#i hope it’s permanent. it feels permanent. it feels like my other large composite filling which i have now had for nearly 7 years

[fingertipsmp3]

Guess who just got her teeth fixed!!!!

[yongiefilms]

EVANESCENCE.

pairing: mark lee x reader (female)

genre: fluff; angst; hints of humor; best friends!au; high school!au; college!au; unrequited love!au

warnings: language, heartbreak, indirect mentions of depression, crying is involved, mentions of death and loss, complex feelings, if you have a weak heart this may be hard to bear, you are literally in for a ride with a lot of ups and downs (i don’t know this is hard to put warnings on for some reason just beware with angsty teen feels aka angsty teen mark)

word count: 6.4k (how did i write this much? it is surely a mystery)

summary: distance is hard for anyone. it’s especially hard for couples, and maybe even more so best friends. with hundreds of thousands of miles separating you and mark lee, it’s impossible not to note the countless possibilities of what could go so wrong by being away from each other for an unknown amount of time. to cope with that longing mark lee writes to you, and he can only hope the feelings he pours out to you on paper are enough to keep that one thread you both are hanging by, unwavering and simply together.

author’s note: this fic is dedicated to our favorite giggly, watermelon loving, and adorably awkward social boy—mark lee. it’s officially his birthday in the states so happy 21st birthday, my precious and sweet boy. thank you for always brightening up our world and putting a smile on our faces. also, huge shoutout to my proofreaders/beta readers ( @wooqzi​ and @mjlkau​ ). you both were literally lifesavers and i can’t thank you enough for enduring through this semi-long fic with me, but i love you my renjun enthusiasts, you’re amazing.

THE CONTENTS OF THIS LETTER IS CONFIDENTIAL AND SHOULD NOT BE READ BY ANYONE OTHER THAN Y/N L/N. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

march 16, 20XX

my dearest y/n,

i remember the first time i saw you. i remember it so vividly that it seems like it was just yesterday, a fleeting instant in time that managed to stand still, being permanently engraved in my brain. it was november 15th, 20XX—our sophomore year of high school. i recall walking into our school’s library at around 3:25pm because i had to return a book from my literature and composition class. at that point i was also still waiting for my ride to come pick me up so i thought why not kill two birds with one stone? however, i wasn’t prepared for what i would see. (call me cheesy, though i already know you did once you saw the first couple of sentences).

when i strode in i saw you as if we were in the movies, where the male lead is stunned into awe at the gorgeous girl he comes across. you were sitting at a table by yourself in the center of the room with your back to me and the infamous large window that covered nearly the entire wall behind you. for some reason that same day was exceptionally beautiful. the sky was a vibrant blue shade with a few remains of scattered clouds, dotting the sky in white freckles. the sun shone a little brighter than usual, its warmth felt like a blanket wrapped around the body and it reflected across your face at the heaven-sent angle when you turned your head the tiniest bit, adoring you in a pleasant glow. i strolled in right at that moment when the sun decided to showcase you in its beauty and i couldn’t help but be astonished. you looked so ethereal and virtuous. i simply couldn’t look away. your arms were rested on the table, on either side of the book you had opened and when the sun was covered by a transient cloud, casting you in its shadow, is when you became more real, more like someone who was attainable. you then suddenly groaned and put your head down rather harshly on top of the book, emitting a loud sigh. i was quite surprised that no one called you out due to the noise you were making, you were in a library after all. (just know i can picture you rolling your eyes just about now).

yet i perceived it was odd that from merely hearing your sound of distress, i wanted to protect you. i wanted to shield you from future harm and future inapt doings. you made my heart clench so tightly i wondered what was wrong with me and how i could feel so deeply. i didn’t even know you. i hadn’t even seen you around school before. you were a stranger to me so why did i feel a certain way? i questioned myself and even still, to this day, i can’t bring myself to give you answers for that query nor can i find them. i suppose that is where i put the blame for what happened next.

i was so caught up in my head that i didn’t notice my feet had moved on their own accord right next to your table, where your head still rested. i know i must have looked insane and i don’t inculpate you for your reaction in the slightest. i was brought back to reality when the sun shone in my eyes just allowing me to turn my head to see you in your empyrean grandeur. the timing was appropriate too, because that was when you snapped your head up to meet my eyes. i was as startled as you, but it showed more clearly in your eyes rather than mine, considering i was so disoriented from reality. your eyes were wide, allowing me to clearly see the stunning color that was full of curiosity. you tilted your head to the right like a lost puppy kicked to the curb, waiting for someone to finally claim them. nevertheless, your own surprise didn’t last long since mere seconds after you scoffed loudly and turned away from me to bring your attention back to your assignment. your next words were the ones that sealed the deal and i seriously must have been crazy to be attracted by mere words that offended me above all, but they didn’t. if anything my heart clenched in my chest even more. (i must have been so out of it…i know you are laughing your ass off right now because of the dilemma i had. cruel). but you said, “what the hell are you looking at? you weirdo.” i knew then that would be the start of a glorious friendship and it was. i never happen to be wrong and that was one time i was thankful, even if it isn’t my most fondest memory (shut up) it still sparked the start of something much greater. something that i felt could last a lifetime.

so yes, we became the best of friends ever since that day and what a wild ride it was to get to that point. i knew you considered me too weird, too quiet, and too awkward for your taste, but we made the friendship work. we became inseparable even in our differences and for the rest of the years to come in high school, we were joined by the hip. there wasn’t you without me and there wasn’t me without you. you always had mark lee with y/n l/n and vice versa. i guess you could say you had me marked in your heart as you were in mine. (cue another eye roll and a laugh. i know you laughed). we were known for being that inseparable duo of best friends. you couldn’t have one without the other. some thought it was peculiar to see the once lonely boy and spirited girl befriend one another and be so compatible. it was unexpected, but they got used to it like all the other things that come and go. they came to accept it and even if their opinions didn’t matter to you, those things did to me because i wasn’t like you. i couldn’t brush off dislike or unacceptance. i didn’t have the power to do so, but don’t worry anymore, my love, i have come a long way and perhaps it is all due to you.

i’ve always wondered how we balanced each other out since everyone said we just didn’t quite fit the picture. you were dauntless and confident, knowing exactly what you wanted and you weren’t afraid to go out to get it. while i was embarrassing and closed off, not knowing the path to follow for my life and too scared to make mistakes when i knew i couldn’t fix them. although through our own struggles we were able to help each other grow and find ourselves. we became comfortable in our own skin and accepted who we were with all our faults, failures, and imperfections. you were someone who guided me and i only hoped that i was able to guide you the same way you did during this absurd journey of teenage life.

i suppose that is why i am afraid to tell you these next few words, these next few paragraphs that place my heart out for everyone to see and hear—but i don’t care about them, i only have ever cared for you and i always will. you may have assumed this from the start of this letter or it may have gone over your head as something that is normal for everyone to experience with another attractive soul at first glance. or you may have known throughout our years of knowing each other. you could have picked up the signs of things that weren’t so platonic—the gazes, the touches, or the words that meant something more than just friendly. you could have noticed, but refused to acknowledge the deeper undertones for your sake and most certainly my own. i know you and i know the last thing you would want for me is to be hurt or disappointed. to feel like you failed me when in reality if you knew that wouldn’t have mattered, since to me our friendship is worth more than any romance, if there would have been one at all. so you know, i am certain now, but it still scares me to write it down, to have it on permanent record for you to read whenever you want.

so here it goes.

over that time, over the course of us getting to know each other and becoming who we are today, the best of friends, i slowly started to fall for you—the person you were, someone i couldn’t be even if i tried. someone so raw, beautiful, and most of all real, both on the inside and out. you know i never was shallow, i never cared about someone’s appearance as what held significance to me the most was the heart. if your heart was good and wholesome and filled with love. that is what matters and the only thing that should. so while you are gorgeous (don’t let that get to your head now), you had a golden soul that i fell for ever so intensely.

i guess that’s why i decided to be daring that day—our senior graduation. you may be confused on what i mean since nothing was out of the ordinary that day, well for you at least. for me it was a different story. you see i had decided to do something, something out of my comfort zone and i honestly don’t know what came over me to do it in the slightest. you know how i am, i never like to be put into an uncomfortable situation since i don’t know how to deal with them. my social awkwardness just gets the best of me, but in that spur of a tick, realizing this was a huge milestone in our lives that we were overcoming, a milestone that would release us into the real world, i mused there was no harm. i really didn’t have anything to lose, except you that is. i could lose you, but i guess i knew deep within my heart that was a slim possibility because nothing could tear us apart, not even stupid teenage feelings. so you could say i finally gained enough confidence after spending so much time with you to do something out of the ordinary—to be bold like you. to just confess the truth and not worry about the consequences after. to just speak my mind and not surrender to fear. you helped me get to that point and while it did take some time, i was happy with who i came to be. someone proud with who they are, even for split second and i knew i had to do it before i turned back into a coward—before it was too late.

i had the ideal moment planned prior to it happening. i was going to tell you after we finished taking our graduation photos. there wasn’t a better time than that, when we were trying to capture the last moments of our high school career together. taking pictures with those we grew closer to over the years, those that made everything a little more sane, a little more fun. so when we look back we can reminisce about those times, no matter how many ups and downs there were because we finally reached the end goal. we made it.

after searching for you amongst the growing crowd for several long minutes after we proceeded off the stage, i saw you come towards me first, with your blue gown flowing in the wind. you literally ran full speed ahead and when you were a few inches away, you crashed into me. i had stumbled from the impact, taking several steps back so we both wouldn’t fall, as my arms came to rest around your own. you maneuvered your arms around my chest to give me a bear hug, stripping the oxygen away from me. when you let go after being in my embrace for what felt like eternity, i could clearly see your face. you were in a great mood—a beam on your face, your cheeks flushed from the sun’s heat, your eyes wide open with stars that filled the void, and your skin left in a brilliant glow. happiness surrounded you and a grin made its way onto my face at how in your element you finally looked. i knew it was then or never again, for your encouraging grin left me weak, yet strong. the perfect moment. yet, no moment is perfect. no one moment ever seems perfect for me. it doesn’t work out because fate wasn’t on my side—nor would it be for a long time.

you must have wanted to tell me something too that fateful day, since i could feel your excitement in my own bones and spot it a mile away, as right when i was about to confess, right when i opened my mouth to say those three dreaded words, you cut me off. you told me you had news, exciting and life changing news. news that would shatter me and wither my confidence away till what was left was speck of dust. you told me you were leaving to go to the states. that was the first pain i felt in my body. your admission letter had come in the mail earlier that morning when you were about to leave the house, on your way to the graduation ceremony. you were too anxious when your father relayed the news that you had gotten mail as your foot was almost out the door. you couldn’t wait to open it as your eagerness didn’t allow you to, so when you were handed that one large envelope addressed with your name from your dream college, your hands didn’t stop from ripping it open.

you got in.

you got into harvard university, the one college you told me since sophomore year that you wanted to go to, if it was the last thing you could do. i was so estatic for you, i was, because i knew how much the acceptance meant to you. you were working hard ever since you could talk and your passion was a huge part of that dedication to excelling in your academics. you deserved it more than anyone i knew, but my heart couldn’t help but crumble out of that exuberance.

you were rambling on about how thrilled you were and what you would do at college, all the classes you would take, the extracurricular activities, how you would have your own dorm or apartment and decorate it the way you wished. you just looked exactly how you did that day i took you out on a picnic to watch the sunset on that hill that overlooked the town—without a care in the world and so very content. so i couldn’t confess now, when you were going places, the places you dreamed of and when your life would take off for the better. you were just getting started, yet i couldn’t say what i so desperately wanted to say when you simply told me you were leaving, and so soon at that. i didn’t want to hold you back and i just know you are telling me i wouldn’t have, but i know the truth as do you. you would have stayed behind because you care too enormously with your heart to ever let me go, to ever have me sorrowful. so i didn’t say anything when you backtracked and asked me what i wanted to say before you spilled the news. i was thinking more with my head rather than my heart at that juncture. you gazing at me with your star-filled eyes and dazzling smile, i couldn’t do it, no matter how much energy coursed through my veins. i kept my mouth shut and told you it was nothing. you accepted the excuse though i know you knew it was a lie. we could always tell when the other lied and i was just glad you believed it at that point. i held back my feelings and my wants for your feelings and wants—for your needs. your life, your wishes, and your desires always meant more to me than my own. so we took those graduation photos and laughed with the rest of our friends. we were joyful then even if the future remained imbalanced and unsure.

you left later that month since you had to settle into a new country, a new state, a new culture, and a new life. in that time it wouldn’t be us if we didn’t spend every minute side by side and we did since you wanted to cherish our time together—our last time together. you would be on one end of the world and i would be on the other, thousands of miles separating us and a wide expanding sea. it was surreal and it still is. so we treasured all of it, even the little moments of going to each other’s houses in the wee hours of the morning to just watch the sunrise or late at night to watch the stars, to go get ice-cream when we felt like it, to watch movies in your bedroom with the lights down low—to just bask in each other’s presence. we made even more memories, granted that we had plenty to go around. those last weeks with you were the best of my life, even if it felt like nothing was changing, even if it was our normal routine before the shift. even so it still made me fall deeper as i saw your true colors in an even brighter light as if i never truly saw you before. there was so much about you that just made me curious even if i knew every part of you, every aspect of your being, from the simple things like your favorite color to your hatred for pineapple on pizza, and to the deep things like your fear of being forgotten or not being good enough. even if i knew so much, there was still more to unravel and discover as you were so complex. there isn’t another person like you in the world. there can’t be since you are one of a kind. they may have your face or outward appearance, but they can’t have your fair heart or pure soul.

i shouldn’t have been dazed that these emotions i had for you would solely blossom beyond belief. i couldn’t protest either because i knew they would grow more fervent since it is so hard to control myself around you. i sound like a giddy schoolboy, but with you i can’t help but let everything run wild and free. i put my entire heart and being out onto a silver platter just for you and i knew you would only ever take good care of it. after all if anything they would be yours to either tear or mend.

so when that dreadful day arrived i wasn’t ready for the whirlwind of storm to be released and let loose. you were leaving and wouldn’t come back.

i had been in the car with you that day as well as with your parents since they were flying over with you in order to help you maneuver around a new territory and get you settled in before the start of your semester. i couldn’t bear to say goodbye to you before so i tagged along. we all strolled up to the gate and your parents passed through, leaving you with me so we could have some privacy to say everything we needed to say. albeit there weren't enough words in the world to tell you how i felt at that stage, enough words for the both of us. therefore, we let our actions speak louder. you latched onto me, putting your arms around my neck and hugged me so closed till i was sure there was no room between our bodies in that suffocating airport.

you know you told me a hundred times, maybe even a thousand times during those last weeks before you left, how much you loved me. how much i meant to you and how much you cared for me. i don’t even think the amount of times i heard that from other people could compare to how many times you said it. while they may have meant it, i know you truly did and that was the deepest sorrow to know, which broke me a little further. regardless, i did tell you them right back, how could i not when it was you? i told you those three words and eight letters every time in response, twenty-four hours and seven days a week, but when you said them there, in the midst of the crowd in the airport, it felt different. it felt more meaningful, like there was an underlying tone i couldn’t decipher and it broke me the furthest i could go.

tears came from me and you, flowing between our clashed bodies. they made their way down your face and stained my own, out of jubilation and utter devastation. when you said it in between your sobs, repeating the words like a mantra against my neck and pulled me in even closer, i told you those words back. i whispered them against your temple, kissing the side of your head every time i repeated them and i meant them with all my heart because i truly did love you, so much, just in a way you didn’t love me, and never could.

i was sure i couldn’t recover from your departure once i saw you walk through those gates and let go of me. i wondered if i could ever hold you back again like i did at that moment. it felt like a part of me was being left behind. we were two halves of a whole and with you going, there would always be a missing puzzle piece. a piece of me would always be incomplete and i didn’t know how to feel, nor do i now. there is a hole in my chest of where you belong and i think there always will be until we connect in person again.

