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official-impravidus · 4 years

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Just A Kiss (i don’t wanna mess this thing up)

Peter had been a fan fiction writer for quite some time. When he was in middle school, his schedule balancing robotics club, band, and AcaDec, he needed a creative outlet that wasn’t rigidly confined by STEM or saxophone repetoire.

So, he found himself writing stories.

They weren’t good. They were actually quite horrendous at first, but he expressed his love for the Star Wars stories, exploring character interactions in as many ways as he could imagine. He made canon divergent fix-it fics and cringey OC fics and even modern high school AUs.

However, as he grew older, his skills blossomed, just from the sheer magnitude that he wrote.

Every day, when he got back from his extracurriculars, already having finished his homework during school, he would find himself at the chunky computer he had rebuilt from garbage scraps, typing away until Ben called him for dinner, and then back at the keyboard when he finished washing the dishes.

It wasn’t until Spider-Man entered his life did his stories really get somewhere.

Peter had become known for his hyper-realistic, extremely detailed action sequences. After a particularly long patrol, he took notes on form and the choreography of it all, the different way that the criminals attempted to fight against him.

Of course, he took a lot of creative liberty to adapt the fights to fit his characters, but people appreciated the ebb and flow, how it didn’t focus on the gore, but instead the intricacies of technique and battle preparation.

But, his modest AO3 following wasn’t something that he broadcasted in his real life. There were enough reasons for people to make fun of Peter Parker, and he didn’t want to add to the list.

So, after almost a year of knowing Harley Keeer, Peter didn’t think to mention it.

Harley was great. He was really, really, really great, and Peter didn’t want to ruin what he could only hope was respect and mutual friendship that he shared with Harley by divulging his deepest, darkest secret with him. (Because despite what one would think, Spider-Man was not his deepest, darkest secret.)

Because Peter maybe, just maybe, just maybe a teensy tiny little bit, had a big, fat, embarrassing, brain-goes-offline-and-he-makes-stuttering-static-noises-when-he-tries-to-talk crush on Harley.

Harley was effortless charismatic. He was funny in a dry and sarcastic kind of way that could keep up banter for what felt like hours. He was kind in a genuine benevolent generosity kind of way. He was intelligent, and he made it very clear that he was competent and capable. He was confident, unwavering and strong. And he was really pretty. Sparkling blue eyes and soft, bouncy blonde hair, and a crooked smile.

So, sue him! Harley was dreamy and exactly Peter’s type.

So, when Harley approached him one morning, Peter slurping down a mango smoothie, saying “hey, Peter, so I was checking out your AO3,” was it really his fault that he snorted it out of his nose and coughed for a good two minutes in pure shock and also so he could delay the conversation as much as he could?

Class started before Harley could bring it up again that day.

But Peter knew it was coming.

The two were lounging in Harley’s room, Peter at his desk finishing his research essay for AP Lit, and Harley lying on the carpeted floor, scrolling silently on his phone.

“I just finished “ Thnks Fr Th Mmrs (even if they weren’t so bad) ,” Harley announced.

Peter choked. “ What ?!”

“Yeah, it took me a good couple hours because I mean, Jesus, 236,000 words, but I finished, and I gotta say, wasn’t expecting that ending.”

Peter swiveled around in the rollie chair. “How did you find my AO3?”

“It’s linked on your Tumblr,” Harley said with a shrug. “Anyways, I know that it was tagged major character death, but killing off Rey like that, I mean, that was heartbreaking. I felt physical pain in my chest while reading that. I didn’t even know a book could do that.”

“You read my fic?” Peter asked.

Harley looked to him, confused. “Yeah, I said that didn’t I? I’ve been reading your whole page, though it’s gonna take me some time because you’ve got like at least a million words total.” He scrolled through. “I started from your earliest fics because I figured they’ll just get better the further I get, and I’m about fifteen fics in because that last one was so long, and I don’t have that much free time…”

“Why are you reading my fics?” Peter blurted out.

“Because you wrote them?” Harley responded, as if the answer was obvious. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s… it’s embarrassing.”

“I mean, yeah, your earlier work had some formatting issues with the dialogue and some grammar mix ups, but I wouldn’t say it’s embarrassing. If anything, it’s really well written. Thnks Fr Th Mmmrs got a lot better as it went on.”

“That was my first multi-chap,” Peter said.

“You could tell. At least, at first you could. But like I said, it got better as it went on.”

“You liked it?”

Harley tilted his head. “Yeah. I did. You’re a really talented writer, Peter.” He looked to him with confusion and a hint of hurt. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about this? Did you not trust me? Did you think I was going to make fun of you?”

“No!” Peter said quickly. “Well, I… I just, people think it’s weird. And that I’m weird. And it’s just one more weird thing, and I just didn’t want you to think I was weird.”

“I could never think you were weird,” Harley said softly.

Peter ducked his head, averting his gaze. “So, uh, do you have any notes? The feedback is pretty mixed in my comments, but usually the criticism I receive isn’t quite constructive.”

“Well, your action scenes are impeccable,” Harley said. “You really know how to capture movement. And the team dynamics are spot on. The build of trust and eventual camaraderie doesn’t feel rushed at all, and as a reader, is really fulfilling and satisfying.”

“But?” Peter prompted.

“But,” Harley continued, “the non-platonic relationships are lacking.”

Peter bobbed his head in understanding, hand going to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah…” He sighed. “It’s just, it’s hard, y’know? Because I’ve never… I mean, the closest I ever got was with Liz, and you know how that ended up.”

Harley sat on the edge of his bed. “Have you tried reading it more?”

“I just don’t tend to read that stuff. I’m not… it’s just not as interesting to me because I don’t get it. And that’s the problem. I just don’t get this stuff. Even if I did, I wouldn’t be good at it enough to really retain that information,” Peter said with a pathetic shrug.

“What do you have trouble with?” Harley asked, leaning forward, invested and curious.

“It’s the physical side of things. I don’t… in theory, I get how the feelings should feel. But, getting the logistics of stuff like how it feels when they finally break that physical barrier or how a kiss should be described, I just, I’m hopeless.”

“Well, I could help you?”

Peter looked up. “What?”

“I could show you. And explain it to you. Show you how it should be written.”

Click Here to Read More!

#parkner #peter parker #harley keener #spiderman #fan fic #fanfic #fan fiction #fanfiction #parley #harter #keenker #marvel #mcu #avengers #parkner week #parkner week 2020

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zrtranscripts · 3 years

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Radio Abel, Season Eight

Part 5 of 5

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I don't know if it's just because New Canton's at the center of the government in the UK -

ZOE CRICK: I'm still getting used to that.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: - but now that I think about it, people do seem to be putting more effort into the way they dress these days.

ZOE CRICK: I've noticed that. For a while, I thought it was because people wanted to spruce themselves up for the royal visits, but King Jamie hasn't been visiting as much since Amelia left for... for whatever it is she's doing, and people are still looking rather flamboyant.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: One of the cooks makes his own hats out of food wrappers.

ZOE CRICK: Exactly. People are having fun, and they're less worried about looking cool than they were before the apocalypse.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I think those hats are cool!

ZOE CRICK: That's the point. Taste is much more subjective now. [laughs] We don't have TV or newspapers, and it still takes half an hour to send a picture over ROFFLEnet, so it's harder to follow trends. People are using their imaginations instead.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Speaking of imagination, here's a track by someone with lots of it.

ZOE CRICK: Maybe Z-Day’s made self-expression more important, not less. We can't control the V-types, and we might be confined to our settlements most of the time, but we can decide how we look, so people go to great lengths to execute their vision. It's like how women in pre-apocalyptic prisons used to improvise cosmetics out of Smarties and shoe polish.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: How do you know what women used to do in prison?

ZOE CRICK: Oh, I was talking to Maxine about it.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Dr. Maxine has been to prison?!

ZOE CRICK: No, she... [sighs] That's not the point. I'm saying that for a lot of people, clothes, hair, and makeup are important creative outlets now that we're restricted in other ways. They also help people feel normal, now that -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: - now that V-types are roaming across the UK.

ZOE CRICK: Exactly.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [sighs] Here's a song to make us all feel a bit more normal.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Imagine if Vogue was still in print. Do you think they'd employ zombie models?

ZOE CRICK: Yeah, with headlines like, “Gray is the New Black.” [laughs] They might struggle to find advertisers.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Okay, business side might be a bit tricky to sort out. What about the editorial?

ZOE CRICK: They'd have post-apocalyptic fashion tips.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: “The Best Looks to Scavenge this Season.”

ZOE CRICK: “Make Your Own Makeup.”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: “10 Ways to Wear a Sports Bra.”

ZOE CRICK: Not sure about that one, Phil.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Okay, yeah, there’s probably just one way to wear a sports bra.

ZOE CRICK: As far as I know.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: The other ideas were good, though. Well, maybe we should think of other style tips for our listeners.

ZOE CRICK: Why not? [laughs] Here's a song to get our creative juices flowing.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Listeners, Zoe and I tried to come up with fashion tips, but this isn't our area of expertise.

ZOE CRICK: Speak for yourself.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: All your ideas involve drawing cats on things.

ZOE CRICK: That's not true. I also suggested embroidering cats on things.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: My point, listeners, is that maybe Zoe and I could use your help. Send us your post-apocalyptic fashion tips.

ZOE CRICK: We'll be sharing them right after this.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Welcome back to Radio New Hope, where we're sharing tips on how to stay stylish in the zombie apocalypse.

ZOE CRICK: A lot of the suggestions we've had so far come from runners who need to be able to move quickly, evade zoms, and stay comfortable on long runs.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You might think, as I did only a few minutes ago, that running is not compatible with expressing yourself through fashion, but you'd be wrong.

ZOE CRICK: Indeed, there are lots of ways to have fun with your running gear that don't affect speed or safety. Even if you're out by yourself and no one else can see you, a little bit of flare can lift your mood and make you feel more like yourself.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Running On Sunshine suggests, “Novelty shoe laces are a fun way of adding color to your running outfit. You can often loot them from the children's section of sports or shoe shops, but they're also easy to make from a sturdy ribbon. Use a bit of tape or wax for the aglet.”

ZOE CRICK: Just be sure to tuck your new laces into your shoes the next time you visit the kitten pen.

ZOE CRICK: Today on Radio New Hope, we're taking suggestions on how to jazz up your running gear.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: This next step is one for more creative runners, and it comes from Art Rate.

ZOE CRICK: Art Rate?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, like heart rate, because they're a runner, but also an artist.

ZOE CRICK: [sighs] I don't know if we should be reading out people's usernames. We're just encouraging bad puns.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: This episode is about self-expression, Zoe, whatever form it takes, even terrible puns.

ZOE CRICK: Hmm. What does Art Rate have to say for themselves?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: “Decorate your running outfit with permanent marker, embroidery, and whatever embellishments you can get your hands on. As long as your number is still clearly visible to your comms operator, there's no limit to what you can do. Wearing something that truly reflects your personality can give you motivation on the most difficult runs.”

ZOE CRICK: That's a nice idea. I'll forgive the pun.

ZOE CRICK: Progressive Runner writes, “Hi Phil, where did you get a Dream Theater T-shirt? I'm also a fan of prog metal and have been on several runs to find old gig venues to see if there are any T-shirts left. Unfortunately, all I've found are hordes of zombified metal heads. I used to love a good mosh pit before the apocalypse, but it's just not the same when everyone's trying to bite you.”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh, first off Progressive Runner, please stop putting your life at risk in pursuit of merch. It's not worth it, and that's not what the bands would have wanted.

ZOE CRICK: Especially since they no longer make money from T-shirt sales.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Exactly, which is why I don't mind letting you know that my T-shirt is a fake. Before the apocalypse, touring musicians relied on the merch stand to support themselves, but now that most of them are dead, it's no longer unethical to make knock-offs.

ZOE CRICK: Did you make your T-shirt, Phil?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: One of Amelia's stylists did. She's very handy with the fabric paints.

ZOE CRICK: Oh? What did you give her in exchange?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I had to promise to play this next song.

ZOE CRICK: What's our next fashion tip, Phil?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh, it's more of a PSA. “Hi Phil and Zoe, I run Support Network, a sports bra exchange service. We travel between settlements to provide runners with the best fitting sports bras. Simply visit our message board on ROFFLEnet, tell us which sizes your settlement has and which they need. It might take us a while to get to you, but we have a huge selection of style and color in every size. For some reason, post-apocalyptic Britain has no shortage of sports bras.” That's a great initiative, don't you think, Zoe? [keyboard clicks] Zoe?

ZOE CRICK: Sorry. I was just posting a request to their message board. Fellow sports bra wearers of New Canton, I suggest you do the same.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: And while you do that, here's a song about sharing.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Our next post-apocalyptic style tip comes from In Stitches, who says, “Here are just a few reasons why knitting is one of the most valuable skills you can learn in the post apocalypse.”

ZOE CRICK: “One, you don't necessarily need to send runners off in search of equipment. Knitting needles can be whittled from sticks, and if your settlement has sheep, wool is a renewable resource.”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: “Two, the act of knitting has many cognitive, therapeutic, and - if you join a knitting circle - social benefits.”

ZOE CRICK: “Three, designing knitting patterns can be a great creative outlet, and since they can be conveyed using just symbols, they can be quickly shared over ROFFLEnet.”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: “Four, larger needles can double as anti-zom weapons, as long as you aim for the eyes and remember to clean the blood off them before you get back to your knitting. The last thing you want is to make an infectious jumper by mistake.”

ZOE CRICK: That's, uh, resourceful. We'll be back with more fashion right after this.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: If knitting's not your thing, our next correspondent has a great idea for making some stylish winter clothes. “Next time you're out on a supply run, make a detour to a toy shop and pick up some plushies. A little reverse taxidermy - "

ZOE CRICK: Oh no!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Plushies aren't real animals, Zoe.

ZOE CRICK: I know, but I couldn't look one in the eye and take out its stuffing.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh... our less sensitive listeners can use this method to generate bundles of fake fur, a versatile fabric that'll help you stay warm and, thanks to the pre-apocalyptic trend for cuddly unicorns, colorful.

ZOE CRICK: I think I'll stick with the knitting.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: If it makes you feel any better, no plushies were harmed in the making of this next song.

ZOE CRICK: Polished in the Apocalypse says that a manicure adds a splash of color to your running look without impeding your movement.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I'm surprised we didn't think of that one ourselves. One of Amelia's first acts as prime minister was to open a nail bar at New Canton.

ZOE CRICK: She was accused of extravagance at first, but it's actually become a community hub. People go there to relax and come away feeling a little more, well, polished.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I've only just noticed, Zoe, each one of your nails is a different color.

ZOE CRICK: I couldn't choose. Amelia reserves all the Chanel nail polish for herself, but there are still plenty of other varieties for the rest of us.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, the rest of us in New Canton, maybe. What about everyone else?

ZOE CRICK: Until Amelia makes nail bars mandatory for all settlements, why not grab a few bottles of nail polish the next time you're on a low stakes meds run to a chemist? Just be sure to apply it in a well-ventilated area.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: A word of caution now from Nine Fingers, who says, “Jewelry adds sparkle to any outfit and can be a great way of expressing your individuality, especially if you make your own. However, think twice before wearing it on a run. Necklaces are easy for zoms to grab, earrings can be torn out, and rings are a risk if you're using weapons. Trust me.”

ZOE CRICK: Oh dear.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Listeners, if you're fond of jewelry, maybe keep it for when you're safe in your settlement.

