#liminal workshop
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Liminal Workshop - Keyboard jacket
#liminal workshop#keyboard#avant garde fashion#meme fashion#jacket#avant garde#techwear#scifi#meme style#meme aesthetic#netart#post internet#postinternet
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exploring gmod addons
#the sheer quantity of 'backrooms' and 'liminal' maps on the workshop is just rly funny to me#dont mean to call these 'cringe' or anything in fact they should keep doing this if theyre having fun#i imagine most of these are probably like kids that are getting into random internet horror stuff#while editing this i removed the liminal maps to make the post a bit more concise sorry#just search 'liminal' on the steam workshop for gmod#quick edit bc i realized i posted one of the images twice oops
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AU where Sanji doesn’t understand the point of humans, really. He knows that people love them, but… they’re just so fragile. They break easily, hard to repair, and once their systems have stopped circulating, they just don’t turn back on. He doesn’t get the appeal.
He knows, has been informed, that he was born human. But it’s a ship of Theseus situation. He’s been long ago upgraded, doesn’t have those weaknesses he was born with.
Hell, his siblings were incredibly powered up, for humans, and they were still easily disposed of.
Logically, loving a human just doesn’t make sense. They’re not real the way androids are real. Their consciousness doesn’t exist as soon as they’re powered down. There’s a liminal nothingness to that. Humans are like toys. Like starter beings.
He’s had all of those thoughts hundreds of times before, as he’s watched humans die in front of him. Watched his siblings as they perished by his own hand. This has been his Truth his whole life. Humans aren’t worth thinking about because they’re just not really real.
And of course, that’s why he’s questioning his own actions now.
This human he’s seen around a few times, having washed up in a dingy little rowboat at the edge of town, telling the people something about how he’s been separated from his crew.
This human who has been working hard, exchanging manual labor for food while sleeping rough and making time to train with his ridiculous swords. Those are a weakness, at least consider guns, or fortified steel legs.
But this human, who’s been so confident he’ll be reunited with his crew, who’s been biding his time and training… Sanji had taken an interest in him.
And then Sanji had watched him die. A freak accident with machinery he’d been tasked to repair in exchange for a meal.
Everyone in town knows of Sanji. And he knows they know, knows they think he’s a little alarming. But that’s fine. They’re human.
However they perceive him, though, they don’t object when he swoops in and lifts up the green haired human, taking him away.
It’s not like he’s useful to them anyway anymore, he’s turned off and humans don’t turn back on.
But Sanji… wants this one to.
It’s ridiculous and maybe Sanji should upgrade his logic processing, but… he’s drawn to this one. Wants it back online.
His father had been a monster of a man, and the only one Sanji had taken true pleasure in shutting down. But he’d kept his father’s workshops in working order to do his own repairs as necessary, and that comes in useful now.
Sanji only knows living bodies for their food purposes. He works and studies and experiments. He takes out his nightly recharging batteries and instead gets out his old charging cord so he doesn’t have to take breaks. He knows humans are quick to recycle after being turned off, even with the best precautions taken.
He doesn’t know why, but… he wants this. He’s drawn to the man. There’s an energy about him that Sanji doesn’t remember ever seeing before, and he wants it back.
And after an intense amount of repairs and replacements and experimental flesh-and-metal welding…
He flips the switch.
The man groans.
He lifts a hand slowly to his face, squinting his eye at the light. Sanji hadn’t been able to save both of them.
He sits up, blinking as he looks around.
“Wh’ th’ fuck happened?” He mumbles.
“Greetings,” says Sanji. “I’m Sanji. Your systems failed and turned off. I turned them back on.”
The man looks down at himself. Sanji thinks he’s done a good job matching the spray paint to his skin tone.
“Swords?” The man asks.
“In the other room,” Sanji says. “I wanted to check you were fully online before returning your things to you.”
“Is that why I’m butt-ass naked?” The man asks, then shakes his head. “Whatever. Am I being held? Can I go?”
Sanji blinks. “Of course you can go,” he says. “But please let me feed you, first. Humans need sustenance.”
The man frowns. “You not human or something?” He asks. “You don’t look like a fishman or mink.”
“I’m an android,” says Sanji.
“Well that’s a fucking note,” says the man. “I’m Zoro. Thanks for… fixing me, I guess.”
Sanji smiles. “I will take you to your clothes and then food,” he says. “There has been rumor your ‘crew’ as you called them is here, although I have not validated these claims. I have been busy.”
Zoro grins, swinging his legs over the table and standing. “Perfect,” he says. “I gotta get going, then.”
Sandi frowns. “Wait,” he says. “You���re still newly upgraded. There might be bugs!”
Sanji HATES bugs.
“I’m fine,” Zoro says, then promptly stumbles.
“Like that!” Sanji screeches. He’s had years, decades to work on his own tech.
“You need to be stress tested properly!”
Zoro pinches the bridge of his nose and there’s the sound of metal groaning under his fingers. “Fine,” he says. “Then I guess you’re coming with me.”
“Pardon?” asks Sanji.
“Listen, Swirly,” Zoro says. “I have places to be and a future pirate king to serve. I don’t have time to be waiting around for hardware to fail so either you’re coming with me or I’m handing my doctor a computer repair manual.”
Sanji groans. “…Fine,” he says. “I will feed you and then I will pack up. It will take two hours.”
“You have until Luffy shows up,” Zoro says. Then amends, “You have until Luffy has eaten everything in your kitchen.”
Sanji doesn’t know this ‘Luffy’ but he takes that into his calculations. “Acceptable,” he says. “Let’s be off, then.”
And thus, the Straw Hats gain their cook, as Sanji makes it his life mission to keep his collection of humans as safe as possible. They’re so fragile, they break so easily.
Although these ones do seem hardier than most.
