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angry-geese · 3 years ago

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OSHA Non Compliance

Nanami Kento x Reader

Warnings: nsfw/minors do not interact. shameless smut. fingering, oral (fem and masc receiving), face riding, praise kink (kinda), multiple orgasms, mutual pining. gojo slander. a little dub con due to the sex pollen stuff. afab reader

Notes: some sex pollen smut with Nanami. i have a post thats pretty similar to this thats a gojo x reader which you can read here

Word Count: 3.3k

If there's one thing you two can agree on, it's how this is all Gojo’s fault.

The job was supposed to be simple; get in, exorcise the curse, get out. It wasn't a particularly deadly one, but it was proving to be difficult for lower grade sorcerers. Anyone who had come into contact with it fell violently ill, suffering effects that lasted between hours to days. The symptoms themselves varied from person to person. Nobody seemed to give a straight answer.

In response, you two were sent out.

As odd as it was, you didn't question it. Curses are odd, things like this happen. Two grade one sorcerers should have been enough to take this thing out. One alone should have been enough, not to mention the army of sorcerers sent after it before. Gojo wanted you to take backup just in case, shrugging you off when you asked why he couldn’t do it himself. You were certain you could take this alone, but he was insistent.

Reluctantly you dragged Nanami along.

The two of you weren't officially partners, but most of your jobs were done together. It was a mutual agreement. He found you much less annoying than Gojo. That's not to say he didn't find you annoying at first, but you were more tolerable. Nanami wasn’t much older than you—only by a few years—but he acted as a mentor when you first started out. You quickly improved, nearly rivaling him in strength. It wasn't long before you became a grade one sorcerer, same as him. On that day he was there to celebrate with you.

He likes to think you’ve turned out to be a semi-functional human being. Maybe he’s gotten sentimental as he’s grown older. He hated for his work life to cross over into his home life, but he’s made an exception for you. Any time you’d call, he’d come running.

The curse had taken up residence in an abandoned school, only being discovered when the building was being surveyed for possible reuse. You’re not sure why nobody had noticed it sooner, but you’ve learned not to question a curse’s behavior.

It’s attack had a strange area of effect. You've never seen anything like it. The fact that such a non-lethal curse was considered such a high grade should have tipped you off in the first place. The curse released some strange sort of fumes. Or spores. You really weren't certain what they were. It was airborne and you knew that you needed to stay far away.

While the direct hit missed you, you were still affected. You took in a lung-full of the stuff before you managed to get away.

If it weren't for Nanami…

You barely make it back to the car. You’re not injured, so much as you’re lightheaded, and nauseous.

“I’m not going to make it back to the school.” You say.

“Are you hurt?” He asks.

Slowly you shake your head. It's not wrong, per se, but it's not right either. This is a strange type of hurt.

Your apartment is closer. The drive was twenty minutes on the way there; you make it back in about eight.

You’re not sure what to do once you get inside other than contemplate your life choices. You toss your keys and bag aside. There's not much you can do aside from flop down on your couch and pray. Not that you’re the praying type normally, but what could it hurt?

The effects of the pollen seem to hit you all at once. The sickly sweet taste in your mouth makes you gag. You fall to your hands and knees and retch, but nothing comes up. If you thought you felt bad before, you definitely do now. Sweat beads on your forehead. You feel jittery, yet lethargic. Heat radiates off your skin like a furnace. Your mouth has gone dry. Your clothes feel too tight. You’d claw them off your body if your partner wasn't sitting a few feet away.

You swallow hard as heat begins to pool between your legs. You shift uncomfortably, trying to get some relief.

While you’re slowly losing it, Nanami looks fine. As calm and collected as ever.

Nanami didn't seem to get the brunt of that attack. Or maybe he's better at hiding it than you.

He is.

He’s been dealing with an aching cock since you two left that building. He was all-too aware of every corner and bump on the ride home. You were too busy trying to escape with your dignity to notice him, and the tent that grows in his pants. He covers his lap with his suit jacket. You think nothing of it.

He studies every dip and curve of your clothed body. They cling to your skin with sweat in a way that makes his cock throb. Nanami knows how wrong it is. He shouldn't feel this way. You're his damn partner! Looking at you this feels so wrong.

In an attempt to comfort you, he smooths a hand across your back, gently squeezing your shoulder. Sweat beads in your hairline. Your chest heaves.

“I don't think it’s something we can wait out,” you say, swallowing hard.

“What are we-” it’s as if he didn't realize what he was asking. His eyes go wide, before his gaze shoots straight to the ground.

“‘Ken-” You say, hoping he can't hear the way your voice trembles, “I feel like I’ll die if you don't touch me.”

It's with a sinking, horrifying feeling that he agrees. Slowly you climb into his lap. It feels wrong. But your body fits perfectly against his. He’s your partner—your friend—you shouldn't be wanting him this way. He’s pliant against your touch, moving with you, paying close attention to each and every one of your movements. Every cell of your being wants him to fuck you.

“I know.” He says. “Me too.”

He hauls you into his arms, setting you down on the couch back-first. The sudden weightlessness you feel makes you gasp. There's nothing gentle behind his touch. Your hands work to undo the buttons of his shirt, but they tremble so bad it's hard to do.

“Don't worry about that.” He coos. "Let me take care of you."

With shaky hands he undoes the buttons on your pants, sliding them down your legs. His face heats up at the way your panties are already soaked through. All this just for him?

He tries not to stare too long. If you were the only thing he looked at for the rest of his life, he'd be content.

He strokes at your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. He almost seems afraid to touch you. For a moment he is, but that quickly wears off when you moan. He can't help but watch the way you squirm and writhe under his touch. How the delicate fabric clings to your skin from how wet you are. He hates how much he enjoys seeing you like this. It feels wrong.

“Please,” there’s a hazy look in your eyes.

He swallows hard. You’re not thinking straight, he thinks, this is so wrong.

He pulls down your panties, throwing them aside with your pants. You tug off your shirt, quickly tossing it aside. His hands come up to palm at your breasts through the fabric of your bra. He gently tugs the fabric down, exposing your breasts. Your nipples harden in the cool air. As wrong as it feels, you would be lying if you said your partner wasn't attractive. Not only is he handsome, and one of the most powerful sorcerers you have met, he was a close—if not your closest—friend.

Nanami’s touches are feather-light. It's not that he's worried about hurting you—though the fear of that is there—he doesn't want this to ruin your friendship. He doesn't want you to view him differently because of this. The two of you have gone through much together; he doesn't want this to make things awkward. He’s just wanted you for so long.

He never intended for his work life to cross over into his home life. That was until you came along. Nanami can't imagine a life without you around.

Two of his fingers press against your entrance, his thumb circling your clit. His fingers are long, and fairly thick. Only one enters you at first, but you’re wet enough he adds a second one not long after. His fingers curl, stroking against your g-spot. His touch feels like too much yet not enough. You desperately grind against his hand, chasing your own release.

If he can just get you to finish, maybe he can wait it out. You’ve clearly got it worse than him. Right?

He pulls you up into a kiss. His lips taste sweet. Your lips part, allowing his tongue into your mouth. His chest presses against yours. Your thighs tighten around his hand, though not in an attempt to stop him.

Heat pools low in your stomach, slowly building in intensity. You moan into Nanami's mouth. You're reduced to a whining, whimpering mess under his hand.

His free hand moves to cup your cheek, tilting your head so your gaze meets his. A sleepy grin spreads across your face. The pad of his thumb brushes over your glossy lips. In a moment of lucidity you wrap your lips around it, swirling your tongue around the digit.

Nanami almost forgets how to breathe. Nobody can get him nearly as flustered as you can.

The coil in your stomach snaps. If you knew how much you gushed around Nanami's fingers, you'd be blushing. Your cunt clenches around his fingers as you ride out your orgasm on his hand.

Your first orgasm provides no relief. In a matter of seconds—probably less time than that if you're being honest—you're ready for another round.

You work the last few buttons of his shirt open before he gets impatient and pulls the thing over his head. You let out an audible “oh!” at the sight of his chest. It's more toned than you expected; not that you’ve given it much thought.

“Like what you see?” He says in a sudden moment of boldness that it surprises both of you.

You nod. Now really isn't the time to be shy, but you can't help it.

He's painfully hard, his erect cock leaking precum against his thigh. The tent in his pants is impressive to say the least. You get on your knees, tugging his pants down his hips. You were right to notice his bulge. He's huge. Long and thick. Uncut too. The hairs towards the base of his cock are light—a similar sandy blonde as the hair on his head—and neatly trimmed. He always takes care of himself. A prominent vein runs up the bottom. A small pang of guilt hits you when you realize how needy his cock looks. His chest, the tips of his nose and ears, and the head of his cock are all dusted with pink. He looks at you with such adoration it makes your chest flutter.

You slide off the couch, getting on your knees. Nanami parts his legs just enough for you to kneel between them.

His eyes go wide the moment your lips touch his cock. You press kitten licks to the tip, watching the way his lip twitches in frustration. Nanami’s hands bury in your hair. The feeling of his nails raking against your scalp makes goosebumps raise along your skin. What you can’t fit in your mouth, you stroke with your hands. Saliva runs down your chin in streams, tears stained black with eyeliner streaming down your cheeks.

The only sign that he’s about to orgasm is the way he tilts his head back, cursing.

When he cums, he cums a lot. It's thick, but runny, and has almost no taste to it at all. His cum spills out the corners of your mouth when you pull off of him, releasing him with a pop!

Without thinking, you swallow.

With how long he stares down at you, it almost seems like you’ve done something wrong.

You can't stop the squeak you let out as he hauls you into his lap. He lays back, guiding your hips so you’re kneeling above his face.

“What are you-”

“It’s only fair that I return the favor,” he says.

No matter how hard you try, he doesn't let you wriggle out of his grasp.

“I- I don't want to suffocate you.” You say.

The amount of his testicles Nanami would cut off just to get a taste of your cunt… He’ll give you a hint, it's more than one and less than three.

“You won't.” He said. Even if you could—which you couldn't, he’s stronger than he looks—he’d die happy.

Your thighs cradle his head in an almost perfect way. There's almost no better feeling. His tongue dips between your folds, circling your clit. You taste sweet, he notes. A kiss is pressed to your clit before long, slow strokes of a hot tongue lavish it in affection. He kneads your thighs gently all while alternating between licking and sucking on your bundle of nerves.

He wants nothing more than to take his time with you. After all, he’s got years to make up for.

You can feel and hear him panting against your dripping sex. He can do little to hide the way he grinds his bulge against the couch. He grunts when you tug his hair, guiding him to where you need him most.

There's a feeling of emptiness as you cum, your walls contracting around nothing where something should be. You ride out your orgasm with a series of short, high pitched moans, rocking your cunt against his mouth. Nanami takes all of it in stride, lewdly slurping at your sex. Your thighs shake, your cunt spasming as he continues to press kitten licks to your clit.

And god- the sight of his face; his lips wet and slick from your cunt, eyes hazy with lust, his hair a mess.

"It's no use." You say. It's in-between whimpers and moans. Even as your second orgasm approaches, you feel no sense of relief. "I need your cock."

He feels himself twitch with need. His cock barely went soft the first time he came. Nanami wants nothing more than to sink his length into your warm, wet cunt.

He doesn't bother carrying you to your room. He would have fucked you in the car if you asked. He’d fuck you on every flat surface of your apartment if you wanted him too.

His cock presses against your entrance, rubbing at your folds. He doesn't mean to tease you, he just wants to drag this out as long as he can. You're so wet you take his cock with no resistance. He groans at the feeling of your cunt as you sink onto him.

Cumming on his tongue is intoxicating, but it feels like nothing in comparison to his cock. Nothing substitutes for the hot, full sensation of his cock inside of you. You string together words in some desperate attempt to make a sentence. Being completely filled is making you woozy. Nanami fits just so well inside of you. It's like you were made for this. You're not sure if it's the pollen, or just him, but you can feel every ridge and vein on his cock.

"Can't believe-" he huffs, "can't believe you got tighter after cumming twice."

"Please Ken," you whimper.

It hurts, but it feels too nice to stop. Nanami can't tear his eyes away from the way your tits bounce as you ride him. The sounds of skin slapping on skin echo through the room, mingling with his grunts and your moans, creating a lewd cacophony.

"Fuck," he says, his seemingly calm demeanor fading, "you're so fucking pretty."

Gojo would give him shit about this for weeks if he knew…

You're starting to think he meant to do this.

"I'm going to kill him," you say, although it's hard to stay mad for long.

“Me too,” he says.

Your orgasm rolls over you like a wave, throwing you around and spitting you back out, leaving you an absolute mess. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Eyeliner runs down your face in streams, leaving black trails across your skin. It's the first time you've cum from g-spot stimulation alone. But it's also the same as the other two times you've cum: you're ready for another round instantly.

At some point in time Nanami gets on top. Your legs lock around his back, pulling him in. Maybe you blacked out. Exhaustion creeps into your limbs, leaving them sore and wobbly.

Nanami thrusts harder, trying to quell the fire that pits in his stomach. He doesn't warn you that he's coming. If he's being honest, he didn't know he was either. You just feel hot ropes of his cum fill you, spilling out, staining your couch. When he cums, his cock doesn't even go soft. If anything he’s harder. Almost instantly he’s ready for another round. He's never felt anything quite like this.

The sensation of his cum dripping out of you, running down your thighs in streams is bizarre. There's so much of it. You don't want him to stop. He brings a hand down to give your ignored clit some attention. His spare hand wipes your tears away, his thumb gently brushing across your cheek.

Even as he's made you cum for the nth time tonight he doesn't stop. The two of you can only fuck and cum until you're no longer sure where your body ends and his begins. It doesn't feel like enough. You’ve never been so full. He wants to cum in you and breed you until your womb is swollen with his child.

At some point he collapses from exhaustion—he thinks—and he's certain the two of you are going to die. No human can survive this, he thinks, that's impossible.

Neither of you died.

