#recorded excerpts

[o5-12]

Lethal protection + one of his kids?

"Claire, I need you to put the gun down."

The words fell quietly across the office, muffled lightly from beneath his hands tiredly raking across his face.

More then forty, less then fifty. He couldn't bare going on into the sixties.

"I'm just sitting here — unarmed at that — you can put the gun down."

He didn't suppose that it would serve much convincing. She was stubborn. She was always stubborn. If not a gun, then a knife. If not a knife, then her hands. The youngest child — the one with no qualms with gutting her father if it meant getting out of here with what she wanted.

When she spoke, it was harsh words that melted into each other. Even now, he paid no mind to what she was saying, hardly acknowledging the fact that she had opened her mouth in the first place. He didn't need to listen to them. All of them always spoke the same way.

It all sat still and quiet. Each and every instance of a quiet more-then-forty-and-less-then-fifty.

In the end, when he dragged his focus up and expectantly found her to still be aiming the barrel, all he did was take a quiet moment to reach to the side of his desk — slow enough to not cause her to pull the trigger — and slide a file out from the bottom of the stack.

Even when he slowly held it out for the youngest and gestured for her to take it, all she did was stare for a few quiet moments, holding the same flicker of confusion as he knew she would hold.

He had brought it out this morning long before the blare of the alarms.

Now, however; was hers.

Even as she left, fractionally faster then he would have expected but nothing less then what he preferred, he could almost hear the steps of the guards still approaching down the hall.

By the time they arrived, she would already be gone and another breach would be in toe, one that would lead to the freedom of his final remaining son and leave him as the final Bright within Foundation walls.

He was not opposed to that.

[hanzajesthanza]

regis casually suggesting they desecrate tir ná beá arainne, an ancient and sacred elven mausoleum, just because he wanted to see what was up inside

[dreamaze]

A collection of some of my favorite details in Minhyuk's vocal performances (studio & live) ♡

The Dreaming: all of this range but especially the gorgeous & fleeting lowest note One Day (No Limit Tour 2022 in Seoul): the one-note melody change in the final chorus (taking a higher note in the chord on 'I'm' — it's so good I'm devastated it's not in the studio version) Wildfire: the quick melisma on the 'in' of 'inside' thanks to a happy accident in the recording booth that became permanent Love Killa: all of this lovely melting tone in the bridge but especially the vibrato on the final note (we love thoughtful vibrato choices!) Beautiful Liar: the floating countermelody in the ending Rush Hour: that growl that only happens in certain performances Gambler: another (subtler) growl between 'calling me' that is unique to his interpretation (Kihyun doesn't do it in his earlier part) Gambler (It's Live, ft. Kihyun): because how could I not love him performing the upper harmony live with no backing track!

[badassindistress]

It's 20.18 and I'm very tempted to finish this dress, but instead I'm letting sense prevail and sewing on the sleeves and ruffle tomorrow.

[anambermusicbox]

Excerpt from 2024 人物 interview, found here:

