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sp4c3-0ddity · 6 years

Note

Oh!! If youre still doing the au thing, neighbors plance au? Everything is still canon compliant but pidge and lance have known each other since they were in diapers (imagine The Angst when pidge disappears after Kerberos and reappears at the garrison and lance has to lie to hunk about “pidge gunderson”)

possibly not quite what you wanted and a bit more than five headcanons (a fic of nearly 3000 words…) but i hope you like it!! sorry it’s a bit of a mess

(also i made up some stuff about the Garrison and the timeline may be a little off)

“Whothe heck is Pidge Gunderson?”

Predictably Hunk shrugs, as baffled asLance is…thoughlikely not as disappointed. He hopedhis comm specialist would be any of the last five girls he had a crush on, andyet—

“Righthere.”

The familiar voice squeezes his chest andmakes it difficult to breathe for a second, but when he recovers - no way, it can’t be her- he spins on his heel to face his and Hunk’s new teammate.

But the round face and petite frame areunmistakable despite the uneven haircut and glasses. Lance doesn’tknow who Pidge Gunderson is, but it’s not the girlstanding before him.

Katie Holt.

***

Lance lay on his side glaring at theGarrison recruitment poster tacked to his wall, well-aware that he was sulkingbut unwilling to do anything about it. He deservedto sulk after Commander Iverson released their class ranking andclassification. Dreams shattered, hopes dashed, his future as a hero andprodigious heartthrob flushed down the toilet and piped all the way to thebottom of the Marianas Trench for the moray eels to make snacks of…

Score: 82.15Ranking: #11Pilot Class: Cargo

The kicker was that his score was a fraction of a point lower than thelowest ranked fighter pilot.

“Thinkof it this way!” Veronica had saidin that peppy voice she took on when he sulked.“You’re top of the cargoclass!”

“Bigwhoop,” Lance had grumbled. “Cargo pilots don’t go on explorationmissions like to Kerberos…”

No, missions like that would be reserved for Keith and James and all the rest at thetop of his year, while he’d be stuck at the bottom of a barreldelivering instant meals to colonies on the moon.

A sharp knock sounded from the door.

“Whatdo you want?” Lance called without turning around. “I’m doing homework!”

The door’s hinges creaked. “That’s a lie.”

He bolted upright, his heart, heavy withdisappointment, lightening when Katie peeked around the door. “Katie!What’re you doing here?” Lance wondered.

She walked in, shutting the door behind her(which his mother wouldn’t be too happy about for some reason…itwas just Katie, their neighborand his friend since forever) and perching on his desk chair. “Iheard from Veronica that you didn’t make fighter class,” she said, scuffing herbare feet against the carpet. “I’m sorry; I know how much you wanted it.”

Lance sat up and waved a hand. “It’snot a big deal,” he said without meeting her eyes. “I mean, at least I made something, right? And if someone in fighter classwashes out I’llbe the first one in line to replace them!”

Katie raised an eyebrow at him, theslightest smirk perking up her lips. “You know that almost never happens, right?”

He slumped, heart weighed down all overagain, and admitted, “Right, well, a guy can hope! Oryou can make it, shoot through the ranks, and change the rules so that the top eleven make fighter class?”He winked at her, oddly pleased when a hint of pink colored her cheeks.

But she rolled his eyes and retorted, “Itdoesn’t really work that way, Lance, and by then it’ll be too late for you.”

“Iknow, I know.” Lance leaned back against his headboard, hands behind his headand ankles folded in front of him. “You couldjust keep some other sorry rank eleven pilot cadet from suffering this samegrave injustice.”

Katie snorted. “You’reso dramatic, Lance.” The bed sank underneath him as she sat beside him andpulled her feet up. “I can tell you’re upset though.”

“Who?Me? Upset that I didn’t get the thing I wanted most in the whole dang universe?Obviously not!”

Katie shot him a flat, unimpressed frown. “Atleast you still get to fly,” she pointed out. “You did reasonably well inflight school, so it’s not like you’ll lack for missions later, even if they’renot glamourous.”

“Easyfor you to say,” Lance mumbled. He covered his face with his arm. “Your dad andbrother are on the mission of a century.”

“Neitherof them is a pilot,” Katie pointed out.

“I’mnot a multi-talented genius like you,” he said, peeking at her from under hisarm. “You can easily get in as a comm specialist or an engineer withoutfinishing school. You can probably get in as a pilot too if you did flightschool first!”

Katie shifted in place, looking suddenlyuncomfortable judging by how she glanced away, and Lance decided to drop thetopic.

“Whatabout you? Going to join me at the Garrison soon?” He grinned, quirking ateasing eyebrow. “Sure, you have to get through at least two years of highschool first, but that’s exciting too, right?”

Katie stuck her tongue out and said, “Please,if I have to suffer more than two years of incompetent teachers and meanclassmates I’ll steal a rocket from the Garrison and launch myself to Kerberoswithout a helmet.”

Lance laughed, but when Katie didn’tjoin in his eyes widened. “That bad?”

She shrugged but rested her chin on herknees, staring at the same spot on his wall that preoccupied him before shearrived. “It’snot a big deal,” she said. “I know there’s an end to it, so I can live with itfor now.”

“Don’tworry,” Lance said. He sat up and slid forward, feet touching the floor, torest a hand on her shoulder. “The Garrison’s better.”

“Easyfor you to say,” Katie said. “You make friends easily and aren’t super smart—”

“Iresent that!” he squawked, hand springing to his chest in offense.

“—soyou fit in.” She smiled apologetically and added, “Sorry, I meant that as anobservation, not an insult.”

“Iknow.” A grin pushed at his lips, and he flicked a strand of her long hair thatfell into her face, unsecured by her ponytail. “But lots of people are supersmart at the Garrison, so you’ll fit right in!”

Probably better than me, he thought with a twinge in his gut.Everyone at the Garrison was just so spectacular…

“Speakingof super smart people,” Lance said, “you heard anything from your dad andbrother lately?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and added, “I know youtalk to them behind the Garrison’s back…”

Katie’s eyes widened in surprise. She grabbedthe front of his shirt, shocking himinto yelping and his heart - did her face have to be so close? - into racing, and said, “No one’s supposed to know about that!”

Lance raised his hands and stuttered, “Sorry!You’re just not careful around me!”

Katie frowned but let him go. “Don’ttell anyone,” she said.

“Hey,your secret is safe with me,” Lance promised. He straightened his shirt andsighed in relief. “So…is that a yes?”

Katie beamed, the expression radiant andwarming him. “Actually,they’re only a few days away from Kerberos…”

***

“Pidge”avoids Lance just like Katie did after the mission failure, but unlike thattime, when her red-eyed mother answered the door with an apology or the pebbleshe lobbed at her bedroom window went unacknowledged, the truth of it stares himin the face.

So he chooses to confront her.

When she opens the door to her dorm, hesticks his foot in the gap before she can slam it back in his face.

“Ow,”he hisses, the shock of it shooting through his foot and forcing a wince fromhim.

“Whatdo you want?” Katie - Pidge? Isn’t that the nickname her brother gave her? -demands. “I’m busy.”

He refuses to budge, despite his stomachdoing somersaults and his heart pounding an uneven rhythm against his ribs. “Ineed to talk to you.”

“Ihave nothing to say to you outside of class,” she retorts tartly.

His chest tightens, but he scowls andinsists, “You’veavoided me for the last few months, Pidge,so I think I at least deserve an explanation.”

Her eyes widen - no longer hidden behindthose big lenses - while a flicker of shame crosses her face before she sighsand opens the door. “Fine,” she says, waving him in. “Let’s make this quick; I havework to do.”

“Work?”Lance snorts, accepting her reluctant invitation. “It’s the second day of thesemester!”

“Ihave more important stuff to do than classwork, Lance,” she grumbles.

Before he can ask what she means, she slamsthe door shut with enough force to rattle the window.

