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geoffrard · 3 years ago

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if you don't mind, could you spare some pointers about archive work? i would love to try some but i honestly have no idea where to start.

happy to give some guidance since archiving is something i'm passionate about :)

my experience with archive work lies largely outside of mcr specifically, and subject area 100% impacts the archiving experience. that disclaimer in mind, i'm a history grad student, work with physical & digital archives, and managed a smaller one for a few years. on the fandom side of things, i run @thursdayarchive with nic @raytorosaurus (who is also a great resource for the specifics of mcr archiving & who suggested some advice given here!).

but you definitely don't have to have much experience to archive! archiving, at its root, is about assembling materials relevant and organizing them in a way that allows other people to access them. And this work is super, super important (esp since so much of mcr's history dates back to an era of the internet that is rapidly disappearing) & definitely doesn't require you to develop a sophisticated skill set.

There are three basic things to take into consideration when you're starting to archive:

Artifacts: What you collect

Personal organization: How you will keep track of what you find

The repository: How you will share your archive

Artifacts: Collect materials

Finding materials to share is the meat of the archiving experience, and often it's what takes the longest time. It can also be a little intimidating at first, especially considering the amount of unsourced photos that regularly float around mcr spaces. some notes on that end (mainly concerning photographs, since that tends to be the currency the mcr fandom deals in):

first, you don't have to just archive photos--the range of interesting materials related to mcr is vast. an archive might include photos, interviews, videos, magazine features, music, etc.

Consider what gaps might exist within fandom archives. MCR fans have run a number of really great archives in the past, so some work might not need to be done. Of course, those materials might not get circulated--and recovering it would be a worthwhile task. Perhaps recent interviews haven't been compiled and transcribed. Perhaps you can't believe that people aren't talking about a certain two-minute excerpt from a Frank podcast from five years ago. Perhaps you've noticed a dearth of photos of Mikey from 2010 in fandom spaces. Do what is interesting to you, but build on past archival work when you can. Honestly I can really see a need to keep track of a lot of the fan videos from the recent tour.

Decide if you want your archiving to center around a certain theme--like, a certain member of the band, a certain type of media, etc.

KEEP TRACK OF SOURCE CREDIT. the mcr fandom has been awful at keeping track of photo sources in the past, and as a result many of the most of the iconic photographs have been totally divorced from their source. Also, make sure that the person you're crediting is the actual original source.

On that note: while it might not seem like a big deal, reposting without a source is. Music photographers make their living by licensing their photos, and if a for-profit publication wants to use those photos but doesn't know photographer, they can't, and the photographer loses out on business. Non-professional photos really should be sourced, too. Fans in a photo might not want to have their picture spread around for a number of reasons (this specifically has happened in the mcr fandom, where a collection of photographs were reposted without permission from a private photobucket).

It's always easier to find photos at their source rather than sourcing photos that you already have. A lot of photographers post their pictures on their own archives, often on places like getty images, photobucket, flickr, and their personal websites. a lot of these sites are searchable, and they're a decent place to start.

keep track of the names of photographers and interviewers that you see often

familiarize yourself with archive.org. it is your friend when you encounter dead links.

it's also worthwhile to have a decent grasp on the mcr timeline, or at least know where to reference it. since i have a shit brain for remembering specific dates, i generally reference concertarchives (though it can be a little unreliable at times and warrants some cross-referencing).

Personal organization: Keep track of what you find

When you locate something you'd like to archive, you'll want to keep track of the information associated with it--in archiving, we call that metadata. This can be a bit of a headache in the moment, but integrating your own organizing systems is a lifesaver in the long run. Consider:

what kinds of information might interest your audience? Typically, I include source, date, location, people included (if it's a photo), and any other context that might be relevant to the source, if I can find it.

what is the easiest way to track that information? I keep a detailed spreadsheet for that purpose, but you might find it useful to archive the item onto your repository immediately. there's no one right way to do this step, but having a standard practice can help you avoid confusion or accidentally sharing incorrect details.

The repository: share your archive

The whole point of archiving is to share materials with other people--though this is certainly easier said that done. Your repository doesn't have to be anything more than your blog, but it deserves a decent amount of thought. Things to think about:

Where will you host your archive? Most of us will use Tumblr, and there's nothing wrong with that, but you don't have to. Places like dreamwidth and google drive can be useful platforms as well. If you stick with tumblr, consider if you want to use the blog you already use, or if you want to start a new blog for a clean slate.

You don't have to repost the content that you want to archive. Making lists of content by topic is incredibly important, and there is a decent amount of content that you wouldn't be able to upload on most platforms because of size and length restrictions.

How will you organize your repository? The easier someone can access something they're looking for on an archive, the more they will use it. Using specific tags to indicate certain features of an archive post is generally the most intuitive organization method, but you can also use other systems (like hyperlinks) if they work for you.

What kinds of information do you want people to find on your archive? Generally, if you use tags, you'll want to come up with a consistent system for general pieces of info like people, form of media, time period, etc. If you have a more specific archive topic or an interest, like you really want to log Mikey's sock collection during the bullets era or something, consider adding tags for that. You can have fun with these :)

Make it easy to figure out what kind of organization system your archive uses. This might mean a taglist, a general explanation of your methods, or some combination thereof.

I'm sure that I missed some points here, and as I said, a lot of this advice is a little more general because I haven't spent a lot of time doing archiving for MCR specifically, and it mainly pertains to archiving through photo uploading, but I hoped it answered some questions for anyone interested in getting into archiving. As always, i'm happy to answer any questions based on my own experiences :) happy archiving!!!

#my chemical romance #mcr #archiving #hope this all made sense! i hope i didnt get too technical sdkjhasdkjsad #answered #mine

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thebibliomancer · 6 years ago

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Dark Crystal Age of Resistance ep 3 liveblog

“What was sundered and undone”

Just a stream of thoughts.

The Order of Lesser Service.

Everyone is dunking on Brea.

“The order of Lesser Service is not a punishment. Its an opportunity to lift yourself up by performing the lowliest of deeds.”

Its not a punishment but Brea can’t leave and a possible task is to chew up roots and spit it into baby Nebrie’s mouths. It SOUNDS like a punishment.

“I’ve never met a princess before. I imagined they’d have shinier hair.” EVERYONE is dunking on Brea.

So the Order of Lesser Service is TOTALLY not a punishment but you have to wear a jester hat and also this other Vapran gelfling girl Juni was sent to the Order for hanging out with a boy of a different clan.

It really sounds like a punishment.

“I always thought I’d make a fantastic princess, I have the hair for it. Its very shiny.” I kind of like Juni.

So the service for the day is to swan into a Podling village and force cleaning on them.

They seem awfully happy throwing mud at each other. And bellyflopping into the mud. And eating the mud. And rolling in mud.

“There is no filthier creature in all of Thra than a Podling” cool cool cool cool racism, Gelflings.

Yeah it seems gross but its what they like? So don’t be dicks about it, geez, Gelflings.

They seriously seem upset by all this forced bathing. Leave them alone!

Theres a lot of paternalism here is what I’m getting at.

Seladon just spent five minutes complaining about Brea while Cool Sister Tavra is just trying to hone her sword and mind her business.

Tavra really is the Cool Sister. The Cool Very Patient Sister.

“I can’t be washing Podlings, I had a vision that the world was ending or beginning!”

“Sounds like heatstroke”

“FUCK YOU ITS NOT HEATSTROKE”

Brea cuts a deal with a Podling to not wash them and the Podling immediately dives into the dirt to make dirt angels.

Live your truth, Podling. Live your beautiful truth, you actual potato.

Deet: “What if we fail?”

The First Podling Paladin: “Pssh”

Hup has to explain to underground elf Deet that actually Gelflings are pretty racist against each other and may not listen to her just because she’s an underground elf.

“It may be hard at first but like anything else in life, it just takes time to adjust” -dramatically removes blindfold to make a point-

Rian knows that just because you’re on a quest to save the world and are carrying a plot critical item, doesn’t mean you can’t stop to do a random act of kindness sidequest.

“Thank the harvest we have the Skeksis to keep us safe” Dramatic ironyyyyyyy

Rian immediately gives up the game by protesting that the Skeksis killed Mira.

“We protect the lords. The lords protect the crystal of truth. All lies!”

And he ditches all his castle guard gear so he’s not so easily identified in the future.

Brea trying to hide. While wearing a jingly hat.

Tavra: “You ran away? Good.” Such the Cool Sister.

So news of Mira’s death has filtered to the Vapra by this point. And since Rian is of the Stonewood clan, ooo its time for factional tension I guess.

Cool Sister Tavra has to try to keep the peace between her sister.

Tavra: “I think you and Seladon are more alike than you realize.”

Brea: “That’s a mean thing to say!”

Tavra: “Well, you’re both very stubborn!”

Also both Brea and Seladon can tell from Tavra’s silence when she wants to say something.

“The bonds of sisterhood can be tested… but never broken” Awww, Tavra!

Deet, you’re the most sunny person possible considering you’re an underground elf.

There’s a cool ominous pillar full of swords and Hup wouldn’t let Deet ask someone about it.

“Look at that filthy green Gelfling” well fuck you too, background character.

The Stonewood Gelfling at the bar try to rearrange so there’s no room for Deet but she’s oblivious to bullying and just squeezes in anyway.

Apparently a Fizzgig are just fizzgigs. So Kira was like a pokemon trainer who names her dog Dog.

“Go crawl back into the nest you came from you dirty Grottan” and then they shove her. I think she’s less oblivious to bullying now. But also Hup doesn’t approve of that behavior and launched himself across the bar and beat up EVERYONE.

That’s what a paladin is, Avatar.

“Rascal hole” wut.

I was just thinking that there’s been a dearth of Skeksis so far and BAM scene: castle, in saunters SkekSil.

“Not talk. Just listen.” ‘Hey wanna know about this cool beetle that eats eyes?’

“Noooo never use on gelfling. Only on Skeksis who misbehave. Did you hear screams last night? Friend Scientist was naughty, so saw peeper beetle.”

Chamberlain is one of those people who uses friend ironically, I think. And the nicer the term of endearment the more worried you should be, Gurjin.

“Think Gelfing. If Skeksis do that to Skeksis, imagine what Skeksis do to Gelfling that will not talk.”

“Tell Chamberlain where Rian is.”

“Never!”

-actual affronted gasp-

Librarian: “Weren’t you sent to the Order of Lesser Service?”

Brea: “I ran away. I gotta go steal from my mom”

Librarian: “You wut”

OH HEY FLYING SCENE! Wonder how they did that.

Seladon: “So the person Brea mindwiped is here. There’s been a murder at the castle. Creatures going mad. And there’s a bunch of Gelfling worried about the Blight.”

All-Maudra: “I had to send Tavra on a dangerous mission. And Brea to the Order of Lesser Service. My daughters… gone.”

Her other daughter Seladon: “.... wtf mom”

Seladon gives her mom a pep talk to break her out of her funk.

All-Maudra: “You’ll be a great All-Maudra some day. … Straighten your wings. You look like a lopsided unamoth.”

It was almost positive reinforcement for a second but you just had to undermine it, huh?

And then Brea breaks into the room to do a Theft like right after they leave.

So the Brightest Jewel is part of the chandelier? Of what significance?

Scientist: “Treacherous, perfidious Skeksis! Oh, soon… soon they will all see!”

The guy was a Mad Scientist by default of being a lizard nightmare man but he’s going Mad Scientist “they laughed LAUGHED but I’ll show them all” from his default level of Already Mad Scientist.

He’s also saying all this out loud while Chamberlain is just standing behind him.

Chamberlain: “How is friend skekTek? Good? Mm?” You’re a card, SkekSil.

Oh, cool. Scientist replaced his eye with a cybernetic prosthetic.

Chamberlain found some lab assistants for the Scientist called Gruenaks. I guess this is why the other Skeksis managed to put up with him for so long. He backstabs them all but then gives a shoulder rub and goes ‘lol sorry’

First he’s sour, then he’s sweet. Sour Patch SkekSil.

Chamberlain: “So, we are friends? All is forgiven?”

Scientist: -grudgingly- “It's a start”

Deet is off to see the Maudra Fara and is very tired of the myths that the Grottan Gelflings are all dead. Or bats.

And then Rian shows up. Holy crap, two of the protagonists in the same square mile!

Deet: “He’s much dirtier than me, why does he get to go in?”

Guard: “Because Rian is one of us! Unlike you!” Rude.

So the Rascal Hole is just an oubliette type prison dealie. And its right in the Maudra’s court, like she’s a Jabba.

Maudra Fara: “Your return puts the Stonewood clan in a dangerous position. The Skesis have declared you a traitor to Thra.”

I have to wonder how news travels so fast. Do they have female gelfling couriers sent out to all the clans to spread the word? Is there a fantasy telegraph? I guess even a courier on a landstrider would run fastere than Rian’s tiny little legs.

Rian: “The Skeksis are the traitors! They lied to us about everything!”

Fara: “I will not tolerate heresy from a murderer”

Will you tolerate heresy from a counterfeiter? Whats the crime threshold here that will allow you to tolerate heresy?

Heresy is “belief or opinion contrary to orthodox religious doctrine” so are the Skeksis literally the religion of the Gelfling? I guess the Crystal holds a massive spiritual significance to everyone of Thra and the Skeksis as the Lords of the Crystal would have a level of respect but heresy?

Rian: “I have soul goo that proves I didn’t kill Mira!”

Rian: “Dreamfast with me” which should solve everything but Rian’s dad arrived first and told Fara what the Skeksis told him that dreamfasting spreads the Madness.

Good job derailing this guaranteed plot resolution, Chamberlain.

“You are my father, why don’t you ever believe me?” I can’t wait for Rian and Brea to meet so they can commiserate over bad parents.

-Rian sees chandelier, sees rope, thinks Flynn-y thoughts-

Oh wow thats an awful lot of chandelier. And they’re full of fireflies instead of fire. Because you don’t want puppets anywhere near fire.

And Rian did do the thing where he cuts a rope and lets it carry him to escape.

Aughra: -sees the castle, reflexively- “Bah!”

Skeksis spa day???

Emperor: -applying cream and looking into a mirror- “Ah, beautiful!”

Aughra: “Skeksis?”

Emperor: “Oh shit mom’s home!”

Scroll-Keeper: “AHHH I’M NOT DECENT!”

Aughra: “PAH” -rinses her eye in his bath just because-

Aughra: “I’m unwell because Thra is unwell. I’ve come to see the Crystal, see what ails it.”

Skeksis: “NOPE CRYSTAL IS FINE EVERYTHING IS FINE”

Aughra: “Everything is well? You speak and know nothing! Or is it you know and speak nothing?” Well wordplayed, Aughra.

-starts poking the Scroll-Keeper’s belly with her staff so he has to splash her to get her to back off-

It turns out her interrupting their banquet by being kidnapped in the movie wasn’t her being upset. She’s just that rude at a constant level.

Show her the Crystal before she traumatizes the Scroll-Keeper more.

Wow, the Emperor tries a very daring guilt trip on Aughra. Having gotten her addicted to space, he criticizes her for neglecting Thra and leaving the Skeksis to take care of it.

Emperor: “Then go back to your travels and we can go back to caring for the many you left behind.”

Emperor: “Guards. Throw this useless old crone out of our castle forever!”

The Gelfling guards of course do the “i thought she’d be taller” routine.

A Guard: “My grandfather said she cursed his village with ear mites because they forgot her birthday.”

B Guard: “Well I heard she sneezed and a mountain crumbled.”

Aughra: “Its all true so stay where you are or you’ll suffer the wrath of all eight and a half fingers! BAH!” -they flinch- “BAH!” -flinch again- “Ninny wheelers. Ingrates.”

And then the guards just let her wander off on her own.

-wanders past crystal. Stops. Wanders backwards-

She is not happy with how they redecorated the Crystal with EVIL.

