#(well it was just offloaded so i didn’t re-pay for it or anything)

[1phakephan]

guys i have a confession to make…

i actually play dragon city

[whentheynameyoujoy]

Yup, Sure Was a Finale

I had an epiphany. The reason why I never re-watched the final two parts of Sozin’s Comet even though I’ve popped in episodes at random many times over the years isn’t that I can’t bear the sadness of seeing one of the best, most engaging narratives out there come to an end.

It’s simply that the finale isn’t all that good.

Some honorable mentions of what was enjoyable.

(+) This

Just this.

(+) The Church of Zutara has another convert

“Are you sure they don’t get together?” Hubster, 2020

(+) The tragedy of Azula

And the fact that it’s acknowledged as such. I hope Zuko will do his best to get her help and have a relationship with her…

(+) Sokka being a big bro

And the whole airship sequence in general. It’s wonderfully paced and plotted, with moments of humor, real stakes, Toph being both badass and a scared crying kid, Sokka strategizing and protecting, Suki saving the day, and non-benders being instrumental in thwarting the bad guy firebender’s plans. Would be shame if Bryke never portrayed them this capable ever again…

And now for the main course.

(-) Blink and its over

The wrap-up feels too quick (hashtag Needs More ROtK-style False Endings). A part of this is due to how fast the story goes from the thick of the action to hastily tying up a bunch of loose ends, but the larger issue is how Book 3’s uneven pacing comes home to roost. After spending half a season on filler episodes that at best subtly flesh out established characters while dancing around a huge lionturtle-shaped hole, and at worst contradict the theme of “no one is born bad” with “you’re a hot mess because your great-grandfathers didn’t get along too well”, the frantic “go go go” rush of the second half screeches to a halt with “they won and everyone was happy because now the right people have power and it will be all good from now on yup nothing more to deal with baiiiii”.

Yes, I know, it’s a kids’ show. But goddamn, this particular kids’ show has proven so many times it can do better than the expected tropiness. Showing the characters in their roles as builders of a new world was the least that could have been done.

Oh well!

(-) Ursa

We’ll never know. There will never be a story that delves into this. Yup. Shall forever remain but an intriguing mystery. Is good, though. Mystery is better than a story where Ursa shares her son’s penchant for forgetfulness. Imagine how embarrassing that would be. Speaking of which…

(-) What does Mai see in this jerkbender?

Look, I like to harp a lot on the mess of inconsistent writing that’s Mai but let’s unpack this scene from her perspective, shall we?

Zuko forgot about her! It totally slipped his mind that the one person who prioritized the safety of his dumb ass was rotting in the worst prison in the Fire Nation—because of him! And she was rotting there long enough after the final Agni Kai for the news of Zuko’s upcoming coronation to spread and her uncle to feel sufficiently secure to release her. But then the coronation scene is attended by every single member of Gaang & Friends that was imprisoned?

So what this tells me is that either a) the invasion force had the ability to break themselves out the whole time and for some reason decided not to exercise it until after the war was over, b) Zuko forgot about them as well and no one thought to remind him there were prisons full of POWs until Mai arrived, or, and that’s even better, c) Zuko took care to free every single resistance fighter while making sure Mai would be the one to stay behind bars.

Never thought I’d say this but Mai? Honey? You deserve so much better.

(-) “What does Katara want?”

Asked no one in the writers’ room ever, apparently.

This is not so much anti Cataang as anti romance stories that pay attention to the needs, opinions, and wants of only one partner in general. Over the previous 60 episodes, Katara actively expressed romantic interest in Aang exactly, wait for it,

Once.

And it got retconned out of relevance by the following two interactions where the possibility of a romantic relationship came up, making the Headband dance pretty easy to reclassify as just one of those examples where Aang “teaches” Katara to have fun (as if one of the main obstacles to her having fun wasn’t him constantly fooling around and offloading his duties). And because the writers not only didn’t succeed in portraying Katara’s internal state of mind, but also failed to root her reluctance to pursue a relationship in outside circumstances that could change, her sudden state of unconfused once Aang steps into the spotlight has a single canonical explanation that as much as approaches coherency.

The fact is, though, that trying to interpret canon Cataang from a Watsonian perspective is an exercise in foolishness. Because there is no Watsonian justification for the ship and never has been. Bryke simply conceived of Katara as nothing but a tropey prize for Aang, never saw her as anything beyond that, and were perfectly happy to go on and immortalize her as a passive broodmare for the rest of her life.

And I fully intend to die mad about it.

(-) Iroh dips

OK, it’s been long apparent that the show doesn’t intend to do anything about Iroh’s complicity in AzulOzai’s regime in any meaningful way, and that his sole motivation for doing anything whatsoever is Zuko whom he views as a replacement son which is supposed to be good for some reason. But the finale has him abandon even that, and instead turns him full-on YOLO, idgaf anymore. It really throws Iroh’s supposed love for Zuko into doubt when his last act in the entire show is to take a half-educated 16-year old with no political savvy or an heir to secure a dynastic continuity and plomp him on the throne of a war-mongering imperialist regime where the entirety of the militarist and ruling class is guaranteed to fight him tooth and nail for power.

(I sure hope Mai’s ready to start popping out babies by tea-time otherwise the whole country is fukd in about a week)

Christ, how hard would it be to have Iroh keep the throne warm for a few years while Zuko is getting ready to succeed him? Not only would it make the whole FN reformation bit quite likelier to occur, it would require Iroh’s hedonistic ass to actually sacrifice something for once. And not having Zuko ascend to power, instead spending some time bettering and educating himself first, would be a wonderful message that no matter what you endured and overcame, you never stop growing. A kids’ show, remember?

(-) The conquering of Ba Sing Se

Gee, I feel so blessed to have my attention diverted from battlefields which actually matter to an old dude vanity project I would have been perfectly happy to assume resolved itself off-screen.

The White Lotus in general just bugs me. I was fine with the individual characters and their overall passivity when they were portrayed as lone dissenters living under circumstances where it wasn’t really possible for any single person to mount a meaningful resistance. But as members of a far-reaching shadowy organization that’s left the real fight to a bunch of kids for 59 episodes straight and didn’t turn up until a perfect opportunity presented itself to take control of the largest city in the world and bask in the spotlight?

Yeah, no.

Similarly to the lionturtle-ex-machina, the White Lotus represents a huge missed opportunity for a season-long storytelling. Here’s just a brief list of what they could have been doing throughout Book 3:

orchestrating a Fire Nation uprising;

gathering those directly persecuted by AzulOzai’s regime to help Zuko keep his hold on power once he’s crowned;

establishing themselves as a viable alternative to Ozai;

sabotaging Fire Nation��s war efforts from the inside;

countering Fire Nation propaganda (Asha Greyjoy’s pinecones, anyone?);

running a supply network to alleviate the suffering of Earth Kingdom citizens.

Instead, they sit on their asses until the time comes to claim personal glory.

You know what, good on Bryke for making me conclude that in comparison, the Freedom Fighters were perfectly unproblematic, actually.

(-) Fire Lord Dead-by-Dawn

Yes, a kids’ show, I know! But ffs, this is the same kids’ show that came up with Long Feng and portrayed courtly intrigue, kingly puppets, secret police, spy networks, and information wars. Was it really too much of me to expect something other than “enlightened despot solves everything”? Especially if said enlightened despot has persisting anger issues, no personal support system, no base of followers, and no political experience whatsoever?

