#i went to a local gallery today (not the one i work in)

[imflyingfish]

working in an art gallery and talking to a lot of full time artists has given me CRAZY imposter syndrome btw lmao

[inkskinned]

i got rickrolled today but it didn't work because i have adblocker installed, so youtube just told me i violated the terms of service. yesterday i was trying to edit a picture as a joke for my girlfriend, and google made me check a box to prove i'm human because i wasn't "searching normally".

it isn't just that capitalism is killing fun and whimsy, it is that any element of entertainment or joy is being fed upon by this mosquito body, one that will suck you dry at any vulnerability.

do you want to meet new friends in your city? download this app, visit our website, sign up for our email list. pay for this class on making a terrarium, on candlemaking, on cooking. it will be 90 dollars a session. you can go to group fitness, but only under our specific gym membership. solve the puzzle, sign up for our puzzle-of-the-month-club. what is a club if not just a paid opportunity - you are all paying for the same thing, which makes you a community.

but you're like me, i know it - you're careful, you try the library meetings and the stuff at the local school and all of that. the problem is that you kind of want really specific opportunities that used to exist. you are so grateful for libraries and the publicly-funded things: they are, however, an exception - and everything they have, they've fought tooth-and-nail to protect. you read a headline about how in many other states, libraries have virtually nothing left.

do you want to meet up with your friends afterwards? gift your friends the discord app. you can choose to go to a cafe (buy a coffee, at least), a bar (money, alcohol) or you can all stay in and catch a movie (streaming) or you can all stay in bed (rent. don't get me started) and scream (noise complaint. ticket at least).

you want to read a new book, but the book has to have 124 buzzwords from tiktok readers that are, like, weirdly horny. you can purchase this audiobook on audible! your podcast isn't on spotify, it's on its own server, pay for a different site. fuck, at least you're supporting artists you like. the art museum just raised their ticket price. once, they had a temporary exhibit that acknowledged that ~85% of their permanent art galleries were from cis white men, and that they had thousands of works by women (even famous women, like frida! georgia o'keefe!) just rotting in their basement. that exhibit lasted for 3 months and then they put everything away again.

walmart proudly supports this strip of land by the street! here are some flowers with wilting leaves. its employees have to pay out-of-pocket for their uniforms. my friend once got fined by the city because she organized a community pick-up of the riverfront, which was technically private property.

no, you cannot afford to take that dance class, neither can i. by the way - i'm a teacher. i'm absolutely not saying "educators shouldn't be paid fairly." i'm saying that when i taught classes, renting a studio went from 20 bucks an hour to 180 in the span of 6 months. no significant changes to the studio were made, except they now list the place as updated and friendly. the heat still doesn't work in the building. i have literally never seen the landlord who ignores my emails. recently they've been renting it out at night as an "unusual nightclub; a once-in-a-lifetime close-knit party." they spent some of those 180 dollars on LEDs and called it renovating. the high heels they invite in have been ruining the marley.

do you want to experience the old internet? do you want to play flash games or get back the temporary joy of club penguin? you can, you just need to pay for it. i have a weird, neurodivergent obsession with occasionally checking in to watch the downfall and NFT-ification of neopets. if i'm honest with you all - i never got into webkins, my family didn't have the money to buy me a pointless elephant. people forget that "being poor" can mean literally "if i buy you that toy, i can't afford rent."

you and i don't have time to make good food, and we don't have the budget for it. we are not gonna be able to host dinner parties, we're not made of money, kid. do you want some kind of 3rd space? a space that isn't home or work or school? you could try being online, but - what places actually exist for you? tiktok counts as social media because you see other people on it, not because they actually talk to you.

there was a local winter tradition of sledding down the hill at my school. kids would use pizza boxes and jackets and whatever worked, howling and laughing. back in september, they made a big announcement that this time, rules were changing, and everyone must pay 10 dollars to participate. when im not scared shitless, i kind of appreciate the environmental irony - it hasn't gone below 40. so much for snow & joyriding.

i saw a bulletin for a local dogwalking group and, nervous about making a good first impression, showed up early. the first guy there grimaced at me. "sorry," he said. "there's a 30-dollar buy-in fee." i thought he was joking. wait. for what? the group doesn't offer anything except friendship and people with whom to walk around the city.

he didn't know the answer. just shrugged at me. "you know," he said. "these days, everything costs money."

[mz4250]

Today I proudly celebrate 10 years of 3D modeling free 3D printable minis!

Today I proudly celebrate 10 years of 3D modeling, printing & painting D&D minis, all for free and all for the world to enjoy! It all started 10 years ago when I posted on reddit a simple black dragon I put together on Tinkercad that the local library 3D printed for me. It blew up on reddit so I made another dragon. Then I learned Blender and decided to 3D model the entire Monster Manual. From there this went from a simple hobby to now my full time profession and I'm loving it!

Thank you all for your kind words and support over the years. I was able to set up a successful Patreon, grow a small community, and model over 5000 minis! If you ever need a mini 3D printed for your games chances are I've made it. Just google "name of creature mz4250" and you'll see the free link, be it on Shapeways, Printables, Thingiverse or on Patreon directly.

Here are a few of my favorite galleries of my works that I think would set up anyone for their D&D campaign. The free file links are below each image:

Monster Manual - https://imgur.com/gallery/1R9Rt8G Monsters of the Multiverse - https://imgur.com/gallery/KBiK1Yp Fizbans Treasury of Dragons - https://imgur.com/gallery/xrvhfIf

I've actually made a variety of other D&D books ready for 3D printing but these are the must haves I feel :)

Anyway thanks again friends! And as always all my models are free and posted daily here: https://www.patreon.com/mz4250

Oh and if you're curious about about my Patreon I offer my patrons access to all my 5000+ pre-supported TTRPG models in one place, along with commercial options, a discord, and requests board. The drives have all the same models that are already out there for free in the internet. Its more for convenience rather than exclusivity.

Stay awesome friends!

[kaivenom]

A girl boss to a gangster (Tommy Shelby edition)

Based on this imagine i did, there will be four parts i think. Same gangter!reader but with a differente shelby each time (like the title says)

Masterlist

People tent to call you "the Red Nightmare", and people often think you are a comunist gentlemen but surprise... red is also a lady's colour.

You were going to Birmingham to see the outlook of the city. Your family wants to expand the bussiness to England and that place is a good start and you are the most capable option of your crew.

You parked the car on the side of the road and went to the Garrison, people have told you is a place very frequented by the local mobs. Maybe you get to do some alliances with them, it would be better than start a band war.

Ordering a drink was easy and the ambience was nice but some dudes started to bother you. In fact, even three boys from the VIP room got out to see.

You wanted to keep a low profile but these men were so insufferable that you ended up beating them. Now that they are on the ground, you wanted to go back drinking, but that was not the case.

"Good morning lady, i would have to ask you to get out." the bartender approached you.

"Jerry, go take a smoke, i have it from here" one of the VIP men sat next to you, dark hair and a lost look "that was quite impressive."

"Well, i can't expect the men to do the work."

"Well, this is my bar, i was going to do something."

"Too late i think."

"It is..." he lighted up a cigarette and offered to you, you took a slight hint "if a woman like you were from Birmingham i would have known you by now so... who are you?"

"I am just a lady."

"That's not true and i advise you not to lie to me." suddently the conversation changed to a much darker tone.

"I am (Y/N), The Red Nightmare. You?"

"Tommy Shelby, of the Peaky Blinders."

"Then i think is good that we both matched here."

"I am not sure about it then, why are you here?"

"Bussiness expansion. Partnership?" you asked with a smile.

"Then maybe we can work something out."

From that moment, it was like being a invited royal, you didn't have to search for a hotel or a chofer. It was like the Peaky Blinder was following you everywhere and so was for the next weeks.

------------------

"Lady (Y/N), Tommy Shelby invites you to an evening to the art gallery. Dress nicely." the courier said to you with a calmed voice.