Apparently Past Aughra recorded a message into the Crystal for Future/Present Aughra?

And Aughra tells Aughra “The moment Skeksis possessed the Crystal they abused it.” Aughra is a bad judge of character, apparently.

So the corruption of the Crystal creates the Darkening. And the Crystal or Past Aughra also replays the footage of Mira getting turned into soul goo.

“Gelflings return to Thra when they die. That is the natural order. But when Skeksis consume essence cannot return home. Thra is out of balance, thus the Darkening spreads faster.”

Eating souls is bad for the environment. Gotcha.

“You have lost the Song of Thra.” So now Aughra is off on a quest too. Like Earthbound except singing to the Skeksis isn’t going to make them feel so bad they leave.

Deet is still trying to figure out a way to rescue Hup. By wandering around aimlessly.

What a cute random tree snake rabbit. I keep expecting it to be actually huge and try to eat her.

Dammit Rian, you startled the random tree snake rabbit!

But hey, now two of the protagonists are in the same vicinity and ACTUALLY interacting.

Of course, Rian is massively paranoid now.

Rian: “Who sent you? Maudra Fara?”

Deet: “Maudra Argot! Well, actually it was the Sanctuary Tree.”

Rian: “??? oh.”

Deet has decided that since Rian cut in line in front of her, he has to help her rescue Hup. But he can’t what with being on the run from everyone and having broken all of the chandelier at Maudra Fara’s throne room.

Rian: “It won’t light, the ground is too wet”

Deet: “We’ll see about that.” -instantly succeeds-

Castle living has made you a bad camper, Rian.

Rian: ‘Holy shit the one person who hasn’t heard the lie about me being a murderer!’ -Deet has an epiphany and runs off- “Aww =( .”

It was nice to have two whole protagonists in the same conversation for two whole minutes. =P

Brea returns with the Brightest Jewel. And finds that Onica is now Elder Onica.

Elder Onica: “I served as Cadia’s apprentice for many trine. His memory loss allowed me to give myself a long overdue promotion.”

Hey, whatever works.

Brea was assuming, as I was, that the Brightest Jewel was payment. Which offends Onica because Stereotypes about Sifa. (Sifa Sea Faring? Boo) But the Brightest Jewel is actually a chrysalis and the answer.

Brea: “Oh. …….. I don’t understand.”

Onica: “A great many things.”

EVERYONE dunking on Brea today.

“This is the chrysalis of an Imperial unamoth, the totem animal of your clan.”

Onica: “Ask your question”

Brea: “Ask the moth??????”

Oh thats a pretty moth. Annnnnd it just flew off.

Onica was pretty cool.

Sooooo, wait. Wait. Brea is trying to learn what a vision means and is following a moth.

Annnnnd the moth turned into the symbol on the All-Maudra’s throne and opened a secret passage. Thats some good good fantasy nonsense.

Although I thought the throne room was not on the ground floor so where could a secret throne passage lead?

Questions, questions. Too many questions...

#dark crystal #dark crystal age of resistance #liveblog #episode 3

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yourhealthmattersblog · 3 years ago

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Their very own time prove

A beautiful shoujo tale about

love is still too early for himeichichan is a remarkable and also cute manga adheres to Tohru Honda and also informs the story of her life with the Sohma household. A slice of life, funny, drama, shoujo, you can find them done in this lovely manga.

At the vanguard of all this is Tohru Honda that by the beginning of the string is an orphan, our adventurous heroine. While several people wish to criticise Tohru's characterisation as being "as well excellent," I Had like to require time to claim that it is not completely exact.

Yes, Tohru personifies specific attributes that could locate somewhat stereotypical/idealistic and also is most definitely kinder than most individuals. Nevertheless, it ought to be pointed out that Tohru isn't foolproof. She works at making mistakes and also actually is a flawed individual. Her happy demeanour only hides the rivalry that she is survived. The truth is, being pleasant and also ALSO and favorable is her coping device for every single one of the spunk she is undergone. Her behavior does not go undetected.

Another goal that Tohru's cheerful demeanour functions would certainly be to lighten the state of mind of the whole storyline. This is a manga which deals with REALLY severe concerns consisting of disregard, parental/psychological maltreatment, as well as psychological codependency. Virtually every member of Zodiac and also Tohru is a significantly damaged person using a history of wonderful quarrel. Regardless of what many people that have issues with moody like to state, their lives are not all inadequate. There is consistently mosting likely to be some jovial personality from time to time, a light location, and so on

read manga online. Natsuki Takaya did an impressive work with love is still too early for himeichichan when it boils down to lightening the state of mind. Actually, this is specifically what I actually like concerning it.

Primarily everybody in the actors is properly expanded, when it boils down to characters and also play off of each various other exceptionally well. Personalities of special note are Rin, as well as Yuki, Kyo, Hatori. Most of us recognize just that each member of the cast is, we comprehend their backstories, and also we find them alter as well as expand as people. Tohru's pals, Arisa and Saki are also offered their very own time prove to be priceless to Tohru's character boost and also to beam in the sunlight. Yet if there needed to be it would certainly require to be Kyoko Honda, Tohru's mama.

Unfortunately, I can not actually state the exact same about Takaya's art. It is definitely mosting likely to be difficult sufficient for individuals who are not familiar with the shoujo aesthetic to end up being accustomed to the graphics in love is still too early for himeichichan, and her art certainly is not terrible whatsoever. What is even more is that her art does go through a great deal of refinement as the show developments. On the other hand, the biggest mistake when it boils down to art the manga has is the comparative dearth of detail took into every little thing in addition to the fact it might appear like personality faces/hairdos sometimes end up reused for side/supporting personalities. I had trouble trying to establish whether Kyo was if it was among the student council participants, or in the panel, equally as an example. Takaya definitely did an acceptable task of the graphics of what it does and also it works.

So closing ideas: love is still too early for himeichichan is unquestionably amongst the finest mangas I Have ever had the happiness of reading. People often think of the shoujo as being rife with large eyes, individual solution, reverse harems, debauchery, fool women fawning over guys that are complete pricks to them, and so on market That is not completely true. However in the event that you are genuinely looking for a shoujo show to read that remains in the very leading of its own classification, I can not advise this manga sufficient. Currently, there's an anime variation now available from Funimation that was created by Studio DEEN back in 2001. Yet, it merely covers the very first 38 phases of the manga that's fairly early in its run.

Currently love is still too early for himeichichan runs out print. Yet you can locate it so simple on the internet due to the fact that you're a manga viewers and also you love manga a lot! It's worth reading! Provide it a shot as well as you won't be let down. Please view this site https://sorelldifilippout1.wixsite.com/allabouthealth/post/126litgfxsqjh23f6g1juuf1645144615 for further details

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simkjrs · 8 years ago

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Okay so im not in the dangan ronpa fandom, but what ive seen from this blog is that ouma is kind of like monoma from bnha? Is this true?

hghslkdflsjdflksdf i dont know why this ask is so funny to me but im laughing so hard right now. it’s true that monoma and ouma share the barest levels of similarities (constantly on their bullshit, tendency to make Those kinds of expressions while smiling unnervingly) but monoma can’t even begin to compare to the level of bullshit that ouma is on. like monoma’s bullshit is a bare, paltry, pale shade of an imitation of ouma’s completely fucking bonkers, grade-A, high octane, best, finest, highest quality steaming hot bullshit on a silver platter.

i mean, let’s compare. monoma successfully rallied class 1-b into war against class 1-a during the sports festival and publicly semi-embarrassing themselves on national television. ouma has successfully rallied his entire class against him in mutual hatred and/or antipathy, masterminded a plot to overthrow the main villain that caught literally EVERYONE by surprise, plotted two people to their deaths, was so utterly aggravating that the main villain whose identity he didn’t even know bore a huge petty grudge against him personally, all while living a false persona so utterly complete that he pulled a fast one over every single one of the people living out school dorm life with him. possibly even the entire fucking world. he’s such an enigma packed full with so many red herrings that even after death no one had any fucking clue what he was on about. and to top that all off, he cornered himself so artfully that in the end he just decided the best course of action for everyone involved was “guess i’ll die then.” and then he actually went and fucking did it. ouma exists on a scale of sheer genius and dumbassery that monoma can’t even begin to comprehend, much less try and match. the arrogance, the egomania, the hubris it would be to take on such a task? unmeasurable.

even on a small scale like daily interpersonal reaction, ouma has monoma completely outmatched. like monoma thinks he’s hot shit for being able to get under everyone’s skin? he is like a little baby to ouma. monoma gets under people’s skin by, what, insulting them maybe, stinging their pride, just being really condescendingly smug and really fucking annoying about it? ouma has got that in the bag, IN ADDITION to: an extreme range of obviously fake and/or exaggerated emotions; unshakeable refusal to read the mood; completely inappropriate cheer; constant switching between moods and personalities so you dont have a fucking clue what’s going on; the unparalleled ability to utterly outstrip anyone in a competition of bullshitting; simple, baldfaced lying; a complete dearth of a sense of embarrassment or shame; and an easily equippable and incredibly powerful aura of sheer and utter evil.

how many layers of fake personality are you on, monoma, like 1, maybe two? ouma’s got at least 6 going on at any given moment and is more than prepared to spawn more as need demands. monoma couldn’t even drive away his classmates, they still listen to him and respond to his wishes, but ouma. OUMA. THE BOY. THE LEGEND. he pissed off everyone. even the most passionately friendly, fired up, bullheadedly optimistic characters gave out under the merciless onslaught of ouma’s perfectly calculated & expertly targeted verbal jabs and mind games. the boy isolated himself so thoroughly that when he died everyone basically forgot about it except as a footnote to all the other bullshit that happened because he set up his death.

it just takes a certain creativity, artistry, and a little bit of je-ne-sais-quoi to be such an unparalleled genius capable of writing a manuscript predicting all of your classmates’ reactions and yet be such an utter fucking dumbass that you basically spend the entire time in the story slowly, elegantly, and masterfully painting yourself into a corner. so you could say ouma is like monoma. but i feel like comparing monoma to ouma is like comparing a muffin to a seven tier specially frosted custom order wedding cake, or a match to a flame-throwing trombone, or a simple humble man before a godless titan. ouma is so completely beyond monoma’s level, that if monoma even began trying to think about how to live on ouma’s innumerable and multidimensional levels of bullshit, he’d go into a blue screen of death. its just not possible to out-ouma ouma. it simply can’t be done.

in conclusion: thanks for sending in one of the funniest comparisons ive ever gotten in my entire life.

#ask #dr stuff #meta #like i dont know if this is meta but where the fuck else is it gonna go #Anonymous #ndrv3 spoilers #long post #ouma kokichi

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convertidophoto · 7 years ago

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Screeching Weasel should always made me smile

I am convinced that when anyone first begins to delve into any style of music there are certain bands that “mean” more than others. To my ears My Brains Hurts by Screeching Weasel was the best punk record by any band recording at the time of its release. This was, at the time for me, a no-B.S./no-discussion fact and I was not interested in debating the point with anyone on any level. The crux of my argument was how could you listen to that record and not want to smile and singalong. When Screeching weasel popped up on the Common Ground calendar, I could not believe it. I was going to get so see the best damn punk band in America at the time and if you disagreed, you were wrong!

During 1991 punk was to me encompassed sounds as variegated as Siouxsie and the Banshees, the Dickies, Negative Approach, Born Against, Youth of Today, Flipper, the Big Boys, and Napalm Death. In my mind, Punk was not a specific sound, or a physical look, or a fashion statement; punk was more a way of approaching daily life. In short, punk meant doing or saying what you wanted, how you wanted to say it, when you wanted to say it, if only because if you did not say it no one else would do. Of course, one did all this with the explicit understanding that you accepted fully the costs and benefits of your choices. Exemplifying my belief was Screeching Weasel. In the face of scene splintering into SxE, grindcore, crust, NYHC, Ska-punk, Dischord, peace punk, and SoCal Bro-core, Screeching Weasel played an unapologetic mix of the musical pop stylings of The Dickies and The Ramones punctuated the unvarnished lyrics/opinions of Ben Weasel.

Pre-internet music shopping was about diligence and the experience of finding a record that informed your world differently. In many instances, I had only heard of records from seeing them on “want-lists” or trading friends of auction adds in the back MRR. Many of the classic HS records could not be heard unless you had a copy or new someone who had a copy. It needs to be said over and over…it was FUGGING hard to find punk records. Every week Chris and I would scour the used bins at Direct Hit, RPM, Forever Young Records, Recycled Books and Records, Half-Price Books, and many more little shops. The efforts paid dividends as we connected with other punkers hunting records, the clerks who came to know us and would hold records for us or inform us of cool stuff upcoming that we should buy. It was not convenient like now where you can read a review of band and stream or download their entire catalog in minutes. It was through this near obsessive exercise of hunting that I first heard Screeching Weasel.

The first Screeching Weasel song I heard was “This Bud’s for You” off the MRR compilation LP They Don’t Get Paid, They Don’t Get Laid, but Boy Do They Work Hard (A D.I.Y. Complication) and I loved it!! [I read later that the song was a joke but I don’t care.] That LP is a classic and straight forward punk sound of the music and low-brow critique of SxE found in the title made that song my favorite. [This is no mean feat on an LP that also has Nausea, Christ of a Crutch, Jawbox, Dissent, the Detonators, Amenity, Cringer, and the Libido Boyz amongst others.] I could empathize greatly with the anti SxE mindset; I was not a drinker of any note and I genuinely liked many of the SxE bands. What I did not like, however, and still do not like are those that take themselves seriously rather than taking their responsibilities seriously. More precisely, what I did not like was a more militant brand of SxE that would be known as Hardline which was beginning to rear its intolerant head in scenes around the country. I think it was this that ole Ben was targeting. Regardless, the upbeat tempo, no frills hc punch of the song and production to match made it a standout on the LP and as a result the song made it on every comp tape I made for a few years. In the end, the comp LP did what comp LP was supposed to do; it made you want to locate more from the best bands and I was on the hunt for Screeching Weasel.

It must have taken me nearly a year or so to find any other Screeching Weasel records. As was often the case, our local stores didn’t stock any of their stuff and frankly they really were not the sort of band that dominated want or trade lists. It appeared that during the late 80s and early 90s Screeching Weasel were still largely a regional band. When Lookout Records! advertised that they were releasing the new Screeching Weasel record this began to change.

My Brain Hurts was a breath of fresh air to me when I bought it at Direct Hit Records. Instantly, that album made much of what I been listening to or hearing sounded bloated, stale, plodding, and second-rate. Admittedly, this was a slight overreaction but what’s the point of being young and excitable if you are to be staid and stodgy?

The album had everything I loved about punk; the songs were catchy, it sounded timeless but remained rooted in the rooted in the past, there were no throwaways on the album, and it did not sound like anyone else at the time though clearly it remained complimentary with many bands that existed at the same time. I played the LP to death when at home and the cassette I made of it, did its duty holding out until the end in my car’s tape deck. I made EVERYBODY who rode in my car listen to it; friend and family alike found no reprieve or respite from the bouncy sounds when rolling with me.

By the time the day of the show arrived my proselyting meant that instead of the usual two-some, Chris and I, we browbeat another two or three of our friends to make the drive into Dallas to see Screeching Weasel. Upon arriving, it looked like this would be one of the biggest shows at Common Ground. The street in front of the club was rent with mommy and daddy type cars. Clearly, the suburbs were emptying tonight and all the punkers and punkettes were coming to the show. This only added to my nearly irrepressible excitement.