ZOE CRICK: That’s sound advice. Also - naming no names, Runner Thirty-Seven - don't scavenge jewelry off dead zombies, no matter how on fleek it is. You're asking to get infected. And on that note...

ZOE CRICK: It's not just jewelry that you can enjoy when you're not at risk of zombie attacks.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Loads of our listeners have written in to suggest items you can use if you'd like a more flamboyant settlement look.

ZOE CRICK: Silk flowers.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Craft supplies.

ZOE CRICK: Stickers.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Fridge magnets.

ZOE CRICK: Christmas decorations.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Basically, listeners, as long as you're not using something that might be better deployed for a more practical purpose, there's no limit to the fun you can have with your personal style.

ZOE CRICK: Speaking of fun, here's a song that always puts a smile on my face.

ZOE CRICK: Our last suggestion comes from Fairy Zom Mother, who writes, “No one has space for a large wardrobe anymore. That doesn't mean you can't wear something special if the occasion demands. It's nice to dress up once in a while, so why not implement a share and swap system at your settlement so people can borrow clothes, shoes, and accessories?”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Wonder how long it would take to get that set up in New Canton. I've actually got a special evening planned soon.

ZOE CRICK: Ooh, is it a date?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Maybe? I'll tell you all about it during this next song.

ZOE CRICK: Um, I think the orange ones might be a bit much.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, and we're live.

ZOE CRICK: Sorry about that, listeners. Recently we've learned that there's a way for everyone to express themselves through fashion, even in the post-apocalypse, but we'd like to add that not everyone has to.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: That's right. Some people don't even bother to brush the cat hair off their jumper before they come to work, and that's just fine.

ZOE CRICK: The cat hair is a deliberate part of my aesthetic, Phil. Our point is that everyone's priorities have changed. Most dress codes died with the apocalypse and few of us mourn them. You're no longer likely to be turned down for a job because you couldn't get your hands on an expensive suit for the interview. Nowadays, people are valued for doing what they do best.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: And on that note, let Zoe and I do what we do best and play you a song.

ZOE CRICK: Until next time, listeners.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hello again, citizens.

ZOE CRICK: Phil, before you say anything else, there's something important we need to discuss.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Is this about getting a pet for the show again? Because I thought we settled that.

ZOE CRICK: We haven't, but no, this is about something very upsetting I found on ROFFLEnet today.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, the Radio New Hope fanfic? Hmm. There's one of you and me being turned into zoms on air that is both deeply disturbing and shockingly well-written.

ZOE CRICK: Again, no. What I found is a thread on ROFFLEnet called “Radio New Hope Has Changed” full of people - well, full of two people - who think we've lost our touch. Look, Just_Saying_108 says, “It breaks my heart. Zoe and Phil aren't what they used to be.” And then Radio_No_Hope says, “It all started when they got into bed with Amelia.”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I'm assuming in my case they mean metaphorically.

ZOE CRICK: Phil, we need to take this seriously. If our listeners aren't happy, we're not happy.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: It's only two people, Zoe.

ZOE CRICK: That's two too many.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Actually, I've got an idea.

ZOE CRICK: Wonderful, I knew you'd think of something. Tell me right after this.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Listeners, some of you think we've changed, and while change can be good, we want to make sure we're still giving you the content you deserve.

ZOE CRICK: That sounds vaguely threatening.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: That's why we're going to crowdsource our content again. I have reopened our inbox for suggestions on what Radio New Hope should do next. We're open to anything. Except turning zom on air.

ZOE CRICK: Phil, nobody's going to ask for that.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You haven't seen the comments on that Radio New Hope fanfic. Anyway, listeners, please send in your thoughts. Who knows? Your idea might become our next segment.

ZOE CRICK: We did get some great suggestions last time. It'll be good to round up some new ones.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Exactly! Now everyone put your thinking caps on, and here's a song to get you in a creative mood.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: All right, listeners, it's time to open the suggestion box and find out what you'd like to hear on Radio New Hope... Huh.

ZOE CRICK: Is that it? I thought we'd get a few more suggestions.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, maybe it's a sign we're not so bad after all.

ZOE CRICK: No, we can't get complacent. Some listeners aren't happy with us.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Two listeners.

ZOE CRICK: It's just that with all that ROFFLEnet talk of us having changed, I thought we'd get a bit more feedback. Still, we'll go with what we've got.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We need to drumroll first.

ZOE CRICK: Seriously?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: There are few things in life that can’t be improved with a drumroll. Scientific fact.

ZOE CRICK: Fine. Drumroll, please.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [mutters rapidly] Drumroll drumroll drumroll drum drum drum drum drum cymbal!

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] Zom_Truther writes, “What if you ate some of that red fungus live on air? We know the prime minister is lying about the danger and hoarding it for herself.”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, that's a bad idea. What did I say about us not turning zom on air?

ZOE CRICK: Yeah, Truther, we're not going to eat red fungus. Amelia isn't lying... about that, at least.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: That's right. And uh, please don't test your theory out for yourself.

ZOE CRICK: We'll be back with more of your hopefully less reckless suggestions after this song.

ZOE CRICK: Time for another look at our surprisingly meager suggestion box. Come on now, we know you have great ideas, so send them in. This one from Zombologist. “I love that doctor advice show - ”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: The Drs. Maxine and Paula one? Us, too. Listeners, if you're not tuning in to that show as well as ours, you're missing out.

ZOE CRICK: Definitely. Anyway, the letter says, “I love that doctor advice show, but they only focus on the bodies and minds of the living. What about the study of zombies? I think you should bring a zombie into the studio and do some tests. I have a few experiments in mind. See attached for details.”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh... Oh, that's... Was that diagram the right way up? How would that even work?

ZOE CRICK: I'm not sure, but I think those are electrodes, or possibly poisonous snakes? Either way, Zombologist, we have a pretty strict no zoms in the studio policy.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: What can we do? Hands tied.

ZOE CRICK: Much like the zom in that illustration, I think.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, that's about as close as I want to come to that scenario. Let's clear it from our minds with this song.

ZOE CRICK: Well listeners, a few more suggestions trickled in during that last song.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We are seriously considering some of the less extreme ones, such as an interview with King Jamie or a Z-Day retrospective.

ZOE CRICK: This one is from Inquiring_Mindz - with a Z, naturally. “What about a show that gives a look at the human side of politics?”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: So far, so good. At least there are no zombies involved.

ZOE CRICK: “I'd love for us to get a closer look at Prime Minister Spens’ flat. It must be lovely. She has marvelous taste, after all.”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Let me see that. [paper rustles] “You could describe the art, the architecture, any documents that are lying around, the paint, the paint colors, any plans you might find in the drawers...”

ZOE CRICK: Come on now, Inquiring, you're asking us to spy on Amelia. Even if I did do that - which, of course, I wouldn't - there's no way I'd out myself by sharing it on air.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: How restrained of you.

ZOE CRICK: What can I say? I prefer not to incur the wrath of the most powerful woman in the country. Nice try, Inquiring, but we're broadcasters, not espionage agents. And that's all of them, right?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Right. Right, thanks to everyone for your suggestions. Uh, even the more... creative ones. Let's celebrate your ingenuity with this next number.

ZOE CRICK: You'll never guess what.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I'm sure I won't.

ZOE CRICK: You weren't a very funny child, were you? I went back on ROFFLEnet to see if that thread had more positive things to say about us now that we've been through the suggestion box. However, turns out I misinterpreted the whole thing.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: So people don't think Radio New Hope has changed for the worse?

ZOE CRICK: They do, but it's not the broadcasts they think have changed, it's us. They think we're doppelgängers.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Like Zoe and Phil's evil twins?

ZOE CRICK: Exactly. It's not clear if they think we've been brainwashed into thinking we're real Zoe and Phil or if we're in on it, but Radio_No_Hope says, “There's no way Amelia would allow a free press unless she could control it, and that means controlling Phil and Zoe.”

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, they do have a point, but ci-ti-zens, do not fear, we have not been replaced by ourselves.

ZOE CRICK: How do you know?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: What do you mean, how do I know? I know who I am.

ZOE CRICK: Or do you? What if you just think you do? Listeners, we'll get to the bottom of it right after this next song.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Let me get this straight. You think I could have been replaced by a double without you noticing? You noticed when I changed my hair parting last month.

ZOE CRICK: Now that I think about it, that could have been a sign you were Phil 2.0.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hmm. If that's the case, anything could be a sign. How do I know you're not Evil Zoe?

ZOE CRICK: My name's still spelled with a Z. Evil Zoe would definitely swap out the Z for an X... I think.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You're not sure?

ZOE CRICK: Radio No Hope said it. There could be brainwashing involved.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: So let me get this straight. You think Amelia found doppelgängers of us?

ZOE CRICK: Or cloned us. Always a possibility.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Of course, and then she brainwashed said doppel-clones because - ?

ZOE CRICK: Because she wants to control the press. Although there might be an even more devious reason. We are talking about Amelia, after all. I'll think it over during this next song.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Have you figured out why Amelia might possibly want to replace us with brainwashed clones?

ZOE CRICK: No. I mean, yes, but one of the reasons only works if we meet the clones, and the other one requires mint and a trampoline. I wonder if the fact that I can't figure it out is a symptom of the brainwashing.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: That's convenient.

ZOE CRICK: And I wonder when it began. Do you think it all started when Amelia gave us this hideous red furniture?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Green.

ZOE CRICK: What?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Hideous green furniture.

ZOE CRICK: I don't know what you're talking about. The furniture is red. Maybe new Phil is colorblind?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You're kidding, right? It’s green.

ZOE CRICK: Am I kidding, or are you different now?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You know what? There's an easy way to settle this. I'm going to ask someone who has been in here what color the furniture is. Don't you move. Just, uh, play a song and I'll be right back.

[door opens]

ZOE CRICK: [giggles] Now that he's gone, listeners, between you and me, the couches are definitely green. I know that was a tiny bit rotten of me, but I couldn't resist. While we wait for Phil's triumphant return, here's a song that any version of me would love.

[door opens]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh my God, you're right.

ZOE CRICK: Right about what?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: About the doppelgängers. Everyone confirmed it. The furniture in here's red, but I see green, so I must be colorblind now. Maybe all clones are.

ZOE CRICK: Wait, who did you ask?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh, Nadia, Runner Thirty-Seven. They said it's red. Now that I'm a clone, I wonder if I still like the same foods. Remind me, how do I feel about jam?

ZOE CRICK: You're... you're joking, right? Because the couches are green. I was just pulling your leg.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Wait, so you see them as green, too? Maybe we're both clones.

ZOE CRICK: I guess. I -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Or maybe we're from an alternate reality, one where people don't play pranks on their lovely radio cohosts because they might get paid back in spades!

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] You - you almost had me going there! [sighs] Well, I guess I might have deserved it. A little.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: A little?

ZOE CRICK: Oh, no comment. All I can say is that I'm happy in this universe with the best cohost ever. This next song is for you, Phil, because you're one of a kind.

ZOE CRICK: That whole business with the doppelgängers has got me thinking, Phil.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Not again.

ZOE CRICK: No, not that we're clones or anything like that. I've been thinking about conspiracy theories. Do you think there are more of them now after Z-Day?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Probably. Look at all the things we've gone through. Uh, Sigrid, Moonchild, the Curly Wurly shortage. That's enough to make anyone a little paranoid.

ZOE CRICK: I don't know. I think maybe it's the opposite. All of the conspiracies since Z-Day were eventually exposed. Even if we were replaced by clones, someone would find out and tell people about it.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You have a point. Kind of reassuring in a way.

ZOE CRICK: I hope so. For the concerned ROFFLEnet folks, don't worry. If Phil and I are ever replaced by clones, you'll find out about it soon enough, probably from someone at Abel.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Very true. We're counting on you, Runner Five.

ZOE CRICK: And if the worst should occur, avenge us!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: But in the meantime, we hope all of you carry on enjoying Radio New Hope with the real Phil and Zoe. This one's for everyone who's dedicated to staying true to themselves.

#zombies run #zrs8 #s8 radio #s8 radio part 5 #zr transcript

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fiction-in-my-blood · 4 years

Text

The Bewitching Hour Part 1 (SITS Smut) Kyohei x MC

I’m thinking of turning this into a series with all the guys in it, so if you enjoy, stay tuned :)!

Warnings: Fingering, Sex

~~~~~~

Work had been trouble lately. Not only was the ghostwriter severely struggling with doing her own job, a lot of the Revance members were on edge because of it. Takashi’s Demon Mode had been making more frequent appearances and many worried for their own safety, few also worrying for the only woman in the house. Not only that, The morning the producer woke up, there was a stranger in their kitchen.

“Who the hell are you and how did ya get in my house?” Kyohei roared at the half naked, rejectfully majestic man that stood at his fridge, peering at the contents like they were going to put themselves together for his breakfast. The man didn’t seem much phased by the shock of one of the inhabitants of the house that wasn’t his, he found it amusing, that showed on the smirky, mysterious grin that appeared on his face when he turned around.

“Hey, man, don’t worry about it, I spent the night.” The admission did nothing to ease Sir Kyo’s suspicion, instead making him more pissed off in the early hour. No one would be a morning person if this is what they had to deal with first thing.

However, before he could argue, demanding him to explain, a high whine came from the far end of the room. “Mitsu~, I told you not to come down until I was ready.” The strangely provacative yet shy call of the young woman, merely dressed in an overbearing sweater and shorts, hair a mess after the activities she had partaken in the past night, shocked the other resident.

“But, my dear, you were taking too long. I was getting a different type of hungry.” The man, surely older than her but a gentlemanly youth about him, cooed, a teasing smirk forming on his lips as he remembered what he had been hungry for only a few hours before this conversation. Masami blushed.

“They call it a walk of shame for a reason, Mistu. Get your stuff before anyone else wakes up.” She crossed her arms in defiance, the brunt of her configuration halted by the notebook she held in one hand. Kyohei recognised it as her writing journal.

“Okay, I guess I can get dressed. Unless you want to keep something for future uses?” The man with fair hair long enough to be pulled back into a long pontail sauntered over to the ghostwriter, leaning over her to steal her lips. Before he could catch them, however, he was blocked by a wad of paper.

“No kissing, Mitsu. It’s in the agreement.” She sighed, almost exhausted with having to remind him all the time. The roll of her innocent eyes didn’t go unnoticed by the slightly distracted producer.

“Hello. What the hell is going on here?” A little pissed with having such a rude introduction, Kyohei made himself known to the couple. The fact he would soon learn about some of her stress relieving habits brought a blush to Masami’s cheeks, trying to hide them with her hand as Mitsu chuckled to himself beside her.

“I-I have those lyrics done, Kyohei. Read through them when you’re ready!” The ball of red quickly made her exit after slapping her notebook on the coffee table in the living area. Mitsu couldn’t help but enjoy the sight Kyohei would usually also be happy to see.

“There’s nothing to fear, sir. Just a trade in professions. You may like the use my services too one day.” With the way Mitsu’s been acting in this extraordinary scenario, Kyohei couldn’t tell what he was suggesting. What was this man’s profession and what did it have to do with Masami?

“If you’d like to see my portfolio, I’d love to comission if you find it desirable.” Only now did Kyohei spot the large art pad held to Mitsu’s body with his arm as he continued to rest his hands in his pockets.

“You’re an artist?” Kyohei, significantly cooled compared to moments ago, grew slightly curious to the man’s offer.

“And Miss Mami is my muse, and I her’s. We arranged it years ago.” The nickname rolled off with such ease it showed how close the two must be. Kyohei almost felt jealous just talking to the man.

“Show me.” He demanded, wanting more to see what had impressed the girl so much to have the obvious relationship they had together. This made that mirthful chuckle reverberate from Mitsu’s chest once again. Despite the clear irritation on the producer’s face, he placed his sketchpad on the kitchen counter and opened it up. Kyohei’s eyes went wide at the images before him.

Pages upon pages of naked women, mostly Masami, framed in comprimising positions, always a lewd look in their eyes. The drawings seemed so realistic, Kyohei almost felt like he was there when it was created, even if they were just sketches- mainly black and white. The one that really caught his eye was the masterpiece on the back page. It was Masami, on her back with her knees pressed to her chest, feet up and vulva on full display. He looked away, an intolerant blush surfacing on his cheeks.

“I’ll say, my most recent piece is my favourite. Masami surely was in her creative flow last night.” A look of pure pride overtook what his usual expression seemed to be as he gazed upon the picture of his business partner. She seemed too innocent most of the time, it was only Mitsu who ever got to see this side of her.

“Creative flow?” Kyohei was drawn by the odd explanation for such a drawing, his gaze following the man as he ripped the page out with little regard to his other pieces.

“You don’t know of her Bewitching Hour? And how long has she lived here?” A tone of pity mixed with amusement filtered out of his mouth as he placed the sheet of paper on the counter before closing his book once again.

“Like any woman, Masami is a powerful being. Sometimes her talent gets too much for her and she can’t seem to let it out at all. She gets so pent up sometimes, I’m man enough to admit even I can’t satiate her creativity.” Mitsu laughed on the memory of an irritated Masami climbing off his lap with a heavy sigh of not being able to pleasure herself with his body. He didn’t mind, he had those nights too, it was the joy of their agreement that made him so confident in his abilities.

“But what’s a Bewitching Hour?” Kyohei was beyong interest by now. For months he had wanted to her his hands on the innocent cutie that lived under his roof. This might finally be his chance.

“It’s just my term for it. She does her best work, in the bedroom and in her songs, at night. The only way she can filter her ideas is in the act, as one would say. On nights I can’t get to her, she’ll desperately play piano. I’ve never heard it myself, but I’m sure its beautiful.” A mesmerised look drifts into Mitsu’s eyes as he imagines all the dirty scenarios he could get into if he could just catch her off guard in one of her musical trances.

“Remember, if you ever hear music in the dead of night, the Bewitching Hour has begun.”

