#ITS THE CHINELAS FOR YOU

[entowento]

“nooo u can’t ship them they’re so siblings coded!!!” THEY ARE FRIENDS IN CANON

[squeiky]

Im gonna have to name this an au or soemthing cause damn am i getging obsessed with this

Ended up fully fleshing out The 10 sonadow kids and the espilver and Blazamy kids:

Starting with the BABIESSS we've got the triplets with Pickels the Fossa, Snowy the Kinkajou and PaintBrush (P.B for short) the coatimundi (P.B's entire name is literally Paint Brush, but i just added the extra title so we know what he.. IS.)

Pickles and Snowy are "twins" in the way that they look similar but very much are not related.

They were all found at the same time (kittens in a box sort of deal)

Trixie was found a couple of years after Alberto but i just havent made an actual adult form of her yet- bur she was adopted at age 3.

My girl watched the pony show and yall should KNOW whos her favorite character

WATTZ my little adorable one- really wants to be cool like Sonic and Shadow but the heart is so big and pure its hard to look stoic and cold when you've got the sweetest little golden heart in the world

And Banjo (who i originally named Bongos bur decided to change it) who is the akward teenager that likes his alone time and music. Not nuch to be said here other than there is never a time where i shall pass up the opportunity to turn this guy into a little pangolin ball with his dads.

You can tell my favorite characters have got to be Luca. She was the first and shes a wrestler (luchador anyone?) Shes the big relaiable sister who will infact pummel you, and i love that.

Might need to work on Summer and Albetro but otherwise these are what i call the "guineapig group" in the sense that they were the first, thus the eldest out of all the kiddos. I dont have kid forms for them but the stuff her is simple- took after the other parent too much, with Luca be dabsmack in the middle of influence. They all have their own quirks and likings but overrall i love the "how many idiots does it take to fix a lightbulb" and the awnser is none because Luca broke it and then bought a new one.

Oh yeah and Greybelle's a crybaby did i mention that? Hes also a late bloomer when it comes to his powers (mostly bcs i dont know what powers to give him yet)

Okayy and for the OTHER ship babies:

I find Greybelle's (should i name him Turnip or like idk some cute plant name or just keep the watermelon name?) And Flares dynamic hilarious because its literally the direct opposite of Silver's and Blaze's dynamic in which these two fucking HATE eachother. Childhood freinds? More childhood enemies.

Flare has her powers early because shes just like that. She looks calm and collected like Blaze (but she seriously has the temper equivalent to a matchstick in a pit of gasoline- which means shes also a rage quitter)

Oh and more baby time with the unnamed baby because i cant think of a name

(someone help me please other wise im gonna name it something stupid like "slippers/chinelas/zapatos", "borzoi" or like.. idk just "BABY")

More comics stuff with THE BABY and like a poster of Trixies magic show (its her all grown up 😊) as well as Sonic teaching Banjo how to play guitar for the first time (the first step towards his long journey of become a musician 😊)

Alright thats about it. I guess i could do more on metalsonic and Chaos but im pretty sure the entire robot kingdom and chao species are basically they're uhh family so i dont think they need the extra stress of an actual fucking weird robot waterbaby child (though that would be a kickass design ngl)

Also thinking about doing Rouge, Wave and knuckles because yeah they've got a thing going on and its like they're all buddies and soemtimes Rouge makes out with Wave. Thats about it. #singleforever

[indiavolowetrust]

unexpected presents are best unwrapped.

part 1

part 2

3

“I knew I picked the right color for you,” Asmodeus says, taking a closer look at my makeup. The soft pink lip tint -- blushing peach, according to Asmo -- is just visible enough to highlight the natural flush in my cheeks, the hue matching the eye shadow applied to the corners of my eyes. A light coat of invisible mascara coats my eyelashes. Asmodeus takes out a powder tin and gently dabs at the skin just below my eyes, further concealing my under eye bags. “You should let me do this more often, Maria! Be my little doll and I’ll pretty you up in every way possible.”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” I say, stifling back both a shiver and a yawn.

Asmodeus draws his face closer to mine, gently turning my face this way and that as he admires his work. “But you look so cute!” he protests. “I’ll even let you practice on me, if you want.”

Another yawn threatens to escape. This time, however, I give in to the urge. Asmo continues to fuss over my appearance, brushing stray curls from my face in an effort to tame them. The locks simply pop back into place, as if refusing to obey its master, and Asmo tries at least three more times before pinning the offending curl into place. His hands run over the pink chiffon of my dress, smoothing out the wrinkles. I do little to discourage him. While Asmo’s barrage of attempts to tame my appearance are somewhat bothersome, a nearly sleepless night has drained me of my energy and will to resist. Satan glances in my direction as Asmo does so, shaking his head.