#zosan#ficlet#my writing#cross posted from Twitter because I like this premise I’m still thinking about it
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It's a weird, kind of liminal... moment the Mechanic and Scott have after Zero-XL. It wouldn't let me go. Their dynamics going forward (and the upended balance with Dad being back) fascinates me as they're interesting foils. It could be a tentative beginning of a friendship, a working relationship in IR, or, who knows...
OLIVE BRANCH
A tall figure was leaning on one of the work counters in his impromptu workshop, listlessly poking at one tool or other. Oh, snap! He really didn't have time for this! The Tracies, as he came to observe, were all very... involved - personal boundaries perfunctory at best and virtually non-existent since the Zero-XL mission came back a success. Even the ginger astronaut was planetside most of the time, in the middle of things - none of them straying too far away from a miraculously retrieved Jeff Tracy, trading stories, lapping up his undivided (well, divided six to seven ways, to be precise) attention. He wasn't a Tracy, nor did he have any intention of becoming one - so he cherished his space and solitude, thank you very much. Brains, for the most part, understood and respected that, letting him tinker at smaller projects in the bowels of the island, while the T-drive was being assembled. But this was not Brains snooping around in his nook. He really, really didn't have the energy for Scott Tracy.
- What are you doing in my hangar?
The younger man almost jumped in the air, clearly not expecting company. Seriously? The file said he was former military. Blue eyes flashed up in almost automatic defense. Okay, so maybe the Mechanic was somewhat amused by having five inches on the International Rescue Commander. The fierce leader was definitely not used to that.
- Interesting. I kinda thought this was my hangar.
- Funny you should mention it. I was under the impression it was your father's hangar.
The intended effect fell flat. Instead of riled up, Scott's sagged momentarily, shoulders dropped, the brilliant blue dimmed and downcast.
- Yeah, right, sorry. I'll get out of your way.
Huh? The Mechanic might not have been particularly proud of scoring that one up. The guy annoyed him on a good day with his holier than thou attitude and obsessive micromanagement. The Mechanic only ever fought for control to WIN. But he knew not to kick a man down, when he saw one (most times). Which was weird. Everyone else was floating on air, beholding Colonel Tracy like a godsend. The Mechanic was fairly sure the full assembly plus the British guests were up in the lounge this very moment too, completely engrossed in bliss and racing each other to showcase accomplishments and heroic antics. That was actually his cue to make the next move on his own... arrangements. He couldn't stretch their hospitality forever. Or tempt fate. Now was as good a time as ever, he guessed.
- Not a problem. I should be the one getting out of your hair. Soon.
Blue eyes shot back at him from the compelling oil stain on the floor, perplexed, then questioning. It obviously took Scott a hot moment to translate thought into words.
- I think you should stay on the island.
This. Was new. That was not so much an olive brunch, but an olive tree. The one thing they could reliably agree on prior to that was mutual disdain.
The Mechanic folded his arms, an automatic response to the mere chance of being vulnerable - being welcome. Being drawn into the circle by Grandma, when most of her family blinked out of the solar system possibly to be never seen again, was one thing. The Mechanic was under no illusion Scott Tracy could voluntarily stand to be in the same room with him under fair weather conditions, even grateful for his part in the T-drive or defense of the island.
- Why should I?
It was, of course, every inch the challenge it sounded like. Scott's gaze darted around the workshop, searching for inspiration.
- Brains loves working with you.
Lame one, Tracy. The Mechanic arched a brow, thoroughly unamused. The dregs of the barrel could really be more substantial. And yes, Scott walked himself into that one, so there was no backing out.
- Brains used to work perfectly fine without me in the picture. As he, no doubt, would again.
Blue eyes glanced over a half-finished mecha on the counter, then back to the floor. His fists found deeper way into the pockets. An evasive stance too, he knew. Scott Tracy was no better at asking for things than the Mechanic himself was. Least of all for forgiveness.
- Well, you're like... Grandma's fifth favorite grandkid. Stay for her.
That one was accompanied by a smile that didn't reach the eyes, focused on metal shavings on the bench now. The Mechanic arched a second brow and pretended to take the bait, if only to fill out the awkward silence.
- So, who have I yielded to?
A snort and another smile. This one rueful. And a forlorn stare in mid-distance the Mechanic was not sure even accounted for him anymore. THAT'S why he preferred to deal with machines.
- Virgil, obviously. He's Grandpa Grant through and through. Alan. It's a tie between Kayo and Brains. Gordon. Though he gets bumped up a tier when he's injured. You. Then John and I.
If Scott was amusing himself with the little charade - the Mechanic failed to see how. He wasn't giving an inch though, because they didn't cut each other slack, that was a given, so a tilt of the head and a fixed stare was the next unvoiced question. Scott shifted from foot to foot, clearly regretting it ever got this far. But the Mechanic was undeterred. Why the Astranaut and the Golden Heir, so far down the line? What kind of self-deprecating nonsense was that? Scott sighed. Words were obviously a problem again, though sadness rolling off the young man could be measured by tools at hand. He definitely preferred the machines. Emotions were not his forte.
- John is Mom. Looks much like her, speaks, moves. And I'm Dad... When Dad was gone I was there to remind...
- And now your Dad is back.
It was a simple statement of fact, colored by no assessment. No venom. He let "and you're hiding in the workshop of your sworn enemy, while everyone delights in your father's return" hang in the air, unsaid.
- And now my Dad is back...
And they don't need him to be Jeff Tracy anymore. They don't need him anymore, period. Scott snapped in time to an inner consideration, likely, along those same lines, and was suddenly in a hurry to leave. The Mechanic didn't know much about dealing with people and feelings, but he knew loneliness and despair when it stared him in the face. It took one to recognize one.
- Hey, Tracy! I don't need anything from you.
That earned him another hung head and a non-committal wave. Scott half turned away again, taking a long stride to the exit.
- But I could use some help. You any good with system updates?
He gestured to the assorted consoles around the work area. Blue eyes dragged up again and lit up for the first time since their strange conversation started.