~~~~~~

Several days after the mysterious and mature artist escaped the Revance home without being spotted by any other members, Kyohei has gotten very little sleep. Mostly from anticipation to hear any type of tune drifting through the halls and some due to the thoughts that clouded his brain. How would he initiate such an occasion? Were her trances even a thing? Would it be right to take advantage of that to experience the feelings he’s been waiting so long to feel? Maybe yes, maybe no. It all depended on her, really. If he showed up, made himself known, and she just happened to jump on him, he wouldn’t stop her. Even if she needed a little coaxing, he would be happy to take the place of her muse if for a night. He just wanted to encounter what he had heard, and seen in still images, was so magical.

Then, on one fateful night, a jolly tune bounced in the distance and Kyohei shot up in bed. Where or who it was coming from didn’t matter as long as who it was he hoped it would be. He grabbed a shirt just in case this didn’t turn out how he had hoped and stormed out the door.

In the hallways, following the strangely enticing sound to what must have been from the recording studio, the darkness and tune was a little eery. It was upbeat and fun, but the emptiness of the halls and the hyperawareness that everyone was asleep made a suspicious shiver run up Kyohei’s spine. Please, please don’t let this be Takashi.

Sure enough, through the door that was standing open, was a risquely dressed woman, her fingers jumping along the keys of the keyboard in their in-home recording studio. She was in her pyjamas, a worn tank top that must have been from her teenage years from the cute character on the front and shorts of a different design but just as old. Her hair was up in a rushed bun, sagging to the side when she tilted her head in frustration. Her ideas weren’t flowing the way she wanted them to and Mitsu was in Osaka for an art showing. She had no other outlets.

Except for the man that now stood directly behind her. She didn’t notice him at first, too wound up in her musical whimsy until she felt a warm pressure on her shoulders. She jumped, the electric instrument groaning with a clatter of keys as her fingers slammed down at the unexpected sensation.

“So tense. You need to relax if you want to get your work done in time not to get punished.” A tone she was all too used to breathed on her ear as Kyohei leaned over head, the feeling of his erection pressing into her back. Not that she could feel it, she was too stunned as to why he was here and too busy trying to bay her urges. No matter who it was, she would go for anyone in this state. Before she had met Mitsu, she would go on the prowl in less that suitable establishments, usually mistaken for a prostitute, even though she was the most dressed person on the whole block. Although, it didn’t matter to her, she usually got what she needed.

“Help me then.” The demanding tone spurred Kyohei on, the stern look making him chuckle. She looked as frustrated as Mitsu had made her sound and that led him to believed that this could happen. That he could get what he want. What they both wanted- for whatever different reasons.

Slowly but directly, Kyohei’s fingers from one hand drifted over her bare skin, along her collarbone and arond her neck, making her look up at him by tugging lightly on it. From some of the sketches in Mitsu’s book, she liked and was a frequent user of positions like these. Masami gulped at the heat that suddenly flooded in her.

With that slightly startled but so heavily lustful look in her eyes, Kyohei continued, inching his other hand down her chest and under her top. She moaned the second he tweaked her nipple. Both of their hearts raced at this less than innocent act taking place in such a common area of their home. Masami didn’t think about it, too caught up in trying to filter through the words flying around in her head, but Kyohei was metaphorically shitting bricks. If someone came in, would it be his fault? Would she get angry? The sound of a whimper pulled him out of those thoughts though.

“K-Kyohei, ca-can you... Can you finger me?” The forwardness of Masami’s words and the pleading look in her eyes as he held her face up to meet his gaze caused a shot of arousal to fire through Kyohei’s body and he wasted very little time in pulling her up. He quickly looked around for a surface to lay her on, but there was only the couch and the office chair that didn’t have any important equipment on it, so he pushed her onto the ground, laying her legs over his as he leant over to her. His hand was no longer around her neck, instead both were either side of her head, holding himself up over her.

With her hair sprawled out around her, pale wrists settled close to were his hands were, eyes slightly wide at seeing him in this position and cheeks flushed with desperate but embarrassed need, Kyohei had never been more turned on by any other woman. Masami wasn’t anything special. She didn’t have the ‘perfect’ body or have the greatest make-up skills. She was slow and at times absent-minded, just like right now, she seemed to be concentrating on something else and Kyohei didn’t know that this was what she was usually like in the moment. She was concentrating on her lyrics.

But Kyohei didn’t want that. He wanted all thoughts on him.

So, sitting back onto his heels, he focused all of his attention to her lower half. Palms falling on her knees, which only now had he realised were slightly bruised and was sure they were from the last time she had done something like this, his hands crept up her legs. The warm sensation on her body, chilled by the cold room and limited clothing, sent an excited shiver through her- dispersing any thoughts of music to the side, just for now, just so something could make sense. There was Kyohei Rikudoh, having her straddle him while she was on her back, making his way to her nether region with a look that seemed a little too excited.

But, Masami didn’t have time to think that fact over as she felt some sort of pressure on her clit. She gasped out a moan as she looked down to see Kyohei’s thumb disappearing underneath the fabric of her shorts. The motions on her fastened the more she moaned but the second she got a little louder, it was gone.

But only for a moment. Masami was about to complain before she felt that same digit enter her fully. Although shorter and thinner than some men she’s had, Kyohei’s thumb worked wonders on the nerves that were building up in that area and the nerves that had been in her head for the past few hours. He enjoyed the silent gasping as he pressed in different directions before slipping out and replacing it with his middle finger, once again seeing that short burst of annoyance before her lips parted to take in enough air to remind herself to breath. He wanted so badly to trap those plump things under his, exploring her mouth like it was the Mariana Trench, so, he leaned in.

“No.” A muffled call escaped Masami’s lips as she covered them with her hand, protecting herself from his advances. He stopped his thrusting fingers, wondering if he had hurt her, but she shook her head.

“N-Not on the lips.” She stuttered, the darkest blush she’s had tonight ligthening her face as she kept her hand there. Kyohei was slightly confused, his brows frowning at the strange demand. She would let him fuck her, but she wouldn’t let him kiss her? Well, he knew she was strange, but he didn’t believe it when she had reprimanded Mitsu. He thought it was just because he was there.

“I-If that’s gonna be an issue for you...” Masami led off as she sat up, inched herself away the best she could to keep the distance away from their faces and his fingers, which he hadn’t realised where still in her, slipped out. She bit back a moan at that, too embarrassed and scared to have annoyed him to make a noise.

“No, it’s fine. I’m not going to force you.” Kyohei smirked, wanting this more than he wanted to exercise each of his fantasifull whims. Masami’s shoulders eased at that and her gaze wondered down his body.

“Oh?” She muttered at the tent she saw pitched in his shorts. They were loose and thin, something like basketball wear, so she could definitely tell most of that height wasn’t material. She was in for a treat tonight.

With the tilt of her head, she reached forward, pulling down his waist band and helping his cock escape before he could say a word. To his surprise, he panicked as she grabbed it with such gentle fingers his hands flew behind him to keep himself upright. As her knees weren’t hooked over his anymore, she could sit on her own legs as Kyohei’s crossed his in front of him.

Masami knew what she was doing, she had a routine. Something she knew worked every other time she had done this act with someone new, so, she leaned forward and kissed the tip of his dick before licking it.

“You’re rather forward, huh?” Kyohei tried to regain his usual composure as the petite woman before him hardened him so suddenly he worried there’d be no blood left in his skull. She looked up at that incredulous smirk and couldn’t help but blush as she realised what she was doing.

“I want this.” She replied bluntly, not blaming herself for her less than ordinary ways to relieve stress. She licked him one last time before she brought her lips right next to his ear, careful not to let go of his cock. “So, will you fuck me now, Sir Kyo?”

Her questioning tone was almost innocent if not for the words that spilled out of her mouth so easily. Kyohei felt something come over him, an all too familiar feeling of lust, and he pushed her back by her shoulders onto the floor where she had been moments ago. He pulled her shorts and panties off, all in one go, and threw them behind him without much care as to where they ended up.

“You came prepared?” Masami frowned her brows at the condom Kyohei pulled out of his pocket. She wasn’t mad, she was happy he had one, but it did confuse her. She didn’t really know he was aware of her trances.

“Always am, Miss Mami~.” Kyohei’s teasing tone, mimicking the voice of her usual muse, made the girl blush, covering her frown with the back of her hand as she laid there, waiting patiently. She looked too cute for what he was about to do to her.

“Shut up and help me.” She grumbled, reminding him why they were here in the first place, and Kyohei couldn’t help but chuckle. The two stayed in their separate states until Kyohei sharply entered her.

Both mind’s turned into a pleasured fog that distracted either side of this couple from the outside world. Not that anything was happening that they would need to look out for, everyone was asleep and Kyohei hade the foresight to close the door. This allowed them, mostly Masami, to moan to their heart’s content. She clutched the top that fluttered over her as Kyohei towered over, holding himself up with one hand and her right thigh with the other.

“K-Kyohei.” She gasped out, eyes half-lidded as she looked up at him as his hand massaged that part of her leg, waiting for her to be comfortable enough for him to move. He seemed pushy, but he did care, being the secretly thoughtful guy he was. The sound of his name told the producer he could start thrusting.

“You’re so tight.” He grunted as those movements pulled him out of the short but sweet trance he found himself in as he watched the young woman writhe beneath him distracted him from the tightness of her. How could a woman said to be so risque and ravaging seem so virginal?

“Y-You’re just big.” The comment made her blush and she pouted, momentarily preoccupied from the heavenly sensation slowly grinding into her.

“Don’t frown like that. I’m sure you’ve dreamt about this, haven’t you?” He drew even closer to her once again, propped on his elbows as he continued to thrust in and out of her, one hand holding her cheek. He was careful not to make it seem like he would try to kiss her.

The smugness of his tone and sudden hard pound of his hips made Masami’s hands fly down his torso to grip the skin of his behind, hoping it would spur him onto giving her more of that much needed pleasure. “K-Kyohei.” Her ideas were finally organising themselves. She was so close. All she needed was a little encouragement.

“Go on. Scream my name. I know you want to.” Even though his own breathing started to hasten, his heart racing and his words sometimes tripping over themselves, Kyohei tried to seem as cool as he usually was. But, the clawing feeling on his lower back and arching of her’s, pressing their bodies even closer together was just so erotic, he found his own thoughts becoming jumbled. There was so much he wanted to say, so many dirty things he wanted to whisper in her ear to make her blush harder, to stutter his name more, he couldn’t understand any of the words that threatened to spill out of his mouth. Something about loving something, but the shriek of the woman below him pulled his thoughts away from that strange sensation.

“K-Kyohei!” Arms flying up his body and around his neck, pulling him closer and her up so he could snake an arm around her, holding their bodies flush together, Masami couldn’t hold back anymore.

“More. Please. I need so much more!” She whimpered in his ear and he only just realised his thrusts had slowed while he was thinking. Then, one thought made sense. Flipping them over so he was on his back and Masami was sitting on his lap, his cock buried so deep inside her she was sure she must have been hollowed out by him, Kyohei smirked.

“Go on, do it yourself. Use me to inspire you.” Sitting, holding each other, his hand clutching the back of her hair so he could whisper in her ear without risk of her pulling back, Kyohei pulled as much out of her as he could. Albeit the ground prohibitted most of his movement. When he loosened his grip, Masami sat up, looking at him with another one of her cutely questioning expressions.

“How do you- Oh!” Masami gasped as he pushed her hips down, mainly to distract her from her question and also to pleasure himself. Her hands once again clenched the fabric on his chest and she subconsciously started bouncing up and down, the sound of skin hitting skin sounding between them. Heavy breathing, moans of each other’s names, and the smell of hot, sweaty sex filled the room. It was lucky they had good ventilation in here.

It didn’t take much longer for either to finish, coincidentally at the same time, and when they both felt each other’s releases, Masami collasped forward, landing on Kyohei’s chest with a soft thud. She was panting, her thighs aching slightly from the exercise, and Kyohei chuckled, his arms sprawled out either side of him. The two finally had a moment of silence...

...Until Masami jumped up, his penis sliding out of her but she didn’t seem to care much, and yanked her journal from the table she had been struggling over before he showed up. As if this hadn’t just happened, as if one of the most sort of bachelors at the moment wasn’t laying half-naked on the floor behind her, Masami started working. She started pouring her heart out onto the pages in front of her, making quick work of the song she had been struggling with for the past day and a half.

It couldn’t be hidden, Kyohei was a little pissed. He had just had one of the most amazing sex sessions he had ever experiences, and she was still able to make it to the desk chair and write? So, he got up, meaning to turn her around and pound her against that journal that seemed to occupy her thoughts, when she met his stern gaze with a delighted smile. He only now saw the slightly darkened rings under her eyes and, despite that, she still looked adorable.

“Thanks, Kyohei, you were a big help!” Masami cheered, slapping her book shut and standing up, only to find the two much closer than she had anticipated. Both their lower halves were completely on show, but she couldn’t let herself look down. She was beat but, most of all, she was able to write. She had been able to accompish what she set out to do.

Kyohei just chuckled at his own stupidity. He should have understood what Mitsu meant when she really did just use his body to satiate her creativity. This was just a trade in professions, a transferable muse and a writer, nothing more, nothing less.

