#WAIT UNTIL THE NEXT CHAPTER BWA HA HA

[musical-chan]

Father of Time Chapter 25: The Boy of Many Masks and What Became of Them

Aveum returned to the room shortly after Deity and Link, wearing silver armor almost identical to the Fierce Deity's, though with a silvery purple tunic under and different symbols upon the breastplate.  Like Oceans, there was Nayru's symbol on the left but the right had a strange clock-like thing instead. She had two thin swords on her hips. 

"Do all of you guys have the same armor?! I didn't know you knew how to fight, Aunt Aevum!" Link eyed the plate armor appreciatively; would he get something similar when he got older? Farore's words about manifesting armor wound lazily through his mind. 

"Of course I do. I just prefer not to. Those things in the temple though, UG. Seriously. Majora was psychotic. Link, you're looking much better."  The goddess put a finger on the boy's cheek, turning his face a bit. "The marks aren't visible anymore and I don't sense any problems. Good!" 

Deity narrowed his eyes a bit. "Pardon?" 

The goddess frowned at Link. "You haven't told him?" 

Link sighed and dropped onto his bed. "Ah man, we only just got back. No chance to. I haven't seen him all day!"

So they told him over dinner in their room. Aevum was more than willing to talk about the strange reaction to the deku mask and Link left her to it.   The way she talked about the experience felt very clinical and it was nice to get some separation from the event.  He had half forgotten what it had felt like with the excitement of playing outside but even still, the talk reminded him uncomfortably of the whole ordeal. He shuddered and crouched over slightly and Deity gave him a probing look. 

"We should take care of the masks then. Now."

"Hold on a moment, Brother. I wanted to poke at the magic some more.  Link isn't in any danger just from them existing. He wouldn't even try one on just to see if we could prevent the reaction from happening again."

"Aevum, I swear to the Mothers…"

"You would! Calm down. I'm not saying he had a great day but none of us could have predicted what happened and we handled it.  In fact, you should be glad I was the one with him. Rewinding the magic out of him was by far the safest option."

"Really, um, I'm okay dad."  Link gave his father a tight smile. "I even sort of forgot about it when I was outside with the others." 

Aevum took the Goron mask out and shook it at Deity. "Did you want to try one on? We could see if it's you. Maybe your power is still mad about being stuck in one of these." 

"Absolutely not." 

"You two are no help at all. And stop with the voice, you'll scare the mortals.  Honestly!" She tucked the mask back away and stood. "I have some more things to do and I'll see what I can uncover about the masks. We can take care of them soon, I promise." 

Link yawned as he pushed the last bites of food onto his spoon. "Do you ever sleep, Aunt Aevum?" 

"I get plenty of rest at the temple. I want to make the best use of my time here; I can't run off to other realities that often you know. You should sleep or whatever though. If you need me, if you have any unforeseen side effects overnight, I will hear." And like every other time before, she was gone.

(Read the Rest on AO3!)

I really do love Termina. It's a lot of fun to write in.

[eastasianfeelings]

falling into the sky: chapter six — fanfiction

← chapter five: move  //  chapter seven: retreat →

Summary: Your dance crew is backing up 5Vixx’s comeback. You happen to have a big crush on Ken. It’s kind of not an ideal situation for you, but your dance crew and the rest of Vixx make up for it.

Words: 3.6k

Warnings: slight possessiveness

*

“Noona?”

Ken takes a step toward you.

Quickly you prop up a smile, turn your back and scurry straight to the water fountain. You’ll just fill up your water, get back into the room and… do your job. With your crew. Because in the long run, the replacement dancer’s only going to be around until Soonil’s back from parental leave. And in the long, long run, your crew is only going to be around Vixx until the contract Changyeon’s negotiated with the entertainment company expires.

So it’s fine. Everything will be fine. That’s how fanfiction works, anyway, right?

“Noona?” Ken’s voice comes from right behind you.

Your hand twitches, and water spills from your water bottle over your wrist. You hiss and pull back as the ice-cold water starts leaking down your sleeve.

“Oh, here—” In a flash, Ken has whipped out a handkerchief from his pocket and is draping it over your hand. “Are you okay? Did your clothes get wet?”

“No, no, I’m fine. It’s just my wrist.”

But Ken takes the water bottle out of your hands and bends down to place it on the ground, and for a second you’re dizzy at the sight of this man kneeling in front of you, at your feet. Then he stands back up, clasps hold of your elbow with one hand and proceeds to gently press and dab the handkerchief against your skin.

He’s so much taller than you; with his head lowered, your eyes are barely level with his chin. The height difference distracts you for a moment… but then he starts moving up your arm with the handkerchief, pushing up your sleeve and exposing more skin.

“Ah, uh, that’s good enough.” You catch at his hand to stop him.

Ken looks up, into your eyes. His hands are on your arm. Your hand is on his hand.

Then he smiles and turns his hand within yours to push the handkerchief into your palm. “Keep this just in case. You can add it to your collection.”

You finally relax as he lets you go. “Thank you,” you say, and place the cloth in your pocket. He’s given you three now; that’s probably the limit of presents you should accept from him.

You lean down to pick up your water bottle. When you stand and turn, the sight of your high school crush at the other end of the hall is like another dash of icy water.

It’s him. Lee Gyuseok. You’d forgotten about him for a few moments, in the semi-intimacy of Ken wiping water off your skin.

