#you are employed at this man's discretion he has everyone in his pocket | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

t-tomuras · 2 months ago

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⚡︎ ─── •𝐀 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲

Pairing: Denki Kaminari x Mouse Hybrid!Reader

Warnings: Reader is an escort, Denki has trauma, alcohol, teasing, slight pussyjob, slight anal play, creampie, mention of pegging

Wordcount: 3.4k

Notes: SUCH a fun character to write and it's for none other than my sweet @saturnsorbits

Everyone has their vices, some people gambled, blurred their minds in a drug addled haze or drank themselves into a stupor.

Denki’s was his desire for company, his need to be wanted and adored but not how the general public admired him as the hero he was. Craving something more organic and less reverent.

Even if he had to pay for it.

He’s certain his teenage self would be reeling over the change in views, but war did that to a man; especially experiencing it as a boy instead.

Life was more peaceful now, the occasional villain in the streets for him to stop but nothing compared to his first year of highschool. Now Kaminari just felt like he was a decoration in the street, plastering a broad smile on his face as he waved.

He adored the attention, the appreciation, everything that came with his profession but where was it when he was in the sanctity of his home? Why was there no solace in silence?

No dopamine rush even as he scrolled various social media timelines, each one holding a plethora of thirst traps and fan edits of candid photos of Denki.

It only worsened the feeling of derealization, exacerbated the dehumanization he felt as a figure for the public eye.

Nobody ever told him it’d be like this, had anything changed since he’d listened to the villains speeches about how rotten society was? Was it different just because he was on the other side of the spectrum?

He decides not to think about it, slamming his phone face down onto his bedside table as he paced around his room for discarded clothing. Stepping into his leather pants that fit like a second skin before donning a loose off the shoulder, distressed style white shirt. Clipping the fringe that falls into his face back with a black headband, hiding his telltale onyx bolt of lightning in his electric blond mop. Completing the ensemble with tinted shades despite the hour of night but his favorite bar district was plenty bright.

Abandoning his phone for the night, like he does every time he needs a break from doom scrolling, as he carries himself down familiar blocks in long strides.

The nightlife is bustling, as it always is even for the middle of the week. Businessmen still clutching their briefcases with loosened ties already calling it a night to their cohorts as they go separate ways, returning to their wives. Scattered groups of university students and young women just looking to blow off some steam lingering in the streets, though the clumps of people grew sparse the further into the district you delved.

Hands shoved deep into his pockets, head slightly ducked as Denki seemingly traveled by muscle memory alone until he stood at an innocuous bar you had to take steps down into. A hole in the wall in every sense of the word but the interior decor contrasted that notion heavily.

Vaulted ceilings outfitted with crystal chandeliers but the establishment remained dimly lit, crushed velvet curtains covering windows that were far from functional and every man and woman employed there

The bar didn’t even have a sign out front for the ultimate level of discretion, Denki knew multiple heroes frequented this pub as well but he’d never tell; he could only hope the feeling was mutual.

The tabloids would kill for that headline afterall, every time he sets foot on the lush carpeting it comes to mind. “Pro-hero Chargebolt look’s for love in all the wrong places.”

What would Shoji, more specifically, think of him now if he knew how particular his tastes were? Would this be considered exploitative? He never paid them for sex or sexual favors but he wouldn’t turn them down if they tried in the alleyway or cab back to the agency at the end of the ‘date’ before he called night. Heteromorphs still being one of the most marginalized people based on their quirks despite all the work his friend did after the war, after all.

He liked to think he was respectful, he only paid for their company, for them to treat him like Denki Kaminari and not top twenty in the hero ranking charts, Chargebolt, or Kamino Wards most eligible bachelor.

He shakes his head, has to nip the thoughts in the bud as he slides into one of the stools at the bar nestled in a secluded corner of the room. In a stool with one other soul next to him when he orders his first drink.

You.

You sit quietly next to him for a good minute, long enough for him to finish his first drink while you nurse your own, spinning around the little black straw you were given so you wouldn’t smear lipstick all over their precious glasses.

Keen ears flicking every time you hear him take a drink, every thick swallow of liquor you know should be burning his throat despite the low hum of conversation from the rest of the room.

Jolting slightly at the sound of glass hitting the hardwood bar top followed by his hiss before Denki turns his lower body towards you. Twisting his body in his seat as he leans cooly after calling for another two drinks, his own and whatever you’re nursing despite not even being half finished with it.

“Your ice is melted,” your ears twitch again before you finally turn to him as well, clutching at your drink as a new glass is slid towards you by the tender.

