#though i imagine hers would end up being inspired more by felines rather than by birds like kaveh's is | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nattikay · 3 years

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So I saw this post while browsing toa tags the other day. While I don’t think being obsessed with the school mascot automatically makes Toby a furry (though it is funny to joke about lol) since “being a furry” actually just means “being a fan of anthropomorphic animals” and doesn’t necessarily require any form of costuming or interest in such, it did get me thinking, hmmm...if he was a furry, what would his fursona be? 🤔 And from there I started wondering what Jim’s and Claire’s would be as well because y not ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

BUT WAIT, I hear you say--haven’t you already drawn the trio as werewolves and wolfwalkers etc.? Wouldn’t those be their fursonas??

Well yes....but actually no.

I guess it’s a little hard to explain, but there’s a nuance between “[person] but as an animal” and a proper “fursona”. While a fursona is an animal character used to represent its person, it doesn’t have to physically resemble them at all as you would expect [person]-but-as-[animal] to. For example, if you were to design me but as a cat, you’d probably give it light brown fur and green eyes like I have irl. But my fursona, unlike my human self, actually has blue fur and purple eyes. You can give your fursona matching physical traits to your own if you want to, and some people do, but most use only a pinch of their irl appearance, if any at all.

The choices people make when designing their fursonas vary wildly from “it looks like me irl” to “it looks like who I want to be” to “I just really like this color scheme” to “this particular color/marking holds deep personal meaning to me” to “this particular pattern represents a particular defining moment in my life” to “idk it looks cool and i vibe with it” etc. etc. etc. Everyone has different reasons of varying depth for the decisions they make in designing their fursona.

Therefore, to design a fursona for Toby etc., it’s less a question of “what would this character look like as [insert species here]?” and more of “how would this character choose to present himself with his own [animal] character?”

And that’s a much trickier game than just transferring a character aesthetic to a new species. ^^; We have to kinda dive into the characters and makes some guesses about how they, if given infinite creative freedom to design an animal avatar with no rules or limits, would choose to present themselves.

So all that said, here’s what I came up with:

Starting with Toby because he’s the one who inspired the post. I think Toby might choose a wolfdog fursona. A lot of people who choose wolves as fursonas consider themselves to be overwhelmingly loyal to their friends, a trait that fits Toby very well. However, while Toby likes to be “cool”, I don’t think he really thinks of himself as much of an “alpha” type--he’s more of a sidekick, and he knows that, and he’s ok with that. He’s the wingman. So what better way to incorporate that than to add dog into the mix? Man��s best friend=Jim’s best friend. Sociable, humorous, and unwaveringly loyal. Wolfdog it is!

With the species decided, we can move on to the design itself.

I can’t imagine any form of Toby in anything other than warm colors. This is extra emphasized by the flamelike patterns on his legs and tail, which both speaks to his desire to be totally awesome-sauce as well as acts as an allusion to his flaming warhammer. It’s fairly common (not universal, but common) for people to give their fursonas a more “ideal” physique than the person actually has as a sort of way to live by proxy physical goals or fantasies they’ve been unable to attain irl for whatever reason. Given that we’ve seen Toby struggle with fitness from time to time, it wouldn’t shock me to see him take this route. His wolfdog self is still relatively short and stocky, but it’s all muscle, babey.

This fursona is strong, fun, boisterous, and generally just kicks butt. Concentrated awesomesauce flows through his veins. Just don't mess with his friends, or you’ll feel the flames!

Moving on to Jim. Jim was the hardest to nail down, and most definitely the hardest to keep my personal biases out of oof. Which I may have failed to do anways because yes, ok, I made my favorite character a blue feline, sue me ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ But hear me out first!

For Jim I ultimately settling on a cheetah/lion hybrid.

Cheetahs, in a way, are sort of the underdogs (er...cats?) of the feline world--at least, in their local ecosystems. They are built wholly for speed, not strength--and as such, just about every other large predator in their environment has them beat when it comes to raw strength. Remind you of a certain Trollhunter? plus the long lanky legs. don’t forget those lol

However, because of this disadvantage, cheetahs...usually surrender. They know it’s not worth it to defend their kill from larger, stronger opponents, so they’ll give it up and just catch something else. This aspect doesn’t quite fit our protective, selfless protagonist all too eager to risk everything to save his loved ones--so a pure cheetah may not be the right choice.

So what animal is brave and protective? That’s where the lion part comes in, of course!

Why not just make him a pure lion? Well, a little similar to making Toby a wolfdog instead of a pure wolf. A straight-up lion feels a little too “chad” for our sweet Jimbo. Too much of a jock.

Jim has the humble underdog nature of a cheetah as well as the bravery and fierce protective drive of a lion. Cheelion? Leetah? idk, but let’s design it!

Like Toby and warm colors, I don’t think I can possibly associate Jim with any color but blue. While it’s never directly stated, given that we’ve never really seen him wear any other color (with the exception of the Eclipse armor), I think it’s pretty safe to assume that that’s his favorite. Blue sweater, blue jeans, blue shoes, even his backpack and bedsheets are blue. So naturally, his fursona would be predominantly blue as well! Plus some yellowish accents to (somewhat) match the natural colors of his chosen species(s).

I imagine he originally designed the character without horns, but then added them after becoming the Trollhunter, since it became such a major and impactful aspect of his life.

His lion’s mane also continues down his back in imitation of the “mantle” found on baby cheetahs. This youthful feature could subtly represent the fact that he’s been forced to grow up too fast and take on so much responsibility so young--so his fursona can still be young and carefree as long as he likes even while his real self struggles with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

This fursona is relaxed, calm, and confident. He’s not just cool--he’s crispy!

Lastly but not leastly, we have Claire. Out of the three, I think Claire was actually the easiest to choose--or at least, I had the clearest idea of what I thought she might go for.

Claire is a bit of an interesting duck, because while she’s shown to be fairly popular at school, she’s definitely far from the stereotype of The Popular Girl™. Yes she’s smart and pretty, but she’s also a little spunky or even a bit quirky--she’s a theatre kid, she’s a huge fan of hard rock band Papa Skull, and while I wouldn’t quite call her “rebellious” per se, she’s certainly willing to bend some rules if she feels the situation calls for it (not telling her parents that she was going to the concert with Steve, literally sneaking into Jim’s basement to try to find out what was up with him, etc).

That said, I think Claire might go for a hyena fursona--something a little out of the box, but not totally out of left field. (she also shows a slight Gurl Power™ streak here and there “the staff was not meant to be wielded by man--” “I am not a man!!!”) and if you know anything about hyenas...well, yeah lol)

I think Claire would lean into her punk-rock “rebellious” side with her fursona design. This character is completely free of the pressure of being the councilwoman’s daughter and having to maintain her mother’s public reputation, and thus allows Claire to express a less restrained side of herself. She has a bold semi-edgy color scheme with bright accents (and some earrings to match her person’s hair clips) while still remaining feminine and (her own brand of) fashionable.

This fursona is spunky and sassy; she’s spicy and sweet all rolled up into one. She knows what she wants and she’s not afraid to chase it down. She lives her own life and she’s dang proud of it.

....sooooo yeah there’s my take on what Toby’s, Jim’s, and Claire’s fursonas could hypothetically be. And I guess since this post was inspired by a joke about Toby’s infatuation with the school mascot, here’s just some quick thoughts on how they might approach fursuiting to end us off:

Jim I don’t see as much of a suiter. He might try it once or twice if given the opportunity, but at the end of the day it’s not really his cup of tea--he’d rather act as the “handler” for his friends, if anything.

Toby and Claire, on the other hand, I could definitely see as suiters. In fact, with her interest in acting, Claire would probably particularly enjoy it--she’d be one of those suiters who really gets into character, absolutely refuses to break the magic publicly (outside of any actual medical emergency), and popular at cons because she just performs so well.

Toby, meanwhile, would be the more chill type--uses his normal voice in-suit, isn’t really too stressed about “breaking the magic”, just kinda hanging around like he would normally except “look I’m a talking dog, cool right?”.

also while I was typing this it occurred to be that since Eli is canonically a cosplayer then he could be a fursuiter as well; in his case i imagine he actually made his own suit it’s a protogen and it’s full of little LEDs and other electric gadgets, it’s not the prettiest thing ever as sewing is not his forte but boy did he try!! good for him. good for him

#so anyways I put way too much thought into this...enjoy I guess?#trollhunters #tales of arcadia #toby domzalski #jim lake jr #claire nuñez #furry #my art

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cannibalisticapple · 5 years

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So around a week or two ago I sent an anonymous ask to @corndog-patrol suggesting Villain Mic finding a Cat!Shouta. When I saw it on my phone in the car, I had to stop myself from reading until I could get home and look at it in full on my computer. It has been so much better than I could have ever imagined.

Seeing all the doodles and artwork so far has been a HUGE inspiration for me, and I ended up writing this over the past week. Because I am physically incapable of writing anything short, it kinda ballooned to almost 8k words, partially because I ended up adding to it as more art was posted. The majority of it was written before the bowtie pic though, including the opening scene. (Fun fact: I originally called Shouta “Pepper”.)

It’s been a while since I’ve posted, well, anything to Tumblr, so apologies for any weird formatting issues! And thanks again to @corndog-patrol for making such a great Villain Mic AU! Anyways, enjoy!

The Adventures of Puddles

Given his known fondness for cats, most of Shouta’s friends and colleagues often teased him about how getting hit by a Quirk that turned him into a cat would be a dream come true for him.

They were wrong.

The hero-turned-feline felt thoroughly irritated as he loped down the street, the heavy downpour soaking him thoroughly and weighing down his thick black fur with water. He’d been turned into a cat while heading to UA just that evening, and since then he’d been rather unhappy. Nemuri had laughed her head off when she found him halfway to her apartment with his goggles around his neck and his capture weapon dragging along the ground behind him, which really hadn’t helped much.

Considering he’d been found by Nemuri relatively fast, he should be safe and dry right now, but then Nemuri had taken him to UA. Logically it made sense of course, Shouta would be safe there and he’d have easy access to a support network to find a way to reverse the transformation. Unfortunately, he hadn’t accounted for how the kids would react. One of them had sighted Nemuri carrying him inside, and Nemuri had no hesitation dumping him on the student with a sadistic grin while she went to meet with the other staff.

After spending an hour being assaulted by his students cooing over him and ruffling him from twenty different directions at once (literally), he’d desperately craved some space and alone time. The sight of Snipe and Cementoss sneaking around with cameras and phones ready, clearly intending to take photos of his ordeal, had been the last push he needed to jump the wall and get away from UA for a bit. He knew the area well enough, he should be safe to walk around a couple hours even as a cat. Key word: should.

It was just his luck he’d get chased by someone’s dog for what must have been half a mile, ending with him lost in an only vaguely familiar part of town. His attempts to find his way back had only succeeded in making him more lost over the ensuing hours, the vaguely familiar scenery giving way to buildings he absolutely did not recognize. And of course, it also had to start raining shortly after that.

Right now, he just wanted to get out of the heavy rain. He was wet, cold, tired, and felt sore in ways he didn’t even know possible until being turned into a cat. Turns out having your body undergo a radical physical transformation tended to put some stress on muscles and preexisting injuries. Go figure. At least his dry eye hadn’t seemed to transfer over, but that didn’t make him any less stressed.

The feeling only amplified when he stepped in a puddle and proceeded to plummet into it with a startled yowl, water splashing everywhere. Of course this sidewalk would have a giant hole in it that flooded with water and turned into a miniature, cat-sized bath. The hole was deep enough his head barely stuck above the water, the chilly temperature making him shudder. He scrabbled at the edges with an annoyed growl, trying to pull himself out.

“Hey, you okay little buddy?” The voice behind him made him freeze, the fur on his back standing on end. Shit. He knew that voice. His head whipped around to see a man crouching behind him, and while he wasn’t wearing his costume, Shouta couldn’t think of anyone else with a loud voice who also sported a stupid mustache like that. This had to be Present Mic.

Great, just great, he thought sarcastically. For some odd reason the idiot wasn’t wearing a raincoat in this weather, his long blond hair partially pulled into a bun with the loose strands plastered to his face and shoulders by the rain. How the guy could even see with all those water droplets on his glasses was beyond Shouta. “Oh man, I always said someone was gonna fall into this stupid thing. Come on, let’s get you out.”

Shouta silently glowered at the villain as he reached out to him but made no effort to push him away. Trying to get a good grip on the pavement was tricky with the rain making everything so slippery. Maybe if he could figure out how to get his claws to pop out, but he’d yet to figure out a lot of his new form’s functions. Frankly, the fact he could walk at all was a miracle considering he’d never used a four-legged body before.

So the sulking cat allowed the blond villain to carefully slip his hands around Shouta’s... armpits? Well, his hands went between around the edges of his front legs and shoulders, so, close enough—and pull him out of the hole. Rather than put him down like he expected though, Mic shifted his hold to carry the grumpy feline, turning to walk to a nearby apartment building. “Come on, let’s get you inside so we can dry you off. My place is just over there!”

...And now Mic was taking him to his apartment. Crap. Shouta naturally began to struggle, wanting to get the hell back to UA instead, but Mic had a surprisingly strong grip. In the end he gave up and just sulked in the villain’s arms with a grumpy scowl as the blond draped a towel over him, resigned to his fate. At least he was out of the rain.

“Oh man, you’re lucky I found you!” Mic commented, looking down at him with a concerned frown. “A lil’ fella like yourself could drown in all that rain!” He switched on the light switch by the door, illuminating one of the most rundown and shabby apartments Shouta had ever seen. And considering his meager salary as an underground hero, he’d seen a lot of crummy places while apartment hunting. “You’ll be safe here, just make yourself at home you little cutie!”

Shouta just silently scowled at his current predicament. He just wanted to get warm and dry and take a nice, long nap until this stupid Quirk wore off. (It better wear off.)

The Quirk did not wear off.