“We should head back,” you blurt to Ken, and start beelining for the studio’s back door. If you can just get back to your crew, get out of your head and get their perspective on this, you’re sure you can get through it.

You bust through the door and head straight toward where they’ve gathered around Hyeomi’s phone near the sound system. Hyeomi looks up with the smile that says she’s gotten more Munsik photos.

“Unnie, unnie.” She waves you over, and Ahwon and Daesuk move aside to let you into the huddle. “Look!”

You push aside your racing thoughts and focus on the screen, and without even trying you smile. “Oh man, what a potato.”

Ahwon chuckles. “Just remember not to say that to Soonil’s face.”

You jerk your head up. “What? Are we going to be seeing him soon?”

“Ahwon overheard Changyeon planning something but he won’t tell us what it is,” Daesuk informs you.

“With Soonil??” You light up. The thought of seeing your teammate, your friend, and rejoining his life now that it’s changed so much, is heartening.

“I’m not completely sure,” Ahwon says, “but I think so.”

Hyeomi hops once on the spot. “Oh, I can’t wait!”

“What are you whispering about, kids?” Jaeeun calls from her seat at the table. “Come back, we’re going to get started again.”

“Yes, saem,” Daesuk calls back, and then turns to you. “By the way. Y/N-ah, is something up?”

Your shoulders go back. “What?”

“Something with Ken?” says Ahwon.

“He is acting kind of weird,” Hyeomi says.

“No, no, no.” Your idol-crush is your problem, and you won’t burden your crew with it. Your former school crush, on the other hand… “It’s—I saw a few of the candidates out there, and one of them is someone I went to high school with.”

“Oh.” Daesuk frowns. “Is that a good thing? Bad thing?”

“Well, we didn’t get along.” It’s not a lie, exactly; Gyuseok definitely wasn’t your fan when you were acting ridiculous about him. “Anyway, it just freaked me out for a moment. But it’s not going to be a big deal.” You look at them beseechingly. “Right?”

“Right,” Ahwon says confidently. “You’ve got the power in this situation. However he wants to react is going to be his problem.”

“If he makes it a big deal, then we won’t hire him,” Hyeomi adds.

“If Jaeeun likes him…”

“Jaeeun’s only going to like him if he’s a good dancer and he’s a good person,” Daesuk points out. “And if he’s a good person, then he won’t make a fuss. Because you’re a good person too, Y/N-ah.”

…You’re saved from having to think up an adequate response to his lovely words by Jaeeun hollering, “Come on, kids!” So you just give Daesuk a brief hug, tell Hyeomi to ask Soonil to forward the photos to the group chat and return to your seat.

Candidates number seven, eight and nine are all poor; you don’t have to leave your seat until the tenth candidate, who dances Vixx’s “Parallel” and then pairs reasonably well with you in “Move”.

As soon as the door closes behind him, Ken’s speaking up from behind you. “Ssaem, why did you let them choose our songs?”

“Why not?” Jaeeun replies as she makes some notes on the guy’s resume. “It’s a good sign if they’re brave enough to choose one of your songs. Even better if they dance well.”

Ken makes a grumbling noise. “What if it’s arrogance instead of bravery?”

Jaeeun doesn’t even look up. “What if you stop complaining about every candidate who dances with Y/N-ah?”

“Complaining? I’m not complaining,” Ken blusters. “I’m just saying, I don’t think it’s necessarily a good sign.”

“Message received,” Jaeeun says sardonically. “Next!”

Next is Lee Gyuseok.

You stiffen and reach out to your right. Daesuk looks over when your hand hits his thigh.

“This guy?” he mouths to you.

You nod.

He slides his chair closer to yours and gives your hand a squeeze before letting go. You look down and stare at the resume in front of you: Lee Gyuseok.

“Hello.” He introduces himself formally, then says, “I’ll be dancing to SHINee’s ‘Noona, You’re So Pretty’.”

Your head lifts. Beside you, Daesuk coughs in surprise.

The song starts a few beats before the first prechorus, and just as Gyuseok’s leaping into the air on the downbeat, his eyes meet yours.

Muscle memory carries him through the first measure before he stumbles, badly.

Despite your mixed feelings, you wince. It used to be one of your worst nightmares, messing up in a dance audition, before you found your crew. And you remember clearly what it was like to be on the outside, looking for a team to accept you, a team to belong to.

But Gyuseok calmly stands, walks over to cut off the music and then bows toward the table. “Please excuse me. May I start again?”

You feel more than see Ahwon and Hyeomi glance toward you.

“…Yes,” Jaeeun says slowly. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you.” He restarts the music and walks back to the middle of the room. He puts a smile in place, then looks at you. Deliberate eye contact.

And then he looks back to Jaeeun at the centre of the table as the prechorus starts:

‘Ama geunyeoneun eorin naega / budamseureounga bwa…’

You force your muddled thoughts to the back of your mind and focus on watching: watching for form and precision, energy and expression, dynamism and storytelling.

His interpretation isn’t overly cutesy. The arcs of his limb movements swing a little wide, foregoing precision in favour of creating a subtle sense of power. Still, there’s a clear sense of timing in his steps that emphasizes the important beats and supports the dynamic flow of the choreography.

Throughout the dance, Gyuseok’s eyes remain trained on Jaeeun. She stares right back, letting him dance on until he’s already onto the second chorus.

You trade glances with Daesuk. The song’s almost reached the two-minute mark, which is longer than the time Jaeeun allowed for any previous candidate.

