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izvmimi · 1 year

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WSB (and WSHB) - Chapter IV

cw: reader is called by their nickname based on their hero name. minimal violence.

Masterlist

You wake up the next morning disoriented by unfamiliar surroundings before you realize that you’re in Shoto’s bed, an empty space beside you.

Did you…

You slide out of bed, still in yesterday’s clothes, and creep out of the room gently to see him laid across the couch on his back, eyes still closed. He doesn’t look comfortable, the way his head tilts backwards awkwardly as it rests on the edge of the sofa. His arms are crossed over his chest, without a blanket even.

“Shoto?” you murmur, approaching.

His eyes open instantly and you wonder if he were ever asleep.

“Did you sleep okay?” He asks. You nod.

He’s far too kind for his own good.

---

“Did you want to leave or did you just want to be missed?”

The question weighs heavy on your head. Your legs curled up into the couch, you continued to hold the phone onto your ear, head spinning as you pondered the question. Your mother has always had a great way of shocking you back to reality, as she was doing now, and you struggled for a response.

You didn’t really want to leave. What you wanted was for the threat not to fall flat, and when it did, when instead Izuku chose to respond to the next distress call rather than respond to your ultimatum right that very moment, you packed up as many things as possible and moved into the next available apartment in a haste. It was an overreaction, as you were prone to do these days, much like now, sitting in Shoto’s apartment still, as though hiding out in your own home would remind you that you made dumb decisions in a blink of an eye.

You decide not to answer her question, instead changing the subject.

“I might consider that internship overseas,” you reply. You can practically hear her roll her eyes on the other end. Your mother has never indulged your caprices, even if she loves you dearly.

“Your response to distress shouldn’t immediately be running. Tell me you want to go because you think it’s a good idea for your career, not because you’re upset about a boy.”

You swallow hard.

He’s not just some boy is a phrase that dies in your throat, too embarrassing to say out loud. You’re not in high school anymore, holding hands as he carries your books between classes. You’re no longer hiding from prying eyes to kiss or sending each other flirty texts between missions.

You’re an adult now, and you’re no longer together.

Your mother sighs, sensing your hesitation. “Think about it longer.”

Defeated, you reply, “I will.”

“Where are you right now? You’re not face-timing me so what are you hiding?”

The fact that this woman is so astute will be your undoing. It’s your turn to sigh.

“Don’t judge me… but I’m at Shoto’s apartment. But he’s not here right now…, he’s at the afterparty.”

“Honey, leave that boy alone if you’re not serious,” she says in exasperation. You purse your lips. She’s already been merciful about the fact that you didn’t go with him to the event yesterday, so brutal honesty is warranted now.

“Okay,” you offer.

“Remember, our doors are always open. I haven’t seen you in a while. Next time come to me, not somebody else’s confused son, okay?”

This makes you laugh. You can practically hear her smiling into the receiver.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Anytime.”

---

“Can I, uh, get you ladies a round of drinks on me?”

Mineta flashes a smile, rubbing his hands together and Tessa resists the urge to kick him in the teeth, but instead smiles faux sweetly. Jirou on the other hand, does not offer Mineta this much courtesy and reminds him promptly that the open bar is free. Hagakure giggles.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t take orders for you all!” he huffs. The Casanova act subverted, he crosses his arms and stomps his foot.

“See this is why at your big age you’re still mistaken for a baby,” Mina jokes slyly. It doesn’t help that his suit appears slightly oversized. Her own short cream fit and flare dress would be considered plain, if not for her painfully extravagant faux fur coat in the same pattern as her hero costume. Tessa spends the entire night trying not to spill her drink on her but she takes up so much space it feels almost inevitable.

“Let’s try to be nice today?” Momo suggests, to which Mineta oversteps his boundaries yet again and hugs her at the waist tightly.

“You were always my favorite!” he sobs dramatically.

Denki, approaching with a drink for Jirou, takes one glance at Mineta then shakes his head.

“He never changes, does he?”

“Never,” Sero sighs as he makes his way over to the unintentional huddle of girls. “Some of us had a glow up in the interim-” he adds, running his hand through his dark hair, and flashing his reality TV smile. “Don’t you all regret not snagging me while I hadn’t yet grown into myself?”

There’s one person who would have instantly jumped at the opportunity to roast him from his gold on gold suit, open shirt, necklace and cufflinks and she’s not present, they all realize in unison.

Well, all except Tessa who sips her drink quietly. She and Bakugou had already come up with excuses, because missing a ceremony was one thing, but missing two was a concern.

“Is Tenten really not coming to this too?” Sero asks.

Hagakure shrugs. “Maybe she’s busy?”

Their eyes are on Tessa who is the closest, who tries very hard to come up with something to say. As her eyes shift, she makes contact with Bakugou who is partially across the room, in conversation with Kirishima and Izuku.

They exchange a knowing glance.

“She has a really big project that she’s been working on,” Tessa lies through her teeth.

Tsuyu gives her a look. “Enough that she can’t take a break at all? Are we sure she’s okay?”

“Yeah, I think I called this morning to see if she was coming and her phone was off, which I feel isn’t like her,” Momo adds, crossing her arms over her chest as she ponders. No one wants to say it, but it’s clear that they suspect that there’s something more behind her absence. The internet is free.