“Call me if you need anymore help.” He winked, his smug smirk returning to his face as Masami blushed at the offer, turning to find her shorts, throwing them on and running out the door so she could finally get some much needed sleep. What neither of them had realised was the pair of panties, tucked behind a filing cabinet after Kyohei had carelessly thrown them over his shoulder.

#scandel in the spotlight #kyohei rikudoh #sits #voltage games #voltage fanfic #voltage smut

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thanksjro · 5 years

Text

Eugenesis, an Overview: Let Me Get Weirdly Serious About This Book For A Sec

HOLY SHIT WHAT A RIDE.

So, let’s recap what we’ve learned over the last 282 pages.

In 2001, James Roberts published nearly 300 pages of fictional prose, based in the established franchise of Transformers, specifically the Marvel UK comic continuity. This novel tells the story of the Transformers, in their dwindling numbers, being attacked, not by their opposing factions, but by an outside force hellbent on revenge. Those who are captured by this force- the Quintessons- are stripped of their very individuality, forced into servitude until the moment they die of exhaustion. Everyone is pushed to- and in some cases beyond- their limits, the horrors of a literal genocide beating down on them like a tidal wave. Only by casting aside their differences and banding together can they hope to survive the nightmare that is the Eugenesis Wars.

But people don’t really talk about all that, even though it’s a majority of what the book’s about. No, people only talk about what happens after the Quintessons are defeated. People only talk about the robots getting pregnant, because honestly it is the most bizarre thing.

Not because the idea itself is terribly odd- I mean, at least it’s in line with the lore the comics set up. It’s bizarre in how we get to that point. All the torture, all the suicide and death and depression and destruction of entire belief systems, leads up to these robots getting pregnant. Almost like that was the whole point. And considering that this story is presenting to us a bridge for the gap between the classic Transformers and the Beast-Era ones, it could have very well been.

I won’t say fetish, because that doesn’t feel quite right, but our dear author seems to have a sort of… obscene fascination with the concept of mechpreg. A fascination that will carry on well into his career as a professional comic scriptwriter, setting readers on edge for the duration of his run with IDW.

Comparing Eugenesis to More Than Meets The Eye and Lost Light, you get an interesting view of Roberts’ growth, as both a writer and a human being. Eugenesis is the work of what Billy Joel might call an "angry young man”, focusing on the despair of wartime and the futility of one’s struggle against the flow of time and mortality. The theme of time only being perceived as linear, and being in actuality an unending plane where all moments are equal and eternal might seem oddly specific, but it’s reflected upon by multiple characters within the story of Eugenesis. Perhaps this is why he has Brainstorm and Perceptor collectively and completely jack up time itself in the Elegant Chaos storyline.

Character moments sprinkled throughout the narrative give us a glimpse of the relationships that would be written later on- some of the most compelling scene writing happens between Quark and Rev-Tone, two original characters who have such a delightful dynamic between them, they very quickly became some of my favorites. You truly believe that they care so strongly for one another, they would do just about anything to keep the other safe. And they do, in a couple cases.

Then there’s all the death. There’s a lot of death in Eugenesis, and none of it is by way of natural causes- you’ve either got suicide, murder, or suicide-by-way-of-murder. You really see Roberts shine in these death scenes, both then and now, as he captures the utter, raw tranquility as one stares down their own demise, and on the other side of the coin, the complete annihilation of one’s very heart as someone they love is destroyed. It’s downright poetic how he handles these scenes.

Still, there is a difference in how the aftermath is handled. When someone dies in the MTMTE/LL run, there’s always meaning and purpose to it- nobody dies just to die, and those who are left behind are left at least something to comfort them.

A message of love.

The return of a friend.

A chance to keep living.

A chance to be a better person.

You don’t get that in Eugenesis. In most cases, there’s no salve for the wound, only more hurting. There’s no time to even mourn, as the fight rages on and on and on. Any happiness pulled from the narrative for the characters is laced with a bittersweet understanding that these folks probably aren’t going to make it, and they’re just as aware of that fact as the reader is.

And yet there’s something kind of beautiful about that, in a twisted sort of way.

Eugenesis is a sort of love letter to those dark thoughts hiding in our heads, those deeply scary intrusive visions of everything we care about being ripped away from us. It’s a book make up of catharsis, of hurting that begs for some sort of outlet. The characters in this story are lost, and scared, and hollowed out before the mass extinction even arrives, and are put through wringer after wringer, like some sort of distanced facsimile of self-harm.

Perhaps I’m reading a bit too into this, but with how intense things get, with self-insert characters no less, I can’t help but wonder if the James Roberts who was writing Eugenesis truly needed this outlet in more than just a creative sense.

Which isn’t to say that there aren’t issues with this novel just because it was a vessel for catharsis. Pacing can end up going so rapidly it feels as if you’re being pushed towards the edge of a cliff, then stutter to a halt to the point where continuing on feels like an absolute slog. But it always seems just as you’re about to put the thing down and give up, something completely thrilling, completely insane and powerful and profoundly attention-grabbing happens, pulling you right back in. If nothing else, this book demands one’s attention.

There are also some other, more interesting issues with Eugenesis. Issues I wasn’t really expecting to run into. To highlight one such issue, we’re going to play a game.

The game is called Guess That Character Design!

Hey Transformers fandom, got a new quandary for y’all to fight over. Forget the Frenzy/Rumble color debate, forget the Bombshell/Skywarp is Cyclonus debate, it’s time for the What The Actual Everloving Fuck Is Quark Supposed To Look Like debate! Do we follow the comic and its script, which show him as being either about on par with Rev-Tone and Mirage or taller, but fails to note any sort of color because it’s in black-and-white? Or do we follow the novel, which states he’s short exactly once, and crimson? And if he’s red, where did the blue paint chips come from in Part Five? They sure didn’t come from Rev-Tone, who I know is mostly red- not because the novel told me, but because I’ve seen art of him outside of this. Honestly, other than him having big honkin’ shoulders and a bust to match, nothing about Quark’s visual aesthetic is concrete.

Now, I could tell you all about his quirks and mannerisms, how he holds himself, how he talks, how he interacts with others, all sorts of stuff. Nothing wrong with the writing there, characterization’s great! I just couldn’t tell you for the life of me how his body is supposed to look. Rev-Tone’s in the same boat, except it’d be even worse without the helpful input of some friends. Did you know he has a visor? Because I sure as shit didn’t until someone showed me. It’s never mentioned in the book. You can barely see it in the prequel comic art if you’re looking for it, and the script is less than helpful to me because I’m not Matt friggin’ Dallas, nor have I had the pleasure of reading Transtrip. All the information presented in the novel about his looks involves his mouth.

Hell, some of the writing in Eugenesis seems to imply that he actually just has normal eyeballs.

What I’m getting at here is that Roberts leans a bit too much on the reader knowing exactly as much as he does about the characters, the plot points, the lore. And he knows A LOT about Transformers.

This book essentially requires the reader to have the wiki open with multiple tabs at all times. Roberts put his heart and soul into the prose, but the world-building had his nerdy little brains smeared all over it, because there are some obscure references in here, not to mention the sci-fi jargon. You basically NEED an internet connection to get through this- I’ve never read a novel that pretty much forbid an acoustic reading, but here it is, in all its glory.

Eugenesis is a dark, morbid, conflicted story with the oddest little bright spots in it. Within five pages, you’ll go from some of the most horridly bleak death scenes to someone accidentally burning a hole in their hand like a cartoon character. But never once, in nearly 300 pages, does it ever stop trying. It may not succeed in what it’s attempting 100% of the time, but goddamn does it go as hard as it can. This isn’t something that was done for money, or fame, or anything like that. Eugenesis is a passion project in the purest sense, and you can really feel it in the way it’s been crafted. For all the frustration it put me through, never once did I think “man, this guy just doesn’t care.” The ambition Roberts shows in the prose, in the world-building, in all the funny little moments that show just so much personality within the story, truly were harbingers for what was to come just a decade later.

Ambitious. Bleak. Brutal. Weird. Ultimately unforgettable. That’s James Roberts’ Eugenesis.

But let’s get to the heart of the matter, shall we? The one question that truly matters for any novel: is it worth reading?

Well, that depends.

If you had a hard time with the darker parts of MTMTE/LL, I really couldn’t recommend that you read Eugenesis. You will have an awful time, because most of it is Grindcore x100 levels of depressing and brutal. There were a couple points where I had to take a break because things got so intense- and I’m not exactly squeamish. Maybe stick to a breakdown- like this one!- or try a group read-along. Friends make everything better, after all.

If you like Roberts work and want to see where he came from, like I did, I highly recommend you find a copy- digital of course, there are only a few hundred physical copies in existence. I recommend you find the 2nd edition, which includes Telefunken and fixes some of the more glaring continuity mistakes and typos.

It’s a good read. Just... it’s a lot at times.

Like, a lot.

Up next-

Oh, what? You didn’t think that was it, did you? This url is way too sweet to just be done with so soon.

Next, I’ll be taking a gander at Children of a Lesser Matrix, which is something that was never finished by Roberts, but is still floating around the internet because hey! It’s the internet.

If anyone has any other somewhat obscure writings from JRo, feel free to send them my way. Especially if you have any of the TMUK zines from back in the day. I wish to consume all the works.

#transformers #jro #eugenesis #recap #maccadam #Hannzreads #incoming analysis #overthinking about robots #text post #long post

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recentanimenews · 3 years

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OPINION: The Lessons I Learned from Renge that Changed My Life

Non Non Biyori, now on its third season, is a joy for many reasons — its celebration of simple rural life, its down-to-earth depiction of childhood, and its quiet but undeniable sense of humor, just to name a few. But among all of its strengths, one factor has far and away stolen the spotlight time and time again, and that is the adorable youngest member of the cast, Renge. Despite having no established main character — each skit usually focuses on the perspective of just one or two members of its ensemble cast — Renge frequently ends up being the most interesting character involved in any situation. Partly because her naivete puts her in silly situations, but largely because her curiosity and open-mindedness allow us to see things from new perspectives, which can be just as insightful as they are funny.

While that childhood innocence expresses itself in things we take for granted, we shouldn't miss out on Non Non Biyori's greatest message — even if we’re older, we should all be a little more like Renge.

Where the other children are of the age where they think they have things figured out, feigning maturity to impress the others as children do, Renge isn't at all embarrassed to admit she doesn't know something. Seriously, turn on any random episode of Non Non Biyori and skip to a part that has Renge in it, the girl never stops asking questions. Do they live in the sticks? How does multiplication work? Is anything truly round? No thought is too simple or too abstract for Renge, and her curiosity pays off for her — while the older kids and adults in her life fumble trying to pretend they have all the answers, Renge's acceptance of her own ignorance just makes her smarter every day.

I've found it empowering to embody Renge's inquisitive nature because despite being four times her age and living in a world that expects me to have it all "figured out," the truth is I'm pretty dumb and there's way too much I just don't know. That means when I get curious about a subject, I try to educate myself about it as much as possible — recently that meant a binge of podcasts about old-timey pirates, but it can be as small as looking up a word when I'm not 100 percent sure I know what it means or double-checking a fact I'm pretty sure I know but might be misremembering. I also try to always have a long-term learning goal going at any given time, whether that be a language, some kind of math concept, or even just research on the production of a show I really liked. The point is to keep challenging myself — when you're always learning something new, it reminds you that you don't in fact have it all figured out, and never really will, but as Renge shows us, that's a good thing.

Another great thing about Renge is that, despite being only in first grade, she is already quite the artist. Renge tries to capture the new things she finds in the world by drawing them for herself. When the gang lands a trip to Okinawa, everyone plans things they want to do, and the top of Renge's list isn't just to see the sights. No, she goes a step further — she wants to draw the things she anticipates the most, including dolphins, despite being told how unlikely it is she'll get to see them for herself. She gets good at it, too! Some might chalk that up to the animators drawing pictures for a 7-year-old, but when you think about it, it only makes sense that she would improve with so much practice.

Now, despite fleeting aspirations to become a manga artist in middle school, I'm no van Gogh myself. That doesn't mean I can't imitate Renge's hunger for self-expression, though — in fact, I'm doing that right now, by thinking and writing about a show I love. The medium may be different, but the gains are the same — when Renge draws her surroundings, she is truly taking in the things that interest her, understanding them on a new level by trying to replicate them. Writing about my favorite shows inherently asks me to engage with them beyond the simple act of consuming them, and by doing that I learn more about the anime itself, what it is trying to say about the world, and even myself by figuring out what makes me connect with it. Writing isn't the only way to do that, of course — the same thing is accomplished through fanart, cosplay, fan fiction, or any other creative endeavor that requires you to put a little bit of yourself into the mix. The important part is that you're engaging with the stuff you find interesting because doing that not only helps you understand the world better but also yourself — and you might pick up a surprising skill or two along the way. Renge sure has, and she just started elementary school!

The last thing Renge does is probably the most simple one because it's something you can do basically all the time — play, or to be more specific, improvise. Play is good for kids because it gives them an outlet to interact socially, develop problem-solving skills, and stretch their creative muscles. That last part is the one I'm focusing on here — when Renge and the other kids are bored, they often make up scenarios and roles to embody for themselves or play nonsensical games with each other. My favorite example of this is in Non Non Biyori Repeat Episode 2, where the gang teaches Hotaru how to play "knock-down-the-ruler" — a seemingly simple game where you use a pen and a ruler to knock someone else's ruler off the table — and go on to accidentally confuse her by making up rules and special moves as they go along. That's just one example, of course, as Non Non Biyori is filled with examples of the kids, but especially Renge, starting with simple premises and adding or subtracting from them as they see fit.

We're not all kids putting buckets on our heads to pretend we're superheroes, but that doesn't mean we can't embody the spirit of that boundless childhood imagination in our everyday lives; I try to make mundane situations into forms of play themselves. When I walk to and from work, I make it a point to mix things up sometimes, taking longer or more unusual routes for my commute to change up the scenery. If I've been making the same thing for breakfast for too long, I try to mix up the ingredients a little without looking anything up ahead of time — just going with the flow based on what I have in front of me and what I think might taste good. When playing a video game I've already played a million times before, it keeps me on my toes to make up restrictions for myself or to set goals that force me to go out of my way and do things differently than I normally do. And just like for kids, changing things up from time to time keeps my imagination active, not only letting me enjoy the little things in life more but ensuring my brain is always working so when a more serious problem arises and changes life up for me, I'm well-equipped to figure out how to improvise through unfamiliar situations because I do it all the time.

Renge may be young, but the way she navigates life is not only smart but easily imitable. The next time you're watching Non Non Biyori, when Renge does something funny, ask yourself: What is she learning from acting that way? What is she gaining by challenging her boundaries and preconceptions? Often, the answer is that she is learning and growing, and though you might not be a first-grader in the Japanese countryside, you might find it rewarding to be a little more like Renge yourself.

What's your favorite hilarious Renge moment? Let us know in the comments below!

David Lynn can be found obsessing over Fate/Grand Order on Twitter @navycherub.

By: David Lynn

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

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insanityclause · 4 years

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I've only just been introduced to Zawe Ashton and she turns to me and whispers, "Let's make a run for it!" The actress has been holed up in her publicist's office for the past few hours. Her minders are just out of earshot. "I need some natural light," she says as we scarper out the front door and head down a Soho street to a cafe. "I'm going to get into so much trouble," she laughs.