It could be minutes, it could be hours; by the time you wake up the sun has set completely. You're not sure what time it is, but judging by how long the sky's been dark, it must have been a while. Nanami snores softly, his drool pooling in the valley between your breasts. You card a hand through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes. One of his eyes cracks open. He can't tell if he’s dreaming or not. If he is, then this is too good to be true.

"You still with me?" You ask.

He nods.

You're cradled chest to chest, his heartbeat as steady and alive as ever. He pulls out slowly, admiring the mess between your thighs. Even in his sobering state he finds you truly beautiful. From the way your skin glints with sweat to the way you run your tongue over your parched lips. You stretch out, trying to work the stiffness out of your limbs. You’re certain you’ll be sore in the morning.

Nanami disappears into the kitchen, returning with two glasses of water. What you could really use is a shower.

If you want, he'll never mention this again. He's starstruck by your naked form, his cum dripping down your thighs. Part of him wants to see you like this every night. But that might still be the pollen talking.

He's sputtering out an apology; stringing words together in hopes of begging for your forgiveness.

"I didn't think that's how it'd happen," you say, shrugging, "but…"

You really can't complain. Everyone but Nanami seemed to realize how head over heels you were for each other.

"You… liked it?" He asks.

If you didn't like it, he would know. Nanami can't believe it.

"Minus the nearly dying part." You say. "I've spent the past year and a half trying to get in your pants. So yeah."

Instantly his face turns red. How has he not noticed? He's both mortified, and relieved that you feel the same—or at least similar to him. Then the embarrassment hits him. He didn't think he could be more embarrassed than he was standing naked in your living room.

"I'm gonna go shower." You say. He gives a nod in response, stopping dead in his tracks when you say: "join me."

#jjk x reader #nanami kento x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #nanami x reader #jjk #nanami kento #not sfw #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #cw sex pollen #cw dub con #i know im posting this kinda early but im impatient and i just want to post this now

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dramaticviolincrescendo · 3 years ago

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Thank you for tagging me @gallavictorious ! 🧡 It’s been a bit since I had the time or energy for writing, but it was fun to go back through things for this.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,527,620

3. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Somnus Ultima (FFXV)

The Seven Soulmate Commandments (Shameless)

Royal Protocol (FFXV)

Unashamed (Shameless)

Lips Sealed (Shameless)

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Ordinarily, I do. I have a bit of a backlog right now that I need to get to. I’ve always been of the mind that if someone took the time to provide feedback, I can find the time to thank them. Unfortunately, that sometimes means being…months behind now. There will be some surprised people when I get through my inbox who’ve probably already forgotten they read my work.

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

World So Cold, the first story of a Captain America/Harry Potter AU trilogy that nobody asked for but I had a great time tormenting the five people who read it with.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Honor Bound, the one and only “fix-it” fic I have ever written and will ever write. This is what happens when you take a fantastic concept, grind it up over years of production team changes and company overhauls, and throw together the scraps that remain.

7. Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I’m not really a huge fan of crossovers, personally. I prefer to place characters in a different setting, like that Captain America/Harry Potter AU trilogy I mentioned. That said, my only crossover was Cabin Fever, which…may or may not count since dreams are involved.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I wouldn’t call it “hate,” but I’ve had a couple of people comment with criticism that I wouldn’t exactly count as constructive. I tend to ignore it and agree to disagree on our preferences.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

No. Never. Not in this life or the next. Finding ways to avoid writing it in the Shameless fandom was difficult but, fortunately, I succeeded.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

To my knowledge, no.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, though someone did offer to translate into German once. (That Captain America/Harry Potter AU just keeps coming back to haunt me today…) I declined since I would prefer to have the opportunity to check and make sure none of the meaning was lost but don’t speak German.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

On three occasions, yes. There was one I sincerely hope has been lost to the bowels of the internet, Royal Protocol with @irregularrogue , and (How to Break the) Alibi Armistice with @gallavictorious . (She’s got the link in her post!)

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

…To write? Uh. Well. I honestly don’t enjoy writing ships very much… Romance isn’t as interesting to me as other relationships, so I think I’ll cop out and just say if there’s bromance, I’m game.

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I…think that I am coming to accept that In Pieces may remain unfinished. I stopped at a point where I’d actually be comfortable making that the official “ending,” but I absolutely hate that…I’ve simply lost steam. That’s what happens when you write fifteen lengthy stories in just a few months, I guess. Ordinarily, having detailed outlines helps me stay focused when I start getting tired, but the content and rapidly deteriorating coherence of Ian’s perspective has really weighed on me to the point where I took a break and never really recovered the same energy I had for it. I’m still hoping to get back to it someday, but whether that will actually happen, I can’t say. Good thing it wasn’t really getting much traffic—I’d feel even worse if I was disappointing even more people than I may already be.

15. What are your writing strengths?

I think I do well with keeping a story flowing. I tend to write from specific perspectives and make the narrative sound like an internal monologue, which can limit the amount of information a reader receives but makes it fun to only show what the character knows. I believe I’m also pretty good at making ordinary thoughts sound a little prettier by using different words. I just don’t like reusing the same phrases over and over.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

In connection with the previous question, I can get too wordy. What I could say with one sentence can take me a paragraph to get out. Sometimes that’s called for, especially if the character is in a position where they’re rambling to themselves, but sometimes it’s unnecessary.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

If I have a character speaking another language, I’ll usually put it in italics and indicate that they’re speaking another language. (…Like all the Russian in my Captain America/Harry Potter AU. I haven’t thought of that series in YEARS, yet here we are.) I don’t trust that Google translate will provide an accurate translation that would stand up to scrutiny by those who actually speak the language, and it can really detract from a story as a reader to keep scrolling to the bottom to see what the footnotes say. To each their own, but that’s my system.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter back on good ol’ MuggleNet Fanfiction. They’re all still there, too!

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

My brain…doesn’t work that way, unfortunately. I only write for fandoms that I fixate on, so there really isn’t any casual fanfiction for me. I’ve wanted to write Kingdom Hearts fanfiction for years, but it’s so compelling and complex as it is that I can never think of what I’d write for it and have therefore done very little despite it being my first and longest-standing fandom. Typically, though, the desire to write smacks me in the face when I consume something new and have that “oh…I need more…oh no” moment.

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I would say it’s a tie between Somnus Ultima and the Light in the Shadows series (you guessed it—the Captain America/Harry Potter AU). While the former can be wordy and the latter is obviously one of my older works, what they have in common is that they required the most creativity. The rest of my fics tend to be canon compliant (or had better be for the endless research I put into them) and feel like playing in someone else’s sandbox. Those felt like taking multiple sandboxes, pulling them apart, and creating a brand new sandbox from the various pieces. I’m more proud of them than I can say.

I don’t really know many fic writers on a basis where I’d feel comfortable tagging them, so I send this out to just @glon-morski , @gardenerian , and @mrs-monaghansblog if you so desire! 🧡

#tag meme #it me #fanfiction

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meta-squash · 4 years ago

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Brick Club 1.5.10 “Outcome Of The Success”

It’s long, I’m sorry. There’s just so much in this chapter!

The chapter’s first paragraph is a description of the misery of winter weather, bookended by sentences about Fantine. It’s been nearly a year since she was fired. The bit about winter is a description of Fantine’s descent as well as the weather. Winter brings short days which means less work; Fantine’s position in society means she’s finding less work as well because she is essentially freelancing rather than working for an employer with steady jobs. “No heat, no light, no noon, evening touches morning” is such a good description of the way everything is miserable and just blurs together when you’re trying to just stay alive. All the awful stuff is sharp and dull at the same time. “Winter changes into stone the water of heaven and the heart of man.” Fantine is starting to harden here; we see her become more shameless, tougher.

Fantine wears a cap after cutting her hair “so she was still pretty.” And this disappears so rapidly in this chapter. Her beauty is so important. Fantine is the only character aside from Enjolras who is repeatedly described as beautiful in a way that seems to really matter. (Cosette is also beautiful, but that description is almost entirely through Marius’ POV, rather than from a more general POV with Fantine.) The slow destruction of Fantines beauty--the discarding of her pretty clothes for peasant ones, her frequent tears, the loss of her hair and teeth, the torn and threadbare clothing--mirrors her social destruction. She desperately clings to her beauty by wearing a cap, but she obviously gives up pretty soon.

What fascinates me here is that Hugo mentions that Fantine admired Madeleine, like everyone else, but he also implies that she didn’t hate him straight away for her dismissal. In the previous chapters, her reaction is to accept the dismissal as a “just” decision. She works up her hatred by repeatedly telling herself it was his fault. It seems as though she lands on the right conclusion in the wrong way. She blames herself first, and only through gradually convincing herself does she start to blame Madeleine. He and his crap system are the ones to blame, but she comes to that conclusion in a roundabout way that feels like she still blames herself but is trying not to. Fantine has been a scapegoat for everyone up until now; Madeleine has become her scapegoat to avoid (incorrectly) blaming herself.

“If she passed the factory when the workers were at the door, she would force herself to laugh and sing.” She’s trying so hard to make them think they haven’t gotten to her, but it just makes it so much more obvious. The laughter and singing is the “wrong” reaction, and it makes everyone notice her even more, and judge her even harder. It’s just so sad because I can understand that behavior of trying so hard to act the opposite way of how you think people will expect you to, only it backfires and makes your true feelings all the more apparent, which gives even more fuel to the cruel people.

Fantine takes a lover out of spite, “a man she did not love.” There are a few things here that contrast with the grisettes of 1.3. This lover is someone Fantine does not love, her first relationship since losing Tholomyes, who she was in love with. The man is also a street musician, which reminds me of Favourite’s actor/choir boy. The difference being that Favourite’s boy had at least some connections through his father, and Fantine’s lover is only a street musician. Fantine takes this lover in for the same reason that she sings and laughs outside the factory: to try and show that she’s unaffected, which really only serves to do the opposite. She has this affair “with rage in her heart,” which seems to be the only emotion left for her for anyone besides Cosette (and maybe Marguerite).

“She worshiped Cosette.” My only comment here is that this is something that Valjean will later echo. Both worship and adore Cosette as a point of light, something to cling to and love and care for.

Okay maybe I’m missing something here, but Fantine can read but she can’t write? This is probably my “been good at reading/writing my whole life” privilege talking, but wouldn’t she be able to write if she could read? I suppose maybe it’s like how I can look at numbers and understand the numbers but I can’t do math for shit? I don’t know. That just caught my eye.

Fantine is starting to lose her inhibitions as she begins to lose control of everything in her life. She’s laughing and singing and running and jumping around outside in public, she’s acting loud and brash and odd. Her reactions to her misfortune and the terrible things that keep happening express the “wrong” emotion. It’s an attempt to cope, and a courageous one, but it’s drastically different from the quiet Fantine who barely spoke that we were introduced to.

“Two Napoleons!” grumbled a toothless old hag who stood by. “She’s the lucky one!”

This line really struck me. We’ve been tunnel-visioned on Fantine’s misery this whole time. Suddenly the focus pulls back a little bit and we get a little bit of perspective. Fantine is not at rock bottom yet. She could still go so much lower. To this toothless old woman, she’s lucky because she’s pretty and because her teeth have worth. Fantine is poor, and cold, and worried about her kid, and most of the town laugh at or scorn her, and yet this old woman still thinks she’s the lucky one of the two of them. It’s a much more subtle commentary on the levels of poverty and abjectness that exist. Once you’ve fallen through the cracks in society to the level of homelessness, to the level of selling your teeth and hair and body, to complete aloneness, anyone who has even a scrap more than you seems “lucky.” And Fantine’s not too far from that existence.

The conversation between Marguerite and Fantine about military fever is so weird. Is Marguerite just saying stuff? This dialogue sounds like a conversation between two people who have no idea what they’re talking about. It’s like those scenes in comedies where one person pretends to be super confident about something to impress the other even though both of them are completely wrong. Oh okay wait! I just did some googling and I’ve realized that neither of them know what they’re talking about because Thenardier did his bad spelling thing! “Miliary fever” is an old medical term for an infection that causes fevers and bumpy skin rashes. (Mozart’s death is attributed to it; it seems to have fallen out of use as it became easier to pinpoint certain illnesses.) I think this isn’t just Marguerite not knowing what she’s talking about. This is a misunderstanding due to Thenardier’s misspelling (whether deliberate or not, I don’t know) and neither Marguerite nor Fantine know enough to realize it.

ETA: Okay wow I’m keeping that whole “miliary fever�� thought journey in just to record my thought process but I’ve just double-checked against the Hapgood translation and the original French, and the mistake isn’t with the Thenardiers at all! It’s entirely the fault of the translators. The original French says “miliare” and Hapgood has translated it as “miliary”; Fahnestock and MacAfee clearly did not notice that the French was “miliare” and not “militaire,” and neither did their editors.

“During the night Fantine had grown ten years older.” Off the top of my head, I can only think of three instances of not-old people being blatantly described as looking old. This description here, Valjean when he returns from Arras, and Eponine. There are probably more I’m missing, but the connecting factor between these three is severe, prolonged trauma. Trauma and a difficult life can prematurely age people (I always think of that Dorothea Lange photo of the migrant mother who was only 32 but looks 50) and Hugo uses this fact to bolster his descriptions of what they go through. But Fantine and Valjean both age almost suddenly; Eponine is already old-looking the first time we meet her as a character with dialogue. Fantine’s sudden aging is another level of departure from her old life. In Paris, she was the youngest of the group, and now she looks far older than she is.

“Actually, the Thenardiers had lied to get her to get the money. Cosette was not sick at all.” As readers, we know this. We’ve seen the Thenardiers lie over and over and we see Fantine sacrifice with no idea. But this one hits harder than the others. Partly, I think, because Hugo puts it so bluntly in a sentence that has its own paragraph. But also because this is the first sacrifice that is truly unalterable. Fantine’s hair can grow back. There may have eventually been some slim chance of a job opportunity or something coming up somehow, or an influx of things needing mending or something. But she cannot regain her teeth. This is also the first sacrifice that physically disfigures her in a visible way. She can hide her lack of hair under a cap, she can hide her lack of money by using and reusing things. She cannot hide her missing teeth.

