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kyidyl · 3 years

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Kyidyl Does Archaeology - Part 4

(As before, if you’re only seeing this part 4, the rest of them have the tag KyidylCL)

THE ARTEFACTS

Ok, so I’ve talked about the site and what we’ve been digging in and such, but I’m gonna be honest with you guys: I like lab work exponentially more than field work. So I am the one who has been processing the vast majority of the finds and ergo have lots of stuff. That’s why I sometimes make jokes about the stuff in my basement - I’m storing the majority of it here in my basement. I’ve gotten the question before about ownership, so here is how that works. The dig is on private land so anything we get technically belongs to the owner of the land. Now, as far as I know, he has no interest in keeping any of it so it’ll likely end up in the hands of the arch society, who will basically just be custodians of it but not owners. It might end up in a museum, too. I don’t really know, but that determination won’t be made until we’re finished, and not by me.

So every site has its own sort of categories of stuff that you find depending on who lived there (although for ease, archaeologists often categorize this stuff based on location and time - more on that later.). For our site the majority of it falls into these categories: animal bone, shell, lithics, pottery, charcoal, modern contaminants, and artefacts. And, to lend a bit of clarity here...lithics are anything made of rock. So they include fire cracked rocks, flakes from stone tool making, material that was used in construction, material that was crushed to make temper for pottery paste (more on that later, too.), etc. If it came from a rock it’s a lithic.

And imma tell you a secret: I hate lithics. Everyone has their thing, their category of human refuse that they simply do not like. A prof of mine hated teeth and pottery. That’s just how it is, and mine is lithics. I think they’re boring, I can’t tell a flake from a blade, I don’t give a single fuck what material they are, I don’t care about the style or craftsmanship...I just don’t care. I call them all rocks, and I do it so much that everyone on the site has started accidentally calling them rocks, too, which amuses me. Rocks, to an archaeologist, means “stone that wasn’t altered or used by people”. They’re worthless. Not that I think lithics are worthless - far from it - I just really hate them and this site has so. goddamned. many. Lucky for me, we have a Rock Guy aka someone who really loves lithics and actually has gotten pretty good at flint knapping and just, y’know, is really into rocks.

And to clarify about artefacts. When you’re out in the field everything you find is either an artefact or a find. The collection of these things is called an assemblage. When you’re doing lab work and sorting through it all later on an artefact is, well...like a thing. I’m explaining this poorly....it’s a complete object with a specific function. So, a whole pot = artefact, broken pieces = sherds (not shards, sherds.). Complete arrowhead = artefact, flakes or a broken one = lithic. Artefacts also tend to be somewhat unique, or at least something you don’t have a lot of. They don’t always have to be complete, anything that is a specific object can go in here. Like, for example, this piece of pipe we found:

To recap, we’ve got pottery, charcoal, lithics, shell, bone (animal - we haven’t found human. But I’m just gonna say bone.), and artefacts. If you are sensitive to things like that, this is your warning that this post is going to have pictures of animal bone and you should scroll quickly.

Now, for reference, this is what it all looks like before I clean it and after it’s been dying out for a day or two (the ground has natural moisture, so I basically just open the bags and let them air out.):

And, yes....I am cleaning them off on an actual antique blotter with real silver edges that my mom gave me for this express purpose. A factoid I’m only sharing because it amuses me in that sort of “bet they never envisioned this use for this thing” sort of way. Normally, if I was in a real lab, you’d do this over a metal tray. When you’re working with an assemblage you never hold it over empty space, you always hold it over the bench and preferably over whatever your work surface is. That doesn’t mean I haven’t dropped my fair share of stuff anyway, but most of it just lands on the work surface and not the floor, which is why you hold it over a work surface. But anyway, as you can see, it just looks like a brown, dirty mess. I usually do a quick sort of the stuff I know for sure what it is and then I wash it with a soft toothbrush and some water. The rocks I just submerge and swoosh around because they’re rocks and I can’t really damage them and there’s SO FRIKKIN MANY that I refuse to clean them individually.

So now that you’ve gotten through that long-winded but necessary explanation of terms, where are we at? Since I’m a bioarchaeologist and I prefer things that were once alive to the general detritus of human society, we’re gonna start with the bone. Specifically, we’re gonna start with how I know those two pits from yesterday’s post are one pit. This is how:

This is a deer bone. Don’t ask me which one bc I’m really not good at ID’ing species and animal anatomy, but it’s a leg bone of some kind. See how it’s broken? One piece was found in one hole and the other piece was in the other. Clearly it’s the same animal, ergo the pits are related to each other. The vast majority of what came out of that particular feature was bone, with the rest being charcoal and the occasional pot sherd. This means it was probably used for cooking and not as a garbage pit. Also there was food in it, if you recall the cooking accident from yesterday. but sometimes y’know, stuff falls into the fire pit or it’s put in there as a way of disposing of it.

But wait, I have more cool animal bones!!

Ok, so there’s this one:

This bone has a special place in my heart. IDK what species it is (I *think* it’s a fragment of deer long bone.), but that’s not why it’s cool. This single bone is strong evidence for the presence of dogs. =D See that circular mark on the right? That is the impression of a canine tooth from a carnivore. Human teeth can’t make those marks in bones - our teeth aren’t strong enough to do significant damage to bone, and anyway we tend to crack bones open with rocks (a form of damage called percussion marks.) and not with our teeth. Those other longer scratch marks are also likely from chewing, not butchery, because they’re in the right places and they’re the right shape. Now we know this was a settlement, and this bone was found smack in the middle surrounded by human detritus and not on the fringes or outskirts. There were no domesticated felines in the Americas at the time BC this is from the lower pre-contact level, so what’s really the only carnivore that would be wandering around a human settlement? Dogs. I love this kinda stuff because it’s so easy see them chilling around the fire pit, talking and eating, teasing whomever it was that spilled dinner, and then tossing the bones to their dogs to gnaw on after dinner. It’s just such a people kind of thing, you know? All from one small, circular mark. I actually found more on later bones that came out of other places, so it’s pretty safe to say there were dogs living here with their people even though we have found neither people nor dogs.

So here’s another cool bone:

Again, no idea what species it is bc I’m not a zooarch (yes, there are archaeologists that specialize in animals and wooooo boy can they tell you a LOT about migration and eating habits of people.). It’s about the size of half my thumb, IE, not large. This one is cool, and it’s the only one I have like this, because of that notch you can see vertically in the image on the right hand side. I don’t know what it was for, but I DO know that it was an intentionally made modification to the bone. Those striations aren’t natural - natural bone is smooth or has a very specific texture and this isn’t that. It’s probably not damage done to the bone after it was deposited in the archaeological record. It has the same patina as the majority of the rest of the bone, which you can compare to the lighter area there on the right hand end of the bone. That lighter area does not have the patina of age that the rest of the bone does, and is the result of damage in a much more recent time - probably as we were taking it out of the ground. Small bones are fragile. So someone gouged this channel intentionally in this bone, either because they were going to use it as decoration or it served some purpose as a tool. I’m not really sure what though. Hell, they could have just been bored and fidgeting after eating. Either way, it’s a human modification to this bone that has nothing to do with cooking or consumption (damage from human consumption is cracks and breaks, not scrapes.). It could also be a butchery mark, although it’s a bit deep for that. Butchery marks are there from separation of meat from bone - they’re usually just shallow scrapes.

Ok, last cool bone I’m gonna show you. Well, bones, plural.

Ok so this is part of the same assemblage as the ones above, and if I remember correctly these were the ones that came out of that pit. You can see the same bone with the canine tooth mark there in the center. There’s also some interesting things like some pottery on the left and a couple teeth off to the right (one is a deer and I *think* that curved on is a squirrel.), but the really interesting thing is the series of 3 shiny bones that are in the center. There’s a lot of ways to cook meat, and they all do different things to bones. You will often find the dry, brown looking ones like you can see here in the non-shiny bones. That’s like...your basic “this bone had meat on it when it was cooked”. Then you’ll see ones that are black, and that’s “this bone probably didn’t have meat when it was cooked, or someone tossed it back in the fire when they were done”. Lastly, you’ll see white bone, and that’s a bone that has been burned at a high temperature for a long time. Usually it’s done on purpose (you can use burned, powdered bone to make stuff.).

But the shiny ones were in a soup. And the reason I know that is *because* they’re shiny. Bones, especially old ones, aren’t shiny. I mean...you can see that. You have to do stuff to ‘em. And bones are porous, but those weren’t. They felt like hard plastic. And they get that way by being boiled. The shiny patina is what we call pot polish - they were stirred in the soup while it was cooking and rubbed against the side of the pot and each other, and it gives them a smoother texture.

All of these collections of bones tell us what and how they ate things. I know from what I can ID here (which isn’t everything, trust me.) that they ate a lot of deer and wild turkey (we have an entire almost completely intact turkey long bone.). There is also, I believe, squirrel (I found a portion of a skull and jaw that I’m pretty sure belong to a squirrel), and an assortment of other small rodents and birds. Lots of birds. Bird bone is really distinctive, it’s light and the spongy bone has a distinct texture. A zooarchaeologist can look at bones like this and ID species and age, and from there tell you what time year something was probably killed. Societies that hunted a lot tended to do it seasonally so that they wouldn’t damage the populations. Plus especially with fish and stuff they have very specific growing cycles and short lifespans, so they can also tell you a lot about where the people were hunting and when. Like certain fish will only spawn in certain places, so it’s really informative. Zooarchs are so important and there just aren’t enough of them.

Anyway, there are other cool things in the bones but I’m trying to strike a balance here between too much and not enough and I really love bone so I’m going to stop here for today. Tomorrow is going to be other artefacts (yeah, sadly, even lithics, lol), and what they tell us about the site and the people who lived there. As an aside: if anyone has any like just general “how do they know this?” sort of questions about history and archaeology those would be fun to answer. I love to tell people how we do things but I don’t just wanna infodump. I DO want to explain procedure in what I hope is a readable way because I think understanding how we make the sausage will help people have more trust in science. So if you have any questions, please, send asks. If I don’t know the answer I’ll research it or pass it on to someone who does.

#archaeology #science #bone #animals #native food #native americans #kyidylCL

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raevenlywrites · 3 years

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Ties That Bind 22 of ???

Of course the first person I encountered upon waking was Adelina.

Rei was long gone from the tent, if the chill of the bedroll was any indication. I’d expected to find him just outside the tent flap. Instead I was met by the long, lean body of Zane’s primary guard.

And lover.

My cheeks immediately flamed in spite of myself, knowing what she must think. My mouth worked uselessly as my mind offered no words to explain. I couldn’t exactly claim it wasn’t what it looked like, though Rei and I certainly hadn’t spent our time together in the way I knew a serpiente would assume.

But surprise followed surprise, as Adelina ushered me back into the tent with a conspiratorial air.

“We don’t have much time,” she whispered, nearly knocking me over in her rush to get us back under cover. “Our men will only keep each other busy for so long.”

“I-- what?”

I couldn’t begin to parse it. Adelina didn’t seem to mind my clueless state. She rushed on, eager to say her piece.

“I need to know how we’re meant to play this. Is Zane to be your lover or not?”

I could only blink.

“I know how the serpiente would read this, but I just want to be sure. You’ve taken his hand before you mother, you danced with him last night before the crowd. But when its just us, you’ve made no overtures. So I just want to know what role I—I mean he—is meant to play before you people. Are you two seriously planning to join our kingdoms?”

I stumbled to a seat, sitting before my wobbling legs made the choice for me. Did they really think--

“Danica, please. We don’t have much time.”

I felt like I was missing something, great swaths of something. I suddenly wished I’d stayed behind to walk and talk with them more as the serpiente had made their way here.

“I… honestly have no idea.”

It was the best I could give her. I felt this woman deserved the truth, but Zane and I hadn’t really discussed it. Mostly because I hadn’t thought either of us had taken the suggestion seriously. But looking back on all our conversations--

“What do you mean you have no idea?” Adelina snapped, but even without a serpent’s ability to read emotions I knew she wasn’t cross with me. The tense, pent up energy that so often drove me to pace was obvious in her posture, her tone, her entire being. I realized suddenly that if the serpiente could sense emotion anyways, there was no reason not to wear their hearts out on their sleeves. Or lack thereof, as was often the case.

I was getting side tracked. My mind was working furiously, but not in any useful direction. Adelina, like a dog among sheep, was not having it.

“Sweet Anhamirak, Danica are you listening to me? How will we be presenting Zane to your people?”

“I had wondered that myself.”

Adelina’s head whipped around as the man himself pulled back the flap of the tent. Rei scowled just over Zane’s shoulder. But amazingly, he didn’t pull the serpiente away from me to make sure I was unharmed. Adelina, at least, it seemed he trusted.

“Shall we have this conversation out in the open?”

The question was ostensibly for me, but his eyes remained locked with Adelina’s.

“You were never going to ask--” she began, tone pleading.

“I was biding my time,” her prince asserted. “Neither I nor Danica appreciate being rushed.”

“We’re at the bleeding gate!” she countered. “If not now, then when?”

“If we could maybe refrain from shouting?” Rei suggested. “And maybe come out of the tent? We’re making a scene.”

Zane nodded and backed up, holding the tent flap with a magnanimous sweep of his arm.

“Ladies.”

The last thing I wanted to do was face a mixed assemblage of curious serpiente and avians, but I didn’t think hiding in the bedroll with a blanket over my head was an option. I let Adelina help me to my feet, drawing the coolness of her hand into my demeanor. I hoped that maybe, some small of my reserve went to her as well. The shaken woman looked like she needed it.

The sun was well and truly risen, slanting sharply through the trees. It was mid, maybe late morning, but any sleepiness I might have felt was burned away by the singing of my nerves. Time to face the day.

Adelina, to my surprise, stayed on my far side, keeping myself between her and Zane. Rei fell into step on Zane’s other side, the four of us making the short walk to the main central fire and the breakfasts cooking there. Food suddenly sounded wonderful, and not just because it would present further delay. That was simply an added bonus.

Zane handed me down onto a log with as much grace and decorum as he would if it were a dining room chair. The absurdity of it made me smile, which I realized was the goal when he rewarded me with one of his own. I was learning to tell the difference between his pleasantly bland, haughtily mocking, and genuinely pleased smiled. I hoped I got to see the latter one more. It looked good on him, turning an inhumanly beautiful sculpture into something warm and soft and touchable.

And just like that I was blushing again, with merely the hint of thoughts of intimacy.

Zane laughed. It wasn’t a nice sound.

“And here I thought I was being on my best behavior. Courtly manners too forward for you, pretty Danica? You didn’t seem to mind my hands on yours last night.”

I scowled at the abrupt shift in his tone, the venomous suggestion I knew was meant to wound. Was he really mad at me for showing genuine emotion? Well, too bad. He was about to get even more.

“That’s petty, Zane. Don’t threaten my reputation just because you’re unhappy with something.”

Zane blinked, and Adelina laughed. She reached down and squeezed my shoulder, startling me, Zane, and Rei all. That only made her laugh harder.

“Well done, Dani. You’ll handle him just fine.”

“That’s Shardae, to you,” Rei bristled.

Zane opened his mouth, and whatever was going to come out of it was not going to be good. I gave a sharp pierce of a whistle, not thinking, just determined to cut this off before it got any worse.

“Alright! That’s enough.”

Adelina removed her hand, which I was surprised to find I missed, but it was time for me to take the reins while I could. I could invite her to be more informal with me later, if there was a later.

“Adelina brought up a valid point with me Zane; we need to sort out what kind of impression we intend to make.”

For a moment, Zane looked pained, almost like he would plead with me. But he straightened, put his feelings aside, and just like that, I was talking with the Arami of the serpiente, the man who would be king. Like Adelina’s hand, I missed seeing the genuine him, but appreciated his cooperation.

One ego down—and another immediately took its place. Rei fidgeted beside me, and without even making a sound, he was throwing just as much a fit as Zane had. I could ignore him—I should ignore him—but I’d had enough.

“Yes, Andreios?”

“Nothing, Shardae.”

“No, no. Speak your piece. You obviously disapprove of something.”

I watched him pull away from me, drawing his emotions deep inside--only to come rushing back in an even larger wave.

“I do. As your alastair, I take offense to serpents barging into your tent, and taking liberties with your person.”

My mouth dropped open, eyes as wide as the moon. I absolutely could not believe my ears. This was not my Rei. It was so utterly unlike him to be speaking of such personal things in front of company. Had one single evening of kissing really changed him so?