Ashton is very much a woman on the move. And she likes to do her own thing. We might know her best for her portrayal of the wannabe punk Vod in Channel 4's student-life sitcom Fresh Meat but there is far more to her than acting. She also directs, produces, and writes. Over the past decade she's been energetic in theatre and film, and soon she's going to be published. There's just no holding her back, and here she is again, coffee ordered, keeping one step ahead.

She is down from Manchester, where she's been filming the fourth – and final – series of Fresh Meat. Sam Bain and Jesse Armstrong's brilliant creation has helped turn Ashton into one of television's most striking new actresses, but now she is moving on. A new Channel 4 comedy drama – Not Safe for Work, which begins at the end of the month – is going to show Ashton in a very different light.

Following the chaotic personal and professional lives of a group of dysfunctional government employees who have been forced to relocate from London to Northampton, Not Safe for Work sees Ashton playing Katherine, a recently divorced woman coming to terms with her displacement from the capital and having to live in a flatshare at an age when she thought she'd be having babies.

At first the show might seem like a big departure from Fresh Meat; Ashton is playing a proper grown-up, who wears a suit and actually washes. It's a role in which she speaks in her natural voice, too; still low but not as deep as Vod's. But look closer and it's evident that many of the issues facing Katherine and her co-workers are not that far removed from those affecting Vod and her fellow students at the fictional Manchester Medlock University; all are just trying to find their place in a world where things seem less certain than they used to. They're part of a new lost generation immediately recognisable to Ashton.

"My first impressions of Katherine were how on-the-money her struggles are in terms of a lot of people I know," she says. "That postgraduate-in-the-age of-austerity sort of thing. I know people who are moving back home, who can't afford to live in London any more, have long-term relationships breaking down, and are suddenly single in the age of the internet and wondering if they can still meet anyone at work. It felt really well observed."

Ashton has just managed to buy her own place, describing herself as "very, very, very lucky" when so many people her age (she is 30) and older are in no position to. "Living with the notion that you might never have a permanent spot in the world is really quite a powerful metaphor," she says. "I feel it really looms large and it becomes a symbol of lots of other things." Whether it's your career, your relationship, or your home, for people of a certain age, Ashton suggests, nothing seems permanent any more. "There used to be this lovely kind of linear flow."

Not Safe for Work was created and written by DC Moore, a former star of Channel 4's new-talent strand Coming Up, who, like Ashton, attended the Royal Court Theatre's prestigious Young Writers' Programme. A superb cast also includes Sacha Dhawan as Katherine's coked-up boss, and Sophie Rundle as The Most Irritating Girl In The Office. Ashton is not wrong about the show capturing the cultural zeitgeist.

Public-sector cuts are the reason for Katherine's relocation to Northampton so there are implicit politics in Not Safe for Work, but that's not an area Ashton wants to get into. She won't tell me how she voted in the recent election – she offers a firm but jovial "No comment" – but on cuts to the arts she is as forthright as you would expect from someone who, as a child, paid £2.50 to attend weekend drama classes at the Anna Scher theatre, a community-based drama school in Islington, which in its time has also welcomed Kathy Burke and Dexter Fletcher through its doors. Later she joined the National Youth Theatre, itself a registered charity, and she worries about how the next generation will be able to develop if such inclusive facilities disappear. "For students who are attempting to have their life be about something that isn't vocation based, it's harder to just explore your depths," she suggests.

Ashton's family were always supportive of her decision to work in the arts. The oldest of three children, she grew up in Hackney. Her mother, Victoria, had emigrated from Uganda as a teenager and became a teacher in London. Her English father, Paul, also worked as a teacher before moving to educational programming at Channel 4. The considerable amount of time she spends with them is, she admits, "embarrassing". Her newly purchased home is close enough that she can call by whenever she wants.

It was Victoria, in particular, who encouraged young Zawe – pronounced Zow-ee – to try out acting, and she bagged her first role when she was eight, as an extra crossing the road in the Channel 4 sitcom Desmond's, which happened to be Ashton's favourite show at the time. She went on to win parts in children's television programmes that included The Demon Headmaster before graduating to, among other things, Holby City and Casualty. She made her big-screen debut in St Trinian's II: The Legend of Fritton's Gold. Prior to Vod, perhaps her finest moment was in Dreams of a Life, a documentary about Joyce Vincent, a 38-year-old woman whose decomposing body had lain in a north London bedsit undiscovered for three years before it was found in 2006 by council workers. Ashton played Ms Vincent in the recreation scenes, her performance winning her a nomination in the Most Promising Newcomer category at the 2012 British Independent Film Awards.

Later that year she also won the award for Best Breakthrough On-Screen Talent at the Creative Diversity Network for her work in Fresh Meat. With Vod, just as it is with Katherine, the fact that Ashton is mixed race is never made out to be an issue that needs to be addressed in storylines. It simply isn't mentioned. Anyone of any ethnicity could have played these characters. Was that a sense that she had strived to achieve? "I'm glad it seems effortless," she says. "It's something that I've worked really hard at. I think I've always felt that I want to do a very specific type of work and I've made informed decisions. You know, hopefully be part of a quiet movement or revolution." She pauses to giggle. "Without sounding too Che Guevara about it."

She says that as a child she would hand back scripts to her mother and tell her that she didn't like how certain characters were represented. At the same time, she doesn't want her background to be ignored. "I don't want to be 'de-ethnicised'. I hate it when people say, 'Oh I don't even think of you as a woman', or, 'I don't even think of you as a black woman.' Well what do you think of me as then? A loaf of bread? But any actor of any race can tell if a part is well written or not. It's really just about reading stuff that feels well-observed and truthful."

I spoke to DC Moore, Not Safe for Work's creator, about Ashton as both writer and performer. "She really responds to scripts," he said. "There was the odd moment when she sniffed out something that didn't feel right. There's always a difference in someone who performs if they also write. It really informs the conversation. And similarly if you're a writer who has done a bit of acting. It helps to understand the processes."

In the past Ashton has directed two short films and written plays. She has just delivered another, For All Those Women Who Thought They Were Mad, to the National Theatre. She wrote it six years ago for the Royal Court and it was shortlisted for the Young Writers' Festival but nothing ever came of it. It has now been updated and she hopes it will finally make it to the stage.

Then there's the feature film that she is writing and will direct, details of which she says she can't tell me. You get the impression that in the current climate, Ashton is keen to create her own circumstances and opportunities. As with so many of her peers, she pursues numerous outlets because who knows when one might be taken away? Moore says he understands that urge. "It broadens your scope to take on so many things, but it also means you've got other ways of playing what is essentially a big game. It's a wise move."

And there's yet more coming from Ashton. One of the things she is most excited about is the book deal she recently secured. "How can I describe it?" she says. "You know these books of essays by female voices that are very in vogue ? Well it's not that!" She laughs. "It's a mixture of fact and fiction and kind of based on some of the awful character breakdowns that you sometimes receive as an actress – that are really two-dimensional."

Acting, screenplays, directing, books. I can't help but marvel at how prolific she is. "It's quite funny because it's so much more natural in the States to do so many things and, having spent a bit more time there, you just fit right in if you do many, many things. I'm just coming to terms with the fact that I will always do lots of different things and I can't really stay in one place too long."

Our time is over. Ashton politely excuses herself to return to the office and, presumably, call off the search party. Through the window I see her rushing up the street. Will she find her permanent spot in the world? Who knows. Maybe she'll never need to.

#Zawe Ashton #career #Character Breakdown #for all the women who thought they were mad #interview #2015

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rey-of-luke · 4 years

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2020 Fic Review

I was tagged by the lovely, amazing @musicboxmemories! Thank you so much!!

Total number of completed stories: ....do oneshots count as finished stories? Because in that case I have 3 (two of which are part of a larger oneshot collection). Most of mine are still being written very v-e-r-y slowly because my muse is VERY fickle as anyone who’s had to deal with my creative outlets well knows *looks at the like 10 vids I uploaded on my fanvid channel in the entire year and everyone else is uploading like 25+*

Total number of words: Uh.... *runs to get calculator* So if we are JUST talking about things I’ve written this year (including unpublished) I’ve written a total of... 9,445 words. In terms of PUBLISHED, I’ve written... 4,738.

Fandoms written in: Published? Supernatural and Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (literally my shortest piece and it’s because I wanted it’s version of Lucifer to interact with Sam). Unpublished? NCIS.

Top 5 Ranked by Word Count: 1. we will always end up here 2. brother (let me be your shelter)

Top 5 Ranked by Kudos 1. brother (let me be your shelter) 2. we will always end up here

Top Fic Overall: Without a doubt, ‘brother (let me be your shelter)’. It doesn’t help that it was written not even a week after the Supernatural series finale aired, probably. And the fact the only other contender was my multi oneshot Samifer series.

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected? More, I guess, especially if we’re including unpublished? Largely because despite it being the first half of my last year in college I still had a lot of time to do so (we’ll see how much time I have when my internship this semester starts - which I also need to pass in order to get my degree... yay social work requirements)

What’s your own favorite story of the year? Honestly I really like both stories I posted, mostly because they’re larger parts of oneshot series. brother (let me be your shelter) has evolved into me writing more pieces about Dean Jr’s adventures in heaven with everyone and will probably include bits about his wife and kids that are still alive. Also I have sooo many ideas for my Samifer oneshot series it’s... kind of embarassing, really.

Also in terms of unpublished... the largest word count is for my NCIS x Supernatural crossover series, which is going to comprised (if I can ever finish it) of multi oneshots involving Gibbs (and later Team Gibbs in general) taking in the Winchester’s as surrogate sons/brothers. Especially Sam because tbf he deserves to have at least SOMEONE in his corner throughout the entire series and damn it, if I want that make that person Gibbs (+ the rest of Team Gibbs) then I damn well can!!!

Did you take any writing risks this year? *gestures to ‘we will always end up here’* This entire damn series. Anything dealing with the pairing is asking to get sent hate and death threats in the fandom because of the implications... which is entirely why all the oneshots are dark and fucked up because there’s no way to NOT write Samifer without those things included. Unless it’s Sam x Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) then that can actually be considered semi healthy because Netflix!Lucifer is WAY different from SPN!Lucifer (or CAOS!Lucifer to be fair). Though honestly, I’m trying to get back into the mindset that it’s OKAY to write in fiction what Tumblr + Twitter would crucify me for, because I make sure to tag and warn accordingly. And honestly, fiction doesn’t tell you jack shit about a person in real life. I’m a social work major, and I know a LOT of people in my classes who like true crime and horror movies. Me exploring darker aspects of humanity SAFELY IN FICTION doesn’t mean I’m going to end up snapping and commiting mass murder or something, jfc. This is legit a conversation I brought up with my advisor my freshman year of college and she was so confused that people think liking certain FICTION things means you like those same things in real life. That same professor is now I believe the head of a social work department at another university.

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year? Maybe just get more published/finished? Then again, that’s always my goal, haha. But I’m hoping once Walker premieres I’ll get my juices flowing again so in between my internship and fanvids I can crank out a couple stories once in awhile.

Most popular story of the year? ‘brother (let me be your shelter)’

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: ...I’m going to say ‘we will always end up here’. Just because I kind of like how creepy and fucked up I wrote Samifer in my 12x01 AU chapter and would like to know if I wrote either character decently. Also if I’m the only one who finds themselves mentally reviewing different times in the series where Lucifer’s creepy obsession with Sam can pop up, because I am forever bitter about s11+ because you literally can not convince me that Lucifer would willingly leave Sam permanently truly dead. The entirety of s5 says otherwise and that is what I hold to.

Most fun story to write? Both. ‘brother (let me be your shelter)’ lets me explore Dean Jr’s relationship with EVERYONE (Sam + Eileen, Dean, Jack, Cas, John + Mary, Eileen’s Parents, Adam + Michael... Magda... everyone I want basically) and ‘we will always end up here’ because Samifer is my guilty pleasure with little fics (especially crossover/au) so I’m indulging in it myself.

Most unintentionally telling story? ...depends upon what way you’re talking. In Tumblr terms? ‘we will always end up here’ because this site will say I’m a terrible human being and psychopath (which is actually outdated; it’s now referred to as anti social personality disorder) laying in wait. Personally? ‘brother (let me be your shelter)’ because my excited to continue the story with Dean Jr in the version of heaven created by Jack + Cas in the series finale is largely my hoping that whatever life there is after death is similar to that, aka you get to see everyone again and it’s peaceful and happy.

Biggest disappointment? My second chapter of ‘we will always end up here’, the 12x01 AU. I personally really liked it but only one person has commented and there have been no new kudos or anything since I published the CAOS x SPN chapter.

Biggest surprise: People actually liking my stuff, haha.

I tag anyone who sees that and wants to participate!!

#2020 #*whistles as i wait for the hate to roll in*#i knew it was coming eventually #you can't have guilty pleasures on this hellsite without getting run off #tbh if i do get run off... it's about time tbh #this site isn't good for my mental health #i legit just stick around for friends + the rapidly growing walker fandom

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liam-93-productions · 4 years

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Alesso and Liam Payne are on the phone, but before we can start talking about their new single, we need to determine what day of the week it is.

"Does anyone know what day it is? Is it Tuesday or Wednesday? Or Sunday?" Payne asks, only half-joking about the all-too-relatable query so many of us have asked while spending all our time at home.

"These days feel like between Christmas and New Year's Eve," Alesso agrees. "You don't know which day it is and you're just waiting for something."

For fans of the British singer and the superstar DJ, the wait for their hotly anticipated collaboration, "Midnight," was the one gnawing at them. After several days of teases and snippets, the track arrived on Wednesday (April 8), marking the perfect marriage of Payne's confident vocal flow and Alesso's buoyant dance production. On it, Payne begs a partner to "stay till the morning, stay for a while." "I just wanna lay here, fall into midnight / And fall right into you," he belts, before the beat drops and Alesso's lush synths swoop in.

"The song has this really positive message of overcoming things in a relationship. It's actually funny that it fits so well with the time right now — we're all overcoming something bigger together," Payne told MTV News. "This song's about that kind of adversity in a relationship and going that step further. You never thought you were going to get as far as you did, and here you are. It's very uplifting."

Impressively, Payne and Alesso even managed to make a music video for "Midnight" while self-quarantining at home. Last month, they filmed their parts from their respective home bases: Payne on the rooftop terrace of his apartment in London, and Alesso in his recording studio in Los Angeles. It's an intimate look at the artists in their element, and the clip beautifully blends the two scenes to show how they're standing together in isolation.

"Alesso was saying to me yesterday about the way the video feels really organic because we're just doing what we do. It was nice not having a huge crew around because people are always telling you how to perform and all," Payne admitted. "We both just got to put ourselves into it, which you don't get the opportunity to do very much. I quite enjoyed it."

Making the song, both artists contended, was an equally smooth and intimate process. Rather than simply emailing his vocals in, Payne flew to Alesso's native Sweden to record the song, and Alesso said he was immediately sold after hearing the first cut.

"There's something so great when you are in the studio and it just turns out the way you want it. It's those moments that you'll remember forever. He completely took the record to another level," Alesso said of his collaborator. "Just his vocal performance... This song was perfect for him. It's a strong chord that you have to carry through the whole song and he completely nailed it."

"When I first heard the song and I heard the chorus, I was like, 'Oh my God, my throat's going to drop off.' It's so high," Payne chimed in. "I don't ever seem to pick the easy songs; that's my biggest problem in life at the moment."

Now that "Midnight" and its accompanying video are out, Alesso and Payne's next responsibility is to choose a winner for the track's official fan remix. In March, Alesso put the call out for fans to send in recordings of themselves singing a portion of the chorus, and one of them will be handpicked for a remix that will blend their vocals and Payne's.

"It's definitely going to be a tough choice," Alesso said. "You really, really see how there's so many talented people out there. I think we've already collected our favorites, but they keep coming in everyday. It's actually beautiful to see how creative people become during these times. We'll pick someone who makes it their own version and gives you a new feeling to the song."

In the meantime, both artists are focused on channeling their own creativity at home by experimenting and getting outside of their comfort zones.

"I feel like I'm working more creatively than ever before, actually," Payne said. "I've been painting and sketching, and it's been quite fun to mess around with things I wouldn't usually get the chance to. And I've got so many beats coming through for different things and trying to write melodies. It's a good way to get out of your own head for a little bit, and an outlet to put your feelings down."

"The same for me," Alesso said. "Mostly music of course, but I've also been practicing playing drums and I'm YouTubing every day. "I've never been home this much, and I noticed there's a lot of things that I wanted to explore creatively and now I have time to do that."

Until we hear all that music Alesso's making and all the artwork Payne is whipping up, see their video for "Midnight" — which made its broadcast premiere on MTV Live, mtvU, and MTV International — above.

#liam payne #alesso #midnight #liam's interviews #mtv news #08.04.2020

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gouteruneboulangerie · 4 years

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Antheia

Hello DW universe! I’m a long time fan who hasn’t written anything since high school (trust me, that’s been quite a long time). But a mix of inspiration, creativity and COVID quarantine has put me back on the saddle, full gallop!!! I’ve been working on an OG character x Dh!Master story. I’m super nervous though, since it has been a long time since I’ve done this, and I’m not actually the best at accurate writing. (That’s code for I do I what I want and follow no rules when it comes to professional writing...) I’m actually a professional baking and pastry cook (if you look at my account you’d be able to deduce that...I lost my other tumblr account years ago.) So, if anyone has a random pastry/baking question, I’d be more than happy to answer those. And I’ll take (constructive!!!!) criticism, please don’t be rude, no one needs that in their life, and it just comes back as Karma to you, so think twice. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this, please let me know you’r opinion on it, cause I have more chapters....

I wanted to go with a sort of collection of domestic scenes within the TARDIS between my og character and the Master, but it starts with how they meet. And I’m thinking of having little adventure blurbs as well. The chapters are relatively short. And yes, I did make the og character a baking and pastry chef....I’VE HAD NO INGREDIENTS OR KITCHEN SPACE TO BAKE FOR THE PAST TWO MONTHS I NEEDED AN OUTLET!!!! So, yeah... HEEE, the nerves!!!

Chapter one is the official first meet between the two.

Enjoy!

-k-dubs113

Uhh...for this chapter, the only warnings are a few curse words?? I don’t know how warnings go for these kinds of things (please someone let me know, cause future chapters get a little....dark. They’re two insane time travelers what do you expect!?!)

Chapter One: Antheia

The Master looked out the castle window and saw a young lady walking the edge of the river. Dressed in an eclectic style, considering the era, she had a multitude of braids in her hair each adorned with an abundance of different coloured flowers. The basket hanging from the crook of her left elbow was filled with green plants while her left arm held a wooden pipe which she kept bringing up to her mouth, breathing out the smoke like second nature. An almost cheshire cat smile was plastered on her face, a smile which told of her giddiness towards her actions while hiding a secret agenda of her own accords. One might even think her a little insane due to the random bout of laughter she gave off when she found a patch of mushrooms.

“You.” the anger flowed through his tone like wind through an open window. “Who is she?” he asked when the trembling guard came to the window.

“Th-that’s the Chef, Master. You can find her in her quarters, next to the kitchen.” he told the ground. How the Master hated when people didn’t talk to him directly. He took out his TCE and immediately shrunk the man.

Two weeks ago the Master had come to this kingdom in Surrey, England, killing his way to the top, which only took a couple minutes, and became the new ruler of this obnoxious empire. Though he was aware that the village continued its daily routine, albeit with much more caution and fear, everyone within the castle grounds were either dead, well miniaturized, or scared shit-less doing whatever he told them to do. Except this, so called, chef. He looked back to her and saw her smelling a bouquet of green grass before taking a large bite out of it. ‘Yeah, she’s insane.’ the Master thought to himself, only allowing the left corner of his mouth to twitch up. But still, she wasn’t living in fear of him and that needed to change. Now.

The Master found his way to the ‘chef’s’ quarters and sat himself at the two-top table. There he waited for the return of this insane child.

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“Well, ‘ello!” I said, rather loud but without a care in the world. “How are ya? Living the life I presume? You know, some creatures get all the luck, you just live your own little life, without any worry except to get busy and then you die!” I watched the sky, lying next to the spot where a bunny had just been. “What I would give to have a simple life. Don’t get me wrong,” I looked over, finally noticing the bunny had fled; sighing, I continued my monologue “I like where I’ve gotten too. But there used to be so much more in my life. Now all I can do is get high and drunk and dream about the places I used to visit.” I stared at the shapeless clouds for a moment before getting myself back to my feet.

“Well, this poison isn’t going to make itself.” I said to the wind, “Better get myself back to the kitchen.” I skipped, hummed and danced my way back to the castle, taking my time with no worry about the new king occupying Shene Palace.

I entered my kitchen humming the half forgotten tune of Moonlight Serenade. Unpacking my findings of the day, I turned around and saw a man sitting at my dining table.

“Zetus lapetus!” I exclaimed, quoting my favorite childhood movie. Hand on my heart, I took a few breaths, calming myself before looking at the man. “May I assist you?” When he didn’t say anything I continued putting away my herbs and fungus, keeping an eye on him.

He was short, perfectly filled in while potentially hiding some well worked arms, and nicely coloured compared to the pasty men running around this castle and village. His scruff was just a tad longer then what should be described as scruff, almost as if he skipped a few days of grooming out of laziness. His eyes bore into my back and every time I glanced over I could see they were filled with anger and intrigue; he was curious about me but definitely not pleased at the situation, for his own reasons unknown to me.

“You don’t seem that frightened of me.” he commented.

“Should I be? I pose no threat to you, why should you be a threat to me?” I turned to look at him directly and noticed his feet on the table. “Oi!” I exclaimed, grabbing the bad-tasting alcohol I used for sanitizing and a rag, “Feet off the table! What does this look like to you, a barn stable? I run a clean kitchen here.” I shooed his feet off and looked him directly in the eyes, “Cross-contamination here is deadly.” I held my gaze a few seconds longer than necessary to make sure he understood the seriousness I was implying. It was intimidating to say the least.

After I finished cleaning the table top I started prepping for a tea service. I put some water on to boil and went over to my dried herb and flower collection. I didn’t know the man's taste in tea, so I elected to find out by allowing him to make his own choice. I took out four cheesecloth pouches, and in each one filled with different dried ingredients, putting the labels in front of each. They read: Mild: Dandelion - slightly bitter, Pignut - mild hazelnut and radish, Borage - cucumber, Rosebay Willow - pleasant. Sweet/Earthy: Lime Tree - succulent and sweet, Pignut - mild hazelnut and radish, Columbine - sweet and ‘green’, Pink Purslane - succulent and earthy. Hot/Spice: Sweet Cicely - aniseed, Nettle, Wood Avens - cloves, Lady Smock - cress with sweet and hot hints. Fruity: Hawthorn - slightly over ripe apples, Pineapple Weed - strong pineapple, Watermint - sweet and minty, Pink Sorrel - apple peel and lemon.

I brought over the selections. “I’m not sure what your preference is, so help yourself to one of these, or let me know if there’s something else you would prefer.” I went to walk away to check on the time for the bread but was halted by the man's hand grasping my wrist.

“You are aware of who I am, are you not?” his voice went through me like a robust wine, smoothly flowing through my veins. I could bet my life that his voice alone could make me do things I never thought possible. I turned towards him looking into his eyes; those eyes could also make me do things I never morally thought I would do. I quirked my left eyebrow, allowing my fake confidence to overcome my anxieties.

“You’re the new ruler, yes? The one everyone's making a fuss about.” I freed my wrist easily and continued towards the burner. Through my peripherals I saw him eyeing the tea, taking the one on the far right, the mild mix. Just then the timer for the water went off. I grabbed the pot of water and brought it towards the table. He was eyeing the timer and myself.

“Such an interesting invention.” He motioned towards my badly put together contraption. A funnel over the left side of a double beam scale with a jar on it. Depending on the amount of rice I put into the funnel, when it reached the desired time I calculated, the beam would hit a bell. Old time, timer.

“Thank you. It helps me multitask without ruining any of my products.” Without going further into details about the contraption, I poured the water through his chosen tea. “A wonderful selection, sire. The dandelion is good for detoxifying the blood while the borage and rosebay help with the respiratory system. And it’s said that pignut promotes lust.” I eyed him promiscuously momentarily, then quickly infused my own water with my comfrey and dandelion coffee substitute before returning the pot and sitting down. I took a deep breath of the aromatic steam before sitting the cup down.

I looked him straight in the eyes, building all the confidence I could possess while keeping a hint of aggression in the way I held my body and the tone of my voice; trying my best to mimic the presence he held in the room. I started my well practiced speech: “Here’s the deal. I understand you are a man of action. You have killed quite a lot of people on your own, with no help from others, to get to the top. But I have also worked hard to get to where I am. You might be wondering who exactly I am? I’m sure even with the terror you inflict in the people, no one has let slip who I am around here.” I took a pause from my short rambling, taking a sip of my fake-coffee. I immediately calmed down, the familiar taste grounding me and I continued with more grace and less apprehension. “I’m the official royal poisoner. You needn't worry about yourself, my loyalty lies in whoever rules the kingdom. I am free for your use, but only free to you.

“I allow men and women from all stages of society to come to me for help in poisoning someone. I carry no judgement. However, the rules apply as such: the second in command comes to me, asking to poison anyone in the whole kingdom, I oblige except for the interest of you. The lowest of men comes in here, asking for poison, if he can pay, I oblige, except for the interest of you. I hold no politics. I believe, as you have shown yourself, that if a man wishes to become king, he does so by his own means. He shouldn’t need to rely on the skill of a poisoner to obtain the throne. I also give much thought to who is asking and to whom they plan to poison. If they lie to me, I punish them. And I always discuss my business dealings with you first.” his face was neutral, but his eyes shined with curiosity. I continued:

“What is the payment for poison? For you, sire, nothing. I work for you freely in the exchange for this room and freedom to roam the castle and castle grounds. For everyone else, it depends. Most think gold and jewels will pay the best, but I prefer a good trade. My preferred trade: ingredients. I may have a surplus supply of mushrooms, herbs and other wild vegetation but I do not have an endless supply of meat, or dairy, or even other items of immediate necessity. Therefore, when a villager comes to trade, I prefer what he has to offer other than money. Next, I enjoy information. I may not be political, but in my business, it’s good to know who wants whom killed. You’d be surprised by the things I know, and I openly offer the knowledge to you. I can tell you every man who wished for the late King Edward to be killed. Lastly, money will pay for the least expensive poison, with a fifty percent chance of success. Always bring the customers back wanting more, that’s how you run a good business.” I said smiling. Just then my other timer for the bread went off. “Excuse me for a second, if you will.” I got up, took the bread out, checked it, and with satisfaction, placed it on the cooling rack. “Ahh, nothing better then freshly baked bread.”

“How long have you been stuck here?”

A weird question in my opinion, but I looked around the room walking back over. “I wouldn’t consider myself stuck. I did ask to live here about 4 years ago, having been in the area 5 years. That spiel that I just gave you, I gave to the late King, albeit not word for word.”

“No. How long have you been stuck in this time period?” That stopped me in my tracks.

“I- I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“You’re obviously not from this era, so how long have you been stuck here.” he was growing irritated at my attempt to feign ignorance. I was shocked, but I looked down bitterly, remembering the day all too well.

“Five years. How did you know?”

“I’m not from this time period either. Takes one to spot one. Though, you didn’t.” I narrowed my eyes at his obvious comment of my incapabilities of observation. I was defensive now.

“And why is someone who can time travel just wasting time becoming king of a stupid little village like this?” I spat, he didn’t answer. As the silence grew thicker, I made a retreat into the heart of the private kitchen. He stared off into his own world, appearing upset. Must be about the reason he was here. I busied myself with the next loaf of bread I needed to get done for dinner, thinking over the fact that he was a time traveler. What were the odds of that happening? Midway through the first kneading of the dough he broke the silence.

“My ship has been compromised. I need to fix the issue but unfortunately I'm stuck here to do so. Figured, might as well have some fun while I’m here. Now what's your story?”

“I don’t have one. I’m simply stuck here and there’s nothing I can do about it.” I glimpsed at him while I continued kneading, seeing if he would contemplate taking me. He just stared at me, not really giving off any vibe except boredom and grumpiness. I had the impression that he was not happy with my answer and that it would probably come up in conversation again. I switched the subject off of my past and back onto my future..

“So?” I asked. It was his turn to look around slightly confused. I continued after it was apparent he wasn’t following my train of thought, “Are you going to keep me or am I going to have to figure something new to do with my life?”

“Well, you said it yourself, I’m a man of action, I don’t really need an official poisoner.” Having been prepared for the chance that the new king wouldn’t be convinced of the use of my services, I took one of the handful of disputes that I had, personalizing it a tad with the new knowledge I had received from our little chat.

“True, but sometimes you have better things to do, like fixing your ship. Then you could simply tell me that you wanted someone poisoned and it would be done. Also, it’s kind of fun when you know someone in the room is about to die from poisoning.” I stopped kneading the dough and turned my full attention to him. “I’m more than just a poisoner too. I know that you’ve been eating the treats that I prepare for you.” I paused, thinking out loud, “Unless one of the servants is eating them, in which case, I’ll have to fix that problem.” I continued, my attention back to him “Without me, you wouldn’t be able to enjoy bread, or the desserts that are offered to you every night, or the future multitude of random treats that I make out of pure boredom. It’s not a bad deal.”

“What’s your name?”

“Antheia.” the man got up and exited the room without another word. “Right, well, not sure what that means, but I’ll be around if you need me.” I said to the room, just loud enough that if he had good hearing, he’d probably hear it. I went back to my bread, thinking over all my new possible futures. Hopefully the one that played out was one of the better ones.

Ch. 1 - Fin.

So yup, that’s that. Hope it wasn’t a waste of your time. Stay beautiful my DW fellow fans!

“Have you ever thought what it’s like to be wanders in the 4th dimension?” -The Doctor

#og character #dh!master #doctor who #the master #time travel #dr. who #nuwho #classic who #new who #fanfiction #fanfic #dw fanfic #dhawan!master

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y4s2-20192020 · 4 years

Photo

Theyingi market is Myanmars foremost textile market and an important national retail and wholesale outlet for acheik textiles. Located between the quarters of the City historically inhabited by Indian and Chinese migrants the market has also traded fabrics from these countries since it’s construction in 1905. Market traders rent stalls still fitted with the original teak joinery fabric shelves and cupboards.

My preservation project looks to illuminate this historic textile market as a living heritage. A cultural practice that captures a body of knowledge and provides continuity, dynamism, and meaning of social life to generations of individuals, social groups, and community. A bridge between traditional and contemporary cultural values as defined by UNESCO.