looking back i still smile at that memory—at all our recollections together. the woeful ones and the euphoric ones because they help me burden the pain, the heartbreak at your withdrawal from my life. it may sound dramatic considering we are still part of each other’s lives, just not in the way we were before. for distance separates us and threatens to split us apart.

you may think it doesn’t, but we both know the actuality. distance is the cause of these things—friendships, relationships, and love breaking beyond a point that is impossible to fix. where all those things are left in the dust and are fragments of what once was. now distance endangers our own foundations, our own very little things, so it’s illogical not to think about how it might destroy us. i never was a pessimistic person, but now being miles away from you, it’s hard not to think this way. i try to block it out. i try so hard, but sometimes i can’t help but allow negativity to take over, for without you here to shed light, the darkness swallows me whole.

i already know how you look reading this letter, in fact i knew from the very start what it would result in. i knew your emotions would get the best of you as they overwhelm you and you can’t hold them in like you desire to. maybe it happened from the very start or maybe it started now, but i want you to stop the tears that are already cascading down your face. don’t cry reading this. this piece of paper is not worth your tears, even if you think the opposite way and maybe those words i just wrote don’t mean anything because you are already sobbing, but stop them before they consume you. i am not worthy of those tears nor is it my intention to ever make you weep.

you know you always said you couldn’t cry, your body wouldn’t let you wail even if you begged it to. you told me that the day your grandmother died and you came over to me after the funeral. you told me no matter how glum you were and how much pain you felt, you couldn’t mourn for your grandmother. that you pushed your body to release tears but it wouldn’t so you looked unmoving and without emotion during the service. while that may have been the truth just that once, i knew well enough that was a lie. you were numb to feeling since you lost someone, but you body did want to grieve since you were just holding yourself back from looking weak. nonetheless you never are so-called frail because you are the toughest person i know and tears don’t dictate that strength regardless.

so in the deepest part of your room, at the latest times of the night when you thought no one was looking or knew, you cried your heart out. you whimpered too often and i was able to tell even if i never voiced it, but somehow you knew that i knew and you were okay with it. you were okay with letting me know you were and are human. so every time when you would cry i told you that you were too beautiful for it, in order to give you a piece of how i saw you in my head. to allow you to understand it was okay and normal above all. even now, though i can’t see your tear stricken face, you are stunning. so don’t bawl, but rather smile for me.

good.

your smile was always one of my favorite characteristics of yours. the most blinding beam that could light up a room and make anyone forget their worries.

you know even if it may seem gloomy, blame the mood in which this letter took a turn, i still am grateful we keep in contact even if you are so many miles away, because that’s the only thing i ever wanted, to keep in touch with you—to remain best friends. a factor that we still are…(for now).

so yes, it may be six months since i last saw you face-to-face, six months since you left, six months since we managed to stay in contact, but i can just feel you slipping away, becoming someone without me by your side through it all. yes, i know you and i are still who we are since those months ago, since sophomore year, but it’s just something that i can’t help but feel.

in fact i already sense it, it is near, but yet far. you know how i know? when we were on call the other day. it was last wednesday i believe and we were chatting about how our day went, the usual things in our routine, that is until you casually mentioned someone asked you out on a date last week. the mere fact that you didn’t tell me the day of or the day after it happened hurt more than your following words, albeit they equally packed a punch. you told me it was that one boy from your history of psychology class, the boy you did countless assignments with before, the boy you befriended nearly the first day your classes started. the boy i felt would take my spot from your life, if not as your lover, then as your best friend. i forgot his name, but i recollect you said he had that incorrupt look on his face that you perceived him to be pure the first day you laid eyes on him, although after learning more about him, he was far from being innocent. you told me in explicit detail what he looked like and the personality he had. i recall bits and pieces, even if i desperately tried to forget. delicate hands, an artistic gift, a slightly short stature, a cute grin, and a savage attitude to contradict the façade. exactly like you, exactly like the day i met you with your sharp tongue and doe eyes in the library, the complete opposite of each other. while i know i reach far in many regards calling him a soon to be lover or best friend, he still has potential even if he may not have any of those labels. i know he might not be the one—the one you’ll end up marrying in a few years down the road when you have a doctor’s degree in one hand and a ring on the other, but he might as well be. he might as well be that man because the future is unimaginable to foretell, but he can still be that shell of someone you want, he can still fill the void until the time comes. so yes, he very much will have your heart for a while, if you deem him worthy enough, if you pursue him the way he wants to pursue you. the way you were talking about him with your tone and the smile i could hear it in your voice gave it away. i knew something was there and you would give it a shot. he might be one of many before you find the ideal one over the years and he very well might be the one, but even if he was not, he would be your first in more ways than i was. he’ll be someone i wish i could have been. someone i wish would allow me to shoot my shot, but i didn’t since with all my talk i still, deep down, was a coward.

you can’t say i am wrong anyways since sometime, someday, some when it will happen. however, what still remains, in this bit, right now, as you read, is that we are still y/n and mark. mark and y/n. we are still us, but why does it feel like we aren’t at the same time?

it’s a deep question i must admit, it is what keeps me up some nights as i search for the answer and ponder for the meaning. i still don’t know the full answer, but i know enough. we are growing up. we are growing up y/n. we aren’t 15 anymore. we aren’t those sophomore kids that had no idea what the real world had in store and were gullible in every way, shape, and form. we simply aren’t high schoolers who only cared about our grades or appearance or the plans we had after school. we aren’t those kids. we are slowly becoming adults. we are slowing steering away from our teenage years and in that comes this question of self-identity.

who are we?

that is what we are trying to look for. we are finding who we are through everything we do—through our daily lives. we are finding ourselves…without the other. we have been so close for so long and grew into that space in an unhealthy amount of time. we grew accustomed to each other’s presence so now it is almost unbearable being apart for so long. we became so attached we don’t know what to do with ourselves and it’s the cold hard reality. it’s the truth that we don’t know ourselves individually, only together and that’s why it hurts more than ever that we have to be led astray, sometime soon. to know that soon enough that time will come. to know that yes, we still contact each other every day, we still have our weekly face times or calls and what you deem our “online friend dates” during the weekends, but as often as they are, they will change. we will no longer have the time to do that as college gets crazier for both of us, as we become more involved in a college life full of parties, friends, clubs, and whatever else it may be as we move out of being freshmen and get closer to our real life careers. you and i will know when that happens as our calls will become less frequent, our check-ins almost nonexistent with the other being left in the dust for days to weeks to months on end. we merely won’t be in contact anymore and i am sorry when that comes, my love. we’ll forget each other, its expected especially as we grow older, as we date, as we find love, as we befriend new people, as we move in the direction we are meant to be going and with that the worst part follows because i know sooner or later we will have to let each other go, if we don’t neglect. we can’t hold each other back and we will dwindle to a memory of what once was, of a simpler time before. i will be the forgotten one, the one in the background of your most prominent memories, someone you can’t help but look back on.

although we aren’t there yet, but we will be.

soon.

even if at this point you hate how many times i have written that word and so do i, but don’t you dare take the high road since we all know at some point all marvelous friendships die for an unexplainable reason or reasons. ours would just have to be because of life. that’s what makes life well...life. it is all part of the journey, the road to an unforeseeable future, but there can still be hope, it doesn’t just diminish like a candle flame put out by a gust of wind. no, hope still exists, you just have to grasp it when it comes around.

if. i always hated the word if, but if it’s meant to be then we will find each other, we will come around full circle at some point. have hope for both of us when i have none.

still, when you get this, it may be too late. maybe you will have unremembered about me in the seconds of time in between the unwavering silence. only then would we have both moved on, since there is no point in reaching out for something that isn’t worth saving when it all faded away before. only then will i be just a memory and reading this will spark those thought of i knew him once before during a ephemeral moment in my life when i was a teen in high school rather than a college student, but i know i am not late.

it is one thing i am sure of.

until then, until that foreboding time arrives i’ll hold dear what we have. i will try to preserve this friendship for both of our sakes until it’s time to say goodbye or more accurately a see you later if you want to be hopeful.

whenever that may be.

i know you hate goodbyes more than anything, the word itself rattles in your bones. so y/n, see you soon, in person—someday if it’s what’s right.

it has to be right doesn’t it?

fate has to be on our side because it knows us, it knows that there isn’t me without you and there isn’t you without me. when that time arrives of us seeing each other or withering away like every flower does at the end of its life, i hope, i pray that you won’t forget me as i most certainly won’t forget you.

so just call to mind in everything you do, in everything you say, dwell on the time before college—of a time when you were a child, someone lost, someone finding themselves and in it all remember there was someone who loved you before. someone who loved you at your worst as well as at your best, before you became who you were truly meant to be, and he loved you with all his heart.

he promises he always will.

that he is me.

i love you, y/n l/n. always and forever.

never forget it.

yours truly,

mark lee  

on march 16th, 20XX at approximately 8:02pm mark lee sealed his letter to y/n and put it in his coat pocket. on march 17th, 20XX at approximately 10:32am mark lee made his way to the postal office to drop off his letter and at 10:36am the letter dropped into the box on its way to the united states. on march 20th at approximately 11:42am mark lee’s letter arrived at the massachuesetts postal office and was separated upon arrival to be delivered sometime within the week. on march 22nd at 2:07pm, mark lee’s letter arrived at y/n’s apartment complex and was dropped in the inboxes of the residents. on march 24th at approximately 7:02am y/n went to pick up the mail, but what wasn’t in the pile was the letter from mark lee. sometime between when the letter arrived in the states to the mailman driving to the complex, his letter had gotten lost. the truck’s windows were open and mark lee’s letter was at the top of the pile when the truck was parked. an unsettling breeze was felt against the mailman’s face as he gripped the entire pile of mail, though mere seconds before the letter was picked up by the wind and whooshed onto the ground several feet away. the mailman did not take note and continued on, not noticing something was missing. y/n never received mark lee’s letter and neither of them would have known how things would have ended up differently if she had. for from that point on they would be a fading memory to each other and their friendship would wane away. y/n would begin to forget the calls with mark. mark would no longer reach out after months of silence from both parties. y/n would date the boy she told mark about, his name was huang renjun and they would fall in love, but mark would never know his name or know what came to be. they would become strangers and not best friends. lost to the tragic distance that separated them across the sea. if only y/n received the letter. if only mark lee confessed. if only he had know y/n felt the same. if only their friendship hadn’t evanescenced into nonexistence…like all unrequited love stories do.

[luccislegs]

Lol I'm glad to be of help! I'm looking forward to the requests you get published. You probably don't write for Law, so I should ask for Zoro in that case. Could I please have a scenario for Zoro with a reader who's a brilliant actor/imitator but they're v shy? They want to be helpful aboard the ship and have a big crush on him, but they end up getting flustered whenever he come near. If I can add, a significant height difference would be cute lol.

sorry it took me so long to answer this lol i was hella partying this weekend and i’m pretty sure there’s still alcohol in me even a week later

anyway, my first ask! also thank you again for letting me know my asks were turned off, you rock!

–

A sigh escaped your lips for what seemed like the hundredth time that day as you watched Zoro train down on the main deck. You, on the other hand, were hidden away in Nami’s tangerine grove, scribbling away at a new musical composition piece. Or you were supposed to be, anyway. It seemed like every few seconds your concentration was stolen by the aforementioned swordsman.

“Hey, _____! Whatcha doin’?” Luffy shouted from behind you. You had been in the middle of writing and he scared you so badly that now there was a large score down the page. Some of it was ripped now as well, ruining the work.

You sighed, staring forlornly at the destroyed paper. It had taken you ages to finally work up the motivation to write, and just like that it had gone wrong. You turned to look at your captain, saying, “Nothing, Luffy. Just writing some new music.”

“Huh,” he said, staring down at the sheet music. “It looked like you were staring at Zoro more, _____.” A large, mischievous grin spread across his face as he locked eyes with the other man, who turned an even brighter shade of red than he already was.

You missed the exchange entirely as your eyes were locked on your paper in horror. Could he have said it any louder? Embarrassment and fear flooded through you and you barely glanced up at Zoro, just enough to gauge his reaction to Luffy’s words, but he wasn’t looking at you. In fact, he was no where to be seen anymore.

It was a few hours later when you finally felt the courage to show your face on deck again. You had initially decided that you were just going to hide out in your room for a few days, but you had managed a complete rough draft of your composition and wanted Brook to play it out, so you could hear what needed to be fixed.

Plus, you were starving.

The sounds of the others filtered out of the kitchen, typical in that you could hear Luffy and Usopp above all the others, but it was comforting because it was familiar.

The door creaked open and a chorus of greetings to you filled the room, and you flushed slightly. Waving back, you sat down in an open seat, and your eyes made a sweep of the room, looking for familiar green.

“Zoro isn’t here,” Luffy said around a huge mouthful of meat. He struggled to swallow it for a moment; you could see the way his throat expanded to accommodate what was surely too much food. “He’s sleeping in the crow’s nest.”

Your cheeks really turned red at that, and you couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes, but you heard the tell-tale sounds of Nami knocking him upside the head.

He whined and rubbed the back of his head, frowning at her. “What was that for? She was looking for him, right? She likes him, so I figured I’d tell her!”

“Luffy, you idiot,” Nami said with a huff. She looked like she was going to hit him  again, her fist raised in a threatening manner. “You aren’t supposed to point it out. They need to figure it out for themselves.”

“Well, they’re taking too long!” he whined, holding his hands up to defend himself. He looked around at you then. “_____, why don’t you just tell him?”

You couldn’t help but give him an incredulous look as you sputtered out half-formed excuses. Finally, you took a deep breath and calmed yourself, managing to say through grit teeth, “It isn’t that easy, Luffy. I’m not sure he feels the same.”

“You should just ask him then!” He was so naive it would be cute, if it wasn’t so embarrassing.You rolled your eyes as Nami continued to yell, with Sanji joining in after a moment. Things settled down after that, returning to normal levels of noise which, with your crew, were still extremely loud.

“Does anyone know where Brook is?” you asked when everyone was finished eating. “I want him to play this new piece for me.”

“I think he was talking about practicing on deck,” Robin piped up. She had been so quiet all night you had forgotten she was there, but as soon as she spoke, Sanji was swooning.

That signaled you that it was time to book it– whenever he got like that, you knew it was only a matter of time before he took turns around the room.

The cool air and quiet were a welcome relief from the stifling noisiness of the kitchen. Off towards the front of the boat came the faint sounds of guitar. Brook was just starting out on the instrument, and so the music wasn’t as smooth as it was when he played the violin or the piano. But he seemed to be picking it up quickly and, if he kept it up, it would give you yet another instrument to write music for in no time.

“Hello, _____. What can I do for you?” Brook’s voice broke through your stupor.

You hadn’t even realized you had made it to him, and you gave him an embarrassed smile. “I have a new piece I was hoping you would play for me. I’m sure there are kinks. But it’s for the violin this time.”

You put the paper into his expectant hand and waited as he scanned over it, bouncing back and forth on your feet.

“This will sound marvelous when it’s done, _____!” he said at last. “I’m going to get my violin right now so you can finish it up as soon as possible!”

You flushed at his praise. Although he said that about all of your work, it was still nice to hear. Sometimes you wondered what the point of you being on the boat was, and having that little bit of reassurance was nice. Besides, most of the music Brook was playing here lately were pieces you had created.

Footsteps sounded behind you, but they lacked the usual creaking that accompanied Brook when he walked. You nearly had a heart attack when you turned to look and found Zoro standing behind you. You could feel the heat flood your cheeks, and prayed it was dark enough that he couldn’t see. On the other hand, he was fully displayed in the moonlight and you could see that he was as red as you likely were.

“Uh, hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Could we talk?”

Your heart, which had already been beating harder than was normal just by being in his presence, almost exploded in your chest. You could feel it thundering away behind your ribs so hard you felt a little lightheaded for a moment.

