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mostlysignssomeportents · 7 months ago

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Twinkfrump Linkdump

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in CHICAGO (Apr 17), Torino (Apr 21) Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

Welcome to the seventeenth Pluralistic linkdump, a collection of all the miscellany that didn't make it into the week's newsletter, cunningly wrought together in a single edition that ranges from the first ISP to AI nonsense to labor organizing victories to the obituary of a brilliant scientist you should know a lot more about! Here's the other 16 dumps:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

If you're reading this (and you are!), it was delivered to you by an internet service provider. Today, the ISP industry is calcified, controlled by a handful of telcos and cable companies. But the idea of an "ISP" didn't come out of a giant telecommunications firm – it was created, in living memory, by excellent nerds who are still around.

Depending on how you reckon, The Little Garden was either the first or the second ISP in America. It was named after a Palo Alto Chinese restaurant frequented by its founders. To get a sense of that founding, read these excellent recollections by Tom Jennings, whose contributions include the seminal zine Homocore, the seminal networking protocol Fidonet, and the seminal third-party PC ROM, whence came Dell, Gateway, Compaq, and every other "PC clone" company.

The first installment describes how an informal co-op to network a few friends turned into a business almost by accident, with thousands of dollars flowing in and out of Jennings' bank account:

https://www.sensitiveresearch.com/Archive/TLG/TLG.html

And it describes how that ISP set a standard for neutrality, boldly declaring that "TLGnet exercises no control whatsoever over the content of the information." They introduced an idea of radical transparency, documenting their router configurations and other technical details and making them available to the public. They hired unskilled punk and queer kids from their communities and trained them to operate the network equipment they'd invented, customized or improvised.

In part two, Jennings talks about the evolution of TLG's radical business-plan: to offer unrestricted service, encouraging their customers to resell that service to people in their communities, having no lock-in, unbundling extra services including installation charges – the whole anti-enshittification enchilada:

https://www.sensitiveresearch.com/Archive/TLG/

I love Jennings and his work. I even gave him a little cameo in Picks and Shovels, the third Martin Hench novel, which will be out next winter. He's as lyrical a writer about technology as you could ask for, and he's also a brilliant engineer and thinker.

The Little Garden's founders and early power-users have all fleshed out Jennings' account of the birth of ISPs. Writing on his blog, David "DSHR" Rosenthal rounds up other histories from the likes of EFF co-founder John Gilmore and Tim Pozar:

https://blog.dshr.org/2024/04/the-little-garden.html

Rosenthal describes some of the more exotic shenanigans TLG got up to in order to do end-runs around the Bell system's onerous policies, hacking in the purest sense of the word, for example, by daisy-chaining together modems in regions with free local calling and then making "permanent local calls," with the modems staying online 24/7.

Enshittification came to the ISP business early and hit it hard. The cartel that controls your access to the internet today is a billion light-years away from the principled technologists who invented the industry with an ethos of care, access and fairness. Today's ISPs are bitterly opposed to Net Neutrality, the straightforward proposition that if you request some data, your ISP should send it to you as quickly and reliably as it can.

Instead, ISPs want to offer "slow-lanes" where they will relegate the whole internet, except for those companies that bribe the ISP to be delivered at normal speed. ISPs have a laughably transparent way of describing this: they say that they're allowing services to pay for "fast lanes" with priority access. This is the same as the giant grocery store that charges you extra unless you surrender your privacy with a "loyalty card" – and then says that they're offering a "discount" for loyal customers, rather than charging a premium to customers who don't want to be spied on.

The American business lobby loves this arrangement, and hates Net Neutrality. Having monopolized every sector of our economy, they are extremely fond of "winner take all" dynamics, and that's what a non-neutral ISP delivers: the biggest services with the deepest pockets get the most reliable delivery, which means that smaller services don't just have to be better than the big guys, they also have to be able to outbid them for "priority carriage."

If everything you get from your ISP is slow and janky, except for the dominant services, then the dominant services can skimp on quality and pocket the difference. That's the goal of every monopolist – not just to be too big to fail, but also too big to care.

Under the Trump administration, FCC chair Ajit Pai dismantled the Net Neutrality rule, colluding with American big business to rig the process. They accepted millions of obviously fake anti-Net Neutrality comments (one million identical comments from @pornhub.com addresses, comments from dead people, comments from sitting US Senators who support Net Neutrality) and declared open season on American internet users:

https://ag.ny.gov/press-release/2021/attorney-general-james-issues-report-detailing-millions-fake-comments-revealing

Now, Biden's FCC is set to reinstate Net Neutrality – but with a "compromise" that will make mobile internet (which nearly all of use sometimes, and the poorest of us are reliant on) a swamp of anticompetitive practices:

https://cyberlaw.stanford.edu/blog/2024/04/harmful-5g-fast-lanes-are-coming-fcc-needs-stop-them

Under the proposed rule, mobile carriers will be able to put traffic to and from apps in the slow lane, and then extort bribes from preferred apps for normal speed and delivery. They'll rely on parts of the 5G standard to pull off this trick.

The ISP cartel and the FCC insist that this is fine because web traffic won't be degraded, but of course, every service is hellbent on pushing you into using apps instead of the web. That's because the web is an open platform, which means you can install ad- and privacy-blockers. More than half of web users have installed a blocker, making it the largest boycott in human history:

https://doc.searls.com/2023/11/11/how-is-the-worlds-biggest-boycott-doing/

But reverse-engineering and modding an app is a legal minefield. Just removing the encryption from an app can trigger criminal penalties under Section 1201 of the DMCA, carrying a five-year prison sentence and a $500k fine. An app is just a web-page skinned in enough IP that it's a felony to mod it.

Apps are enshittification's vanguard, and the fact that the FCC has found a way to make them even worse is perversely impressive. They're voting on this on April 25, and they have until April 24 to fix this. They should. They really should:

https://docs.fcc.gov/public/attachments/DOC-401676A1.pdf

In a just world, cheating ripoff ISPs would the top tech policy story. The operational practices of ISPs effect every single one us. We literally can't talk about tech policy without ISPs in the middle. But Net Neutrality is an also-ran in tech policy discourse, while AI – ugh ugh ugh – is the thing none of us can shut up about.

This, despite the fact that the most consequential AI applications sum up to serving as a kind of moral crumple-zone for shitty business practices. The point of AI isn't to replace customer service and other low-paid workers who have taken to demanding higher wages and better conditions – it's to fire those workers and replace them with chatbots that can't do their jobs. An AI salesdroid can't sell your boss a bot that can replace you, but they don't need to. They only have to convince your boss that the bot can do your job, even if it can't.

SF writer Karl Schroeder is one of the rare sf practitioners who grapples seriously with the future, a "strategic foresight" guy who somehow skirts the bullshit that is the field's hallmark:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/07/the-gernsback-continuum/#wheres-my-jetpack

Writing on his blog, Schroeder describes the AI debates roiling the Association of Professional Futurists, and how it's sucking him into being an unwilling participant in the AI hype cycle:

https://kschroeder.substack.com/p/dragged-into-the-ai-hype-cycle

Schroeder's piece is a thoughtful meditation on the relationship of SF's thought-experiments and parables about AI to the promises of AI hucksters, who promise that a) "general artificial intelligence" is just around the corner and that b) it will be worth trillions of dollars.

Schroeder – like other sf writers including Ted Chiang and Charlie Stross (and me) – comes to the conclusion that AI panic isn't about AI, it's about power. The artificial life-form devouring the planet and murdering our species is the limited liability corporation, and its substrate isn't silicon, it's us, human bodies:

What’s lying underneath all our anxieties about AGI is an anxiety that has nothing to do with Artificial Intelligence. Instead, it’s a manifestation of our growing awareness that our world is being stolen from under us. Last year’s estimate put the amount of wealth currently being transferred from the people who made it to an idle billionaire class at $5.2 trillion. Artificial General Intelligence whose environment is the server farms and sweatshops of this class is frightening only because of its capacity to accelerate this greatest of all heists.

After all, the business-case for AI is so very thin that the industry can only survive on a torrent of hype and nonsense – like claims that Amazon's "Grab and Go" stores used "AI" to monitor shoppers and automatically bill them for their purchases. In reality, the stores used thousands of low-paid Indian workers to monitor cameras and manually charge your card. This happens so often that Indian technologists joke that "AI" stands for "absent Indians":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/29/pay-no-attention/#to-the-little-man-behind-the-curtain

Isn't it funny how all the really promising AI applications are in domains that most of us aren't qualified to assess? Like the claim that Google's AI was producing millions of novel materials that will shortly revolutionize all forms of production, from construction to electronics to medical implants:

https://deepmind.google/discover/blog/millions-of-new-materials-discovered-with-deep-learning/

That's what Google's press-release claimed, anyway. But when two groups of experts actually pulled a representative sample of these "new materials" from the Deep Mind database, they found that none of these materials qualified as "credible, useful and novel":

https://pubs.acs.org/doi/10.1021/acs.chemmater.4c00643

Writing about the researchers' findings for 404 Media, Jason Koebler cites Berkeley researchers who concluded that "no new materials have been discovered":

https://www.404media.co/google-says-it-discovered-millions-of-new-materials-with-ai-human-researchers/

The researchers say that AI data-mining for new materials is promising, but falls well short of Google's claim to be so transformative that it constitutes the "equivalent to nearly 800 years’ worth of knowledge" and "an order-of-magnitude expansion in stable materials known to humanity."