If Zuko’s actually serious about regaining the Fire Nation’s honor (i.e. by dismantling the country’s military machine, decolonizing the Earth Kingdom, paying reparations to everyone and their lemur, and funding any and all cultural restoration projects Aang and the SWT come up with), then there is no way, no way in the universe that he doesn’t face a civil war, deposing, and execution within a month.

One reason why his future as a Fire Lord seems rather bleak is that little’s been shown about the actual subjects of AzulOzai’s regime. While we get a vague reassurance that “no Toph, they’re not born bad” (le shockings), they largely remain a voiceless uniform mass of brainwashed clapping seals. What is their view on the Fire Nation’s crimes? Do they associate their condition with their country’s war-mongering? How will they react when Zuko starts dismantling the country piece by piece to rebuild it, bringing it to economic ruin? What will they do when noble Ozai loyalists come out of the woodwork and begin rounding them up under the banner of “Make the Fire Nation Great Again?”

I have no idea, and Zuko doesn’t either because he’s unironically more qualified to rule the Earth Kingdom than his own people.

You know what would have been better? Fire Lord Iroh, White Lotus pulling the strings to maintain the regime, and Crown Prince/People’s Champion Zuko travelling the Fire Nation with Aang and an army of tutors to promote the new boss, only to realize that absolute monarchy is kinda crap for the people he’s one day supposed to rule and gaining their support by ceding some power to them.

I’d laser holes into my TV due to how much I’d enjoy watching that.

(-) All hail Avatar Rock

Literally and metaphorically. Aang doesn’t sacrifice anything, gets everything, and the clever solution of going about getting said everything is handed to him on a silver platter, requiring no active participation on his part whatsoever.

He doesn’t work to unblock his chakras, spiritually or physically.

He only speaks to his past lives to get a pat on the back and a bow-tied solution he could mindlessly follow.

Energy-bending doesn’t require any sacrifice from him, leaves no lasting marks, and only serves for the narrative to praise him as the rare individual that’s unbendable and thus so very very special.

The most infuriating thing is, however, that Aang is clearly shown as being able to beat Ozai without either the Avatar state, or energy-bending.

And he chooses not to. From this moment on, Aang no longer fights to save the world. He fights to preserve his beliefs, going directly against the instructions of his past lives and effectively reneging on his duties as the Avatar.

Again.

It’s not like you can’t portray Aang’s faithfulness to his spiritual beliefs as the key to beating Ozai and saving the world. But that’s not what the show did. There is no link between Aang sparing Ozai and securing a better future, quite to the contrary—Ozai’s survival ends up being a massive problem for the continuation of Zuko’s rule, and consequently a threat to the world at large. His survival benefits Aang and no one else.

Aang’s spiritual purity and his status as a savior of the world are allowed to coexist only due to a deliberate stroke of a writer’s pen.

And I hate it.

Welp, nothing to do about it now except to bury myself up to my tits in fix-it fics I guess.

[writingfortoomanyfandoms]

Holding Up The Universe

Pairing: Gwilym Lee!Brian May x Reader

Summary: She worked in an animal shelter and sometimes it felt a bit too much like she was holding up the universe

Requested: No

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: I’ve been talking about this fic for so long but for Day Three of my 4K Write Fest I actually finished it!! I hope you guys enjoy reading it, I loved writing it. As always, please remember to let me know what you thought - comment, reblog, send an ask, anything! I love hearing from you guys!!!

And if you wanna check out the other things that will be coming out for the Write Fest click here: 4K Write Fest

The woman at the desk in the lobby of the animal shelter was reading a book.

Brian couldn’t help but stare at her as he paused in the doorway, the door being propped open by a chair to let in the warm summer breeze. 

If it weren’t for the heavy cardboard box in his hands, the contents of which had just begun to move a little, the tiny animal inside seemingly having just woken up, he wondered whether or not he would have admired the woman for a little longer.

“Hi - sorry to bother you,” Brian spoke up instead, gaining the attention of the woman, whose head snapped up, wide eyed in surprise at her sudden company.

A smile quickly formed on her face as she bookmarked her page, shaking her head at him.

“Hey, sorry about that. Wasn’t expecting it to be busy today,” she assured him, placing her book down and standing up from behind the desk. “How can I help you?”

“I found a hedgehog in my garden earlier today,” Brian explained awkwardly and she gestured for him to bring the box over and set it down on the table. 

“Was she injured at all?” The woman inquired, opening the cardboard box.

“Yeah, I think so. Sorry - I wasn’t sure where else to bring him,” Brian told her apologetically. The woman gave him a dazzling smile, shrugging her shoulders at his concerned tone.

“It’s alright - we mainly just do rescue animals like dogs, cats, rabbits and such but we’d never turn away a hedgehog in need,” she assured him, winking. That simple action went straight to his heart and had him beaming back at her.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Brian said, for lack of a witty response on his part.

“So he was just in your garden?” 

“Yeah, just chilling there.” Brian confirmed. 

“Aw, well, we’ll definitely get her checked out, make sure she’s okay and we’ll see what happens,” the woman said with a bright smile that lit up her eyes.

“Thanks!” Brian said. “Do you want me to move the box for you? It’s pretty heavy,” he offered.

“Um, yeah, sure if you’re offering - we’re low staffed today because it’s been so empty lately and one of my coworkers called in sick this morning anyway,” the woman laughed, pushing open the door behind the desk, which presumably led to where the animals currently being cared for in the rescue centre were kept. 

“So how many are in today?”

“Just me and another girl,” she shrugged. “But I think she’s out in the back. She’s new so we don’t talk much,” Brian joined in with her laughter.

“I’m Brian, by the way,” the woman gestured for him to put down the box on the table in the back room, where there were pens filled with sawdust and little habitats, holes in the wall where the animals were able to go through into the garden outside the back of the rescue centre. 

Brian presumed that this was where they would keep the nocturnal wild animals before they were able to be safely re-released into their natural habitats.

The woman held out her hand to Brian once he had placed the box containing the hedgehog onto the table she indicated to him.

“Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you,” Brian said as he took her hand, thrilled at having learnt her name.

“You too! Thanks for bringing the little guy in - a lot of people wouldn’t have,” Y/N said, letting go of Brian’s hand and opening the cardboard box to look at the hedgehog, which had nestled itself comfortably into the towels which Brian had put in the bottom of the box, unsure of the best course of action of how to care for the small animal on his trip over to the rescue shelter. 

“Thanks for looking after him,” Brian shrugged in response, taking the chance as Y/N was examining the hedgehog to allow his eyes to trace over her features, drinking her in in a way that he knew would probably make her uncomfortable if she caught him doing it, but he couldn’t help it. 

Brian thought she was beautiful.

///

Brian hated himself for how much he found himself visiting the rescue centre that Y/N worked at.

The first few times he came after coming in the first time to drop off the hedgehog, he had done so under the premise that he was checking up on the little animal that he had brought in, wanting to check up on it’s progress and make sure that it was healing from the broken leg it had - Y/N had explained the extent of the hedgehog’s injuries to him the second time he had come in, eager to let him know the progress of the animal he had saved. 