“U-Um…sure?” you said, and cursed yourself for being so shy. It was hard enough having a crush on someone, let alone someone like him, but the whole thing was compounded by the fact that you could barely talk to him like a normal person.

“Sorry about earlier. Luffy can be a bit a of an idiot,” he said. He smirked a little when he heard you giggle.

You had to steel yourself for your next words, because you weren’t sure if you were bringing up something that you didn’t really need to, but you couldn’t keep a lid on it without feeling uncomfortable. “I’m sorry about…about earlier. I hope I-I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

His posture changed, you could see tension come into his shoulders and for a moment you thought it had backfired. But his next words made you feel like you would burst into flames.

“That’s okay. I wasn’t getting much training done anyway. Someone was up in the tangerines distracting me.” He wasn’t looking at you, and his hand was fidgeting with the swords attached to his hips.

You were a fool if you thought you couldn’t turn any more red. You would swear that you were going to be permanently stained, Sanji could use you as a tomato in his next meal. “W-Well…um…”

Words were escaping you, and it was just a relief that he didn’t find you weird because of Luffy.

“Brook is coming back,” Zoro said suddenly, shifting to look over his shoulder. You couldn’t hear anything, but trusted his word. “The next island is coming up in a few days. Do you want to go into town with me?”

You giggled again, giddy at the fact that Zoro had just asked you on a date, and nodded. “Yes, I’d like that.”

He smiled and lifted his hand, setting it on your head gently. Then it was sliding off and he was walking away, just as Brook came back into view.

“Alright, let’s see what we’ve got, _____. _____?”

–

this was unbelievably harder than i had initially thought it would be. i had to change the actor/imitator detail bc i absolutely could not figure out a way to incorporate that into any of the ideas i had, at least not without it getting severely out of hand, so I hope that wasn’t an extremely important detail. if it is, just let me know and i can whip something else up, but it’ll probably be way more involved and stupid long.

on the other hand, i do hope you like this!

[the-uptake]

Abdications of Flesh

The Uptake, With Symbiotic Self-Indulgence. Book III, Chapter 1. Chapter 2 MIA; go to next available chapter.

TW: Drug culture, police brutality, dysmorphia

Disconnection became the peristaltic pulse of Tri-City in the wake of the permanent quarantine. The ghosts of the Stalkers’ Quarter reached out and up from the imposing hundred-yard walls which confined it, a glaring neon Wolfram concrete warning to anyone who might wonder what might lay within an entryless barrier. In mere months, the supersaturation of public guilt left citizens complacent to a shared commiseration that it had to be done, that there was no other way; and in the wake of dispassionate transgressions, came a vast and opportunistic multitude of nepenthe. City laws evolved rapidly to meet the needs–and demands–of the masses. Everyone nursed their own personal set of vices. 24-hour liquor stores and bars bloomed up overnight, and over time other more creative maladaptive indulgences became equally commonplace.

Suddenly, more than any other point in the history of their lives, everyone wanted to be anyone but themselves. Industry could adapt. Industry could provide.

‘Choly and Cecil walked down a Level 12 street in the commercial district, the smooth and simplistic concrete facades along the entire strip swathed in advertisements projected upon their every surface. Romantic strands of Valentine’s Day decor still lingered in places. ‘Choly wore a salmon dress shirt under an oversize mint green sweater with black pants and mint green creepers, with large green gauge tunnels and his bangtails loose to either side of his bespectacled face. Cecil seemed to have tried to coordinate this, with a pale pink button-up shirt and dark grey pants both with cuffs rolled, thin black suspenders, and two-tone oxford boots.

“It’s not too dissimilar to our great city’s thriving cannabinoid market.” ‘Choly’s cane gait punctuated his wry lyric. “There’s fewer and fewer plants every day, but I guess agriculture knows the ones that’re most important to hold onto.”

“It’s not really a plant, though.” Cecil was the first to catch sight of where they were headed, and went ahead a bit to get to the neon pink door first. “It’s more of a fungus, I think. Made from fungus, anyway?”

“From what I hear…” ‘Choly came along far more slowly, and only continued once he’d closed the distance between him and his boyfriend. “…From what I hear, it’s made from a lot of things. Augen tells me this might just be what breaks the ban on Vekarix, that nobody will admit that’s what made Confec possible. The designer drug market is havin’ a hey day over genetically engineering hybrid magic mushrooms an’ shit. Swear, next thing we’ll hear, they’ll have put every known psychoactive living thing together in one organism, an’ we’ll be begging to take turns licking it.”

“Maybe they’ll finally come around to letting people continue splicing legally.” Cecil shot him a sarcastic grin as he held the door to a shop open for him. “If he’s right about the Vekarix, we might eventually see more and more diverse hybrids.”

‘Choly sniffed and side-eyed him as he stepped inside the small shop.

“People are… bound to do a lot of things in this desperate climate, whether or not it’s legal. Legality dilutes innovation, but definitely makes it easier access.”

Three other customers browsed as the pair entered. Glass display counters ran the entire track of the long narrow space, filled with racks of colorful shapes in a presentation not unlike a pastry shop. The wolf hybrid shopkeeper had her long electric blue hair pulled back over the crown of her head and braided tight. Her claws matched, and she wore a wide-strapped and very low-cut tailored white jumpsuit. ‘Choly barely kept himself from making comment on the coincidence.

“They make me think of chocolates.” ‘Choly stooped a bit just to admire the molded things. Many of the ones in that particular case had been marbled with several colors in one. He caught sight of the price tags and his face drooped.

“It’s more like soap, if you want to be honest.” The shopkeeper approached them and ran a paw over her hair. The door buzzed shut again, and suddenly it was just the three of them. “I take it you gentlemen are gloss virgins? You’ve made a great choice to pop in here for your first time. We grow and refine our product ourselves. Everything on display is hand crafted.”

Stiffly, Cecil put his hands in his pockets and tried not to make eye contact.

“With neither of us really having experience with it, can you… recommend anything?”

“Well, if you’re just looking for glossy, the best place to start is one of our truffles. They’re not too bitter, and the high is pretty mellow and smooth-transitioning.” She gestured to the case with trays of milky white spheres, then next to it at the case ‘Choly had been eyeing, filled with little rainbow colored cube shapes. “And bonbons have a sharper flavor, but they take faster.”

‘Choly hemmed a bit.

“…An’ what about the hardest thing you’ve got?”

She held a breath against the roof of her mouth and let it out of her snout with a grin. She motioned for them to follow her to the back counter, where she rounded it to lean her elbows on it.

“Of course, we have more potent preps, too. You’re in luck to come in now, really. We just got in some new stuff, if you want to be cutting edge with your first time.” She pointed down to the finger-size amber screw-top ampules lined up to one side of the display. “Distilled Confec. The confectioner calls it resin, and I can say from personal experience you won’t regret it. It’s a composite-gloss, a cultivar custom-crafted by him.” She winked at Cecil, who swallowed hard and stood straighter. “My ears piqued when you mentioned Vek on your way in. Confec is great and all, but resin? It’s absolutely a food of the gods. The hardest entheogen I’ve ever had, and believe me when I call myself a connoisseur from personal experience.”

‘Choly eyed the counter, then looked up to the shopkeep.

“How much?”

“One vial’s forty-five. About twenty hits. It’s potent stuff. Only takes a drop or two, really.” She sneer-flinched and laughed. “Recommend the trope take for it, soaking it into a sugar cube. It’s real bitter.”

“You sure you need it?” Quietly, Cecil chewed at his spider bites. “As opposed to the Confec, I mean? We came here to get a handle on your anxiety, not go crazy.”

When Cecil continued to skirt the shopkeeper’s attempts at eye contact, she crossed her arms at him.

“Resin’s totally safe, if that’s your worry. But anxiety, though? If that’s what you’re here for, you’re more likely gonna want burfee. It’s got a veneer more than a gloss.” She pointed to the counter to their right, full of chalky pastel balls. “Cultivar’s got borrowed cannabis sequences. Takes the edge off everything, without inducing a full trip.”

“We can start with Confec,” ‘Choly resigned, gaze tracing the items in that case. “I was expecting a high price tag, but the resin’s a bit rich for my ah,” he leaned in nearer, “my Level Zero upbringing, if you get my meaning.”

After a moment she also leaned in even closer, and barked a laugh.

“I understand now why you need a little escapism, dreg. You got moxie keepin’ the ‘do. I know just looking at him that he’s not, though, so what’s his story? He weird around all hybrids? I’ve been tagged and documented, as if it matters.”

“You’ve got extraction scars.” Cecil tried his best not to fluster as he pointed tersely at his own ear for emphasis, keeping to a near-whisper. “Tagged, past tense. Talk about moxie.”

Her shoulders froze up when he called her out on it.

“Hum, I didn’t notice,” ‘Choly commented in a thoughtful detachment. His head tilted askew as he inspected the wolf girl’s right ear. Near the lower base, it crumpled in on itself a bit. “No wonder he’s crushing on you.”

“Tch!” Cecil removed his glasses and rubbed at his face.

“He likes hybrids,” ‘Choly continued, enjoying embarrassing him. “We both think you’re pretty cute, any rate.”

“Oh really now?” Her ears piqued and her eyelids drooped.

“…Very,” Cecil admitted. He put his glasses back on and fished out his wallet, stuffing down his social misery. “How much is the, uh, the burfee?”

“It’s twenty-five for half a dozen of one cultivar, but we’ve got a special this month, for a variety half-dozen for nineteen. Since you’re having trouble making up your minds, perhaps a sampler would help you feel out what’s up your alley. And…” She held a lyric to her tone when the pair of them looked in agreement finally. “I suppose I could toss in an amp of Resin if you give me a kiss on the cheek.”

The flush that washed across Cecil’s face lit up every faint freckle in a constellation of awkwardness, and he smirked before leaning across the counter and complying. He sneaked a brief rub of her cauliflower ear while he was at it, then pulled back to admire her, still holding out a cred. She blepped pleasantly at him as she took the cred to run it on the register screen.

“I totally didn’t think he’d do it,” ‘Choly mumbled, trying not to laugh.

“Me either.” She handed the cred back and lolled her pierced tongue in full at Cecil. “You’re not, like, a hybrid chaser or something, are you? Most normies can’t tell that my ear’s not just, like, a piercing deformity.” Her muzzle slacked. “Sorry, that was in poor taste of me. I forget some people went through with the therapy.”

Cecil’s only response, after a pause, was to wink at her. She shuffled over to unlock the display case and prepare the small cardstock box with what they’d purchased.

“Name’s Dee, by the way.” She popped the earned trinket in the corner of the box and twined it up, then handed the parcel to Cecil. “Maybe you’ll come see me again sometime.”

“Cecil. Dee, it’s been a pleasure.”

“Seconded,” ‘Choly chirped. His awkward flashing of a rigid, short hand wave and interjection of his own name got a chuckle from Dee.

“Hope it’s the escape you came in for.”

Once the two had exited the confectionery shop, Cecil continued carrying the purchase.

“Why’d you technically lie to Dee, anyway?” ‘Choly smiled at his boyfriend. “You never had any work done to have reversed.”

“Chalk it up to the stress of being ribbed over thinking she had spunk.”

The dreg choke-laughed at this, and ran a few free fingers over Cecil’s hand, eliciting a sly withdrawn smile.

They stopped briefly at a corner store for cheap premade coffee, and ‘Choly held the box while Cecil filled up two cups and paid for them. The dreg plopped down the Confec on the counter of the cramped coffee area of the establishment and took the weight off his legs for a spell against the wall, then pulled out his reader to burn a couple of minutes. He decided to snap a nondescript, contextualized pic of his acquisition and send it to Augen; even though the vampire’s availability was dimmed, he’d see the message later.

ketherphorbia sent a file SDC43011_100-5102.JPG.

ketherphorbia: mission successful

9augen is typing…

ketherphorbia: oh, hi

ketherphorbia: i’ve got good timing. didn’t think you’d be on

9augen has stopped typing.

9augen: please tell me youll be home soon. no one else is responding

ketherphorbia: need to talk?

9augen: its. sensitive. youll be home soon right

ketherphorbia: yeah, the confectioner’s we went to’s only one level up. is five minutes ok?

9augen: Yeah.

“Telling him about our adventure?”

Cecil returned and offered one of the syrofoam cups, and ‘Choly traded him the box for it, so that Cecil carried the Confec and one coffee, and ‘Choly carried the other with his free hand.

“I was about to. He’s being vague. In an urgent way. It bugs me.”

“I’m sure he just wants to trade juicies. Come on, let’s get going.”

The two each waved their public transit passes as they entered the toll lift, and cuddled against the back wall on the way one level down. Although this one cost a third-cred per level to ride one way, the nearest free lift was five blocks further away, and this toll lift let out on the same block as their housing complex. They exited and rounded the corner right into the lobby of the complex, and took the building elevator three floors to their apartment. While Cecil got the door, ‘Choly’s reader began to vibrate from receiving a vid chat, and he nearly dropped his coffee fumbling to double check that it was coming from the expected caller.

“You’re so slaggin’ impatient,” ‘Choly whined as he accepted with hesitation.

The screen was black, but he could hear labored breathing. Once inside their apartment, ‘Choly squinted at the display of his reader to see it indicated ‘no video’ and he sighed with an eye roll, suspecting that his friend had something ridiculous to reveal.

“Sorry,” the other end mustered, strangled and adenoidal. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared right now, ‘Choly.”

The foreign quality of the voice got the dreg’s attention immediately, and with a knitted brow, he quickly toed out of his creepers at the door and took his coffee to the daybed-couch in the back end of the apartment. The confec went to the side table beside the coffee on its coaster. Cecil watched ‘Choly trying to get comfortable, and offered a bold, blocky quilt and a knee-pat, but he wasn’t sure if he was invited to the call, so he took to the front end of the apartment to the confines of his book-nook, assuming he’d be fetched to join in if they so desired it. Either way, he’d hear about it later.

“You certainly don’t sound like yourself.” ‘Choly cleared his throat, hair on end. “What’d you get into, anyway?”

A long, labored pause lingered when the caller couldn’t form the words.

“…Augen…?”

“My coven got hit. They’re doing therapy raids now. Fucking Open Carry Manifesto! Fuck, it hurts so bad to talk. Can’t hardly see straight.” It took ‘Choly a while to understand what Augen had described, and a hand went to the dreg’s mouth as he stared at the blank screen. “You heard about the OCM, right. I’m not just a rambling lunatic right now?”

“I heard it was just civilian access to tranq, ‘cause Levelers are scared of the hybrids that kept their grafting. But fuck, Augen! Are you suggesting there’s a paramilitary force using it to force therapy serum? Since when did the government have the right!” He whipped off his glasses, nearly crying as everything set in. “–Oh fuck. Fuck. Are you all right? Of course you’re not all right. Fuck. –Where are you? Do we need to come get–”

“Shhhhhh. Take it down about fifteen notches. My head’s a thunderstorm right now. …One question at a time, maybe. Ugh. …First, no, the government doesn’t have the right. Best I can understand, this is a splinter of police, or army nuts, overstepping laws for sake of upholding moral code. They screamed out something like cleaning out a murderer’s den before they just unloaded on us.”

‘Choly was unaccustomed to hearing his friend talk this much at once, and the context as to why a fish had the breath to do so had his head reeling.

“But you got away, right? You’re not still at the, the coven?”

“I got away, yeah. Christ, this fucking sucks. They overdosed us on that shit, I guarantee you. Therapy’s supposed to be incremental–sessions–not abrupt like… THIS! Where’d they get that much serum? Must have a therapy physician in on their group. Sheisse. I’m the only one who’s got a possibility of springing back from this… Good chance the shock just killed a few of us outright. Grafting’s so goddamn expensive, even just solo-sequence jobs. Getting the procedure that gave people their real identities, for a lot of them it was their life savings. …Or someone else’s.”