I was suddenly more glad than ever that I’d not let my mother bully me into an announcement last night. I had some reevaluating to do.

“The man I name as my alastair will have to be comfortable with the serpiente way of doing things. I don’t need a hoverhawk. I need a partner, who understands me.”

It pained me to have to speak so bluntly with others listening. I’d have much rather had this discussion in private—or better yet, not at all. This was not my Rei. Unfortunately, I did not have time to deal with him now. And if he really intended to be my alastair, he needed to understand that my people and this peace would have to come first.

Rei’s face went stony, then empty. This time, it was no retreating tide. It was a frozen glacier, his hurt feelings behind a wall of ice for good.

“Of course, Shardae. I don’t approve of it as a guard, either. But Adelina is hand picked by the Arami, and its not my place to question her.”

Just as my words were meant to subtly remind him that he was not yet my mate, his were intended to throw Zane and Adelina’s relationship in my face. It steeled me against pity I might have been feeling before. I had neither time nor patience for this.

“Quite right, Captain.”

I turned my back on him, and my own hurt, and gave all my attention to Zane.

“Please pardon our rudeness, Arami. Now, let’s discuss introducing you to my people.”

The Ties That Bind Tag list: @thehellinsideyourhead @therecouldbecolorsandlove @adventuresofacreesty @writing-with-melon @rainydaydarling @faithfire

Raev’s Gen Tag List (should I tag you guys in this? It IS a thing I wrote. I’m gonna say yes unless you guys are like “no of course not we’re sick of hearing about your stupid fic for a twenty year old book XD)

No one has complained yet so yall gonna keep getting tagged :P

List is currently: @lordkingsmith @writinglyra @drbibliophile @mperialscribe @adie-dee @lexiklecksi @theramwrites @writinginslowmotion @raenawrites @apollon-arium @anika-writes @faithfire @thehellinsideyourhead @adventuresofacreesty

#raev does fic #hawksong fic #ties that bind fic #hawksong #danica shardae #zane cobriana

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aeide-thea · 7 years

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[again: discussion of embodiment, gender, socialized/internalized fatphobia, some other bullshit probably]

i'm struggling a loooooot lately with feeling like i should just go back to performing girlness ““properly””, like, give up on binding and shave off my body hair and wear sundresses and tiny shorts etc etc

only, uh, literally every time i try on femme shit anymore, even just in the privacy of my own room, i make miserable awkward faces at myself in the mirror and put it away again

and i know without the shadow of a doubt that (re)engaging with ~normative standards of femininity~ would make me feel indelicate and ““fat”” (and i know, god do i know, there are so many fucking problems with that construction, like the way it conflates a feeling with a physical reality that isn't even mine to appropriate, also fat girls are gorgeous and also regardless of beauty they deserve way fucking better than to be a rhetorical boogeyman!! but such is the pernicious framing i end up falling back into, like planetary gravity when you fall just short of escape velocity) and just generally Hideous and Bad, when like, there is nothing actually wrong with this body, it is frankly more capable and more appealing than i've done anything (either physically or morally) to merit! but also there are only two things that have ever gotten me to stop obsessively critiquing my own thighs, and one of them is moving my body enough that the fleshiness goes away (which is great when it works, but that isn't where i am right now), and the other is dressing in dude!shorts lengthy and roomy enough that i'm not constantly having to evaluate my own body as aesthetic/sexual/failed object

i keep thinking too that like, i could probably be girlfriend's girlfriend, or another girl's, but i don't think i could bear to be a boy's

and i mean, it's admittedly debatable whether i want to date or even fuck boys anymore, regardless of terminology—i sort of suspect not, but i don't really feel ready to definitively cross out the possibility, either? which is sort of inconvenient bc i'm relating a lot to butchness, 'my gender is lesbian,' etc, except of course if you aren't (quite, definitively) a lesbian as such then probably those things aren't actually yours to relate to

but yeah, something about being a boi/Gender Alien among girls but not really wanting to be among boys—like, part of me thinks, i want the whole world to be girls, and then i want to be what passes for a boy in that brave new world? but then, it probably isn't much fairer to tar all boys with the brush of private-school peers past than it would be if i did that to girls; probably there are boys out there who want to be gentle and kind and good, probably (definitely) i even know some of them—

but god, you guys, it's just binarism and constricting gender roles all the way down!! you unpick one layer and then you discover the underpinnings are made of it too!! it's exhausting!!

anyway i think you can not-totally-meaninglessly superimpose the idea of being nonbinary on a binary framework, bc like, people are almost all gnc to varying degrees, even comfortably-cis people, bc gender roles are cut along such untenably narrow lines that some departure is almost inevitable, and so some people who're positioned much the same as me are gonna find it useful to explicitly identify as nb and some people are just gonna lump their gnc-ness in with their gayness, or else their sportiness or theatricality or race or class or disability or whatever feels like the right framework for them, and like, it's fine if we aren't mutually legible, prolly, we just gotta be mutually respectful

and i mean, i get real anxious and insecure abt not having a Coherent Narrative that ~justifies~ the various gender moves i'm trying to make, but honestly even if i were officially stamped a Girl (i mean, i pretty literally was at birth, that's kinda how the system works, but like, if some more-Enlightened Gender Tribunal came to the same conclusion) i think i'd still get to ask for e.g. they/them pronouns, if those felt less Wrong or even if i just thought it'd be fun—bc frankly gender should be fun, i think! any movement away from discomfort & towards delight is its own sufficient justification! hashtag sounds fake but okay

really—i keep waiting to come up with some kind of Inherent Gender Truth i'm sure of, that makes a coherent program out of all my yearnings and discomforts, but i think maybe actually there is no identity that isn't just the sum of these smaller yearnings, we do the best to look at the data points and plot a coherent curve from them, but like, if there's anything i learned from all my bullshit high school attempts at science, it's that you get outliers! reality is messy!

so like: i run on estrogen, currently; i have a chest i bind and genitals i have awfully mixed feelings about (like, they're good for certain kinds of fucking i like, but really useless for other kinds i'd also like, and when i'm not using them i hate them unalloyedly), and strong thighs and strong shoulders i gotta sheathe in various textile tubes to go out in public, just like anybody else; and i love language and bicycling and beautiful restful spaces, and poetry that presses on some knot in you until it dissolves to an aching tenderness, and music and food and art and making abstract theory of the everyday interpersonal particular; and those last lenses are no less true or useful than the first ones

maybe gender can stay shut up in its box for a while, and we don't have to worry about whether it's alive or dead: out here in the open space we have breezes to ruffle our hair, and songs to sing

#i've been staring at this post too long #i gotta be done with it #also i wrote most of it earlier while camped out at the chemo unit so like #disclaimer or whatever #but anyway take it as an assemblage of pieces really; if any of the pieces is interesting/useful to anyone else i'll be glad enough of that #Gender Alien Nation #what is gender we just don't know #embodiment is violence!!#feelingsblogging #theory #fatphobia cw

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eternalgirlscout · 4 years

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a while back @lesbians4sokka (i think? sorry for @ing you if i’m thinking of a different blog) asked me to share my thoughts about The Rise of Kyoshi, and seeing as i just finished the book last night (because i am a monster who gets most of the way through a book and thinks “if i keep reading it’ll be over i can’t have that”) i’m finally doing it now!

this got long as hell OOPS

spoilers under the cut

I want to talk about vengeance and justice in this novel.

back when I was only maybe a third of the way through it, i said on twitter that i was excited to see an avatar with an “opposite moral trajectory” to aang; in AtLA, aang has to learn to value justice over conflict avoidance, whereas RoK’s kyoshi has to prioritize justice over revenge. they come to similar conclusions from wildly different starting points. now that i’ve finished the book, i can’t decide how much i stand by that assessment. it feels reductive--which is a testament to the strength of F.C. Yee’s storytelling. while yes, aang and kyoshi both learn a great deal about justice, they act justly in very different ways.

aang, for reasons i like and appreciate from storytelling, ethical, and characterization perspectives (if you haven’t read my The Lion Turtle Is Good, Actually manifesto, you are legally obligated to do so now) has a strict rule about how he enacts justice that aligns with his beliefs and duties to the legacy of the air nomads. rather than killing people who abuse power to oppress others, he takes away the mechanism by which they accomplish violence--namely, their bending. in LoK we see that he continues to use this ability as an alternative to taking a life for at least most of his career as the avatar when he takes yakone’s bending.

kyoshi, on the other hand, has a very different philosophical development and ultimate approach to justice. her last conversation with lao ge summarizes the conflict between the mode of justice that works for aang (though obviously AtLA takes place chronologically after RoK, the novel is well aware that the reader has almost certainly seen the series first and takes ideas and details from it to flesh out the world, which i think is another strength of Yee’s) and the mode of justice she creates for herself.

“I feel... inconsistent. Unfair. Like I should have either killed them both or let them both live.”

...

“If you had a strict rule, maybe, to always show mercy or always punish, you could use it as a shield to protect your spirit. But that would be distancing yourself from your duty. Determining the fates of others on a case-by-case basis, considering the infinite combinations of circumstance, will wear on you like rain on the mountain... You will never be perfectly fair, and you will never be truly correct,” Lao Ge said. “This is your burden.” (405)

the stark difference between aang’s philosophical background and kyoshi’s leads them to very different outcomes with regard to their choices as the avatar. yes, aang makes decisions on a case-by-case basis as well, but he is not interested in retribution as much as restoration and has a line he will not cross. i could argue that kyoshi sees the two (retribution, restoration) as inextricable in the pursuit of justice.

but what about vengeance?

kyoshi’s hatred of her parents wears away over the course of the novel, but her need to enact revenge on jianzhu only becomes more urgent. she is not universally vengeful, but she does not let go of revenge as a goal until she has it... sort of.

speaking of which, i fucking screamed when yun showed up again. i had a feeling we hadn’t seen the last of him, but the timing of his appearance and the change in him hit me like a lightning bolt. sorry, i have to gush for a second about how interested i am in what’s up with him. i am a sucker for a literal dead boy walking, for someone who has been turned into something Other by forces outside their control, and no matter what kyoshi ends up having to do to deal with him, i know i’m going to go feral for it. this is a Yun Stan Account until further notice.

anyway. it’s fascinating that kyoshi doesn’t actually get her revenge per se. yun does. he avenges himself, and it (likely) only causes more problems for kyoshi. and i think the distinction between vengeance and justice is quite wonderfully articulated afterwards:

How could such a container [as Jianzhu’s body] have held the volume of her anguish, her wrath? If any feeling at all pressed through the numbness... it was the ire of a hoodwinked child who’d been promised the end of her bedtime story only to see the candle-lights snuffed and the door slam shut. She was a girl alone in the dark. (430)

she gets the outcome she wanted: jianzhu dead. but her path to him “simply ended.” she has pragmatic advantages now that he’s out of the way--freedom, for one thing, and rangi’s safety, but those weren’t the things that drove her to want her revenge. there is a hollowness to it, a lack of catharsis. revenge is about the self, not the other.

and selfhood is something else kyoshi gives up.

one of the most striking lines in this novel appears when she walks into the tea house to meet jianzhu. at this point, kyoshi has assembled a motley outfit of expensive armor, theater costume pieces, battle accessories, outlaw facepaint, and bending aids for the heretical air nomad. she looks fucking weird. she’s like a video game PC wearing all the highest-stat armor she could loot from random dungeons and none of it matches. literally an assemblage of the places she’s been and the people who have helped her.

This was who she was now. This was her skin. This was her face. (418)

as the avatar, kyoshi has to be a symbol more than a person, even though she is fundamentally a human being as fallible as anyone else. the people who hear of her defeat of xu think she’s a spirit or a dragon in human disguise--regardless of what kyoshi wants and who she is, the world expects her to be something More. so, she gets dressed up and gives them what they need to see.

watching that transformation over the course of one novel is incredible. the path from the girl she is at the start of the novel to the woman we see advise aang that only justice will bring peace is far from over, but the trajectory is more than established. i’m really excited to see what Yee brings to another novel. kyoshi is just getting started.

some other miscellaneous thoughts:

i loved the choice to have a YA writer write this novel. not just for the obvious reason that Avatar is a franchise primarily for kids and teens, but because a lot of the common stylistic elements in YA fiction serve this story incredibly well. (by no means are any of these universal, of course; YA is a broad category of literature with huge stylistic and generic diversity, but in general it has these strengths.) the third person limited pov that switches between various characters gives a vital breadth to the story. there are a lot of moving pieces, and being able to see most of them in real time cuts back on exposition and heightens tension when you can watch their collision course. the focus on the given pov character’s interiority is put to incredible use, especially on the occasions when kyoshi enters the avatar state--and when it’s revealed that jianzhu hides things from even the reader, it becomes all the more staggering what a cunning bastard he is (jianzhu hate blog right here). kyoshi’s blushy crush on yun and even blushier crush on rangi are so good and are woven naturally into the story (bi fuckin rights babey!). that’s a teen with a big heart right there. also, fun swerve to the love triangle trope to get one of the love interests eaten by a spirit a few chapters in! his mind...

the part where kyoshi runs through a stone wall and leaves a kyoshi-shaped hole had me rolling, not just because i was impressed by how well that visual gag worked in prose but also because i can’t believe neither (to my memory) AtLA nor LoK pulled that.

HIDDEN PASSAGE... HIDDEN PASSAGE... THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS...

again i say: bi fucking RIGHTS

and i guess that’s all. stay tuned for the masterpost of Rise of Kyoshi memes i made as i read the book because i have a whole folder of them

#rise of kyoshi #Avatar!verse #meta #more or less. mostly just rambling #do not expect formal coherency from this i just got excited #liked the ending a lot! liked the characters! liked it as a piece of avatar lore!

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encyclopika · 5 years

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How to write a fight scene

Or at least how I do it.

Been getting quite a few people saying I write pretty good fight scenes, and honestly? I didn’t know that. I’m mostly self-taught and just out here writing fic. Hearing you all enjoy my fight scenes is just awesome. Missing has been one hell of an adventure personally, and I’m glad everyone who has come along for the ride has had an experience.

But I also see people saying they can’t write a fight scene for one reason or another. That’s not true! You can totally write a fight/battle scene and the first step to doing so is recognizing that it’s a scene like any other in your fic. A fight is a dialogue between characters - not only will the audience learn something about the characters, but so, too, will the characters learn something about each other and maybe even about themselves. In BNHA, that’s especially true.

The next step is deciding what you want to happen and what you want out of it. For example, in Missing's first fight, (spoilers ahead):

I wanted to accentuate the severity of the downed building situation

I wanted to show you all what Krow could and could not do

I wanted the villains to be formidable, but easily defeated

I wanted Uravity and Deku to reconnect on the battlefield

I wanted izuocha uwu

and ya know what? I wanted zombies.

So, just like that, make yourself a wishlist of points, scenes, and interactions you want to include.

Then, know your characters. If the above is your crazy wishlist, your characters, their dreams, wants, quirks, knowledge, weaknesses, and personalities are the boundaries of what you can write and what will “make sense”. This will also dictate when villains appear - if they are gung-ho like Pyromancer, they might reveal themselves confidently. Consider relationships. Do your characters know each other? How will they react if so-and-so does this? Study your canon characters closely - look at how they react to things in canon, who they cling to, how their quirks REALLY work, and the types of strategies they think of, then apply it to your story. I can’t tell you how insanely LIMITED I felt during both fights making Ochako’s quirk work for me. But that’s just it.

Make it work for you. Place characters where they need to be and explain how they got there later. Don’t let your characters give you the run around or get lost. You are in charge of the story and where everyone is. No one moves unless you say so.

And you explain it. How come Pyromancer isn’t moving around much? Well, he doesn’t have to. Keeping him in one spot lets me show you how much he really doesn’t take Uravity seriously and is confident he’s going to win. He doesn’t feel like he needs to fight so hard. Backstage, I can focus on other parts of the fight. But even when Echo the bat was flying around in the first big fight, we never really knew where he was, and no one but Krow ended up caring. Necromancer was the only villain moving about and his movements meant something. In that case, if you feel like you may forget where everyone is in relation to each other, there’s no shame in drawing it out. But remember - no one moves without your direction, and if they are put on auto-pilot, they can really reappear where ever the heck you want. They can be as far away or as close as you need them, within the confines of the setting and their abilities. Place your characters.