Once the repetitive bridge starts, she finally waves him to a halt. “That’s good enough.” As the music stops, she continues, “Next we’ll have you perform a partner dance to ‘Move’ by Taemin with one of our dancers, Y/N-ssi.”

When she turns her head toward you, her gaze sharpens. “Jaehwan-ssi.”

You twist in your seat to find that Ken’s got his hands planted on the back of your chair again. He’s leaning slightly forward to stare at Gyuseok, almost towering straight over you.

Jaeeun clucks her tongue and lowers her voice to a hiss. “Lee Jaehwan, can you stop being overprotective for one minute so we can finish up these auditions?”

Ken blinks, then looks to her. “What? I’m not.” As if to prove it, he lifts his hands from the chair and displays his palms to her.

Ignoring him, Jaeeun nods to you. “Go ahead.”

You check behind you to make sure Ken’s backed off before standing and walking in front of the table. Cautiously, you look at Gyuseok.

“Hello,” he says to you, eyes narrowed slightly. “Y/N-ssi. Right?”

“Yes. Hello.” You dip your head but maintain eye contact. You can’t read his face at all, can’t figure out what he’s thinking right now.

Then you remind yourself it doesn’t matter what he’s thinking. He’s the one auditioning to join your crew; if he wants in, he’s going to have to play nice and perform well.

So you face forward and wait for Jaeeun to snap her fingers.

As the music starts, you roll your head on your shoulders and sink with determination into the first move of the chorus. Beside you is a dancer, nothing more and nothing less, and in front of you is your audience. Around you, inside you, within you is the music, and your body is the dance.

Jaeeun stops the music halfway through the second chorus, and you straighten as self-consciousness floods back to you. You look up to see her scribbling a few last notes while Ahwon and Hyeomi whisper to each other and Daesuk gives you a subtle thumbs-up.

Jaeeun finishes writing, looks up and says, “Do you two know each other already?”

You just manage to keep your mouth from falling open.

After a short silence, Gyuseok speaks. “Yes.”

“Yes?” Jaeeun shifts her gaze to you. “From where?”

“High school,” you manage. “We went to the same high school.”

“High school,” she repeats. Then she smiles a little. “That’s a while back already, isn’t it, Y/N-ah?”

You smile from relief and amusement. “A while back, yeah.”

“Although I can’t talk.” Jaeeun chuckles, then nods to Gyuseok once again. “Thank you for coming in today. We’ll be in touch soon.”

He hesitates to leave. “May I ask if this will affect my candidacy?” His finger is pointing between you and him to indicate this.

Jaeeun stops smiling. “We’ll be in touch soon,” she repeats, and the force of the dismissal in her tone successfully propels Gyuseok from the room.

The door closes. The next moment, Daesuk, Hyeomi and Ahwon are up out of their seats and surrounding you.

“He made it kind of weird, didn’t he?” Hyeomi says, wrinkling her nose.

“Yeah. ‘May I ask if this will affect my candidacy?’” Daesuk mimics critically.

“Not very respectful,” Ahwon agrees. “How was dancing with him, though, eonni? He looked like he knew what was doing, at least.”

“I think he did,” you say. “What do you guys think, did we look okay? I was kind of trying to block him out, to be honest.”

“Oh, really?” Daesuk says. “I didn’t pick up on that.”

“He was pretty responsive to you,” Hyeomi agrees.

“What happened between you guys, anyway?” Ahwon asks.

Before you have to share your embarrassing crush, Jaeeun calls you over. “Huddle in, guys.”

The four of you return to the table, where Ken and Hyuk have already seated themselves beside Jaeeun. She looks to you and says, “What did you think, Y/N-ah? Must’ve been a surprise, eh?”

“Yeah, it was,” you admit. “How did you know, though, ssaem?”

“He reacted like he knew you,” Jaeeun says with a shrug. “And you know what, familiarity might be an advantage for us in this situation.”

“Oh—but I’ve never danced with him before.”

“Really?” She cocks her head. “Hm, you had great chemistry. I definitely assumed you’d danced together before.”

“Great chemistry?” you repeat, a little boggled.

“I mean,” Ken inserts, “I think it was about the same as that one guy. The one who danced ‘Fantasy’.”

“Hyung, you called that guy basic,” Hyuk points out.

“Well, turns out the rest were all around that level,” Ken defends himself. “None of them really stood out, right? None of them made you go, ‘Oh yeah, this person matches Y/N-noona’.”

With a short sigh, Jaeeun slaps the folder of resumes closed. “Ahwon, Daesuk, Hyeomi, Y/N, let’s think it over and meet this afternoon to discuss, okay? Without Jaehwan. Clearly we’re not going to be making a decision now.”

“Sure.” You all acquiesce, while Ken sits back in his chair grumbling to himself.

“Then we’re done for now. Thanks for your time, guys.”

“Thanks, ssaem.”

“See you later, ssaem!”

“Let’s grab lunch together in the caf?”

“I’ll meet you there,” you tell them, “I’m just going to grab my phone from the staff room.”

Just as you reach the front door of the studio, you hear: “Y/N-noona!”

You turn to find Ken trotting up to you with his trademark smile. “I’ll walk to the break room with you,” he says, disgruntlement gone.

“Oh—okay.” You touch a hand briefly to the handkerchief in your pocket, then try a neutral conversation starter. “Do you have any schedules today?”