‘Choly set down his glasses and his cataracted eyes zoned out into the blackness of the vid screen. He’d never seen his friend’s face before the grafting, and his curiosity went haywire. Briefly, he barely kept himself from asking aloud for Augen to show him what he looked like. 'Choly wondered if Augen would ever be comfortable enough to meet in person ever again. But, he trusted ‘Choly enough to voice call him like this, and he’d never done that before his grafting, either. The dreg laid down on the couch on his side, and pulled the quilt over himself.

“What I want to know is how they found where you guys were lying low. It’s not like you were being tasteless about it and lurking a geek bar or some shit. Vampires, your kind’s not stupid. …Wait, what do you mean, or someone else’s?”

“I fell off the grid after my grafting for a lot of reasons. Linnaeus’s circle works a lot like a cult. They scout for vulnerable people. People already ideologically charged and unlikely to have a change of faith even when tested. And those who either have lots of money, or have access to lots of money. Most of my coven fit that bill three-for-three, to be realistic. They were… most supportive of getting the money through whatever means possible. I sold my car. Sold pretty much everything. But it wasn’t enough. I knew how to get into my parents’ retirement savings, and I knew that money would only go to waste perpetuating their uninspired, horridly humanesque lives. And I knew they’d have nothing to do with me, the real me, so there was only one real resolution to that moral conflict. …If I got caught like this, where I’m recognizable for what I was before I was myself… I don’t think I’d do well in jail. And that’s just for the theft, what can be accounted to my birth name…”

“You… you said it was an overdose of serum,” ‘Choly reached, desperate to find something that might lift his friend’s spirits. “And you said there’s a chance you’ll spring back? You’re talking about your marine graft, right?”

A pleasant breath was all he heard for a while.

“I’d say it feels like reckless optimism to grapple onto what it is at its core, but Vek is a metagen by definition. Therapy serum is basically a human-DNA graft job, an attempt to flush out the animal grafts. They told me during my follow-up sessions that subsequent grafting jobs would never stick, thanks to the tunicate graft, and not to waste my cred. I was just rambling when I said it, but maybe you’re right. Maybe the tunicate will recognize the… virus, and kick it for me. I’d get to experience becoming myself all over again. …Thanks. Sometimes, you know just what to say. At the very least, if gives me something pleasant to focus on while this shit wears off.”

“Can I… Can I ask a bad question?” ‘Choly’s words strangled himself.

“Yes, my reader is working fine. Yes, I have vid off on purpose. No, I haven’t had the nerve to do front-facing camera yet, and there’s not a mirror here. If the answer wasn’t one of these, then what were you going to ask me? Otherwise, you know the answer.”

‘Choly swallowed and gave him an exhausted smile.

“Where are you?”

Augen wasn’t sure he’d heard him right and laughed like broken silver.

“I’m not even wholly sure how to tell you where it is. It used to be an automotive repair, going off what’s left in here, and off what it smells like. I think… it specialized in cars from back when it was all by tread. If th– When things go back to normal, I’m inclined to feel out how secure it is. It strikes me as a good place to make more… permanent than just hiding in.”

“It’ll more than go back to normal,” ‘Choly grinned. “I guarantee it.”

“I just remembered, you sent me a pic of your prize earlier. My moment of weakness has kept you from indulging. You’ve got the right idea, honestly. I’m lucky. I picked up an amp of Resin last night, and I was five minutes from taking a hit before… everything happened. It’s, like, hyper-Confec. I’ll have to let you try some next time we get together. But for now, this amp’s all for me. I… I think I can end call finally. I just can’t be… this right now.”

“You’ve earned it.”

“Enjoy your evening, bug dick.”

“You, too, stinkface. I’ll have my phone near me if you need me, all right?”

The screen flickered a moment before Augen’s face came into focus in a strange fluorescent amber lighting that didn’t match the ambient glow of Wolfram concrete interiors. ‘Choly wasn’t sure what he expected of his friend’s human features, but the juxtaposition of how his long, dark, stringy mess of hair framed his angular, slim pierced features only magnified the haunted sense of atrophy about him, crestfallen yet still forcing a tired smile. Ostensibly, a massive part of his identity had wasted away that day. Augen could tell ‘Choly had tried to take a screencap and ended the call.

9augen: may this vid call be the last you ever see of this pathetic asshole

‘Choly sent him a mushroom emoticon and set down his reader on the arm of the couch with a dopey, self-conscious smile. Augen had been gorgeous even before undergoing the grafting procedure that transfigured him, though the dreg knew better than to ever share such a sentiment. He sat up and glanced over to the box on the side table, seeking vicariousness even in his friend’s vulnerability, and pulled it into his lap. He’d be fine. And Augen would be fine.

But first, some time needed to pass, and the last thing he wanted was to be present for it.

Go to Next Available Chapter »»»

[selenelavellan]

A Bloodied Rose

Reverse Evanuris AU

Part One

Dirthamen and the Evanuris (other than Des and Selene) based on @feynites

Ana is @lycheemilkart‘s

Adannar and Serahlin (Mentioned) is @scurvgirls

Dirthamen sleeps for three days.

The burden his recent change has placed on his body and spirit is a heavy one, so Selene tries not to disturb him. She sends for his things from her other half's lands, and discovers more about him while he dreams. His preference for puzzles and dark colored clothes, his gifts for shifting and music. That he was nearly one of Des'dins personal musicians before his hands were shattered in an 'accident' that left him broken in more ways than one.

Any lingering guilt that his brother will remain locked up during their deliberations dries up at that particular discovery.

Most interestingly she thinks, is that none of this knowledge is given from other elves. Only discovered from items in his rooms, records kept by her other half's healers, or the occasional spirit with whom he had traded in the past.

On the fourth day, Dirthamen wakes. 

Ana sends word to Selene, who is caught up making preparations for her portion of the upcoming festival in Arlathan. She takes longer to finally greet him than she means to, but it gives him time to bathe and dress before she is knocking on his door.

“Good morning,” She greets “How are you feeling?”

He hesitates, and Selene watches the strings in him stir in his silence; deliberating his answer with the newer aspects of himself.

“Better,” he finally answers. “Thank you.”

“It was no trouble,” She smiles. “I do have a rather busy day ahead though, so I'm afraid I don't have much time to remain in your rooms. Would you mind walking with me?”

Dirthamens stomach growls loudly as he opens his mouth, and Selene has to cover her mouth to keep from giggling.

“We can stop at the dining hall first.” She says as he nods in agreement.

Selene explains the current situation on their way. That he will be staying with her as a guest while they try to parse out the particulars of the incident and how best to move forward. That for now, he is considered an emissary for Des'din so that people will not ask pressing personal questions. It is not unusual for them to send their people to assist one another, especially this close to a large event.

Selene herself temporarily transferred one of her best jewelers to her other half in exchange; an embodied spirit of joy she had become fond of, and that has recently taken a shine to one of Des'dins stylists. She knows it's likely he will request a permanent transfer if his courting attempts are well received, but Selene is reluctant to let him go entirely. He has become a good friend, and while she has toyed with finding an appropriate place in her own hierarchy for the stylist in order to keep him, she has little need for one outside of special occasions.

“I think she would be bored in my halls,” Selene explains. “They do not glitter like my other half's, and I do not hold parties nearly so often.”

“That sounds very peaceful,” Dirthamen sighs. “Des'dins parties are often loud and raucous.” he hesitates, bowing his head and staring down at the floor “Not that I am unhappy with my Lord. I am very grateful for all that he has given us.”

Selene tilts her head, carefully analyzing the notes of fear in his aura. Fear of repercussions, of punishment, of attack.

“It is alright to criticize you know. For all that we are held as Gods, Des'din still has his faults. Goodness knows he could use less people to whisper compliments and pretty words into his ear, and more to remind him to look after his responsibilities outside of the bedroom.”

“Do you...dislike your brother, then?”

“He is not my brother,” Selene shrugs. “He is my other half. I do not dislike him by any means, I love him very dearly. But he falls to his nature too often, tempted by flesh and gold and power and turning a blind eye to the things that do not suit his preferences. You are not the first to fall through the cracks of his leadership, and I fear you will not be the last. I do hope it, though.”

Dirthamen nods slowly in consideration, fingers fiddling with the golden chain still around his neck as they finally enter the dining hall. Several elves bow their heads and give polite greetings, and several more eye Dirthamen curiously as he follows behind their leader. Selene seats herself at a scarcely populated table and gestures for Dirthamen to join her. A small group of serving elves appear soon after, placing small plates of various food types and a large pitcher of water along with three glasses onto the table before them.

“Normally there is a predetermined menu for the day,” Selene explains as she fills a plate with fruits and breads. “Although you can give the chefs requests ahead of time if you desire. A few of my people are particular about what they eat, but I find having a limit on general options cuts down on our food waste significantly. It also ensures everyone is meeting their nutritional needs.”

“You also have nutritional needs,” Ana chimes in as she scoops a small pile of egg onto Selenes plate and takes the seat on the other side of Dirthamen. “Which means eating more than just sweets and bread. Good to see you up and about. Feeling better?”

Selene makes a face at the eggs, but scoops some of it onto her bread and takes a bite anyways.

“Yes,” Dirthamen tells Ana “Thank you.”

“Oh, don't think me,” Ana hums while pouring the three of them water “Our Lady Da'Selene over here did most of the work. She's taken quite the interest in you. Did you find your lotions and hair products in the bath? She sent for your things specifically, so that you'd feel more comfortable.”

“I did notice them,” He says as he turns to face Selene “Thank you. It was not necessary to go to such lengths for me.”

Selene waves a hand dismissively, swallowing down a slice of apple. “It wasn't any trouble. You've been through enough, I saw no reason to cause you more distress.”

Dirthamen nods again, finally filling his own plate and eating. He watches curiously as several people approach Selene at the table, asking questions or making small permissions requests. She does not shoo them away, or rush through their conversations. She gives each one her full attention, solving problems in between bites of food.

Ana seems to notice Dirthamens confusion at the situation, and nudges his arm gently with her own. “She doesn't get to do this sort of thing when her family is around,” she explains quietly “And if they ever ask you, her schedule is always filled with appointments and proper paperwork and decorum. But having an open door policy is important to her. One of her pillars here is about sharing knowledge, and she's learned that locking herself away impedes that.”

“So anyone can just walk up to her at anytime?”

“Typically,” Ana says. “Of course there are days she is too tired or busy, and she has been known to get wrapped up in her work and neglect other matters from time to time, which is when appointments really do need to be made. But if she's in a public space and her family is not around...” she shrugs. “She's devoted to her people.”

A few more elves come by before the food has been finished, and Ana reminds Selene that she has other responsibilities that need to be seen to today.

“Of course,” Selene says, standing from her seat and giving a soft apology to the elf she had been talking to. They exit the dining hall as a group, and Selene pulls her hood up over her head while asking Ana where their first stop is.

She leads the three of them into a rehearsal space, filled with a band and small assortment of singers arguing over pieces of paper.

Selene takes a deep breath before she enters, shoulders straightening as she steps into the room.

“What seems to be the problem?” She calls, voice echoing throughout the space. In unison, each of the singers look up at their leader. The conductor lets out a breath of relief as they leave them be and march over to Selene instead.

“This music is ancient, and not even the good kind-”

“It is practically a battle hymn, people will be-”

“Who in their right mind would dance to this-”

“I am not an opening act-!”

“Stop!” Selene declares, holding her hands up between herself and the approaching singers. “One at a time, left to right, go.”

“This music is horrendous, and will make us the laughingstock of the festival.” says the first.

“These lyrics are like a call to arms, this festival is meant to celebrate our victory, not incite a recreation of the battle.” continues the second.

“The beat is almost nonexistent,” Complains the third “No one will be able to dance to it acceptably.”

Selene looks to the fourth, who has their arms crossed over their chest. “I have been our headliner for the past five centuries,” They mumble, clearly embarrassed that their own issue is more personal than the others. “I refuse to perform first, and be an opening act.”

Selene nods, taking a copy of the sheet music from the second singer. “This is an older piece,” she agrees “But the composer is being honored as a part of Sylaise's portion of the event. Since we are performing after her, we are directly following her theme, as a sign of unity. If you disagree with this particular composition, they have others we could select from, if no one objects to a change this late in the game.”

She glances over the heads of the singers and signals for the conductor to approach. “Would you and the band be opposed to a change of music? Perhaps her Symphony to the Skies would be more well received.”

The conductor nods readily. “Yes, that should be equitable so long as you can provide the music.”

Selene quickly calls a familiar Spirit of Melody through the dreaming, and sends them to retrieve the necessary scrolls for the small orchestra while she sorts out the matter of who will be singing when.

“If we are doing the symphony, it should be acceptably long enough that you can all perform together,” Selene explains. “I will leave it up to the conductor who gets to sing the solo sonata in the third movement, as they are more familiar with your talents and this department than I am.”

Melody returns not long after that with the music, and it seems as though everyone is more satisfied with this piece as they settle into their chairs to begin rehearsal.

“Do you dance?” Selene asks, turning to face Dirthamen.

“Not well,” He admits. “My brother is more talented at social arts than I am.”

“You think dancing is a social art?” Selene muses. “I've always found it to be rather more like a physically engaging puzzle.”

“The way you dance must be different from the forms I am familiar with, then.”

“If you grew in my other half's lands, that is very possible. He has always treated it more like foreplay, all grinding and bodies pressed to bodies.” Selene smiles, and holds her hand out towards him as the music starts to play. “Would you like me to teach you how it is done here?”

Dirthamen stares at the extended hand, as though waiting for it to turn into a trap of some kind. It pangs at Selenes chest, and her fingers curl just slightly at the disappointment but she assures him “It is alright to say no, if you do not want to.”

His mouth opens and closes as he wars with himself for several minutes. Still adjusting to his newest aspects, distrusting and cautious of the situation, and likely of her, she supposes. Selene lets her arm drop back down to her side, and offers him a warm smile in hopes of reassuring him. 

“Perhaps another time then, if you are up to it.”

Ana pouts, and Selene shoots her a look as they finally leave the rehearsal space, Dirthamen trailing behind them. He seems more unsure now than he had before, and Selene wonders how she could rectify it. 

Perhaps taking him with her through her day was the wrong choice. Has she overwhelmed him? It is a new situation, perhaps she overestimated how much he has recovered.

Something less strenuous might make him more comfortable then.

She veers sharply left, down the hallway towards the library for general access. She had thought he might be more interested in something more focused, but since she hasn't managed to discern what focuses he would like, this will have to do for now.

Selene leads them through the heavy oak doors, and into the large space. Walls towering high, stacked with books and scrolls and histories and all available for whoever would care to look. It is not Selenes favorite of the libraries, but it is the broadest, and caters to the largest percentage of her people.

Hopefully there will be something here that he will enjoy more than the stress of her company.

“I'm afraid it will be safer if you remain here while I finish out my appointments for the day,” Selene says as she turns to Dirthamen. “Ana will keep an eye on you while I am gone, and assist you if you have need of it.”

“I will?”

“Yes.” Selene says pointedly. “The poetry is in aisle thirty two. I have a preference for Man'gelou and Po'len myself, but I'm sure there will be something to your taste either way.”

Ana nearly snorts into her hand while Dirthamen looks at Selene rather curiously, as though trying to understand what, precisely, her motive is.

“I will meet you back in the dining hall for dinner if my schedule permits,” She presses on. “Otherwise, I hope you have an enjoyable evening.”

Dirthamen thanks her once again, and Selene vanishes back out into the halls. Unsure of why she feels upset, of why her chest feels so tight since they left the rehearsal space.

“Lady Da'Selene,” Calls one of her sentries, nearly out of breath. “There you are.”

“Is everything alright Din'Durgen?” She asks, glad for the distraction.

“Er, maybe?” She responds. “Your mother is here. In your private garden.”

Selenes eyes widen. 

Her mother has no visits scheduled until after the festival. 