It’s interesting that we do not hear about Mme Victurnien here. Rather than the last chapter, this would be the one where Victurnien would be “winning.” The consequences of Victurnien’s actions have now permanently affected Fantine’s life. Except I think the reason we don’t see her here is that she wouldn’t face it. She can look out her window at Fantine walking down the street in distress with her beauty intact and feel satisfaction, but if she saw Fantine walking down the street, toothless and hairless, I don’t think she would feel satisfaction, because she wouldn’t be able to connect her actions to this Fantine. Feeling satisfaction towards this level of misery would require acknowledging her participation in causing it. It’s one thing for the townspeople to laugh at or gawk at her, but I think claiming responsibility for her condition is something else altogether that I’m not sure Mme Victurnien would do.

Fantine throwing her mirror out the window is a strange sort of contrast compared to Eponine’s reaction to a mirror. Fantine cannot face her descent. Eponine is already there, and her excitement at Marius’ mirror is a weird sort of distracted examination of herself. Fantine cannot bear to examine herself because unlike Eponine, she can remember what it was like before this. Tossing away the mirror is tossing away the thoughts of her past life and her past self; she can’t ever go back to that.

“The poor cannot go to the far end of their rooms or to the far end of their lives, except by continually bending more and more.”

God I don’t really even know what to say about this line except ouch. It’s just so poignant and intense. The older you get the harder it is to survive, to get up with each new stumble. And we can also take into account things like the cholera epidemic that will occur a few years later in the book, which mostly affected the poor. There’s so little access to any sort of help or assistance. And clearly Valjean’s few little systems of aid aren’t good enough. He may have set up a worker’s infirmary and a place for children or old workmen, but there doesn’t seem to be assistance for single, unsupported women, or the homeless and unemployed. They’re left to bend more and more under the weight of life.

“Her little rose bush dried up in the corner, forgotten.” I can’t help but read this as a parallel to the Thenardier’s treatment of Cosette. As Fantine falls apart and falls behind on her payments, Cosette is growing up which means the abuse from the Thenardiers has probably increased. It also feels like a weird sort of throwback to the spring/summertime imagery of beauty and chasteness and modesty from back in 1.3, which has now completely disappeared and dried up as Fantine loses her beauty, her modesty, and her coquetry.

I love the little detail about Fantine’s butter bell full of water and the frozen ice marks. It’s such a small detail but so evocative. It also feels like a metaphor for each of Fantine’s new hardships. Every time the butter pot freezes over, it leaves a ring of ice for a long time; each time Fantine encounters a new trauma, she hardens and becomes tougher. She keeps her dried up, long gone modesty and youth in one corner and the suffering that has hardened her in the other. On a side note, I’m wondering if there is actually butter in her butter bell or if she’s now using it only for water? I would imagine water only; butter seems like something that might be expensive. Also, would the building she’s living in have had indoor plumbing, or would she have gotten water from a well or a pump somewhere? My plumbing history knowledge is lacking.

Hugo describes Fantine’s torn and badly mended clothes. At this point she’s working as a seamstress, which means she’s at least proficient in the skills needed to sew and/or mend clothes in such a way that they stay together. This means that the repairs done for herself are likely careless and messy. I think this is partly an indication of how little time she has for herself--if she’s sewing for work for 17 hours a day, she has very little time to mend her own stuff, and definitely can’t afford better quality material--and partly an indication of the ways in which she is falling apart. She doesn’t bother mending her things properly, she goes out in dirty clothes. She doesn’t mend her stockings, she just stuffs them further down in her shoes. It seems she has only one or perhaps no good petticoats, which means she’s probably walking around in just a shift and a dress. Not only is her stuff threadbare and falling apart, she’s also probably freezing due to the lack of layers.

“A constant pain in her shoulder near the top of her left shoulder blade.” This makes me wonder if Fantine’s left-handed. If she’s sewing by hand, by candlelight, in a shitty rush chair, for seventeen hours a day, that is absolute murder on the back/shoulders/neck. Whenever I do hand-sewing I’m usually sat on the floor or my bed, and my back and upper shoulders tend to get sore if I get in the zone and I’m bent over the work for a long time. I don’t know about French dressmakers, but I know around that time the English were really big on very small, neat, almost invisible stitches. Which would hurt to do for seventeen hours a day by candlelight.

“She hated Father Madeleine profoundly, and she never complained.” The Hapgood translation of this line is better, I think. Still, I think it’s important that it’s pointed out that she never voices her opinions or her complaints. It’s only when Madeleine is in front of her that she announces them at all (despite not speaking directly to him then, either). She hates Valjean, she blames him, and yet obviously some part of her still thinks that she deserves it, or that her dismissal was right.

“She sewed seventeen hours a day, but a contractor who was using prison labor suddenly cut the price, and this reduced the day’s wages of free-laborers to nine sous.” Reading this book is always a lot because aside from the still-relevant general overarching commentary about society and poverty and mutual aid and goodness and all that, there are so many smaller details that are so painfully, strangely relevant to the present day. Even today there’s fear that employers will come up with a new policy or a new labor shortcut that means less income. Employers who pay their employees less because the workers get tipped, or outsourcing that causes layoffs. Prison labor, too (and behind that, the fact that prison labor doesn’t guarantee a job in a similar field after release if desired).

In the next two chapters, we jump ahead somewhere between a few weeks to a couple months. What happened to Marguerite in the interim? Hugo describes her as a “pious woman [...] of genuine devotion,” but I have this sad thought that maybe when Fantine made the decision to become a sex worker, Marguerite may have turned her back on her as well. As we’ve seen with Valjean, being poor but modest is Good, and being poor and desperate enough to do something improper and “immoral” is Bad. Despite Marguerite’s canonical generosity towards the poor, I wouldn’t be surprised if Fantine’s decision overstepped some moral boundaries of hers.

“But where is there a way to earn a hundred sous a day?” I’m a little stuck on this. Would she make this much money? I’m basing the following information off of Luc Sante’s The Other Paris, so the monetary info might be slightly different a for non-Parisian area. According to Sante, someone like Fantine, a poor woman working without a pimp or madame and not in a legal brothel, would basically be working for pocket change. 100 sous would equal about 5 francs. If her earnings are basically pocket change, I don’t think she’d make 5 francs a day. Just considering the fact that a loaf of bread might cost about 15 sous, which seems like pocket change, or even slightly more than pocket change. Fantine probably becomes a sex worker and finds herself in the exact same position that she was in before, not making any more money than she would have if she had continued to be a seamstress.

#les miserables #les miserables meta #brickclub #lm 1.5.10 #les mis #les mis meta

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whimsyverse · 3 years ago

Text

Family #1: The Dolans

(this is a re-upload as I made some major changes to my mod situation, specifically the CC traits I'm using...nearly all of the traits from here on out will be from Chingyu's trait pack, just for simplicity's sake)

After a long delay of straightening out my many (many, many) mods and just generally fighting with my lack of motivation to do...things...I've finally placed my first family: the Dolans! Pictures above (left to right) are: Vincent, Donovan, Lucinda, and Lillian.

You may recognize Vincent, at least, from my first Whimsyverse project...that'll be an ongoing theme, of course, since I'm remaking all of these characters again. This time, though, instead of making them all adults, I'll be defaulting most of my major characters to teenagers for no real specific reason besides that it feels like I'm starting at the beginning of their stories. Also it's more work for me to make all of their families and I

am nothing if not a masochist...

Family Bio: Donovan Dolan is a dangerous and brilliant criminal for hire, performing everything from high-profile heists to hitman-style assassinations dispassionately for the highest bidder. However, this was not the case when he first met Lillian, an aspiring model, and their whirlwind romance ended with them married and Lillian pregnant with twins. While establishing himself as one of the most dangerous men alive, the twins Vincent and Lillian were growing up with their gentle and loving mother, who all but gave up her own aspirations to raise them. Vincent and Lillian resent their absentee and dangerous father for how he neglects his family, and for his part, it is clear that Donovan expects at least one of them to continue in his footsteps...though which one has yet to be decided.

Vincent Dolan

Meta Bio: Vincent is my version of that character we all make around high school/early college - the hyper-competent badass that’s just there to be awesome and to let us write super cool scenes. He was super cool and good at everything and had a tragic backstory and was super emo and edgy and graargh! However, as I grew, Vincent stuck with me and became a character I reused many, many times over, and as I became more competent of a storyteller (I said more competent!), he grew too. He remained the hyper-competent badass he started as (a bit of self-indulgence on my part, perhaps), but the tragedy of his backstory and the psychology of him wrestling with his trauma became more pronounced in how I wrote him. He was no longer just a bad-ass, he was a more complex character who, despite appearing to be unaffected by everything around him, was really hyper-repressed to a dangerous degree. I started writing him less as that hyper-competent Gary Stu and more as a normal man (or boy) who simply didn’t know how to express himself or process the trauma of his past - in which he watches his father kill his mother and threaten to kill his twin sister - without letting the pain that comes naturally to that trauma overwhelm him. So he simply shuts it all out. At the same time, he has drilled into his head (thanks, again, to his father) that he simply isn’t good enough. This no longer manifests as a sort of infantile, impotent angst, but rather a silent drive to always do better at everything he does - an intense focus that earned him the very fitting title “a model of intense apathy” from my friend. But one of the most fun parts of the character isn’t writing him being exceptional at everything (I actually enjoy emphasizing that he is not good at everything...anything that requires a modicum of creativity or personal expression is utterly beyond him), it’s watching him, with the help of people around him, discover the young man that he could have been. I recently wrote him smiling for the first time and it was very sweet.

Age: Teenager Gender: Cis Male Sexuality: Asexual Aspiration: Renaissance Sim Lifestyle: Energetic Walk Style: Tough Style: Basic

Degree: N/A Career: N/A Skills: Fitness (4); Logic (3)

Likes: Color Purple, Color Black Dislikes: Comedy; Mischief

Traits: Reserved; Alexithymia; Scary; Unfunny; Over-Achiever; Mentally Gifted; Shameless; Unique Appearance; Slower Romance Gain; Physically Gifted; Brave; Needs No One; Carefree; Heat Acclimation; Slower Friendship Gain; Seldom Sleepy; Cold Acclimation; Quick Learner

Donovan Dolan

Meta Bio: Donovan has never been especially well-defined, and as such, this will be a pretty short bio. He only ever really existed as a vessel to drive Vincent’s trauma. He’s gone from being a petty thug to a master criminal to a dangerous madman. But I tend to enjoy playing him more as a sort of mirror into what Vincent could become - a hyper-competent, dangerous psychopath - a term I use more or less literally here, to emphasize his utter lack of empathy/sympathy. Like many psychopaths, he appears, outwardly, to be extremely well-adjusted, even charming and charismatic, but without the ability to relate to others. He is highly focused on his job, whatever that may be at the time.

Age: Adult Gender: Cis Male Sexuality: Straight Aspiration: Fabulously Wealthy Lifestyle: Workaholic Walk Style: Tough Style: Basic

Career: Criminal (The Boss) Skills: Charisma (8); Fitness (8); Handiness (6); Logic (8); Mischief (10); Persuasion (4); Rock Climbing (5); Skiing (5)

Likes: Retro Music; Fitness; Rock Climbing; Dislikes: Video Games; Comedy; Backyard Music; Winter Holiday Music; New Age Music; Summer Strut Music; Tween Pop Music; Lullabies Radio Music

Traits: (*deep breath*) Abusive, Bad-Natured, Brilliant, Psychopath, Well-Balanced, Mentally Gifted, Argumentative, Emotional Control, Good Manners, Insensitive, Faster Relationship Gain, Physically Gifted, Socially Gifted, In the Know, Influential Individual, Mastermind, Natural Leader, Faster Friendship Gain, Over-Achiever, Connections, Brave, Carefree, Fortune Sim, Cold Acclimation, Savant, Great Kisser, Entrepreneurial, Shameless, Needs No One, Heat Acclimation, Hardly Hungry, Business Savvy, Alluring, Career-Minded, Dastardly, High Metabolism,

Lucinda Dolan

Meta Bio: Lucinda is even less defined than Donovan, usually. Once again, she exists simply to die and provide fuel for Vincent’s tragedy. She is usually described as being exceptionally kind and gentle, the opposite of her husband, and having made a strong impression on Vincent and Lillian during their childhoods. For the Sims version, I liked to imagine her as being full of life and energy and happiness. She leans a bit more into creative endeavors, which neither of her children took after. She still lives for her children, though, and the decision to give up her dreams as a model was her own...she wanted to be a parent more than she wanted anything else.

Age: Adult Gender: Cis Female Sexuality: Bisexual Aspiration: Super Parent Lifestyle: Close-Knit Walk Style: Feminine Style: Basic

Degree: Drama Career: N/A Skills: Acting (3); Charisma (4); Comedy (2); Dancing (4); Fitness (2); Painting (2); Parenting (6); Piano (4); Singing (5); Wellness (2)

Likes: Alternative Music; Singer Songwriter Music; Pop Music; Easy Listening Music; Americana Music; Color Black; Color Purple; Dancing; Painting; Piano; Singing Dislikes: Baking; Cooking; Mischief

Traits: Emotional; High-Spirited; Tender; Light-Hearted; Family Oriented; Role Model; Mediator; Kindness Ambassador; Responsible; Beloved; Incredibly Friendly; Good Manners; Emotional Control; Compassionate; Family Sim; Domestic; Gregarious

Lillian Dolan

Meta Bio: Unsurprisingly, Lillian, like her parents, has never been extremely well-defined, but I have had her appear occasionally in stories - I just never really cemented what kind of character she was. In the past, she was the polar opposite of Vincent: energetic, cheerful, impetuous. Other times she took more after their mother and was more quietly calm and confident. In this case, I decided to make her sort of a high-strung workaholic who doesn’t really know how to relate to people, mostly because that’s how she was in one of her more recent appearances. So hey, maybe that’s now her canon personality!