Earlier, I was influenced by the writings of the architect and preservationist Evgenii Mikhailovskii who wrote of the ephemerality of preservation and that the aim of preservation aesthetics was not to change monuments but rather to change the viewer’s understanding of them, And that’s pretty much of what I intend do. My preservation project looks to enhance a historic textile market as a living heritage, seeing it as a new bridge between traditional and contemporary cultural values.

Myanmar has a long history of making yarn, fabric and garment. However there are threats to the markets which they have been traditionally traded. Handmade fabrics are often expensive and raw materials for the yarns are in declining availability.

It is essential that Such traditional cultural practices need to be sustained through greater global visibility and commercialization and not rely on tourism and nostalgia. Therefore, I propose to augment the existing market activities with a college of textile design, aiming to attract and give the younger generations a shout to the creative possibilities of yarns and weaving techniques.

Site Analysis

As you may know, the studio site is based in Yangon Myanmar. And the particular site I’m looking at is a market called Theingyi Zay. Theingyi Zay or Theingyi market is Yangon’s biggest textile trade hub for more than a century. This atmospheric shows the building with its existing surroundings.

These 5 blocks of markets lay in between the indian and chinese community, offering a very unique atmosphere as it vividly represents the life and diversity of downtown Yangon in such a very dense space.

As Yangon can be regarded as a melting pot, the downtown area of Yangon is spatially characterized by ethnic groups and religious. However,Theingyi Zay assembles a mixture of this diversity as the market is operated and used by people with Burmese, Indian and Chinese ancestry as well as people with different religious backgrounds. This diagram shows the different religious buildings around the site. As you can see there are buddhist, Chinese, and Hindu temples as well as mosque and churches.

There are 5 distinct blocks named alphabetically from A to E . Each block sells different types of commodities. But This project will focus only on The building B, which is an important national retail and wholesale outlet for textiles.

Building Analysis

Located between the quarters of the City historically inhabited by Indian and Chinese migrants the market has also traded fabrics from these countries since its construction in 1905. Market traders rent stalls still fitted with the original teak joinery, fabric shelves, and cupboards.

The existing market is organized as a front building to the South - that accommodates some shops at ground level and market administrative offices at the upper level. Two tall parallel market halls extending back northwards either side of a central circulation spine which has a raised roof and clerestory windows.

There are 544 shops in total. Each shop block is divided by a lane that connects to the entrance door. I was especially interested in the long side elevations to the market halls which conceal a 2-layered façade inhabited with peripheral shops, cafes and small businesses that support activities in the market halls. Also significant are the original braced teak trusses that span the tall market halls.

Established by an indian building company, the indian architectural elements such as Jali screen, symmetrical proportion, and ornament is clearly visible on all its exterior facade.

Plans

For the Preservation plan, In many instances, I’ve felt that Heritage preservation in Yangon focuses mainly on tangible heritage which tries to protect the old, aesthetic and important buildings. Yet, there is no specific regulation to protect the intangible aspects of it. So In this project, I want to preserve beyond the physical elements of the building, considering the new intervention that will not only maintain the life and characteristics within the building but also introduce the new program that can still fulfil its historical purpose.

As mentioned before, I’m doing this textile college on top of the existing Market. Additional mezzanine floor levels will be inserted in places of the tall existing market halls to provide space for the new college.

The current issue is the existing roof covering and clerestory glazing is dila-pidated and leaking in places. Building B is one of the only 2 original buildings that still remains. The new intervention also offers an opportunity to renovate the impaired part of the building that has not been maintained properly.

So here’s a diagram showing what to keep, add, and remove.

And this is the overall concept diagram of the project. The purpose is not to preserve the building the way it is but more like to supplement its original intention for a contemporary audience.

The physical preservation including the skin and structure of the building. The skin consists of all sides of the facade and Jali screen on the secondary wall. Also the structural elements including column, beams, and the most importantly, teak roof structure.

The impaired roof will be removed and replaced with the new one, and the Additional mezzanine floor levels will be inserted above the market.

The new mezzanines are not continuous but multi-level with cutouts and breaks to give cross views to the textile market activities below. The intention is to allow the sights and sounds of the market intrude into and define the open work spaces of the college, drawing direct connections between design, prototyping and commercial trading.

Construction and Technical Plan

The new mezzanines will be inserted in 3 phases in order to try to keep the market running during construction. The new mezzanines are to be constructed on large steel beams fixed to and spanning between existing reinforced concrete piers in the perimeter walls and the reinforced concrete portals of the central spine. By reducing alteration to the existing fabric the new intervention has a suggested temporality, and reversibility - in the event that the intervention ceases to be meaningful to a future audience.

Phase1

Phase2

Phase3

A new roof covering will be placed on top of the retained existing trusses and introduces new rooflights that modulate the level and quality of light entering the college spaces and market halls below. It also brings a new roof line to the urban landscape and provides stack-effect natural ventilation through the floor levels.

Spacing and Program

The college incorporates studio spaces and specialist weaving, printing and dyeing workshops that will combine traditional equipment as well as state-of-the-art digital looms and silk screen printers. Toward the front building escalators bring students and the public up to an information centre dis-seminating knowledge about traditional and innovative emerging textile design and manufacture techniques. The openness of the college is intended to retain the linear flow of the existing market halls. The workshop area is An area of co-working space which intends to encourage entrepreneurial students to channel some of their creative energies towards commercial opportunities for spin-off businesses.

The circulation will mainly happen at the central spine of the building connecting the left and right wings together by ramps and steps due to the difference of floor levels. The fourth extra floor is introduced on top of the spine. This full length glazing offers maximum sunlight to get in the room. These two extra floors can be entered from behind the staff office and the center back staircase. And there’s an elevator to ship the material up to the storage room at the back end

#Will Hulbert #10 Pim Pimtawan Kaopatumtip

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nate-santos · 5 years

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Am I Alive? || Nate & Remmy

Nate didn’t often let people into his life. The few friends he had were the result of long and tiresome interactions as they slowly infiltrated his careful barriers. His own assistant had never been to his house and never knew where he was from. But something about Remmy felt...familiar. They’d both been through hell, though Nate would never pretend to know what war was like. They seemed like kindred spirits, and Nate wondered if he might actually have found someone who could compliment his neuroticism. Plus he knew better than most how hard it was to acclimate after a traumatic event and he wanted to help any way he could. So he donned his puffiest coat – offering more cushion should something happen. He also made sure to grab his sturdiest umbrella, one that he’d reinforced should any fish come flying down at him. The medical examiner had said four people had died so far, and Nate was not gonna be the fifth. After carefully making his way to Coffee Plus, he set up his little area and ordered a latte, waiting patiently with his hands cupped around his mug for his potential employee to arrive.

The offer for another job was extremely enticing, but Remmy would have to make sure it didn’t pay too much, because they could lose their disability if it did. And then, no more writing off Moose’s food, no more HSA, and no more cheap meds. But Nate seemed like a really nice guy, and he seemed to know how Remmy felt. How hard it was to reintegrate into society after witnessing something that inherently changes you. Inside and out. This time, they made public transport didn’t make them late but catching the bus early. Coffee Plus was the station they’d met Deirdre outside of, and if they didn’t get thrown in front of a car again, then it would already be a better meeting. They’d even tried their best to clean themself up this time. Combed their hair, put on their best jeans-- the only pair with no holes or rips-- and their nice jacket. When they arrived, they had to pause a moment outside, give themself that little pep talk that usually given in front of a bathroom mirror. But Remmy’s room didn’t have a bathroom mirror, despite the landlord saying they were going to replace it two weeks ago. The little bell chimed as Remmy pulled the door open and they glanced around. There, in the corner. Right wher eNate had said he would be. He looked almost as nervous as Remmy felt, bundled up in a puffy coat, tucked into a corner, cupping his coffee. They waved as they approached tentatively. “Nate?” they asked. “It’s um-- Remmy. Hi.”

A large grin spread across Nate’s face as Remmy appeared. Thank god they actually showed up. He shifted in his seat and motioned for them to sit. Nervously, his hands fumbled with the pages of one of his old sketchbooks, one that before this morning he hadn’t looked at in years. It made him want to start drawing again, drawing things that weren’t buildings at the very least. He’d have to thank Remmy for reminding him how much he’d loved doing it. “Hey! Nice to meet you!” He held out his hand, careful not to bump into anything. “I’m so glad you came! You want something to drink?” Nate caught his usual barista’s attention and waved her over. “I personally like the lattes, but everything’s really good!”

Remmy noticed the way Nate stayed tucked into himself and close to the table, but didn’t think it was anything they needed to point out or think about. They took his hand, giving it a firm shake. His hand was large and warm and it reminded Remmy of Dario’s hand. They smiled back. “Nice to meet you, too! Finally.” They slid into the booth across from Nate, glancing around. The coffee shop was small, but had that busy, local atmosphere. It was different from any place they’d been in Bangor. “Oh, um, sure! I’ll just have a um...Americano? Thanks!” Looked back over to Nate once the lady took their order. They had their sketchbook tucked under one arm and their eyes fell onto the one Nate had on the table. “Thanks for um-- agreeing to meet me. And-and offering me a job. And...all that other stuff.”

Nate grinned and took a long sip of his coffee. “Really, it’s nothing. I uh, you seem like good people!” He chuckled nervously, trying not to think about how cold their hand was. He drummed his fingers on the top of his sketchbook and fell silent for a moment. It had been years since he’d shown his drawings to anyone when it wasn’t work related, but this...sort of was. “The job is mostly menial, nothing too exciting, but I could definitely use the assistance.” He shrugged, thinking about the kid currently interning for him. Bobby was next to useless, especially when it came to moving samples around the office. “But whether you take the job or not, I’m happy to have met you!” He began to slide his sketchbook over, his knee bouncing at a hypersonic rate. “Plus I never get to trade art with anyone! Not trade trade, but like...look over pieces...share, that sort of thing.”

“You seem like good people, too,” Remmy said back. This was nice. This felt nice. And normal. Pleasant, almost. They eyed his sketchbook, before setting theirs on the table as well, still holding tightly onto it. They’d never actually shown anyone else their stuff. Except some of the other officers at the camp. “Oh, um-- I’m not sure mine are gonna be really good enough to like...compare to yours, I’m sure. But I’m glad I get to see yours! I’ve never exactly….shared this kinda stuff before. Wasn’t exactly um-- encouraged in the troops.” Stop bringing the mood down, Rem. They shook their head. “But, I mean-- I’m good with menial things! And physical labor. Also good at running errands! Whatever you need! If um-- you decide you like me.”

Nate laughed, wringing his hands anxiously in his lap. “Oh, definitely no comparing here! That’s the worst thing artists can do, really. Everyone’s styles and strengths are so different, like…” He reached out and opened his book to a rather choppy looking portrait. “Soft lines, not my thing. But straight edges, flowing concrete, somehow that I can do.” A hand reached up into his hair and began to twirl. “I’m sorry you weren’t uh...encouraged. Art’s….soothing. Even if what you draw isn’t.” Nate had specifically not brought the book he’d kept right when he first found himself in White Crest. All the images in there were charcoal drawings of pure angst, sadness and desperation. These sketches weren’t great, but they at least weren’t morosely depressing. “Well I already think I like you!” Nate grinned, hoping he wasn’t coming on too strong. He hadn’t realized how desperately he’d needed something as normal as coffee and a job interview, even as lax as this was.

“Really?” Remmy asked. They leaned in a little more when Nate opened his book, gazing in with wide eyes. “Wow, that’s so good! You’re really good.” Hands tightening on their own book. “Oh, it-it’s okay. I don’t think I coulda done anything with it, anyway. I guess it just helps...occupy my mind. I don’t mean like..busy work, or whatever, but yeah-- soothing. Like you said, it’s...soothing…” They remembered how the group therapist had encouraged writing or drawing as an outlet. Remmy had taken quite to it. They liked drawing what they saw, copying down detail in an almost hyperfocus manner. “Well, I think I like you, too! You’re really nice and open and...not weird. If that makes sense? Not that weird is bad! I’ve just met a few...really weird people, too.”

Nate nodded, sucking down more of the hot bean juice. “Like I said, anyone can be an artist. Doesn’t matter if you do anything with it. Just so long as it makes you feel good.” He shrugged, his eyes falling to his lap and his cheeks flushing. Nate never could take a compliment. “I cannot promise that weird won’t end up popping up,” he laughed nervously. What was he supposed to say? I’m normal now but wait till I die in some freak accident and come back trying to eat your brains? “But I’m glad I’m not the weirdest person you’ve met here. I mean, I hope.”

“Hey, a little bit of weird isn’t bad. Don’t they say like, normal is boring or whatever?” Remmy grinned. “You’re not, definitely not. I think the woman I met who tried to push me into a car is the weirdest I’ve met so far.” They shrugged it off. Deirdre was a mystery they didn’t really wanna think about right now. The waitress came back with their order and they took it gratefully, taking a long sip. “Um…” they pushed their notebook over towards Nate, a little tentative, a little shy. “I-if you wanna look.” Though they would never admit it, as they weren’t sure of their own talent, their eye for detail gave them the ability to draw from life fairly well. Thin pencil lines, sketchy figures, and some doodles of animals riddled the sketchbook, an unorganized mess, unlike every other aspect of their life. Some drawings layered on top of others, like stacks of photos. They sipped their coffee again.

Nate smiled, a touch of sadness in his eyes. “I respectfully disagree with those people. I’d take normal over weird any day.” Nate’s life was already filled with too much weirdness. “Wait- like she was shoving you into a car or...throwing you in front of one?” Nate’s brow furrowed and he felt oddly protective over this person he just met. “Of course I wanna see!” He reached out, delicately turning the pages of the sketchbook. It was practically exploding with creativity. Lines and shades he’d seen but never really seen, it was so unlike his personal style and so refreshing. You could see real heart. “These are amazing, Remmington. Remmy? Which do you prefer?” He glanced up for only a moment before being sucked back into the book.

“Kinda...both? I’m not really sure. She said she wanted to test something and almost threw me into a taxi. It was fine, obviously, but I got kinda mad at her after that,” Remmy said, as if getting thrown in front of a car was a normal thing. In all honesty, it just didn’t strike them as odd. After all, they’d stuck their hands into a live case of TNT before. Was getting hit by a car really that much different? They felt their chest tingle as Nate delicately flipped through the notebook, suddenly so nervous they couldn’t even drink their coffee, just hold the cup tightly. “What? Really? Y-you think so?” Swallowed. “Oh, um-- either! Either is fine! I don’t mind.” They rolled their bottom lip between their teeth nervously. “I just...like drawing what I see. Nothing special…”

Nate’s mouth dropped open and he had to actively think about closing it so as not to be overly rude. “She- on purpose?? Yeah! I’d be mad too!” Nate nearly had a heart attack just thinking about the ordeal. But he looked back down to the drawings to distract himself. They were really good. Not professional, but that didn’t mean anything to Nate. He actually felt most professional artists were stuck up and rarely creative. “Yeah, Remmy, these are awesome!” He beamed up at them. “I like what you see.” It had been so long since Nate had really stopped to look around, flipping through Remmy’s sketches was like being unafraid to wander through town. It felt free. “You should keep this up. Seriously. Even if it’s just for you.”

Remmy couldn’t help but give a shy smile. “Th-thanks. I, um-- I will. I haven’t had much time lately between all the...stuff, but...I think I’ll try and make time.” They smiled over at Nate, finally relaxed enough again to sip their coffee. “So, um-- do you like, design the buildings and stuff? Or just do more like...blueprints stuff? I’m not-- sorry. I don’t mean to sound like...rude, but I’m not really sure what architects do, like a hundred percent? I’m totally willing to learn though!”

