any given patron of the museum would know who he was, but the idea of someone reading the poems and entries that covered those pages made his skin crawl. they were private.

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aleidcs:

     ❛ aleida,❜ she corrected him, still smiling through her amusement at the formality. ❛ you can just call me aleida. leida or didi work too, but i have a feeling we’re not on that LEVEL yet,❜ her fingers pointed between the two bodies at her own teasing remark. she laughed a bit before shrugging. ❛ it’s really no problem. i wouldn’t want strangers to just ignore my stuff if i lost it.❜the blonde let her arms fall to her sides then, twisting around to look at the small gatherings of people STIPPLING around the place, all living their own lives. ❛ this place is beautiful,❜ she motioned to the greenery surrounding them. ❛ do you come here often ?❜

“ah, aleida,” rudolf let out a hum of quiet, vague interest, nodding once. he would have to agree that they weren’t yet to the level of fun nicknames, or, really, anywhere close to it. he followed her gaze to their surroundings, the throngs of tourists, the high, intricate ceiling, the soft lighting catching the paintings perfectly. he agreed with her on that, too--the rijksmuseum was one of his truest loves. “actually, i work here. it is gorgeous, no?”

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aleidcs:

     it was her lunch break. at least, what was MEANT to be her lunch break. aleida ate little and quickly, often cutting up meals into various snacks. she had learned to end as many prolonged distractions as she could. now that everyone was out of office, she decided she could use the full, one-hour break. she decided to look around for the ODD attraction. she hadn’t exactly completed her TOURIST bucket list of amsterdam yet. her first stop was evident: a museum. she adored museums. though not much of a history buff, she loved the bits and pieces of the past they offered no less. as she sauntered through exhibits, she noticed TATTERED pages escaping the hold of someone before her.  ❛ graag gedaan,❜ she replied, laughing at her own attempt to pronounce the dutch G.  ❛ this looks important. didn’t think you’d wanna lose it.❜

rudolf noticed both her poor pronunciation and the distinctly american accent, nodding once as he tucked the journal into the inside pocket of his jacket. she was a tourist, perhaps, but, really, it was hard to tell. there seemed to be more and more foreigners moving to amsterdam as of late, making it their home instead of passing through for a handful of days. either way, whether she lived there or not, she was relatively new to the city... of course, not that it really mattered. he just had a habit of studying people. “you’re right, i wouldn’t,” he cleared his throat, his own accent coloring his words, “i do appreciate it, miss... and the discretion, as well.”

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there were few places that rudolf liked as much as the museum, and vondelpark happened to be one of them. of course, it was probably the most popular in town, especially for the tourists, but that didn’t detract from the beauty, and plus, there were a few secluded spots he could fall back on. he was headed to one at the moment, enjoying the sun on his face and the light breeze through his short hair, when a voice caught his attention from behind. he glanced back over his shoulder--(please, don’t be talking to me)--and stopped short when it became obvious that yes, indeed, they were talking to him, not only that, but they were holding out his journal, leather and worn and dogeared. “schijt, uh--” he cleared his throat, rubbing at the back of his neck, “thank you. must’ve dropped it.”

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hi guys!! it’s ellie again heh :’) i wanted to tell you a bit about lil rudy this time

so! some of this you guys might already know if you read hanna’s ooc or like plotted with kit at all or anything but

rudy is originally from the hague. his dad is a popular politician and their parents were always loving but obviously a bit busy. rudolf was much closer to hanna than either of his parents since they just weren’t around at all

rudy was a good kid and played the part of the charismatic politician’s son well, but he grew relatively cynical and critical at how fake everyone always seemed--kids normally only wanted to be friends with him because of his money, his family’s status, or his sister, practically every politician in the world seemed to lie, sometimes even his dad, etc etc. he was always more on the reserved, thoughtful side, but he grew more into himself the older he got. he rarely trusts anyone 

he knows how to be charming and personable, but he doesn’t often see the point and generally needs to trust someone before he starts opening up to them. once he does, tho, he’s a total sweetheart, super loyal and loving. i promise he’s not a dick!! he just assumes most people are fake

he loves reading and history and poetry and art and pretty things. very into aesthetics. he writes a lot of his own poetry but NEVER shows it to anyone

working in a museum has always been his dream and his goal is to one day be the curator. for now he’s just an educator in charge of classes and tour guides, etc

i would soooo love to plot with anyone and everyone!! i know this isn’t a whole lot of info but rudy is a kind babe i promise and i love him and i hope you guys will too :’)

[bey]

[illuminosity]

(tell me about the city, a miniature cosmos, supernovae in reverse, the ghostly lull of city breathing still echoes in my room at night)   darling it’s star-soaked dreams, it’s people with fireflies caught in their eyes walking faster than the speed of light, it’s the hope and the magic so visceral you can feel it drifting in the air   (tell me about the wildflowers that grow on the borders of the yard, i think about them sometimes when i fall asleep - you know the type, the sort you used to braid into my hair as we sang lullabies even though we didn’t know all the words)   they’re the color of love that smolders out into cold, of all the places you’ve never been, of all the wishes you’ve never made on shooting stars, the color of aching and wanting and yearning   (tell me about the sky, i don’t mean the patch of cerulean framed by the gaping mouth of my window, i mean what does it taste like, i mean when you weave your whispered secrets into the strands of the clouds, what does it whisper back)   it’s sweeter than cotton candy, lighter too, cool and gentler than a kiss, it listens and it’s my best friend and when i walk into its embrace i know i’m home   (tell me about everything, the memories i keep like moths in a jar under my bed are losing their color, tell me what it’s like to live without agoraphobia)   darling, darling, the world is so beautiful, every day it reteaches me how to breathe.

the universe is waiting for you, paperharbors (via paperharbors)