- Brains lets me do solo updates on One.
That was a dubious recommendation, because, brilliant as he was, the shy engineer was under a totally false impression Scott Tracy had hung the Moon. But that was some serious shit-eating grin, dimples and all, so the Mechanic kept the idea to himself and kept busy with assorted switches.
#thunderbirds are go#scott tracy#scott tracy needs a hug#scott tracy needs his dad#the mechanic#it's the beginning of a beautiful friendship#thunderbirds 2015#i'm not the biggest fan of grandma taking in strays not to deal with the more self-destructive grandsons#the mechanic is not amused#my fic#methinks i have astronomy
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whats your fav album/albums??
Like anyone else who was sentient and within earshot of a radio in 2012, I was aware of Call Me Maybe. It was inescapable, virulently catchy, an icepick of bubblegum straight to the tympaneum. As mocked as it was beloved, as society is unable to tolerate anything feminine.
I don't strongly remember my feelings about it at the time. I was probably self-aware enough at that point to not explicitly shit on it -- that was right around when I was making my first tentative steps towards not identifying as a guy. But my musical taste at the time skewed more towards They Might Be Giants and Imogen Heap so it wouldn't have been anything I sought out.
Flash forward to the summer of 2015. I'm in a bar in Ames, Iowa with a bunch of other mathematicians, there for the Graduate Research Workshop in Combinatorics. After a hard day of bootstrap percolation and RNA folding and graph discharging, we descended on this little college bar's trivia night like a swarm of LaTeX-using locusts. Combinatorists tend to be eclectic sorts, so trivia comes naturally to us, and I'm no exception; our four mathematician teams took the top four spots that night, and my team was first among those. There are a few other stories that came out of that night, but the relevant one is that I heard a little song over the speakers called I Really Like You.
Like Call Me Maybe, IRLY was uncompromisingly girly. But I was at a stage in my life where that was a balm to my aching soul. I had been slowly growing in my femininity month by agonizing month, living in the freezing wastes of Laramie, Wyoming. I wore skirts around the house, went by ze/hir pronouns online, but nobody in person knew. Every Friday afternoon my wife would paint my nails, and every Sunday evening I'd scrub the authenticity out of myself with acetone and a cotton ball. So the femininity of the song was appealing to me.
So, too, was the lyrical content. It was self-awarely about a liminal state in relationships, that hazy limerence where actual commitment isn't in the cards, but the feelings are strong, so why don't we ride them while we can? It's not that it hasn't been done before, but Carly Rae did it well. I added the song to the mp3 app on my phone and didn't think much more of it.
Cut to the summer of 2016. Brexit had just happened, I had just found out my dad was planning to vote for Trump. The sun over the Rockies was bright, but the world was feeling small and hostile. We were spending the week with my parents and some family in a mountain town in Colorado. Emma and I aren't the hiking sort, so when the rest of the folks went out in the wilderness, we decided to explore some of the little towns in the area. In one of those towns was a record store, and in that record store was a CD copy of E-MO-TION.
I recognized it as the album that had that song I liked from last summer. We listened to it in the car on the way back up to Laramie, and I liked it a lot. Now, we usually listened to music on the old iPod that was connected to our aux cable, rather than the CD drive. So that CD just kinda stayed there in the car.
November rolled around. Trump won the election. My dysphoria and my fear and my seasonal depression blended into a eutectic misery, greater than the sum of its parts, a suffocating miasma of soul-deep pain, that I had to keep off my face for the sake of my students.
I started listening to that CD in the car more and more. I memorized the track numbers, I knew exactly what stretches of songs were best for which emotions. That album became a lifeline for me. When I was driving an icy road in the dark on three hours of sleep, stressing about my lack of progress on my dissertation, and the intrusive thoughts came in that maybe, it wouldn't be so bad if the car spun out on the black ice?
I'd put on Making the Most of the Night. Carly Rae knew I was having a rough time, and here she was to hijack me, hijack me.
youtube
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Re: your post about contacting ancestral spirits -- how might one go about this if unable to ask family about stories of certain ancestors/ascertain if anyone had that particular... vibe? (e.g. most family is long since passed, the few that remain aren't on speaking terms/just don't know). And furthermore... if one is unable to visit an ancestor's gave? (due to living in another state or country, making visit impossible). Is it possible to reach out and form a relationship/seek guidance with an ancestor's spirit at this point, or are the connections to my family and ancestors too... severed?
Links to information may be severed. It would be wise to look into your genealogy if at all possible. Dates of birth and death certificates, who was survived by who, where they lived etc. You may be able to find photographs of family members you had no idea about. If there's a knowing in you, you'll be able to discern the others, if you are careful and patient. At that point you'd have a name and a photo to use.
if all information links are apparently severed... blood is still blood. The post you are referring to is a very loose method. You may workshop it however best you feel would suit you. Provided you feel confident you can discern the true identity of anything that might come calling, and remove whatever isn't welcome. Grave access is going to be the fastest, surest way, but if access to a grave of even a recent ancestor isn't an option, you may have some luck calling up a psychopomp. I would be sure to use earthen clay, though. And approach from a liminal space - I would not perform that at my own home. A crossroads, a graveyard, a creekbed, a cave, even under a root mass at an overhang if it's all you've got. Don't forget safety measures.
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CALL TO ARTISTS
KAOS 2024 Open Call
Deadline: Sunday, 31 March 2024. EU Residents Only. The 5th edition of KAOS International Festival of Contemporary Collage will take place in Kranj, Slovenia between 31 May and 10 August 2024 with a central exhibition, art residencies, murals, workshops, artist talks and evening concerts. This open call invites all collage artists in the EU to create art in boxes that explores the concept of 3-dimensional collage, in the form of assemblage referring to the theme “Beneath the Surface: Liminal Places”. Read More
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Kolaj Magazine, a full color, print magazine, exists to show how the world of collage is rich, layered, and thick with complexity. By remixing history and culture, collage artists forge new thinking. To understand collage is to reshape one's thinking of art history and redefine the canon of visual culture that informs the present.
