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evergreen-lyricist · 2 years

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Hawk, ask game

hi myth!! thank u so much for asking😊

fair warning some of this will be presented sans context bc i am Sleepy & spoonless.

Full Name: Hawk Johnson (*middle name undetermined)

Gender & Sexuality: cis guy, unconcerned about sexuality given the givens (currently has bigger worries)

Pronouns: he/him

Ethnicity: Korean (adopted by white parents; not culturally immersed)

Birthdate: April 19

Guilty Pleasure: watching the stupidest kdramas he can find & passing it off as "an important part of language acquisition"

Phobia: probably thasolophobia (however it's spelled) which is fear of the deep ocean & what might be in it

What They Would Be Famous For: in-world, it's entirely possible that Hawk would be kind of Known within the Draconic community & supporters bc of his relationship with Attemoon. it's rare enough for humans & Draconic humans to be together, let alone have kids, that they would get a decent amount of publicity regardless of how quiet they decided to keep it. (he is insistent that they keep Luna's face out of it though.)

What They Would Get Arrested For: honestly?? he probably wouldn't get arrested. i can't think of a situation he could get into that could lead to that.

OC I Ship Them With: Attemoon!! they are amazing together & he loves her sooo much😊

OC Most Likely To Murder Them: no one!!

Favorite Movie/Book Genre: a toss-up between action/adventure & romance

Least Favorite Cliche: definitely the possessive love interest

Talents/Powers: Hawk is pretty much a normal dude, but I'd say his big heart is pretty important in the narrative

Why Someone Might Love Them: Hawk has a very beautiful & distinctive smile. there are a lot of reasons someone might love him, but that's one thing that Attemoon loves about him in particular; his real smile is like a sunbeam breaking through the clouds.

Why Someone Might Hate Them: in-world, some people are going to hate him because of his relationship with Attemoon & everything that comes with that. out of world, there is no reason for anyone to hate him & I'd be very upset if anybody did.

How They Change: Hawk is kind of a passive person. not all the time, but especially at the beginning he definitely lets life lead him where it may. this is partly a cultivated part of his persona & partly the result of some emotional issues. over time, Hawk gets better at being assertive & speaking up for himself, instead of deflecting.

Why You Love Them: gosh. I love Hawk for a lot of reasons, but the one that sticks out to me is that writing him allows me to heal some things that he struggles with that also hurt me. like, Hawk & I are both Korean &, for one reason or another, culturally disconnected & feel inadequate because of that (holy oversharing Batman). in that sense, we can walk together & heal those wounds together.

#ev speaks #answering letters #myth my beloved....#cannot stop thinking about the scene where Magsie goes to get Hawk from his dorm bc Attemoon kind of really needs to talk with him!!#& also she's worries bc he is not responding to her messages & calls!!#Magsie finds him & his room is a grade A depression cave. like 'aled last when frances finds him at uni & he fuckin sonics away' type cave #& he tells her that the financial aid office told him his parents stopped paying for his tuition & he just told them he was working it out #spoiler: he was not. his parents cut him off financially bc they r upset with him for being friends with Attemoon #(they are dating but Hawk's shitty parents don't need to know that)#& Magsie is just. aghast. she takes him back to the house & tells Attemoon can she please hold this conversation tomorrow & is like.#'Hawk ur parents are shit & i can be your new mom' & he's like 'more like mother-in-law (gettit bc im dating ur daughter)'#& this is around the middle of the book so the storm ain't over yet. but things go vaguely uphill from there.#is it really found family if u found it through romance?? Hawk asks the important questions

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xzbat-loverzx · 1 year

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A S5 Nexo Knights writing blurb with a lot of angst and LavaJest? Perhaps 😏

Lavaria wanted to look a way. She couldn’t. She. Just Couldn’t. The other lava monsters gawked and huddled together as their companion stood face-to-face with their former leader, or, what was left of him…

Jestro’s body trembled with pain, just barely keeping his balance. Everything HURT, but he still wore a smile. His eyes were just lost in Lavaria’s, he missed how her eyes looked like deep pools of liquid gold. He wanted to just float in the mindlessly forever, even if they were wide with terror. A sharp pain clenched his the back of his neck, breaking his trance and making his hands fly up to brace the painful cramp. He fell to one knee and his head dipped down. Some individuals in the crowd of magma monsters collectively gasped. Lavaria quickly took to his side as he winced in pain. She didn’t know what to do, she didn’t even know what happened. She put a hand to Jestro’s chest and her other to his back, rubbing circles up and down his spine. Usually one would obviously feel as if their skin was burning of a lava monster even poked them, but to Jestro the touch felt sickly sweet to him. It felt just like that comforting feeling of wrapping up in multiple blankets next to a fireplace after spending more than two uncomfortable hours in the freezing cold. His breathing slowed as he let out a sigh of relief. Lavaria’s hand hand made its way up to his chin and carefully studied his face. Jestro’s body looks like it was mauled by a living scrapyard, metal plates roosting in different parts of his body, lined with tiny bloodstains. She heavily focused on one part of Jestro’s face, where one of his eyes was covered by one of the metal plates and a glass eye that it cradled. The eye was pitched black, probably not working at the moment. She breathed in to speak, but, she couldn’t grasp the words. Jestro knew what she was going to ask. The best thing he could do in the moment was slowly raised a quaking, pointed finger to his face, crack another week smile, and say…

“I messed up… bad… a-again. . .”

He fell forward into Lavaria’s chest, feeling half-asleep. In a panic Lavaria clutched his head as molten tears started running down her face. She turned her head to face the other monsters. “M-Magsy!” She shouted. Magmar made his way to the front of the crowd. Lavaria’s mind searched for a request as her friend just stared fearfully at the royal jester. “G-et the knights, WE NEED TO GET THE KNIGHTS!!” She pleaded. Magmar nodded his head and turned to face the crowd, handing out orders. Lavaria hugged Jestro’s head tightly in her in her chest. He lightly slithered his arms around her waist.

He knew he was in trouble, for one reason or another.

But he didn’t want the knights’ help this time.

He just wanted to just lie there, with Lavaria, so he didn’t have to worry about running from everything anymore.