For example, [while redoing the album] Qian Lei "forced" him to write a song. Qian Lei thought, this new album was extremely significant to him, so there should be a song Zhou Shen wrote himself. What's more, others have criticized him for not being able to compose. But Qian Lei knows he can---and quite well too. "It's not possible someone with strong emotions and a sensitive heart to not be able to write a good melody, it's completely not possible." Usually, Zhou Shen will hum out a melody and record it with his phone---sound engineer Xu Wei has listened to them and thought the melody lines were really good, and could absolutely be straightened out into an original song. But Zhou Shen always felt it wasn't good enough, and even said, to compose beside such a skilled composer like Lei-ge, it would be like an elementary schooler insisting on reciting their composition in front of a doctorate holder---so imprudent. His friends all know his personality---for a "master in self-deprication," being unduly humble was a daily occurrence. His old friend of ten years, lyricist 沃特艾文儿 said: "Not just composing---when I first met him, he even thought his singing was bad. It was so upsetting to me. I'm very relieved that he at least recognizes his singing ability now." Qian Lei has also listened to Zhou Shen's compositions before, and told him, isn't this pretty good? Zhou Shen said, don't mess with me. Qian Lei said, I'm serious, I'm not joking, it's quite good. Zhou Shen said, bye bye. Qian Lei said, bye bye yourself. Thus, when working on the new album, he would use every means possible to force him to write a song. One moment he would "hold a hammer behind him and get him to hurry up and write," the next moment he would set his mind at ease, saying "you don't have to overthink it, gradually the more you write the easier it will be. I'm here, so don't worry." This song was written at Qian Lei's home---once the first step of writing was taken, the rest went smoothly. Musically, Zhou Shen already had things in mind, and a few hours later, the main melody was basically set. Zhou Shen also participated a lot in writing the lyrics. He really liked the line "I can catch the flowers floating in the wind; I don't care whether I fall into the galaxy or into the mud." But "no matter how I sang it, it felt a little off, like it was missing something." He hummed it and hummed it, and out of nowhere added a soft, low, even a little "rude", "嘿，少管我," and "suddenly it came to life." Before, Zhou Shen had always wanted to write a song called "少管我." In his earlier years, he had randomly used these words in replies to fans, and in an interview where he talked about how his fans were never satisfied no matter what he changed his profile picture to, he ended up jokingly shouting "少管我, " and it then went viral. After that, Zhou Shen thought, as a singer, if one day I could turn "少管我" into a song, how interesting would that be. These past few years, he found a lot of people to compose its melody, but he always felt the melodies weren't quite what he wanted. The album that was cancelled also had a song in it named "少管我," but he still felt it wasn't quite right. Until now, it came to him like a "gift" from above. The first impression many people get from these three words is more or less rigid, sharp, harsh, stubborn, and capricious. But to Zhou Shen, a rebellious attitude is easy but truly knowing yourself is a long journey. "It's not necessarily about rebelling against the whole world, but you have to clearly know what version of yourself you want to be, and only then can you become yourself."

The day of the interview at an art park in Tongzhou, Beijing, the sky darkened a little. Zhou Shen took out his cell phone and played the unmixed recording of "少管我." The melody was light, "like travelling, very free." He shook his head to beat, and listened to the song he had listened to countless times one more time. "When I was writing this song and its lyrics, I didn't have "少管我" in mind, but in the end it became the "少管我" that I wanted." Moments like these, sparks flying, you think, "that’s right"---that's the biggest joy in making an album.

[gingerquakes]

My heart is constantly on the run.

I've loved and loved but that love has never been blessed on me.

And when I look in the mirror I always see a stranger staring back.

I don't know that I've ever heard the words "I love you" and believed it.

Eventually everyone leaves. Usually by choice but sometimes indirectly.

I used to believe if you hoped hard enough love would find it's way to you.

But I've learned that people are tricky and

Forever is just for a while.

And maybe one day my views will change and I'll be made a believer.

But one day may never arrive and I've come to terms with that.

Instead I'm going to fall for that stranger in the mirror and pray that I am enough.

Because my heart is constantly on the run and there's no looking back.

[queerasian]

jeremy strong (2012) as jamie in the great god pan by amy herzog at playwrights horizons

[justawrites]

going away for the weekend and I am clawing at my google docs i want to stay up and write

well here's a preview of what I'm currently working on

[boydykepdf]

hello beloved mutuals...who wants 2 listen 2 my old song abt vita sackville-west & virginia woolf...

[fideidefenswhore]

Had circumstances been just a little different, Anne Boleyn might still have lived. Had she produced a son, Jane would have been a passing distraction, Anne's enemies would have been silenced, and her fiery character might again have seemed, at least at times, beguiling to Henry. During the course of their brief marriage, which lasted just over three years, there had been many fluctuations. After the final miscarriage, Anne fought back, saying she had been frightened by Henry's accident, but also broken-hearted at his paying attention to another woman. This kind of criticism was not something Henry was prepared to tolerate in a wife; one of Katherine's strengths, as she herself acknowledged, was that she had never shown any sign of animosity or distress in response to the king's infidelities. Henry and Anne's relationship had been a genuine love-match, however, and the volatility which helped bring about the extraordinary events of the break with Rome remained a part of their relationship ever after.

Henry VIII, Lucy Wooding

[o5-12]

Adam’s stream is on. The same one that he had been neglecting actually speaking to for a few days now despite the subtle pain resting sharply in his shoulder every time he moved to slowly type away on the loud keyboard.