Age: Teenager Gender: Cis Female Sexuality: Bisexual Aspiration: Figuring it Out Lifestyle: Coffee Fanatic; Workaholic Walk Style: Normal Style: Preppy

Degree: N/A Career: Lifeguard Skills: Logic (4); Persuasion (2); Research and Debate (5); Rock Climbing (2); Writing (3)

Likes: Wellness; Research and Debate; Rock Climbing; Fitness; Writing; Color Black; Color Purple Dislikes: Video Gaming; Comedy; Mischief; Cooking; Baking; Dancing; Color Pink

Traits: Serious; Generalized Anxiety Disorder; Smart; Avoidant; Knowledge Sim; Top Notch Toddler; Physically Gifted; Mentally Gifted; Over-Achiever; Seldom Sleepy; Speed Reader; Independent; Learning about Life; Career-Minded; Quick Learner

#simblr #sims 4 #simblog #the sims #whimsyverse

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remywrites5 · 5 years ago

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Your writing is so fantastic and makes me so happy. Could I please have some wolfstar? Thank you x

Sirius got a sick thrill of the idea that his mother would absolutely lose what was left of her mind if she knew her eldest son was shopping at a secondhand store. It wasn’t very upper class of him to be buying jeans and t-shirts that had been worn by a previous owner. Walburga Black hadn’t even reused baby clothes for her second son because to do so would imply they did not have money to burn.

Not that it really mattered what his mother or father would say about it anymore. Sirius had moved out of the seventh circle of hell that had been his childhood home and was living with his best mate, James, for the summer until they both went off to Uni. Sirius had taken to buying his clothing at a secondhand store anyway, because he absolutely adored anything vintage, and it was the only time he got to wear what he wanted. It wasn’t as if his mum was going to give him the money to go out and buy some leather trousers.

He knew the Potters wouldn’t have a problem buying him so clothes, but he would never have the heart to ask. He already felt like a prat staying at their house for the summer. James kept saying it was no big deal but Sirius hated being a burden. It was enough that they were housing and feeding him, they didn’t need to be clothing him as well. At least Sirius had some money from his part time job at the record store, but since the pay was shit, secondhand was all he could afford anyway.

Sirius slid his hand over some jumpers and stopped when he reached one that was impossibly soft. He pulled it from the hanger and held it up to himself. It was a bit long for his slender frame but he knew he could make it work. Besides, he looked amazing in red with his dark hair and features. A little red lipstick to match and Sirius could make this impossibly cute.

His high heel boots clicked against the hardwood floor as he brought his purchases up to the register. “Alright, Mr. Ollivander?” Sirius said to the kindly old man who ran the shop.

“Same as any day, I suppose,” Mr. Ollivander responded in that resigned way of his.

Sirius grinned. “I know just what you mean. I’m in the mood for some excitement!”

“You won’t find much of that around here,” Mr. Ollivander informed him, bagging up his clothing and handing it to him. Sirius paid with the few quid in his pocket and took his change.

“Then I’d better go find some!”

Mr. Ollivander cracked a smile. “Good luck to you, then.”

***

Sirius got his stuff home and modeled it all for James even though it was very much against James’ will. James would have been happier continuing playing Fifa instead of watching his best mate try on clothes. “I told you, my mum would have taken you shopping,” James said in exasperation, lounging on his stomach as Sirius turned in front of the mirror.

“Absolutely not,” Sirius said, turning his back to the mirror and craning his neck to be able to see his arse in the new jeans he’d just gotten. “Your parents are doing enough for me as it is. Besides, I go shopping like once a week.”

“I know,” James said, pulling out his phone. “It’s where your entire paycheck goes.”

“Any day now I could meet the love of my life,” Sirius said, turning back around and puckering his lips at his reflection. “They’re hardly going to fall in love with me at first sight if I look like a hot mess!”

James rolled his eyes and continued scrolling through his phone. “As if you’d ever go out looking anything less than perfect.”

“Says the guy who spends half an hour in front of the mirror to get the perfect sex hair,” Sirius said, grabbing his liquid lipstick off the dresser and applying some.

James huffed indignantly. “I’ve never in my life –“

“Yes, you have,” Sirius said, wiping a bit of lipstick off his teeth. “So don’t give me shit about wanting to look good.”

James shrugged. “It’s a fair point,” he conceded, rifling through the bag of clothes, clearly bored with whatever he’d been looking at on his phone. “What is this?” He pulled the red jumper from the bag and held it up. “

“Oh that!” Sirius said, walking over. “Isn’t it incredible?”

“That’s one word for it,” James said, raising an eyebrow. “You’ll be swimming in it.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m a perfectly respectable height!” Sirius told him indignantly, knowing it wasn’t really true. There was a reason he often wore three-inch heels.

“Hold on,” James said, dropping the jumper into his lap. “There’s a name on the tag.”

“Ooh, what’s it say?” Sirius asked, sitting down next to James.

“Property of R. J. Lupin,” James read aloud. “Well, not anymore.”

Sirius yanked the jumper out of James’ hands and checked the tag. He let his thumb slide over the letting, neat and precise, fitting exactly on the tag. Something about it was oddly comforting, just like the jumper itself.

“Earth to Sirius, hello?” James said, waving his hand in front of Sirius’ face. “What’s wrong with you?”

Sirius hugged the jumper to himself. “I don’t know,” he said, feeling funny. Maybe this was just the adventure he’d been looking for.

***

For the next few weeks, Sirius became obsessed. As soon as he’d been paid, he would rush over to Mr. Ollivander’s and check each piece of clothing in the shop for a tag belonging to R. J. Lupin. So far, Sirius had collected a t-shirt, a pair of jeans that were nowhere near fitting him, three more jumpers and a pair of pyjama bottoms that he slept in every night, even though they were practically falling off his slim hips.

He’d also interrogated Mr. Ollivander about R. J. Lupin but hadn’t gotten anything out of the old man. It was unbelievably frustrating. Sirius knew that R. J. Lupin had to be coming into the shop because new clothes kept turning up, but no matter how much time he spent amongst the racks, hoping for some sign of him, he found nothing other than his discarded clothes.

It was on a whim that Sirius decided to pop down to the shop during his lunch break. Mrs. Potter had packed him a peanut butter sandwich to eat and he had shoved it down quickly so that he would have time to get to Mr. Ollivander’s and back. The bell chimed with his arrival and he was about to greet Mr. Ollivander when he noticed a boy arguing with him.

“You don’t understand,” the boy was saying, tugging on one of his curls. “That was my favorite jumper. My nan knitted it for me.”

“I’m sorry but there’s nothing I can do,” Mr. Ollivander said with an apologetic sigh. “If it’s not in the shop then it’s gone.”

The boy let out a distressed little noise. “I can’t believe my mum gave it away, I – “ he glanced over at Sirius and then stopped, his eyes widening in surprise. “Hold on, that’s it!”

Sirius watched as the boy marched over to him and looked him up and down. “Can I help you, mate?” Sirius asked, giving the boy a cheeky smile.

“That’s it, that’s my jumper!” the boy said, gesturing to the red jumper that had become Sirius’ favorite.

Sirius felt his heart beginning to race. It couldn’t be him after all this time, could it? “No, this is my jumper,” Sirius said, shocked that he could sound so casually while internally he was flipping the fuck out. “I bought it.”

R. J. Lupin huffed, making his curls blow off his forehead. “Well it was mine first. It’s even got my name on the tag.”

Sirius cocked his head to the side. “R. J. Lupin?”

“Yes!” Remus said, getting closer to Sirius. “Remus John Lupin, that’s me!”

Sirius glanced up at Remus (Remus! John! Lupin!)and felt himself swooning. Remus was tall, just as Sirius had thought he must be. Even in Sirius’ heels Remus had quite a bit on him. His eyes seemed to be hazel but the sunlight made them look almost like honey. This had turned out even better than Sirius could have hoped for.

“Well, I’m sorry Remus John Lupin but I bought this jumper fair and square,” Sirius said with a shrug.

Remus scowled at him and fished his wallet out of his trousers. “How much did you pay for it? I’ll give you five pounds.” He held out the money and Sirius glanced at it for a moment before shaking his head.

“Sorry, the jumper is not for sale,” he told Remus in no uncertain terms.

Remus worked his jaw for a moment as if trying to maintain his composure. Sirius bit his bottom lip and wondered just what would happen when that calm, cool exterior broke. Remus looked him up and down again and then sighed heavily. “Fine, keep it then,” he said, shoving his money back into his wallet.

“That’s it?” Sirius asked, feeling a little disappointed that Remus hadn’t pushed the issue further.

Reus shrugged. “If you won’t give it back, you won’t give it back, I’m not going to steal it from you.” Remus put his wallet away and tugged his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Besides, it looks better on you anyway.”

Sirius grinned, preening at the compliment. “Well, I’d be willing to do some sort of joint custody situation.”

Remus chuckled. “For a jumper?”

Sirius nodded. “Maybe you could have it one week and I could have it the next? It’ll be like the Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants only, you know, less stupid.”

Remus quirked an eyebrow. “I don’t know, this sounds pretty stupid.”

“I mean, I could just keep the jumper if that’s what you want.”

Remus took a moment to consider. “I don’t believe you’ve told me your name.”

“Sirius Black.”

“Fine then, Sirius Black,” Remus said, holding out his hand. “Meet me here, same time next week.”

Sirius shook on it.

***

Weekly trade-offs of the jumper kind of turned into weekly lunch dates with Remus. It took a little coaxing but Sirius finally got Remus to share his peanut butter sandwich. Eventually Sirius got Remus’ number, just in case of emergencies, and immediately began texting him for very non-emergency related things. He took a picture of himself in Remus’ old pyjama bottoms and no shirt, sending it to Remus, because Sirius was a shameless flirt.

Wait, I recognize those!

Finders Keepers

Just how many discarded articles of my clothing do you own?

A fair few.

It’s a good thing Ollivander’s doesn’t take pants or you’d probably have those as well.

If you want me to wear your underwear, Remus, all you have to do is ask.

Yeah but I don’t though because that would be weird?

Only if you make it weird.

You’ve made it weird.

I don’t think so. That was you stinking the place up with your weirdness.

You’re ridiculous.

You like it.

I’m admitting nothing.

***

Sirius went bounding up to Remus excitedly. Remus had already been outside Ollivander’s waiting for him and the sight of it made Sirius’ heart melt. “You know, Remus, I’ve been thinking.”

“Uh oh,” Remus said, taking the jumper when it was offered to him.

“We’ve been passing this jumper back and forth for a while now and it’s almost like shared custody. But we never got the fun part of being married.”

“Why Sirius, are you proposing?” Remus asked, putting his hand to his heart and laughing.

“Well, maybe not marriage, I was thinking more like a date.”

Remus stopped laughing and stared at Sirius. “You want to go on a date with me?”

“Duh,” Sirius said, rolling his eyes. “I thought the constant texting and the fact that I own a fair bit of your clothes might have tipped you off to that.”

Remus chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. The silence dragged on for a bit too long until Sirius couldn’t stand it anymore. “Well fuck, Remus!” he said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Don’t do me any favors. Just forget I said anything and we’ll – “

Sirius was cut off by Remus kissing him. It was a bit painful for a moment, teeth clacking against each other, until the kissed smoothed out into something a little less frantic. Sirius pressed in close to Remus and wrapped his arms around his neck. Remus responded by placing his hands on Sirius’ hips and pulling him even closer until they were flush against each other. Sirius moaned and opened his mouth, allowing Remus access to slip his tongue in.

The red jumper was pressed between their bodies as Sirius started a new adventure of learning all the different ways he could kiss Remus John Lupin.

#Wolfstar #I write things #sirius black x remus lupin #long post #anon prompt #fluff

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koganphrancis · 5 years ago

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Shameless really had to scour the history books to come up with the reason I guess they’ve landed on for Ian’s marriage issues.

It would’ve made a lot more sense if they had brought them up in S6, but, no, Mickey was gone by then and Ian was about to experience actual love for the first time in his life-or so the show wanted us to believe. And that’s why I have to call bullshit on Ian seemingly suddenly not thinking he’s deserving of love. Once he got on his meds, he strode bravely into relationships with Faileb and Trash without batting an eye. (And yes, one could argue those were “bad” relationships a person who knows they are worthy of love would’ve avoided-but that was never the show’s point of view. They literally thought each of those partners were huge upgrades from Mickey, and that they would provide Ian with healthy relationships, something other than “war and sex”, which is what they tried to reduce Mickey to.) Think back to when Ian pursued Trash FOR MONTHS-he never once said, “Maybe Trash doesn’t want me because I’m unlovable.”

And that they randomly brought up Ian’s medical condition after all this time as a big part of the “reason” didn’t set well at all. Myles’ AV Club review sums it up beautifully: “I don’t want to dwell too much on this, but I have long argued that the show has fundamentally mishandled Ian’s disorder by refusing to acknowledge how it would impact his day-to-day life. When I asked showrunner Nancy Pimental about this back in 2016, the answer was basically that they didn’t think people wanted to see Ian “popping medications all the time,” but I’d argue that it makes any stories they do want to tell about his bipolar disorder weaker. If they just put in a small amount of legwork discussing his disorder—a mention of a doctor’s appointment, a scene of him picking up a prescription—it would make it less like the show is just circling back to his disorder when it’s convenient for the story. The idea that Ian had to search so deeply to realize that it was his bipolar disorder that was creating his reluctance to marry Mickey (or anyone) implies that even he doesn’t have it at the front of his mind, and while perhaps that’s a defense mechanism the show has set the issue aside too long for that to be articulated. I’m happy the show is finally bringing it back to the surface, and Ian and Mickey’s eventual reconciliation will be better for it, but it doesn’t change the mistakes made along the way.”

Could Ian’s bipolar disorder be part-or even the cause-of his issues about marriage? Absolutely. Has the show done anything before tonight, other than the Season 5 finale, to indicate this? Absolutely not.

Plus, within the episode itself, Ian acts as if Mickey’s the one who has a problem, not him. He tells the assembled family members that Mickey “will work it out of his system” (with Byron) and then be ready to talk things out, so...