AI hype keeps the bubble inflating, and for so long as it keeps blowing up, all those investors who've sunk their money into AI can tell themselves that they're rich. This is the essence of "a bezzle": "The magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/09/autocomplete-worshippers/#the-real-ai-was-the-corporations-that-we-fought-along-the-way

Among the best debezzlers of AI are the Princeton Center for Information Technology Policy's Arvind Narayanan and Sayash Kapoor, who edit the "AI Snake Oil" blog. Now, they've sold a book with the same title:

https://www.aisnakeoil.com/p/ai-snake-oil-is-now-available-to

Obviously, books move a lot more slowly than blogs, and so Narayanan and Kapoor say their book will focus on the timeless elements of identifying and understanding AI snake oil:

In the book, we explain the crucial differences between types of AI, why people, companies, and governments are falling for AI snake oil, why AI can’t fix social media, and why we should be far more worried about what people will do with AI than about anything AI will do on its own. While generative AI is what drives press, predictive AI used in criminal justice, finance, healthcare, and other domains remains far more consequential in people’s lives. We discuss in depth how predictive AI can go wrong. We also warn of the dangers of a world where AI continues to be controlled by largely unaccountable big tech companies.

The book's out in September and it's up for pre-order now:

https://bookshop.org/p/books/ai-snake-oil-what-artificial-intelligence-can-do-what-it-can-t-and-how-to-tell-the-difference-arvind-narayanan/21324674

One of the weirder and worst side-effects of the AI hype bubble is that it has revived the belief that it's somehow possible for giant platforms to monitor all their users' speech and remove "harmful" speech. We've tried this for years, and when humans do it, it always ends with disfavored groups being censored, while dedicated trolls, harassers and monsters evade punishment:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/07/como-is-infosec/

AI hype has led policy-makers to believe that we can deputize online services to spy on all their customers and block the bad ones without falling into this trap. Canada is on the verge of adopting Bill C-63, a "harmful content" regulation modeled on examples from the UK and Australia.

Writing on his blog, Canadian lawyer/activist/journalist Dimitri Lascaris describes the dire speech implications for C-63:

https://dimitrilascaris.org/2024/04/08/trudeaus-online-harms-bill-threatens-free-speech/

It's an excellent legal breakdown of the bill's provisions, but also a excellent analysis of how those provisions are likely to play out in the lives of Canadians, especially those advocating against genocide and taking other positions the that oppose the agenda of the government of the day.

Even if you like the Trudeau government and its policies, these powers will accrue to every Canadian government, including the presumptive (and inevitably, totally unhinged) near-future Conservative majority government of Pierre Poilievre.

It's been ten years since Martin Gilens and Benjamin I Page published their paper that concluded that governments make policies that are popular among elites, no matter how unpopular they are among the public:

https://www.cambridge.org/core/journals/perspectives-on-politics/article/testing-theories-of-american-politics-elites-interest-groups-and-average-citizens/62327F513959D0A304D4893B382B992B

Now, this is obviously depressing, but when you see it in action, it's kind of wild. The Biden administration has declared war on junk fees, from "resort fees" charged by hotels to the dozens of line-items added to your plane ticket, rental car, or even your rent check. In response, Republican politicians are climbing to their rear haunches and, using their actual human mouths, defending junk fees:

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-04-12-republicans-objectively-pro-junk-fee/

Congressional Republicans are hell-bent on destroying the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau's $8 cap on credit-card late-fees. Trump's presumptive running-mate Tim Scott is making this a campaign plank: "Vote for me and I will protect your credit-card company's right to screw you on fees!" He boasts about the lobbyists who asked him to take this position: champions of the public interest from the Consumer Bankers Association to the US Chamber of Commerce.

Banks stand to lose $10b/year from this rule (which means Americans stand to gain $10b/year from this rule). What's more, Scott's attempt to kill the rule is doomed to fail – there's just no procedural way it will fly. As David Dayen writes, "Not only does this vote put Republicans on the spot over junk fees, it’s a doomed vote, completely initiated by their own possible VP nominee."

This is an hilarious own-goal, one that only brings attention to a largely ignored – but extremely good – aspect of the Biden administration. As Adam Green of Bold Progressives told Dayen, "What’s been missing is opponents smoking themselves out and raising the volume of this fight so the public knows who is on their side."

The CFPB is a major bright spot in the Biden administration's record. They're doing all kind of innovative things, like making it easy for you to figure out which bank will give you the best deal and then letting you transfer your account and all its associated data, records and payments with a single click:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/21/let-my-dollars-go/#personal-financial-data-rights

And now, CFPB chair Rohit Chopra has given a speech laying out the agency's plan to outlaw data-brokers:

https://www.consumerfinance.gov/about-us/newsroom/prepared-remarks-of-cfpb-director-rohit-chopra-at-the-white-house-on-data-protection-and-national-security/

Yes, this is some good news! There is, in fact, good news in the world, bright spots amidst all the misery and terror. One of those bright spots? Labor.

Unions are back, baby. Not only do the vast majority of Americans favor unions, not only are new shops being unionized at rates not seen in generations, but also the largest unions are undergoing revolutions, with control being wrestled away from corrupt union bosses and given to the rank-and-file.

Many of us have heard about the high-profile victories to take back the UAW and Teamsters, but I hadn't heard about the internal struggles at the United Food and Commercial Workers, not until I read Hamilton Nolan's gripping account for In These Times:

https://inthesetimes.com/article/revolt-aisle-5-ufcw-grocery-workers-union

Nolan profiles Faye Guenther, president of UFCW Local 3000 and her successful and effective fight to bring a militant spirit back to the union, which represents a million grocery workers. Nolan describes the fight as "every bit as dramatic as any episode of Game of Thrones," and he's not wrong. This is an inspiring tale of working people taking power away from scumbag monopoly bosses and sellout fatcat leaders – and, in so doing, creating a institution that gets better wages, better working conditions, and a better economy, by helping to block giant grocery mergers like Kroger/Albertsons.

I like to end these linkdumps on an up note, so it feels weird to be closing out with an obituary, but I'd argue that any celebration of the long life and many accomplishments of my friend and mentor Anne Innis Dagg is an "up note."

I last wrote about Anne in 2020, on the release of a documentary about her work, "The Woman Who Loved Giraffes":

https://pluralistic.net/2020/02/19/pluralist-19-feb-2020/#annedagg

As you might have guessed from the title of that doc, Anne was a biologist. She was the first woman scientist to do field-work on giraffes, and that work was so brilliant and fascinating that it kicked off the modern field of giraffology, which remains a woman-dominated specialty thanks to her tireless mentoring and support for the scientists that followed her.

Anne was also the world's most fearsome slayer of junk-science "evolutionary psychology," in which "scientists" invent unfalsifiable just-so stories that prove that some odious human characteristic is actually "natural" because it can be found somewhere in the animal kingdom (i.e., "Darling, please, it's not my fault that I'm fucking my grad students, it's the bonobos!").

Anne wrote a classic – and sadly out of print – book about this that I absolutely adore, not least for having one of the best titles I've ever encountered: "Love of Shopping" Is Not a Gene:

https://memex.craphound.com/2009/11/04/love-of-shopping-is-not-a-gene-exposing-junk-science-and-ideology-in-darwinian-psychology/

Anne was my advisor at the University of Waterloo, an institution that denied her tenure for fifty years, despite a brilliant academic career that rivaled that of her storied father, Harold Innis ("the thinking person's Marshall McLuhan"). The fact that Waterloo never recognized Anne is doubly shameful when you consider that she was awarded the Order of Canada:

https://nationalpost.com/news/canada/queen-of-giraffes-among-new-order-of-canada-recipients-with-global-influence

Anne lived a brilliant live, struggling through adversity, never compromising on her principles, inspiring a vast number of students and colleagues. She lived to ninety one, and died earlier this month. Her ashes will be spread "on the breeding grounds of her beloved giraffes" in South Africa this summer:

https://obituaries.therecord.com/obituary/anne-innis-dagg-1089534658

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/13/goulash/#material-misstatement

Image: Valeva1010 https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Hungarian_Goulash_Recipe.png

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

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life-outside-the-box · 1 year ago

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A zine written by a radical, disabled/ neurodivergent, queer of Portland Oregon, with contributions from other disabled, queer artists and advocates as possible

A note:

Thank you to Canva and their artists for creating accessible and beautiful zine templates and graphic elements! And thank you to everyone who continues to put in the effort to fight against oppression. This is for you, especially those of you in the Portland Oregon disability/neurodivergent, and queer communities. And, of course, this is in honor and memory and to rally increased support around our fellow Palestinian humans.

Please let me know if you or anyone you know falls into the communities in Oregon/Portland that this zine is published for and want to contribute! Feel free to share without credit, although I did post originally from my personal and professional accounts; it is more for social activism :) Please reach out if you have any interest in supplying art of any kind.

-Creator and editor

*Please note times for White House Call Line are in Pacific Standard Time”

Alt text:

First slide:

Picture of pink dried flower with stem with pink and green sequins on cream background, cover of “Radical Justice”: A zine written by a radical disabled/neurodivergent, queer of Portland; with contributions from other disabled, queer artists and advocates. Published

November 2023, Palestinian Aid Issue

Second slide: Text reads: “We acknowledge the First Nations people who are the custodians of the land on which this zine is published and contributed from:

Cayuse, Umatilla and Walla Walla

Stl’pulmsh (Cowlitz)

Clackamas

Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde

Confederated Tribes of Siletz Indians

We also thank our QTBIPOC members who have taken up disability and queer justice and care work before us and the groundwork they have laid and the rights they died for that we continue today as a community.” Text on cream background with three dried yellow and white varied flowers on too and three on bottom.

Third slide: Text reads: “To our Palestinian brothers,sisters, and gender diverse humans: we stand with you, always.” With a heart in the middle of the broken up words and surrounded by 6 varied dried flowers and leaves.

Fourth slide: A note on decolonization

We all benefit from enhancing and adding to the voices that call for decolonization and human rights.

Disabled/Neurodivergent and Queer communities especially, and ALL OF US benefit from doing what we can to fight oppression when we see it. Picture above on a swing with locks on it.

Fifth slide: Graphic reads “Where there is oppression, there will be resistance.” graphic by Poonam Whabi.

Below, an advertisement for a course called “Economics for Emancipation: A course on Capitalism, Solidarity, and How we get free”

Sixth slide:

Another picture of a Palestinian, masculine presenting child holding a sign with “Save Palestine” on it.

Google doc with resources on how to get more involved and resources for learning at https://bitly.ws/Y4ki.