Tessa starts to sweat but only until Shoto, noticing the small commotion, finally pipes up.

“She’s fine, she stayed the night after we slept together.”

Tessa and Mina spit out their drinks in unison. Bakugou, alarmed, shifts his gaze towards Izuku who he hopes by some miracle hasn’t heard Shoto.

Alas, he heard.

In fact, he was listening intently the whole time, his attention having been pulled away from Shoji’s words of congratulations on the pregnancy (he, for whatever reason, does keep track of entertainment media) the moment your name came into the conversation.

“You did what?”

Shoto considers that his word choice may have implied something else based on the shock of everyone around him. He tries to fix it:

“She came over last night because she was upset about something and ended up-”

That’s all Izuku is willing to hear.

Shoto turns his attention to Izuku to elaborate and is immediately met with knuckles to the jaw in a punch that sends him hurtling across the venue like a missile.

The air seems to freeze for a split second, then the far too loud crash of Shoto’s back hitting a wall in his path seems to shatter the silence - it takes less than half a second for Bakugou and Kirishima to act, each man restraining Izuku by each of his arms, trying to subdue him before he goes for the second blow.

“Chill! What the fuck?!”

“Deku!”

Izuku doesn’t speak but he’s red and angry enough that he looks like he could bite, teeth bared in a harsh sneer. He wants so badly to hit him again, and he stares daggers right at Shoto who looks genuinely stunned. The shock on his face only makes him angrier, the thought that Shoto would just casually proclaim to have had sex with his girlfriend and then-

His anger dissipates and shifts to regret just as the chatter amongst the group starts.

You’re not his girlfriend. You haven’t been for months, and thus who you sleep with is not his business.

And yet…

“Are you fucking insane?!” Bakugou hisses as Izuku huffs and lets his body relax. Iida, aided by his quirk, speeds over to Shoto to mitigate damage, and Shoto considers for a brief moment bathing the entire venue in ice before he decides on cool words instead.

“Odd way to show that you care,” Shoto spits. The environment is again icy cold, despite the fact that Shoto has yet to activate his quirk, and it is so quiet you can hear a pin drop. Izuku looks up from where he’s been focused on staring at the ground to recollect himself and consider exactly why he acted so brashly, renewed irritation in his eyes. His muscles tense again as Shoto marches closer, close enough eventually that they stare at each other nearly eye to eye. Kirishima pivots to get in between them but Bakugou gives him a knowing look and the redhead accordingly steps back out of the way.

“How unbecoming, given that you just announced that you were expecting.”

Shoto’s words are like venom, drawn out and poisonous, direct and scathing as is typical of him but with a new, controlled fury behind them. Not just because Izuku had the nerve to hit him, but because of the sheer hypocrisy.

Possibly because he remembers how you looked when you showed up at his doorstep.

Izuku’s fists clench, as does his jaw, and again he considers punching a second time but at the whisper of his name from the mother of his child, a realization sets in.

When he turns, Ochaco is right by him and looks visibly upset, the blood clearly drained from her face. She’s pale enough that even her perpetually red cheeks seem to have faded in color. He’s hurt someone else, he realizes. He can’t seem to stop hurting people.

“I-Izuku, what’s going-” Ochaco starts, and before he can hear whatever she has left to say, Izuku promptly storms out of the room.

---

You had just gathered your coat and keys when Shoto finally makes it back into his own apartment, nearly startling you out of yesterday’s clothes as the door swung open. Wide eyed, your attention is called directly to the bruise covering the unscarred half of Shoto’s face and you rush over to him in shock.

“Oh my God, what happened?”

Shoto’s face remains neutral as he replies, “Midoriya happened.”

A pang hits your chest.

“What… why?” you croak out, but you can tell the specifics don’t matter as much as what they represent. The fact that you are here, right now, and what you tried and failed to do last night, must be out in the open. Something of the sort.

Shoto doesn’t respond to your direct question and instead puts away his coat. He eyes you carefully, then changes the subject.

“I see that you’re getting ready to leave. Do you feel better?” he asks.

Your stomach twists. No, but also yes. It depends on what better means. You’ve only just now turned on your phone and there’s the myriad of texts that you ignored from this morning, many of them from Tessa, that still await your response. Your chest still aches. You don’t feel relaxed, more like you are masking a general unrest that sits deep in your bones.

But you’re okay to drive, you won’t cry yourself off the road.

You nod.

He offers you a small smile. “Good.”

You hesitate for a moment, then walk over to him where he stands.

“Do you mind?” You ask, as the tips of your fingers begin to glow. He shakes his head, and you touch his bruised face gently, stimulating the cells in that region to speed up healing.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. His hand hovers over yours but doesn’t make contact.

“No problem,” you reply. You want to know more of what happened, but you know when you finally get around to replying to Tessa and Momo, you’ll probably have a better inkling than you do right now. So rather, you wrap your arms around him in a hug and press your head against his chest. He’s rigid, startled by the action, just as he was last night, but he relaxes faster this time and places a hand on your back, rubbing up and down.

“Let me know when you get home,” he reminds you as you separate.

You nod.

“I will.”

---

Turning your key into your apartment lock, you find yourself laughing despite the fact that your heart currently remains broken in two, courtesy of an old friend.

“All I’m saying is that I fight pregnant women too.”