-----------------

And so you did, you dressed with a red dress, obviously, and went to the gallery. Tommy's chofer left you in front of it, where you saw a very dressed up Shelby.

"Good afternoon, mister." you said with a smile, on the psat couple of weeks, you started to feel better around him.

"Afternoon lady, let's enter." he offered you his arm and like ussually he had a serious face but he looked more relaxed that in the other meetings.

The paintings were beautifull and wine was served to the costumers but there was a lot of people, it doesn't look like a place to a meeting.

"Mister Shelby" you positioned yourself next to him, but looking at the picture, "what is the subject you want to discuss today?"

"None." you almost choked on the wine.

"What?"

"You heard me, this is no business meeting. We already did a lot of that, i wanted to get ot know you a little more...you, not the Red Nightmare."

You were blushing a lot at these revelation, but you wouldn't confront him about it, deep inside you wanted it to happen.

After the gallery, you both went dinning at the Garrison and continued chatting and having a good time.

This thing started to happen more often and more sentimental every time. From time to time, both opening up about feelings and memories, like the war.

One particular night, it was raining and he appeared on your door, all wet and with a sad look. He told you about his nightmares and apparently, this night was a really rough one and he wanted to talk to someone. He talked about that time on France while laying on the couch, with your hands on his hair.

Then, when you both were about to fall asleep, he kissed you, not with lust or angriness but with love and sweetness instead. One thing led to another and you passed the night together.

The next morning, you woke up with your head on his chest and his hand passing thru your hair. When you oppened your eyes, a small smile appeared on his face, it was one of the few times you saw him done that.

"Let's get married." he said with a blank stare.

"Pardon?"

"The thing about your family business it's still going and we didn't solve it yet. A marriage would be the best solution."

"So, after all this, you are asking for marriage just to set a deal." you were starting to feel angry and used.

"Yeah, i thought about it for a while but i wasn't planning on doing it beacuse it's a vulgar way to solve things... i couldn't do that to you. But, after the last few weeks i was starting to think about it less for a bussiness and more like a desire, and after tonight i want to marry you, no matter what. Even if a have to ask you to a hundred more dates or appear on your door at night."

You looked at him, almost crying that this man is trusting you enough to ask you such a important question. Your brain is going very fast, analizing all the facts and possibilities and at the end, you threw all of that to the window.

Passing your hands to his cheeks and leaving a small kiss on his lips, you nod playfully.

"Then let's go call aunt Polly, she will get excited that we finally get married, she likes weddings a little to much."

"Then i shall write my family and tell the news."

You spent the rest of the morning in bed, celebrating the compromise, and later on, you make public, to surprise of no one.

[matchesarelit]

Imagine If You Will... (Brush Name, Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader)

The new gallery space was open, and under everyone's noses a local artist was featured and studied by a enthused debutante.

W.C:~2.3k Warnings: Erotic works, Semi public sexual interaction (no PIV but there is not-so-dry humping), horny paint/art talk, (please let me know if I missed anything)

Your feet were planted solidly on the spot as they had been for the past few too many minutes.

A few steps to the left... and then you were still again, your eyes stuck on yet another hung canvas.

The shades of summer warmed the very air around you, you felt the sand under your toes, the ocean air whipping across your face and whistling past your ears. Your mind was held within the work as you stood there, completely in another world.

The opening of a small wing in the Carroway gallery was hardly a large event in the busy calendar of the Ton, especially when it sat, as it did, between a dozen or so back to back dances, balls and garden parties. There was barely a hundred people milling about the space, and with such grand high ceilings and vast wooden flooring it seemed close to barren.

Walking around the room as you were, other people were barely a consideration as your eyes flickered from one work to another, so a graze of wool sweeping past your bare elbow was a jolt enough to pull your eyes from the wall. The man was speaking, that was for sure, but the words were a flurry of mumblings to your ears, that were still working to tune back in to the world around you.

Your gaze followed the arm by your side, as it pointed about the work, to points and places your eyes never found, too busy working their way backwards towards the man's face. His vest and coat were finely made, the collar of his shirt and the scarf that secured it were very much the same but were overshadowed completely by the flurry that was his Adam's apple as he spoke so vehemently. Finally finding his face you trailed along his jaw, over his lips that danced about impassionedly, up his nose, and settled on his eyes, as fervent as his mouth but with a sparkle that was uniquely his.

'Mr. Bridgerton' Your utterance had interrupted his speech and led his words to a startled end as his flittering stare found you.

Functionally half asleep, you passed by the curtsey you were surely meant to give, and instead followed his arm, still held in gesture, back to the paint strewn canvas.

He greeted you briefly before following your lead and returning his focus forwards, at which point you spoke softly once again; 'I apologise for my absent state. Would you greatly mind repeating yourself?'

He released a chuckle before pausing a moment, seemingly caught in a silent conversation with himself, that concluded in summarising his point. 'I was only stating how enthralling this artist's use of the lighting was, as if the well itself was a set atop a stage, all but commanding our attention, yet I suppose you are my case and point.' His voice flowed like honey lilting over every syllable as he went.

'I suppose I am... You seem much better at keeping yourself grounded.'

'Practice makes perfect, as they say'

'Are there any you have seen that have tempted you today, into breaking that perfect run?' A smile crossed your lips as you kept your eyes fluttering about the space, avoiding the painting itself in an attempt to keep your feet on the ground.

Benedict stood a little taller, casting his gaze about the room a quiet hum sounding from his pursed lips and drawing your own attention. So much so that you had to blink quite a few times to tune back in as he returned his focus to you, the arm that was stretched towards the art was now hooked in your direction.

'Let me show you, hm?' Meeting his eyes you threaded your arm through his and nodded up at him, 'Please,' The word was barely a whisper as it slipped out of your mouth but his soft smile made it apparent he'd heard you clear as day.

His steps were slow, decidedly so, as if he was holding himself back from hurrying to his favoured piece, presumably for the sake of not drawing the full attention of the attendees. Benedict was nodding politely at those you passed, and although you were thankful for his tact, a part of you yearned to witness the full excitement he was so evidently supressing.

The work he brought to you was, by most members of the Ton's opinion, obscene at the very least. That much you had gathered by the wide berth given to the space where the painting hung, and upon settling your eye on it, you caught on to why. Following the strokes, the fleshy tones and the heat of the captured moment, you felt yourself slipping away from where you were and the man who remained intertwined by your side.

It was as if the flesh in front of you was our own, as if you could feel the artists eyes, their brush, tracing the curves of your form, and as your mind fell from its place in the gallery, you began to feel your chest burn.

Your breath grew shorter the longer your eyes rested on the art, this was a change the man by your side took in stride as his own gaze fell from the frame to the placard beneath, wherein the name 'Barnard Blake' sat neatly engraved.

B.B.

He was nothing if not slightly cocky, so yes, despite how seemingly obvious the pen name might appear, it was still the one he chose to use for such pieces that weren't as fit for the eyes of polite society. This moment however was a new one for him; getting to see the reaction people had to his art, and it was a rare treat, even more so, for the viewer to be someone so apparent in their appreciation for the medium.

Benedict watched as your glazed eyes roved the piece, he grew more and more desperate to hear the thoughts that he could feel building within your mind, so with a light hand he ran a path along your skin, hoping to pull you back to the surface.

The heat of his fingers in the chill of the winter air did its job of tearing your focus from the art in front of you, yet as your eyes moved from the wall, it fell to his presence against your flesh. Flickering your eyes back in front of you, the name beneath the the frame rung through your mind, it was one you hadn't heard before and still it prompted a strange sense of Deja vu, one that was echoed again by the touch upon your arm.

'Mr- Benedict, what is it about this that draws your reverie?' You dropped your pretence, in front of a piece like this, one he himself had pulled your attention to, there seemed no need for title or formality.

His eyes seemed to taunt you, never meeting your own but tracing your features lazily as he spoke; 'It feels extensively personal, like the artists eyes are my own.'

'Is that so...' You mused returning your eyes to the work, 'Is that perhaps because they are?'