“Figured it was time for a new one, unless you like watered down drinks instead,” tone playful and intentionally disarming. You let your own eyes take up his body and he grins but the expression doesn’t meet his eyes when he reaches for his third drink.

He doesn’t give you a moment to respond, swallowing quickly as if he’s realized something, “oh you’re probably not supposed to drink too much on the clock huh?”

“How did you know?” Thinly veiled defensive tone, you’d just barely managed to school your features to keep from scowling at him.

“They value their discretion but they only hire hybrids as escorts,” commented calmly as he takes another sizable swig of his drink, chuckling as he glances at you from the corner of his eye, “it must be your first day.”

Denki makes it increasingly difficult for you to control your initial reactions, inherently uncomfortable with a man having an easy time reading you especially in this line of work. You’d only taken this gig because it paid well and you were assured you wouldn’t have to fuck any creep you didn’t want to as well as decent security to assure your safety.

You try to compose yourself a bit, crossing your legs as you pull down the hem of your dress, tail wrapping around your calf comfortingly as your lips purse around the little straw to sip cutely at your drink, “and what makes you so sure it’s my first day?”

He chortles at that, bringing his glass to his lips before snorting once more with a shake of his head, “you just look like this is the last place you wanna be, is all.”

“Maybe I’m just not that interested in you,” scoffed slightly but without any real malice as your lean your cheek against your curled knuckles, “would all that hero ‘people reading’ bullshit tell you that about me, Chargebolt?”

You eat up the way he looks struck, eyes widening minutely and his lips parting around a quiet exhale as he lowers his drink once again. Before he starts laughing. Genuine laughter, cute and boyish in nature despite how he’s now pushing his thirties and it makes your heart race. The sound of it is inherently different from the practiced reactions he displays for the cameras and impromptu interactions with fans in the streets.

It takes a moment for his laughter to subside, knuckle wiping at a tear along his lashline as if he hadn’t laughed like that in who knows how long, “ya caught me, darlin, how’d you know?”

“Did you think sunglasses and clipped back hair would make you unrecognizable or are you just used to everyone playing dumb when you

That takes him aback and you cringe at your own harsh tone, clutching your drink tighter as you glance around just in case your handler was still lingering close by before boisterous laughter pulls your attention once more. Expression softening at how vulnerable he looks when your gaze falls back to him, placing your hand over his to gently ask for his attention.

“The real Denki seems like he’d be a lot more fun than the Kaminari every piece of media tries to push, so how about we try again,” he looks at you curiously as you give him a soft smile, glass raised and held out between you both, “what’s your name handsome?”

Denki laughs again, nose scrunching cutely as he raises his glass to clink delicately against yours, “Kaminari, Denki Kaminari.”

He doesn’t do this, he’s never done this before, never brought an escort back to his own house.

You’d asked him for his number, he’d told you he’d left his home and you knew by his awkward groping at himself for it and the nervous twitch to his lip that he was telling the truth; even before he tried to swear to you he wasn’t lying. Quelling his descent into pitiable promises and attempts to prove that this wasn’t some ploy to take you home as you tell him you’ve no qualms about his sincerity.

Assuring him with a sweet tone and sway of your tail that made his heart skip a beat when you read him to filth for the second time that night, “I know, you’re a terrible liar.”

So how you got here, hungry kisses and fevered pawing before Denki’s able to stumble you both over the threshold to his humble home, you’re unsure. Maybe it was the way he’d switched your positions on the sidewalk so he was the one nearest oncoming traffic or the way he’d pulled you closer protectively and glared at a group of drunkards overtly ogling you.

Maybe it was how easily you made him laugh, whole bellied laugh, over some of the shitty dates horror stories you’d regaled him with and he shared in turn before the topic got heavier the closer to his home you got.

Asking him why he frequents the bar enough for you to know he was a repeat client from how the bartender served a specific drink after a single cursory glance.

It made Denki’s heart race, to be so obviously seen the way you’ve seen him tonight, it made sharing with you easy. Everyone already knew he’d fought in the war as a teenager but, surprisingly enough, he gives you the grittier details. The death, the mangling of his idols and classmates, how it all seems glamorized to Denki now ten years later.

And then the way you held him in your hands when he seemed to get riled up, knuckles white in clenched fists that eased when you slipped your fingers into his hand while you held his face with the other. Grounding him in that moment and the way the street lamps backlit you, painted you with an ethereal glow, you looked more like an angel to him.