“Kali, please!” you exclaim on the phone, giggles abounding. She’s been ranting for the past twenty minutes about how she never thought Izuku understood how lucky he was to have you, how she cannot believe you found out like this, how if her husband wasn’t still a top-ranked Hero, she’d have very quickly returned to her Vigilante ways, and it is refreshing as usual to be somewhat muted in the conversation. There’s a sudden shuffling at the other end of the line, and soon you can hear her bark at Hawks about returning her phone to her immediately.

“There’s no need for a smear campaign, Kali. We were broken up, he never did anything wrong,” you remind her.

“He didn’t technically but this still feels wrong to me and since I can’t beat anyone up I’m going on Twitter. Gonna have #dekuisadicku trending by tomorrow morning.”

You burst into giggles once again, but unbeknownst to your long-time friend, there’s tears that she can’t see that accompany the laughter, until eventually when you hang up on the phone you’re outright sobbing.

Three months is all it took. As Kali brought up, perhaps your suspicions really were right, and he was actually seeing her romantically at the tail end of your relationship. Even if you knew a single roll in the sheets could turn out this way, it still hurt that it could happen so quickly.

And knowing that everyone else knew… The sheer humiliation of it all was almost as bad as the fact that you loved him still and wished so desperately he hadn’t moved on so quickly.

If there was any hope of you returning to the Hero agency where you and Izuku once worked, the permanent resignation letter you were drafting suggested otherwise. There were other ways to be a Hero and there would be other ways to work, even if the Agency you’d previously freelanced at was one of the best in the country. Either way, after months of declining missions, it was probably unlikely you were still high on their roster for potential jobs.

Your brother would be proud of you for leaving all of this shit behind.

---

There are very few things that have been able to distract you from the pain in your chest, but Tsuyu’s terrible, croaky and off-key rendition of Leona Lewis’ ‘Bleeding Love’ is somehow one of them. Gulping down the rest of your Cassis Grape (the third of the night), you considered that Tessa’s ‘It’s Raining Men’ a few minutes ago was not actually so bad, especially given the fact that Momo was worsening the current entertainment by shaking a tambourine, equally offbeat and with an inappropriate level of grace.

There are other reasons to want to cry, you remember. Then for whatever reason, as you contemplate ordering another drink, Mineta’s purple hair suddenly comes to mind and you consider retching.

Maybe you are going insane.

“Tenten!” Tessa sees your skin go ashen and holds you close, rubbing her hands through your hair as you find yourself unwittingly laying in her lap. “Tsuyu, stop, you’re making her sick!”

Tsuyu’s ribbit ad-libs come to an end and the music dies down for a moment, while the three girls look at you. You wave them off.

“I’m fine,” you murmur, and the slight slur in your speech makes them doubt you. Tsuyu comes to squat down before you, and frowns.

“You don’t have to pretend to be okay, you know,” she says, putting down her microphone, an action that brings joy to your soul.

“We’re just happy you came out,” Momo adds, placing a comforting hand on your hip and rubbing gently. The gentle flush on her features is comforting, even if your head is spinning as you look at her. She’s very pretty, you remember, then gaze back at Tessa who appears to be staring straight ahead, scrunching her nose.

“Maybe we should have stayed in.”

The walls of the karaoke room are quite small, but of course you would never feel suffocated with your friends. In fact the closed space reminds you that you’re not alone.

“I needed to get out,” you assure them. Tessa glances back down at you for a moment, contemplating, then sticks out her tongue at you.

“Next time you ignore my calls, I’m breaking into your house.”

“Nice threat. I’ll make you tea and tuck you in bed,” you murmur back. Momo giggles, then rests her head on Tessa’s shoulder. Tsuyu mutes the karaoke machine, having given up on torturing the rest of the group, then takes a seat on Tessa’s other side. She brings her knees to her chest and sighs.

You steal a look at her for a moment. Even through the alcohol settling in, you can still recognize that this situation must be terribly awkward for Tsuyu, who is particularly close with Ochaco, and you can tell that she’s trying not to mention her in order to remain diplomatic. Will her presence here be considered picking sides? You don’t want her to pick sides.

You’re mad at her but you’re not really mad at her.

Maybe you should broach the subject yourself, to let the group know that it’s okay. Because you’re curious after all.

“Is she happy about… you know? Did she tell you anything?”

You’re mostly expecting Tsuyu to answer, and Tessa briefly stops stroking your hair as the air grows silent, but Tsuyu can see that you’re throwing both her and yourself a bone and replies.

“Yeah, she’s happy about it. They’ve been going to appointments together.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have asked. Your throat suddenly feels very dry. Tessa resumes stroking your hair and Tsuyu falls silent again. It’s too quiet and you can hear the rush of blood in your ears far too loud.

“I’m not upset.” You say out loud, but really only to yourself. “You can talk freely about everyone. We’re adults.”

“You can be upset,” Tessa reminds you.

You reply again, more forcefully, bringing yourself to an upright position which has your head spinning.

“I don’t care, Tessa.”

The resignation letter on your desktop says otherwise.

Tessa purses her lips as she looks into your eyes, then whispers “fine.” You get up shakily, then reach for the tv remote from the table, snatching it up.