—Such as now.

He had been quietly working for some time now. Occasionally typing, sometimes clicking things, much more often shuffling papers and gently scratching words down.

…—Then he stills.

It’s not uncommon for him to go quiet on the streams. It’s not uncommon for him to seem to go a few minutes without as much as shuffling a paper — most often having been simply rereading something he had become stuck on a few times before moving on.

Not this time though.

After a few long minutes of silence on his part, his breath sharpens for a brief moment, lasting for a couple more seconds as if caught off guard before the papers can be heard quickly being shuffled back together.

Very quickly after, he can be heard just barely beginning to mumble something to himself — his tone faintly off from the usual irritation underlying his quiet ramblings — just as a couple of clicks are heard and the stream goes silent.

x

[soul-struck]

life feel so. spinny sometimes. everything is always spinning, weaving, like we're all threads tied on a loom that god operates. one of those ancient, old-timey ones, in which all you can hear is the creaking of the wood as it goes forward, back, forward, back. rhythm of the world, of our lives. we go to work, we come back. we travel to another city, we come back. we retrace our steps to find what we lost. we always end up right back where we started, no matter how hard we try to move foward.

you can't see the individual pixels that make up these words in front of you, just like how we can't see the fact that we are all torn, cloth-like, unfinished things hanging off a loom that god operates when she desires. is death when we're finally completed, a tapestry of colours and memories and life hung up on an elaborate, endless wall in god's bedroom for her sheer entertainment?

a thread. a memory. an experience. they're all the same. they're all a little, one-millionth fraction of who you are. i try to think of that, sometimes, of how "who we are" is impossible to calculate by even a supercomputer. you can't count all the fractions of you. we live in these bodies so sure of ourselves and who we are because if we think too hard the incredulity of our existence is far too much to bear.

[officialauthorofanotherworld]

random excerpts - #1

It occurred to me that if getting exposure for my book is my goal, then posting some excerpts from it might be beneficial. With that said, here is a bit of the very first chapter.

Chapter One

Taka screamed in terror, and shot up in his bed. His heart drummed in his chest at a rapid pace for what felt like an eternity before it finally settled down. Beads of sweat formed upon his forehead as his eyes flitted around the dim room. Everything was as he’d left it—door closed, his things atop a medium-sized, rectangular storage chest in the corner...

“Hah..”

Breathing a sigh of relief, he reluctantly slid out of bed, recoiling slightly at the cold touch of the floor on the bottoms of his feet. It was moments like these that made him wish he knew even a few spells. The entire room seemed to creak loudly as it lurched to one side, the ship rocked by the violent waves. Steadying himself, he rubbed his eyes and yawned.

" ’Smooth ride’, huh?”

When the ship finally leveled out and Taka felt he could move about safely again, he did so, heading over to the lockbox in the corner and kneeling down by it. He pulled his comfortably worn dark leather boots off the box and onto the floor, then slid them on one by one. Then, he attached his pouches to his belt, and stretched the remaining dredges of sleep from his body.

Afterward, he headed over to the small mirror that sat atop a dresser alongside the leftmost wall.

In the mirror now, was himself. In this lightless room, he could just make out his defining features; a sharp nose, and roughly chin-length deep brown hair complimented by his hazel eyes and pale skin.

It cornered his face which gave him an almost wolf-like, mischievous appearance.

“My hair's a mess…”

Grumbling, he spent a few minutes combing through it with his fingers and wishing he’d brought a comb.

When his hair had been made somewhat acceptable, he adjusted his scarf, then nodded.

“That seems good enough. Okay… Already dressed, so…”

He had on a black long-sleeved top and pants which both had dark-brown accents. His top had no left sleeve, and the remaining sleeve was a slightly lighter shade of brown than his hair was. Making his final adjustments, Taka turned from the mirror, and returned to the lockbox.

“Almost forgot.”

He muttered, bending down to grab his short bow and quiver from atop it. Slinging the bow around his shoulder and tying the quiver to his waist just above his pouches, he gave a final nod.

“Right.”