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THEME: Magical Girls
Today's recommendations are all games that allow you to play as magical girls, and explore the themes around balancing responsibility, magic, and fighting for the good of the community without seeking fame or fortune.
Macarons, Milkshakes and Magic, by Starshine Scribbles.
The Lace Bloom Cafe has been sitting in the same spot for years. While it is in a quieter part of town, it is impossible to miss due to its big pink sign and overly cute exterior.
The inside is even cuter, with bright artwork on the walls and frills on every surface. Scattered around the cafe are various wands and pictures, letting you know that Lace Bloom isn't just a cute cafe. It is a Magical Girl-themed cafe.
Macarons, Milkshakes, And Magic is a fusion of a solo-journaling game and a group storytelling game.
In the solo-journaling segments, players will use a deck of tarot cards to play out their girl's day-to-day life as she juggles school, romance, and fighting evil.
Then, all the players come together for group sessions. During these group sessions, all of the Magical Girls meet up at the cafe and talk about their week. They'll also use these meetings to work out how to take down a villain that is terrorizing their city.
If you want to play a game that allows you to spend time with friends who have shuffling schedules or who live across time zones, this might be a good fit, especially if you are anxious about performing in front of your friends!
Tea & Crumpets, by c.a. mckinney.
Deep in the heart of Central City, a strange phenomenon has occurred: Normal citizens are suddenly changing into strange, flowery monsters with flower-based powers! But to what end? Why are they here? And why are they working for Earl Grey, the illusive thief? Gather your friends, get your transformation sequence out of the way, and get ready to monologue every time you use a power because it's time for Tea & Crumpets: A game of magical girls and tea leaves!
In Tea & Crumpets you play colour-coded magical girls with tea-based powers. Character creation is simple enough: each step you choose from a list of options in order to create a picture of your magical girl.
The game also comes with a built-in antagonist and advice for the GM in order to make facilitating the game easy. It's also got a pretty solid central theme that's not too heavy. If you want a game that is light on the wallet with enough lore to get you started but not too much lore that you get overwhelmed, this could be the game for you!
Hardcaptor Sakuga: Full Metal Petticoat, by Ironykins.
Magic is real. It is dangerous and terrible and beautiful. It is a flame that burns at the hem of reality, threatening to set it all ablaze. It is an integral part of you, and it is your only weapon against The Darkness.
HARDCAPTOR SAKUGA: FULL METAL PETTICOAT is a Tabletop Roleplaying Game about Magical Girls. You will take on the role of a young girl who has awoken her latent magical powers and finds herself bearing the weight of a heavy responsibility. You will delve into liminal nightmare-scapes to defeat magical manifestations of the darkest parts of humanity. You will eradicate or redeem evil and protect the innocent. And you’ll do all this while trying to make friends and stay on top of your schoolwork.
The goal of this system is to tell a story about hope triumphing over insurmountable despair. Along the way, your characters will form wholesome bonds and struggle through adolescence. You’ll also get to narrate cool action-packed magical girl fight scenes.
For a free playtest, this download has a lot. 74 pages of character creation, setting information, combat mechanics and GM advice. This game cites games like Apocalypse World, Forged in the Dark, and Fate Core as inspiration, so if you're interested in narrative-focused games, this might be the game for you.
Last Hope, by Wendigo Workshop.
“There’s a world, much like our own, where darkness lives. Its influence seeps into our world, corrupting those with a weak soul. That is why The Gift exists. Those with The Gift must travel to The Beyond and free the world from Shadows. But The Gift always comes with a price…
We never know, it is never said, we understand too late. Do not accept The Gift. It is tempting, it seems beautiful, but when something appears too good to be true, it is usually the case…”
Last Hope is a tabletop roleplaying game within which you play as a teenage character trying to fight evil corruption in an alternate version of the world, while also living your daily life as a student. Through a strange contract, you were given The Gift, transforming you into a Magical girl and giving you special powers.
This game is a game with many darker themes, similar to Hardcaptor Sagura, so enter with caution. It's run on Caltrop Core, which means it relies primarily on d4's, although there is a Corruption mechanic which can also rely on a d10 if you like. For $10 you get a significant amount of lore, the structure of a day, character abilities broken down into Magical Girl Types, and some really lovely art. If you would like a solid indie game with some structure to help you build a session, this is a game for you!
Ribbons: A Setting for MASKS, by Eva Forevermore.
Monsters from the moon are wrecking havoc downtown. Your rival's face is on the billboards selling toys. You're running out of estrogen. Your parents think you should quit and inherit the store. Your friend wants you to do vandalism. You didn't even have breakfast yet and you have fifteen minutes till class.
Ribbons is a setting guide for Masks: A New Generation that imagines a whole new city that stars magical girls instead of super heroes: Serendipity. The city has a long history filled with both grim and hopeful times for magical girls. It has developed a culture around magical girls over the decades and now it has entire fandoms, marketing, and schools dedicated to them. Play as magical kids and explore the dangerous, crazy, and fun lives they lead.
It's important to note that this is not a standalone game - it's a setting guide for Masks, a Powered by the Apocalypse game about teenage superheroes. This document provides setting information for a city called Serendipity, as well as advice on converting the MASKS playbooks for teenage girls with magic. For $5, you're basically getting an alternative setting that you don't have to build on your own - so if you like MASKS, or want to play a PbtA Magical Girls game, this is a product for you.
Disaster / Peace, by A Couple of Drakes.
Deal with drama, pass the test, doubt yourself, trust your friends, face down monsters, and SHINE. You're a DISASTER/PEACE.
DISASTER/PEACE is a tabletop roleplaying game designed to emulate your favourite stories in the "Magical Girl" genre. The Characters of DISASTER/PEACE are teenagers in a world very much like our own. They go to school, get embroiled in teen drama, and try to find their place in the face of onrushing adult responsibility and societal expectation. They are also, through no fault of their own, the chosen guardians of a world which is under constant threat of destruction by twisted monsters, evil magic, and vengeful immortals from beyond our realm. They exist between these worlds, juggling their teenage feelings and responsibilities with the duty that has been thrust upon them.
These characters are trying their best. But their best may not be good enough.
If you like the mechanics and setting design of Forged in the Dark games, if you prefer rolling d6's and only d6's, if you like jumping into action without having to worry about the plan, this is a game for you.
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To pursue poetry, I left Cebu a number of times, set out to literary spaces, moved to Manila, moved to New York; after each time, I would return to Cebu, the province where I was born and where I grew up in, which also happens to be the Philippines’ cultural and economic center in the Visayas region. Living in one of the many islands in an archipelagic country with more than a hundred languages, there is always a distinct sense of leaving a center and of reaching another every time I travel, such that the country’s capital Manila is not only a geographically different space but also a linguistically and socially different world as New York, too, being in a country an entire hemisphere and ocean away, is another world. In these worlds that are not the world I first learned to inhabit, I was as an outsider constructed in ways such as being assumed to be a cisgender woman who is heterosexual and fluent in Cebuano, and also one who would write, perhaps with nostalgia for belongingness, about my hometown and the ethos of my Visayan peoples. [...]
For although I recognized I may be from another “world” I found that, nevertheless, I felt a sense of affinity almost akin to belongingness in these spaces and places that were different and away – perhaps, precisely because they were different and away – from the actual place of my origin conventionally perceived as my home. This is not to mean the inverse that I am not at home in Cebu is also true; rather, that my cognition of being at home in a world and my sensibility of affinities have grown expansive by the lived pluralities of my identities.
By “world” I mean something modified from how María Lugones thought of it as one that is inhabited by actual people whether it be a few, as in a fraction of a society, a particular society in itself or even larger to include several peoples within the realm of animating principles. A world, to my sense, also includes an affective dimension in relation to a kind of durational and geographical-spatial zone that “homes” such world and the individuals inhabiting this world. In this way, a world may be thought as a relational, rhizomatic center of affect. It can be created temporally such as when individuals are brought together by circumstances; when diverse writers come together in workshops, residencies, fellowships, or festivals that, although may seem momentary, could be enduring in its subsequent forms as their meeting of persons may take place not only within the experienced physicality of the moment but also, among others, at the intersections of a language, at the contiguous borders of coloniality, in an interlude of what may later be understood as a lifelong advocacy, in the liminal spaces where nuanced interconnections are made as writers draw from where they have been, where they are at, together at the moment, and where they intend to move towards dreamed futures.
It is in these encounters that I found my selves in worlds with Merlie Alunan, with writers from eastern Visayas who write in their own local languages similar but different from Cebuano, with literary communities in Cebu such as Women in Literary Arts and Bathalad, as well as writers from other regions across the country through which I “became” a writer from the South. South, where Cebu is cartographically located in relation to the capital, Manila, less a geographical marker of where I am from as it is, to my sense, an identity, a position by affiliation or affinity, a kind of belonging, and complicated alliance to bring the idea of “nation” outside its conception within the confines of the country’s capital. That this world, mostly populated by writers from or writing in the Southern regions of the Philippines, may also nuancedly expand to include the entire country and even the Global South, gesturing at the irreducible variation of worlds that allows a world to be a kind of center in itself, created and grown within the labile self who provisionally inhabits this world through nodes of self-identifications and self-determinations.
A world, then, is never stagnant; it is mutable. It is also interconnected in myriad of ways to many worlds that a self has previously traveled and inhabited, corporeally or otherwise. It may be first cognized through mediated introductions: overheard from someone; read from a book; seen on-screen; reimagined constantly into becoming real enough to be inhabited by a self.
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Text by: shane carreon. “Archipelagic Interiority: Notes and Reflections on Poetic Voice and Trans Writing in the Philippines.” Kohl. Volume 9 Number 1. Special Issue: Anticolonial Feminist Imaginaries. Winter 2023. [Some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]
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Liminal Workshop - Keyboard jacket
#liminal workshop#keyboard#avant garde fashion#meme fashion#jacket#avant garde#techwear#scifi#meme style#meme aesthetic#netart#post internet#postinternet
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Lux lowered the spyglass from her eye and pursed her lips.
“This place is a fortress, Jinx.”
It was that liminal hour when the world held its breath and waited. A smoky dawn still hung just below the horizon; the rooftops of Piltover, sprawling in the distance, were indistinct geometric lumps in a shroud of grey mist.
The surreal thought came to Lux that in this crepuscular void, at a glance, Piltover looked a lot like Zaun.
Their objective loomed much closer. It was possibly the ugliest building Lux had ever seen, a brutalist concrete rectangle set atop a flattened-out hill in the midst of a fringe district mostly full of utilitarian warehouses and workshops; an unglamorous corner of the city’s iron guts.
It afforded plenty of vantage points where the two could scry with impunity upon their target, but that wasn’t much of a relief, because…
“Oh yeah,” said Jinx, chuckling, her pink eyes glowing eerily in the gloaming, “Outer wall’s reinforced concrete and razor wire. They blocked all the windows, no visibility in or out.”
Lux narrowed her eyes. “And no visible guards.”
“Well, Flashlight,” Jinx poked her tongue between her teeth and stole the spyglass, squinting through it, “Not like they’re tryin’ to keep us out of their super-duper trap funhouse…”
“Are they trying to make us think it’s abandoned?”
Jinx’s smirk faded.
“…not quite, Blondie,” she whispered.
Lux gently took the spyglass from her; it took her a moment to see, but through a portion of the skylight they hadn’t blacked out, she caught a flash of carmine hair and a strong back, pacing up and down along a gantry below the dusty glass…
“She’s here,” rasped Jinx, distant with old pain, “She’s really here this time. It’s not a trick.”
“No,” said Lux, “But it is a trap, and if we’re walking straight into it, we’re going to need a plan.”
Jinx and Lux are reunited. Ekko returns home with a new promise. Operation Foxtrap closes its jaws.
...but Jinx has some tricks of her own to play.
Hold on to your butts, this one's a biggee.
(C/W: Mild sexual content.)
#Lightcannon#Caitvi#Ao3#fanfic#jinx#lux#luxanna crownguard#arcane#jinx x lux#ekko#caitlyn kiramman#vi#ao3 fanfic#arcane jinx#ao3fic#arcane netflix#lol jinx#arcane vi#arcane violet#cait x vi#caitlyn x vi#jinx and vi#vi and jinx#vi arcane#vi league of legends#vi the piltover enforcer#vi lol#vi x caitlyn#vicait#ekko and jinx
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Sanji doesn’t understand the point of humans, really. He knows that people love them, but… they’re just so FRAGILE. They break easily, hard to repair, and once their systems have stopped circulating, they just don’t turn back on. He doesn’t get the appeal.
He knows, has been informed, that he was born human. But it’s a ship of Theseus situation. He’s been long ago upgraded, doesn’t have those weaknesses he was born with.
Hell, his siblings were incredibly powered up, for humans, and they were still easily disposed of.
Logically, loving a human just doesn’t make sense. They’re not REAL the way androids are real. Their consciousness doesn’t exist as soon as they’re powered down. There’s a liminal nothingness to that. Humans are like toys. Like starter beings.
He’s had all of those thoughts hundreds of times before, as he’s watched humans die in front of him. Watched his siblings as they perished by his own hand. This has been his Truth his whole life. Humans aren’t worth thinking about because they’re just not really REAL.
And of course, that’s why he’s questioning his own actions now.
THIS human he’s seen around a few times, having washed up in a dingy little rowboat at the edge of town, telling the people something about how he’s been separated from his crew.
This human who has been working hard, exchanging manual labor for food while sleeping rough and making time to train with his ridiculous swords. Those are a weakness, at least consider guns, or fortified steel legs.
But this human, who’s been so confident he’ll be reunited with his crew, who’s been biding his time and training… Sanji had taken an interest in him.
And then Sanji had watched him die. A freak accident with machinery he’d been tasked to repair in exchange for a meal.
Everyone in town knows of Sanji. And he knows they know, knows they think he’s a little alarming. But that’s fine. They’re human.
However they perceive him, though, they don’t object when he swoops in and lifts up the green haired human, taking him away.
It’s not like he’s useful to them anyway anymore, he’s turned off and humans don’t turn back on.
But Sanji… wants this one to.
It’s ridiculous and maybe Sanji should upgrade his logic processing, but… he’s drawn to this one. Wants it back online.
His father had been a monster of a man, and the only one Sanji had taken true pleasure in turning off. But he’d kept his father’s workshops in working order to do his own repairs as necessary, and that comes in useful now. Sanji only knows living bodies for their food purposes.
He works and studies and experiments. He takes out his nightly recharging batteries and instead gets out his old charging cord so he doesn’t have to take breaks. He knows humans are quick to recycle after being turned off, even with the best precautions taken.
He doesn’t know why, but… he wants this. He’s drawn to the man. There’s an energy about him that Sanji doesn’t remember ever seeing before, and he wants it back.
And after an intense amount of repairs and replacements and experimental flesh-and-metal welding…
He flips the switch.
The man groans.
He lifts a hand slowly to his face, squinting his eye at the light. Sanji hadn’t been able to save both of them.
He sits up, blinking as he looks around.
“Wh’ th’ fuck happened?” He mumbles.
“Hi,” says Sanji. “I’m Sanji. Your systems failed and turned off. I turned them back on.”
The man looks down at himself. Sanji thinks he’s done a good job matching the spray paint to his skin tone.
“Swords?” The man asks.
“In the other room,” Sanji says. “I wanted to check you were fully online before returning your things to you.”
“Is that why I’m butt-ass naked?” The man asks, then shakes his head. “Whatever. Am I being held? Can I go?”
Sanji blinks. “Of course you can go,” he says.
“But please let me feed you, first. Humans need sustenance.”
The man frowns. “You not human or something?” He asks. “You don’t look like a fishman or mink.”
“I’m an android,” says Sanji.
“Well that’s a fucking note,” says the man. “I’m Zoro. Thanks for… fixing me, I guess.”
Sanji smiles. “I will take you to your clothes and then food,” he says. “There has been rumor your ‘crew’ as you called them is here, although I have not validated these claims. I have been busy.”
Zoro grins, swinging his legs over the table and standing.
“Perfect,” he says. “I gotta get going, then.”
Sandi frowns. “Wait,” he says. “You’re still newly upgraded. There might be bugs!”
Sanji HATES bugs.
“I’m fine,” Zoro says, then promptly stumbles.
“Like that!” Sanji screeches. He’s had years, decades to work on his own tech.
“You need to be stress tested properly!”
Zoro pinches the bridge of his nose and there’s the sound of metal groaning under his fingers. “Fine,” he says. “Then I guess you’re coming with me.”
“Pardon?” asks Sanji.
“Listen, Swirly,” Zoro says. “I have places to be and a future pirate king to serve. I don’t have time to be waiting around for hardware to fail so either you’re coming with me or I’m handing my doctor a computer repair manual.”
Sanji groans. “…Fine,” he says. “I will feed you and then I will pack up. It will take two hours.”
“You have until Luffy shows up,” Zoro says. Then amends, “You have until Luffy has eaten everything in your kitchen.”
Sanji doesn’t know this ‘Luffy’ but he takes that into his calculations. “Acceptable,” he says. “Let’s be off, then.”
And thus, the Straw Hats gain their cook, as Sanji makes it his life mission to keep his collection of humans as safe as possible. They’re so fragile, they break so easily.
Although these ones do seem hardier than most.
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TELL ME ABOUT YOUR OCS 👀👀👀
oop! ok so right now i have many lil ideas but not a major storyline (just started a writing workshop and am reading a book for that exact reason lol) but I've got a few ideas that have been in my head for a WHILE.
first there's two characters i call the werewolf girlfriends. maggie is a trans woman who is dating emma, a recently turned werewolf. maggie is a very anxious person but she has proper experience with transitions and help emma, a strong and social eldest child handle her situation and accept it. I'm thinking about it cus I love playing with gender and monsters and as a queer amab who's having a hard gender crisis rn this story is very much close to my heart.
the next is a story i call nightshift: a cafe that is pretty mundane and normal except for the night. at which point it becomes a place for recently dead people to come and have a lovely conversation with the mysterious and mayyybe undead barista and have a last drink before they go to whatever comes next.
then there's the story I'm rly big on right now, i call it the beekeeper. I'm not sure how it fully works yet, but i know there are spots in the world where if someone enters them they're never seen again, special road signs are put up to keep people away from them. and there is a person in a medieval beekeeper outfit who can work with bees to make some kind of magic that closes these liminal spaces. I don't know everything about the beekeeper but i know the first sentence of the story and the description that encapsulates the beekeeper is "some people die and turn into vengeful spirits. others start early"
uhhh that's the three big ones right now. I'd love to make nightshift into a host form, like a podcast or even a roleplaying game. I'd want to make maggie and emma into a graphic novel or a theater play. and i think the beekeeper is worthy of being a book to be adapted into a live action hbo original miniseries (think station eleven)
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it is I, pathologic fix rec asker!!
hey!! thank you for bearing with me haha. here you go!
a curse befalls your heart by curriebelle : Daniil Dankovsky suffers from a Steppe curse. Burakh performs triage.
ode to the body by kylee : In which Bachelor and Haruspex flatter each other shamelessly.
the scholar and the shaman series by modlisznik : 1. There are times when, to stop death, one needs only to see that someone cares. / 2. Bachelor Dankovsky does not believe in luck. Artemy wants him to understand, that the charm he's offering will protect him - just not in the way Daniil thinks it does. / 3. Daniil is aware that Isidor has been murdered just a few days ago. That his memory is still fresh, his touch lingers in this place. That Daniil, an intruder, shouldn't come down here to Isidor’s workshop - his laboratory - his sanctum - and most certainly, he shouldn't be here to fuck Isidor’s son. Even less, to use the elder Burakh's table for that purpose. He's aware of that. He also doesn't care. / 4. Artemy wonders how Daniil feels about this vastness, autumnal grass as far as the eye can see, the sky so clear, hanging so low, so close you can almost touch it, you can almost get swallowed whole. Insignificant, a little speckle on the face of Earth. Daniil is a creature of the city, Artemy thinks, of clear boundaries, of walls to hide behind, of places to be alone in. He must feel exposed. I'm a bad host, Artemy thinks. / 5. There are two of them, and they attack shoulder to shoulder, their fists raised high. Fools. They're getting in each other's way; should have surrounded their prey instead. That's what Daniil would advise them to do anyway. But he's not here to command a pack of street thugs; tonight, he's here just to watch. There's something satisfying in watching Artemy fight for his life. / 6. "My apologies." Daniil clears his throat. "Usually I reserve views like this for at least fourth, maybe fifth date." / 7. In which the house of the dead is reclaimed by the living, and Artemy learns to dance. / 8. There's sweetness on the back of his tongue. His body aches. Daniil doesn't move; light and heavy at the same time, he feels like he's drifting. He likes these liminal moments, hazy and slow, between the raw sincerity of sex and the everyday life; blurry moments when their bodies are still tender and their thoughts tangled, and they can afford for their emotions to linger just a little bit longer. / 9. Daniil learns about the bargain Artemy has struck to keep Murky safe - and he can't believe it. "You idiot. You could have died."
another sky by saintsrow2 : “Ever since we first met,” Dankovsky says when he takes a second to breathe heavily against Artemy’s neck, “I thought you were beautiful.” The sentiment makes Artemy snort with laughter. Daniil looks up at him from under long eyelashes, smiling in that annoying, gorgeous way that he does. “I am not beautiful,” Artemy says. “Yes, you are.” He talks as if it is inarguable, empirical fact, in that so logical way of his. “Not as a lady in a painting is, no. But you are beautiful, just as the wilds of the Steppe is beautiful. Harsh, maybe, dangerous, perhaps. Alien to me, certainly. But I would challenge anyone to see the sun setting over the hills and the way the grassfields turn golden and not say yes, they are beautiful.”
bite the bullet by any_open_eye : The Bachelor—man of science, child of the capital—has no ritual in him. No way to excise the growing tumor in his heart. Artemy should have seen it building. Expected something drastic. No ritual, but he doesn’t lack for drama. “Oynon.” Artemy reaches for him. The Bachelor finally looks up.(The Bachelor has realized that this is all a farce. the Haruspex helps him through it.)
cor meum ad terrum by gaynagito : Daniil wants to understand Artemiy, but he can't do that without first understanding the Steppe. One thing leads to another.
just the beginning by novaengliae : “If you're so good, why are you still here? Why didn’t you go back with the army?” Sticky asked. Because Burakh said ‘stay’ that night in the Broken Heart, Daniil thought indignantly. Because Artemy Burakh is an impossible man to refuse. Daniil had lost everything. Artemy had gained more than he ever expected. They take things day by day.
in vivo by meradorm : After a long silence, the Haruspex travels to the capital to seek out his old companion.
stranger things by absurdisms : "Tell me, do you ever feel a strange sadness as dusk falls? They say it's the only time when our world intersects with theirs, the only time we can feel the lingering regrets of spirits who have left our world. That is why loneliness always pervades the hour of twilight." (this is shameless self promotion but it's also just a few hundred words so I don't feel too bad about it <3)
I hope some of these are what you're looking for, take care!
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The Yaga journal: Baba Yaga in flesh and bones
Baba-Yaga as she appears in “Dimension 20: Neverafter”
During my research for documentation about ogres in fairytales, I stumbled upon a French scientific journal - well a “science-literature” journal - which had an issue entirely about Baba-Yaga. It was the extension of a workshop dedicated to studying her figure, and it has some pretty fascinating articles in it, so I thought of looking into it and summarizing some key points. Its official name is “Baba Yaga, en chair et en os” ; “Baba Yaga, in flesh and bones”, published in 2016.
The issue was overseen and created by Juliette Drigny and Sandra Pellet, who both wrote articles about the Baba Yaga: Juliette Drigny studied the meaning of words and the effect of communication in the tales of the Baba Yaga, while Pellet’s article was wondering if Baba Yaga was a “witness” or a “guardian” of the pre-Christian institutions of Russia.
Together they also wrote the opening introduction of the journal’s issue.
“It smells like Russian flesh!” says the bone-leg Yaga, the witch of the oral Slavic fairytales, as the hero arrives. Passing by the Yaga’s isba is a key element of the hero’s quest - it is the moment the hero leaves the village and the domesticated nature (the fields) to enter either the “deep forest” or the “world of the Tchoudo-Youdo”, filled with bones. The isba represents - according to Vladimir Propp’s analysis in “The historical roots of the fary-tale” - a passage, a frontier between the world of the living and the world of the dead. Half-object, half-animal, the chicken-legged isba can move when the hero pronounces a magical incantation. Baba Yaga herself, a liminal being too, is a being of flesh and bones at the top, but in her lower parts she is just one leg made of bones. This frontier between life and death has been the origin of numerous researches after Propp - including the research of this issue, which also decided to open the question of the Baba Yaga to other geographical point of views (as they touch upon variations of the Yaga found in Romania, Poland and Serbia).
The first article is a quest of all the spatial and geographical indications given in Russian fairytales to understand the “spaces” of the baba Yagas, and explore her role as the frontiers-woman between the living and the dead.The second article rather explores the “multi-functions” nature of the baba-Yaga, who is never the heroine, but rarely the antagonist, and merely takes place in a system or structure with stable relationships between the characters.
The third article questions the idea of the Baba-Yaga as a hard-hearted, old and wicked character, and explores the theory that Baba Yaga was an ancestral mother-goddess from a matriarchal society ; an avatar of a mother-goddess that was mocked and caricatured in oral tradition, as a new, patriarchal order was imposed. (Basically, it is the Yaga’s reinterpretation through the lenses of the “Goddess movement” from the USA). The fourth article questions the cannibalism of Baba-Yaga, and how her eating human flesh actually allows her to be described as inhuman, or rather outside of the human society.
The fifth article, after talking of how the Baba-Yaga manifests the ideas of devouring and castration in fairy tales (through a psychanalytic reading), highlights the Yaga as a “holed”, incomplete, mysterous being where each storyteller can include personal imagination. It also explores how the “devouring menace” of the Yaga is actually a twisted reflection of the mother that holds back her child, in a fusional and unhealthy relationship - is the Yaga the tool to make teenagers autonomous?
After that we have an article that compares the motives of several supernatural beings of Central Europe, and their similarities and parentage to the Slavic Baba Yaga: we are talking of the hag, of the weaving woman, of the striga, of the snake-woman, and various forest spirits. Yet another article explores the Polish Baba Yaga - the Baba Jedza - and tries to explain the presence and popularity of this figure in Poland. We also have an article exploring the Romanian Yaga - Baba Cloantza - and her various symbolisms, not just in fairytales, but also in superstitions, folk belief and poems. How she fills many roles such as the village’s healer, the devilish witch, the enchantress, or death itself.
Then the rest of the issue covers various adaptation and artistic depictions of the Baba Yaga: Russian engravings of the 18th century, Soviet era movies, theater plays, etc, etc...
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Experiment #4: A Collective Tarot Reading
Welcome to the Storyteller's Workshop! For day one of the Storyteller Project, Lisette Alvarez conducted a collective tarot reading to inspire a new modern folk tale. By next week, there will be a mini episode in this feed. Between now and then, however, you will get a mix of podcast episodes which include unedited workshopping, sample audio, and a trailer. That's because each day, Lisette will work for a set amount of time based on a part-time workload in their area. So this unedited episode? Didn't want to waste an hour there that could be put towards editing the final product. So you'll hear all the phone notifications, bumping of tables, ums and ahs and stutters. That's the messy work of the story sausage, my friend!
The decks used:
Liminal Spirits Oracle by Laura Tempest Zakroff
The Wildwood Tarot by Mark Ryan (Author), John Matthews (Author), Will Worthington (Illustrator)
(Thanks again to Creative Energy in Melbourne, FL for the last-minute deck recommendations and acquisition!)
The final spread:
The nature of the main character(s): The Stag
The nature of the conflict: Fiber
The nature of the motivation: The Archer
The antagonist: Clay
The allies/skills needed: Knight of Bows/Fox
What must be sacrificed: Honeybee
The messages: Queen of Vessels + Environment
A message from collective's shadow: The Wheel
See and share the tarot spread across our social media. Find your hearth.
Want to join this week's daily 12PM EST livestream? Connect via our Discord server.
This is an experiment paid for by the Storyteller Project Fund. We have 5 days to raise $200! We are already 26% of the way there. You can contribute now.
Transcript (automated by Descript)
via Tales from the Hearth https://ift.tt/hv0RuBs
December 01, 2023 at 01:13PM
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