Morning found Shouta still very much a feline, much to his ire. He woke up well before Mic, the blond snoozing away in his bedroom (Shouta had chosen to sleep on the couch, which had literal patches sewn on it, he’d never seen that outside cartoons), and Shouta felt no small amount of irritation at the fact he still had this stupid feline body. At least he was warm and dry now. That didn’t make him any happier about the situation though.

A glance at the bathroom mirror had revealed himself to be particularly mangy and stocky rather than sleek and agile-looking like most cats. His long hair had turned into thick, shaggy fur, the black coloration adding an air of dirtiness as opposed to the soft and fluffy feeling exuded by Mic’s actual cat. Sprinkles, if the name written on the food bowl was accurate.

Speaking of the food bowl, Mic was now beaming down at Shouta as he sat next to the now-full bowl. “Come on, it’s safe to eat!” Mic goaded—nay, practically pleaded with him, his mouth pulled into a pout as he looked down at Shouta. “You have to be hungry, little guy!”

Shouta just glowered at him, ignoring the bowl. Nope. Not gonna eat that. He might be a cat for now (seriously this stupid thing better wear off on its own), but he was NOT going to eat cat food.

Mic sighed, seeming to accept the fact as he turned to begin rifling through the cabinet. Good, looks like he got the picture and was looking for something else to feed him. “It’s the bowl, right?” he muttered. Wait, what? Mic turned around holding a cracked plastic soup bowl, dumping another scoop of kitty kibble into it before setting it next to Shouta. “There! This bowl doesn’t smell like Sprinkles, so it should be good, right?”

He beamed down at Shouta, clearly proud of his understanding of cats. Shouta just stared at him blandly, making no move to touch it, and Mic soon deflated. “Eh, you’ll get hungry try it eventually,” he muttered, turning away with a sigh and trudging off to his bedroom. Shouta watched him leave with a blank face, still pointedly ignoring the bowl of cat food.

As he sat there Sprinkles sauntered over and plopped down on the floor next to him, blinking her large eyes at him as she studied him curiously. Normally, Shouta would be happy to be in the presence of a cat, especially one who seemed as sweet and friendly as Sprinkles. Seeing as he himself was currently a cat, however, he found his joy slightly diminished. He couldn’t exactly pet her with paws, which sucked since her fluffy white fur looked particularly soft and silky.

For now, he settled for patting her leg with his paw to try to satiate the urge. Sadly, it did not have the same effect as running his fingers through her fur. He sulked up until he heard a gasp, and turned to see Mic staring at him with sparkly eyes from the door to his bedroom. He bounced over with a giant grin and bent down next to them. “So adorable!” he gushed, rubbing Shouta’s head affectionately.

At this point, Shouta’s broody mood outweighed the urge to claw off his hand.

“So, I already have Sprinkles,” Mic mused aloud, “So what do you think of the name... Pickles?”

Scratch that. Shouta proceeded to do so literally, highly satisfied by the startled and pained yelp from the blond.

“Ow! Ow! Okay, not Pickles! Ouch, that really hurts!”

Day two of being a cat. Shouta was now covered in clothes while Mic loudly rooted through his dresser.

“Where is that shirt?” Mic grumbled to himself, tossing a pair of jeans over his shoulder. Why he apparently stored pants and shirts in the same drawers, Shouta had no idea. Why did a person need this many clothes? Granted, he barely bothered with more than the minimal amount needed himself. But still.

Also, what was that guy even aiming at? Shouta was sitting in the doorway, not even fully in the room!

Mic made a sound of triumph as he held up a shirt in an eye-searing chartreuse, on the more yellow end of the spectrum. A fact Shouta knew only because he’d spent an hour arguing with one of his students over demanding to use the color in their costume two years ago. Why. Why did anyone have clothing in that shade.

Mic turned around with a grin, but his smile quickly faded to a look of confusion. “Puddles? Puddles, where are you?” Shouta’s eye twitched, still displeased with the name (seriously, what was with this guy’s preoccupation with English words?), but it beat literally every other suggestion the villain had. Even if he didn’t like the whole reminder of being pulled out of a puddle.

He gave a displeased mrow and Mic blinked and bent down next to the discarded pile of clothes, lifting up a pants leg to see Shouta’s eyes glowering up at him. “Oh, there you are, you silly baby!” Shouta glared at him, willing all his disdain to show through his eyes. Mic was unfazed. “Aw, geez, now I need to wash the hair off this stuff!” Mic playfully scolded as he started picking up the clothes.

You literally threw it on me, Shouta thought silently. You have no one to blame but yourself for this. He waited patiently for Mic to lift the clothes off him, depositing them on his bed to be washed later. Shouta took silent pleasure in the glimpse of black hairs stuck to them.

Mic pulled on the eye-searing shirt while Shouta continued to sit and brood, chattering all the while. “Man, I am so stoked to see this band tonight! I feel kinda bad leaving you alone here all day when you’re still getting used to the place, but you’ll have Sprinkles to keep you company so you shouldn’t be too lonely!” He grabbed what Shouta presumed to be his work uniform and folded the shirt over his arm, giving Shouta a final pet as he strode past him. Shouta remained in place, pointedly ignoring him as he continued to sulk and brood.

Approximately ten seconds later Mic returned, looking notably dejected. “Your bowl is still full,” he said glumly. “Are you seriously on some sort of hunger strike?” Shouta made a rumbling noise halfway between a meow and a grumble, and Mic groaned, dragging his hand down his face. “C’mon, Puddles, I’m on a limited budget here! Do I need to steal expensive food for you?”

Shouta responded with a pointed glare. He would NOT condone Mic stealing cat food for him. As a hero, he couldn’t allow even the most trivial of crimes, even if they had good intentions behind them. Plus, he had a feeling the blond would try feeding him a wet canned food next, and the thought of the slimy-looking can-shaped meat chunk just made him want to shudder.

(He pointedly ignored the fact he stole one of the pieces of chicken from Mic’s dinner last night when the blond wasn’t looking. He was a cat right now, cats did not need to obey any laws, and snagging food from someone’s plate wasn’t exactly illegal anyway.)

“I still have that concert tonight so it’ll have to wait until tomorrow,” Mic sighed, and then nodded to himself with a look of renewed resolve. “I can’t let you starve though! We’ll have to improvise for now!” He marched off to the kitchen, and Shouta followed silently, letting himself feel a glimmer of hope. That hope was soon rewarded when he found Mic rooting through the fridge, pulling out a can of sardines.

Not my first choice but I’ll take it. Shouta trotted over as Mic put it on a paper plate, hopping onto the counter to begin chowing down before he could even pick up the plate. Relief visibly flooded Mic’s face as he ate, his shoulders slumping and a breath of air escaping him. “Oh thank goodness, I was getting worried there! Kinda picky for a stray though, aren’tcha?” Shouta just rumbled in the back of his throat, too busy eating to respond otherwise.

“Welp, I gotta run if I want to get to work on time,” Mic said, glancing at the clock. “See you later, cool cats! Sprinkles, make sure Puddles doesn’t get into trouble while I’m gone!” The white cat meowed in response, and with a jaunty wave Mic departed, the click of the door shutting and locking ringing particularly heavily in the ensuing silence. Shouta’s head snapped up, eyes locking on the door.

Okay, he’s finally gone. Time to see if I can find an escape route. Shouta had no intention of staying here absolutely longer than necessary; the sooner he found someone he knew, the better. Finishing off the sardines, he leaped off the counter and made his way to the door, determined to get out.

Ten minutes of trying to open it later, he found his resolve faltering though. Cat paws just weren’t good for turning round doorknobs, even with the advantage of knowing how they worked. And that didn’t even account for trying to just reach it. There were no convenient surfaces near the handle to stand on, so he spent most of those ten minutes just hopping up and down trying to reach it.

As he found himself clinging to the knob with all four limbs trying desperately not to slide off, he finally conceded this probably wouldn’t work.

Letting himself fall to the ground, he proceeded to sullenly slink to the rest of the apartment to search for an alternate route. He’d neglected to explore the apartment the previous day beyond the bathroom and the main living space, as he’d rather not look around a villain’s place too much. Beyond the whole “don’t intend to stay more than a day” thing, he didn’t really feel keen on the “invasion of privacy” thing. The man might be technically a villain, but honestly, Shouta viewed him as more of a nuisance than dangerous.

After checking the window in the living room and confirming it would be even more of a hassle to open than the front door, he reluctantly turned his attention to the bedroom. The door was half-closed, and he felt apprehensive as he crept towards it because, again, invasion of privacy. He’d only sat outside the door that morning because Mic was being noisy and he was curious. He hadn’t been able to see a window then, but there could be one on the wall outside his view, and if he got lucky it would be open. So he nudged open the door, looking around, and—

............

That was a lot of Eraserhead merchandise.

Shouta just stared at the collection of posters and other objects in the corner where two dressers met, as if staring would make it disappear or somehow become... something else. Anything else. But nope, it all stayed in place, from the folded shirt to the homemade banner with ‘ERASERHEAD’ written in large English letters.

I don’t even HAVE merchandise. What the actual hell. Those looked like replicas of his capture weapon and goggles, though the color was slightly off, and... Was that a plushie of him? Hopping onto one of the dressers and prodding at the small doll curiously, he confirmed it was, indeed, a hand-made plushie of him.

Mic returned several hours later to Sprinkles pawing at Shouta as he hid under the couch. Mic, naturally, just assumed Shouta was spooked and proceeded to spend about half an hour trying to coax him out. Shouta pointedly ignored his cooing and just remained curled up in the safe embrace of the darkness, wishing desperately he could unsee what he had seen.

Day three of being a cat. Shouta had finally emerged from his spot under the couch to dine on more sardines, having resumed his usual cool demeanor after the initial shock and embarrassment at seeing the shrine. What shrine? Shouta saw absolutely no hand-made plushies or other merchandise of himself, Mic’s room was absolutely normal. Well, as normal as a bedroom belonging to Present Mic could be.

More important than nonexistent merchandise, he was starting to wonder if the Quirk had a time limit. Was he doomed to be forever a cat? No, no, he’d give it a week before he started to panic. A lot of long-lasting Quirks had a week-long time limit, there was no reason to assume it didn’t have a limit. No need to freak out just yet—

What was that spot?

Shouta froze, transfixed by a yellowish dot moving on the floor next to him. Gaze following it intently, he tentatively slapped his paw over it, only for it to appear on top of it. He blinked in mild surprise, and when he withdrew his paw the spot didn’t move with it instead, remaining in the exact place on the floor.

Had he been human he would have frowned at it, so for now he settled for squinting. What is this thing? After a few seconds the weird spot moved away and bounced in a small circle along the tile floor. Eyes narrowing, he slowly crept towards it and pounced again, only for it to once more appear atop his paw.

Another confused blink, and he quickly retreated, circling it warily. He slowly reached out to tap it, watching the spot overlap with his dark fur before quickly withdrawing his paw. Nearby he heard Mic give a soft giggle, which he chose to ignore as he inspected the spot more thoroughly. Obviously it wasn’t a bug, or even anything physical.

Is it a light? he thought. It was the most reasonable explanation. But what kind of yellow light is that small and able to move like that? The only light he could think of were—wait.

Shouta abruptly froze as the spot zoomed away, just staring into space as gears clicked into place in his mind.

Did I seriously fall for a laser pointer? he thought in disbelief. Another soft giggle from Mic drew his attention to the blond, and he confirmed his suspicion instantly upon seeing him pointing a pen-like device towards the wall. His left hand pressed against his mouth as he watched the two cats from a distance, an amused smile peeking through his fingers.

I fell for a laser pointer, Shouta mentally reiterated in mild shock.

In his defense, his new eyes had a more limited range of color so he couldn’t exactly tell the light was red. Had he been able to see its color, he would’ve made the connection right away. Somehow, his newfound red-green colorblindness had slipped his mind with everything else going on. Come to think of it, that hideous shirt Mic wore yesterday might not actually be that hideous. Huh.

As Shouta stared at him Mic’s smile faded, his hand lowering from his mouth as he frowned. He looked kind of... disappointed? Shouta blinked, briefly confused by the change in expression, until he saw the laser zoom past his paws again. Oh. Mic was still trying to play with him. Yeah, Shouta got pretty dejected too when his own cat lost interest.

As he watched Mic’s shoulders slump he felt a twinge of guilt, and decided to take pity on the man. He abruptly spun and pounced onto the light, the laser bouncing wildly as Mic startled. As the laser swerved away and Shouta chased after it, he snuck a glance at Mic to find him grinning brilliantly, his eyes sparkling. That looked much better than the sad look he’d been sporting.

Shouta was only doing this because he was bored. Cats had very limited options for mental stimulation, it was only logical to take advantage of a distraction when he had the chance. The fact it made Mic happy had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all.

Day four of being a cat.

Shouta was learning more about Mic than he ever wanted to, and not just because he was forced to inhabit the same space as the man. No, Mic had apparently decided that cats made perfect receptacles for venting.

Shouta felt ready for a villain to burst through the wall and end his misery now as Mic laid on his bed, venting to him in a manner eerily reminiscent a teenage girl. The comparison was more apt than Shouta expected actually, given the man’s obsession with appearances and melodramatic tendencies in his villain persona. He kind of reminded him of an unholy fusion of Ashido and Jirou.

So far he’d heard everything. Rants about the awful music selection played at the convenience store on the way to his job. The atrocious battery life of his cell phone and the hassle of carrying a charger everywhere. The apartment manager who always drew out and loudly over-enunciated her words after she first noticed his hearing aids, making it even harder to understand her (actually a valid grievance, Shouta admitted).

And Shouta just sat there with a grumpy look, trying to convey his utter lack of interest through his sour glare. Part of him contemplated just leaving, but he had actually been quite comfortable sitting on this pillow before Mic came in and flopped onto the bed with an exasperated, “You won’t believe the day I’ve had!” Aside from the noise, this pillow was still quite comfortable, much moreso than the couch, which was worn enough he could feel the springs creak under his weight. So he just tried to ignore the venting.

It was not as easy as he hoped.