Charities:

Medical Aid for Palestinians

Palestine Children’s Relief Fund

Medical Aid Pal

Podcast episodes:

Palestine Parts 1 & 2 with Sumatra Awad (author of “Palestine: A Socialist Introduction” by Upstream Podcast

Seventh slide: Picture of a pink flower with yellow inner seeds, under which the text reads: “A list of companies you should boycott that are funding Israel from BDS Movement.net

https://BDSmovement.net (more info about the differences here)”

Please see list from graphic below at this site as well. Text on top of graphic reads: “Act now against these companies profiting from the Genocide of the Palestinian People “

Eighth slide: Picture of a white flower in bottom right. Text reads: “Phone and Email Your Oregon US Representatives

House

1st district: Suzanne Bonamici

503-469-6010

2nd district: Cliff Bentz

541-249-4085

3rd district: Earl Blumenauer

503-231-2300

4th district: Val Hoyle

202-225-6416

5th district: Lori Chavez-DeRemer

503-557-1324

6th district: Andrea Salinas

503-385-0906”

Text continued in the right side with, “Senate

Ron Wyden

503-326-7525

Jeff Merkley

503-326-3386

White House Call Line

(T-TH 8AM- 12PM)

202-456-1111

202-456-1414”

Bottom reads, “Send auto Populated Emails Below:

http://tinyurl.com/defundisrael”

Ninth slide: Poem reads: ““Genocide is not a Jewish value”

Harsh comment,don’t you think?

“No”, says the slaughtered Palestinian family

that is, if they could speak

So we continue to be their voice until they get the justice that they seek

Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions

H it ‘em where it hurts

for “their” priorities lie in wealth and power, not a dead child’s hearse

Genocide Joe and those in power, please take a stance that prioritizes life over power

When history looks back , your human rights violations will surely be looked to as weakness and dour.”

Picture of a sunflower in bottom left

Tenth slide: Picture of life-like leaves taped to a photo peg board with sequins.

Text reads, “Tools for Re-centering:

Vagus Nerve Stimulation

Body Scan/Somatic Grounding

Progressive Muscle Relaxation

Feeling Wheel Reflection

Timed Processing

Yoga or Qui Gong

Box or 4-7-8 Breathing

Centering Meditations

Binaural Beats/8D Audio”

#zine #free palestine #disability zine #disability justice #queer advocacy #neurodivergent advocacy

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kumeko · 1 year ago

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A/N: For the @projectteyvat zine! I absolutely love Darker than Black and Dainsleif and the twins fit in so well with the AU

…

i. Past

The stars were fake. Dainsleif knew that, and yet he still found himself drawn toward them, looking up whenever they took a break. Those twinkling lights above no longer represented light travelling across the cosmos, the memories of a star from eons in the past. No, instead each had an earthlier attachment.

“You really like the stars,” Lumine said, interrupting his thoughts.

Dainsleif tore his eyes away from the false heavens to a sight closer to ground. Even for the night, it was dark in Liyue. The country was torn between the past and the present, between embracing modernity and clinging to traditions. Out in the countryside, stone lanterns were the only light for miles, their flickering light casting small pools of yellow-orange light. Fireflies drifted in the dark spots between, casting enough light to make out shapes.

Next to him, Lumine sat on a rock jutting out of a flower patch, her long white coattails and scarf fluttering in the wind. Her twin brother, Aether, leaned against her shoulder, his blond hair covering his eyes as he slumbered. Dainsleif didn’t have to look up to know that the Viator star was dim.

Lumine looked at him expectantly and Dainsleif shrugged. “I would not say like.”

She laughed lightly. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. Contractors can’t feel, right?”

“We can feel,” he corrected immediately. “We just don’t let those feelings determine our actions.”

“Sometimes I wonder…” Lumine murmured, gently tousling Aether’s hair. She watched her brother affectionately, pulling him closer as he slept. “You’re different from him.”

“How so?” he asked, curious despite himself. They had been travelling together for weeks now, by order of the Abyss Syndicate, and while he had learned much of the twins during their long journey, he still couldn’t get a bead on them.

Maybe it was because Lumine was an ordinary human, stubbornly joining the Abyss to stay near her brother. Maybe it was because Aether was oddly sentimental, often making decisions that prioritized his sister over the mission. The choices were rational, Dainsleif was certain about it, but they still rang more emotional than practical.

“I don’t know,” she admitted quietly, her finger twirling one of Aether’s stray locks. “You’re more distant than him. Less human.”

“We’re still human.” Dainsleif looked at his hands, sensing the power coursing through them. It was a magic that belonged to fairy tales. “In a fashion.”

“You just don’t act like it.” She looked up at him now, her eyes almost luminescent in the dim light. A gentle breeze ruffled her messy hair. “You’re hard to get along with. You’re cold. Aether hasn’t changed much.”

“That’s because he has you,” Dainsleif replied simply, peeking at their snoozing companion. There were few contractors that stayed with their family, fewer still who wanted to. Perhaps they would all be ‘sentimental’ if they had any earthly attachments.

Lumine smiled softly. “Maybe.” She looked up now. Her eyes widened as she tried to take it all in. “I know they’re not real stars, but they feel real. Is there really one up there that’s Aether’s?”

“Yes, the Viator.” Dainsleif looked up for a familiar green star. “It’s harder to find now.”

“Because he’s sleeping.” Lumine’s hand curled into Aether’s shoulder. She frowned. “I don’t like this. Why are you all connected with a star?”

A shooting star soared across the sky. Somewhere, a contractor had died. Dainsleif hoped it was one of their enemies. Their mission in Liyue would be a lot quicker if they didn’t have to fight for every step they took. Every nation wanted to stake a claim. “No one knows, but it’s probably the gates.”

“The Archon gates,” Lumine recited, no doubt repeating the Abyss Syndicate’s training. “They suddenly appeared at the same time you got powers and the real stars disappeared.”

“The gates probably caused all that.” Dainsleif crossed his arms. It wasn’t the first time he’d contemplated the strange quirks of fate and it probably wouldn’t be the last. No one knew where the gates came from or why. No one knew why the stars now pulsed with the heartbeat of a contractor, letting those who could decipher its morse codes read the life of each contractor.

“If we secure them…do you think the syndicate could find the answers?” There was a slight wobble in Lumine’s voice and he looked down to find her resting her cheek on her brother’s head, hugging him close. “Even free you?”

“I doubt it,” he replied honestly. “No one wants these powers to go away.”

“Not even you? What about your obeisance?” Lumine looked up sharply. “Aether at least only has to fall asleep when he uses his powers. Yours deage you. At some point, you’ll die.”

“Maybe.” Dainsleif admitted. While the payment for his powers was heavy, it didn’t scare him. Nothing had, ever since he’d woken up with this ability. “Is there any need to live long?”

It was a truth, albeit a harsh one, and Lumine recoiled as if struck. “Of course there is.”

“For you two, perhaps. Not for everyone.” Dainsleif shrugged. “Still, I have no intentions to die just yet. I will be careful.”

“That’s not—” Lumine cut herself off, taking a deep breath to calm down. Her jaw tightened as she glared at him. “You follow contracts.”

It wasn’t a question, but he nodded all the same. “Provided the price is right.”

Lumine snatched a white lily off the ground and held it up. “I don’t have much, but here. You’ll take care of yourself. You’ll take care of Aether. You won’t be reckless.”

Dainsleif stared at the flower, surprised. “I thought you didn’t like me.”

“That’s not what I said.” She smiled. “You’re hard to get along with, but we’re partners now, right? I’d like to know you better.”

She was genuine, he was certain of it, though he couldn’t fathom the reason why. “That isn’t a good deal.”

Lumine didn’t waver. “Then, I’ll protect you too.”

It still wasn’t a fair deal. Despite all of her training, she wasn’t more than a glorified servant, allowed to join as long as she guarded Aether when his obeisance forced him to sleep. Her abilities weren’t worth more than a delaying action.

“Fine.”

Despite all of that, he picked up the flower. She smiled at him and his lips twitched in return.

Maybe he wanted to get along with her better too.

ii. Present

The stars were fake. Yet, despite that, they were more constant than anything in Dainsleif’s life these days. In the five years since that starry night in Liyue, Dainsleif had de-aged ten years, left the syndicate, and even started his own mercenary group. Not even his hands looked the same as they did the day before.

Yet, if he looked up, Viator would still be in the same spot, glowing as brightly as it had years ago.

“You still like the stars.”

Even if that star was now connected to the hostile woman in front of him instead of her brother. Dainsleif studied the woman standing across the courtyard. If he hadn’t known she was Lumine, he would have thought her a stranger. Her gaze was cool, impassive as she stared back, the emotionless eyes of a contractor.

That mission had changed everything, for better and for ill.

“I would not say like,” he replied languidly, searching for a reaction.

Disappointingly, she didn’t react, not even stiffening in her defensive pose. Her grip on her dagger remained tight as she pursed her lips. “You went missing.”

“I did,” he acknowledged with a slight tilt of his head. Fortunately, Mondstadt’s streets were empty tonight, the park long abandoned by children. In the distance, the shadow of a statue kept watching, a man-made god protecting the city.

If they ended up fighting, there was no one to get caught in between.

Dainsleif stepped to his right, peeking around her to the man passively sitting on the bench. There was nothing of Aether’s smile in the boy, nothing of his charm or his wit, but then again, there was nothing of Lumine in the woman across from him.

The rumours were true.

He frowned, unable to help himself. “Aether?”

Lumine followed his gaze. As soon as she looked at Aether, her expression softened minutely, her arms lowering slightly. Then, just as quickly, that moment of weakness was gone and she was impassive once more. “He’s a doll.”

A doll. A ghost of himself. If there was something worse than turning into a contractor, it was turning into a doll. Dainsleif couldn’t recall the last time he’d met one with a wisp of personality, let alone memories of the past. The powers dolls got in exchange were minimal; they could see distant places through mediums, making their only use as scouts and spies.

There was a slight breeze and he wondered if the wind was Aether’s eyes now.