He had to kiss you, and again whenever you’d make that cute squeak of surprise before melting into the exchange. Chaste brushes of one another lips quickly devolving into chasing contact, tentatively tongue swiping on Denki’s part past the seam of your lips to get a better taste of you. Mumbling an apology intermittently about the taste of alcohol on his own before commenting how he likes the honied undertones of the gloss layered over the lipstick he ruins.

Everything about you was so enchanting, so naturally alluring to him. It was easy for him to get lost in you like this, fumbling for the keys to his front door because he refused to untangle from you. Finally pressing your back against the door for some stability until he conquers the pesky lock and you both stumble into the privacy of his home.

Denki kicks the door shut behind him before flipping your positions to pin you against the sturdy wood. Crowding your space as he grows bold, hand venturing between your thighs and stifling a borderline whine that catches in his throat at the dampness he finds. Rewarding you with delicious friction as his fingers drag along your clothed slit until you’ve had enough of the teasing.

Tail wrapping around his wrist tightly as the heel of his palm grinds into your sensitive clit and his fingers sneak beneath the seam of your lacy panties to delve into your sopping entrance as if he’d even dream of pulling away from you.

Besides pushing your dress up higher around your hips as he slots his thigh between yours to give you steady friction while he works the material the rest of the way off. Your tail only unwinding from his forearm long enough for the garment to be shed before you’re pushing at his own clothing.

Bodies turning again as lithe digits work at the button and zipper of his pants while Denki lavishes your throat in open mouthed kisses as he walks you blindly. Expertly guiding you through familiar surroundings and into his room by the time you’ve pushed his pants low enough for him to step out of before the backs of your knees hit his mattress.

Saved from tipping backwards by the electric blond alone as both hands palm at the fat of your ass while your tail wraps around his upper thigh to keep it out of the way. Feeling his hard cock pressed against your mound while Denki fingers tease at your entrance and play with slick folds as he nips playfully at the sensitive cartilage of your ear.

Whispering a low, ‘do you have a condom?’ that you don’t catch at first, focus divided between the feel of him pressed against you and wiggling your hips hoping for even the moderate stretch of his fingers before he asks again.

“I don’t have one, do you have a condom?”

It’s almost jarring, forcing you to focus more in order to respond before you opt to simply cradle his jaw in your hands and seal your lips over his while your free hand grips at the base of his shaft. Pumping languidly as you go for another searing kiss, swallowing the groan you pull from him before you part, tugging his lower lip between your teeth gently.

“Does it really matter that much right now? When we’re already naked?” Purred in a sultry coo as your thumb rolls over his leaking tip, spreading his pre down his sensitive head and throbbing shaft.

“Not at all,” chirped before he flips you around and guides you forward, your hands and knees dipping in the mattress before you crawl towards the center. Denki’s chest pressed against your back as he slots himself against you perfectly.

Cock gliding through your folds, thick tip kissing your clit with each rut that’s soon punctuated by sweet pitchy keens from plush lips until he catches on your entrance. Obviously eager to fill you now himself because Denki’s hips begin to push forward until the soft clap of his pelvis against your ass can be heard. Resuming the stimulation you vocally approved of as he reaches his hand between you and the pillow top, ring and middle fingers rolling methodical circles into your puffy nub.

Dipping your chest to the mattress as you grip at the pillows haphazardly arranged at the end of the bed, only somewhat muffling your moans but Denki hears them clearly. Feeds off of them, grinning as he ruts into you before laughing breathlessly at the way your walls convulse around his cock as you mewl once more.

Leaning down as his lips leave a blazing trail from the nape of your neck to the juncture of your jaw.

“Pretty noisy for a mouse,” playful and fun, twirling your tail in the opposite direction he swirls his fingers around your clit, lips against your thrumming pulse point as humid breaths dampen the skin of your throat.

You’re not sure if the electricity you feel with every roll of his fingers in time with the rut of his hips is from the pleasure he provides or from his infamous quirk. You’re not sure you really care as you melt in his hold, mind going pleasantly numb as your grip on downy pillows tightens.

Muffling your mewls into the plush material, arch of your back worsening as Denki strokes along the sensitive base before you no longer feel his comfortable weight against you. Suddenly very empty, turning to look back at him just as Denki pulls your ass further into the air by it.

Leaky tip still teasingly gliding through your folds the same way Bakugou always brags about with his own spouse before Kaminari catches on your entrance.

The insufficient stretch has you jolting forward as your hands splay out on the headboard, pushing yourself backwards and sinking him further into your sopping cunt with a throaty groan.