“Next song is Bootylicious,” you hiss. You don’t know what you’re trying to prove in the sway of your hips and in the shrillness of your lyrics, but you’re nearly screaming at the top of your lungs as you drag Momo to her feet to dance with you. Swinging her arms back and forth, shaking your ass and prompting her to mirror you as well, maybe you’ll just wait the pain out.

After all, your friends will always love you and most importantly, you’re responsible for your own joy.

---

Izuku, wait!

Ochaco can still vividly see his turned back as she hovers over the toilet bowl again and hurls.

He didn’t stop then. He barely even hesitated, just like he didn’t hesitate to punch Shoto practically halfway across the city just moments before.

The vomit tastes acrid in her throat and her head is pounding like a bad hangover. She takes a moment to take a few more dry swallows, then positions her head over the bowl again to vomit the nothing left in her stomach.

Maybe if she throws up enough times, she’ll run out of stomach acid and purge the noxious feelings welling up in her chest instead. He didn’t wait for her. He heard her loud and clear and kept moving, despite everything - her feelings for him, the life growing inside her, the simple fact that she hasn’t spent one morning without vomiting this entire week.

Maybe he doesn’t know that last part, but still. He had proven to her what she’d suspected.

She still doesn’t have all of him. Not even close.

Does she have any of him, or is it all just an illusion?

The salty sensation of impending emesis begins to subside and she takes in a few deep breaths. This too shall pass, right?

She has to work in a couple of hours. Perhaps enough time to take another nap? She takes a look in the mirror as she brushes the awful taste out of her teeth. She glances at her phone, considering whether or not it’s too early to call her mother. It is too early.

She hasn’t talked to Izuku since the event two days ago.

But it’s okay. He’s shaken but he loves her. He loves her and the baby inside of her. He held her hand. It must mean that he’s all in for once, right?

He will look at her for once. Not this woman who showed up out of nowhere to take her place.

Her. It was always her.

She spits into the sink and looks at the dark circles under her eyes and the sallowness of her skin from dehydration.

It’s okay. This too shall pass.

#izuku x reader #shoto x reader #thoughts: izuku #thoughts: shoto #daydreams: bnha #mimi writes: wsbwshb #mimi's notes

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xbuster · 10 months

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Famitsu released an article for Sakura Wars V’s 18th anniversary with a caption praising its innovations, such as debuting aerial combat as a game mechanic. They also noted that it had a kind of diversity not limited by race and gender. The voice of character Subaru Kujou, Mie Sonozaki, quote retweeted this, reiterating Famitsu’s point about diversity not limited by race and gender saying that we didn’t live in a time where that was really considered by many when the game released.

Sakura Wars prominently featured characters from different countries, but they were always either white or East Asian (though Orihime Soletta was notable for being Italian-Japanese mixed race). Sakura Wars V changed that by including a character who was black (Sagitta Weinberg) and another who was Mexican (Rikaritta Aires). This would be the diversity of race.

Interestingly, Sakura Wars V seemingly has no diversity of gender compared to the other games. The games follow a structure of having one playable male character, the protagonist, while the rest of the playable characters are female. The second game in the series seemed to break that rule with the inclusion of Reni Milchstrasse, who isn’t included in the affection stat because Ichiro Ogami, the protagonist of the first four games, perceives Reni as a boy, but it is ultimately revealed that Reni is a girl (though there is some history behind Reni’s gender where series creator Hiroi Ouji wanted Reni to be a trans boy, but was pressured to make Reni a boyish girl… you can read Hiroi’s explanation of it in an interview here)

So while Sakura Wars V doesn’t appear to have a diversity of gender, the game’s protagonist, Shinjiro Taiga, questions Sonozaki’s character, Subaru, about their femininity.

Subaru says that they are not a woman or a man. That “Subaru is Subaru.” Throughout the game, the player is given opportunities to press Subaru about their gender, but each instance only serves to irritate Subaru further and they never say that they are a woman or a man. This implication that Subaru is transgender or gender nonconforming is strong. Subaru is the clear candidate for Sakura Wars V’s diversity of gender and the fact that Subaru’s voice actor chose to quote retweet Famitsu’s article seems to imply that she also believed the comment regarded her character.

Yet, Sakura Wars V has another example of gender diversity too. In the game, Taiga has to dress as a woman to perform onstage with the rest of his team. The OVA series Sakura Wars: New York expands upon this by having him don his feminine persona, Petitmint, more often, much to the pleasure of Diana Caprice who seems particularly attracted to that version of Taiga. Though there is no indication of his gender identity changing, he ends up regularly performing gender noncomformity. It cannot be overstated how big of a deal Subaru and Taiga’s arcs in Sakura Wars V were to how gender is explored in that game and its related media.

#sakura taisen #sakura wars #so long my love #subaru kujou #sonozaki has also been the voice of all versions of arle and klug since puyo puyo fever #thank you sakura wars v

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engineer-gunzelpunk · 1 year

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VR H Class Pocono H220 Heavy Harry, the Antipodean Behemoth ("Red And Black Steam On Southern Metals" OC)

Once the bad boy prince of the Victorian Railways fleet, the heaviest engine in Australia; Heavy Harry of Newport Works was a marvel of Australian engineering, built to surmount inclines and run the breadth and width of Victoria. He was powerful, rambunctious and unique… sole extant member of his class, too heavy to take to any track other than the North Eastern line but did his job as a crack fast goods engine well, pulling 800 tonne consists with ease. He clocked over a million miles in his short career, making the earth shake and humans topple over in his wake.