“Leave her be,” Satan says, turning another page. He props his feet up on the table, sitting on the sidelines of the party, and Lucifer only casts the barest of disapproving glances in his direction. “All you’re doing is tiring her out.”

Asmo pouts, then turns to face me again. “Only if you promise not to smudge any of your makeup. I worked way too hard on that.”

I nod. “Promise.”

Satan sighs as Asmo all but bounds away, and I look at him with appreciation. He offers a smile. After a moment of watching Mammon, Belphie, and Levi yell at each other over a card game, I decide to join him. The pink chiffon of my dress rustles as I sit down in the chair beside the Avatar of Wrath, both of my hands forcing my skirt not to expose the skin above my thighs. Satan regards me with mild amusement over the cover of his book, his attention momentarily diverted.

“I take it that Asmo chose that for you,” he observes. “Unless you chose that frilly thing for yourself.”

“I -- I did say yes to him dressing me up for the party,” I admit, smiling sheepishly. “I just didn’t think that he would go this, um, overboard. It took hours for him to pick something out.”

Satan arches a brow. “Well, it does look nice,” he says, eyes trailing the strapless bodice and ruffled, piled chiffon. “Though it’s not very you.”

I merely nod in assent, now fighting back the urge to shiver. My hands instinctively bring themselves to my bare shoulders, the skin exposed due to the strapless bodice, and I press my thighs together in an effort to warm them. The sheer hose does absolutely nothing but draw attention to the hint of skin beneath, a mockery of modesty, and the short heels Asmo has chosen for me pinch and rub at my feet painfully. At the very least, Asmo has managed to gather most of my curls into a high ponytail, securing the mass with a combination of hair pins and hair spray. I absentmindedly tuck a stray curl behind my ear.

“Aren’t you going to join?” I ask.

Satan takes a moment to regard Beel stealing the snacks from under his brothers’ noses, Mammon yelling out in frustration at losing, and Lucifer quietly slipping out of the room. “No, I think I’d much rather stay here,” he says. “Will you?”

I shake my head. “No, I’ll -- I’m just a little tired.”

I don’t think he really wants me here either, I want to add, but I keep my mouth shut. I shouldn’t bring up personal issues now. Not at his birthday, at least. I could bother Levi about it afterwards, if he were still upset.

“Then you should retire for the night,” he suggests. “Levi probably wouldn’t notice. I’m a little surprised we were able to drag him out of his room in the first place.”

“What about --”

“Asmo and Beel can take care of clean-up afterwards,” Satan dismisses, reading my thoughts. He regards me with a sharpness I hadn’t noticed before, as if sensing something unpleasant, and his gaze flickers. “You should get some rest.”

* * *

In the end, I only end up staring at my ceiling. The hours tick by slowly, my bedside lamp illuminating my room. The uncomfortable heels lie in a pile at the end of my bed, my panties hung over one of the posts. My pantyhose sits in a discarded heap next to it. Despite the sleep deprivation -- more importantly, the intensity of last night’s nightmares -- I can’t relax enough to sleep. That nagging feeling of wrongness tugs at the back of my mind, forcing me back into consciousness, and I find myself startling awake each time I nearly drift off.

I haven’t bothered to take off the dress Asmodeus gave me. I haven’t bothered to take off my makeup either, letting the products simply sit on my skin. Asmo would be appalled -- clogged pores and little sleep are the enemies of beauty, after all -- but I can’t bring myself to do so. Somehow, my mind and body have been throttled by some unknown source of unease. As if I were pursued prey. The discontent forces me to stay alert and on edge, despite the lack of a reason for it.

Maybe my mind has begun to finally wither under the stress of the Devildom. That could be it. Or maybe the upcoming exams are occupying my thoughts more than I thought they were, eating away at me. My eyes draw themselves lazily around the room as I let my mind wander, all hope of sleep gone again. If stress from a simple round of exams could do this to my body and psyche, how can I expect to survive the rest of the year? How can I expect to avoid being eaten by some lesser demon?

I turn over in bed, sighing, and reach for my bedside lamp. I could at least avoid running up the House of Lamentation’s electric bill. My fingers brush by an object on the nightstand, the plastic rustling --

I catch the packaged figurine before it can fall to the ground, nearly falling out of bed myself. I quickly turn the package over in my hands, inspecting it for damage. A wave of relief floods me when I notice that the Lord of Shadow figurine is unharmed. The exhaustion must have gotten the better of me this afternoon: Levi’s present is completely unwrapped, still in the plastic bag it was brought home in, and, most importantly, not within Levi’s possession. Levi had seemed distant from me at his birthday celebration somehow; he must have thought I had forgotten it. It would only make sense that he would be offended.