Setting is so important. It will limit you as well. If it’s a tight space, flying characters may have trouble, etc. Again, make it work for you. I made my downed buildings into coliseums. Why? Because I wanted to limit how many fighters were in the ring. I like a closed system. If you have an open system. like a street, you may have more freedom to have, I don’t know, All Might swoop in from no where to save the day (and you can explain it later). What happens in your fight is only limited by the setting and the characters.

Then there’s stringing everything above together into a narrative you can be proud of. Pacing is tough. I get it. Pacing is something I feel comes with your style, though - what kinds of punctuation, words, and spacing you want to use is on you and it all depends on how you want people to feel. In Missing, I like to use words and empty space for my pacing. If an action happens quickly, it happens all in one sentence. If the action is slow and drawn out, then I’ll get into the nitty gritty details. I may also follow a character’s train of thought and have them notice things about their opponent - whatever the hell will make this moment drag on. I literally fill space so that real world time moves at a pace congruent with what I’m talking about. I’m spinning the same sentiment a bunch of ways to make you feel something but to also literally spend your time.

And I’ll drop to a new line if I want to impart a literal quiet in your mind.

Those single sentences surrounded by white space make an impact.

Single words do, too.

See?

You can even raise suspense a bit by just talking about how quiet it is and visibility is low because of xyz. Insert some dread, some suspense as you follow the character’s worries about where the villain will show next. Then! Short, quick sentences raise fear. Little information makes you wonder. The anxiety is building. The adrenaline is pumping. Is it becoming dire? Am I dragging you down this rabbit hole by inserting a question into the narrative, in turn, making YOU ask it?

Kill the mood, if you must. Keep the reader abreast of the situation. M’kay?

Punctuation can also help a ton. Using em-dashes to interrupt thoughts with actions, inserting questions, using commas and semicolons right, and what not will make your writing interesting. Structure means a lot in all writing, and for fight scenes, using these tools correctly can make or break your scene.

Words themselves are super important, too. In a fight, you want to use colorful words that SHOW what is going on (leave Dictionary.com open - check definitions early and often, look for better words with the thesaurus, rinse and repeat). I love the word “whip”, like “he whipped his head around” - I personally feel like that word is fast and shows how fast my character turned around. You can feel the surprise. I also really love all those “heavy hitting” words - smash, slam, crack, bang - that inform your reader of the severity of a hit. Reactions to said hits are also good follow up to drive it home and continue a good sequence - coughed up blood, doubled over, air racing out of lungs, gasping, stinging, ringing in ears - however it happens, let your reader know. Get your metaphors and similes cranking. How can you explain what it feels like to get burned really badly or get sliced deeply by a knife? Let your audience feel that pain with your character. Reading should be a trip.

And for the love of broccoli, if you don’t know how something would realistically go down, do some research! That’s a rant for another day... Anyway!

I also let my audience assume a lot. When Deku and Uravity are fighting Necromancer, their back and forth against the monster isn’t really detailed. I explained to you how it looks once and then I tell you to imagine that a bunch as I go off on a tangent about how Ochako is feeling and what she’s thinking during it because Deku’s in the room. In chapter 6, Flashlight, Krow, Current, and Uravity are fighting this small-time villain, and instead of really talking about how the heroes are punching the villain and what not, I have Krow talking the whole time and Current is busy getting butthurt and we learn a little bit more how Uravity’s been doing since leaving school. Not every fight is epic. Not every hit is important or deserves attention. How details ebb and flow is another part of writing that will depend a lot upon your style.

To help with pacing over the course of the whole fight, break down your fight into phases. A phase can be thought of as a “scene” in the fight, where things are noticeably different than before, either in character assemblage, setting, or feeling. Breaking it down into smaller pieces will help you bring it all together.

And last, but not least, if it helps, treat your fight like it’s own story. It has a beginning, rising action, climax, turning point, a twist maybe, declining actions, and an end, whatever that may be. How your fight is set up is all on your ability to tell the story, and for that, I can’t help too much more. In the end, it’s all about knowing what your goals are and what the parameters are before starting.

This isn’t to say that once you make your plans you have to stick with it. I changed so much and cut a lot out and did things differently than planned while actually writing. There are other outside forces that affect a fight scene, like the themes in your fic so far, and what you have and haven’t revealed about the characters. Like any scene, there’s a lot to keep in mind.

How do you really write a good fight scene? Practice, practice, practice!

#fanfiction #my hero academia fanfiction #writing advice #encyclopika art #writing

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davidmann95 · 4 years

Note

Thoughts on this week’s comics?

X-Men #3: I’m kinda digging X-Men proper, for now, just being a bunch of weird little disconnected one-off adventures playing around with the debris of the status quo shift rather than really acting as the head of the line. Given how closely the books are now tying together, maybe the next ‘crossover event’ for the line could just be another HoXPoX style Hickman miniseries detailing the next big shift, with big changes happening in successive iterations of those and everything in-between just playing out narrative and character consequences?

Daredevil #14: Continues to quietly be one of Marvel’s best - probably second best now that HoXPoX and Life Story are wrapped - with lovely Checchetto art and Zdarsky tackling old superhero standby conventions in interesting, clever ways.

DIE #10: I’ve definitely reached the point of every Gillen run where I lose the plot, but I’m okay with that.

Collapser #6: Appropriately, this sucked.

Young Justice #11: Huh. Might be dropping this soon if it doesn’t pick up, but huh.

Justice League #37: RULES.

New Year’s Evil: These were mostly pretty nice! Definitely not all on par with one another - if nothing else, Kurt Busiek’s grand return to The Prankster with Dale Eaglesham in tow would outshine most everything else under even the best of circumstances, it’s the reason I bought this in the first place - but while not quite of a piece with some of DC’s other surprisingly great seasonal anthologies of the past few years, definitely worth your while.

Lois Lane #6: I’d be down if this was the sixth issue of an ongoing aside from the art, but a 12-issue standalone Rucka Lois book should be a perennial forever and this really doesn’t care about that.

Batman #84: Neat that on the eve of this run’s close - possibly his sole long-form run, since he’s noted he’s not sure he’ll do anything like this again - and his work with the Bat-family alike that King returns to the basic format of his first issue of Grayson that served as his big bombshell introduction to us all. Not as good as that, but still very good.

Green Lantern Blackstars #2: This was a hoot, and it’d be the meanest comic on the stands this year if almost every shot it took wasn’t directed at least as much at Morrison himself as any comics running right now (especially given that for instance it takes swipes at Metal and the current Justice League, both of which he had input into). The Wonder Woman bit however was clearly sincere and totally savage, and I love it.

Superman: Up In The Sky #6: I deeply resent having had to get this comic, because I got all but the final issue of the King/Kubert Superman in the original Walmart books but the final chapter never came in so I had to shell out for the LCS miniseries edition like a fucking pleb and leave my assemblage of issues looking all weird. Anyway, I think I mentioned at the time that the story in the first half of this issue is going to be in Superman best-of collections forever, and the final chapter is also a stone-cold classic. I cannot emphasize enough how bad it is that this book has that intensely unpleasant misfire in the Lois chapter that justifiably disqualifies the whole thing for a lot of people (having just reread it I think I get it more than I did before, but it still goes way too hard for the sake of way too little), because if not for that this would be probably in the top 5 single-trade’s worth Superman stories of all time.

#Week's Comics #Opinion

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dustedmagazine · 5 years

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Dust Volume Five, Number 10

The Hammered Hulls

Time again for a load of short, mostly positive reviews of records that caught our attention at least for a little while. This edition is typically wide ranging with free jazz, teen garage pop, piano experiments, acoustic guitar picking and goth-y post punk all jockeying for your ear. It’s not just obscurities this time around either, as Ian Mathers looks for the solid core of the National’s over-long latest, while Jen Kelly makes peace with the Futureheads. Participants besides these two include Bill Meyer, Andrew Forell, Nate Knaebel and Justin Cober-Lake.

CP Unit—Riding Photon Time (Eleatic Records)

Riding Photon Time by CP Unit

CP Unit, an evolving ensemble formed around saxophonist Chris Pitsiokis, exhilarates live, the sound anchored by antic, twitching, faster-than-advisable-but-nailed-anyway bass, complicated patterns of percussion and abstract slashes of guitar. Live, the music is colored rather than dominated, by the urgent, chaotic energy of the proprietor on horn. A late summer set at the Root Cellar in Greenfield, MA left me gasping. Riding Photon Time captures the same band I saw—Pitsiokis, Sam Lisabeth on guitar, Henry Fraser on bass and Jason Nazary on drums (which is different from the line-up Derek Taylor reviewed here )— in two fiery 2018 live settings. The first half of the disc was recorded at the Moers Festival in Germany in May, the second at the Unlimited Music Festival in November. “Once Upon a Time Called Now,” from the earlier set, captures the spare, rippling tension between Pitsiokis’ free-ranging inquiries and Nazary’s intricate but grounded rhythms; they duel for a couple of minutes before the rest of the band enters. The cut also foregrounds Fraser’s restless, rampaging bass work, carving a headlong through line in the squall and storm. “Seasick,” from the November show, gives space to Lisabeth’s guitar, lyrical in a tilted, offkilter way, the tones bouncing off Pitsiokis’ sax melody in loose conjunction and counterpoint. My only complaint is that the mix favors melody, zooming in on the sax and obscuring, somewhat, the fascinating interplay between drum and bass. In most bands, that’d be fine, but in this case, the rhythm is just too good to hide.

Jennifer Kelly

Eluvium — Pianoworks (Temporary Residence Ltd)

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Matthew Cooper has done enough things under his Eluvium moniker that even those only mildly acquainted with his work might not be surprised that he’s put out an album of solo piano compositions; they might, however, be surprised to find out that Pianoworks is the second such Eluvium album, after 2004’s An Accidental Memory in Case of Death. That record, coming after the striking (and often noisy) debut effort Lambent Material served to establish that Cooper wasn’t going to be restrained by genre, form or instrument. Here, having accomplished an awful lot over the past 15+ years it’s fitting that Cooper appears to be in a more contemplative, even melancholy mood. Whether it’s the gently rippling “Underwater Dream” or the brightly rounded runs of “Carrier 32”, Pianoworks serves as a reminder that Cooper can stop you in your tracks with the simplest of setups, if he chooses. (And for those really a fan of his piano work, the deluxe version features an extra disc of new versions of practically all the previous Eluvium piano pieces as well.)

Ian Mathers

Frieda’s Roses — Jessica Triangle (Mika)

The three women of Frieda’s Roses—that’s Greta Fannin, Ava Miller and Poppy Lang—aren’t even in high school yet; their ages range from 13 to 15. And yet, this debut album, Jessica Triangle, is a marvel of minor key garage pop, raucous and wistful at the same time. Its bristly onslaught of guitars guards a tender center. You also realize, about halfway through the album, that teen girl pop has changed since the last time you looked, and the subject matter here is rather empowered. In a very strong middle section, “Isadora Giving” chides a girl for being too accommodative (“She’s kind in the way of giving things away”), while the stand-out “Lucy Poe” celebrates the complexity and intelligence of a young woman (“She’s happy and not/at the same time.”) “Forever Defend Her Story” recounts the ordinariness of sexual assault and the way women are blamed for it. The songs are bright and dark simultaneously laying in the pretty vocals of, say, Grass Widow, atop a raucous, acerbic foundation. There’s no way you’d know, without reading the coverage, how young this band is. They sound like they’ve been doing it forever.

Jennifer Kelly

The Futureheads — Powers (Nul)

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Back at the old Dusted, I wrote perhaps my most vicious review ever about the Futureheads’ second album, News and Tributes. It was disappointment speaking — I’d genuinely liked their taut, fizzy debut — when I said, “Now, with News and Tributes, the sad truth emerges. The Futureheads were lean from hunger, not discipline. With opportunity, they tend toward the flabbiest sort of excess.” Well, 13 years have passed, and I no longer expect anything from the Futureheads. I’d forgotten they existed, to be honest, but their latest album, Powers, is kind of fun. Much of what made the debut such a pleasure—the tightly wound guitars, the unexpectedly complicated vocal counterparts, the exuberant avowal of depressing ideas—is here, too. “Electric Shock” trips all the wires (ahem) by itself, with its zingy guitar and drum cadence, its densely harmonized vocals and its celebration of an extreme form of mental health therapy (“When I got my electric shock/it knocked me off my feet”). “Jekyll” punches, stings and tantalizes, its hoarse, wracked northern lead pillowed by giddy oohs and ohs. “Can you control your transformations?” asks the singer Barry Hyde, and then the song itself transforms itself, turning into a popcorning cacophony of closely aligned vocals. Even the willfully positive, good time anthem, “Good Night Out” ripples with existential angst; it’s only a feel good song if you don’t listen too closely. And yet, there’s a great deal of joy in these tight, complicated songs. They burst into flames as you listen, leaving spots in your eyes from the brightness and the bitter taste of ash.

Jennifer Kelly

Hammered Hulls — S/T (Dischord)

S/T by Hammered Hulls

Perhaps it's a bit lazy to toss out the old "super group" appellation; but, come on, if you're even a moderate follower of that thing we call indie rock, you have to recognize the extraordinary line-up of Hammered Hulls for what it is. With DC hardcore royalty Alec MacKaye on vocals, newly minted arena rocker Mary Timony on bass, Chris Wilson of Ted Leo and the Pharmacists fame (among other outfits) on drums, and Des Demona/Pink Monkey Bird Chris Cisneros on guitar, Hammered Hulls represents an undeniably impressive assemblage of rockers. If any individual band member's musical history comes to the fore here, though, it's probably MacKaye's, as the band trades in a brawny yet cunningly complex punk that recalls the musical revelations delivered by Dischord's first blasts of post-hardcore creativity. And while this is clearly a team effort, each sonic component is worthy of the listeners attention as much as the superlative whole. Though two of the three tracks clock in at just over a minute, indicating that at least in spirit the band isn't denying its past, the practically byzantine by comparison (coming in at almost four minutes) "Written Words" hints at the potential Hammered Hulls has to be more than just a spirited one-off by some friends with impressive resumes. This single should leave everyone desperate for more.

Nate Knaebel

HTRK — Venus In Leo (Ghostly International)

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Australian duo HTRK’s latest Venus In Leo is a collection of electro-acoustic minimalism characterized by a woozy shimmer reminiscent of Mark Nelson’s work as Pan American. Jonnine Standish and Nigel Yang have stripped their music to the bare bones. A heartbeat throb, sparse percussion, occasional washes of synth and Yang’s simple guitar strums underpin Standish’s voice mixed to the fore on nine songs redolent with damaged longing. There is a rawness of emotion and acute observation of small domestic moments recorded with an intimacy that draws the listener close. Influenced by dub’s use of space, echo and silence Yang and Standish achieve a feeling of momentum to evoke quiet turmoil. Their miniaturization of Missy Elliott’s “Hit ‘Em Wit Da Hee” takes repeated lyrical snippets from the original and turns the song into a ghostly waltz. “What's up star? /We know who you are/Shit, no shit I thought you hadn't noticed.” Venus In Leo’s unadorned modesty is at times devastating.

Andrew Forell

Justin Peter Kinkel-Schuster — Take Heart, Take Care (Big Legal Mess)

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Songwriter Justin Peter Kinkel-Schuster frames his new album Take Heart, Take Care as the result of an artistic problem. He'd become used to writing dark songs, until he found he was content and had mostly good things to say. It's a false dilemma, of course. Any number of artists have built not only albums but careers on encouragement (see the War and Treaty as an example of a current act doing it really, really well). The real trap for Kinkel-Schuster was to avoid get treacly in his new mood, and he successfully avoids that snare.

His performances rely on his patience — he's content, remember, but not exuberant. He builds his songs comfortably within his context, but he doesn't jump on them. When he sings, “There's plenty of wonder in this world still to be found,” on the opener, his ease prevents it from sounding like a naïve epiphany. Kinkel-Schuster's Americana-influenced indie-rock comes carefully constructed, but only to make space for that heart to come through. It's a songwriter's record, easy melodies supported by well-balanced guitars. It's the singer not the guitars who have done their processing. The record and its bright sound create a warm space and sit down in it. Kinkel-Schuster may have found his ease, but his desire to share it quickly becomes apparent.