#Wrote all of this last nigh and then made corrections this morning LOL #angst go BRRRRRRR #nexo knights #lego nexo knights #jestro #nexo knights jestro #nexo knights lavaria #lavaria #lavajest #Jestro x Lavaria #Lavaria x Jestro

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hashirun · 9 months

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Beau asked me, "So anong objective natin dito" and I answered "Sa mismong race ko pa malalaman" and he said, "No, I mean bakit tayo nandito" and I said "Ah, magsi-cr ako."

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mariammagsi · 5 months

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Christmas in Pakistan

Image: Annual traditions of decorating and lighting up the Christmas tree at our family's residence in Karachi, Pakistan. © Mariam Magsi

As an immigrant from Pakistan who has called Canada home for 18 years, whenever the winter holidays come around, I am often asked the following question: Do you celebrate Christmas in Pakistan?

While some folks approach these topics through a lens of othering, others are genuinely curious to know more about my motherland and the kinds of holidays and festivities we celebrate. Despite a rising influx of influencers and white tourists flocking to various provinces of Pakistan, and with a breadth of material available online, for the most part, a lot of folks have no knowledge about the existence of non-Muslim communities in Pakistan, such as Hindu, Christian and Zoroastrian Pakistanis and how their respective religious vernacular has evolved in the region, impacted and shaped by several socio-political and cultural factors.

I must also preface this blog piece by stating, that while there are some communities, clans and families practicing pluralism and religious/cultural diversity in Pakistan, religious minorities continue to face oppression and marginalization by intolerant and hegemonic right-wing forces. I received a firsthand glimpse into this rising intolerance, when several members of my Pakistani community reached out at the end of last year to say that “Muslims should not say Merry Christmas to Christians as it is haram” (unlawful or forbidden). Because I was raised in a pluralistic household, I reject the creation of insular, exclusionary, rigid and polar worlds.

Image: One of Asia's largest bulletproof crosses, towering over Karachi's only operational Christian cemetery known as Gora Qabristan or "White man's graveyard." © Mariam Magsi

I had the unique privilege of being raised by a Punjabi mother is Punjabi and a Baloch father. They originate from entirely different provincial and cultural backgrounds, and fought very hard to transcend ethnic segregation, race and class to be together, despite several barriers. They struggled with lack of support and financial challenges, and several of their family members were vocally against their Baloch Punjabi union. Still, they persisted, and persevered. Within our home, our caregivers consisted of people from every religious background imaginable, including Hindu and Christian. As the years went by and our family grew, people from the Philippines, Bangladesh and Afghanistan also joined our home. Elders from my paternal Baloch Magsi clan also became important life guides and lived in our house with us. I was offered a healthy, robust exposure to multiple generations and their unique ways of worshiping, eating, dressing and living within the same household.

Image: My mother, siblings and I traveling through Jhal Magsi, Balochistan, the Philippines and Karachi, Pakistan with our diverse caregivers and family members. © Magsi Family Archives

My siblings and I were enrolled in a Catholic convent school nestled within a British education system. Celebrating Christmas in school was as natural as celebrating Eid. My parents shared close ties with the local and foreign Christian nuns who ran the establishment and had also forged friendships with priests in the clergy. To further illustrate this closeness, one of my sisters was even christened in the chapel at the school. There was a seamless integration of Islam with Christianity, and there was nothing abnormal about it. One could be rooted in their faith of birth, and fluid with faith-based practices. This helped us develop a flexible understanding of faith-based practices and how they are not static, but constantly evolving through contact with environmental influences and encounters.

Image: Filling out festive greeting cards to be snail mailed to my loved ones. © Mariam Magsi

The days leading up to Christmas were filled with so much excitement. A fresh stack of greeting cards was placed in front of us on the night of Christmas eve, and by the next morning the cards were filled with warm wishes in our writing, ready to be given out with gift packages to all of our loved ones. I remember visiting the local bakery to order fresh, creamy, soft-sponge cakes, crispy chicken patties and marzipans. Then we’d go to the bazaar with our mother to pick out colourful fruit baskets, festive ornaments and a Christmas tree. One year we even found fake snow that came in a can and erupted like silly string. We wore new and sparkly clothes, just like we did on Eid holidays, and made our way to St. Anthony’s church for Christmas mass with our Christian caregivers. We’d sing along with all the hymns, walk up to the priests to get communion, and then zip back around using holy water to cross ourselves. There was nothing odd or other worldly about it. I remember looking around at the congregation and noticing that there were so many people in skirts and dresses in one setting in Pakistan. The sounds of heels clicking away on the glossy floors would echo against the stained glass windows. Women would reach into their glittering, sequined purses and pull out hand-held fans to cool their sweaty brows, while using wrinkled tissue paper to blot their melting, crimson lipstick. After Christmas mass, my siblings, caregivers and I would pile up into our pick-up truck and head straight to school to wish the nuns, and distribute gifts to the clergy.

Image: A letter from our Christian Pakistani family friends, Ms Theresa and Uncle Gaspar dated November 25th, 1994. This was the first letter they mailed over to our family after their migration to Canada. © Magsi Family Archives

Late Christmas nights were usually spent with family friends Uncle Gaspar and Ms. Theresa in their apartment. The elders gathered around bottles of secretly imported brandy, rum and wine, while us kids dashed to the dessert table ornamented with some of the world’s finest homemade toffee, fudge and cakes made by Ms.Theresa, who was not only my educator, but also very close with my mother. Today, like most other Christian people in our networks, many families have migrated to Canada, UK and USA for higher income opportunities, safety and religious freedom. Many of these migrations began in the 90s and year after year, our festive celebrations and get-togethers grew smaller with more and more Christian Pakistanis leaving the country on a permanent basis.

One of my closest paternal aunts is American with Nicaraguan roots. When she arrived in Pakistan from the USA to join our family, she brought with her many American holiday traditions that became the norm in our homes over Christmas time. Every December, Chachi (paternal aunt) Carmen opened her doors to all of the family’s children for tree decoration traditions, stuffed turkey with mashed potatoes and merrymaking.