Benedict's eyes seemed to remain unfazed for a few moments even as his lips formed a question of his own, 'What are you saying?'

'I'm saying...' connecting your eyes with his you watched them shift, as you brought your hand to his, stilling it in its trailed path. 'Bernard, were those lines, those strokes, strewn by these hands?'

'And what if they wer-'

'Say, Bridgerton? Surely you are not exposing this young woman to such profane works?' One Lord Hollowvale had stepped up behind the pair of you, so slipping your arm and hand from his, you withered at the draining warmth as his presence drifted, albeit mere inches from you.

'Of course, Hollowvale, we were simply passing through this part of the collection' Benedict's voice was even and slightly raised as if seemingly fixing himself back to formality.

'Good, good. Anyhow, I've been meaning to speak with you regarding...'

Taking this as a good point of flight you curtseyed your goodbyes and with a brief meeting of Benedict's eyes, you took your leave.

You returned quickly to your prior process of staring and floating away, now, however, the observation was now intercut with moments where you searched the space for his familiar frame. Lord Hollowvale alongside a few other men conversed with him for the following hours, by now you were approaching the last of the paintings, and soon enough you were moving to leave. Against any thought you dawdled as you left, stepping into the hall you trailed the trim of the panelled walls with your eyes, somehow straying even then...

Drifting so much so that you failed to note footsteps, only noting their adjoined figure as his shadow darkened the wood you stood atop.

'Leaving so soon?' Turning your head to the man behind you, you shivered as his touch found the hand by your side. Drawing a line from the tip of your middle finger, over your palm and up your arm, Benedict's touch was like fire tearing your skin asunder and leaving a burning heat in its wake. As his hand raised to toy with the hem of your sleeve your breath caught, and your lungs began to ignite.

'I believe you asked me a question. Care to remind me of it?'

His voice was low, words ghosting past your collarbone as his head dropped down beside your own, seemingly revelling in the lack of thoughts thriving between your ears.

Cobbling together the syllables you could, you spoke, your voice barely a whisper, 'W-was that work, the-the nude, did you paint it?'

It was then his hand delved beneath the fabric of your sleeve, curling around it and slipping it from your shoulder, replacing the silken fabric with his lips against his skin. Benedict's arm sweeping over your front shelved your chest as he grasped your side, his mouth patterning a pillowy trail across to your throat, secured a latch like pucker against your flesh releasing only briefly to murmur out his response.

'And what if I had?' his words rushed air down the front of your dress teasing your bosom with their heat and running a titillating sensation up your spine.

'Then I would label you lewd, and rakish for exposing me to such debauchery.' Your words sounded unsure of yourself despite any inward conviction.

'You would shame me so publicly? Call me such things with my lips on your skin? With my hands upon your body?' He emphasised his words with an open-mouthed press of his lips and a squeeze of his hands, the other of which had snuck to grip the fabric on your hip, bunching it up between his fingers.

'I would not' The chuckle that hummed against your neck spurred you further, 'For then I would have to submit myself to that same title.' At this Benedict raised his head, leaving in his wake, a chill as the air brushed over the memory of his kiss. His grasp spun you beneath him, pulling your front to his own as your eyes met once again.

'You never said what you thought of the painting, what you felt as you fell into the work. I watched it happen and I admit, watching you trace my lines with your eyes as your mind drifted was an indecently captivating sight.'

'I-I was feeling your touch, your brush against my skin, your eyes covering every inch of my body. It was what clued me in to you, your touch on my arm, drawing across my skin. It was identical. Had you paint on your fingers I was sure you would coat me all the same.'

'Is that what you want? My mark upon your flesh, adorning you head to toe?' Benedict was teasing that was for sure, but the look in his eyes let you know there was no word he did not intend to follow through on.

'Y-yes Bene-Benedict I-' Your words fell short as his hand at your hip began gathering more and more of the fabric of your dress, tugging it higher and higher until that side was all but bare, the skirt collected at your hip. Looking down at the space by your feet, you watched as his leg snuck between your own, the harsh cloth grazing the sensitive surface of your inner thigh and pulling the air from your lungs in a shuddering exhale.

'Yes what lovely?' His tone was even and his lips stamped the corner of your mouth as he awaited your breathless answer,

'I want your touch, and everything it leaves. I want you closer.' The words were rushed, tumbling from your lungs between pants.

His hold on you drew you closer as his lips pushed against your own and as your hips dragged over his leg, the knitted material drawing a whimper from your throat that fell right into his mouth. Your hand clutched his shoulder in a scramble for balance, leaning completely into Benedict as the sensation between your legs sent a delicious heat throughout your body that warmed the very air around you. Shifting slightly as you breathed your way through the overwhelming feeling, you moved back and forth over the meat of his thigh the drag eliciting the most intense desire in your stomach.

Your eyes, screwed shut in the heat of the moment, darted open as Benedict dropped his leg from your core, the wetness clinging to your skin was set alight by the chill of the winter air. Senses shocked and desperate for more your voice whined, 'Benedict P-please, stay.'

looking to his face as the weight of your dress fell back into place, you followed his sight down to his leg, where a darkened stripe had been drawn the length of the cloth. 'Oh-Oh I'm so Sorry.' Tilting your head back up to his own, he connected your lips once more before wordlessly tugging his scarf from his collar and pressing it to the wet patch.

'It will stain...' you trailed off, your cheeks burning with heat, that only grew worse as the man above you met your statement with a raised brow, a wicked smirk and the muttered,

'Will it now?'

Benedict was much too joyous at the ruin of his pants in your opinion, but how could he complain. If you were willing to bear his marks he was happy to wear yours.

[changingplumbob]

Knightstone Household: Chapter 9, Part 9

Adam wakes up in a good mood. It’s his day off meaning he can take some time to work on his skills. First up though, food for the family. He cooking away but actually thinking about the painting he wants to finish when he feels things get hot. The food caught fire! Smiling through the chaos he took steps to douse the flames and, leaving hot breakfast for his family, heads upstairs to shower.

Suzanna: Good morning Silas

Silas: Morning Mummy

Suzanna: Are you feeling well still? You didn't catch a chill from the snow?

Silas: Yeah I’ll be fine

Silas speed eats his leftover pancakes so that he can do some reading before school. He’s been feeling like mysteries. Suzanna leaves him to clean the dishes and do other chores while a freshly showered Adam sits down. He’s not too sure about Silas reading such a big book when he’s not even eight but Adam read plenty of books he shouldn’t have when he was young. Seems silly to tell him off for curiosity that’s harming no one else.

After he’s finished Adam heads back upstairs to the veranda. He has a set of easels up here, the surrounding views often inspire him. Thinking hard he begins to paint. His day job is critiquing art but he enjoys creating his own works. When he finishes he congratulates himself on another excellent art piece and after some thinking decides to sell it to the local gallery to increase his fame.

Suzanna: Silas if you don’t leave now you’ll miss the bus

Silas: Sorry mum. Can I invite Ruth and Tyree around after school

Suzanna: Sure, I’ll let your dad know. Have a good day

Silas: Bye Mummy, love you

With one son at school Suzanna went to check on the other. Pollock had been having a sleep in but was happy enough to get up and be put in front of food. While he ate Suzanna carried on with her chores, four people made a lot of laundry.

Pollock: MUMMY

Suzanna could hear him from the bedroom and went back to get him out of his high chair. Before she put him down however she gave him a big snuggle.

Suzanna: What are you going to do today

Pollock: Not no

Suzanna: Whatever you do you let Daddy work when he needs to okay Moondust

Pollock: Yes Mummy

While Suzanna started tending her garden before her shift the frost slowed her down and she didn’t manage to finish. Going to find Adam she asked if he could finish it, kissed him on the cheek, and sped off to work. Adam went outside and watered some of the plants, although it was a bit tricky to tell what needed a drink in the snow.

Adam checked the machine but the washing was still spinning so he got out his guitar and practiced a few songs. Pollock, who had been reading inside, came out at the sound of music.