“—And then there’s my shitty job—god I hate that place!” the blond muttered, poking Shouta’s ear. His ear twitched away from the touch, just squinting at him with disdain. You seem to hate a lot of places, he thought sarcastically. “They treat me like shit!” Most “villains” would try destroy a place if they really hated it that much.

“It’s all just so horrible!” the blond finished with a dramatic groan, while Shouta watched on with absolutely no sympathy. Screw this, the couch is lumpy but at least it’s quiet there. He was about to get up and leap away when the blond perked up, a bright smile lighting up his face. “But y’know what makes everything better?”

No, what? Shouta thought sarcastically, knowing he’d find out either way.

“Eraserhead!” Wait what? Shouta tensed at the mention of his name, staring wide-eyed and starting to feel rising panic as Mic began gushing about him. “Seeing him always makes me so much happier!” Okay, he really should have seen this coming, since the villain was pretty overt about his romantic intentions towards Shouta in... literally every encounter they had. “He’s my boyfriend y’know? Sooo cute!” Wait, wait, what—no, back up!! We’re not dating— “He kicks my ass a lot but only ’cuz that’s his job!”

Don’t say it like! That makes it sound like an abusive relationship!! A distressed hiss nearly escaped Shouta, but it was silenced by the all-consuming panic and embarrassment that had gripped him. Mic had a dreamy-looking smile on his face, his eyes almost glittering as he loudly proclaimed, “I love him a lot!”

Oh my god. He really IS a teenage girl. Shouta felt like he was watching a disaster movie play out in real time, and in a way he was. The disaster that was Mic’s delusional take of their relationship. Did this idiot even understand how healthy relationships worked!? Why do you even love me so much!?

Maybe his feline features were more expressive than he thought, or maybe Mic was just in a mood to gush over him, because the blond gave a dreamy sigh and proceeded to elaborate.

“Man, you should see him in action. He’s so graceful and agile, like a cat.” More literally than you know right now, Shouta thought sullenly. “And he totally doesn’t back down even if the other guy’s, like, ten times his size!” That would be a sixty-foot-tall person, Mic. That would be unrealistic and just makes me sound reckless. “And he manages to take them down with nothing but his skills and his awesome scarf!” I wish I could take down a sixty-foot-tall giant with just that.

“And plus, he totally punched a reporter in the face this one time!” Mic continued, and that one admittedly caught Shouta’s attention. Usually people highlighted that incident as a bad one, not a good quality. “It’s just, there’s so many heroes out there who only seem to care about the press, y’know?

“Don’t get me wrong, I love big and flashy stunts as much as the next guy—I mean, as long as I’m not, you know, actually facing All Might myself, haha, oh thank god he’s retired now and that won’t ever happen—but some of them just feel... hollow.” Mic waved his hand with a vague frown. muttering. “Like, they do it more for the cameras than a feeling of doing good, I guess?

“But Eraserhead,” he breathed with a small smile, rolling onto his side to gaze at the totally nonexistent shrine as he rambled, “He doesn’t care about that stuff. He’s willing to put his life on the line to save everyone! Hell, that poster of him over there” which does not exist “doesn’t show it, but he has this big scar under his eye. Like this, see?”

He twisted his torso to face Shouta again and traced a crescent-shaped line under his right eye, mirroring the one currently visible on Shouta’s face at that very moment, seriously how dense could a guy be!? “And you know how he got it?” Mic asked, and yes, he did. It was hard to forget having his face slammed into the pavement and ground against it by a Noumu while his students were watching nearby—

“He got it protecting his students, barely even a full week after meeting them.”

The sheer reverence in Mic’s voice silenced any snarky internal commentary, Shouta just blinking slowly. Any lingering traces of the dopey smile had faded by this point, replaced by a more serious look he rarely saw on the blond. “Eraserhead almost died then. I heard he was lucky to even still be able to see. I sent him a card of course, and took over his patrol route for him until he got better,” wait, was THAT why there wasn’t a massive spike in crime while he was gone, “but man, it was such a close call...”

He sighed, letting his head flop back onto the mattress as he stared into space. “It’s just... He went to work expecting a normal day, and instead he ended up facing a giant ambush of, like, two dozen guys or more. And he just went in anyway, knowing he’d probably die. And that—that takes a lot of guts. Guts, and heart.”

Shouta remained silent, just... staring at him. Slowly he slumped atop the pillow and rolled onto his side, staring into space. He had a lot to think about now.

Night four of being a cat. Shouta was currently in Mic’s bed. Repeat: Shouta was currently in Mic’s bed.

Don’t move, he silently commanded himself, staring wide-eyed into the darkness as he remained perfectly still. At some point after listening to Mic confess his undying love he’d fallen asleep, and apparently Mic had taken it as invitation to use him as a teddy bear. The sleeping blond had one arm tossed over Shouta essentially trapping him in place, the hero-turned-feline pressed close to his front. By “close”, he meant he could feel Mic’s breaths tickle the fur on his ears, feel his steady heartbeat against his back.

Had he been human Shouta would probably be blushing right now. Actually, he might still be doing so underneath the thick fur judging by how warm his face felt. This was the most intimately close he’d gotten to another person in... well, ever. Aizawa Shouta was not a tactile person by any means. ...But even with his limited experience he’d never been this physically close to someone.

They were sharing a pillow, for crying out loud!

Part of him wanted to worm his way out and abscond to the couch, pretending this never happened, but... at the same time, he didn’t really want to move. Mic’s body felt so warm. The arm draped over Shouta didn’t feel heavy, but instead oddly comforting. The rhythm of Mic’s heartbeat and the steady rising and falling of his chest gently pushed against his back, providing a silent lullaby that put him strangely at ease.

This was so illogical. Mic was a villain—well, more of a public nuisance, but still—Shouta shouldn’t feel so safe around him. But something about being pressed so close to the blond, half-covered by the blankets and with his head laying against the surprisingly soft pillow, just filled him with an odd sense of contentment.

He could feel Mic shift in his sleep, unconsciously pulling Shouta just a little bit closer. “Soft,” he mumbled, the word slurred and quiet, barely recognizable, yet still full of a deep fondness that tugged at Shouta’s heart. He exhaled slowly before closing his eyes, willing the tension to fade from his body as he curled a little closer to Mic.

Just one night won’t be too bad. I just need to make sure he never finds out I’m the cat.

Day five of being a cat. Shouta took back anything nice he ever said about Mic.

“How do you like your new bowtie Puddles?” Mic asked enthusiastically, hugging a very unenthusiastic Shouta with a giant grin.

“Mow,” he replied dejectedly. This is the worst thing I’ve had to endure in my entire life.

“I agree!” Mic proclaimed cheerfully.

“Mow.” No, you don’t, or you wouldn’t be doing this to me.

Now that he was aware of his current colorblindness, Shouta had no idea what the bow tie actually looked like, but he didn’t think any color scheme could make it look less tacky. It had polka dots. Nemuri might claim Shouta had a horrific fashion sense (not that he cared enough to agree or disagree), but even he acknowledged that a polka dot bowtie was the epitome of stupid looking.

Sprinkles mewed loudly as she pawed at Mic’s leg, blinking up at them with those large green eyes of hers. Similar to Shouta, she also wore a bowtie, this one a sparkly sequined thing that might be either green or pink. Unlike him, Mic positioned it so the bow was on the back of her neck, which Shouta found to be a perfectly practical and overall lovely choice for a female cat. Clearly she was used to being dressed up, as she made no fuss over it.

“What’s that, Sprinkles?” Mic asked, bending down and finally releasing Shouta from his hold. Shouta promptly began tugging at the bowtie with his paw, silently cursing his lack of opposable thumbs to aid in removing it. His tiny toes couldn’t get a good enough grip to do anything but pat it, much to his dismay.

While he sulked over that Mic held out his arms, Sprinkles jumping into his hold without further prompting. As she did her poofy tail coincidentally whacked Shouta in the face, making him jolt and sneeze. He shot her a sour look, while Mic just laughed as he swept her up and hugged her to his chest. “Hey, you did that on purpose, didn’t you?” he accused playfully. The white feline meowed and bumped her head against his chin, eyes sliding shut as she purred.

The accusation made Shouta’s eyes narrow, his glare growing harsher. Mic snickered at his expression before turning his attention back to Sprinkles, his grin softening to something more gentle and fond. “I get what you’re doing. You’re just jealous of all the attention I’m giving Puddles, aren’t you?” He adjusted his grip to scratch her chin and Sprinkles seemed to melt in his arms at the attention, a look of pure bliss on her face. “But you don’t need to be jealous. You’re still my adorable sweetheart.”

As he watched the pair Shouta felt his ire melt away, replaced by a sense of peace and contentment. The love and adoration in Mic’s face as he gazed down upon Sprinkles was nothing but genuine, the relaxed slump to her body an indication of total trust and happiness.

A guy who cares about cats that much can’t be that bad, he thought to himself quietly.

Half an hour later, he rescinded that thought when Mic posed with him and Sprinkles, all three wearing matching hats and bowties as he tried to angle his phone for a good selfie. He silently vowed to get his paws on that phone and dump it in the toilet as soon as he had the chance.

Day six of being a cat.

Mic had returned from his job a few minutes prior, which was just as well since Shouta had unfortunately confirmed that operating a laser pointer without thumbs was hard. He had a feeling Sprinkles had been more frustrated by the erratic movement and blinking of the dot than usual during his attempts to play with her. At some point she’d clocked onto Shouta as being the source of her frustration, because she had decided to ignore the laser in favor of jumping at him.

“Wow, you two did a lot of roughhousing today, huh?” Mic asked as he sat on the floor with Sprinkles in his lap, running a brush through her fur. Strands of black had gotten mixed into her otherwise pristine white coat, the usually fluffy and silky texture more ruffled and messy from their small wrestling match. Shouta himself looked no better; he could see white furs spot his paws, almost seeming to glow against his own pitch black coat.

He had taken refuge atop a cabinet in the far corner to get away from Sprinkles, and now took advantage of his vantage point to just... observe them. Mic clearly brushed Sprinkles often judging by her reaction. She purred contently as he gently dragged the brush along her head, her ears briefly flattening beneath the bristles before popping back into their usual perky position. She leaned into the strokes, arching her back slightly while her cheek rubbed against his chest.

The sheer love in Mic’s expression was visible to anyone, his smile so much softer than Shouta ever thought the loud and hyper man to be capable of. Plucking a few lingering strands of black fur, he set the brush down and lightly nudged her off his lap. Sprinkles hopped off his lap and strutted away, the blond watching with obvious fondness.

Those warm green eyes turned to Shouta, making him stiffen. “Okay, your turn,” he said, patting his lap invitingly. When Shouta didn’t move he got up and walked over, stopping next to the cabinet. “Come on, time to get down.”

“...Mrow,” Shouta responded in a surprisingly meek way. I would, but I’m kinda stuck, he thought sheepishly. Climbing the cabinet had been one thing, but now that he was on top of it... well, the drop to the floor looked much higher than he thought.

This is so illogical, he thought sulkily. As a human he’d made plenty of larger jumps (with the support of his capture weapon of course), but as a cat the drop seemed a lot bigger. He also lacked the fine-tuned reflexes and familiarity with his body he’d developed from years of training with it, so he felt considerably less confident about his ability to safely jump from such a height without hurting himself in some way.

Mic seemed to pick up on his unease, a small frown settling on his face. “Hey, Puddles, are you nervous?” he asked. “Here, come on, just hop on down. I’ll catch you, okay?” He held out his arms, and Shouta blinked, slow and catlike. Seriously? He was asking a cat to jump into his arms? The rational part of him scoffed, since he knew a normal cat wouldn’t be able to understand such a thing.

But... the less rational, cat-loving part of him, understood. How many times had he tried to coax a cat to jump down from a branch, to leap right into his open arms, logic be damned? Seeing that earnest look on the blond’s face, the encouraging little smile silently asking him to trust him... It made something feel content in Shouta’s chest.

And so, he jumped.

His jump was clumsy and awkward, his mobility just as hindered by his lack of familiarity with this body as he suspected. One of his hind paws ended up catching on the edge of the cabinet, turning a would-be graceful leap into a fumbling tumble. Mic shot forward and caught him, the drop to his arms nowhere near as long as it would be to the floor.

Shouta blinked dumbly as he stared up at the blond, cradled almost like an infant. He had a perfect view of the blond’s smile, relief clear in his face. “Oof! Almost slipped there! Don’t worry though, I got ya buddy.” He carried Shouta over to where he’d left the brush and sat on the floor, rolling Shouta onto his stomach with the feline settled in his lap. He picked up the brush and pulled off the fur already caught in the bristles before he began running it through Shouta’s fur, the strokes light and gentle.

Shouta tensed, memories of painful attempts to brush his own hair flashing through his mind. Tugging his brush through particularly bad knots sometimes felt just as painful as getting slammed into the wall by a villain, and he didn’t look forward to feeling it all over his body. To his surprise the strokes were light and gentle though, each one strangely soothing, and—dare he say it... nice.

He practically melted in Mic’s lap as the bristles stroked through his thick fur, Mic using his free hand to pluck individual white furs that the brush couldn’t capture. “I bet you’ve never been brushed before, have you?” he mused aloud. “You look like you’ve lived your whole life on the streets, you poor thing. Don’t worry though, those days are over.”

Shouta gave a throaty hum, his eyelids sliding shut. It was exactly the kind of thing he had told his own cat when he’d first brought her home, some distant part of his mind noted. He didn’t know how much time passed with Mic brushing him, his mind slipping into a content haze.

It felt like all too soon Mic finished, setting the brush down. He didn’t nudge Shouta off just yet like he did with Sprinkles though, instead pulling Shouta into a small hug. The mellow haze which had consumed his senses lifted slightly at that, a single golden eye peeking open as he felt the blond scratch his ear.

“Hard to believe it’s been a little under a week since I found you.” Mic had a gentle smile as he stared down at Shouta, his eyes soft and lidded. “It already feels like you’ve been part of the family a lot longer.” His hand fell away from Shouta’s head, joining his other arm to wrap around him in a slightly tighter hug. “It might be silly, but I’m glad you’re here—it gets quite lonely at times. Pathetic, I know.”