But his response is completely lost when the door swings open and you’re suddenly face-to-face with Lee Gyuseok.

“Ah—”

A very undignified noise leaves your mouth. You step backward on instinct, and your back hits Ken’s chest. Another gasp almost escapes you before you clamp your mouth shut.

“Hello,” says Gyuseok. His gaze barely flickers to Ken before retraining on you.

“Hello.” You hope your gulp isn’t visible. Calm down. He’s just a high school acquaintance. You’re in your thirties, for heaven’s sake. This is fine. You’re fine.

…Except you have no idea what to say.

“Oh, you’re the last candidate,” Ken says, fortunately filling the silence. “The one who knows Y/N-noona from high school. Right?”

“Yes.” Gyuseok dips his head politely. “Nice to meet you, Ken-ssi.”

Instead of replying, Ken turns and flat-out beams at you. “Noona, you were surprised, right?” He leans in to drape an arm over your shoulders, and your jaw almost drops open again. “What a coincidence.” He redirects his smile at Gyuseok, whose eyebrows are slowly rising.

“Yes,” he replies, still polite. “I didn’t know Y/N-ssi was part of this dance team.” You read in between the lines: he wouldn’t have auditioned if he had known.

“Oh, we’ve been dancing with noona for the past year.” Ken gives you a squeeze, his smile unwavering even though you’re sure you look loopy and lost right now. “So we really want to make sure we get the best person for Y/N-noona.”

Why is he telling Gyuseok this? Why is his arm around you? Your brain is whirling, and Gyuseok’s slightly disdainful expression isn’t helping.

“Anyway, nice to meet you,” Ken continues. “You know the way out, right?”

Gyuseok’s silent for a moment in the face of this frank dismissal, then he pivots and dips his head again. “I’ll wait to hear from you, Y/N-ssi.”

“Ah, yes,” you say.

Then, finally, he turns and walks away.

Ken keeps you tight in his hold just until Gyuseok rounds the corner and moves out of sight. Then he pulls you around one-eighty degrees and starts marching down the hall.

Your stride is nowhere near as long as his, and soon you’re jogging to keep up. “Er, Jaehwan-ah—”

“Do you think that guy has a crush on you or something?” he says in a musing tone.

“What?”

He looks around sharply at your yelp, which fortunately slows your pace down to a walk. “What, did I guess right? He does?”

“No, no.” You laugh from sheer incredulity. “No, that’s not it at all.”

Ken furrows his brow. “Why not? Maybe he just never told you. Maybe he’s had a crush on you all this time.”

For a wild second, you have half a mind to tell him that’s a drama trope, not a fanfiction one. “I’m quite sure,” you say carefully, “that he has not.”

“Why? How can you sure?” Ken finally removes his arm from your shoulders so he can gesture in the air. “If you ask me, the way he was acting today definitely says he has.”

“I… the way he was acting?”

“I mean, he literally hung around after the audition to talk to you.”

“What? No.” You can’t help another incredulous chuckle. “He was just about to leave when I ran into him.”

“Noona.” Ken stops in front of the staff room door and faces you with a stern look. “You’re not taking me seriously, are you?”

Taking him seriously? All you can do is splutter. “No, that’s—”

“As a man, I’m telling you, he was behaving like a man who’s interested.”

This is just pure ridiculousness. “No, he wasn’t!”

“How would you know that??”

“Because I was the one who had a crush on him in high school!”

For a moment, Ken just stares at you.

Then he says, “What?!”

“And he made it clear that he wasn’t interested. That’s—that’s how I can say that.”

Ken’s mouth opens and closes like a goldfish.

“Anyway, that was over twenty years ago,” you finish stiffly. “So. Yes.” You manage a bob of your head, then lunge for the safety of the staff room.

Before you can close the door, though, Ken’s crashing in after you, pushing the door open so hard it bounces off the wall. “What did you say? Noona! What did you just say?”

You whirl around, but keep backing up until you’ve got the table in between you two. “It was a long time ago,” you repeat, trying to sound calm and collected. “A schoolgirl crush, you know, not a big deal.”

Except for some reason, it looks like Ken definitely thinks it’s a big deal. “Why did you only just tell me this?” he demands.

Eh??? “What do you—when was I supposed to tell you—?”

“Wait, does this mean you’ve harbored a crush all this time??”

“No!” You wave your hands frantically. “Like I said, it was a long time ago, when we were in high school.”

“So you don’t like him at all anymore?”

“No! Of course not, we never even saw each other after high school. It was just a crush, that’s it.”

He finally stops firing questions, lips pursing as his gaze roves over your face. Your breath is strained; you feel like you’ve just run a race.

“Anyway.” You clear your throat and straighten your back under his scrutiny. “That’s how it is.”

“…Okay.” Ken nods and shifts his weight back from his aggressive posture. “Got it.”

“Great.” You eye him as you sidle out from behind the table. What a strange mood he’s in.

He looks at you looking at him and fully relaxes his stance. “Sorry, noona. I didn’t mean to attack you with questions like that.” He smiles once more, a bit sheepishly.

Carefully, you ask, “Was there a reason you wanted to know?”

“Mm, I guess I just reacted badly,” he says, which doesn’t sound much like a reason. “I think I have poor control around you, noona.”

???

“Oh?” is all you can say. Because what the hell does that mean?