Justin Cober-Lake

Longriver—Of Seasons (Hullaballou)

Of Seasons by Longriver

David Longoria of Longriver picks nimbly at his guitar, plucking out porch blues-y tunes that are steeped in tradition but freshly imagined. Not quite spare, his tunes are abetted by a crew of Texas regulars, songwriters Sarah LaPuerta of Strange Paradise and Lindsey Verrill of Little Mazarn, Evan Joyce and Colin Gilmore, as well as composer/percussionist Thor Harris. Though mostly acoustic guitar and voice, his sound is filled out with harmonica, soft percussion and twining communal harmonies. His songs run at a mid-temperature folky pace, so soft spoken and unassuming enough to elide one into the other, and honestly, don’t quite catch fire until late in the album when ghostly, lovely “Texas Doesn’t Care” comes along. This one uses all the tools, an aching pedal steel guitar, some silvery electric keyboards, punchy drums and fiddle. It also contains the prettiest melody of the disc, fluttered out in a high, not quite falsetto quaver. A few more like this and Texas might sit up and take notice.

Jennifer Kelly

Lunaires — If All the Ice Melted (Shades of Sound/Wave Records)

IF ALL THE ICE MELTED by Lunaires

If All the Ice Melted is a highly polished blend of cold wave, goth and stadium synthpop. This first outing from Milan post-punk Jeunesse d’Ivoire veterans Patrizia Tranchina (vocals) and Danilo Carnevale (guitars, programming, synths) evokes the heyday of 4AD bands such as The Cocteau Twins, Xmal Deutschland and Dead Can Dance. Here, Tranchina ruminates on loss, mortality and nature’s power as Carnevale constructs dreamy electronic soundscapes with sparklingly clean guitar lines twinkling above. The results are lovely but polite. The edges have been sandpapered to nothing and the dust swept away. “Mirror Trancefix” stands out precisely because it has that grit — the drum programming a little ragged, the bass dirty, the guitars cutting. Otherwise the gloss creates an emotional distance, which may be the point but discourages complete engagement with Tranchina’s often affecting vocals. If All the Ice Melts sounds good, and if it never quite breaks out there’s enough here to enjoy and look forward to what Lunaires could do with a little less restraint.

Andrew Forell

Bill Nace & Chik White—Eel (all parts) / Wild Wire (Open Mouth)

The news that Bill Nace (Body / Head, Vampire Belt) has picked up an acoustic guitar and sat down to jam with a jaw harpist might give some cause for pause. Is he going American Primitive, or maybe going skiffle? Spoiler alert — the ghosts of John Fahey and Lonnie Donegan will not hear their names called when you play this record. But play it you will, and for only the best of reasons. First of all, it’s a seven-inch, black vinyl single, and no one buys such things anymore unless they really, really love them. But this one does more to earn your affection than merely exist. On the a-side, White’s orally organized vibrations and Nace’s persistent smacks on prepared strings stir up a constellation of buzzing sounds that’ll reliably destabilize your equilibrium without getting you fired when the Feds drop by to drop everyone on the work floor. The flip combines broad feedback ribbons with intermittent glottal eruptions to create a sonic sweat lodge experience so deep that you’ll be unloading all your Scientology machines on e-bay, all issues resolved.

Bill Meyer

The National — I Am Easy to Find (4AD)

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The National have been getting expansive recently (with the instrumentation and their runtimes, among other things), and who can blame them? Having attained the kind of big-venue prominence that means either you start lapsing into the version of yourself the hecklers always claimed you were (an especially slippery potential slope for a band like this one, so precisely emotionally calibrated and so close to being the bad kind of dad rock) or you start just going for it. The latter approach served them mostly well on Sleep Well Beast a few years ago, but this time finally feels like the kind of record that the National needed to make for their own progress more than one that’s necessarily fully successful. One absolutely successful move is the series of accompanying singers (“backing” seems almost disrespectful for what Gail Ann Dorsey and Lisa Hannigan, among others, bring to these songs), and the expanded studio palette first highlighted on Beast is still mostly working for them. There’s even a quick comparison in the form of old fan favorite “Rylan,” which still sounds great here. Ultimately what doesn’t quite settle right is just the sheer length, bulk, and discursiveness of the album, complete with accompanying film, brief interludes by the Brooklyn Youth Chorus, interpolating a Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 song into a track that was already too long and feeling that somewhere within these 63 minutes is a really killer 40 minute or so album just waiting to be carved out. Eight albums in, things could be a lot worse.

Ian Mathers

Reduction Plan — (Ae)Maeth (Redscroll Records / Dune Altar)

(Ae) Maeth by Reduction Plan

Reduction Plan swells to epic size in this sixth full-length, turning the darkwave, synth-heavy aesthetic laid out in the five previous albums into an enveloping, shimmering, near-post-metal overload. Daniel Manning, the band’s single member, worked with Swans/Walkman producer Kevin McMahon this time, a move which transformed his Cure-circa-Disintegration gloom into a weighted, gleaming edifice. “An Act of Self Immolation” sets the tone with giant masses of guitar sound that tower and lumber. Unencumbered by vocals, it’s more like Pelican than gothy-post-punk. “The River” hews closer to new wave, with its clean, chiming synth tones, gate-reverbed drums and echoey vocals — there’s a nice smouldery sax solo in this one, too — but still looms and glowers with a palpable heaviness. “Ae Maeth,” at the end, brings on Jae Matthews from Boy Harsher for added vocals, a kindred spirit in reviving music at the intersection of dance, goth and industrial; the album’s longest cut slows the thump of dance floor into a desolate cadence that can’t and won’t stave off destruction.

Jennifer Kelly

Rosenau & Sanborn — Bluebird (Psychic Hotline)

Bluebird by Rosenau & Sanborn

The house on the cover of this LP is surrounded by fallen leaves. But even though it depicts the location of this recording, and that recording took place in October, and they recorded with the windows open, the sounds inside are not particularly autumnal. Chris Rosenau’s (Collections of Colonies of Bees, Volcano Choir) is too quick and eager, Nick Sanborn’s (Sylvan Esso, Megafaun) electronics too effervescent. This music feels like the sun hitting your brow, refracted by heavy air. It feels like the first awareness of escape when you turn off the work phone and start a vacation. Or maybe it just feels like Indian summer. Put it on, put the speakers out the window, and go kick some leaves.

Bill Meyer

We Melt Chocolate — We Melt Chocolate (Annibale Records)

we melt chocolate by we melt chocolate

The reanimation of shoegaze pioneers My Bloody Valentine, Slowdive and Ride has brought renewed attention to the genre’s flourishing across Europe, the US, and Japan during their absence. Italian band We Melt Chocolate — that’s Vanessa Billi (voice and synth), Lorenzo Sbisa (guitar), Enrico Baroncelli (guitar), Marco Crowley Corvitto (bass) and Francesco Lopes (drums) — hit all the classic marks on their latest, excellently produced self-titled album. Ethereal vocals, banks of effects laden neo-psychedelic guitar, washes of synth, and a thick bottom end are all present and correct. Taking Loveless as their template, We Melt Chocolate strive for the epic and on tracks like “wishful” and “orange sky” reach it with elegance rather than sheer volume, although turning it up never hurts. We Melt Chocolate probably won’t convert non-believers, but fans of shoegaze and dream pop will find a lot to like here.

Andrew Forell

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heoneyology · 5 years

Text

Hearts on the Line: Ch.9

A/N: Things have calmed down a bit! Heads up there’s a portion where the MC has to get stitched up, I tried not to go into too much detail.

Genre: action, angst, romance, outlaw!au

Word Count: 4925

Summary: You’ve got a debt to pay, and Wooyoung has an agenda of his own. But for your help with just one last scheme, Wooyoung is willing to allow your debt to drop off—unknown to him, though, you also have your own agenda, and a loyalty to an unspoken Other. With hearts on the line, you each will end up having to make a decision that may risk what you both thought was simply just a game.

The ride back to the base camp is uncomfortable, to say the very least. You’re barely able to stay in the saddle on your own, and so Yunho rides behind you and allows you to lean back against him, an arm snaked around your waist as he holds you upright. He leads his horse along at a gallop with the reins in his free hand. He attempts to go slow and gently, but there’s an urgency to getting you back to camp that you can understand—that doesn’t make it any more comfortable, of course.

Each movement of the horse beneath you jostles you in a way that has you clenching your teeth against the pain. Every now and again, Yunho will ask you a question softly, close to your ear. You answer each time, not really able to remember what it is he’s asking and what you’re giving an answer to. You know he’s making sure you’re conscious still and not slipping away on him.

After a while, he begins to softly hum in your ear. Despite his deep voice, it’s melodic.

You don’t fall asleep, but the sound reverberating from the back of his throat soothes you enough to make the ride pass in a way that seems too fast yet too slow at the same time. You’re unable to firmly grasp at the concept of time.

“San!” Yunho’s sudden shout pulls you back to reality. You aren’t sure how much time has passed, having been lulled into a strange state of in-between by your riding partner’s humming. “Choi San!” He yells again, this time a bit more urgently.

Yunho slides from the saddle first, keeping a firm grip on you with a single hand as he does so. You realize then that you haven’t stopped clenching your jaw since the start of the ride. Slowly relaxing, you let out a breath, mentally preparing yourself for the pain about to come. There’s a frown furrowing Yunho’s brow again.

“Careful,” he croons to you, as you position yourself slowly to assist him in getting you down from his horse. Arms wrapped around you, he slips you from the saddle. You’re about to tell him that you can walk, but he’s back to carrying you bridal style without a single shred of hesitation.

“Choi San!” Yunho yells, once more, this time the urgency hovering close to a state of panic.

A sudden thundering of hooves, followed by some faint barking, makes you peek over Yunho’s shoulder. “There,” you murmur, and Yunho turns with you in his arms. The two of you watch San ride back into camp on his palomino, a small dog haphazardly barking as it trails a little too close to the horse’s hooves, pulling up short to a stop.

“You found Shiber,” Yunho comments off-handedly, before continuing, “Did you search the camp at all? Are your supplies mostly here, still?”

San dismounts, and as he does so he shoots his hunting hound a wide grin. The last you’d seen of the canine was when the dog had been curled asleep by the fire next to a contently sleeping Yeosang and Jongho. That seemed like ages ago, now, despite it only being close to a week, maybe a week and a half. You briefly wonder if Shiber had gone missing all of a sudden—it was no unknown fact to anyone that the dog was extremely fond of his owner, and didn’t take well to moments that San was away for days on end.

That’s when you notice the state of camp. You feel your head rolling along your shoulders in imitation of an owl as you do so, attempting to crane your neck around Yunho’s frame. While the camp isn’t completely torn apart, it’s clearly disheveled, as though some sort of tussle had happened. Items have been upturned, ripped open, and contents even spread around.

What happened? You wonder, just as San asks aloud, “What happened?”

He’s right in front of the two of you then, staring down at you with a stricken expression across his face. You pull your attention from the camp to meet San’s gaze, giving a meager smile.

“When you guys taught me how to fight and fend off knife attackers, you never followed up with what to do if that person had two knives.” Your attempt at a joke is quite lame, but you hear Yunho let out some sort of scoff-like laughter, and San—though he presses his lips into a hard, displeased line—gives a good-humored head shake.

“Yes, because you weren’t actually ever supposed to get into a knife fight,” San mutters, before nodding towards the center of the camp, close to the barren fire pit, a silent instruction for Yunho. San turns away, saying, “My tent was still fine, I should have enough to stitch her up.”

Yunho follows San’s silent direction, carefully setting you down on the ground next to the fire pit. He glances around the disheveled camp, moving about to collect some fresh wood to put a fire together.

“What happened here?” You ask, turning your head enough to allow you to study the state of what had been your temporary home until then.

“We don’t know.” San is the one who answers, returning to your side with a bag. He sets it down before he crouches at your side. “Hongjoong has an idea, but it hasn’t been confirmed. Seonghwa is also missing.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. He was the only one who hadn’t come to town that night. Yeosang and Jongho had said that they weren’t able to extract him from his tent, pouring himself over the books he carried with him. You remembered that the first night when this all had began, Seonghwa had been focused on studying something, but you could barely remember what. Considering he hadn’t been in the line of danger at all, despite his warnings, you found yourself worried.

“So, what happened?” San asked as he set about to work, he glanced up briefly at Yunho. “Get some water boiling in a pot, since we aren’t in any immediate danger ourselves and she isn’t, I want to sanitize this wound correctly. The bleeding seems to have stopped a while ago.”

You hear a hum of acknowledgement from Yunho, before the sound of a small spark against wood touches your ears. You flinch in surprise, briefly turning your head to watch Yunho tend a campfire, doing as San instructed with the water. Letting out a sigh, you turn back to San, watching him rummage through his belongings and pull out some various vials, bottles, and instruments, until he was satisfied with the assemblage.

“Short version of the story,” you begin, too tired to give all the details. They’ll hear it again, anyway, when Hongjoong inevitably sits you down to question you. “Wooyoung had a stupid idea, I went along with the stupid idea. I was acting as a spy. Got in a scuffle with a woman from Wooyoung’s past after gathering some information. We had a physical fight, I got stabbed—” You cut yourself off, glancing up at San then, “—the blade was doused in Gila monster venom, by the way.”

San has been handed a pot of boiled water by Yunho at this point, and he’s working on carefully cleaning a regular old sewing needle he’d procured. “Oh my,” he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Well, how are you feeling? I hear those are nasty to deal with. They won’t kill you, but they’re insanely painful. Unfortunately you have to just ride the venom out.”

You let out a grunt. “Ride it out is exactly what I’m doing, and it’s definitely not the most pleasant experience I’ve had.”

Quirking a brow, San studies you. “You’re handling the pain quite well.”

“I think the venom numbed me, to be honest. I ache inside. The stab wound I can’t really feel unless I make a sudden movement. Feels like my body has failed on me, because I feel nothing at all.”

After the needle is sanitized to his liking, San sets it aside. “Well, I hope you’re ready to feel something, because these next few things probably won’t be pleasant.” From under a curtain of hair, he looks up at you as he hovers of you. “For now I’m just going to clean this wound. Painkiller after, before I stitch it up. Can’t do anything for the venom, your body will naturally fight that off in its own way.”

You nod, grateful that he’s at least explaining to you what he’s doing and intends to do. Lying your head back, you let out a sigh, bracing yourself as you stare up at the night sky, littered with stars. You hear the tear of cloth as San cuts away the lower half of your shirt, flinching as he gently pours the hot water Yunho had boiled over your stab wound. The liquid, despite being smooth, is uncomfortably hot as it rushes around the edges of the wound and into the cut itself. San’s bare hand moves gently over the wound, rubbing away both dried and fresh blood.

As he works, you find yourself hyper focused on what he’s doing without looking, attempting to piece together a mental image of his hand at work.

“So,” you exhale, deciding the continuation of your story will distract you, “we got into a physical fight, I got stabbed—and I’m not really sure what made me think it was a good idea, but there was this lamp on the table in the room—we were in the saloon private rooms. I started to fall, my body couldn’t hold up my weight, and so I grabbed the lantern off the table and threw it onto the floor as I fell.”

“I thought the room would set on fire,” you lie, surprised at how easily it comes to you, “but then the whole building went up in flames.”

They don’t need to know that you were aware of Jean’s plan, or that you even knew Jean. They didn’t need to know that you’d smelled the gunpowder on the floor when you’d fallen the first time, and they definitely didn’t need to know you’d planned all of that to help ensure your survival. Now that Wooyoung was possibly injured because of you—these were things they didn’t need to know.

“Well, we heard that explosion from this far off—Yunho, sit her up—and let me tell you, I don’t think it was just that saloon you were in that set on fire.”

San is easy at holding multiple conversations at once, easily talented in the art of juggling multiple thoughts swarming through his head. It was no wonder he still had a shred of sanity left. Everyone liked to tease him for thinking too much, all at once, but somehow he still was able to keep a head about him despite all the ideas he had.

Yunho does as San instructs, carefully sitting you up as San presses a cloth over your stab wound to ensure it doesn’t begin to bleed again from the movement. As you’re guided into a sitting position, you’re met with a flask practically in your face, right at the tip of your nose.

You groan. You hated alcohol.

“Time to drink away the pain. Gotta numb you up,” San gives an impish grin, knowing your dislike for the whiskey.

“Quack doctor,” Yunho mutters under his breath.

San wrinkles his nose at the other. “Hey, you’ll be saying that when I patch Rosette up here nice and good. You’re going to end up being grateful.”

“What I would have been grateful for is if you hadn’t let Hongjoong fall out of his damn saddle,” Yunho argues, “quack doctor!”

“I digress, Hongjoong chose to fall from his own saddle. I had absolutely nothing to do with that—”

“A doctor should have control over his patients!”

“How many times do I have to say I’m not even a real doctor?!” San wails, and you suddenly find a headache growing, not just for the fact that he’s literally crying in your ear—but also from their bickering. It’s something they do often, Jongho often joining them, as well. That was something that created an even bigger fiasco.