By this point, three weeks after having originally met her, Brian didn’t even attempt to pretend that he was at the rescue centre for any reason other than to see Y/N.

Y/N didn’t seem to mind, though. 

She never failed to greet him with a wide smile, her eyes sparkling with pure joy. Something which he would sometimes make fun of her for, claiming that he must be the best part of her day judging by how happy she seemed every time that he entered into the centre. 

Y/N claimed that her happiness came as a result of the coffee which Brian had taken to buying her on his way over.

Everytime that he would pay her a visit, Y/N would take him to see the animals currently residing in the shelter under her care. Brian loved those moments, to be able to see Y/N completely in her element, walking around the shelter with such confidence, knowing exactly what she needed to do to ensure the safety and well-being of the animals.

“Back again?” Y/N teased when Brian walked into the rescue shelter. He raised his eyebrows at her and tilted his head back towards the door.

“I can go, if you want - I’m sure one of the guys would happily take this coffee if you don’t want it?” 

“Let's not be rash now,” Y/N protested, making Brian laugh, taking the coffee over and placing it into her outstretched hand. “How’s it going with the guys anyway? Any advances on the record?” 

It hadn’t taken long for Y/N to recognise Brian as being the guitarist in Queen, she was a fan of theirs and the second time Brian had come in she had been straight-up and asked him whether or not it was actually him. 

Brian had been wary about agreeing, unsure of what her reaction would be. But she had jumped to apologise about ambushing him with the question, assuring him that she had no malicious intent against him through placing his identity. 

Brian had trusted her immediately and confirmed her suspicions, laughing when she recounted her story to him about going to see them play at their last London show.

“Slowly,” Brian admitted with a sigh - he had taken to offloading his worries about the albums onto her, knowing that she wouldn’t spread his concerns any further than just between the two of them, thankful to now have a confidant. It went two ways, though, of course, he was  often the person who Y/N would go to to vent about her coworkers and how stressed she felt with how understaffed they actually were at the shelter.

“Still no inspiration?” Y/N asked sympathetically as Brian dragged up a chair to sit opposite the desk she was sat behind.

“No - and the few songs we have managed to write we can’t agree on,” he added.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that Roger hates everything Freddie’s written, Freddie hates everything I’ve written, I hate everything Deaky’s written and he hates everything that Roger’s written. It all goes around in circles but it means that we can’t agree on any songs that all of us actually like,” Brian grumbled.

“Sounds like fun,” Brian released a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head.

“I’m pretty close to just breaking my guitar over my head if I’m honest,” he stated, revelling in the sound of laughter it brought from her. 

“How long are you there for?” Brian glanced at the clock on the desk and let out a sigh. 

“I’m meant to be there in half an hour and we probably won’t leave until midnight, when Fred quite literally passes out,” Y/N pouted at him sympathetically. “How long are you working for?”

“I was meant to be getting off in an hour and a half but Jess called in sick-”

“Again?”

“My sentiments exactly,” Y/N agreed grimly. “So I’m staying late again.”

“You’re not working tomorrow though, are you?” Brian asked, trying to hide the hope in his voice but Y/N appeared to pick up on it regardless, narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously.

“Not yet, but you never really know with this job,” Y/N confirmed. “What’s going on?”

“I just… I was wondering if you’d maybe want to get some coffee together,” Brian proposed. Y/N lifted her cup at him.

“What did you think we were doing right now?” She asked but when Brian looked at her he saw the mischievous twinkle in her eye and let out a sigh, rolling his eyes.

“You’re really gonna make me ask it?”

“How else will I know that we’re on the same page?”

“God you’re annoying.”

“Do you want to get coffee together or not?” Brian smiled at her expression.

“Y/N Y/L/N, if you could spare the time from your incredibly busy schedule, tomorrow would you like to go on a date with me?”

///

“You seem nervous,” Brian commented when he opened the door to his apartment to see his girlfriend on the other side, a bottle of wine in her hand and a nervous smile on her face.

“Probably because I am,” Y/N retorted, rolling her eyes. Brian stepped to the side to allow Y/N into the hallway, chuckling at her words.

“I don’t know why,” he said, pecking her lips quickly.

“Oh yeah, can’t imagine,” Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes at his nonchalant attitude. “Not like I’m about to meet your best friends, nevermind the other members of Queen.”

“Trust me, they’re all tossers,” Brian assured her. “Nothing to worry about,” he added, pressing a kiss to her head.

“Easy for you to say,” Y/N muttered. “You’ve already met them.”

Brian laughed again, placing his hands on her shoulders and steering her further into his apartment, kicking the front door closed behind them.

“You’d hope I had wouldn’t you - considering that we’re in a band together and all,” Brian mused.

“Is that her, darling?” Freddie called from the kitchen, where he was standing with John, who was uncapping two bottles of beer. 

“Yeah! This is Y/N,” he confirmed.

“Nice to meet you, darling, Bri has talked non-stop about you,” Freddie was swift to move over towards her, a charming smile on his face as he held his hand out towards her. 

“N-nice to meet you too,” Brian squeezed Y/N’s shoulder affectionately.

“She’s a bit nervous. She’s a fan,” Brian informed Freddie, whose eyes lit up in response. John was watching the interaction with amusement dancing across his face. All the guys loved seeing people interacting with and talking to Freedie for the first time, especially people who were fans of the band as they never really knew what to expect from the singer.

“Oh that’s wonderful!” Freddie enthused, taking Y/N’s hand and shaking it, despite her not having offered it to him. “We’re also big fans - Deaky here is actually my biggest fan.”

John looked at him, expressionless other than a slightly raised eyebrow. He turned his eyes onto Y/N and said, completely deadpan: “I’ve never loved anyone more than I love Freddie.”

“Good to know,” a woman’s voice stated from behind Brian and Y/N.

“Y/N - this is Deaky’s girlfriend, Veronica. Veronica, this is Y/N.”

“Of course you are!” Veronica smiled, holding out her hand for Y/N to take. “We’ve all heard so much about you.”

“That seems to be the theme of the evening, yeah.” Y/N chuckled, looking at Brian in amusement. “How much do you talk about me, exactly?”

“Oh it’s fucking endless, honestly - hedgehog girl this, hedgehog girl that. Makes me consider taking a drumstick and shoving it through my own eye.” Roger grumbled.

“It’s nice to meet you too.”

///

“Shit - Y/N? What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

Y/N had gotten three steps into Brian’s apartment and started to cry.

Brian had rushed out of the kitchen, where he was preparing dinner for the two of them, at the sound of her sobs, his heart clenching with worry as he observed her.

“Fuck - come here,” Brian pulled her into his arms, hugging her as close as he could manage, dropping his chin on top of her head and rocking them both backwards and forwards gently.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N sobbed into his chest. Brian rubbed his hands up and down her arm in his best attempt at comforting her.

“You don’t need to be sorry, Angel,” Brian soothed, pressing his lips to her forehead. “Come on, let's get you sat down somewhere more comfortable, yeah?” He suggested and Y/N nodded with a little sniffle, pulling away and wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper.

Y/N allowed Brian to lead her into his living room, where he pushed her gently down onto the sofa, grabbing the blanket from its back and draping it over her, watching as she sunk into the pillows, the personification of exhaustion when her eyes fell closed, a few more tears slipping down her cheeks from under her now-closed eyelids.