In his day, he was almost as well known to the Victorian people as the Flying Scotsman was to the British, referenced in political cartoons and interviews in The Argus ... and then he simply vanished.

Gone.

Forgotten.

Alas, he almost scrapped along with thousands of others, stripped of his plates and headlamp and left for dead on the scrap roads of Newport Works with a deteriorating boiler. Even as he rotted and slowly lost his sanity on the scrap roads, he was a powerful presence.

He gained his reprieve in 1961, but he was shorn of his naivety; he never forgot the human caprice that laid him low. He is in constant physical pain from his deteriorated boiler which carries over into his human form.

“Heavy” Harry Jack Haining; Mightiest Loco in Australia, hooligan, Anarchist and every bit the picture of an Australian larrikin, an inveterate bogan who loves his beer, footy and smokes… who also happens to be gay and very complicated. And probably a daemon. Even he isn’t entirely sure.

(“Old Harry” is an old English nickname for the Devil, and ‘to play Old Harry’ means to bring ruin, chaos or destruction on something. Appropriate for a very, very angry engine with a habit of derailing and smashing into things during his working life.

Interestingly, a “Harry” in Norway is their equivalent of a bogan, or a yobbo, someone who is working class and vulgar. He finds this very funny. )

He lives over in Newport along with his best mate, the eternal cynic A2 Class No 986 "Pluto"; his brother in arms R707 Cerberus and his sister Andri, R 761; his adopted little sister Prudence, a K-class Consolidation; and the other locos of the Newport Railway Museum/SteamRail/707 Operations… but he is coming to prefer the Island of Sodor, though he cannot ever run as his engine self there or anywhere (boiler in need of replacement, lives with constant pain; also simply too big, the poor state of Victorian rails means he could so easily break them as he did back in the day) , so he goes there as human to visit his boyfriend SpookyHenry every so often.

#Victorian Railways #VR H-Class Pocono H220 “Heavy Harry”#thomasallgrownup #real locomotive OC #Red And Black Steam On Southern Metals #The Railway Series Down Under #GunzelVerse

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jadejedi · 3 days

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Old Queer Love Letters

So, I just reread Red, White, and Royal Blue this week and was reminded of my slight obsession with historical gay love letters. I think there is something so heart-wrenchingly beautiful and devastating about these letters written between these people who so deeply love each other, even in times when they would be persecuted for that love. This is a collection of excerpts from some of my favorites, with sources included. Many of the letters written by men are from Rictor Norton’s “Dear Boy” essays, a collection of essays on love letters between men throughout history, which I highly recommend perusing if you also like to read old gay love letters (links below). All emphasis is my own.

1779- Alexander Hamilton to John Laurens

“Cold in my professions, warm in my friendships, I wish, my Dear Laurens, it might be in my power, by actions rather than words, to convince you that I love you. I shall only tell you that ‘till I bade us Adieu, I hardly knew the value you had taught my heart to set upon you. Indeed, my friend, it was not well done. You know the opinion I entertain of mankind, and how much it is my desire to preserve myself free from particular attachments, and to keep my happiness independent on the caprice of others. You should not have taken advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent. But as you have done it and as we are generally indulgent to those we love, I shall not scruple to pardon the fraud you have committed, on condition that for my sake, if not for your own, you will always continue to merit the partiality, which you have so artfully instilled into me.”

816- Yuan Zhen to Bo Juyi

“Other people too have friends that they love;

But ours was a love such as few friends have known.

You were all my sustenance; it mattered more

To see you daily than to get my morning food.”

1927- Vita Sackville-West to Virginia Woolf

“I miss you even more than I could have believed; and I was prepared to miss you a good deal. So this letter is really just a squeal of pain. It is incredible how essential to me you have become. I suppose you are accustomed to people saying these things. Damn you, spoilt creature; I shan’t make you love me any more by giving myself away like this- But oh my dear, I can’t be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that. Too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defenses. And I don’t really resent it.”

1958- Allen Ginsberg to Peter Orlovsky

“‘When I think on thee dear friend/ all loses are restored & sorrows end,’ came over & over in my mind- it’s the end of a Shakespeare Sonnet- he must have been happy in love too. I had never realized that before…

Write me soon baby, I’ll write you a big long poem I feel as if you were a god that I pray to-

Love, Allen”

1933- Eleanor Roosevelt to Lorena Hickok

“I cannot go to bed tonight without a word to you. I felt a little as though a part of me was leaving tonight. You have grown so much a part of my life that it is empty without you.”

And from a different letter that same year,

“I miss you greatly dear. The nicest time of day is when I write to you. You have a stormier time than I do but I miss you as much, I think. I couldn’t bear to think of you crying yourself to sleep. Oh! how I wanted to put my arms around you in reality instead of in spirit. I went & kissed your photograph instead & the tears were in my eyes. Please keep most of your heart in Washington as long as I’m here for most of mine is with you!”

1941- Gordon Bowsher to Gilbert Bradley

“For years I had it drummed into me that no love could last for life…

I want you darling seriously to delve into your own mind, and to look for once in to the future.

