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diasporic-dossier · 7 months

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CRITICAL ANNOTATION

Diasporic Dossier, an archive of artists and works that influence my MFA practice, hosts both expressionism as well as feminism and empowerment within its content as frameworks to analyse one’s creative practice.

Decadent in emotion, ritual, and communal influences, my South Indian heritage establishes an immersive understanding of expressionism through its unique art forms, existing as early as the seventeenth century. Forms such as Kathakali analyse the narratives of the “Ramayana, Mahabharata, and the Puranas” (Kathakali, 2022), ancient, religious, and philosophical epics. Brought up as children of the mythical universe within these texts, the culture of India adopted a fashion of life that can be described as of a spiritual, parabolic nature. As the evolution of its culture became richer, India’s autonomously divided sub-cultures delved deeper into various forms of expression, gratitude, and devotion, continuously encouraging an allegorical form.

As exemplified within my dossier, dance, a critical element of the established expressive structure of India, weaves its motion into meaning, symbolism, and allegory. Strained through decades of colonialism, India’s emotional and cultural autonomy has diminished in fear of Western perception. As trends accelerate with the force of capitalism, eastern practices are filtered, revoked of sentiment, and then marketed in the West as a quick fix to the consuming nature of the current political climate. Overcoming my spite for concepts like cultural appropriation, this dossier pushes an agenda of finding my footing within both the South Indian (Malayalee) identity I have been yearning to claim as well as the modern ideologies of the West I proceed to integrate into my practice. As I collate this archival dossier, I adhere to the unity that India’s artists and traditionalists converse within, reclaiming the power, the right, and the liberation to wholeheartedly embrace the culture we were intended to live by and amongst.

In communion, expressionism and feminine embodiment engulf the works, artists, and ideologies I find myself attracted to. Innate to the physicality of dance and its emotional nature, feminism adores the true feminine form, isolating this idea of form from gendered concepts. Reinforcing India’s expressive culture, the impression of the feminine and masculine is defined as energies, as opposed to the existing binary perspectives. Present as energies, it encourages an individual to either empower one, disempower the other, or bring both to a state of equilibrium. A dossier as immensely influenced by dance and the existence of the lush Indian culture; my practice cannot ignore the feminine embodiment of expression as my discipline represents the adorning of one’s physical form—jewellery.

Catalysing my creative practice, themes of identity, the diasporic experience, and symbolism expand upon the frameworks identified within the dossier. Conscious of both notions, individuals of diasporas find that identity and the diasporic experience activate a pride of fated cultural awe. Embracing one’s culture within the Western landscape is perceived by many through their own biases, received as ‘performative’, 'a soul who is yet to find their spiritual or cultural footing’ or blatantly perceived as the act of one 'who cannot let go of the hand of their motherland.’ Caught within the fine lines of an upbringing in the Western environment, the constant back and forth of cultural identity is either encouraged or absconded by either party. Therefore, absolving oneself of any expectation to be deemed fit for the desire to belong encourages me to practice my art within the cultural realm of my own identity.

Some of the artists I have chosen, such as Asha Puthli, Priya Ahluwalia, and Supriya Lele, employ the nuance of existing within the cultural dualities of their identities. Within this undecided, undefinable state, their works emerge as appropriated vessels of compulsion and unanswered curiosity. Finding comfort in artists who reside within similar societal parallels and embrace their cultural dualisms proves for my chosen community of practice to be those who lend themselves to the definition of minorities or diaspora; artists that engage their unique cultural dichotomies, producing further embellished works that speak to their experiences.

Identifying the precedents, artists, and their distinctive narratives encourages me to define the frameworks within which I proceed with my creative practice. Further understanding of the critical frameworks provided me with intrigue as to how colonial powers have further influenced the attitudes in Indian culture today. Using the information found through this research, I will continue to progress my practice in a direction that strays from the Western influence as much as possible, while acknowledging how my upbringing has been a consistent comparison of dichotomies. Comprehending these questions, the acknowledging of my cultural dualities reinforced my work’s aim, to challenge the conviction of cultural, gendered, political, and societal binaries.

*Kathakali. 2022. MAP Academy. April 21, 2022. https://mapacademy.io/article/kathakali/.

ROSE JOHN s3998640 RMIT, MFA, SEM2, CFA

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islandpcosjourney · 8 months

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IVF/ICSI Day 11

2nd October 2023

🥚 Egg collection 🥚

Tonight will be a short one, I'm hoping, as I feel quite spaced out and pretty rubbish if I'm honest.

I have felt so much Grace surrounding today's events and I am told that I was constantly thanking and being grateful to the staff at the unit for it - more of that for a giggle later!

After a disturbed sleep overnight (just clock-watching from around 2am) and some unwelcome, subconscious anxiety surrounding the day's unknowns, I was very grumpy when Mum came into my room at 5.20am asking if I was awake and getting up, when my alarm wasn't meant to be going off until 5.45am 😂 She hadn't realised, or I should say she'd temporarily forgotten, that I wasn't to wear make-up, jewellery or perfume (strong scents can cause harm to the eggs when they're exposed during collection - who knew!) so therefore I wasn't needing my usual "time to get ready". I had packed my essentials already (dressing gown, crocs, needles/sharps box to return, choc brioche treat for after etc) so all I needed to do was get up, get dressed, have a final cup of tea & go - not the usual Màiri routine in the morning I can tell you 🤪 But when I got up, I was apologetic of my outburst and she seemed in very good form considering she'd also been awake most of the night (unfortunately a side-effect from her fibromyalgia so she's permanently exhausted 🥴).

We were very grateful to Calum for also getting up early to drive us up to Dundee because I needed to be there for 8.15am so we had to leave by 6.30am to be safe. We arrived in plenty time and found a new car-park (number 7) where the drop-off area is.

We were in the unit by 8am and clearly before most of the reception staff were around because nobody was able to check us in 😉 Those who know me, I'm never early 😏 but once nursing staff came to call our names out we figured out we were being taken through in order of the surgery schedule, so I was 3rd on the list.

Basics were done such as checking my name, DOB, history, BP, temp, weight (only 0.5kg gained since baseline scan, which is not bad considering how full & bloated I have felt on the hormones - yay!). I didn't have to change into the very fetching gown until nearer the time so I could just sit on the bed/chair and relax in my jumpsuit until I was told to change - very considerate. The nurse seemed very shocked when she asked what and when had I last eaten, that my response was "just a tiny bit of bread at communion last night" as I had attended the evening service at St C's, which was also communion - "aren't you starving?"...... "no, not at all, it was sufficient" 🥰 I'd had my last cup of spearmint tea on the journey up by 6.50am and I was then only allowed sips of water after 7am so she'd get me some water along-with paracetamol and an anti-sickness tablet. I then had to wait on the consultant, embryologist and anaesthetist to see me to sign for consent, discuss procedures and drugs etc. At every point, everyone was so smiley and caring and inclusive of Mum too, making her feel part of the process. I sometimes felt a bit rude being on my phone messaging Kevin but that feeling was always short-lived as he needed to feel part of the process too and being in constant communication was so important for that - plus if I hadn't messaged at the point when I was told things, I wouldn't have remembered later 🤦🏻‍♀️

Having the cannula fitted in my right hand was the usual EXCRUTIATING pain. I know, I sound like a drama queen here but honestly, of all the procedures I've had done over the years, including a 20cm x 8cm lipoma being surgically removed, cannulas are my BIG problem. It's not just when its fitted but it stings and burns constantly afterwards too. Mum was a bit put-off by seeing my feet & legs wiggling, thinking I was cold, but it was just how I dealt with the pain, honestly its the worst part of any hospital admission for me. But as Mum said, if that's the worst part then I never have to worry!