Surprising Denki in turn, choking on a curse as his fingers quickly grab at the fat of your ass. Bead of sweat rolling down his temple with a wavering smile and furrowed brows marring handsome features as the confident facade falters, muttering a lame ‘whoa..’ when you take him to the base in one push.

Choking on his own spit when you rock backwards into him, finding your own pace as your head lolls backwards with breathy sighs bordering sweet moans.

Using Denki for your own pleasure now and it makes him throb, uselessly gripping at you and bucking out of sync at first until you whine.

Twisting to face him slightly as your hand splays out just beneath his navel, cute face crunched in mild frustration. Furrow of your only fading, plush lips pursing into a pretty ‘o’ when he grasps your hint and slows the rolls of his hips in time with the rhythm you set, “like that Denki, just like that.”

Thumb spreading you further, pulling gently at the skin of your cheek so he can watch with rapt attention how you’re stretched around him, how your greedy cunt grips him like you don’t want a moment of separation. Saliva pooling on his tongue Denki has to swallow thickly at how creamy rings gather at the base of his cock in time with how much more vocal you get.

He’s going to cum already from the slight alone, coil in his lower belly tight as his abdomen flexes beneath your fingertips.

Golden hues alight as a few subtle sparks of electricity dance in the air from his skin, literal shocks of pleasure heightening your experience and the pitchy keen he elicits from you is evidence enough.

In awe of how frantically you’re chasing your high, how you’re essentially using him as a human dildo and he’s loving every second of it. Feverishly chasing your climax, unabashed as you hiss and whimper in slight frustration before sitting up for a heightened sense of stimulation. Supporting yourself on the headboard but the sudden movement surprises him, thumb slipping past the tight ring into your ass and that’s the moment the coil snaps.

Loud moan reverberating against thin walls he’s sure his neighbors will complain about later as every muscle in your body tightens, twitching from the overwhelming euphoria.

Pulling Denki over the edge with you, white hot light clouding his vision as his fingers on your hip grip with a bruising force while he paints velvet walls in creamy white. He’d meant to pull out, meant to decorate your pretty skin since neither one of you had a condom but he’s glad he didn’t.

You’re warm, warmer than anything he’s ever experienced before and you’re pliant as you work your way down from cloud nine. Sitting up as Denki reflexively supports your body, pulling you until your back rests against his chest. Moving his hand to rest just below your diaphragm, hooking his chin on your shoulder as you both pant for breath.

“Wow..” Denki mutters against your dewy skin, keeping you pressed closely to him as you both regulate in your post ecstasy bliss. Kaminari laying a kiss to your trapezius muscle and then another at the column of your throat before resting his cheek on the ball of your shoulder so you can see him from the corner of your eye. Tired but cheeky smile lighting up his whole face as his fingers twirl the end of your tail, “do you wanna peg me next or is that a second date sort of thing?”

#vixen writes #denki x reader #denki x you #kaminari x reader #denki smut #denki kaminari x reader

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cantstopthesignal2005 · 5 years ago