Chinese and Pinoy foods were also a regular feature on our festive dinner tables. Our primary caregiver, Ate (older sister) Flordeliza Sauza introduced us to many foods from her motherland, such as, Pancit, Chicken Adobo and Siopao, which we greatly enjoyed especially over festive, winter holidays. Though Ate Liza, as we lovingly know her, identifies as Catholic, she seamlessly adopted many Muslim faith-based practices as well. She not only prayed with us on Fridays, but she also participated in Zikr (meditative chanting of the 99 names of Allah in Arabic). On Sundays, we went to church with her.

Image: Lighting candles at an Orthodox monastery in Milton, Ontario in memory of our deceased loved ones. © Mariam Magsi

After my marriage to a person from the Balkans, my own awareness and knowledge about Christmas has expanded. After all, we were primarily exposed to Catholicism in Pakistan. Though my husband converted to Islam and now identifies as Muslim, he was born in an Orthodox Christian family, and we have chosen to carry on many of the beautiful Christmas and Easter traditions he was raised with. January 7th is Orthodox Christmas. We usually start the day by making a trip to the monastery and light candles for our deceased loved ones in honour of their memory. Traditionally, on Orthodox Christmas eve, people place “badnjak” (oak tree branches) into a fire, but because this isn’t possible in urban households, a community center or monastery is usually designated for the ritual. Of the many food traditions I have observed and adopted from my beloved’s mother, one of my favourites is hiding coins, cloves and other items in bread to signify luck, wealth and health. The bread is baked fresh, and the entire family comes around the dinner table to break into it. Everyone receives a portion of the bread, usually with a symbolic item hidden inside that will signify the trajectory of the year pertaining to health and good fortune.

Image: My beloved, Gordan Sumanski and I, celebrating Catholic and Orthodox Christmas in our home in Toronto. © Mariam Magsi

Holidays Mubarak! Merry Christmas!

Image: Allah engraved in Arabic on wood, an Orthodox crucifix rosary from Egypt and a Turkish evil eye installed on the entrance wall of our home in Toronto. © Mariam Magsi

#christmas #holidays #islam #christianity #pluralism #canada #pakistan #serbia #lovestories #family #tolerance #love

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equivocaleternity · 1 year

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WIP ask game

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descript or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

scars

lugnodelocity

baby vash stampede

batb au

baby vash 98

ADOPT THE TINY ONE

healing is a good thing (isn’t it?)

title??? (swerve magnus drinks fic)

swhirl gladiators

swerve tailgate swap

star trek crossover :)

mtmte/regen one crossover

starscream bumblebee something

possession (do back flips)

swerve beats executive dysfunction and completes a task after three thousand years

starscream on the lost light

rewind is a PROFESSIONAL and he cannot let this stand

chillllllllllllchack

minimhirl

tfp

i want to connect 6

velocity swerve

something

m. swerve cyclonus

handfasting

physical therapy (very physical)

titan au?

cognition bomb

time tripping

uh oh shadow weaver

trial

three’s company

just shove him behind the door it’ll be fine

Voted Ship’s Favorite Medic One Year Running

idw starscream in tfp…two!! (now with more cliffjumper, i guess)

nightmare scenario

trio time

tiiiiime travel (life is just one big game and now i’ve got the cheat codes, suckers)

“Starscream apotheosis” is a stupid name

a funny thing happened on the way from hedonia

what it means to know someone

tattletale

bad day (or two, or three, or)

fascination

aftermath

fungus

Cycles

MTO MTO MYO

magsy

stiff-necked

june

idiots <3

brainstorm also lives (oh, what a thing is revenge)

regen one

A little blackmail between soon-to-be coworkers

mto

screamfire in pacific rim what havok will they cause

mecha starscream

amica

the life and times of orion pax

rescue mission 3

mto

pharmaaaa

fades away 2

their melodies reborn in a thousand permutations

pharma

spark

immortalityyyyy

disabled king

ghosty

dominus is dead (very sad)

starscream’s offputting

starrrrrscream (and bumblebee)

regrettable decisions

arranged marriage

starscream on the lost light…2! (now with more bumblebee)

telepath minimus

transformation sequence

curse

amnesia

sprinklor

rodimags meetcute

drinking buddies

Untitled Document

smokescreen

what’s a little partial dismemberment between friends

autobot starscream

Untitled Document

Broadcast Dreaming

more tfa mins

spark damage

nemesis/soulmate

more pharma

Untitled Document

nautica forgotica

brainstorm

try one, try two

lord brainstorm

pharma did it! yay…

time travel gone wrong again

are ghosts visible in mirrors?

awkward

ultra magnuuuuus

quark time

sit back, relax (listen to the music)

double ghost combo

titan starscream

robozeni chapter 2

cat martin

neurodiversity in etheria

martin blackwood, accidental almost-murderer

spider martin part 2.0

#all of them…oh boy #a bunch of these—most? maybe?—i do not plan on doing anything with #but i included them to stay true to the spirit of the game nd also bc it’s still fun to talk abt fics even if u don’t plan on finishing them #why did i stay up so late making this post until waiting until morning #the world may never know #and then i waited until morning to post it…#uh.#long post #ask game #ask game prompts

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psycholojosh · 2 years

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The Unwritten Part of Clinical Psych Training

Almost over two months ago, I went out spontaneously with my two good friends in MA - Mikka (she/her) and Magsi (he/him). We drove up to Antipolo one night and ate dinner with booze at Padi's Point while enjoying the lovely view overlooking Metro Manila under a clear night sky. It was spectacular! The last time we all got together in-person was before the pandemic. Since then, we just had online Zoom calls and our Telegram group chat. But, there we were in the flesh, happy to be in each other's company once again.

A significant part of one of our conversations was -- of course -- how we were all doing in our master's journey. Magsi, since the pandemic, had finally switched full-time in studying, whereas Mikka and I still had to work for a living. But all the same, we all felt like we were in the climax of our clinical training: Learning several tough pills to swallow.