The blond gave a self-deprecating chuckle while Shouta just sat in his arms, staring forward blankly. Right now, he could feel nothing but pure love radiating from Mic, his genuine and powerful fondness for what he believed to be a normal cat quite evident despite only knowing “Puddles” for less than a week. And hearing him call himself pathetic so easily didn’t sit right with Shouta.

Before he knew it he’d twisted in Mic’s hold and bumped his head against the man’s chest, purring lowly as he rubbed his head against him. He could feel the blond perk up, sitting a little straighter. “Oh! You’re a cuddly kitty!”

Shouta just kept purring, eyes sliding shut as he felt the blond gently scratch his back.

This, he thought distantly, was contentment. This was happiness. Just being in the arms of someone who cared about you, and showing you cared about them back, even if just a little.

Maybe being stuck as a cat wasn’t so bad after all.

Morning seven found Shouta rousing to consciousness slowly, his eyes feeling crusted shut and refusing to open. His muscles felt notably more sore than they had the past week, making him groan lowly and curl up a little tighter. Ugh, stupid cat body... He forced his eyes to blink open, and for a moment he was confused.

Doesn’t the room seem a bit... brighter? He frowned, squinting blearily at the shrine (not a shrine, what shrine, those were just random posters of a random guy who happened to resemble him) which seemed a bit more colorful than he remembered. The sand crusting his eyes made it hard to focus, and he reached a hand to rub it away before pausing. Wait a minute, is my hand human?

Behind him Hizashi slowly stirred to consciousness as the mattress shifted, a distant part of his mind registering it dip heavily to the side. A sleepy little moan slipped past his lips, barely audible to even the keenest ears, his eyes drowsily fluttering open to see something dark and furry in front of his face.

Puddles? he thought hazily, but as his vision came into focus his still-drowsy mind quickly registered that it was not his feline. No, it was the back of a human head, a man sitting up on the other side of his bed. A flash of peach near the blankets drew his eyes to an arm with a starburst-shaped scar on the elbow, the blanket falling slightly as the man lifted his torso and wait his back was totally bare, holy shit this guy’s totally naked and he’s in my bed. Any lingering drowsiness vanished instantly as he bolted upright.

“What the fuck!?” Hizashi screamed as he bolted upright, Quirk unconsciously activating in his shock.

Shouta flinched and sat straight up, his hair whipping around his face in the voice-fueled blast of wind as he gripped the blanket against his chest. Well, the Quirk finally wore off at least. Okay, he doesn’t have his glasses yet. Hopefully he won’t be able to recognize you and you can just run before he gets them—

“Wait, wha—ERASERHEAD!?”

So much for that. As Mic’s voice devolved into a high-pitched squeak of horror Shouta rubbed at his eyes with a quiet groan, doing his best to ignore the sudden silence that fell over the room. After a few seconds past he turned his head slightly to look at the blond, finding him staring at him with an ashen look of shock and disbelief, mouth open but for once producing absolutely no noise. Only took waking up next to me in bed to finally get him to shut up.

“So,” Shouta said awkwardly. “Got any pants I could borrow?”

#erasermic #aizawa shouta #aizawa x hizashi #yamada hizashi #mha #fanfic #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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betterdaysareatoenailaway · 3 years

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Random Review #3: Sleepwalkers (1992) and “Sleep Walk” (1959)

I. Sleepwalkers (1992) I couldn’t sleep last night so I started watching a trashy B-movie penned by Stephen King specifically for the screen called Sleepwalkers (1992). Simply put, the film is an unmitigated disaster. A piece of shit. But it didn’t need to be. That’s what’s so annoying about it. By 1992 King was a grizzled veteran of the silver screen, with more adaptations under his belt than any other author of his cohort. Puzo had the Godfather films (1972 and 1974, respectively), sure, but nothing else. Leonard Gardner had Fat City (1972), a movie I love, but Gardner got sucked into the Hollywood scene of cocaine and hot tub parties and never published another novel, focusing instead on screenplays for shitty TV shows like NYPD Blue. After Demon Seed (1977), a movie I have seen and disliked, nobody would touch Dean Koontz’s stuff with a ten foot pole, which is too bad because The Voice of the Night, a 1980 novel about two young pals, one of whom is a psychopath trying to convince the other to help him commit murder, would make a terrific movie. But Koontz’s adaptations have been uniformly awful. The made-for-TV film starring John C McGinley, 1997′s Intensity, is especially bad. There are exceptions, but Stephen King has been lucky enough to avoid the fate of his peers. Big name directors have tackled his work, from Stanley Kubrick to Brian De Palma. King even does a decent job of acting in Pet Semetary (1989), in his own Maximum Overdrive (1986) and in George Romero’s Creepshow (1982), where he plays a yokel named Jordy Verril who gets infected by a meteorite that causes green weeds to grow all over his body. Many have criticized King’s over-the-top performance in that flick, but for me King perfectly nails the campy and comical tone that Romero was going for. The dissolves in Creepshow literally come right off the pages of comics, so people expecting a subtle Ordinary People-style turn from King had clearly walked into the wrong theatre. Undoubtedly Creepshow succeeds at what it set out to do. I’m not sure Sleepwalkers succeeds though, unless the film’s goal was to get me to like cats even more than I already do. But I already love cats a great deal. Here’s my cat Cookie watching me edit this very blog post.

And here’s one of my other cats, Church, named after the cat that reanimates and creeps out Louis and Ellie in Pet Sematary. Photo by @ScareAlex.

SPOILER ALERT: Do not keep reading if you plan on watching Sleepwalkers and want to find out for yourself what happens.

Stephen King saw many of his novels get adapted in the late 1970s and 80s: Carrie, The Shining, Firestarter, Christine, Cujo, and the movie that spawned the 1950s nostalgia industrial complex, Stand By Me, but Sleepwalkers was the first time he wrote a script specifically for the screen rather than adapting a novel that already existed. Maybe that’s why it’s so fucking bad. Stephen King is a novelist, gifted with a novelist’s rich imagination. He’s prone to giving backstories to even the most peripheral characters - think of Joe Chamber’s alcoholic neighbour Gary Pervier in the novel Cujo, who King follows for an unbelievable number of pages as the man stumbles drunkenly around his house spouting his catch phrase “I don’t give a shit,” drills a hole through his phone book so he can hang it from a string beside his phone, complains about his hemorrhoids getting “as big as golfballs” (I’m not joking), and just generally acts like an asshole until a rabid Cujo bounds over, rips his throat out, and he bleeds to death. In the novel Pervier’s death takes more than a few pages, but it makes for fun reading. You hate the man so fucking much that watching him die feels oddly satisfying. In the movie, though, his death occurs pretty quickly, and in a darkened hallway, so it’s hard to see what’s going on aside from Gary’s foot trembling. And Pervier’s “I don’t give a shit” makes sense when he’s drilling a hole in the phone book, not when he’s about to be savagely attacked by a rabid St Bernard. There’s just less room for back story in movies. In a medium that demands pruning and chiseling and the “less is more” dictum, King’s writing takes a marked turn for the worse. King is a prose maximalist, who freely admits to “writing to outrageous lengths” in his novels, listing It, The Stand, and The Tommyknockers as particularly egregious examples of literary logorrhea. He is not especially equipped to write concisely. This weakness is most apparent in Sleepwalkers’ dialogue, which sounds like it was supposed to be snappy and smart, like something Aaron Sorkin would write, but instead comes off like an even worse Tango & Cash, all bad jokes and shitty puns. More on those bad jokes later. First, the plot.

Sleepwalkers is about a boy named Charles and his mother Mary who travel around the United States killing and feeding off the lifeforce of various unfortunate people (if this sounds a little like The True Knot in Doctor Sleep, you’re not wrong. But self-plagiarism is not a crime). Charles and Mary are shapeshifting werewolf-type creatures called werecats, a species with its very own Wikipedia page. Wikipedia confers legitimacy dont’cha know, so lets assume werecats are real beings. According to said page, a werecat, “also written in a hyphenated form as were-cat) is an analogy to ‘werewolf’ for a feline therianthropic creature.” I’m gonna spell it with the hyphen from now on because “werecats” just looks like a typo. Okay? Okay.

Oddly enough, the were-cats in Sleepwalkers are terrified of cats. Actual cats. For the were-cats, cute kittens = kryptonite. When they see a cat or cats plural, this happens to them:

^ That is literally a scene from the movie. Charles is speeding when a cop pulls alongside him and bellows at him to pull over. Ever the rebel, Charles flips the cop the finger. But the cop has a cat named Clovis in his car, and when the cat pops up to have a look at the kid (see below), Charles shapeshifts first into a younger boy, then into whatever the fuck that is in the above screenshot.

Now, the were-cats aversion to normal cats is confusing because one would assume a were-cat to be a more evolved (or perhaps devolved?) version of the typical house kitty. The fact that these were-cats are bipedal alone suggests an advantage over our furry four-legged friends, no? Kinda like if humans were afraid of fucking gorillas. Wait...we are scared of gorillas. And chimpanzees. And all apes really. Okay, maybe the conceit of the film isn’t so silly after all. The film itself, however, is about as silly as a bad horror movie can get. When the policeman gets back to precinct and describes the incident above (”his face turned into a blur”) he is roundly ridiculed because in movies involving the supernatural nobody believes in the supernatural until it confronts them. It’s the law, sorry. Things don’t end well for the cop. Or for the guy who gets murdered when the mom stabs him with...an ear of corn. Yes, an ear of corn. Somehow, the mother is able to jam corn on the cob through a man’s body, without crushing the vegetable or turning it into yellow mash. It’s pretty amazing. Here is a sample of dialog from that scene: Cop About To Die On The Phone to Precinct: There’s blood everywhere! *STAB* Murderous Mother: No vegetables, no dessert. That is actually a line in the movie. “No vegetables, no dessert.” It’s no “let off some steam, Bennett” but it’s close. Told ya I’d get back to the bad jokes. See, Mary and Charles are new in town and therefore seeking to ingratiate themselves by killing everyone who suspects them of being weird, all while avoiding cats as best they can. At one point Charles yanks a man’s hand off and tells him to "keep [his] hands to [him]self," giving the man back his severed bloody hand. Later on Charles starts dating a girl who will gradually - and I do mean gradually - come to realize her boyfriend is not a real person but in fact a were-cat. Eventually our spunky young protagonist - Madchen Amick, who fans of Twin Peaks will recognize as Shelly - and a team of cats led by the adorable Clovis- kill the were-cat shapeshifting things and the sleepy small town (which is named Travis for some reason) goes back to normal, albeit with a slightly diminished population. For those keeping score, that’s Human/Cat Alliance 1, Shapeshifting Were-cats 0. It is clear triumph for the felis catus/people team! Unless we’re going by kill count, in which case it is closer to Human/Cat Alliance 2, Were-cats 26. I arrived at this figure through my own notes but also through a helpful video that takes a comprehensive and complete “carnage count” of all kills in Sleepwalkers: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmt-DroK6uA

II. Santo & Johnny “Sleep Walk” (1959) Because Sleepwalkers is decidedly not known for its good acting or its well-written screenplay, it is perhaps best known for its liberal and sometimes contrapuntal use of Santo & Johnny’s classic steel guitar song “Sleep Walk,” possibly the most famous (and therefore best) instrumental of the 20th century. Some might say “Sleep Walk” is tied for the #1 spot with “Green Onions” by Booker T & the M.G.’s and/or “Wipe Out” by The Surfaris, but I disagree. The Santo & Johnny song is #1 because of its incalculable influence on all subsequent popular music.

I’m not saying “Wipe Out” didn't inspire a million imitators, both contemporaneously and even decades later…for example here’s a surf rock instrumental from 1999 called “Giant Cow" by a Toronto band called The Urban Surf Kings. The video was one of the first to be animated using Flash (and it shows):

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So there are no shortage of surf rock bands, even now, decades after its emergence from the shores of California to the jukeboxes of Middle America. My old band Sleep for the Nightlife used to regularly play Rancho Relaxo with a surf rock band called the Dildonics, who I liked a great deal. There's even a Danish surf rock band called Baby Woodrose, whose debut album is a favourite of mine. They apparently compete for the title of Denmark’s biggest surf pop band with a group called The Setting Son. When a country that has no surfing culture and no beaches has multiple surf rock bands, it is safe to say the genre has attained international reach. As far as I can tell, there aren’t many bands out there playing Booker T & the M.G.’s inspired instrumental rock. Link Wray’s “Rumble” was released four years before “Green Onions.” But the influence of Santo and Johnny’s “Sleep Walk” is so ubiquitous as to be almost immeasurable. The reason for this is the sheer popularity of the song’s chord progression. If Santo and Johnny hadn’t written it first, somebody else would have, simply because the progression is so beautiful and easy on the ears and resolvable in a satisfying way. Have a listen to “Sleep Walk” first and then let’s check out some songs it directly inspired.

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The chords are C, A minor, F and G. Minor variations sometimes reverse the last two chords, but if it begins with C to A minor, you can bet it’s following the “Sleep Walk” formula, almost as if musicians influenced by the song are in the titular trance. When it comes to playing guitar, Tom Waits once said “your hands are like dogs, going to the same places they’ve been. You have to be careful when playing is no longer in the mind but in the fingers, going to happy places. You have to break them of their habits or you don’t explore; you only play what is confident and pleasing.” Not only is it comforting to play and/or hear what we already know, studies have shown that our brains actively resist new music, because it takes work to understand the new information and assimilate it into a pattern we are cogent of. It isn’t until the brain recognizes the pattern that it gives us a dopamine rush. I’m not much for Pitchfork anymore, but a recent article they posted does a fine job of discussing this phenomenon in greater detail.

Led Zeppelin’s “D’Yer Maker” uses the “Sleep Walk” riff prominently, anchored by John Bonham and John Paul Jones’ white-boy reggae beat:

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Here it is again with Del Shannon’s classic “Little Town Flirt.” I love Shannon’s falsetto at the end when he goes “you better run and hide now bo-o-oy.”