Anyway, to go back to the beginning of the episode-if online friends and others hadn’t pointed out that Ian was thinking of Mickey here

it never would’ve occurred to me that he was. I’ve never seen Mickey in that bed-and I haven’t seen Mickey and Ian in bed together in YEARS. Prison bunks don’t count-and even if they did-Mickey bucked him out of there so fast in their first episode this season it couldn’t have counted anyway.

And that brings me to something that also bothers me about the entire way they’re handling this marriage problem of Ian’s-we haven’t seen Mickey and Ian interact in any meaningful way since they got out of prison. The writers have been hellbent on throwing even more obstacles in their path at every turn-which, I get, yes, that’s a big part of storytelling. But these guys have all the traps with none of the downtime to relax and recover together-and to let the audience see what’s going on while catching their breath. They cut the scenes where it was just two of them in the same room, talking about what we’ll never know because they were CUT.

These two have had enough angst-if the show really wanted us to believe the logical destination for them was down the wedding aisle, why not give us a season of them growing together instead of tearing them apart again? They were in prison living right on top of each other-couldn’t the comedy have come from them getting out and sticking just as close, even when they didn’t have to? Couldn’t we have had scenes of them sitting together on the couch, Mickey drowsing while Ian’s watching some dumb reality dating show Mickey has no interest in, but he’s there because Ian’s there and they both like feeling the warmth their bodies generate merely by being close? Couldn’t we have them talking in bed, long into the night-Ian asking Mickey to remind him to get a renewal for his prescription; Mickey having an “oh crap” moment when he’s telling Ian how he spilled his Orange Julius on his (cute) khaki shorts and remembers at 2 in the morning that the other pair is in the laundry and Ian tells him it’s fine, he washed them with his own clothes and even ironed them and they’re hanging in the closet? Have Ian find a You Tube video about making a recipe that tastes “just like” Kentucky Fried Chicken at home to save money, so Mickey’s hanging out in the kitchen while Ian’s attempting to make it with disastrous results and they wind up with Mickey calmly putting the big lid from the spaghetti pot over the grease fire Ian starts in the frying pan and telling Ian he’ll spring for the twenty bucks to get a bucket of extra crispy for their supper? Couldn’t we have just had that interspersed with actually discussions about what they’re feeling or going through? The show, via up till now unknown Sandy, tried to convince us it was giving us domestic Gallavich-why didn’t they just write it?

Anyway, I did like the fact that Ian had to wake up, put some clothes on, put his boot on, get himself down the stairs and Mickey was STILL pretending to kiss Byron behind his big honeydew melon helmet after all that implied time passed for Ian to do all that shit with his injury ;) Mickey is nothing if not fully committed to making sure Ian knows what he’s missing out on.

Mickey packing up his shit and telling Ian “when you know, you know” was to me equal parts funny and frustrating because it was like he was telling Ian A: Mickey knows how he feels about Ian and B: Ian should know how he feels about Mickey by now-but he clearly doesn’t. I thought having Mickey say Byron might be a Koch was a weird choice-I don’t think either Mickey or Ian (and most of the show’s target audience) would know that would mean his family-it it’s THOSE Kochs-are rich af, and if the show wanted to argue Mickey thought it meant his heir to the Coca-Cola fortune or that they somehow hold a patent on cocaine they can drop fucking dead. And the stretch to try to make the joke about Byron studying something from Britain vs “English” was painful.

And flashing back to S6 yet again, the show had Ian belittle Mickey twice-first by saying his emotional IQ is lower than Carl’s actual IQ (and, again, by the end of the show we’re supposed to think it’s Ian who is emotionally blocked, but how are we supposed to believe it or have sympathy when he was mocking Mickey-who is actually quite open with Ian when it comes to his emotions), and then secondly by claiming that Mickey has freakishly small hands. Well, Ian, you have a freakishly large head, and it doesn’t seem to dwarf Mickey’s mitts:

The scene with Debbie didn’t enrage me for once, and I was shocked. But I was glad she told him to marry Mickey to make him happy-but again in that scene Ian was searching for a reason after the fact to justify his still even a mystery to him reluctance to marry.

The scene with Lip was the best one they’re probably going to have for quite a while, maybe ever at the rate the show is going, but again, violent flashbacks to Ian’s Faileb/Trash days when he said “Debbie told me to” (marry Mickey). Remember those lost seasons where he did anything those bozos told him to and never stood up for himself? And also, if the show wasn’t wasting so much time with scenes of Frank tied to a bed and Debbie grooming an under-aged girl, Lip and Ian could’ve talked further, maybe delved into what Lip suggests Ian figure out for himself someday. If we could actually see Ian trying to get to the root of the problem, maybe it wouldn’t feel like the white board didn’t just say something like: Mickey/Ian break up-bipolar???

Their last scene of the episode had a lot of good stuff in it, even if ultimately it just broke down in the end with the lazy writing. Ian shoving the ring at Mickey and Mickey being let down by finding out not only is Ian not trying a little too late to salvage the engagement, but he’s making some lame “promise” and claims Gallaghers don’t break their promises-how can he say that to Mickey of all people? Name one promise Ian KEPT to Mickey! Noel, as always, plays out so much emotion without saying a word, and the heartbreak is palpable. And when he says Ian is saying he doesn’t love him enough? Noel! He makes it all so real. And we’re not let off the hook yet. But Mickey calling Byron by the wrong name, Ian pointing it out, and Mickey countering with he answers to whatever the fuck I call him was a nice throwback to the days of Mickey’s refusal to use Ian’s first name AND all the nicknames he came up with from Fire Crotch to Sleepy Face and Mumbles and almost makes me believe that the writer of the week maybe bothered watching at least the Gallavich scenes videos on You Tube. Almost. I’m more ready to believe Noel improvised that line in there himself ;)

We then get the reuse/recycle scene of Ian saying how there’s so much wrong with him and how he doesn’t know himself from one day to the next (so, again, would’ve been nice if there had been evidence of him feeling that way/dealing with it before last night), when he says to Mickey “how do you know that’s who you want to spend the rest of your life with?” I thought Mickey’s answer of “Jesus Christ, Ian” was perfect. He wasn’t going to stand there and give Ian a list of the many, many times he’s proven his love for Ian or try to coddle Ian and kiss him to try to make it better. Mickey’s finally figured out it’s up to Ian to either believe in Mickey’s mighty love or not, but Mickey’s done trying to sell it. Mickey’s gotta be so tired of all this-all along he’s done what Ian wants, even back when it was putting his own safety in jeopardy (another thing that I hate about the Terry retcon-remember when he was yelling his head off in the background when Mickey told Ian he’d meet him at the store in twenty, even tho it wasn’t a good time? Ever since that day, Mickey has always done everything in his power to give Ian what Ian thought he needed or wanted from Mickey).

Anyway, maybe I’m just a bear of very little imagination, but I honestly don’t see that they’re going to write anything that wraps up all this “tension” and Ian’s inability to commit well. By the end of the episode, I was picturing that they’ll have Mickey and Ian do a non-singing version of the Elephant Love Medley from Moulin Rouge to get Ian over his qualms about marriage. It fits in perfectly with the writers stealing from other stories, plus the whole thing is 4 minutes, which is considered a long scene for IxM these days.

The last we see of Ian, he takes a little detour to piss in the Vespa’s tank, and so now we’ve had two scenes of Paula getting at Ian’s junk, one of the Vespa with it, one scene of Mickey’s cousin grabbing Mickey’s dick, while that scene with the mayonnaise lube was the one and only time Ian and Mickey have come close to each other’s genitals/having sex all season. For all we know, they haven’t had it since-especially since Mickey had that telling line of getting bitchy when nothing’s been up his ass for a while...

(Gif credits: Ian and pillow-sickness-health-all-that-shit, Club kiss-mickeygifs)

#Shameless Season 10 #Episode 9 #The cramming continues #As does my lamenting how much time they wasted not letting them have scenes in the first half of the season #Mickey moving into Byron's modern day version of Jeannie's bottle and being a bossy bottom was fantastic-Noel not surprisingly knocked it #out of the park #But damn isn't he carrying enough of the show as it is?#Give him more scenes!

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wolfgabe · 6 years ago

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The Gauntlet my own mini reviews and thoughts

Mac n Me

The Gauntlet started off with quite the bang with this relatively infamous ET Knock Off. I had actually heard of Mac n Me prior but this is the first time I actually experienced it myself and it was quite the cheesefest if I say so myself. I love how at times Mac seems to fluxuate back and forth between a Looney Tunes character and a bootleg ET. The scene with the gun fight at the store might be one of the most WTF moments I have ever seen in a film period. Add in some of the most blatant and shameless examples of product placement and in film advertising and you got an alien turkey that just begs to be given the MST3K treatment. I almost lost it when the kid just plummeted off the cliff, no wonder that scene has become the source of many a Conen O Brian jokes.

Atlantic Rim

As of now the most recent film MST3K has ever done. This little gem comes courtesy of The Asylum which from what I have heard is notorious for making knockoffs of well known blockbuster films and Atlantic Rim is no exception. If its not the laughably awful CGI and generally unlikeable protagonist, its the absurdly hammy villain who feels like Big Boss from MGS fused with the General from The Angry Video Game Nerd movie. Just curious but did anyone get the urge to crack a Gurren Lagann joke at some point or another cause I sure did. Also Graham Greene is in this movie the same actor who played Kicking Bird from Dances with Wolves and was even in one of the most remembered shows from my youth The Red Green show, let that sink in for a moment.

Lords of The Deep

Next up we have what can be best described as a poor man's Abyss that also tries really hard to be like Star Trek and ends up falling flat on it's face. At some points you can tell its even trying to pull an Alien but it just fails miserably. I also couldn't help but notice they seemed fond of reusing the same footage over and over. Whenever the girl has visions from the goo I don't know if I was watching the opening to Dr Who or some early beta footage from James Camerons Avatar. The villain also has some similar issues to the villain from Atlantic Rim in that he tries to come off as domineering and threatening but I think ends up overdoing it a bit. Also Magic Stingrays for the win!!

The Day Time Ended

Have you ever watched one of those movies where it seems like the film makers had absolutely no clue what they were doing? The Day Time Ended is a perfect example of such a film and one of those movies that only feels watchable on MST3K. The plot just seems to bounce all over the place from one element to the next with nothing really being explained or elaborated upon. A giant kryptonite pyramid that can somehow become small enough to fit in your pocket, a cute little dancing green alien, killer cambots, and lets not forget a couple of aliens that look like they were dredged out of the dumpster from Ray Harryhausen's place. In all of this mess its only until the end that time travel is actually mentioned and even that plot point just seems to come out of nowhere with very little explanation or context. This would probably be what I consider one of the standout films of The Gauntlet.

Killer Fish

At the beginning its seems like Killer Fish can't seem to make up its mind on what exactly its supposed to be. There is a bunch of terrorists blowing up a power plant I think, a couple of guys sitting round a casino, and maybe some hokey romance plot. thrown in for good measure. Its around the half way point where I feel the film figures out its identity which is basically an imitation of Piranha mixed with a good old fashioned jewel heist story. Still that does little to save the film as the titular Killer Fish don't show up until around half way and most of the characters deaths consist of them flailing around drunk while we get some pretty shoddy camera work of their skin being eaten off. Maybe its just me but I had a feeling the fat guy was gonna die.

Ator The Fighting Eagle.

Finishing off The Gauntlet is a prequel to MST3K classic Cave Dwellers and its practically just as cheesy as ever. I can't help but notice mockbusters and knock off films have been a pretty recurring trend this season with Ator in fact being a knock off of Conan the Barbarian. I must say though I found the films description somewhat misleading as there aren't really any demonic spider gods in the film at all. Instead what we get is King Leonidas twin brother who apparently enjoys cuddling with tarantulas. There is one giant spider fight right at the end but its dragged down by the fact that the spider is barely shown on camera at all. I find it kinda hilarious how they just seemed to gloss right over the warrior woman's death at the end. Nothing though comes close to Cave Dweller's WTF moment with the hang glider. All in all an excellent way to finish off season 12

The Gauntlet ranked

1.Mac n Me

2. The Day Time Ended

3. Atlantic Rim

4. Ator The Fighting Eagle

5. Lords of The Deep

6. Killer Fish

Other thoughts

I like how M Waverly and Growler have become accepted as part of the crew. They really help add a new element to the riffs and host segments. You can tell much of the new cast by now are really starting to find their groove with how much of a step up from season 11 the jokes are. I also love how Jonah actually managed to turn the tables on the Mads. The new musical numbers were excellent as well with Concepts and Below the Dam being some of my new favorites.

Personally I would rate this season around 9/10. Its shorter than season 11 but it definitely makes up for it with quality

#mst3k #mystery science theater 3000 #mystery science theater 3000 the gauntlet #thoughts

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singingstripes · 3 years ago

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Fuck. That. Part. Of. The. Left.

You know who you are, even if you've buried it in your subconscious, to avoid addressing your own failures as most people between 19 and 27 seem to do.

You are young, impatient, naive, and arrogant.

You think you fucking know everything, despite having almost no concept of how anything works, and refusing to ever listen for even a moment to the people who have been on your side since before you were born.

You can't fucking grit your teeth and do the slow work, so you fucking throw your votes away, don't even do anything half the time to be a half decent fucking person, fake allyship with every fucking form of marginalized group while actively disregarding anything you are told or asked by them, and twist every issue to be about your young, white, entitled ass.

And then you fucking blame the democrats when you fucking take and throw away most of the votes needed in any election at any level to actually fix things or prevent things from getting worse. You fucking dumbasses.

You're worse than the right, because you lie to everyone including yourself while actively sabotaging any form of goodwill under the guise of morality.

And if anyone criticizes any fucking thing you do, you decide that they would never support any part of it. You're like angsty teens, some of you fucking are. You can't accept the idea that reusing the same stupid fucking ideas without changing anything about them won't work, despite also complaining about everyone else doing that. You're not fucking special.

Most people want your ideas, just not the stupid ones that truly have never worked at our scale, and we want them implemented with great care so that they'll actually stand a chance of working.