Imagine the time when the war is over and we are living together… would it not be better to live on from now on the memory of our life together when it was at its most golden pitch.”

1917- Wilfred Owen to Siegfried Sassoon

“And you have fixed my Life- however short. You did not light me: I was always a mad comet; but you have fixed me. I spun round you a satellite for a month, but I shall swing out soon, a dark star in the orbit where you will blaze.”

Sources below the cut:

Hamilton to Laurens, from the National Archives and Rictor Norton’s My Dear Boy: Gay Love Letters through the Centuries

Yuan Zhen to Bo Juyi, from Rictor Norton’s My Dear Boy: Gay Love Letters through the Centuries

Sackville-West to Woolf, from The Marginalian

Ginsberg to Orlovsky, from Rictor Norton’s My Dear Boy: Gay Love Letters through the Centuries and The Pink News

Roosevelt to Hickok, from Autostraddle.com

Bowsher to Bradley, from the BBC

Owen to Sassoon, from Rictor Norton’s My Dear Boy: Gay Love Letters through the Centuries

#jj talks #lgbtqia #queer history #history is gayyy

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sloshed-cinema · 1 year

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Crimes of the Future (2022)

The body is a tool for the people of this film’s world, but is also an instrument rife with ethical dilemmas and political implications. Experimentation is the norm, and yet some taboos remain. Saul Tenser’s body keeps creating new organs, a mutation that he harnesses with his partner Caprice as performance art. It renders him sickly and feeble, always shrouded like a wraith in a black coat or squirming like some sort of neo-neonate in a skeletal Geiger-evoking Breakfaster chair which feeds him processed slop. Yet none of his organs have a known function. It’s creation without purpose. Meaning must be found in the process of surgical excision, an intimate event which the partners share publicly. The audience observe as these outsiders enact the “new sex,” as Timlin puts it. And yes, the corporeal audience view this act as well. But this fits into the meta narrative of the work. Theirs is transgressive high art. Pulpier, pop-art versions of this exist. A man has his eyes and mouth sewn shut, myriad ears grafted onto his body. He dances as a voice instructs the audience that they must not watch or speak, but listen. Cheap and literal. But there are others who would push farther.

Even beyond performance, surgical modification is an adaptive necessity. Our technology has changed rapidly, why shouldn’t our bodies? Men exist who consume plastic, a natural adaptation for a consumerist world that churns out industrial waste at a rapid clip. Tenser reacts adversely to an offer to perform a public autopsy on a deceased boy, the first child born with this novel organ system. Yet there are higher powers and interests concerning this. The government opposes this new path of humanity, sabotaging the autopsy to make it appear vile and unnatural. And corporate interests assassinate high-level leaders of this movement. In a way this is an allegory for climate change: it isn’t profitable to certain industries to adopt green technology, so the path of least resistance is to eliminate alternatives. The government plays a role in this from a more abstract moralistic ground. Yet that doesn’t eliminate opposition. Things will change.

On paper, Cronenberg’s screenplay sounds like film student pretense, yet the power of the central performances wills this into existence. But isn’t that tradition with him? Viggo Mortensen is gaunt and ill, constantly choking and wheezing. Yet there is a conviction behind his eyes, sometimes the only part of his face visible behind his cowl. Léa Seydoux shares that drive, and there’s something about the forceful delivery of her preposterous lines which almost becomes an incantation of posthumanism. Kristen Stewart is immaculate, mousey and nervous, a voyeur who knows she should look away from this public sex but is drawn to it, wanting to become a part of something she cuckolding her.

I was pretty sure of it from outset, but it was such a pleasant reassurance in the end credits to know that Howard Shore returned to collaborate with Cronenberg. Austere Neo-baroque low brass chorales feature strongly throughout, steely and cold, suffused with keening low strings. It’s offset against floating synth fantasia arpeggio sequences and dark dance beats. The organic and the synthetic, integrated just as the novel human body is intended. Two masters still at the height of their transgressive powers after all these years.

THE RULES

SIP

Someone says ‘surgery’.

Every time Viggo takes a ride in the Breakfaster chair.

An incision is made.

A new technobabble term is introduced.

BIG DRINK

Purple plastic bars! Yum!

Caprice operates her control pad.

Tattooed organs.

#drinking games #crimes of the future #david cronenberg #viggo mortensen #léa seydoux #kristen stewart #sci fi #sci fi & fantasy #horror #horror & thriller #body horror

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mariacallous · 1 year

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I can only assume that acting – pretending, convincingly, to be someone you aren’t – is an incredibly boring, unrewarding profession if you are an able-bodied person playing other able-bodied people. That must be the case, considering how many professional actors who happen to fall into that group take on roles they perhaps shouldn’t, and are then celebrated for it by their peers – now including, of course, Brendan Fraser in The Whale.

Fraser’s casting in the film – or whether the film should even exist in 2023 – may be under even more scrutiny now it has Academy Award nominations, including one for best actor, to add to its treasure trove of accolades.

Naturally, the performance was always going to attract lots of press. Fraser dons heavy prosthetics (both physical and CGI) for his performance as a morbidly obese person, and actors wearing prosthetics or makeup for dramatic performances tend to attract plaudits (see Nicole Kidman, Steve Carell, even Al Pacino as “Big Boy” Caprice in Dick Tracy).