“Where are you going?” Y/N whimpered, her eyes opening when Brian began to move away from the sofa.

“Just gonna turn the dinner off - don’t want it getting burnt, sweetheart,” Brian soothed her, kissing her forehead again before straightening up. “I’ll be back in two minutes,” he promised.

When he returned he brought with him two mugs of tea and a pack of biscuits, knowing by now in their relationship the best way to calm her down when she was upset. 

Y/N wordlessly held her arms out for him, though, and Brian sat on the sofa next to her, pulling her into his grip as she began to cry a little again. 

“You wanna talk about it, Angel?” Brian probed gently once Y/N’s tears seemed to subside, little sniffles and the occasional tear left in their wake.

“I’m just so stressed, Bri,” she admitted, nestling herself closer to him, a mournful expression on her face.

“Shelter stuff?” Brian asked sympathetically, kissing the top of her head.

“Yeah I just… it feels like I’m the only one working there, you know? And it’s just so stressful and I hate the people I work with and I love the animals - I do! I love that I can help them and everything but it just all feels so far out of my control so much of the time and I don’t… I just feel so alone there, like everyone and everything is relying solely on me,” the words tumbled quickly from her lips, as though she had been holding them inside of herself for so long that they were relieved to finally be able to burst free.

Brian’s arms tightened around her.

“I’m sorry, Angel.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know,” Brian conceded before shrugging a little helplessly. “But I’m still sorry that you feel like this.”

“Does it make me a bad person?” Y/N questioned after a couple of minutes of silence filling the room.

“No - you’re human, Y/N/N. And you do practically run that shelter alone half the time with how understaffed you are and the amount of times people call in sick. Of course you’re tired and stressed, anyone can see how much you love the animals and how good you are at looking after them. You’re not a bad person for needing a break, okay, Angel?”

“Okay.”

“You feeling better?” Brian asked and Y/N lent forwards to pick up her mug of tea before nestling back into Brian’s side.

“Much - sorry about that.”

“Stop apologising, sweetheart, I’m just glad I could help.”

[mvssmallow]

CWAC: Chapter 21 (temporary re-upload)

Cloudy With A Chance

Part 21: …of red

Masterlist

There are regular sighs of relief and then there’s the sigh of relief he drowns in as soon as he sinks into their bed for the first time in nearly two weeks.

Hanbin smirks in his direction but he doesn’t care how lame this happiness makes him. He wants Hanbin to know.

“You are so dramatic.” Hanbin says as he tucks the sheets around him. “Everyone expects it to be me but it’s always you.”

He stretches out and yawns loudly. “Well, I have a lot of good reasons to be. You’re the first ten.”

Hanbin groans in embarrassment as he climbs in bed. “That’s disgusting.”

There’s silence for a few moments as they both settle back into this life again. Part of him thought it’d be weird and awkward, like two strangers sharing a common space out of obligation but it surprises him in a way, how easily they can go from sharp and ugly arguments to the soft-comfortable warmth of ‘Hanbin and Jiwon’ again.

He sighs a second time. He’s lucky. He knows. Whoever is looking out for him has his eternal gratitude.

“Are you just going to sigh your way through the rest of our lives?”  Hanbin asks, amused.

“Yep.”

“I’m really looking forward to it.”

“The rest of our lives?”

“No. You sighing.”

He kicks at Hanbin’s ankles under the sheets. “Don’t be rude. I’m injured.”

Hanbin giggles and rolls over to snuggle right up against his left arm again. It’s weird how much he was waiting for it and how, out of all the million things he missed when they were apart, this was right up there near the top.

Sleep beckons him closer and closer but there’s still a thought that has been gnawing away at him all night.

“Hey, um. Can I ask you something?” He starts apprehensively.

“Yeah?”

“Where did you come from? I mean, why were you all dressed up when you came to the hospital?”

Hanbin is restless next to him and for a split second he gets the sinking feeling that they’re about to have their third argument but after finding the right spot under the sheets, Hanbin just ends up shifting closer.

“I was at my dad’s company dinner.”

It’s a simple reply. As if it was no big deal at all. He didn’t know what kind of answer he was expecting but it definitely wasn’t that.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, if they didn’t already hate me before they’re really going to hate me now aren’t they?”

He can feel Hanbin shrug his shoulders. “We can’t do anything about that. I’m done arguing with them though. I’m so tired of it.”

“What do you mean done?” He asks, rolling over so they’re facing each other. “They’re okay with this now?”

Hanbin laughs and looks at him with a world-weary expression. “No, we’re still fighting about this but I’m just trying to ignore it now. I mean, it’s not working that well but I can’t think about it anymore. I can’t let that happen again. It kind of messed me up for awhile. You probably notice....”

He nods. To say he merely ‘noticed’ would be an understatement. “How come you changed your mind all the sudden though? Did something happen at the dinner?”

Hanbin just shakes his head. There’s a long pause before he says something again.

****

“Ten days isn’t a long time.” He starts carefully. “But it really felt like it.”

“I know.” Jiwon replies.

“And this whole day just felt like three days rolled into one. Like it was longer than 24 hours.”

Jiwon’s fingers find his and it takes him by surprise, how much his body always subconsciously misses Jiwon’s touch. Even the smallest things still set off an army of butterflies in his stomach.

“You want to tell me about it?”

There’s no desire to relive the last 6 hours all over again but he owes Jiwon this. He owes their relationship this.

“Okay...but I just want to say that I’m not making excuses for myself and I’m not blaming anybody. I just want to say that before I start.” His voice is shaky at first but it gets easier and more steady as he continues. “Well. You know I kind of went crazy. It started with that Mic Night at the start of the month, the one you won. I was so happy for you and I was so proud of you or something, not that I had any role in you winning but I don’t know, it was just nice to share that kind of thing with you. I haven’t really had that with anybody before.”

“You’re kinda selling yourself short there-”

“No, don’t interrupt me! Just let me get it all out then you can say whatever you want.”

“Okay....”

“So straight after the Mic Night I was on some kind of high but then my mum called to say that she knew about us. After that, it just all went to shit to be honest. It was like eating a ton of sugar for days and days then suddenly getting the withdrawal crash. I didn’t know how to deal with it. My mind wasn’t right. I was just used to feeling nothing for a long time.”

He pauses, wondering if he’s said too much or if Jiwon thinks he’s just offloading all his problems onto him. The pause stretches on for too long and he’s debating whether or not to just end it right there but then he feels rough fingers squeezing his own under the sheets.

“It’s okay. Tell me, I want to know.” Jiwon turns off the beside light and rests a chin against his right shoulder. He always feels safer in the dark.

“I’ve pretty much always been a disappointment to my parents. All the guilt just caught up with me I guess. I felt like I got so lucky with you that I needed pay my dues somehow or make some kind of sacrifice for all the good things that were happening. I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense but that’s why I let my parents take control of my life. I felt like I owed them. I wanted to do this thing and be normal for them.”

“I’m not blaming them.” He reiterates again. “Not really. It’s not their fault I turned out so messed up.”

“But I don’t care if you are. It’s kind of a package deal Hanbin. It wouldn’t be the same if we were different people.” Jiwon says. “And I don’t want it any differently.”