There were more documents to read, processes to learn about, forms to sign & drugs to hear about that it was all a bit over my head sometimes, and Mum's, but I felt so comfortable, supported and cared-for that I had nothing but pure joy running through my veins. Mum and I talked about passages of the Bible (the curtains were shut but conversations were not shut-out, so who knows who was able to hear) & what Dad might've made of all of this (supportive we're sure & no doubt patiently waiting in the car while having a wee norrag (sleep) - definitely 😂). I loved how fascinated Mum was by all of the processes, a very different nursing day from her's since her training over 50yrs ago and she was on the ball - “they haven't brought your paracetamol yet, or your water, or your anti-sickness tablet” 🤪 Once she heard of all the drugs they'd be giving me (an endless list I could not begin to regurgitate, not language I was used to and even Mum who could understand the basics of why each drug was being administered at which point, didn't recognise the names of them as they've changed so much) she was concerned that I was going to be too "out-of-it" to manage public transport on the way home but I assured her that we'd be fine - I knew God wouldn't throw anything my way that I couldn't manage!

Time to go! 1115 came faster than I anticipated, no boredom happened at any point, I mean who could be bored with Mum by their side chatting constantly 😁 and then to be honest I don't remember much after this! I'd been asked earlier to think about what music I'd like to hear in surgery (I hadn't known this was even going to be a thing) and my first reaction was to say ANYTHING. I told them I was a musician and would be happy with any genre (well, that's not entirely true, I cannot stand Kevin's heavy metal music 😵) but not for one second did I think that's what they'd choose to play 😂 - they didn't btw! No, by the time I got into the room I knew what I wanted - Stuart Townend. I wanted God with me in the room, publicly and openly. They didn't bat an eyelid but O don't think the anaesthetist had heard of him as she repeated "Stuart Townsend?" a common error people make about his surname but hopefully one she'll now remember 😏 I told them all that if my favourite Psalm 23 or In Christ alone were to come on, to turn up the volume and they laughed 🤩

"Keep you here" started playing and honestly what happened after that is all a blur.

🎶 For time is given, And time is taken away; The least that we can do Is make the most of every day. And we are given And we are taken away; The best that we can do Is give ourselves away 🎶

(I'm getting a bit weepy writing these lyrics down if I'm honest, for I believe every word and they were so comforting to hear as they put the breathing mask on me and began doing everything around me - that's now another favourite track of mine 🤩)

I wasn't being put to sleep, no, it was conscious sedation so I should've been aware of my surroundings to a certain extent. I do remember chatting away under my mask but I couldn't for the life of me tell you what about 😂 However, afterwards when I was awake again back in the ward, the nurses were having a giggle with us about just how chatty I was and how I kept thanking them all for their skills, their care, the gratefulness I had for all of their help - nice to know I have good manners even in my "sleep" 😇 Somethings coming back to me now, I definitely remember being asked how I felt at some point and responding with "I feel grand, the Lord is with me" - can't say when or who I was speaking to but I definitely remember saying it 🙏🏻

Back on the ward, I was aware of Mum telling me to rest but I was insistent on messaging Kev, reaching for my phone - "I'm ok out darling, I love you" - yeah, I was clearly still groggy and wasn't aware just how much 😂 for I love my grammar and write proper sentences, most of the time! The ACU counsellor came to see me, that was nice of her, I should've been seeing her at 1130 today, an appointment made weeks ago before we obviously knew I'd be in for egg collection and it was nice to meet her in person having only ever seen her online before. I'll see her tomorrow instead, online, once I've properly recovered. Mum had asked me in the waiting room if I'd gotten much out of seeing the counsellor and tbh I hadn't really, it was mostly helpful in the earlier months when we had MAJOR issues with lack of communication, mix ups with info being communicated and working out processes to put our minds at rest. In terms of "during" this actual cycle, I haven't seen her at all and I haven't needed it either for God is guiding me through this, nothing she could say will help that or even enforce that so it hasn't been required. People have talked about "IVF fairies" and the importance in speaking with others going through the same process and aside from having the Fertility Network WhatsApp group popping up in the background and some messages of support from ladies in that group, I haven't really needed to have anyone else to talk to to help me through this. I have Jesus - that’s all anyone should need. I write this blog which is very cathartic, my husband is my best friend & confidante, we’re in this together and our very supportive friends & family are backing us but it’s not what “gets me through”. It's only when your life is all about "WHY?" that one needs to lean on another for their "wisdom" in having gone through a similar process. Once you know the WHY in life - Jesus - you stop needing to look for the answers and instead they are given to you, gracefully.

(Gosh, I thought I'd said I hoped this would be a short one tonight 🤦🏻‍♀️)

Right, onwards! After tea, toast (always THE best tasting toast after surgery, with real butter, none of this "one molecule away from being plastic" margarine nonsense 🤪) and being able to go to the toilet, I could get dressed, learn about the progesterone gel I need to use for the next 20 days and I was ready to go home - yay!

Quick, straight into a taxi, off to the station, Kevin had worked out which trains were best to get, tickets bought, short wait and onto the train we were. Just over an hour later we were back in Edinburgh, Calum had realised he'd be finishing at a school nearby Haymarket around the same time we'd be arriving so he was able to pick us up and off on the last leg we went - Edinburgh road bumps and all 😫 this was where I was most aware of the pain I had while sitting down - ouchie. I was told I'd be tender, almost like a very heavy period for a number of days but this was the first time I'd ever thought that sitting on a doughnut pillow would have been helpful!

I had decided that I was treating myself to a Dominoes pizza tonight so we ordered that on the way home and picked it up on route so we could eat before I needed to rest and before Calum was teaching. It was so tasty! But, shortly after I felt really unwell. I wasn't sure if it was the pizza, the overwhelming feeling of food in my stomach after so long being on juice and being careful what I ate throughout this process but I also felt intense pain in my abdomen and needed quick relief so I had a bath. I was then feeling very sick and was worried that I'd overdone it with the pizza, however, only cloudy, peachy-coloured mucas or bile-like liquid (although that was always green when it happened to me as a child on my period) came out, not a single slice made its way back up my gullet - strange. I did feel some relief afterwards though and Mum did point out how much drugs and poking and prodding I'd gone through so straight to bed with a hot-water bottle it was for me!

I tried a short video call with Kevin around 6pm but it didn't last long for I was clearly falling asleep, was in pain and couldn't sustain the conversation. Mum's been great coming in every so often to check on me, bringing me tea, iced water, painkillers & topping up the hot-water bottle - each 2hr period went by in a flash. Now its after midnight, I'm wide awake and I perhaps need to try to get back to sleep to maintain my body clock’s routine.