Ken laughs a little. “This is my second time apologizing to you in two days,” he says. “I’m sorry. I should be less…”

He trails off, staring at you.

You edge away from him, moving toward your locker, and try to think of something light to say to diffuse the mood. “How about I return your handkerchiefs,” you suggest, “and we can call it even.”

There’s the sound of a few quick footsteps as you reach into your locker and retrieve your phone.

When you turn back around, Ken’s right there in front of you.

You just about jump backward into your locker.

“Don’t,” he says. His smile is barely there. “You keep the handkerchiefs. All right, noona?”

“A-all right.” Your involuntary stutter makes you flush; you clamp your mouth shut and try not to lean away from his stare.

“Good.” He looks at you some more.

“I—should get going,” you fumble. “To the meeting with Jaeeun.”

“Right.” Ken steps back and keeps his eyes on you as you scurry toward the door. “Let me know who you choose. Okay, noona?”

“Okay,” you squeak, and flee the break room.

So much for light.

*

← chapter five: move  //  chapter seven: retreat →

[nofomoartworld]

BWA for BLM Offers Space for Dialogue Between Black Female Artists in NY, LA, Houston, and London

A three-month long show offers a space for dialogue between black female artists and curators between New York, LA, Houston, and London. The collective Black Women Artists for Black Lives Matter (BWA for BLM, for short) was formed in July of last year out of solidarity for the Black Lives Matter movement and the seemingly endless number of unarmed black men killed by police. In such a short period of time, the group has become impressively established in the art world, and now presents in all seven rooms of Project Row Houses in Houston. 

Their first appearance together at The New Museum followed a call by artist Simone Leigh during The Waiting Room, her show that, separately, looked at the notion of medicine in African and diaspora communities. Leigh, shocked by the overwhelming response by over 150 multidisciplinary and experientially diverse artists, now co-curates the exhibition at Project Row Houses.

Documentation from the BWA for BLM intervention at the New Museum on 1 September 2016 by Lachell Workman

"This is an ideal place for us," she tells Creators. "Houston has a long history with community organizing. They're on a next level and I grew up in Chicago during Operation PUSH."

Social justice and racial discrepancies in art are an inherent factor in BWA for BLM's formation, as are the qualities that art possesses in pushing forward social change and grassroots gatherings. "The histories of Black Women's presence, or lack of presence, is unique in these different cities," she says. "Even the geography of the cities. The way LA is totally spread out, for instance, sort of effects the way we know each other. Even the work is different—there's lots of filmmakers in LA and a lot of painters and sculptures in New York."

BWA for BLM performance. Image: Madeleine Hunt Ehrlich

While a continued lack of diversity in the arts sector has been well-documented, more recently with a New York City survey comparing its population with the demographics of its cultural sector, BWA for BLM is focused on community building.

In Houston, each room of Project Row Houses is taken over by a different subgroup of the BWA for BLM collective, representing artist communities in London, LA and four from New York—separated by art practices named Object, Ephemera, Performance and Digital. One room is a dedicated meeting space for the formation of a BWA for BLM chapter in Houston.

BWA for BLM performance. Image: Madeleine Hunt Ehrlich

Alexandria Smith is part of New York's Digital group. They have created an audiovisual installation for the Project Row Houses exhibit called Well Read Women, which highlights literature from women of color. "I feel that art has become this elitist inaccessible world where people from the community feel like they cannot become a part of engage with," Smith tells Creators. "That's why I think what we're doing is so important because we are allowing the community to have a voice on a larger platform and in a different space, then just in their own communities or neighborhoods."

The Object group presents a room filled with a series of flags touching on traditions found in communities in the Caribbean and West Africa, now very much transplanted in various strands of African American culture.

For their part, the Ephemera group looks at how to create a Self Love Toolkit, while a series of performances exploring the idea of home will be put in and outside Project Row Houses by the Performance group. LA brings an augmented reality piece.

For Leigh, it's less about the work that's on display and more about getting these artists together. "I'm not really focused on outcomes," she says. "I'm interested in the discourse that we're developing, rather than the art products or objects that we create. I think that it's more important to just enjoy the experiences of working together."

It's something that the London BWA for BLM chapter—a group of four called Thick/er Black Lines—is also keen on getting at. It's apparent through their room, which displays a Transport for London inspired map charting the history of Black British art.

Image: Madeleine Hunt Ehrlich

"There's somewhat of a disconnect between the two diasporas," says London independent curator Rianna Jade Parker. "In the UK, we know much more about the American experience because their history is taught in school, whereas ours isn't. We need to learn much more about each other, start again and build some bridges."

Visibility of the heterogeneity of the Black experience has become a vital part in continuing to form the BWA for BLM powerhouse of talent, believing that there's strength in numbers that understand each other.

"So we're going to tell you what it's like to be a Black female artist in the UK, and then you're going to tell me what it's like to be a Black female artist in LA, New York and everywhere else," says Parker. "And that's great."

Black Women Artists for Black Lives Matter is on now until June 4, 2017 at Project Row Houses. See more here. 

Related:

Airbrushed T-Shirts Mourn Black Women Killed by Police

BronxArtSpace Presents a Rethinking of Black Rage and Resistance

With Joyful Photos, a 19-Year-Old Artist Confronts Media Bias Against Black Male Teens

from creators http://ift.tt/2nZ1w8N via IFTTT

[lesbianrewrites]

The Martian Chapter 5

*disclaimer* This is a project done for fun, and none of these characters/works belong to me. I do not claim to own any of the material on this page.

This is a Lesbian edit of The Martian by Andy Weir.

Chapters will be posted every day at 2pm EST.

Google doc version can be found here. The chapter can also be found under the cut. Enjoy!

CHAPTER V

LOG ENTRY: SOL 38 

I’m still cowering in the rover, but I’ve had time to think. And I know how to deal with the hydrogen.

I thought about the Atmospheric Regulator. It pays attention to what’s in the air and balances it. That’s how the excess O2 I've been importing ends up in the tanks. Problem is, it’s just not built to pull hydrogen out of the air.

The regulator uses freeze-separation to sort out the gasses. When it decides there’s too much oxygen, it starts collecting air in a tank and cooling it to 90 kelvin. That makes the oxygen turn to liquid, but leaves the nitrogen (condensation point: 77K) still gaseous. Then it stores the O2.

But I can’t get it to do that for hydrogen, because hydrogen needs to be below 21K to turn liquid. And the regulator just can’t get temperatures that low. Dead end.

Here’s the solution:

Hydrogen is dangerous because it can blow up. But it can only blow up if there’s oxygen around. Hydrogen without oxygen is harmless. And the regulator is all about pulling oxygen out of the air.

There are four different safety interlocks that prevent the regulator from letting the Hab’s oxygen content get too low. But they’re designed to work against technical faults, not deliberate sabotage (bwa ha ha!). Long story short, I can trick the regulator in to pulling all the oxygen out of the Hab. Then I can wear a spacesuit (so I can breathe) and do whatever I want without fear of blowing up. Yay!

I’ll use an O2 tank to spray short bursts of oxygen at the hydrogen, and make a spark with a couple of wires and a battery. It’ll set the hydrogen on fire, but only until the small bit of oxygen is used up.

I’ll just do that over and over, in controlled bursts, until I’ve burned off all the hydrogen.

One tiny flaw with that plan: It’ll kill my dirt.

The dirt is only viable soil because of the bacteria growing in it. If I get rid of all the oxygen, the bacteria will die. I don’t have 100 billion little spacesuits handy.

It’s half a solution anyway.

Time to take a break from thinking.

Commander Lewis was the last one to use this rover. She was scheduled to use it again on Sol 7, but she went home instead. Her personal travel kit’s still in the back. Rifling through it, I found a protein bar and a personal USB, probably full of music to listen to on the drive.

Time to chow down and see what the good Commander brought along for music.

LOG ENTRY: SOL 38 (2)

Disco. God damn it, Lewis.

LOG ENTRY: SOL 39

Well I think I’ve got it.

Soil bacteria are used to winters. They get less active, and require less oxygen to survive. I can lower the Hab temperature to 1C, and they’ll nearly hibernate. This sort of thing happens on Earth all the time. They can survive a couple of days this way. If you’re wondering how bacteria survive long periods of cold on Earth, the answer is they don’t. Bacteria further underground where it was warmer breed upward to replace the dead ones.

They’ll still need some oxygen, but not much. I think a 1% content will do the trick. That leaves a little in the air for the bacteria to breathe, but not enough to maintain a fire. So the hydrogen won’t blow up.

But that leads to yet another problem. The potato plants won’t like the plan.

They don’t mind the lack of oxygen but the cold will kill them. So I’ll have to pot them (bag them, actually) and move them to a rover. They haven’t even sprouted yet, so it’s not like they need light.

It was surprisingly annoying to find a way to make the heat stay on when the rover’s unoccupied. But I figured it out. After all, I’ve got nothing but time in here.

So that’s the plan. First, bag the potato plants and bring them to the rover (make sure it keeps the damn heater on). Then drop the Hab temperature to 1C. Then reduce to O2 content to 1%. Then burn off the hydrogen with a battery, some wires, and a tank of O2.

Yeah. This all sounds like a great idea with no chance of catastrophic failure.

That was sarcasm, by the way.

Well, off I go.

LOG ENTRY: SOL 40

Things weren’t 100% successful.

They say no plan survives first contact with implementation. I’d have to agree. Here’s what happened:

I summoned up the courage to return to the Hab. Once I got there, I felt a little more confident. Everything was how I’d left it (what did I expect? Martians looting my stuff?)

It would take a while to let the Hab cool, so I started that right away by turning the temperature down to 1C.

I bagged the potato plants, and got a chance to check up on them while I was at it. They’re rooting nicely and about to sprout. One thing I hadn’t accounted for was how to bring them from the Hab to the rovers.

The answer was pretty easy. I put all of them in Martinez’s spacesuit. Then I dragged it out with me to the rover I’d set up as a temporary nursery.

Making sure to jimmy the heater to stay on, I headed back to the Hab.

Buy the time I got back, it was already chilly. Down to 5C already. Shivering and seeing my breath condense in front of me, I threw on extra layers of clothes. Fortunately I’m not a very big girl. Martinez’s clothes fit over mine, and Vogel’s fit over Martinez’s. These shitty clothes were designed to be worn in a temperature-controlled environment. Even with three layers, I was still cold. I climbed in to my bunk and under the covers for more warmth.

Once the temperature got to 1C, I waited another hour, just to make sure the bacteria in the dirt got the memo that it was time to take it slow.