The biggest 'pill' we talked about was about us. Part of the journey to become a psychologist is to do a lot of introspection and deep diving to get to know who you are as a person, before anything else. We have to know our strengths and weaknesses, and how we can improve ourselves in managing them. Paraphrasing Lori Gottlieb (a US-based psychotherapist and author), the essence of being a therapist is to lead clients in embracing vulnerability and accountability. And the amazing and scary part here is that there is no class for that -- at least, not in technicality. In fact, all classes integrate some form of reflective practice that makes us ask the difficult questions about ourselves. One of mine thus far, for example, was a question of my worth and intellect. While I did pride myself to be a nerd at best, I've had professors who taught me how to criticize that part of me and see when it serves its purpose and when it doesn't. I had many difficult conversations with myself, my loved ones, and even my professors about this. And ever since these discussions, I've noticed changes in the way I think, speak, act, or even feel.

But it goes without saying: Scrutinizing yourself is very painful. Sometimes, it can be emotionally excruciating because, well... we are our own worst therapists. We could be so harsh on ourselves that we forget that the real challenge is to not to devalue our dignity but to understand it in a realistic point of view. It's like you're breaking yourself into a million pieces to find the gems and coals underneath only to put everything back together. The good, bad, or neutral pieces of ourselves are what makes us humans after all. And to tell you the truth, I sincerely think I have only scratched the surface a couple centimeters.

There is courage in knowing things that you realize you dislike about yourself. In the past months being a working student, while juggling many responsibilities in my personal life and relationships, I found that I had so many emotional dysregulation, a lot of anxiety, and a lot of perfectionism. It wasn't healthy, to say the least. The sad part about all this, for me, is that I haven't had the time to seek professional help or guidance to sort things out. While I do think I can still manage, it would've been ideal for me to resume (yes, I've had cycles already before) my therapy.

But that takes a lot of courage too. When you subject yourself to the vulnerability that one feels when one wishes to change, it can get very uncomfortable. I can't remember how many times I've shed tears in my therapy sessions since 2016. But what I've discovered in those heartfelt moments is that I was opportunities for emotional growth and understanding. I can't really say I've perfectly mastered such a "skill", but I think I'm getting there albeit slowly.

When we hashed out these points, Magsi, Mikka, and I had this very satisfied look on our faces -- maybe because of the booze. It wasn't until Mikka's remark that everything sunk in. She said, "Ang hirap, ano? Nasa punto na tayo na tayo na yung nagbabago."

She was right. Kami na yung nagbabago.

But in our comforting smiles and sighs, we knew that we had our personal journeys at that point.

If there's any advice I could give to anyone out there -- regardless if you're in my field or not -- is that to embrace change and growth means to get uncomfortable. To transform is to bravely face the truth that you may leave behind some things that you found to be valuable to you, to discover what else must be carried in your personal journey towards growth. I know these sound so profound, but that's nonetheless true.

I think the magic about that conversation was that we were all sharing that sense of humanity. The three of us (and our friends and classmates) are figuring things out -- especially as "adults", whatever that means. The unspoken part about our road towards becoming clinical psychologists is that we are, after all, our first client. We are our first therapy. We are our first difficulty. But we can also be our first continuing success.

And I think that's something worth pushing forward for.

#rpmentries #filipino psychometrician #psychometrician #mental health #grad school #self care #studyblr #clinical psychology #grad student #gradblr

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cookingupcommunity · 1 year

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African Coconut Shredder by Zeni

Virtual programming has many unique advantages, such as the ability to show and tell a variety of items that we may have in our home. During one of our "Cooking Up Feminism" sessions on Curry, Zeni asked us to "hang on, I want to show you all something." We were waiting in anticipation, curious about what Zeni was going to show us. She returned to the workshop holding a large object in her hand, that many of us were unable to recognize or identify, as we hadn't encountered it prior to this moment. She excitedly held it up to the screen so we could all take a good look.

"This is a shredder made with wood. It has brass knobs, with a blade at the end. So you put the coconut shell on this and grate it. I really wanted to buy this in Zanzibar, but my husband was concerned about bringing it over through Canadian customs. Well, two weeks ago, a lady gifted it to me. I really wanted it and now look, I have it." For an added layer of accessibility to the object, and because we were all curious to see it further up close, Zeni sent a beautiful photo to our group, so we could all enjoy the aesthetic quality and craftsmanship of this uniquely ornamented coconut shredder.

"Wow! This is simply beautiful! Who says functional objects can't be beautiful." Ann Marie chimed in.

"I agree, in fact this looks like an object that one could even hang on the wall or display in their homes, because it's made so beautifully. I've never seen anything like it" said Lubna while admiring Zeni's generous share with our engaged and creative group.

All of the recipes and stories we share in "Cooking Up Feminism" will be published in a unique cookbook by Scarborough Arts, available to the public in 2023, so stay tuned. Bookmark our blog and follow along. Thank you for your support.

~Mariam Magsi (Workshop Facilitator, Scarborough Arts)

#cooking up feminism #scarborough arts #objects #healthy arts for seniors #BIPOC #migrant communities #canada #scarborough #ontario #mariammagsi #food #culture #storytelling #photography #learn and share

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221bshrlocked · 1 year

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Hi Magsy!!!

Wanted to ask u how you’re doing and how’s life and tell u I miss u!! <3

Also im doing commissions over on my art account again 👉👈

🥺🥺🥺

Hey dude...It's been a while and I'm completely at fault for going m.i.a. Not going to lie, I've seen better months but I'm trying to be a little more optimistic. I have missed you so very much.

And your commissions opened right on time because I'm working on an Anakin piece right now (which I genuinely can't believe I'm doing) and I think I have the perfect scene I'd like for you to immortalize via your gorgeous art. It's right at the beginning of the fic too and I may or may not request another one for a scene in the middle of the fic which is yet to be written.

#metalarmsandmanbuns #mutual #fanart #art work

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naknamfuschia · 2 years

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Another kwento.

Kawork ko ulit now. Nakakausap ko naman sya kasi kapag may need ka sa offc , sya tlga lalapitan mo.

Nagkasalubong kmi sa may are ng pantry, magsi-CR kasi ako.

Sabi nya, "ang sexy mo pala." Then he added, "chubby"

He said that while scanning me from head to toe. Though, sana naman na ko sa mga ganong compliments (not bragging pero I heard worst like ang laki ng pwet mo, pag naglalakad ka naiiwan mo pwet mo and ang tambok pala ng puk3 mo).