Dallas had a dearth of good local bands during the early 90s. The majority of bands merely aped their favorite bands; no matter how well a band executes this maneuver it is depressing to those that realize this. Sadly, I thought Pasty Face was such a band. Their earliest shows saw them trying to sound like the Bad Brains to which they gradually added funk influences ala the Red Hot Chili Peppers. By the end of their run, Pasty Face was an overt RHCP tribute band without the name to match. Importantly though, they brought out paying kids that would ultimately benefit the headlining band. I knew they pulled a crowd but I assumed that all the kids at Common ground this night were there to see Screeching Weasel. IT was not the first time I was proved wrong. Mercifully though, I chose to schmooze rather than watch Pasty Face. I cannot remember whether we were inside or outside but we just killed time as distant from Pasty Face as we could waiting for Screeching Weasel.

Just before the band was about to start, my buddy Todd grabs me and asks if I wanted to work the stage lights. I had no idea Common Ground had stage lights much less that they “needed to be worked”. Of course I said yes, it seemed asinine task and I was the person for it! As the band took the stage Ben commented into the microphone, “Where’d everybody go?” Then only did I noticed that the crowd that once numbered 150-200 was now down to about 35 people. [I always stood near the stage and had no reason to look behind me.] Inexplicably and to my amazement, nearly everyone left!! Clearly most of the crowd were friends of Pasty Face and never heard of or did not care to hear Screeching Weasel…bless their hearts!

Despite the fleeing hordes, Screeching Weasel played on entertaining immensely those that remained. In fact, the only thing that appeared to hamper their ability to play was the stage lights. In my ignorance and exacerbated by my glee, I was flicking the switches along with the drummer beat. I think Ben said something about it giving him a headache and making him nauseous or something like that as Todd came walking over to me in a hurry and forcibly removed me hands from the lighting controls. Fair enough I thought, now I was free to go stand with remaining crowd in front of the stage. The band sounded so much better from the front than the side of the stage.

In the few breaks the band took between songs Ben talked a bit about the songs they were about to play or told amusing anecdotes. The only funny story I remember was about the song Jeannie’s got a Problem with her Uterus. After playing that song at an earlier show, a woman came up to Ben and let into him about that song stating he was a misogynist because he wrote that song. Ben quipped that he had to wait until he got home after the show to look up what misogynist meant to know what she said to him. The remainder of their set is lost to the ages and I can only smile thinking about it so I am guessing I enjoyed it.

As per usual, I could not tell you how many songs they played or which other songs they played but apparently I loved it. Those people who came with me all agreed that Screeching Weasel were great and we all left happy we came. Before we left though, I bought a shirt and a 7” from the band that validated what I told everyone. Though it long since stopped fitting, I still have my “Choosy punks chose Screeching Weasel” t-shirt. The following years were good for Screeching Weasel as their popularity only grew as did my enjoyment for the band.

It would be another couple of years before Screeching Weasel were to play Dallas again. I think it was during the spring or summer of 1993 that they appeared on the calendar for Club No. On this tour, Screeching Weasel had The Queers as an opening act. Oh yeah, it was going to be awesome! Unfortunately, Club No closed unexpectedly so nearly all of the shows cancelled and never happened. Thankfully though, Todd and the coolest record store owner in Dallas stepped into save the day. Kelly Keys offered her store for Screeching Weasel and The Queers to play a pass-the-hat show if I remember correctly.

Direct Hit Records was small storefront in Fair Park area of Dallas. It was at most 20 feet wide and 50 feet deep. Nonetheless, it was an oasis in Dallas. Kelly was a fan of underground music and she did everything she could to stock as much new and used records, tapes, CD’s, videos, and magazines as possible. This day, Kelly pushed all the racks to the back to make some room for the bands to play and for a small number of people to watch. Todd hipped me to the show and I drove in from Fort Worth for the midday show. I was like a kid at Christmas. In my mind I was imaging the set list they would play replete with all my favorite songs. This was not to be the case though.

In keeping with the intimate nature of show, Screeching Weasel decided to play a “special” set. As Ben explained they were on their way to California to record a new album. Since this was a small show and no too much unlike practice, the band decided they would play their entire new-as-yet-unrecorded album song for song in order. This was the first time I ever heard Anthem for a New Tomorrow. I must admit to preferring the versions I heard that day to the studio versions. That album and My Brain Hurts remain my favorite Screeching Weasel albums to this day; yes, wiggle isn’t too bad either.

Over the years, I had two more chances to see Screeching Weasel play in larger venues. I did not go to either show. It was not because I do not like them anymore (I still thought they wer very good) or because Ben is an asshole (boy howdy he was/is!!) but because something about them changed. We all remember how they famously stopped playing live for a while and then their records became spotty. Also during this period the band acquired an air of circus like hype and I didn’t care for it. For me the strength of the band was the workmen like way they went about being in a band. Once that changed and when they became “a thing” they no longer seemed fun and frankly their albums no longer left you smiling. The wit, humor, and bounce that punctuated their albums was replaced increasingly with bitterness, hype, and songs that are best described as filled then the whole Riverdales thing happened. I’m still scratching my head about that…

Screeching Weasel will always occupy a happy place in my life; my wife and I bonded over our shared loved for their early records when we first met 24 years ago. Occasionally, we still breakout those old albums and reminisce about how much we enjoy them. Unlike me, my wife has never seen Screeching Weasel play live. It is for that reason we are going to see them play in Portland, OR this summer. I am not sure what to expect of them 25 years after the last time I saw them but just thinking about the show and the two shows I already saw has me smiling again; for that fact I thank them.

#Screeching Weasel #Common Ground #Dallas Texas #1991 1993 #Direct Hit Records #1990s punk #Ben Weasel #Story #Memories #Goodtimes

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tenacioushologrambarbarian-blog · 5 years ago

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Know The Future of Custom Software Development: The ‘WHY’ and ‘HOW’

With the onset of the pandemic, the economy flow has majorly hit almost all the markets and has resulted in the slowing down (in some cases dying down) of the cash-flow.

This has definitely impacted custom software development because people are scared to do innovations or personalizations of their own when the return of investment has gotten close to nothing.

But we also need to know that this pandemic has changed the lives, lifestyles, and choices of people (customers/clients) and whatever needs to be done will have to be done in a new way i.e. through custom software development.

What is going on right now is not at all a permanent solution and in fact is just one of those human attempts to patch-up holes of a sinking ship with whatever they have in hand. One must realize that this won’t hold for too long. These solutions that we have right now are only to provide us enough time to think and find a better solution for our customers and clients.

The sooner businesses realize this, the better because if you don’t then your competitor will. This is why I am going to let you know how important custom developed solutions can be and for that, we will have to begin from the beginning.

Understanding what custom software development is

Since technology space is highly unpredictable, it is involuntarily making the market tougher and competitive. This is because technology impacts the preferences of employees and customers both.

This unpredictability puts pressure on the businesses to quickly change according to the new trends of the market, without giving them much choice. And more the time a business takes to change, costlier it becomes for them.

It is this reason many companies are calling out custom software development companies to help them in building an intuitive and user-friendly software product tailored to their business requirements.

Why choose Custom Software development?

Emerging markets and changing consumer preferences put pressure on the companies to take the help of technologies to stay ahead in the competition. Here are the major reasons why businesses choose custom software development solutions.

1. Lack of Single Software and Databases to Complete Business-Critical Tasks

Companies using packaged software have the major disadvantage of not performing all the tasks on the same software. They use multiple types of software to perform a wide range of tasks, which may cause engagement and security problems. The major impact of using multiple types of software and databases is that they are not able to generate insight into business operations which is the key to making accurate business decisions.

2. The Dearth of Future-Ready Software

Your business is growing and investing in an off-the-shelf software means that restricting your growing businesses to a limited set of functions. With custom software development, you get the scalability options, means the functions and capabilities of your software grow as your business grows. In the market, there is a huge dearth of scalable, future-ready software products that can be scaled according to individual customer requirements.

3. Integration Capabilities

Custom software application development companies provide a range of options for integrating different types of APIs. Most of the packaged software is not compatible with other programs and so integrating another software to enhance its capabilities are not possible. It is this reason; many companies prefer custom software applications over canned software.

4. Personalization Benefits

Personalization is a major advantage of investing in proprietary systems. A reliable custom software development company can build software applications specific to the requirement of the business. The application can strictly be tailored to a set of processes followed by the company, wherein business leaders can be provided with full access and control.

5. Application Security

An application on the Internet is exposed to constant security breaches. Although every company takes measures to safeguard their software products against exploitation by hackers, the current situation is still worse. By engaging with a reputed custom software application development company, businesses can take added measures to prevent their data from hackers and disgruntled employees.

How to choose a Custom Software development Company?

Choosing the right custom software development company is key to achieving success, and since there are numerous options to choose from, the task can be challenging for business owners. Any mistakes in selecting a company can result in a big setback for the organization because it is impossible to make up the lost time, which can damage business prospects.

Your search for a software development company could be fruitful by following the tips discussed here.

Look for referrals

Search your network to get referrals for software development companies from friends, colleagues, and industry folks so that you get a quick list of tested resources that saves time in selection. Since every referral is based on the experience of customers, you get honest feedback that helps pinpoint the company that suits your requirements the most and matches your budget.

Check the credentials and portfolio of the companies

After making a shortlist of companies, look deeper to understand their capabilities in working on projects similar to yours. The experience of the company is an important indicator of their abilities because more work done indicates that the company has developed a tried and tested methodology that delivers results. Moreover, the company with more experience is more confident of overcoming challenges as it has experienced varied challenges than newer companies. Consider your project size to ensure that the companies you have in mind agree to accept it because many companies set limits about the project sizes they handle.

Understand software systems

You must have some basic ideas about different software systems and architecture like UNIX and Windows. Based on the characteristics, decide the technology upon which you want to build your software application. Also, consider the extent of expertise and experience the company has about the chosen technology. This is especially important if you have a preference for any specific software system. It would be a wise idea to invest in a software consultant for the same if you are unaware of these things. They can help you out in planning your custom application and work with the resources working on the project for you.

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kaoruyogi · 8 years ago

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How to Win Wars and Influence Nobles (Ch. 13)

Rating: E for Explicit/NSFW Content!

Check it out on AO3!

You’d think a video game lawyer could just drop into a pseudo-medieval universe filled with magic and demons and be totally okay with it, right?

Nah.

In the wake of her brother, Spencer’s, disappearance, Belle dropped into Thedas with luggage, but without a clue. After a brief but memorable panic attack, she resolved to be the best goddamn lawyer Thedas had ever seen. Even if she was the only goddamn lawyer Thedas had ever seen. And even if that obstinate asshole, Cullen, wouldn’t stop giving her the side-eye every time she walked into a room…Or every time he walked into a room with her in it…Or every time they walked into a room together…Or–Fuck it. You get it.

I uploaded a little earlier today because I’m getting sworn in to the Bar tonight! Hope you guys enjoy! <3

Chapter 13: Fucking PTSD

Belle had taken to crying at night again. Sometimes it was big, squishy sobbing. Other times it was a couple of tiny tears running down her cheeks. Either way, it was crying. Didn’t matter how fast or fat the tears came.

Her brother was gone, out fighting a war that wasn’t his in a world that wasn’t theirs. He was exposed to a danger from which she could not protect him. A different kind of danger than she knew for him. It was one thing to go fight a fire or, more likely than a fire in Orange County, go into people’s houses and save their lives, but it was something so different to pick up a sword and a shield and try to kill someone before they killed him. These someones, from what she’d heard, were particularly skilled at sword-killing.

Her boyfriend…boyfriend? Boyfriend didn’t sound right. Manfriend? Her dude? Her Cullen was gone fighting the same war. He was adept at all of this, and she knew she shouldn’t be so worried about him, but something in her gut twisted in his absence.

She held a powerful affection for Cullen. She knew it, but she was afraid place it. She had been known to use the word “love” far too liberally where she came from, in the opinions of others. It was something she’d tried to stop doing until she realized that she meant it every time. Falling in love with friends, with family, with boys and men was her means of taking them into her heart, of keeping them close. She could not parse out her affection for people into any subsets more clear than “No,” “Meh,” “Cool,” and “Amazing,” and she let her heart be broken by those who did not think she was “Amazing” in return. Anyone categorized in any of the other groups had no such power over her. They could be sloughed off and shed in favor of someone who felt the same way.

As such, Belle did not like to “date,” as people thought of “dating” back in California. She felt that the beginning of a romantic relationship was best approached as a friendship. Casual romantic entanglement without mutual understanding never served her well, and tended to end in swift hatred or, at the very least, severe and immediate disinterest. It was not her way to dip even a toe into the water before finding its temperature through some other means. That meant no blind dates. That meant no casual sex. That meant no boyfriends before good friends.

Likewise, Cullen did not strike her as a man of half measures. He did not strike her as a man who did anything in his life casually. He did not strike her as the kind of man who referred to a woman as “my darling” without a strong fondness for that woman. The strong fondness, she was reasonably certain, was love.

He loved her. It was written on the backs of his eyes and she watched it play like a zoetrope every time he looked at her. That she had not noticed it weeks ago made her feel like an idiot. It had been there for all to see. And some had seen, as Leliana made quite plain that day in the war room.

They had been friends since the Winter Palace, she knew. They were probably friends before that, too, though she would have been loath to admit it once he yelled at her in his tower. But he apologized. He stood there while she smacked him around and he apologized. He danced with her and laughed with her, and he went out of his way to be near her, and she liked it. She knew she liked it. There was something about him that excited and calmed her all at once. There were many things about him that excited and calmed her all at once, in fact. Sure he was an obstinate ass, but so was she. He’d have made a good lawyer, she mused from time to time.

While he was gone, Belle decided. She decided that she loved him. He was not “No,” like he was when she first arrived in Thedas. He was not “Meh,” like he was when they could have only the occasional conversation without arguing. He was not “Cool,” like he was when he hauled her into Eudora’s office and made her take care of herself. He was “Amazing,” and she loved him.

It didn’t hurt one iota that he was fucking outstanding at sex. He was fucking mind blowing at sex. If her dumb ass hadn’t wanted to have sex with him before they finally did it, her dumb ass sure as shit did once they had. He was hair-pulling, throat-grabbing, fuck-me-until-I-see-stars-and-don’t-know-my-goddamn-name sex. He made her toes curl and her body tremble with every orgasm. Every. Single. One. Tens across the board. Ungodly and primitive sounds came out of her mouth every time she came, and she hissed out “fucks” and “Gods” as his touch or his tongue or both electrified her nerve endings until she couldn’t breathe at any pace slower than the chug of a fucking freight train at full speed. He was really fucking good at sex.

All of this, and he was gone.

Belle turned to Josephine and Leliana for support. She stayed the night in Josie’s quarters a few times while everyone else was away. There was a subtle opulence to her room. Everything was made of rich materials and crafted with the utmost care and beauty, but she kept her décor sparse. She and Belle languished together most days, both feeling useless while the march and the siege took place. None of the nobility wanted to be in Skyhold while the Inquisitor was away because it was pointless to their efforts at brown-nosing. There were very few deals to be made or alliances to be forged while all of Thedas held its breath to learn what became of the Inquisition and the Grey Wardens. So, the two women kept each other’s company, laughing every day in spite of the dearth of work and the unavailability of their loved ones.

Leliana surprised Belle with kindness and sympathy. The spymaster would come to check on Belle and give updates and missives whenever she could. They took meals together and discussed clothes and art and how Thedas could be made a better place. Belle had no idea before their talks that Leliana had such a long history of perilous benevolence, nor that she held such controversial views about the Chantry. Controversial in the all best ways, from Belle’s perspective. Leliana told stories of her time with the Hero of Ferelden, a woman Belle knew as the Queen of Ferelden, Zoe Theirin. She used to be called Zoe Amell, Leliana told Belle, and she was a fierce and powerful woman whose kindness went unmatched by anyone Leliana had met since. Leliana never saw mages as the threat the Chantry seemed to think they were, and Zoe was proof positive in the spymaster’s eyes. Belle felt closer to Leliana through their conversations, a new kind of closeness she was grateful for in the absence of the man she’d only just realized she loved.