The next problem I ran in to was the regulator. Despite my swaggering confidence, I wasn’t able to outwit it. It really does not want to pull too much O2 out of the air. The lowest I could get it to was 15%. After that, it flatly refused to go lower, and nothing I did mattered. I had all these plans about getting in and reprogramming it. But the safety protocols turned out to be in ROMs.

I can’t blame it. Its whole purpose is to prevent the atmosphere from becoming lethal. Nobody at NASA thought “Hey, let’s allow a fatal lack of oxygen that will make everyone drop dead!”

So I had to use more a more primitive plan.

The regulator uses a different set of vents for air sampling than it does for main air separation. The air that gets freeze-separated comes in through a single large vent on the main unit. But it samples the air from nine small vents that pipe back to the main unit. That way it gets a good average of the Hab, and prevents one localized imbalance from throwing it off.

I taped up eight of the intakes, leaving only one of them active. Then I taped the mouth of a Hefty-sized bag over the neck-hole of a spacesuit (Johanssen’s this time). In the back of the bag, I poked a small hole and taped it over the remaining intake.

Then I inflated the bag with pure O2 from the suit’s tanks. “Holy shit!” the regulator thought, “I better pull O2 out right away!”

Worked great!

I decided I not to wear a space suit after all. The atmospheric pressure was going to be fine. All I needed was oxygen. So I grabbed an O2 canister from the medical bay. That way, I had a hell of a lot more freedom of motion. It even had a rubber band to keep it on my face!

Though I did need a spacesuit to monitor the actual Hab oxygen level (The Hab’s main computer was convinced it was 100% O2). Each spacesuit knew how to monitor its own internal air, of course.

Let’s see… Martinez’s spacesuit was in the rover. Johanssen’s was outwitting the regulator. Lewis’s was serving as a water-tank. I didn’t want to mess with mine (hey, it’s custom fitted!). That left me three spacesuits to work with.

I grabbed Vogel’s suit and activated the internal air sensors while leaving the helmet off. Once the oxygen dropped to 12% I put the breather mask on. I watched it fall further and further. When it reached 1% I cut power to the regulator.

I may not be able to reprogram the regulator, but I can turn the bastard off completely.

The Hab has emergency flashlights in many locations in case of critical power failure. I tore the L.E.D. bulbs out of one and left the two frayed power wires very close together. Now when I turned it on I got a small spark.

Taking a canister of O2 from Vogel’s suit, I attached a strap to both ends and slung it over my shoulder. Then I attached an air line to the tank and crimped it with my thumb. I turned on a very slow trickle of O2; a small enough that it couldn’t overpower the crimp.

Standing on the table with a sparker in one hand and my oxygen line in the other, I reached up and gave it a try.

And holy hell it worked! Blowing the O2 over the sparker, I flicked the switch on the flashlight and a wonderful jet of flame fired out of the tube. The fire alarm went off, of course. But I’d heard it so much lately I barely noticed it any more.

Then I did it again. And again. Short bursts. Nothing flashy. I was happy to take my time.

I was elated! This was the best plan ever! Not only was I clearing out the hydrogen, I was making more water!

Everything went great right up to the explosion.

One minute I was happily burning hydrogen; the next I was on the other side of the Hab and a lot of stuff was knocked over. I stumbled to my feet and saw the Hab in disarray.

My first thought was “My ears hurt like hell!”

Then I thought “I’m dizzy, ” and fell to my knees. Then I fell prone. I was that dizzy. I groped my head with both hands, looking for a headwound I desperately hoped would not be there. Nothing seemed to be amiss

But feeling all over my head and face revealed the true problem. My oxygen mask had been ripped off in the blast. I was breathing nearly pure nitrogen.

The floor was covered in junk from all over the Hab. No hope of finding the medical O2 tank. No hope of finding anything in this mess before I passed out.

Then I saw Lewis’s suit hanging right where it belonged. It hadn’t moved in the blast. It was heavy to start with and had 70L of water in it

Rushing over, I quickly cranked on the O2 and stuck my head into the neck-hole (I’d removed the helmet long ago, for easy access to the water). I breathed a bit until the dizziness faded, then took a deep breath and held it.

Still holding my breath, I glanced over to the spacesuit and Hefty bag I’d used to outsmart the regulator. The bad news is I’d never removed them. The good news is the explosion removed them. Eight of the nine intakes for the regulator were still bagged, but this one would at least tell the truth

Stumbling over to the regulator, I turned it back on.

After a two second boot process (it was made to start up fast for obvious reasons) it immediately identified the problem.

The shrill low-oxygen alarm blared throughout the Hab as the regulator dumped pure oxygen in to the atmosphere as fast as it safely could. Separating oxygen from the atmosphere is difficult and time consuming, but adding it is as simple as opening a valve.

I clambered over debris back to Lewis’s spacesuit and put my head back in for more good air. Within three minutes, the regulator had brought the Hab oxygen back up to par.

I noticed for the first time how burned my clothing was. It was a good time to be wearing three layers of clothes. Mostly the damage was on my sleeves. The outer layer was gone. The middle layer was singed and burned clean through in places. The inner layer, my own uniform, was in reasonably good shape. Looks like I lucked out again.

Also, glancing at the Hab’s main computer, I see the temperature rose to 15C. Something very hot and very explodey happened, and I wasn’t sure what. Or how

And that’s where I am now. Wondering what the hell happened.

After all that work and getting blown up, I’m exhausted. Tomorrow I’ll have to do a million equipment checks and try to figure out what blew up, but for now I just want to sleep.