You want to raze the entire system, but that isn't an option. You refuse to take the available path because it isn't what you want, even though we'd end up with similar results if everyone would fucking put the effort in. Whining infant.

Fuck you. You're the biggest reason we are where we are and you are shameless in your stubbornness and insolence.

God I hate this.

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sazandorable · 7 years ago

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tagged by @jaffre, cool

RULES: Answer 30 questions and tag 10 people

# following: 311 # of followers: 743 but there’s probably still quite a few bots in there I let slip Average hours of sleep: 5-6 when I’m an idiot, ~8 ideally and naturally Lucky number: 6 & 7 Instruments: i own a piano i haven’t touched in yeaaarrrrss...... shame......... i took classes for a bit but never got really Good at it What are you wearing: jeans, striped socks, bright fuschia shirt, Cirque du Soleil thin black hoodie with white wings in the back (yoooooooo~), long white vest knit by my mom, Time-Turner necklace for fidget reasons, 2 pairs of ear studs Dream job: writer, in the meantime librarian (yay!) Dream trip: exploring Japan alone (also coming right up! /o/) Significant other: me Birthday: 07/06 Height: ~167cm (... little under 5″6′?) Gender/pronouns: ggggiirl?, she/her/her Other blogs: friendlypokemonreminders (mostly dead), the old urls including the feel-good-sfw blog that very quickly went defunct, the FR one (same), the one from my trip in japan (same though i’ll reuse it for this trip probably), and the shameless nsfw one.

Nicknames: “Aza” used to be a nickname, hard to go shorter xD Someone’s called me “Saz” once so far, we’ll see if that takes. IRL, various syllables of my given name (alone or repeated). ... Also Fieke for family + Belgian reasons (also punning on my name) Star sign: Gemini Time: almost 7pm Favorite bands: uhhh these days I’m fond of F+tM, Of Monsters and Men, Fall Out Boy... I wouldn’t call any of those My Fave though... Favorite artist: hhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh let’s say Kaoru Mori because /gnips and cries. On the classical side I have huge emotional attachment to Claude Monet’s stuff but I suspect the actual dude was kind of an ass. Favorite tumblr artist: A BUNCH OF MY MUTUALS Y’ALL SO TALENTED Song stuck in your head: Various Storms and Saints by F+tM Last movie you watched: Kimi no Na Wa i think. ... twice. i need to watch more movies. Last show you watched: CCS Clear Card Arc Why did you make your blog: ... it was where the sherlock bbc fandom was What do you post: short fics, doodles, Opinions and discourse and appreciation posts about pokéani, ramblings about life as a manic pixie queer librarian with ADHD

Last thing you googled: 垂らしな (not counting work computer. on that one it was yusef zaydane azazeel i think) AO3: just changed it to sazandorable Do you ever get asks: ye, but generally bc i beg for them. (I haven’t got hate in ages! Thanks SuMo) How did you get the idea for your url: “sazandora” = jpn name of hydreigon, who is adorable Favourite food: choclit Last book you read: ................. last book-book that i started is La Belle Sauvage, but... last I finished was ToA book 2 i think... If comics count, Adrastée Top 3 fictional universes: Pokémon, Harry Potter (has lots of Issues in its functioning but fantastically executed worldbuilding), HDM (the dÆMONS universe in particular). This was hard to pick, I have at least 3 more solid contenders...

tagging with ofc no obligation: @ezzoh @perelka-l @sauvechouris @kratosaurioned @holioc @firenren @yoshi12370 @mcalhen @wild-hyacinths @potahun

#about aza

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mage-cat · 7 years ago

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Stories and Games

Happy Amedot day! I present a sequel to Braids, featuring Peridot gifting Amethyst with Li’l Butler fanfic and the two of them visiting the arcade. It is shameless fluff, that I enjoyed writing tremendously.

Story is below the cut and the link to the AO3 version is through here.

“Amethyst!” Peridot called out as the two Gems came in sight of each other roughly halfway between the Barn and the nearest warp pad. “I was just on my way to the Temple to see you. I have something for you.” She clutched a bright purple folder to her chest. “I was thinking about some of the things you said you wish the writers of Li'l Butler had done with Tiffany Richington's character and ended up writing it out into a story I thought you might like.” She held out the folder and Amethyst took it.

“Since when do you write stories?” she asked as she began to leaf through the dozen or so pages inside.

“It started with posting Camp Pining Hearts analysis on the internet. Further investigation of the Campers community made it clear to me that my ideas could find a wider audience if I worked it into fanfiction. I've been doing it for a few months now. I think some of my commenters suspect that I'm not human. They keep asking me if I ever sleep.”

Amethyst snorted out a small laugh. “Well, there's no way I'm gonna wait to read this,” she said as she settled under a nearby tree.

It was a sort of spinoff plot based on what Amethyst had admitted was one of her favorite episodes, the one where the daughters of the Money and Richington families had to take a cooking class. The jokes in the episode were mostly just the standard 'cooking for the first time' sitcom hijinks, but by the end, Tiffany Richington had really gotten into the spirit of things, experimenting with the ingredients in some actually creative ways. It echoed how Amethyst enjoyed eating in a way that few things did, and she had been a bit bummed that they hadn't turned that into a recurring character trait to milk jokes out of.

Peridot had written about Tiffany going to a culinary summer camp. The setting probably had allowed Peridot to reuse some details from Camp Pining Hearts stories, but since Amethyst had only seen bits and pieces of the show, she wasn't sure how much. It didn't matter anyway. It was a story about Tiffany enjoying herself to an extant her uptight family rarely allowed her, about discovering new tastes and textures, and about shaping something new for the sheer pleasure of it. It said almost everything Amethyst had ever felt about food and everything she had wanted for Tiffany's character and a few things she hadn't realized she had wanted for her. There wasn't much in the way of Li'l Butler gag-style humor, but Peridot's quirky world-view threaded its way though the whole thing, making Amethyst chuckle regularly.

Peridot kept a close eye on Amethyst's expression as she read. What she saw was encouraging. “So you like it?”

“Like it?” She looked up from the last page with an ear-to-ear grin. “Peri, this is perfect. I love it!”

“Perfect.” Peridot repeated the word softly, as if tasting it, before her head jerked. “Oh, in all my excitement, I just realized I must have derailed you. Were you heading to the Barn for anything specific?”

Amethyst's smile turned sheepish as she fiddled with the folder. “Um... yeah... I was... was wondering if you might wanna go to the arcade with me.”

“Is this a date?” Peridot asked matter-of-factly. When Amethyst's eyes went wide, she continued in the same tone. “I only ask because Lapis is starting to threaten that, I quote, 'If you two keep up is mutual pining thing much longer, I am going to give you a cold shower every time you mention her name.' I ran some calculations. Spending that much time with my hair dripping would get annoying quickly.”

“You talk about me that much?”

“Of course, you're a fascinating gemetic study.”

Amethyst looked skeptical at the clinical phrasing. “Because I'm defective?”

Peridot's tone turned earnest as she began to gesture broadly. “Because you defy the standards for Quartz soldiers to be a standard all your own, one that I in many ways find to be superior to the standards I was taught to identify in my Kindergartener training.”

Amethyst remembered the times she had seen Peridot try to lie. There are people who can fake sincerity. Peridot wasn't one of them. Amethyst smiled as she realized that Peridot really meant what she said. “Yes. Yes, I'm asking you out on a date.”

Peridot began to mutter, moving as if heading back to the Barn. “I understand that first dates are intended to be special occasions. Extra attention paid to grooming, gifts given...”

Amethyst took Peridot's hand, breaking her line of thought. “Yo, Peri-mour, we can have a date like that later. I promise. Today, I just want to hang out with my favorite nerd and maybe show her how to play skee-ball. You cool with that?”

Her face lit up. “That is an acceptable first official date.”

After a quick stop at the Temple to leave the folder in a safe place, Amethyst and Peridot soon found themselves in front of the arcade's skee-ball setup. “I actually stink at this game most of the time,” Amethyst said, “'cause I get frustrated, which makes my problems worse, but I think you'll be good at it. It isn't about throwing the ball hard. You have to throw it just hard enough and let go at just the right time. It's precise, like a lot of the stuff you rule at.” Amethyst tossed her ball so that it rolled up the incline, hit the ball-hop, and landed in the twenty point ring. She shrugged. “Like I said, I'm not great at it, but even a pretty lousy throw gets you ten points.”

“Could you help guide my first few throws?” Peridot asked, grinning.

Once Amethyst realized what she meant, she chuckled as she stepped behind Peridot to take her right hand, already holding the ball, in her own. “You have watched way too much cheesy romance, but I gotta say, I think I kinda dig it.” With her chin on Peridot's shoulder, she could smell her hair. It reminded Amethyst of the time she had spent a half hour putting CDs in a microwave to watch lighting spark off of them, a mix of metal, plastic, and the ozone left over from the light show. This may have been part of the reason why their first two throws barely made it up the ball-hop. Their third finally made it into the thirty point ring.

“I'm pretty sure you'll do better than this on your own,” Amethyst half-joked.

“I'll admit, if we had this much co-ordination in the three-legged race, we would have fallen over pretty quickly.” As Amethyst returned to her lane, Peridot continued, “I don't know why you act like you're so bad at control though. I mean, back when you all were trying to capture me, you managed to wrap me with your whip on multiple occasions without ever actually hurting me. I'm pretty sure that's not easy.”

“That's different. My whip is a part of me. These balls aren't.”

“Just because you have a talent for something, because it's a part of you, doesn't make the way you use it any less remarkable. I mean, I once saw you shape-sift into a fully functioning helicopter capable of carrying three people. That is an intense level of control over your physical form.”

“I mostly shape-shift for gags,” Amethyst said as her tossed one of her balls.

“And for most of my time on Earth, I've used my engineering skills to make art projects and gadgets of marginal practical utility. Does that make the work I did on the drill less important?”

Amethyst kept her eyes on the rings at the end of her lane as she continued her game, though her vision wasn't really focused on them. “Come on, you can't compare my shape-shifting to something that literally saved the planet.”

Peridot played through her own game as she continued, “I've been on this team for less then a year and have witnessed or been told of several plans that hinged on your shape-shifting. I think the comparison is fair. If Pearl and Garnet don't see the value in that, then they're bigger clods than I ever thought.” Her last ball sailed into the highest ring. “Fifty points! Woohoo!” She tapped Amethyst on the shoulder and pointed to the other Gem's score. “Oh and while you were distracted with disparaging yourself, you landed four balls out of that nine-ball set in the fifty point ring yourself.”

A half-dozen rounds of skee-ball later, they moved on to the rest of the arcade. Peridot really got into the spirit of Road Killer and said that the mechanics of Teen of Rage warranted further analysis. They both proved laughably terrible at Meat Beat Mania. In the end, they traded all their tickets for an equal value of slide whistles because Peridot said they inspired her for a new project idea. It came to enough whistles that they had to split the load between them to carry it all back to the Barn.

They were nearly there when Peridot's steps began to slow, then stop, with Amethyst beside her. “I know you said that this date wasn't following most of the formal structures, but,” she hesitated, “I understand that it's typical for dates to end with a kiss. I've sort of have been looking forward to trying that with you.”

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

“Camp Pining Hearts was my introduction to the concept, and it's not like there has been anyone else I would want to try it with. Have you?”

“I've gotten some practice in.” Mostly Vidalia along with the rare concert-goer that didn't mind that they towered a foot or two over the girl hitting on them.

“I'd like to learn from you.”

Amethyst thought that Peridot probably hadn't imagined their first kiss involving them both carrying an armload of slide whistles, but maybe it was a good thing. It left what to do with their hands for a second lesson. She leaned forward and kissed her, slow and sweet, enjoying how her metal and ozone smell translated to the taste of her lips along with a trace of something mint-flavored. Peridot, always a quick study, soon returned the kiss.

When they separated, Peridot looked slightly dazed as she said, “Wow, thanks.”

“You can thank me by returning the favor sometime.”

“You won't have to wait long for that, Ames.”

#cat writes #steven universe #amedot #fanfiction

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fancyfrey · 5 years ago

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Castor, the Six Star Hero

an OC centric BNHA fanfiction Chapter 1

Touma wants to become a pro hero. He trains every day and studies the special moves and techniques of pros and sidekicks alike at his part time job. But there’s one thing in his way: In a world were 90% of the population had some sort of super human ability known as a quirk, Touma was one of the 10% that didn't. Touma was quirkless, but that won’t stop him from pursuing his dream of working in the hero industry like the rest of his family. This is the story of how Castor, the Six Star Hero became the first quirkless pro hero.

Touma dreamt he was in an auditorium with a thousand other students, testing their quirks. When the teachers reached him, he couldn't deliver, the teacher simply clicked their tongue against their lips and gave him a big fat 'F'. He tossed and turned until he was jerked awake by the nerve wracking dream. He looked over to his alarm clock that read just past 2am.

'You've got to be kidding me...' he sighed. He tried settling back to sleep but the nerves kept him up. He pouted and crawled out of bed, his limbs still tired and aching for rest. He stumbled around his room in the dark, careful not to knock over any of his things and made it out into the hall. The wood floors of the hall creaked under the slightest weight, made all the louder in the dark quiet of night. Light from the street filtered through a tree outside, throwing strange, dappled pools of light from a window nearby. He made it to his washroom where the sudden burst of light stung his eyes. He braced himself against the sink and took a few deep breaths, a breathing exercise he learned from doing yoga. It worked, at least a little bit.

'Come on Touma. Big day tomorrow. You got this.' He hyped himself up. He turned on the faucet and splashed his face with water. His reflection stared back at him, slight wavy black hair framed a pale face and tired eyes. Water dripped from his face like sweat would during one of his fights. His amber eyes burned with determination. A few more deep breaths and he was ready to go back to sleep. He walked back to his room, the creaking floors grated on his tired ears. When he passed the window again he glimpsed out into the street at the pitch blackness of the sky.