Nate cocked his head to the side. “Like all the getting shoved towards taxis?” He frowned, hoping Remmy wasn’t befriending people that would willingly shove them into oncoming traffic. It wasn’t entirely unheard of in White Crest, especially in the seedier areas. Yet another reason to never leave his house. “Oh, yeah! It really depends on the project, and most of what I get to do around here is restoring some of the town’s older buildings, making sure they’re up to code while maintaining the historical integrity of the design.” He smiled softly, taking another sip of coffee. “But every once in a while someone wants to build an entirely new house or business, then I get to flex my creative chops.” He sighed dramatically. “Those fun projects don’t tend to come around as often, though, so sometimes I just teach a class at the college.”

“Yeah,” Remmy sighed, “like that.” They still hadn’t parsed out Deirdre’s actual intention with doing that. Was it to see if Remmy would move? If they would let her? If they would get scare and run away? It still baffled them, but she hadn’t been eager to talk after that, so the answer would likely never come. So Remmy would concentrate on the here and now. “Wow, that’s so cool! I had no idea that’s what architects actually did...do you go to the houses and like actually help build stuff? Or do you just do more of the like...drawing and planning stuff?” They couldn’t help but be excited by all this. They’d always loved learning new things, even if public schooling had made them feel inadequate. “And you get to teach at the University?? That’s SO cool!”

Nate frowned, already feeling the twinge of protectiveness over this person he’d literally just met. Remmy had already been through so much, they needed a soft place to land, not a place where people literally threw them into oncoming traffic. But he would drop it- for now. Not like he was in any position to go hunting down this person, and to do what, exactly? Yell at them? Punch them? Neither of those things were in Nate’s wheelhouse. “I don’t do too much building, but I do get to visit the sites sometimes to help oversee everything! A lot of what I do is actually project management and organizing the construction crews, but I’ve gotten to know most of the crews around here pretty well, so they send me progress photos and stuff. It’s really cool to see an idea you have come to life right before your eyes.” Nate paused, smiling sheepishly to himself. “It’s really not that cool, most people find it kinda boring. But I love it.”

“Oh, I think that sounds amazing!” Remmy blurted, without thinking much. They reigned themself back in sheepishly. “Sorry. I just-- I don’t think it sounds boring at all! I think that sounds amazing. Getting to do something that actually changes the world around you...even if it’s just a building. And seeing it in progress? That’s just…” they trailed off a bit. “That’s incredible.” They took another long sip of the coffee, realizing it didn’t much taste like anything. It didn’t fill any sort of need inside of them. Not like it used to. “It sounds kinda lame but...when I was younger, I think I always wanted to do something that could, like, change things for the better. I guess that’s why I thought going into the military might...you know. Be like that.”

Nate’s eyes lit up. He so rarely spoke to anyone, let alone about his work, it was refreshing to be able to gush about it to someone who thought it was as interesting as he did. Well, maybe not as much, but at least Remmy was feigning interest! “I’m glad you think it’s interesting! I could definitely tell you more about it, and I mean, if you come help out, you’d get to see a lot of it first hand, too.” Nate knew exactly what they meant. It was the reason so many of his high school peers had enlisted, not knowing what else to do but needing and wanting to do something. He smiled softly, feeling his body loosen a bit from the tense ball it had been in. “I’m Sorry. If it wasn’t, I mean. Like that. Doing something for the better. Or that’s presumptuous- was it?” And he tensed right back up again as he stuck his foot in his mouth.

“Oh, yes! That would be great!” Remmy said excitedly. They had no idea someone would think they were just pretending, because Remmy didn’t have it in them to lie or pretend. “I’d love to learn all that stuff! Even if I’m no good at it, I think it’d be cool to know!” They sipped the coffee again, their legs twitching excitedly. Remmy had never been this excited before. Was this was it meant to find something they loved? “Oh, um-- I think it was, a little. I don’t um-- it’s hard to explain. I think there’s better ways to change things, but...it felt like my only option. I wasn’t the smartest or funniest or strongest. So...that was pretty much it.” They shrugged. “But, I mean-- as far as job offers go, I um-- think I’d be happy to come work for you. I-if you’re still looking.”

Nate sometimes felt like he was looking in a mirror when he talked to Remmy. They’d only known each other a short while, but he felt like he understood them in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. Sure, some of that might be how excited they were about architecture, but it was something more than that, too. Nate remembered what it felt like to be so lost, heck he was still unbearably lost. But when he did what he loved, it wasn’t quite so unbearable. It was part of the reason he hadn’t tried to just end things. Seeing Remmy light up like this, it ignited something in Nate too. “I would be more than happy to have you join the team, Remmy.” He grinned, holding out his hand more confidently than before. “Welcome to the family.”

Remmy couldn’t remember the last time they’d been this excited. They couldn’t remember the last time they’d felt this hopeful. Sure, it was just an assistant job, helping out around Nate’s firm, but it was more than anything they could’ve hoped for in coming to White Crest. Being a security guard was easy and it paid the bills, but it wasn’t exactly the most riveting job. After being in the field for so long, Remmy had found life wasn’t exciting anymore. Remmy took Nate’s hand eagerly. “Thanks, Nate. Really, thank you so much.”

@whatsin-yourhead

#remmy1

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nocturnalazure · 5 years

Text

Replies

treason-and-plot replied to your post “Here’s the thing...”

I would recommend reading your favourite RL authors for a couple of days. That never fails to stir my creative juices. And painting and drawing or indulging in some different type of creative activity often works too. ��

I’ve been doing a lot of reading recently, but so far it has failed to inspire me. :( Maybe because all of the books I’ve read were actually a bit dull!... My creative juices are flowing alright though. It’s just that I have to drag myself to open the game and spend 3 to 4 hours shooting scenes I’m not even happy with. This I’m starting to have a problem with.

shhhushhh replied to your post “Here’s the thing...”

Have you recently indulged in gameplay? I strongly recommend it when tired of staging a story.

That’s actually something I’ve considered doing. I don’t exactly enjoy playing the game per se but... I’ve had the impulse to reinstall TS4 recently (considering how much I hate TS4, imagine to which extremes I’m driven! :D). Maybe I should just cave in?

simsmidgen replied to your post “Here’s the thing...”

It's not something you can push though, do something else until your drive/inspo/mojo returns :)

Inspiration is a cruel god. -__- Fear is its evil twin.

kymmaisims replied to your post “Here’s the thing...”

You can do it! Don't worry. All writers, even the ones you're comparing yourself to, feel the same way. This is just a slump you'll get over in no time because you're strong and story telling is clearly a passion for you. You'll find your drive again simply because you love it, and we love reading what you create.

I’m always scared that a slump might be portentous of something bigger, like getting actually tired of writing that story. I would hate for that to happen, because I currently have no other creative outlet. ;_; Plus, I want to finish it, goddamn it! I owe that to all of the characters that are still very much alive in my head!

nornities replied to your post “Here’s the thing...”

Nooooo! You have ideas! You are a good storyteller! Maybe it's just the posting? So shoot and write for yourself, you can always decide if you publish. Also, I didn't notice any of what you are saying, about you lagging behind. Maybe you are too hard on yourself? Comparing apples too much with pears? I love your storytelling and your pictures!

I have also considered going back to writing for myself, no pressure and all. But it’s a hard decision to make, after years of sharing everything on the net and watching out for the reactions. I’m probably too hard on myself. :) It’s something I tend to do, like most of those who lack self-confidence! :D

#treason-and-plot #shhhushhh #simsmidgen #kymmaisims #nornities #replies

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kootenaygoon · 5 years

Photo

So,

The sky glowed light purple as Chelsea wandered down the train tracks to Red Sands. Our friendship had fizzled a bit over Christmas, while she engaged with a short-term boyfriend, but as summer approached we’d been hanging out again. She lived in a party house up in Rosemont that was covered in psychedelic paintings, and through her I’d been introduced to a local tattoo artist named Joe Nillo who specialized in avian artwork. He was in the midst of creating a trippy metaphysical version of Mother Nature, using one of her roommates as a model, and I’d written a glowing feature about him for the Star.

"There’s two quotes from that Joe Nillo story that I really love. There’s one where he compares watching Alex Grey work to ‘watching God with a sore back watering some flowers’,” I told Chelsea.

"Then the other was: ‘God made man in his image, but that doesn’t mean he looks like us and wears T-shirts. It means he’s a creator and he wants us to create.’”

Chelsea took a slug from the beer in her hand. “I like that. Except God is a she, for sure. The divine feminine giving birth to the universe.”

“I’ve always figured God would be a mix of both, like masculinity and femininity mashed together into a giant cosmic mix. Do you even believe in God?”

She shook her head. “Not God like most people understand it, but there’s definitely an energy that’s bigger than all of us. A power to the universe that’s beyond our comprehension.”

“I like that quote ‘a God comprehended is not God’.”

She turned to me, intrigued. “I’ve never heard that.”

“I picked it up in this comparative religions class in college. It’s this German hymn writer named Tersteegen. I get a kick out of that idea, that we can’t even try to wrap our heads around God, like we shouldn’t even try.”

“But we do anyways.”

“Exactly.”

As we rounded the bend towards Red Sands Chelsea was balancing on the track with her arms out, clearly tipsy. We’d been drinking for a few hours and had smoked three or four joints during that time. She always had killer weed. At least one of her roommates was a pot dealer, if not all of them, and they sustained a party lifestyle I was already too old for. At one point she lived with Blayne, who was now permanently settled out in Victoria, but now the house was occupied by her, her adorable friend Aussie Chris, and Joe’s ex Kylie.

“For me, it’s not even a choice,” she said. “I just have to create. My work just sort of flows out of me without my permission. I don’t even like thinking about a life without that creative outlet, without my writing, because it would just be empty.”

I nodded. “Plus you have that performance element. Most of my work is designed to be read in silence, but your poetry begs to be sung.”

She laughed. “I’m not singing for you tonight. Not while I’m drunk. I’d be too embarrassed.”

When we reached the opening in the forest that led to the beach, I walked in front of Chelsea so she wouldn’t slip out of her sandals as we worked our way down the slope. The horizon had darkened to a royal purple that made the ground lilac.

“So how does your friend feel about Joe spending all this time painting her? They broke up, right? Isn’t it kind of awkward he’s obsessing over an art version of her?”

“Kylie was kind of weirded out at first, but she gets it. His art is his whole life. And I think secretly she’s flattered. Even through all their fighting, he’s still spending all this time trying to get her exactly right. And I bet when he’s finished he’ll give it to her.”

“I saw the painting in his studio, with the universe growing out of her palm. Trippy shit.”

“Yeah, it’s dope. He’s been slaving over it for like a year now, adding details and layers and new elements. He works on it live at music festivals, feeding off the energy of the crowd.”

“That’s so cool. He told me he’s going to be at Kamp and Shambhala this year, and I’m going to both. I told Ed that this is the year I want to go to all the major festivals, become the resident expert.”

Chelsea took another long haul of her beer as we settled on a spot, right in the middle of the beach, to lay down a towel. This was becoming an increasingly romantic encounter and I was feeding off her flirtatious energy, even though I knew she was on the verge of road-tripping down to California for the summer. We’d established the platonic nature of our relationship many times, but tonight felt like a good opportunity to nuke that plan. I maneuvered my body under hers and she settled on my chest with her eyes heavenward.

“I heard you took naked pictures of Blayne here,” she said, after a long comfortable silence. “She showed them to my roommates.”

I took a sip of beer, not sure how to play this. “She asked me to do a photo shoot with her last year and there were just a few, yeah, that were nudes. She wanted to show off her new tattoo. I knew her from burlesque world.”

“And you guys weren’t even hooking up?”

“It wasn’t about that. It was the images I was most interested in. I feel like it’s more intimate than sex, letting someone see you like that. I actually wrote a non-fiction piece about it while I was at UBC years ago called ‘What I look like naked’.”

She rolled over, pressing her body tight to mine. She was close enough that I could smell the alcohol on her breath. “Have you done that a lot? Taken erotica shots for women?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think of them as erotica. I mean, I’ve sexted before and I’ve taken photos that are pornographic, but shoots like that are about worship. I want the women to feel worshipped. I want the images to reflect that. Reflect my obsession with the female form.”

She blinked for a long moment, her eyes in shadow.

“I hooked up with this girl in Thailand right around the end of my trip overseas a few years ago. She was a geneticist from Berkeley and she showed me these nude photos her boyfriend had taken of her in Yosemite Park,” I said.

“She took them in the exact place her mother had taken nude photos thirty years earlier. Her mother had told her that when she grew older she would want these mementos of how she looked in her prime, with the flush of youth and love. They weren’t crass or sexualized at all. They just showed this empowered girl mid-hike in love with her body and in love with life.”

“Cool.”

“I figure if that’s a gift I can give someone, then that’s pretty fucking meaningful. And honestly, those pictures of Blayne are some of the most beautiful images I’ve ever captured in my whole life.”

“I didn’t actually see them, but Kylie described them to me. She said there was one where you had her hold a little leaf to cover herself, Eve-style?”

I laughed. “Yeah, and I used the smallest leaf I could find. The whole shoot had a Garden of Eden vibe, an innocence to it. It was like going backwards in time back to Genesis, before the shame God rained down on us, and finding something pure.”

For a while we were quiet, as the wind picked up and pulled at our clothing. Chelsea kept her face against my chest, one hand stroking my ribs, as we segued back to the topic of God. I told her about my Christian upbringing, about Camp Qwanoes and how I lost my faith. I told her about how I’ve never really gotten over it.

“You’re going to find a way to believe again. I’m sure you will. I don’t know what you’re going to believe in, but you’ll find something.”

I sighed. “I hope you’re right.”

Then she was kissing me. We rolled together until I was looming over her on the blanket. She watched as I undid her jean shorts and shimmied them down her legs. Our mouths surged back and forth while my left hand stroked her legs, massaging them. I hooked her underwear with a thumb and pulled. When she began to moan moments later it sounded exactly like her singing voice, a rhythmic ululation.

“Hold on,” she said. “Hold on, hold on.”

I stopped, pulling my head back.

“I’m really into this and everything, but I can’t go there tonight. I’m sorry. My heart’s too raw, I don’t want to leave for California with any attachments, I just need to stop here, okay? Is it okay if we stop?”

I nodded. “Of course. That makes perfect sense. We’re okay.”

For the next few moments we fumbled our way through getting her clothes back on, my erection screaming disappointed. I stroked Chelsea’s hair and held her face with both hands. Sometimes I forgot she was a decade younger than me, but it was very apparent in these moments. She was a girl, open-minded but still inexperienced. I’d been consumed in the grey chaos of the Kootenays’ sexual landscape, but ordinary monogamy was the only mode she understood. It was either fall in love or don’t engage at all, which was how I used to be when I was her age. Her purity was heart-breaking.

“You’re such an awesome guy, really,” she said, apologetic. “It’s not about you.”

“Don’t say anything else about it. I understand. No worries.”

Chelsea stood up, cracked a new beer, and gazed up at the black silhouette of Elephant Mountain. She was visibly trembling. I wondered if I’d done something wrong here, if I’d fucked up our friendship irrevocably. Was everything going to be different now? It had felt right, connecting with her, but maybe I needed to fundamentally course correct how I approached relationships. I finished my beer, threw it down, then walked over to embrace her from behind. She sighed into my hug, pressing her face against mine. Then she turned to face me.

“One day I want you to take my picture.”

The Kootenay Goon

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