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Spinning

“The guy was supposed to be here already,” Tess complained to her roommate, Annie, whose jaw had been grinding for the past half hour. “Hey, Tess?” she replied, eyes low, affecting a vindictive scowl. “That’s about the third time you sang that song this hour. Let’s give it a rest, huh?” Annie felt a pride in keeping her agitation to herself in waiting for their guy, who, she icily reminded Tess, was named Jason. She was self-satisfied in being able to internalize her frustrations, something Tess was unsuccessful in doing. Tess clicked her teeth a few times, the resulting noise crawling beneath Annie’s skin, her blood simmering with a rage for Tess’s inane tics and neuroses. “What do we want to do?” Tess finally asked. “We call Jason,” Annie replied, rolling her eyes. Annie surmised that nine times out of ten, she would be the one in their relationship called upon to solve an issue they faced. Their dynamic had never been even, something Annie knew and accepted from it’s genesis. She had been advised by her mother to practice patience and lower expectations of others, that people would only repeatedly disappoint her otherwise. She knew from an early age that not everyone would be as poised, mature, and intelligent as she was. This was the burden she had to bear in life: to remain gracious in the face of ignorance and deficiency. Today, she was consumed with a dread that she and Tess would monstrously shred the other to pieces without the balm of cocaine or an approximate upper. Annie scrolled through her contacts, selecting “Tutor,” the name he was assigned to practice discretion. Half-expecting a dial tone, she was surprised to hear him mumble, “Hello?” after the first two rings. “Hey, Jason?” “This is he.” “It’s Annie. Annie Sutton.” “Yeah, no, I know who it is, I have your number saved,” he said through a yawn. “What’s up?” “I just need help with my math homework, I think we scheduled it for noon thirty, right?” “Oh, did we have a tutoring session scheduled?” “We did. Half past twelve. It’s one.” “Okay. Uh, I’m still in bed. I can be there at two the earliest. Same place?” “Uh, yeah . . .” “Great, I’ll see you at 2?” “I’ll be here.” Annie slid the phone into her pocket, and looked over to an Tess, expectant as ever, her eyes hungry and desperate “So?” Tess asked, twirling her hands, obnoxiously expectant as per usual. “Says he’ll maybe here at two.” “Maybe?!? Two?!?” she balked. “What the fuck, dude? No, no, call him back, we’re not waiting all day for him.” “What else are you doing today, Tess?” she barked. “It’s an hour. You aren’t doing anything anyway.” Annie was quick to point out Tess’s lack of productivity, which would usually make Tess heel during one of their arguments, which were increasing in regularity. Annie would bite her tongue about Tess’s vulgar privilege—she received garish amounts of money from her boyfriend—as it was relatively easy to pressure Tess into paying both halves of their rent. “Well,” Tess venomously snarled, “I could do lots of things.” “Like what?” “Study films. That’s a passion of mine. I’m thinking of getting into French New Wave . . .” Annie snapped her fingers and gasped. “We could get ecstasy from Flacko!” “Flacko’s a creep,” Tess shuddered. “He tried to get me to fuck for a bag. I told him no, and he got so fucking mad. He almost didn’t let me leave.” “That’s a no,” Annie muttered. “Denver? We used to score his ADHD meds, remember?” “My cousin? No. Don’t even ask.” Annie ran through the avenues they could go down to cop their salve, before sighing, “We need more options. We need to get out more. Jason’s fucking mad unreliable” They nodded and passively flipped through channels, Tess eventually landing on a film where, in an excruciatingly tight close-up, a young man held the face of a bloodied young woman, as she gagged, sputtering scarlet from her lips. Annie was unnerved and shifted her attention to the coffee table, which had been collecting several magazines and vinyl records, the latter wearing scars from Tess’s razor blade, cocaine residue accumulating in the cardboard. “Hey,” Tess said. “Uh, well, I was wondering . . . do you think we should think about . . . not doing this anymore? Maybe . . . maybe it’s time to stop this shit.” “It’s not bad,” Annie replied, shrugging her shoulders. “You know, it’s just . . . well, for me, it’s just a study aide.” “Annie, we’re spinning right now. We’d do a line every now and then. Then, we’d do it every other week. Now, we’re lucky if a gram can get us through a day. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t feeding my nose. I mean, you know . . . it’s just . . . we could do less of it.” “I don’t thnk . . . Tess . . . no, no, you’re right.” The theory that their habit had swelled inordinately would cross both of their minds in times of fleeting lucidity, though it had never been given a mouth. Rather than confront their steady motion towards self-destruction, they would bottle their spiraling aggression, spending hours awake in bed trying to will their hearts to beat slower, stumbling upon juvenile, half-profound epiphanies. The rambling discussions where many words were employed but nothing was said. What once was so helpful in propelling them toward great heights of productivity and alertness had expended all usefulness, fracturing their spirit and motivation. The music Annie produced on her laptop had, of late, declined in quality, only collages of discordant music that collided into an unpleasant mess. “Okay, well,” Tess began, licking her lips, “I have to say . . . I must say, I think we’re doing the right thing in admitting this to ourselves and to each other. Like, we’re on the precipice of developing a problem. It’s not getting to that point, but it is something we should address before it has a chance to worsen.” “Right,” Annie agreed, rather frantically. “Okay, so what do we want to do? What should we do? To prevent it becoming an issue?” “What we should do is, we should call Jason. We should call Jason and tell him not to come.” Annie shook her head. “We shouldn’t? Why not?” “If we quit cold turkey like that . . . I heard that it would be worse. You know? We should have . . . we should have a gradual decline.” Annie picked up a memo pad she kept on the wooden end table nestled next to the couch, jotting down their planned intake. Tess paced the apartment, finding that it lubricated her mind, snapping to fire up her synapses. They concluded that nine-tenths of a gram should suffice as the initial weening period; once a week had passed with the new dose, they would convene and discuss moving forward. “And we’d have more money to do shit,” Tess realized aloud. “It’s a fucking money suck, Annie. It’s so fucking bad. We could have gotten like, new shoes or at least . . . at least try to improve our quality of life. They say it makes you paranoid and that it, you know, destroys you. And they’re right. That’s what it is, it’s just . . . it’s just a destructive powder.” “You could go do that film program, right? You