I’m in the rover again tonight. Even with the hydrogen gone, I’m reluctant to hang out in a Hab that has a history of exploding for no reason. Plus, I can’t be sure there isn’t a leak.

This time, I brought a proper meal, and something to listen to that isn’t disco.

LOG ENTRY: SOL 41

I spent the day running full diagnostics on every system in the Hab. It was incredibly boring, but my survival depends on these machines, so it had to be done. I can’t just assume an explosion did no long-term damage.

I did the most critical tests first. Number one was the integrity of the Hab canvas. I felt pretty confident it was in good shape, cause I’d spent a few hours asleep in the rover before returning to the Hab, and the pressure was still good. The computer reported no change pressure over that time, other than a minor fluctuation based on temperature.

Then I checked the Oxygenator. If that stops working and I can’t fix it, I’m a dead woman. No problems.

Then the Atmospheric Regulator. Again, no problem.

Heating unit, primary battery array, O2 and N2 storage tanks, Water Reclaimer, all three airlocks, lighting systems, main computer… on and on I went, feeling better and better as each system proved to be in perfect working order.

Got to hand it to NASA. They don’t fuck around when making this stuff.

Then came the critical part… checking the dirt. Taking a few samples from all over the Hab (remember, it’s all dirt flooring now), I made some slides.

I took them over to the microscope and checked up on my beloved bacteria. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw healthy, active bacteria doing their thing.

Then I set about cleaning up the mess. And I had a lot of time to think about what had happened.

So what happened? Well, I have a theory.

According to the main computer, during the blast, the internal pressure spiked to 1.4 atmospheres, and the temperature rose to 15C in under a second. But the pressure quickly subsided back to 1atm. This would make sense if the Atmospheric Regulator were on, but I’d cut power to it.

The temperature remained 15C for some time afterward, so any heat expansion should still have been present. But the pressure dropped down again, so where did that extra pressure go? Raising the temperature and keeping the same number of atoms inside should permanently raise the pressure. But it didn’t.

I quickly realized the answer. The hydrogen (the only available thing to burn) combined with oxygen (hence combustion) and became water. Water is a thousand times as dense as a gas. So the heat added to the pressure, and the transformation of hydrogen and oxygen in to water brought it back down again.

The million dollar question is: Where the hell did the oxygen come from? The whole plan was to limit oxygen and keep an explosion from happening. And it was working for quite a while before blowing up.

I think I have my answer. And it comes down to me brain-farting. Remember when I decided not to wear a spacesuit? That decision almost killed me.

The medical O2 tank mixes pure oxygen with surrounding air, then feeds it to you through a mask. The mask stays on your face with a little rubber band that goes around the back of your neck. Not an air-tight seal.

I know what you’re thinking. The mask leaked oxygen. But no. I was breathing the oxygen. When I was inhaling, I made a nearly airtight seal with the mask by sucking it to my face.

The problem was the exhale. Do you know how much oxygen you absorb out of the air when you take a normal breath? I don’t know either, but it’s not 100%. With every breath, I was taking in oxygen, my lungs grabbed some of it, then I was breathing it out into the Hab. Every time I exhaled, I added more oxygen to the system.

It just didn’t occur to me. But it should have. If your lungs grabbed up all the oxygen, mouth-to-mouth resuscitation wouldn’t work. I’m such a dumb-ass for not thinking of it! And my dumbassery almost got me killed!

I’m really going to have to be more careful.

It’s a good thing I burned off most of the hydrogen before the explosion. Otherwise that would have been the end. As it is, the explosion wasn’t strong enough to pop the Hab. Though it was strong enough to almost blast my eardrums in.

The Water Reclaimer did its job last night and pulled another 50L of water out of the air. Long ago before hydrogen became the focus of my life, my problem was the 60L shortfall in water production. 50L of it is now in Lewis’s spacesuit, which I’ll call “The Cistern” from now on because it sounds cooler. The other 10L of water was absorbed by the dry soil.

Lots of physical labor today. I’ve earned a full meal. And to celebrate my first night back in the Hab, I’ll kick back and watch some shitty 20th century TV courtesy of Commander Lewis.

“The Dukes of Hazzard, ” eh? Let’s give it a whirl.

LOG ENTRY: SOL 42

I slept in late today. I deserved it. After four nights of awful sleep in the rover, my bunk felt like the softest, most profoundly beautiful featherbed ever made.

Anyway, I dragged my ass out of bed and finished some post-explosion cleanup.

I moved the potato plants back in today. And just in time, too. They’re sprouting. They look healthy and happy. This isn’t chemistry, medicine, bacteriology, nutrition analysis, explosion dynamics, or any other shit I’ve been doing lately, this is botany. I’m sure I can at least grow some plants without fucking up.

Right?

You know what really sucks? I’ve only made 130L of water. I have another 470L to go. You’d think after almost killing myself twice, I’d stop screwing around with hydrazine. But nope. I’ll be reducing hydrazine and burning hydrogen in the Hab, every 10 hours, for another 10 days. Let’s hope I do a better job of it from now on.

I’ll have a lot of dead time. 10 hours for each tank of C02 to finish filling. It only takes 20 minutes to reduce the hydrazine and burn the hydrogen. I’ll spend the rest of the time watching TV.

And seriously… It’s clear the General Lee can outrun a police cruiser. Why doesn’t Roscoe just go to the Duke farm and arrest them when they’re not in the car?