Apr. 16th, 2017

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@walburgablack more on the concept of food, in WIPs, though– I found this chunk I wrote very very early on as I was creating the Kes Dameron character, and I had already come up with him turning to the Rebellion after having been mistaken for an operative by the Empire and having been interrogated by them and getting rescued and deciding to join the Rebellion for real– and this is Kes, freshly rescued, shaky and at loose ends, landing on Yavin IV for the first time and instantly feeling a profound connection to the place.

Kes was staring at the wild jumble of plants growing decoratively up the wall. One of the plants was very clearly a patapa vine. “Look at this,” he said shakily, as the pieces fell into place. “Look.” He reached out with one of his unsteady hands and caught the distinctive lobed leaf between his fingers, turning it, then traced his hand up the vine to where the blossoms were starting to set their little poisonous fruits. It was the root that was edible, when properly cured. It was a staple food, on Xicul, or had been, and it grew so poorly where they were now that they only really planted it to keep the line alive, carefully nursing it through too-cold winters with laborious intensity. He’d only tasted it on rare occasions, and only in small amounts, but he had been carefully taught how to prepare it so it wasn’t poisonous or bitter, the knowledge carefully kept for someday when they could find a place it grew.

Like here.
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““Eventually Bodhi stopped talking as the path grew narrower. Cassian saw the pilot stumble and noticed the stiffness in the man’s legs—the way he bent his knees as little as possible, more so the longer the hike went on. He noticed, too, the dark bruises and the raw, scraped flesh at the base of Bodhi’s neck. These were largely concealed by the collar of his flight suit, but the rain had tamped the suit down and left them more evident than before.
“How long did Saw Gerrera’s people hold you?” Cassian called.
Bodhi flinched but kept walking. “What?”
Cassian repeated his question.
“A few days, maybe,” Bodhi said, not looking back.
Cassian thought back to the rumpled pile of a man he had found in the catacombs, malnourished and battered and deranged with trauma. Less than a day later, the man leading him through the canyons of Eadu was transparently terrified and far too eager to chat; but he was also doing his damnedest to feign normalcy on what looked likely to be a suicide mission. He was even doing a decent job of it.
Cassian laughed. It was a brief, guttural sound that seemed drowned in the rain. Bodhi did look back now, surprised and a touch alarmed. “What?” he asked. “Nothing,” Cassian said. Then he added, blunt and almost humbled: “Must’ve been a hell of a few days.”
Bodhi smiled—just a twitch of his lips—for the first time since Cassian had known him.””
- Alexander Freed, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story
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icantbearsedtothinkofone:

Thank you, Riz Ahmed, for reminding me how much I like slightly hairy tummies on men.

It’s peeving how rarely I get my hands on one.

asdfasfasdfasdfsdfadfghh !!! i have been barely restraining myself from reposting every photo from that set that i find because !!! !!! !!!

I’m actually normally kind of baffled by posts like that where someone finds a physical characteristic of some actor and is like OMG [BODYPART] PORN but no I am completely there for those ones.

Something about the combo of the peekaboo with the shirt, and the fuzz of course, and then the curve of clearly-very-fit-but-not-obsessively-managed-by-a-trainer-at-this-instant normal-thin-person-abdomen is very compelling to me. The little crease, kind of below the hipbone but in the middle, where there’d be a fat roll if there was any fat, but there’s not, so the skin just kind of bends? SIGN ME TF UP. 

I am, however, extremely fortunate, because that’s the approximate topography of my very thin, intermittently fuzzy partner’s abdominal landscape, but he gets weirded out if I pay too much attention because he’s apparently convinced that I must be mocking him in some way. It’s just a belly, he says, jeez am i supposed to have a six-pack now, blah blah i’m trying to get dressed and live a normal life so on so forth hmph. 

Occasionally I do get a good zrrbrt in, though. Not to gloat. 

Also I will admit that I’m admiring the shirt Riz is wearing in that set and wondering if lace appliqué on chambray is too trendy for me to get away with wearing it. My dude wouldn’t be caught dead in anything other than plaid flannel or the free shirts you get at programming conferences so (that’s not fair, he mostly wears webcomics t-shirts from the late 00s and gives me the programming conference t-shirts).
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celebsofcolor:

Riz MC of the Swet Shop Boys performs at the Mojave Tent during day 2 of the Coachella Valley Music And Arts Festival (Weekend 1) at the Empire Polo Club on April 15, 2017 in Indio, California.
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walburgablack:

bomberqueen17:

@walburgablack more on the concept of food, in WIPs, though– I found this chunk I wrote very very early on as I was creating the Kes Dameron character, and I had already come up with him turning to the Rebellion after having been mistaken for an operative by the Empire and having been interrogated by them and getting rescued and deciding to join the Rebellion for real– and this is Kes, freshly rescued, shaky and at loose ends, landing on Yavin IV for the first time and instantly feeling a profound connection to the place.