What could have brought her here now? 

Has there been an incident?

“Thank you for letting me know,” Selene says, dashing off quickly through false walls and hidden staircases. It doesn't take long for her to arrive at her private gardens, or to find her mother near the rose bushes.

“Mother,” She greets with a  polite bow of her head. “I was not expecting you. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Da'Selene,” Mythal returns “Can I not just visit for the pleasure of seeing my own daughter?”

“Of course,” Selene smiles, tucking away her notes of unease.

Mythal motions for Selene to join her on the stone bench, and makes idle small talk for several minutes. Discussions of Des'din, and their siblings, and her father.

“How are your preparations for the festival coming along my dear?” She finally asks.

“They are moving along smoothly,” Selene assures her. “Everything should be ready, as expected.”

“Wonderful,” Mythal smiles, and Selene can feel the air shift subtly around them, a sign that her mother has gotten to the actual reason for her trip. “I had an interesting discussion with Andruil, though.”

Selene tilts her head slightly. “Oh?”

“Yes. We were discussing what a shame it is that her hunt is always so far out in the woods for the festival. Most of the people miss out on the sport of it, and it is always the same outcome when Andruil comes back with her prey. The event has become stale, I fear.”

Selene nods, but remains silent as Mythal continues. “We were thinking perhaps you could build her one of your labyrinths for the occasion. A temporary one of course, something to be removed after the festival. But it would give us a designated area for the hunt, and allow the people to truly see the skills your younger sister is so proud of.”

Selenes placating smile has turned into an unsubtle frown by the end of her mothers pitch. “That is not what the labyrinths are for. They are not a spectator sport, they are a trial. If I built one for Andruil, I do not think it would make her seem more appealing to the people. I daresay she may even hate me by the end of it.”

Mythal lets out a sigh. “I will be honest with you,” She says in a tone Selene knows by now means she is being hardly honest at all. “Your little sister has lost much of her appeal in the public eye. There are whispers of those who despise her for her harshness. She does not possess the softness of you or I, nor the obvious appeal of Sylaise or Des'din. You and I both know it is a lost cause to try and appeal to a heart she does not have, so we must work with what she does.”

“You think letting Andruil hunt where the people can see will make her...what? Endearing?”

“No,” Mythal tsks. “But dissent is building in her territory, and fear is a tactic she has always been gifted with. The people need a reminder that she is fierce and capable and terrible.”

“I will not build a labyrinth for my sister,” Selene insists. “I do not have the time to erect one in time for the festival, especially not one capable of holding Andruil. You ask too much of me, mother.”

“It does not need to be as elaborate as the ones you build in your own domain. I am more concerned that it should hold whatever beast Ghilan'nain creates as her prey than your sister. If Andruil is able to burst through your labyrinth victoriously in the end, all the better for our purposes.”

“Your purposes,” Selene argues. “If Andruil breaks through one of my labyrinths, it will appear to be a victory over me, not her prey.”

“My eldest daughter,” Mythal soothes “I would never pit my children against each other in such a way.”

“Then do not ask this of me.”

“Devotion,” Mythal snaps. “It is time to grow up. We all must make our sacrifices for the empire. Where is my daughter who would give anything for our cause? Who slayed dragons and birthed the Varterrals and whose name alone once held off an army of thousands?”

“The war is over, mother. There is no reason to fight anymore.”

“War is never over, child. You know that better than most.”

A heavy silence hangs between them. Tension, a silent battle of wills in their words unsaid.

Selene breaks first with a heavy sigh.

“Even if I wanted to go along with this,” She says “There is simply not enough time to build a labyrinth before the festival. I do not have an adequate power source sitting around, the ritual takes months of preparation-”

“Then use another power source.”

Selene feels her stomach drop out as she hisses. “I am not going to sacrifice someone for the sake of a fake and temporary labyrinth!”

“You will,” Mythal instructs, leaving no room for further complaints or arguments as she stands. “Andruil will remind the people that she is their Huntress, and you will remind them that your loyalty is to your family first. We all have our roles, child. I am trusting you to follow yours through.”

Selenes hands clench beneath the sleeves of her cloak as she watches her mother stride out of her garden. It is not until she feels her blood coursing past her knuckles that she finally digs her nails out of her palm.

It is a foolish plan. A show of power, a lie to the people. Her mothers gift of propaganda at work again.

She must find a way around it.

[anamedblog]

On Environmental Archaeology Research in Turkey Interview with Assoc. Prof. Evangelia Pişkin

Environmental Archaeology as one of the sub-disciplines has an increasing contribution to archaeological research all over the world in the last half century. 

Today in Turkey there has been a growing interest that almost all archaeological projects collect and process environmental data. Despite this growing interest, the position of the discipline at the academic institutions has not yet been strongly established and defined. There is only a small number of research facilities today in Turkey within international scientific institutions (i.e. BIAA) and under the auspices of universities (i.e. Koç University, METU(ODTÜ) and İstanbul University), and there is still room for improving the comprehensive research potential offered by such initiatives.

2017-2018 ANAMED-GABAM Post-Doctoral fellow Mustafa Tatbul, who followed an interdisciplinary approach in his PhD research at METU, brought the matter to the table. He made a short interview with his former professor Evangelia Pişkin (Vicky), at Ankara about the current state of the environmental archaeology research in Turkey.

Pişkin is a faculty member at the Graduate Program of Settlement Archaeology at METU, where she has established an Environmental Archaeology Research Unit in 2010.  She has been conducting zooarchaeological research in Turkey for almost two decades.

MT: Zooarchaeology has become an essential element of archaeological explorations in the last decade in Turkey. Today almost all excavations have a specialist. While foreign scholars are participating in the fieldworks, a significant number of Turkish scholars, especially trained abroad, are contributing a lot into the field. As one of the few senior zooarchaeologists, how do you see the development of zooarchaeology in Turkey? Maybe you can make some comparison with the recent past.

EP: It is true that zooarchaeology has gained a lot of ground in recent years in Turkey. We have even a handful of relatively newly given positions at Turkish universities for zooarchaeologists. Nevertheless, there is a big gap to be filled yet. Compared to the potential of the subject and the truly vast amounts of such materials recovered every year from  numerous excavations, by no means we have enough colleagues in residence nor enough facilities. Another important problem here is that zooarchaeology or to put it wider, environmental archaeology, is not sufficiently incorporated to curricula for undergraduate archaeology students. Few departments include it, in some departments it will be mentioned as part of another course and in many it is totally missing. This is one of the most important barriers for making these works properly understood and applied in Turkish archaeology. Without taking this step, no matter how many specialists may work at excavations, local or foreigner, the picture will remain patchy.  

MT: I know you have a strong background in Classics and Field Archaeology. But how did you decide to focus on zooarchaeology? Did you have any doubts, because you were not coming from biology or zoology discipline? What do you advice to those who are coming from different backgrounds and were in the decision threshold?

EP: Since my undergraduate studies, I had a strong interest with what constructs everyday routines of past cultures and especially activities related to food both as a necessity as well as a vehicle of expression of various social and economic relationships. Related to my background and bridging disciplines, yes, you have a point. I think, all types of interdisciplinary research face this problem; at any subject… In the particular case, the researchers with background in sciences have to deal with “learning archaeology.” And we, who come from archaeology and go to zooarchaeology or archaeobotany, etc., we have to learn what is needed from the related science disciplines. It does require some extra work but it is perfectly doable. I wouldn’t say that any direction is better than the other but often the construction of the research questions and the approaches taken by different background researchers are also different, usually reflecting exactly these “undergraduate times” backgrounds.

MT: You have been working for a while to establish an environmental archaeology laboratory at METU. What was your dream? How much of your expectations were fulfilled?

EP: My aim is to provide an environment for local research and teaching on these topics. Especially one that would have been inclusive of various branches of the discipline. At the moment, we study aspects of zooarchaeology and archaeobotany and I hope soon we can expand on other topics. Actually, we do have various places in Turkish and foreign (but located in Turkey) institutions which contain facilities or equipment that can be used for such research purposes; nevertheless these often remain unused or rarely used because there is only a handful of academics-in-service permanently residing in Turkey and working on these topics that could enliven such places.  Moreover, we have no specific degree to accommodate students with such research interests. Of course, this is a complex matter with various elements and cannot be covered comprehensively here or be solved by a single lab or person but some help, I hope, has been provided.

MT: You also need some students around, interested in specializing in environmental archaeology. I know many students show great interest at the beginning but very few continue in graduate level. Are you satisfied with the number of trainees which will contribute to the field in the future?

EP: To my experience most of the students I had taught have found the field interesting. Most of them wanted, at least, to try their hand on something, have some experience, learn the basics and some have continued to study it in detail. Many of them though have doubts about their abilities to manage such a study because it feels “out of their reach” as archaeologists. This is closely related both to the interdisciplinary nature of such studies as well as to the fact I mentioned before, that these subjects are not taught at undergraduate degrees in Turkey.  Because of this lack of sufficient information about the subject many students consider such topics to be something else than “archaeology”. This is a true misconception. Zooarchaeology or archaeobotany or geoarchaeology and any other such field are nothing but archaeology indeed. We ask the same questions as any archaeologists which, in a very generic way, could be put as understanding/explaining past societies. Only the materials through which we try to reach this aim are different; instead of studying “artifacts”, we study “ecofacts”.  If a student can learn to classify and analyse “artifacts”, in the same way can learn to classify and analyse ecofacts. Another thing they consider as an obstacle is whether they can find a place for themselves in the profession of archaeology after completing such a study. Again, this originates to the same reason, the lack of teaching such subjects at undergraduate level and it is reinforced by the way the Higher Education Council (YÖK) is structured. For example, YÖK has not any “specialization” described as environmental archaeology or zooarchaeology or archaeobotany or geoarchaeology etc. These are fundamental problems for making this research an integrated part of archaeology in Turkey rather than an exotic application executed mostly by foreign researchers. And, I would like to add that there is truly a need for specialists of this kind.  I believe that today universities and colleagues clearly recognize it and many take very favorable positions towards it. I think it is rather a matter of time before these issues are resolved.

MT: Integration of different environmental data groups such as archaeobotanical and zooarchaeological in archaeology is a strength for the researcher. I know you are also competent in archaeobotanical research, and combining the two serves to better understand human diet and economy which is primarily a composition of both animal and plant food resources both in the past and today. Are you a follower of such an approach?

EP: Integration of different data sets for a holistic interpretation is obviously the ultimate goal for the discipline even though not that often achieved. There are many obstacles actually for successfully integrating evidence, a lot of these coming from the nature of the evidence itself since each category of data may have had different exploitation and use, different deposition, different taphonomy and finally different study and presentation method, none of which help integration of results. In fact, we are still in need for a good set of techniques and methods on how to achieve the integration, but there is surely a lot of current discussion and work going on the subject.

MT: Archaeologists conduct interdisciplinary research collaborating with other disciplines such as zoology, botany, anthropology, biology, chemistry, history, geology, computer science, and many more. You are working at one of the most prestigious scientific institutions in Turkey. You must be collaborating with many scholars from other disciplines and also training some students. Can you say something about the collaborative research you are involved in Turkey?

EP: Yes I have collaborations at METU and outside with a number of excavations and groups of researchers. Since you put it as research at METU, I have collaboration with the team of the Komana excavations run by Prof. Burcu Erciyas from Settlement Archaeology and the team of the aDNA group established at the Biology Department by Prof. İnci Togan, and after her retirement run by Assoc. Prof.  Mehmet Somel. The excavation at Komana has given the opportunity to produce a large amount of data for a period that is very little studied in Turkey (11th to 13th centuries AD). Also, it was very lucky that we had excellent conditions of preservation and we have recovered a wealth of animal and plant remains and from at various contexts that gave us a lot of insights on matters of economy as well as everyday life. My collaboration with the aDNA group from the very first steps of it has also being very fruitful. It started with a small project to study ancient sheep DNA through which the first aDNA lab in Turkey was established and now the group has successfully expanded the study to other species and even humans. Recently an ECR European Union Early Career Research grant was received by Mehmet Somel.

MT: You, as the specialist, also have the flexibility to work in projects without any site and period limitations, isn’t it?

EP: Yes, because the materials we work with are not very “sensitive” to time or regional changes. Ceramic styles, for example, change rapidly in time and space. A sheep bone or a wheat grain, in contrast, is the same in the Bronze Age, the Neolithic, and the medieval times, in Turkey, in Egypt, in U.K. and so on. For this, the specialist on the study of plant and animals can indeed work with much less or almost no limitation of space or time as compared to other specialists in archaeology. This flexibility allows for many opportunities for collaborations and research or, may I say, even adventures! Of course, there are variations on wild flora and fauna between regions and at different periods, nevertheless, these can be mastered relatively easily and may not pose serious problems. That is because the majority of the animal/plant remains we are dealing from the Neolithic onwards come from a certain suit of domestic species which are the same across most regions/periods. Overall the amount of local/temporal different animal/plant remains will be a small amount of the total findings.  

MT: Conducting research depends highly on financial sources other than collaboration, a good team, and facilities. Finding funding needs some experience. What do you advise to young researchers? Are there any good opportunities for funding environmental archaeology research projects in Turkey?

EP: Finding funding is definitely very difficult for archaeology and environmental archaeology in Turkey and worldwide. But this is true for many other disciplines too. I think that, save for super—current, super—in-demand subjects, academic research is more or less at the same pot and we should not be discouraged. My advice? The one who will persist, will win: Keep your focus tight and work meticulously.

MT: Congratulations, the 13th quadrennial ICAZ International Zooarchaeology Conference will be held at Ankara, Turkey in September 2018.! You managed to bring ICAZ to Turkey. I think this is a very important stage for the Turkish zooarchaeology community.

EP: ICAZ has a long history going back to the 70s and it is the biggest organization representing archaeozoologists worldwide. Holding this conference in Turkey will promote the subject locally and give the opportunity to researchers and students to attend and listen to a large number of papers covering subjects from all over the world and from many different viewpoints. I believe it will be a valuable occasion for education, exchange of information and an arena for discussions and collaborations from which our colleagues and students would greatly benefit.

http://www.icaz2018ankara.com

[sir-hicks-a-lot]

The Definite Top Ten Albums of 2016

10. FaltyDL - Heaven is for Quitters

The latest from FaltyDL aka Andrew Lustman is decidedly less experimental than his last couple of albums, forgoing the more repetitive loops and complicated drum patterns in favor of straight ahead and melodic synthscapes.  He even gives smokey vocal downtempo a stab on "Drugs" with singer Rosie Lowe bringing to mind Little Dragon.  He can still create densely abstract beats as he does on "Whisper Diving", but even when he drops a short saxophone loop on "Bridge Spot", it fades away before becoming abrasive.  Elsewhere he rides the oh-so late '80s Touchstone Pictures logo theme throughout "Future Shock" and it's one of the most awesomely obscure samples in recent memory.

9. William Tyler - Modern Country

I don't know if the title Modern Country is supposed to be a cheeky rejoinder to what passes for country music today, or if it is a sincere statement of what Tyler believes these instrumental compositions to represent.  To me, it's solidly in the alt country vein of bands like Wilco and Megafaun, which is no surprise as members of both bands appear here.  At other times, these pastoral soundtracks even conjure images of the acoustic excursions of Led Zeppelin III or Mark Knopfler's fingerpicking style.  Regardless of the proper categorization, the folky jams on Modern Country are evocative of American landscape contours and make for a listen that can either engage directly or set the background mood.  And the clear highlight of "Gone Clear" shows off Tyler's ability to piece together a multi-part epic that even throws in a classical section and perhaps points the way forward for the next go around.

8. Ray LaMontagne - Ouroboros

Ray LaMontagne teamed up with the guys from My Morning Jacket for Ouroboros and it makes for a spectacularly psychedelic twist on LaMontagne's usual singer/songwriter fare.  The songs are particularly well written and Jim James’ production makes a great match for the spacey themes, creating an all around strong effort.   I think there may be some overarching concept album going on as well, but honestly the songs themselves and the expansive production are enough to warrant and reward repeated listens.    