“And Hongjoong isn’t, nor was he ever, a real patient! He went to sleep after a concussion! Who does that?!”

“Who lets someone do that?” Yunho retorts.

“Okay I didn’t see you wake him up, either—”

“Wait… Hongjoong fell from his saddle? He has a concussion? What’s going on?” You’re dizzy, glancing back and forth between the two of them as they continue their squabble.

But instead of answering you, San decides at that moment, it’s perfect to drop the subject entirely. Yunho seems to be in some sort of silent agreement with him. San shakes the flask in front of your nose. “A story for another time, maybe later when you tell us the lengthened version of your own. Now, bottom’s up.”

You wrinkle your nose as he presses the flask to your mouth, though you have no choice but to part your lips and accept the whiskey. Grimacing, you close your eyes against the bitter taste. San doesn’t lower the flask, and so you’re forced to keep drinking it steadily until he seems satisfied you’ve had enough. When he tilts the flask away, you sputter and let out a cough.

It’s not instantaneous, but you can feel the aged whiskey slowly take hold of your body, a sort of vertigo beginning to build up at the forefront of your mind. You close your eyes against the sensation. “Gross,” you mutter, aware that now the back of your throat burns with the rest of your body.

“Necessary,” is San’s one word answer, as he nods to Yunho, who gently lays you back down. Before you’re completely settled, San is pressing something against your mouth again. Obliging, you part your lips, greeted by the taste of old leather. Your eyes shoot back open, and from the back of your throat you let out a complaint against the leather, lifting your hands to pry San’s away.

“You’d rather bite off your tongue?” San asks, holding the leather there firmly. Though it tastes disgusting—you have to admit to yourself that you would rather not do so. San doesn’t let go until you drop your hands, positive you’re going to concede. “I’m going to start stitching.”

You’re about to close your eyes again when Yunho is suddenly reaching forward, collecting your hands in his own.

“In case it hurts too much.” He gives your hands a small, reassuring squeeze.

“Make sure she doesn’t struggle or move,” San directs, adding to you, “please try and stay still, Rosette, even if it hurts.”

You give a curt nod, feeling your jaw tightening as your teeth clench against the leather. Just as the pinpoint of the needle touches your skin, you snap your eyes closed and find yourself squeezing Yunho’s hands. The needle slides along your skin in a smooth and effortless manner, San working quickly and efficiently. You know he’s trying his hardest to not make things worse for you, but you can’t help the whimper against the leather that escapes from you. If you were to look, you were sure you’d be gripping Yunho’s hands so hard that your knuckles were white.

From faraway, you hear Yunho begin to hum again, until his voice builds up into something a tad bit stronger, softly singing, “It was you, my shine light; true light, came with destiny…”

You focus on that soothing sound, beginning to doze off. Yunho’s singing with the vertigo swimming in your head is enough to keep you unfocused—jumping between different thoughts and feelings. The sensation of the needle and thread and San’s warm touch against your stomach, the burning fire that still lingers in your veins, back to the gentle touch of Wooyoung as he tended to your lip… wondering if Wooyoung was okay, and wishing he were here.

At some point, your body can’t handle fighting against the pain any longer. Yunho’s voice and the whiskey lull you to sleep, a more comfortable warmth settling over your body. The day had been much longer than you’d anticipated, taking a very large toll on your body and mind overall. Nothing had panned out the way you had anticipated, and at the back of your mind is a small worry about what Hongjoong will say about everything. He didn’t know about your connecting to Jean, yet a part of you was concerned he was somehow aware of the buildings in the town being prepped to go up in flame—that you knew exactly what you were doing when you’d knocked that lamp over.

There was also a worry over what Jean was going to say—or even do. Did this ruin her plans? Clearly they’d been thwarted, to an extent, since the three members you’d managed to get to the saloon were all alive and well. That also made you wonder, though, where the heck had Seonghwa gone? And why was the camp in such a state of array?

You felt guilty for being relieved that everyone that had gone to the saloon was alive and well, like you were betraying your best friend. Could you even call her that, any longer? Even with the history you shared?

At the very least, you’d gotten a name out of Monica. Mr. Kim. It narrowed absolutely nothing down, but maybe Wooyoung would be able to do something with that information. You wished you’d gone alone, like originally planned. If only you’d been the one to meet with Monica, and hadn’t dragged the guys along… maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe everyone would be alright.

You aren’t sure how long you sleep for, but the sound of voices drags you unwillingly back to consciousness and reality.

“They got caught, the both of them. They’re in a holding cell right now.” Immediately, a sense of further relief washes through you at the sound of Jongho’s voice.

“They didn’t get shot on the spot?” Yunho asks, surprised.

“Sheriff wants to do a public execution,” Yeosang’s quietly calm voice interjects into the conversation. They’re talking about Hongjoong and Wooyoung, you realize. “Everyone thinks they did it—set the town on fire.”

“But—” Mingi’s deep voice suddenly appears, seemingly out of nowhere.”

“There’s no ‘buts’ to it, Mingi. I know you don’t think it’s entirely fair. With their combined bounties? Honestly, what man with a clean name wouldn’t think they did it? It’s not exactly like the sheriff needs a cause for the crime, to kill them. We’re all outlaws here.”

When you blink your eyes open, you find yourself lying on your side. A blanket has been placed beneath you, along with one covered over you, and a pack laid beneath your head. You’re met with the sight of San’s beloved hunting hound, Shiber, lying next to you. When you stir, the dog lifts his head to sniff you, before plopping it right back down and returning to his own dozing. You reach out, resting a hand on Shiber’s side as your eyes adjust to the dark and the firelight.

The dog stirring again, this time at your touch, catches San’s attention.

“You’re awake?”

There’s a pounding in your head that makes you wish you weren’t awake, but you answer with a, “Yes, kind of. Waking up still.” The fog of what’s left of the whiskey in your system and the heaviness of the sudden sleep that had overtaken you make it a bit difficult to push past the grogginess you feel.

San’s suddenly there, hovering over you. Shiber moves out of the way, tail wagging as he stares at San with such dedication and compassion in his eyes. You kind of envy the love the dog has for the man.

“How are you feeling?”

“Hungover?” You offer with a small smile.

San chuckles, smiling enough that his cheeks dimple. He reaches forward, gently taking hold of your shoulders and guiding you to return to laying on your back. At your waist, he parts the shirt you’re wearing—you realize that it’s one of the guys’, a button-down that’s only half-buttoned, that probably belongs to Yunho since it seems to fit you so loosely and clings to your frame like a curtain rather than a shirt.

“It looks good. Bleeding has completely stopped, no signs of infection at the time,” San studies his work, “I made some poultice with some yarrow not long ago that I put to help stem the bleeding. Whiskey’s all we got for painkillers around here, so if you’re in any pain, you’re either going to have tough it out or drink up.”

You wrinkle your nose at the idea of drinking anything more, not a fan of the latter option. Toughing it out seems like the better of the two ideas, considering you seemed to have done a decent job of it earlier if you’d managed to stay on your feet through all the events that had gone down.

“Good news is I think the venom is mostly out of your system. Had quite a scare after you fell asleep, you started running a fever,” San explained, letting the material of the shirt fall back down over your exposed stomach. “For a moment I thought you’d caught an infection, but then I realized your body was seemingly sweating out the last of the venom.”

“How long have I been sleeping for?” You wonder, your voice cracking as you speak.

Instead of answering, San turns away from you for a moment to rummage through some items nearby. You glance around at what you can see without jostling yourself too much, aware that the guys seemed to have cleaned up most of the camp. San returns with a jar lid in his hand, and you squint at the thick syrup sitting on it. He reaches forward, slipping a hand behind your back. You brace yourself, helping him assist you into a sitting position.

“Take some honey for your throat, I don’t know how much smoke you inhaled,” he instructs, handing you the jar lid.

You stare at it. There were plenty of cooking utensils around this camp, and this was how he served honey to you? Lifting your eyes, you narrow them into judgmental slits aimed straight towards him.

“We’ve all shared germs here before, but we haven’t shared germs with the ground. I wasn’t about to wash some dirty dishes just so you could have a spoonful of honey. Take it.”

You supposed that made sense, considering the camp had been ransacked earlier. Sighing, you do as he commands and swallow down the sweet fluid. Immediately, it soothes your parched throat.

“Well?” You ask after testing your throat out, satisfied that it doesn’t feel as itchy when you swallow. You hand the lid back to San.

“Long enough,” Yunho answers from over San’s shoulder. You shift your seated position to turn toward the fire, to the rest of the group—Yunho, Mingi, Jongho, and Yeosang were all present.

Mingi gives you a small smile, it being the first you two have seen of each other in a while. You return it, though you have to admit that seeing the latter two’s faces eases some pent up tension you hadn’t been aware you’d been holding onto. They looked worn, hair ruffled and some smudges on their face, presumably from their escape from the fire. They seemed unscathed, though.

Yunho adds, “We’re about three hours off from midnight.”

You’d been in a daze of pain, brain addled by smoke, but you briefly remembered Hongjoong’s words. “Didn’t Hongjoong say—” Before you finish the thought, Yunho nods grimly.

“That’s not going to happen,” Jongho speaks up with a sigh. “Sheriff caught them, presumably not long after you and Yunho rode off. Yeosang and I got out of that fire pretty easily, but we stuck around the outskirts of the town—helped put some of the fires out as best as we could without getting caught ourselves, but I drank too much to really do anything worthwhile. We were waiting for you and Wooyoung. He insisted on returning for you.”

“When neither of you met up with us where Wooyoung told us to wait, we assumed the worst, so we went back into the town to take a look around. Everything’s a mess at the moment and the townspeople are pissed. That’s when we got word that Hongjoong and Wooyoung were being held at the jail,” Yeosang supplies.

Jongho nodded. “We went to check it out, just to be sure—y’know how people can talk, sometimes, especially in a small town. But sure enough they were both there. When we saw Wooyoung, we realized he must have gotten you out. We rode back here, figuring this is where you’d return to since it’s the next safest spot.”

“And that’s where we’re at now, after they kind of filled us in on what happened to you and after I came back from scouting the area,” Mingi speaks up now, a frown on his face. “Trying to figure out why Seonghwa is missing, why the camp was ransacked and who was looking for what, and what to do about Boss and Wooyoung.”

You glance around the fire at each of their faces. None of them seem particularly tired, but there’s a mental exhaustion that lingers on their faces. They’d probably been discussing this for hours, you assumed, while you’d slept off what you’d went through.

“Ideally, we have until dawn to make a decision.” You glance over in surprise at Yeosang as he offers up this information. “Public executions aren’t done until noon.”

“That’s not safe!” You protest, to everyone’s surprise. They all glance at you. “Waiting that long to make a decision is really pushing it. What if they decide to do the execution earlier? If the town thinks that Wooyoung and Hongjoong did this, then now they’ve got a bounty for arson added to their heads. If everyone is as angry as Yeosang says, then that means they’re riled up enough to take action sooner rather than later.”

Yeosang purses his lips, frowning, and turning his blue gaze toward the fire in thought.

Yunho sighs. “She’s right. It’s risky.”

“Going back into town is risky, too,” Jongho muttered from where he sat next to him.

San, who had been quiet for most of this time, speaks up. “But when haven’t we been willing to take risks?” He quirks a brow as he asks this, as though it’s the most obvious question in the world. Which, in reality—it is. “Not only that, but working in the cover of the night is better for us. Things could get messier, in more ways than one, if we wait until morning to take care of this.”

“Can I help?” You ask, glancing at San. Since he was the doctor, and your care provider currently, you figured the decision fell onto him. Not that you were about to take no for an answer.

But before he does have a chance to answer, Yunho cuts in, “No, absolutely not!”

Your head snaps toward Yunho, a glare and a frown on your face. “Why not? If I did all the work I did earlier with the stab wound open and bleeding—yet made it out fine, then why can’t I do this with the stab wound stitched closed? Plus, I’m a woman! If you need into the jail, it’ll be easiest for me.”

You turn back towards San then, raising your eyebrows at him, prompting him.

San clears his throat, giving a small one-shouldered shrug. “Well, she’s not exactly wrong…”

“Quack doctor,” Yunho growls from across the fire.

San turns toward Yunho this time, wrinkling his nose at the other. “If you keep saying that, I may fall under the impression you’ve swallowed a duck.”

Ignoring their squabbling, yet again, you turn towards Mingi. “What do you say?”

There’s already a look of concentration written across Mingi’s face. When you direct your question toward him, he glances up, pulling himself out of his thoughts. With Hongjoong gone, and Seonghwa missing—leadership fell to the next in line. Mingi was one of the three founders, one of the two co-founders, to the ATEEZ gang. That left him in charge for now. It seemed to be something he was aware of, since he’d already been deep in thought.

Everyone turns their attention to Mingi, then.

“Alright. This is what we’re going to do.” He pushes himself to his feet, “Rosette can help—”

A complaint from Yunho sounds, and Mingi glances at him, but otherwise ignores it.

“San, you’re going to accompany her, for the most part. Make sure her wound doesn’t open on the ride back in. One we get to town, it’s on you, Rosette. You’ll infiltrate the jail like you’ve suggested,” as Mingi speaks, his eyes scan and rest upon everyone surrounding the fire, even yourself.

You’re part of the team, you realize.

Have you ever actually felt uncomfortable with us? Seonghwa’s words ring in the back of your mind.

You always have been a part of their team.

“Yeosang, stay behind in case Seonghwa returns. Everyone else, saddle up. We’re leaving in the next twenty minutes. I want everyone alert and on watch. When Rosette goes into the jail, we’re her backup if anything happens. San, you stay closest to her without revealing yourself.” Mingi pauses briefly, glancing once more around the fire, “Everyone ready?”

#ateez fanfic #ateez outlaw #ateez fanfiction #wooyoung fanfic #ateez wooyoung #ateez fanfics #m.writes #m.hotl

59 notes · View notes

brogoming-blog · 6 years

Text

Tape 47. Title: What's the Point

Space, a vast emptiness of the universe in which we wonder to find meaning why we live or the reason why we search for a reset. This is where we find our wanderers, people out searching for a new world after the destruction of their world caving in on itself. These wanderers come in thousands within each shuttle. Even though there are that five thousand that have escaped from the planet there would be problems still in space in which we lose many. The decline of this all started when we, ourselves have found a planet to house on. A planet so perfect that it was too perfect for us to last.

Tape 47. Title: What's the Point

By: DWG

“I wake up to a loud screeching noise my alarm clock makes, reminding me of my boring life on this shuttle, Shuttle 5. I smack my alarm to hear my daily reminder ‘Good Morning Jacob 1264, it is 7 o’clock A.M., today's date is---,’ the alarm suddenly shuts off but I didn’t think much of it, living on a one-million-year-old rust bucket of a ship, things are bound to turn off once in a while. Next, I hear the warping sound of the power being turned on and the voice over the intercom says, ‘sorry for the power delay, please carry on with your normal duties as our technicians fix this problem,’ then screeches to a silence, making my alarm clock remind me again like it always would. I then get out of my tiny sleeping quarters wearing my typical gray-blue one-piece uniform as everyone else would. And from there I would start my day with some breakfast for thirty minutes talking with others on ‘what is interesting,’ next we go to our daily workout session for 1 hour, then the rest of our day consists of working. I, as like many others, work as janitors. Nothing really special. But then at the end of the day after lunch, is the time where we can get with friends and hang out. I along with Linda 6271, Rob 1102, Sindy 1141, and Daniel 7782 usually hang out together and have a session of Craters & Creatures. After that, we head off to bed and repeat the same day over and over.

‘Good Morning Jacob 1264, it is 7 o’clock A.M., today's date is October 12th, 1,002,152 C.E, the word of the day is system, a system means an assemblage or combination of things or parts forming a complex or unitary whole. Do you have any questions for today?’ I finally get out of bed rubbing my eyes exhaling to think, I ask ‘are we there yet?’ in which the alarm clock replies ‘where are you planning on going?’ ‘I don’t know,’ I said as I get out of bed putting on my uniform. I go join my friends for some breakfast each of us talking about movies, games, books, and our inevitable work section cycle where that day I had to go to section 54 to clean up someone’s mess for crapping all over the floor because they couldn’t reach the bathroom in time. The time comes for exercises, it would be the same thing as it is every other day. After that like I said was work. I get there as slow as I could because I know once I’m done there I’m done for the day and I’m kinda getting tired of rewatching movies, playing the same games, and reacting to the same books, I just want something new, something big once in a while. I eventually get up to the spot to mop up, as I’m mopping though I see two scientists run past, not even noticing the wet floor sign nor did they notice that there was still human waste on the floor. Something was off about them though, scientists don’t usually run at all considering they don’t even have a gym period. I was puzzled at first but I continued on with my work.