Prosthetic-enhanced performances get particular attention from the entertainment industry machine if the additions make the actor look what Hollywood considers to be … worse. Darren Aronofsky’s The Whale is a perfect example of this: therefore, it is considered brave; therefore, it is bait for awards. But should it be?

Based on a play by Samuel D Hunter, the film centres on a “reclusive English teacher who attempts to reconnect with his estranged teenage daughter”. A major factor in why Fraser’s Charlie is so reclusive? That 600-pound weight. If you haven’t seen the film yet, the reviews can give you an idea of its treatment of obesity, but also very clear insight into the awkwardness involved in covering such a tale for some reviewers.

There is a nasty voyeuristic delight in the description of the character’s “sloping jowls”, “jelly belly” and “meat slabs” – and a bonus comparison to Jabba the Hutt – in Variety’s write-up. In the Telegraph, there is a snide jibe about “a rounded character in more ways than one” alongside the “radiantly human” compliment about Fraser’s performance. A more personally informed take came from Little White Lies magazine, with the reviewer’s wish that the film “would have done more to dig into the prevalent notion (subconscious or not) that fat people are any less deserving of dignity, respect and love”.

Much gushing has centred on the 50 to 300 extra pounds of fat suit that was put on Fraser for The Whale, and while, yes, this does tie in with Hollywood’s continued fascination with transforming the slender and symmetrical, it feels just plain weird to see a fat suit in a mainstream dramatic film. Typically, fat suits have been mined for comedy – “a one-note joke”, as acknowledged by Fraser himself.

That’s because we are expected, as viewers, to look down on these characters. Audiences have been invited to laugh at actors wearing fat suits over and over again, and it frequently overlaps with ableism, classism and racism – a whole extra side of nastiness: Fat Bastard in the Austin Powers films, Sherman Klump in The Nutty Professor, Rasputia in Norbit, Rosemary in Shallow Hal, Thor in Endgame, numerous characters in the work of David Walliams and Matt Lucas, Fat Monica in Friends, and also, in case you forgot, Joey.

Plenty of people have genuinely thought actors playing fat when they aren’t fat is hilarious. We could go into the academic theories behind this – is the laughter due to feelings of superiority (à la Thomas Hobbes and René Descartes), incongruity (Immanuel Kant and Arthur Schopenhauer), relief (Herbert Spencer and Sigmund Freud) – or is it punitive (Henri Bergson)? Could it be all of those? I wouldn’t know, because I don’t find fat suits inherently funny. Does that mean I think it’s a sign of progress that fat suits are being mined for misery instead, as in The Whale? Actual actors with the body type required – where possible – would certainly be better; so too would stories that don’t call for deep pity or even disgust from their audience.

I thought Fat Monica dancing was cute in the mid-1990s, because it was recognisable to me as a fat teenager. The Klump family interrupting each other over dinner in the first Nutty Professor film (we will studiously ignore the sequel) reminded me of my own family’s mealtimes. But then I started to notice the sneering behind the performances. I was compared to these characters by bullies who didn’t have a lot of creativity when it came to insults, and by the time Fat Thor arrived in 2019 I was tired of seeing Hollywood’s comedy cosplay.

Fraser has spoken with genuine sensitivity and thought about the experiences of people with disabling weight issues on the publicity trail, and his portrayal is far from Fat Bastard. He has said he hopes the film will help to “end the bias against those who live with obesity”. I’m so grateful for that, so desperate am I for fat characters onscreen who aren’t there to be laughed at. But will the fat suit’s move away from funny to sad eventually make its way around to the dignity Fraser wanted to portray? I really hope so.

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rolladerbie · 3 months

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Muse List

HERE'S MY MUSE LIST UNDER THE CUT CUT CUT---

Just gonna put it out there, that on top of my OCs, I have the ability to play the following if asked (In no particular order):

Knock Out, Breakdown, Soundwave, Shockwave, Starscream, Megatron, Pharma, Ratchet, Bumblebee ---

Trying to think of who all I've rped in the past and I'm having a hard time remembering. -IF- there's someone Canonical that you'd like that you don't see on THE LIST, please feel free to grab me by the ears and point me in that direction-- even if I need a little handholding through it. I'm willing to write anyone. (Besides, I'm a degenerate and enjoy holding hands.)

𝕄𝕖𝕔𝕙𝕤

Failsafe ; Decepticon BioWeapons Engineer - Alt: B-2 Spirit

Very likely a Sparkeater, we simply don't know for sure.

Cannibalizes parts from deceased mechs

Vivisection is the word of the day.

Failsafe is a cold, calculating individual who prides himself in his ability to make infectious diseases jump from Organic to Mechanic. As such, he likes to target Cybertronian colonized planets and plant an organic creature with one of his viruses. Then he just sits back and watches the world go up in flames. In a nutshell, he's playing Plague Inc and everyone else has to suffer for it.

Moshpit ; Autobot Wrecker - Alt; HMMWV

Heavy duty punch boy

Secretly the dad friend

Actually a soft boy

Favorite color is pink and he loves hello kitty.

Moshpit is a massive mech that does massive damage on a massive scale, even when he doesn't mean to. 'Bull in a China Shop' is the best way to describe him, and it's not something that he can readily help. Him big. He has adopted Derby as his little sister, and he's ferociously protective of her- however, it's rare that they get to see one another anymore. He's everyone's dadfriend and he has the habit of adopting jusssst about everyone.