could, if you wanted to. You could make great content. I really think you could. You’re so fucking creative. Like Wes Anderson? You could totally be the next Wes Anderson.” “Yeah. Thanks so much for saying that. I’ll totally do it. Can you push me if you see I’m making excuses? Cause I—I do that. I get complacent. I fall out of routines, I’m so bad at it. But if someone keeps me focused, I can really get it done. I just need someone to help me take it to the finish line, I’m terrible with follow through.” “Yeah, sure. I’ll push you.” There was a pregnant pause between the two before Tess turned the television back on. Tess and Annie passively watched a documentary on feral cats, Annie peering over to her phone to check her messages. Tess became uncertain of Annie’s commitment to quitting, though she kept this to herself. Annie tapped her fingers against her legs, anxious in wait of Jason’s arrival. Aware her antsy behavior was likely annoying Tess, she excused herself to take a shower, where she felt the crash of it all. Her body became sluggish, dark thoughts began to arise as the water hit her skin. This was her life. These were her habits, this was her social circle, this was her spartan existence. She wondered aloud how she arrived here and what choices she could have made to avoid having to careen down this path. As she left the room her boyfriend’s gray university shirt and plaid boxers, a towel wrapped around her head, she saw Jason unloading his backpack of wares onto the table, Tess hungrily scanning the items. “You’re late,” Annie said, rolling her eyes. “This can’t happen again, or we aren’t copping from you in the future.” “Yeah, okay?” he said, scoffing dismissively. “Sorry to offend, Ms. Lady.” “Tess, why are we letting him sell in our living room?” “You’re not making the deal in the hallway, Annie,” he told her, scowling with resentment. “Let’s get it moving, time is money.” “Oh, you must fucking hate money,” Tess snapped, crossing her arms. “Given how fucking late you are. How you’re just acting an ass with your customers?” “What’s the deal? What am I here to give ya’ll?” “Four grams,” Annie said, with an assured finality. “Four grams. Tess has the scale, we’re gonna pay you for it, and honestly, don’t ever fucking come back here again.” “Wowwwwww!” Jason feigned offense, though outside opinion had never bothered him. Tess carefully carried out the deal, only handing Jason the bill after rubbing a bit of coke against her teeth, feeling the familiar, tingling sensation that she knew so well. Jason packed up his goods and departed, muttering “Fiends” ostensibly under his breath, though he made certain that his slight was heard. They divvied up the bags and cut them into lines, their moods lifted from a hellish despondency into an affable cheerfulness. Their energy morphed from a muted contention to an ebullience that felt oddly foreign. They began to join one another in jotting down goals, setting forth plans to achieve them, wholly engaging for the first time in over a week. “. . . and I can get involved with the coffee shop, you know? You know the one I’m talking about? Allison’s place? And I can do some work there, meet some people there. Network. That’s a dirty word, it feels like, but I think it’s important.” She paused, her eyes departing. “Fuck! Is it me, or is this shit really potent?” “It’s pretty good,” Annie assured her. “Do you think it’s because we’re quitting that it feels so fucking good? Like, because we soon enough won’t be able to do it?” “I’m sure that has something to do with it,” Annie muttered, shrugging. “So, you’re feeling this? What I’m feeling? You’re riding on this wave?” “I think so.” “I’m so happy to have you in my life.” “Me too. You know, when I’m talking rough to you, it’s only because I want to make sure you reach your potential. Do everything you want to do, everything you’re capable of.” “No, totally! What? You don’t ever have to apologize! Not to me. You’re like my sister, you’re family to me, you’re in my coven. I want you . . . I NEED you to push me. Cause I won’t push myself. I’m not . . . not self-motivated, I’m not disciplined. And you really are! You are, and I love that about you. That you’re indefatigable. You’ve got this tick-tick-tick-ticking engine inside you. It’s so fucking impressive.” The doorbell rang and Annie whipped her head to the door, slowly approaching as Tess felt a shiver travel down her spine, her hearts tempo ramping up. Annie saw an image of her little brother warped from the glass of the peephole. “Tess, it’s just Neil!” she yelled. Tess sighed and reclined as Annie opened the door. Neil’s tall, lanky frame slowly ambled towards Tess, offering her a handshake, his smile twisted and off-putting. “What’s going on, baby brother?” Annie asked. “Not much. Just grabbing my shit from when I crashed.” Annie forgot entirely that they had a fractious spat which led to her little brother getting booted from the apartment. “How are you, Neil?” Tess asked, sotto voce. “Uh, good? You?” “Well, I won’t lie to you. You know, I’m under the influence of something right now. But I’m very authentic as a result, I’m open. It tears off walls of communication and empathy that I usually have.” “What the fuck?” Neil asked, looking away. “Annie, where’s my shit?” “Don’t tell dad,” Annie warned. “I know you like to fucking tattle.” “I don’t talk to dad,” he coolly informed her. “I’m staying with Alejandro, since you guys decided you didn’t want me here anymore.” “You should have seen him when he was young, Tess.” “I did know him when he was younger,” Tess reminded her. “Like YOUNG young. He would keep telling on me and my friends cause we didn’t let him hang out . . .” Neil spotted the bag he purchased from the library, stuffed with his copious stack of movies and books. He silently walked away and slammed the door to emphasize his exit. Annie looked over to Tess, whose gaze was captured by the pattern of arrows and angles woven into their carpet. “We should put on some music. What’s a good song?” “What are we in the mood for?” “Soft. Soothing. Nothing aggressive.” Annie anxiously thrummed her fingers against the coffee table, before gasping, “Don’t Worry Baby. It’s by The Beach Boys.” “By whom?” “The Beach Boys. The song is called . . . Don’t Worry Baby.” “Okay, we’ll play that now.” “Maybe . . .” Annie began, hesitation punctuating her words. “Maybe we shouldn’t play it.” “No, no, no! No, no! No. You know, we chose your song, that’s the song that should be played.” As the song played, they felt their eggshell fragile minds being jarred, oscillating between extreme happiness and melancholy. Emotions erratically came and left, leaving them overwhelmed. With a need to numb themselves entirely, they mindlessly reached into their pockets and emptied the bags onto the coffee table, silently breaking their pact. The coke drip burned the back of their throats, giving way to a familiar, loving high. Tomorrow would grant them the moment of clarity necessary to kick, the drive to stick with it. Tomorrow, they pledged.