In the morning I'll be waiting for a call between 0830-1200 to tell us if any of the 11 eggs (oh yes, I forgot to say, they managed to collect 11 eggs! 🥰) have fertilised overnight. The procedure went according to plan and there were many large follicles alongside some smaller ones, which all produced eggs! Of course I'm delighted as the bigger the number, the more of a chance of fertilisation occurring (about 60-70%) but they have warned that perhaps not all of them will be mature enough and they just won't know that until they go to inject them individually which they were doing this afternoon. I kept saying to each nurse who came to speak to me "It only takes 1" which is true but a very human-minded angle to take. Of course what I mean is that God only needs 1 to create our wee miracle - if it is His intention. 11 eggs have been collected, around half may fertilise, half of those may make it to blastocyst stage, 1 or 2 might make it to a transfer. Or none. There is no way of telling - but God knows.

Whatever happens tomorrow (today now really!) or in the coming days before a potential transfer on Saturday, I know that I've done all that I can, within my power to follow the rules, do as I'm told for this process, but only God has the final say over whether any part of this process is a success or not. So far, he has graced me with his abundant love and graced us with the opportunity to have these final chances at having a family that we so dearly desire. God hears our prayers, our deepest desires, no bargaining is required & certainly no "if I do this, he'll do this" nonsense. If it is His will, He will make it happen. He created medical advances, He created the staff who carry out the medical procedures, He provided the funding for the government to give Scots 3 chances at IVF, He decided that this path was for us and although I questioned it several times, Kevin believed, like the innocence that a child has when they look to their parent for answers.

"Likewise, you who are younger, be subject to the elders. Clothe yourselves, all of you, with humility toward one another, for "God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble." Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at a proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you." - 1 Peter 5:5-7

Prayer points to consider:

Thank God for the wonders that he has created in our scientific/medical/engineering world.

Thank God for keeping Màiri and Kevin safe & healthy during this challenging process.

Pray for the staff at Ninewells that they may come to rest their weariness, to look to the Lord for strength.

Pray for the eggs taken from Màiri's body today, that they be kept safe overnight and over the following days as they hopefully bond together with Kevin's DNA and develop into healthy embryos.

Pray for the embryologists, that they may see God's wonder of His creation when they look through their microscope. Only he could engineer such amazing cells which one day could grow into a child who walks on this earth.

Pray for Màiri as she recovers and rests in the hope that each day brings encouraging news.

Pray for Kevin who is experiencing this from afar, that he feels close to the process and give him strength in his relationship with his mighty nemesis - patience!

Pray for the 2 other ladies who also went through egg collections today, that their journey may be blessed and anxieties eased.

Pray for other couples, at different stages of their journeys in the unit - embryo transfers and scans/tests that were happening today too.

I pray too for all of you wonderful, supportive people who are reading this, thinking of us, praying for us and hoping with us. WE THANK YOU ALL FROM THE BOTTOM OF OUR HEARTS 💝

Waiting for the train home

"And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen and establish you" - 1 Peter 5:10

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bombshell23 · 1 year

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truelsenkirkland85 · 1 year

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capseycartwright · 2 years

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Sagittarius, 2H and 6H please 💖

sagittarius: what places would you like to travel to in the future?

oh SO many. the list is ever growing, but, in the near future i am hoping to cross malta and italy off the list, and am potentially going to valencia with a friend of mine so that excites me greatly. oh! and i’m taking my dad on a trip next autumn to the south of france

the Big Trip i want to go on is new zealand and australia so i am saving for my 30th as it feels like u need an excuse

2H: do you have any object you like a little too much? what is it and why?

okay so i have this silver chain link bracelet - the kind you tend to get for like your confirmation and communion, in ireland at least - and i haven’t take it off since i was like, 10. i don’t even remember who got it for me (it was probably my parents) but i am severely emotionally attached to it and i don’t wear any other silver jewellery anymore (gold girlie) but i absolutely can’t take it off. it’s just like. part of me. i have taken it off once for an MRI and i didn’t even know how to unclasp it

6H: do you consider yourself a workaholic?

yes and no? i am very career driven - probably to a fault, because i will bin most things off, including fic writing, in the name of work - but my career gives me an enormous amount of purpose and joy, so it doesn’t always feel like work. i’m really passionate about what i do and i always sort of bargained with myself that this season of my life would be about me, and my career goals - i know that will change one day as i have grand dreams of a family, etc., and priorities change but for now i like, thrive on the late nights and wild hours and events every night of the week. it’s all i wanted when i was at university so i’m living out my dreams!

astrology ask game

#in which i ramble #asks #leothil #thank u frida!!

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gerrybrowne-blog · 4 years

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incarnationsf · 4 years

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Nevertheless, She Persisted

Gospel Reading

By the Rev. Darren Miner

Today, in the aftermath of the killing of George Floyd, our nation is in a state of racial unrest. And it was not too long ago that the “Me Too” movement was in the news, protesting the shabby treatment of women. Given current sensitivities, today’s story about Jesus’ encounter with the Canaanite woman is particularly problematic. Even so, we need to hear it and to wrestle with it. After all, Saint Matthew included it in his Gospel for a reason.

The incident begins with Jesus heading off to Gentile territory for some well-deserved rest at the seaside; there he is confronted by a woman with a sick daughter. The woman is identified as a Canaanite. In other words, she is not only a pagan, but the descendant of Israel’s ancestral enemies.

Despite that historical enmity, and despite cultural norms that forbade a woman from addressing a strange man, this desperate woman seeks out the help of this foreign healer, begging him to help her sick daughter. But Jesus’ initial response is stony silence.

Nevertheless, she persists. And her persistence is such an annoyance that the disciples ask Jesus to send her packing. He tries to convince her to give up and leave, by explaining that his healing mission is reserved for the children of Israel.

Nevertheless, she persists. She prostrates herself at Jesus’ feet, crying, “Lord, help me!” Seemingly unmoved, Jesus responds, “It is not fair to take the children’s bread and throw it to the little dogs.” The upshot of Jesus’ graphic metaphor is that his ministry (and God’s grace) are not intended for Gentile dogs, not even the “little dog” who happens to be this woman’s sick daughter!

Now, I don’t have to tell you how harsh Jesus’ words sound to us today. Well, it sounded even worse then. In biblical times, the term “dog” was an epithet reserved for those who were dirty, nasty, and disgusting.

Nevertheless, she persists. The Canaanite woman turns Jesus’ epithet on its head, arguing that even dogs eat the bread crumbs that fall from their owners’ table. In other words, she and her daughter would settle for even a scrap of God’s grace. With a wit fueled by desperation, this woman turns Jesus’ own words back on him, and Jesus stands defeated. Admitting his defeat, Jesus praises the woman’s faith in God (or perhaps her faithfulness to her daughter—the Greek is ambiguous). He declares the sick girl healed, and it was so.

Now, what are we to make of this difficult story? Well, first, let me be clear—I think that Jesus was in the wrong, at least at first! He may not have been guilty of the sins of racism or sexism, but, as one biblical scholar put it, “Jesus is caught with his compassion down.” One wonders then why Saint Matthew preserved this story. It was, after all, an embarrassment to the early Church (not only because Jesus’ behavior toward the woman was harsh, but because Jesus was bested by a mere woman!)