Belle got letters from that man she loved while he was away. She’d taken to saving them and reading them in the huge and twinned moonlight while tiny or fat tears poured from her eyes, while she realized she’d only just gotten to love him and she might lose him already.

Belle, the first one read.

I have only been away from you for one night, and I miss you already. I miss the cool warmth of you beside me, and the scent of your hair, and the sound of your laugh. Only the knowledge that I must come home to you (and bring your brother and Max back safely) keeps my mind on the task at hand.

I will come home to you.

Always,

Cullen

She’d laughed at his parenthetical propriety, and sent back a letter with her apologies for not having given him a bottle of her soap and not having taught one of Leliana’s ravens the sound of her laugh. She hoped he chuckled that low chuckle of his when he read it.

Belle,

I still miss you terribly. The desert is hot and awful. You mentioned once that you grew up in a desert. How did a woman as fair as you not cook from the outside in in this sun and heat? I am running out of tunics and smallclothes to wear under my armor. If I needed any other reason to come home to you, it would be to escape this weather and this sand that creeps into everything.

But I have all the reason I need. I will come home to you.

Always,

Cullen

She laughed harder at that one, and sent back a letter reminding him that she was not wearing a full suit of armor while she grew up in the desert, unlike some people, and that the best way to avoid getting sand in all the cracks was not to roll around in it. She snorted as she rolled it up to give to Leliana.

Belle,

I miss you. As I write this, we are close enough to Adamant Fortress that I can hear the shrieks of demons and screams of sacrifices drifting across the sand. We shall begin the siege tomorrow. I pray that the Wardens will see reason and stop their senseless violence and blood magic. It is a danger I am all too familiar with, and I would see it ended before another life is lost.

For now, I can only say that, no matter what happens tomorrow, I will come home to you.

Always,

Cullen

Belle’s stomach sank and twisted when she read that letter. His “always” had been different than the rest of his letter. There were thick spots where his quill had rested too long, and parts that were almost invisible because he’d tried to write them too fast. She wondered if he believed it. For hours, she was afraid to write back. She was not a superstitious woman—unless someone said things were “quiet” when she worked as a 911 operator—but something in her warned her that if she wrote back he might not be alive to receive it.

She decided to write back despite her nerves. You’d better come back in one piece, she wrote, because I have something important to tell you.

She paced and cried for days, waiting for a response. Leliana’s agents’ letters arrived first, telling of the Archdemon and the death of Warden Commander Clarel and the heroism of the Inquisitor. Word had come back that all three of her men were alive, but Cullen still hadn’t written. She couldn’t understand why his was not the first letter to return to Skyhold.

When Leliana finally came to Belle’s tower, parchment in hand, the spymaster bore an unreadable expression. She’d read the letter, Belle knew. She read everyone’s letters. It was a miracle she had time to do anything else with her days with how many letters she read.

The parchment on which Cullen wrote was dirtier than his last few missives. It was harder to unroll, and the pigmentation of the ink varied throughout the text. Belle wondered how many times he’d tried to write it.

Belle,

We were victorious at Adamant, and Max has enlisted the aid of the Grey Wardens. They will

We all saw terrible things there, Belle. Max and Spencer—the ink got lighter—saw things worse than most. Max, Solas, Blackwall, and Varric fell physically into the Fade with Hawke and Warden Stroud. Max will not tell me what happened there. All he will say is that he got his memories back from the Conclave and that Hawke chose to stay behind so the rest could escape. But Max’s eyes are haunted. No one else will discuss the events of the Fade either, though they all seem—the ink got darker—changed by their experience.

I do not know if Spencer ever told you that he and another soldier from Max’s personal guard were carrying on together, though I assume that he did. Her name was Kier, and she was killed during the battle. She was crushed by a piece of a wall when the Archdemon destroyed it. She was not five feet from your brother when it happened. He—the ink lightened and looked a bit bluer—has not been himself since we left Adamant. He has become reclusive at night, and will not talk to anyone except to say that he is taking watch or going to bed. I only hope that he will talk to you when we return.

I am, for all intents and purposes, in one piece, and I am anxious to resume my duties at Skyhold.

I am coming home to you, Belle.

Always,

Cullen

Belle cried when she read it. She covered her mouth with her hand and collapsed into her chair and cried tears of sorrow and relief. She cried because she was jubilant and mortified and overwhelmed. She cried because everything was terrible and wonderful. She cried because Spencer, Cullen, and Max were alive, but so many others were dead. She cried because the men she loved were coming home to her in pieces.

*****

Max and Spencer were two of the first to come through the portcullis. Belle and Josephine had abandoned their pretenses and were waiting at the bottom of the steps. Josephine embraced Max the second he dismounted his horse, and though he wrapped his arms around her, his face still bore the marks of horror. The kind of horror that replayed in someone’s mind as real as his hand in front of his face.

Spencer’s dark complexion was once more made darker by the presence of dirt and sand caked onto his skin and settled in every young wrinkle. His wide smile was absent, and his bright blue eyes were dim even in the midday sun. He hugged Belle tight. His armor pinched at her skin and crushed her ribs, but she paid the pain no mind.

“P,” she said, “I’m so sorry about what happened. Are you okay?”

Spencer pulled away. Hurt and anger had etched themselves deep into every line on his face, into his dimmer blue eyes, into the pitch of his voice. “No. No I’m not.”

“Come inside with me and we can talk about it.”

He put more distance between them then. “No. I—I can’t right now. I have to clean this dirt out of my armor before it rusts. I—Sorry.”

Belle shook her head. She knew better than to force him. “That’s okay, P. Do what you gotta do. I’m around, though, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” he said as he turned from her to make his way to the barracks.

Belle swallowed hard to keep back the tears forming in her eyes. They stung and burned, blurring her vision as she watched her decimated brother walk away. A thousand thoughts flickered about in her head when she saw the slump of his shoulders and recalled the dry hollowness of his voice. She remembered the cops who had run themselves ragged and tipped the wrong way. She wondered if he would be angry now, if that was who he was going to be for the rest of his life. She rubbed her eyes to wipe away the tears before they could come out on their own.

“It’s too clear.”

Cole’s voice beside her made her jump. “Jesus. What?”

“It’s too clear. He wants to talk but it’s too clear. Needs to be blurrier first. Pixelated. See-Oh-Dee, evisceration or depressed skull fracture. Orbital blow out. Guts on the outside. Brain too. Too clear. Used to it with them, not her. Them. Not her.”

Belle couldn’t stop the tears. They slid down her cheeks as she sniffled and said, “Oh my God.” She had seen injuries like that. She knew he had, too. They’d talked about it in what their father liked to call their “over-descriptive episodes.”

“He will let you help, but first he needs time for it to fade.”

“I get it. Thanks Cole.” She squeezed him in a light hug.

Max was already on his way into the main hall when she turned to greet him. He trudged up the stairs in firm, exhausted steps, keeping his shoulders squared in case anyone was watching. Josephine was not with him, Belle noticed. She waited on the landing, exchanging soft and panicked words with Leliana.

Hundreds more people filtered through the gate before Belle caught sight of Cullen. He was walking beside his blue roan stallion. He held the reins while a young healer with a makeshift patch over his eye sagged in the saddle. Cullen looked grim, but stood taller than most around him. Belle wondered if his posture was ingrained in him, trained into his blood. It belied the war-weariness of his eyes. They had seen too much. She suspected that this had not been the first time he’d seen so much brutality and barbarism for all the wrong reasons. He’d hinted at it, but he still hadn’t told her about why he left the Templars. Whatever the reason, it had been enough to make risking his life a more promising prospect.

He swept her into his arms the moment she was within his reach. His gloved fingers grasped at her arm and pulled her close. Again, she was crushed by plate armor. Again, she didn’t care. There was a desperation in the way his hands held her, his fingers pressing into the planes of her back as if trying to burrow into her body. The warm, damp air of his laden sigh wove through her curls and splashed across her neck. His scent of spiced herbs and soft powder was touched with the mineral odor of sweat and the metallic tang of dried blood. She breathed him in all the same, letting the relief of his embrace wash over her in an awesome wave.

His nose skimmed her neck as he spoke into her hair. “I’m home. I’ve come back to you.”

A sob surprised its way out of Belle’s chest. “Thank God for that.”

Cullen pulled back enough to look at her face. His amber eyes bore woe and wonderment in equal measure. They were scales, tenuously balanced as they wandered from her forehead to her chin and back. He kissed her. He kissed her in front of everyone. He kissed her with abandon and ardor, and he pressed her into him until her back arched.

“I love you,” said Belle as his lips left her own. “That was the important thing I had to tell you. I love you.”

She hadn’t had the chance to open her eyes or see his face when he kissed her again. His breath hissed in through his nose and his hands moved to surround her jaw. Their lips opened and closed over each other again and again, each kiss harder and more urgent. He buried his affections in her mouth. She felt his passion under her tongue and his devotion at the backs of her teeth and his intimacy tucked away behind her lower lip. He kissed her until she knew nothing but the warm taste of his reverence.

“I love you,” said Cullen as he released her. The wonderment had won over his gaze, and he looked down at her as though he were looking down at God.

“Glad to hear it.”

She felt him grinning when he kissed her again, long and slow. He rested his forehead against hers, and she watched him. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed. He resembled a man praying, and he may have been for all his enduring faith. She didn’t know what had dragged her brother into Thedas, nor her after him, but it wouldn’t surprise her to learn it had, in fact, been the doing of the Maker.

How could anything surprise her anymore? She’d been sucked through a wormhole—she was still convinced that was what rifts really were—into a world where magic and dragons and demons were real. She’d befriended mages and elves and dwarves, she’d written contracts for enchanted items and gold and herbs, and she’d fallen in love with a warrior who was in recovery from his addiction to a magical narcotic. What the fuck was left?

“I need to go check in with Max,” said Belle after a moment, remembering the throng of soldiers still marching into Skyhold around them and the anguish written on her friend’s face over Josephine’s shoulder. “But I’ll be by later tonight.”

A modicum of that woe returned to Cullen’s eyes as he seemed to remember himself. He released her face from his eager hands. “Alright.”

“I love you.”

“You said that.” He did not say it to remind her. He said it to remind himself. His tone was one of disbelief, of astonishment. It occurred to her then that he may have thought no one would ever say those words to him. That she’d said them seemed a miracle to him, and it broke her heart.

They parted in halting and hesitant motions. Belle ran her fingers down his arm as she turned away from him. His little shudder lingered against her fingertips while she made her way to Max’s room.

Sounds of a tumult, crashes and thumps, met her ears when she opened the door. She could hear Max grunting and things falling over or hitting walls. Something clattered onto the stone floor like a gong. Maybe it was the shield over his fireplace. Glass shattered. Small metal objects clinked against the wall. She heard him shout in a way that sounded like he was hurling something out into the valley below his balcony.

When Belle crested the top of the stairs, the wreckage of Max’s room lay all around her. The thing that had clattered to the ground had indeed been that shield. Remnants of bottles, jars, and little trinkets were smashed everywhere. Books lay bruised and open, scattered about the room, though none were in the fireplace. She gave silent thanks for that.

“Max.”

He turned from the open window next to his balcony to face her. Tears eroded tiny canyons into the dirt on his cheeks and reddened his blue eyes. His mouth snarled and sobbed. His hands were bloodied by small cuts on his palms that looked like they stung, even as he clenched his fists at his sides.

“My fucking brother, Belle,” he said, voice hoarse and graveled by his misery.

Belle wouldn’t dare move until he told her in some way or another that she could. She’d seen this volatility before. Fucking PTSD. “What about your brother, Max?”

“The fucking demon—that fucking Nightmare demon—showed me my brother. Nikolai.” He still stood by the window, his bleeding fists still clenched tight. “Nik. Little Nik.” His hands loosened. His shoulders drooped.

“What happened, Max?” Belle inched forward, and when Max’s body did not seize up again, she sat on the couch near the bannister. “What happened at Adamant?”

“Well, the Wardens lost their fucking minds.” He threw his hands up. It was unlike him to curse like that. “They were just…killing everyone. They killed Kier. Oh Maker, is Spencer alright? He and Kier…They killed her.” He shuffled across his room to sit at the edge of his bed. He slouched, holding his head in his hands.

Belle kept her voice low and soft. “I’m sorry about Kier. But Spencer will be fine. He just needs a little time. What else happened, Max?”

“Demons were everywhere and Clarel was a fucking idiot. The Archdemon showed up. He killed Kier, now that I—He did it. Fuck, I just—Clarel blew herself up, and we were falling so I just—I thought—I don’t know what I thought. My hand and this Maker damned mark opened a rift and we were—we were in the Fade just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

“It was fine at first. It was strange and wrong, but I guess it was fine. A spirit was pretending to be Divine Justinia, and she—it—she showed us the way. I got my memories back, fought some giant spiders, listened to everyone be afraid. It was fine.

But Nightmare kept needling at us all. He dug around in our heads and said something to Backwall about being nothing like a Warden, and he showed Varric the shame of his parents, and he said something to Solas in Elvhen that none of us understood, but it meant something to him. Then he showed me Nik.”

“What happened to Nik?”

“Nik died seven years ago in the Circle at Ostwick. He was younger than me, and my parents held out hope that he wouldn’t wind up a mage like his shame of a brother.” Max spat out his words like so much venom. “But he did. He was a mage and they sent him to the same Circle as me. He was smaller, but he was so smart. But it—it didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?”

“It didn’t matter that he was smart. He died in the Harrowing Chamber. Turned into an abomination. Despair took him. Then a sword took him. I wasn’t there, so I never saw my little brother beheaded. But Nightmare showed me everything. He stood me in that room while my brother was overcome. Nik’s veins and his eyes were wrong. They were the wrong color and they glowed, and his cheeks ripped open and his jaw snapped when Despair screamed at the Templars. Then his head rolled across the ground and landed at my feet. His face was torn and twisted in horror and rage, and he wasn’t my brother anymore. No one was my brother anymore.”

More tears flowed from Max’s eyes. They dropped onto his bloody palms and spattered across the floor. Belle moved to sit beside him. She said nothing as she did. Her words would have been pointless. It was Max’s words that mattered. It was his words that started the process of freeing him from the horrors that replayed in his mind as real as his hands in front of his face.

He leaned his head on her shoulder when she sat. She let her cheek rest on his hair, and her hand rubbed up and down his back. “I’m sorry, Max.”

They sat like that until the sun had moved in the sky. Its light bounced off the snow on the mountains, reminding the world that it was now the afternoon. Belle wanted to stay for him, but she knew he needed to share this with someone else.

“I’m going to send Josie in here with something for your hands, okay?” she asked. Max nodded against her shoulder. “You should tell her.” He nodded again.

She hugged him before she left, and he murmured his gratitude. She told him he was welcome to talk to her anytime. He nodded once more.

Josephine could not have rushed to his side faster. She snatched up the salve Belle had collected from the healers and half ran from her office into the main hall. Her baubles jingled around her neck and her slippers shuffled in her haste. Belle knew Max was lucky to have someone like Josephine. Her love was unconditional and kind. There was a selflessness to it that let her shirk her worries over nobility and propriety and go to him uninhibited.

It was Josie’s already bloomed love that let Belle tend to her own as it blossomed. Belle was able to go to Cullen sooner than she’d planned. It was still early in the evening when she walked into his tower with a calm smile on her face. She opened the door expecting to see him, but was surprised when he was nowhere in his office. Her brow furrowed, and she called his name. He did not answer.

Maybe he was waiting for her in her tower. He knew how much she hated his godforsaken ladder, after all. She passed through his office toward her own, pumping herself up once more for their reunion. To her dismay, he was not there, either. She called his name and walked up the stairs, but her tower was devoid of his presence. Her brow furrowed harder.