Right?

* * *

I stand in front of Levi’s door, unwrapped present in hand. I hadn’t bothered to put on anything else but a pair of chinelas: my appearance is nearly the same as it was at the party, save for the lack of pantyhose and heels. Silently, I regret my indecision to grab a cardigan or sweater of some kind. Thanks to the cut of the dress, my shoulders and back are exposed to the cold air of the House of Lamentation, and I stiffen in an attempt to stop myself from shivering. I wait a moment in front of Levi’s door, taking in a breath, and step forward.

I knock gently at Levi's door, then step back.

No response.

I try again, louder this time. Again, there is no response. I stand, small and shivering, in the hall, willing my hands not to drop the figurine. He is in there. He should be, anyway, seeing how the ruckus of the party has died down nearly a few hours ago. I force myself to stand in place. A few minutes pass. There are little, if any, signs of activity in the room before me, the sounds of movement just barely audible. And then there is the telltale blip of Devil Kombat II: Return of the Devil Who Came From Another World and Now Must Fight for His Honor, and the flashing of lights are nearly visible through a crack beneath the door.

He’s ignoring me, I realize with irritation.

I knock as hard as I can, putting as much force as I into it. The door slams open almost immediately, nearly smashing me in the face, and I stumble back just quickly enough to dodge it.

Levi stands in the doorway, snarling. “For the last time, I --”

“Levi!” I squeak.

His gaze searches the darkness in front of him, looking for the source of the voice, then he immediately looks down. Levi and I stare at each other for a moment, my surprise mirrored on his visage. Neither of us speak. His eyes draw from my face to my dress, my dress to the present, and then the present to my face again.

part 4

[mwcowan]

Let's Try This Again

Chapter 3, Back at Kawayan Cove

Ex-Gardener, New Caretakers

Finally, last Monday, we drove from Manila to our home in Kawayan Cove. We were excited to get back after 21 months, but we did have some fear about what our gardens would look like. We had little expectation that over the last 6 months since our fulltime caretakers left, and the gardens were under the care of Mel, who was admittedly not a professional gardener, that everything would be as nice as we left it. Well, our very lowest expectations were much too high. The jungle was making a serious comeback attempt. The front yard was an overgrown mess, same with the back where the grass was more than knee high. Georgia asked Mel when was the last time he mowed the lawn, and his answer was that he never did. Never. In 6 months. Well, at least he was honest about that. Honest or not, Mel was fired within minutes of our arrival. One thing I can only laugh about, is that Mel had complained that it took too long to hand water the back yard, so we bought him an automatic sprinkler. I found a circle of 2 foot tall very green grass, about 3 feet in diameter – and in the middle of this circle was the sprinkler, which is about 6 inches high. The grass was so tall that the water couldn’t travel more than a foot or so.

Here’s approximately the same view of the backyard, just before we left and how we found it on our arrival. I don’t think I need to point out which is which.

By the end of our first day in Kawayan Cove, we were joined by Marry Ann and Anthony and their two children, who arrived for a 2-week trial as our new caretakers. Marry Ann is the daughter of Vima, Dolly’s current caretaker in Manila. Vima was a well-loved helper of the Quiachon family in Bacolod, back when both she and Georgia were teenagers. Vima ultimately left the family to get married and pursue her life, but reconnected with Georgia and Dolly about a year ago and has since served Dolly in Manila.

Over the first few days Anthony and I tackled the gardens and the pool, while Marry Ann and Georgia worked on the house which was pretty filthy after not being lived in nor cleaned for the last 6 months. Overall, we’ve found Marry Ann and Anthony to be good people, hard workers, fast learners, and more mature than our previous caretakers. It didn’t take the full 2-week trial; we both felt good about them so offered them full-time employment, which they happily accepted. I’ll introduce them and their family once I have a chance to take a picture.

The house is clean, the gardens are starting to look acceptable, and though we’re tired as hell things are starting to feel good again.