I just answered, "hindi. Mataba lng tlga ko."

Tapos he stated na, "nakita ko fb mo sa grp kamukha mo pala bf mo."

Sabi ko, "oo. Madaming nagsasabi, kahit hindi pa kami."

Which is true. Nasasabihan kming kambal or magkapatid lalo na ng mga kakilala nya kapag nakikita my days nya na pic namin.

Then sabi nya, " tgnan mo sa gc. Andon ako. Pm mo ko."

I asked, "bakit?"

Sabi nya bigla, "ay lmagkasama nga pala kayo ng bf mo no?wag na lang."

Lol. The audacity.

#prsnl #work

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maagspies · 3 years

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Tell me the secret of your beautiful art

Like xsdxycushdh how do you draw hair that good??

Thankyouuuuu @jurassicat2000 💖 Drawing hair is literally my biggest art insecurity 😭 Sadly I don't have any art secrets to share, but drawing the same character over and over again usually helps improvement? 😂 I think I improved alot by drawing Bi Han repeatedly tbh!

#Magsy asks #Thankyoooou for your kind words 😭#Ooooh I really couldn't draw eyebrows back in the day 😂

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dawatyanproject · 3 years

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Lota Power

Some years ago a British friend stopped by for a visit. After we finished our dinner, he proceeded to excuse himself to use the washroom. Some time lapsed, and he emerged scratching his head, utterly confused, as if he had seen a hippopotamus in there.

“Mariam!”

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you something? I hope you won’t think I’m being rude.”

“Ok. Sure. Go ahead.”

“I don’t see any plants anywhere. I’ve looked and looked, really. I can’t for the life of me understand why you have this watering can in there?”

I threw my head back in laughter. My dear friend was holding a Lota.

Image 1: A sturdy, long-lasting, beautifully crafted, stainless steel Lota. This Lota offers a functional facilitation of toilet hygiene, as seen in South Asian toilet customs, while also serving an aesthetic purpose. I inherited this Lota from my mother. This Lota was made in Pakistan and has made a migratory journey to Canada. This Lota offers a sustainable way of using the toilet. The Lota, if used worldwide, could reduce our toilet paper imprint on the planet. Image © Mariam Magsi 2021

The Lota is a rounded vessel with a spout predominantly found in South Asian toilets in Pakistan and India, as well as other Asian countries, albeit in different shapes, varieties and forms. It can be made using a myriad of materials such as plastic and/or stainless steel. The Lota is used to wash the privates, both front and back, and is an integral component of toilet hygiene customs in the Indian subcontinent and also amidst the diaspora. Of the versatile uses of the Lota, I have also seen it being used as a watering vessel for small plants, since the pour of the water is soft and mindful.

I exhausted my resources looking for peer-reviewed journals on the Lota through my institution’s archives. Research yielded a Lota de Macedo Soares in a countryside near Samambaia in “The Burglar of the Tower of Babel,” but it seems like the tower lacked South Asian toilet hygiene customs. The Lota was not to be found there. I found a Lota in The Journal of Parasitology, but instead of a vessel, I believe they were referencing a freshwater fish from the lota lota genus. There’s a suburb in the city of Brisbane, Queensland, Australia named Lota. A quick Wikipedia search describes the Lota as a vessel that can be found in the Indian subcontinent as far back as the 2nd millenium BC, and it not only informed personal hygiene customs and rituals, but variations of the Lota, made with brass, copper, and other materials, were extensively used in prayers, sacred rituals and communal ceremonies. We must thank the Chalcolithic period cultures of South Asia for gifting the world this beautiful vessel that continues to serve purpose and function in South Asian homes within the subcontinent and across the world, a testament to the obstinance of South Asian culture to submit to the British Empire. The Lota survived, fought, overcame and outlived British rule. The Lota escaped colonization, and continues to do so.

Image 1 is a visual reference of the importance of how these objects are tied in with familial bonding, ancestral lineage and private, unseen, invisible attempts at decolonizing bathroom culture, while remaining rooted to the hygiene customs of our subcontinent’s ancestors. My mother taught me how to use the Lota through practical hygiene demonstrations, solidifying my internal knowledge systems with a specific set of toilet hygiene customs and rituals, that were transmitted to her through her mother, who was taught by her mother, creating a long intergenerational legacy of Lota power.

Image 2: This Lota belongs to my maternal cousin, Adeela. It was made in Pakistan and migrated to the UK. Her husband, Fassi suggested using it as a plantar, which is such a lovely idea, but Adeela rightfully claimed it for herself. In her words: “No! I want a pretty Lota washing my butt.” The design you see on the surface of this Lota is inspired by Truck Art which is an entire industry of its own in South Asia. This Lota was purchased from Zainab Market in Karachi, Pakistan. Image © Adeela Badshah

My mother didn’t only teach me how to use the Lota, but also emphasized, through practice, that this important component of toilet hygiene was an integral part of our faith. While a wide array of religions, ideologies, belief systems, cultural customs, hierarchies, and laws can be found in South Asia, one can access some form of the Lota, or the other, in mosques, temples, churches, schools, public washrooms etc. A common, daily life practice, that unites billions across the globe, irrespective of class, ethnic background and gender. Having visited Muslim, Hindu, Christian and Zoarastrian homes in Pakistan, I have always had access to the Lota, a symbol of a private act that signifies our unity. Those lucky enough to be our lovers, close friends and non-desi kin and chosen family gain entry into this special community of humans on the planet. My husband swears by the Lota after discovering its vast benefits and unbeatable squeaky clean results. #LotaPower

I initially posted Image 1 on Instagram and received an enthusiastic response from friends and family. A fellow South Asian migrant friend, with roots in India, shared a wonderful memory of how in her family, the vessel used, was called, a Mug. This is an interesting cultural overlap, because at our family residence in Karachi, Pakistan, buckets with plastic “Mugs” are placed in all spaces reserved for bathing. My mother would refer to them as “Mugs” as well, and sometimes, when she seamlessly transitioned from English to Urdu to Punjabi, she would say “Mugga.” She bathed her whole life, seated on a stool, with a bucket of water and a Mug. Through this method of bathing, she was able to conserve more water, which would otherwise be wasted in a stand up shower.