Well, this embarrassing story was preserved, I think, because it marks a critical turning point in the ministry of Jesus and in the history of salvation. Jesus starts out with the perspective that his ministry should be limited to God’s chosen people, the Jews, but he is forced into a new realization by his confrontation with the Canaanite woman. Jesus starts out with the perspective that God’s grace is somehow limited, as if there were only enough to minister to the children of Israel, but he is forced into the realization that there is enough grace to minister to everyone in need.

And from this point on, Jesus continues to perform healings as he travels throughout Gentile lands. As a result, these pagan Gentiles are said to have glorified the God of Israel. Moreover, by the last chapter of Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus’ attitude toward Gentiles has changed to such an extent, that he orders his followers to make disciples of all the Gentile nations.

Now, just about everyone in this parish is a Gentile. And in large measure, we owe our membership in the One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church to the actions of a single desperate Canaanite mother who loved her daughter beyond the bounds of propriety. Her faith in the power of the God of Israel and her faithfulness to her daughter sparked the opening up of Jesus’ ministry, so that Gentiles like us might be welcomed into the household of God. So, let us give our heartfelt thanks to that nameless woman who persisted.

#Canaanite woman #Syrophoenician woman #racism #sexism #gentiles #jewellery #salvation #nevertheless she persisted #sermon #theology #Jesus #episcopal church #episcopal #episcopalian #The Episcopal Church #anglican #Anglican Communion #AnglicanChurch

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ollywears · 5 years

Photo

Olly Alexander wearing Lanvin “Happy” necklace at the Liverpool Sound City Festival gig (May 1, 2014).

#Olly Alexander #Years & Years #Years and Years #style #t-shirt #throwback #Communion #lanvin #necklace #jewellery #Happy #gig #live #festival #liverpool #uk #Liverpool Sound City 2014 #Liverpool Sound City #Liverpool Sound City Festival

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flourishandmajesty · 5 years

Photo

First Holy Communion season! A nice #sterlingsilver #communion #medal based on a vintage French mid 19th century religious medal with white #pearl and #handengraved #monogram on the reverse. #designedinireland #madeinireland #bespoke #jewellery. Love taking old references and reimagining them. https://www.instagram.com/p/BxZsZiTHdj7/?igshid=nyzw3hewk6d8

#sterlingsilver #communion #medal #pearl #handengraved #monogram #designedinireland #madeinireland #bespoke #jewellery

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saint-nevermore · 2 years

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oc asks: 1 and 2 for Nevermore, 8 and 15 for Pietre??

NEVERMORE: 1. How does your OC feel about their full name?

the only name he's probably not as fond of is his birthname which is a given i think, but even then he doesn't hate it.

2. What do strangers notice about them first?

he makes a homely 6' Fawn look fun-sized. there's no way dancing around the fact he's fucking huge for a Harpy. there's a lot that makes him stare-worthy and if it isn't his height it's his eyes or the distinct aura of "this guy is weird" if you're magically sensitive (bc of his boon)

PIETRE:

8. How much jewellery do they wear, and do they have a favourite or distinguishing piece?

the amulet is a Soraeven amulet he was given as a kid but you'd never hear that out of him unless you were a best friend. other than piercings he doesn't really wear jewellery.

15. Are their greatest flaw and their greatest strength related and in what way? (ie very caring and helpful but a doormat, or very observant and shrewd but often paranoid)

YES obviously ignoring the pros and cons of being a Magic Ghoul, being raised in a fairly chill but still devoted Soraeven Communion makes him very loyal in general. particularly after becoming a Lich and earning the title of Terra's Loneliest Wizard if Pietre becomes your friend you can expect him to have your back regardless of how long it's been since you last spoke. this becomes an issue since he's always sought validation and can develop some troubling attachment issues even if he wasn't treated great by the target of his affection. only example in-writing so far is when Lilith shows up (Drydera/his Soraeve in an amnesiac mortal form due to a curse he put on her) and he's simultaneously furious and convinced she's playing it up and fucking with him by pretending to not remember anything...and drawn in by her genuine kindness and compassionate nature and kind of really gets into hearing who's essentially been his God his whole life and undeath say she's sorry for him and mean it. still really mad about the whole deception thing but needing to stay with her.

ask meme list

#the lilith thing is fun to write this guy has so many problems and he accidentally solved most of Drydera's in what was supposed to be.#an act of revenge.....oops #fraizer draws #OC ask meme #asks #pietre #harbeest #ocs #lilith #nevverse

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modernday-jay · 2 years

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Okay my first idea where I was being snarky was a cock ring. hey at least I didn't suggest burger jewelry

But my actual idea will work especially if Allen is from an Italian American or Hispanic American family: a medal for one of the saints. St Christopher and St Michael are very common. They're typically given at important events like first communion, and the medal very rarely is the medal ever taken off.

They are usually made of gold and presented on a gold chain and they are frequently handed down from a family member so they are no joke.

Allen doesn't have to be super religious for this to be very important. I have a St Anthony medal that I guard with my life because it was given to me by my abuela and I'm not religious at all, but it still has great spiritual importance for me

>.> okay I think that's all I had to say

THAT’S… somehow not worse than the burger jewellery

OOOOH WAIT I REALLY LIKE THAT, although if it’s something allen would be given when he was younger and never takes off then i guess it might not be something alfred would have his hands on? at least, not in a spiderman situation where he needs to keep it safe so he can give it to allen later.

BUT, you know, i’ve been looking for something to replace regular allen’s dog tag with! because i love the idea of him wearing a necklace of some sort since it looks good, but idk… dog tags. they look sick but idk they’re pretty associated with the military and i dont want that for allen ✋

#i mean it could work if its ripped off him during a spidey fight and he’s freaking out about it #so alfreds gotta fight the baddie AND get it back #but yeah i think in an unrelated scenario alfreds gonna wanna give him something that he has to try not to lose in a fight #might go with a ring like in spidey 3 since allen with the medal is gonna just be canon now #i like it 😤🥺#and while i dont think he’s particularly religious it’s be more of a sentimental/spiritual thing for him too!#asks!

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oftenderweapons · 4 years

Text

The Power Couple - hyung line

Pairing: hyung line member x reader

Wordcount: 1.2k words circa, each

Genre: romance scenarios/imagine

Rating: suggested 18+

Hello, my darlings, sorry I didn’t post last week but exam season is insane and I’m seriously struggling :(

Anyways, I’ve been working on these and I hope I’ll be able to write and post the maknae line during the next week.

Did you enjoy Bang Bang Con The Live? I watched it with my ARMY squad and since we were still craving BTS material afterwards we did a 5th muster rewatch, YAY!

Okay, now TRIGGER WARNINGS: not much this week really, just mild allusions to smut, (a bit more descriptive in Yoongi’s piece), there are some more explicit thingies (ahem, collar, leash, generic mention on toys, stress relieving quickie) and milder but possibly sexy thingies (slightly revealing outfits), mild angst in Joon’s piece (namely minor harassment, nothing descriptive). Watch out for: one tense, insecure and lowkey (highkey) kinky Joon, one very soft Jin, one very tired, very whipped Min Suga and the usual energy fluff ball Hobi (also kinky, though)

I love you all, please stay safe <3

Here you can find the maknae line

And here you can find my masterlist

Namjoon

“You know we don’t have to do this.”

You offered him the string. “What if I want them all to know.”