One last time, Taka scanned the dimly lit room. He didn’t want to leave anything behind. When he was content, secure in the fact that he had indeed not forgotten anything, he left the room behind and found himself in the bottom halls of the ship. Yet, this was not his destination, so he headed quietly through the bottom levels, guided under the gentle, orange light of the lanterns affixed to the walls, until he reached a door. Beyond this door was the ship’s kitchen. At the moment, there was no designated ship chef, as the vessel captain, Dane, tended to come down here himself to make meals. But, all of their food was stored in this room, and Taka had been given permission to eat whatever, whenever he liked. He entered, quickly grabbed an apple, then quietly left. Taking a deep breath to calm his rising nerves, he traversed through the halls as slowly as he could, until he finally came to a wooden staircase. Heading up it, wincing with every creak, he found himself on the upper deck. The sky was still dark, but it felt as if he could see better. There was a slight chill in the air, tinged with the scent of the sea. Taka breathed a sigh of relief, which turned into a massive yawn. As far as he knew, he hadn’t woken anyone up.

“Sun should be rising soon,” He murmured to himself, leaning against the taffrail and looking out across the vast blue ocean as he took a bite of the apple he’d procured. He’d always liked apples, and fruit in general.

‘One of nature’s best things,’ if he said so himself.

Idly, he tossed the apple into the air, and then felt himself jolted to the side – “Aah!” -- as the ship rocked against a massive wave that sent seafoam and seawater spraying everywhere. The wave crashed and broke, finally rescinding back into the sea, its anger having passed.

 “Great.”

Taka sighed. He’d lost the apple.

Normally, he would have just gone and grabbed another one, but he didn’t want to risk waking anyone up, nor did he want to overstep, and take too much.

'Then Dane might make me give him some of the money he gave me back, and I don’t really want that to happen.’

Looking out across the great blue, its color becoming more vivid as the sun slowly rose, Taka turned to his thoughts for a while. He was no stranger to sea travel and the whims of the sea and of ships, thanks to Dane who’d taken him on countless trips over the years. Yet, he still felt a tinge of annoyance.

“It’ll likely be a gentle ride.” Those words rolled over in his head several times.

‘Yeah, right. ‘Gentle’, huh?’

Suddenly, another thought struck Taka, and distracted him.

“Hmm,” He hummed.

“How long have we been at sea?”

He had no earthly idea. Weeks? Definitely less than a month. Perhaps this one had taken longer since Dane had opted to visit all the major ports that ran along the Advent Route this time around. Normally, he wouldn’t have been allowed to do that, but due to several unforeseen issues, the other ships running the Advent Route this time had been severely delayed. So, Dane was being allowed to pick up their slack. Despite being an independent contractor who ran his own business, even Dane had people he answered to. He couldn’t just do whatever he wanted.

Taka could guess what the problem had been, anyway. As Summer reached its end, the sea itself would, independent to the temperature of the world around it, begin to get colder and colder, until it became so cold that everything living in it would enter a state of hibernation to protect themselves. It would reach it’s “peak” when Winter rolled around, and then sea-travel would be at its annual safest. Traveling by sea during the Advent month and onward was safe, but you could still definitely run into trouble if you were unlucky. Summer was ending and ushering in Winter, slowly but surely, but the rain had not yet turned to snow, and the monsters living in the sea had not yet begun their long sleep.

Advent Month. Advent Sea Route. Things established to make the “advent of new adventurers” as easy, organized, and accessible as possible. The month was a sort of holiday organized by the Kommodian Government, the only difference between it and a “normal” holiday was that participation was not an option. Whether you liked it or not, swarms of adventurers would sign up at guilds. Like it or not, Leln would be very busy. And like it or not, you’d have a lot of work if you agreed to run the Advent Route, as a captain. Of course, lots of work meant lots of rest after, but come to think of it, Taka had never seen Dane take so much as a day off. Maybe a half day. He was quite the workaholic, now that he thought about it. The Advent Route itself was a route stemming from every major Kommodian port, trailing down the neighboring oceans, along a carefully curated path the result of years of research and trial and error. Depending on the port, you’d typically be taken to either the leftmost meeting point, which was rather mountainous and hilly, or the rightmost one, alongside the Leln coast.