Maybe he’d gone for something from Eudora or in the Herald’s rest, she postulated. She made for his tower again. It was the fastest way to get to either of those places without running into anyone along the way. She opened the door and went in again, and was about to exit when she heard something above her. It might have been a creaking floorboard or something falling against the wood. Whatever it was, it drew her eyes aloft.

Belle moved to the base of Cullen’s ladder and looked up. She called his name again. No answer. She would have to go up. She hated that godforsaken ladder. She hated it with every fiber of her being. She’d always refused to be top bunk or get an apartment with a bed loft because fuck ladders. Ladders, no matter how old or sturdy, were rickety and dangerous. They took her to high places, and she did not like to be in high places. How cruel he was to make her climb that godforsaken ladder, and right after she told him she loved him. Asshole.

One shaky, plaintive rung at a time, she ascended the ladder, whining and whimpering the whole way. Hers was a slow and deliberate climb. One missed rung would mean death or paralysis, in her mind, even the first one.

A tentative alleviation of her somewhat irrational fears came when her head popped through the gap at the top of the ladder. She looked around Cullen’s quarters while she hauled herself onto the floor, and saw him in front of his armor stand. He’d divested himself of his armor, and it looked like he’d taken a washcloth to his head and bare torso. There was a tension in the naked muscles of his back where he stood, unmoving even as she chastised him.

“What the fuck, dude? I called your name, and you didn’t answer. You know I hate this godforsaken ladder.”

He did not answer. He did not move to look at her. He barely breathed. An agitated sort of worry crept into Belle’s mind at his stillness. She took note of his hands, balled into fists, and of his arms, bent and taut enough to kill someone if he struck them. She approached him slowly, taking care not to touch him.

“Cullen? Are you okay?”

He did not answer. His breathing alternated from shallow to labored as he stood there. His eyes were glazed over, staring at his armor. His mouth was open, frozen somewhere between a cry and a snarl. Sweat beaded across his brow and at the back of his neck. A curl here and a curl there sprang free of his careful coiffure, leaving a crazed air about him. Something was very wrong.

“Cullen?” Belle reached out and grazed his shoulder with her fingers.

Lightning fast, Cullen hissed in a gasp and pivoted. He snatched her wrist and squeezed, malice fiery in his glazed-over eyes. It was not him in those eyes. It hurt. She felt her bones fighting his grip. Pain shot out through her fingertips and down to her elbow.

She cried out, her body shaking. As evenly as she could manage with his hand crushing her wrist, she said, “Cullen. Cullen, you’re hurting me.”

Her voice seemed to snuff out the fire in his eyes. He withdrew his hand from her wrist and stumbled back into his armor stand. Several pieces rattled to the floor around his bare feet. He panted and stared at her, wild and wounded. He looked like injured, cornered prey.

“I—I—I am—I—”

“Cullen, what just happened?” asked Belle as she rubbed her wrist.

“I—I was—I am—I—I’m so sorry, Belle. I am so sorry.”

Cullen reached for her, moving too fast in light of what had just transpired. She flinched. It was not much of a flinch, but the tremor that rolled from her head to her toes was obvious enough. His expression shifted again. He bore the face of a man who had just killed a defenseless creature, who had accidentally kicked his dog or knocked a nest of baby birds from a tree. His features were painted over with a kind of grief and pain. He would not look at her.

“I am so sorry,” he said, voice rife with that grief and pain. His every breath was shaky. “I understand if you do not want to see me.”

Belle pulled a face. It was a stupid face, and it made her look as incredulous and dumb as if she’d realized her Milky Way Midnight just got stuck in the vending machine. And she wanted to shake Cullen like she would’ve shaken that fucking vending machine. “How could you think that?”

He glanced up at her. “I—I thought—Aren’t you afraid of me?”

Her face got even dumber, and she scoffed. “Fuck you, ‘afraid of you!’ I’m worried about you. What just happened?”

“What happened at Adamant…” He paused, his eyes darting about, searching for the right words inside of his mind. She thought of the different pigments on his last letter. “It reminded me of something that happened before. Something I saw and felt before.”

He was resisting talking about specifics. That was okay, for the moment. He didn’t need to tell her everything just then. He needed to calm down. His mind needed time to settle. Given his knee-jerk reaction was to believe Belle wanted to leave him, she decided it was best to stay.

With the toe of each of her boots, she freed her heels. She tugged the boots off and tossed them aside somewhere. Cullen’s eyes, drenched in consternation and hurt, followed their flight. She sat on the bed and scooted herself all the way across to her side. She propped her back up against the headboard, shuffling a pillow under her lumbar because she’d be good goddamned if she was going to get achy while she comforted the man she loved.

Belle stretched her arms out toward him. “Come here, Cullen.”

He faltered for a moment, but started over when she smiled and twinkled her fingers, beckoning him again. He sat down on the bed, and she patted her hands on her thighs. His amber eyes, still full of that grief and pain, looked to her in question. She answered by patting her thighs again, more insistent.

Cullen laid his head in her lap like thought he would shatter her. His body was so stiff she might have laughed under different circumstances. But these were not different circumstances. She loved him, and he was in pain. She laced her fingers into his hair and began rubbing his scalp. He sighed after a moment. His body began to relax. She felt his eyelashes brush across her thigh as he closed his eyes, and she began to hum. She hummed the first song that came to her mind, and “Swan Song” sounded right once she started. She remembered the words in her mind—love you like a starfish loves the salty water—closing her own eyes as she carded her fingers through his softening locks.

He curled his body into her after a time. His arms wrapped around her legs, and he held fast. Her voice wavered at the conviction with which he held her. She was his anchor in those moments, holding him in reality, preventing him from drifting toward the demons hidden away in the shadowed grottoes of his mind. She did not let him hear the tear that slipped down her cheek.

Belle ran her fingers through Cullen’s hair over and over for thirty seconds and a hundred years. She let her glittering light pink fingernails skim across his scalp, and listened to his breathing while she hummed. She watched the rise and fall of his chest ease and slow as she tethered him to the world. She waited until long after he’d fallen asleep to stop humming, and she spoke softly into his hair before pressing a kiss to his golden curls.

“I love you. You’re safe.”

*****

Notes: A couple of things: (1) I made an Amell the queen because I thought it was unfair that only a Cousland could marry Alistair, (2) I'm sorry for heavy, but I hope the love lightened it up a little, (3) fuck ladders.

I also wanted to note that "Swan Song," as I referenced in the chapter is the song by A Fine Frenzy, which you can listen to here.

#cullen #cullen rutherford #commander cullen #cullen x belle #belle dolan #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #fanfic #mgit #modern girl in thedas #self indulgence au #htwwain

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swissmissficrecs · 8 years ago

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Long Johnlock relationship fics

b-as-in-bakerstreet asked: Hello! I was wondering if you have a Johnlock list of fics any U as long as they're lengthy, complex and with a good developing of their relationship? I realise this description may be subjective but I like your work and have liked e lot of your suggestions, so...

Reply: Thanks for the request! I have SO MUCH for you I hardly know where to start. First off, I have two rec lists for long casefics, which generally have well developed relationship plots too:

Long (50K+) high-rated casefics

Long, angsty casefics completed in the second half of 2016

Then I have a list of my favorite 100K+ series and fics, which is CHOCK FULL of lengthy, complex plots with fantastic relationships.

I also wanted to give you some more specific recs, but I quickly realized the list was going to get unwieldy, so I have added some parameters. These are all 50-100K in length, pre-series 4, without kids, have more of a relationship/romance focus and aren’t too far AU. By length:

The Paradox Series by wordstrings (98K, E) Summary: In which what's in Sherlock's head is never going to get any better, and John is nearly thrown out of his flat.

Saudade by tunteeton (96K, E) Summary: John loses Sherlock, gains Sherlock and learns to never, ever, ever pray.

The Breaking Wheel by J_Baillier (93K, M) Summary: His immune system is decimating his nervous system - a civil war raging inside of him. Is there a reaction he's supposed to be having to this news, now? Something normal: cry, scream, pound the wall? Shake his fist at the uncaring universe? John can't stop this. An uncomfortable bed at some hospital ward isn't going to stop this. They keep telling him that this will most likely pass, but no one is answering the most important question: how will he be able to endure the uncertainty and the long wait?

Swan Song by astudyinrose (92K, E) Summary: What if the stag night in the Sign of Three had ended a bit differently?

A Diseased Fancy by J_Baillier (85K, M) Summary: It has been two years since John's marriage had fallen apart and he had moved back to Baker Street. Things between him and Sherlock are still very much undefined, and John is certain that he'll have plenty of time to figure it all out. This notion proves dangerously false: strange things are set in motion when Sherlock's long-lost “acquaintance” from university appears on their doorstep and a baffling burglary case frustrates Sherlock to no end. What is behind Sherlock's black moods and dwindling health? Where is Mycroft? Why would someone steal artefacts from the British Museum that have interested nary a soul for decades?In the midst of this thickening fog stands John, who will soon have to take on an enemy much greater than even Moriarty.

A Cure For Boredom by emmagrant01 (81K, E) Summary: They'd never talked about sex in the year they'd known each other. Well, that wasn't quite correct: Sherlock had never said a word about sex; John had bemoaned his personal dearth of it on many occasions.

The Case of (Developing) Love Series by Lunavere (77K, M) Summary: It had been another boring Sunday when Mycroft walked into their flat and blackmailed John in order to force Sherlock to investigate a case for him. For Sherlock, this case is nothing special - just another one of Mycroft's "national security" cases. For John, however, it hits a little too close to home. As former colleagues and old memories resurface, John finds it harder to hide his emotions from an ever observant Sherlock.

Perpetual Motion by Fay (orphan_account) (75K, E) Summary: Everyone thinks that they're a couple, but Sherlock's self-sexual and John's straight, so they're never going to fall in love, are they? Even if neither of them can imagine life without the other.

A World Upended by sfumatosoup (71K, M) Summary: John is relentlessly pursued by a coworker, which all leads to an inevitable revelation by Sherlock. How will John react to this?

The Ground Beneath Your Feet by Chryse (68K, E) Summary: Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.

All the Rest (of What I Want) by philalethia (68K, E) Summary: After being invalided home from Afghanistan, John takes his therapist's advice and tries to meet people online. Specifically, he joins a fetish site, where he ends up interacting with a man called SH who keeps paying him money to perform odd tasks and seems very keen to take care of him.Basically: slow-build daddy kink.

Electric Pink Hand Grenade by BeautifulFiction (67K, E) Summary: "If Sherlock's brain is a hard drive, then these attacks are an electro-magnetic pulse." Sherlock Holmes does not do anything by half, not even a migraine. It falls to John to witness one of the greatest minds he has ever known tear itself apart, and he must do his best to help Sherlock pick up the pieces.

Horse And Carriage Series by flawedamythyst (60K, T) Summary: Sherlock proposes. John thinks the whole idea is ludicrous.

Ink Your Name Across My Heart by prettyvk (58K, E) Summary: The metaphor is imperfect but still workable. If my long term memory is a hard drive, then my short term memory is RAM. The hard drive became read-only following the illness. New data is stored in RAM and can be used while I remain awake. Going to sleep – ‘turning off’ – wipes the RAM, returning the system to what it was prior to the illness.

The Great Sex Olympics of 221B by XistentialAngst (58k, E) Summary: John Watson thinks Sherlock Holmes should admit that he, Watson, is more of an expert on sex than Sherlock is. But Sherlock refuses to concede the point. He comes up with an experiment plan that will resolve the issue. The results will determine who wins the prize. But sometimes even the best thought-out scientific study has unexpected consequences.

Lost for Words by awanderingbard (57K, M) Summary: Sherlock is assaulted by an unknown assailant while John is away at a medical conference, leaving him with a severe brain injury. While his intellect and personality are intact, he's lost the use of his right-side limbs and his ability to speak freely. John suddenly finds himself as the main source of support, and possibly a caregiver, to a flatmate who is struggling to do the things he loves most. And Sherlock Holmes has never been the best of patients.

Once Upon a Time by thisisforyou (57K, E) Summary: Follows an alternate canon wherein John and Sherlock meet as teenagers, but don't remember each other until they are re-introduced at St Bart's. How can we ever really measure the influence we have on other people's lives? Flicks between the main storyline of the two at seventeen and alternate moments throughout canon and their lives before meeting at Bart's.

The Road Less Traveled by verityburns (57K, M) Summary: Sherlock realises that John's dating habits involve an unacceptable level of risk... what if he meets an unusually tolerant woman and ends up getting married?

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (57K, M) Summary: An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

Not the King's Men by StoneWingedAngel (56K, T) Summary: John finds Sherlock three years after he thought he'd buried him, scared and injured; broken to such an extent he can barely recognise those trying to help him. Battling against too many unanswered questions and his own feelings, John sets out to put him back together, but never stops to consider Sherlock's return may be part of a greater punishment in store for the both of them.

Guilty Secrets by Ellipsical (55K, E) Summary: John has a prostate exam and discovers something surprising about himself. Experimentation follows. Sherlock wants to help. They're in love. You know the drill.

Disguise by kaalee (55K, E) Summary: Sherlock's disguises are little more than a nuisance to John until one day he walks into the kitchen dressed as someone from John's past, someone John had tried to forget.

Never Change a Running System by Lorelei_Lee (54K, E) Summary: Sherlock discovers his sexuality – with far-reaching consequences for John.

End of the Story by kres (54K, E) Summary: Post-Reichenbach. The return, the fallout, the pieces you pick up

Triage by scullyseviltwin (51K, E) Summary: Sherlock’s mind goes exceedingly, devastatingly quiet and gray-blank. When he speaks it’s through a thick haze, it’s through molasses, he’s so disconnected from the words that it may as well be the unconscious shooter speaking. “It was only a twenty-two,” he says, voice unfeeling and unwavering, as though that makes any sense at all.

#rec list #romance #50k+

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maskedinstructor · 6 years ago

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Black Education in America-Get To Work-Thank God for Those Bad Ass Kids . They Taught Me How To...

THE SLOW CLASS

I consider myself a reasonable person. I have succeeded many times in not to get out of pocket with the baby blasphemers. In fact, I have erred in their favor more than I would like to admit. One day I lost it. Let me commence from the commencement.

I had a wonderful weekend. I partied hard and planned for the week of instruction in my most brilliant fashion. On Monday, I arrived at class pumped. It was a new class and I was prepared to drop the academic hammer on their ass. After an extraordinary initiation and more than astute aim and objective, there erupted a mournful stirring in the room. One little decibel had the gall to raise his hand to confess that , “ We can’t do that. We are the slow class.”

“What the fuck?” was my mental response. This little tire lug spoke for the entire class and not one student objected. The class confirmed what he had preached about the students and their future. I was so angry that I saw red. I mean it. I actually saw the red of blood in my eyes. The class at the moment appeared invisible to me. I was blind with anger. I loosed a tirade of cussing on their ass that even the class spokesman was glued to his seat. Somehow I stopped. Well, I just depleted my cussing vocabulary and returned to my desk...I SAT. I could feel the water on my cheeks. It was not perspiration.

From where did you learn this shit?