Pollock: Daddy play

Adam: Sorry buddy, I need to practice

Pollock: No Daddy. I play. Daddy watch

Adam smiled as Pollock began the task of moving himself down the stairs and jumped in the snow. He was glad Pollock was content to entertain himself.

Eventually the washing was done and Adam hung it up before collecting Pollock to take inside.

Pollock: Why in Daddy

Adam: We were outside for a while, don’t want to get too cold. Can you feel the heater inside

Pollock: Yes. Daddy can play?

Adam: You want to play or you want me to play with you

Pollock: With Daddy

The pair played for a while but Adam wanted to work on his writing so he took Pollock in to the office room with him.

Adam: Alright Pol, stay in here where Daddy can hear you okay

Pollock: Kay Daddy

So while Adam worked on his latest book Pollock happily played with the toys, enjoying scuttling through the tunnel especially.

Pollock: What Daddy do

Adam: Hmm? Oh I’m writing my book

Pollock: Huh?

Adam: It’s a science fiction book called We Came From Sixam

Pollock: Did Daddy

Adam: No Daddy didn’t. Mummy and Daddy came from earth carriers. But when you write books you can make up your own stories. My main character comes from Sixam

Pollock: Oh. Kay

Pollock grabbed his tablet and sat by Adam as he did his final edits. Eventually Adam felt like the book was good enough to go to the publishers. With Pollock escorting him he went to the mailbox and posted off the manuscript. Later in the evening his publisher called to let him know the book had been nominated for an award, very exciting!

Previous ... Next

[itspupppycat]

I have successfully replaced all the builds in Oasis Springs today. It took a little work because not one but twice my game decided to just get stuck in a loading screen, thankfully I replace builds from build mode so I was able to save as I go and didn’t lose any progress. I only know to do that because this is not the first save where I’ve had this happen, I learned that lesson.

Tomorrow I’m going to replace the Landgraabs and the Calientes, I’m keeping the Roomies and Johnny Zest they are all always good friends to have. I’m gonna avoid procreating with premade Maxis townies so I’ll be on the gallery tomorrow finding sims to populate the world of Oasis Springs.

I like to keep my gameplay fairly localized to one or two worlds. I don’t really like to travel to the other worlds unless there is a festival or they’re going on vacation. Something about it just makes me feel more immersed in my game.

The last time I did the short lifespan legacy I just plopped my sims in Newcrest and went from there with no set up at all. I’ve since learned I like to do set up so I don’t have to fiddle with things as much during gameplay (or maybe I just enjoy setting up lol).

[museumelina]

Ali Cherri, The Dreamer, 2023, Montpellier, La Panacée, part of the exhibition "Être Méditerranée", June 22-September 22, 2024.

July 14, 2024. I like going to museums and galleries at any occasion.

I appreciate that some people flock to them specifically during the summer (whether they're on holiday or locals with more time to spare), specifically because these spaces are air-conditioned. I visited a museum a couple years ago during a severe heatwave and the museum not only waived entry fees that day but they'd also set up a sort of "cooling station" in the lobby where you could just sit and drink water and have a snack, also free of charge and with no obligation to actually go and see any of the art if you didn't want to. I loved that, because the museum in question basically made a statement of "museums are a public service" in not so many words.

It was hot today, not a heatwave but still a bit stifling, and we were out and I'd yet to see one of the summer expos in town so we went, only to find that the space isn't air-conditioned, like at all, which is alarming from an art conservation perspective but also deeply distracting from a spectator perspective, because we ultimately rushed through the exhibition to get back outside.

Regardless of the discomfort, I did stop and spend time admiring this piece by Ali Cherri. I always snap a picture of the cartels so that I can put an artist and a title to the work later, so I didn't actually read it at the time but this work is called The Dreamer, and I love that because while I was going around and contemplating it, I wanted to ask it, "what are you looking at? what are you thinking about?"

[theshejen]

Casey Novak Enimies to Lovers Chapter 2

Casey had called you into her office right after you got nearly enough information on El Fuego to act on it.

“What?” You asked, winded from walking so fast into her office. The sooner you arrived, the sooner you could leave.

“Need you to sign some paperwork for me,”

She was being really pleasant for someone who just outed you. Part of you felt conflicted at giving her ice so you quickly signed the form before turning to leave.

“Was that your first time at a club like that?”

“What does that have to do with the Case?” You ask, trying to be gentle. “It doesn't, I am just curious, ya know.”

Casey has pinged for you but she did seem…inexperienced. “It's a nice event every month or so. Dancing, a few performances, and drinks.”

“Cool,” she hesitated. “That'll be all, Detective,”

That afternoon, Liv and you had gotten to El Fuegos ex employee. Someone who used to sell her drugs and knew about her people. You had gotten to him and now all that was needed was El Fuegos house, which he claimed he didn't know. “A night in Rikers might change his mind,” Liv commented, looking through the glass at the loser.

The pair of you were walking out of the building when Novak called you, requesting your presence. You gave Liv an eye roll before you got off the phone. The two of you said goodbye before you mentally prepared yourself to deal with the annoying redhead.

You strode in, all cockily. “You asked to see me, councilor.” “Yeah,” she said with a smile, gestured for you to sit and leaned against her desk.

“You were there when they arrested Mark Gibbon, correct?”

“Yeah, that was like four months ago, why?”

“It would be a big help if you testify. He claims I have a bias against him and I'd like for you to testify that he doesn't and that he was difficult with all involved in his investigation.”

You threw your head back and laughed. The redhead gave you a quizzical look. “You want me to help you after you outed me?” You laughed again.

“Screw you, Novak,” you went back to writing on your notepad when she sat on the chair next to you.

“I need your help with this Detective. To show that I have integrity,” Casey pleaded, almost softly. “First off, I've only known you a few months, secondly you have other people here who know you better who you hopefully didn't out too,”

Casey stood up, “That's the point, you don't know me well enough to cover for me since we aren't friends and haven't had a chance to be,”

“Maybe I'll be your rock…I'll think about it.”

………………………………..

You wanted to tease the woman and it had worked. You barged into her office two days before she needed you and the look on her face….you figured this would be a fun time in court.

“Detective, have you experienced ADA Novak being unprofessional?”

“She's a pain but I don't hate her. Novak is good at her job which is a lot more than I can say about skeevy cops.”

“Do you know why her integrity is being questioned?”

“Because Mark Gibbon wants to get off by saying Novak hates him. When I was in the army, I helped disciple people. Someone like Ms. Novak may get a talking to but she's one of the good guys, always does the right thing, I have no issues with her and have never seen her behave unprofessionally or out of line, even at after work functions.”

“What makes her so difficult, Detective?”

You licked her lips, instead of giving you that look in her office, the redhead was glaring at you. “She's a crusader for the truth, desperate to do the right thing, like a Jedi.”

A few of the gallery laughed.

“She's a pain but good at her job, great even,”

After the win court all of you celebrated at the local bar. You were sitting in the corner sipping your third lager beer when she came up to you. “Thanks for helping me out today,” Novak offered.

“You didn't seem to like said help at the time,” you said, sipping at the last quarter of the beer, stumbling a bit in the chair to look at her.

“I was about to head out, join me?” You nodded and chugged the last bit of beer. The two of you wandered outside. You couldn't help but notice her beauty.

“You're a virgin aren't you, councilor?” She gave you a confused look, “How can you tell?” “I don't know, just can,” you laughed a bit. She glared at you. “I think you need to learn to be nice,” “I am to most everyone…except you,” you laughed again. “You know what, you can find your own way home.” She says shoving you a bit. You felt bad suddenly, ruining her win, “Case, love come back, I'm sorry.” But she was already away.

After a morning of delivered breakfast you did some work and thought about what you had said to her. Sunday afternoon you had been called in and stayed until Monday 5pm. Being a hair younger than everyone, except Novak, you didn't mind as long as you got Chinese food.

“Can I talk to you?” A familiar voice grumbled behind you. You felt drunk again, this time from the lack of sleep.

“I need you to research this guy for me tomorrow. I think he is our link between this case and the one from four years ago.”