Dainsleif dug his fingers into his palm, grounding himself on the sharp pain. “That’s when you…?”

“Got his powers?” Lumine finished his question. Her eyes narrowed. “You were there for that.”

“I can’t remember it that well.” It was a half-truth. He had images in his mind, flashes of memories of when they’d entered Liyue’s gate. The region surrounding it had been a topsy-turvy mess, a place where the laws of physics didn’t make sense. Dainsleif remembered Aether’s glow, remembered Lumine’s tears, remembered how he had dragged their bodies free of the dark gravity of the place.

But he hadn’t really seen the aftermath. Not till now.

He took a step forward, focused on Aether’s vacant expression. “I didn’t think he’d end up like that.”

Lumine stepped to the right, blocking him before he could get any closer. With her growth and his shrinkage, they were the same height now. He could clearly see the anger in her eyes. “I didn’t either. Why are you here?”

Dainsleif lowered his hand. “Just passing through.”

She snorted, raising her dagger once more. “Is it for the Barbatos gate?”

“No.” His hair tickled his neck as the wind blew. Mondstadt was silent, except for the breeze whistling through the winding streets. “That gate’s a lost cause.”

“Then why?” Lumine’s eyes locked on his. She tightened her grip on the hilt. “And why are you so young? What have you been using your powers for?”

Dainsleif remembered a younger girl worrying about him. There was none of her concern in this Lumine, none of her fear. “Does it matter?”

“If it gets in the way, yes,” she replied bluntly, not even a flicker of worry crossing her face. Something in him twisted at the cold response. “So? Why are you here?”

“Visiting old friends,” Dainsleif answered slowly, considering his next words. While Lumine was a contractor now, there were still shadows of her old self in her. He could reach her if he were careful. “The syndicate is using you.”

Lumine laughed dryly. “They always were. Besides, it’s mutual.”

A practical response. It was one he’d given years ago too. “If it’s safety you’re looking for, there are other places to join.”

“Thanks for the suggestion, I’ll keep it in mind,” she replied coolly, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face. “Why are you here?”

“For you,” Dainsleif finally said, carefully pulling a white lily from his pocket. He had preserved it right after Lumine had given it to him, using his powers to keep it in an eternal stasis. It glowed faintly, reminding him of moonlight and dew, of a flickering lamp and Lumine’s smile. Cradling the bloom, he held it out.

Lumine’s eyes widened and she lowered her dagger. “That’s…” She glanced at him, then the flower. Reaching forward, she picked it up, studying it. “You still have it.”

“Of course. We had a contract.” Something in him uncoiled as she examined the flower.

“We did.” Her voice grew colder and she looked up. “I don’t need it anymore.”

She turned her hand, dropping the bloom. Without thinking, he stopped time, freezing her in place. Quickly, he plucked the flower before it hit the ground. He brushed its petals delicately before looking up at her frozen face.

“We still have a contract.” He reached up, cupping her cheek, brushing her hair out of her face. “And I will keep my end of it.”

iii. Future

The stars were fake, and yet they were preferable to the dirty clouds that stretched out above Dainsleif in the Khaenri’ah Gate. The city itself had been destroyed when the gate appeared, leaving behind collapsed houses and abandoned cars. The remnants of a people no longer here. The air was full of dust, giving everything a hazy look.

“There aren’t any stars here,” Lumine murmured, rubbing her arms as she looked up. There was a faint tremble in her voice, a faint sense of fear, and Dainsleif wondered if that was her or if that was the gate’s influence. “I didn’t think it’d be so…dead in here.”

“The gate obscures the sky,” Dainsleif explained, picking up a torn teddy bear. Its button eye dangled by a string.

She raised a brow. “Doesn’t the gate create the stars?”

“Maybe.” Dainsleif looked up at the cloudy skies. Faintly, he could make out a single star, and he wondered if that was a real one from his childhood or just another fake. If only he had enough time to explore the possibilities. If only he had time.

But he was a child now, maybe eight at most, and there was only enough time within him for one last trick.

Aether tugged on Lumine’s shirt, his head bowed as he stared blankly at the ground. “I can’t see.”

Dainsleif snapped his attention to Aether. “Don’t try to use your Sight. It’ll only drive you mad.”

Lumine gently grasped Aether’s hand, keeping him close. Years ago, it had been the reverse, Aether holding Lumine as they explored the Morax Gate. She glared at him. “You didn’t warn us.”

“I told you it would be dangerous,” Dainsleif countered calmly, dropping the bear. “You’re the ones who followed me.”

“Don’t act like that wasn’t your plan,” she sniped, snorting. “You left plenty of clues.”

“Fair enough.” He studied her profile. Anger was etched on her face, but also fear. But also hope. Perhaps there was still a chance. “Did you leave the Abyss?”

Lumine frowned, looking away. “Yes. You were right, they were too dangerous to deal with.” Annoyed, she kicked a broken bottle and watched it roll until it hit a brick wall. “I thought nothing was left of Khaenri’ah.”

“The people, no.” Dainsleif crossed his arms. The place looked like it was full of ghosts, though that was an irrational thought. Despite the new existence of magic, there still was no such thing as the supernatural. “They suddenly vanished when the gate appeared.”

“You vanished once,” Lumine pointed out bitterly, turning to him now. “This doesn’t look like a ‘gate’.”

He ignored the barbed attack. “It’s not a physical gate. A metaphysical one. It might be possible to see the real stars if we could clear the clouds.”

Lumine raised her hand. Wind swirled around her, her clothes ruffling rapidly as the gust grew in pressure. Aether tightened his grip on her hand. When she finally unleashed it, it blew up to the clouds before dissipating entirely. She frowned.

Before she could raise her again, Dainsleif grabbed it. “Don’t. You don’t know what the gate could do. It might erase our existence entirely.”

She yanked her arm free. “Fine. Why did you call us here?” Her eyes narrowed. “You said you knew how to get us out.”

“I do.” Dainsleif stepped forward, holding out his hands. “I’ll tell you how, after.”

She eyed his hand suspiciously. “After what?”

“I just need to check something,” Dainsleif lied, taking a deep breath. Before they could react, he grabbed Lumine’s and Aether’s wrists. His powers churned as he activated them.

“What are you doing?” Lumine shouted, trying and failing to free her arm from his iron-clad grip.

“Keeping my end of the promise.” Dainsleif felt his power course through him and into them, felt their time reverse, felt himself shrink in response.

Aether’s powers had flowed into Lumine at the gate. It was only at the gate that they could flow back out.

Aether stood straighter, his eyes glimmering with awareness. “Where…I…”

Lumine gasped, tears forming in her eyes. Already, her emotions were returning. With her free hand, she grabbed Aether. “Aether! You’re you.”

“I…I am?” He looked perplexed, still processing the sudden dump of sensations and memories.

“Yeah, you—” Suddenly, she snapped back to Dainsleif. Her eyes widened and she pleaded, “You can’t! Dainsleif!”

He smiled, his grip weakening as the last of his strength surged out of him. The flower in his pocket tumbled out, landing at her feet as Dainsleif fell backwards. “It’s fine.”

Aether was back. Lumine was back.

He’d done it. It was more than enough.

Dainsleif could feel himself shrinking, de-aging, his body going backwards until it wiped itself out. Above him, all he could see were those yellow clouds. If only he could have died under the stars, real or not. If only he could have said something more.

Lumine screamed and a surge of power hit Dainsleif before he landed on the ground.

Somewhere above, a new star appeared.

#genshin impact #dainslumi #dainlumi #dainsleif #lumine #aether #wait which one is the ship tag #with or without the s #darker than black is one of my favourite series #so i just jumped at the chance to do an au with it #i promise to give you a happier story one day dainslief #you just seem to be my angst ship #but I want you to be happy

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i-am-a--lionheart · 1 year ago

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Gravity

@sunorweek2023 Day 5 - Kalmar Union (with delay, obvi)

Originally written for @sunor-hq Zine in 2018, with minor alterations (ever asked yourself why some nations need glasses? Here is a possible explanation and it is eh, no fun)

Names:

Kjetil - Norway

Björn - Sweden

Christian - Denmark

TW: abuse, hinted SA, post torture

R: T+

Everything was dark in this chamber; the air was as cold as ice and still so full of humidity that breathing had become a terrible exercise for him. Breathing in, breathing out, and in again.

This was nearly the only thing he could do, the only thing he could do except from experiencing this terrible pain in his whole body.

There was something cold dripping on his surely bruised cheek, something even colder than the air and the cold floor made of stones in his back. If Björn hadn’t been able to hear just the softest, the faintest of sobs, he would have thought those cold drops were plain water from the ceiling and nothing else.

The dark that surrounded him was so deep without even the slightest source of light and he was not sure anymore if it was the natural dark of the cellar he knew so well by now or if he had been blinded. He had tried to open his eyes a couple of times already since he had awoken from his painful slumber, but it was absolutely useless. His head ached so much while he tried to remember what had happened yesterday. Yesterday? The day before? He was not even sure when exactly Christian had locked him in here after another violent fight that the Swede had lost against his elder. Björn had lost his sense of time and not only this sense – the only thing he could smell was dried up blood and the fould scent of a cell that was all moldy and cold, the only thing he could feel were the cold stones in his back and the chill metal around his wrists and, of course, those cold drops that fell so steadily on his face. His mouth tasted like death to him – what differed this from death anyways?

His heartbeat was slow and shallow, his lungs were ripped, his breathing rigged, his body torn – now what was different? Everything was cold, everything felt meaningless except for the warmth he could suddenly feel on his broken arms. And those quiet sobs that echoed so loudly between these walls of stone, those sobs gave all of this a meaning. If even always-not-caring Kjetil was crying, Christian must had beaten him to the very verge of dying.

Strangely the sadness, the desperation and fear that he could sense in Kjetils behaviour made him angrier than the fact he had been abused and locked away again.

Honestly, by now Björn was used to it, was used to the weekly arguments, the fights – he had always known that a union between the three of them would destroy their bonds rather than strengthen them. It had been tough during the Viking ages once they had drifted apart and what started as the idea of a united, strong North, had ended in violence and anger.

Those arguments would always star slowly, but exploded within mere minutes into unfair fights, first with insults and accusation. But since a few months it never stayed verbal at all.

They were nations – that was the reason his weak, hurt heart kept beating – they were nations and they were bound to be brutal, merciless creatures.

His hopeless thoughts were suddenly ripped into pieces by a sharp pain coming from his eye sockets – the warmth of Kjetils hands was gone and instead he could sense a cold liquid pouring on his face and into his opened, bloody eyes. The sobs hadn’t stopped completely but they were disrupted by chanted words uttered by a shivering voice. Björn had opened his cracked lips, probably in an attempt to scream because the pain was worse than anything, but a soft hand was clenched onto his mouth while a second pressed his jaw back with gentle force.

“Quiet.”, the Norwegian’s voice was back to his usual cool tone as far as Björn was able to hear it with the exploding pain in the back of his head. If he had listened more closely, however, Björn could have heard that the fear still stained his heavy, melodious tone. But the only thing that kept the Swede busy was pain, pain, and even more pain.

Was that even Kjetil? Why would he hurt him like that? Especially in this state?! Especially even when he always proclaimed that he loved him even though he behaved so cold most of the times.

His anger got worse, filling his veins with burning blood, but a small voice inside of him told him that it was probably just a way to quicken his healing progress. Kjetil was a healer after all.

And it was just this.

When the explosions in his brain finally had stopped, his vision had begun to clear up. Björn wondered if his eyes had ever been closed at all or if they had been bloody sockets with a mess of flesh inside of them. He still wasn’t able to see the lines of the stones at the ceiling, but the face of his companion appeared in front of his now restored, sea blue eyes.

Kjetil looked sick, his face even paler as usual, his dark blue eyes held a shade so red that they stood out like drops of blood on fresh snow. On the left side the red, puffy eyes were accompanied by a deep purplish greed spreading around it. Unshed tears still filled the deep orbs of the younger, whose face was stained by those he had shed and his whole figure was shaking, from fear or cold, Björn couldn’t tell.

He felt the need to sit up and pull him into his arms but a hand on his chest stopped him from doing so.

Just now he realised the soft blue light radiating from the places that the younger one had touched.

His arms didn’t feel as cracked as before and even though his clothes were still stained by his dried blood, he could imagine that his ribcage was closed again, with fresh, sensitive skin stretching over healed bones. Björn didn’t want to imagine what amount of energy sick, sick Kjetil had used to repair him like that. And even though he tried to raise his voice to tell him to stop, it was as if Kjetil controlled every movement of him.

It took hours and hours for him to heal, even with the energy and the chants of the Norwegian and after a while the both of them could hear hard and heavy steps coming down the stairs. Kjetils eyes – now even more tired looking than before, shifted from his patient to the metal door that separated the cell from the hallway. He froze for a second – of course he should have thought about this more closely, the sleeping potion did not last as long in Christian’s body than it did in Emil’s. The Norwegian wanted to stand up but a hand around his wrist kept him on the ground – even though Björn had looked so weak and destroyed during those hours he had spent by his side – he still was far stronger than he himself war. The Swede had finally managed to free his tongue from whatever Kjetil had used to keep him quiet. “Stay.” He could not even bear the thought of Kjetil going out there, having to face this monstrosity of a nation alone. “Please.”

Kjetil turned his gaze downwards to him again, his face softer than it had been in a very long time. He looked him with a mixture of warmth, desperation and the quietest love while his lips had curled into half of a smile. “I can’t. I am sorry.”, the younger one reached down with his free hand and loosened the grip of his elder, intertwining their fingers for the shortest of moments. “I can’t.”

The sounds had become louder, and Kjetil stood up, his eyes gleaming as he tried to pull all of his courage together. For little Emil, for Björn, even for little Tino. Then he went to the door once he knew that Christian had stepped onto the last stair, opened it and locked it behind him, very well knowing that once his mostly muffled screams had reached the inside of this cell, Björn could break his chains.

#aph #hetalia #aph norway #aph sweden #sunor #hws norway #hws #sunorweek2023 #yes i am still proud of this #fuck history is dark

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anarchopuppy · 4 years ago

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I’ve already reblogged a link to this entire article by @crimethinc, but I wanted to highlight the excellent ‘resources’ section on its own as we approach the election. For an anarchist take on the current climate, a list of upcoming actions, and a dope-ass poster to print and distribute, please do check out the full article as well

Trump’s term is ending as it began, with a likelihood of street conflict. The following guides offer a great deal of information about how to participate in effective protests while protecting yourself and your community.

Getting Connected

How to Form an Affinity Group

Find a Local Mutual Aid Network

Where to Find Your Local Medic Collective—This is not comprehensive, but offers a good starting point.

Security Culture

What Is Security Culture?

Bounty Hunters and Child Predators: Inside the FBI Entrapment Strategy

When the Police Knock on Your Door—Your rights and options: a legal guide

If the FBI Approaches You to Become an Informant—An FAQ

You can find a lot of important information about general security in protest situations here.

Digital Communications and Security

Your Phone Is a Cop—An OpSec/InfoSec primer for the dystopian present.

Communications Equipment for Rebels

Burner Phone Best Practices—A user’s guide

Doxcare—Prevention and aftercare for those targeted by doxxing and political harassment

This thread spells out how to protect your privacy via proper phone safety at demonstrations—before, during, and after the protest.

Dressing for Success and Security

Fashion Tips for the Brave

The Femme’s Guide to Riot Fashion—This season’s hottest looks for the discerning femme.

Staying Safe in the Streets

Blocs, Black and Otherwise

Safety Gear

A Demonstrator’s Guide to Helmets

A Demonstrator’s Guide to Gas Masks and Goggles—Everything you need to know to protect your eyes and lungs from gas and projectiles.

You can read some more tips about protest gear from protesters in Hong Kong here.

Strategy, Planning, and Tactics

A Step-by-Step Guide to Direct Action—What It Is, What It’s Good for, How It Works

Tools and Tactics in the Portland Protests—This text offers an overview of a wide range of options from leaf blowers and umbrellas to shields and lasers.

Creative Direct Action Visuals—Making banners and more.

Blockade Tactics—courtesy of the Ruckus Society

Tips about Blockading—from Beautiful Trouble

Lock Boxes—How to blockade with

Jail Support

Jail Support form from Rosehip Collective—Fill this out in advance of any event at which you might be arrested and leave it with your attorney or a support contact.

NLG National Support Hotlines and Other Resources

When Things Go Badly

Making the Best of Mass Arrests

How to Survive a Felony Trial—Keeping your head up through the worst of it

I Was a J20 Street Medic and Defendant—How we survived the first J20 trial and what we learned along the way.

Basic First Aid in the Streets

First Aid for Protestors

Eye safety at protests—You can read more on how to do an eye flush here

How to Protect Yourself from Audio Attacks—LRAD, sirens, etc.

COVID-19 Safety at Protests

You can obtain more graphics on this subject here.

For Experienced Medics

Protocols for Common Injuries from Police Weapons—For street medics and medical professionals treating demonstrators.

A Demonstrator’s Guide to Responding to Gunshot Wounds—It can also be useful to read these accounts from people who have experienced gunfire at demonstrations.

These four zines from the Rosehip Medic Collective include a range of useful information.

This collection of resources that appeared shortly before Trump took office includes more topical material, addressing non-violence, solidarity, white supremacy, colonialism, patriarchy, capitalism, and more.

#donald trump #joe biden #anarchism #us politics #all cops are bastards #practical #not gardening #activism

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calorumcookbook · 3 years ago

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Hey gang! Our shop opens in less than 3 days, and it's time to reveal our bundles! Check them out in the pictures above; prices are in $USD! 👑 All proceeds will go to the Action Against Hunger, a charity aiming to end world hunger and malnutrition. ❤️ For any additional questions, please refer to our FAQ here or contact us through DMs or email!

For a transcript of what each bundle holds, see below:

CANDIAN CANAPE - $15

🍭 Digital PDF of Zine (100+ pages, 100+ illustrations, 39 recipes)

BULBIAN BRUNCH - $25

💡 Digital PDF of Cookbook Zine

💡 Digital 'Making Of' Book (bonus art, WIPs, & artist thoughts!)

💡 6 Landscape Desktop Wallpapers (HQ art of the 6 nations)

💡 8 Taste Buds Emojis (HQ digital PNGs of our stickers)

CERESIAN SUPPER - $30 (+ shipping)

🥐 Physical Cookbook Zine (U.S. Letter, 8.5" x 11")

🥐 ALL DIGITAL MERCH: Digital Zine, Digital 'Making Of' Book, 6 Wallpapers, 8 Emojis (HQ digital PNGs of our stickers)

FRUCTERAN FEAST - $45 (+ shipping)

🍇 Physical Cookbook Zine (U.S. Letter, 8.5" x 11")

🍇 2 Mystery Scene Art Prints out of 4 (8.5" x 11")

🍇 3 Mystery Landscape Postcards out of 6 (4" x 6")

🍇 Jet and Ruby Acrylic Charm (Stretch Goal - Will be unlocked at 200 orders)

🍇 ALL DIGITAL MERCH: Digital Zine, Digital 'Making Of' Book, 6 Wallpapers, 8 Emojis (HQ digital PNGs of our stickers)

CALORUM CORNUCOPIA - $60 (+ shipping)

👑 Physical Cookbook Zine (U.S. Letter, 8.5" x 11")

👑 All 4 Scene Art Prints (8.5" x 11")

👑 All 6 Landscape Postcards (4" x 6")

👑 Taste Buds Sticker Sheet (4" x 6")

👑 Chef Preston Enamel Pin (Stretch Goal - Will be unlocked at 100 orders)

👑 Jet and Ruby Acrylic Charm (Stretch Goal - Will be unlocked at 200 orders)

👑 ALL DIGITAL MERCH: Digital Zine, Digital 'Making Of' Book, 6 Wallpapers, 8 Emojis (HQ digital PNGs of our stickers)

[ID: Five pink graphics that contain mock ups of each of the products you would get if you purchased that bundle. Bundles containing the acrylic charm and enamel pin have those products greyed out with a lock symbol in front to signify its status as a stretch goal. Each graphic contains text with the bundle name, price, and a brief list of each item. END ID.]