Everybody in the school knows it we are the ‘slow class’

I knew the answer. Still I wanted to hear it from their mouth to confirm my belief. Sure enough the response was that the teachers had started the labeling when these young people were in the early grades. I,even, heard the bullshit in the teachers’ room

B...Bathroom. All these kids do well is go to the bathroom and even that they screw up when they come back smelling like shit. U...Unprepared. They don’t even know how to study. These children can’t remember what I taught yesterday. Forget last year. L...Lack of Attention...Can they sit still for just a minute? L...Listless. Where are their brains? They are just spaced out...DULL. S...Sharing of thoughts and ideas. The attempts are futile. They are so disrespectful to each other. Everyone is an army of one. H...Home. Parents are not involved. At the last PTA meeting, there were 35 attendees. The school has 1,200 children. I...Interruption. The students constantly impede the flow of instruction as if afraid they might learn something. T-Tools of learning. There are no pencils, pens or notebooks carried by the children no matter how many times I request them

This is the bullshit spewed out each and every day by those teachers. They did not care who heard them. The children heard it also. The picture painted became so huge that it permeated the deep recesses of their mind. Now, in the moment, I was charged with extracting years of malicious, thoughts, words and deeds from the memory of each child. It was detrimental for the children began to focus on the picture rather than their ability to learn, to change their self image, to alter their life. It was a task too gigantic to begin to launch a counterattack. However, as we know, students who are not entertained will entertain themselves.

The little thumbnails proceeded to fight back. They united. They made the brash decision to function as a group and when called upon , they would not work at all under the pretext of, “ We are the slow class.”. However, the second amendment of the proclamation was held in abeyance until the empty suitcases were ready to reveal it. Part 2 as we now know it, “ You will pay for your cruelty as we will wreak havoc on the school and all who reside therein. There will be no peace.” Chaos abounded. The school was the playground, Fights and distractions were so frequent that an entire new industry was invented for those schools ‘school security’.There was a plethora of foolish deeds,crime, hoodies, playing , misbehaving, hair combing, styling and gangs, but a dearth of academic experiences. Failure was on the daily menu. Police in the school were as well known as the teachers. Pure Hell would be the best description for that school and others

That school and its staff were the perfect example of creating the ambiance of unity in ignorance. The children were labeled losers and they were willing to take the school down with them to prove the prophecy of the teachers correct...In the end everyone lost. AAAAAAnnnnnddd, the problem persists still today... Those were the causes. How might they be ameliorated? The children were always teaching. I ‘d better learn or leave. I stayed. and the type of teacher I became amazed even me.

Theoretical Framework: Be careful what you ask for

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themathrockblog · 8 years ago

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FESTIVAL REVIEW: STRANGEFORMS, WHARF CHAMBERS - LEEDS 2017

Having reflexively purchased a ticket upon seeing the immense line-up for last year’s StrangeForms only to find myself unable to attend, I was thrilled to witness the incredible festival for the first time this year. And what a year it was, making up for missing last year with a wealth of friendships forged, conversations relished and most importantly, great bands enjoyed with that mixture of attentiveness and bewilderment that math-rock always brings. In the early Saturday afternoon at the charming DIY space Wharf Chambers, tepid bursts of sunlight shone into the beer garden as punters gathered in surprising numbers to hear local lads Classically Handsome Brutes open the festival. Whopping guitar riffs and thudding bass made for an unsettlingly crunchy sound; the roaring songs always featuring stop/start stabs both as impossibly hard to anticipate as they were tightly performed. Next followed Lost Ground and a subtle change of pace. The first and most delicate vocals of the festival soared over intricate guitar parts, often contrasting with emphatic bass and complimenting jazz-tinged drum work. The set was emotional and engaging, with a sound more lustrous than the sum of its three-pieced together parts.

Off to a great start! The Real Junk Food Project was serving up exquisite food on a pay as you feel basis, fine pale ales were being liberally guzzled inside a venue with the most homely and vibrant feel. An assortment of merchandise and t-shirts colourfully wallpapered the gig room as everyone gleefully quizzed each other in anticipation of their prospective favourite bands to come.

From a line-up brimming with an assortment of three piece bands, Steve Strong stuck out as a tantalising prospect of hearing noises just as full, songs just as enthralling and some of the best drumming of the weekend. Guitar loops were tightly controlled and effortlessly built upon, stripped back from the mix and thrusted in again. Each time the cacophony had found its place, it was given new life by quick and breathtakingly pinpoint percussive work. A stunning performance and a unique chance to see how carefully chosen rhythmic changes can structure a song.

Back to three pieces, this one less time-signature twisting, more groove-fronted power riffs from Memory of Elephants. A tasteful ear for melody was wrestled with as the bass and guitar interlocked with precision to create beefy math-rock at its best. The balanced instrumentation was evident, as the bass shared as many central motifs as the guitar, both musicians tightly synced as if one brain splitting into four hands, blasting sounds through two octave pedals and smashing your eardrums to pieces one spasmodic riff at a time. ‘Who The Fuck Is Runcorn?’, the closer from their second EP, was the pinnacle of the set for me as each stop-start and stab shifted focus around the stage, from ballistic drum fills to bass thuds to guitar screeches. Drums drove the songs with tasteful builds and insanely tight flourishes atop the ride cymbal. Occasional roars demonstrated just how fun it was to be upon the StrangeForms stage.

I took brief notes for the scarily brutal performance of Fall of Messiah, but they seemed so apt ill reproduce them here verbatim: “A voice so piercing a microphone is surplus to requirement. Sounds like This Will Destroy You thrown in a blender and turned up to 11.” That really says it all, I think. My next memory - of bands, not elephants - was of the hypnotically spacey, painstakingly crafted masterpieces that are Poly-Math songs at full tilt. Perhaps VASA, who I’m assured played before Poly-Math, were so jaw-droppingly awesome that they melted the part of my brain that makes memories, for a short period of time about as long as their set. Not to worry, Poly-Math were here to rescue my fragile constitution with warmly curated prog-rock. Bass and drums interlocked, jolting and grooving freely whilst a guitar funnelled through an expansive pedalboard turned neat riffs into spacey wails. The performance was mesmerising, as hands wandered along the guitar neck as if a man strolling along a boardwalk, only to find himself alone at the end, meeting the ocean in a frantic storm, in layers of rapturous guitar and pulsating beats. Take a standard prog song, put it through a washing machine on a spin cycle and you’ve got Poly-Math at their psychedelic best.

To continue the hypnosis, Gallops took to the stage. Technical issues were overlooked as a patient and jovial crowd took the time to ready themselves, using the respite to mentally prepare for the synth-driven, danceable anthems ahead. The wait was more than worth it. Such a carefully crafted sound pits layers of guitar against layers of synth, colliding in a maelstrom of warm noise so atmospheric and so colossal that it opened up a blackhole and sent them in a time warp back to the 80’s, picking up a few cues from synthpop along the way. Gallops make something like ‘tropical math-rock’, with drum pads crunching out over real drums, battled with and battered in the most rhythmic and danceable way. ‘Tropical’ is actually rather apt, as the smooth wash of electronic textures build and twist, the temperature rises and attendant bodies groove throughout the room; it’s not long before the breeze of a synth sound has spun in on itself and whipped up a tropical storm of electronica and massive guitar lines, warbling like the din of a cyclone. And with that, day one was over. The second half of this review will be written through much hazier recollections, as the Saturday night ambled on into the early hours and the Sunday left most feeling the distinct sting of tiredness. The double-espresso shot of noise everyone needed on the Sunday afternoon came in the form of the fearsome Irk. Post-hardcore mixed with mathy tropes, the guttural, raspy screams of the vocalist splattered out over the most tonally warped, gruesome sounding bass guitar I’ve ever heard. All in all, Irk brought warmth and colour to the pallid faces of the those hungover bodies that had dragged themselves down in time to hear it.

Ear-splitting kept to a minimum, the crowd picked themselves up for the contrastingly happy, upbeat sound of A-tota-so. Three musicians have never looked more in control of every note and drum stroke, as they intricately wound their way around tappy riffs and melodic bursts, before sinking into muddy noisy sections with equal control. Best snare drum sound of the festival goes to this set; what a piercing din was made, what a penetrating crunch from a batter head so tight the sticks pinged off it like a trampoline, atop which thrived a most gymnastic and dextrous display of drumming. Drums often proved more than a rhythmic backdrop for guitars to dance over at this festival, it’s only as much as you’d expect from thoughtful math-rock, but none did so more effectively than that of A-tota-so.

As a math-rock lover born in the flat, tediously homogenous farmlands of Lincolnshire, I used to find myself stranded away from festivals like this, lamenting the dearth of good bands in my area. Enter Bear Makes Ninja, Sleaford’s answer to the void left by the vocal driven math-pop-rockers of yesteryear. Think Tubelord at full ferocity, with harmonies abounding as a most bright and crisp guitar tone gives way to a most distorted one. All the while at the back of the stage, beefy drums were navigated with the most robotic, metronomic precision I have ever seen in such a noisy band, with pounding snare and cymbals laid down flawlessly. Not to mention this was done whilst the drummer simultaneously soared away with lustrous backing vocals. Stunning! Tackling parts this technical and channelling them into a fully structured song with three part harmonies and memorable hooks is a difficult task, but when they get it right, boy do BMN get it right. The ascending hallmark riff of 12345 (a favourite from our review of debut album Shenanagrams) was one of the most memorable parts of the weekend for me, and that is as high a compliment as I know how to give from a line-up so saturated with talent.

There were so many great bands on the Sunday that – although it’s too late for brevity – I’ll stick to my personal highlights. Taking to the floor, in the most literal sense, where Scotland’s finest post-rock, math-rock hybrid band, Dialects. With pedalboards this big and musicians using them as they wield guitars like proverbial axes – chopping and turning through the air with a dangerous energy – there was no room for math-rock this animated on such a stage. Standing at crowd level, guitars swelled with heart warming reverb, mind-melting tapping, frantic riffs filtered through delays and tones purpose-chosen; Dialects are an immense force on this scene, giving every ounce of energy to every song. Through the unique dynamic between the two guitars - one controlling and modulating the riff, one experimentally hacking at and bending strings - Dialects create cathartic songs to lose your mind, and all of your troubles, to. Just bring earplugs and watch out for the stray sway of a guitar neck whirling around (see below) as energetically as the riff it’s bringing to your ears.

Axes return to the stage was as fun a finale to the festival as anyone could have wished for. Remembering the intricacies of songs long since played live was a thoroughly entertaining process to watch; intimate and light-hearted, as cheery and spirited as the wonky riffs and jangling math-rock they willed themselves to construct. Thankfully, the audience had done their homework, urging in each new stab and stall to arise and break with head bobs of great precision. The band had a look of astonishment at the music their fingers were carving out of their fretboards. Twiddly, fast tempo riffs bobbled along over chunky bass rumbles, dipping in and out of different time signatures with formidable control and with a perfect balance between the two guitarists, wrestling with each other and both winning. A euphonic and emphatic finish to the weekend. Overall, my first time at StrangeForms did not disappoint. The music was incredible, of course, of this I could scarcely wish my expectations to have been passed, such was the brilliance of the line-up. But it was the atmosphere of the place I was thankful to have experienced. Here, there and everywhere people discussed the music and the musicians, the sets and the scene with voracious interest and excitement. Why is this scene so generous, warm, considerate and always the nexus of many an interesting conversation? Perhaps it is because many of the audience are in some way involved in the scene, creatively, artistically, from t-shirt designs to posters, PR and promotion, record labels, distros, videographers and writers – the passion is still somehow infectious in a crowd where everyone has already caught the bug. The joy of each head bang, of each pedal-tap induced wall of sound is lost on no-one; unique to this epicentre of musicians, artists and listeners is the feeling that everyone has taken time to totally immerse themselves in the scene. This noisy world is one of few where everyone is so friendly and familiar with everyone else, so buoyed in collective anticipation by a good line-up at the next of many events, from Bristol to Brighton, Leeds to London and beyond; there are no half-hearted math-rock lovers, and few are more passionate than Bad Owls about good music and good people.

Like every band that took to the stage, I’d like to heartily thank Stewart and Kerry and everyone else amongst the Bad Owls team for putting on such a great weekend of music! Words by Jonny Gleadell. Images by Tiago Morelli (http://feckingbahamas.com/author/tiago-morelli)

#theblog #festivalreview #dialects #strangeforms #vasa #polymath #gallops #bear makes ninja #horizontal

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npmjs · 8 years ago

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My First npm Publish

My first npm publish was unusual. npm didn't exist at the time, so that presented a bit of a challenge.

This is the story of helping to inventing a universe so that I could make an apple pie from scratch.

SSJS

Back in 2009, I was working at Yahoo! as a Front-End Engineer. That meant that I wrote a lot of PHP and JavaScript. I had just finished a project where we had front-end components generated on the back-end and shipped to the client based on some data being parsed into a template, and then later on, on the front-end, do the same work in JavaScript with the same templates and data services.

These days, that'd be called "fast boot" or "isometric templates" or something clever, but back in those dark days, it required tediously maintaining two implementations of a view layer, one in PHP and the other in JavaScript. Maintaining the same thing in two languages was downright awful.

"Well", I figured, "JavaScript is a language, and we can control what's on the server, why not just run JavaScript on the server?"

The state of the art in server-side JavaScript (SSJS) was Rhino on the JVM. The problem was, unless you compiled your JavaScript into JVM bytecode using arcane special magicks, it was godawful slow. I started messing around with V8 and SpiderMonkey, thinking "I want something like PHP, but JavaScript".

The SSJS community at that time was a very different place than the Node.js of today. There were dozens of projects, any one of which could've seemed like it would be the breakout hit. SpiderApe and v8-juice were trying to make it easier to embed spidermonkey and v8, and add a standard library to each. v8cgi (renamed to TeaJS) provided a CGI binding to use v8 in Apache2. I started messing around with K7, which provided a bunch of macros for using V8 in various contexts, and Narwhal, which was the only one of these that seemed to be delivering a fully thought-out platform for making programs. There was also Helma and RingoJS, and probably a bunch of others I'm forgetting.

A few years ago, we used to joke that every Node.js dev had their own test framework and argument parser. Well, in 2009, every server-side JavaScript developer had their own SSJS platform.

The contributors to all of these platforms got together in a mailing list and tried to form some kind of standard for server-side JavaScript programming. Front-end JavaScript has the DOM, so we thought, and right now, writing server-side JavaScript suffers from a dearth of portability. What we need is a standards body, clearly! This was initially called "ServerJS", but then expanded its scope to CommonJS.

The first proper "module" I wrote in JavaScript was a port of a url parser I wrote for YUI. I landed it in Narwhal. There was no userland, really. Just lots of little cores.

Some time later, in August of 2009, I gave a tech talk about SSJS and demonstrated using Narwhal and Jack, a Rack-like thing built on top of Narwhal, using the JSGI protocol.

After the talk, one of the people in the audience asked if I'd ever tried out Node.js. As it turned out, I had, but like so many SSJS platforms:

It had a single developer working on it, and no other contributors or community.

The documentation was extremely sparse

It failed to build on my mac laptop.

Ergo: Not a thing.

"I dunno," he said. "Maybe try it again. It's pretty nifty."

He insisted that it was fast, and I was like, "Meh. JVM is fine."

Node.js

I checked the website again, and they'd added a "Community" section. Also, the docs still sucked, but it was version 0.0.6 now, which was like, 4 more than it was the first time I'd checked, so whoever this Ryan guy was, he was at least working hard on the thing.

It compiled successfully, and I was hooked! It started up so fast compared to Rhino! And it had tests that ran when I did make test, and they passed!

3 important lessons for OSS success:

Docs and tests matter.

At least have a link to a mailing list or something. (Remember: this was before GitHub connected us all with Issues.)

It has to build and be fast.

I gradually stopped paying much attention to CommonJS, and instead just threw my efforts at Node. I hung out on the mailing list and in IRC during all my free time.

The problem with Node back then was that even though a growing number of people were all writing really interesting programs, it was hard to share them. So, I wrote this thing, which was a port of a bash script I was using to play with people's code.

The Registry

Technically that wasn't "publishing" though. In order to actually publish to npm there had to be an npm registry. Today, that registry is a webservice at https://registry.npmjs.org/, run by npm, Inc.. The first registry was a git repo called "npm-data". I collected up the handful of modules that'd been shared from on the mailing list and in the Node.js wiki page, and made a JSON file with links to them.