“I know. I know.” He nods even though it’s dark. “Anyway, they set me up with the CEO’s daughter, Eunji, and I had to take her to the company dinner. I hate myself for going along with that stupid fake charade. I let her believe that it was a real date and that she had a chance. But that was probably the theme for night because everyone there was pretending to be something that they’re weren’t and trying please people that they didn’t even like. I felt so stupid sitting next to her but she turned out to be a better person than me because after the third or fourth question, she figured out that I liked you.”

“How could she figure that out? She doesn’t know me.”

He sighs. “Apparently every second word out of my mouth was your name. We got lucky with her. She was good about it and I really owe her one for covering my ass.”

“Sounds like it turned out okay. Did something else happen?”

“Both of our parents were hovering around like flies all night. They just made her feel worse and worse because they kept talking about how she’s had a crush on me since we were kids and how she and I could take over the company and keep it in the family. After she figured out that we really weren’t on a romantic date she just gave me the saddest look and that’s when I felt like the shittiest person in the world. She just sat there all night, smiling and pretending to be happy at the same time that I was there pretending to be normal. I guess we were both controlled by our parents and in the end, neither of us were happy. I can’t let that happen again. She’s a good person. She deserves better than a lie.”

Jiwon hums in sympathy and presses a kiss on his shoulder. “So do you.”

“She accidentally read the text June sent me and told me to go see you. I think she told my parents I was sick and went home, not that it stopped them from calling my phone every two minutes to leave angry rants about responsibility and family honor. Those were fun to listen to.”

“I never got to thank Eunji though. I need to do that. Maybe I’ll just send her flowers for the rest of her life.” He muses. “Before I left she asked me why I was wasting my time pretending to be something I’m not and how pretending to be normal isn’t a victimless crime. You just drag everyone into your lie. Anyway, you asked me why I changed my mind about you? I never changed my mind about you. I never changed how I felt about you. I was just too messed up and stupid to admit it and fight for it.”

When he finishes, there’s silence again. Jiwon’s fingers are slack in his grip and the only sound in the room is even breathing and the distant, reassuring traffic from the streets below them.

He doesn’t know when Jiwon fell asleep but at least he got say everything out loud instead of carrying it around for another month. At least he’s trying to break his bad habits.

****

The knocks and phone calls start at 7am.

“URGH! What the fuck! Who is even up this early!” Jiwon groans into his pillow and buries himself under all their blankets.

“It’s them.”

“Who?”

“My parents.”

Jiwon freezes under the blankets and turns around slowly to face him with sleepy eyes, messy hair and a dopey confused expression. If he needed any more strength and courage to face his parents, he was looking right at it.

“What? What are they doing here?”

He sits up. “Surveillance probably. Stay in here, I’ll....um, deal with them.”

Jiwon’s fingers pull him back for a moment and there’s a brief millisecond of clear, sharp focus in his eyes. “If there’s yelling, I’m coming out there.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll be okay. Go back to sleep.”

He throws on Jiwon’s red plaid shirt and pads out to open the door. There’s barely a chance to get out a greeting before they’re all over him with the questions.

“Are you really sick?” His mother asks, skeptical but trying to hide it. “Eunji said you went home early because you were sick?”

“Um, a little bit.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

His father barrels right past him into the apartment “Is that why she was all alone by the end of the dinner? Do you know how embarrassing that was for us! Her father made a joke but you know he’s not impressed.”

“I left because I wasn’t feeling well and she said she was going to go home early anyway.”

His father rolls his eyes and throws his hands up in frustration. “That’s not the point Hanbin! The point it you show up and act accordingly. You are a representative of this family and I won’t have you running around like a misbehaving child. It was an important dinner, we only reminded you of it every week.”

They wander into the living room and that’s when his carelessness betrays him. Jiwon’s blood shirt is still on the side table.

“What is that?” His father asks.

His mum looks at him with knowing and disappointed eyes. “He’s back here isn’t he?”

He doesn’t even bother answering her.

“Who’s back where?!” His father asks, looking between the two of them.

“Tell him.” His mum says simply, sitting down on the couch, as if exhausted by defeat and resignation.

“Tell me what?”

He swallows the lump in his throat.

Courage.

Courage.

He can do this.

He needs to do this.

“That shirt....it belongs to...someone I’m living with. We’re....together.” He says quietly.

His father just laughs. “You must be joking, Hanbin? This again? Haven’t we already been through this? You can’t-”

“I can!”

“Oh here we go. Suddenly you’re all grown up now are you? Are you going to live here and play house with this guy? I suppose you’re going to tell me he’s a stand-up citizen. Of course he is, especially if he leaves his bloody shirts all over your apartment.” His father paces around the living room, irritation colouring every gesture and word. “Wait. Is he the reason you left last night? You left to deal with whatever that was?”

“He was in the hospital-”

“OH! He was in the hospital.” His father mimics condescendingly. “So you’re just his little lap dog now are you? You leave important family engagements to deal with ridiculous things with this boy? Is that it?”

He tries, with everything inside him, to not get angry or resort to a shouting match but with each passing minute, his resolves gets thinner and thinner.

“I don’t understand you. Haven’t you learnt anything over the years? You can’t hope to live a normal life like that. Why do you want to make your life harder? Is he older than you? Did he tell you that he loved you or some nonsense? Fed you some story about being special and fighting the world together? It’s rubbish and you know it. You always think it’s real.”

“It is real!” He says through clenched teeth as his fist gets tighter and tighter, nails now digging painfully into his palms.

There’s a patronising laugh again. “Is it now? Is that what you think? I thought you were smarter than this. You’re barely an adult. How do you even know what love is? How do you even know?”

"Because I know.”

“No. You just think you know. There’s a difference. You just think-”

“I don’t think it!” He shouts, rage suddenly bubbling up inside him. “I KNOW IT.”

Both his parents look at him in shock. He looks right back at them, body shaking uncontrollably and heartbeat deafening in his ears.

“Unbelievable.” His father just shakes his head and storms out of the apartment, slamming the door loudly behind him.

His mother sighs heavily, shoulders sagging from the weight of the family’s worries. He lets the guilt wash over him again. She walks over to kiss him on the cheek, pausing for a moment after, her mouth poised to say something but at the last second, she just shakes her head and leaves quietly.

His heart races on in his chest and he rubs at the spot with a shaky hand, as if it’d soothe the ache in some way (it doesn’t). Walking on wobbly legs doesn’t get him very far but it’s just far enough for him to back into warm waiting arms. He leans back and lets Jiwon hold him up.

“How much of that did you hear?”

There are lips against his shoulder, the words felt more than heard. “All of it.”

He gets turned around so they’re facing each other. “I’m sorry....”

Jiwon strokes his cheek with his good hand. “What for?”

“I don’t know.” He says as he tries to bury himself into Jiwon’s chest.

“It’s gonna be okay. I’m so fucking proud of you. I can’t believe you just did that.” Jiwon says with a mixture of quiet amusement and awe. “You got some crazy brave genes. It’s gonna be genetic you know. Everybody always expects the crazy one to be me but it’s actually you.”

“You’re the one who punched a guy in the face.”

“So did you. Just not with your fist.”