"_____, I love you and I repeat, I will only do this if it's what you want. You have to give this to me. I won't take it from you. I seriously don't want to force this on you." He fixed his tie, loosening it a little. He was nervous. The car was slowly arriving to the venue. A couple more minutes and you would be out, photographers screaming for your attention, celebrities surrounding you, women envying you, men wanting you. It wasn't the first time you attended a red carpet as Namjoon's plus one, but the previous attempt had peaked with a cocky rapper putting his eyes on you, flirting inappropriately while Joon was busy and making you deeply uncomfortable. As a consequence, Joon had kept you close for the rest of the night and had to give up on having you beside him for a couple events after that, since you didn't feel safe enough to attend.

However, this afternoon he had come to your room with a hefty velvet box, looking at you with complete rapture in his eyes.

“You look like a dream come true.”

“I hope it’s a good dream,” you replied, waiting for the stylist to finish fixing your hair in a classy bun.

“A very good one.”

You were wearing matching suits. Regular, black silk suits, tailored exactly the same, the only difference was the fact that you weren’t wearing any shirt underneath your jacket.

“Thank you.”

“I have something for you.” He came closer, the stylist done with your hair, bowing kindly as you made a small bow to her in reply, thanking her for her work.

“I thought we said no jewellery.”

“Well, technically…” He opened the box, showing you a collar of diamonds. “You don’t have to.” He said sheepishly. “Wear it, I mean. And I don’t want people to think that I consider you an animal that needs to be collared, or a possession. I saw it and I thought you would love it.”

“Yes. I love it.” You touched it gently with your fingertip. “I’ll wear it.”

He smiled so brightly that you knew all the negative comments would never cast a shadow on the overwhelming joy he was showing in this moment: you would do unspeakable things to make him smile at you like that.

“Can I put it on you?”

“Yes, sir.” It was half a tease, half an admission of his dominance over you. In the secret language you had created together this meant that you trust him and that you allow him to take complete control over you, that he is entitled to do whatever he wants with you. It was also a way to reassure yourself that he would protect you tonight, that he wouldn’t leave your side and that he would take care of you. That no man would ever lay his eyes and hands on you tonight.

He clasped it easily around your neck, the measure just right, and you suspected he knew because of the way he uses his hands on your neck, randomly, sometimes to soothe you and support you, some others to arouse you and gain his own pleasure.

The tension on your shoulders eased a little as you saw your reflection in the mirror. There was no doubt you belonged to him, that you were his. Still, some anxiety snaked in your belly.

“I don’t really wanna push my luck,” he said, looking down, breaking eye contact, “but I had a small thing made to match the… necklace.”

You looked at him curiously. “Can I see?”

“I know you won’t judge me but I feel very vulnerable about this and I thought we should talk it out before you…”

“I love you.” You whispered, calming his gibbering. “Show me.”

He lifted the board where the necklace laid, showing another compartment of the box were a snaky string laid, all coiled up. You took it and unwrapped it.

A leash.

He looked at you. “You don’t have to say yes, we can use it another time, or not use it at all.”

It means guidance, belonging, discipline. All things you needed tonight.

“Yes.” You told him, confidence sparking in your eyes.

That night, when you walked down the red carpet you felt nothing but the cold sensation of the metal around your neck, and the scorching pride in Namjoon’s eyes.

Journalists asked questions, people took pictures, but the only thing that mattered was what you felt: you were Namjoon’s equal, with your identical suits, and at the same time you were his beloved pet, someone he would cherish, guide, defend and protect.

Seokjin

“Ready?”

“Yup.” Seokjin smiled a tight lipped smile and wrapped an arm around your waist.

“God, they won’t take their eyes off of you.”

Tonight you were supposed to attend a film premiere of one of Jin’s friends. It got you slightly uncomfortable, since it was your first official event with him as a couple. Of course ARMY had already seen you a few times since the official announcement of your relationship, once at the airport, as you came back from a quick getaway you and Jin had taken, then then in a bunch of pictures, and then during a vlive, when you had taken a small visit to say hi and introduce yourself, letting Jin lead you through the whole event and giving you the cue when he thought he needed some alone time with his fans. He had been very tactful in the whole revealing, hiding you enough to protect you from harmful stalkers, but also introducing you to ARMY like a single dad would present his girlfriend to his child.

“Is the dress inappropriate?”

“No. You’re stunning. I love it.” He pressed his nose to your temple. “I’m just worried.”

You leaned softly into him.

“There’s so much skin here...” He let one finger slide down the curve of your neck. “Everyone will be looking.” He kissed behind your ear. “You could wear a rubbish bag and they would still be looking.” He wished he had more skin to touch, but he was also grateful your body was pretty much covered up, the delicate green dress exposing nothing but your collarbones, with long chiffon sleeves, the corset decorated with a leaf embroidery, stopping just above your waist and then flowing down in lush emerald waves.

“I’m glad I wore my white suit.” He commented,

“You look incredible, love.” You complimented him.

“I needed to show them I deserve you.”

You laughed. “I’m the one who needs to one-up her game to match you.”

The back of the limo was quiet as you created that special space of communion and comfort you naturally slip in when you’re both silent.

“You’ll be by my side all night, right?” You murmured, worried. “There’s a lot of people and I feel like such an outsider...”

“Right beside you.” He comforted you. “So they can’t snatch you from me.”

You both giggled, his voice betraying his anxiety. “It will take a major calamity to get me away from you.”

“Like a very big magnet.” You frowned. “You know, attraction.” Your frown intensified. “They say I’m magnetic. the only way to beat me would be a really big magnet.”

Your mouth stretched in a tight lipped smile, hoping not to show how much you loved his unusual sense of humour.

“Are you nervous?” You asked him.

“It’s been a long week. I was hoping we could just stay in and chill. Instead we’ll have to go through all of this while I’m tired and tense. I really don’t feel like being among people tonight.” He sighed. “My social energies have reached a new minimum.”

“We can be pretty and silent, hide in the background.” You held his hand and kissed it, careful not to smear lipstick on it.

“I doubt they’ll let us. It’s your first public presence.”

“They’ve seen me on your vlives, on pictures.”

“They’ll want to see you live, up close, see how you interact.” He twisted his wrist to intertwine his fingers with yours.

“Then let them watch. We’ll casually brush them off. ARMY know you, and they will get to know me with time, no need to reveal our whole life to journalists. Plus, it’s not like we’re the main event of the night.”

“As if, darling. They’ve been waiting for this for so long they’ll be like vultures. I wish I could protect you.”

“It’s good, love. We’ll have each other’s back. We just need a secret code to say when to run and hide in the closest broom closet.”

He laughed. “Usually Namjoon is so good, you know, he’s an extrovert, he takes care of all the press and journalists so well.”

“It must be reassuring.”

“He does all the talking, J-Hope drowns them in pretty smiles and positive energy, and Jimin gets flirty and cute, and that’s all it takes. I can stand on the side, jump in when I’m more comfortable. They ease the anxiety a lot.”

“I’ll learn from them. I’ll have them teach me so I can help you," You stated reassuringly.

“Just hold my hand.”