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biometricbits · 6 years ago

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Digital aspirations and paper pages : Why analog media continues to thrive in a digital world.

Painting is one of the most archaic ways to create an image. In a world dominated by digital imagery, which can be easily and endlessly reproduced, there remains a demand for the irreproducible. When thinking about what humans want, the easiest place to begin would be to look at our senses, and their importance in shaping our perception of the world. The term “analog” and “digital” can be interpreted in a number of ways, and the digital/analog split goes back much farther than most initially think.

Portrait of Akhenaten's daughters Max Headroom

We like our senses. Why do some people still want to play a record when they can play an mp3? The reason is one based on a human desire to touch and feel things. Most of us still see things with our eyes, touch things with our hands, and hear things with our ears.

What are the differences between analog and digital? :

The roots of the word analog comes from greek “ana” which means parallel/copy of , and “logos” which means reality. In this regard one could argue that analog means media which is more equivalent to reality. It runs in parallel to reality itself. Whereas the “digital” is a quantized version of this reality. It’s more binary in nature.

Ralph Gerard, who explored this dichotomy in 1951, said that “an analogical system is one in which one of two variables is continuous on the other, while in a digital system the variable is discontinuous and quantized” (qtd. in Wilder 243). It is from Gerard that we get the prototypical analog device, the slide rule—it’s continuous numbering, as well as meaningful spatiality, wherein the further down the number is, the larger it is—and the abacus as the prototypical digital device, due to the ‘on-or-off-ness’ of the beads, where they are either counted or not. This latter conception of digitality has principally to do with the language of binary, used by today’s digital devices, in its utilization of 1s and 0s.

Electronic Music Composer Suzanne Ciani Screenshot of Logic Pro synth emulator

We are the robots:

Our bodies are increasingly subject to more regulation from technological advancements. From stints put into our hearts to keep the blood pumping, to glasses which help many to see the world in focus. There is little doubt that our bodies are being integrated with technology at a rapid pace, and it would be hard to argue that advancements in science are a detriment in any way. However, one aspect of becoming a cyborg doesn’t involve upgrades to the physical “hardware” so to speak (our flesh, guts and bones) but rather to the creation of what is termed the “digital self”. This is the idea that digital technologies have an enormous impact on our notion of what the self is. The digital has a tendency to be more inward focused. Meaning that it is becoming more difficult to understand what’s going on inside of them without some sort of specialized knowledge. We can understand that a diamond tip on a record player stylus fits into a groove on a piece of vinyl that correspond to vibrations made during a recording, and that this same sound can be reproduced through the use of speakers. Now, if we compare this to playing a song on spotify, on our phone, through bluetooth speakers we get a very different interaction with the song itself because there is no record we can hold in our hands, there is no needle which scrapes along the surface of a circular piece of vinyl, it’s all in the air, like magic. Even when the song is over, the data is being gathered by spotify about how long we listened to the song, whether we liked it or not, and then that algorithm tries to find other music that we like so we continue to listen. Can you imagine telling someone in the 1970s that in the future a small device you carried around in your pocket would not only play music through speakers without wires, but could actually recommend over artists you’d like? It would be the stuff of science fiction, but here we are today.