Clothes and books and manuals litter herfloor, a sharp contrast from her relatively tidy childhood bedroom, but despitethe fact that she seems to have made herself quite at home, nothing gives awayanything…personal. No stuffed animals propped against apillow on the bed, no photos of her family pinned to the wall or sitting inframes on her cluttered desk, no stickers or posters or comic books lining thelittle free space on the shelves….

The sight of it makes his chest ache withsomething like regret.

She - really, what should Lance call her? - stands in the middle of the almost hiddenfloor with her arms crossed and her glower fixed at some point past him. “Sowhat do you want?”

“Totalk,” he says, the adrenaline that sustained him up to this point fading as hurt took over. “Why did you ghostme, Katie?”

“Don’tcall me that here,” she snaps, a hint of fear crossing her face so quickly hemight’ve imagined it.

So that answers one question…

“Allright, Pidge,” Lance says through gritted teeth, “whyhaven’t I seen you in months?”

“I’vebeen busy.”

“Busygetting into the Garrison under a fake name?” He mirrors her pose, adding aneyebrow raised in skepticism. “You’d get accepted here as yourself with youreyes closed.”

“I’mnot here for academicreasons,”Pidge says. “I’m here for—look, it doesn’t matter toyou! I’ll be out of your hair soon enough anyway.”

And as much as it pained Lance when sheignored him every time he tried - and failed- to visit her after her father and brother were declared dead, as much as it hurt for her to attempt to blow him offnow, he really didn’tlike the sound of that.

A frown pulls at his lips. “Whatdo you mean?” he wonders.

“I’m…tryingto switch to a different team,” she admits. And she even has the audacity tolook abashed, her eyebrows drawn together and herfingers wringing the hem of her uniform jacket.

But her admission doesn’thurt like it should, not when his chest burns with anger and he snaps, “I don’tknow what you’re up to - and I sure hope you’ll tell me! - but I would never expose you when you’reobviously in disguise.” He rolls his eyes, scowling at the floor, and mutters, “Icovered for you with Hunk already. He sensedsomething odd when I ‘met’ you.”

Of course he had, when the sight of Pidgeand her big brown eyes made his breath catch and his tongue stick to the roofof his mouth and left him speechless.

Really, all his primary school teachersthat bemoaned how talkative he was inclass should’veemployed Pidge disguised as a boy if they wanted him to keep quiet.

“Hedid?” Pidge’s jaw drops. “A-and it’s not that I think you’ll report me,” shecontinues after clearing her throat. “It’s that…I can’t risk being exposed fromsomething so trivial as I’m too friendlytowards someone I just met. Your sister would catch on in a—”

“I’msorry,” Lance interrupts, rolling his eyes, “but that’s the dumbest thing I’veever heard. And look, I knowyou’renot used to making friends”—he doesn’t miss her grimace at the reminder—”but lots of people are really friendly with peoplethey just met, so don’t give me that excuse.”

“I—”Pidge sighs, gaze drifting down to the floor between them. “I just…I don’tknow.”

Lance, suddenly exhausted with all thisincluding the months of her avoiding him, drops onto her bed. “Whyare you going to all this trouble anyway? Your dad works - I mean, worked - here, so can’tyou just…waltz in if you wanted?”

Pidge shakes her head and confesses, “Igot banned from the premises.”

His head snaps up in shock. “Wait,what?”

She sits heavily beside him. “IfI tell you…”

“You’llhave to kill me?” Lance suggests when she trails off, staring into space.

She smiles fleetingly, but he counts it avictory anyway. “No,but you can’t tell anyone else.”

He draws an X over his chest and says, “Crossmy heart. As long as I don’t have to die for this secret…”

“Youcan’t even tell Hunk,” Pidge insists with a glare.

He raises his hands. “I’malready way ahead of you in that…but it’ll get harder,” he says, rubbing theback of his neck sheepishly.

Her eyes flit from his face to the floorand back again. “Itwasn’t pilot error,” she almost whispers.

He leans closer, unsure he heard her right.“What?”

A familiar ferocity enters her eyes,sending a shiver up his spine, as she says, “The pilot didn’t crash and my father andbrother aren’t dead. Something tookthem.”

Lance gapes at her. “Areyou…really? How do you know?”

“ClassifiedGarrison footage I wasn’t supposed to find,” she tells him shortly. “They’relying about what happened.”

“W-whatcould’ve taken them?” he wonders while dread ties his stomach into knots. Buthe forces a laugh and feebly jokes, “N-not aliens, right?” When Pidge doesn’treply, his jaw drops. “Pidge, what did you see?”

“Isaw enough to know there’s more to what the Garrison said publicly,” shepronounces, “but I’m here to find out as much as I can.”

“Anddo what?” Lance asks. “Expose the Garrison’s lie?”

“Maybe,”she says, frowning. “It…depends on what I find.”

“But,Pidge—”

And before he can wonder what she plans todo next, she cuts in, “I’msorry, Lance.”

At this rate, he’llhave a premature heart attack thanks to all the shocksshe’sdealt him.

“What?”

“Ishouldn’t have shut you out like that.” She pulls her feet onto the bed andhugs her knees. “I just didn’t know what to do after the mission failure, so Ithrew myself into investigating that rather than wasting time on other things.”

“Aw,thanks, Pidge,” he says, rolling his eyes despite the disappointment weighinghis heart down anew. “I’m glad that’s what I am to you.”

Her cheeks darken, and she waves her handfrantically to backtrack, “N-no, I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Oh,really?” He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You mean I wasn’t trying to waste your time?”

“Th-that’snot it at all, Lance,” she says. She rests her forehead against her knees so hecan’t see her face. “It’s just…it was too tempting to use your connection and I didn’twant you to get caught up in this mess after you applied for the spot thatopened up in fighter class so I kept it to myself.”

Lance frowns, convinced that, for all thetruth in the statement, she hides something else, but he can’thelp quipping, “How thoughtful of you, Pidge.”

But then—

“Wait,how did you know about the spot that opened up?” he wonders, instantlysuspicious. “That happened a while after you started avoiding me.”

Pidge’s shoulders stiffen. “I don’t remember,”she says. “I might’ve come across it while I was hacking into the Garrison’ssystems and assumed you’d try for it.”

Lance doesn’t call her out on her obvious lie, notwhen relief fills him that her silenceis finally at an end and…well, maybe they can’t resume theirfriendship as it was before the mission failure, but they won’t have to startfrom scratch.

“Howcan I help?”

Pidge’s head whips around, her eyes bulging inbefuddlement. “What?”

He shrugs, feigning nonchalance despite hisheart pounding and the voice in his head that reminds him he’salready on thin ice in the Garrison’s eyes, and waves a hand. “You know, withyour…investigation.”

“Um…”She blinks once, twice, three times before saying, “Pretend like we didn’t knoweach other before.”

His heart plummets anew at that. “Why?”

“Ialready explained,” she says. She jumps to her feet and faces him, arms thrownout and eyes fixed on the ceiling. “It’s bad enough yourecognized me, so what if someone else does too?”

“But—”he tries to protest, but Pidge plows right through him.

“There’s…nothingyou can help with, Lance,” she says with a heavy exhale.

“ButI’m your friend!” He stands, flailing his arms and gesturing around her messyroom. “I can at least watch your back while you do your sneaky spy stuff!”

“I…maybe,”she concedes grudgingly, “but right now the best lead I’ve got requires I be asinconspicuous as possible.”

“D-doesthis mean you’re still switching teams?” His breath sticks in his throatpainfully at the thought that they can repair their friendship only for it tofracture moments later.

He grew up with Pidge; she’sas dear to him as…well, not a sister, exactly, but the last few months withouther - undoubtedly while she hurtand stewed over her father’s and brother’s not-deaths alone exceptfor her mother - left him almost listless with how much he missed her.

Pidge’s brown eyes bore into his as she says, “No,I guess that’s not necessary.” A slight smile finds its way onto her face,reassuring and warmingLance as much as her words. “Knowing one of my teammates is reason enoughto stay.”