#dimension 20 #a crown of candy #fanzine

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jenner-benjamin · 3 years ago

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Extended Practice Summary

Presentation poster that summarises my practice in three words - digital rendering of mixed media works.

Throughout the last three years as a Multi-Disciplinary Printmaking Masters student my work has endured a development beyond that which I could have ever anticipated. I began the course very unsure of myself and felt incredibly out of my depth, suffering from imposter syndrome and a feeling a general uncertainty that I was a right fit for the course. I have since undertaken a series of modules that have; taught me the basic principles of printmaking, shown me how to understand research as a practice in itself, allowed me to develop ideas in a supportive environment, encouraged me to consider where I would place myself as a creative in a professional context, and ultimately, to produce a body of work that consolidates all of the above. My work has developed quite substantially in this time, beginning with figurative printmaking and ending at the complete opposite end of the spectrum in abstraction. However the concepts at the heart of the work have always remained constant. I have always strived to depict an autobiographical narrative, but the aesthetic, the depth of thought and research have progressed.

At the beginning of the academic year I had surmised that visual poetry and asemic writing were a means by which I could communicate a personal narrative. I had spent the previous year touching upon the theory of asemic writing, and using the skills I had learnt in the printmaking studios to develop ideas and explore this newfound and exciting visual language. Because I had established an area of interest and a research methodology, I sought to utilise this final year to try to locate my audience. I achieved a mindset of discerning that the end of the masters degree is not an ending as such, but the beginning of my career as a creative practitioner that is using the end of the masters degree to segue in to a professional context.

In terms of putting my aims in to practice, I submitted works to a multitude of opportunities, open calls and exhibitions with the intention of placing myself in a professional context and locating my audience simultaneously. As time progressed I understood that I am a representative of more than just one community of artists. I am a Masters degree student, a queer artist, a conceptual artist, a performance artist, a book artist, a visual poet and also a researcher. Therefore, by not defining myself as a fixed identity I was able to explore more avenues and test more places where I might place my work. I submitted works to assembling publications and exhibitions, both digital and physical. The networking that I have carried out as a result of this determination has led to further opportunities, such as exhibiting at Bristol Pride and reaching out to artists whose work touches upon asemic writing in their practice.

I have finally developed my website as a space to host a digital portfolio. A lot of open calls and opportunities ask for an online presence, and I feel a website is considerably more professional than pointing people in the direction of your Instagram profile. I initially made my website to serve as an exhibition space for the Practice in a Professional Context module and for the Bower Ashton Library artist-in-residence exhibition. I am glad to be able to use this space as a permanent display for my work, rather than the awkward digital exhibition venue that it has been - though these were necessary at the time to adhere to government restrictions and social distancing measures.

I have regrettably not become as proactive as I would have liked at engaging with social media. I have grasped that it is a useful means through which ideas can be shared, but I still feel an awkward disconnect with the concept. Perhaps this is because the algorithms mean that there is no definite strategy to employ to get people to actually see your posts. I would rather put more emphasis on encouraging my audience to physically engage with my practice. I have achieved this by collating the work that I would have exhibited at the end of degree exhibition in to an edition of 150 publications that I will share with as many people as possible. I will post this portable exhibition to those that supported me in fundraising for the project, those that I would have invited to the exhibition at university, and I intend to submit the publications that are left over to various libraries and artist’s book archives.

Inevitably the current global crisis affected my practice quite dramatically. Access to university facilities has been sporadic throughout the last year, and this lack of consistency meant that my creative outputs have been staggered as a result. The weeks of isolation and multiple lockdowns hindered motivation and consequently, creative development. This feeling of disconnect that I had with my practice led to a period of reflection. I realised that not having access to the facilities meant that I did not feel the pressure to adhere to printmaking traditions, and that I could explore the more conceptual side of my work from home. This deeper understanding that I had gained of where I want to push my practice led to a much broader body of research, and I found that the gesture and performance of writing was as exciting to me as the works on paper themselves. Both research and performance have peaked my intrigue in the last six months and are areas that I would hope to explore further as my practice progresses after the course has ended.

The coronavirus outbreak affected more than just my university studies, it was also quite damaging to my mental wellbeing. Consequently I have utilised my practice as a coping mechanism throughout the latest lockdown. I have used it as a means of documenting everything that I have felt and experienced in the last year, this includes working in the hospitality industry throughout the whole ordeal, and in particular my feelings towards the treatment of hospitality workers. My third year work has told the story of the pandemic and three lockdowns from my point of view. The various periods of isolation and the loneliness that ensued had a negative impact on my mental health, and so I adapted these feelings into a series of breathing and drawing exercises that became daily rituals that formed a big part of my routine in lockdown.

The repercussions of the current situation meant that I faced many obstacles that required a degree of problem solving. The most notable instance was my time as artist-in-residence at Bower Ashton Library. I developed a body of work from found poetry that I was initially unable to complete due to the nation being locked down. I took to social media to ask my followers to send a found word, from which I could make a lockdown poem and print to send to everyone that had submitted a word. This was a wholesome project that kept my mind occupied in a time of uncertainty, and also a gift for everyone that took part. Upon my return to university I was able to complete the found poetry artist’s book, but the nation went in to a second lockdown just as I was about to exhibit the work. This challenged me to digitise the book that I had made and attribute a QR code to it that I plastered all around the city. My aim was for a new audience of passers-by to find my exhibition by chance, continuing the ethos of found poetry in a whole new context. I also spent the remaining budget from the residency on making the book into lo-fi zines that I could also distribute, wanting as many people to physically interact with the book as possible. I was particularly proud of this project, it showed that a little determination could enable me to see my ideas realise themselves in surprising and creative ways.

I have proven to myself that I can fulfil everything that I had proposed at the start of the year with very little in the way of facilities and materials. The majority of my final year’s worth of work was conducted from my bedroom with a roller and some etching ink. This low maintenance method of working is completely transferrable to anywhere in the world, which really is an exciting discovery to make so early on in my career as an artist. Armed with the knowledge that I do not necessarily need studios to develop ideas, I had the confidence to propose a project to an artist residency in rural Italy. I will be placing myself in the community and examining through first hand research how ideas of asemic writing and narrative might translate in a setting where the language spoken is not my mother tongue. I am intrigued as to the otherness of language, and how a language that I do not understand might be transcribed visually. The proposal itself is also transferrable, and has the potential to be explored on a global scale.

There is much scope for further research within asemic writing, and handwriting as a whole. I have enjoyed having the masters degree as a part time constant, but the nature of this part time study has meant that I have not been able to dedicate as much time to my practice as I would have liked. Asemic writing is an under researched area of study, and it deserves more time and commitment than I have been able to afford in the last few years. With this in mind I intend to write a proposal for PhD research. I am keen to explore ideas of asemic writing, narrative and comprehension, and will utilise everything that I have read and learnt in the last two years in particular as a basis for this proposal.

I cannot commend this course highly enough. Having the support to develop and explore my practice has been truly invaluable. I have seen my work mature in to a coherent practice with a clear path forwards beyond the confines of university. This confidence in my practice would not have been achieved without the continuous backing of the module leaders, my peer group, and studio culture as a whole. I have found my creative voice, and am excited to use everything that I have learnt as a student on this course to establish a future for myself as an artist.

#practice #summary #evaluation #report #asemic #asemic writing #performance #performance art #printmaking #masters #mamdp

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cordelia-archer · 5 months ago

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thenewlittleprincess · 4 years ago

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In Memoriam - Elizabeth Rose

TopZine ”Britain’s Top Entertainment Zine” Friday, 3 October 2025 by Anthony Robertson, Entertainment Reporter

The New Little Princess - Gone!

The news is that “The New Little Princess” seems to have disappeared.

The last fact we have about her is that she got her contract with Pina Colada Music on Tuesday, 30 September 2025.

The Princess and her father then asked the company for leave, to rest after the stressful month of September. Last month, the little Princess had to write “Frijos Frijoles” and practice with the Pina Colada band daily, for the Lincoln Park Fiesta. In addition, on 15 September 2025, she was caught in the middle of the coup d’etat in Guatemala. The President, a family friend and personal idol of the Princess, was assassinated in front of her face and died in her arms. The Princess and her family fled the country overnight in a bullet train: like other refugees, with whatever they could carry. She sang her story on TopZine, “Say Goodbye, It’s Independence Day”, 17 September 2025, in a video which hit No. 5 on the ICT Pop Chart 20th September, with 10,000,000+ Pays-per-View and downloads. Pina Colada gave the Princess two weeks’ leave on 1 October 2025.

However, since then, no one has seen or heard from The New Little Princess. She and her family have checked out of the Venice hotel where they have been staying since August 2025. Her family do not answer their videophones. The Department of Immigration and Citizenship say that the Princess’ family have not left the country, at least through any immigration contol point. Metro LA Police Chief Anthony Giannetti says no complaint has been made about any crime against the Princess or her family but says that his Department will “look into this” and “make sure that the Princess is OK”. Thank you Mr Giannetti!

TopZine will stay on this story until we unravel it and tell you what happened!

Sunday, 12 October 2025 International Computer Telecommunications Corporation “New Videos”: “Elizabeth Rose” by The New Little Princess

We see The New Little Princess sitting at a Grand Piano in a studio, with a band. She is dressed in a T-Shirt and jean shorts, with no adornments in her hair or on her face, not even her tiara, let alone her “Moon Kid” antennae.

She speaks directly into the camera.

“Hey, me bessies! Hear yav been looking for me. That’s so sweet! Vos quiero mucha!”

The Princess blows a kiss from both hands.

“We’re all right, so just chill!” the Princess says. “We’ve been in Hawaii, on a little island where no one lives, just to chill and get away from it all. Truth be told, I were knackered after last horrible month and me Mum and Dad were worried about me. Now I’m 100% and we’re goin’ back to LA tomorrow to start makin’ music again! Yay! [she claps].

“But now this is serious. It’s free but serious. I want yas to understand what we Guatemalans are going through now and what happened to the best Presidenta in the world, almost a month to the day. And then I want you to do something: send a message to your national leaders, by e-mail or SMS, telling them to lock up Gen Gutierrez, the dictator who murdered our Presidenta.

. “Last month you blocked up the world leaders’ inboxes with Guatemala messages and it was a beautiful thing. They’re lookin’ into Guatemala but we need to do that EVERY DAY until Gutierrez and his droogies are history!.This song will tell you why. And most important DO SOMETHING after this song, don’t just enjoy. Send a message to your national leader like “Gutierrez in jail Guatemala free”. That’s good enough. And it makes a difference for millions of people! Please. Don’t let them forget us!”

Then she plays a slow melody on the piano, based on the Guatemalan National Anthem [see below] and sings:

This is not the end, it’s the beginning

‘Cos I am going to make sure

That you and everybody knows

Who was Elizabeth Rose

Her memory, I will tend

Please, a little blessing send us

For there will be no surrender

The fight will never end

Until you and everybody knows

Who was Elizabeth Rose

And we will fight for justice

And freedom in the name of our

Elizabeth Rose

Now what will you do?

I ask you

When you find out all of the truth

That she was shot dead

With a bullet through her head

Just for trying to do good

In a country you don’t know

In a place you never go

In a world you never see

But it’s yours

[Slowly] Our country’s leader

Died in my hands

That was Elizabeth Rose

But this is not the end

It’s the beginning

‘Cos I am going to make sure

That you and everybody knows

Who was Elizabeth Rose .. .

Silence.

Then the band strikes up a more-powerful rock ballad melody and the Princess sings and plays with it.

They didn’t give her a chance

At life

They didn’t give her a chance

Just a chance to die

They didn’t give her a chance

To try

To make a difference in the people’s lives

So don’t give them a chance

To do it again

No one else should get the chance to cry

Don’t give them a chance

To try

And do the same thing all over again

Just make this the end

For them

Say ‘Never, never again’

[Musical Interlude]

Silence. Then back to the anthem music from the start of the song.

This is not the end, it’s the beginning

‘Cos I am going to make sure

That you and everybody knows

Who was Elizabeth Rose

Now what will you do?

I again ask you

Will you help us do

Whatever you can do?

The one who pulled the trigger

Must pay the price

Of the life of Elizabeth Rose

So please help us fight for justice

And freedom

In the name of Elizabeth Rose.

Through us, Elizabeth Rose.

Silence.

The Princess bursts into tears, crying into her hands.

The video fades out to a Guatemalan flag, blowing in the wind.

youtube

#music video #original story #new lyrics #singer #child star #Guatemala #coup d'état #resistance #mystery #disappearance #political assassination #pay the price #email campaign #SMS #thenewlittleprincss #2025 #entertainment zine

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kumeko · 4 years ago

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Title: Corrin’s not-so-fun vacation

A/N: For the Fire Emblem Press Start Zine! I like making happy AUs where everyone can just live together.

…

Standing in front of the Residential Services, Corrin frowned. She was far too familiar with these large oak doors, with the rooms hidden within. In fact, she could count the number of times she’d visited this place in the past week with both her hands. Most people, she heard, only visited this place once a month at most.

“Is something wrong?” Azura asked, clutching her hands anxiously. Dressed in a blue-white sundress, she looked like the picture of island living. She even had a large, floppy hat.

She wished she could look just as carefree, but summer fun had to wait. Corrin sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Nothing, it’s just…” She eyed Azura again, taking in the healthy tan of her skin, the lack of worry lines on her face. For a woman who used to seem like she was on the brink of collapse, she looked like the epitome of life now. “You like it here, right?”

“Of course.” Azura smiled softly. She clutched the brim of her hat as she bashfully added, “I have to thank you for bringing me here. You were right, we really did need a vacation from…well…” Trailing off, Azura glanced at her helplessly. “You know.”

Oh, did she know. Corrin could only nod her agreement. There wasn’t an easy, quick way to bring up the war between Nohr and Hoshido, between the land of her birth and the land she was raised in. And that wasn’t including the heartbreak of fighting her siblings, the strangeness of her newfound powers, or any of the other things that occurred during her mission to bring peace.

The worst part, perhaps, was that it didn’t end with peace. No, even with her families leading their respective countries and Xander and Ryoma signing a treaty to end all conflict, there was still so much work to be done. Rebuilding took time and effort, whether it was property or relationships. It was taxing. For months, Corrin’s eyes looked like that of a raccoon’s. At some point, she just had to take a break from it all. Chuckling deprecatingly, Corrin smiled wearily. “Well, we wouldn’t be much help if we collapsed, right?”

“Certainly.” Azura tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, troubled. “Though I am not sure if it is a good idea to leave our countries for so long.”

“It’s fine.” Corrin reached out and squeezed Azura’s hands tightly. “Time passes slower here, remember? They won’t even notice we’re gone.”

“That…is true,” she admitted reluctantly.

Emboldened, Corrin continued, “It might just be a single day that’s passed. Wouldn’t that be funny?”

“I hope so.” Azura giggled, a bell-like sound. She smiled appreciatively. “I have to say, though, Jakob managed to find the perfect Deep Realm. This world is quite idyllic.”

“I wonder just how many he went through to find this place.” Corrin scratched her cheek, considering her faithful butler. Honestly, sometimes she wondered if Jakob was even human—he could track her down anywhere, find whatever it was she needed, and was equally as capable in the castle as he was on the battlefield. “Though the inhabitants here are…strange.”

Azura glanced around, making sure no one was within earshot before agreeing. “I still cannot believe there are talking animals here. I am not sure what is odder, that the citizens here are all animals or that there are maybe one or two humans in existence.”

Corrin leaned closer, speaking in hushed tones. Even though she doubted anyone here had a weapon, let alone could wield it, she didn’t want to raise their ire. She had enough angry citizens to deal with at home. “It’s so weird. They sound like they’re saying gibberish, but it also makes perfect sense. And they just give away entire islands!”

Azura nodded as she leaned close too, her voice a low whisper. “They did just give you this entire island when we first arrived at that—what did they call it? Airport? Maybe they don’t have kings here?”

“But how do they function then?” Corrin raised a brow, unable to imagine it. Leo might know, or maybe Xander or Ryoma. Even with all the time she’d spent pouring over books, absorbing information of the outside world, Corrin had never once read of a place without royalty. “How do they run things?”

At a loss for words, Azura shrugged. Even that simple movement felt elegant from her. “Maybe they do not, and that is why they gave you this island. Though, they are fast builders despite this lack of oversight.”

“They are ridiculously fast, aren’t they?” Corrin glanced at the building they were about to enter. All she had to do was enter, request a change, and by the time she woke up an entire house had been built. Or moved (and somehow, without the occupant waking up). “I haven’t seen any magic here, though, so I don’t get how they do it.”

“Maybe the magic they use is undetectable by us,” Azura suggested, looking toward the beach where the airport was. “We did fly here, after all. And without any incantations or diagrams.”

Corrin stopped herself from replying. These were questions that neither of them could answer. There was no point in stressing out over this, that was the exact opposite of the reason they were here. Taking a deep breath, Corrin counted to five before letting go of Azura’s hands. “Alright, that’s enough of that. We’re just going to go in circles.”

“That might be the case,” Azura agreed, her hands falling to her sides as she also took a deep breath.

“We’re here to relax and have fun.” Corrin glanced at the door again, remembering just why she had made her nth journey to this building. “And you’re having fun, right?”

Azura nodded, giving the same answer she’d given earlier. “Of course. You have done an excellent job managing this island.”

“Okay, then if you’re having fun here, why is everyone else driving me crazy?” Corrin grumbled, opening the door. Inside was a large room, portioned into two main areas. A counter divided an office space manned by a giant tanuki and a golden dog. “I should have known better than to have everyone vacation at the same time.”

“What do you mean?” Stepping after her, Azura gave her an inquisitive look. “I thought everyone liked the island?”

“They do.” Despair dripped in her voice and Corrin rubbed her forehead as she walked over to the counter. “They just don’t like being together.”

Before Azura could press, the tanuki noticed them. Tom Nook, as he was called, got up from his desk and rushed over to them. In a strange, high-pitched voice, he asked, “What can I do for you today?”

No matter how many times she heard it, Corrin couldn’t shake the strange feeling she got when she heard the locals speak. Their voices sounded like Elise’s scribbles when she had been younger and learning to draw. Yet the words organized themselves perfectly in her head. Still, they could communicate, and that was all that mattered in the end. With a strained smile, Corrin admitted, “I need you to move two houses apart.”

“Again?” Incredulous, Tom stared at her. Awestruck, he pulled out a form. “You’re really reshaping the island! I wonder what it’ll look like now.”

“Who needs to move?” Azura asked, looking surprised as well.

“Xander and Ryoma.” Corrin sighed, slumping forward slightly as she remembered her older brothers’ arguments. They were the kings of two nations. They’d fought in a war, created peace, and were even drinking companions at night. Yet somehow, on this island, they had developed a fierce attachment to their houses. “They’re both trying to recreate Hoshido and Nohr in their homes, and—this is like the war all over again. Ryoma wants a bamboo fence, Xander wants a stone wall, and there isn’t room to have them both.”

“Oh.” Patting her shoulder sympathetically, Azura consoled, “I see what you meant now. Perhaps it would be better if they requested these changes themselves?”

“Unfortunately, we can only accept our leader’s requests,” Tom interrupted, an understanding smile on his face. “Though I am sure they are impressed by all of your hard work.”

“I hope so,” Corrin grumbled. Before Tom filled out paperwork, he pulled out a map. She leaned forward to study her brothers’ houses. It looked like the river blocked them one way, an orchard the second, the museum the third, and the town plaza the fourth. There wasn’t enough room to move them apart from each other, nor was there anywhere she could relocate one of them. “There’s nowhere to go.”

Tom studied the map before nodding sadly. “No, I’ m afraid there isn’t.”

“Drat.” Corrin pinched her nose but she was still here, staring at a useless map. “Alright, I’ll let them know then. I guess they’ll have to sort it out themselves.”

“I’m sure they can handle it,” Azura comforted, squeezing her shoulder now. “They managed a peace treaty, after all.”

“I hope I don’t have to jump through as many hoops for this.” Corrin straightened her posture, forcing away her irritation. “Alright, they’re going to have to compromise. Thanks, Tom.”

“Let me know if anything else needs moving!” Tom offered, rolling away the map.

“Hopefully not,” Azura answered, a weary smile on her face.

Corrin side-stepped to Isabelle’s half of the room. She was a strange, dog-like person and looked like a cuter version of Kaden’s fox form. “Anything I should know, Isabelle?”

Isabelle worried her lip as she grabbed several papers and stepped closer. With a nervous smile, she started, “Well, first things first, our town’s rating has gone down.”

“What?” Azura gasped, covering her mouth. “But we’ve been taking such good care of this place.”

“You have,” Isabelle agreed, looking a little antsy. “The problem is that there’s a lot of trash.”

Corrin blinked, not sure if she’d understood. “Trash?”

“Yes, trash.” Isabelle rubbed her arm. “Takumi’s house has been overrun by trash.”

“Takumi—” Corrin had a sinking feeling she knew why her brother was in that state. “What about Leo? Did he do something? Or get something?”

“Well, I don’t know if he did anything, but he is certainly having a terrible time himself. There have been rotten turnips around his house, attracting swarms of flies.” Isabelle rubbed her chin. “I don’t get how that happened.”

“A minor war,” Azura sighed. “I would expect this from Takumi, not Leo.”

“Like I said, I should have just had them both on different islands. One for Nohr, one for Hohsido. There wouldn’t be any issues then.” Honestly, she should have just snuck here by herself, or with Azura. Just a small vacation for the two of them, sans any annoying siblings. Corrin hesitantly asked, “Anything else?”

When Isabelle nodded, Corrin wondered if she really needed to hear the answer. Pulling out another sheet, Isabelle continued, “Elise and Sakura have requested that the town’s flower be changed.”

“Elise and Sakura?” Corrin echoed, not sure if she’d heard correctly. “They both want it to be changed?”

“They’re working together!” Azura clapped her hands happily. “That’s good.”

“Oh, no, they both want a different flower.” Reading the sheet, Isabelle explained, “Sakura has asked for it to be a sakura, while Elise wants it to be a daffodil.”

“Oh…okay…” Corrin felt her energy drain. Well, there went that short-lived hope. “That’s a simple thing, at least.”

“And I have a letter for you from the airport!” Isabelle held out an envelope, her smile bright. “And that is all I have for updates.”

“Camilla and Hinoka seem happy,” Azura consoled. “That’s good, right?”

“Yeah, that’s…” Corrin trailed off as she looked at the letter. That was Hinoka’s writing. There were no two ways about it. Suppressing a groan, she opened it. “What happened now?”

“Corrin, save me!” Azura read aloud. Startled, she glanced at Corrin. “She’s in danger? I thought there was nothing harmful in this world.”

“No, we brought the harm ourselves.” Corrin continued reading the letter aloud, “I keep trying to get into the island, but the airport refuses to let me in. I’ve given them all my weapons, so it isn’t that. They said someone’s blocking the entry. Could you check?”

“Is there something wrong with the airport?” Azura asked, perplexed.

Isabelle shook her head. “There is nothing wrong. If anything, Camilla has been flying in and out a lot lately. Our airport is running in tiptop condition!”

Corrin had a sinking feeling she knew exactly what was going on. “Camilla isn’t letting Hinoka on the island.”

Surprised, Azura glanced at the letter again. “Can she do that?”

“Yeah, if she keeps going in and out like that.” Corrin groaned. All of her siblings, all eight of them, were causing chaos on this island. On this vacation. She was supposed to have a stress-free couple of weeks. This was the exact opposite of that. “Azura?”

“Yes?”

“Wanna run away together?” Corrin asked, half-serious. Maybe they could start afresh on a brand-new island. An island only filled with animal-people.

It would be so peaceful.

#azura #corrin #fire emblem fates #animal crossing #tom nook #isabella #fanfic #the family is dysfunctional #no matter where #but the wars here are at least over fences

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crxmsxnmemories · 5 years ago

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Have you seen REN DAAE around ? I hear they’re an OWNER OF RECKLESS RECORDS who can sometimes be IMPETUOUS & CYNICAL. But I also heard they can be ENERGETIC & CREATIVE if you catch them on a good day. They’re usually hanging around ATLANTIS - IN in their spare time. I sure hope they’re alright !

INTRODUCING:

THE ROCK GODDESS

QUICK STATS

Name : Rena Daae

Nicknames : Ren ( this is the only name she’ll answer to)

Age: 56 years old

D.O.B : April 18th 1964

Eithnicity: French

Nationality : American

Height : 5′7

Marital status: Divorced

Children: One ( WC)

Fun Fact: You’ll always find her munching on something.

Drug Use: Cigarettes, weed

Alcohol Use : Heavy Drinker

BACKSTORY

- There are pivotal moments in our lives, that help shape you into the person that you become. So they say —Rena didn’t need such a moment, from the moment she was born the impetuous little girl was a force to be reckon with, and as she grew older, that nature only grew stronger. This may have to do with the fact that people often mistook her and her older sister as twins. Which she was quick to inform them that just because they both had blond hair and striking blue eyes, didn't mean they were twins. And it was true, she couldn’t have been more diffrent from her sister. - While Maddy loved to read and write, Rena was always singing. Her afinity towards music was great and grew over time. She learned how to play the piano, the guitiar and violent though the latter she only played when she was feeling melancholy or reminiscent. Participating in talent shows at her school and at local community events. Rena ate, breathed, and prayed when it came to music. It feed the thing that was inside of her for so long. It set her apart, made her special because no one eles was musically inclined in her family. This was her special gift - that was what her ma’ma would tell her . Told her to cherish it and to nurture it and one day she would see it take flight.

- It was around her Junior/ Senior year that she got into a band. They were young and dumb and smoked way to much pot but they had all been friends. Growing up together. None of them would have thought that things would take off the way it did. Rena however believed they could be really good. While most parents would have told their kids to keep the noice down, she and her friends played for the neighborhood sometimes. People crowding around the end of the driveway to listen to them practice. That was when she started taking things seriously, writing the band songs. Taking lead vocals with Bren and it was magic. They were good and everyone thought so. When the opportunity came for them to win a competition, the prize being a signing with an actual record label; they jumped at it. And life was never the same after that.

- Touring around the country and the world. Sold out concerts, fans, accolades. This was the life she had seen for herself. One that set and kept her apart. Sure maybe there were dark times, the motto: drugs, sex, and rock and roll was a running theme. She was a rock star right, there was no way that she couldnt want it. But that night she hadn’t. It was a night like any other; the drummer was throwing a party and Ren was busy nursing a drink as she glared towards Bren and his flavor of the month Renna. She had needed a distraction and the man that was talking to her told her all the right things. He kept getting her new drinks, telling her how talented and pretty she was and Ren was eatting that shit up. Soon though the room started to spin — which was odd because she was good about hadeling her liqour. Her companion offered to take her to a room to lay down— whtat was nice of him. But he had been far from nice

- She remember trying to push him off her. Screaming for help but no one came, or did they. The night had been such a blur. But when she woke the next morning, her body was sore. Everything hurt, and when she made her way towards the bathroom and looked at her swollan cheek, her black eye, the handprint embeded around her neck she couldn’t help but cry, sob. Ren locked herself in that room. Calling her assistant to come and her make-up stylist to get to the house they were renting. By the time they got their she had showered and washed her hair, she looked better then earlier in the morning but given the wide eye’d expression on their face .They came to the same reasoning as Ren had She refused to call the police and told them both to say nothing; to get her a pill to make sure she wouldn’t get pregnant; fix her face and then forget about it. Because she would, and she did with the help of very heavy drinking from that point on. She refused to let this one moment in her life break her. And never again would she put her self in a position where that could happen to her.

PRESENT

- With her glory days behind her, Ren’s love of music hasn’t desipated. If anything it has only increased. Some may have thought owning a record shop was cliche . A former Rocker trying to relive the glory days but Ren didn’t give a damn what people thought. She loved her little record store, though in the day of streaming, little shops like hers were going out of business and it didnt matter who owned it. Yet Reckless Records seemed too stand the test of time when asked by a local zine why that was. Ren would just shrug her shoulders and say “ Some people still appreciate the sound of good vinyl. The truth was less vauge.

- Underneath the store was where the thriving business really was. There was only one entrance and that was afterhours, Butch sat outside and if you didn’t have a key to show him you didn’t get in. But the key was only the first step, once inside you took the dimly lit stair well and at the end of it was another door. Knock three times and say the word SWORDFISH and that was when the party began. The Underground was her real baby, this secret club was the brain child of the former rocker for as long as she could remember. A place where you could get strong drinks, good food and listen to up and coming talent in the Chicago underground music scene. Hell even a few big name celebrities had graced her establishment. To record a few live tracks or in the recording studio backstage.

- The Underground wasn’t all that takes up her time these days. Reconnecting with her sister daughter Maeve has been top on her list as well. It’s been 10 or so years since she seen the little maverick. Family is so important and now, as she has gotten older even more so.

#crimson.intro #|⠘⠘ ᴰᴿᵁᴳ ᔆᴱˣ ᴬᴺᴰ ᴿᴼᶜᴷᴵᴺ ᴿᴼᴸᴸ - intro #|⠘⠘ ᴿᴱᴺ ᴰᴬᴬᴱ

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