'Big day tomorrow?' He heard someone call in heavily accented Japanese. He jolted back to the window and looked out. No one was at the window or in the street except his reflection that just looked back at him, confused. But he could have sworn someone else was there. At the corner of his eye when he passed the first time, he thought he saw a blond young man, sitting in the same spot where his reflection would have been. Touma definitely needed to go back to sleep. He got back to his room and collapsed into his bed yet again. Soon, Touma had fallen into a dreamless sleep. 'Wow, look at all these trophies,' he dreamt someone praise in what he vaguely recognized as Cantonese. 'Big day tomorrow, apparently,' the accented voice replied.

The next day Touma woke to the smell of French toast and the din of the TV from the floor below him. He had no recollection of what happened that night, or the dream he had. He kicked off his bed sheets excitedly and did a few quick stretches before bounding down the stairs to the kitchen.

"Glad to see you're finally awake," his mother called as she flipped the toast over on the stove. Touma cleared the table of blueprints and tools and set some plates and cutlery for the both of them.

"French toast?" Touma asked while he picked some fruits from the fridge.

"I thought you would like something special for your exam today." His mother said over her shoulder, speaking over the loud sizzle of the toast. A plate of a few more slices of toast sat on the counter near her, with a few slices of pineapple and cinnamon sprinkled all over. The aroma in the kitchen woke Touma up, and it smelt wonderful. Hotari Rokuhoshi was a slight woman with slim but defined features. She had similar hair to her son, which she had tied in a braid that trailed down her back.

"You're not nervous, are you?" Her amber eyes twinkled with confidence.

"Just, a little." Touma admitted.

"I thought so, I heard you trudging around late last night." She teased. Touma blushed in embarrassment. She pinched his cheek as she transferred the hot toast from her pan onto his plate which he slowly picked at and chewed carefully. She took a seat across from him and took some slices of pineapple and toast onto her own plate. She cut herself a piece of toast and popped it in her mouth. She admired her own work and smiled at Touma.

"Relax would you? You've been training for this for two years now." She nodded with her head as if gesturing towards the trophies up in Touma's room. A whole bookshelf worth of silver and gold trophies and coins and medals he'd won from different martial arts competitions, from the past two years and even more before then. "And in case you didn't catch the news yet, I think you can consider 'S Formula v6.02' a success."

"What do you mean? That version is still going through beta." Touma said through a mouthful of toast. Hotari turned off the stove and switched the channel on the large TV screen on the wall furthest from the stove to the news where the newscaster was reporting an incident where a hero had apprehended some villains. "--we're here on the scene where just an hour ago, the Rocket Hero, Apollo, had apprehended the devious Lightning Thieves!" The screen showed the street below where three villains in masks were surrounded by a number of police and a few more pro heroes, cuffed and kneeling in defeat. One more villain was being dug out of what looked like a large blue cloud by firemen and Apollo herself.

"AUNT SUZUME USED MY GEAR?!" Touma nearly spit out his toast. His aunt was a pretty popular pro hero, with a flair for news reporting and journalism. She published articles about her heroic colleagues from time to time, when she wasn't flying around and saving people, of course.

"Well she always does, doesn't she?"

"Where did she get it? I haven't sent that formula to the lab yet--" he ran up to the screen and turned up the volume, "Oh my goodness she used the prototypes! I didn't even paint them yet, they don't match her outfit or the rest of her gear!" Touma watched the scene unfold through fanned fingers.

"It's fine Touma! I gave her a few prototypes when she came over the other day, said she was going to field test them. Though I didn't know this is what she meant, " His mother laughed. She invited him to sit on the couch with him where they saw the last moments of the broadcast.

"Apollo, Apollo! Multiple pro heroes and agencies have been trying to apprehend these criminals for months, can you tell us how you finally captured them?" A reporter shoved a microphone into his aunt's face. She smiled and turned off the staff she was holding and pointed to the last criminal still stuck in the blue cloud.

"Well, we knew this guy and most of his friends had speed type quirks, which made them difficult to capture. They also targeted populated areas which often put civilians in harm's way. We needed a kind of trap for them that could react fast enough and effect a large enough area to increase chances of success but also only target specific individuals. This foam--" she pointed to the blue cloud that the last Lightning Thief was still trapped in, "forms from an aerosol that we dispersed in areas we predicted they would pass by. Because it's activated by super fast quirks, the foam only formed around the Lightning Thieves and didn't effect any bystanders at all." The camera panned to the street behind the scene, where a number of civilians waved, trying to get the attention of the pro heroes while the police tried to redirect the crowds out of harms way.

”And what's this staff you're using, Apollo? It doesn't match your outfit at all?" The cameraman focused on the staff she was holding that had some frost on it. It had quite a few chips in its paint job, and a couple of what looked like small compressed air canisters were contained in its slightly bulky construction, near its head.

"She took one of my staffs too?!" Touma yelped, the black and blue paint job totally clashed with his aunt's mostly white and amber costume.

"This is an older model but it can deactivate the foam and turns any unused aerosol to liquid by freezing it. Then we can clean up and gather the remaining formula and reuse it." Apollo explained.

"And all of this equipment came from Innovation Enterprises, right?" The reporter asked.

"That's correct! Shameless plug! I hope you're watching, sis!" Apollo smiled and waved through the TV. A police officer came by and cut the interview short, they had to finish up and take the criminals into custody. The Rocket Hero blew a few kisses at the camera before the news turned to the weather.

"Isn't that amazing, Touma?" His mother pointed to the screen again. "Stop worrying, I'm sure you'll pass the exam with flying colours."

After breakfast, a shower and a few final yoga stretches, Touma was in the passenger seat of his mother's car driving to the U.A. Entrance Exam. He tapped his fingertips on a protein shake bottle on the way there, a manifestation of his nerves. Looking out on the street as they drove by, he saw people with mutant type quirks on their morning commute. Though his mother had a magnification quirk, his uncle had an x-ray vision quirk and his aunt, the Rocket Hero, Apollo had a flying quirk, Touma didn't have a quirk at all. In a world were 90% of the population had some sort of super human ability known as a quirk, Touma was one of the 10% that didn't. Touma was quirkless, but it didn't stop him from pursuing his dream of working in the hero industry like the rest of his family. From a young age, he worked in his mother and uncle's labs, helping them designing support gear and outfits. He also trained in any kind of martial arts that interested him; karate, judo, taekwondo, and even taken a liking to kyudo as well, in the hopes that physical training and his own support gear would compensate for his quirklessness. Now he was looking up at the exam center from the car seat. The tall building cast a shadow that engulfed the car in darkness. He quickly gulped down the rest of his protein shake.

"Don't drink so fast, you might get sick." Hotari scolded. "Think of this as just another beta test like you always do at Innovation." She pat his shoulder, as if she could transfer her own confidence to her son.He watched as the other students slowly walked up from the parking lots behind the huge building or from the street and filed into the large front doors.

"I wonder what quirks they all have..."

"Really flashy ones I'd have to guess. That's what people are looking for in popular heroes these days, and what's flashier than a quiver full of arrows that you made all by yourself? They're flashy, you're clever." She gave him a smug look. Touma smiled. "Come on get out, I can't idle here forever." She pushed him out of the car and popped the trunk where Touma retrieved his gear. A bow and a quiver full of arrows, lined with black leather and blue metal trim. He slipped the quiver onto his back and hooked the bow in place at his hip. He closed the trunk and walked back to his mother's side. She rolled down the window and looked up at him.

"Wish me luck." He could see his breath in the brisk air.

"As if you need it, you've got this." She smiled brightly. "The test doesn't take long. I'll pick you later just text me."And with that she drove off, leaving him in front of the exam center. As he walked up, he heard some voice far off say, 'Wow, that's a cool bow.'

"Thanks, I made it myself--" Touma turned around to address the person and saw a tall teen with dark hair and glasses.

"Pardon? I didn't say anything." The teen said, regarding Touma strangely.

"Sorry, I thought I heard something." Touma blushed. He turned around quickly, and started walking again. He could already feel the other teen looking at him funny. This wasn't really the first impression he wanted to make with anyone.

"Excuse me, I might be mistaken but I saw a pro hero on the news use a staff with a similar design to that bow." The teen caught up to Touma and pointed to his bow and quiver.

"Um, do you mean the Rocket Hero, Apollo?" Touma asked. The teen nodded. "Yeah, she's my aunt." Without thinking, he raised his arm and offered his hand. "I'm Rokuhoshi Touma.

"The other teen took and hand and with one firm shake said, "Tenya Iida."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Rokuhoshi, are you by any chance related to a Rokuhoshi Hotari?" Iida asked.

"She's my mom, how do you know her?" Touma asked.

"She designed my brother's hero uniform." Iida said, excited.

"Iida...so you're brother is Ingenium! That's amazing! You must have an engine quirk similar to his?!" Touma exclaimed.

"Yes indeed!" Iida said proudly and showed off his legs that had exhaust pipes sprouting from his calves.

They chatted a bit more about their families and the hero industries they were interested in as they walked into the exam center and got seated in the auditorium. After the presentation, they reported to their meeting places where they would soon enter the arena. The place had high ceilings and had enough floor space for what looked like a thousand other students with room to spare. Touma saw lots of other students with interesting quirks, gearing up for the exam. He looked over as Iida was scolding another exam taker when someone interrupted his thoughts.

"Excuse me, are you Rokuhoshi Touma?" An official looking man walked up to Touma. He nodded."I'm sorry but you're not allowed to have this." The man pointed to Touma's bow and quiver.

"What? But I filled out all my paper work. It should be okay for me to have this." He tried to keep his voice level, didn't want to whine, but he needed this bow. He couldn't beat robots with his fists alone.

"We can only allow examinees gear and equipment that help them control or manage their quirks. If everyone brought in a weapon like that then everyone would pass." The official said in a deadpan voice. "You can have these back once you're done the test, but I will have to confiscate them for the time being." He held out his hand to collect the gear, a stern but sort of sorry look on his face. Hesitantly, Touma slipped the quiver off his back and started to unhooked his bow. Before he did though, he removed a small silver and blue rod from a hidden compartment in the quiver and stuffed it in one of his pockets. He'd spent too much time preparing for this day, he wasn't going to let someone take away this chance from him that easily. With his bow unhooked from his belt, he reluctantly handed his gear over to the official.

Once the man had turned his back and was out of earshot, Iida walked over and said, "Touma, that wasn't fair! You made those using your quirk, they should allow you to use those. I'll go talk to him."

"No. No, don't make a scene. Everything will be fine." Touma hushed, and grabbed Iida's arm before he could get away.

"But what are you going to do? Don't you need those?" Touma watched the man's back retreat to some unseen location where the examiners were probably watching them, and took a deep breath. He gathered up his anxieties and worry and with a resounding sigh he exhaled.

"Iida, I think you know enough about Innovation Enterprises to know that we always have a few tricks up our sleeves." He pat his pants pocket, where the outline of that silver blue rod could be seen.

"You're not going to cheat, are you?" Iida gasped, scandalised. "Such an act would surely disgrace a fine institution like U.A.!"

"Hey, keep it down would you?" Touma nearly spat from the corner of his mouth, turned ahead towards the gate that led to the arena. "This is a test of our skills and abilities, right?" Iida nodded. "My skill is making all these things, so this'll be a test of how well I've done."

He tried to convince Iida and himself that what he was going to do would be fine. "Your skill? I was under the impression you made these with your quirk."

"No, umm...my quirk is...something else."

"Oh, I just assumed, I didn't realise I never asked what your quirk--"

"START!" Present Mic's voice boomed over the sound system, stirring all the examinees to action. Iida rushed ahead using his engine quirk and almost immediately took out a 2-pointer enemy. This was going to be fun. Touma ran down one of the city streets and pulled out the silver rod. He unscrewed a small portion of the rod and swung it so the top flew off ahead of him. A drone emerged from the small disk and began transmitting a signal. Soon, a number of 2- and 3- pointers started charging at the drone as if it were a target. Touma swung the rod again and let the momentum build until it revealed itself as a collapsible staff.

This was a newer version than what his aunt had used earlier that day, this staff was more sleek and less bulky. It had a slight curve to account for the compressed air canisters inside it, but it was balanced in a way it moved smoothly to Touma's momentum. It was mostly black, with one half painted a cool blue, and the opposite end had three orange stripes. This staff did more than just freeze things.

One end of it sang a high note, charging up for an attack. He jumped and swung the blue half of the staff at the closest robot and let the sudden burst of force send a wave of ice knock over a robot. The first robot fell upon the one behind it and they both fell in defeat--he'd gained five points in one blow. A low note rang from the staff signalling it was powering down for a few moments, which wasn't much of a problem; his staff still worked brilliantly without the extra flair. A few more swings and kicks and the other robots were downed. And there was still plenty of time left.

He heard a rumbling behind him, another robot was planning an ambush. He swung his staff and the end with orange stripes made contact with the robot's armour. It was stuck in place, trapped in sticky orange foam that was quickly hardening.After running a few more blocks and defeating a lot more robots, burying them in ice or orange foam, to the rhythm of his staff's high and low notes, and what sounded like distant cheers, he'd gathered a number of points over 40. Just as his staff was ringing a low note after another robot's defeat, he felt the ground shake and heard a loud booming sound echoing off the buildings around him. Panicked screams joined the confusing cacophony and Touma wondered what was going on.

"Rokuhoshi! Run!" He heard Iida call as he rounded the corner and grabbed his wrist. Touma was pulled along for a few paces, dragged by the sheer momentum of Iida's speed--and then he saw what the commotion was about. A massive robot that towered over the city and clipped the corners and facades of buildings, throwing rubble about, turned the corner and zeroed in on Touma, Iida and a dozen other students that were running for cover.

But in the distance, near the robot's feet and under the rubble was another examinee. A woman was trapped under her car, a hero and a villain battled on the bridge behind the wreckage. He couldn't let it happen again. He broke free from Iida's grasp and ran towards the examinee, unsure of what he could do to possibly stop the hulking faux enemy. He tore a component out of his staff and heard the staff shriek in an unending high note. He spun the staff to build momentum and threw the staff at the robot. A large wave of ice blossomed at the robot's base and slowed its advance.