#plance #pidgance #lidge #flirtyrobot #aksj;fkj;fsdf i tried i dunno how i did #i wonder if i've lost my touch BUT oh well #how come i post two fics in one day??#WELL this is the only one i wrote today SO #voltron #reem writes fic #Anonymous #also don't want to post anything day of/right before season eight #because i know people will be preoccupied with that #qna

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galacticbugman · 5 years

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Costuming on a budget

Hi everyone Galactic_Bug_Man here now for most of us there is a lot of nerd and geek conventions going on in a lot of areas around this time of year and other parts of the year. So here I am going to give you some of my tips and show you a few of my costumes that I have put together on a budget. Starting with my Star Trek one as you see here.

This costume comes from my Star Trek fan fiction Captain’s character. This was a very cheap one to make for me because most of the stuff I already had but I did go along and buy a lot of the pieces. This was taken outside my old house during the 2016 Dallas Fan Expo before with left the house to go on this day (Above)

Now for this costume I used an old pair of black jeans, my brother’s old orchestra slip on dress shoes, the Phaser I bought online for about ten dollars or so it was very inexpensive, the rank pips on the right side of the shirt are not really official ranks pins at all they're actually rare earth magnets held on to my shirt with my Texas Master Naturalist badge backing. Sometimes you just have to be creative and use what you got not to break your bank. I got the communicator badge for about 20 bucks at my first comic con. The shirt I bought at a clearance rack at Kohl’s for about a few dollars and it is really comfortable. So many of these things you can get for under ten bucks if you know were too look. As you can see I didn’t add the red shirt to do my division color which for this character it is red like TNG or DS9 or Voy. this is shirt is very close to the off duty uniform that Captain Jean Luc Picard would wear sometimes in scenes where he is playing is Rusikan Flute and sometimes he would wear an open jacket on the bridge and underneath he would have this style of shirt. The red shirt is absent in the first shot but in the shot below I have it. I got this shirt at Michael’s for a few bucks on their DIY tee shirt aisle. In the shot below I am wearing a pair of slacks I bought in between events. The belt was found during holiday Christmas clearance at Target for a few bucks. How I made the latch buckle look like a Starfleet belt was I printed off a small Black and White emblem which I made myself on Power Point and printed it off and then used some really good clear tape to put it on there. The one above was colored but the one on the bottom was back and white.

Sometimes it is just knowing where to look. Always check out clearance items or discount stores you get really lucky sometimes. My brother went to an old store once last year to make a costume for our high school pre-graduation party which was called Bahama Bash. I graduated a long time ago but he was just about to graduate and he went as Donkey Kong. They had a jacket that was brown for about three or four bucks, they also had a nice pair of brown pants for a little more I think. The most expensive things we had to buy were the material for his gorilla chest, and the batting for his muscular look. I don’t have pictures of that costume because it is all packed away but just getting setting a budget can really help you if you are a nerd that is tight on money. I prefer using what I have but sometimes you have to try and make it look good. That is why I bought the Combadge at full price but the Magnets I got with coupons. Sometimes coupons to craft stores and things are great and that is what a lot of us cosplayers do. No I am not a sewer but I have made a prop for this costume from some of the leftover fake fur we used for my brother’s DK costume.

I made a Tribble to go along with my costume for a couple of events. We had a halloween event on our campus that I went to. We had a costume contest and I just decided to put this puffball together one night. It was kind of fun to make it and it was a good use of some of the left overs. If you are doing a Star Trek costume and have stuff like this you can easily make it yourself. For tribbles there are tons of templates online and sites that give you instructions. I made this one using another blog site. Instructables also has stuff like this and looks really fun to put together.

So clearance, coupons, using leftovers, sometimes just using what you have are great ways to get started on you cosplay journey. There have only been a couple of costumes that I have had that were fully sewn and that was my first Luke Skywalker Costume when I was younger. My grandmother made the Jedi shirt, belt, and pants for me as well as the shoe covers to make them look like boots. So that was pretty costly to do. I also had to by a lightsaber which didn’t cost me too much it was just one of those hold down and flick out ones it was not one that lit up or made noise even though I did have one of those but I didn’t have one at the time.

For the last few years now my campus has had an Anime Convention and Nerd con of sorts so this year my brother and I are going to check it out. And this year I am going to go as a Starfleet officer again but I am also going to go as one of my favorite characters from one of my favorite cartoons.

Since Animaniacs seems to be coming out with a couple of more seasons in an updated form coming to Hulu in 2020 I decided to make a Yakko Warner Cosplay. It seems to be the road less traveled I don’t see a lot of Animanicas at cons but I have seen a few people cosplay as them so I deiced to try and do my own style while trying not to break my bank fully. Still using coupons and things but I also had a few items that I had in my possession and somethings I bought on the cheap end.

Okay so here we have the red nose, the belt buckle, and the headband with ears. The headband I got at the Dollar store. On it I bought some enlarged pipe cleaners to make the ears and they were on the kid’s craft Aisle at Michaels. I buy a lot of my stuff from either Jo-Ann’s or Michael’s depending on who has the best deals at the time. The red nose I had when I had to have my kidney operated on I got a red nose from one of the volunteers at the children’s hospital when I had my left left kidney operated on after years of scar tissue built up after being born with an enlarged kidney and after years of chronic infection. It is okay I got that taken care but that is where the nose came from so it was free. The belt buckle was made from foam board and I colored it with a yellow sharpie.

Now you might be thinking where is the hair for my costume. It is kind of funny but my hair line is receding just a little bit and when you put the middle part down my hair does what Yakko’s and his siblings does. It is kind of funny but hey that means I can just go with my natural hairline and natural hair. Sometimes you have to go with it and have fun. Me I am one of those that likes to roll with it and laugh at myself. That is all you can do sometimes.

These are my slacks and tail. As you can see I used the pipe clearer to make a tail too. The slacks I got a JC Penny full price because I needed to get some slacks for some function. So I recycled those for this cosplay. I tied on the tail to the back belt loop. I can already tell you this part is going to be tricky so I am hoping that if I have to leave a panel to do something that I don’t shut my tail up in a door. I probably wont but sitting down will have to take some adjusting. Always try to make your cosplay as easy to maneuver as possible. It will help a lot by knowing just what events you will be doing and what it calls for. I am thinking it will not be all that bad but still I just got to make sure that I don’t get it caught in anything. This part of the costume was really fun to put together I was laughing at the end result because of the way it looked. I thought it looked pretty good and silly. I am a pretty fun guy so this cosplay will be really neat to do. I have never gone as a Toon before so this is something I have been wanting to experiment with for a good while now.

Next up the Iconic feet of the Warner Trio. These are nothing more than painters shoe covers with toe marks on them. I got these at the Home Depot for about four bucks. I also bought some heavy duty white duct tape so that way I can make them somewhat wear and tear resistant from being on the concrete all day or the tile or carpet. I am going to wear some tennis shoe with these over them. I can already tell you that with this part you are going to need to tape the part that is not going to be to be the front of the foot down or it will look all funny looking. I have not wore the costume yet but I am already seeing somethings I am gonna have to do to make it look good. So yeah even your local hardware store is a good place to get some stuff for costumes if you have the right idea.

I bought this black long sleeved shirt on clearance at Jo-ann’s they were getting rid of their long sleeve shirts for the season so I was able to get this fairly cheap. So yeah this was a pretty good deal. I am just saying things can look really good. This is one of the easier ones to make. The Star Trek costume took me a while to make. I had to find a combadge that was not sky high in price and where I didn’t have to pay for shipping and handling.

And of course I got the gloves too at Jo-ann’s these were on their winter clearance and they had a whole bin of them and they were only a few cents so we got a few. It is not in here but I also have an all black belt so I have all the pieces finally to this costume.