Flip Flop Feet

Don’t worry, before you read on, be assured that I’m not going to show you pictures of my feet. Anyway, socks and shoes are just too hot and sweaty for daily wear over here; for footwear you really have only two options. You either go barefoot or wear flip flops, also known as chinelas, or ‘slippers’ to the locals. While Georgia wears flip flops year-round, even in Graeagle winters, I don’t. This results in tender white feet and a tough transition coming over here. Just like jetlag, it takes a couple weeks while the skin between my big toe and the next one develops a callus. Plus the skin on the top of my feet, where the straps rub, gets painfully raw. To combat this I have 3 pairs of flip flops with different straps, so I can alternate where the straps rub, but some days I just have to go barefoot. Then the hard decks, and trying to go off-road this way takes its toll. No way to shortcut this, but as of now, 2 weeks in, I’m developing my flip flop feet.

Cold Showers

Yeah, I’ve been told to “take a cold shower, buddy” a few times in my life, but that’s a different subject. In the Philippines, hot showers, hot water in general, is a rarity. Maybe 90-95% of the homes do not have hot water (if running water at all). Hotels and resorts that cater to foreign tourists do, but those that cater to Filipinos probably do not. And in homes that do, hot water is often an afterthought, with installations of point-of-use water heaters such as this one in Dolly’s house in Manila. Yes, that’s an ungrounded 220V plug in the shower. That may scare some of you. It scares me.

This hot water heater in Dolly’s house, however, helps me transition to cold showers. It’s pretty unpredictable, sometimes producing hot water, sometimes not, sometimes for a while then abruptly shutting off. Generally, it’s best to just forget about it and take a cold shower. Which, most times, in the heat and humidity, is really what you want. Even though we have better water heaters in our house (no plugs in the shower!), I quickly reach the point where I don’t bother with hot water at all.

Papayas

Ranny, our previous caretaker/gardener, planted lots of papaya trees around the house. Fourteen if I counted correctly. These things grow incredibly fast and produce lots of large fruit. While I like papaya as part of my tropical fruit breakfast, there’s only so many I can eat. Hmmm, makes me think... some of you got bamboo wind chimes for Christmas after our last trip, maybe I can find a way to get some of these papayas home!

[zagenta]

Being Filipinx is interesting (esp since I’m mixed Filipnx) b/c you exist in this weird periphery where you don’t really belong anywhere? Like you’re treated as bottom of the barrel east/southeast asian esp if you have darker skin, (and you wanna be Asian even though you know its for the wrong reasons b/c of the whole Model Minority bullshit east asians get percieved as and you wanna be associated with that too), but you also don’t completely connect w/ most Polynesian culture but you have an affinity for them b/c you’re v close regionally and there is a Little overlap but not much, and you also relate to a lot of That Latinx Feel b/c you were also colonized by Spain, & there are a lot of cultural similarities like for example la Chancla memes & the Chinelas meme while being rooted in abuse are essentially the same thing, but you also don’t rly belong b/c many Latinx countries speak Spanish or even tho race is complicated ppl perceive Latinx ppl as a race, & Asian & Latinx don’t rly overlap.

[reimaginethecity]

What are the infrastructures that bodies interact with in public spaces?

I am trying to do a thing where I just keep my life as simple as possible, and don’t start over thinking every conceptual element that I bring into my analysis. To answer this question, I will simply look at infrastructures as an unloaded term, a purely functional term describing things/entities/bodies that provide a materiality and/or urban service. 

So what are the infrastructures present in public spaces in Maputo?

The main key infrastructure is obviously roads, as this is the thing that I was most directly interacting with in my daily mobilities, and with which other bodies also interact on a daily, mundane basis. It is an infrastructure you do not think about, and yet you do. Like bemoaning the daily ritual of traffic jams on the Marginal into and out of the city. Laughing at the people who think they’re better than everyone else and therefore are entitled to using the parking/emergency lane and parking lots as extra driving space. The wonder that they don’t take it further and just take over the sidewalk. People forget, or perhaps don’t understand, that the entrance to the city is in any case a bottleneck, and having to change from 3/4 lanes to 2 once you hit Gloria Mall is in any case going to slow you down. The design of 2 lanes all the way is there, but disrespected due to individual hubris and priorities. 

The Marginal can be broken down into various parts. The central divider with two driving lanes on either side, which contains lighting poles and serves as a walkway for pedestrians attempting to cross the flow of vehicles. The two lanes themselves, with an extra lane on the seaside for extra parking space (and as an emergency lane perhaps? Who knows what it’s original purpose was...). Then the sidewalks, aiming to be a walking esplanade reminiscent of old colonial towns or the Havana malecón. 

Sidewalks no longer take a primal role when you leave the Marginal. Turning inland at the level of the Maritimo as a pedestrian you become aware of your footwork, breaking the rhythms of unconscious walking. You have to negotiate varying qualities of sidewalk, or non-existent pedestrian spaces. You have to cross over occasionally to find a safe space to walk, or you stop caring and just walk in the accumulated sand banks on the side of the road, a sidewalk de fortune. By slowing down the cars and reducing their road space, sand acts as a friend of pedestrians. 