7. Bob Weir - Blue Mountain

My relationship with the Grateful Dead is complicated, for a long time I was a "hater" and to be honest a lot that stemmed from the on-stage histrionics of Bob Weir and his propensity for cowboy songs.  So it's pretty ironic that in the year 2016 an album of what are essentially cowboy songs by Weir makes my list.  I suppose as we get older our tastes change, but I think it's more than that in this case.  Blue Mountain feels like Weir making a bid for a late career statement, in much the same way Dylan did on Time Out of Mind and several times since.  And in that respect, it is a remarkable success, these songs build upon the Americana thread that weaves through the Dead's music and even adds a retro-indie rock sensibility via collaboration with younger artists like Josh Ritter and The National's Josh Kaufman.  Well done Weir, consider your legacy secured.  

6. Bibio - A Mineral Love 

It seems that sometimes albums released earlier in the year get forgotten during the end of the year wrap ups and perhaps that's the case with Bibio's latest that came out last April.  For me it was the soundtrack to summer and the sunny compositions on A Mineral Love were the perfect complement to a mid-afternoon drive or evening cookout.  Bibio strays even further from his IDM roots with a theme of old school funk and even leaning toward jazz fusion at times.  Then there's the straight up 80s style R&B workout "Why So Serious?", which wouldn't be out of place on a Debarge album. The message hits home, don't worry if it's cool or not, just enjoy the good times while you can.

5. Childish Gambino - Awaken, My Love!

I don't think anybody could have predicted that actor turned nerdy rapper Donald Glover would drop the funk explosion that is Awaken, My Love!  All across America you can hear confused listeners asking, "Wait, is Troy from Community the next Prince?"  A complete throwback to the halcyon days of funk and soul that recalls Parliament Funkadelic, Sly and the Family Stone and the aforementioned Purple One, there is no rapping to be found here.  Instead, it's a blast of psychedelic goodness and exuberance as Glover truly lets his freak flag fly in what is essentially a treatise on pursuing love in all its forms.  Such a pleasant surprise of an album is proof you can find fun in the most unexpected of places.  

4. Tycho – Epoch

Scott Hansen aka Tycho has been one of the elite downtempo beat makers since he released the now classic Dive back in 2011.  Even then, there were some acoustic flourishes of guitar and other live instrumentation, but on his latest he has made the bold move of injecting the tropes of rock, more specifically the moody dynamics of postrock, more than ever before into his previously mostly electronic music.  Clearly the influence of Hansen touring with a band for the last five years heavily influences the proceedings as it feels like the work of musicians playing together live.  Taking a more organic approach pays off well, adding new life, heft and even a little menace at times to balance the airy environments of Epoch.

3. A Tribe Called Quest – We Got It From Here. . . Thank You 4 Your Service

Another shocker, the members of Tribe Called Quest recorded this largely in secret and during the final days of Phife Dawg who passed this last March.  After his untimely death, the first Tribe Called Quest in 18 years seemed like an impossibility, and yet here it is.  Not only did Tribe unleash this sneak attack on the world, but even more astounding, it stands as their best work since their monumental and genre defining first three albums in the early '90s.  Going out with a bang and packed with guest spots from longtime collaborators like Busta Rhymes, relatively new faces like Kenderick Lamar and even throwing a couple curveballs with Elton John on the Benny and Jets invoking "Wall of Sound" and Jack White’s blues inflected guitar showing up multiple times.  And although We Got It absolutely stands as a tribute to the memory of Phife, it is also a statement of protest in the face of frayed race relations, xenophobia and a prescient antidote to the coming dark ages of Trumpdom.  Tribe has long been the conscience of hip hop as well as one of its most creative purveyors of beats and rhymes. In the year 2016, we needed their return, however brief it may be, more than ever.

2. David Bowie – Blackstar

What more can be said of David Bowie that has not already been written?  He was truly a singular talent, a force in the world that we perhaps took for granted and just assumed would always be with us.  His absence has left a hole in the fabric of spacetime that cannot be filled.  His mode of expression and innovative spirit was so unique, that the mere thought of another arriving to take his place is preposterous.  It’s fitting then, that his farewell was like none other.  Dropping Blackstar on us like a bomb, it is an emphatic statement that Bowie was artistically vital right up to his last day on this earth.  It’s almost as if his years of inactivity and somewhat underwhelming albums before 2013’s The Next Day were all part of a long game to make his swan song all the more dramatically brilliant.  Blackstar is a dark, dense and unflinching examination of mortality and yet somehow is still hopeful.  Yes, it’s an album that directly addresses the death of its creator, but it transforms that death into a new birth and beginning.  Bowie was already immortal decades ago, by turning his last days into art, he stunned us once again.

1. Radiohead – A Moon Shaped Pool

Sometimes the universe just lines up in ways that provide the undeniable evidence of a pattern underneath everything.  Even though it’s always there, we are lucky to only get a few brief glimpses of the hidden structures that connect us and affect the events of our lives.  In 2016, I endured the most challenging ordeal of my life in the form of triple bypass surgery and the subsequent recovery.  Getting home from the hospital should have been an occasion for celebration, as it was all I could think about during the longest nine days imaginable, most of which I spent confined to a hospital bed.  Instead, I found the reality of the remainder of my existence waiting for me outside the hospital walls.  A new normal of medications and limitations, many of which were temporary, but others which I would carry permanently.  Mental scars in addition to the physical ones that I now bore.  It was in this moment that I received a gift, a new work from a band I have loved for almost 20 years now, since the landmark OK Computer exploded the conventions of rock n' roll itself.  The day after I came home from the hospital, the universe reached out to me and gave me this album, perhaps Radiohead’s most emotional, and one in which lead singer Thom Yorke sublimated his own struggles with a divorce into music with a level of artistry that few can achieve.  It was a message personally to me, and yet also designed for anyone else receptive to it.  To say it helped me through those difficult days is an understatement.  It truly was a lifeline, sustaining me and giving me the strength to keep persevering in the face of extreme distress.  The gift of A Moon Shape Pool can be summed up in the parting line of its final song, “Don’t leave, don’t leave”.  To which I can only respond by saying, I am still here and thank you.

[brajeshupadhyay]

The T List: Five Things We Recommend This Week

Welcome to the T List, a newsletter from the editors of T Magazine. Each week, we’re sharing things we’re eating, wearing, listening to or coveting now. Sign up here to find us in your inbox every Wednesday. You can always reach us at tlist@nytimes.com.

Book This

A Grand Hotel Reopens in Texas

Reopening this month is Austin’s Commodore Perry Estate, an Italian Renaissance Revival mansion secluded within the city’s Hyde Park neighborhood. Both a 54-room hotel and private club by Auberge Resorts, the Commodore was originally built in 1928 by the architect Hal Thompson as the country residence of the Texan businessman Edgar Perry. The Italianate mansion’s original rooms, with picturesque accompanying Juliet balconies, have been transformed by the designer Ken Fulk into signature suites with walls in shades of pink, celadon and sunshine yellow and furnishings in velvet and faux fur. Hand-painted murals by the artist Deborah Phillips are offset by midcentury pieces sourced by Fulk from over two years’ worth of shopping trips to the state’s famous Round Top Antiques Fair. While Perry may have sold the estate in 1944 with the regret that it was “a great place to throw a party but too big to live in,” Fulk’s vision gives the mansion a second life as a place to gather — perhaps for dinner at the Commodore’s Lutie’s Garden Restaurant, with a menu filled with produce grown nearby — or merely spend a decadent afternoon strolling the estate, which spans 10 acres and includes a 50-foot swimming pool. Rates start at $525 per night, aubergeresorts.com.

See This

Robert Longo’s Cinematic Musings

I’ve looked at a lot of digital exhibitions from art institutions in the last few months, and my response has almost unanimously been: I wish I could see this in person. One of the more satisfying examples of this kind of presentation — for me, at least — is “Robert Longo: Quarantine Films,” on the website of the Garage Museum of Contemporary Art in Moscow. It functions as both a watch list and a kind of autobiography, interspersing examples of Longo’s work alongside his thoughts on various classics of cinema and how they’ve influenced him. (Longo made one deeply flawed but rather criminally underrated film himself in 1995: “Johnny Mnemonic,” with Keanu Reeves as the star and a screenplay by William Gibson.) Writing about Martin Scorsese’s 1976 film “Taxi Driver,” he reminisces about moving to New York and driving a cab to support himself. In a riff about Jean-Luc Godard’s “Contempt” (1963), which Longo describes as “a film about making a film,” he concludes that “sometimes beautiful is all art needs to be.” He even makes a fairly convincing case for 2019’s “Joker” — a film I walked out of — as a useful parable about the importance of gun control. Longo is an artist with a style you might call apocalyptic. He makes achingly beautiful paintings out of ugly things, whether a mushroom cloud, a businessman who appears to be falling through the air or a militarized police force, shrouded in tear gas and backlit by the golden arches of a McDonald’s sign. His work is scarily relevant in 2020. “Robert Longo: Quarantine Films” is live now on garagemca.org.

Sandals for summer are no more groundbreaking than florals for spring, and yet donning the right pair can still be an opportunity for self-expression, one that can dress up an ordinary denim skirt or a cotton voile dress. This summer, opt for sandals embellished with crystals to add a sense of decadence. René Caovilla has brightened an otherwise ordinary kitten-heeled thong, while By Far has reinvented the mule, laying the over-foot strap with a grid of thinly cut rhinestones. The French jewelry designer Justine Clenquet has joined in with her debut footwear line — launched this month, in step with her brand’s 10th anniversary — which features vintage-inspired silhouettes adorned with Swarovski rhinestones and disco-like glitter. For those looking for slightly more subtle options, both Gianvito Rossi and Roger Vivier offer styles that can easily transition from a long walk in the park to an intimate dinner, making stepping around just a little more sparkly and fun.

Buy This

Colorful Handblown Glassware for Gathering

In March, as New York City went into lockdown, the creative community working at UrbanGlass — a nonprofit organization that provides glassblowing studio space, exhibitions and classes for artists and designers in Downtown Brooklyn — faced an uncertain future. Glassblowing is impossible to do at home, and since glassblowers work in proximity to one another and often share tools, reopening the studio — even with social distancing protocols in place — is a tricky proposition. In a show of hope and resolve, three artists — Susan Spiranovich and Adam Holtzinger, the founders of the design company Keep, along with Anders Rydstedt — decided to team up on a project called Re:Gather, the results of which will be made and shipped as soon as the artists are able to return to a studio. Their first product, Cupples, is a series of simple and elegant glasses offered in five colors, including blush, aqua and amber, and features an interlocking design — a glass band wrapped around half the cups corresponds to an equivalent cutout in the other half — that illustrates the need for social connection. “We recognized a shared sense of loss for in-person collaboration that is essential to our work,” says Rydstedt. The name Re:Gather may seem self-explanatory, but it is also a reference to the glassblowing process itself, during which the material is gathered or collected on the end of a blowpipe. Finally, Cupples is meant to remind us of the comforts of sharing a meal with one another, with the hope that we will be able to do so in the near future. $200 for a set of two, keepbrooklyn.com.

This is a momentous year for the Irish-born, Scotland-based jeweler Grainne Morton: She’s celebrating her 50th birthday, as well as her 25th anniversary making her fastidiously eclectic jewelry that has found a fan-base of avid collectors around the world. Morton had originally planned to mark her double milestone with a large celebration in a castle just outside of Edinburgh. But the lockdown meant downshifting plans, and in the quiet of the last few months, she and her team have instead been hard at work, making unique pieces of jewelry that feel like the rarest of finds — 10 of which will be released this Friday. “My parents had an antique shop where they lived in Northern Ireland,” Morton explained to me. “They would come visit me in Scotland and spend all week trawling the antique shops here. In order to spend time with them, I would come with, and I started collecting.” Morton is fond of mixing mother-of-pearl, moonstones and other gems with found cameos, antique buttons and vintage glass. Everything is made by hand, sometimes taking weeks to complete, as the individual components are first set in silver and then soldered together into playful compositions, often set on a cross or dripping from an anchor piece. As we’re thinking more consciously about who and what we surround ourselves with right now, Morton is creating more than just a beautiful object but a sense of permanence amid the ephemeral world around her. Available July 10, grainnemorton.co.uk.

From T’s Instagram

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[alppmcom]

Looking for Stand-Up Pouches Suppliers? 7 Things You MUST Know

Looking for a stand-up pouches suppliers? Here are 7 tips for you to find the best stand-up pouches supplier & factory from China with Low Price.

ALPPM, your reliable partner for stand-up pouches & Pouch bags. With 10+ years experiences in Stand Up Pouches industry, we have grown to become one of the leading Stand Up Pouches companies in China. We offer metalized stand-up pouches, clear pouches, clear flat pouches, plain foil stand-up pouches, food pouches, coffee bags, coffee pouches, baby food pouches, pouches with zipper and spout pouches.

Pouches Category

Why should you choose us as your pouch bags partner? We are happy to tell you some of the reasons that we are the preferred choice for supplying plastic pouches.

1. The importance of Stand-Up Pouches packaging?

There are thousands of products on the market crying for your customers’ attention. As a report shows that, one-third of a consumer’s decision making is based solely on product packaging.

Take a moment to think about some of your favorite brands. They all have one thing in common: they have a long-term & reliable stand-up pouches supplier for their products.

 If you want to become a winner in the retail market, your brand packaging has to stand out and look different from your competitors.

Your product’s pouch bags can be a useful marketing tool for in-store advertising.

Product with a brand can be recognized and remembered by consumers.

Therefore, designing stand up pouches with your logo front and center helps consumers pick your product next time they are shopping.

If you are in the retail industry, you should ask yourself what your product pouch packaging is saying about your product. Is it good or innovate? Can it be better? What messages your product’s pouch packaging is conveying to shoppers and consumers.

Stand Up Pouches is one of the most used formats when it comes to product packaging. As the name implies, a stand-up pouch can stand on a shelf, as well as saves lots of room for other products.

Today many industries or manufacturers, such as baby foods, yogurts, fruit purees, beverages, and medical product are using standup pouches for their product so that they can drive growth and profitability in the retails industry.

In the supermarket, you can see lots of soups pouches, baby food pouches, condiments pouches, dressings pouches, dairy pouches, beverages pouches, wind & spirits pouches. Food pouches are everywhere in our daily life.

How can you tell if a pouch is a good one? As a professional pouches manufacturer, we recommend you put this aspect into consideration: retains the freshness of pouches, resealable or reclosable of pouches, whether the pouch is easy to open, is the pouch smart packaging (indicates when the product is no longer fresh), is the pouch recyclable, reusable or repurposable? Is the pouch portable, easy to carry, walk with, drive with, etc. In the end, is the stand-up pouch functional (can cook in package)?

What’s more, good plastic pouches packaging can add value to your products. In fact, product packaging plays a more important role in consumer decisions than you might think.

For the reason that a well-designed product packaging can communicate many things, such as what the product can do for your customer, what is your brand’s story, is your product trustworthy?

2. Does the packaging manufacturer have State-of-the-art Pouch Machinery

First of all, innovations guarantee is at the heart of our operations. For this reason, we use state-of-the-art machinery to ensure the quality of the stand-up pouches. Our food pouch and plastic packaging bags meet world-class requirements.

Also, we ensure that all of our pouch production processes are under strict review to assess any potential error in the system that may compromise on the quality of a stand-up pouch.

3.How about the variety of wholesale Pouch bags

ALPPM offers you a wide range of stand-up pouches. We focus on corporate, industry and consumer client base, that means we can produce stand up pouches that suit you at whatever scale or level. Here is a list of some of the stand-up pouches we provide:

Metallic rice paper stand-up pouches.

Solid stand-up high barrier pouches.