The result of these specialized looks by artificial intelligence and computers has caused people to become more inward looking, and more focused on their own thoughts and feelings. Shanyang Zhao studies the online communications of teenagers, and he saw this manifested in the creation in what he termed the digital self “The digital self is . . . more oriented toward one’s inner world, focusing on thoughts, feelings and personalities rather than one’s outer world, focusing on height, weight, and looks” (396)

Marshall McLuhan and Mass Media as a narcotic agent:

“Electric media is an extension of ourselves, a communal act...an electronic world re-tribalizes men.”

“A point of view means a static fixed position, and you can’t have a point of view in the electric age. It’s impossible to have a point of view in the electric age, and have any meaning at all. You’ve got to be everywhere at once, whether you like it or not, you’ve got to be participating in everything at the same time, and that is not a point of view”

It is often stated that McLuhan predicted the internet, and it’s hard not to see the parallels popping up everywhere on facebook, instagram and snapchat. Jaron Lanier was at the forefront of a lot of the tech boom in the 80s and 90s, and is said to have come up with the term virtual reality. He’s a fierce opponent to social media, and has said that “This is just like those other examples in the past where you have a mass addiction with a commercial interest behind it. The difference, in this case, is that the side effect is to disconnect humanity from reality.”

Portraiture in the age of Deep Fakes, Digital Photos and Polaroids:

The advent of digital photography allowed everyone to document their life endlessly. One only need an internet connection and there isn’t even any need for an increase of the physical memory needed to even store the photos. They can be uploaded directly to the cloud. In this regard the medium itself is never touched. There is no film that needs to be developed. This has changed both the way that photographs are taken, and the importance of the event at which the photo is taken, but also in the way they shape ones experience with the world. Bernard Stiegler addresses how these changes take place in his essay “The Discrete Image.” Stiegler argues that with analog there was a certain faith that people had when looking at it, that the events there actually happened. In the digital age this faith is completely eroded and people look at every photo skeptically as to whether or not what is present is actually real (“Discrete Image” 150)

Paint as a Slow Media:

One reason why artists are still attracted to these older mediums may have something to do with the speed that it takes to make with them and how that effects the creative process. For instance, with digital painting a mark can immediately be “undone” by hitting Ctrl-Z. The options are endless, whereas with oil paint you not only get a few chances to make a mark on part of a canvas and then you’ve also got to wait at least a day for it to dry before you can paint on top of it. Similarly with film, a photographer may spend more time focusing on compositional elements because he only knows he’s got a limited amount of film. This changes the interaction with the subjects being photographed and results in different photos.

Hand vs No hand: Computer graphics are currently helped along with a great deal of digital “helpers” that can create textures and special effects that can dress up a digital drawing and make it into a lion.

Ownership of analog and digital media:

One of the qualities often associated with digital media is the ease with which it can be reproduced, and companies like spotify, itunes, netflix, etc. all do everything in their power to link your usage of a digital file expressly through their sites. You don’t ever really own a film that you watch on netflix, rather you have the right to stream it through a subscription service. This has changed the way that music is shared. One of the more beloved aspects of a “mix tape” was the fact that you could give it to someone, and they in turn could give it to someone. It was a physical object that held the contents of the music within it. With paintings, prints can be made of a particular piece, but someone must buy the original in order to own it at its highest quality. This connects painting to these other analog mediums. The focus is on the original, not a reproduction of it. This is one thing which still leads to paintings having some sort of value. Collectors want to buy the object that sat in an artist’s studio, not some poster of it.

How artists have reacted to digital media:

Artists have often employed the use of plans and mathematical formulations in the creation of their work. The show at the Whitney entitled "Programmed: Rules, Codes, and Choreographies in Art, 1965-2018" explored these ideas.

Sine Man

Gnarly Dakimakura AI generated body pillow

Sol Lewitt

Rafaël Rozendaal, Abstract Browsing

Manfred Mohr: Band Structures

Margo Wolowiec: Still Water Circling Palms

Zdeněk Sýkora

#research

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