They were both crazy and his mind is a mess again with a million and one thoughts all racing and crashing into each other. All his words get stuck in the doorway and even if he wanted to say something, nothing comes out.

But it’s different this time. Instead of getting blown around by the storm around him, he’s standing in the middle, where there’s solid ground under his feet and an anchor to reality. Instead of feeling gray, he can feel colour seeping back into his life.

This time everybody knows.

Everybody knows and he’s still alive. Jiwon is still here. Nothing changed.

Except that that’s not true. Nothing changed but in a way, everything changed.

Jiwon knows.

Jiwon knows.

He lets Jiwon carry him back to bed and doesn’t argue when he can feel those eyes watching him fall back to sleep.

Jiwon is the middle of his storm. The immovable object that constantly meets all the unstoppable forces in his life. Jiwon is colour. Red, like the shirt they both share.

Somehow he always knew October would be like this.

He falls asleep slowly, thoughts all starting and ending with the same thing.

****

Soundtrack to this chapter: Even When I’m Sleeping

[wotdhorror]

Special Delivery

Li was a deliveryman. However his job wasn’t the type of posh delivery job one sees in the West, where a guy in short shorts drives a big truck filled with well-organized boxes throughout the day. Li had no truck, nor set hours for that matter. Instead he had a trike that left him exposed to the elements (a battery powered thing with a miniature truck bed) and a completely commission based paycheck. A few percent on each package and half for returns is enough to live comfortably, but only if you’re willing to deal with traffic and foul weather

Because of the nature of their pay the delivery business was a cutthroat one, especially during the holidays. It wasn’t strange for delivery drivers to show up at the warehouse at four in the morning and deliver until ten at night during peak seasons, because. Doing so could mean making triple one’s usual take in only a month, if handled correctly. It also wasn’t rare for drivers to steal packages from each other (or offload unwanted ones) in the name of organizing the most efficient route. Naturally the early risers in this situation did best, and people like Li, as green as deliver drivers get, got stuck driving all over the city delivering ‘problem packages.’

Li’s grandmother had never liked the idea of him working delivery. She had always been worried that he’d get in an accident, and that’s a very natural fear for a grandmother to have. Still, Li assumed his grandmother was more morbid than most grandparents. She seemed convinced that he’d somehow get maimed on the job, and that he wouldn’t be able to ‘pass on,’ if they couldn’t ‘find all of the parts.’ In truth the reality of an accident was never far from his mind, but for Li it was more an issue of having a trike full of parcels and trike repair deducted from his paycheck. How he stood when it came to reincarnation took a backseat.

Still, on especially cold days he would think of his grandmother’s superstitions and drive that little bit more carefully. Better safe than sorry after all. On this particular day mortality was far from his mind, as he was late again and needed to get his addresses inputted.

The company had an app that could plot a route based on the packages for the day. It was helpful to always have a map in front of you and all (cell-phone mounts on the trike handlebars were standard), but the app was buggy. More than once he’d carried around fruit all day, mushed up under the weight of other packages, only to deliver them to a pissed off recipient after dark. Worse still was when the recipient rejected the package altogether as that meant a paycheck deduction and a talking to by the floor man.

In hindsight he always resolved to shift the packages around more carefully, but this day he was in too  much of a hurry to get out the door.

The first delivery was a rattly package for an old man. The second was soft and, probably clothes or something, received by a young woman too busy with an iPhone game to say thank you. He could tell from the packaging that the third was imported apples. He waited with baited breath as the recipient, a middle aged women, inspected them for bruising. Though it felt an unfair stereotype, Li had found middle aged women the most uppity and prone to file complaints. He escaped this time without incident though.

Morning marched on into noontime the way it always did, and Li’s mind became more and more focused on lunch. Once he’d done around thirty parcels he finally allowed himself to settle in at a small restaurant to slurp down a bowl of noodles. Other deliverymen might have taken this time to re-plan their route, but Li preferred to slow down at lunch and daydream. Today he watched the restaurant’s cook, who he could see through the order window, and tried to put himself in the man’s shoes.

It looked like a hard job, being cooped up in the little kitchen and surrounded by pots of boiling water. It was the exact opposite of Li’s job in some ways because, while Li was always on the move and freezing cold, this man was stuck in a space no bigger than a closet and visibly sweating. The cook’s job seemed no less dangerous either, as the cook hefted a pair of cleavers on the chopping block and chopped up some beef for the next order. With the speed he did so, Li wondered if the man had ever cut himself.

He wondered, too, what his grandmother would say about him being a cook. Would she still be worried that he’d hurt himself? Maybe she’d think he would cut something off and not be able to ‘pass on?’ Where was the line drawn, he wondered? Did you have to lose a hand to lose your shot at reincarnation, or was cutting off the tip of your thumb enough for disqualification?

The thought made him smile, but at the same time made him feel very uncomfortable.

In the afternoon the GPS dragged Li all around the city, and to make matters worse something in one of the packages had leaked all over the trike bed. He had first discovered it on delivering another case of wine to a young guy at work. The guy was irate, of course, because the way the parcel sopped up the reddish brown liquid made it appear like one of the bottles had ruptured. When they investigated the bottles were all whole though, which was a relief to Li even though the trike still needed cleaned.

Li found that the culprit was a small box around the size of a football, probably stuffed under a pile of packages by one of the other delivery guys. It was oozing a reddish-brown liquid out of one corner, so the packaging needed to be scrapped. He jotted down the address and contact on the label in preparation for calling it in, but he wasn’t interested in getting yelled at by management and losing the commission. Li considered for a second just pitching the package in the dumpster and waiting for it to get reported lost (if the sender bought insurance they would be compensated at least), but he didn’t want to lose his job over a small box filled with what was probably spoiled fruit. Instead he pulled out his knife and prepared to clean it up to see if the recipient would still take it.

The smell inside the box was overwhelming even through the cold air. There was an ornate, round chipboard box inside, which Li gingerly lifted out. It would have looked quite nice had it not been leaking. There wasn’t anything written on it, but it looked like the kind of box a new year’s present might be presented in. He wanted to lift the lid and see what was really causing the trouble, but that felt somehow irreverent. Even if it was just a piece of rotting, exotic fruit, it felt wrong to open someone else’s present and so he left it be. Li lined the bed with an old newspaper that someone had left in the trike and moved on.

The rest of the afternoon was spent apologizing to people and explaining the rancid smelling stains on their parcels. He lost at least two more commissions because the goop had soaked through the cardboard and ruined something inside, but at the very least the GPS had finally started working correctly and gave him a decently arranged route. He noticed that, mercifully, the leaking package was the last on the list.

That package turned out to be a rather depressing delivery. The handlebar GPS led him into another development, perhaps the twentieth he had been to that day. Downstairs of his destination were several white and black funeral arrangements, set up around the door on wicker stands. When he reached the unit upstairs he found with a pang of sympathy that the leaking package was going to the mourning family. Of course Li couldn’t be blamed for fruit spoiling, or for the package leaking, but still. These people had suffered a loss and he felt like he was somehow kicking them while they were down by baring this bad news.

When he explained that something had happened to the package it’s  recipient, another middle-aged woman, invited him in. The box had started to leak again, and so he kept it bundled in the newspapers as she went for a mop.  