One principle of package management that I felt was really important was that no one person should be the bottleneck in community growth. Especially if that person is me. Because I really hate that crap.

I don't mind working really hard on lots of challenging stuff, but if I have to do some simple task over and over again, especially if other people are depending on me to do it, it's like torture to me. The prospect of being in someone's critical path for deploying their module was just... ugh. Gross.

I needed a web service type thing that would let people publish packages and then could download those packages and install them.

I got to talking to Mikeal Rogers, who worked at Couch.IO. He built the first npm registry CouchApp, and got it functional.

Fun fact! For a little while, anyone could publish any package, and we relied on the honor system to keep anyone from clobbering anyone else's name. It was an ok system for a short while, since there were only about 4 or 5 people in the world who knew this thing existed, but we got an authentication and authorization system set up before anyone could take advantage of it.

By that time, I'd quit my job at Yahoo! and was taking a sabatical. If you can afford it, I highly recommend saving up a little nest egg and taking a few months off to see what comes out of you. Muses can be fickle, and tend to call when least expected.

I know what you're thinking...

You're thinking that the culmination of this story is that I published npm to npm and that was my first npm publish, and it'll be super meta and awesome like that. It'd be a beautiful punchline.

Real life is sloppy sometimes.

I knew that I wanted npm to be able to accept abbreviated versions of commands, so that npm inst would do the same thing as npm install. (To this day, the friendly CLI shorthands are some of npm's most beloved features.)

The first thing I published to npm was abbrev. I'd written it already, mostly as a sort of coding crossword puzzle some... Saturday? Wednesday? All the days were pretty identical during those two lazy/exhausting months of funemployment.

Since abbrev was only one module, no build command, it was really easy to publish and install repeatedly. Ever since then, it's always been one of my go-to testing modules to make sure things are working properly. Not only was it my first npm publish, it was the first npm publish, and it was published probably dozens or hundreds of times to http://localhost:5984/ while I was working on npm. So, of course, when I had a registry running on my little DreamHost instance, abbrev was the first thing I published to it.

The really wacky part: despite it being the first thing I'd published with npm, I didn't actually use abbrev in npm until 5 months later. That whole time I kept trying to figure out how to have proper dependencies in the thing that installed dependencies. Eventually, I gave up and threw it in a utils folder.

Looking back over abbrev now, it's amazing to me how little it's changed. Most of the code is still that initial implementation from May 2010.

The moral of the story is that you don't know how it's going to end.

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victorianwallpapers · 9 years ago

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Happy Endings For Everybody!

“Nothing But A Happy Ending” Endings

(Super Long Post)

Because apparently Moffat and Gatiss can't write their way to a decent finish with literally both hands and a map...

I tried to pick longer fics, and while there is drama and angst in many of them, I tried to keep the fics with at least hopeful endings and in this case, have tried to avoid total AU's. Small world changes I've included but completely different settings have been excluded. Also have avoided WIPs.

Gen-Fic/Non-Pairing

The Green Blade

verity burns

Rated T, 75 k

As a serial killer hits the headlines, the police are out of their depth and the next victim is out of time. With faith in Sherlock Holmes at all time low, this is a case which will push loyalties to the limit.

Friendship only, lovely case fic for those of you who enjoy that.

Here Be Dragons

Winter_of_our_Discontent

Rated T, 16 k

Sherlock is Merlin, powerful, immortal, and bored out of his skull (both of them) waiting for King Arthur's return. John, on the other hand, is completely average. Sure, he's had odd dreams his whole life, and a bit of an obsession with Stonehenge, and now ravens are visiting him...but he's still a completely ordinary bloke. Really.

The King has returned, and London wakes.

Sort of Pre-Slash, I suppose, but a very enjoyable read if you like mythology.

Johnny Blue-Eyes

navigatio

Rated T, 87 k

A burglar with a conscience sends DI Lestrade something obtained in a break-in: a box of homemade videotapes recorded by a paedophile with his victims. Sgt Donovan, assigned to the case, thinks a child featured in one of the videos looks familiar...

Lovely John and Sherlock friendship in a very intense case fic, with a very nice supportive Mary, and one of the best depictions of Sally Donovan that I've ever encountered. This was incredibly depressing to read, but very well written.

Sympathy for the Devil And Mycroft Holmes

scifigrl47

Rated G, 17 k

Mycroft has always protected his younger brother, but there are some things he just can't control. Sherlock's relationship with John Watson is one of them. That doesn't mean that he's not going to try, but in the end, sometimes Sherlock makes his own choices.

And John Watson might just be a match for Mycroft when it comes to protecting Sherlock.

Can be read as friendship or pre-slash, I think, and I love any good Mycroft-centric story :)

Johnlock (of various ratings)

The Adventure of the Consulting Woman

DancingGrimm

Rated E, 39 k

“So the plan is, you have until Saturday night to make that,” he pointed at Sherlock, “look and act convincingly like a woman, so she can go and be a damsel in distress and in doing so trap a serial murderer. Have I got that right?”

This is how you write a good OC. I wanted to be Kristen's friend and have coffee together. Features John and Sherlock pranking Anderson, John getting uncomfortably in-touch with his angry side, and a Sherlock in drag – for a case, of course. Believably written case included.

Against the Rest of the World

SilentAuror

Rated E, 151 k

Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns. Post-Reichenbach.

This is the fic you should be reading if you crave some action-adventure and suspense in your reading. The relationship is uncertain...until it isn't, if you know what I mean. Also: Mycroft is a very good big brother.

All the Rest (of What I Want)

philalethia

Rated E, 68 k

After being invalided home from Afghanistan, John takes his therapist's advice and tries to meet people online. Specifically, he joins a fetish site, where he ends up interacting with a man called SH who keeps paying him money to perform odd tasks and seems very keen to take care of him.

Basically: slow-build daddy kink.

Hoooo-boy. Let's see, how many of my favorite things are in this story? Daddy kink, an insecure and socially awkward Sherlock, John Watson's filthy fucking mouth, bossy bottom John, generous use of sex toys, begging. What more could you possibly ask for in your smut?

Anytime

SilentAuror

Rated E, 17 k

Sherlock blinks and attempts to focus. There is a little too much vodka in his veins at the moment and it's having an unfortunate effect on his brain and retinas both. There are two Johns sitting across from him, and both of them are frowning at him.

“You're drunk,” the Johns tell him.

Sherlock blinks some more. “Says the man with Mrs Hudson's doily on his head.”

Lots of drunk sex on various surfaces, and I'm-not-gay-John trying not to give himself away. P.S. John is not actually as dumb as he looks here.

As long as it takes

PlainJane

Rated E, 14 k

Anything Sherlock wants. All night. No strings attached.

Smut, smut, smut, smut. Tasty tasty smut.

At the Edge of Desire

philalethia

Rated E, 16 k

While helping John move back in to the flat, Sherlock discovers a strap-on among John's things. He finds the discovery considerably difficult to move past.

Sherlock is so awkward and insecure throughout this entire fic, I honestly...if you want smut that makes you laugh, this is it.

Between each beat are words unsaid

darcylindbergh / hudders-and-hiddles

Rated T, 107 k

On their wedding night, John and Sherlock gift each other with the things they each said when the other could not hear, the things they each put down where the other could not see: a collection of writings that illustrate the way their love for one another has grown over the years.

You can see through the back-and-forth letters how long and how tenderly John and Sherlock have loved each other in this fic. So much angst! But the ending is very satisfying.

Cicatrice, Or: The Ornaments of Forgetting

hitlikehammers

Rated E, 16 k

In order to survive, to protect, to save his mind from the distraction, to spare his heart the ache, Sherlock deletes John Watson.

Sherlock deletes John Watson.

And then he comes back home.

A beautifully painful exploration behind how Sherlock's mind palace works, and the pain of John missing him. Happy ending, I swear!

Command Structure

221b_hound

Rated E, 49 k

Sherlock Holmes returns from his hunt to destroy Moriarty's network. He comes home to John, and at long last they start this thing between them that couldn't begin while Moriarty threatened them.

But Sherlock has returned fractured and suffering anxiety attacks. He thinks he needs discipline – the whip – to help him focus and be strong. But his problems are deeper and run back to a childhood of neglect.

John Watson is prepared to be Sherlock's Captain, but he's a doctor, too. His command style isn't about pain and subjugation. It's about care and responsibility: and those concepts go in both directions in Captain Watson's command structure.

Flavors of D/s, but this fic details a lot of the service/care aspects and throws out the punishment – with good reason. Emotional and painful. Explores the neglect and coldness experienced by both Holmes brothers, and the ways in which their parents alienated them from each other.

Common Tongues: Unassuming Brilliance

jinglebell

John may be predictably average in most things, but there are a handful of areas in which he knows he is uncommonly skilled. He can make a great cup of tea, for one. He's also good at patching folks up, putting bullets precisely where he wants them, and listening.

The one skill that John is perhaps most exceptional in, though, is language. John is a polyglot. Umm...getting turned on by a partner with foreign language skills? Yes please!

Cooperative Principle

bendingsignpost

Rated E, 56 k

As the newest instructor at St Bart's, John has been explicitly warned to never do Sherlock Holmes any favors. Too bad the sex is so good.

This is admittedly just a giant work of angst and porn. Sherlock is so slyly seductive in John's eyes that you keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, not realizing what's actually going on until the moment comes. Stay all the way through the end because you get the feeling that they're both pretty okay in the last chapter.

A Cure For Boredom

emmagrant01

Rated E, 81 k

They'd never talked about sex in the year they'd known each other. Well, that wasn't quite correct: Sherlock had never said a word about sex; John had bemoaned his personal dearth of it on many occasions.

Do I need to tell people about this anymore? It's pretty famous by now. The fic when you want smut now, but also want slow burn at the same time (I have no idea how that works, it just does).

Dear John series

wendymarlowe

Rated E, 30 k

Podfic! By bagofthumbs

Also in Spanish

With Sherlock dead, John eventually (under duress) makes a profile on an online dating site. And falls into a long-distance relationship with an enigmatic partner who reminds him of Sherlock in all the right ways. (Hint it turns out to be Sherlock.)

A sexy fic that tries to explore Sherlock and John's relationship backgrounds – and will have you sweating with anxiety about John's reaction the whole time.

echoes through time

chellefic

Rated E, 21 k

Mummy sends a trunk from the Holmes cottage in Sussex to 221B. Its contents after the way John and Sherlock see themselves and one another. A brilliantly-written crossover with the ACD version of Sherlock, very sexy and sweet.

Electrical Pink Hand Grenade

BeautifulFiction

Rated E, 67 k

Podfic! By sevenpercent

Also in Russian and French

“If Sherlock's brain is a hard drive, then these attack are an electro-magnetic pulse.” Sherlock Holmes does not do anything by half, not even a migraine. It falls to John to witness one of the greatest minds he has ever known tear itself apart, and he must do his best to help Sherlock pick up the pieces.

Sick!fic done right! I especially love Sherlock's weird pain-induced descriptions of his surroundings.

Flash Bang

mydwynter

Rated E, 27 k

The fantasy is so affecting it pulls a whimper from John's throat.

From whimper to bang. Brighter than the sun.

An emotional exploration of John realizing what he wants from his flatmate.

Gifts from the Sea series

patternofdefiance

Rated E, 19 k

One of the few fics I've ever see that contains all of the following: consensual tentacle porn, interspecies sex, and mating pheromones.

Gold Rush

ShirleyCarlton

Rated E, 71 k

John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman's stalker, John realizes he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Yay for cool, interesting cases! Good references to ACD, too! No Mary, no Moriarty, and John deals well with Sherlock's anxiety and jealous insecurity.

A good old-fashioned happy ending

darcylindbergh

Rated E, 32 k

Podfic! By Lockedinjohnlock

And Sherlock stands there, in the middle of a Christmas market as John hums along to Silent Night, John's hand warm in his with fingertips a little gritty from the cinnamon-sugar doused churros they'd shared, and thinks, oh, that's-that's an idea, isn't it?

For Christmas this year, Sherlock wants to get John something special: something every fairytale deserves.

The softest, fluffiest thing you could possibly imagine, including Sherlock proposing at Christmas.

The Ground Beneath Your Feet

Chryse

Rated E, 68 k

Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.

This story is filled with bittersweet angst and ends in a hopeful, happy ending. I won't spoil the rest for you.

Hitting the Water at Sixty Miles an Hour

what_alchemy

Rated E, 30 k

“You love your mother, Sherlock?”

John watched the muscles in Sherlock's jaw jump. He nodded in one sharp jerk.

“Then we're going to her party and making her happy.” John let out a resigned sigh. “As a ruddy couple, you bastard.”

Fake relationship, Mummy Holmes, and the Holmes brothers being enormous insufferable gits.

HOT DOLPHIN SEX series

cwb

Rated E, 47 k

Far from being about dolphin sex or honestly...dolphins at all, this is what happens when a great author writes Evil!Mary, and an incredibly competent John who tries to take ownership of his life.

Hounds

quietasasleepingarmy

Rated E, 21 k

Sherlock enlists John's help with a case that falls far beyond his area of expertise.

Very creepy case-fic with John realizing that his jealous and protectiveness aren't entirely platonic. Also you gotta love John going badass on the villain.

How Long?

Camerasparring

Rated E, 23 k

Not long after meeting John, Sherlock receives an email from an old acquaintance. Unfortunately, Sherlock has neglected to tell anyone he was once married. Past Sherlock/Sebastian Wilkes, emotional abuse Internalized homophobia and terrible terrible sex (none of this involves John). Sebastian is a dick and no one is surprised.

If nobody speaks of remarkable things

darcylindbergh

Rated E, 34 k

Maybe that was why: you only get the one miracle.

This fic is basically agony, but only in the best of ways.

In A Changing Age

allonsys_girl

Rated E, 15 k

Sherlock wakes up in the 19th century, with no idea how he got there.

A beautiful and tender crossover with ACD/TAB Victorian Holmes. Very slow and lovely.

Just a Kiss

emmagrant01

Rated E, 19 k

Five times John and Sherlock kissed because of a case and one time they kissed for real.

A cute adventure featuring a very BAMF John and somewhat clueless Sherlock.

Kill a Mockingbird

GwendolynnFiction

Rated T, 134 k

John had found perhaps the only way to bring Sherlock home from his self-imposed exile after TRF. He is abducted and tortured at the hands of Moriarty's contingency plan. Sherlock hears that John has disappeared and must ally with Lestrade, Donovan, and Scotland Yard to get him home.

This story is the essential definition of BAMF!John, and also shows Sherlock dealing with the very real and terrible consequences of his decisions.

Lock & Key series – can be read individually or all together

221b_hound

Rated E, 58 k

Just love and kink, my friends.

The Military Kink series

Silent Auror

Rated E, 29 k

A sweet and sexy two-part series flavored with Sherlock of the every-body-loves-a-soldier variety and watching his Captain give orders.

The Moonlight and the Frost

CaitlinFairchild

Rated E, 77 k

Podfic! By Lockedinjohnlock

“And once again, you think you know what's best for me.”

John rises from the chair, the anger and frustration and hurt overwhelming him, bursting out of every pore, and he doesn't even know for sure if it's Sherlock he's angry at, really, but the only reason he tied himself to Mary in the first place is because the person he really loved left him behind, and the woman he married once sat in the shadows above a darkened swimming pool and aimed a sniper rifle at his heart and later shot his best friend in cold blood and cuckolded him and just gave birth to a child that wasn't his and right now he just can't do this, he just fucking can't do this anymore.

This is how you write John suffering. This story is painful to read, and not recommended if you like Mary, but the ending is hopeful and the two men seem much more healed by the story's finish.

My Phone's on Vibrate For You

misslucyjane

Sherlock texts all the time. Today's different.

Flirty and very sexy, but not too angsty. Just enough sexual tension.