‘Adventurers, huh..’ Taka had just turned fifteen himself, not too long ago. That was the age the Kommodian government formally recognized an individual as an adult—and the earliest age the Guild would accept you as one of their own. Over the course of the last month, they’d picked up countless adventurers and merchants alike, all seeking passage to the bustling town of Leln. A full circle around the Kommodian continent should have, by rights, taken them months to complete, but this ship – which the captain had modified himself – was special. Voyages that should have taken months could take weeks, ones that should take years only months. With this ship, Dane had made quite a sizable amount of coin, being able to complete more than double the amount of work a normal captain would normally within the timeframe of a year. Due to Dane’s intense work ethic, he quickly found himself one of the most sought-after ship captains in the world. Indeed, there were many who’d in this world who would pay lavish amounts of gold just to have him captain their ship, and some would pay even more for him to simply be part of their crew. To put it bluntly, he was something of a celebrity in the seafaring world.

“Oh!” Taka exclaimed. “I can see it!”

Finally, the coastline had come into view. It was a far away sight, and by his wager they wouldn’t be there until the sun had peaked in the sky, but he could finally see it! Land! Their destination was inching closer before his eyes!

When they finally laid anchor and docked on the Central Coastline, they’d be halfway there! There, the merchants and adventurers would part ways and take carriages the remainder of the way to Leln, which would take about a day and a half if things went smoothly.

Not every ship combined merchant and adventurer both. Dane’s was certainly unique in that regard. The reason most ships didn’t mix merchants and adventurers, was simply for the fact that most ship captains had never been adventurers themselves. Dane was an ex-adventurer, and so he knew the commonly held “merchant stigma” of: “Adventurers are all savage beasts who’ll rob and rape at any opportunity!” was entirely false. Sure, there were some adventurers who weren’t really good people, and there were certainly adventurers who used their job to do bad things, but they were a minority. The majority of adventurers were good people. So, Dane reasoned, mixing merchant and adventurer is no problem. Because in reality, there was no problem. The chance you, as a merchant, got attacked by an adventurer on a ship, was about the same as your chance of being randomly attacked by an adventurer in a town. Very, very low. Exceedingly so. Sure, you’d occasionally hear the disheartening case of some awful crime occurring, orchestrated by some nutcase who happened to be registered as an adventurer, but those were far and few between.

Taka shook his head to clear his thoughts. He was a bit nervous, so his thoughts were running wild. Taking a deep breath, he shifted his pose and re-laid his hands over the railing before him. He’d been staring into empty space, but now he found himself gazing beyond the sea, towards his destination. The sun had finally begun to clear the horizon, casting a beautiful orange glow on the waters ahead. The sky was like a painting, a myriad of colors composed of purples and blacks, oranges, and dark reds. As the sun rose higher and higher still, the last remnants of the stars overhead began to fade in the presence of the dawn of a new day. With this wondrous sight before him, he was truly thankful he’d woken up so early. There were a few other people on the deck now, an older-looking man and a younger one who was currently vomiting over the siderail, but nobody so far had engaged him in conversation. With a subtle smile, Taka took a small comfort in that solitude. But even still, he considered going over to him and doing something. Like asking if he was okay. But he quickly decided against it; the thought alone made him extremely nervous.

‘I guess it’s probably better if we all leave each other alone. I mean, I hope that vomiting guy is ok. But I don’t know. Should I talk to him? Should I not? It’s obviously easier to sit here and… It doesn’t really matter, why don’t you just chill out? Obviously, I’m nervous. Today’s a really big day, lots of stuff happening, so I’m obviously nervous. But chill out, alright Taka? Chill out. No worries. No problem. It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things if I talk to that guy or not. Here’s a question. Do you want to talk to him? Do you? If so, why don’t you? If you don’t, then don’t. But it’s okay, don’t worry about the right or wrong answer. As far as I know, there isn’t one here. I mean, yeah, I hope he’s okay. But also, I’m nervous to talk to him. He’s a random guy. How would I react if, well I guess it depends. Right? If they were nice or mean. If I was vomiting and…’

Silence punctuated by his rambling thoughts and the sickening sounds of vomiting filled the air. Taka looked away and turned his eyes back to the seemingly endless ocean before him. Eventually, the sun reached its peak in the sky, and by that time the coast was more than just a distant sight—it was directly before them. They had arrived! Pulling into the dock, the ship creaked and cried as the anchor dropped, rocking unsteadily for a few moments before gradually smoothing out. Now that he could see it up close, it was almost unremarkable. A vast clearing spread outward, marred by the coastline sand, several pieces of foliage, and a well-trodden dirt path which split out in several directions. Cornering the clearing was a massive forest that Taka couldn’t even begin to see the end of. Lastly, in the center of this plain were a few small buildings, and several carriages awaiting their cargo—the adventurers.