I love making costumes but sometimes it just have to play it really cheap. When I met Sylvester McCoy from Doctor Who I did a Doctor Degeneration theme where what would he look like if he was dying or something. So I have the scarf from four, the fez from 11, the sonic from nine and ten, I bought a Doctor Who Tee that looked like 12′s suite. and I had a my black jeans so I looked like that. that was actually more expensive than what I had for the other two costumes because I bought all that Doctor Who stuff online. So it just depends on what you want to do. Many of you know this but some of you may be new to cosplay. This is just showing you the way I do it. I am sure we all have our preferred method of doing our cosplay.

I have to tell you that the Animaniacs cosplay is something that I am looking forward to wearing at our Campus Convention. I am very excited to see how it goes. Like I have said I am a huge Animaniacs fan and with this cosplay I am going to do something I don’t do a lot. I have a real knack to doing voice impressions and want to be a voice actor when I get out of college as well as a nature photographer and I can do both Yakko and Wakko impressions so I will be talking like Yakko most of the time at the con just to be silly and play the part. Sometimes if you dress the part you have to play the part. So I think that would be really funny and be worth some laughs. So until next time be safe at your conventions and have fun. I will see you next time on the trail of life.

#cosplay #animaniacs #nerd #nerdculture #geekdom #geek #costumes #yakko warner #star trek #federation #united federation of planets #starfleet #doctor who #donkey kong #science fiction #cartoons #fun #convention

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hannahindie · 7 years

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A Way to Go: Part 1

Characters: Sam x Reader, Dean Word Count: 1,192 Warnings: Character death, maybe. It’s up in the air. Also, the idea of Sam being sad. I don’t want to call this angst, but I suppose it is. It’s a confusing feeling, you’ll see why anyway. Just know that it’s probably gonna give you some sad feels, and then you might get some happy ones later. A/N: I wrote this for @kas-not-cas Kas’ 2.5K Follower Writing Challenge, and the dialogue prompt is bolded in the fic below. It was going to be one fic. And then I decided to chop my original idea and leave it where it ends here. And between @trexrambling and @pinknerdpanda who beta’d it (my precious darlings), I have been convinced to make a part 2. This is the first time I’ve written first person reader, and I am really freaking enjoying it, so I hope you do too. lol Like always, the tags are at the bottom, and if you don’t see yourself there or you want to be added, please let me know. Feedback is always welcome. :)

“So… I just realized that I’ve been shot.”

Well, that was a phrase I never thought I’d utter. I’ve been punched, bitten, clawed, cut, stabbed, and dislocated more times than I can count, but I’ve always avoided getting shot. I’m actually surprised by how painless it is, although this may be what it’s like to be in shock. Do people go into shock that quickly?

I’m pretty sure that must be it because in all the movies Sam and Dean have made me watch, gut shots were the worst, and right now this definitely doesn’t feel that bad. It’s kind of a warm tingle, like when your foot falls asleep. Everything feels like it’s in slow motion. I’m definitely falling, and I’m pretty sure I’m falling forward, but I can’t tell if my arms are moving and obeying the signals my brain is trying to send them or not. It's quite likely I’m about to fall on my face.

My knees are the first thing to hit the ground, so there’s a brief moment of relief because instead of falling forward on my face I’m able to twist my body and fall sideways. At least, I think I did that on purpose. It’s kind of hard to feel anything right now, and I’m not sure if I’ll have control over anything from here going forward. Whatever I landed on is rough, but I can’t remember where I am. Why can't I remember that? Everything is blurry now, and I can see a pair of boots quickly approaching me, the long legs disappearing from my view since I apparently can't look up anymore. Sam. I know it's Sam because I can kind of feel his large hand on my back, and I would have recognized Dean’s bowlegs anywhere.

I hear a gunshot followed by a mumbled “Son of a bitch!” and I try to laugh. It's less of a laugh and more of a garbled cough, and I can taste something bitter and metallic. Well, shit. I didn't get punched in the mouth, which means that blood is coming from somewhere else, and I'm here to tell you that that is not a good sign. I can feel Sam’s hands as he rolls me over and desperately applies pressure to my stomach.

“Y/N, come on, it's not that bad. You're gonna be fine. Hang in there, okay?” I blink a couple times, and Sam’s face comes into focus. Oh, Sam. If I'm going to have to die, if I'm going out like this, I have to admit that looking into those kaleidoscope eyes is a hell of a way to go. I can feel my eyebrows furrow, and Sam is looking at me concerned. “Y/N?” The urge to laugh is strong because I know he’s probably thinking I'm having some sort of end of life, important inner dialogue. What I'm actually debating is what color his eyes are today, and I have decided they’re more of a green than blue, with a golden ring around the pupil. Actually, they kind of remind me of sunflowers. Sam Winchester, the boy with the sunflower eyes. I laugh again, and this time I can feel the blood spatter across my face as I exhale a mouthful of that metallic liquid. Well, that’s great. Why is it the only thing I can think about is how unladylike that must have looked? Priorities, Y/N.

Sam looks sad. He can’t tell that I’m laughing; at this point it just sounds like I’m drowning in my own blood. Let’s be honest, that’s probably what is happening. None of this hurts, and what I can feel is coming and going in waves. I’ve never been this close to death before so I couldn’t tell you if this is the order in which things start to fail, but I’m assuming nothing good comes after this. The only thing that bothers me about this whole situation is that Sam is going to be sad. Not to say Dean won’t be. He’ll blame himself and drink and probably yell at Sam about how “fine” he is and how he “doesn’t need to talk about it”. That’s how Dean deals with things. He’ll be angry, and if he doesn’t get the thing that did this to me right now, he’ll be on a rampage until he does. But Sam...Sam is going to be sad. He’ll want to talk about it, but since Dean won’t, he’ll keep it inside since I’m the only other person he talks to about things. He’ll read, a lot. He might hide in his room and drink, because he’s not as obvious about it as Dean is, and he’ll blame himself just like Dean does. He’s just quieter about it.

I’m getting tired. It’s hard to keep my eyes open, and when they start to slip shut, I feel Sam’s hand on my cheek. I can’t feel much of anything at this point, but somehow I can feel his rough palm as he cups my face and moves the hair from my forehead. I can mostly feel the warmth because this man is like a damn heater, and it’s at this moment that I realize that there’s another thing that bothers me about this. I never got the chance to tell him how I feel about him. It seems silly now, ridiculous even at the end of all things, but I would have really liked to let him know. I wouldn't have expected anything, hunters can't with this kind of life, but he deserved to know he was worth it. If I'm checking out, I might as well try to tell him. Nothing to lose, right?

“Sam…” Did I say that out loud? Judging by the look on Sam’s face, I must have. Okay, here we go. “I love you.”

Sam’s eyebrows jump up in an almost comical fashion, but I'm beyond laughing now. This is serious business, and for once I have to keep myself together. “What?” His voice is barely a whisper.

“I...I love you.” I've got to keep my eyes open a little longer. Who knew dying could be so hard? Or exhausting?

“Y/N, I-” Dean decides now would be a good time to interrupt our little dying declaration moment, which I guess is fine. I said my piece, but Sam looks a little put out.

“Hey, you keep those eyes open. Cas will be here soon, we’ll get you fixed up, right as rain.” I attempt to give Dean a smile, but I think it comes off more like a grimace, and I am pretty sure the blood is making it look like a horror show. No one tells you how unflattering death is. Movies are such bullshit. I shift my gaze from Dean back to Sam. I want to tell him I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have dumped that last confession on him, but it's too late now. I'm cold, and my eyes are heavy. I think this is it. I can feel my eyes slipping shut, so I look straight into those sunflower eyes. What a way to go.

Continue to Part 2 HERE

Forever Tags: @trexrambling @pinknerdpanda @wheresthekillswitch @emilywritesaboutdean @arryn-nyxx @emptywithout @escabell @charliebradbury1104 @@jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @deanssweetheart23 @canadianjelly @super-not-naturall @aubreyreadsstuff @dean-winchesters-baby

#Kas' 2.5K dialogue challenge #sam x reader #Sam Winchester #supernatural #dean winchester #sam angst #fanfic #this thing isn't tagging people #or at least not notifying you #I don't know why #but I'm sorry about it #hannah writes stuff

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fbmajor · 8 years

Photo

This is Aeryn. She’s pretty cool. That’s... really all there is to say on the matter. The world that she hails from isn’t really built yet, so it’s actually a bit odd that I drew her, but that’s that.

Of course, it has become a tradition in this blog to rant for an excessively long time on every post, and I don’t plan on breaking that just yet. Buckle up, this is going to be a long one, so long that I’m not going to grammar check it.

There’s a lot of interesting stuff behind the scenes of creating this. For starters, I drew in portrait instead of landscape, which really only makes the actual drawing a little bigger, but it ended up confusing the hell out of me when it came to drawing things at a reasonable scale. I think the end result, as is usually the case with my drawings of people (which is all of them at the moment, barring that one logo I did for Graft Theory a while back), has a somewhat large head and short body. But that’s alright, as anyone that knows me will know that I have a fondness for short people, and I haven’t actually decided Aeryn’s height yet anyway.

She also has huge eyes, which isn’t exactly a new concept but I prefer realistically sized ones. Despite the larger scale I was drawing from by doing portrait, I really can’t draw decently shaped eyes at anything smaller than the size they are in this picture. Or rather, I can’t draw two eyes that look reasonably similar to each other and in proper place.

You’ll also notice that she isn’t shaded at all. I usually don’t scan my drawings until they’re finished completely, as the process of scanning while I’m at college involves walking all the way to the campus library and back. However, as this is essentially concept art, I’m debating coloring it as opposed to just shading it, so I wanted to get at least an outline saved somewhere so that I can look back on it fondly after I inevitably turn it into a disaster by using colored pencils.

If you haven’t used them before, accept from experience that colored pencils are really finicky to use and are difficult to use for satisfactory color fillings, particularly the darker ones and the dreaded black pencil. Unfortunately, they’re the only kind of coloring I have available to me at the moment, at least that will work reasonable well with a penciled outline. They do have their strong points, though. Because they have fine points that don’t really splatter or distort like inkpens and markers, it’s not disastrous if you screw up, and you get quite a bit of precision. The real issue is making it look good, which is just a huge pain.

On that note, pencil shading isn’t exactly easy to get right either. The problem with pencils in general is that they will make it easy to see the grain of the paper and any particles that happen to be on your table under the sheet. This doesn’t really show up in lineart but once you add area to your penciling it gets noticeable real quick. The whole lack of distortion thing I talked about earlier becomes a curse as it becomes impossible to get a fill without missing a ton of really tiny spots. You can keep drawing over it, but doing so will cause you to converge on certain levels of darkness, effectively limiting your color palette to around 8 shades, which can be annoying in complex drawings with a lot of adjacent regions.

Speaking of, this is actually one of the more complex character arts I’ve done, particularly in reference to the clothes. Due to the aforementioned difficulty with adequately shading a large cluster of regions, I generally keep clothing pretty simple. This habit is definitely because of that and not because of how difficult it is to draw clothing. Since there really isn’t anything indicating it, allow me to list the pieces of this outfit: cloak/coat, shirt, vest-like thing, skirt, whatever the female equivalent of compression shorts is, boots, and fingerless gloves. It is at this point that I will give a shoutout to a particular person whom I’ve made fun of for having a character with fingerless gloves. You know who you are. I apologize, you were right, they are pretty cool (but my character is still going to make fun of yours for them).

I’ll get back to the outfit design in a minute, as it does require some world context. Aeryn, who is probably in her late teens in this drawing, hails from the world of Graft Theory that thing I mentioned in what I believe was my first post on this blog. The idea behind the story is essentially a fantasy world where there is at least one branch of magic that works via creating graphs with magic energy, and Aeryn and the supporting cast are attempting to overthrow a magocracy. Lot’s of spywork, secret missions, etc. If I eventually get the time, equipment, and skills to create it (the plan is for it to be a comic), it should be pretty fun.

Anyway, Aeryn is a mage herself, but she is only capable of using this branch of magic that involves graph theory, for reasons that exist but I don’t feel like going into because this is already the length of an essay. Anyway, graph theory branch is kind of the joke of the mage community because it takes too long to set up for actual combat, and as a result Aeryn would have a fairly low place in the society’s magic caste system.

Alright back to her fashion. I have very little regard for fashion, male or female, so if you think her choice of clothing is retarded, you’re probably correct but you can still go fuck yourself anyway. This outfit is meant to be usable in combat, which is why it’s mostly form-fitting. The obvious exception to this rule is the cloak, which probably would be a pain in combat, but she can easily drape it around her shoulders without it falling off to allow more arm-freedom. I have a particular fondness for the coat-over-the-shoulders style, which you can see in some anime, notable examples being the captains in Bleach and the high-ranking marines in One Piece. I will admit that I do this with a jacket sometimes, which is probably the most weab-like thing I do.

The cloak was loosely based off of the Grandmaster from Fire Emblem, and will probably get more design added to it whenever I get the time to finish the drawing. The skirt is based much more strictly on the same source as the cloak. It’s pretty much a direct rip with a few modifications. I don’t know what the ring is supposed to be. I just felt like putting there thinking it might be useful. She is also carrying a dagger which is mostly concealed behind her, but if you were wondering what that little handle thing was, there you go.

I’ve always wondered about the combat feasibility of short skirts. In terms of movement, I assume that a skirt that doesn’t form a complete connected ring anywhere other than the waist would allow full freedom of movement (Though at the risk of panty shots, but in this case the compression shorts eliminate the prospect of gratuitous fanservice). I mean, the only reason we started wearing pants was so that we could ride horses. The Romans used skirts and they turned out alright. I think this outfit is actually more limited by the rope-belts than the skirt, but unfortunately I don’t wear skirts often enough to really be able to say for sure.

I don’t wear fingerless gloves either. Frankly, I don’t think there’s any real benefit to fingerless gloves, but maybe someone more experienced in the matter can let me know. Aeryn’s gloves, however, contain prewritten graphs (specifically paths, if you familiar with the lingo) that she can funnel magic into to quickly cast a spell. I would’ve written runes on them, but the gloves will probably be black and the runes lighter, so I thought it would be best if that was left to the final stages.

Her boots, while not the most difficult to draw, were the biggest pain. Look at all of those god damn holes. I was also very particular about ensuring they were laced properly, though I did screw up a few times on her right foot. This greatly displeased me as it ran counter to the vast experience of shoe-lacing I have accrued simply by playing ice hockey. I was forced to drive to the nearest hockey rink and baptize myself in melted ice to wash away the shame.

Oh man that was a long rant. But this picture took a particularly long time, so I suppose it deserves a long rant. Perhaps this rant is so long a tl;dr is warranted.

tl;dr - Her name’s Aeryn, she’s a magical spy, probably in her late teens in this drawing. Pencils suck for coloring. Her gloves are magical. She’s cool. You’re cool. Have a nice day.

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greaterthannine-blog · 6 years

Text

Roots 06/29/2018 & 07/02/2018 [許]

This longer-than-usual post is the first of two in which I am relaying the experiences I had in my two ancestral villages. This post pertains to my two visits to my Huie 許 village and is thus sectioned into two parts: the first visit on 06/29/2018, and the second visit on 07/02/2018. As visiting this site of my personal heritage was an exceptionally important journey for me, I have included much more content than I have in previous “Roots” posts. Alongside my own photographs, I added photographs shot by our leader Al and our friend Sherry, which I have crafted to look akin to film photographs. I have also written much more than typical, so if you’re one of the kind souls who actually reads the words I write, you might enjoy this post. Anyway, that’s all I have to say about that.

Enjoy.

Isabella

Preface: My Huie/Xu [許] Ancestral Village_____________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________________

IN THIS GRAND EXPEDITION TO CHINA this summer, I visited two of my ancestral villages. This post pertains to my two visits to my Huie 許 (or Xǔ in Mandarin) village in Guangdong province of Southern China, which is the side of my Chinese family whose history I know most about. You might be wondering where this Huie name comes from and what happened to “Xu” surname I use. See, “Xǔ” is the Mandarin pronunciation of my family name, and I use that for my public name because Mandarin is the most widely spoken and recognized Chinese dialect. However, my family are not Mandarin speakers, we are Cantonese, and more specifically we hail from a region of Guangdong province called Toisan (or Táishān in Mandarin) which has it’s own specific dialect itself. We are not known amongst ourselves as Xǔ’s, but rather as Huie’s, which is why in this post I will be hence referring to this aspect of my identity as Huie.

Now, with all this talk of my family name, you might be wondering what my relation to this village is. It was the birthplace and home of my mother’s father’s father (my great-grandfather), and his ancestors before him (that I am aware of anyway). According to the records my great-grandfather left after his passing, our ancestral village goes by what we can best romanize as Sui Bo Huey. Though I say that with a grain of salt, as I don’t know what this name means or even what the correct characters are, but I found that procuring information on our village was uniquely difficult because: 1) My mother, grandfather and grand-uncle have all visited the village, so I knew the information existed, and 2) We still own our ancestral home, and have an active property manager there, and 3) Despite the above factors, no one had, could, or was willing to provide me the information. Difficulties aside, I acquired the info, and made to the village. Twice. ●

第四天: 台山

Day Four: Toisan [Taishan]

06/29/2019

PHOTOGRAPHY: Al Cheng & Sherry

PHOTO POST-PROCESSING & COMMENTARY: Isabella Xu

↑↑ (1) On the balcony of my ancestral home, overlooking the garden and fields. (2) Photo op with an old woman who claims to weed the exterior of my ancestral home

First Visit: What Happened on 06/29/2019 _____________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________________

First! Let me tell you about the first visit to Sui Bo Huey, because there were two. One not-so-spectacular visit (this one), and a more intimate visit (the one later in this post). My actual, official, PRC-approved, scheduled time and day for me to visit Sui Bo Huey was June 29, 2018. (Little bitty tidbit, we were with the gov’t, which was quite the thrill not gonna lie. Our Toisan official/friend, Mr. Yang (Young Yang) was fantastic and overall a very kind man). That morning, I awoke with numb excitement. I couldn’t believe that the day where I’d set foot in a place where part of my family lived for who knows how long had finally come. It was daunting and my thoughts were a maelstrom of discourse. Was I ready for this? Was I too young? I’m only nineteen and I’m already having highly philosophical and existential conversations with myself; did I jump into this prematurely? But at the same time, in my noggin I was bouncing with glee. Today will be an interesting day.

Knowing I’d be the complete center of attention that morning, and fully aware that there would be several cameras aimed at me the whole duration of my visit to Sui Bo Huey, I hopped out of bed to decide what to wear. In my animated yet distressed stupor, my lovely roommate, Kona, helped me choose an outfit for the day. My first thought was to wear a poppy red Athleta tank (similar), a cream vintage silk button-up short sleeve blouse (similar), and off-white linen Aritzia pants (similar-ish). What we found though was that you could see my undies through the pants, so I traded the silk blouse for a mauve Nike long-sleeve (different color), tied yachting style around my shoulders, and swapped the risqué pantaloons for my trusty black Athleta cargos. (Not that it really matters much for this post, since, ya know, I’m not in any of these photos, but for my own posterity’s sake, please! Let me live!). I then strapped on my black & cork Camper sandals, donned my faithful Urban Outfitters cap, slung my Aritzia fanny pack (similar) across my torso, and packed my camera bag. Now ready for adventure, Kona and I closed our hotel room door, waddled to the elevator, and embarked the slow descent to the lobby.

We exited the elevator and walked over to a set of plush chaises where others in our group were congregating. I set down my bags, kneeled, reached for my backpack, and took out a bottle of sunscreen mixed with insect repellent. Standing up I looked over to the other side of the lobby where I saw our leader Al standing and talking with a seedy looking middle-aged man with sparse slicked-back hair, wearing a red polo, navy trousers, brown Dickies belt, and boat shoes. Once they noticed me observing them, Al enthusiastically beckoned me over for introductions. Now, remember how I mentioned earlier that my family still owns our ancestral village in Sui Bo Huey? And that we have a property manager overseeing and maintaining that property? Well, this is that dude. Did I know he was going to be there? No. Did I know that Roots had successfully contacted him? No. Did I know his name? No. His being there was a complete shock to me as my grand-uncle had hinted that communication with our property caretaker was strained and inconsistent, and that he was unsure that the caretaker would respond to any attempted correspondance. So, with that in mind, I was flabbergasted and unprepared to have Lem Fun Koon 林煥權 accompany my rooting, and my mind was hazy after meeting him, and this fog carried through the rest of the day. (Though, in retrospect, I don’t really know why I was so stupidly impacted by his presence. I mean, he was just there to help! And I just displayed my despicable ice-queen qualities of complete asshattery and fuckbucketry, and seldom interacted with the poor guy! No matter how creepily greasy he looked, I truly regret my treatment of him. I hope to someday remedy that, and repay him for taking the time to show me the property. Maybe I’ll write him a thank you letter or something…). From introductions I learned that not only was he the caretaker of our property, but that he was actually a renowned Chinese calligrapher. I was told that his works can often sell for over $1,500 USD. I simultaneously thought it very snazzy but also a bit odd that we have a famous calligrapher for a property manager, but, I guess, ya know, China. *shrugs.*

Post-introduction to Lem Fun Koon 林煥權 (Whom I’ll now address as Mr. Lem), it was finally time to embark on the short journey to Sui Bo Huey, that is, after we took 15 minutes to load the bus, 15 minutes to collect the day’s government official (and film me being shallowly introspective about family/village info and what I expected to find), 15 minutes to stop outside a convenience store and debate which packaged cookies to use for my bai san ceremony (ritual paying respects to ancestors), and then another 15 minutes minute trundle to the village. So, after enduring what was supposed to be a 15 minute drive, we finally arrived. An hour later.

As we turned off the main road and approached my village, the first thing I saw was the gate marking the entrance. Actually, you know, I take that back. The first thing I actually saw was the MASSIVE pile of trash directly behind the gate! What a great way to start my rooting, no? Trash? Everywhere? Just fucking lovely. I knew my family came from a humble peasantry background, but this was just too comically ironic (I came from literal trash!). But, let’s not be so hasty in my assumptions. I later discovered that a family in the village operated a recycling business, thus justifying the huge pile of trash that-isn’t-quite-trash-but-is-rather-recycling in the area. I felt much better after learning that. Better yet, I felt a smidge of pride. Go ancestral village. Go Sui Bo Huey. Y’all are doing good deeds.

Anyways, Sifu (our hilariously nonchalant bus driver) drove through the gate, into the village, and parked our trusty bus on the long and receding stretch of concrete and alongside the row of homes to our left, and I discovered shortly after that he had parked literally 15 feet away from my ancestral home. To our right, parallel to the concrete was a community garden of sorts, with rows and rows of small crops including eggplant, cabbage, corn, and many other unidentifiable plants. Beyond the garden were expanding rice fields that I want to say were three fourths of a mile in distance until they were cut off by a large factory building. But those were all the observations I could make before the ruckus began.

As soon as Sifu parked, the floodgates (by which I mean the bus doors) opened and everyone began siphoning out on to the pavement. Because I was being filmed, I was the last to exit. By the time I hop out, there were people everywhere: Roots people, government officials, villagers, and who knows who else (I certainly don’t). While I’m dazedly trying to discern what’s happening, Mr. Lem was already at the doors of my family property, hastily undoing the locks on the front entrance (our property was vacant so we weren’t intruding on anybody, though that would have been quite the event), and before I know it, I’m being herded over to the door. With the procession in tow, and no way for me to escape, I proceeded towards my ancestral home while Candace and Diann went to film and photograph the village, Nick began flying our faithful drone Rufus for some aerial shots, and I think Robyn and Carol went to go talk to villagers, but frankly I’m unsure. Along with Mr. Lem, Al, Derek, Long Lǎoshī, Sherry (who was photographing me), Mickey, Jeremy (who was also photographing me), Amanda (who was filming me and translating), two other government officials and a couple village representatives, into the home I went.

Right off the bat, as soon as I entered the building, my visit was not what I had anticipated. After stepping through the front door I was amazed at how well kept the interior was (and the exterior looked very nice too, so props to him), but also for the entire duration of my visit, Mr. Lem made a point to show me all the fixes he made, improvements he added and told me everything he’s done in upkeep. Frankly, that’s what most of the visit was: rather than permitting me to absorb the moment, learn and reflect, my visit was mostly him showing me and telling me everything he’s done to take care of the house, as well as describing the legal work he’s had to do, and complaining how he was contacted by the government rather than directly by my uncle (and that is quite the juicy drama, but I’m not going to share that with you, sorry, that’s a more private matter). While I was exceptionally bothered by his actions at the time (and not gonna lie, I’m still pretty pissed about that), I can understand why he acted how he did. My presence may have appeared as if my family had sent me to assess the property’s condition and verify Mr. Lem’s work, and even though I and everyone present that day knew that was not what my intentions were, I can understand how it may have seemed like a check up. Still, as he occupied about 75% of the minuscule hour and a half I spent there talking about himself, I felt very cheated of an intimate and private experience I had come so far to have.

On top of that, my time in my ancestral home was very rushed. Before we had even left for China, I had to prioritize one village over the other, and whichever I made my primary village was the one I would have more time in. However, despite how much I wanted this village to be my primary, because I had such difficulty squeezing information out of my family, I was forced to make Sui Bo Huey my secondary village. It wasn’t until quite literally two days before my flight to China that I finally secured the information I needed to identify the place, and promptly asked Roots to make Sui Bo Huey my primary. However, the switch happened a tad too late and the schedule for my time in Sui Bo Huey was set in stone, and the day’s schedule didn’t permit more time, so we had to do and see everything in a hurry.

The moment I entered the central room, where the ancestral altar was housed, it was a scramble to perform my bai san, or the ceremony where I paid respects to my ancestors. But here’s the kicker, I didn’t know what in the fuck this ceremony was. I had never heard the term bai san. Nobody in my family ever performed bai san. I hadn’t witnessed any of the other Rooters’ bai san ceremonies because I was off prancing around the villages we visited photographing everything besides the person whose village it was. I was thrust into the altar room, had a pile of incense shoved into my hands, then everyone stood back, left me in an empty space and told me to do the ceremony. But because I’m a complete noob, and know abso-fucking-nothing, I stood there like a dodo bird for a good moment, then asked Al for help. Mr. Lem lit the incense sticks, Mickey and Long Lǎoshī laid an offering of cookies on a table, and Al directed me in bowing, placing the incense around the house, and praying to my ancestors. Once I finished the ceremony, Mr. Lem put the cookies in his bag.

After bai san, Mr. Lem talked at Al, Long Lǎoshī, Mickey and Mr. Yang in a circle for about twenty minutes about all the legal troubles he went through with the property. In complete confusion, I kept peering over their shoulders at the documents he was referencing, trying to grasp what was happening, and thankfully Amanda translated some of the discussion. After Mr. Lem finished venting, someone announced that we should take a group photo outside, and I was being swept away again. Yet before we could make our way outside, Derek asked me if I had walked around the house. Which I hadn’t. So instead of meandering towards the doorway, I waltzed the opposite direction and went into what used to be the kitchen.

↑↑ Post-bai san, standing in the center room of my ancestral home before our altar. Here I am thanking my Bok Gung (though I think he’s actually my Taai Gung, but don’t quote me on that, the Chinese family tree is about as confusing as quantum mechanics), my Gung Gung, and everyone who came before them.

With my diversion, Mr. Lem promptly began giving me a tour of the house. It really was a beautiful house. It was divided into three sections. The first was when you first step through the front door; there was a small entry-room; branching forward was the second section of the house, and branching to the left was a door to another room. From this room you could climb a ladder upstairs to what was likely once a bedroom, and this bedroom connected to another small room (which is directly above the entry-way room below) and possessed a door to a balcony (above the second section) overlooking the village gardens and fields beyond. Back in the entryway again, and leading forward was the second section. This was the largest room in the house and ran from one end of the property to the other. Within this room was the ancestral altar, which had apparently survived a fire and but still in excellent condition. There was also a table, some large old pots to store rice, some decrepit wooden stools, and the foundations for a stone rice pounder set into the floor of the room. The room was lit by the skylight connected to the roof behind the balcony above. Continuing through to the third section of the house was the kitchen and former entryway to the home. I was told that a number of years ago, thieves had broken through the original door and destroyed it so much that it was irreparable and irreplaceable, so Mr. Lem had simply blocked the door with a lovely handcrafted barricade. Leading off the kitchen was another room, which had another ladder leading to the other upstairs portion of the home, but the ladder was broken and we could access the upper floor. I was awestruck by the condition of my ancestral home, and was very proud of all the hard work that Mr. Lem invested in the place (I wish to properly thank him somehow, but am unsure of how to do that; if you have suggestions please comment below!). It was one of the most amazing places I’ve ever been. I really wish I had had the chance to photograph it myself.

And that was the most upsetting aspect of this visit: I wasn’t able to photograph anything, and that really left an impact. In all of the prior rootings we did, I had impeccable experiences within each village simply by padding around and photographing the details of each community. In my debrief later that day, I voiced my dissatisfaction. The day was rushed. I hadn’t had any private time. Mr. Lem made a decent portion of my visit about himself rather than about me. I relayed that I had had more intimate experiences in everyone else’s villages by being able to walk around and see things. I regretted not having any of my own documentation of my own village. If I had been provided the time and opportunity to shoot my own photos of Sui Bo Huey, I know I wouldn’t have been so angry, but because I was prevented from doing the one thing I’m passionate about, in the place I cared for most, my frustration was evident. I toyed with the idea of asking to go back, but because we had such a crammed schedule for our remaining days in Toisan, and because others hadn’t been given the chance to return to their villages, I didn’t think it wise or fair for me to ask to go back.

However, a couple days later, my emotions got the best of me, and in an admittedly dramatic fashion, I asked Al and Derek if I could return to Sui Bo Huey before we left Toisan a few days later. And I am undeniably grateful that they, and the government, let me go back again three days later. ●

↑↑ (1) Group photo of our Roots 2018 family, Lem Fun Koon, Sifu, Long Lǎoshī, Mr. Yang (Young Yang), two other government officials whose names I don’t know, and a village representative inside the alter room of my ancestral home. (2) Group photo outside my ancestral home; you can see the doorway to the house on the left-hand side of the frame.

第六七: 台山

Day Seven: Toisan [Taishan]

07/02/2018

PORTRAIT PHOTOS: Al Cheng

PHOTOGRAPHY, PORTRAIT POST-PROCESSING & COMMENTARY:

Isabella Xu

Second Visit: What happened on 07/02/2018 __________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________________

The day I asked to go back to Sui Bo Huey, we looked over the schedule and finessed a time for me to return on July 2nd, 2018. Accompanied by Al, I would be permitted to return to my Bok Gung’s village, and the day I would go back was the same day as my other village visit. We’d visit my secondary village, my mother’s mother’s mother’s father’s village, in the morning, and after spending a couple hours there, Al and I would peel off from the larger group, return to Sui Bo Huey for a few hours, then would drive back to Toisan city for a late lunch.

The weather that day was overcast, and the sky looked as if I was ready to dump a downpour any second. That morning I awoke, dressed in an almost-monochrome get-up. Along-sleeve Nike running top, Aritzia athletic pants, my camper sandals, and Aritzia fanny pack, I then assembled my camera bag, hell-bent on making sure I secured photographs of my two villages that day.