The napoleon

darcylindbergh

Rated E, 24 k

Halloween, 1989: John and Sherlock both have big plans for the night, but some serial killers have the worst possible time.

Fun and sexy adventure set on Halloween. Mycroft is not impressed with your shit.

Nature and Nurture

earlgreytea68

Rated M, 203 k

Podfic! By AxeMeAboutAxinomancy

The British Government accidentally clones Sherlock Holmes. Which brings a baby to 221B Baker Street.

A slower burn fic where John and Sherlock do this whole relationship thing in reverse. Move in, have baby, fall in love, get married. (Also Oliver is god damn adorable).

Never Change a Running System

Lorelei_Lee

Rated E, 54 k

Sherlock discovers his sexuality – with far-reaching consequences for John.

“John I would be grateful if you would stop staring at my penis,” Sherlock remarked into the gaping silence, without removing his empty gaze from the window.

The doctor, caught out, couldn't do anything other than swallow, loudly and with difficulty. “Believe me...you couldn't be any more grateful than me.”

A fun romp of sexual tension, smut, and comedy of errors.

The One You Win

TheUniverseWillSing

Rated G, 17 k

In which a homeless child follows Sherlock home one day, and he isn't as heartless as one might think.

The FLUFFIEST, CUTEST FUCKING- okay, okay, I'm fine. Married Johnlock and a cute little girl who loves science that Sherlock becomes hopelessly attached to.

The Progress of Sherlock Holmes

ivyblossom

Rated E, 62 k

Podfic! By cellardoor

“I had,” he said “come to an entirely erroneous conclusion, my dear Watson, how dangerous it always is to reason from insufficient data.”

- Arthur Conan Doyle, The Adventure of the Speckled Band

Or: “Wow, Mycroft, You Are Such An Unrepentant Dick”. Mary is not a villain, but also just not terribly nice, either.

Read Our Futures in the Rising Steam

xzombiekittenx Rated E, 22 k

An unknown killer begins kidnapping and vivisecting men who bear a strong resemblance to one John Watson. Lestrade wants both John and a newly-resurrected Sherlock as far away from the case as possible – and not just because Sherlock is the Met's prime suspect. But this is a case that Sherlock, still feeling out the limits of John's grief and his own guilt, can't just ignore. Very possessive Sherlock, TW for references to sexual assault and torture. Points for a well-featured Donovan!

Scotland series

snorklepie

Rated E, 303 k

Podfic! By Lockedinjohnlock

The third part of this series is still incomplete, but read the first two if you haven't already! This series really does have everything I love about fiction in general, never mind in Sherlock. Lovingly written smut, suspense, a well-crafted and interesting mystery, murder, secrets, lies, interesting side characters, humor, and life-or-death situations. The podfic by Lockedinjohnlock is terrific and if you listen, please dear god give her and snorklepie some love. I have no idea how she managed to switch between so many accents and I covet her gift jealously.

Shadows on the Wall

AraSigyrn

Rated T, 18 k

Podfic! By Lunchee

Also in Spanish.

John came back from Afghanistan psychic.

One of the best magical realism stories out there, in my opinion.

Shallow Grave

SilentAuror

Rated E, 31 k

Starts as Sherlock's plane is taking off at the end of His Last Vow. When he finds out that Moriarty is alive and that he's being recalled from his mission, Sherlock decides that he should have told John how he felt before he left. So he walks off the plane and kisses him.

Wow. Possibly the only fic that has ever made me feel sorry for Moriarty. Mary is not a good girl here.

Small Screen Valentino

DancingGrimm

Rated E, 43 k

“Oh God,” John breathed, horrified.

It took a lot to horrify John H. Watson. Worried now, Sherlock got up and stepped around the table, only to be foiled when John quickly turned the laptop so he couldn't see the screen.

“John, what is it? What did she do?”

“She put a video online...oh God...”

“What? What sort of video?”

“Our video, Sherlock! One that she and I made!”

Poor John. It really is very uncomfortable seeing him so embarrassed and ashamed of this and the real reveal over it is very sweet. And Sherlock trying to help and battling his curiosity is quite sweet.

Sonatina in G Minor

SilentAuror

Rated E, 22 k

John has come back to Baker Street, but Sherlock doesn't understand the strange tension between them, even after he begins teaching John to play the violin at John's request...

A lovely slow build to the romance with music and a sort-of case melded in the middle.

Spoiled Kitty series

philalethia

Rated E, 20 k

Stories featuring pet play scenarios in which Sherlock is John's treasured pet.

Very hot if you like D/s and pet play, for the kinkier among you. Do read story tags, some feature different aspects of the dynamic. Both men are clearly more into the caretaking portions of power play and neither are too interested in the punishment portion.

State of Flux

Atiki

Rated E, 24 k

John's marriage is over and he is finally back home (i.e. at Baker Street, where he belongs). Sherlock is awfully insecure and John is awfully hesitant, and they're both awkward idiots, of course, but they figure it out. Many First Times happen.

Honestly who the hell doesn't know this fic at this point?

Stick to the Script

thisisforyou

Rated E, 43 k

Maybe Sherlock should have guessed that asking John to pretend to tie him to the bed and shag him through the headboard – for a case – wasn't such an intelligent idea. Or, the one in which a femme fatale murder causes Sherlock and John to role-play sex. Repeatedly.

Not only grade-A kink, but one of the more odd and interesting cases in this fic.

Stood in History

philalethia

Rated E, 18 k

He discovered the ring in John's sock drawer.

It all went a bit downhill from there.

Oh dear. Sherlock anticipates John's proposal and has increasingly large meltdowns thereafter.

Synapses

theshopislocal

Rated E, 52 k

“Thrice”

“Yes.”

John blinks. Shakes his head. Blinks again. “Thhhhrice.”

“Yes.”

Is my mouth moving right n- “Thrice in your entire life?”

“Yess, John,” Sherlock growls, hissing like a snake grabbed by the tail. “Thrice, three times, twice more than once and once more than twice, a veritable triptych of onanism. Thrice.”

John discovers that Sherlock has only had an orgasm three times in his life and he finds this very interesting for some reason. Sherlock struggles with the aftermath of his time away from London and his repressed sexual urges, aided (or not?) by John. ANGST

This Doesn't Feel Like Falling

Dark3Star

Rated E, 148 k

When he fell from St. Bart's Sherlock knew he loved John Watson. John couldn't love him back (or so he thinks). Now that he's back from the dead things are back to normal...sort of. When a serial killer targets increasing high profile gay couples Sherlock is on the case. With a, possibly ill-advised, plan Sherlock and John go undercover as a gay couple to uncover the truth. Fake relationship, slow burn-ish with a very nice attached case fic. Does feature homophobic themes and graphic depictions of violence, as well as a few smutty scenes.

Vena Cava

SilentAuror

Rated E, 27 k

Sherlock has been shot in the chest; John has been shot in the heart. Though everything is broken, they do their best to heal the wounds that Mary left on them both.

Mary-as-villian story that appropriately addresses the anguish John feels at his friend's near death.

Wars We Fought, Things We're Not

blueink3

Rated M, 55 k

“Oh come, John. Could be fun,” Mycroft taunts, accompanied by an eyebrow arch he's gotten far too good at. “Besides, it's not as if it's your first time pretending to be a couple.”

Five months after John's world has fallen apart, Mycroft sends the consulting detective and his doctor on a case that neither is prepared for.

I'm a huge sucker for well-nuanced side characters and good casefics, and this delivers on both. Bonus cute baby and gut-wrenching emotional turmoil, as well as all-encompassing sexual tension. Mm-mm.

A Waste of Breath

Chryse

Rated E, 95 k

Podfic! By Aranel_Parmadil and Consulting_Smartass

John had always assumed Sherlock was uninterested, untouchable, married to his work. He was wrong on all counts. But when Sherlock embarks on a relationship, John worries that he is in over his head...and this time he might be right.

Features Sherlock/Sebastian Moran. John grows slowly into his love for Sherlock but the affection is obvious even in the beginning. His patience and fondness shine through every chapter. This is one of my favorites, and John's steadily growing concern for Sherlock's safety kept me on the edge of my seat.

What Did You Think About series

Chryse

Rated E, 30 k

Podfic! By Aranel_Parmadil

A series of excellent smut with an ending twist I definitely would not have guessed was coming.

The White Lotuses

SilentAuror

Rated E, 20 k

Podfic by Lockedinjohnlock

One day John realizes that he just isn't where he belongs, which is back at Baker Street with Sherlock. So he goes back and Sherlock, in his own way, courts him. Romance. A nice romantic-tension filled slow-burn story with some beautiful Hindu imagery thrown in.

Your Perfect Offering

CaitlinFairchild

Rated E, 44 k

“Sherlock,” John continues, careful and quiet. “I've seen your back. I know you were hurt. I don't want to pry, I don't want to cause you discomfort but...I'm starting to think something else happened there. In Serbia.”

Sherlock rolls away and sits up on the edge of the bed, his back to John.

“A great many things happened in Serbia,” he says, flat and remote. “None of them were pleasant.”

This shows a very painful and realistic view of trying to help someone you care about past a traumatic experience, while dealing with the hard frustration of feeling them push you away. Happy ending, I swear.

Mystrade

The Least of All Possible Mistakes

rageprufrock

Rated M, 118 k

Podfic! By Lazulus

If ever a people deserved tasering it's Holmeses.

Featuring an excellent Fem!Lestrade, this may literally be my favorite story in the whole fandom. I come back to it again and again, because it’s beauty is profound, but simple and comforting. Hilariously funny, witty, charming, and frank, I highly recommend getting the podfic if you aren't trying to read this on mobile. Also has a very emotional and well-written female friendship between Fem!Lestrade and Anthea. If you don't love this, I honestly don't know what to do for you.

So Full of Light

mydwynter

Rated E, 20 k

It seemed that Lestrade's salt-and-pepper hair grew in the same on his face as it did on his head. His beard was bristly, patchy, viscerally appealing in a way that had little to do with aesthetics and more to do with masculine sensuality. Mycroft stood rapt, conjuring up the rough brush of the beard against his lips without having moved an inch. His apprehension dropped away, lost behind a painful stab of want.

Christmas, when he and Lestrade had both been strong-armed into growing beards for a cause, proved to be the turning point for the whole desperate, shattering, uncomfortable scenario.

Or “Mycroft has the same crush on Lestrade that we do”. Also, if picturing Rupert Graves and Mark Gatiss with beards doesn't do it for you, I seriously can't help you.

Unlikely Connections We Make

Linpatootie

Rated E, 31 k

Greg's life has gone to the dogs. In a spectacular show of really bad judgment he tries to improve things by hitting on Mycroft Holmes.

This is just...really cute? And sweet? One of the best just plain old feel-good fics.

#sherlock #fic rec #v recs

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jessicakehoe · 5 years ago

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Does Street Style Have a Future in a Post-COVID-19 World?

After the announcement this month that London Fashion Week will launch a digital platform, a small slice of direction was given to an industry that’s been in a downward spiral for the better part of a decade. It offers hope that for creatives, there is prosperity beyond the runway calendar; and it also presents an opportunity for everyone involved to rethink, reimagine and start fresh in approaching the design, production, retail and editorial lifecycles of the pieces that allow us to express our inner character to the world. But one thing sprang to mind after hearing the LFW news and other announcements about catwalk cancellations: What would happen to street style?

It’s a medium that’s become a powerful means for press to illustrate trends, and for brands to flaunt their latest wares. It’s launched influencers into business moguls and created icons out of editors—and now it’s facing a disappearing act in the wake of social distancing, a deepening examination of how the fashion industry functions, and for the individual, what’s necessary and what’s not.

Labels have turned to telling stories about their products through social platforms because customers crave authenticity in what they consume, be it visually or through a purchase. And to save itself, street style must likewise pivot back to its original incarnation and intention, documenting what people wear—and how they wear it—in an uninhibited way, sans the intervention of the entities that capitalized on its popularity.

Photography by Sabrina Fenster/StreetScout.

“It was the uniquely dressed characters on the streets of Montreal that inspired me to shoot street style,” says Sabrina Fenster, a Canadian photographer who launched her own blog, StreetScout, in 2011. “What stood out to me the most was that Montrealers all had this je ne sais quoi and their own way of putting outfits together. My goal was to share the personal style of real people, and show how it could be fun and accessible for anyone.”

Like Fenster, many street style photographers began by capturing what those around them were wearing out of pure enjoyment; it was like a treasure hunt with eye candy as the reward. “I started taking photos of people on the street for fun,” says Adam Katz Sinding, a Copenhagen-based photographer who started snapping street looks in Seattle while on his way to work, before moving to New York and professionalizing the pursuit through relationships with top American fashion magazines. (His 2018 book, This Is Not A F*cking Street Style Book, is a chronicle of self-assured attitude versus the to-be-seen peacocking that characterized street style in the mid-2000s.)

Chiara Marina Grioni, an image-maker based in Ibiza, also felt the initial thrill of the find when she started shooting street style in 2015, except she was taking photos during fashion week. “A photographer friend of mine—who has been shooting backstage for thirty years—asked me if I wanted to shoot street style for him,” she says. “I had an instant connection with [it]. It brought together many elements of photography that I loved like documenting and capturing aesthetics and movement, and things I personally loved like style, colours and my passion for shoes!”

Photography by Sabrina Fenster/StreetScout.

Indeed, in its early years, street style pioneers like Bill Cunningham, Tommy Ton and Garance Doré sleuthed out the most unique ensembles and standout pieces worn by not only fashion show-goers but people simply going about their day. Their direction was fueled by the passion for and interest in how the act of getting dressed defines us all.

But as street style’s clout expanded, making micro-celebrities out of photographer favourites like Susie Bubble, Bryan Boy, Anna Dello Russo, and Tiffany Hsu, the photos became more about third-party communication than the unfettered enjoyment of fashion. “Some photographers are tasked with getting specific shots of key people attending the shows,” says Fenster. “The focus then becomes finding big names and checking them off the list as opposed to shooting because someone catches your eye.”

Additionally, there came a time when you couldn’t swing your camera without hitting a Loewe Puzzle bag or Vetements tracksuit because brands understood that street style stars were just as potent ambassadors as movie stars, singers and socialites.

In addition to the commercial strife this new marketing opportunity caused photographers whose work was being used to capture these products without compensation—not to mention creating a climate of fierce competition and undercutting rates—there began a undermining of the photos amongst those who were taking them. “With the people who came to do it not for the passion for fashion, but just to make money off of it, that diminished the integrity of the entire thing,” says Katz Sinding.

Street style’s co-opting also created a dearth in the expression of stylistic prowess, the very essence it was meant to capture in the first place. “I noticed less creativity amongst the show goers, possibly because of the over-saturation of influencers who are paid to wear specific goods,” says Grioni about how she’s noticed street style change over the years. “It felt less genuine as time progressed. For instance, last season there were two or three brands that everyone wore all the time so I couldn’t take many images without being repetitive.”

Photography by Sabrina Fenster/StreetScout.

With the specific milieu in which street style has centralized in an IRL standstill, there’s no better opportunity for a recalibration of the genre; and there’s a chance for us to remain inspired by what others are wearing just by virtue of the fact that people will be out on the streets far sooner than they’ll be gathering at a fashion show any time soon.

Photographers will eventually have a chance to get back out to fertile, uncommercialized territory and document original style in all its glory. “Just like social distancing is an opportunity for all of humanity to rediscover themselves by looking inward,” says Fenster, “this will be an opportunity for photographers to get back to their roots and hit the streets to photograph real and relatable people.”

The post Does Street Style Have a Future in a Post-COVID-19 World? appeared first on FASHION Magazine.

Does Street Style Have a Future in a Post-COVID-19 World? published first on https://borboletabags.tumblr.com/

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villumsenmuir6-blog · 7 years ago

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New Huawei Smartwatch Targets Females.

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