“Four years ago you were in diapers,” you lent to her. “What's in it for me? You out me, I help you, I help you again….” “You were a bastard to me at my celebration, “I get why you walked away, but if you didn't I would have apologized,”

She huffed. “Well please start research on this,” “Novak, I'm happy to help tomorrow but I'm tired and I'm not your bitch. I'll do this tomorrow, I promise.”

“ Fine,” she gritted through her teeth. “Don't know why you're such a dick about everything.” “Because I don't work for you,” “Actually you do,” she claimed before turning and walking away. Why was every conversation and interaction with this woman difficult?

[harleychick91]

SuperCorptober Day 22: Art

Friends To Lovers

“You seem rather perky today,” Lena grinned. “What is it?” Taking her normal seat on the couch, the businesswoman studied me. “Something good happen at work?”

Sitting, I unpacked our lunch. “Sort of. It does deal with work but not totally.” Pulling out my phone, I brought up a picture and gave my phone to Lena. “Have you heard of this new artist, Sarah Bennett? Some of her paintings are in the newest collection at the art gallery in town.”

“The one that opened last month?” A dark brow rose.

“Yes. I’ve saved a few pictures if you want to swipe through them. Beyond the woman’s name, there’s virtually zero information about her. Miss Grant wants me to find out who she is for an exclusive.”

Handing me my phone back, Lena nodded. “How do you plan to do that?”

Grinning, I shrugged. “I was hoping you knew something about her since you know people in the art world. Or maybe a lead on the type of art she does? My guess is that she orders all of the art supplies online and has them delivered so she can keep her identity secret.”

“Maybe she wants to stay hidden?” Lena offered. “Like Supergirl.”

“Possibly. If that is the case, I’d write the article without revealing too much.”

“You do have that talent,” the brunette smiled. “You always respect the person you’re interviewing and never write something they truly want to keep private.” Lena chuckled. “I’d know.”

“I do my best.” Looking back at the pictures, I chewed the inside of my cheek. “She captures her subjects in a way that’s incredible. Each detail is done with such care. With the amount of paintings in the gallery, she must have a studio somewhere in town.”

“It sounds like you have a crush on Sarah Bennett,” Lena teased. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Heat crept up my neck. “Oh, I don’t… It’s just…her art is…”

“Kara,” Lena placed a hand on my arm, “I’m joking. I’m glad you enjoy her art. If I find anything out, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate it,” I smiled. “Now, let’s eat!”

“Yes,” the CEO laughed. “I don’t want you to get in trouble for being late again.”

Xxx

A few days passed and I still had no leads on Sarah Bennett. Sighing, I stared at the blinking cursor on my empty word document. “Kara Danvers?”

Looking up, I raised my hand. “Over here.”

“I have a delivery.” Placing an 8x10 package on my desk, the man smiled. “Sign here.” Doing as asked, he tipped his hat. “Thank you. Have a good day.”

“You too.” Carefully, I unwrapped the brown paper. A soft gasp escaped my throat when I saw myself staring back. Oh, gosh. This is gorgeous! Unfolding a note, my cheeks flushed.

To my greatest admirer. This is how I see you. -Sarah B

Placing the note down, I picked up the painting. I look beautiful in this. Whoever this woman is, she sees me in a way I don’t see myself. I have to find her.

Walking past my desk, Winn stopped. “Wow. That’s incredible. Who’s it from?”

“Sarah Bennett.” I slid the note under my arm. “I guess she found out I’m a fan of her work.”

“Does Miss Grant know yet?” The man grinned. “She’s going to freak.”

“No. It just arrived.”

“Have fun dodging her,” he murmured.

Taking my lunch break, I kept thinking about the painting. I wish I knew more about her. If I knew something, anything, maybe I could find her. Grasping at straws, I found myself in front of the art gallery. Maybe the owner knows something.

Entering the gallery, I went to the new artist section. My jaw slacked seeing a new painting. It was two women, one blonde and one brunette, sitting at a small table at a local coffee shop. That looks like me and Lena.

“Kara, you’re back.” John, the owner, came to stand beside me. “It just arrived this morning. She named it: Friends To Lovers.”

My stomach dropped. How does she know?

Finish reading on AO3 or FFN

[tveitertotwrites]

Tobias Carrick Appreciation (Part 1?)

Hey everyone! So I obviously had to participate in Tobias Carrick Appreciation Week (both since I didn't do it last year and also having an OC that romances him). For today's prompts, I am just going to answer them as questions and not in a fic. I am also going to answer both prompts/questions along with the prompt from last year but I am only counting it as one creation since it is all going to be in the same post.

Starting with last year's prompt, Where did he come from?

My HC for Tobias is that he grew up in the Midwest (either Indiana or Illinois). He was born on May 25th, 1983. His parents divorced when he was 3 and he has an older sister named Maria who at the time was 5. His father, David, decided to move across the country to California and start a life with his new family, meaning Tobias and Maria stayed with their mother, Naomi. His mom decided to not remarry and focused on her job and her kids.

He decided to take up medicine after seeing his sister, who did gymnastics, get injured multiple times and wanted to learn how everything works and heals. He went to Columbia for Undergrad and then obviously John Hopkins for Med School. From Middle School to Undergrad, he played Baseball and Lacrosse, helping his team to sectionals many times.

In school one of his favorite subjects was actually English. He liked reading poems and hearing different stories. His other favorite class was Art and was pretty good at it and got some local awards for his art in high school.

Now on to this year's prompts/questions, If Tobias could no longer practice medicine (the reason is up to you). What would your Tobias select as his new career? What would he pursue? Would he be successful?

If he had to stop practicing medicine, I do think it would be in favor of helping someone get something the really needed (idk what it would be). I think he would then try to pursue art or music (as I HC that he's good at playing guitar). He could either make art for different galleries or be a guitarist for an artist when they tour and would be pretty successful.

And the other question/prompt, Does he travel? Have hobbies, or is he a workaholic through and through? What does he enjoy to do when he has downtime? What does he wish he had time to do? Does he have any hobbies he doesn't want anyone to know about? Where does he like to travel? Does he overpack or underpack? What's his ideal vacation/holiday? Does he travel solo or with others?

Tobias does love to travel, he takes a yearly trip to Greece with his mom and sister (and then with Adelaide as well once they're together). He likes booking warm/tropical places depending on the time of year because he likes being able to swim in the ocean or some body of water. He occasionally does city trips like London or somewhere else but it's not his ideal choice (the majority of his city trips start after meeting Adelaide). Before Adelaide and Tobias get together, he sometimes goes alone on trips and sometimes invite friends. One of his favorite spots to vacation at is Spain (specifically Majorca). At first he used to underpack a little but now he tends to overpack a little (especially after having kids).

Tags: @jerzwriter @storyofmychoices

[vera-king-hrfl]

Heat of the Night part 3 (thank you @crowwolf for the title, it fits!)

This is still going to be sweet and cute for a while, but y'all know me, I'm a fiend for drama, so there's some foreshadowing in this one. 😈

Also, we're not doing the typical BG everyone is pansexual thing here. Don't get me wrong, I love that and most of my stories are that, but this one is written with more of a 1980s Earth mentality toward homosexuality, so some of the upcoming drama will surround that attitude. It's not in this one, and I will include warnings in the future when it does come up. ❤️

Cal hangs around the house the next day, making breakfast, doing laundry, and cleaning up the place a little. Living with his sister is nice, but they are both rather messy people, so there's always a lot to clean up on their days off. He’s sitting at their little dining table with Lia, eating while she giggles over Baldur’s Mouth, the local tabloid rag, telling him all the juiciest gossip about rich people they'll never meet.

"Oh, now this is interesting." She sips her coffee, eyeing Cal and waiting for him to ask her about it. But her brother knows Lia's game; the little tiefling loves chattering on about anything and everything, and can’t hold back for long, so he just smirks and finishes his toast before resting his chin on his hand and staring at her.

The standoff doesn't last long, as he'd expected, and Lia finally hmphs. "Oh alright, fine. Do you remember Lucretious?"

Cal nods. "Mhm. She used to run the extraplaner circus..."

"Yeah, that's her. Well, apparently she's opening an art gallery not too far from here next week. We should go and support her." She perks up and grins. "Hey! You should show her your stuff. Maybe she'd like to give you a bit of wall there."

Her brother snorts. "Pffft. I'm not good enough for that. We can go, Lucretious is a sweetheart, but keep your trap shut. I'd just embarrass myself."

Lia rolls her eyes. "You are so good enough. Your drawings are beautiful, Cal. But fine." She gets to her feet and grabs her bag, and Cal entertains a brief hope that maybe she'd forgotten about the previous evening. He's not that lucky though, and she continues as she roots for a trolley token. "I'll leave you alone about the gallery, if you promise to call that guy today." She grins at Cal's flinch. "And don't think you can avoid it. I memorized that number last night."

Cal huffs. "Meddling brat. Fine. I said I would call him, and I will. Just don't be a pest about it."

"Alright. I look forward to hearing how it went. Just remember, we have dinner at the tower with Rolan tonight. Then you can tell us both." Her grin widens as Cal groans. He loves his brother, but the older Arch Mage and professor is skeptical about anyone trying to date his siblings, and has a tendency to cause scenes. He'd been fine when Cal declared his preference for men, but the young tiefling hadn’t really dated anyone in a few years, and he expects the third degree about anyone he goes out with. So he just waves his sister off and goes to do the washing up while she leaves for work.

Later, he's sitting at the table with a sketch pad in front of him, doodling and stressing. The pink napkin is on the table too, and his eyes keep drifting to it, breaking his dubious concentration. Finally, he sits back and scrubs at his face with both hands before looking at the thick, charcoal decorated paper. All the anatomy studies he'd been working on that morning were quite a bit darker than he was accustomed to doing. It was a challenge to leave enough white space to really define the lean muscles on the tight, limber torso... but the way the light hits that nearly black skin... he looks at the napkin again. There is no way that man will ever let me see him like this.

Finally, after annoying himself to the point of courage, he picks up his communicator and slowly enters the number on the pink paper. He stares at the thing as if it's about to attack him for a second, then sighs and hits send, standing up to pace as the tone plays in his ear.

"Vendui?" The soft voice is familiar, but Cal doesn’t recognize the greeting.

"Uh... sorry, I'm looking for Ryldinn."

He hears the smile, while causes his own lips to twitch in answer. "You have found him. Is this Cal?"

"Yeah it is... we met last night at the White Swallow." He winces. Obviously Ryldinn knows that, you idiot; he was there. But the rather sexy accent is more noticeable now than in the noisy club, and it's throwing him off. As does the pretty little laugh that follows.

"How could I forget? How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks. And you?"

"Bwael, yes, wonderful, now that I hear you. Have you had chance to decide whether to see me? May I think that is why you call?"

Cal has to sit down at that. It’s like a dream, the lovely man seeming so eager to see him again. He holds the device away from his face to clear his throat before answering. "Yeah, it is, um... if you want to. Where would you like to go?"

"There is a café near to my home. Evae Aloun. Do you know it? Right near the Upper City gate. What time would you like to meet? I am not busy today."

"Uh... today? I mean, yeah I know the place. I have dinner with my brother around eighth bell, but anytime before that would be great."

He hears the adorable smiling sound in the soft words again. "Very well. I shall be there at the third. I am happy for this, Cal. Will see you there."

They say their goodbyes and Cal ends the call, staring at the comm for a moment before tossing it next to him on the sofa and sitting back, pushing his hair behind his horns. He glances at the clock. Just after first. He has time to get ready, but he’s not sure if he's prepared to see the beautiful man again. Some part of him still thinks this must be a mistake, or a joke of some kind. Maybe Ryldinn had been dazzled by the flashing lights in the club, or something...

He groans and stands, going into his room to spend an inordinate amount of time agonizing over his appearance. He settles on a short sleeved shirt and some decent jeans, then stands in front of the mirror to fuss with his hair and tug at the shirt to try and hide the little belly that he'd grown in the last few years of single life. Finally he sighs and rakes the dark locks into a ponytail, grabs his keys and money, and leaves the house to catch the trolley.

The time he left at should have brought him to the cute little café a bit early, but a delay in the trolley service makes him several minutes late instead, and he hurries down the sidewalk, hoping that Ryldinn won't be upset. He doesn’t see the man at first, when he reaches the place, and his stomach sinks for a minute as he considers that perhaps Ryldinn had grown tired of waiting and left. Or maybe he'd never meant to come here in the first place. Cal sighs, looking around for a minute.

"Hi."

At the soft sound, Cal spins to see his date standing behind him, smiling. "Oh... hi Ryldinn. Im sorry I'm late, the trolley..."

The drow chuckles and takes Cal's hand to lead him to a table outdoors, near a corner. They sit, and Cal wracks his brain for something to say. "You look nice," is all he can come up with. It's true, too. The pretty little man is wearing loose soft pants that cling precariously to his narrow hips and an expensive looking vee neck t-shirt with some modern art piece printed on it, cropped just enough to skim his waistband. Delectable little peeks of his silky grey skin show when he moves to wave the smiling dwarven waitress over, and it's all Cal can do not to stare at him. Ryldinn is even more gorgeous in the sunlight, his hands, arms and face gleaming, though his big eyes are hidden behind dark sunglasses. He'd left his shimmering hair down too, and he sweeps it back after the lady takes their order, resting his chin on his hands to look at Cal.

"Thank you. You look quite good yourself." Ryldinn isn’t lying about that, and he's thankful for the glasses that let him inspect the handsome tiefling without seeming like a creep. He can sense Cal's apprehension, and doesn’t want to scare the man away. But he looks anyway, appreciating the way his chest and strong arms push at the fabric of Cal’s button down shirt. Astarion was right, the beefy young man is undeniably Ryldinn’s type, and he'd been captivated by him the moment he'd walked into the bar the previous night. Said tiefling is possibly blushing now, though its hard to tell with the reddish shade of his skin. Ryldinn can’t see very well anyway, in the bright afternoon sun, but it's impossible to miss the shy grin and the way his burning eyes flicker over Ryldinn in a similar appraisal, and then dart away nervously. The drow smiles, pleased that Cal seems to like the way he looks.

Their drinks arrive, and Cal adds milk and sugar to his coffee while Ryldinn blows on his own decalf espresso. "Do you take sugar?" The tiefling offers Ryldinn the container, but the dark elf shakes his head.

"No thank you, Cal. You sweet enough for the both of us." He's rewarded with another cute little flush, more obvious this time, and decides to make small talk to put the man at ease. "So," he says, sipping carefully at the hot cup. "What was wrong with the trolley?"

Cal shrugs. "Just the usual mess. I guess some rich politician got murdered early this morning and they're doing an investigation. They rerouted all of the cars to another street."

A thin white eyebrow raises above the rim of the glasses. "How shameful. What is the city coming to?" There’s a dash of irony in his voice that Cal can't quite place, but he puts it down to the accent, or perhaps the rumored violence of his former society made the man more immune to things like that. "Do not worry though, I would have waited longer."

"Uh... heh, alright." Cal is actually enjoying the company now, relaxing a little now that they're here and Ryldinn seems to be openly flirting with him. He thinks maybe there's a possibility that the drow does actually like him. He certainly seems to. "So, um... what do you do? For work, I mean."

Ryldinn leans back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair. "I am a procurator at a specialty book shop in the Upper City. It's not that interesting, really. I just find books for people who want them, but the owner is kind to me, and I get to meet interesting people. What about you?"

"Nothing that posh, I'm afraid." Cal chuckles a little. "I'm a mechanic. I work for a friend of the family fixing whatever needs fixed. Including these rickety trolleys, when the company decides they're on the verge of falling apart. But if you do rare books or whatever, maybe you know my brother, Rolan."

Ryldinn sips his coffee again. "Mm, I've never met him; the boss usually entertains the more important clients. But I do believe I have found some things for him. It must be interesting having an Arch Mage for a brother."

Cal grins. "It’s stressful, actually. He's... well. He's a bit cranky and pompous, and very protective of me and our sister. Do you have family here?"

"Oh my. I hope he's alright with us seeing each other. I wouldn't want a wizard mad at me. But no, I don’t have any family." The last sentence seems to cool Ryldinn’s expression a little, and Cal hurriedly moves on, thinking that may be a sensitive subject for the man.

"Oh, he'll disapprove at first, I'm sure, but he'd disapprove if I was dating a Grand Duke. It's fine. Besides. I'm enjoying this. I haven't been on a date in a few years, and certainly not with someone so..." he blushes and buries his face in his cup, hoping he didn’t go too far.

But Ryldinn just smiles, sets his cup down, and lays his hand on the table, palm up. "So what?"

Cal swallows, looking at the offered hand for a second before gently taking it, curling his rough fingers around the slender dark ones. "I'm going to be honest with you, Ryldinn. When I first saw you I didn't think... well I thought you were just being nice, or teasing me because I'm new. I've only really been "out" for about a year and I've never dated a man before. I don’t really know how all of that works. But I do like you and... I think you're very beautiful. I just couldn't imagine what you saw in me. Astarion did say I was your type, but he was being kind of... I don't know. I'm just really nervous."

Ryldinn nods, squeezing his fingers a bit and seeming to consider. Finally he smiles. "Don’t worry about him. We've known each other for about fifteen years, and though he can be a jerk sometimes, he's the closest thing I'll ever have to a brother. So he's a little... protective as well, I suppose. But, Cal... I'm not... I have not dated anyone in... well I've never actually had a boyfriend or anything like that. But life gets lonely, you know? So, if you are willing to give this a chance and see where it goes... I do find you very attractive as well, I will admit that, but there’s something else about you. I cannot really express. I am more good at reading your language than speaking it. I am getting better at it, but my boss speaks drow, as well as Astarion, so I don't practice as much as I should."

"I understand you perfectly, Ryldinn, it's alright." He looks at the soft hand in his for a minute, digesting Ryldinn’s statement. He thinks Cal is attractive, along with whatever else he's noticed that seems to please him. "Yeah, I'm willing to give it a chance. Not only because you're good-looking. You were just really nice to me. You're the first guy who's really shown any interest. I just... I want to get to know you better."

Ryldinn smiles, and they chat for quite a while, about their work, local events, casual things, until the shadows start to lengthen over the café and it's time for Cal to go get ready to spend the evening with his siblings. Ryldinn stands when he does, and Cal hesitates for a minute before gently taking his arm and leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. The drow dimples, pleased. "I am busy tomorrow, but perhaps I could see you the next evening? The view of the sunset from the bluff outside the city is lovely."

Cal grins. "It’s a date. I'll call you later to work out exactly where and when. Um... this was nice. Thank you."

[bklynmusicnerd]

"It's easier to be alone, because what if you learn that you need love and you don't have it? What if you like it and lean on it? What if you shape your life around it and then it falls apart? Can you even survive that kind of pain? Losing love is like organ damage. It's like dying. The only difference is death ends. This? It could go on forever." - Meredith Grey (Grey's Anatomy)

So I definitely feel like today was the best in terms of the writing for Trina's grief so far, just because it finally grounded it in a clear direction, survivor's guilt. Trina's grief manifesting itself as survivor's guilt makes so much sense for her character because it's the natural culmination of her savior complex.

That inherent belief that it's her job to save the people around her, the foundation of many of her key relationships and her status as a heroine, is also the belief that leads her to coming to the conclusion that she wishes she had died instead of Spencer.

I feel like it's easy to write that line off as a classic "soap heroine can't live without her love" moment but I actually think it's a little deeper than that for Trina, I think she's basically drowning in this idea that she doesn't deserve to be the one who lived. I've said it before, but this isn't just a sense of loss for Trina. It's a sense of failure.

Spencer having to sacrifice himself for her, in Trina's eyes, is her failing to protect him and be his "hero" (one of the "last" things he said to her before he went overboard). It doesn't matter if that's a completely irrational conclusion, it speaks to how Trina burdens herself. She won't take the compliment when it's given to her but she'll always take the blame, even when no one gives to her.

Cause no one else is burdening themselves with the "loss" of Spencer to that extent except maybe Nik, who turned himself in and is doing penance in the local clink like he's not an incredibly wealthy and powerful man. But to get back to the Trina of it all, she goes to the gallery seeking a sense of usefulness, gets triggered by the first painting she holds, is taken back to a moment of bleak helplessness, and is completely overwhelmed by the anxiety she experiences over the memory of Paris alone (TA played not just the grief but the hints of ptsd so smoothly). This is the kind of fluidity in Trina's grief that I was hoping for as opposed to the one-note, generic "boo hoo" stuff.

She can't move on because she can't forgive herself, and Ava just gets that immediately and starts listing all these people who need her to stay alive for them, herself included. She tells Trina that she's grateful to Spencer for what he did because she needs her, and cuts through (however temporarily) Trina's sense of not feeling worthy of it.

In general, I love how dark things got with Trina's pov today, I don't think we've ever seen her come this close to suicidal ideation before, but I think it works. She's mentally stuck in this moment where she had to watch someone she loved die for her and it all happened so fast that there was nothing she could do to stop it.

The panic, the frustration, the despair Trina displayed today, all makes sense in accordance with this survivor's guilt arc. The only problem is that's a heavy story that requires way more screentime that it's currently being given to be told properly. But, I do think it's interesting that Trina is sort of stuck in grief even though she doesn't want to be.

She's punishing herself by putting her education on hold, and the gallery isn't the reprieve she's used to it being for her during hard times. How far is Trina's survivor's guilt going to go and how far is she going to take this idea of punishing herself? Trina is a character that likes to have control over her life and right now, in the aftermath of all of this, she has none. She can't move on and there's nothing and no one for her to save (yet) so she's just stuck in this moment of failing to be the hero.

This is why Trina's admission to Ava that it "feels like [she] can't breathe" hit as hard as it did. It feels like we're watching Trina succumb to a darkness that Spencer credited her with saving him from. That's the tragic irony of this whole thing, it's not in Trina's instinct to give herself credit for all the ways in which she saved Spencer, but she will replay on a loop the one crucial time she thinks she failed him. It's important to remember that Trina felt this sense of responsibility toward Spencer way before she knew she was in love with him. She was always going to lash out at herself the most.

[charlesandmartine]

Friday 18th October 2024

The first British person to spot what we now call Darwin was Lieutenant John Lort Stokes on HMS Beagle in 1839 but it wasn't until 1869 when a small settlement was established here and initially became known as Palmerston after Lord Palmerston the then Prime Minister and in 1911 the town was renamed Darwin. A port was soon established to supply the settlement but in 1897 a cyclone destroyed the whole lot; a cycle to repeat itself in 1974 when Cyclone Tracy flattened the entire town again killing 68 souls. Between Cyclones of course was a small conflict called WW2 which found Darwin a quite attractive target to the Japanese who successfully carried out a huge number of bombing raids, 64 in all. The mastermind Japanese commander who attacked Pearl Harbour then turned his attention to Darwin. American bases were established here and I'm sure over the next fews days we shall investigate these further.

Now affectionately referred to as 'The Top End' Darwin offers the tourist a great deal of interest.

The day started with a shortish run along the footpaths adjoining the Esplanade; early enough for it not to be too hot. Just as well, because the heat is on and it was promised to feel like 38 degrees.