Image 3: Plastic bathing mugs © ebay

I have never quite been able to assimilate to North American toilet hygiene norms. While bidets and hand-held Muslim showers can be found in bathrooms in Europe and the Middle East, they’ve certainly not taken off as a mainstream practice in North America.

Image 4: The other side of the Lota featured in Image 2 has this gorgeous peacock painted on the surface floating through a lush, green garden on a carpet of vibrant roses. The artwork on the Lota tells a story, and transports the viewer and the user to an imaginative world filled with possibility. Image © Adeela Badshah

I often carry an extra bottle of water when I visit non-desi homes and public spaces in case I have to use the toilet. I’ve introduced the Lota to several Canadian families, many of whom have adopted the practice as a welcome new addition to their daily toilet hygiene. My friends and chosen family members often make arrangements for a Lota in their washrooms when I visit their homes, particularly those who know me well, and are familiar with the customs I value. I do appreciate these kind, inclusive, mutually beneficial gestures.

I came across an awesome work of art by Pakistani illustrator, Samya Arif, featuring a portable, collapsable Lota: https://gotalota.com/ - If you sign up on their website you’ll get a light-hearted, humorous newsletter, which is a total bonus. Where was this genius invention during my now retired raving days?

Image 5: Artwork for Gotalota by Samya Arif: https://www.samyaarif.com/

Recently, I have also seen companies like Tushy advertising easy to attach bidets. Though I could just as easily install bidets or hand-held Muslim showers in my bathroom, I prefer the traditional Lota method of my ancestors. This practice keeps me grounded to home, connected with my desi roots, carrying forward a wise and sustainable method of hygiene that has benefitted members of my community for centuries. May the #LotaPower be with you.

Image 6: Plastic milk pitcher milk bag holder © shopperplus.ca - A true rite of passage for all desi migrants to Canada. What a lifesaver!

Notes-:

History of Lota: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lota_(vessel)

Lota at the MET: https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/444557

Gota Lota: https://gotalota.com/

Samya Arif: https://www.samyaarif.com/Album-Art

Tushy: https://hellotushy.com

Journal of Parasitology: The Effect of Echinorhynchus borealis (Acanthocephala) Infection on the Anti-Predator Behavior of a Benthic Amphipod

Burbot (lota lota) : https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burbot

Lota, Australia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lota,_Queensland

Plastic Milk Pitcher: https://www.living.ca/p-369932-lvc-rs2000-milk-pitcher

Conversations with loved ones around the world <3

#LotaPower #lota #squakyclean #dawatyanproject #dawat #invitation #culture #custom #asia #southasia #mariammagsi #canada #art #photography #contemporaryart #dialogue #share #crossborder

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christopherrpike-archive · 5 years

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turning on my brain give me 🎹🌃 for isa, ⌛🖤 for magsy, 🤝👑 for anne-marie, 🏴👯‍♀️ for miss melanie and 💘 for all of them YES you KNOW why (isiclown rights)

thanks boo uwu

isidora

🎹Do they have any special talents or skills?

besides the whole thaumaturgy thing, she was a prominent author back in the late 19th century. she still writes, but she changes pseudonyms every few years or so. can’t risk people finding out after all

🌃Where are they from and where do they live now?

she lived in england before she was embraced, and she stayed there for a few more centuries before moving to america with…….lacroix. anyways.

mags

⌛When and how were they turned?

somewhere in the late 50s, when he was at his prime as an actor. it was during some one night stand; doesn’t even remember his sire’s face anymore

🖤 How do they feel about being turned? (How did they adjust? Do they feel differently now than they did when they were first turned?)

he’s still pretty much two minds about it up to now. like yeah he enjoys the benefits of unliving, but i don’t know, he still has regrets. that and he enjoyed his old life. i guess some days he just misses it

anne-marie

🤝What is their relationship with their sire like?

she probably really liked him at one point, although she doesn’t see him around these days. she really would’ve appreciated him giving her a crash course on being a vampire though

👑 What is their opinion on the Camarilla?

i don’t think she knows enough yet to have a proper opinion on them, despite what lacroix tells her. like he’s probably telling the truth but sometimes she gets the feeling that it’s not the whole picture

melanie

🏴What are their allegiances? (Camarilla/Anarch/Independent/etc)

the anarch, of course. she’s a brujah at heart and she’ll gladly see the camarilla burn. she’d even be the one to do it if you asked her

👯‍♀️Do they have any notable allies/friends?

not necessarily? i imagine she’s not much of a friends person but she has your back if you have hers.

#ask memes #vtmb #isidora bouchard #magnus rose #anne-marie deveraux #melanie chase #nickiburkes

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illustratethestars · 5 years

Text

Rain and Sun to Every Rainbow

Chapter 2: Rain and Sun to Every Rainbow

Penn unrolls a tattered green blanket on a trestle table, snapped together in moments with the help of their girlfriend Inq.

“Psst. Stranger. I’ve got another one for you. Remember how Cyan and Yellow make green? N-hey now! Don’t leave, this one’s complete! I didn’t have any trouble smuggling out the words to this one. It’s not near as sad as that last one. But it’s also not over yet. The first one was free, but I’m gonna need something from you, too.

“A drawing? Well now, that’s as good as gold to us. 2404 words for one chapter. What, you want the whole thing? I’ve got to risk my hide every time I go looking for words for this one! We’ll see how the smuggling business goes before we can go making deals like that.

“Oh yeah, uh, what’s in it? Some light entertainment, that jerkface Dial, listen it’s all fluff this time ‘round. Don’t even worry about it. Just enjoy while I go find the rest of those words from chapter 3. Ah crap, the Guardians are coming. I gotta go!”

Like that, they snap up their table and wares, and are off in an instant, leaving you with another chapter.

Chapter 1 is here.

Ch. 2 Rain and Sun to Every Rainbow

The walk was long and quiet, but Hero couldn’t get the sound out of her ears. The high-pitched whine she had only ever really heard covered in static, when RGB freaked out and that scary-eyeball version of him showed up. Without the static, she knew it could only mean pain. A sound like that couldn’t mean anything else.