I get back from work to enjoy some lunch with my friends, ‘did you guys notice any scientists running past you guys?’ I asked hoping for a response saying yes, everyone said no except for Linda who is leaning on Rob ‘actually I did see some scientists run past me in section 67,’ ‘do you know where they went?’ I ask interested but the answer I got was ‘nope.’ I continue being skeptical though and I carried on with lunch. I go to my dorm rewatching a 007 movie, and that's when it hit me, I had the revolutionary idea to sneak around to see what's going on but if I get caught I basically get thrown out, nevertheless I have nothing to live for anyways. After an hour and thirty minutes getting from one end of the ship to the other, I finally get to the main control deck all tired and worn out from all of the walking. I lay on a wall until I hear voices, ‘are you sure, how do I know you're not pulling my leg again,’ and in response, the other person says, ‘I’m not this time, I'm serious about what we found.’ The voices die off the further they get away, giving me the confidence to go and sneak around some more, but to my surprise, something touched my shoulder. I turn around to find a darker man in a dark gray one-piece uniform, ‘what are you doing around these parts?’ At this point, I can’t scramble any words out of my mouth, ‘I bet you’re wondering what's going on, well if you come with me I’ll show you.’ I was really confused and asked what's happening and he just responds with a smile.

He leads me to the control systematic room where people are running everywhere with papers and TechniPads all over the place. ‘Everyone stop where you are and be quiet!’ says a small woman with her hands up, ‘we are about to see if the rover found anything,’ she then hits a button on her keyboard, everyone is silent for what seems forever, out of nowhere the computer says ‘statist report complete, results…positive, bacterial life detected on planet N.’ Everyone at that moment yeps and yells, cheering on each other, the man that found me grabbed me by the shoulders and asked: ‘do you know what this means?’ I, of course, was very confused and shook my head, ‘this means there are other species out there other than us!’ I didn’t know what to feel, I just looked at everyone jumping around so happily. After a while, I was sent back to my sleeping quarters for the night, and on the way back I keep thinking what this truly means, I mean it's cool that we found a new life but it's only bacteria, what could it really do.

Next morning I wake up, not to my alarm clock, but through the intercom saying ‘citizens 6000 to 7000 please report to bottom hanger bay in 1 hour, other directions and explanations will be explained there.’ Being annoyed I don’t think of it much and head back to sleep. My alarm goes off, ‘Good Morning Jacob 1264, it is 7 o’clock A.M., today's date is October 13th, 1,002,152 C.E, the word of the day is challenge, a challenge means a call to take part in a contest or competition. Do you have any questions for today?’ ‘What happened with those citizens that went down to the hangar bay?’ ‘That is classified information,’ wanting to more I ask ‘Is there a way to access that information?’ ‘For someone of your class, no,’ replied the alarm clock. After that, I stopped asking because I know I couldn’t get any info without being thrown out if I do get caught. A couple of weeks past by and there's no word from Linda, we wait for her and hear what she has to say, but I only wait to hear what’s going on. A few days come by and we finally get information that they’ll come back around sleeping hour. And I’m all I’m thinking is ‘finally some answers.’

It was 6:37 P.M., I along with my other friends wait in my sleeping quarters for Linda to come back, all of a sudden the whole ship shakes and screeches. After a while of screeching, a red light comes out of my ceiling blinking on and off. Over the intercom a voice says ‘Code green, I repeat code green, everyone please report to the nearest armory protection area, in a quick and orderly fashion.’ Scared, all four of us stager out of the room and rush to the armory. Once we get there it's crowded and loud but through the noise, we hear a man yell ‘Everyone in the armory now! This is not a drill!’ I get in the crowd being pushed all over the place by everyone else. Eventually, we all get in there looking around us as the red lights swirl around. More people come in, then what seems like guards come in. One of them presses a button on the door control panel and the door starts to close. Halfway through closing the power goes out, the guards grab a hold of the door pulling it down and it's almost closed until one of them drop on the floor sliding out of the room screaming. The other guard shuts the door the rest of the way, we hear more screaming and banging outside of the armory, eventually, it subsides into quietness.

We wait and wait and wait, the power still hasn’t turned back on yet, no one can barely see anything and it's getting hot enough in the armory where people start taking their off clothes, some standing bare naked. It gets hotter and hotter, people on the floors passed out. ‘It's been an hour since the power turned off, can someone in here reset it?’ Daniel asked trying to fan himself. We hear no response, another hour pasts and the guards themselves past out on the floor. Daniel agitated to get out, he walks over to check if they’re conscious, asking ‘what do you guys think about us leaving?’ there's no response, ‘I’m going to take your silence as a yes.’ He looks around the armory finding a flashlight and a medkit. He then walks over to the door and before opening it he notices a handgun harnessed to one of the guards, Daniel picks it up and stores it in one of his pouches in his suit. He crouches down to open up the door but its barely budging. ‘Can I get some help?’ he asks in a mean tone. At this point, a couple of us are scared, not what is out there but that Daniel has a temper plus a gun which could mean people would be sorry if he doesn’t get his way. I, Rob, and some other people step forward to help open up the door, we get it open enough for us to crawl under that is til Sindy speaks up ‘we need to stay in here, where its safe, we don’t…’ ‘stay in here and rot then,’ said Daniel pushing me out under the door.

We stand in the darkness, hearing nothing of sorts, but smells rancid like something is rotting. Daniel turns on his flashlight, he points it to the ceiling where there are open cords dangling around, he points the light towards the wall where there are some scratch marks going in one direction, he then finally points to the floor and oh God tragedy. I see blood, limbs, clothes everywhere, it's a gross enough mess to make Rob throw up. Daniel glides the light down the hallway following the blood path ‘let's go,’ he says walking on forward into the abyss. Time pasts not seeing anything other than blood and scratch marks, that is til we see a silhouette of a woman. ‘Whos there?’ daniel asks pulling out the gun, there's no answer, ‘I said, whos there,’ that's when it turned around, Linda, only it wasn’t the Linda we knew. She looked green with a blood pattern on her face down her uniform and bubbly bulges on her head. All of us stare in shock, looking at what we would later know how these things looked. It smelled as fresh puke was in the air. Anyways, Rob, having a relationship with Linda, steps forward, ‘Linda is that you?’ He steps closer, ‘it’s me, Rob, there's nothing to be afraid of,’ he’s getting closer but still isn’t too close. She turns her attention on him more and staggers forward with a limp, suddenly out of nowhere she lunges at him about 7 meters away. He collapses on the floor yelling and screaming, reaching out for us as she devours him bit by bit. We are staring at this in horror, that is til we hear more shuffling.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice things moving in the shadows, and I said ‘um guys we need to move, like now!’ Those things then start charging for us on all fours down the hall. We waste no time sprinting like we never sprinted before. We scurry back to the armory, once there two of our guys try to lift the door open as Daniel tries to mow down these things. The two guys do get it opened but with just a little crack both of them are grabbed and slide underneath the door, meaning the people in our armory have also been infected. The only ones left are Daniel and me darting away from the carnage. We come up upon a storage room in which we lock our selves in. Looking around in there for safety, there is finally comfort as I lean on the wall and Daniel leans on the door. ‘Oh God, they're dead all of them, their all dead,’ Daniel says pulling his hair and crying, ‘if I would’ve just stayed in that room no one would’ve died.’ ‘its not your fault for their deaths,’ I say trying to comfort him, ‘your right,’ he responds pointing a gun at me, ‘it was of your doing.’ I’m scared at the fact that the gun was pointing at me so I say nothing in shock, ‘it had to be you, you’re the one that was gone a few weeks ago, my bet is that you released this your self, you made those people in the hanger get infected,’ he says as he standing up pointing the gun at me. ‘I didn’t…’ ‘don’t lie to me!’ and just as he's about to pull the trigger those things burst out of the door window and carry him out into the hallway, screaming and shooting his gun all over the place.

I take that time to get out of there sprinting, as more of those things chase me. I get into the cafeteria bay and charge through the kitchen door, trying to shut it behind me while the things claw and push against it. I get the door close with a minor scratch on my left hand. Looking around the kitchen looking for any more of those things, I eventually get a hold of this tape recorder, um I don’t know what really much to say. I am scared of what's outside this kitchen, and I know I’m not going to last any longer because of this stupid scratch on my hand is spreading like wildfire up my arm. I don’t even know why I’m recording my story, I’m not important to anyone, I’m just a janitor, dying because I can’t be cleaned.” Jacob turns off the recorder as he sits there giving up any hope to live while his memories flash before his eyes, a life of nothingness as if it were wasted… space.

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redthreadtugs-blog · 6 years

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jet lag, tears and insomnia

I hate jet lag. Wide awake for the last hour and it is the middle of the night here even though I was awake for a full day yesterday. I need to sleep. Active brain. And my tummy is growling. And my arm/ hand hurts. And I could just cry if that damn procedure I had yesterday is gonna net me nothing... I do not want to be a fucking medical mystery. My brain actively tracing over the anatomical nerve pathways in the dark... willing myself to unravel just where the source of the compression is if we got it wrong this time. What the next clinical pathway ought to be. Neuro consult? better PT evaluation? nerve conduction study. Whatever it is, I simply refuse to live like this with compromised sensation in my dominant hand. I have too many years ahead of me and too much of my life and livelihood relies on full sensation. I follow the calendar in the dark back to the onset of symptoms. How long since I had full normal neuro function? Too long, and yet within a safe window.

and now my brain bounces to the work ahead. cedar or leather? how many lengths? how should I affix them at the top? what color crow beads should I use... where are my notes? was is confederated tribes of... what was it now? red, white, pale blue, yellow? should I use mixed sizes of beads? how fussy should I work? I only have on working day - and what if they don’t like it... sigh. a band of leather at the top. And then a sleeve of patterned green earth fabric sewn into a sleeve.... and did I remind them the other peice will need a new sleeve affixed to it for the new hanging device I am providing.... will they have remembered? Have to send a text in the morning... or maybe I should get up now and send it since I am awake anyway. Noooo they will just think I am bat shit crazy and I can’t have that. Wait until a sane hour. Can I cut the cedar cording I have or will it unravel? Do I need to secure it where I cut it? and with what... wrap it with a smaller cordage... again... can’t be too fussy or it will draw the eye a place I do not want it to do. And the feathers.... simple half hitch cordage wrap around the stem with a slip of torn fabric to add color worked into the wrap? do I have all that I need in my studio or do I need to buy more leather cord? Small feathers need to be acquired... Think assemblage. Think collage. Keep it simple. Less is more. fuck. and a label. Just make a label... oh... and a few more lines of quilting to hold the false back together. Again... do not go crazy with this or time will run away.

I get up. my tummy is growling. not enough calories yesterday after too many calories while traveling. And my tummy thinks it is the middle of the afternoon, not the middle of the night. I fix myself a piece of multigrain toast. brush my teeth again.

and then I am crying in the middle of the night. quiet sobs until I can’t breath. nose full of snot and shoulders heaving. guilt ridden that I have awoken my spouse. I just want him to wipe my tears and kiss my forehead. but he is all logic and planning. pushing me to move past my tears and be all adult about it... pushing me to access the adult part of my brain... the one that has already kept me awake for the last hour working and planning and thinking and now I am beyond exhausted and I just want someone to take over and let me be “little” so i can go back to sleep. And once he is satisfied a plan is made for the morning, his breathing settles to sleep and I am still wide awake. Silent tears streaking down my face and too snotty nosed to breath except through my open mouth.

40 minutes later... I am still wide awake and freshly crying. my brain is black and the tears are without object. just black and fearful and unhappy and my tummy is still hungry (another thing I want to cry about... 100 miles walked and still +3 # since I left home... fuck me with a spoon gdi... though J says... wisely... muscle weighs more than fat and to be calm about this and to just keep going, not feel discouraged etc etc) and my head hurts and I CANNOT wake him again tonight. I crawl out of bed to the couch where I can sit up to sleep the rest of the night. Find more blankets and another box of tissues...cry some more feeling helpless and just mad, scared, upset and wanting J RIGHT NOW. More tears slide down my face. At least I can breath now. And I am only disrupting MY sleep, no one else’s.

Lists keep popping up. A PM I didn’t answer before vacation that really should be attended to soon. I start composing in my head and it quickly gets away from me... too much too much. less is more... less is more. only a few lines are needed, no explanation is required, and certainly not THAT explanation. Just stop. And then a promise I made on a thread to come back and say more by the end of the week... well TGIF... it is then. will I have time? should I make time? what do I have to say anyway. And these tears... do they make me a little? or a middle? and how does that answer the questions I posed and said I would answer? That squeaky voice in the middle of the night when the tears won’t stop and I can’t adult that says... literally “I am so afraid I will never get better...” and he says... I can’t understand you... forcing me to clear my throat and try again in my grown up voice which apparently is the only one he can hear... my lip quivers and the tears slide faster, my head throbbing from lack of sleep. Swallowing hard.

And then I am problem solving again. Should I figure out stand up desk situation for my lap top at home? How can I improve thing anatomically? what is making things worse. What is the right answer? Or maybe just a lap desk for the lap top to at least get it a bit more off my lap? And my mind flails to a promise I made to myself to make an almond cake for the next council meeting. Adding to the list that I need to find out when they meet next... as my busy brain spins out a fantasy of giving a mini speech to the room about why an almond cake and how it came to my from my friend Karen, a mentor, a wise soul and young and progressive at heart, with a true understanding of hospitality and a link to the past and a vision to the future. How she should see this moment where we are standing at the crossroads and how I can imagine her challenging us to our best selves even if the future seems scary. She was never afraid of the future - a mousy unassuming woman with a spine of steel. Left a first husband, a police officer, because he held a gun to her head. When her grand-daughter had a baby out of wedlock with an african american boy, the mother, throwing the girl out of the house at 15, she took her and the baby in, loving her and the boyfriend and the baby most of all - ending up raising that great grandchild essentially as her own when she was in her late 70′s and her third husband was 94... her husband as good to the young kids and baby as she was. So when I serve that almond cake... all of these things come rushing back to me and all the hopes I have for my community with them, in spite of what has seemed to be so impossible and hopeless in the past 2 or three years... and I want to end my little soap box speech asking the council to taste the hopes and promise the a guinue future of service to others, like the one that Karen modeled, when they eat of her cake. But I can already feel how indulgent such a speech would be, i do not know if anyone even wants to hear from me any more.

And the tears fall faster as I think of Karen and how much I miss my friend and the wise counsel she would give and how she would actually swear at the stupidity of the things that have gone on since her death.

Too much for one girl to take in the middle of the night... and it is dawn now...

must face the day.

©redthreads

陪同

#fears #can't sleep #musings

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meshugana1 · 6 years

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Could you do a guy who's being a dick insults a woman in a massage parlour and ends up as a horny stereotypical asian hooker with DSLs

(I changed this one up just a super small, teensy-weensy, itty-bitty bit. Sorry if I ruined it.)

Darren sat in the chair of the parlor, his irritation growing with every passing second. He received his bonus pay after a long series of arguments with his boss and wanted to treat himself to a relaxing afternoon of pampering, if ladies could enjoy it why couldn’t he? However what he got was a test of patience at the crowded facility. Apparently three of the masseurs were out with a cold and everyone was being serviced by a single woman.

Darren didn’t much care about her plight though, he had a nasty habit of losing perspective when he got irritated and he was only getting more and more miffed. He stood as the thirtieth person in line and the woman was taking her sweet time. She at least gave the crowd something to look at when she did come out and grab the next person with her fat Jap ass and a skimpy uniform, the skirt of which was just tight enough to frame and compress her bottom into the perfect apple shape. Her tits weren’t missing a beat either and they jiggled and jumped with every step she took.

Some old fuck was up next and Darren just lost it. “Goddammit will you hurry up you fat ass Jap slut!” Darren said to the overworked masseuse. A look of restrained rage came over the woman but she looked over to him and it began to dissipate. “I’m sorry sir. Why don’t I jump you ahead of the line as an apology?” She said waving him forward. Darren was a little embarrassed by his outburst but happy that it produced results. He slowly walked forward past all the pissed of patrons. Both pissed off at Darren for his unjustified outburst and from how he was apparently being rewarded for it.

He arrived at the front and got a much better look at the young woman and truly found her to be beautiful for a Japanese chick. Her dark hair was in a respectable ponytail and her face was angelic with its soft asian features, her eyes colored hazel completing a picture of cuteness especially with the provocative uniform they wore here. It made the young girl look like a prostitute, it was akin to a sexy nurse costume but a beige color. It was very tight on the waist and lifted and separated her breasts creating a large valley of cleavage, it flared into a skirt that would’ve been obscene if she wasn’t also wearing a pencil skirt that hugged her ass and made her mince around so seductively. He hardly noticed as she lead him into the private area and closed the door.

It was as typical as any massage parlor but what made it stand out was the elaborate assemblage of oils he saw lining the entire wall. There must’ve been over 500 bottles of different lotions and oils and other such things. “Please sir, disrobe and lie face down in the chair.” She said, phrasing it more as an order than a polite direction. Darren complied not wanting to make himself seem like more of a jackass, removing his white shirt and jeans when he heard her say “Your underwear too, sir.”

Darren was reluctant but quickly wrapped a towel around himself and then dropping his pants, safely covered buy the towel as he prostrated himself on the table. He turned his head and saw the young woman pacing about the wall adorned with the lotions and oils, carefully considering her options. She finally settled on a cherry colored bottle of oil and walked over to the table. “As a warning sir people find this massage to a bit intense, so any strange feelings of discomfort are normal and will pass.” She said vigorously rubbing the oil into her hands.

Darren was a bit caught off guard by this comment but he had heard Japanese massages were pretty intense. He felt that discomfort instantly as she worked the oil into his shoulder blades, but like she said it quickly passed and he began to appreciate her soft hands working the flesh of his back. Everywhere the oil touched he felt the weird feeling, like his skin was being twisted and manipulated with every knead and push. If Darren had listened to his feelings he may have avoided his fate, but of course he didn’t. The masseuse was well learned in her craft and knew how to make the change as painless as possible, she should after three hundred years of practice.

She normally did her job honestly but when assholes like Darren came in it was a real treat. As she worked his torso it began to change, softening and compressing into a more petite shape. Her hands traveled to his butt next, Darren thought this was crossing some line but didn’t mind her soft hands. She manipulated the flesh of his ass and gave the young man a very plump and scrumptious looking rear. She moved down his thighs and his calfs all the way to his feet until he had wide, delectable hips and tiny adorable feet.

Having finished the lower half she commanded her victim to flip over. Darren felt like his hips were being pushed forward but thought that it was the weird feelings she mentioned. She then brought a hand towel from a cabinet and placed it over his eyes. “This is to help you relax” she said. He didn’t question it and just continued to breath and relax as she continued to mold the young man into something else. She tucked his tummy in completing the petite figure, then next came her favorite part. She kneaded and pulled at his pecks, working the flesh out and forming it into loverly teardrop shapes.

She left her hands on his new chest, admiring her work. She had given the dick a wonderful pair of double D’s, but on second thought he could use a little more. She pushed and pulled at his chest again and this time left him with an obscene pair of double H’s, that should do it she thought. Then she massaged his shoulders and throat, by her estimate he should have a teakettle voice. She gave his face a few touches, especially careful to give him a pair of fat lips which should come in handy later, and now he was almost as pretty as she was, but there was still one thing to take care of.

She squirted a little more of the special oil onto her hands and slipped her fingers under his towel. Darren jumped at this sudden contact, put off slightly by unfamiliar motion on his chest. But before he could say anything she put a finger to his lips. “Don’t worry, this is on the house for the long wait. Just sit and relax, and keep the towel over your eyes please.” She said. Darren was not one to turn down a free handjob so he complied. The weird feelings once again pervaded his dick but he could hardly concentrate as her skilled hands worked his cock better than he ever did. The woman molded his cock like clay and continued to distract him with pleasure. After a moment Darren no longer felt like she was stroking his pole, but like she was putting a finger inside him. He didn’t care as this felt better than anything he ever felt before, it built up more and more until he felt an explosion inside him and he heard a high pitched moan escape his lips.

He had no idea that his voice could go that high. “That was incredible” he said, hearing for the first time his new voice. He was confused and tried to grab his throat to help clear it but hit a new fleshy mass on his chest. He reached his other hand up and felt a twin orb, he shot up and the hand towel had flown off producing another scream as he saw his new body. He had tits! And they were massive! As big as the biggest strippers he’d ever seen. He hopped off the table, the towel around his waist falling off revealing the full extent of his new change.

The young masseuse looked over the frightened “man” and smiled. “The hair is a bit short, but you’ll grow it out in time. Ah, I do love my work. Don’t you?” She said.“What the hell did you do to me?” Darren said, fueled with rage.“Well I thought I fixed that attitude of your’s but it looks like I have more work to do.” She said, her smile turning into a sneer.“No please don’t! I’ll do anything just change me back!”“Sorry, I don’t know how to change you back. That’s the owners speciality, but I’m pretty sure she’ll agree with my decision. I might know a way you can curry her favor though but I’m sure you wouldn’t like it.”“Seriously! I will do anything!” Darren said on his knees.“Well all right.” She said. She moved over to a closet and pulled out an incredibly slutty looking outfit he’d ever seen. It looked more like a skimpy swimsuit, it was a single piece but divided in the middle and left exposed skin almost all the way down to his new snatch. Only his nipples would be covered by a two inch line of beige fabric that would pass over the shoulders and wedgie itself in between the wearers ass cheeks.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” Darren said.“Wear it of course. All the other ladies are out sick so you’ll be filling in.” She said smiling at the unintended joke.“But I don’t know how.”“Its easy and besides, with that body the massage won’t be lasting too long anyway.”“Wait, are you suggesting that I…”“No, I’m telling you that you will give everyone you service a very happy ending. However they want. It’ll be fifty dollars on top of the standard fee. And start speaking in engrish, you stupid americans really seem to get off on that shit.”“Who are you? Why are you doing this?” Darren said.“You can call me Kijo, Ms. in front of the customers. Now get YOUR fat ass out there or the Madam will keep you like that for a good long time.” Kijo said walking back out to the front.

Darren was overwhelmed, she was going to make him some cheap slut in a massage parlor. He looked himself over in the mirror and couldn’t help getting aroused by his own image. His fat lips looked sculpted to take dick and his body looked like a trap for men, which he supposed was the whole point. He resigned himself to defeat, hoping that this mysterious Madam would go easy on him. The outfit was uncomfortable and really dug into his slit and gave him a serious case of camel toe. His ass fared no better and wedgied the outfit firmly between his cheeks. He nervously tiptoed out onto the floor in the heels he was given. He eyed the crowd, only now noticing it was filled with men. Kijo gave him the evil eye as she passed him with a customer in hand. He did his best to smile and turned to the next in line, a middle aged man with a strong jaw and salt-and pepper hair. “Herro! I make you feer good now?” He said, inwardly screaming.

The end. Hope y’all like it!

#race change #Breast expansion #ass expansion #male to female tf #request

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punkpenguin2019 · 3 years

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What is Yoga?

The word yoga is frequently deciphered as "association" or a strategy for discipline from the Sanskrit word "yuj" (to burden or tie). A male expert is known as a yogi, a female professional, a yogini.

The Stances ....

The contemporary western way to deal with yoga did not depend on a specific conviction or religion, anyway Yoga does has its foundations in Hinduism and Brahmanism. Yoga was created by diviners or religious zealots living fundamentally in the southern pieces of India. The soothsayers noticed nature and lived as close as possible to the earth, examining the numerous parts of nature, the creatures and themselves. By noticing and copying the various stances and propensities for the collective of animals they had the option to create elegance, strength and shrewdness.

It was through these extremely focused lives that the act of the yoga stances were created. It was important to build up a progression of stances to keep the body agile and ready to persevere through significant stretches of quietness when in reflection.

The Compositions ....

Brahmanism traces all the way back to containing consecrated sacred writings called "the Vedas". These sacred writings contained guidelines and spells. It was in the most seasoned content "Rg-Veda" from the sacred texts that the word Yoga previously showed up, this was almost 5000 years prior. The fourth content called "Atharva-Veda" contains for the most part spells for enchanted rituals and wellbeing fixes a significant number of which utilize restorative plants. This content furnished the normal individual with the spells and mantras to use in their regular daily existence and this act of "Veda" can in any case be found in the roads of India today.

The Bhagavad-Gita, another old work on otherworldly life depicts itself as a yoga composition, in spite of the fact that it utilizes the word Yoga as a profound methods. It was from this writing that Patanjali's "eight appendages of yoga" were created. Yoga Sutra's are principally worried about building up the "nature of the psyche" and I will clarify a greater amount of this in the following area. Click here : yoga

The Expansiveness ....

The vratyas, a gathering of ripeness ministers who revered Rudra, divine force of the breeze would endeavor to mirror the sound of the breeze through their singing. They found that they could create the sound through the control of their breath and through this act of breath control was framed "Pranayama". Pranayama is the act of breath control in yoga.

The Ways ....

The Upanishads, which are the holy disclosures of old Hinduism built up the two controls of karma yoga, the way of activity and jnana yoga, the way of information. The ways were created to assist the understudy with freeing enduring and in the long run acquire edification.

The instructing from the Upanishads varied from that of the Vedas. The Vedas requested outside contributions to the divine beings to have a bountiful, upbeat life. The Upanishads through the act of Karma yoga zeroed in on the inner penance of the personality to free from affliction. Rather than the penance of yields and creatures (outer) it was the penance of the internal personality that would turn into the essential way of thinking, subsequently yoga got known as the way of renunciation.

Yoga shares a few attributes likewise with Buddhism that can be followed back through history. During the 6th century B.C., Buddhism additionally focuses on the significance of Reflection and the act of actual stances. Siddharta Gautama was the primary Buddhist to really contemplate Yoga.

What is Yoga Sutra and how did the Way of thinking of Yoga create?

Yoga Sutra is an assemblage of 195 articulations which basically give a moral manual for carrying on with an ethical life and fusing the study of yoga into it. An Indian sage called Patanjali was accepted to have ordered this more than 2000 years prior and it has become the foundation for traditional yoga reasoning.

The word sutra implies in a real sense "a string" and is utilized to signify a specific type of composed and oral correspondence. In view of the abrupt style the sutras are written in the understudy should depend on a master to decipher the way of thinking contained inside every one. The importance inside every one of the sutras can be custom-made to the understudy's specific requirements.

The Yoga Sutra is an arrangement of yoga anyway there is anything but a solitary depiction of a stance or asana in it! Patanjali built up a guide for carrying on with the correct life. The center of his lessons is the "eightfold way of yoga" or "the eight appendages of Patanjali" . These are Patanjali's ideas for carrying on with a superior life through yoga.

Stance and breath control, the two principal practices of yoga are portrayed as the third and fourth appendages in Patanjali's eight-limbed way to self-acknowledgment. The third act of the stances make up the present current yoga. At the point when you join a yoga class you may find that is all you need to suit your way of life.

The eight appendages of yoga

1. The yamas (limitations),

These resemble "Ethics" you carry on with your life by: Your social lead:

o Peacefulness (ahimsa) - To not damage a living animal

o Truth and trustworthiness (satya) - To not lie

o Nonstealing (asteya) - To not take

o Nonlust (brahmacharya) - stay away from trivial sexual experiences - control in sex and all things.

o Nonpossessiveness or non-eagerness (aparigraha) - don't accumulate, free yourself from avarice and material longings

2. niyamas (observances),

These are the manner by which we treat ourselves, our internal order:

o Immaculateness (shauca). Accomplishing immaculateness through the act of the five Yamas. Regarding your body as a sanctuary and caring for it.

o Satisfaction (santosha). Discover bliss in what you have and what you do. Assume liability for where you are, look for joy at the time and decide to develop.

o Starkness (tapas): Create self-control. Show discipline in body, discourse, and brain to focus on a higher profound reason.

o Investigation of the hallowed content (svadhyaya). Schooling. Study books pertinent to you which rouse and educate you.

o Living with an attention to the Heavenly (ishvara-pranidhana). Be given to whatever is your god or whatever you see as the heavenly.

3. asana (stances) -

These are the stances of yoga:

o To make a flexible body to sit for a protracted time and still the brain. On the off chance that you can handle the body you can likewise control the psyche. Patanjali and other antiquated yogis utilized asana to set up the body for reflection.

Simply the act of the yoga stances can profit one's wellbeing. It very well may be begun whenever and any age. As we develop more established we harden, do you recollect the last time you may have crouched to get something and how you felt? Envision as you age into your fifties, sixties, seventies and on having the option to in any case contact your toes or equilibrium on one leg. Did you realize that most of wounds supported by the old are from falls? We will in general lose our equilibrium as we become more established and to work on something that will help this is definitely an advantage.

#yoga

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dislocatedskeleton · 6 years

Photo

Portrait of Deana Lawson, Sabine Mirlesse, 2011

Sabine Mirlesse: How did you begin taking pictures?

Deana Lawson: I’m from Rochester, New York—the home of Eastman Kodak, which is interesting– but actually I did not have any art background in high school. I went into my undergrad with the intention of being an International Business major. It wasn’t until the end of my sophomore year that I realized I wanted to be on the creative end of the spectrum. At the time I thought it would be fashion design. I applied to Parsons, but luckily I didn’t get in because if I had I might not be sitting and interviewing with you right now. I knew that I wanted to go into the creative arts and I started taking art classes and fumbled miserably, did terrible on 3D assignments and painting, and then finally took my first photo class. Right away, I was just kind of blown away by some of the photographers that I was looking at, but I didn’t realize that I really could be a photographer until I was referred to African-American photographers like Carrie Mae Weems and Renée Cox. We had an assignment to write about an artist and I hadn’t seen any artists of color and I was like “Are there any black photographers at all??” And the teacher was like “yeah, there is this woman, I forget her name… but I think it’s like Lorna Simpson or something?” Well, I just spent that next whole evening so entranced by Lorna’s work. Just to have that model– to realize that not only did I like to make pictures but that I could actually do this, you know, was absolutely important to reaffirm myself as an artist.

SM: So not having any role models that were black and female at first and until you were exposed to them you didn’t feel like you could be a photographer— Is there something about your work you make that consciously relates directly to your being female and black?

DL: Definitely this belief that knowledge is gained through the body, through experiences, through giving birth for example. Whereas to me, a Western concept of intelligence is built off of what school you go to or what institution you’re connected to. I definitely reaffirm knowledge through community, through family, through being a mother, through being a wife, and through my friendships. I think that comes through in the people that I choose to photograph. I think my representation of sexuality is very different than some male photographers’. I try to contextualize sexuality with ideas of the psychic. I connect sexuality with… love and not divested from that which at times becomes pornographic.

SM: And as for being African-American?

DL: One thing I will say is that I remember while I was in grad school there were other artists dealing with similar issues such as family, the body, psychology. One of them was a white male photographer—and we were actually making quite similar work. Somehow it seemed in critiques that the blackness of the subject was brought up, while whiteness was invisible. You know if I were dealing with issues of family, it was always taken as being about issues of ‘black family’ as if it were it’s own category. Actually, I think that there is a part of me that feels like “what is Deana” versus “how am I representing Deana as coming from a collective African-American community?” “What part is me and what part is an attempt to represent this shared aesthetic and shared experience?” Coming from a working class background in Rochester, New York and being black—I think class and my blackness definitely visually affect what I’m doing.

SM: I wanted to ask you about this term used to describe your work for the PS1 Greater New York show you did—hoping you could elaborate on it—phrase “sacred sexuality”?

DL: I remember watching “The Divine Horseman”, which is a film made by Maya Deren where she went to Haiti and filmed certain rituals and practices. The narrator mentioned a phrase “the eternal erotic” which I just found fascinating—the phrase has stuck with me throughout the years…The idea of the “eternal erotic” is something that I believe surpasses modern notions of attractiveness and sexiness. What I imagine to be eternally erotic involves a spiritual aura that resides in the physical body, and informs how one moves, thinks, and loves in the world. I use this idea as psychic material when thinking about photographs, and working with subjects.

SM: You’re quoted in an article in TimeOut magazine as having commented that “[your] own being is found in union with those [you] take pictures of”—which I found to be a very poetic statement, unusually mystical sounding given our time, and very beautiful as an idea. It’s not exactly trendy to talk like that nowadays—

DL: That is the damn truth!

SM: –Right. So could you maybe elaborate on it?