Window rice paper stand-up bags.

Oval window stand-up pouches.

Zipper Pouches.

Square bottom gusseted pouches.

Dual-shield clear front stand-up pouches.

No matter whether you are a corporate client, or in industries such as food, cosmetics, and health, our pouch services can be customized to meet your needs.

4. What is the quality of those wholesale stand-up pouches

ALPPM always make the wonderful containers for different products like solid, liquid and powdered foods, also we make stand up pouch for the non-food item.

With our food grade laminates help, you can be assured that the quality of item inside can last longer.

In addition, the large surface area can play as a billboard for your product, and you can put your attractive logo and design on the pouch.

What's more, stand up pouches only need a minimal space on shelves, so you can save lots of room and put more product in storage.

Our flexible packaging bags can ensure the product freshness. Nobody wants to eat stale or out-of-date food, therefore it’s crucial to ensure product freshness.

Normally, consumers get to see the freshness with their own eyes, and they would pay more for a package that lets them confirm product freshness themselves. Hence, we will try to make sure our flexible packaging can meet this requirement.

Above all, our environmental friendly pouches use 80% less material than the traditional plastic bag, so you don't need to be worried about the carbon footprint at all.

5. does the supplier have customer service for resealable stand-up pouches

As an experienced pouch manufacture, we understand good customer service can lead to customer satisfaction when they purchase our stand-up pouch.

Also, we are fully aware of that satisfied customers are more loyal and profitable in the plastic packaging industry.

For the reason that they will order our stand-up pouches again and again.

On the other hand, dissatisfied customers will spend their money somewhere else when they are not happy with those stand-up pouches for their products. What's more, they will tell their friends and partners about the poor stand up pouches they bought.

For this reason, we have a well-trained English-speaking team to help you with pouch & plastic bags design and production.

In addition, our after-sales service for pouches is positive and appropriate, so that our customers can have reassurance after they have bought stand up pouches from us.

Above all, we will try our best to provide our clients with good quality pouches and customer services.

As the famous goes "it takes years to build a reputation but just moments to ruin it", we feel this quote effectively addresses the importance of keeping a customer happy and satisfied.

6. Does supplier provide Competitive Prices for Pouch bags

Needless to say, pricing is one of the most important things in the pouch industry. Pricing has a critical role as a competitive weapon to help a business exploit market opportunities.

Since the price is one of the first things that a client will think about when they are looking for a stand-up pouches supplier.

Furthermore, the competition in the pouch market in on a constant rise, especially with the ever-growing popularity of plastic packaging bags.

With our competitive pricing strategy, all of our plastic pouches and packaging bags are high-quality at low prices. We hope to establish a long-term relationship with our clients on the basis of mutual benefit.

Even though our price for the stand-up pouch is relatively lower than other pouches factory, we will never sacrifice quality for the price. Our stand-up pouches have the highest ROI.

Furthermore, we are the factory itself, we sell every piece of pouches from our own factory directly, so there is no manufacturers reps or brokers between.

7. Does the plastic pouch supplier have a professional team for stand-up pouches

We owe a fully dedicated staff to design and develop the finest stand-up pouches.

All of us work here at the backend, to ensure that our customer gets the best of what he pays.

We work twice around the clock to ease our sales and rule out your purchase hustles.

Our Packaging Engineers are available 24/7 to answer your queries and dispatch solutions at the earliest.

Our carefully selected team consists of pouches sales team, pouch production team, plastic bag assurance departments.

They have the technical knowledge, as well as the expertise to understand the standards and requirements of producing great stand-up pouches.

Driven by integrity, diligence and honest, our team works together to provide the utmost experience of pouches purchasing for our clients.

#FAQ for pouch bags

Q: What packaging material structure should I need for my product? What shelf life it affords?

A: Just inquire us with this information: What kind of items are they, what is the volume, filling, sterilizing and storage conditions. We will be able to propose the appropriate and one-stop solution to meet your shelf life request.

 Q: What are the types of bags?

A: Bottom-gusseted bag, with or without zipper; 3 sides sealed bags, with or without punch hole; the center-seal bag with/without tea nick; stand-up pouch, with/without zipping; Quad-sealed bag with/without air valve;

 Q: What is laminate material?

A: Lamination is the technique of manufacturing a material in multiple layers so that the composite material achieves improved strength, stability, sound insulation, appearance or other properties from the use of differing materials. A laminate is a permanently assembled object by heat, pressure, welding, or adhesives.

 Q: What is Metallised film?

A: Metallised films (or metalized films) are polymer films coated with a thin layer of metal, usually aluminum. They offer the glossy metallic appearance of an aluminum foil at a reduced weight and cost. Metallised films are widely used for decorative purposes and food packaging, and also for specialty applications including insulation and electronics.

 Q: PET or OPP printed layer, what is the advantage of PET?

A: PET has greater strength resulting in better control for repeat length and slitting size. Higher head resistance makes PET the preferred choice for fast speed packaging machines than OPP. But PET costs much than OPP

 Q: Why is Nylon needed for my bag?

A: Though it’s price is a little higher, Nylon film is good for oxygen barrier and impact strength. Especially when the bag is to be hot-filled through or drop resistant is needed.

Contact Us

ALPPM, the Asian Leading Plastic Product Manufacturer, is one of the biggest product packaging factory in China.

We provide one-stop service for product packaging. We have been providing clear plastic boxes, PET boxes, PVC boxes, PP boxes, stand-up pouches, plastic bags, flexible packaging, paper packaging for many famous clients. We are your trusted product packaging supplier. To get in touch with us, send email to Jack.qiu@alppm.com

[riting]

Hi, Solo / Gala, Honey (Pieter Fundraiser)

Carmela Hermann Dietrich on Hi, Solo

Hi, Solo, a series inspired by Mark Haim, is curated by Alexx Shilling and Devika Wickremesinghe. This particular evening was a fundraiser for Pieter Performance Space. Inspired by Hi, Solo I set a timer for three minutes two times; during each writing session, I wrote whatever came to mind, first about Hi Solo, and then Pieter and the fundraiser.  And….go!

1.

I love Hi, Solo. I love the idea of it. That within three minutes you can make something that is a complete idea. That is the assignment. To create a 3-minute solo specifically for Hi, Solo. Someone I admire once told me, “when you’ve got something important to communicate, say it in three sentences”. I’ve used this when I want to run on at the mouth in an email, a text, in conversation. How often as choreographers do we run on at the body-mouth? Simone Forti, one of my primary artistic mentors, once told me that in the 60’s Robert Dunn gave his (now historic) composition class the assignment, “make something that’s three minutes long and don’t work on it for longer than three minutes”.

What was most interesting to me, was watching how the artists took on this challenge. I saw choreographed ideas that had a set beginning, middle and end; I saw works that weren’t set, but followed a strategic trajectory; some artists improvised, allowing their endings to be arbitrarily decided by the timer.  I saw some that drew me in, and some that didn’t. There were some that made my nine-year-old son laugh. And one that made him sad. I can’t get into specifics about all ten piece because … I only have three minutes to write.

2.

This particular Hi, Solo was a fundraiser to raise money for Pieter. Pieter needs a new floor. I love Pieter’s floor. I can see any inch of it on instagram and remember, “oh, yeah, that’s that spot where my hair always gets caught in the tape”. It’s a well loved floor. But as Jmy James Kidd, Pieter Protector, said, it’s also a bit dangerous. She revealed during the fundraiser pitch at Intermission, that she has a splinter “permanently lodged in her ass.” That’s not good. Pieter has been a radical dance space for creativity, safe expression, innovation, and exploration for seven years. I am there regularly. What’s so amazing about Pieter is not just the mix of people drawn to it’s community, but the welcoming attitude of the entire space. This is the vision of Pieter; a place where artists and people who want to be themselves and feel accepted are welcome. Yes, Pieter has some badass choreographers, but at Pieter the newbie who has never danced or performed is just as welcomed and accepted. Pieter supports Los Angeles’ people like no other. 

Carmela Hermann Dietrich is an L.A. based choreographer and improviser whose work has been performed nationally and internationally since 1995. Her last dance theater work, "In Plain Sight", featuring four real-life people grappling with compulsive behaviors, premiered at the Bootleg Theater. Carmela is also an Upledger Certified CranioSacral Therapist.

Maya Gingery on Hi, Solo

PIETER IS A PLACE

Names either stick or they don’t, and this one did.  It’s called Pieter and only Jmy knows why.

Pieter is a place that was created for community and a community has formed around this dance studio in Lincoln Heights.  After 7 years of pounding feet and rolling bodies, the past-its-prime flooring needs replacing, and so on April 15th Pieter held an evening of performance as a fundraiser for a brand new floor.

Hi, Solo was an evening of 3-minute works by a roster of local artists, some dancers, some performance artists, and a few that fall between the cracks. It’s an eclectic mix, a diversity of styles and forms that serve well LA’s appetite for inclusivity. And so it was, for this benefit show that also included a sweet testimonial from the hosts and board of directors about how Pieter has become the heart center for so many in the local dance and performance scene.

Here’s a short synopsis of what I experienced:

The show began with a work titled Emergency Landing choreographed by Dorothy Dubrule, and danced by P. Jason Black, a non-dancer as he explained it to me.  It could have been called an Ode to Aluminum Foil, as the rotund Jason was indelibly and fashionably wrapped in it, toga-style. To the tinklings of a piano sonata (Schumann perhaps?), Jason expressed as willingly as Isadora Duncan his interpretation of the classical poses of the gods, and just as willingly descended and rolled like a boulder on the ground, the kinetic antithesis to the greek statue. The contrasts worked.

LA-based Carol McDowell, dressed in summery turquoise, danced her own solo titled, Noetic Gestures No. 3.  There was a Latin aesthetic in her choice of music, and a lot of shifting directions and gestural use of space. Later I learned the dance was based on Hermeneutics, or the philosophy of interpretation. Since dance is a non-verbal form of communication, this seemed apropos. One could interpret it however one wished.

Wilfred Souly danced his solo Trapped to a live talking drum played by Magatte Sow. His movements suggested possession by something outside himself, as seen in African spiritualism. There were contrasts of up and down, side to side, in and out. It was a powerful male performance and it’s political intent was the driving force.

Performance/visual artist Luis Lera Malvacias presented a work that was both literally and figuratively dark and subversively visual. Covered in black clothing that completely obfuscated his body, his spine however was visually articulated with a row of white lightbulbs. On the stage lay a mysterious angular black object, also illuminated, a parallel to the objectification of his own body. The artist, bent over like the hunchback of literary fame, moaned and cried as he mysteriously hovered near the box, only his voice penetrating the sphere of this dark perverse world. It was weird and striking.

Maybe it was the psychological resonance from the previous piece, but I can’t remember a thing about dancer Maria Maea’s I choose here.  If that sounds harsh, one can be forgiven for not remembering everything in such a long and diverse program.  I do remember some video, some sound, some dance. However, it’s title couldn’t have been more perfect. Possibly the dance was perfect too. I hope Maria performs it again, when I will be ready to remember it well.

In the second half of the show Doran George presented Aid and Abet, a sexually-loaded interpretation of scholarship. Seemingly naked underneath a trenchcoat casually draped over them, they lay on piles of books and played dead, as Gillian Cameron recited gay poetry. Give me Love, she read in a monotone, as we waited for her to revive him with bon mots.  In the end Doran was resurrected, and rose to reveal themselves wearing a loincloth and a plaster-of-paris penis, fully-erect natch.  Some good ideas there.

Valerie McCann is not a dancer. She’s an actor, she explained to me, but she wanted to make a dance.  So she did.  It was called Helplessness Makes Patients Hard to Please, with the subtitle Love Hurts.  Based on the title I’m going to assume she has some experience with this.  She wore a terrific white robe that was a costume from a play she had been in.  She took that costume with her (who was wearing whom?) and made a dance play about gestures and trajectory that ended at the wall. She used the space well, and I never would have guessed it was her first choreography.  Loads of stage presence.

Dancer/Choreographer Kevin Williamson did an exquisite arm dance.  Feet planted firmly like the roots of a tree, he chose to be in profile as he manipulated his two upper limbs in every possible configuration that profile will allow.  It was a search for reason in an unstable world. To me it’s always within limitations that imagination has room to grow and I was in continual wonder as he took me on his bodily journeying.  He also chose to accentuate the oddness of the Pieter stage, a rectangle interrupted in the center by a square of four large pillars, by standing off-center and far upstage, inviting us to think about the scale and boundaries of human existence. Beautiful.

Dancer Alexsa Durrans wore red and black.  On first impression I perceived her flowing movement as a watery flamenco, though “weighted like water, this will happen again” turned out to be more motivated by fluidity than Spanish passions.  Not sure what would “happen again”, but when water is concerned it’s certain something will.  That’s the beauty of dance, it’s poetry in motion, it ebbs and flows like water, and what’s not seen is often just as important as what is.

Finally dancer Alexa Weir honored us with a wistful, idyllic ode to new motherhood. She filled her stage with potted plants and moved with delicate grace among them. Glass chimes tinkled in the background.  She called it Day Moon.  She choreographed it in a closet.  It was a lovely and calming conclusion to a Nabokovian program.

One problem I’ve encountered as both artist and audience is that no one is writing about independent experimental dance in LA. So naturally no one expects to be reviewed. I had a hard time finding and talking to the artists amid the din of chips, dips and beer-fueled conversations, but I persevered. (Sorry Maria, I couldn't find you!).  Let's be grateful for the creation of Riting.LA, an online place to bring focus to LA independent performing arts and the thousands of artists who make this city such a vibrantly growing creative space.

In conclusion, Pieter raised some money. We got to watch some dance and support the artists.  As always, the after-party was fun and the community communed.  LA is great.

Maya Gingery is a maker-dancer-choreographer-musician-educator-writer, lifelong creative and fellow human. She makes dances and other performative events, collects musical instruments, grows vegetables and sings a song every day. Her best friend Mimi is a deer. She was last seen on stage as Demeter, in the Four Larks development project of  ὕμνος/hymns at the Getty Villa.

Hi, Solo / Gala, Honey (Pieter needs a new floor!) happened on Saturday, April 15th, 2017. The night was curated by Alexx Shilling and Devika Wickremesinghe.

Pieter has since reached their goal to raise $10,000 for a new floor and cosmetic repairs. Pieter’s YouCaring campaign will be live through May 31st. Metabolic Studio will match all funds raised up to $15,000. Please consider donating to such a special space.  

photos by Amanda Bjorn

[ask-de-writer]

THE HOUSE, (part 1 of 3), a tale of Flocking Bay

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THE HOUSE

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

7357 words

© 2020

Written 1990

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of Fan activity, Fiction, Art, Cosplay, Music, or any other thing is actively encouraged!

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I am John Peaslee, and I am writing this in the hope that it shall somehow be found and a cycle of greed and evil can be broken. Beware of Flocking Bay Realty Company and the old Wickes place!! But I am ahead of myself. Let me tell what has happened to me and you can judge for yourself.

It began innocently enough. My father died and I inherited a modest fortune. Taking a permanent leave of absence from my dull job, I left New York forever. I went north, up the Atlantic coast. Stopping for a day or a week as the whim took me, I came at last to the small town of Flocking Bay, Maine.

The bay, with its iron gray water and breakers like lead, flanked by headlands topped by hardwoods that became brooding pine forests on the inland ridges, captivated me. I determined to settle in that small New England town. Leaving my rented lodging near the water-front, I went to the Flocking Bay Bank of Maine. There, my funds were transferred and I inquired after a good Realtor.

I was directed to the Flocking Bay Realty Company and spent an unprofitable morning looking at small houses in the middle of town.

“I’ve showed you three good houses for a bachelor or a small family,” the Realtor said. “You don’t like any of ‘em. Tell you what I think. You want somethin’ a bit older, more atmosphere to it. Right, son?”