Skipping past our morning visit to my secondary village (I know, I know, how disappointing! But do not fret, that account will be documented in the next post), with a moderate sprinkle from the heavens, Al and I hop into the car of a driver we hired for the day, and set out for Sui Bo Huey.

I knew that this visit would be wholly different from my previous experience. The only visitors to Sui Bo Huey would be myself and Al. The rest of our group was touring Kona’s second village. Mr. Lem was five hours away doing whatever it is that he does in another province (thereby we couldn’t enter the property, but that was alright). The government official that was supposed to oversee our visit just stopped by for about two minutes, then left. It was just me, Al, my camera and the village (well, and our driver, but he just sat in the car and/or looked at the eggplants or something in the garden). And that was more than I could ask for.

Hopping out of the car, the first thing I do (after taking a photo of Al and the government official) was walk up the same alleyway where the entrance to my ancestral home was located, all the way down to it’s very end (which was only like 50 meters, so nothing extraordinary). Back here were some little shacks, some in nice condition, others not so much. While perusing this little area I spotted an orange chicken (NOT the Panda Express kind, NO) standing on a ledge. It was just existing there, waiting and watching me, and once it noticed me returning it’s gaze, it took a step towards an archway and looked forward. It continued to glance my way, cluck and take another step, as if asking me to follow. As it slowly methodically made its way towards an the arch which led to some little corner of some structure, I decided to follow it. So I hopped up onto the ledge and trailed the chicken through the arch.

Now, I sound like a lunatic when I say this, and I have received nonverbal confirmation of this, but this chicken led me to this little alcove of an abandoned and crumbling structure, with the most beautifully water- and algae-stained walls. On them were large splotches of dirt and vibrant green microorganisms. The bases of the walls were a darkened, soil brownish-black which provided an excellent contrast to the whitish-grey concrete wall. The walls themselves had minuscule cracks and fractures and on one was a yellow and white electrical outlet, with several severed wires dangling from the apparatus. I was really struck by this bitty alcove and really it doesn’t seem that spectacular when you think about it. But I guess I’ve developed a few characteristics of a hopeless romantic over the past year, so cut me a little slack people. It was a really beautiful space. Just take my word for it. Or look at the photographs I shot of it below.

After parting ways with the chicken and the alcove, I found myself face-to-face with exactly the one person in the village I didn’t want to see: an old woman who supposedly weeds around my ancestral home, hates Mr. Lem, and was exceptionally bitter overall my last visit. I had hopped down from the ledge and looked to my right when she spotted me. She was perched on the ledge picking at some weeds and as soon as she laid eyes on me, she beckoned me over. I slowly and hesitantly walked over to stand before where she crouches, when she began blabbing away at me. Of course, I have no fucking idea exactly what she’s saying, but I intuitively knew what she was ranting about (which I had been told a bit about during my first visit): Mr. Lem, me, weeding, and money. After about ten minutes of my only responses to her jabbering being smiles and nods, she stood from her perch and had me follow her to her home, which was the house directly behind my ancestral home. As she disappeared into her home, I panicked a bit and yelled, “HEY AL!! CAN YOU COME OVER

(1) The Al & I ↑↑ (2) The Al & I & a Dog

HERE??!” He sauntered over from somewhere just as she reemerged, scrawling some characters on the back of an old tear-off calendar. She saw Al and began agitatedly mumbling again and motioned for us to follow her inside her home. She showed us into her altar room all the while talking at Al. She’d motion at him, at me, at herself, and in the direction of my family’s home, and even though I can’t understand a single word of what she said, I still knew precisely what she was angry about, and Al confirmed, though with more detail than what I could have inferred. The old woman apparently was asked by Mr. Lem to maintain the exterior of the house by uprooting little weeds that pop up every now and then. The woman claimed that she received no compensation for her weeding from Mr. Lem and that she disliked him very much. From myself and Al (as she believed Al was my grandfather) she demanded three red envelopes of money: one for each time of the year that she weeds. Al told her no, we promptly left her house and her dog followed us.

After that, I decided to go explore deeper into the village and pointed to Al the direction I’d be heading. He told me to be wary of some wild dogs over that direction as he had just been over that way and had seen some nasty specimens of rabidness. Because I’m a naïve piece of crap, and felt brave when

accompanied by the old woman’s dog, despite his warning, I trundled over in the “danger” direction. You would think I’d have been much more discretionary and cautious given my past history with dogs, but I threw that rationality out the window. As soon as my dog companion and I made our way to that side of the village, we were promptly bombarded by two wild dogs. I had hoped the old woman’s dog would have stood its ground against them, but he just scampered off back the way we came. Abandoned, I eventually edged my way around the dogs and tiptoed back to safety, but I was scared shitless.

Arriving in the safe zone, I made my way back towards my ancestral home, the car and Al. I popped out of the alleyway, and whipped my head around in all directions in attempt to spot Al, yet instead of our fearless leader, I instead spotted a kitten perched inside a barred window of the house next to mine. Because I love cats and hadn’t had a chance to interact with any that far in the trip, I padded over to the window to take a closer look. It was an adorable little thing, but clearly looked malnourished and miserable. I placed my hand on the edge of the window sill, and slowly inched my fingers forward so that it could sniff my hand. It reproached my hand a smidge and that movement revealed the reason why it looked so unhappy. There was a clear zip-tie strapped around it’s neck, with a metal chain hooked on the loop: it was shackled to the inside of this house, and it was an abandoned house that. I heard all talking with the driver a ways away, and

Kind Chicken, Lead Me Where? ↑↑ (A kind chicken in a water-stained alcove that it led me to in my Huie [許] ancestral village)

called him over to the window. Al and I spent the next hour or so with that cat (though it was mostly me, Al just stood by shooting photos as always). I was concerned that she would be rabid, hostile and that she would bite and scratch, but the cat found me docile enough to let me pet and photograph her without flinching. After about twenty minutes, she jumped down from the window ledge and disappeared into the abandoned house. The doorway to the house was on the side directly across from my ancestral home’s entryway, and was only blocked by wooden bars bridging the space between the doorframe sides. That being said, I couldn’t enter the property to unchain her, so I spent the next fifteen minutes coaxing the cat towards the door in an effort to unhook her. While doing so, I discovered that she had a sibling, though this cat was unchained, running about and whining all the while. Eventually, my cat and her brother came over to the door, where I had been squatting for far too long, and stepped out between the two lowest wooden bars. I reached down to see if she’d let me touch her, and after a few pets, I unlatched the chain and she was free. After that, she didn’t leave my side (well actually it was more like she didn’t leave my feet; she just stayed under my legs for the next twenty minutes), but that was also because the old woman’s dog wanted to play with my cats, and they didn’t want to play with him.

After another twenty minutes or so with the cat, Al and I decided it was time to leave. I bid goodbye to my kind chicken, my rambunctious dog, my scrawny cat and her ornery sibling, and to the old woman who weeds (who at that point had given up on grabbing my cash and just accompanied us around the village). Al already in the car, I gazed around my periphery a moment longer, then I hopped in the car, and the driver turned the engine. Setting my camera on the seat beside me, I turned and looked out the back window. I waved to the old woman, waved to her dog, and waved to my cats through the glass pane. The car inched forward and gradually accelerated as the framed image of my village receded into the distance. We passed by the row of homes, past the huge pile of trash, past the village gate, past the bright yellow restaurant which marked road to the village, and wheeled onto the main road. As the distance grew greater, I turned back to face forward in my seat. And before I knew it, Sui Bo Huey was gone. ●

(1) Last Vestiges; (2) A Blazing Yellow Roadmarker of More Than Just a Drink; (3) Asymmetric Symmetry ↑↑

(Abandoned restaurant outside the road and gateway to my Huie [許] ancestral village)

#Roots #Roots 2018 #China #Travel China #Guangdong #Taishan #Toisan #Nikon #Nikon D750 #Nikon Photographer #Sui Bo Huey #Huie #Xu

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