Whilst still bearable we walked along the Esplanade passing the war memorials and down to where we first came ashore from our cruise in 2016. Memories were jogged and furthering these we thought we might catch a hop on hop off (hoho) to the Art Gallery. It was then we found that instead of paying £24 each for the hoho, we could catch a number 4 bus which was totally free!! Free entry to the Museum and Art Gallery as well, so perfect day all round! Now you know how it is when you ask for some travel advice from a bloke at a bus stop, any bus stop anywhere in the world, you ought to just know this is probably the one person in the universe that you shouldn't have freely opened yourself up to. I mean he looked innocent enough! We heard his travel plans, how much he was paying for his accommodation, about his brothers and so it went on. He got particularly exercised when talking about kangaroos. Part of the problem was that most words were expletives; if we could have cut those out the conversation could have been a fraction of the length. Then the bus came we made our goodbyes but he jumped on and sat next to us and enriched us with further insights. During the fairly short journey the driver chose to share his favourite album over the bus speaker system at several decibels! When he turned corners with his indicators going, we had a disco you could charge for. The benefit in all this was we struggled to hear what our new pal was saying! We reached the Art Gallery and it appeared he was going further. Clearly not an art lover.

We have been to this gallery before and it is predominantly exhibiting indigenous art, but it does have on display the pride of place work of a local taxidermist in the form of Sweetheart, a 16ft 10in crocodile! Sweetheart had not been very nice to a local community so it was decided to send a team of suicidal experts to capture and rehabilitate said 50-80 year old reptile. Sadly the operation did not go well for Sweetheart, and he died in the process, but lives on in his stuffed new attire. When the taxidermist did what taxidermist have to do, they found all manner of items within such as a sheep, various engine parts and bits of boats. The last time we visited this place, there was an excellent exhibition of pictures and reminiscentcies of the 1974 cyclone. It was closed today for refurbishment, but there was a powerful film being shown of the after effects of the storm. People's lives were completely shattered; destroyed. There was nothing left and everything needed rebuilding; property, lives, and way of life. But through it all, the people interviewed had nothing but praise for the help they received from friends, government and charities.

Bus back, no mate on board and unmolested we spilled into Coles for some further provisions. We ended the day on our lovely balcony, the sun casting its long beams shimmering across the sea whilst we sipped a chilled SB. Great day.

And on queue, as the sun disappeared completely, its work done for the day, a thousand birds incognito heralded the event yet again as though an orchestra under the control of a batton, their cheerfulness and zest filling their environment with song. Then, suddenly, without warning, all was quiet again until dawn.

[bobcatmoran]

Good things that happened today: Attempt at Enrichment In My Enclosure by going to the Art Institute, which has free admission and is also adjacent to the local Children's Theatre. While spending time in the European galleries, ran into a pair of moms who pointed out to their kids (who couldn't possibly have been more than kindergarten age) that a certain painting was by Monet, upon which the kiddos ran towards it and stared at it, rapt.

One of the Moms pointed out that this was one of his earlier works, so it didn't look so much like what they were familiar with (I am betting they'd recently read "Linnea in Monet's Garden"), and one of the Kiddos figured out that a nearby painting was also by Monet (one of his haystack paintings), because, as he said, "There's an M!" at the beginning of the artist name.

Also ran into another elementary-school aged kid in the museum's extensive exhibit on historical Chinese pottery (members of the local Daytons Department Store dynasty have donated a LOT of historical Chinese artwork to the museum) who walked into the gallery and went, "POTTERY!"

I was also pleasantly surprised at the new-to-me galleries devoted to 1960s-and-beyond Native artworks.

[halfcourtyeet]

The Encounter with Elliot, and Mill Valley

On leaving the library today, I noticed an attractive girl in an outfit similar to mine, with shoulder-length brown hair. Let’s call her Elliot. Her deep voice I noticed first, so she may be non-binary. Elliot and I talked about many things — her trip to Japan, comic book artists, furries — and then parted abruptly. She said she moved here from Britain, she talked about her struggling to get her giant parents’ SUV in the local car wash, mentioned her trips home to England and her study abroad in Japan. Soon, though, I noticed her polite discomfort, her skills at social ballet. Finally, I noticed the ease at which she brushed me off to resume her business.

It is only now that I have taken time to manifest myself away that I can express my distaste for her.

As soon as I knew she was from Belvedere — the small, ultra-wealthy island in the Bay that hosts the San Francisco Yacht Club — I thought of a simple but memorable Prince lyric: “Right then and there, I knew I was through.” Her family possesses wealth immeasurable and incomprehensible to me. My family possesses poverty and economic trauma immeasurable and incomprehensible to her. How could we ever understand each other?

My middle school and high school peers were just like this (in fact, Christian G., who I went to Tam with, walked past me as I was talking with her. Even if we had locked eyes, I would have not said hello.) I am sure this is the same with any other upper-class (now borderline high-class) suburb. Their children are raised without struggle in sunny green locales, without community in giant family houses, and without emotional awareness in a culture that promotes capitalizing on others even over its own blasé hedonism. The children grow up to be adults working in (ideally) engineering, health, law, or management, and at worst, Wall Street. They pick up on their parents’ careful social movement from a young age and learn no other language, certainly not the language of the working-class, despite their urgency to imitate and emulate the cultural works of the poor (black and brown people, mainly.) They build a wall of pleasantries, excuses, and economic euphemisms around their hearts, and let nobody in, even those closest to them.

I hate this town!

It is class. It has always been class. As she cut me off from conversation, I left the library in a half-jealous stupor and noticed school had ended for the day. The children flooded the street in their white and white-passing brilliance. High-end SUVs orbited the roundabout, and slim white women in visors and sunglasses walked strollers briskly and escorted their children to safety once again.

Down at the pizza place, I noticed the arrogance of the kids leaving “North Bridge Academy,” the perfection of their haircuts, the willingness to be loud and make noise with no adult nearby to reprimand them. North Bridge itself is in the same building as Greenwood School, where I went to school on financial aid for a sorry five years of my childhood. That was before Mill Valley had the full audacity to host a children’s “academy.” Nothing from their behavior on the street showed me they were learning manners, at least.

I continued home, my mood worsening in the midst of all these thoughts. Mill Valley’s East Blithedale Ave., one of its two de facto main streets, is basically set up to give victory laps to the privileged trophy wives that wander the town — lines of salons, boutiques, art galleries, furniture stores and wineries pack the air-brushed rows. Any history that once existed here is sanitized or priced out of its rent. Its affluence possesses tyrannical villainy: it is rich to the point of being evil. Even the Mexican laborers I’ve noticed have a certain smugness to them for screwing their employers over pricewise, which seems to do nothing but repeat the cycle of vengeful exploitation the town’s residents cultivate. (Still, this is probably something I should figure out by interviewing.)

I know I sound like an old man here, but I cannot shake this feeling any longer without saying anything about it. Does this atmosphere not bother anyone here? Does it not frustrate them or make their stomach churn with gall like it does mine? Is everyone in this town so fucking tone-deaf to their own conscience that they think this fucking over-gentrified yuppie-tech wax museum is how people should live?

Elliot couldn’t understand why I didn’t like Mill Valley; she said she liked it just fine. Why wouldn’t she? Her blindness to the truth of things, I can’t even begin to imagine. She is so lost in the sauce that she opens her mouth and fails to taste the bitterness of her own words.

I stopped to get a slice at Stefano’s Pizza. This is one of the few locations in town from my childhood that has never changed or been gentrified, save for the price being increased in the wake of America’s inflation crises. I don’t even remember the name of the man at the counter, but he still works here day in and day out, just like he did when I wore cargo shorts and light-up sneakers. He did not smile at me or ask how I have been. He has seen what happens in this town. I tried to say a few kind words as I order, but to establish something with him now would require a confidence bordering on arrogance.

To him, I must also be the problem. Even though I was a transfer student, I went off to college and left the town behind. But consider how I spent two years largely surrounded by other transfers, and even those who went for four years often got financial aid (or predatory loans) to help mitigate their tenuous economic circumstances.. Their desperation to be, their ambition to escape, their imagination in telling their stories, all had a beautiful familiarity to me.

Even now, somewhere south, far and away from this evil little town, is a transgender girl in a messy room, half-dressed and overworked. She does not know how much longer she can stay in Santa Cruz with rent this high. She is poor and she is scared.

You will never know her, Elliot.