DL: Whoever I photograph I start from the premise that they are a magnificent human being and that my experience as a human being interacting with theirs makes all that that much more complex. We live in a culture right now where we are really isolated… isolated in our apartments, or in our suburban homes, etc. When I’m photographing a subject I guess I really am trying to figure out who I am as a human being too. You know, in a sense, I’m actually trying to learn something through them sharing their time and image with me. Oftentimes I might end up being friends with someone I’ve photographed for a while. There is one woman who lives in the neighborhood, I actually just stopped by yesterday… it’s this ongoing friendship/relationship to the point where I call her my fairy godmother. She is about seventy-five years old. She has definitely influenced me in many ways beyond someone with just an amazing photograph. Visually my work definitely comes across as working class like I said– not only are there black people in it, but it is about working class black people. It’s definitely worthy to affirm that body. That body is worthy to be considered a piece of art. The same thing is true when it comes to even just talking about my work, even within ‘black art speak’, you don’t know what’s being said. Not only do we have a responsibility to be true to this visually as artists but also in the language through which we speak. I think it’s important to affirm my vernacular from Rochester. That is part of the work as well.

SM: How do the photographs you take relate to the family snapshot? What distinguishes between the two for you?

DL: Oftentimes I tell people that the family album was my first inspiration, and that I even still love to look at family albums, even others peoples’. I love that gap or space between that moment and what is the reality, what is left out and what is kept. Looking at old photos of my aunts and my mom, celebrations, ceremonies, cookouts, effected my intention or my purpose in terms of wanting the image to feel really familial even if the subjects aren’t related. I might also stage certain photographs when the subjects aren’t related when they are meant to come off as boyfriend and girlfriend or mother and daughter. I want that feeling. In terms of lighting, I love warm tungsten lighting. However, with my photographs I’m using a 6x7 and a 4x5 camera so they become kind of like the heightened version of the family snapshot.

SM: What do people in your photographs think of the work?

DL: I think sometimes they’re shocked in the sense of not necessarily recognizing themselves! Barbara for example is really excited about the show. I think they feel excited, and honored, I guess, to be validated in that way by any sort of gallery situation.

SM: Let’s talk about access. Do you find that you are permitted into your subjects’ homes and intimate spaces more easily because you have the same color skin or because you’re female? Do you feel like the people you photograph trust you more to represent them? I ask because you talk about the desire to represent a certain community and it’s an ambitious task to set out on, full of layers—do you think that you are granted access because you are part of that community whereas a white male might have more difficulty?

DL: I think it’s a yes and no answer. Subjects have told me straight out that they wouldn’t have decided to pose for me if I wasn’t a woman. And they’ve said like “there’s something about you where I feel comfortable to do certain things” –maybe because they are picking up on my energy, and they feel secure with me photographing them. However, I do think there is a history of certain people having a legacy of access whether it be the access to go to art school, to buy a camera, to travel around and make their pictures—I think that isn’t unusual. What I think is more unusual is people who haven’t had that sort of access to the art world, or to the academic world of photography, to be able to self-represent.

SM: Versus the history of a colonial bird’s eye view, that your work instead may be absent of ‘othering’?

DL: I think people assume that because I’m black.

SM: But you know, at least in my own personal experience in seeing your images for the first time, I didn’t know who took them. I couldn’t necessarily guess either. And when I did find out more about you it didn’t mean I was suddenly relieved. In my opinion it comes from the feeling of the images themselves…

DL: That’s an amazing compliment. There is a certain energy going into the work I’m making that I can’t talk about from a logical or rational viewpoint. There is a love for the people that I’m photographing, even when I’m making a profane picture, that love is the underlying gaze.

SM: Can you talk about the ‘Assemblage’ piece you did and about how you change the context of those pictures?

DL: I work with a lot of appropriated images anyway. I often gather images from the subject—I have a photo from Barbara for example that came straight off her mantel that is really freakin’ amazing and I printed it the same size as every other picture and it blended in right away. In some ways you couldn’t distinguish between which images I took and which were appropriated. ‘Assemblage’ wasn’t initially meant to be a piece, it was just an image-board. When I was at LMCC (Lower Manhattan Community Council) and we had to switch our studios. I got this weird space and I was trying to figure out how to put this work on the wall in this different environment and that’s when it became a corner piece, which I think activated it in a certain way. I definitely think there is a certain energy to that piece that also is imbedded with the other straightforward work, represent colonialism, popular culture, celebrity, but also being curated through my personal experience and my eye, you know I listen to Biggie Smalls and then you’ll see a picture of my husband’s friend from the American University, or you’ll see, like, you know, images of war in Uganda. It’s all intermixed. I’m still a part of this continuum right now– this cultural currency, or the way images are circulated. I’m a part of it in the art world, I’m a part of it by looking. I guess the ‘Assemblage’ became a reflection of that. But I also wanted it to be like this organism too that could grow. With each new installation it has to be improvised. Freestyle. I need to be responding in the moment to what is juxtaposed against what and what energy happens when you take this picture versus another—in that way it’s kind of mimicking the tradition of improvisation in black music. I like working in that space. I think I always have that improvisational mode. I know I’m going to be showing up at someone’s house, I might not know what that house is going to look like, I might never have been in that house before, but I’ll have all my equipment. Or I’ll know I’ll be photographing that subject but I’m not quite sure what she’s gonna wear– so all that stuff is decided on in the moment.

SM: Instead of stating that you yourself work in an improvisational way, point-blank, you choose to connect it to something cultural – like a legacy of improvisation in black music…

DL: Oh, definitely. For sure.

SM: Okay, so this might sound too direct or as though I’m being entirely ‘politically incorrect’ or naïve, but I can’t help but be interested and find it relevant and just want to know how you feel – are you improvisational because you simply are? Or are you improvisational in your work practice because you feel it’s part of your identity as an African-American artist? Drawing attention to that point is important I think because it get’s tricky if you were to say for example “oh she’s improvisational because she’s part of a particular community or ethnic background”—it can be problematic…

DL: I hear what you’re saying. I think it’s problematic if you say it, but, for me, I find being improvisational to be this amazing characteristic of black culture, so when I associate myself with that, I’m actually feeling like wow, I’m connected in a way, being a part of that, but doing it in my own way, through my photography, whereas someone else might be doing it through freestyle hip-hop, or through dancing. Someone might have a problem with me saying this. Someone black might have a problem with me saying that.

SM: You’ve done a few artist-in-residence programs, most recently at Light Work in Syracuse, could you tell me what your take on these kinds of programs is?

DL: I think these residencies are needed. Artists can get caught up in life, whether it be work or anything that takes them away from making their own art. I really need sustained time. I do a lot of things, you know. I’m a mother. I have to get my son ready for school in the morning. I gotta cook. I do need that time to just dedicate to my work and that’s important. I also think– you know you were asking before about if I felt the presence of my female-ness in my work and so forth– I never really had the luxury of being in a studio environment and when I think of traditional philosophers, you know, sitting with a pipe thinking for a long time about these theories and sh*t… I mean, girl, I don’t have that kind of quietude! I don’t think a lot of women do. Even that mess though can be used for material for your work. Which is what I do. For example the image ‘Baby sleep’ –that is directly drawn from real sh*t! You know what I’m saying? When I’m printing, I definitely like to be in my own zone. But when I’m shooting, like right now I’m actually at a residency in Woodstock, I’ve been going back and forth because of the show, but when my family dropped me off up there they were like “What are you going to do up here?” and I was like “I don’t know!” Like, “this is the weirdest time-warp place” but as soon as I got off the bus back to NY I thanked God. I’m constantly stimulated in NY, but I do think for me at this point I definitely need to leave to shoot. Even though there are so many people here and there is definitely access, there’s also definitely something of New York that makes me feel scatterbrained and not focused at all. When I went down South to visit a friend of mine about two years ago to do this shoot I road-tripped for three weeks and I was just shooting, shooting, shooting! That was the last big amount of work that I’ve made and I was on this vibe, conjuring images. Here in the city it’s very distracting. I think you do have to be part of the game here though, in terms of the commercial aspect of it.

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ideasforresearchingbetterspaces · 4 years

Text

7th & 8th December

Digbeth First Friday at Vivid Projects and hosting Masters of Something

19:49 // 37.54 minutes Conversation transcript from tutorial with Cathy Wade

LS: I started making a rug just because I was interested in learning how to make a rug. And without me thinking about it, it was really about creating a safe space for me to have a seizure because I have epilepsy, and it was really about making a safe place for me to exist in a moment of heightened precarity.

How do you navigate yourself from a house with these kinds of spaces, to places where these spaces don’t exist? working class culture to something else? I’m not sure what that is because I definitely do not have the financial security that being middle class has. I grew up in Walsall and my parents had financial limits, so money was always a small thing. I’m proud of that. But now there’s always a bit of guilt that comes with being in an art school, where I’m sometimes teaching and doing an MA in arts education, and that isn’t working class – it’s not the working class I came from anyway and I’m often looking for safe spaces to be myself.

CW: I regularly fall out with a friend of mine, almost to a row, telling her she hasn’t got the foggiest idea about what she’s on about. She’s almost got this thing where she thinks working class culture is this thing where there isn’t really a culture; it doesn’t really exist. And I have family that have come from railway building, working in the pits, living in mining villages in miner’s accommodation and they grew vegetables and read books, they knew what they were doing, they were always informed. Somehow, we’ve lost that narrative where we’ve ended up with this idea that if you’re working class, you just have an interest in entertainment and that’s it, or your life revolves around going to the pub. These cultural things don’t fit in. I think there’s a real loss and it kind of suggests that if you’re going to make an impact in culture then you have to modify yourself. How do you think you have shifted?

LS: I dunno whether I have ‘shifted’, I’ve just become more confused like, for example, I was talking with Whipps about Jorja Smith who is a singer who went to my high school and she grew up like any other kid in Walsall, somewhat with piss all money and a thick black country accent but yet I hear her on the radio speaking, and I hear myself speaking in certain situations and the way we speak is completely different from when we grew up. And the same with Whipps, he grew up in Wolverhampton, yet you can’t hear that in his voice. You come to an institution and you speak with academically charged people with higher degrees or whatever and the way you speak just changes without you even really realize it. I think it’s just this working-class culture coming into an otherness where you feel like you just don’t belong and you try to change it. Losing accents become an easy way of doing that to disguise a layer of yourself you don’t want out on the table to discuss. When come into a university, or an art gallery, how do you enter the building without leaving an important part of who you are behind.

CW: Do you lose out on two different spaces? I can look back at where my family lived or where I’ve been brought up and we had a mixture of social clubs and spaces, and I can go back to it and completely understand it if I’m not in the social club I feel like a complete alien. I kind of found that with Longbridge, when I first started working with long bridge I was really interested with the social clubs and everyone kept asking why and I was like “because that’s where all the people are”.

LS: I can kind of relate. All of my family have been coal miners, all the men died in their early 50s from lung cancers from a life from 14 years old in the pits, my dad has worked in factories all of his life, all the women have been stay at home moms, and I’m the first person in my family to have gotten an A Levels, yet alone gone to uni and done an MA and really feel like I’m going somewhere new.

CW: There’s a really interesting correlation you’re talking about how that kind of space in which you can be epileptic or that space that’s safe but also this space that actively in a way I suppose how arts professionals has a sense of what arts professionals are. What makes them. I had my mother who was a complete overachiever and just went through it all, so you know basically I had things a lot easier on the basis of what she’s done so I wasn’t breaking the mould, it was just that thing that she’s done it and I was like oh that’s fine, that’s what you lot do. But what I find really interesting is that I go back and I see the family I don’t see very often, and we’ve all got the same interests, we just do them in different ways, so my aunt and my intersts are so similar except she expresses it through a community club and occasionally takes the local community on walks, and then I think about what I’m interested in and it is exactly the same except we’re both using completely different systems. There can be that absolute sense of refusal that can be really interesting where why should it change you? It was always that really big narrative that for working class families where if you wanted to get on, you’d have to lose your accent and then you’re acceptable and you don’t bare any weird signs of being anything else.

LS: I’ve noticed when my dad is on the phone, he develops this weird accent kind of like I do but like he doesn’t have any control over what it’s doing. For me it probably started when I went to uni when I was 18, so for the last 7 years I’ve unlearned my own accent, and now I’m realizing that, and I feel guilt. I’ve kind of forgotten how to pronounce words like how my mom does in order to cover the otherness. It becomes quite difficult when you try and undo all of that.

CW: There’s a really interesting thing that for years and years and years we had that kind of culture that if you think ill of every kid who comes from that kind of background where money has a certain financial limit and that effects how you dress, what you do, how you act, where you go, where you won’t go, and that kind of compared with what happens when people have privilege? And it quite often ends up wanting this weird authenticity that comes from these prescribed ideas.

LS: Walter Benjamin talks about ‘konvolutes’ which extends from an academic or literary sense of what intermediate relationships are in order to meet far-reaching sociological perspectives or what he describes as ‘a world of secret affinities’ or ‘mirror worlds’ and I thought do I really need to distinguish between all of these stages of research that I’m emotionally floating in and between more or less advanced ‘realized’ work… Whatever the fuck realized work even materially is or isn’t. How do make this? What the most useful thing I’ve done is throughout the whole of my post grad studies is conversations with mainly artist educators and me making work about stuff that isn’t about those conversations at the moment feels like a waste of my time. I need to figure out how to document this so it’s useful to me before it’s useful to anyone else.

CW: You’ve been on a really focused journey of research. However, you want to reflect this has to reflect what’s interesting to you. Don’t think about the people looking at the work, think about yourself in this and this works for you. What do you communicate? That alien-ness, it isn’t there, you’re generating the audience for this. All good artwork doesn’t let the behaviour of how the audience interprets the work, because the artist doesn’t give a shit. It would be a real shame for you to try and mash this into a form that limits it.

LS: Just now I was drinking with John Walker hahaha what the hell and the thing that really interested me was that he said he hates exhibiting because it’s so nuclear and it isn’t an important part of his practice process. I’m starting to think ‘fuck me, there’s got to be more important ways of me showing how I work’ because the people I want looking at it, aren’t really in art galleries, and they’re not really in art schools.

CW: Test it out this Friday with generative thoughts and see if it’s useful to you. See what happens. Utilize yourself and create something. Do something with that long piece of MDF that just sits there.

LS: So, going on from what the hell is realized work, I like that Walter Benjamin kind of a-likens this uncertainty to a mollusc’s shell, where it’s more entirely material that ever and more spectral alongside realism and essentially ambiguous in situations. Going back to this convolutes, I’m really interested in this assemblage of printed materials, manuscripts, and just STUFF, that belong together, and I think it’s really important for me to consider how I create visual or readable dialogue between a number of different works. I discovered a new word, phantasmagoria which is where a person enters to be distracted but as soon as I learned this word, I realized I throw others into phantasmagoria before I talk about what it is that’s really interesting me. Like a decoy, I’d drop “oh well I’m not really sure what I’m doing” when in actual fact I know exactly what I’m doing, I just don’t really want to reluctantly talk about it with someone I have to fight to keep their attention. In which case, I am nervous, and I’d really rather just keep it to myself.

CW: So there’s this book which I can’t remember the authors name but I’ll send it to you but it’s thinking about goth culture from a black American perspective and it starts to talk about histories of lynching, horror, and never really fitting in with this strange movement. It’s always about this positing and being outside how someone is accepted. It’s something that starts to articulate how you exist in spite of something, how do you exist when there’s these constant questions about belonging or territory or how much these people willingly give up and we know it with the art world because there’s so many artists who continue to have practices because they’ve got access to funds or access to a particular lifestyle where they can afford not to work 3 or 4 days of the week where if most of us look to that, we end up in crazy amounts of poverty.

LS: “Human beings are no better provided with what they need that the everyday world but in which they are freed from the drudgery of being useful” and on this note of usefulness or useful art, whatever that is anyway I don’t know, I came back to Tania Bruguera on Arte Util as a form of social art and to create or imagine something that’s useful or of a beneficial result and I think it’s important that its consistent and forms as an entry point to all audience, which goes back to how we started the conversation about how to we invite an epileptic into a space or how does a working class person feel not compelled to leave a piece of them behind when they walk through the door? How do you walk into a building without leaving an important part of who you are behind? How do we all contribute to something more useful? How do we feed of an organisation or institution as parasites but be careful not to damage the host where an exchange or sometimes in-exchange can happen?

The conversation continued...

Further reading: The Function of the Studio, Daniel Buren (1979): MIT Press

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