“Who sent it?” she asked, cleaning some goop from the tile. That was peculiar for her not to know, because most of Li’s deliveries were things that people had bought online. He said as much, reading the name and the address. It was from the same city, which was also peculiar because it should have gotten delivered well before its contents spoiled.

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” she said, nor did she recognize the address.

Li could see where this was going, although he really didn’t want to end his day like this. He looked around the room, seeing a black and white picture of a child on the mantle. His throat felt dry, but he really didn’t want to lose the commission.

“Perhaps it is a friend of your husband’s,” he said, but she shook her head.

In the end she didn’t take the package, which Li couldn’t blame her for. His only option was to try and claim half commission for taking the parcel to its return address. The sender’s number was disconnected, so he he put the address into the company app as twilight fell.

It was around nine o’clock by the time he reached the return address. His trike was running so low on power that he had to limp it over at a snail’s pace or risk the battery dieing along the way. He wasn’t sure he would be able to get it back to the warehouse afterward, but part of him wanted an explanation for the troublesome package.

The address turned out to be a guard shack at the edge of a construction site. The guard inside didn’t recognize the name either, and wasn’t willing to take the package himself.

“It stinks,” he said, but in the end he allowed Li in to ask around the dormitories for the sender.

The construction workers, mostly undocumented migrant workers from what Li had gathered, lived in a two-story, prefab dorm building. Before long plump man from emerged and frowned at the sight of the box.

“You shouldn’t have brought that back here,” he said, eying the package sadly.

“I can’t deliver it,” said Lee. “It’s spoiled.”

“Spoiled…” said the man. “Well I can’t keep it. Deliver it anyway.”

“Listen, there’s been a loss in the family who you sent this to,” said Lee. “They rejected the package, and my boss won’t let us keep it. Just take it back or I’ll have to throw it out on my way out of here.”

The man stepped forward, eyes widening.

“No, you can’t do that,” he said, as if Li were about to light the box on fire. “You- you can’t throw it out. It has to go back. If not…”

Li eyed the box, and wiped a little of the now dried grime off on his coat.

“Listen man,” said Li, “just buy another… whatever this is and deliver it yourself. It’s not even that far away.”

“You don’t understand,” said the worker, looking over his shoulder. “You have to take it to them. If you don’t then he- ju…just make them open it. They’ll understand when they see.”

“I said they don’t want it. Whatever it is they don’t want it and I’m out money because of it,” said Li. “What’s in here anyway? Just take the stupid thing back.”

The man wouldn’t though and Li was out of time to argue. It was almost ten, the trike still hadn’t been returned, and as far as his mental math went Li would be out a couple hundred in commissions thanks to this ridiculous man and the leaky package he had sent.

Why not just deliver it in person? Li steamed at the thought. If your friend is grieving then why wouldn’t you just take a bus over and comfort them? Give them the package in person and show your support for their loss. That’s the only right thing to do.

His bile about to bubble over, and he put the box on the ground. He thumped his fingers on the lid and opened it.

On top was a note, written is surprisingly neat lettering. The writer was sorry. It was an accident, they said. Curiosity gone wrong is what it was. The writer hoped that this could make things right, and that this package could ‘ allow his spirit to pass on.’

Underneath the note, wrapped in stained tissue, was small hand, the size of a child’s,  and in the throes of putrefaction. Li saw in his mind’s eye a boy’s face cast in black and white, a picture on a grieving mother’s mantle. Again he heard his grandmother’s words.

[felinevomitus]

Beyond Noise: Tse Tse Fly Interviewed

Simon Coates & Kumah live in Dubai, photo by Haya Al Tamimi.

Simon Coates is an artist, writer and curator. He is the founder of Tse Tse Fly Middle East, a multi-disciplinary platform for artists, musicians and sound makers with connections to the Middle East, Africa or the Indian subcontinent.

Established in Dubai in 2015, Tse Tse Fly has thrived as the region’s “first ever sound art and experiments-in-noise” club night and provided an alternative to the city’s night time economy. Artists who have performed at Tse Tse Fly events include Nour Sokhon, Karim Sultan and Jonny Farrow. A compilation album of participating artists, Easy Listening Vol. 1, was released by Must Die Records in 2016.

Having curated events in Dubai, Sharjah and the UK, Coates is now looking to expand Tse Tse Fly into “a social enterprise that wants to use its profits and assets for the public good”, highlighting civil rights issues in the Middle East and elsewhere. Due to strict censorship laws and the conservative nature of the United Arab Emirates (UAE), Coates’s non-profit, pro-human rights organisation could only establish itself in earnest upon his relocation to London in June 2017. IKLECTIK caught up with him to find out more about his work with Tse Tse Fly.

IKLECTIK: What was the club scene like in Dubai before you began operating as Tse Tse Fly and how did you go about sourcing sound artists if there wasn’t already a platform for them?

Simon Coates: The club scene is very healthy in Dubai, if you’re a fan of commercial house and techno. In fact, there are club nights that wear their commercial house badges with pride.  If the Dubai club scene was a plant it would be Japanese knotweed. It is sprawling and suffocates anything new sprouting in its path. Tse Tse Fly Middle East was born, in part, out of sheer frustration. My friends and I really didn’t have anywhere to go so, in true Garland and Rooney style, I decided to put something together where we could meet and share ideas.

I was also very interested in subverting traditional club tropes. As part of my own practice I look at creating intangible work, so the club nights helped satisfy that inasmuch as they existed and they are now over. As there are no grassroots art publications in the UAE we ended up advertising the nights via club listings so we really were cheek by jowl with tech house nights and PAs from Nicky Minaj.

As you can imagine, this led to a few misunderstandings as people would rock up expecting what is a normal Dubai club night only to be confronted by these people hunched over laptops making one hell of a noise. One guy who came along was so appalled he asked us to refund his Uber fare. We didn’t. In terms of sourcing artists, to start with, I asked a couple of friends to perform at the nights. I then realised that it would be boring to have the same people over and over again so I contacted a handful of other people that I knew had an interest in sound and asked them if they’d like to get involved.  One of the best parts of the whole project was that a few people who had come along as members of the audience ended up asking if they could join in. We ended up with a loose collective of around nine people that had developed almost completely organically.

Karim Sultan performing at Other Worlds Festival (2016), photo by Manon Bajart.

What was the local response to this collective? Did you develop a reputation?

It might sound slightly cynical, but we knew that what we were doing was so different that people would either come along out of curiosity or just not come at all. That said, our first event was packed. We’d done a pretty good job on putting the word out, but that also meant that we had a load of arts professionals come along. One of our initial intentions was to make sound art and experimental music accessible to everyone and to take it outside gallery and institutional walls. Art-wise, Dubai is very commercial. The city has more than forty galleries and they’re all built on sales models. This means that there are a lot of people in Dubai that work as cogs in the commercial art wheel and it felt like a good amount of them had turned up on the first night. They didn’t turn up for the second night, though.

It actually became a kind of motto for us that we’d rather have a few people coming along that wanted to be there than a load of people looking for the next bandwagon. On our most badly attended night we actually outnumbered the audience. Our best attended event was our album launch party last September. It just felt like all the planets were aligned for us. During that afternoon, when we were setting up, we were talking about American zines from the 1980s that we’d found online and how they were the perfect archive for what was going on back then – hand-made, cut and paste jobs with articles and interviews with people like Boyd Rice, Cabaret Voltaire, Whitehouse and so on. Then someone said that, one day, people might look back on what we were doing with Tse Tse Fly and see it as a kind of touchpoint. I think that helped the penny drop for us. The sheer fact that we were doing this at all drove home the fact that the size of our audiences and other reactions didn’t really matter.