"Please hold, please hold, please hold." He muttered under his breath as he took the last few strides towards the girl. His drone zipped past his ear and settled itself under the largest piece of rubble that lay on the girl. He input a few commands into the drone and it went into overdrive, its small but powerful thrusters lifted the largest piece off and away from the girl. The drone sputtered and died a little ways away, leaving a few more large pieces of rubble that Touma thought he could probably manage himself. He could still hear the robot's massive gears turning and the asphalt buckling under his feet. The sound of cracking ice grated on his ears. He lifted the rubble and the girl started crawling out. The creaking below them swelled, and he pulled her out. His foot got caught in a crevice. He wasn't going to make it---

"SMAAAASH!" Someone above them yelled and knocked the robot back. The remaining rubble loosened and both Touma and the girl were free.

"Are you all right?!" Touma asked the girl as they dusted themselves off.

"I'm okay but--" she looked up and they saw a teen boy with curly green hair falling towards them.shit. Touma found his staff in the rubble, the nitrogen canisters that created ice were empty and spent, but there was still enough foaming formula to create some sort of cushion to break the boy's fall. But at that speed he'll still hit the ground hard.

Can't you do something to--

That would be cheating.

Really? Screw that!

Shut up!!

"What?"

"I said throw me!" The girl examinee told him. Touma's heart was pumping. What's going on? The girl examinee climbed onto a fallen piece of the defeated robot and it floated a few feet of the ground. "Throw me so I can catch him!" Touma quickly lifted the broken part of the robot into the air towards the falling boy. As she floated away, he started stabbing the ground to make foam flow out as fast as possible. Above him, he heard the sharp smack of skin hitting skin and saw the green haired examinee's momentum slow until he floated a few feet above Touma's head. "Re--release!" The green haired examinee and the girl with her robot part landed in a cloud of quickly thickening foam with a loud thud.

"Please! If I could get just one point!" The boy cried as Touma fished him out of the foam, sputtering orange bubbles.

"What are you taking about?!--" surely someone with a quirk that powerful scored some points.

"The test is over!" They heard Present Mic announce over the speakers.

"If only I could have gotten a single point!" The green haired boy collapsed from exhaustion in Touma's arms. He set the boy down on the ground gently. Touma tried nudging the boy's shoulder but he heard someone yell in his ear.

'Careful!'

He couldn't hear the voice clearly, like he was underwater, or adjusting a radio station snowy with static. 'Right leg, possible spiral fracture. Left leg, possible compound fracture. Right arm, possible compound and comminuted fractu--' It was giving him a headache. What was worse, it felt like there was more than one voice.'stop. Stop saying shit! --i'm just saying be careful---'

"Shut up!" Touma cried, clapping his hands over his ringing ears.

"What's wrong with you? We were just talking about that guy's quirk." A few other examinees said, shooting Touma dirty looks.

Eventually, a pro hero came by to heal the green haired kid and Touma regrouped with Iida and they both headed out of the exam centre.

Iida and Touma sat on the curb, waiting for their respective rides to pick them up. Touma had retrieved his bow and quiver and wore them on his back. He felt a lot more comfortable with them on. Maybe it was better he didn't bring them: his drone was gone and his staff was in need of repairs. He fiddled with his staff with a small set of tools when Iida spoke up, "How many points did you think you got, Rokuhoshi?"Touma sighed and set his staff on the ground. "I...lost count. Somewhere between 40 or 45, you?"

"52." Iida said."I think you definitely got in," Touma praised.

"I think you did pretty well too."

"Thanks, though I guess we won't know for sure until they send us the results."

uhg waiting is the worst.

I know how it feels.

first

#bnha fanfic #bnha oc #mha fanfic #mha oc

0 notes

katiewattsart · 5 years ago

Text

03/12/19 : NOTHIN IS ORIGINAL (AND THAT’S OK)

RECAP

who watches the watchmen?

Ever tried, ever failed

Teddy boys and haul girls

Utopia and dystopia

Nothing is original and thats okay

AIMS FOR TODAY

to begin to think about the concept of originality

to begin to think about the concepts of the cope and how this might impact your practice

To begin to think about the terms pastiche and appropriation

THE OVERVIEW

1) INTRODUCE

2) THE OPENING ‘HOOK’

3) JUSTIFYING YOUR TOPIC

4) THEORY - WALTER BENJAMIN

5) CASE STUDY- ARTIST SHERRY LEVINE AND RICHARD RAUSCHENBERG

6) WE WILL FINISH WITH A HIGHLY ACCESSIBLE TED TALK BY AUSTIN KLEON ENTITLED

‘STEAL LIKE AN ARTIST’ TO PUT ALL OUR MINDS AT REST!

7) THE CONCLUSION WILL BE UP TO YOU!

The ‘HOOK’

PALIMPSEST

The earliest definition of palimpsest dates from he 17th century, a literal description of a physical object: ‘paper, parchment, or other writing material designed to be reusable after any writing on it has been erased.’

By the 19th century, the definition had tightened to refer to ‘a manuscript in which later writing has been superimposed on earlier (effaced) writing.’

During the 1800s, the word also evolved into a metaphor, as in ‘a think likened to such a writing surface, esp. in having been reused or altered while still retaining traces of its earlier form; a multi-layered record.’ (Jeffery a Kroessler. The City as Palimpsest. John Jay College of Criminal Justice.)

What is Originality?

How would you define originality?

Should we try and pursue originality?

Does originality exist?

If so, what does it look like?

The Artist as Conman

youtube

‘Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it.’ C.S.Lewis

So why does this matter?

Where am I going?

Why should you listen?

‘The Justification”

Angst. (Portrait of the Artist) (1971) Arnolf Rainer.

A Quotation

Appropriation, pastiche, quotation - these methods can now be seen to extend to visually every aspect of our culture, from the most calculated products of the fashion entertainment industries to the most committed critical activities of artists.’ (Crimp, Douglas. Appropriating Appropriation, in Hertz, Richard (ed) Theories of Contemporary Art, Prentice Hall Inc. USA, 1985.

Greyson Perry. Red Carpet.

But to be clear…or ‘to quantify’

Appropriation Art VS Forgery

FORGERY MEANING : the action of forging a copy of imitations of a document, signature, banknote, or work of art.

forger copy in close detail the makings on the back of the canvases, and made the frames appear to be decades old.

The art dealers also issued fake ‘certificates of authenticity’ for the forgeries. (New York Times) (on Ely Sakhai)

Historical Context

APPRENTICSHIP

the practice of copying existing artworks was seen as a necessary formation of an apprentice artist.

To copy old masters has traditionally been a key part of the artists training

HISTORICAL CONTEXT 2

The practice can be traced back to Cubist collage.

I.e. the construction of Picasso and Braque (1912)

PABLO PICASSO, NUDE IN AN ARMCHAIR, HORTA DE EBRO (PRESENT-DAY HORTA DE SANT JOAN), SUMMER 1909.

HISTORICAL CONTEXT 3

Surrealism

I.E. Salvador Dali Lobster Telephone

Jasper Johns

Robert Rauschenberg

Salvador Dalí Lobster Telephone 1936

HISTORICAL CONTEXT 4

Ready mades i.e. Marchel Duchamp

Fountain - men’s urinal signed, titles and presented on a pedestal

Marcel Duchamp. In Advance of the Brocken Arm. August 1964 (fourth version, after lost original of November 1915)

TO CONTEXTUALISE: TO DEFINE

APPROPRIATION WITHIN ART PRACTICES

The deliberate reproduction of (elements of) another artists work

Artists ‘copying’ artworks for their own artistic expression

It involves adopting intellectual property from elsewhere

It borrows images, styles, or forms from art history or popular culture

This ‘movement’ evolved in the 1960’s and peaked in the 80’s

APPROPRIATION : or making artworks using already existing artworks

a significant post modern theory

Response to what Barthes called the Death of the Author - that nothin is original

It can feel shameless

Pastiche/Collage/deliberate reworking of other people’s works

Key historical art practice

Artist using an existing form/image/sound in new ways

It is the ‘selection and manipulation of found materials’

The end result: strangely familiar yet altogether new

Jeff Coons

The readymade

Pastiche

Rephotograph

Recombination

Simulation

Parody

Scavenging

Replicating

Remixing

‘Stealing’

Bicycle Wheel. Marcel Duchamp. 1913

Them. Danny Treacy

Pastiche, Parody, and the Remake

Postmodernism has been characterized by a kind of fatigue with the new and the sense that everything has been done before.

Postmodernism asks: Can there ever be new ideas and images, things that have not been thought of or done before? Does it matter?

The world of images today consists of a huge variety of remakes, copies, parodies, replicas, reproductions, and remixes. In the arenas of art and architecture, as well as popular culture, the idea of an original image or form seems to have been thoroughly subverted.

One of the key terms used to describe this culture of imitation, remake, and parody is pastiche. Film theorist Richard Dyer has written that the primary way to understand pastiche is as an imitation that announces itself as such and that involves combining elements from other sources.

The term pastiche is derived from the Italian word pasticcio, which refers to a combination of elements that evokes, - according to Dyer, assemblage, collage, montage, capriccio (a style of composing that combines elements from different places), medley forms, and hip-hop forms of sampling, scratching, and riffing. Dyer thus points to the fact that pastiche has a long history in image making. Within the realm of imitation and quoting that constitutes pastiche, we can find different kinds of combinations and relationships to the original texts-from ironic quoting to parody to remakes to mashups.

Pastiche has a very particular relationship to history. As a strategy it can often involve pilfering from history and combining historical elements in ways that have little historical meaning but are rather a kind of play.

John Stezaker

John Stezaker. The Trial 1978

Jeff Wall. A Sudden Gust of Wind (After Hokusai) 1993

Sherry Levine

‘The world is filled to suffocating. Man has placed his token on every stone. Every word, every image, is leased and mortgaged. We know that a picture is but a space in which a variety of images, none of them original, blend and clash.’

‘WE CAN ONLY IMITATE A GESTURE THAT IS ALWAYS ANTERIOR, NEVER ORIGINAL.’ (Appropriation. Ed David Evans. 2009)

Artist Sherrie Levine made a series of works in the 1980s that are emblematic of this kind of postmodernism pilfering and borrowing that questions ownership and the original. Levine simply rephotographed famous images-in blatant violation of their copyright, the signifier of authorship and authenticity-and displayed them as her own. In After Edward Weston (#2), Levine rephotographed Weston's famous image of his son, Neil, enti- tled Torso of Neil {1925). Weston's image is situated in a long history of male nudes, which Levine's "theft" disrupts precisely because it is explicitly presented as copied, rather than concealing its status as a copy.

Robert Rauchenberg. The White Painting

ONE THEORETICAL POSITION

Walter…

1936 essay The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.

Our fine arts were developed, their types and uses were established, in times very different from the present, by men whose power of action upon things was insignificant in comparison with ours. But the amazing growth of our techniques, the adaptability and precision they have attained, the ideas and habits they are creating, make it a certainty that profound changes are impending in the ancient craft of the Beautiful. In all the arts there is a physical component which can no longer be considered or treated as it used to be, which cannot remain unaffected by our modern knowledge and power. For the last twenty years neither matter nor space nor time has been what it was from time immemorial. We must expect great innovations to transform the entire technique of the arts, thereby affecting artistic invention itself and perhaps even bringing about an amazing change in our very notion of art.[5]

‘the action of mechanical reproduction effectively dimities the concepts of originality’

‘the mass, mechanised reproducibility of art has reduced its authenticity’

‘mass production removes what he calls the aura - a sort of unique authority - from the work’

‘ Even the most perfect reproduction of a work of art is lacking in one element: its presence in time and space, its unique existence at the place where it happens to be.’

‘The presence of the original is prerequisite to the. Concept of authenticity,’ and, thus, ‘the whole sphere of authenticity is outside of the technical…reproducibility.’

Walter Benjamin, ‘The Work of Art…’

The Death of the Author

Barthes extended this concept of ‘The Death of the Author’ to question the very possibility of originality and authenticity, he staged that any text (or image) rather than emitting a fixed meaning from a singular voice, was but a tissue of quotations that were themselves references to yet other texts, and so on.

PART THREE

MY OWN PRACTICE

youtube

PART FOUR

CONCLUSION

Recapping

Evaluate/ deciding

Any more for later?

The finishing touches

What do you make?

Is there an original?

Or do you make copies?

Does your work have acratic qualities?

What do you look for in your discipline?

Form? Content? Expression? Representation?

What gives you work originality?

TASK

"Based on today's lecture, find examples of relevant work in your discipline and apply this to your reflection; consider how you would explore some of these themes in your own work"

References:

https://artlogic-res.cloudinary.com/w_1200,h_1200,c_limit,f_auto,fl_lossy,f_auto,fl_lossy/artlogicstorage/victoriamiro/images/view/31c340c550c02bc143c73bb75ed329fbj.jpg

http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/02532/nude-woman-picasso_2532876b.jpg

https://www.tate.org.uk/art/images/work/T/T03/T03257_9.jpg

http://www.moma.org/wp/moma_learning/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/Duchamp.-In-advance-of-a-Broken-Arm-295x395.jpg

https://mitpress.mit.edu/sites/default/files/9780262550703.jpg

http://malba.s3-website-sa-east-1.amazonaws.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/14181116/PH_Guyot-750x1124.jpg

http://www.dannytreacy.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Them_1.jpg

http://uploads3.wikiart.org/images/marcel-duchamp/bicycle-wheel-1913.jpg

http://www.tate.org.uk/art/images/work/T/T12/T12342_10.jpg

https://s3.amazonaws.com/files.collageplatform.com.prod/image_cache/472x472_fit/5761760584184e24248b4568/a1672f549c38afb4ae0413fd8ef7be76.jpeg

http://imageobjecttext.files.wordpress.com/2012/07/wall-a-sudden-gust-of-wind-after-hokusai-1993.jpeg

https://s3-us-west-2.amazonaws.com/sfmomamedia/media/research-projects/downloads/WHIT_98.308.jpg

http://img1.imagesbn.com/p/9781453722480_p0_v1_s260x420.JPG

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