You reached the venue and exited the limo, suddenly immersed in the flashing lights of cameras, Jin extending his hand to you, helping you out of the car. He kept his palm against yours, “I got you.” He whispered in your ear, then smiling brightly at you and inviting you to walk forward, indicating you the red carpet with his free arm, bowing slightly with perfect manners. He charmed you all over in that second.

“Follow the stewards’ lead. They’ll tell you when to stop, when to walk, where to look.” You started strolling comfortably, close to each other. “If you wanna run, just squeeze my hand three times and I’ll carry you to the closest broom closet.”

You smiled at each other. The sounds of camera shutters multiplied infinitely. Not that you really noticed. You were too caught up in your man’s smile. As you promised, you grabbed his hand and never let go.

Yoongi

“How did it go?”

“The interview?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re gonna hate it.” He plopped on the sofa.

“Was it that bad?”

“They kept asking questions about you.”

“Like?”

“Saying my new music really reflected how you brightened my life or something.”

You laughed and sat beside him, passing him a cold beer, your own drink in hand. “They really love the whole ‘love redeems you’ anthem. They can’t stand the idea of self growth and acceptance.”

“It kinda looks like the beauty saving the beast, because of AgustD being a bad boy who met love and found the right path.”

“So dumb.” You clinked your bottles. “Still, congrats for finally finishing AgustD promotion.”

“Yeah, but this means that next week I’ll be in Los Angeles. I need to meet a singer for a collab.”

You huffed. Being his girlfriend is not easy. It’s a matter of carefully planning your schedules, continuously living with two different clocks on your phones set in different time zones, sometimes even wearing two watches at the same time, one at your wrist, the other a nice pocket watch that he had gifted you for your first anniversary, so that you could always “have his time”, as he said.

“Well, then we’ll have to make the best of this weekend.” You nudged him with your elbow. He smiled at you knowingly then took a sip. He zapped through some tv programmes, finally settling on the news. Right in that moment a small clip of the two of you came up, something about his album sales or the fact that he donated a percentage to a school that you had visited together a while ago for a project.

“God, you look amazing, babe.” He licked his lips and stared at you smiling wide at the cameras. They went on discussing your relationship, which to the public was quite new, even though the announcement had come shortly after your two year anniversary, that is about a couple months ago.

“That’s cause you make me look radiant.” You took a sip yourself.

“Really, look at that!” They showed a short footage of your first public appearance, at his side during a music award. “Beautiful.”

You smiled mischievously, brushing his knee.

“You remember that night?” He said. That’s exactly what you were expecting.

“Of course. How could I forget it? You left one-month-long reminders.” You remembered how you had to postpone your regular medical checkups because of the bruises he had left around.

“You were so good.” He praised, his eyes half glazed over, caught in a memory.

You felt emboldened. “I wish we did it more often.” You turned towards him.

“Look how pretty.” He ignored your cue, and it was quite probably intentional. “Showing all those tits to the world.” He gulped a mouthful of beer and clicked his tongue. “The interviewer’s eyes kept going downwards.”

Your dress was not improper at all. It covered everything that needed to stay private, the long sleeved, high neck bodice had just a central stripe of mesh fabric, starting at your collar and hitting a few inches above your belly button, which let the crevice of your breasts be vaguely outlined, just vaguely, and Yoongi had risked losing his manners and self control over it. Photographers had loved your overall vibe, looking adorably ethereal, your hair braided in a crown, your flowy gown matching Yoongi’s lace shirt.

But of course your bodice caused a fuss the day after in the news. Not that you really cared. Yoongi had loved it, clasping your hand like crazy anytime a man came close, but at the same time parading you in front of the cameras, moving you around like a delicate nymph -- which he would undoubtedly claim as soon as the night was over. He swam in the calm and femininity you radiated, your energy matching his. All it would take was a twist of a wrist, a tap of a finger and he would be directing you in posing, your bodies moving simultaneously, as if you were nothing but a puppeteer and his toy, him pulling at your strings.

The whole experience awakened a connection so profound and intuitive, instinctual, that as you reached your hotel room together you still felt those magnets pushing and pulling you to each other, turning your lovemaking into some complicated dance, then into wild, rowdy fucking where no words were needed, your moans and groans saying exactly where to kiss, bite, hit, grope and fondle.

“Are you thinking about it too?” He asked.

“I miss it so much.” You whispered.

“Do you want to?” He kissed your temple. “Need me to?” He used his spare hand to massage your scalp.

Still, you noticed the dark circles under his eyes. “It’s okay. You’re tired.” You leaned into his hand and nuzzled into him.

“It’s been three weeks. Usually you can’t go three days without it.” He kissed you again, delivering eskimo kisses on your cheekbone. The tenderness of it was slowly gnawing at your insides.

“But you’re tired.” You whined. “Let’s just chill.” You grabbed his empty bottle and cuddled beside him. A few minutes later he was deep asleep, his head propped against the sofa and his mouth open. You covered him with a blanket and held him tighter.

Hoseok

“Oh, sweetie! Oh, love! Oh, my god! My girl, so good!” Hoseok cheered you on as you descended the stairs, careful not to stumble on your dress.

“Thank you, Hobi.” You touched your hair, falling in soft waves on one side of your face.

“Seriously, ____, you look so fucking good, baby.” He took your hand to spin you around for him, examining you carefully.

“Oh god.”

“I can change if you need me to, there’s an alternative upstairs and I have time, I can-”

“No baby, it’s… wow.” He eyed again the slit on your gown, starting mid-thigh and exposing the side of your left leg cheekily. His eyelashes batted like crazy, his hands already reaching for your bum, cupping it through the tight, sparkly fabric. The dress had a siren gown, and since it was quite daring you had the stylist prepare an alternative, since Hoseok couldn’t see you in it and you weren’t sure of his opinion. It’s not like you needed his approval, or that he wouldn’t let you wear it, but you weren’t completely sure of it, and you needed him boosting your ego a little. One single sign of unsurety and you would dash to the bedroom to change. But his beaming smile and the way his eyes were glued to your skin made you understand he would be lowkey upset by your change of outfit.

He looked unreal. His baby blue suit was highlighted by silver details, matching the sober sparkles of your grey dress. He looked you in the face, hesitating one second before pressing a blazing kiss on your lips. It was scorching, resembling the usual bolt of energy between the two of you.

“I need more.” He whispered against your mouth, licking your bottom lip.

“You know we’re gonna fuck it up.”

“I feel like fucking you up.” He murmured, a little disappointed that you were resisting him. You could feel his arousal against your hip.

You simply laughed. “They’re gonna pick us up in less than half an hour. We don’t have all that time.”

“We can take way less than that, you know it.”

Quickies with him were… perfect. Hot, messy, reckless. Merciless. His pace could be devilish, ruthless. Still-- “We’re gonna be sweaty and sleepy afterwards.” You grabbed the hair on his nape gently, holding him away from your face.

“So?” His hands, once on your hips, now were on the small of your back and slipping lower.

“I don’t want them to see you all freshly fucked out.” You murmured with a pout.

“Oh, are you jealous or are you worried they’re gonna see you all freshly fucked out?” He asked, nagging you, squeezing your ass.

“I just don’t want you to.” You replied, pout intensifying to the point it dimpled.

“Baby is jealous.” He teased you, his voice doing that cute ups and downs it does when he’s being deliberately cute and bratty. “You don’t want them seeing how good you are to daddy?”