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The Beatles “Happiness is a Warm Gun” uses the Sleep Walk progression, though not for the whole song. It goes into the progression at the bridge at 1:34:

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Tumblr won’t let me embed any more videos, so you’ll to travel to another tab to hear these songs, but Neil Young gets in on the act with his overlooked classic “Winterlong:” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RV6r66n3TFI On their 1996 EP Interstate 8 Modest Mouse pay direct homage by singing over their own rendition of the original Santo & Johnny version, right down to the weeping steel guitar part: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VT_PwXjCqqs The vocals are typical wispy whispered indie rock vocals, but I think they work, particularly the two different voices. They titled their version “Sleepwalking (Couples Only Dance Prom Night).”

Dwight Yoakam’s “Thousand Miles From Nowhere” makes cinematic use of it. This song plays over the credits of one of my all-time favourite movies, 1993′s Red Rock West feat. Nicolas Cage, Lara Flynn Boyle, Dennis Hopper, and J.T. Walsh https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tu3ypuKq8WE

“39″ is my favourite Queen song. I guess now I know why. It uses my fav chord progression: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kE8kGMfXaFU

Blink 182 scored their first hit “Dammit” with a minor variation on the Sleep Walk chord progression: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sT0g16_LQaQ

Midwest beer drinkin bar rockers Connections scored a shoulda-been-a-hit with the fist-pumping “Beat the Sky:” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YSNRq0n_WYA You’d be hard pressed to find a weaker lead singer than this guy (save for me, natch), but they make it work. This one’s an anthem.

Spoon, who have made a career out of deconstructing rock n’ roll, so that their songs sometimes sound needlessly sparse (especially “The Ghost of You Lingers,” which takes minimalism to its most extreme...just a piano being bashed on staccato-style for four minutes), so it should surprise nobody that they re-arrange the Sleep Walk chords on their classic from Gimme Fiction, “I Summon You:” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=teXA8N3aF9M I love that opening line: remember the weight of the world was a sound that we used to buy? I think songwriter Britt Daniel is talking about buying albums from the likes of Pearl Jam or Smashing Pumpkins, any of those grunge bands with pessimistic worldviews. There are a million more examples. I remember seeing some YouTube video where a trio of gross douchebros keep playing the same progression while singing a bunch of hits over it. I don’t like the smarmy way they do it, making it seem like artists are lazy and deliberately stealing. I don’t think it’s plagiarism to use this progression. And furthermore, tempo and production make all the difference. Take “This Magic Moment” for example. There's a version by Jay & the Americans and one by Ben E King & the Drifters. I’ve never been a fan of those shrieking violins or fiddles that open the latter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bacBKKgc4Uo The Jay & the Americans version puts the guitar riff way in the forefront, which I like a lot more. The guitar plays the entire progression once before the singing starts and the band joins in: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pKfASw6qoag

Each version has its own distinctive feel. They are pretty much two different songs. Perhaps the most famous use of the Sleep Walk progression is “Unchained Melody” by the Righteous Brothers, which is one of my favourite songs ever. The guy who chose to let Bobby Hatfield sing this one by himself must have kicked himself afterwards when it became a hit, much bigger than "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling."https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qiiyq2xrSI0

What can you say about “Unchained Melody” that hasn’t already been said? God, that miraculously strong vocal, the way the strings (and later on, brass horns) are panned way over to the furthest reaches the left speaker while the drums and guitar are way over in the right, with the singing smack dab in the middle creates a kind of distance and sharp clarity that has never been reproduced in popular music, like seeing the skyscrapers of some distant city after an endless stretch of highway. After listening to “Unchained Melody,” one has to wonder: can that progression ever be improved upon? Can any artist write something more haunting, more beautiful, more uplifting than that? The “need your love” crescendo hits so fucking hard, as both the emotional and the sonic climax of the song, which of course is no accident...the strings descending and crashing like a waterfall of sound, it gets me every fucking time. Legend has it that King George II was so moved by the “Hallelujah” section of Handel’s “Messiah” that he stood up, he couldn't help himself, couldn't believe what he was hearing. I get that feeling with all my favourite songs. "1979." "Unchained Melody." "In The Still of the Night." "Digital Bath." "Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad?" "Interstate." "Liar's Tale." “Gimme Shelter.” The list goes on and on. Music is supposed to move us.

King George II stood because he was moved to do so. Music may be our creation, but it isn't our subordinate. All those sci-fi stories warning about technology growing beyond our control aren’t that far-fetched. Music is our creation but its power lies beyond our control. We are subordinate to music, helpless against its power and might, its urgency and vitality and beauty. There have been many times in my life when I have been so obsessed with a particular song that I pretty much want to live inside of it forever. A house of sound. I remember detoxing from heroin and listening to Grimes “Realiti” on repeat for twelve hours. Detoxing from OxyContin and listening to The Beach Boys “Dont Worry Baby” over and over. Or just being young and listening to “Tonight Tonight” over and over and over, tears streaming from my eyes in that way you cry when you’re a kid because you just feel so much and you don’t know what to do with the intensity of those feelings. It is precisely because we are so moved by music that we keep creating it. And in the act of that creation we are free. There are no limits to that freedom, which is why bands time and time again return to the well-worn Sleep Walk chord progression and try to make something new from it. Back in 2006, soon after buying what was then the new Yeah Yeah Yeahs album, I found myself playing the album’s closing track over and over. I loved the chorus and I loved the way it collapses into a lo-fi demo at the very end, stripping away the studio sheen and...not to be too punny, showing its bones (the album title is Show Your Bones). Later on I would realize that the song, called “Turn Into,” uses the Sleep Walk chord progression. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=exqCFoPiwpk

It’s just like, what Waits said, our hands goes to where we are familiar. And so do our ears, which is why jazz often sounds so unpleasant to us upon first listen. Or Captain Beefheart. But it’s worth the effort to discover new stuff, just as it’s worth the effort to try and write it. I recently lamented on this blog that music to me now is more about remembrance than discovery, but I’m still only 35 years old. I’m middle-aged right now (I don’t expect to live past 70, not with the lifestyle I’ve been living). There’s still a whole other half life to find new music and love and leave it for still newer stuff. It’s worth the challenge, that moment of inner resistance we feel when confronted with something new and challenging and strange sounding. The austere demands of adult life, rent and routine, take so much of our time. I still make time for creative pursuits, but I don’t really have much time for discovery, for seeking out new music. But I’ve resolved to start making more time. A few years ago I tried to listen to and like Trout Mask Replica but I couldn’t. I just didn’t get what was going on. It sounded like a bunch of mistakes piled on top of each other. But then a few days ago I was writing while listening to music, as I always do, and YouTube somehow landed on Lick My Decals Off, Baby. I didn’t love what I was hearing but I was intrigued enough to keep going. And now I really like this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EMnd9dvb3sA&pbjreload=101 Another example I’ll give is the rare Robert Pollard gem “Prom Is Coming.” The first time I heard this song, it sounded like someone who can’t play guitar messing around, but the more I heard it the more I realized there’s a song there. It’s weird and strange, but it’s there. The lyrics are classic Pollard: Disregard injury and race madly out of the universe by sundown. Pollard obviously has a special place in his heart for this track. He named one of his many record labels Prom Is Coming Records and he titled the Boston Spaceships best-of collection Out of the Universe By Sundown. I don’t know if I’ll ever become a Captain Beefheart megafan but I can hear that the man was doing something very strange and, at times, beautiful. And anyway, why should everything be easy? Aren’t some challenges worth meeting for the experience waiting on the other side of comprehension or acceptance? I try to remember this now whenever I’m first confronted with new music, instead of vetoing it right away. Most of my favourite bands I was initially resistant to when I first heard them. Queens of the Stone Age, Kyuss, Guided by Voices, Spoon, Heavy Times. All bands I didn’t like at first. I don’t wanna sleepwalk through life, surrounding myself only with things I have already experienced. I need to stay awake. Because soon enough I’ll be asleep forever. We need to try everything we can before the Big Sleep comes to take us back to the great blankness, the terrible question mark that bookends our lives.

#sleep walk #santo & johnny #neil young #queen #dwight yoakam #led zeppelin #the beatles #betterdaysareatoenailaway

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professionally-unprofessional · 5 years

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Shouto's bashful crush/interest being caught shifting behind the school (after he went to give her sketchbook she dropped) into his fuzzy black furry friend that keeps him company on weekends (cat shifting quirked reader) confusion & embarrassment clouds his mind for he has told that fuzzball many secrets. confrontation? maybe. thinking about the embarrassing things she did to make him feel better? (playing with a Cheerio dropped on the floor) definitely.

Oh geezums this ended up being really long. OOPS. I’m so sorry for the wait with a bunch of requests. I’ve been trying to make more time for fic writing and somehow managed it. Then I got halfway through this one and got stuck with a specific idea I wanted to do that I just couldn’t write and it didn’t fit and ahhh xD but I’m alive. Sorta. I’m trying my best to get back into writing. Also this is super long and I’m really tired. I didn’t quite finish my final proofread so there might be a couple of mistakes in here. Please ignore them if they’re there.

Anyyyywayy I hope you enjoy. I’m finally getting back into requests so I hope more should follow soon.

Ah, this was the life. You smiled and continued to doodle in your sketchbook. This was the best time to sketch. You were in some kind of creative spree which meant that - soon enough - a creative block would kick you into an abyss where inspiration did not dare to dwell. It was fine though. Hatsume would drag you out again with her endless chatter focused around her babies.

You heard a loud bang and smiled lightly, knowing that the pink-haired girl was likely in the design studio right now. The spotlight focused on the heroes was merely blinding to you. A role like that demanded too much attention. Even less popular heroes sometimes got dragged into the light. Despite the path of the hero not suiting you, you still wanted to make yourself useful to the hero society in some way and what better way for a tinkerer to do so than to make support items and hero costumes?

As your latest creation began to take shape on the paper, you wondered if you should go and save Hatsume from forgetting to eat lunch. Again. Despite the large personality differences between the two of you, your duo managed to function reasonably well. It seemed that Hatsume was always happy to enthuse about her ‘babies’ and, since you tended to prefer to be quiet and listen, it worked out well for both parties. She was a fountain of inspiration and you were a companion.

A win-win situation.

However, it wasn’t the pink-haired inventor alone inspiring you to live up to the school’s motto. Your other big sources were the two first-year hero classes. As much as you knew Monoma would hate to hear it, class 1-A enthused your creative mind more than 1-B. It wasn’t your fault that their class just had so many heroes with such interesting quirks and personalities.

Deciding to actually move, you headed back inside to the support course workshops and found your friend with a soot-covered face and a determined grin. Of course. With a small wave, you called out for her and she immediately turned around, greeting you warmly. Ignoring her rambling about her latest failed experiment, you pulled her out of there and into the lunch hall to grab something to eat. Settling down, you noticed that lunch was already halfway through. Oh well. You’d spent it in a way you enjoyed.

You noticed a familiar group of heads nearby as you took in the large dining hall. Looking over to them, you noticed a pair of dual coloured eyes lowering back to the meal in front of the individual. He was sat at a table with the green haired boy who needed something done about his arms and the gravity girl who had the big pink boots on her outfit. Oh, and there was the guy who had the white suit like Ingenium.

You smiled as you watched the bi-coloured boy for a moment. If memory served correctly, his name was Todoroki. He’d come to you a couple of times to help with tweaks to the temperature sensors in the vest on his hero costume.

Since he’d started using his quirk for both fire and ice after the sports festival, he’d needed small adjustments to the sensitivity of the heating and cooling elements in his jacket. You’d been overjoyed when Power Loader - Maijima-sensei - had assigned you to it. Apparently you were much better at doing live work than Hatsume. On two accounts; you were less likely to cause injury and you didn’t make students uncomfortable by touching them all over to determine if they were as muscular as they seemed.

Todoroki was a pleasure to work with; he gave instructions and feedback perfectly when you needed it. Not only that, but he was patient and polite with you. Smiling to yourself, you wondered if he may need anything else again soon.

Realising that you probably looked like a loon smiling to yourself like that, you quickly shook your head and cleared it. You were just thankful that your companion was still so deep in thought about how she could improve her work that she hadn’t noticed your little daze. You shifted a little in your seat and debated on how you’d spend the evening after school.

A yawn left the bi-coloured boy as he headed back from meeting his mother. It was later than he’d thought. He kept walking and soon came to see a familiar black bundle of fluff on a bench outside a coffee shop. As he approached, he paused and noticed that the little creature wasn’t asleep but merely curled up. Raising its head, the cat unfurled itself and stretched luxuriously as a light breeze ruffled its fur.

He extended a hand in greeting and waited. Once a soft muzzle had rubbed against his fingers in a feline hello, Todoroki stroked the small one’s head and was given a quiet purr in response. His gaze followed the cat as it hopped up onto the back of the bench and then looked to be making a calculation for a jump. He remained still as the feline soared and landed on his shoulder lightly.

Todoroki could remember the first time it had tried that. It had been such an epic fail that it’d pulled a small chuckle from him before he’d softly scooped up the fuzzball and put it where it desired. For the rest of the evening the cat had seemed almost indignant, puffing up and lashing its tail slightly… at least until it was given a nice scratch behind the ears and calmed down. He began walking back towards home and heard a small, uncomfortable mew as a spot of water assaulted his nose.

The forecast hadn’t predicted rain for today. He picked up his pace and headed for home. Endeavour was away with work this weekend in another city so at least it would be quiet in the house. Having a bit of company wouldn’t hurt and his companion always seemed to like curling up on the tatami flooring. The soft rumbling of a lazy purr was rather comforting in the silence of the house. There was either that, or the black bundle of fur would bat something around the floor of his room while he worked. He’d dropped a small bit of cereal before and had gone to retrieve it only to find the cheerio halfway across the room with playful paws spurring it on.

As he settled down, the cat descended from his shoulder and began rubbing its head against his side. Smiling, he stroked their soft fur. It was soothing to some extent and he didn’t feel so bad whenever he had this friend by his side. The companionship was fine and the more he had the cat around, the more he found he enjoyed and appreciated the quiet comfort.

Sometimes animals were far better company than humans.

He sighed softly and looked down at the papers he’d taken from his backpack. Homework. Fine. After a while, he looked up and realised that a pair of eyes had been watching him. For a moment, he thought the feline’s face held an expression of concern. It must’ve been his imagination, but sometimes the bundle of fur felt almost… human.

Smiling wryly, he patted the small head as though in reassurance that everything was fine. He was alright. As the head tilted with what felt like a slight frown, he blinked and unloaded a little. It was nice to be able to talk to something and even better that they couldn’t speak back and pull him to pieces. He didn’t want to be told that all of his thoughts were wrong and that he shouldn’t be concerned with some of the situations that plagued him.

Just because he was a hero-in-training didn’t mean that the rest of the usual teenage problems didn’t apply to him at all.

It was easy to forget that everyone in their class- no their entire year… they were all still children, really.

After a while, he tilted his head back and found that your face came to mind. Why was he thinking of you now? You’d helped him out a few weeks ago with his hero costume and hadn’t minded when he’d been finicky about how finely-tuned the temperature-sensitive vest was. You’d been so happy to help with such quiet cheerfulness that he’d found that the experience rather pleasant rather than long and draining.

Even if you were just another student in another course, he recalled your name. Maybe you’d forgotten all about him, but he couldn’t get your quiet patience and positivity out of his head. Even when the vest had decided it didn’t want to adjust, you’d kept going. Your tiny smile hadn’t even wavered.

He wished that he too could face everything with such indifference to challenges.

There was a muffled bump and Todoroki found the fluff-ball had tipped itself over batting a loose pencil around on the table. When the pencil fell off, a paw reached down and tried to touch it, only for the figure to slip off the table and tumble down. He smiled and the feline face that met his seemed more bright than before. Could this cat really understand him?

“Are you trying to cheer me up?” He questioned blankly and received a small nuzzle to his outstretched hand as a response accompanied by a soft mew.

“Hey… there’s someone I like. Do you think she’d like me back?” At this, the form paused and looked up at him with big, warm eyes. After a moment, a fluffy belly was exposed to him and he fulfilled the request and earned a quiet purr. Perhaps if a feline could be so comfortable around him, so could his crush. The thought warmed him and he uttered a soft thanks to the cat, receiving a number of headbuts and purrs as a result.

A cat for a councillor. Who would’ve thought?

You smiled happily to yourself as you left the UA campus the next week. The weekend had been a nice break. Time to get back to work. Hatsume had conjured up yet another baby but this one needed some more fine tuning before it could be set loose on human beings.

As her friend, you’d helped. You were better at the tiny, extremely boring and equally frustrating adjustments that were required before any piece was fully finished. Half of Hatsume’s unfinished work was because she’d almost be done and then another amazing idea would sweep her away into a frenzy of creation. Who could blame her?

No matter how hard you worked, thoughts of a particular student plagued you. Despite your mind being flooded with different thoughts, you continued onwards. The hours of the school day ticked by and after lunch you were given a new assignment. Designing work would come first. Personal woes could wait.

After an hour and a half of sitting with no inspiration or ideas, you huffed and closed your sketchbook. Hatsume had gone into her hyper-focus mode where she went quiet and worked really hard. That inventive glow never left her face. Yet still you didn’t seem to be able to work. The temptation to gently hit your face against the table was overpowering.

Nothing. No ideas. Useless, empty brain!

Wow. Washed up as a first year… So sad.

After another half hour of fruitless struggling to come up with anything half decent, you’d had enough. With your face resting on the desk, you let out a small, frustrated huff. A mop of pink hair moved in the corner of your eyes and you felt those quirk-filled eyes staring directly at you. A blink. Another. The gaze shifted back to the item in her hands.

You couldn’t blame her for not saying anything. Not only did she have her own work, but you doubted that she’d have anything useful to say and she probably knew that too. From what you’d seen, either Hatsume didn’t understand how normal people worked or simply didn’t care to try and work with that.

You still hadn’t figured out which yet.

Sitting back up, you had a look at the now filthy page. There were tiny indents from the previous sketches that you’d erased and a couple of extremely rough sketches on paper around your workbench. Pencil met paper again, sketching lines and curves but everything was too stiff and unimaginative along with the fact that it didn’t fit your brief and just—

No. This wasn’t your day. As you picked up the eraser to get rid of your latest set of failures, you found a piece of familiar yellow headgear beside your bench. “Are all the ideas feeling terrible?”

A small nod was all you could manage with the frustration churning inside.

Your short teacher took a glance towards the clock at the back of the classroom. Half an hour to go. This designing didn’t need to be finished today but you still needed to have something to work from in the next lesson. You nervously waited to hear what solution or punishment you’d get only to receive a sigh from Power Loader.

“Why don’t you get some air from the studio? There’s only another half hour. Just don’t leave campus early.”

You nodded, knowing what he was getting at. Frustration would lead to more frustration and it would only amount to a mental block, generating more irritation. The spiral of unproductively would get worse and more self-destructive until it became unbearable. Calming down was the best option. Agreeing, you packed up your things as the headgear and ginger hair disappeared further into the classroom.

As you threw your things back into your bag, you wondered where to go. One of the windowsills in the large corridors would be good. It was raining outside and you always felt worse when the weather was bad. Perhaps it was a side effect of your quirk. Placing the sketchbook down against the wall as you would rather it didn’t get crushed in your bag, you pulled out some headphones and decided to cool off with some good music.

Your mind raced back to the previous night. You’d been enjoying your quirk as you usually did… with Todoroki. Despite what he’d said, you smiled. It was fine if he liked someone else. You allowed yourself to wonder if it could be you that he liked. Some sort of storybook cliché where he’d actually confessed to his love but didn’t know it. Nah. That couldn’t be it. Not when there were people like the ginger-haired girl with the big hands and the black-haired girl with the creation quirk in his year.

They were amazing. They were upcoming heroes. You were just someone cheering everyone on from the sidelines; a cheer which couldn’t even be heard. As much as you took pride in your skills, you knew that you’d forever be a world apart from heroes. You were fine with that. You didn’t want the popularity or fame. So you would watch as your gear assisted them and you would smile and feel that you’d at least done something worthwhile.

Even when you wondered if the students you’d helped remembered your name.

Why would they? You were just another gear-head in a support course classroom. You weren’t even outstanding like Hatsume. You smile widened and you felt the facade beginning to crack. You had nothing to complain about seeing as you wanted to melt into the background. Gosh, being a cat was so much easier. All you had to do was be cute and the world would come to you. Well, give or take the odd shady stranger that looked as though they might try and kick you.

There was always the option of confessing, but what would the point in that be? Brutal rejection happened to be well… brutal. Not exactly a desirable experience you wished to go through. So you’d continue to shove down a blush when he came into the design studio. You’d continue to feel a strange warmth in your chest when you heard about his successes in his class from other students.

You’d continue to be unable to look him in the eye as a human but do so as a cat.

Todoroki blinked as he noticed something against a windowsill in one of the corridors. A black notebook? Despite the fact that merely leaving it be would be the best and easiest option, he picked up the item and looked it over. There was something strangely familiar about the object but he couldn’t place where he’d seen it before.

It was none of his business, but he wondered if there would be a name in the front. Opening it, a scrawl of designs met his eyes. No name, but the ideas were proof enough of who it belonged to. For some reason, he couldn’t help but quickly glance through. The neat final designs that had been put together with such care and attention were beautiful. However, it was the messy rough sketches that he preferred. Namely, the personality that shone through in each and every one.

This was important to you. It was always beside you. Wherever you went, this went. It was always beside you when he saw you in the design studio, or in your hand when you wandered through the lunch hall with Hatsume.

Todoroki remembered that he’d seen you walking in the opposite direction only a few moments ago. You usually hung around in your classroom for a few moments after school finished since he’d seen you there when he’d gone to request one of the capsules on his belt be replenished after a training session.

Trying to think of which way you’d have gone if you were leaving school in that direction, he walked off. If he couldn’t find you now, he’d go back to your workbench and leave it there.

He hurried and caught sight of the back of your head turning a corner. How lucky. You exited the school from a back entrance and the bi-colored boy wondered why you’d leave this way. Oh well. Each and every one to their own, right?

He caught the door before it latched shut and found you tucking your bag behind a large bin. As he was about to call out, there was a flash. Standing before him, no taller than his shins was his black fluffy friend.

Surprise and confusion instantly rose to the surface. Wait, that was you? Or wasn’t it? Well, there were probably other black cats in the city, not just your other form, right? Why hadn’t he asked what your quirk had been when he’d been with you getting adjustments? Why hadn’t he shown more of an interest and figured this out—Wait.

He’d confessed. The realisation of everything you knew came crashing down upon him and he almost swayed. You knew everything: his mother and his father along with his scar, his frustration, his pain, his fears… everything.

You knew… everything.

A sudden feeling of vulnerability crashed into him. You had a huge wealth of knowledge on him. Blackmailing him would become child’s-play to you if you really tried.

Then something else came to mind. The cheerio— you’d played with it and always done something silly as a cat to try and get him to laugh. Even when he’d almost frozen his room solid in an emotional outburst similar to what had happened with Sero at the sports festival… you’d still sat on the table when you could have fled through the open window. You had hopped onto his lap and nuzzled your head against his hand.

All the times when you’d brought him a gift while he was doing homework sprung to mind. You’d offered him erasers or pens by batting them across the table. Other days when he was feeling a bit blue you’d move something across the table and away from him, making him chase you around the room a couple of times to get it back.

He’d never deigned to freeze you. Freezing an animal was just cruel, even if he could melt it afterwards.

Not to mention that your little bean paws happened to be so desperately soft. Damaging them with ice would be a tragedy. For both parties involved.

He fought down the urge to turn red at the realisation that you’d been present when he’d changed. Wait, you’d always either left the room quickly or gone out of sight. Had you been saving his modesty?

Coming back to his senses, he realised that his breath was crystallising in front of him and frost was creeping up his arm. There had been one night where the rain had been thrashing down outside and you’d been shivering in the cold. He’d let you curl up beside him atop the futon. When your shivering didn’t stop, he’d put his hand over you and used his quirk just enough to keep your form warm.

You wouldn’t do something with the information. You weren’t the type.

But what about how you saw him? You’d never acted differently around him. What did that mean?

Either way, you were gone for now and he was still holding your sketchbook. Glancing down at your bag, he slipped the sketchbook carefully into a position where it wouldn’t get wet if it rained nor damaged should the bins be moved. Once it was safe, he stood and left.

You couldn’t focus. Not at all. Someone had put your sketchbook back into your bag but how had they known where your bag was? Who would’ve known that the sketchbook belonged to you, anyway? There was no name in it, you remembered that whenever you thought you’d lost it.

So who had recognised your drawing and followed you outside? There wasn’t anyone who knew about your little evening adventures. Some part of you wondered what was so alarming. Your quirk was cat-shifting. No big deal.

The thing that was alarming was the fact that you had heightened senses as a cat. Which also meant a greater sense of smell. You’d caught a whiff of Todoroki on your bag before you’d shifted back and disregarded it. Until you’d noticed the notebook.

Did he know? Had he witnessed the shift or just recognised your bag? Either way you weren’t exactly happy to contemplate what you’d do with this knowledge. You weren’t sure what he’d do with it either. Oh, how had you gotten yourself into this mess?

Huffing softly, you slumped further and buried your face in your arms. Nothing was going right today. You just couldn’t focus. You’d try and then your mind would bring Todoroki up and you’d have a whole inner argument about how this was going to ruin everything but that it was also going to be fine.

“(Y/N)?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin as your name was called. “Y-yes?!” You blushed at your own flustered response and whipped your head up to see whoever it was that needed your assistance. “Todoroki. Um, how can I help you?”

You gaze hit the desk and remained there as he merely stared down at you. With a jolt, you realised that only you and Hatsume were left in the studio out of all the support students. When had the day ended?

“I just wanted to ask if you could note down for one of the capsules of disinfectant to be refilled.” You blinked. Slowly. Nothing he said was registering. “The capsules on the belt of my hero costume.”

At his clarification you nodded and tried to tell him that you’d do it, but the words died in your throat and you were left just sat there. Why wasn’t your voice working? This was the worst. Biting down on the warmth that was rising to your cheeks, you shook your head and gave a firm nod. Professionalism. You could do this!

“That’s fine. I’ll leave a note for Power Loader. It’ll be done before your next training exercise.”

“Thank you.”

He was about to leave. For some reason, you didn’t want him to go. Maybe you were ill today. There must have been a reason that you were doing so badly today. Even if you had a bad time, you never messed up in every aspect of life all at once.

“Uh, how are the adjustments in the heat sensors doing? Is the sensitivity better than before?”

He paused from turning away and politely explained that it had been better. Somehow, you managed to smile and tell him that you were glad it helped.

This was awkward. You should really let him go. Thanking him for stopping by and letting the support course know about the problem, you threw your bag over your shoulder. As you went to pick up your sketchbook from the table, you noticed Todoroki’s gaze lingering on it.

He didn’t attempt to comment on it.

You were leading the way to the door when Hatsume’s cry of alarm reached you. Well, it was more a cry of “Baby!” Either way, it functioned the same as an alarm call. You turned to see what the issue was and were met with a metallic arm shooting towards your face.

You weren’t entirely sure what happened in that moment. Instinct took over.

One moment you were staring at it and the world felt like it’d frozen. The next, you were opening your eyes a mere few inches from the floor with cold hitting your sides. Shaking your head to clear the sudden fuzziness, you looked around. Your bag was just behind you and was bigger than you were. Brilliant. Shifting right in front of him had been at the top of the things you wanted to avoid. Guess there was no running from it now. No chance of hiding this anymore.

Todoroki was looking down at you with his usual poker-faced expression. Well, that solved the mystery of who had put your sketchbook in your bag and who might have seen you shift. It took a few moments for you to realise what it meant. However, you had other things to worry about at this moment in time. Transforming back into a human being would be a good start.

Focusing on your quirk, you let the familiar image of yourself fill your mind. Your hair, eyes, form and all the little details came back and when you opened your eyes again you were seeing the world from the comforting height of a teenager. Fantastic. One issue down and probably many more to go.

You looked at Todoroki and gave him a shy shrug. For some reason, it was all you could think of to offer. There was a silent apology in that shrug but he merely rose a hand to the wall of ice and melted it.“We need to talk.” Despite being used to the lack of emotion in his voice, it had never been so harsh when he’d spoken to you as a cat. It hadn’t been quite as chilly when he’d spoken to you as a support course student.

“Yeah.” You managed out.

He turned and walked out of the classroom. You picked up your bag and followed him, head hung low. You’d blown it. Well and truly blown it. Your little times of happiness beside him as a feline were over.

You’d both left the school and turned into a small side alley just outside the school when he stopped.

He opened his mouth to speak but you knew you had to say something first. You couldn’t take this. Despite the embarrassment and shame coursing through you at being found out like this… You could do it. You’d go first.

“Before you say anything,” you took a small breath and managed to raise your gaze to meet his. Bashful, perhaps, but not weak-willed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t mean to cause any discomfort, I just enjoyed being in your company. I should have told you or stopped—”

“You enjoyed those evenings?”

You nodded. As much as a part of you hated the attention, you would stand here. You wouldn’t back down. You weren’t a coward. It didn’t matter that you didn’t want to shine brightly and draw attention like the hero course students and Hatsume. You could still muster the courage to say what you wanted to say now.

When push came to shove, you could do it.

“I did. I’m not sure why, but I really did like being there. It was rude of me to hear about what’s going on in your family. That was personal, but I couldn’t just run away or block it out. I didn’t know what to do other than listen.” You shifted slightly, feeling more and more uncomfortable as Todoroki’s gaze remained on you. “I promise I won’t say a word about it to anyone, so don’t worry about that.”

“Why did you come back so many times. It must have been boring after a while.”

You took a moment to collect your thoughts. You’d gotten this far, so you might as well go the whole way. Why was he asking so many questions? It didn’t matter. This was it. You were ready for rejection but at least you’d have it out. You could combat this shyness if you wanted.

“I liked your company. I enjoy being around you and well, I didn’t like seeing you sad. Cheering you up is just like helping the hero course out in another way.”

Inwardly cheering at how flat you’d managed to keep your face for that small confession, you went to move past him. There was no need to get told that he didn’t want you around. You knew that he’d never stop by the bench you’d used to wait on. Those times were gone now.

“I enjoyed having you around too.”

You paused and looked back. A small spark of hope had ignited in your chest. “Would it be okay if I did it again. Just an evening every so often. It’s fine if that’d be strange now.”

“That would be nice.”

You turned fully to see him and gave him a shy smile, unable to stop the redness rising on your cheeks as a joyful warmth filled you from head to toe.

“Would it be alright if we spent an evening like that with you in your human form as well?”

Shhhhh I’m a Ghibli fan and there was a black cat in this fic.

#todoroki shouto #todoroki #shoto todoroki #shoto #my hero academia #my hero academa x reader #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #oneshot #fwuff #fwuffy

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teresatellstales · 3 years

Text

Morning Snow

Inspired by several true stories, none of which happened all together.

When I had gone to bed, a winter storm was in full swing. The wind rushed, rattling windows, while heavy snow dropped to the ground. It was still very early, nearing 6am, when our Old Man Pup decided he needed to venture out to do his morning business. Being a senior pup and a 92lb mix of Australian Shepherd and Woolly Mammoth, his joints aren’t what they used to be and he requires assistance with our home’s many stairs. I heard him scrabbling to get up and decided I would guide him down, allowing my husband to stay-toasty warm under the covers.

I should have known something was wrong before I opened the bedroom door. A chilly slice of air attacked my ankles before I could turn the knob, and I was greeted by the bitter cold that would have been expected if I were opening a door to the outside rather than one leading to a hallway. Our Old Man Pup fluffed the air with his nose and pulled back in obvious confusion.

When we got to the landing, the smaller of our spry cats dashed up to greet us with an excited mew and hurried back down. The Old Man Pup settled on the floor and glanced at me as if to say, “I’ll wait right here while you go check it out.” In the span of a few steps, my mind danced with possibilities, its favorite being a branch came down through a window. By the time I reached the ground floor, meaning only a few seconds later, I was convinced I’d encounter shattered glass. What’s more, I imagined the troublemaker sibling of the excited cat balancing on the branch and in desperate danger of encountering a sharp shard. I’d have to wrangle both cats, sweep glass, pull a heavy limb back to the outside, and staple a tarp over the damaged window. All in the bitter cold while being shoeless. All while our senior pup held in whatever he wanted to let out in the yard.

The reality of the situation was quite different.

A door had blown open.

Let me explain a little about the doors in our house. None of them latch without extra attention. They look closed, but they are always teetering on the edge of open. The deadbolts turn just enough to appear in place, when they are really resting in an indentation rather than the proper slot to engage the lock. When the house is closed up for the night, it’s customary to tug on all the swinging doors to check for stability, curse at the ones that open, and repeat the dance until the damn thing is solidly locked. This early morning, I was taught that sometimes even that sequence of steps aren’t enough to ensure we are locked up tight for the night.

It was the mudroom’s door that had opened, one of the few without the added feature of a storm door. The wind had blown a good two to three inches of snow into the room. The smaller cat sat at the threshold connecting the mudroom to the interior of the house, her tail curled around her paws and her yellow eyes watching the snow show. Her brother stood on a nearby cabinet, body and tail stretched into a runners stance with one paw raised and curled in anticipation of the race to the begin. The Old Man Pup woofed a light reminder that he was waiting patiently and that his bladder wasn’t as reliable as it used to be.

If you’ve ever seen snow blown into your home, you know that it’s deeper by the door and slowly peters out further in. My eyes focused on the thicker of the layer until the cat on the cabinet dropped lower into his crouch. I tracked his sight into the mudroom. That was when I first spied the paw prints in the shallow end of the snow. They were traveling inward and not shaped correctly to be of the feline variety. Beyond the blanket of snow lay holiday packages of cookies and bread that were set to be mailed when the morning was a little older. Two boxes were torn open and a gaze of raccoons were enjoying the holiday treats meant for human consumption. The four had liberated a loaf of sourdough, a pan of cinnamon rolls, and too many cookies to count. I blinked at the furry family feasting on their holiday banquet while warm(er) and cozy in the corner of their new den. The presence of the cats were not enough to deter them, and the scene was too foreign for either feline to formulate a plan of defense. The smaller cat looked up at me as if to say, “we’re outnumbered.”

From the doorway, I couldn’t reach my boots, but my fingers could just graze the handle of an umbrella. I reached lower to grasp the canopy. No sooner did my fingers close around the fabric, the entire umbrella fell open. While I intended to open it to scare the animals, I wanted to be in control of the surprise. The four critters stopped chewing long enough to take notice of me and the cats, but they agreed with our smaller cat’s assessment: despite me towering over them and the possible weapon in my hand, there were still more of them.

The Old Man Pup woofed again, this time with some urgency. The raccoons silently conferred, reassessing their options. It seemed that two cats and an armed giant in the doorway were fine, but the woofing of a mysterious fourth threat was deemed too much. They stuffed as much of my kitchen labor into their mouths and waddled one by one in a straight line to the door.

The final and smallest of the raccoons stopped half way and came up on its hind legs, looking back at the treats. A raccoon that had already left stuck its head back in to urge the last one on, finally turning and leaving in disgust that its friend wasn’t listening. The interloper spun around and grabbed the remnants of the sourdough loaf. It made a break for it on its hind legs, slipping and sliding over the slick tile, and at one point running in place like a cartoon, never letting go of the bread. I pulled the umbrella closed, flipped the tip to face me, and used the hook of the handle to guide the cartoon wannabe out.

Both cats crept into the mudroom and stretched their necks to sniff where our holiday house guests had been. Still curious, as cats are, they tiptoed toward the open door, only to recoil in horror as their paws touched the snow. “Some help you are,” I said to them. They only returned a wide-eyed look in my direction and sauntered off to warmer parts of the house.

Still barefoot, it was my turn to tiptoe around the frosty fluff. After securing my feet in cold boots, I grabbed the shovel and scraped snow off the tile and out the door. The raccoons didn’t get very far. They stood in a valley of snowdrifts, watching me put the outside back where it belonged. The little one was still on its hind legs, clutching the bread and nibbling on its edge. I turned to look at the destroyed boxes and cookie crumbs, then back at my visitors. I gathered the remaining treats back into an open box and set it outside. “Happy holidays,” I said and shut the door.

I returned to the staircase to help the Old Man Pup down, but he wasn’t on the landing. I climbed back up and found the bedroom door ajar. I stuck my head in and squinted. He was back on his bed, curled up, his chest rising and falling with the deep, even breaths of sleep. I wondered for a moment if the Old Man Pup had heard the raccoons and only got up to investigate.

Though I was now fully awake, I slipped back into bed. My husband stirred and turned, draping an arm over me and mumbling some kind of thanks for taking care of the dog. I wanted to put my half frozen toes on his nice, warm legs, but decided that would ruin the story I’d surely tell to disbelieving folks for years to come.

#flash fiction #holiday #dog #cat #snow #surprise

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sethisrael · 4 years

Text

right/wrong/neither

I recommend listening to this song while reading; it helps me focus and it might help you too. :)

When I began our class in public art in sound and listening, my way of thinking was very much rooted in discernible outcomes and notions of success. This was largely a product of the environments I had existed in growing up: intense, competitive academic spaces, playing sports, going to a well-regarded college. Even in my first year at Brown, the notion of comparative success was pushed forth; I was denied entry to classes due to a comparatively worse portfolio, writing sample, or application. Not only were opportunities to learn limited, once in class, creative assignments I submitted were deemed poor in quality because they were not up to par with the level of the rest of the class or did not meet expectations of a rigid rubric imposed by the professor. I questioned why the system existed in the way that promoted uniformity and rewarded following rigid instructions over organic growth and learning.

Even at a place like Brown University where a liberal education is championed, I felt limited in my ability to make choices for myself, questioning my every decision and my place on campus. Why did every decision I made feel “wrong”? Why did I constantly feel like I was in the “wrong” place, doing the “wrong” things? It was around this time of self-doubt that we read Miwon Kwon’s “The Wrong Place” and Judith Halberstam’s The Queer Art of Failure. For a long time, it had been explained to me that the greatest growth and discovery was made when I failed, when things didn’t work out, but I was still resistant. Halberstam’s writing expressed a similar sentiment in a way that spoke to me greatly. As Halberstam explains in the introduction, “Failure preserves some of the wondrous anarchy of childhood and disturbs the supposedly clean boundaries between adults and children, winners and losers,” and later points out that “[failure] provides the opportunity to use these negative affects to poke holes in the toxic positivity of contemporary life” (Halberstam 3). Halberstam’s argument recognizes the importance of positivity but also the ability for negativity to shift our perspective and view things through a different or critical scope.

In a similar vane, Kwon’s writing recognizes that objective rights/wrongs are nonexistent, but our relationship to objects, beings, and places is what defines our sense of right and wrong: “The determination of right and wrong is never derived from an innate quality of the object in question, even if some moral absolutes might seem to preside over the object. Rather, right and wrong are qualities that an object has in relation to something outside itself… The more important point here is that it is we who are wrong for this kind of ‘new’ space” (Kwon 38-39). Kwon explains that ending up in the “wrong” place can often lead us to new discoveries about ourselves that we would miss if we follow rigid, “correct” paths. I really love one of her closing statements in the piece:

“Often we are comforted by the thought that a place is ours, that we belong to it, perhaps even come from it, and therefore are tied to it in some fundamental way. Such places (‘right’ places) are thought to reaffirms our sense of self, reflecting back to us an unthreatening picture of a grounded identity. This kind of continuous relationship between a place and a person is what is deemed lost, and needed in contemporary society. In contrast, the wrong place is generally thought of as a place where one fells one does not belong—unfamiliar, disorienting, destabilizing, even threatening. This kind of stressful relationship to a place is, in turn, though to be detrimental to a subject’s capacity to constitute a coherent sense of self and the world” (Kwon 42).

Kwon and Halberstam’s discussion of failure and place bring me to one of the first posts I made on our class soundblog, a podcast profiling the artist Emily A. Sprague, a founding member of the band Florist and an independent artists as well, working primarily in ambient music and creating with Eurorack modular synthesizers. Hailing from a rural community in the Catskill Mountains, Sprague explains how space has shaped her processes of creation: “Every studio I’ve ever had has been in the place that I’ve been living in… You learn from that, being in spaces that aren’t ‘Studio Bs’… You just learn to work with what you have” (Sound + Process). On her origins, Sprague later explains, “Community has always been something that I’ve known to be incredibly hard to find and also the best and most rewarding and inspiring thing that you can experience. I’m from a small town in a pretty rural area; I didn’t really find people until I was older than I really felt a part of a community with, with making music” (Sound + Process). Like Halberstam’s argument, Sprague has repeatedly tried and experimented with space and technique, creating new ways to approach modular synth and pushing the boundaries of genre. Like Kwon explains, Sprague has made new discoveries in her process of making through the space she’s in—not that place is right or wrong, but just that they are different, and produce a different result.

With her process of making rooted in modular synthesis, it is hard to deny Sprague’s precedents. On June 7th, 2017, Sprague made an Instagram post of a single book on a hardwood table: Daphne Oram’s An Individual Note of Music Sound, and Electronics. Daphne Oram, born in 1925 and passed away in 2003, was one of the central figures in the development of British experimental electronic music (Anomie Publishing). Oram declined a place at the Royal College of Music to become a music balancer at the BBC, and she went on to become the co-founder and first director of the BBC Radiophonic Workshop (Anomie). Leaving the BBC in 1959 to pursue commercial work in television, advertising, film and theater, Oram also made her own music for recording and performance, continuing her personal research into sound technology. Sound technology was a passion Oram cultivated since her childhood in rural Wiltshire (Anomie). Eventually her home in Kent became an unorthodox studio and workshop, which she crafted on a minimal budget (Anomie). Additionally, Oram developed her pioneering equipment, sounds, and ideas at her home studio. A significant part of her personal research was the invention of a machine that offered a new form of sound synthesis – the Oramics machine (Anomie). Her biography further cements her as influential to contemporary electronic artists, with Oram’s contribution to electronic music receiving considerable attention from new generations of composers, sound engineers, musicians, musicologists and music lovers around the world (Anomie).

Like Wendy Carlos, Oram was a pioneer of synthesizer music and technology, definitively changing the ways her contemporaries approached synthesis, as well as generations for years to come. It seems as though Carlos, Oram, and Sprague are inextricably linked. As Carlos focuses intently on her studio in her website/primary form of external communication, it is evident that the artist considers her studio as a point of pride and importance (Wendy Carlos website). If Wendy Carlos’s studio is Persian rugs, felines, and the crackle of a fireplace on a frigid winter day and Oram’s is a quiet converted oasthouse, then Sprague’s studio is a surfboard leaned against a corner next to a human-sized floor plant as sun pours in through a skylight on a warm California morning (Kheshti). Like Kheshti’s relationship with Carlos, I feel connected to Sprague in a similar way. I do not mean to equate our relationships or interpolate myself in the discussion of electronic musicians, but I do find great joy in listening to electronic music and feel that it is an important part of my life, similar to the way Kheshti describes.

There is something extremely childlike, imaginative, and fantastical about home studios. They are places for experimentation and imagination, mostly unbounded by judgement or criticism, creating a place to take risks and make new discoveries. In many ways a home studio allows for a democratic education of sorts, a place where a creator can speak their own language and have internal dialogue, unrestricted by rigid constraints that may be imposed externally otherwise, and even explore the inherent fun in learning (hooks 43-44).

The ability for these artists to create in unexpected places and to push the boundaries of their genre and craft remind me of Fluxus artists like Yoko Ono or Alison Knowles. There is an ambiguity in place and correctness of a Fluxus score. They are not defined by doing things in a certain way or a certain place or for a certain outcome, but doing for the sake of doing, trying, experimenting, learning, and moving forward. I recently watched a film that referenced Yoko Ono’s “Ceiling Painting, Yes Painting” (1966), where the person interacting climbs a ladder to a magnifying glass in order to discern a tiny speck on the ceiling that reads “YES” (Guggenheim Bilbao). I think this piece is beautifully poetic in a number of ways, but specifically for its affirmation in discovery, and doing so in a playful, almost childlike and imaginative manner. On this note, I want to include some scores I wrote throughout the course of the semester for consideration, reflection, and response (dots indicate separate scores):

sit on a bench and be the last to break eye contact with a stranger • collect fallen leaves from the ground into a paper bag and deliver to someone • learn the language of a Tree and have a conversation • ask a loved one (or a complete stranger) to name a favorite song and listen to it in full • listen to your breath as you run up a steep hill and walk down slowly; listen to your breath as you walk up a steep hill and run down slowly • cut holes in an umbrella during a rainstorm and listen to the irony pour through • get a bicycle and ride across America • hold your palms and fingers gently over the tips of grass at dawn and wipe the dew across your cheeks • do nothing • sitting cross-legged on the floor, recount in detail to an audience (of any or no size) the most recent dream that you can remember • make a friend • look at the Atlantic Ocean; turn 180 degrees; walk; look at the Pacific Ocean • grab a cactus / smash a guitar • move fast so that wind becomes music

Through all these artists, authors, activists, and beyond, like Ono, Knowles, Carlos, Oram, Halberstam, Kwon, hooks, Kheshti, it is clear that approaching things not with notions of right or wrong, but with the intention of discovery, experimentation, and playful imagination is a valuable way of living. In the inscription to hook’s Teaching Community, the author quotes Paulo Freire: “It is imperative that we maintain hope even when the harshness of reality may suggest the opposite.” In many ways, these figures stand for just that: a rejection of the harshness of reality through creativity, experimentation, discovery, and a love for learning.

Bibliography

“Ceiling Painting, Yes Painting (1966).” Guggenheim Bilbao, http://yokoono.guggenheim-bilbao.eus/en/artworks/ceiling-painting-yes-painting.html.

“Daphne Oram – An Individual Note of Music, Sound and Electronics.” Anomie Publishing, Anomie Publishing and The Daphne Oram Trust.

“Emily Sprague: SOUND PROCESS #8.” SoundCloud, 2017, https://soundcloud.com/sound-and-process/es_ep8.

Halberstam, Judith. The Queer Art of Failure. Duke University Press, 2011.

Hooks, Bell. Teaching Community. Routledge, 2003.

Kheshti, Roshanak. Swithced-on Bach. Bloomsbury Academic, 2019.

Kwon, Miwon. “The Wrong Place.” Art Journal, vol. 59, no. 1, 2000, pp. 33–43. JSTOR, doi:10.2307/778080.

“Wendy Carlos.” Wendy Carlos, http://www.wendycarlos.com/.

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elsewhereuniversity · 7 years

Text

(re-submitting after edits)

I really loved the Elsewhere University’s comic and kind of got inspired? I’m not much of a writer so it’s not too good, but I hope you’ll still like it!

When Pokémon Go was first released, Elsewhere University was in hysterics. While the rest of the world was playing this innocent little game, professors at Elsewhere were busy confiscating the phones of freshies and blocking the app store from Elsewhere’s internet services. Everyone except the freshmen Knew. They Knew of the Danger and safely stayed away from all mentions of Pokémon. Because contrary to popular beliefs, Pokémon were real. They weren’t called Pokémon, sure, but no one doubted that they existed. They had the same powers and enough of the same physical attributes to be identifiable, but they were more corrupt and surreal than the childhood companions, lurking in the dark shadowy realms of Elsewhere. They existed in convenience store parking lots at 2 in the morning. They existed in the form of the Not Right animals seen on long car rides when drivers and passengers alike were too tired to believe what they had witnessed. They existed as the inhuman screeches heard in the woods, the screeches that anyone with a right mind would stay away from. They were not typical fae though, for they had far less interest in humans. Whereas normal fae still used humans as a source of entertainment or as pawns, these Other fae, the Pokémon, despised humans. If a human dared come within their vicinity…well, let’s just say that there have been no souls intact enough to tell those stories. Until Eevee.

Eevee had had the unfortunate chance of meeting one back in her first year at college. She supposed, looking back now, that it was her fault for being so ignorant and naive, for choosing the name of a Pokémon as her alias. She hadn’t known though. She couldn’t have. Even so, the name was her first mistake.

It had been a normal morning, except she hadn’t payed attention to her surroundings or where her feet were carrying her like she had been warned to—her second mistake. She had ended up walking into a peaceful clearing that she was fairly certain did not belong on their campus, and in her dazed, barely awake state of mind, she had thought herself lucky. Some places in the university only revealed themselves to a select few, she had heard, and sometimes they were extremely beneficial, especially for studying. So yes, she had thought herself lucky, thought that she had found another pocket of twisted time. She had even thought herself special and had almost preened at the attention the fae gave her. Other students had the deep recesses of the library, but she had gotten her own clearing. However, in Elsewhere, you should never make assumptions like Eevee had. This was her third mistake.

“I’ll just stay for a little bit, get some of my studying done,” She had told herself. Fourth mistake.

She had spread the salt in a circle around her. She had thought that would be enough. (She was sorely mistaken. Pokémon were not affected by salt or iron. They were made of a different matter entirely, fae but not fae, shifty forms that the human eye could barely concentrate on.)

Around an hour into her study period (Time was warped there, so she couldn’t be sure of anything at all), a rustling behind her had caught her attention, and she turned around. She saw nothing. It was a clearing, so there were no bushes or leaves to rustle, but she could’ve sworn she had heard something. It unnerved her. Common sense told her to pack her things and run, to leave as soon as possible, sprinkling salt on her body, behind her, everywhere.

(She had never been good at listening to her common sense.)

Instead, she had turned back around, only a little more alert than before. This was her fifth mistake.

It was good that she had played lacrosse back in high school because her reflexes were sharpened from years of dodging and weaving and cradling. It was good that she had played lacrosse back in high school because when the thing jumped out at her, she had been prepared. Salt in hand (useless, but she didn’t know that), she had jumped up onto her feet, leaping away from the shadow and muttering an ancient banishing spell under her breath. (Her ancestors had been witches, burned at the stake in Salem, Massachusetts.)

The creature had leaned back. It wasn’t much, but a surge of pride had coursed through Eevee’s body. She wasn’t completely powerless here. She had her words, carefully chosen. She had her swift speed and precise arm, carefully developed over five years. She had her brain and her salt and her iron and her ring, small weapons and tokens to aid her. In that moment, she had not felt completely powerless. She had felt strong, almost able to conquer that which stood (floated? existed?) before her. Feelings never quite equated to reality, however, and this was her sixth mistake.

The shifty darkness had come closer and Eevee was finally able to take a longer look. It’s physical form had appeared to be feline, but it did not have fur or texture on its back. Rather, most of its body (if you could call it that) was of black. It was not made of ooze or skin or blubber or any Earthen matter, but of literal black, and, clearly, the substance was not meant for human minds to think about. Eevee immediately shifted her eyes somewhere else. Golden, blinding circles had met her stare. Sharp teeth extended from the creature’s face and from underneath the creature, where the stomach should have been (she couldn’t be sure of what part of the creature anything was). It was as if the belly had been carved out and replaced with razor sharp pearls, glistening dangerously, singing out to her. The worst part, however, were the eyes-a hypnotizing blood red that dared her to touch it and be sucked into the void.

“Umbreon,” it had hissed, as if sensing her shocked realization. Umbreon, the Pokémon. Umbreon, the evolution of Eevee. Which was her name. Overwhelmed with this new information and still not truly believing that Pokemon existed, Eevee had shrunk into herself. This was her seventh mistake—fae could see fear; they knew who were weak and who were not.

The creature-Umbreon-had let out a gurgling, chortling laugh that came from two feet above her head. It Knew.

“Little girl,” It had purred out, “You bear the name of my descendant. What makes you believe you are worthy?”

A trick question. It had to have been a trick question. No human could be worthy of a fae name, especially not her. She couldn’t have run away though, or throw salt. Umbreon had asked her a question and it would be impolite to do so, not to mention dangerous.

“I mean no offense,” She had managed to bite out, sinking into a low bow.

“I know you don’t,” He (?) had replied, a hint of amusement tinting his words, “Humans never do.”

The vague quality of his (she had decided to call it a him) words paired with his tone had raised warning bells in her head. Not knowing what to do, she had stood there, waiting, hand closing around some iron. It was only then that she had noticed Umbreon was within her circle of salt; he had easily stepped across it. Eevee’s eyes widened at the realization that he was immune. How was he immune?

“I ask you again: What makes you believe you are worthy?” Umbreon interrupted her thoughts.

“I am not,” She replied simply, deciding that it was the safest course of action.

Umbreon had fallen silent again, judging her. His teeth snapped at her, both sets–the ones below him and on his face. Once, twice, three times. Eevee had tried not to flinch, but when Umbreon had circled around her like a real cat, closing in and brushing her legs, her arms, her hair, she broke.

In a flurry of panic, not wanting to know where this would lead, she had thrown the iron against Umbreon, trying to press it against him. (Eighth mistake.) It fell through as if he was incorporeal, but she could feel him, so obviously he wasn’t. Either way, she had threatened him, attempted to hurt him. Umbreon had hissed, teeth bared in response. She looked into his eyes. (Ninth mistake.) Almost instantaneously, she had been able to feel a part of her fall away into the void of his pelt.

“Get. Out,” he had growled, words low and rumbling, poison laced in each of the words. She could feel herself crumbling and melting, her vision pixelating, her eyes burning, and a darkness sinking into her. Immediately, she had turned tail and ran out, leaving her textbook and homework behind. As she ran, the woods had closed in behind her, and by the time she had gotten back on familiar ground, the clearing was no longer visible. In fact, it was like the clearing had never existed.

When she was back in her dorm, feeling a little more safe and a little more secure, heart still working fiercely under the stress of her experience, she let herself cry. Falling down to her knees, she cradled herself. Bits of her were broken: her childhood wonder was gone, her imagination was gone, her creativity was gone. Umbreon had taken them all, absorbed them into himself. Invaluable aspects of her were forever lost, and with them, her happiness. The adrenaline had slowly faded bit by bit, replaced with anger towards herself, and an aching sadness in her chest that she still carried to this day. Halfway through her breakdown, a harsh sting had shattered her tears. She had looked down, too surprised to feel the full extent of the pain, and had discovered a nasty array of rashes, burns, and purple bumps lining the inside of her arms. Further inspection had revealed that the same collection was scattered across her chest and ribcage. They had stung and itched and prickled and hurt.

That was then. She’s more experienced now-a junior, but that doesn’t mean she’s recovered. She still has the scars across her arms and chest, phantom pains shooting across them every now and then. She still wakes in the middle of the night, sweating and screaming, her soul ripping itself apart. She has not been herself since, and despite all her efforts, she will never be again. She knows this. So, when Pokémon Go was released, she was not scared. She is not scared. She is strong and ready, both mentally and physically. This is her chance to forget, to numb the pain, to be fully consumed (she would rather be an empty shell of a person than have what little is left of her clatter around aimlessly within her, reminding her of what she’s lost). This is her chance.

So, late one night, she walks off campus and downloads Pokémon Go. (After all, she has nothing to lose and everything to gain.)

[x]

#onceuponademigawd #stories #HAHAHA this is great and creepy #for some reason the idea of students referring to all gentry unequivocally as pokemon just cracks me up #pokemon creatures like that one politcal cartoon #not quite canon #submission

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