She wasn’t paying attention to the walk. She was too busy crying. She cried because RGB was gone, she cried because she hated Hate, but most of all she cried because she knew RGB was in pain-- if he was even still feeling anything at all.

She was grateful at least that Dial hadn’t said anything. She hated him, too. She hated him for not helping his own cousin, his own family! If they were even truly related at all, that is.

Dial held her hand, and if she gripped back, it was only because she hoped it would hurt if she squeezed hard enough.

The tears stopped after a bit. Not the sadness or the anger, just the tears. By that point, they were trekking through what looked like a strange white hall, with familiar silhouettes cast on the walls from seemingly nowhere. Maybe the back side of the forest? This weird world seemed to have a ‘back’ side. It sort of made sense, she thought.

“Feelin’ better, princess?” Dial asked sweetly.

Hero grit her teeth and glared down at her boots. “I hate you.” She answered, finally.

“Aww, you’re just sayin’ that.” Dial cooed as if it were a compliment. He waved a hand affectionately. “I made a promise to get you safe to the market tunnel, and I’m gonna do that.” He reached over with his free hand to ruffle her hair. She ducked and gritted her teeth even harder, until her jaw ached even more than it did from crying.

They stepped out through whatever strange door Dial decided upon, and he escorted her along to one of the many marketplace entrances. There were trees everywhere, there, with violet flowers dripping from their branches. It reminded her very much of when the piece of the sun was revived.

“You’re not going to win.” She said, as they walked.

“Oh?” Dial didn’t sound surprised, nor did he sound bothered.

“Heroes always win.” She assured, looking down at her green shorts and green wellies. Heroes wore green. ‘Cyan and yellow make green. Do please try to be happy.’ She closed her eyes and tried not to cry again.

“Y’know, I never said they didn’t. The thing is, I was a Hero once, too. Now I’m a monster. So, y’know. Maybe heroes win, but who says you’re The Hero?”

For once, Dial didn’t sound so upbeat or impossibly cheery. It wasn’t a threat, nor a promise of something bad. It was more like… a sound that never should have been there. The sound of scratching in an empty home.

She thought about it.

“I do.” She said quietly, to herself. She had no doubt he heard, but she said it for herself. She said it because she knew in her heart it was true. It had to be.

“He really must love you, y’know that?” Dial mused. In the distance, Hero could see the sea. They were getting close to the Market. “I know.” Hero agreed.

“I’ve never seen him so… self-sacrificing.” Dial’s tone and body language was cheerful, but something about the strain in his tone leaked that hate that he never let out while RGB was in trouble.

“You hate him, don’t you?”

He just laughed a little.

Of course he did. How else would he have been able to sound so happy all the time? He must have loved seeing RGB suffer.

“Well, I hate you, too.”

“You sure Hate a lot for a Hero.” Dial seemed unbothered. Hero felt like she’d been slapped. She could almost feel the capital letter ‘H’. ‘You’re no better than she is.’ Maybe he was right.

They continued to walk in silence. Dial started humming at some point. Hero tried to force herself not to hate quite so much, but it wasn’t working.

She brightened as they got close to the hall. Maybe it was her youth that gave her better vision, but she saw something before Dial did-- a familiar glimmer.

Hero snatched her hand away from Dial and started running for the opening. The night was beginning to fall and the light beginning to ebb, but she would make it to that familiar glimmer, and get herself away from Dial.

“Hey-hey, wait!” Dial called after, running as well. For once, he actually sounded concerned. He had promised that she would make it to the market safely, after all. This world was many things, but there was no ‘safe’. Only ‘safer’.

About halfway to her goal, she heard his footsteps falter behind her, and a sound of static and feedback as he changed his mind abruptly.

Hero wasn’t running toward danger. Well, not a danger to her anyway.

“Hero.” said a calm, welcoming, familiar voice. “A moment, please.” and it passed by.

That voice wasn’t leaving Hero alone, oh no. It was just handling her nearest problem for her.

Dial was already retreating. He was fast, but Magnus had a long stride even at his calmest, when he deigned to walk.

This was not his calmest.

Magnus raised dial up by the front of his coat, single-handedly.

“May I ask,” he said, with the calmest and glassiest of tones, “where her guardian is?”

While his voice seemed level, if with a crystalline edge, his prism radiated heat and clouded over, as if threatening to explode into shards at any moment.

Hero followed along behind and smiled. She knew Magnus, at least, she could trust. Magnus was good and kind. She suspected that was why RGB loved him (even if he would never say that in front of her).

“N-now Magsie, we don’t want to do anything that’d muss ‘yer suit.” Dial suggested, for once sounding very nervous. He anxiously fidgeted with Magnus’ lapel to try and smooth over the situation. It did not work.

“I know a very good tailor.” Magnus replied, tone flat and disdainful. “I do wonder… how do you feel about flying? I have heard you old radios have such a difficult time with wind.” Magnus floated a few inches above the ground, gradually raising, watching Dial panic.

Hero attached herself to Magnus’ leg, somewhat surprising him as he had been rather preoccupied with threatening RGB’s cousin.

“How are you faring, Hero?” He asked, suddenly remembering she was there.

“He betrayed us to Hate and- and Hate has RGB! He made a deal to spare me and asked Dial to bring me here so I’d be safe.” Hero tattled like a small child, but in this case she felt he deserved it. RGB was suffering and she couldn’t save him. She needed to do something.

“Did he now.” Magnus clenched his fist. “How serendipitous, then, that we should be so near the sea.”

He turned toward the darkness of the Marketplace, and the sea writhing slowly over it.

“No.” Hero tugged on Magnus’ coat. Both Magnus and Dial looked at her quizzically, incredulously. She couldn’t read their faces, but it was easy enough to see. What else would they be feeling at that moment? “We’re better than Hate. We’re better than him. He kept his part of the deal. Even if he’s still a… a…”

“...Gutterberk?” Magnus proposed, slowly. Hero giggled, and Magnus settled his feet back on the ground. “A pestiwit?” More giggling.