That word. He was playing it dirty, pushing all your buttons: possessiveness, praise and your daddy kink. “Hobi, I swear to God, if you don't’ stop now you’re not getting any later. And I’ve spent the afternoon charging all the toys.” You warned him. And you were pretty sure you would stay true to your warning. Not 100% sure, but sure enough.

“Can I at least see what you’re wearing underneath?” He squeezed your bum once more, as if checking for the signs of undies.

“What makes you think I’m wearing something underneath this? After all it’s so damn tight.”

“Sweetie… Do you really need to tease me like this! Such a bad girl!” He laughed and at the same time he fixed his pants. Your dress wasn’t the only tight indument at the moment.

You headed for the living room, grabbing your shoes in the process, giving him a glance that invited him to follow you.

“You’re wearing those sandals, aren’t you?” He stared at the box, a pair of stilettos emerging from it, their sparkly strings catching his attention.

“Let me.” He motioned, helping you wear and latch them onto your feet.

“You truly are a vision, ____.” He was kneeling before you, looking at you wide eyed, his sweet smile edged with admiration and pride.

“You sure you don’t want to get rid of some tension before we head there?” He caressed your knee with apprehension. His personal pleasure would just be a minor advantage, what he really wanted was to help you with your nerves, since a couple days before you mentioned how worried you were about attending to such a big event.

“I don’t think I could even possibly enjoy it right now.” You put your hand atop his. “But ask me later, and with the adrenaline of the night and the relaxation of being done with it, I might be very interested.” You smiled, faking coyness.

In that moment his phone rang, probably the driver.

“Then let’s pick up from here later.” He let his hand trail along the naked back of your calf, kissing your hand and helping you up.

You couldn’t wait for the event to end. And for your night to truly begin.

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btwimkindagay · 3 years

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6 & 33? :)

Thanks for the ask! This is a fairly long answer and writing it has kept me entertained.

6. Describe your dream home:

Okay, so please bear in mind that I could not actually afford this, but a person can dream!

I would love a house with a proper country kitchen with a tiled floor (and under floor heating for the winter), a range cooker, midnight blue or sage green shaker style doors on all the cupboards, and solid oak work tops. I'd love a big kitchen-diner with a breakfast bar, and plenty of space for my friends to sit and for work to be done. I'd love a high ceiling with rafters to hang bundles of herbs and plaits of onions and garlic from to dry ready to be pulled down and added to cooking. I'd love the room to be light and airy, and always welcoming.

I would love a library room, or at least a wall of bookshelves in one of the rooms. I love to read and I would love to lend books to my friends too. I would want some soft chairs in there, and a bay window with a cushioned bench in it, so I could curl up there in the warmth and read, or sit there during storms and watch and listen to the rain. I think I prioritise comfort and friends in a lot of these spaces when I picture them, and I would ideally like a guest room so that my friends know that they are always welcome.

I would have a huge garden! Okay maybe not huge, because I'm pretty bad at weeding, but big enough that I could keep hens and ducks! I would have a vegetable patch. I'd grow rhubarb and rocket, broccoli and beans, carrots, peas, cabbage! More importantly I would have my own little orchard- apples, pears, plums, damsons, peaches, cherries, mulberries! And fruit bushes too: redcurrant, blackcurrant, white currant, raspberries, blackberries, loganberries, strawberries! I'd want anyone who visited to be able to partake in the fruits of my labour and my happiness, almost a kind fo communion. The garden would have space to play, and explore, and to BBQ, and sunbathe, and relax. I'd like a swing, a proper study one like you find on playgrounds too, and high enough that I could swing like a child without my feet touching the floor. I'd also love a little burbling stream that ran through the bottom, not so close that it would flood the house but close enough to hear it. The stones at the bottom would be visible through the clear water in the sun, and occasionally it would throw up treasures for me to tumble. One bank would have wild garlic and three cornered leek on for me to cook with. A hot tub or pool would be a nice addition, but a stream would do it for me!

33. If money was no object, what would your wardrobe be like:

Okay so this has some pictures and links as I have a 'fantasy shopping list' of things I can't afford, but I'll also talk about it because I can't include all the pictures and links or this would take weeks to write.

I would love love love to own lots of corsets in custom sizes because I have a large chest but small back relative to them. So I'm not usually well suited to over bust corsets but I love the look. I'd also like to have historical stays, and the corset shirts from corset story!

Perhaps somewhat in contradiction to all of this: several well fitting binders. I would love to be able to detach my boobs temporarily but alas they are permanent. So a couple of well fitting binders to flatten my chest would definitely be included for days when I don't want them there.

Also- boob tape so I can pull a Victoria and go shirtless in jackets.

These dressing gowns

Dresses. So many dresses. I already own about 50 from charity shops but I would buy and wear so many princess dresses, and 50s style swing dresses, and historical recreation dresses, and ball gowns!!

Lingerie to wear under blazer jackets! I like the Medusa thistle and spire bodysuits, though I'd need more support, they're a little NSFW

Boots! So many boots! Adventurer style boots especially!

Well fitting leather jackets and suit jackets! Well suits in general!

So much jewellery! I'm already a magpie in charity shops, but what I would really love to be able to afford is Victorian Bohemian garnet necklaces because they're just so nice and I love the colour

#i love getting asks #long post #ginny-lily

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space-blue · 3 years

Text

Portrait of an Artist in Love

9th competition win. It's a love letter to the world of Love Death + Robot's "Good Hunting" episode.

There is a motto within our guild:

'Your client is your Art.'

It dictates our rules, weaves itself into our practices, shapes our pride, and though our clients are made to understand its impact, the phrase itself is not spoken to outsiders. It is a tenet, a pillar of our teachings, an invisible chain around our wrists. A chain I wonder if inspector Merig has come to tug.

'You are a popular biomata craftsman and a respected guild member, Dr. Parahi,' he says, clearly fishing for a reaction. 'A true artist among steamwrights, I'm told.'

'Inspector, what is this visit about?'

'Just a few questions, if you please. Are you aware of the series of murders that have happened in the Kublai and Kodenshi districts?'

I smile tightly. So, this is about her after all.

'I do read the papers. Even if I didn't, the guild keeps us appraised of such... events as might disturb our work.'

'When did you first become aware of the killings?'

'After the one that happened at the Proctor's party. Since that was only a district over, everyone here was made aware of the case. No one knew then that it was serial.'

'We still don't know for sure,' the inspector says, pulling photographs out of a battered folder, 'but they all have a few things in common.'

He pushes the glossy black and white photographs forward. I find myself oddly surprised. The content might be gruesome, but the police department has a talented photographer on their payroll. All the bodies are angled to showcase the gaping injuries. They lay sprawled in pools of grey, blood diluted in hydrofill, I suppose.

'They were all either augmented or full biomata. They are all missing parts. A lot of parts.'

'Oh, please. Are you suggesting a guild member is behind this? Me, even? No self respecting craftsman would destroy someone else's work like that. Particularly not in such a barbaric fashion.'

'No, rest assured,' inspector Merig says, placating, 'we've already sorted things with your guild concerning alibis. At least in your case.'

Nothing in our code states that we should not try to help the police. There is, however, no incentive for me to volunteer information, and so I stare at him in expectant silence.

'Do you ever work on automata, Dr. Parahi?'

'Never. All of my work is meant for live grafting.'

I wave a hand to encompass the atelier space all around us. The copper and ivory limbs showcased at the forefront all are to exhibit taste and designs. The hands made of tantalum, titanium and tungsten, laid out on the cabinet to our left, are where the craftsmanship is on display. It is all a front, a showroom, as it were, despite the small workbench. That one is for clients in need of repairs or simple cosmetics. There is no automata on display or in use. It would constitute false advertisement in such a curated room.

'Would one be able to craft an automata out of parts taken from such victims?'

I feel a shiver run down my spine at the question. Surely, the real one will soon follow. It takes some effort to maintain the appearance of nonchalance, to not trigger the whirring of my knee joints with an anxious shift, to ignore the weight of the stare of my ancestors, perched in their gilded frames on the wall at my back. Six generations of steamwrights silently judging the last practising scion of their house, readying his lies.

'Of course,' I say, inclining my head with a smile, a show of scholarly indulgence. 'Depending on what they wanted to build. If needed, you could smelt and reforge to fit–well, depending on the material. The only thing you cannot transfer or reuse are the tubing and the cores. The engine needs are completely different, and automata don't require hydrofill. Anyone savvy enough can do this. It is not even considered guild work.'

'What about building biomata with them?'

Here it is... And what can I say? It is another tenet of ours that you should never deny a client the components they bring you. Our work is... a communion, a shared vision. A concept I highly doubt officer Merig would ever understand or appreciate. I look at him studiously as I mull over my answer, though there is nothing of interest to look at. He is what is derogatorily referred to in the milieu as a "meatbag". There is no Art to him. Not even a glimmer of cosmetic copper-gold, ivory or amber, not a whisper of inner mechanism, no murmur of churning steam.

'Obviously it can be done,' I answer, keeping up with the affable professor persona. 'People often inherit parts from deceased relatives and have legacy work done to integrate them. This would not be very different, except the guild is usually involved in the original disassembling process.'

'Could you tell the parts were taken by force, if someone presented them to you?'

'Not necessarily,' I reply, lying through my teeth. In for a copper, in for a silver: 'There are shunts that can be activated to section off limbs cleanly. If these were used, the limb would look as neat as if I'd taken it off the donor myself.'

I tap a ringed finger at one of the photographs, one of the more gruesome ones, as one of the parts removed was the insulation polysheet around the steam core.

'Providing materials has always been a popular way to offset the cost of the operations for our clients. However some of these parts you simply can't smelt or play pretend with. Anyone within the guild would know and call the police. This looks more like trophies to me, it's so pointless otherwise.'

Inspector Merig strokes his bearded chin. Though he appears to be considering my point, his lack of surprise makes me think the idea is not new to him.

'Could someone be out there,' he asks, 'someone not from the guild, enhancing themselves, or someone else, with the parts taken from the killings?'

I smile indulgently at this.

'Inspector Merig. Surely you realise setting a steam core engine inside a living being is nothing like automata work? You need to be a talented surgeon for the client to even survive. The creation of a biomata is Art in its truest form, combining medicine, metallurgy, jewellery, design, engineering, fine tuning more precise than clockwork, and the mastery of the gods' greatest gift: steam. Most of the processes involved are guild secrets too. If someone is out there trying to fiddle with an existing biomata without the proper training...' I tap my chin, thinking, hoping to sell it. 'It's possible... At least they could try. But the guild would take it about just as well as if the imperial botanists heard someone was growing Telura on their roof garden.'

Inspector Merig snorts at the comparison.

'Still, why come to me? Surely all of this could have been explained to you at the guildhall?'

'You came highly recommended. Most popular in the district, I was told.' Merig waves his gloved hand to encompass the shop and its shining collection of limbs and skeletal constructs. 'Certainly looks like it to me.'

There is a certain quality to the man's expression. The way his jaw is set, the tension around his eyes. It is a cousin to the apprehension I see in so many faces lying down on my workbench. A sort of uncertainty. It occurs to me then that maybe Inspector Meatbag here has been given a case in which he will forever be out of his depth. Maybe it's a test, maybe it's a punishment. All it means for me is opportunity.

'Ah, you want help identifying the makers of the missing pieces?'

'Yes. I hope you might also be able to tell me if you've seen any such parts in recent months.'

'I certainly can do that,' I offer, 'but the best person to consult remains the creator of the parts themselves.'

'That might not be possible. You see, all the parts we could trace back to a steamwright led back to a certain Dr. Asiheu, who has been missing for some time.'

'Wait a second... You mean several of the victims were clients of the same steamwright?'

Inspector Merig nods gravely as he spreads more pictures of close-ups on the table and takes notes as I systematically fail to remember ever seeing anything relevant, but offer several names for him to go and consult. It is my honest opinion that the woman first killed in Kodenshi had her work done by someone from the Eastern branch. By the time the Inspector rises again, shakes my hand and heads out with promises of 'being in touch', I am mentally exhausted. I lean against the locked door and lowered blinds, catching up on breath I've never run out of. In the darkened shop I make my way back to the table. I push the lever, one my grand-father so distastefully hid in the branch of a candelabra, and watch the slab of carved stone shift to reveal the staircase to the actual workshop, the one with my tools, the operating workbench and steam reactor.

I can almost feel it at my wrists, the invisible pull Linia has on me, my greatest work of Art.

She lays sprawled on the workbench, like a sultry painter's muse. We have another saying, more informal, that states that a client is never closer to perfection than when the world starts to doubt their humanity. She unfurls herself, titanium plates slithering over carved mother-of-pearl, tantalum rib cage pressing darkly against translucent syndermis, revealing the hydropump's viscous throbbing and the soft glow of her steam core, nestled under her heart. I reach out, brushing strands of hair back from her angular face, fingers gliding over the grooves and embossments etched as verdant jungle ferns across the planes of her brass temples.

'You heard.'

'I did,’ she murmurs against my palm. ‘They’ll never find Asiheu... But it seems I now own you as much as you own me.'

'You owned me from the start,' I say, chiding, and watch her eyes crease in her characteristic smile, the very same she gave me when she first came to me, a mangled toy with very little figure left to her, and figure, in steamwright lingo, refers to meat. Hers was a jigsaw of swollen, septic flesh, patch-worked with steel junk. She had no left arm, her jaw springs were slack and rusting, her hydropump was overheating her innards... She was a mess, a mockery of the Art. A malicious garage job.

'Who did this to you?' I asked.

She'd smiled with her eyes alone–blue eyes like windows into fields of ice that never thawed–arced into cold crescents. She lifted a sack and laid it across the counter between us, the mouth of it parting to reveal the bronze glimmer of joints, rubber fingertips and polycarbon tendons. I'd sealed my fate right then, by hastily gathering up the strings of the bag and reaching to the lever that would lock the atelier's door.

'Come. We can talk once I've given you some first aid.'

I'd seen the blood on the metal-composite fingers. I knew then, and every time thereafter, but she'd offered herself to me in full–this monster, this killer–to be my creation, if only I would make her perfect with the spoils of her vendetta.

And I was ever the perfectionist...

~~ September 2020 – Theme : Steampunk

#original story #original work #competition #win #steampunk #fantasy

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