𝔽𝕖𝕞𝕞𝕖𝕤

Derby ; Autobot Wrecker; Alt- 1986 Chevy Caprice - Custom Paint

Was a cop before she was a Wrecker.

Suffering from a TBI (Traumatic Brain Injury)- She doesn't remember before the last thirty-seven years.

Behavior has changed from rigid police officer to rough and tumble demolitions expert due to TBI.

Derby was once a rather strict member of the Iacon Police before the War. She rather enjoyed her job because she found it fun to solve mysteries. When the war occurred, she served with the Autobots for some time, but having seen certain settlements being accosted so severely, she joined up with the Wreckers. Risking her life to keep the weak safe was what she signed on for. After millions of years of fighting, she suffered an injury so bad that she's lucky to be alive. Who she use to be is almost completely gone, however.

Mix-Tape ; Neutral Code Cracker / Mnemosurgeon; Alt- Boombox

Is actually a minicon and is thus quite small

Was a radio host before the war and values music like it's a lost artform.

Has been used by, and threatened by both sides of the war.

Mix-Tape never lived a very exciting life before the war. In fact, she ran a radio show about musical therapy and how certain tones can alleviate stress in a frame. When the war happened, she briefly joined the Autobots as a code maker and breaker. She was kidnapped by the cons, and then kidnapped back by the Autobots. This 'passing of the ball' got so bad that she eventually defected both sides and tried to hide out. This didn't work, however. She's been on the run ever since.

Lockjaw; Former Dinobot turned Decepticon ; Alt - Dilophosaurus

Has been treated like a pet since her Decepticon reformation.

Is a berserker, where her animal side takes over when she enters a blind rage.

Fires superheated plasma from her mouth.

Lockjaw was once a proud Dinobot, and a scout to boot. She was able to infiltrate most areas and send back information to her comrades in arms. This job, however, got her caught, and as a result, suffered a worse fate than death: Reformatting. Not only was this a painful process, it involved enough trauma to cause her to forget everything she ever stood for. Now she's a die-hard Decepticon loyalist who will lose herself to her more predatory side in a fight.

Scrape; Autobot Former Dispatch, now Battle Medic; Alt- 1965 Mustang

What medical License?

Hands On Learning

The leg bone's connected to the hip bone---right?

Scrape was content being a dispatch officer for the police before the war. She even entered into communications when the war started! But as the Autobots began to lose numbers, she found herself on the frontlines trying to do what she could to save lives. Her Medic mentor was felled in battle, and she did everything she possibly could to patch them up. They still ended up dying. She paints herself as a Medic to honor them, and actually does her best to learn as she goes.

The Furies; Decepticon Mercenaries; Alt- F-18 Hornet

(From left to right) Medusa, Fury and Harpy

Medusa is the 'baby', the 'nice one' and is very ahodere.

Medusa has an outlier ability that makes it to where locking optics with her for a period of time can shut down basic motor functions. She is unaware she has this ability

Fury is the eldest, the bitch, and very tsundere.

Fury is a tactician and has the habit of being a control freak

Harpy is the 'middle child', can be a touch aloof and is very Yandere

Harpy is by no means an autobot, but she romanticizes the forbidden relationships between autobots and decepticons.

The Furies are a trine of Seeker Mercenaries that are called in when all else fails. They are skilled assassins who have no qualms about taking out others among their ranks as well as Autobots. Of the three, Harpy takes the most prisoners because she 'falls in love' with those she interrogates and when she grows bored she disposes of them. Of the three, Medusa is something of a pacifist, but that does not mean that she does not support her 'sisters' in their endeavors. Fury rather enjoys the act of interrogation, and the three of them together is something of a horror to endure.

ℍ𝕦𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕤

Raziel; Human with Cybernetic Enhancements ; Ex Military

Took part in a military program to test cybernetics. Currently her left arm, spine and heart have been replaced.

Having worked so close to the Military, she has been given the opportunity to study Cybertronians and their anatomy thanks to POWs that have been taken by the government since the Roswell Crash.

Learning what makes a Cybertronian tick, she then synthesized pain killers for them.

Raziel wasn't always the equivalent of a Repo!Man, harvesting organs from fallen Cybertronians. She was once a doctor for a secret branch of the military that dealt with Off-World issues. Having been brought on to study Cybertronian frames, she has sickened her mind with knowledge that no human has a right to know. She lost her arm to one of these POWs, and with her advanced knowledge on their biology, had a new arm made. All of her time working with these bots gave her something of a rapport with them. If they cooperated and let her learn as much as she could, she'd see to it they were released. Come to find, according to the military, Death is a quick release. Having left the military behind, she moved on to stalking Cybertronian battle grounds to harvest organs before the clean up crew could arrive for either side. She's now made herself a little chop shop where Mechs and Femmes of all kinds come for various acts. Whether it's a paint job, a tire rotation, or a t-cog replacement, she's there for the job.

She's also synthesized drugs for Cybertronians. The downside is, they're highly addictive...

#transformers rp #transformers oc #cybertronian oc #human oc #maccadam's #oc artwork #oc art #sushi speaks

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