“A Blighterpoop!” Hero agreed, cackling. Magnus flashed a little rainbow, but it was dim. The light was going down. They would have to stay the night outside.

“Ah. Very well. You’ve been spared by a most gracious Hero.” Magnus decided, and dropped Dial with all the grace and ceremony that came with realizing the rubber rat you were holding was not, in fact, made of rubber. “Now leave.”

Dial didn’t need telling twice.

“Your little sock friend is very amusing. It was nice to have them in the market.” Assok was probably out and looking for them, somewhere.

Magnus took off his coat and gently wrapped Hero up into it, then picked her up into his arms while he found a tree to sleep under.

“Don’t you… don’t you live in the market?” Hero asked warily.

“I do, largely.” Magnus agreed, looking up. “But I do like a bit of sunlight now and then. And to visit the birds.” A few fluttered down to settle in the tree above them as Magnus found a spot to sleep. Birds in red and yellow and blue.

“Can ...I-?”

“Sleep next to me? Absolutely. Unlike RGB, I don’t have any issues with dreams.” Magnus held a flicker of a rainbow at his corners, while he held Hero tight. “You’re warm.” Hero hummed softly, curling up inside his comparatively massive coat. “Mm. It’s because I’m angry, still.” Magnus admitted softly. He played idly with Hero’s hair.

“Oh, ok.” Hero was, too. But she was more relieved, knowing Magnus was there. “RGB told me not to come back. To stay in the market and live there, safely.”

“And you don’t plan to do that at all, do you?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Good girl.” Magnus petted her hair. “No. We will go to save him. In the morning, when it’s safe.”

Hero nodded firmly, glad they were together on that.

“Tell me about him?” Hero requested softly. She was tired, but she didn’t want to sleep. Not when she still had so many feelings.

“About RGB?”

“Yeah.”

Magnus thought about it a bit, prism clearing and temperature dropping just a bit. “He always was a soft-hearted fool, even if he pretends otherwise. I love him for it.”

“You do?”

“Oh yes. Just because we aren’t together doesn’t mean we don’t love each-other.” He sounded like a parent explaining a divorce, but he seemed content. “He was afraid I would leave, and I think he was afraid he would miss me when I got realized.” He looked up into the sky, where there was no moon and there were no stars, yet the trees illuminated the night gently, like fairy lights somewhere far off.

“Oh. ...Then… it must be really hard for him.”

“Mm?”

“He keeps bringing new Heroes here, and then something happens and they stop being heroes, and now… a lot of them don’t seem to like him very much.” Hero admitted thoughtfully. “It sounds lonely.”

Magnus thought on it a bit.

“I suppose you are right about that.” He sounded somewhat amused, and held Hero tight to his chest. Hero felt she could trust Magnus, maybe even more than she trusted RGB. Magnus had never scared her so much as RGB had, and Magnus told her things. RGB always made her guess and figure things out. She still cared a lot about RGB, but she didn’t have to worry about the unexpected with Magnus. At least, not that she’d seen yet.

His heavy coat smelled like some kind of exotic tea, rain, and some thick, sweet smell she couldn’t quite place. Though it was crisp like her father’s church clothes, it was warm and soft, too. Magnus’ chest didn’t have as much give as RGB’s did, but in spite of all his sharp corners, she felt comfortable there.

“Tell me about him?” Hero requested, softly. Magnus seemed perplexed at first, but thought about it.

“For all he complains about other people sleeping on him, when we were together here, he spent most of my waking hours trying to sleep on me. I dream, so he couldn’t do the same for me. I often teased him for that.”

Hero giggled a little. Magnus flashed a little rainbow smile, and continued on, telling her soft little stories. Silly things, tea times and walks in the park, held hands and rainy afternoons. Songs and songbirds, the two of them dancing, and RGB just trying to make Magnus laugh.

Hero slept, dreaming about a sunny park full of flowers and chirping crickets to chase, and RGB and Magnus dancing under a tree some ways off. It was a nice, warm dream. A safe dream.

Hero woke first, when the sun was rising early. The three birds she had seen the night before started flitting around, chirping merrily.

She pressed her ear to Magnus’ chest, curiously. She couldn’t hear anything like RGB’s white-noise heartbeat, but every time Magnus breathed it sounded like glass vials gently clinking in a pocket. Or maybe glass bottles. Were those the same thing? Nah, she was pretty sure it was vials he sounded like.

He shifted in his sleep and pressed her a little closer to his chest, protectively.

She couldn’t help but think of her dad. She couldn’t remember anymore what he looked like, but she remembered being sleepily held on the couch while her favorite cartoons were on, up way too early on Saturday morning with a bowl of overly-sugary breakfast cereal.

She tried not to cry, but she failed at that, too. Tears stained Magnus’ tie, and she hoped it wouldn’t do anything like it would to RGB with his static shocks.

He shifted his hand over her head and toyed with a messy lock of her hair with his thumb.

“It will be alright.” He assured groggily, pushing himself up at the base of the tree. “We’ll save him.”

“N-no, it’s not that, it’s just…” Hero thought about it a moment. Maybe it was, a little, about that.

“A lot of things?” Magnus proposed, tilting his head curiously.

“Yeah.” Hero looked down.

Magnus wiped her eye gently with his thumb and raised his hand up. A droplet hung from his glove, threatening to fall. Before it did, it flashed a tiny, sparkling rainbow.

“There’s rain and sun to every rainbow.” He explained. He shook his hand a little to get any excess water off, and leaned forward to start picking at Hero’s hair, taking out the little knots and straighten it out a bit. Hero huffed a little at the fussing, but sat still and let him work until he seemed satisfied.

“Now then. Shall we be off?” Magnus carefully picked Hero up, since she was still bundled in his coat, and began walking.

“Yeah. We’re gonna go save the monster!” Hero chirped excitedly.

“That’s right. We most certainly are.”

#tpoh #the property of hate #Tpoh Magnus #Tpoh Hero #Magnus [0]#Tpoh RGB #Tpoh Dial #light entertainment #fanfiction #Cyan and Yellow make Green #Rain and sun to every rainbow #Penn & Inq

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