As far as reputations go, I think we gained a reputation for not compromising. We have dipped our toes into the mainstream by working with a couple of the established art organisations in the UAE, but that was only because they had made the effort to come to our events more than once. They also tried to engage with us and to genuinely understand what we do. On the other side of that coin, Art Dubai contacted us when we first started, asking if we could do something with them. We didn’t, simply because that would have been surrendering. Sadly, there just isn’t the support or understanding for something like Tse Tse Fly in the UAE. People aren’t used to the DIY approach. It’s like handing someone a hot potato – they juggle it around for a bit and then offload it to someone else, but I have to admit that I quite liked that.

I remember we did one event in a warehouse and a guy was walking past. He stopped dead in his tracks and asked me: “Is someone playing Coil in there?”. I said it was actually Black Line, one of our members playing a live set. The guy just stared at me and said, “I never, ever expected to hear anything like this in Dubai”. It’s interesting that we get a lot of interest from overseas, hence us taking part in the 2016 Other Worlds Festival in Blackpool and showing our work at the FAS Festival in Kurdistan this April.

Nour Sokhn live in Dubai, photo by Haya Al Tamimi.

How do you envision carrying the project forward from the UK and what everyday realities do you foresee operating Tse Tse Fly as a Community Interest Company?

I think the fact that Tse Tse Fly has grown from a distraction into something more substantial means that it deserves to develop even further. It’s been a challenge managing Tse Tse Fly in Dubai because there are a number of restrictions.

For example, the government has to give their permission for every event that takes place in Dubai and this costs money. Then there is a government fee for everyone who performs at the event. Then there’s a processing fee. Each performer has to also submit a copy of their passport, visa and a photo. We didn’t charge an entrance fee for our events but, if we had, we would have had to pay the government 10% of each ticket sold. Obviously we don’t have those hoops to jump through in the UK, so just putting on Tse Tse Fly events will be much easier.

It’s also very difficult to set up an organisation in Dubai, because any kind of company must be part-owned by an Emirati who automatically gets 51%. This is a legal requirement. Again, we don’t have that issue in the UK. In fact, the Community Interest Company model was created specifically for people who wanted to create something for the good of the community. So, Tse Tse Fly Middle East will become a Community Interest Company that supports sound artists and experimental musicians with roots in the Middle East, Africa and the Indian sub-continent, as well as providing a platform for charities and organisations that highlight issues in those regions.

When I was a kid I remember seeing posters for gigs where the line-up would feature acts like Benjamin Zephaniah, the Poison Girls, Attila the Stockbroker all side-by-side. I think that it’s time to re-capture that spirit of collective consciousness with common aims. Tse Tse Fly live events in the UK will feature films, speeches and literature – as well as performances from sound artists and experimental musicians – and the platform will be made available to organisations like Artists For Palestine UK, Human Rights Watch and 28 Too Many (that campaigns against FGM), for example. These are the kind of groups that don’t just represent what’s going wrong in the Middle East, India and Africa, they represent ongoing basic international human violations.

Black Line live in Dubai, photo by Haya Al Tamimi.

You mentioned in the press release that your “six-year tenure in Dubai has turned me into a kind of pressure cooker”. Can you give details of your experience of the human rights, gender, inequality and/or opportunity issues in the UAE? In what way do these hinder the creativity and productivity of the collective?  

It’s genuinely depressing answering a question like this. In the six years I’ve lived in Dubai I’ve visited some amazing places. In fact, there are parts of the UAE that now count among my favourite places in the world. I’ve also met some brilliant people, some of whom will be firm friends forever. Dubai has helped me realise that the UK can be an arrogant, self-centred place and that the UK’s colonial ambitions and diplomatic decisions have caused deep-seated problems that persist today.

The UAE is rightly accused of a lot of things. Things that the UK has been guilty of in the past too. The depressing thing is that, for all of this, try as I might I simply cannot excuse the region for allowing human beings to be treated in such inhumane ways. The son of a Sri Lankan woman whom I know was arrested and imprisoned for not paying his credit card bill, which is a crime in the UAE. English is the woman’s second language and all the arrest documents were in Arabic, but she worked for weeks to free her son. The woman works as a cleaner, sending as much money as she can back to her family in Sri Lanka. She paid for a solicitor herself and acted as a go-between, visiting the solicitor’s office and the police.

Eventually her son was freed, but the worst thing, she told me, was there were scores and scores of others still in prison with no one on the outside to help them. What happens to them? There are too many stories like this, but I think it’s also important to remember that it’s easy to criticise and hubris is always close.

Working as an artist in the UAE the mantra of respecting local culture and social mores is indoctrinated throughout pretty much everything produced, to the extent that you automatically behave. That’s quite frightening. This means you know not to create anything that’s contentious or potentially offensive as a matter of course. When I first arrived, someone who had been in Dubai for a while told me they thought this was a good thing as it forces artists to find subtler ways of getting their point across. It isn’t and it doesn’t.

Nor do I get the people who pretend that everything in the UAE is fine. There’s a certain type of person – working in the arts, in my experience – who lives outside of the UAE, criticises the hell out of it in private and yet keeps coming back when there’s cash waved in front of them or there’s a party to attend. Seeing these air kissers and arse kissers jetting back and forth when it suits them best is nauseating.

My six years in Dubai turned me into a pressure cooker because I’ve not been able – or been allowed – to communicate what’s going on in a clear and satisfactory way. I think people need to know the truth about what goes on in these regions so that they can make informed decisions and developing what’s been achieved already with Tse Tse Fly Middle East seems a logical way to get people’s attention.

João Menezes live in Dubai, photo by Mckie Alvarez.

Were there any other reasons for moving Tse Tse Fly out of the UAE?        

Running parallel to the Tse Tse Fly project has been my own uneasiness and indignation about living in the Gulf region. However, because of the UAE’s conservative nature and strict censorship laws there is no way I can express those feelings and voice my views without being exposed to some kind of punitive measure.

I should stress that this is only my opinion, but it seems a natural progression for Tse Tse Fly to develop and to stand for something else aside from noise, and I can only really add the social and political angles back in the UK where there’s freedom of speech. I’ve been researching the Rock Against Racism movement for another project and what I want to achieve next with Tse Tse Fly has partly been inspired by how Rock Against Racism used music to get their message across.

There is also another dimension to this. When I first moved to Dubai friends in the UK and the States would ask me how can I live in such a suppressive, conservative environment? Six years later, the irony is that I can say the same to them. It’s obvious that the world has been turned upside down in the West, over the past few months, so if we can highlight just how upside down things are in other regions then, hopefully, that will galvanise people into doing something about it.

Tse Tse Fly will be hosting an evening of performances, screenings and a Q&A on Saturday 9 September at IKLECTIK. More details will be up on our event listings shortly. For more information about Tse Tse Fly visit their website or tune into their monthly radio show on Resonance Extra.  

Ilia Rogatchevski Originally published by IKLECTIK, 13 July 2017