Extract from my 1st thesis concerning sand:

Sand is an ever-present element of living in Mozambique. You cannot really talk of ‘earth’ when you live so close to the coast (though there are some more classical agricultural lands around Xai-Xai, as an example). Everything is sand. As such, dealing with sand shapes a lot of daily dwelling practices. For a housewife, sand is the struggle of keeping it out of the house (especially when it has rained), and the constant routine of sweeping. It is also the decision to pour cement in their courtyard in order to reduce their housekeeping tasks, and make it cleaner for their children to play: this is sand in its ‘dirt’ expressive role. Children most commonly play in the street, and the sand is a good play- companion to avoid injuries. In the cova – a depression on the side of the neighbourhood that was created during the 2000 floods – the steep sandy sides are dug out to make hideouts, or used to have a makeshift zipline. Sand is the thing that washes away entire communities when there are floods. In public spaces such as the street or the sides of the main avenues (e.g. Julius Nyerere, where the slopes have been cemented over in order to prevent more erosion onto this key throughway in the city), concrete comes to replace sand, because sand is deemed too dangerous to leave be. But sand is also constructive, as it is an essential part of making concrete, and thus can never truly disappear from the assemblage, and continues to territorialise it, though playing a completely different role when combined with construction materials.

Sand, as a key material aspect of dwellers’ environment, mediates how they dwell and the strategies they adopt to improve their dwelling space. Refusing to deal with sand, for example, may lead to cementing up a plot, reducing the material roles that the ground may have (e.g. can no longer grow anything on it, reducing infiltration of water). The material role of sand as something that is considered ‘dirty’ is linked to its expressive role as undesirable; it becomes a sign of improvement to not have to deal with sand, or not interact directly with sand e.g. by cementing or putting a capulana in between the human and sand, or the imperative to use chinelas (flip-flops). This constant struggle between sand and dwellers is a sign of a conflicting relationship that still stabilises the assemblage in its constancy. 

Sand and water interact to re-shape the materiality of the assemblage during high-intensity (weather) events. The first thing I think about when someone says “water” in the context of Mozambique is floods. Floods and torrential rains. I remember as a child the absurd hilarity of seeing the Marginal and the Baixa flood with water after heavy rains, and the cars that would float by aimlessly, incapable of resisting the strength of the water; I did not realise the damage that these floods caused. 

Memo on 6/05

Formalised places attempt to be sterile; the sand is their biggest enemy, concrete the weapon to combat it, and cleaners the footsoldiers in the war.

The road on the south side of Kayalethu is sleek, but only because there is someone there with a wheelbarrow clearning out the trash and sand that naturally accumulate in its corners. 

The natural state of public spaces is thus messy, and maintaining it in a pristine, ‘modern’ state requires great amounts of labour. But labour is cheap. 

Trees of course are another important element of the Marginal, as an aesthetic element contributing to this beach vibe that the esplanade should take on, but also as a functional element providing shade and therefore a certain level of comfort for remaining for more extended periods of time in certain spaces of the Marginal. 

Trees are a very dominant entity in terms of how they are used within Casa Minha’s marketing of the neighbourhood: they fit within a discourse of ‘green neighbourhoods’, sustainability, and quality of life. Although they are a ‘natural’ non-human, they are heavily involved in human manipulation.

Casa Minha often mentions the trees as a key distinctive feature of the neighbourhood and thus as a selling point; it is true that the more luxurious or older neighbourhoods of Maputo, such as Sommerschield, have a lot of trees that remain from the colonial period, as opposed to the newer neighbourhoods that are distinctly more barren and in part due to this, hotter, and with less public spaces for socialising or economic activities.

In addition to this, they have very material effects on dwellers’ lives: they provide fruit (most common are papaya, mango, and lemon) and shade against the hot sun. As such, they are part of food practices and socialisation, two key sets of practices in the neighbourhood. Having access to fruit through the trees also supplements family incomes, and thus the trees are also integrated in the economic practices of dwellers. Trees are rooted in the private space – literally – but serve many public functions, and thus another example of the fluidity of public and private space. Trees perform a series of public services, such as providing shade, regulating the temperature in the neighbourhood, as well as the water management.

The beach (and bay), alongside trees, is another symbolic element of the Marginal landscape. I remember growing up in Maputo and driving past the beach every morning to go to school and marvelling at how pretty the morning light reflecting on the calm sea was. 

I realise now that I’m not sure how to proceed with this or finish it...