Then, as if it were being projected directly into his head, he heard a familiar voice say:  "Attention, all travelerssssss. Thisss is your captain ssspeaking. We have reached the Eassst Leln Coassstline. I repeat, we have reached the Eassst Leln Coassstline. All passsssengers, please prepare to disssembark. Thank you for ssssailing on the Marvelad."

END OF EXCERPT

thanks for reading if you did :) comments are more than welcome. i'll post more if i can think of any more that im happy with.

also, please remember that my book isn't entirely finished-- some of this may change when its fully complete! :D

[lotus-tower]

"Indeed, racial health disparities have been maintained over time in ways that make white health dependent on people of color being, inversely, unwell. For example, in the nineteenth century, the "father of gynecology," James Marion Sims, experimented upon enslaved Black women (without anesthesia) to develop the cesarean section, which improved birthing for white people (even as high rates of Black maternal mortality persist to this day). During the yellow fever plague of the mid-nineteenth century, as historian Kathryn Olivarius has written, immigrants actively tried to get the disease so that if they survived, they'd be immune and thus employable; meanwhile, Black "enslaved people who'd acquired immunity increased their monetary value to their owners by up to 50 percent. In essence, black people's immunity became white people's capital."

--The Viral Underclass, p.30-31

[gingerquakes]

In the puddles of rain pooled at my feet 

I looked to the sky and screamed

The rage boomed off the clouds 

The thunder clashed, the lightening screeched

Flash, the droplets dribbled down my cheeks.

"HOW COULD YOU" I raged 

I collapsed from exhaustion to my knees.

"You've taken enough" I whispered. 

The stormed furied on, washed over me. 

I drowned a version of myself. 

This. Heavy. Inconsolable. Grief. 

[queenlucythevaliant]

On one side of the gallery above stood the men sentenced to penal servitude in Siberia, who had been let into the church before the others. Each of them had half his head shaved, and their presence was indicated by the clanking of the chains on their feet. On the other side of the gallery stood those in preliminary confinement, without chains, their heads not shaved.

The prison church had been rebuilt and ornamented by a rich merchant, who spent several tens of thousands of roubles on it, and it glittered with gay colours and gold. For a time there was silence in the church, and only coughing, blowing of noses, the crying of babies, and now and then the rattling of chains, was heard. [...]

The priest, having dressed in a strange and very inconvenient garb, made of gold cloth, cut and arranged little bits of bread on a saucer, and then put them into a cup with wine, repeating at the same time different names and prayers. Meanwhile the deacon first read Slavonic prayers, difficult to understand in themselves, and rendered still more incomprehensible by being read very fast, and then sang them turn and turn about with the convicts. The contents of the prayers were chiefly the desire for the welfare of the Emperor and his family. These petitions were repeated many times, separately and together with other prayers, the people kneeling. Besides this, several verses from the Acts of the Apostles were read by the deacon in a peculiarly strained voice, which made it impossible to understand what he read [...]

No one present seemed conscious that all that was going on here was the greatest blasphemy and a supreme mockery of that same Christ in whose name it was being done. No one seemed to realise that the gilt cross with the enamel medallions at the ends, which the priest held out to the people to be kissed, was nothing but the emblem of that gallows on which Christ had been executed for denouncing just what was going on here. That these priests, who imagined they were eating and drinking the body and blood of Christ in the form of bread and wine, did in reality eat and drink His flesh and His blood, but not as wine and bits of bread, but by ensnaring “these little ones” with whom He identified Himself, by depriving them of the greatest blessings and submitting them to most cruel torments, and by hiding from men the tidings of great joy which He had brought. That thought did not enter into the mind of any one present.

From Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy