#art is how you make politics accessible to the lay person

[ottpopfic]

“We got some new campers in,” Jason eventually says “They were, really young”

“Hmm,” Leo presses a kiss into his husband's hair “How young?”

“Like four and six”

“So you young?”

"Yeah"

---

Leo and Jason talk about kids

Every once in a while Leo thinks his man’s job is bad for him.

It's a draining process that doesn’t really have an off switch, being both camps super pope. Jason gets dreams and demands from gods in the least gentle way they can possibly deliver them. Then there's paperwork (which looks to Leo like its own personal hell but that might just be him), and research and politics and travel . Jason excels at it, he's been trained for it for one, and it suits him. He's doing important work that keeps the peace and shit, it looks fulfilling and he openly enjoys it

But it also pulls on that deep-seated need for him to be the perfect soldier, that cellular-level demand to put duty and country and others first. It's destructive at times, but Leo thinks that's why the flaw is called fatal. And Leo has decided somewhere along the line that he’s allowed to be greedy when it comes to his husband ; he chased him out of hell enough to earn that right. He's also decided that he's not chasing him out again, they're both alive now and he would like them to stay that way. This means that Jason is not allowed to self-destruct. Even if Leo is a hypocrite, as he likes to run around self-destructing all the time. But Jason can pick him up and physically throw him on the bed when he starts down that path (and then lay on him until he passes out from the comforting weight of his man and sheer exhaustion) but whatever that's not the point

The point is his man looks like death after his trip to New Rome and went right back to work without a full twelve hours of sleep after doing some crazy ambassadorial work and being gone for two weeks. Leo can smell the overwork spiral starting, he's an expert as it's one of his favorite kinds of spirals to take down himself. The issue is he can't physically force his man to take a nap, when Leo was supposed to do a good chunk of his growing he spent it malnourished and sleeping under bridges, even into his thirties he's never gotten over 5’5” and is a scrawny twig to boot. He's better, the moms got some weight and muscle mass on him in his late teens when he wasn't going around dying on repeat, but not enough to physically force the 6’6” wall of muscle that is his walking marble sculpture of a husband out of his office.

Fortunately what he does have is access to a state-of-the-art workshop and a brain that can engineer just about anything. He has Rube Goldberg his man out of his office on three separate occasions just this year, for some reason it makes Jason all blushy and heart-eyed each time the fucking nerd. Something about being able to physically watch Leo’s brain work, and also that he always has the blond landing at his feet and Jason loves looking at him. It's something he's had to get used to, those piercing blue eyes tracking his every movement like him sitting soldering for two hours straight is the most distracting thing in the world

Apparently this is the main reason he needed an office, said he couldn't get any work done with Leo in the room. At the time Leo just thought it was because Jason was anxious watching him work, both of them fresh from watching each other die a lot and Leo being around heavy machinery, he now knows it's because he was looking at his ass

Whatever, whatever . What matters is that Jason needs a day off and Leo is not above getting creative. Or becoming a nuisance, he's also very good at being a nuisance. He can start by being a nuisance, the bowling balls and pulley systems aren't going anywhere. Also, he doesn't want to explain why he needs the legos back to Will and Nico, their godkid is busy with them anyway

Being a nuisance includes climbing on top of Jason's desk and possibly getting the grease on his pants soaked into fancy paperwork, but who's fault is that? Definitely not Leo’s, he's been a good noodle getting his full eight hours even with his husband gone and everything. He doesn't even let his husband start in on him, because he's the one in the wrong this time, Leo just gets himself comfy with his feet on either side of Jason's hips. He uses his ankles to hook into the armrest of the rolling desk chair to pull the blonde a little closer so he can take his face in his hands, squishing his cheeks together until his lips pucker like a fish

“You need a break” Leo scolds “You didn't even set your alarms or anything”

Jason grumbles about needing to finish something or whatnot, very illegal with the amount of sleep he's gotten after all the travel. Leo squishes his face more so he can't talk

“You need a nap,” he demands “And I want cuddles, you were gone for two weeks I'm in withdrawal”

Jason just sighs, sliding his hands up Leo’s thighs to rest on his waist under his shirt and presses his face into his hands like he's trying to soak in Leo’s touch. And that's, concerning. Usually when he gets like this it takes more than just the first try to get him to disengage, and he's way more snappy about his hyperfocus being disrupted. Leo pulls his man’s face into the crook where his shoulder meets neck, Jason immediately melts

“Hey, what's up?” Leo asks him softly. Jason does a snort huff sign that Leo can loosely translate to ‘Something was a lot more than usual and it followed me home’. Leo gets one arm around Jason’s shoulder and the other hand in his hair for scratchies, settling in to wait for his man to find English again

Jason takes a while to gather himself, scratchies don't really help with coherent sentences but it's fine. Leo just starts in on his cuddle quota and looks at the photo from their godkid's recent birthday perched on the bookshelf. Nico took it, over-excited freshly turned ten-year-old watching Leo’s disembodied fingers light the candles as Will and Jason look on with worry. It's crazy that Katie has only been with them for two years, it feels like longer

Leo really enjoys having a kid in their lives, and Katie is awesome. She's clever and spunky and is basically unspookable when it comes to magic shit (grocery stores on the other hand, not so much). Somehow they ended up in a four-way co-parenting arrangement. Legally she's Will and Nico’s, but she half-lives at the Way Station with how their schedules go. And it's great, Leo loves it and so does Jason. It's like everything is better having the kid around, everything is that much more fun getting to watch her experience it too.

“We got some new campers in,” Jason eventually says “They were, really young”

“Hmm,” Leo presses a kiss into his husband's hair “How young?”

“Like four and six”

“So you young?”

“Yeah”

That tracks. They have been making a lot of progress at Camp Half-Blood, but in comparison New Rome has been stagnant when it comes to the treatment of their youngest orphaned charges. It's been bothering Jason more as of late, especially since Katie came into their lives. Almost like looking at this little girl day in day out puts it in perspective how young they were when they went through so much. When Leo was ten he had just run away from his latest foster home because they were starving him, when Jason was ten he was a soldier.

It's damn near impossible to picture Katie in those situations, not because she hasn't gone through her own shit, but because Leo would be personally burning down everything in his way to prevent it.

But that's the difference isn't it, Katie has family looking out for her. Unlike they did, unlike those new campers do

“So whats the plan?” Leo asks, resting his cheek on his husband's hair

Jason sighs and leans into him harder “I don't know” he says “I just keep getting all upset”

“About what part?”

“I don't know. The age? Or how small they are,” Jason leans his face in even harder, his arms now wrapped around Leo’s waist like he can merge their bodies together if he presses enough “It also made me think about Katie, how small she must have been at that age. Then it got all jumbled up”

Leo might be able to read between the lines a little “You were probably that small too” he tries

“I guess”

“Do you think it's about you too, or just the kids?”

“Mabey, I don't want it to be”

“It's okay if it is”

“Is it?”

“Of course it is” Leo plants another kiss into his husband's hair “Your allowed to be upset for Puppy Jason, he didn't do anything to deserve what happened to him”

“Puppy Jason is a son of Jupiter” Jason dismisses with a snort

“Yeah, but he didn't ask for that”

“I guess”

“Hey,” Leo pulls back to meet Jason’s eyes so he knows he means it “Puppy Jason didn't deserve to be a child soldier, you know that right?”

“But he's supposed to-”

“Would it be okay for any of your godkids to join that young?” Leo pushes on, keeping his tone kind

“No! No, I would-” Jason gives a disgruntled snort-sneeze like he's trying to blow away the idea before turning back to him “But it's different ”

“How?”

“I don't know, it just is ”

“Oh, Cielito ,” Leo takes his husband's face in his hands and pulls him in so their foreheads rest together “It's okay”

Jason does a little sigh and facial motion that Leo can translate to ‘It's not’, and it breaks his heart

“I wouldn't let Puppy Jason go do war shit,” he tells him instead, nuzzling his forehead into his husband’s “I would probably just have to take Puppy Jason home with me”

“Even though Puppy Jason bites?” Jason teases with a small sad smile

“Adult Jason bites” Leo insists deadpan

“And eats bugs?”

“Have you met our godkid?”

That makes Jason chuff out a laugh, Katie is truly a ferocious bug eater, she even shares with Jason sometimes the feral weirdos. There has been more than one occasion where Leo has had to stop the both of them from eating grubs when they do the wedding in the roof garden. Like he knows they're edible, but still.

“I’d do kids with you any day,” he says, pulling his husband into a hug with his arms around his neck “You know that. But especially puppy you, got a soft spot for that one”

Jason sighs as he melts into the hug, winding his arms back around Leo’s waist. Leo can practically hear his husband's brain ticking, taking everything he said and adding what he was feeling and molding it into something closer to processing it all together. He needs a moment, Jason is good with snap judgment in crises and leadership scenarios but when it's quiet and slow-paced it can take him a moment. Leo is content to hold him as he puts things together and finds the right words

“What if I said I didn't want to keep the kids?” Jason probes after a while, hiding his face in the hug “What if I said I just wanted to help lots of kids?”

“Like foster care?”

“Would you be okay with that?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“You didn't have the best experience, they were pretty awful”

“I mean not all of them, the last one was pretty great”

“The last one?”

Leo pulls back so he can gesture to the room, and in turn the Way Station, as a whole

“O-oh!”

“What did you think I meant?”

“I don't know, I guess I just forgot that your moms were your foster moms” Jason's face lit up a bit at the realization “It's home here now”

“It is, isn't it” Leo smiles at him, he will never be over the both of them and home “But foster families adopt all the time. And theres people out there trying to make it better”

“Like Piper”

“Like Piper”

Piper who somewhere along the lines decided she needed to take down the troubled teen industry and expose its abusive underbelly. It's a sight to behold, the woman got her social worker license and has been using her charm-speak for good ever since. Last Leo heard (as of last week) she just finished a case with with a place that preached ‘tough love’, it was all over the mortal news.

“You could do that too,” Leo reminds his husband “You have a say in laws and shit right. Age limits are a thing, and there are a lot more adult half-bloods now”

“Make a demigod foster care network?”

“Yeah”

“You would do that with me?”

“Absolutely,” Leo says, and he means it, “I told you, I'll do kids with you any day”

Jason’s expression goes gooey and lovesick

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” he asks with a smile

“I mean you did die a bunch for me sooooo”

“I’d do it again,” his man swears like breathing

“Please don't,” Leo tucks a stray lock of fluffy blond hair back in place “I'm enjoying us being alive right now”

Jason laughs, it's cheesed and geeked and dorky, with eyes gleaming full of devotion. Leo kisses him, a solid proper kiss, one turning into many that pulls giggles out of him too

Foster kids huh, it's a full circle

“I also had to have some ambrosia when it was there,” Jadon tells him when they separate “It changed again”

“Oh, is it not our wedding cake anymore?” Leo asks with mock offense “I've been ousted?”

“It's Cheerios and chocolate chips”

“You and Katie’s after-school snack?”

“Yeah”

“Man,” Leo squished his face once more, but it's purely cuteness aggression “You need to stop being so adorable, I can't handle it”

“How is that adorable?”

“Just you and your big squishy heart” he gives him a smooch on the nose “I love you”

They kiss again, it's wonderful

“I should call Piper,” Jason says when they separate

“Uh, no.” Leo insists, pulling back so Jason can see his disgruntled face “You should take me to bed so we can take a nap”

“But I need to-”

“A nap Mr. Valdez,” Leo insists, ignoring the way his husband's eyes sparkle over the mention of their now-shared last name. It's been a year and a half they both need to get a grip “You were flying and I need cuddles. I am withering away from lack of cuddles, I’m a sheet on the wind”

“Is that so?” Jason places a kiss on a fading hickey on the side of his neck “I can think of other reasons to take you to bed, might do the same thing”

“Oh no,” Leo says, starting to push his man away “You are not getting out of nap time by being all sexy cute, absolutely not”

Jason does a snort and nip that Leo knows translates to ‘I can find ways to change your mind’, rude. And also illegal with the way he's been working. Leo starts squirming away from his husband backwards on the desk, rumpling papers and pulling an unhappy whine out of his man. Jason hooks his fingers under the waistband of Leo’s pants before he can get far

“You gonna be good and go to bed?” Leo asks, leaning back on his elbows so his husband can't get back in his space. Jason gives a puff-huff and flashes a canine, trying to pull Leo back in by his grip on his belt. Leo doesn't let him, putting a foot on Jason’s soft middle so he can't bend or pull him closer. That just makes his man whine, the big baby. Leo quirks his eyebrow and bares his own teeth, telling his husband that he means it

They have a little standoff, which includes two sneeze-snorts from Jason and one exhale of smoke from Leo, but in the end his husband relents.

“Fine,” the blond gives in with more whining “Just, cm’mere”

Leo lets himself be pulled into his husband's lap, knees on either side of his hips, and starts in on peppering kisses on every inch of his stupid handsome face. Jason makes a happy little noise and leans into the affection, sliding his hands up the back of Leo’s shirt so his fingers can trace the Lichtenberg scars running between his shoulder blades

“Nap time,” Leo demands once he feels like his man has been thoroughly smooched “And if your a good boy we can play later”

The grin that gets out of his husband is blinding, Jason eagerly scooping him up under his ass to take him to their room.

[merakiui]

more octavinelle thoughts (albeit more floyd-focused) but!!! a concept in which you are an idol and the twins are your bodyguards and azul is your very scummy, sleazy manager who would do virtually anything so long as his star angelfish can shine brighter than the other idols and their agencies. though the idol industry is cutthroat and stressful, thanks to azul’s quick wit, the leech twins’ connections, and lots of smart investments you manage to gain success relatively quickly. that’s the entire point, after all, and yet even with your success in recent years there are ominous shadows that stretch far and wide. 

floyd dwells in these shadows, always teetering between being happy for your newfound success and loathing the fact that you’re so popular and busy now. even though he follows you everywhere (he and jade are bound to you via contract, but floyd could care less about the legal bond between the both of you), it’s always for business. he’s forced to keep within certain boundaries so as to not cause legal trouble, personal trouble, and just overall trouble for the fans and you. there are times he’s thought of wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against him after it became an irritating chore to watch you pose for pictures or sign various things when fans would recognize and approach you. he wants to prove something by doing this, but he’s not sure what. prove that you’re untouchable to the general public—that only he can lay a finger on you? prove that you are no one’s idol? prove that you belong to him? 

floyd hates this feeling. it’s as if he’s wrapped in fishing netting and there’s no escaping no matter how much he bites and claws. the more he thrashes, the more it winds itself around him, constrictive and painful. it hurts to see you shine so brightly while knowing fully well he can’t truly have you. you’re meant to put on an act to prove to everyone that you are accessible and loyal only to the arts. therefore no romance for you. even your personal and work relationships are difficult to navigate because no matter who you’re associated with fans will get envious, or they’ll make rash judgements. 

floyd’s thought about yanking you up to his height to kiss you square on the mouth while out in public with you. he’s thought about taking you in the recording studio so they’ll have recordings of your voice as it wavers with moans and sobs, and for the right price azul can sell it to tabloid journalists and they’ll release it and the whole world will hear their slutty idol getting fucked by a faceless, mysterious bodyguard. then you’d truly be his because no one would want you. 

he’s thought about keeping his hand planted firmly on your hip when at social gatherings or clinging to you like a luxury handbag. jade often advises against it. as physical as floyd would love to be, he has to follow the rules. floyd hates the rules because he never knows what half of them are or what they entail. he’ll get away with fleeting touches when he can, masking them with the excuse of his job. if a fan attempts to get too handsy with you, he gets to put his hands on your shoulders and steer you away while jade politely advises them of the rules. 

floyd spends so long trapped in this troublesome stage of pining from afar, never to surpass any boundaries, always remaining as your bodyguard, that he begins to wonder if anything will ever change. he wants to get married; you can’t. he wants to settle down and start a family; you can’t. he wants to publicize his love; you can’t. there are so many things you can’t do and it’s so annoying. floyd tries to tell azul that it’s not fair—that you ought to be given more freedoms (“fuck the fans,” he often says)—but he may as well be a petulant child whining over impossible, unsolvable problems. this may be a reality to everyone else, but it isn’t the reality he wants. the reality he wants lies in unreality—in the far corners of his mind, each one a sugared fantasy he often considers when he needs material to get off to. thoughts of you in your pretty, frilly, elaborate idol outfits, each one shredded to pieces to get to warm skin beneath (he’ll buy you a dozen replacement outfits if it means you’ll let him fuck you; hell, he’ll spoil you rotten just so you continue to allow him to stand by your side as your most loyal bodyguard), have him falling over the edge into orgasmic bliss. god, you’re so perfect. so sweet. so soft. so deliciously noisy when you’re practically howling beneath him when he fucks you so hard the bed shudders (and the dreams always fall apart right when he’s about to tell you he loves you in the aftermath). fuck. he wants you all to himself. 

at some point, as his love twists into something unfathomably crooked, he gets it in his mind to knock you up. it’s the perfect solution! secret relationships, publicized romance, and rules be damned; a pregnancy would unravel the carefully crafted spool of thread azul has spent so long spinning to perfection. you really would be his then because it would be undeniable proof. and when your belly is so taut and round with his child, even with azul’s silver tongue, it will be impossible to explain away. and everyone would know. everyone would know you belong to him. your picture-perfect, successful world will cave in on itself, fold itself away into a packet of misery, and from the tendrils of bad, terrible, hateful things floyd will pull you free—right into his arms where you’re meant to be.

today you smiled at him, brought him a snack to thank him for his hard work, and tomorrow he’ll return the favor when he slips something into your drink so you’ll fall into your own little fantasy.

the idol industry is cutthroat, but then so is floyd.

[the-perfect-wagnerite-again]

thank you for your detailed and comprehensive response to my question about hegel, much appreciated. though it makes me wonder, in the world of shattered narratives and ruined values, how can we live well? and with regards to the question of where it all went wrong... what do you think? was this always going to be the end point of the very philosophical triumphs we admire in hindsight?

The postmodern condition is one in which we are forced into complete philosophical isolation. The hyper-individualism of the democratic age extends to more than just politics; it infects art, philosophy, religion, and ethics, such that nobody evidently has the "right" answers or the "real" truth, so much as answers and truth that works for them. On the other hand, a robust philosophy can take such adversities in stride. Relativism is fashionable but indefensible. While we might never have a sweeping, unifying narrative of being accessible for us again, we can still be certain that such things as truth, goodness, and beauty exist as a triumverate of ultimate values to which we yearn for contact. Beneath the apparatus of technology and rationalism and politics is a human nature more fundamental and natural, one which tells us automatically that the flower is something beautiful to cherish. I personally take comfort in that.

I'm Catholic, and it would be easy to lay the blame at the feet of the Reformation, a movement which, inadvertently or no, both laid the groundwork for the fetishization of individualism and wrenched the sacred out of the sanctuary of the Church, leaving it vulnerable to the attacks of rationalism and science. That said, such a rebellion was likely inevitable, and if it wasn't Luther, it would have been someone else. Metaphysical ages rise and fall just like empires; it's difficult to determine whether one can be blamed for the death of a particular metaphysics or if its death is merely a natural expiration.

One thing for sure is that science and the industrial revolution changed everything for humanity. It cannot be understated just how radically our world picture has shifted from the millenia before the 19th century to the present. They are completely different realities. Technology separates us from nature, without a doubt, and as long as technology remains as a force, we will hold ourselves at a remove from the rest of the world as something separate rather than something within it. We are at a point now where people believe they can rewrite the fundamental units of our biological being because they have the technology that allows them to do so. Nature itself is no longer our domain but a resource to be manipulated. This is untenable. Sooner or later, there will be more and more costs to this "progress."

My take is that to live well, one must realize that their values must be completely isolated from technology, because technology itself is not a necessary feature of our civilization. Faith in science, in rationality, in modern politics, in psychology, etc is pure folly. Ask yourself if your beliefs would exist in a world without the technology needed to smooth its edges, and if they can't, they're likely unreliable.

[ivebeenfoundout]

Just had another migraine how so I’m laying down

But my brain can’t stand just resting without doing anything

So I collected a bunch of my favourite works from when I went to MALBA in Dec 2022:

Mujer desnuda leyendo (Nude woman reading), Armando Reverón, 1932, 78 x 116 cm;

This piece is great in person. When you get close to the canvas the delicate marks scramble and are difficult to make out. Standing further back, however, you can begin to make out the woman’s form. Feels like you are peering through a net curtain.

El oso (The bear), Vicente do Rego Monteiro, 1925, 86 x 97 cm;

Something about this is very cute, reminds me of Botero but with animals. Although the curves make the work appear soft and mellow at first glance, the grainy effect of the paint and a dark neutral colour palette give the painting a sombre after-tone.

Cuadro escrito (Written painting), León Ferrari, 1964, 66 x 48 cm;

I haven’t read his text all the way (I should), but the beginning of the very first sentence is what immediately caught my attention: “Si yo supiera pintar…” (If I knew how to paint…) The link between different mediums of art such as sculpture, painting, poetry and film has always been very interesting to me, so seeing a visual artist blur the lines between writing and design is captivating. The winding, swirling orthography reflects Ferrari’s introspective reflection in this piece.

El hueso (The bone), Miguel Covarrubias, 1940, 35,6 x 26 cm;

What a polite looking man. The size of this piece, and the placid expression on the subjects face, are both unassuming yet arresting. Alone on a corner wall in the gallery, the bright colours save it from getting lost in a sea of negative space. Yet something about the man’s expression, his eyes, seems distant and resigned.

Sin título (Untitled), Jorge de La Vega, 1971, 230 x 280 cm;

This, on the other hand, is an enormous, attention-grabbing piece. It seems logical that it is a product of the late 60s/early 70s with its almost psychedelic visual effect. Initially I didn’t look twice at the piece, largely indifferent, but the eyes of the apple-eating woman seemed to follow me around the corners of the exhibition room, so that I was forced to reconsider it. There is a childlike sense of wonder here, but her slightly crazed expression makes me wonder if there is a more sinister undertone.

Doing this actually kind of helped my headache! I haven’t been able to paint much lately because of the pain, so it’s nice to be able to still access art in this way.

[livelovedelaware]

The Importance of Education: How It Can Guarantee a Good Future

Education is often referred to as the key to success, and for good reason. It lays the foundation for personal growth, professional development, and the ability to contribute meaningfully to society. Whether through formal schooling or self-directed learning, education equips individuals with the knowledge and skills to navigate life's challenges and seize opportunities. Education is crucial in ensuring a bright and secure future in today's competitive world. Here are reasons why education is important and how it can guarantee a better tomorrow.

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An educated society is essential for the progress and development of communities and the world. Education helps build a more informed and empathetic society by fostering understanding, tolerance, and respect for diverse cultures and viewpoints.

Through education, individuals gain insights into history, politics, science, and the arts, which can help them become active and engaged citizens. In addition, education promotes the development of moral and ethical values that contribute to creating fairer, more just societies. When educated, people are more likely to advocate for their rights, participate in democratic processes, and contribute to societal change.

Lifelong Learning for Continued Success

The importance of education continues after a diploma or degree. Lifelong learning is becoming increasingly important in today's rapidly changing world. Acquiring new knowledge and skills will be key to thriving in a future where industries evolve, new technologies emerge, and job markets shift.

By committing to lifelong learning, people can stay relevant in their careers, embrace new opportunities, and adapt to changing circumstances. This mindset of continuous improvement and growth ensures that education remains a key driver of success throughout life.

Education in Delaware is a powerful tool that shapes individuals' futures, opens doors to opportunities, and drives societal progress. It is the foundation upon which personal, professional, and economic success is built. Whether through formal schooling, self-study, or lifelong learning, investing in education ensures that individuals have the skills, knowledge, and resilience to navigate a rapidly changing world.

[klayconsultants]

Starting a Retail Business in Dubai? Discover Top Business Setup Consultants in UAE

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6. Networking and Local Partnerships: Established consultants have a network of local contacts, helping you forge beneficial partnerships and connect with key industry players.

Steps to Start Your Retail Business in Dubai

1. Conduct Market Research: Understand your target market, competition, and customer needs.

2. Choose a Business Structure: Decide whether to operate on the mainland or in a free zone.

3. Obtain Necessary Licenses: Apply for the relevant business licenses through the DED or free zone authorities.

4. Register Your Business: Complete the registration process, including trade name approval and initial approvals.

5. Set Up Shop: Secure a suitable location, fit out your retail space, and hire staff as needed.

6. Launch and Promote: Develop a marketing strategy to attract customers and create a buzz around your opening.

Making an Informed Decision

When selecting a business setup consultant for your retail business in Dubai, consider factors such as their industry expertise, track record, and ability to provide a network of support. Making an informed decision will lay a strong foundation for your retail venture in Dubai.

Conclusion

Starting a retail business in Dubai is a promising venture, thanks to the city’s dynamic market and supportive business environment. However, to navigate the complexities of business setup, partnering with experienced consultants in the UAE is essential. These experts can provide the guidance and resources needed to turn your retail business dreams into reality, ensuring a smooth and successful launch in one of the world’s most vibrant commercial hubs.

[onceuponanaromantic]

night time vibing but really, a lot of the reasons for my writing and my outlook on literature are a product of just being part of the section of singapore writing twitter and queer twitter and neurodivergent twitter and regularly interacting with people who are activists by necessity rather than choice. And also just regularly looking at southeast asian issues in general through new naratif.

tldr: art is political, please for the love of god read modern writing esp writing by writers of colour and from outside the anglo-american sphere, lit does help you in writing because you get to notice DetailsTM and Effects.

Because I do see art as inherently political. There are a lot of things I can say about the art scene in Singapore, especially with regard to art journalism, the types and means of production of art, but to provide an insultingly brief summary: people get more creative when you allow them to push boundaries without putting them into boxes for the sake of marketing. Further, art cannot be taken out of the context that it is made and when you read a text critically, you cannot ignore the author’s background and views. Art is not apolitical and I think it does any kind of writing a disservice to be read or understood as such. This is not to say that problematic art should be given a platform, but I do think it is worth having more conversations about accountability, managing harm within communities and boundary setting. One nice way that I saw someone put it once is: what if we changed the conversation to how WE would like to be held accountable for doing harm as opposed to how should we hold others accountable?

Another thing that comes to mind is that there’s a question that I finally have an answer to now, years after the answer was relevant. The question posed to me was in essence: does studying literature improve your writing? And at the time I said yes, but now I have a more in-depth reason as to why as opposed to ‘you get to appreciate more stuff’. It’s partially that at this point in my life, I’m studying poetry, drama and prose all at once, but I think that literature, especially critical theory, helps you notice details about writing. I think a lot of the criticism of studying lit comes because it is easy to look at literature as singularly the Western canon. This is a very poor way of studying literature, one because it distances the reader from the writing (esp because lit is taught in a v depoliticised way in most cases!) but also because especially for younger writers, it doesn’t give you an accurate reflection of the time you live in. I think this is something I picked up while doing my H3 research essay on modern singaporean poetry (esp because I’m talking about queerness) but it’s useful to understand movements and different influences on writing, and also to be able to look at living writing and living writers creating work. (and this is also why all I read is by writers of colour and queer writers and yes that is deliberate.) I think the mistake comes in looking at writing advice as the be all end all of writing, rather than being able to look critically at your own work and identify the effects that your writing has. Once you do that, you can decide if those are the effects you want to have, if you want to change the effect, but first, it is noticing what you’re doing.

[losthomunculus]

Online Safety Relevant to the Current State of the Internet

On twitter I made a tweet about how online safety lessons in school can be very out of touch but that the advice of people who are familiar with the current internet shouldn't be disregarded. So here's my informal collection of online safety tips

Sources: unrestricted internet access since elementary school (not recommended), being a formerly involuntarily home bound person for several years that amassed way too much online experience

This could possibly hold upsetting reminders to people who had bad experiences online including mentions of grooming and emotional manipulation so please proceed with caution!

Information Sharing

Make an online pseudonym for public profiles and websites.

Don’t feel like you have to list everything about you for the world to see.

Sometimes it’s not a question of “can this information be used to locate and identify me irl?”, but simply “do I want this information publicly available and linked to my online persona?”

Unlike offline, being online leaves a constant trail of who you were accessible at all times. People are constantly growing and changing. Try to limit the information you share so you can ditch that trail and start over if need be.

Sharing information with people you make friends with and trust is a judgement call on your part, but always be on the safe side and be protective of your information.

Start as cautious as possible with online safety. Any risks or judgement calls can come later when you are 1. aware of the risks, 2. ready to address them if they occur, and 3. have gathered plenty of information instead of doing something blindly and hoping for the best.

Do not share your triggers publicly, they can very easily be used against you. Instead use websites with a large amount of filtering options to curate your online experience. If you are going to share them, only do it privately with people you trust.

Importance of Boundaries

It doesn’t matter how mature you are, don’t enter age limited spaces you don’t qualify for. It’s disrespectful to the boundaries of the people who made that space. Boundaries like this exist for the comfort of both sides involved.

Just because you can “handle it” doesn’t mean it’s good for you. Desensitization is not something to brag about.

Venting or making r18 posts as a minor on a public account is VERY dangerous. Intense emotional vulnerability is something manipulators will look for as a way to get to you. The same with sexual jokes to develop your comfort talking about those topics casually and eventually escalating the situation. If you are going to talk about such things please keep that in private conversations with people you trust in your age group.

Note the difference between public and private online space. Tweeting something on a public account is not the same as having a conversation in the cafeteria with your friends.

If an adult tries talking to you about r18, run the other way. Doesn’t matter how cool you are, it says something weird about THEM if they’re willing to talk to a minor about that stuff.

If someone( like 3+ years, honestly depends on how old you are) older than you wouldn't be comfortable saying what they're saying to you in front of other people (like a teacher or guardian), that's suspicious as hell. Run in the other direction.

The younger you are, the more age gaps matter. There's a bigger difference in development between a 13 year old and a 17 year old than there is between a 20 year old and a 24 year old. It helps to try to contextualize it with real people instead of numbers. Instead of thinking "oh just 4 years? that's not that weird" consider "oh. that would be like a freshman (13/14) dating a senior (17/18). yikes."

Be just as wary of people your own age talking about things that make you uncomfortable. Just like irl, sometimes you’ll meet people your age that are hurtful.

Friends complain to each other and talk about their issues, that alone is fine. But when people are doing it without permission, draw a line. When people are making it feel like you’re responsible for maintaining their mental health, you need to draw a line. When it starts to effect your mental health, PLEASE DRAW A LINE! I know it feels like your responsibility sometimes, but it’s not. You cannot be there for others if you’re not taking care of yourself first and foremost.

Don’t be afraid to block people. Even for petty reasons. It’s good to block people. Don’t force yourself to see stuff you don’t want to see.

Being Constantly Online

The 24 hour news cycle is not a good thing to follow 24/7. Taking social responsibility is a good thing, but your brain is NOT built to worry about every issue in the world at once. One strategy I use for staying sane is I try to only check the news once a day, and if something needs more attention to set aside an amount of time I’m going to focus on it before I need to take time to step back.

Touch grass. Not literally, unless you can in which case I highly suggest it, sometimes it’s just good to lay in a field. What I mean is you need to dedicate a good portion of your time to being offline (sleep does not count). What your offline time looks like is going to differ depending on your level of ability, but even if you are house bound it’s important to build some hobbies that don’t rely on the internet. Talking to people offline is also a good goal if possible, even just to your housemates.

Social etiquette greatly differs online and offline and sometimes the reminder that were all just Some People gets lost behind the numbers and the fabricated personas. Keep in mind the difference in how information is shared without forgetting that the fact we are all people remains the same.

Be generous with your etiquette. You will avoid a lot of stress if you conduct yourself with the same politeness you would have in an offline interaction. Master the art of "minding your own business" for your own sake.

Arguments and Competition

As soon as you can, you need to internalize the fact that leaving an argument is not losing.

It is inevitable you will be exposed to many people who disagree with you. Some people only want to argue to rile you up. Sometimes that’s not their intention, but it’s what they’re doing. You do not have to remain in conversation with people, especially if they’re not interested in actually coming to an understanding. Even if they are interested, sometimes they just suck!! Leave!! You can leave!!

On that note, sometimes you are going to get valid criticism and it’s going to hurt. That is part of learning. If someone says you messed up and did something hurtful, take a second to step back from your defensiveness and consider: intent ≠ effect. Apologize, repair what you can, and move forward with the ability to do better in the future. You’re going to mess up every once in awhile, it’s inevitable.

To summarize the past two points: don't waste your time on unnecessary hostility but don't close yourself into an echo chamber either. Debates should be about learning.

Sometimes people are not going to like you. This happens offline too but people tend to be a lot more blunt online. Sometimes people dislike you for no reason or for really petty reasons. That’s not your problem, move on.

Don’t actively seek out people you don’t like or who don’t like you to argue with. Whether or not your side is the “right side” doesn’t matter, it’s going to cause you so much unnecessary stress. Feel free to keep posting your opinions on your own profile but don’t seek out unnecessary conflict.

This is a different type of competition than previously mentioned, but be aware of the danger of comparing yourself to other people. Especially if you’re a creative or student, DO NOT GET SWEPT UP IN THE GRIND CULTURE. It’s more subtle in some places than others, but anytime you see the notion that you should be working yourself to the bone be VERY critical. Also be critical of any online cultures (such as gaming and art communities) that brag about unhealthy habits or act like it’s ~part of the culture~ (ex: all nighters, not taking breaks, getting hurt. Any activity that neglects health to work toward a goal).

Not just grind culture, any community of subculture that shares anti recovery sentiments is a huge red flag. Even if they're joking, it's not worth the risk of internalizing those statements.

Everyone’s social media presence is to some degree doctored because it’s a purposefully selected collection of what they allow you to see. It’s fine to like the persona you see being displayed, but never forget that it is not reflective of the entire person. Everyone online is JUST SOME PERSON. Do not forget that and start holding yourself to a standard you can’t even see every side of.

By posting online you are opening yourself to criticism. Whether or not it’s justified can vary, but either way it’s going to happen. Mute stuff, go private, disable comments, etc if you need to.

Misc Tidbits

these are technically just general info that is also good for offline but I have seen things that make me think people online need the extra reminder.

Learn what cults are, how they recruit, and what they do to their members. I'm not kidding. This is particularly relevant at the moment because of current societal unrest and widespread loneliness. No one is immune to cult propaganda, and not every cult is based on pre established religion or family. Many exist ONLINE and are able to manipulate people without ever meeting face to face. (learn more: Loneliness as a Pandemic: The Dangers of Online Cult

Familiarize yourself with the concept of pseudoscience. Please familiarize yourself with the concept of pseudoscience and then learn how to identify pseudoscience. (learn more: Karl Popper, Science, & Pseudoscience: Crash Course Philosophy #8)

Q. How do I know if a source is reliable?

Final Thoughts

It's important people of ALL ages learn these lessons, because the internet is constantly changing and we are all vulnerable when in the presence of other people.

Be cautious and stay safe

[mack3030]

you sound ridiculous defending ea right now. putin is not playing the sims and he doesn’t care if his citizens can’t either. i fully support stanislav & luminous prioritizing respect for themselves and their countrymen in the face of such a shitty situation, and for you to just come out and defend ea honestly justifies their decision even more.

Did you even READ what I said? Seriously. Go back. Read it again. I'll wait. Here's the deal. I am not an EA flag waver. I fucking hate their guts. Less than a week ago I fully promoted pirating the Wedding DLC because of how much of a fucking train wreak EA made it, and I don't think people should pay for it. But you know what, I also don't think they {EA} deserve to be blamed for a decision that is OUT OF THEIR HANDS. How in the world do you think people are going to be able to pay for ANY EA games if they cannot use credit cards in Russia? If bank accounts don't work properly because there's been a run on the banks and the economy is shot. Because that's where Russia's at. Paypal, Mastercard, Visa...all of these companies are pulling their support or suspending operations because of the Ukraine situation. How do you expect EA to make a sale in the middle of a fucking warzone? I commented on their post because I felt they were laying blame where there should be none. And to try to explain some of the reasons why EA might not be ABLE to distribute their content right now even if they WANTED to. The sims team does NOT make the decisions on when/how content is released and where. That is made by the president/board of EA. THEIR HANDS ARE TIED.

In addition, all they were doing was shooting themselves in the foot by making their post seem like they were aligning themselves with a side of a war that 141 countries are against. (Source: https://www.nbcnews.com/politics/politics-news/un-general-assembly-votes-overwhelmingly-censure-russia-rcna18340) This is NOT good public relations and/or good communication. Anywhere did I say I was against the Russian people? No. They are JUST as much victims in all of this as the Ukranians are. This is also VERY personal to me because I have students in my area who are of both Russian and Ukranian heritage who STILL have family over in those areas. They are worried for their family. They are conflicted. They do not understand why this war has to happen. But the OP of that post has the fucking audacity to paint themselves as a victim of this war simply because they do not have access to the sims 4. And I'm sorry, but considering how many other people are ACTUAL victims of the war, losing their homes, property, and fuck, even their LIVES...I just find the GALL of that to be amazing. People are DYING. CHILDREN are dying. And this person has the fucking balls to try to BLAME a company that has ZERO control over a WARZONE for the fact they can't access a video game. Grow up. Seriously. Grow the fuck up. The Russian people deserve respect. They do. They have a beautiful history, one that I've studied and read over myself. I have a book on Russian history that was released right when the USSR was still a thing. I have it highlighted and marked up. I teach Russian art in my school. I have learned Russian phrases so I can greet and praise my students in the language that they hear at home. I have even put Russian music in the playlist of my classroom, both instrumental and with words. {And if any Russian simmers have some middle school appropriate suggestions, please do throw them my way~!} They don't want this any more than the Ukranians do. They're getting arrested to protest this war. But I'm sorry, the OP of that post acting like blocking their FREE CC from being posted is some sort of act of bravery is bullcrap. EA is crap, but acting the victim and making shit about you because you are mildly inconvienced when people are fucking dying and losing their homes? That's next level first-world problem petty. It's not about "respect". It's about turning your first world problems into a glory moment. Don't like my take? Then you can fucking block me.

[thran-duils]

Doll Me Up (P.5)

Title: Doll Me Up (Part Five) Summary: Fem!Reader x Dark Mob!Tony Stark. On good days, you and Tony were a power couple. You, a perfect trophy wife with your hands in local charities to promote a wholesome image. Tony, business man but sullied with organized crime. He indulged in his illegal gambling, extortion, and political corruption. And he indulged in his escort business. Hell, that is where he had found you. You were a brat, and he loved a challenge. Words: 3,059 Warnings: Unhealthy relationships, smut, daddy kink, dom/sub, manipulation, death, violence, possessive behavior Author’s Note: I’m not sure if this is the last part but I’m leaning towards it.

Part Four || Part Six || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Five and a half months ago…

Tony blinked against the sun as they left the news station. Y/N had facilitated a project, along with others, to bring seniors more fresh produce in their Meals on Wheels local program. She was excited about the project and Tony honestly could not give two shits about it but if it made her happy, he was happy to be there with her. He loved seeing the joyous smile on her face and her enthusiasm talking about it.

His hand was wrapped tightly around her waist as they walked out towards his car. And his smile only faltered when he spotted a familiar face in the crowd across the street. And a face he did not want to be seeing in public like this. And they were staring directly at him, like they had been waiting for him.

Tony turned to Y/N and whispered in her ear, “I need to go to the restroom.”

“We were just inside,” she jested. “Why didn’t you go then?”

“I didn’t have to go then. Here.” He opened the door for her, letting her get in. “I’ll be right back.”

To Happy, he whispered, “Fabian.”

“What do you want me to do?” Happy asked quietly, keeping his sights on Tony and not being obvious.

“Stay here with Y/N. I’ll be right back.”

“Boss—”

“He’s not going to lay a finger on me.” Tony said and Happy looked at him disbelieving. Tony was being overconfident about it and he knew it but he could not accept lowlifes trying to approach him in public like this. “Stay here with her. I’ll be back.”

Tony walked away from the car, moving back down the sidewalk. He spotted Fabian moving through it and he smirked to himself. He walked past the news station doors, and down the immediate alley.

He was waiting when Fabian entered the alley, standing dead center, hands in his pockets. If looks could smite, Fabian would have burned on the spot. “What makes you think you can come up to me in public?”

“You haven’t been returning my calls I’ve been leaving!”

“Yeah and for good reason. You’re unhinged!”

“That wasn’t my—"

Tony stepped closer, spitting, “You listen closely, Fabian, I am done with you and your bullshit! You are done. Do you get that? You had your chance and you fucked up. And I cannot be seen in public with you. You know that though. You squeal to anyone and you won’t just have me after you, you’ll have the whole city gunning for you with how many people are tied to it and you will. not. win. If you ever come up to me in public again – especially when I’m out with my wife – I will kill you on the spot.”

Tony straightened out his jacket before storming away from the man who was staring at him slack jacked. Tony did not give him a moment to respond before he was around him and striding back down the alley.

When he got into the car, Y/N was none the wiser.

She was immediately back into conversation, talking about what good this interview was going to do for the project and thanking him for coming along with her. Tony smiled sweetly, listening intently. His adoration for her wove deeply. He truly had recovered a true gem from the rabble.

<><><>

You stared at the door in bewilderment before touching it again. F.R.I.D.A.Y. repeated, “You are not authorized to open this door, Mrs. Stark.”

“Excuse me?” you word vomited.

“Do you need me to repeat the message, Mrs. Stark?”

You hated how calm F.R.I.D.A.Y. sounded.

“Override,” you tried.

“You do not have authorization to do that, Mrs. Stark.”

“Why can’t I go outside?”

“Mr. Stark blocked access at this door.”

You let out a frustrated noise before turning away from the door. You walked to the bedroom door, feeling the ache but you had to know. You walked down the stairs, taking them slowly. You went to the closest patio door, gripping the handle tightly.

“You are not authorized to open this door, Mrs. Stark.”

Breathing heavily through your nose, trying to keep yourself calm, you turned your head eyeing the next patio door.

Her voice was becoming quickly annoying. “You’re not authorized to open this door, Mrs. Stark.”

You took off around the mansion, trying all the doors leading to the outside but you got the same code when it read your fingerprint. You made your way to the front door, the door to the garage, out to the garden. It was all the same message. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, it sinking in that you were locked inside.

The thought of the kitchen door out to the pool came to you and you moved as quickly as you could there. You stalled seeing Happy standing in there, cutting an apple. He stilled seeing you and you did not miss the sly look he gave you as you moved through the kitchen, past the island where he was standing.

The same goddamn message.

You whipped around and stared at Happy.

“Let me out!” you demanded.

“I can’t override what the boss has inputted into the security system. You know that,” Happy said in passive tone, looking completely indifferent to how worked up you were.

“Where is he?”

“He left earlier.”

“Well, did he happen to mention to you why he was locking me inside?” you exasperated, throwing your hands out at your sides.

Happy sucked at his teeth, leveling you with a serious look. “Y/N, do you really need to be asking me that? Truly?”

You bit your cheeks to avoid shouting at him and forced yourself to turn on your heel and storm out of the room away from him. You made your way back up the stairs, going for your bedroom where your cell was waiting on the bedside table. Snatching it off the table, you pressed Tony’s name.

“Yes, kitten?” he answered calmly.

“Your stupid AI won’t let me out!” you exclaimed.

“Yeah, I programmed that this morning.”

“You…,” you started to argue but then your voice went up a notch, trying to whine. “Daddy, you can’t keep me locked in here!”

“Can’t or shouldn’t? Because it looks like I’m already doing it, so I apparently can,” Tony replied coolly.

“You shouldn’t then!” You added for good measure quickly, “Please!”

Tony’s tone was firm when he told you, “I think I very well should. You crossed a lot of lines and I am not fucking around when I tell you that they were lines that shouldn’t be crossed. You brought this on yourself, Y/N. Maybe if you spent less time throwing tantrums and more time listening to me, you wouldn’t have found yourself here. And hopefully you won’t again. I certainly hope you won’t again. I know you can do better.”

You were quiet, biting back tears. You thought you would be cuddling this morning, everything slowly falling back to normal.

He heard you sniffle and the sound of it elicited a soft sigh from him. “Princess, you can earn my trust back. I’m a reasonable man.”

“I said I was sorry,” you said tearfully.

“Oh, I know you did. And it was heartfelt. And you did so very well last night. I was impressed by you. Truly, baby. But I need to be sure you understand how serious I am that I don’t want you to repeat that. Ever.”

You asked weakly, “When are you coming back?”

“Tonight. I won’t leave you for long. And I’m going to bring you something. But you need to just sit tight. Be good for Happy.”

You did not answer because you were staring out the window, grinding your teeth.

“Princess?”

His voice snapped you back to reality and you got out, “I’ll be good.”

“That’s what I like to hear. By the way, I set up an appointment for you today, last minute. It’s a virtual meeting. Happy knows about it, he’ll help you. OB/GYN. F.R.I.D.A.Y will scan you, the baby, send it to her and she’ll correspond.”

“She’ll correspond with… F.R.I.D.A.Y?” you asked slowly.

“Just this one time. I promise we have a real appointment next week. I’ll be at every one after this and we will do it in person. Cross my heart.”

Your voice was small, “Okay.”

“I’ll see you later. Be good.”

“I will, daddy.”

He hung up and you pulled the phone away from your ear, staring down at it. He was acting weird. He acknowledged what had happened but moved so seamlessly into baby talk and appointments.

How were you going to relax knowing you were stuck in here?

<><><>

Five months ago…

The art show was boring and even more so for the afterpart of it. You had no desire to speak to anyone about it and they were all gathered in the large center room drinking wine and having finger foods. You had excused yourself to go to the bathroom and you removed your underwear, tossing them into the trash bin before leaving to find Tony,

Tony was speaking to someone, sitting on a set of small chairs. The sight of you caught his attention and you put your finger to your lips. He only spared you a second’s confused look before looking back at the man. But his gaze found you again quickly, curiosity getting the better of him. Over the man’s shoulder, hidden from the rest of the room by the large plant, you opened the slit in your dress, showing Tony you were not wearing any underwear. He began to smile and hid it by his hand came to his mouth, it balling into a fist as he stared daggers at you. You gave him a wide, tantalizing grin, beginning to walk backwards towards the doorway to the adjacent hallway.

You left him sitting on the couch, dropping your dress. The hallway was empty, and you walked slowly down it, taking in the art.

It did not take long for you to hear footsteps behind you, and you looked over your shoulder finding a very hot and bothered Tony coming down towards you. He wasted no time pushing you into the corner at the turn in the hall, his hands snaking up your dress. You turned your head, giving a throaty laugh.

“Listen here… if you wanna come, you better look at me,” Tony husked.

“There’s people—”

“You started it.”

You nipped at his nose and he buried his face into your neck in return. He resumed pressing you into the wall, his fingers slipping in to work you up.

<><><>

Three months ago…

People were outside in the pool, drunk in the summer sun. You though, you were inside, sitting against the wall, pouting. Some of your old escort friends had shown up per request for the guests attending and told you they were planning a trip to Vancouver to do some shopping and ‘go out on the town’ in a few weekends. You had been excited about the prospect, you had not been out like that for a long time. When you had left the group though and leaned over Tony’s shoulder at the poker game to tell him about it, he had waved you off.

“You’re not going,” had been his exact words.

Instead of going back to the girls, you had gone inside, not wanting to tell them the bad news. At the inside bar, you had taken a couple of shots and made sure Tony saw you walk by the window. You tossed him a glare as you passed. Him and his stupid open shirt over his dumb swim trunks – that you had specifically picked out earlier this week when you were shopping – could get fucked right now for all you cared.

It was not too long before Tony appeared in front of you, peering down at you, looking ever piqued. He was not happy you were sulking.

“You know, you’re really bringing down my mood, princess. Glaring at me like that because I had the audacity to deny you one thing out of millions.”

“Then stop looking at me,” you retorted, avoiding his eyes, still staring off out towards the pool party.

You heard him scoff and he said, “Don’t even try to throw a tantrum right now.”

“I’m not. I’m just sitting here.”

“Looking like I killed your fucking dog.”

You merely shrugged aggressively in response.

He gestured out towards the patio doors. “You know they’re only going to get in trouble up there. And I don’t want you to get wrapped up in it.”

“So, you don’t trust me to be faithful,” you said finally making eye contact with him.

Tony held up a finger to you and corrected firmly, “That’s not what I said.”

“That’s exactly what you’re saying!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands down beside you on the bench. “You don’t trust me!”

“Don’t try to make this into something that it’s not. I don’t trust them to keep you out of trouble,” Tony retorted. “You know how they are! You were – are – friends with them for fucks sake!” You opened your mouth to argue and he cut you off. “No, I’m done with this conversation. You know what I meant. I’m sorry that you are upset but there’s a reason I’m saying no to it. Now, either shape up and come back outside or go upstairs if you’re going to just glower at me.”

Clenching your jaw, you stood up angrily and stormed off away from him towards the upstairs.

You decided on a whim to leave, grabbing a swim suit cover and throwing some sandals on. Downstairs you ran into one of Tony’s guys and you stopped because of the way he was staring at you. You had wanted to leave without anyone noticing but seemed like that was not going to be the case.

His eyes ran over you, taking you in. “You alright?” he asked curiously, his eyes narrowing.

“Yeah, peachy. Have fun with your dumb poker game,” you spat at him before turning and walking to the front door.

You got into the car, turning it on angrily. You knew you should not be driving but you just did not want to be at home anymore. And Cassandra’s was not too far away, only twenty five minutes or so. You took off down the driveway, actually smirking of the look on his face when F.R.I.D.A.Y informed Tony you had left whenever he decided to check in on you. That should be awhile because he had been on a winning roll.

<><><>

He did not announce himself and you only realized he was home because F.R.I.D.A.Y came over the speaker in the living room informing you, “Dinner is ready in the kitchen.”

When you walked into the kitchen, he was a complete 180 from the night before. He walked up, giving you a kiss on the forehead, asking then sincerely, ���How was your day?”

“Fine…” you said, trailing off, giving him a curious look at his nonchalant demeanor.

He brushed it off, grasping your hand and began to lead you to your plate he had set up on the island next to one for him. “That’s good, kitten. Here. I hope you’re hungry.” He immediately paused and said under his breath, “Fuck. Hold on.”

Tony walked off to the pantry and your eyes wandered to the counter. You looked down at the plate and saw it was the dish from your favorite date night restaurant. He did that on purpose, you thought immediately. To remind you he remembered things you liked. To get you something that you did like. It was like an apology, extending an olive branch. This is how he knew how to apologize, with gifts.

You waited patiently until he came back with a long lighter. He smiled at you, lighting the small candle on the counter in between your plates. “Just like at the restaurant.”

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth at the small touch.

“Sorry, it’s just sparkling cider,” he told you, gesturing at the glass in front of your plate. He held up his bourbon and took a swift drink.

“It’s fine, thanks,” you said, picking up your fork and taking a bite. You savored the taste, chewing slowly.

Silence fell over the table and the two of you ate, both staring down at your plates as you ate. There was something hanging in the air between you and you just wanted to know what.

You got your answer soon enough. Tony’s sigh was heavy as he dropped his fork to his plate. “You know… I do have to apologize.”

That caught your attention.

“I hate doing it. You know I do,” he said, giving a little nervous laugh. “Admitting I’m wrong. Goes against everything in my genes. But… I could—should have done better with aftercare. The bath was bare minimum. I know you need more. We talked about it. And I… I lost my temper. And that’s not fair of me when I’m in the position I am in.”

He had your rapt attention, you tracking his every word. What he said was not untrue – you two had had a conversation about aftercare, especially when it came to punishments. He seemed genuine in his apology.

Tony made eye contact with you, grasping your hand. “In the future, especially during your pregnancy—” He cut off. “And I looked at the report. Everything seems to be okay?” You nodded and he nodded in return, “Good. Good… I need to be more careful. I need to do better. So… I’m sorry.”

You chewed your lip, taking what he said in. He was waiting for you to respond, to say anything, his eyes desperately searching yours.

“I accept your apology,” you told him.

Tony was pleased, his frame relaxing immediately at your forgiveness. Your hand was brought to his lips for a quick kiss. “You’re good. So good.” He stepped closer, and his free hand came to the side of your face, looking into your eyes deeply. “So, after dinner… maybe I can lotion you down?”

“The raspberry shea?”

“Yes, of course. Whatever you want.”

Three words he always said but did not seem to follow through on.

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21

Fic tags: @kvzctam, @farihafangirls, @teenageregression, @mrsnegan25

[tobesobri]

Bust | Part One: Chisel (7.8k)

“Disappointed?” She tilted her head, smirking at him. She had no right to think he liked her better than Rose. She, herself, liked Rose better too. So she was sure he had to be at least a little bit sad to see Rose missing.

He smiled and the second she saw those dimples she was reminded of his Instagram all over again.

“A little,” he nodded, pinching his thumb and index finger together in the air and she painfully agreed.

“Well, you get me all by myself tonight.” She didn’t realize how it sounded until it was too late. Until she was cringing at all the sexual insinuations she’d just made for absolutely no reason. She could have said something else that wasn’t laced in an innuendo. But no, of course not. She had to continue her embarrassing streak when it came to Harry.

Instead of being creeped out by her, however, and pulling a confused and slightly terrified face, he laughed. And, on God, his laugh was the most amazing thing she’d ever heard. This wasn’t the first time the sound of his laughter graced her eardrums, but it was the first time he was laughing because of something she said that wasn’t about crooked penises.

“Lucky me.”

In which Y/N is an annoyance in Harry’s sculpting class.

story masterlist | my masterlist

It’s not her forte. Her hands don’t know how to hold onto things. They tremble under pressure. They mess things up no matter how hard she tries.

Not that she had really tried very hard to begin with.

Sculpting was just not something she saw herself doing. Ever. Not with her lack of agility and poor attention to detail. But to appease her whining best friend… she’d do just about anything.

The class was held in a little art studio with large windows for ventilation and tall ceilings to display the mass amounts of student artwork on butcher block shelves. She never thought she’d be back in a classroom type setting after graduating college, but here she was.

Learning, what she proclaimed as, a useless skill.

The studio was smack dab in the middle of an inclined street. Little quaint buildings that sat on an angle because why not pour foundations on a hill and make her weekly walks to the studio a little sweatier than she would have preferred. Even if it was winter in their little beach village town. Sweat still happened. It just happened underneath a scarf and a hand-knitted beanie from the sewing shop next door.

She could not deny, however, that the late afternoon classes every Wednesday and Saturday brought her way more joy than she’d anticipated. She looked forward to meeting up with Rose at the bottom-of-the-hill cafe, sharing the daily special with her before making their way up to the studio. It was calm in the middle and end of her hectic weeks that she most definitely needed.

What she didn’t need, however, what she most certainly did not look forward to, what she could have done without, what took her joy and smashed it against a wall was him.

The instructor.

Harry ‘I have nice hands and a misleading smile’ Styles.

It had only been two weeks into their classes and he had already told her one of her bowls was garbage. That the way she sculpted a face was terrifying. That she couldn’t draw for shit and that made her attempts at sculpting even worse.

So by Saturday of their second week, she didn't care anymore. He was a jerk and she would be the best pain in his ass she knew how to be.

While everyone called him Harry, like he’d asked them to the very first day, she called him Mr. Styles. Just to see the way his eyes rolled back into his head and his nostrils flared. While everyone asked him insightful questions, like what glaze was best to use or what tool sculpted eyes most efficiently, she asked him if she could use the bathroom.

She got a fucking kick out of irritating him. Knowing he went home after their classes just as irritated as she’d been. With clenched fists and a pounding headache.

It helped that he was insanely too attractive to be teaching a bunch of millennials about sculpting in his free time.

“You should really leave him alone, he might kick us out, you know,” Rose said on their first third week walk up Justice Hill. There was no justice in walking uphill, and most fucking certainly not in the humidity-ridden beachside town. She found the street name personally offensive.

“Oh fuck him. If he kicks us out, he’ll have to refund us.” Y/N did not, even for a second, bother to lower her voice as they neared the studio, knowing any one of the other students could hear her if they were to walk by.

“Refund us what? We got the class for free, remember?”

Y/N racked her brain like she’d completely forgotten that little detail before shrugging it off. “Whatever. He won’t kick us out.”

“How do you know for sure?”

Before she could make some stupid remark about how Harry secretly liked her pestering him or about how much he seemed much too impressed by Rose’s progress to ever get rid of them, the devil himself turned the corner in front of them.

He came out from an alleyway that connected the street to a tiny parking lot. And while they were going uphill, he was coming down. He was hard to miss and so were they, but still he attempted to not see them.

“What a prick,” Y/N mumbled under her breath as they got closer to each other. And almost as if he could read her lips, he rolled his eyes so fucking hard she thought maybe they’d finally pop right out of his head this time.

“Shush,” Rose warned as the three of them finally met in the middle, at the door to the studio that was decorated with a bright yellow ‘Open’ sign, children’s drawings, hand-painted hours of operation, and one too many polaroids of past students and their sculpting creations.

They all stood and stared at each other for a moment before he opened the door first, holding it as, to Y/N’s surprise, he let them go in first. And while she was still in shock at the gesture, his body language said it all. Like he was forcing himself to be nice to the dynamic duo, to the bane of his existence. While she was too distracted by Harry and his clay-stained trousers and cable-knit sweater with a cartoon deer embroidered on it, Rose walked into the studio first. Giving Harry a polite smile that he returned almost… genuinely.

And right when Y/N made a move to follow, Harry stepped in front of her. She jolted back as he just about let the door slam her in the face.

Today was going to be fantastic.

*                                              *                                 *

“Right, so,” Harry began, clapping his dry hands together as he took a seat behind his messy table at the front of the studio. “I know some of you haven’t finished your heads yet, but our focus today will still be on the bodies. We’ll have a catch up on Saturday to make up for it.”

Y/N sought out her head on the wall where she’d placed it last week beside Rose’s, realizing for the first time just how ugly it really was. And to think she’d been trying to sculpt Harry’s annoying face. Even more annoying that no matter what she did, he was always a lot more handsome than her hunk of polymer clay.

“... because, like I mentioned, we have special guests today who will be modeling for you.” Harry stood again while two very thin and very conventionally perfect people came out in white robes. Y/N couldn’t help but gag.

“This is Hope and Jordan.” Harry motioned as he introduced them, not getting any further in his instructions before Y/N raised her hand in the back of the class.

Rose attempted to get her to put it down, too, because Harry was clearly in the middle of something, but it didn’t really work out so well. Y/N was a stubborn son of a bitch.

“Yeah?” He pointed at her, sighing while planting his hands on his hips. He knew nothing she had to ask was going to be at all beneficial to the group.

She cleared her throat and just from the smirk on her face, he braced for impact. “Are they going to be modeling nude?”

She made just about everyone blush, except for Harry. He hated how she never took anything seriously. That the art he’d spent years perfecting enough to teach meant nothing to her. It was all just a primary school joke in her eyes.

“Yes, actually,” he answered bluntly and then returned to what he was going to say before Y/N’s interruption. “So I want everyone to get a piece of paper and while they’re modeling, do a rough sketch of what you might want the body of your sculpture to look like. The importance is to get the proportions down so that when you use the clay, you’ll know how much you’ll need for each part. Just like we did for the heads.”

Harry walked around the class once the models were stripped and the sketching began. Rose started immediately, concentration on her face as she flipped between the female model and her piece of sketchbook paper.

All Y/N had was a scratch piece of grey-toned mixed media paper she’d found laying on their table. And absolutely no clue where to even begin.

She stared at Harry instead of the naked models, watching as he helped others around the room, pointing at their sketches and where they could improve. His other hand behind his back that gave her perfect access to stare at his rings. Remembering how he’d taken them off guide their first few sculpting lessons. Remembering how his hands had so gently but so fucking firmly caressed the mound of clay into the exact shapes he wanted like he knew exactly what to do with those things.

“See it’s going just as I expected back here.” When his voice was at her ear, she jumped out of her skin and out of her daydreams. Twisting her head around to him as he stood behind her, she found him staring over her shoulder at her blank piece of paper.

She narrowed her eyes at him once she’d fully processed what he said. “Sorry I’m trying to figure out the best way to scale up that dude’s micro-cock, proportionally, if you don’t mind.”

He just about choked on his own spit, and rightfully so. But when he glanced to her eyes instead of her disappointing blank canvas, with his eyebrows furrowed and his cute little nostrils flared just the way she liked them, it was clear his reaction wasn’t for the reasons she’d intended.

He was quiet. Lips pursed, mind completely empty apart from hearing her say cock over and over again. Echoing against his skull. Making a home for itself in his hippocampus for later purposes. When he was not in a class full of students with their eyes on him, watching him get hard at the fucking way she said cock.

“Leave you to it then,” he cleared his throat and continued on.

“He may not kick us out, but killing you is still an option,” Rose whispered once Harry was a safe distance away from them.

Y/N leaned back in her seat to watch him walk down the rest of their row. His hands behind his back again, eyes wandering over shoulders.

As long as he had those rings on while he choked her out, she was okay with that.

*                                              *                                 *

Everyone had moved on to their bodies. Gathering the clay they needed from the front and using their sketches as guidelines to build around the pre-made wire and aluminum foil armature. Most everyone had some sort of a form being attached to the heads of their sculptures by the time Y/N even got started.

Because she decided on using Harry as reference after all and he would just not stand still.

With the models gone, they were on their own, with help from Harry of course. He played several videos and gave various demonstrations to aide them. It wasn’t supposed to be perfect, but after she gave it her all for about ten minutes, she was ready to give up. Her body looked like a very lumpy, very deformed version of Shrek.

She took a break again, watching Rose sculpt for a while instead. She watched Harry sometimes too as he walked around the class again in gloves this time. Smoothing out features and picking up tools to aid in the process of forming collarbones and wrinkles.

The studio was in its typical state of disarray. Random cups of milky water on every table, pieces of clay smushed into the tile floor, tools and used gloves strewn about with no rhyme or reason. Harry thrived in that kind of environment while Y/N well… she hated it.

She wanted organization and cleanliness. Her nine-to-five called for that kind of thing. But she was slowly getting used to it. To letting go and embracing the mess while she was here. She wasn’t the one that had to clean it all up anyways.

The only time she wasn’t daydreaming was when Harry started up their aisle again, walking in front of their table this time however. He helped a couple others at the end of their row, watched some of them work before eventually landing right in front of Rose’s station.

He cocked his head to the side while he watched her struggle to form an even pair of breasts on her headless lady. And even though Y/N was trying her best to look busy, she just couldn’t help it.

Rose handed her work in progress over to him with a frustrated huff after he offered his assistance. And like… no way was Y/N missing out on Mr. Harry fucking Styles fingering some clay into the perfect set of boobs. No way.

Especially fucking not when he removed his gloves and used those fingers in their bare glory the way she wished he’d use them someplace else. She watched while he slapped some more clay on Rose’s poor flat-chested model and proceeded to smooth it out with his expert fingertips. She watched the clay melt under his touch, watching him dip into their shared cup of water to aid the process. She looked away long enough to admire the concentration on his face, the way he bit down on his lip and furrowed his brows the way she was used to. She watched again while he fixed all of Rose’s mistakes just by gliding his thumbs over the two perfect little lumps on her sculpture that sure as hell hadn’t started out so perfectly.

She had no idea why Harry sculpting a tiny set of breasts on what would eventually become a mermaid got her so hot and bothered but… it did. It did so fucking much, she was almost salivating like a dog by the end of it, thinking about what his hands could do with the real deal. But then he handed it back to Rose with a content smile on his face and burst Y/N’s little bubble.

“Might be better,” he said softly and Rose nodded in agreement. She hadn't noticed before, but when he stood to his full height it was clear he’d been leaning over on their table. Closer to the both of them than he’d ever really been before. And she knew he was tall, taller than Rose, who was five foot seven inches herself. And not just that but his shoulders were broad and his arms were a humble amount of muscular. Almost like he was a sculptor that kneaded clay a hundred hours a week. Maybe that was why she was a soaking wet mess.

He stretched his gloves back onto his hands and glanced Y/N’s direction. Eyes going straight from her disaster of an art piece to her flushed face and back.

“Don’t even know where to start to fix yours up,” he commented while moving slightly to his right until he stood directly in front of Y/N this time.

She looked at her abomination, wondering if it would be her worst idea to push more of his buttons or not. But, she went for it anyways. Her lack of impulse control would definitely come back to bite her in the ass one day.

“It’s the penis. Still haven’t gotten that down yet.”

He nodded, amused rather than his previous reaction to her antics. “Can see that, yeah. He’s got a bit of a crooked willy there.” Harry poked at it with his index finger and she became hyper aware of his closeness this time while he leaned over her tabletop again. Because his hands were right there, almost touching her own. And they were big, bigger than she realized. She could see him perfectly through the transparent gloves, his long fingers with clipped nails at the end that were well taken care of, considering.

She would need to soak herself in holy water for a while after this.

“Oh, is that not what the male anatomy looks like?” She teased, not fully realizing they were getting along for the first time and it was because of dicks. Because she’d put an oddly shaped protrusion on her figure before she’d even done much else with the blob of clay stuck to her form.

“No,” he laughed, shaking his head at her and standing up straight again. “Maybe if you paid attention when the models were out here, you’d know that.”

“Maybe if you hired someone who’s cock I could actually see from all the way back here without a fucking magnifying glass.” She was only slightly aware of how fully immersed she was in the debate over this penis.

But all he heard was cock again. She really needed to stop saying that. Because this time his mind was a little more imaginative while he stared at her lips and thought about the way she might say that on her knees in front of him.

He shook his head clear. She was an insufferable nuisance that he just barely tolerated on a good day. He didn't need her clogging up his brain with her cock talk too.

“Just fix it.” He mumbled.

She huffed when he left her to her own devices, not even bothering to offer his help, but she really shouldn’t expect any less. If he helped her, he would be doing it all for her. And that was hardly the point of taking a class to learn how to sculpt if the hot instructor was just going to do everything for you.

“Is there a reason why you’re arguing with him about penises?” Rose asked, hushing her voice around the apparently taboo word.

“It’s fun. And if I’m going to sit here in this stupid class with you I’m going to have some fun.” Y/N, on the other hand, was not hushed or subtle at all, as she ripped off the phallic piece of clay from her sculpture.

Rose cringed when she glanced past Y/N to find Harry looking right at her. He had been helping someone a few seats down and clearly not far enough away to have missed what Y/N said. All of his features drooped and he looked genuinely upset. Rose wished she could put a filter over Y/N’s mouth to save everyone from her insensitive outbursts. Especially Harry. He always tried so hard and for Y/N to brush everything off and boil it all down to a ‘stupid class’ even broke Rose’s heart a little. So she could only imagine how Harry felt.

After their typical hour and a half was up, once everyone at least had some semblance of a body minus the legs and arms, Harry called the class back to order.

“Alright, that’s time. You can put your armatures back on the shelves, carefully. As always, I’ll be around for a little while after. Have a great rest of your night, I’ll see you all on Saturday.” He finished his spiel, turning away to help clean up before a lightbulb went off in his head and his voice rang through the studio again, “Oh, and make sure you bring your sketches back with you!”

Everyone worked on cleaning up, including Harry. And while Y/N took both her and Rose’s sculptures over to their respective spots on the shelves, Rose walked up to the front of the class without any warning whatsoever.

She tapped Harry’s shoulder and watched while his smile faded just the tiniest bit after he turned to find her. That Rose’s poor face had to be associated with the thunderstorm that was Y/N.

“I just wanted to say sorry… about Y/N.” Both Rose and Harry glanced at the girl in question near the back of the studio, playing with their two sculpted bodies like they were barbie dolls. “I forced her to do this with me so she hasn’t really taken it seriously. But I’m really enjoying the class, you’re a fantastic instructor.”

His smile returned again and if he was being honest with himself, it really did make him feel better to hear her say that. He had some sort of a reasoning for Y/N’s horrible attitude and while he wished it was her apologizing and not Rose, he figured it was good enough.

“Thank you. You’re doing really well so far. I’ll see you on Saturday, yeah?”

She nodded, giving him one last polite smile before trotting back to Y/N and helping her clean up the last bits around their workstation.

“Please do not tell me you were flirting with him.” Y/N gagged, using a ball of clay to gather the little pieces spread across their table like a magnet.

“No, actually, I was apologizing to him for your behavior.”

Y/N snapped her head up, first at Rose and then Harry all the way across the room from them. “You what?”

“He’s just trying to teach and you’ve been a fucking knobhead.”

Y/N gasped in fake offense, which was actually slightly real offense. “Excuse me, he made fun of my bowl the first day, you seem to have forgotten about that.”

“A toddler could have made a better bowl than that, Y/N, and you know it.”

She frowned, grumpily averting her eyes to the table with her arms crossed over her chest like she really was a toddler.

“I’m just saying,” Rose started, a bit calmer this time, “stop pestering him.”

*                                              *                                 *

Y/N thought about everything Rose had said. About how much she wished she could take things seriously and not constantly get on people’s nerves all the time, but she simply did not know how to. Taking the piss out of things and making jokes was how she got through her days.

But she did agree. Harry didn’t deserve her behavior. Maybe he was a bit of a jerk to her to begin with, but insulting his class might’ve been crossing a line.

Because she didn’t actually think it was stupid. She quite enjoyed listening to him. She liked learning something new and following his instructions as he walked them through some of his techniques. She liked being connected to all the people in the little studio, even if only briefly. Complete strangers all shared that one little thing in common and it made her all fuzzy and warm inside each time she met up with Rose at the end of every Wednesday and Saturday.

Hiding behind a bit of humor, however, was a lot more comfortable than admitting she found pleasure in anything as corny as sculpting classes.

On Friday night, boredom got the best of her and she took a chance upon searching Harry’s name on Instagram while she took her weekly bath. It had been Rose’s idea, the bath, not stalking her attractive sculpting instructor online. That decision was completely her own. But the baths at the end of stressful weeks had a little influence from her best friend, as did most aspects of her life. Baths were a waste of time, in her opinion, and she preferred the efficiency of showering. But Rose had given her nice smelling soaps and weird fizzy things for bath time and well… she couldn’t let them go to waste.

So, amid her regularly scheduled, once-a-week bath, she scrolled shamelessly through Harry’s feed. Because he did, in fact, have an instagram. And she only knew it was him because every fourth post was a video and in said videos were his hands. And, fuck, they were just as nice on film as they were in person.

He didn’t post much of his face, which she thought was an actual crime, but there was a lot about him and his sculpting. She found out it had been his sister’s birthday recently, who, when she smiled, looked just like him. He’d also just finished a piece he seemed really proud of, a clay head and bust of a pit bull, to which he linked in the caption about a local shelter who rescued the breed specifically and needed donations. Her heart nearly fucking melted.

Harry wasn’t much of an open book, though, unless he let his art do most of the talking. He seemed to enjoy sculpting women the most, which is probably why he’d been so good at de-lumping the breasts on Rose’s mermaid. But all the female sculptures he made weren’t sexual at all. They had meaning behind them. Like every single clay face she clicked on throughout his photos had a story. Like he was uplifting rather than fetishizing.

And not every single one of them was skinny and had perfect features. She was shocked to see at least half of the creations she’d skimmed through were of larger women with imperfect breasts at times and asymmetrical faces. Not sticking to typical European beauty standards as she may have originally assumed he might.

It made glancing down at her very much imperfect body feel a little less like an attack. Because Harry spent his time putting all his love into his little sculptures with diverse body types that she almost felt ashamed for ever hating hers.

Once she was done clicking on just about every single post he’d ever made, she finally found a selfie. Well… not really a selfie. Someone else had clearly taken it of him candidly while he had been working. But there was an awfully cute smile on his face and very familiar dimples poking into his cheeks that make her heart warm up again.

He wasn’t a damn thing like she’d assumed he was from the beginning. She thought his art centered around the ideal, and that maybe he was a little condescending because of it. But his Instagram told a different story about his art. And she wanted to know so much more about him.

She was completely lost in her dreams about him that just the smidge of distraction led to accidentally liking a photo of his from two years prior.

She’d have to move countries. Change her name. Delete everything. Never look back. Y/N? A distant memory.

Before dropping her phone in the tub and really making a complete ass out of herself, she threw it, instead, onto her furry rug in the middle of the bathroom and sunk herself down into the water. Wondering if it would really be so bad if she just drowned a little bit.

Because she desperately wanted to. There was nothing she could do. Not even unliking the picture would help. He’d still see the notification. Still click onto her page and realize who in the fuck had just liked a two-year-old post of his that he, himself, had probably even forgotten about.

She wanted nothing more than to sink her head under the pink-tinted water and never come back up. Her mind would not stop with the visualizations of what his reaction might be. Things he might be thinking. Like is this that fucking bitch from my sculpting class? Or whether or not she might find herself blocked by morning.

God, just make it stop.

But suddenly her phone buzzed and her heart just about stopped beating. It had to be the notification that Harry blocked her. Was that even a thing? Did Instagram notify you if someone blocked you? And why was her phone on silent? Because her Instagram notifications and her text messages made very different sounds. If it was just a text, she’d consider ignoring it. She’d continue marinating in all her shame a little while longer. But it ate her alive not knowing what the buzzing was from.

So, carefully, she pulled herself upright and reached across the floor until she had her phone in her hand. Before she clicked the screen on, though, she closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath.

But when she opened her eyes and found out why her phone had buzzed, she let that breath out and settled her ass down again. It was Rose.

Hey, I can’t make it tomorrow for class. Felt like absolute shit at work today and had to go home because as it turns out I have the flu.

“Fuck,” Y/N mumbled to herself. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to go alone because facing Harry after she just did what she did was one thing, but doing it all by herself was another. But a part of her did still want to go tomorrow. The part before her horrific accident when she was full on getting a love boner over Harry. She’d wanted to see him again so fucking bad.

Okay. I probably won’t go too then

Y/N physically frowned at the idea of waiting another five days to see Harry again. Her brain really needed to make its fucking mind up about him. Did she want to see him or not?

No! You have to go and tell me what I missed!

Y/N rolled her eyes, but felt relieved. Even after her embarrassing slip up, her desire to see Harry again still prevailed. And she hated it. How was she even supposed to look him in the eye tomorrow, both of them knowing damn well she’d been stalking his Instagram back to two fucking years ago?

*                                              *                                 *

It was beyond weird sitting in their usual cafe on Justice Hill alone, even without the whole Instagram fiasco of the previous night she was trying everything in her power to forget about.

However all the desperate attempts to bury that awful experience were fruitless when she glanced across the room over her latte and found a very familiar set of grumpy-looking eyes already staring at her. But once she did notice him, he immediately looked away, stepping up to the counter to order his own cup of coffee.

She nearly choked on her drink, having to set it down and wipe what had spilled onto her chin off with a napkin she’d already used to sop up another one of her messes.

Of the three weeks now they’d been going to classes and frequenting the cafe just before, she’d never seen Harry. It was like he didn’t have a life outside being an instructor. He just popped up in the studio and she always left before him so she had no idea what he did after class either.

But seeing him here was like seeing a fucking unicorn in real life.

She couldn’t help watching him either, even if she knew she shouldn't. But, in her defense, he was wearing beautiful wine-colored corduroy pants with a tight white t-shirt tucked into them and a beige coat thrown over his arm to match. And for shoes he had on his usual white vans that had gained a few more scuff marks since the last time she’d seen him. His fashion would look terrible on anyone besides him.

He glanced her way again, briefly, when he left the counter with his cup, fighting his legs from walking in her direction but not exactly winning that battle.

And to her surprise, he stood right in front of her, behind the chair where Rose usually sat.

And when she looked up at him, he completely forgot why he had come over. He had no fucking clue what he was doing there. But it was too late now for him to back away and pretend like it never happened.

“Your friend's not coming?” His voice shook, but she didn’t notice with the way he finally took his fucking eyes off of her and gave her a chance to breathe again. He glanced at his watch just to confirm that it was, in fact, only five minutes until class started and it seemed reasonable to assume Rose wasn’t meeting her before then.

She pulled herself together and pretended like his close presence wasn’t intimidating her in the slightest.

“Disappointed?” She tilted her head, smirking at him. She had no right to think he liked her better than Rose. She, herself, liked Rose better too. So she was sure he had to be at least a little bit sad to see Rose missing.

He smiled and the second she saw those dimples she was reminded of his Instagram all over again.

“A little,” he nodded, pinching his thumb and index finger together in the air and she painfully agreed.

“Well, you get me all by myself tonight.” She didn’t realize how it sounded until it was too late. Until she was cringing at all the sexual insinuations she’d just made for absolutely no reason. She could have said something else that wasn’t laced in an innuendo. But no, of course not. She had to continue her embarrassing streak when it came to Harry.

Instead of being creeped out by her, however, and pulling a confused and slightly terrified face, he laughed. And, on God, his laugh was the most amazing thing she’d ever heard. This wasn’t the first time the sound of his laughter graced her eardrums, but it was the first time he was laughing because of something she said that wasn’t about crooked penises.

“Lucky me.”

He left her so fucking speechless, that after he started backing away from her table, reminding her to not be late, she still ended up being late. Because she sat in her chair for what felt like a century repeating his two words over and over again in her head.

Lucky me.

She knew he was only teasing but the way he’d just gone along with her original joke and how his voice sounded when he said it, she could not believe it. She could also not believe how Harry had some kind of massive hold on her that she sat staring at a wall for ten minutes trying to figure out how to operate properly again just to get up out of her chair.

Lucky fucking me.

She could scream.

If she wasn’t in public.

There was an extra pep in her step as she took Justice Hill alone this time, partially because of how giddy Harry had made her and partially because she was late… right after he told her not to be. But how was she supposed to be on time after what he’d just done to her emotions. And to the throbbing mess between her legs, but that's another story entirely.

Everyone was all over the place when she’d finally arrived, though, so it made slipping in the back that much easier. Not that she got past Harry’s watchful eyes, though, but at least she wasn’t interrupting anything while the class readied their workstations for another full night of going ham on their sculptures.

Harry kept his eyes on her mostly the entire time she did the same at her empty little area, watching as she tucked her purse under the desk for safekeeping and threw a couple tools he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her use onto the table. When she wandered off to the wall of shelves to retrieve her absolutely horrifying work of art, he finally gave her some privacy again. But he couldn’t help the fact that he’d been worried sick when she didn’t show up on time after he’d just seen her at the cafe, thinking something horrible could have happened to her between there and here.

So making sure she was unscathed before he, too, got his area organized was essential.

She sat in her chair and stared at what she had made the past three weeks. They’d started with something simple on the first day, taking a pre-cut slice of clay and free-handing a bowl with a few tips from Harry thrown in here and there. Then they jumped straight in after he showed them a few clips of sculptors working, pausing to explain specific things about creating a head and face. They were given everything they needed to make sculpting a complete figurine of a human body as easy as possible.

And still, she managed to create a combination of Shrek and the abominable snowman.

She huffed, wondering if she asked nicely enough Harry would let her just start all over. But before she could even think to do so, he clapped his hands together and got everyone’s attention for today’s mini-tutorial.

He explained smoothing to them and how there were many different ways of doing it so that your end results weren't littered in fingerprints. He reminded them to use water to smooth out the initial shapes of the clay they wanted and if they were having a really hard time with too much warmth from their fingers to use the gloves.

He ventured a little into detail work of the bust, showing a short clip of another artist forming collar bones with just two tools and her fingers. He explained what tools those were and why they were the most efficient for details and went on some more about other detail tools that were good for different things.

And the entire time she was far too lost in his voice and how his eyes lit up passionately when he rambled to even think about the fact that she wasn’t taking a single note for Rose’s sake.

They’d done a few lessons on details for the face, but they had yet to really get that far, only having put on tentative eyelids, lips and a nose for their heads before he really dove deep into details in what she assumed would be a full class later on.

And when he finally took a break to ask for any questions, she was, of course, the first to raise her hand. He thought about ignoring it, knowing all too well that anytime Y/N raised her hand in the back of his classroom, she was up to no good. But he was too nice to do that to anyone, even her.

So he called on her by nodding his head and she cleared her throat while he grimaced, expecting the worst.

“So, um, for example if we were going to do bigger details like abs on a male figure, what would be the best tool for that?”

He could have sworn he was having a heart attack. He had to blink a few times just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. She was actually asking him a legitimate question, and a good one at that. He had to repeat what she said in his head first, just to make sure it was real, before he answered, completely unprepared.

“Um… well after you lay out the clay where you want on the body, you can use one of the knives to blend the edges,” he held up an example of one for her, “and then a large ball or oval tool like this,” he held up another, “to smooth everything out. You’d probably want a more blunt pointed end to shape them, though, after you blend the clay in.”

She nodded like she’d been fully absorbing every single word coming out of his mouth and then he watched as she dug around quietly in the tool kit on her desk, in search of the types of tools he’d mentioned.

He could not fucking believe it though. She finally showed a stitch of interest in learning about sculpting. And he had no idea why she decided to right now. Maybe it was because she was without her partner in crime, but either way he was stunned. Absolutely fucking marveled.

After a few more questions and some demonstrations, he let everyone go and continue working on their projects while he circled the room as he normally did. And he found himself glancing at her from time to time, all by herself in the back with a genuine look of concentration on her face as she attempted making her creature a little less loch ness monster and a little more human.

Eventually, after he figured she was giving it enough effort for him to step in and help if she needed, he headed her way. And just as she sensed him walking down her aisle, while she was busy shaving off clay, a piece of it went flying into the air, completely out of control.

He stopped in his tracks after almost being smacked in the face with a chunk of clay and bent over to pick it up before someone squished it into the bottom of their shoes. He leaned over the edge of the table in front of her again, setting the piece of clay down next to her gently while she bit her lips between her teeth and tried to hide her embarrassed red cheeks behind her hands.

“Sorry!” She squealed at him, further digging herself into a hole.

He shook his head, “S’alright. Not the first time that’s happened.”

She laughed at the thought of him actually getting hit in the money maker with a hunk of clay and it eased her worries a little.

“So how are those abs going then?” He asked.

She stared at her sculpture for a moment before she sighed and turned it around to face him. It wasn’t as bad as it had been before, but it was still pretty rough.

“Mind if I…?” He held his hands out and she, without a single hesitation, handed it over to him.

He immediately grabbed the shaving tool she’d been using, and since it still sat next to her where she’d put it down moments ago, his fingers brushed against her hand when he picked it up. Sending every one of her nerves in the general area on a field day to mess with her nether regions again. It’s just… his fucking hands were an art form in and of themselves. His knuckles prominent, stretching soft skin around the bone. His veins protruding every time he made a more delicate move that required precision. Even the ones on his arms underneath the ink when he was a bit more rough with her sculpture sent her over the moon, while he shaved off bits and pieces with firm pressure to define the shape of the body and somehow create a human-like figure from her mess.

Then he started smoothing down the surface with a little water on his fingers and she went batshit. His hands while dry were one thing, but sparkling, wet, slippery fingertips? Lord have mercy.

She watched him spread a chunk of extra clay onto what would be the figure’s chest to build it up a little more with the knowledge of their previous conversations about dicks and abs making it clear she was attempting to make a male figure. She couldn’t help but watch his muscles flex underneath his tight white t-shirt. From far away across the cafe it had caught her attention. And now right here, she was definitely not letting it go unnoticed. It wasn’t too tight that he looked ridiculous, but just the right amount to show off every curve of his biceps and triceps and whatever other -ceps he had hiding underneath the shirt. He was normally in oversized tops so she was taking full advantage while she still had the chance to.

When he handed it back to her, it was like he’d done some kind of magic spell to get it to look so good after what she’d given him to work with. He leaned forward a little more and pointed at the figure’s chest and she was only halfway paying attention to him when he spoke, mostly focusing on how close he was and every single time he accidentally brushed his skin against hers.

“So if you want to make the abs,” he paused to glance over and dig through her pile of tools until he found the one he was looking for. “Use this to kind of sketch out the shape like we did with the faces,” he took the ball tool and rolled it down the middle of the chest, making a short indent to separate where the pectorals might be, “then you can add on the dimension like I was saying earlier.”

She took over the tool when he flipped it around and gave it to her so she could try for herself. And he watched for a short while as she did what he said to do, sketching out tentative abs, but not really knowing exactly what they looked like to come to any sort of realistic end. Her figure started to look like a shirtless Johnny Bravo.

He just giggled and pointed his stupid finger back into her personal space, smoothing down her mistakes until they disappeared, “Have you never seen a six-pack that wasn’t on a cartoon character?”

She racked her brain, trying to say something funny, but once she looked into his eyes, nothing came to mind. “Of course I have. I just don’t know how to make them look realistic.” She couldn’t exactly remember the last time she’d been faced with a naked man’s chest, but she had seen them before.

“Well…” Harry sighed, resting his head on his hand and staring at her sculpture sideways, “he doesn’t have to have abs.”

And then she said it. Something worse than her earlier set of words back at the cafe. She had no clue what was going on with her tonight, but she needed an ass-kicking for it.

“Do you have abs?”

“Me?” His eyes flickered up to hers in shock and it was far too late for her to backtrack, she was here and she had to face what she’d done. Even while he looked at her like she was fucking insane.

“Uh, well. I mean…” She had no fucking clue what she meant. And even if she did, she sure as shit wasn’t telling him.

Then it clicked in his brain. “You’re not using me as reference, are you?”

After a solid three seconds of just staring at him, she laughed. “No, of course not.”

“Hope so after you gave him that wonky penis.”

She sighed once they were through it. Once he’d proved, yet again, that he didn’t make her embarrassing statements feel as bad as they really were. He kind of just... went along with it.

But then she made it even worse.

“So yours isn’t wonky and crooked, then?”

Jesus, fuck Y/N just shut up.

His smile never faded, however, and instead, he leaned close again and whispered, “Maybe one day you’ll be lucky enough to find out.”

[doshmanziari]

Musical Offerings for the New Year || What is “Radical Music” in 2021?

Near the end of 2020, a bunch of musicians populating a chatroom, including myself, each submitted ten minutes’ worth of our work to another musician, Chimeratio, who generously compiled it all into a set totaling nearly ten hours.¹ The work didn’t need to be new; just what we thought might best represent our abilities/style(s) and/or perhaps what we were especially pleased with. The set premiered in late January. Since I have some tentative plans for reorienting Brick By Brick this year, while not overriding its emphases, I wanted to share that music with anyone who’s interested.

I compiled the four videos into a playlist, although you can also access them individually: here (1), here (2), here (3), and here (4). If you care to, and are on a computer, you can also view the accompanying chatlog and read people’s responses from when they were listening to the live broadcast.

The compulsion for this project was sparked by excited discussions over and usage of the term “digital fusion”, most helpfully propagated by Aivi Tran, designating a computer-based body of work that for years lacked the rooftop of a commonly agreed upon genre-name. While describing my music has never been a big concern, even if it’s usually felt impossible (what, for example, is this? or this? I dunno!), I’ve appreciated how the spread and application of this term has brought together people who may have felt isolated.²

As “digital fusion” gained designative traction, I witnessed the activity in the aforementioned chatroom explode over the course of a few days. Before, a day’s discussion might’ve been a few dozen messages; now, there were dozens of messages every half-minute. This had positive and negative ramifications, the negative being that conversations often proceeded at a pace of rapidity which precluded concentrated thought. Eventually, I bowed out because the rapidity exceeded my threshold for meaningful interaction; but I was glad that significant invigoration was going on.

I wanted to share this music also because it intersects with thoughts and talks I’ve been having stemming from the question, “What is ‘radical music’ in 2021?” This was stimulated by a 2014 talk given by the writer Mark Fisher, wherein he contends that, were we to play prominent “cutting edge” music from now to people twenty years ago, very nearly none of it would be aesthetically shocking, bizarre, or revelatory (think of playing house music to an audience in the early 1960s!). Fisher also observes a trend of returning to music which once was seen as the future -- as if, deprived of a shared prograde vision, imaginations turn hazily retrograde; ergo, genres such as synthwave or albums like Daft Punk’s Random Access Memories.

It isn’t my goal here to argue about the “end of history.” Fisher’s time-travel hypothetical, however, rings loud and true to me. Visible musical radicalism has, for at least a decade, been strictly extra-musical, in the sense of songs like “This is America” or “WAP”, where one’s response is primarily to the spectacle of the music video, the performer’s identistic markers, and/or the manner in which the lyrics intersect with (mostly US-centric) ideological hotspots. Musically, there is really nothing radical here. Any vociferous condemnations or defenses of a song like “WAP” deal in moralizing reactions to semantics or imagery: how progressive or regressive is the political aspect? how propelled or repelled are we by the word “pussy”?

It would be a mistake, and simply wrong, to assert that the only music one can enjoy escapes the parameters outlined above; and my inability to coherently categorize some of my own music hardly raises that portion to the status of radicality. But the question here pertains to what is being made, and I think that if we’re going to seriously consider the nature of truly radical music today, we do need to question if such a quality can prominently exist when our hyper-fast consumerist cycle seems to forbid not just sustained, lifelong relationships to artwork but also the local, unhurried nourishment of creative gestation. Now, in my opinion, there are good, even great, examples of radical music still being made in deep Internet-burrows, and for evidence of that I would offer some of the material contained in the linked playlists. Moreover, I’d say that this quality can exist in part because these little artistic communities are so buried.

Let me share a quote that another person shared with me recently:

For culture to shift, you need pockets of isolated humanity. Since all pockets of humanity (outside of the perpetually isolated indigenous people in remote wilderness) are connected in instantaneous fashion, independent ideas aren’t allowed to ferment on their own. When you cook a meal, you have to bring ingredients together that have had time to grow, ferment, or decompose separately. A cucumber starts out as a seed, then you mix it with the soil, water and sunlight. You can’t bring the seed, soil, water and sunlight to the kitchen from the get-go. When you throw those things in to the mixture without letting them mature, the flavor cannot stand out on its own. Same thing with art and fashion. A kid in Russia can come up with a new way to dance, gets filmed on a phone, it goes viral quickly but gets lost in the morass of all of the other multitudinous forms of dance. Sure it spread far and wide, but it gets forgotten in a week. In the past, his new art form would have been confined locally, nurtured, honed, then spread geographically, creating a distinct new cultural idiosyncrasy with a strong support base. By the time it was big enough to be presented globally, it was already a cultural phenomenon locally. This isn’t possible anymore. We’re consuming too many unripened fruits.

The main impression I have here is that radical music today will, and must be, folk music. Our common idea of folkiness might be the scrappy singer strumming a guitar, but my interpretive reference rather has to do with the idea of a music being written, first of all, for one’s self, and then shared with a small-scale community, which in turn helps the artist grow at their own pace. This transcends a dependence upon image, the primacy of acoustic instrumentation, or the signaling of sincerity versus insincerity. It is a return to the valuation of outsider art, so rare nowadays. As someone who I was recently in dialogue with wrote, “Where can you find new genuine folk music? Pretty much just with your friends, imo. Even then, the global world is so influential and seeps into any crack it can find. I think vaporwave was radical and folk for a while. Grant Forbes made that music way before the world knew about it.”

Sometimes, a lot of fuss is made over what’s seen as “gatekeeping” within certain communities. It can be, depending on the context, justifiable to question and critique this behavior. At other times, the effort of maintaining a level of exclusivity, of retaining an idiosyncratic shapeliness to the communal organism, can be a legitimate attempt to protect the personal, interpersonal, and cultural aspects from the flattening effect of monoculture. Hypothetically, I welcome the Castlevania TV series and Super Smash Bros. Ultimate having introduced new and younger demographics to Castlevania. In actuality, stuff like “wholesome sad gay himbo Alucard”, image macros, and neurotic “stan” fanfiction being what’s now first associated with the series makes me want to put as much distance as possible between my interests and those latecoming impositions.

The group-terminology David Chapman uses in his essay “Geeks, MOPs, and Sociopaths in Subculture Evolution” is kinda cringey, but some of the cultural/behavioral patterns he lays out are relevant to the topic. Give it a look. If we cross his belief that “[subcultures] are no longer the primary drivers of cultural development” with our contemporary consume-and-dispose customs, we’re left with the predicament of it’s even worth attempting to bring radical/outsider art beyond its rhizomatic habitat. This is troubling, because it would mean that artistic radicality no longer might not only refuse to but cannot encompass cultural upheaval. It would be like if dance music were invented and -- instead of progressively permeating nightlife, stimulating countercultural trends, and ultimately being adapted as the basis for pop music globally -- only were listened to via headphones by a few thousand people on their own, stimulated a group meeting once a year or two, and never affected music beyond a niche-within-a-niche. That’s a very sad picture to me.

⁂

¹ Chimeratio has also maintained an excellent blog on here dedicated to looking at videogame music written in irregular time signatures, far preceding higher-profile examinations like 8-bit Music Theory’s video on the same topic.

² For myself, creative isolation has had its uses, because it has led me down routes that are highly personalized. The isolation can be dispiriting too. Although a lot of my music is videogame-music-adjacent, almost none of it uses “authentic” technology, such as PSG synthesizers or FM synthesis; and the identification of those sounds is fairly important for recognition.

[thelostguardianau]

The Lost Guardian- Chapter Eight

“Heed the Silenced”

(Authors note: aha.. yknow I should probably stop making promises for this fic. Months later, w/ a chapter that doesn’t have Thomas in it, three different outlines down and i’m really just at the mercy of this fic at this point xD considering midway through writing this chapter I had to cut and rewrite an entire scene i’d spent a month on bc I’d decided that Dee had a chance at redemtion that added an actual direction and a tangable end goal to this story. So. Yeah. And!! A loud Thank You!! to @bumblebeekitten for helping me bounce ideas back & forth for this au and being my beta for this chapter!!)

Character Info & Art:

Patton | Logan | Roman | Virgil | Remy | Deceit | ??? | ???

Chapter Seven | Chapter Nine

Fandom: Thomas Sanders Sides

Pairings: Eventual Polyamsanders (LAMPR/CALMR-a.k.a LAMP/CALM + Remy ‘Sleep’ Sanders)

Warnings: THIS CHAPTER IS KINDA DIALOG HEAVY!(sorry) Currently depicted as morally grey Deceit(subject to change in future chapters), though the side of Deceit from his first appearance doesnt make an appearance in this chapter and it is explained why, mentions of past betrayal and dark descriptions of bodily concepts, curses, limitations, and changes only really explained as possible through the lore of this au. Deceit speaks in riddles because he has to, ominous warnings. Virgil still isn’t okay mentally. Mentions of indifference to death, lack of selfworth or self preservation. (Let me know if I need to add anything!)

[[MORE]]

Brown eyes flutter open at the chilly breeze of a fan, and the ravenette’s mind comes to realize that he’s been moved from resting on his stomach to laying on his back. Groggy from his much too short nap, it takes a few moments to realize there are no warm bodies near him or under him, no breathing or chatter of familiar voices to sooth him.

The room, he realizes, is empty.

The room itself is, in fact, not Remy’s bedroom at all.

Shooting straight up, Virgil’s first clear thought is that he’s back at home. At his apartment, this time in his hoodie yet still roughed up from his latest ‘adventure’. The scene is eerily familiar, and yet he knows this time that work is not where he needs to be. It’s already daylight and his mind now knows this familiar scene, he should feel alone. Yet, this time he can hear the sound of honking cars and people, his loud neighbor from upstairs stomping around.

It doesn’t make sense as he walks to his window and peers out to see vague cars and people, he can’t even seem to make out any individual faces. It’s grey and raining outside, but there is no pattering sound against the foggy window. ‘What’s happening?’ Virgil wonders.

“Life seemed so simple a week ago, even months ago, did it not..?” A familiar voice drifts from behind him. Ice cold fear shoots down the ravenette’s spine as he recognizes the voice.

“I can hardly believe you were able to leave it, your routine. It was your everything, back when you came to terms with what you had left. Am I wrong, Virgil?” Whirling around to face the voice, Virgil finds the terrifying ex-Guardian sitting on his couch looking quite at home, if a little sheepish.

“What do you care?” He spat back, stepping back against his window.

“I am only looking out for you, you know. I have been protecting you all your life. Of all people I think I would know what is best for you, don't you think? We are connected after all, you and I.” The man sighed, making a surrendering motion with his hands.

“Why would I trust you?! You tried to kill me yesterday!” Virgil growled. “Why--h-how are you even here!?”

“False, my dear Virgil. I tried to warn you. Sure,” The guardian rolled his hand as he spoke, “I am forced to have a round-about way of speaking my truths, it is just part of my consequences it seems. But how else was I going to get you to listen to me after the others fed you lies about me? I do sincerely apologize for my other half being rough, though. I cannot quite.. Control.. Him.” The guardian tilted his bowler hat down to guiltily hide his eyes, regret briefly twisting his expression.

Finally the Guardian stood, dusting himself off as if his immaculate attire had acquired dust from just existing in his apartment. “I needed my physical body to reach yours and make our soul connection strong again, so that my soul could reach yours. However.. The pain I caused you was far from my intention. I am deeply regretful that it came down to.. That awful encounter.

“To answer your question though, Virgil, I am here because I created ‘here’. A realm made to form this illusion of being home, sweet home, just on the corner of the little street you had come to live on for the past year. It is all my doing. Where you stand is simply an illusion only you and I can access, a manipulation of your dreams and memories. The only place where the real me can talk to you mostly unhindered.” The guardian gestured to his surroundings.

“It takes only one person to flip your life on it’s head, a matter of hours to make the decision of a lifetime, and a matter of days to have completely changed your life’s direction,” He turned to Virgil, and looked him straight in the eyes, feeling distant and lost.

“And only a matter of years to succumb to the depression of the lonely consequences..”

Virgil blinked at that. The sad, longing tone had him thrown for a loop; it almost felt like the Guardian wasn't even quite talking to Virgil. “I-What..? I.. I don’t understand.”

The Guardian shook his head, snapping out of it and refocusing himself. "Nevermind that. It is time I talked to you for real, if you will have me?" The Guardian held out a hand politely, though there was no real expectation for Virgil to take it.

After a pause, Virgil gave a slight nod, still suspicious of the other's intent. The Guardian returned the nod, and his hand fell to his side.

“I am limited to the time that you rest and for now I will not be able to explain myself thoroughly, so, I ask you to understand that I do not expect you to trust me when I am done. I honestly do not expect you to ever trust me. With the mistakes I have made, I firmly believe I would not deserve it.”

Virgil blinked in surprise, not having expected his captor to admit to his faults straight off the bat.

“Okay.. Well, we’re here, might as well hear your side of the story. So.. Shoot.” Virgil said lightly, distrust and suspicion still evident in his tone and stance.

“I would assume at this point you are well aware of how the story you have been told paints me as the villain, a mastermind seeking power, immortality, and revenge? At least, that is what I am led to believe is still the story, it has been many years since I have heard the tale first hand… And... Well. Would that not be so lovely?” Virgil made a face, eyes narrowing in confusion.

“I am serious. Life would be so much easier if it was all black and white, true or false, good and bad, would it not? If those who meant well knew everything and those malicious few could not corrupt anything?” The Guardian frowned a bit, frustrated with his words that couldn’t seem to cooperate with him.

“Would it not be lovely if I could talk to you without fighting to keep from turning every honest thought into a question or theoretical statement just to let it be said? That my words could hold a meaning not forcibly disguised in the forms of fables and riddles?” The Guardian looked down lamely, his words tapering off in agitation. For a moment, Virgil waited as the Guardian was silent, contemplative. Then, the next moment the Guardian’s face scrunched up in sadness and his words were soft as he placed a hand over his golden wrist markings.

“My story is complicated, and twisted with shades of grey. One could say what I did was an attempt to keep you safe, another could say that what I did was outlandish and impulsive, and stupid. But no one will be able to tell you that what I did went according to the plan I had... at first. No one will tell you that my intention was to save you, to keep your fate safe. No one will tell you that my plan was ruined. Because there is no longer anyone who remembers what happened that night except for me,”

The Guardian’s eyes flicked up to meet the ravenette’s, a hurt look passing over his face as he continued. His steady voice now just barely trembled with uncertainty as he continued.

“No one but me and the soul who wants so desperately for everyone to forget. The soul who ripped my own in two to bury the secret, and ruin you and I both.”

“My final warning is this: Beware of the man who carries the world on his shoulders unflinchingly, he will be watching you closely. You have immunity to his power thanks to our connection, you might use this knowledge well to find the truth that lies in plain sight. However, your fate lies in the decisions you chose to make with this knowledge, I can only warn you of what might come.” The Guardian nodded solemnly, choosing to finish his cryptic warning there.

Virgil stood there, reeling with the information. Sure, he definitely wasn’t completely convinced he could trust this cryptic stranger, Guardian? Foe? Friend? Virgil wasn’t really sure what to call him anymore. But damn, his life was already so fucking crazy, this was all just fucking crazy! He could just be dreaming for all he knew.

But… Deep inside, he was hoping he wasn’t.

This was, well. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting to hear when facing the man whose, er, body? Had originally tried to strangle him? Now he’d heard his sob story and, well, Virgil wasn’t that easy to fool, but he’d also been told that it wasn’t expected that he’d trust the guy even in the end and he didn’t really want to.

He’d been on the path to death for so long, and then just two days ago everything had changed. So much was happening, it was frankly exhausting. What the fuck was he, some book protagonist? Couldn’t he get a little time to think about all this before he went crazy?

Still, something under all his incredulity begged to hear the guardian out. He vaguely wondered how Stockholm Syndrome worked before he gave in a little. What difference did a little more crazy make in his life at this point?

“Fine, I’ll heed your warning, or whatever the fuck. But only if you can tell me what you mean when you said that this guy ripped your, uh, soul? In two.” Virgil huffed, partially relaxing. It was odd how comforting he found it to be, floating in this weird feeling imaginary world, where he could interact with objects that weren’t real. It felt like he was really standing in his home, and yet it was just built from memory.

The guardian’s solemn expression formed into a grim smile, eyes distant once more before nodding. “I will do the best that my words will allow.” Virgil nodded, and waited for the now very familiar stranger to gather his words and take a breath. Then he began, his markings lightly flashing gold.

“You find yourself whole one day, as you have always been. To be whole of body, whole of mind, both human and guardian in nature. To have conscious thought and control over your whole physical being and soul..

“You find that yourself and others of the winged variety are capable of separating your soul from your being, though only the most Elite can do it well. You find out the family you made would soon be in danger. You then find yourself lost and alone when you once had a home to call your own.

“You find yourself knowing a truth, a perilous truth. Your home is in shambles now that you are gone, yet they do not know it. This truth is at fault, but the blame is not fully your own in a world built on lies.

“The source of truth tucks itself into blankets of grey, drawing itself further from discovery with each passing day. Now only you know the truth. The source of the truth finds you, it seeks to hide you too.

“You find yourself split one day, as you have never been before. Forced apart from the body, trapped within the mind. Guardian in nature, to have conscious thought and your dying soul trapped within, a false mind piloting the puppeteered confines of a broken body with a blind goal.”

“You find you cannot control what you used to, you are a prisoner to a body that is no longer your own, mostly unconscious to the world around it. Crazed by the false emotions that fuel it.”

“The you that used to be is no longer, and has not been for over a hundred years. The world that knew you knows not of what you’ve become. Knows not of the shackles that bind you.

“The you that used to be is no longer, and will never be again.” The Guardian finished, hesitant yellow eyes meeting Virgil’s carefully. Phantom goosebumps trail down Virgil's arms as the final sentence strikes a cord in him.

Virgil found he really wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, the rawness in the other’s tone spoke volumes of the sore spot they’d reached.

“Your body rests, but your mind also needs time to process today. I shall see you when you next rest, though only if you wish to seek me. Rest well knowing that you will not be scooped from your safety once more, as I hope I’m never to do so again. And...” The guardian paused, considering their next words very carefully.

“I know it is selfish to ask... but, I hope and wish that Thomas is alright, after all this time... Do take care of him, would you?”

Virgil paused and stared, finding only concern and longing in the guardian’s expression. And, well, fuck. What a way to pull at a guy’s heartstrings.

“Er, yes. Yeah. I’ll try my best.” Virgil gave his signature mock salute, the Guardian tipping his hat in return.

“Trying is all I could ever ask of you, Virgil. Rest well, you will need it.” And with that final sentence, the world around Virgil gently grew dark, and he sunk into the comforting arms of sleep.

Despite it all, Virgil still found his mind vaguely conscious. Sluggish at best, but awake nonetheless.

He figured it was likely some lingering effect from the Guardian’s dream realm, but didn’t dwell on it. His life had way too much else going on to be debating the side effects gained from Guardian powers.

First, he’d been pretty damn convinced two days ago that he was going to be a goner by the end of the month. Completely resigned to die believing that his very existence was scorned by the world he’d been unwillingly born into.

Then Patton had stumbled onto his shitty apartment’s roof, found him in all of his resigned and depressed glory, and changed his life forever.

They’d mostly skipped the whole ‘Human nature is a series of life, death, and rebirth’ spiel that guardians were known to give in these situations because... Well, It wasn’t like they’d really had time to address it before the truth about his soul had come out. That he wasn’t exactly human to begin with.

Virgil didn’t think that Guardians had ever had a situation like his before. There wasn’t a protocol for comforting a kidnapped guardian soul. It’d never been a possibility before!

So it wasn’t surprising then, that Virgil didn’t have any better of a time processing it.

His whole life, all that he’d known to be true, all that he’d believed in? Everything had been uprooted and turned on its head. He’d apparently been living a life that was not supposed to be.

Perhaps for the first time in two days, Virgil realized that the thought of his death at the end of the month had not been consistently worming into his brain. It had once been something he could never seem to stop thinking about.

The death indicated by his soul timer was now perhaps the farthest thing from his mind.

Perhaps the strangest thing so far was that he wasn’t alone anymore. He’d possibly had more physical contact with other people in the short two(three?) days since this adventure started then he’d had in the past 16 years.

And wasn’t it just the cherry on top that he’d also gotten nearly choked out by the very guardian accused of kidnapping his soul in the first place? And now he was considering trusting the damn guy.

Virgil hollowly wondered why he even cared.

Why did he care about staying alive now when he’s spent his whole life believing he never would? Up until two days ago, that belief had still been true. But now? Avoiding death was the goal, Logan had stated as much.

Really, would Virgil lose anything by trusting the banished guardian? Even if the guardian was trying to trick Virgil and got him killed, what difference would it make? That’d always been the goal before. What did he, Virgil, really have to lose?

If it happened that Virgil lived past his twentieth birthday, if he became a guardian like he was supposed to be in the first place. Would he want that? Did he want that?

He wasn’t sure. Didn’t know if he ever had been.

His life had been built on resignation to the inevitable. Nothing seemed to motivate him towards liking or hating that possibility. He was just that.

Indifferent.

And wasn’t that just the greatest revelation of the night? Finding out that you’re indifferent to living or dying.

Once this was all over, if Virgil lived that long, he would make a note to see a therapist. He knew very well that this kind of mindset was unhealthy to keep. It just couldn’t be helped that the nineteen years he’d lived with this particular affliction couldn’t be fixed by a few extra hugs and comforting words.

Even if he didn’t like the fact that death sounded like the more peaceful option.

His thoughts paused, mentally sighing at the downward spiral he’d caught himself in. It was tiring, and going nowhere.

‘For now,’ he decided, ‘I’m just going to see how this plays out. The Guardian said that none of the others remember the truth, or whatever. So, It’s a ‘he said-they said’ situation right now...’

‘I’ll have to keep an eye out for the guy that he warned me about, then. Who knows if he's as dangerous as The Guardian made him out to be. It’s hard to tell with the weird way he has to talk..’

Virgil paused again, a realization striking him. If he could have groaned, he would have. Not once had he been given or even remembered to ask for the name of said Guardian. What was he supposed to call the rogue Guardian now? He couldn’t just keep calling him The Guardian!

Amidst the disbelief of such a slip up, a foreign yet familiar feeling prodded questioningly at his conscious mind. Adding confusion into the mix of emotions, he returned the feeling with a questioning thought of his own.

He briefly heard the Guardian’s whispy voice once more, now acting with permission.

“You may call me Janus”

Then all at once, Virgil woke up.

.

.

.

Chapter Nine

[stewblog]

BLACK WIDOW

It shouldn’t have taken this long to happen, but now that it’s finally arrived Black Widow was (almost) everything it needed to be. 

Admittedly, it’s a little difficult not to harbor at least a small amount of animosity toward Marvel Studios regarding the first (and almost certainly only) solo outing for Natasha Romanoff (Scarlett Johansson). Black Widow should have, at minimum, replaced the release of Captain Marvel in 2019, if not arrived years earlier. One of the founding members of the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s version of The Avengers deserved a more prominent placement in the canon thus far. But, none of that is really the fault of this particular film or the people directly responsible for making it, but I felt it necessary to specify that upfront. 

Given that Natasha has already (spoilers for a three-year-old film, I guess) died, it made me wonder what the point of giving her a solo film would even be at this juncture of the MCU. Making it a prequel, though technically necessary, sounded even less interesting. That said, once this thing hits home video you can quite easily slip it in right after Captain America: Civil War where it belongs and nearly all of the release timing issues will simply melt away. 

So how does it fare when you’re watching it right now in the theater (or on Disney+ Premiere Access)? I was honestly a bit surprised at how much I enjoyed it and at how well it holds itself up as a standalone adventure, albeit with some notable flaws. 

After a brief prologue in 1990s Ohio where it shows Natasha and her little sister Yelena were raised by a pair of Russian sleeper agents, we pick things up right after the events of Captain America: Civil War. Natasha is on the run having betrayed her commitment to the Sokovia Accords (the pact which outlaws all superhero activity not explicitly sanctioned by the United Nations). She heads out into the middle of nowhere and does her best to lay low (she’s a big fan of the James Bond movie Moonraker, it turns out). But it’s not long before trouble comes calling. 

Natasha wasn’t the only child groomed to be part of the Widow program. Yelena (Florence Pugh) grew up to become quite the adept secret agent as well, only she’s discovered the hard way that her generation of Widows have all been genetically brainwashed after being unexpectedly dosed with a vaccine that reverses the mental locks put into place. Now on the run herself, Yelena attempts to reunite with Natasha in an attempt to free their Widow sisters and take down the so-called Red Room program. 

The ensuing film moves at an appropriate breakneck pace with all the motorcycles, car chases, fist fights, shootouts,derring do and clandestine political intrigue that one would expect to find in any given movie starring the likes of Jason Bourne. And like Jason Bourne’s escapades, this becomes a very personal mission for Natasha and Yelena as they seek to enact vengeance upon the organization and people who so callously disregard the humanity of the women they reprogram and exploit. 

There’s a pleasing physicality at play throughout the action and mayhem of Black Widow. Granted, that’s almost by necessity given that all but one major character lacks anything resembling traditional super powers, so the action takes on a more grounded feel than what we typically get from a Marvel movie where robotic suits of armor, demigods and mystical arts have become de rigueur, bordering on passe’. It doesn’t (or perhaps can’t) measure up to the type of action and stunts offered up by the likes of, say, the recent Mission: Impossible films but it’s still satisfying and engaging on its own terms. 

That said, what makes this more than just The Bourne Imitation, though, is the focus and attention on the ersatz family that ends up being the heart of the film. Natasha and Yelena are initially abandoned by Alexei (David Harbour) and Milena (Rachel Weisz), only to once again be thrust together decades later. This culminates in a wonderful scene at a dinner table where everyone slips back into their domestic roles both knowingly and not. There is both conflict and affection flowing back and forth, and not always equally. But the chemistry and writing at play turns this scene and, as a group, these characters and this scene into something that rarely rears its head within the Marvel Cinematic Universe. 

Harbour has sort of cemented his career playing lovable schlubs and that’s played to maximum effect (and affect) here as he charismatically lumbers his way through each scene as the Soviety Union’s own Communism-loving Captain America knock-off The Red Guardian. Alexei’s blowhard nature is quite often played up for comedic effect (even during fight scenes) but Harbour still manages to allow an endearing sincerity to shine through, especially when he’s interacting with his “daughters.” 

Weisz, sadly, is given very little to do though she makes the most of it. It’s Pugh and Johansson who, rightly, carry the weight of the entire proceeding. Their interactions feel human, fully informed and realized thanks to years of resentment, hardship and all that comes with being a hyper-trained super spy. Pugh and Johansson carry it naturally and with ease. Johansson deserved to have this film much sooner, but I will at least admit that having it this late in the game does at least allow for Johansson to draw from a deeper slate of the character’s history and experience, lending additional weight to the proceedings. Pugh also is a superb actor in her own right and at the risk of spoilers, let’s just say that I can’t wait to see where she takes Yelena further down the road. 

If there’s a significant flaw to Black Widow it’s that the story’s central villain leaves a lot to be desired, and not just by the fairly high standards Marvel Studios has set with its canon of villains. I realize that not every film can have a Loki or Killmonger or Hela-caliber villain, and certainly more than a few MCU films have faltered when it comes to the bad guy in charge. But so much of Black Widow’s thematic weight comes from watching these women reclaim their lives from the men who stole them. Natasha has an engaging encounter with Dreykov (Ray Winstone), the man behind the Red Room, but there’s too little meat there, too little actualized history for it to mean much. It doesn’t help that Winstone’s performance is wildly, distractingly uneven as he wavers constantly between a cartoonish persona and delivering actual menace. To say nothing of his hilariously inconsistent accent. 

Despite this, Black Widow largely succeeds at providing a proper sendoff both for the character and for Johansson via an exciting outing that’s got heart and laughs to spare. 

[moontheoretist]

The show currently on had a bunch of stuffed shirts sitting at a round table. ["...my esteemed colleague, Professor Newell, gives too much credence to the ex-Avengers' education. I simply don't believe they all read and fully comprehended the document they were rejecting. Steve Rogers had a high school diploma and one year of art college."] Steve curled his lip. ["That doesn't mean he's illiterate," Newell, a brown-haired man with glasses, said. The other man, his tight coils of hair salt and pepper gray, raised an eyebrow. "As a lawyer, I'd be the first to say legal documents are needlessly complex, but no lay person can just sit down and read a 1000-page legal agreement and absorb the intricacies with nothing more than a high school education from the 1940s. Not without help." Newell ceded the point with a nod. "And Wanda Maximoff is a street orphan and doesn't even have that. Ditto Clint Barton, who grew up in a traveling circus. The Ant Man has an engineering degree, which makes me think he would have ample education to comprehend the Accords, but he had little time to do it in—only the flight to Germany, and investigators say he was likely shrunk and in Clint Barton's pocket, as there's no evidence of him on the passenger list, but he suddenly appeared at the Leipzig/Halle airport. It's questionable he bothered to shrink the Accords with him or bring the necessary resources to decipher all the legalese."] Scott got up and left the room. Wanda curled up and hugged her knees to her chest. Steve remembered the hasty conversation he'd had with Scott before the battle. Scott had no idea about the Accords back then. He thought they were there to fight over killer assassins. Steve rubbed his forehead. ["That leaves only Sergeant Sam Wilson, a man well-educated by the armed forces. I wondered what made him reject a document that his own government and one hundred and sixteen other countries supported, and then I read up on Lieutenant General Ross' record. Any man who has served in the military and heard of Ross' abuse of his own forces and how he used his own daughter as bait in pursuit of The Hulk would have zero respect for the retired general and Secretary of State. Ross was spearheading the US support of the Accords. Whether or not this influenced Sergeant Wilson's decision to reject them, I cannot say."] "This is bullshit," Clint said, obviously fuming. "I didn't need some stupid diploma to tell me the Accords are a shitty idea." ["You haven't said anything about the Black Widow," the moderator said, shifting his papers around on the big desk. "Ms. Romanov is an interesting case. Raised and educated by the top-secret Soviet training program called the Red Room, the Black Widow supported the Accords at first. She appeared to recognize their necessity, but then during the fight at the airport seemed to run into an issue of allegiance in fighting her friends. Understandable, I think. It's why the Avengers should never have been sent to contain the renegades. But who else could battle that sort of might? "In any event, it appears to be no coincidence that the Avengers who sided with the Accords all have master's degrees or higher." "Or much higher," the mediator said, abandoning neutrality. "Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes as a master's in engineering as well as officer's training, Stark has multiple doctorates, and the Vision is said to have access to the sum of all human knowledge. The King of Wakanda obviously has the finest political education as a leader of his nation, and I understand he is also an engineer." "Nothing is known about the Spider-Man," Newell said. "No, that's true. He'll have to remain an enigma." "But it's your contention that education had something to do with renegades choosing not to support the Accords," the mediator said. "I think it's obvious."] *** ["Hello, all. Thank you for time. "As Mr. Sjöberg mentioned, I recently came into some information regarding The Winter Soldier that I felt was of international importance, especially since he had the protection of some very powerful people. The ICC is just the place to turn when the State is unable or unwilling to carry out an investigation and prosecute the perpetrators."] Steve drew in a shocked breath. ["I found this information at a Hydra bunker in Siberia, where Rogers, Barnes and I had an altercation about whether suppressing this information was cool or not." Stark gave an acid grin. "In the course of this disagreement, Rogers disabled my suit and left me in the Hydra bunker to freeze, unable to radio a rescue team."] Sam sank his head into his hands with a curse. ["However, Rogers' 'leave our teammates behind' policy turned out to be useful, because while searching for a way to communicate with my rescue team, I discovered a trove of records spanning back decades on the Hydra supersoldier program. I looked through all of it, hoping to save it and get retrieved before Hydra returned. "What I discovered was more than enough: movies, photos, and detailed plans to assassinate political heads of state, industrial leaders, diplomats, prominent artists, radical leaders and activists, all of whom were murdered by The Winter Soldier. Included in these documents were the names of the ones who ordered the kills, the criminals behind the deeds. For the last three weeks, with the assistance of the Joint Terrorism Task Force, that's what we've been up to—rounding up the bad guys with a vengeance." The murmurs grew into a roar of approval. "Most of the Hydra operatives still living have been arrested for their complicity in murdering countless important figures who stood against Hydra's core principles of racism and fascism. Despite the unnecessary delay introduced by Rogers, who could have put us onto Barnes and thus the location of the bunker that much sooner, the loved ones and family members of the deceased will at long last know, and hopefully find peace in knowing, just what happened to their loved ones, and why."] Tony's voice trembled on the last part, and Steve felt a pit growing in his stomach that he couldn't shake off. ["My only regret is whom I have to thank for this. The man behind the Vienna bombing was the one who revealed the truth to me by showing me the video of my parents being murdered by The Winter Soldier. The man who told me the truth is a criminal. But then, the man who kept the truth from us all is a criminal as well. "Thank you all for listening. There will be no questions."] *** Tony lifted his hand and smacked away the letter he was writing as Rhodey walked in. "Sour patch! Look at you. How're the legs feeling?" "Better now that I tweaked the timing on the left one. Feels more natural now. But, Tony..." "Awesome. You should totally patent that port thing. That was really good work." Tony pulled up the schematics of Rhodey's braces to take a look at the timing adjustment port Rhodey had added. "I don't have time for—that's not why I came in here, Tones. Vision got a call—" "Time, shmime. I'll have Friday draft up the diagrams and application for you." "It would be my pleasure, Colonel Rhodes." "Yes, fine. Thanks, Fri. Tones, listen. Something's happened with the renegades." Tony stopped fiddling and gave Rhodey his full attention. "Tell me." "It's weird as hell." Rhodey dropped onto a lab stool and rolled over to join him. "Wanda contacted Vision to tell him she delivered Rogers to the US Embassy in Nairobi. I checked, and sure enough, according to embassy officials, she made him walk in like a zombie, then directed him to 'Wait here until Tony Stark comes to arrest you.'"

Into the Weeds by truet

This is literally the best Team Iron Man fic I read till now, and it includes all the things I missed from the other ones: acknowledgment of Rhodey’s smarts, acknowledgment of the education Rogues had, acknowledgment that Wanda may actually get angry at Steve when she learns what he did and what it means to her, acknowledgment that Hydra agents who ordered the murders should be arrested, acknowledgment of Tony relying on other people to actually accomplish or polish the things he engages with (JCCT, braces).

The only thing it doesn’t have is acknowledgment that Shuri doesn’t need BARF to help Barnes, but it’s only because the fact that the story never reaches that point, but damn, so many Team Iron Man fics mistreats other charas and I know it is not malicious, that it is because the authors love Tony and want him to fix the issues himself, but Tony isn’t omnipotent god of science and I would like people to get that Shuri is as mart as he is and can definitely handle helping Barnes and making his arm without Tony’s help, as much as Rhodey can fix his braces and doesn’t need Tony to constantly do it for him, because he has proper education to handle that, and also he is the user, so he knows best what is wrong and what is right and what works.

I also tend to like the stories which don’t demonize Wanda more than the ones which do, because I think she was radicalized, but not evil and those stories, where she is an evil Hydra agent or actually went mad long ago and nobody noticed, as much as interesting and enjoyable don’t really get what it means to be radicalized and then trying to de-radicalize and also heavily fall into the trap of demonizing a woman in the same way misogynist media creators usually do and the only thing I can blame is the fact that we all are raised in the society which hates women and even if we don’t actively believe in it some of it stays with us, in our subconscious and affects what we write and how. Everybody is capable of evil as long as they believe something very much and Wanda is more prone to that due to her background. Not to mention that those stories also usually infantilize her and I like to see her actually being treated like an adult she always was, who understands the consequences of Steve’s action for her and who would do something, albeit something stupid mind you, to mitigate her case, because she is an adult, and she like any other adult person would want to help her case somehow.

Oh, and author also knows how the whole “who arrests who” system works, so their stories actually show that nobody in the MCU creator board of creators, including the Russos, does a goddamn research about Europe. Most people don’t have this knowledge, so movies don’t seem off to them, but to people who do have this knowledge movies are weird and illogical.

[rpgsandbox]

‘I do believe in fairies! l do! I do!’

Peter Pan - J.M. Barrie

Experiencing visions of a mythical land throughout your childhood, you are suddenly transported to the Inspirisles, a kingdom ruled by the fey. Responsible for a pact made long ago by your ancestors, you must now earn Belief and the respect of their gods or find yourself trapped there forever.

INSPIRISLES is a completely original tabletop RPG aimed at teenagers. It will promote empathy, life skills and deaf awareness with an emphasis on teamwork and creativity.

Play as teens gifted extraordinary powers.

Meet famous characters and fearsome monsters from Celtic folklore.

Work together to heal a crumbling land and restore a fractured kingdom.

Learn British/American Sign Language as you cast spells and solve puzzles.

Become apprentices to the gods.

Offer Belief to earn your tickets home.

This project came about after running my teen Dungeons & Dragons group Hatchlings for over a year. I wanted to create something for them. Something they could have a hand in building. And something I could take beyond the group to use in schools and communities as a workshop model. Inspirisles is the result of this, a game for young players that reflects my interest in folklore and my ongoing work with the deaf community.

Though Inspirisles is aimed at children, it can be enjoyed equally by adults and we are especially encouraging parents, educators and tabletop beginners to invest in our game. Many of us have fond memories of 80s fantasy classics such as The NeverEnding Story & Labyrinth. Inspirisles aims to capture some of that nostalgic magic and transport its older participants back to a more carefree and imaginative time.

                         Standard & Limited Edition book mock-ups

A5 premium-colour hardback with over 150 pages of material, including...

History of the islands and their Friends.

Creating your Foundling character.

Collection of spell, ability & item cards and the tools to invent your own.

A host of worldbuilding ideas & mechanics to breathe life into your quests, including using the arts in roleplaying, creating challenging environmental puzzles, alternative ways to earn Belief, rules for Inspired apprenticeships, exploration, downtime & Doom.

Scriv’s Tour: Follow the famous bard as she journals the key locations & personalities you will encounter during your adventures.

Scriv’s Story: Fiction retelling the moment our bard met Athelyn for the first time (Limited Edition only).

Menagerie of monsters from Celtic folklore & the tools to invent your own.

Starter adventure: ‘Duster Trials’.

Stunning art from cover to cover, including maps for locations and encounters.

Two page spread of Josh Somerville’s spectacular knot art (Limited Edition only).

Dyslexia friendly fonts throughout to prioritise accessibility.

Handouts: Blank character sheet, Shaping alphabet (BSL & ASL), milestone certificates & Grail template.

* terms in bold explored below.

                    Page sample by Anna Urbanek of Double Proficiency

Belief is the keystone of the Inspirisles. The energy binding all things. In its absence, the land and its children would fade from life and from memory.

If Belief were to run dry, it would have terrible repercussions. Imagine something calamitous like Earth’s polar caps suddenly melting or electricity disappearing from the globe overnight.

Though Belief is generated through such things as exploration, the arts, work and even battle, these pale in comparison to the amount collected from human children.

As children believe in magic less and less, the inhabitants of the Inspirisles must come up with new and increasingly creative ways to convince them otherwise.

Belief gathered from Earth is taken to the World Tree and released over its roots. This energy then spreads throughout the land, healing the foundations of the islands.

                                                          Shaping

A place where the gods walk freely, where dragons are hunted for hoarding Belief, where a war rages between Friends, where reforging an ancient sword can reforge a kingdom, where sign language is used to cast spells, where there is no death, only Disbelief, and where heroes rise and fall together.

It is also a setting to reflect the struggles of our own world. You’ll find environmental calamity, political greed and social injustice to name but a few. Making Inspirisles relatable to our future generations was an ambition from the very start. However, we would never want to push an agenda, so building a platform for whichever stories need to be told has been our sole responsibility.

                                                       Hibernation

Our system and its mechanics are entirely built around the theme of Belief. Players must work together to collect this wondrous commodity, reaching the heights before deciding whether to stay and enjoy the renown or return home and reunite with their true families.

Moving away from systems found in many popular tabletop RPGs, Inspirisles is largely aimed at young adults and does away with traditional mechanics such as racial bonuses, class systems, ponderous combat and even death.

Though our players should expect an open, sandbox experience, it’s nice to have an overall goal in mind. As such, the concept of healing the land as a team for rewards and progression is at the heart of Inspirisles.

As with any roleplaying game, Inspirisles will throw challenges at its players. As well as social and environmental encounters, Foundlings (players) will inevitably come across familiar monsters of Celtic legend, such as the Questing Beast who will stalk them across the land. Within the book, you’ll also discover many nasties of our own invention and the tools to invent your own.

                                                  Don’t go it alone!

                                                        Attributes

Foundlings will have six attributes: sword, shield, speed, smarts, social & survival. When facing obstacles, they can lay down up to three cards representing spells, abilities or items. These cards display unique properties that will have an impact on their attribute bonus. Players then roll 2d6, adding the attribute bonus plus any additions from the cards. If the obstacle they are facing is truly perilous, they may turn to their Grail Pool as a last resort, a resource only carried by Foundlings.

                                     Sample obstacle resolution

Obstacles can include social interactions, puzzles, environmental challenges and battle. Whether the obstacle is resolved through roleplay or combat, if it requires a check, it is always contested between player and Grail Guide (Game Master).

With every failed encounter and instead of suffering injury or death, Foundlings will instead experience Disbelief. If too much Disbelief is accumulated as a group, players must pull together to reduce it using the Belief they may be saving for a rank or new cards. This balancing act encourages empathy between participants, but also prevents Doom from affecting the islands.

                                                Puzzles & predators

                        Guinevere & Arthur, our Grail Guide choices

Our version of a Game Master is called the Grail Guide (GG). A participating adult or teenager will take on the role of GG and become the spirit of King Arthur Pendragon or Queen Guinevere. It will be their task to guide the players on their journey, making decisions on the rules, lending voice to the citizens and fangs to the denizens, and encouraging everyone to work together, share the limelight and have fun.

As the GG, you also have the unique opportunity to gift your players their Grail Pool, a set of polyhedral dice (d4, d6, d8, d10, d12 & d20). Foundlings are the only beings able to carry this water poured from the Holy Grail. Even a sip will offer them an edge when facing the greatest of challenges and most dangerous of foes.

Talking of the Grail, with the book will be a template for the holy vessel that GG’s can cutout before sessions. This prop is then placed in the centre of the playing space and can be flipped whenever a player finds a theme or scenario too difficult. The GG can then move on swiftly without disrupting the overall session.

                                                        Safety tool

It is also the responsibility of the GG to add tension and peril to the experience. If their players accumulate too much Disbelief, they can consult a Doom chart. This will change the Inspirisles in dramatic ways, such as causing a volcano to erupt, introducing the Questing Beast to hunt Foundlings, having Excalibur seized by an enemy or building a troll bridge on the outskirts of a city.

                                                        Spelunking

As a player, you take on the role of Foundling, a human teen drawn by fate to the islands. Instead of selecting a race or class, Foundlings are trained by one of eight fey clans, otherwise known as Friends. The Knockers, Glow, Wyrmbitten, Capra, Piskies, Giantheld and Bucca populate distinct locations from city to forest, tin mine to tundra. Seven of these races work tirelessly to restore Belief and prevent the collapse of the Inspirisles. Whilst the eighth, an exiled people known as Glimmers refuse to help, sheltered far beneath the surface where the cracks go unseen and the tremors unfelt.

                                                        Friends

As a Foundling, once Belief is gathered, it can be used in 3 distinct ways...

Pilgrimage to Avalon where the World Tree sits. Belief is offered to its roots in exchange for training.

Patronage to the Inspired. Belief is offered in exchange for spells.

Provide for the community they were embraced by. Belief is offered in exchange for items.

Regardless of how Foundlings offer Belief, they will earn the favour of the ruling houses and feel their reputation and power grow.

                                           Foundling character sheet

The Inspired are the closest thing the islands have to deities. Their influence can be felt across the kingdom at all times and ultimately players will need to impress them if they are to return home.

As well as being great teachers of magic in the form of Shaping, they have trades in their homelands, allowing Foundling players to become apprentices and earn Belief through hard work and dedication.

Kilna of the Fire has his forge.

Egrain of the Earth has her vinyard.

Athelyn of the Water has their bath house.

Vorm of the Air has his skyship.

                                                    The Inspired

Travelling via All’s Well, a mysterious portal leading to the British Isles, on their 15th birthdays, the brightest and bravest Foundlings are sent Earthwards to collect Belief. These elite are known as Dusters.

With the help of a Wellwisher, a common mammal transformed by Athelyn to be more like you and I, Dusters will be guided to a child without Belief, a teenager struggling to feel magic in their life.

Players will then roll a six-sided Dusting Dice (d6), revealing the target child’s particular sensitivity. 1: Fear 2: Joy 3: Wonder 4: Help 5: Story and (6: Other - determined by GG). Through roleplaying this sensitivity, Foundlings must convince the child that magic exists before collecting their Belief to take back.

                                                      Wellwisher

                                    BSL alphabet by british-sign.co.uk

As well as speaking the common tongue for the sake of interactions with humankind, the fey use a form of sign language they believe communicates right to the heart.

The technique is known as Shaping, a term derived from the hand and finger movements used and a deeper meaning of shaping the world around them. Spells are solely expressed through Shaping, with gestures building energy before being released from the fingertips.

Spells are taught only by the Inspired. Only they know the deeper intricacies of the language necessary to harness magic.

Though optional, we are introducing British Sign Language (BSL) and Sign Supported English (SSE) into our game. We are using it as part of the spellcasting process and to solve some of the setting’s most challenging puzzles, encouraging our young players to learn the alphabet and more as they play.

When you back our core book, whether digitally or physically, you will gain access to a video workshop on the art of Shaping produced by our friends in the deaf community. Whilst not a comprehensive introduction to British Sign (see Stretch Goals), it will teach participants enough to encourage them to pursue the language beyond the game.

The core book will also come with an American Sign Language (ASL) alphabet sheet. The video tutorial unlocks through a stretch goal.

Kickstarter campaign ends: Mon, August 17 2020 12:00 AM BST

Website: Hatchlings