“Yes, Sir, Mr. Jason,” I replied, “that’s just what’s wrong with those houses. Good for somebody that just wants a place to live. Not for me. I want a place where I can feel the age of this town in my bones.”

“Hum, none in the current listings, I’m afraid … I can only think of two that might suit …” he muttered softly. More briskly, he stated, “Son, there’s the oldest house in Flocking Bay, the Hilstrom house. It was built in 1658. Actually it was the first house ever built in Flocking Bay. Been continuously occupied by the Hilstroms since it was built. Only hitch is you can’t buy it… yet.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Old Hilstrom was at least 95 when he wandered off six years ago. Hasn’t been seen since. It’s still a year before he gets declared dead so̓’s the place can be sold to settle the estate.

“The other prospect is also an oldie. Built in eighteen an’ fifty two, it’s got gas lights, indoor plumbing, and all the conveniences of when it was built.”

“Gas lights?” I interrupted.

“No kidding, they really let you feel the age of the house. It’s the old Wickes place. It’s not in the regular listings. It’s up to settle an estate. You can get it for a song, if your voice is in the $50,000.00 range.”

“Sounds great if it’s in good shape,” I ventured.

Mr. Jason escorted me to his car. “I’ll let you see for yourself,” was his reply. Only a short drive out of the town proper, an easy walk, waited the Wickes place.

It was all that Mr. Jason had declared it to be. The stone and wrought iron fence was in excellent repair. The yard was immaculate, with roses, pansies, and violets in orderly beds. There was not a crack or weed to be seen in the brick drive that looped through the porte cochere at the front of the house. This last was two sprawling stories of the finest Carpenter Gothic architecture that it had ever been my pleasure to see. The roof was perfect, with not a loose shingle to be seen. Not so much as a cracked window disturbed its perfection.

“How did an estate property come to be so well kept?” I inquired.

“It gets seen to,” was the cryptic reply.

“And the windows?” I pressed.

“What about ‘em?” he parried.

“They’re all there. Aren’t there any rock-throwing children hereabouts?” I wanted to know.

“There’s kids. They mostly stay away, it’s a landmark,” he replied, abruptly changing the topic. “Notice them scale shingles? You don’t find ‘em that good any more. Shall we go in?” The elaborately carved front door opened onto an entry hall with wainscoted walls. The entry gave onto a transverse hall that ran the length of the first floor. To the left of the entry was a formal parlor. Its walls were of flocked paper, disturbed by well-executed but vaguely unsettling paintings that closer inspection revealed to be signed “Wickes.” All the furniture was early Victorian: end tables, settees, and chairs were elaborately carved, the upholstery perfect. The carpet on the floor was a genuine Persian antique.

The room across the entry hall was a sitting room. It, too, was impeccably appointed. The study was done with inlaid desk, escritoire, Mogul carpeting and oak paneling.

And the library! Books rose from knee level to ceiling on all four walls. There were sliding ladders to give access to those above reach.

I will not dwell on the mahogany paneled dining room or the bright copper-filled kitchen, except to say that they looked freshly cleaned. I assumed but did not ask, that some one from the town came in regularly to clean and care for the place. Even the upstairs bedrooms, bath and large ‘workroom’ showed not a spider web or speck of dust.

I had to have the Wickes place. The low price indicated that the estate was eager to sell. Back at Jason’s office, some sharp bargaining began. In the end we settled on a price of only $45,000.00, to be paid in a lump sum at closing. Since my money was already in a local call bank, there was no obstacle. I could scarcely believe this excellent piece of fortune.

In only a few days, my small car was parked in the porte cochere. Each trip in and out of the vestibule to unload my things told me that I was truly home… My clothing, cameras, a bit of camping gear, and a few other odds and ends of personal possessions were all that I had. I passed one of the most restful nights of my life in the massive four-poster in the master bedroom.

It occurred to me that I wanted to find out more about my unusual abode. As the next day was bright and sunny, I set out for a brisk walk into town.

I started at the Flocking Bay Courthouse. There, a clerk was very helpful in searching out tax and transfer records on my property. At first, she seemed a bit startled at which property I was looking up. A few dollars saw to the copying fees for the records that I wanted. She suggested that I might also try the town library.

Fortified with a pleasant lunch from a small café, I walked into the gloom of the library to continue my research. As soon as I identified the object of my quest, Mrs. Alderman, the librarian, pegged me as ‘one of them spook writers.’ Nothing short of force would have changed her mind. It did save me from a lot of rooting about on sagging dusty shelves. She had gathered most, if not all, of the information on that ‘creepy ol’ Wickes place’ into a single bulging file. I saw at once that there were several days worth of studying to do. The library had no copier and Mrs. Alderman refused to allow file materials to leave the library. I did not wholly blame her. The file was the result of much work and most of the things in it could not be replaced. There were letters, newspaper clippings, land records (including my own recent purchase!), an assay, a strange gold coin, court documents, a botanical report, and more. Some of the materials went back to 1851.

Begging some file folders from Mrs. Alderman, I began the task of sorting the file by subject and date. Long before I was done, I had to stop. The library was closing.

I walked home in the deepening twilight. A gentle breeze helped me on my way. The sky became pocked with stars. My mind was in a whirl from briefly seen headlines.

WICKES’ GOLD GOOD AS GOLD … FAMILY VANISHES … BOY GOES MAD …

And more, None seeming to fit any rational pattern. Once home, I spread the papers from the courthouse out on the beautifully inlaid desk in the study. In the soft glow of the gaslight I began to study. Just as a pattern was beginning to emerge, I heard something.

It sounded like a rat or perhaps several of them on the floor above. Seizing the flashlight that I kept in the kitchen, I went to look. As I went up the stairs, I became convinced that the rats were in the attic. It took a few moments to remember where the attic door was.

A comforting circle of light from the flash preceded me up the attic stair. No rats. Also no spider webs or dust.

It ceases to be good housekeeping when an attic has no cobwebs or dust. It is unnatural.

The rats seemed to be beneath me on the second floor. I followed the sound. By the time that I got there, the sounds had gone down to the first floor. Returning to the first floor, I could hear the rats sporting about in a basement that I did not know of.

A quick look around the first floor showed no doors that might lead to a basement. Giving up on the search for the spectral brigade of rats, I went to the kitchen and fixed myself a light dinner. Looking at the dates of sale, I saw the pattern that had eluded me before. Hiram Wickes had built the house in 1852. It was first sold in 1873, next in 1880, then at exact seven-year intervals until 1985. The last date marked my purchase.

I was the seventeenth owner of Wickes’ house. There was only one thing that I could think of that could account for such a regular cycle of sales. The file at the town library would show whether my notion was foolish. But that was for morning. I retired in the master bedroom’s four-poster. I slept fitfully.

In the morning, I walked into town once more. Light puffy clouds were gamboling in the sky like puppies. At a gnarled old oak in the park, I turned left. Dubbing the ancient oak the “Hanging Tree” in my mind, I strode under its branches, straight across the grass to the library.

Mrs. Alderman was pleased with the sorting that I was doing. She set the file before me once more. “You’re the best of them spook writers so far,” she told me. “You’re not just after a haunted house or mysterious disappearances. You’re settin’ the whole story into order. Make a great book, the way you’re goin’ at it.”

“I do hope so, Mrs. Alderman,” I replied.

“I hope that you’ll remember us with a copy of your book,” she fished hopefully.

“If I get published, you certainly will,” I hedged, feeling a bit guilty at the deception, as there was no book in the works. How could I explain what I was doing when I was not sure myself? That morning I finished sorting and started to take notes to try to keep the mass of information straight.

Since Hiram Wickes had built the house, I started with him. Little enough was known for sure. He had been apparently fluent in at least eight languages, and carried on an active correspondence around the globe. He was independently wealthy, although the source of his funds remained a mystery.

He was once jailed briefly, for counterfeiting. He was cleared when it was pointed out that it was perfectly legal to use foreign coin, provided that it was used by weight and not passed as a U.S. coin. An assay proved his coin to be 24 carat gold, exactly 2/5 of an ounce, troy. Hiram always paid for everything with his strange coins, at three to the ounce. He would never accept change. (One of the coins and the assay were in the file.)

In the year 1852, Hiram finished the most modern and up-to-date house in Flocking Bay. Even maids and other servants hired from town could not keep up with the sheer clutter and disorganization he caused. Hiram was not popular with servants. They came and went until 1866. There was no further mention of servants after that date.

Hiram’s disappearance in that year was a nine day’s wonder. His mail had been impounded for possible clues but nothing turned up. No heirs claimed the estate. In 1873 he was declared dead and the house was sold for back taxes.

A quick check of the court records part of the file turned up, not one, but fifty nine(!) court ordered death certificates, and seventeen land sales since 1851. The records revealed a seven year income merry-go-round for whoever would take advantage of it. Flocking Bay Realty Company had handled every sale since 1908. They had always sold the house to folks from out of town …

It was closing time before I had finished putting this picture together. As I crossed the park the wind was buffeting me from the left and clouds roiled overhead. Just at my ‘hanging tree,’ my foot caught on something in the grass. When I had recovered my balance, I saw that I had tripped on a bronze plaque on a low stone.

It said:

“This tree is dedicated to the memory of Hiram Wickes. If ever he returns, may he be hanged therefrom!

Dedicated by Harold Oates.

- 1880 -”

I turned right, up the street, and made for home. I was pursued by clouds like hounds baying wind at my back and slathering rain drops at my heels. I barely beat the storm home. Watching the lightning from the bay window of the dining room, I ate a cold supper in silence. I saw the lights fail in the town and was glad of the gaslights in the house.

Shortly after sunset, I heard the rats again. They were in the basement that did not exist. I resolved to find the basement, if there was one. I figured that it had to have a hidden door or trapdoor. I moved the furniture and carpets of the first floor. Nothing.

Next==>

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[brajeshupadhyay]

Welcome to the T List, a newsletter from the editors of T Magazine. Each week, we’re sharing things we’re eating, wearing, listening to or coveting now. Sign up here to find us in your inbox every Wednesday. You can always reach us at tlist@nytimes.com. Book This A Grand Hotel Reopens in Texas Reopening this month is Austin’s Commodore Perry Estate, an Italian Renaissance Revival mansion secluded within the city’s Hyde Park neighborhood. Both a 54-room hotel and private club by Auberge Resorts, the Commodore was originally built in 1928 by the architect Hal Thompson as the country residence of the Texan businessman Edgar Perry. The Italianate mansion’s original rooms, with picturesque accompanying Juliet balconies, have been transformed by the designer Ken Fulk into signature suites with walls in shades of pink, celadon and sunshine yellow and furnishings in velvet and faux fur. Hand-painted murals by the artist Deborah Phillips are offset by midcentury pieces sourced by Fulk from over two years’ worth of shopping trips to the state’s famous Round Top Antiques Fair. While Perry may have sold the estate in 1944 with the regret that it was “a great place to throw a party but too big to live in,” Fulk’s vision gives the mansion a second life as a place to gather — perhaps for dinner at the Commodore’s Lutie’s Garden Restaurant, with a menu filled with produce grown nearby — or merely spend a decadent afternoon strolling the estate, which spans 10 acres and includes a 50-foot swimming pool. Rates start at $525 per night, aubergeresorts.com. See This Robert Longo’s Cinematic Musings I’ve looked at a lot of digital exhibitions from art institutions in the last few months, and my response has almost unanimously been: I wish I could see this in person. One of the more satisfying examples of this kind of presentation — for me, at least — is “Robert Longo: Quarantine Films,�� on the website of the Garage Museum of Contemporary Art in Moscow. It functions as both a watch list and a kind of autobiography, interspersing examples of Longo’s work alongside his thoughts on various classics of cinema and how they’ve influenced him. (Longo made one deeply flawed but rather criminally underrated film himself in 1995: “Johnny Mnemonic,” with Keanu Reeves as the star and a screenplay by William Gibson.) Writing about Martin Scorsese’s 1976 film “Taxi Driver,” he reminisces about moving to New York and driving a cab to support himself. In a riff about Jean-Luc Godard’s “Contempt” (1963), which Longo describes as “a film about making a film,” he concludes that “sometimes beautiful is all art needs to be.” He even makes a fairly convincing case for 2019’s “Joker” — a film I walked out of — as a useful parable about the importance of gun control. Longo is an artist with a style you might call apocalyptic. He makes achingly beautiful paintings out of ugly things, whether a mushroom cloud, a businessman who appears to be falling through the air or a militarized police force, shrouded in tear gas and backlit by the golden arches of a McDonald’s sign. His work is scarily relevant in 2020. “Robert Longo: Quarantine Films” is live now on garagemca.org. Sandals for summer are no more groundbreaking than florals for spring, and yet donning the right pair can still be an opportunity for self-expression, one that can dress up an ordinary denim skirt or a cotton voile dress. This summer, opt for sandals embellished with crystals to add a sense of decadence. René Caovilla has brightened an otherwise ordinary kitten-heeled thong, while By Far has reinvented the mule, laying the over-foot strap with a grid of thinly cut rhinestones. The French jewelry designer Justine Clenquet has joined in with her debut footwear line — launched this month, in step with her brand’s 10th anniversary — which features vintage-inspired silhouettes adorned with Swarovski rhinestones and disco-like glitter. For those looking for slightly more subtle options, both Gianvito Rossi and Roger Vivier offer styles that can easily transition from a long walk in the park to an intimate dinner, making stepping around just a little more sparkly and fun. Buy This Colorful Handblown Glassware for Gathering In March, as New York City went into lockdown, the creative community working at UrbanGlass — a nonprofit organization that provides glassblowing studio space, exhibitions and classes for artists and designers in Downtown Brooklyn — faced an uncertain future. Glassblowing is impossible to do at home, and since glassblowers work in proximity to one another and often share tools, reopening the studio — even with social distancing protocols in place — is a tricky proposition. In a show of hope and resolve, three artists — Susan Spiranovich and Adam Holtzinger, the founders of the design company Keep, along with Anders Rydstedt — decided to team up on a project called Re:Gather, the results of which will be made and shipped as soon as the artists are able to return to a studio. Their first product, Cupples, is a series of simple and elegant glasses offered in five colors, including blush, aqua and amber, and features an interlocking design — a glass band wrapped around half the cups corresponds to an equivalent cutout in the other half — that illustrates the need for social connection. “We recognized a shared sense of loss for in-person collaboration that is essential to our work,” says Rydstedt. The name Re:Gather may seem self-explanatory, but it is also a reference to the glassblowing process itself, during which the material is gathered or collected on the end of a blowpipe. Finally, Cupples is meant to remind us of the comforts of sharing a meal with one another, with the hope that we will be able to do so in the near future. $200 for a set of two, keepbrooklyn.com. This is a momentous year for the Irish-born, Scotland-based jeweler Grainne Morton: She’s celebrating her 50th birthday, as well as her 25th anniversary making her fastidiously eclectic jewelry that has found a fan-base of avid collectors around the world. Morton had originally planned to mark her double milestone with a large celebration in a castle just outside of Edinburgh. But the lockdown meant downshifting plans, and in the quiet of the last few months, she and her team have instead been hard at work, making unique pieces of jewelry that feel like the rarest of finds — 10 of which will be released this Friday. “My parents had an antique shop where they lived in Northern Ireland,” Morton explained to me. “They would come visit me in Scotland and spend all week trawling the antique shops here. In order to spend time with them, I would come with, and I started collecting.” Morton is fond of mixing mother-of-pearl, moonstones and other gems with found cameos, antique buttons and vintage glass. Everything is made by hand, sometimes taking weeks to complete, as the individual components are first set in silver and then soldered together into playful compositions, often set on a cross or dripping from an anchor piece. As we’re thinking more consciously about who and what we surround ourselves with right now, Morton is creating more than just a beautiful object but a sense of permanence amid the ephemeral world around her. Available July 10, grainnemorton.co.uk. From T’s Instagram The post The T List: Five Things We Recommend This Week appeared first on Shri Times.

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