Kes was staring at the wild jumble of plants growing decoratively up the wall. One of the plants was very clearly a patapa vine. “Look at this,” he said shakily, as the pieces fell into place. “Look.” He reached out with one of his unsteady hands and caught the distinctive lobed leaf between his fingers, turning it, then traced his hand up the vine to where the blossoms were starting to set their little poisonous fruits. It was the root that was edible, when properly cured. It was a staple food, on Xicul, or had been, and it grew so poorly where they were now that they only really planted it to keep the line alive, carefully nursing it through too-cold winters with laborious intensity. He’d only tasted it on rare occasions, and only in small amounts, but he had been carefully taught how to prepare it so it wasn’t poisonous or bitter, the knowledge carefully kept for someday when they could find a place it grew.

Like here.

Oh Kes, darling. I’m sorry so much of my commentary devolves into that, but but the way you bring characters into three-dimensional life does mostly make me feel very aware of them as people and sort of… elides your writing? Like, I can see you’re doing something lovely with the concept of roots and rootedness and living off your roots or preserving them when planted shallowly in hostile ground, and food-in and food-as-heritage, and all of it is grand craftsmanship and beautifully handled, but mostly I’m thinking <i>Oh Kes</i>, and wanting to give him a hug. <3

I mean, though– when writing I’m not usually thinking of those themes either. I wrote that passage the better part of a year ago but I do remember that I was trying to think of a way to make it clear right off the bat that Yavin IV was a place Kes would feel a deep connection to and want to come back to, and at first I had a throwaway line where he absently noticed that a tree looked like a familiar type, but I thought, no, I could be more specific, and so I decided to put in a more intimately-familiar plant, something he’d really have had a personal direct interest in, something domesticated (I thought of potatoes because I think the plants are very cool), and I fortunately remembered the detail well enough to include a line about that plant in the engagement feast part of the story when that finally came around, so I’ve set myself up to salvage that paragraph and include it in the next Lost Kings installment even though literally nothing else from that bit I wrote last July is in any way compatible with the new stuff I came up with post-Rogue One. 

I very much don’t want to be the kind of writer whose writing one notices, you know? I don’t want to present a checklist of themes for the reader, I want to present a series of connections that the reader can make themself as they go, and if I do it really well, sometimes they’re connections I didn’t actually notice myself putting in either. 

Not like, oh, writing is magical and I get all my direction from the characters in some kind of mystic process, but– there are some elements of it where it’s very deliberate and careful and refined and I do go back over and over looking for where I can put in better details, and then there are other elements where you have a general idea of how it could go and just kind of go for it and see what comes up. It’s not less-valid if authors come up with their themes and stuff beforehand and plan for them, it’s just not how I work, very well; stuff surprises me and I never quite go where I was aiming.

I want readers to mostly think oh no poor character let me love you, and not author, you are a wicked harpy.
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tinybuckylife:

You have been visited by the Easter Bucky
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jumpingjacktrash:

roachpatrol:

livingdeadpoetssociety:

grandenchanterfiona:

Why do my interests in canning, couponing, and homesteading overlap so often with blogs with titles like ‘The Obedient Housewife’? 

Like, I’m like, “I want to learn to make soap and farm,” and suddenly I see 500 “traditional family” motherfuckers like no you are mistaken. I am just a simple lesbian anticapitalist looking to limit my consumerism as much as possible.

‘these fun crafts will keep your kids occupied until your husband gets home!’ no i want a clothespin crown for me

“ladies, adorn your crafty country homestead with handmade quilts just like your grandmother!” my grandmother lived in downtown st paul and enjoyed gin fizzes and rhinestone cat clocks, also i’m a man, but thanks

This was why I wanted to make my Not-Racist Survivalist website. I can’t search around for sewing patterns or homesteading tips for more than about three clicks before I stumble onto basically the exact thing I want, but on a blog with Jesus all over the sidebar, and the dress in question modeled on three or five of the blogger’s twelve one-year-apart children (translation: i have no access to birth control and cannot keep my broke-ass husband off me for more than a couple of months after giving birth, in accordance of course with the Lord’s will), and like, five parenthetical asides about how of course for maximal modesty you would cut the pattern in this way or whatever, and the blog is called Thrifty Living For Christ’s Glory or some shit. 

ohhhh my god my actual Puritan ancestresses had better access to family planning than y’all but none of them left me their jam recipe so I have to do what I have to do.

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